Transience

by Stevan Mena

  "How did you kill her?" Jack asked. Bishop gazed up at the ceiling as if he were a clerk and Jack had asked him in what aisle could he find the tool section.

  "Strangled her?" Bishop said playfully. Jack wasn't amused. Harrington stepped forward, ready to pounce some discipline into the back of Bishop's skull, but Jack shook his head no to ward off the attack.

  "Are you asking me, can't you remember?" Jack asked, his patience on slow boil.

  Bishop's shoulders swelled with arrogance. "I remember she smelled sweet like an avocado, ripe and fresh. Pretty for a spic whore." Bishop smiled, showing teeth, his eyes twinkling with a macabre delight.

  Jack saw red. He leaped from his chair, clawing at Bishop's throat. Harrington grabbed Jack, restraining him, prying Jack's fingers from around Bishop's neck. Jack finally saw reason and released him. Bishop coughed, making the most of it, dramatically rubbing his throat as if he had glimpsed the grim reaper.

  "You can't fucking do that! You can't fucking touch me!" Bishop coughed, his eyes watery and red.

  Harrington walked Jack calmly towards the door. Bishop sat hunched over, still clutching his neck, breathing heavily.

  "I told them at the clinic I had problems. They wouldn't listen. Maybe now you'll listen to me."

  CHAPTER 52

  Jennifer, Harrington, and Jack stood huddled in the adjacent holding area. Jack seemed listless and distant as he studied Bishop through the glass. Bishop's eyes seemed like black sockets in the overhead fluorescents, a frightening expression of emptiness on his face.

  "We'll need to get a dive team over to the reservoir tomorrow morning," Harrington said.

  "You did everything you could Jack," Jennifer said.

  "No, I missed something…" Jack checked his watch for no reason, not sure what to do next, dazed.

  "Thanks to you he's off the streets," Harrington said. "He finally made a mistake and we got him."

  Jack turned, his eyes ablaze. "We didn't do shit! He's been coming and going as he pleases, getting away with murder for over 10 years. And the only reason we have a suspect in custody is because some brave young girl defended herself long enough to hand him to us!"

  Jack ended his rant with a loud cough that multiplied. He doubled over, red in the face. Jennifer put her hand on his back to steady him.

  "Jack, are you okay?" Jack stepped away from her.

  "Do you need your pills?" Harrington asked.

  Jack scowled at Harrington with embarrassment. He wiped his mouth, the fit subsiding.

  "I just need to catch my breath, can I do that? Move back so I can catch my breath." Jack leaned up against the wall and took out his pills. There was no use hiding his condition any longer, his tenure was over — what more was there to stay for? And his condition was no secret to anyone, no matter how noble his efforts to shun sympathy had been.

  "I'll get you a glass of water," Jennifer said, leaving the room. Jack's taut breathing slowed, returning to normal. Despite his hardened shell, he was appreciative of their concern. They were good, caring friends. Denying his suffering was just his way of denying the inevitable, denying death.

  Harrington leaned in close to Jack, capitalizing on their time alone. "Jack, we knew the odds she'd be found alive were a million to one. Carl knew it, or should have." Jack fumbled to get his pills in his mouth, his hand shaking. "I know how much you wanted to believe that little girl's story. But don't do this to yourself. Good detective work solves crimes. You're one of the best. He'll never hurt another child, thanks to you."

  Harrington placed his hand on Jack's shoulder and squeezed it. Jack appreciated the gesture, and what he said. Whatever bitterness he had just been feeling seemed to morph into self-loathing and depression.

  Jennifer re-entered holding a styrofoam cup filled with water. She held it out for Jack. "Thank you." He took a sip and placed it down on a table. "Jennifer, can you get Carl Rosa on the phone for me?"

  "No need. He hasn't left."

  Jack exited the room and moved somberly down the hall. He wasn't looking for Carl, he'd run into him eventually. He simply ambled forward, his mind dark, devoid of any coherent thought. He passed his office and paused to glare at his name on the frosted glass door. He suppressed an urge to drive his fist through it.

