Affliction

by Marilee Brothers

“Yes. The detective told me your twin sister was killed at age six. I am so very sorry.”

  “Seems like you have a lot to be sorry for. Why did you leave?”

  His eyes fill with tears. Fake or real? I don’t know him so I can’t tell.

  “Because I was young and a damn fool. My parents insisted I return to Spain and marry the girl they’d picked out for me years before.”

  “People still do that?”

  He nods. “Yes. Certain families still believe in the old ways. My mother and father were among them.”

  I brace myself on my elbows, lean over the table and glare. “I want you to know it wasn’t easy for Sandra. You never gave her a penny in support. She had a rough time until she married my stepfather.”

  He flushes. “I am very ashamed. Would you tell her for me? And, that I would like to make amends?”

  “No. That’s on you.”

  He avoids my eyes and sighs. “Yes, you are right.”

  After an uncomfortable silence, I ask the biggie. “Why did you hire somebody to find me? What do you want?”

  He lifts his hands helplessly. “I very much fear you will not be sympathetic to my situation.”

  “What situation?”

  He glances at the ceiling as if looking for an answer from above. When he finally speaks, his gaze is over my head. “After many years of unhappiness and denying who I am, I recently divorced my wife.”

  “And, who are you?”

  “Among other things, a man who has much to atone for. You are the beginning of a new life for me.”

  I stare at him like Wile E. Coyote whose eyes pop out on stems when the Roadrunner appears.

  I choose my words carefully. “So, you’re on some journey of self discovery and I’m supposed to give you my blessing? Is that about right?”

  He beams. “Exactly right.”

  I’m torn between laughter and tears. Is he really that clueless? I slide out of my chair. “Well, good luck. Have a nice life.”

  I start for the door when I hear, “Wait.”

  I turn to face him. “Why? You asked. I answered.”

  “I have something else to offer.”

  “If it’s money, no thanks.”

  He says, “It’s not money.”

  Intrigued, I take a step closer. “Then, what?”

  He glances at the open door and lowers his voice. “I believe we have something in common. Something you’ve inherited from me causes anxiety and confusion in your life.”

  I return to my chair. “Go on.”

  “I see the way you look quickly into someone’s eyes and then down at the floor. Almost like you’re afraid of what’s behind their eyes. I recognize you for what you are. A soul reader. I call it a gift, but I sense you do not. I’ve had many years to, shall we say, hone my skills and have much to teach you. If you’re willing to learn.”

  My poor brain is ready to explode. Does he really think I can forget his abandonment and twenty-two years of neglect? No friggin’ way. On the other hand, he may be the only person in the world who knows how bewildering and scary it can be to read people’s souls. His offer to help me navigate through the rough seas to calmer waters sounds sincere. Color me intrigued.

  Then, reality hits. He must have an agenda. To test my theory, I boil it down to a simple equation.

  “So, if I forgive and forget, you’ll teach me to be a better soul reader.”

  He raises his hands in denial. “No. I am happy to teach you all I know. As you Americans say, ‘No strings attached.’ It’s true, I have not been a father to you. I know I cannot make up for missing twenty-two years of your life. But, I can help you understand your gift. If you will allow me to.”

  I still don’t trust him. How can I trust someone whose main goal is to make himself feel better? I slide out of the chair again. “I’ll think about it,” and quickly add, “Not the forgiveness thing. The soul reading thing.”

  He scrawls his phone number on a napkin and hands it to me. “Fair enough. Call if you want to talk. Goodbye, Honor.”

  “Mel,” I correct. “Call me Mel.”

  We lock gazes for a long moment. I feel the magnetic pull of his soul and look away. “Okay, then, I guess I’ll see you around, Mr. um…” What do I call this man who claims to be my father?

  He grins and the change in his expression is startling. His blue eyes dance with amusement and crinkle at the edges. The corners of his mouth turn up, just like mine. Well, damn.

  “Just call me Steve,” he says. “Easier that way.”

  After he leaves, it’s closing time. I climb aboard the stool next to Billy and prop my elbows on the bar with my chin resting in my palms.

