by Stevan Mena
CHAPTER 27
There he was again; about 35, brown hair, clean cut. Nice smile. He would always find a reason to search endlessly for something wherever Laura happened to be stacking shelves. But so far, he hadn't had the courage to speak to her.
She turned to look in his direction and he darted his eyes away. She tried to time it — catch him looking. His quick head turn made her laugh. It was nice to be reminded that she was still an attractive woman. Still alive. Even though she'd stopped caring about her appearance, her face bloated and listless from so many sleepless nights, it hadn't affected her innate beauty. Her visible condition, her sad eyes, brought out the protective impulses of some men.
But her life revolved around Rebecca now and she was fine with that. The divorce had steeled her resolve; she needed to make sure Rebecca's environment remained stable. It was more of a priority than her own loneliness.
Laura crouched down to organize the bottom shelf, leaning in and reaching to the back to retrieve outdated boxes of cereal, pulling them to the front. She took a large stack of current ones and placed them on the shelf above, in order to pull the older ones out.
The manager, Ted, a shrimp of a man who made up for it by shouting when he spoke, passed behind her, making sure to admire her shapely rear end.
"The sugary cereals go on the bottom shelves Laura. So the kids can see it? Beg their mothers to buy it?"
"What do you think I'm doing?" Laura looked up — the handsome man had left. As Ted reached the end of her aisle, she flipped him the middle finger.
"Eyes in the back of my head!" Laura knew he hadn't seen what she did, he just knew everyone hated him and assumed it. She pulled boxes off the shelf and turned their labels to face front, pushing the newer, fresher dates to the back.
"Laura?"
Laura crawled back out from under the shelf and looked up again, this time at Amy, a cashier with braces and her hair in a bun. Amy liked to time her 15 minute breaks to coincide with Laura's, so she could bum cigarettes.
"There's a phone call for you."
"For me?" Laura sounded nervous.
"Yeah, from the hospital."
CHAPTER 28
"I'm looking for Rebecca Lowell, she was admitted here?" Jack said. He drummed his fingers impatiently as the admitting clerk looked up Rebecca's name on her computer.
"Pediatric wing, 4th floor," the woman said. Jack pushed off the counter towards the elevator. He tapped the up button relentlessly until the door opened.
He entered the pediatric wing, spotting Laura at the other end, pacing. She seemed deep in thought, biting her nails, still wearing her Super Saver apron. Jack knew that slow despondent creep across the floor. It reminded him of that day. The worst day.
He slowed his pace, not wanting to add additional stress. Were they more acquainted, he'd have opened his arms to offer a consoling hug. Instead he put his hands in his pockets and attempted to look as non-confrontational as possible. He called out to her:
"Ms. Lowell?"
Laura furrowed her brow. "What are you…?" she trailed off.
"I tried to find you at your job, they told me you were here."
"Why? What's going on?"
Jack looked into the room where Rebecca was sleeping, a nurse was adjusting her IV.
"I was just about to ask you."
Laura's shoulders drooped, she exhaled exasperation.
"She got into a fight. Bunch of God damn animals."
"Is she okay?"
"I don't know. When I find out who it was, they're gonna be missing a few teeth."
Jack looked at his shoes, searching for a way to somehow segue into his other question. He didn't want to corner her, make her feel ambushed, but time was short.
"Ms. Lowell, we found a body — a girl, down by the Twin Rivers."
Laura covered her mouth. "I'm sorry. Is it-"
"No." He rubbed his chin, unsure how to proceed. "The location we found the body… the circumstances, they match Rebecca's account."
"Account? What account? I don't understand."
"Neither do I."
Laura shook her head irritably. "Look, I told you, there's no way Rebecca could know anything about any of this."
"I agree," Jack said. Laura's head jerked up. "The girl we found… was murdered about 10 years ago. The victim's name was Carmen Muniz." Laura's face went pale. She turned and looked in at Rebecca, asleep, helpless.
"Carmen…" Laura cupped her nose and mouth, absorbing it.
"She was 19. I visited her mother's home this afternoon. I saw a picture. You knew her, didn't you?"
Laura nodded, still stunned.
"So, you can understand, I have a few questions I need to ask."
Laura kept nodding, not taking her eyes off Rebecca.
"Ms. Lowell, I think all of these murders are connected, which means this guy has been killing for a lot longer than anyone suspected. Whatever you know about Carmen — her disappearance — I need to know."
"I don't know anything about it. We lost touch. I-"
"Then how does your daughter know so much? You see my dilemma." Laura took a few steps, putting distance between them. "Look, this guy is still out there, another girl is missing. If you know something, if you're protecting someone?"
Laura looked at Jack like he had grown two heads.
"Mrs. Lowell?" a third voice interrupted the standoff.
Laura turned to see the doctor who'd calmed her down earlier, when she burst into the room in hysterics upon seeing Rebecca all wired up.
"Yes?" Laura said, her priorities shifting, tuning Jack out.
"I'm Doctor Harris, we spoke earlier."
"Is she okay?"
Jack took a courteous step backwards.
"She's doing fine. She had a seizure. Has she suffered any before?"
