by Bob Dattolo
Ookay? What does this person have to say?
As a fan of mages and dragons, I’ve met, interviewed, and written about nearly everyone at the height of society in Florida. I’ve met or been close enough to meet all of them at one point or another. Some are just as amazing as they seem. Some are more normal, and the persona they take when in the public eye is slightly different. Some are…not nice. As I’m sure everyone has experienced. It’s not easy being famous, so sometimes it takes being blunt for them to be left alone. Which I can understand and appreciate.
Yet I still love the life and reading and writing about those with magic that normal humans can’t really relate to. There’s something about being able to mold reality with just a thought that makes me jealous of their ability while also being thankful that I don’t have it, because I don’t know that I’d be trustworthy with it.
That being said? I’ve written many times about how dangerous the supernatural world is. Most norms don’t understand it. I know I didn’t. Not until I started interviewing people. I’ve promised endlessly not to print specific stories about people’s times in the academy, and I will never violate that promise. The things I learned about their time there? How the supernatural world really works? It’s horrifying to listen to, especially knowing that they’re being one hundred percent honest.
The stories are the same, even when they’re different. The callous disregard for the lives of others. The fights. The deaths. The destruction. All because power rules in the supernatural world. Very much so.
Yet there’s another part of the world that I’ve asked about time and time again and rarely get any details on. I know you’ve seen people out there that fell from the supernatural table. Fell from it and landed somewhere down below that of norm.
They’re stricken.
I know you’ve seen them. We all have. Mortmagi in place. Possibly begging. More than likely homeless. There are news reports at least once every six months of one killing themselves from the ongoing agony of having mortmagi in place. From their treatment in our society.
They’re the only members of the United States that can be treated like slaves, and the police do nothing to stop it.
Which brings me to the purpose of why I started writing this. As a fan, as a person that writes about this amazing portion of our society, how do we treat those members of the society that disappear? It doesn’t happen a lot, but it does happen. Famous people, or even not quite famous people, have a family. They have a known number of members. Then one day they simply don’t.
Dead? Stricken? No idea.
They simply cease to exist.
Which means stricken to the supernatural world.
They went from a loved family member to being no one. They’re noted on web sites tied to the family, then they’re removed. They never existed. Every family picture online gets edited.
Except to many people, those people still exist.
So how do you handle that? Let’s say I have a web site dedicated to local supernaturals and I have family pages to them. Am I required to edit out the person that disappeared? Many people do, but that’s because people show up at your home and demand that you do so. Legally, the person that used to be a family member is no longer one, yet to those of us that are fans? They sort of still are.
What do we do?
I’ve edited every page I’ve ever created to remove anyone that has been stricken. Yet it still pains me.
What are those people doing? Where are they living? Are they the homeless person I read about being beaten to death with sticks and no one noted the name because they’re not that person any longer? Are they the stricken I passed on the street a week ago trying desperately to get enough money to stay alive, all the while every supernatural that passes them takes their accumulated money? Beats them?
I’ve seen this happen countless times. Even from people that I thought to be kind. Caring. Once someone becomes stricken, all bets are off and the evil in the supernatural world comes creeping to the surface.
So I ask you, the reader, what do you do? Do we play along and pretend that person never existed? Or do we keep up the idea that the person still exists out there somewhere? Pay homage to them and fight to not forget that they existed?
I need another perspective, because I’ve been threatened three times in the past six months for not updating pages quickly enough. What do you think?
Holy crap, man. That’s messed up.
The writer has dozens of pages set up for Florida-based mages and dragons. That starts me going through them. No specific mention of people being stricken or even that the pages have been edited. Nothing like that.
Which means that I can’t tell if any of the people were stricken at some point. Were me.
It takes another half hour before I reach out through the guy’s Twitter page to see if I can speak with him. I sent him a DM with my number and a link to the article and asked if he’d be willing to speak with me. I’d make myself available at any time.
I so wasn’t expecting my phone to ring from an unknown number not even two minutes later.
“Uhh, hello?”
No response at first, “Is this Maddie?”
“Yeah? This is Maddie. May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Joel? You just DMed me about a blog post I wrote?”
Holy freaking crap!
He started talking again before I could say anything, “If this is another threatening call to make me take it down, I’m not doing it. I’ve already talked to a number of dragons and mages, and they’re okay with me keeping it up. So it you’re going to start threatening? I’ll just hang up now.”
“No! Please, I’m not calling for that.” Holy crap, my heart’s beating like crazy.
“Then why are we talking? I’m not used to people DMing me their phone number. I’m a bit thrown off and not even sure why I’m calling someone back at 6:30 in the morning.”
“I, umm, have a question I guess?”
“Okay? I’m a Pisces. Right-handed. What else do you want to know?”
His flippant response got a laugh from me, “No, nothing like that. I was doing some searches online and ran across your blog. I wanted to know…you said that you have to edit some of your pages when people disappear? Do you have…do you have a list of the people you’ve had to edit?”
