Rebounding

by Shanna Clayton

“Doesn’t matter.” Steph faces the stove, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

  I know she’s being overly dramatic, but I also know she means what she says. Steph will now make it her mission to befriend Charlotte.

  “Do whatever you want,” I say, relieved. The more people who occupy Charlotte’s time, the less I’ll see of her. Out of sight, out of mind…a guy can hope anyway.

  Steph finishes up, and then we eat lunch together. We both stay quiet, neither of us bringing up Charlotte again.

  I’m still thinking about her on my way back upstairs though. As I pass by her door, I pause, my hands itching to knock on it. I feel a crazy desire to see her face and to hear her voice again. For a brief moment, I hold up my hand to knock, but then I change my mind just as quickly. After yesterday, it’s all I can do to keep her out of my head. There’s no point in making it worse. I have other things I should be focusing on, and she’s too much of a distraction.

  Later that night I get a text from Dean. It’s short and to the point, like always.

  Dean: Meet me at the usual place

  I wait until after midnight before I leave, this time making sure to disable the motion sensors in case Trevor is snooping around.

  When I get to the docks, Dean’s car is already there, barely noticeable in the dark. The streetlights in this area are broken, part of the reason it makes such a good location.

  I put my car in park and head to the end of the pier. “What’s so important?” I immediately ask.

  We weren’t planning to meet again until Sunday. Meeting this early has made me suspicious.

  Dean’s dressed down in dark clothes, his expression unreadable. By looking at him, you’d never be able to tell the he’s a cop. He’s young, and he’s an expert at blending in or disappearing. The guy was born to do undercover work.

  He hands me his cell phone. “Look and you’ll see.”

  I scan the screen. The image on it almost makes me drop to my knees. “Where…how?” I can’t speak. My heart is beating so fast; I can barely get enough oxygen in my lungs to put it all together.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” Dean says, sighing. “Shit, this isn’t good. Are you sure it’s her? You have to be positive.”

  “It’s definitely her,” I say, my voice resolute. I’m still staring at the picture on Dean’s phone, incredulous. She would be eighteen years old now, old enough to become unrecognizable. But I would know that face anywhere. She has our mother’s face.

  Dean rubs the back of his buzzed-cut head, frowning. “In that case, we have a problem.”

  I wait for him to explain.

  He leans against the wooden railing. “You see, the girl in that picture goes by Francesca Garcia.”

  “Garcia?” I can feel the muscles tightening in my chest. “Are you saying…?” I can’t say it. I don’t even want to think it.

  “I’m saying David Garcia took your sister. He’s had her all this time. I think—and I’m not sure about this part—but I think he may have raised her as his own daughter.”

  My hands grip Dean’s phone. It feels as if all the blood in my body is rushing to my face. I’ve never felt this kind of rage before. My parents’ deaths were cruel enough. But this…this is all kinds of fucked up. “Please tell me you know where he is.”

  Dean reaches for his phone, taking it out of my hand. “Let’s not break this, man. I can’t afford a new one right now.”

  “Do you know where he is, Dean?” I ask again, impatient.

  “Yes and no.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means I need a little more time to piece it all together. We know he has connections here, and we’re pretty sure he’s got another safe house he uses to import the drugs, but we haven’t located it yet.”

  “What about her?” I say, feeling my voice crack. “Where was that picture taken?”

  “Dominican Republic. One week ago.”

  I nod. We’ve always suspected Garcia had made his home there. “I’ll get a flight ready.”

  Dean waves that aside. “If you go there, you’re dead. That’s his territory. You wouldn’t have any back up.”

  There wouldn’t be any help from the bureau. Dean’s been running the investigation on Garcia for almost six years now. When we first met, he interviewed me about an article Trevor and I posted on the Gritty Voice. The things we uncovered made us look like we were inside guys. Dean hadn’t been too happy about it at the time. We were just kids, but we knew too much. Until that point, everyone only speculated about the drug ring connected to Garcia’s various businesses. The Gritty Voice interviewed witnesses, highlighted the connections, searched for evidence. We shined light onto everything Garcia tried to keep in the dark.

