Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel)

by Dittemore, Shannon

  “Serena,” Jake says, a hand to her shoulder, “would you like me to . . .”

  “Yes, won’t you? I can’t say it again.” She stands and stumbles past me, through the kitchen and down the hall. I call after her, but a second later I hear a door slam and the sound of water running.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Her husband passed away.”

  “Manny?” I ask, stunned. Emmanuel Beni is—or was—a family court judge in Portland. He was successfully working his way up the justice system last I heard, but admittedly that was some time ago. “How?”

  “Heart attack,” Jake says. “She came home and found him on the floor of his office. A couple weeks ago now, I guess.”

  “Wow.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “No, not really. Spoke to him a couple times at the school and then at the funeral, of course. But Ali was an only child. Adopted, obviously. Losing both of them so close together has to be awful for Serena.” I feel thin, stretched. With all the other emotions I carried over here, the weight of this news feels that much heavier. “How did she end up here?”

  “She came to see you, but when no one answered your door, she tried here. She didn’t want to leave these on your doorstep.” Jake slides a stack of paper across the table. It’s alligator-clipped together, colored Post-it notes jutting from the sides.

  “What is it?” I ask, scanning the top page.

  “Correspondence,” Jake says, “between Serena and the law firm that handled Ali’s adoption.” He’s speaking slowly. It’s weird.

  “Why does she want me to have it?”

  “I don’t know, but read the second paragraph on that one,” Jake says.

  Thank you for stopping by the office. I’m sorry I missed you. Your paperwork is in process as we speak, but I’ve come upon an extraordinary situation that could expedite your adoption. Clients of mine, a husband and wife, had hired a surrogate to carry their baby. This weekend they were killed in a car accident. Their will indicates that their only living relative should take custody of the child should anything befall them, but the relative patently refuses. What makes the situation more desperate is that the surrogate is to give birth any day. If you would like to pursue this adoption, I’m nearly certain we can make this happen.

  I read it quickly, silently, and then I turn my eyes back to& otherowpD; Jake. He takes the packet from me, removes the Post-it notes lining the top of the page, and slides it back across the table.

  “Look at the stationery,” he says.

  The Law Firm of Madison and Kline. Below the block-style logo is a list of attorneys. The first name on the list is Henry J. Madison, Senior Partner.

  Henry.

  Again.

  I haven’t seen him since the warehouse, but he’s everywhere. Why does that old man keep squirming into my life? Into the lives of everyone I love?

  “We were entirely unaware that we were dealing with traffickers,” Serena says, entering the room, rounding the couch, her steps steady now. “Not for some time. Madison and Kline, you see, was a firm my husband was familiar with in his proceedings. They came with the highest recommendations. We should have spotted it before, of course, but it wasn’t until after Ali had been placed with us that we understood with whom we had become involved.”

  I sit up a little straighter. “I don’t understand . . .”

  “She was sick. Very, very sick. The birth mother was by no means a surrogate. She was penniless, an addict in a hopeless situation. She agreed to sell her baby for a thousand dollars.”

  “A thousand dollars?” I ask. I’m not even sure what mortifies me more. That someone thought Ali was worth so little or that she was purchased at all.

  Serena’s face is grim. “We paid Madison and Kline over $300,000 for the adoption. When Manny threatened to turn them over to the authorities, they produced more than enough documentation to cast a shadow on any ignorance we could have claimed.” She nods at the paperwork. “That’s what you have there.”

  “They blackmailed you,” I say.

  “They did. But we loved Ali, and there was every indication that we really were her best option. She came to us malnourished and underweight, but my brother agreed to come over from England to help us with her. He’s a doctor. Thankfully, she sustained no permanent damage. Not that it did her much good in the long run.”

  She picks at a tissue in her hand as she speaks, cottony snow falling to the arm of the couch.

  “The truth is we wanted to keep her. Horribly. It was devastating to learn we couldn’t conceive, and adoption is such a sticky process, especially if you try to do it by the book. My immigration status here made things even more difficult. Everything was drawn out. Everything took years. At first Manny was unwilling to use his legal ties to move us up on lists—said it wasn’t fair—but after a while he gave in. He felt responsible, you see. But even that wasn’t enough. Red tape. Red tape everywhere. We fought and fought to make it happen. By the time we found out Madison was dirty, we’d fought ourselves out.”

  There are seven silver buttons lining the collar of Serena’s expensive elbow-length blazer. I concentrate on the light bouncing off each of them, trying to make sense of the story she’s telling. I thought we were free of trafficking—after the warehouse. But I should have known our one little foray didn’t solve the problem everywhere. Of course it didn’t. Maybe it didn’t even solve all of that problem.

  “So you stayed silent,” Jake says. There’s no condemnation in his voice, but I watch as fear sparks like a firecracker in Serena’s chest. Black tar is splattered everywhere; I’m hit in the face with it and immediately feel its effect. Goose bumps pop up on my arms.

  I turn to Jake, but his eyes are on Serena, his lips moving silently. He’s praying. He reaches across the arm of the couch and takes my hand. I watch as the fear on my arm hisses and spits, smoking as it dissolves.

  “We did,” Serena says, gripping her hands tightly together. “I’m not proud of it, but we did. We didn’t want to lose Ali, so we kept our mouths shut. Manny made it his life mission to get the firm shut down.”

  “Did he?” I ask.

  “Yes. It was several years before he had enough on Madison to turn the tables and force the swine to walk away from family law.”

  “You blackmailed Henry?” Jake asks, his voice a mixture of awe and concern.

  “My Manny did. He never would tell me what he held over the man, but whatever it was, Henry walked away from the law. His departure destroyed the firm. To the day he died, Manny considered the death of Madison and Kline to be his greatest accomplishment.”

  The fear in Serena’s chest is no longer sparking, but a steady stream flows from her sternum to the floor. Jake’s prayers seem to be keeping it from the two of us, but I stand and pull Serena closer, wedging her between Jake and me. The fear on her forearms hisses in anger.

  “Why are you bringing this to me, Serena?” I ask gently, carefully.

  “Because I have to know . . .” She curls into herself, misery and regret reverberating from her tears. I squeeze her against me. “Did my baby girl hate me?” Her tears soak through my shirt, but she doesn’t sob this time, and it’s not fear pouring from her chest any longer, it’s sorrow. She leans forward and lifts the papers from the table. “I found these in a box of books the school had packed up after she was killed.” Her eyes go all wonky and unfocused then, but it’s only a second before she’s recovered. “Anyway, there were several boxes like this—books and scripts, old homework assignments—things I just didn’t have the heart to go through after she died. Going through her clothes was hard enough. You saw me, Elle, I was bonkers. But now that Manny’s gone, I can’t stay in that house any longer, and before I can move, the boxes must be sorted. It’s a horrible kind of misery, going through both of their belongings. To know I have to be the one to do it because there’s no one else left.”I’m not sure I