Snapshot
August 18 A panicked voice asked, “Where’re you taking me?” “Shut up.” “Who are you? What do you want?” Tully climbed over the seat and stood before the cuffed and blindfolded man on the floor. He kept his balance as the van took a hard right turn. He reached for the duct-tape. “There’s not gonna be anymore talking.” “Please—” Tully slapped him. Slapped him back the other way and cut off a foot-long piece of tape. “No!” The man whipped his head back and forth. “No, please!” Tully kicked him in the stomach hard enough to make him gag and fall to the right. He stepped on his temple, taped his mouth, and then pulled him back to sitting. The man moaned sickly through the tape. Tully stepped back over the center console and sat in the passenger seat. He turned to Jason Ellzy, the driver, and decided he looked totally freaked out. “Jas, man, it’s all good. But ease up on the gas, will ya? Don’t need the extra attention.” “Okay.” Jason refocused on the road. “You’re right.” “Put your seatbelt on.” “Okay.” “Ten more miles and then we take a left. You got this.” “I can’t believe this’ actually happening.” “In twenty minutes it’ll be over.” Tears started. Jason backhanded his cheeks. Tully said, “Keep it in the lane, man, it’s almost over.” Two more lines drew down Jason’s cheeks, so he backhanded them again. He was a tall man that carried no extra weight. As a physical therapist, he knew the importance of staying in shape, so he moonlighted teaching Krav Magra. “It’s coming up.” Tully had it memorized since their cell phones were back in their respective homes. He chose this route because there were no cameras facing the desolate road. Tully pointed. “There’s a dirt path after that telephone pole.” The van slowed, blinker on. It was past midnight so there was no one in either direction. They turned down a narrow rutted road filled with oversized rocks. On either side were tall trees standing above thick walls of undergrowth that slapped against the van. The man in the back moaned every time the terrain tossed him against the wall. Tully said, “Another half mile and there’s a clearing on the right.” At his feet was a toolbox. He opened it and pushed aside wrenches and screwdrivers to get to the Sig Sauer 9mm. He snapped back the slide to load the chamber and then set the safety. Jason took a long look when he saw the gun laying on the console between them. Tully noticed this but said nothing. Like Jason, this was a first time event for him as well. His pulse felt like it was pounding through his neck. “Here it is.” Tully pointed. “Nudge us in here and we’ll walk the rest of the way.” Without the use of his mouth, the man in back started hyperventilating through his nose. Snot blew out his nostrils. Jason shut down the engine. Tully didn’t want the silence to allow for second guessing, so he said, “Let’s go.” They slid open the van door as the man blindly kicked, thrashing, the sweat and snot flying from his face. With his hands taped behind him, he could only flop and kick. “Stop it.” Tully tried to grab him. “Let’s go. You earned this.” But the man kept scrawling and kicking. He sounded like a sick animal mewling through the tape. “Enough!” Tully yanked him out by the feet. The man hit the ground and thrashed until Tully kicked him in the stomach hard enough to ball him up. He got the gun from the van and, since he was a carpenter and not a killer, awkwardly placed it against the man’s head. “Stop making this worse.” The man seemed to be trying to speak through the tape, so Tully yanked it off. “Oh thank God. Please. Please, my name is Daniel Ryanns, my family, we have money.” “This ain’t a robbery.” Tully looked at Jason whose face seemed stuck between rage and awe. “Now stand up.” “We have money, we can pay you however much—” “Stand up.” “Okay, okay.” It was hard with his hands bound, but Daniel Ryanns finally stood. He was in his mid-thirties with expensively cut blond hair. This was not a place he would ever visit. “Who are you?” “The ghost of Christmas past.” Tully mashed the gun into Daniel’s cheek. “Do you want to get shot?” “Okay, okay. Oh God, I can’t see anything!” “Walk straight.” Tully pushed him. “Get moving.” “I’m sure we can figure this out.” Blindfolded, Daniel slowly stepped ahead. “I don’t want to walk into anything!” Tully pushed him again. “Walk.” Jason, who was the reason all of this was happening, took the gun from Tully and followed them into the woods. *** August 10 One Week Earlier As a practicing physical therapist, Jason Ellzy had seen patients in unimaginable pain. He had helped hundreds of people over a fifteen year career. People who had been mangled in car wrecks or falls or had an unfortunate day at work. Alleviating