The BlackBurne Legacy (The Bloodlines Legacy Series Book 1)

by Apryl Baker

  Everything bad that has ever happened to me centers around the day my mom left us. The nightmares started the night she left and gradually got worse, and then when I cracked, I remember seeing her face flash in and out of the glimpses of snarling, snapping teeth. When I first checked into Compton, they put me in the “infirmary.” It’s the smell that stays with me. It smells of antiseptic and sterile cleaning fluids. I almost choked on that smell for the first few days. The doctors couldn’t understand it. The scent overpowered everything else. They had to move me to a room that was free of the cloying scents. I started to breathe normally after that. It’s one of the few things I remember before my mind checked out for a while.

  They strapped me to the bed, to keep me from hurting myself, they said, but it was more to keep them safe from me. I was only twelve, and apparently I’d done some kind of damage to a few orderlies when they’d tried to help the nurses calm me down during my night terrors my first night there. I’d been strapped down every night for the first two years I was there. It wasn’t until they’d found the proper blend of meds to keep the nightmares away that they’d stopped with the restraints.

  That is one of the most horrible feelings in the world, to wake up immobile, to not be able to move. It’s terrifying in and of itself, but if you added my fear into the equation, it was almost debilitating. I was so scared all the time. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, I felt abandoned by everyone. They hadn’t allowed me visitors for over a year. The doctors decided I needed time for my therapy to work.

  It was during therapy that the doctor had determined all my issues stemmed from what happened to me that day in the park, and my mother leaving me the next day only compounded the issue. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to remember what happened, and she is…was the only person who can tell me what happened. Now, I will never know, so does that mean I’ll never get better? Will I always live with this constant fear, this feeling of the walls closing in on me? Will I ever really be normal?

  My worst fear is that I’ll end up back in the mental hospital. The kids I met, the ones I got to know, the few I’d called friends, shared the same fear. We used to talk about it outside of group. We knew we were messed up, and the real question always was, can we be fixed? I still have no answer to that one, but deep down, I don’t think we can. Once you break as badly as we did, I’m not sure anyone can put the pieces back together.

  My mother had caused me to end up the mess I am. I can’t forgive her for that. I can’t.

  “Hey,” Jason says from behind me and then falls down beside me. “You okay?” His eyes are wary, concerned.

  “I’m not wiggin’ out, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” My voice is quiet, hollow. “Did Emma tell you?”

  “About why she left?” He nods. “Yeah, but…”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I finish for him. “I do love her, Jase, but I can’t forgive her.”

  “I know,” he whispers. “I love her too, but I can’t stop hating her either, and it hurts, Sis. It hurts so much. She’s our mama, and she’s gone.”

  Tears trail wet paths down his cheeks, and I start crying myself. He pulls me close and we sit there for the longest time like that, wrapped up in our memories. My brother and I are close, made so by the mother who walked out and left us. It made us harder, more determined to protect each other. No matter what, we will always have each other. She can’t take that from us.

  Some people’s memories of their loved ones fade as time goes by. Mine don’t. I can still remember the sound of her voice as she sang me to sleep or hear her laughter as she listened to a joke only a six-year-old would find funny. She always smelled like apples and cinnamon, claiming it was Dad’s fault for making her bake so many apple pies. The feel of her arms is imprinted into my skin. She used to get into bed with me when I’d had bad dreams and hold me until I went to sleep. She told me every day how much she loved me. It hurts to remember those things. I locked them away in a box for so long, but now that they’re out, they eat at me.

  She’s my mama, and she’s gone. Just…gone. I’ll never hear her tell me she loves me or feel her hug me again. I’ll never get the chance to tell her goodbye. No matter what she’s done to us, I love her, and losing her hurts. I can’t seem to breathe past this crushing pain in my chest. It just hurts.

  A few hours later, I crawl under my own covers. My bear, Gingi, is firmly grasped in my clutches. The poor little thing has seen so much wear and tear over the years. Dad said Uncle Sabien gave him to me for my third birthday. My ragtag little bear is my woobie. Always has been, always will be.

  Jason and I talked for a long time. We both agreed on one thing. Even if she did leave because she thought she had no choice, how were we supposed to forgive her?

  I don’t think it’s the leaving part that hurt so much. No, we could have lived with that, but she ignored us for years. Did we get so much as a birthday card or a phone call? No. Yet she found the time to talk to her own brother almost every day. What are we supposed to think? Parents put their children first, and Alesha hadn’t done that, whether she meant to or not. Forgiveness isn’t in the cards right now. The anger burns too hot, too fresh.

  I pull Gingi close and go to sleep.

  ***

  When tragedy strikes, it is swift, brutal, and leaves a trail of broken bodies in its wake. There is no mercy; it takes no prisoners. I came to understand that over the next few days—some of the hardest I’ve ever faced. Jason and I helped with the arrangements for our mother’s funeral just like I’d promised Dad, but neither of us realized how hard it would be. We’d done more than was expected of us, though. We owed Dad that much. At least Uncle Sabien, someone who’d known our mother, could make sure her wishes were honored.

