The cop stumbled backwards, colliding with his friend. He coughed and sputtered, shoving the sagging mattress away from him, but there was no place for it to go. It kept falling toward him. “You fucker. You little shit.”
But his threats had lost their power as he kept swiping at his face and spitting. His features were twisted in revulsion, and no wonder – that was some powerful piss. The whole room stank of it, and Asshole Cop had gotten a face full.
From behind me, I heard the incongruous sound of someone giggling. I turned to see Crazyhorse smiling with the few teeth he had left, his eyes bright and sparkling. “Good one, Reese,” he said, clapping when he saw he had my attention. “Good one.”
If this had been a movie, or some other work of fiction, we would have bested the crooked cops and emerged triumphant from our cell. I’d buy Crazyhorse a suit and he’d magically lick his addiction to moonshine and become gainfully employed. Even when he was a successful businessman, he’d never forget the small kindness I’d shown him, and we would remain friends until he died. In his will he’d leave me a significant fortune.
But this wasn’t fiction, and the sparkle in Crazyhorse’s eyes quickly gave way to panic. I spun around in time to see the cop’s baton coming full force at my head. It cracked against my skull, causing bright flashes of pain to explode in my vision.
The floor rushed to meet me, and I gratefully accepted its embrace.
* * *
The first thing I noticed was a long expanse of white. The second was that my surroundings no longer stank of piss.
I’d never been a religious person, but now I wondered if this was a near-death experience. At least, I hoped it was near death and not the real thing.
“I think he’s waking up. Reese? Reese, buddy, can you hear us?”
Blinking to bring the room into focus, I lifted my hand, reaching toward my dad’s voice, but all I touched was air. “I can hear you, but I can’t see you.”
A hand touched mine. It was much smaller and softer than my father’s. I caught a whiff of my mother’s iris perfume seconds before I heard her voice. “Thank God you’re all right.”
“He’s not out of the woods yet,” my dad said in his usual gruff, let’s-cut-the-bullshit manner. “Don’t give him false hope.”
“What happened?” It felt like I was talking through a mouth full of marbles. I could only move one of my hands, and after shaking the other a couple of times, I realized why – that dreaded metal bracelet was around my wrist again, chaining my arm to the bed.
“Don’t worry, son. We’re going to get rid of that cuff soon. We’re also going to slap that department with so many lawsuits they won’t know what hit ’em.”
It was the words ‘hit ’em’ that brought it back – the asshole cop’s baton smashing against my skull. Now that I remembered, a dull ache thudded through my brain, almost begrudgingly, like it was tired of keeping up the signal.
It wasn’t only my head that hurt. It felt like a truck had driven over me and then reversed. Maybe more than once.
What did that fucker do to me?
I thought of my cellmate, and how scared he’d been. I was willing to bet that hadn’t been his only two-step with the asshole cop. “How’s Crazyhorse?”
“Who?”
I sighed, frustrated. It was difficult enough to talk as it was. My head swam, like I was either going to vomit or pass out. “Crazyhorse. My cellmate.”
“The old Indian?” my father asked, as if we were acquainted with many people of that name. Or cellmates, for that matter.
Nodding seemed like a bad idea, so I moved my hand away from my mother’s clutching fingers long enough to give them a thumb’s up.
“I think he’s fine. He’s not in the hospital, I know that much.” The confusion in his voice was palpable. Why is our son asking about that guy? He’s a homeless, inebriated Indian. It was easy enough to guess what he was thinking, because only a day or so ago, I would have thought the same myself.
I hoped I knew better now.
“He’ll be a good witness for you, Reese. He can tell the judge those men hit you for no reason,” my mom said.
Ah, my mother, forever the optimist. Whoever the judge was, he’d give Crazyhorse about as much credit as my father had. I was just grateful the older man was okay. If I felt this bad, I couldn’t imagine what a beating would have done to him. He’d looked so frail.
“What did they do to me?” I managed to get the words out without groaning too much.
“You have a couple of cracked ribs. Those hurt like a bitch, but they’ll heal fine. Bastards broke your nose and bruised your legs good, but Dr. McCormick has a surgeon who can fix your face. Shouldn’t be much of a scar afterwards.”
My father was hiding something, but I didn’t have the strength or capacity to argue. Instead I waited for them to get around to giving me the really bad news.
“The only thing—” Dad cleared his throat, and although my eyes wouldn’t focus, I could tell he was shuffling his feet and looking around the room, searching for something more pleasant than his battered son to fixate on. “The thing we’re concerned about is – well, there’s no nice way to say it, so I’m going to spit it out and be done with it. They fractured your skull, kid. The doctor thinks there might have been some damage to your optic nerve. That’s why you can’t see so good.”
“But you’re going to be fine.” Mom’s voice was so cheerful it was nauseating. I almost puked at the outpouring of positivity. Much more of that, and they’d have me convinced I was going to die. “It will take some time to heal, but in a few weeks, you’ll be better than before.”
“Cut the shit, Eloise,” my dad said. “You’re starting to give me a headache.”
Metal rings complained against the rod as my privacy curtain was swept aside.
My new visitor gasped. “Those bastards. Those power-hungry bastards.”
