by Stevan Mena
Laura sprinted down the hall to the bathroom. She threw open the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of pills Doctor Hellerman had prescribed, the ones that were supposed to help Rebecca sleep — the ones she'd stopped giving her. They never worked before, what makes you think they'll work now?
Laura desperately shook two into her trembling hand and filled a Dixie cup with water. She caught a brief glimpse of the black circles under her eyes in the mirrored cabinet. She closed it, afraid Rebecca's ghostly image might be standing behind her waiting to shout boo!
She raced back down the hall and re-entered Rebecca's bedroom. Rebecca was now on her back, sound asleep. Eyes closed this time.
Laura crept towards her. She slowly extended her hand to pull Rebecca's blankets up, half expecting her eyes to suddenly pop open like at the end of some B horror movie. But they didn't. Laura ran her fingers gently through Rebecca's wavy hair.
She watched her a moment, then gazed around the room at her artwork. The paintings took on a slightly different appearance in the dim glow of the night. Rebecca's easel was off to the side, turned away. What’s she trying to hide?
Laura inched towards it and snuck a peek.
The picture of the tree had been replaced with a portrait. In the soft light, Laura couldn't quite make it out. She turned it silently towards the window to better see in the moonlight. It was a pixel perfect replica of Carmen.
Laura covered her mouth. She looked down at her feet and noticed she was standing on top of yesterday's newspaper. Rebecca had spread it around to prevent ink from damaging the floor. Carmen's picture was visible on the front page. The headline read: Missing girl’s body found after ten years.
The portrait seemed so lifelike that Carmen's voice — her memory of it, came rushing back. Laura looked at Rebecca, still asleep. She quietly picked the newspaper off the floor and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her gently.
Laura returned downstairs and entered the kitchen. She flipped open the wastebasket lid, crumpled the newspaper and tossed it in - right on top of Jack's card, the name slightly blotted out from her recently discarded tea bag. She reached in and retrieved the card, wiping away the smudged brown tea stain with her finger. Jack's number was still legible.
CHAPTER 32
Jack took two pills and was going to return the bottle to its hiding place behind the book, but the pain was especially bad today, so he tucked them into his front pocket.
He sat forward at his desk and picked up his pen, placing it firmly between his teeth, before pressing play on the tape machine. Leonard's voice cued up.
"Rebecca?"
"It's getting dark," Rebecca said in her deep other voice, "Church bells. I hear church bells."
"Where are you?" Leonard asked. There was a brief silence, the tape player's motor buzzed and squeaked.
"Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amen. The fruits of our labors… find Jesus on the hill… find Jesus…"
Jack pressed rewind. He listened to that passage again. The first part sounded like a prayer, but the other part felt more like a warning. It was vexing him. He replayed it over and over.
"Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén. The fruits of our labors… find Jesus on the hill… find Jesus." Rewind. "Find Jesus…" Repeat. "Find Jesus."
It almost sounded to Jack like she'd reverted to Rebecca. She wasn't reciting prayer, she was observing something in the moment. To his ears anyway. He was about to press play again when the phone rang. He'd been playing the tape very low — keeping his word to Leonard. The interruption of the quiet made the phone's ringer seem terribly loud.
"Hello?"
"Detective Ridge?"
"Laura. How are you?"
"Not so good."
"What is it?"
"You still want to talk?"
"Very much," Jack said, sitting up straight. He hadn't noticed that his office door had crept open. Someone stood behind him waiting patiently for his conversation to finish.
"I'm home, can you come here?" Laura asked.
Jack checked his watch. "It's about 6 o'clock, I can be there in an hour?"
"That's fine."
"Okay. Thank you, Laura." He hung up and leaned back in his chair, chewing his pen as he began to formulate all of his questions in his head; there were so many.
"Heard you were dead."
Jack spun around in his chair, startled. Robert stood before him. He was neatly dressed, with a long tan coat and a white dress shirt. He resembled Jack, only younger. Jack's expression turned cold as ice.
