Broken Identity

by Ashley Williams

  A sharp rapping at the door broke Andrew’s thoughts, and he instinctively sat up. “Kevin,” he whispered to himself.

  He threw his covers back and squinted in the darkness to see if Ronnie had heard the noise.

  Still asleep.

  He left the room and tentatively walked downstairs toward the front door. No, it couldn’t be Kevin. Not at this time of night. Anyway, he wouldn’t dare…would he?

  He headed directly for the light switch and flicked on the porch light. Then he stepped aside to a nearby window and discreetly parted the blinds. He could only see the backside of a man, but from what he was able to perceive, he knew it couldn’t be Kevin. Thank You, God.

  Still guarded, he wondered if he should go get his gun—just to be safe. That would mean going back upstairs and probably waking Ronnie. Surely it was just the neighbor.

  He cracked the front door open slightly and found himself face to face with a teenage boy. “Hello?” he said, glancing around his yard to make sure there was no one else.

  “Name’s Drake,” the young man said, not bothering to offer his hand. He quickly removed his ragged cap and tried to appear as presentable as possible. “I, uh…” He looked past Andrew to the inside of his house. Whew, what a place.

  “Did you need something, or…”

  What’re you doin’ here, Drake? You’re not even worth his time. Why don’t you just leave and forget about it? Drake forced his pride behind him and said straightforwardly, “Do you know if there’s a nearby shelter or anything around here?”

  “A shelter?”

  Drake wanted to roll his eyes, but decided against it. “Yeah, you know…” He broke off eye contact with the man and looked away somewhere to his left, never feeling more humiliated in all his life. “Where homeless people go,” he said, so low that he could barely hear himself.

  Oh, Andrew thought.

  “Look, I ain’t got no gun on me or nothin’, if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” He opened up the bag he was holding to show the man he was telling the truth. Then he lifted up his shirt to reveal that there was no handgun or weapon tucked away in his pants. “I don’t have nothin’ to hide. I just need a place to sleep for the night.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Missouri. I, uh…hitchhiked a ride up here from a man who had an Illinois plate and got dropped off here.” What a liar.

  “Do you have any family? Any relatives?”

  “Nope. Only child, both my folks are dead, and as far as family goes, your guess is just as good as mine.”

  Compassion filled Andrew’s heart as the words of his pastor came back to him. I’m not saying that you give money to every person you see on the side of the road asking for it; God instructs us to use wisdom. Ask God to give you discernment, and let Him use you. Andrew opened the door wide and asked Drake to come in and sit.

  As short as the walk was from the front door to the living room, Drake took in every sight around him. A magnificent two-story house with a massive stone fireplace surrounded by armchairs made of smooth, mahogany wood and a glass coffee table in the middle of the room made Drake feel as if he were walking into the palace of a king. And the air conditioning…when was the last time he had been in a house that had that? “You have a very beautiful house,” he said, unable to help himself.

  “Thank you.”

  Drake stood in front of a chair padded with crimson fabric, but felt as if he would disgrace it if he sat in it with his filthy clothes. He set his bag on the floor and remained standing. “I don’t mean to be in your way. All I came here for was to ask where a shelter was.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  Am I ever. Drake nodded his head. He had been so preoccupied on the drive up here and during the whole episode with the car salesman that he had completely forgotten about food. The more he thought about food, however, the more he realized how hungry he felt.

  “Good. Follow me.”

  Drake warily followed the man into the kitchen, where he watched him pull out a long, trim piece of steak from the refrigerator, put it on a plate, and heat it in the microwave. The smell overwhelmed Drake’s senses so much that he considered pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Then again, if this was a dream, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to wake up. He didn’t know what to make of a crazy, old man suddenly welcoming him into his home and treating him as if he were his own son. He was just glad he had picked this house to come to instead of the one across the street.

  Andrew slid the sizzling plate of food over to him and sat. “Tell me about yourself, Drake.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” Drake said, careful to keep his food from dropping out of his mouth as he talked.

