by Willow Rose
“It is,” I said. “Josie is sick. I don’t have time to explain in more detail, but she needs a new heart asap.”
Al looked at me from underneath her heavy dreadlocks. She was probably the shortest person I had ever known, but she still drew more attention to herself in a room than anyone I had ever met, even though she desperately didn’t want to.
“And you think I have one?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No. There’s a donor at the hospital, well maybe there is, but we need to find her relatives. She’s a young girl who has been declared brain dead, but her heart is fine. She’s a match, they say, but we can’t find her family.”
Al nodded. “I see. And you want me to find them?”
“Yes, please. I have the name of the dad.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “A name? That’s all?”
I grimaced. “I’m afraid so. The mother and the girl were homeless, living in their car. The parents are divorced. I have the last known address on the father, but he doesn’t live there anymore.”
Al nodded pensively while rubbing her dreadlocks that were pulled back into a thick ponytail. “All right, an address is good. We’re starting to get somewhere. What about the mother. Did she have a phone?”
“She did, but it was destroyed in the water.”
She looked at me, startled. “The water?”
“The mother and daughter drove into the harbor three weeks ago. Suicide. The daughter survived but is brain dead; the mother died.”
“And the phone wasn’t waterproof?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I asked down in forensics, and they said it was completely destroyed. It was an old one.”
Al’s face lit up. She grabbed the file and opened it. “But if there was a phone, there is a phone record with a provider somewhere. Let me see what I can do. There’s coffee in the pot in the kitchen. It’s bulletproof coffee, but you don’t mind, right?”
“Any coffee will do,” I said, even though I wasn’t very fond of Al’s health keto power coffee since the fatty butter always threw me off a little. I had to admit, though, that it did give me extra energy from my first sip, and I needed just that. I sat on her red velvet couch that looked like something my grandmother would have in her living room, then tapped impatiently on the side of my cup as I drank, watching Al do her magic. I tried my best to pretend like I wasn’t counting the minutes anxiously.
Chapter 10
“Can I get you anything?”
Jean looked at Josie in the bed. The girl looked so weak and pale; it was awful. Josie was usually such a strong girl, and Jean had never seen her like this.
Josie smiled feebly. “How about a new heart?”
Looking at her brought tears to Jean’s eyes. She tried to stifle them since she didn’t want the girl to see them.
“Your dad is working on that one,” she said and took Josie’s hand in hers. Harry’s dad had been with her all afternoon but had just gone out for a coffee and a bite to eat. Jean felt worry in the pit of her stomach, gnawing at her insides. It tormented her to see Harry and Josie in this type of distress.
It had been a month since Camille had woken up, and Jean had snuck out of the house to leave them alone for the reunion. It wasn’t without some pain that Jean had seen Camille come back to life. She was thrilled that she had; of course, she was. Camille had been her best friend. And it was what was best for Josie and Harry. But while Camille was sick, Jean had fallen in love with Harry. She had tried desperately not to and fought every urge, but it had happened anyway. And now, she had to push her feelings away every time she saw him, and that was painful. She had avoided him at all costs, taking extra shifts at the hospital to keep herself busy and away from the house. Yet, she still found herself standing in front of their house at night when coming home from her evening shift, staring at the porch, wondering what they had been up to that day, if they were getting proper food to eat, or if Josie needed help with her Spanish. She was simply missing being a part of their lives. While Camille was sick, she had been over there constantly when off from work. She had taken care of Camille, changing her feeding tube, her catheter, and making sure she didn’t get pressure sores. She had cooked for Harry and Josie and often Harry’s dad—who lived right down the street—too. She had plunged in headfirst and gotten herself too involved with them. And now it was all over. It was like she had lost her family. And the worst thing was that she wasn’t allowed to feel the way she did. She had to be happy for them; she had to be thrilled that their prayers had been answered. Heck, she had even prayed for Camille’s recovery herself on many occasions. She really shouldn’t be feeling this way, this deep pain.
Yet, she was.
And now they were all here again, in trouble, needing her assistance yet again, ripping open the old wounds.
It didn’t feel fair.
“I know,” Josie said hoarsely. She closed her eyes briefly and seemed to be dozing off, but then opened them again and looked at Jean, squeezing her hand.
“I missed you,” she whispered.
At first, Jean stared at her, startled, thinking she might have heard her wrong, but then the girl repeated it.
“I missed you, and so did Dad. He just won’t admit it.”
Jean swallowed hard, pressing back the tears. She sniffled and touched Josie’s cheek gently, fighting her tears.
“You rest now, sweetie. You need it,” she said, her voice shivering. “You need it to keep you strong.”
Chapter 11
“Ha. That was a lot easier than I thought.”
