On the Edge (7 page)

I WOKE UP TO THE SOUND OF A TOILET FLUSHING.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Mom emerging from the bathroom. She was settling back in an orange plastic chair when she noticed I was awake. “Sorry, honey. Did I wake you?”

“What time is it?” My voice came out rough, like sandpaper.

She looked at her watch. “Just after three. You can go back to sleep if you want. I made the nurses promise not to disturb you until dinnertime.”

“It's okay. I want to wake up.” Easier said than done, considering the drugs I was on. I glanced at the IV bag attached to my arm. Whatever was in there spelled sweet relief.

I didn't have to ask Mom what my injuries were—I'd learned all of that last night. The doctors and nurses had descended on me, assessing my injuries, and sending me for X-rays, stitches, and the rest. After several hours, they'd concluded that I had two broken ribs, a fractured arm, and a moderate concussion, not to mention gashes and bruises everywhere. Or, in the words of my rescuer,
You're gonna be fine
.

Lobo. That was the name he'd answered to. But why the name, and why hide his identity?

“Can you help me sit up?” I asked Mom. I'd had enough of lying flat.

Mom pressed a button on the bed and slowly eased me into a sitting position. That's when Iz came in, carrying a teddy bear from the gift shop.

“Maddie, you're awake! I thought you were gonna sleep
all
day.” Iz pasted a big smile on her face, but her eyes were slightly red, and her mascara had left dark smudges beneath her eyes. “Here, this is for you.”

She handed me a little pink bear with GET WELL on his chest. “Aw, cute.”

“Better be, for twenty bucks,” Iz said, a hand going to her hip. “That place is a total rip-off. So, you all healed up? I thought we'd cruise the waiting room downstairs. I must've seen a dozen guys with surfing-related injuries.”

“Soon as I can.” My whole face tightened as I tried to smile, and I felt a bandage pull at my hairline.

Iz turned to my mom. “I saw a few hot doctors who weren't wearing wedding rings.”

“I'll expect you to get me some phone numbers, Iz,” Mom said. But she didn't have Iz's talent for pretended cheer. It occurred to me that Mom was still wearing her pajamas. Not everyone would know it, since she was wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt. She must have gotten a call last night and been at the hospital ever since.

“Are you hungry?” Mom asked. “Let me see if I can get you a sandwich or something.”

Iz reached for the hospital phone. “I'll call someone.”

“There's no room service,” I said, suddenly wanting to laugh. My chest bucked, like a hiccup, causing a jolt of pain.

“Are you okay?” Mom and Iz asked at once.

“I'm fine. Anyway, I'm not hungry.” Seeing the worry in my mom's eyes, I said, “But I'm sure I will be soon. Hey, Iz, tell us more about the hot doctors.”

Called to action, Iz sat down and started to talk. I watched Mom, hoping Iz was distracting her. But I didn't think so. There was a stark sadness in her eyes that reminded me of a lost child. I'd seen that expression once before, in the terrible weeks after Dad had died.

Someone knocked, but before we could answer it, the door opened. Detective Gutierrez came in with a female officer in uniform.

“Hello, Maddie. How are you feeling?” Detective Gutierrez approached me.

“No!”
Mom bolted out of her chair, putting herself between the cops and my bed. “I told the staff to keep you out of here.”

The cops exchanged a
she's crazy
look. Detective Gutierrez put his hands together in a peace gesture. “I'm so sorry for what you've been through, Mrs. Diaz. I can't imagine. I just wanted to ask your daughter a couple of questions so we can find the people responsible for this.”

Mom's eyes bulged. She got in his face, her index finger inches from his eyes. “
You
are responsible for this. They wouldn't have come after her if you hadn't pressured her to identify those gang members. Did you warn her of the risks? Or did you offer to protect her once she agreed to talk? Did you?”

His mouth flattened. “I'm doing my job, Mrs. Diaz. Your daughter did the right thing, and I'm very sorry that—”

“Get out of here, both of you!” Mom cried.

“Mom, stop,” I said, worried she'd actually slap him.

She ignored me. “Stay the hell away from my daughter, or I'm calling my lawyer.”

