A Heartbeat Away (13 page)

Tori couldn't keep the sarcasm from her voice. “Thanks.”

She settled into her chair and looked around the crowded waiting area. Two officers wrestled an angry drunk in handcuffs. “I know my rightsss,” he slurred.

A tattooed man sat on the floor, slumped against the wall. A woman with too much mascara tugged on the edges of a short leather skirt. A young couple stared straight ahead, their shoulders slumped in despair. A teen with hair spraying out from a knitted cap closed his eyes and bobbed his head, a response to whatever was booming through the cord leading from the pocket of his jeans to his ears.

Tori shook her head. A message seemed to rise from the people around her.
I'm lost.
And it was a message she didn't want to hear.

Phin seemed to be studying her face. “What's wrong?”

She shook her head. “Let's get out of here.”

“We can't leave now. We came all this way.”

“They think I'm crazy.” She waved her hands toward all the people. “And all of this.”

“What?” He leaned toward her. “You feeling claustrophobic?”

“No.” She searched his face. “Don't you feel it? All these people,” she said slowly. “It's like I feel their despair.” She shook her head. “I don't like it. I want to leave.”

“Ma'am?”

Tori looked up to see the policewoman standing behind the counter. “Officer Bundrick should be here in a few minutes.”

“See,” Phin said. “You can't leave now.”

Tori took a deep breath. “Maybe if I get some water,” she said. “I think I saw a fountain down the hall.”

With that, she walked slowly away, trying to build a defense against the clamor of human noise.

Phin walked behind her. When she reached the fountain, she turned. “Don't you feel this?”

“What?”

“Hopelessness. It's overwhelming.”

He looked back at the people in the lobby. “You're depressed.”

“I'm not depressed. It's like I feel—” She hesitated. “Like I feel their pain.”

Phin's expression reflected his confusion and concern.

“Come on. Let's step outside for a minute. I need some air.”

They walked into the Baltimore sunshine. Phin smiled. “We should go down to Inner Harbor. We can relax, get some seafood.”

“Don't.”

“What?” he said. “I like seafood.”

“You're trying to distract me. You think I'm crazy too.”

“It's not like that, Tori.” He huffed and looked up the street, busy with traffic. “I'm just being a friend.”

“Oh, so maybe we should just forget about this mess and go grab a hot dog and a beer, take in an Orioles game. Forget about the pain.”

“Lighten up, Tori. We're here. We're dealing with your old memories, okay? I didn't come all this way because I think you're crazy. I'm with you in this.” He shrugged. “But everyone deserves a little fun.”

She sighed. “I know,” she said, shaking her head and squinting up at the sunshine. “That cop just made me feel silly. I shouldn't take it out on you.”

A few minutes later, a police officer paused at the front steps to straighten the front of his uniform. Tori read his ID pin. “Bundrick.” She tapped Phin's shoulder. “That's our guy. Let's go.”

Tori followed him in. “Officer Bundrick.”

He turned. He was only five foot seven, Tori's height, but muscular, like a man who spent too many hours in the gym. His chest was broad, his neck thick, almost making his head look a size too small. His hair, what she could see of it, was clipped short, only an inch of it visible below his cap.

She held out her hand. “I'm Dr. Tori Taylor,” she began, hoping that her title would help build a little weight to her story. “I believe you're here to see me.”

“Doctor?” He paused, and his eyes quickly moved from her head to the floor, taking in everything along the way. “You're the woman reporting memory of a murder?” His voice was too high. She found herself expecting it to crack like an adolescent's in puberty.

This is better, she thought. His voice wasn't as intimidating as his muscled physique.

He took her hand, and she nodded. “I'm an oncology surgeon at the Virginia Commonwealth University Medical Center.”

He raised his eyebrows and glanced at Phin. “You're Mr. Taylor?”

Phin smiled. “Just a friend.”

The officer nodded. “Follow me.”

He led the way past the throngs of waiting people, down a hallway decorated with pictures of uniformed men, something akin to an officer-of-the-month display. He opened the door to a small room with a mirrored glass wall, a small table, and three chairs. It was straight out of a movie set, a 1980s interrogation room. Tori walked in and wondered when he was going to switch on the bright lights.
“Tell me where you were at eight o'clock on the night of June 14th!”

