Chapter 7: Synchronous

Gabriel was on his hands and knees. Looking at it, from a far, it seemed like a very humbling position, as if he were begging for mercy. That was exactly as Jim, who was lording over him with the bat slung over his shoulder, saw and what Phillis, who was sobbing uncontrollably, saw. But for Gabriel, his position on his hands and knees was pure act of will motivated by pride. His head pounded, there was more pain than his brain knew how to handle so all coherent thought was drummed out of his mind, he just knew he had to stand. But as he tried to find his feet, forcing away the dark haze that was invading the edges of his vision, the earth seemed to tilt underneath him, like the deck of a ship during a storm. His head swam every time he tried to push himself onto his knees and even with most of his weight on his hands he couldn't quite shake the sensation of nausea.

"You see what happens," Jim said loudly. His voice echoed and boomed inside of Gabriel's head so that the words were indistinguishable but the sound just seemed to increase the already overwhelming pain. "You should never steal another man's girl! That is the lowest act any man could ever do.

"In fact," Jim continued as he reached behind his back and pulled a small revolver from his belt, aimed it right at the stunned Gabriel's head. Phillis screamed, Gabe didn't even notice. "Some would say stealing another guy's girl is a mortal offence."

"Those some would be called criminally insane," the clear angry voice of Sara Pezzini sliced through the night like a sharp sword through soft flesh.

"Who the hell?" Jim asked, bewildered by the unexpected fourth party. "Get out of here!"

"Leave him alone," Sara said firmly. "And leave her alone."

"What?"

"Go," Sara said clearly. "And if you ever try to . . ."

"Who the hell are you!?" Jim said swinging the gun away from Gabriel's head and towards her.

Sara took a deep breath, this was exactly what she wanted, she could defend herself against this neanderthal, Gabriel and Phillis, on the other hand, could not. She took another step forward. "Give me your gun and I'll let you go."

"Screw you psycho bitch," Jim said casually as he fired the gun. Phillis screamed again and the sound caused enough pain in Gabriel's head to over come his will and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

The bullet didn't even affect Sara, it ricocheted harmlessly off of the Witchblade, she took another aggressive step forward. "You shouldn't have done that," she said, the warning clear in her voice. "Put the gun on the ground and submit yourself to arrest and you won't be hurt."

Jim was frightened, Sara could see it in his eyes. He had seen the bullet graze off of her Witchblade but he didn't understand it. Panicked, he fired two more rapid shots, hoping to catch her off guard. Again, there were sparks as mettle met mettle but Sara didn't even slow down. Desperately, Jim dropped the gun and picked up his disregarded baseball bat. He charged Sara, madly, and with little more than a flick of her wrist the Witchblade split the wooden bat in two. Stunned and confused, Jim staggered backwards and fell on his ass next to where Gabriel was lying. Realizing that he would never be able to defeat Sara, Jim did the one thing he could to regain control over the situation, he grabbed at his gun and pointed it directly at the unconscious pile besides him. "Back off Bitch!" Jim screamed. "I was ready to blow him away before I swear I will now!"

Sara's heart stopped. The Witchbade retracted, without her having to command it, as she lifted her hands in the classic defenseless pose. "You're already going down for assault and battery, do you really want to add murder to your list?"

"I don't know what the hell you are, just back off!" Jim screamed frantically. "I swear . . ."

"Just put the gun down."

"No!"

"Jim!" Phillis screamed, tears were still streaming down her face and, even though she didn't say it, their was obviously one thing on her mind - don't kill him.

Sara had almost forgotten about Phillis, and Jim, apparently, had, because as soon as she made herself known his demeanor changed. Whatever wheeling and dealing Sara might have been able to talk him into was long gone. At this point all he wanted was pure, unadulterated revenge.

"Screw it all," he said casually and then time seemed to stop.

Sara saw, with painful clarity, Jim's finger begin to squeeze the trigger. There seemed to be an eternity where, in any normal situation, she should have been able to charge the man who was going to kill her friend, wrestle the gun out of his hands, throw him on the ground and cuff him. But she was frozen, painfully helpless, watching the only friend she had left, the only person she felt she could trust, be callously and senselessly killed. Sara felt as if her heart was slowly but violently being ripped apart during that horrifically eternal second.

There was a bang, somehow more distant than she expected it, that echoed through the hollow recesses of this odd time. But very quickly she realized that the bullet did not signify Gabriel's death, no, Jim was still pulling the trigger with agonizing sloth. But before Sara could really understand the significance of this fact, a bullet flew just over her shoulder, creating a wind that stirred her dark mahogany locks and a whistle that sung in her right ear. Her eyes followed the silver projectile, amazed. She was so entranced that she didn't think to look away as it penetrated Jim's chest and tore its way through his heart.

