by Stevan Mena
She righted the bike onto its wheels and climbed on. She pedaled only a few feet before the chain popped from its gear. Off she went, face first.
She rolled onto her side and slowly got up, wiping at a grass stain on the knee of her jeans. She crouched next to the bike to examine the flaw in her repair.
"You'll hurt yourself," Jack said behind her. She turned to see him walking up the sidewalk.
"Remember me? We spoke at school?"
"Of course. I'm nine, not ninety." She wiped her cheek with her hand, leaving behind a dark streak of grease and turned back to her work. She banged on the chain guard a few times with the wrench.
"What's wrong with it?"
"I think the chain got stretched."
Jack knelt down. "Here, let me see." He spun the wheel, poking and prodding. "I had one like this when I was a kid."
"Is it that old?"
Jack laughed through his nose. "When I was a kid, your bike was everything. I loved to ride."
"Me too, it helps me think. Or sometimes not to think."
Jack looked up at her tiny frame standing over him, the sunlight made her hair glow. Something about her sorrowful eyes made him want to place his arm around her, comfort her. Rebecca was a complex little girl. An old soul.
"I can fix this," Jack said. He held out his hand. "Wrench?" Rebecca gave it to him. He saw the freewheel was crooked and tried to straighten it. "Looks like someone was messing around with this."
"I know, the rear derailleur is bent." Jack’s eyebrows went up. He could see why Leonard held this child in such high regard.
He plied the metal backwards and started threading the chain. "There we go." He turned the wrench, tightening the screws. "So, how's school going?" The words bounced off Rebecca like a rubber ball hitting a brick wall. "Tough being the new kid, huh?"
Rebecca shrugged and looked away. "They all think I'm crazy."
"I was the new kid once. My dad was in the army so we traveled a lot. I was small, prime target." Jack spoke absently, his attention on the bike. Rebecca softened her stance a little. "They teased me, called me names. One day I just decided I wasn't going to let it get to me anymore."
"What did you do?" Rebecca crouched down beside him. He stopped twisting the wrench a moment, giving her his full attention.
"I just ignored them."
"What happened?"
"They pulled my underwear over my head and tossed me in a trash can." Rebecca frowned, not the ending she was hoping for. "But after a while they gave up. The trick is, no matter how bad it makes you feel inside, always stay strong on the outside. And if that doesn't work, there's always option number two.”
"Option number two?"
"Yeah; hit 'em where it hurts, then run."
Rebecca smiled. "I like that option better."
Jack continued tightening, his wrist beginning to ache from being wedged in such a tight spot, the spokes of the wheel jabbing him. He threaded the chain and stood up slowly, grimacing.
He righted the bike, straining from the effort. Rebecca noticed, a concerned look.
"There, try that," Jack said. Rebecca climbed on. She pedaled cautiously, afraid of face planting again. This time she kept gliding down the sidewalk. Fixed! She looked back and smiled at Jack like he was the coolest person in the whole world. Jack waved her on, keep going!
For a moment he wished he was a kid again, he could ride along next to her and forget the world for a while. He got so caught up in the idea, he hadn't noticed Laura walking across the lawn towards him.
"You just saved me a hundred bucks," Laura said — appreciative, but at the same time suspicious of the stranger talking with her child. Jack saw the resemblance in her face, the same blue eyes.
"Mrs. Lowell?"
Laura was caught off guard. "Ms. …Can I help you?"
"Sorry, Detective Jack Ridge." Jack held up his grease-covered hands as an excuse not to shake hers.
"I'm investigating the disappearance of Angelina Rosa."
"I saw something about it on TV." Laura kept one eye on Rebecca, doing circles at the end of the street.
"You recently brought Rebecca to see a Doctor Hellerman?" Laura's friendly demeanor evaporated.
"What's this got to do with my daughter?" Jack could sense her guard going up. He hurried right to the point.
