Orphans of Paradise

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  “I’m sorry,” Nadia said.

  Rani could feel her sister’s tears sliding down her neck again.

  “I know,” Rani said. She pulled away. “I’m ok. We’re all ok.”

  Nadia finally let go, steam from the rising water billowing between them as Rani’s reflection became a blur in the mist filled mirror, every pale scar and echo of a bruise disappearing as if it had never existed.

  ***

  When Rani finally made her way downstairs the living room had been furnished with a light brown sofa along one wall, a short coffee table where Medina’s briefcase sat open, papers spilling over the sides, and another love seat. Lunch was already waiting on the kitchen table. It was simple, sandwiches with a side of sweet peppers. Rani took slow bites, careful not to overdo it. She watched Nadia make her way to the kitchen window, eyes scouring the beach as Max sat down at the table.

  “Who is she?” Rani finally asked.

  “Veronica,” Nadia answered.

  “A mule?”

  “No.” Nadia moved to join them at the table.

  “Has she said much to you yet?” Max asked.

  Nadia shook her head. “But I haven’t been pushing. I really just wish she’d eat something.” She turned to Rani. “She’s agreed to be a witness when Medina finishes building his case.”

  “His case? Against who?”

  “Jax’s brother,” Max interrupted.

  “Does Jax know?”

  “He agreed to help Medina too,” Max said.

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know. He just said he was leaving, that he was going to try to find out some information for Medina.”

  “When?”

  “Last night. When I came downstairs this morning he was gone.”

  “Did he say when he’d be back?” Rani asked.

  Max shook his head.

  “Well where did he go?”

  “He wouldn’t say…” Max looked back toward the window.

  “But you know?”

  Max bit his lip and shook his head again.

  “Max,” Rani pressed.

  “He went back.”

  “Back where?”

  “Back with them. Back with Pascual.”

  “What?” Rani snapped.

  “Medina said he agreed to be a part of some undercover investigation.”

  “But what if they found out he’s the one who started the fire? What if they find out he helped us escape? That man, the one who ran from the cops that night when we were trapped in Medina’s car. Did they ever even catch that guy? What if he tells Pascual that he saw Jax with us?”

  “I don’t know,” Max said.

  “It’s ok, Rani,” Nadia offered. “They’re listening in, staying close. He’ll be ok.”

  “And you really believe that?” Rani shoved her plate, glass grating across the table. “They’re using him. Don’t you see? Detective Medina doesn’t care about him. He doesn’t care about any of us.”

  “He’s wearing a wire,” Nadia said. “They’ll know if he’s in danger.”

  “They’ll kill him,” Rani yelled, pulse drumming in her ears. “Is that what he expects us to do too? To help him build his case? To testify in court or something?”

  “Only if we want to,” Nadia said. “I’ve already agreed.”

  “Of course you did.”

  Rani looked down at her empty plate and then to Veronica’s small form in the window. She wasn’t sure she wanted to approach her, to even step foot on that beach again, but she couldn’t sit there across from Nadia for another second.

  Rani let Veronica’s shifting footprints lead her down the beach to where she was sitting below the first dune, just far enough away from the water that the cold spray couldn’t reach her. The sound of Rani’s steps were swallowed up by the waves and when her shadow swelled over Veronica’s head, the girl jumped back, trying to get to her feet. When she shielded her eyes from the sun and saw that it was Rani she slid back down into the sand without a word.

  “Are you hungry?” Rani asked. “I brought you something to eat, just a sandwich.”

  “Did Medina’s girlfriend tell you to bring it to me?” Veronica said.

  “That’s my sister, Nadia. She’s not Detective Medina’s girlfriend.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes,” Rani said, settling into a spot next to the girl. “We’re, I mean she’s here for the same reason you are.”

  “What reason is that?”

  “She’s helping Medina build a case against Pascual.”

