by Aiden Bates
Ivy showed up minutes after her father. She wore a soft, striped tee shirt over faded jeans, and for half a second Alex envied his sister her job in the city schools. She got to show up in jeans and a tee shirt on days when no students were present. Then again, Alex got paid a lot more, and he got to save lives every day. Ivy had to put up with aggressive high school students who, frankly, didn't care about the physics principles she was trying to teach them.
Both Dad and Ivy took their seats at the table. Alex didn't miss the way Ivy glowered at their father, and he had to wonder what had blown up this time. Most of their extended family blamed Alex for Ayla's disappearance, because as an alpha he should have somehow known or had the power to do something even at thirteen. Ivy blamed their father.
He couldn't untangle their relationship, and he wasn't about to try. For now, all he could do was pass the bread and ladle soup into bowls. They kept up comfortable and cheerful conversation during the meal, and once Dad and Ivy cleared the dishes away they convened together in the living room.
Nothing in the house had changed since Ayla disappeared. Alex hadn't thought that unusual at the time. Now, looking around, he couldn't help but think the place looked a little dated. It was home, of course, but it looked a little bit like a time capsule.
Once everyone had settled in, with a glass of brandy or vodka as they preferred, he cleared his throat and told them about the case. This was how they'd always dealt with tricky issues within the family—well, most things. In theory, Mama and Dad believed in transparency. It worked, even though not everyone kept up their side of the bargain.
Alex gave out the details as he understood them, and then he wiped his mouth. All of the vodka in the world wouldn't erase the taste from his mouth and he still had to get back to Van Buren, so he didn't pour himself another shot. The temptation was there, though.
"This poor girl has been out there for months," he said, with a pain in his chest. "Some of the girls were so traumatized they can't speak. The girl who got away, who saved all of them really, can't remember how to speak English. She was born here, and she's too traumatized to speak English. I see this, and I keep thinking, 'What about Ayla?' Is this what she went through?"
He rubbed at his face, trying to massage some feeling back into it. "Apparently there was only one guy who could help this girl—one. Out of all the thousands of people at the Fair, one guy. Did Ayla try to get away? Was she not able to find someone who could help her? These questions, they're just—they're going to kill me."
Mama rubbed circles into his back. "They're not going to kill you, dorogoy. It just feels that way." She rested her head on his shoulder. "It just all comes back sometimes, doesn't it?"
Ivy wiped at her eyes, and Alex’s heart gave a twist. It probably hurt every time she looked in the mirror. Did Ayla even look like her anymore? Was Ayla even still alive? "Are the girls going to be okay?" she whispered.
"I don't know. I hope so." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. "You can call the detective working on it, I guess. Here." He fished for Langbroek's card. "She can give you information, if you want to find a way to help out. I know they're going to have a hard time placing the girls in foster homes. Not all of them have families out there looking for them."
"We'll see what we can do." Dad put a hand on Mama's shoulder and took the card out of Alex’s hand.
A weight lifted up off of Alex’s chest. There might be something they could do to help, after all.
Chapter Three
Derek stared at his screen. It had been sweet of Amadi to bring his laptop to the hospital, and he could only attribute the fact that the hospital had Wi-Fi to the kindness of some kind of previously unknown deity. He could answer well wishers on social media, and post all kinds of updates on Insta and Snap.
He wasn't sure why WWTF listeners wanted to see pictures of him in a hospital bed, or of his hospital room, but apparently they did. People were weird.
When he wasn't updating social media, he played his favorite video game. It wasn't exactly an intense experience. He knew plenty of guys who gamed for the interaction, or for the fighting. Derek played to take his mind off of whatever it was that was going on in his life at the moment. Given that he didn't take painkillers, right now he was playing to take his mind off of the pain.
Although he had to admit, he was getting used to it, little by little. The frustration of not being able to use his arm was more of a challenge than the actual pain. He couldn't get used to it. He figured he'd get there eventually, but today was not that day. Between the frustration and the boredom, he wondered if he'd lose his mind before he ever got out of the hospital.
He heard some kind of commotion out in the hallway. Now that the chest tube was out, he could probably go out and investigate. He still had an IV, but that was just one tether on a little wheeled stand. He could manage that.
He decided to stay where he was. Every bit of commotion or fuss out in the hallway meant a bad day for someone else. He'd had enough of his own drama going public to last a thousand lifetimes, all before he hit double digits. He knew all too well how it felt to have an audience on the worst day of one's life. He couldn't stop other people from gawking, but he could keep his own conscience clear.
He turned back to his game. Today was proving to be one of those days when he truly wished he had the luxury of opiates.
The commotion moved down the hall, closer to his room. An icy finger of fear trailed down Derek's spine. Detective Langbroek had warned him about keeping such a strong social media presence. There was no way the trafficking ring was limited to those two brothers. He'd have followed her suggestions, but Amadi had set up a crowdfunding plea to cover the medical expenses not covered by insurance and Derek had an obligation to keep his face out there. Had it come back to bite him?
