Piano in the Dark (17 page)

“Wait right here,” I said to the cabbie. It had taken his assistance to exit the van. With my arm in a sling, I draped my hoodie over my shoulders and limped into the Walgreens at the corner of Fannin and North Macgregor. Just down the block from Ben Taub General, where my dad had helped me dress and sneak into the elevator. To go along with whatever treatment plans the doctors had prescribed would only slow me down. I had no time to be sidelined.

With Ava talking about leaving town, I needed the truth now.

And I’d learned, working in my profession all these years, is that sometimes to get at the truth, you need a lie.

Or rather a liar.

I grabbed several bottles of extra-strength Motrin, a box of Epsom salt, and some ice packs off the shelf, dialing a number on my phone that fared better than my body.

“Surprised you’d want to talk to me. Calling to apologize? Or to beg for a reference?”

“Hell no,” I said, grimacing as I limped toward the refrigerated section for a bottle of cherry Pepsi. Had to stop and lean against a store endcap filled with Snuggies on display for a moment.

“You sound like death.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I still live. Need a favor from you.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jacobi replied. I was only a mile or two from his place. If in better shape, I would’ve considered showing up to argue my case in person.

“You did a good enough job of that at Casey Warner.”

“You deserved what you got, you unappreciative bastard.”

“I didn’t call for niceties. But how’s your face, by the way?” I asked, mustering a spiteful chuckle that hurt my sore ribs. The ringing in my head was still present.

“I’m about to hang up. I’m only giving you these seconds because you were my boy once.”

“I need records. Fast. And you can get them for me,” I said

“Can’t help you.”

“You will.”

“Or what? Gonna beat me up again? You caught me in my work mode when you chose to go gangsta. I’m ready for you this time.”

“You and what security, bitch?”

“Good one. But you see I had the last laugh. Now you’re on the phone begging me for something.”

“I’m not begging, but I will say please. I really need this, man.”

“Must be important for you to semi-beg. Still, don’t see how you’re gonna make me do your bidding. Good-bye—”

“Wells Fargo,” I said calmly. “I was with you at Casey Warner long enough to know what is a fuckup on your part and what is intentional. I know about your rainy-day fund at Wells Fargo and how you divert false expenditures into it. You still have dreams of making partner? Well, you can’t put that one on me if they were to find out.”

“You can’t prove that shit.”

“Don’t have to. Bet the partners could. Last time I checked, Casey Warner hadn’t changed their number.”

“I’m listening,” he growled, simmering on the other end of the phone call. I smiled, happy with my bluff. He’d only proven what I suspected.

“I need medical records, specific case files from a Dr. Charla Prisbani,” I requested, reciting the name I’d seen on Ava’s prescription bottles. “She’s a psychiatrist.”

“
If
I were to do this, where is she located?”

“I know she practices here in Houston. Find her. Get this for me and I’ll forget any potential stories I might have about you and your illustrious career.”

“This is about that damn girl, huh? And all these years, I thought we were friends.”

“If we were still friends, I wouldn’t be asking this of you. But you took care of that. Just get it for me.”

“How? With my good looks?”

I sighed, beginning to walk again. “I don’t work there and you’re still having me figuring things out for you. Forge a subpoena using one of your existing cases. One that will scare her office into coughing it up on the spot when you present it. You’re smooth. I trust you’ll get it done and get me what I need. Time is of the essence. I’ll give you until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Blackmail and extortion is a crime. You do remember that, right?”

“I’m that desperate. Consider it a compliment that I would trust your talents and ask you.”

I had Jacobi take down the information I had on Ava to better allow him to forge a subpoena. The federal privacy laws would make this a difficult one, but if Dr. Prisbani were a straight or bi female, Jacobi should be able to get the job done.

After paying for my quick first aid, I checked my phone. Missed calls were pouring in from my mom, even one from Dawn that gave me pause. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t call them back yet. They’d live.

I entered the cab, telling him to just drive. I needed time to think. Someone else needed to know I was okay. Looking at Reliant Stadium as we passed on I-610, I decided to reach out.

“Chase! Oh, thank God!” Ava squealed. “It’s so good to hear your voice. I didn’t mean to startle you with my condition. When I saw that car coming toward you, I thought I’d lost you. You’re lucky it hit its brakes and swerved.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think I remember sticking my arm out in front of me when I saw it. But that’s it. What happened next?”

