If Only We'd Known

"Jackson! Jackson!" Jessica screamed as she ran to her son. His body lay crumpled and motionless atop Ian's prostrate form. Jackson's back was to Jessica, with his face turned away. One leg lay crooked while the other was splayed out. Both of Jackson's arms were under his body. Jessica didn't see any obvious sign of a wound, nor any blood, but she knew, unlike that shown on TV shows, a body stopped bleeding when the heart quit beating.

She wanted to roll Jackson over, but wasn't sure she should. She couldn't remember if that applied to all injuries, or just to some specific injuries. Her mind refused to supply an answer, so praying that she was doing the right thing, she heaved her son on to his back.

That's when she saw the blood. It was seeping out from his left shoulder. 'It isn't gushing, Jessica thought, so that's a good sign. Right?'

She cudgeled her memory, but couldn't remember what exactly the slow bleeding meant. Instead she grabbed one of her son's arms and felt for a pulse. Yes! It was there, weak but steady. Somewhat relieved, Jessica began to reach for her cell phone to call 911, when a cruel voice stopped her.

"Don't even think it!" said Ian in a hoarse gasp. Jessica turned to look at Ian, and saw that he had the gun pointed directly at her. He was still laying on the floor, but had raised the arm to bring the pistol to bear. "Fuck! He can tackle!"

"Let me call 911! Jackson is hurt badly." screeched Jessica in helpless fury.

"NO! Bitch! You don't call anyone!" groaned Ian as he raised himself to a sitting position, all the while, keeping a steady aim on his target.

"What?! You're out of your mind! I'm calling 911!" declared Jessica with finality.

"Do that, and I'll kill him, then you! You can watch him die. You'll know, as you draw your last breath, that your bastard child preceded you in death. Take that to the grave!"

"The law will catch you and burn you for our deaths, you motherfucker!" said Jessica in voice leeched of all emotion.

Slowly getting to his feet, Ian cheerfully ranted, "I don't think so! Anyway, just so you know, I hadn't planned to kill anyone. My thing was to let you live the remainder of your pathetic lives, with the unchangeable knowledge that you fucked over your husband, your bastard kids would know that their mother is a slut, and that they're bastards, and Malcolm- Well, Malcolm would know as well, but he'd also know that a lifetime was wasted! His lifetime! You think he'd want to start a new family? Have other kids with another woman? Would he even trust another woman? That is, if he found a woman willing to marry him, and that was young enough, and willing enough, to have children by an old man!"

Ian Wilson's cold laughter filled the near vacant apartment. Echoing hollowly through each empty room.

"How could you be so evil? So heartless? I thought you were-" cried Jessica in anguish.

"FUCK YOU! BITCH!" shouted Ian, his words falling on Jessica like drumbeats. "I didn't force you into anything. I didn't rape you! I didn't tie you up. No! You did it all very willingly!"

"You mislead me! You lied! You deceived me with your bullshit! I believed your lies." said Jessica, ever so calmly. She was past feeling anything anymore. Her only thoughts were to buy as much time as possible. Someone had to have heard the gunshot and called the police. She just had to wait, and help would arrive to save Jackson!

"All part of my plan." explained Ian more calmly, taking his cue from Jessica's own calm demeanor. "At least, until a few minutes ago. I really wasn't going to kill any of you. Not even Malcolm. But, when opportunity presents itself, well, plans change." said Ian, smugly pleased with himself.

"What do you mean?" asked Jessica, curious despite herself. "I don't understand. If you weren't going to kill us, then why the change of plans?"

"Oh, that. Simply put, when the hero here-" Ian nudged Jackson with his foot, and even though unconscious, elicited a painful moan at the movement, "charged me, and I shot him, it came to me. I would stage a break in- you and your son broke in to my apartment- we fought, I managed to reach my pistol and in the ensuing scuffle I shot him and you, as I was in fear for my life. Ingenious. Isn't it?"

Eyes wide in shock, Jessica couldn't believe her ears. To cold bloodily kill two people! The concept lay beyond her wildest imagination. She knew it happened all the time, according to the broadcast news, but to hear about the act, to have it spoken about in such a everyday and deliberate manner was beyond horror and terror. It boggled the mind.

"Wh-" Jessica began, but something had caught in her throat. Clearing her throat of the sudden mucus, Jessica tried again, "Why kill us?"