"What are you doing here?" Jack said, his jaw clenched.
"You don't return my calls."
"We have nothing to talk about."
"All these years and we have nothing to talk about? At least-"
"Get out," Jack said with a calm that belied his volcano of emotions underneath.
"I just thought you'd like to know… you're going to be an uncle. Trish is pretty far along now. We tried for years. I guess God finally decided we were ready."
Jack stared through him, his gaze like a magnifying glass in the sun, burning a hole into Robert's being. His hatred was palpable, he had to fight to suppress the urge to leap out of his chair and strangle him.
Robert returned no such malevolence towards his brother. He stood silently, itching at a deep old scar above his left eye.
Jack turned his back and started stacking and shuffling papers for no reason.
"We're gonna be relocating to Austin," Robert continued. "Got a good job lined up." Jack took a deep breath, adjusting his collar, straining to retain his composure. "Trish has family there so it works out great." Jack balled his fists and bit down. "You know how it is when people move very far away. You say you're gonna come visit, but…well, I guess with the way things are, you and I might never see each other again."
Robert leaned forward and tossed a small invitational envelope onto Jack's desk.
Jack's eyes found it.
"We're having a little get together, a little celebration. It would really mean a lot to Trish and me if you could make it." Robert wiped at his mouth, waiting for Jack's response. Jack didn't move. He might not have even breathed during the awful silence.
"Jack… there isn't a day goes by I don't feel sorry about what happened."
Jack spun around, venom behind his eyes. "Are you finished? Are you through?" Jack spoke so harshly it set off one of his coughing fits. He hacked three or four times brutally, his eyes bulging, veins surfacing in his neck and forehead. Robert leaned forward to help, but Jack's watery eyes screamed hate — maybe even death — if he took another step closer.
Robert instead took a step back in retreat. "Alright." He turned and opened Jack's office door. The din of the station spilled in, breaking the silence, letting in air.
"Hope you change your mind, Jack." Robert exited and closed the door. Jack sat motionless for a few moments. He abruptly turned and slammed his fists down on his desk, scattering neatly stacked papers in all directions.
Jennifer was walking by at precisely that moment and witnessed Jack's tantrum through the glass windows of his office. Jack reached for his jacket and nearly opened the door into her.
"Sorry, Jen."
He hurried past, not allowing her time to ask if he was okay.
A few moments later, Harrington entered Jack's office. "Jack?" He scanned the empty room, gradually making his way over to where Jack hid his pills. A glance over his shoulder, then he moved the book. But the pills were gone.
Harrington turned to leave when he noticed the old tape player on the desk, half buried beneath a mess of paper. Jack had scribbled some notes on a pad next to it.
The Fruits of Our Labors. Find Jesus on the Hill. Church Bells, diary, dresser. Rebecca, Carmen, Santa Maria - Madre de Dios.
Harrington pressed play, Leonard's voice audible:
"I find the evidence before me incontrovertible. More and mor
e my conclusions not only seem plausible, they seem the only logical explanation. There are so many levels of human consciousness that have yet to be explored. The same must be true of the different levels of existence, quantum theories, allowance for the human soul. My belief system has been challenged on every level, but I find my conclusions becoming more and more supportive for accommodating the theory of transmigration of the soul from one incarnation to the next. Perhaps even time is not how we perceive it. Perhaps we are the observer, and our bodies the vessel. Is it any more delusional than the concept of sending files wirelessly through the air from one electronic device to another would be to a man in 1850? We accept that we can transmit documents and information invisibly through space, why then not our essence too? Because we are organic? I think Rebecca might represent the greatest advancement to human evolution. Spiritual evolution-"
Harrington stopped the tape, a queer look on his face. He checked over his shoulder a second time, then sat down and pressed play again.
CHAPTER 33
Laura stood at the back door, watching Rebecca on the same old rusty swing set she used to play on as a little girl. Its antique frame ached loudly with each movement. Jack stood behind her in the kitchen, small pad and pencil in hand.