Time started again.

Sara, still shocked by the last few seconds, blinked. What she saw could not have possibly happened, it was impossible. No one would be able to accurately aim over her shoulder and make such a precise hit. But then again, no one would ever be able to instantly kill two men with one bullet from a hundred stories above.

Without another second of hesitation she ran over to Gabriel, carefully lifting his head off of the now blood soaked dirt around home plate and cradling it in her lap. "Gabriel," Sara said desperately, trying to wipe the blood and dirt off his face and only succeeding in getting her own hands filthy with the red tinted sand.

"What happened?" Phillis whispered as she crawled over to the two still bodies between which Sara was sitting. The younger girl's voice was undoubtably horse from crying and she was shaking all over.

"You shot him, Sara Pezzini," Ian Nottingham said, his voice darker than the night around them. As he emerged from the shadows of the outfield a chill flew down Sara's spine, although she could not conceive why.

"No, Nottingham, you shot him."

"It was justified," Ian said, throwing Sara's words back at her with an almost playful grin. "He was going to kill your friend."

"I didn't say I wasn't thankful," Sara said, a little less accusatory. "I just didn't think . . ."

"You used your gun," Ian said, throwing a revolver on the ground in front of Sara. She recognized it immediately as her standard police issue pistol.

"How did you get that!" Sara said angrily. She was tempted to stand and challenge Ian directly, but the soft weight of Gabriel's head in her lap curbed all such impulses. "I left that locked up in my apartment!"

"Very careless of you," Ian commented, as if all she'd done was forget her toothpaste.

"Nottingham!"

"If you really do wish for him to live, Sara, I advise you get him to a doctor," Ian said, before turning and slipping back into the black inky night from which he had emerged.

***

The Rev. Dunn had been a widower for nigh on eighteen years. While Marcy, Gabriel's grandmother, was often his inspiration and almost weekly the subject of a sermon illustration, he had long ago returned to the lifestyle of a bachelor. He kept his own hours, as he said. He slept when he was tired and would only set his alarm clock on Sundays, when he had to be some where early in the morning. Even on Sundays he was so used to getting up at six that he was usually wide awake before it rang. And if he couldn't sleep, even if it were before a large Sunday service, like Easter, he didn't mind. His view was that the Lord knew what he needed, and sometimes he needed to sleep at night while, at other times, he needed to be awake. So, perhaps it was not a lucky coincidence that he was wide awake on Easter morning at three a.m. and had just set a pot of tea to boil.

"Reverend Dunn!" a panicked voice called, it was accompanied by the violent pounding of fists against his back door. "Reverend Dunn, wake up!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" the Rev. shouted back. It was not unusual for people to call on him at all times, although panicked bangs at three a.m. were anything but common. And the voice, while vaguely familiar, was not really known to him. As he unlatched the door he tried to place it: it was a young girls voice, very pretty, probably a singer, but not someone in the church choir, and for some reason it reminded him of Gabriel.

He opened the door, ready to greet whoever this panicked young woman was with open arms and invite her to share a cup of tea with him and tell him whatever she would. He didn't expect to find two women covered in blood with his unconscious, wounded, grandson slumped between them.

"My lord," Dunn breathed.

"You wanna let us in?" Sara demanded, a little shorter than she should have. "We need to call an ambulance."

"Of. . . of course," Dunn finally stuttered, "Please, come in, let me help you."

The old man, even though he was easily twice Sara's age, quickly grabbed his unconscious grandson as if he were, once again, a small child who had fallen asleep in the living room listening to all the grownups talk and needed to be carried off to bed. "I'll take him to the guest bedroom . . ."

"Do you need any help?" Sara asked, surprised by the older man's initiative.

"Yes," The Reverend said solidly. "Phillis call Dr. Sanderson and then call Gabriel's parents, both numbers are posted by the phone in the kitchen." Phillis nodded and scampered into the kitchen. "Miss Pezzini, if you would be so kind as to look in the cupboard under the sink in the bathroom under the stairs, there are any number of clean rags in there. I have a feeling we'll need them all."

"Yes sir," Sara said, making a quick beeline for the door under the stairs. Once she had grabbed as meany rags as she possibly could she burst out of the bathroom and looked around. There was no one to tell her what to do next. But Sara was a detective and she could figure these things out. She went to the front door and followed the trail of Gabriel's blood up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the right.

Gabriel, still unconscious, was stretched out on a bed, his right temple, which still leaked out blood, was pointed up, but regardless, Pez doubted whether the blood stains would ever come out of the white bed spread.

"We need to clean him up," Dunn said with the same quick, clipped efficient tone he had used downstairs. She didn't realize it, but that came of being a Chaplin and an officer in Korea so many years ago.