  Veronica was quiet. She reached for the sandwich on the plate in front of her and started picking off the crust, letting the wind blow the loose crumbs into the sand. Rani pulled up the hood of her jacket. Nadia had washed it for her while she was taking a bath and she could tell her sister had scrubbed it by hand, some of the fabric now fraying where the dried blood had once been.

  Rani hadn’t spent much time outside since arriving at the beach house but the days seemed to be getting warmer. Veronica looked at her for the first time, face softening for just a second before her hand found a loose piece of drift wood and she chucked it across the sand.

  “Thanks for the sandwich,” Veronica said and then she climbed to her feet and took off down the beach.

  Chapter 39

  Jax

  Jax could feel his hands shaking and he shoved them under his thighs. He stared straight ahead as Marcum dangled a lit cigarette out the window, the hot embers glowing red between his fingertips every time he took a drag. They followed the train station for a few miles before veering off onto an unnamed road and leaving the fading lights of the city behind. They came upon an abandoned factory that used to be a part of the industrial district, tall black trees twisting overhead, their frozen branches sparkling in the last violet beats of the setting sun.

  Jax had never been there before but he knew the place. It was the place where Pascual broke his enemies, the place the police knew not to go. They rolled to a stop in front of a flat concrete building with no windows or door. But Marcum didn’t lead Jax inside. Instead he led him to a pile of cinder blocks, kicking them away until it revealed the seam of a cellar door. Marcum gripped the handle, throwing back the thick metal covering until it landed with a gasp in the frozen grass and Jax covered his eyes as a cloud of dust rose into the air.

  Marcum eased down onto the first step and disappeared into the black hole. Jax hesitated, the flat desolate plain beyond the abandoned buildings luring him into the horizon. All he had to do was run. He could call out every landmark and every turn as he made his escape and Medina would be the only one who could find him.

  He took his foot off the first concrete step and eased it back down onto the grass. Then he took another step back and then another until he was almost past the first building. But then he heard a sound wrenching its way up from the hole, clawing across his skin.

  He tried to take another step forward, to run, but he couldn’t move. There was another long scream and that’s when Jax knew he couldn’t leave. He was pulled toward the sound, toward the darkness. And when he reached the edge of the stairs the smell strangled him. Dank. Rancid. He clutched the wall, forcing his legs down each step, each scrape of his foot followed by a shrill echo.

  He reached the last step, his hand holding loose to the wall as he rounded the corner where the girl’s torso lay in a black frothy puddle. Jax lurched forward, choking on his own vomit, eyes filling with tears from the smell. When he finally looked up he saw the others.

  Three more girls lay on their stomachs, their hands and feet bound with plastic zip ties. One of the girls was digging her bare feet into the concrete floor, trying to wriggle free. She looked into Jax’s eyes and hissed through her gag. Marcum finally slipped through a dark doorway, forearms stained with the girl’s blood. He set a small cooler down on the floor and made his way over to where the other girls were strewn in the corner.

  “Grab her,” Marcum said, kicking
at the girl who hadn’t yet taken her eyes off Jax.

  Marcum reached for the other two, pulling each one up by the hair, muffled groans escaping from behind their gags as he dragged them to the bloody mess in the center of the room. Jax stared down at the girl in front of him and tried to will himself to grab her by the scalp the way Marcum had done with the others. He finally hooked her by the arm and started dragging her across the floor. She rolled and kicked and tried to twist out of his grasp until he was forced to tighten his grip. When he reached the blood he paused.

  “That bitch likes to fight,” Marcum said. “I want her fucking face in it.”

  Jax tried to breathe through his mouth, eyes watering again. Then he reached for the girl’s arm and heaved her right next to the body. She screamed, kicking at him, neck quavering as she tried to keep her face above the floor. Then Marcum pulled out a cell phone and held it over the bodies piled at his feet. There was a click as he snapped the picture and Jax hoped he hadn’t been within the lens’ reach.

  “Time to go,” Marcum said. He nodded to the cooler. “Take that out to the car.”

