Orphans of Paradise

by Laekan Zea Kemp

  “I found the block, or what I thought was the right block and I watched the alley from a bus stop across the street. It didn’t take long to start recognizing people’s faces. Then I started seeing them go through one door and out through another. I was sure I had the right place. But I knew I couldn’t just go in and look for you. That’s when I saw Jax. Out of everyone I’d seen coming and going, I don’t know he seemed…he seemed like the safest choice. So I followed him and I found him sleeping on the beach. He hadn’t gone back to Pascual’s hideout for four days and that’s when I decided to approach him, to ask him if he’d seen you. He hadn’t. But the next day he brought us your things. He said you’d run away.”

  Nadia shook her head. “I left my bag there the afternoon I showed up to make the drop. Medina said if I left my things, my passport, it might stall their search. Everything I did was part of a plan.”

  “Medina’s plan. What happened to our plan? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “I couldn’t. It wasn’t safe for anyone to know.”

  “It wasn’t safe?” Rani gripped the loveseat. “Look at me, Nadia.”

  The screen door slammed shut and Medina appeared in the doorway. Jax trudged in behind him.

  “Sorry,” Jax said.

  “Do you want us to step back outside?” Medina asked.

  Nadia shook her head. “It’s ok. I’m just trying to explain everything.”

  Medina hovered over Rani. “You doing ok, kid?”

  “Fine,” she snapped at him. “Just wondering how my sister ended up in a two-story beach front property while the rest of us were busy trying not to die.”

  “If you want to be angry with someone, be angry with me. Having someone else meet you the day you landed was my idea.”

  “Well she agreed to it.”

  “Please,” he said, his voice sounding so much like Nadia’s had earlier.

  “I just want to sleep,” Rani said, pulling herself to her feet.

  “Here, let me—”

  “Stop.” Rani pushed her sister out of the way. “I can do it myself.”

  Chapter 33

  Rani

  Rani found her way to a twin bed, three layers of coarse quilts pulled tight over the thin mattress. She peeled them back, a breath of dust hiccupping in her face and she sneezed. She examined the dimples rising beneath the sheets, the tactile shadow of a stranger, and wondered who’d slept there last; what besides dust they’d left behind. But despite the slight ribbing, edges of the blankets fraying and worn, she lay there anyway, face inches away from a small oval window.

  She watched the water—pulsing, contracting, white tips tumbling onto the beach. She thought about pushing it open and letting the breeze carry out the dank smell of the empty room but then she imagined Pascual and the men from the hideout—their darkness slipping in with the night and she buried herself, pulling the blankets tight over her head.

  The house was quiet. She wondered if they were all still downstairs, words stifled, voices low for her sake. She tried to close her eyes and sleep but every rift in the silence—the hum of the air conditioning, the breeze blowing past the window, the shudder of the stairs as someone made their way to the second floor—shook her awake. And she tried not to give every sound a shape, a face. But everything felt alive. Except for her.

  She thought of her mother in the kitchen, swaying her hips to the transistor radio that sat on top of the refrigerator until her father took her in his arms. She thought of the day the twins were born and the way her mother had placed Breezy in her arms, the way her black eyes had reflected the specks of green in Rani’s own, the way she’d suckled on Rani’s small finger until it was soft and wrinkled.

  But every memory was filtered through static, the images pulsing in and out—frail and finite. She heard a soft click, someone’s hand on the doorknob, and she shrunk. Her nails tore new ribbing into the quilt, her teeth hot on her bottom lip, and then she closed her eyes as she waited for them to take her.

  ***

  Rani woke trembling, the collar of her coat stiff against her skin, the smell of dried blood rising from its folds. Her eyes burned as they examined the room and then she kicked off the blankets, damp with her sweat.

  She pressed her hand flat against the mattress, stretching her fingers, her wrist. Then she straightened her legs, calves tight, knees burning. She unhinged her jaw with a sharp pop and then she froze. She heard the soft pad of feet on the other side of the door and she held her breath, waiting for them to disappear, hoping they would think she was still sleeping and leave her alone.

  She watched the shadow swell beneath the door until their looming weight was already pinning her to the bed. She tried to breathe, to think, to move. And then the shadow disappeared and they were gone.

  Rani drew toward the window, still watching the floor. She felt the cold glass against her back and then she heard the soft rumble of an engine. She turned and saw Medina’s car, all black and unmarked as it climbed across the sand. She heard the driver’s side door fall closed and then another and then she saw the girl.

  She was tall and thin with blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail behind her neck. She was carrying a small bag that dangled from her wrist while the other hand scratched nervously at her forearm. A man’s coat hung limp over her shoulders, the collar rising to her ears and she sunk into it, hands moving to clutch the sides as she followed Medina through the front door.

  There was a knock and Rani stilled. She found the shadow again and waited for it to collapse, disappearing into the hall. But it bled there, just as still. She moved to the edge of the mattress, the springs releasing a shudder, and she stopped at the sound. She heard a soft exhale but they didn’t turn and go. She eased onto the floor, the wood slats cold under her bare feet, the seam groaning under her weight, and then she froze there next to the bed.

