Broken: A Paranormal Romance

by David H. Burton

  Geoff was waiting for me at the door, reading the note over again.

  I felt for him. He really missed Mother. I’m sure it must have been difficult for him to have her leave something for me after all this time.

  I clapped him on the shoulder, smiling as I took the note and key. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s see what we have waiting for us.”

  He nodded, but said nothing.

  As we walked towards the elevator, I remained quiet with him. It wasn’t an awkward silence — we were just both caught up in our own individual thoughts.

  Of the couple of things that were going on, the earring was the most troubling. I could understand the hallucinations returning. I hadn’t renewed my meds and I was due for a tune-up with Dr. White. But the earring was physical. I couldn’t argue its existence.

  When the elevator arrived, I decided I didn’t want to think about it anymore, so I broke the silence.

  “So how long has this been going on with Layne?” I asked. I pushed for the parking garage.

  Geoff’s face lit up. “Three weeks,” he said. He didn’t expand on it like I thought he might, and I chose not to pry. I smiled inside, though, at the thought that hopefully Layne was better endowed than his brother.

  We took Geoff’s Jetta since my old Tempo was on its last legs. It was an amicable ride. Geoff filled me in on neighborhood gossip and things he’d done around the house since Mother’s passing. I didn’t push to see it, and he didn’t invite me.

  At the branch he took me past the line and the tellers, and brought me back to where the safety deposit boxes were kept. No one stopped him, but considering his position at the branch it wasn’t really a surprise.

  Trust my mother to pick the bank where Geoff worked, unless, of course, she wanted this moment to unfold like this.

  After retrieving the bank’s key for the box, he ensured we had a small room for us to review the contents privately.

  I took a deep breath before inserting the key and opening it. Despite the fact I valued my independence, there was a small hope that there might be some money. I hated myself for the thought. I really didn’t want her money, but the sensible part of me thought that it could come in handy. I did have student debts to pay after all.

  Geoff leaned over, but refrained from touching anything. His fingers twitched though, like he was as anxious as I was.

  I exhaled as we saw the contents. A manila envelope sat upon a leather-bound collection of old documents. I hacked open the seal.

  Geoff stood over my shoulder as I pulled out a sheaf of papers.

  On the top was a letter from Mother. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to read it, but my eyes seemed to make the decision for me.

  Dear Katherine,

  I am writing this knowing I have little time left. The cancer in my body has spread to the point I have only two months to live and I could not bring myself to tell you this in person. I have lived with a large burden upon my shoulders and have not had the courage to tell you this in person. I suspect Geoffrey will want to know this as well, but it is your choice if you wish to share it with him.

  I apologize that you’re receiving this information now, but at the very least I wanted you to have some knowledge of what is coming. There are things you need to know.

  First, I suppose you may have wondered why I left nothing for you in my will. To be blunt, you are not my child. I never gave birth to you. You were adopted at infancy in the second year of our marriage. I told James, the man you think of as your father, a lie. I told him I could not bear children, and we made arrangements to adopt a child.

  On the day James passed away, I learned I was pregnant with Geoffrey.

  If you are wondering why I deceived James deliberately, it was because of a problem in his family.

  Within the pages I have left in this box are the writings of various family members, detailing a history to which you are the heir. The death certificates, dates, and relevant information are all there.

  I will leave you to read them, but here is the essence of what you will find. The eldest child in James’s family will die in their twenty-fifth year. Before you decide that it is some absurd notion, know that this has come to pass for five generations now. You are the sixth.

  I know this may seem harsh that I chose to adopt a child before having one of my own, but there it is. If you have the strength of will, I implore you to not have a child in the coming months. First, you will be unlikely to see it to term since your twenty-fourth birthday is now three days away. It is unknown at what point your death will come, but it will surely happen in your twenty-fifth year. And second, this anomaly could die with you if you choose to end this.

  This may be a prudent time to settle whatever legal affairs you may need to.

  If you inform Geoffrey of this, please let him know all of this was done for his sake, so that my own child by James would live.

  Sincerely,

  Joan Gregory

  I handed the letter to Geoff as I grabbed the closest chair. My stomach felt like it was up around my throat. I sat down, bracing my head in my hands.

  Geoff plunked down beside me. He was just as speechless.

  The woman had never loved me, I had figured that. I suppose it made sense she wasn’t my birth mother — we didn’t look anything alike. I just always assumed I had inherited more of my father’s traits. But I had lived a life unloved by a woman who had some bizarre notion I would die at the age of twenty-four?

  What sort of sick joke was this? Had she been mentally unstable?

  I could barely make my fingers flip through the remaining pages attached to her letter — adoption papers, a British passport, citizenship papers. I couldn’t even look at the rest, never mind the leather-bound collection that still waited at the bottom of the metal box.

  Geoff said nothing. At this point, I didn’t want words.

  How was this possible? And my father, or the man I thought was my father, went along with this? It had to be some kind of joke. Who would do this to a child?

