“Not that I know of, but I didn’t get the list yet,” he says. “In the end you did a good thing, Miki. Sure, you did it the wrong way. But, you had a hand in helping to get this guy behind bars. Everything will fall together in the end. Just takes some time.”
“I hope so.”
Otto pulls his hand away. “I’ll come back later and get a statement from you. And another team taking the officer’s weapon discharge report will come by too.”
“Great. Can’t wait.”
“Hey, you want to be a detective, you gotta do the paperwork.”
Otto flashes one last grin, walks through the curtain, and leaves the room. I can’t help but smile back, keeping his cute face in my head. The cute face of the man who saved me.
A BREAK
Grandpa Blaise and Corey sit with me until a face that I’ve been waiting for pops out from behind the curtain.
“There you are,” says Chris, holding a dozen roses. “This place is a maze.”
“Here I am,” I say, opening my arms while I lay on the bed.
Grandpa and Corey give us time to be alone and stand with the cop guarding my room. Chris shakes their hands and exchanges smiles with them. When we’re alone, he hugs me.
“You can squeeze harder than that,” I say. “I won’t break.”
His mouth by my ear, he says, “From what the doctors said about your injuries, I wasn’t sure.”
“I’m feeling a lot better.”
He hands me the roses. I bring them to my nose and inhale.
“So, how are you feeling? Really getting better?”
“Yes, I am. I’m a quick healer. Doctor said the tests on my heart turned out good and I shouldn’t have to stay much longer. Just need to take it easy.”
“Great. Can I give you a ride?”
“Limo would be better than a cab.”
Chris looks around the room as if it’s natural to be visiting me in the hospital for no reason. “Nice.”
I study him. “C’mon, Chris. Don’t you want to wring me out for what happened? Call me stupid? I mean, everyone else has.”
He smiles and looks into my eyes. God, I could just eat him up.
“No. I’m not going to yell at you. I’m sure you know how stupid you were,” he says. “Although I am just as curious as the doctor about how you got your bruises. From what they say, you’re a marvel of medicine.”
“Yeah, well. They’ll have to keep wondering.”
“Will I?”
I rub my finger over the rose pedals. “One day. I’ll tell you one day.”
“Fair enough,” he says. “So, Detective Radicci, what about this case you’re on?”
“Oh, please.”
“You know Corey told me the truth about you and Katherine. You didn’t really know her.”
Oops.
I shrug. “Um, that’s sort of true.”
“Must have been horrible for you to find her body like that.”
“Yeah, it was.”
“But…you found her killer. Kinda makes you a hero. Chick heroes are sexy.”
“Oh, shut up.”
He laughs. “What? Why not? We can get you a sexy tight costume.”
“You’re drunk. I’m no hero. But I am glad it’s over.”
“Believe me, I am too.” Chris leans over and takes my hand. “Do you think you can live a quiet life as an artist in New York and have a boyfriend who wants to be with you all the time?”
I pull him closer onto the bed, “Most definitely,” and kiss him.
THE CURSE NOW?
Grandpa and I are alone in the hospital room. My roommate on the other side of the curtain snores softly. I still have no idea what they look like. I’ve crossed their bed to get to the bathroom, but like me, they always have their curtain closed. Funny. The hospital reminds me so much of the city. You have all these people packed together, yet they keep themselves divided. They live and heal sectioned off.
I stare up at the television while Grandpa sleeps in the chair. I insisted that he go home when Chris offered them a ride after visiting hours, but he refused to leave my side. Corey and Chris said their good byes and promised to be back in the morning since tomorrow’s Saturday. I lie in the bed and think about how lucky I am. From what the doctors told me, I almost died the other night suffering all those shocks to my body at once. My heart actually stopped. So weird. Before I experienced Katherine’s death, my life had been so nonviolent. Sure, I witnessed many fights and abuse perpetrated on other people, but I had never lived through death. I hope I never have to do it again.
Grandpa jolts in his sleep and sits up. “Whatta?”
“Shhh,” I say. “You’re fine. You were sleeping. Bad dream?”
He looks around the dark room, at the television hanging from the wall above us. With his face relaxed I can make out all the stress and worry-lines on his sixty-four-year-old skin, all the product of raising two sons who ended up being career criminals. His natural expression ignites the crappy feeling in me for putting him through such hell this week. “Oh,” he says. “Was so real.”
“I bet,” I say.
Grandpa smiles, then frowns.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Just thinking.”
“Oh,” he says. “You have a brain?”
“Stop it,” I giggle. I love how he can always make me feel like I’m ten years old.
Grandpa stands up and motions me to move. I scoot over to the safety rail and make room for him. He lies down on the bed - his skinny body doesn’t take up much space even though he has that potbelly - and puts his arm around me so I can rest my head on his chest.
“Been thinking about the family curse,” I say.
“Ahh. The Curse.”
“Well, what good is it?”
“I don’t know. I never had it. Your grandmother did.”
“I wish she was here.”
“I do, too.” He sighs, releasing a sad breath. “I could try to understand. I’ve seen a lot of it.”
