by J. B. Turner
“We believe she’s ready,” the doctor said. “We want to wean Lauren off these drugs over the next day or so,” he said. “There are signs that she’s ready to be woken up.”
Reznick was at a loss for words for a few moments.
“This is positive, Mr. Reznick.”
Reznick felt a wave of mixed emotions wash over him. Part of him was glad they were going to try to wake her up. But part of him was fearful that she would be damaged. “Doctor, that’s the best news I’ve had for a while. For a long, long while.”
“I’m not promising anything. But it’s important that we take this step and start the process.”
Reznick ran his hands through his hair; he was exhausted from lack of sleep and stress. “How long will this take?”
“We should be in a better position to establish how she’s coming along in the next forty-eight hours. Familiar voices are very helpful. A familiar, soothing voice.”
Reznick nodded. “Do you want me to speak to her?”
“The drug dosage is being dropped gradually. But in three hours you might want to sit with her. It can take a while. A long while. So you’re in for a little wait.”
“What about getting her off the ventilator?”
“We’ll gradually wean her off. And once we’re satisfied she can breathe on her own, the machines will be removed.”
Later that night, a few hours after Lauren’s dosage of drugs was cut back and her breathing tube was checked by the doctor and nurse, along with her vital signs, Reznick sat down beside her.
The doctor said, “Be patient. Why don’t you start talking to her? We’ll leave you alone for a little while.”
Reznick took a few minutes to get his mind straight. The events since his daughter’s accident were catching up with him too. He was overwrought. It was like an adrenaline crash. He often felt like that after intense situations. More so as he got older. But he knew that all that was nothing compared to having his beautiful daughter back with him.
He looked at her one more time. Her hair was fine like her mother’s. She had the same pale skin tone.
He waited until the medical staff weren’t around. Eventually, Reznick leaned forward and took Lauren’s hand. He began to stroke it gently.
“We’re back in Maine, darling,” he said. “You’re in a hospital in Bangor. We’re so much closer to home. You can almost smell the sea.” Reznick cleared his throat. “I’m looking forward to us walking the Rockland breakwater. They’re beginning the process of waking you up. And I’m looking forward to speaking to you again. I’ve missed you.”
Reznick felt his throat tighten.
“We’re going to put the incident in New York behind us. We’re going to look forward. And we’re going to spend some time together, just me and you. I want to know how you’re doing at that publishing company—Berman’s, right? You need to explain what you do. Editorial intern, I think you said. Reading manuscripts. That’s interesting, honey. Tell me all about that.
“I know you like New York, but I for one am glad you’re out of that crazy city, at least for now. It’ll give us both time. A bit of space. Time to reflect. And who knows? Hopefully we can spend some serious time together.” Memories flooded back. “Can’t believe my little girl is all grown up. Don’t know what’s happened to the time. It seems a bit unreal that one minute you were a child, and now you’re a young woman making her way in the world in New York. That’s where your mom was from. We met there. So it’s an important place for me.”
Reznick dabbed his eyes.
“It goes by in a flash, honey, let me tell you. That’s something people don’t tell you. How it’s all gone in no time. Blink of an eye. I remember the day you were born, Lauren. I remember like it was yesterday. The doctor handed you to me, wrapped in blankets. I was just a young man myself. Not much older than you. I couldn’t believe it. You were mine. I didn’t know what to do. What to think. But when I held you close for the first time and kissed your cheek . . . You know what? I realized what love was. I loved your mother. Very much. But having a child is a different type of love. I remember in those early days, Lauren, your milky breath. But I also remember your eyes. You had the most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen. I felt calm. For the first time I felt peace.”
Reznick felt the tears on his face.
“I don’t know if I’ve been a good father. Could’ve done a lot better, I guess. I know I wasn’t there for big chunks of your childhood. And I hope that one day you can understand why I had to go away. When your mother died, I couldn’t go on. I couldn’t, in my state of mind, look after you. I thought I was strong. I wasn’t. I couldn’t cope. Your gran and granddad, your mom’s parents, they looked after you for a while. You have them to thank. They’re good people.
“A lot of water under the bridge. I’m not the same person now that I was then. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned about true strength. Guys like your grandfather, my dad. You never met him. But you would’ve liked him. He would’ve loved you so much. And I’m hoping that one day you and I get a chance to do more things together. I never seem to find the time. You were either away at boarding school or college, or with your friends. And that’s fine. But I hope that when we get you out of here, we get you back to Rockland.
“I’ll get your room made up. I know you’re not home much. But I’d like you to spend the rest of the summer with me when this is over. I know some great places.”
Reznick closed his eyes, bowed his head, and prayed.
Thirty-Seven
The brothel was situated in a depressing high-rise in East Harlem.
Brutka’s SUV pulled to the curb, and he walked up to the graffiti-scrawled security door. He pressed the buzzer and then rode the elevator to the twenty-second floor. He knocked on the first door. A few moments later, it was opened by a scrawny young white girl he had taken a fancy to; she was smoking a joint.
“Come in, baby,” she said. She spoke excellent English.
