Shadowboxer

by Jessica L. Webb

  Jordan pierced the orange rind with her thumb and stopped herself from asking if it was okay. They were doing it regardless.

  “And I’m here,” Rachel jumped in, “because I have some worries about things that are going on in the city.” The gym went somehow even quieter as Rachel circled closer to the specifics. “I’m here because you know me and I know you. I’m a community officer, and to me, part of that means intervening in small problems before they become big problems.”

  “Do we need a lawyer present?” one of the teens called out, obviously hoping for a laugh. A few kids complied. Most didn’t.

  Before Jordan or Rachel could address the question, Madi spoke up.

  “There is a lawyer present.” Madi’s voice was very clear and completely devoid of emotion. Jordan’s heart sank.

  “Not that kind of lawyer, Mad,” Ali said. She smiled at the group. “But if you’re asking, my advice would be there’s no harm in listening.”

  The kids swiveled from Madi to Ali, and back to Jordan and Rachel.

  “I know you’ve all heard of the protest group calling themselves Unharm that has popped up in Halifax in the last few weeks,” Jordan said. The kids stared and ate their food. “Their movements have gone from public mischief to criminal activity. We have noticed that the focus of the group certainly overlaps some of the same circles you guys do.” Jordan began to list them. “Vulnerable population, precarious housing, safe access to food and water, wait lists for addiction programs.” Still none of the kids spoke, just stared at Jordan as if waiting for her to accuse them. Or at least get to her point. “I’m worried—we both are—that some of you are involved.”

  A heavy beat of silence.

  “Involved how?” Madi’s voice was ice and she stared unblinkingly at Jordan.

  “I don’t know exactly.”

  “Nice. So, you just think a bunch of deviant kids are the most likely source of the problem. Way to pick at the low-hanging fruit, Jordan.”

  The rest of the kids squirmed as Jordan and Madi stared at each other.

  “You know that’s not what I think of you,” Jordan said.

  “It’s not what I think of you, either,” Rachel added.

  “I’m not sure your opinion counts, Constable Shreve,” Madi said without taking her eyes from Jordan. “At this point we’re all suspects, and we’re all fully aware of how cops treat suspects.” Madi pushed her hair out of her face and addressed the group. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I don’t need this shit. You can keep your celery sticks and shitty crackers. I’m out.”

  No one else moved as Madi walked to the far wall, grabbed her backpack and phone, and headed toward the door.

  “It’s a nice speech,” Jordan said, without turning around. Her heart was in her throat, trying to navigate this pivotal moment. “And a nice attempt at a diversion.”

  “My opinion is not a fucking diversion.”

  Jordan turned around to face Madi, whose hand already on the door. “You can insult my vegetable platters all you want. You can insult my gym, my occupation, my words. But I think you know full well, I think you all know full well, that I just want you guys to be safe and have a chance. If something’s going on, I want to help.”

  Jordan held her breath as Madi stared at the floor for a moment before looking up. Her heart sank. Madi’s eyes were blank.

  “You want to help?”

  Jordan nodded, waiting for Madi’s final blow.

  “Stay the fuck out of it.”

  It was meant to be a final word, a definitive cut, a silencing. Jordan refused.

  “I won’t. Ever.”

  Madi stared. “Is this the Disney movie moment, Jordan? Might need to get your girlfriend holding your hand for this one. It will scan better for the audience.”

  “I’m not going away, Madi.”

  “Great. You stand your ground. The reluctant goddamn hero, Jordan McAddie. I don’t need your charity or your accusations. I’m done.”

  Madi slammed the metal door, the sound clanging across the gym. It was the drama and finality Jordan was sure Madi had been looking for. As she looked back at the rest of the teens, she was pretty sure which way the theatrics had swayed them.

  “It’s not an accusation,” Rachel said to the remaining group. It was an effort to salvage the evening though Jordan was convinced they’d either missed their chance or they’d never had one to begin with. “But if you guys know something, if you think there is some kind of danger to you or someone else, I hope you’ll bring it to me or Jordan. Anonymous is fine.” Rachel looked up at Jordan, as if seeking agreement to end this disaster of a community forum. Jordan nodded. “I’ll leave my number here. You can call either of us, anytime.”

