Given New Worlds

by Rachael Sircar

  She stared at the phone and tried to remember Mom’s number. It had always been programmed into her phone. She’d never had to remember it. Even Dad’s phone number was a mystery. Abby tried to recall any phone number that she may have implanted in her brain.

  Veena.

  For some odd reason, she remembered Veena’s. She tapped at the phone and closed her eyes.

  The phone rang once, twice, three times…

  “Hello?”

  Abby didn’t know what to say. Her voice was turned off again like a faucet that only her emotions could control. She watched a cockroach skitter over the lobby floor and pause near a potted plant. Thoughts of how Veena had round-kicked a cockroach in their condo filled Abby’s head. She’d feared a simple bug back then, now she only kicked her toe at the nuisance, not giving it a second thought.

  “Abby? Is that you?” Veena asked over the phone.

  How did Veena know it was her? She hadn’t said a word.

  “I know this area code,” Veena said, as if reading her mind. “Oh Abby, I’ve thought about calling you like a thousand times.”

  Abby could hear tears through the phone line. She wanted to reach out and wipe the moisture from Veena’s eyes, to show her that she was okay. She wanted to tell her about her new life, her purpose, her freedom. But instead, Abby’s words were stuck in that place in her head that refused access.

  “You remember my brother, Srihan? His wife had a baby last week. He’s a daddy now.”

  The sound of Veena blowing her nose was barely evident through the earpiece of the phone.

  Veena continued her small talk. It was refreshing and warming at the same time. “I’m doing my residency now… but… I don’t think you want to hear about that.”

  Silence.

  “I miss you, Abby. I have another roommate, but she’s loud and wants to have parties. I think I’m going to get my own place. Maybe move into the city.”

  “I miss you too.” Finally, the words came out.

  A shower of tears sounded over the thousands of miles that separated them. “Oh Abby, it’s so good to hear your voice. I’m worried about you. Are you okay?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Are you really? Or are you just saying that. Your parents don’t talk about you anymore. They won’t tell me anything. They only said that you were in Africa and even that piece of information was only given to me when I threatened to pull their fingernails out.”

  A sudden dance of fear ran through Abby’s system. “Please don’t tell anybody where I am.”

  “Oh no. I would never. You know that.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Can you tell me what you’re doing?” Veena asked.

  “I’m working at a hospital.”

  “Really? That’s so great. You’re doing what you’ve always wanted to do.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t bother telling Veena that after the doctor’s strike, she’d been shuttled to the hospital office to do clerical and communications work, rarely having an opportunity to work in the surgical unit anymore.

  “You should do a blog,” Veena said. Talking to her felt good - like old times. But only the good old times, not the ones that strangled Abby and left her feeling vulnerable and scared. “If you write a blog, then I can know you’re okay. You don’t have to advertise it or anything. Just tell me what you’re doing. I’d love that.”

  Abby thought about it. A blog. Her mind had been reeling the past couple weeks and she couldn’t seem to get a grasp on things. Maybe some sort of electronic diary would be a good thing. Make her feel more grounded. She could talk about the many blessings in her current life, refusing to acknowledge the immovable thorn of revengeful thoughts that had taken residence in her side.

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “That would be great. And you’ll let me know the web address as soon as you create it, right.”

  “I’ll consider it.” Abby said again.

  “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe that I’m actually talking to you. Things are so different now. After the attack. And then the mess with Sean. And then him leaving so soon.”

  “Leaving?” Abby asked.

  Again, silence on the other line.

  “I… uh… I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Didn’t your parents tell you?”

  “My parents don’t tell me anything.”

  “Oh my gosh. You’re kidding.” Her voice was soft, apologetic. She had something to say. Something that she knew Abby didn’t want to hear.

  “Where is Sean?” There it was. The question that had been the cloud in her mind for the past ten months. It was out now. And Abby had to hear the answer.

  “He went to Afghanistan… or Syria… I don’t know. Somewhere with his Marine people.”

  A wave of nausea rolled from Abby’s stomach through her body. The door to that little box in her brain opened. He had gotten the call from the military. Of course he’d gone. Abby’s parents were surely not going to let him see her, not when she wasn’t talking, or thinking, or doing anything. And why would he want to? She had only been an empty husk. Not the Abby he’d met at the library, not the Abby he’d kissed in front of the theater at Swan Lake, not the Abby that he’d fallen in love with. But who was she now? If he met her on the street, would he know her? Would he recognize her face?

  “I’m sorry, Abby.”

  “Sorry?”

  “For everything that happened. I’m so, so sorry you had to go through all that.”

  Abby realized that she’d never had the opportunity to thank Veena for what she’d done. “But you saved me.”

  “Saved you? I wasn’t even there.”

  “You remember all those self-defense classes you put me through?”

