The Case of the Missing Skate Key
By
DocPaul
Series: Michael Guerin, The World’s Greatest
Alien Investigator
Episode: Two
Author’s email: DocPaul2002@yahoo.ca
Rating: PG
Spoilers: none,
Disclaimers: The concepts and names are the same, but
the characters belong to me. I give them life, more life than
Warnings: This is not canon, so if you expect it,
don’t. Things change. People change. It happens.
Summary: A
Michael POV documenting his investigating technique as the World's Greatest
Alien Investigator. The question is value, and a skate key. Michael finds it for
a small boy.
Author’s note: This is a fluff piece for me. Thought
you could use a relief from angst…or prolonged angst. The idea of this story
is taken in part from the movie Zero Effect with all parts after the first part
completely mine. Thanks to Sherry who has taken over the betaing of this series
for us!
The
Case of the Missing Skate Key
Michael Guerin:
The World's
Greatest Alien Investigator
~For Mike~
Shadows.
They exist in every life. On the wall is a mosaic of movement, blackened marks
chasing dreams, running from fear, or just hiding. If shadows are the reflection
of all truths, and staring at one’s own shadow was acknowledging all those
little things that no one wants to admit too, then it is easy to say that we
often run or hide from those truths. Life is difficult in that all the truer
harsher realities of our lives often are the very things we can’t outrun, or
even willingly give up. They make us. Define us. Teach us about who we are, and
why we are the way we are. They answer the question of why am I, me?
I am
Michael Guerin. I am an alien. And, I am, without a doubt, the Greatest Alien
Investigator on the face of the Earth.
Now,
it has often been asked how I take on a case, or decide one case from another.
Well that in itself is my own shadow. I often look at the question asked, and I
find in the question a mystery so intriguing that I feel compelled to unravel
it. That is not to say that I am not often tempted by a mystery that has an
absolutely gorgeous set of legs. I usually bring my own. I call her my trusty
assistant.
Not
all cases have to be so inspiring or off the wall to attract my attention. Often
I find that I am helpless to my own good nature, and am easily swayed by a good
story, or sob story as the case may be, or even often will take the case so I
can get the pesky asker of the question out of my face. But the reason for my
taking on the investigation is a moot point. More times than naught, it is
merely a flight of generosity that fuels my involvement.
“Please! Mr. Guerin! Pleasssssssee!”
“Nope.” Michael shoved what he was carrying into
their basket. Maria looked over her sunglasses at the pleading ten year old boy,
and then at her husband. Shrugging, she went back to her reading off the back
label of a bag he tossed in the basket. Oh no. This couldn’t be!
“Michael, did you know that this brand of super
greasy snack treats has a higher proportion of salts and fats than all the
others you like combined?”
“Really. That it explains it then.”
“Explains what?”
“Why they are currently my favorite. Fat makes
everything taste better.”
Maria frowned at him as she discretely put the
package back on the shelf. “Great! This is just great!” She poked a finger
in his chest. “If you think I am going to stand for you loading your system
with fats and sugars to the point of early onset cardiac disease, leaving me a
single mother, widowed at an early age, you’ve got something else to think
about, bucko!”
“Bucko?” Michael smiled at that. He leaned in
close to her. “God, you get me all excited when you swear.”
Maria’s mouth pulled up at the edges.
“Pervert,” she whispered as Michael kissed her. Aw. His favorite subject.
Her being pregnant. His future fatherhood, and getting all excited. It was the
stumbling feet moving in embarrassment that had Maria looking down. Oops.
“Michael, your client.”
Michael looked at the child uncharitably.
“You’re still there? Beat it, kid. You’re bugging me!”
Maria hit Michael on the arm at the crestfallen
face. “Michael!”
Sighing, Michael pursed his lips. “Fine!
Whatever.” He pushed his hands in his pockets. “You know the price?” The
kid nodded quickly. “Okay, lucky for you, you have a champion demanding that I
give this matter my personal attention.”
Maria hid a smile at the little boy’s lightened
face. Michael crouched down to be more his client’s level.
“The facts in the case. Two days ago you borrowed
Billy Crowder’s slingshot with a promise of returning it, or he would pound
you to dust.” Michael paused for effect. “That evening, you and your
brother, Charlie, got into it.” Tony Wilson nodded. Yeah, that was right.
“He snatched the slingshot, disappeared for about four minutes, and came back
refusing to tell you where it was until you apologized. You refuse to
apologize?”
