Free The Dead Room by Chris Mooney Page A

been when she found his head resting inside the kitchen sink.
    Ben made a weird gurgling sound. As if he were drowning. She grabbed him underneath the arms, lifted him up and dragged him across the damp ground. His body jerked and he vomited blood.
    She threw his legs over the edge of the cliff, then pulled him up into a sitting position. She pushed his head forward so he could see the oily slick of water shimmering in the moonlight far below.
    ‘ N-n-n-n-n-names ,’ she sputtered against his bloody ear. ‘ P-p-p-partner… n-n-names. ’
    Ben sucked in air. Vomited.
    ‘ Tell me. Tell or… ah… ah… ’
    He didn’t answer.
    She shook him. ‘ Off ledge… throw you… water… ’
    Ben wouldn’t answer.
    ‘ Drown… in… ah… drown. Water. You’ll drown. ’
    Ben refused to speak. She let go of him and reached for the Magnum, prepared to shoot his other knee, to shoot him into pieces until he spoke.
    His body slumped against the ground. Ben didn’t cough or move – oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, no. She dropped to her knees and pressed her fingers against his slick, bloody neck.
    There, a faint pulse.
    ‘ N-N-N-Names! ’
    Jamie shook him. He stared up at her, his head bobbing from side to side.
    She slapped him across the face.
    He groaned. His lips quivered.
    ‘ TELL… AH… TELL ME .’
    Ben didn’t answer but his lips kept moving. Blood trickled out of his ears. He was bleeding out. Dying. The answers she needed were caged somewhere inside his skull and she wouldn’t know them unless Ben woke up. He had to wake up.
    She pressed her mouth against his, the slick, bloody mess sliding against her lips, and screamed air into his lungs until she was dizzy. She pulled her mouth away, gagging, then pumped his chest with her fists the way she’d been taught – three sharp pumps. Ben didn’t move or make a sound. She screamed air down into his lungs again. Ben lay still. Jamie pounded his chest with her fists and he didn’t move and she kept hitting him and screaming for him to wake up even though she knew it was too late.

14
    Jamie scrubbed the blood from her face and her scraped and swollen hands using napkins and a half-full bottle of water she’d found in a McDonald’s bag tossed on the back floor of the Honda.
    She checked her face in the side mirror. The left side was swollen but clean. She couldn’t do anything about the blood on her clothes and sneakers until she got home.
    You better pray to God you don’t get pulled over .
    She tossed the bloody napkins inside the boot. Ben stared up at her with a puzzled expression. Why so sad, hon? Did you really think I was going to tell you what you needed to know? You were going to kill me anyway, so what was in it for me?
    Ben could have told her everything and she still would have killed him. She had known that the second she decided to follow him from the drugstore.
    Jamie reached inside the boot, pinched his eye and came away with a bright blue contact lens. Ben’s real eyes were brown, just as she remembered.
    She searched his zippered pockets and found a Tiffany key ring and wallet. She wondered if one of the keys opened the house in Charlestown. Maybe the fat guy in the Hawaiian shirt lived there. Maybe he was the man who had killed her husband.
    She stuffed Ben’s things in her pockets. Slammed the boot lid shut, placed her hands on the bumper and started to push. The damp ground was muddy but sloped forward and after a moment the car started to pick up speed.
    I’ll let you in on a secret , Ben had told her. I’m a cop .
    Bullshit. An undercover cop or Fed wouldn’t have forced his way inside a house and shot two children in cold blood. A cop wouldn’t have allowed two men to shove someone’s hand inside a running waste-disposal unit and wrap a noose around their neck. A cop wouldn’t have broken into a house and slit a woman’s throat. Ben had made it up, a last-ditch attempt to spare his life.
    The front tyres dripped over the edge. Jamie gave a