Rellik, Page 2

  “Your mother is fine. She wasn’t with your father at the time. The doctors are doing everything they can to help them.” Mr. Thomas covered my dirty hand with his damp palm. I couldn’t look him in the eye because it would only confirm that this was all real. Instead, I focused on the small bead of sweat clinging to his tanned flesh just below his auburn hair, which was uncharacteristically disheveled. “She called me and asked me to take you into the hospital.”

  My thoughts briefly drifted over his words, and I had only absorbed one. “Them? What do you mean them? Who was with him?”

  He looked back at the officer before offering me a sad smile. “Grab your things. We can talk more on the road. Did you have lunch yet?”

  I shook my head, wondering how I could even eat after hearing something like this.

  “I had just finished my lunch at Franklin’s Deli when I got the call, so we can stop at a drive-through on the way.” His hand slid from mine, and he took a step back. I slowly stood and walked toward the door, with Mr. Thomas following close behind me. The hall was still empty, something I normally loved because it felt like a different world without all the people and noise, but now it felt small and suffocating. Tragedy has a way of putting life in perspective like that. I could smell the food from the cafeteria, and it turned my stomach as I stopped in front of Ms. Simmons’s door. I gripped the handle, shoving it wide open. The entire class sat silently, staring at me as I froze in the doorway. I felt utterly and devastatingly alone.

  My skin was on fire, and I could feel it dampen under my tears, but I was unable to regain my composure. Still, the world continued to spin as I cried unabashedly. I’d just wanted to be noticed, and now all I wanted was to disappear, evaporate. Kids whispered and giggled, but I heard nothing except the steady whooshing of blood in my ears as my heart raced. It felt like my veins had been electrified, and I couldn’t help but shuffle from one foot to the other. One set of eyes stayed locked on mine. Katie’s expression mirrored my own sadness as she mouthed the words, “Are you okay?” I couldn’t even find the strength to shake my head. Through blurred vision I stared down at my smudged fingers and waited for Mr. Thomas to retrieve my book bag. No one else spoke a word to me, and I wasn’t even sure I was still breathing. All I could hear were my fears in rapid succession screaming inside my head. Even in the moment of unknowing and panic, I was able to take a lesson from Katie, although it took me a few years to realize it. That moment of compassion when she owed me nothing changed something in me, but there would be a lot more changes before the day would end.

  Mr. Thomas led me to his car, and I slid into the old beige Buick, the heat from the day making it feel as if I were in a sauna. As he got into the driver side, he tossed my book bag onto the backseat and offered me a sad smile.

  “Everything is going to be okay,” he said as he twisted the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered before growling to life. I pulled my seat belt across my chest and clicked it into place.

  “What happened?” I asked, knowing I wasn’t prepared to hear the answer.

  Mr. Thomas sighed as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, and I focused on the rearview mirror. “I think I should leave that to your mother to explain.” He glanced in the rearview mirror as he drove into the turning lane and headed toward the hospital.

  We rode in silence, only speaking when he asked me what food I wanted from Shambles drive-through. I rattled off a number, knowing I wouldn’t be able to eat anything until I knew my dad was okay, but maybe my mother would need something.

  We parked near the emergency room entrance, and I froze, suddenly terrified to know the truth that was on the other side of the automatic doors. In this moment he was neither alive nor dead. We were suspended in a state of unknowing, and I wanted to stay there for as long as possible. My father was everything to me.

  Mr. Thomas got out of the car and came to my side, pulling open the door for me. I hesitated, hating that in such a vulnerable moment, I had to force back my tears so I could be strong for my mother. I pushed myself out of the car, paper bag of food in hand, and walked toward the automatic doors that read EMERGENCY in red-lighted lettering.

  Mr. Thomas kept his hand on my shoulder as he guided me from the waiting area to a set of heavy, thick, wooden doors. He hit the button on the wall, and they opened before me. The sight of doctors and patients hurrying through the mint-colored hall filled my view.

