A/N: I've been sitting on this story for well over a year. It deals with the death of a child and social injustice. Some readers may be sensitive to some scenes or language. As always Richonne is the end game here but please know they will struggle to get there. In light of what's happening with the show, I understand that this may not be preferred reading for everyone. But thank you to those who pushed me to publish and thank you to the readers who give this a chance.
~comewithnattah
Identified
Hospitals are unnerving enough without ever descending into their basements, their bowels. When Michonne stepped off the elevator, she began to sob again. This was no place for her child to be. The fluorescent bulbs above her head hummed more than they gave off light. The corridor was cold and empty, just a long hallway that seemed to lead nowhere and she would have been happy to walk that hall to nowhere in circles for the rest of her life instead of doing what she'd come there to do.
She was still in shock, so much in shock that she could easily describe the feeling. It was like she'd been blinded by a camera flash. She was dazed and disoriented, holding tight to the arm of her best friend because without that support, her legs were likely to give out under the weight she carried in this devastating moment.
"I'm right here with you, Chonnie." Sasha held her up in her embrace. "We'll get through this too. Don't you worry. I'm right here with you."
Michonne's tears fell, streaming steadily down her face. She dropped her head and trained her eyes, through her unruly locs, on her untied running shoes. She had been in bed when she received the call and ran out to the hospital that frozen night with just a cropped leather jacket over her floor-length gold-colored, satin night gown.
Her mind raced with a million questions, leaving her untouched by winter's bite. She watched her feet trade places underneath her as she contemplated putting her shoes to use and breaking into a run to escape this reality.
A young asian man in scrubs led them to a large window looking into a room off the dim hallway. Inside the room were four, long rolling tables covered in white sheets. Michonne knew those sheets covered dead people and she had come to see if one of those dead people was her son.
The young man in scrubs told them both to wait there at the window. Sasha nodded in compliance but Michonne still kept her eyes on her feet. She wouldn't even acknowledge the young man in scrubs. She hated him. She didn't know him, but she hated him all the same.
She hated him for, presumably, bringing her son down into this place. She hated him for leading her down this ghostly passage. And when he spoke she recognized his was the voice on the other end of the line, waking her from her sleep, informing her that her worst nightmare had come true.
The man in scrubs walked into the room and wheeled a table, carrying a much smaller veiled figure, closer to their view in the window. Michonne still held out hope that maybe it wasn't Andre. Mike had been 100% identified and was currently in police custody. But maybe… maybe the little boy with him belonged to whichever woman her ex-boyfriend was currently dealing with.
She wouldn't wish that on anyone, but maybe this was a mistake. For a brief second she had the surest feeling that it was a mistake, that that sheet would reveal the face of a child she'd never seen and she could go home shaken, but relieved. Still she looked at her feet.
But at the sound of Sasha wailing, she knew.
Andre was on that table.
He was there and he wasn't coming home.
Michonne was now holding Sasha up from falling to the floor. She heard the feet of other hospital staff rushing toward them and taking the weight of her friend off her, but Michonne would not let go of Sasha's hand.
She exhaled forcefully and slowly brought her eyes up to see what Sasha had seen: Andre's small naked upper body, his head wrapped in what appeared to be a fresh bandage and most notably and most strange, no smile on his face. There was no rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were closed like he was sleeping but, knowing the wild sleeper he was, his positioning was so unnatural- nose and feet pointed at the ceiling both his arms straight at his side.
One hand was holding tight to Sasha's, still. It was like a tether in case Michonne somehow became lost in the two steps she took toward the heartbreaking scene. The cringing shrieks of the woman beside her seemed far away as the little boy's mother placed her other hand on the sill of the window and peered with a strange curiosity at the silent horror before her.
"Yes. That's my son," she said more to herself than anyone else, Sasha's cries drowning out her whispered words.
A woman in scrubs came up beside her, put her arm around her and inclined her ear, "I'm sorry, Ms. August, could you repeat that?"
Now, emotionless, Michonne leaned into the woman as though she were telling her a secret and whispered again, "That's Andre."
"Yes ma'am," the woman answered. "Whenever you're ready, there are some papers to sign with the M.E.'s office.
"Can I go in to see him?" Michonne asked.
"Yes ma'am. We can have him moved to another private room for you in just a moment."