“No way! He started it! He said that Emily Lou
Jenkins was making cow eyes at me at church. That she is my secret
girlfriend!”
“Emily Lou Jenkins? She's not terrible. So what if
she thinks you're fly?” Michael felt for the boy who was the object of
affection by the painfully small and shy Emily Lou Jenkins, who didn’t weigh a
pound over sixty with her long dull brown hair, and big eyes hidden behind heavy
rimmed glasses. He knew how the boy felt. Liz Parker use to have a big crush on
him, and it was really pathetic. Thank god she finally got a clue that he only
had eyes for Maria and finally settled for Max.
“She smells like stinky perfume!”
“Hmm.” Michael seemed to be thinking it over for
a moment, ignoring an amused Maria.
“It’s really, really, really…important, Mr.
Guerin.” Tony whined. “Billy Crowder is going to clean my clock up and down
the school yard. I’ll be lucky to be able to show my face in about six
years.”
“Isolation builds character.” Michael said, but
seeing Maria’s eyebrow raise he sighed and finished it. “Okay, okay! Let’s
see. Four minutes, huh?” Tony nodded. “You checked the house?” Tony nodded
again.
Michael stood up and moved his pants down from the
crease they got when he had crouched. “Go next door to Markie Callahan’s
place. It’s in his tree house.”
Tony’s face brightened. “Really?” Michael
nodded. Tony made to take off. “Thanks, Mr. Guerin!”
“Wait there, partner. Aren’t you forgetting my
fee?” Michael held out his hand.
“Oh!” The boy’s face turned red. “I was
going to square with you if I find it in the tree house.” Michael’s face
took on a look of indignation. Tony quickly covered his insult. “But I might
as well pay now since you are never wrong.” Michael ignored Maria’s look of
protest as her mouth opened. The boy put the money in Michael’s hand and
rushed off to find the slingshot and get it back to Billy Crowder before Billy
came and did him in.
“You
are not taking money from that child!” Maria said with a touch of horror and
anger.
Michael calmly tossed his newly made quarter in the
air, and pocketed it. “Yep. Earned it.”
Before Maria could make another remark, she suddenly
stopped. Her hands spanned her tiny waist resting on her flat stomach barely
revealing the baby inside, safely growing. At just four months pregnant, she was
hardly showing.
“Maria?” Michael paused, concern moving over his
face. “What is it?”
Maria laughed looking up at Michael with tears in
her eyes, and an incredulous smile so brilliant it stopped his heart. “The
baby. I felt the baby move!” Grabbing his hand, she placed it over her stomach
and they both waited until there was a fluttering again. They both laughed.
In
living a full life, an aware life, it is important to look at objects of
importance. Every person, over the course of a life, adds things to their
special boxes, keepsakes, that somehow define the journey they traveled from
there to here. At the end of a life, you could look at that box as a living time
capsule of that one life lived in retrospect. What is valued says as much about
a person as any words they could ever share.
Now
an example is necessary. I have a box. In that box are many objects. A bottle of
cedar oil that once belonged to my trusty assistant. A birthday card she gave
me. A rearview mirror from a Jetta long since gone. My wedding announcement. A
picture of Maria. And so many things, too numerous to mention. Obviously these
treasures mean something to me, and next to nothing to others. They are the junk
of my life, that somehow built how I am. Who I am. They are my living memories.
Now
my assistant, and wife, just added a home pregnancy test to her box. It was
positive. I have known her since we were sixteen, and though we dated on and off
throughout our high school years, it wasn’t until graduation that she moved in
with me. That was six years ago.
I
think at that time I realized that I would never leave
She
also was the reason I actually escaped
Maria
helped me take the risk to start a business. She had one year left, and somehow
we knew that we were returning to
This
leads me to my newest case. The Case of the Missing Skate Key. The skate key
meant something special to my client, and in finding it, I found a truth in my
client’s life, and a new road in his journey. I also found something important
about myself, something that never occurred to me before. I had a ‘skate
key’ too.
“Michael.” Maria said softly. She gestured to a
small figure sitting on their front porch.
Michael frowned, and quickly parked the car. They
unloaded the groceries, and walked up the side path to their front door.
Normally they would’ve gone in the back through the kitchen, but they had an
unexpected visitor.
A young boy. About seven.
Maria didn’t recognize him, and neither did
Michael. “Hi?” Maria said softly, not wanting to scare their visitor. God,
he was so young. Maybe only six.
