Just Before Midnight Read online

  Just Before Midnight

  Copyright © 2014 Mark Gilroy Creative LLC

  mkgilroy.com

  Published by Sydney Lane Press,

  a division of GrayPoint Media LLC

  2000 Mallory Lane, Suite 130-229

  Franklin, Tennessee 37067

  www.sydneylanepress.com

  www.graypointmedia.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, businesses, celebrities, or locales are used only for a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons is entirely coincidental.

  EDITIONS

  Paperback: 9780972168298

  Hardcover: 9780991212453

  eBook: 9780972168281

  Version: SLP:004.2015.01

  Cover Design: Kim Russell/Wahoo Designs

  Interior Design: Bart Dawson

  International English Language Version

  Dedicated to Merrick & Naomi Gilroy.

  Thanks Mom and Dad!

  Prologue

  December 24

  Just Before Midnight

  Roger was driving too fast. The back end of his long sleek automobile started to slide out to his left. His stomach balled in a knot at the thought he might spin in circles until the car jumped the curb and hit a street lamp, telephone pole or worse.

  He cut the wheel left to correct the slide, taking him across the centerline as two headlights raced toward him, barreling down the treacherous city street straight at him even faster than he was driving. The front bumper of the approaching missile was dragging on the asphalt like a snowplow, shooting sparks despite the wet and icy conditions.

  Dear Lord.

  His life didn’t pass before his eyes but he felt a tremor of fear, certain a high-speed head-on collision was inevitable and that he was going to die along with everyone else in the car in a fiery ball of flame.

  His front wheels caught traction with a shudder and he jerked the wheel right, then left, easing out of the slide and back into his own lane of traffic.

  His heart was banging a hard staccato rhythm. It felt like a bass drum.

  He heard her crying softly, whimpering in the back seat, interrupted by a series of quick pants, then followed by a long, loud moan of pain.

  He started to turn to her out of instinct, but reminded himself, just keep your eyes on the road. All you can do for her now is drive.

  His hands gripped the leather wheel of the BMW M6 Gran Coupe. For once he didn’t feel guilty about all the money he spent on the automobile he bought as a retirement gift to himself. An extravagance his wife had said. His sons and daughter thought it was great and about time he splurged on himself.

  Roger had pictured himself in the silver streak powering through tight turns on a winding road in the mountains—dry pavement all the way—not as part of a life-or-death dash through slushy, icy urban streets.

  It hadn’t snowed for a couple days, but a light precipitation started earlier in what had seemed to be a glorious—and blessedly calm—Christmas Eve. Then the temperature dropped twenty degrees below the freezing point as night fell. The roads seemed fairly clear when he and his wife Margaret first started driving earlier in the evening, but now patches of hidden ice reached up and robbed the performance sedan of its footing.

  He glanced to his right. His wife of forty years was on her knees on the seat facing backwards. The last time she hadn’t worn a seatbelt was probably when they were dating. She was careful and cautious. Those weren’t options in current circumstances.

  Margaret was leaning as far as she could through the gap into the back seat, holding hands with and cooing words of reassurance to … well, he didn’t know the young woman’s name. He wasn’t sure how old she was either. He couldn’t tell anymore. Maybe eighteen. Maybe twenty-five.

  Have I seen her before? She does look familiar.

  The man next to her was hurt as well. He had a gash on his left temple that was still seeping blood. He held Roger’s white handkerchief to his wound. His eyes were clinched tight. His lips moved in a steady rhythm. Was he praying?

  We all need to be praying.

  Roger didn’t drink coffee in his Beamer for fear of spills. A man bleeding all over his white leather upholstery and light charcoal carpet would have made the rule laughable; except a real flesh and blood man was bleeding.

  Eyes on the road. Just drive.

  He slowed as he approached the intersection and then gunned through it despite the red light. Under the circumstances he was certain he wouldn’t get a traffic citation. The police and all emergency services, including ambulances, were tied up in an inferno down in the warehouse district.

  Traffic was light. It was almost midnight and bitterly cold. Most people would be snug at home, finishing last minute wrapping of presents to be ripped open on Christmas morning. Maybe watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” or “Home Alone” or “White Christmas” or another holiday favorite. Some families might be out at a Christmas Eve service at church, but downtown was closed off and it appeared midtown was already half asleep.

  Except for those crazy kids driving a wrecked car.

  A thought flickered in his mind … was that the car that hit … but he stopped thinking. He needed to keep his focus on the task at hand.

  He sped toward another intersection, the light turning yellow one hundred feet before he arrived. His right foot went toward the brake but he didn’t see headlight beams coming from either side, so he accelerated hard. His stomach knotted again.

  What in the heck am I doing? How did I get in the middle of this?

  He barely eased off the accelerator as his body was tugged hard right while he rounded the corner hard. Then he tensed and gasped as the rear end fishtailed again. He heard his wife bump the side door with her head and another gasp of pain from both of the backseat passengers.

