The Ruse Read Free

floor.
     
    “If you loved your sister and didn’t judge her for what your parents did, you would’ve taken her call. Had you done that simple, humane task, she would be alive today. If you could fathom what love is, you would be alive today. You’re dead on the inside.” She raised her head and stared into my eyes. “I lost my parents. I feel responsible. If I could go back, I wouldn’t be driving that night. I’d had too much to drink. If I could go back, I wouldn’t be working here, for a soulless man who only cares about money. You’re more dead than I will be in the next minute.”
     
    She turned the knob.
     
    “Wait!”
     
    She stopped and looked at me.
     
    “I’m sorry. You’re right. Put the gun down and step away from the door.”
     
    “Why should I?”
     
    “Because, I can change.”
     
    She shook her head back and forth. “No one changes. This isn’t about you. I die today and ultimately, as much as it is my fault, it’s yours too.”
     
    I heard a noise in the back of the office. Maybe they were coming in through the rear entrance to surprise us. I hoped they hurried and disarmed Jessica before she did something I would regret.
     
    “Please,” I said, thinking maybe I could disarm her first. “Give me the gun. We’ll deal with this together. We’ll get through it. I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass to you. Give me a chance. Show me what it means to love again. Teach me. I’ll be your student. It’s quite evident how much love you have to give. Your parents are gone and it crushes you. My parents are gone and I laugh about it. Bring me over to your side. Teach me how it is you are the way you are. Help me and I’ll help you.”
     
    Yeah, right. As soon as you go home I’ll fire your ass and you can kill yourself there, in your own bathtub.
     
    She let go of the doorknob and turned toward me. “Are you serious? No jokes?”
     
    With a show of exaggeration, I shook my head back and forth. “No jokes. Realness here. Seriousness.”
     
    Someone was moving around in the back of the office.
     
    Good. They’re coming. I will have her gun in seconds.
     
    I reached out. Jessica shivered as she started to cry. She handed me her weapon. Then she stepped over to her desk and sat down, resting her head in her arms on top of the desk.
     
    I lifted the gun up to look for the safety.
     
    “Drop it!”
     
    A red laser pointer moved about on my chest. I looked up and saw three men dressed in some kind of ski hats, with what looked to me like military fatigues.
     
    “I’m trying to flip the safety on,” I said, my heart thumping in my chest. The last thing I wanted was these guys to see the gun in my hands.
     
    “Drop it!” the cop repeated.
     
    I turned it around, my fingers shaking, found the safety and used my other hand to flip the switch. I didn’t realize that the barrel was aimed at the cop.
     
    They fired at me.
     
    A barrage of pops resounded in my small office. My heart felt like it stopped. I lost all ability to stand. There was pain in my chest. More popping sounds. I dropped the gun. Jessica screamed somewhere off to my left. My eyes closed.
     

     
    #
     
    When I look back, I realize the text messages were a chance for me to set things right: to curb my personal evils. I could have done right by John Turnbull and sold a cheaper house to the lottery winners. I could have spent more time with my sister. I understand now why the text said: your last chance. It was my last chance at salvation.
     
    I know I saved a life.
     
    Mine.
     
    There never was an explosion at the Garrison house. Jessica had been approached by my sister six months before and together they worked out an elaborate plan to bring me back to the land of the living. My sister acted like she was dying of cancer. The texts were a collaboration of work between Jessica and my sister. Jessica knew the Turnbulls were going to call in. She knew on most Friday’s I love to buy meat for a barbecue.