“Officer Detweiler tells me you have some information about a possible crime.” He held up his hand toward two seats on one side of the empty table.

Tori sat opposite Officer Bundrick. “Let me begin by telling you about cellular memory. It is a recognized and respected theory about how memory transfer takes place after heart transplantation.” Tori really didn't know that the theory was respected, but she didn't want to be turned away again.

The officer leaned back in his chair. This didn't seem to interest him.

Tori explained the theory, then leaned forward. “I received a heart from Dakota Jones, the woman who was reported to have jumped from an apartment in this district to escape a fire.”

“And you believe that to be false?”

“My memory tells me differently.”

The officer shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. He pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket. “Just what does your memory say?”

“I remember the fire. I remember being afraid. Dakota felt threatened.”

“By whom?”

“I'm not sure. Someone she wanted to expose. There was a number. Three one six. I think it's a clue to uncovering what really happened.”

The officer wrote the number down and grunted. “Uh-huh.” He looked up, unable to hide his skepticism. “And you know this how?”

“I remember her voice. She said, ‘Memorize this. It's the proof. I want to make that bastard pay.'”

“Three one six.”

She nodded. “I think it's a PO box or something.”

“This is all you have?”

Tori squirmed. “Did she have green eyes?”

The officer seemed to brighten. “Yes.”

“I knew it. That proves the memory is accurate.”

He raised his eyebrows in question. “Proves it, huh?”

“How about a tattoo? Did she have a tattoo, a little one with two hearts?”

“I have no idea.”

“I can tell you she did. I remember.”

“And you think all of this points to a crime?”

“Someone wanted Dakota Jones dead.” She leaned forward. “Why else would I feel such fear?”

“Maybe because she forced herself to jump to escape being burned alive?”

Tori thought about that for a moment. “That doesn't feel right. She definitely felt threatened by a man.”

“Who?”

“Don't know.”

The officer shook his head then rose from his chair. “I'll look into it. Can I have a number in case I need to contact you?”

Tori handed him a business card as she stood to keep his line of sight.

“Fine,” he said. He scrutinized the card then placed it in his little notebook and folded it closed.

“I'm a surgical oncologist,” she explained. “A doctor who operates to treat cancer.”

This seemed to impress the high-pitched talker. His gaze traveled over her again, floor to face, face to chest, where his eyes stopped to rest. The thought that she was both beautiful and a surgeon seemed hard for him to digest. He brightened and pulled up his sleeve. “Hey, doc, would you look at this mole?”

She stepped forward, but he laughed and rolled down his sleeve again. “I was just yankin' your chain.”

They stood together without talking as the officer chuckled over his own joke.

“So that's it?”

“I said I'll look into it. That's all I can do.” He paused. “Why is this so important?”

When she hesitated, he continued. “Let me play devil's advocate. This girl, Dakota Jones, was a nobody, a drug addict most likely, and no family has come around showing any concern. Why should I spend my time on her?”

“She wasn't a nobody to me.” She paused. “And I doubt she was a serious drug addict or she couldn't have been a heart donor.”

He turned and opened the door. Apparently the conversation was over.

“A woman died to give me life. A woman that I think was killed. I think I owe her a chance at justice.”

“Thanks for coming in.”

“How can I contact you? I want to know what you find out.”

He handed her a card. “Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Tori and Phin stood motionless. “That's it? We're done?”

“If that's all you know, we're done.” He smiled and reached out his hand.

Tori shook it, but something in his demeanor spoke to her, something layers beneath the tough-guy surface. It was something that chilled her.

Behind his plastic smile.
I'm afraid.

18

On Saturday morning, Christian sat at the breakfast table staring into his cereal bowl.

His father set his coffee mug on the counter and picked up his stethoscope. “Coming?”

Christian shook his head. “Not today.”

“I could use your help. Keep the kids on peds occupied with a magic trick while I talk to their parents.”

“I need to work on a paper for English.”

His dad knew better. He sat opposite his son. “You know it's not up to us who lives and who dies.”

Christian looked away. “I know.”

“And people can accept or reject our message.”

“Sure.”

His father sighed. “Why are you torturing yourself? If a man dies without Christ, it's not like it's all on your shoulders. You were obedient. You gave him his chance.”

“I know that!” Christian stood and walked to the sink, dropping his bowl with a clatter against the other breakfast dishes.

“So what is it?”

