by Willow Rose
I nodded. “Can I have a go at him?”
Fowler chuckled. “I wouldn’t know why you’d want to.”
“Just indulge me, will you? I think I connected with him at the church. I feel bad for him. At least give him the chance of telling his side of the story, right?”
“I will never learn to understand you, Hunter. But if you really want to, then knock yourself out. I’m not stopping you.”
Chapter 7
The treatment center was located in a three-story yellow building north of Miami. Doctor Kendrick, who was a small blonde woman with comforting eyes, greeted us in her office. I rolled Camille’s chair inside and sat down.
“Okay,” she said and looked at the papers I had brought her. It was Camille’s medical file.
“As you can see, the doctors didn’t think she’d ever wake up and become responsive again,” I said. “But she did.”
“And that was three months ago?” she asked, looking at Camille, whose eyes were on her as well. Her right arm had a couple of spasms, and she tried to speak, but it didn’t make any sense.
“Yes. Approximately. Unfortunately, I don’t think there has been much improvement over the past months, even though she goes to rehabilitation therapy three times a week. She does speak a few more words, and she does seem to be more responsive when I talk to her, but she can’t control any of her movements, let alone do simple tasks like eating on her own.”
“I see,” Doctor Kendrick said.
“I don’t know if I’m just being impatient or…” I said.
“It’s only natural, Mr. Hunter,” she interrupted me. “Once we begin to see progress in the ones we love, we expect things to move a lot faster than what they do. With that being said, I do think we can help her. Looking at her file, she seems to be a perfect fit for what we do here. Now, there are a few things I want to make sure you understand before we begin anything.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Now, treating Anoxic Brain Injury with hyperbaric treatment, in a hyperbaric chamber, is not FDA approved yet. We have research suggesting it works, and we have seen cases where it does work. Recently, we had a little girl who nearly drowned and had been dead for two hours, with no heartbeat and, therefore, no oxygen flowing to her brain. She was—like your wife here—unresponsive for months, till she came here. That doesn’t mean it’s some miracle treatment. There are doctors out there who will claim we were just lucky. That there is no evidence that it was due to our treatment. Now, since it is not FDA approved, your insurance won’t pay.”
I nodded. “I’m well aware of that. I’ll pay out of pocket, even though it will drain my budget.”
“Very well, Mr. Hunter,” she said, smiling. “Now, the way the treatment works…what your wife has is Anoxic Brain Injury, as you are very well aware. It’s a type of brain injury caused by oxygen deprivation. This can cause serious damage as the brain depends on oxygen to function properly. We know now that brain cells without oxygen will begin to die after only six minutes. There are several ways to suffer anoxic brain damage. Nearly drowning, experiencing a lack of oxygen due to a heart issue, or like in your wife’s case, an overdose of drugs. Now the use of Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy can promote healing by restoring oxygen levels and improving the flow of oxygen-rich blood to the brain. This can help blood vessels to grow and repair damaged tissue. The treatments are designed to help her injured brain cells shrink, expose healthy neurons, and ‘wake them up’ with pure oxygen. We provide oxygen to the patient in a pressurized chamber, giving her the same air pressure as air at sea level for forty-five minutes twice a day. Now, as I said, we can’t promise you anything, but we have seen great results in other patients like her. Like the girl I talked about who is now functioning at almost a normal level for her age, which is quite remarkable.”
I exhaled nervously. This was a big decision, one that I had to make all alone. “And what are the side effects?”
“She might feel slight discomfort in her ears because of the pressure, kind of like in an airplane. It can get very hot in the chamber while it’s being pressurized, and she might feel fatigued, lightheaded, and hungry after the treatments. More severe complications can be lung damage, fluid buildup or rupture of the eardrum, sinus damage, and changes in vision causing nearsightedness, or myopia. There’s the possibility of oxygen poisoning, which can cause lung failure, fluid in the lungs, or seizures. But side effects are normally mild as long as the therapy doesn’t last more than two hours, and the pressure inside the chamber is less than three times that of the normal pressure in the atmosphere. Now, we will take her temperature and do a general health check before we begin the treatment, just to make sure she’s in good health, that she doesn’t have a cold or any respiratory issues. After that, we should be good to go.”
I looked at Camille briefly, then exhaled. “I think we’re in. Right now, we’ll take anything we can get if there is even a remote chance of improvement.”
Chapter 8
I worked on my computer while Camille was in the chamber, receiving her first treatment. I was nervous as they slid the lid on top of her and closed the chamber. I could see her face through the small glass window in the chamber from where I was sitting, and she seemed comfortable enough. It was always hard to tell with her, and I worried that she was scared or maybe even in pain. But Doctor Kendrick, who was in the room with us the whole time, assured me that she was doing very well, that there was nothing to worry about.
Once she was done, they helped me put her back in her wheelchair, and I was told to be back the next day, early in the morning. They wanted us to come in every morning and every evening, so I was going to have to work my schedule around her treatments. It wasn’t going to be easy, but if it provided any results, it would be worth it.