“Prosper,” my dad said. “Thanks for coming.”
“They’re going to pay for this, you better believe it. The county is going to pay through the nose for what they did to your son.” Only after this sweeping declaration did he direct his attention to me. “How are you feeling, Reese?”
“Okay, I guess. My head hurts, and I can’t see too well.”
“They will pay for that too. That MBA you hoped for? Consider it covered by the good people of Minnesota.”
“Uh….” For the second time in recent history, I was at a loss for words. “That’s not really my biggest concern right now.”
Prosper patted my arm. “Of course not. Of course not. I only wanted you to be aware that a lot of options have opened up for you. You could go to Harvard if you wanted.”
“Great. I’m sure glad those cops almost killed me. What a lucky break.”
“Reese…” my mother warned.
“I think our son has a right to be upset, Eloise. I respect you have a job to do, Prosper, but this isn’t the time or place. What we care about now is Reese’s health. The rest can wait.”
“How I wish that were true, Mr. Wallace. Unfortunately, even as we stand here chatting, the other side is preparing its defense. We have to be ready. There is no time to waste.”
“Excuse me, but what defense could they possibly have?” My mother’s anger rose to meet the level of my father’s. “They cracked my son over the head with a baton. They kicked him while he was lying on the floor unconscious. He might never regain his sight. How on earth will they justify that kind of brutality?”
“I realize it doesn’t seem possible, but I know the police, Mrs. Wallace. Those boys tend to stick together, and trust me – they’ll concoct some kind of story to justify their actions. If we want to file an injunction against them and get your son released, I’m going to need to take a statement from Reese now.”
The sound of them bickering made my head feel like i
t would split in two. I moaned, wishing they would get the hint. “Does it have to be now? I’m so tired. I want to sleep.”
“I’m sorry, but it does. It won’t take long, Reese,” my lawyer said with his usual brisk efficiency. “I need to hear exactly what happened in your own words.”
“This is ridiculous,” my dad said. “We don’t care about the money, for Christ’s sake. Our son needs to rest. The other stuff can wait.”
“How do you like the medical attention he’s been receiving? How do you like this?” I felt a light tug as Prosper lifted the chain attached to my handcuff. “He can’t take a piss without ringing for the nurse. Are you fine with Reese being treated this way, like a criminal? Because I’m not. And today is the best day to file for a dismissal of the charges against him. But it’s your call. I work for you.”
My parents were quiet for a minute, considering. I braced myself, knowing what was coming.
“Reese, buddy?” My dad leaned so close I could feel his breath against my cheek. “Do you think you could tell Mr. Prosper what happened?”
I had nothing to lose, and maybe if I gave him a statement, Prosper would crawl back under his rock and leave me alone.
I may have been blind, but at least I had a voice. And a lawyer. That was more than Crazyhorse had.
Someone had to speak for both of us.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Many people are afraid of morgues. Maybe it’s because they’ve only seen them in horror movies, when a corpse unexpectedly sits up, scaring them half to death. Or maybe their trepidation stems from something more personal, the fear that some day they will find themselves there, staring into the ashen face of a loved one.
Cops get over this fear pretty damn fast. The morgue becomes a routine like any other, and though it isn’t their favorite place by any means, that sense of dread anticipation is long gone.
That is, until it comes back.
Maria felt an almost irresistible urge to run as they took the elevator to the basement, and it increased steadily with every step down that well-lit corridor. By the time Dr. Wilder removed the sheet covering Jessica McCaffrey’s remains, every nerve in Maria’s body was in revolt, sounding alarms and waving red flags. Her skin was on fire; her eye twitched with the pain of a sudden migraine; and her stomach churned.
The girl’s body was covered in oozing sores just like Travis’s. But how? They hadn’t been there before.
“Jorge…” she managed, unsure how she would tell him she was dying, but figuring she ought to say something. Her lips were dry and cracked. Just saying his name hurt like hell.
Her partner and the doctor turned at the same time, and when she saw their expressions, she knew she looked as bad as she felt, if not worse.
“What’s wrong, Maria?” Jorge asked, but the doctor was quicker. He caught her a second before she hit the floor.
* * *
Grey Mother’s prediction had come true. Little Dove was a natural healer, and it wasn’t long before the community’s women came to her in times of pregnancy and illness. She soothed their wounds and bound their cuts and guided their children into the world. If some of her sisters suspected Lone Wolf had superior skills, they didn’t speak of it, and in truth, they were relieved not to have to deal with him any longer.
Four seasons passed, and then another four, and everything was peaceful in the camp. The men in need of medicine went to Lone Wolf, while the women came to Little Dove, and the shaman himself appeared fine with the arrangement. While he had made good on his threat not to come to a woman’s aid, there didn’t appear to be any residual bad blood between the healer and Grey Mother. Everything was calm.
Until the day the golden-haired woman returned.
They did not recognize her. The woman who had stumbled half-dead into their camp on the brink of a winter storm had been a pale shadow of the one who walked toward them now. A scowling man was with her, but he hung back by the trees, glaring at their people. He shoved the woman forward, making the warriors gasp, for females in their community were always treated with great respect. The woman glanced over her shoulder at the man as she stumbled, her eyes wide and fearful. But when she saw Little Dove, she smiled in recognition.
