On the Other Side of the Bridge

by Ray Villareal

  Lonnie once heard someone — Brother Elrod, maybe — say that confession is good for the soul. Perhaps it was time to come clean and finally tell the truth. His mother might not believe that he hadn’t caused any of the destruction, but at least she could let Mr. Barnaby know he had been involved. That way, Mr. Barnaby wouldn’t need to go to Wyatt Middle School, and Lonnie and Axel and Herman could avoid the embarrassment of being hauled off to jail, handcuffed, in front of everyone.

  While he and his mother ate dinner, he thought of worse-case scenarios. They were kids, so he didn’t think the police would put them in jail. But their parents would have to pay for the damages, even though he and Axel weren’t responsible for any of it. After all, they couldn’t prove that they hadn’t busted the windows and trashed the office.

  Axel’s parents would undoubtedly forbid their son from ever hanging out with el vago again. They would say Lonnie was a bad influence and that Axel needed to make other friends. Lonnie would be grounded for at least a month. His parents would take the TV out of his bedroom, and he wouldn’t be able to leave the house for anything, except to go to school and church. As a personal punishment to himself, Lonnie decided he would remain in the sanctuary on Sunday mornings to hear Brother Elrod preach and not sneak off to Catfish Creek.

  He completed the written portion of his book project without calling Axel for help. All he needed now was to redraw the cover for The Dumfrees Move In. He spread out colored pencils, crayons and markers on the kitchen table and had just begun sketching his picture when his mother came in to say goodbye.

  “Be sure to tell your father about the meatloaf. It’s in the fridge. And after he eats, tell him I said for him to put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher and to turn on the machine.”

  Lonnie couldn’t put it off any longer. She had to know the truth. On rubbery legs, he rose from his chair and said softly, “Mom, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  She glanced up at the wall clock. “Well, make it quick. I’m running late as it is.”

  “It’s about what happened at the paper company yesterday,” he said and swallowed hard.

  “What about it?”

  “Me and Axel and a kid named Herman … we were there.”

  His mother regarded him coldly. “Are you telling me that you were the ones who vandalized the warehouse?”

  “Not me. Or Axel. It was Herman … we call him Slurpee … who did all that stuff.”

  “You broke into the warehouse?” she shrieked.

  “Yeah, but me and Axel didn’t do anything. Honest, Mom. We went inside the warehouse, but Slurpee … I mean, Herman, was the one who busted the windows. He was the one who—”

  “You broke into the warehouse?” his mother repeated, seething with contempt. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” She clapped her hands over her head. “My God, what’s happened to you, Lonnie? You don’t do anything in school. You don’t help out around the house. You can’t even keep your room clean. And now you’re telling me you’re out on the streets, vandalizing!”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Are you on drugs?”

  “Mom, it’s not like that. I promise.”

  She looked up at the wall clock again. “I can’t talk about this right now. I have to go to work.”

  “Let me call you on your cell and explain what happened.”

  “No! I don’t want to discuss this over the phone.” She looked at him disgustedly. “I don’t know who you are anymore. I can’t trust you. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie!” She sniffled and wiped away a tear. “I have to go.”

  She stalked out of the house, ignoring the rain. In her anger, she had forgotten to take her umbrella.

  “Be safe,” Lonnie whispered as he watched her leave.

  After she was gone, he finished his book cover. Lonnie had a talent for drawing, and he had intended to design a really cool cover, with lots of details, but his heart was no longer in it. Anyway, he doubted Ms. Kowalski would give him extra credit for a well-drawn cover. The picture was the least important part of the project. It was something his teacher had assigned so the dummies in Progressive Reading could feel like they had accomplished something special.

  At around ten, Lonnie’s dad came home with his breath reeking of alcohol. Since he didn’t mention anything about the Martex warehouse, Lonnie guessed that his mother was saving that bit of news for him until she returned home from work. He told him about the meat-loaf. His dad took it out of the fridge and zapped it in the microwave. Then he took his food to the den to eat while he watched TV.

  With his project, as well as the rest of his homework finally finished, Lonnie packed everything in his backpack. He tried calling Axel on his cell to let him know that he had told his mother about the break-in but got no answer.

