Jaden Baker

by Courtney Kirchoff

  When the surgeon finally came, Gates introduced himself then asked about Madrid.

  “Surgery went well,” the surgeon said. “We weren’t sure he was going to make it, but he has a strong will to live. We’ll be monitoring him closely over the next few weeks. We expect a full recovery.”

  Four bullets to the chest, one to the leg. Five shots at close range and he was expected to recover? This was the worst commercial for a 9mm she’d ever heard. She wondered what round was in that weapon. Maybe she’d write to the manufacturer.

  Libby vented her anger and frustration as soon as the surgeon was out of earshot.

  “Shot five times!” she whined. “He’s Satan. It’s the only explanation. Why didn’t I aim for his head?”

  But Agent Gates was calm, happy even.

  “What do I tell Jaden?” she asked, pacing. “How do I tell him Madrid will live?”

  The leering grin returned to Gates’ face. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said. “Doctors are often wrong.”

  She arched an eyebrow, but before she could say anything, he walked away. She followed him to Jaden’s recovery room. Gates stopped short of going in; he looked through the window.

  Jaden was sleeping, looking peaceful. They’d put him in the standard issue backless nightgown, and the short sleeves exposed the Archcroft tattoo that she’d first seen the day they met. In a hospital, like tonight.

  “What’ll happen to Archcroft?” Libby asked.

  “We have their secrets,” he said, staring at Jaden. “We’ve seized their funds. Which reminds me,” he faced her. “I’m having Madrid’s funds transferred to an account in Jaden’s name.”

  “What?” she asked, flabbergasted. “Half a billion dollars?”

  “Madrid’s cut for his sale. He deserves it. It is, after all, money paid for him. Don’t you think he should have it?”

  It was just so much money. It would allow him to do anything he wanted. Yes, he deserved it.

  “He’s handsome,” Gates said, smiling to himself. “Goodbye, Miss James. I hope we’ll be in touch.” He shook her hand, then without another word, he walked away, his shiny black shoes clopping across the floor.

  Libby took Jaden’s hand, kissed it, and held it in both of hers. His hair was shorter than when he cut it himself months ago. She marveled at how good he was, in spite of all he’d experienced. She had so many questions about him when she first saw him. He was just a walking question mark, a mysterious stranger.

  If she had remembered the ibuprofens and hadn’t entered that drugstore, they would never have met. She smiled thinking about it. One, small, tiny slip, an error, a glitch in her memory, and she had met Jaden Baker.

  His eyelids fluttered and he stirred, opening his eyes, finding her.

  Tears were coming again. It was all she could do to keep from jumping on him and hugging him.

  “Hi,” he said to her, his voice soft and quiet.

  She wiped at her eyes and gave him a watery grin. “Jaden, we have to stop meeting like this.”

  There was a guttural noise in his throat, like a laugh, and he smiled serenely at her. “How long have you wanted to say that?”

  She smirked at him and shrugged her shoulders. “Since I saw you lying here. Clever, right?”

  He blinked and nodded in the affirmative, squeezing her hand. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  She dropped the railing, sat on the bed and held his hand in her lap. “You had me worried. I thought you were gone for good. For a while there I thought you’d walked into the light and left me here. So you can’t do that again, okay?” she asked. “You’ve grown on me. If you had died, I would’ve done something drastic.”

  Jaden was exhausted, she could tell by the slowness of his movements and his speech. But he stayed awake for her.

  “What would you have done?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered, matching his tone. “I’m creative, I would’ve thought of something good. I’m glad I can dedicate my thoughts to other stuff, like pinwheels and candy, and other things to decorate your hospital room.”

  “You’re going to stay with me?” he asked her, pulling her closer to him.

  “Yeah,” she breathed, then bent down and kissed his cheek. “I think so. I’ll read to you. Don’t make suggestions, though,” she said, her fingers on his lips as he spoke. “Apparently we have a lot of material to cover.”

  He shook his head slightly, she removed her hand.

  “Madrid?” he asked.

