The Night Orchid Page 2

  “What the hell?” cries Mookie. He grabs my arm to keep me from tripping, and I anchor myself to regain balance. “What the fuck are you on? Whatever it is, I want it.”

  The boy disappears, and it’s once again me and Mookie in this dank alley. I catch my breath and straighten my jacket. “Sorry. Don’t know what got into me.”

  “You sure?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  He creases his forehead. “Listen, there’s that girl from your neck of the woods who’s been missing for three days.”

  I nod. Alexa Ocampo. Her mom is close friends with my mother. Supposedly, they celebrated her eighteenth birthday last Friday night. Then on Saturday morning she wasn’t in bed. She hasn’t appeared since then.

  He rubs my head over my hoodie. “Do me a favor, will you? Maybe she ran away. And no killer is on the loose. But be careful out there.”

  I look at him with amusement. What do you know? A drug dealer with a heart. But I humor him. “Thanks, dad. But let’s be real. I’m hanging around Jack the Ripper Alley at night. Besides, nothing happens at Wakefield.”

  Chapter 2

  Julian

  The girl turns her head in my direction, and I smile despite my mouth full of braces. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  She remains still and continues to stare.

  “Hello?” I run my fingers through my hair and question my decision to meet her.

  As her teeth worry her lip, she glances towards her parents. But the boxes they carry occupy their attention, and they don’t even notice her. She continues tracking their movements until they disappear inside the house. Then she returns her attention to me.

  “Are you…” She pauses and drops her voice to a whisper. “Real?”

  “That’s a weird question.”

  She lifts her right hand and pinches my cheek.

  “Ow!” I howl. “What gives?”

  She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I thought you were something else.”

  “Ok, it’s official. You’re a weirdo.”

  The girl smiles for the first time, revealing a gap-toothed grin. In that moment, my longtime crush on Bianca Peters vanishes.

  “I’m Julian.”

  “Josephine.”

  I repeat her name under my breath. “How old are you?”

  “Eight.” She creases her forehead as she eyes me. “You?”

  “Same.”

  “You’re tall.”

  “Thank you. Where are you from?”

  “The psych ward.”

  I furrow my brows. “Where’s that?”

  “Faraway from here. It’s a place for crazy kids.”

  “Well, are you? Crazy, I mean.”

  She shrugs. “My parents think so. The staff thought so. So I must be.”

  “Well, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

  “How do you know? You don’t even know me.”

  “I just know.”

  Josephine looks at me, eyes narrowing. Then a chill creeps up, making me rub my arms. Her eyes change from curious to alarm, but I ignore her because the crisp air is still sweeping over me despite the heatwave. Goosebumps blanket my arms as I turn, only to find no one on the street but Josephine and I. Eyes darting from left to right, I’m paranoid. My attention returns to her, but she’s now looking at me with renewed interest. She steps closer and grabs my arms.

  I flinch. “What are you doing?”

  “Do you see her, too?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her gaze drops to our linked arms. Same goose pimples lay on our skin.

  Hands clamping tighter, she gave me a shake. “Do you see her or not?”

  “No!” I yell, yanking my arms off her. “Jeez.”

  “But you feel her.” She’s speaking softly now, as if talking to herself. “You must. Otherwise, you won’t be freezing in this heat.”

  Backing away, I have the urge to run. But she smiles with the warmth of the glowing sun and wraps her arms around me.

  “Maybe I’m not crazy after all.”

  When she releases me, I stare with wide eyes and mouth agape.

  “See you later, Julian.” Then she turns and runs back to the house.

  The phone rings and startles me. I snap my head from my desk and fumble for my cell. Shit, I did it again—got lost in my damn memories. This time, I transported myself ten years ago, to that muggy summer in July.

  The call goes to voicemail, and I check my phone. Five missed calls from Bianca and two from Brandon. But this last one was from Dee. I’ve been waiting for her, so I dial her number. “What’s up?”

