The Resolutions

by Brady Hammes

  She swam to the other end, then circled back to her brother, her hands gripping the pool’s edge. “So Mom told me not to ask about your show, but I’m going to anyway.”

  “That’s very obedient of you,” Gavin said.

  “Why did they cancel it?”

  “Because it wasn’t very good.”

  “Yeah, Mom sent me a DVD with some of the episodes. It’s pretty bad, no offense.”

  “Yes,” Gavin said. “That seems to be the consensus.”

  “So what are you gonna do now?”

  “That, Sam, is an excellent question.” And one for which he had no answer. The plain truth was that the auditions were coming less frequently these days, and there was no denying the trend would continue. He often wondered if he should cut his losses and find a more stable line of work like his mother suggested, but he had no experience aside from a few stints in the hospitality industry. Sam’s talent was undeniable, and though she’d dug herself a mighty hole, Gavin believed she would eventually climb out. And Jonah, if he wasn’t arrested, would continue his elephant thing, which, though Gavin didn’t understand it, appeared to have some merit. Jonah had degrees and Sam had talent, whereas Gavin had nothing but failed relationships and the wreckage of an unremarkable acting career.

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said, scooping a beetle from the water’s surface and gently placing it along the pool’s edge.

  “For what?” Gavin asked.

  “For all of this.”

  “You don’t have to apologize.”

  “I know I don’t, but I want to. Or maybe I just want to explain myself. Either way, just hear me out.” She took a deep breath, as if she were about to say something she’d been rehearsing. “Do you remember when I was little—maybe five or six—and I used to hide in that closet we had in the basement?”

  Gavin laughed, because he remembered it very clearly. “You were a strange kid.”

  “And remember the time I locked myself in there?”

  Gavin nodded. “I still don’t know why there was a lock on a coat closet.”

  “Exactly. But the point is, there was a lock. And I knew there was a lock. And I’d been told not to play in there because we all knew how easy it was to get locked in there. But for whatever reason, I did it anyway. I guess I wasn’t thinking, or I didn’t believe it would happen, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Somehow, I locked myself in there, and I remember it being so dark, darker than anything I’d ever experienced. And I was pounding on the door for an hour, but nobody could hear me because you guys were all upstairs. I remember crying so hard that I worried I would use up all the oxygen and suffocate and die in that closet.” Gavin could see her bottom lip start to tremble. “So that’s what happened,” she continued. “I locked myself in that fucking closet again. And now I can’t get out, and I hate myself for being in this position.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I guess I just don’t want you to think that I’m a bad person. This isn’t who I am. This isn’t me.”

  Gavin shook his head. “I don’t think you’re a bad person, Sam.”

  “But I do.”

  “Then you need to forgive yourself.”

  She turned her head and looked off into the distance. “I don’t know how.”

  Gavin reached his hand out, and she took it, resting her forehead against the pool’s edge. He couldn’t tell if she was still crying. He wasn’t sure what to say and so he said nothing, instead turning his attention to a turtle struggling to make its way over a crack in the concrete.

  After a moment, Sam dipped her head beneath the water in a kind of emotional reset. When she surfaced, she pulled her hair behind her ears and exhaled. “Sorry, I just needed to say that.”

  “Feel better now?” Gavin asked.

  She nodded.

  “You hungry?”

  “I could probably eat something. What did you have in mind?”

  Gavin was about to suggest they try the hotel restaurant when an orange flash stretched across the sky and a charge of hot wind shoved him into the pool. When he finally surfaced, he looked back at the hotel and saw a smoking black hole where the restaurant used to be.

  SAMANTHA

  THERE WAS GLASS IN HER MOUTH. That’s the first thing she noticed. She spit out water and a shard of window came with it. She waded toward the edge of the pool, her vision frayed, her mouth tasting of blood and chlorine. She looked to Gavin, who was climbing the stairs of the pool. Smoke billowed from what was left of the hotel.

  “What happened?” she yelled, though she knew the answer.

  “Are you hurt?” Gavin called back.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Stay there. Don’t move.”

  Sam lifted herself from the pool and tried to make sense of the scene. Everywhere she looked were blackened pieces of things she could have identified thirty seconds ago, but which now struck her as complete nonsense. Disjointed was the only word she could think of. She watched a man emerge zombielike from inside the smoking mess, holding his hands in front of his body, his face glazed with blood. Feathers floated on the water. A charred spoon smoldered in the grass. She began walking, despite Gavin’s orders, toward the blast zone, the ground littered with small pieces of concrete that burned her feet like tiny coals.

  Another man ran from the smoldering hotel, yelling “Allez-vous en! Allez-vous en!” Sam didn’t know what he was saying but the fear on his face convinced her to turn around. The man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away, and it was fortunate timing because a few seconds later another smaller blast went off, and it appeared that any unlucky soul left inside the restaurant was no more.

  In the ensuing chaos people with varying degrees of injury fled from the ruins of the hotel. A woman Sam recognized as the receptionist escorted an elderly man by the arm, while two members of the kitchen staff—young men in chef’s whites—wrapped a woman’s leg with a tablecloth. A little girl, maybe eight or nine, sat in the grass with her head in her knees, seemingly unharmed but crying uncontrollably. Sam looked over and saw Gavin trying to restrain a man with skin dripping from his forearms from sinking his burning limbs into the pool water. She paced in circles in the grass, unsure what to do.

