by Elle Klass
Charlotte Greenbrier A.K.A. Student
I used the power of the internet to find information on my mom. Not sure where to start I checked out archived newspaper articles; disappearances, strange deaths. I found many disappearances, but none my mom or even close. I looked through deaths, murders and unsolved mysteries.
Finally, I discovered a story describing a young unidentified woman found floating upstream in a river. It wasn’t far from where I grew up and the date was during the time she went missing - within the months of my being alone in the cabin. The article supplied a few details: female, early thirties, red hair and petite in size. The description matched my mom. Ligature marks on the women’s neck suggested strangulation prior to being tossed into the river, and her attacker unknown. If this woman was my mom, did she whore herself out to the wrong man or was it a drug deal gone bad? Answers but even more questions. On a tablet beside the computer I scribbled the name of the officer in charge of the case and the author of the newspaper article. I yanked my notes off the tablet and stuffed them into my pocket.
Now I had phone calls to make, but not from my room - any calls made through the hotel were on record via the phone bill. I didn’t want to be followed by Mr. Dancy Eyes, or anyone else. In the past I melted into a crowd, seen but not seen. Now each direction I turned my face stared back at me, and I longed to blend. Didier had clothes in my room, so I rummaged through them until I found something that looked acceptable. A pair of baggy pants and a buttoned shirt. I pulled my hoodie over it, rolled my hair into a cap, and took a quick glance in the mirror. Not too horrible since oversized clothes were in style.
On the streets, I needed a phone, an untraceable one… a throwaway cell phone. A jiffy store stood a few blocks from the hotel. A place selling cigarettes, candy and other miscellaneous items including disposable cell phones. I purchased one and headed to the hotel. No good. My sense of anonymity forced the need to find someplace with no connection to my present life. I spotted a small café with seating outside and nobody else around, I made my phone calls. I wasn’t sure who to talk to first, but thought the nosy media might be my best choice.
The reporter who worked my mother’s case was as good a place as any to start, I thought. Her office gave me a run around and after several minutes patched me through to her.
“Gina Brandt.” Her voice suggested a person straight and to the point.
“Thanks for speaking with me. My name is Charlotte Greenbrier. I’m a journalism student and I would like to ask you questions about a case you worked. I have to write a paper on an unsolved mystery.”
“Which case?”
“A couple years ago, the police found a woman in her early thirties with red hair floating upstream in a river?”
“Yeah, bad postmortem bruising, most likely caused by the stream’s current dragging and bouncing her off the rocks. Her body decomposing for months. She didn’t have ID, and no dental records or finger prints matched hers in the system.” Gina Brandt’s words showed no emotion.
The article ran in several papers within the area, providing no new leads. She was a mystery woman, whom nobody claimed. The tears welled up in my eyes, and my throat burned. I struggled to hold back my sorrow. My mom was a junkie and not much of a mother, but she was all I had until an unknown assailant took her from me.
“Could you describe her?” I asked.
“Sure. Caucasian, approximately five feet tall, thin, with freckles, and track marks ran up and down her arms, but the papers printed that. I was in your shoes once so I’ll give you something the papers didn’t print and lead nowhere, you might can do something with it. The police found a damaged picture tucked into her shoe. The extensive damage made the picture near impossible to tell the child’s features or sex, except it was a picture of a child - the consensus female.”
I thanked her, and she relayed which police station held the picture in evidence, in case I wanted to take a look. After hanging up I composed myself. My mother was a loser, but she hadn’t left me on purpose. Someone took her from me and she loved me enough to keep my picture with her.
I paid my bill and walked. My mind needed the opportunity to mull over the new information. What involvements did my mother have that got her killed? Drugs? I knew it was drugs, well, possibly not. We lived a quiet, secluded life. Was she running from something, like I ran? Was my life a mirror of hers? Did she get pregnant with me, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to, she turned inside herself. The times she disappeared she spent days, sometimes weeks gone. I assumed she worked because she came back with money, food, and clothing. Whore with a conscience came to mind, who wanted to keep her child from following in her footsteps. Not that we had much of a life but she spent most of her time with me during my earliest years when I couldn’t fend for myself.
