by Dave White
Stern looked at his watch. “Remember, I’m going to help you.”
“Keep resting,” the doctor said. “You’re doing really well.”
They left, and Donne was left with Jersey Shore incessantly dribbling a ball. His name was Luca.
DONNE COULDN’T even wait until 9 AM. He’d kept oatmeal down the previous evening and did so again this morning. With a full stomach and no TV, he got sick of waiting. He let the second hand count and extra five seconds, and then he called for Luca.
“We’re going to walk today,” Donne said.
Luca nodded. “Uh-huh. Maybe one of us.”
They went through the same routine again, Luca getting his arm around Donne. Donne pivoted off the bed and his feet hit the floor. He didn’t need the IV anymore, so the position was less awkward, but if he lost his balance, he only had Luca to grab on to.
“You’re pushing it,” Luca said.
Donne grunted in response.
He knew Luca was right. But he had to heal fast. People don’t let you heal in an old abandoned church if they think you’re going to be hunky-dory. Donne didn’t want to be confined to a bed waiting.
It was warm in the church, but not warm enough to make him sweat as much as he was. They were letting him wear a T-shirt now, a white Hanes undershirt that it had gone gray and damp. Beads of sweat dripped off his hair into his eyes.
His abs and ass tightened. He did everything he could to balance himself. Again, he focused on making just one step. Pick up your left foot and put it forward. Then move the right one.
His leg twitched underneath him. Something that had always been instinct now took his full concentration.
“Pick an area you want to go to,” Luca said. “Where do you want to be?”
“Away from this bed.”
Luca shook his head, and Donne could feel it scruff against his arm. “You have to set a goal. Something specific.”
“The basketball net.”
Luca nodded. “And you want to beat me.”
“I will beat you.”
Luca chuckled. “You better get walking then.”
Donne blew out air and smiled. It was as close as he was going to get to a laugh. His muscles were screaming at him, like being heckled onstage. His face was drenched. He stared at the basketball net, the twine starting to fray just a bit on the bottom left side. He imagined putting up a free throw and it swishing. A lot of steps between then and now.
Now all he needed to do was take one.
A deep breath. His left foot slipped just a bit against the floor. He could feel dust particles digging into his toes. His feet twitched. Donne shut his eyes. Sweat burned underneath his lids.
He lifted his left foot.
His right knee started to buckle.
He put his foot down just a few inches in front where it had just been and let his weight settle.
“Nice,” Luca said. His voice was even.
Donne exhaled.
“One more.”
“You should rest.” Luca sounded bored.
“One.” He grunted. “More.”
Now he forced all his weight on to his left side. His right foot slid against the dust, and Donne pulled. His thigh muscles protested. The foot was off the ground. He swung his leg beneath him. Toes grazed the tile. He put it down in front of the left.
He screamed as if he’d just completed a marathon in less than two hours. His full weight collapsed into Luca. He felt Luca give way just a hair before steadying them against the momentum.
“Okay,” Donne said, trying to catch his breath. “Back to bed.”
“Yeah. Nice work.” Again, his voice was even, disinterested.
Luca turned them around, and Donne was surprised to see the bed was still within arms reach. It felt like he’d travelled miles. He leaned at the waist and put both hands on the edge. Took a few breaths. His heart was pounding.
Donne was back in the bed. The memory of walking just moments earlier was a blur. He couldn’t even picture it. His biggest accomplishment in weeks, and he could barely remember it. Somewhere else in the deep recesses of his mind, he realized he’d missed his exam.
“How are you tied to the senator?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Luca said. “Just be cool.”
“What is Stern tied up in?”
“Are you delirious?”
Maybe.
But Luca was also right. Donne needed more sleep. He grabbed the water bottle on the table next to his bed and drank some. The cold liquid spread through his body. His wounds weren’t throbbing. That was something.
“I want something to read,” Donne said. “Can you run out to a bookstore?”
Luca shook his head.
“Of course,” Donne said. “You can’t leave me. Because you have to make sure I don’t leave.”
“Far as I can tell, you can barely get two feet underneath you.”
Luca shook his head and walked away. He crossed the pulpit and went into a room behind the altar. Seconds later, Donne could hear a TV.
He leaned back into his pillow and tried to listen to whatever sitcom it was. All he could hear was the laugh track.
ON THE fifth night, the nightmares came.
He woke up screaming and thrashing in the bed. The thrashing sent pain shooting throughout his body. He could feel the gauze and tape tearing from his skin. The sound of his voice echoed throughout the church, and Luca would be rushing to him soon. Donne knew the drill.
Jeanne in the chair. Donne reaching for her, freeing her. Bill Martin raising the gun. Flashes of light.
A coughing fit racked through him. He fought for air, fought to calm his body. Jeanne had been so close. He almost had her.
Outside waves crashed.
Where the hell was he?
There were too many questions, but only one thought tore through his skull. He’d almost had Jeanne. She was alive, she was in his arms, and then she was gone again.
Donne stopped coughing, but instead began to shake. A full-on earthquake broke out across his body and he couldn’t get it to stop. His muscles spasmed, his teeth chattered, and his wounds felt like they were tearing apart. It was like going through withdrawal.
