Seven Wakings Page 4

  Lynette— visibly mortified by my statement— hides her face in her hands.

  Silence fills the hall.

  “Well, now that we all feel painfully awkward, I hereby call this introduction to an end.” Joe extends his hand again. “It’s great to be here. In this hallway. With you. ” He nearly blushes. “Wow… that sounded really stupid.”

  “No. No. I feel the same...” Shocked by his disclosure, I look to Lynette to see if she heard him. She is trying to bury her head in the wall.

  “I’m sure we’ll be together…” He laughs. “I mean, see each other again.” His eyes meet mine. Something seems to lock in place for us: a shared knowing that fate has played a role in our meeting today.

  His eyes are so dark I can’t discern the pupil from nearly black irises. I want to run my hands through his chestnut waves. Kiss his full mouth. My mind starts to loosen his tie, unbutton his shirt.

  “Soon, I hope.” He tips his head as if wearing a hat.

  I feel caught. “Yes. I hope so.”

  He walks down the hall to his office. Lynette and I look at his ass.

  “Did you have to tell him that that I think he’s gorgeous?” Lynette says.

  “No. But it was so worth seeing your reaction.” I loop my arm into hers.

  She puts her hand to her mouth. “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”

  I ignore her physical mortification, make a real confession. “He feels like home to me.”

  She pauses, knowing I’m rarely vulnerable. “Then it was worth playing the fool.”

  We take a real breath for the first time since running from her office.

  Chapter Four - Forget-Me-Not

  After leaving Lynette’s office, I notice I’m low on gas and stop at a Citco near the police station. Stepping out of my Taurus, I see two more missionary men and assume there’s a “back-to-school” religious effort. One man strikes a remarkable resemblance to a young Donny Osmond, the other has a slight build, glasses, and mousy brown hair. On bikes at the front of the store, they’re pouring bottles of water into Camelbacks. Both are wearing the typical “uniform,” plus helmets, and have baskets mounted to the front of their bikes, which hold folders and cameras. The folders probably have handouts for the people in the neighborhoods they will comb in search of an elusive convert. But the cameras seem odd.

  Their baskets remind me of a bicycle that my father still has in his garage. It’s a 1964 Schwinn Cycle Truck— black with white-wall tires, and a cargo bin on the front. When I was little, he steadied his bike while I climbed up and sat in the metal basket, dangling skinny legs beside the smaller front tire. Dad rode as fast as he could through the neighborhood, across the ravine, swooping up and down hills. It was a rollercoaster for two. I’d stretch my arms out wide, tilt my head to the sky, and feel like I was the wind. Flying in dreams felt exactly the same as flying with my dad.

  A squad car pulls up to the pump behind me. It’s Mike Dupree.

  I wince… feel stupid about last night.

  He gets out, walks to me, and offers his hand in peace. “I wanna apologize about last night. I was outta line with a couple of things I said.”

  I’m surprised by his civility; wonder who coached him. “Me too.” I shake his hand. “Apparently I have a hairpin trigger when it comes to family.”

  Mike takes a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, puts it behind his ear. “I guess we have that in common.” He plants his feet. “So… what are you doin’ on this side of town?”

  I don’t want to tell him that I’m headed to the station. He’s already made it clear that he thinks my contribution is unsound. Pointing to the pump I say, “Filling up.” I reach for my wallet, find it’s not there. “Crap. I must have left my money at High’s. Can you cover me?”

  Mike crosses his arms. “First you attack me and now you’re a damsel in distress?” He sucks his incisor. “Maybe you’re mistakin’ bein’ psychic, with bein’ bi-polar.” He laughs at himself.

  “Jesus! Right when I let my guard down, you go back on the attack.” I glance at the men on bikes, then back to him. “It’s like you were raised by wolves.”

  He crosses his arms. “My mother was a saint. May she rest in peace.”

  I notice that he doesn’t say anything about his father. “I’m going to see if the manager can spot me until after the briefing.” Damn.

  “You goin’ to the briefin’?” The unlit cigarette dangles between his lips.

