To Those Who Never Knew (A Monksblood Bible Novel Book 1)

by Isabella Anton

  Jackie and I introduced ourselves.

  “Hi, I’m Jade. I’m a second-year here… Well I’m in my junior year back in California and I’m studying anthropology.” My hands twisted around my back, my nails biting into my palms.

  Jackie went next, her temperament jumping off the walls with meeting our new flatmates. “Jackie. Third-year, English.”

  As the other girls settled in, our conversation lead us into the kitchen for refreshments.

  “Emma. Second-year. Also anthropology.” She gave me a nod and took a seat at the table, placing her leg onto the other. Her fire-truck-red hair was braided tight against her scalp, her nose ring glinting blue in the early light.

  The next girl gave the same seasoned introduction. “Melissa. Third-year. Medieval Studies,” she smiled as she pushed up her wire-rimmed glasses. She filled the electric kettle that was nestled in a corner of the kitchen, a box of tea and cups already waiting.

  “Bethany. First-year. Classical Studies.” Her strawberry-blonde hair fell to the small of her back, making me envious of its soft thick length.

  “Lucy. Third-year. Also an English major.” Glancing at Jackie, the two eyed each other every so often as she went to grab sugar and milk. “So, are you excited about the next two weeks?” she asked. Her blonde, pixie-cut hair and short legs had her looking and sounding like Tinkerbell on steroids, and despite the chilly weather, her back was on display, a tattoo running up the length of it.

  “Yes! I can’t wait for classes to start!” I rejoiced, thinking what culture the UK had to offer, but I guess that wasn’t the answer they were expecting as their faces turned up in surprise.

  “Not that!” Melissa corrected me. “For Fresher’s Fortnight! Two weeks of complete drinking, merriment, and making new friends! Though not everyone drinks so if you don’t that’s cool too.” Melissa filled the mugs, the tea bags floating in each one as she handed them out.

  “The first club night is Saturday, you want to join us?” Emma took a sip from her cup, pulling away quickly at its temperature. “They usually have a theme for the big ones: Fetish Ball, Disney Night, Halloween, etcetera.”

  I glanced at Jackie and chewed my lip. I didn’t mind going out for a good time, but my comfortable place was at home, in bed, nursing a cup of tea and watching enough movies to last me and my parents a lifetime. But the look on Jackie’s face told me otherwise.

  I smiled back at their expectant faces, my reply happily laden with unease. “Sure? Why not?”

  III.

  Bowen

  Bowen sat at one of the rounded booths on the other side of the club watching Jade have fun with her friends, their laughter indistinguishable from the noise of the music pounding throughout the building. The stifling hot air weighed down the partiers, sweat and alcohol and dirt filling the rest of room.

  “Hey there! Wanna dance?” The random girl’s hair bounced with the effort, trying to gain his attention, while her unfocused eyes scanned him, flashing an inviting smile. He wasn’t dressed to party, his three-piece midnight suit too slick and pristine to be anywhere near the standards of Lampeter drinkers.

  Swaying, she reached out playfully to grab ahold of him, but he easily stepped back, disinterested in the drunken girl only wanting to grind against him. “Come on… dance!” This time she caught his arm and pressed it between her breasts, her dress cut low enough that any other man would have taken the offer.

  He jerked his hand away with indifference, the girl overbalancing and spilling her drink in the process.

  “Oi! What do you think you’re doin’!” A kid, a head shorter than him, interjected, coming to the drunk girl’s aid. His Bristolian accent made the words sound more threatening, not that it mattered to Bowen, his eyes still glued to Jade.

  “Oi, mate! I said what the fuck are you doin’?” he shouted louder, getting too close for Bowen’s comfort.

  He tore his attention away and glanced at the kid, unimpressed by what he saw. “I’m not your mate,” he stated flatly, his Welsh accent curt.

  “Excuse me?” The disco lights danced off the kid’s white shirt, making him look more like a clown than an intimidating teenager.

  Bowen stood, bringing the weight of his full attention onto him. He rarely let his real personality out in public, making sure to play the wealthy, tamed businessman at all times. But at that moment, he didn’t have time. “Fuck. Off.”

  It wasn’t the first time Bowen’s mouth had landed him in trouble. He was twenty-five years old, going on six hundred and ninety-one. Not that he looked it. He had never neglected his training. His physic was honed, the muscles in his arms and legs like entwined cables beneath taut skin. He had never gotten out of the habit of classically styling his wavy brown hair and ginger-tinged beard, the Dapper era a time when class meant more than just money. He had done more in his lifetime than any person here and he wasn’t going to let a child tell him off for spilling a drink.

  Bowen’s reflexes took over as the kid’s scrawny fist came for his face, easily dodging it, the poor bastard running into the next table. The boy got back up, forgetting all about the girl, his pride now what was on the line. This time he went for Bowen’s knee.

  I’ve no time for this!

  Quickly, he sidestepped to the left, causing the kid’s foot to tangle with his own and with a thump, his head hit the floor. When Bowen looked back to where Jade and her friends were supposed to be, the color drained from his face.

