S2W42: “Holes”

© 2022 Phylicia Joannis

Sydney checked her watch again. Dr. Jengal was late. Maybe he’d gotten cold feet. She pulled out her laptop and began typing. She didn’t have all the holes filled in just yet, but she knew there was a story here.

She opened up the files that contained copies of the insurance claims for the plane and pilots. She was still waiting on a copy of the claim for Mitchell Blume.

Her phone buzzed, and Sydney pulled it out. Dr. Jengal was calling her. “Hello?”

She put her ear to the phone, but the line disconnected almost immediately. Sydney stared at the phone for a beat. All of her instincts screamed at her, and she dialed him back. Three times. The third time, the phone went straight to voice mail. Which meant someone had turned off Dr. Jengal’s phone.

Sydney dialed again, but this time it wasn’t Dr. Jengal.

“Detective Gates here.”

“Hey Roger. It’s Sydney. I need you to check on something for me.”

***

I let Marcos help me up through a manhole in the center of the street. Once we were safely above ground, I laid out on all fours and emptied my stomach. Marcos gagged and looked away. The dry heaves were so strong, I struggled to breathe.

“Miracle, està bien?” Marcos placed his hand on my back. It helped me to center and focus on my breathing. The heaving finally softened, and I made to wipe my mouth with my jacket sleeve. I pulled back at the last moment, gagging.

“I’m sorry, Miracle. It was the only way out.”

I heard him speaking, but my mind was elsewhere. My skin crawled. My eyes burned. And the smell. Dear God, the smell.

But we were alive. I tried to focus on that. Pretend the heat in my cheeks was from the mid-afternoon sun, not the red hot embarrassment of crawling through human waste.

“Miracle,” Marcos began.

“I’d rather not talk,” I rasped.

Marcos nodded silently. “I know where we can get some clothes.”

“Can we walk there?” I asked. There was no way we could take public transportation. Even the bums on the subway would kick us out.

“Yeah, just a few blocks from here.” Marcos made to grab my hand, but thought better of it. I followed him a few blocks down, mind spinning. We needed to get help. I pulled my phone from my pocket, which squished as I wriggled the device free. Of course, it didn’t turn on.

“Mine’s not working either.” Marcos sighed. “Here’s the place.”

I stared at the front of a rundown rescue mission as Marcos flagged someone inside. Broken toys and furniture lined the front entrance. A mattress doubled as a bed for a scruffy, but friendly looking pooch and his owner. Both needed grooming, but I’d still bet they smelled better than I did.

“Maria says we can’t go inside, but there’s a hose out back next to her truck. We can rinse off and change on the flatbed.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it. There wasn’t time for arguments. I nodded in agreement and, several awkward minutes later, we were free of debris and in cleaner clothes. Maria let us borrow her phone, and I called Simon Lowe.

It took five tries before he finally answered.

“Simon speaking.”

“Simon, it’s Miracle. We followed a guy downtown, and he’s got bombs everywhere.” The words tumbled out in a rush.

“What?”

I relayed all the information to him, leaving out how we escaped, and waited for his response. Simon was quiet much longer than I was comfortable with.

“Simon, did you hear what I said? This guy’s gonna blow up half of downtown if we don’t stop him. He said he’d be setting it off tonight. If you can get the mayor or someone else to listen–”

“I’ll take care of it, Miracle.” Simon finally spoke. “You just sit tight.”

“Should I call the police?” I asked.

“No.” I could hear the frustration in his voice. “They’ll think it’s a prank call. Don’t call anybody else. Just stay where you are.”

“But–”

“The mayor’s holding a press conference in less than an hour. Trust me to handle it, alright?”

The phone went dead in my ear.