Authors: Zoey Derrick
When I’m home, I’m usually in my office, working, my bedroom, sleeping, or my entertainment room, which from here is behind the kitchen.
I reach my office door at the far end of the long, rectangular living room, I turn back towards the kitchen again and there is a sudden image shift of a little girl making a figure eight on a big wheel. I smile at the thought and open the door.
The flooring changes from wood to black slate, an after-market modification to accompany the bleached white walls. My desk, to the right of the door, is contemporary: black with silver accents and white drawers. The drawers are out to the sides and the top of the desk only sits on the corner of the cabinets. The front is held up by a single leg, and the overall appearance is that it’s floating.
When I wake up the computer, I find two emails from Jack. The first one lets me know they’ve tapped into some information and that he wants to meet with me later today once they have something a little more concrete. The next contains a single image. A photo taken by one of the Capella Towers security cameras last night at about two in the morning. In the image I can see Elton and a younger gentleman. “Hello, Riley.”
I pick up the card Detective Stevens left when he was here last night and forward the image to his email address with the note,
Taken Friday morning around 2 a.m. outside of Capella Towers
.
“Here you are, sir.” Celeste comes into my office carrying a tray.
“Thanks, Celeste.”
She sets it down on the desk and departs.
I plow through my food and grab my jacket on the way out. I’m hoping to catch Vivienne leaving her apartment this morning on her way to the hospital for her appointment. My intention for being there is so that she can see me and know that I knew about her appointment. It will either irritate the crap out of her or warm her up to talking to me at the hospital. The only reason I’m going is to see her, and I don’t care if she knows that or not.
Six
By the time I arrive at the corner of Lake Street and Chicago, my back is on fire once again. There is a cab parked right outside the entrance to her apartment. Good – maybe she called a cab to take her to the hospital. If not, she has about five minutes to catch the bus if she’s going to make it to the hospital on time.
I park in my usual spot and watch. I look for the police cruiser Red told me about and see it parked less than a block away.
The bus that she should have been on comes and goes, and the cab remains. It’s chilly out this morning; a plume of exhaust smoke billows out of the cab’s tailpipe.
My phone rings. It’s Jack.
“Blake.”
“Hi, Mikah. Listen, I have something I need you to see.”
“Like?”
“Well you dropped a couple of names on me last night. Rebecca Black for one. She was found dead Thursday morning by the dumpster of a motel near Vivienne’s that’s well-known for prostitution and drug use.”
“Was she a drug addict?”
“We don’t know that yet, but that’s not what’s important.”
“What is?”
“The gentleman in the picture I sent you is Riley Bennett.”
“I figured. I forwarded it to Detective Stevens this morning.” I’m getting a little annoyed that he’s not getting to the point. And why the hell hasn’t Vivienne come out yet?
“We have video evidence that we need to submit to the police. We have a video of Riley Bennett dumping Rebecca Black’s body. Then he appears to inject something into her arm. After he leaves the scene, she moves and twitches a bit, then falls still.”
“Fuck!” I spat out. “Can we send it to Detective Stevens?”
“We’re working on that. The source of the video is unclear. We’re not sure if it’s a legal recording. I have a couple of guys on their way over there to find out. If it is a legal recording, we will turn it over anonymously.”
“Find out, and fast. I want this fucker to fry.”
“On it, boss.”
“Thanks. Anything else?” I ask.
“Not that can’t wait until this afternoon. I will let you know if anything else comes up.”
“Perfect, thanks.”
“No problem.” He hangs up.
I pull the detective’s card from my pocket, dial the number and wait.
“Hhhello?”
The voice is tentative, groggy from sleep. Not like the confident officer I met last night. “Detective Stevens?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “Yes.”
Much better. “This is Mikah Blake. We met last night.”
“Oh, of course. What can I do for you?”
“I sent you an email this morning that shows your boy Riley meeting his dad outside my building around two this morning. I have a security detail working on the full video exchange.”
“Are these cameras yours? The ones used to capture these images?”
“Yes, I had the security system installed a couple years ago, the previous one was shit.” I can hear my own irritation coming through. “If we find something you can use, you call your evidence boys and have them come get it.”
“Uh...that’s great. Thank you.” I can hear it in his voice: He’s not used to being told how to do his job.
“Don’t thank me yet. I want a report on Vivienne’s building from last night.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Blake. This isn’t
quid pro quo
here. What is your need to know?” The skepticism can be heard in his voice and the pain in my back spikes.
“Because when I arrived here this morning, there was a cab parked outside. Still is. I’d like to know when it arrived.”
“I can’t do that, Mr. Blake.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. Why don’t you call your guy parked down the block from her apartment and ask him. Then we can move on from there.”
“Alright, hang on.” There is a series of clicks. Then he comes back on the line.
Ring.
“Blake?”
“Yup.”
Ring.
“Thanks, Detective.” I know he’s violating company policy.
Ring.
And, I know it’s killing him to give in to my demands.
“Yeah.” Irritation fills his voice.
Ring.
“Just don’t say anything when he answers.”
Ring.
Click.
”You’ve reached the voicemail of Officer Anders. Please leave—”
Click.
“What the hell?” Stevens says. “It’s ringing, so it’s on. But why not answer?”
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
Seven
I turn off the car, climb out and start walking across the street. I don’t like the tingles radiating through my body. “When was he due to check in?”
