Here is a teaser of a short story that I am working on and may develop into something more. I would appreciate your opinions and suggestions. Thank you.
The Beginning of Kyna
Prologue:
Twenty-one years earlier:
A pane of glass separates the
viewing room from the sterile environment on the other side. A team of eight scientists clothed in traditional
white lab coats talk in hushed tones as they stand over a long rack of test
tubes. Computer printouts and graphs are
scattered on a long silver table to their left.
The scientists always worked in teams of eight, as was strictly ordered
for all major experiments by the corporation’s CEO in accordance with his
superstitious business practices. Closer
inspection of the test tubes shows eggs ready for invitro fertilization. Small symbols written on each tube identify
the ownership of each future child.
There are eight rows of eggs, with eight eggs each. One egg is selected, seemingly at random by
each scientist, now each holding a syringe.
Each of the selected eggs is then injected with an unidentifiable milky
white substance.
The man behind the pane of glass
watches approvingly, noting the exact location of the egg that would soon be
implanted within his wife. Years of
rigid training and discipline allow him to stay focused with little cause for
breath or blinking until the completion of the injection. He does not allow himself to turn until he
witnesses the team of scientists securing the eggs carefully into a high level
refrigeration safe. The man, dressed in
business attire, now allows himself to walk away with an air of confidence and
a clear vision of his future being carried on by this future daughter. A daughter destined to carry on his legacy, a
jade dragon to act as more than merely a thorn in the side of his
competition. Many years of financial
investment are finally about to pay off.
He has carefully chosen this female specifically to make the sting even
worse in a society driven by male dominance. He can almost taste the sweet nectar of
revenge as the end of a generations-long feud will finally come to a close in
his lifetime.
Timed perfectly with the closure of
the high-level government facility, a small coat closet opens and a figure
carefully slinks out with cat-like movements.
The figure, clothed entirely in black from head to toe is careful to
avoid the laser triggers throughout the room as though it was a well-rehearsed
dance. With practiced agility and
knowledge of the security within the facility, the safe containing the embryos
is quickly accessed and the location of the carefully placed eggs are
jumbled. The figure works rapidly,
producing replica labels to ensure that detection of the change will not be
discovered until it is far too late.
*************************************************************************
Present Day:
My name is Kyna and I will be
twenty-one in three days, the age when I will finally be able to choose to live
and work outside of the confines of my living compound. In appearance, I look like an average Chinese
girl: shoulder length straight black hair, small build, 5’4’, my only unique
features being the flecks of green in my otherwise brown eyes. I like to say that I have the athletic body
type of a teenage boy, although I suppose others may describe it as being
closer to a gymnast. I am one of those
cliché’ adopted children. You know, the
ones where a rich American family takes it upon themselves to adopt a disposable
Chinese girl. Although the Chinese
government officially repealed the One Child policy in China, it is still
rigidly practiced, especially amongst the wealthy elite and families that
cannot afford for a child that will not care for them in their old age. This rejection of girls as a care taker in a
family led to a perfect scenario for my parents to fill their barren home in a
way that they were unable to fill my mother’s barren womb. My mother is Chinese-American herself and
“saving” a Chinese child fit perfectly into her philanthropic agenda, giving it
a personal flair.
I have been very blessed to have so
much in my life with the family that chose me; as my life easily could have
been something much worse, growing up as a rejected Chinese girl in a country
rife with disposable females. My parents
have built their empire around me, as their heir, and I have wanted for
nothing. However, my father’s sensitive
occupation has secluded me from growing up around anyone close to my age. As a result, I quickly became attuned to the
mannerisms of my elders. Public school
does not offer much in refined education; at least according to my parents, and
I have been blessed with private tutors whom I continue to learn from.
Among the many tutors that I have
encountered through the years, Banko has always been my favorite. I can never discern a real age for him as he
can look old one day and young the next.
I also have been unable to get him to admit to being of Nepalese or
Tibetan heritage or perhaps something else entirely. Mother insisted upon him as my tutor due to
his Buddhist background as she views patience as a virtue that is important for
one to uphold, especially if that one is a woman such as myself. I have no idea where my mother “acquired” him
from, as a Buddhist teacher of his standing is not something one might come
across in normal walks of life. Banko
has been with me since around my tenth birthday, and we bonded almost instantly. Although it is easy to say that he has not
taught me much that would fall under “book smarts”, I am old enough to know
that his life lessons have taught me more than I could learn from reading any
book or computing any mathematical equation.