  “The Chief asked me to be there.” My statement comes out more like a question.

  “Bullshit. There are already too many eyes on this. We oughta be focusin’ on real crime.”

  “Maybe this is real crime.” I have no idea why I just said that, but I walk away with conviction. Mike brings out an immaturity in me that I haven’t felt since the playground.

  Inside I give the manager all of my contact information and show her my CPS badge. I look out and see Mike talking to the religious men while his tank fills. I wonder if they’re discussing the bible or rules of the road. Either way, I’m sure Mike will have something to say about it.

  After my tank is full I holler to Mike, “I’ll see you at the station.” He looks at me like an unwanted houseguest. I want to flip him the bird, but force myself to smile and lower myself into the driver’s seat. As I drive away, I notice Mike reading through one of their folders. I can’t imagine him as a convert, but stranger things have happened.

  Rico and I enter the police station through the side door and head toward a meeting room on the lower level. Several officers greet me and offer condolences. Their faces and hugs are a blur.

  Kim throws me a little wave and then crouches to pet Rico. Mike appears in the hall, whispers something in Kim’s ear, and then walks to me.

  “Tell me again why CPS wants you here?” He heads down the hall toward a coffee machine. I don’t realize that he’s leading me away from the other officers for a response.

  I follow him. “The number of recent runaway cases is shocking. It seems a little suspect.”

  He turns around. “Suspect? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that kids don’t run away en masse. Something else is going on here.”

  He glances down the hall, then at me. “You oughta keep that thought to yourself.”

  I look at him sideways. “Is that a threat?”

  He holds up his hands, as if to surrender. “It’s a suggestion. A strong suggestion.” He pulls quarters out of his pocket.

  “Lucky for me, I don’t take orders from you.” And there I go again acting infantile.

  Something changes in his eyes. “If you were smart, you would.” He drops coins into the coffee machine, presses a button for a cup of black, and waits. Nothing happens. “Come on!” He pokes the button several times. Nothing. He rattles the coin return. Nothing. Officers descend from upstairs and glance over at us. Mikes frustration takes on new life; he pounds the button with the side of his fist, kicks at the coin return.

  I back away slowly. By the time I reach the end of the hall, he has grabbed the top of the machine and is trying to shake out the contents. A few officers watch him and laugh. The general consensus seems to be that Mike is a brainless brute.

  Disarmed by his outburst, I head back to the meeting room. I can’t get a handle on him. Part of me is curious and another part cautious.

  Chief Lewis enters and commands the K-9 officers to put their dogs in kennels and everyone else to take their seats. I bring Rico to his old cage and watch as Mike sits in the front row of plastic chairs. Kim pours a cup of coffee from the Chiefs pot, hands it to Mike, then sits at a small desk at the front of the room facing the officers. She looks up shyly.

  I have no idea what she sees in him. I sit in the back of the room— at the farthest point from Mike.

  After everyone takes their seats Chief Lewis begins: “Settle down. We have lot to cover today.” His baritone voice commands attention from a pedestal at the front. Eclipsing six feet by two
inches— and well over 200 lbs— he is impossible to ignore. “As usual, we’ll start with violent offenses, then cover property and public-order crimes— including the runaway cases. Officers, you are free to leave once you’re given your assignment.”

  I tune out as Chief Lewis covers murder, assault, burglary, arson, and vandalism. It seems odd that life goes on without Cal and my father in it. Especially police life. Even after Dad retired, he came into the station for weekly briefings to, “Keep my finger on the pulse of the city.” He stood at the back of the room— believing that civilians didn’t deserve a chair— even though the Chief reserved one for him every Monday, up until Dad was hospitalized. Then Chief Lewis brought a chair to his hospice room, to remind him that he would always be a part of the force.

  The room nearly empties as officers take their assigned cases and head out. Only the Chief, Kim, Mike, two seasoned officers, and three new recruits remain for the last cases— the runaways.