"Yes, several."
"For how long?"
"Just the last few months really."
"Is she on any medication for them?"
"…No," Laura said, guilty.
"Well, I'd like to keep her here a little longer, for observation. Run a few tests, try to get a more definitive answer for what's causing them."
"Can I see her?" Laura asked. Doctor Harris acknowledged Jack with a look, then turned back to Laura.
"You can." The doctor walked Laura into the room. Jack watched from the doorway.
Rebecca tossed and turned, mumbling in her sleep. A nurse stood at her bedside, monitoring her vitals. Tears dripped down Laura's cheeks as she gently grasped Rebecca's small fingers.
Everyone listened closely as Rebecca's words grew clearer, more pronounced. Laura couldn't make any sense of it, but recognized some of the words. She'd heard them before. Jack watched intently.
A Hispanic orderly entered the room, wheeling a very large garbage can on a cart. He retrieved a small trash container from inside the bathroom and dumped its contents. He replaced the plastic bag and set it down beside the toilet.
"What's she saying?" Laura asked.
Doctor Harris shook his head, unsure. "I don't know."
The orderly turned his cart towards the door. "She's praying." All eyes turned to him, then back to Rebecca.
"Praying?" Laura asked, her face a question mark. Jack didn't speak Spanish, but understood a few words. As they listened, Rebecca's speech grew more audible and clear:
"Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros, pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amen." Rebecca repeated the phrase over and over, louder and louder. Laura watched with wide eyes.
Jack quickly withdrew his notepad and started jotting down what she was saying. He wrote the same sentence twice before he recognized she was repeating herself.
"Does your daughter speak Spanish?" Jack asked.
"No." Laura said quickly. Doctor Harris listened, confounded by what was taking place.
"What about your ex-husband?" Jack asked.
"He can barely speak English, much less a second language."
Th
e doctor leaned over Rebecca, taking her pulse, holding her head to see if she was feverish. He whispered something to the nurse, who drew the curtain around Rebecca and Laura with one quick swipe, cutting Jack off.
CHAPTER 29
Jack stormed into Leonard's office, the secretary following right behind him.
"I'm sorry Doctor Hellerman, he wouldn't-" Leonard held up his hand.
"It's okay, Mary." Leonard had been expecting Jack. He waved her away and she closed the door. Jack stood across from his desk, rain dripping off his jacket.
"Something very strange is going on here," Jack said, his gaze intense, the same he used on suspects during interrogations. Leonard had to avert his eyes. He spun his chair 45 degrees and looked towards the window at the falling rain.
"I risked my practice by confiding in you, Jack. I was trying to help you." Jack saw the morning paper on Leonard's desk, he picked it up. On the front page was an article about Carmen. The headline read: Body of girl missing 10 years found. Underneath the headline was a picture of Carmen, the same graduation photo Jack held in Carmen's bedroom.
"There's something you're not telling me."
"There's a lot I haven't told you."
"I'm listening."
Leonard turned and finally looked at Jack. "I've already said more than I should have."
"We're not leaving this room until you-"
"You told the mother. You didn't mention the tapes, did you? I never even let her listen to them."
"No, but she's not stupid. How else could I have gotten Rebecca's account of the murder? You were right, her descriptions were vivid."
"A credible recollection, not a vivid imagination."
"It's not possible… How?"
"You mean, how could a nine year old girl describe a murder that took place… before she was even born?"
Jack slapped his palms flat on Leonard's desk and leaned in. "The river, the train, that tree — it's just as she described, not another like it in the whole damn world. How could she have known? Where'd she get it from? Even the method of death." Leonard remained calm.
"You heard the tapes; that wasn't her imagination re-creating something she overheard. She was there."
"That doesn't make any sense!"
"They've positively identified her body?"
Jack nodded. "We couldn't release it otherwise."
"And you've visited the family."
"What's going on here, Leonard?"
Leonard sat back and drew a deep breath. The office intercom buzzed: "Doctor, you have a call on 1, Mrs. Burke has a question about her son's prescription?" Leonard ignored the page.
"I've exposed my practice too much already."
"You called me. I could cite you with obstruction."
"But you won't."
"Why?"
"Because you want to know just as much as I do."
Jack studied Leonard a moment. He took a seat, not breaking eye contact. The two stared at each other a long while.
"I saw something yesterday I can't explain," Jack said. "No one could."
"Doctor? Mrs. Burke's on 1, should I tell her to call back?"
Leonard jabbed at the button on his intercom. "Mary, clear my afternoon."
Leonard walked Jack into a room lined with file cabinets and thick, expensive mahogany bookshelves that looked like they'd been passed down for generations. The room was a complete mess, as if ransacked by thieves. Books, papers, entire drawers removed, notes hastily scribbled down and scattered about, nothing in its place. Well, Leonard, we have one thing in common.
Jack stared out a grimy window that hadn't been washed in years. It was lunchtime. The rain had scaled back to a soft drizzle. People were racing around, going about their daily routines. Inside here, madness…
Leonard swiped a stack of folders off a chair. "Here, sit." He closed the large door and grabbed another chair, pushing it up to a table stacked with books and notes. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated, unsure of where to begin.
