Spirit King: Return of the Crown

by Dashiel Douglas

  “Who knows how much trouble you’ll get yourself into over there. And when you do, who’s gonna be there to save you?”

  Zara struggled to smile. “You know,” she said. “It’s not too late. You can come with me.”

  “Even if I could and not jeopardize my scholarship, you know I can’t leave Baba. He’d be so lonely without me.”

  “I know,” she acknowledged. Her gaze dropped to her feet. “But you can’t blame a girl for trying. Will you call me every night before you go to sleep?”

  “That’s gonna be like 5 a.m. your time.”

  “I don’t care. You better call me, punk.” She rolled out an open hand in front of her.

  D’Melo tenderly took it into his. “Always, Zar.”

  Her eyes misted. “You gave me the best birthday ever,” she said, choking back tears. “And I’m gonna miss yours.”

  “Eh,” he shrugged. “Just hearing your voice will be enough.”

  He loosened his grip. Her hand reluctantly slipped from his clinging fingers. He took a long breath, turned, and started down the sidewalk.

  “See ya, punk,” she said, with an audible sniffle.

  He stuck his hand in the air, as he continued walking away. “See ya, cry baby.”

  Zara blew a sorrowful giggle.

  He shouted from the growing distance. “I know—I’m such a jerk, right?”

  “Yeah, you are,” she muttered. “The best jerk ever.”

  The farther D’Melo got from Zara, the wider the hole in his heart felt. As he approached his house, Baba was peering out the window. When he saw D’Melo, he ducked behind the curtains. D’Melo dragged himself through the door wordlessly. He leaned limply into Baba’s embrace. Then he pulled away sullenly and headed to the bathroom to ready himself for bed. When he came out, Baba was glued to the window again. He had drawn the curtain just enough to peek through a small slit. D’Melo was too emotionally exhausted to ask about Baba’s peculiar behavior. He went to bed.

  As he had done every night for months, he rested his head on his pillow and reached for his phone. He shut his eyes in anticipation of hearing her voice. It was always the best moment of his day.

  “Hey, punk,” she sniffled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think I need to keep this short tonight.” Zara went silent, with an occasional scratchy sound. D’Melo pictured her handkerchief brushing the phone as she wiped tears from her puffy red cheeks.

  “Yeah, me too, Zar,” he said dolefully. “How about you call me before you get on the plane tomorrow?”

  “How about I call you before I get on the plane, while I’m in the plane, the moment I land, and then every thirty minutes after that?”

  “I wish.”

  For a long stretch, there were only heaving whimpers on Zara’s end and deep sighs on D’Melo’s end. Finally, D’Melo raised the courage to say the dreaded words, “Goodnight, Zar.” Usually he ended their bedtime call with, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” The absence of those words echoed agonizingly in his hollowed heart.

  Zara closed the call as she always did. “Dobří duchové dnes večer.” Her mom would say this to her before sleep. It meant, “May the good spirits walk with you tonight.”

  D’Melo was a zombie for days after Zara left. The vibrancy of life seemed to have been replaced with a diluted version of itself. Colors weren’t as bright, flowers weren’t as aromatic, vegan pumpkin pie wasn’t as sweet, and even laughter wasn’t as joyous.

  He pulled his eyes disappointedly away from his phone screen. Before she left, Zara had warned him that it may take several days to get settled with Internet access. Even so, this didn’t help D’Melo’s ruffled mind. His perception of Malunga was one of lawlessness and violence. Still, he was oddly comforted knowing that they were communicating through the pain in his chest.

  The summer months were prime time for the boyz to fatten their graduation kitty. Although they had already saved enough for their trip, some extra pocket money wouldn’t hurt. Even with D’Melo not himself, the boyz were winning most of their games. But after the fourth day of not hearing from Zara, D’Melo stopped playing. The boyz didn’t try to talk him out of it. They just wanted Zara to call so D’Melo would return to his normal self.

  Another day passed. “Still nothing?” Baba asked.

  D’Melo answered somberly. “I’m starting to get worried, Baba.”

