by Mary Ramsey
Nana was twiddling her fingers, unable to look me in the eye. “There’s something in there that was always meant for you.”
I quickly flipped past photos that I never wanted to see. I glanced over reports; sketches, diagrams, and then finally a copy of the suicide note. I could tell by the stains that the original had been caked in blood. The handwriting was shaky, barely readable over the text printed on the paper. “He wrote this on a bible?” I asked.
“The police copy was a little easier to read,” my grandpa pointed out. “I think there’s a summary somewhere in the paperwork.”
I flipped through the copies, each more graphic than the last. But I forced myself to read. My father brutally killed her, all while she did nothing to fight back. Her neck was broken, as were her ribs. In fact, he seemed to have crushed her chest in with a blunt object of some kind. Then he went to sleep.
Somehow, he had awoken with a sense of clarity. The report mentions how he sent me to Nana’s house. My grandpa found my father’s body. Daddy had taken a pocket knife, one that my mother had given him on their anniversary, and cut his own throat. He didn’t die right away. Grandpa told the police that Daddy was alive, reciting the Lord’s prayer. He bled out on the way to the hospital but not before asking if I was ok. It was as if he was waiting on that information before passing on.
The police arrived on the scene at nine. They took my mother’s body. She’d been dead for over ten hours, but her cause of death was pretty obvious. My father’s death was not so cut and dry. An autopsy was performed. The conclusion was reached; my father had been high on a shit-ton of drugs. I assumed it was booze and painkillers, but the paperwork listed heroin, cocaine and a few others that I had no idea even existed in Mississippi.
Finally, I found the transcript of his suicide note.
“Dear Annie,” I read aloud, “I’m so sorry. You of all people don’t deserve this. I tried so hard to come back to you and your ma, to be the man God meant for me to be. I just never made it. I hope you can forgive me.” I flipped back to the copy of the bible page. The last line was smeared as if he wrote it in his own blood as an afterthought. I turned to my grandparents. “Is this why you took away all his things, why you wanted to make me forget him?”
Nana cupped her hand over her mouth. “For that, I’m truly ashamed.”
Grandpa held her close. “It was what he wanted. I told the police that your father was praying, asking the Lord for forgiveness, but that wasn’t the truth. He was so ashamed for taking those drugs, for letting his mind slip away. But he was in so much pain. He’d been diagnosed with brain cancer, but the military didn’t want to foot the bill for any chemo. They wouldn’t even prescribe anything for the pain. So, your daddy had to do what a lot of soldiers did; he found support groups where people imported and exchanged drugs from as far as Florida.”
Nana wiped tears from her eyes. “Your daddy never wanted you to know how shamefully he died, so he made us promise to make you forget him. We figured if you never had any reason to think about him, you’d never feel the need to dig up the past. And with cancer in his brain, it’s a miracle he lived as long as he did.”
I looked at their sobbing faces with confusion and contempt. “Can I have a moment alone?”
Nana nodded, taking Grandpa by the hand.
I walked to my window, overlooking the garden. For my sweet sixteen, all I had asked for was a headstone, something I could talk to, or just a place to pray.
Instead, they bought me a car and told me about my dad’s life insurance policy. I would get a little bit of money when I turned eighteen, enough to go to college. I needed to do what Daddy had said; I needed to run and never look back.
But as I closed my eyes, I saw him. A little boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. He ran up to me, throwing his arms around me for a tender hug.
“Hi there, little guy.” I fell to my knees and held him. I shut my eyes tightly, burying my head in his shoulder. That was when I noticed he was growing. The little boy grew into a teenager, a high-school athlete full of promise. He looked at me and smiled. But then his smile started to fade, transforming to a look of sadness.
My eyes stayed locked with his. I watched the wrinkles appear around his sad blue eyes. Bruises formed, then cuts. I jumped back as his eyeball started to fall from his socket. It fell in chunks as if being torn out by an invisible blade. He fell to his knees and then to the floor. Only then did I notice his clothing. He wore a blood-soaked military uniform. Gripping his bloody face, he cried in pain. His clothing transformed into the ragged jumpsuit of a prisoner of war. The man’s body started to seize.