"He actually said that?" Laura asked.
"He's convinced himself."
"That's why he wouldn't leave us alone. He needs his own head examined."
"I've known Leonard a long time; he's always been a very rational person."
"He had no right discussing my daughter's condition with you."
"He confided in me because he trusts me. He knew I would keep things confidential. He knew about my case and made the connection. He was right."
"But he never ok'd it with me."
"He didn't tell me the whole truth either. Pieced most of it together myself. I had to back him into a corner before he spilled his guts."
"And what do you think?"
Jack took a moment. It was the first time she'd seen him under bright fluorescent lighting. She noticed how gaunt and pale he looked, how brittle. "…I don't know. What I do know is whoever murdered Carmen went to great lengths to make sure she was never found. Without Rebecca, she wouldn't have been. She gave precise details about where the body would be discovered, how Carmen was murdered."
"That's why he involved you? To prove it?" Laura said.
"Yes. But he also knew based on my current investigation that whoever killed Carmen was probably still at large. The information was mutually beneficial."
"You believe it too," Laura said disappointedly.
"I believe the same person that killed Carmen took Angelina Rosa, yes. Based on the killer's M.O., I think there's a remote chance she could still be alive. But there's no time. I need you to tell me everything."
"That's not what I meant."
Jack took a few steps towards her. "Laura, I saw a picture… of you and Carmen. You knew her, you were friends. So either there is something to all of this… or you're not telling me the whole truth."
Jack's sort-of accusation brought about an awkward silence. Laura turned away and looked out at Rebecca again, snapping the cohesion of their conversation. Rebecca had stopped swinging, her legs dangling listlessly. Laura sat down at the kitchen table and sighed.
Jack took her place at the door, watching Rebecca. Rebecca looked up at that very moment, staring back at him as if some psychic connection existed between them. Her dark, sunken eyes seemed to beg pleadingly: help me, because no one else will. In that instant there was a unique bonding between the two.
"We were best friends in high school," Laura said finally. Her words activated Jack's hands, he quickly jotted them down on his notepad. "I left home when I got pregnant. Never graduated. I remember, I got the news about Carmen while I was in the hospital. Her mother called, said Carmen had run away, asked if I knew where she might have gone since we were thick as thieves. But after I moved away, I'd lost touch with Carmen. She was very religious, she was upset with me because — you know…"
Jack noticed a small framed picture of Laura and Rebecca in autumn, Rebecca dumping leaves on her mother, both smiling. "Have you ever spoken to Rebecca about Carmen?"
"No."
"Maybe she overheard something. Kids can have incredible imaginations. Especially bright ones like her."
"Never."
"You say this all started when you moved back to Monroe?” Laura reached for her cigarettes, then remembered Jack's cough. He had been suffering another spell while standing outside her front door. He'd waited for it to pass before ringing the bell. She pretended not to know he'd been standing there. He was clearly very ill, making a poor attempt to hide it. She placed the cigarettes back, she could wait. If things got too heavy she could use them to chase him out.
"At first, Rebecca seemed to be handling the divorce okay. I thought this place could be a new start for her. For us." Jack was staring at her expectantly. Laura brushed her bangs from her eyes and continued, "This was my father's place. Promised myself I'd never set foot in here again."
Laura rubbed her forehead, she felt a migraine coming on. The door opened, Rebecca walked in. Jack took note of her sullen, exhausted face, even the muscles in her jaw looked tired and limp.
"Hello," she said to Jack.
"Hi, Rebecca."
Rebecca turned to her mother. "Can I have some ice cream?"
"Later." Laura motioned with her head for Rebecca to leave the room, this was adult time. Rebecca took another look at Jack, then gave her mother a devilish smirk. Laura knew what that look insinuated, and hoped that Jack didn't put two and two together. The conversation was already awkward enough.