  An ambulance arrived on the scene, and a woman with what looked like a toolbox ran to the man with melting skin. She sat him on the ground and began dressing his wounds. Two paramedics entered the hotel with a dispiriting lack of urgency, as if they’d resigned themselves to a purely janitorial role.

  Sam looked up and saw her brother walking toward her wearing a pained expression. “What is it?” she asked.

  “My back,” he said.

  She spun him around, inspecting for injuries, and that’s when she discovered the splash of crimson, bubbling skin printed across his back.

  “Jesus,” she said.

  “Is it bad?”

  She had to will herself not to gag. “I think it probably looks worse than it is.”

  “It burns like hell.”

  “You need to go to the hospital.”

  Gavin craned his neck to get a look at the mottled skin. “Find something to bandage it with.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Then find someone who does,” he snapped.

  Sam ran to the ambulance, which had now been joined by two others. A procession of police trucks and military vehicles was arriving from down the road. Sam motioned to one of the female medics, who rushed with her over to Gavin. The medic went to work on his back while Sam leaned close to her brother, holding his hand because she could think of nothing else to do.

  “Are there still people inside?” Gavin asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said. “More ambulances are showing up. It looks bad.”

  “We never should have come here,” he said. “This was a terr
ible idea.”

  * * *

  —

  SAM SAT IN THE HOSPITAL waiting room, surrounded by a handful of locals, most of whom, like herself, were either guests or employees of the hotel. Sitting across from her was a young woman on a cellphone, speaking hurried French. When the woman hung up, Sam asked if she had any details on what had happened, but the woman greeted her with a blank, uncomprehending stare. Hoping to get some clarity, Sam walked over and questioned the receptionist, whose limited English did little to clear up her confusion.

  She began walking the halls. Her body still vibrated and she couldn’t shake the images now lodged in her mind, all that blood and destruction. She was looking for the restroom when she noticed a nurse exiting a storage closet, so she poked her head in for a closer look. What she discovered was an unlocked cabinet containing an assortment of pharmaceuticals. She scanned the shelves of pills, trying to decipher the French labels, all those vowels, each bottle only marginally different from the one preceding it. She wasn’t picky, any opioid would suffice: Percocet, Oxy, she didn’t care. And it wasn’t entirely uncalled for either, because she had survived an explosion, after all, so yes, she was entitled to something for the pain. She found a bottle labeled OXYNORMORO, which sounded pretty similar to Oxycontin, then swallowed one and emptied the rest into her pocket. That’ll do, she thought.

  Stepping into the hallway, she nearly ran into a lean, youngish man being pushed in a wheelchair. “Sorry,” she said, moving around him.

  The man’s right leg was set in a cast, but despite the obvious pain he must have been in, he wore the large, cheerful smile of someone grateful to be alive. When he saw Sam his eyes lit up. “You must be her,” he said, clapping his hands together in the manner of someone receiving terrific news. “You must be Jonah’s sister. Oh yes, thanks to God!”

  Sam wasn’t sure what to make of this jolly, injured man who seemed to think he knew her, but seeing as how he was confined to a wheelchair she assumed he was harmless. The female nurse who was pushing him smiled at her.

  “I know your brother,” the man continued, reaching up to shake her hand with both of his. “I’m Jonah’s friend. My name is Laurent. I’m here for you. I’m very happy you’re alive.”

  “You’re the guy who was supposed to pick us up?” Sam asked.

  “I came to look for you at the hotel,” Laurent said. “I was in the lobby, but then—BOOM—there was the explosion.” He illustrated this by making a blooming motion with his hands. “Next thing, I’m on the floor, trapped under concrete. And now my leg,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s no good.”

  “Jesus,” Sam said, shocked that he’d been inside the hotel at the time of the explosion. “I’m so sorry.”

  “But you’re okay?” Laurent asked.

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “I’m fine, but my brother Gavin has some pretty serious burns. The doctors are looking at him now. Thankfully, we were outside when it happened.”

  “Oh, good,” Laurent said, relieved. “And where is Jonah?”

  “I was hoping you’d know that. He dropped us off at the hotel and left with some British guy. You know him?”

  Laurent shrugged.

  “He wouldn’t tell us much,” Sam said. “Just that you’d be by to pick us up and take us back to your restaurant. We weren’t sure if you were coming.”

  “Yes, but I was late because my car was having trouble. I’m very sorry this happened to you. I don’t know what’s going on. As you can see, everything is very strange now.”

  Strange was the operative word. Between the military-style police force in Libreville, Jonah’s apprehension at the train station, and the massive explosion at the hotel, there hadn’t been a moment of normalcy since arriving in this dizzyingly foreign country. And now here was the man they’d been looking for, this incredibly kind man whose generosity and unfortunate timing had placed him at the center of the blast zone. Sam was shocked that he still wanted anything to do with them.

