The Night Orchid

by M. G. Hernandez

  “That he was a suspect in Athena’s case?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I mean, information like this would’ve affected his ability to get a job as a teacher, wouldn’t it?”

  “They let him go then. They said there was not enough evidence to indict him. His family worked quickly to make sure this didn’t leak out. Mayor Wall controlled the media, so no one in Wakefield knew anything about it. And for those who knew, the family paid them handsomely for their silence.”

  I shake my head. “But what of the autopsy? What resulted from the DNA sample from Athena’s case?”

  “It was inconclusive. When they compared his DNA profile to the one taken from the follicle of a strand of hair found on Athena’s clothing, they found that sample to be contaminated which, of course, yielded poor results.”

  I roll my eyes. “How convenient.”

  “Yeah. Crime scene contamination is common. It can happen from someone accidentally sneezing or coughing over evidence and stuff. No one would ever question that.”

  I shake my head. “The system is so corrupt.”

  “Exactly. But now, they’re probing deeper. Did you know that they’re investigating the medical coroner that did Athena’s autopsy? They’re suspecting him of tampering with evidence.”

  I huff. “You think? It sucks that they are only questioning now.”

  “They can’t turn a blind eye anymore. There are too many families involved. Plus, it’s hard to refute a case when the EMTs, police force and SWAT team witnessed a young girl handcuffed to a cabinet with the suspect a few feet from her. Definitely harder for the Cunningham-Wall family to keep that on the down low. You really were the reason they could indict him this time.”

  My heart beats violently as an image of my imprisonment in the basement flashed in my head. After a few calming breaths, I ask him another question. “What’s Mr. Cunningham’s story anyway?”

  “After he graduated from Columbia, they sent him here to live with Mayor Wall.”

  “Why?”

  “According to my dad, he was being investigated in New York for statutory rape. He had a sexual relationship with a minor.”

  I look at him wide-eyed. “Surprise, surprise.”

  “Of course, they unearthed none of this when he applied to our school. Why should they? The mayor referred him. Principal Dwyer would not question Mayor Wall. They didn’t even do a background check on him.”

  I rub my temples to take away the throbbing pain. “Jules, all this corruption is giving me a splitting headache.”

  “No shit. Wakefield seems like a boring, cookie cutter town, but it’s knee deep in corruption and scandals.” He leans over and rubs my back. “You want me to continue or you want me to stop?”

  “No, continue.”

  “Anyway, when he got here, he was this young newly grad. He was good-looking and charming. At a party hosted by his cousin, George, guess who was also there?”

  “Athena.”

  “Yup. They connected, and the rest is history.”

  I pick up a sliced cheese and take a bite. “Wonder what his childhood was like? I mean, how did he end up like this?”

  He looks at me impishly. “Good question. So, I got a hold of his files when I visited dad last week.”

  My eyes widen. “How did you do that?”

  He shrugs. “This story is the biggest news in Wakefield, so naturally the team was discussing the case. Anyway, when they took a break, they left his file on the table. Serious breach of confidentiality, I know. So, I swiped it for a quick moment and took pictures of his case files to read for later.”

  “Huh, I’m impressed, but not so with the police force’s ability to protect our privacy.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, tell me about it. So anyway, his family life was pretty turbulent. Wealthy family living in upstate New York on a six acre estate.But according to the records, he had an emotionally uninvolved father and an alcoholic mother. She physically abused him all throughout his childhood until he turned eighteen when his mother died of a drug overdose.”

  As Julian shared Mr. Cunningham’s social history, images of his story played in my head like scenes from a movie.

  His father was a wealthy entrepreneur from an influential family and his mother was a socialite. She was the daughter of Mayor Wall. She was only eighteen when they married, and his father was ten years her senior. He was not an amiable man, and he physically and emotionally abused his mother. Though he left his son alone, he was a neglectful parent and rarely acknowledged his existence. His mother, despite the abuse, remained in love and emotionally dependent upon him. But his father was always on business trips, and as the years passed, these trips became frequent and longer. His absence ranged from months to even a year. His mother, in a state of despair, became worse the longer he stayed away. Alcohol came to play, especially as rumors of a mistress and another family began circulating in their circle.

  She was not the only victim in this marital breakdown. Mr. Cunningham suffered from parental neglect throughout his development years and the only attention he received was from his homeschool teacher, the housekeeper, and when his mother visited him in her drunken stupor. His mother loved to remind him how he was the spitting image of his father. For this reason, she hurt him to where the housekeeper hid him in her quarters to protect him from the nightly abuse.