  The kids scrambled to their feet with an odd quietness. Their usual boisterous energy was gone, replaced by a shifting of glances, and apologetic or embarrassed looks as they all filed out of the gym.

  As the last kid left, Jordan looked at the half-peeled orange in her hands. The smell of the citrus oil was sharp, and dried juice flaked on her palm. She could hear Ali and Rachel talking, but Jordan focused on the rind under her fingernail. She must have been digging her nail into the peel as she spoke, trying to connect with these kids. Her life’s work. Tried to fulfill her duty to them, to keep them in her circle of influence and protection. To keep Madi there.

  Jordan didn’t want to look up. Panic sat in her chest, rising with a sure swiftness that crippled Jordan’s ability to cope. She didn’t want Ali or Rachel to see it. And she didn’t want to see the acknowledgement of her failure, to have them try to salvage some good from what had been an obvious display of incompetence.

  “They’re involved,” Ali said as she and Rachel walked closer. “Obviously. But they also aren’t going to talk. So what’s next?”

  “We wait and see if anyone bites,” Rachel said. She looked between Ali and Jordan. “One of you should try and connect with Madi. I think she’s our best in.”

  “I can do that,” Ali said. She was looking sideways at Jordan as if expecting an argument. Jordan didn’t have it in her at the moment.

  Rachel sighed and rubbed her eyes. “There’s something else.”

  Jordan looked up, alerted by the exhaustion and caution in her friend’s voice. “What?”

  “We’re looking at Helena Cavio as a person of interest. I can’t tell you much more than that. But I think I should warn you that given what we can find—or more importantly, can’t find—in her history, it’s safe to say Helena Cavio is not who she says she is.”

  “Jesus,” Jordan said.

  “Seriously?” Ali said. “We just saw her the other night.”

  “Yes, we know,” Rachel said evenly.

  “You were there?” Jordan said. Accusation and suspicion still hung heavily in the air. Apparently it hadn’t left with the teenagers.

  “No, not me. But we were monitoring who was going in and out. I was surprised to see your names when I read the report the other morning. So was Staff Sergeant Buck.”

  “We were there to see Madi,” Jordan said, straightening a little and meeting Rachel’s eyes. “We were worried about her, so we tracked her down at the meeting. Helena invited us in, and we participated in a group discussion about home.”

  Rachel nodded. “That lines up with the scenario I floated by Buck.”

  “Okay, good,” Jordan said cautiously. “Is there anything else you want to ask me?”

  “How close are Helena and Madi? I’m just wondering. We have no connection between Madi and the Unharm group right now.”

  Jordan thought back, tracing their history together. “We hooked Madi up to Helena’s services just under two years ago. I know Madi attends her groups.” Jordan shrugged. “She doesn’t talk about it much. At least not with me.”

  They both looked at Ali, who shook her head. “She doesn’t talk about that with me either. She didn’t seem altogether comfortable with Helena the other night. Their relationship seemed…imbalan
ced somehow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ali looked like she was searching for the words. “In a business relationship, I’d say Madi was a commodity Helena needed, not the other way around. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, it does,” Rachel said. “Perfect sense.”

  Jordan agreed. Ali had articulated her own discomfort with seeing them interact. Knowing what she did about Helena’s possible involvement in the group made Jordan feel nauseous.

  “I’ll need you to let me know if you see or hear from Helena,” Rachel said. “She agreed to come in for questioning this morning, but no one has seen or heard from her.”

  Jordan shook her head. “She’s really involved in this.”

  “It looks like it,” Rachel said. She looked down as her phone rang. “I should get going. Call me, about anything.” She was already answering the phone and walking out the door before Jordan had time to answer.

  The door of the gym slammed shut, and Jordan stared at the last clementine in her hand. She remembered her mom placing the small citrus in her purse on the way to the hospital the night Steven died. The scent was still a reminder, an ache in her chest.