“Once every two hours or so. Less if we’re in an unmarked stakeout. So he would be checking—”
“Alright.” I cross Lake Street and approach the cab. The driver is there, reading the paper. He jumps when I knock on the back window as I keep walking along the car. “What are you doing here?” I ask him.
He cracks the window a bit. “Waiting for a fare.”
“Who?” I demand.
“What the fuck do you care?” he spats back.
“Just tell me who you’re here for.”
“It’s none of your damn business.” He rolls the window back up.
“Who is that?” Stevens asks in my ear.
“The cab driver of the cab outside the apartment. I’m almost to the squad car.”
As I approach the squad car, I slow my pace. Nothing moves inside the car. “If this asshole is asleep, I’m going to have your department for lunch,” I say into the phone.
I reach the car and rap loudly on the window. Nothing. Bending down, I look inside the car. Red. Bright, red fading to brown blood...
“Stevens, you have an officer down.” I don’t wait for his reply. I drop the phone and take off full tilt toward Vivienne’s apartment.
Jesus, please, dear God, no. Not her.
My back is ablaze, my body trembling with the buzzing I’ve been feeling for the last couple of weeks.
I beat on the cab’s hood. “Call nine-one-one! NOW!” He nods.
I can hear sirens in the distance.
I grab the outer door, swinging it open so hard that the glass shatters. The next door is locked. I shoulder-check the glass — once, twice. Finally, on the third try, it gives way, and I go stumbling inside.
As I climb the stairs three and four at a time, I feel like I’m in a nightmare with never-ending hallways.
I reach the third floor and apartment nine. I pound on the door. “Vivienne!” Harder I pound and turn the knob, but it’s locked. “Vivienne!” I ram my shoulder into the door, harder each time, and the door flies open. I storm into her apartment.
“Jesus! God! NO!” I shout.
I rush to the bed. Reaching up to her face, I pull the tape away from her mouth with one hand while I check for a pulse with the other. I can’t feel one.
“No, damn it!”
Do not do this to me!
There is blood everywhere, all over the sheets. It’s still wet, but wherever she was hurt is no longer bleeding.
There is so much blood.
When I place one hand on top of the other and press into her chest to give her CPR, her sternum gives way more than it should, and I pull back immediately, afraid of causing more damage.
I lean down and place my cheek by her mouth, hoping and praying I will feel her breath against my skin.
Nothing.
Nothing...
Tears, tears – hot, molten tears stream down my cheeks – and the buzz, the buzz is gone.
Eight
Click...
Squeak...
Click...
Squeak...
Click, squeak. Click, squeak.
Click, squeak. Click, squeak.
White floors, white walls, white doors. No windows. Long, white hallway after long, white hallway.
Must...
buzz
...find...
buzz
... The zing is back, a mellow humming.
Finally I see the sign over the door at the end of the hall. The sign I’ve been seeking for at least the last ten minutes:
Chapel.
I push hard on the doors, but they don’t budge.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Damn it.
Reach for the handle.
Push handle downward.
Pull on handle.
The door opens.
All mechanical actions – no matter how seemingly simple, like breathing – have eluded me.
Breathe
, I tell myself over and over again.
I walk straight forward and collapse hard onto a rail that runs along the altar and I grip the upper part for support. My eyes drift upward, seeking the crucifix above the altar.
“Why? Why her?” Is all I can manage to sob.
Breathe
.
I can’t close my eyes. When I do, all I can see is her lifeless body strewn at awkward angles across her bed. Blood-soaked, pale, lifeless.
Breathe
.
I know nothing about her. I do not know her from a woman I pass on the street. But my heart. My heart has been ripped from my chest.
Click.
Steps. Heels.
Clang.
“Mikah?” A woman’s voice from behind me. A familiar voice. “Mikah. Mikah, look at me,” she says.
I can’t. I shake my head.
“Mikah, she’s alive.”
My head jerks up. I look her straight in the eye, unable to believe that I heard her correctly. Dr. Alston nods her head, as in answer to my unasked question.
Long, slow exhale. My head wobbles back, facing forward.
Thank you, God.
I feel a small sense of relief wash over me, quickly replaced by anxiety.
“She is in very bad shape, but she is alive. Mikah, look at me.”
I slowly turn my head in her direction. My body is not my own. I feel disconnected. Seeing the expression on my face, she falters.
“Keep—”
Breathe.
“—talking,” I finally manage to let out.
“She’s in bad shape, Mikah. She lost a lot of blood. We’ve given her more than four pints.”
Breathe.
“She has a skull fracture.”
My breath hitches, and I stop breathing again.
“A serious concussion, swelling on her brain, a broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder...”
Start breathing, slowly.
“Six broken ribs and her right lung is partially collapsed. It’s not going to be an easy road, Mikah.”
“Bab—” I can’t even finish the word. My breath has been stolen from my body.
She nods and takes a seat in a nearby pew behind me. I fall backwards off of the altar rail, landing awkwardly on my ass.
“Jesus, Mikah.”
“Can— Bre—” I point at my mouth.
She gets up and rushes over to my side. “The baby is fine.”
Sharp, loud inhale. “Fine?” What the fuck is going on with me? I can’t wrap my head around why I’m having these reactions.
“For now, yes. We are far from out of the woods yet.” She helps me to sit up. “I’ve set her arm and shoulder. I have to surgically repair one of her ribs and her lung. She is being prepped right now. I also have a neurosurgeon coming in to see if we can help reduce some of the pressure on her brain. All of this will be very taxing to her body, and I cannot make any promises. Do you understand me?”