Twisting Fate

by Charisse Reid

  He removes his finger, leaving the envelope lying before me; a transfer of ownership, I suppose. "Rule number one, don't ask questions. The less you know, the less likely you'll fuck up and create problems that I have to fix. Leave the details for me. Your plane leaves in three days. Meet Big Sanchez at sundown on Friday, back side of the club. A car will be waiting so don't be late. Further instructions will be given at takeoff. You're dismissed to make preparations."

  I'm officially creeped out. I don't think twice before grabbing the envelope and standing. I grab the door handle, but stop at the sound of his voice. "Oh and Breyson." It's the first time I've heard that name directed at me aloud. It's strange to hear, but oddly, I get a sense of familiarity as the syllables pass through my ear. I remain facing the door. "Don't think about fucking me over. The price to pay will be vast and I will find you. Never mistake my kindness for a weakness."

  My hands begin to shake uncontrollably. I open the door and scurry toward the stairs. The thought plays on repeat with each step I take. In three days I'll be on my way back to my life, back to her. I'm not sure what to expect when I get there, but I'll be damned if I just let her go. My mind might have taken a hiatus, but I would walk through Hell for her. I can feel it all the way down to my core. I can feel the connection like a current of electricity buzzing in my veins. She just needs to see me and she'll feel it too; soul mates over power all else. That guy won't even have a chance.

  ***

  I run through the door of the guesthouse and grab my duffle bag. In a hurry opening it, the drawer comes completely free of the dresser it sits in. I dump the contents of each one on the center of the bed. The only thing I can think of is getting back home. I've been here for almost seven months, wandering around like a lost soul. I'm not wasting another second of my life. I had a run in with death and I beat it, but there is no guarantee it won't come knocking on my door in another attempt to collect.

  I begin shoving various items of clothing into the bag. When there is nothing left I zip up the bag and drop it on the floor beside the bed. The envelope is still lying in the place I left it when I entered. Picking it up I turn it over. The envelope is sealed shut. Slipping my thumb underneath the edge, I begin tearing it along the glue seam.

  The top is completely open, revealing the edge of the contents inside. I place my hand around it and sit on the foot of the bed as I slide the stack of papers out of the envelope that holds them securely. My stomach feels like it is twisting in knots. I attempt to calm my nerves with deep breaths.

  The stack of papers is now face up in front of me. The first one reads, Certificate of live birth. The name on the front is Breyson Patrick Abercrombie. Date of birth is October 2, 1995, making me almost nineteen. I continue reading the information laid out before me. With each line giving me back my identity, the emotion in my chest thickens. Mother's name, Father's name, the list goes on and on. My eyes fill with tears, because for the first time since I've been here, I have a sense of belonging.

  I lay that page face down and continue to skim through the various pages. It's all here: social security information, address, phone numbers, and health records. He found everything. With the turn of each page more information is revealed. What I didn't expect to see was a news article with the title, Plane crash off the east coast result in no survivors found.

  None of the information triggers a memory. It's like reading about someone else's life. I read the article that follows and scan each name that was listed as an on board passenger. Mine stands out on the piece of paper. Everyone really does think I'm dead. This is the weirdest feeling. It's like being able to witness what happened after your own death.

  I place it to the side and another article catches my attention. This time it's from a local paper. The bold heading reads, Memorial service for local senior held at 10AM. The first line under the photo of the headstone catches my attention.

  Star running back of local high school involved in hostage plane incident on the way to New York for Super Bowl ends in fatality.

  I don't think I can stomach to read anymore. How do you even go back after something like that? People have probably moved on and forgotten about me by now. Maybe I should just stay here, start a new life, and let them continue on. It seems almost cruel to just show up after having to deal with that kind of tragedy.

  I almost put down the stack of papers, but something takes over and pushes me to continue looking. I can't explain it, but it's like something physically takes over my body and turns to the next page. More articles, but this time the heading isn't about me. Pregnant girlfriend of deceased football player hit by car, hospitalizing both in critical condition.

  How the fuck is this possible? How did I have a vision of this when it happened? I check the date in disbelief. I calculate back in my mind to that day and it adds up. Does this mean every vision I've had is true? If that's the case, how do I decipher what is past, present, and future? I move the paper and something falls from between the pages.

  Setting down the papers beside me, I reach down and pick it up. It's a bundle of about five photographs scattered by my foot. The first one is of the two of us standing on a football field, dressed out in uniform. My helmet is lying upside down as if it landed where I dropped it. I look sweaty as if right after a game. We're standing face to face wrapped in each other's arms. I don't know who would've taken that picture, but we're consumed with each other.

  Damn, my heart hurts. She's beautiful...

  I shuffle to the next photo. The next one is the two of us again, standing side by side. I recognize the silver dress from one of the first visions I had. We look happy. How did I get lucky enough to have a girl like that by my side?

  Again, I change to the next one. This one I must have taken. She's standing up against the front of a beautiful, black horse. They are both standing in the grass. Based on the clothing she has on, it's winter. She doesn't know I'm taking the picture. Her fingers are wrapped up in the horse's mane as if she's feeling the texture. The other hand is scratching the flat surface between its eyes and she has a smile a mile wide.

