Blackness Within (The Blackness Series Book 5)

by Norma Jeanne Karlsson

  “Tosh, you need to go to Blake’s,” my mother orders in her gritty smoker’s voice.

  “I just got done with three twelves. I’m beat, Mom,” I protest weakly.

  “Well, I just got done with an eighteen-hour day and I live in Cameron. I haven’t heard from your brother in two months. Are you really gonna make me drive a fuckin’ hour to find him?”

  And there’s the guilt I’ve come to expect. I turn my car toward Midtown and roll my eyes at myself. I’m too easy. I should stand up to both of them and stop this crazy pattern we’re in. But I can’t. Blake is a drug addict and resembles something that I used to know and love. I know he’s still in there and someday he’ll come back to me. I wake up every morning believing today is the day. I’ve been doing that for nine years now. I would have been doing it longer, but I didn’t know things were bad back then.

  Blake started out smoking pot when he was fourteen. All his friends did it and he was never one to be left out. The one time I tried to join in the seeming merriment, my brother beat Josh Harding to a pulp for handing me a joint. That’s my brother. Destroying himself and saving me.

  “Just go home and get some sleep, Mom. I’m headed to Blake’s now. He’s probably passed out on some chick’s boobs.”

  “Not everyone can be as perfect as you, Natasha,” she sneers in return. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m tired and worried. You are perfect, Toshy and it’s harder for your brother than it is for you.”

  I know she doesn’t mean to take this shit out on me, but I always seem to be on the end of her insults while Blake is on the end of her babying. I wonder if she didn’t hear from me for months if she would worry like she worries about Blake. I don’t think she would. At twenty-nine years old it doesn’t bother me anymore. This is my life.

  “I’ll text you once I find him.”

  “Thanks for doin’ this for me. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  We hang up and I crank the volume on some old school Linkin Park. I’m tired and my body hurts. We had a tough delivery tonight and I can feel it head to toe. The mother and the baby both survived and that’s all that matters at the end of the day.

  I’ve been a labor and delivery nurse just shy of six years. Working my way through nursing school took over five years, but I did it. I waited tables, tended bar, sold shoes, worked in a hardware store, cleaned office buildings and any other thing I could find to make money. When I started school, Blake wasn’t into the drugs he’s on now and he helped me out a lot. He got me my first studio apartment. It was in Northeast, a pretty rough Kansas City neighborhood, but I felt safe enough.

  Then about a year later, Blake started doing cocaine and when that got too expensive, he moved to crack. Things have gone progressively downhill from there. I see three options for my brother: rehab, jail or death. Jail and death will be the same for Blake. He doesn’t have enough self-worth to make it through the prison system. So I’m still hoping Blake will pull it together and make the right choice so I don’t have to identify his body in the morgue one morning when I wake up and realize my love isn’t enough to heal my beloved brother.

  I find street parking in front of Blake’s rundown house. If I’m being honest, it’s a crack house. The hovel barely has a piece of siding intact. I can smell the stink of pot and the chemical odor of meth as I traverse the dilapidated stairs onto the porch. The front door is cracked open which is ridiculously dangerous on this street. I cover my face with my hand as I push into the house.

  It’s worse than I’ve ever seen it and that’s saying something. There’s not a bare space on the floor. It’s filled with garbage, empty food containers, bottles, broken glass, cigarette butts, animal droppings, used syringes and that’s only what I can identify with the small amount of light streaming from a lantern sitting on an upturned milk carton.

  Tears prick my eyes as I tiptoe through the space, trying to avoid the worst of what I see. As I approach the couch, I can see a woman’s body flopped precariously over a beanbag, face down. Her shoulders are moving with shallow breaths. She’s alive. Another man is passed out on the 1970s couch that used to be a swirly pattern of red, brown and orange but is now just brown with burn holes. I know he’s passed out because his snoring is shaking the rafters. I finally spot Blake.

  I drop to my knees and search for a pulse. He’s pale, nonresponsive, dirty, hairy and laying in a pool of vomit on the filthy floor.

