Blindshot

  BLINDSHOT

  .ll.

  BLINDSHOT

  A THRILLER

  DENIS COUPAL

  .ll.

  Copyright © 2019, Denis Coupal

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, for any reason or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The following is a work of fiction. Many of the locations are real, although not necessarily as portrayed, but all characters and events are fictional and any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Debbie Geltner

  Book design: Tika eBooks

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Coupal, Denis, author

  Blindshot : a thriller / Denis Coupal.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77390-016-2 (softcover) ISBN 978-1-77390-017-9 (HTML).--

  ISBN 978-1-77390-018-6 (Kindle).--ISBN 978-1-77390-019-3 (PDF)

  I. Title.

  PS8605.O8964B55 2019 C813’.6 C2018-905132-9

  C2018-905133-7

  The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Council for the Arts, the Canada Book Fund, and Livres Canada Books.

  .ll.

  Linda Leith Publishing

  Montreal

  www.lindaleith.com

  “To be truthful—few can do it! And those who can, will not!

  Least of all, however, can the good be truthful.”

  Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

  “The greater part of what my neighbours call good I believe in my soul to be bad,

  and if I repent of anything,

  it is very likely to be my good behaviour.”

  Henry David Thoreau, Walden

  “List, list, O, list!

  If thou didst ever thy dear father love—

  Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.”

  William Shakespeare, Hamlet

  PROLOGUE

  BLOOD

  The night air was fresh, filled with the rich scents of the forest that wrapped the Carignan family property, Valhalla, in the Eastern Townships of Quebec.

  Paul Carignan, family man, father of two, successful corporate financier, walked to the woodpile near the west wall of his cherished Valhalla, went down on one knee and sorted through logs to find just the right ones for this evening’s fire.

  A rifle shot sounded from far off in the woods. A flock of crows scattered up and away.

  Paul’s vision blurred. He tried to shake it off, dropping the logs. The biggest one fell hard on his ankle but a sudden sensation in his abdomen preoccupied him more, burning to his lower back, intensifying. He lost his breath as he looked down at himself. He slid his hands into his clothes to his mid-section, pain spreading, throbbing through his veins like a freight train. He felt the warm wetness creeping to his legs, confirming the incredible.

  He had been shot.

  He fell over. With a gasp, he could feel his spirit struggling to leave him, wanting to fly up, chase the frightened crows and disappear beyond the valley and over the dark woods.

  The wound burned like nothing ever had.

  Thoughts assailed him. What if he were to die right now, on this evening, by this bullet? What would his boys, Jack and Noah, do? They were still so young, with much to learn. What would Catherine do? She was barely getting through their pending divorce. Deep down, he still loved her. They had lost their way, their passion fading, as with so many couples they knew who had children and demanding careers. He had sought passion from another woman and had surprised even himself with his unfaithfulness. He would never have the chance to redeem himself now, not to Catherine, not to himself. All seemed to be over, here and now, by this bullet that had pierced him in the dark.

  Maybe he was getting what he deserved? But who had shot him? Why? The possibilities swirled in his panicked, weakening mind. He had been a tough business adversary to many over the years. His penchant for taking over flailing manufacturing companies, restructuring and reselling them, or sometimes liquidating their parts, had pushed many good people aside, destroyed careers of veteran entrepreneurs, broken partnerships, and set industry veterans adrift. He had taken no prisoners. That was just his way and he had made it work for his benefit. It was easy for Paul to imagine a great number of enemies who might want him gone.

  Blood poured from his gut.

  “Catherine!” he shouted, but it came out a whisper. She was nowhere near, and no matter how much he yearned for her to be right there, ready to help, from however deep in him this came, it wouldn’t matter. Catherine wasn’t there, and she would never know how often he thought of her. She would never know and might scarcely believe that he had always thought of her and not his girlfriend, Anne, as his soulmate. Anne was young and striking, but hadn’t Catherine been his muse, his guide, with him through the lean years and the greater part of his life? Together, Paul and Catherine had overcome myriad obstacles and produced, in their view, two of the greatest people on the planet. Jack and Noah were amazing boys. He wondered now, as he bled, if he had done all he could for them. Had he even told them often enough how much he cared? His mind raced to remember precisely, but his energy dropped.