With a gloating smile, Ian patiently explained, "That's the ingenious part. Killing you and hero, here, would leave Malcolm adrift at sea. See, there wouldn't be any accusations, or excuses, or answers. He won't know why you did it. He'll be eaten up by his own thoughts and doubts as he wonders... Why? At least, he won't find out from you. Also, he won't be able to rid himself of the anger and madness for all the hurt you brought on him. For- ahem- obvious reasons."

Relishing his new role, Ian Wilson proceeded to explain further, "Jackson, well, I'm sure Malcolm has come to love the boy, despite the fact that he's not the father, so killing him would leave Malcolm even more desultory. Not even a fake son to carry on his name. Naturally, just the presence of the daughter would constantly remind Malcolm of his loss. So, I'll let her live. Yes, Malcolm will suffer and there is nothing he can do about it! Nothing!"

Jessica stood there, her hands clenching uselessly, aghast at Ian, as he spoke, the words coming off his tongue seemingly sounding rooted in a foreign language. Shaking her head with incredulity, she said, "You can't do such a thing! It's murder! They'll find out!"

"Maybe. But, I'm willing to bet the cops won't ever have a clue. After all, it'll be my word against- Oh yes, two dead people!" Laughing uproariously, Ian stepped back, and took careful aim at Jackson's still form. "Now, it's time. No more talking!"

"WAIT!" screamed Jessica, leaping off the floor to launch her self at Ian.

Looking up at the same time as Jessica made her move, Ian swung around quickly to bring his pistol to bear on the enraged woman hurling at him. She was a perfect target. Well within sight range of the pistol he held. He couldn't miss. Unlike her son, who was zig-zagging, he had taken a snap shot and got lucky, but it had been close. He really didn't have time to aim with the woman, but Jessica was perfectly lined up. With a squeeze of the trigger, the gun went off, and he imagined seeing the bullet leave the barrel and hitting Jessica dead center of body mass. Her face held surprise, and that look people get when they...Lose! Jessica fell boneless to the floor, skidding a few inches before coming to an abrupt stop. She lay face down with her body twisted into a grotesque pose.

She wasn't moving. And as far as Ian could tell, she wasn't even breathing. But, to be sure, he put a round into the woman's head, at point blank range. Jessica's head shattered, sending fragments of bone, and brain matter, all over the place. Some of the gore even splattered on his pants leg. 'That was messy,' Ian thought, 'note to self, no more close up head shots inside apartments.'

"I wanted you to watch your son's demise, but you just had to be first." spoke Ian to the corpse of the woman who he'd once physically used for sex and revenge. "You just couldn't wait. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk."

Turning back to the boy, he was about to aim when there was a loud tearing and snapping sound, and his apartment seemed to shake.

Before Ian could turn to face whatever it was, he heard a loud bang, louder than his own pistol, and felt someone punch him in the chest. There wasn't any pain, but he seemed to be having trouble breathing. Ian looked around, and for some reason he was laying on the floor, looking up. However, his vision seemed blurry. Although, he heard voices speaking, he couldn't make head or tails of what they said. Then a loud buzzing began and the sound grew so loud that Ian tried to cover his ears. But, his arms and hands didn't seem to work. Oh, well, he was so sleepy. He needed a nap. He hadn't realized how tiring shooting people truly was. With a gurgling sound, Ian entered a deep darkness, where he knew a peaceful rest awaited him.

~N~

Malcolm had gotten to the condominium in good time, even if he'd bent the speed law, a little.

Being that it was Saturday morning, most of the building's residents were still at home, meaning he had to find parking. He'd spent at least five minutes driving around until he found an empty slot.

In approaching the main entrance he noticed that the glass front doors were magnetically secured and access was granted by a key card. You either had to be a resident, or the guest of a resident, to enter. Further more, facing the entrance, there was a horse-shoe shaped security desk planted right in the middle of the building's main lobby, with a seemingly alert security guard sitting behind the desk. Malcolm knew of two people who lived in this building, but he wasn't sure that they'd let him in without question.

Getting the guard's attention, Malcolm rapidly spoke through the speaker just to the side of the door, explaining his need to enter the building. Although the guard listened to Malcolm's story, he refused to let him in,

However, as luck would have it, as Malcolm stood outside contemplating how he would get inside, while the overly large security guard eyed him suspiciously, a tenant stepped out one of the lobby's elevators. And, it was one of the two people Malcolm knew who lived in the building. As the tenant exited the building, Malcolm engaged him in conversation.

"Hello, William. Been awhile."

"Damn! If it ain't Malcolm Harris! How ya been, bud?"

