Allegra's Shadow

by Dana Sanders Hill

  She automatically looked in her side mirror, then the rearview, but could see nothing to confirm her suspicions. It was still early for a Friday night, so there were several cars behind her, one in the fast lane and two in the right lane, trailing her by about one hundred feet.

  Instead of getting off at Glenwood Avenue, Mariah listened to her sixth sense and turned on her right blinker, exiting onto Wake Forest Road. Only two cars in the right lane followed suit. She pulled into the inner right turn lane and saw the light turning yellow. Mariah slowed down and waited for a chance to turn on red. She looked in her rearview mirror again and saw that one of the cars made a left turn. It was going south on Wake Forest Road. The other remained behind her.

  It kept a respectable distance, but the nagging in the back of her mind refused to be still.

  #

  Diablo narrowed his eyes as Divine’s car made a right turn into a nearby gas station. He slowly turned right and pulled into a spot, on the side of the store, near the dumpsters, but didn’t go in. He watched the woman park the car several spaces away and go inside. She came out empty-handed.

  When she got back in the car and pulled away, Diablo was ready.

  Divine’s car moved at the speed limit, maybe a mile or two more. Too bad he couldn’t see the license plate that well.

  His lips twisted in an evil smile.

  He had plans for her. Whoever she was, she gave no sign that she knew she was being followed. Diablo saw the brake lights flash as the driver slowed down. The traffic light turned yellow, so he softly stepped on his brakes. But just then, the driver pulled a fast one and sped up, passing through the light that had turned red a few seconds before.

  Thwarted, Diablo came to a stop and pounded his fists against the steering wheel. He thought about running the red light, but the cop car that pulled up behind him changed his mind.

  #

  Mariah took additional time getting back to Allegra’s after returning her father’s car to Kevin’s and picking up hers, which she’d parked in front of his house. Before Mariah reached the front door, it swung open.

  Anthony. Of course he’d be here right now.

  Mariah’s pulse, quieter but far from normal, revved up again, and she sought to erect a wall of defense between them. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  His eyes were raw with fury as he stepped back to let her in, slamming the door behind her. “It’s one thing to not talk to me, but putting yourself in danger is something else.”

  Mariah’s fists balled up at her sides, her insides quaking with lingering terror. “You have a bad habit of letting yourself in without an invitation. You have no right to come here and lecture me about anything,” she stressed between clenched teeth. Mariah swiveled, giving him her back as she hurried into the kitchen for a glass of water. Her throat was so dry.

  Anthony was right on her heels. “Kevin’s call gives me the right.”

  Mariah’s heart beat furiously as she spun around, halfway between the marble island and the sink. “What?”

  Anthony looked down on her. “Yeah. He gave you up.”

  Mariah let out a mirthless laugh. Tonight started out fine, and had snowballed into an eight-headed-monster.

  “You could’ve called me, asked me for help.”

  “Why?” she shouted. “So you could stop me?”

  “It would’ve been a lot easier for me to ask questions,” he countered. His eyes raked over her, searching. “Something happened. What?” He was all cop now, even though he didn’t wear the badge anymore.

  Mariah’s mind fumbled for the appropriate response. “Where’d you park?” came out instead.

  “Up the block,” he answered. “I figured you wouldn’t come in if you saw my car in the driveway. Stop stalling. What happened?”

  Mariah struggled for recollection. She didn’t see his SUV, but in her state of mind, she wouldn’t have. She moved to the cabinet and got a tall glass, filling it with water from the sink and taking several long sips, keeping her back to Anthony. She tried to put up a brave front, but the tension in her shoulders and quick, jerky movements of her hands gave her away.

  “I’m fine.”

  #

  I’m fine.

  The last time Mariah said those words in this kitchen, an argument broke out. Anthony didn’t want that this time. He clamped down on his wrath as he watched Mariah. She was shaking like a junkie, and she wouldn’t tell him why.

  The harder he tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted.

  If he didn’t give, then she wouldn’t either.

  Anthony inhaled, willing himself to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach. He braced his hands against the island as he spoke, his voice thick and rough. “One brutal winter morning, 911 got a call from a woman who found her neighbor on the bedroom floor. She got concerned when she hadn’t seen her and she went to check on her. The front door was unlocked. She’d been dead for hours. Her daughter, probably no more than eight, wouldn’t let anybody touch her or her mother, and she wouldn’t speak. The mother’s cause of death was accidental overdose of prescription meds.” The traumatized eyes in a thin face came back to him.