  “So you were just going to find a shelter somewhere and what, live there until…”

  “A job would be nice, but unlikely.”

  Andrew wasn’t sure what he meant by that. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Drake stopped chewing and faced the man expressionlessly. “What’s not to understand? Just look at me and see if you can figure it out.”

  Andrew studied him and said, “I don’t see anything—”

  “You’re right. You don’t see anything. Neither does anybody else, and that’s why I can’t find a job. Even tattoo joints won’t hire me, as filthy as they are.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  Drake just nodded his head. “So what about you? Livin’ in a big house like this, you must have kids.”

  “Oh, I’m not married. Never have been.”

  Drake snorted and said, “You don’t have to be married to have kids these days, pal. This is the twenty-first century, remember?”

  Andrew felt his face flush. “Excuse me?”

  Drake swallowed his food and shook his head. “Never mind. So what’s the big house for then?”

  “I inherited it.”

  “No kiddin’? You know what my inheritance is?”

  Andrew didn’t know if he should even dare answer.

  “A house that’s falling apart and a refrigerator stocked with twenty-four cans of beer. That’s all my old man leaves me with.”

  Andrew looked down. Saying, “I’m sorry” probably wouldn’t be an appropriate response, so he decided it would be better if he said nothing at all.

  Tiny droplets of juice from the steak still clung to Drake’s fork, so he put it in his mouth and licked off what little was left, knowing that this would undoubtedly be the last time he ever tasted steak again in his life. Sure, he had six hundred and fifty-two dollars now, but he wasn’t going to waste a cent of it on expensive food or hotel rooms. Five dollars a day on food would last him one hundred thirty days, meaning he would run out just before the cold months began. A hotel room would sure be nice then.

  Drake set his fork on his empty plate and rose to leave. “Thanks. The steak was great.”

  “Are you leaving already?”

  Drake shrugged. “Don’t have no reason to stay.”

  “The nearest shelter is almost ten miles from here.”

  Drake looked outside into the blackness. “I guess I got a long walk ahead of me then, huh?” He tried to smile, but a frown exposed his uncertainty.

  Andrew thought a moment, praying to God for wisdom. God, You know I’m not one to let strangers into my home. Ronnie’s here, and his safety is number one to me. Andrew couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that God was trying to tell him something. “Drake, wait,” he said.

  Drake turned, his hand clutching the doorknob. “What is it?”

  “Why don’t you stay here tonight? Ten miles is a long way, and seems even longer when it’s night and you’re tired.”

  Am I hearing this guy right? “You’re asking me to stay here tonight? Here? In your house?”

  “It’s up to you. There’s a bedroom upstairs I’ve never used. The bed sheets haven’t been changed for over a year now, but they’re clean and the bed’s comfortable. At least more comfortable than the shelter’s are, I�
�m sure.”

  Drake released his hold on the doorknob and stood with his mouth gaping open. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “All you have to say is yes.”

  “If you’re really sure about this…” Drake said slowly, “then I guess the answer’s yes.”

  Chapter

  7

  ENTERTAINING ANGELS

  Ronnie Tavner opened one eye slightly as he heard his uncle whispering to someone across the hall. He lifted his body off the mattress and moved a few feet toward the door, struggling to make out the words. An unfamiliar voice answered his uncle. Now his curiosity was aroused.

  Someone was coming. Ronnie scurried back to his covers. The bedroom door opened and his uncle stepped into the room quietly, closing and locking the door behind him. Locking? That was strange. Ronnie wanted to peek through the door before it closed, but when his uncle shot a glance at him, he shut his eyes before he was noticed and pretended to be asleep.

