Death's Curses

by Becca Fox

  “Who’s a happy little Chuckie-poo?” she cooed. “You are!”

  I swatted her hand away. “Cut it out, Jazz.”

  “Aren’t you so glad you listened to your big sister’s very sage advice?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at me.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, preparing my reply. I angled the phone away from her while I typed.

  Have fun.

  My finger hovered over the “send” key. There was so much more I wanted to say.

  Thanks.

  I’ll never hurt you again.

  I love you so much that the thought of losing you makes me want to barf.

  I can’t wait to hear your voice.

  To name a few.

  But I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. At least, not through a text. So I just pressed “send.”

  “Hey, Jazz?” I said, sliding my phone back into my pocket.

  She’d been halfway down the hall but she spun around to give me a toothy grin. “Yeah, Charlie?”

  “Thanks. For, you know, everything.”

  My sister shrugged, smile still in place. “That’s what I’m here for.” But when she turned around and continued on her way, she’d lost the pep in her step.

  ◆◆◆

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Three hours after we’d started sifting through the sea of unending police reports, Vanessa had finally gotten the guts to speak up. I’d been happy to ignore her deep breaths, awkward shuffles, and secretive glances. Just because she was dropping serious hints didn’t mean I had to ask her what was wrong. But considering the fact that my uncle loved this woman and was only denying himself a relationship with her due to his extreme sacrificial love for us, I decided against ignoring her request.

  “Sure,” I muttered, setting aside the report I’d been reading. I’d answer her uncomfortable question for Uncle Vic.

  Vanessa angled her laptop away. She looked exhausted. Jasmine told me she’d found our uncle and his partner passed out in this very same break room this morning. Neither of them had gone home or showered or had a decent meal in almost forty-eight hours. It was finally starting to show. Vanessa’s eyes were bloodshot. The lines in her face were more defined and there was a sheen to her hair I’d never seen before. I was sure Uncle Victor looked and felt even worse, but he had yet to emerge from the conference room where he was having his video chat with Interpol and the FBI.

  “Jasmine made her feelings about me and Vic pretty clear earlier.” Vanessa pulled the elastic band out of her hair, releasing a mushroom cloud of curls. It wasn’t a ‘fro, exactly; the curls had more definition and weight. Each seemed to be a different shade of brown or black.

  I shifted my gaze to her eyes when I realized I was staring. “Doesn’t sound like a question, Ms. Burkley.”

  Smiling sheepishly, she said, “I was wondering what your thoughts were.”

  “On you and my uncle? Getting together?” I shrugged, turning back to the report. Like I was totally fine talking about my uncle’s love life. “I’m not against it. It would make him happy.”

  “So you think it really is just your secret holding him back?” she asked slowly.

  “Yeah, but he could also be afraid of losing you.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  I met her look of surprise with a blank expression. “If the relationship fails, that’s it. No more work partnership or friendship. Holding back is the only way to make sure you stick around. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess…” Vanessa chuckled. “It’s just so mundane. I was sure there was a more complicated reason.”

  “Vic’s not a complicated guy.”

  Listing her head to the side, she murmured, “True.” She tied her hair back again and resumed her typing with renewed vigor. “Thanks for being real with me.”

  “Sure.”

  We went back to our respective tasks, back to the silence. I couldn’t help noticing it was more comfortable now. She was all right, I decided. If my uncle had to love anyone, I was glad it was her.

  Jasmine came sprinting around the corner then. “Found them!”

  Vanessa jerked and almost fell out of the leather couch.

  “Santiago and Mila Velazquez,” my sister said, marching toward me while reading the names off a slip of paper. “Formerly known as Emiliano and Lola Ruiz, Dante and Jimena Suarez, Rafael and Alegria Dominguez, and etcetera.” She slapped the page down on the cheap table where I’d set up shop.

  The piles of files on either side of me wobbled. I placed a hand over each of them to keep them from toppling over. “How?” I asked. “Where? When?”

