Hard Redemption: A Second Chance Romantic Comedy

by Emily J. Wright

  “Anything you wanted to talk about Casey? Just wondering why have you called for us?” Walter interjected.

  I though agree that Dr. O’Neil went out of context, but the tone with which Walter interrupted him made one thing clear beyond doubt. Walter was jealous of me. He just couldn’t bear to listen to my praise which put him even a little bit down in Amber’s eyes.

  And you know what the biggest irony of all was. Walter was ahead of me in all aspects of life; he literally stole the love of my life, but wasn’t quite satisfied and felt jealous of me.

  Dr. O’Neil felt offended but continued, “As you guys already know that we need to perform a heart transplant surgery on Casey. And frankly speaking, she doesn’t stand a chance if you are expecting that a miracle would take place and someone waltz in with a heart for her. . . . It appears that there are already few patients waiting for an adolescent heart far longer than her.”

  “I am sorry, but what are you trying to say?” Walter interjected again. I wouldn’t blame him then—probably for the first time ever. None of us could understand where Dr. O Neil was getting to.

  And then, Dr. O Neil just pulled the trigger without warning. “I am trying to say that Casey’s health will deteriorate with each passing hour, and she would die if she doesn’t get a new heart in the next 48-hours.”

  “Please don’t say that.” I blinked back tears and swallowed a lump in my throat.

  I was drowning in the sea of emotions. It was just unbearable for me. I couldn’t even imagine what Amber might be going through then.

  “I am sorry if I was blunt, but sadly it’s the truth which you needed to know to keep an open mind about what I wanted to share with you. . . .”

  A pin drop silence prevailed in the room.

  “. . . There is another way to arrange a heart for her. It’s unorthodox; it’s criminal; and if any of you blurt this out, or try to link it with me, I’ll sue you all for defamation. Let me know whenever you are ready. . . .”

  None of us knew how to respond to it. Dr. O’Neil was proposing something contrary to his noble profession out of the kindness of his heart.

  Amber and Walter were looking to each other with surprise. But I for one had made up mind that I would do whatever it takes to save Casey—legal or illegal. Amber too nodded her assent. And Walter had to reluctantly agree to Amber and asked Dr. O’Neil to proceed.

  We were finally all ears and attentively looking at Dr. O’Neil.

  “What is it?” My dead eyes twinkled with hope as if I saw a beam of light in darkness prevailing around me.

  Dr. O’Neil scooched the letter pad forward towards me. “You all didn’t hear this from me, all right . . . ? Hyde Medical research institution—the only answer to your problem.”

  I flipped the pages of the letter pad and found the address of Hyde Medical Research Institution based in Boston.

  Dr. O’Neil further continued, “The institution started off with a good vision to develop artificial human organs and change the medical world forever. They would acquire human organs for research purposes—mostly legally. But now this medical research institute has gone corrupt. The rumor has that you can get any human organ from there at the right price. If you can convince them to sell you an adolescent heart and bring it back here in time, I promise your daughter will live.”

  “So, you want us to buy a heart from the black market?” Walter asked. He was probably worried that he had to bear the cost of a new heart.

  Dr. O’Neil was fed up with Walter’s constant interruption and while looking at us commented, “Am I taking in Arabic?” And then whisper-yelled at Walter, “Of course, I want you to buy a heart from the black market.” He then turned to me, and with a deep sigh said, “See—that’s why I wanted to talk to you as a father to father. A stepfather cannot assume the role of a father.”

  I felt that Dr. O’Neil might be projecting his feeling; that’s why he was taking a personal interest in Casey’s case.

  “How much would it cost?” Amber asked the sensible question like a Business Major that she was. As a mother, she was fully committed to saving our daughter’s precious life by any means possible. She knew what was at stake.

  Dr. O’Neil mentioned his ignorance on the matter and said, “I have never dealt in something like this before; so I am not sure what’s the price of an adolescent heart in the black market. My guess would be somewhere in the range of $350k and $400k, or probably more. I can’t really say for sure.”

  “Four hund-hundred thous-thousand dollars.” Amber stuttered and looked at Walter with astonishment.

  And Walter’s response a.k.a. excuse was already ready. “I don’t have that kind of money. It’s all tied up in investments, which I can’t sell either because my partners are already breathing down my neck.”

  No surprise there. He knew what was coming to bite him in the ass and was well prepared to dodge the bullet.

  What’s strange was that Amber didn’t grill Walter further for deserting her in time of need. It might be that deep down she knew that he wouldn’t be of much help.

  “I need to talk to Dad. Maybe he can arrange the money for us,” Amber said standing up in disappointment.

  “I’ll come along,” Walter extended his fake support and followed her out of the room.

  What a hypocrite!

  Bastard!” Dr. O’Neil muttered. He took the words right out of my mouth, and realizing that I heard it, then covered it up by saying, “Some soon to be step-dad, huh?”

  What would I have answered to it? It didn’t really matter what any of us make of Walter as long as Amber didn’t have a realization and see the truth for herself. But that was not the time to think of about it.

  I avoided his question and came straight to the point. “Doctor O’Neil, I am going to need Casey’s medical files. I may need them in Boston.”