If I called the police now, what would I ask them? So much to think over I went to the hotel, snuck up to my room without being noticed, I thought.
I sank into the tub with a bottle of wine and blasted the jets.
Didier woke me with a gentle kiss and nudge. “Justine, this is a bad habit, you… the tub and wine.” His gentle voice edged towards scolding. He helped me out of the tub wrapped me in a towel, and pat dried my body. Small streams of water from the edges of my hair traced a path down my back. He placed one hand under my legs and the other across my back, lifted me up, and lay me on the bed. His kisses smothered my body sending a quake of hot shivers through me. We made sweet love. Spent, I soon slipped into sleep.
My sleep haunted me. First, in the darkened woods by my childhood shack home I, as Justine, ran from a man whom I have never seen or met. I wore nothing but shorts and a tank while deformed branches scraped against my skin as my body brushed against the trees. The man had straight black hair and coal eyes. In his hand he carried a noose. My foot got stuck between two rocks. I fell forward from the momentum of running. The leaves caught me. I twisted my head to glance over my shoulder, he vanished, and I was twelve years old and alone in the shack. In my next dream I saw my mom in a restaurant, holding a picture in her hand, arguing with the man who chased me. He handed her an envelope and left, angry. My sleep offered me no rest. I woke up confused about who I was and where I came from and a lump in my gut hinting my life was in danger. Was my mom really my mom? Deep down I knew she wasn’t - we didn’t look alike.
Who’s Slug?
Didier kept me busy the next few days while I continued assessing, and determining, what my next move should be. Call the police? What would I say to them? That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks! My mother’s letters! I stuffed them into my backpack when I left the shack, but I couldn’t get to them until Didier left again. He commented on my strange behavior, calling it, ‘melancholy’. I did my best to act appropriately. I didn’t want him to suspect anything while I waited for him to have an of town emergency needing immediate attention. Each day my anxiety grew. It became more difficult to control my flailing emotions. Finally! I caught him packing. Without sounding too apprehensive leading him to think I didn’t care or my restlessness had to do with him I curbed my enthusiasm.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I will overnight at the most.” His intense eyes searching my soul. I wasn’t sure if the intensity was him not wanting to leave or his worry for me and my strange behavior.
To squelch his concern for me and get attention before he left I strode to his side, wrapped my arms around him, and buried my head into his chest. I wanted him to leave knowing I’d be OK. His scent and firm arms were inviting. “You go, take care of your business. You’ll be gone just long enough for me to miss you.” I said in my coyest playful voice.
“I do miss every moment without you.” He gave me a kiss that played across my lips and lingered.
From the terrace I watched him leave. As soon as his car departed, I ran back into my room, pulled my backpack out of hiding, and tore through it, looking for the letters. I found them in the bottom, squished and be
nt, but present. There were four, three from someone who called himself Slug, dated three years apart. Who would want to be called Slug?
The first letter I was three, it read, The Tomato Shack at 3:30 on 3/11, the next The Tomato Shack at 5:00 on 8/30. I made a mental note to find out what the Tomato Shack was. Slug couldn’t be his real name, so maybe Tomato Shack and Slug were code words. The next letter read, 1523 Tanwood Dr. at 2:00 on 1/20 and bring the girl. I must be the girl, but why would someone who calls himself Slug want anything to do with me? Bells and whistles blasted in my head. My mother kidnapped me! They read like ransom letters. Bring the girl, the words jumped off the page at me. My suspicions of my mother not being my biological mother now confirmed. She kidnapped me! The last letter from Slug read, this will be the last meeting. I don’t want to see pictures of the child and if you refuse to bring her I will hunt you down and kill you both!!!!! Tomato Shack 10:00 4/23. Five exclamation points, one would have been enough to make his point! His harsh words sent chills climbing up my spine. The date on the letter a couple weeks before my mother’s, or kidnapper’s, disappearance.