  They made their way back into the city, the smell of the girl’s dried blood on Marcum’s clothes turning putrid in the hot air blowing through the car. They passed Main Street and crossed the bridge into Vines, but instead of making a left and heading in the direction of the safe house they took a right, the lights of downtown springing up around them. Jax suddenly felt himself go cold, a line of sweat forming behind his neck and trailing down his chest along the hidden wire.

  “Where…” Jax cleared his throat. “Where are we going?”

  “Pascual’s got a little job for you. He needs you to make a delivery.”

  “Drugs? Doesn’t he have narcos for that kind of bitch work?”

  “Not drugs.”

  “Then what?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They eased onto State Street and stopped in front of a long stretch of marble steps leading to the entrance of a small Catholic school.

  “Take that,” Marcum said, nodding to the cooler between Jax’s legs. “Jump that side gate and leave it at the top of the slide.”

  “Leave the cooler at the top of the slide,” Jax repeated under his breath.

  “No you fucking dumbass. Bring back the cooler. Our prints are all over the goddamn thing.”

  Jax opened the car door and Marcum shoved him out, the cooler almost tumbling out of his hands. He caught it by the handle and made a path through the dark shadows where the light from the street lamps didn’t reach. He came to the tall iron gate and hoisted himself up using one of the sharp prongs adorning the top before landing with a thud in the grass on the other side.

  He walked the length of the building past tall windows and arched doorways, all the while still in Marcum’s line of sight until he rounded a corner and the playground came into view. There was a tall domed jungle gym, a swing set, and a chalked blacktop. Then, to the left, extending from the monkey bars was the slide. It wound in a spiral, the plastic entrance even with a pair of recently planted oak trees, the soil still raised at their roots.

  Jax took the steps two at a time, the cooler bouncing against his thigh, and then he crouched to his knees at the top of the slide. He sat there for a minute, resting his back against the red plastic mouth, finally able to take a deep breath. Finally alone.

  He stared down at the cooler resting between his feet and then down the collar of his shirt at the wires still taped to his chest. His eyes searched for the tiny microphone in the darkness and his fingers itched to feel for it, to pull it closer to his lips but he was running out of time.

  He pulled his collar over his mouth and breathed the directions to the basement where the other girls were still trapped and hopefully still alive. Then he searched the surface of the building for a name and as his eyes climbed the stone walls and the filigreed doorways, the wooden benches and the bright red playground equipment, he could taste the bile he’d choked down earlier clawing its way back up his throat.

  He rose to his knees, slowly, and felt for the grooves on the cooler’s lid. He pulled it open, half an inch, and let the smell waft out first. Then he couldn’t stop it. He flew forward onto his hands, his jaw and lips shaking, his chest heaving. He closed his eyes and tried to shake the mess from his hands, wiping it on the rubber bridge under his feet and flinging it into the dark.

  “Fuck,” he coughed. “Holy fuck.”

  Jax kicked at the cooler, sending it tumbling down the slide and the girl’s head rolling free into the soft chalk pebbles.

  “That fucking…” He stopped before he could get sick again, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. “Medina,” he whispered. “Get to the school on State Street. Pascual knows you’re helping the mules. The one’s he’s caught, he’s killing them. He’s trying to send you a message. He wants people to see this and if you clean it up before they do, he’s just going to do it again.”

  Jax lumbered down the steps, his moist pant legs sticking to his skin. He stumbled to a small birdbath, rinsing his hands, still trying to remember how to breathe. The trees were bleeding out, everything in motion, the landscape mimicking his pulse. He blinked, waiting for the night to grow still, for everything to just stop.

  He finally made it to the edge of the school, his hand clutching the wall as he watched Marcum’s silhouette from behind the car window. He felt the nausea peeling off of him, his skin bristling and trying to tear itself free, pieces of him still strewn along the empty playground as he climbed back over the iron gate.

