Charlie's Requiem: Democide (11 page)

Chapter 11

Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without.

— Buddha

“…J
ohn
,” she whispered.

Drosky rustled under his sheets. His eyelids, still heavy from alcohol, only registered darkness as he tried to ignore the voice.

… “John,” the voice came a little louder.

Drosky didn’t want to listen. He didn’t want to wake up. The party had rambled on for a time and the only thing waiting for him when he awoke was the M-ATV and its uncomfortable ride. Not uncomfortable just because of its spine-crushing suspension, but also because he was out there among so many desperate people.

The road sucked his physical energy, sapping his muscles and straining his bones. Traversing over yards and through walls as he avoided the inevitable cluster of stalled or crashed vehicles drained him physically.

But the part he hated the most was the mental and spiritual sledgehammer of seeing so many people suffering so greatly. Sometime last night, as he and Natasha danced and drank, it struck him that he was privileged to be housed in safety and comfort. The music, food and drink were all luxuries that America would likely not experience again for months or even years.

Natasha and he had clicked. But after a fitful night of sleep, Drosky recognized that he didn’t feel grateful, but guilty. There were so many things about the situation that didn’t sit well with him, and yet, here he was, sitting on top of the only air-conditioned apartment building for God knows how many hundreds of miles, with a budding hang-over.

“…
John,
” the voice softly said once again.

Drosky struggled to remember the end of last evening’s revelry. Natasha had been more than friendly, but the end of the evening was foggy. The voice next to him was soft and feminine. John struggled to remember what happened when they decided to exit the raucous event.

He remembered dancing to The Jackson Five, and then some old school arena rock bands came on. REO Speedwagon got the things pumped some more, then Styx and Journey played. He remembered slow dancing with Natasha to Steve Perry singing “Open Arms,” and then he couldn’t remember anything after that.

Oh Great!
Drosky thought.
I’ve really messed this up. She’s spent the night with me and I don’t even remember.

“…John,” the voice quietly said.

How should I handle this?
Drosky thought.
I don’t remember bringing her back here. I don’t remember a thing. I never do this. I hardly even know her.

“…John,”
he heard again
.

She sounds so young
, John thought.
I just want to go back to sleep and forget this ever happened
.

John squeezed his eyes, willing himself to get some sleep, but the bliss of more slumber wouldn’t take hold. He felt movement next to him and a small, gentle touch as she put her arm out and placed her hand on his left shoulder.

The hand felt cold.

It felt stiff and without life.

Sleeping on his right side, his back to his unwanted bedroom guest, John slowly reached over to push the girl’s hand off of him.

His fingers searched for her flesh, expecting Natasha to react. But he didn’t find the woman’s hand. He touched something, a hand or claw that didn’t seem right. The fingers were too small and the flesh too taught and cool to the touch.

John jumped. He spun around and faced the other side of the bed. The dim, green glow of his alarm clock illuminated the area. A small form lay there, covered with a sheet, a tiny arm extending out from the swirl of white cotton that lay next to him.

With a trembling hand, John slowly began to peel away the sheet, first exposing flowing locks of hair nested in the pillow. As he exposed the small figure, he stopped, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t moved.

“Oh my God!” he said out loud, as it dawned on him that Natasha wasn’t moving. He stopped pulling the sheets and stared at the tiny bundle that lay next to him. Searching for movement, even the rise and fall of her chest, Drosky recognized that she wasn’t breathing.

What happened last night?
He thought, struggling to remember anything about his last few hours.
What did I do?

Drosky began to sweat. His heart pounding in his chest, he felt short of breath. Then, he began to hyperventilate as he thought the worst had happened. The form lay motionless and John knew he had to look, had to see what he had done.

But how to do this?
He thought to himself. He started to gently pull the sheets further off, but froze, his fear outweighing his need to know. He struggled once again to find memories that refused to surface. The terror of what he may have done kept him from looking further. His body began to shake. His need to know faded.

The murky, silent room entombed him in a blanket of fear. It was as if the air itself was solidifying around him, encasing him in a plaster cast that would forever freeze him in time. He was paralyzed with the thought that she was dead.

