Jericho's Fall Read Online Free PDF Page A

you.”
    “Please, honey” The endearment came automatically to her lips. “Try to conserve your energy.”
    The clever eyes held hers. Again the apparent health of his face challenged her perceptions of death. “Why? Will I live longer?”
    “It’s late. It’s past midnight.”
    “Especially for me.”
    Beck needed a second. She made eye contact with the signed photographs of Johnson and Nixon, twinned devotedly above the bed, but neither President offered her any help. Three more Presidents graced other walls, but the men who had presided over Vietnam were his favorites. “Jericho—”
    “You’re a fool,” he said, waggling a finger at her. “You never were much good at doing what I told you, were you? That was always your problem, Beck. If you’d spent more time listening to me and less time totting up my shortcomings, you’d have wound up with something better to do with your life than being a glorified cashier.”
    Rebecca wiped her eyes.
    “Stop it, Jericho. Please. Is this how you want to be remembered?”
    He was suddenly fierce. “I don’t want to be remembered at all. That’s the point. I want to be the one sitting around after the funeral doing the remembering. I want to be the one who gets drunk and tellsstories about the poor bastard we just buried. Do you have any idea how it feels to know you won’t be?”
    She shook her head but did not rise. Jericho subsided. His breathing grew harsh. She chanced a look at his face. His eyes were open, and pained, staring at the ceiling.
    “Audrey said you were waiting for me,” she finally said. “That you’re happy I’m here. Why? Because you finally have the chance to get back at me?”
    He tried to grin but wound up coughing. “Isn’t that reason enough? The deathbed confers many advantages, my dear, and one of them is that you can say whatever you like to whomever you please, and there’s nothing they can do about it. I recommend that you try it sometime. Dying.” A ragged, gargling laugh. “Well, pretty soon, you’ll see what I mean.”
    “Tell me,” Beck persisted.
    The eyes mellowed. “Thank you for coming, my dear. That was classy.” He squeezed her hand. “And as to the why”—suddenly as didactic as he used to be in the classroom—“well, you’re here to help me.”
    “Help you do what?”
    “I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m tired. Where’s Saint Audrey?”
    The swift change of topic slowed her. “Taking a break.”
    “Why’d she do that?”
    “She’s tired, too.”
    “No. I mean, why’d she quit her job? Become a nun? Brilliant. Brilliant psychologist. Almost as brilliant as you could have been if you hadn’t decided to waste your life. Then, one day, she ups and quits the family business, leaves her husband, turns into a nun. Problem, that. Ask her.”
    “Ask her what?”
    “Why she became a nun. Why she quit the family business. And her husband. Ask her about her husband.” A grunt of pain, followed by a gruesome grin. “Did she jump you?”
    “What?”
    “Saint Audrey. She didn’t jump you? She likes girls now. Didn’t you know?”
    Beck shook her head. “That isn’t any of my business.”
    “It is if she jumps you.” He coughed. His watery eyes fluttered, then focused. “I’m cold.”
    “I’ll get another blanket.”
    An unexpected wink. For a delicious instant, the Jericho she had loved. “I can think of better ways to get warm.” Tapping the sheets. “Come on, my dear. I’m not too sick for a little playtime. Dying man’s prerogative. You can even be on top this time. Just lock the door first.” He laughed, then coughed, then laughed harder, then coughed harder, and then his head was back on the pillow, eyes as empty as before. “It’s too cold. Tell them.”
    “I’ll tell them,” she said, and, weeping, held his hand until he slept.
    The next day, she found the headless dog.

MONDAY

CHAPTER 4

The Protest
    (i)
    Rebecca DeForde was an early riser. This was the first Monday in