Capítulo 4: 4. Kate's Journey
November, 1999
She woke early. She always had been an early riser, and halfway around the world her habits hadn't altered, despite the drastic time difference. Of course, for the past ten months she had not slept for more than two or three hours continuously. Nightmares that invaded every time she closed her eyes prevented any thought of restful sleep.
The first rays of the sun were just kissing the sky when she got up and looked out the window. For most of her life, dawn had been a favorite time of day for her. It was peaceful and full of promise for the oncoming day. Dawn in the South Pacific was even more spectacular than she'd imagined, with pinks giving way to fiery reds before the sun made it over the horizon. Yet, she hated dawns now. Ever since she'd discovered that a new day promised nothing more than interminable sorrow.
No, the darkness of night was more her style now. Inky blackness filled the sky in the same way it had invaded her soul. Absence of light matching her absence of emotion. However, the sun continued to rise anew each day, for some reason. These days she simply made a quick cup of coffee and then sat, trapped in the misery that had defined her life since that fateful day in January more than ten months ago.
She had foolishly thought that escaping New York would free her of some of the invisible weights now tied so tightly to her heart. Life in New York had degenerated into a carnival of agony. Her mother dead; murdered in cold blood in a filthy alley. Her father just as lost to her. He'd climbed into a never-ending bottle of alcohol, trying to drown the pain that living without his beloved wife had delivered to him.
Any way you looked at it she'd been left essentially an orphan. She'd tried and tried to bring her father back, but he'd rejected her help. Without anyone willing or able to support her, she'd spiraled herself. Not into a bottle like her dad, but into a cycle of depression and withdrawal that was essentially the same thing.
She'd left Stanford. There was no way she could attend classes, let alone act like a normal college student. Not when the entire foundation of her life had been ripped away. Back in New York she'd made some halfhearted efforts to look at returning to school, but her passion for becoming a lawyer-like her parents had been-had turned to ash.
When her mother's case essentially fell cold, and the prattling of the detectives assigned to investigate revealed just how little they'd cared about finding the truth, she thought she'd found a career. She would become a cop: not just any cop, but the best cop that ever lived. She would be driven by the need to get justice and find answers for those left behind. She would never let the guilty run free, without consequence from their sins. Perhaps she might even be able to find those responsible for her mother's death. Working within the ineffective system that had failed her so far.
It was an idea that grew in appeal the longer she thought about it. An idea she finally decided to pursue one night during the summer, after cleaning up yet more piles of vomit her drunken father had left behind. She was done trying to pull him out of a bottle. She would take matters into her own hands and find answers on her own.
She discovered that the NYPD Police Academy hires twice a year: July and January. Each class takes six months of intensive training. She had missed the July entry, so was aiming to be hired in January. She wasn't concerned that she would get in. She was determined, intelligent and persistent. More than qualified on paper. Just never mind the fact that she felt dead inside. Emotions complicated her quest for justice: she was finished with them. If she somehow wasn't hired in January, she would pursue the next one hiring in July. And continue until she got in. Failure was not an option.
Yet, it was now near the end of November, and she was far from New York. Living in a flea-bag pension in Tahiti, wondering what to do next. Wondering if there was a way to tame the demons to the point that she could move on with her life, to some degree. Not sure that she cared enough to even try. Halfway around the world and she still had no answers to questions she didn't know how to ask. Living in paradise had not clarified anything for her.
Her friend Lanie was to blame for her current circumstances. They had met through friends of friends at a party in high school. Lanie was ambitious, just like Kate had been when the only problem in her life was which boy to date and how to avoid her parents when sneaking out at night. She had been so naïve. So innocent about the dark world in those days.
Kate was going to be the first female Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Lanie had already decided she wanted to be a medical examiner, and had planned out her life over the next decade already: college, medical school, residency. They'd kept in touch through college, despite a distance that equaled the continental United States: Kate in California, while Lanie attended Cornell. After Johanna's death, Kate had received an awkward call from her friend. 'Sorry your mom died' is never easy to do over a phone.
Avoiding Lanie-well, everyone in general-after her mother's murder was a self-preservation mechanism. She could not bear to discuss the horrific depths she had sunk to with friends who had no idea what it was like to lose a parent, especially in a violent manner. Losing both parents had made her into a person who trusted no one, even people she had previously considered confidantes.
