How to Disappear Completely

  Their lands prospered, and their daughter saw that other great houses began to use symbols to distinguish themselves. She was dismayed at what she perceived to be theft of her family’s prestige. And so she took up the clay tablets and the reeds and set to work creating an idea.”

  Anthea was enthralled. Bea’s voice had taken on an accented husk that whispered memories of summer heat, sweet incense, straw, clay, wind sweeping across ancient plains and buffeting against stone walls.

  “You see, young one, we created magic. A system of translating thoughts into permanent images, writing. Things that people could easily forget, her family would remember forever. If a merchant tried to lie to her mother about his shipment, or a vassal skimped on his tithe to her father, they now could reply to these threats to their dignity with this arcane evidence. She taught her sisters, wed to distant princes, and their people were wonderstruck that the thoughts of another could be inscribed and divined from a stone.

  Their family became feared throughout the entire world. Every man wanted to marry her, but her wise father had many daughters. He instead sent her to E-anna, the home of their goddess, as a sacrifice to the priesthood and to teach the magicians her peculiar gift. As she taught them the secret to translating sounds into symbols, the power began to grow in her. Slowly, slowly, slowly, as her gift diffused through the lands, she felt the power of belief settle into her, but she remained in her temple, young and changeless and strange.

  Did you know that the English words grammar, glamour, and grimoire all come from the same root word? For much of your history, the scholarly pursuits have been married to the magical. Imagine you are an ancient peasant and the person who lords over you can learn practically anything from far off lands by meditating over a confused tangle of symbols. You see where we are going with this? Magic.”

  Bea let out another long laugh, pulling Anthea sharply out of the tale. Bea’s original self had invented writing! Writing! Anthea’s life had been changed immeasurably by words on paper more often than she could count. Or… did she just believe that it had? Bea was continuing the story before Anthea had more time to consider this.

  “Of course, Sumer rose and fell and her ancient home was overrun and destroyed, but by then her family’s bones were already dust and she was immortal. And even if she wasn’t, Egypt came along and created the instrument by which we realized our eternity, the scribe. Imagine it! Millenia of fastidious bureaucrats coursing through our essence, as they do now. And we were content to explore our own pursuits, as we do now.”

  Bea paused and gave Anthea a chance to ask questions. There were many swirling around in her mind. She decided to start with what she least understood.

  “So, how do you fit into this relationship with the void? Do you connect with a spirit at all?” Anthea asked.

  “Sadly no,” Bea replied, “In the early days we did try, and we have seen it done countless times, but we do not seem to have a sympathy for the spirits that cling to the living realm. We have often wondered at this, of course, and the nearest explanation we can give is that we created ourself. Or, I created us, in the time when we were a single entity. We are quintessentially human, not otherside. If all humans ceased to exist, so would we. We do not believe the same is true of the othersiders.”

  Anthea reflected on this but was unsure how to continue. She had a being in front of her who contained the knowledge of much of the history of humanity, and she was dumbstruck. Nothing in her strange life had prepared her to investigate the peculiarities of immortality. In fact, she’d spent much of her life convinced that every strong gust of wind or sudden sound was the beginning of apocalypse. This gave her an idea.

  “Bea, what can you tell me about myself?” she asked softly.

  Cyrus returned then, precariously balancing three cups of coffee and a packet of Oreos in his wide hands.

  “How much do you want to know?” Bea asked in return.

  Chapter 19

  Leaving

  Cyrus sat down, surprised at Anthea’s request. And then again, not. She needed to know things the way he needed to breathe. And she wasn’t afraid of what she might learn. Just two nights ago, his young friend had slept peacefully in her bed, unaware that he was skulking around her house, and that she was within grasping distance of the unstoppable evil that pursued her. Just one night ago, she had calmly and bravely helped him create a magical stand-in, and then left her entire life behind. And now, she was sitting in front of an immortal, timeless being, prepared to hear truths that might destroy her.