  “Goddammit, Blake! You selfish motherfucker, don’t do this to me!” I wail as I smash my fingers into his carotid. I release a shaky breath when I find his pulse strong and even.

  Lowering my butt to my heels balancing on my knees, I roll my brother to his side and begin to try to wake him when my world stops. I’m frozen in place and my heart is thundering in my chest. What the hell is that? I get my answer immediately as I hear another wail from a baby.

  I leap to my feet and leave the junkies where I found them. I no longer move carefully across the floor, I trudge through the dumpster beneath my feet on a mission. Find the baby. I can tell by the cries it’s not a newborn. Not that it matters right now. I’m just absorbing information as I search.

  I shove my way into the bathroom first.

  Nothing.

  I fight my way into a bedroom and shout as a giant rat runs across my feet. The baby has stopped crying making my search harder now. I sift through newspaper, Styrofoam, dirty needles, food, rat shit and I don’t know what else. The only light I have is a tiny flashlight on my key ring. There’s no baby in here.

  I move into the hallway once again. There’s only one more room. Blake’s. The baby has to be in there. I struggle mightily to shove the door open as it resists everything on the floor. I’m careful in case the baby is up against the door. Once I have it open enough to slide my frame through, I do just that. I frantically flick my light over every surface until I see it. A tiny naked body on the floor. I thought I moved fast to get to Blake a few minutes ago. It’s nothing compared to my swift movements to this baby.

  I immediately begin checking it over. There’s a pulse but it’s weak, the breathing is rapid and shallow. I scoop up the diaper-covered baby and move: through the putrid house, past the unconscious bodies, down the rickety stairs, across the uneven sidewalk and into my car. I place the baby on the passenger seat and I drive. I check the pulse almost the entire time until I meet my destination.

  Home.

  Natasha

  I rush into my small two-bedroom bungalow in North Kansas City, cradling the baby in my arms.

  “Zeus, get back,” I snap at my greatest companion in life. He immediately obeys my order and sits at the edge of the kitchen watching me intently.

  I can check the baby more thoroughly now that I have supplies available to me. I grab my bag from under the kitchen sink and begin digging out everything I’ve got. I run the five steps it takes to enter my living room and snatch a throw blanket from the couch and cover my two-person dining table before gently lowering the baby to it.

  Stethoscope in my ears, I check heart, lungs and belly sounds. Everything is pretty normal as I remove the diaper and find the baby I’m dealing with is a boy. I can’t tell how old he is, but his circumcision is completely healed and given his size and the weight of him in my arms, I’m guessing he’s maybe three to four months old. It’s only a guess though.

  The baby is filthy and he’s been in this diaper well over twenty-four hours so I can’t gauge how much urine he’s passing. He’s definitely dehydrated. His tongue and gums are dry. I check over every inch of his body searching for any puncture wounds from the needles that were strewn on the floor where I found him. Thankfully, I find nothing. There are no signs of bruising or abuse. His reflexes are appropriate even though he’s lethargic. He’s basically healthy other than the recent neglect he’s suffering from.

  I dive back into my bag and pull out a two-ounce ready-to-feed formula bottle and the accompanying nipple. Scooping the baby into the crook of my
arm, I move to the sink and run the bottle under hot water to warm it slightly. Once I’m satisfied with the temperature, I sit at the table and run the nipple across his lips. He hasn’t stirred once since I found him. I’m functioning on autopilot at this point. Doing what I’m best at, my job.

  I squeeze a drop of the formula onto his lips and he finally roots minutely before sucking in the nipple. I take a calming breath and watch him eat. It takes no time for him to drink the bottle and he falls asleep just as he finishes. I could start an IV, but I don’t think he needs it. I’ll feed him again in a half hour and see where he’s at.

  A half hour? What the fuck am I doing? I’ve stolen a baby from a crack den, and instead of taking him to a hospital, I brought him to my house. I wasn’t thinking for the last hour or so. I was just doing, going through the motions. What have I done?

  I hop up out of the hard wooden kitchen chair and streak into the living room. I switch on the TV, turn it to a network station and wait. Nothing. No Amber Alert. No breaking news crawl at the bottom of the screen. I change channels. Nothing. Not a damn thing on any station local or national. What have I done?

