“Oh, you’re loving this, huh?” asked Lona.
“Absolutely,” I said with a smile.
After a couple hours, just when the pain was starting to get intense, Lona finished up. She wiped everything down to clear any excess ink and inspected her finished work.
“Perfect. You want to take a look?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
She pulled out a Polaroid camera and took a picture. She positioned me in front of a large mirror and handed me a smaller mirror.
“Just stand here, hold the mirror out in front of you and to the side till it’s facing the opposite mirror, then just get in the best position you can to view it,” she said.
I stood, moving the mirror this way and that. I struggled to get a good view. When I finally captured the right angle, I narrowed my eyebrows, thinking there must be a mistake. I stepped closer to the mirror and positioned it again. The tattoo was quite beautiful. She adorned my back with crack marks like cracks in pavement. Shadowy hands crept out of those cracks, gripping the shattered pieces. I found the tattoo to be beautiful and exquisite but there was a typo.
“Hey, um, Lona. I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s not what I asked for my tattoo to say,” I replied.
“Oh, I know, but Caro said that you were okay with any edits or suggestions she made.”
“Yeah I guess I did say that,” I replied.
“Besides, I think you’ll find this interpretation to be more true as you get older,” Lona said, “If you look closely, you can see the shadowy hands in the broken pieces.”
“Yeah, I see that. I really like that, like it’s trying to escape.”
“Yes, but also like it’s helping in holding the broken pieces together,” she said. “You see, only people that have been broken can find strength that others cannot. They are trained to overcome adversity, to keep going. Some people let trauma break them. They are defined by and victims to their trauma. Sometimes it can be the thing that inspires people to be better, to make a change in themselves as well as the world.
I pick up the Polaroid, which had now fully developed, to see everything clearly. From top to bottom, it read: Broken, but Not Beyond Repair. I glanced over at Caro, as she continued with her tattoo. She looked up at me and winked.
Chapter Eight
No Mistakes
The following day I was summoned to Franklin’s home for a chat. This could only mean he had another job for me. I had enjoyed my day off thoroughly. I wish I had more days like that. Once my Mortal Night passed, my tattoo solidified in the skin. I peeled the plastic wrap, paper towel, and tape that had covered it. The paper towel was stained with hints of light pink. I glanced over my shoulder to try to get a better look in the mirror. I half resented Caro for completely changing the meaning behind my tattoo, but I also admired it and was grateful for her optimism for me.
I took a shower and dressed myself for the day. As I gazed around my apartment, I was satisfied with its cleanliness. It looked like a place a decent human being might live. I heard a text from Caro and made my way down the stairs from my apartment to meet her.
As Caro drove us to Franklin’s place, she was unusually quiet.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Yeah, Dani. I just have a lot on my mind,” she replied.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Nah, it’s just personal stuff.”
“You can talk to me about that.”
“Really, I’m good. Don’t worry.”
“Okay. . . Hey you want to go eat after our meeting with Franklin? We can go to that Columbian restaurant you like,” I said. Caro glanced at me, then back at the road.
“I can’t make it today, Dani.”
“Oh okay,” I said. I attempted to hide my disappointment but felt the sadness linger.
“Another time, for sure,” she said with a forced smile.
“Yeah, for sure,” I said, peering out the window.
There was a long pause, then Caro asked, “Dani, do you remember what you and Franklin did the other night?”
“I mean no, not every detail, but I remembered it was fun.”
“Fun. . .” she said under her breath.
I glanced over at her, but for the remainder of the ride she refused to look at me.
We arrived at Franklin’s house and met in his office, as usual, awaiting his presence. Caro remained quiet. Franklin only had us waiting a short amount of time before he made his appearance with two of his security guards. He wore a black suit, a color I rarely saw him wear. He was more of a blue suit guy.
“Carolina, Danielle, good to see you guys,” he said.
“Hey, Franklin,” I said. Caro remained silent.
Franklin glanced over at Caro in dismay, then back to me. “Well, let’s get down to business, shall we? Danielle, I think you’re going to enjoy what we have lined up for you.”
“Sounds good. First, I wanted to talk to you about something,” I said.
“Okay. . .” Franklin sat down, the corner of his mouth quivered into a smirk, “What is it?”
“Well, I was just wondering if maybe it would be okay if I took some time off?” I asked.
“Time off?” Franklin replied with a sigh and nervous laugh.
“Yeah,” I said, looking from Franklin to Caro, “I was thinking maybe sometime next week. After this job, of course, and any other jobs you might have in the next few days.”
“What is it you are looking to go do?”
“I’m not sure, really. I just want to take a vacation, go somewhere I’ve never been, maybe visit some family. You know, some soul searching. I want to try to learn more about my gifts —”
“You mean your flaw,” Franklin interrupted, pointedly.
“Yes, I’m sorry. My flaw,” I responded.
