Seven Wakings Page 12

  “Okay?”

  “Literally translated it means: enlightened and heroic-minded. In layman’s terms it’s a person who rejects Nirvana to help those who are still suffering.” She gives me a little shake.

  “So how does that relate to me?”

  “I think you’re a Bodhisattva.” Lynette gets up and tucks me in.

  I laugh. “So my zealot, Christian mother decided to crown me a Bodhi-whatever?”

  “No… you did… when you wouldn’t leave the kids behind.”

  I wonder if Lynette needs a label to understand what’s going on.

  “Choices form your fate, my dear. And apparently your fate is a noble one.” She arranges some things on the table.

  “Yeah… I feel like a real hero.”

  “You always have been to me.”

  I watch as the kids and Lynette prepare to leave.

  Before they head out, Lynette hugs me. “I’ll give Archer a call on the way home, give him the addresses of properties.”

  “He should do drive-by’s tonight, while it’s dark. If he waits until morning it’ll be harder to see in. Besides, they’ll spot his squad car in daylight.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass that on.” She gives me a kiss on the forehead. “Get some sleep. I look forward to seeing the ‘new you’.”

  The kids give me a final wave and say they’ll see me in the morning. Rico follows them out, and Lynette locks the door before leaving.

  Alone in the dim light of the room I already feel forgotten. Grounded in Sharon’s body, I wonder how she got here, how DeWayne and Vanessa ended up in their lives. They were all babies once, innocent children. If only they had ended up in someone else’s arms, with a different mother, different circumstances, different cells, who would they be? Who are they— really— without all this earthly influence?

  My mind is on overload.

  Feeling alone, I eat a box of Hostess Cupcakes that I hide under the covers.

  A Bodhisattva with an eating addiction? That’s rich.

  I start to consider what Lynette said. If I’m a Bodhisattva— on a mission— wouldn’t I have some control over my incarnations? But then again, I don’t know what would be best for the case or my kids.

  For tomorrow’s waking, I hope for a healthy body, mind, and spirit. I fall asleep as soon as the sugar starts to plummet.

  Chapter Nine - The Knight

  Sunlight peeks through slats in wooden blinds, bathing me in rectangles of honey. Opening my eyes, I take in the feel of a luxurious bed: down comforter, feather pillows, sheets that must be Egyptian cotton. I snuggle in.

  Wait a minute… I’ve been in this room before.

  I reach over for Joe, find he’s not there. Flipping off the sheet, I lift the waistband of my underwear, and look in. His penis lays flaccid on my leg. I inspect my hands. Yep, these are Joe’s too. As if things weren’t bizarre enough. Looking around, I find I’m alone.

  “Vanessa?”

  No answer.

  I crack the door to the hall; the hell-dog is right outside. I wonder if he knows who I am. We make eye contact and he starts to growl. I slam the door, lock it, and look around for a phone. An iPhone is on Joe’s bedside table.

  I scroll through his contacts, land on Vanessa, and call her. She answers on the fourth ring. “Joe?”

  “Yeah… uh… I was just wondering where you are.” His voice resonates in my chest.

  “I’m doing the ‘girls’ weekend,’ remember?”

  “Oh… I must have been… distracted. When will you be back?”

  Her phone starts to break up. I think I hear, “Sunday.”

  That’s the day after Richard’s birthday. “Yeah, right. Okay…um…see you then.” I don’t know how they sign off. Before I can say goodbye, I hear her phone click off.

  I make another call.

  “Lynette McCollum-Hayes.”

  “It’s me…Emma.” Joe’s voice sounds deeper from this vantage point.

  There’s a beat of silence. “You’re Joe?”

  “Yep.” I look down at myself in boxers. “Six feet two inches of hunky handsomeness.”

  “Just keep your hands off yourself; you never know what Joe will remember.”

  “I never thought about that.” I wonder what, if anything, DeWayne, Vanessa, and Sharon remember. Wonder where they “go” when I’m in the driver’s seat.

  “Where are you?”

  “At his house.” I wander over to Joe’s pocket tray. There’s a money clip, some change, and piece of paper with Lynette’s number. He didn’t throw it away; must believe Vanessa’s involved.