“Are…” The little boy looked them. “I wuz
looking for a Mr. Guerin.”
“I’m Michael Guerin.” Michael said. He
softened his tone considerably. “This is my wife, Maria.”
“I…” The little boy looked uncertain. He was
so small. Tiny. He had a bag at his feet, and his baseball cap on backwards.
Maria could see a sprinkle of freckles across his nose, and a slight darkness to
his skin. It was the knee that showed through his torn jeans that charmed her.
“You need someone to find something for you?”
Michael asked.
The little boy brightened. Nodding, he shuffled on
his feet kicking on the ground. He pulled a worn card from his pocket and handed
it to Michael. It was one of Michael’s special cards. A Finder of Things.
It was dirty, worn and obviously held tightly in the little boy’s hand at one
time.
“You better come in,” said Maria. “We
haven’t eaten tonight and we’re just going to order pizza.” Maria knelt
down next to the child. “You better eat with us and tell us about our new
case.”
“You’ll
take it?” The little boy looked up at Michael, who towered so high above him
that he had to put his head back to see what looked like a giant. Michael
squatted down more to the little boy’s level.
Putting out his hand to shake it, Michael grasped
the little hand. “Absolutely.” Sometimes it didn’t matter what the case
is. It is understood that some cases were pro bono.
~~~
Michael didn’t mention that he and Maria had eaten
at Senior Chows before they went shopping. They sat back and watched the unfed
child eat as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
“How long have you been away from
The child appeared startled that Michael knew where
he was from. “Four days. I had a hard time getting here.”
Maria looked at Michael but didn’t comment. The
thought that this small child somehow traveled so far at such a young age
frightened her to no end. She’d ask him later how he knew the boy was from
Gulping down his pizza and an orange soda, the
little boy nodded. “I’m Simon. Simon Garcia.” He looked at Michael. “How
comes you know I’m from
Michael pointed to the t-shirt that Simon was
wearing. It had the local baseball team on the front. “What do you need found,
Simon?”
Simon chewed some more and swallowed, as his tiny
legs moved back and forth under the table. “My skate key.”
Michael nodded thoughtfully. Maria looked at Michael
quickly then back to Simon. “When was the last time you saw it?”
Simon stopped eating to take his knapsack and riffle
through it. He took out a calendar from a local bank in
“Two weeks?”
Simon nodded. “I keep it on a long string. And
when I skate, I wear it around my neck, but I’m too small to carry it all the
time, so my mom carries it around her neck when I’m not skating.” Simon dug
his skates out of the bag. “I gots my skates.”
“And your mother has the key?”
Simon nodded. “Yeah. Hers has it. Can you find my
key, and my mom?”
Maria looked sick. “Has she been gone all this
time?”
Simon looked at them almost afraid. “I…she never
came home. I was afraid when it got dark again. I went to school like I was
suppose to, but she never came back.”
“Who was taking care of you?” Maria asked.
Simon
shrugged and bit into another pie of pizza. Michael grabbed her hand under the
table and held it tight to keep her from questioning too much.
“I’ll find the key.” Simon smiled. Michael
Guerin was big. He could do anything. “I’ll need to know your mother’s
name, your address, and school information.” Simon nodded wisely. He dug in
his knapsack and handed Michael a special badge. It had his picture on it, all
his vital statistics, including blood type. His mother’s name. His home
address. It was a public badge that the city gave to children to register them
in case they were abducted or lost.
“Thanks. You keep eating. Okay?”
Simon happily agreed. “Can I have another soda?”
“Sure. In the refrigerator. Can you get it
yourself?” Simon nodded and took himself off.
“Michael…”
“Shh, I know. We need to go to
Skate
keys. A childhood item. Important to the owner in so many ways, that others
can’t imagine. I somehow came to realize that every person has a private part
in their soul, a place that is theirs and theirs alone. In that place, I can see
that skate key. The one thing the heart desires the most, values, and is lost
without.
Anger.
There
are many ways to express anger. Many ways to deny its place in our lives, but it
is there. It motivates. Changes and alters the fabric of our very psyche.
Imagine if you will, the lack of anger in a given situation. That situation
loses momentum, and even purpose, because nothing moves fast when everything is
perfect. Anger is implication of imperfection, a path or want gone askew. It is
the impetus of every person to deny being motivated about anger, but anger does
exist. Why is my sister prettier than me, smarter? Why do some people’s jobs
pay more, come with higher prestige, and earn value above mine own?
