On the Other Side of the Bridge (9 page)

Lonnie's insides lurched, and he felt as if he was going to puke. He hurried to the bathroom. With his head hanging over the toilet, he dry heaved a couple of times, but nothing came out. He remained there a little longer just to make sure. Then he tore off a strip of tissue paper and blew his nose.

When he came out of the bathroom, he saw his grandparents Salinas, who had just arrived, talking with his dad and Mr. Jenkins. His uncles, Rubén and Beto, soon
joined them. They tried to get more information from the triage nurse, but all she did was repeat what she had already told Lonnie and his dad.

Things grew testy when Mr. Jenkins suggested that Lonnie's mother had been shot because she hadn't followed proper procedures. “If she had called 911 instead of trying to nab the perp herself, this might not have happened.”

“So you're telling us this is Becky's fault?” Lonnie's grandpa asked irately.

“No, Arthur. All I'm saying is that company policy states that …”

“I don't give a damn about your company policy!” Lonnie's grandpa retorted. “Becky was shot in the line of duty, and right now she's fighting for her life. How dare you try to put the blame on her. It seems to me like you're more concerned about your company than you are about my daughter!”

People turned and stared at them. The drunk guy sitting in front of them woke up and looked around, dazed, as if wondering where he was.

Uncle Beto took his father by the arm. “Papi, calm down,” he said. “Nobody's blaming anyone. Mr. Jenkins is just as concerned about Becky as we are. We're tired, that's all. Tired and scared. Instead of arguing, we need to be praying that she's going to be all right.”

A half hour later, a uniformed Marsville police officer and a man in a suit approached them. “Are you here for Rebecca Rodríguez?” the man in the suit asked.

Lonnie's grandpa told him they were.

“I'm Detective Samuel Olsen with the Crimes Against Persons Unit,” the man said.

“What's that?” Lonnie asked.

Detective Olsen looked at him, as if he hadn't noticed him before. “Crimes Against Persons is, um … well, anytime a person's been assaulted … shot, stabbed, or beaten … we're sent to investigate it.”

“How's my wife?” Lonnie's dad asked.

Detective Olsen glanced around. “Let's go somewhere more private.”

When he said that, Lonnie realized his mother's condition was so critical, the detective couldn't talk about it in front of the other people in the waiting room.

Detective Olsen escorted them to a small family room and shut the door. “Mrs. Rodríguez received a gunshot wound to the chest,” he said, pointing to his heart area. “She's in surgery right now, and the doctors are doing everything they can for her. That's all I can tell you about her condition at this time.”

The uniformed officer looked at the detective, then said, “I don't know if this is any consolation to you folks, but I think you should be aware that our patrol division has apprehended a suspect.”

“Who is it?” Lonnie's grandpa asked, wondering if the suspect was someone he had dealt with when he worked for the Marsville P.D.

“His name is Kevin Williams,” Detective Olsen answered for the uniformed officer. “He's served time in the county jail for a number of offenses. From what we understand, he's confessed to shooting Mrs. Rodríguez. Right now he's being held for aggravated assault, but that charge could change if …” He caught himself. “Well, let's just hope Mrs. Rodríguez pulls through.”

He introduced the uniformed officer as John Zúñiga. “I'll be in contact with you. But in the meanwhile, Officer Zúñiga is going to take you upstairs to the surgery floor,
where you can wait until the doctors let you know how Mrs. Rodríguez is doing.”

They rode the elevator to the second floor. Officer Zúñiga took them to another family room, where they waited, while he stood outside the door.

There were no windows in the room, and Lonnie felt cramped and claustrophobic. While everyone tried to fill the time by making idle chit-chat, he stepped out of the room. He walked down the hallway to the double doors at the end, knowing his mother was somewhere on the other side, being treated by the doctors. Standing there, something Jo Marie said earlier came to him.

“I will execute terrible vengeance against them to punish them for what they have done.”

The Bible verse made Lonnie wonder:
Is God punishing me for sneaking out of church? For lying? For breaking into the warehouse? Is this why He allowed my mom to get shot? Is this my fault?

A heavy weight of guilt overcame him, and he began to cry. Officer Zúñiga looked in his direction, and then out of respect, turned away. Lonnie returned to the bathroom and washed his face. Afterward, he rejoined his family and Mr. Jenkins.

From time to time, he peered down the hallway at the double doors, wishing the doctors would hurry and tell them that his mother was going to be all right.

Shortly, a hospital chaplain walked out of the elevator. Accompanying him was a large man, the size of a pro football linebacker, wearing a brown sports jacket and a tie.

The big man peeked inside the waiting room. Then he called Officer Zúñiga away from the door. While they talked, a doctor and a nurse came out of the double doors and huddled with them.

They were discussing his mother, Lonnie was sure of it. And by the expressions on their faces, things didn't look good. When they were done, the five of them entered the waiting room and gathered around the family.

The big man shut the door and said, “I'm Detective Paul Campbell with the Marsville Police Homicide Division.”

Lonnie's dad wrapped an arm around his son and drew him close.

“As you know, Rebecca Rodríguez suffered a severe gunshot wound and was rushed over here by the paramedics,” Detective Campbell said. “The doctors worked on her the best they could, but …” He sighed. “But ultimately, they couldn't save her. I'm sorry to tell you this. Rebecca passed away a few minutes ago.”

T
HE DOCTOR EXPLAINED
that Lonnie's mother had been shot with a .38 caliber handgun. The bullet penetrated her chest wall, damaged her left lung and pierced the aorta, causing massive blood loss. He went into other details, but Lonnie was too numb to listen. All he knew was that his mother was dead. Beyond that, nothing mattered. The nurse told them they could view the body if they wished, which everyone agreed they wanted to do.