  I was trying to make some sense of it when I noticed a name on one of the documents — a witness signature. There was scrawled a name I knew. It was on every Christmas card I had received since I was a teenager.

  Marigold Gregory.

  The harsh reality of this settled on me as I looked upon the scrawling signature. This was no joke.

  My aunt was going to be getting a phone call, if I could find her number. I had questions. A lot of them.

  Geoff rummaged through the papers as I got up to pace. I didn’t really know what to do with myself, but my legs itched to move.

  “What are you going to do?” Geoff finally asked.

  Anger seeped out of my eyes in tears that slipped down my cheeks.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  My brother and I had never discussed my mother’s relationship with me. We both knew it wasn’t what it should be. He likely knew it was not my fault, but I think he never truly wanted to know because it would ruin his own image of her.

  At this point, I had had enough of dancing around the big, white elephant in the room.

  “She never loved me,” I muttered. “I knew that. But this is stupid. They adopted me because… because of some ridiculous idea that their first child was going to die? What the hell is that?”

  Geoff said nothing. Thankfully. Because I wasn’t finished.

  “And I grew up unloved all these years, deliberately. I’m like a human shield. ‘Here, take this one, it’s no good to us’!”

  I pulled at my hair.

  “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to talk to. My psychiatrist will have a field day with this!”

  Geoff got up from the table and walked over to me. He looked like he might try to hug me.

  “Don’t touch me. Please.”

  Geoff backed off, but his silent eyes never left me.

  “How did this happen? Who let something like this happen?”

  I grabbed the letter. “Look, ju
st like the other letter, she didn’t even sign it with ‘Your Mother’! It’s like she was finally admitting to me what I knew all along — I was never hers.”

  I threw it on the table.

  “All these years of meds and questioning my own sanity, all because of this. Do you have any idea what my life has been like? I’m exhausted, Geoff. I’m mentally and emotionally exhausted from a roller coaster ride that never ends. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.”

  Eventually I gave in and sobbed. My legs buckled and I grabbed the table for support.

  I wept. There was nothing left to me but torrents of pain that flooded out in gasping sobs. I let it all out and Geoff stood there beside me.

  “Why?” I managed to say. “Why?”

  Finally he whispered to me. “I don’t know,” he said. “But we’ll find out who did this.”

  I looked at him.

  “We’ll start with Aunt Marigold. And I’ll search through the house for anything Mom left behind. Something isn’t right here.”

  I said nothing. I lowered my head. I wasn’t sure I even cared to know. At this point, I just wanted to go home.

  “I know she wasn’t a very good mother to you. I think I’ve always known she liked me more, but this seems too cruel. It’s crazy. I can’t believe she would have written this, or she would have done this. It’s not like her.”

  I blinked for a moment.

  What?

  It was exactly like her, actually. And the letter was in her handwriting. Those “o”s were unmistakable.

  As I looked at Geoff I could see the denial in his eyes. He was refusing to believe that our mother, or rather his mother, had been capable of this. I didn’t know what to do with it.

  As he backed up, I felt like a giant knife came down, severing the last of any connection I had with him. He paper-clipped the papers and passed them to me. I suddenly felt very alone. I suppose I could have protested his disbelief, but what was the point. A few more tears slid down my cheeks before I took them from him and then followed him out the door. He’d have to come to his senses on his own.

  Geoff left me at my apartment, promising to get back to me with anything he found. I needed to sleep, and I think he needed some time to think. I tossed the papers from Mother on the coffee table. They skidded across, knocking the cordless to the floor. I didn’t bother to retrieve it since it was in line of sight of the ficus. I just collapsed on the bed.

  It usually takes me some time to fall asleep, but this time it was almost instant. I didn’t dream, or I didn’t remember if I did. I just turned off.

  Chapter 3

  A knock at the door woke me. I grumbled, looking at the old digital clock on the floor. The bright red numbers read nine o’clock. I wondered who the hell would be knocking at the door and then I groaned as I remembered.

  Chris!

  Some friend I was.

  I scraped myself out of bed. I didn’t look in the mirror. I didn’t care how I looked. I just opened the door.

  Chris was standing there, hands in his jean pockets. The look on his face changed from a somewhat down-trodden to a wide-eyed ‘Woah, you look like shit!’ look.

  He grabbed my arm. “Are you okay?”

  A laugh somehow escaped my lips. “I look that bad, do I?”

  He smiled. He had great teeth.

  Actually, he had great everything — blonde hair, broad shoulders, rugby legs, and an ass you can’t help but want to squeeze. He was a bit on the shorter side, but somehow it didn’t matter. He had good sized feet too, and wide.

  I laughed on the inside.

  Despite how numb I was feeling, I couldn’t believe I was sizing him up. I did it every time I saw him. It was difficult to view him as platonic sometimes, even though our friendship started out that way.

  I think the corner of my lips must have shown what I was thinking because his grin got bigger.

  “What are you smiling at?” he asked. One hand went up to press against the door frame, and he leaned in. It was like a sudden wave of charm just flooded off him, all warm and intense.

