Shadowboxer

by Jessica L. Webb

  Rachel looked grim, and Jordan knew what she was going to say before Rachel even spoke.

  “We believe Rod Connors was one of the deceased in the fire. I’m sorry, Cay.”

  Jordan heard Cay’s quick intake of breath and saw her tremble.

  “Sweet Jesus,” Cay breathed out.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rachel repeated. “I need to ask if either of you knows where he lives.”

  Jordan shook her head and so did Cay.

  “You should check with Helena Cavio,” Cay said, grabbing a tissue when Jordan held out the box. “I know he helps out with her groups. And you should tell her in person. She’ll be devastated.”

  Jordan and Rachel exchanged a knowing look. Jordan’s heart hurt. She really didn’t want to add this to Cay’s day.

  “Cay,” Rachel said gently. “We’re investigating Helena Cavio in connection to the Unharm group.” She paused, obviously waiting for Cay to react in some way, but Cay just stared blankly. “That’s why I’m looking for Rod Connors’s address, to see if she’s there.”

  “More connections,” Jordan murmured and Rachel nodded.

  “Roderick Connors had a sun and knife tattoo on his left shoulder, and there is some preliminary evidence that a sun symbol was found inside the convenience store as well.”

  So it was connected. Of course it was. It was as if the city had been taken over, held hostage by this group of radicals who didn’t seem to understand that in their efforts to draw attention to those who had been marginalized and hurt, they were inflicting a hurt far worse. Or maybe that was the point.

  “What do you want us to do, Rach?” Jordan held her head, as if that would somehow stop the spinning.

  “For now, just carry on. Ask around about Helena, whatever sources you have. Or Rod Connors. Text me anything you’ve got. I may not be able to respond, but I’ll pick it up.”

  Cay and Jordan both murmured their assent, then Rachel stood, squeezed Cay’s shoulder, and gave an apologetic look to Jordan before turning and quickly walking away. Jordan wondered how she did her job, facing the unexpected, the hurt, and the danger while under incredible pressure. For the hundredth time, she hoped Rachel would have some time to rest soon. She hoped they all would.

  Cay had turned back to her own desk, and Jordan could hear her sniffling quietly. She assumed this meant her friend needed a little time and space to process what they’d just heard. Jordan grabbed her jacket and phone, pausing only briefly before touching Cay lightly on the arm. Cay reached up without turning around and briefly squeezed Jordan’s hand. Then Jordan left the cubicle, feeling the need to get out of the space and the noise.

  Outside, the sun had broken through the greyness of the November morning. Clouds raced past the sun, and blue sky dominated the dome above them. Jordan wound her way through the crowds on the sidewalk, businesses and offices still open even on the streets that were closed to vehicles. The excitement was still in the air as it had been hours earlier when Jordan had arrived at work.

  Jordan blocked out the whispers and words, keeping her head down and taking side streets until she was close to the block where the Lucky Seven convenience store had stood until approximately three o’clock that morning. The smell of burning was stronger here, acrid and chemical. Jordan wanted to get away from it, but she stood and stared at the blackened three-story brick building, almost completely covered with a thick coating of ice that shone in the midday sun. There was no heat here any longer, no urgency or threat. No rage or passion or purpose. Just coldness, emptiness, loss. A well of unanswered questions.

  Jordan wanted an end to the stranglehold the protest group held on the city. On her kids. She looked down at her phone. No text from Madi. The silence felt heavy and portentous, but Jordan chalked it up to the day, the environment, and the news. Breathe and focus, that’s what Cay had said. And make a connection. Jordan opened her message app and found Ali’s name. She had someone to connect with, she had someone to lean on. Right now she intended to do just that.

  * * *

  “Has this ever happened before?”

  Jordan looked up from her post at the gym door. Ali was inside, still optimistically arranging mats even though no one had arrived yet.

  “No,” Jordan said. “This has never happened before.” She turned away from the empty gym, the sight of it making her sick with worry. Instead, she stared out at the night. The streetlights had just come on, though they revealed nothing other than the occasional car driving past the entrance. The evening was quiet and Jordan was afraid.