  “We’ll be right over.”

  “The hell-dog is blocking the door. He knows I’m not Joe.” I look at the clock: 4:15. I’ve lost most of the day.

  “Can you get out through a window?”

  “I don’t know if there’s a doggy door. Besides I think we should look around here first; see if Vanessa left anything ‘incriminating’.” Something occurs to me. “You know those sedatives I give Rico during storms?”

  Lynette’s screen-door screeches. “Where do you keep them?”

  “In the kitchen cabinet. You’ll have to put them in something a dog will eat. And double the dosage; he’s bigger and ten times as aggressive. Oh… and bring Rico, we may need him.”

  “I’m on it. See you soon.” She hangs up the phone.

  I rush to the bathroom, have to pee. Joe’s reflection stops me cold. No other incarnation has thrown me like this. I watch myself move, make faces at the mirror. I see how he looks when he’s happy, sad, angry, frustrated, confused.

  It’s weird to be this tall; to have limbs this long.

  The urge to urinate grows stronger. This will be weird. I make my way to the toilet, put my hand down my pants, and pull out his penis. I feel like I’m violating him. Just relax… you can do it. I aim, close my eyes, and breathe. A trickle at first, and then a flow. It feels completely different than urinating as a woman. The sensation reminds me of when I nursed the kids. Liquid courses through my penis.

  As I stand, penis in hand, the saying: “drain the main vein,” makes me laugh.

  I wonder how he “finishes.” Do I shake it, dab it with tissue, rinse it in the sink? I opt for all three.

  After, I wash my hands and face, brush my teeth, put on deodorant, and cologne, then go in search of clothes. He doesn’t have any jeans either. What is it with rich people? I put on a pair of Ben Sherman trousers, pair them with a sweater from J. Crew, and slip on a pair of Cole Haan socks and shoes. Then, I stash his money clip in my pocket.

  The hell-dog is barking on the lawn. I look out the window and see him chasing Lynette’s car up the driveway. There’s a headlight out. Kate throws something out the window, but he stays trained on them: growling, barking, lunging at the car. He’s relentless.

  I call Lynette. “Maybe you should back out of the driveway and park out of sight. I’ll see if he eats whatever you tossed out of the car.” It’s buried in the grass. “What was it anyway?”

  Lynette backs her car up. “Peanut butter, Laughing Cow cheese, and bologna.”

  I laugh. “That’s… revolting.”

  “Not to a dog.” Lynette’s car disappears behind a wall of evergreens.

  The hell-dog stays at the tip of the property line for a few minutes and then finds the prize in the grass. He sniffs at it at first, gobbles it down, and then trots toward the house.

  I hear a thud and assume he came in through a doggie door.

  Kate must have commandeered Lynette’s cell phone. “So… you’re the Greek God, huh?”

  “Very funny. How are you, Darlin’?” I poke through some drawers.

  “Anxious to see you. Did the dog eat Lynette’s concoction?”

  “In its entirety. It’ll probably take about fifteen minutes to kick in.”

  “What’ll we do until then?” There’s disappointment in her voice.

  “Why don’t you fill me in on the last seventeen hours of your l
ife?”

  She laughs. “There’s not much to tell: we slept, ate, showered, and waited for you.”

  “What about the missing kids? Anything new?”

  “I’ll hand you over to Lynette for that. She’s keeping us in the dark.”

  I hear a shuffling, then Lynette comes on. “There’s not a whole lot to say. Archer drove by all of the residential properties last night. The three investment ones appear to be unoccupied, Richard Gilchrist’s mansion was lit up like a landing strip, and there were a few lights on at the vacation property. He has no legal grounds for search warrants, though. Oh… and he found something in the sewer: a gun, police issued.”

  My heart drops. “Is it Mike’s?”

  “We don’t know yet. It was submitted as evidence and Chief Lewis issued a priority trace on it. I’m sure they’ll have more information soon.”

  “Does the Chief know that Archer’s working with you?”

  “We thought it best to keep that quiet for now. I don’t think Archer realized how ‘entrenched’ we’d get, but he knows that all of his best information is coming through me.”