  “You will definitely need them in Boston. I already have the file right here,” Dr. O’Neil said shuffling through the huge pile of files on the desk. He handed over the file to me and said, “So, you are the one who will risk it.”

  “That’s what father—real father does.”

  “Mr. Kingsley, I want to warn you once again that what you are going to do is illegal. If you get caught in the act, I’ll refuse to recognize you. I hope you understand why.”

  Dr. O’Neil had already gone way beyond his professional duties to help us. It would have been highly unfair if his selfless act had resulted in putting him in any trouble.

  “I understand, doctor. And that’s totally fair.”

  “Okay. One last piece of advice before you leave. You have to drive there and back. Going there by flight is too risky; you will be leaving a trail of evidence. And if you get the heart—fingers crossed—it would be impossible for you get past the TSA with a human heart without proper paperwork.”

  “Thank you, Dr. O’Neil. I’ll be in touch and inform you how the events turn up there.”

  “Godspeed, Mr. Kingsley.”

  “Thank you once again.” I shook Dr. O’Neil’s hand and got out of his office.

  I was passing through the hallway with Casey’s medical file in my hand when I—and probably tens of passerby—heard McCarran family discussing the money for Casey’s medical treatment. Well, you already know that having a quiet and private conversation was not the strongest suit of my in-laws.

  “I can take a second mortgage on the house and tap out my pension fund, but it still can’t fetch us more than $125k.”

  Frank literally offered his whole net worth for Casey’s sake. And how could that shrewd Walter bore to be left behind? He earlier showed his inability to take money out of business but then graciously offered $75k knowing that it would not make a difference.

  “I can try to borrow $75k from the business and make it an even $200k.”

  “That’s not enough,” Amber said with disappointment.

  I silently walked passed them, conveniently hiding behind a passerby, and tried to get out of the h
ospital before anyone could see or question me.

  But Mary-Louise caught me sneaking out and asked, “Duke! Where are you going?”

  I slowly turned around replying, “I am going to Boston to get a heart for Casey.”

  “And how will you arrange for the money? Do you think you will have enough time to rob a bank on the way?”

  I was trembling with anger. My ears couldn’t believe what they had heard. Even in that dire situation, Frank didn’t let go of an opportunity to take a shot at me. I clutched my fist to the extent that it left behind a new set of fingerprints on my palm. I was all up to terribly insult Frank then for all his taunts and remarks. But before I could forget my manners and degrade my decency—which I would have regretted later—Mary-Louise took the words right out of my mouth and did my job herself.

  “Don’t you have any shame, Frank?” she said with a disappointing tone. “He is trying to save Casey’s life, unlike the rest of us, and you are taking a jab at him. How low can you go?”

  “I am sorry, Mary.”

  “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to Duke.”

  “I am sorry, son. I insulted you even though you are trying everything to save my granddaughter.”

  Frank was so ashamed that he didn’t even dare to make eye contact with me. He was looking down on the floor the whole time while apologizing to me. I would have enjoyed that any other day.

  But not then.

  I didn’t have the time; I had to rush to Boston. Besides, he called me son for the very first time. He deserved some credit for it. My anger was already calmed down the instant I heard the word son from his mouth. He didn’t even need to apologize.

  “It’s all right,” I said and turned around to rush out of the hospital and start my journey to Boston.

  But Amber interrupted, “I’ll come with you.”

  “Certainly not!” I jerked my head back and replied looking down at her feet. I was still having difficulty making eye contact with her. “I need you here to take care of Casey.”

  “Then take Walter with you,” she said without even knowing his will.

  “Me? Sure . . . why not?” Walter said nervously.

  I knew Walter didn’t want to go but was just trying to save his face before Amber. And it wasn’t hard to pull out the truth from him when I asked the right question.

  “Sure, come along. But I need to remind you that what we are about to do is criminal, and if we get caught, we both are going to jail. Are you sure you want to risk your record, your business for a kid that is not even yours?”

  Walter was silent but what he wanted to say was clearly audible in the room. His true colors were then visible to everyone.

  I sensed that Frank was just about to force his company on me. But before he could open his mouth, I refused him beforehand. “You are a retired cop, and I don’t need to remind you what happens to cops in prison.”

  As expected, Frank took a big gulp and zipped his lips. But, Mary-Louise came forward exhuming tremendous confidence and said, “Then, take me. No prison in the world can frighten me.”

  “I know that. You would probably rule there if convicted, but I can’t take you either. I need my eyes and ears here to update me about Casey’s health. Besides, it’s a long drive to Boston. ”

  “You will drive to Boston?”

  “I have to. Dr. O’Neil has advised that it’s not safe to take the flight. Don’t worry, I promise I will make it back on time”—I pecked on her cheeks and whispered in her ear—“I’ll not surrender this time.”

  And I came out of the hospital to go on the journey to save my daughter’s life.

  Boston was more than a thousand miles from Michigan. I had to drive nonstop to come back in time. So, at the very outset, I drove to the nearest store to shop for the items I needed for the trip.

  Nothing special, just a few basic essential things: Chips, tuna, high caffeine energy drinks, hand sanitizers, and a container to pee in.

