Bellmare

Hospital Food had a funny plastic taste to it; not bad, just funny. Aubrey found that the only item on the dull puke-colored tray that had any type of flavor to it was a bright red cut of gelatin cut up into little even cubes. It was cherry, or maybe it was strawberry, either way, it tasted strong and artificial. She poked at it weakly with the white prongs of the disposable fork they supplied her with.

She sighed and the movement made her abdomen ache. She had been lucky enough not to tear a stitch or staple. There was so much metal in her now that she wasn’t sure what was what and where exactly she would ping in airport security.

In the past month, she had grown impatient. Impatient with the doctors who would sympathetically explain that she would need a few more surgeries, and impatient with the way she would drift in and out of consciousness, not truly knowing what day it was or how many people cared that she was confined to a hospital bed in the first place.

Not many.

Aubrey Posen realized, somewhere between a procedure to repair damaged tissues and reconstruct shattered bones, that she hadn’t really lived her life the way she wanted to. Of course, she didn’t know much of what she wanted at this point- other than to get up, grab a decent cup of coffee, and get the hell out of Baltimore. Maryland smelled rancid like most cities do.

She could almost walk a few feet on her own without the metal walker brandished with four scratched up tennis balls that had lost their traction laps ago. And her appetite was coming along nicely, though, she wished for something better than Jell-O.

Her physical Therapist, Sammy, kept reassuring her that she was the best patient she had ever had. That she was recovering so nicely and that tricky determination of hers was going to have her up and on her feet in no time. Aubrey didn’t’ want to remind her that she had nowhere to go- and that whatever security guard watched her room this shift wasn’t about to provide any answers.

Jessica still ordered flowers for her room every couple of days, just to liven things up. Aubrey appreciated the color and the sentiment but missed the girl’s presence. She understood her willingness to head back to Manhattan, to get back to her school and her actual friends.

There was a slight knock at the door and Aubrey may have glanced up too fast because it made her dizzy. She felt her fingers curl around the coarse blanket and the IV in her hand tug uncomfortably at her skin. She had grown used to it, the way it felt, even when she wasn’t hooked up to anything.

The man who stood in the doorway looked seasoned; his salt and pepper hair was thinning and the pastel button-up that he wore was wrinkled, thrown into the laundry with everything else. He wore a badge against his belt and had a black mustache that was poorly dyed.

She could only describe his posture as poor, as the weight of the world was on his shoulders. She watched him carefully as the security guard averted his tired stare and tried to look like he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. The man slid the glass shut behind him, engulfing them in as much quiet as one could get in a hospital.

“Miss Posen, you look well.”

He was lying, she decided, but it was still nice to hear “Thank you, call me Aubrey, please.”

He nodded and shoved his hands into the loose pockets of his pressed pants. There was no point in small talk. But still, he scrunched up his face like he was trying to find the exact words to say. “Miss Posen… Aubrey. I want you to know that the NYPD has done everything in their power to catch the person who did this to you.”

She frowned “You know exactly who did this.”

Aubrey could understand being air-lifted to another city for treatment. She could understand the alternating security guards and the fact that Jessica couldn’t quite possibly write an actual address on the flowers she sent. She knew that they needed the public to believe that she had perished in her apartment. But not catching the man who had ordered her death in the first place?

He sighed heavily, lowering himself onto the corner of the bed. He shifted twice before speaking again “Christian Galloway has been awaiting trial in the same state prison that he has been for the last year. We’ve combed every inch of your apartment. There’s no evidence against him, nothing that isn’t circumstantial.”

Circumstantial; the word felt like a hard slap across the face. Her jury was dead, each of them murdered with the very bullets that left scars against her skin. Random people picked from a spreadsheet and surveyed with the normal questions. People who had no connection to the case whatsoever, all slain in cold blood. What about that was circumstantial?

“Has anyone talked?” she swallowed hard “up at state?”

“Oh, many have. Most of them are claiming to have set all of this up themselves. But there are a few that are brave enough to stand against the Galloway’s. But even then, Aubrey, you know how this works. People don’t believe those who have a life sentence for their own crimes.”

She pulled her good knee up to her chest, wincing at the shuttered pain in caused. It was comforting too, and the detective didn’t say a word at how long it took her to do it. “What now?”

“Well, you get better. Fully,” He said, schooling his posture “And after that we relocate you, you can’t go home.”

“I figured.”

She hadn’t felt sunshine in months. Three long ones to be exact- Sammy said that she had the fastest recovery that she had ever seen. Aubrey hadn’t realized that she was pushing herself out of frustration and uncertainty instead of her pure willingness to escape.

She was pale now; having lost the better half of the summer and the tan glow it provided her. There was a slight chill to the air and it burned her lungs when she breathed in. But she decided it was a good feeling- like the crisp scent of the leaves and the hazy gas of passing cars.

Aubrey had learned his name the night he left her hospital room the first time: Grady- Detective Grady Marshall. She thought that his parents doomed him to the life of a cop with that name. The way he kept up his appearance with the slight stink of alcohol sealed the deal. He leaned against an unmarked black car now. Beaming at the way she was walking, almost normal.

The cold September air was making her bones ached but she didn’t care. Not now, not with her getaway car only a few feet away. He outstretched his arms like a smug family member. “Aubrey, look at you!”

She smiled politely. She would have done a little twirl if she wasn’t at a risk of being herded right back into her room. They had lead her out of the Baltimore Hospital from the back way, where the orderlies went to share cigarettes. It smelled rancid of trash and dried antiseptic. She let none of this bother her.

Detective Marshall opened the passenger side door for her and waited patiently while she got settled before moving over to the driver’s side. There was a small pine-scented air freshener hanging from the front mirror. It danced with the low setting of heat he had switched on.

He didn’t’ move the car, and Aubrey realized they didn’t’ have anywhere to go.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” She would kill for some real food right now, a big burger dripping with grease and fries that were too salty for her own good. Anything with flavor.

He nodded and reached behind her seat until his fingers grasped a dark leather briefcase that she hadn’t noticed at first. It smelled new, barely used. He flicked open the iron clasps, most of his papers unorganized despite the many pockets. Detective Marshall handed her a manila folder, void from labels. Aubrey hesitated but took it.

There was a neat logo for the FBI in the corner, and she thought it was incredibly dumb to label all the papers like that, but instead focused on the words. Hundreds of them that she barely skimmed before looking up at the man. “What is this?”

“That’s you, Aubrey.” He looked flustered “The new you, who we’ve created you to be.”

She felt foggy “I don’t understand.”

“Until we can find enough evidence to put every single Galloway behind bars until they rot, you’re in danger. You can’t be you- so you’re going to be Charlotte Cohen instead.”

She hated the name, but that wasn’t the most pressing issue. She had picked up on the other documents in the case; a birth certificate, a social security card, driver’s license, and marriage certificates. They had thought of everything, everything to erase her entirely.

“Where exactly is Charlotte going to live?” She raised her eyebrows, closing the folder.

“Bellmare, South Carolina.”

“South Carolina?” She scoffed “What is in South Carolina?”

“Absolutely nothing, which is why it’s perfect for you.” He closed the briefcase, stashing it back in its place before putting the car into drive. “We’re getting some food and then hitting the road. You’re going to love it, it has a real small-town charm.”

She let out a leaden sigh and pushed her forehead against the window, the cool glass instantly hardened the sweat on her brow. Food didn’t sound like a bad idea.