Did you know that in the ancient Near East, the significance of the kidneys was similar to that of our heart? They regarded them as the center of emotions and soul as well. We can even see this reflected in some biblical verses: “My inmost being will rejoice when your lips speak what is right.” Proverbs 23:16. And I know it’s strange to start like this, but it’s because I also have this idea about them.
It was supposed to be a fresh start. After months on the transplant waiting list, I finally received the call that would change my life. The surgery was a success, and I felt grateful for the chance to begin again. My donor was Amanda, a 22-year-old girl who died drowning; they didn’t give me more details, and I wasn’t interested in knowing. After waking up, I faced the scar, gently running my hand over the raised skin. I shuddered at the thought that just a few days earlier, that organ in me had been looking after its “true owner’s” health. A girl just a year older than me, with probably so many dreams…
It didn’t take long for them to come. At first, they were just fragmented dreams. Glimpses of final moments, flashes in black and white of intense emotions, and a feeling of despair that kept me awake in the middle of the night. Initially, I attributed this to post-operative stress, you know, there’s all that adrenaline production in that area of the body, but the dreams became more frequent and clearer over time. Until THAT dream came.
I found myself submerged in dark waters, air escaping from my lungs as I frantically struggled to reach the surface. A sense of panic consumed me, my hands flailed searching for something to hold onto, but all I found was the dark void around me. Every time it seemed I was about to emerge, something pulled me back down, as if invisible hands were holding me at the ocean floor. My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear and desperation flooding my mind. I knew I needed to fight, to survive, but the darkness around me seemed to engulf me, making each movement harder than the last.
Then, amidst the darkness, I saw a face. A young, anguished face, eyes pleading for help. It was Amanda’s face, my donor. I reached out towards the girl, wanting to help her, but before I could do anything, the darkness swallowed me again.
I woke up with a start, my heart pounding unevenly in my chest. Sweat dripped from my forehead as I tried to catch my breath, the dream still echoing in my mind. I knew I needed help, that I could no longer ignore these disturbing dreams. So, the next morning, I scheduled an appointment with a psychologist specializing in post-transplant cases.
After recounting some of the situations I had experienced, he told me that this kind of thing is more common than one might think. It could end up being a combination of discomfort and mental confusion as the brain tries to recognize the transplanted organ as part of the body and guilt due to the circumstances that enabled the transplant itself, such as Amanda’s death. We scheduled weekly therapy sessions to address this issue.
As the weeks passed and I participated in the therapies, I felt more confident that the dreams were subsiding. I learned techniques to deal with stress and anxiety, some breathing exercises, some herbal remedies, and even aromatherapy convinced me that I was overcoming the emotional issues related to my new kidney. It seemed like I was finally regaining control of my life.
However, one night, just when I thought I was free, the dream returned with an intensity unlike before. I found myself struggling again in the dark depths, but this time, in addition to Amanda’s face, I saw something more. I saw hands, hands that relentlessly pushed me underwater. The sensation was so real, so vivid, that I could feel the water pressure around me, could feel the air escaping from my lungs as I desperately fought for the surface, felt the rough gloves of those hands, scraping against my skin and pushing me further away from the much-needed oxygen. I woke up, frightened, sweat dripping from my forehead, and as I wiped my face, I felt a tear running down my eye. What the hell was going on here?
I decided to share this new twist with the psychologist. I explained how the dreams had intensified, how now I could feel the hands pushing me, as if they were trying to drown me. The psychologist listened attentively, his expression becoming more serious as I spoke.
“Oh, that doesn’t sound very good, Lisa,” he said. “Why don’t we do this: let’s keep our sessions and schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist, maybe they can even help, it could be a hormonal issue that needs medication, alright?”
“I… I think it might be,” I murmured.
He seemed to look over his notes again. He paused for a moment, adjusting his glasses.