  Still behind the podium, Chief Lewis addresses the last of us: “Right now there are over thirty kids on the books, listed as runaways. That’s up 20% over this time last year.” He removes photos and profiles from a manila envelope, and hands the contents of the packet to Kim. As she tapes pictures of the kids to a blackboard, she adds their names to the photos, and last recorded address to a map.

  This is the first time I’ve seen some of these kids. At CPS I was just given copies of the police reports. My mind starts shifting the pictures around, putting them together into smaller groups: in the CPS system for years, have police records, and never seen them before.

  “Our latest report came in this morning— one Miss Anna Tyler, from Linthicum. Her parents said that she didn’t come home last night after an argument with her mother. Make sure to keep an eye out for her as you try to track down the others.”

  Something about her seems familiar. She looks like a girl from Kate’s video production club; and this girl has the same last name. I get out my phone and send a text to Kate: Do you know Anna Tyler? Blond hair, blue eyes, Icelandic looking. She’ll know what I mean by this; she loves Bjork.

  “Look for these kids on the street. Start with the usual informants and users, then work your way up to dealers. They are probably supplying some of these kids. We need to interview the families. Find out why they think their kids left, and where they think they could have gone.” He checks his watch, makes a note on a yellow pad.

  Kim hands out packets that contain each child’s picture and profile.

  I get a text back from Kate: Yeah. She’s Emily’s little sister. Why?

  I scan Anna’s profile and raise my hand.

  Chief Lewis points to me. “You have something to add?”

  “Sir, what if some of these kids aren’t runaways?” I look at specific photos on the blackboard.

  He turns toward the pictures; seems to consider an alternate scenario. “They were reported that way. Right?” He checks with Kim, who nods.

  Mindlessly I stand up. “Anna’s so young. I know her family; this would never happen. I can speak with her parents. Maybe there’s a connection between her and some of the other recent…”

  The Chief’s phone rings. “This’ll just take a minute.” He plugs his left ear, listens to the phone with his right, paces.

  Mike looks back at me, clenches his jaw.

  Kim gets busy with paperwork while she’s on the phone. The officers start to speak amongst themselves. A recruit gets up from a middle row and comes over to me. He offers his hand.

  “Archer Carter.” He’s young and stunning: tall, with milk chocolate skin and kind eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He flashes a broad white smile, reveals dimples. His smile transforms him from gorgeous to “oh-my-god!”

  I want to give him Kate’s hand in marriage. “That could be really good, or really bad, depending on who you talk to.” I gesture for him to take the seat next to me.

  “Anyone who takes care of kids is alright in my book.” He sits and looks up at the pictures.

  “What do you see up there?” I ask.

  “It’s more like what I don’t see.” He rubs his chin.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s no empty stare in some of them. If you were a kid who didn’t feel safe at home you’d be able to fake a smile, but not the light in your eyes.”

  “Like who?”

  He pulls out the contents of his packet. “The girl you mentioned and….” He flips through pictures. “This kid… and look at this one. She looks like a baby.”

  “Maybe she’s older than she looks. My son’s thirteen, but he looks eleven.”

  “Check this out, though.” He points at her shirt. “No angry kid would wear something with a cartoon on it.”

  Sharp guy. I look at several other photos. “Yeah. And I’d know something about these kids if their lives were a wreck.”

  “Could their families just be better at hiding abuse?”

  “Maybe. I have a friend who can do a psychological assessment on the parents of the runaways that seem a-typical. See if there’s any hidden dysfunction. Her name’s Lynette. Lynette McCollum-Hayes. Chief Lewis has referred people to her before. I think he’d be open to having her consult.”

  Chief Lewis hangs up. “I’ve been called out. In addition to the packets, Kim will have to give you your individual assignments. Older officers, work with a new recruit. Mike, bring your K-9 to the streets. We need to shake it up out there. Threaten the dealers with a bust, maybe that’ll get them talking about these kids. Archer, why don’t you ride with Emma? Keep her in check. Sometimes her ‘imagination’ can run a little wild. Everyone… we’ll debrief tomorrow morning.”

  I look to Archer. “You do realize that you’ve just been appointed as my babysitter.”

