Sanguine Mountain

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  Sometimes the things that I notice in detail disturb me. Do I notice and remember the headlines of the morning paper? No.

  Do I notice the price of gas so when I have to fill up I get a bargain? Nope.

  But do I notice that Rocks’ eighteen hole gigantic boots are never laced correctly and are also laced differently every time? Hell, yeah.

  He has one leg hooked over the armrest so his boot is easy to study.

  “What’s with your laces?”

  “Hmm?” His eyes are soft. I’m hoping that means he’s been distracted from thoughts of Bailey.

  “Your laces are always wrong—but different wrong.”

  He straightens his leg a little to stare at his foot.

  “Taking notes are we? Surprised you’d notice.” He grins.

  Notice?

  I notice every darn thing about you, bat boy!

  I lean toward him and whisper at the same volume that Mini does. “I can teach you how so you can be like the big kids.”

  He grins, but before it turns into my favorite one, it fades. Sadness fills his features instead. “Can you teach my baby sister? She helps me get dressed if she’s around. She thinks I need help because Zada doesn’t live with me like she does with the little ones. Bailey worries. Acts like she’s my mother.” He looks at his laces again. “Once I re-tied my boots at the shop, and she noticed and cried. With her eye gone, they’re getting worse.” He focuses back on the paper in his hands.

  Fudge!

  I know he’s thinking about her, and I hate feeling so useless. “Will she lose it?”

  He nods.

  “The doctors couldn’t do anything?” The thought of explaining to a five-year-old that she’s lost an eye makes mine fill with tears.

  “Don’t make me laugh.” He stops and takes a breath. “Sorry. I’m sorry. The Sire won’t allow it. There’s a woman at the colony we go to if we’re sick.”

  “Tell me she’s not a witch.” I need a distraction because the thought of them not taking her to get proper medical attention when her eye was at stake is making my hands shake.

  “No, I guess you would call her a medicine woman. She collects herbs and roots from the forest, but what use is that to save an eye?” His voice is loud again. “Sorry. It’s another sore point between the Fold and I. We’re dying, and they won’t seek help that’s available.”

  “I’m so sorry, Rocks. I really am. Can she reverse the curse?”

  He frowns and shakes his head. “That power’s long gone.” He sits forward and takes a deep breath. “But I do think that’s why the Fold keep her around. They like to believe they have the power to change us back, but choose to stay as Camazotz. It’s just ignorant Camazotz superiority if you ask me. But enough of that. Distract me with your evil modern gadgets, will you?” He smiles.

  “Um, we could watch some TV?”

  He grins. “Yes! I’ve been dying to watch some of that.”

  “Why didn’t you say?”

  He shrugs. “I’m happy no matter what we do. It’ll be another first.” He winks.

  Chad is perched in his chair, bent over his newspaper. The remote balances on the armrest.

  I’d explained how the remote control works while we were still in my room. Since I have no clue how the remote actually ‘talks’ to the television, I told Rocks it was aeronaught magic. Seeing his wide-eyed awe made me laugh.

  On my way past, I casually nab the remote. With my back toward Chad, I present the Instrument of Power to Rocks. He gingerly accepts and I mime pointing it at the TV and show him the channel change button. Taking a seat, he aims and fires. The channel flips up one station and Rocks is spellbound. I can’t decide if he’s more impressed with the animated bumblebee buzzing across the screen, or the feeling of authority that possessing the remote instills.

  “Hey.” Chad looks to the empty armrest and then to us. “I was watching that.”

  Rocks dumps the remote on my lap as though it’s electrocuted him. “You’re reading.” I respond.

  “And listening,” he counters. I switch it back since there’s only ten minutes left.

  “Fine. But I get to pick the next show.” I grin. It’s been too long since I’ve sat here with him, and he nods before returning to the newspaper. Angling my head, I zone out the newsreader and focus on Rocks. Pretty sure watching TV is going to be a new favorite.

  Rocks stares at the screen. I stare at Rocks. He’s so cute when he’s excited by technology or food. I’ll never tire of witnessing it.