  “Son, if there’s anyone who can take care of herself, it’s Zara. The Malungan government probably shut down the Internet. It does this when it feels under threat. Only certain people are allowed Internet access—government personnel, the military, and some important services, like hospitals. I’ll call Ameka to find out what’s going on.”

  D’Melo sulked off to his room. As he stared out the window, distressed, he noticed a strange but oddly familiar man sitting on a stoop across the street. A baseball cap covered much of the man’s face. D’Melo shot to the living room. “Baba, did the Bensons move?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “There’s a guy on their stoop. I feel like I’ve seen him before, but he’s not from this neighborhood.”

  Baba drew the curtains a sliver. The man was gone. “He was probably just resting. It’s hot out there today.” For the moment, D’Melo was satisfied.

  The next day, D’Melo woke to no calls or messages from Zara. He dragged himself to the bathroom. Baba was speaking on the phone in hushed tones, sounding quite upset. As D’Melo went to knock on Baba’s door, he heard him say, “I think we may be in trouble again.” A searing pain ripped through D’Melo’s chest. When he raised a hand to clutch at it, his elbow brushed a framed photo just outside Baba’s room.

  “Hold on.” Baba paused. “I think I just heard something.” He quickly changed the subject. “Okay,” he said, speaking in his normal tone. “So the Malungan government did shut down the Internet. Thanks, Ameka. That’s good to know. So, we’ll see you for your Fourth of July cookout.”

  When Baba emerged from his room, D’Melo cornered him. “Baba, I’m sorry. I overheard something. What did you mean when you told Auntie Ameka that we may be in trouble again?”

  “Oh, um . . .,” Baba stammered. “Well, it seems I was right. The Shuja rebels have become active again, so the Malungan government is reacting like it’s under siege. Whenever that happens, it spells trouble for not only Shujas, but Kipajis and everyone else in the region.”

  D’Melo wasn’t convinced that was what Baba was talking about. The same feeling he got when Baba told him that a drunk driver killed his mother now churned in his gut. But he had no reason not to believe Baba. Plus, at that moment, he had a single-minded focus. “So is Zara safe?”

  “I’m sure she’s fine, son. The Malungan government does this frequently. They put the country on alert to give the impression that they’re taking measures to protect their citizens, even when there’s no real threat. Ameka said she would let us know if Zara was in any danger.”

  D’Melo retreated to his room for another sulking session. When he rejoined the world at lunchtime, Baba was again peering through a cleft in the curtains.

  “Baba,” D’Melo said.

  Baba jolted and hastily shut the curtains.

  “Are you looking for that guy? Are you worried about him?”

  “No,” Baba replied automatically. “I’m just curious, that’s all. If we have a new neighbor, it would be good to welcome him to the neighborhood.”

  D’Melo scrutinized Baba’s face. Why is he constantly at the window? And why is he acting so skittish? D’Melo’s mind rumbled like a runaway train for the rest of the day. None of this was sitting right with him. Who’s that guy? Why is he in our neighborhood?

  By the time Sunday dinner rolled around, D’Melo was racked with worry about Zara, and now also Baba. D’Melo had never seen his father so on edge. For much of the day, Baba stood glued to the window, lik
e he was on a police stakeout. He even started locking the doors during the daytime, something he had never done. And his dinner toast didn’t ease D’Melo’s concerns even a smidge.

  “Soon you will be on your own in the world,” Baba started, “stretching your wings and flying along the path you choose for yourself. Make that path one of service to others. If you do, you will live a meaningful and fulfilling life. Life doesn’t last forever. It’s precious. Don’t waste even a moment. None of us are promised another day.”

  Baba raised his glass and turned to D’Melo. “Always know that my spirit will surround you at all times.”

  The boyz raised their glasses—D’Melo hesitantly. “Kwa uzima.”

  The typical brotherly jesting and shenanigans ensued. But it all felt very distant to D’Melo, like he was observing it through a fog. His mind eddied anxiously all evening.

  Even before the boyz finished their meal, Baba left the table and slunk to the window. He drew the curtains, then quickly closed them. He returned hurriedly to the dining room. He told the boyz that he wanted to give them a little gift. He handed D’Melo money for the movies.