After exchanging pleasantries for a few seconds, Malcolm quickly explained the situation to William, emphasizing how dire he believed it be. Thinking for a second and slowly rubbing his stubbly jaw, William looked at Malcolm and the desperation he held in his eyes. Making his mind up, William turned back to the doors, swiped his card, and held one door open, motioning Malcolm to enter.

"Say, Hank, this here is Malcolm Harris. A good friend of mine. He thinks there's trouble brewing in Wilson's place. Would you mind taking him up there and checking it out?"

"Sir, he's not on Mr. Wilson's guest list. I can't-" Hank started to explain.

"Hank. I'm not asking." said William in a quite but very serious tone of voice. As an after thought he added, "I'll take full responsibility for Mr. Harris."

The guard had gone from being sour faced to glowering, but nodded his head at the command from William Casey. If Casey hadn't been the president of the building's tenant committee, Hank would have given him the same answer he gave Malcolm. But...

"Yes, sir!" said the security guard curtly.

"Good. Thanks, Hank. I knew I could count on you." Turning back to Malcolm, William said in stage whisper, "Whatever you do, please don't cause any problems. Okay, Malcolm?"

Nodding his understanding, Malcolm said, "Sure. No problem. You don't know how much I appreciate this, William. Thanks!"

Smiling at Malcolm, William said, "Great! Okay, have to run. I'll see you later. Hope it turns out okay for you and the missus."

William disappeared from sight within seconds, hurrying to whatever errand he was on.

Malcolm and Hank eyed each other warily for a couple of seconds, before Malcolm growled, "Well, lets' go!"

Before the guard could respond, both men heard the distinctive sound of a gun shot. It was somewhat muffled but there was no debating what the noise was. Then the even more muffled scream. It sounded like a woman in pain.

The two men exchanged a surprised look with each other before rushing toward the sound.

Wilson's place turned out to be on the ground floor, and incidentally, the least expensive of the condos, otherwise the gun shot might not have been heard at all by Malcolm and the security guard. Just as they arrived at Wilson's apartment, both men heard a angry scream and then a shot, followed a couple of seconds later by another shot.

The guard halted before the door of Wilson's condo and hesitated, master key card in hand. Apparently, Hank, having second thoughts, had decided prudence was the better option. Malcolm, stopped next to the guard and without a thought, snatched the key card from the motionless guard's hand in a smooth practiced motion, and quickly inserted and removed it from the lock, before Hank could recover from his surprise and react.

The soft click of the lock releasing the latch had barely reached Malcolm's ears before he tried barreling through the door. However, the door had a door guard on it, and it was engaged. With a loud grunt, Malcolm quickly stepped back and kicked the door hard, as he'd been taught so long ago in the Army. The door flew open and slammed into the wall behind it, deeply embedding it's large handle into the sheet-rock. Malcolm was moving through the doorway even before the door had finished swinging into the wall. Quickly turning to run around the entry's dividing wall, Malcolm easily pulled his pistol out from under his shirt and held it up and in front.

His mind couldn't believe what his eyes witnessed before them.

There was Wilson, pistol in hand, aiming downward, toward his son's prone body. There was blood splattered on Wilson and in one area of the floor. Malcolm couldn't process the overall visuals rapidly enough to make sense of everything, but in the same instant as he saw Wilson pointing the pistol, Malcolm pulled the trigger of his own pistol. The look of utter surprise on Wilson's face as he he crumpled into a heap where he stood, was affirmation enough for Malcolm, that he'd hit his target.

Running up to Wilson, Malcolm kicked the weapon away from the gasping man, before checking on his son. Jackson was breathing, if a bit shallowly. His blood soaked shirt indicated a wound, and Malcolm quickly located the small hole in the shirt caused by the bullet that had struck his son. It was a chest wound, and Malcolm knew that sort of wound was very bad. Hearing a familiar but still odd sound behind him, he turned to see the security guard pointing an automatic pistol at him.

"My son has been shot. Call nine-one-one!" yelled Malcolm, trying to distract the guard as well as get him to call for help. "I'm going to apply compression!"

Hank, unused to such violent drama, decided to do what he'd been told. It felt comfortable having someone else be responsible. Holstering his pistol, he grabbed his cell phone and called for help.

As Malcolm administered what first aid he could, he heard the overly loud voice of the security guard talking, but he ignored it and instead took a quick look around.