“How did it go? Is she any better?”
Josie was all over us as soon as we came through the front door. She looked at her mother, but as she saw no improvement, she gave me a disappointed look. Typically, the impatient teenager had expected an immediate response.
“She looks the same,” she said.
“Josie, sweetie. It will take a while before we’ll see any results,” I said, then helped Camille get back into her room and lay her down on her bed. She was exhausted and fell asleep right away.
“But…” Josie said.
“We have to be patient,” I said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “I have great confidence in the doctor and this treatment, and in God, naturally.”
Josie sighed as we walked back into the kitchen, and I started dinner. I was making spaghetti and meatballs, and seeing this, Josie wrinkled her nose at the meat.
“So, how long do you think it’ll take?” she asked.
I found an onion and started to cut it up, then exhaled tiredly. It had been a long day for me as well. I dreamt of lying on the couch and putting up my feet.
“I don’t know, honey. To be honest, I need…”
I stopped when a foul smell hit my nostrils. Josie noticed it too.
“What’s that smell?”
“It smells burnt,” I said.
We both turned to look toward the front door, where something lit up the darkness outside by the windows leading to the porch.
“Stay here,” I told her, then walked to the window and peeked out. Out on the front lawn, I spotted something that made me almost lose it.
“What is it, Dad? Dad?”
“Stay here!”
I hurried back into the kitchen, grabbed the fire extinguisher, then ran to the door and pulled it open. I rushed down the stairs into the front yard, where someone had put my trash bins and set them on fire. I ran down there, opened the extinguisher, and put it out, covering everything in the white foam. The smoke hit my face, and it smelled awful, so I turned away.
As I did, I saw a word written in red paint on my garage door. The letters were covering the entire surface, making them as tall as I was. The paint was still wet and running, but the message was clear en
ough:
RAT
Chapter 9
“What was that?”
Josie stared at me as I hurried inside and closed the door behind me. “Why were our trash bins on fire?”
“It was nothing,” I lied. I didn’t want her to worry. I closed the door to make sure she didn’t go outside and see the writing.
“It looked like something, Dad.”
“It was just kids, okay? Pranks, you know.”
She calmed down. “Oh, okay.”
I smiled, then continued my cooking, shaping the meatballs. Josie stayed with me for a few minutes more, seeming like she wanted to talk, but then eventually giving up.
“I have homework,” she said, then walked upstairs. “Call me when dinner is ready.”
Normally, at a moment like this, I would have told her to help me set the table, but not this time, not today. As soon as she was gone up the stairs, I grabbed a bucket of soap and water, then ran out to the garage door and started to wash off the paint, scrubbing it. I got most of it off and was about to walk back inside when Jean came up behind me.
“What’s going on?”
I turned to look at her, my heart jumping at the sight of her.
“What’s this?”
“Someone set our trash bins on fire and wrote RAT on my garage door. I think they’re trying to scare me off from talking to the feds.”
She nodded. “The trafficking case, huh. So, you think it might be your colleagues who did this?”
I shrugged. “Could be. I’m not exactly popular around the station for doing what I’m doing. But they don’t scare me. I will not stop till all of them are brought to justice, that’s for sure.”
Jean smiled and nodded. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you. But what about Josie?”
“What about her?”
Jean pointed toward the burned-out bins in my front yard. The smell of melted plastic was still thick.
“Did she see this?”
“She saw the fire, but not the writing. I told her it was a prank. I’m not sure she believed me. She’s getting too smart for me. I just don’t want her to worry about this too. She has enough with her mother and all. She even says she’s constantly worried about me getting hurt or killed while at work. It’s too much for such a young girl. She should be worrying about her friends and boys and stuff like that.”
“So, what are you going to do about this?” Jean asked.
I shook my head, then poured the last soapy water on the garage door. I had managed to wash away most of it, even though you still could see the trace of what had been written.
“Ignore them. That’s what you do with bullies.”
Chapter 10
The pre-trial detention center was located right across the street from the Richard E. Gerstein Justice Building on 13th Street. A handful of security guards in green jackets stood outside the entrance to both buildings as I drove through the gates and into the detention center, known to be one of the toughest in the nation. In there were the most hardcore criminals, awaiting their trials.
And then there was Nick. Fifteen-year-old Nick Taylor.
I was shown into a room with benches and tables that were bolted to the floor, so they couldn’t be moved or lifted in the air and used as weapons.
Nick entered, heavily chained on his hands and feet, then sat down across from me while the guard stood only a few feet away. I tried to smile, but it was hard to be sincere in these circumstances. The boy had lost a lot of weight since I had last seen him in the church, and he was paler than the barren white walls behind him.
“Nick?” I said, trying to look into his eyes, but he kept staring at the floor beneath him.
“My name is Harry Hunter. I’m a detective with Miami PD, and I’ve come here to help you.”
No reaction. I hadn’t expected one, but it didn’t make it less uncomfortable.
