A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(3)

“What?”

“That now I have no one left to disappoint. What a terrible thing to think, right?”

“Why is it a terrible thing to think?”

“Don’t you get it?” He raised his voice. “I was already looking for a way to drink. My sister died, and I used it as an excuse to drink.”

“It sounds like you were in a lot of pain.”

He shrugged impatiently. “So I drank. And then in the morning, I bought another bottle and drank some more.” He seemed to lose his train of thought, staring vacantly at the city skyline.

She tried to find a way to paraphrase his words, to make him see it in a better light. “You were grieving. So you slipped.”

“I guess.” He didn’t sound convinced. “My neighbor keeps playing loud music at night.”

“Loud music?”

He paused and took out another cigarette, then lit it. “Really loud music. So I get up around midnight, right? And I’m angry. My head is pounding, and I feel like shit.”

He took several puffs from the cigarette, his fingers trembling. The smoke curled and dissipated in the wind.

“I have a gun at home.”

Oh shit. If he’d shot and killed his neighbor, it would make this much more difficult. It would be hard to convince him to come back inside if he knew prison waited for him on the other side of the window.

After a few seconds, when he didn’t expand, she said, “A gun?”

“I need to pee,” Phil suddenly said. “Been needing to pee for some time.”

“We can get inside, you can go pee, and then we can finish this conversation.”

Phil grinned at her. “I don’t think so.”

He stood up, cigarette still in his mouth, and Abby’s heart missed a beat as he seemed about to jump. “Wait—”

He unzipped his fly, and a few seconds later an arc of piss trickled into the night. “Hope no one’s down there,” he muttered. After finishing, he zipped himself. Then he took out the cigarette and expelled a jet of smoke, grabbing the metal pole for balance. “So I grab my gun, and I walk over to my neighbor. I pound on the door, and he opens it.”

“Okay,” Abby said, taking a slow breath, calming her beating heart.

“I step inside. He has a few friends in there; they’re all listening to this music, kinda stoned, right? And I empty my entire gun on his damn stereo.”

Thank god. “Then what happened?”

“One of his crazy friends goes apeshit, starts kicking and scratching me.” Phil shook his head. “So I push her and run outside. I hear them say they’re calling the police.”

“I see.”

“So that’s it. I would have shot myself except I emptied all my ammo in that stereo. I came here instead.”

Abby nodded sympathetically and adjusted her tone of voice. Gone was the carefree, conversational stranger. Now her voice became deeper, slower, reassuring. She inflected it downward, every sentence becoming a statement. “It sounds like your sister was the one person who was there for you when you were down,” she said. “She really wanted you to pick your life up.”

She paused, letting the silence sink in, doing her job for her.

He blinked, seemingly startled. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“How about your nieces? You said they were lovely. Do you see them often?”

“Yeah. I mean, I did when my sister was alive. They’re really great girls. The oldest one . . .” He grinned. “She has this crazy sense of humor. She could really crack me up.”

Abby let the seconds go by. Let him come to his own conclusions. His nieces were still there. He could still laugh with his oldest niece. A glimmer of hope in his future. If he only would come inside with her.

“How would your sister feel about you taking your own life?” she finally asked.

“It doesn’t matter; she’s dead.”

“What do you think she would have said if she was still alive?”

“I guess she wouldn’t have been happy.”

“What do you think your nieces, your father and your mother, will feel when you’re gone, immediately after your sister?” Abby asked.

He cleared his throat. Then, apparently trying to buy some time, he placed another cigarette between his lips and took out his lighter. It slipped from his fingers.

He fumbled at it and, with that sharp movement, lost his balance. He waved his arms, panicking, tilting into the void. A scream rose in Abby’s throat.

Then his hand clutched at the scaffolding, and he managed to gain his balance. His face was white, his mouth wide open. Abby’s heart thudded in her rib cage. She remained silent, not trusting her voice at the moment, but locked eyes with him. The wind howled in the background.

“Phil,” she finally said. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“Yeah.” His voice trembled. “I’m not sure I can. I’m scared I might fall.”

“That’s okay; don’t move. I have a couple of people here that’ll help you.”





CHAPTER 2


Abby’s relief at feeling the solid floor beneath her feet was palpable. Walls and ceilings were an underestimated commodity. She felt an urge to lie prostrate on the floor just to get the full floor experience. But before she started the floor fan club, there was work to do.