“I don’t know. After what just happened, I think I should live out in the desert.”
“Not the forest.”
“Or the forest,” I say. “Why not.”
“I don’t think I would like the desert. Or the woods.”
“Who said you’re coming with me?” I grin.
“Please. Who’s going to take care of you? Corey?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“My sweet, dear granddaughter. You are sixteen years old. You may think you take care of yourself, even me and Corey, but that’s not altogether true.”
I know he’s right, but I say, “I guess.” I nuzzle close, blink, and release the moisture from my eyes. “I just wish I didn’t have to feel other people’s pain.”
“Hmm, in this day and age, so many people never get to experience what other people are feeling. They think the other person has no feeling, no emotion. In some way I’m a little jealous of you.”
“Me? Oh you must be in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.”
“Don’t you dare,” Grandpa says. “I’m being serious. Sometimes I would get mad a someone, a real bastard, you know, and your grandmother would tell me to go easy on them, that I did not know what they’re feeling. I didn’t know the pain they had inside of them. She was right. She was always right. Sometimes when we stop to look deep into people, the hate or anger we feel for them drops away and we end up helping them or having compassion for them.”
“Never thought of it that way.”
“No? You thought of it with that Katherine girl. You felt her pain. I saw your painting. You looked past her pain and saw something. True, you couldn’t heal her, but you did help her family by finding her killer.”
“I did.”
“Yes. But don’t do it again. Did I tell you how stupid you are for doing that without the police?”
“Yes. Unless you want to say it another thousand times.”
“No. I’m too tired.”
; Grandpa yawns, triggering one from me. We lie quietly on the bed and stare up at the silent television. After a few minutes I hear his heavy breathing turn into a light snore. Then, like I used to do when I was smaller, I fall asleep in his arms.
HOME
I’m dressed in a pair of black pants and a red sweater that Grandpa brought from home. I sit on the bed and lace up my boots while he washes up in the bathroom. Doctor Shah stands on the other side of the bed and has the most pitiful look on his face, like he’s witnessing his prized racehorse being shipped to the glue factory.
“Please, Ms. Radicci. Please reconsider staying for a few more tests,” he says.
“Sorry, Doc. I have work to do at home.”
“You don’t seem to understand your situation. Don’t you want to know what happened to you? Don’t you want to know why your body mirrored the wounds of the other men?”
“I do know what happened. Don’t need tests to prove it.”
Laced up and ready to go, I face him and stand. An orderly enters the room with a wheelchair. The doctor turns to him, then to me, then sighs.
“Fine,” he says. “But please don’t dismiss it altogether. Give it some time. Think about it. You may learn something about yourself because of it.”
The last thing I need is a bunch of eggheads poking and prodding my brain trying to figure out my family curse. True, the guy must be going out of his mind wanting to figure out how I suffered exterior bruising and bone fractures that coincide with the people wounded at the studio, but he’s just going to have to deal with it. Maybe one day he’ll decide that I was suffering from the same condition husbands get when their wives are pregnant or in labor. Sympathy pains, right?
“Sure, Doc,” I lie. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
I ease down into the wheelchair, igniting the sting in my muscles and bones. Outside the room, Grandpa waits.
“Corey’s at school, right?” I ask.
“Yes. I almost had to walk him myself,” Grandpa says. “He really wanted to be here with you.”
“I know. He’s sweet. But I already have you and Chris,” I say. “I don’t want him to miss anymore days.”
Outside the hospital, the wheelchair stops at the automatic doors. Grandpa helps me up and we walk down the sidewalk to the limo.
Chris stands at the open door with his driver behind him. “You look great,” he says and kisses my lips.
“Feel like shit,” I say.
“Then you’re in line with the rest of the world,” he says.
We exchange smiles. Chris helps me inside while the driver takes my bag. He shakes Grandpa’s hand and eases him in, too.
When we’re all sitting and ready to go, I notice Grandpa’s face. He smiles wide like a little boy on the merry go round. Chris notices his expression and says, “Been a while since you were in a limo, Mr. Radicci?”
“Never been in one.”
“Really? Not even to one of Miki’s shows?”
“Nah. She takes cabs or walks. She is the most unspoiled person I’ve ever known.” Grandpa wraps his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to him. I stare at my lap as my cheeks tingle.
At the condo, Chris and Grandpa escort me to the couch where I plan to spend most of my day. Chris and I watch DVDs that he brought over while Grandpa prepares a big Italian meal. He slow cooks meatballs in sauce and bakes veal Parmesan.
The phone rings a few times, but I just let the answering machine take it. Most of the messages are from friends and art colleagues who heard I was in the hospital. Although they’re shocked to hear I was there, they have no idea why. I smile, appreciating Sharon and her solid PR skills. All the callers wish me well and hope to see me soon.
There’s one message that almost makes me pick up the phone: Mrs. Moore, Katherine’s mom. Her voice sounds shaky like she’s been crying for weeks, and maybe she has been. She starts off the message saying that she talked to Detective Sampson. She thanks me for what I did and that she would like to thank me in person as soon as I’m able.
