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“Help! Please, someone! Help me!”
It was a woman's voice, high-pitched and shrieking. Rachel was quite sure it was one of pure fear at the moment; she didn't detect any pain in it, though it was hard to tell for sure.
Rachel had worked with Jack for so long that she automatically took a few steps back without being asked to do so. Jack also took a few steps back but immediately reclaimed them as he surged forward. He brought his leg up and delivered a ferocious kick to the door. The handle rattled, and the door itself gave just a bit, but that was all. He drew back to attack again, only to get the same results. For his third attempt, he backed up out into the parking lot, and when he did, he unholstered his Glock. All the while, a woman that Rachel assumed was Pamela Dickerson continued to scream and wail from inside.
This time when Jack ran forward, he didn't raise his leg. He lowered his shoulder, and at the moment before he threw his entire weight into the attack, Rachel saw him grimace, fully anticipating the pain the collision would cause.
He slammed into the door, shoulder first, and this time the door popped slightly free of the frame. In a slightly pained stumble, Jack strode back one last time and delivered another kick directly to the center of the door. This time it flew open without any resistance.
Jackwent inside. From the way he held his firearm out in front of him, it was clear he had done some damage to his shoulder. As she followed behind him, she realized that she might be making a foolish mistake. If they got inside and found Dickerson armed, there was very little she could do. Yes, she was decent at talking people down from tense situations, and she did have the commonalities between the two of them at her disposal. She hoped that would be enough. She hoped that being able to sympathize and identify with Dickerson might just help disarm him in more ways than one.
She remained several steps behind Jack as he strafed through the entryway and into the living room. Rachel took the scene in from over Jack’s shoulder. There was a woman bleeding on a couch, her attacker standing over her in a semi-frozen state. There was a large knife in his hand, and it, like his hand, was streaked with blood. He had the blade situated directly over her heart, less than two inches from plunging it in.
“Don’t move another muscle, Mr. Dickerson!” Jack asked. “Drop the knifenow!”
Dickerson didn’t move, and the smile that came across his face was menacing. Still, Rachel angled herself slowly around Jack, her eyes darting back and forth between James and Pamela Dickerson.
“I’m going to see how bad it is,” Rachel whispered as she appeared on Jack’s left.
He gave a tilt of the head in response, his full attention still on James Dickerson.
“No,” Dickerson said. On the couch below him, Pamela was gasping and letting out a pained whining noise. “You don’ get it,” he said, that smile still on his face. “If you found me, I take it you know who I am… and you know what’s wrong with me. So if you think I give a damn about dying, you’re sorely mistaken. So… you drop your gun and kick it over here to me. If you don’t, I’ll kill her.”
“And I’ll shoot,”Jack barked.
“Didn’t you hear what I just said? I don’tcare!So you do your job. You save her. You kick that gun over here.” He then set his eyes on Rachel. “You, too. If you have a gun, kick it over here!”
“I’m not armed,” Rachel said, raising her hands up into the air. She then looked back to Jack and nodded, trying to communicate to him:Go ahead and drop it.
She saw him think it over a moment, his eyes looking down to the bleeding woman on the couch. With his lips and brown drawn tight in frustration, Jack did what Dickerson was asking. He held the Glock out, the barrel tilted down, and then set it on the floor.
“Kick it over,” Dickerson ordered.
Jack did. And as it slid across the floor, Rachel took another step over to Pamela. There was a single cut mark along her stomach, tearing through her shirt. It was bleeding profusely, and her wide, alarmed eyes were wandering listlessly.
“No!” Dickerson said. “You stay away!”
“You just told my partner to save her,” Rachel said. “I need to see how bad it is. This is Pamela, right? Your ex-wife?”
“Yes,” he hissed. And even in that single word, Rachel could see how sick he was… how weak. His face was so thin and colorless that it resembled a wax mold. His eyes looked sunken in as if they might very well fall into the sockets at the sign of a strong wind. It was probably taking an enormous reserve of energy for him to stand so statue-still with the blade of the knife still over Pamela’s heart.
The entire situation was tense, and Rachel honestly didn’t see how anything she could say could make it worse. She thought shemightbe able to make it better, though. She’d hoped their similarities would be able to help out, and now she had her chance.
“She didn’t understand it when told her you didn’t want to undergo any treatments, did she?”
Surprise flickered in his eyes, and for a moment, Rachel thought Dickerson was going to bring the knife away. But he seemed to regain his composure right away, his eyes now focused solely on Rachel.
“No. No she didn’t. She said… she said she didn’t want to stick around to watch me die. And then sheleft!”
“And you were already sick, right? The tumor…”
“Oh, don’t you try to reason with me. You don’t know… you don’t know the pain and the loneliness. You don’t—”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Nine months ago, my doctor discovered a tumor in my brain. A glioblastoma.”
“Bullshit!” he screamed.
“No, it’s true,” she said. She said it quickly, afraid that in the rage coming out at his expletive, he’d plunge the knife down into Pamela’s heart. “The first symptoms were strange things with my vision… sudden burst of light, little black stars. And then the dizziness. At first it came and went but it got worse with time. The doctor recommended chemotherapy treatments, and I didn’t want it. I’ve been a federal agent for almost ten years. I have a daughter; I had a family. And I didn’t want to go through the sickness and hassle of chemo just to get a few extra months… months that would be spent sick, weak, and drained.”
