The voice is distinct. Cynthia feels her mind playing tricks on her but it’s a voice she desperately needs to hear again?
It doesn’t matter. She finds herself walking across the hardwood floor as if in a dream, her fingers curling around the doorknob, and turning.
Cynthia regains her conscious in enough time to stop herself. This is madness.
In the past several months, she’s learned to accept things that once seemed insane in stride. It was part of the rollercoaster ride of getting to know Officer Al Sanchez. She came to embrace it, the excitement of not knowing what awaited her day to day, making each new case an adventure.
But this? Hearing Al’s voice on the other side of the door - a voice silenced forever - is beyond madness. Cynthia closes her eyes for a moment, takes a deep breath, and then pulls aside the door curtain to look.
Three Weeks Ago
She heads for the hospital as soon as possible the next morning, after staying with Al until she could barely stay up. His partner, Officer Barry put several bills into her hand, told her to get a taxi, go home and rest. Cynthia’s thoughts are filled with images of shootings, drownings, car wrecks, stabbings and gas leaks. Every scene ends with Al Sanchez trying to tell her something - something important - and then he’s gone before he can get the words out. She stares at the wall long before the first rays of sunrise across the windowpane.
Al had been sedated in the ambulance and then later in the hospital bed. As he lay there with an oxygen mask over his face, the doctor had tried being hopeful about his condition. Sanchez hadn’t been exposed as much to the carbon monoxide as their murder suspect, Ned Hamilton, he told Cynthia. Hamilton had suffered severe brain damage from the gas - not head trauma, apparently, Al had hit him in just the right spot. Cynthia could fathom what was in the doctor’s eyes when he was trying to soften the hard truths. He told her that Al could lose his memory. At any rate, when Al Sanchez wakes up - the doctor told her he couldn’t say if Al would be able to work again.
A week goes by and it becomes routine that Cynthia checks in at reception at 7 AM and right as she gets off the elevator, there’s Barry already there, carrying two paper cups of coffee. “Cynthia!” Glancing at the cups, he says, “Here.”
“You drink. I’ve had enough coffee for the week.” She looks at Barry hoping for good news. “Is he awake?
The usual answer is no but today there’s something different.
“Yes, Barry’s up.”
“When?”
“A couple hours ago. The first thing he did was ask for you,” Barry says, nudging her. “I was a bit afraid.”
“How... how is he?”
“Oh, you know Big Al. He’ll bounce back.” Barry jerks his head toward Al’s room. “Come on, he’ll be happy to see you - I was gonna make him wait to call you until after breakfast.”
Cynthia walked into the room, not sure what she’ll find. “Cynthia! You didn’t have to come so early.” Al closes his book and places it beside his half-eaten breakfast.
She looks at Barry amazed at Barry’s quick recovery.“Are you kidding me?” Cynthia comes over to the side of the bed, placing her hand in Al’s. “Of course, I was coming back right away. But Al, we’ve got to keep you out of the hospital.”
“I agree,” he says, while Barry adds, “Amen!”
Cynthia’s a bit taken aback, they’re both so chipper. “Has the doctor been by to see you?”
“Someone came by about a half-hour ago,” Barry says, busying himself with moving a chair for her to sit in. He removes a towel from it. “They’re saying it was a miracle that I survived.”
“I know, Al.”
“I’ll undergo an MRI later this morning, and should be ready to go home soon.” Al squeezes her hand. “I’m sorry that I keep putting you through all this.”
“And after you promised!” Cynthia teases, not letting go. Her thumb traces little circles on his as if to make sure he’s going to stay right here. “I’d say don’t do that again, but I know you.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t make those promises,” Al says.
“Maybe.”
Perhaps, he should go back to life in the Coroner's Office. After all, he’s not a detective but was trained with the best. Cynthia should rely on Dustin more and Al less. She’d do it if it meant Al would stop putting himself in danger. But Cynthia had missed him, even more, when he was recovering from that stab wound, but she doesn’t know if she can go through this again.
They’ve been quiet for several minutes. Barry slipped out, sensing that the lovebirds need this time alone. Cynthia won’t let go of Al’s hand pinpointing the moment Al had gone from mere colleague to friend. Now, he’s become someone she cannot imagine life without.
