Transience (16 page)

"
You're safe, Rebecca.
 
They're just images!
" Leonard's voice assured, "
I want you to move away from here.
 
Go back, before this happened.
 
How did you get here?
"
 

The tape fell silent for a moment.
 
Then Rebecca's voice reappeared, but different, deeper, not her own.
 
"
Mi madre y yo tuvieron una pelea.
"
 
Jack recognized the deeper tone of her voice from the hospital.
 
He watched Leonard quickly sift through his notes.
 
He found the right page and began translating for Jack:
 

"…My mother and I had a fight."

"
Ella piensa que soy no más larga una virgen.
 
Pero no es verdad.
 
Estoy limpio.
 
Es una fantasia que compuse.
"

"She thinks I'm no longer a virgin, but it's not true.
 
I'm clean.
 
It was a fantasy I made up.
"

"
Pienso que mi hermano lee mi diario.
"

"I think my brother read my diary."

"
Me escondí debajo de mi tocador.
"

"I hid it under my dresser."

The tape went silent again.
 
Only Leonard's voice, "
Rebecca?
 
Rebecca?
 
Can you hear me?
 
Rebecca?"

"
It's raining,
" Rebecca said, "
I don't want to go home.
 
I'm scared.
"

There was another long silence.
 
Jack looked at Leonard, wondering if that was all there was.
 
Leonard shook his head, there was more:

"
Rebecca?
 
Rebecca?"

"Trusted him
…
"

"Who, Rebecca?
 
Who did you trust?"

"Lied to me."

"Who?"

Rebecca's started to choke on the tape.
 
"
Oh, God, please
…
No!
"

"
Who is trying to hurt you?
"
 

"
Catch her.
 
Catch her!
 
No!
 
Stop!
"

Jack clenched his teeth as Rebecca's sobs grew so loud the sound on the tape started to distort.

"
Rebecca, breathe!
 
Breathe!
" Rebecca started to calm down, her breathing slowed.
 
"
That's it, breathe, deep breaths, good girl.
 
Float past this.
 
What do you see?
"

"
It's dark.
 
My hands are tied.
 
Legs hurt.
 
My hair is wet.
 
Blood
…
my blood.
 
Can't move.
 
Can't move!
" Rebecca grew hysterical again.

"Enough, shut it off," Jack said.

"Not yet, it's important.
 
You must listen," Leonard raised the volume on the player.
 

"
Try, Rebecca
,
what is this place?
" Rebecca sobbed, her emotion palpable.

"
There's a light
," she said sniffling, "
a window
."

"
Can you see out the window?
"
 
A brief silence.

"
I see a road.
"

"
What else?
"

"
It's getting dark.
 
Church bells
," she said, her voice now soft as a whisper.
 
Jack made mental notes of every word, every detail.

"
Where are you?
 
Can you see a location?
"
 
There was another brief silence.
 
Again Rebecca's voice was replaced by a lower, more raspy sounding one.

"
Bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús.
 
Santa Maria, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte.
 
Amén."

Leonard put his glasses back on and scanned his notes, "…Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now…and at the hour of our death."

"
The fruits of our labors
…
find Jesus on the hill,
" Rebecca said in English, her voice groggy, hoarse.

"
Rebecca?
 
…
Rebecca?
" Leonard stopped the tape.

"She just kept rambling prayers after that."
 

"What does it mean?" Jack asked.

"You're the detective."

"She never gives a name?
 
Something specific?"

"In one of our sessions, she only responded to the name Carmen.
 
She never names her attacker.
 
But I believe she knew him."

Jack's legs had stiffened from sitting too long.
 
He placed his hands on the armrests of the chair and pushed himself up.
 
He took a few steps, deep in thought.
 
Outside the window, the sun had set, the street lights were starting to turn on.
 

"Doesn't amount to much more than chance," Jack said finally.

"No.
 
That's too dismissive."

"A bizarre coincidence."

"There are no coincidences," Leonard said firmly, a little frustrated.

"The mother, Laura, she knew the victim.
 
They were friends."
 

"Some believe there's a synchronicity between birth and death, life and loved ones, remaining within the same circle, changing roles, learning, growing.
 
Who are we to know these things?"

Jack turned to Leonard, "Why burden a little girl?"
 

"Perhaps Rebecca is God's way of rectifying an oversight."

Jack wondered,
would God ever rectify the oversight on him?
 
He wasn't so narrow-minded as to think his life — and life as a whole — was some cosmic mistake, a random event.
 
He honestly felt there was a plan.
 
He just felt slighted, out of the loop about what that plan was.
 
Jack took full responsibility for his lot in life, but some things were out of his control, and it was
those
events, the ones that were left
up to the fates
,
that always seemed to land penny-head down.
 
He could have used a little help then.
 

But what about innocence?
 
If we're all part of a bigger picture, then why allow harm to a child like Rebecca?
 
Maybe it was a second chance to right a wrong
?
 
For Rebecca's everlasting soul to find justice.
 
Could it be possible?
 
If she was working through emotional baggage that spanned lifetimes, then she had been given a second opportunity to understand it, learn from it, even grow.
 
If so, then maybe there was a chance for Jack too.
 
To learn from this life.
 
Jack was intrigued, not just for justice — unprecedented, supernatural justice — but for all the other aspects the concept opened up.
 
He started to feel something he hadn't felt in a long time.
 

Hope.

"So what now?" Jack asked.