A chill swirled in the air surrounding me and it fell quiet. He killed her and now he’s hunting me? Could Slug be Einstein’s killer? No, Einstein’s killer confessed and was sitting in jail. My mind reeled, and thoughts played through my head. Was I abducted at a young age to protect me from Slug or did my true family hire him to find me?
My mom wrote the final letter. It stated Sweet Baby on the envelope. I opened the letter carefully and pulled out its contents. Inside contained pictures of me dressed up in taffeta and velvet dresses, and patent leather shoes. The dates printed on the backs coincided with Slug’s letter – every three years. I remembered having the pictures taken, her dressing me up, and putting rollers in my straight hair the night before taking me to the studio. The pictures were deceiving a person looking at them wouldn’t know the tormented life I lived, how she abandoned me periodically for weeks at a time. Later forced to run away and live on the streets.
My heart pounded hard, and I attempted to catch my breath as I placed the pictures back into the envelope and uncurled my mother’s letter…
Sweet Baby,
I know I haven’t been much of a mother to ya. I haven’t given ya much of a life. Without me ya wouldn’t have had no life at all. I took ya and was saposed to give ya to somebody. I could’t stand to see yar life end before it began. So I didn’t give ya to them. I kep ya. I have always kep ya secret. Nobody nows where ya are. The people that want ya are powerfu. They are real rich and can do most anything they want. I tell ya this cause I want ya to be careful. Don’t ever let them find ya. They won’t hestate to kill ya. I don’t think I’ll be comin back. I do love ya and hope ya unerstand I had to keep ya hidden to keep ya alive.
Mommy
My brain couldn’t digest the information put on its plate. The room whirled out of control before my eyes. According to my mom, she abducted me to protect me from my true family? Who was my family, the mafia? Why would they want an innocent baby gone? My life just got a hundred times more insane than a few moments ago before reading the letters.
My mom wasn’t much of a mom. In fact, she was a horrible mom, but she kept me hidden, alive. I had to do something for her so I picked up my throw away phone and called the police. An Officer La Tige was in charge of my mother’s case. The receptionist said he no longer worked for them, but she would patch me through to his partner, Officer Han. I anonymously referred to the case and told him the shack’s location and mentioned she didn’t live alone. She lived with her daughter. I hung up and dropped the phone in a sink loaded with bleach.
Next, I took the phone and smashed it with a hammer I picked up while dumpster diving in my previous street urchin life. I grabbed a small plastic garbage bag and picked up the pieces, pulled my hat over my head, and placed my sunglasses on my face. Ready with sneakers, baggy jeans, a sweatshirt and no makeup, I left. I walked to the metro station, got on and rode, where to didn’t matter. A safe distance from the hotel, I got off the train and walked, dumped phone bits and pieces into the trash, then strolled back to the metro. I got off again, deposited the bag holding the rest of the phone, and then journeyed home. This woman, my kidnapper mother at least would have a grave with a marker. Good luck trying to trace me.
Aruba
I made the choice to put my past behind me. My brain reached maximum absorption and needed time to process. Justine’s increasing popularity gave me a false sense of security. After all, there would be more unwanted publicity for the murderer now than during my street urchin days. Many magazines and tabloids had my, Justine’s, face plastered on their front covers. Agents called me to participate in photo shoots. I accepted and fooled myself into believing the more famous I became, the less chance anyone had to kill me. Didier flipped the last time he left me alone because he couldn’t get hold of me. Now he kept me glued to his side or with the bodyguard he hired for me, Sam. Sam was tall and built like a truck. Didier cared for me and worried. He wanted me safe at any cost.
A popular sports magazine approached me about doing a swimsuit photo op in Aruba. Intrigued, I accepted their offer. Didier passed on accompanying me - the downside of running an empire - but I had Sam.
