What Have You Done(84)

The shooting had been called in by a Camden PD unit that worked the area. The two uniforms had been patrolling the park and came upon the abandoned vehicle, prompting them to investigate. Phillips had still been at Don’s house when the precinct phoned. The desk sergeant on duty told him Don had been shot and killed in Camden, and he’d had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. For the second time that night, he’d driven over the bridge and had been met at the scene by the investigating officers, a few responding units for backup, and a crime scene unit, all from Camden. They’d escorted him to the car, where he’d positively identified Don’s body. He’d placed a call to the chief and the mayor. There hadn’t been much left for him to do, so he’d driven back to Philadelphia and broken the news to his sister. She’d collapsed in his arms, and they’d cried together. He really couldn’t remember much past that.

Phillips meandered through the living room, looking at the photos of Don and Joyce and the rest of their family. He picked up each one and examined it, rubbing the side of the frame as if rubbing a magic lantern, wishing his friend to return. Each picture showed a happy, playful couple. They had been, indeed. In one, Don had his nephew riding on his shoulders, both of them giving monster faces to the camera. In the background was a Ferris wheel of an amusement park he didn’t recognize. In another, Don and Joyce were holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes as the sun of the Caribbean set behind them. Each photograph stamped a place and time in their lives when joy was abundant and they were shielded from the wickedness of the world. Those feelings were gone now, blown away in an instant. It would return one day, the happiness, but it would never be the same as it was before. Sean had destroyed his sister’s innocence.

Joyce was upstairs sleeping with the help of two Ambien the PBA rep had brought. Phillips tripped over the leg of a chair that had been pulled out from a corner desk and almost fell to the ground. He stopped himself at the last moment, regained his balance, and placed the chair back under the desk. His body was weak. He was tired and still in shock himself. He opened a few windows and felt the cool night air floating in from outside, then went into the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee.

“What are you doing?”

Joyce was halfway down the stairs, dressed in Don’s navy pajama pants and a white tank top. Her eyes were red and swollen, sunken. She stood on the stairs, swaying slightly from side to side.

“Making some coffee,” Phillips replied.

“I’ll make it.”

“I don’t mind.”

Joyce took a few more steps toward the bottom landing. “Please. I’ll make it. I need something to do.”

He stepped away from the coffee maker and watched her wobble down to the landing. She stopped and sat. He walked over to her.

“What are you doing up?” he asked. “Those sleeping pills should’ve kept you down for a while. You need your rest.”

“I can’t sleep. Don’t want to. Every time I sleep, I dream of him; then I wake up and have to feel the loss all over again like it’s new. I never want to sleep again. Never.”

“I know. But you need your rest. You have to try and gain your strength. Why don’t you go back upstairs, and I’ll hang out here? People from the department are going to start coming by.”

Joyce looked at him, then closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall back against the wall. “I miss him,” she whispered. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I just can’t believe it.”

Phillips sat beside his sister and rubbed her arm. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else I can say. I love you. All I can do is be here for you as long as you need me. It’s all I can give.”

“I know,” Joyce replied. She sighed and pushed tears away from her face, then offered a white envelope she was holding. “Last night Don called me up to the bedroom and gave me this envelope. He told me that if anything should ever happen to him, I should give this to you and only you. When Sean came by looking for that flash drive, I figured he might be looking for this, but I wasn’t going to give it to him. Don said only you.” She handed it over.

Phillips took the envelope, turning it over in his hand.

“I should’ve known something bad was going to happen when he started talking like that. He never talked like that before. I should’ve known. I should’ve stopped him from leaving the house.”

Phillips stood from the landing and walked across the kitchen. He pulled his thumb across the envelope’s lip and ripped it open, not really sure if he wanted to see what was inside. So much had already happened.

“He trusted you,” Joyce said. “He loved you.”

He tipped the envelope, and a single flash drive slid out into the palm of his hand. The cool breeze from the open windows in the living room caressed his bare arms, sending a shiver down his spine. Outside, where life continued unabated, the night moved on. Inside, lives kept changing.





65

Morning had come and the sun was beginning to rise in the city of Philadelphia. Liam pulled into his driveway and shut off the engine. It was still early, and everything was quiet. There was no traffic. No one was out walking a dog or taking a run. It was perfect.

He climbed out of the car, walked up the front stoop, and stopped when he saw a bouquet of paper flowers sitting on the doormat. Just like the ones his mother had left for him the day she tried to kill him. Just like the ones that were left at Kerri’s feet. He bent down and picked them up, studying them, turning them over and over. The paper seemed fresh, crisp, dry. These were just made, untouched by the morning dew. He opened the door and walked inside.