  “Sam!” a voice called. She looked behind her and noticed Gavin approaching from down the hall. He walked delicately, as if balancing something on his head, and he wore old sneakers and a T-shirt with the words GABON TELECOM printed in an orange sans serif font, a donation from the hospital, she guessed.

  “What did the doctor say?” Sam asked.

  “She applied some kind of gel. I’m supposed to come back in a few days to change the bandages.” He looked down at the man in the wheelchair. “Who’s this?”

  “I’m Laurent,” he said, extending his hand. “Jonah’s friend.”

  “What happened to your leg?” Gavin asked.

  “He was at the hotel,” Sam said. “During the explosion.”

  “Fuck,” Gavin said. “But you’re okay?” He looked down at the cast. “I mean aside from your leg?”

  “Yes,” Laurent said. “I will be fine. Your brother though…” He shook his head, dismayed. “He seems to be in some kind of trouble.”

  “I know,” Gavin said. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “I think he got caught up with some bad people,” Laurent said.

  “That’s an understatement,” Gavin said.

  Two hospital workers pushed a gurney down the hall, and the nurse maneuvered Laurent out of the way.

  “What do we do now?” Sam asked.

  “Well,” Laurent said. “I have to see the doctor, but afterward we can go to my restaurant and wait for your brother.”

  “I’m actually thinking just the opposite,” Gavin said. “I think we should get back on that train and go home. I have no desire to vacation in a war zone.”

  “Gavin,” Sam said. “You’re being ridiculous. We can’t leave without Jonah.”

  “Actually, we can. He got himself into this. He can get himself out.”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “I’m being an ass? We almost died earlier. We never would have been at that place if it weren’t for him. This was his stupid idea, and it’s not going very well.”

  “Go,” Sam said to Laurent. “Get your leg looked at. We’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

  JONAH

  THEY BOUNCED ALONG A MUDDY logging road, splashing through rivulets of rainwater, the forest alive with birdsong. Jonah and Edwin were in the back seat, while the two rangers sat up front, chatting in French. Edwin pulled a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter from a military issued backpack. “You grow sick of the food out here,” he said, using a Swiss Army knife to lather a slice of bread. “But you probably know that.”

  “I was on a strictly noodle-based diet,” Jonah said.

  Edwin offered Jonah the jar of peanut butter. “Sandwich?”

  “I’d prefer an explanation.”

  “You’re a smart guy, Jonah. Academic like yourself, I figured you would have put the pieces together by now.”

  “I have theories, but I’d like facts.”

  “Sure,” Edwin said, biting into his sandwich. “Let’s get you caught up.”

  Edwin explained that he was a former soldier in the British Army who had become dispirited by the poaching crisis. Five years ago, he quit his job with a private contractor and established an NGO called the Elephant Conservation Task Force. With support from INTERPOL and the International Fund for Animal Welfare, Edwin and his team of rangers spent their days tracking key players in the ivory trade. Their work spanned twelve nations and involved hundreds of officers from a spectrum of NGOs, customs agencies, airport security, and various ministries of tourism. As a result of this unprecedented interagency cooperation, they’d been able to monitor trafficking routes as well as survey ports and markets, all of which had culminated in the seizure of nearly two tons of ivory in the past six years. But despite their success, large populations of elephants were still being slaughtered every month, most of them in West African nations like Gabon.


  Edwin had been tracking Slinky’s network for three months but had uncovered nothing aside from a handful of ghost stories. It wasn’t until customs agents in Chicago detected ivory in Jonah’s luggage that they had their first solid lead. U.S officials contacted INTERPOL, who in turn contacted Edwin. Rather than arresting Jonah at the airport, they elected to play the long game. They tapped his phone, which led them to Andre, who, Edwin explained, had been arrested while Jonah and his siblings were sailing over the Atlantic. Edwin said that while he took a certain amount of pride in the confiscation of eighty pounds of ivory, his real interest was in choking out the source, which was why they had decided to sit back and wait for Jonah to return with Slinky’s money.

  Jonah looked at the vegetation blurring past the window. He felt like a fool for believing things could have gone so smoothly. It had all seemed too easy, too good to be true, and it turned out it was. Everything that had happened in Chicago had been a farce, orchestrated by unseen hands, a carefully designed operation resulting in this, the thing he’d feared all along. “So you knew about this the whole time I was in Chicago?”

  “Of course,” Edwin said with a smile. “Did you seriously think you could smuggle eighty pounds of ivory in a suitcase without anyone noticing?” It was a rhetorical question, so he didn’t wait for a response. “What can you tell me that I haven’t already covered?”

  Jonah scrambled to think of something non-incriminating to say. “Just that I was unwillingly caught up in this, which I assume you already know. My interest is in studying elephants, not killing them.”

  “Which is why I find this so ironic,” Edwin said.

  “It wasn’t a choice.”

  “You could have said no.”

  Jonah shook his head. “If you know anything about the man you’re looking for, you would understand why that wasn’t an option.”

  “When did you last speak to him?” Edwin asked, his tone shifting from condescending to interrogative.

  “I thought you were listening to my phone calls. You should know the answer.”