Detective Gutierrez nodded. “All right, Mrs. Diaz. We understand.”

When the cops left the room, Mom collapsed into a chair and sobbed. Iz went over and put her arms around her. I tried to get out of bed to do the same, but my body protested. This was all my fault. I'd put my mom through this because I'd chosen to testify. Because of
my
decision, she'd almost lost the only person she had left.

Mom was right about one thing—I
had
been pressured to testify. But that wasn't why I'd done it. I'd done it for Hector. I had failed him that night in the park, but I could stand up for him now. And as much as I regretted hurting my mom so much, I couldn't regret my decision to identify Hector's killers.

Not now, not ever.

Mom wouldn't budge from the hospital until I ate something. I made a show of eating half a tuna sandwich and drinking some milk. Then Mom said she didn't want me to be alone. Iz promised her she'd stay with me until I fell asleep. Finally, Mom agreed to go.

The moment Mom left the room, Iz heaved a sigh. I could tell she was just as relieved as I was. I could also tell that she was done with the fluff talk. “What happened last night, Maddie? Do you even remember?”

“Yeah, I do.” I'd once heard that if a memory is too traumatic, the human mind will block it out. It will hide it away in your subconscious until you choose to dig it up. But I recalled last night's attack in vivid technicolor, down to the smallest details—the scratchy whiskers on the chin of one of my attackers, something sharp under my back, the voices calling for help. I remembered other things too—like Lobo's gentle touch, and the kind words he'd spoken to me.

“It was the Reyes, wasn't it?” Iz asked, searching my eyes.

I nodded. “They didn't stop to identify themselves. But yeah.”

“When I walked by this morning, there was blood on the sidewalk.” Iz blinked back some tears. “Your friend Manny's been texting me all day. I don't know how the hell he got my number, but he's a pain in the ass. He blames himself for not waiting at the bus stop with you.”

That was Manny. “Tell him it's not his fault. I was at a crowded bus stop, for God's sake. He couldn't have predicted what would happen.”

“No kidding.” She paused, taking a breath. “I heard some guys, like, saved your life and brought you to the hospital.”

“Yeah. They stopped the Reyes from pushing me into a car.” I closed my eyes, remembering the horrible feeling when I'd known they were going to take me. “If the Reyes had gotten me into that car, I wouldn't be here right now.”

It felt strange to say it out loud. But the truth was, the guys who had attacked me hadn't planned to scare me—they had planned to kill me. To make sure I couldn't testify against Ramon and Diego. I knew it in my gut.

“Who were the guys who helped you?” Iz asked. “They definitely deserve a fruit basket. Or a fucking lap dance from the hottest bitches in town.”

“I didn't know them. One of them had this nickname: Lobo. And he knew my name, which was kind of weird.”

“Lobo?”
Her eyes widened. “Fuck. Me. You're kidding.”

“What? You know him?”

“Know him? Lobo is the leader of the Destinos, the gang that's been screwing with the Reyes.”

I stared at her.
The Destinos?

It was unbelievable.

I'd been rescued by the gang everybody was talking about. And I'd had no clue.

Was that why the Destinos had saved me—because their goal was to mess with the Reyes? No way, it wasn't just business. Lobo's kindness hadn't been faked.

“It makes sense,” I said. “Lobo kept his face covered, even in the car. It seemed really important to him to keep his identity secret.”

“Important? Salazar would cut off his right ball to find out who Lobo is! Everybody says that Lobo figures out Salazar's next move before he knows it himself. It's burning Salazar's ass. It's like Lobo's some sort of superspy—or even psychic.”

Psychic? It seemed far-fetched, but there was something different about him, almost mystical.

“Now I understand why they didn't stay with me and wait for an ambulance,” I said. “The Destinos wouldn't want to be identified. And if they'd left me at the scene, the Reyes might've come back to finish the job.”

Iz was all wound up. “Shit, Maddie, I can't believe the Destinos saved you! That is so badass. Now think. What was Lobo like? Was he tall or short? How old was he?”

“I have no idea. I never got a clear look at him.”

“Okay, but do you think he was good-looking? I know his face was covered, but good-looking guys have this sexy vibe. You know what I'm saying?”

