The Unearthing of Blackstone

by Tiana Laveen

  “All this time, I had to smile in that woman’s face, knowing what happened. A part of it was selfish, but the other part…the other part, I didn’t want her to know what her Daddy had done! His memory would be soiled. It’s time…for itto stop!” He snatched himself away from her. He staggered and marched off, without looking back. The last thing they heard was the front door slamming. And the last thing Brooklyn felt was her heart breaking into a million pieces…

  ~***~

  A slither of light meandered through the bedroom from the illuminated master suite bathroom door, left slightly ajar. Like the night before, and the night before that, she was unable to rest, let alone fall into a restful sleep. She lay under the white sheets that twisted around her body, her head sunk into Egyptian cotton covered pillow cases. Everything was warm and fuzzy, the exact opposite of the tightness that constricted her throat and stiffened her muscles from anxiety. Brooklyn’s father had been promptly arrested, per his confession. This came as no surprise, yet it hurt all the same. An investigation was underway. To make matters worse, there were talks of exhuming the corpse that lay in the Grove Hill Memorial Park, the birthplace of her godfather, Mr. Turner. When she’d returned home to Chicago, barely able to get through the door without the threat of falling apart, Ace grabbed her and lifted her chin high, assuring her that the bit of information he’d found would surely assist in her father’s legal matters.

  Still, she knew they were in need of a miracle. Claudia blamed her. Though her sister never uttered the words aloud after that front door slammed, it was clear on her face and in the lukewarm hug she received right before leaving to return to Chicago. Her mother pleaded with her to move back home, and Earlwood Jr. simply said he wanted her to be happy. The family had fallen apart anyway, and though she knew it wasn’t her fault, it sure as hell felt like it.

  Ace began to fidget, bringing her out of her sullen world filled with the dank falling glitter of self-pity. He raised an arm over his face as if he were trying to block out a blinding light. His body shook, then shook a bit harder, so much so, the bed movedlike a prop in a movie scene created to horrify and shock an audience. It was as if the damned thing was possessed; but no, it wasn’t the furniture…her sweetheart was the one consumed.

  “Ace!” She shook his shoulder, gently at first, then with more muscle. He was slow to rouse. He began to fight, lash out, then uttered a raspy moan as his eyes remained shut. “Ace! Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!” She pinched the man under the arm, gripping the fine dark brown hairs and twisting.

  “Ouch…” he said sleepily, slowly opening his eyes. He shook his head and looked around the room, as if unsure of his surroundings. Then, his narrowed eyes, still clouded with remnants of slumber, focused on her. He grabbed her hand hard. She endured the pain that provoked for a while, until he settled. He hung his head.

  “Sorry…you wouldn’t wake up. You had another nightmare.”

  He nodded in understanding, released her hand and slid his palm across the sheets, making a ‘sleigh on snow’ sound. He sniffed, swiped his knuckle beneath his nostril then flung the sheets off of his naked body, exposing the tanned muscles and intricate artwork. He stood immobile, his back turned, as if waiting to cross the street, or was frozen in time or possibly, had fallen asleep on his feet. Then, he proceeded to the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind him. Soon, she heard the water from the faucet, then the shower. She turned back towards the front of the room and pushed her fingertips in her kinky hair. They jammed. She figured she’d braid it up later, maybe some twists. Out the window, the city could be seen through the sheer curtains. From the bed, she made out the rooftops and murky sky that threatened to bring bursting clouds carrying bulging, cottony bellies pregnant with rain.

  I’ve gotta help Ace. I’m not sure how, but I need to do something. It will take my mind off everything, it could help. He sent all that stuff to my dad’s attorney, talked the man down; it’s the least I could do.

  Flinging her legs over the side of the bed, she clasped her hands together. She felt like defeat was a woman sitting right beside her, placing her icy arm around her shoulder, kissing her temple and saying, ‘Now, there, there, baby, everything will be just rotten. Just you wait ’nd see…’

  She had no idea how’d she’d gone from over the moon in love to the place she was at right now. None of it was Ace’s fault or hers, but the shit happened and made all the good stuff look a bit less fantastic. Anguish felt like a mold spore. The rotten fungus never stayed in one spot. It had to spread, branch out and taint the whole damn thing. It spoiled the entire fruit, made it inedible, rotten, unsightly and grotesque.