Sasha finally composed herself and they went to another room with warmer, more welcoming surroundings. The fall of their footsteps were silenced on the gray/green berber carpet with it's squared shaped pattern. The office consisted of an olive green vinyl couch, a cheap cherry wood coffee table and a few cushioned chairs. The lights were softer and more effective in this space and the green of scattered house plants were no doubt put there to soothe the grieving. The decor gave no such relief to Michonne.
"Ms. August, I'm a counselor here at the hospital. My name is Maggie Rhee." A young dark haired woman in a smart navy pantsuit and metallic loafers was extending her hand to Michonne as she greeted her.
"I'm Dr. Denise. It's nice to meet you," said a rounder woman, obviously a doctor, in her white coat and memory-foam clogs. The doctor stood there looking apprehensive about the entire situation. She didn't seem comfortable at all. It was easy to see she lacked some experience.
"Hello," Michonne's voice rasped low in her hoarse throat as she shook Maggie's hand. She took thoughtful note of how she could still comply with societal niceties even though at that moment she felt like she'd never actually rejoin society alive again.
"I am so sorry for your loss tonight." Maggie voiced her empathy with her thick southern inflection. "My job is to kinda help you figure out your next steps and explain what we'll do here for your son and also to acquaint you with information for anythang the hospital doesn't provide."
"I want to know what happened to my son," Michonne immediately demanded in a monotone and Sasha rubbed her shoulder hearing the impatience in her voice.
"I know that you do," Maggie granted. "Denise can tell you what she knows." Maggie gave the floor to the young doctor almost pushing her forward to speak.
"Yeah, umm. I'm also sorry for your loss. Umm, I can tell you… uh… Well, It looks like your son may have… of course we have to wait for the medical examiner's official report… but it appears he was killed instantly from a gunshot wound to the head."
Michonne and Sasha broke down on each other's shoulders. Denise looked to Maggie, who signaled her to continue.
"Umm…" Denise resumed speaking, "There… were… uh… other gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen and also internal trauma due to the car crash."
"What the hell happened?" Michonne implored, "A car crash?"
"We don't have that information, but the Sheriff is on his way to tell you what he knows."
Maggie explained to Michonne that the next step was to find a funeral home to pick up Andre's body. Maggie gave some suggestions but Michonne had one in mind. She raised a hopeful brow at her next thought, "What about organ donation?" Michonne remembered how a liver transplant had saved her cousin's life. "My baby was always helpful," she began to cry. "He would be hap-" her voice hitched as she realized this would be the only possible positive outcome, "-happy if he could help save someone's life."
Maggie looked at the awkward doctor, who seemed reluctant to say anymore. Mrs. Rhee had pity on her and hesitantly replied to Michonne, "I'm sorry, Ms. August, Andre's injuries are too extensive for him to qualify."
That only served to break Michonne's heart further and she was reduced to heaving sobs. Sasha's tears were triggered by Michonne's bursting emotions and they clung to each other desperately.
"Oh God! What happened to my baby? Please!" Michonne begged into the air.
"The Sheriff is in route, Ms. August. I can take you to see Andre until he arrives," Maggie suggested.
After Michonne signed the needed paperwork and received pamphlets of information, Maggie's serene smile led her and Sasha to a hospital room where Andre's body was waiting. He was wearing a clean hospital gown and much thicker covers than before. His head on a pillow, he almost looked cozy all in white. Sasha excused herself unable to see his little body so still. She decided to stand out in the waiting area until Michonne was ready.
Michonne smiled with a quivering lip as she picked up his little hand and kissed it. He was still so warm. She gave a brief, mournful chuckle thinking of how often she would tell him to go to sleep, seeking a little peace and quiet, only to hear him make an excuse to stay up for a few more minutes. Now she would give anything to stay up all night with him.
She peeked under his gown and saw adhesive pads over his wounds. She counted two on his little chest, his body so small the pads were overlapping for lack of room. "Oh God!" Michonne wept in a distressed whisper, pulling Andre to her heart, "Help me! Help me, please! God, please help me!"
She heard Maggie's voice in the hall outside,
"She's right in here."
Michonne stood up pulling her hair away from her face and wiping her tears yet never seeming to be able to dry her eyes.
"Ms. August, this is Sheriff Grimes." Maggie gave introductions. "This is Ms. August."
Rick's tired eyes focused in on the victim's mother. Every feature of her face was swollen from crying, her eyebrows lifted in a straight line across her forehead she wordlessly begged him for help.
