John waited inside the large apartment, his ears pricked for any sound. He listened to the pointless drivel between the two women until they went to Mrs. Willman's room to talk further. After another twenty minutes he checked with Sam.
"Where are you, Sam?"
"A few blocks from the restaurant. He's still walking, just wandering. I don't think he's actually going anywhere," Sam sounded a little out of breath. It was understandable as she was following a man who was about one and a half times her height.
"Keep talking to me, okay?" John whispered.
"Got it. Where are you?"
"I'm in Mrs. Willman's apartment."
"I've been searching through the Powell's financial records," Finch said over John's earpiece. "The debt they are in is astonishing, even to me. They owe tens of thousands to a couple of banks, credit cards, and there are a few payments being made to unidentified accounts each month. I can only assume that they're less legitimate loans."
"Proper motive," Sam chimed in conclusively.
"Sam, I want you to back off of Tace until we know for sure," John said. "Finch can keep track of him."
"So can I," Sam replied. "He's just walking, John. If anything changes I'll tell you and back off, I promise."
John pursed his lips, holding back a comment regarding Sam's stubbornness. He moved out of the darkened foyer of the apartment. He drew his gun and crept across the parlor to a staircase. Taking two at a time, John leaped up the stairs noiselessly. He slowed when he reached the landing and peered cautiously around the first corner.
The lights were off in most of the house. Melanie Powell and Mrs. Willman had also gone quiet. But, John heard a low mumbling coming from down the long corridor that met with the upstairs landing of the staircase. John headed toward the sound.
One of the doors in the corridor stood open just a crack. A pale, blue light slashed out across the floor of the corridor. The light changed and shifted, moving with the sound John heard. It was a television. Someone must have left it on.
Sliding along the wall until he reached the door frame, John leaned around until he could see through the crack in the door. The room was a large bedroom suite. From his limited point of view, John saw part of Mrs. Willman sitting up in bed. Her head was slumped to one side and she wheezed a little as she slept.
He risked pushing the door open slightly, widening his view, and saw Melanie Powell, sitting in an arm chair next to the bed. She was watching the television on low.
John then questioned his reasoning for being there as he held his weapon ready. Perhaps Mrs. Powell had truly come because she was upset about something, and didn't want to go home. But that still did not explain the strange parting between her and her husband earlier that night.
He watched for another few minutes until Mel moved. She leaned over, as far as her pregnancy belly would allow, and looked at the sleeping Mrs. Willman. Mel pulled herself out of the easy chair and picked up her purse. She sat it on the edge of the bed and rummaged around in it. First, she pulled out her phone, then a long, cylindrical object that John had to squint through the semi-darkness to see.
"Powell keeps checking his phone," Sam said.
"So does his wife," John said under his breath. "Wait…"
"What is it?" Sam asked. "Powell is heading to the subway."
"Wait, Sam."
Mel blocked John's view of Mrs. Willman for a moment as he came to the awful conclusion. "It's a syringe. Sam get out of there."
John burst into the room and was at the bedside before Mel turned around fully. He grabbed a hold of her wrist just before she stuck the syringe into Mrs. Willman's right arm. He tightened his grip and forced her arm away from the old woman.
Mel screamed and shouted at him. "What the hell are you doing?"
Mrs. Willman snorted and awoke, blinking blearily around the room.
"Sorry Mrs. Powell, you'll have to get your money another way," John said sternly.
Mrs. Willman looked from John to Mel to the syringe still in her hand. "What the hell is all this?" she snapped.
Mel's lips trembled.
"Mother, what the hell – Who are you?" Celia, Mrs. Willman's daughter, entered the room, tying a robe around her waist. She turned on the lights and looked at John, then at the syringe still in Mel's hand. "What is going on?"
"You might want to call the police Miss Willman," John said. "I think Mel here was about to kill your mother."
"It's just morphine!" Mel shouted. "She usually takes morphine when she's in pain."
"A small dose every now and then," Mrs. Willman confirmed.
"How much is in that syringe?" Celia pointed.
John glanced at it, "More than a small dose."
"Why?" Celia demanded.
Mel didn't answer, so John took the liberty.
"You should talk to your mother about her will."
Ceilia's eyes widened with anger. She stormed at Mel, pushing her down into the chair.
"You do not move," she commanded as she picked up the phone next to the bed.
John stepped away from the bed and began to leave.
"Wait just a second young man. Who are you? How did you get in here?" Mrs. Willman demanded angrily.
"I'm the person who just saved your life. And, very easily." John left the room and put his finger to his earpiece. "Everything's good, Finch. We stopped her." He moved down the stairs into the foyer.
"Excellent," Finch replied.
"Sam, where are you?" John stepped out the door and stopped at the gate. "Sam?"
Sam nearly had to run to keep pace with Mr. Powell. It seemed pointless though. He was wandering aimlessly around the area. He checked his phone again.
"Powell keeps checking his phone," she reported.
"So does his wife," John's voice was quiet on the other end. "Wait…"
"What is it?" Sam asked. Mr. Powell then turned sharply and started down the steps into the subway tunnel. "Powell's heading to the subway."
"Wait, Sam."