What she hadn't counted on was Lanie's persistence and determination. The woman was like a dog with a bone when it came to Kate Beckett. Hundreds of ignored phone calls on Kate's end had led Lanie to ambush her at Kate's parents' house, where she'd been trying to get her dad sober in the late summer. One look at her and Kate nearly fell apart, defenses breached by the sympathy and strength she saw in Lanie's eyes. She finally had someone to lean on just a little; someone to prop her up. It was a foreign concept to her.
When Lanie learned of her intention to enter the academy that January in order to pursue her mother's case, she had put her foot down.
"Nu-uh Kate Beckett. No way, no how you are doing that in your current frame of mind."
Kate had just glared at her and tried to cut her off, but Lanie wasn't having any of it.
"You know what you need? You need to get out of the city for a while. You need to get away from everything and figure out how to live again."
Kate turned away from her. Lanie had no idea what she needed. She needed her parents back. Going away wouldn't change anything.
"Kate, listen to me. What you're doing right now is not working, girlfriend. You go through with this plan of yours and all you're ever going to be is your job. That's not a life; it's an existence."
Kate shrugged. Hunched her shoulders against the onslaught. Lanie continued, softly.
"You need to find yourself again. When you do, if the NYPD academy is still what you want, then by all means go for it. But first you are leaving this city; hell, this country if you need to. Now, tell me I'm wrong."
Kate had been getting angrier and angrier as Lanie tore into her. So angry she was visibly trembling. Lanie suddenly wrapped her in her arms, hugging her tight. It was so unexpected, Kate didn't know at first what to do. Then she found herself breaking down into tears for the first time since her mother had been murdered. She was so tired of trying to be strong, trying to hold it together.
Lanie had held her for a good twenty minutes while she finally let go of some of the heartache her parents' situations had led her to. When her sobbing had been reduced to hiccups and silent tears she sat up, face red and puffy.
"I don't know what to do, Lanie."
"It's simple, Kate. You have to either get away for a while, or start going to counselling. Maybe both. Jumping into the academy without addressing what's happened to you is a recipe for disaster. I'm serious, Kate."
"Where would I go?"
"Anywhere you want to. You have some extra money saved up, right?"
She did. A pretty good sum, honestly. Most of it from her mom's life insurance policy. She had never wanted to touch it, but perhaps getting away from the city for a while would be a gift her mom would want her to have. She knew Lanie's words had the ring of truth to them. She would bury herself in the work of a cop. She wanted to bury herself in the work of a cop. Uniform first, working hard to make detective. Hopefully, homicide detective in record time. And she'd live for the fight, for revenge. Not for herself, or for her own life. For the dead, and those they left behind.
"We're nearly into fall weather. Why don't you go somewhere warm for a while? The Caribbean? Or really go crazy. Go to South America or Australia. Surely there is something out there you've always wanted to do?"
"Well, I've always wanted to see New Zealand. Maybe a nice warm island beach too, like in Fiji."
"Ok, let's check it out. And don't think you're just going to blow this off. I'm going to bug you like crazy until you show me airline tickets and an itinerary."
Kate couldn't help but laugh a little at that. Her friend truly knew her too well. So, she had done some research. Then bought tickets for New Zealand.
She had arrived in late October. It was a breathtaking country. Yet everywhere she went she couldn't help but imagine how much her mother would have loved the sights as well. It had been lonely trekking around by herself. She was too introverted; too wrapped in her own misery to attract any company. She'd been hit on occasionally, of course. She knew men found her attractive, even wrapped in a miasma of grief. But she had absolutely no interest in a relationship now; even a one night stand was out of the question. She was too dead inside to tolerate the necessary words one needed to use to establish any type of relationship. Fleeting as it might be.
She'd left New Zealand for Australia. Seen kangaroos, wallabies, and koalas. But she still felt like she had a gaping hole in her soul that separated her from normal people. Happy people. It was though all the scenery had a pall cast over it; the colors less saturated, less vibrant than they should be. Her blackness sucked light from everything and everyone around her.
With two more weeks open until her return to the States, she had decided to look for a nice beach to spend time on. Perhaps laying in the sun soaking up the solar radiation like a reptile would simultaneously warm her heart an iota or two.
Australia had some lovely beaches, which almost distracted her enough to forget the pain of celebrating her birthday without her parents. Beaches coupled with plenty of alcohol let her forget most of the day she turned twenty years old. Yet it wasn't enough. The sheer size of the country and number of tourists should have helped her in her quest to lose herself, but instead she ended up feeling even more vulnerable than ever.
That's when she had decided to head somewhere smaller. Fiji had been a temptation, until she saw a brochure for French Polynesia. Tahiti sounded so exotic, and having some ability with French made it all even more romantic. Not that she wanted actual romance; she just wanted to find a magical place that might heal some of the hurt that was still so raw almost one year later.