  The bathroom door opened, but she kept sitting with her back towards him. From the energy flow between them, she sensed he just wanted to be alone. She could feel him, as a woman who knew her man well. Ace tended to become quiet at the height of anger. No throwing of chairs, curse words, and the like. No, he simply stiffened and turned introspective. He was upset now, tired and worn out. The nightmares wouldn’t stop. They’d lessened, but, though he didn’t admit it, while she was gone, they no doubt got the best of him. He was a prisoner of sleep, a captive to his own dreams.

  “I can’t…I can’t even get any decent fucking sleep,” he finally said. “These fucking nightmares… I’m fucking tired. I’ve never been this exhausted in my entire life.”

  She looked over her shoulder at the poor man as he grabbed his cigarette from the nightstand and lit it. With a deep red towel wrapped around his waist and his hair in spikey disarray, he looked scrumptious, but this was not the time to try to engage the man in a little sex play. She sure could use the release, but she kept her wishes to herself.

  He blew out smoke, then glanced towards the window, his green eyes unfocused. They simply wandered, just like her own thoughts.

  “What does your doctor say about all of this now?”

  “It’s a process.” Ace sighed. “It takes time. He prescribed medicine to me a long time ago so I could get some decent sleep, but it’s stronger than anything I’ve ever been prescribed. He didn’t want to give it to me.” He shrugged. “But things haven’t gotten to a good place and stayed there…I don’t want to take it. I don’t want to be out of my mind.”

  “Ace, maybe you should try it.” She turned towards him. “You can’t go on like this. With the work you do, the at times hectic schedule you keep, honey, you have to get some decent sleep. This will age you, take years off. Like water, sleep is essential. You don’t sleep, Ace…”

  He looked at her for awhile, then turned back towards the window, his cigarette dangling in his hand.

  “Maybe you’re right…I’ll think about it.” Then, removing the towel, he put on his white boxer-briefs, slid his black pants on and buttoned up a black and gray striped shirt. He dressed so quickly, almost in a blur. Moments later, he was sitting on the bed, lacing up his shoes. He returned to the bathroom, and she heard his electric shaver. He said he’d missed a spot…

  Yeah, it was one of those types of mornings.

  Before long, she felt his soft lips graze her cheek, then he was gone, as quickly as her life had raveled out of control. All she had now was the faint scent of his soap, cologne and the cigarette smoke. It all mixed together, concocting and creating his special blend, the scent of a man, the smell of Ace.

  I’m going to be late for work.

  She stood and began to pace the bedroom. Not until recently had she dreaded going to work. Her heart just wasn’t in it. So much was going on that tore her apart from the inside out. Crazy, twisted tales and rebellious deliberations clouded her brain as she tried to piece together the things she wanted to do, the things she could do, that she could influence.

  First, I have to accept that I can’t stop my baby from having nightmares. But, what can I do to help him?

  She sighed, and then once again, as if easily derailed, her thoughts drifted to a happy place, the first time they’d made love…at the museum. The gallery
…

  She remembered his silliness at the art museum while she was on vacation — his jokes that day, how he didn’t want to really be there, but because she wanted to attend, so he surprised her that morning with her heart’s desire. Later, they sat at the restaurant, eating, and she leaned over and touched his gorgeous face, traced it with her fingertips. He had a hell of a bone structure…

  She had felt the hardness, the contours, the loveliness of his frame... She couldn’t help but smile at that, even catching herself in their bedroom mirror at that moment as she hugged herself, falling deeper into the memory that brought her so much pleasure and comfort. His kisses were so perfect. His voice in her ear, his touch so unbelievable, and when she opened up to him that day, she realized it was the best decision she’d ever made. She held on to that feeling, that realization, with an iron fist. And then, she saw his mask across the room. The white, strappy thing with a slit for the lips and a small triangle so that he could breathe…

  Wait…wait…wait!