"He ever discuss his concern that what was troubling Rebecca could be the repressed memory of an actual crime?"
"What?" Laura's eyes opened wide.
Jack held up both hands, hang on. "Doctor Hellerman used to deal in criminal psychiatry. We worked together on several cases, he provided competency evaluations of defendants we were prosecuting. He's got a lot of experience with witness testimony."
Laura put her hand on her hip, out of sorts. "He never mentioned anything — what right does he have to discuss my daughter's-"
"Anytime there's information that can help prevent or solve a serious crime, disclosure is warranted."
"What are you talking about?"
"Angelina's been missing over three months now. Hard working, good home, stayed out of trouble. Not the kind to just run away."
"Why would Rebecca know anything about it?"
"I don't know." Jack sounded confused himself. Laura shook her head incredulously.
"She never leaves my sight, except to go to school and back."
"You're saying you don't think there's any chance-"
"She would have told me."
"Perhaps she was scared to? Or threatened?"
"I can't believe I'm having this conversation…" Laura clasped her hands together in a prayer-like pose, covering her mouth.
Rebecca was now riding towards them, a big smile on her face. Laura missed that smile.
"It's working great now!" Rebecca shouted.
"Becca, go inside." The smile drained from Rebecca's face. She considered protesting, but sensed the seriousness of her mother's tone. She got off the bike and walked it inside.
"I'll admit, I was skeptical myself," Jack said, stopping shy of revealing just how he came to share in Leonard's conviction. The tape. He dared not reveal the level of intimacy Leonard had shared with him about Rebecca's therapy sessions.
"This is ridiculous. She's been having nightmares, some trouble at school. We've both been through a lot lately, what with my divorce, new house, new school. It's hard on a child."
"I didn't mean to press. When you get to the point of frustration that I am with this case, you find you'll listen to anything on the slim chance that-"
"He wanted to prescribe all these pills…"
"Is that why you stopped seeing the doctor?"
"There's nothing wrong with her," Laura said defensively. "Nothing we can't work through ourselves."
"I see," Jack sensed his window was closing. He reached into his pocket and handed her his business card. "Well, if you think of anything, please-"
A violent cough stopped Jack mid-breath. Laura took a step back. "Don't worry, it's not contagious," Jack said through watery eyes in between hacks.
Laura examined his card. "Is this why he was so interested in her?"
Jack took a slow breath, calming. He turned to answer her, "How do you mean?"
"He offered to treat Rebecca for free. Called several times, left messages on my machine, even offered to come here. Don't you think that's strange?"
Jack considered it. "Yes, I do. Please, feel free to call me. Anytime."
Jack turned and hobbled off, clearing his throat. Laura watched him trudge slowly to his car.
"Thanks," Laura called out, "…for fixing the bike."
Jack acknowledged her and kept walking. She turned to see Rebecca peeking out the kitchen window. Her tiny face quickly disappeared from view.
Jack steadied himself on the hood of his car and cleared his throat again. He covered his mouth and coughed hard. Something in his chest felt odd, different. He opened his hand, it was filled with dark blood.
That was a new symptom.<
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CHAPTER 15
Leonard was in the office working late. The phone rang. Recognizing the number, he allowed the machine to get it.
He let Laura vent into voicemail. Again. She'd called several times earlier, he'd instructed his secretary to say he was out of the office. Laura was furious, and he wasn't ready to address this sensitive subject with her just yet. He might never be.
Of course not, he was a respected physician, and he wasn't prepared to throw his practice away. Not without evidence. Evidence he hoped Jack might uncover.
Leonard knew that once the cat was out of the bag, there was no going back. But he trusted Jack; most who knew Jack did. He was the right person at the right time. Unfortunately, any hope for discretion was now out the window.
Perhaps if he had confided the whole truth, told Jack everything, maybe Jack would have understood the need for circumspection. But the whole truth couldn't be imparted in one sitting; Jack needed a primer to digest all of the information.
