Terminal

“He’s not breathing.” Roy tried again. “It’s over. How many more people have to die before you let us go, Tommy? Who’s going to be next? Me? Kim? The boy?”

“Don’t start with that shit! I told you to drop it!”

“His chest isn’t moving. What do you think that means, Tommy? That he’s sleeping? Of course not. He’s dead . . .”

Now Sheila interrupted Roy. “Shut up for a minute, Mr. Kirby. Tommy, please. Just do it.”

Before I could reply, a series of coughs rattled my chest. Bloody phlegm and spittle shot out of my mouth and onto John’s shirt, mixing with his own. It looked bright and fresh against his darker, dried stains.

“Tommy, check his pulse.”

I looked at the two of them, mother and son. They seemed so sure, so urgent.

“Please, Mr. Tommy,” Benjy pleaded. “He doesn’t have much longer until he goes to see Jesus. The light is coming. It’s just a little pinprick right now, but it’s getting bigger.”

Something in Benjy’s voice, an honesty that only a child could convey, forced me to calm down. If you have kids, then you know what I’m talking about. I looked into those big, innocent, brown eyes— eyes that should have been home watching cartoons instead of being held hostage in a bank vault, and my heart shattered.

John’s chest wasn’t moving beneath my hand. It probably hadn’t been for a while. I just hadn’t noticed.

“He’s my best friend,” I sobbed. “We grew up together, goddamn it. I’ve known him since we were little kids. It isn’t fair for him to end up like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I always watched his back, kept him out of trouble. And look what I did to him now . . .”

Using his feet, Benjy pushed away from Sheila and scooted across the floor toward me.

“He’s not dead yet, Mr. Tommy.”

Hunched over, I pressed my lips to John’s cold forehead— and froze. A soft puff of air, so slight that I almost missed it, escaped his lips. Quickly, I put my fingers to his throat.

“He’s breathing. Barely . . . but there’s no heartbeat. He’s still breathing but I can’t find a pulse.”

I felt a weak flutter beneath my fingertips, then nothing. I checked again for another breath, but all that came out of his gaping mouth was a small trickle of blood.

“Oh Christ! Come on, John— breathe.” I pounded on his chest in frustration. “Breathe man.”

“Mr. Tommy, I can help him, but we have to do it now. He’s almost to Jesus. He’s on his way, now. The light is getting brighter.”

He’s on his way now! Look out! Jesus H. Christ, here he comes! Coming at an alarming rate!

“Mr. Tommy!”

I shook my head, trying to clear it.

“I can’t, Benjy. If Sherm comes back in here and finds your hands untied . . .”

“Then you’ve got to stall him,” Sheila insisted. “Benjy only needs a minute or two.”

“She’s right, Tommy,” Roy said. “We’ve all heard what the child can do. I’ve felt it myself, and I know that you saw it. You believe, whether you want to admit it or not. And even if you don’t, isn’t your friend’s life worth the chance?”

John’s face was completely drained of color. His skin looked like snow. Snow . . .