  He laughs. “I don’t think I’m qualified to stop you from getting into trouble.”

  We gather our things and head to get Rico. Walking back down the hall, we run into Mike and Kim.

  She smiles demurely, then flashes a quick glance up at Mike. “I guess I should get back to work?” She hesitates, doesn’t seem to want to leave him. He nods and Kim sulks away.

  Mike directs his attention to me. “Headed back to High’s?” He puts a leash on his dog and rubs her ears. “I’m sure CPS would consider that a waste of company time.”

  He gets under my skin faster than a needle. “If you had helped me out at the gas station, I wouldn’t have to go back. But since you’re such a prick...”

  Archer stifles a laugh; covers it by coughing.

  Mike glances at him. “You takin’ the kid?”

  “Archer. Archer Carter.” He offers his hand to Mike, who ignores him.

  I push past Mike. “Chief’s orders.”

  Mike grabs my arm, and leans in close. “You shoulda kept your mouth shut in there.”

  I pull away from him. “I don’t take orders from you, remember?”

  “I guess you don’t take suggestions either. That was a mistake. A big mistake.”

  I don’t know how to respond, so I flip him the bird and walk away.

  Archer catches up, fights a smile. “Mike kind of gets to you, huh?”

  I wonder where he’s seen me around Mike before. Then it hits me…“Tell me you weren’t at my father’s house last night.”

  He smiles. “I’d like to, but my Momma didn’t raise no liar.”

  I lead Rico to the back seat of Archer’s squad car. Once we’re in, I ask Archer about his assignment. He is to interview the families of some of the older runaways. As we drive, I look at all the profiles and move the reports of the kids that were already in the CPS system to the bottom. Then, I eliminate the files of kids with a police record or history of drug use. I study the remaining files. “Do you think that some of these kids could have been abducted?”

  Archer looks to me. “You mean like, kidnapped?”

  “Yeah. Like a ring. ”

  Archer pulls into High’s parking lot. “I think the Chief wa
s right… you do have an active imagination.”

  “It just feels like there’s a darkness around this.” I open the car door. “I’ll be right back.”

  As I get out to retrieve my wallet, Archer steps out to let Rico relieve himself. DeWayne is asleep by the dumpster. I notice the drape in the window move again. Inside the store Vang greets me with another bow and smile. “I have wallet, Miss Emma. Keep safe.” He bends down and retrieves my billfold from a box designed to look like a book. “You look. I take nothing.”

  “I don’t have to check, Vang. I trust you.” I turn toward the door and slip my wallet into my back pocket.

  Just outside his store I hear a bang. I’m blown backward.

  The moments that follow play out in slow motion. Archer’s weapon is drawn. Stumbling, I hear more pops. I grab my chest, feel punched. What the hell? A river of red floods my hands. My insides feel doused in acid. A woman shrieks. DeWayne wakes up. Archer runs toward me; eyes wide. Rico gallops with him; tongue dangling. Tires screech. I drop to my knees, wonder why I can’t control my legs. I fall sideways; see blue sky, and big puffy white clouds. What did Dad call those?

  Archer kneels down, takes off his uniform shirt and presses it on my chest. “Stay with me. Stay with me. For God’s sake, stay with me.” He wipes a hand on his white t-shirt, leaves red smears, then fumbles for his walkie-talkie. He talks so fast; I can’t understand him.

  Rico licks my face.

  “Miss Emma?” DeWayne stumbles toward me.

  I wonder what all the commotion is about.

  Everything turns grey. I struggle to breathe, can’t keep my eyes open. Soon I hear the distant cry of an ambulance. My mind starts falling down a black hole. I need a nap. That’s all… just a little bit of sleep. I am swallowed by black.

  Chapter Five - Limbo

  Surrounded by stars, I float. A warm, dark ocean with pinholes of light carries me. I wonder if I’m one of the bad guys from my childhood fantasy, headed toward a black hole. Wonder if I’m dreaming. I hear voices. Someone presses on my chest. He counts: “1-2-3,” then presses again. I try to remember the bra I put on this morning.