I sat on the floor by his side. As I held his hand, he transformed so he was wearing the undershirt and boxers that he wore the day he died. His arms and legs were covered in needle marks that tore open into sores.
I held him close, closing my eyes as I cried uncontrollably.
Only then did I realize I was holding the folder in a loving embrace. With trembling hands, I closed the folder.
My mother didn’t fight him because she had already forgiven him. She loved him with everything she was, everything she could ever be.
Sitting on the bed I’d slept on for my entire childhood, my father’s boyhood bed, I thought about burning the folder and all its contents. But enough of my past had been burnt.
“I love you, Daddy, and I always will,” I said through tears as I took out my father’s Purple Heart medal and gave it a kiss.
I looked at my wrist, where I’d tattooed my daddy’s rank when I was fourteen using a needle and ballpoint pen.
We were the same, him and me.
I’m going to heal the world, I thought. One bullet at a time.
Chapter 3
“Wow, that’s a lot.” I, Bobby Reyes, had been staring at infamous terrorist Annie Mae. I was unable to move or even blink, and I sure as heck was not going to the bathroom anytime soon. But the fact remained. This was his body; his eyes, his hands. I wanted to speak, to cry out, but the sound would be his voice. Oh God, what do I do. I wanted so badly to tell them I was Raven; her soul MY soul, riding around in his body. But my family would likely think I was insane at best. And at worst, dangerous.
“Hey, trailer park Jesus.” Annie snapped her fingers in my face. “Earth to Bobby Reyes, you good?” Her tone was comically ‘bro-like,’ as if she and I had just awoken from a night of partying. You know, as opposed to fleeing for our lives with a toddler in tow.
I blinked my eyes, running my fingers through my long dark-brown hair. My hands were large, with long fingers covered in blisters and scars. “Yeah.” My voice was deep, soft, with a French accent as I forced myself to speak English. “I’m good.”
“Did you just say you’re good?” Annie asked, clearly surprised by the fact I didn’t answer in broken French.
“Yes, oui, just a little bit tired.”
“Well. Ok.” Annie pulled out her pack of cigarettes, twirling one between two fingers. It was a cheap, girly brand that’s she often laced with other drugs. “Do you smoke?”
I had a feeling Bobby did, in fact, smoke, but I needed to draw out the conversation. “Why? Do you actually smoke in front of your kid?”
“In a hotel room with a no-smoking sign? Yes, I’m just that stupidly irresponsible.” Annie flicked her plastic BIC lighter, creating an abnormally high flame.
I wondered how she had managed such a trick when she turned the device to the side, revealing a metal chip; the whole thing had been an optical illusion to fuck with me. (Or rather, Bobby.) “I would have chosen the word ‘reckless,’” the word rolled on my tongue, “but that’s just me.” I helped myself to a cigarette from her pack.
“Well, you are French, motherfucker.” Annie made a show of pushing open a window before lighting up and taking a long drag. “All of those baguette-wielding ass-hats are addicted to nicotine, right?”
“I’m French-Canadian, the wrong side of the world to be a baguette-wielding ass-hat,” I said in Bob
by’s sexy, exotic voice. Yes, he seemed like a smoker. I joined her near the window, just close enough to let the smoke out but not come off as sexually aggressive. “So, how are we going to find your friend?”
“You mean my wife?” Her reply was curt, yet humorous, leaving me to question if she knew it was me behind the mask.
“My apologies, Madam, I meant no disrespect.” We were married in the same way two cellmates were married.
“Yeah, well.” Annie sighed. “I may have the years, but Raven has always been the brains, especially when it came to this paranormal shit. I figure she left you with me for a reason.”
I found it strange that my wife didn’t address my apology. But I also found it strange that I didn’t feel a separate consciousness. Where was Bobby’s inner voice?
Annie laughed. “I mean, you’re still here. Not that you have anywhere else to go. Anyway, we should probably get moving.”