  He turned the wheel deftly into the slide and the car straightened out. Despite the blood and tears and whimpers and sobs from the backseat he lifted his foot off the accelerator. He had no choice. He was beginning to feel lightheaded from the stress.

  I am going to get her there safe and sound—and then I’ll go sit down, relax, and enjoy a hard earned heart attack. You always wanted a big, fast, power car. Apparently you needed it more than you knew.

  Just drive.

  Should be there in less than three minutes. Maybe four. This is going to turn out okay.

  Then she let out a wail that pierced his body to the bone. He felt a sparkle of electricity race up his spine. The hairs on his neck stood on end.

  “Hit it Rog, the baby is coming,” Margaret said calmly next to him. It was the only time he could remember her ever telling him to drive faster.

  He stomped his foot hard on the accelerator as the needle darted from forty-five to eighty-five in a thirty-five-mile-per-hour zone.

  He had always wanted to do that but had been too afraid to try. Now he knew why. Signs and telephone posts and store fronts flashed by in a blur of colors and shadows.

  The lights of St. Elizabeth were ahead, shimmering in the misty night air like a mirage. They always put a star on the bell tower during Christmas season. Now it was his beacon. He was no wise man, he thought to himself, but he knew enough to drive as fast as he could toward the star.

  The young woman’s scream became a nonstop clanging and echoing in his head.

  So close. So far away. But this is going to turn out okay. Whatever your name is, please be okay. I�
�m doing the best I can.

  “Stay with us honey, stay with us!” Margaret called, her voice rising and breaking.

  Dear Lord, I need some help right now. Please. Right now.

  1

  Fourteen Hours Earlier

  “I’m sorry, sir,” but your card has been declined.

  She tried to look cheerful and casual. But her smile was so forced it looked like a cartoon grimace. She was a nice lady. She obviously felt bad and was embarrassed for him. She would make this financial transaction work for him if she could. He could feel her goodness like an aura surrounding her. But somehow that didn’t help him feel better. It made his situation feel even worse.

  His shift was about to start and he didn’t have more than a few bucks of cash on him, just enough to get a cup of coffee before he got in line at the airport to pick up early afternoon passengers, arriving home for the holidays.

  He was sure he had at least $50 on his debit card, the only rectangle of plastic he had left in his wallet. But he hadn’t checked his account on the computer in the common room outside the dispatcher’s office. He meant to. Another mistake in a mistake-filled life.

  He had figured it would be a great tip day and he could pay expenses the next few days with cash. He wouldn’t have a direct deposit from Acme Cab in his checking account until the 31st.

  I was being careful with money all month. Where did it go?

  His mind whirled as blood rushed to his face, the body’s confession of his failure and humiliation.

  I pick up the kids at seven. It’s my year to have Christmas with them. When am I going to have time to find something for them before then?

  His purchase had come to forty bucks. Two gifts for each of them. It wasn’t much but it was all he could do. Apparently it was more than he could do.

  “Let me get that,” the lady behind him in line whispered, thrusting her credit card toward the cashier.

  Every ounce of pride he had left in his spirit wanted to say no. Scream no. But he lowered his head and mumbled, “thanks.”

  He thought of the beggars working intersections with cardboard signs telling drivers that they were a homeless vet or Jesus loved them or they would work for food or they planned to buy booze. Is that how far he had fallen?

  His eyes were moist as he gathered the two plastic bags from the small carousel next to the checkout station.

  “Thank you,” he said, trying to make eye contact with the lady who bought his children’s toys, but not quite succeeding when he saw the concern and sympathy in the eyes of his benefactor. Sometimes kindness hurt as much as cruelty. It reminded you how needy you were.

  He headed for the exit in a daze; too numb to succumb to the tears he felt welling.

  How had his life come to this? What was next? What else could go wrong?

  It’s Christmas Eve and you’ve got your kids starting tonight. That’s all that matters. It’s going to be good. Again.

  2

  Thirteen Hours Earlier

  Is this still a dream or is someone pounding on my front door?

  Regina woke with a start. She groaned at the interruption to her sleep. She sighed. She was going to have to get up in an hour to get ready for work anyway.

  It didn’t seem right with her seniority that she had to pull a twelve-hour shift in the emergency room from 2:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve to 2:00 a.m. on Christmas morning. Who knows, she thought. This is the season of peace on earth and good will to men, so it might be quiet. But things don’t always turn out the way we hoped.

  Including now. Someone was banging on her front door.

  She pulled on a robe and grumbled all the way to the front door. Where was Douglas when she needed him?

  She looked through the spy hole and her heart sank. The police. And Donny.

  Sixteen-year-old Donny. Her baby. Two older brothers already out of the house, one in Afghanistan and one in his senior year of college. Neither gave her and Douglas more than a little trouble, the kind of trouble you expected from rambunctious boys. The kind of trouble that sometimes made you laugh, even if you weren’t going to let your boys see you smile.