  D’Melo’s concern now reached new heights. Baba had never missed The World This Week with him. “Baba, what are you talking about? We have to clean up and then it’s time for the news program.”

  “Not tonight, son,” Baba said, his eyes darting furtively to the window. “Soon you will all go your own ways. So please enjoy your last days together.” Baba nudged them to the door.

  D’Melo handed Jeylan the money. “You guys go. I’m staying here.”

  “No, D’Melo,” Baba insisted. “You must go, as well.” He practically shoved D’Melo out the door. He grasped each of the boyz one at a time. He gazed intently into their eyes, smiling, and hugged them longer than usual. “Please, you must go now.”

  “I don’t want to go, Baba,” D’Melo pleaded, sensing something was very wrong. “Please don’t make me.”

  “You’re going with your friends!” Baba said sternly.

  D’Melo took a step back, jarred by Baba’s uncharacteristic tone.

  Baba’s eyes then went tender. “I love you, son.” He embraced D’Melo, holding him for a long time. “I’ve been immeasurably blessed to have you as my son.” A look of peace washed over his face. Baba glanced around D’Melo to the street. “Please go now.”

  D’Melo plodded away obediently, glancing back at Baba every few seconds. Baba waved from the stoop.

  In spite of D’Melo’s deep concern, he tried to shake off his thoughts while his friends debated what movie they should see. Marley made his case for the latest Marvel film. Jeylan and Kazim pushed for the new Dwayne Johnson movie. They asked D’Melo to chime in, but his mind was far away.

  Just as they reached the theater, D’Melo’s phone buzzed. It was an unknown number. His heart leapt hopefully.

  “It must be Zar!” He pressed the phone against his ear. “Shhhh, I can barely hear her.”

  The boyz mimicked him. “Shhhh, it’s Zarrrr. Ohhh Zara, I miss you sooo much.”

  D’Melo ducked out of hearing. “Hey. Where’ve you been? I’ve been really worried.”

  “I’m so sorry. I tried to call but it wouldn’t go through. And the Internet was shut off.”

  D’Melo realized what time it was in Malunga. “Are you okay? It’s almost 4 a.m. for you.”

  “I’m fine. I’m on a computer at the hospital. It’s one of the few places that has Internet.”

  “You’re at the hospital! What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I faked being sick. I waited in the emergency room until some lady left her office, then I got onto her computer. I don’t have much time, though. I think she just went to the bathroom.”

  “Can’t you get in big trouble for this?”

  Zara skirted the question. “Hey, is everything okay with Baba?”

  “I don’t know,” D’Melo said warily. “Why are you asking that?”

  “Aren’t you guys about to watch the news together?”

  “No. I’m at the movies with the boyz.”

  “What! D’Melo, something’s wrong. Please go check on Baba, right now!”

  D’Melo’s heart thumped so rapidly it felt like he was going to pass out. He sprinted home, leaving the boyz wondering what was happening. The front door was ajar. He bounded inside to a waking nightmare. Baba was slumped on the floor, leaning against the living room wall.

  “Baba!” D’Melo rushed to him. “Baba, no. Please. Please.”

  Baba’s face was swollen, a thick gash under his eye. Crimson seeped from two small holes in his white shirt. D’Melo pressed hard on his chest, trying to stop the bleeding. His friends ran up the stoop, panting.

  D’Melo screamed, “Call an ambulance!”

  Baba’s eyes flitted open. He looked at D’Melo with concern. “Are you okay, son?”

  “Me?” D’Melo said. “Please Baba, save your breath.” D’Melo told him the ambulance was on the way. “Please, Baba. Don’t leave me alone. I beg you.”

  “Yabo,” he said, gazing at D’Melo with fading eyes. “You’re not alone. You’ve found your light. Follow the light, Yabo.”

  D’Melo realized that Baba was losing touch, calling him ‘Yabo’. He screamed at the boyz, “Where is that ambulance!”

  “Yabo, listen carefully.” D’Melo lifted his head, his eyes wet with tears. “You have to leave tonight. It’s not safe for you here anymore. They found us again. Go, and never look back. Take the bus to Ameka’s. She’ll know what to do.”