“And if… well… maybe as a matter of conscience, you spoke to the hospital,” his hand slid from his glasses to the beard that hung a few inches below his chin. “You told me they didn’t tell you about the circumstances of Amanda’s fatality… I hesitated a bit on this because it’s important that you know there are risks in this, you might be disturbed by what you find out, but it’s still an option.”
I left with his words echoing in my head. I decided to go to the hospital where the transplant occurred in person. Perhaps they had more information about the circumstances of her death. The doctor who performed the operation was there, and with just under an hour in the waiting room, I was in his office, ready to inquire.
“These are confidential information, you understand?” He spoke as he rummaged through one of the drawers of his desk. “I could only tell you the basics.”
“Please!” I pleaded. “I just want to know what’s happening to me.”
He looked at me, and I swear I could see a hint of pity in his eyes.
“Her name was Amanda Celly, 22 years old, healthy, no history of family illness, died due to accidental drowning in a river near her home. Her body was found on the bank, near a highway, about 45 minutes after her death, and she was listed as an organ donor. That’s all I can share.”
The information raced through my mind, and as he spoke, a knot of fear began to grow in me, for no apparent reason.
“Could you at least tell me where this river is?” I asked.
He nodded. Hours later, I was driving there. Taking the highway where she was found. The knot of fear and anguish growing in me as I approached. Upon reaching the drowning site, my heart was pounding, almost breaking through my ribs. It was strange to be there, in that place where it all began. My hands were trembling uncontrollably.
I got out of the car and approached the riverbank, watching the dark waters flow calmly. A sense of discomfort enveloped me as I realized that the sun was already beginning to set, casting an orange light over the landscape, tinting it with purple-copper tones. As I looked around, lost in my thoughts, I jumped back, retreating slowly as a man approached silently. He emerged from the trees, and as he drew nearer, I could see his vest and badge, which calmed me a little.
“I’m sorry, miss, but this is an investigation site. I need to ask you to step away from here,” he said, his voice firm.
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t back down now. I needed to uncover the truth; something was calling me to be there.
“Please, I know it might seem strange, but I have personal reasons for being here,” I replied, trying to keep calm. “I… I’m the recipient of Amanda Celly’s kidney. I need to understand what happened to her, you know, I… I feel it.”
The officer frowned, looking at me curiously. I could see he hesitated a bit before responding.
“That doesn’t change the fact that this is a police investigation site,” he retorted. “I can’t allow you to interfere.”
I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to persuade him to let me stay.
“Please, sir… I just want to understand. I promise I won’t interfere with the investigation. I just need a few minutes to… to find some peace,” I pleaded, looking into the officer’s eyes, hoping he could understand my anguish.
I knew I was dealing with a soft-hearted type, and his expression softened as he relented.
“I understand,” he said finally. “The hospital alerted the central earlier today, informed them about your case. But you need to understand that this is a crime scene. I can’t let you tamper with anything.”
I nodded, silently thanking him for his understanding.
The officer looked at me for a few more moments before finally giving in.
“Just don’t touch anything around here.”
He turned around, and I understood that I should follow him.
“You know,” he remarked, “We always hear about the killer returning to the scene of the crime, but the victim? Well, this is a first.”
Though I felt uncomfortable with the officer’s comment, I decided not to respond. He wouldn’t understand the true reason I was there.
“Look, I’m sorry…” he cleared his throat. “I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit.”
I chose to leave that comment unanswered as well.
As we walked along the riverbank, I felt a shiver run down my spine. Memories of the disturbing dreams flooded back into my mind. As I gazed at the dark waters of the river, I felt that familiar landscape, except for… a rock near the riverbank. It seemed out of place, as if it had been recently moved. My heart raced as I approached, crouching down to examine it closer. My hands trembled as I touched the hard surface, feeling a strange sensation.
“Miss, please, don’t touch that,” the officer warned, approaching me with a concerned expression.
“I’m sorry, I just… thought I saw something,” I murmured, stepping away from the rock.