  “Uncle Vic’s Interpol contact,” Jasmine said with a triumphant smile. “He traced the Salamander’s hit in New Delhi to a crime syndicate known as Vishnu’s Vipers. There were several people suspected to be the leaders, but only two of them were couples. As soon as we saw their picture we knew.” She glanced at Vanessa to include her in the conversation. “A raid on their drug den had the group disbanded, most of its members sent to jail, but the leaders were never caught. Whispers from the inmates confirmed that their leaders had started over in Nepal, with a new criminal family known as the Daggers of Mist.”

  Jasmine pressed a finger into her piece of paper, where she’d written down all the aliases and some dates beside each one. “More Salamander kills line up with increased crime rates in cities all over the map. China, Russia, Turkey, Brazil, Kenya, South Africa, Colombia, Mexico, Arizona, California—”

  “Washington,” I murmured.

  “They correlate with mob organizations’ rising and falling,” Jasmine said with a nod. “At first, Uncle Vic’s friend thought these events were unrelated, but when he started looking for a Mediterranean couple who could possibly pass as Spaniards—”

  “He found a trail,” I assumed.

  My sister huffed. “You’ve got to stop stealing my thunder, Charles.”

  “The last sighting?” I prompted.

  “Olympia,” she said with a pout.

  “Hold on,” Vanessa said, setting her laptop aside and standing. “Vic and I have been poring over these pages—virtual and physical—for days. Why didn’t either of us stumble on any of these aliases?”

  Jasmine and I shared a baffled look. I guess we hadn’t thought of that.

  “It’s a lot of case files,” I said. “We’re all tired. We could’ve missed them…” But it seemed unlikely. My uncle was a first-rate detective and had taught us well. We wouldn’t have missed a connection like this.

  “Maybe Interpol didn’t send everything over like we asked?” Jasmine guessed, although her furrowed brow told me she didn’t believe what she was saying. Uncle Vic’s friend had just proven how willing he was to help. There was no way he would’ve withheld this information just to share it with us later.

  Vanessa looked around the room, until her gaze settled on the empty doorway leading out into the main floor of the precinct. “Where’s Victor?”

  “I made him go back to his place for a shower and a nap,” Jasmine said. “He was dead on his feet. I convinced him we could start fresh in the morning.” Glancing from me to Vanessa, she asked, “What?”

  Vanessa didn’t have to say it because I suddenly realized what she was thinking.

  Someone must’ve stolen that information. Which meant there was a spy in the precinct.

  Jasmine screamed then, clapping both hands over her right eye and falling to her knees. Vanessa whipped out her firearm and looked around for trouble. Before I could wrap my arms around my sister or feel an ounce of panic over what I knew was coming, I blacked out.

  I woke up as a sniper, poised on a rooftop, staring intently through a scope at a familiar sedan as it came to a stop at an intersection. My heart acted like a battering ram against my chest. I screamed so loud it felt like I was throwing up nails. Because Uncle Victor was behind the wheel. He was about to be the Salamander’s next victim.

  July 29th, 1994

  We have
traveled all over Africa, trying our best to heal. But we have been met with very little success. We sense Death more often than not. Without meaning to, without seeking her, we seem to keep stumbling upon her short visitations to the dying.

  It is so disheartening that when we sought her, we couldn’t find her, and now that we don’t want to find her, she is here constantly at work around us. For over a decade we have sensed her frequently. We do our best to beat her at her task but she’s triumphant far more than we are.

  Strangely, the people here do not grow angry at our failures. It appears that these large epidemics in Africa are so powerful that most people are heartbroken more so than angry. Dymeka and I have become so attuned to Death; we’re starting to sense her before she appears. When once we only experienced a quick feeling of déjà vu, now we feel ourselves drawn, like a magnet pulling us to those who will die in a few moments. Then a sharp déjà vu. Then loneliness. Emptiness.

  I don’t like these helpless feelings, this emptiness.