  So Dean did his research on me. He got wind of my story, and that’s where the real questions began. At first the cop side of him didn’t like what I was publishing. He warned me to back off, threatened to put me in jail if I didn’t stop interfering with their investigation. Then he carried out that threat. Several times. The guy has thrown me in the same jail cell so many times I know the cracks in the ceiling by heart. He never put me away on serious charges though. I think he just wanted to keep me out of trouble. To him, I was a punk kid with issues, and to me, Dean was the cop getting in my way.

  Eventually there came a point when he realized I’d never stop. He once said to me, “Max, your stubbornness lives on the edge of insanity.”

  After that, the dynamics of our relationship changed. Since he knew he couldn’t beat me, the next best option was to join forces. We started working together. Now I bring him information, and he does the same for me.

  “What other choice do I have?” I finally ask him. We’ve both been quiet for a while now, deliberating. “I can’t just do nothing.”

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” Dean says, holding his palms out in front of him. He gestures a lot with his hands when he talks. In a weird way, it makes everything he’s saying clearer. “This Francesca kid has applied to several Florida universities. In a few weeks, she’s coming here to tour schools. That’s when you get your chance. You verify who she is, tell her, and just maybe we can use her to bring Garcia down.”

  “There will be no using my sister,” I say, my voice stiff. “She’s been through enough already.”

  “This might be our only chance, Archer. I’ll let you know when she arrives. Stay put until then, do you understand me?”

  I don’t want to agree to this, but I do it anyway.

  “I mean it,” he says again, watching me closely. “If you go there, you’re risking both of your lives, got me?”

  “I’ll stay put.”

  When I get back to the house, it’s quiet. Trevor’s room is on the first floor, behind the living room. I walk by it, noticing that his light is off. I press my ear against the door, hearing snores come from the other side. He’s always been a loud snorer.

  On the way upstairs, my eyes are once again drawn to Charlotte’s door. Her light is off too. It’s weird that she’s been so quiet today, but I don’t question it. Distance is the best thing for both of us after what happened on the beach. She probably realizes that too.

  I try to get some sleep, but I know it’s useless. With everything Dean said still buzzing through my head, my thoughts have kicked into overdrive. On one hand, it’s a relief to know I’m closer to finding my sister than I’ve ever been before.

  She’s alive. Instinctively, I’ve always known that. But to see her face is a huge weight off of my heart. Before, there was nothing. Just hopelessness. Now I can actually do something.

  On the other hand, it’s frustrating being unable to do anything right now. At this moment. How can I just sit still?

  Ignoring Dean’s orders is an option. I could go to the D.R. anyway, to track her down myself. It’s tempting. But I know I won’t.

  Waiting is the best thing I can do. If we can get a hold of Garcia here on U.S. soil, we can put him away for good. Even if he can�
��t be nailed for racketeering or drug charges, at the very least they can get him for kidnapping. Fiona’s DNA is all the proof needed.

  There’s another, quieter, part of me that wants him here. It’s the same reason there’s a gun sitting in its case in the back of my closet.

  I want to take him out myself.

  For years, I’ve gone over in my mind what I’d do to Garcia if I found him. Prison doesn’t seem good enough. And as much as I might enjoy it, shooting him seems too quick of a death. Neither option would bring me peace.

  I lie there awake in my bed, thinking about what would bring me peace. I think about it all night long. Before I know it, the first rays of sunlight break through my window. I look over at the alarm clock. 5:30 a.m.

  At this point, I couldn’t sleep if I tried.

  Batman’s up before me, restless. He knows what day it is. It’s crazy how he knows, but he does. He sits there next to the bed, wagging his tail.

  “Okay, okay. I know you’re excited to see Piper. I’m excited too.”