“After you took a spill, I stayed by your side until the ambulance came. I gave them your name and information, but didn’t want to create more problems for you with your family, so I stayed behind. That was hard to do. Are you still in the hospital?”

“Yeah,” I answered, thinking it through.

“How bad off are you, love?”

“I’m okay. Just some bumps,” I replied, to which the cabbie looked in his rearview mirror and frowned. “Sorry to scare you. Is the baby okay?” Felt wrong saying it, but I had to acknowledge what I saw. What I felt.

“Yes. Thank you for asking,” she said warmly. “I don’t know whether to say
him
or
her
. This…this is startling for me too. I should see a doctor. It really hurts sometimes. And as fast as this is going, it won’t be much longer.”

“Maybe I can see the two of you…again. When I get released. It’ll be soon.”

“Good. That would be nice. Like I said. I’ll be leaving soon. Going back home.”

“Back to Louisiana? Pouppeville, right? That shouldn’t be too long a drive.”

“…I suppose,” Ava said after a long pause.

Again with not understanding her.

Next time I saw her, I would have my answers.

I ripped open the packaging and popped the top on the Motrin with my good hand. Downing a couple of tablets with some Pepsi, I sought a little relief from the pain I was in.

“Hey. I just took my meds, so I’m going to have to call you back tomorrow.”

“I understand. Sleep tight. Be sure to listen to the nurses.”

“I will,” I replied, wishing I was being cared for by trained professionals.

Ending my conversation with Ava, I called out for the cabdriver to find me a hotel downtown.

Soon. Very soon.

I’d been sitting in the Ragin’ Cajun restaurant in the downtown tunnels not far from Casey, Warner & Associates. Left my hotel and got here early so as to enjoy a bowl of chicken and shrimp gumbo and take a seat before his arrival.

As the lunchtime crowd diminished, returning to their offices in the towering spires in the bright Texas sun aboveground, I remained seated. I checked my watch, anticipating the lull. Jacobi arrived as I read from a copy of the
Houston Defender
. The man had been sweating and looked downright off his game. Amazing how much my threat had done to motivate him.

“Here,” he said, flipping a large brown envelope atop my newspaper. I looked up from my read, trying to be discreet.

“Is that it?”

“No, is
that
it?” he retorted, hoping to be done with me I’m sure. “Whoa, you look sick.”

Ignoring Jacobi’s statement about my appearance, I took the envelope in my hand. The heft felt right for a file. I kept my cast below the table and my jacket covering the sling. No need him knowing. Might try to sneak me with a punch. “You really did it,” I said.

“You’re not going to open it?”

“Not here,” I said, not wanting him to see me struggle with a lone hand. “If it’s not, then it’s
not it
.”

“You don’t know what I had to do for that,” he muttered, leaning over the table with a false smile for only me to hear.

“Had trouble drafting the subpoena?” I taunted.

“No. I didn’t do that shit. You know I’ve never been good at that kind of stuff. That—that’s what you were around there for. To make things work. Until you went and fucked things up,” he said, his voice growing distant at the end. A hint of regret? If I believed him capable of it.

“Then how did you—”

“I got what you wanted. Had other things planned for this morning already, so I acquired it last night.”

“Last night? A break-in? Did anyone get hurt?”

“No. But somebody had to be paid for the job. We’re straight, right?”

“Yeah. We’re good. Thank you,” I politely offered to him, potential future partner with Casey, Warner & Associates.

“I never saw you. I never spoke to you. I never want to see you again,” he responded with his parting shot. Then he abruptly turned his back to me and exited the restaurant, entering the flow of foot traffic outside to disappear again—a suit among a human river of suits.

I couldn’t get up fast enough to return to my hotel room and see what the file held.

“Boy, where are you?” Earnestine yelled as I finally answered her call. “If you’re tryin’ to convince me that you’re not out your ever-lovin’ mind, you’re failin’ miserably!”

“I’m okay, Mom,” I said, closing the hotel curtains. Light had begun making the headache worse.

“Okay? The hospital went into a panic when you disappeared. They don’t like what they saw in your CT scan results. Need you to come back for further tests. And how the hell did you get dressed? Did Joell help you? I will beat his crazy, foolish ass.”