  She tapped her chin with her index finger and crossed her legs.

  Ace’s doctor believes the nightmares stem from his childhood. From his account to me, he knows nothing of his birth parents, but…what if I could…? Why not? I could try!

  She quickly got dressed, pushed her hair back in an afro bun and raced out the door to her job. There was giddy-up in her emotions, in her drive to explore. Now, she could sink her teeth into a possibility, a chance to make a difference for someone she loved. If she failed and came up short, she was prepared for it, but at least she had an idea, a pier to walk on and from which to look over the damned edge to see if anything lay below…

  ~***~

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  I was supposed to be back home by now…

  Ace looked at the clock in the parlor of his parents’ home, then turned back towards his mother, the woman he could confide in, the woman he could always trust. She crossed her legs, clad in pastel yellow pants, her expression mellow. Her bare, pale feet with the toe nails painted blood red pushed into the softness of the carpet as she lounged to the far right of the couch, lazily playing with her hair. She eyed him shrewdly.

  “You really love that girl,” she finally said, smiling at him, all knowing. “I told your father on Christmas evening, that she was the one. I could just feel it.” She patted her chest.

  “Don’t go gettin’ ahead of yourself.” Ace grimaced, feeling a bit embarrassed. He didn’t know why, but he did.

  His mother laughed and twirled a piece of hair around a finger, then released it and repeated the process. “My sweet Ace…helplessly in love. This condition has relaxed you somewhat. I like this. Your father and I are quite happy for you.”

  “Yeah, well.” He looked up at the clock, then back at his mother. “I better be getting home.” He rose, and she followed suit, stepping to him to accept a warm hug. Her fragrant perfume made him feel even more at ease. As he turned to leave, she called out to him.

  “Ace, I had a dream the other night. I forgot to tell you about it.”

  He stopped in his tracks, his hands in his pockets, and faced her. “Oh yeah? What was it about?”

  She slowly walked up to him, a broad smile on her face. Then, she cupped his cheeks with her frail fingers, framing his cheekbones.

  “You were a little boy, no more than five. In the dream, you were sitting on my lap while I brushed that silky, dark brown hair of yours. I kept brushing and brushing, and you looked up at me with those big eyes and said, ‘Mama, why’d you name me Ace?’ And I looked down at you and smiled, kept on brushing, and said, ‘I didn’t, your real mama did.’ Then, you looked kinda pouty, and my heart felt bad. I thought I’d hurt your feelings, you know? But then you smiled and said, ‘No, you’re my real mama, Mama. I love you more than anybody in the whole wide world and always will.’ And I hugged you tight, kissed the top of your head and said, ‘Is that so? Well, guess what? One day you’ll meet someone, and you’ll say the same thing to her and you know what? I won’t be sad. I’ll be happy that my baby boy found someone that he could call his very own.’”

  She kissed his cheek and released him.

  Ace stood there a long while, staring at her, taking it all in.

  “That’s some dream, Mom.” He cleared his throat, trying to hide that it moved him a bit.

  “Yeah, funny thing though.” She turned away from him and began to walk away, her steps soft against the cool marble of the foyer. “That wasn’t no dream at all, Ace. My mind was simply replaying a golden memory. What I just told you, well, it really happened…”

  ~***~

  The cup of coffee had sat there for almost eight hours, untouched. The evening had snuck up on Brooklyn, but she refused to pack her bags and bail. No, this was far too important. Photos of Ace that she’d printed out from her phone lay spread all over her work area. So did the mask, now with lines and numbers written all over the damned thing. She’d made hundreds of 3-D images, entering them all into the Crown database. The results were at first inconclusive, so she kept at it until finally, the light on her computer flashed, grabbing her attention. The software was finished with the latest analysis.

  “Holy shit…” She read the screen and printed out the report, pacing back and forth as she read the damned thing.

  Romanian…I knew it! I freaking knew it!

  Hope filled her, and she couldn’t wipe the damn smile off her face.

