by KD Knight
"I was told that you could tell a Nephilim by their red eyes," I mentioned as she passed me. "The creature that attacked me didn't have red eyes. With a little less teeth and a good shave, he could have passed for my English teacher."
"That's because he was not a Nephilim," she said over her shoulder. She handed Glenroy the notepad from her pocket.
"Are you going to keep us in suspense? If he wasn't a Nephilim, then what is he?" Mark asked loudly. The room fell silent.
She turned to face us and let out a long sigh. "He was an Ancient. I'm surprised Christopher hasn’t educated you on this…"
"What's an Ancient?" I asked.
"It's a species that no one has seen in close to a hundred years. This is Eshkar history 101." She gave Dr. Coy an annoyed look, rolled her eyes, then turned to face Glenroy, again. I could see the smug expression on Glenroy's face over her shoulder. It sent a cold shiver down my spine.
"You're an annoyingly miserable woman," Mark said to Millicent.
"Thank you," she responded with a slight scowl.
"Cantankerous old mule," Mark barked. "We are asking you for the truth. What are you hiding? Never mind. We'll figure this out ourselves. We don’t need your help."
"If you keep giving me compliments I might think you have a crush on me, Mr. Chung. I might have to get your father, Dr. Alister Chung, to address your inappropriate feelings toward me."
"Call him. You can use my phone." He moved like a blur and appeared only inches from her face. "If you think I am afraid of your plastic badge, you're fooling yourself. Who wears black leather in Jamaica? You nuh fraid a heat stroke?"
Mark continued to argue with Millicent who seemed to become more humoured the angrier Mark became. At the other side of the room, Dr. Coy had lost the battle of restraining Aunt Dar. She charged over to us with a steel glare and a determined step.
"Your presence is not wanted," Aunt Dar barked, wagging her finger at Millicent. "I think you should leave."
"Perhaps you're right." Millicent forced a smile. "Miss Miller, with no offense intended, I hope to never see you again."
"Likewise." I watched as they descended the stairs.
Those of us who remained in the room turned our attention to Dr. Coy.
" What's an Ancient?" I asked.
He fell into a chair and began running his fingers through his tattered dreads. "I really didn't think that any of you would have to face such a being. A live sighting has not been reported in the last one hundred years. Due to the rarity of their appearance, their existence has become a legend, a part of Eshkar folklore."
"Ancients are neither Eshkar nor Nephilim," he continued. "Like Eshkars, they are a variation of Normals. Instead of having a gene that grants you the ability to run fast or lift cars, they have more primitive animal instincts, like a heightened sense of smell, acute hearing, and the appearance and mannerism of an animal."
"Jane, this was not a wrong place, wrong time scenario. Whoever gave this Ancient your picture sent him to find and attack you." Dr. Coy’s tone was sombre. "Did you see a mark or branding on his neck or hands?"
"Branding?" Mark sat forward.
"Ancients were kept as servants," Dr. Coy explained.
"By who?" I asked.
"At one point both Nephilim and Eshkar had Ancients as servants. But the Eshkar Council later ruled the practice to be barbaric and banned it. Some think the practice then went underground."
I closed my eyes and replayed snapshots of the hairy man's hands, arms neck and face. "I don't remember any marks," I said finally. "If I did see a brand, how would we find out what mark belonged to what owner?"
Dr. Coy hung his head, letting out a deep sigh. "Those records are kept in the Port Royal archives."
~Boothe~
Chapter Fourteen: A Father's Secret
I know my dad is hiding something. Since that argument about Jane, I've been waiting for the right time to find what that something was.
As soon as the morning sun broke through the horizon, my dad was off on another one of his business trips. I watched through my bedroom window as his car rolled out of the driveway then I went straight to his study.
The study was meticulously organized. Everything down to the paper clips had its designated spot. This meant that I had to be careful. Anything I touched had to be returned to the exact spot where I found it.
A search of his desk drawers gave me nothing but a stapler and a few markers, which on second thought made sense. He's not likely to leave secret information open for all to see. I fingered through the books on the bookshelf and pulled out a grey canvas-covered book entitled The Poor Man's Orchid. The spine creaked as I opened the cover. This book had never been read. I'm sure none of these books had ever been read. They were all show books placed to enhance the room’s study appearance.
Frustrated, I dropped into the chair behind the desk. I leaned back, put my feet up, and surveyed the room. Apart from the bookshelf and the desk, I couldn't see any other viable hiding spaces. Maybe it's hidden in a spot that's not visible. I ran my fingers under the desk for any unusual buttons or notches. Nothing.
If I were a cold and calculating dictator, where would I choose as a hiding place?
I looked hard at the painting that hung on the wall across from me. This oil painting of a street in England was my father's pride and joy. We lived in England for seven years before returning to the island.
I ran my finger along the gold embellished frame. I peered behind it. There it was, the flat silver surface of a wall safe.