  Libby wanted to say he was dead, but she knew that wasn’t true. She remembered what Gates said. Doctors were often wrong.

  “He’s not going to make it,” she said.

  “He’s still alive?” he said, in a smile that resembled that of Agent Gates. But then, why wouldn’t it? They were versions of each other. She just didn’t understand why he smiled.

  “For now,” Libby answered.

  Jaden grinned then, the guttural laughs returning.

  “I don’t get it,” she said. “What’s funny?”

  Jaden licked his dry lips and couldn’t stop smiling. “Something a long time ago.” He closed his eyes, relishing the memory, lips spreading in a grin again. “I think it was Seth who said it to him. And he was right. He was always right.”

  Maybe he was right, but Libby still wasn’t his biggest fan. At least Jaden had used the past tense to describe him.

  Special Agent Gates bumped into Special Agent Shepherd on his way to Joseph Madrid’s room. Shepherd glanced around, checking that they were alone, and couldn’t be overheard.

  “Doctors say he’ll recover,” said Shepherd, eyes never leaving those of Gates.

  “Doctors are only human. They make mistakes, too.”

  Shepherd nodded, smirked, then put both hands on the younger Agent’s shoulders. “You sure you want to do this?”

  Gates couldn’t help the grin. It felt good to smile. It came naturally, not forced like he’d done in the past to fit in. It was easy. Liberating. Elizabeth James was right in ways she didn’t understand. It was a big day. A good day.

  “I’m sure,” he replied. “I’ve never been more sure in my entire life.”

  “Okay,” Shepherd said. He pat Gates’ shoulders then let him pass.

  The walk to Mr. Madrid was a long one. Over thirty years. Now it would end.

  Madrid’s room was unguarded. The FBI and police swarmed the building, so no one assumed he would be harmed. He wondered how many of Archcroft’s people, Madrid’s people, were in the Bureau. He had so much work ahead of him.

  Constant beeping from the heart monitor, like a metronome, broke the silence of the room. He walked inside, shut the door and barricaded it with a chair. As he sauntered to Madrid’s bedside, the blinds on the window closed, as if by magic.

  Madrid had tubes in his nose to help him breathe. He was so old now. Thirty years had a way of aging people. The monitors showed everything was regular, steady.

  Rain pattered, but he knew it came from his memories, not real time weather. In his mind’s eye, Gates saw windshield wipers, the glare of headlights from oncoming cars, the smell of leather seats.

  “Mr. Madrid?” he said, touching Madrid’s shoulder. That’s how he’d introduced himself that night. Mr. Madrid. He was going to take him back home, to his parents’ house. Because he had run away, not for the first time, but the last. Madrid had made certain of that. He’d gotten inside the nice car, and Mr. Madrid flipped it around to take the young hitchhiker back home. Arriving with a stranger would scare his parents enough this time.

  “Mr. Madrid?” he said again, shaking harder.

  Two bleary eyes opened.

  They never got to his parents’ house, his house, that night. The storm got rough, a boulder was dislodged from a hill, and it rolled into the road right in front of their car. They would have hit it. Madrid wasn’t going to react in time. The car probably had airbags. They would’ve been okay.

  “Hello, Mr. Madrid.”

 
Madrid groaned, searched the room, tried to get his bearings.

  “You’re in the hospital,” he said. “You’ve been shot. Do you remember?”

  Madrid blinked. “Who are you?” he asked.

  Gates held in his smile. “I’m with the FBI. Don’t you remember me?”

  Madrid squinted at him in scrutiny. “No. FBI? No.” His answers were slow and laborious.

  Special Agent Gates crouched to be eye level with Madrid, then drew closer to him. “I’m Ethan,” he whispered, his face splitting into a grin.

  Ethan had tried visualizing this moment for years. It was more than he could’ve hoped for. His imagination disappointed him, and he was glad for it. Reality was always better.

  Madrid’s usually calm, confident face morphed into one of horror.