I looked up from my coffee cup. I had been staring into the black glistening substance for a few minutes, dreaming myself away while thinking about Josie and then—guiltily admitted—Jean. Seeing her again today had made my heart jump, even though I felt ashamed about it. I missed her terribly and was so glad she could be with us at a time like this when we needed her the most. I felt terrible for what I had done to her, for turning my back on her just when we were about to be more than just friends and neighbors. I had broken her heart, and now my excuses were no good. But what could I have done differently? My wife had woken up after three years in a vegetative state. I couldn’t very well turn my back on her now. What kind of a person would that make me? It didn’t matter what my feelings were for Jean. I was a husband and a father before anything.
“You found something?” I asked and stood to my feet.
“Not just something. I found him, the dad.”
I hurried to her desk. “Really?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” Al said. “I am actually quite good at what I do.”
“I know you are…it was just really fast.”
“I went through the phone records and internet browsing on her phone, which the phone company registers, even though they’ll tell you they don’t. Here, I found out that the mother had an old Facebook account. There are a lot of Jennifer Garcías out there, so finding the right one was a lot easier this way. She didn’t use her profile much and hadn’t posted for years, but she did post pictures of her husband and daughter three years ago before they were divorced. And bam, here he is.”
She clicked and showed me a picture of a man holding a child of about seven or eight years old.
“This is Luis Martìnez?” I asked and pointed at his face.
“Bingo. So, now that we know what he looks like, we just need to find him. I ran a face recognition program, and ba-da-bing, look what came up.”
Al scrolled on her computer and then stopped. “He changed his name one year ago, about the same time he moved from the address we have. If your little detective friend had thought about looking into it, maybe digging a little deeper, he’d have easily found the court documents. His name is now David Smith, one of the most common American names you can find. Probably had a hard time finding work and changed his name to make it easier. Or he got himself in some trouble and needed to hide.”
“David Smith?” I asked.
“And ther
e’s more,” she said.
“I hoped you’d say that.”
“He lives right here beachside. Here’s his address. Now, just like there are a lot of Garcías and Martìnezes around here, there are also a lot of David Smiths, so finding him wasn’t straightforward. I found pictures of him from surveillance cameras downtown, places he seems to frequent, based on how many times he appears on them, especially on the one from an ATM at his local bank. That way, I could narrow it all down to a radius, then I searched for David Smith in that area, and I found him. Here’s his address.”
I stared at Al. I could have kissed her at this moment. Instead, I gave her a big hug, even though I knew she wasn’t someone who enjoyed physical contact much.
“Thank you, thank you, Al.”
“No problem,” she said and pulled away as I let her go. “Now, go find him and save Josie.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you in return,” I said.
“Something might be coming up,” she said. “But not now. Go!”
Chapter 12
The address led me to a small unit on top of a Cuban restaurant. A woman of Spanish heritage opened the door, and I asked for David Smith. She gave me a suspicious glare before she stepped aside and let me in. I followed her down a small hallway with rooms on both sides. All of them had people sitting or standing in them and voices speaking, some yelling loudly. There was a TV on somewhere and kids playing. The condo was no more than two bedrooms, but there seemed to be three or four families living there.
“David?” the woman said as we walked into what would have been a kitchen, but with all the mattresses on the floor, looked more like a shelter.
A man looked up from the back of the room, and all eyes were on me now. I recognized the face from Al’s computer screen, where I had seen him holding his daughter tightly. He seemed ten years older than in that picture.
The woman nodded in my direction, and David stared at me, his eyes loaded with suspicion. I knew most of these people could tell I was a cop from far away, and David sure looked like he smelled it on me.
“I’m here about your daughter,” I said, trying to soften him up. “Emilia?”
It worked. His eyes grew tender, and his shoulders came down. He approached me quickly.
“Is there a place we can talk privately?” I asked.
He nodded and showed me out on the balcony, where he lit a cigarette and blew out smoke. By the way he looked at me, I could tell he knew I wasn’t bearing good news.
He puffed his cigarette. “How do you know my daughter? You a cop?”
I nodded and leaned on the railing, looking down on the street. Music rose from the Cuban restaurant below.
“I am sorry…”
He stopped me, raising his hand and turning his head away. “Please, don’t…”
“But I have to,” I said. “We’ve been looking all over for you. It happened three weeks ago, and no one has been able to find…”
He turned to look at me. “Three weeks ago?”
“Yes, the police have been searching for you to tell you…”
He shook his head, then slammed his hand into the railing. He bit back tears and took a deep inhale of his cigarette.
“How…how did it happen?”
“It was suicide,” I said. “She drove the car into the harbor with them both in it. She took pills first. Jennifer didn’t survive, and…”
He held his breath. “And Emilia? She’s alive?”
I swallowed. This was beyond hard. I tried not to put myself in his situation, but that was even more difficult because it could be me in a short while. The thought brought tears to my eyes.
“Yes, I mean, not really.”
He smoked again, looking at me with confusion. “I don’t understand. She’s alive, or she’s not?”
My eyes hit the ground below. “She is…but she’s not. She’s been declared brain dead, and she’ll never wake up.”