“It’s okay, we’re conducting an investigation here. If something’s wrong, we’ll see it. And well, if you want to talk about it,” he took out a notepad from his shirt pocket and wrote down a number, “You can call or text.”
Now, I’ve received all sorts of pick-up lines, some bordering on harassment, and I know well when someone’s hitting on me. That wasn’t the case here. He seemed still moved by the situation, and regretful of his earlier comment, so why not? I took his number and saved it in my phone. The next moments passed somewhat slowly, without much conversation. I just felt something odd in the air, and that landscape wasn’t helping. Then, the officer’s radio crackled.
“Hey Steve,” a voice came through, “I just got here. Where are you?”
“Oh yeah, I’m a bit further into the forest, where we think she might have fallen into the water,” he replied.
Footsteps grew louder as another officer, a middle-aged man with a red mustache, appeared. As soon as he came into view, he spat out the tobacco he was chewing and adjusted his belt. I felt uncomfortable with the sight, he was practically the opposite of Steve. When his eyes landed on me, a fake smile appeared on his face, and I noticed the malice in his gaze as a shiver ran down my body, settling in my stomach.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.
“No,” Steve said. “By the way, Miss Lisa, this is Officer Tyler. He’s from the neighboring district,” his expression was as firm as a rock.
“What’s up,” Tyler said, still mocking. “After all that talking, is this how you greet me? Where’s my hug?”
“I’m already leaving,” Steve ignored the sarcastic comment. “Come on,” he turned to me. “I’ll give you a ride.”
We were heading towards the car when Tyler extended his arm in front of me, turning his hand for me to shake it. I did nothing. He then reached out and grabbed my hand, bringing it to his face, ready to kiss it, when Steve yelled,
“Hey! This isn’t your turf,” he stepped closer, inches from the man’s face. I noticed his hand resting on his holster. “Wouldn’t want any trouble with Internal Affairs, would you?”
“Uh… of course,” he agreed reluctantly, releasing my hand with anger. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“I was talking to myself,” Steve said, removing his hand from the gun. “Let’s go,” he gestured for me to go ahead, staring down Tyler.
I was in shock. Paralyzed with fear. My throat was dry, my mind wasn’t thinking right, it was as if something was squeezing my throat and taking away my breath as I entered the patrol car.
“Ah… I’m sorry,” Steve spoke. “That guy has some issues, for sure.” He handed me a coat that was on the back seat onto my lap.
“I… I…” The words wouldn’t come out.
“Relax, you don’t need to say anything. I’ll report this situation when we get to the station,” Steve reassured me.
“It’s not that…” The knot in my stomach was larger than ever, feeling like it would burst at any moment, following the rise and fall of my abdomen, driven by uncontrolled breathing. “That man…” Memories flooded into my mind, the dreams, the rough hand that pushed me into the water… the rough hand that held mine just moments ago. “HE is the murderer.”
The officer looked at me, surprised, as I trembled and struggled to explain.
“What do you mean, he’s the murderer?” he asked, his expression serious.
“I… I’m not sure,” I murmured, trying to gather my thoughts. “But I’ve had dreams… nightmares… where I was being pushed into the water… and it was like… like hands… rough hands… and…”
Steve furrowed his brow, processing my words.
“Are you saying that… you think Officer Tyler is involved in your donor’s drowning?” he asked, coldly.
I nodded, unable to formulate a coherent response.
“Okay, okay, calm down,” he said, trying to soothe me. “Let’s go back to the station and report this. But I need you to know that this is a serious accusation. Do you have any evidence besides these dreams?”
I shook my head, feeling powerless in the face of the lack of concrete proof.
“I understand,” said Steve, putting the patrol car into motion. “But we’ll hear you out, okay? There’s the fact of his behavior today, and I want to report that to the disciplinary folks.”
As we drove back to the station, my mind whirled with confused thoughts. Could it be possible that Amanda was still trying to warn me about something? And if Tyler was indeed involved, what would that mean for me?