  He wasn’t ready to go to bed yet, so he went to the den to watch TV with his dad. He found him passed out on the couch, snoring loudly. His dad had been watching I (To Eat) NY, a movie about a group of people who hole up inside the New York Public Library to escape an attacking mob of zombies.

  On TV, the zombies walked aimlessly up and down the steps of the library, without any purpose other than to find food for their flesh-starved appetites. Other zombies crawled on top of the sculpture lions that graced the entrance.

  The movie had been running on HBO, and Lonnie had already seen it, so he knew how it was going to end. The zombies would eventually break down the library doors and kill all the survivors inside. Axel was right. Zombie movies do tend to have the same basic plot.

  Immediately following I (To Eat) NY, a romantic comedy called Begin Again, Again came on. Lonnie turned off the TV and went to bed, leaving his dad asleep on the couch.

  He dreamed he was back at the warehouse, running through the paper labyrinth. The guard-thing, with its decaying flesh, chased after him. But no matter how fast Lonnie ran, the guard-thing seemed to be directly behind him.

  “La-a-a-a-ne-e-e-e!” it called in a sickly voice. “I’m gonna getcha, La-ne-e-e-e!”

  Straight, then right, then left, Lonnie zigzagged. He looked back for a second. The guard-thing was nearly on top of him, opening and closing its jaws.

  Left, right, left, left, Lonnie ran, gasping for air.

  “I’m right behind you, La-ne-e-e-e!”

  He could feel the guard-thing’s hot breath, which smelled like rotten eggs, burning his neck. Faster he ran, faster, faster, until he felt he would collapse from exhaustion.

  Up ahead he saw a bright, almost blinding light. He knew that if he could just reach it, he would be safe. With every ounce of strength left in his legs, he raced toward the light.

  Suddenly, the guard-thing appeared in front of him, grinning a mouthful of yellow-brown, death teeth.

  “Gotcha!”

  With one hand, it seized him by his shirt. With the other, it pulled out its gun. Then Lonnie heard a shot.

  “—shot!”

  His eyes snapped open and he looked around, disoriented. The ceiling light was on, and his dad was standing next to his bed, shaking him.

  “Lonnie! Wake up! Wake up! It’s your mom. She’s been shot!”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FOR A SECOND, LONNIE THOUGHT he was still dreaming, but the look of horror on his dad’s face told him otherwise.

  “She caught a guy breaking into a car. He … he had a gun and … oh, God!” Lonnie’s dad shuddered and began to sob. “Get your clothes on. We’ve gotta get to the hospital.”

  Lonnie sat up in his bed, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Somebody shot Mom?”

  “I’ll tell you about it when we get in the car.” His dad grabbed Lonnie’s pants and shirt from the floor and tossed them to him. “Come on, get dressed. We’ve gotta go!”

  Lonnie hopped out of bed and put on his clothes. Outside his room, he could hear his dad talking on the phone.

  “I don’t know how bad she’s hurt. She’s been taken to Landry Memorial. Yeah, me and Lonnie are headin
g out there right now. Okay, see you there.”

  They jumped in the Suburban and drove to the hospital, with Lonnie’s dad ignoring the speed limits and traffic lights. At two o’clock in the morning, though, few cars were on the highway and there were no cops around.

  On the way, Lonnie’s dad explained that he had gotten a call from Clifford Jenkins, Lonnie’s mother’s supervisor, who told him that while she was patrolling the parking lot, she spotted a man removing a stereo from a car, so she confronted him. Without warning, the man pulled out a gun and fired. She never had a chance to draw her weapon.

  “Dad, Mom’s going to be okay, isn’t she?” Lonnie asked out of a dry throat.

  “Yeah, ’course she is. Your mom’s tough. She’s gonna be fine. You … you’ll see.”

  Lonnie knew his dad was trying to reassure him, but he didn’t sound convincing. He sniffled and wept so much, Lonnie was afraid he was going to wreck the car before they reached the hospital.

  Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Landry Memorial and rushed to the emergency room triage desk.