Placing a wrapped bundle upon the ground, she closed the distance between them, reaching for the medicine woman’s hand. Little Dove, confused and a little embarrassed, for everyone was staring at her, offered her own. The white woman clasped it between both of hers.
“How can I ever repay you for saving my son?”
“Waste not your time, woman. She can’t understand a bloody word yer sayin’.” The man who had accompanied the woman did not bother to hide his disgust. “They’re savages. They don’t speak the Queen’s English.”
Little Dove could hear Grey Mother hiss as the matriarch raised herself to her formidable height. The older woman’s nostrils flared, and in a moment, she would charge this disrespectful stranger, and there would be bloodshed. Before Grey Mother could react, Little Dove raised her hand.
“We are familiar with your language, stranger. But we prefer to speak our own.” Then she said a few words in her tongue, thinking how it was so much prettier, even musical, with the words lilting and lifting over one another like a song.
The man sneered at her, and Little Dove knew she had proven her point. She and her sisters could understand him fine. He was the savage who understood only one language.
Beside her, she heard Grey Mother release her breath, but hostility still emanated from the Elder. Little Dove’s protector would keep her eye on this rude man until he left their territory, and for that, the medicine woman was grateful.
Little Dove addressed the woman. “There is no debt between us. Our kindness is as free as the air we breathe and the water we drink. We are repaid by seeing how well you are now. How is the boy?”
The woman’s smile trembled. “He is good. Growing big and strong, like his Pa.”
Little Dove prayed the insulting man was not the infant’s father. One creature like that in the world was certainly enough. “I am pleased to hear it. That is all the thanks we need.”
Grey Mother harrumphed, and Little Dove suspected she knew what the Elder was thinking. The winter had treated their people harshly as well, although none of them had been as close to meeting their Creator as this poor woman. Perhaps the strangers would be willing to offer a gift in return for their good health. Lone Wolf had warned of sophisticated weapons and tools that could clear an entire forest in a whisper. While Little Dove had no desire to see her beloved trees disappear, or for her people to wield the killing machines Lone Wolf spoke of, the strangers might have something that would make hunting a little easier.
“Give them what you came to give them, and let’s be gone,” the man at the edge of the camp said, as if he had read her mind. “I’m running out of patience.”
The woman flinched as if she’d been struck, and scurried to where she had left the cumbersome bundle in the grass. She seemed to have forgotten it was there.
She held out the package to Little Dove, but something made her hesitate. The healer had no problem reading the lines of confusion on the woman’s face, or the tears that glazed her eyes. Something was obviously troubling her, but what?
“Give it to them, Beatrice,” the man said. “Let us go.”
Little Dove went to take the parcel from the woman’s shaking hand, but the blonde woman seized her fingers. “You mustn’t,” she whispered. “You must burn them.”
“Beatrice.”
The woman dropped the bundle on the ground at Little Dove’s feet, and Grey Mother hissed once more at the sign of disrespect. However, the healer suspected nothing was as it seemed. Something was wrong with the gift, but what? And why? Her people had saved this woman’s life, and that of her infant. Surely she would not agree to bring them anything that would do them harm?
Before she could question the woman, the angry man pushed his way into the camp, grabbing what Little Dove now strongly suspected was his wife by the upper arm. The sisters bristled, but none made a move to stop him. The woman was not their sister, and her fight was not theirs.
The man bent to speak into the woman’s ear, chastising her as they left the camp. He kept his voice low, but Little Dove could hear him fine. He was angry with his wife for trying to warn them. Warn them of what?
As soon as the strangers were gone, Grey Mother hurried over to the wrapped bundle, which lay in the dirt at the medicine woman’s feet.
“No, Grey Mother,” Little Dove cried, but it was too late. Brightly colored cloth burst from the package, revealing itself under the Elder’s tearing, clawing hands.
“They are blankets,” the older woman said in wonder, holding one up to her cheek. “They’re so soft. I’ve never felt anything like this. What animal made these?”
Her sisters quickly gathered round, pushing and jostling for their share. They reminded Little Dove of a flock of ravens fighting over a carcass. The image made her shiver.
She was deeply ashamed of the way her sisters clutched and pawed at the gifts. To her horror, the women tossed their own furs to the ground, dishonoring the brave and powerful animal spirits who had made the greatest of sacrifices so her people could survive the season of the long moon. The blankets were beautiful – how on earth did the strangers manage such glorious colors? The bright hues rivaled the turning of the leaves during the harvest season. But despite its beauty, the gift seemed false, weak, too thin to defeat sickness or provide true shelter against cold and ice.
“Why are you not celebrating?”
Little Dove startled before she could catch herself. She hated the way Lone Wolf appeared at the most unfortunate times. If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect he could divine the future.
“You should claim your reward,” he said. “You have earned it by selling out our people.”
Forgetting her own misgivings, she turned on him with a fury that made him retreat a step. “Leave me be, hateful man! We are both medicine people now, worthy of respect. You will not speak to me this way.”
Those Who Came Before Page 16
