by ML Gardner
“Can we afford it?” We might end up risking number eight. Can we afford that?
“We could dip a little into savings. If we’re careful, it’ll be fine.” I need time with you. We can buy condoms.
“We’ll see.” I don’t know that I love you enough anymore to go away with you.
“Just let me know and I’ll see if I can work it out.” I’m here. I don’t know how long I can keep doing this, but for now, I’m here.
***
I opened our bedroom door a crack, shining a long light on the bed. Maggie was curled on her side, snoring lightly. That was probably best. I went to take a shower. No matter how hot the water or how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t wash off the city’s filth. I thought sure Maggie would suggest I come to bed on time tonight. But she didn’t, so I stood under the water with one hand on the tile. The other relieving any temptation to wake her and talk her into risking her life again.
***
That night I dreamed I was at my desk, updating a file. I was writing feverishly when my office door slammed shut. Looking up I saw every one of my cases standing there, staring at me. Most were dead. I sat back unafraid and apologized to them. They all stepped forward in unison and my desk began to vibrate. The movement was so fine it tickled my thighs. Then suddenly, Slam! Slam! Slam! I looked down to see my junk drawer flying open and slamming shut, spilling my coffee. They took another step forward and it shook the room. Standing at the front of the crowd, with her head sitting crooked on her neck, was Suzanna Marsh.
***
I woke with a start. I was sweating and my hands trembled. I knew then that my missing Mrs. Marsh was dead.
If you’re thinking I’m psychic, I’m not. If I was, I’d make a hell of a lot more money telling fortunes with the circus. Something I learned in this business a long time ago is that the dead do talk. To those who are willing to listen.
“So you thought I was dead, too?” Aryl asked.
“I did. And since you aren’t, I’d really like to know what you’ve been doing all this time.”
He took a deep breath, straightened in his chair and began.
“I suppose I’ve asked enough of you. I can’t avoid it forever. It seems if I don’t say it out loud, I can pretend it didn’t happen, you know?”
He stabbed his cigarette in the ashtray, feeling nauseous. Too much rich tobacco on an empty stomach or finally being able to purge his burdens, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. He had grown used to feeling sick.
“I woke up under a bridge hurting like hell.”
“In London?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t remember how you got there?”
“Vaguely. But that old guy that brought you my wallet? I do remember bits and pieces about him. And if I’m correct, when he came inside to get you, I only needed to pee.”
“Excuse me?”
Chapter Five
Nature Calls
I stumbled away from the truck with the busy streets swirling around me. Holding on to the brick wall of a building I drug my feet until sunlight burst through an alley. I turned in, aching and out of breath and tried to remember how to unbutton my pants.
I fell into the corner between a dumpster and the alley wall, holding myself up with one hand and sighed, relieving myself. When I finished and figured out how to close my pants, I pushed myself upright and looked around, trying to figure out how I got there.
The bright light hurt my eyes and bounced around inside my skull, battering my brain.
A horn blared and I pressed up against the wall just as a delivery truck turned into the alley. It barreled past before coming to a quick stop and I watched it, suspended in a surreal haze. The driver hopped out, threw open the back doors and began handing off crates of fish packed in ice through the back door of a restaurant.
I heard seagulls swirling overhead, loud and agitated and I smelled salt. The tangy scent of the ocean seemed familiar and I stumbled off following the birds.
The dock bustled louder than the city streets. I stood staring; hoping the horizon would steady itself and someone would stop and talk to me. I stopped a few men, or tried to, but everyone shoved past me. Someone told me to beg elsewhere. Others said they didn’t hire drunks. Most of them just ignored me as I asked in slow slurred words for help. They stepped far away as they passed, eying me with distrust.
I found a bench and fell onto it, exhausted. My back was beginning to sting and the fabric stuck to my skin.
“Hey, Mister. You know your back is bleeding?” a small child asked. I looked over each shoulder slowly, trying to see for myself. The child stood staring at me with his head cocked to the side in curiosity. “How’d you get hurt?”
Suddenly the small child was scooped up.
“What are you doing? I told you not to talk to strangers,” his mother hissed. She moved away quickly, throwing a wary glance over her shoulder.
There was a long pier in front of me with things tied off on each side. Small ones and large ones, they bobbed and swayed, aggravating my vertigo. I tried to remember what they were called; struggled to bring the name to my lips. I couldn’t form the word but I stared at them. They were familiar, too.
I stood and glanced back at the bench, the seat was blotched with blood from my back. I was so tired and forced one foot in front of the other and began down the long pier. Then I remembered they were called boats. It was the first and only thing familiar to me. I reached out to touch one and nearly fell into the water. Everything sounded distant and garbled. My vision was fading in and out. I needed to lie down, and soon.
I nearly fell again trying to navigate across a wooden plank that passed for a gangway. I went very slowly trying not to look at the water sloshing below. I fell onto the deck and took several deep breaths. The pain was clawing its way above the medicine.