  He entered the main hallway, spotting Carl asleep on a bench. Someone thoughtful had brought him coffee, the half empty cup balanced treacherously on the arm of the bench.

  Jack slowed, thinking he might let Carl sleep a little longer, have one more dream with a happy ending. He would have the rest of his life to relive this crushing moment, what's the rush?

  Just then, Carl's eyes fluttered. He spotted Jack down the hall and sat up straight. No turning back now.

  Jack came to understand the best way was to just look them straight in the eye, tell the truth, then shut up. Nothing else you say will matter, unless you know of a way you can bring their loved one back from the dead. Just shut your mouth and let them grieve, however they choose.

  Jack thought about what that poor doctor must have felt, having to tell him he'd tried and failed to save Sarah's life. I'm sorry, Mr. Ridge, she didn't pull through. She didn't pull through… He remembered how the doctor didn't waiver and looked him in the eye bravely. How difficult that must have been.

  Carl shifted in his seat as Jack stepped closer. She didn't pull through, Carl.

  Carl stood up and Jack motioned for him to sit back down, which made Carl want to stand up all the more. Sitting down meant dreadful news. He stayed on his feet.

  Jennifer entered the hallway from the far end and spotted Jack talking to Carl. She couldn't hear what he was saying. She watched as Carl went limp and collapsed into Jack's arms. Jack helped him to the bench and eased him down.

  Jack sat motionless beside Carl, who wept into his hands. They sat that way for a long time.

  CHAPTER 53

  Jack closed his office door and slumped down into his chair, emotionally drained. The cassette player still sat on his desk. He reached over and pressed play. Rebecca's voice came to life on the tape again. "Trusted him…lied to me."

  Jack pressed fast forward at random. "Rebecca?" Leonard's voice spoke.

  "I hear church bells. Santa Maria, Madre de Dios-" Jack forwarded again. "The fruits of our labors… find Jesus on the hill. Find Jesus…" Jack stopped the tape. What had he overlooked? Misinterpreted?

  There was a photograph of Angelina on his desk, a large 8x10. He picked it up and studied it one last time, then tossed it into the pile of victim's photographs.

  He walked over to his file cabinet. A small bend in the metal made it difficult to open. He tugged it hard and it slid all the way out with a metallic screech. He removed the large scrapbook of mugshots Rebecca had examined the other day.

  He flattened the book out on his desk and flipped through. As Bishop's mug shot came into view, the thing that stood out the most about him was his very unique face — ugly, memorable — not ordinary at all. Not a face you'd forget, or confuse with someone else's.

  Rebecca had stared at this picture, he was certain. But she said nothing. For someone who had dreamed of this face for so long, woke up screaming from it, supposedly carried it with her across lifetimes, you would think seeing it up close would illicit a very powerful reaction. But she said nothing. Which meant she had never seen him before.

  He thought about what Laura had said, that they'd all taken what Rebecca had conjured up in those therapy sessions and applied whatever explanation they saw fit, never fully realizing the obvious. However all of those coincidences had transpired, it was certain that they were just that, coincidences. Dumb luck, as Harrington called it.

  Jack felt consumed by regret — and guilt. He had been a party to this, he contributed to her confusion as much as Leonard. Laura was the only one who had remained lucid and sane. They'd taken a few startling occurrences, some ramblings, and conjured a fantasy. One he was more than willing to subscribe to. Facing death, desperate, knowing tha
t his cherished memories of Sarah would be lost to oblivion forever, memories that kept her spirit alive. All those moments.

  The hope that perhaps there was a reason to life, fate, karma, another chance to learn, reconnect, live again. He bought it. All of it.

  But Rebecca's clues didn't find the killer, did they?

  In the end, it was Teresa Mason's bravery that collared their man. Not the supernatural. Laura, Harrington, they had tried to talk some sense into him. How easily we're misled when we want to believe something for our own personal motivations. How had he let his normally conservative judgment become so clouded? That lapse in reason took his investigation off on a tangent and, because of that, Angelina was dead now.

  The phone on his desk rang. He watched the little yellow button blink off and on. He pressed it.