  They knocked again, louder this time, the sound ripping across Rani’s skin in sharp a tremor. She crept toward the door, steps careful, and then she finally turned the knob and let the door fall open.

  It was Jax. His face was a dark and hollow thing, like the night she’d first seen him sleeping on the beach. He looked tired, like he was made of winter. She wondered what he was still doing there. But then she remembered the plastic tarp he’d been sleeping under and the bright red scars climbing his ribcage and she didn’t say a word.

  A clean blouse and a pair of jeans were draped across his forearms. “These were by the door,” he said. “I didn’t know if you knew they were out here.”

  Rani looked down at her bare feet and then at the jeans she was wearing, riddled with holes and stiff from the cold and her sweat. It was the only thing she’d slipped on before abandoning her hospital room through yet another window. She’d rolled up the hem of her gown and with her coat still on she’d almost forgotten it completely. She reached for the pile of clothes and went to shut the door but it caught on Jax’s foot. She could feel him looking at her but she didn’t look back.

  “Everyone’s worried about you Rani.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, still pulling on the handle.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I just want to be alone. Why is that so hard to understand?”

  She felt the tears then, settling in a thin line against her lashes. She blinked, watching the ground, trying to back away.

  She felt Jax’s shadow hanging over her, his hand hovering between them, and she almost grew still. She almost let him reach her. But then she remembered those hands—larger, darker, the knuckles raw and bloody as they drove into her. And Jax wasn’t there.

  “Just leave me alone,” she said. “That’s all I want.” And then she finally met his eyes, the new landscape of her face rippling up from the shadows. “Please.”

  Chapter 34

  Jax

  She’d flinched at his touch. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking—that maybe she trusted him, that maybe he’d earned it. But when he reached for her, she’d recoil
ed, instinct riling her senses, reminding him who he really was. Who he would always be. His mother had known it. That was why she’d left. She was afraid.

  Jax sat on the lone loveseat, eyes closed, pretending to sleep. No one had asked him to stay. In fact, for the past twelve hours no one had spoken a word to him. Those first two nights he’d slept on a pile of sheets in the empty living room, a limp crocheted blanket draped over his shoulders—small slivers of comfort he’d dredged up from various closets and dark rooms throughout the first floor of the house. But the quiet was too much. He couldn’t sleep.

  Every pulse of the tide, every whisper reminded him that he was a stranger. That he didn’t belong. But there was nowhere for him to go. Not anymore.

  He’d found himself watching the stairs. The rest of Rani’s family had found refuge somewhere on the second floor, their voices as lucid as the ocean’s spray. But there was something about those first few steps, about the narrowness of the landing that made him hesitate, that made him feel trapped. It wasn’t until Medina returned around noon, some strange girl following in after him, that they finally came downstairs.

  He’d watched them watching her, examining every inch—her blonde hair in a tangle, rough fingers missing some of the nails. But she didn’t speak. Not when Nadia offered her something to drink, not when Medina tried to take her coat. She clutched it tight, fingers gripping the fabric.

  Jax still wasn’t able to see her face, pale and buried in the collar of her shirt. But then Nadia took a step back, her weight shifting as she fumbled for words, and Jax finally saw the girl’s eyes. They narrowed on his face, strange and cold and watching him. He rose to his feet, wafting there like a fly as he tried not to let her pin him down. And then he felt himself rising, his hand on the railing, the stairs ascending beneath his feet.

  His urge to run suddenly had a trajectory and then his hand was pressed to Rani’s door. That was when he noticed the clothes stacked neatly at his feet, the meager offering splayed across his forearms as Rani pulled open the door.

  She’d watched the floor, trying not to let him see her. He’d felt his lips part, words stumbling out, but now all he could remember was her face. Not his voice mingling with hers for the first time in almost two days. Not her words or his. But her face—skin sutured like the night.

  The quiet had finally settled over the house again. The strange girl was somewhere in one of the upstairs bedrooms, Rani’s family was down on the beach, and Medina was on the front porch, cell phone pressed to his ear. He was wearing a pair of plaid shorts and a plain white t-shirt. He looked younger without his faded ties and slicked back hair and Jax wasn’t sure if it was even the same man.

  Medina disappeared from the window and the front door pushed open. But before Jax could close his eyes, feigning sleep again, Medina was standing in the living room.

  “I still don’t know about you,” he finally said.

  Jax bristled, his eyes on the floor. “Yeah, well I don’t know about you either.”

  “How old are you, Jax?”

  “Twenty,” Jax said, wary. “How old are you?”

  Medina smiled. “Thirty-two.”

  “That’s kind of young for a detective.”

  Medina was quiet and then he said, “Is your father around or is it just your mom?”

  Jax felt the heat spreading across his face and he tried to keep his voice steady. “Shouldn’t you know everything there is to know about Pascual by now? That’s kind of your job isn’t it?”

  “I’m not working right now,” Medina said. “And I might know a thing or two about your brother but you, you’re a different story.”

  “I’m not,” Jax corrected him.

  “What happened between you two?”

  And for a second Jax thought he meant Rani. He was still, staring at his shoes.

  “You and your brother,” Medina clarified. “Did something happen?”