  They were gone.

  Before he had a chance to walk five steps, one of the bouncers stopped him. “What happened?” The bouncer yelled over the pounding music as he saw the guy sprawled out on the floor, the girl now nowhere in sight.

  “One too many!” Bowen voiced and gestured as if his hand were a cup, leaving the bouncer and others around to clean up.

  He ran out of the club, passing through the endless amount of smokers taking the chance of a clear night to light up. There was already a group of drunkards daring each other to walk the thick pipe that connected each side of the river, the sound of water splashing and horrified squeals as someone fell in.

  Looking around, his mind jumped to every horrific scenario he could think of, each worse than the last. Then he spotted her. She was half-carrying, half-dragging her friend over the bridge and up to Old Building. His footsteps quieted as he followed, keeping his distance to listen to their conversation along the way.

  “Come on Jackie, it’s not far,” Jade struggled under her weight.

  Had she really been this weak? Bowen looked at the state of her legs, the strength in them almost nonexistent in those high heels.

  “Jade… you are the bestest bestie I’ve ever had or ever, really… know… you know, cause, like, I’m fine!” Her friend slurred so much it made the sentence sound like one gigantic word.

  “Yeah, of course ya are. That’s why I have to drag your ass to bed,” Jade grunted as her ankle bent slightly inward.

  “No! No! Don’t be mad at me! I love you! You’re my bestie.”

  They were almost to their dorm. Bowen wanted to help, wanted to scoop her up and take her back home where it was safe, where she wouldn’t have to go through the horrors that were to come…

  But he couldn’t let her see him.

  Not yet.

  He watched from the concealed archway as they made it into their dorm, the skinny width of the door proving an obstacle as both tried to fit through, but they were in and they were safe.

  Bowen exited the quad and made his way down to the library parking lot, his car parked just behind its back entrance. The lights had been turned down with the late hour but as he approached his car, he saw the outline of a figure pacing beside it. Cautiously, he approached.

  “Bowen?”

  He recognized the voice instantly.

  “Paul. What the hell are you doing out at this hour? I thought
hermits had a bed time?” Bowen hit the unlock button and opened the door, throwing his coat inside. The night had a chill to it, but it was nothing compared to the winters he had faced in the past.

  “She’s here!” he said giddily.

  “I know,” Bowen snapped. As much as he trusted the Keeper with the amount of manuscripts and volumes he had donated to him over the years, that didn’t mean he exactly liked him. “I’ve been on her since she arrived.” He stroked his beard, frustration and impatience consuming his every movement. He wanted to touch her, let her know that everything that was to come was worth it.

  “When will it happen?” Paul rubbed his hands for warmth, his hot breath coming out in small puffs against the dim moonlight.

  “Mid-November. You remember what you need to do, correct?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” Paul said, waving off the question with no concern. “Give her the Monksblood Bible and she’ll zip”—he motioned with his hand—“right back to the Dark Ages.”

  He made it sound so simple, but Bowen knew what it would mean, not only to him, but to the world.

  “I’ll be there on the day,” he stepped into his car, the door just missing Paul’s leg as he closed it shut and started up the engine, “so let me know once it’s done.”

  Paul brought his hand up to his forehead in salute, “As you wish, captain!” a goofy smile playing on his lips.

  With effort, Bowen restrained his hands onto the wheel. Of all the people that were put in charge of protecting the trove of knowledge that lay beneath Lampeter’s archive, Gwenllian had to choose this one.

  “Just…” he let out in a huff, “keep an eye out for her when she comes in.” He rolled up his window, leaving Paul to find his way back to the main road.

  IV.

  Classes had finally started, Freshers Fortnight had been two weeks’ worth of extrovert hell. Getting out of bed for my early morning class, I looked in the pitiful excuse they called a mirror and surveyed myself. I was going to have to stop eating out, my muffin-top was starting to rise to become a full-blown cake. I pulled my comb through my hair, starting the tedious work of getting last night’s knots out, and once finished, threw on some clothes and headed out the door.

  Making my way through the campus I could still smell that morning’s dew peacefully resting on top of the grass. Bleary-eyed students and eager professors made their way into their respective building as I found my own classroom. When I got there, students were already sitting inside. Making my way to the back I situated myself close to the window. If I was going to spend the next three hours in there I wanted the view of the rolling Welsh hills to distract me.

  Time seemed to move more slowly as the professor went on and on about their lecture, with a nice surprise at the end: a 2,500-word essay about the artistic, evolutionary differences between medieval manuscripts and today’s graffiti statements. Already I could see the sleepless nights…

  Days passed into weeks and I all but forgot about my assignments. Instead, I found myself becoming preoccupied with my heritage.

  It was the first time I didn’t have Mom and Dad breathing down my neck, giving me the perfect opportunity to find out any information on my biological parents. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my adoptive parents, it was just that there are some things you have to know. I had a free day that Friday and decided it was time.

  Sitting in my room I made myself some peppermint tea and cozied up to my computer, preparing to hunt down my ancestors, if not my biological parents.

  Where to start?