  Something knocks against the door, slides down. “I think the meds have kicked in.” I look around and grab a pen.

  “Should we come in?”

  “Let me test him first.” I crack the door, see him lying on the ground. With the pen, I poke him gently, and prepare to duck-and-cover. He doesn’t budge. Cautiously, I nudge him with my foot. Nothing. “I think we’re good-to-go. Send Rico in first, just to be safe.”

  I close the door, look out the window, and watch as they come up the driveway. Lynette, the kids, and Rico get out of the car and approach the door. I hear a thud and then Rico’s nails tapping on marble. As I crack the door, I see Rico sniffing at unconsciousness. He sees me.

  “Good boy.” I start to ease out of Joe’s bedroom.

  Rico cocks his head.

  “Who’s a good boy? You are. Yes you are.” I rub his ears, then head to the front door. Opening it, “I love you more than you could ever possibly know.” For the first time, I’m group rushed. They all hug me like they’ll never let go. “What’s this all about?”

  Lynette looks at me, speaks volumes with her eyes. “It’s just, you know, so good to be here with you.”

  Mac looks at me. “Only three more wakings.”

  Oh… Lynette had the, “appreciate-what-you-have-because-it-could-be-gone-soon talk.” “Listen.” I touch the kids’ hair. “There’s no limit on miracles. I could keep coming...”

  Lynette stops me. “You shouldn’t give them false hope.”

  I want to lash out: Don’t tell me how to talk to my own kids, but I opt for levity. “You were the one who said I was a Bodi-whatever.”

  “That’s a possibility, not guarantee.”

  Kate looks at us. “Stop protecting our feelings. We realize anything— good or bad— can happen. Imagination is fiction. Just stay in the present. Blah, blah, blah.”

  Lynette and I look at each other and start laughing; our advice is coming out of Kate’s mouth.

  “In that case, let’s focus on the present.” I look at the hell-dog. “We’ve got to put him somewhere.”

  Mac makes a move. “I’ll take a look around.”

  Kate sizes me up. “How does it feel to be your love interest?”

  I raise my eyebrows. “It’s odd to want to date myself.”

  She laughs. “I can see how that might be a challenge.”

  Mac returns. “There’s a mud room straight back. It already has food and water for him.”

  They all look to me. I forgot; I’m the strong one. “Oh… right. Of course.” I have a modicum of reservation. What if he goes for my throat? I go to the hell-dog, scoop arms under him— as I did when the kids were little— and lift him effortlessly. I haven’t known this kind of strength in my life. I feel like I have super powers.

  I place the hell-dog on his bed, and regard him for the first time. He’s beautiful, perfect in every way. It seems strange that we’ve spent so much time fighting each other.

  Seeing that his food and water bowl are full, I back out slowly and pull the door closed.

  “Where should we start looking?” Lynette looks to me.

  I’m not feeling any insight. “I’m not sure. Should we just walk around?”

  They all nod. Rico barks.

  We walk the main level, which consists of Joe and Vanessa’s bedroom/closet/bathroom, the open foyer, a sweeping staircase, a guest bathroom, a living room, the kitchen, and a pantry.

  I don’t sense anything.

  The walk-through pantry feeds into either the mud/laundry room, or a set of stairs that lead to the lower level. We head down. I’m not feeling anything as we walk past a home theater area, a pool table, a bar, through another bathroom, and into an unfinished storage area, a darkroom, and a home gym.

  We head to the upper floor. The minute I step on the landing, I know we’ll find something. Something so evil, I’ll wish we’d never looked. I purposely go in the opposite direction. The left side of the u-shaped balcony hall leads past a guestroom, a bathroom, and an office. We walk in. I can tell this is Joe’s. His briefcase sits on the floor. I can’t help myself, have to look inside.

  “What are you doing?” Lynette scowls at me.

  “I’m investigating.” I remove the contents of the briefcase and set them on his desk.

  “No… you’re snooping. We’re not supposed to be looking into Joe.”

  Kate moves in beside me; Mac looks out the front windows. I bet he’s wondering what it would be like to live in a house like this.