  Nick is doing an inventory of the liquor bottles lined up on glass shelves behind the bar. He scribbles something on a pad and turns to face me. He gestures at the liquor display. “Want something to drink? Looks like you could use it.”

  “Water sounds good.”

  He fills a beer mug with water, adds a couple of ice cubes, tops it with a slice of lemon and places it in front of me. “What was that all about? The ruckus in the hall. Do you know that guy?”

  I take a big slurp of water and glance over at Billy. “You didn’t tell him?”

  “Not my place.”

  “The man says he’s my father.”

  Nick blinks in surprise. “You never met your father?”

  “No, he took off before my sister and I were born.”

  He frowns. “Quite an introduction. Beat up by his daughter and her boyfriend.”

  I explain about the stalking, about my paranoia after last night.

  Nick blows a disgusted sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me he was following you? You didn’t have to attack him physically. We already know how tough you are, Mel.”

  Then Billy chimes in. “You know what, Minnie?” The irritation is obvious in the tone of his voice. “You’ve got a big problem when it comes to asking for help.”

  I grip the edge of the bar and rake them both with a slitty-eyed glare. “I don’t recall asking either of you for an opinion. I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

  Nick reaches across the bar and fake punches my shoulder. “Guess I can’t blame you after what happened last night.”

  Billy doesn’t cave as easily. “But, still…”

  Suddenly, I’m too tired to move. I lay my head on the bar and close my eyes. Billy slips an arm around me. “Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  “Almost forgot,” Nick says. “Your mother called, said she’d been texting you and you haven’t answered. I told her you’re fine.”

  I pull the cell phone from my pocket and see ten messages from Sandra. Each one says, “Are you all right?”

  I dash off a quick text of reassurance and tell Nick. “Smother mother is now in the loop.”

  “One more thing,” he says. “I got a message from the lady cop who was here last night. She said they should have results from the blood samples tomorrow and she’ll give me a call when that happens.”

  “Okey dokey.”

  Billy guides me to the door, one arm wrapped around my shoulders. When we step outside, one big hand slides down my back and latches on to my right bun. Sliding inward, his fingers are like a heat-seeking missile, searching and exploring until they zero in on the tender bit of flesh beneath the center inseam of my pants. His gentle strokes spark a wave of heat that spirals outward from his touch and coils deep in my belly. I bite my lip to keep from moaning my pleasure. Trust me, his ego needs no inflating.

  “Tired?” He murmurs.

  Hmmm, maybe not so much.

  When we get to Number Ten, I fit the key in the lock and open the door. Billy follows me in and starts yapping again. “Nick’s right, Minnie. You don’t have to handle everything yourself. You—”

  I whirl around, grab his shirt with both hands and shove him toward the bed. “Shut the fuck up, Billy.”

  A slow grin spreads across his face. He raises his hands in surrender. “I�
��m all yours, baby.”

  Another hard shove and he’s spread-eagled on the bed, right where I want him. “Talk, talk, talk,” I murmur, my fingers fumbling with the metal fasteners on his jeans. “Way too much talking.”

  He lifts up and reaches for his fly. “Need some help?”

  I push him down again and clap a hand over his mouth. “Swear to God, Billy, if I had handcuffs, I’d use them on you.”

  Laughter rumbles deep in his chest. When he speaks, his breath is hot against my hand. “When I get my badge, I’ll keep that in mind.”

  After my threat, he becomes the poster child for cooperation. He lifts each foot so I can pull off his boots. Raises his hips so I can remove his jeans and boxers. Arches his back and groans with pleasure when my tongue slides along the length of his erection. Amazing what a threat can do.

  I pin his wrists to the bed and warn, “Don’t move. Don’t speak. I’m getting undressed now. Nod if you understand.”

  He doesn’t speak, but his eyes crinkle in amusement and he nods. His gaze follows my every move as I whisk my clothes off and toss them toward the chair. I straddle his body, cup his face in my palms and gaze into his eyes. The fire still burns in his soul, but I catch a glimpse of something else. It’s the silhouette of a woman, standing at the edge of the flames. I blink and look again. She’s gone. Me? Or somebody else?