As
people live day by day, it is this background static of the inequalities that
inspire anger. Seeing the man in front of you driving a new BMW when your car
that you had since high school took three tries to turn over that morning. You
think it’s the alternator, but you don’t have the money to fix it, so you
just hope it holds on. In society there are those who have, and those who have
not. This background realization of inequality sparks most people to work harder
to meet those desires and needs.
If
you could find a person’s skate key, literally you could unlock the very
secret part of their heart; their desire. Like passion, it is fast moving. Hard
to settle, but ever present. My sister, Isabel, is perhaps one of the angriest
women I know. After meeting my client, it occurred to me that maybe what is
missing is Isabel’s skate key, that one item in her life that is missing,
denied or beyond her control to find.
“What do you want?”
“Isabel, always pleasant and charming,” Michael
said. Pushing her aside, he led Maria into the house so she could sit down.
Isabel tapped her foot angrily, and Maria avoided
watching both of them. It had been a constant war since the kitchen renovation.
Michael sent Isabel the bill, she sent it back unpaid. He turned it into a
collection agency and increased the amount. It was open warfare.
Jesse came to the door and smiled at Maria. Waving
at her, he gestured her to follow him. Jesse was a smart man. He gave into
Isabel when it wasn’t something he had a problem with, but on things that
really mattered, Jesse was a rock. In the matter of the renovation, Jesse was
firm. The job was completed, the bill was sent, and she needed to pay it.
Period. He refused to get into any legal warfare between the two siblings.
“Hey Maria. You’re brave.”
Maria laughed. “You’ve no idea.” Maria looked
over her shoulder as the arguing continued.” Looks to be a long battle. If
they ever get past the arguing, Michael actually might tell Isabel why we’re
here.”
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“Good man. I was hoping you’d say that. Just a
second.” Maria went into the room across from the room Michael and Isabel were
using, and opened a door out to the large veranda wrapping the house. “Simon,
it’s okay. You can come in.” Simon looked uncertain. “Really, it’s fine.
This is Jesse. Mr. Ramirez. He is my brother-in-law. He’s married to
Michael’s sister, Isabel.”
“The mean lady?”
Jesse bent down and smiled his large charming smile
at the little boy. “She’s not mean; just angry. Usually at Michael.”
“Did he not find something for her?”
“No.” Jesse looked at Maria confused by the
little boy. He couldn’t be a day over five or six. “So I’m Jesse. Can I
call you Simon?”
Simon smiled as large dimples graced his youthful
face and he nodded. “I’m Simon. Simon Garcia, but you better call me Simon.
Everyone does.”
“Deal.” Jesse stood up. “I was just going to
feed Maria, since she is always hungry. That’s why she’s so fat.” Simon
laughed looking at Maria who was still very thin. “Actually, Maria is having a
baby, so really, I’m feeding my future niece or nephew. Would you like
something?”
“I had pizza and orange soda.”
“Really! Sounds like you might need dessert. I
have a super secret stash of double chocolate chip ice cream.” Maria raised
her hand. Definitely her too.
Maria was on her second bowl, telling Simon silly
Jesse stories and other things when Michael stomped into the room with a
thundercloud over his head, and a nagging Isabel followed him, still detailing
her case of why she shouldn’t have to pay for a job that was in her mind, not
completed.
“Who is this?” Isabel asked, staring at Simon.
He moved closer to Maria, fascinated by Isabel’s beauty, but afraid of her
bellowing.
“This is Simon,” said Michael simply. “He’s
why I risked the Fury to see you. Maria and I are finding something for him, and
we need someone to watch him while we’re gone. Max and Liz’s place is too
small, and they both work. Whereas you, Isabel, have plenty of room and do not
work.”
Isabel ignored Michael. “Where is your mother,
Simon? Does she know you’re here?”
Simon shook his head, and his eyes filled with
tears. Maria quickly squeezed his small hand. “Simon lost his skate key, and
his mother has it. It’s been missing for two weeks,” Maria said emphasizing
the two weeks. “We’re going to
“Skate key?” Isabel said quietly. She knelt
beside the little boy’s chair. “You really need that for your skates.”
“I know. I have my skates with me. Do you want to
see them?”
Isabel smiled. “I’d love to.”
Jesse watched his wife talk with the little boy, her
demeanor changing and gentling. Of late, that was a side of her only he saw.
Motioning for Maria and Michael to follow him, he excused them from Isabel and
Simon.