  I breeze through the files. They’re mainly about the properties we asked him to investigate— complete with floor plans— but one file isn’t labeled.

  Lynette moves next to me.

  “Now it’s okay to be curious?” I look down at her.

  “It may be best to be thorough.” She moves her glasses from the top of her head to read.

  I open it and see pages of notes about Vanessa’s medical history.

  “Let me see that.” Now Lynette’s intrigued. Scanning several pages she stops on one and reads aloud: “After a psychotic break in June of 2012, test results were negative for a microdeletion at chromosome 22q11and for the gene G72/G30 at chromosome 13q33.2.”

  “What does that mean?” Kate asks.

  “It means she’s not Schizophrenic.” She continues to read: “Other considerations: migration, trauma, stress, and shared psychosis.”

  “What does ‘shared psychosis’ mean?” Kate asks as she looks through another file.

  Lynette takes off her glasses and defines it for us. “It can be two people sharing a psychosis, like Bonnie and Clyde, a few people, like the Manson Family, or a large group like Jonestown, where 900 people committed suicide.”

  “Look!” Kate pushes up her glasses. “Joe’s getting a divorce… and Vanessa’s the petitioner.”

  I cross my arms. “She’s asking for a divorce? Why?”

  Kate flips a few pages. “She citing, irreconcilable differences and sexual misconduct.”

  Ha! “That’s ripe. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black,” I say.

  “MOM!” Mac calls from a different room.

  I didn’t realize he was gone; he’s a master at sneaking off. We all rush from Joe’s office, with Rico in the lead. Mac calls me again. He’s on the opposite side of this level of rooms. We hustle around the balcony and into, what appears to be, an office for Vanessa. Everything looks normal except where he stands. A book case is cracked open and a small room hides behind it.

  I look at Mac, he doesn’t look traumatized, just proud of himself.

  “Did you go in?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “I want you guys to stay out here. Promise?” I pull the bookcase open wider.

  The kids nod.

  As Lynette and I approach the opening, I’m overcome by a sick, dizzying feeling. Everything I see warps like heat in t
he desert. Floor to ceiling shelves hold boxes, files, containers, binders. I take a deep breath and try to sense the core of the darkness. I’m called to a black metal box. A placard on the face of it simply reads: “V.” I pull the box out slowly by a handle on the front. It’s long and heavy, seems fireproof. I place it on the floor and see if I can open it. It’s locked.

  “I’ll look for a key.” Lynette starts to leave the room.

  “Have the kids help you. Mac seems to have a knack for finding things.”

  I search the rest of the closet. Nothing stands out; it’s mostly legal documents, mementos, and old photographs. Everything’s dusty, except the box. She’s been in it recently.

  They return empty-handed.

  I leave the box on the floor and go to the chair at Vanessa’s desk overlooking the front yard. Something tells me the key is near. I can feel it. I start searching through the desk.

  “We did that,” Mac says. “Twice.”

  I move away from the desk and the feeling grows colder. “It’s here somewhere; I know it. Check under the drawers. Maybe it’s taped to the bottom.” I start looking under things on the desk. The kids pull out the drawers and check the bottoms. Nothing. “Let’s move the desk away from the windows. Maybe it’s on the front.”

  We each take a corner. I forget my strength and lift too high. A lamp flips off and crashes on the wood floor. Rico barks, turns in circles. He never did like loud noises.

  Mac crouches down. “No way!” He reaches for something in the shards, and comes up with a key. “It’s lucky you’re clumsy.”

  Mac hands me the key. I hesitate; don’t want to see what I know will be awful.

  Lynette puts her hand on my arm. “I’ll come with you. We’ll look together.”

  In the little room, we kneel on the floor. I insert the key and turn; it works. We both take a deep breath and open the lid. The contents punch me. Not only are there pictures of the six missing girls, but countless others, dating back twenty years. Their names, the date they were taken— and from where— are written on the back of the photographs. She’s also kept souvenirs: locks of hair, pieces of jewelry, childhood trinkets.

  “How could they have gotten away with this for so long?” Lynette looks sickened.