CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT: SOMETHIN I SHOULDN’T KNOW.

MILES:

To add to all that, I have had to visit the hospital more frequently than even when I initially got the surgery. My heart ached all the time, and my nightmares became more frequent and vivid. It was like I was living that bad dream of watching someone get murdered. Grenada often told me during each visit, “Miles, this is a matter of the heart. I mean, love. You are heartbroken. Nothing is wrong with your health.”

“Stop kidding me. I don't love. I only do flings and that is the end. Run more tests to make sure my body isn't up to something.”

“Miles, your body is fine. More than you accept, you loved Meredith.”

At the mention of her heart, I had flared up. “Grenada, today will be the last time you will mention that name. She is in the past and that is it. I am going to look for the details about this heart donor to make sure that I won't be needing anything from his or her body soon.”

“That is against the rules.”

“I wasn't proposing. I will do it. I have my ways. You brush it off each time, but now, I am taking matters into my hands.” That was how I left Grenada too. My best companion was the drugs she prescribed for me and alcohol. I couldn't even get myself to fuck another one. Whenever I try to hang out with one, my brain picks out errors. 'Her boobs are fake. I hate her laughter. She chews loudly. She is materialistic. She talks too much.' I found a fault in all of them. Even wanking off wasn't exciting. Sex too. I stayed celibate.

Today was like every other day. I worked overnight because I was avoiding that emptiness at home. That loneliness and coldness. After freshening up, I continued with work. Neymar mentioned I had dark circles and looked pale. Who cares about looks when a lot is yet to be done? Maybe he was looking for an excuse to get a break from work. Something was odd with him, though.

Just like everybody, he was equally affected by Meredith's absence. Even Brandon, an ex-special force who I have never seen showing his emotions before, showed it a couple of times. On one occasion, I overheard him discussing with the guys how he missed Meredith. His face was occasionally sad or scowling at me, but he often hid it quickly. I could read people well because that was an attribute that helped me in doing business. But, Neymar tried to act differently and carefree. Maybe it was his own way of handling the whole thing.

Anyway, I heard a soft knock on my door while cross-checking some documents. “Come in.” I was surprised that my voice sounded faint.

The person opened and entered. It was Brandon holding a brown envelope. “We found what you requested,” he informed me, stepping forward to hand it to me.

Reluctantly, I took it. Tearing the top part, I took out the papers in it, carefully studying what was inside. Brandon stood with a tense expression like I was about to find something shocking. Indeed, I searched further, reading every line and checking all the pictures. I was careful to avoid pictures of the donor, only focusing on the underground hospital and the prominent one involved. Some pictures of the illegal doctors and their details. The only thing that came up in one of them was the age of my donor, where his other vitals were sent, and those who bought them, which was saddening. Apparently, my donor was a twenty-year-old boy. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that his organs were bought on the black market.

“Does Grenada know about this? I mean the black market?”

“No. She doesn't. It was smoothly run by a prominent hospital that has an affiliation with the ring. The hospital buys from them and then sells to other unsuspecting consumers.”

“And nobody knows about this arrangement?”

“No one at all, because they are prestigious and have never given out a reason to be investigated.”

Exhaling, I dropped the papers. Well, the world is evil. Innocent people suffer this fate. I was not a saint to fight this cause. It is as old as human existence itself. Same with drug trafficking and sex slaves. It will take more than just me, a few papers and pictures to bring them down. The least I could do was to put them under fire for a bit. “Notify the police and drop these clues.” The action was equivalent to useless because it would be swept under the rug. Those rings often had powerful people guarding them. People in untouchable positions.

Brandon didn't move. He opened his mouth to say something but quickly shut it. Having enough of the suspense, “Brandon,” I rubbed my temples before pinching the bridge of my nose. “If you have something to say, just say it. I can't read minds.”

“Did you see the name of the boy? Or, the pictures?" he asked, his tone held respect.

“No. I would rather not have bad dreams. I can't stomach staring at his picture or finding out his name, knowing that I am among one of those who benefited from his bad fate.”

“You should," he carefully pushed.

Brandon never spat bullshit. Never crossed his boundaries. If he asked me to check it out, then I had to. Flipping open the last part of the paper, I almost went mad at what I saw. The name Christian Tate with a picture of him fully dressed and smiling was plastered on this paper. Then another page had a picture of him strapped to a table. The same that I have been seeing in my nightmares.

Did this explain why I kept having those nightmares? Seeing this particular face? Because I had his heart in me? Was this Meredith's Christian? The one she often mentioned? Her brother? I couldn't tell for sure, since we didn't get to the point of me seeing his pictures. She only mentioned him and never gave lengthy details about him. Maybe it was coincidental. No need to overreact. Or, wasn't it?