  “What do you mean?” Jax thought he’d already made his choice; that he didn’t care about keeping his brother’s secrets anymore. But he still wasn’t sure if he could trust Medina.

  “I mean what the hell happened between you two that you would start sleeping on the beach? And in thirty degree weather? I know you’ve got a mom. Who was taking care of her all that time you were playing homeless?”

  Jax felt his fingers growing tight, the hem of his shirt twisted in his grip. He took a deep breath. “My mother is better off without me or Pascual.”

  “Is that really the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because you think it is?”

  “No. Because she thinks it is. And she’s right.” Jax could see his mother, rigid as she stood over the kitchen sink. The thin veins scaling her neck pulsing and tense as Pascual’s voice climbed higher. “My mother moved out of the city. She lives with her sister now in Texas.”

  “Do you still see her?”

  “No,” Jax said. “She left to get away from us. She sure as hell doesn’t want us coming to visit.”

  “Did she know about Pascual? About what he does?”

  “She knew. She hated it. That’s why she left.”

  “Did something happen?” Medina said again.

  Jax felt himself sinking, his shoulders pressed to the back of the chair. “Pascual,” he started, “he was always bringing that shit home with him. One night mom was at church. Pascual had asked me to drop something off for him and when I got home the place was destroyed. There was broken glass everywhere, clothes and papers scattered all over the floor. Someone had even tried to start a fire but it didn’t take. I could tell it wasn’t a robbery. It was too sloppy. Someone had found out where we lived and they were trying to get even I guess. Pascual thought it was those Russian commies.” Jax stopped, waiting for Medina to ask who. But he didn’t. “Luckily no one was home and the old lady who lived in the apartment across from ours had called the police when she heard all of the noise.”

  “So you reported it?”

  “No. Pascual would kill me. In case you haven’t noticed he doesn’t exactly like the police.”

  “I’ve noticed. So is that why your mom left?”

  “Yeah. She was sick of Pascual’s shit and she was…afraid.” Jax grew quiet then.

  “And you?” Medina asked.

  “Me?”

  “Is that why you left?”

  “No,” Jax fumbled. “Yes. I left when the girls started coming.”

  “The girls. You mean the mules?”

  “No.” Jax shook his head. “You’d just confiscated those three shipments of cocaine. 100k down the fucking drain in one week. Pascual was about to lose his goddamn mind. He was tired. I could see it.”

  “Tired?”

  “Of trying to outsmart you,” Jax admitted. “That’s when he decided to diversify.”

  Jax remembered their eyes, dark and peering between the slats of their crates, their fingers tearing at the wood. But most of all he remembered the sound of their voices swelling, words in languages he didn’t understand—girl’s from the Philippines, from Chile, from some trailer park in western Connecticut—all twisting and bleeding together until the sound was so primitive, so desperately universal that even now it was ripping him open.

  “Trafficking,” Medina said. He glanced up the stairs and then he lowered his voice. “I know.”

  “Her eyes,” Jax breathed.

  “What?”

  Jax shook his head. “Her?”

  “She was being held at one of the mills outside of town—a three-story farmhouse they’d refashioned into some kind of club. We stopped your brother’s caravan mid transit and picked her up.”

  “But he wasn’t in the car.”

  “Never is. But he’d been there. Apparently he likes to pick the girls himself, make the transaction in person, and then send someone to pick them up. But this location, it’s remote, it was totally off our radar—pretty ideal if he was looking into buying an operation of his own.”

  Jax felt his tong
ue, hard and dry and sticking to the roof of his mouth. He tried to swallow. “That’s why I left,” he finally said.

  “Jax.” Medina let out a long exhale. “I need your help.”

  Jax was quiet. He knew what was coming next.

  “You know him better than anyone.”

  Jax stopped him. “And you know why he’s still a free man. The entire city’s on his fucking payroll.”

  “Well I don’t work for the city. I work for the DEA and we do things a little differently.”

  “Is that what this is? Is that why you brought them here?”

  “Nadia’s been helping me for the past year. Helping her family come to the States was part of the deal.”

  “And me?” Jax said. “What sort of deal are you trying to make here? What is it you want from me?”

  Chapter 35

  Rani

  Rani stayed upstairs for almost three days. She could feel them moving behind the door, their hushed voices swirling in the landing. She watched the old brass knob as it trembled beneath their touch. But the bolt was locked tight.

  She was watching the tide when she heard that familiar tremble, followed by a soft cough, Breezy’s sniffling nose pressed close to the seam.

  “Rani?”

  She flinched at the sound of her name, low and infantile as it passed through her sister’s lips. She tasted tears and tried to swallow, to bury them deep inside her. But they only descended in a fury, slick trails painting her cheeks. She held her breath, trying to hold tight to the silence. But it was slipping. She was slipping.

  “Breezy.” Max’s voice floated up the stairs. “Get back down here.”

  She heard Breezy’s stilted exhale, the soft clank as her hand released the knob and fell at her side, and then she was gone. She’d thought about them, about the rippling of her absence. But for some reason it just wasn’t enough to make her leave that room. Because the truth was she didn’t want to see anyone and more importantly she didn’t want them to see her.