  I fall backward on the bed with the photos in my hand. How can you miss someone so much that you don't even remember? Without her it feels like a part of me is missing. The longer I stare at every feature, the blurrier my vision becomes. I blink to clear it and the tears drain over my cheekbone and into my ear. My visions didn't do her justice. My mind may not remember, but my heart does and the absence of her is killing me slowly. Maybe, that's why my memories are locked away, an attempt for my mind to protect me from heartache and furthermore, death.

  I flip to the next photograph. It's her in a long black dress kneeling in front of a headstone. I feel a familiar pull toward the location, though I don't know why. The photo is a close up. Whoever took it must have been close to her, because I can see my name engraved on the headstone. You can see the tears streaming down her puffy face in the reflection of the glossy stone. I don't like seeing her like that. It causes me physical pain to see her hurt, even in only a photograph. I wonder how she felt, how she still feels. She probably thought I left her.

  I get to the last picture. Nothing could've prepared me for what I saw. Seeing her with him creates a pain that is worse than dying. I get a stabbing sensation in my chest, because she actually has a smile on her face. She looks good. If I had to choose between the previous look on her and this one, I'd choose this one. I'm not going to lie, the thought of him touching her sends my blood boiling, but I can't blame him. Look at her. Just looking at her triggers emotions I haven't felt in the six months I've been here.

  I can't tell where they are, but the photo looks like it is more of an invasion of privacy than a staged picture. He is standing behind her in front of a mirror. He is slightly bent over with his chin resting over her shoulder. His hands are flat against her rounded, pregnant belly and they are both smiling into the mirror.

  A part of me wants to rip his limbs clean from his body for touching what'
s mine while I'm here and at a disadvantage, but another part of me wants to shake his hand when I get her back for putting a smile back on her face when I wasn't there to; to thank him for taking care of her. I'll try to let it go that he's standing in my place now, but that's all fixing to change.

  I stake the claim on what's mine. I marked her first. It's evident by the child she carries in her womb and I'm about to collect. He may think he's claiming her right now, but I will always be her last.

  The thought of him marking her body as his, makes the bile rise in my throat. I toss the photos on the bed in a heated mood. My fists begin clenching uncontrollably with the urge to hit something. The right to judge is not your own when the stain of the same sin is on your hands.

  Fuck.

  I may not have the right to be pissed off because of what I did with Angelique, but I don't have to like it. I want to be the one touching her the way he's touching her. How am I supposed to sit back for three days when I know he's probably having his way with her? I need to find something to occupy my time.

  A knock sounds at the door, as I stand ready to go busy myself. "Bryce? Are you in here?"

  The small trampling of footsteps tells me he's looking for me. "In here, Marcus." He comes through the door carrying a ball. "What's up, Buddy?"

  "I was just thinking we could try something else. You look like you're having one of those days again." If I weren't so ready to get back home right now I would find the humor in this situation. Occasionally, he comes up with some new thing for us to try to get my memories back. I was starting to think he finally gave up, but I guess I was wrong. I guess it does give me something to do.

  "What do you have this time? We've already played baseball and basketball with no results. Do you really think this is going to work," I say as I raise my brow in a sarcastic notion.

  "Those don't look as cool as this one though. I got this one in town with Mom the other day. I had to agree to extra chores to get it, but how could I pass this up? It's going to be different this time. I just know it." He's holding the ball in one hand with his small fingers lined up over the white laces on the ball. He's hitting against the rubber with the other hand.

  "You think this one's going to work, huh? What makes you so sure?" I've learned to just go with his shenanigans. If it puts a smile on his face, who am I to rain on his parade?

  I walk over and stop beside him, mussing his hair with the palm of my hand. It aggravates the shit out of him, but his love for me keeps him from saying anything derogatory about it. He swats at my hand. "I have a good feeling. Today is the day." His confidence is hard not to catch, but I stopped getting my hopes up a long time ago.

  "Okay, then. Lead the way." I follow him to his favorite spot in the yard. I stop and he continues to increase the distance between us. He continues to move forward pretty far out. I doubt he can even throw it that far, but I'll let him give it a try.

  He readies himself and takes position to throw. When he does, the ball soars in a spiraling motion through the air. I begin sprinting backwards as I calculate the distance. Damn, the boy can throw. I never saw that one coming. I jump up to catch the pass and when the ball touches my skin it's like a drape was pulled back.

  One by one the memories sift through my mind as if someone is holding down the forward button on a digital camera photo roll. My mind processes each memory as if it's been lost and is finally filing them away where they belong. All of the knowledge that he gave me now registers with the contents in my mind.

  I remember everything: my family, my friends, and her. My beautiful girl has finally come back to my memories in a way that I can actually remember every damn second we were together. "Kinzleigh..."

