Death Watch (23 page)

H
e said your name, Mommy!”

“Yes, he did,” Cheryl McCormick said, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Stacy sat on Josh’s lap as they watched the television in the hospital room. The program went to a commercial following Hunz Vonner’s segment. On the screen a white duck attempted to shout the name of an insurance company. His attempts were repeatedly thwarted by various loud noises at an automotive repair center. Stacy thought the duck was funny.

“Can you believe it?” Cheryl said.

“I didn’t know,” Josh replied.

Josh was in Cheryl’s room courtesy of Dora Evans, LPN. Upon learning of Dr. Isaacs’s threats, the opinionated hospital worker—who’d lost a son to Death Watch—conspired to keep Josh in the room.

“Kick a good-lookin’ hunk like you off my floor? Not on my watch, child,” Dora had said.

She kept watch in the hallway for Isaacs’s return. Calling the doctor’s name was Josh’s signal to slip into the closet.

The plan went off without a hitch. Dora called. Josh hid. Isaacs poked his head inside the door, looked around, grunted, and left.

Now, Dora stood in the room, having watched the first segment of “Countdown to Death” with them. According to her, every television in the hospital was tuned to the program.

“You sure you want her watching this?” Dora inclined her head toward Stacy.

“We know Hunz Vonner,” Cheryl said solemnly. “We met him last night.”

“Hunz, like the ketchup,” Stacy said.

Dora and Josh laughed. It lightened the mood.

“Stacy! Where did you hear that?” Cheryl asked.

“Hunz told me. Hunz, like the ketchup.”

“Mr. Vonner and Stacy hit it off,” Cheryl explained. “He was very good to us. Arranged to get me back here to the hospital on the station’s corporate jet.”

“Really?” Dora said, surprised. She glanced back at the screen, even though Hunz’s image was no longer there. “He doesn’t look the type, you know what I’m saying?”

1
0:39 a.m., local time.

Sydney stood on her mark, microphone in hand. She stood alone. Hunz had yet to come out of the bedroom with less than a minute before the studio would switch over to them for the final segment. Once they did, Hunz would have seven minutes of time to fill, and to live.

Dorian knocked on the bedroom door a second time.

“Mr. Vonner? Thirty seconds.”

He pressed his ear to the door.

“Mr. Vonner?”

Sydney wasn’t concerned about Hunz missing his cue. Veteran television newscasters were adept at handling time. It wasn’t uncommon for an anchor to emerge from his dressing room—often in a coat and tie and Bermuda shorts and tennis shoes—make his way onto the set, take his place behind the news desk with less than a second to spare, and launch into the first news story without missing a beat.

Sydney glanced at her watch.

It was dead.

A blank gray face stared back at her. No numbers. No time. Nothing. She pushed the buttons on the side, hoping to stir it to life. She got nothing. The battery. It had to be.

All her attempts to have the precise time had been wasted.

“Fifteen seconds,” the cameraman said.

“Mr. Vonner?” Dorian said to the door, louder now. Veteran or no veteran, anxiety was creeping into his voice.

“Ready on the set,” the cameraman said.

Voices sounded in Sydney’s ear. The anchors were preparing to hand the show to Hunz, and he wasn’t there.

“No, not ready on the set!” Sydney said.

“Mr. Vonner?” Dorian shouted.

“Try the doorknob!” Joanna suggested.

“I did!” Dorian hissed back at her. “You think I’m stupid?”

“Five seconds,” the camera said.

And at the Hilton Hotel at O’Hare International is Hunz Vonner, veteran newscaster and
victim
of the death watch terror. We’re switching live
to
him, where he has just seven
minutes
left to live.

“Four, three…,” the cameraman was counting down.

Let me remind our viewers that this is the first live network airing of a death watch death. Hunz, are you there?

The cameraman cued Sydney.

“This is Sydney St. James,” Sydney said, using her on-the-air voice. “A short time ago, Hunz Vonner retreated into the bedroom, closed the door, and has yet to return.”

Sydney? This is Carol. Did he give any indication why he was going into the bedroom, and when he would be coming out?

“Apparently he wanted to be alone for a while, Carol. At the time, he gave no indication he would not appear for this segment as planned.”

Hal here, Sydney. Has anyone attempted to communicate with him?

“Yes, Hal. As a matter of fact, at this moment, a member of WBBT is attempting to communicate with him through the door.”