“Voices.”

His father raised his eyebrows in question. “Voices?”

Christian nodded. “It's crazy.” He stared out the window beyond a loquat tree toward the dusty path leading to the hospital.

“Help me understand.”

“It's like I hear their souls calling to me. Not an actual voice, but it's like I just know their feelings.”

“The patients?”

“I feel their loss, their sorrow, their lack of hope.”

“It's a hospital, Christian. Everyone feels that.”

“Not like I do. It scares me. It's overwhelming.”

Dan Mitchell walked up behind his son, laying his hand on his shoulder. “Maybe it's a gift, son.”

“A gift? Well, maybe I don't want it. I didn't ask for it.”

“Compassion is something I need more of.”

“You can have it. Remember last week? I left after five minutes on the peds ward.”

“I remember. You didn't feel well.”

Christian stepped away from his father's touch. “I wasn't sick, Dad. I just didn't want to cry in front of everyone.”

“Maybe it's just the stress of the move. You had to leave your friends. Emily—”

“This has nothing to do with her.”

“Sometimes when I'm tearful about one thing, and I hold that thing dear to my heart, it seems like just about anything can bring on the tears at a moment's notice.”

“That's not it.” He shook his head. “I do miss Emily. But I'm not spending every night crying in my beer.”

His father chuckled. “You'd better not be drinking beer.”

“It's only an expression.”

Dan moved his hand up and down as if weighing his stethoscope, his eyes intent on Christian's face. “So I'm on my own today, huh?”

He nodded. “Most people don't think about hell.”

His father gave a quick shake of his head. “Where'd that come from?”

Christian shrugged. “A lot of people die around here.”

“It's a hospital, Chris. We don't win every time.”

“It's not a game you win or lose. Die and you face eternal judgment, right? That's what you taught me.”

“True.”

“I can't stand the thought of people on fire.”

His father took a step toward the front door. “Maybe it's a reality that Christians need to think about more often.” He paused. “But don't let it paralyze you. Let it motivate you to love people.”

Christian pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to block out an image of fire.
Voices calling for mercy.

“Harness it, son.” His father left, and Christian watched him disappear up the path.

He sat back down at the kitchen table, covered his ears, and started to cry.

Tori and Phin stood on a downtown Baltimore sidewalk. Phin looked toward a stretch of yellow crime-scene tape. “You can't just go in there.”

“That tape isn't intimidating me.” Tori looked past a series of sawhorses and yellow tape around the perimeter of an apartment building. “The doorway isn't exactly barred.”

Phin MacGrath squinted down the street. Opposite them, an Asian couple entered a small grocery store. On the next block, a half dozen teens played basketball on an asphalt court behind a chain-link fence. An elderly man with a gray beard and a heavy winter coat wheeled a shopping cart beneath the summer sun.

“Worried about them?” Tori shook her head. “They couldn't care less what we do.”

Phin followed as Tori walked down an alley between two apartment buildings. A stray dog ran ahead of them and disappeared behind the building. Halfway down the alley, a boy leaned against a green city dumpster.

Tori paused a few feet from the boy. There was something strangely familiar about him. He was black, with skin the color of mahogany. His hair was a short Afro, and his T-shirt and jeans couldn't disguise his stick-like build.

The boy looked up. “Don't tell me,” he said. “You're lawyers. You want to know about the jumpers.”

Tori and Phin exchanged a look. “No,” she answered. “We're not lawyers.” She folded her hands in front of her. “You know about the jumpers?”

“You're lawyers.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because after the first few days, the only people to come around here are wanting to sue the landlord.”

Tori knelt in front of the boy, who appeared to be about ten years old. “I'm a doctor. Did you know the—” She hesitated. “The people who jumped?”

“You mean Dakota. I know her. She's my mom's friend.”

Tori reached out her hand. “I'm Tori Taylor.”

He shook her hand. “I'm Mike.”

He pointed to a broken window high up on the side of the apartment bordering the alley. “That's where she jumped.”

Tori followed his gaze, then examined the alley below the window. The concrete was stained to be sure. Whether it was old blood, dirt, or something else, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

“The man landed there,” he said, pointing. “Dakota hit the top of the dumpster.”

She looked up at the building and back to Phin. “I want to go up there.”

“The elevator don't work 'cause the electricity's off. But you can still go up the stairs.”