  Right now, I have more pressing concerns. Hot and eager, I slide down Billy’s body until I reach the tip of his penis. Downward, downward, until he fills me up. With my hands braced against his body, I throw my head back and find the rocking rhythm that creates a delicious friction in all the right places. His hands go to my breasts. I cover his hands with mine and hang on, enjoying the ride.

  It’s later, much later. We’re hovering on the edge of sleep when it occurs to me I haven’t told Billy about my interaction with the Krugers and baby Michael. Because, according to Billy, I’m already skating on thin ice in my determination to go it alone, I know I need to clue him in. “Guess what I found out today?”

  With a snort, Billy jerks back to consciousness. “What?”

  I tell him about baby Michael Kruger Junior and Larissa’s death. His inner detective rises to the surface. He peppers me with questions and tells me he’ll talk to his cop buddy to see if he can ferret out any more information.

  Our conversation winds down. Billy wraps me up in his arms and pulls me into the spooning position. I’m just drifting off when he murmurs, “You going to see your dad again?”

  “Probably not. Why should I? Other than the soul reading thing.”

  Billy stiffens and lifts up on one elbow, staring down at me. “Hold on. Are you saying your dad’s a soul reader too?”

  “Yes. He offered to help me with it.”

  “Then you need to see him again.”

  When I don’t answer, he says, “I know you have a king-sized grudge. I don’t blame you. But, don’t turn your back on his offer out of spite. Think about it. Who else do you know with that kind of knowledge?”

  Actually, his advice makes a lot of sense. I mutter, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good.”

  Considering the matter settled, Billy falls deeply asleep. I listen to his gentle breathing and glance at the red numbers on the bedside clock. Strangely, it brings to mind the red fragment clinging to the fender of Myron’s Impala. My exhausted mind connects the dots and I’m wide-awake. That tiny red fragment is the exact same color as the racing stripe on my bike, Blazing Saddles. Did Myron run over my bike? If so, why?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  A loud bang on the door awakens me at ten a.m. Billy is long gone. I drag myself out of bed and peek through the blinds. It’s Paco. I check to see if Connie is lurking around. She’s not and slacker maid Rosa is wheeling her cleaning cart across the parking lot. Grateful for the reprieve, I fling the door open.

  Paco steps in. “Get dressed. I’m taking you to breakfast.”

  A little more sleep sounds inviting, but know what sounds better? Crispy bacon and pancakes drenched in maple syrup. I grab some clothes and head for the bathroom to get dressed.

  I leave the door open a crack so we can talk. “What about Roxy?’

  “Still asleep,” he says. “You know the saying about letting sleeping dogs lie?”

  “I do.”

  His gusty sigh almost blows the door open. “Honestly, kiddo, when love’s burning embers grow cold, it’s time to get the fuck out of the relationship.”

  I’m not quite sure how to answer, even though this is a recurring episode in Paco’s life. It happens approximately every two years. I do, however, have an appreciation for his gift of language. Half romance novel. Half motorcycle gangster.

  The best I can come up with is, “Exactly how cold is it?”

  “Colder than a penguin’s pecker.”

  “Sounds over to me, Unc.”

  “How should I do it? Buy her a bus ticket and send her back home? Give her money? Rent her an apartment in 3 Peaks?”

  Paco is asking me for advice? I try to wrap my head around his options, but the last one makes my blood run cold. Roxy living in 3 Peaks? Hanging out at Nick’s every night, giving me the stink eye?

  I step out of the bathroom. “I think the only fair thing to do is give her money and a bus ticket. What do you think?”

  Paco is sitting at the table, holding his shaggy head in his hands. He lifts his head and looks up at me. “She just turned mean and I can’t figure out why.”

  “Just turned mean?” The words leap out of my mouth before I can stop them.

  Paco squints at me. “You think she’s always been mean? That I didn’t see it?”

  “You want the truth?”

  He nods.

  “Well, yeah,” I say. “She’s always been a bitch. Guess you didn’t notice. Maybe she had other, um, attributes that blinded you from the truth.”