  That would explain so much! He’d been searching for his birth parents, using the few leads he had. Ace, baby…what if you were looking in all the wrong places? What if the adoption papers were wrong, and they’d just guessed? What if you weren’t born in America? What if you are directly from Romania?!

  The possibility was definitely there. After she felt his skull mask and now looked at the diagrams and report, everything made sense. Due to racial mixing in the United States, the Crown system was far less accurate. However, for ‘pure bloods’, it was almost always right on the money. Though it was still controversial in theory, Brooklyn always wholeheartedly believed that different races had different shaped skulls. Not brains, but the hardware, the hard shit that protected it all, was definitely distinctive. Ace’s jawbone, the hollow of his nose, his broad, low forehead, all pointed to one place and one place only — Romania. And after hours of testing and loading images, the Crown system stated with 94.3% certainty, the man was one hundred-percent Romanian. He was not a second or third generation, he was first. That meant one thing and one thing only — he was brought over as an immigrant, and his bloodline was pure.

  This changed everything. This was surely something the man could work with. A fresh starting point. She grabbed her coat, stuffed the report in an envelope and inside of her purse, and hot tailed it out of there, overwhelmed with excitement. In her heart, she knew this was what the man needed… and maybe, just maybe, she could soothe him.

  She could make it all make sense.

  Make it all better for once and for all…

  ~***~

  Ace’s eyes burned and his hand shook like a damned leaf as he held the odd, thick ass report containing designs of his damn head from various angles. He held it in one hand, and held his cigarette in the other. Across the room sat a woman he was in awe of. A woman who’d opened up some shit that his mind had never even considered. He’d read the report, and she kept quiet. Then he read the shit again, circling things, asking her questions if there was something he didn’t quite understand. He sat a bit higher, tossed his cigarette in the glass of water before him and watched it fizzle out.

  “First of all, now that I’ve calmed down, I want to say, ‘thank you.’”

  She smiled at him and slumped to the side, sitting just like his mother did earlier. He found it unnerving, yet pleasant all the same.

  “Would you like for me to tell you about the Romanians?A crash course, if you will?” A sly smile brightened on her face. He nodded. That was all he could do…all he could offer for he brimmed with em
otion, boiling over with some shit that blew him the fuck away.

  I’ve called myself a red-blooded American, and I’m not. This is almost funny…

  “First, Ace, let me say that due to your age and other factors, it is doubtful that you were actually born here. There would have been more paperwork available to you. From what you’ve told me this evening, you only have an adoption paper. That document never gave reference to your birthplace. Since you were found here in Chicago, it appears it was simply assumed that you were also from here. You look white. Well, you are European, and you have light eyes and skin. Your hair is straight. The cuticle and root of your hair doesn’t have much of a curve. You didn’t speak a foreign language to help tip anyone off; matter of fact, despite being age two, according to what you shared, you barely spoke at all.”

  “My mother said…” He paused and took a deep breath. “She said I refused to even talk until I was almost four years old. No one knew what was wrong with me. I would only nod or say ‘Yes’ and ‘No.’”

  “You may have been in shock. I don’t know much about child psychology, but what I do know, is a child refusing to speak after some sort of trauma, is not unheard of. Anyway, It would be mind boggling to think that someone would come here, all the way from Romania, just to abandon their child. However, it is possible, especially with what we now know. At this point, we can only make assumptions, honey. Now, I don’t want to bombard you with a whole bunch of factoids you can’t do much with.” She leaned close, her hands in front of her and obvious excitement in her voice. “However, I can tell you that in the 1980s, the decade you were born in, there was a huge Romanian migration to the midwestern and western states. Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, California and Nevada were areas that received this influx.” She swallowed and paused, giving him a moment to take in the news. “This is about the time when there were rumors of gypsies in Chicago, okay? Romanians are known to be gypsies. However, that is a misconception. Gypsies are actually a separate group of people who live in Romania, a subculture if you will. This now has a very derogatory connotation, but really, it is a rich, colorful history that is, in my opinion historically significant and a beautiful legacy.