  He handed her a coffee cup, realizing with alarm that she hadn’t slept in over a day. He would have to be more conscientious of her mortal needs.

  “Are you sure you want me to be here for this?” he asked her gently.

  Her free hand sought his carefully and gave it a warm squeeze.

  “Please stay,” she answered.

  “All right,” he said softly, “I’ll stay.”

  Bea waited for them to get settled and then took on a blank expression as many voices began to recite.

  “Now, let us begin by saying that this is the most likely past we can construct for you, based on the extensive records we can find for someone who is most likely to be your birth mother. You are not obligated to believe us, and if it feels like we’re wrong about this, then perhaps we are. You are young, but we feel like we understand you pretty well. Trust your instincts.”

  Anthea nodded and took a small sip of her coffee.

  “We have access to every bit of information pertaining to your case, so let’s begin in the beginning. A certificate of live birth from El Paso, Texas for a baby girl named Maria de los Angeles Floralinda Sanchez Huerta, born to Rigoberto Sanchez and Gloria Huerta, both aged 19.”

  “Maria” Anthea said softly, trying it out.

  “Or perhaps Mary, or Flora, or Linda, of Florecita, or Angelita, or Angie, or Flor. Try all these on for size when you examine your memories,” Cyrus added, trying to help. Bea nodded and continued. Their face had been sliding through the scions who had originally recorded the documents. Anthea found it surprisingly intimate to be able connect a real human face to the individual works of a typist or secretary somewhere.

  “Gloria had a history in the system from childhood—she was removed from her domestic situation and became a ward of the state of Texas at age 13. Her people were some sort of extremist Jehovah’s Witnesses, but not even religious exemptions could protect them from the sorts of torture they put Gloria and her sisters through. The law comes down hard and unforgiving for people like that. If you want to know, your maternal grandfather likely fled to Mexico after warrants for his arrest were made public, and he was desaparecido-d by the good folks south of the border,” Bea smiled their feral smile again. So it seemed they were not without a sense of justice.

  “From here, we follow the CPS reports and IRS documents. Gloria was moved from various care homes and group homes, and she seemed to do well enough—her caseworkers only say that she was attending therapy sessions for relationship counseling. It’s not uncommon for ex-witnesses to not really understand the social mores of the wider world when they first disfellowship—especially the really sheltered ones. Anyway, when she was old enough to work, which in Texas at the time was a suggestion more than a law, she took a job at a video store chain in El Paso, according to her income tax returns, and eventually she even completed a high school GED.”

  Anthea had been staring into her coffee cup as she listened but looked up sharply at that. It was starting to feel, well, a little eerie. She had always suspected—hoped?—in the far corners of her mind that the woman who had raised her couldn’t possibly be her mother. And now she was hearing the tale of a stranger who didn’t seem so strange. Gloria had escaped from the impossible burdens of an oppressive religion. She’d been determined enough to get herself an education. She’d struggled through an administrative system that just wanted her to get better, be normal, move on. And she had given it her damnedest. Just
like Anthea.

  And she’d worked at a video store, she mused with a wry grin. The video store is what had first saved Anthea from The Camp. What else did she have in common with this woman?

  “The video store is probably where she met Rigoberto Sanchez, Bert to his friends and Rigo to his family. He seems to have been a kid who was always on the wrong side of the law, but mostly accidentally—at least in the beginning. Accomplice to petty theft, warnings for drunk and disorderly conduct, accomplice to petty assault. He’d spent some time in juvie but seemed to be on the up and up when he met Gloria. His taxes and his parole agent list him as a part-time student at El Paso Community College and a full-time domestic assistant. He was taking classes to get a certificate in some kind of aged care or as a hospice nurse.”

  Bea had slid through several faces and voices during this portion of the story. Evidently Rigoberto had generated a lot of documents. Then their faced changed to a pinched, sour-looking woman and a grouchy, self-righteous voice delivered the next chapter.