Better yet, he needed to witness it firsthand. Otherwise, he'd have just labeled him crazy and walked out, angry for wasting his time.
CHAPTER 16
Jack sat upright on the cold white examining table. He'd been sitting there over an hour and was starting to wonder if they'd forgotten about him. Before he could finish the thought, Doctor Moss entered the room carrying Jack's medical results.
Jack liked straight talk, no sugar, he didn't need his hand held. Dr. Moss, one of the youngest doctors at the clinic, learned early on that Jack was a model patient if you just omitted the bedside manner. And never ask him to sit down.
"It's spreading faster than we expected," the doctor said. Jack swallowed and maintained eye contact. "It's metastasized through your lymphatic system to the lungs." Jack was no doctor, but he had a thorough understanding of forensics and the human body, especially what made you dead in a hurry. His prognosis had been steadily declining for some time now, so none of this came as a surprise. Still, it's never easy to hear your expiration date has been moved up.
"How long?"
"It's hard to say. Everyone's different-"
"About?"
The doctor folded his arms and leaned up against the teal countertop behind him.
"You might want to think about getting your affairs in order."
Jack picked a point on the wall and locked in, his expression blank. The doctor shifted his weight to his rear foot. Jack noticed him leaning back. Is he expecting me to freak out?
During Jack's last visit, he'd overheard yelling and screaming in the next room. He learned later the doctor had told a female patient she had just three months left to live. She grew perfectly still (just like he was now), then started shouting, cursing God, throwing tissue boxes, even smashed a glass container of cotton swabs. Jack grimaced. Not to worry, Doc. You saved me a bullet.
"What now?"
"Well, there's still the option of surgery. "
"No."
"At this stage there are few alternatives."
Jack looked up at the ceiling, resigned to his fate. He thought about how people often reacted when they learned they were going to die. How they tried to cherish every moment, notice things they never truly appreciated before, the beauty in life. Jack had been immersed in the world's ugliness for so long, he wasn't sure if he could still spot beauty beneath the grime.
For so long he'd dreaded the ticking clock on poor Angelina, how each second was one he could never get back, bringing her closer to certain doom. Now there was a time limit on him.
The doctor took out a pad and began scribbling. "I'm going to give you a new prescription at a higher dosage." Jack slid off the exam table and reached for his slacks, folded over a chair. "I can also contact the department, recommend that you be placed on disability."
"No. Don't do that."
"You're entitled."
"I can't leave, not yet."
"Alright." Dr. Moss continued writing the prescription. "Jack, the final stages can be very…difficult. Is there someone at home to help you out?"
"No."
"No family? Sister? …Brother?"
Jack shook his head. "No one."
"I know a very good hospice provider. I can put in a good word for you, they sometimes have a waiting list." Dr. Moss signed the prescription and tore it off, extending it to Jack. Jack folded it into his pocket without looking at it.
"Take some time, think about it?"
Jack nodded and the doctor left. Jack finished buttoning his shirt, staring up at an anatomical poster of a man's insides.
CHAPTER 17
Jack's knee smacked into the coffee table as he jerked up from his favorite recliner, still asleep — disoriented, knocking over a collection of standing beer bottles like bowling pins, sending one rolling loudly across the floor.
He blindly threw out his hand to brace himself along the wall, sliding slowly towards the bathroom door.
A familiar voice buzzed on the TV in the corner. As the blood level in his brain stabilized a bit, his eyes started to focus again. He realized what it was that jolted him upright.
It was his voice on TV. A reporter was questioning him about Angelina's case in an interview outside the station. Jack was walking fast, and the tiny reporter had to jog to keep up with him.
She asked breathlessly, "Has there had been any news in the search for Angelina? We're being told that your department has suspended their search?"
Jack snickered. You've sure learned how to work the system, Carl. Good for you.
"We're using every means at our disposal," Jack told the reporter, holding up his hand to block the camera's light.