  "Ridge."

  "I hear you arrested Edward Bishop," Leonard said.

  "That's right." Jack could hear Leonard sigh on the other end.

  "Bishop is a former patient of mine. I evaluated him during his rape trial. He's been in and out of the psych ward for years."

  "What's your point?"

  "Carmen knew her killer, she trusted him, went with him willingly."

  "He already confessed."

  "He's lying."

  "Leonard, I've played along long enough."

  "Jack, listen to me, the answer is there, we just haven't figured it out yet."

  "I have to go."

  "Edward Bishop doesn't have the ability to facilitate friendships, even temporary. Speak to him."

  "I have."

  "He doesn't fit the description."

  "Description? Right now I have a description from a girl who died trying to defend herself, his DNA was scraped from her fingernail bed. I got a car that matches a vehicle description from a witness in Ann Arbor. I have verification that he was working at Monroe College while Carmen was a student."

  "I'm not denying he attacked the Mason girl, but he's not the one who killed Carmen, he's probably not the one who took Angelina."

  "Hard evidence and solid police work solved this case."

  There was a long pause. "10 years of solid police work didn't find Carmen's body," Leonard said.

  "Dumb luck."

  "Bullshit. Angelina still hasn't been found."

  "He named the location."

  "Where?"

  "The reservoir."

  "You won't find anything. I guarantee it." Jack gave Leonard's words some consideration, but only out of respect for their friendship.

  "I don't have time to debate this with you, Leonard."

  "I stopped by to visit Carmen's mother, Jack. Don't worry, I didn't tell her why I was there. I simply said I was from the police department and offered counseling. She refused, but she did say that you were there again recently. You didn't explain to her exactly why, either. What were you looking for in the girl's bedroom?"

  Jack was silent.

  "The diary… You were looking for the diary-"

  "Goodbye, Leonard-"

  "I want to come in and question him! You can arrange that!"

  "Leonard, this is a murder investigation, I don't have time to help you conduct research for your God damn book!"

  Jack slammed down the phone. The image of Rebecca from Carmen's painting kept surfacing in his thoughts. Must remain rational. Coincidence. Mere coincidence.

  Harrington opened the door and entered. Jack hadn't heard the knob click, was he outside the whole time, listening?

  "Jack, you never gave up. Everyone knows that. Carl Rosa knows that. You're a good man."

  "Not good enough." Jack stood up and reached for his jacket. He looked out the window and caught a glimpse of Carl walking towards his car, his head down, reporters smothering him, shoving microphones under his chin in desperation to squeeze a sound bite of grief out of him for the 6 o'clock news.

  "Don't beat yourself up, Jack. It's not worth it."

  "Worth it? I'd rather work 25 hours a day than face those few seconds right before you give someone news that's going to destroy the rest of their lives."

  "That's our job."

  "No. Our job is to try and prevent those moments from ever happening."

  Harrington conceded, never intending to have a long conversation, already wearing his coat.

  "Well, I gotta go, gotta explain to the wife why there was 1,300 dollars stuffed in my sock drawer. One of my kids told her I won it on the Denver game. Believe that? These kids and their crazy imaginations."

  Harrington exited. Jack looked down at the cassette player.

  "Yeah…"

  Jack reached down and placed his finger on the eject button. He tapped it and Rebecca's tape spit out. He held it up for a few seconds, frowned, then tossed it across his desk, scattering a few papers. One of them, the invitation his brother had left, fluttered to the floor by his feet.

  He reached down to pick it up. He slid his finger under the lip of the envelope and opened it.

  CHAPTER 54

  Laura turned down Hastings Boulevard and noticed how much things had changed since she last traveled these parts as a teenager over a decade ago. It was much dirtier now, several stores she used to frequent had been shuttered. The corner drug store where she once stole cigarettes was still open.

  "Where are we going?" Rebecca asked from the back seat.

  "To see an old friend." Laura had decided to just put it all out on the table for Rebecca. Whatever the consequences. She knew this was all inevitable. It was time.

