“No problem,” Elder said standing. Two of the cops nodded and walked out, the other smirked then shook his head and followed them.
“Thanks.”
Jim waited until the room had cleared out then introduced himself. The young lady didn’t respond. She looked to be about twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old, with sunken eyes and about as much life as a limp rag. Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand. It felt shaky. Cold. Her pulse was fast and thready. He saw no sign of visible trauma other than a series of shallow lacerations across the inside of each wrist. Bleeding from the wounds was minimal at best.
“Can you tell me your name?”
No response. Not even a blink.
“Miss, did you do this to yourself?”
Her eyes looked vacant, her pupils dilated.
“Did you cut your wrists?”
Jim waited patiently.
“I’d like to help you,” he said, “but you’re going to have to talk to me.”
Nothing. She retained the glassy-eyed expression of a doll.
“Okay then, you’re leaving me no choice. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No.”
“What?” Jim saw her lips move. He heard her voice again, almost imperceptible this time, a soft whisper coming from a face devoid of energy…of life. “What did you say?”
“I’m not going.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not going,” she repeated, her voice stronger. A furrow formed across her brow. “No hospitals.”
“Miss, I hate to tell you this, but it’s not up to you. You have no choice in the matter. You lost that right when you tried to harm yourself.”
“What I do to myself is my business.”
“Not anymore, it’s not.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
“But I don’t want you here. You have no right to be here!” She jerked her arm away and glared at him. Jim felt stunned. Her eyes, a moment ago dark and depressed, looked fiery and red, as if something evil had come alive inside her. “Can’t you see I just want to die?”
Jim shook his head. “You can’t mean that.”
“How could you possibly know what I mean? You don’t know anything about me!”
“Maybe not, but I’ve seen, and helped, plenty of people just like you.”
“Just leave. Please!”
Jim felt a wave of anger crash over him. He thought of Lance, of Sid, of all the unnecessary death he’d seen in the past few days, of all the people he’d wanted to help but couldn’t, the victims of other people’s hatred and evil, but then there was this girl. She actually wanted to die. He suddenly realized he really didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t carry any more weight on his shoulders. If she wanted to kill herself, who was he to stop her?
“You know what?” he said, shaking his head and backing away. “Fine. If you want to kill yourself so bad, go ahead. I’m not going to try to stop you.”
Jim stood and started for the door.
“Wait!”
He stopped and looked at the girl. Her eyes seemed to plead for help. Her gaze drifted to the floor, and for an uncomfortable moment Jim wasn’t sure he’d said the right thing, but then he saw her eyes widen again. Her lips began to quiver and her arms began to shake. She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes.
“Please don’t go,” she said. “Please.”
The wave of anger subsided. Jim walked back to the bed, sat down beside her and took her hand, and for a long moment he just stared at her. She looked like an old woman, cold and shaky, tired, and for the first time since laying eyes on her he felt as if he actually had a chance of reaching her. But no more games, he told himself. No more games.
“Tell me your name,” he said. “Shoot straight with me.”
“It’s Noel,” she responded. “My name’s, Noel.”
“Well, Noel, my name’s Jim, and I’m going to take you to the hospital.”
“I-I-I don’t know.”
“It’ll be all right, just you and me, we’ll take an easy ride and talk.”
“B-but I-I-I don’t know you.”
“It’s okay,” Jim said. “You can trust me, I’m your friend.”
“No,” she said, her voice trailing off. “I don’t have any friends.”
Noel broke into a fit of deep uncontrolled sobs. Jim felt a tear land on his hand. Her head fell against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Noel—” Jim wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Listen.”
“I’m so tired of this. God, I’m so sorry.”
Jim felt as if his heart would break. He’d seen depression many times, treated more people for it than he could remember, but this time something seemed different. He could sense her anguish, feel her pain, and it scared him. He felt a sudden urge to pray for her, to say something on her behalf. Anything. That scared him too.
“Noel,” he said, “look, you don’t have any reason to be sorry. It’s not your fault.”
“Will you pray for me?”
“Excuse me?”
“Pray for me.”
“Me?”
“Please? You’re different than all the others. I can tell.”
“Different?”
Jim noticed her peering into his eyes. She seemed to be gazing deep into his soul. Analyzing him.
“You are different. You’ve got something.”
Jim felt uncomfortable.
“Noel, look, I’m not sure I’m the one you need praying for you, I’m just—”
“No,” she said cutting him off. “You are. I know you are.”
“Jim?”
Jim turned around and saw Sharon peeking into the room.
“Everything okay?” she said holding out a bundle of heavy cloth straps. “Do we still need these?”
Jim glanced at Noel.
“Pray for me,” she whispered her pleading eyes filled with hope.
Jim smiled and shook his head.
“Thanks, Sharon, but I don’t think we’ll be needing those after all.”
Chapter 32
Rico walked into the locker room at police headquarters and flopped onto the bench in front of his locker. He found it hard to breathe. Hot steamy air hung over his head like a cloud. He heard the sound of water splashing over the tiled shower floors a few yards away. And humming. Contented humming. Someone felt happy. It made him feel sick. He lowered his head and stared at the floor. Lance’s face appeared. His skin looked dull, his staring eyes unseeing. Rico let his mind wander back to the raid, back to the moment when Lance was shot. He replayed the scene in his mind over and over again trying to piece it all together, trying to determine the exact moment that he’d failed. “Why didn’t I see that coming?” he murmured. “Why?”