  Even as the cycle of violence and neglect continued, Brian proved to be a resilient boy. He became a master of independent leisure. But he was very intelligent and curious. He spent most of his days with the employees of the home, especially the carpenter who taught him woodworking. He lost himself in this hobby, making little stools and tables. Finally, with the help of the carpenter, he built a crude, tiny cabin on their expansive estate farthest from the main house and hidden from view. When his mother stalked up the steps to find him, he would run straight to his window, descend on his rope ladder and sprint to his cabin. He slept there until morning.

  He was a well-behaved boy, loved by the domestic employees. He returned their affection, but despite displaying loving relationships with them, they described him as strange. He engaged in solitary fantasy play. The employees often found him deep in his daydream so that it became hard to rouse him. Often, he had problems discerning between his imaginary world and reality, which troubled them. Eventually, he would snap out of it and everything would return to normal in the Cunningham household. Strangely enough, it was in this state that they saw him the happiest and in control—a master of his own world.

  This life continued on until his mother died when he was eighteen. She had a drug overdose which was described by the family as accidental, but everyone knew in their circle that it was suicide.

  In the meantime, he and his father never worked on their relationship. His father moved on with his second family and married his mistress. Mr. Cunningham continued on to Columbia University to pursue a degree in education. He focused on the youth as he was interested in youth development and mentorship. He was in the forefront of child abuse advocacy and expressed never wanting a child to experience what he experienced. The community respected him.

  He started developing friendships in college and appeared content and well-adjusted. For a while, the young Mr. Cunningham was getting a fulfilling life he deserved. But, while certain aspects of his life were thriving, his dating life was tanking. He could not form lasting romantic relationships and distrust was a recurring theme. But on the rare occasion that he did, he latched onto it. One particular relationship proved to be a shining example of this statement, and it was the catalyst to what was to become the foundation of his delusional and dangerous attachments to young girls. Though he had triumphed over adversity, all is not well with the well-loved Mr. Cunningham.

  Four years ago, he formed a relationship with a sixteen-year-old he met at a college party. She looked much older than her years but was naïve, misguided, and easily influenced by her peers. In an interview with the girl, she described the relationship as ob
sessive. He called her his “muse” and engaged her in several fantasy plays ranging from innocent games to sexual role play. He isolated her from her family and friends. He fixated on saving her from her parents, who he felt were negligent. He promised to take care of her and made plans to leave the state together to start a new life. But she told someone, and this person told her parents, who called the authorities .

  In an interview with an anonymous source, Mr. Cunningham’s father’s lawyer visited the family. They paid the girl’s parents handsomely for their silence. In the meantime, his father sent him to Wakefield to live with his grandparents to squash the rumors surrounding the Cunningham family and his only son.

  “And the rest is history,” says Julian as he finishes Mr. Cunningham’s bizarre yet sad social history.

  I look out into the vista. It makes sense now why Mr. Cunningham was so drawn to me. His family life, besides the cheating and spousal abuse, eerily mirrors mine. The parental neglect, the abuse and using influence and wealth to erase scandals. He could sniff us out—the unlucky ones who were born to such a fate. I set my cookies on the ground. Suddenly, I lost my appetite. Murderous tendencies aside, am I him? Am I doomed to have problematic relationships in the future, unable to form a healthy bond with someone because of my problematic social history?

  “Jo…” I hear Julian’s voice and I blink in surprise.

  I turn to him. “What?”

  “Are you ok?” he asks, sweeping a strand of hair off my face. “I’ve been trying to catch your attention for, like, two minutes now. You just went off somewhere to la la land.”

  I furrow my brows. “Had it been that long? I hadn’t noticed.”

  He looks at me curiously. Then he smiles. “Ok, enough with this depressing story. I have something for you.”

  I pull my knees to my chest. Suddenly, it’s freezing underneath this tree. But I shake my head and chastise myself for letting my perpetrator get to me. He’s in jail, awaiting trial. He can’t get to me now.

  A brown package tied with a twine shows up in front of my face. I look at him in confusion. “What’s this?”

  “That’s the whole point of presents, Jo. Unwrap it so you’ll know what it is,” he says with a teasing smile.

  I take it from him, still looking at him with confusion. “But why are you giving me a present? What’s the occasion?”

  He sighs. “It’s my early birthday present for you. These past weeks have taught me that life is short, so I’m giving this to you now. Anything can happen, and I don’t want to tempt fate. But don’t worry, you’ll have another on your actual birthday.”

