by Ammar Habib
Mark loudly speaks above the laughter, putting out its remnants. “That’s real cute.”
Everyone turns to look at him.
“You know what happens to rookies that do good? Well, we’ve all seen it.” Mark looks directly at me as he arrives at the edge of the crowd. It parts like the Red Sea for him. “They all have the biggest sophomore slumps.”
“Davidson, I’m trying to remember,” Bryan sarcastically begins, “When’s the last time you did this good in a week? Because my mind is not remembering a time when that happened.”
Mark silently glares at my partner but steps forward until he’s only a few feet from Bryan’s intimidating figure. Mark is a big guy, but he’s not as well-built as Bryan, so he has to look up into Bryan’s eyes to meet his stare.
“And when you add up all that Ana’s done since she’s got here, that’s exactly what she’s done,” Bryan continues. “Not that I’m keeping count or anything, but it seems like you’re the one in the slump here.”
There’s a tense moment—too long of a moment for my personal liking. For a second, I think that there is going to be a brawl in the break room. I can see the idea being considered in Mark’s eyes. The news headline flashes through my mind: Two Officers Taken to Hospital after Fistfight at Police Station.
Oh God. Please don’t happen.
Mark finally glances down at me again and then back at Bryan. He takes a small step closer. “Riding high, aren’t we Bryan? Well, let’s not so easily forget the past.”
The smile on Bryan’s face suddenly disappears. His hand clenches into a tight fist. For a moment, I think Mark is a dead man. “Don’t start something you can’t end, Mark.”
After a long moment, Mark turns away and my fears disperse. “I’m not starting anything. Just reminding us all that sometimes the past repeats itself.” He slightly turns his head towards me. “And I’d hate for a pretty gal like her to be on the six o’clock news for all the wrong reasons.”
Chapter 6
Two Lives
“The Bible tells us much.”
Like every Sunday for as long as I can remember, I find myself sitting in church. I hardly even recollect a time where I’ve actually missed a service. More than that, I’ve been coming to the exact same church since I could first walk. But like many Sundays I’ve experienced, today is one day that I would rather have skipped.
I sit on the edge of the bench underneath the high ceiling. Mama is right next to me, the rest of the family nearly lining up the entire bench. We’re all dressed in our Sunday Bests, but we’re not in the front row like usual. That’s my fault since I kept the rest of the family waiting. Even though both her kids have moved out, my mother still insists on us all riding here together.
“God separates right from wrong—truth from lies—light from dark.”
Mirroring most Catholic priests, ours is dressed in his black robes as he stands at the pulpit. With his wrinkly skin, he looks like a Hispanic Emperor Palpatine. All he’s missing is the hood. A cross hangs from his neck while an open and marked Bible rests on the podium in front of him. Behind him is a window painting depicting the Virgin Mary as she holds her new-born baby. Several more glass murals portray similar images as they line up the walls of the grand hall. Others display an adult Jesus.
“And one of the evils God warns us about is the evil of lying.”
I keep my gaze glued to the red carpet. I can’t even look at the priest today. Every time I do, I feel my stomach turn on itself. I initially felt this uneasiness on the first Sunday after I became a narcotics officer. It’s now been three Sundays since I started that path and this feeling grows worse and worse with every passing service. Today, I feel like puking my guts out.
Is this how hypocrites feel?
The church is at its maximum capacity. Every bench has one too many people on it, leaving some of the attendants forced to stand along the back wall. Two sets of circular pillars stand parallel to one another, going from the front of the church’s hall to the back. The domed ceiling amplifies the priest’s voice. And the more I hear his words, the sicker I become. Of all the topics he could have picked, why this one? I finally bring myself to look up at him. Standing tall and proud, Emperor Palpatine’s gaze goes over the faces of each and every one of his disciples.
“Lying is the source of all evils. It is the sin that leads to and increases others. It is the sin that removes people from Heaven and puts them in Hell.”
My heart begins beating faster as I start to sweat. I don’t know why this is happening to me. It’s not like he’s talking to only me. It’s just a speech. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down… but it is to no avail.
“It’s the sin that creates wicked people.”
C’mon. Change the subject already.
“It knocks even the most righteous people off from their pedestals and brings them down into the valley of darkness.”
The priest’s gaze arrives on me. And it stops. For a long moment, there is silence. His eyes are locked with mine as if he is staring into my very soul. It’s almost like he is speaking directly to me. As if he knows everything I have been doing. As if he knows of all the sins I’ve committed on this road I’m traveling.
The dam bursts. Guilt pours out of my heart, flooding through my body. It goes to every corner and into every crevice.
“It is the sin that takes one out of the favor of God.”
I can’t take this.
Without warning, I suddenly shoot up. I feel numerous gazes focus on me—including my own family’s—but I ignore them. The priest pauses for a moment upon seeing me rise but then quickly continues his sermon. I don’t hesitate as I hastily make my way towards the exit opposite of the stage. His voice trails behind me as he continues his speech against lying. But I block it all out. Amidst the stares and whispers, I push the heavy doors and leave the church behind me.