A sob emerged from his lips as he could no longer keep it together. He brought a hand to his mouth while his torso shook. I placed a hand on his shoulder and let him cry for a few seconds, fighting to keep it together myself.
“Can I…Can I see her?” he finally asked.
I nodded. “Let me take you there.”
Chapter 13
She was practicing her violin. Still, it didn’t help her escape the odd feeling that she’d had all day like someone was watching her. Savannah Hart was worried she might be going crazy. She had been a little paranoid lately and felt an unease deep down in the pit of her stomach. Not even being inside her own home could help her feel at ease, and that was puzzling to her. Savannah stopped playing and walked to the window, then looked outside. A car was parked on the other side of the road. Was someone inside it? Was that the person who was watching her?
Savannah took a deep breath, then closed the curtains tightly, shaking her head. No, it was crazy. Besides, she had to practice for her concert next week. Savannah played in the Miami Symphony Orchestra and had since she was nineteen.
During the day, she was a music teacher at the local elementary school. It was a job she enjoyed more than anything. Giving away her joy of string music to the young ones was a privilege.
Savannah didn’t have any children of her own and was never going to. Cancer had forced the doctors to remove her uterus when she was fifteen, and that put an end to that dream. It was a great sorrow for Savannah to know she’d never be a mother, and she had devoted herself to her strings instead, making that her passion.
She had barely begun playing her music again when her phone rang. She grumbled and picked it up. It was—of course—her mother. Just checking in, as usual, three or four times a day, depending on her level of paranoia. She had been like this ever since Savannah had been diagnosed with cancer as a teenager. She was constantly terrified that Savannah would drop dead, or worse, get kidnapped or killed in the big city.
“Hi, Mom,” she said with a sigh.
“Oh, good, you’re home,” her mother said, her worried voice vibrating. “I thought you’d call as soon as you got home from work.”
“Well, I forgot. I needed to practice. Besides, we spoke this morning, remember? You told me to check the romaine lettuce in my fridge and throw it out if it was from California where they had found E Coli.”
“Yes, well, did you? Lots of people have gotten sick from this lately. You really should be careful.”
“Mom, I don’t even have romaine lettuce in my fridge.”
Savannah closed her eyes tiredly. It was on days like these she wanted to leave the country and move to some small island somewhere, where they had no phones, where it could just be her playing her violin and nothing else. She was sick of having to deal with her mother every day like this. She constantly worried. It was probably all her concern that had made Savannah paranoid and feeling like she was being watched all the time.
It was exhausting.
“Listen, Mom, I gotta go.”
“Oh, really? You haven’t lit any candles, have you? I just read that the fumes are toxic…”
“Goodbye, Mom. I need to practice. I’m sure I’ll talk to you later.”
She hung up with a deep sigh, then rubbed her forehead. She put the violin back up on her shoulder, then closed her eyes and disappeared into her music, trying to get that feeling of unease to leave her body by playing it away.
Chapter 14
“So, she’s basically just lying there and can’t do anything at all? She can’t even hear me?”
David stood by his daughter’s bedside and looked down at her, shaking his head. Doctor Scott had come in with us.
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Smith,” he said. “There has been no brain activity detected over the past three weeks, and she has been declared brain dead. That means her brain is no longer working in any capacity and never will again. I am sorry.”
David touched her arm gently, running a finger up against the skin. “She’s grown so much, you know
? I can’t believe how tall she’s gotten. She looks just like her mother now.”
He wiped his nose with his hand, then sniffled, pushing back more tears, looking at the ceiling.
“I never should have left them. I don’t know what I was thinking. I thought…I thought it was best for them. You know what I mean?”
I nodded like I did.
“Me and Jen, we were…fighting every day, and I thought they’d be better off without me. I was in no state to take care of them. I got in with the wrong group and I…well, I feared for their lives, for our lives. I didn’t know that things were this bad. I didn’t know they were sleeping in their car. I mean, when you first came to me, I thought maybe they had been in a car accident, or they had been shot or something. It was a bad neighborhood where we used to live. I hoped that if I left, the gangs would leave them alone. I owed money, you know? I got myself into a lot of trouble, and there was no other way out. I had to do it. I had to go into hiding. That’s why I changed my name and left and have kept hidden for years, not even contacting my daughter on her birthdays and missing all the Christmases. I thought they were safe this way, at least from me and my problems. I didn’t know they had lost the house and were living in a car. I didn’t know they were in trouble. And I have to say; I never thought that she would…that Jen would…kill herself. She was such a survivor, you know? A true fighter. I’ve known her for fifteen years. She never struck me as someone who’d do that.”
“Living in the streets, sleeping in your car can be tough,” I said. “She might have grown hopeless, not seeing another way out.”
“Still…” he said, quietly looking down at Emilia. “I don’t know why she’d do that, and do this to…to our daughter?”
“Depression and hopelessness can lead people to do things we never thought they’d be capable of,” Doctor Scott said, then signaled for me to leave.