  “My wife is Rebecca Rodríguez,” Lonnie’s dad told the nurse. “She’s a security guard. She was shot. Where is she, and is she all right?”

  The nurse looked up the name on her computer. Then she said, “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t give out that information. Please have a seat. Someone will come and talk to you shortly.”

  “But she’s my wife!” Lonnie’s dad yelled, slamming his hand on the desk. “I have a right to know how she is.”

  “Sir, please sit down,” the nurse said curtly. “Somebody will be with you in a moment.”

  He glared at her, but she turned away and continued working. Realizing he wasn’t going to get any more information out of her, he and Lonnie looked for a place to sit.

  Lonnie couldn’t believe how many people were in the emergency waiting room at that hour — fifty maybe. Many of them had their eyes closed and appeared to have been there a long time. A lady had her head bandaged up, and she looked like she was wearing a turban. A guy was hunched over, holding his stomach and moaning. Another guy sitting in the row in front of them had his head tilted back. He smelled of alcohol and vomit.

  Clifford Jenkins arrived a few minutes later. “How’s Becky?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lonnie’s dad said. “That idiot nurse won’t tell me nothing. How did she look to you, Cliff?”

  Mr. Jenkins sat down. He stared at Lonnie, unsure whether he should say anything in front of him.

  “Lonnie, go over there by the nurse’s desk for a minute, would you?” his dad said.

  “No, I want to hear about Mom.”

  His dad hesitated, then nodded an okay to Mr. Jenkins.

  “Becky was shot once at close range,” Mr. Jenkins said. “But she managed to radio me for help. When I found her, she was lucid enough to tell me what happened. She also gave me a description of the perp, which I’ve already shared with the police.” Mr. Jenkins cleared his throat, then continued. “She passed out soon after that, before the paramedics arrived.” He cleared his throat again. “I’m going to be real honest with you, Richard. Becky lost a lot of blood.”

  Lonnie’s insides lurched, and he felt as if he was going to puke. He hurried to the bathroom. With his head hanging over the toilet, he dry heaved a couple of times, but nothing came out. He remained there a little longer just to make sure. Then he tore off a strip of tissue paper and blew his nose.

  When he came out of the bathroom, he saw his grandparents Salinas, who had just arrived, talking with his dad and Mr. Jenkins. His uncles, Rubén and Beto, soon joined them. They tried to get more information from the triage nurse, but all she did was repeat what she had already told Lonnie and his dad.

  Things grew testy when Mr. Jenkins suggested that Lonnie’s mother had been shot because she hadn’t followed proper procedures. “If she had called 911 instead of trying to nab the perp herself, this might not have happened.”

  “So you’re telling us this is Becky’s fault?” Lonnie’s grandpa asked irately.

  “No, Arthur. All I’m saying is that company policy states that …”

  “I don’t give a damn about your company policy!” Lonnie’s grandpa retorted. “Becky was shot in the line of duty, and right now she’s fighting for her life. How dare you try to put the blame on her. It seems to me like you’re more concerned about your company than you are about my daughter!”

  People turned and stared at them. The drunk guy sitting in front of them woke up and looked around, dazed, as if wondering where he was.

  Uncle Beto took his father by the arm. “Papi, calm down,” he said. “Nobody’s blaming anyone. Mr. Jenkins is just as concerned about Becky as we are. We’re tired, that’s all. Tired and scared. Instead of arguing, we need to be praying that she’s going to be all right.”

  A half hour later, a uniformed Marsville police officer and a man in a suit approached them. “Are you here for Rebecca Rodríguez?” the man in the suit asked.

  Lonnie’s grandpa told him they were.

  “I’m Detective Samuel Olsen with the Crimes Against Persons Unit,” the man said.

  “What’s that?” Lonnie asked.

  Detective Olsen looked at him, as if he hadn’t noticed him before. “Crimes Against Persons is, um … well, anytime a person’s been assaulted … shot, stabbed, or beaten … we’re sent to investigate it.”

  “How’s my wife?” Lonnie’s dad asked.

  Detective Olsen glanced around. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

  When he said that, Lonnie realized his mother’s condition was so critical, the detective couldn’t talk about it in front of the other people in the waiting room.

