Badge by K.L. Savage
Iswear I just caught a glimpse of Hope, but I have to be seeing things. I’m thinking about her too much lately. I shouldn’t be thinking of her at all while I’m on the job.
No, let me backtrack for a second. I shouldn’t even be having a fleeting thought of her at all since she’s Bullseye’s daughter.
His eighteen-year-old daughter.
“Did you hear me?” Mr. Zachary asks, huffing as he taps his foot.
“I heard you,” I grumble. I can multi-task. “So she was interested in giving the baby up for adoption?”
“Interested? She wanted to. She’d been planning it for months.”
I try to refrain from moving my brows in surprise. No one ever really knows anyone, do they? Her parents think they are going to have a grandbaby, but what they don’t know is Morgan never planned on leaving the hospital with a child in her arms.
“After she left here, do you know where she went?”
“She usually goes down the street to get a smoothie. That’s all I know. I have an appointment in five minutes. Are we done?”
Ass.
“Yeah, have a good day.” I click my pen against the file I’m creating and tuck it in my pocket. My skin crawls as I pass several pregnant young women, some maybe even teenagers, and try to walk as calmly as I can out the door.
Figures my first case would be a missing pregnant girl. It’s bringing back too many memories. Why would she want to put her baby up for adoption? I couldn’t imagine doing that to Amber, but then again, everyone’s situations are different.
I glance left and right, watching a car very similar to Ruby’s head the opposite way, with three women in it. Now I’m just seeing things. I’m being an idiot wanting to see her again.
I stop at all the stores on the way to the smoothie shop and show them a picture of the girl I’m trying to find, but everyone says they haven’t seen her.
My last chance is the smoothie shop. Right as I go to open the door, I cock my head when I spot a small drop on the ground. Could be anything.
Could be everything.
I squat next to the cactus and tap my finger against it, then slide it between my fingers and bring it to my nose. I sniff and my stomach turns when the familiar smell of rust hits my nose.
Blood.
I take out my phone and snag a picture, then check to see which direction the blood is traveling.
Looks like I’m going straight.
I follow the trail of two or three more drops, taking pictures of each of them for evidence. I take a right, and then see several more drops.
“Oh no, come on, don’t let it be like this,” I beg to whatever god is listening to me. The horrible gut-wrenching feeling returns, the one I used to get when I was a cop. I want to run away but sprint forward instead as the drops of blood get more frequent.
She’s bleeding quicker. I come to the end of the street. To my right is an alley. It’s dark, lined with trashcans and fire escapes, but the blood leads right to it.
“Let it be an animal,” I whisper to myself, wiping the sweat off my brow as I head into the alley. My boot lands against a stagnant puddle that has a wrapper of some kind in it. I hear the scurry of rats, their nails scratching against the pavement and their chitters of hunger as they look for food.
And then I hear a cry.
It’s soft, weak, definitely struggling. I hurry around the dumpster but don’t see anything, then slowly focus the trash bin itself.
No.
Another cry tries to wail, and I flip the lid of the dumpster and hop up, then flip on the flashlight in my phone.
What I see will give me nightmares for as long as I live.
“Fuck!” I call 9−1−1 immediately, then jump into the dumpster, careful to miss the body of Morgan Lillard.
Her baby is lying on her chest, her abdomen cut open from side to side, and the baby is still attached to the umbilical cord. Before I do anything, I take pictures for evidence, then I shrug off my shirt and gently cover him. “You’re going to be okay,” I tell him, which is more than I can say for his mother.
I have blood all over me. I swear, I can still feel the warmth against my legs as it soaks through my jeans. Morgan stares up at me with vacant eyes.
“Hello? What is the nature of your emergency?” a woman’s voice brings me back to reality.
“This is Private Investigator Forrest Walker. Damn it, I didn’t even check the street I was on. You’re going to have to trace my phone. I’m working a case. I have a body, but I need an ambulance right away. Her baby was cut out of her.”
She inhales a sharp breath and starts typing quickly. “Responders are two minutes out.”