The grief in her voice invades me, makes my throat choke up and my eyes water.
At the end of the message, Chris asks, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Her message just got to me.”
BACK TO NORMAL
The next few days I stay at home and paint. With Corey at school, Chris at classes, and Grandpa at work I’m able to blast music and pour my mind out onto canvas and paper. I’m not sure if it’s the healing process or the pain medication the doctor prescribed, but I have never felt so happy. And when I’m happy, I’m creative. I work on a painting from the shoot out at Red Velvet Pocket studio. The image is taken from Bullhead’s point of view, looking at Detective Sampson and Hersh firing their guns and the uniformed cops in the background. I love painting Detective Otto. God, does he have an amazingly handsome bone structure, such a subtle mix of Caucasian and African features. One of these days I’ll have to ask him if he’s mixed race.
The one thing I notice as I’m painting is that wrinkled demon man isn’t hiding anywhere. Was he in the room when the violence happened? Or maybe what went down was not evil and he had no reason to be there?
Interesting.
I sit on a stool and space out for a moment. No, the old demon man was there. I remember…the void…his wings…
Or was I somewhere else?
My cell rings. I shake my head and answer it.
“Hey, baby,” I say into the phone while I turn down the music.
“Hey yourself,” Chris says. “How are you feeling?”
“Perfect.”
“Without me there?”
“With you here I’ll feel phenomenal.”
“Ah, I was just kidding.”
“Shit,” I say. “I’m not.”
“I’m glad you’re doing better. Listen, do you feel like going out tonight?”
I pace the room and stare at the painting. “Dunno. Depends. I don’t think I’m in the mood for crowds.”
“Well, what if I told you that where we can eat has no crowds. In fact, it’s not even a restaurant.”
“You hooked my interest.” I sit in a chair. “Where would such a place be?”
“My apartment.”
I lean forward. My elbows press into my knees. “You sure. What about your mom?”
“She has her support group tonight. She’ll be there for hours. Plus, she might be in such a great mood when she gets back that you two can finally meet.”
“Wow. This is getting serious.”
“You know, when your girlfriend almost dies you start to think about life and what you do with it. You are someone I want in my life, someone that makes me happy. I don’t want to waste our time.”
My cheeks ache from smiling. “Okay, then. Dinner at your place tonight.”
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Love ya.”
He clicks off before I can respond. Did he say what I think he said?
I shiver from joy and stomp my feet. Chris loves me. Which I’m glad about, since I think I may love him too.
To celebrate his unconscious confession of love, I make a pot of coffee. As it brews I sit at the island and flip through the paper. The headline: Suspect in Internet Murders Escapes Custody. And right there is a mug shot of Devlin Straub.
A THING
“Don’t tell me to stay calm. This guy is not stupid, he is going to want to get me,” I say.
“Miki, you don’t know that,” Otto says. “If he’s smart, he’ll try to leave the state and not stay in his own back yard where we can find him.”
“Oh, okay. So I’ll just go on living my life with my doors unlocked and maybe ten years from now he’ll return to his backyard and fucking kill me,” I say, pacing my studio floor. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s dawning on me. That is a good plan.”
Otto sighs and then grips my arms. He tries to look into my eyes, but I won’t offer them to him. “Miki, calm down.” His
voice turns to chocolate, softening me and making me squirm. “First off, he doesn’t know who you are. You were kept out of the paper and the only name he has for you is Laura Bush.”
“That doesn’t comfort me. He could ask around. He could see my picture in an art magazine or the Voice. He may have a best friend who’s into surrealist painting.”
“Okay. Okay. Maybe. But I doubt it. Just to be safe, we’ll watch your building anyway. Also, when you leave the house, two detectives will tail you. If this guy is going to make a move on you, then we’ll catch him.”
I shake, trying to get the damn tension out of my body, and walk over to the couch. Otto stays where he is behind me. I sit down and rake my fingers through my hair.
“You know, you’re a good looking guy,” I say.
He chuckles. “That’s an interesting way to steer a conversation. Thanks.”
“You got a girlfriend?”
“No.”
I smile. “Boyfriend?”
“No. Not my thing.”
I smirk. “Good answer.”
He steps closer to the couch. “Where is this line of questioning going?”
“Oh, was just painting you today and thinking about how good looking you are.”
“Me? Really?”
I turn to him. “Yeah, the one on the easel. Under the sheet.”
Otto walks over and moves the white, paint-stained sheet off the large canvas.
“It’s not done yet, so don’t bother complimenting me.”
He nods as if he likes it. “Okay. I won’t compliment you.”
“You’re mixed race, right?” I ask.
He drops the sheet and walks back over to me. “Yeah. My mother is white and my father is black. They met in Germany. My father was stationed there.”
“You’ve been to Germany?” I walk over to him.
“Many times. Family visits.”
“So you speak it?”
“Fluently.”
“Damn, that is sexy. Love guys who speak other languages.”
Otto rolls his eyes. “You know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you have a thing for me.”
“A thing?”
“Not what you kids say today?”
A Black Deeper Than Death (Miki Radicci Book 1) Page 11