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Authors: J.G. Jurado
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relieve our pain as best she could.
It took untold strength, courage and unfailing love to make that decision. Very few would dare to do the best for their loved ones in that way, regardless of the cost or consequences.
What if Rachel could see me now, see how Iâd lost our daughter? What would Rachel want me to do to get her back?
Team Evans . Yay!
The sound of the three of us, chanting our family battle cry, rang through my mind. Two decades devoted to medicine, the childhood dream of a boy who wanted to follow in his adoptive fatherâs footsteps and be a doctor, my very conscience. It all disintegrated, as quickly as a sandcastle swept away by a strong wave.
If Rachelâs sacrifice had taught me anything, it was that the welfare of those you love comes before all else. If I had to forgo my integrity, my ethics, every single thing I stood for, I was ready. I would play Whiteâs game, but I wouldnât be putty in his hands. I could play games too.
âHave it your way, you goddamned son of a bitch. Iâll do it,â I muttered in an empty room, in an empty house, in the dead of night.
And a few seconds later came a text that made my hair stand on end.
YES, I KNOW.
53 hours before the operation
Somewhere in Columbia Heights
White sat back in his chair and allowed himself a slow, smug smile. The leather upholstery hissed quietly as his skin slid over it. All his clothes were carefully folded on a classy ebony stand. The silvery glow from the screens lent an unearthly sheen to his totally naked body, which sparkled here and there with drops of sweat that dotted his skin.
It was hot.
He stood up and walked to the kitchen, his barefoot steps echoing off the empty walls. The small apartment was unfurnished apart from a foam mattress in a corner and a huge flat table with eight twenty-Âseven-inch screens mounted on steel supports screwed into the woodwork. In a high-turnover neighborhood full of postgrad students and yuppies starting out on the career ladder, the dapper Mr. White was quite unremarkable.
He opened the fridge and a flurry of ice-cold air gave him goose bumps. Each of the five shelves was stocked with bottles of Hawaiian Punch. A flavor for every tray: Fruit Juicy Red, Wild Purple Smash, Lemon Berry Squeeze, Polar Blast and Island Citrus Guava. He went over the names in a low voice, a quiet mantra, until he opted for the first one. He picked up a cold bottle and promptly replaced it with another of the same flavor he had fetched from the cupboard. A completely full fridge consumes less energy than a half-full one. White always considered the environment.
He went back to his seat and to eyeballing the screens, which relayed pictures of the Evansesâ home. The cameras had been carefully concealed, although the aim wasnât that Dr. Evans shouldnât know they were there.
Quite the opposite.
He tapped a few keys on the laptop that controlled the whole shebang. Every screen showed Juliaâs burrow, six minutes previously. The audio feed amplified the slow, heavy breathing and the doctorâs whisper murmured like a gust of wind.
â Have it your way, you goddamned son of a bitch. Iâll do it.â
The text message tone boomed out of the loudspeakers. White hit the space bar and zoomed in. Evansâs face showed up on all eight monitors, at the precise moment he read the text. His tense expression, his eyes like dinner plates.
Thatâs it, Dave. Now you can see the extent of my power. There is no escape , White thought as he swigged the punch.
He looked longingly at the gritty mascot, the unmistakable Punchy. Political correctness had stripped him of all his character. It was way funnier back in the eighties, when the character used to ask his victims whether theyâd like some punch, then let fly with a good wallop. Whenever he saw the ads, sitting on the white Persian rug in his parentsâ living room, White would laugh out loud.
His had
It took untold strength, courage and unfailing love to make that decision. Very few would dare to do the best for their loved ones in that way, regardless of the cost or consequences.
What if Rachel could see me now, see how Iâd lost our daughter? What would Rachel want me to do to get her back?
Team Evans . Yay!
The sound of the three of us, chanting our family battle cry, rang through my mind. Two decades devoted to medicine, the childhood dream of a boy who wanted to follow in his adoptive fatherâs footsteps and be a doctor, my very conscience. It all disintegrated, as quickly as a sandcastle swept away by a strong wave.
If Rachelâs sacrifice had taught me anything, it was that the welfare of those you love comes before all else. If I had to forgo my integrity, my ethics, every single thing I stood for, I was ready. I would play Whiteâs game, but I wouldnât be putty in his hands. I could play games too.
âHave it your way, you goddamned son of a bitch. Iâll do it,â I muttered in an empty room, in an empty house, in the dead of night.
And a few seconds later came a text that made my hair stand on end.
YES, I KNOW.
53 hours before the operation
Somewhere in Columbia Heights
White sat back in his chair and allowed himself a slow, smug smile. The leather upholstery hissed quietly as his skin slid over it. All his clothes were carefully folded on a classy ebony stand. The silvery glow from the screens lent an unearthly sheen to his totally naked body, which sparkled here and there with drops of sweat that dotted his skin.
It was hot.
He stood up and walked to the kitchen, his barefoot steps echoing off the empty walls. The small apartment was unfurnished apart from a foam mattress in a corner and a huge flat table with eight twenty-Âseven-inch screens mounted on steel supports screwed into the woodwork. In a high-turnover neighborhood full of postgrad students and yuppies starting out on the career ladder, the dapper Mr. White was quite unremarkable.
He opened the fridge and a flurry of ice-cold air gave him goose bumps. Each of the five shelves was stocked with bottles of Hawaiian Punch. A flavor for every tray: Fruit Juicy Red, Wild Purple Smash, Lemon Berry Squeeze, Polar Blast and Island Citrus Guava. He went over the names in a low voice, a quiet mantra, until he opted for the first one. He picked up a cold bottle and promptly replaced it with another of the same flavor he had fetched from the cupboard. A completely full fridge consumes less energy than a half-full one. White always considered the environment.
He went back to his seat and to eyeballing the screens, which relayed pictures of the Evansesâ home. The cameras had been carefully concealed, although the aim wasnât that Dr. Evans shouldnât know they were there.
Quite the opposite.
He tapped a few keys on the laptop that controlled the whole shebang. Every screen showed Juliaâs burrow, six minutes previously. The audio feed amplified the slow, heavy breathing and the doctorâs whisper murmured like a gust of wind.
â Have it your way, you goddamned son of a bitch. Iâll do it.â
The text message tone boomed out of the loudspeakers. White hit the space bar and zoomed in. Evansâs face showed up on all eight monitors, at the precise moment he read the text. His tense expression, his eyes like dinner plates.
Thatâs it, Dave. Now you can see the extent of my power. There is no escape , White thought as he swigged the punch.
He looked longingly at the gritty mascot, the unmistakable Punchy. Political correctness had stripped him of all his character. It was way funnier back in the eighties, when the character used to ask his victims whether theyâd like some punch, then let fly with a good wallop. Whenever he saw the ads, sitting on the white Persian rug in his parentsâ living room, White would laugh out loud.
His had
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