In addition to his virtuous lessons long since left behind by normal
society, Banko started teaching me defense techniques five years ago. These lessons are a secret between the two of
us. It is not something I feel is worth mentioning
to my mother, the pacifist, but I know that my father would approve, given his
firm belief that one must be prepared for anything.
As a child, I have tried to always
be the perfect specimen for a daughter. Walking and talking before my first birthday
and displaying a photographic memory of events and anything around me or in a
room I have seen for mere seconds. It
wasn’t until my private tutors were brought in to replace the child care
specialists that my memory and ability to grasp new information at an alarming
rate seemed to be something other than a commonality. Father has wanted to test my intelligence for
years, but mother is worried that it may go against my “girlish virtues” and
give me an inflated sense of self-worth.
I find it unnecessary to be defined by any result from a test anyway, so
I have never pushed the issue. Although
my bringing up might sound lonely and secluded to some, I have never been able
to relate to anyone my age, so I have never felt as though I was missing out on
anything anyway.
Last year, on my twentieth birthday,
my father allowed me to be read into a security group to access the inner
workings of the facility where he works to finally have unfettered access to
some of his projects. The nature of my
father’s work is a mixture of science and technology. He works in robotics and gadgets and has been
commissioned for many top level government projects. I am fairly certain that my mother has no
idea what my father really does at work and I feel blessed to be have begun the
process of training to be a junior analyst on his team. I proved my worthiness to his colleagues at
the age of fourteen when I coded a program that rivalled the security of any
currently in place within the government security practices. I may have gotten a slap on the wrist for a
bit of market crashing, but it was all in good fun, and outside of classified
walls, none of it could be traced back to me anyhow. Since then, I have been groomed to join my
father, which subsequently led to further seclusion at home.
Seclusion at home is truly more of
a paradise then it may sound. My father
purchased an entire cliff range overlooking the ocean and there are no neighbors
for miles. There are large paddocks and
many breeds of horses. A fully operating
compound of workers both related to my father’s work and assistants for my
mother’s many projects. It would take
hours to walk across the entire property, and my favorite mode of
transportation ranges from high-tech turbo golf carts, did I mention we have
our own golf course, to my favorite horse Jasmine. Jasmine is a Gypsy Darner whose mane and tail
always reminded me of the long thick hair associated with Jasmine from the
Disney movie Aladdin. Jasmine always
stuck out to me as a strong heroine when I was younger and I was transfixed
with her. Although television was not a
regularity in my house, one of my primary teachers introduced it to me in
talking about sensitivity with Middle Eastern cultures and I begged her to let
me watch it as a reward whenever I recited my lessons correctly. Even though this contradicted the sensitivity
training I was supposed to be focusing on, I have always been good at getting
what I wanted from people. Jasmine, the
horse is marbled in color ranging from white to grey and then to a sleek
flowing black to complement her kind brown eyes. I have had her for 6 years now and we have a
strong bond.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gearing up for birthday
celebrations, my mother has requested a family outing for shopping to make this
birthday stand out from the quiet celebrations we have had in the past. I know that my life has been predominantly
sheltered and with something so high profile as all of us going out into the
public eye, I can’t help but feel anxious at what this might entail. Although I have left home many times before,
it was always with many body guards and rarely with both of my parents at the
same time. Even if my parents were
required for an official function, I was usually left at home in the
fortress.
As I am preparing to be seen in the
public eye, I notice a light blinking on my cell phone. It is a message from Banko apologizing for
being unable to attend this evening’s lesson due to illness. Immediately, I am struck with worry. Banko is never sick. I still don’t know how old he is with that
Buddhist youthfulness about him. Perhaps
he is really eighty and dying. This
thought leaves me feeling guilty, but my guilt is soon replaced with one of
unfamiliar panic and a need to ensure his safety. I know that my mother would not allow me to
miss out on a rare shopping trip that included me, so I have to think
fast. Being very feminist, I know the
one thing she can relate to is dealing with “woman’s pains.” I am somehow able to extricate myself from
the outing with profuse apologies and promises to make it up to her
ten-fold. Perhaps my persuasive tactic
are finally coming in handy if they can have an effect even on my mother.
Banko’s residence is located on our enormous
property in the left corner near the horse stables. After waiting for what felt like an eternity
but was merely twenty minutes, I am faced with repeated unanswered phone calls
to Banko. I grab a hoodie and throw it
on before heading outside. My mind
wanders to thoughts of being able to finally open up to my mother and tell her
my wish to accompany father to work full time, and how best to broach the
subject with her. I am already looking
forward to talking with Banko about how best to word it when it. As I can see Banko’s house in the distance, I
hear the ringtone of my father’s security guard. I quickly grab the phone out of the pocket of
my hoodie and see Kano’s pained expression on the video call before I hear him
speak.