  I feel like the air has been sucked from my lungs. No longer paying attention, I land on my back with the ball in hand. The thud of the hard ground beneath me proves that the wind has been knocked out of me. Curling up in a fetal position, I roll over onto my knees and forearms trying to catch my breath.

  They've been absent for so long I want to continuously browse through each chapter in my mind just to prove to myself they are really real. One memory in particular stands out. The day I left for New York in the airport when we were saying goodbye.

  I remember how she was acting in her room that day before we left and then when she kept throwing up. Oh for the love of all that is holy. I push up onto my knees in a kneeling position. She was pregnant then. My mother taught me better than that. She's a fucking OBGYN for crying out loud. How could I not have seen it then? I just left her alone and sick.

  I left her alone to deal with finding out she's pregnant. She had dreams and aspirations in life. What the hell have I done? What kind of future are we going to have now? Then it dawns on me. I slept with another woman. The thought brings immediate tears to my face and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I promised I would never take another woman to bed for as long as I lived. I had the perfect one and my mind tried to tell me she was real, but instead of believing it, I went out and tried to dissolve it. I feel like I've cheated on my lover, best friend, soul mate, and now the mother of my child.

  That's not even the worse part. What if she doesn't forgive me? I have to come clean. I don't want another man taking care of the most precious thing to me, nor raising my child. I begin calculating back. If she didn't start getting sick until February, then she can't be due until at least next month. I always thought Mom's ramblings about her day job were worthless information, but right now they may be the key to everything.

  I stand and run back into my room where I came from. I can hear Marcus following closely behind, but I don't have time to explain. "Bryce, are you okay? What's wrong?"

  "Go get Mom, Marcus. Please, Buddy." I continue running as fast as I can through the yard. I may not have room to judge that Kinzleigh is with another man, but I swear on everything if it's the one I think it is I will blow the fuck up.

  Tearing through the front door I run to the photos I was staring at earlier. I'm pretty sure I know who I saw, but I want to be totally sure. I move around the scattered photos looking for the one I want. When I come to it, my blood is boiling.

  "Son of a bitch." I sling the photo across the room as far as the light piece of paper will go. I begin pacing across the floor. I want to pull my hair out and scratch my skin off. I was partially okay with any man, because she isn't aware that I'm even alive and I told her in that damn video that I sent to move on, but I didn't expect it to be Preston.

  I place my palms flat against the edging of the dresser. My jaw begins working back and forth. My eyes are so full or anger and hatred that they hurt. The pain in my heart is agonizing. How do I fucking compete with the best friend? I bet me being out of the picture was all just a bonus in his plans.

  Out of rage I sling my arm across the top of the dresser, sending everything that rests on top flying in the air. I used to not worry about him so much when we were together, because I knew that Kinzleigh was all mine and she loved me. It wasn't a secret that we were meant to be together. What scares the hell out of me is that she's had time to be with him; time to develop feelings and let the ones she had for me fade. Three days could be three days too late. I have to get another flight out. I have to leave tonight.

  Pulling out my cell phone, I call back the number from earlier. It only rings one time before he answers. "This better be good, Breyson. I'm busy."

  The guy really is kind of creepy. I have no idea how he got all of the photos that he did, because going back through them I realize that some of them came from my room. The thought of someone being in my family's home gives me the chills. "I need an earlier flight. I'll do whatever you need me to do. Three days is too long."

  The line becomes silent for a few seconds. "A car will pick you up in two hours. Be ready. I don't wait."

  "Thank you," I say, but the line goes dead as the words come out of my mouth. I slide the cell phone back in my pocket and look around the room. I have most of the things I need.


  "Bryce, are you okay?" Mom comes running in the room with a terrified expression. I didn't even think of how I was going to break this to her. She's been the only mother I've had for almost seven months. Never once did she treat me as anything but her child. I'm really going to miss my family. She may not be blood, but she's just as much family as my own.

  "Mom, my name is Breyson and I'm going back home. There is someone there worth fighting for. I have to try before I lose her forever." Her hand immediately covers her mouth as she gasps.

  I gather the photos behind me and walk over in her direction. I place them in her hands as her eyes pool with moisture. "True love is worth fighting for, Mom. When you know that person is the only one in existence for you, you go after them. Who gives a damn what anyone else thinks."

  I bore into her eyes so she can understand what I mean. I've never had the conversation with her about that first night at the club with Big Sanchez. I've never told her I know that they were so much more than friends. No one should have to give up the one person that means the most to them to make someone else happy, or out of fear. "Late is better than never."

  She grabs me in a hug and squeezes me tightly. "When do you leave?"

  "Tonight."

  She places her palms on each side of my face. "You'll always be my son no matter where you are. We're going to miss you. Come back and see me when you've retrieved her heart and bring her with you. I want to meet her." She blinks the tears away with no shame.

  "Yes ma'am. I'll never forget my family. Will you help me pack?" They say that where a person has been and what he's gone through makes him the person he's going to be. I totally believe that. I may have been thrown a major curve ball, but it'll only make me cherish the things that I've had more when I get them back.

  "I thought you'd never ask."

  Chapter 25