  “Meet me at the alley. I got news.”

  “About the purse?”

  “Yup.”

  “How?”

  “Through, Nikka, of course. Detective Brower got super drunk tonight, and he’s singing like a canary.”

  I laugh. “Right on, Dee. Meet you in twenty?”

  “No, my parents are still having their dinner party. Meet me at 1?”

  “I got you.”

  “Ok. See you soon.”

  I disconnected the call and head for the shower. Yesterday, I overheard my dad on the phone with Sheriff Reed saying that a farmer found Alexa’s purse on the side of the road. That piece of news is confidential, but I told Dee in secret. I knew her cousin, Nikka, was dating the detective who interviewed us on Sunday.

  As I grab a towel off my chair, my eyes catch a missing person flyer on my desk bearing Alexa’s name. I stare at her photo. Gorgeous straight black hair, smooth brown skin and a superb smile. The daughter of a successful entrepreneur, the co-captain of the cheerleading team and living in the wealthiest part of town. Alexa’s life is damn near perfect, yet this flyer remains a tangible reminder that she’s still missing. I take a seat and rub my chest. I’m gonna need a minute.

  A gust of wind brings my attention to my neighbor’s window. Josephine Ligaya, the star of my recent onslaught of childhood memories, keeps her curtains closed.

  Years ago, I could communicate with her through that window. We were best friends then, and inseparable. A glorious time when I called her by a nickname. Joy. A reference to the literal translation of her Filipino last name. But I had another secret corny reason for calling her that, and I based it on my mood whenever she neared me. Plain, unadulterated happiness.

  I remember when she moved next door. Eight-years-old and restless, I sat by this same window, blowing bubbles with my saliva, bored to tears. Then God gave me a gift in the form of a blue BMW. I watched it pull up into their driveway until a girl in white hopped out of that car.

  Juice Box falling to the floor, Cupid’s arrow shot my heart that afternoon. Her curly hair, a veil of black licorice, shrouded her delicate face. Smooth skin of melted milk chocolate bars covered her small body. Many things I couldn’t answer in absolute—except for one. Jo was a goddess long before I knew the word existed.

  But years later, something tested our friendship, and we failed it big time. I haven’t seen her in three years except for fleeting glimpses when she runs to the house or into her parents’ car.

  My finger traces the scar on my forearm. After three years of pushing her out of my head, I wonder why suddenly my mind keeps playing memories of her.

  Chapter 3

  Josephine

  The lamp post flickers as I turn onto Magnolia Street. It’s quiet here, and the air smells cleaner. But the moon hides behind the clouds tonight, darkening the streets and making it no less foreboding than Jack Lane.

  God, where’s my license?

  Mom’s paranoia of me escaping from her clutches made me miss out on countless opportunities to take driver’s education. As I jog towards my bike, I regret being so docile and wished I had been more persistent.

  Locked on a rack in the parking lot of Grappling Academy Gym, my bicycle sits lonely and waiting. It baffles Mookie that I park it here and walk to Jack Lane when I could just ride it to my destination. I explained to him that because I own so little,
including my life, I’m protective over a measly two-year-old Fixie bike. Truly, not even the seedy folks at the alley will steal it. But still.

  As I unlock my bicycle, the automatic sliding doors open and close as a spattering of gym rats enter the twenty-four-hour fitness center owned by Nadia Ancheta. The warehouse attracts budding MMA fighters who dream of competing in packed arenas. Nadia, herself, has competed in many UFC featherweight competitions. She was the best in this town until a catastrophic injury prevented her from winning the coveted title. But she remains a force in the mixed martial arts scene in Breckinridge. Nadia also taught me the art of MMA—but not in my decision to dabble in illegal fighting. She’ll skin me alive if she finds out.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

  I whip around and see Nadia heading towards me in a black jacket, tights and sneakers. Though capping only at 5’2, that petite frame is a concrete wall. Lean muscles make up that intact body. And as my MMA coach, I’ve felt the power of those knuckles even from her light jabs.