Rebecca trod upstairs, stomping loudly in protest. Laura listened to the footsteps. She knew if she didn't hear the bedroom door click that meant Rebecca would be at the top of the staircase, eavesdropping.
But the door clicked, satisfying her. She didn't bother to check, so she wasn't aware that Rebecca had actually perched herself along the railing, straining to hear.
"Have you ever observed any behavior like the kind Leonard described?" Jack asked. Laura tilted her head, thinking.
"The other day we took a different road to school. We passed by a small church. Becca asked what had happened to the statue. The one where children would pose for photos after first communions. She was so insistent."
Jack sat down across from her. "I didn't think much of it at the time, but later it occurred to me — it was Carmen's church we passed. Rebecca had such a frightening look on her face, like she was someone else for a moment. But that doesn't prove anything."
"Maybe your coming back here is what set Rebecca off, triggered a memory?"
"Rebecca has nightmares. She's upset."
"Yes, but-"
"Look, there's nothing you can say to make me believe she witnessed Carmen's murder. Or was Carmen. Or whatever that lunatic told you."
"Then how do you explain what happened at the hospital?"
Laura's eyes opened wide. "You do believe it."
Jack leaned back. He placed his notepad and pencil on the table. "My job gives me plenty of reasons to assume life has no meaning. So I'd be lying if I said I wasn't intrigued." Laura shook her head defiantly. "Laura, you called me, remember?"
Laura bit her bottom lip. She wanted so desperately to unload everything on someone. It had been so long since she'd had a normal, adult conversation. She'd experienced enough negativity in human beings to be able to recognize when someone was genuine. And something about Jack felt real and true. She couldn't ever remember a time when her ex-husband sat across from her and truly listened. Had they shared even one night of coherent discussion, they might still be together.
"Why'd you call me?" Jack asked.
"Last night, I went in to check on her. She looked at me as if I was a stranger. My own daughter. I got scared."
"I think whatever power granted Rebecca this window into the past did it for a reason."
&
nbsp; "It has to stop. I can't go on like this." Laura hung her head. Jack studied her, trying to envision what Laura was like during happier times. He felt for her.
"Maybe there's a way we can help each other."
"How?"
"The type of criminal I'm hunting often has a pattern to the way he operates. Comfort zones, familiar places, the type of victim he chooses. Every other girl was unceremoniously dumped in plain view. But Carmen was different. He buried her body. He was more careful. I think he knew her. Maybe she was his first. Like I said, without Rebecca we'd have never-"
"If you think I'm going to let that doctor-"
"No. No, I just want you to take a ride with me. I want to bring her somewhere, see if something happens. Maybe jar more memories like the church."
"What good will that do? She doesn't understand what's happening to her. How can she help you?"
"All I know is I've made more progress with this case in the three days since I've met her than I have in the last three months. Maybe she knows more than she realizes, it just needs something to…stimulate it to the surface."
"She's been through so much already."
"Maybe facing this problem is what she needs." Laura rubbed her eyes, then clasped her hands around her nose and mouth, resting her elbows on the table.
"Think it could help?"
"I think there's a voice inside her crying out. She's suffering. If she can help solve this case, if her ordeal can help save another life, it will all mean something. Maybe we can right a few wrongs."
She looked Jack straight in the eye. "I just want my daughter back. She's all I have left, I don't want to lose her too."
"Then you'll bring her?"
Laura drew a deep breath. She looked up towards the staircase behind her, then back at Jack with uncertainty. "I don't know. I'll think about it."
Just then a loud crash jolted them upright. Laura leapt from her chair and ran out of the kitchen. Jack followed.
Laura raced up the staircase so quickly she'd scaled it before Jack could even reach the bottom step. "Rebecca?" she cried out.
Laura burst into Rebecca's room, but she wasn't inside. "Rebecca?" She listened for an answer. She heard water running and moved quickly towards the bathroom, passing Jack on the staircase.
