The Crossing

by Serita Ann Jakes

  Casio shoved the photograph forward. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Let’s give it a shot—oops, how insensitive of me.”

  “Wow, you’re a real jerk, aren’t you?” She glanced at the photo, but focused her attention on Casio. “And you look familiar.”

  “I’m touched you recognize me.”

  Vic cleared his throat. “Detective Hightower was shot at the scene.”

  She nodded. “The football player.”

  “How about that bracelet?” Casio asked, his voice impassive.

  The nurse took the photograph. “The younger girl was there. We had to pry her away from the other woman.”

  Vic tensed. “Yes. But we already know that. Could you concentrate on the bracelet the victim is wearing, right there?”

  She looked hard for several seconds and then shook her head, handing the photo back to Casio. “I’m sorry, guys. All I remember about that night is how desperate we felt sitting on the other side of those tracks for over twenty minutes while Miss Remington bled out. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”

  “Is that why you quit the ambulance and went to nursing school?”

  She gave Vic a frank nod and leveled her gaze. This woman’s eyes were filled with compassion and earnest assessment. Casio doubted she was hiding anything. “I never rode the ambulance again. I just couldn’t.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about that night? Did anyone on the bus say anything that might be relevant here?” He was beginning to feel at loose ends here.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be more help.” The phone at her hip buzzed. She lifted it from the clip and glanced down. “I have to go.”

  Vic flashed his boy-next-door smile and handed her a business card. “If you think of anything else, please give me a call.” He opened the door and waited.

  Predictably, she responded with a my-teeth-are-pretty smile and preceded him out the door.

  “How do you do that?” Casio asked as they walked toward the elevators.

  “Do what? Open a door and walk down a hall?”

  Wise guy. “Make a perfectly capable, mature, and really tough woman turn to mush?”

  Vic rolled his eyes as the elevator dinged and the doors swooshed open. “Jealous?”

  “In your dreams.”

  They reached the second floor where the other paramedic now worked as an anesthesiologist. Hopefully, he was out of surgery now so they could get the interview over with.

  They found the doctor almost immediately. When Casio recognized him, his stomach started to quiver and his hands shook. He shoved them inside his jacket pockets.

  The African American man stood nose to nose with Vic. In his memory, Casio was lying down, looking up at the version of this guy ten years younger. He hadn’t seemed that big. Back then, his head had been shaved, and he wore a close-clipped beard. Now, he wore long dreds and clearly worked out on a regular basis. The guy should be an NFL linebacker instead of a smooth-handed anesthesiologist.

  He grinned when he saw Casio. “Hey, I remember you. So, you made it through and turned into a cop. I guess getting shot gave you the edge you needed to catch bad guys.” He raised his hand and clasped Casio above the shoulder. The guy was cool too.

  Casio felt himself growing stronger under this guy’s familiarity. “Yeah. Good to see you, man.”

  “So, what’s all this about?” Dr. Michael Banes dropped a chart onto the counter and slipped his pen inside his pocket.

  Casio looked at Vic, but the ADA hung back, clearly allowing Casio to capitalize on the camaraderie between himself and the other man.

  Casio showed him the photograph. “The older woman in the photograph is the victim in the bus shooting that night.”

  Recognition flashed in the anesthesiologist’s eyes. “Oh, yeah. That was a bad deal.”

  “Detective Hightower says you were working on his arm that night,” Vic said. “But we wondered if you could take a look at the bracelet on Miss Remington’s wrist and see if it’s familiar to you.”

  “I really didn’t get that good a look at her,” he said. His eyes roved the photograph. He shook his head and handed it back to Casio. “Sorry, man. The only thing I recognize in that photo is the pretty girl with her. Can’t remember her name.”

  “Claudia,” Casio offered. “She was the girl who wouldn’t leave our teacher’s side.”

  He nodded. “That must be it. Sorry I can’t be more help. That was a bad night.”

  Casio drew in a breath. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  A bad night? That’s what that guy thought? For Casio, that bad night had lasted ten years. Would he ever be able to go on with his life?