  Andrew breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed into bed, too tired to pull the covers over his legs. A satisfied feeling swept over him in knowing that he had made an impact on someone’s life today. How long he planned to help Drake, he had no idea, but he was certain God was behind this. Was the kid dangerous? He doubted it. Would he take something of value and leave in the middle of the night? He doubted that too. God had laid it upon his heart to help him, so it had to be right. Whoever Drake was and whatever his background might be wouldn’t determine how he would treat him. Everyone needed love, especially those who were hurting. He wasn’t sure if Drake had told him the entire truth tonight—Andrew was remarkably good at being able to tell if someone was lying to him—but then again, what if Drake had a good reason for not telling him his whole story? Maybe he was ashamed of where he had come from and what his family life had been like. It sure sounded like that during some parts of the conversation.

  Whatever the case might have been, Andrew was determined not to judge. If God had put it on his heart to help this young man, he was confident enough to trust that God knew what He was doing.

  Drake tossed his duffel bag at the foot of the bed and surveyed his room for the night. Impressive. He couldn’t believe how perfect the temperature was, how clean it smelled, and how the padded carpet felt beneath his feet. He longed for a deep, unbroken sleep, and for a few seconds, allowed himself to forget all the runaway plans and schemes and dividing his money into small portions so he could survive decently for a few months. You got one night. Make it count.

  Drake sprawled himself on top of the covers and allowed his body to soak into much-needed rest. The mattress was comfortable; and for once, he didn’t have to worry about rolling over and being assaulted by a cluster of broken springs during the night. The comforter, the pillows, the sheets—everything was fresh and soft. He wadded his pillow at his side and pressed his face against it, smelling the perfume from its last washing. And to think that this was only a guest room no one ever used. What about the other bedrooms? How much nicer were they?

  Drake sat up on the bed and untied his shoes, feeling so tired that he let them drop to the floor.

  His silver knife hit the floor. He saw its reflection in the glow of the moon and realized he had lied to Andrew about not having a weapon. He picked it up quickly and stuffed it in the hollowed-out heel of his shoe until it was once again out of sight. Can’t let him find that. He hadn’t lied on purpose. He only carried a knife as a protective measure, but Andrew still couldn’t find out he had it. It’s not like it was really that important anyway.

  Along with the knife, hidden underneath the insole at the base of his heel, where he had carved out a narrow hole in the dense rubber, was his wad of money. Six hundred Benjamins. He had left his fifty-two dollars inside his wallet for easy reach in case he went into a gas station to buy food, but he kept his six hundred dollars tucked away where he knew it would be safe from being found or stolen. That too was something else he wouldn’t tell Andrew or anyone else about, even though he figured that six hundred dollars would seem petty to a well-to-do man like him. Still, he couldn’t trust anyone but himself.

  Ronnie waited until he was sure his uncle was asleep before delicately lifting the covers off his body. With his panda under his arm, he tiptoed to the door, bit his lip as he looked over his shoulder at his uncle, and noiselessly cracked the door open wide enough to slip his body through. Now, he just had to figure out where that stranger was staying. He walked toward a room with an open door and peered inside.

  Empty.

  The next room down had a closed door. Ronnie thought about passing it up, but his curiosity just wouldn’t allow it.

  He turned the doorknob quietly. Inside, he saw a mound of covers gradually rising and falling, accompanied by the sound of labored breathing. He hesitantly sneaked over and tapped on the sheets.

  Drake jumped like he had been shot. He wrestled his covers off his body and whirled around to find a little kid in Scooby Doo pajamas staring at him. He pressed a hand against his chest and exhaled. “What’s wrong with you, waking a guy up in the middle of the night like this? Who are you anyway?”

  “Ronnie. Who are you?”

  Drake looked at him skeptically. “The man living here said he didn’t have any kids.”

  “He’s my uncle.”

  Drake raised an eyebrow and sank back down in his bed. “Look, kid, I am really tired and—”

  “Are you an angel?”

  Drake sat up slowly and squinted. “Am I a what?”

  “An angel. The preacher said something about taking in homeless people who are angels or something.”