"I haven't got all day," Jack said.
Leonard rubbed his hands together. "At first I was convinced I was looking at a clear cut case of some sort of abuse, physical — mental. I noticed she had these marks on her neck — the mother said they were birthmarks. I was suspicious."
Jack listened quietly, intently, desperate for Leonard to get to the damn point. But something about the drama in Leonard's delivery forced him to hang on every word.
"No matter what I tried, I just couldn't get Rebecca to open up. I suggested regression therapy to the mother. She agreed."
Leonard got up and went to the window. It was open a crack and he pressed it down, shutting out the street noise, quieting the room.
"The sessions began normally. But as I regressed her further backwards, she became very distressed. I knew I was getting somewhere. Then…something happened. Something that altered my entire belief system, not just as a doctor, as a human being."
"Get to the point."
"Do you believe that the complexity of our bodies, our world…our universe, is too great to be just mere coincidence?"
"Never thought about it." Liar.
"You a religious man?"
"Stop dancing around the subject."
"Well, I'm Jewish; my faith doesn't allow for the possibility of transmigration of the soul. So you can imagine my dismay when this nine year old girl began to recount, in wrenching detail, how she was brutally attacked and viciously raped. She went so far as to describe the pain of having her windpipe crushed, blood rushing out her nose and ears. You can see why I hesitated about telling the mother?"
"There has to be a logical explanation."
Leonard walked over and opened a file cabinet. "There are two explanations. One is the possibility of transmigration, where the soul exits one body after death and enters another."
"You're talking about reincarnation?"
"Yes," Leonard replied, locking eyes with Jack to make sure he knew he meant it. "The other is demonic possession. However, I gravely doubt that a demon would supply a young child with intimate knowledge of the problems a Dominican immigrant faces in a predominantly white American high school. Or fond memories of another loving family and mother. The evidence of xenoglossy alone was convincing enough."
"Xenoglossy?" Jack asked. Leonard grabbed a folder from the cabinet and closed it.
"Fluently speaking a language you've never heard before." Jack sat back, Rebecca's episode at the hospital repeating in his memory. "To my knowledge, no one in her immediate family speaks Spanish, yet I had to translate almost half our session."
"It's just not possible," Jack said, but he couldn't deny that as incredible as it sounded, there was no rational explanation for how Rebecca knew what she knew. He had no choice but to remain open-minded for the moment.
Leonard returned to the table, placed the folder down, and began rifling through it.
"She even went so far as to recall her fear of dying unclean for God. I'm sure I don't have to elaborate. Does that sound like the imagination of a nine year old to you?"
Leonard removed a report from the folder. "The attention to detail and the forensic pathology with which she described her experience of death virtually eliminated any possibility of an overactive imagination. But I still wasn't convinced."
Leonard placed a printout on the table. "I looked into the identity of this girl Carmen she described. I found her listing under missing persons." Jack looked closely, it was a copy of Carmen's report.
"I've seen it."
"I knew if somehow her body was found, it would prove beyond a doubt that what Rebecca was telling me was real."
"So you called me. I find the body, give your research credibility. Unbiased validation?" Jack's tone turned Leonard around.
"Do you have any idea how important this is? If I can prove it irrefutably, it could rewrite Judeo-Christian dogma as we know it!"
"You're crazy."
"Of course I am."
"Why didn't you just tell me the whole story from the beginning?"
"I thought it would be better for you to experience it firsthand. Only then could we sit and discuss it like rational human beings. Clearly, it's had the same effect on you as it did me."
"You knew this had nothing to do with my case, didn't you?"
"If it has nothing to do with your case, why then are you backtracking your investigation as if these crimes are related?"
Jack folded his arms. It was obvious he'd been used. But what difference did it make? Leonard was right, he was just as interested. Maybe more. There had been a murder, just like Leonard said. One mystery was solved, with a new one introduced. Leonard was also right not to tell him beforehand. He would never have even listened to the tape. Jack wanted to believe that Rebecca's story - Leonard's interpretation — could be real. But complex twists were for TV drama. The real world was ugly and sad, and rarely extraordinary.
"In the following weeks I did some research. Doctors who'd risked their practice to publish articles on their experiences, ones I would have normally dismissed. Now they had a profound resonance. I discovered that an overwhelming majority of these children recalled suffering through a painful, untimely death. Usually very violent and traumatic. There's nothing more traumatic than murder."
"What does it prove?"
"Do you remember your dreams?"
Jack shook his head, "Not really."
"But I'm sure in your line of work, you've awoken on several occasions from a terrible nightmare."
Jack nodded. Leonard removed his glasses and rubbed the sides of his nose. "Most of us pass away having lived out our dull, normal, boring lives; lives many of us might want to forget. But should you be taken before your time, perhaps stabbed and strangled as you repeatedly begged for your life, that might be too painful to ever forget. We lose most of our childhood memories, but we retain the painful ones in intricate detail. Many of my adult patients come to me because they're plagued by traumatic events from their adolescence. Most of us have difficulty living with just the problems of this life."