Brutka brushed past the girl and headed down the dimly lit hallway until he got to the grimy kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink, and old pizza boxes and empty beer cans were strewn on the floor. “You don’t like living in a clean house?”
The girl shrugged. “I try, honey. Just seems I have a lot on my mind.”
“Clean it up after I leave.”
“Of course.”
The girl led him to a windowless room filled with candles and shut the door. The space was soundproofed, laced with the sickly sweet smell of marijuana. A leather sofa and a coffee table with pornographic magazines sat in the middle. “You need to relax,” she said.
“You need to learn to move your ass. This is America. They work hard here.”
The girl’s gaze dropped, subservient. “Of course, I’m sorry. You’re right.”
Brutka grabbed her by the jaw. “I cannot stand lazy bastards. Slovenly, dirty people. The next time I arrive, I want things clean. Do you understand that?”
The girl nodded, tears in her eyes.
Brutka loosened his grip. The girl wiped her eyes and put some Latin music on low. Slowly she began to dance, eyes closed. He went across to the bar and poured himself a large rum and Coke and slumped down on one of the sofas.
The girl sat down on his lap. “You look tired, honey. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
Brutka forced a smile.
“You need to relax more.”
Brutka knocked back the drink. “You think I look tired?”
“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, honey,” she said, trying to change the subject.
“How do I look tired?”
“I don’t know . . . Just your eyes. They seem tired. As if you’re worried.”
Brutka reached out to her and held her hand. “You wouldn’t understand. I’ve got a million things on my plate.”
“I want you to forget everything when you’re here.”
“How are you liking New York?”
“New York is nice. Scar
y. But nice.”
Brutka kissed the back of her hand and ruffled her hair.
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” she said.
“What do you want to know?”
The girl stroked his cheek. “You promised that I would get my visa. It’s just that I’ve only got another two weeks left before I have to go back home.”
“Did I promise you?”
The girl nodded.
“Do I keep my promises?”
“I hope so. I mean . . . I don’t want to go home, honey. I want to be here for you, whenever you want to see me.”
Brutka grabbed the girl’s face in a viselike grip. He pressed his fingers into her jawline, feeling the bones. It would be so easy to crush her face with one hand. He felt in complete control at that moment. He enjoyed the feeling. He allowed it to wash over him. The pleasure it gave him. The sense of omnipotence. The feeling of invincibility. He loved exerting his power how and when he saw fit. His nerve endings were tingling at the very thought of what he could do to her. He saw the fear in her eyes. “Are you insinuating that I will not keep my promise? Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, baby. I just wanted to make sure that I can stay here. To be here for you. For your needs.”
“I don’t know if you mean that.”
Tears spilled down the girl’s face. “Honey, you know I love you. I would do anything for you. I entertain you whenever you wish.”
“And my friends?”
“Of course. I’m here for you. And your friends. But mostly for you. I love you. What do you want?”
“I want people to understand that with freedom comes responsibility. You must get that. Obedience is king. I am your king.”
The girl gave a weak smile. “I understand.”
Brutka smiled and wiped the tears from her face. “It’s all that fucking junk you snort up your nose.”
The girl began to giggle. “Yeah?”
“Don’t play fucking coy with me.”
The girl laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re nice. I like when you’re nice to me. It makes me feel good.”
Brutka began to stroke the nape of her neck. “You know I can make you happy. Make you feel good.”
“You always do.”
Brutka pulled out a bag of coke from his jacket and held it in front of the girl’s face. “Ten thousand dollars’ worth of coke should make anyone happy, right?”
The girl hugged him tight before grabbing the bag.
Brutka handed her his black American Express credit card.
The girl burst out laughing.
“Didn’t I say I would look after you?”
The girl’s eyes lit up and she liberally sprinkled some coke from the bag onto the glass coffee table in front of them. She chopped up the cocaine into four neat lines with the credit card. “Two each, honey?”
Brutka nodded and took out a one-hundred-dollar bill. He rolled it up tight. “That’ll get us started.” He got up and snorted his two lines. A wave of euphoria engulfed him. He sniffed hard as the coke rocked through his bloodstream. He began to laugh. And smile. He handed the girl the rolled-up bill.
The girl took it and hoovered up her two lines. She leaned over and began to kiss him. “Oh yeah.” She got up and started dancing in time to the music, eyes closed, as if in a trance.
“Take some more!” Brutka said.
“Thank you, honey.” The girl kneeled down and chopped up four more lines from the bag, immediately inhaling two of them. Then Brutka did his.
The music seemed to get louder. The bass began to throb. The lights were glowing. The girl’s skin was glistening. And he felt out of his fucking mind with happiness.
The girl kneeled down beside him and kissed him on the lips. “You OK?”
Brutka nodded. “I need some help soon.”
“What kind of help?”
“I have some girls I’d like you to look over. They’re coming into town soon. And I’d like you to be there. To take a look at them.”
“Who are they?”
“New girls from Ukraine. Most can’t speak English. So you’ll be able to explain things to them.”