“How’d he get here, Michael?”
Michael shook his head. “No idea. Stowaway on a
bus or something. For seven, he’s pretty independent and resourceful.”
Jesse swore. “Or very lucky.” Jesse rubbed his
forehead. “We need to contact Child Services.”
Maria looked at Michael, but remained quiet.
“I know. Maria and I already talked about that.”
Michael looked over at the small child. “Can you hold off on that? Keep him
for us, just until we check out things, find his mother…and his skate key? If
he goes in the system, his mother might never be found, and if what happened is
what I think, he’ll never know.”
Jesse nodded. “She could’ve just walked away.”
Michael frowned. “Unlikely. Not with his skate
key.” Michael felt Maria’s hand move into his and squeeze it in comfort.
“She would’ve left it with him if she wasn’t coming back.”
“So what is your plan? Las Cruces PD?”
“No. Simon gave us his home key. We’ll check it
out first. His school and neighbors. I estimate one day tops, maybe two. We’ll
be back after that.”
Jesse looked at Isabel laughing at something Simon
was telling her. Smiling, he heard Simon’s young voice asking Isabel if she
was a movie star or princess. Hearing his wife’s happy laughter telling him
no, along with the rest of the conversation, made him agree with Michael. Simon
could stay until they returned. They would keep him safe.
A
comment on missing things. Of all the things in the world that go missing, there
are three real distinct categories. There are things that are forgotten, and
thereby misplaced. Things that are either removed or that take themselves away;
if that thing is an animate object, it becomes missing by choice. And finally,
things that are lost by circumstance. Those lost by circumstance are usually
lost by an act or will of another, or by an unforeseen event. Needless to say,
an object lost by being forgotten has the potential to be found again as soon as
you open that drawer, closet, or attic. It is a revisit of the past, and often
evokes a memory.
Objects
that are removed either by another or itself, are harder to find. It requires
determining what removed it, the motive, and a conclusion to the possible
relocation. These objects have a potential to move beyond recovery, and an
acceptance of that loss is necessary. My most valuable assistant has faced the
loss of this type of object. Her father. In his case, he removed himself from
his daughter and his family never to return. When searching for him, it was
enough to know that he made that choice, and all that was left for her and her
family was an acceptance. Obviously, the more necessary the object lost, the
longer and more far reaching the effects of the loss. I can say that in my own
life, a loss of a world I will never see, often crosses my mind. In early years,
its loss was almost unbearable. Over time, there has come an acceptance, but
from time to time those old feelings return.
An
object removed or lost by circumstance is the hardest one to reconcile, not so
much in recovery as acceptance. In life there are unpredictable events that
cataclysmically move across the landscape of a life. It is my observation that
these losses are the hardest to come to terms with. No one expects a natural
disaster or fire to remove possessions or loved ones. No one expects major
illnesses or car accidents. One day the object is there, and the next it is not.
No warning. No preparation of loss. Gone. That is not to say that these objects
cannot be retrieved. They can. With great care, a clear clinical thinking moving
along the last known path of departure, an object can be found. The problem with
retrieval of this type of object is the state in which it is returned. The
outcome can be problematic.
The
area of
Michael thought to leave Maria in the car, but she
wouldn’t take well to that suggestion, so he refrained from suggesting it.
Somehow seeing his wife and unborn child in such an area was an affront. It was
one thing to accept the harsher realities of life, it was another to walk in it.
“Michael,” Maria said as they walked up the
stairs to the third floor where Simon and his mother’s apartment reside. The
building smelt of old grease and trash. Garbage lined the unwashed and peeling
walls. Michael noticed the water stains along the ceiling from unfixed leaks. As
a builder, he saw so many things that needing fixing. Not cosmetic repairs, but
essential services.
It was once a nice building, but the state of
disrepair was shocking. The crumbling of walls, the sounds of leaking pipes, and
the rattle of a building that hadn’t settled well. Maria, the architect, found
the disintegration an insult to the original design. Here was a place where
dreams were more than lost. It was a place where no new dreams were created, and
that in itself was the crime.
Pausing outside the door, Michael looked at Maria.
He should’ve left her home. The apartment was small. It was closed in with
poor air circulation. The furniture was old and worn with stains. Michael could
smell the garbage that had remained too long. Simon was too small to take it
out, so for weeks it had set.
Maria screamed when a rat ran across the room.