“I was there when you pulled the gun out. I was sitting right behind you. Maybe you remember me? I tried to persuade you to hand me the gun. I was the one who tried to tell you not to ruin your life. Do you remember, Nick?”
No reaction. I tried another approach.
“I want to help you, Nick. They want to try you as an adult, and you’re looking at some serious charges here. If you tell someone why you did it, then maybe we could be…”
I stopped myself. I didn’t know if telling his story would actually help him or not. The fact was, he had attempted to kill his father, and in a public place on top of it, where he risked the lives of many others. The media was all over his story—the State Attorney’s son being tried for attempted murder. They had practically already convicted him. I was no attorney. I couldn’t promise him anything. I saw him do it, so there was no doubt of his guilt. But I could be there for him; I could listen to his story.
“I’ve read up on your background, Nick,” I said and found his file. I placed it on the table, then opened it. “Your mother, she died ten years ago, didn’t she?”
Still, no answer.
“It says here she disappeared on a road trip to Key West ten years ago. Her body was discovered three days later in the water down there, hidden underneath the mangroves. A fisherman spotted her, it says here.”
The boy remained still even though he was now fiddling with a loose string on his orange jumpsuit. I couldn’t tell if he was reacting at all to what I was saying. My guess was that he was hurting too badly even to be able to look at me.
“What did he do to you, Nick?” I asked, closing the file with a deep exhale. “See, I don’t believe a boy like you did this without a valid reason. I think your father did something to make you do this.” I slammed my palm onto the metal table between us. The sound was louder than I had intended it to be and bounced off the walls.
“What did he do to make you so mad? Come on, talk to me.”
That’s when I finally got my reaction. Nick lifted his eyes and looked into mine while I continued, “The way I see it, you had enough. You got angry, maybe you were even scared of him, and that’s why you pulled the gun. And you might not want to tell me or anyone why, but I’m not letting him get away with it, you hear me?”
The guard signaled for me that my time was up and went to grab Nick. He stared at me, his green eyes piercing through me. Then as he rose to his feet, he finally spoke while being pulled away, “I remember you, Detective. I remember you.”
Chapter 11
“I think he was about to talk just when they took him away.”
My dad looked at me. We were sitting at the dinner table and had just finished our pizza. I had been to late afternoon therapy with Camille, and Josie was in her room doing her homework.
“And what did he say?” My dad asked and grabbed another slice of pizza, even though he had stopped eating minutes ago. My dad was very fond of food in general, especially the unhealthy kind.
“He said he remembered me,” I said. “From the day he shot his dad, he remembered me. I made a connection with him, which no one else has been able to do.”
My dad chewed and swallowed. He washed it down with iced tea. “So, what will you do next?”
“I’m gonna go back in a couple of days and see him again,” I said. “Maybe he’ll finally open up to me and talk then; maybe I can get the whole story. I don’t feel good about this case, especially not about the father. Something is off, and the boy is the one taking the fall.”
“So, you believe the father might have hurt the kid, is that it?”
I leaned back with a deep sigh. “Maybe. In my book, it takes a lot for a fifteen-year-old to try and kill his own dad. And I remember he said stuff to him before he pulled the gun out.”
“What stuff?”
“Like he had been lying to him all of his life, that he was done trusting him. Something like that,” I said and sipped my own iced tea.
“So, you believe it has to do with his mother’s death, am I right?”
I exhaled and drank again. “Yes. Of course, I do.”
“Did they suspect foul play in her death?” he asked, reaching over for yet another slice and biting into it. My dad had gained a lot of weight in the years since my mom died. She was the one who reminded him to stop eating and to exercise. He kept himself fit for her sake, but now that she wasn’t here anymore, he had let himself go. I wondered if I should say something. I decided not to. He was in his seventies and didn’t have to look good for anyone. He could have his pizza and enjoy it if he liked. I just wanted him to live long and stay with us for many years and not develop heart issues or anything like that.
“They concluded that she drowned, but the case was never closed. I found it when looking around a little and had the files sent up here from the Key West archives. Kate Taylor and two of her best friends were on a road trip to Key West. According to these women, it was Kate’s thirty-fifth birthday, and she wanted to spend it with her friends, partying in Key West and then go swimming with dolphins in Key Largo. But they only made it to Key West. They partied that night, and she was seen dancing with some guy—they searched for him for a long time. All they knew was that his name was Matt and that he was tall and had brown hair and blue eyes. That’s it. The girl’s friends reported her missing the next day when she didn’t come back to the hotel. At first, they thought she was out with this guy, and that she’d come back eventually, but when she didn’t, they went to the police. The police searched for her for several days, and three days later, a fisherman found her floating in the shallow water, hidden under the mangroves. They concluded she had died from drowning. Maybe she went swimming at nighttime and got in trouble.”
“But the case was never closed, you say?”
“No. They kept looking for this Matt guy, thinking he might be able to shed light on how a very good swimmer like Kate could suddenly drown. Was she pushed in? Did she fall from a boat? She had no bruises on her body, so there was no sign of being forced. So, what happened? It ends there.”
