by Zoey Derrick
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?”
I just nod.
“When you’re ready, head up to surgery - the waiting room. I’ll find you there when we’re done. We will do everything we can to save both of them, Mikah. I promise you.” She grips my shoulder as she stands. “I’ll see you soon,” she says as she leaves.
From farther back in the chapel she turns to me. “She’s gained more than fifteen pounds since I’ve seen her last. Her weight gain may have just saved her life.”
I want to smile, but I can’t. “Thank you,” I say very slowly.
“You’re welcome.”
She turns and leaves. I’m no longer having to force myself to breathe. She is alive. She’s survived.
“Jesus, God, thank you.”
I pull myself up off the floor and take a seat in the front pew, leaning my elbows into my knees.
I feel a vibration along my thigh. My phone. That is about the fifteenth time in the last half hour it’s gone off, but frankly, I could care less right now.
Resting my head in my hands, I let the tears flow. They pool into my palms. Breathing deep, ragged breaths, I try to pull myself back together.
I need to go upstairs, but I can’t go in the state I’m in. I don’t understand why I’m having such a strong reaction to the news about Vivienne. Something I can’t explain is happening to me. I need to see her.
“You will see her soon enough.”
My head snaps up at the elegant, soft female voice. Nothing. I see no one.
“You’ve been chosen to protect her, Mikah. Chosen to see to it that she is safe.”
I stand quickly, spinning around. Sharp, blinding pain bounces around my body, and I crumple to my knees.
“What— What is happening to me?” I say aloud.
No response. I ball my fists in frustration, and the pain stops as quickly as it started.
I climb back up into the pew, shaking now because it’s not just the pain that’s gone but the hum, too. My connection to Vivienne, and it’s gone. Panic seeps in.
“Relax.”
Relief washes through me in instant response to the command. I have no control over it.
“Why can’t you tell me what is going on?”
“Your answers will come in time, when you’re meant to hear them.”
I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m hearing voices, talking to myself. Yet I can feel someone with me.
“I am not for you to look upon, young angel. I am here to guide you, to help you into your new life. She is ours to protect, and we will. Without fail, we will protect her in the way she is meant to be protected. But we can only initiate the healing; she must do the rest on her own. When the time comes, you will be told what to do next.”
“She doesn’t want me around,” I whisper.
“You do not need to speak aloud, young angel. I know what you think, and I feel what you feel. I believe that her life has taken the turn you need to keep her within reach. Do not fret.”
I sigh. With the heels of my hands, I press against my temples, trying to dispel the idea that someone is talking to me inside my head. I’m not crazy, am I?
A sweet female giggle radiates through my whole body. The tingling is back, but this time it feels different; it tickles. I squirm. Then suddenly the sensation becomes a spreading warmth that comforts me.
I realize that, for the first time, I can interpret the sensations. The tickling is something happy. Or laughter? The warmth feels like love or adoration.
The sensation stops.
Hello?
There is no answer, but a warm calm spreads across my skin. I decide that staying down here in the chapel is only going to drive me nuts, so I head for the door.
I pull my phone from my pocket. Thirty-seven missed calls. I’m not at all interested in any of them. Most of them are from Jack. But one...
I open up the visual voicemail app.
Elton Bennett
09:57 32 seconds
&nb
sp; “What kind of game are you playing at, Blake? How dare you pull of out of our arrangement. You will not get away with this. She’s just a white trash tramp who needed to be dealt with. Don’t go getting too hasty, you will burn for it. I’ll see to it.”
I click into my voicemail, find the message from Bennett and forward it to Stevens.
“A little tramp, huh? What are you playing at, Bennett?” I say as I reach the door to the chapel.
It doesn’t surprise me that he’s found a connection; he’s a crooked-ass, wannabe politician. It’s clear to me that his attempts to cover his own ass are backfiring already.
Nine
I leave the chapel and head down the hall towards toward the bank of elevators that will take me up to the surgery floor. I’d rather wait up there then down here.
Jesus, what the hell was all that about? I shake my head but can’t dispel the image of an angel – the painting my mom had above the hutch – from my mind. Could all that talk, all those years ago, really be true? Am I really an angel? But if I’m an angel, doesn’t that mean that I died?
“Not necessarily.”
“Jesus!” I sputter, stumbling in my surprise. Falling against the wall, I look behind me, but there’s no one there. There’s not a person to be seen in either direction.
“No, not Jesus, angel. I am Seraphina – your guardian, your teacher.”
Rather than look like an idiot talking to myself in the middle of a deserted hallway, I try speaking to her in my thoughts. Then show yourself.
Good God, I really am loosing it.
“I cannot show myself to you. Not until you’re ready.”
But don’t you think it will help me better understand what is going on?
“Not hardly, young angel. You have a lot to learn. When you’re ready, you will see.”
The more she talks, the more convinced I am that she’s not the same voice that spoke to me in the chapel. Ugh! I don’t know how much of this I’m supposed to handle before I break.