by Angela White
Tired elation swept over me as the taxi sped through the darkness. I was free of Georgie, free of Mary, free of my mom’s indifference. No more groping, bullying, or hiding who I was. The world had better be ready for me, because in two years, when age couldn’t hold me back anymore, I would make a mark on the world that could be viewed from space. I was sure that my Brady would help me with that. We were stealing our happily-ever-after and these were the first hours of it. I wanted to remember them forever.
8.3 months later...
“Push now!”
I grunted against the pain, bearing down. After so long, I thought this kid would want to be out, but I could feel his big dome lingering.
“Come on!”
I gave a gigantic heave and felt the baby squirt from me in a ripping sensation.
“It separated!”
“I told you we should have tried to stop her labor again!”
“Shut up!”
Lightheadedness overwhelmed me as cold flooded my limbs. I listened for the cry of my son, of Marc’s son, but there was nothing.
“He’s not breathing!”
Hospital alarms sounded loudly.
I felt the witch return from wherever she’d gone.
Hang on, girl. The world has great plans for you.
“Not without my son!” I screamed, no longer able to keep mental and reality divided as I faded toward the darkness.
You shall have your son, the witch intoned. Fight for your life!
He didn’t come...
He will, in time, the witch answered. And it won’t matter then, either. Do you want the life you have? Will you give it up so easily?
Challenged out of my weaknesses, I struggled to stay alert as the doctors tried to fix whatever had gone wrong. “Give me my son!”
The nurses were close to giving up as the pediatric team slammed through the doors and took over trying to get the baby to breathe. I focused on the blanket he was in, all I could see, and sent a blot of blue light in that direction. It held the last of my strength.
As the power struck the baby, the lights dimmed and the sound of an engine filled the delivery room.
“What is that?”
“Keep trying!”
“I’ve got her bleeding under control,” one of the doctors muttered. “Shut up and work!”
The room became a steady hum of intent as everyone snapped into their training and fought for our lives.
“He’s breathing!”
A weak wail split the air and I laughed in joy, even as I arched from pain now rushing through my stomach.
“Get her under! I have to cut it.”
A mask slid over my face and the darkness rushed upward. My last thought was to order the witch to protect my son.
I woke up in a fast blur, lifting into an upright position that cramped my stomach like a pile of knives had stabbed me. My cry echoed into the hall.
Doctors and nurses rushed in. One of last white-coated people to enter held a blanket-covered bundle that I extended my arms for. The exams and tests they wanted to do could wait.
She gently put the baby into my arms. Marc’s baby.
A feeling of love and peace filled me so deeply that tears spilled from my eyes.
“Momma loves you,” I cooed, drawing approval from my concerned audience. I could tell they hadn’t been sure that I would survive.
“What happened?” I asked, looking at the tallest doctor. He had more gray hair, so I assumed he was a senior staff member.
“We’ll fill you in later, Ms. White. Right now, you need to feed that boy.”
“And give him a name,” the nurse who’d been carrying him added. “Cutie will only work for so long.”
I thought of how mother Brady’s private detective had called me a cutie, right before I let him meet the witch. When he’d sworn not to tell where I was, I’d believed him, and so far, my fragile peace had held.
As I settled my son onto my breast for the first time, the longing for Marc was stunning. He should be here.
Call him, the witch suggested, also in awe over the baby. He’ll come.
During the months we’d been apart, I’d grown up a lot more. I had accepted that Marc also needed freedom. I had given him the burden of me when he was too young to decide if it was what he really wanted for his future. Because he hadn’t come for me, I had to assume that he now had that it wasn’t. Otherwise, why would he have forgotten our love, our promises?
“His name is Charles Marcus,” told them. There were no Charlie’s in our family for me to be reminded by. His middle name was my tribute to the man who’d taught me so much about love and life that I’d been able to gain my freedom and still have my sanity. I hated Marc for leaving me hanging the way he had, but I also still loved him for our childhood and I always would.
No, I answered tiredly as weariness swarmed me. Let him have the life he always dreamed of. Let him be happy. I want that for him.
Truly?
Yes. I can never forgive him for abandoning me. Let him stay there and make a difference in the world, if he can. I’ll find happiness as a mom and maybe even a doctor.
A doctor? the witch questioned in surprise.
Yes. After ten months around them due to having problem after problem, we’re on a first name basis. Any of them will help me study.
Where will you live? The shelter is already too crowded.
As soon as I recover, I’ll apply for a job here at the hospital, I told that spirit inside. I’ve thought about these plans for the last six months of visits. I can help people and find satisfaction there. I... I don’t need my Brady anymore.
A tear rolled down my cheek, proving that a lie, but I wasn’t going to change my mind. Marc had traded me for the Marines. There was no going back. He would never know we made a baby, and I would try hard to make sure that this child’s life was never the mess that mine had been. I was smarter than my mom, smarter than the rest of the family who had stayed and tolerated lives of misery and abuse. I was different. I had gotten out.
I’m free.
Seventeen months later...