“You've been in there?”

He nodded. “My mom won't let me go again.”

“How do I get in?”

“That door leads to the stairs.”

She looked at Phin. “You in?”

He shrugged. “This is a bad idea. You can't climb five flights of steps.” He shook his head. “Besides, it may not be safe.”

“It's dark, but nothing is burned except on the fifth floor.” The boy rubbed his right leg. “You friends of Dakota's?”

Tori smiled. “Not exactly.” She hesitated. “But I'm interested in finding out about her.”

“Did you know that doctor?” The boy stood and scuffed his foot against the alley. “The man that was with her.”

Tori shook her head.

“He was a good doctor, but I think he was in trouble. I heard them arguing.”

“Really? When was this?”

“A day before the accident.” He squinted at them. “You sure you're not lawyers?”

“No.”

“Police?”

“Of course not. Why?”

“My mama doesn't want me talkin' to police.”

“Mike, how old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

Evidently, Tori's expression revealed her doubt.

“Okay, I'm twelve.” He put his hands on his hips. “But I'm small for my age.”

“The man that jumped was named Christian Mitchell. Did you know him, too?”

“I met him at the clinic. Dakota took me to see him.”

“You said he was in trouble. Do you think he wanted to hurt Dakota?”

“I don't know. She sounded mad at him. I saw them in the grocery store across the street.”

“What did she say?”

“She was crying, telling him to leave her alone, that he had her confused with someone else.”

“Dakota took you to a clinic?”

“On Sixth Street. That's where she met Dr. Mitchell.”

Tori looked back up at the windows.

“I think he was dealing some drugs.”

“What makes you say that?”

“'Cause I heard Dakota and my mom talking about the clinic helping some addicts get drugs.”

“Mike, do you think your mother would talk to me?”

“She might. She sleeps a lot during the day.”

“Where do you live?”

He pointed to the next building across the alley. “We live there, just across the alley from Dakota's place. My mom used to talk to her through the window.”

Tori pulled out a notepad and a pen. “Can you write down your mother's name and number?”

Mike wrote the number and his mother's name: Kesha.

She looked up at the windows again. “If I wanted to get to Dakota's apartment, how would I get there?”

“Go up the stairs. On the fifth floor go straight down the hall. Second door on the right.”

The boy limped toward the yellow-taped door. “This is the way. Mama would be mad if I showed you.”

Phin tried the door. “Shouldn't this be boarded up?”

“It was, but some dudes broke the door so they could sleep in there.”

Phin peered into the darkness. “I've got a flashlight in my car.”

“I'll wait,” Tori said.

While she waited, she studied her new young friend. What was it about him that seemed so familiar? Tori pushed back a feeling that was becoming all too familiar: déjà vu.

“Can I ask you a question about Dakota?”

The kid shrugged.

“Do you know if she had a tattoo?”

“Everyone around here has tattoos.”

“How about Dakota's? What was it?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Two little hearts.” He pointed to his back, over the right shoulder. “There.”

Tori knew it. She'd seen it. She
remembered
it.

Two minutes later, Tori followed Phin into the darkened stairwell. “You set the pace,” he said.

She did. Slowly, step by step, waiting for her new heart to get the message to speed up and deliver more oxygen. This was something she needed to get used to. It seemed to take more time for her heart to respond when she exerted herself.

Their progress was methodical. Six steps, rest, another six, rest again. Midway up, Tori noticed a definite aching pain in her left ankle. She paused, rotating the joint and pushing back images of falling from a similar set of stairs. After another five minutes, they arrived on the fifth floor. The smell of burned wood seemed to permeate everything.

Tori stepped into the hallway, shining the light a few feet in front of her. The wall on the right of the hallway was essentially gone. Ahead, she could see light from windows facing the alley. Somewhere in the distance, she heard her name.

“Dr. Taylor! Dr. Taylor!”

It sounded like the boy. She walked toward the sound, eventually discovering that it came from an open window across from the room where she now stood. Mike was waving his arms.

“Run, Dr. Taylor!”

She heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see a uniformed officer.

“Are you Dr. Tori Taylor?”

She nodded, startled.

The officer shook his head. “You shouldn't be here.” He spoke into his radio. “It's her. It's Taylor.” He looked back at the duo standing in the room. “Ma'am, you're under arrest.”