  Warmth running down my stomach alerts me to the baby’s needs.

  “Diaper, Natasha,” I scold myself.

  I have a tendency to talk to myself when I’m annoyed. It happens more often than I’d like to admit. I don’t have diapers in my bag and I only have two more bottles of formula. I should take this baby to a hospital. I can claim I just found him. Where would I find a baby? Why can’t I be a better liar? I’m an awful liar, always have been. Blake’s the liar. Blake! Damn him for this!

  “Think!”

  Okay, no Amber Alert is a good thing. The baby probably belonged to the passed out junkies. I know he’s not Blake’s. Blake would tell me that. Right? I did miss a call from him earlier. His voicemail was cutting out and the words he was saying didn’t make sense. Did he tell me about a baby? No, I would remember that.

  I’ll just call social services and tell them what happened. They can come get the baby and…Blake will go to jail. Maybe…no, I can’t send my brother to jail. He’ll never make it back out. I know he didn’t hurt this baby. He was in Blake’s room. Even in his drug-addled state, my brother tried to put the baby out of harm’s way. I know that’s not much, but it’s a sign that my Blake is still in there somewhere.

  I can’t call our mother. She’s no good in a crisis. She only adds more drama. I got a splinter when I was six and she almost passed out just looking at it. Blake had to take it out. My nine-year-old brother had to take care of that simple task. Why can’t I have that brother right now?

  No.

  No time for a pity party.

  So no cops, no social services, no hospital because doctors, cops and social services will be involved. What have I done? This is a career-ending move. What if this baby belongs to someone else? I could have stolen this baby for a second time. But if this is a stolen baby where’s the Amber Alert?

  During this mental shit storm, I’ve managed to wrap the baby in a dishtowel.

  “Zeus, we need supplies.”

  Sometimes I not only talk to myself, I talk to my eighty-pound German Shepherd. He looks at me like he understands me most of the time. He’s currently staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. I think he’s onto something.

  I can’t walk into Walmart at one in the morning with a baby wrapped in a dishtowel.

  “Shit, shit, shit!”

  If I call any of my work friends, it will make everything worse. I don’t have any close friends. I have a group of people from work that I laugh and joke with at the hospital and go out for drinks with socially. None of them know about my brother and none of them are going to understand why I’ve done what I’ve done. I’m on my own. I’ve been on my own a long time, but this feels worse. This feels like a death sentence.

  “The baby shower!” I exclaim, jumping off the couch and running to my bedroom. I throw open my closet and dig through the bottom to find a pink gift bag.

  My co-worker is pregnant with a girl and we’re having a baby shower for her next week. I’ve never been more thankful for deciding to shop early in my life. I pull out the soft white cotton dress and hold it up to the baby. It’ll be a tight squeeze but he’ll fit in it. It’ll have to do until I can get to the store.

  After washing the baby off with a warm washcloth, I pull the dress over his head and am satisfied that he looks good enough to be in public. He’s barely made a peep the whole time I’ve messed with him, but his vitals are still good so I’m not too concerned. I move into the kitchen and feed him another bottle before leaving the house. I’m scared to death to get pulled over with a baby lying in the passenger seat, so I drive like a little old lady, obeying every law I can remember. When park in the Walmart parking lot, I release the steering wheel from my ironclad grip and try to stop shaking.

  I attempt to appear normal as I load the baby into one of those shopping carts with a baby carrier attached, after wiping it down a hundred times with the provided anti-bacterial wipes. It’ll have to do. The store is mostly empty since it’s the middle of the night. I move purposefully to the baby section and begin loading it with everything I can think of. Diapers, wipes, formula, bottles, bathing supplies, blankets, towels, clothes, baby carrier, a playpen with a changing station and a car seat. This should get me through until I figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

  I forgot I’d have to check out. As I begin to unload the cart, panic starts to rise in my chest. The young man checking me out doesn’t seem to notice how strange this situation is so I don’t say anything. When the total comes up on the screen, I swipe my card and high tail it out of there like my hair is on fire.