“I’ll tell you why—”
Rico looked up, startled. Officer Jimmy Little stood at the end of the locker wall with a towel about his waist. His hair looked bristly and wet.
“It’s ‘cause you’re human, sarge.” Little uncrossed his arms and walked over leaving a trail of wet footprints on the floor. Rico noticed deep furrows cutting the space between his eyes. The young dimpled smile was gone. “You did everything by the book. Nobody could have seen that coming.”
Rico couldn’t think of a word to say.
“Look, sarge, me and some of the other guys, we’ve been talkin’.” Little paused and tightened the towel about his waist. “Losin’ Lance? That was a terrible thing, but we all know it’s a part of the job. Lance knew it, but it was a risk he was willing to take. Every day we come to work we realize it could happen to us.” Little stepped forward and placed his hand on Rico’s shoulder. “I want you to know we’re still with you, sir. All of us. Say the word and we’ll be ready.”
Rico stood up and shook Little’s hand. “Means a lot, Jimmy. Thanks.”
“By the way, sarge, while you was still at the hospital—” Little tilted his head t
oward the assembly room. “A couple of us guys came back and got started on the haul. You should see it.”
The cache of weapons seized during the Posse raid was huge. Handguns. Knives. Assault weapons and hand grenades. Rico even counted five makeshift bombs—sticks of TNT wrapped about liter-sized propane canisters. He picked one up and studied it then carefully set it down and picked up one of the rifles.
“Chinese SKS.”
“Soviet made,” Little added. “Wicked little stump that gave birth to the AK-47.”
“I see you know your weapons.”
Rico studied the simple, almost chunky lines. It was an ugly weapon. The orange shellacked finish made him want to gag, but in a raw, brutal kind of way he appreciated the fine workmanship. The loading mechanism. The nasty looking bayonet that folded under the barrel. An excellent killing machine. It made him shudder to think that there were more just like it still floating around East Beach. He set the rifle down and looked over the pile.
“Did all this come from the Posse bust?”
“Every piece.”
“Looks like an armory for a small country.” Rico picked up a brick-sized package and poked it with his knife. He sniffed the white powdery residue that emerged on the tip of the blade. “Ten to one this is pure cocaine. You realize how much this powder’s worth on the street?”
“Four keys? After those dealer punks step on it a few times?” Little squinted. “I’d say about a half million. Maybe more. And look here.” Little picked up a baggie of clear amber-colored rocks. “Here’s what they was making on those stoves—meth.”
“Methamphetamine. The working man’s cocaine.”
“Enough to feed every project ‘tween here and Wilmington. Wonder who they was planning on selling it to.”
“I don’t,” Rico said with certainty. “They were going to sell every brick of it to J-Rock.”
“Rat dung scum. That reminds me,” Little said. “I called Havelock and Swansb’ro like you said. New Bern too. Faxed ‘em his picture. All departments said they’d be on the lookout for him. He’ll show up somewheres, sarge. We’ll nail him.”
“Sooner the better. Jim’s gonna be in a world of hurt if J-Rock finds out he’s the one that started all this.”
Chapter 33
Jim could hardly concentrate as he pushed the stretcher through the emergency room doors at East Beach Regional Hospital. The look on Noel’s face amazed him: the color in her cheeks, the gleam in her eyes. Her entire demeanor sang with joy. Gone was the long dragged-out appearance of the meth addict dangling at the end of a frazzled rope. She lay on the stretcher with her bandaged arms resting peacefully by her sides. “Hi,” she said to a passing nurse. “I’m Noel,” she said to another. Jim placed his hand on her shoulder and gave her an encouraging pat. “Thank you,” she said reaching up and grabbing his hand.
“No problem,” Jim said squeezing her palm between his fingers. “It’s okay.”
“What you told me…it changed my life.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“No, no, I mean it. No one ever told me about Jesus before.”
“Noel—”
“But I feel like he gave me a chance to start all over again.”
“Okay,” Jim said placing his finger to his lips and quietly ssshhing her. He grinned uncomfortably as he glanced about the hallway. A couple of East beach medics stood in the middle of the hall waiting their turn at triage. Both men turned and looked at him. One frowned and gave an upward nod as if to say, What’s up? Jim returned the nod then leaned down and whispered in Noel’s ear. “It’s okay, try to be quiet now.”
“You saved my life,” she shouted.
“Look, N-Noel,” Jim stammered. “You really need to be quiet in here. This is—”
“But God sent you to me. I know he did. Oh, thank you, Jesus!”
Jim cringed. The entire hallway seemed to turn his way at once. The triage nurse looked up from her desk. She looked annoyed. Her patient, an elderly man with transparent skin and wiry gray hair, turned and glanced over his shoulder, his blue eyes full of expectancy and joy as if he’d just heard a trumpet blast. Sharon grimaced, lowered her eyes, and looked away as if trying to hide. Both of the other medics were staring at him, one with a slight grin on his face, the other a frown. Jim suddenly felt trapped as if the entire world was watching him, awaiting his response. He shuffled his feet nervously. He didn’t know what to say.