  I stand next to my brother and my father, listening to the minister, and tears gather in my eyes. Reality is catching up. She’s gone. My mother is being put to rest today, and I’ll never see her again. I still love her, no matter how much she hurt me. I always will.

  Emma gives my shoulder a squeeze. God knows what we would have done without her. No one made it past her unless she deemed them necessary.

  I feel my father stiffen and turn my attention back to the graveside service. They are beginning to lower the coffin into the ground.

  “She’s afraid of the dark,” he whispers hoarsely, and Emma wraps her arms around him. My hand flies to my mouth. There is so much raw pain in his voice that it makes me hurt for him. Emma is standing strong. I don’t know how she can, but she is his strength.

  Micah wraps his arms around me, staring grimly at the scene. I lean into him, grateful for his strength. I feel like I am going to collapse at any minute from sheer exhaustion.

  Micah has become my lifeline. He’s been with me every day, always knowing exactly what I need. The weird thing is, the more time I spend with him, the more aware of him I become. Even now I can sense his growing worry.

  The minister concludes his final prayer and everyone files up to the grave to throw in the customary flowers. My mother loved carnations, and that’s what accompanies her down into the cold, dark ground.

  Jason has already fled the scene, no more able to bear Dad’s grief than I am. He stands at the bottom of the hill accepting condolences. Everyone thinks our tears were for our mother. They are, but only a little. Our tears are mostly for our father. We hate seeing him like this, watching him grieve, not knowing how to help him.

  John stands above his ex-wife’s open grave, Emma’s hand clutched tight. It hurts to watch him. I turn away when Micah’s grandfather collects him, and then I start toward Jason.

  Uncle Sabien spots me and waves me over. There are several people with him. I so do not want to hear any more condolences right now.

  “Alex, I would like you to meet some very dear friends of your mother’s. This is George, Helen, and Phillip.”

  The rage surfaces unexpectedly. Friends?

  “Hello, honey.” Helen smiles at me. “I just wanted to let
you know how sorry I am. Your mother was a special woman and close friend. We’ll miss her very much.”

  My expression freezes and my eyes harden. Good for you, I think bitterly. “You were close?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I nod and tamp down the urge to scream.

  Seriously major brownie points for that.

  Sabien’s eyes narrow at my expression, but he says nothing.

  Smart man.

  We pile into the car and remain silent on the ride to Dad’s.

  Mourners flood the house. Whispers banter back and forth while guests eat from the buffet Emma and I spent most of the morning on. It all seems too bizarre to me, and more than a little depressing.

  Emma finds me standing by the window overlooking the back yard.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs for a while, Alex? You look ready to drop.”

  “Thanks, I think I will.”

  Micah leans against the guest room door, waiting for me. He looks as worn out as I feel.

  “Need some company?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  I follow him inside and curl up on the bed, staring at nothing. Micah stretches out in the big, plush, cushy chair by the window. We stay like that for the longest time, content to say nothing. It’s a comfortable silence, and neither of us has the need for idle chitchat. He surrounds me in the smell of crisp clean air and freshly turned dirt. I’ve gotten used to his woodsy scent over the last couple of weeks. It helps to keep me calm and steady somehow.

  Not only that, but Micah understands me on a level that goes beyond simple friendship. It should be weird, but it doesn’t feel weird. It feels natural. He and I forged some kind of deep connection. Micah managed to ingrain himself so thoroughly in my life, he’s become a living, breathing part of me. The last few days have shown me that simple fact. I need him. He keeps me sane.

  “Are you ready to scream yet?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

  My eyes flicker to him. He looks worried.

  “Your eyes are burning with rage, Blue. What happened?”

  “My uncle introduced me to some of my mother’s friends.”

  “And?”

  “Strangers, Micah, strangers knew her better than we did. She chose to spend her time with them instead of us, her family.”

  He sighs.

  I close my eyes in frustration. He’s another Emma in sheep’s clothing. He told me I needed to let go of the anger, that it couldn’t be healthy for me. He has a valid point, yeah, but I don’t care. Not now, maybe not ever.

  “Blue, I’m not going to pretend to understand what you went through or what you’re going through, but I want to help.”

  I do not want to have this conversation. Not right now.

  “I know how much you hurt, Blue. You’ve been angry for a long time, but isn’t it time to start to let go of it? She’s the only mother you’ll ever have. You need to try to get past it, to at least think about forgiving her.”

  “That’s not fair, Micah. You’re making me feel guilty, and I don’t…”

  “You no have to do anything you no want to, munya,” Luka’s voice purrs, whisper soft.

  Micah and I both look up. We hadn’t heard him come in.

  “No one invited you in, Luka.” I cringe at the hostility on Micha’s face. He truly despises Luka, and I don’t know why.

  “It’s fine, Micah,” I tell him, frowning at the anger in his voice.

  “See?” Luka smiles coldly. “She want me here.”

  “She doesn’t know what…”

  “And she knows about…”

  “You know she doesn’t…”

  “Afraid to tell her?”

  “Are you?” Micah dares.