“No, Mom. You know he’s not capable of that,” I countered, protecting the elder Hidalgo. “I’m just not as bad as they thought. How else could I walk out of there? Didn’t mean to scare you. Have some business I need to handle. And I’m not losing my mind.”

“Do you love your wife?” my mom asked sharply.

“Of course. What kind of question is that?” I replied as I reached over and turned on the desk lamp.

“Then you need to stop this foolishness. She thinks all of this is because of that artist woman. Whatever chance you have is slipping away. For good.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do now. Make sense of it all. Look. I gotta go. Tell Dawn that I love her,” I remarked as I upended the envelope, spilling its contents onto the desk.

If Jacobi really had someone break into the psychiatrist’s office, this stuff was hotter than I’d like if they noticed it missing. And if somebody had been hurt, I couldn’t undo that. But I’d asked for it. No balking at the method in the aftermath.

I spread the documents out and sifted through them. Wanting to understand what I was poring over from top to bottom. A microcassette was included in an envelope, but I didn’t have anything to play it on.

Over the next hour or so, I tried to make sense of Dr. Prisbani’s handwritten notes and typed session summaries, forming a mental picture of Ava from her perspective. Certain details came alive for me despite it becoming increasingly hard to concentrate.

*Found in the bathroom of a couple’s home in the Heights.

* Arrested for trespassing, but unknown how she got in. Claimed to be owner of the house and that couple were somehow trespassers. Disoriented and confused.

* Taken into custody. Unable to present ID.

* No record of her in the system.

*Not even fingerprints or Social Security number on file.

*Referred for additional evaluation upon release from hospital observation. Receiving assistance from Smith Sampson with acclimation and basic living arrangements.

*Says her name is Ava. Claims to be from a town in Louisiana called Pouppeville. Unable to locate such a place.

*Subject is a fascinating individual. Well educated and expressive. Took particular interest based on complex fantasies where even I have trouble not believing.

*In her imagined world, a lot is the same as the real world. Minor differences in architecture, cars, boats and planes, but some distinct differences. Past—United States has fifty-two states; Puerto Rico and Cuba added in the 1960s. Malcolm X and Bobby Kennedy survived assassination attempts. Recent—Al Gore won in a narrow election, serving two terms. 9-11 didn’t happen as well as Iraq War. Before her “coming here,” Republican John McCain held a commanding lead in general election polls over Democrat nominee John Edwards once details of Edward’s affair surfaced.

* Has crafted a parallel world for herself, worthy of a novel. However, this fantasy of hers is pathological; a defense in coping with loss.

*Shows immense artistic ability. Claims she was a renowned artist where she came from. Now paints to cope with loss of her husband and her home. Husband was famous pianist. College sweethearts at SHSU.

*In mourning as husband died in a random traffic accident while touring in the Netherlands. Wasn’t with him. Was supposed to go, but had minor disagreement. Doesn’t forgive herself. Feels she’s here in “our world” either as punishment or second chance. Thinks punishment.

*Irrational fixation on her deceased husband. Probable guilt. Helping her with coping strategies and how to move on.

*Worry what might happen if she meets someone she thinks is this man Chase. Could be major setback in mental state with dire consequences.

And I came along. Outside a pub one night.

“Lord no,” I gasped.

I stood up from the desk, feeling a bit warm. Probably just nerves and exhaustion. Of course, what I’d read of the psychiatrist’s notes should’ve put me on my ass alone.

If Dr. Prisbani had seen Ava’s stomach—touched it like I had and felt the life growing inside, I wonder if her clinical opinion would change. Maybe I should call her. Get her to see Ava and provide me with a second opinion. To tell me I wasn’t alone in thinking Ava was something greater than we, in our tiny focused lives, could imagine. To make me feel I was still sane.

But that would involve me admitting I’d had her patient records stolen.

The pain in my head worsened, making my eyes tear up. I limped toward the table and poured myself a glass of water over ice. I was already on my second bottle of Motrin, quickly downing six of them with several gulps of water. I’d be better. Now I had to get out of here. See Ava. Tell her I know.

That I believed her.

But first…I was so tired. Had pushed myself too hard. Needed to sleep. Just a quick catnap and I’d bounce back.