  “Do I ever. I must’ve beat you to a pulp at least twenty… oh, um… that was awful, I mean…”

  “It’s okay, Veena. Those times you beat me to a pulp saved my life. That guy, he was so strong. He knew all the moves and countermoves. But if it weren’t for what you taught me, I don’t know that I would have been able to protect myself as well as I did. I don’t know that I would have lived through it.”

  Veena was crying again, but Abby didn’t expect her to hold it together. It was a hard thing to hear, your friend getting beat up. Surely Veena had heard enough about it after it happened, but it was very different when it came from the horse’s mouth.

  “They’re still looking for him. That Lance guy.”

  The sound of his name made Abby’s skin cringe and she had to swallow down the vomit that was beginning to rise from her stomach.

  “I guess he was wearing some sort of weird glasses and had his hair in his face,” Veena continued. “So, they can’t do any facial recognition on him. And he had gloves on too, so no fingerprints.”

  Abby felt the room spin. She had forgotten about the glasses, and the hair, and the gloves. Those were all things that she’d shoved out of her mind. Things she didn’t want to ever think about again.

  She needed to escape the conversation. Either that, or she would end up throwing the phone across the floor of the hotel lobby. Surely not something that Dr. Otieno would approve of.

  Abby struggled to keep her voice from shaking. “I’m being paged,” she lied. “I have to go. I’ll let you know as soon as I start that blog.” She pressed End Call and fought off dizziness and nausea for several minutes until the rugs, and plants, and marble flooring stopped spinning.

  The memories were too much. Dr. Otieno was wrong. Now had not been a good time to reach into her past. It hurt too much. She didn’t want those memories of Lance and his glasses, and his hair, and his gloves. She didn’t want to hear about Veena’s brother’s new baby, she didn’t want to know that Sean had been called overseas.

  Sean.

  He was alive.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  ABBY started a blog.

  A blog that didn’t give any clues about where she lived, but how she lived
, and why she lived.

  A blog that wasn’t for Veena, or her parents, but for herself, and for her healing.

  She spoke to everybody and nobody.

  She left it open to all those that had hunted her throughout her whole life. It was a slap in the face to the ones that had begged for her story for years, constantly digging for dirt, hoping for a picture, lying in wait for the famous Abigail Ellwood to give them one bit of information that would send a check to their wallet. And now, here she was, serving her daily life to them on a platter - and they couldn’t even see it. If any of the media circus were to take a glance at her blog, they would bypass the story about a little boy with a torn shirt and burn marks on his face, they would ignore her description of the trees entirely composed of thorns, they would disregard her wonder at the stars shining down on her unlike anything she’d ever seen, and they wouldn’t even glance at the passage about the sweet baby who caressed her face during a worship service.

  All these beautiful experiences, but the media would be blind to them, only desiring the darkest, most intrusive of information. The sensational stories that sold ads and caused the masses to rise up and beg for more, that was what they wanted. Knowing that they were unaware of the information right under their noses was the only revenge Abby could afford at the moment.

  The blog was named Jamie Poser’s New World and the splash page featured a verse from Romans.

  We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.

  At first it had been intimidating, and Abby had only written once a week, fearing that the whole world would discover her new identity. But then, as she gained confidence, she began to post several times a week. Mostly, it would be about the experiences she had with the children at the orphanage, or encounters with local people.

  Once it became routine, Abby found that it was a release. A way to prove to the world that she was no longer the suppressed child that had been suffocated by fame, but a new child of God, showered with the Holy Spirit, protected by Jesus’ name.

  Abby also wrote of the dangers and hardships of her life. How she had been threatened at knifepoint to hand over medication to a gang of men that broke into the hospital after hours. How the entire hospital went on Ebola alert following an outbreak of the viral disease in the Democratic Republic of Congo. How her apartment was burglarized and one of her roommates was stabbed in the shoulder during the altercation. How an ethnic clash found its way to a location near their hospital and they received three of the warriors at their doors, threatening to kill Dr. Otieno if he didn’t attend to their wounds.

  It was a rough country. Much rougher than any average American could possibly understand. But here was where Abby felt her peace. Her security.

  She would occasionally fill in for one of the nurses when the hospital became busy and would even be allowed to assist Dr. Otieno with some of his private cases. He trusted her completely, and occasionally mentioned medical school, surely hoping that she would consider finishing her medical degree so that he could give her the status and the pay that he truly felt she deserved.

  But Abby was perfectly content living on a dime in a state of anonymity. It was better this way. Not recognized. Not persecuted. She was almost completely happy. If only the thorn in her side could be removed - somehow, someway. And if only the man she loved could exist for her again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  NORMALLY, packages were delivered straight to the mailroom in the back of the hospital, but when Abby arrived to work on Wednesday, one had accidentally been placed on her desk in the office wing of the building. She began to deliver it to the mailroom, when she noticed that it had her name on the label.

  Her new name. Jamie Poser.

  The gift must have been from Oyana and the girls. Hoping for some of the shea butter that they all treasured, Abby began to open the package, but then she looked at the calendar. Today was her birthday. She dropped the package to the floor as if it had already positioned its fangs over her skin. Flashes of her past birthday ran through her mind.

