Swerve

by Michelle McGriff

  Taking off her helmet while in the drive-thru, she ordered a falafel to go. She handed the girl her money and whizzed past the window before the girl would have had time to identify her. Now to eat and figure out where to hide my bike, she thought while she cruised the streets. She remembered this neighborhood well; it was the one she grew up on while in the foster home. She then remembered the church that her mother took her to. It was a Catholic church with many paintings on the ceiling and walls. She remembered her mother taking her there. Her mother would often go into the confessional and visit the priest—confessing to sins that Romia could only now imagine her mother to have. How could such a perfect woman have ever done anything wrong? But then, who is my father? Romia asked herself for the first time in many years.

  Thinking again about the church, Romia figured that if nothing else, she would be able to eat in peace there. Taking Interstate 80 North to the exit before the Richmond-San Rafael Bridge, she jumped on the 580 until the next-to-last exit coming up then to the Chevron refinery. Heading left onto Tewksbury, she reached Santa Fe Avenue and West Richmond. That is where the rectory and church were. She was surprised she still remembered how to get there. It had been many years since she’d been there.

  The church was open so she went in, slipping into a nice, comfortable-looking pew in the back to eat. She felt calm now. The walls, the paintings, the familiar all soothed her. The food was good as she basically inhaled it.

  Leaning her head back, she must have appeared to be praying, although it had been years since Romia had done that. Just then, on the ceiling she noticed the tapestry embedded in the ceiling’s artwork. Cocking her head to the side, she tried to follow the design. “I don’t believe it,” she mumbled, noticing a familiar one. She reached inside her bra, only to find her tapestry piece missing. She began patting herself madly, pulling her clothes from her body and looking down the front of them. She must have lost it in the fight back at The Spot. She had to get back there before the police found it.

  Just then, the priest entered the cathedral hall where she was. She stood quickly and quietly, hoping to leave before he engaged her in conversation. She needed to get out of there, to sort the questions that were forming in her mind based on what she had just seen—or thought she had seen. The priest saw her and jumped. “Hello, child, you startled me. I had no idea anyone was here.”

  “I’m not, I’m leaving. Thanks for the use of your place,” she said coolly, picking up her helmet and her empty food container.

  “Why are you running away? Stay and pray. You’re hurt,” he said, noticing the tear in Romia’s sleeve. She had forgotten about it, considering she didn’t bleed heavily from anywhere else except her mouth. Apparently, the cut was just a graze as it had all but healed, or so it appeared.

  “Thanks, Father, but no. I mean, not today. I’m not Catholic for one, and I’m kinda in a hurry for another.”

  “Are you in trouble? You don’t look rested. Have you been traveling?” he asked.

  “Stop with the questions!” she snapped. “I’m a cop. I’m not supposed to rest. That’s my job,” she smarted off. He looked at her sideways as if suddenly recognizing her…perhaps from the newspaper, she thought immediately.

  “You’re the one they’re looking for,” he said.

  “Look. I’m innocent. I haven’t murdered anyone…not in the true sense of the word. I…” Romia stammered, watching the priest grow nervous. He wasn’t like the ones on television who seemed to read minds and hearts. He was scared, and any minute would probably break and run for the phone. “Listen, Father, I’m going to leave now and you can do what you want.”

  “No! Don’t leave. They asked me to keep you here should you realize your destiny and come here. You’re…you’re the Phoenix,” he said in a foreign language that, for a second, Romia felt she understood. The chill that ran down her spine shook her whole body instantly.

  “What did you just say?” she asked, thinking maybe her ears were playing tricks on her.

  “You need to stay,” he said, clearly in English now.

  “Not gonna happen,” she said before dashing out the back door of the church and hopping on her Phoenix, which she decided just that moment to name her bike. The way the bike just reappeared at that tavern was as if rising from the ashes. It was magical indeed.

  Riding around for hours, the day slipped away.