She did feel marginally better on the island than she had anywhere else. It was so beautiful, the people so open and friendly. But she was still an outsider. Not tied to anyone, no one to care about her, and no one for her to care about. The loneliness seemed overwhelming at times; the gloomy shade just as black whether cast by a palm tree or a New York skyscraper.
The only bright spot that drew her out of her shell was the discovery of a local coffee shop near the cheap pension where she was staying. Owned by a wonderful couple, Hoanui and Puaura Temaru, she had become a fixture there every morning. Both proprietors had taken an interest in her, plying her with different types of coffee to try; trying to cajole her out of the obvious depression she was mired in.
It was through conversations with them that she'd first had the idea of traveling out to some of the surrounding islands. Maybe seeing how people lived a meaningful life despite living far from what most would consider the civilized world would be the salve she needed.
Unfortunately, most of the passenger fares on the innumerable sailboats that plied the French Polynesian seas were much higher than she wanted to pay. She still had to get back to New Zealand, to use her return ticket. That's when the Temarus had come to her rescue. They'd suggested a cargo boat called the Iriata that would take passengers much more cheaply. They were friends with the captain, Anapa. When they told her about Hina, his wife and a busy native healer, she was fascinated. It could be a great opportunity to see the culture of the islands up close.
They had learned the Iriata had come into port the previous night. After getting directions from the Temarus, she headed to the docks mid-morning. They had warned her that the boat might be empty, but she had nothing else to do. She would wander around the fascinating port for a while if she couldn't locate anyone on the Iriata.
She had found it without too much trouble. French was the official language in the islands, and her language skills in that tongue were fairly good. Not as great as her Ukrainian and Russian, but enough to get the point across and discover what information that she needed.
The Iriata was not a very attractive boat at first sight. A mottled blue hull spoke of a paint job in the remote past, now marred by splotches of rust. She wasn't a sailboat, and seemed quite squat and ungraceful compared to the sleeker outlines of her kin. Yet Kate could tell she was neatly kept; nothing that she could see out of place, though she was no expert by far.
The front of the boat had a slightly raised deck; she couldn't see it over the raised hull, but there were two visible ladders on either side of the boat that accessed that area. They only had five or six rungs; it wasn't a huge difference in height, but it was definitely present.
A long column rose out of this upper deck and terminated in what appeared to be a crane mechanism. This arm hung over the cargo holds that took up most of the middle of the ship. She couldn't see if they were empty now or not, as she didn't have a great view of them from the dock.
At the back of the ship rose a structure that she assumed held the cabins and cockpit of the boat. There appeared to be three levels to it. She figured if anyone was on the rusty old boat, they would most likely be found back there.
She couldn't see anyone on the decks, so ventured a few hellos, eyes glued to the back of the boat. Despite shouting several hellos without response, she thought perhaps she wasn't loud enough to penetrate the quarters in the back. She knew it would likely be bad manners to just clamber aboard, so decided to shout a bit louder before giving up. Hope at finding someone began to flag after the third or fourth louder shout, and she was about to turn and make her way back up the dock when she heard a deep male voice above and behind her.
"Can I help you?" His voice sounded somewhat amused. It was an American voice, and to her shock he sounded like a New Yorker.
She turned to face him, but could barely make out any features as he was standing in line with the morning sun in the sky. She could tell he was tall, but not much else. He was standing on the boat in the front part; an area that she would never have expected to find a crewman, though in reality she knew next to nothing about boats.
"Hello. I was wondering how much you all charged for passengers. I was told you sometimes take passengers as well as cargo on your runs to the other islands. Also, I'd like to know where you're going next."
He was silent, stone still: just staring at her. She was confused at first. She'd heard him speak English without any foreign accent. Surely he'd understood her. She tilted her head to one side, trying to see him better. Suddenly it hit her; he might speak English as a first language, but he might not be bright enough to really understand her. He probably was a bit simple. She resolved to speak more slowly to him, hoping he might understand.
"Do you take people to other islands? Where is the next island you go to?" She made some gestures along with her voice and enunciated slowly and clearly, hoping he'd catch on. She looked at him expectantly. He still didn't answer. Sighing, she decided she would have to come back later today and try to find the captain himself. There certainly wasn't a way to leave a message with this oaf for the captain. Perhaps she could write a note and leave it?
