It took me twenty minutes to make it to the train station, but finding the overpass Tristy had been talking about was another matter entirely. There were so many railway lines and viaducts I didn't even know where to start. Parking at the station, I started at the closest, jogging to it on foot and calling out Tristy's name. I rustled up a homeless bum, but it wasn't Tristy or Julian. He began to snap at me until he took in my metal and tattoos. Then he backed off and left me alone.
I tried the next overpass, winded by the time I reached it. Still no luck. Working in a circle around the train depot, I kept searching.
About an hour into my hunt, I heard police sirens.
My stomach knotted into one big painful bundle as a bad feeling hit me hard. I tore off in that direction, because it came within a half mile from the train station.
They already had barricades up and were blocking off a crowd by the time I made it there. Breathing hard from my sprint, I nudged my way to the front where a cop was commanding everyone to clear out.
When I heard a baby crying up where all the red and blue lights were flashing, I panicked. It sounded like Julian's wail. Hurdling one of the police lines, I started that way but a cop shouted at me.
"Hey!" He grabbed my arm.
"I think that's my baby." I pointed and slowed a little but I kept walking in the direction of all the commotions of cop cars and ambulances. "My wife took off a couple days ago with my son, and I think she's somewhere around here. I have to see if that's my baby."
"Okay, fine. All right, kid. Just calm down. You stay here, and I'll find out if that's your son." He pointed at me warningly, but as soon as he turned away to stride off, I followed him. Another police officer noticed us approaching. When I caught his eye, his widened, and we both recognized each other at the same moment.
The nicer cop who'd been at my apartment for all the complaints pointed in my direction. "Hey, there's the father."
Oh, God.
Realizing I'd found Julian, I surged forward, scanning frantically. "Where is he? Is he okay?"
"Right here," someone answered. I turned to find a male cop, standing at the opened doors of an ambulance, trying to hold a hysterical Julian. The blanket wrapped around him was shredded and dirty enough it could've been dragged on the ground for the past three days. But what caused tears to prick my eyes was the dirt smeared all over my son and the swollen, bruised cuts slashed across his forehead.
"Oh, fuck." My knees buckled once, but I kept running until I was with him and taking him out of the other man's hands. "My boy. My little boy."
I turned him to press his chest against mine as he liked to be held best when he was upset, and I immediately started cooing in his ear. "It's okay, buddy. I'm here. I'm here now. It's okay, Julian. My little Fighter."
I started singing "Kryptonite." He grabbed onto my shirt and buried his face in my neck. My tears kept flowing as he settled. But he'd been so upset, little tremors from hyperventilating occasionally shot through him as he gasped for air. Through it all, he refused to let go of me. And I refused to let go of him.
"It's okay," I repeated when I could sing no more. I kept my voice calm, even though the rest of me grew more and more furious. Kissing the side of his head, I petted his hair, and then rested my cheek against him before glancing at the cop who'd been holding him. "How could she do this to him? Where the fuck is she?"
The man's eyes filled with sympathy and regret. "I'm sorry, sir. But your wife overdosed. She didn't make it."
EVA
Pick was gone six hours. He only called once to let me know he had Julian, and that our son was okay. They were on their way home from the hospital where the police had demanded a checkup.
The mention of a hospital and the police freaked me out. Pick's voice had shaken so hard, though, and sounded so frantic, I didn't question him. If he was on his way home, I figured I'd get my answers soon enough. And I did as soon as he opened the door. I saw Julian's swollen, scratched face and lost it.
"Oh my God. My little boy." I snatched him from Pick's arms and moaned as I pressed him against me, breathing in the unfamiliar smells that were wafting from him. I held him tight as he buried his face into my neck, grabbing handfuls of my hair like he always did—which only made me cry harder.
"How could she do this to him?" I demanded, whirling to face Pick over Julian's shoulder. "Where the fuck is that crazy bitch?" I was determined to claw her face off.
Pick stared at me, his expression hollow and eyes red-rimmed from crying. His voice was hoarse when he said, "She's dead."