and fixing these ailments filled him with pride. He was sipping coffee in a half-empty diner when Tully walked in covered in saw dust and dirt. He took the bandana off his shaved head and slid into the booth, asking, “How long have we known each other?” Jason blinked. “Twenty years?” “I’ve never seen you look like this, bro. I mean it’s rough. You still not sleeping?” “Not a wink.” “It’s been three weeks, man.” “I know. Believe me. Talking about it every time you see me ain’t helping.” “I hear ya. I’m with ya.” Tully ordered coffee from a bleary-eyed waitress. “You know he bonded out, right?” Jason stared into his cup. “That’s what I heard.” “I don’t know, bro. I’m worried about you.” “I know.” The coffee arrived and Tully sipped it. “He’s connected as fuck. The whole family. They’ve never answered for anything in a hundred years.” “He’s gonna walk, isn’t he?” “Man …” Tully did not want to answer the obvious. “Would it surprise you?” A sudden grief did funny things to Jason’s face. It scrunched and twisted, but the tears came anyway. “I don’t think I could live with that.” “Me neither.” Tully flipped over a place mat and pulled a carpenter’s pencil from his jeans. “Let’s get started …” *** A lifetime before, a 2x4 nailed into a roof blew out and hit the ground seconds before Tully joined it in the mud. The twenty-five foot fall dislocated his hip. Out of work for months, the only reason he recovered was because Jason, his best friend, was an osteopath/PT who saw Tully for free. Ski accidents, road bike crashes, and jobsite disasters involving ladders and roofs were only a few of the ways Tully landed on Jason’s table. On the weekends they rode bikes and shot guns and survived Jason’s eventual divorce from a childhood sweetheart who wanted out. It was then that Uncle Tully doubled as babysitter so Jason could train Krav Magra or teach a class or even go on a date. In turn, Tully got to watch the kids morph into people. When Samantha got her period but had run out of gear, Tully flew to the pharmacy. When he let little Brian build a jump in the backyard before he promptly broke his leg, Tully called Jason from the ER riddled with guilt. He even left work if the kids needed a ride from school. But that stopped after Samantha got her license. Incredibly, two years later she was getting ready for college. *** July 17 Three Weeks Earlier Jason’s ex-wife had the kids, so he and Tully went shooting at the gun range before grabbing a few beers. Jason was not a drinker, but Tully was a bad influence, so Jason finally had to get them a ride home. They were at Jason’s grilling late night burgers when a state police cruiser pulled into the driveway. Since one of their close friends was a trooper, Jason said, “Fucking Smitty. Surprised he didn’t come flying in lights and sirens like last time.” “Yeah, man, that wasn’t cool at all.” “Huh.” Jason squinted. “That ain’t Smitty …” Tully was busy in the kitchen. “Maybe you’re a wanted man.” “We didn’t even drive home.” Jason pushed open the screen. “Evening trooper.” “Evening, sir.” The trooper was 6’3” and filled the doorway. “May I come in?” “Of course.” Jason closed the door behind him. The trooper looked at his notepad. “Is either one of you Jason Ellzy?” “That’s me.” Jason shook his hand, perplexed. “Mr. Ellzy, we received a call for an assault this evening.” “Excuse me?” “Do you have a daughter? A miss Samantha Ellzy?” “Yes. Her mother has her this weekend …” Jason felt a thud through the alcohol and realized it was the bottom of his stomach. “What is this? What’s happened? She and her mother and brother went out to eat.” “I hear you, sir.” The trooper held out a license. “Is this your daughter?” “Yes …” He searched his pockets for his phone. “There must be some kind of mistake. Lemme call my wife.” “Sir, please. Trust me, it’s her.” “But …” “The fire department did everything they could …” “Fire department?” “She was alive when she was found … I’m very sorry but I’m afraid she’s passed away.” “She’s dead?” “What the fuck is going on?” Tully stepped in from the kitchen. “She can’t be dead. She just went out to eat.” The trooper said, “Excuse me, sir, who are you?” “A family friend.” “This is the worst part of my job.” Jason said, “What do you mean assaulted?” “I have a daughter myself—” “Tell me what’s happened!” “Sir…” There was no other way to say it. “She was raped and stabbed six times.” “Please no. No, no, no. Don’t let this be true.” “She lost a lot of blood, sir. They did everything they could. I’m very sorry.” “This …” Jason was only listening in the sudden dark. “Does her mother know?” “Not yet. This was listed as her primary address.” Jason sat down instead of collapsing. *** September 2 Seven