  But she’s my mentor and a godsend when she took me under her wing. Three years ago, at a family picnic hosted by the Association of Filipino Professionals, she was an MMA fighter in a group of businesspeople, medical professionals and wealthy homemakers. Though a businessperson herself, she didn’t fit the mold. But I gravitated towards her. Not long after that meeting, her gym became a sanctuary when I began taking her classes. She kept that secret from my parents, and I’m forever grateful for her.

  “Hi Nadia. What’s up?”

  She squints her eyes. “Don’t ‘Hi Nadia’ me. Why are you here?”

  I shrug. “Can’t sleep.”

  She steps closer and leans into my face. “Girl, is Mookie still hawking his shit at you.”

  I wince. “What are you talking about?”

  “Uh-uh. Stop acting innocent with me, girlfriend. Mooks and I are gonna have a talk later. Watch.”

  I shake my head. “Don’t. I’m the one who forces him to sell me stuff.”

  “Jo…”

  “Look, I’ll be eighteen soon, and it’s legal now in California. My home life sucks, and I’d rather smoke weed than have those prescription drugs.”

  Her face softens. “Mama still forcing you to take those meds?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The antipsychotic, too?”

  I nod. “But I haven’t tipped her off, so she’s not watching me like a hawk.”

  The young fighter looks at me with troubled eyes. She’s remembering two years ago when I disappeared for three consecutive Saturdays. Nadia knows the effects of psychotropics on me.

  She sighs. “I’m not knocking those who legitimately need these medications. If it takes the edge off and a psychiatrist recommends it, by all means, take it. But for you…” She pauses and cringes. “I still recall seeing you in the grocery store with your parents. You were a zombie and completely out of it. Spooky.”

  I remember that too, but that’s reality for me. “That’s why I do whatever I can not to ingest them and use alternative medicine.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you just move in with me? Hank won’t mind.”

  I shake my head. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. One more month until I’m an adult. No worries.”

  She places a hand on my shoulder. “But if you’re in deep shit, you call me right away.”

  “I promise.”

  Concern etches her face, as if questioning that word of honor. Then her eyes brighten. “Get inside.” She takes my arm and leaves me no room to protest. When we enter, she walks to the counter.

  As she rummages in the drawer, I remember something. “Hey, I’m going back to school tomorrow. First time in three years.”

  She pops her head up and looks at me. “But tomorrow is Wednesday. How come you didn’t start on Monday?”

  I shrug. “Paperwork shit that didn’t get done until today.”

  She nods. “Well, that’s good, girl. You need to hang out with kids your age.”

  “Do I?”

  She huffs. “You got a washed up MMA fighter and a balding drug dealer for friends. Yeah, you do.”

  I laugh as she returns her attention to the drawer. Finally, she pulls out a pair of black, padded items. “Since you’re already here, I’ll use your time the best way possible.”

  Gloves come flying at me and land in my hands. “Now?”

  “Yes. No more questions. Off to the octagon.”

  I groan. A female linebacker just used my body as a punching bag, bruising my entire torso and thighs. I can’t take any more beating. But Nadia is walking over to the 20 foot diameter cage, giving me no choice. I guess we’re sparring tonight.

  I sigh. Round four.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, I’m outside the gym, bent over the bike rack. The rusty lock on my chain remains stubborn, making me yank it with full force and causing me to hit a bruised elbow against the metal. I yelp. But the latch drops, releasing my bike, and in a sweet second, I’m pedaling to the street.

  As I reach a nearby alley, the unmistakable sound of chatter reaches my ears. I pedal faster. This business is likely a shady drug deal like mine and Mookie’s.

  “Ian, it’s not looking good.”

  My ears perk up and against my better judgement, I hit the brakes. The voice is youthful and feminine, no doubt a teenager.

  “No minors allowed. Only me.” I chuckle as I mutter under my breath.