  “Mr. Madrid, I believe you’ve been expecting me.”

  epilogue

  There was nothing like a cool breeze. Together, with leather seat warmers, and a partly-cloudy, or partly-sunny (depending on one’s level of optimism) day, a perfect drive. Shadows and patches of light reflected off the shiny hood of the car. Outside, bare trees budded with green blooms. No flowers yet.

  Children played in their front yards; the car slowed for stray kick balls and colorful bikes. A few boys combined soccer with cycling, and cheered when a ball just missed the car. Goal.

  Residents walked their dogs, or pushed strollers through the quiet neighborhood, waving at each other. The trimmed grass, monitored by sprinkler systems, was free of yellowing or doggy poo. The neighborhood was untouched by time.

  A left turn, then the loud engine hummed to a stop, and the car parked.

  “It’s nice here,” Libby said, pushing her sunglasses off her nose and into her hair as she surveyed the neighborhood through the windshield. “So tame.”

  He felt sick to his stomach, like he might vomit.

  She pat his knee and smiled at him. “Don’t you dare barf all over my new, custom leather seats.” The keys were already in her purse, as this car had a push button ignition starter. She grabbed her purse from the back, and widened her eyes as she made to open the door. “Ready?”

  Jaden pulled the lever on his seat, taking it from the reclining position to upright. He watched an elderly man riding a lawnmower.

  Libby clicked open Jaden’s seatbelt, which flew away from his waist and chest, the sound unnerving. But he didn’t move. He gripped his seat with his hands.

  Smirking, Libby unbuckled her own seatbelt and got out. Jaden watched her walk around the car to his side. He held the door closed. Locked it.

  Still smiling, Libby knocked on the window with her knuckles. “Come on. Get out.”

  He was sure he’d puke if he moved. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t know what he was thinking, coming here.

  “If you don’t get out,” Libby said, her voice muffled by the clear barrier between them, “I’ll go in alone.” She waited a few seconds then walked across the street.

  “Dammit,” he groaned, then he left the car and followed her to the house.

  Libby made “oooh” sounds as she walked across the cobblestone walkway, and she pointed at the flowers and bees that buzzed. But Jaden didn’t see. He stared at the door.

  The two of them stood before it, waiting, neither looking at each other. The door loomed.

  “Maybe we should ring the bell,” Libby suggested, her nose scrunched as she surveyed him. “You know, let them know we’re here. It might help.”

  Jaden swallowed, took a small step back, and turned to look at the street.

  “Could you have picked a more ostentatious car?” he asked, eyeing the gun metal gray Lotus Evora.

  Libby didn’t miss a beat. “Sure. I could’ve gotten it in canary yellow—oooh, with racing stripes!” She admired the car for a bit. “I think it’s rather conservative. Very practical.” She smiled and grabbed his hand. “A pity to drive it all this way just to get back inside and go again, don’t you think?”

  He thought he nodded. He was nauseated. “I can’t do this.”

  “It was your idea.”

  “It’s a bad idea.”

  “It’s a great idea.”

  “But I can’t do it.”

  “But you can,” she said squeezing his hand. “It’s only as hard as you make it out to be.”

  Jaden frowned as he considered her. “Are you trying to be philosophical?”

  “Do you really want to go back? You said you wanted to do this,” she said.

  “I thought I did. Maybe I don’t.”

  Libby blew a great sigh, and her shoulders dropped. “Okay,” she said, and he felt relieved. “I understand. You’re not ready yet.”

  “No,” he said, and he made to turn and leave.

  In a flash, Libby reached out her thumb and pushed the doorbell.

  They both heard it ring through the house.

  Jaden’s mouth and eyes went wide, and he stared incredulously at her.

  Libby’s face was aglow, her mouth open in silent laughter. Then: “Muhahaha!”

  “How could you do that?” he asked, his voice high.

  “Oh please, what were you thinking, asking me to come?” she said. She gripped his hand tighter, then put her other hand around his forearm. “Compared to everything else, this is easy.”

  Jaden shut his eyes, as if hoping he’d vanish on the spot.

  They heard walking, then the front door opened.