  “That’s kinda depressing, Jules, but also very sweet.”

  He tickles my rib. “Just open it.”

  I pull on the string and watch it fall to my lap. When I’ve removed the wrapper, I stare at the object in my hands. It’s a yellowed book made of printer paper, bound by a piece of string worming through the punch holes. On the top it reads, “The Adventures Of Godzilla Breath and Fartface.” It’s our homemade comic book from our childhood. I look at him, my eyes wide with surprise. “You’re giving our book to me?”

  “Yes, and no.”

  I furrow my brows. “Ok. This birthday present isn’t much of a gift, then.”

  He laughs. “Turn to page 20.”

  I place my fingers on the paper and flip to the desired page. I pause and smile. From what I remember, this was an unfinished chapter. Now, it’s a full colored page filled with action and beautifully drawn comic characters of ourselves. It finishes our Athena adventure from three and a half years ago, and when I roam my eyes to the last strip, I blush. The last box had Julian’s comic version of himself kissing me—well, the Godzilla version of me.

  “I thought our first kiss would be the perfect ending to that chapter,” he says with a lopsided grin.

  “Jules, this is the perfect gift. You finished our story.”

  “Well, hold on. It’s not done yet. Flip to the next page.”

  When I turn the page, my breath hitches. There’s a new chapter, and it reads, “Chapter 3: The Night Orchid.”

  I face him, wide-eyed. “Jules, you added Alexa’s.”

  He nods as he runs a tentative hand through his hair. “Uh…yeah. When we ended our friendship, I couldn’t really bear to finish this project, but I couldn’t part with it, either. Now, that we’re back in business,” he says with a pause and a smile. “I figured then that our story isn’t really over, is it? So, I continued on and chronicled our recent collaboration. I added additional pages because we have more chapters to write.”

  I study our very own comic book with pride. It’s meticulously detailed and there has to be hundreds of frames in these pages just to tell our story. I beam at him. Truly, I’m touched. “Jules, I’m speechless. I can’t imagine the work you poured into completing this project.This is so awesome. Thank you.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, but that chapter has an epilogue. I really hope you won’t be speechless, then.”

  I arch a brow at him.

  “Go on. Go to page 40.”

  I eye him suspiciously, but he coaxed me with his hand to hurry. I flip to the page and read what’s in it. Underneath the word, “Epilogue,” is a scene that covers the entire page. My radioactive dinosaur body is standing over Julian’s chronic fart-combusting one, but he’s kneeling on one knee. I squint to read his speech balloon. “Godzilla Breath—”

  “Oh, you’re gonna read it out loud?” he interrupts.

  I shrug. “Why not?” I continue. “Godzilla Breath, will you do me the honor of being my date for the senior pro—”

  I snap my head in his direction, and he blushes. “Jules, is this your prom proposal?”

  He gives me a sideways glance. “Uh, yeah…sorry, it’s not so elaborate. I mean, I can do the whole shebang and hire a few of the cheerleaders to shower you with petals until you find me in the middle of the football field but I just thought you might prefer something more low key and—”

  But I don’t let him finish. For the first time in our relationship, I start something intimate and cover his lips with mine. I give him what I hope is a searing kiss and his body jerks in surprise. But he relaxes and melts his body into mine. When I finally release him, I wait a minute to let his eyes flutter open.

  “So…” He says.

  I laugh. “Jules, you geek. Open your eyes.”

  He finally does and looks at me.

  “That was the best prom proposal ever. And my answer is—”

  “No, wait,” he says, interrupting me. He grabs the comic book and points to the empty speech balloon above my dinosaur head. “Write it down here. Would really help me out because that’ll save me five seconds.”

  I laugh and take his pen. Then I write, “Yes, Fartface. This radioactive dinosaur will wear an itchy taffeta gown for you on prom night.”

  I hand it to him and he reads it. He smiles. “It’s written in our book, so that’s like a contract. No taking it back now.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Jules.”

  He picks me up and places me on his lap, so I’m straddling him. I place my forehead on his. “Thanks for always rooting me to the ground when the chaos in my life tries to blow me away.”

  He leans back and kisses my forehead. “It’s called, ‘love,’ Joy.”

  And so we sit there underneath the Juniper tree, exploring this concept between two people, placed in this world to be each other’s anchor. And in between whispers of promises and gentle kisses, we contemplate the next chapters of our lives.

  Epilogue