by Willow Rose
I pulled open the washer forcefully, then peeked inside. The sight that met me was at once sweet and more frightening than anything.
There she was. My wonderful daughter was curled up into a tiny ball inside the washer.
“Josie?” I said, crying. “Josie?”
She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t opening her eyes.
I reached inside to touch her, then tried to pull her out. Her lifeless body was heavy and hard to move, but finally, I managed to pull her out completely.
That was when I realized she wasn’t breathing.
I shook her.
“Josie? Josie? JOSIE?”
I felt for a pulse but found none. Her heart wasn’t beating.
I placed her on the floor, then performed CPR, frantically fighting to get her heart back to life again, while calling for help over the radio. Sirens were blaring outside, and more than one chopper was hovering above us.
Josie felt so fragile, so small under my hands; I feared I’d crush her. Yet, I continued, forcefully trying to pump her heart back to life.
“Don’t leave me, Josie; please, don’t leave me!”
Chapter 52
“Dad?”
It happened so suddenly that I had no idea when or how. I just knew it had happened. At some point, her heart had started beating again, and she was now looking at me with those gorgeous brown eyes of hers.
Never had there been a prettier sight.
I pulled her into a deep hug and held her so tight she started to complain that I was crushing her. I cried and kissed her cheeks over and over again.
“Are you okay?” I asked, looking into her eyes.
“I…I think so.”
“Are you sure? You have to be honest with me here, Josie. Does anything hurt? Shortness of breath? Anything?”
She shook her head. “I think I’m fine, Dad.”
“You’re still going to the hospital. I’m not taking any chances.”
“What happened?” she asked, confused.
That was when I remembered Ferdinand. My eyes grew serious as I realized my business here wasn’t done.
“Stay here for a sec. Can you do that for me?”
“Where are you going, Dad? Dad?”
I grabbed my gun, then hurried outside. All traffic had been stopped on the highway. Not a car was moving. Firetrucks were parked in the road, and their blinking lights were lighting up the sky, while they were fighting to get someone out of one of the crashed cars.
Police officers were busy attending to the refugees, trying to make sense of the mess. Several of them were leaving in ambulances. I hurried to the front of the truck, then looked inside, wanting to make sure he had either died or that they had gotten him.
The cabin was empty.
I looked around, feeling anxious and worried he might have gotten away in the confusion. I hurried to an officer who was attending to a refugee.
“The driver of the truck,” I asked. “Did you book him?”
The officer shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
“Did someone else?”
I looked around me, then noticed something on the side of the truck, a handprint of blood like someone had leaned against it.
Someone with blood on their hands.
I hurried back to the cabin, then noticed a trace of blood in the grass that led between the trees.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I said, as lifted the gun and followed the tracks.
I ran through the trees, my eyes scanning the area thoroughly for any sign of Ferdinand. He couldn’t have gone far, I concluded. He was hurt, and there really weren’t that many places to go.
I took a few more steps when something came at me from behind a tree. A metal plate of some sort that Ferdinand could have taken from the crash site slammed right into my face. I felt the pain, and everything disappeared for a few seconds while I tumbled backward before my sight returned, and I saw him standing right in front of me, blood dripping from his arm.
I had barely gotten my focus back when he leaped at me.
Chapter 53
Punches rained down on me. They were hitting my jaw, my nose, my cheek, shooting pain through me. I managed to get one of my own in, then reach up and grab his chin and push him backward, away from me. I had dropped my gun when he hit me with the metal plate, and I could see it on the dirty ground, but it was too far away for me to reach.
Ferdinand jumped me again and punched me hard on the cheek. My head swirled to the side, and I heard a crack in my neck, but the blow didn’t knock me out, and soon I was the one placing one on his nose. The sound of it cracking underneath my knuckles made me wince before I planted a second blow straight to his chin with such great force that he flew backward and slid across the dirt.
This time, he didn’t get up again.
I rose to my feet and approached him, looking down at him. His eyes were closed, his mouth open, blood gushing from a wound on his lip. I walked to my gun and picked it up, then turned just as he woke.
I walked back and placed the gun on his head, my nostrils flaring, spitting out blood on the ground.
“It’s time for some answers, Ferdinand. I don’t believe for one minute you and David were alone in this. Who else is in on it? Who do you work for?”
He mumbled something, then spat out more blood.
“What was that?” I asked.
“I said, you really expect me to tell you?”
I pressed the gun closer to the skin on his forehead.
“Yes.”
That made him laugh, but I could tell it hurt to do so. “You want me to snitch, huh, Detective? You think I’m gonna answer your questions, let myself be interrogated, cut a deal, do what’s best for me, huh? Is that it?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I expect you to do. You know how these things work better than most people.”
He exhaled. “I do, Detective. I know how things work, all right. Especially around here.”
“So, tell me now, and I might let you live. You know I could just tell them you were trying to escape, which is actually the truth. At least close enough for me to get away with it.”