  “Keliegh, pick up the phone. I need to talk to you,” she said into the receiver after having stopped at a pay phone. She figured it was the safest way to contact him. Waiting only a second longer, she hung up and trudged back to her bike. She rode a while longer, jumping on Highway 1 and exiting at Half Moon Bay. Stepping off the bike, she pulled the helmet off and loosened her hair, pulling the rubber band around her wrist. She noticed her torn sleeve now and examined the nick for the first time. It was a little tender, but not enough to bother her. She thought about Mike for the first time today. He was dead.

  She was sure the wrong people were dying in this battle. And I don’t even know why I’m at war. But I do know I’m the one they are after…whoever they are. Mike shouldn’a died. She shook her head sadly. She thought about the three men who had come to the tavern and attacked her. The accents…She tried again to place them but everything moved so quickly. How did they know about…? She turned her helmet and looked at the emblem. But then that just let me know they wanted me. They were there to get me. But why?

  Looking around, she noticed the beach was basically empty, only a couple of dog walkers. She took her helmet under her arm as she ventured down the rocky crag toward the water’s edge. Looking out over the bay, she tried to sort her feelings. She’d killed today, with her bare hands. She’d done what she was sworn to never do. “But I had to,” she said aloud.

  She felt unlike herself. She felt as if maybe…

  Maybe her strange dreams had come true.

  “That dream. My gosh, it was so horrible,” she said, remembering it, speaking aloud. It didn’t matter that she spoke at full voice. No one was noticing her, no one cared. The tall man walking his dog had no overt awareness of her presence. The lonely looking woman just walked with folded arms, staring out over the ocean as she meandered mindlessly along. Surely that woman wasn’t noticing her. “It’s as if they can’t see me. It’s as if I’m dead and they can’t see me.” It was a strange feeling—almost an invisible feeling. Romia had never felt the sensation before—as if she were dead, yet walking among the living.

  Quickly, she shook her head free of the morbid thought. “Come on, chosen one,” she said to herself, using the term of endearment her mother used for her when teasing. No one other than her mother had ever referred to her as such, even in jest. She felt chosen by no one other than her mother. When her mother died, she felt nothing more than the opposite: unchosen, unwanted, alone. “It’s just not that serious,” she said, contemplating her morbid thoughts and chuckling under her breath.

  Turning to climb back up the rocks, she stopped suddenly at a sight that confused and, for a second, frightened her. There at the top of the crag stood the white man from the night before.

  The dead man.

  He was smiling at her, the front of his shirt red with blood.

  “What the…” she gasped. “You’re not dead! Who are you?” she cried out. She rushed up the jagged hillside, back to where she had parked her bike. She was trying not to take her eyes off him for fear he would disappear, but her feet were missing solid landings. She was sliding, stumbling, fumbling.

  “Wait right there!” she called out, gaining solid footing and moving quickly up the crag.

  The man fanned his hand and started walking away.

  “Wait!” she screamed, slamming the helmet on her head and doubling her speed up the hillside.

  Reaching the top, she looked for him but only saw the dust his motorcycle kicked up, and the woman riding on the back of it. “Dammit!” She stomped. “Dammit,” she spat again, before running to her motorcycle to
follow them.

  She gasped suddenly, noticing her jacket lying neatly over the seat. Looking around again for any sign of the man, she reached slowly for her jacket. Her hands shook. “What’s happening to me?” she asked, shrugging into the leather. The comfort came immediately. She rubbed the sleeves, inhaling the scent. “Hello, old friend. I could have used you when that fool was cutting at me. Where have you been?” she asked her favorite garment. Just then, she realized again how quickly her arm had seemed to heal. A smile crept to her lips. “Well, at least I wasn’t chosen to bleed to death.”

  Mounting her bike, she headed in the direction the man and woman had gone. Finding him was a fantasy now, she knew, but at least she could try.

  Strangely enough, the panic she once felt was leaving her heart. She felt almost euphoric, otherworldly. Perhaps it was the satisfaction that indeed she hadn’t killed that man. Perhaps it was insanity showing its head through her logical senses. Either way, giving up without much effort, she turned south and headed down the peninsula until she reached Santa Cruz. There she sat on the beach until sunset. She sat there, emptying her head of all rational thoughts and fears. Finally, she pulled herself together. She needed to confront Maxwell Huntington. She needed to find out who those men were who tried to kill her back at The Spot. She needed to confront her fears of being arrested and confined.

  Climbing on her bike, she headed back north to the city. She was tempted to go back to the church but changed her mind. Instead, she headed where she felt she would find understanding.

  She was in the middle of something—a key player maybe. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t even know the game, let alone the rules.

  Chapter 18

  Twenty-nine years ago

  The power had gone to his head. It was just that simple. Even he had to admit it. It wasn’t that complicated of a situation. Focusing on natural abilities, extrasensory perceptions, and biophysical anomalies, the Phoenix had trained up a team of young people who to the outside appeared to be supernatural, paranormal, and beyond mysterious.

  Phoenix played on those natural talents and the gullibility of those young people in order to build his own empire. He had governments eating out of his hand. Bidding for assignments turned eventually into those same people begging for his help. Soon it didn’t matter whose side of the flag he was on, as long as the price was right.

  A life of luxury he had and provided for those he’d raised as he would his own children—along with his own children. Yes, the Phoenix had children, yet he’d only claimed one: Stone.

  Stone was his pride and joy.

  Everyone figured it was because of his confident ways and leadership abilities, but Stix knew differently. He knew Stone’s secret. He had pyrokinetic abilities. He was a fire freak—just like the Phoenix was. Once Stone got older he actually put two and two together and figured out the reason the Phoenix was the Phoenix and yes, it all had to do with this ability of his—this heightened physical anomaly that enabled him to start fires at will. Stone was young when he realized he had the ability as well. At first it scared him, but after a little training he quickly began to use it to his advantage.

  “And it’s not fair when you’re a true leader,” Stix explained. “All that hocus pocus really can only take you so far.”

  “So what are your abilities, considering you claim that the Phoenix is your father too?” She asked, as if knowing the answer.

  “He is my father and, no, I have no such ‘abilities.’”

  “So you felt disfavored?”

  “Unchosen would be more appropriate of a word, but yes. It’s not as if Stone is any older. We were born on the same night,” Stix continued.

  “Ah, twins of a different mother. I’ve heard of that phenomenon as well.”

  “There is no hocus pocus in that. My father—our father—was just a man whore who liked his share of women and had no respect for precautions or birth control methods.”

  “You hate your father, don’t you?” again her question seemed rhetorical.

  Stix looked away from the woman and then turned back to look deep in her eyes. He wished now that he had the mental abilities of Capri, that of clairsentience, so that he could read her thoughts, or of electrokinesis so that he could show her something powerful, such as turning on and off the lights with his mind. Or maybe even if he, like his brother, had inherited the heightened senses that would allow him to start a fire from his chair.

  “Maybe I just hate everyone,” he admitted.

  “So you no longer profess loyalties to this group, and we can have your help in tracking them down and arresting them.” The female special agent asked.

  “And in return I get what?”

  “You get amnesty.” The female agent assured.

  For allowing him to hunt down his family like dogs, Stix would be able to avoid prison.

  Chapter 19

  An unsolved case of hit and run, that was all the report said. Unsatisfactory, as far as Romia was concerned. She’d never looked into her mother’s death file this closely before but now, in light of all that was happening, she could only start there for answers. This was the library. She had gone there earlier in the day. It was a public record she pulled up, and she had to wonder how much she was really learning and how much was just made up.

  Murder? Could someone have murdered her? Why?

  Her mother was a private person. She loved to laugh. She enjoyed walks in the park, snuggling, and making cocoa on cold nights. They lived quietly, that Romia remembered. No grandparents, no aunts, uncles, cousins, or father. Mother was all Romia had. When she was taken from her, Romia had nothing. Fighting curbed her anger and being a cop curbed her loneliness. When the force took away her ability to fight outside the competitive ring, she was okay with it; she had Keliegh, her partner and only friend.

  When he moved on in his career, she was given another partner. The void was obvious and the discomfort between her and her partner clear. But still, she had Keliegh as a friend, her only one. Eventually, with her friendship to Keliegh came Tommy, which was okay. Tommy seemed to know her need for Keliegh and never challenged or made an issue of Romia’s place in Keliegh’s life. Now, for no reason at all, everything was crazy. Everything was twisted around. Even Keliegh seemed to not trust her anymore. She was about to lose it all. The anger was returning, and so was the loneliness. She wanted to fight, to bite, to hate—the same way she felt for many days, weeks, and months after her mother died.

  A father? The thought of that just made her angrier.

  Maybe Tommy was right, maybe she needed to just turn herself in and get this over with. All this running was making her sick and getting her nowhere closer to anything close to the truth.

  Romia knew she would kill again if pressed. That, alone, was breaking her peaceful heart; the one she felt her mother had left her within the power of the phoenix tapestry, which to Romia was the symbol of peace and power over self. Her mind wandered now while sitting at her mother’s gravesite. She’d been there for hours at the cemetery.

  Why did that man call me Phoenix? What did he mean? How did he know about the tapestry or the meaning behind it? Did he know? Do I even know?

  Tonight she would turn herself in to Maxwell Huntington. She would give up the quest for understanding. Maybe while behind bars the powers that be would get to the bottom of the mystery that shrouded her life right now. Or maybe she would just fade away into invisibility, the way she believed she was headed right now.

  “How could I have seen a dead man?” she asked her mother’s headstone. “Was that a symbol? No. He had my jacket.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this.”

  She touched the cool concrete of the tombstone. She again thought about her mother’s beauty. Her voice. Her smile. Romia felt her eyes burn but fought the tears back by sucking in a chest full of air.

  “Who is my father?” she asked out of the blue. It was a question she’d never pondered before. “I need him right now,�
� she added.

  Perhaps it was Maxwell Huntington that spurred on her inquiry. He was so intimidating and forceful. She felt the need to give in to his demands. It was the way she always felt a father would make her feel: compliant. She sure would have preferred a father over Maxwell, however. She knew that even without meeting her father.

  “Because I don’t trust Maxwell,” she told her mother’s memory. “I don’t trust anyone, really,” she mumbled, rising to her feet. “But if you told me to trust my father, I’d find him and I’d trust him. I know you want me to trust Keliegh and I do.”

  Chapter 20

  Reaching his apartment, Keliegh was done looking for Romia. He had no real idea of where to start. He’d watched her apartment for hours. “As if she’d be dumb enough to go back there. I know that about her. I know she wouldn’t do that. I know…” He realized after a second longer pause that he didn’t know that much about her. “How am I supposed to know who she killed without knowing anything about her?” And there was no way of knowing who was killed at The Spot besides Mike, not without having his uncle break a million rules and jeopardizing his career.

  Romia’s situation had his head hurting. He was too filled with pride to admit his heart hurt as well.

  He wanted to talk to her. He needed to talk to her. Peeking out his window, he noticed the unmarked car. He’d given the guy a run for his money all day, following him since the moment he’d left that morning. Keliegh paced his apartment like a caged animal. He’d put in a call to Tommy and was waiting for her to get back to him.

  Glancing over at his cell phone that sat on his kitchen counter, he noticed thirteen earlier missed calls. Most of the calls were from Tommy. Checking his phone for the messages, he saw that there were only three from Shashoni. He figured Tommy would not have left a voice mail. He noticed one call from an unknown number. He pondered the unknown call that had come in earlier, wondering if it was from Romia. He wondered how he’d missed that call. “Too much focus on saving her, I end up missing a chance to talk to her—shit!” he blurted, tossing his cell phone onto the sofa. He missed her.