Kano’s voice is lost amidst the
sounds of shouts and sirens, but one sentence comes across clear: “A bomb went off next to the limo….”
I can’t catch my breath. I am sure I am having a heart attack, the
world has gone silent… I start to black out.
It feels like hours, but perhaps is mere seconds as I catch myself and
hear shouting coming from the phone that is now lying on the ground. I slowly grab for my phone feeling as though
I am moving through molasses and time is not passing in slow motion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Six months have passed since a
suicide bomber detonated himself in front of the armored limo that held both of
my parents. My mother was exiting the
armored car at the exact moment that the bomb was activated. I have berated myself with the details every
day since that day and I wonder if I will ever reach a point when I do not feel
any kind of guilt. If only he had chosen
for the bomb to go off 30 seconds sooner, my mother would have still be inside
the car, and she would have been protected from mortal injury.
The loss of my mother has changed
me into someone even I hardly recognize.
My father comes home even less than before, more often than not,
sleeping at work instead of bearing to come home to the house that they shared
together. He also cannot help but feel
guilt, having sustained recoverable injuries while my mother suffered the brunt
of the blast.
Headlines referred to it as a
“random, senseless act of violence”, but I didn’t spend my adolescence growing
up in what can only be affectionately called a military grade security
compound, for it to be considered a random act of terror.
I have spent these past months
drifting further from my father and closer to anyone who can teach me anything
useful in enacting my revenge. I survive
solely on the fuel of my obsession with retaliation. I am proud to say that in addition to prior
firearm training, I can now shoot expertly with a wide variety of weapons, to
include small arms, various bows, and missiles, among other things. Thanks to my access to funds that I have had
no cause to spend up until this point, I can put any techie to shame with my
weaponized gadgets. My defense training
has touched upon more aggressive forms of training and has added to my mixed
martial arts and acrobatic training.
Somehow within me, I know that a
guilt for always wishing for my mother to be someone different is a part of
what feeds the revenge. Instead of
loving her as she was, I always felt a sort of resentment towards someone who
loved me as her own. We never had the
close bond that I developed with my father.
I wish I could have seen her as the loving mother that she meant to be
instead of always trying to avoid her. I
would give anything to get that time back.
Now that it has been taken away from me, someone will pay for taking her
from me, and from my father. They will
pay for turning my family into something broken and damaged.
I have taken all prior training and
expounded upon it in a new devotion to my life as the deadliest weapon I can
become in human form. Some days I wish
for the help of cyborg parts to make me more than what I am, but I have no
trouble making the most of what I have.
Since my mother’s death, I have
discovered that the suicide bomber that killed my mother was affiliated with a
terrorist group known as HL or Øرارة
لتونس (Hararra Letoonis) in Arabic, which translates to Freedom for
Tunisia. I have not been able to figure out any reason why a Tunisian terrorist
group would want to attack my family, let alone plan an attack on American
soil. Of course this is always the
ideology of the hatred for the rest, but nothing I have been able to discover
about this group makes them seem like the type to go through the trouble for a
suicide bombing. I know they have to be
linked to some other terrorist organization in some way, but how? Why did the news never make this link? Why did they not claim success in this
attack? None of it adds up.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The piercing light shining through
my bedroom window rests on my closed eye lids and I slowly open them. Soreness immediately rushes through my body
as I find myself hunched over my computer at my desk. I must have nodded off out of sheer exhaustion
again last night. I can’t even remember
the last time that I actually spent a night in my bed. You would think that eight months after the
death of my mother that some sort of normalcy would start to kick in for
me. Instead I find myself even more
dedicated to the task of revenge.
As I contemplate making my way over
to my bed, a chime sounds and I look up to see an incoming video call on my
computer. The name and number are
private and I immediately set a trace on the call as I quickly rake my fingers
through my unkempt hair and click accept out of curiosity.
“Hello?
“Miss Huntersberg I presume…”
The video is showing me a dark room
with barely an outline of the person on the other end. I feel weary already of the caller on the
other end that chooses to cloak themselves in shadows.
“And who is this”
“I can assure you that your trace
will reach nothing but loops of IP addresses from around the world as I made
sure of complete security before placing this call. However, I can warrant your attempt as
noble. I had to go through a fair bit of
trouble myself just to reach you in this capacity.”