  “Connie.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Look.” Rocks jerks his head at the screen. The newsreader prattles on about the scene Enzo Ascari caused by appearing at court today for the commencement of the Vipers trial. I stare back at Rocks confused and raise my eyebrows. “Look at him,” he whispers.

  The story switches to a video of a cat riding a surfboard and not appearing at all fazed about being soaking wet. Rocks acts like he sees that sort of thing every other day, grabs my hand and pulls me back up to my room.

  “What?” I ask as he shuts the door. Every muscle is tight across his back.

  He points to the laptop. “I need you to do the googling.”

  I don’t correct him. “What do you want me to google?”

  “Enzo Ascari. That man from the television.”

  “Ok-ay, then.” I do as he instructs, filling the screen with results.

  “Can you make that man bigger?” Rocks points at a thumbnail of a man in a dark suit.

  A few clicks and after a moment the page loads.

  “Ascari leads the Mob to a new high,” the headline reads. A picture of a middle-aged man in a suit leaving an Italian restaurant is below the headlines.

  Rocks moves closer to the screen. I scroll down to read about the drug territory war between the Hong Kong-linked gang and the Ascari family. The article questions whether Ascari will take over more territory if the Viper’s boss winds up in prison.

  “Go back up,” Rocks says.

  “What is it?”

  “Look at him, Connie. Look.” I look at Rocks and not the screen. The tone of his voice is making me nervous. “He’s got blond hair.”

  “So?” It’s obvious that the man didn’t know the photo was about to be taken. He’s following another suit down the few stairs to the sidewalk. If I had to describe his mood, I’d say content but not exactly happy. It’s the set of his eyes and mouth—there’s just a hint of a smile, but no teeth are visible.

  Rocks grabs the Polaroid and holds it next to the screen. “I think it’s the same man,” he says.

  Rocks has clearly lost his mind.

  “Look at his eyes—don’t focus on his glasses, just his eyes. Connie, stare at each facial feature. Compare them. It’s him.” My heart begins to pound. It can’t be. This man cannot be my biological father. Rocks keeps talking, as I focus on each part of the man’s face. “Enzo Ascari—E.A.”

  “Uh-uh, no.” I try to swallow, but my throat appears to be full of razorblades. “Please, no.” His hair is longer—almost shoulder length and the dark rimmed glasses make it difficult—but there’s no doubt it’s an older version of the same man.

  A gentle hand runs up and down my back. His touch helps, and I take a gasp of needed air as I fumble for my inhaler. “Can you search for more photographs of Enzo Ascari?” Rocks asks.

  I nod and return to Google, but my fingers are shaking so much that they’re not even close to hitting the right keys. Rocks turns the laptop toward him and follows my instructions to bring up hundreds of images, from newspapers clippings to mug shots, of Mr. Enzo Ascari.

  Flopping back on the bed, I cover my face with my hands. I’m related to one of the biggest drug dealers on the East Coast. My real dad is a criminal. I hear Rocks typing. I need to calm down. I lean closer and breathe in through my nose and concentrate on the clean forest scent. It helps a little.

  “Look,” he says softly. Rocks’ fingers pry my hands away from my face. He’s enla
rged a single black and white newspaper photo of Ascari. It’s dated 1990 and is so similar to the man in the Polaroid that they could be brothers.

  A strangled sob escapes me, and the tears flow unleashed from the depths of my emotional pit. “This is a nightmare,” I cry.

  Rocks pulls me under one arm against the side of his chest. His other hand strokes down my ponytail. “I got you,” he whispers. “It’s going to be okay.”

  How? How is the fact that my father is a wanted criminal—probably responsible for thousands of drug-related deaths—ever going to be okay?

  But one thing’s for certain. The father that I had tried to imagine is definitely not a hero.

  14.

  Thanksgiving

  Pulling the covers over my head, I sigh. I’ve made it through the last two days of school and am on vacation. The days are a blur, the only memory standing out is seeing Rocks point to a picture of Enzo Ascari on my screen.

