Page 57 of Tiki Beach
“Kawika!” Pearl exclaimed, her voice a breathy thread of shock.
“You poisoned her tea at the ceremony,” I said. “And now you’re here, dressed as medical staff, to finish what you started.”
“Kawika?” Pearl’s voice quavered. “Is this true?”
Kawika gazed at Pearl. Then Kawika’s shoulders sagged, his confident posture giving way to something heavier. For the first time since entering the room, his hard demeanor changed, showing a face aged suddenly, etched with conflict and regret.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You weren’t supposed to suffer.”
Pearl’s arms trembled as she clutched the bed rails. “No. Please say it isn’t true.”
Kawika tugged at the scrubs he wore, as if suddenly uncomfortable in the disguise. “Santos told me to dress in these. Said it would be easier to access your room, to adjust your medications.” He stared at the window, shame writ large in his stance. “When I got up here and saw the officer gone, when I realized it was really happening . . .”
“You were just with Santos,” I said, not swayed by his apparent remorse. “I watched you both talking not fifteen minutes ago. And how did you get injured? A difference of opinion with Santos?”
“Yes,” Kawika said, clenching and unclenching his hands. “He decided I was a liability. He thought I was losing my nerve. But I didn’t rat him out. Downstairs, he was giving me final instructions. Showing me Pearl’s chart, which medications to increase.” His voice grew quieter. “He’s waiting in the cafeteria for me to text him when it’s done.”
“And were you going to do it?” Pearl asked, her gaze searching his face.
“I don’t know,” Kawika said honestly. His voice cracked. “I’ve been drowning in debt. And guilt.”
“Then help us,” I said, seizing the moment of vulnerability. “Santos is downstairs. The police are looking for him. Help us stop this whole thing now. It will help your case.”
Kawika scowled. “You don’t know what he’s capable of. What they’re all capable of. The development means too much money, too much power.”
“And what about what’s right?” Pearl asked, her frail voice finding strength. “What about justice for the families who were interned? The records prove what happened, what was taken from us.”
“I know,” Kawika’s voice was hollow. “I’ve thought about that every day since . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence. “They said the past should stay buried, that it would only hurt people to bring it all up again. They made it sound reasonable at first. Then they made it sound necessary, when they bought my gambling debts.” He gestured at the scrubs he wore. “They made it clear I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I said. My hand had crept down into my pocket to hold my phone. “And you’re making one right now, with every second you stand between us and that door.”
“Santos has people throughout the hospital,” Kawika said finally. “Security, nurses, maybe even doctors. You think that officer just happened to disappear from his post?”
“Help us get out of here,” Pearl said, her voice gentle but firm. “Help us and then tell the police everything you know. It’s the only way to make this right, Kawika.”
His face reflected his internal struggle—fear, shame, and something like hope battling for dominance. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
“Santos is expecting me to text him when it’s done,” he said, his decision visible in the straightening of his shoulders. “I can help you get out of here, and we can send him straight to the police.” He glanced down at the scrubs he wore with an expression of disgust. “I never wanted any of this.” He gazed at Pearl. “I was wrong. So wrong. I’m sorry.”
“Show us, then,” Pearl said simply. “With actions, not words.”
Kawika nodded, a new resolve settling over his features. “I know a service elevator that leads to the parking garage stairs. I can text Santos to meet me there. Tell him it’s done. He’ll believe that.”
“And Lei can find him there,” I said, hope surging.
“Yes,” Kawika said, moving toward the bed. “But we need to move Pearl in case he decides to take action himself or send someone. He’ll come up here, and he’s armed.” Kawika moved to the bed. “We need to move quickly and quietly and hide her. There’s an empty room at the end of this hall—used for storage. No one will find us there.”
I nodded, positioning myself at the foot of the bed while Kawika took the head. Together, we guided Pearl’s bed toward the door, the wheels gliding silently. I peered into the hallway; it was empty, the abandoned coffee cup still sitting on the small table outside.
“Clear,” I whispered, and we maneuvered the bed through the doorway. I winced at the soft squeaking of the wheels against the linoleum floor.
The corridor stretched before us, eerily quiet. Kawika pushed us away from the nurses’ station, toward a deserted area. The overhead lights hummed softly, casting long shadows as we moved swiftly but cautiously down the hall. Pearl lay still in the bed, her expression alert despite her frailty, one hand clutching the rail while the other pressed the tissue against the spot where I’d removed her IV.
“In here,” Kawika said, stopping at a door marked ‘Equipment Storage.’ He pulled a key card from his pocket—part of his disguise—and swiped it through the reader. The lock clicked open, and he pushed the door wide.
The room was dim, filled with shelving units stacked with supplies—extra bedding, unused monitoring equipment, boxes of gloves and masks. A small window high on the wall let in just enough light for us to navigate the space.
We wheeled Pearl’s bed into the center of the room, and I immediately began scanning for anything we could use to barricade the door. Kawika seemed to read my mind, dragging a heavy metal storage cabinet toward the door.
