Slow Dance in Purgatory

Johnny watched them cover his brother’s body with a white sheet. Johnny raged and argued with the doctor, demanding that he do something. The doc didn’t even flinch when Johnny got in his face and screamed. Roger Carlton, that bastard, stood huddled with his parents not far from where the doc, who also apparently moonlighted as the county coroner, declared Billy dead. The police were questioning Roger about the gun, which was conveniently still clutched in Billy’s right hand, and about the large blood stain on the floor where Johnny had lain. Where Johnny’s body should have been but wasn’t.

“What did you see after they fell over the balcony, son?” the Police Chief repeated the question he had already asked Roger at least once.

“I told you! Billy was waving the gun around. I heard it go off, and I’m pretty sure he shot Johnny. Johnny grabbed Billy, and they fell over and landed right there! I saw them both lying there.” Roger waved his hand toward where they were loading Billy’s body on a wheeled gurney. “Neither of them was moving. I didn’t know what to do. That’s when I ran out front for help.”

“So where do you think Johnny is?” Chief Bailey asked Roger again.

“I don’t know! Why don’t you all go look for him?” Roger yelled, frustrated. His parents shushed and patted, and his father’s face got red as he stepped between the chief and his rattled son.

“Chief Bailey, he’s told you what he knows. The Kinross boy obviously wasn’t as hurt as his brother. He’s obviously run off somewhere. He’s probably afraid he’s going to get in trouble.”

“Hmmm. I guess that could be it, Mayor,” Chief Bailey replied deferentially, “but that’s an awfully big puddle of blood, and it obviously didn’t come from Billy Kinross. Doc said the fall probably broke Billy’s neck, killing him instantly. There was a little blood beneath Billy’s head, and he had blood on his shirt, probably from his brother falling against him, but nowhere else. Plus, you would think if Johnny Kinross walked on out of here, he’d have left a pretty good trail, considering the amount of blood he had already lost.”

Mayor Carlton shifted his weight uncomfortably. There was no arguing with that. There was no blood leading away from the large maroon pool now marking the center of the shiny new lobby. It was clear that someone had once lain in the blood, but it was not smeared or marred in any other way.

Johnny looked down at his chest. His tee shirt had been soaked in blood when he'd lain beside Billy. There had been a singed hole where the bullet had ripped through his shirt and burrowed itself into his chest. His shirt was now as white and hole free as when he had put it on earlier that evening. He lifted his shirt up and looked at his flat, smooth torso. It too was free of blood. He ran his hand across his chest and down his stomach. There was no wound. Not a single mark blemished his skin, and he felt no pain. He had felt that bullet hit him. He’d seen the look on Billy’s face as he’d fallen into his arms. Billy.

Johnny cried out and grabbed his chest. Now he felt pain, a fiery, tearing, blood-curdling pain exploding in his heart. Billy was gone, and he was here and no one seemed to be able to see him, though he was standing where Billy had lain.

“Billy!” Johnny cried his name again, and ran towards the entrance doors. He had to go with Billy. He had to find his momma and tell her what had happened, tell her how he’d screwed everything up. If only he hadn’t stolen that gun!

The door had been propped wide to accommodate the gurney they had put Billy on, and Johnny lurched through the opening, only to be violently repelled and hurled back into the lobby. He tumbled head over heels and landed on his back, stunned, looking up at the rounded ceiling high above him. Shaking himself, he rose to his feet and again ran through the opening, only to rebound back like he had thrown himself into a fireman’s net. Slowly, he walked to the open door. Gingerly, he stretched his hand forward and extended it through the opening. It felt like reaching into a hive of bees. Johnny yelped and jerked his hand back, clutching it to his chest and staring out into the blackness of the night. He realized that he couldn’t see anything but darkness beyond the threshold. Surely, there should be police cars and flashing lights. He knew there would be a crowd gathered, pushing forward to see the unfolding tragedy. There should be excited voices and shouts from police officers to stay back behind the perimeter. But he could neither hear nor see a thing beyond the entrance doors.

Without warning, a police deputy surged through the black curtain and collided with Johnny, who had been unable to see him coming. Johnny stumbled back with a grunt, falling to the floor once again. The deputy winced and, rubbing his shoulder fiercely where it had connected with Johnny, looked around with an incredulous look on his face.