by Nicole Maggi
“And what time does the rehearsal end?”
“Nine.”
Mom pressed her lips together. “I don’t know—”
“If I start to feel tired, I’ll call you to come pick me up. Okay?”
It was the right thing to say. She settled back into her seat. “Okay.”
I slid out of the car and shut the door. Conscious that she was watching me, I climbed the steps to the hall very slowly. When I reached the top, I turned and waved, backing toward the entrance. She waved back and drove off. For a moment, I stood on the threshold to the community center, listening through the open door.
The orchestra was warming up, a violinist practicing scales, a cello sighing out the thematic through line of Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony. I could just forget this whole thing and go inside. That was where I belonged, not tracking down some unknown girl at some godforsaken address in a bad neighborhood. A bassoon joined the cello, their voices in perfect synchronicity. I should be with them. I should be playing my oboe right now. That was my life.
A gust of wind blew the door shut, cutting me off from the orchestral sounds inside. I hugged myself. I couldn’t go back to that life until I figured out what was happening to me. What if the next memory I lost was of my oboe? I dug out my cell phone and dialed the number of the car service I’d stored in my contacts earlier.
“Are you sure this is the right address, honey?” the driver asked fifteen minutes later, twisting around in the front seat.
“Yes,” I said, but looking out the back window, I wasn’t so sure. The street was desolate, lit only by a dim street lamp that flickered on and off. The building at 826 Emiline Way was dingy, with a crumbling facade and a couple of boarded-up windows.
“You want me to wait?”
“No, that’s okay.” I handed him the fare through the window and opened the door. The cold wrapped itself around me like an icy blanket. I walked away from the car without looking back, but he didn’t pull away until I was at the stoop.
There wasn’t one light on in the whole building. I tilted my head back, counting floors. At the fifth-floor level, a bright piece of yellow tape caught my eye. It dangled from a small wrought-iron balcony, flapping in the wind. With an inward punch, my breath left me. That was where she’d jumped.
I stumbled backward, my feet tripping over each other on the ground where she must have landed. And lain for several hours, her life bleeding out of her, until someone found her. Bile rose in my throat. I doubled over, retching on the sparse patch of weeds next to the stoop. Pain arced across my chest until I heaved out everything that had been inside me.
Panting, I dropped down to sit on the stoop and fished in my bag for the bottle of water I always had on me. I rinsed my mouth out, then swallowed half the water in the bottle. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to take long, even breaths.
I wasn’t cut out for this. I should’ve stayed at the community center. The streets I existed on were leafy and clean, well lit and full of people. I had never been in a place that felt lonelier. I placed my hands over my heart and circled them. Sweetness, I thought. Sweetness. No warmth came this time. The cold concrete seeped under my skin, chilling me to the bone. I should just go home. Did I really need to know who this girl was?
The answer shattered through me so hard my eyes flew open. Yes. I had to know. I didn’t care what Maureen or Grandma or anyone said. I couldn’t move forward until I knew whose heart this had been. The Catch whispered in my ears, like Jane Doe’s voice guiding me. If you want me to belong to you, it seemed to say, you have to know who I used to be.
I picked myself up and stood for a moment, hugging myself against the cold. I wanted my life back. And if I had to visit the loneliest corner of the city to get it, then that’s what I’d do.
Outside the door was a row of mailboxes and an intercom. I buzzed next to the stuck-on label reading “Landlord,” but there was no answer. I glanced up at the windows again. I didn’t want to buzz anyone else. Who knew what would come to the door?
I dug through my bag until I found a pen and a piece of paper. I scribbled a vague note asking about vacancies in the building, signed my name and cell number, and shoved it in the landlord’s mailbox. I checked my watch. I still had two hours before I was expected home. Shivering, I glanced up and down the street. If Jane Doe had come here to die, it made sense that this was a neighborhood where she hung out. Maybe a little exploration would yield a clue.
At the curb where the cab had dropped me, I looked left and right. Taking a guess, I turned left. The Catch got louder. I turned right at the next corner, then left again. Cold wind blew down the empty sidewalks, skittering a candy wrapper across my path. My footsteps echoed on the pavement. I glanced over my shoulder, but the street here was as lonely as back at 826 Emiline.
My incision started to ache. This was weird, knowing exactly where to go in a place I’d never been, moving without thinking. My steps were usually so deliberate and measured, and now my unconscious mind propelled me forward. I rounded the corner onto a long stretch of dark road. Shabby brownstones, practically built on top of each other, lined one side of the street while a tall, wrought-iron fence ran along the other. I peered into the expanse beyond the fence. Rows and rows of uneven headstones dotted the hill that sloped away from the street. I took a step toward the cemetery.
The memory came so strong and fast that the wind was knocked out of me. A full moon rises above the cemetery gate, lightening the iron from black to gray. Headlights sweep the potholed street, pooling on the pavement as the car pulls to a stop. The door opens. It’s dark in the car, so dark that I can’t see who or how many people are in there. No one speaks, but I know that I have to get in. I know I have to…but I don’t want to… I don’t want to…
Air returned to my lungs. I gulped it in and straightened. My mind spun, trying to wrap around why Jane Doe was here, why the car had come for her. I crossed to the cemetery and pulled at the gate. A chain looped through the iron bars rattled, breaking the stillness of the street. An instant later, light swept across the length of the fence.