  “Nothing,” I said. I actually took a step back. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I pulled the door open further to let him in.

  “I was worried when you didn’t show up,” he said. “I tried calling, but you weren’t answering.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said. I wasn’t going to make up excuses or lie, I’m not that kind of girl. “I’ve been sleeping for hours. It’s been a shitty day.”

  Chris took off his leather jacket and was about to sit on the couch when he grabbed the cordless off the floor. It was making that annoying sound when the phone has been off the hook too long. He turned it off.

  “That would explain why I couldn’t reach you,” he said, “and I don’t have your cell number.”

  I had never really thought to offer it.

  “I need to fix that,” he said. He pulled out his own. “What is it?” There was a grin on his face. It lightened my mood, which I needed.

  I don’t have a dainty giggle or a modest chuckle. I don’t have a hideous cackle either, but my laughs tend to be loud. One of them burst out.

  “Fine, fine,” I said. I gave it to him and then offered him something to drink. He gladly accepted so I pulled a couple of beers out of the fridge. They weren’t the twist off kind, forcing me to rummage through the drawers to find the bottle opener. By the time I got the beers opened, I found Chris over by the ficus. He grabbed the watering can beside it and poured what was left through the withering leaves.

  “I’m terrible with plants,” I said.

  He turned and smiled. “You haven’t killed it yet.”

  But I almost did, no thanks to you.

  He sat on the futon and picked up the leather-bound stack of papers. “These look old.”

  I sat next to him. “I just got them today.” Then I picked up the ones from Joan. “With these.”

  I’m not exactly sure why I did that. Chris was a good friend, someone I knew I could confide in, but even this was a bit more than I would have shared with him. Our friendship had been growing steadily since I met him. I think he actually knew more about me than my roommate did. Tonight, I think I needed someone to read the crap printed there and to understand; to be on my side, as childish as that seemed.

  He scanned the letter. Every once in a while his eyebrows would furrow.

  I sucked on my beer while he read.

  “Wow,” he said. “Is it true?”

  “What, that I’m adopted?”

  “No, …well, yeah, but I was thinking more about this curse thing.”

  I laughed. “Curse? Seriously? You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?”

  “Well it would suck if it’s true.”

  I took another swig. “What sucks is that some crazy woman adopted me because she believed in that crap. I grew up as this thing that needed to be fed, rather than as a daughter.”

  He gave a slight nod, seeming to accept my logic. He took a long swig of his own beer. “So what’s the rest of this stuff?”

  I shrugged, and opened the leather-bound papers.

  It looked to be a diary entry from my grandfather.

  Today, the little green man appeared again. I haven’t seen him in months.

  I nearly spat out my beer at those words. I gulped hard to keep it from spewing out and put the papers back on the coffee table.

  I looked at Chris, lips pressed together. “You still up for some pool?” I asked.

  I needed to get out.

  He looked taken aback for a moment, but smiled and put his beer on the table. “Sure!”

  I got up and slipped into my room. I had a quick glance in the mirror. There was some color in my cheeks. With my hair pulled back in my cap, I figured I could pass for looking like the living.

  I grabbed my jacket. Chris grabbed his, and we were out the door.

  The pool hall was within stumbling distance of my apartment so it didn’t take long to get the
re. We didn’t talk about what I’d just read. I think he got the idea I needed to forget about what had ruined my day.

  A light drizzle moistened the air, and we laughed about our last rugby game. We had narrowly lost because of the rain. It had cost us a round of drinks at the bar with the other team, but it had been all in fun.

  A car sped along the road behind us. Chris nudged me over on the sidewalk so he walked between me and the road. It was a strange thing to notice, but if there was one thing about Chris I’d learned, it was that he had chivalry down to an art.

  He held the door open for me at the pool hall and then took our jackets. After hanging them on stools near the end of the bar, he ordered a couple of beers.

  One of the bartenders, nodded at me. “Usual table?”

  “Thanks, Paul,” I said.

  He thumbed towards Chris’s back and muttered the word, “Really?”

  I laughed. “It’s not like that,” I said.

  “You still with Tony?” he asked.

  One of those bellowing laughs escaped my mouth. I was glad Tony wasn’t there to hear it. “You’ve got to be kidding. That lasted one date.”

  Paul handed me the balls and rack. “Not according to him. By the way he talks, you’re pining for him all the time.”

  I just smiled. “Then let him think that.”

  Chris turned from the bar. Two beers in hand, he sauntered over, looking me straight in the eyes. For a brief moment, I couldn’t move.

  All I could focus on was his green eyes. It was sort of a captivating moment in which my feet were glued to the floor.

  I could swear for a brief second his eyes changed — to something brighter. My breath caught in my throat as he walked towards me.

  I felt my face flush. I fumbled to rack the balls, trying to catch my breath once more and turn my attention away from his eyes.

  This wasn’t good. This wasn’t the time to be looking at him like this, if ever. He was way out of my league.

  I handed him one of the cues. His finger brushed mine as he took it. I looked away as fast as I could.