Fight For Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Ten

Luna

Sleep eludesme after my conversation with Dad. He’s miles away from me—always. We don’t discuss my cases—hell, he doesn’t even know that I’ve read all of Mom’s journals several times. And yet, he’s aware that I’m here for more reasons than I let on. I’m here because Mom deserves justice. Because if our family hadn’t been shattered everyone would be happy. I think. Sammie wouldn’t have to move with our maternal grandparents.

She would be with us, happy.

My stomach tightens. The last time I saw Sammie hits me hard. Just like Dad couldn’t save Mom. I couldn’t save Sam.

I failed.

Only two weeks ago Lucas found her living in DC. Not that he was looking for her. He was investigating a gang. It surprised him to find that his big sister was a part of it. He called me, devastated. “I barely recognized her. I’m not sure what her role is, but she was high when I saw her.”

I swallowed hard. “Did she recognize you?”

“No. I made sure to stay away from her.”

Maybe he was wrong. “Are you sure it was Sammie?”

“One hundred percent sure,” he confirmed.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m off the case,” he mumbled. “There’s no way to tell what’s going to happen to her.”

The FBI was onto the gang. Not onto her. At least, that’s the logic I decide to follow. If I could help her. Maybe we could save her. She was part of the family I lost. I made contact with her. We had a few email exchanges. She accepted my help. Lucas and I cosigned her lease. We got her a job. She agreed to go to rehab. All was great, until she disappeared on me.

I parked my car at the subway station and made my way to the city. Sammie hadn’t contacted me or responded to my emails despite agreeing to leave and go to rehab. Dad would help her if she was willing to get clean. I walked against the current through the mass of people rushing toward the street, swiped my card, and boarded the car just in time. With food and enough money to buy her a ticket to wherever she wanted to go. I was ready to fight her if that’s what it took to get her out.

Once I arrived at my destination, I walked outside the subway station at the corner of the street. I stopped, waiting for the light to turn green so I could cross. Looking around, I worried about her safety. The road was polluted, litter everywhere. A man sat next to the building across the street, begging for money.

As I crossed the street, I watched the people surrounding us. Men eyeing me, licking their lips, and whistling. They could stare all they wanted, but if any of them got close, I would make them regret it. My brothers and father had taught me to fight, starting judo and karate at four years old. I continued past a fruit stand, a nail salon, and a rotisserie chicken store, and stopped at the front door of the third building. It was a complete mess, to put it nicely. A few boarded windows, the peeling door, the trash around it–everything looked threatening. I rang the bell five times.

“Who died?” A guy wearing a pair of boxers opened the door. Glassy eyes, bruises on his arms.

“Who are you?” I glared at him, releasing my hand and pushing him so I could get through.

There was only one rickety staircase leading to the first floor with a worn, beaten banister.

I continued to the next floor where Sammie lived. It wasn’t any better than the ground floor with the paint clinging to the walls and doors. A thick layer of dirt settled on everything in sight. I stared at the open door. It was open. She lay on the couch. Her brassy blond hair was matted, she only wore a T-shirt, and her legs were bruised.

The small area was a kitchen, living room and dining room. It was filled with empty food containers, bottles of alcohol, and other trash.

“You’re high,” I whispered, walking toward my sister.

I set the food I brought on the table next to the piles of trash. “You have to be at work in an hour.”

Lying on the couch, she released a loud laugh. She was skeletal. Barely any meat on her bones. I could almost hear the rattling through her ribs.

“Sammie, I’m serious,” I insisted.

Lucas warned me that this wouldn’t be easy and unfortunately he couldn’t be here supporting me while I dealt with Sammie’s recovery.

“Go away,” she mumbled and closed her eyes again.

“You can’t skip work.”

“I made enough money to pay the rent. Get the hell out of my house,” she ordered.

“You made enough money? I loaned you money yesterday for the rent.” My voice came out as a raging scream. “What happened to ‘I want to get better’? You asked me for help.”

“I. Don’t. Need. You.”

I shook my head, ignoring her hurtful words. Opening my purse, I searched for the paper bag of herbs. “Here’s some tea. Mom would’ve wanted you to drink it.”

“You still think she talks to you, poor little girl.” She laughed. Her vicious words punctured my heart. “She was my mother. Not yours. You look nothing like her. I wished they had killed you when they killed her. I will never understand why they let you live.”

Sammie was so high she spit nonsense just to be hurtful. I knew better than to listen. Lucas always told me when I was born, she adored me. I knew it was the drugs, but I couldn’t help my anger at the way she treated me. Still, I had to try my best to save her,

“Stop,” I ordered her. “You’re doing it again. I might not have met her, but she was mine too. She loved me, I know it. I want to help you because you’re my sister.”

“Get the fuck out of my house and my life. You’re nothing to me. If I see you again, I’ll kill you. This is your only warning.”

After Mom died,I don’t think anyone helped Sammie work through Mom’s loss. She lost herself in drugs when she couldn’t deal with reality. She once told me that meth allowed her to achieve some of the happiness she lost when Mom left us. She liked to reach for that magic potion that helped her forget whatever it was that she wanted to ignore.

It wasn’t long after that last meeting that I received the call about my sister overdosing. I wish I could have saved her, but I comfort myself with the thought that maybe her addiction was like terminal cancer. There was only ever so much I could do to prolong her life, but she was always going to leave. A part of me hopes she’s happy with Mom by her side, that she finally got to be in peace. According to the few articles I’ve found, she’s the one who discovered Mom’s body. She saw what happened to Mom, sat with her in her last minutes. That’s enough to scar any child.

Sammie was thirty-one when she died. She was sick, very sick.

Mom’s killer is free. He might not have pulled the trigger, but he’s responsible nonetheless. It’s no different than any other case: if I can’t bring them home, I have to bring peace to their families. In this case, my father, my brothers, and hopefully me. It’s not about vengeance, but opening a case that was mistakenly closed. I want justice for Mom.

I wonder if will Harrison help me bring the killer down if I ask?