The men led my mother away and dragged me into a tiny office with grey wallpaper and a massive white woman behind a desk. In front of her sat a Spanish woman with light skin and a deep scowl that only worsened when she saw me. Her brown hair had been pulled into a tight bun atop her head and her forehead had deep lines in it. I bawled and asked for my mother again, but they ignored me. The fat woman handed the Spanish lady a stack of papers in a folder and turned to me with a sickening smile.
“It’s okay, sweetie. You’re going to live with your Aunt Carmensita for a while until your Mommy gets better. She’ll take care of you.”
Aunt Carmensita grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the office without a word, ignoring my sniffling hiccups. Why didn’t anyone listen to me? Where was my mother? I just wanted my mother.
My aunt dragged me to the parking lot where a dingy green car sat. She strapped me into the back seat and got into the driver’s side. The car coughed to life and I became surrounded in the smell of gasoline, exhaust fumes, and the faint stench of vomit from the faded suede seats. We pulled out of the parking lot and lurched onto the street.
“Where are we going? Where’s Mama? I want Mama,” I piped up.
My aunt scowled. “Your Mama ain’t coming, ni?a. She’s gone loca so they put her in the house with all the other idiotas. Stop that crying. You’re lucky. They were going to put you in a home if I hadn’t come along.”
“Mama’s not loca! Mentirosa!” I wailed, scrubbing frantically at my tear-soaked eyes.
My aunt snorted, digging through her glove compartment until she came away with a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She set the pack on the space between the seats, close enough for me to touch. She lit one cigarette and cracked my window open to let the smoke filter out, her voice flat with cruelty. “Está loca. Always been loca. If she had kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened. Blame your Mama for this, ni?a. If I had my way, they would have taken you too but they didn’t. Stop crying. You’re gonna stay with me for a while and you will behave. I’ll get that crazy out of you one way or another.”
Finally, I’d had enough. Infuriated by her words, I grabbed the pack of cigarettes and threw them out of the window. She let out an anguished shriek.
“Morena del Diablo! What did you do that for?”
“Don’t lie about my Mama! Don’t!” My voice was so hoarse I could hardly yell but I managed it anyway.
“Just wait until we get home, ni?a. All the fancy men in suits in the world won’t be able to help you then.” She puffed angrily through her last cigarette.
“I don’t care! Liar!”
I sat, fuming, as we drove through New Jersey until we reached a wretched apartment complex that smelled of urine. As soon as she parked the car, Aunt Carmen ripped me out of the seat and spanked me, shouting about how ungrateful I was, how I was just like my mother. I did my best not to cry out, remembering my mother’s words about being strong, but it was hard to obey a woman I would never see again. Her blows rained down on my head, neck, and back like hail until hot tears were all I could see.
“Jordan?”
My eyes flew open as I heard someone say my name. Michael stood over me with a worried expression. He must have noticed how hard I was breathing. I wiped the thin film of sweat away from my forehead and sat up, eyes adjusting to the light spilling in from the window.
“I’m alright. What is it?”
“You slept right through the morning. I thought it might be time to start moving.” I glanced at the clock to confirm this. Four o’clock. Damn, he was right. I had slept for a long time. Then again, I’d stayed up well into early morning going over his case, trying to find anything I might have missed. One day left. Twenty-four hours to solve Michael’s murder or I’d burn in hell for all eternity. No pressure.
“Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” I grumbled, motioning for him to turn around while I got out of bed. No pants. I felt more comfortable sleeping that way.
Michael obliged, answering without a single quip about me being pantsless. Weird. “You looked like you needed the rest.”
“Eh. I’ll rest when I’m dead,” I said, collecting my robe from the floor and putting it on.
Michael snorted. “I should find that funny, but it’s more disturbing than anything else.”
I shrugged. “They can’t all be winners. I don’t suppose you—”
“Made coffee?” He pointed to my nightstand, where a steaming mug of liquid paradise sat. Was I so predictable that a guy who had only known me for going on three days could figure out my morning rituals? Probably. Oh well. I drank the coffee anyway and walked towards the kitchen.
“What did you do while I slept?”
Michael gestured a hand at the table where the hospital papers were spread out. “Looking over what we gathered. I kept hoping my memory would come back, but the only thing I remembered was how to play a few songs on the guitar.”
A smile touched my lips. “I have to admit I would pay to see you play one in public. People would freak out if they saw a guitar playing itself in the middle of the sidewalk.”