Copyright © 2020 by Bernice Burgos
All rights reserved.
Published by Red Penguin Books
ISBN
Print 978-1-952859-29-8
Digital 978-1-952859-33-5
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
To my loving mother, Carmen Burgos, thank you for indulging my adolescent mind with books of fiction and fantasy. It finally paid off.
To my wonderful sister, Cynthia Newsome, thank you for supporting my decision to write. I've come a long way since the first draft.
Contents
Prologue
1. Angel
2. The J.O.B
3. The Meeting
4. Earlier—Back Home
5. Master
6. Angel
7. The Real
8. The Truth
9. You Deal with the Hand You’re Given
10. Angel & Anu
11. “What Have I Done?”
12. Anu and the Queen
13. No One Tells Me No
14. Angel, You Dumb-Dumb
15. Angel, I Love You
16. Switzerland
17. The Place to Get to Know Someone is on a Road Trip
18. Is That All You Got?
19. Angels and Demons and Vs, Oh My!
20. Welcome to the Leaders’ Den
21. Vampires Are Not the Only Ones that Rise from the Dead
22. What Happened?
23. Fast Forward
24. The Rocker Chicks, “Run Demon, Run!”
Back Cover
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Bernice Burgos
Prologue
“Dear Diary…”
Angel paused and bit the top of her pen, thinking how silly that sounded. She scratched several lines across the word “Diary” and replaced it with the word “Journal.”
“Dear Journal,” she resumed, thinking how age-appropriate it felt. “It’s been nine months since I was found at O’Riley’s pub clinging to life. Not one of those days would pass without some attempt, on my part, to piece together the few clues I had to the mystery of me. I was the lone survivor of what appeared to be a ‘robbery’ gone wrong. How I ended up at a pub? Beats me! I don’t even drink, at least I don’t think I do.”
Angel paused again and wiggled the pen in between her fingers not conscious that this movement was an outward display of her inner anxiety. She was trying to stop her hands from shaking and calm her ragged breathing. Fidgeting with objects usually helped ease her trembling nerves. She took three deep breaths and continued to write, letting her emotions pour out on paper.
“I’ve lost my memory and spent a few weeks in the hospital recovering and being interrogated by various law enforcement officers. In the end, the law came up empty. They couldn’t prove a thing, not even my own existence. I had a valid driver’s license, and that was it. I had nothing else connected to the world. No parents, coworkers, friends, family, or—anything. It was as if I appeared out of thin air. The detective assigned to my case was calling it a big Cluster Fuck, whatever that means. Overall, I am a young woman with no memory, alone in a big city.”
Tears welled up in Angel’s eyes as the thought of her loneliness swirled around her mind. She pondered the first moments walking into her apartment and looking around at its emptiness. There was nothing inside―no furniture, clothes, or pictures. There was no indication that she actually lived there. The only thing inside was a brown paper bag sitting on the floor filled with thousands of dollars. Naturally, she accepted ownership and tried to make the most of her situation. She thought about the nights she spent lying in bed crying, contemplating ending her life; but she could never bring herself to do it.
“What life is worth living when you can’t remember the smallest details about yourself? Like your favorite foods, favorite color, or your mother’s name. I don’t even remember my own mother’s name,” she continued writing.
“My life feels unnatural as if I don’t belong here; and I’m the wrong lost piece slotted into a jigsaw puzzle. Everything feels out of the norm, except for one thing, him!”
Angel blushed, thinking about the girlish crush she had developed.
“He’s the only consistent thing in my life. He gives me a feeling of hope, of purpose, of importance. It’s because of him that I continue moving forward. He was the one who suggested I should start writing my thoughts down to help me remember. He said it helped his brother with his recollection when he lost his memory after a freak accident. Maybe it will help me. So far, for my first entry, I’m not remembering shit. But it is helping me feel as if I have someone to talk to, someone other than him that I can confide in. Where would I be without you..?”
Angel trailed off her last sentence as the sound of her ringtone interrupted her thought process. She placed her golden pen between the pages of her journal and smiled as she read the name that popped up across the screen of her cell phone. She tossed the journal onto her nightstand, turned off the lamp, and eagerly walked over to her bedroom window. She pulled back the thick, pink drapes, and stared out into the dark, cool street of the second-floor brownstone apartment she was renting. She carefully scanned the motionless cars on the deserted street. It was eleven o’clock at night and not one pedestrian was out taking a stroll or walking a dog. It was quiet as usual on her Brooklyn block, just as she preferred it. She recognized an unmarked, black Impala with dark-tinted windows, parked under the streetlamp. It was making its presence noticeable to the neighborhood.
Angel, still smiling with excitement, answered the phone, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “Detective Jack Quinn Reynolds, how can I be of service to you at this hour?”