  “Totally normal, Natasha,” I chastise myself as I reach my car.

  I quickly rip open the box with the car seat and strap it in the backseat before I load the baby in. Once he’s secure, I dump everything else in the trunk and drive us back to my home. I’m fully expecting the police to be waiting for me in my driveway, but no one is there. We’re safe. For now at least.

  Zeus follows me around while I feed the baby, change the baby and use my kitchen scale to weigh his diaper. He’s passing a normal amount of urine so I feel confident he’s rehydrating appropriately. Once the baby is re-diapered and in pajamas with little cars covering them, I set about putting together the playpen. It’s harder than necessary in my opinion.

  I’m working up a sweat now and am annoyed with the hard surface the baby will have to sleep on, but it’ll have to do for now. For now? What the hell am I thinking? This will be fine until I can get a hold of Blake, sober him up and come up with a plan. That’s all this is.

  The baby stirs against my chest so I lay him across my arm, and for the first time I actually look at him. He’s got a fuzzy head of medium brown hair. His eyes are typical baby blue with a dark navy ring around the irises. With a cute button nose and sweet pouty lips, he’s an adorable baby. Something about that realization makes the tears I’ve been holding at bay since this whole nightmare began spill down my cheeks. As a large gut-wrenching sob cackles from my chest, the baby scrunches up his face before unleashing a tiny giggle. I pick him up against my heart and laugh as hard as I’m crying, proving I’ve officially lost my mind.

  Natasha

  After a fitful night of sleep, I decide to crawl out of bed. The baby’s asleep so I leave my bedroom door open. I’ll be able to hear him if he wakes up before I need to feed him again. I flop on the couch and Zeus joins me, cuddling up to my side. I stroke him for a while letting the comfort he brings settle me a bit before I call my idiot brother.

  I press call and am immediately met with a disconnected phone message. Of course his phone is disconnected. Why wouldn’t it be? I’ll have to go back to the house. This time I’m taking Zeus. I’ve taken self-defense and I always have my law enforcement strength mace with me, but Zeus is my bodyguard. I’ve spent a small fortune on his training, both in classes and
through online tutorials on my own. He obeys my every command and is capable of taking down anyone in his way or anyone trying to get me. I pity the person stupid enough to try him.

  Once I’ve fed the baby, I decide to take a shower with him. He needs to get clean and so do I. I thought it was a good idea, but holding a slippery baby while trying to wash and condition my hair feels like a death-defying feat. Every time I get my body somewhat clean, he pees on me. I give up and get us both dressed and fed before loading into the car.

  I pull up in front of the crack house and it looks abandoned. I know before I push the unlocked door open it’s empty. Blake’s gone. I don’t need to search the house. I can feel it in my bones. He’s running. What the hell am I going to do now?

  “Lookin’ for somethin’ sweet thang?” a man’s voice purrs behind me.

  “Threat!” I command Zeus who immediately spins and lunges at the man against the leash.

  “Fuck!” he screams, backing up as I maneuver around while controlling Zeus and the baby in his car seat.

  “Move away from me,” I snarl at the drug dealer. I know what he is without having to consider it.

  “Lady, call your dog off!”

  “Move away from me!”

  He finally backs down the steps slowly as Zeus growls and barks at him. When I’m satisfied he’s far enough away from me, I tell Zeus, “Easy.”

  Zeus remains at attention but stops barking and lunging.

  “Do you know where Blake is?” I ask the wiry man.

  “Took off in the middle of the night,” he responds with a shrug. “Had most of his shit with him.”

  Great. Now what?

  “I’m gonna go to my car now. I suggest you get moving before I do.”

  He turns tail and runs down the street. I love my dog.

  I settle all of us back in the car and drive back to my house, trying to formulate a plan as I go. I need help and fast. There’s still nothing on the news about a missing baby. I don’t understand why. Even if this baby belongs to the junkie, wouldn’t she want to know where her baby is? Wouldn’t his grandparents? Is it possible no one wants this baby? I’m too sleep deprived to understand how any of this is possible.