I whirled around. A silver sports car had turned onto the street. It slowed as it approached, just like the car in Jane Doe’s memory. I pressed myself into the wedge between the gate and the concrete base of the fence. But when the car reached me, it flicked its high beams on and I was blinded by white-hot light.
I threw my hand up to shield my eyes and blinked, trying to see. The driver’s window rolled down. I gripped one of the bars behind me, my heart thudding in my chest. I had nothing to protect myself; the sharpest thing I had in my bag was a lip pencil.
Over the soft hum of the car’s engine, a disembodied voice floated into the night. “Hey, baby, it’s my birthday.”
“What?” Confused, I let go of the gate and took a step toward the car. Out of the bright light, I could see the speaker clearly as he leaned out his open window. Gray hair framed an over-tanned face, his skin the orangey shade that you got from a cheap bottle. The absurd thought that if he drove a car that nice, he should be able to afford a better fake tan flashed through my head. “What did you say?”
The man squinted at me and pulled back a little. “I thought you were someone else. Where’s—”
“Yo, birthday boy, wanna surprise?”
I stumbled back, the new voice brash against the dark, still night. High heels clicked on the pavement toward the car and a girl, no older than me, emerged from the shadows across the street. Her tight minidress impeded her strides as she teetered over to us.
Throwing me a malevolent look, she tossed her long, black hair back and bent to lean on the car window. “Hey, sugar.”
The man glanced from the girl to me. “Where’s the other one? The blond? I always meet her here.”
The girl spoke in a purr. “She’s old news. I’m here for you now.”
His eyes flicked back
to me and then fixed themselves on the girl’s cleavage. “How much for both of you?”
She straightened, her hip thrust out as she turned to me. “Two-fifty an hour. Each.”
My voice finally found itself. “What? I’m not—I don’t—no way.” I backed away from the car, my hands in front of me like a shield.
The girl arched her back. “Guess you get me all to yourself,” she told the man in the car.
“I want both. It’s my birthday.”
“I thought it was always your birthday,” the girl said, giving him a slow wink.
“Well, today it actually is, and I want both of you.”
The girl looked at me, her eyes narrowed. “Come on.”
“No!” It came out as a shriek and echoed over the empty street. Nearby, a dog barked.
“Hey, I don’t need any drama.” The guy glanced up and down the deserted street. “I’ll go somewhere else then.” The car revved to life. Just as he peeled away from the curb, I remembered what he’d said. Where’s the other one?
“Wait!” I called. “What did you mean—” But it was too late. His tires squealed as he took the corner without slowing down and disappeared.
The girl rounded on me, her dark eyes flashing. “What the fuck was that?”
“I—”
“That guy serves himself up on a silver platter and you say no?”
“I’m not—”
“Jules is gonna tear you a new asshole when he hears about this.”
“I don’t even know who Jules—”
“And Jules told me this was my meeting place now.” She stepped right up to me, her nose inches from mine. “It woulda been nice if he’d given me a heads-up about the company.”
I took a step back. “Look,” I said, “I’m really sorry. But there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not—not a—” I stopped. The girl’s face pinched up and she put her hands on her hips, daring me to say the word. I swallowed hard. “What did he mean,” I said, jerking my head in the direction the car had sped off, “about the other girl who used to hang out here? The blond?”
The girl surveyed me for a long moment. I forced myself not to look away. Despite her tight skirt and heels, she looked like she could beat me up inside a minute. She planted her hand on her hip. Her nails were bitten down to the quick.
“Why do you want to know?” she said.
“I’m looking for her. That’s why.” I mirrored her stance—chest thrust out, hands on my hips.
She smirked at my lame attempt at bravado. “Well, you’ll be looking a long time. Jules told me she’s dead.”
“Jules is your—um—handler?”
“Yeah.” She snorted. “My handler.” She tossed her head and her dark hair slithered around her shoulders. “Look, all I know is a few weeks ago, he told me I should take this spot, and it’s a better shithole than the shithole I was in, so I took it.”
“Did he say what happened to her?”
“No, and I didn’t ask.” She stared over the fence at the gravestones beyond. “I know when to shut up and do what I’m told.”
Footsteps reverberated from around the corner. The girl squared her shoulders and perched at the curb. “You better go. I don’t want you fucking up another one of my deals.”
“But—”
“Go.”
I didn’t want to tell her I had nowhere to go. A figure appeared across the street and she backed up. “Oh, great. Here comes the knight in shining armor.” She jabbed her finger at me. “This is your fault. He probably heard you yelling your head off.”
I backed up into the shadows of the gate. The “knight in shining armor” crossed the street. “Everything okay, Char?”
“It was before you got here.”
“Thought I heard someone yell.”
“It was nothing.”
I shifted against the cold iron. From my new position, the dirty yellow light of the street lamp fell over the newcomer. My breath caught. Blond hair, blue eyes…the memory was instant. Before I could stop myself, I moved out from the shadows. “Nate?”