Jack chuckled on the other end of the receiver, pleased to hear the sound of Angel’s smooth voice. “Hello! I know it’s late. But I wanted you to know that I didn’t forget about you. “Happy Birthday!”
Angel remained silent. She quickly walked away from the window and grabbed her ID from the nightstand. She read it carefully and saw that she was an hour away from her twenty-first birthday. Since losing her memory, she became so focused on trying to remember her past that she rarely paid attention to the present. If it were not for her new friend, she would have carelessly dismissed it. It felt odd to her; she didn’t feel nor look twenty-one. Am I really that old? she thought. She tossed her ID back on the nightstand and casually walked back to her window intently watching the unmarked car. Hoping Jack would get out. Instead, he sat in his car watching her silhouette. She decided to answer him cool and classy desperately keeping her voice from sounding eager to invite him up.
“Wow, you’re awfully great with dates. Thank you, Detective!”
“For your birthday I brought you some delicious pastries I got from your favorite diner. I swear to you, they are fresh out the oven, made specifically for their best client!” he answered happily.
Angel couldn’t contain the butterflies fluttering in her stomach or her teenage giggling.
“They made them fresh just for me?” she questioned elatedly.
“No, me! I’m the cop here, remember? I’m just sharing,” Jack stated jokingly. “Of course, you! I told them I need them fresh for my amazing gal, it’s her birthday!”
Angel blushed, s
oaking in the emotions of feeling loved.
1
Angel
BUZZZZZ, BUZZZZZZ, BUZZZZZZZ, Angel opened her eyes to the warm brightness of the sun shining through her window blinds. The cream-colored drapes that flowed over the window panel were not wide enough to prevent the shining sun from making a grand entrance into her room. The annoying buzzing sound from her ancient alarm clock did not make “rising and shining” easy. Mornings were the toughest for Angel. Her king-size bed with beige silk sheets and plush red comforter made it nearly impossible to jump happily out of bed. She despised waking up early and having to deal with the hustle of traveling on the subway to work. She very much preferred working from home and meeting with clients at fine restaurants, rather than being a 9:00 am-5:00 pm work zombie. However, today was Friday, which meant a big meeting day, so ALL employees had to report to the office.
The buzzing went on for well over a minute before Angel shifted to the right side of her bed and used her left hand to bang the clock off. Every morning she reminded herself to buy a new alarm clock, one with a variety of tunes, not just limited to the one sound of bees attacking. She rolled onto her back, nestling the back of her head into her soft down pillows and sighed. She began cringing at the number of things she had to accomplish during the day and stared anxiously at the high white ceiling. I just need to sleep in for five more minutes, she thought. Maybe even ten.
“Pancakes!” demanded a child’s voice from the left side of Angel’s bed, rudely interrupting her morning ritual of negotiating a few more minutes of sleep. She quickly turned to see her six-year-old daughter Magdalena, or Maggie as everyone called her, staring motionless at her with a huge smile on her face. Maggie’s bright brown eyes and caramel complexion glimmered from the ray of light peeking through the drapes. Her black, thick, curly hair was in a messy ponytail, and her tiny figure was dressed in her favorite Cinderella nightgown. Her hands carried an empty Dora the Explorer plate.
“Mommy, it’s Saturday, Pancake Day!” implored Maggie in her sweet, innocent voice.
Angel smiled, leaned over, and kissed her forehead. She could smell the peppermint scent of Maggie’s breath indicating her freshly-brushed teeth. The smell reminded her that she needed to wash the disgusting taste of morning breath out of her own mouth. “Oh, honey, are you sure it’s Saturday? I know we’ve all been busy, but I don’t think it’s Saturday.”
“No, mom, it’s Friday, and you’re going to be late again if you don’t get yourself out of bed,” said a deep male voice from Angel’s bedroom door. Angel shot up and looked at her son Jesse, who surprisingly, was holding a cup of coffee in his left hand and a school textbook in his right. He was wearing his green Brooklyn Channel High School football hoodie with a logo of a Falcon’s head on the center, and loose-fitting jeans. At the age of seventeen, Jesse stood 5’11” with a slim build. He had straight, blonde hair that he liked to wear slicked back in a ponytail and sea-green eyes. Unlike Maggie’s caramel complexion, Jesse’s was much lighter, maybe even milky. He tanned well in the summer; but during the winter, he was as white as bleached flour.
It was obvious Angel wasn’t Jesse’s biological mother. A brown woman walking around with a little blonde caucasian boy always raised eyebrows and sent questionable looks. She was often mistaken for the nanny, the babysitter, or some friend of the family, but never as the actual mother.
Angel gazed her eyes at her son and quickly began reminiscing on the day he came into her life. She was awarded guardianship over Jesse when he was just five-years-old. His biological mother, Camila, had been her best friend and neighbor when they lived overseas in Spain. Camila was a single parent who worked overnights at a local factory that manufactured leather. She would often leave Jesse under her care when she couldn’t find an overnight babysitter. At the time, Angel was working for a small financial advising firm with a regular nine-to-five schedule. Taking in her neighbor’s child was no bother to her single, uneventful, life.