I vaguely remembered an old woman pushing a bottle of medicine into my pants pocket. I fumbled around, feeling for it and struggled to get it out. Suddenly I felt panicked. I gripped the bottle while pushing myself to standing, looking for somewhere to go.
The voices were sharp insistent syllables that didn’t make sense as I threw myself behind a door near the wheel house. I tucked the bottle back in my pocket.
Turning in a swoon, I didn’t see the narrow stairs and tumbled down, landing at the bottom with a thud. I grimaced, held my head and wanted to cry.
Hurting and scared, I crawled, feeling with my hands in the dark hole of a room.
I gripped the edge of a sack, felt higher and realized there were many. I pulled myself up, sat and squinted. The door above opened again, flooding the space with light.
It was a storeroom. Piles of sacks, buckets and barrels filled the room. Dried goods swayed in net bags from the ceiling and it smelled heavily of spices I couldn’t name.
The voices carried down and I crawled around the sacks and curled up in the hollow space behind. I heard the stairs creak and closed my eyes, not understanding why I was so afraid.
A man talked all while heaving up a heavy sack. The accent was something I thought I should know. I could picture a small frame, a face the color of dark honey with narrow eyes and jet black hair.
They put their hands together and bowed a lot. I could picture rice, fish and vegetables. But damned if I could put a name to the language or the people.
I knew I should leave. They would be angry if they found me hiding. A stowaway. For some reason I knew that word. And I knew it was a bad thing to be.
The door above closed and it was dark again. I tried to will my body to move, climb up the stairs and crawl back off the ship. My body argued back, screaming in pain and I dug in my pocket for the medicine. Prying the cork with the last of my strength, I drank. It was bitter and made me gag. But within minutes the pain began to ease. Washed over with warmth, I laid my head on a sack of what felt like rice, and closed my eyes. I heard a voice.
You have to leave!
I opened my eyes what little I could and knew I should go.
Call for help, they’ll get you off the ship!
I wanted to and opened my mouth to yell. It came out in a whisper as I slipped into a deep sleep.
***
I woke sometime later having no idea how much time had passed; whether it was morning or night. The rough wood dug at my back and I rolled on the slanted floor to my side. I was so hungry; I held my stomach, rocking with the ship’s movements.
My eyes flew open and I scrambled clumsily to stand. Holding the wall for support I concentrated on the floor that moved beneath me. I realized the ship was underway.
Glancing toward the darkened stairs, I thought to go up and announce myself. They’d be forced to help me. But then I thought, no, they might throw me over for being a stowaway. Suddenly terrified and gasping for air, I crouched back down behind the wall of sacks and waited.
I shivered, coughed and wished I had a blanket. The cough turned into a loud retching of wet infection. I gagged and wheezed, struggling to catch my breath. When I did, I held it as light flooded the storeroom again.
Foreign nervous words echoed down, seeming to call to me. I stayed as still as I could, trying not to breathe, fighting the tickle in the back of my throat that made my eyes water and begged me to cough. The quick sharp words called again. The longest moment passed. My eyes and the door closed slowly.
I fished out the bottle and took another sip. Gradually my hands stopped shaking and my lungs lost their heavy ache. I forgot I was hungry and felt warm again.
It was chilly in their room. And they were both hungry. It was also very late. Sloan looked as tired as he felt. Aryl, on the other hand, looked alert and calm.
“Would you like to get some sleep?” he asked Sloan, who jerked his head upright, struggling to stay awake.
“No, I’m fine. Please continue.”
“Why don’t we pick it up in the morning?”
“No, I’d really like to hear more.”
“Your notes are getting pretty sloppy,” Aryl said. Sloan’s handwriting had started to veer off the lines, growing larger and less legible.
“It’s okay, really. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“You can’t be that much younger than me,” Sloan said with false irritation. “How come you aren’t exhausted?”
“I’m used to being up all night.”
“Why is that?”
“Let’s just say it came with my job.”
“Your job in London?”
Aryl nodded.
“Will you be up tonight?” Sloan asked.
“Most likely. Why?”
“I just need to know that you won’t go anywhere.”
“Why do you keep asking me that? You act like I’m going to jump overboard the first chance I get.”
Sloan’s serious face stared back at him.
“I need you to stay with me back to Boston. I need to be the one to take you off this ship. To take you home.”
“I know. And you will. There’s no where for me to go, Sloan. If you’re sure you don’t want sleep, you can tell me if you ever found that girl. Helga was her name?”
A dark shadow fell over Sloan’s face. “I did, but not alive. It wasn’t fair. I never had a chance. Neither did she.”
An abortion gone bad. That’s how Helga died. She had walked out of the school building half way through the day and her father met her around the block. They’d taken the trolley to a dirty basement apartment near the Charles River.
The procedure had started fine, but ended with Helga bleeding to death while her father waited in the alley. Her father told me he was going to tell her mother she was sick when he brought her home. That she would rest the weekend and be fine.
He told me she couldn’t have the baby. It would ruin her life and break her mother’s heart.