I fixed my smarting eyes on the bed in front of me. After resting the cool drinking glass against my forehead, I wandered over and collapsed atop the comforter.

Just…a…little…nap.

“Ahhh!” I yelped, sitting up too quickly. Arm itched like hell with the cast. Still had no idea how bad the fracture was or what kind of break. But it was my spiking headache that bothered me more.

What time was it?
Get it together, Chase
, I thought to myself.

It was nighttime, light no longer threatening to aggravate my sensitive eyes. The constant of downtown activity just beyond the windows had subsided too.

“Oh, shit,” I blurted out. Was it even the same day? It wasn’t the headache that awakened me, rather the persistent buzzing of my phone. I wondered how long and how often it had been doing that. I saw the number and quickly answered.

“Ava,” I called out, frowning over the case of cotton mouth I was experiencing. The ice in my glass had melted too.

“Chase…Can—hear me?” I heard her voice say over the bad connection.

“Yes. I can hear you. But you’re spotty,” I replied. “I—I need to talk to you. I need to come over. Okay?”

“Hurry. I—”

“Ava! What? Say it again.”

“—have to go. It’s time, Chase.”

“Time? Time for what? Can you hear me? Ava!” I yelled into the phone. Like it would do any good. As fast as this pregnancy was progressing, was she about to give birth? On a normal day, I couldn’t tell the difference between trimesters, but whatever was happening to Ava defied any normal calculations.

Oh my God. I was going to be a father.

What if this accelerated growth resulted in a deformity?

Or worse?

Death.

I felt flush, needing some water right away to keep from passing out. I pushed myself to my feet on the strength of my good arm and swiftly moved to the table. While trying to listen beyond the whirring static, I filled my glass and downed another few Motrin. But as bad as I felt, Ava had to be worse.

“—I can feel it,” came through clearly during a break in the interference that kept rolling in every few seconds. Shit. These phones were supposed to be the best.

“Hold up! Feel what, Ava? Contractions? Is that what you are saying? Listen, we need to get you to the hospital. Okay?”

“…love…you.”

“I—I—listen. I love you too,” I uttered, finally giving in the overwhelming tide, no longer fearful of it or its crushing weight. Felt liberating. “Are you there? Ava? Ava!”

“There’s a pregnant woman inside. Wait here,” I instructed the cabdriver as I awkwardly exited and hobbled up the steps to Ava’s door. En route here, she’d quit answering her phone, stoking my fears. Adrenaline carried me as I beat on the door over and over.

“Ava, can you hear me?” I yelled to no response. When I grabbed the door handle, I realized it was unlocked.

As quickly as I could, I made my way through her home. Checked every room, every corner, every space possible.

But she was nowhere to be found.

Not even in her sanctuary where she healed herself, casting reminders of home in oils and watercolors atop canvass.

And where I played notes to Tupac for her.

Tupac…the mayor of Oakland
, she’d said. Didn’t quite feel so silly now.

The piano in the corner was uncovered. A hastily torn sheet of yellow notepad paper sat atop the keys. I went over, picked it up, turned it over, and read from it. Expected the name of the hospital to which she’d gone so I could run out of here and instruct the cabdriver to get me there pronto.

No.

That wasn’t to be.

I screamed aloud, my weary, beaten mind considering that what Ava had left me was a suicide note. I lost all control, running through her place, yelling out her name as I looked for some trace—some clue—that perhaps she could still be found. In her bedroom, I found her purse.

And her phone.

Either she departed in such a hurry that she left them.

Or she had no further use for them.

Had no intention of coming back.

When I emerged from her place, I was as if a madman. There was no sign of Ava in either direction. The cabdriver raised his hands off the steering wheel, waiting for his next set of directions. As long as his meter was running, he didn’t care.

But I did.

And the pain in my heart rose up to surpass anything my failing body had endured. I grabbed the railing to steady myself as I slowly descended.

“My friend, do you want me to take you back home?” the driver asked when I got to him.

Home.

With that singular thought, another bolt of shooting pain rang through my head. I braced myself on the cab.

“You don’t look well, my friend. Maybe you go to hospital? Maybe you come back later?”

I opened my eyes, beginning to respond and saw Ava’s file, which I’d left on the backseat.

“No,” I replied. “I know where we need to go.”