"I brought the rags," Sara offered, wishing for the world that she had more to offer.

"Thank you," he said with uncalled for courtesy. "I'm going to get the rubbing alcohol," he started to pull himself away from his injured grandson, but Sara could clearly see that that was the last thing he wanted to do.

"I could get it," Sara offered.

"I don't quite know where it is," Dunn said, ruefully. "Besides, the water is boiling . . . It's God's grace that I wanted tea not coffee."

Sara had no idea what the good Reverend was talking about, but she assumed he did, and that was all that really mattered. As he bustled out of the small upper bedroom Sara found herself alone with the unconscious Gabriel and suddenly, as if a damn had burst, thick salty tears started welling up in her eyes. She gasped for breath and control, but while she could gain oxygen she could not find the strength to hold back the tears. Feeling small and helpless, she lowered herself onto the bed next to Gabriel, so that some of her tears mingled with the blood on his face.

Perhaps it was sheer coincidence, or perhaps it was the mystical qualities inherent in the heartfelt tears of a true wielder, but those insignificant splashes on his face seemed to raise Gabriel.

"Hey Chief," he said, his voice, barely above a whisper, seemed raw and weak but it was enough to shock Sara out of her spiraling grief and she started crying uncontrollably out of pure joy.

"Gabriel!" she said, her voice, squeaking between sobs, made him wince, it was far too loud for his injured brain. "You're alright."

"My head hurts," he said, understating the situation drastically.

"I bet," she laughed as she wiped the tears out of her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"Phil?"

"She's fine, she's safe," Sara assured him. "She's here, if you want to see her . . ." Sara started to get up.

"Nah," Gabe said, casually, as if he didn't want her to trouble herself, not he was terrified of being left alone to slip into the dark cold oblivion from which he had fought so hard to emerge.

Sara smiled at him affectionately, "You're gonna be alright," she promised him. "The doctor is coming."

"Doctor?" Gabriel asked, obviously puzzled.

"For your head."

"Oh," he said softly. "That might be nice."

Sara laughed, a sweet, sad, genuine laugh. Even with a major head injury, he could maintain that quirky wit she found so enduring, even if she rarely found it entertaining.

***

"I shot him," Sara told the Sheriff. She looked him straight in the eye and lied through her teeth. "With this gun."

"Humm," Sherif Holtz said. It was a deep, low, thoughtful humm, more Andy Griffith than Joe Friday.

"I aimed for the torso instead of one of the appendages because I was afraid I would hit Gabriel."

"Hummm,"

"I didn't mean to kill him."

"No, sweety, I'm sure you didn't."

"Are you sure you don't want to call my commanding officer?" Sara asked. She couldn't depend on Dante for much, but he would have to verify that she was actually NYPD. He would also have to give them her file, which was flawless, and if he started pulling that crap he always pulled on her she would just call Jake or Joe Siri and they would vouch for her as a dedicated and honorable public servant.

"Nah, nah," he said. "Your badge is proof enough for me. I'll have to take this information to Willis but you seem on the up and up and the state the Bowman boy is in, I'm sure he'll push it through without much fuss. Besides, the Avalla girl's testimony matches yours for whatever that's worth."

"Who is Willis?"

"Oh, county Judge, Willis McGill, great guy."

"I'm sure," Sara said, recalling her conversation with Gabriel's grandfather, father and brother. She knew that the rushed, almost non-existent investigation of this killing, was what the Bowmans would consider a perk of small town legal workings. While most of the time Sara would disagree heartily, she had to admit that this time it was reassuring. If a true investigation was held it would reveal that she didn't have blowback on her hands and that there was no way she could have fired the gun because of the angle of the entry wound. Plus there would be questions about how a solid wood baseball bat was slit neatly in half down the center, the long way. She didn't want to answer that question. And what if someone had seen or heard Nottingham: he had saved Gabriel's life, she felt the least she could do to repay him was follow the moderately believable lie he had set up.

"Now, the hearing won't be until Monday, you'll have to stay for that."

"Naturally."

"But as I understand it you're a guest of Bowmans, Tony will put you up real well."

Sara nodded, where was the cynical scepticism, where was the underlining hostility, where was the hard earned apathy? This was not law enforcement as Sara knew it. Any inclinations she had ever harbored in regards to taking the Bowmans up on their offer and becoming 'small town law' were gone.

"Yeah, they're nice," Sara said a little tersely.

"I bet this is a pleasant change from New York."

She wanted to say something like 'yeah, in New York they hold me accountable when I shoot someone' but thought better of it. She just smiled and nodded.

To be continued . . . (you thought it was over didn't you, not by a long shot baby!)