X. Atkins - Richmond Noir

Her body had turned blue by the time I reached her. I dropped to my knees. Pressed my lips against hers and breathed. I tried pushing the air into her lungs. Her chest would expand. Her rib cage was a pair of ambulance doors fanning open. But the air only seeped out, her chest sinking back down again.

The air wouldn’t stay inside my daughter.

Benny didn’t wake me up the following morning. Didn’t ease me up from my dream like she usually does. I had to snap myself back. Woke up and found her just next to me, barely breathing. Her eyes were wide open, staring up at nothing.

Benny? What’s wrong?

I carried her across the underpass, back to the mainland. Hefted her the whole way to the hospital, just praying we’d make it. Lost the feeling in my arms fast, but I held onto her the whole time.

We’re almost there, Benny , I said. Almost there .

The sliding glass doors parted, welcoming Benny inside. I rushed her right to the front desk, all out of breath. The nurse took one look at us and froze. Stared at me like I was holding up the place.

You’ve got to help her , I begged. She’s sick with something .

What’s her name? Do you know her name?

Benny, all right? Now just do something!

Spent fifteen minutes in the waiting room. I quickly started to feel like I didn’t belong. Looking over all the wounded, the sick. Everyone waiting for a doctor to call out a name. This little girl sitting next to me was as anxious as I was to get the hell out of there, scuffing her heels along the carpet. Her mom took one look at me and moved her daughter a couple rows over Most folks were giving me a wide berth by then, sitting as far away from me as humanly possible. Then I caught sight of a couple of security guards coming my way. The nurse from the front desk was following right behind them, pointing at me. Panic set into my system, telling me I better act quick. But Benny wouldn’t know where to go. She’d think I left her there, just up and abandoned her. The guards picked up their pace as soon as I stood. I cut them off at the sliding glass doors.

They followed me as far as the parking lot before giving up. All the while, I just kept saying to myself, Belle Isle, Benny. Just meet me back at Belle Isle .

Three days I wandered around. Took every nature path I could find, weaving in and out of the woods. I read every marker I stumbled upon until there wasn’t a corner on the island where I didn’t know exactly what had happened. Class was in session. Time for my history lesson. Get up on my Richmond. Wait for Benny to come home.

The dead were buried on the western slope of the island. That’s what the sign said. Over a hundred prisoners of war dumped into the dirt. Nothing but burlap wrapped around their bones — the lice wriggling free, trying to hop out before the earth got shoveled over. The bodies remained on Belle Isle until 1864 — not long at all. Just a few years in the ground before they were dug back up and reinterred on the mainland. Their bones were taken away, while their ghosts got left behind.

Corporal Edwin Bissel from Iowa. Company D, fifth infantry .

Captain Spencer Deaton. Company B, Tennessee infantry .

Lieutenant J.T. Ketchum. Company M, Richmond artillery .

And now Benny. Couldn’t tell you where she was from. Couldn’t say if she had any family around here or not. Never mentioned any kids of her own to me. But Benny was my friend. She’s the only one buried on Belle Isle anymore, her grave unmarked, her body resting inside the vacant spot of some dug-up soldier. Only person who knows she’s out there is me.

I stuffed her photographs into my pockets, layering up. Every jacket was padded with pictures, a Kevlar vest of Benny’s memories to protect me. Hadn’t left Belle Isle for over a week. The footbridge felt like it was about to snap, rocking under the weight of the traffic passing overhead. I was a bit wobbly at first, setting foot back onto the mainland, as if I’d been at sea all this time. First place I went was Monroe. Make an appearance for the police. Send a message that I was looking for them. When you’re after the brass, it’s better to let them come to you. So I just rested myself on a bench along the northern portion of the park, right under a magnolia tree. Couldn’t have closed my eyes for more than an hour before I got my wake-up call. Nothing but a wooden baton in the ribs, two boys-in-blue encouraging me to move merrily along my way.

Time to get up , one of them said. Sleep somewhere else .

I’m looking for my friend .

Who’s your friend?

Benny .

He loiter around here too?

If I was going to find out what happened to Benny I would have to go through it myself. Couldn’t just waltz into the hospital and ask for a lollipop, expecting them to tell me what the doctors did to her. The only way I was slipping past those sliding glass doors was with an emergency. And for that I needed a little help from my friends. So me and the boys-in-blue did a little Civil War reenactment of our own right there in the heart of Monroe Park. Sure were looking like soldiers to me, more and more, anyhow. Their cadet-blue uniforms. Their Jefferson boots. One stripe on their shoulder for every five years of faithful service. I went ahead and shoved my elbow into the stomach of the closest artilleryman. He buckled over, leaving me and the other soldier to share a few fists back and forth. Got a baton straight across the face. Busted my nose right open. Wasn’t long before the other soldier got his breath back, swinging right along. Some swift hits to the stomach came my way. Then the chest. Before I knew it, I was on my knees, this heat swelling up in my gut.

We catch you in the park again — next time, we’re arresting you .

Where’s Benny?

Fed a few loose teeth to the pigeons, spitting them to the ground like bloody bread crumbs. Watched the birds scurry up, pecking away. Must’ve been hungrier than me.

Not gonna tell you again .

What’d you do to her?

I blacked out after that. It gets a little patchy from here on. Memories begin to blend together; it was pretty difficult to tell whose history was whose anymore. I woke up in a waiting room. Could’ve been there for hours, staring up at the ceiling. Hum of fluorescents might as well have been flies buzzing about my body. Felt this fire inside my stomach. An oil lamp had busted open in my belly, kerosene leaking from my spleen. Nurses hovering over my head. None of them liked the smell of me.

One of them said, Got another homeless here .

Speaking like I don’t understand English.

Humana? Unicare?

Acting like they couldn’t hear me. Where’s Benny?

Blue Cross?

What’d you do with Benny?

Kept hearing the same word, over and over — Insurance? Insurance?

All I had was an eagle and an anchor.

Another asked, Name?

I answered right back: Lieutenant J.T. Ketchum. Company M, Richmond artillery .

She called out, This one’s a vet , I guess .

Damn right I’m a vet. I served my country. I fought at the Battle of Belle Isle. I have defended this city my whole life. I have given Richmond everything. My daughter. My best friend. I’ve got nothing now. What’s left of me to give?

My colon, apparently. Had something hooked up to my side — I could feel it. A plastic bag. Reminded me of one of Benny’s bags with all her junk. One of Benny’s bags was attached to my abdomen, itching like a son of a bitch. Every time I tried scratching, some nurse slapped my hand away.