  The silence felt ominous, and the rapidly descending dark only heightened the sensation. Something was very, very wrong, and Jordan didn’t know what to do. She wanted to fight and yell, draw out her opponent, look it in the eye and channel her fear into anger before she lashed out with purpose. But there was only silence and darkness and Jordan’s hurt. She’d spent her whole life boxing shadows.

  She felt Ali’s presence at her side but didn’t turn around. “Think we scared them away last night? Punishment for the accusation maybe?”

  Jordan quashed her anger at Ali’s use of “we.” These weren’t Ali’s kids. This wasn’t her fight.

  “Maybe a few of them,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral. “It doesn’t make sense they would all stay away.”

  Ali touched Jordan’s arm but dropped it a moment later when Jordan failed to respond to her touch. “What do you think it is, then?”

  Jordan just shook her head and stared at the empty street.

  “Talk to me, JP.”

  The flash of anger again. “What do you want me to say?” Jordan said, turning around. Staring at the street was unhelpful and pathetic. And she was letting all the heat out. Jordan moved away from the door and let it swing shut behind her with a final clang. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know anything.”

  “Okay,” Ali said, following Jordan back inside but keeping her distance. Jordan was both grateful and annoyed Ali was here. “Then what do you want to do?”

  There was always an action with Ali, always an achievable goal, a measurable outcome. But Jordan felt like she was back in survival mode, constantly on the defensive, pivoting off her back foot in an effort to duck and avoid whatever was coming at her. Planning a counterattack was so hard when you were under pressure.

  “There’s nothing I can do. Nothing.”

  “What about calling Rachel?”

  “And tell her what, exactly? ‘I’m nervous’?” Jordan shook her head. “No, Rachel is dealing with enough already.” The four victims of the fire had been identified: the couple who owned Lucky Seven convenience store, a bouncer stopping for cigarettes on his way home from work, and Rod Connors. The media was already reporting the link to the protest group. Rachel and the rest of the investigation team would be working overtime trying to find Helena.

  “Where are they, Jordan? The kids.”

  Jordan started to reiterate that she didn’t know. But the concern etched in Ali’s expression made Jordan’s heart break a little, and she took a breath and voiced her fear. “I think…” Jordan cleared her throat and tried again. “Whoever texted them that night, whatever link they have to the protest group…I think something is happening tonight. I think the kids are there.”

  “The next target,” Ali said. “That could be anywhere. The police have no leads?”

  Before Jordan could respond, the sound of the gym door clanging made Jordan and Ali both turn. Hope and fear leapt into her chest as someone dragged the metal door open.

  Sierra walked in. She was out of breath and looked like she’d been crying. Jordan and Ali both ran to meet her.

  “Don’t answer the message,” Sierra said, gulping in air and trying to speak. “It’s a fake. Madi says they took her phone, so it’s not her and she’s fine and don’t answer it.”

  Jordan glanced at her phone, concern and confusion mixing in her belly. “Did you get a message?” she asked Ali.

  “No.”
/>   “What message, Sierra?”

  Sierra gulped air. Ali brought her one of the water bottles, and Sierra took a long drink.

  “Maybe start at the beginning,” Ali said.

  “Yeah, okay. So, I got a call about an hour ago, but I ignored it because I didn’t recognize the number, and who calls anyway, you know?” Jordan nodded though she didn’t know really. “I finally remembered to check the message, and it was Madi. She sounded kinda weird, but she said they’d taken her phone and it was really important you and Ali knew so you could ignore the messages coming from her phone.”

  “Is that all she said?”

  “Basically. She said it was important you guys knew it wasn’t her, that she was fine. But I was out at the mall. It’s Brooklynn’s birthday next week, and I want to get her some books. That’s why I forgot to check the message and then my battery died, but I was worried so I just thought it was faster to come here.”

  Sierra took another drink from the water bottle. Jordan and Ali looked at each other, both obviously evaluating the sketchy information.

  “Did she say who took her phone?” Ali said.