I can feel myself fidgeting, trying
to decide if I should hang up or wait to see what this shadow man wants from
me. With the lack of a concrete trace at
this point, I feel it is in my best interest to know who was able to gain access
through my locked down computer security and fire walls. I can already envision the hardware and
network modifications I will be making as soon as this call is completed. Shadow man won’t be able to reach me again any
time soon, if I have anything to do with it.
The shadow
man shifts closer to the eerie glow of the screen. His face is covered with a black ski mask and
dark Oakley sunglasses. The voice is
gritty and sounds as though it is coming from an older man, perhaps in his 50s
or 60s. The ski mask makes me want to
place him in a colder climate, but that could be an intentional ruse to try to
throw me off.
He finally
responds with “You can call me Seamus, and I am calling on behalf of the NAIA.”
My posture
is immediately straightened as my ears perk up and my mind starts racing. I can’t believe that I am actually being
contacted by the North American Intelligence Agency. I have been trying to contact them for months
in regards to leads on the terrorists that were associated with my mother’s
death.
Seamus
resumes speaking “We have an assignment for you. Do it well and we may have another, fail and
it will mean termination of your life.”
Well at
least there is no talking around the issue.
I like a man who can give it to me straight. “What kind of a mission.”
“I’m not
sure you understand,” he responds smugly, “this assignment isn’t optional or
even debatable. You dug too deeply into
areas you know nothing about. Now you
will either prove yourself or pay for uncovering secrets. I will send over the details with a secure
laptop. It should be there within the
hour.”
With that,
the screen goes dark. I try to take in
everything I can from what I saw and heard.
There was a covered window in the background and the layout from the
shadows appeared as if it were some type of an office. Nothing stood out as being personalized or
having a lot of furniture, so it was a location that likely wouldn’t be used
again. Seamus, or whatever his REAL name
is spoke proficient English but still had a slight accent, maybe Japanese,
maybe Chinese. I will have to go back
through the conversation I recorded so that I can study it more in depth.
Exactly 59
minutes later there is a chime on my computer and a video message from the gate
that I have received a package. I accept
and tell the guard to have it delivered to the main house. That means that whoever this is has connections
close, really close. I still don’t know
whether this is anything actually affiliated with the NAIA or not, and
unfortunately I have no way to verify without getting further involved. I am not fearful of the threat. Rather I am feeling giddy with an excuse to
actually do something with myself, to get out of the confines of my house where
I have been suffocating with loneliness and guilt. Even before the laptop shows up, I know that
I will accept whatever the mission may be.
I know that whatever needs to be done will require my absence. I feel compelled to speak with Banko before
this happens and send a message to him with the hopes of meeting sometime
within the week. I haven’t been able to
spend as much time with anyone since my mother’s death. All of it reminds me of her and her
overbearing self that was wrapped around every aspect of my life.
I don’t
have to wait long for the laptop to be delivered to me and I immediately open
it up with the use of a 6 digit code that suspiciously appears in a text
message from an unknown number as soon as the laptop is in my hands. The code’s timing starts to freak me out a
little, and I feel naked to the cameras that usually make me feel secure. There has obviously been a security breach on
our property and I make a mental note to talk with father’s security guard,
Kano, the next time he comes home.
With the
laptop now opened, the same code works to log into the computer. I am greeted with a series of schematics that
appear to be a containment center in the shipping yard at the docks. The assignment seems easy enough. A simple breaking and entering or
B&E. I notice that the assignment is
for tonight and make a mental promise to meet with Banko as soon as I am done
with retrieving the specified briefcase.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am
sitting in a borrowed car five miles from the Seattle Bay docks, waiting for
the exact time that was given to me to proceed.
I am preparing myself for the assignment mentally and physically with
some stretching from my seat and checking out my various lock pick and
electronic lock picking gadgets. I have
clothed myself entirely in black from head to toe. My lack of boobs does wonders in throwing
anyone off of the scent of more than a teenage boy and I am thankful for a
split second. As I am about to exit the
car, my blue-tooth messaging pops up on the computerized dashboard.
The shadow
man Seamus is back at it. “Miss
Huntersberg, I just wanted you to be aware of the fact that you are not the
only one given the assignment of briefcase retrieval this evening. The real test will be in speed and who can
leave the briefcase at the drop point in time.
Happy hunting.” There is a low chuckle as he clicks off.