“Yes, definitely,” I replied with a nod. I was expecting Annie to take the lead; put out her cigarette and start packing. Then we would, perhaps, exit the room and reunite with our trailer in the parking lot. But that’s not what happened.
The strange older woman cupped my face and kissed me. She tasted like ashes and coffee. I flinched, fully prepared to shove her away. But before I could fully react, Annie stabbed me in the back of the neck with what I could only assume was a pen (or maybe a craft knife). It was a sharp sting, followed by a blunt, hard force. And it hurt like a bitch. I was afraid to move my neck. I was too afraid to breathe. Why was she doing this? I was considering lifting my arm to strike, when suddenly, I could hear crying. Was this fucking cunt actually crying?
“Stop it, Mama! Stop hurting him!” It was Lola’s crying; the toddler, our baby-my daughter. Annie was upsetting my daughter. Something about that fact caused a rush of adrenaline.
I pushed Annie into the door. I felt her hands on my neck as we full-on struggled for control. She slammed my face (Bobby’s face) into the door with more strength than I expected. Although I was coughing up blood, I made sure to stomp out my cigarette. Lola’s safety was my primary concern; the last thing I wanted was to trap her in a fire.
From the corner of my vision, I swore I saw Annie unlock the door. That had been my next goal, so I focused on the task at hand. I pushed her into the door with all the force I could muster. That was how I made the unfortunate discovery; we’d been on the second floor of an open-air motel. Our bodies went over the railing, falling to the parking lot below.
I landed on my back with a sickening crunch. I gasped for air, forcing myself to keep breathing. I was dazed, but I needed to get up. I couldn’t let that psychotic bitch leave with Lola. I moved my arm just to make sure I wasn’t paralyzed. But where did Annie land? I couldn’t see her in my immediate field of vision. But I suddenly heard her voice loud and clear.
“Get up!” Annie had somehow landed in the bushes. I could hear her standing up, brushing the sticks and leaves off her clothes. “Come on, get up, you pussy, you didn’t fall that hard.” She nudged my body as if trying to move me from my space in bed.
I sat up, putting weight on my uninjured bicep. Whatever had been in my neck had been smashed, leaving a large wet stain down my back. At least I wasn’t paralyzed.
“Move!” Annie took out a small digital camera, that doubled as a ring.
“What the fuck is that?” I forced myself to scoot a few feet to the left if only to see what the hell she was taking photos of. Apparently, my bodily fluids had left behind a stain made of ink and blood.
“There! That’s where we need to go!” Quickly putting the ring in her pocket, she turned to me, playfully kicking me in the ribs. “Yo, Jersey Shore Jesus, are you okay to stand?”
“What did you call me? How about you tell me what the hell that ring was?”
“It’s just a wi-fi camera, part of my personal collection.”
“You a spy or something?” As Raven I had seen only a few items of her ‘collection.’ But the ring was new. Whatever, I could ask her later. I knew I needed to turn my head, which was easier said than done. “Oh fuck, ow…”
The place where I landed created a series of circular shapes that overlaid in a distinct pattern. My head was pounding, causing my vision to become momentarily blurry. The pattern had to have come from the concrete. That was the only logical explanation for the shapes. But these weren’t just shapes; somehow, I knew these were constellations.
Annie left and quickly returned with Lola under her arm. She grabbed my shoulder, pulling me to my feet with an unnatural strength. “Get in the trailer! You can curse me out on the way up north.”
I forced my way into the van. My body throbbed, but as long as my arms were not broken, I needed to focus on not getting left behind. Annie shut the door, got into the driver’s seat and peeled out of the parking lot.
Lying across the backseat, I could feel broken ribs and painful bruising. It hurt to breathe. But my main concern was the baby. “Where’s Lola?”
“Here!” My daughter popped her head up from where she sat on the floor, without a car seat or even a safety belt.
“Oh, thank god.” I reclined back, trying to relax as best I could. The door was shut, we were on the road, and I needed to focus on keeping my family safe. I reached my arms to pick up Lola. “Here, baby, you’re ok. Everything’s going to be ok.”