Michonne gave no greeting, but she slowly reached out for his hand, creating a bridge between the older man with an accelerating heartbeat and the young boy whose heart would never beat again. With a look, somehow both weak and powerful, she pulled him toward her child's bedside and her gentle demeanor gave way as she spoke abruptly, "Sheriff, you need to tell me right now- what happened to my child. What happened?"
"Ma'am, I'm so sorry for your loss…" Sheriff Grimes started out in an melancholy tone, his large brown felt patrol hat hanging in his other hand. Unconsciously, he pulled her back in his direction with a nearly imperceptible tug, as if on a reflex to separate her from any pain.
"Never mind all that!" Michonne interrupted, disconnecting her hand from his, "Tell me! I don't understand. I don't understand. I don't understand!" She chanted, curling into a ball as she fell back into her seat still holding tight to Andre's tiny fingers.
Sheriff Grimes approached her, carrying a chair from the other side of the room. He sat down next to her and placed his hand on her back. Trying to console her, he gently rubbed his hand back and forth over her shoulders.
"Ma'am. We are still investigatin' and question'n witnesses… but from what I know so far, it looks like Michael Lancey," Rick answered, for some reason holding his breath before he asked, "… your boyfriend?" The sheriff couldn't have said why her answer gave him permission to exhale.
"My ex." Michonne bit back with rancor directed at the simple utterance of Mike's name.
"Yes ma'am," the sheriff acceded. "Well it looks like he was pulled over for a routine traffic violation. It appears that when Mr. Lancey was asked to step out of the vehicle, he tried to assault the deputies on scene with his vehicle."
"What?! With my baby in the car?"
"Yes ma'am. Unfortunately, Andre was in the backseat, unrestrained. The deputies on the scene opened fire to stop him from fleein' the scene and your son was subsequently hit." Sheriff Grimes walked her through what he knew.
"So they just opened fire with my five year old baby in the car?" Michonne asked indignantly.
The Sheriff drew his mouth into a ball before he answered, "I am sorry ma'am. It's my understand'n that they were unaware your son was in the back seat."
"Well they need to be aware, don't they?! They need to be aware before they start shooting! Y'all just can't kill enough black men can you?! So bored with killing all these black men you gotta come for my baby? Huh?"
Michonne fumed, thinking of all the headlines she had seen. She knew one day Andre would be a target for police. But more realistically and presently, odds were, it could be Mike who met the wrong cop at the wrong time.
She would say to herself, One day I'll have to explain to my son that his daddy is dead and why. How can I keep him from his father's path? And she would be happy to know she still had years to prepare for worries like that. She never thought her innocent, Captain America–loving, Oreo-stealing, air guitar-playing little boy would ever come into contact with the police like this.
"Look at him!" Michonne tried to scream but emotion choked her. She pointed to his tiny lifeless body, "He never hurt nobody! He NEVER did anything to anybody! You know he wanted to BE a cop? He wanted to be a police officer... to help people. He's nobody to you, I get it. Just another black boy with no future anyway right?" She chuckled mindlessly at the irony. "I can't do this! I can't." Michonne came to an exhausted conclusion and panicked, overcome with tears. "He was so good. Too good for this! My baby was too good for this."
"Yes ma'am." Sheriff Grimes simply agreed politely without thinking about his reply as he reached into his back pocket to pull out a handkerchief and handed it over. The sheriff could only bow his head with her in sympathy.
What threat could the little one he saw stretched out before him be to two armed and trained officers? None. He knew that. Unfortunately, the boy had the bad luck of having rotten paternity, it seemed.
"So that's it?" Michonne barked as her face twitched and quivered in anger, "You just come in here to tell me that you killed my little boy and… and what… 'have a nice life'?"
"No. Ms. August." Sheriff Grimes answered sincerely, "I came to tell you that anythang you need from my department… any way we can help… anything I can do personally, don't hesitate," he said offering her his card. "You call me directly."
Michonne took the card and wiped her eyes and nose with the neatly folded cut of white cotton fabric. She didn't answer, only turned her back to him putting her focus again on the little boy she would love forever.
Sheriff Grimes stood up to leave. He paused in his walk to the door wanting to say more, but he left without attempting to. He decided he would have the opportunity to do and say much more because he wouldn't forget her. He wouldn't forget that she was out there, broken in a broken world.