Finally, John knew that it had to be done. He had to know what had happened. He reached over to the top of the sheet, quietly grasping the upper folds of the cotton cover. He tried to slowly remove it, but was again locked in place.

Like a Band-Aid
, he thought.
Here we go, One, Two, Three…

John tore the covers off the body, exposing the corpse to John’s guilty eyes.

BRIE!

Her once gentle skin was browned and rough like old leather. Her hollow, dilated eyes stared accusingly at him as she turned her head and opened her mouth, rotting teeth falling to the pillow.

“… John!”

Drosky bolted upright, his clammy skin clinging to the soaked sheets of his bed. His chest heaved as he tried to calm his nerves and slow his heart.

What a nightmare!
He thought as he began to grasp at reality, and make sense of the last few minutes.

John quickly searched the other side of the bed, gratefully finding it empty. Flashes of last night’s party finally wormed their way through the alcohol-induced veil that plagued his conscious mind. Six beers and several fruity concoctions had all conspired to leave him with both a growing headache and a foggy memory.

After another minute of lying in the dark, John checked his bedside clock and noted that he had another hour before the alarm went off. He tossed the sheets off, letting the sweat evaporate in the cool conditioned air.

But sleep didn’t come. The thoughts of yesterday kept plaguing his soul. After some reflection, he realized he was having a form of survivor’s guilt. Drinking, eating and dancing while millions suffered didn’t sit well with him. The nightmare was an expression of his subconscious, Brie’s body and accusing stare reminding him of his privileged life.

Giving up on any further sleep, he went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. Throwing down four Advil, he stared at himself; and looking deep within, he didn’t like what he saw. There was no rationalizing the unfairness of the situation; and the only way he would be able to live with himself was to follow through on finding Maria de la Hoya, assessing the refugee camps and deciding whether he could continue to be an instrument of the state. Whether his service was good, or evil, would be determined by what he saw when he found her.

With the decision made, John decided to get an early start on things. And although he moved with a little less steam this morning, it was a determined and righteous man that finally emerged from his apartment.

It was still early, too early for most of his fellow DHS officers to have reported. John strolled across to headquarters, purposely avoiding the parking lot where Brie’s body was left. Hoping someone else would find her, he entered the building and went to the cafeteria to grab some coffee and food.

There was only a smattering of officers sitting around the large hall when he sat down at an empty table. The clock over the exit showed that it was only 6:15, and their roll call wasn’t for another hour. John nursed his cup of java, steam rising from the mug. He had to think of a way to get Natasha involved without hurting her feelings. Searching for a woman would put him in a delicate position.

If only there was a way, I could see a list without actually asking for her by name?
He mused. He ran through different scenarios including a little B&E (Breaking and Entering), but rejected them all. He had little time to make a solid plan. Charlie, Jorge and the others weren’t in a safe place, and John didn’t want to wait any longer than he had to.

About 7 a.m., the room started to fill. More DHS officers entered, most taking a seat and dispensing with their meals in rapid time. John watched as two of the officers sat at a table next to him. One black and one white, they joined two other men for their meal.

“Well, if it isn’t the brothers from a different mother!” One of the table dwellers smirked as the two sat down.

“Piss off!” One of them spat back.

John took note of the two, their nametags visible before they plopped into the metal-backed chairs. After he saw their names, he cracked a smile when he saw they were both named “Clark.”

Suddenly, a light bulb popped and John knew just what to do.

After roll call, Bru and John started walking to their M-ATV.

“Hey Bru,” John said slyly. “I got to run a quick errand.”

Agent Bruner smiled when he saw John enter the administration office. John had broken down and mentioned Natasha the day before, and Dixon Bruner was not a friend that would keep his partner from an errand like that.

“Got you covered,” Bruner said. “Meet you at the truck.”

John gave the man a nod and entered the admin office. Looking around, he quickly spotted Natasha.

“Hey girl,” John whispered as he quietly walked to her desk.

“Hey,” she quietly replied. “Some party, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said back. “And it’s still with me if you want to know the truth.”

“Same here,” she shot back.

John noticed that she had less makeup on and her overall appearance was much more subdued. That suited him just fine, but it could just as well have been that she was still hung over and didn’t take the time to put on all the pancake and mascara that he first saw her with.