I silently
curse this shadow man and instantly see movement to my left. A dark figure is visible in my driver side
mirror and approaching fast. I
immediately move over to the passenger seat and make a running leap out of the
side door. I vault myself as fast as I
can towards the shipping containers and almost step right onto a steel trap
just laying out in the middle of the road.
“Seriously,
what the hell?” I angrily whisper to the night.
Someone could easily get hurt with amateur moves like that. I can feel the presence of at least two
individuals closing in on me and I try to see what I have at my disposal. There are low laying tree branches 10 yards
in front of me and I am sure that I can make it. As I leap for them at the last second I hear
something whiz by me, barely missing my right earlobe. I thank Banko and many other trainers for
never going easy on my training or I would have missed the branch that I was
able to grasp in time, thanks to a slam dunk worthy jump.
I am caught
off guard by the competition as well as the realization that I am working alone
and was not prepared for this to be an assignment that may require deadly
force. I quickly regroup and check what
I have brought to defend myself when I wasn’t expecting to encounter more than
a security guard or two. I have some
jump cord, lock tools, and a few gadgets that can be useful in
misdirection. I throw out a smoke
grenade and jump down from the tree before it even hits the ground.
What I have
now been able to identify as bullets are pinging into walls around me as I
close in on the storage containers. The
trajectory and directions of the shots leads me to believe that there must be
at least 2 or 3 other people that were given the same assignment. I just wonder why I was sent in so utterly
unprepared.
After a
loud boom, an eerie moment of silence follows which makes me want to get this
crap over with as soon as possible.
Obviously none of these other fools understands the value of silence and
conversion in a B&E assignment. By
now, someone must have heard something and called it in to the emergency
dispatch. I use the shadows and my small
shadow to my advantage as I approach the container with the designated number:
315. I stop just short of my target as I
realize that the doors are already open and I can hear voices coming from
inside.
I hide
behind a yellow container directly to the right of #315 and wait to see what
direction my new competition will be going in.
I hear the voices exit and pounce on the one exiting to the left. There is a bit of hand to hand combat, which
quickly finds me separating him from his gun and his knife as my MMA skills
come in handy in disabling him. I wrench
the briefcase from his hands and pull, tumbling backwards when he suddenly lets
go. While trying to regain my balance I
find myself ambushed from behind. An arm
goes around my throat and tries to cut off my air supply but I kick backwards
and up, while shifting my weight forward to hit with as much force as
possible. As I incapacitate the second
man, I run for the fence to the right of where I parked as opposed to the
entrance I came in. The rope I brought
comes in handy to loop into the trees and I make it over the fence before
anyone has time to follow me.
Before I
know it I find myself walking briskly through a downtown area approaching the
drop area, a McDonald’s dumpster. It is
everything I can do to not look like a crazy person looking around me, in
constant readiness for someone to attack.
My heart is pounding so fast I start to wonder if it is going to pound right
out of my chest. I keep checking for
someone to attack me from all angles and my paranoia grows as I get closer to
the secluded dumpster. Somehow I manage
to detach myself from the briefcase and allow it to slip into the dumpster. As I turn to run for my life, a hand clamps
over my mouth and everything goes dark.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I groggily
awaken with a nose full of the scent of leather. I am afraid to open my eyes, but I sense
someone staring at me and I risk it. I
see black leather seats beneath me and realize that I am laying down in a
car. Curiously I do not find my hands or
legs bound. The space between the seats
feels wide and I guess that I am probably in some sort of a limo. I look up with my right side of my face still
stuck to the seat and I can see darkly tinted windows. I cannot hear the engine nor feel any
movement and find it safe to assume that the car is not currently moving. A throat clears and I immediately bolt
upright.
“You must
be wondering why you are here.”
I struggle
to find my voice and just now realize the immense dryness in my throat.
“Who are you?” I manage to croak out.
“My name is
Cheung Lao, and I have been looking for your mother.”
I feel like everything in my world is wrong and spinning and
I notice that his English is thick with a Chinese accent. An accent I have recently become acquainted
with. “What do you mean?”
“Hui Li is
your real name”
I start to
panic and the car seems to close in on me.
“My name is Kyna.”
I have no
idea how, but this Lao guy manages to remain calm. “No your birth name is Hui Li, you were
stolen from China many years ago.”
Now I just
feel angry, I wasn’t stolen, I was a rejected child given to a family in
another country, in THIS country! At
least I think I am still in my own country.
I have no idea how much time has passed or where the heck I am right
now.
Without an
answer, Lao goes on “A woman infiltrated the facility where your embryo was
being stored and you were stolen. I have
been tasked with finding you for the past twenty years.”