2000
Marc: Age 22
Angie: Age 19
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Restless Ghosts
Marc
Douglas met me at the bus station. It was the first time that I’d seen him since I was betrayed. In fact, other than a short visit from my mother, I hadn’t seen anyone from the family while I was away.
I stepped down to the ground, causing warmth and bitterness to return in a rush. I was home. I’d been gone for nearly two and a half years.
“Good morning, sir!” Douglas gushed.
Against my wishes, Mary had put me in charge. Her stroke last month had sent the relatives into a perfect tizzy. Douglas assumed I would be stepping into her role now.
I walked by him without a reply. I also walked by the waiting car. I’d made sure he knew my arrival time so that I could do this to him. It felt great, but it was only a small payment. Douglas had called my mother right after I sold my car. He’d helped trap me for years. I owed him.
“Bastard,” Douglas muttered under his breath.
I grinned in the hard, cold way that I was becoming known for among the ranks. “I learned from the best.”
I’d had plenty of time to piece together how I’d been tricked, lied to, and manipulated. I’d searched down every mistake after finding out that Angie was missing. Until I’d learned she ran on her own, I had suspected my mother of killing her. That’s why I had gotten in touch with the FBI. My contact there had given me the details on Angie after the investigation into the Brady family began. I was set to testify whenever it went to trial. My mother had a lot to answer for. So did I, if Angie ever spoke to me again.
I knew now, that my unavoidable mistake had been believing the final lie. Angie wasn’t my sister. We didn’t share blood. Mary had used her most powerful tool of submission and I’d knuckled under the layers of guilt that she’d in
stilled. I couldn’t change that, but I could be comforted by the fact that I was different. Thanks to the trickery and betrayals, I was one of the most aloof and respected new grunts. I was no longer a rookie to be hazed. I’d made it to that harder second level and the trek had sharpened my mind and body, just like I’d always hoped it would. I loved being a Marine. There was only one thing I would ever love more.
Douglas knew better than to try following me as I took the tiled path that used to be dirt and walked toward the poor side of town. He probably assumed I was searching for Angie.
In a way, he was right. I’d already tracked down a few addresses for her in the city, but I’d had to come here first. I still wasn’t sure if I would go find her. I was hoping to hear she that was happy.
My heart twisted and I admitted that I also hoped to hear she was single and pining for me. It was impossible to describe how much I’d missed her over the years that I’d been gone. Had she missed me like before or had she moved on? I didn’t want to interfere in her happy new life if she had one, but I had to have that answer. I had big career choices coming up, but I’d come to understand that the Marines and Angie were no comparison. If she didn’t want me in the service, I would give it up and settle into civilian life a content man. If she had moved on, I would take the invite to sniper scout school. That choice depended on this trip.
I skipped the trailer park in favor of haunting our old spots. I didn’t spend time looking over the town either, but it was hard to miss the fact that there were no heritage shops at all. Mary had gotten her way.
The bus I’d come in on was leaving as I neared the main road and the driver gave me a strange look as I stopped at the corner of the neglected appearing intersection. I didn’t try to respond. I wasn’t capable of speech as the cornfield came into focus.
Yes. That’s where I want to be.
I shouldered my kit and trotted toward the old path eagerly. I could see the beaten-down edges from here. It looked like it was still being used.
I sank my boots into that sweet soil with a huge grin, still running. I didn’t stop until I got to where the clubhouse should have been. For some reason, I had expected it to be here, but there wasn’t even a plank of wood to prove we’d ever existed.
Suddenly feeling as though my instructor was gut-punching me again, I knelt down to ferret out any sign of our past lives. Surely it couldn’t have all been erased so soon?
As I dug down with a thick stick, I discovered wood–our wood, and realized the clubhouse had been buried by mud. Had there been flooding after I left? I couldn’t remember reading about it in the paper that I special ordered to the base a few times a year. The only news had been tornados and cover-ups. Fernald had recently announced that cancer rates in the area were not elevated or related to the leaks. They had paid off the lawsuit, but never admitted responsibility for any of the deaths. It didn’t surprise me.
Not in the mood to dig, I wiped my hands on the weeds and trekked farther into the field. I wondered briefly if the farmer’s dog was still roaming out here, but pushed it away with the other ghosts. I was a man now. I was trained and proficient with all of the weapons that I carried. I also doubted Ticker still had his sight, if he was even alive.
With that list of comforts, I strode into the cornfield, searching for the place where Angie and I had spent so many sweet, hot afternoons hiding from the world. I could concede that now. Neither of us had been made for the stresses of our lives. This had been our escape and we’d rarely shared it without outsiders.
I spotted a glint on the ground and hurried to that way.
Our flag!
No.
It wasn’t our flag, but it was. My heart pounded. It was a copy, all shiny and new, waving in the light breeze.
Trying to control my emotions, I knelt by it, wishing Angie would appear behind me to say something cute.
“I always knew someone would come back to that damn thing.”
Startled, I spun around, hand going to my hip for the gun that was secured in my kit now that I was in the civilian world.
“Easy, boy,” the farmer cautioned me. The huge dog at his side glared blindly from his place on the leash in the man’s wrinkled hand. I studied the farmer, picking out faded overalls and a wide hat that couldn’t hide the sun ruined-skin. It was probably what had kept him out of town unless he had to go.
