Sarkar gets up from me quickly. Standing over me, he looks a mile tall. Then he—I don’t believe this—kicks me. Over and over and over.

I am screaming.

I think I’m going to pass out. And then…

I hear a gunshot.

I move my aching, bleeding head ever so slightly. I see it all happen. I see Sarkar’s feet stumble and hesitate and stumble again.

He falls. He falls to his knees. Then he completes his collapse. He’s on the floor. On his back right next to me.

We must look just like a boyfriend and girlfriend sleeping on a blanket at the beach.

I do not know what makes me move. I do not know what motivates me. I do not know why anything is happening the way it is happening. I find the strength to kneel. I look at Sarkar’s face. His eyes are open, but they look like the eyes in a corpse. I push him onto his stomach. Blood is soaking his blue scrubs. Nothing will stop the flow of blood here. What makes me want to try to save him? Who would want to save the devil?

I find the strength to push Sarkar onto his back again. I push hard on his chest. Compression. Exertion. I lean in and hold his chin with one hand, his nose with the other hand. I put my lips on his lips and try to breathe life into him.

“Take a deep breath, and just push, one big push, just give me a short breath and then a big push.” That is what I am thinking or hearing or saying. I am in a great confusion. Is this birth or is this death?

“Lucy, it’s no use,” I hear. It is Leon Blumenthal who is speaking.

I am still hearing the word push. If I could only get Sarkar to give one good push.

Hands reach down and touch my shoulders and arms. The hands must be those of Leon Blumenthal.

Those hands lift me gently, and I am forced to remove my lips from Rudi Sarkar’s lips.

Chapter 75

Chapter 75

NEW JERSEY STATE POLICE. FBI. Harrison Police.

Officers and more officers and more officers.

Blaring sirens and flashing red lights.

Vehicles. Helicopters overhead.

Medics and sharpshooters and doctors and nurses.

It is the whole rich crazy symphony of fear and noise and general bullshit that accompanies something so awful and huge and shocking.

“Get her into the ambulance right now,” I hear.

Blumenthal? Wait. Of course not. No, I guessed wrong. They weren’t his hands. It can’t be. Blumenthal was never called. I said don’t call him. I was arrogant. I didn’t need him.

Troy. Of course it was Troy. Troy called Blumenthal. Troy ignored my orders. Thank you, Troy. Thank you, God.

“Don’t move, miss,” says a police medic. “Don’t move. You’re injured.”