Detective Campbell informed them that the news media was aware of the shooting and had been waiting outside the hospital to hear from the family, but they weren't under any obligation to speak to them. After that, he and Officer Zúñiga left.

The chaplain shared words of sympathy and led them in a prayer. Then he and the nurse took Lonnie and his family to the viewing room, which was similar to the room they had been in, with a couch and chairs. A glass panel, like those found in museum displays, allowed them to see into the next room, where Lonnie's mother's body lay on a gurney. She was encased in a white plastic bag, zipped up to her neck, leaving only her face exposed.

Her hair had been tied in a bun when she left the house. It now hung loosely on the sides of her head. Her eyes were shut, and her mouth turned downward, as if
she was sad. Sad that she had been shot. Sad that she was dead. Sad that she wouldn't be going home.

Lonnie's dad and grandma broke into tears, but his grandpa sat stone-face, his lips tight, his chin jutting out. He had been a sergeant in the Marines and had retired from the police force as a lieutenant, so he wasn't easily ruffled. Still, although he didn't show it, Lonnie knew his grandpa had to be hurting inside. After all, that was his only daughter lying lifeless on the gurney. Lonnie's uncles, like his grandpa, sat rigid and expressionless.

Lonnie tried to be strong like them, but tears streamed down his eyes, and his chest felt heavy, as the realization sank in that he would never see his mother alive again. She would never knock on his bedroom door to make sure he was awake and getting ready for school. She would never fix him Saturday pancakes. He would never get to hold her and tell her he loved her.

It occurred to him that he couldn't remember the last time he had told his mother he loved her.

When he was little, she had taught him to say,
I love you, Mommy
. “Say, I love you, Mommy,” she would encourage him. And obediently Lonnie would repeat, “I love you, Mommy.”

But as he grew older, he felt it was uncool to say that anymore. The best he could muster whenever his mother said she loved him was, “Yeah, me, too.” Now he wished more than anything that she could hear him utter those four words again:
I love you, Mommy
.

Lonnie wondered what went through her mind as she lay on the ground in the apartment complex parking lot, the rain pelting down on her, washing away the blood as it drained out of her body. Did she think of him? Did she say, “I love you, Lonnie?”

He hung his head in shame, knowing her last thoughts of him were that he was a vandal and a liar. That he was lazy and irresponsible.

“I don't know who you are anymore. I can't trust you. Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”

Just once, Lonnie wished he had done something that would have made her proud of him. Something that would have made her want to stand up and say to the world, “Look everybody! That's my son!”

But he had never accomplished anything outstanding or praiseworthy. He was a nobody, a do-nothing. He was a crummy student. He didn't play sports.
You know what they say, no pass, no play
. He wasn't in the band. He didn't belong to any school organizations. He didn't even go to church, although he had led his mother to believe he did.

Liar, liar, pants on fire!

That's a sin, and you're going to have to answer to the Lord for it
.

He buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly. This whole experience felt surreal, like another crazy nightmare. Except that he could wake up from a bad dream. But how was he supposed to wake up from reality? His mother hadn't been attacked by a zombie or a vampire or some other fantasy creature. A real live monster had pulled out a gun and shot her, leaving her lying on the ground, bleeding to death.

When they left the hospital, reporters flocked around them, microphones in hand, bombarding them with questions about the shooting. Lonnie's dad started to respond, but his father-in-law stopped him. He told the reporters that the family wasn't ready to comment yet.

It was almost five o'clock by the time Lonnie and his dad arrived home. His dad turned on the TV to the
Channel 4 news. A weather update was airing. It was followed by a brief traffic report and a commercial break.

The morning broadcast returned with dramatic music and a BREAKING NEWS headline. The anchorwoman, Leticia Reyes, opened the five o'clock segment with a live report of the fatal shooting at the Sherwood Forest Apartments. Scott Harris, one of the reporters who had approached the family, appeared onscreen. With the Landry Memorial Hospital in the background, he recounted the events that led to the tragedy.

Along with the report, Channel 4 showed a photo of the suspect, Kevin Williams. He was twenty-nine years old and had been in and out of jail since he was fifteen, for offenses that included assault, car theft, burglary, evading arrest and drug possession. Now it appeared that his criminal history would include murder.

Kevin Williams looked like he could still pass for fifteen. His height and weight weren't revealed, but Lonnie guessed he stood no taller than five-seven, and weighed around a hundred fifty pounds. His blond hair was long and stringy. He had a pencil-thin mustache, or what the guys at school called peach fuzz. A tiny tuft of hair, like the bristles on an artist's paint brush, grew below his bottom lip.

The reporter mentioned that Kevin Williams was a resident at the Sherwood Forest Apartments, which made Lonnie wonder if his mother had recognized him. Is that why he shot her? So she wouldn't be able to identify him? Next, they showed a clip of Kevin Williams, in handcuffs, being led into the Marsville City Jail by several police officers.

Lonnie's dad bolted from the couch and screamed at the television, “Do you realize what you've done, you
worthless piece of trash? You've destroyed my family! You took away my Becky! You …” His words faded away in his sobs.

Throughout the day, the phone rang almost non-stop, with friends and relatives calling to express their condolences. Lonnie also received texts from some of his classmates, letting him know how sorry they were to hear about his mother. Word about her death had reached his school, for which he was glad, since his dad hadn't called the office to let them know why he wouldn't be in class. Lonnie was disappointed that he hadn't heard from Axel. But knowing him, his phone probably wasn't charged.