Weeks Later Tully spent six hours on a ten mile stretch of road. He drove it again and again. Then he biked it slowly. He cased the apartment where the girlfriend lived. There were no cameras anywhere in between there and the turn off. He would’ve called Jason but he had made sure to leave his cell phone at home. *** September 3 The Next Day “The whole thing?” Jason asked. He was sitting next to Tully on a bench at Basker’s Park. There were kids and people enjoying a sunny day near where these two men barely existed. Tully said, “Drove it a dozen times. Biked it too. There ain’t nothing, man.” They both stared ahead. Kids played Frisbee. A man shouted for his dog. “It’s one thing to talk about it,” Tully said. “Imagine the real deal is gonna be pretty goddamn bad.” “It might’ve been different, you know?” “I hear ya. We never should’ve gone to the morgue.” Knowing it was going to be bad was one thing, but when Jason broke down and bent to hug her one last time, the sheet got yanked back accidentally to reveal the first stab wound. Then the next and the next. Tully tried to stop him from seeing what someone had done to Samantha’s bleached dead body. She lost a lot of blood, sir. The naked beauty of his little baby slashed and punctured and stolen away. The coroner’s assistant politely tried to cover her up. “No.” Jason pulled the sheet back down. A minute later Tully said, “Jas.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “Meant to show you this. Found it the other day.” From his wallet, he pulled a wrinkled sixteen-year-old photograph. It was Tully in his dirty work clothes and bandana standing behind Samantha, who was two-years-old and could barely stand. Tully was grinning and holding her pigtails straight up while her tiny hands shot toward the camera, the smile one she never lost. “Put the sheet back, man, this is her.” Jason blinked. He re-covered her body and hugged Tully, the photograph locked in his shaking hand. *** October 6 Four Weeks Later The interview room at State Police Headquarters had a table, two uncomfortable chairs, and a pair of cameras. Jason Ellzy was sitting across from a detective who had a flattop haircut and wrinkled suit. He seemed to be a man of few words and even fewer emotions. He said to Jason, “So you’re saying you never left your house.” “Yes, sir. Ordered pizza at around eight and got pay-per-view on the TV. Fell asleep on the couch after that.” “If it was me, and that was my kid …” “You say you’re trying to exclude me. But you keep coming back to the same thing.” “I can’t say I’d blame you either …” “Detective … check my credit card. The pizza was even delivered. Check with the cable company. I’m telling you I never left the house.” “You don’t find this odd? I mean what’re the chances?” “Good and bad, detective, people die every day.” Consistency was the one thing Freddy Corsair had stressed. A childhood friend of Jason’s, Freddy had been a city cop for seventeen years until Internal Affairs busted him stealing cocaine off a wired informant. Freddy served three years at Medfield, lost his pension, and was released with no love for his former profession. After Jason posed hypothetical’s with vague or nonexistent details, Freddy ultimately told him, “Listen, the only point of interrogating anyone is to trip them up, break their story down. Simpler the better. Getting cute in a shark tank ain’t smart.” Now, the detective clicked his pen a half dozen times. “Me and the wife watch movies. What’d you watch?” “Hurt Locker.” “Huh. That’s a damn good movie.” “It was some crazy shit.” “Them boys saw some shit. You ever serve?” “No.” “I was in the Marines. Bravo Company, 3rd Battalion, Second Marines. Loved it. We had each other’s backs. Kind of like you and your buddy. What’s his name?” “Who?” “The guy that was there the night of notification. You two went out drinking, right? Pretty good friends?” “Sure.” “What’s his story?” “Tully? He’s a carpenter.” “Short fuse kind of guy?” “No.” Jason frowned. “He’s just a carpenter. Works like six days a week.” “I wonder where he was Friday night?” “You should ask him. I don’t spend every second with the guy.” “It’s kind of crazy though, right? You gotta admit, might be the coincidence of all time.” “You’ll pardon my lack of empathy, detective.” Jason made a show of checking the time. “If there’s nothing else, I got a whole afternoon of paperwork at the office.” “If you really had nothing to do with this, you wouldn’t mind us searching your house would you?” “For what?” “How about a gun for starters? Duct-tape?” “My .45 is registered, I’m licensed, it’s kept in a gun safe in my bedroom.” He took his house key off the ring and slid it across the table. “Have at it.” “I want