Cynthia backs away from the revelation as her guilt begins flooding her. It has been only a year since she lost Kenneth. She knows that this is too soon, even though her body doesn’t seem to agree. She gives Al’s hand a light parting squeeze and then reaches for the chart hanging from the edge of the bed. Glancing at it, she asks, “So they’ve given you a clean bill of health?” She smiles at the words at the bottom: The patient is expected to make a full recovery. She puts it back and something catches her eye at the last moment. “Wait... ‘Alvareo’ Sanchez?”
“What?”
She points to the name on the chart. “It says right here, ‘Alvareo Sanchez.’”
Al’s mouth opens. “How odd! I’ll have Barry take care of it.”
She hopes that’s all it is - that they got his name wrong. What else could they have gotten wrong? His condition? “Maybe you should get a second opinion after you leave.”
“I’m sure it’s only a mistake” He stares at Cynthia. “If it would ease your mind, I will.”
“Al… what does ‘Procedure Three’ mean?”
Al turns pale as he opens his mouth. But just then, a nurse comes in, bustling past Cynthia to go beside Al. “Finished with that?” she asks, pointing to the tray. “Not hungry, I see.”
“I’m not big on breakfast.”
The nurse chuckles. “You and half this floor. Well, you can get something you like better later.” She holds up a finger to him. “But after you’re gone, Mr. Sanchez. No more unscheduled strolls through the hospital.”
“What?” Cynthia said looking at Al. This guy can’t stop his shenanigans even here?
“Oh, yeah, we caught this one wandering the halls in the middle of the night, out of his hospital gown, with his coat on,” The nurse said pointing at Al. “You’ve got an MRI in a few minutes. Stay put.” She grabs heads out of the room, almost bumping into Barry coming the other way.
“I found a coffee shop with those bagels you like, Al.”
“Did you know Mister Al went wandering last night?”
“What?” Barry shakes his head. “Did you sneak out when I was asleep?”
A weird look passes between them. “Yes, I did. I couldn’t sleep and now I feel much better.”
“Al!” Barry and Cynthia say together.
“Why not? I’m feeling better. No headache, my pain, and my head is on straight. I didn’t feel like watching TV out of fear I’d wake you.”
“Just because you studied medicine doesn’t mean you can diagnose yourself!”
“Yeah… Mr. Alvareo,” Cynthia said.
“Cynthia saw a mistake on the chart,” Al says, sharing that odd look with Barry again. “She’s sharp, even this early in the morning.”
“Huh, well, we’re getting you out of here the second that MRI is finished,” Barry said. “They can’t get anything right.” Barry turns to Cynthia. “You should come and have lunch with us at my place.”
“Well, I…”
“Come on,” Barry says.
Cynthia looks over at Al. She’s been avoiding getting close to anyone because the last time she did, she lost that person. The closer she gets to Al, the more she’s almost lost him. Every sign points to turning in the other direction. But something about Al keeps drawing her in.
“Alright!”
The men smile and Cynthia says, “I’m cooking.”
After just a quick call to Dustin and Rowland, she finds herself sitting beside Al in the back of a taxi. Barry had insisted on sitting up front. Once they’re on the road, she nudges Al. “You sure you’re feeling all right?”
“The doctors said I was fit to go home, didn’t they?” His eyes stay on the passing buildings.
“Al, tell me the truth.”
He turns toward her, then, taking her hand in his. “Alright, here is the complete and honest truth. I’ve never felt better than I do right now.”
“Fine, Al, I believe you.” Cynthia laughed it off. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
“Almost there, lovebirds!”
Cynthia smiles while Al caresses her hand.
“I can get out whatever you need,” Barry said.
“Just let me have a look, and I’ll let you know.” She looks inside the cabinets and refrigerator. “Looks like you have everything I need.”
Barry leaves out of the kitchen. “I’ll leave you be. Think I’ll go down to the shop and see if I can’t scare up some customers.” Cynthia is left with Al, at the table, with a book in his hand.