  “Jordan?”

  Jordan tucked away the small orange in its wooden container and looked up at Ali. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m going to put the food away.” She took a breath and hoped she wasn’t about to fuck up. “Then I think I’m going to study for a bit, then crash.”

  Ali cocked her head to the side and took a moment before she answered. “I think you’re asking for some space tonight.”

  “Yeah. I think it’s a good idea.”

  “I can get another hotel for tonight, no problem.”

  “No,” Jordan said quickly. “That’s not what I meant. You can stay with me. I’d like you to stay with me. I just…” Words failed to materialize.

  “You just need space. It’s okay, I get it.” Ali came around the table and stopped next to Jordan. She gave her a small kiss on the cheek before stepping back. “I’m going to head into the office and work for a few hours, and then I’ll come by your place. If you’re still up for company, I’ll stay. If not, I’ll find a hotel. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” Jordan said gratefully. “Okay. And thanks.”

  Ali smiled. “Thanks for trusting me enough to say it.”

  Trust and understanding. Jordan wondered if there was enough of it in the world to get herself and everyone she loved through all this.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jordan dreamed of drowning. Water filled her mouth and eyes and lungs, pressing against her chest and making her limbs ponderous and slow. She was struggling, fighting for the surface, lifting and dragging a dead weight, a body. No, more than one. Jordan couldn’t count, just knew she had to reach the surface and hold everyone there. She did, and it was a dream victory as her head broke the surface. But no. More people, dark water, flailing limbs, and crying. Jordan felt the bodies sinking even as she screamed at people to keep kicking.

  Jordan woke in darkness, heart pounding against her ribs, anxiety soaking her shirt in a cold sweat.

  “God,” she breathed out. A dream. Just a dream. She rolled over and was about to turn on the light when she remembered Ali was beside her, curled asleep, hands tucked under her pillow. Jordan thought about waking her, sharing the awfulness of the dream. Finding a way to laugh at the predictability of her anxieties, the unimaginative transparency of her not-so-subconscious worry. She didn’t. She allowed her breathing to slow, matching the peaceful rhythm of Ali’s breath.

  After a moment, Jordan grabbed her phone, blinking at the harsh brightness of the screen. It was just before three in the morning. Without stopping to think, Jordan sent out a message to Madi. An apology for their fight, a repeated request to check in. Jordan was just about to put her phone down when Madi responded.

  Why are you awake?

  Anxiety dream. You?

  Hate those dreams, Madi texted back. What was it? It didn’t escape Jordan’s notice that Madi hadn’t answered her question.

  You’ll like this one. I was trying to save people from drowning. Failing spectacularly. It was an offering of sorts, sharing this vulnerability. Exposing herself to Madi’s further ridicule or anger.

  You don’t fail. The only reason some of us sleep at all at night is because of you. Whatever happens, don’t forget that.

  Thanks, Mad. Would really love to talk to you tomorrow.

  Madi never texted back. Jordan eventually put her phone down and curled back under the covers. She rested one hand on Ali’s waist, smiling at the small sound Ali made as she shifted closer to Jordan, then lay still. Jordan closed her eyes, searching for sleep as she reveled in the warmth of Ali in her bed.

  Jordan didn’t think to worry about the ominous feel of Madi’s last words until she descended into sleep.

  * * *

  By the time Jordan was walking to work the next morning, everyone was talking about the fire that had broken out at Lucky Seven convenience store. Jordan hiked her bag higher over her shoulder and gripped her travel mug of coffee as she walked past police cruisers angled across an intersection near her office. An acrid smell drifted with the occasional shift of the wind, and the lights of emergency vehicles reflected off windows and lit up the dull grey streets of downtown. Jordan pulled out her phone and quickly flicked to a news site, hoping some information would ease the disquiet in her chest. It didn’t.

  Four people were suspected dead, including the two owners, in a fire that broke out just after three a.m. The blaze had taken nearly four hours to extinguish, and buildings on both sides of the convenience store had been evacuated. Police and fire were offering no more details, and the downtown core would be blocked off for investigation for at least a day. They suspected foul play, no suspects in custody.

