Stevan Mena - Transience

“Come on.”

He took a deep cleansing breath and climbed out of the car, taking three brave steps towards the house before realizing his arms were empty.

He popped the trunk, grabbed the nicely wrapped gift, and closed it.

He headed for the front door, skidding a bit when his foot slid on the mat before the steps. He made it safely to the top and hesitated, listening. Behind the door was nervous chatter, one person was shouting. It didn’t sound like the noise of laughter and partying. It sounded more like the aftermath of an event — something had happened.

He knocked. Patricia’s mother, Edith, answered the door.

“Oh my God,” Edith said, her mouth left open.

“Hello, Edith.”

“Jack. I can’t believe my eyes.”

“Am I too late?” Jack hunched his back as the rain started to get heavy.

Edith’s expression grew serious. “I’m afraid so.”

Jack frowned, aware he might not be welcome after all this time. “I see…”

Edith quickly put her hand on his arm. “No, Robert took Trish to the hospital.”

“Hospital?”

“Her water broke. Guess the baby got tired of waiting. Must be all this excitement.”

“Is that Jack?” a deep male voice said from inside. It might have been Patricia’s father, Jack couldn’t quite tell.

“He was hoping you’d come, he’ll be sorry he missed you.”

“Which hospital did they go to?” Jack asked, walking backwards.

“St. Charles.”

Jack turned and headed back to his car. He tossed the gift on the passenger seat and sped away.

He had a pretty good idea which was the shortest way to the hospital, but the rain had slowed traffic to a crawl. He shifted in his seat; anxious, frustrated.

“Shit!” He slammed his fist on the steering wheel and reached into his inside pocket to pull out a piece of paper with a number written on it. He opened his cell phone and dialed, exchanging glances with the stop and go traffic, trying not to crash into the car in front of him.

Robert stood beside Patricia’s hospital bed, patting her forehead with a damp cloth. The hospital was teaming with people. Robert frantically searched the faces of doctors and nurses, coming and going, hopeful that one of them would finally be Martha, their obstetrician.

Patricia winced in pain. “Where is she?” Robert squeezed her hand.

“She’ll be here, any second now. Just stay calm. Breathe.” Robert stepped forward into the stream of traffic and grabbed the arm of one of the passing nurses.

He recognized her, she helped admit them when they arrived. “Is our doctor here yet?”

“She called, she’s on her way.” Robert nodded. He dragged his hand across his face, squeezing his mouth, exhaling hard and loud.

His cell phone rang. “Hello?”

Before Robert could hear who was on the line, a threatening look from a passing nurse made him pull the phone away from his ear.

“You can’t use cell phones in here,” she said.

“Robert? Robert?” Jack yelled Robert’s name into the phone, but he never heard it. Robert gave the nurse a whatever nod and turned off his phone.

Jack heard the line go dead. “Robert? Robert? Shit.”

The traffic snarled, a total log jam. Fuck it. He switched on his spinning blue police light and pulled out onto the shoulder. His tires kicked up mud and rocks as he sped past two jammed lanes of cars, taking the exit ramp.

“Where the hell…” He didn’t know if he should turn right or left, so he took a chance, turning right and tearing down a side street.

He looked at his watch, Bishop would be going in front of the judge right about now.

Down at the courthouse, spectators were packed in thick, waiting for the entrance of the accused killer. The main hallway, an expansive area with 30 foot ceilings and handcrafted marble pillars, was filled to capacity with onlookers.

One of them was Carl Rosa, who clenched every muscle in his small frame when he spotted officers leading Bishop in. Carl stood up, regretting his decision not to bring a gun once he realized they were going to walk the bastard right past him.

Bishop kept his face hidden as they approached, denying Carl the opportunity to stare his daughter’s murderer in the eyes. Bishop seemed limp, almost as if the guards were dragging him. Suddenly, Bishop looked up — right at Carl. Carl caught a glimpse of the killer’s surprisingly meek and timid face, so thin and ugly. He shuddered at the thought that this hideous psychopath was the last thing his beloved daughter saw. It took every ounce of strength to restrain himself from leaping through the entourage of officers and squeezing Bishop’s neck until he was dead. The moment Bishop passed and disappeared through the courtroom doors, he regretted it. Any punishment would have been worth the retribution.

Laura was at home on the couch, watching the arraignment on TV. A reporter was at the scene. She grabbed the remote to raise the volume.

“Edward Bishop has confessed to killing at least four women, including the rape and murder of Angelina Rosa , whose remains have still not been recovered, and most recently, the abduction and murder of Teresa Mason, who managed to give police a positive ID of her attacker before she died. Bishop’s arraignment is scheduled for 1:30 — Oh, wait, I think they’re bringing him in now— ” The reporter spun around as the camera tracked Bishop’s entrance. It followed as they marched him in front of the judge, the entire affair now deteriorating into a circus, flashes going off on all sides.

Laura poked her head up and caught a glimpse of Rebecca riding her bike past the house. She wasn’t thrilled about letting her ride around in the rain, but her daughter seemed so happy, she didn’t want to spoil it. Long may it last. She turned her attention back to the TV when the doorbell rang. Laura shot up expectantly.

She peeked through the front curtain and saw a man holding a briefcase, getting soaking wet. She opened the door as fast as she could.

“Hi!” Laura said with a smile, pushing out the screen door politely.

“Hello. Ms. Lowell? Michael Ketcher, from the University? We spoke on the phone…about Rebecca?”

“Yes, of course, won’t you come in?”

“Thanks.” Michael stomped the mud and rain off his boots and stepped inside.

“Can I take your coat?”

“Thanks.” He turned as she helped him off with it. “My colleague, Helen, apologizes for not being able to make it, but she’d like to stop by tomorrow if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Michael found a painting of Rebecca’s leaning up against the wall, several more stacked behind it.

“May I?”

“Yes, I put them out for you to take a look at. There’s more inside on the table.”

Michael flipped through them, his eyes danced with excitement. He paused to admire a portrait of a woman holding a baby. “Oh jeez, remarkable, just incredible. Is she here?”

“She’s out riding. A friend bought her a new bike. She should have come in by now.” Laura turned to look out the front door impatiently.

Michael caught a glimpse of Rebecca in a school photo, hanging in a frame on the wall.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet her. I’ve been a teacher in the arts for over 20 years, I’ve never seen talent like hers at such a young age. How old is she now?”

“She just turned nine.”

“Unbelievable. I’ll be honest, I’m a little skeptical.”

“Some of her other work is in here. Would you like to have a look while we wait?”

“Sure.” Laura guided him into the living room. She’d laid out more of Rebecca’s artwork across a fine red linen tablecloth on the dining room table.