Sam was already halfway down the stairs into the tunnel. Powell was down there. She slowed her pace and crept down the rest of the stairs into the dimly lit tunnel
"It's a syringe," John said in her ear suddenly. "Sam get out of there."
Sam was about to answer when someone grabbed onto her arm and yanked her around hard. She was flung like a rag doll out of the stairway and into the cement wall of the subway tunnel. Her skull cracked sickeningly against the concrete. Bright, white flashes burst into her vision.
Sam blinked and her stomach lurched at the agonizing pain. Something pinned her against the wall, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't see past the white flashes.
"You're not pregnant," Tace Powell's voice was close to her and very dangerous. "What the hell are you doing? Why are you following me?"
Sam felt like she was going to vomit all over herself and didn't want to risk opening her mouth to answer. "You were gonna kill her," Sam slurred at him. Those were the words she wanted to say, but she had no idea how they came out.
She felt his hands on her, searching. He found her phone and tossed it hard to the concrete, smashing it.
"Kill who?"
"Mrs. Willman – for – for the money," Sam blithered.
Powell slammed her against the wall again, knocking her head back. Sam saw the white flashes, and then the darkness.
A cool breeze gently woke her. Sam's head was splitting, but it felt clearer at least. She opened her eyes and only saw a large open space in front of her. She panicked and screamed, but something held her there, standing on the edge.
"I don't do this," Powell said behind her. "I never have, at least."
Sam then realized where she was exactly. She was still in the subway with Powell. She must have blacked out for a short while. Now, her toes were on the edge of the platform. She was leaning forward, and Powell held her by the back of her neck.
"I don't know how you found out, but… I have to make sure you don't tell anyone," Powell seemed to be convincing himself as he was telling her.
Sam heard the sound of a train coming. The air began to rush through the tunnel. She looked around and saw no one else. There was no one to save her.
Her head ached horribly, and she wanted to puke. "You're not a killer, Tace."
"That's the beauty of this, though," Powell said. "I just let you go, and the train is the thing that kills you. It happens all the time, people jumping onto the tracks, in front of trains."
"Mel isn't a killer either," Sam said.
Powell laughed bitterly. "This was her idea! We'd get the money from that old bat, and everything would be peachy! That's how it's supposed to work. That's how it will work."
The sound of the train was closer and from her position, Sam saw the light coming from the tunnel. She felt dizzy and sick, and couldn't think of anything else to say as the train closed in, closer and closer. The noise came, and the air pushed through, blowing her hair back.
"I'm sorry," Powell said, pushing Sam forward over the edge. "I don't do this."
"Then don't!" Sam shouted over the noise of the train, and teetered on her toes. When Powell let go, she would have no way of righting herself. She would do nothing but fall forward, into the train.
The train breached the edge of the tunnel, coming at her.
Sam closed her eyes as Powell's grip was released. She fell forward. Her body then jerked as another force pulled her up by her arm. Her eyes snapped open just in time to see the train pass inches in front of her nose as she fell backwards.
Her feet scrambled for purchase, but she continued to fall, over and over again until she landed hard against something that was not the concrete floor of the platform.
Sam lay on her back as she caught her breath and fought against the jarring pain in her head.
"Sam? Are you all right?" John's voice was not coming through hear earpiece that time. He was behind her, right behind her in fact.
"Um, no, no I'm not," Sam shook her head and covered her eyes. It didn't help. She gagged and rolled off of John, landing on all fours, and vomited on the concrete floor.
She gagged and spat, holding her position, afraid that she wouldn't be able to get up. Her arms and legs shook and her head still pounded. She felt John as he knelt down next to her and examined the back of her head.
"That looks pretty bad."
"It feels that way too," Sam gagged again, but there was nothing left to puke. "Where is Powell?"
"He's over there. He'll live."
Sam didn't look. She stared with watery eyes at the mess she made on the floor.
"The police are arresting Mrs. Powell. They'll come for Tace soon enough." Sam felt his arms come around her middle. "Come on, try to stand up. You need a doctor."
The lights in the tunnel sparked and blurred in her vision, and Sam clamped her hands over John's arms as he slowly helped her up.
When she found her feet she swayed against him. John held her closely to him and started walking, taking small steps. Sam followed, and moved with him, keeping her eyes on the floor. Something dark caught her eye, and Sam saw the body of Tace Powell lying still on the floor of the platform. She watched for a moment, and saw him take a breath.
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"It was Mel wasn't it? She was going to kill Mrs. Willman."
"She had a lethal dose of morphine in that syringe. It would only have taken a few minutes." John pulled Sam up, keeping her on her feet, one arm around her back, and the other holding onto her hand. "Mrs. Willman takes morphine sometimes, but only in small amounts. It would have looked like an accidental overdose."
They started the slow ascent up the stairs.
Sam fought back her gag reflex on every other step. She held onto John like she would a buoy if she were stranded in the middle of an ocean. It felt that way a little bit. Her vision blurred in and out of focus, and it felt almost like the ground was moving underneath her feet. John was the only steady thing around her.
And he stayed there with her, even though she was bloody and probably smelled like puke. Sam glanced at his hand holding onto hers. His fingers were reddish with traces of her blood.
"John?"
"Yes, Sam?"
"Thank you for finding me."