“What are
you saying?” I have to stick my head
between my legs, I am pretty sure that I am going to puke all over this nice
leather momentarily.
“Your
mother stole you.”
“What
mother are you talking about? The only
mother I know adopted me when no one else wanted me!” I practically yell it at
him.
“You have
known only falsehoods Hui Li, Your mother did not have the permission to do as
she did. She should have never taken you.”
“How did
anyone take me. I don’t even know what you mean!” My head is spinning and I am in dire need for
fresh air. Shadow Man Lao seems to
realize that he is in for a good puke fest soon and he lowers one of the tinted
windows a bit. I rush over to the window
and suck in the air like sweet nectar into my lungs. I can hear seagulls and he surf and know that
we are on the coast somewhere, hopefully still somewhere in Seattle.
“Although
you may be unaware, you have but one mother.
Two fathers perhaps, but only one mother.”
“I am so
confused, I don’t even know what you are saying. I think you are too late for whoever you are
meant to search for. My mother died less
than a year.”
“Ah yes,
well I know much of the orchestrated fake death of your mother.”
His response
makes my body go rigid. The air is
sucked from my lungs. My mind reels in
questions and what-ifs. “What do you
mean orchestrated and fake?”
“There is
much that you must learn my dear Hui Li, but for now you are to learn more
about your mother and her “friends”, those that are the true terrorists of this
life… The one who took you, meant to
destroy an empire. Your mother is a terrorist
wanted for treason in the great country of China.”
I can’t
even speak. My whole world is swirling
around me. How is my mother a terrorist,
how does he know my mother. How is my
mother…. My MOTHER mother… my birth mom IS my adopted mom. I am pretty sure that my brain is close to
exploding at this point. What in the
hell is he talking about. My mother is
as naïve as they come in terms of business and foreign affairs. “You Lie” I spit at him.
“I can
prove it to you” and with that he shows me a video of a woman who look very
familiar and yet not. The woman is
wearing a black tank top and camo pants, she is in a wooded area, and giving
commands and rapid Mandarin Chinese, a language my mother pressured me to
perfect while feigning more than a little knowledge of common faces. The woman turns to face the camera and smiles
in a way that is both familiar and yet not to me, I realize that my mother is
not who I thought I knew at all. I realize
that I have no idea who I am, and what sham of a family life I have lived. My entire life has been an enormous lie.
Without any
warning, a cloth is back over my mouth and all goes black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I awaken
and bolt upright, instantly needing to sit down, thanks to a panic attack. I look around me and see the familiar setting
of my own bedroom. I have no idea how I
am somehow back in my bedroom. I
remember that it was just yesterday that I was wishfully thinking about the
times I missed sleeping in an actual bed.
Was that yesterday? It feels like
years ago.
Suddenly I
remember the video of my mother and I can hold it in no more. I run for my bathroom and heave into the
toilet. I flush the toilet and sink to
the floor huddling my knees and sobbing.
“Who am I?” I ask the bathroom walls.
“My life is a joke” I maniacally laugh towards the shower. “And to think I felt guilty for resenting my
mother…” I do not finish my thought
aloud, the thought that somehow, somewhere within me, I always knew that things
weren’t right.
After about
an hour of wallowing on the bathroom floor feeling sorry for myself, I take a
shower and find determination in what I am about to do next. I dress in nondescript clothing. A t-shirt and jeans. I could be anyone dressed like this. Luckily living life in a compound means most
people won’t know what I look like. I
tie my hair back into a pony tail and start packing a backpack full of
essentials.
I take one
last cursory glance around my room, wishing I could take more of my gadgets
with me, but I know that I can always get more.
I unlock the safe behind the slide out dresser and silently thank my
mother for making me continually put money into it in case anything crazy
happened. I start counting and packing
money into different compartments and places on my body.
As I pack
up the unmarked bills, my mind drifts.
Well at least this counts for a crazy time. I am numb with emotion for my mother. I don’t even know how to figure out if she is
alive or dead. Father’s strange hours
makes me wonder what day I actually last saw him. My guilt and rage has consumed me for so long
that I didn’t even notice all of the major changes that had been going on
around me. I can’t even remember the
last time I saw father’s personal bodyguard Kano, who always drops by to joke
around with me. When was the last time
that I saw Banko? How was I so oblivious
to so many changes… Was I living here
alone?
I am very
worried that something may have happened to father and Banko. I know that it is risky, but I have to check
on Banko, I need to make sure that he is safe.