  My father is a drug lord.

  My father is a wanted criminal.

  My father is an evil murderer—or at the every least, he’s the man who gives his henchmen the command to kill.

  Each time I try to convince myself that he might not be my dad, I take a look at the photos. Each time, there is no doubt that the man holding the baby in the Polaroid is a young Enzo Ascari. So if I’m the baby, then he’s my dad—the end. And that makes perfect sense with Josie’s warning about not wanting to know his identity. Of course, she wouldn’t want me to discover I’m the offspring of a monster.

  After Rocks left the other night and I stopped crying, I read as many articles on Mr. Enzo Ascari as I could stomach. What that man has allegedly done is sickening. One newspaper columnist had the balls to say he thought the guy was a genius due to the fact that his empire has dominated the market after less than twenty years in the game. Game? Who is this freak that calls himself a journalist? Selling drugs to kids, money laundering, and silencing people to get away with it is no game.

  Oh crabapples, I’m beginning to sound like Chad.

  I think about how my life would be if I hadn’t been given up for adoption. Does Josie still see Enzo? Why is she living in that dilapidated house? Maybe she’s hiding from him. Was I just an obstacle? Did he force her to give me up?

  Questions buzz though my brain, and I can’t answer or even logic out an explanation to any of them. I haven’t eaten, and when my stomach rolls, I wonder how I’m going to force enough food into me later to appease mom.

  My parents.

  Parents V1.0 suck! Parents V2.0 I don’t deserve.

  I’ve been so angry and frustrated at them, and they turn out to be the best parents a girl like me—daughter of a drug lord—could be given. The elevator has broken down somewhere between my fourth and fifth rib. I rub my chest.

  Do they know the truth? Is that why they’re willing to lie to me for a lifetime about my adoption?

  The pit widens and deepens simultaneously. The mix of emotions I’m adding to it is seriously out of this world. If they know, I can’t blame them for wanting to keep me safe. In fact, that makes me want to run to their arms and hide there forever. But if they do know about Enzo, then maybe that explains why they were so strict when I was growing up. It wasn’t about protecting their precious child, but about squashing any tendencies from my paternal side.

  Ugh! I don’t know. Finding my parents was supposed to clear my confusion. I don’t think I want to know where I belong now. I expected that finding my parents would make me feel happy and relieved to know the truth. I didn’t expect to feel fear. Fear of what I have to lose. For the past four months, I haven’t appreciated how precious Parents V2.0 really are. What if I tell them and they don’t know? What if what I discovered makes them not want me anymore?

  * * * * *

  Rocks sends the boys to do aeronaught protection duty for both my work shifts. A text Monday morning surprises me.

  Can I bring the boys for a visit today? Please ask your mom.

  All my girlfriends are in the TV room having a Fast and Furious marathon. Tiff forgets all about the guys on screen and their crazy stunt driving when she finds out who wants to visit.

  “How’s my hair?” Tiff asks, sitting up from being sprawled all over the couch. Brandy reaches over and messes it even more, and the two of them end up on the floor in tangles.

  I find Kelly on the back porch watching Mini ride her toy pony round in circles.

  “Can Rocks bring some friends over?”

  “Friends? Hungry friends I hope. Of course, he can.” She’s glowing. For some reason, it makes me sad. I text him that they better be hungry—like those boys ever aren’t.

  “Girls, I’m going to need your help,” she calls from the kitchen. When we go to investigate, we witness a rare phenomenon—Kelly is in a fluster. “Did they say what time? How many friends? Oh goodness, what should we bake?”

  “We?” I repeat in alarm. Not exactly what the girls and I had planned. We’re only up to movie three and have our marathon carefully timed. But my friends are always keen to sample Kelly’s baking so we follow her orders without question. Once the oven is packed to capacity and there are trays of cookies waiting for oven space, we head to my room.

  “Okay, Brandy and Lou, you work out if Rocks is into Connie like I think he is. Okay?” Tiff announces.

  “No. There will be no monitoring of us.” I groan.

  “Come on. You’re hopeless when it comes to signals, look at Parker. You were convinced he couldn’t possibly like you,” Lou adds. Reminding me of Parker is not helping my mood. Parker had texted me a happy vacation message, and I know I didn’t give him my number.

  “Did you give Parker my number?” I eye Tiff. All she does is smile, showing all her teeth. It’s a little scary. “You’re evil.”

  A knock on the door empties my room in a millisecond. By the time I make it down the stairs, I’m greeted with the sight of Rocks holding Mini and staring wide-eyed at the semi-circle of women. There are three frozen figures behind him, each looking equally nervous.

  “Tiff,” Rocks greets quietly.

  There’s a collective sigh—which includes one from Kelly—and I know I need to take charge. I’m pretty sure Rocks’ tattooed arms are what have the girls caught in a state of delirium. Some days it amazes me that the Camazotz can be seen in public and yet keep their secret identity hidden. They draw attention without even trying. It will be interesting to hear how Brandy and Lou describe them later. Will they notice anything mysterious about them?

  Ezra, Decker and Jeremiah are all in attendance, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face at seeing them perched on stools around our kitchen bench. Way too much dark denim and leather is keeping the girls entranced and hopefully not focusing on me at all. Rocks is off to the side throwing Mini in the air, and her squeals are the only sound—other than chewing. The boys don’t know where to look and are keeping their mouths full of cookies, cupcakes, quiches and pie—I’m guessing in an attempt to avoid conversation. The girls haven’t eaten a single bite and are staring in a way that’s making me uncomfortable—Kelly included.

  I seriously wonder if it’s a Camazotz mojo thing, and if I was this embarrassing when Rocks and I first started hanging out. My burning ears answer that for me.

  I re-load the boys’ plates and corral everybody into the TV room. Silently thanking up above that we didn’t opt for the High School Musical marathon, I hit play. The awkwardness evaporates as Brandy starts explaining what they’ve missed. Seeing the awe on Ezra, Decker and Jeremiah’s faces when the cars drift around corners during the first high speed chase is priceless. Rocks follows me out of the living room, watching the huge screen over his shoulder as we go.

  Once in my room, I get his full attention.

  “We need to watch more movies together,” I say.

  He nods and grins, his eyes sparkling. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were entertaining.”

  “Pfft, you’ve made their year. I won’t hear
the end of this for quite some time.” I smile, grabbing an envelope off my desk and handing it over.

  Rocks never expects gifts, so each time I give him something—regardless of how small—he acts like the earth has stopped spinning on it’s axis. It’s an event. It’s embarrassing, but it makes my heart flutter all the same. He pulls out a high gloss photo of us from our photo booth session. I printed off a couple of my favorites yesterday at the mall.

  Rocks tries to suppress a smile and lets his hair fall over his eyes. I can tell he’s trying to hide from me. “Thanks,” he says to the photo in his hands. I bend my knees and get down into his line of sight.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Rocks pulls out his wallet. “Did you know?”

  Now my ears change color. “Yep.”

  Nothing more is said. I watch him pull out the tattered paper image and replace it with the glossy wallet sized one I ordered. I admire the ink work on his arms before finally looking up at him.

  “You look tired.”

  He nods. “Three more deaths. The Sire’s beside himself.”

  “What?” I grab his arm. We’re standing face to face. “Another attack?”

  “Yeah, that’s why the boys are with me today. Connie, it’s … I just … ” He slumps down on my bed, resting his elbows on his knees and covers his face.

  “Your family?”

  “No, none of ours or the boys’. From one of the anti-aeronaught wings that I don’t get along with. That doesn’t change the fact that they’re still part of the colony, and it’s still a hit to our numbers.”

  I sit next to him and wait. We make a pair. I have a family tree I’d rather bury, and Rocks is burying members of his family tree at an alarming rate.

  “There was a Fold vote two nights ago on moving. It was rejected this time, but the numbers dying are getting harder to ignore. We have to do something.”

  “You said moving wasn’t an option.”