Stevan Mena - Transience

He took a deep breath, exhaling hard and loud, and climbed the cracked cement steps that led to apartment 3G. He glanced at the picture of Carmen from the report then tucked it away in his pocket and knocked.

There was loud shouting coming from an apartment upstairs. Jack looked up, waiting for a piece of furniture to burst through an open window and land on him. Jack knocked again. Finally, the door opened.

Hester Muniz, 50 years old, a little heavy, but not unattractive, opened the door. Jack saw the resemblance immediately, and his heart ached.

“Yes?” Hester said with a warm smile.

“Mrs. Muniz?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Jack Ridge.”

Hester sat on the end of a twin bed, wiping her eyes. She had led Jack into Carmen’s old room, which was just as she left it. Jack was taking a brief tour; examining pictures, trophies, keepsakes, there was even a hairbrush, Carmen’s hair still entwined.

“All these years I pray she living her life somewhere,” Hester said, sniffling.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.” Jack turned to admire a painting on the wall. It was a still life of a bowl of fruit, truly breathtaking. There were others, a sunset at the beach, one of a dog, all incredible renderings.

“She love to paint. She was so talented. Her father work himself into the grave to keep us here. She get scholarship for her art, he was so proud.”

Hester’s words made Jack feel even more remorse for the loss of someone so gifted.

“They’re beautiful,” Jack said quietly.

“I see that pretty young girl on TV all the time. They never once mention Carmen when she disappear.”

“I read her report,” Jack said. “What can you remember about the night she went missing?”

Hester shook her head and wiped her eyes again. She stared at the floor. Jack gave her a moment. She sighed softly and collected herself.

“We had a fight. I pray and pray she come home. All these years, I beg Jesus, please, just let me speak to my baby one more time. Tell her how sorry I am.”

“Who else lives here?”

“My husband, he die two year ago.” The levy burst, Hester could no longer contain the tears as the emotion overwhelmed her. She moaned with grief, making the moment even more uncomfortable for Jack.

He noticed a strong smell of perfume, and… wet dog. A large white collie entered the room and went straight for Jack; pawing at his leg, licking him. Jack politely rubbed the dog’s head, glad for the interruption. It sliced through the emotional pall that had engulfed the room, letting the air back in a little. Even Hester turned her attention to the dog.

“Faucet, no!”

She stood up and grabbed the dog by the collar, leading him outside. She returned after a moment and closed the bedroom door tightly. The dog scratched at it a few times.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Jack wiped the dog’s slobber off with his handkerchief.

“Carmen name him Faucet, his nose always running.”

Jack approached a dresser across the room. There was a framed photo of Carmen at her high school graduation. He picked it up to take a closer look. Carmen was dressed in her cap and gown, a large gold cross around her neck. She had her arm around a young boy, about ten years old. “That her brother, Francisco. He join the army.”

Jack put down the photograph and picked up another one. This one showed Carmen wearing a white sundress with orange flowers, smiling with a wink, her arm around another young girl her age. Jack had to take a closer look to confirm it, but he was certain the other young girl posing with Carmen was a young Laura Lowell. Jack turned and held the picture up for Hester to see.

“Who’s this?”

Hester squinted. “…Her friend from school, I forget her name.”

Jack studied the picture, half wanting to confiscate it under his jacket. He placed it back down and turned to find Hester standing right behind him.

She leaned over and unhooked something from around Carmen’s framed Communion photo.

She cupped the item in her hands, extending them out towards him. Jack stared into her glassy eyes.

“This was Carmen’s.” She took Jack’s hand and placed a gold cross on a chain into his palm, closing his hand to make sure he couldn’t refuse. It was the same cross Carmen had been wearing in the graduation photo. “Go with God. Bring justice for my daughter.”

Out in the schoolyard was a hidden alcove where Rebecca could sit quietly, hidden from view until recess was over. There were two large silver doors where food deliveries were made each morning, otherwise, no-one went in or out. She could relax undisturbed, out of sight of the other children.

She’d swipe a piece of chalk from the teacher’s board and sit and draw on the cement. Once in a while, an aide would peek around to check if she was okay. They would smile and Rebecca would smile back.

Normally the teacher’s aides would shoo children away from there — they didn’t like it when a student wandered off where they couldn’t see them. But they understood Rebecca was having a hard time adjusting, and that she wasn’t up to any mischief.

Rebecca was on her knees sketching madly today. The dream last night had been one of the worst. She could remember the woods, screams, a girl lying on the ground — a terrifying man with his hands around a girl’s neck, squeezing, his eyes blank like a mannequin’s. She’d tried to run, but couldn’t move, as if rooted to the spot.

She fought to remember his face, wanting to memorialize it in chalk, hoping if she stared at his image long enough it wouldn’t be scary anymore. But she couldn’t focus, couldn’t quite get the memory correct to her satisfaction. She huffed with an exhale of frustration.

The last thing she remembered from the dream was a feeling of being sucked up into something, like a giant vacuum came along and she was a tiny piece of dirt. The feeling was horrifying, like falling upwards, and she shuddered every time she thought about it.

She hadn’t slept through the night in so long, an ache started developing in her head. It receded slightly when she closed her eyes — which she tried to do often, irritating her teacher who had to keep reminding her to please pay attention.

She held her eyes shut, drifting off, the noise of laughter and shouting became just a drone in the distance. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

Thwack! A large rubber ball smacked off the brick wall behind her head, snapping her eyes open. Tommy collected the rebound and wound up again, aiming it right between her eyes.

“Look what I found!” he said with a grin that showed every tooth in his mouth. “I thought they locked you up in the basement during recess, freak.”

He released the ball with a grunt. It missed her by inches; Rebecca flinched and covered her face.

“Reba the retard,” Tommy sang repeatedly. He lobbed the ball again, not as hard this time. Rebecca reached out and caught it reflexively. Tommy’s expression went dark, furious.

“Give it back!”

Rebecca threw the ball to her right, it bounced down a stairwell. Now Tommy would have to get permission, and probably an aide, to go fetch it. His face burned bright red, similar to the way his father’s did whenever Tommy’s mother bested him in an argument. His father’s response was to throw her against the wall, while Tommy and his younger siblings watched helplessly from the staircase.

“You stupid shit!” Tommy shouted, approaching. Rebecca hurriedly tried to erase her sketch. Tommy marched over and stepped on her hand.

“Ow!” Rebecca squealed. Jeff and a few others overheard the sweet sound of suffering and rushed over to join in the fun.