Lola rested her chubby cheek against my bare chest. “Love you, Mama.”
Mama? “What did you call me?” I immediately touched my face, just to see if I was still Bobby. I sure as heck still had his voice. And yes, I still had his face; his body, his height, his long hair.
“She called you Mama!” Annie shouted from the front seat.
For a moment that answer seemed to make a small amount of sense. Bobby and Raven had similar hair, skin, even eyes. But there was something Annie wasn’t telling me. “And, pray tell, why would she call me that?”
“Do you want the long version?” Annie asked, not even taking her eyes off the road.
“Sure.” I rested my head in a comfortable position. “I’ve got nothing but time.”
Annie nodded, as if trying to confirm to herself that I was worthy of this tale. “Raven and I have been tracking mystical creatures, supernatural events, for years. It’s not uncommon for us to be able to locate missing people even before the police. But,” she paused, biting her lip in deep thought, “how do I say this?”
“Just say it,” I replied to what was clearly a rhetorical question.
“Bobby, you were different.”
Apparently not different enough. Her cryptic nature was getting on my last nerve. “Different how?” I felt like cursing her, out but any words that came were falling from my lips in French. This caused Lola to giggle, which in turn caused Annie to nearly double over with laughter. I sighed in defeat. “Please continue, Mon Amie.”
When Annie regained her composure, she continued her tale. “After we finished a job in Miami, Florida, Raven was having visions, nightmares. She claimed she could see your ex murder you and dump your body, and it was really messing her up. I mean, I know she has a sensitive heart, but I thought it was a residual effect from the voodoo cult we took down. Their leader was a powerful sorcerer. A man whose magic was focusing on manipulating emotions. It made sense. But the closer we got to the Carolinas, the stronger her visions were becoming, so I did some research using whatever physical descriptions she could make out in her dreams.”
I knew Annie was correct. As Raven, I had been complaining about a strange reoccurring dream. It was a series of scenes that seemed to play at random but always ended in a gruesome murder. But somehow, I had no memory of identifying the victim as Bobby. “She saw everything?”
“I don’t know if she saw everything, but she was able to describe enough of the scene to find you where we did. Raven’s theory was that you’re something other than human. A supernatural creature who would make a great ally, maybe even a bodyguard. We just needed to find yo
u, or whatever was left of you.”
I could remember telling Annie of those visions. But she’d never once told me what she thought. “And what about you?”
“What do you mean?”
“What did you think of the case of Bobby Reyes?”
“In truth,” she pursed her lips, tilting her head with a nervous bob, “I never told Raven, but I thought the idea of saving you was worth pursuing because, well. I think you might be Raven’s biological brother.”
Before I could reply, Annie took a sharp turn off the main road. The area became dark, as if we were entering a forest or swamp. “You think I’m her brother?” I sat up to get a better view of wherever we were going. “Why?”
“It would make sense. The connection you two have is like nothing I’ve ever seen. I mean, did you know your biological parents?” Annie asked in a calm tone, like an academic researcher or high-school principal. She clearly wanted this theory to be correct since that would make me an exception to her idea of men being inferior. I was still an inferior fuckboy with horrible taste in partners, but if I was Raven’s family, Annie could understand her partner’s level of compassion.
I held Lola close; her little face seemed as concerned as my own. But it was her endearing eyes that gave me the strength to speak my truth. “No,” I said with a nod of confirmation. “I never knew my parents. I grew up in foster care for as far back as I can remember.” The idea of a long-lost sister; it sounded crazy. But not any crazier than my actual childhood. There was a reason why I fell into the drug-induced embrace of my psycho ex-girlfriend. “What exactly do you think I am? If I’m Raven’s brother.”
“If I’m right, that would make you the son of a demon queen and a holy man,” Annie said, her Southern drawl slipping in with her excitement. She swiftly pulled over, putting the vehicle into park, before continuing. “Being a cross-breed isn’t a bad thing. At least not according to Raven.”