by May, W. J.
Michael pulled the jeep to the side of the curb. He didn't say anything, which only made me more nervous.
"Think we should go and try to find a phone number first?" I played with a corner of the paper, tearing little pieces off.
Michael cut the engine and stuffed the keys in his pocket. "What’re you going to say if you call?"
I glanced out the window again to the third floor. Somewhere behind one of those rickety balconies lived my family - a mother who didn't want me. "What will I say in person?"
Michael opened his door and came around to open mine. "How about we go in, knock on the door and see who answers? Your mother probably doesn’t live here anymore. The address is at least fifteen years old." He reached for my hand and squeezed it. "I'll be right here with you." He slipped on his sunglasses to hide his bright blue eyes and appear less obvious.
It seemed pointless to me. With my luck, we were probably walking into a den of Grollics. Glasses or no glasses, they would know what he was instantly. I knew I needed to stop assuming the worst. He was probably right after all. In a place like this, it was unlikely that she still lived there.
I forced a smile, trying to absorb his courage and lack of fear. "Alright. Let's go see what's behind curtain number three." I was nervous but something else ran alongside the anxiety… hope. I didn't want to have any, but I did; and I knew I’d be disappointed if the address led us to a dead end.
We walked, hand-in-hand, to the building's entrance. A tall, overweight man sat on a concrete bench wearing a stained undershirt and old, worn pants. He stared blankly at us, not even bothering to hide the large can he held in his hand. It was a very generic brand of beer, only marked BEER in green against a yellow background. From the smell of him, it was obvious that it wasn’t his first of the day. This man matched the surroundings, blending in with the decay and filth everywhere. The jeep, our clothes, and basic cleanliness were something completely out of the norm here. I moved closer to Michael, not even realizing I'd done so until I bumped against him and had to catch myself from stumbling. "Sorry," I mumbled.
A low chuckle escaped his lips. "That guy's harmless. Big, but not a Grollic. No mark. Just a really bad aroma."
“I didn’t even think to check for it.” I hit the heel of my hand against my forehead. "I was too busy trying to figure out his brand of beer."
He ignored my lame joke, didn’t even crack a smile. "If it’s there for the seeing, you always need to look." Michael opened the dirty glass door for me. After letting me in first to the small entrance, he lifted his glasses to check the names on the intercom system. "I don't see her name. I bet the numbers don't correspond to the actual apartment numbers. It looks like it had been done alphabetically at one point a long time ago, but loads of names have been added. Who knows which one’s even a legit name?"
As he continued staring at the list, I tried the door to the lobby. It opened. "Lock's broke."
Michael turned and shrugged. "Yeah, guess we could have tried that first."
“If it’s there for the seeing, you always need to look.” I laughed at his silly grin. "Seems we make a good team."
"Never doubted that for a moment."
We headed inside and paused at the out of order elevators. The sign looked as ancient as the intercom system. Michael opened the door to the stairs, stepping in first this time. "Let me go first. I don't trust closed in spaces." He led the way to the third floor. No one entered the stuffy stairwell.
It took a moment to find the correct apartment door, the last number was missing off the door.
I inhaled a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly through my mouth. "Here's goes." I knocked quietly and then rapped hard twice. I felt Michael tense beside me. He probably heard movement inside before my human ears could. Sure enough, a moment later a chain lock slid on the other side of the door, followed by another. I swallowed nervously.
The knob turned. "Marcus, wha—" the voice stopped short when the door opened fully. A boy about my age, maybe a year or two older, stood staring at me, mouth open. It was difficult to tell his exact age, the hard look on his face showed years of experience that had nothing to do with numbers. He glanced at Michael and took a step back. "What the hell?" His gaze flitted back to me.
He was definitely a few years older. He was as tall as Michael, but dark hair and complexion. I couldn't stop staring at his eyes. They were nearly the same color as mine. "Who are you?" I blurted unable to stop myself.