“I’ll be fine here,” she tells him. “Go rest and watch some TV.”
“I’m fine here, too. I often sit here and read while Barry cooks.” He turns a page.
Cynthia takes a bottle of olive oil from the pantry. “Is Barry the usual cook around here?”
Al closes the book. “I dabble sometimes... but Barry is the man.”
“So you have a system here?” Cynthia fills a pot with water and adds salt and oil before turning the burner up to medium-high. “I guess you guys have been living here for years?”
“About five. Barry is like family.”
“Maybe he is.”
“Most of the time, we are but we have our issues sometimes.”
“Oh?” Cynthia takes a mixing bowl from a cabinet and puts ground beef inside.
“Barry brought home the wrong tea again,” Barry said after opening a cabinet.
“Well, that’s family.”
Cynthia and Al laugh enjoying this moment without a murder case hanging over them. She starts placing the meatballs into a skillet. “I can’t imagine the two of you doing anything worse than bickering over who gets the obituary first.”
“You’d be surprised. Once, Barry and I fought and our neighbor called the police on us.”
Cynthia drops a meatball. “You, two—what was the argument about?”
“Well, it—” Al doesn’t want to tell Cynthia everything. “Just a disagreement over some life decisions.”
“I see.” Cynthia puts the pasta into the boiling water thinking Al was not ready to open up to her.
Cynthia turns the meatballs and then sets down the spatula. “Everything looks good, smells good but—” She pauses. “Damn it!”
“What?”
“There’s supposed to be garlic in the meatballs. Maybe I can put it in the sauce instead.” Cynthia glances around the countertops, opening some of the cupboards.
Al gets close to her. “Let me.” Without waiting for Cynthia to move out of the way, he reaches into a cabinet just above her head. His body is only inches away and she’s enchanted by the smell of his cologne. His unshaven scruff on his cheeks and chin is so close Cynthia could run her fingers down it by simply lifting her hand. Her eyes are drawn to his long-lashed eyes and lips... She finds herself trapped, not being able to make her muscles obey.
Al pulls down a couple of garlic bulbs. “Here they are.” He senses how close they are and how it would take so little movement to close the distance.
They hover there, not moving, not speaking, barely breathing. He seems just as loath to move as she. The moment extends so long that Cynthia knows she has to move, to get out of the way or she will get in trouble.
It’s Al who moves, his lips come down on hers, asking for consent. Cynthia pauses before conceding in. Al’s lips move slowly waiting for her to take the lead. When she doesn’t deepen, Al pulls back to look at her. His head tilts slightly, a non-verbal request for permission to kiss her again. As he waits, his eyes drift down to hers, as if he’s hungry for more.
Cynthia pulls Al in. This time there is nothing gentle, there is no question of whether she’s ready for this. She’s been in denial for so long.
Al’s hands encircle her, one climbing up to tangle in her hair and the other coming up to grip her shirt. His fingers brush her just below where Kenneth’s ring hangs. That brief thought flits away as he presses her into the counter, one leg nudging between hers. The closeness, the sensation of it, makes her body thrum. Cynthia’s insensate to anything but the pressure.
It’s so strong that she almost doesn’t respond to the bubbling sound of the pot boiling over. Al pulls away just as the flames leap from the pan.
“Oh my God!”
Al lunges forward to twist the burners to off, and the smoke alarm goes off. Cynthia covers her ears while Al snatches an oven mitt and covers the skillet and the pot. Cynthia sees flames licking up the side of Al’s sleeve. “Al!” He steps back and pats out the fire with a kitchen towel.
There’s shouting and the couple knows who is doing it. “What the hell have you done to my kitchen!?”
Cynthia looks at Al, he looks back, smokes in the air around them while the alarm is still blaring.
“Sorry, Barry.”
“You know what—I don’t even wanna know. I should have cooked myself. Get out of my kitchen!”
Al and Cynthia go in the living room, banned from entering the kitchen and just stares at each other. She’s not sure who starts laughing first, but soon they both are.
The moment has passed, and Barry, Cynthia, and Al don’t mention it for the rest of the day.
Cynthia gets a text while eating, “Looks like we have another dead one, Al.”