  God, it’s going to be a long day.

  I quickly shower and get dressed. This time I leash Batman before we leave the bedroom.

  Charlotte’s light is on.

  I stop next to her door, feeling the same need to see her as I did yesterday. This time I don’t ignore it. Before I’m aware of what I’m doing, I’m knocking on her door and calling out her name.

  Don’t answer.

  She doesn’t answer.

  I stand there for a few moments, dazed. She’s not coming. I let out a heavy breath, wondering whether it’s full of relief or disappointment. I don’t know what I would’ve said anyway. This is a good thing. Definitely a good thing.

  I turn to leave, but stop myself. Walking away is impossible. I want to go, but something’s holding me back.

  It all seems too fucking weird. I don’t know Charlotte that well, but up until this point, she’s been eager to speak to me, almost on the brink of loneliness. Why would she avoid me now?

  I knock again, louder this time. “Charlotte, answer the door!”

  Several seconds pass by, each one growing fuller with silence. My heart rate picks up. This doesn’t feel right.

  I twist the door handle, finding it unlocked. “I’m coming in,” I announce before stepping inside.

  It looks like the room’s empty. There’s no sign of Charlotte. I look around, thinking maybe she left and forgot to turn the light off.

  A small whimper comes from the other side of the bed. I look down, and there she is, curled up on the floor and cradling her stomach. I can’t get to her side fast enough. My heart is pounding against my chest, the sound of it ringing in my ears.

  “Charlotte?” I ask, afraid to touch her. Her face is pale and sticky with sweat.

  Please open your eyes, kid.

  Her eyelids lift, but just barely. She looks confused at first, and it takes her a while to recognize me. “I think I’ve been poisoned,” she whispers, then closes her eyes again.

  I grab hold of her, pulling her off the floor. “Open your eyes for me, Charlotte. Did you take something or eat something?”

  She slowly blinks, nodding.

  I don’t think about what I’m doing. Lifting her into my arms, I carry her to the bathroom, then set her down in front of the toilet. She sways when I try to prop her up in front of it, and I have to lean her against my chest to keep her from falling over. Then, grabbing her by the jaw, I stick two fingers down her throat.

  She vomits right away.

  I hold her up as she grips the sides of the toilet. She empties her stomach, shaking, and heaving violently as I try to keep her still. As the last of it comes out, she coughs over and over again.

  What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

  If I call for an ambulance, they’ll think one of two things. Either she has a really bad case of food poisoning, or that she did this to herself. If they determine she did this to herself, they’ll Baker Act her. I don’t think Charlotte could handle that on top of everything else going on in her life.

  When she finally settles down, I hand her a tissue. She takes it from me, then wipes her mouth.

  “Feel better?”

  She nods. Her eyes meet mine, looking clearer than they had a few minutes ago. It seems like a good sign. I don’t think I’ll have to take her to a hospital.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she says, leaning back against the side of the bathtub.

  “What am I thinking?”

  “That this is my fault, but I didn’t…” She pauses to take a breath. “I mean, yeah I guess I did, but I would never do…that.” She shivers as if it’s unthinkable.

  Looking at her like this, there’s only one thought on my mind.

  I never should’ve let her stay.

  It makes me feel like a selfish bastard, but I can’t help thinking it. She’d better be telling me the truth. Dealing with this kind of baggage is something I’m incapable of doing. I wouldn’t know how to save her—I can barely save myself.

  “Then what happened here?” I ask, my voice sharp. “Explain it to me.”

  “I’ll show you.”

  She stands up, swaying a little. I jump up, worried she might fall.

  Following her into her bedroom, I watch as she rifles through a brown paper bag sitting on the nightstand. She pulls out a small glass vial, then hands it to me. The label is in Spanish. It takes me a few seconds to translate the words.

  Elixir of Renewal.

  “What is this?”

  When I look at Charlotte, she shrugs. “Some guy sold it to me. He said to take it three times a day for a week.”