Unfortunately, she had no pen or paper. There might be someplace to borrow something, but she wasn't sure where to leave it. The man had spoken to her, but as soon as she had looked directly at him he seemed to lose all power of speech.
She felt a little bad for him, and curious how an American with somewhat limited mental facilities had ended up working on a boat in the South Pacific. He appeared to be capable physically; while she could not see details of his face due to the silhouetting of the sun, what she could see of his body looked quite fit and muscular. That was sure to be an advantage on a ship. Perhaps this was the only job he could perform.
She would have to come back; there was no hope here. Oh well. Not like she lacked time. She had nothing but time. She just hoped if she did end up on this boat that he wouldn't just stand and stare at her like he was doing now. It made her uncomfortable and she wondered if he acted this way with all women, or just those who were English speaking, like him.
Resolving to come back in the afternoon if she couldn't find any other cheap passage, she turned and walked away. She felt a little sorry for the simple man, though a bit unnerved at how he'd stood staring so baldly at her. The ever shifting scenes of the port soon drew her attention, and she nearly forgot about the entire encounter. She had no way of knowing she'd just walked away from the man who would soon become the most important person in her life.
March, 2010
Rick looked up from the keyboard he'd been pounding industriously. "How much time do we have left?"
"Maybe another half hour. They're fairly lenient for a first time meeting. We'll be pushing our luck, and garnering unwanted attention, if we draw it out though," Afaitu replied.
"Well, this is just the beginning. Of ten years. How am I supposed to write this story if we have such limited time for our meetings?" Rick snapped, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He just wanted to make sure Kate was safe, that he found her first. It would take forever to do what Afaitu wanted him to do if they could only meet for a few hours a day. He could only type so fast.
"I don't suppose you have access to a pen and paper?"
"Well, sure. Most of the prisoners spend a lot of time writing their families."
"So writing isn't a suspicious activity?"
"Not usually. Depending on what you're writing I suppose." Rick wasn't clear where this discussion was going. Surely a lawyer knew that anything a prisoner wrote and sent by mail was subject to being read by the authorities. One of many reasons he'd never bothered to write anyone. He was certain his letters would be shredded before they got to the mailbox.
"How do you spend your days?"
"Watching my back. Reading."
"Not writing?" Afaitu was surprised. The man was an author after all.
"No. To what end? They can read anything I write."
"Ah, but you have all these hours just sitting around. We need to take advantage of them."
"How?" Rick was skeptical, to say the least.
"Have you ever invented your own code?"
Rick considered the younger man for a minute. Afaitu had sincerity pouring out of his eyes. As Rick considered what the lawyer was suggesting, he realized that while there were some risks, the advantage if it worked would be worth it.
"I invented a code when I was a teenager. Wrote several stories in it while I was in a boarding school whose headmaster was less than impressed with my literary efforts."
"This would be the same concept. I need you to type out the key on the laptop and then you'll be able to spend your copious spare time writing your story."
"Do you really have time to sit around and decipher it?"
"Honestly, no. But Tamahere has nothing else to do and he wants to help. I'll give it to him and he can type it up while he deciphers it."
For the first time since he'd been set adrift on a boat that had carried him far from the love of his life, Richard Rodgers smiled.
"You know, I think this is going to work. When will you come back?"
"I'll be back tomorrow. No one will question a lawyer who is meeting with a new client frequently. If they do, we'll just tell them you're preparing a new will or something."
Rick got started typing out the code. It was a letter substitute, though it changed depending on the paragraph. Not foolproof, but not simple to crack and easy enough to decipher with the key.
"What if they are suspicious of my interest in writing?"
"You're a writer. It's what you do. Most of the guards and personnel here speak French and Tahitian only. They probably won't recognize that it's random words in English, and if they do just tell them you're trying out different ideas for a sci fi story or something. Their eyes will glaze over before you finish your sentence. These are prison guards; they aren't high on intellectual pursuits."
Later that night, Rick looked out of the large, barred window that was the only source of fresh air in his cell. Standing just under it, neck craned awkwardly to see beyond the overhang of the floor of cells above his, he could just make out the full moon shining its silvery rays down onto Earth. He wondered if she was looking up at it at the same time he was. As he clutched the papers tightly to his chest, the start of the rest of their story scribbled out on the loose sheaf, he prayed with all his might that she was ok. That they were ok. That his love was still felt, even though they were separated. That she hadn't given up on him. And most of all, that Rick or one of his new friends would be the first to find her.
Information about the NYPD academy is from www dot nyc dot gov/html/nypd/html/police_academy/police_academy dot shtml. As always, replace the dot with a .
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