  “That little girl held her dead mother in her arms…and looking at her…was like looking at me.”

  Anthony saw the flash of wild grief on Mariah’s face. She closed the distance between them, stopped at the island and rested her hands on top. Mariah stared at him in waiting silence.

  Anthony let out an audible sigh and lowered his eyes to the island. “We lived in a bad part of Harlem. Garbage filled the space between our building and the next. It was freezing in the winter and burning up in the summer. You could hear the rats in the walls, and the roaches crawled on you whether you were asleep or awake,” he droned, as if removing any emotion from his voice would make the story easier to tell. “My mom had some complications when she had me, and had back and nerve problems after that. She couldn’t work, so she collected SSI. My dad was a student by day and worked at an ad agency, second shift. He was coming home from work one night when he saw a man attack a woman. He rushed to help…and got shot. The man got away; the woman stayed with him as he bled out. I was five.”

  Anthony swallowed the knot that swelled in his throat. His lashes lifted and his eyes met Mariah’s. “My mom. She changed after that. She turned to alcohol. I think she hated me because I reminded her of him. She’d go in her room and leave me on my own for hours. Sometimes she’d slap me or snap at me…or call me by his name and blame him for making her a single mother, even though a family friend, Aunt Maureen, moved in to help. She spent a lot of time in her bedroom, drinking…”

  It was November and dark outside. It was cold inside, too. The TV didn’t work anymore, so he had to find something to play with. Six-year-old Anthony, huddled in a sweater, jeans and a blanket, sat in the middle living room on a threadbare rug. The place was sad, with its dusty windows that didn’t let light in and the stained walls with cracked paint.

  When the sun went down, he turned on the light switch and found the truck Grandma Lilly sent him for his birthday behind the rusty brown sofa, and played with it until he got hungry. He stole a fearful glance at the closed bedroom door as he tiptoed by it, the hard floor cold underneath his feet, even though he wore socks. Aunt Maureen was still at work, and since Daddy was gone, Mommy stayed in her room a lot. When she came out, she’d walked funny, like her legs wouldn’t work, and her eyes couldn’t stay open. Her hair was always messed up now, and her breath and skin smelled nasty. Empty bottles were all over the house, in her room. She and Aunt Maureen yelled a lot about him, about how Mommy needed to stop drinking for his sake.

  Anthony pulled a folding chair from the round, scarred kitchen table, set it against the counter and used it as a ladder, startling a pregnant roach into scurrying before it escaped into a small crevice in the corner. He opened up a wooden cabinet and removed a loaf of bread. There were only two pieces left.

  A lot of people talked about how han
dsome he was, like his Daddy, and how big and tall he was for his age. Being big and tall was good. He could stick up for those who couldn’t fight or reach the cabinet and pull out food. His last meal was a bologna sandwich and grape Kool-Aid, and he’d made it. Since Daddy died, Anthony learned a few new things from Aunt Maureen, like how to make something to eat; when she wasn’t around he learned other things, too: how to watch people or get away from his mother’s slap.

  Anthony’s ultra-sensitive ears detected a gagging sound that caused his heart to pound out of his chest. His eyes darted toward the closed bedroom door down the hall, terrified of what was happening to Mommy.

  Anthony’s feet hit the kitchen floor and he crept toward the door. He raised his fist to knock, but hesitated. He never bothered her when she was in there…but something was wrong. His fist banged against the door. “Mommy,” he called out.

  There was no answer, but he heard a loud thump, like something had fallen.

  His stomach clenched tight, Anthony opened the door and found his mother on the floor. She wasn’t awake. Her skin was blue and her lips were covered with throw up. There was a big bruise on her forehead, and it was bleeding. The bed cover had vomit running from the top of it to the ground, and there was a half-empty bottle on the floor beside her. Then the scariest thing happened: she started shaking and couldn’t stop.

  Anthony gasped, panting in terror. “Mommy.” He rushed to her side, lifting her head into his lap. He got some throw up and blood on his pants, but he didn’t see that. “Mommy, wake up. Mommy…” Anthony wept aloud, rocking his mother back and forth as her body continued to vibrate.