Michael pulled her closer. Strange. They as a young couple were doing well for
themselves with their business, but they were by no means well off. Compared to
this place, they were very much above it all. Life is a matter of perspective.
From where you observe your situation, you can either be beneath or above a
given situation, and perhaps it was necessary to really take account of that.
Maria picked up a picture and showed Michael. It was
Simon and a young woman. A woman far too young to have a son. She barely looked
sixteen. She was thin, with stringy brown hair and a pale face. Her eyes were
shadowed, but alive. They smiled as they looked at her son. This was a woman
who, despite her poverty, loved her child. She wasn’t a person who would walk
away without making arrangements for him.
Michael shared a look with Maria. They both seemed
to understand that whatever took Carly Garcia from her son, it was unexpected.
They continued through the apartment slowly and methodically building a picture
of young Simon’s life, and the life of Carly Garcia. It was there. All of it.
A mosaic. A complex pattern of living. Drug needles. Used and unused. Drug
protocol for HIV+ and all the public assistance papers, including a social
worker’s name and number. Simon’s birth certificate, born seven years and
three months ago to one Carly Williams Garcia and her husband Jose Garcia. No
other known relatives, and Jose Garcia had been an absentee parent since
Simon’s first birthday. All Simon had in the world was his mother.
By the time they left the apartment, they had
stopped to talk to a few neighbors on the same floor, and the building manager.
Rent was paid for another week. No one remembered seeing Carly in weeks, but
that wasn’t unusual. A stop at Simon’s school confirmed that he had been
missing from school the entire week. The school hadn’t informed social
services as of yet, since lengthy absences weren’t uncommon for Simon. He
often stayed home when his mother was going through a bad time to take care of
her.
Mrs. Staples was their social worker. Michael and
Maria waited for three hours to get in to see her. At first she was unwilling to
give out information about Carly and Simon until it became clear that Simon had
asked them to locate his mother.
“You have Simon?”
Michael’s jaw flexed. “He is being taken care of
at this time. He was left in his home for two weeks unattended. He found me.
Hired me to find his mother.”
Mrs. Staples wasn’t a bad social worker, but she
was overextended and overworked. Somehow this was one case that had slipped from
her radar, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t familiar with the family. She
provided a complete background, and Michael passed her a card that belonged to
Jesse Ramirez in Roswell.
“Mr. Guerin.” Mrs. Staples called to them on
their way out. “I’d like to know what you find.” Michael nodded.
Maria, who had been silent through most of it, sat
back in the car. She felt tired and filthy. It wasn’t over. “Where now? The
police station?”
Michael shook his head. “I know where she is.”
Michael turned to Maria. “Let me drop you off at a hotel for the night. It
shouldn’t take me too long to finish this. You don’t need to come with
me.”
“Yes I do. Partners. Remember.”
“I’m the investigator, Maria. You’re my….”
“Yeah, I heard that before. Let's go so we can get
it done.” Maria’s mouth tightened in her stubborn look, and Michael smiled.
Years of marriage and he had learned many things. The most important was that
Maria wasn’t easily swayed when she set her mind. She had problems allowing
him to take the brunt of everything alone.
It took thirty minutes for them to find Carly
Garcia. As long as it took them to locate the City Morgue. She was Jane Doe
number three.
“Autopsy showed full blown pneumonia. Toxicology
screen was off the chart in the meth range. She was hyped on meth when an artery
in her brain exploded. Death was instantaneous. I doubt she realized what was
happening. Literally she dropped where she was standing.”
“The pneumonia was from the AIDS.”
The medical examiner nodded. “She had some
impressive spotting on film. Her lungs were a mess. Wet. The increased illness
was painful. More than likely she cranked it up to help alleviate the spasms
from her lungs, and the pain radiating from her back. Her blood was running
pretty thin. When she blew the artery there wasn't enough clotting in her body
to stay the outward flow. She bled out in estimation ten minutes top. Probably
had an intense headache, then lights out.” He searched his records and
reports. “So you have a name for me?”
Michael nodded. He passed the man a picture of Carly.
“Carly Garcia. Here's the number to her social worker. I think she would be
able to identify the body.”
The M.E. looked at the picture of Simon and his
mother. “She was just a kid herself. Is this her son?” Michael nodded.
“Poor kid. You need me to make the call?”
“I’ll do it. I promised the social worker to
inform her.” Michael and Maria went to sit along the wall and called through
to Mrs. Staples. It was another hour before the woman showed up. They went with
her to identify the body.
