Chapter Eleven Linda #2
Linda shook her head. “No, for my special clients, no money’s exchanged.
No charge. I do fine with my main business.
Like I said, with my Broken Hearts, it’s my way of giving back.
I… I actually want to give back. There was this woman I was just in ritual with, works in advertising.
She was on the verge of falling apart when she visited the agency.
There’s something special about her, a really sensitive but powerful soul.
” She paused. Why was she revealing so much?
“But I wasn’t sure if entering into ritual with her was the right thing to do considering what had just gone down with Pastor Samuelson.
I need to check in on her, see if she’s okay, but… I gotta figure out this case.”
“Wow, then you’re living up to what it means to be a Guardián for real,” Fonsi said.
“That’s the expectation, what some members of the order have proclaimed for generations now, that the orishas gifted us with our powers for the common good, to help humanity out as much as we can.
My mom… she had a hard time with that. Always felt she should’ve had a better life and made big bucks somehow, considering what she could do.
” A shadow crossed Fonsi’s face, a sadness that took over his demeanor as soon as he mentioned his mother.
Linda knew the story, how Ignacia Harewood was one of the most powerful Guardianes in history, only to increasingly lose control of her gift because of bitterness. Or so Estelle believed.
“Listen, I may be helping out the authorities with the Afflicted, but I’ve never fully felt comfortable being labeled a Guardián,” Linda said.
“I don’t speak much to other Guardianes, outside of Estelle…
occasionally… and now you. The first time ritual happened, my first Broken Heart, it was pure accident, someone stumbling into the agency, saying he felt summoned to visit.
And then the whole ordeal with his soul self…
just happened. I help folks when I can, and then I keep it moving. ”
“You call the people you help… Broken Hearts?”
Linda gave a slight smirk. “The stories I’ve encountered… After a while, it stuck.”
“Well, I don’t mean to pry… but I just wonder: The whole soul-self approach that you’ve described—is that the only way to use your power?
From my studies of El Gran Libro, you being a daughter of Elegua…
maybe you can do more?” Fonsi looked at her pointedly.
“Have you tried exploring your abilities more fully? I imagine Estelle would’ve had advice on how to—”
“The way I use my gift is enough,” Linda said. The places he wanted to go, not going to happen. They were done. She took out her laptop. “Thanks, but I have work to do.”
Fonsi bid Linda farewell as he got off at Penn Station.
Her destination took her one more stop north into Westchester.
She was thankful that he hadn’t asked where she was headed or what business she needed to attend to, not that she needed to worry about that.
By the time they went their separate ways, Fonsi seemed pretty spooked by her.
A good thing, she supposed, which also made her sad.
Not the mood she wanted to be in when visiting Imani.
She got into a waiting taxi outside of the station and, on her way to the hospital, scanned through the pictures she’d taken on her phone of Samuelson’s place.
She stopped when she got to an intricately designed crystal bowl on his nightstand.
It contained a small bottle of lotion, a Swiss Army Knife, and some sort of amulet.
Linda had glimpsed the items in the bowl but had to admit that she’d been so taken with the art in Samuelson’s room that she hadn’t given them closer scrutiny. And she thought Fonsi was an amateur?
She zoomed in on her screen and looked at the figure.
The ornament seemed to be made of bronze, or maybe copper.
A round, beatific face surrounded by a sun.
Folks had become superstitious, walking around with a variety of protective trinkets and amulets, many of which Linda had never heard of.
But why would Samuelson, a man of God, choose a ward that didn’t seem to have any connection to Christianity, at least from what she could tell?
Would anyone from his church have seen the object and found it strange, too paganistic?
Perhaps chastise him? Is that why he kept the trinket in his bedroom, along with the sexy art?
Maybe I’m overreacting, Linda thought. What if it was just a piece of art, something connected to the work he displayed in his living room?
A memento of a trip to a museum or travel abroad?
But then why was it the only trinket hanging out by itself?
Why wasn’t it with the other tchotchkes she’d spotted in Samuelson’s living room?
She texted Fonsi the picture. Things were a bit tense between them when they’d parted. Maybe he wouldn’t be as open to taking requests from her, but she had a job to do. Can you take a look at this? she wrote. Tell me what you think, if it seems out of the ordinary? Thanks.
At 9:16 a.m. she arrived at her destination.
Nine minutes early. New Rochelle’s Long-Term Acute Care Facility, a place that serviced people recovering from severe burn wounds, loss of limbs, or other major bodily traumas.
A place that also took care of those who would probably never recover from their ailments.
Upon first glance, Linda had always liked the building’s aesthetics.
It was massive, easily the size of a city block.
A brick foundation surrounded its entranceway while the rest of the exterior consisted of glass, giving the hospital a certain type of suburban-corporate-office aesthetic.
To the left, there was even an open-air atrium with a café and small sculpture garden. Nice, thoughtful touches.
She went to the large circular front desk and said to the receptionist, “I’m here to visit Imani Williams.” Linda and the receptionist recognized each other and made hushed small talk in the quiet space before the arrival of Dr. Singh, the physician who made it her business to greet Linda.
The two left the lobby and walked down a long adjoining hallway. “It’s good to see you again, Linda,” Dr. Singh said. “Been following the news. Dreadful to hear about what’s going on down in DC, though I’ve also heard you’re something of a hero.”
Linda waved off the compliment. “How’s Imani been?”
“The same,” Dr. Singh said. “We’re doing everything we can to move her around, gentle exercises to try and prevent muscle atrophy.
But after all this time, there’s going to be wasting.
” She paused. “Which I know you’re well aware of.
I say the same thing every time you visit.
But she continues to be comfortable, far as we can well. ”