  “Times being what they were though, Gloria was kicked out of her group home when it became obvious that she was pregnant. The next address listed for her is with the same as Rigo’s. That’s a voter registration, by the way, not a marriage license. So Gloria was civic-minded in some ways.”

  Bea laughed. To Anthea, it felt almost cruel, and she didn’t really get the joke. Even Cyrus looked somewhat uncomfortable. Bea carried on, oblivious, their sensitivity to mortal feelings fading away as they scanned their immortal memory.

  “It wasn’t domestic bliss for them in any case, and it seems that somewhere along the way Rigoberto developed a nasty temper. After their baby was born, there are a number of call-outs for domestic violence, drunk and disorderlies, noise violations, property damage, city code violations, all kinds of petty nonsense. Bert even got busted for dealing on more than one occasion, and definitely not accidentally this time. He managed to get out of the most serious of those charges because the evidence against him was found to be impermissible—probably because his customers were cops—but he eventually got caught stealing pills at his job and that was it. He was sentenced to 36 months at Rogelio Sanchez State Jail, where he apparently had several violent altercations which eventually cost him his life.”

  Bea paused a moment to let this register with Anthea. Cyrus looked at her, concern pinching his features, but she was calm. She was so tired. Too tired to feel sympathy for this violent man who could have been her father. Maybe after she’d had some rest. She nodded to Bea to please continue.

  “It gets a little patchy here. Gloria was alone in El Paso with a toddler, no family support, and almost no income, so she uprooted to New Mexico to stay with some scumbag cousin of Rigo’s. He wasn’t a bad guy, exactly, just into some bad stuff. But he was well-connected, and Gloria eventually got herself a new boyfriend and things calmed down somewhat. Her address and occupation are the same as this guy’s for two consecutive years—they both worked at a grocery store in Santa Fe, New Mexico.”

  That did spark a memory in Anthea, but from her time in The Camp. She’d never been to Santa Fe, but she’d seen signs for it when she and her mother—her other mother, she now realized— would take trips to Costco for supplies. She took a deep gulp of her coffee, desperate for some energy to process all this.

  “Gloria was really doing her best. As happens to a most cult escapees, she eventually returned to the church, and little Maria was finally baptized as a Catholic. Gloria started looking into pre-schools, although her applications were never approved. Undaunted, she even got a library card. In fact, she still has an astronomical fine. Six hundred and sixty-six dollars! Santa Fe stopped charging fines about twenty years ago and Gloria’s fine stopped growing, but it has been on the books ever since. The librarians still talk about it. Six-six-six!”

  Bea let out another of their long, barking laughs. Anthea didn’t like it. Bea finally seemed to notice that they’d been being insensitive and briefly tried to explain.

  “We made up the six-six-six thing too, but that’s a long story. We’ll tell it to you the next time you come to visit. In any case, our poor Gloria never stood a chance with her new man. He started to knock her around, just like Rigoberto. Not too serious at first, but after a couple of years the cops were coming out once a week, at all hours of the night. The boyfriend never seemed to get much sleep, according to the police reports. Some of the witnesses say he’d wake up in the middle of the night screaming that Gloria was trying to kill him—they said he used it as an excuse for why he’d beat her senseless all the time.”

  Anthea’s eyes pricked with tears and Bea settled back in to their more human patterns.

  “It wasn’t her fault, you know. Don’t ever think that. Gloria never had a chance to see that love can be unconditional. She didn’t know the difference between being cared for and being dominated. It all came to a head one night when her daughter was nearly 5 years old. According to the witness statements, the fight started like most other fights. The boyfriend had come home, gotten drunk, taken some sleeping pills, woken up in a panic, and accused Gloria of trying to kill him. It escalated as usual, but this time she ran outside and screamed for help. He pulled out a gun and told her to stop, to get back inside. She didn’t, and he shot her in the back, in their own driveway. But this was too much for the neighbors and they had had enough. Some of them ganged up on the guy—beat him to within an inch of his life—and the cops probably looked the other way. Santa Fe can be a small very town, especially in the off-season.

