Page 38 of Her Last Promise

Rachel risked a quick glance back.Her partner had managed to prop himself against the wall, his face pale but determined.Through what must have been excruciating pain, he gave her a thumbs-up, his grimace morphing into something that might have been trying to be a reassuring smile.“I’m good,” he said weakly.“Go…”

Relief flooded through her—the shot wasn't fatal.The knowledge steadied her hands and cleared her mind.She surged forward, following the blood trail into the room, her flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.What it revealed made her breath catch in her throat.

Two hospital beds dominated the small space, each with an IV stand positioned beside it.On the first bed lay James Harrison, his face slack and unnaturally peaceful.The IV line snaked from his arm up to a bag filled with clear liquid, dripping steadily through the tubing.She couldn’t tell if he was already dead or just trapped in whatever chemical darkness Mitchell had confined him to.

The second bed held Jessica Martinez, and the sight of her made Rachel's stomach turn.Thick leather straps bound her wrists and ankles to the bed frame, the restraints cutting into her skin as she thrashed against them.A cloth gag muffled her desperate attempts to scream, her eyes wide with terror above it.Sweat had plastered her dark hair to her forehead, and tears tracked down her temples into her hairline.

And there, beside Jessica's bed, stood Michael Mitchell.His left leg was bleeding freely, causing him to favor his right leg.But he seemed barely to notice it.His gun was pressed against Jessica's temple, and his face wore an expression of eerie calm.

"Drop it," he said, his voice steady despite everything."Drop the gun or I'll kill her."

"Michael," Rachel started, trying to keep her voice level, "think about what you're doing.This isn't—"

"Shut up!"The calm cracked, just for a moment."Just shut up!You don't understand any of this.Set the gun down now or Iwillshoot her!"

Rachel could see Jessica's eyes squeeze shut, fresh tears spilling down her face.The woman's chest heaved with terrified, muffled sobs.She was beyond terrified at this point, her mind and body both in a state of panic; her limbs trembled involuntarily beneath the restraints.

Mitchell's finger tightened on the trigger, and Rachel knew he meant it.Slowly, telegraphing every movement, she began to lower her weapon.

“Fine,” she said.“I’m lowering my weapon, Michael.”

"That's it," Mitchell said, his voice regaining that unsettling steadiness."Nice and easy."

Rachel set her gun on the floor, her mind racing.Mitchell kept his word, lowering his own weapon slightly—but then he reached for the IV line connected to Harrison's arm.

"I just wanted them to understand," he said, his voice taking on an almost dreamy quality."To know what it felt like to be trapped inside your own body, desperate for an escape that would never come.Like my mother.They did that to her.They kept her prisoner in her own flesh."

As he spoke, his attention drifted between Harrison and Jessica, his guard dropping by fractions.Rachel watched, waited, measured the distance between them.She realized that in his worry about the gun, Michael hadn’t even mentioned the flashlight she was carrying.And really, why would he?

"I made mistakes with the judge and the doctor, but I think I got it right with Mr.Harrison, here.I think I—"

Rachel acted as quickly as she could.She hurled the flashlight forward with speedball force.It spun from hand in a smooth arc, end over end through the air.The beam created a strobing effect as it rotated, casting wild shadows that danced across the walls and ceiling.For a split second, the room became a chaos of light and shadow, reality broken into stuttering frames like an old film reel.

The flashlight connected with Michael's face with a sound like a baseball hitting a mitt.The flashlight clattered and she heard something crunch.He howled in pain, stumbling backward but managing to bring his gun up.Rachel was already moving, crossing the distance between them in three long strides.She hit him low and hard, driving her shoulder into his midsection.His gun went off, but it was pointed at the ceiling as they stumbled back together.

They went down in a heap, crashing into the IV stand.It toppled with a metallic clatter, the bag bursting as it hit the floor.Their momentum carried them into the wall, and the cheap wood paneling cracked and splintered under their combined weight.Michael's gun arm flailed wildly, and Rachel grabbed his wrist, twisting it hard.She could feel the tendons and bones grinding under her grip, knew that one more degree of pressure would snap something—

And then Novak was there.A single, strong wrapped around Mitchell's throat from behind.Together, they forced him face-down onto the floor.Rachel could hear Novak's breath coming in sharp hisses of pain, but his grip never wavered.She did notice, however, that he was doing the vast majority of work with only his right arm.She managed to get the handcuffs from her belt and clicked them around Michael's wrists, perhaps a bit tighter than strictly necessary.

Only then did she take a proper look at Novak's wound.The bullet had caught him low in the left shoulder, out along the edge.His shirt was soaked with blood around the entry wound, but the flow had already slowed to a trickle.It could have been so much worse.

Rachel turned her attention to Jessica, working quickly to undo the restraints that held he down.The woman's wrists were raw and bleeding where she'd fought against the straps, and when Rachel finally removed the gag, she broke into heaving sobs.She was trying to form words, but they were lost in the guttural noises that tore from her chest.

"It's okay," Rachel said softly, helping her sit up."It's over.You're safe now."

Behind her, she could hear Novak checking Harrison's vital signs."He's alive," he reported, his voice tight with pain but professional.He pulled out his phone, dialing with his right hand.As Rachel freed the last of Jessica’s straps, she heard Novak behind her.

"This is Agent Novak.We need immediate medical assistance at 1247 Oakley Street.Multiple victims, one officer-involved shooting..."

Rachel tuned out the rest of the call, focusing instead on comforting Jessica while keeping one eye on the now-subdued Michael Mitchell.He lay quiet on the floor, but she could see his shoulders shaking.Whether from pain, fear, or something else entirely, she couldn't tell.He showed no real urgency to get up and remained quiet.She wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.And she honestly didn’t care.They had found him; they had stopped him and saved two lives.

The old box TV on the dresser reflected their tableau like a dark mirror: the wounded agent making his call, the traumatized woman clutching Rachel's arm, the unconscious man in his hospital bed, and the killer lying handcuffed on the floor of his childhood home.It had ended where it began, full circle in the worst possible way.

It took less than three minutes before Rachel could hear sirens approaching.She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sound wash over her.When she opened her eyes again, she caught Novak's gaze.He gave her another thumbs-up, this one accompanied by a genuine, if pain-filled, smile.Rachel found herself smiling back, the adrenaline slowly beginning to ebb from her system.

“You okay?”she asked Novak.

“Yeah.I think…I think it’s.superficial wound.”

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