I feel in desperate need for his invaluable advice before I do what I am
about to do. I decide not to take a golf
cart, remembering that they all have GPS chips and decide to jog over instead,
happy I chose the sensible running shoes instead of something a bit more
fashionable.
As I get
closer to Banko’s I come upon the stables.
Banko’s house is just past the stables, but I feel an eerie stillness in
the air. Normally there would be a lot
of noise at the stables as we are always boarding many horses at once. Something compels me to go into the
stables. With every fiber of my being I
know that I should turn around and walk out, but an unseen force is guiding me
onward to each stall. As I get closer to
the end of the stables a stench reaches my nostrils. I’m not sure how I missed it before as it
gags me now and I am fearful of what lies beyond. I am praying for my dear sweet Jasmine. “Please let her be safe” I quietly whisper
over and over again. As I get closer to
her stall I notice horses in the stalls.
I can’t help but look over. The
first horse I inspect is a roan thoroughbred, a prize mare, Henrianna. She looks as if she was peacefully sleeping,
except that her legs are bent at weird angles.
I cover my nose even more from the stench and finally notice a single
gunshot wound to her head, as my eyes drift up the wall behind her I notice
dark splatters and am instantly heaving on the floor. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess
to press on towards Jasmine’s stall.
There are a total of eight horses dead, all shot in the same way. What kind of sick bastard would kill a magnificent
beast in perfect health this way? When I
reach Jasmine’s stall I’m not sure whether or not to be happy as I notice she
is missing. I silently pray for her to
be alive, and as I turn to run out of the back entrance I notice a slip of
paper on her stall door.
The paper
is pristinely white, with a slight crumple from being placed in the door
catch. In block letters it reads: JASMINE IS SAFE IN HER KINGDOM, WAITING FOR HER
PRINCESS TO COME HOME.
I grab the
note and run for my backpack, realizing that I left it at the front door. I sprint down the aisle towards the main door
not stopping for a second look into any of the other stalls, fearful of what I
might find. I have no idea what to make
of the note, and I know now is not the best time to sit around and
contemplate. I sprint for Banko’s door
and stop short when I find it hanging open.
I’m really
not sure how much more I can take of this craziness and I am afraid to venture
into his small living space. I have to
know for sure if he is in there though.
I slowly enter and notice that there has been a struggle and that
Banko’s normally tidy residence is in disarray.
Lamps and books are strewn around the floor, I run through the house and
am thankful that I do not locate a body.
I feel like the worst person in the world as I sit down on Banko’s back
porch to plot my next move. I don’t even
know how long Banko has been missing. I
was so absorbed in my own emotions that I don’t know when everything
changed. I have spent my whole life
paying attention to details, only to lose them when they mattered most. Whatever happens, I know that this is home to
me no longer. I stand up, heading for
the path by the waterfall that leads to a seldom used gate out of the
compound. There is no last look to
give. I somehow know that my father is
not coming back either. I have nothing
left to look back for.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For the
last six months I have lived my life under the radar. I chopped my hair short and died it dark
violet, I even invested in some blue contacts.
I live in a small apartment in a bad area of Tacoma where no one ever
asks any questions about my comings and goings.
I make money on simple hacking jobs and getting people identification
when legal means won’t work for them.
It’s not my greatest accomplishment in life but it works for a great
cover as I look for my mother. By
standing out against social norms, people never look for you to be someone in
hiding, because you are already looked at like a criminal. The perfect cover.
I don’t
know if anyone is after me or what has happened to any of the people in my
life. I have been able to determine that
my mother is still alive. I was able to
pick her up on security cameras, once in TaiPei at an airport, and another time
in Buenes Aires. The last time I saw
proof of her was 2 months ago and I haven’t found anything new since. I have heard nothing from Shadow Man Lao or
Sheamus, whatever his real name was, and I have no idea if any of what he said
was true. I know he is not stupid and if
he wanted to find me that he would. I
worry for Blanko and for father.
Father’s work would not give way to any sort of missing person report
and I am afraid to contact him at work in case he is being watched.
I pack a
simple backpack with the essentials. I
have learned how to leave the house prepared to never come back to it and to call
nowhere “home” again. I head to an
internet café in an upscale business part of town. It is easy to pick up on the tail end of some
corporate person’s use of the computer as they routinely forget to log off
completely. It also allows me to work in
a way that erases all traces back to me.
Hoodies have become my best friend in such places. One never can be too sure in a place with
cameras. Another thing I will never
trust again.