  Paul tried to rise, but instead spun weakly sideways and crashed into the grassy slope, sliding downward. Once still, he couldn’t stop his eyes from closing. He reached out, or at least tried to tell his arm to reach out, for anything, for anyone, for the darkness above to lower and provide a soft blanket to comfort him, to warm him. He was so cold.

  Footsteps. He heard something like footsteps. He wasn’t sure. Was it only the mad beating of his heart? His imagination was on overdrive. Was someone coming to save him? Or was it his killer, closing in to finish him off, getting closer and closer?

  Silence. Nothing stirred. Paul heard only his own wheezing. Had his killer turned away, convinced Paul was taken care of, bleeding to his inevitable death?

  Or was his killer standing over him, quietly watching?

  Was this all there would ever be?

  Paul’s world went dark.

  Jack, the older boy, came out of the dark woods like a firefly, agile and fast, lighting his way with his flashlight. He snapped it shut when close to the Carignan house, which was illuminated by a series of programmable floodlights. He moved to the back door, usually left unlocked for him and his younger brother, but halted when he saw Noah walking around to the other side of the building.

  “Dad?” called Noah.

  “Noah?” Jack called back, giving chase.

  He caught up to him around the other side of the enormous glass façade, which glimmered with the reflection of stars from the night sky.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I can’t find dad! He’s not anywhere!”

  “Are you sure?” Jack read Noah’s concern. “Well, he’s somewhere!”

  “I looked everywhere inside. He’s not at the car, not at the shed, not at the clearing! I walked over to check!”

  “Okay, calm down, Noah. How long have you been out here?”

  “Crap, I don’t know. I looked all over the house, so maybe twenty minutes? I don’t get where he could be?”

  “He must be taking a walk on Van Kleet road! Relax. Let’s just wait.”

  “Something’s not right.”

  Jack trusted his brother’s instincts. As much as he loved to tease Noah, like any older brother, there was an old and wise soul in Noah that Jack deeply respected. He knew when
to listen to him.

  “I’ll go around this way, you go that way. We’ll meet up on the other side, okay?”

  Noah nodded. “Like in Expedition X, level nine!”

  “Right. And take this.”

  Jack tossed Noah his flashlight. Noah caught it and took off, snapping it on as he moved. Jack watched him go, took a quick look around, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and took off in the opposite direction, parallel to the long glass wall.

  Jack ran quickly, accounting in his mind for everything familiar around the property, looking for something out of place. There was no sign of his father. Instead of continuing around to meet with Noah, he ran back inside to the vestibule and found his father’s keys hanging on a wall-hook. He ran on to the kitchen, then to the writing desk, and found his father’s cell phone in its docking station, exactly as his father would always place it for an overnight charge. This wasn’t adding up. Why would his father take a walk without his keys or his phone? It wasn’t like him.

  Then he heard Noah, like he never heard him before.

  “Jaaack!”

  Jack ran outside, going up the western slope of the property. He had never heard such terror in Noah’s voice. Five metres from the woodpile, Jack saw the flashlight that Noah had dropped. Three yards from the woodpile, he found Noah on the ground, hugging his father, or trying to lift him, he wasn’t sure. Noah was grabbing his father’s arms, shaking them, touching his face. Paul wasn’t moving.

  “Dad! Dad!” shouted Noah.

  “Holy shit,” cried Jack.

  “He’s bleeding, Jack! He’s bleeding bad!”

  Noah raised a hand, bright red with blood.

  “What the hell?” said Jack, crouching to Noah, who continued to hug their unconscious, bleeding father. Jack felt hopeless, lost and ever so scared all at once. The shock was overwhelming.