  “What the fuck took you so long?” Marcum asked when he was back in the car. “I was about to leave your ass. Holy shit,” he said, covering his nose. “Did you fucking get it on you? What is that?”

  Jax looked down at his damp clothes and peeled the wet shirt from his skin. “Loose top,” he said. “Fell open when I was climbing the fence.”

  Marcum shook his head, cheeks swollen with air, and pulled out his cell phone. The screen lit up, stains glowing on the front of Jax’s t-shirt. He turned his face to the window and watched in the reflection as Marcum dialed Pascual’s number.

  Back at the house, Marcum’s sister set out a towel on the bathroom counter and showed Jax how to turn on the hot water. When she left him alone to shower he couldn’t rip his clothes off fast enough, pulling the wire free and then his clothes before tossing them in the sink, filling it to the brim with cold water and soap.

  The corroded showerhead doled out the water in high-pressured spurts and it took skill and perfect timing to finally maneuver his entire body beneath the stream. He covered every inch of his skin in the peach scented gel he’d found on the windowsill and scrubbed himself down with his fingernails, rubbing himself raw and kneading the soap through his scalp. The muddy residue pooled around the drain and he ushered it down with his foot until the water ran clear.

  He stood there, air drying as he worked a handful of soap into each piece of clothing. He ran the fabric across his knuckles, kneading and wringing it until the stains faded to a pale grey. He looked down at his hands, at the dry skin peeling off in flakes, and then at his clothes, the fabric thin and warped, the smell of blood still wafting from them. He blinked, lashes wrangling something hot like tears as he slapped the wet clothes against his thigh, filling the folds with air before laying them flat across the tub’s edge.

  He felt people moving past the door and he knew he wouldn’t be able to wait for his clothes to dry completely. He searched the drawers for some toothpaste but all he found was a box of tampons and a plastic tub of foam bath toys.

  His clothes were starting to stiffen and he pushed open the small window above the tub to let the breeze finish drying them. Then he grabbed the wire and looped it across his chest, the tape more reluctant to take hold. He pressed down hard, using the heat of his thumb to bind the strips to his skin and then he heard the spring of the door handle and a click as it slid open.

  One of Marcum’s neph
ews peered at Jax through the door. Jax’s arms flew to his chest as he rose to his feet and then the door pulled closed. He threw on his shirt and stepped into his shorts, holding them at the waist as he stumbled into the living room. He saw the boy, his mother kneeling down in front of him. He was whispering and with one small finger tracing a line across his chest.

  Marcum’s sister’s eyes grew wide and then she took a few steps toward Jax until her lips were poised at the collar of his shirt. Then she spoke.

  “My name is Alana Marcum and Salazar Marcum is my brother,” she said. “I live at 1401 McGuire Drive and he uses my home as a safe house. On Friday September 30th he brought Michelle Guzman here before killing her and leaving her body in an abandoned freight car outside Hartford. On November 12th he left Sarah Chapman’s body in a wooded area near Madison. He paid someone to cremate the body of Ramón Calderon on November 18th. The bodies of German Gutierrez, Mark Rivera, and Bill Croner were burned in a mass grave Marcum has in the old industrial district…”

  She rambled off names, dates, and locations for almost an hour. Jax stood there, watching the door as Alana refused to move, refused to stay silent for one more second. Her voice was low and calm as she recalled names, nicknames, addresses, and anything she could remember from the things Marcum had said while speaking with clients on his cell phone and conducting personal meetings on her couch.

  The list of men and women Marcum had killed rose to almost forty before his sister’s memory finally grew dark. It was as if she’d been collecting every face she’d seen and every word she’d heard, storing it deep inside her until she knew someone was listening.

  “There are more I can’t remember,” Alana finally said.

  She’d moved to the couch and Jax was watching the window. Pascual and Marcum were due back any second but every few minutes something would flit across Alana’s expression, her eyes would grow dark, and she would add another name to the list, another site where the body could be found. He didn’t want to know what would happen to them if they found out what she was doing, what he was doing.