Code for an
illegal underground gambling site complete and posted under someone else’s
record and I am logged off. I grab a
quick latte and head out on the street, wondering where my stomach will lead me
for dinner. The café sits on a busy corner
of an intersection filled with choices for food and I like to hide amidst the
crowds. I’ve walked less than a block
when my stomach gives way to a feeling of uneasiness. I instantly know that I am being followed. I flip out my switchblade and keep walking as
if I have noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
It might
seem strange that I would sense these things in a crowded area, but I have
spent a lot of time practicing Blanko’s many meditation techniques to hone my
skills, and one must never ignore their gut feeling. Never one to want to prolong an incident, I
turn off the main street and shortly find myself heading towards a darkened
alley with a narrow exit, over a dumpster.
I keep my
length steady and do not even glance behind me. After all, what is the point, whoever
it is won’t stop following me anyway. I get
five steps into the alley before I quickly spin around and close the distance
between me and the stalker. I quickly
grab the wrist of the shorter individual and spin it behind their back. I am slightly surprised at the ability of the
person to spin out of my hold. The
hooded individual pins my arms behind my back and pushes me backwards against
the wall of a brick building. It is then
that I see a wisp of lack hair peeking out from under the hood.
“I am going
to release you now, but I need you to stay here.”
As the
woman speaks I am frozen in place. The
hair on the back of my neck stands up. I
am shocked into utter silence. As she
removes the hood from her face, I see a familiar sight to match the voice I
know better than any other. The voice of
my mother.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I stand paralyzed in an alley as
my mother, that’s right my mother, talks to me.
She hugs me about ten times and has tears in her eyes. I can’t even hug her back I am so numb. I have so many questions that my brain has
shut down and I no longer seem to have the ability to talk. She tells me that she has somewhere safe for
us to talk and with head covered again leads me to a nearby upscale apartment
complex.
Once inside
I am still numb, having been led as if a dog on a leash I was too out of it to
even notice exactly how I got here. I
look around at the white walls of the dining room and notice dainty pink border
around bright yellow sunflowers lining the kitchen walls. I notice a bookshelf with books and that this
place looks lived in. The table is dark
cherry wood and newly polished. I just
sit there in that wooden chair and slowly look up at my mother who has been
standing there silently waiting for a chance to speak.
“I owe you
an explanation. I know that. Before you do anything, please hear me
out. Everything that I have done has
been to protect you. I have acted to
ensure your safety.”
As she
talks I find myself memorizing minute details around her house. Wondering if I should be paying more
attention, and wondering if I will ever see her again after today. I have already mourned her passing. I don’t know how to act now that she is here,
alive in from of me. I wonder if I even
want to see her again after everything has happened.
“I knew
that it was selfish of me to keep you with me for all of these years, but I
couldn’t bear to live without you. I
thought that I would be able to watch you from a distance, but as soon as I
looked into those brown eyes, flecked with green, I knew that I was in
trouble. I would never be able to live
without you again.” She pauses to ensure
that I am looking at her as she continues, “When I found out that the Chinese
government had figured out who and where I was, I didn’t want them to know that
I had a daughter. I had to make it look
as if I had been killed. I knew that
they would leave me alone if I had been so publicly murdered and in a large
city with video and witnesses.”
I blankly look
up at her, trying to absorb what she is saying as she goes on, “I knew then
that your life was worth a thousand times more than mine, and I had arranged
for you to be protected and sent away. I
was working with your father to ensure your safety when one of them picked you
up in your intelligence digging. I must
admit that I was surprised at your tenacity to avenge my death. I tried to always live in a way that
distanced myself from you should I ever need to depart, I never wanted you to
hurt for my loss the way that you have.”
Without
knowing when, I noticed that tears were streaming down my cheeks. In a comforting motherly gesture, my real and
only mother came over to me and slowly wiped them away with her fingers. She sat down beside me and grabbed my hand,
looking into my eyes.
“You must
know how much all of this hurts me.
Everything I do is to protect your life.
You were hard to find. I could
not let him get to you. I have lived for you since the moment you were
a mere embryo. He wanted to take you
from me and implant you in another woman, to act as a pawn in his evil exploits
of financial world domination.”
Wait, I was
lost now. A single word escaped my lips
“Who?”
My mother
looked shocked as she realized that she was getting ahead of herself. “I’m sorry my dear Kyna, I meant the man that
would have used you. The man that
altered your DNA to make you a more refined human being. The man I have been hunting your entire
life. The man I once was married to, the
man who is your sperm donor: Cheung Lao.”
Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen
