by Mary Ramsey
In the position he held me in, I could not see his face. I pushed away from his grasp, forcing myself to turn and get a good look at the rabbit-man. “Oh, God.”
His face was shifting, morphing. He was aging, transforming from the young, sexy rabbit-man to the battle-weary expression that I remembered on my husband. “You really don’t remember?” His voice was deep, rough, like a smoker. “What you did all those years ago? You killed him.”
This was Hell. Somehow, I was fully conscious and aware to experience my eternal damnation. “B-but I didn’t kill him. Kent committed suicide. He even left a note.”
My daughter looked up at me with her big blue eyes. “Do you remember what the note said?”
A wave of panic washed over me. It was like a dam had broken. “Yes, I read it. I remember everything.” I’d been three months pregnant when her father’s kidneys had started to fail. The cancer was stage two, but there was hope if he received a multiple organ transplant before his liver shut down. “Since Kent was already so sick, he was unable to register for any state’s organ transplant list. We needed to find a willing volunteer.”
Becca glared, her eyes narrowing. “Really, is that all he was?”
Through one of those DNA kits, I’d managed to come in contact with a young Marine from Florida: Lance Corporal Jack ‘Rabbit’ Mercer-Krane. According to the DNA results, he was a distant cousin with less than ten percent of genetics in common. But he was willing to fly to our state to get tested. “I have to admit, I was surprised when I saw a twenty-two-year-old man with your father’s face step off the plane. He was a godsend.”
“Hmph,” Becca said with a smirk. “Well, that I believe.”
“Jack volunteered. He wanted so badly to help our family.”
In the next three months, Jack resigned from the military, moving into our apartment. He slept on a sofa while attending the local community college. He was going to be a nurse. He had such a passionate soul. When I was in my third trimester, I was too tired to help Kent. “Jack did everything.”
“Everything but fulfill the promise he made to your husband, my father?”
“You’re wrong! Jack never backed down from organ donation. It was the doctors who kept claiming your father was too sick; no surgeon wanted to risk him not surviving long-term because no one believed him enough to try.”
Jack was by my side when I went into labor. He held my baby before anyone else, before me, before Ken. Over the next year, we fell in love. We raised Becca together, as a family.
“Is that why you married him on the anniversary of Dad’s death?”
“Your father—”
“He told you it was fine; he said you shouldn’t blame yourself for his death. I believe he even wished you well. Father was so kind, wanted you to have all the joy and happiness in the world with your new lover, his distant cousin, the scumbag soldier who conned his way into your bed! Father didn’t blame you, but I did.” Becca’s voice changed, shifting from her childish tone to the menacing adult version. “I do. You robbed me of my real father. Do you even remember how he died?”
“He ate his gun.” At least that’s what the police had told me. Jack had been the one to find the body.
“Oh, you do remember. You can dwell on your memories for the remainder of your pitiful exist—
-End Transmission -
The preceding information was drafted by Barbara-Ann Mercer, my biological mother. I’m somewhat impressed, given her lack of formal education and the fact that she’s nothing more than a copy of a copy of a brain in a box.
—From the desk of Becca Lynn Mercer, Brigadier General, US Military.
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About the Author
Mary Ramsey is a blogger, artist, and writer. She served in the United States Air Force and has a BA degree in cinema. Although she was born in California, her work in the military took her all over the world, including the diverse Midwest, from the beautiful landscapes of the Dakotas to the small towns of Wisconsin.
She has always had a fondness for unique superheroes—underrepresented minorities, LGBTQ, abuse victims, and so on. She loves an inspiring story that will make her cry. Her favorite movie will always be “13th Warrior.”
Mary lives in San Francisco, California, with her husband.