When we stepped out of the airport, the sun instantly warmed my skin and mild breezes teased my hair. A limo waited to drive us to the resort. There were twelve models, one for each month, most professionals. From feet to top of head, I stood five two and a half, a midget beside them. Gorgeous didn’t describe each woman’s magnificence. The tabloids and now semi-professional modeling career forced me to look at myself in a different light and accept my own beauty. True, I lacked the height, but according to a popular tabloid my exotic looks can’t be rivaled.
The magazine set us up in a beach resort. My suite was smaller and simpler than what I had grown accustomed too. Tired from the flight and with a few hours to settle-in before our dinner, I wandered to the beach. The clear ocean water offered an unobstructed view of the tiny fish swimming below its surface. Where the ocean met the beach the tide followed a zigzag pattern. I followed the pattern for a mile or more before settling in the sand and allowing the water to move up and down my legs in a rhythmic fashion. Past moments flickered through my head - how my life had changed in a couple short years. Instead of warehouses and leftovers I flew to fascinating romantic places. As I lay my head back in the sand and closed my eyes, Einstein’s face flashed behind my lids and I sensed him. I knew the moment would only last for a few short seconds so I held on as long as possible until the moment passed.
After dinner, in the quiet of my room which I shared with another model, Kamisha, and with Sam across the hall, we opened the door, allowing the breeze and calming sound of the tide to lull us to sleep. My mind was at peace, no haunted images invaded my dreams.
I woke up to Kamisha shuffling through her make-up bag. She was tall with legs that stretched forever, a figure displaying curves in the right places and skin darker than my own. I didn’t feel my figure and face stacked up to hers. “Good morning,” I yawned out, stretching my body.
“Good morning to you, our breakfast is on its way.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t order, compliments of our employers. While working we eat what they feed us. You’re new at this, huh?”
“Is it that obvious?”
Laughing, she said, “Yeah. You’ll get used to it. We get a couple free days on the back, we could grab drinks and go snorkeling?”
I propped my limp body on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I would love to have fun while I’m here.”
After day two I was ready for real food, but I held fast and followed their diet and schedule. One more day and I could enjoy my surroundings, which already won over my heart. My stomach woke me up that night, rumbling like thunder. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, from the corner of my eye a shadow passed. When I turned my head I saw nothing, and my eyes drifted to Kamisha re
sting in her bed. I assumed my imagination, or perhaps my hunger, was playing brain tricks. Within minutes I drifted back to sleep and woke up late. I rushed to prepare for the day.
The final day was upon me! As much as I enjoyed the experience I couldn’t wait for the day to end. Scheduled tonight was a giant celebration with the girls, magazine reps, photographers, and everyone else involved.
Back in the room I checked my phone. One missed call from Didier. I looked towards my dresser to glimpse his picture I laid there on night one, but it wasn’t there. Anxiously, I tossed the drawers, my suitcase and crawled under my bed. Kamisha walked into the room. “What are you doing under the bed?” She giggled, curiosity on her face.
With my butt in the air, I twisted my head, the bedspread draped over my face, my eyes peering out from under it. “I misplaced a picture of my boyfriend, Didier. It was on my dresser. Have you seen it?”
“No, but I’ll help you search.” Both of us tore the room apart, and both came up empty handed. “Possibly it fell and the cleaning lady accidentally threw it out.”
I heaved a sigh. “Maybe.” No time to ponder. I returned Didier’s call and talked to him while I relaxed on the balcony for several minutes before hanging up and prepared for the night ahead.
At the after party drinks and food flowed heavily, and my eyes grew bigger than my stomach as I never starved myself on purpose. I ate, drank, and after a couple hours qualified for tipsy and having an awesome time. “You see that girl, the short blond one standing beside the food table?” Kamisha asked me.
“What about her?”
“Have you seen her the past few days?”
“Don’t think so.”
“It’s odd, everyone else here I recognize - except her.”
The alcohol kicked in and I felt no pain, so I sauntered over to her. “Hi, I’m Justine. I haven’t seen you yet. Who are you with?”