"Is there anything you can tell us?"
"Nothing at this time." Jack sat into his car and closed the door on the disappointed reporter. She turned to the camera to say something when the TV clicked off.
Jack tossed the remote on the chair, turned, and a rush of vertigo caused him to stumble a bit. He felt his way inside the bathroom and swatted on the light. His hands found the sides of the sink and he leaned towards the mirror. The fluorescent bulb really amplified his dry, pale complexion. He seemed brittle, far older than his 42 years. He made a pathetic grin, then stuck his tongue out.
"You're defective," he exhaled through his nose, disappointed with the reflection. "You're defective, detective." He laughed morosely.
There were two toothbrushes floating in a small metal holder affixed to the white tile. One was his. The other, much older one, was Sarah's. Dormant for over 12 years. He couldn't bring himself to throw it out. He touched it, it was real. Funny, the things we leave behind, he thought.
He needed so much to talk, unload his problems on someone. Tonight the loneliness felt suffocating. Almost unbearable.
He returned to his bedroom and opened the closet door. He eyed the navy blue suit with an impending look. He lifted it carefully by the hanger, so as not to crease the sleeve. He stepped back and laid it out on the bed, carefully removing the clear plastic.
He took out a clean white shirt and got dressed piece by piece. The same way he dressed for work every morning. Except this suit felt very different. Scary, even — especially the perfect fit.
He straightened his tie, checked the buttons on his sleeves, and laid down on the bed. He folded his arms on his chest, assumed the eternal position and closed his eyes.
He felt his chest rise and fall with each deep breath, the dull pain in his lungs was growing sharp. Another sound replaced his wheezy breaths. The faint voices of paramedics, speaking, shouting:
"Blood pressure's dropping!"
"We're losing him."
"Pulse rate-"
"We're losing him!"
The commotion got louder, scarier, so much so that it no longer sounded like a side effect of too many drinks. It sounded real, in the room right beside him. He shook himself, trying to move, a slow rising panic beginning to take hold. He shook again and his eyes snapped open.
Bright sunlight blinded hi
m, brighter than he'd ever experienced before. He shut his eyes tight, then opened them again, slowly. The bright light was so intense, Jack thought maybe he'd passed on and this was the heavenly glow we're told to expect at the hour of our death. He tilted his head to embrace its warmth.
The intense glare dimmed, allowing him to look around. He found himself in a large open field of bright green grass. There was a slight breeze that felt nice and cool on his skin. He spotted a large oak tree, all alone in the open field. It called to him. Behind it, a string extended up into the sky, attached to a small yellow kite with a red tail. He watched the kite dance and spin in the breeze. Am I dreaming? Everything felt so real.
An overwhelming sense of calm and serenity enveloped him. There was no pain, no anxiety, no loss, nothing but peace. He watched the kite lift and soar on a sudden gust of upward air. He lost sight of it in the warm sunlight.
He turned towards the tree. Two people were lying underneath. He took a few energetic steps towards them — needing to know who he was sharing this wonderful oasis of peace and love with. The emotion was so strong, for a moment he thought his feet might leave the ground. Small fragments of pollen floated through the air like tiny dots of stars. He smiled, moving quickly, closer. But the pollen grew thick, clouding his vision.
Up above, the kite spun and dove, twisting helplessly as it came crashing towards the ground with an unnaturally loud smack. The magic serenity he'd felt was abruptly sucked away with a loud ringing noise. The world began to spin and drift away — as helplessly as the kite — disappearing into oblivion, leaving Jack in cold empty nothingness. All that remained was a horrible ringing in his ears. He held them and screamed, "Stop!"
Jack awoke with a jolt, as if shocked back to life by a defibrillator. He slowly sat up and grabbed his cell phone off the side table. It was ringing.
He looked out the window. Still dark out. He checked the clock on the wall, 3 A.M. No good news was ever exchanged at 3 A.M. Not in his world.