  Then, his mother stopped trembling, stopped breathing. Time passed, and Anthony continued to yell until his voice had faded to nothing. He’d cried so much his eyes were swollen and tears had dried on his cheeks long ago. His misery was so acute that it was a physical pain, but he couldn’t let his mother go, not yet…

  Anthony closed his eyes before continuing in a low, tormented voice. “Alcohol poisoning. I don’t know how long I stayed with my mother when Aunt Maureen showed up. After Mom was taken away, I stayed with Aunt Maureen a little while, until Grandma Lilly came for me. Aunt Maureen died in a fire after I moved here. I didn’t talk for months and it set me back in school. That’s why Kevin and I were in the same grade.” He opened his eyes. “After I saw that girl, I didn’t care about my pension…I just couldn’t be a cop anymore. I had to leave, so I moved back here.”

  Mariah leaned forward, closed a hand over one of his, which was balled into a fist. His fingers unfurled and entwined with hers.

  “What made you start talking again?”

  “A neighbor’s dog had puppies and she offered one to Grandma Lilly. It was the last one left…”

  Anthony had walked over the small area where the brown and white terrier-mix sat behind a small gate. It rushed forward to greet Anthony and let out a welcoming yip. Rising up on its hind legs, the tiny body switched from side to side as the short tail wagged excitedly. Anthony leaned over the gate and reached down to pet him, and the puppy accepted the gesture, licking his hand frantically. Anthony’s heart lifted. He heard the neighbor call the puppy – it was a boy – the runt. Anthony didn’t know what a runt was, but it didn’t sound nice, and the look in Grandma Lilly’s eyes wasn’t good. He knew that if he wanted the puppy, he’d have to fight for it, and that meant opening his mouth and forcing the words to come out.

  It took several tries.

  His voice was rusty with disuse. “C-can I… have him? P-please, Grandma…Lilly?” She didn’t hear him, but when he uttered the words again, Grandma Lilly whirled about, eyes round with shock as if she were looking at him for the first time. Even the neighbor froze. “Oh, my God,” she murmured and kneeled before him. “My baby.” She crushed him to her.

  “C-can I…p-please?”

  She pulled back and peered into his face, tears of joy shining from her eyes. Then she raised them heavenward, and her lips moved. Anthony knew she was thanking God…

  “I named him Buddy. He was my only friend, besides Kevin. Grandma Lilly made me read to him, to help me use my voice again. I see how people use dogs to help kids gain confidence with reading, and when I think about it, she was ahead of her time.” His eyes held profound sorrow, something he didn’t let too many people see. “I was nine when Grandma Lilly got sick. She started coughing and wheezing all the time, but she always told me it was just a cold and not to worry. She ignored it because she didn’t like doctors. I was ten when she died of lung cancer, and the screwed up part is that she didn’t smoke. My whole world flipped upside down when she died.” His jaw hardened. “My aunt…she was coldhearted woman.” His mind reeled back to the day Grandma Lilly breathed her last…

  School had just started. He and Kevin got off the bus together because they lived in the same neighborhood. It was Friday, and they spent the night at each other’s home on alternate weekends. This time it was Anthony’s turn to pack some clothes. They arrived at his home to find Ms. D waiting for them in the living room. The second he witnessed the agony stamped on her face, his own anguish overcame his control. He hadn’t even paid attention to Buddy, who was frantic, barking and jumping around more than usual. “Grandma Lilly.” His book bag dropped to the ground. Kevin remained rooted to the living room floor as Anthony rushed past Ms. D into his grandmother’s bedroom. Her bed was empty.

  He lowered his head to her pillow and wrapped his arms around it, inhaling the faint scent of cinnamon, and feeling the nauseating sinking of despair. Buddy bounced onto the bed, quivering, whining, as if willing her to reappear. Deep sobs racked his insides as he felt Ms. D’s warm hands on his shoulders.

  “Ya grandma passed this mornin’ at the hospital. She’s with God now, baby,” she whispered.”

  He lifted his head and glowered at her over his shoulder. “I don’t want her with God. I want her with me.”

  Things got worse after that.