One night, as any normal night, Camila departed for work. However, this time she never returned. Police were involved, an investigation was made, and Child Protective Services was contacted. During the search of Camila’s apartment, there was a letter stamped and sealed by the Madrid courts granting Angel full guardianship over Jesse. She thought ahead and forged Angel’s signature on a letter that was drafted six months earlier. She knew that was the only way to make sure Jesse was safe. Why didn’t she just talk to me? Angel constantly wondered.
Jesse was an extremely happy child who loved to sing, draw, and tell silly stories. However, that all changed the day his mother disappeared. The five-year-old joyous youngster she once knew turned into a heartbroken, depressed mute.
The first several years having him around was rough. The adjustment to having a new mom and a new life didn’t come easily. The situation was so nerve-wracking that Angel began to lose patches of her hair and developed a chronic smoking habit, one that she eventually kicked years later. It wasn’t that Jesse was a horrendous child, it was the fact that he did not speak for the first two years; and when he did express himself, the dramatic temper tantrums would drive her to smoke her lungs black. Deep down, she questioned her ability to care for him and often felt she was failing. However, she continued reminding herself that the child needed her; he was innocent. She also couldn’t fight the intense urge inside of her that compelled her to protect him. It was as if they were meant to find each other, her destiny to keep him safe. But from what? she often pondered. She realized she may never know and let things play out day by day.
It took years of therapy and anxiety medications to help Jesse cope with the loss of his mother and his abandonment issues. Despite having to fight his demons during his childhood, he managed to put himself on the right track. He was in his last year of high school, a straight-A student, and the quarterback of his football team. Since his new mother worked so hard to help him manage mental stability, Jesse rarely had anxiety attacks anymore. Life, for the first time, was looking positive for him.
Jesse stared at his mother’s blank face and noticed she was daydreaming toward the direction of the white porcelain coffee mug he was holding.
He raised the mug, in a cheers motion, “Coffee to get you started,” said Jesse, breaking her trance.
Angel shook herself back into the present, “Thank you!” she replied, now happily jumping out of bed and dashing for the coffee mug.
She stood five feet six inches and one hundred and thirty-five pounds, her cream-colored nightgown hit slightly above the knee and complemented her smooth bronze skin and athletic figure. During the summer months Angel’s skin would glisten under the sun and reflect a copper shade. She loved summer. It was the best season that made her skin smooth and flawless. Winter left her skin cracking and thirsting for moisture. Just her luck, it was the dead of winter in New York City.
Angel sipped the coffee with pure delight thinking that it was a perfect way to start her morning rush.
“Ummm, Jess, this is actually pretty good,” Angel complimented happily.
“Ahhh, see mom, I told you I would learn something working at my school’s café, other than chasing girls.”
“Good, now learn how to hold down a job,” Angel teased while handing the mug back to Jesse. He laughed off the comment. She was sarcastic as usual, and he grew to like her humor and not take her remarks personally.
Angel was under the impression that Jesse didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life and that the pressure of deciding would be too immense for him to handle. On several occasions, she suggested that he follow in her footsteps and become a financial advisor. But he made it clear, on more times than he can count, that he was not a suit and tie type of guy. Often, she pushed the fact that after college she could get him interviews with the most prestigious financial firms in New York City, even companies overseas. Jesse would entertain his mother quietly as to not disappoint her. In reality, it was never what he intended on doing.
She can save that dream for Maggie, he usually screamed inside his head. I need to follow my passion, not hers.
Little did Angel know, Jesse knew exactly what he wanted to do. For starters, he didn’t want to attend an Ivy League School or work in a corporate sweat-grinding world. He wanted to attend Louisiana State University to pursue his dream of becoming a professional football player. He was just waiting for the right time to tell her that he had been accepted and granted a full ride. He thought the coffee would do the trick to help break the news. It almost worked but he needed more time, which he didn’t have.
Angel ran her fingers through her short pixie cut and walked over to her mahogany nightstand to grab her black-framed glasses. “How much time do I have to get ready?” she asked.
Jesse looked over Angel’s shoulder at the nightstand and read the time off the clock.
“An hour,” he replied nonchalantly.
“Darn, that’s not enough time,” Angel said hurriedly while running toward the bathroom.
Maggie walked over to her brother and reached out her hands to give him her plate.
“Pancakes!”
Jesse looked at his baby sister and smiled.
“How about some waffles instead, Mag? I may need to drop you off at school since mom is running late again,” replied Jesse.
“Aye Dios mio,” Maggie said, tilting her head back in annoyance. “Ohhh, alright, waffles,” she answered defeatedly.
Trapped Inside Humanity Page 1