“Thank you.” I hang up and tuck the phone in my back pocket, bending down to push the hair out of Morgan’s face. “Who did this to you?” I ask softly, the color of life still pinching her cheeks. I press my fingers against her neck. As the baby cries, a shiver of familiarity nearly has me recoiling.
She’s gone.
I was stupidly hopeful.
I want to hold the baby, but I’m afraid to touch him. What if he is injured?
The sirens come closer and I hear the steady stampede of boots against the pavement. “Walker? Did I hear that correctly? Is that you?” a familiar voice calls out.
It’s an old buddy of mine on the force, Utah.
He peers inside the dumpster and curses when he sees me. “Fucking hell. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
“Me either,” I say sadly. “Fuck, I have to call my clients and tell them I found their daughter.”
“We can do that, you know. Technically, you’re working with us now too.”
The medic interrupts us. “Is there enough room for me in there?” she asks before she steps up on the dumpster and peers in. “Damn it. Is the infant still attached by the cord?”
I nod. “Yes, he is.”
“Probably why he’s still alive. Okay, I’m tossing you the scissors.”
“No.” I shake my head and climb out of the dumpsters, blood all over my hands. “No. I’m not cutting the cord. Don’t fucking ask me why. You climb in and do it. It’s all on you now.” I can’t cut another baby’s cord.
“Alright,” she says without argument and hops in the dumpster. She comes back out seconds later with a baby boy wrapped in her arms. “Thanks for the shirt, Walker. It helped keep him warm.”
“Yeah, no problem.” I stare up at the sky and place my hands on my hips, trying to take a few deep breaths.
I can’t do cases like this. I just… can’t.
“Is he going to be okay?” I ask the medic.
“He has some fluid in his lungs, but he is strong. Does he have anyone?”
“I’m calling the grandparents now,” I say.
She closes the doors of the ambulance as another one pulls forward to take Morgan’s body. She was only twenty years old, and someone cut the baby out of her. Why?
I take my phone out and hover my thumb over the call button. I know it needs to be done. The cops are in motion around me, crime scene investigators and forensics do their job by taking samples and pictures. I suddenly realize that I can’t tell them this over the phone. This is something they deserve to hear in person.
But I’m covered in their daughter’s blood. I can’t go back to their house now to inform them.
“Utah!” I call out for my old friend.
He begins walking over to me from where he was standing next to the dumpster. “What’s going on, buddy?”
“I’m sending you an address. Please pick them up and break the news to them, then take them to the hospital so they can I.D. their daughter and meet their grandson, okay? I can’t go covered in blood. Tell them I sent you.”
“Sure thing, Walker.” He begins to walk away then stops. “You know, I can’t imagine how hard this is on you. I’m glad you’re back in the game. It’s good seeing you where you belong, Walker.”
Utah is one of the few people who know about Amber. I stupidly told him while I was drunk one night because it would have been Amber’s birthday. She would have been all grown up.
“Can you give me a ride to my truck, actually?” I shout after him.
“Not until after we get pictures and take those clothes in for evidence.” The CSI snaps a photo and I grumble as I begin to undress until I’m down to my damn briefs. “Now can I go?”
“Yep,” he says all too happily.
Nearly naked, I climb into Utah’s police cruiser, and he drives to my truck.
“What made you come back?” he asks.
“I needed to get back out here. I just didn’t fucking expect my first damn case to be a young girl, murdered, with her baby cut out of her stomach. How the fuck are the parents going to take that?”
“Job ain’t easy,” he states.
“Yeah, but I expected my first job to be finding a cat or something.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a second to gather myself while he parks next to my truck.
“Just think about what would have happened if you hadn’t found them. These alleys aren’t exactly known for speaking loudly. They keep secrets. That kid has a life because of you.”
“And no mother,” I grumble. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll get cleaned up and meet you over at the hospital, okay? I won’t take long.”
“Sure thing.”
I climb into my truck next and press my head against the seat. What the fuck have I gotten myself into? Not wanting to go back to the clubhouse just yet, I grab the bag of extra clothes I keep in the backseat and head to the small motel at the end of the street, grabbing a room for the night.