He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. The doctor had been to see him again today and said he didn’t have to be hooked up to any more wires or tubes. That was the good news. The bad news was he was healing so well, his mind was clear again.
And that brought Jeanne’s face back full-force.
Luca was rubbing his eyes when he came in the room. “Jesus,” he said. “You’re like a little baby. Screaming in the middle of the night?”
“Go away,” Donne said.
“Can’t. If I know you’re awake, I have to check on you.” Luca pulled up a metal folding chair and sat in it. Wiped his eyes again, and yawned. “So what the hell is the matter with you?”
Donne clenched his teeth and stared at his toes. He was not going to give this guy what he wanted. Without knowing what Senator Stern was after, it was not a smart move to talk. His mind wanted to let it all out, though. Stories of Jeanne, of chasing her down, and watching Bill Martin shoot Nick and Calvin.
And then having her so close. He only wanted an hour with her. To talk to her and find out what happened. Where did it go wrong? Why did she have to run? His eyes felt wet. It was only sweat, he told himself.
The shaking started to subside, but he was still wary of aftershocks. She was in his arms, even if only for seconds.
Luca leaned back, the chair rising up on two legs. He put his hands behind his head and exhaled.
“You said her name,” he said.
Donne shut his eyes and saw Jeanne again. His concentrated on her face, and it morphed in to Kate.
Oh God, Kate.
She probably thought he had run off, freaked out by licking invitations. Maybe she thought he was dead in a gutter somewhere. His heart beat faster and some of the pain in his chest subsided. He felt hol
low.
He unwrapped his arms from around his knees. Looked at his hands. Closed and then opened them several times.
“She lied to you, man.” Luca picked at one of his nails. “You thought she was dead. She didn’t want you.”
Waves crashed outside.
“I can’t figure it out,” Donne said. “We could be anywhere in New Jersey. After the storm, this could be anywhere.”
Luca said, “But you’re still worried about her. You said her name in your sleep.”
Donne ignored him. Kept focusing on the waves.
“Here’s the thing,” Donne said. “This place never flooded. There’s no visible water damage.”
All four legs of Luca’s chair clanked back on to the tile. “Interesting, huh?”
The puzzle pieces were coming into focus just a little more. Donne’s brain tickled, as if he was on to something.
“What are they going to do with her when they find her?” Donne exhaled. He hated saying her name. “Jeanne.”
Luca said, “Maybe we’re not looking for her.”
“I doubt it.”
Luca shrugged. Then he leaned over and poked at Donne’s shoulder. Fire ran down Donne’s arm.
“You’re going to have scars.”
Everything was obtuse. Donne felt like he knew what was going on, but couldn’t grab it with his fingers. Jeanne. Bill Martin. Senator Stern. For not the first time, Donne felt a rock settling in his stomach. If only he hadn’t drank and snorted so much. If only he’d paid more attention. Being a twenty-five-year-old narc cop was too much for him to handle. It was like being a rock star, and he didn’t know how to manage it.
Even when he thought he was doing the right thing. The day he walked into his boss’s office with names and a pile of evidence of what they’d been doing. He still never got it exactly right. He’d kept Bill’s name out of it. They were partners, and you don’t do that to your partner. Five other guilty men went to jail, but Martin and Donne stayed free.
And for the longest time, he’d thought Jeanne’s death was karmic payback. But now she was alive and he didn’t know what to think. He was thirty-four years old. He should have had a real job with benefits. Instead, he was battling back from another gunshot wound.
Talking to another thug who wouldn’t give him answers.
Donne took a deep breath. “Why are you keeping me here?”
Luca shook his head. “Your color’s coming back, so that’s good.”
This wasn’t what he wanted for himself anymore. He needed to get back to Kate. Start over. Fix things.
He had to find Jeanne, end whatever was going on here, and get back to his life.
The longer he stayed here, the longer he rotted. The closer Senator Stern was to screwing everything up.
“I’m going to try and sleep some more,” Donne said.
“Best news of the night.”
Donne lay back and closed his eyes. He didn’t see Jeanne this time. He heard Luca’s footsteps, and timed how long it took for them to disappear.
GOOGLE BROUGHT people to interesting places.
Kate’s luck was no different. She’d been searching Luca’s name, clicking through newspaper articles, blogs, and photos looking for more information on him. For an hour she had no luck. Beyond the blog she found—one that was all too brief with information—she couldn’t find anything on Luca Carmine.
Until she got to the eighth Google page. A short news article link from a local Bergen County paper was there, and Kate almost missed it. The headline and summary didn’t mention Luca’s name. Instead it was about a woman named Marie Rapaldi. Kate clicked the article because the headline mentioned her original hometown, Bogota, New Jersey. It read “Marie Rapaldi Runs the Bogota 5K for Her Mother.”
With the article was a picture of Marie with Luca, and a caption: “Marie, seen here with her boyfriend, Luca Carmine, ran the Bogota 5K in honor of her ailing mother.” Kate didn’t read the rest of the article, instead backing up to the Google page. She typed Marie’s name into Google, along with Bogota. The third link was a Yellow Pages link with her address.