  Abby wondered if there was a note in the package, and what it would say. She could throw it away. But then, she didn’t know for sure that it wasn’t from Oyana, or maybe even Dr. Otieno. The return address was a postal box in Nairobi, not revealing any information. Lifting the package with trembling hands, Abby carried it to the hospital storage room, moved several items off the top shelf, and pressed the package into the back corner. If it turned out to be from someone other than the attacker, Abby would gratefully pull it off the shelf and happily discover whatever was inside, but until she received word about its authenticity, the package would gather dust on the top shelf of the storage room closet.

  Her birthday went by without incident, without even anyone at the hospital knowing that she had turned another year older. It was a blessing. With each day that passed, Abby felt more and more comforted in knowing that there would be no birthday tragedy this year. After several weeks, she had calmed to a peaceful serenity once again, but made it a point to avoid the storage room at all costs.

  “We have a new group coming in next week,” Dr. Otieno told her. “They are from the US, so I’d like you to assist them in their visit.”

  Abby nodded her head. She’d gotten used to facilitating the mission groups that came in to work at the orphanage and hospital. It was always mad chaos for them at the beginning, followed by tired acceptance, but by day three, they would find a groove and she could leave them to independently work towards their goals. Abby didn’t mind stepping away from her communication duties. She had been given more responsibilities and her workload was hectic, so having the excuse of assisting a missionary group had become more of a blessing than a burden.

  When the group arrived, Abby was too busy overseeing the installation of a new copy machine to meet them, but she assured the women at the orphanage that she would be available bright and early the next morning to assist in organization and getting them fed.

  “They are a very strong group,” Mama Zawadi said. “One man is a cripple, but the rest seem very able. Perhaps we could put them to work repairing the kitchen roof in the orphanage.”

  Abby nodded her head in agreement. It was rare that they received people who were willing to do hard labor. Most of them wanted to color with the children and sing songs, but what the orphanage truly needed was repairs to the buildings, as well as the water-well dismantled and refitted.

  When Abby forced her eyes closed at the end of the day, sleep refused to set in. She always worried when American groups came in. Would somebody recognize her? Would they take pictures? Would she be found out? It was always the same set of fears, and always the same prayers.

  The night continued to plod along as seconds slowed to a crawl. Not wanting to disturb Oyana with her tossing and turning on the rickety bunk bed, Abby pulled out the laptop in the kitchen. It had become routine. At least once a week, Abby felt the urge to search. Where was he? Was he in Afghanistan? Had he been stationed somewhere else? Had his deployment ended and he was back in the US? The possibilities were endless. But she just wanted to know if he was safe. And there was always that other question. Why hadn’t he contacted her?

  Abby glanced at the internet gossip and paparazzi shots. She saw that her mom had been working on a new movie. It warmed her heart to know that Mom was finally able to get past what happened and do something fruitful, something that she had loved. The movie was based on a book that had hit the bestsellers list several years ago. It was a much more somber role than Mom had ever played before, and it would be a challenge for her.

  Dad continued to work his magic in the senate. He’d slowed down in his demanding schedule after Abby was attacked, but once she’d moved to Switzerland, he once again forged ahead. His main focus had always been diminishing the influence of organized crime in Florida, mainly focusing on the import and export of illegal d
rugs and weapons. Abby was proud of both her parents and felt a pang of guilt as she realized how it must hurt them that she didn’t speak to them.

  She would have to call them. Soon.

  Then Abby began to scroll through the pictures of Sean. Of course, there weren’t any new ones. It seemed as though nobody knew where he was, nor did they care. His deployment must have flown under the radar, because there was no mention of it in any search Abby did. One article speculated that he was licking his wounds at a bar in the Bahamas, while another suggested that he had died of a drug overdose in Tijuana. Abby rolled her eyes and turned the computer off. It wasn’t healthy, all this internet searching. It only caused more anxiety without any answers.

  She shoved the computer aside and pulled out her bible instead. A small book light given to her for Christmas by a passing missionary lit the pages perfectly, and Abby sank into the messages of Proverbs, eventually drifting off to sleep, trying not to think about Sean.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  THE next morning, Abby arrived at the hospital early to take care of paperwork before she spent the day with the visiting missionaries. They were scheduled to arrive by bus at eight, so that meant they would probably arrive sometime after ten. In the meantime, she would cram as much work into her computer as possible before losing several hours to babysitting-the-missionaries duties.

  She was mid-deep in communication reports when one of the ladies from the orphanage knocked on the office door. “Miss Jamie, the group has arrived.”

  Abby looked at her watch. It was nine-thirty. “They’re earlier than I thought.”

  “Yes,” the woman said with a smile. “They arrived at eight o’clock. I was surprised as well.”

  Abby scrambled to place her paperwork in order and turn off her computer. “Eight? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”