“I’m sorry? A list? A list of what?”
“Of the people that you had to edit? The ones you basically removed?”
“Do you mean the people that disappeared? Possibly became stricken?”
“Yeah. Them. Do you have a listing of them? Who they are? Or were?”
“Why do you want to know? They don’t exist any longer. They have never existed.”
My rage rose a little, “And yet you questioned that. They did at one point. Maybe legally they never did now, but they did.”
“I’ll ask one more time, then I’m hanging up. Why do you want to know?”
Fuck. “My name is Maddie Stricken.”
Sucked in breath, but no response. Instead of speaking, I waited him out.
“Your name is Stricken?”
“It is.”
“Is…are…you were…are you serious?”
“I am. I’m basically trying to figure out who my parents were.”
“If you’re telling the truth, why would you want to do that?”
“Because I want my birthright.”
“Umm, Maddie? Assuming this isn’t some sort of joke, you don’t have a birthright. Going through the stricken process revokes that. All of that.”
“Be that as it may. I’ve only just started my search, but your blog stood out to me. Do you have a list that you could share with me?”
“I’m…I’m not sure this is real.”
“It is.”
Another pause. “Where are you?”
“Currently? I’m sitting on a park bench on the beach in Miami.”
“Are you willing to meet?”
“I’m willi
ng. Where should I meet you?”
“If you can tell me where you are, I can be there in…20 minutes.”
I told him where I was sitting.
“Make that 10. You’re closer than I thought. Wait there. I’ll be there. If this is a lie of some sort? Just know that I won’t be taken down without a fight.”
“I get that you can’t trust me, but it’s not a lie. I’ll be here.”
“I’m leaving now.” He ended the call as I heard movement from his side.
Fuck. Now he’s coming here to meet me? I’m kinda freaking out inside.
Waiting on the bench felt like it took forever, it really did. Everyone I saw, including the little Asian woman with the walker about five minutes ago, turned into him. How the hell I thought she was a guy is beyond me. While she may identify as one, she most definitely doesn’t look like the picture from the web site.
The guy delivering newspapers off to the side catches my eye, and I spend some time studying him, trying to figure out how a black guy with a crazy long braided beard might somehow become a thin white guy.
It took a clearing throat to my other side to realize I was seriously trying to do some stupid crap in my head.
This would be Joel. He’s a few inches taller than I am and thinner, yet definitely matches the picture I saw, yet again, a few minutes ago. He looks kinda freaked as he looks me up and down.
“I…uhh…I’m sorry? I thought you were someone else. I’m supposed to meet someone here. She said she had on shorts and a top that look like yours. I’m not trying to…I’ll leave now.”
He turned away before I could respond and didn’t stop until I said, “No, Joel, wait! I’m Maddie.”
He stopped, but a stench of fear came back from him as he turned, staying in the same place, “People know where I am. I won’t let you hurt me!” He flashed me what I think is a knife in a sheath.
“I’m not here to hurt you! I don’t even know how to prove that to you!”
“You can’t. You’re just another in a long line of people showing up to make demands of me. It’s bad enough my dad had a mule, and this is just about the limit of how much access to the world I should have been a part of allows, but then I have to put up with all of you thinking you can demand anything you want from me!”
Holy fuck, he’s a mule? No wonder he has a fascination with everything. Instead of commenting on that, which I know would have come out wrong, I grabbed my phone and swiped through it. “Please take a look at this?” It’s a lucky thing I took some pictures of the paperwork I got from the police. Including some of the pictures Captain Garrison had taken from the cameras tracking everything I did. I slid slowly down the seat and put the phone down, then slid the other way and then got up, walking a good 20 feet away from him.
“What…what am I supposed to do with your phone? I’m not getting in trouble for you setting me up to steal it or some crap like that.”
Instead of answering him, I tapped the newspaper guy on his way by, “I’m sorry, can you watch something for a moment? I need him to look at a picture on my phone, and he thinks I’m setting him up for some crap. Can you just watch and be his witness that I’m not?”
He shrugged, “Sure? I don’t get it, but sure?” He looked over at Joel, “Go for it, man, if I had a hot chick wanting to look at pictures of her, I’d be all over it!” He had a happy smile on his face as his eyes dipped back to my boobs. So I made sure there weren’t many people looking and let him see the girls from up close. That made him smile more.
That’s just about when Joel looked at my phone. The first picture was me on my 18th birthday in Reggie’s place. I didn’t know it was my birthday. It had a fantastic picture of me with the mortmagi in. Sure, more skin is showing there than the delivery guy just saw, but it’s not the goodies that should draw his attention.
Joel stared at the phone in utter shock. And horror. Then swiped it. Then again. I have six pictures there, although I have more back in my paperwork. When he looked up with utter confusion on his face, I knew the delivery guy could leave. “Thank you for helping. I have a feeling he trusts me now.”
“Girl, I’ll stop any time you want to let me have a look-see.” He didn’t wait for an answer before hopping back in his truck, leaving me with Joel.