  “Your mother is in the third room to the left. I have to wait out here, but if you need me, just come back through these doors.” He looked up, and I noticed that a nurse in pink scrubs stood to my side. He nodded to her, and she placed her hand on my shoulder. I wanted to shrug her away, but I didn’t have any energy. She guided me to the waiting room, which was nothing more than a hole-in-the-wall with a few blue vinyl chairs lining the walls.

  When her puffy, tear-soaked eyes met mine, my mother sobbed into a tissue she had pressed against her mouth, her freshly honey-highlighted hair knotted and disheveled. I’d never seen my mother cry. She was always so happy, or at least that was the illusion I had become accustomed to. I felt like I was on autopilot, unable to think or feel. I was thankful for the numbness that had taken over, because my mother was in no state to comfort me. She lurched toward me, wrapping her arms around my shoulder and squeezing me with all her strength. She pulled back, her hands on my face, and frantically rubbed my hair as if she was examining me to make sure I was okay.

  “I brought you food,” I mumbled, realizing how stupid it was to think a chicken sandwich would somehow take away her pain, but I wasn’t ready to hear about my father’s condition.

  She smiled, her hand still trying to tame my hair as she sniffled. “I had lunch at Franklin’s Deli, but you should eat something, baby.”

  Overwhelm

  Chapter 3—Ella

  Overwhelm: to defeat completely

  I rubbed my damp palms over my jeans as I looked over the printed newspaper clippings that hung from pushpins across my faded-yellow bedroom wall. The timeline dated back ten years to when I was only eight years old. I’d never been this close to finding out the truth, and it was nearly overwhelming. After losing most of my research after a break-in, I had almost given up, but thanks to the Internet and the local library, I was able to rebuild my paper trail, with a few new clues along the way. My own personal memories began when I was much younger, when my world began to crumble and the wheels of fate began to spin.

  * *

  “I don’t want to go to Grandma’s. She’s mean and makes me eat peas.” I rubbed the back of my hand across my nose as I sniffled, struggling to hold back tears. Momma always fought to be tough for me, and I owed her the same. I knew this wasn’t what she wanted to do, like going to the doctor, but it was important because it kept me healthy.

  “Don’t think of it that way, baby. Think of it as…you’re Cinderella, and you have to go stay with your fairy godmother for a while.” My mother was on edge, constantly glancing out of my bedroom window as she gathered a few of my things. My dresser drawers were left open, with clothing strewn about the floor. It felt like good-bye, one of the many times we’d run in the middle of the night, but this time was different. I wasn’t going to be by my mother’s side. I was being left behind. It stung in a way I had never felt before and couldn’t quite understand.

  “But she’s an evil stepmother.”

  My mother ran her hand through my long, mahogany-colored hair and smiled sadly, her eyes glossed over in unshed tears.

  “Then you can be Belle.”

  “But I don’t like to read.” I whined as I clung to my doll baby, whose hair was a matted knot the same color as my own. Her leg had fresh blue stitching from my mother repairing it.

  “Sweetheart, you can be anyone you want to be, okay? Just like last time. Anyone you want, but we have to go.”

  “But Daddy said he’d come be with us soon!”

  “Ella, when did you talk to your father?”

  I shrugged a
s I fixed the yarn hair of my homemade doll, pulling at one of the many knots. “He came to day care and said he would come to be with us soon.”

  “Oh, Ella. Sweetie, you have to tell me if your daddy comes to see you. Remember? We talked about this.” I could hear the disappointment in her voice, but her smile didn’t waver.

  “He said it was a surprise for you!”

  She shook her head. She looked upset, and I was worried she was mad at me for ruining the secret.

  “Daddy wants you to go too. He knows it is the best thing for you right now.”

  “You talked to Daddy?” I couldn’t contain my excitement. It felt like it had been a lifetime since we were all together, after the cops came and took Daddy away to help them get more of the bad guys. My daddy was a hero. He promised me he would come back for us and we would be a family again when his job was done. But Momma hated having to wait for him and would always move us around a lot.