Upon arriving at the station, Steve immediately led me to the chief’s office, where we reported everything I had seen on the riverbank, as well as Tyler’s actions, and my suspicion about him.
“Hold on a minute…” The chief said, scratching his bald head. “Who do you think the suspect is?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” I said promptly. “But Officer Tyler, he… he’s strange… there’s something off about him.”
“Me?” A voice sounded from behind the chief. A similarly red-haired man, but without a mustache, limped in. “Look miss, unless there’s another Officer Tyler walking around, I don’t think I could’ve done anything. I had a car accident on the way here and had to recover for a while,” he said, pointing to his cast.
“You’re Officer Tyler?” I questioned, bewildered, glancing sideways at Steve who wore a similar expression.
“I am… have we met before?”
“I think we have a problem,” Steve spoke with concern to the chief. “The ‘Officer Tyler’ arrived earlier today, at the crime scene…”
Me, Steve, the chief, and even Tyler himself (this time the real one) exchanged glances. The conclusion passed through our synchronized and sinister minds. Definitely, that man in the forest wasn’t an officer… he was Amanda’s murderer. My stomach churned with agitation. Steve grabbed the car keys and rushed to the door.
“Steve,” shouted the chief, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Just send reinforcements to follow me,” he yelled, already at the end of the hallway.
I don’t know where I found the strength, but I followed him to the car, jumping in front of the hood before he started the engine.
“I’m going with you,” I shouted.
“No, look, I can’t let you…”
“Steve… this is personal. I can’t just let it go… If you don’t take me, I’ll walk there.”
Steve seemed to ponder for a moment, looking into my eyes.
“Fine,” he finally agreed. “But you’ll stay behind me while I handle this, understand?”
I nodded, grateful that he had accepted my help.
“Got it,” I replied, my voice firm.
Without wasting time, Steve started the car and sped out of the station. As we drove through the streets, the tires screeching with every turn of the road, my heart beat irregularly in my chest, a mix of fear and determination flooding over me. My stomach churned even more. Finally, we arrived at the location where Tyler had last encountered us. Steve parked the car and looked at me seriously.
“Are you sure you want to do this? You know, you can stay in the car, I’ll give you the keys,” he asked, concerned.
“I need to,” I replied, my voice firm. I felt a gnawing sensation within me, coming from beneath the scar. I ran my hand over it. “And for Amanda too.”
He nodded, seeming to understand.
I stepped out of the car and followed Steve toward the forest, feeling my heart pounding hard in my chest. The night painted everything in black while the moonlight spotlighted pale spots along our path. As we advanced along the trail, my senses were alert, every sound and movement making me tense. Finally, we spotted a figure among the trees. It was the man we had encountered earlier, the fake Officer. He seemed alert, looking around as if expecting something.
“Tyler!” called Steve, his voice echoing through the forest.
The man turned to us, a sinister smile spreading across his face.
“Well, well, well,” he said, his voice sounding raspy. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Steve stepped forward, his expression serious. His gun drawn, the barrel aimed at the red-haired man’s face.
“You’re under arrest,” he declared, his voice firm. “For impersonation and suspicion of involvement in the drowning case of Amanda Celly. You have the right to remain…”
Before Steve could finish, the fake Officer Tyler pulled out a gun from his waist, aiming it at us with a cruel smile as he fired. I looked at Steve and saw him stagger, looking back at me; against the backdrop of the night, all I could see was a growing dark pool on his shirt. On his side, near the belly, a hole. He fell backward, gasping for breath.
“Shit! I’m really rusty,” muttered the fake Tyler as he reloaded the gun. My heart pounded with fear, a primal urge within me.
I don’t know how, but I surged toward the killer, my heart pounding hard in my chest, my hands trembling with fear and adrenaline. He turned to me, surprised, as I launched myself at him with all my strength. A scream tore through my throat as my hands closed around his throat, fighting to stop him from harming Steve, me, anyone.