  “What’s it supposed to do? Are you sick?”

  I twist open the lid, sniffing the top. A tangy, sweet, metallic scent escapes.

  “Not exactly.”

  When I look at her, she looks away, wringing her hands together. It’s clear that whatever this is used for, she doesn’t want to tell me.

  “What the fuck is it supposed to do, Charlotte?”

  Her silence is pissing me off. After what I just went through with her, she owes me a better explanation. I’m determined to get one too.

  Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Charlotte closes her eyes and lets out a small breath. “It’s for a broken heart.”

  “A what?”

  “Broken heart,” she repeats, sounding defeated. “The clerk at the botánica told me it was the opposite of a love potion; it’s supposed to make you fall out of love. He said it would only take a week. Then I’d be my old self again.”

  “Botánica? Please, for the love of God, tell me you are not stupid enough to believe in that voodoo Santeria crazy shit.”

  She holds her stomach, wincing. “If you’re trying to make me feel worse than I already do, you’re succeeding.”

  “Forgive me, but you seem like a semi-intelligent girl. Why the hell would you buy into that?”

  “I don’t know why I believed him, Max. There were all these mystical things in his store, and I guess I became entranced by all of it. He seemed to know right away what was wrong with me. I really wanted to believe he could help.” She moves back farther on the bed, curling her knees to her chest. “I found out yesterday that my ex knocked up the girl he cheated on me with, and that the two of them are engaged. They’re getting married in our hometown, where we all grew up together. It was a low point for me. Believe me, I’m not proud of myself.”

  She’s staring at me as if she’s hoping I can relate, her huge blue eyes watery and intense. I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. This is unfamiliar territory for me. I’ve never been around someone who wears all their emotions on their sleeve. It’s unsettling.

  I sit down beside Charlotte on her bed. She keeps watching me, warily. I reach for her hand, linking my fingers through hers. “Sorry if that came out harsh.”

  She shrugs it off. “It’s okay. I deserved it.”

  “No, you didn’t. For the record, I don’t think you’re stupid. J
ust…promise me you won’t go to any more botánicas.”

  A shadow of a smile pulls at her mouth. “I promise.”

  There’s color in her cheeks again, making her resemble her former healthy, buoyant self. She looks down at our entwined hands, staring at them. “I’m so used to being the Type A personality with a mile long to-do list. Being here and not doing anything is driving me a little crazy.”

  “A little?”

  She swats at me playfully with her other hand, taking the joke in stride. “I’m trying to confide in you, Max.”

  “Another thing friends do?”

  “Yeah.”

  She’s not budging on this friend thing. I’m not fighting that hard to prevent it either. In this moment, I feel myself giving in. I’m not completely comfortable doing it, but part of me feels like I have no choice.

  “Confide away then.”

  “Really?”

  “If you must.”

  “Well…I know I’m not that person anymore. My life will never be the same; I get it. But I can’t be this person either. I just can’t.”

  “So be someone else. Someone you want to be.”

  She looks at me as if I’ve said something really important, steeling her features as if she’s trying to find strength. It amazes me how beautiful I think she is right now, when only ten minutes ago she was puking her guts out.

  I let go of her hand, suddenly remembering that Batman is out in the hall waiting for me. Shit—Piper.

  “I have to go.”

  “Go?” Charlotte says, her face dropping.

  “Uh, yeah. Batman and I have an appointment.”

  “Oh…okay.”

  “How are you feeling? Do you think you’ll be all right?” Leaving her alone doesn’t seem like a good idea. It doesn’t feel right.

  “Still a little nauseous, but it’s getting better. I think you made a good call. I just needed to get everything out of my stomach.”

  “You should probably eat something too.”

  “I will. Thanks for your help, Max. I’m glad you were here.” She smiles at me. I can’t help but notice that it’s the sad kind of smile. It feels like a blow to my stomach.

  Don’t do it.

  Don’t do it.