There were cops stationed around his room, but cops were just human. Humans were bailable.
His door had been half open. Now it swung open, and a small, dark figure darted into the room. Derek had time to recognize Carmela, the girl who'd saved herself and, ultimately, the rest of the trapped girls, before she ducked down behind his bed and folded herself into a fetal position. She buried her face in her knees just before her pursuers stormed into the room.
Derek sprang to his feet, keeping himself between Carmela and whatever might be coming for her. He didn't think about the fact that his hospital gown gaped in the back. All he cared about was keeping Carmela safe.
The people chasing after Carmela weren't the traffickers that had taken her in the first place. The first person to run in, giving Derek's blood pressure a huge sense of relief, was Detective Langbroek. Her messy blonde hair fell into her face, only to be pushed aside with impatience. "Is Carmela in here with you?" she barked.
Derek rolled his eyes. He knew Langbroek meant well but that didn't mean she knew what she was doing when it came to kids. He pressed his finger to his lips. "I don't know if she's comfortable in her room right now," he said, in as calm and reassuring a tone as he could manage. "Did something happen?"
Two big, burly male officers, in uniform, ran in behind the detective.
"I see." Derek pulled his IV stand carefully around his bed and crouched down in front of his guest. He switched his language to Spanish. "Hey. Carmela. Want a blanket?"
She didn't look up at him, but she nodded. He took the blanket from his bed and handed it to her, and she snatched it from his hands with a speed that almost made him jump back.
"Carmela, sweetheart, you're having a panic attack. That's a perfectly normal and natural reaction to everything that's going on right now." Derek kept his voice even and soothing as Carmela settled the blanket around herself. "Can you try to breathe with me? Good, awesome. Breathe in, let's hold it, and breathe out. Breathe in, hold it, and out."
They repeated the exercise for several long minutes, while Langbroek finally caught on and chased her burly colleagues away. A tall, broadly-built woman with mid-length hair and dark s
kin strode into the room with a face like a thundercloud, but she stopped short when she saw Derek speaking with Carmela.
After a few minutes of deep breathing, Carmela unfolded from her fetal position and threw herself into Derek's arms. He was prepared for it, and hid his grunt of pain as his broken ribs objected. Instead, he stroked her hair and held her close while she sobbed against his chest. "I've got you," he told her. "It's okay. You can let it all out. I'm here."
The tall, dark-skinned woman sighed. "I have no idea what's going on right now, but can we please get Miss Carmela off those feet of hers? If she keeps putting weight on them, she'll open up those wounds again, and she'll never heal."
Derek could see the woman's point. He turned back to Carmela. "Carmela, can you do me a favor? Can you sit down please? You can sit on a chair, or you can sit on the bed. It's up to you, but we want you to get better."
"I'm sorry." She sniffed, and gingerly slid onto the edge of Derek's bed. "I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"Hey. It's okay. You were triggered. You'll learn some other ways of handling it, as time goes on, but you just had to run. I get it." He gave her a little smile and tried to meet her eyes. "I haven't been through what you've been through, but I know what it's like to have something spark a memory and just have to run. Okay?"
The dark-skinned woman in the suit passed Derek a box of scratchy tissues. He took it without looking and passed it to Carmela.
"I'm sorry. Those two men came into my room, and they just looked like the men that…" She broke off and started shaking again.
"Is it all right if I tell these ladies what you told me? I don't get the impression they speak Spanish." Derek held her hand. When Carmela nodded, he lifted his head and explained the situation to the older woman.
Langbroek turned bright red and ducked her head. "I'm sorry. I should have been more sensitive. That makes perfect sense. Simmons and Belcher are two giant teddy bears, that's why I brought them along, but she doesn't know that."
The stranger glared at Langbroek for a second. "I had no idea you spoke Spanish, Mr. Brown. Or that you had a counseling degree."
Derek squeezed Carmela's hand. "I grew up in foster care out in California. I learned it there. I fill in sometimes on the Spanish channel here, when they need it. And I've spent enough time in counseling that I know what a panic attack looks like." He smirked. "I've had enough of them." He turned back to Carmela. "Do you know this lady?"
Carmela shook her head.
The stranger stepped forward. "I'm Danita Myles. I'm the social worker assigned to Carmela's case. I'm not particularly fluent in Spanish. I get by, but not enough to fill in on the radio." She lifted an eyebrow.
Derek took the hint and translated for Myles. Then he laid back against the raised mattress and glanced between the women. "I'm more than willing to help out here, don't get me wrong, but isn't there a medical translator who would be better suited to this stuff? I don't have any formal training, and I don't necessarily know the right way to phrase things. You know, sensitively. I'm a rock DJ, not a trained medical professional."
Langbroek took one of the two visitor chairs. "Yeah. There are a couple of medical translators who speak Spanish. One of them is home, since she just put in a twelve-hour shift, and the other is stuck down in the ER. There was a wreck."
Derek translated for Carmela and they both winced. Carmela shook her head then. "I don't want their translators anyway. I don't feel safe. It wasn't just men helping them, you know."