  Laura exchanged glances between Rebecca and the road, watching her expression for any changes, looks of recognition, any reaction at all. But Rebecca just sat quietly.

  She turned down Woods Avenue, Hester's apartment complex came into view. It was all coming back to her now. Carmen had always seemed embarrassed by her family, especially her mother. Hester was very religious and often said or did things to make it seem like Carmen was being raised in the middle ages. She came across as a fanatic to the uninitiated. But Laura never thought anything less of her, or considered her weird. Compared to her own upbringing, most other families seemed normal.

  As she pulled up to the curb, she gazed at the iron railing along the steps that led to a small balcony by the apartment entrance. On days with nothing to do, she and Carmen had stood up there and watched the traffic go by.

  On one occasion, a blue and white-striped butterfly with an enormous wingspan fluttered past them and landed on Laura's shoulder. Laura remembered screaming with excitement. The noise brought Carmen's mother, Hester, to the front door to see what all the fuss was about. Carmen reached out to touch the butterfly and Hester yelled at her to leave it alone. She remembered Hester saying if a butterfly lands on your shoulder, it means that you have a good aura and a kind spirit. And that other spirits would want to remain close to you, love you. How's that working out, Laura?

  Carmen commented on how beautiful the butterfly was. Hester then asked Carmen if she had thanked God for showing her such beauty. She then made Carmen say it out loud. "Thank you Lord, for revealing to me your beauty in the world." Carmen was so embarrassed, she didn't speak the rest of the afternoon. That was the only really odd moment that stood out in Laura's mind.

  Laura put the car in park and walked around to let Rebecca out. Rebecca didn't act unusual, she didn't show any emotion at all. Laura was surprised. Blank wasn't the reaction she was expecting.

  She took Rebecca's hand and walked her towards the building. As they got closer, Laura noticed Rebecca was squeezing her hand.

  Laura climbed the steps, but Rebecca hung back, frozen.

  "Come on," Laura insisted. Rebecca slowly shook her head.

  "I'm going in without you then," Laura said, insincerely. Laura released her hand and climbed the steps.

  She knocked and waited. Francisco opened the door, wearing his military uniform. He pushed open the screen door. "Yes?"

  Laura looked him up and down, recognizing him. "Francisco?"

 
"…Yes?"

  "You don't remember me."

  He stared blankly. "I'm sorry, should I?"

  Laura grinned. "Laura Lowell. I was a friend of your sister, Carmen." Francisco tried to retrieve the data from his memory banks. All he could do was smile back and repeat her name vacantly.

  "Laura Lowell… Laura Lowell…"

  "¿Quién es, Francis?" Hester asked from inside. She gently pushed past him, revealing herself at the door. She looked exactly the same as Laura remembered, only heavier.

  "Yes?" Hester said, but instantly there was a recognition in her eyes.

  "I don't know if you remember me?" Laura said. Hester's smile got broader. "I'm Laura? I was a friend of Carmen's."

  Hester reached out and took Laura's hands. "Laura, yes."

  "It's been a long time."

  "Yes, it has."

  Laura stepped aside, revealing Rebecca, still cowering at the bottom of the steps.

  "Your daughter?"

  "Yes, her name's Rebecca." Laura turned to Rebecca. "Come on, sweetie." Rebecca put a hand on the railing and took a slow step. Then another, like a child afraid of being punished.

  "Don't worry, I don't bite," Hester said.

  "It's okay, Rebecca," Laura said. Rebecca took a few more steps. Hester bent over to her. "Oh, so pretty. Come in, come in." Hester backed up, letting them both enter. As Rebecca passed, she looked up at Hester with dread.

  They entered the kitchen. On the table were multiple arrangements of flowers, sent from friends and family members. One large bouquet had a framed picture of Carmen in the middle.

  Francisco stepped back towards the corner of the room. Laura turned to him. "The last time I saw you, you were this high," she said, holding her hand just above her waist.

  "My big man now," Hester said, "he take two week leave when we get the news about Carmen. Today is his last day, he report back tomorrow." There was a packed rucksack near the front door, a camouflage jacket draped over it, ready to go.