He looked up at me again, grunting and annoyed, then grinned. “Why don’t you ask your wife?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said…why...don’t...you...ask...your...wife?”
I shook my head, unsure if I had heard him right. What kind of a sick game was this?
“What are you talking about?”
He grinned, showing off his bloody teeth. He had knocked out two of the top front ones, probably from the impact when driving the truck into the tree, and strings of blood were dangling from them.
“You heard me.”
“You’re lying,” I said.
“Really? Think about it. How much do you really know about her?”
I stared down at the pathetic man. I wanted to hurt him so badly, to slap him across the face, but I didn’t. Instead, I stared at him, my hand with the gun shaking with anger.
“You don’t know anything about my wife,” I said. “Absolutely nothing!”
“Probably not then,” he said, still grinning. “My mistake.”
Faster than I realized what he was up to, he then reached up, grabbed my hands, pressed down on my finger on the trigger, and fired the gun.
Chapter 54
They kept Josie at the hospital for twenty-four hours to monitor her heart, then sent her home, telling me that everything was as it should be. The heart was functioning as it should, and as long as she stayed away from stressful situations for a few weeks, she’d be fine.
Needless to say, I was very relieved to hear that.
I brought her home and put her to bed so she could take a nap. I sat on the edge, then folded my hands.
“Dear God, thank you for protecting Josie. Thank you for letting me have more time with her here. I wouldn’t know what to do without her.”
I felt Josie’s hand on my arm and opened my eyes. “God knows. He k
nows you need me.”
That brought tears to my eyes, and I kissed her cheek, then sat with her till she dozed off. I liked just looking at her. Jean was downstairs, preparing dinner, and as I walked out into the hallway, I could hear her rummaging around down there. It was a sweet sound. I had told her she didn’t need to cook for us, but she had insisted. We had enough on our plate today, she said.
I didn’t protest.
I walked downstairs and entered Camille’s room. Her eyes lingered on me as I walked in, and I stood for a little while, simply staring at her. She was sitting in her wheelchair; her head leaned against the backrest. She moved her mouth to speak, but nothing but grunts came out.
I had gone through all her stuff upstairs in our bedroom the night before, not sleeping even a little bit. I took every box that belonged to her and went through it, trying to make sense of things. But it had gotten me nowhere. The worst part was that I had no idea if what Ferdinand had told me just before he shot himself had any truth to it…if Camille really knew anything, or if it was just his way of making sure to ruin my life on his way out. If so, he had succeeded. He had gotten to me; that was sure. So many questions piled up in my mind, and I had no way of finding answers.
Yet, I still had to try.
“Why?” I asked her like she understood and knew what I was talking about. “Ferdinand said you knew about those refugees being smuggled in the appliances. Why did he say that? What did he mean?”
Camille stared up at me. Her mouth was open, and a little drool ran from her lip. I felt so helpless. I had loved her; I had cared for her. We had a child together. She had been the woman for me. And now this? Now, I had no idea what to believe anymore. I hated the way I was looking at her now. I was terrified of the knowledge I had received. Would it make me resent her? Would it make me push her away? And even if Ferdinand was right, could I still judge her for her previous actions? Could it have been something from her past he referred to? Back when she was a drug addict? So much had happened since then. She had changed. At least, I thought she had until she overdosed. But then she had suffered a brain injury; could that have changed her? Or did she belong in jail for what she knew or had done?
And most importantly, could I still love her?
The door opened behind me, and Jean entered. Camille turned her eyes to look at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Are you guys talking? Am I interrupting something? I just wanted to take Camille out of her room. I thought she could sit in the kitchen with me. I know she likes to do that from time to time. And it gets her out of this room.”
I nodded and wiped away a tear.
“That’s very nice of you.”
Camille made a loud squealing noise as she usually did when she wanted something. Jean turned to look at her.
“Oh, it looks like she wants the sketchbook. I gave her Josie’s a few days ago when I was alone with her, and she seemed to enjoy scribbling on it. Nothing I could make anything of, but I think with a little practice, she might be able to write real letters and maybe, in time, tell us what she wants.”
Jean reached over and grabbed the sketchbook, then handed it to Camille along with a pen. Camille groaned, then held the pen in her clenched fist and drew something on the paper.
Jean turned to look at me, then smiled compassionately. “Are you okay? You don’t look okay.”
“I’m just…pondering about things; that’s all.”
“Is it the case? About the refugees? Did they not catch everyone involved?” she asked.
I swallowed, then shook my head.
“We’re not sure. Some might have been in on it that we don’t know about. Those types of things usually spin a lot deeper than what you’d think.”
She nodded. “A lot of those they arrested out at the warehouse were officers, right? That’s what they said on TV. Some were hired help, but a bunch of them were cops. Bad seeds.”
“Yeah, apparently it’s been going on for quite some time and reaches deep within the force. It’s a mess. I’m not exactly popular in the halls these days for taking down a bunch of my colleagues.”
“And Fowler?”
“What about him?”
“You think he was in on it too?”