Maybe he fell asleep,
Hal’s voice said, presumably to his coanchor.
Sydney? Do you think we could get a camera shot of the door?

The bedroom door opened. Sydney couldn’t see it, she heard it, along with Dorian chastising Hunz in stage whispers.

“What have you been doing? We’re on the air!”

“Hunz Vonner is coming to the set now,” Sydney said.

While Hunz fitted his earpiece in his, Hal made a lame on-the-air comment about being glad Hunz didn’t die prematurely.

As for Sydney, she was just glad Hunz’s arrival was taking the camera off her. She was angry he’d hung her out to dry like that on national television, and if he wasn’t about to die in six minutes, she would have wrung his neck.

Now that she was off camera, she motioned to the lights that her watch wasn’t working. Joanna appeared from the bright haze. Off to the side, she turned the hotel alarm clock—the one Sydney had turned to the wall—so that Sydney could see it. Sydney nodded in thanks.

10:43 a.m.

“With hard evidence to go on,” Hunz said, without apology to the audience that had tuned in to watch him die, “at this point in time, the best I can give you regarding the origin of Death Watch is this reporter’s observations.

“First, it’s obvious to me there is intelligence behind Death Watch. Whether it’s a singular or collective intelligence, there are not enough facts to determine. We do know, however, that the messages are composed and delivered, both in print and audio format, to select persons. We also know that, whether directly or indirectly, the source behind these notices can pinpoint a person’s time of death. Do they cause every death? I can’t say that with 100 percent certainty. But I do know this: They can determine the time of death, and to know that and to make no attempt to prevent it, in my mind, is equally criminal.

“Second, we know that whoever is behind Death Watch has vast resources. Even with our most sophisticated communication technologies, no one has succeeded in tracing a death watch notice to its point of origin. Yet those who transmit the notices have done so in virtually every country in the world.

“Third, whoever is behind Death Watch has a plan. For reasons unknown, they have remained silent and hidden. Dwelling in the shadows, they strike and retreat before anyone can see them. This darkness in which they dwell is the home of serial killers, stalkers, murderers, and thugs. Hidden and silent, they strike fear in the
heart of every being on this planet. For we have yet to see evidence that any of us is protected, that any of us is safe. Maybe this is their plan. To step out of the shadows, to identify themselves, would invite dialogue, and possibly bring an end to their killing.”

10:45 a.m.

Two minutes remaining.

Hunz’s breathing grew erratic. He blinked several times.

All of a sudden, everyone was shouting at Sydney at once. From the studio, the voices in her ear—

Hunz, are you all right? Sydney, help him out. Get him something.
Water,
or something. It looks like he’s having trouble breathing.

From behind the lights—

“Step closer to him!”

“Grab his arm!”

“He’s going, he’s going! Sydney, take it!”

Sydney didn’t need instruction. She went to Hunz’s side. Her microphone lowered, she whispered, “Are you all right? Do you want to sit down?”

“I think so,” he whispered back.

“Into the microphone!” Dorian cried. “Speak into the microphone! ”

Sydney helped Hunz onto the sofa.

This
is
ridiculous, she thought. Whose idea was this in the first place? She was a heartbeat away from yelling at the crew to turn off the camera, turn off the lights, and if they didn’t, she would.

Seated, Hunz seemed to rally.

He reached for the microphone.

“My final observation—,” he said.

“You don’t have to do this,” Sydney whispered.

He gave her one of those looks—one of those bullheaded, testosterone-charged, male looks—that told her it was something he had to do.

“—is that behind the Death Watch there is cowardice. Everything about it reeks of cowardice. The slinking, chickenhearted,
bullying strike-and-run tactics are all the evidence we need to evaluate the true character of whoever is behind Death Watch. I was taught that a true man could look friend or enemy in the eye. That he took responsibility for his actions. That his friends could count on him, and while his enemies may not agree with him, they knew where he stood.”

10:46 a.m.

“And so—”

With effort, Hunz stood. Sydney stood with him.

“—as I face the final minute of my life, I choose to stand and face whoever, or whatever, would strike me down and kill me. If there is any manhood in him, or them, I challenge them to come out of the shadows, stand like men, and show their faces.”

Hunz lowered his microphone.

He faced the camera resolutely.

Sydney! Say something! This
is
dead air. Say something!

Sydney pulled the earplug from her ear. It dangled on her shoulder. She could still hear the voices. They sounded far away.