  Ms. D called his aunt. He didn’t want her to, but Ms. D said that she was family and notifying her about Grandma Lilly was the right thing to do. It didn’t matter that mother and daughter hadn’t spoken in over a year.

  When his aunt arrived, Ms. D wasted no time getting to the point. She held up her hands, palm outward in a peacemaking gesture. “I know bringin’ another child into ya house is a lot to ask. Lilly knew it, too, and that’s why she called me when she knew her time was short, asked me to look after Anthony when she passed.”

  Anthony sat on the couch while Kevin stood off to the side. He loved Grandma Lilly, too, and desolation was etched into his face as he stared at the floor. Anthony held a trembling Buddy in his arms as he watched the exchange with wide eyes, his heart palpitating in his chest.

  “He comes with me. I’m his next-of-kin,” his aunt insisted, her voice cold and exact. Her face was made-up, an expensive silk aqua dress complimented a tall, narrow frame similar to a greyhound’s, and the sunlight glinted off the jewelry she wore in her ears and around her neck.

  People often said she was pretty like Lilly and his mother; she shared the same complexion, dark reddish brown hair, which she smoothed behind her ear, but to Anthony, she was ugly.

  Anthony watched Ms. D swallow hard, like she was trying to hide how mad and scared she was.

  “You don’t have to –”

  “Nonsense. He’s my dead sister’s child. It’s my duty,” she remarked. “Pack your things, Anthony,” she ordered.

  “Please –”

  “Della,” his aunt countered, using the older woman’s first name as a way to negate any respect she once deserved because she was her elder and her late mother’s best friend, “he comes with me. Fight me if you want, but you’ll lose. I have means. You don’t, and the courts will see it my way.” The insult was barbed and hurtful, the way it was meant to be, and Ms. D’s expression was like someone who’d been struck in the face.

  His aunt’s dark eyes regarded him and Ms. D. Her small, pursed lips
made her look mean and selfish, and the next words she uttered cemented his flash of instinct. “That…mongrel has to go. There will be no dirty animals in my house…” She pointed a long, narrow finger at Buddy, and gave the dog a disdainful examination.

  Ms. D gazed at Anthony in despair, because she knew what was in store for him. “You’d better go pack. I’m so sorry, baby….”

  “I never blamed Ms. D for not fighting her, but I think she felt guilty anyway. Ms. D couldn’t keep Buddy, either, and she eventually found a home for him, but…losing him was almost as bad as losing Grandma Lilly, and my aunt knew it. I stopped talking again, but only for a few weeks this time.”

  “What happened?”

  “Grandma Lilly. She came to me in a dream one night and told me I’d better use the voice God gave me, because if I didn’t, my aunt would win. The woman had already called me ‘idiot’, ‘ghetto rat’ or ‘ghetto trash’ and bragged that I should be grateful because I’d be in foster care if not for her. Grandma Lilly said she already took enough from me, but not to let my voice be one of them.”

  “Two little boys, whose mothers died young,” Mariah reflected. “No wonder you and Kevin are such good friends.” She placed her other hand on top of his.

  Anthony nodded. “Once I moved to North Raleigh, I didn’t see a lot of Ms. D or Kevin until I was of legal age, but we kept in touch through letters. My aunt allowed that much − even though she monitored anything I sent or received − and when she was feeling generous, she let me visit them. Those times were the best. My aunt and Mom never got along, and it got worse after she married Lee because he came from a middle-class family.” His lips twisted. “She said I had to earn my place in her house, and reduced the maid’s duties to just dusting and cooking so I could clean up after them. Good thing I learned how to keep house from Grandma Lilly, so she couldn’t complain.

  “My room was the basement and these,” he fingered his scars with his free hand, “are courtesy of Thomas. The first night I moved in, he insulted my mom, called her a pathetic lush – no doubt his mother’s words. I tried to put his head through a wall, and I made sure he had some battle scars, too, one under his chin and another behind his right ear. She did everything she could to make me suffer, from forcing me to eat in the basement to wearing Thomas’s hand-me-downs. She wouldn’t let me work after school, so I could buy my own clothes and save money. It was her way of controlling me. But I couldn’t be at her mercy anymore, so I got a part-time job when I was eighteen. She was furious and gave me an ultimatum: quit or get put out. I packed that night and walked out with only a duffel bag.”