Chapter 3 Drowned Out By Silence
Julie could hear people screaming out in the hallway but all her attention was focused on John who was bleeding from his shoulder. She couldn't see if a bullet had pierced him all the way through, there was too much blood. She grabbed the grey sweater she had stuffed in her purse prior to leaving the hotel room, bunched it up and pressed it firmly to his wound hoping that would stop the bleeding.
"Jules," he called to her weakly.
"No," she cried back, fighting back tears "don't, just, stay still."
She was shaking as she searched around for the source of the shooting but saw no one running away with a gun nor heard any more shots being fired. The announcer who had helped with her presentation and witnessed the shooting had crawled out from his hiding place behind a pillar that held up the lights for the stage.
"I called for help," he told her "what the hell just happened?"
"I don't know," Julie cried to him "did you see anything?"
The announcer shook his head as two paramedics came charging into the conference room with medical kits and a stretcher.
"What happened?" the first medic demanded roughly.
"I don't know," Julie cried helplessly again "there was a shot, no, three, one hit John."
"Where's the shooter?" the other medic asked while tending to John's wound.
"There wasn't- I didn't see-"Julie stammered incoherently "just help him please"
"We need to transport him," the first medic said "Desert Palm Hospital, he may need surgery."
"Surgery?" Julie whimpered feeling her stomach twist with nerves as the medics lifted John onto the stretcher and wheeled him out of the room.
Julie was rooted to the spot on the stage unsure what to do next. She folded her arms, shaking still, thoughts of John and what might happen to him racing through her mind. She managed to shake them and reach for her cell phone in her purse to call the only person who might be able to help her now. As she hovered a finger over the speed dial for Russell's number, her phone screen lit up with an incoming call. Though she didn't recognize the number, she answered it in a panic.
"This is Julie," she answered her voice cracking when she spoke.
"CSI Finlay," a chilling robotic voice spoke making her heart drop into her stomach "consider this your first warning, ignore me again and more blood will be shed, now tell me, who am I?"
Her hand gripped her phone tightly, fear shooting through her, her mind drawing a blank.
"I don't know," she cried "what do you want?"
"You know," the voice taunted her "blood is thicker than water."
But that only confused her more. She trembled, wracking her brain for any potential threats or people who might try and harm her or John and then, she remembered back to a year ago, sitting on a bomb in her car, being pulled from it by the grace of God, then being told by Russell about a caller with a weird voice who forced him into admitting his worst fear, then it clicked. She couldn't help but sob as she uttered, begrudgingly, terrified into the phone "You're the Gig Harbor Killer."
"Very good," the voice hissed before hanging up with a sharp ping of lines disconnecting.
Julie dropped her phone back into her purse as if it were on fire and glanced rapidly around the room. But it was empty. There were no other conference members, and the announcer had fled into the hallway. How could it be? She wondered, her heart pounding violently in her chest, Paul Winthrop was in jail, Jared Briscoe was dead and every other known associate with them was dead. Was this someone's idea of a sick joke? Then how did they get her number? These questions exploded in her head like fireworks and she knew she had to get out of here and someplace safe.
"John," she remembered now racing out to the hallway.
Security guards for the hotel were escorting people out of the lobby. She darted through the crowd to get outside to her car where she drove to Desert Palm Hospital praying she wasn't too late.