At first, Malcolm couldn't understand what he was seeing, it just hadn't registered, since his initial concern was focused on his son, but as he noticed what else lay before him, his eyes widened and his stomach heaved as he recognized the splattered red mess that was his wife. Had been, his wife.

There was no sense in checking for life, Malcolm could tell from how her head was shattered that she was long gone. What appeared to be an eye was laying a few inches from Jessica's face, what was left of it, that is. Bits of bloody bone were also laying about, along with a couple of teeth. One tooth still had part of the gum attached to it.

Unable to stop his stomach from heaving, Malcolm turned his head away from his son and retched atop the body of Ian Wilson. The volume of vomitus that Malcolm spewed seemed to exceed what he had had for breakfast. He continued to hurl for several seconds, until it was no more than bile. Then dry heaves. The bitter taste in his mouth seemed to bring everything into sharp contrast. As his thoughts strayed, he thought of Jessica in their earlier years. He recalled how they first met. The first time he met her parents. Meeting her sister. The dates they went on. The fights they had, and the couple of times he and Jessica had broken up.

Not in a million years would Malcolm have thought their relationship would end like this. What Jessica had done to them, well, he was done with her. There was no going back. Maybe there would have been no forgiveness, but as much as he wanted to, he would've never have hurt Jessica. He felt a sorrow for his children. And if Malcolm were honest with himself, he would have admitted that he felt a deep sorrow for himself and Jessica, as well. Of a sudden, Malcolm felt his eyes get hot and somewhat watery. Shaking his head, he banished all further thoughts of his wife and turned his attention back to Jackson.

Throughout all this, Malcolm never once relinquished the pressure on his son's shoulder wound.

Careful not to turn his head too much as to bring Jessica's body into view, Malcolm set his eyes on his son. Although pale, Jackson appeared to be breathing without difficulty.

Glancing at Hank, Malcolm asked him in a shaky voice, "How long before the EMTs get here?"

Hank, still on the phone, passed on the question to the 911 operator, who informed him they were five minutes away.

That was too long! Sighing in frustration at the answer, Malcolm thought a moment before saying, in a steadier voice, "It might be a good idea for you to return to the lobby, so you can let the EMTs in. Don't you think? Time is crucial for my son."

Cursing at his thoughtlessness, and the fact that a man he didn't really like had reminded him of his job, Hank spoke into the phone as he headed out of the bloody apartment, saying in parting, "Don't shoot anyone else!" The remark was meant to be sarcastic but Malcolm had his thoughts else where and didn't pay Hank's words any attention.

It was less then five minutes before the first responder entered. To Malcolm it had seemed like hours as he carefully monitored his son's condition for any changes.

The two EMTs took over and Malcolm suddenly had nothing to do but watch as one of the EMTs checked his son's vitals, started a IV, and prepared him for transport. They also checked on Wilson and found him to be alive, barely. The two EMTs split the two patients between them until a second unit arrived. As soon as the second medical team arrived and began prepping Wilson, the first team hustled Jackson out of the building. And, then, the cops arrived.

Malcolm had no sooner stepped out of the building, following in the wake of the gurney carrying Jackson and the two EMTs, when he saw the security guard pointing him out to a thin man dressed in a rumpled dark blue suit. There was a uniformed officer with him, and more arriving in their vehicles, blue lights flashing and sirens blaring, as Malcolm looked on.

Before Malcolm could board the ambulance, to ride along with Jackson to the hospital, the man with the rumpled suit, jogged up to him, saying authoritatively, "Mr. Harris? Please wait. I'm Detective Hunt and I have some questions for you."

Turning to face the policeman, Malcolm's look was one of icy coldness. "I'm sorry detective, but my son has been shot and I need to go with him, since he's unconscious and no doubt the medical staff will also have some questions. More along the lines of his medical history, though."

After a long thoughtful look at Malcolm, the detective nodded his head slowly, "Alright, Mister Harris. I'll be right along to take your statement. Don't leave the hospital."

Without replying, Malcolm turned and entered the now waiting ambulance.

~N~

It was more like six hours before the detective arrived, along with two uniformed officers. By then, Jackson was out of surgery and resting easily. As it turned out, the bullet hadn't hit anything vital, however, Jackson would face a somewhat lengthy and painful convalescence, and maybe some physical therapy. His son was lucky. The bullet had hit one rib, been deflected, and ended up lodged in another rib, breaking that rib. The round had also torn some of the chest muscles and that's where therapy would came in. It would be a tough time for Jackson, but the important thing is, his son was going to be alright.