  Thirteen

  “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”

  I’m so tired now. So many lives lay wasted in my wake, and all I want to do is close my eyes and let the burden of all my guilt wash away in the light. It looms before me, the light. It’s just as so many people describe. Bright, beautiful, beckoning. If only I could reach out for it, I know He would reach back and take me in.

  “Draw nigh unto me, and I’ll draw nigh unto you.”

  My parents haven’t spoken in the eternity it’s been since Pastor King left the bus.

  Claudia is quiet, her head resting on my shoulder.

  “I don’t think you should be lying there,” my dad says. He can only be talking to Claudia. She doesn’t respond, but I know she heard because she snuggles in tighter. Leave her alone, Daddy, I want to say. Even if my brain would allow the signal to reach my mouth, my lack of breath wouldn’t allow it. My lungs must be filling with blood or other fluid because something is choking off my air. It won’t be long now.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Leave her alone!”

  Good for you, Mama. “Haven’t you done enough to that poor child?”

  “Now isn’t the time, Sara.”

  “Isn’t it? Can’t you be honest even now? While your daughter is dying? Surely you can feel angels here. Would you sit here and condemn yourself in the presence of God?”

  She’s right about the angels. I can see two of them standing in different corners of the bus. Big, strong, smiling at me as though to assure me that I am almost above this earth’s pain and struggle.

  I’m ready to surrender, but Claudia is crying again. Mama’s words must have crushed her heart. “Don’t go, BJ. The train can’t last forever. Daddy always said as long as it’s moving, it’ll eventually get to the caboose.”

  I’d smile if I could. Pastor has used his train analogy for as long as I’ve known him. It goes something like this: “God knows how things are going to end. You just have to take it one car at a time and eventually it’ll be done. You’ll finish this race. You just got to keep on the right track.” Everyone knows the analogy is a bit off, the metaphor mixed, but Pastor King is so beloved, it doesn’t matter. Besides, the truth of his words hits the mark nine times out of ten.

  “I mean it, little girl, leave me to my child.”

  I guess he’s yanked her up, because she gives a yelp, and she’s suddenly gone.

  “Let her go!” I’ve rarely heard my mother raise her voice. And I’ve never once seen her get physically violent. She never even raised a hand to me. But I can sense her practically tackling my dad.

  “Have you gone crazy?” he says, but he’s turned loose of Claude, because she’s right back at my side.

  “You. Leave. This. Baby. Girl. Alone,” she says, one emphasized word at a time.

  “Doesn’t a father have the right to tell his child good-bye?” His voice is choked and I’m moved. I wonder what the angels are thinking of this strife between one flesh. I know it must be grieving them, and I don’t have the heart to look. Perhaps I’m growing closer to the spirit world and farther from this body of decay.

  “You have no rights here, Nathan. Claudia King loves Belinda Jean more than you could even imagine. Look at her! She’s l
ying in our daughter’s blood, willing her to stay alive, while you stand there, pompous in your so-called fatherhood, a man who has betrayed us over and over. How does it feel?”

  “Beej?” Claude whispers. “You have such a good mom. I can’t stand to be around mine.”

  I know deep down Claudia loves her mom. It’s just this earth. These bodies of sin. My eyes are beginning to see again. Or are they my flesh eyes? Everything is crisper, sharper. This earth Almighty God has created is beautiful, and I can almost hear the trees clapping their hands in praise.

  Oh, Mama, Daddy, darling Claudia. Stop. Incline your ears.

  Hear the sounds of heaven.

  And there’s a sharp sound that pulls me from my awe. Mother has slapped my daddy and he’s turned to walk away.

  The angels share an expression of pain.

  I can feel their grief.

  Claudia

  Emily jumped on Claudia’s bed at seven thirty to wake her. “Grandma said you were taking me to school today.”

  Claudia moaned. Insomnia had tormented her until the wee hours of the morning, and she had no idea what time she’d actually drifted into sleep. “Tell Grandma I’m not feeling well and ask her to drive you.”