She stood next to Hunz.

“Thirty seconds,” Dorian said behind the lights.

Hunz Vonner stood tall. There was no fear. No sign of regret. He didn’t tremble. He had the appearance of a man resolved to his fate.

“Fifteen seconds.”

“Hunz. ”

Sydney wanted to say something, but the words weren’t there. She wanted’to tell him that over the last couple of days, she’d come to admire and respect him, that when she thought of him she’d remember him holding Stacy and the way she clung to his neck like he was her father, that the last few hours they spent together talking at the table had meant so much to her, that

“Ten seconds.”

But there wasn’t time. There was only time to say—

“Do not be afraid of those who kill the body,” she blurted.

Hunz turned to her. Their eyes met in silent communication.

“Five seconds.”

“Four.”

The verbal countdown made Sydney angry. This wasn’t a rocket launch. This was a man’s life!

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

Hunz’s eyes closed.

No one breathed.

A
t Prentice Women’s Hospital, nurse Dora Evans turned away from the television to Cheryl.

“Do you really want her to see this?” Dora asked.

Stacy’s attention was diverted between coloring in her Wonder Woman coloring book and her friend Hunz—like the ketchup—on television.

Josh and Cheryl were both leaning forward as though the news would reach them sooner the closer they got to the television.

“Maybe you should,” Cheryl said, with a worried glance at Stacy. “Do you mind?”

“Child, I see people die every day. I don’t have to watch it on television.”

She scooped up Stacy.

“You like orange juicy, honey? Let’s go see if we can find you some.”

“Dora? Wait. .,” Cheryl said, her eyes fixed on the television screen.

T
he only sound in the hotel suite was the buzz of the lights. It was one of those moments when time slows and a dozen heartbeats squeeze into a single second.

Hunz was stiff, but upright. No buckling at the knees. No timber like a felled tree.

He opened his eyes.

Cheers went up from behind the lights.

Sydney didn’t join them.

She’d learned her lesson with Lyle Vandeveer. She looked at the hotel alarm clock.

10:47 a.m.

But was it accurate?

She waited.

Hunz didn’t move. Was he thinking of Lyle Vandeveer too?

Seconds ticked.

A trio of voices from behind the lights urged Hunz to say something.

He didn’t. Not for a while.

The voices in Sydney’s earpiece chattered against her shoulder. She ignored them.

10:48 a.m.

Hunz was still standing. Still alive.

He looked at Sydney and grinned.

Professionalism, take a hike. She threw her arms around him.

A
t Prentice Women’s Hospital, little Stacy jumped up and down on the bed clapping her hands, though she didn’t understand why everyone was happy. Cheryl and Josh hugged and laughed and cried. Nurse Dora brushed a few tears aside herself.

S
ydney had no idea how long she’d clung to Hunz’s neck. She didn’t want to think about time right now. All she knew was that she hadn’t hugged him long enough.

Voices chattered in her earpiece. Sniffles could be heard behind the lights, presumably Joanna, but it could have been Dorian.

“We’re still on the air,” Hunz whispered, though he had a grip on Sydney equal to hers. “We’re on the air internationally.”

The letting go was awkward. Sydney found herself less than inches from the face of a man she’d known for less than two days—but she knew him, didn’t she? She knew him better than some men she’d known for years. Still, they’d never touched, not even an accidental brush of a hand, until now.

Her face warm, she stepped back.

Hunz made the quick transition from joyous and amused to his professional broadcaster demeanor. He addressed the camera.

“I’m alive!”

A grin cracked through his hardened professionalism for a moment, but was quickly repaired.

Sydney replaced her earpiece.

What’s going on here, Carol? Did he have the Death Watch or didn’t he?

Let’s hear what he has to say, Hal.

Hunz could hear the voices, too. He ignored them.

Sydney made no attempt to regain her professionalism. She was grinning like a joker, unable to do otherwise.

“I suppose an explanation is in order,” Hunz said into the camera. He took a deep breath. “Frankly, I’m still coming to terms with it myself, but.. here I am. That’s something, isn’t it?

“Well, I can tell you this much: To the best of my knowledge, I’m the first man to beat the Death Watch. Good news, certainly, for I had pretty much concluded that my life on this earth had come to an end.”

He took another deep breath.