  Detective Olsen escorted them to a small family room and shut the door. “Mrs. Rodríguez received a gunshot wound to the chest,” he said, pointing to his heart area. “She’s in surgery right now, and the doctors are doing everything they can for her. That’s all I can tell you about her condition at this time.”

  The uniformed officer looked at the detective, then said, “I don’t know if this is any consolation to you folks, but I think you should be aware that our patrol division has apprehended a suspect.”

  “Who is it?” Lonnie’s grandpa asked, wondering if the suspect was someone he had dealt with when he worked for the Marsville P.D.

  “His name is Kevin Williams,” Detective Olsen answered for the uniformed officer. “He’s served time in the county jail for a number of offenses. From what we understand, he’s confessed to shooting Mrs. Rodríguez. Right now he’s being held for aggravated assault, but that charge could change if …” He caught himself. “Well, let’s just hope Mrs. Rodríguez pulls through.”

  He introduced the uniformed officer as John Zúñiga. “I’ll be in contact with you. But in the meanwhile, Officer Zúñiga is going to take you upstairs to the surgery floor, where you can wait until the doctors let you know how Mrs. Rodríguez is doing.”

  They rode the elevator to the second floor. Officer Zúñiga took them to another family room, where they waited, while he stood outside the door.

  There were no windows in the room, and Lonnie felt cramped and claustrophobic. While everyone tried to fill the time by making idle chit-chat, he stepped out of the room. He walked down the hallway to the double doors at the end, knowing his mother was somewhere on the other side, being treated by the doctors. Standing there, something Jo Marie said earlier came to him.

  “I will execute terrible vengeance against them to punish them for what they have done.”

  The Bible verse made Lonnie wonder: Is God punishing me for sneaking out of church? For lying? For breaking into the warehouse? Is this why He allowed my mom to get shot? Is this my fault?

  A heavy weight of guilt overcame him, and he began to cry. Officer Zúñiga looked in his direction, and then out of respect, turned away. Lonnie returned to the bathroom and washed his face. Afterward, he rejoined his family and Mr. Jenkins.

&n
bsp; From time to time, he peered down the hallway at the double doors, wishing the doctors would hurry and tell them that his mother was going to be all right.

  Shortly, a hospital chaplain walked out of the elevator. Accompanying him was a large man, the size of a pro football linebacker, wearing a brown sports jacket and a tie.

  The big man peeked inside the waiting room. Then he called Officer Zúñiga away from the door. While they talked, a doctor and a nurse came out of the double doors and huddled with them.

  They were discussing his mother, Lonnie was sure of it. And by the expressions on their faces, things didn’t look good. When they were done, the five of them entered the waiting room and gathered around the family.

  The big man shut the door and said, “I’m Detective Paul Campbell with the Marsville Police Homicide Division.”

  Lonnie’s dad wrapped an arm around his son and drew him close.

  “As you know, Rebecca Rodríguez suffered a severe gunshot wound and was rushed over here by the paramedics,” Detective Campbell said. “The doctors worked on her the best they could, but …” He sighed. “But ultimately, they couldn’t save her. I’m sorry to tell you this. Rebecca passed away a few minutes ago.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE DOCTOR EXPLAINED that Lonnie’s mother had been shot with a .38 caliber handgun. The bullet penetrated her chest wall, damaged her left lung and pierced the aorta, causing massive blood loss. He went into other details, but Lonnie was too numb to listen. All he knew was that his mother was dead. Beyond that, nothing mattered. The nurse told them they could view the body if they wished, which everyone agreed they wanted to do.

  Detective Campbell informed them that the news media was aware of the shooting and had been waiting outside the hospital to hear from the family, but they weren’t under any obligation to speak to them. After that, he and Officer Zúñiga left.

  The chaplain shared words of sympathy and led them in a prayer. Then he and the nurse took Lonnie and his family to the viewing room, which was similar to the room they had been in, with a couch and chairs. A glass panel, like those found in museum displays, allowed them to see into the next room, where Lonnie’s mother’s body lay on a gurney. She was encased in a white plastic bag, zipped up to her neck, leaving only her face exposed.