  Sierra shook her head.

  “Do you know where everyone is tonight, Sierra?” Sierra blinked at Jordan’s question but didn’t respond. “You don’t seem surprised that the gym is empty.”

  Sierra shrugged. “Madi told me to stay home tonight.”

  “Why?”

  Another shrug from Sierra.

  “Tell me what everyone has been hiding, Sierra. Tell me why you’re scared.”

  Sierra dropped her eyes to the ground, her hair partially hiding her face.

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “You know more than we do,” Jordan coaxed. “Whatever reason you were given for keeping this a secret, people in danger trumps that. No matter what Madi says.”

  Sierra looked up. “No, Jordan, you don’t get it. I don’t know anything because Madi won’t tell me anything.” She sounded angry now, frustrated. “She said I should stay out of it, that it was better if I knew nothing. That way, Social Services couldn’t hold it against me when I petition for more time with Brooklynn. So, I stayed out of it. Until tonight.” Sierra sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  The chime of a notification on Ali’s phone sounded loud in the empty gym. Jordan’s heart pounded as Ali looked down at her screen and opened the messages app. Everything seemed to take so long, she wanted to scream with frustration and impatience.

  “It’s Madi,” Ali said. Then she paled and Jordan saw her hand shake. “Shit,” she said quietly. “The message says, ‘I need help. I’m on the bridge and I’m not okay. Can you come get me?’”

  Jordan was frozen, ice in her veins, her head throbbing. Madi on the bridge, Madi hurting. The force of logic made her listen to what Sierra had just told them. Then a message popped up on her phone. Jordan opened it.

  “I got one, too. Madi’s phone, same message. I’m going.”

  “But it’s not Madi?” Sierra said tentatively.

  Jordan was grabbing her jacket, checking for her keys. “Either it is Madi and she’s on the bridge, or it’s someone pretending to be Madi to draw us in. Either way, Madi’s in trouble.”

  Ali was putting on her jacket as well and looking at her phone. “Should we respond?”

  “No,” Jordan said. “We should not. You stay here with Sierra and get her a cab home. I’ll text when I know something.”

  “Fuck that. I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not.” Jordan turned and headed toward the door, thinking that if she just left, Ali would go away. It had worked before.

  Jordan heard scrambling behind her as Ali and Sierra grabbed their stuff and followed her out. The steel door slammed shut. Jordan’s heart pounded, fear chasing confusion. The sun had gone down, and dusk had turned to a damp, cold night as she walked around the gym to her car. The crunching of gravel behind her made her angry as Ali and Sierra followed.

  “Go away, Ali.”

  “No, Jordan.” Ali wasn’t just stubborn, she was completely immovable. Wind whipped her blonde hair around her shoulders and Ali pushed it away. Sierra stood completely still, looking back and forth between them.

  “Goddamn it,” Jordan muttered. “We don’t have time for this. Both of you get in.”

  They did, scrambling for seat belts as Jordan started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “Give me your phone, I’ll call Rachel,” Ali said.

  Jordan handed it over and kept her eyes on the road as Ali scrolled through her contacts and connected the call. Jordan focused on the wet streets, the traffic, the lights. Anything to stop herself from thinking about Madi up on the bridge.

  The sound of ringing interrupted her thoughts as Ali put the phone on speaker.

  “Not a good time, Jordan.” Rachel’s voice was loud and slightly garbled through the speaker phone.

  “We got a message from Madi,” Jordan said, trying to project her voice through the phone speaker and keep her eyes on the road. “She says she’s on the bridge and she needs help. But we also just got information saying someone took her phone and—”

  “The bridge?” Rachel said. “You got a text from Madi saying she was on the bridge? Is that all she said?”

  “Rachel, it’s Ali. I got the same message.” Ali pulled out her phone and read the text message word for word. “But like Jordan said, Madi sent Sierra to tell us that someone took her phone and the messages are a fake and to ignore them.”

  The sound of Rachel’s muffled cursing filled the car. Jordan could hear voices in the background, wind through the speakers, the sound of car doors slamming.