  I was on the freeway in no time. I didn’t know how fast I was going. But what I knew was that my car was trembling like it had never before. Irrespective of that, I didn’t even bother to look at the speedometer as I didn’t want to jinx my speed.

  After driving for roughly four hours, I opened a can of tuna while I was waiting in line at the toll. It was efficient that way—to take breaks for eating and peeing while waiting for your turn at toll.

  In another six hours, my hands and legs got sore to the extent that it was a challenge on its own to move them, let alone drive the car. My eyes were ready to shut off any moment.

  But I didn’t let pain and tiredness overpower me. It wasn’t the time to think about my pain, which was nothing in comparison to what Casey was going through.

  I drove all night, and by the time I reached Boston after 14-hours, it was almost morning. I shortly found myself outside Hyde Medical Research Institute. I quickly went ahead and parked the car in parking lot. But it took me an awful lot of time to walk back toward the building gate.

  Why you ask?

  The parking lot was far from the building—but it wasn’t because of it. When I got out of the car, I felt an excruciating pain in my back and suffered difficulty walking. I had been sitting in the same position for so long that my body was tense. I powered through the pain and somehow reached across the building gate.

  One word.

  Wow!

  I was stunned looking at the height, design, and architecture of the research institute—which was appearing no less than a fortress in that highly secured area. At first look, who could even think that they were involved in organ harvesting?

  I moved ahead but was stopped by a giant security guard carrying a baton.

  “Sir, you can’t go in there. It’s a closed research facility.”

  “Please let me in. My daughter’s life is at stake. I need to buy a heart for her.”

  I pleaded, but he stared at me and pushed me away. I tried to reason with him, even tried to pass through him several times, but in the end, a big shoulder tackle from him sent me flying to the ground.

  He came forward and crushing my face with his bare hand yelled, “I don’t know what you have heard about this place, but this is not a one-stop human organs superstore.”

  I stood up slithering in pain when a security camera nearby caught my attention. And what I did next wasn’t something I thought of even in my wildest imagination.

  I went ahead and started removing my clothes in front of the camera. I was guilty of a handful of crimes, but never for indecent public exposure. It was the first, and probably the last time.

  “What are you doing?”

  My stripping made the guard uncomfortable. I could see on his face that he was sexually confused. He might still be living in the closet.

  Standing completely naked outside the building, I waved my hands looking into the camera. What other choice did I have to get their attention?

  I then rested my hands over my head and took a spin for the camera. “See—I am not wired up. I am neither a COP nor FBI. I am an ex-convict myself. I need to talk to someone in here.”

  My toned ass might have shown the guard the mirror of his true sexual desires which he couldn’t take it. The reason I am saying this is because what transpired later still gives me goosebumps.

  The guard let his frustration out on me in every deranged way possible. He repeatedly aimed the baton straight for my knee pit until my legs gave up and I dropped on my knees.

  I was groaning in pain, but he was adamant on not showing any mercy to me. I soon felt another hard hit on my back. And it went on until I fell on the ground like a tree uprooted from the thrust of wind.

  I was lying on my stomach like an invalid. But disregarding my pain with much hardship, I slithered myself forward to grab Casey’s medical file I put over the stack of my clothes.

  I raised the file over my head so that the person behind the camera could see it. “She is my daughter . . . Casey . . . She will die if you don’t—�
��

  I couldn’t finish my appeal as the guard’s final hit on the back of my head knocked me out cold.

  Chapter 19

  I woke up handcuffed to the chair in a posh office—and surprisingly, dressed up in my own clothes. Not sure how long I had been unconsciousness, but my whole body was in pain. Who knew the guard might also have been hitting me while I was unconscious?

  Where am I? And how did I get here?—the two big questions that were troubling me then. But I was not as worried about my life as Casey’s whom I need to get back to with an adolescent heart. So, I tried to pick the lock of the handcuff to free myself but received a tremendous shock.

  While I was thinking of another way to escape, the nameplate on the desk caught my attention. It read ‘Michael A. Junior.’ The plethora of photographs filling the wall behind the desk was already doing a good job telling his success story aloud.

  A young, smart black man—probably him—was common in all photos: on a yacht with female celebrities, playing golf with professional golfers, shaking hands with politicians, and whatnot.

  I realized then and there that I was not dealing with an ordinary man. He had his root everywhere. And anyone in my place, after receiving a shock, would have learned to back down.

  But not me.

  I was trying to unlock the handcuff again when I heard the sound of shoes scuffling on the floor approaching closer.

  “They are the stun cuffs. It can’t be picked.” The man in all the photographs, Michael A. Junior, arrived in person with Casey’s medical file in his hand.

  He sat on the executive chair like a king and pressed a remote button which opened the cuffs. “I am sorry for the incident downstairs. You just can’t be too careful these days.”

  “It’s all right,” I said checking up the burn marks on my wrist.

  “So, what will you have to drink?” And before I could say anything, he pushed a small red button on the side of the table. The tabletop slid to the right, and a minibar rose from down under the table like the lost city of Atlanta. “I have gin, tonic, whiskey, scotch—”