What’s even weirder is that the guy doesn’t even question why I’m covered in blood and in my briefs.
I guess it’s just another day for him.
“Room 211,” he says without looking up from the computer, sliding me a key.
I head outside without another word. 211 is on the second floor. I climb up the cheap concrete steps, not caring about the cracks and shit.
The room is pretty basic. Bed. TV. Faint scent of smoke. And bad carpet. I head straight for the bathroom. I kick off my briefs and don’t even wait for the water to turn hot before I step in. I let my head hang under the spray, watching the red water swirls go down the drain.
Maybe I’ve been gone too long and I can’t handle this job anymore. The cruelty of it, the ugliness, the hatred. I used to want to stop it all. I used to want to be a badass, saving the world—or at least saving innocent people like Morgan Lillard. I still do, but I don’t know how I can when I can’t even cut a baby’s cord.
I want that moment to remain Amber’s. It’s one of the only firsts I had with her.
After hating myself a little more, I wash, dry off, and get dressed. Not even a half-hour later and I’m out the door and heading to the hospital to talk to the parents about their daughter.
The ride is a blur and comes to an end quicker than I expected as I pull into the parking lot. I see Utah and Morgan’s parents waiting outside the emergency room and of course, they are devastated.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lillard,” I greet them as I powerwalk down the sidewalk.
“They didn’t want to hear it from me,” Utah says.
“Is she okay? Is that why we are here?” Mrs. Lillard asks, sounding hopeful through her stuffy nose.
“It’s a boy,” I tell them. “He is alive and in the hospital now.” But the seriousness in my voice prevents any celebration.
“What about Morgan?” asks Mr. Lillard.
I take a deep breath. Here goes.
“Today, when I was looking for your daughter, I found blood. I followed the blood and it led me to an alleyway. I won’t get into details because I want to spare you of that, but I’m sorry.”
Both of them look up at me with tears brimming in their eyes. They already know what I’m going to say, but I have to say it anyway.
“I found Morgan’s body there in that alley. I believe she was murdered.”
A painful roar leaves Mrs. Lillard’s chest, a sound so similar to the one I made so many years ago. I understand her pain more than she will ever know. And one day, when it all becomes too much, when the pain becomes too much to bear, she’ll lock it away too.
No one ever really gets over the pain of grief, they just learn to live with it.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Lillard whispers through tears. “If you wouldn’t have found her, he might not be alive. You listened to us when no one else would.”
“Sure thing. And I need you to know something, she was planning on giving the baby up for adoption. That’s who Mr. Zachary was. He’s from the adoption center.”
“Well, no one is getting our grandbaby. He’s all we have left of her. Oh god, she’s gone.” Mrs. Lillard sits down, losing her strength to stand. “She’s gone.”
Mr. Lillard reaches over and pulls her into a hug, and the two of them sob into each other.
“Let me know if there is anything else I can do,” I say before I turn around and walk away, feeling like the worst man in the world for dropping that news on them and then just leaving. What else can I do? Everything they need now is in that hospital.
I don’t even have the strength to head to the clubhouse. I need my own space. I need to clear my head and that’s when I come up with the idea that I’ll rent the same room in the motel when I have cases.
Is this what I really want? Do I really want to feel like shit and deliver bad news after bad news? Most cases will end badly, but there might be one that won’t. One. It could be years from now. Sure, the baby is okay, but what’s the kid going to be like without his mother?
The Lillards are sweet, but they are older. They might not be able to keep up.
I get back to the motel and drag my feet up the steps and take a left, heading to my room. I kick the door shut, lock the chain across, and throw myself on the bed.
I have to do this, though. I have to help people, like I always wanted to when I was in law enforcement. It’s my calling. And like the Lillards said, if I didn’t take a chance on them, no one else would have. It would have been too late for that baby two days from now.
Exhaling, I snatch the pillow to my left and shove it over my face, screaming as long and as loud as I can.
And when I’m done, when I take my next breath, when I finally relax… like a fucking idiot, I think of her.
Damn it, hope is such a dangerous thing to want to have.