"If it is the same killer as the evidence suggests, then you have to dig deeper.
 
Find Carmen's killer, you'll find Angelina."

Jack turned from the window and moved to the table.
 
He popped the tape from its player.
 
Leonard didn't protest.
 
He grabbed Rebecca's sketchbook.
 
"I'm taking this too."
 
Leonard pushed his chair out.
 

"Jack, if word of our discussion, the nature of it, were to get out, it could… my practice would be-"

"Don't worry.
 
I have no intention of humiliating you.
 
Or myself."

CHAPTER 31

Laura held the tea bag between her finger and the spoon, squeezed the last ounce of flavor out, and tossed it into the waste basket.
 

She stood in the middle of the kitchen and pulled her white robe about her, thoughts of a hot bath in her future.
 
She leaned against the edge of the countertop and took a sip of her tea, savoring it.
 
She felt a pinch in her shoulders and shrugged, trying to release the tension a little.
 

Atop the refrigerator sat a bottle of rum.
 
She jokingly considered spicing her tea with a little spirits to take the edge off.
 
Jokingly, because Laura didn't drink alcohol.
 
Ever.
 
It was how some people dealt with problems.
 
How her father had dealt with them.
 
It wasn't how she was going to deal with them.
 

The rum wasn't hers.
 
Like many other remnants left behind after her father passed away, she hadn't gotten around to clearing it out.
 
Yet, she did consider it for a moment.
 
It was a sign of how dark things were getting.
 
How desperate.
 

After they'd returned home from the hospital, Rebecca spent the majority of her time up in her room, painting.
 
She burned through all of her supplies — twice, sending Laura running back and forth to the art supply store.
 

Rebecca's artwork seemed unusually abstract lately.
 
Random splashes of color, with no thoughtful structure or purpose.
 
It was odd, since her work was normally so intricately detailed.
 
But the last few days, she just dipped and waved at the canvas.

Laura thought maybe it represented the confusion in her head, putting on paper what she couldn't verbalize.
 
Random thoughts and emotions that made no sense, the canvas some kind of cathartic outlet.
 

The screams were still keeping her awake.
 
Laura knew something had to give soon, her nerves were redlining.

Laura entered the living room, sat on the couch, and turned on the TV.
 
Another news report; Carmen's murder was being discussed in detail.
 
They showed a smiling picture of Carmen, her high school photo, then ran images of her body's discovery, the ongoing police investigation.
 
Laura sniffed and swallowed audibly.
 
She dabbed at a tear, not realizing Rebecca had entered the room.
 
She fumbled for the remote, zapping it off.
 

"What was the name of the girl they were talking about?" Rebecca asked.
 
From the look on her face, Laura could tell she'd heard it, she was just looking for confirmation.
 

"I didn't hear," Laura said, getting up to move to the kitchen.
 
She picked up a dish in the sink and began rinsing it.
 
Rebecca followed her.

"Did you know her?"

"Who?"

"The girl?
 
The one on TV?"

"…No."

"Then why were you crying?"

Laura poured dishwashing liquid onto a sponge, nearly scrubbing a hole in the already clean plate.
 
"I wasn't crying.
 
My eyes itch.
 
It's the dust in this old house.
 
I have to get to that."

Rebecca opened the freezer and nearly climbed in to grab the tub of ice cream, dropping back down on the linoleum floor with a loud thud.
 

"You didn't finish your dinner."

"Yes I did."

"You just pushed it around your plate."
 
Rebecca scooped some chocolate into a bowl.
 
"You can scoop that right back in the tub, it's too late for ice cream.
 
I'll warm some milk for you instead."

Rebecca sneered and turned up her nose at the mention of it.
 
She took a clean glass, still dripping from Laura's hard work, and leaned over the sink, brushing Laura aside.
 
She filled it with tap water and headed for the staircase.
 

"If you want water, sweetie, there's cold water in the fridge."

"It's to clean my brushes."

"Then you could have taken a dirty glass."

Rebecca disappeared upstairs.
 
Laura stopped washing the dish.
 
Under normal circumstances, she'd say it's too late to be up painting; it was time for bed.
 
But she didn't remember what normal was anymore.
 
And she was appreciating the silence.
 
Long may it last.
 
She heard Rebecca's door close.
 
She put her head down and sighed.
 

Laura went to the den and stood amongst a few boxes that were still waiting to be unpacked from the move.
 
She reached into one and upended the contents, sifting for something.
 
She pulled out a small spiral bound address book.
 
She opened it.
 

Inside under M was an old entry for Carmen Muniz, with a phone number.
 
Her name was circled with a heart.
 
Laura turned a few pages and a worn, yellowed photograph slipped out.
 
She held it up; it was a picture of her and Carmen, snapped by a friend at Lakeview Park after a ride on the roller coaster.
 
They were both shouting something, she'd always loved the candid smiles on their faces.
 

She stared at her 15 year old self, her hair so much longer and blonde then, Carmen's hair so dark next to hers.
 
They were like contrasting pieces on an Othello board.
 
She was reminded of an odd moment while giving Rebecca a bath, back when she was about two years old.
 
She was toweling her off when Rebecca commented how she preferred her with long hair, asking why she cut it short.
 
But Laura had cut it short a few years before Rebecca was born.
 
Rebecca never knew her with long hair.
 
Laura figured she must have seen pictures of her.
 
She never really tried to rationalize what she'd said, she just remembered it being weird at the time.