  Paco thinks it over for a full minute. “If you’re right, then I don’t feel bad about dumping her.”

  Suddenly, I get scared. “Paco, please don’t bring me into it. Okay?”

  He promises not to mention my name. We leave my room and climb on the Harley. It brings back memories of the past. After my mother married Abel, Paco came into my life. I soon became his favorite niece. He’d appear out of nowhere, plop an oversized helmet on my head and seat me behind him on the Harley. Breakfast was our thing. His current old lady was never invited. It was just Uncle Paco and me. To keep Sandra happy, Paco always fastened my little body to his with a long strap and buckle.

  At breakfast, Paco quizzes me about Billy. “You guys serious?”

  Good question. I shrug. “I guess.”

  “Take a lesson from Uncle Paco,” he says. “Play the field. You’re too young to settle down.”

  I hide a smile. Uncle Paco, the king of short-term relationships, is giving me advice. I know he wants the best for me so I opt for a non-specific reply. “You could be right.”

  He waves a fork at me. “Some of my boys have PTSD. Damn, but they have some fuckin’ hellacious nightmares. One time my buddy, Tito, heard a bike backfire and went ape shit. Billy ever do that?”

  I slosh my last bite of pancake into a puddle of syrup and pop it into my mouth. “Sometimes.”

  Paco leans across the table. “Thing is, relationships are hard for these guys. They have to get over their heebie jeebies first. Just so you know.”

  I think about what Paco said and decide it’s not all bullshit. Instead of staying in denial, I need to at least entertain the thought Billy and I may not live happily ever after. I reach over and squeeze Paco’s giant paw. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll take it under advisement.”

  As I wait for Paco to finish his Lumberjack Special—steak, three eggs, hash browns, sausage and toast—I make a decision. Why not share my current problems with my favorite uncle? After all, he’s been on the shady side of the law for years. Can’t hurt to get another perspective.

  “I want to tell you some
thing, but you have to promise not to tell Sandra,” I begin.

  He lifts two fingers. “Scouts’ Honor.”

  I laugh. “As if.”

  I lower my voice and fill him in on my suspicions about Aida, poor dead Larissa and her missing baby.

  He mops his face with a napkin and shakes his head in disgust. “So that explains what happened in your room. They’re trying to scare you off.”

  “If they didn’t suspect me before, they do now. Somebody stole Dani’s letter and pictures.”

  Paco grimaces. “Big money in selling babies.” He shakes his head sadly. “Dirty business.”

  Then, I tell him about the red fragment inside Myron’s fender.

  “You kidding me?” he says. “Myron, the fry cook?”

  I nod. “Might be a coincidence.”

  “No such thing,” Paco says. “He working today?”

  “No, it’s his day off.”

  “I’ll check it out.”

  He doesn’t tell me how he’s going to do it and I don’t ask. Remember don’t ask, don’t tell?

  When Paco drops me off, I remind him of his solemn oaths. He means well but sometimes runs off at the mouth. “Do not utter my name when you dump Roxy. And, don’t forget to give her money and a bus ticket.”

  Promise number two: “When Sandra calls you—and she will call you—do not say a single word about the human trafficking/baby selling thing I told you about while on a sugar high from pancakes and syrup.”

  Paco chuckles. “Sandra’s pretty scary, but I’ll try.”

  “Try really hard. And, thanks for breakfast.”

  He heads out toward the highway. I fervently hope he’s on his way to the Greyhound station to buy a ticket.

  Before I unlock my door, I hear, “Hey, Mel.”

  It’s Nick and he’s striding across the parking lot. “The lady cop just showed up. You want to join us?”

  Of course, I do. Officer C. Talbot is waiting in Nick’s office. She offers her hand, asks how I’m doing and tells me to call her Candace. I take a good look at her. She’s a willowy blond and attractive. The night of the incident, I’d been too stressed to notice her appearance.

  We settle into chairs, Nick behind his desk. Candace reaches into a briefcase and pulls out a wad of papers. She finds the one she’s looking for and clears her throat. “Thought you’d want to know about the blood.” She pauses and makes eye contact with both of us. “Right?”