Iz was over the top, and I loved her for it. “Okay, fine, there
was
something sexy about him. I can't explain it.”

“Quadruple freaking wow. Of course he was sexy. It's the power, Maddie. He's got Salazar looking for him twenty-four/seven, which would scare most people shitless, but not Lobo. He just keeps going. And
that
's sexy as hell. Even if he's got a face full of craters and bulldog lips. Power is sexy.”

I doubted his face fit that description. All I knew for sure was that I was dying to see him again. When he had dropped me off at the hospital, he'd said, “
Hasta luego
.”
Until the next time
.

I hoped he'd meant it.

I FELL ASLEEP LISTENING TO BALLADS ON IZ'S IPOD.
In my dream I roamed the streets of Miami, which had become a postapocalyptic wasteland. I was alone, a crossbow strapped to my back. Humans with no eyes would step out in front of me, and I shot them down, one by one. I felt powerful, almost invincible. And then my eyes flicked open and I saw myself in the hospital bed. The powerful feeling dissolved.

I fell into another dream immediately. A jumble of images of my childhood flashed before me like snapshots in a camera commercial. I saw my dad and grandparents smiling, joking around. I saw myself crying over a toy my cousin had taken from me. I saw days at the beach, sandy toes, and sunburn peeling off my shoulders.

When I surfaced from the dream, I was aware that someone had come into my room. I opened my eyes, expecting to find a nurse checking my IV or getting ready to replace a bandage.

But it was him.

He was standing by my bed, as still as silence. He wore a black bandanna over his face and a black cap tucked low over his eyes. I wasn't afraid. I knew that he was the one who'd cradled my head in his lap and stroked my hair.

“I had to see you,” he said.

My chest filled with every emotion. “Lobo.”

“You know who I am.” He didn't sound happy.

“That name doesn't tell me who you are.”

“It tells you enough. More than you need to know.”

“I don't know anything. I think you're probably a dream. Are you?”

He shook his head. “I'm blood and bone, like you, Madeleina. I want you to know that you're safe now. The Reyes who attacked you won't come after you again. And neither will the others.”

My mind wrapped around that slowly. “How can you know that?”

“You just have to trust me.”

“Did you kill the guys who attacked me?” I looked up at the black bandanna, wishing I could see through it. Wishing I could at least see the expression in his shaded eyes.

“No, I didn't kill them. But they deserved to die for what they did to you. And for what they would have done.”

His words sent a chill through me. We both knew what he meant.

“I want to know who you are, Lobo.”

He gave a shrug. “I'm the one who's looking out for you. Nothing else matters.”

I'm the one who's looking out for you
. Something was beginning to dawn on me. “You had people follow me, didn't you? Is that why they were there when I got attacked?”

“Yes. My guys were following you.”

So my instincts had been right. I
was
being followed. But I still didn't understand why he'd have them look out for me.

“I know you have questions,” he said. “But the answers won't free you from all of this. That's what you want, isn't it?”

He was right. I wanted to be free of this whole nightmare. I wanted to move on with my life.

Lobo took a step forward, his black jeans coming in contact with the bed rail. He traced a finger along the side of my face. His touch was gentle, and his energy buzzed through me. I could feel it course through my blood and hum in my ears.

I lifted my arm, anchored by the IV, and took his hand. He was so close, I held my breath. It felt like everything in the room—everything in the world—stilled.

Although his hand was much bigger than mine, our hands fit perfectly together. And if I had my way, he would never let go.

The moment I had the thought, I felt his grip slip from mine. He moved away from the bed.

“Sleep now, Madeleina.”

The click of the door told me he had left the room. I wanted to call him back, to keep him beside me. I felt safe with him next to me.

Lobo had saved my life. He'd had his guys follow me, a girl he didn't even know. I owed him. I owed him everything. But how could I repay him if I didn't know who he was?

And then it hit me that I'd forgotten to thank him.

In the morning, I was discharged from the hospital. I spent the next few days horizontal. Sometimes I lay on a lounger in the backyard, soaking in the April sun while Dex dug holes in the lawn. I would close my eyes and pretend I was on vacation until an aching part of my body set me straight.

I couldn't resist the temptation to watch news stories about my attack and scour the online newspapers.