  “I can’t. She left.” Emily bounced and the bed moved without mercy. “We have to leave, Mommy. If I get to school before Jarrod, I can get the sprinkly crayons.”

  “I thought I bought you some sprinkly crayons. What’d you do with them?” The ones with the glitter that Emmy couldn’t live without. They had driven to three different stores before actually finding them.

  “Those are the ones I want to get before Jarrod.”

  Claudia buried her face in the pillow, desperate for a few extra minutes of sleep. “Well, tell Jarrod he can’t have your crayons. I’m sure the teacher will back you up on that one.”

  Emmy released a sweet little-girl breath that expressed frustration with Claudia’s inability to understand the simplest of her concerns. “Mommy. We share in our class.”

  Surrender seemed inevitable. Rising to lean on her elbow, Claudia rested her ear on her palm and leveled her gaze at her daughter. “Well, sharing is good. But if the crayons are yours …”

  “Miss Taylor put all the crayons in the bin.” She tugged at Claudia’s covers. “Are you getting up now?”

  “Sure, I’d hate for you not to get your own crayons.” Grudgingly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “And why is a little boy wanting glitter crayons anyway?”

  “Because his Mommy couldn’t afford any.”

  Claudia carefully weighed her words. “That’s sad, honey. But your Mommy and Daddy work hard to give you nice things. You should be able to have your own crayons if you want them.”

  When Emmy didn’t respond, Claudia glanced at the little girl.

  “Right?”

  “Grandma says when we share with poor people, God gets the glory.”

  The last thing Claudia wanted was her daughter to become her mother. And of course, the little girl couldn’t possibly understand what it meant for God to get the glory. Why couldn’t Mother talk like a normal person instead of in Christianese all the time? She smiled. “So you think if you share your crayons with Jarrod, God will get glory?”

  Guilt flashed in Emily’s eyes. “I think so.”

  “Then why do you want to go to school early to beat him to the punch, little miss?” She grinned and tweaked Emmy’s nose.

  Emmy averted her pretty brown eyes to the floor. “He got to use them yesterday,” she mumbled.

  “Then we better get crackin’ so you can get there first.”

  Claudia dropped her off at school a few minutes later and turned her Tahoe toward her own house. She had left so quickly that she had left several items she needed behind. She could pick them up while Vic was at work. That might be the coward’s way out, but she couldn’t face him. Not now, when she’d made her decision to get her own apartment. They’d been apart for two weeks. Her heart felt so numb.

  She pulled into the driveway and sat for a minute looking at her comfortable, split-level home. Fall had painted a breathtaking tapestry of reds and golds on the lawn, and Vic hadn’t raked up a single leaf.

  The house seemed closed-up and musty as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. She had only planned to climb the steps to her bedroom, pack up some more undies and a few more outfits. But she couldn’t resist walking into the kitchen. Her heart swelled with love for the house. This now-elegant kitchen had once been covered in ugly, duck-pattern wallpaper. She’d scraped and scraped until her back and arms ached. Vic had massaged her every night after she finished working. She’d painted walls and sanded and stained wood, just for starters—it was her pride and joy.

  Claudia slid her fingertips over the counter. Closing her eyes, she caressed the length of the smooth surface. She loved this counter—every inch of it. A beautiful combination of deep greens and browns, granite and wood that had kept the cost lower than the all-granite she’d originally wanted, it had given them a final product of beauty that sent a thrill down her spine whenever she walked into the room. Of course, they’d still gone over budget.

  She couldn’t resist tiptoeing deeper into the house, feeling almost guilty—like an intruder. Light streamed through the split in the drapes behind the couch, and she glimpsed a thin layer of dust covering the sleek wood coffee table. Figures he wouldn’t dust. But then, to be fair, he’d never had to.

  Shaking off the sudden attack of compassion, she trailed her finger through the dust. With a sigh, she moved toward the dining room. Boxes and files cluttered the table and the floor. A frown creased her brow.