“Well, you’re in luck, Dani. I was actually just thinking it was time for you to take some time off. You’ve been working tirelessly and I don’t want you to get burnt out. You’re no good to me if you’re drained. Yes, I think time off is a great idea.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes, next week should be fine for your schedule. After tomorrow, I don’t think I will have anything lined up for a while. At least, nothing Caro can’t handle.”
“Tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“The job is for tomorrow?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Franklin replied.
“Is there any way that it could be the day after tomorrow?” I asked.
“Ha ha,” Franklin laughed, “You’re not going to ask for healthcare next, are you?”
“No, tomorrow is just a really bad day,” I said.
“Why is that?” he asked, agitated.
I did not want to divulge my Mortal Nights to Franklin. That would only decrease my value in his eyes. Considering how much he had been paying me as of late, that was the last thing I wanted to do.
“It’s just a bad day,” I replied.
“Well, I’d love to be accommodating but it has to be tomorrow. This is one of the most important jobs I’ve ever requested and I need it done exactly right,” Franklin replied.
“Okay. What are we doing?” I asked.
“Not ‘we’, just you,” he replied, “It is a one-person job.”
“I can tag along, Franklin —”
“No, Caro, every job you touch goes haywire. I cannot afford any mistakes,” Franklin said, “Besides you know I already have a job for you tomorrow.”
“Right,” Caro said, glaring down at Franklin. I was becoming uncomfortable with the hostility between them.
“All righty, so what exactly am I doing?” I asked.
“There’s a man. His name is Jeff Hooker —”
“Ha ha, funny name,” I said, giggling. Franklin waited for my amusement to subside, “Sorry, continue.”
“Anyway, Jeff Hooker is the District Attorney,” h
e began, as I tried to stifle my laugh.
“Dani, seriously?” Caro asked.
“What? I’m sorry,” I said, quelling my laugh once more.
“Tomorrow night he will be receiving something that I need. A jump drive with information on it. I want you to make sure he receives it, then, once he returns to his house, alone, I want you to get it from him, and please be sure to use excessive force. You know your trigger word. Use that if you need, just make sure it is as violent as humanly possible, but don’t kill him.”
“So, beat him senseless and take the jump drive from him.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Okay. What is a jump drive?” I asked. Franklin squinted his eyes at me.
“It’s a computer storage. . .” he began, then pulled a small rectangle from his desk drawer, “This, it looks like this.”
“Got it,” I replied, “Anything else?”
“Dani, just be sure to use extreme precaution. This job needs to go off without a hitch. Get the drive, and let us know as soon as you have it. Do not go home until we have obtained the drive from you.”
“All right. I can do that. What’s the payout?”
“Fifty grand,” Franklin replied with a smirk.
“Holy shit. Well, all right then. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Caro dropped me off at my apartment after our meeting, and then quickly left. I had forgotten to ask what kind of job Caro was doing tomorrow. I crept up the stairs to my apartment. When I arrived to my door, there was a small wooden stool with a plastic wrapped plate and a note on it. The plate contained a dozen chocolate chip cookies. The note read: Hope you are having a good week -Joanne
A warm feeling rose in me that made me skip a breath. What an unusual emotional response, I thought to myself. I smiled, unlocked my door, and went inside.
As I treated myself to the cookies for dinner, I rummaged through my apartment, preparing for tomorrow. I laid out my black pants, gray shirt, and black hooded jacket. I found some gloves and put them out as well. I sat on the side of the bed and glanced at the clothes. I felt a bit of hesitation pulse through me. I imagined an alternate life, one that didn’t involve hurting people, where I had a real job, like selling houses or insurance. How boring, yet, in a way, tempting. I searched my apartment for some left over coke to ease my anxious mind. I found a couple of small, half-filled baggies in the kitchen.
I sat on my bed with one of my great-grandmother’s journals and poured the powder on top of it. I made little rows and snorted them one by one, then pulled another journal from the box and looked at it. The handwriting was different and a lot of the words were illegible from some sort of water damage.
I flipped the pages in it and noticed there were some pages in the middle that I was just barely able to read. It said something about a girl but didn’t mention her name, something about wanting to be better for her, about being toxic to her and everyone. Something about how this girl gave hope for a better life. I became frustrated by its bleeding words and tossed the journal to the side. When I did, I looked at it more closely. The familiarity came rushing back. This wasn’t my great-grandmother’s journal at all, it was mine. I grabbed the journal again and quickly and tried to find my place from before. I thought I found the page I had been on and stared at the words. The letters of the words were impossible to read and moved along the page lines as if they did not want to be read. I blinked my eyes multiple times and shook my head. I glanced over at the journal with the final remnants of drugs on it.
“Oh yeah,” I said out loud, realizing I must be tweaking.
My curiosity still piqued, I glanced over at my clock. It was half past eight. I contemplated an idea in my mind momentarily, and then grabbed my shoes and the journal. I creeped out of my apartment and headed down the hallway. Just as I was about to pass the stairs, the door to my right opened.