The headlines were splashy, but the journalism was shitty—even a high school newspaper editor like me could see that. And the timeline was usually way off. Some news sources placed the attack as early as seven p.m., others as late as midnight.

I felt an odd detachment from it all. Since I was a minor, my name was never used—I was just “the witness,” which allowed me to pretend it wasn't me. I got plenty of calls from news agencies; I gave them nothing. But Roz Wilson, the heavyset woman who'd been standing beside me at the bus stop, was all too eager to talk. I admit, I couldn't help but like Roz. She had a talent for over-the-top descriptions. In an interview with KTU Local 5, she managed to use “horrid,” “horrific,” and “horrifying” all in one thirty-second sound bite.

My recovery was slow but steady. I ached less every day, which meant fewer meds and a clearer head. By Wednesday I was able to work on my laptop, and I dove into both newspaper and school work. My goal was to return to school on Monday, no matter what.

My Facebook page blew up with sympathy posts. I spent endless time scrolling through them, assuring people that I was okay. Then Iz called me up, ranting that I should
not
, under any circumstances, downplay my injuries in case they ever caught the guys who did this to me.

Fat chance of that
. I hadn't seen my attackers clearly enough to identify them. And even if I could, more Reyes would probably come after me.

Not according to Lobo, I reminded myself.

I still didn't understand how that could be true. But at the same time, I didn't doubt him. I'd felt something that night in the hospital when we'd held hands, some intense emotion I couldn't identify, but wanted desperately to feel again. My intuition told me that he would come back to me, somehow—that I couldn't possibly have seen the last of him. It was only a question of when.

There were other visitors, though. My friends stopped in to see me often. And Manny sent me flirty text messages to keep me entertained. It all helped. But it was Julia who helped me the most. She'd been through her own nightmare back in Brooklyn, and she understood me like no one else.

She stopped in to see me on Tuesday, and again on Friday before her four o'clock class. We sat in the living room and drank cans of iced tea. She didn't have to ask how I was doing. She saw.

“Emotional day, huh?”

I felt a lump in my throat. “I looked up Hector Rodriguez last night and found his sister's Facebook page. She's a real estate agent with three kids. She wrote about what a good brother he was, and his struggle with mental illness.”

“Must've made him more real to you.”

I nodded. “I read some more articles about his murder and they made me so angry. They kept calling him ‘the homeless man' and hardly mentioned his name. Like he wasn't even a person.”

“That's what the press does. It's just like when they say a murder's ‘gang-related.' It means regular people don't have to worry about it.”

“I keep thinking how lucky I am that those guys intervened.” Although I wanted to tell her that “those guys” were the Destinos, I knew I had to keep it quiet. “I should've done the same for Hector. But I was too scared.”

Julia shook her head firmly. “Don't do that, Maddie. You're going to drive yourself crazy.”

“I know. But during the attack, I kept wanting someone to help me. Hector must have been thinking the same thing.”

“There's no comparison. You wouldn't have stood a chance.”

“What if I'd been able to distract them? It could've played out differently.”

“You couldn't have saved Hector. You have to accept that. If you'd approached them, they would've raped you and set
you
on fire instead. Your gut told you to stay away, and you followed it.”

I closed my eyes, taking it in. I so wanted to believe her.

“But you're helping Hector now, and you're paying the price. Look at you, for God's sake.”

Yeah, look at me. I was a complete mess.

“I've been there, Maddie,” she said, her tone softening. “When I got jumped, I looked just as bad as you—and it sucked. But at least your friends are standing by you. Mine didn't.”

I couldn't imagine that. “How did you get through it?”

“Eric. He was my rock. We got through the shitstorm and were stronger for it. It might sound hokey, but I'm one of those
everything happens for a reason
people.”

“I like those people.” I wished I could be one. It would be a relief to think that everything happened the way it was meant to. It would mean I didn't have to feel regret or wonder
what if
.

Although Julia's words were comforting, I still saw myself as a coward. I'd never know what would've happened if I'd intervened to help Hector—and I knew that would haunt me forever. All I could do was promise myself that if someone ever needed my help again, I would step up instead of cowering in the dark.