  “Safe from what, Baba?” D’Melo pushed out the words between sobs. “Who found us?”

  “There’s over forty thousand dollars in the wall behind my desk. Take it and use it to settle somewhere very far from here.” Baba, now laboring to breathe, continued, “I’m so sorry, son. I wish you could have lived the life you wanted. But it’s not to be. Your path was chosen for you.”

  Baba’s eyelids closed briefly. He leaned his head against the wall and chuckled painfully to himself. “They didn’t even know what they were looking for. Your mother was a smart woman.” His gaze turned toward the drawing. “Haki inakuja kwako.” He lifted four fingers atop an outstretched arm. He clenched them, then brought a fist down to his chest.

  Baba’s glassy eyes darted to beyond D’Melo’s shoulder. “There’s your mother!” He grinned. “She’s waving. Do you see her, Yabo?”

  D’Melo turned to the empty space behind him. “Yes, I see her, Baba,” he said, feigning joy. “She’s beautiful.”

  Baba smiled feebly. “Yes, she’s the most beautiful.” Blood dripped from the corner of his lips. “Son,” he said, struggling to raise his hand. He caressed D’Melo’s cheek. “Always remember one thing.”

  Dong, dong, dong . . . with each chiming of the clock, D’Melo’s heart sank like an anchor deeper into the darkest depths of a sorrowful sea.

  Baba waited for the ninth chime, then continued hoarsely. “You’ve never truly lived if you don’t have anything in your life that you’re willing to die for.” Baba’s eyelids fluttered, then slowly shut for the final time.

  “BABA!” D’Melo wailed.

  The ambulance arrived, followed by the police. The paramedics tried to revive Baba, but they were too late. They zipped his lifeless body into a shiny black bag. D’Melo stared vacantly at the plastic enveloping his father. Jeylan stepped between D’Melo and Baba’s body to protect his friend’s shaken mental state.

  The police cordoned off the crime scene and made a cursory sweep of the ransacked house. All the drawers were flung open. Clothes were strewn across the floor. The couch cushions were sliced to shreds. The dish cabinet was toppled.

  “This wasn’t a typical robbery,” the police officer said to a dazed and listless D’Melo. “The thief left your father’s wallet with two hundred dollars sitting on his desk. This g
uy was looking for something in particular. Do you have anything of unique value the thief may have wanted?”

  D’Melo shook his head.

  “Do you have any idea who may have done this?”

  Jeylan raged, “It had to be T-Bo! He threatened D’Melo a couple months ago.” Jeylan stormed for the door.

  D’Melo grabbed his arm. “Jey, it wasn’t T-Bo.” D’Melo told the officer about the man who had been lurking around the neighborhood and how Baba had been acting oddly, peering suspiciously out of the window.

  The officer scribbled on a small pad. “What makes you think it may have been that man?”

  “Something just wasn’t right about him.” D’Melo said reflectively. “I think he’s been watching us for a while. He may have even been the guy I kept seeing at the All-American game in New York.”

  “Okay. We’ll follow up on that and any other leads we find.” The officer laid a consoling hand on D’Melo’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Your father was a good man. My wife is a doctor at the LD clinic. She has only great things to say about him.”

  D’Melo’s eyes were blurred with tears as he watched the paramedics removing Baba’s body from the house. The policeman offered to take D’Melo to the hospital. “You can have as much time as you need with him there.”

  “We’ll come with you,” Jeylan asserted.

  “Jey, it’s okay. I’ll be fine. But I need you to do something for me.” Jeylan listened intently. “I have to go away. Please tell everyone that I appreciate what they’ve done for me.”

  “What! Where are you going?”

  “I can’t explain right now. But I’ll reach out soon.” D’Melo group hugged the boyz. “I love y’all.” He started for the door. Jeylan clasped the back of D’Melo’s shirt, not ready to let him go. D’Melo halted, allowing Jeylan the time he needed. Jeylan reluctantly released his grasp. D’Melo scanned the street, then headed to the police car.