So, I asked him, And burying her daughter at sixteen wouldn’t break her mother’s heart?
He crumpled, sobbing again, told me she was in the river and begged us not to tell his wife. An officer had already been dispatched to their house. I asked him how she ended up in the river. He let out a wail and covered his head and then gave his rambling confession.
He told me, I took her. I returned to the clinic that night after my wife went to sleep. I drove her to the river and put her in. I walked out chest deep holding her in my arms and then… He choked with emotion and regret. “I let her sink under the water…to the bottom. I said a prayer for her soul. And mine. And then I went to my work and changed my clothes. He hung his head. Tears fell steadily on his knees. I have not been able to look her mother in the eye since.”
I stared at him while handing Helga’s file to Fred, telling him to be sure to send someone to Alex Krouse’s house. He was Helga’s boyfriend and the baby’s father. He’d want to know.
God, I hated Mondays.
I went back to my office, took the phone receiver off the hook, placed it on my desk and took out my bottle of whiskey. I lit a cigarette and tried to make sense of the world. I couldn’t.
“I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Trying to make sense of the world,” Aryl said.
“Not so easy, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“When did you realize who you were, Aryl?”
“That…is complicated.”
“It’s not really. There had to be a moment where you remembered. Or was it gradual.”
“There was a moment when I realized who I was. About two weeks ago it came flooding back. Most of it, anyway. I was frightened because I knew I wasn’t where I should be and I also knew I was no longer the person that belonged there. Because before that there was also a moment, not long after I got to Mickey’s warehouse, when I realized who I was deep down. What I was capable of.” He sat back and looked Sloan in the eyes. “And I’m not sure which one scared me more.”
Chapter Six
Loyalty
I woke well past dinner time. I crouched by the window, staring at the last of the sun peeking through the dark billowing clouds. Feeling as if I needed to remember something recent and important, I alternated between concentrating and sighing. I could remember nothing about last night except a rough kiss and taking too much medicine.
I scrubbed my hand over my face vowing never to take so much at one time. The bottle sat beside the bed. It was less than half full. I reached for it and then paused. I didn’t feel like I needed it, not just yet anyway.
But if Gina came back, she might take it and I had already begun to hate being dependent on someone to ease my pain. I took a small drink, a preventative dose, and stuffed the bottle in my pocket.
I felt like a kenneled animal and didn’t try to open the heavy metal door. I knew it was locked and I had to wait for someone to remember I was there.
Not too much later Gina threw open the door and smiled. “Sleep well?” she chirped with her strong English accent.
“Fine, thanks.”
“Hungry?”
“Yes.”
She pulled a sandwich from behind her back and held it out. I was unsure whether or not to take it and wondered what I’d have to do to earn it. Rolling her eyes and laughing at me, she placed it on the foot of my bed next to a pile of clothes that weren’t there the night before.
“What’s that?”
“Clothes.”
“For me?”
“Well, they aren’t for me, love. Pick out something nice. You’re meeting wi’ Mickey tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because you are going to get ‘im to trust you. It’ll be easier if you have his full trust.”
She poked her head into the hall, looked both ways and closed the door.
“You’re going to meet with him today and tell him about Deek. See, I’ve held that little nugget of information, not sure when I’d need it. And I’m sure glad I did. You’ll go to Mickey and tell ‘im that while everything we told ‘im about you is true, you didn’t mention what Deek wanted you to come here and do.”
“Won’t that make hi
m angry?”
“Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “But I’ll be there and remind ‘im that at least you came forward now and you’re grateful for being taken in and all.”
“And if I tell him this, he’ll trust me?”
“It’ll help.”
“And then what? Will he help me figure out where I belong?”
She just smiled.
I didn’t want to do any of what she suggested but having no choice, I dressed.
***
The warehouse was a labyrinth of hallways and it didn’t take long until I was completely lost, unable to make it back to my room if my life depended on it.
Two large men stepped out of the way and Gina knocked before entering Mickey’s office.
“What is it?” he snapped.
“John Doe needs to talk to you.”
“Still hasn’t remembered his name?” Mickey laughed. “Send him in.”
I stood in front of his desk, flexing my hands at my sides. Mickey gave me a harsh look up and down. “Well, what do you want? I’m busy.”
“I, er…wanted to tell you that…well, there was a guy named Deek. He wanted me to get some information for him about your place here.”
I had Mickey’s full attention now.
“Did you know anything about this?” Mickey asked Gina, who stood near the door.
“No,” she said, playing along with wide innocent eyes.
“Sit.” Mickey ordered. “You, leave us,” he said to Gina.
“But, Mickey—”
“Go!”
She flinched, hesitating for only a second before slipping out the door. Mickey sat down slowly, folded his hands and stared at me.
“Tell me everything, please,” he said cordially.
“Well, just what I said. I woke up under the bridge and the next thing I know this guy named Deek was suggesting I go with Gina and wanted me to find out where you keep your…stuff.”