  “Dad, Daddy?” Jack shouted desperately, touching his father’s face, getting no response. He held his hand to Paul’s neck, thinking to look for a pulse like he had seen so many times in movies. Jack saw that Noah was waiting for his older brother to take control.

  From deep within, Jack found the determination to focus and do what needed to be done. He calculated that if they called for an ambulance, it would take too long. The ambulance in the county was most often parked at Resto Beaufort and from there it would have to make its way through town along the long and winding Chemin Van Kleet. With all the blood oozing from their father, there was no time to waste. They had to find a quicker way to the hospital. How long could their father survive? Jack didn’t want to think about it. It was time to act, not think.

  “Noah, listen. Listen!”

  Noah, in tears, turned his face toward his older brother.

  “Get Dad’s car keys,” Jack told him. “Right now! I just saw them, they’re in the vestibule, on the hook!”

  Noah didn’t move. He was in shock.

  “Noah, go get Dad’s car keys!”

  Noah took off. A rocket. Jack leaned in to his father, tugging him close as best he could, pulling his arms across his chest. Paul’s blood seeped into every part of his clothing, and his face was very pale. He barely moved. Jack held his father, trying to find the wound, but couldn’t with all the blood on his clothes. It was perhaps no use to worry about the wound, he thought, and he didn’t quite know what to do other than apply pressure anyway. Noah returned, waving the keys. Jack grabbed them and pulled Noah to his father.

  “Hold him tight and don’t move. I’ll be right back!”

  Noah did as he was told as best he could, though his father was heavy for him. Jack took off running, crossing the front gardens like lightning. His momentum caused him to slide. He smashed into Paul’s black Audi and scrambled to open the door on the driver’s side. He sat in fast and pressed the ignition button. The engine roared up, smooth and strong. Jack was surprised by the sudden movement of the seat, shifting automatically to his father’s prior settings. Jack remembered to jab his foot down onto the brake pedal. That much he knew. He had moved the car a few times in this very driveway, but that’s as far as his driving experience went. It would have to do.

  “Come on, come on, come on!” Jack egged himself on. He moved the gearshift into reverse and pressed the gas. The Audi lurched backward, spinning its wheels, skidding on the gravel. Despite the urgency, Jack remembered his father saying how he would have the driveway paved one of these days, but he’d never got around to it. Jack moved the gearshift to the drive position, tried the gas again, turned the wheel toward the gardens and roared it forward. The Audi’s thick tires tore into the fine grass, and Jack raced the car toward the woodpile.

  Jack slowed the car, carefully, as he got as close to his father and Noah as he dared. His mind flashed with his father’s few parking lessons. He remembered his obsession the previous year with an incredibly realistic driving video game. Even his dad, who wouldn’t normally play those games, had enjoyed playing this one with him and Noah. But now, this was no game. He shifted into park and leaped from the car, leaving it running, to rejoin his brother, still holding their father.

  “What are you doing?” yelled Noah.

  “We’re taking him to the hospital!”

  “Call an ambulance!”

  “It’s too far Noah! Think about it. Like in X7. Our expedition to Planet Kruffle is a fail! Our ship crashed and Blue Captain is down. We can’t wait for Recon Team. By the time they get here, the Noofargs will be on us. Get it?”

  “I got it! I got it!” Noah shouted, crying buckets. “What do we have to do?”

  “Help me get Dad in the back seat.”

  Jack yanked open the back door of the Audi. Because of the angle of the car on the grass slope, it bounced on its hinges and shut again. Jack yanked it open again and delicately held it just so. It stayed open. Jack jumped back to Noah. He got on the ground next to his father.

  “What are you doing?” asked Noah, puzzled.

  “Get him on me! Push him! Right on top of me!”

  Noah got on the other side of his father and pushed with all he had. Noah was rather slim, and at thirteen could only muster so much force. Jack wedged himself under his father, squirming down and pulling him forward. Paul was very fit but was still a considerable weight for anyone to lift, never mind two young boys. Jack’s feet slid out from under him on the grass.