“Hey, Dani! How’s it going?” came Jonathan’s voice. I cringed at the sight of him. He had clearly been roughed up by someone. His eye blackened, lip busted, and several scrapes on his face.
“Damn, what happened to you?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing I can’t handle,” he said with confidence, yet hidden nervousness.
“You sure? Is someone giving you a hard time?”
“Nah, nah. Nothing like that. There’s just greedy people all around. You know?”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking of my own greed.
“Anyway, you need anything?” he asked, hopefully.
“No, I’m good for today.”
“All right. . . All right. Well, just let me know when you do. I’m always here,” he said, nodding his head and pointing to his apartment.
“Yeah, for sure. Maybe tomorrow,” I replied.
“Cool, cool. Well, have a good night. Stay safe,” he said, and retreated to his apartment.
“Yeah, you too.”
How unusual, I thought. Jonathan was perhaps slightly less annoying after an ass kicking. I almost pitied him. I continued down the hall where I reached a doormat that said ‘Home Sweet Home’. I figured this must be the place. I knocked quietly, in case it was already too late. Moments later, I heard the door unlatch and Joanne peeked out. Once she realized it was me, she pulled the door open.
“Danielle, well, this is a surprise,” she said with a warm smile, “Come in, come in.”
She guided me inside the apartment and into her living room to show me a seat on her couch, a tan, yellowish one that sat near a matching recliner. There were various atrocious knickknacks around the apartment too. She had an old box television from the 80’s and a collection of classic magazine covers framed on her wall.
“I like your place,” I said.
“Why, thank you. I like it myself.”
I sat back a bit and a furry creature pounced up onto the couch to greet me. This must be her Miles. He was white and gray with black stripes in the gray areas of his fur coat. He strolled up to and began sniffing me.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, and ran my hand over his coat. He immediately began walking away from me and sat on the other side of the couch with his back to me, “Okay. . .”
“Miles is not the most affectionate pet,” she said with a laugh, “Although, at times, he can be.”
“I see. Well, I just wanted to stop in and say hi and thank you for the cookies. They were so good.”
“You’re very welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed them. I had made so many, I couldn’t possibly eat them all myself,” she said, as she put her hand on her stomach.
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying. Too much of a good thing. Hey, I was wondering if you could help me out with something,” I said, sniffling slightly.
“Oh my, are you coming down with a cold?” she inquired.
“No, no, probably just allergies. I think I might be allergic to cats,” I said, playing off my drug-induced congestion.
“Oh, of course, my apologies.”
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
“Tell me, what did you need help with.”
“Well, I was trying to read one of my friend’s old journals, but um I have a major headache and I can’t quite make out the words. They’re a little water damaged, but I was wondering if maybe you could try to help me make them out?”
“Sure, I can do that,” Joanne said, nodding her head, “Let me just figure out where I put my glasses.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, then reemerged wearing her glasses. She came over and sat down next to me. I opened the journal and turned to the page I was reading before. She took the journal in her hands and put it on her lap. As I looked at the words, they became illegible once more.
“Oh dear, this is quite damaged,” said Joanne.
“Can you make out any of it?” I asked.
“Yes, yes. There is some I can read. Here it says: ‘She looks at me like I am her world, though I am undeserving. I know I am toxic to her, but what I would not give to be a better p
erson. I want to be the person she thinks I am. She tells me she can see the good in me that I cannot see in myself. Someday I will find that missing thing and tell her everything she means to me. Until that day, I must keep my distance, though I know it hurts her. Kissing her was the best feeling in the world, a feeling that will live with me forever. I crossed the line though, something I said I would not do.’”
“Did they write anything else?”
“There’s nothing more that I can read. Danielle, are you sure this isn’t your journal?”
“Maybe. . .”I responded.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Do you think because I’m old I have a problem with homosexuals?”
“No,” I said with a laugh, “No, ma’am, not at all. I guess I was just embarrassed,” I said.
“Well, no need to be. Who was this girl you were writing about?”
“I have no idea. I wish I knew, but what were we talking about again?” I asked, becoming confused.
“The girl, the one you were writing about,” Joanne said.
“Writing what?”
“In your journal. . . “ Joanne prodded. I cast a look of confusion, and then asked myself why I was at Joanne’s apartment in the first place. I sniffed as snot attempted to escape my nose.
“You must be coming down with something, Danielle. Maybe you should get some rest.”
“Yeah, good idea,” I said, shaking my head, “Well, thank you for having me over.”
“Of course, any time,” Joanne said.
I headed for the door to leave.
“Wait, Danielle, don’t forget your journal,” she said, handing it to me as I opened the door.
“My journal? How did you get this?” I asked.
“You just brought it over here and asked me to read it to you,” Joanne replied, slightly embarrassed.
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I must be getting sick. My brain feels really foggy,” I said, taking the journal from her. I knew there was something I was missing and the culprit of conflict definitely wasn’t Joanne. I said my goodbye and headed back to my apartment.
Ascending Shadow Page 9