“No, why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just that…well, the former major was. Maybe he took over the torch if you know what I mean. They were close, weren’t they?”
“I don’t think that’s the case…” I said. “I’ve known Fowler for years. I don’t think he’d ever…”
“Okay, so let me ask you this. Did you ever find out how they knew where to find Josie when you were hiding her with Al? Did anyone else know where she was? Did you tell anyone else besides Fowler?”
“No, but…he could have told someone; maybe he told Ferdinand?”
She gave me one of those looks. “You really believe that?”
“I don’t know, maybe because…”
“And how did Ferdinand get away from the warehouse at the port?” she continued. “The SWAT team had the area surrounded, yet he got to the truck and drove away? Are you telling me someone isn’t helping him? I think you have a mole, someone on the inside helping him. Someone high in the ranks. That’s what I think.”
I exhaled, annoyed. “You watch too many movies.”
I said the words in order to stop this conversation, hoping to sweep it off the table. I didn’t want to talk to her about this anymore. I wanted this to be over and all the bad seeds found.
Yet, I couldn’t help wondering if she was right. She made a strong point. Not one that I liked much. But something wasn’t right about this story, and I needed to get to the bottom of it, even though it wasn’t going to be easy.
“Anyway, do with it what you want,” Jean said, then walked to Camille. “I told you what I think…say, what’s that?”
She grabbed Camille’s sketchbook, then studied it.
“I think you should see this,” she said, showing it to me.
I approached them, looking at the scribbles on the paper. To me, it didn’t look like anything, at least not at first. But as I got closer, I could make out what looked like two single words.
KILL ME
I looked up at Camille, then back at the words.
“Kill Me?”
Jean nodded, a sad look in her eyes.
“You want me to kill you?” I asked Camille. “Are you crazy? That’s not gonna happen.”
Camille groaned loudly, her hand with the pen in great spasms. She was getting agitated, and when she was like that, it was even harder for her to control her movements.
“She’s upset. I don’t think that’s what she is trying to say,” Jean said. “Could it be something else?”
“Like what?” I asked, confused. “I don’t see what else it could be? She wants to kill me?”
“No, you dummy,” Jean said. “I think it means someone tried to kill her. Someone tried to kill Camille. It wasn’t an accident. She wasn’t doing drugs. She didn’t overdose.”
Hearing this, Camille suddenly yelled, almost screamed at the top of her lungs: “JOSIE! JOSIE!”
I stared at her, puzzled. Jean snapped her finger.
“She keeps saying that, yelling it out. Maybe that’s what it means? That’s what she’s been trying to tell us all this time when yelling out Josie’s name? What if she was really trying to tell us that someone tried to murder her?”
My eyes locked with Jean’s, and I felt more mystified than ever. Was she right? Had someone tried to kill my wife? Did it have anything to do with what Ferdinand had said? With what Camille knew and maybe had been a part of?
As more and more questions piled up, I felt more confused than ever, especially about who to trust in this town. But one thing was certain. One thing Ferdinand had been right about.
I didn’t know my wife at all.
THE END
NO OTHER WAY
Book 3
STATEMENT OF KRISTIN HOLMES
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INCIDENT # 2010-141345
CARSON: Today’s date is April 15th, 2010; the current time is 1209 hours. I am Detective Gary Carson, along with Sergeant Steve Bailey. We’re here at Monroe County Sheriff’s Office at 5525 College Road, Key West. We’re talking to Kristin regarding the disappearance of Kate Taylor, who was last seen on April 13th, 2010, at Sloppy Joe’s Bar at three a.m. All right, uh, Kristin, would you mind repeating your name and spelling it for me, please?
KRISTIN: Oh, okay. My name is, uh, Kristin Holmes. That is K-R-I-S-T-I-N H-O-L-M-E-S.
CARSON: All right. And what do you do, Kristin?
KRISTIN: I am a therapist. Pediatric therapist.
CARSON: All right. Now, Kristin. Tell us why you are here.
KRISTIN: Well, I was, uh, me and my two friends were…
CARSON: (Fiddles with pages, then moves microphone) That is Joan Smith and Kate Taylor, right?
KRISTIN: Right.
CARSON: Go on. Please, speak into the microphone.
KRISTIN: Well, we wanted to go on this trip, this road trip, to Key West and Key Largo. It was Kate’s thirty-fifth birthday, and we wanted to treat her to something, uh, special, and so we thought we’d come down here to party and then later swim with dolphins. All Kate wanted was to try that, so we thought this was the time.
CARSON: Without your husbands? You live in Miami, right?
KRISTIN: Well, I’m not married, but the other two are, and yes. We all live in Miami. Kate needed to get away on her own for a little.
CARSON: And why is that?
KRISTIN: Well, she… I don’t know, she was… she and Andrew have been fighting a lot lately; I don’t know the details, but she told me she really needed to get away.
CARSON: Do you think she was scared of him?
KRISTIN: (long pause) No. I think she was just bummed out about the marriage. She never told us much about it, just that she needed to blow off some steam or something like that.