  “Where are you right now?”

  “We’re on our way to the bridge. About five minutes out, maybe a little more with traffic.”

  “Shit, okay. Yeah. Look, we started getting calls about twenty minutes ago from commuters saying there was a group of demonstrators on the bridge. They’ve shut it down now, and it’s a shit show. Traffic backed up, and we’re trying to get close but the protestors have a line of their own vehicles blocking both ways.”

  “Can you say that again?” Jordan said. The background noise through the speaker was loud.

  “Stay off the main routes, try Novalea Street.” Rachel’s next words were drowned out by a loud, thumping, continuous noise. It filled the car as Jordan pressed down on the gas and shifted into a higher gear. She had no idea what was happening. She needed to know.

  Without warning, the sound died, and the phone gently chirped to say the call had disconnected.

  “I think that was a helicopter,” Ali said quietly.

  Silence permeated the car, just the sound of Jordan downshifting as she came up against traffic. She mapped out a route in her head, trying to move around the block of rush-hour traffic backed up from the bridge closure. Jordan needed to find her way there. Needed to find Rachel.

  “What’s happening, Jordan?” Sierra sounded scared, and Jordan saw her pale face in her rearview mirror.

  “I’m not really sure. Sounds like the protest group is demonstrating on the bridge. They’ve shut it down. I’m going to try and get close.”

  “Why? Because of Madi?”

  Because of all of them, Jordan wanted to say.

  “We’ll find Constable Shreve,” Ali said calmly, answering Sierra’s question. Jordan could hear the undercurrent of strain. “We’ll find out what’s happening.”

  Jordan wound her way through and around traffic, breaking more laws than she cared to admit until she was on the nearly dead residential street that paralleled the highway entrance to the A. Murray MacKay Bridge.

  A sudden sound from the back seat made Jordan turn around quickly. Sierra was staring down at her phone, the small speaker blaring voices and nonsensical noise.

  “Someone’s posted something to YouTube,” Sierra said. Jordan could just make out the sound of garbled cheering and shouts.

  “Do you see any
one you know?” Jordan said, pulling her car half over the curb and jamming on her hazard lights. She could see some emergency vehicles with their whirling lights just down the hill.

  Sierra stared at the screen for a few seconds longer. Jordan wanted to scream at her.

  “No, it’s stupid dark. There are comments, though. ‘Bring it all down,’ ‘block the bridge,’ ‘you’re all dickwads.’” Sierra looked up. “Maybe that last one isn’t super relevant.”

  Jordan got out of the car and Ali and Sierra followed. She climbed the small rise and looked down through the chain link fence that separated the residential block from the highway entrance to the bridge below. A cluster of police cruisers and emergency vehicles blocked the entrance to the bridge. Farther up, a confusion of cars and trucks were trying to turn around, with a transport truck wedged sideways across the bridge as it attempted to retreat. Cops in neon high-vis jackets were trying to direct traffic off the bridge. A helicopter suddenly buzzed overhead.

  Rachel was right. This was a shit show.

  “You two stay here,” Jordan said, climbing the fence. She hadn’t worn gloves and the metal was a crisscross of cold pain against her palms and fingers. She gripped the top bar to steady herself as she swung a leg over. She could feel the fence shake and looked over to see Ali and Sierra climbing on either side of her. Jordan said nothing.

  The grassy hill at the base of the bridge was steep and slippery, not intended for pedestrians. Jordan, Ali, and Sierra all slipped their way down, each of them taking at least one fall. As they skittered to a stop at the edge of the highway, they were met by a young officer, his face enraged.

  “What do you think you’re doing? This is an active scene and you can’t be here.”

  “My name is Jordan McAddie. Constable Shreve asked me to come down. I have information relating to individuals on the bridge.” It was an approximation of the truth.

  The young officer eyed Jordan with suspicion.

  “Constable Shreve asked you to come down?”

  “She’s the one who told me to use the side streets,” Jordan said, throwing a thumb over her shoulder at the hill they’d just descended. “I really need to see her.”