  “What are you two talking about?” I demand, unsure where this hostility of theirs stems from. One thing is certain, though. I am not going to put up with their bickering, not today. I need them both right now. God knows why, but I do.

  “Nothing to worry about, munya,” Luka soothes. His voice wraps around me, and I shiver. Micah, I note, has much the same reaction. Does Luka’s voice affect him too?

  “I think it does concern me.” I sit up and swing my legs over the bed. One of those little flashes of intuition tells me it has everything to do with me, and it puts heat into my words. “What’s going on with you two?”

  Micah and Luka take an involuntary step backward.

  “We may not have a choice in telling her,” Micah whispers.

  “You may be right,” Luka agrees, “but is no why I came in.”

  “Why did you?” I ask.

  “Something you should hear. Come, we hurry.”

  We follow him down the hall and into one of the other guest bedrooms. Voices filter through the vent. I go closer. Uncle Sabien?

  “No,” Sabien argues.

  “They need to know, Sabien.”

  “They’re dealing with too much as it is. I don’t think either of them can handle the truth.”

  “How can you expect to keep them safe, Sabien?”

  “I’m staying here. I promised my sister I’d keep her kids safe. They’re the only family I have left. Besides, we may be jumping the gun here. I haven’t seen any evidence…”

  Someone snorts. “Didn’t you listen to what Mark Ashton said? That boy is extremely fast and strong on the field, and sometimes the things he does defies the laws of gravity.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Sabien’s denies. “He’s been playing the sport since he was a small child. Of course he’s good at it.”

  “What about Alexandria?” a woman asks.

  I realize it’s the people he introduced me to at the funeral.

  “What about her?”

  “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice her eyes, Sabien.”

  My eyes? What about my eyes?

  “It doesn’t matter,” he says obstinately. “I’m here, and I will keep them safe exactly as I promised.”

  “It would be easier if you told them the truth.”

  “No.”

  “There’s no use arguing when he gets like this.” The woman sighs. “We should get back downstairs before we’re missed.”

  I stare blankly at the wall. What the heck is going on?

  Luka turns to look at me. “Your uncle say your mother die in car crash, but I no believe is true.”

  “But why would he lie?”

  “Lie is better than truth, munya, if truth will cause pain.”

  Emma said Mom left to keep us safe. Now Sabien is here to do the same thing? What is going on? So many questions. My head starts to pound and my stomach gets a little queasy. I haven’t eaten all day, and the stress is making it worse. I need food in order to think.

  I hear someone calling my name.

  “Emma,” Micah tells me. How can he know it’s her?

  I open the door and poke my head out. Sure enough, she’s standing at one of the bedroom doors. “Yeah, Emma?”

  “Oh, there you are. I just wanted to check on you.”

  “I’m fine. I really wanted a few minutes by myself, so I ducked in here where no one would look for me.”

  She nods sympathetically. “You should come down and eat something.”

  “I will,” I promise. “Give me a few minutes.”

  I close the door and lean against it.

  “You do need to eat, Alexandria,” Luka tells me. “You too pale.”

  “I’m fine,” I lie. I do need food, but Luka’s pushy manner keeps me from agreeing. It irritates me instead.

  “No, you no fine. You need food.”

  I shoot him a dirty look for his high-handed tone. Luka always assumes he know what is best for me. Arrogance at its worst. All he ever accomplishes is to make me so mad I want to hit something, preferably him. My hands itch to wrap around his neck and wring it.

  “Mind your own business, Luka,” I say instead.

  “You are my business, Alexandria.” He steps closer, his eyes narrowed.

  “Says who?
”

  “Say me.”

  “Now is not the time for this conversation, Luka.” Micah steps between us. “I don’t think she necessarily even needs to be present for it.”

  “What?” I demand, trying to push Micah out of the way.

  “You right,” Luka agrees. “We go back downstairs before anyone else come looking.”

  “Ah, no, we’re not going anywhere until you two explain that little comment to me.”

  They ignore me.

  Micah opens the door.

  They aren’t going to say a word.

  “Shall we?” Luka gestures for me to lead the way.

  Feeling more hostile than I have in a while, I walk stiffly downstairs with them trailing behind.

  They will tell me what’s going on.

  Even if I have to commit an act of extreme violence.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  I stand on the cliffs overlooking the beach, shivering in the cold air. I smell the salt and hear the wind as it sighs over the waves. A light drizzle is falling and the dampness seeps through my thin nightgown, causing goose bumps to break out over my bare arms.

  My mother sprints toward me, her long legs eating up the distance between us. Good Lord, but she is fast. Faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. Her long sable hair swings as she keeps looking over her shoulder. She stops a foot away from me. Her face is as pale as ivory and shows her sadness, but it is her eyes that hold my attention. They glow with a soft amber color.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispers, looking back once more. “You’ll be safe now. Even if they find you, you’ll be safe.”

  She steps off the cliff.

  I wake, barely able to breathe.

  No. It can’t be.

  I recognize those cliffs. I’ve been dreaming about them for days. It was there I’d run from them in my dreams just as my mother ran toward me.

  It can’t be.

  Just a dream, I tell myself.

  God, please let it be just a dream.