“I’ll process the paperwork for a state
burial,” Mrs. Staples told the M.E.
“That won’t be necessary,” Michael said. Maria
squeezed his hand and looked away. “We’ll take care of the arrangements for
Simon as soon as the body can be released. I think he might need to see his
mother buried. Is it possible for us to have her personal effects for her
son?” The M.E. nodded. He handed Maria a plastic bag, and a form for Michael
to sign. Maria opened the bag and
held up the skate key tied on a shoe string. Putting it back in the bag, there
was nothing to say.
“About Simon,” said Mrs. Staples as they left
the building. “He’ll need to be remanded into custody of the State.”
Maria cleared her throat. “We understand. I
believe that Mr. Ramirez will handle the legalities in Roswell. We’d like to
send you a notice of the burial if you would like to be there.”
Mrs. Staples wiped her eyes. “I think I would.
Thank you.” She shook Maria and Michael’s hands before leaving. They
hadn’t got far before she stopped them again. “Mr. Guerin.”
Michael, holding Maria’s hand, looked back at Mrs.
Staples.
“I….I once had a card of yours on my desk. A
Finder of Things. It disappeared.” Michael thought of the ragged card held
tightly in Simon Garcia’s hand. The one that brought him to Roswell. “I like
to think it found its way into the right hands.”
“It
did.” Michael said. He reached into his pocket and gave her another card.
Isolation.
This is a subject I have personal experience with. The isolation of being alone,
and without people or support is perhaps one of the hardest aspects of modern
society. Modern culture has so fragmented the ideas of communities, large
families and a mega-society that the individual is often left friendless and
lonely. That was Carly Garcia. She was alone. A child searching for something,
anything resembling a connection, that she became involved with a man far before
her young body had the maturity to understand the ramifications, the biggest one
was Simon. She became a mother at fifteen, and a single deserted parent by
sixteen. Hardly more than a child herself, she did what she could to raise
Simon, but her loneliness pushed her into a life of escapism. Drugs. Unsafe sex.
AIDS.
Isolation
is a disease. Almost mental in its ability to cripple an ordinary individual
from a rational thinking person into a desperate confused child. With the
disease of isolation often is its partner, desperation. Good people who normally
wouldn’t walk outside lines, find themselves crossing over them again and
again as they struggle to find a foot hole, a way out of the pit of their lives.
Some
fail. Many fail. Carly Garcia failed, but in her failure she opened a new door
for her son. Her failure gave him a chance at a different life. Sometimes when a
door slams, a window opens.
“I
don’t want to do this.”
“I know.” Michael picked up Maria’s hand and
kissed it.
They were sitting in their SUV watching Isabel,
Jesse, and Simon playing on their front lawn. They were playing a game of keep
away, and all of them were laughing and running from the other, grabbing Simon
and hugging him. He looked happy. Isabel looked happy.
“Let's go.” Michael got out and walked around to
help Maria from the car.
It was Jesse that saw them first. They stood there
on the curbside, waiting. Letting this moment in time be a happy one. Isabel
must have felt Jesse’s stillness, because she suddenly looked up and held
Simon against her. Sighing, she turned the child and pushed him towards Michael
and Maria.
Maria held back. She allowed Michael to finish his
job. He was after all, the World’s Greatest Alien Investigator, and Simon was
his client. Michael moved towards the little boy and stopped to let him come the
rest of the way. For a child so young, Simon Garcia didn’t lack courage.
Michael knelt down and held out his hand dropping the skate key from the string
into Simon’s hand.
Isabel’s eyes met Maria’s over Michael’s head.
The question was clear. Maria shook her head, and Isabel’s hand went to her
mouth as her eyes flooded with tears. She held back her response and waited
patiently as Michael and Simon talked quietly.
Simon nodded and closed his hand around the key.
Michael handed him the picture of him and his mother. Before anyone could
respond, he ran. Straight to Isabel who gathered him up close. She didn’t
stop, but picked up the crying child and took him inside.
Jesse looked somber. He gestured for them to follow
him inside. They talked for the next few hours about what needed to be done. The
investigation was over. They had done their job, now it was time to let Jesse do
his.
Michael couldn’t sleep that night. He laid in bed
with Maria sleeping in his arms.
Skate keys.