  “I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”

  * *

  I gathered my long, stick-straight, dark hair into a ponytail, pulling an elastic band from my wrist and securing it in place as my eyes danced over the clues. My story wasn’t an uncommon one. A lot of kids get put in the system and never get a reason as to why their lives had been turned upside down. But mine had a twist, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something sinister lay just below the surface of the details. My father was a criminal, and my mother was a thief, even if she struggled to keep that reality from me. But it’s hard to keep a secret as big as ours.

  * *

  “It’s just for a few weeks. I never ask you for anything.” I listened to my mother plead with my grandma outside of the cracked passenger window of her old blue Sundance.

  “What have you gone and gotten yourself into now?” My grandmother folded her arms over her chest as she narrowed her eyes behind thick, clear-rimmed glasses.

  “She’s your granddaughter. Don’t you have any compassion?”

  “Don’t you have any sense of responsibility? You get yourself all pear-shaped and expect the world to come to your side, save the day. I told you Tommy was going to ruin your life. That man never cared about anyone but himself. Who is here to help me when I need it? I’m not young anymore, Leigh. You don’t see me asking for a handout.”

  “Here.” My mother pulled a stack of money from her back pocket and held it out.

  “Where did you get this?” my grandmother asked, but my mom shoved the money into her hand and folded her fingers over the stack of bills.

  “She can help you. She loves to help cook, and she picks up after herself. She’s a good kid, Ma. Just look at her.” My mother stretched out her arm in my direction, and my grandma’s expression softened momentarily before she glared back at my mother. “I just need a little time. Someone’s been leaving me messages, Ma. I think it’s Tommy.”

  “I’ve always had to clean up your messes. The first time that man stepped through the door, your father should have put him to ground. God rest his soul.” She turned and made her way up the wooden steps into her apartment, gripping the railing to steady herself. “Always mixed up with the law. Do you even care how the neighbors look at me? Of course you don’t. You only care about yourself.”

  My mother spun around and pulled open my door, a fresh reassuring smile on her face as she reached across me and unbuckled my seat belt. “Come on, baby. Your grandma is excited to spend some time with you.”

  I weakly smiled back, but my heart sank as I took my mother’s hand and let her lead me up the stairs. I stopped in the doorway, hiding myself behind her legs as I eyed my grandmother in a faded mauve recliner.

  “Don’t be scared. I won’t bite you,” she said as she pressed her nurse-style shoes against the brown carpet to rock herself.

  “Thank you, Ma. I promise this is temporary.” My mom knelt down beside me, cupping my cheeks in her palms. She smiled, a small sob escaping as she fought against her tears. “You be good, okay?” She sniffled but her smile grew brighter. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

  “I forgot magic shield!”

  “Do her a favor, Leighton, and don’t bother,” my grandmother said as my mother pressed her lips to my forehead.

  “It’s okay. You won’t need it here. No more nightmares. I love you. Take care of that baby doll for me, okay?” She ran her hand over my hair before stepping out of the door and out of my life forever.

  * *

  My mother had always loved me. Every memory I had of her was of smiles and warm embraces, even when the world was against her. But memories are subjective when you’re young and idolize those who show you affection. She told me she would be back for me. That was what I clung to all those years, even after my grandmother passed away and there was no one else to take me in. I would walk to the ends of the earth to find out why she never returned, to know if my father had finally caught up with her. But the real tragedy began after I’d lost everyone I knew, and now I was desperate for answers and a resolution so I could move on with my life.

  I sighed as I sank down on the edge of my bed and pulled my knees to my chest. My apartment was barely the size of an average bedroom, but it served its purpose, and I didn’t plan on staying much longer. If my leads didn’t work out in Orlando, I’d have to figure out another way to get information. I didn’t have much, but I didn’t need much. The light at the end of my tunnel was the truth. It was what I had in my darkest moments. I wasn’t that small, helpless child in a foster home anymore. I had grown stronger, learned to overcome, and now I could protect myself like my mother could not.