“No, I mean it,” Noel continued. “God sent you to tell me about Jesus.”
Another jolt. It’s that name, Jim thought—Jesus. Every time she says it, it’s like the whole place shakes. What is this?
Noel looked so vibrant, so full of energy, such a resurrected version of her former self that it almost scared Jim, but at the same time he couldn’t help but see the magnitude of what was happening. He felt a strange power, an unseen energy moving about the hallway, positive vibrations ramming into negatives. It was almost as if a battle was raging right over his head, an invisible war all around him. He glanced around the hall again. Mixed emotions. Strange looks. Confusion. But the old man—he looked like he expected an angel to swoop down at any moment, pick him up and carry him into the clouds.
Jim suddenly realized he didn’t care what anyone else thought. He turned to Noel and said out loud, “You know, there’s a lot of other women out there who feel the same way you did tonight. I think you should tell them.”
“Really?”
“Sure, tell them what you’ve just learned.”
Noel’s face blossomed like a spring flower. Her skin suddenly warmed as if painted with soft amber light.
“I can do that?”
“Well why not, Noel? God can use you, don’t you see? You’ve been given a wonderful opportunity. You know what it’s like to be so close to killing yourself and then to suddenly find the truth.”
“Oh wow!” Noel beamed like a child on Christmas morning. “I can help them.”
“Sure you can.”
Noel glanced at her lacerated wrists then at Jim then she looked away and stared into the distance as if trying to peer into the future. Jim could almost imagine her planning her next move, how she’d tell others what she now knew, that Jesus loves them too. He felt something warm begin to glow inside him, an addictive, adrenaline-laced feeling that just felt right, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it’s the way Sid had felt each time he’d shared the Gospel.
Sharon made a weird gargling sound with her tongue, as if clearing her throat of a distasteful substance. Jim shifted his eyes toward her and saw her shaking her head.
“Dude,” she said, her voice in a whisper, “I feel like I’m at church.”
Jim chuckled as he thought about her comment. He glanced down at Noel and felt his head begin to nod. “You know what, Sharon? Maybe we are.”
Traffic along the boulevard seemed unusually light but Jim wasn’t really concerned about the traffic. He stared out the window thinking about all that had happened and the strangely warm, exuberant way he felt. He let his eyes go to a neutral point beyond the streaking buildings and trees where they rested, unfocused, on the dark backdrop of sky. His life had become a weird jigsaw puzzle with pieces that didn’t fit. Sid’s death had twisted his guts into such a tight knot he could barely eat, but now he felt such a strange rush. Everything about his encounter with Noel seemed right. He felt refreshed and strong, but at the same time weary and wrung out. He couldn’t help but wonder if God was trying to tell him something. What was it Sonny had said? It’s as natural as breathing? And Jonas? You’ve got a job to do? Maybe they’re both right. Maybe God does have a plan for my life…
“You embarrassed me in there, you know.”
Jim glanced at his partner. He could see the frustration on her plumb-like face…or was it anger?
“Sharon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“What just happened, Jim?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, like, all that Jesus
stuff…what’s come over you? And what’d you say to that girl to cheer her up so much anyway? I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“You didn’t see what happened?”
“No—” Sharon slowed the truck and pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot on the north end of town, the only fast-food place Jim knew of that had a canopy high enough to handle the truck. “I was driving, remember?”
“She asked me to pray for her, Sharon.”
“Pray?” Sharon pulled up to the drive-thru intercom and rolled down her window. “I thought you weren’t ever going to pray for anybody again. Hang on a sec—” Sharon leaned out the window. “Yeah, hi, give me two double cheeseburgers, a large order of fries, an apple pie, and…what? No, two...no, I said...listen to me—” Sharon shook her head and slowed down her order to a crawl. “Two double cheeseburgers, a large...what?”
Jim chuckled and pulled out his wallet. “Here,” he said handing Sharon a five. “Order me a vanilla shake.”
“No!” Sharon barked. “Not hamburgers, cheeseburgers. I want two…that’s right, and fries, give me a large order of fries and two vanilla shakes and we’ll be all…what?” Sharon rolled her eyes. “Vanilla. V-A-N-I-L-L-A...that’s it. Okay. How much?” Sharon turned to Jim. “Like, if these people are going to work at McDonald’s they should at least learn our language.”
Jim chuckled. Sharon reminded him of his father, soft at the core but as intolerant and rough as sandpaper at the surface. She handed the money over then turned back to him and easily segued back into their conversation.
“I don’t know much about this prayer stuff, Jim. I mean, like, that grape? That was cool, major cool, maybe even a miracle, but don’t you think you’re beginning to take all this just a little too far.”
The radio crackled. Jim turned up the volume to catch the dispatcher in mid-sentence:
“...still in the water. Repeating, engine-four and medic-seven, respond to report of a drowning at the Triple-S Pier. Victim is still in the water. PD en route. Medic-seven respond code-three.”
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