Free The Death Agreement by Kristopher Mallory

thought of me.
    "I followed up on that Goodtime
lead. The techs didn't have much from the computers, a forum post
and some web searches for a pawn shop, dead ends mostly, so I
checked on the newly-arrived batch of credit card transactions. A
change in habit tipped me off."
    "What kind of change?"
    "For the past nine years, Howard
Taylor had gone down to the corner deli each morning for a cup of
coffee. Yet, no charges had come through in weeks. As for how he's
doing…well, not much better than the rest of his family I would
say."
    My stomach dropped. "He's
dead?"
    "Yes, and he's missing a part,
too."
    "Then who…" I swallowed hard. "Who
have I been speaking with? Who sent the fucking
flowers?"
    "We'll figure it out all in good
time, but really, I gotta go. Once this crossed the state line, the
FBI had to come in to serve the warrant. I'll be up in Williamsport
PA for the rest of the night."
    "But—"
    "Listen," Yang said, "fax over
what you got, the number is on my card. Still got it,
right?"
    "Yeah."
    "Okay. I'll either send someone to
pick up the original tomorrow, or I'll collect it
myself."
    "Yang?"
    "Yeah?"
    "Taylor wasn't working
alone."
    "I know," he admitted, then let
out a deep breath. "We'll talk tomorrow."
    "Christ, Yang. I don't like
this."
    "Me neither. Goodnight,
Jon."
    "Goodnight."

 
    SECTION VI -
WISHES

     
    I tried not to think as I walked back to the barracks. I had
spoken to Taylor's grandfather on multiple occasions. Or at least I
thought I had. Every question spawned more questions. Like, why was
his grandfather's body left behind when he'd dumped the rest of the
family in the pond? Maybe he loathed the old man so intensely that
those remains weren't good enough to share the same trash
bags.
    "You're beginning to think like
him, Jon."
    Laughable, I know. Oftentimes what
I say isn't what I think, even when I'm talking to myself. I wanted
to cast my thoughts away as lies, but I knew better. I wasn't
beginning to think like Taylor. Truth is I had always thought like
Taylor.
    Best friends share a certain
mental link, a bond that doesn't easily break. If Taylor had the
capacity to snap then so must I. Maybe it had already happened.
Maybe I just hadn't realized it yet?
    Before I knew it, I had climbed
the steps and stopped at the front desk. I asked the young night
watch soldier to send a fax for me, then handed him Taylor's
drawing. Next, I took out the handwritten confession, and when I
went to hand the soldier the letter, I could see that the blotches
on the pages were not ink—they were bloody finger
prints.
    I folded the letter and put it
back into my coat pocket. I don't think the soldier noticed. He
seemed focused on the picture, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. When he
realized I was staring at him, he tried to hide the revolting look
on his face, but failed miserably.
    "L.T.? Are you sure you want to send
this?"
    "That's what I said, Corporal. Is
there a problem?"
    "No, sir. No problem at
all."
    The soldier sent the fax without
taking his eyes off me. I didn't blame him for being spooked. A
picture like that would put anyone on edge. I'm actually surprised
he didn't call the MPs. Funny what a brass stick of butter on your
shoulders can get you.
    I heard the fax receipt rip from
the roll of paper. He handed it to me along with the original
document.
    "Thank you, Corporal."
    "Anything else, sir?"
    "Yeah. Keep this to yourself. I'll
know if you don't."
    Before he could respond, I turned
toward the elevators and strolled away. Too much had been dumped on
my plate that night, and the last thing I needed was Colonel
Litwell getting involved.
    I made it to my room and nearly
collapsed the moment I walked through the door. It felt as though
more had gone down in that one day than all my days in Afghanistan
combined. I looked at my bunk like a starving man looks at a
medium-rare steak.
    I couldn't recall the last time I
had a full night's sleep. The nightmares had been getting worse,
more vivid, and rest had