Our bodies collided forcefully, struggling for control as we fell to the ground. I cried out in pain as I felt the impact against the earth, the weight of the man on my arm, the snap of bone. I felt the fake Tyler’s breath panting on my face. With one last effort, I pushed my hands against him, shoving him away, crawling weakly away from him. I could hear his footsteps.
“You… bitch,” he muttered.
I felt his hand on the back of my neck, the pressure as he pulled me. I was now facing the river.
“You’ll end up like her…” He said, grabbing my head and pushing it underwater.
I struggled, in bursts of strength, lifting my head to spit out water and try to catch my breath, only to be pushed back down. I trembled with the thought of dying. Was I destined to end up in the hands of this animal? As he pushed me toward the riverbed once again, I opened my eyes and what I saw was Amanda’s silhouette. Her hair floated, and she was facing away, being guided by the slow current… she began to turn until she was facing me. She opened her eyes and stared at me. A mixture of fear, anguish, and understanding. Her head nodded as if I understood what she wanted to say, to grasp the missing piece of the puzzle, or rather, the loose piece.
My hands crawled along the riverbank as I still struggled to climb back up, until I found… that stone, loose, heavy. I pulled it toward me and with all the strength I had left, I stood up, turning to strike the bastard, hitting him in the face. I could feel the impact, hear the dull sound it made, and realize that it had sunk into his head. He stopped, turning to the side, short and involuntary spasms in his body. I stood up screaming, crying, an immense relief engulfing my being. The knot that had been in my stomach all along now unraveled, leaving peace. I looked at the river, seeing Amanda’s face looking at me, this time softer, almost grateful. She slowly submerged again, closing her eyes. If she saved my life, I believe I have now paid the debt.
It was then that I heard the sound of sirens in the distance, the distant noise of reinforcements approaching. With a final sigh, the fake Tyler stiffened, his hands falling weakly to his sides. I looked around, still panting, while the reality of what had just happened was sinking in.
Steve was lying on the ground, his breathing weak and irregular. I ran to him, kneeling by his side as I held his hand.
“Steve, it’s okay, I… I took care of him,” I murmured, tears streaming down my face.
He looked at me, his eyes heavy with pain but bright.
“You… you did… what you had to,” he said, his voice weak. “Amanda would be proud.”
His words hit me hard, my heart squeezing with emotion. That’s when I noticed a small glint peeking out from under his shirt. I pulled it out carefully, feeling paralyzed as I saw a photo of him, in a suit, next to a woman in a wedding dress, Amanda…
He smiled weakly, his hand squeezing mine.
“You have the same eyes,” he smiled, coughing a little, as blood trickled down his chin.
“Try not to talk, okay? Help is already on its way,” I said, my eyes already flooded at this point.
The sirens approached, reinforcements finally arriving to help us. I stood up, looking down at the fake Tyler on the ground, a mix of anger filling my heart.
And as I looked up at the dark sky above me, a sense of duty finally enveloped me, the certainty that, despite everything, this whole thing was over. With this newfound determination, I knew I would face whatever came my way.
I gave my testimony, and shortly after it was indeed confirmed that Oswald Cooper, a.k.a the “fake Tyler,” was the murderer not only of Amanda but of four other girls across the country, all in the same manner. I ended up receiving a medal for it, and believe it or not, that helped me find my way in life. Currently, I’m finishing my forensic science course, and I’ve already been working with the local police on a few occasions.
As for Steve, I visited him in the hospital several times after the incident. The great irony of it all was that Oswald had shot his kidney that night, and it ended up being his donor as well. It seems that something indeed wanted him and me to be connected by a strange series of coincidences. Sometimes we share a few cases and work together; I have nothing to complain about.
In the end, I don’t think I would be here if it weren’t for Amanda. Not just because of the transplant, you understand? I am who I am today because of her, and maybe I can finally say, in the old-fashioned way of the ancients, that my kidneys are rejoicing and at peace.