  A hand touched her shoulder. She screamed, whipped around, and prepared for a fight until she looked up into the beautiful brown eyes she knew so well. “Gracious, Vic, you scared me half to death.”

  “Take it easy, honey.” Vic took her fist and smoothed it open, lacing his fingers with hers. Claudia’s heart skipped. “It’s so good to see you,” he murmured.

  “I didn’t know you’d be home. Your car isn’t outside.”

  “I cleaned out the garage Sunday afternoon, so it’s in there.”

  Panic snagged her stomach and she pulled her fingers away from him. “What’d you do with all my stuff?”

  “You mean our stuff?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. What’d you do with all of it?”

  “Mostly in the attic. I got rid of some.” He held up his hand before she could demand to know what he’d thrown out. “Do you know we had three nonworking fans in that garage?”

  She bobbed her head, some of that old sass returning. “I would have thrown them out, but you said you’d fix them.”

  He shrugged, offering a self-deprecating grin. “Well, clearly that didn’t work out so well. We can afford new fans. I took a load of stuff like that to the dump.”

  Again, Claudia frowned her confusion. “But how did you haul it? Your car isn’t big enough for anything.”

  “Casio.”

  She scowled. “You two are awfully chummy these days.”

  “At least I didn’t go out drinking with him.”

  “That little tattletale.” She gave him a quick glance that she hoped conveyed how beneath him she considered this display of jealousy. “I had a couple of beers.”

  “That’s not how he tells it.”

  Irritated, she walked around to the table. Stuck her hand inside a box.

  “Claude, you shouldn’t …”

  Too late. She’d already lifted a stack of photographs. Dead, bloody BJ lying there where she’d fallen. Outraged, she stared at Vic. “You’re working on this at home?”

  He nodded. “It’s easiest for Casio and me to piece it all together here. The office is too distracting because I still have to carry my caseload.” He dropped his tone and peered closer. “And you weren’t here, so what difference did it make?”

  Claudia sank into the closest chair; otherwise, her suddenly weak legs would have faile
d her. She couldn’t bear the photos, but in some weird compelling way, she couldn’t take her eyes off the images. One after another, the pooling blood, the white shirt BJ had just bought that day. They’d shopped together.

  “It was just all so surreal.” Her hands shook so hard she barely held on to the photograph.

  “Breathe slowly.” Vic squatted down beside her chair. His hands, warm and steady, covered hers.

  Claudia’s head swam and her breathing sped up.

  “I’ll go get a bag.” He started to move, but Claudia clutched at him. She couldn’t be left alone with BJ again. All these pictures. BJ’s eyes staring at her, asking her to save her, please. “Don’t go,” Claudia gasped.

  “I’m here. Hold on to me. I’m not going anywhere.” And he didn’t for the next fifteen minutes while Claudia’s chest tightened so hard she thought this was the real deal. The time when her panic attack wasn’t just a panic attack but her heart getting ready to explode into a million pieces inside her body. She fought for air as pinpricks of darkness swarmed in front of her eyes, threatening to overtake her consciousness. “I don’t know how to get over this, Vic.”

  “Just take it easy and try to breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.”

  He thought she meant the panic attack? Vic! Listen to me. Open your eyes. Hear me. She held in the cry. She didn’t have the strength to rail against him. Victor had always done his best to be there for her. Unfortunately, it had never been enough.

  “I want to get my own apartment,” she said around short bursts of air.

  “What?”

  He pulled back, but she grabbed onto his shirt, refusing to let him leave her. Not now. Not until the craziness lifted, breathing slowed, heart stopped exploding. She needed his hands to hold on to. Maybe it was selfish, but she couldn’t let him walk away from her just yet.

  “Shh.” He moved forward and she leaned her head on his shoulder, feeling the calm beginning to settle over her. “Just relax,” he said. “We’ll talk about it when you’re better.”

  They sat together, Victor speaking gentle, soothing words, encouraging her to breathe. She, focusing on his voice, calming herself. Allowing him to give her his strength even when she knew getting an apartment was the right choice.