“The answer to the mystery behind the terror will surprise many, but not all. It did me. Even now, I find it difficult to believe that, for reasons I cannot explain, I would be the one to prove the solution true, let alone be the bearer of such momentous news. The bottom line is, as of today, no one need ever fear Death Watch again.

“And while I am the first to profit from the solution, the answer came from a source even more unlikely than me. Actually, my colleague, Sydney St. James, deserves credit, for it is she who interviewed the source behind the solution to Death Watch. She then passed the information to me.”

He nodded warmly in Sydney’s direction.

Another deep breath.

“The key to defeating the Death Watch,” he continued, “was delivered by a most unlikely messenger. A modern-day Elijah.”

Hunz described the events leading up to Billy Peppers’s plunge from the roof of the hotel. To Sydney’s surprise, he didn’t stop there. Knowing that his words were being broadcast literally around the world, translated into every major language, Hunz described Billy Peppers’s fiery translation with a beautiful and accurate description of the angels.

The chattering in his earpiece increased.

Hunz pulled a piece of paper from his coat pocket. “As improbable as all this sounds,” he said as he unfolded it, “the death watch attack is a spiritual one; therefore, to neutralize it, we must use spiritual weapons. Just hours ago, I learned the truth. Minutes ago, the truth was confirmed.”

Reading from the handwriting on the paper now:

“’For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.’”

Hunz’s voice broke. Until now he’d managed to run ahead of his emotions. They just caught up with him.

Sydney stepped in. “A message that shouldn’t come as any surprise,” she said. “As Billy Peppers told me, ‘It doesn’t make sense to believe in a supernatural God and not believe in the supernatural.’”

The camera lights switched off.

“Save it,” Dorian said.

For Hunz and Sydney the room went black. It took several blinks before shapes began to appear, and when they did, they were of the news crew packing up the equipment.

“The station pulled the plug,” Dorian said.

While the cameraman and Joanna stowed the lights for transport, Dorian took the microphone and the earpieces from Hunz and Sydney and coiled the wires.

“You know, that was pretty low,” Dorian muttered. “I mean, handing out tracts at the airport, holding up signs at football games…that stuff’s annoying, but this? This was low, man.”

In the bedroom, Hunz’s cell phone rang. He went to answer it. A moment later, Sydney’s cell phone rang in her purse. It was Helen. No hello. Just shouting.

Hunz walked out of the bedroom, his hand over the phone. “Sol,” he said.

They held separate conversations as the WBBT crew exited quickly without further comment.

T
hey cut them off!” Josh said, jumping out of his chair and pointing at the television screen.

The WBBT anchors appeared on-screen seated behind the studio news desk. Hal and Carol exchanged nervous glances.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Carol said with a self-conscious chuckle.

Hal, a middle-aged man with thick silver hair, spoke directly to the camera.

“On behalf of WBBT and our affiliates, we want to apologize for what you have just witnessed and state for the record that the views expressed on this program do not represent the views of this station or its owners.”

Carol nodded her agreement. “Because of past abuses, we have attempted to introduce measures that would allow us to protect our viewers from this kind of unseemly behavior on live TV. However, in this case, a five-second delay has proved inadequate. And, for that, we apologize.”

In the hospital room, Josh was beside himself. “Can you believe that?” he cried. “They’re apologizing that Hunz didn’t die!”

Back to Hal at the studio. “Furthermore, we wish to apologize to all groups who find the content of Mr. Vonner’s commentary offensive, particularly our Jewish and Islamic friends.”

Carol continued. “Please believe us when we say we were caught completely off guard. Hunz Vonner came to us with impeccable credentials from the EuroNet broadcasting system.”

“A highly respected international news source,” Hal added. He turned to his coanchor. “I don’t know about you, Carol,” he said, “but I feel like I’ve just been bushwhacked.”

“Bushwhacked?” Josh shouted at the screen. He turned to Cheryl. “Bushwhacked! Did he just say bushwhacked? I can’t believe it.”

Using the remote control, Cheryl clicked off the television set. She stared at the blank screen.

She said, “I wonder how Sydney’s holding up under all this, poor dear.”

S
ol wants us back in Los Angeles, ASAP.” Hunz flipped his phone closed.

“I’ve never heard Helen use language like that,” Sydney said. “What are we going to do?”

“We should probably do what they say.”

“Yeah.”

Hunz looked at Sydney. “We’re not, are we?”

“I don’t know about you,” Sydney said, “but I’m not leaving Chicago until I talk to Cheryl and Josh.”