  Dymeka said yesterday he was depressed. And even though I do not like thinking of myself as truly depressed, I find myself agreeing with him. I don’t know if we should stay much longer. I don’t think I’m helping or healing anyone at this point. But is this enough reason to run away again?

  * * *

  Chapter 37

  Esmeralda

  My mom was trying on clothes at Macy’s when I got the call.

  I smirked and put the phone to my ear. “I’m shopping, Charlie boy. I’ll call you when I get home.”

  “Esmer,” he groaned. And then he proceeded to make the worst sounds I’d ever heard. I couldn’t tell if he was throwing up or sobbing or coughing. Maybe all? It was painful and hair-raising, whatever it was.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, leaning forward in the plastic chair. “Are you hurt?” If anyone had laid so much as a finger on him—

  “He shot Vic.”

  I heard a police siren and scanner in the background as well as an angry woman’s voice.

  “There was…so much blood…” He cried some more, noisily wiping the snot from his nose. “Jesus, it was everywhere.”

  “Who shot Vic? Where are you?” I asked, gripping the phone with both hands.

  “Jasmine doesn’t know if he passed or not. Death wouldn’t tell her. But…there’s no way he could’ve survived.” He was sobbing too hard now. I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Something about a salamander and a spy?

  It felt like someone was using my throat as a stress ball. The carpet between my feet blurred with the coming of tears.

  I was wheezing as hard as he was before long. “Charlie, tell me where you are.” I knew I couldn’t help him. I just had to be there.

  My mom threw the door open to her changing cubicle and sauntered out in her new dress. She had her arms out in a “ta da!” gesture and was beaming. One look at me and she was racing over to my chair with wide eyes.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart? What’s happened?”

  “Charlie,” I said more forcefully. “Where can I meet you?”

  “They’re taking him to Northwest Hospital,” he choked out. “Vanessa, Jasmine, and me are following the ambulance.”

  “I’ll see you there.”

  ◆◆◆

  I had my mom drop me off near the ER. She wanted to stay but I knew it would be awkward for her, so I asked her to pick up some lunch for everyone instead. I had a feeling no one would be going home tonight.

  I limped into the hospital as fast as I could. My crutches squeaked against the linoleum. Rain dripped from my jacket, leaving a trail behind me.

  “Where did they take Detective Victor Campbell?” I barked at the lady behind the reception desk.

  “They just wheeled him into surgery,” she said, pointing. “But it’s family only!” she shouted after me.

  I elbowed past the door, flinging, “I am family!” over my shoulder.

  I found them in the smaller waiting area just around the corner. Jasmine sat in one of the chairs, rocking back and forth while staring down at the floor. Her hair swung like two thick pendulums at the sides of her face. A curvy black woman stood by the window; she ran a hand over her forehead while she spoke to someone on her phone, her voice trembling and breaking over the words. Charlie was pacing the floor, still sobbing, twisting his ball cap in his hands, occasionally rubbing a fist against his eyes in a hopeless attempt to staunch the flow of tears. He was a kid, a little boy who’d lost everything. Again.

  I was crying as I hobbled over to him. He saw me and lurched forward. I dropped the crutches to wrap my arms around his neck as his arms came around my waist. With his face buried in my shoulder, he sobbed even harder. His whole body trembled with the effort to eject the horrible feelings tearing him up inside. I smoothed the hair at the back of his head and said it was going to be all right, that Victor was strong and he’d pull through. I willed it to be true. I was too afraid of what Charlie would become if I was wrong.

  ◆◆◆

  The woman, who I learned was the famous Vanessa Burkley, explained what happened after my mom had dropped off the sub sandwiches. She’d been with the twins when Victor was shot so she’d witnessed their powers. Jasmine felt the bullet enter through her right eye and collapsed. Charlie joined her on the floor and started convulsing, screaming at Vanessa to send an ambulance to the cross streets where Victor had been shot. She didn’t know Victor was in trouble. She just knew she had to trust Charlie.