Derek's mouth went dry. He repeated her words in English, as he was supposed to, and he took her hand again. "Anything you need, Carmela. Anything you need, I'm going to do." He blinked away tears.
Myles pressed her lips into a thin, dark line. "Don't make promises like that, Mr. Brown. You don't know if you can keep them."
Derek glared at her. "I'm going to try damn hard, okay? This girl is a hero. After however long she'd been traumatized, she was able to get away and get help. She was able to recognize an opportunity, take the opportunity, and save herself and the rest of the girls. She doesn't deserve to have her will overridden, again, unless it's strictly necessary. Now. What was it that you needed that had you bringing two beefy dudes into her room to begin with?"
Langbroek hung her head for a second. "I was trying to get a sense of where she'd been and build a timeline." She held up a hand. "I get that it would be difficult for her. I do. But we need to trace the ring's steps if we want to build a case and take it down, or neither one of you will ever be safe."
Derek translated as gently as he could. Then he took a deep breath. "Do you think maybe that's something that you could have done with a therapist in the room?"
Langbroek gave him a sheepish grin, and Myles glowered at Langbroek. "Yeah. Do you think?" Myles snapped.
Langbroek threw her hands up into the air. "We can all get a little overenthusiastic in the pursuit of justice, okay?" She looked at the other people in the room. "Just me?"
Derek and Myles exchanged exasperated looks. "Okay," Derek said, speaking very slowly. "How about this. If you want to question Carmela, maybe have a therapist or me with her. Both is better, but I get that we need to move fast with this. Does this sound reasonable to you?"
Langbroek gave a relieved sigh. "Cops do better with hard and fast rules." She slumped down a little bit. "We like rules."
Myles shook her head. "That's a great idea in theory, Mr. Brown, but you're not her parent and you're not her foster parent. You don't have the authority to be in the room at all."
Carmela jumped at her words. Maybe the only thing she'd forgotten was how to speak English, instead of how to understand it. Derek would have to talk about it with her, later.
"I'll do whatever it takes to be allowed to be her temporary guardian." He waved a hand. "If that's what she wants, of course. I've got a spare bedroom in my condo. My building is pretty darned secure. I've got at least six weeks' enforced leave, and if I'm the one she feels safest around then I'm happy to step in."
Carmela nodded enthusiastically. "I don't want to go to strangers. Please don't make me go and stay with strangers."
Derek translated for her, even though it brought tears to his eyes. He was pretty much a stranger to her himself.
"I'll see what we can do." Myles looked down. "I can't promise anything, but I don't have a moral problem with it. I can see that she feels safest with you, and you definitely seem to have her best interests at heart." She looked at Carmela. "In the meantime, though, you just can't go running around on those feet. I'm getting you a wheelchair. Is that understood?"
Derek translated, even though he wasn't sure she needed it. His suspicions were confirmed when Carmela ducked her head and hid her face behind a curtain of dark hair. "I think she gets it," he said, and winked at Carmela.
Carmela stayed in his room for a couple of hours, until Derek's pain and exhaustion started to get the better of him. Then Myles wheeled her back to her own room, with the promise that she could always come back later. Derek had time, before he passed out, to send a text to Amadi. Next time you come to the hospital, can you bring me some pants?
When he slept, he dreamed. He knew, from experience, that the latest round of misadventures would just be more fuel for his subconscious' fire. The barrel of Bill's gun loomed over him, dark and cavernous and final, but the smoke from the muzzle morphed into the barrel of his father's gun. The impact of Bill's steel-toed boots against his ribs became hunger pangs in his belly.
He woke up in a sweat, with a nurse looking down at him in concern. "Your heart rate was elevated," the pretty, middle-aged blonde told him, a little wrinkle appearing between her brows. "I came in to check on your vitals and your heart rate was elevated, your breathing was all over the place. I should call a doctor."
"I'm okay." Derek held up his hand. "Bad dream is all."
Her face relaxed. "Ah. Well, that's understandable, all things considered. Do you want me to put on the television?"
Derek m
ade himself chuckle. "Oh Lord no. Daytime television is the stuff nightmares are made of!"
The nurse laughed and left him alone. Derek elevated his bed and reached for his laptop again. This was definitely one of those times he needed his favorite brain-numbing game. He hated the weakness that drove him to it, but he guessed the nurse was right.
It was understandable, all things considered.
He'd been doing okay for years. He hadn't had a panic attack since he'd been what, fifteen? Sixteen? Either way, he was dealing. The thing at the Fair had just stirred some stuff up, but he'd be fine.
And he'd have some pants, just as soon as Amadi got to the hospital.
***
Alex looked at the X-rays up on the screen. "Okay, Mrs. Coletti, I can see where the black eye might have resulted from walking into a door." It would have had to have been a very oddly shaped and hung door, but anything was possible these days. "I'm having a little bit of trouble with the forearm, though. A fracture like this, with this shape and pattern, doesn't happen when a person walks into a door. It happens under completely different circumstances."