  “Go hold his arms and head! Pull him up!” he said to Noah. Noah raced around his father to reach for his head and arms and position himself between Jack and the car. Jack, wedged square under his father now, let the rage he had for their circumstance feed his strength. He had to get his father in the car, and right now. He pushed with all he had, raising his father on his back just enough to line up with the Audi’s back seat. Noah moved backwards onto the seat and pulled his father with all his might. Jack yelled out in pain from the effort, slowly climbing into the Audi with his father on his back. Halfway up, Paul began to slip off Jack. Noah cradled his head as best he could and went down with him, but they fell on the seat, the soft leather cushioning them. In the same instant, Jack twisted out from under his father and grabbed at him so he wouldn’t slip back out. Jack was wedged between the floor of the back seat and his father. It was painful and difficult, but it was working. Together with his brother, they pulled hard. They pulled until they could feel their father would not slip back. Then Noah opened the other passenger door, crawled out quickly and raced to their father’s legs on the other side, pushing on Paul. Jack ran around again to the other side, grabbed his father under the arms and yanked him with all his might. Paul was lurched inside just enough for Noah to tuck his feet in and push the door closed. Jack ran around the car again to work with his brother on forcing the door closed. They heard the click of the lock. It was done. Jack ran one more time around, got in the other side on the back seat and called Noah.

  As he tried to adjust his father’s p
osition in the car, Jack made way for Noah.

  “Here! Get here! Sit on him, whatever you can, hold him! Okay? Don’t let him move, and press on his back. That’s where the bleeding’s from, I think! Okay?”

  “Okay!” yelled Noah, jumping onto his father on the back seat. Jack slammed the back door closed. He raced to the driver’s seat and got in. Noah yelled up front at him, in a desperate, cracking voice.

  “Is he alive?”

  Jack sighed. He tried to catch his breath and think, but he couldn’t think, not right now. He had to act. The best he could do was answer Noah, muttering the same thing over and over again, keeping his mind focused on getting their father to the hospital.

  “He’s going to live. He’s going to live. He’s going to live. He’s going to live. He’s going to live … ”

  Jack put the car in gear and eased his foot off the brake. The black Audi rolled toward the driveway.

  “Can you do this?” called Noah.

  “I don’t know! Shut up!” he shouted back. Then whispered, “I’m sorry, Noah, I’m sorry.” The car rolled onto the gravel driveway. The angle it came at it caused the low front skirt of the car to scrape the rocks. It gave an awful crunching sound and then the wheels followed softly. Jack put his foot on the gas and pressed. The car roared and moved forward. To his amazement, he guided the car along the drive and turned onto Chemin Van Kleet, going west, in direction of Brome Missisquoi Perkins Hospital in Cowansville. It was the only hospital in the region that he knew of, a large facility with everything his father would need, including emergency doctors and staff, ready and waiting.

  “Watch for deer!” yelled Noah.

  “I know!” shouted Jack, locking his vision down the further point of the road, anticipating every curve.

  “Why are you going so slow?” said Noah.

  “Stop it, I’m concentrating!” said Jack and pressed the accelerator, praying no deer jumped out from the forest walls lining the road. The road felt narrower, a whole lot narrower, from this driver’s vantage point, thought Jack, than as a passenger. If a buck came out, as they were often known to do, especially at this time of year, there was little room to swerve off. Jack estimated his ability to swerve and return to the middle of the road, and he wasn’t confident. The sides of the road were lined with trenches of unforgiving depth. Beyond that were dense woods on both sides for the entirety of Chemin Van Kleet. There was no room for Jack to circumvent any obstacle in any kind of wide, sudden loop. Travelling absolutely straight was essential, and Jack, in his inexperience, needed the comfort of the middle of the road, never mind sharing the width of the road with any oncoming traffic. And as he thought of it, there came a truck, appearing in the next bed, coming toward them fast. Crap, he thought.