Minutes later, I find myself leaning against the church’s exterior as my eyes look up at the heavens. There are only a handful of clouds visible in the blue skies. The sun is scorching and mercilessly beats down on me, but I don’t give it a second thought right now. Compared to how hot I was getting inside there, this feels like winter.
The guilt that drowned my soul is still there. Since I’ve started working, all I’ve seemingly done is lie. Lie to the crooks I try and bring down. Lie to my brother. My father. And—worst of all—my mother.
When I stood before Angela’s tombstone, I made a promise to do whatever it took to carry out my duty of cleaning up the streets. But coming to places like this and hearing Emperor Palpatine’s lecturing reminds me about where my choices may be taking me. And the thought of where I may find myself at the end of all this keeps sleep far away from me on some nights.
“Ana?”
I tear my gaze away from the sky and see my mother coming towards me, a worried expression spread across her face. She embraces me into a protective hug.
“Are you feeling okay, sweetie?”
“I’m fine, mom.” Here I go again with the lying. “Just got a little queasy inside there.”
She puts her hand on my forehead. “You do seem a little warm, Ana. Maybe you ate something.”
“I think I’m just tired.”
“You’ve been so distant today. Is there something bothering you?”
She’s not exaggerating. Ever since I received my badge and gun, I’ve been distant from my family. And the gap only grows with each passing day. I don’t know why. I try to keep my two lives separate. But the harder I try, the more it seems that my life as Officer Rocha is beginning to creep into my life as Ana. It’s as if everything I believed to be true is changing.
What used to be sin has become duty.
But what can I tell my mother? What can I tell the woman who raised me? The truth will only break her heart. It’s far too late to come clean now. I have become the boy who swallowed the fly. And now, all I can do to cover up my first lie is to utter an even bigger one.
<
br /> The scary thing is that I am a great liar.
***
I’m filling out paperwork when Bryan enters my office. He carries a white bag in one hand and lightly closes the door behind him. His face is never overly jovial, but there is a hint of warmth in it today. It’s the same kind of warmth a veteran athlete would show their protégée on the team. I might even call it friendliness. He casually begins to make his way over to my desk. “You worked through your lunch break, Ana.”
“Really?” I look up at the clock. Sure enough, it’s just striking one in the afternoon.
“That paperwork must be mighty interesting.”
I would love to say that the paperwork was so exciting that it made me lose track of time. But truthfully, it was the memory of the minister’s words that caused my thoughts to stray.
“I brought you lunch.” Bryan raises up the bag slightly, showing me the sandwich shop’s logo. I recognize the restaurant as the one from just around the corner.
“My hero.”
He sets the bag on the tabletop. “Hope you like turkey sandwiches.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Vegans… or at least I’d think.”
Was that another joke? I’m starting to like my partner more every day. Rummaging through the bag, I pull out a thick and cold sandwich enclosed in saran wrap. Trapped between the top and bottom of a sub are several slices of freshly cut turkey, along with lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles. After the sandwich, I pull out a water bottle along with a few condiments.
“You thought of everything, didn’t you?” I remark.
He takes a seat across from me. “It’s what partners do.”
I smile before starting to unwrap the sandwich. To think that not too long ago I hated this man’s guts and now he’s buying me food. Who could’ve predicted this?
Bryan’s eyes glance over my desk. He hardly ever comes in here. And when he does, it’s only ever for a quick moment. But today, he’s not in a rush and neither am I. His gaze travels over the pictures on my desk: me with my parents, me with Ramon and Laura, and me with Angela.
He reaches over and picks up the last photo as I bite down on my lunch. Everything is fresh: the turkey, vegetables, and the bread. I can taste the quality of it all. The turkey is juicy and seasoned with plenty of spices to give it flavor. The tomatoes and lettuce taste like they were grown and plucked out of the ground today. The pickles have the perfect tang: sour but not overly bitter. And the bread is soft, almost melting in my mouth.
But as I enjoy the free meal, I watch his expression. I know what’s in the picture. It was taken when I was four-years-old. Angela took me to Herman Park on a Saturday afternoon. I remember the day clearly. Usually, Herman Park is packed on the weekends since its right outside the zoo. But this day, for one reason or another, it seemed like we had the place to ourselves. Angela was never much of a cook, and I doubt our picnic would have received a five-star review, but all I can remember from that day is the laughter.
In the photo, we’re both facing the camera with the lake in the background. My hair is tied back into a ponytail, a large bow on top, while her beautiful locks are let down. I’m sitting on her shoulders with my elbows resting on top of her head.
“Is this your sister?”
I nod. “Did you have any siblings?”
Bryan smiles at me. “Three older brothers.”
“Holy crap.” My eyes slightly widen. “They must’ve made your life hell.”
“Oh, trust me. They did… until I got bigger than them. Today, they are almost too terrified to speak to me,” he jokes.
I lightly smirk.
He glances back down at the photo. “But it seems like you two are close.”
“Were close.”