It was a thing of the heart. Secret places. Hidden
needs. As long as Simon’s mother had his skate key, he knew that she would
come home to him, as long as she could. It wasn’t finding the skate key. It
was finding her. If Simon had gone to the authorities, his teacher, or the
social worker chances were that Carly Garcia would’ve remained Jane Doe number
three, and Simon Garcia would’ve spent his entire life wondering why she never
came home.
It wasn’t exactly what he wanted from Michael, but
it was a job completed. Simon now knew that nothing short of death would’ve
made his mother not come home. That was more than he or Maria had. She never
knew why her father left, and he never knew why his parents or people didn’t
come for him. They never found those answers because those were the very things
lost to them.
Kissing Maria on the top of her head, he held her
body close, his hand moving over her pregnant body. Skate key. Maria was his
skate key. She was the one thing in his heart that made his life livable. Worth
fighting for. She was his worse critic. His best friend. The love of his life.
His partner. If he lost her, she would be the one item he would find damn near
impossible to replace or go on without.
“Can’t you sleep,” she asked softly in the
dark. He hadn’t realized that she had been awake.
“No. Thinking.”
Maria snuggled closer in his arms. “You’re best
pastime.”
“Indeed. I was thinking that I need to get back to
outlining my investigative techniques.”
Maria sat up in bed, and stared at him in the dark.
“No! I thought you finished that.”
“Chapter one. There's more. Good observation and
technique requires good documentation. You know that.”
“I know you’re a loon!”
“You said you would help me.”
Maria shook her head violently. “No I didn’t! I
said, ‘God, help me!’ That is not the same.”
Michael frowned. She was so damn contrary at times.
He tended to cut her slack since her hormones were all over the place, and being
a man who excelled above others in his observations, he kept that observation to
himself to keep from irritating his pregnant wife in a time when she was needing
to be calm.
“Maria, what about the case of ‘the man who’s
son was missing, but actually had hitched with friends to a Metallica concert in
Seattle’? We have to document my brilliant detailed investigation of that
one!”
“You read his school notebook. His itinerary was
detailed in there.”
“Exactly. But, his father didn’t think to read
through his doodling.”
Maria’s mouth opened indignantly. “I was the one
that found it!”
“Sure, after I suggested you read through it.”
Maria picked up the pillow and smacked him across
the head. All these years, and he still could be the most infuriating man.
Grabbing his head, she kissed him passionately. They rested their foreheads
together, both breathing hard, panting. They didn’t mention Simon, or
Simon’s future. It was already determined. Both of them were well aware of how
that situation would go. Simon was Isabel’s skate key.
“You’re my skate key, too. You know that
right?” she said softly.
Amazing.
Another observation. The longer you connect to one
special person, the more likely you are to read each other’s mind and body
language.
“So that means you’re going to help me,
right?”
“God, help me!”
“That’s yes, right?”
You
could spend a lifetime wandering among others, in and out of social interaction
and never once stop to ponder why things are the way they are. Why does Mr.
Peterson walk his dog at six-thirty every morning without fail? Is it because
Teddy needs to take a dump every day at six-thirty, or that Mr. Peterson needs
the regiment in his life, or perhaps because the widow Mulligan opens her
windows in her lingerie? Motivations. They are the cornerstones of behavior. A
fuel.
Isabel
Evans Ramirez is a tyrant. A Nazi in her need for controlling organization. Her
house had to be perfect. Her husband… perfect. Her life… ordered and
detailed down to the flatware pattern. There was an obsessive neatness to her
life, one that was like a neon sign flashing the very diseased unhappiness
weighing down what is genuinely a loving woman.
Isabel
needed chaos. Muddy footprints in the foyer. Jam hands on the walls. Bouncing
balls. Chaotic soccer schedules and recitals. Parent and teacher meetings. Quiet
time reading Harry Potter to a small heart open to dreams and possibility.
Isabel’s maniacal twisted behavior increased once it was known that Maria was
pregnant. It was hard to accept that someone was achieving a lifetime desire,
and that she was denied it. Her depression was covered in a cleverness of busy
work, renovations, parties, and committees, but that depression was still
underlying everything.
Then
came Simon. A child of her heart. Jesse and Isabel’s first foster child and
adopted son. Adopted children are the love you choose to give, and the children
of your heart, for they are chosen. That was how in finding Simon’s skate key,
Isabel’s was found as well, and Jesse got his beautiful happy wife back, and a
son that would always be his pride and joy.
TBC:
The Case of the Man and Woman Who Said I Do, and Then Didn’t, and All It Cost
Was A Horse