  At the office, Jordan tried to focus on her work. It was hard, given the constant buzz of colleagues discussing the fire down the street, information and speculation mingling with an ease that annoyed Jordan. She tried to drown it out, putting in her earbuds and listening to music while she finished a report and began her month-end Ministry reporting data. A number throbbed in her temple, a reverberation like a headache that dully echoed her heartbeat. Three a.m. She’d been awake then. She’d been drifting back to sleep, calm and warm and safe once she’d freed herself from the clutches of her nightmare. As she’d dropped down through the layers of consciousness maybe a match was being struck, a fuse blown, a heat source sparked into life and a fire raged. It was all noise, fire and voices, rising into panic, splintering and banging as the fire trapped and fed.

  “God,” Jordan breathed out, wrenching her thoughts away. She yanked her earbuds out, the soaring violins replaced by ringing phones, a photocopier, and voices.

  “You okay there, chicken? You’re six kinds of pale.”

  Jordan looked up as Cay entered their shared cubicle. She was unwinding a colourful and seemingly endless scarf from around her neck.

  “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  Cay raised an eyebrow. “No, no. Try again.”

  Jordan wiped a hand across her face. She was cold and sweating.

  “Just the fire. Waiting to hear more information.”

  Cay turned her chair around to face Jordan before she sat down. Their knees almost touched in the small space.

  “Tell me your worries, Jordan. What’s got you caught by the throat?”

  Jordan released a breath, only now recognizing how tightly wound she really was.

  “The kids hang out there sometimes. Panhandle.”

  “You’re worried one of them was there,” Cay said.

  Jordan nodded.

  “Likely not at that hour. But I understand your fear. What else?”

  Jordan cleared her throat. “I’m sure it’s the Unharm group. I don’t know the connection yet. Madi was awake at three, when the fire broke out. I’m worried we pushed them too hard last night. Or not enough.”

  Jordan knew she wasn’t making sens
e, her words and worries twisted and conflated into a nonsensical mass of anxiety and deeply rooted fear.

  “Madigan has had insomnia for years,” Cay reminded Jordan gently. When Jordan began to speak, Cay held up a hand. “You need to wait, you need to breathe, you need to focus. Whatever is coming for Madi and the rest of our kids, we will be there. Stay present, Jordan McAddie.”

  Jordan exhaled. Then she took in a deep breath, full down to the bottom of her lungs before she spoke. “Yes. Okay. Thanks.”

  Cay smiled. “Now, then. Why don’t we do a bit of a roll call? Just to ease our minds about the kids. Make a few phone calls, that kind of thing. It’s an appropriate action, given the circumstances, don’t you think?”

  Before Jordan could respond, the phone on her desk rang. Kayla from the front desk said Constable Shreve was here and needed to see her immediately. Jordan’s pulse spiked, and the cold sweat returned. She told Kayla to send Rachel back.

  “Rachel’s here,” Jordan managed to say. Cay’s eyes widened, and Jordan was sitting close enough to read the fear in her friend’s eyes, in the tightness of her lips, the clench of her jaw.

  “Breathe, Jordan.” It was the only advice Cay had time to give before Rachel was striding up to their cubicle.

  “Hey,” Rachel said shortly. Her obvious stress ratcheted up Jordan’s anxiety another three notches. “Sorry to drop in, but I needed to talk to you both.”

  “Is it about the fire?” Jordan said. “Is it one of the kids?”

  “Not the kids,” Rachel said quickly. “Shit, sorry. No, nothing like that.”

  Jordan let out a breath. “What do you need?”

  Rachel pulled up a photo on her phone and turned it around. It wasn’t a great photo, obviously shot on the street at night, but Jordan recognized a man she’d seen with Helena at the university and at the group the other night. Before she could speak up, Cay jumped in.

  “Roderick Connors. I’ve known him a long time,” Cay said. “That boy was up and down so many times. Is he in trouble?”