The girl’s eyes were glassy. “It would be an honor, baby.”
Thirty-Eight
Reznick was floating on a black river. The ripples washed against his face. He looked up at the stars. The sound of dark whispers as if in a bad dream. He sensed he was not alone.
“Dad . . .” The voice was soft. “Dad . . .”
Reznick snapped open his eyes. His daughter was awake. He got up and kissed her forehead. “Hey, honey. Dad’s here.”
Lauren nodded, her eyes getting heavier.
“No breathing tube? No machine? You’re breathing by yourself?”
Lauren stared at him blankly. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital, in Bangor. Not far from home.”
Lauren went quiet for a few moments as if trying to remember what had happened. “I think . . . I thought I was in New York.”
“You were.”
“What happened?”
Reznick held her hand. It was warm to the touch. “Can’t you remember?”
“I remember I was jogging. Then nothing.”
Reznick clasped her right hand, lying by the side of the bed, and kissed it. “You’ve been in a deep sleep, honey. A very deep sleep.”
Lauren blinked as she looked around the room.
“Just relax. You’re OK now. You’re safe.”
“I can’t remember what happened. I can’t remember anything.”
Reznick took a few moments to process that information. A knock at the door, and a doctor signaled him. “I’ll just be a couple of moments, honey.” He left his daughter’s side and approached the doctor.
The doctor whispered, “What a fighter. This is very encouraging. She’s so strong, fit, and healthy. And young. That all helps.”
“She seems very tired. Is she going to recover OK?”
“Well, it’s still early, so we’ll have to wait and see. But we have every reason to hope.”
Reznick turned and saw that Lauren had fallen asleep again. He sighed and turned back to the doctor. “Sleep is good?”
“Sleep is very good. It’s about the body repairing itself, about the start of the long road to recovery. She’s breathing by herself now.”
“But she’s not out of the woods yet, right?”
“It’s a process,” the doctor said. “Waking up takes time. The drugs are still in her system. Some patients suffer hallucinations before they wake up. Your daughter has been very peaceful since she’s been here. And the doctors in New York said the same thing when I spoke to them.”
“She can’t remember anything other than jogging. That’s the last thing she remembers.”
“That’s OK. It happens.”
“Is it permanent?”
“We can’t rule that out. But it is common to experience some memory loss. Sentence structures may be fragmented. She could have trouble finding the right word. But with speech therapy over the coming months, we believe she can potentially make a full recovery in time.”
“Potentially?”
“There are no guarantees. The brain scans, which are crucial, are all clear. No damage. No bleeding. But there might be lingering effects of the concussion. Confusion. But we don’t know for sure yet. We need to reorient her when she wakes fully. And we will move her out of the ICU to the high dependency unit.”
“You think she’s strong?”
The doctor nodded. “I’m confident she can begin her life again. It won’t be all smooth sailing. There might be some setbacks along the way. But she’s determined. And she’s a fighter.”
Reznick turned and looked at his sleeping daughter. “Just like her mother.”
It was late morning when Lauren woke again.
Reznick was sitting beside her and reached across to hold her hand. “Hi, sleepyhead.”
Lauren just stared at him blankly.
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“We’re going to get you back to normal as soon as we can. You’re in a good place.”
Lauren didn’t respond. She seemed to be in a trance.
Reznick smiled at her and called the doctor in. The doctor began to ask her questions. She didn’t speak. Not one word.
A nurse leaned in close and spoke in a loud voice to her. “Lauren, can you hear me, honey?” she said. “Can you tell me your name?”
Lauren stared at the nurse and then looked at the doctor.
Reznick reached out and held her hand. “Lauren, darling, it’s Dad here. Can you hear me?”
Lauren turned her face toward him.
“That’s good, darling,” Reznick said. “You can hear me. Now, tell us what your name is. Can you do that for me, darling?”
But his daughter just stared at him dead eyed, as if unable to find the words. A terrible silence filled the room.
The doctor said, “What’s your name?” His tone was sharp.
Lauren blinked once.
The nurse said, “What’s your name, dear? Your name? Can you say your name?”
Lauren licked her lips.
Reznick said, “I think she’s thirsty. Can we get her something?”
The nurse went away and came back with a cotton swab dipped in water. It looked like a lollypop. She placed it into Lauren’s mouth. “That better, honey?”
Reznick smiled. “What’s your name, darling? Tell me. Tell Dad.”
The nurse gently took the swab out of Lauren’s mouth so she could speak.
Lauren’s lips began to quiver. Her mouth slowly opened. And then she spoke. “Lauren . . . My name is Lauren Reznick.”
Reznick kissed the back of her hand. “That’s my girl. Dad’s here. Tell me again. What’s your name?”
“My name is Lauren Reznick. Didn’t you hear me the first time?”
Thirty-Nine
Reznick felt as if he had emerged from a bad dream. But he was still worried about his daughter. He remained wary about Lauren making a full recovery. But the hospital carried out numerous cognitive tests, and she aced them all. Every single one. Then there were brain scans.
The doctors were pleased. “She’s doing well,” they said.