  Drake sat there, weary eyed and wishing that this little pest would leave him alone. “Do I look like an angel to you?”

  Ronnie looked him over. “I don’t know. Never saw one before.”

  “Well, I’m not. I don’t know what kind of preachin’ you’ve been listenin’ to, but—”

  “So what’s your name?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Huh?”

  “Skip it.”

  “OK…then, where’d you come from?”

  Oh, for the love of… “Around,” Drake said dully.

  Ronnie giggled. “That’s a funny place to live.”

  Drake rolled his eyes. Oh, I give up. “Look, kid, whatever you said your name is—”

  “Ronnie.”

  “Whatever. Look. I’m tired—as in very, very, very tired—and I want more than anything to go to sleep, so if you don’t mind—”

  “Why did you come here? Don’t you have a family?”

  Catch a clue, kid. I do not want to talk to you. “No, I don’t have no family,” Drake answered without any interest whatsoever, thinking that maybe after the kid was done playing private eye he would leave him alone.

  “I live with my uncle because my parents didn’t want me anymore.”

  I don’t blame ’em, Drake thought. “Uh-huh. Well, I’d really love to sit here and talk to you all night long—”

  “You would?” Ronnie said, perking up.

  “—but I’m tired and I am going to get some rest. So leave me alone.”

  Ronnie looked down at his panda and handed him over to Drake. “You can sleep with Arrow tonight.”

  Drake shoved the stuffed animal away. “I don’t need that stupid fuzz-ball in my face; I need sleep! Just leave me alone, OK?”

  Ronnie scooped up his panda and dashed out of the room. Drake thought he heard sniffling before his door closed shut. Yeah, good riddance.

  The front door creaked as Drake opened it and stepped inside cautiously. So dark. He tried a light switch, but there was nothing. Wait…someone was breathing. He heard it.

  Drake reached inside his shoe for his knife. Never could be too sure. He crawled toward the back of the couch and heard the breathing more distinctly now.

  But he knew he had killed him. He had seen the blood. Drake scooted to the edge of the couch and tried to see the fireplace through the hazy da
rkness.

  He was gone. So was the blood.

  A shadow swept across the wall. Drake clutched the knife more firmly in his hand as sweat and adrenaline chilled his body.

  “Looking for someone, Drake?” Ben yelled, emerging from the shadows like a ghostly fog.

  “You can’t do anything to me!” Drake screamed, raising the knife. “You’re dead!”

  Ben pulled out a gun and aimed it at Drake’s chest. “Yeah, and now it’s your turn.”

  Drake gasped for air and threw his body in an upright position, beads of sweat clinging to his face. He’s dead. He can’t do anything to me. It was just a dream. Nothing more. He’s dead. He’ll always be dead.

  A knock came at the door. “Drake? You awake yet?”

  Drake put a trembling hand over his chest. No bullet. Just a violently beating heart. “Yeah, I’m awake.”

  “You like pancakes?”

  “Uh…sure.”

  “That’s all I needed to know.”

  Drake heard Andrew walking away and fell back on his pillow. He won’t find you. He can’t. He’s dead. He closed his eyes and tried to forget his dream. He’s dead.

  Drake slipped his socks on and walked downstairs. He was still trembling, but found it was easier to ignore the feeling than to worry about it. Dreams were just dreams. What was happening in his life now was more significant than replaying his past a thousand times over and coming up with the same ending.

  Ronnie was at the breakfast table chugging down a glass of chocolate milk when Drake walked in.

  “Can I sit here?” Drake said, sliding a chair away from the table.

  Ronnie shrugged without making eye contact.

  “Pancakes are almost ready!” Andrew hollered from the kitchen.

  Drake stared at Ronnie out of the corner of his eye, feeling ashamed though he knew he shouldn’t. He felt out of place sitting here, like he should be moving along now instead of bumming another meal. When he realized the kid was purposefully avoiding him, he turned to face him. “All right, I’ll bite. What’s the problem?”