The boy turned, confusion written on his face. “Yeah?”
“What—are you—doing here?”
He squinted at me. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
I stumbled back a step. “Ye—no,” I corrected myself. My insides twisted and turned with something other than pain, other than the Catch; something I had never felt before. Something I had read about in books and dreamed of but never experienced.
He didn’t know me. And I—Georgie—didn’t know him. But Jane Doe did. She knew everything about him, and now I did too. I could feel it all around the heart, the knowledge of him imprinted there.
She didn’t just know him. She loved him.
Love shook my heart
Like the wind on the mountain
Rushing over the oak trees.
—Sappho
Chapter Six
The boy, Nate—how did I know his name?—turned to Char. “Who’s your friend?”
She shrugged. “No one. Never seen her before.” She whipped around to face me, hands on her hips. “And I hope I never see her again.”
“I–I’m sorry…” Shaking my head, I edged away from them along the iron fence. I had to get away from them, from him. I had to get someplace where I could feel myself and not her.
Nate stepped closer to me, light from the street lamp bisecting his face. “Are you okay? Do you need some help?”
“No, I’m fine.”
He blocked my path, his eyes narrowed at me. “Are you sure? Because I can help.”
Char snorted. We both glanced at her. She was facing away from us, looking down the empty street. “You two are really cramping my style. Why don’t you take your little Batman-and-Robin routine someplace else?”
“I just wanted to check in with you, Char.”
“Yeah?” Char spread her arms wide. “Well, here I am. There, you’ve checked.”
Nate cocked his head to the side, staring at her for a moment. “What’d you take tonight, Char?”
Her face tightened and she jerked her shoulders back. “Go. Away.”
That sounded like a good idea. I stepped around Nate, but as I passed him, he grabbed my wrist. I pulled away with such violence that he stumbled backward. He threw his hands up and said, “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay. I have to go.” Jane Doe was everywhere inside me, pounding my heart into my ribs, my throat, my brain, filling me with her emotions. The other memories had been vivid; I’d experienced them with all of my senses, but this one was stronger by far, brimming with some kind of exquisite pain that I felt in every corner of my being. Go away, I told her, echoing Char to Nate. Please just go away. I stepped off the curb, my body shaking.
The low thrum of a heavy beat-box shattered the silent street. I turned just as headlights shone over the sidewalk and a black Escalade rolled around the corner.
“Shit,” Char said. “You’re in for it now.” Her voice was still tough, but even in the darkness I saw the fear plain on her face.
“Dammit,” Nate breathed, his eyes fixed on the SUV.
I moved toward the opposite side of the street, hoping to get around the block before whoever was in the Escalade saw me, but pain seared my scar—my own pain, not Jane Doe’s. I doubled over in the middle of the street, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The Escalade’s headlights caught me in their glare. I tried to straighten. My chest felt ready to crack open. I bent over again and felt an arm come around me.
“Hey,” Nate said, “are you okay?”
“I…just…need…to…catch…my…breath.” Red spots popped in front of my eyes. I heard the car door open and I felt Jane Doe’s fear in my heart, the same fear I’d felt in her memory of this place. She was afraid of whoever was going to st
ep out of that SUV.
“What the fuck is this?” The voice, deep and ruggedly male, rang out over the street. Footsteps smacked the pavement, measured and confident, as he made his way closer to us. “You. Are you fucking with my girls again?”
Nate kept his hand on my shoulder as he straightened. “I’m not fucking with anyone, Jules.”
The footsteps stopped. From my bent-over vantage point, I could see black boots with silver steel toes and heels. “You think I was kidding around when I said if I ever saw you near my girls again, I’d fuck you up? Do you?” His tone was even and calm, like this was a threat he made every day. It probably was.
I forced air past the fear in my rib cage and took a couple of deep breaths. “It was my fault,” I said, drawing myself up. “He’s with me.”
The light from the street lamp flickered so that the whole of Jules came to me in pieces. His tight designer jeans, ripped in all the right places. His long, manicured fingers, tensed at his side, each knuckle adorned with a silver ring. His bright white teeth, just visible behind the grimace of his lips. I took in his face—the strong slant of his cheekbones, the perfectly trimmed sideburns—before I had the guts to meet his eyes. From a distance, I would’ve thought he was hot. But his eyes were a bottomless nothing. Like any soul in there had disappeared long ago.
Jules took in every inch of me, moving his gaze very deliberately up and down my body. The pink tip of his tongue darted in and out of his lips. “And who are you?” he asked. He smiled. The way a cat smiles when it has trapped a mouse beneath its paw.
I took a step back. Beside me, Nate tensed, and I immediately knew that I shouldn’t have moved. “I’m nobody,” I said, the words trembling in my mouth. The fear was tangible, my own and Jane Doe’s. But there, entwined with Jane Doe’s memories of this man, was her disgust for him. I fixed on that and pulled it to the surface. Planting my feet and squaring my shoulders, I never took my eyes off Jules’s face. “Nobody to you, I mean.”
Jules raised an eyebrow. “You better be nobody. Because I don’t like somebodies who get in my way.” His gaze flickered to Nate. “And you have gotten in my way one too many times.”