A Spark of Light(75)

Just you wait, Bex had told him, and like always, she was right.

That miracle had happened when Wren was three and her nursery school teacher casually mentioned how cute it was that she and a little boy named Saheed played house together. Who’s Saheed? he had asked that day, driving her home. Oh, Wren had said. My boyfriend.

The first time he had seen Wren on the playground, holding hands with Saheed, Hugh had very clearly felt the world shift. That was the moment he realized that Wren did not belong to him. In fact, Hugh belonged to her.

One day, she would not need him to help her decide if she should wear leggings with candy corn on them, or penguins. One day, she would remember all the words to “Bohemian Rhapsody” without him filling in the gaps as they sang along in the car. One day she wouldn’t ask him to get the Goldfish crackers from a shelf she could not reach. One day she would not need him anymore.

Sometimes you can’t tell how consuming love is until you can see its absence. Sometimes you can’t recognize love because it’s changed you, like a chimera, so slowly that you didn’t witness the transformation.

As Hugh watched Saheed following Wren like a loyal subject, he thought of all the crap he had pulled when he was trying to get a girl’s attention, and he vowed never to let any guy treat her the way he had treated girls in high school. But he also knew that he couldn’t protect her. That she would be heartbroken one day, and he would have to see her cry.

That was fatherhood. Fatherhood was wanting to put his daughter in a bubble where she could never be hurt, while knowing that he had hurt someone else’s daughter, once. Fatherhood was plotting the future murder of a sweet kid named Saheed because he had the wisdom to see that nobody else in the world was as awesome as Wren.

Now, Hugh scrolled through forgotten conversations in his mind. In any of them, had Wren mentioned a boy?

Wren had said she was here with Bex. But this was an abortion clinic. Bex was too old to need one. Maybe his sister had come here for another reason, but why would she have taken Wren out of school to accompany her?

Unless …

He couldn’t even finish that sentence in his mind.

He decided that after he saved Wren’s life, he would find out who the boy was. And then maybe kill him.

Hugh dialed the phone number of the Center again. This time, on the third ring, a woman answered. Not Wren.

But he had made first contact. Now, he thought. Go.

“This is Lieutenant McElroy with the Jackson Police. Am I on speakerphone?”

“No.”

“Who am I speaking with?”

“Um, my name is Izzy …”

“Izzy,” Hugh said, “I’m here to help you. Can I talk to the person who might be able to resolve this situation?”

He heard her say to someone: “It’s the police and they want you.”

And then: “Yeah?”

The voice of the shooter rumbled like a stick drawn across fence posts. Just that one syllable opened a cave Hugh could peer into. The word was deep, boiling, wary. But it was also one word, rather than a barrage of them. Which meant he was listening.

“This is Detective Hugh McElroy of the Jackson Police Department. I’m with the hostage negotiation unit. I’m here to talk to you and ensure the safety of you and everyone else in the building.”

“I have nothing to talk about,” the shooter said. “These people are murderers.”

“Okay,” Hugh replied, no judgment. An acknowledgment. “What’s your name, sir?” he asked, although he already knew. “What would you like to be called?”

“George.”

In the background, Hugh could hear an agonized cry. Please let it not be Bex, he thought. “Are you hurt, George?”

“I’m fine.”

“Is anyone else hurt? Does someone need a doctor? It sounds like there might be some people in pain.”

“They don’t deserve help.”

Hugh felt the eyes of Chief Monroe and at least a dozen other officers on him. He turned his back. The relationship he needed to build with George Goddard was between the two of them, and no one else. “Whatever happened in there, George, you’re not to blame. I know that there are other people at fault here. Whatever happened, happened. That’s over and done. But you and I can work together, now, to make sure no one else gets hurt. We can resolve this … and help you … at the same time.”

Hugh waited for a response, but there wasn’t one. Well. It beat Fuck you. As long as George was still on the line, he had a chance.

“Here’s my phone number, in case we get disconnected,” Hugh said. He rattled off the digits. “I’m the one in charge out here.”

“Why should I trust you?” George asked.

“Well,” Hugh said, having known this question would come, “we haven’t stormed the building, have we? My gun is still in my holster, George. I want to work with you. I want us to both get what we want.”

“You can’t give me what I want,” George answered.

“Try me.”

“Really.”

Hugh could hear the sarcasm in George’s voice. “Really,” he confirmed.

“Then bring my grandchild back to life,” George said, and he hung up the phone.





Eleven a.m.