I stood in front of the safe for a few moments staring at the numerical pad. I’d found his secret location. Now to figure out his access code. My father was not sentimental, so the code wasn’t likely to be my birthday or his wedding anniversary. Maybe it's the address of his first store on Constant Spring Road. I typed in 1257. The keypad beeped, but didn't open. I tried the last four digits of the ‘secret’ cell phone that he kept from my mother, 8449. That's not it either! A loud grunt interrupted my third guess.
"If you put in another wrong number, it will lock you out and your father will have to call the manufacturer's head office to get them to reset the code." My mother was standing in the doorway wearing a fluffy pink robe. "What are you doing in here?" She took a sip of her coffee.
"Getting caught in the act," I responded. I could never lie to my adopted mother. It's because of our bond. In good times or bad times, we were in it together, leaning on each other like old friends. "I'm looking for something."
She laced her slender fingers around her mug. It was the mug I had given her when I was ten. I remember the big hug she’d given me and the tears that welled in her eyes as she read the words written across the front, 'World's Greatest Mom.'
"What are you looking for?" She asked.
"I don’t know. I would love to find some information on why everyone is after Jane. But I'll settle for any information about a race of Ancients."
She nodded then took a long sip of her brew. "Say you find this information, then what?"
"Then I'll track down each and every one of those responsible for hurting Jane and make them regret it."
My mother looked at me for a few moments. Her eyes looked glossy like they were welling up with tears. "When you were seven, I got a call from the neighbour saying that you had fallen out of a tree and broke your arm. When I came to get you, you weren't crying. You were consoling your friend. I asked you what happened. You looked at me and said, ‘Brian was stuck in the tree.. I had to save him.’"
"I remember."
"You’ve always been a protector," she said, looking down into her cup. "I'm just afraid that this time it will be more than your arm you’ll break."
"I'll be fine, mom. I promise."
"A promise is a comfort to a fool, son. The code is the day you showed up on our door October 18th. The code is 1018." She sighed then left the room.
I hated seeing my mother upset. To alleviate her pain I would have to abandon J
ane. I couldn't do that. If I left her, with no one to protect her, she would end up dead. Maybe if someone were there to protect my birth mother she would still be alive.
I plugged in the numbers and the safe hissed open. In the center of the steel cube was a single manila folder. Inside the folder were letters written from my dad to various other chairmen from the councils around the world. Most of the letters spoke of the rising tide of Nephilim violence reminiscent of the pre-war days. The Council chairmen inquired about the current location of Aramos, and whether he was still under close surveillance.
I skimmed the letters, it was warning after warning. Wait. A name I recognized. It was deep in the body of one of the memos written to my father from Council Guard Captain, Glenroy Mamos. He wrote:
There are reports of a surge in violence in the town of Black River. Seven squatters, all Normals, were viciously attacked by a band of Nephilim and Ancients. Preliminary investigation indicates the offenders were searching abandoned properties that once belonged to the Millers. Liaisons with E.I. in Canada indicate similar break-ins in other locations Jane Miller has inhabited. Violent activity linked to Jane Miller is steadily rising. According to reports, the violence peaked on June 7, the anniversary of the great earthquake. Surveillance on the target Aramos has been increased. Full report sent to head office archives. Detailed reports of the offenders will be kept in their respective files.
Why did Glenroy act as if he knew nothing about Jane's problems when in fact he's been following her and the violence that surrounds her for years? What's this about the anniversary of an earthquake? The biggest question of all was why did my father keep all this a secret?
I shuffled through the papers searching for the answers to these new questions. There was no further talk about the quake or Jane. Close to the end of the folder I saw another document that peaked my interest. It was a letter, with no letterhead or signature. It spoke about a proposal made to my father. More specifically, it was about a secret that the author said would destroy my father. The author gave my father an ultimatum: give him what he wanted or he'd release the information. The letter was dated three months before my father ended his term as Chairman.
What was this secret? Was this the actual reason my dad suddenly resigned from his position as Chairman after serving only four years of a ten-year term?
I was about to put the files back into the safe when I noticed a letter-sized envelope lying flush against the wall of the safe. It was unmarked, except for my dad's sharp-angled signature right across the seal. I've seen this done before. It was a simple way of deterring prying eyes and readily detecting if anyone had opened the document.
I ripped open the envelope, pulling out a single document—my birth certificate.
Then it happened, my dad came home. I could hear his heavy footsteps as they got closer to the study. I was still holding the torn envelope in my hand. Then I heard my mother. She asked him why he was back so soon and he said something about forgetting his travel documents. My mother continued to bombard him with pointless questions and my father started to sound irritated by my mother's small talk. The footsteps towards the study resumed at a new hurried pace.
"What are you doing in my private office?" He yelled as he burst through the door. My mother was right behind him.
"Why is my birth certificate in your secret safe? Better question, why is my biological father's name, birth date, and the name of the hospital where I was born blacked out?"
****
"Morning," Jane greeted as she climbed into the passenger seat next to me. "Boothe? Hello? I said good morning," she sang.
"Sorry, my mind is...never mind."