Clearly, Marie wasn’t a private person.
Kate was in the car five minutes later.
WHENEVER HER father was prepping a trial, Kate took the first step in collecting witnesses. She hit the road, tracked people down, and talked to them, gathering evidence. She’d gone in the most dangerous parts of Paterson, Jersey City, and even New Brunswick to track down people who the police had investigated in crimes. Nerves rarely got to her, and in fact, part of her enjoyed it. It was why she was able to approach Jackson cold in the Olde Towne Tavern what felt like ages ago.
But now, as she buzzed the intercom of the brick apartment building in Bogota, electricity buzzed through her stomach. Her breath was short and she kept blinking.
The intercom buzzed back. “Yeah?”
“Hi, Marie Rapaldi? My name is Kate Ellison, I’m a paralegal with—”
“311.”
The intercom buzzed again, and this time the front door lock clicked open. Kate pulled the door, walked into the musty hallway, and located the staircase. When she got to the third floor, she found 311, the door open a crack. She approached it and knocked. The door creaked.
“Come in.”
Kate entered the apartment. It smelled like a Yankee Candle Shop. The front room was painted bright pink and had a pink shag throw rug on the floor. There was a brown couch next to it. A woman in an orange tracksuit sat on it, filing her nails. She glanced up at Kate, showing off a load of eye makeup and purple lipstick, then back at her nails.
“Can I help you?” The Jersey accent was thick with this one.
“Like I said, I’m a paralegal with—”
“Yeah, yeah. This about my brother?” The er sound came out like an uh.
Kate stood in the middle of the living room. To her right, a cat rubbed its back against the edge of a door jamb.
“Actually, I’m here about your boyfriend.”
The nail filing stopped, but Marie didn’t look up. “Luca?”
Kate said, “Can you tell me about him?”
“What’s this about?”
“What was his connection to Tony Verderese?”
Now Marie looked up. Kate thought she’d fit right in on the boardwalk, chomping gum and trying to win a bootleg iPod when the wheel spun.
“They were cousins. Why?”
Kate took a deep breath. “His name came up in a document I was going through, and—”
“Bull. That ain’t Luca. That’s not who Luca is.” Marie hopped off the couch. She was nearly a foot shorter than Kate.
Kate spread her hands. “I’m just telling you that I have questions.”
“About what? What are you asking about Luca? He’s a good man.” Marie was inches from Kate. Her voice could have been heard from Leonia.
“Ma’am, calm down. This is all very routine.”
“Routine? You know he’s got a deal with Senator Stern?”
I did not know that.
“He’s a good man, and when all is said and done, we are going to get married.” Marie shrugged. “Maybe they’ll give us a TV show.”
“What does he do for the senator?”
“None of your fucking business. Come here, Percy.” The cat sprinted from the door and leapt into Marie’s arms. Marie caught it like a football, then stroked its neck.
“Please.”
Marie shook her head. “I don’t have to talk to you. It doesn’t matter anyway. A few weeks from now, Luca will be golden. On his own again. You’ll know who we are.”
“So why don’t you tell me now?”
“Get out!” Marie pointed toward the door and swore in Italian.
Kate thought about pressing the issue some more, but didn’t want to leave too much of an impression. She put her business card on the table and left.
EACH TIME he called in sick, Bill Martin boss’s voice got grumpier and grumpier. Martin wasn’t happy abou
t it either. He missed harassing students who didn’t pay a meter. Pulling over a businessman trying to get back to work after a late lunch.
Now, though, it felt like he was treading water.
The worst part was he was no closer to finding Jeanne. Despite the fact he was convinced she hadn’t gone far, there was no trail to track. She came back to New Jersey, showed her face to her captors, for a reason.
Two state troopers found the Bakers’ car in a strip mall parking lot out west, off Route 78 somewhere. Martin wondered if she’d gone into Pennsylvania and found a motel there.
Martin decided it was time to be proactive. He was going to visit the one name he had, Senator Henry Stern. The office was in Manchester Township, New Jersey. The town was about an hour south of New Brunswick. Bill Martin never had a reason to go there. Today, he wished he still hadn’t.
It was the definition of small-town. The senator’s office was on the second floor above a bakery and a doctor’s office. On the street, four or five people stood with various signs protesting Stern’s school policy and the merger. DON’T CLOSE OUR PUBLIC SCHOOLS. UNJ IS A PUBLIC RESOURCE. They grunted at Martin as he passed, as if he was the enemy. He smiled in return.
Martin had to get buzzed into the office like he was visiting someone’s apartment. When he announced himself, there was a long pause before the door buzzed. He climbed a rickety set of stairs to the second floor. The door at the top of the stairs had Stern’s name etched in it. Martin wondered how long it would take to scratch that off if he ever got voted out of office.
A receptionist sat behind the desk. Her lipstick was smeared and her hair was a bit out of sorts. She had tried to pull it back into a ponytail, but some of the strands were free from the band. Martin waited for a welcoming smile that never came.
“May I help you?” she asked. Her nose was suddenly buried in a stack of papers.