“You put the flag out?” I repeated.
“I replaced it last year too, but the wind carried it off.”
I stared in surprise. “Why?”
The old man that we’d all feared shrugged his thin shoulders and tipped his hat back a bit. “Never saw two people so in love. Was sorry when it ended.”
The farmer turned toward his field, clucking to the dog, “Come on, old man. We’ve got supper a waitin’.”
I stared at the corn where he vanished for a long time, hurting. Angie hadn’t put the flag there. She hadn’t come back at all.
Considering the new situation in the family, I think a part of me had expected her to, out of the same sense of duty that sometimes still pulled me after so long and so much betrayal. Mary having a stroke had sent the relatives into panic. They’d called this meeting and demanded I come, as her heir, to decide what would happen to our family now. They would demand that I take over and save them, but they’d all forgotten what it felt like to have their heart ripped out and shit on. I had no mercy now, for anyone.
I’d come for one reason. I had lived a life that no one understood. I had loved a girl who was my soulmate and then lost her. Their offers of power and cooperation couldn’t match what I’d already given up. I wanted my memories to give me some sense of peace when I looked back on our past. I’d come to calm my restless ghosts.
I wandered for another hour before heading to my mother’s home. By the time I arrived, the depression had caused a thick layer of hatred that would be my shield.
I didn’t knock on the door. There were cars all over the yard and I hoped it bothered Mary, but doubted it would now. If the letter was right, she was incapable of communication.
The house smelled the same and I stayed in the open doorway for a minute, tuning out the voices coming from the rest of the rooms. This entrance hall had been where I composed myself to face my family, and I used it for that purpose one last time. It didn’t surprise me to find out that I was anticipating this moment. I should be. I’d waited for it long enough.
I glanced at the cluttered yard, spotting the neglect, the dead rose bushes. I lingered on the rusted brown wagon nearby. What I wouldn’t give to see young Angie climb out so that I could do it all over, but without the mistakes this time! I assumed everyone felt that way about their past as they got older, but I’d only aged two years. My time in the service had given me new insights to the life that had created the man I was today.
I shut the front door, aware of coldness falling over me. I used this shield in battle and in drills where I needed to be perfect, but this wasn’t a time for the Marine inside. I pushed him to the rear. Some of this confrontation might hurt, but it would only be from cleaning puss out of the wound that was trying to heal. I needed that.
The family was gathered in the large living room, much as they had during the gatherings where I was being offered leadership of our household and a lot more. As I scanned them, viewing familiar, hated faces and ones that I hadn’t seen before, it occurred to me that my FBI friend was right. I’d told him everything, and he’d suggested finding the missing money before opening the investigation. He’d had it all ready to go when I called him, though. He thought I deserved the 6.8 million that I’d estimated the Brady family to be hiding. The thought was repulsive and coldness swept over me hard enough to cause harsh laughter to bark out unplanned.
Silence descended as everyone turned to discover who was happy at such a bad time for our family.
Across the room, seated in her customary place at the head of the table, Mary didn’t even blink. Drool ran down her chin in a thin
line and I knew it was true. The stroke had removed her ability to function. She was aware, but unable to respond in any way. I found the irony immensely satisfying. For once, she had to listen. She couldn’t even protest whatever we decided to do with her or her precious family legacy. The doctors had said that she could recover with enough effort, but I doubted anyone was praying for that, beyond Douglas. My siblings certainly weren’t. My sister was pregnant with another abusive man’s baby. My brothers had taken off on everyone the instant Mary had been stricken.
“Marcie’s here!” Bean exclaimed. “Praise the Lord!”
“We’re saved,” his wife sighed from her seat behind him.
Except, Mary had gotten her way on that, too. Bean and Zack were heroin addicts now and Angel no longer went to church. She cooked their drugs.
Three dozen people erupted in cries, some good and bad, some of them standing to make their shouts travel. I ignored them all and crossed the room to my mother. As I went, the fighting stopped and their attention returned to me, where I wanted it.
My personality drew people now. It had given me team leader, along with my efforts, and I knew that I could make these useless bags do anything I wanted in a short amount of time. But I’d already chosen their fate and set it in motion. My regret about this moment, other than Mary not being able to shout and cry, was that Scot and Rodney would miss it. They were both in jail. Rodney for selling drugs and Scot for two murders. He was serving life and I was glad, considering that Scot was likely the serial killer we’d had here. During my time away, I’d put a lot of things together.
I took the handles of Mary’s wheelchair and gently pushed her over to the window as the family murmured and muttered in confusion and speculation.
I made sure she could see outside as I knelt down in front of her and took a pamphlet from my jacket pocket. I held it up. “The town nursing home already has a room waiting for you, mother. I’ve made payments on it since you came to the base and told me Angie was gone.”
My family reacted much as I’d expected, aside from one. They exclaimed their fake surprise, and then waited to discover what else I had planned. The one who didn’t react that way was Georgie. He stiffened in response to the name and glared at the empty seat where Frona should have been.