I retook my seat with him crouched on the other end still. He didn’t sit for nearly five minutes. When he did, he still had my phone in his hands and was idly sliding between the pictures. “What the fuck is this? How is this possible?” He looked up again and jumped from eye to eye, “You have scars. Are they really from…are you…were you?”
Instead of answering, I pulled my license and showed it to him. “My name is Maddie Stricken. Those pictures you’re looking at were taken in an earth dragon’s house. I was his pet for four years. Prior to that I lived with a woman that saved my life when my parents left me in an alley to die. The dragon killed the woman because she didn’t move. He did it as a favor for a friend.”
He frowned, “That sounds like something that happened north of here? Like four months ago? Maybe five? I read some of the news articles about an earth dragon? Mass murderer? I heard they’re up in the thousands now for confirmed bodies?”
“His name Reggie?”
His brow furrowed, “Yeah? Something like that.”
“That was him. Reggie was my owner from the point I was taken until he died by police.”
“How is that possible? No one survives having mortmagi taken out!”
“I’m a bit of a freak. They came out by accident. I basically decided to live or die at my decision. Not his. Not any of the friends he let in to fuck me. I wanted to break free or die. I broke free. The mortmagi fell out and my eyes healed, and I broke free. Killed the two people that were abusing me at the time. The cops came in like a minute later. Reggie had died outside when they attacked the place to figure out where all the magic was coming from.”
“Maddie? That just doesn’t happen.”
“It did at least once. I can’t say that I understand it. Which is why I reached out to you. I’m trying to identify my parents.”
“This is…why me, though? You can’t go to the police?”
“No. They know who they are. They won’t tell me because there’s no legal connection any longer. Everything they did to me was legal, so it doesn’t matter that they tortured me. It doesn’t matter that they abandoned me. None of that matters. They’re free and clear of me. I plan on finding them and proving that they’re not done with me.”
“Why…why me, though?”
“Why you? Because we’re on break between first and second year in the academy. I saw your article while looking for information…and I hoped you had a list of people in the area that had a child that suddenly disappeared. I’m hoping you’ll tell me who they are so that I can check into them.”
“You know they’ll kill me, right? If they ever find out I said something?”
“True. Then what if I just managed to hack your system and find some older articles or family tree posts that has the information? Then I can say that you didn’t tell me. I found it illegally?”
He rubbed his face and looked around, “That has a chance of working. Maybe. What can you tell me about where you lived? Anything? You had the stricken spell done, right?”
“I did. I don’t remember much at all. Every detail that would tie me back to specifics is wiped away. I know we did some things, but the details are missing.” Gesturing out at the beach, I sighed, “Yet I feel a connection here. The beach. The ocean. The wind. The sounds. The smells. Something here…I know the beach. Like it’s a part of me. I’m virtually one hundred percent positive that we lived in Florida. I’m not sure where I was found, but Reggie didn’t live that far from here all things considered. There’s no way we drove long enough for me to be from Georgia, so I have to be from here. I remember being at the beach a ton as a kid. We travelled for things like the mountains or skiing. Which more than likely means I’m from somewhere here. M
aybe even Miami. So I’m looking. Hoping you’ll help me.”
He looked me up and down, “I do have a listing of people that have disappeared over the years. I deleted everything, but I still have my internet archives that I can pull from. The various people that would visit made me give them my notes and anything physical that I have, but I still have archives thanks to the internet. They’re buried deep, though. What can you tell me about when it all happened?”
My mind flashed back through everything, leaving me an upset mess when I realized I was sitting there quietly. “Umm, I was nine. I just had my period for the first time. We had the inducement ceremony, then…that was it. Beaten and tortured and bloodied, then thrown away.”
He stood up with a jerk, looking me up and down again and again. Then more. Then he began to stink of absolute terror. “You…you were nine?”
“Yeah. Why?”
He started backing away, “I know who you are. Who you were. I know…I can’t…I can’t be here right now!”
“Please, Joel! Is there anything you can tell me?”
He continued backing away as if staring at the face of evil, “They’ll kill me. They’ll kill everyone I know. It’s bad enough he had me, but you? No…No, I’m…I gotta go. Don’t call me again. Lose my number. Lose my site. For the love of God, we never met!”
Then he turned and literally ran away.
What in the name of ever-loving fucking God is going on?
Because if I’m not mistaken, what he just said clearly tells me that not only does he know who my parents are, but…he’s my brother. Illegitimate, maybe, but still my brother.
99 percent of me wants to follow him to talk to him, but the other one percent holds me in place staring at where he finally disappeared.
What the fuck…what the fuck is happening?
Chapter 13
I studied Joel’s site as much as I could for the next twenty minutes.
Until it was taken down. I was moving from one page to the next when it simply no longer existed. I got a page error.
None of my searches picked up a site. There were still posts and things mentioned on Google, but none of the links worked. Not even for archived pages.