  When he’d come out of his trance and Jasmine had come back to life, the three of them had rushed to the scene of the crime. They’d found the Corolla wrapped around a street light. And Victor…

  “He was breathing when the paramedics took him away,” Vanessa said as she chewed on her food. “They felt a faint pulse. He’s going to be okay.” She blinked away tears and swallowed, only to tear off another chunk of her sandwich.

  “He died twice in the ambulance,” Jasmine whispered. She was still rocking and staring, refusing to eat anything. “They brought him back but—”

  “He’s going to be okay,” Vanessa said, a little too loudly. “We found him in time. They got him into surgery right away. He’s healthy and strong. There’s nothing to worry about.” She repeated the words like a prayer. “There’s nothing to worry about.” But then she set her sandwich in her lap and started crying in earnest.

  Jasmine and Charlie shared a teary, hopeless look. Together, they reached out to touch her arm. It was just the brush of their fingers but it was enough. I really hoped it wasn’t Victor’s death that finally made Vanessa part of their family.

  ◆◆◆

  A surgeon came out to see us at a little after five, introducing herself as Dr. Abadi.

  I’d been dozing on Charlie’s shoulder when he leapt up, tweaking my neck in the process. Jasmine and Vanessa joined him in assaulting the surgeon with questions. The kind woman explained that it was a clean shot; the bullet went through Victor’s eye and exited out the back of his head. She’d done everything she could to repair the damaged brain tissue and fix his skull. He had lost a lot of blood. Thankfully, the hospital had plenty of O positive in stock.

  “He’s lost his right eye,” the doctor said gently, making Jasmine slap a hand over her mouth and look away, “and, if he survives the night, there’s an eighty percent chance of lasting brain damage as well as some paralysis in his right side.”

  Vanessa’s knees buckled. She staggered away from the group, reaching for the wall. There she held on as if her life depended on it.

  “But he’s alive right now,” Charlie said, his voice raw from crying. “Can we see him?”

  The surgeon nodded, smiling kindly. “Of course. Follow me.” When I started to stand, she shook her head. “Only two at a time, please.”

  Charlie and Jasmine sent me apologetic looks. I nodded in encouragement. They left with the surgeon. Vanessa didn’t even try to follow; instead, she regulated her breathing while she had a staring contest with
the wallpaper between her fingers.

  ◆◆◆

  When I finally got to see the detective, I felt like there was a burning hole in my stomach. This was the man Charlie respected above everyone else, the man who’d been a father to him when his real father had been too much of a coward. This was the kind and caring detective who’d visited me when I was in this very hospital and brought my attackers to justice. The man who loved and protected Jasmine.

  To see this good man with his head wrapped in gauze, the visible parts of his face marred by scratches and bruises, wearing a bandage for an eye patch, and knowing he might not live through the night…It made me want to do something stupid to blow off steam, like maybe go up onto the roof and scream into the night.

  Worst of all, there was nothing we could do. Charlie, Jasmine, and Vanessa each tried talking to him in the hopes that a familiar voice would wake him up. Victor Campbell slept on. Our only comfort was that the machines kept beeping.

  Both my mom and Aunt Dinah called before midnight to ask if I needed a ride home. It took some convincing, but I managed to persuade them to let me stay at the hospital overnight. We each took turns keeping an eye on Victor, too afraid he’d slip away when we weren’t looking. I was the constant in the room, watching as Charlie, Jasmine, and Vanessa traded shifts. It was crazy how differently they each dealt with their helplessness.

  Charlie paced. He sat with me for a little bit, fingers linked with mine, leg bouncing. His eyes darted from his uncle’s face to the monitors’ screens as he chewed on his lips. He asked me to talk about something, anything to break up the silence, so I told him what I’d been about to tell him the other night. Before he cut me off and I got upset and kicked him out of the room.

  I didn’t go into details about Marty’s twisted needs or the things he’d made me do. But I did tell him how afraid I was, how much I hated myself for being afraid, how I wished I’d had the strength to stand up to Marty or ask someone for help. What I had to do to cover up the bruises and scars. How terrified I was at the possibility that sex was ruined for me forever.