  Mom and Dad had never given me much information about where I had come from, only an indication that I had been born in Cardiff, in a hospital just south of New Quay.

  Guess I better start there.

  Bringing up the search engine on my laptop, I typed in hospitals near New Quay. Seven popped up.

  Clicking through them, I got their telephone numbers and called the first one on the list.

  “Yes, hello. I was wondering if you’d be able to help me?”

  “I can try. What do you need, dear?” The woman on the other line sounded friendly, the elongated sound of her Welsh vowels surpassing my expectations.

  “I was adopted and my parents told me that I was born in a hospital near New Quay on December 21st, 1997 and was wondering if you would be able to tell me if that were true?”

  “Let me connect you through to maternity, they should have the records there and be able to help.”

  The line went quiet as I waited for the phone to connect, only to begin again with my woeful tale. I held the line as she went to check.

  “Okay,” she said, the phone fumbling a bit. “I’ve got records here for three births around that time.” My heart sped up. “You’ll need to come down to the hospital and show us proof of identity. That includes anything like your passport, driver’s license or birth certificate.”

  “Ah… I’m not actually in Cardiff at the moment. Is there any other way to prove I’m me over the phone?”

  “No, sorry love, you must come in person and verify.”

  Why did there always have to be the bureaucratic red tape?

  “Alright, thanks for your help.”

  “No worries, love. Ta-da.”

  I tried the other six places, hoping for some leniency, but got the same answer. Frustrated and a bit annoyed I hung up and called the house phone. It would be just after seven in the morning in California and someone would be there to answer.

  “Hello?” Dad picked up, his voice laden with exhaustion.

  “Sorry, Dad, did I wake you?”

  “Hi, pumpkin, no, just working from home today.” If he was working from home, that meant things were even more stressful than usual. Dad was a mathematician—and a good one at that. Most of the time he couldn’t tell us much about his projects, an indication that he was working with the government—again.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Just a client being an idiot, as usual,” he chuckled. I could picture the way his face would have crinkled with the smile, his brown eyes bright as he would have taken off his wire-rimmed glasses to rub them in frustration. His short, black hair was no longer as dark as mine, the years adding gray to the sides. “You need something?”

  I didn’t know where to start. “Is Mom not there?” I played with the mouse of my computer, trying to keep calm.

  “Yes, she’s upstairs reading. Do you want me to get her?”

  “No. That’s fine, I’ll just ask you.”

  “Shoot.” I could hear him walk from the kitchen where the phone stand was into his office, the cord hitting against the doorframe. I bit my lip, waiting for him to settle into his armchair before continuing.

  “Do you have any more info about where I was born?”

  Silence followed and I waited for him to say something.

  He cleared his throat. “Why do you want to know?” his voice wavered.

  I knew my parents would support me in any way, but the subject was still taboo, skirting around it my whole life. I understood. It wouldn’t be easy to deal with something like this, but I was old enough now that both parties involved could handle any backlash. “I thought while I was here, I could at least look for… them…”

  He took a gulp of his coffee, trying to stall in deciding whether or not to tell me. He took the bait.

  “To tell you the truth, pumpkin, you weren’t born in a hospital. We’re not really sure where you were born. Just that it was somewhere in Cardiff.”

  “Oh,” was all I could think to say, surprised. “So, how did you guys find me?”

  “We had a friend who knew we were looking to adopt and they knew someone who was in a difficult situation.”

  His answer seemed too prepared.

  “Well, can you give me the name of the friend? Maybe I can talk to them?” I got out a pen, ready to write it dow
n.

  “I… We lost contact right after we got you. They never really said who she was.”

  I could hear the strain in his voice.

  “Okay…” And you didn’t think to ask because…? “Thanks…”

  He could tell I wasn’t too thrilled to hear this. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you any more.”

  “No, it’s fine.” It really wasn’t, but what could I do? The only lead I had was a dead end and I had no idea where to go from here. I was about to hang up but I couldn’t just leave the conversation like that. “Dad?”

  “Yes?” I heard his intake of breath, preparing himself for the next question.

  “You know I love you and Mom more than anyone can imagine, right?”

  He huffed out a laugh, the tense atmosphere over. “We love you too.”

  “Dad?” I started again.

  “What?”

  “Don’t tell Mom that I asked you about this. I don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

  He took in another big breath, letting it out quickly. He never particularly liked it when I told him not to tell Mom something. In this instance though, he seemed to agree. “No problem pumpkin, I won’t say a word.”

  “Thanks,” I smiled. I had always taken more after my dad than my mom, his laid-back yet serious-in-the-face-of-conflict attitude was what balanced out their marriage.

  “Keep having fun and be safe.”

  “I will. Talk to you later,” and I hung up.

  Sprawling across my bed, I spent the next hour thinking how I was ever going to find where I really came from.

  V.

  A month had passed since my first night out with the girls, my days now filled with assignments and the impending choice every student had to make in my situation: to sleep or to party?

  “Hey, Jade!” Nick waved at me from across the car park. I had been headed for the campus’ coffee shop, 1822, a fitting name that corresponded with the university’s founding.