  A teenage girl, her hair in an accidentally off-center ponytail, greeted them with a skeptical frown. The music coming from her headphones was loud enough to be heard from the street.

  “We don’t want to buy anything and don’t appreciate spiritual sharing,” she said.

  Libby scoffed. “We’re wearing blue jeans,” she said in reply.

  The girl looked at her with confusion.

  “We’re not selling anything,” Libby said. “Are either of your parents home?”

  The teenager leaned against the doorway, her eyes finally spotting Jaden. A small smile twisted on her lips.

  “Parents,” Libby said louder, getting her attention.

  “Yeah, hold on,” she sighed exasperatedly, slamming the door, yelling: “MOM! DAD!”

  Libby shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Not too bright. ‘Spiritual sharers?’ It’s Sunday, and neither of us are dressed like Jehovah’s Witnesses.”

  He stared at the ground, sure he would vomit. Libby rubbed his back with her hand, trying to be supportive. It was much harder than he thought it would be. What was he going to say?

  “What if they don’t remember me?” he asked.

  Libby’s eyes crinkled into a warm smile. “I doubt that.”

  The door opened again, and a man stood there. Tall, gray-haired and balding, stomach bigger than it was seventeen years ago, Derek Kauffman smiled politely and nodded.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Jaden couldn’t speak. His mouth was open, but no sound.

  “Hi,” Libby said. “Mr. Kauffman?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Can I help you with something?” he asked again.

  “Uh,” she began, shaking Jaden’s limp hand. “Well, I hope so. My name is Libby James, and this,” she smiled, patting Jaden’s back.

  “I’m Jaden,” he said, his voice small. “I used to live here,” he added, as Derek frowned, his eyes roving over Jaden’s face.

  Derek tilted his head, narrowed his eyes as he first studied Jaden’s face, then he took one step back to see the rest of him. He blinked a few times then held up his index finger as he called back into the house: “Honey!”

  Libby looked at Jaden, and he glanced at her through the sides of his eyes.

  A woman came shuffling down the hall, wiping her hands on a towel. Her hair was short now, mostly gray instead of blonde. Seventeen years had changed both of them. Changed them all. Jenny gave Libby and Jaden vague, polite smiles then shrugged her shoulders at her husband. He mumbled into her ear.

  “Goodness,” she
gasped, her hand to her mouth. There was recognition in both of their faces as they looked at their once Substitute Son.

  For a minute the three stared at each other. Even the teenage daughter came to see what all the silence was about.

  “I think they remember you,” Libby said, nudging him with her elbow, smiling at the Kauffmans, who laughed nervously with her.

  “Come in,” Jenny said, opening the door to them.

  Jaden grabbed Libby’s hand, which she had dropped, and pulled her inside as the Kauffmans led the way into their living room.

  Photos of the Kauffmans decorated the walls: Jenny and Derek with a baby girl, all in pink; the little girl on a swing; the little girl with mouse ears, on Derek’s shoulder, a castle in the background; the girl in uniform, holding a small bat and baseball mitt; Jenny and the little girl sitting together, beaming at the person behind the camera, dressed up for Halloween as mermaids, sharing a giggle. The perfect, complete, happy family.

  Libby squeezed his hand and kissed his cheek. “One day,” she whispered, “you’ll have pictures like that, too. You’ll get your happily ever after.”

  He tore his eyes from the walls and came into the living room and sat down. It felt smaller in here. Maybe they’d gotten bigger furniture, he couldn’t remember if it was the same. Everyone stared at him, and the teenage girl, Gabriella, was asked to give them some privacy. Libby smirked at this, and joked to the Kauffmans. “Yeah right.” He was so glad she’d come with him. She lightened the mood to everything.

  “It’s a beautiful home,” Libby remarked, breaking the silence. “What is it about crown molding that’s so wonderful?” she asked.

  “I wonder the same thing,” said Jenny. “Can I get everyone drinks?”

  “I’ll take a water,” Libby said. “And so will he, I think, yes?” she asked him.

  Jaden nodded, yes, and his eyes kept finding photos of Gabriella everywhere.