  But that quiver in her speech piqued my curiosity, forcing me to hop off my bike and tiptoe to the mouth of the alley. I take shelter behind the large, stinky trash receptacle when a deep voice resounds through the dim and empty street.

  “Damn, that report came out fast.”

  I push up to peek over the dumpster and see a couple—a tall, lean blonde boy and a petite, African-American girl with mid-length curly hair. The shadows partially masked their faces, preventing me to get an unobstructed view.

  “Yeah, it surprised me, too,” says the girl.

  “I can’t thank you enough for sharing this information with me,” says the boy.

  “She’s my friend, too. I’m just as worried, you know.” She pauses, followed by a prolonged, unsettled silence. Finally, the girl clears her throat. “According to Brower, the fingerprints and hair on that purse are hers.”

  “Damn.” The boy runs his fingers through his hair.

  “But they found a speck of blood,” says the girl. “Hers. They did a non-destructive age testing on the bloodstain, and the Raman spectroscopy dated it to the time she went missing. This is no longer a runaway case, Ian. The investigation shifted to abduction.”

  The boy curses. “So what are they doing about this? She could be hurt… or worse.” He trails off that last part, as if he can’t stomach the grim possibility of death.

  I massage my temple as a headache attacks me. Runaway? Are they talking about Alexa Ocampo? My head shot up, but as I lean closer, the boy moves his head towards my direction. I duck, even though it’s unlikely he’ll see me within the thick protection of the darkness. But I hear no other sound, which emboldens me to return my gaze through the narrow gap between the dumpster and the brick wall.

  A gust of wind tunnels through the lane, making the girl shiver and place her hands in her pockets. “I hope Brandon didn’t hurt her.”

  He winces and backs up to the wall. The street lamp’s glow shines on him as he turns his head. I grip the handle of my bike as a jolt of familiarity hits me. The waves on top of his undercut bounce like cotton balls while his eyes, a cerulean blue, cuts through the darkness. His gaze stirs the synapses in the deep recesses of my brain, and my heart beats as if shocked alive. For one moment, the numbness melts as warmth electrifies my body.

  Then he makes a tiny movement—an action that wouldn’t interest anyone but me. He traces his left forearm absentmindedly, staring above the girl’s head but not looking at anything specific. I’m willing to bet those fingers are touching an old scar that stretches fro
m his elbow to his wrist. Memories of warm summers and a brief yet happy childhood flood my brain.

  I gasp. Julian?

  Wincing at the name, I turn from him and slump to the ground. As I lean my head against the dumpster, I clutch at the strings of my hoodie. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  Suddenly, I hear approaching footsteps, and I shoot up from my position. Kicking my brake stand, I hop on my bike and pedal away, leaving behind the boy and the Pandora’s box he just opened.

  Chapter 4

  Julian

  “Is this where you died?”

  Silence.

  “Damn, Jo. I’m freezing my balls out here. Wanna wrap this up soon?”

  Jo remains quiet until a small sob escapes her lips. “Sorry, Athena.”

  Tears fall down her cheeks, making me lace my fingers through hers. “You ok?”

  As she squeezes my hand, she takes a deep breath and asks another question. “Where is your body?”

  Again, silence.

  I press my shoulders against hers. “Did she tell you?”

  She shakes her head and continues to focus on the wall.

  “Is she staring at you? Just curious.”

  “No, she turned away. Her back faces me now.”

  I stand still, waiting for the next communication.

  “Inside that wall?” she asks. Her voice sounds pinched and my stomach tightens.

  Jo turns to me and opens her mouth, but I raise my hand. “Don’t tell me.”

  She chews on her quivering lip and cries. “God, it’s horrible.”

  My arms wrap around her waist, and I whisper. “The police will find Athena’s body, and she’ll have closure.”

  She nods and pulls away as she turns towards the wall again. A sudden peace replaces her sadness while my goosebumps vanish with the chill. But a curious scent of roses lingers in the air, tickling my nose until it fades. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”