  After running away from an abusive family and being thrown back into foster care, I walked free on a technicality known as adulthood. When you go into the system, it’s impossible to escape, but eventually you age and get thrown out with little hope of surviving and becoming a productive citizen. I clung to the stories I had learned as a child. One day the world would right itself, justice would be served, and a hero would save the day. I wasn’t that little girl anymore. I was my own goddamn hero, and I was going to make things right.

  I grabbed my messenger bag from my bedside table and shoved inside it my old baby doll that my mother had sewn from a cloth glove. It was ratty, and the yarn hair was falling out, but it was all I had. Climbing on my bed, I slowly took down each piece of newspaper and stuck them all inside my purse. It made me feel safer knowing I kept the most important things by my side, since I hadn’t been able to pay my rent this month and I wasn’t on a lease. I left my bedroom, shutting off the light behind me. I had ten minutes before my shift started at Crowley’s Bar, and I couldn’t afford to lose my job. This was one of the few places willing to pay me under the table, enabling me to lie about my age. Locking the door behind me, I left my apartment and descended into the muggy night. I loved working night shifts. There was something anonymous about being cloaked in darkness, mingling in the shadows, never having to reveal your true self. It was freeing. I never craved to be center of attention, in the spotlight.

  At the bar I was the fun girl who loved loud music and giving relationship advice to the sloppy drunks. They loved to flirt and tell me how pretty my smile was, none being able to see it was a façade. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t a miserable person. I was just very focused and driven.

  I lived only five minutes from the bar, so I didn’t need to worry about buying a car or wasting money on a cab. I could take the alleyway behind my apartment building and cut across Long Street to the back entrance. I had been in Orlando for nine weeks, but this place wasn’t home. Nowhere felt like home, and I knew that wouldn’t change until I found answers and could put my past to rest.

  The alley smelled of urine and car exhaust, and I did my best to hold my breath as I slipped into the back door of the club.

  “Cutting it close, Ella.” Maric shook his head as he wiped a rag over the bar, his thick, dark hair hanging down into his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I got held up. My cat was sick, and
I had to clean up the hairball.” My voice trailed off as he stared at me. “Fine. I lost track of time.”

  “You want to lose your job?”

  “A dream job like this?” I rounded the bar as he glared at me and handed me the rag.

  “A job is a job is a job, and my money spends the same as anyone else’s.”

  “Yeah, but your money gets shoved into a disease-infested crotch first.”

  “I’d shove a few bills into your granny panties if you get up on that pole.”

  I grabbed a lemon and began cutting it into wedges. “Not a chance in hell.”

  “Any new leads in the search for your mom?”

  I smiled, genuinely happy that under the greasy hair and perverted comments, Maric was a decent guy. “Just more dead ends. The one person who might have answers seems to have fallen off the face of the earth,” I rolled my eyes and stuck a lemon in my mouth, puckering at its sour flavor.

  “Give it some time. Sometimes when we stop looking the answers fall into our laps.”

  “I have nothing but time. That’s for sure.”

  “Time for a date?”

  “Nope,” I laughed as I shook my head. The kind moment between us was over.

  Maric winked at me before tapping his palm against the counter. “I like a girl who plays hard to get.”

  “Ugh, you like anything with a pulse.” I joked as I dropped the slices into the plastic bin and grabbed another. “In fact, I’d bet money you’d hit anything before rigor mortis set in.”

  “The offer stands if you ever change your mind about dancing.”

  “This job is only temporary,” I mumbled to myself as Maric walked away.

  * *

  “It’s been five years, Leigh. You said this was only temporary, and now I’m raising your child.” My grandmother spoke into the phone as she stirred a pot of chicken noodle soup on the stove. I sat in the center of the living room floor trying to comb out my baby doll’s hair with my fingers. “I can’t send you any money, if that’s what you want. I am barely getting by on my social security. I can’t even afford my meds this month.”