“You look awful good,” he said. “I like the look.”

John remembered telling her toward the end of the night, after too many adult beverages, that she looked much better with less makeup. In reply, she had taken out some rouge and highlighted John’s cheekbones. That got him some catcalls from some of the other guys. Likely, John would be hearing about it sometime today.

“I remember,” she said. “You don’t like too much, what was it you called it? Oh yeah! Too much war paint!”

“Huh? Did I say that?”

“Uh, yeah you did. I guess a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts!”

“Well, I was right.” John concluded.

“Then, other than coming to see if I took your fashion advice, what can I do for you today Agent Drosky?”

“How about a real date,” he replied. Buttering her up could only help, and he did enjoy her company. She was fun, attractive and had a good sense of humor. Regardless of his guilt over his privileged status, he wasn’t going to blame her for it.

Natasha raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Usually, they wait a few days before they text,” she said. “But I guess with cell service down, we have to cut to the chase.”

“How about tomorrow night? I’ll cook at my apartment.”

“You cook, Agent Drosky? Did you scrounge up some TV dinners, or are we having some cereal by candlelight?”

“How about a pork roast with cabbage and beets.”

“Really?” She surprisingly replied.

“Horse-traded with some of the cooks here in the cafeteria.”

“What did you trade for it with?” She asked hesitantly.

“Information.” John said back. “The only thing I can give. One of the cooks lived on the west side and he asked me to check on some people. One of them is his mother. That’s why I came in. I need to find a couple of people and see if they have been relocated.”

“I don’t know, John. You aren’t supposed to have access to that list.”

“Yeah, but you can. Can I give you some names? Just three. And you can let me know if we have them at any of the relocation camps. He just wants to see if they are alright, and where they are.”

Natasha hesitated for a moment, then smiled.

“No problem, John. Let’s have those names.”

John brought out a list of three names, two of them legitimate names of the relatives of the cook he had bartered with. The third was different all together.

“Let’s see,” Natasha said. “Carmen Fuentes and Stella Fuentes, Anderson Road, Orlando.”

She typed into her laptop, hitting several of the function keys and waited.

“Sorry John,” she said. “No record of anyone with that name. But the database is a day or two old. I’ll try again this afternoon. Stop back in when you return and I’ll let you know if they show up.”

“Thanks, Nat.” he replied.

Natasha stopped and stared at John. “What did you call me?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” John replied. “Natasha, not Nat. I’m sorry.”

“No, that’s alright,” she said gloomily. “I just haven’t heard that name in a while.”

“Is it OK? Or should I use Natasha?”

“No, Nat’s fine. Someday I’ll tell you the story. I like Nat.” She smiled sadly.

“Then “Nat” it is.” He concluded. “Oh, and what about the third one?”

“Just a minute, let me check.”

Nat typed in the information Jorge had given to him, and after a few seconds, John saw disappointment once again.

“I’m sorry, John, but we don’t have a Mark de la Hoya in the system” She said with a smile. “Who is he?”

“The cook’s step-brother,” John said back. “The other two are his mother and sister.”

“Mind if I take a look?” John innocently asked.

Natasha glanced sideways at her officemates; and seeing them busy with their own work, she rotated the screen for John to see.

Agent Drosky glanced down at the list and verified that, indeed, there was no Mark de la Hoya. But just above where that name would have appeared, was Maria de la Hoya. The brief bio staring back at him confirmed her date of birth and last known address. She was at the Fairgrounds, section B7, tent 5.

“Well, tell him we’re zero for three, but I might get lucky when they update the database.”

“I’ll check back this afternoon. And thanks, Nat.”

When John had seen two men with the same last name at breakfast, it dawned on him that if he had Natasha search for another de la Hoya, Maria’s name might come up in the database as well. It was a bit risky, but it paid off.

He gave her a wink, eliciting a flush of red on her ivory white cheeks. Natasha turned away quickly and John used the chance to leave the office and join his partner for another long day of what was rapidly becoming traffic control. Only this traffic was people, and it was draining his soul. But at least John knew what his next step was; and it was all about to seal his future, one way or the other.