"Is everything okay? Did you and your dad have another fight?" She reached out to touch me.
"Don't worry," I placed my hand on hers. "I'm fine."
I caught a glimpse of the banana that was lying on her lap. "You missed breakfast?" I asked.
"Yeah. I woke up late. I was up last night talking to…"
"A friend?"
"Someone who was nice enough to keep me company."
I gave her a one-sided smile. "When I gave you my number you were so sure you were never going to call me. But I knew I'd win you over. It was just a matter of time before you gave in."
"Gave in? Now I regret calling you," She said, rolling her eyes. "I will never make that mistake again."
"Until you hear snap outside your door or a lizard croaking outside your window…" I watched as she clenched her jaw tightly and folded her arms across her chest.
"I'd call my mother before I ever call you again."
I couldn't help the smile that crossed my face. "Lighten up. I was happy to keep you company. It wasn't like I could sleep anyway." My eyes felt like sandpaper as I blinked. She on the other hand looked refreshed and beautiful as usual.
"You didn't answer my question before. Did you and your father have a fight?" She toyed with her banana.
Fight. I wouldn't say it was a fight, well not in the traditional sense. I asked him about the birth certificate and he shouted about breaking into his private safe. He huffed and puffed until his small frame exploded. Not once did he give an answer for the information I found about Jane or my blacked-out birth certificate. In the end, I left the room frustrated. He wouldn't give up anything. "We had a disagreement."
"What about?"
"Nothing important." I gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Back to last night; why did you hang up on me?"
She blushed. "I said Goodnight. It was 1:30 in the morning…"
"You shouldn't have hung up. We had a lot to talk about."
She held her breath. I could see that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes brightened with flecks of silver. "Like what?"
"Like what's going on between me and you."
"I don't understand." She kept her head low.
"It's not about what you understand. It’s about what you feel."
"I feel hungry. We're meeting Lisa and Mark for breakfast at Elma's-"
"Do you need to hear me say it first?" I interrupted. "Is that it? Fine, Jane, I care."
"Don't," she said, clutching her pendant, "please don't."
"Why not?" My jaw tightened.
"Because I am asking you not to."
That did not go the way I’d envisioned. I didn't think she would leap into my arms, but I did expect some reciprocation. I watched her from the corner of my eye as she clung to her necklace. She could try to avoid it, but Jane's a terrible liar. I know she feels something. I could see it. But I could also see that she didn't trust me completely.
We pulled off the main road into one of my favourite local restaurants called Elma's Place, or El’s as us regulars called it. It was quarter to eight and El's was already teeming with people ordering their morning provisions.
"I'm going to order a peanut porridge," I said, looking up at the menu posted on the wall behind the counter. "How about you?"
"Peanut porridge?" Her full lips twisted.
"It tastes better than it sounds," I said through clenched lips. "Go out on a limb, try something new."
"I only have the stomach for one adventure per week. I've met my quota."
She looked at the entire menu, making odd faces as she went down the list from left to right and back again. I watched her every movement.
"What?" She caught me staring.
"Poison is not on the menu. Hurry up."
"I'll have a beef patty."
"A patty? For breakfast? I'm not sure they serve patty so early in the morning."
"It's the only thing on the menu I know." She pleaded her case. "We used to have this thing back home where they put the patty between two hamburger buns and you topped it with anything you'd put on a hamburger. It was really good. I used to order it all the time."
"Sounds like they were trying to make the Jamaican version of an American sandwich." I said, stepping up to the counter.
"Yeah, like a Jamwich."
"Ah wha?" I held in my l
augh.
"A Jamaican sandwich: Jamwich."
"Don't let anyone else hear you say that."
We got our food, headed to a table and ate in absolute silence.
"They're here!" She jumped to her feet and waved eagerly to Mark and Lisa as they approached.
"Sorry we're a bit late." Lisa was obviously irritated with Mark.
"Hey, this handsome form takes time to perfect. Have to get the hair and the beard right." He pointed to his face.
"Calling the four strands of bone straight hair on your chin a beard is a leap," I teased.
"Don't test me this morning, Boothe. Understand that I will mess up my new kicks for you," He warned in return and balled up his fists.
"Any time you're ready." I pumped my biceps.
"Okay, guys, joke’s over." Lisa looked at her watch. "We only have fifteen minutes to make it to school."
"Mark gave me his father's clearance pass. I made a copy." She slid the card across the table. "I also prepared a brief for each of you. Please read it carefully."
"Wow." Mark examined the pass closely. "This looks just like the original. If I knew you were this good I would have given you some other things to copy."
Jane looked around the restaurant carefully, watching each person as they headed to their tables. "Why are we doing this here? They're so many people around."
"The more people, the more witnesses." Lisa answered. "No Neph will start something with this many people around. It's an automatic ten to fifteen years in confinement."
"Jane, that's what you should have told the Ancient in the market. I'm sure that if he knew the punishment he would have backed off for sure." Mark’s voice was rich with heavy sarcasm. "I'm hungry."