His gaze narrowed as he glanced once more at Michael quickly and then back to me. He set his hands on his hips, his biceps bulging. "Who the hell are you?"
Michael stepped in front of me, his foot halfway through the door. "Where looking for somebody. Is your mother around?"
The boy scoffed. He was obviously too old to still be living with his mom. "My mother? She's having a rest. You can go find her down the road."
My heart rate sped up. He might be my brother. His eyes sure seemed to say we were related. I might have a brother? The thought had never occurred to me. I might have a brother!
"Could you be a little more specific?" Michael enunciated each syllable crisply.
"At Saint Andrews."
She was at a church? My mind was apparently frozen with stupid ice.
"Thanks." Michael turned to go steering me by the elbow so I walked in front of him.
"You aren't going to get much from her." The boy called down the hall.
I swung around, part of me wanting to see him one more time so I could burn the image of his face in my mind. I peered around Michael. "Why's that?"
"She's at Saint Andrew's cemetery. She's been there the better part of ten years."
My stomach dropped. "You're mother was Rebekah Gnowee?" Please say no, please say no.
He nodded. His eyes sympathetic a moment before they turned hard and unreadable again. His head tilted to the side, his brows furrowed together. "Jamie?"
I shook my head. "My name's Rouge.”
Michael beat me to my next question. “Who are you?"
"Robert. Why are you looking for my mother?" He didn't bother hiding the suspicion in his voice. It came out more as an accusation then a question.
"It doesn't matter anymore." Michael who had been standing quietly behind me reached for my hand. “We need to go,” he whispered curtly.
Robert crossed his arms over his muscular chest. "You shouldn't be here, Jamie – Rouge – whatever your name is. Especially with HIM." He glared at Michael.
I imagined the hair on the back of Robert's neck rising. The obvious dawned on me a second too late. "Crap!" Robert was a Grollic. Michael obviously had realized a lot sooner. "We're leaving. Sorry to have bothered you." I started backing away, my eyes trained on his neck imagining his birthmark just below his collar bone.
The stairwell door swung open with a loud bang. I jumped and Michael crouched ready to pounce. A burly guy about the same age as Robert bounded into the hall. Assessing the situation, his eyes burned from brown to a light color.
Yellow.
He was a bloody Grollic.
“What do we have here?”
“A mistake.” Michael’s voice stayed even and smooth.
I envied his ability to stay so calm.
“My apologies.” Michael took my hand, pulling me to his other side so he stood between the stranger and me.
The guy spent way too much time in the gym. He was huge. If he turned into a Grollic, I had no idea what kind of chance Michael and I stood between him and Rob. What if I couldn’t control them? Sweat began to form as small beads on my forehead.
“Rob?” Big guy glanced down behind us where Rob now stood only a few feet away. “Do these guys need to be escorted out the building?”
Rob grinned. It looked more like a snarl of sarcasm. “Be my guest.”
“We’re fine.” Michael’s always composed features were beginning to crumble. “We know the way out.”
“I’m sure you do.” The stranger steppe
d to the side to let us through the stairwell. “This isn’t the best neighborhood. I saw your Jeep outside. Might be better if I walk with you.”
Michael held his gaze, even and hard. “Fine. How about we get this fine young lady to the Jeep, then you and I have a nice chat?”
The guy burst out laughing. “I’ll be up shortly, Rob.” Marcus waved-off his friend like he couldn’t care less.
We started down the stairs, Michael making sure I was in front, then him and then the Grollic.
“Dude, I have no idea who the hell you are, but you have a serious set a cahones’s on you. Why the hell would you bring a sheep into the lion’s den?”
Michael didn’t stop walking down the stairs, he kept close to me. “I didn’t know. We were trying to find someone. It doesn’t matter… obviously a dead end.”
They arrived in the lobby. I had no idea how my legs carried me across to the door that led outside.