  But not Donny. School suspensions, police warnings, and one arrest. The arrest was filed in Juvenile Court. It was to be destroyed if he kept his nose clean for the next two years. He had eighteen months to go. Even through a tiny circular spyhole drilled into her front door she didn’t think Donny’s nose looked very clean.

  She smoothed her mess of hair back and pulled the door open.

  “Yes?”

  “Good morning, are you Mrs. Bennett, Ma’am?”

  Regina realized what she must look like to the two men in blue that knocked on doors where there was almost always a problem waiting to greet them. Her hair was a mess. The living room was cluttered with pizza boxes and pop cans—Douglas had ordered a midnight snack for Donny and his friends while she was at work. No one thought to clean up after themselves. And here she was in her rattiest pajamas and a frayed bathrobe just before 11:00 a.m. She knew the officer was doing his best to be polite, but she felt the vibe. He was thinking she was a derelict mother who didn’t know what was going on with her wayward son. With the way she was sure she looked, he might be thinking she was sleeping off a holiday hangover.

  “I’m Regina Bennett, Officer. Is there a problem?”

  She looked past him and couldn’t help but glare at Donny. Donny kept his eyes fixed on the top of his tennis shoes and refused to make eye contact.

  Where is Douglas? Where is he when I need him? He hasn’t worked in six months. He’s at JavaStar on his laptop pretending he is applying for jobs. He’s probably doing the Crossword. Or Sudoku. I’m paying the bills, cleaning up messes, and dealing with a son that doesn’t want to be dealt with.

  “There is, Mrs. Bennett. May we come in?”

  She nodded her head numbly and led the two officers and Donny into the kitchen. Thank the Good Lord it was clean and picked up, she thought. That’s because Douglas and Donny hadn’t gone near it.

  “Cup of coffee?” she asked.

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” the officer responded.

  Uh oh. He plans to be here for a while.

  “I work over at St. Elizabeth’s and was about to put the pot on anyway,” she said, moving over to a cupboard to scoop the dark ground beans into a copper filter. The water was already in the chamber of her Mr. Coffeemaker.

  “Excuse me for not introducing myself, Mrs. Bennett, I’m Officer Jamie Carver and this is my partner, Todd King.”

  “So what’s happened?” Regina asked.

  “Your son and several of his friends ate breakfast this morning and left the restaurant without paying. They stopped at a gas station and filled the tank of an SUV and drove off, again, without paying.”

  “Hugh and Scott and Duane?” she asked Donny.

  He looked like he might mumble something but kept his eyes glued on the wood swirls of the tabletop.

  “You know I told you you had to stop hanging with them.”

  Donny didn’t answer.

  “You sure Donny was with them?” she asked Carver.

  “Yes. He had a nice big smile for the security cameras in both places.”

  Regina sighed. Not only did her son get in trouble, he almost always got caught. Or maybe he got in even more trouble than she suspected.

  The door from the small one-car garage banged open as Douglas called in a singsong voice, “Merry Christmas. Santa’s home! If you’ve been good, he just might have a nice present for you!”

  His face changed from jolly to somber in the split second he saw the police officers with Donny and Regina at the table.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You gonna tell your dad, Donny?”

  “We can help you if you cooperate, Donny,” the second officer said.

  So Donny deadpanned what happened to his dad, never making eye contact. How many times have we told him it’s time to man up and look people in the eye? The second of
ficer, Regina had already forgotten his name, took notes.

  “Do we need a lawyer?” Douglas asked. “What happens next?”

  “We want to work with you,” Officer Carver said. “What happens next depends on whether we can work out a plan with Donny that includes some apologies and restitution payments. Then we want him under parent supervision. Will one of you be here all evening?”

  Regina and Douglas nodded.

  “I’m working the ER at St. E’s tonight, but those two will,” Regina said, looking pointedly at father and son. “They aren’t going anywhere.”

  3

  Twelve Hours Earlier

  “Margaret, don’t look so sad. I’ve never seen you mope around so much.”

  “I’m trying, Roger. I just miss the kids so much.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve. We knew this day was coming. Our kids are married. Now we have to share them. The in-laws want them home for Christmas too. We’ll call them in the morning and you can talk to everybody for hours.”

  “I don’t want to talk to them on the phone. I want them here,” she said softly. “And I want my grandbabies.”

  Roger sighed. He was doing his best to stay positive, but he was feeling the same sense of absence and loneliness Margaret was.

  “We knew this day was coming when Trish got married this summer. It made sense for her and Barry to be on the same Christmas rotation as the others. We have all the kids and grandkids next year.”

  “Roger, I’m so glad you love me enough to try and cheer me up. But you keep telling me things I already know. I know the kids are where they are supposed to be. I’m just feeling a little … selfish. No, I’m feeling a lot selfish. I want my grandbabies here in the flesh. Yesterday.”