what’s in that gun safe.” “Then let’s go.” Jason took the key back and stood up. “Just don’t wreck the place, because you’re not gonna find anything.” “You better hope not, Mr. Ellzy. First degree murder in this state can still carry death.” “Talk like that is gonna force me to call a lawyer, detective. But I’ll temporarily side-step the disrespect this department apparently shows victims’ families.” The detective swung open the door and followed him out. *** “By the way, what kind of name is Tully?” Tully, stuck in a box with the same cop and two cameras, was getting sick of the games. “I’m James the III, my dad is James the II, and his dad’s the first. We’re all nicknamed Tully.” “James McMaster the III. Or just Tully, right?” “That’s right.” “The one part of this story that intrigues me most is the van. Strange, don’t you think?” “Haven’t we been over this?” “A guy you knew. His van gets stolen and used in the commission of an aggravated kidnapping and felony murder of a man accused of raping and murdering your best friend’s daughter? That’s some fucking coincidence. This whole caper is coincidence after coincidence. Like two guys thinking they could pull off the perfect crime.” “Fuck you. How about that? How about you and the rest of them never putting a finger on him ever?” “He bonded out, didn’t he?” “So what? He shouldn’t have been out for the last twenty years. Ain’t nobody forgotten what happened. So no, I ain’t exactly shedding tears. Whoever’s van and whatever don’t mean shit. Someone just finally gave him what he’s always had coming and there ain’t no one in this county that would say otherwise. Not even the cops. At least the ones that aren’t already on the payroll.” “That’s a bold statement.” “Accusing innocent people of murder is even bolder, don’t you think?” “Nobody’s accusing—” “I think this is where I ask for my attorney.” Tully finished his soda and looked at the camera. “This interview’s over.” *** November 3 One Month Later When word of his depression spread, Jason’s family drove in to celebrate what would have been Samantha’s nineteenth birthday. In the backyard sunshine, his cousins’ kids played while uncles and aunts reconnected. On a table next to the food was a picture of a smiling Samantha to help push back the sorrow. Tully arrived after work covered in the usual sawdust and grime. Jason poured them two beers from the keg. The sound of kids filled the gathering dusk as he and Tully walked the perimeter. They both watched Jason’s sixteen-year-old son, Brian, toss a football with a cousin. Tully asked, “How’s junior?” “He’s good, man. Coming around, you know?” “At least someone is.” “Ease up. I’ll get there. Just gonna take some time.” Tully sipped his beer. “Must be nice to sleep again.” “Right? That was a bad fucking month, man.” “Dude, this is way off topic, but I forgot how hot your cousins are.” “I know. We got good genes.” “I’m a creepy bastard, right?” “One of the creepiest.” Tully grinned, thankful it was getting easier. In the weeks afterwards, those last moments kept appearing like a rotted stench come back to haunt them. “What’s the word?” Jason asked, checking to make sure they were alone. “Nothing. Not a peep. You?” “It’s weird. I get the feeling I’m sometimes not alone.” “We just need to be careful. Remember what Freddy said. Statute of limitations doesn’t exist for this.” “I kind of feel bad for your buddy. That was his work van.” “So what? Dude’s owed me like ten grand for a job I did three years ago. You saw it. It was on its last legs, man, I stole it with a freaking screwdriver. Three Molotov cocktails later, problem solved.” Jason smiled until it faded. “You know, it was easy. What comes afterwards …” “Yeah, man. I always told myself I could, but I guess you never know.” “I had to.” “Never would’ve been right if you hadn’t.” “What happens if we have to spend the rest of our lives in prison?” “That thought is not allowed inside my head. There are two people out of seven billion on this planet. That’s it. As long as we never say a word to anyone ever, we walk on.” “You’re my best bro, Tully.” “I loved her, dude. Hopefully she’s at peace.” Their perimeter tour ended back at the keg. All around them the late fall was fading away. Winter, after all, was fast approaching.
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AuthorTom Trabulsi was born in the Midwest, attended high school in Rhode Island, and graduated from Boston University with a degree in American History. He was a bike courier in Boston and New York City, worked construction in the mountain west and east coast, and is currently a firefighter in a northeast city. Archives
August 2022
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