Bryan’s gaze suddenly breaks away from the picture, returning back onto me. From one look, he knows exactly what I mean. His expression slowly changes, and I see compassion in his eyes. “…I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright.” I pause for a moment. “She was more than a sister, really. She was my second mom, best friend, and everything that I wanted to be when I grew up. Angela always looked out for me… and always loved me.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He focuses on the image once again. “You can see it in her eyes.”
“See what?”
“Her love for you.” Bryan sets the photo down. “I’m sure she’d be proud.”
***
The street is littered with corpses. They’re shot up, lying on the road like sacks of meat. Buildings are ablaze as deadly flames consume vehicles. Black, suffocating smoke blocks out the heavens. But continuous gunfire drowns out the flames. The gunfire is endless, coming from every direction.
I’m paralyzed as I stand in the middle of it all. My gaze stays focused on the corpse resting at my feet, unable to fathom whose dead body I’m staring at.
It’s me.
On its back, the corpse’s dead eyes stare up at the dark heavens. The body is pale… lifeless. One bullet hole is in its head. The other is in its heart.
Next to my dead body are the corpses of my family. Mother. Father. Ramon. Laura. Feeling something, I raise my gaze and see a faceless gunman standing before me. The barrel of his pistol aims straight at my eyes. Unable to move, unable to do anything, I watch as he slowly pulls the trigger to end my life.
I suddenly wake with a start. Shooting upright on my bed, one of my hands instinctively grabs a handful of the blanket and tightly clenches it. My gaze wildly darts around the dark room. I’m drenched in my own sweat. My breathing is quick. Heart beats even faster.
Why does this keep happening to me?
Closing my eyes, I focus like I was trained to do in Taekwondo. My hand gradually lets go of the covers, allowing it to fall onto my lap. It takes a few minutes, but I soon have my breathing under control. And within moments, my heart rate is no longer running wild.
This is not the first nightmare I’ve experienced. They started almost a week and a half after I received my badge. But they’ve been getting worse and more detailed with each passing vision. And this time, it felt too real.
Surrounded by the night’s pitch blackness, I sit there for a few minutes. But I soon swing by legs over the edge. I slowly get out of bed and make my way to the opposite bedroom.
What does this all mean? Is it a warning? A premonition? Or is it simply a manifestation of all my fears? Only God knows the answer to that.
Arriving in the next bedroom that holds the web of facts, I switch on the lights. Without thinking, I slump down against the wall opposite of the web and stare at Angela’s picture. Tonight, her smile makes me a little sick, and I don’t know why. I feel anger swell up inside me the more I look at it… but I can’t tear my eyes away.
After what feels like a long time, my gaze gradually travels from her picture and onto everything else. Sleep is far from me as I begin to read everything that is taped to the wall. There are a few observations, some evidence too, but the wall is mostly covered in questions.
Which gang did the shooters belong to?
Why did they choose the kitchen as their attack point?
Who ordered the hit?
I don’t know if I will ever discover the answer to any of my questions. But what I know most is that the hope of one day coming face-to-face with the one responsible for ordering the hit that took my sister’s life is what drives me. It is what makes me willing to endure a thousand nightmares.
It’s what makes me strong enough to handle whatever this duty throws at me.
***
After the nightmare, I don’t sleep a wink. I stay slumped against the bedroom wall, keeping my gaze focused on the sister I would give anything to hold one last time.
It’s not even half past five in the morning when my home phone rings. My heart skips a beat when the phone’s shrieking ring abruptly breaks the apartment’s silence, throwing me out of my trance. I quickly stumble to my feet. Quickly rushing out of the Angela’s memorial room, I grab th
e phone by its third ring and answer it by the fourth.
“Hello?”
“Ana. It’s me.”
“What’s going on Bryan?” What’s Bryan doing calling me this early? It’s the first time he’s ever called me at my apartment. He usually just pages me. It takes me a moment to realize I haven’t fallen asleep and am not dreaming this. Something must be up.
“How quickly can you get to the station?”
“How quickly do you need me?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“I’m leaving right away.”
***
Dawn is breaking when I arrive at the station. The whole way here, I weaved through the early morning rush like James Bond, thinking of the thousand scenarios that Bryan could be calling me about. Each situation that played out in my head was deadlier than the last. Did he get a tip on a dealer? Are we raiding a stash house? Did some wanted criminal suddenly show up on the radar? The possibilities are endless.
I quickly make my way across the mostly empty parking lot and push through the station’s doors. A rush of cold air hits me as I do. Bryan’s waiting for me in the lobby next to the receptionist’s desk. The secretary is away from her station, leaving just the two of us. His eyes are staring down at his watch when I enter the building, but his gaze immediately comes onto me when he hears me arrive. This must be something urgent for him to be so anxious like this. Just one look at his demeanor and I can tell that something big is afoot.
“You look a bit flustered, Bryan.”
He skips the pleasantries. With the state he’s in, it’s no surprise that he does. “You brought your gun and badge?”
“Always.” I flash him my Glock and credentials.
“I got a call from an informant—Obadiah Holmes.”
I’ve never heard of that one.
“He contacted me an hour ago, saying he saw a man we’ve been looking for near the Houston office of the Daniels Foundation. Holmes tailed the target back to a stash house that Holmes claims is operated by the dealer.