He sits back in his chair and unfurls a newspaper, and we enter. I feel dizzy the moment the door closes and I see Bonnie's still form. She's not asleep, her eyes are open. But they don't even move in response to the sound of our entrance. She is small, tiny, made more so as she is dwarfed not just by the hospital bed, but by her circumstances. I am amazed how much she looks like Annie. The same blond hair and upturned nose, those cobalt-blue eyes. In a few more years she will be almost a twin of the girl I held on a bathroom floor in high school so many years ago. I realize I've been holding my breath. I exhale, walking over to her.
She's on the barest of monitoring. Jenny had explained on the way over that a thorough exam showed no rape and no physical injury. There is a part of me that is thankful for that, but I know her wounds run much deeper. They are gaping and bloody and no doctor can stitch them, these wounds of the mind.
'Bonnie?' I speak in a soft, measured voice. I remember reading somewhere about talking to people in a coma, how they can hear you and it helps. This is close enough to that. 'I'm Smoky. Your mother and I were best friends, for a long time. I'm your godmother.'
No response. Just those eyes, staring at the ceiling. Seeing something else. Maybe seeing nothing. I move to the side of the bed. I hesitate before taking her small hand in mine. A wave of dizziness crashes over me at the feel of her soft skin. This is the hand of a child, not fully grown, a symbol of that which we protect and love and cherish. I held my daughter's hand like this many times, and an emptiness opens up as Bonnie's hand fills that space. I start to speak to her, not sure of the words until they tumble from my lips. Jenny stands off, silent. I'm barely aware of her. My words sound low and earnest to me, the sound of someone praying.
'Honey, I want you to know that I'm here to find the man who did this to you and your mother. That's my job. I want you to know that I know how bad this is. How much you are hurting inside. Maybe how you want to die.' A tear rolls down my cheek. 'I lost my husband and my daughter to a bad man, six months ago. He hurt me. And for a long time, I wanted to do exactly what you're doing now. I wanted to just crawl inside myself and disappear.' I stop for a moment, draw a ragged breath, squeeze her hand. 'I just wanted you to know I understand. And you stay in there, as long as you need. But when you're ready to come out, you won't be alone. I'll be here for you. I'll take care of you.'
I'm weeping openly now, and I don't care. 'I loved your mother, sweetheart. I loved her so much. I wish she and I had spent more time together. Wish I'd seen more of you.' I smile a crooked smile through my tears. 'I wish you and Alexa had known each other. I think you would have liked her.'
I am growing dizzier, and the tears just seem to keep on coming. Grief is like that sometimes. Like water, it finds any opening, forces itself through any crack until it explodes, inexorable. Images flash through my mind of Alexa and Annie, turning the inside of my head into some insane, strobe-lit disco. I have only a moment to realize what's happening. I'm passing out.
Then things go dark.
This is the second dream, and it is beautiful.
I'm in the hospital, in the throes of labor. I'm giving serious thought to killing Matt for his part in putting me here. I am being cleaved in two, I'm covered in sweat, grunting like a pig, all in between screams of pain.
There is a human being moving through me, trying to come out. It does not feel poetic, it feels like I'm shitting a bowling ball. I've forgotten about the supposed beauty of having a child, I want this thing out of me, I love it I hate it I love it, and all of this is reflected in my screams and curses.
My doctor's voice is calm, and I wish I could smack his stupid silly bald head. 'Okay, Smoky, the baby's crowning! Just a few more pushes and she'll be out. Come on, hang in there.'
'Fuck you!' I yell, and then push. Dr. Chalmers doesn't even look up at me at this. He's been delivering children for a good long time.
'You're doing great, honey,' Matt says. He's got his hand in mine, and a part of me registers a perverse hope that I'm grinding his bones into powder.
'How would you know?' I snarl. My head snaps back at the force of the contraction, and I am cursing like I have never cursed before, blasphemous, horrible words to make a biker blush. There is the smell of blood and of the farts that have been escaping as I've been pushing. I think, there is no beauty here, and I want to kill all of you. Then the pain and pressure increases, something I would not have thought possible. I feel like my head should be rotating around, I am cursing with such terrible abandon.
'One more time, Smoky,' Dr. Chalmers says from between my legs, still calm in this maelstrom.
There is a gushing, sucking sound, and pain, and pressure, and then--she is out. My daughter has emerged into the world; the first sounds she hears are words of profanity. There is a silence, some snipping sounds, and then something that pushes all the pain and anger and blood away. That stops time. I hear my daughter crying. She sounds as pissed off as I had been moments ago, and it is the most wonderful thing I have ever heard, the most beautiful music, a miracle beyond my capacity to imagine. I am overwhelmed, I feel like my heart should stop beating. I hear that sound, and look at my husband, and I begin to bawl.
'Healthy baby girl,' Dr. Chalmers says, leaning back as the nurses clean Alexa and wrap her up. He looks sweaty, and tired, and happy. I love this man that I wanted to swat just seconds ago. He has been a part of this, and I am thankful, though I can't stop crying or find the words. Alexa was born just after midnight amid the blood and pain and profanity, and that was something you get only a few times in life--a moment of perfection.
She died after midnight as well, taken back into a womb of darkness from which she would never be reborn.
I come to, gasping, shaking, and weeping. I am still in the hospital room. Jenny is standing over me. She looks stricken.
'Smoky! Are you okay?'
My mouth feels gummy. My cheeks are cracking with the salt of my tears. I am mortified. I shoot a look toward the hospital door. Jenny shakes her head.
'No one else has been in here. Though I would have called someone if you hadn't woken up soon.'
I gulp in air. They are the deep, gulping breaths of post-panic attack. 'Thank you.' I sit up, there on the floor, put my head in my hands. 'I'm sorry, Jenny. I didn't know that was going to happen.'
She is silent. Her tough exterior has faded for a moment, and she looks sad without pity. 'Don't worry about it.'
These are the only words she says. I sit there gulping air, my breathing getting calmer. And then I notice something. Just as in the dream, the pain of the moment is rushed away.
Bonnie has turned her head, and she is looking at me. A single tear rolls down her cheek. I stand up, move to her bed, take her hand in mine.
'Hi, honey,' I whisper.
She doesn't speak, and I say nothing more. We just stare at each other, letting the tears roll down our cheeks. That's what tears are for, after all. A way for the soul to bleed.
12
S AN FRANCISCANS DRIVE a lot like New Yorkers: They take no prisoners. Traffic is medium-heavy at the moment, and Jenny is intent on ferocious negotiations with the other vehicles as we drive back toward SFPD. A symphony of honks and curses fills the air. I have a finger stuck in one ear so I can hear Callie as I talk to her on the cell phone.
'How's it going at CSU?'
'They're good, honey-love. Very good. I'm going over everything with a fine-tooth comb, but I think they covered every base, from a forensic standpoint.'
'And I take it that they didn't find anything.'
'He was careful.'
'Yeah.' I feel depression knocking, push it away. 'Have you checked in with the others? Any word from Damien?'
'I haven't had time yet.'
'We're almost back at the station anyway. Keep doing what you're doing. I'll check in with everyone