  By the time they got Gloria to a hospital, she’d lost so much blood her heart had stopped and couldn’t be restarted. She had no next-of-kin, so she was turned over to the county, which is legally allowed to spend up to $600 in the disposal of unclaimed human remains. Her priest negotiated with the state to have her interred in the Aurora Catholic Cemetery, and so Gloria Maria Huerta Benavidez was given a small headstone and a final absolution, and that is where she is today.”

  Bea stopped talking for a minute. The silence was heavy with sadness and questions. While they’d been in the DMV, night had fallen over the desert. Anthea imagined that she could hear creatures scurrying around the edges of the building, trying to avoid the night birds and hungry reptiles that hunted them. Did they have snakes in Tucson? Probably.

  Cyrus and Bea were waiting for Anthea to indicate that she was ready for the next installment, but her mind was beginning to spin her questions away from what was coming. Bea carried on anyway.

  “Gloria’s daughter never appeared in any records after that terrible night, and there is no mention of her in the police reports or witness statements. It’s possible she was staying with a “friend” and that “friend” conveniently neglected to inform the state, but this is only speculation. It wasn’t until the FBI began seriously investigating interesting financial gymnastics of the Apostolic Oneness Chapel of the Holy Pentecost in Las Vegas that anyone would have even known to look for her. Joel Jerichoson, the agent who employed you at the video store did try to figure out who you were, but none of the agencies ever really put it together.”

  Anthea was there, but not. Her head weighed a thousand pounds, and she could barely hold her eyes open.

  “So,” continued Bea, “For this reason, I have issued you a passport in your chosen name. I think you will be safe enough in Cyrus’ hands for a while, if you want to keep using this name.”

  Bea handed Anthea an envelope with a small, thick weight inside. She was so grateful she couldn’t speak. She hadn’t realized just how much she was dreading giving up her name, her identity. For now, she remained Anthea.

  “You need to sleep, young one,” Bea said to Anthea with feeling, and then to Cyrus, “And you both need to get back on the road. Don’t slow down and don’t stay anywhere long for the next few weeks—and I recommend that you go and visit Nik after you’ve left a tangled trail.”

  Later, her memories of their parting were a tangle. She remembers a warm hug
, a starry night sky, a library, and wanting to go to school, but everything else is darkness and yelling.

  The next day, Anthea looked out the window of Cyrus’ now-familiar SUV and sighed again. She’d slept for nearly eight hours while Cyrus drove and she was a bit still dazed.

  Cyrus glanced over at her with sympathy.

  “We don’t have to do this,” he repeated for the 100th time since she’d woken up, “We got your passport, we could go anywhere in the world. Right this minute. Wherever you want.”

  She didn’t answer, so he began making suggestions.

  “Personally, I’ve always wanted to see those beaches that are covered in bioluminescent plankton every now and then. Imagine waving your hands in the water and seeing real sparks! Or perhaps we could visit Tibet, disappear into a monastic village high in the Himalayas. There’s always the Great Rift Valley, the home of all our ancestors, and I wouldn’t mind a jar of dirt from those hills, I can tell you. Or how about the souks and oases of the Arabian Peninsula? Or the spice markets and temples of the Indian subcontinent? The waves and beaches of the Pacific islands? The glaciers of Patagonia? The highlands of central Asia? The art and cathedrals of Europe…”

  He trailed off, having realized belatedly that he’d made his point.

  She looked at him suddenly, her expression concerned.

  “Don’t you need to- to feed? I mean, if we go away, will you need to trick people? And how will you do it?”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” he assured her. “The work we did in LA will sustain me for many months before I start to feel hungry again. And when that happens, it’s a simple matter of pulling a few harmless grifts every couple of weeks. Tarot readings, palmistry, even my IT shamanism. And I’ve been wanting to give holistic healing a try lately—have you heard of the healing properties of ionized water?”