As we passed the big, fat guy on the bench, he suddenly came to life. “Marcus! Marcus Brutus! How is your mama? I ‘aven’t seen her in ages!” The man stood and hugged burly Marcus.
“Go!” Michael hissed, pushing me into a run.
I raced to the car, the door already open and the end running before I even reached it. Michael pulled into gear and tore away from the curb, tires squealing, dirt and debris flying behind us.
Chapter 13
“Holy guacamole!” I shouted, whipping around to see if Marcus had turned into a Grollic and was chasing us down.
Two figures stood, one with his hands on his head, the other with his hands in the air. They grew smaller and smaller as Michael pressed on the gas pedal. He kept checking the rearview mirror and every window for a blind spot, obviously expecting a Grollic to come out behind some building or house and ram itself into the Jeep.
He took a hard right and shifted gears. “What did you just say?” he asked a few minutes later, finally slowing downing down slightly and rolling through a stop sign.
“I didn’t say anything.” I glanced all around me again, my heart refusing to slow its frantic pace.
“I believe you did.” He chuckled. “I think you said holy guacamole?”
My eyes rolled toward the roof of the Jeep. “I might have.” I punched him lightly in the arm. “It was an intense moment. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“You’ve got quite the foul mouth on you!” He smiled and winked at me, then veered the Jeep toward the I90 and took the on ramp to the interstate. “I’m just going to drive around a bit. Make sure we aren’t being followed.”
“Sounds good to me. You can just keep driving back to Port Q if you want. You won’t get any arguments from me.”
“Till we’re halfway home. Then you’re going to want to come back and find out what the heck just happened.”
“No. I think I’m completely fine with never having to go there again. I have the file…” I glanced down on the ground by my feet. “I can start – where is the file?” I shifted and checked to see if I was sitting on it. I felt under the seat and unclicked my seatbelt to check the back. “It’s not here!” Panic found its way back into my chest. “Michael, stop the car! Where’s the file?”
He made his way over to the right lane and pulled off on the next exit. At the same time he checked his seat and around him. He drove into a Walmart parking lot and jumped out of the Jeep to get a better look.
I did the same. The file wasn’t there. A shaky sigh escaped my mouth, and I could feel my lower lip begin to tremble. I hated crying. Fighting the tears, my throat tightened and throbbed. I couldn’t believe the file was gone. I’d just had it in my hands, had read so little of it, and now it was gone. What a day! What a freakin’ awful day!
Michael came around the Jeep and pulled me into his arms.
I pressed my face hard into his chest, still trying to fight the tears that refused to stop. “It’s gone,” I mumbled over and over again.
He ran his fingers lightly over my scalp and hair. “Shhh…” he said as he tried to comfort me. “It must have fallen out when we took off.”
We stayed together, arms wrapped around each other for a long time. Finally I straightened and tucked a lock of messy hair behind my ear. “I have a name. It’s a start.”
“It is.” He wiped a tear from my cheek. “And it appears you might have a brother.”
“Bit of an asshole, isn’t he?”
Michael eyes went big before he burst out laughing. “Your foul mouth is progressing today.”
“Hey, if the word fits…” I smiled but it quickly faded. “He called me Jamie. Maybe he thinks I’m someone else. The name on my birth information that was in the f-file says my mother named me Rouge.” I shook my head. “I don’t get it.”
“He probably doesn’t know who you are.”
“Yeah… Well, he did know what you were though. He’s a wolf, so is that Marcus Brutus.” I sighed. “I wasn’t expecting things to be peachy and pretty, but I didn’t expect this.”
Michael put his arm around me. I savored the warmth he offered and rested my head against his shoulder. “Maybe we should just go home. Pack our stuff up. Let sleeping dogs lie.”
He kissed the top of my head. His hot breath sent a shiver down my spine, the good kind. “Let’s head back to the hotel and decide from there.”
“Okay.” I let him help me back into the Jeep, and we drove in silence back to the Holiday Inn.
In our room, I pulled out the Wolf Book and the journal I’d been writing in. I sat on the bed, my back against the headboard and stared at the ancient leather book. Tapping my foot against the sheets, I straightened up and grabbed my pen. I planned to write what had happened down in my journal, then turn the page and never think of it again.
Except I knew I would never forget it. I knew, whether I was afraid of the knowledge or not, there would be no guarantee I’d have the chance to learn more later. I was furious with myself. I should have taken the time to read the full file before running off on any leads. Stupid, stupid mistake! Why had I been so rash in my decision making? I stole a glance at Michael.
He sat behind his laptop at the desk. We worked quietly, completely comfortable in each other’s silence. He had no idea of the inner turmoil going on inside of me.
He stood just as I was closing my journal. “Do you feel like going out to eat?”
I shook my head.
“Why don’t I go grab some take out then? What do you feel like?”
I shrugged. I felt drained. Disappointed in myself. Tired. “I’m fine with anything. I’ll just chill till you get back.” I pointed to his laptop. “Do you mind if I look a few things up?”
“Go for it.” He grabbed the keys and his wallet. “I’ll be quick.”
I jumped up and ran over to him. My weird history and somehow Grollic related family wasn’t his fault. He didn’t care, maybe I shouldn’t either so much. “I love you.” I arched onto my toes and pressed my lips against his. “Very much.” I kissed him again.
His hands cupped my jawline and his fingers pressed against my neck just under my ears. His mouth opened to deep the kiss, his tongue slipping into my mouth.
My hands curled into fist of pleasure against his chest grabbing his shirt and gently tugging at it.
He smiled against my lips and whispered, his breath hot against my skin. “I’m only going for dinner. I’ll be back in less than twenty minutes.”
“I know.” I refused to let go of him.
“Or I could just stay here.” He laughed when my stomach rumbled. “Duty calls.” He stepped back and saluted me. “I need to feed my lady.” He stole a kiss before opening the door and disappearing behind it.
I stood, my fingers pressed against my lips, enjoying the bliss I felt whenever we kissed.
Finally I moved to the desk and sat down. I opened up Internet Explorer and googled Gnowee.
I grabbed my journal and jotted down a summary of the word. It was based on mythology of the Aboriginals of south-eastern Aust
ralia. Gnowee was a solar goddess whose torch was the Sun. I skimmed over most of that part of the information, just writing down: Gnowee = Solar Goddess.
Reading more, I added other notes. Gnowee was once a woman who lived on the earth at a time when it was eternally dark. One day she left her little child sleeping while she went out to dig for yams. Food was scarce, and Gnowee wandered so far that she reached the end of the earth, passed under it and emerged on the other side. Not knowing where she was, she could not find her little child anywhere, so she climbed into the sky with her great torch to get a clearer view. She still wanders the sky to this day, lighting the whole world with her torch as she continues to search for her lost child.
Some of the stories said the child was a son, other’s didn’t mention a gender.
I liked the story. I didn’t know why, but I did. It made me feel like maybe my mother was looking for me. I’m sure every kid whose parents left them felt like this.
I added some personal thoughts into my journal after I wrote the story down.
Note to Self:
The story could represent my mother. Like some mythology tale that represented something in the far distant future. Maybe my mother never wanted to give me up. Or maybe the life here was not what she wanted for me. Or because I didn’t bear the mark on below my collar bone, she couldn’t bear to bring me up.
I believe I have a brother who doesn’t know I exist. My mother is gone. Did she die? Was she murdered? What happened? What of a father? I always wanted to find the woman who gave me up but never considered a father. What if he wanted me and my mother did not?
These are questions I am never going to find the answers to.
Michael returned with two large carry out bags. He set them out on the dresser. Appetizers, pasta, wings, pizza, chicken fingers, and four different kinds of desserts filled the make-shift counter. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I picked up a bunch of stuff.”
