The Unearthing of Blackstone Read online

  With her new name and identity, she applied to a few colleges after meeting with a group of ‘professionals’ that were able to handle the tricky matter of her transcripts. She set out to do what she was destined to do — to find out about the past so the people of the present could know more, going into the future. She’d never simmered in the irony before, looked it in the face, so to speak.

  The man asked about her career, the thing she loved most as he buttered thick slices of cornbread and his eyes twinkled all damn night. He didn’t dominate the conversation with overly accessible details about himself; instead, the focus was all on her. It made her uncomfortable, for here was where the lies started and never ended. Yet, he really seemed to want to know. It wasn’t an afterthought, or him going through the motions. It was truly as if this man wanted her to open up, like a favorite lost hardback, bookmarked on his favorite chapter, and that chapter was HER. She herself had erased her past with a bus ticket and secretly packed small suitcase, but no amount of running could tear the pages away. She wanted a chance in life, and there was no way she could have it if she’d stayed in Texas. It wasn’t fair to her, or anyone else. Things had become too complicated.

  Brooklyn’s leg shook violently. She debated high-tailing it out of there and buying a humongous box of cigarettes as the memories engulfed her like a pelican does a fish. She toyed with the notion of lighting six of those sons of bitches at once, stuffing them all in her mouth and puffing like a goddamn dragon approaching a fairytale castle. Slamming the glass on the ivory marble slab of a coffee table before her, she stood to her feet and tore her clothing off as if she were on fire. Then she paced the room naked as the day she was born, trying to sort and sew her tattered, misplaced thoughts together, to make sense of them. She’d gotten a bit comfortable, resolved that she was safe…and then he showed up. The first time she saw the man at the museum and looked into his face, instant attraction hit.

  It wasn’t that he was model gorgeous, well, actually he kinda was, but he seemed so relaxed and comfortable, not pretentious in the least. The man had a damn presence. He was rugged, aloof, yet engaging all at once. After she managed to turn away from the strong-featured eye candy, she took note that she wasn’t the only one taken by him. Women stood about, gawking at him, but he seemed completely oblivious! Or perhaps he wanted her to feel special because his attention never wavered on her. He moved about in his tuxedo, the pants a bit high, which had caused her a moment of mirth, but he looked damn good.

  And then, he drew close. He smelled like a musky dream —woodsy, masculine, and that damn scar that ran beside his eyebrow meandered up across part of his forehead, giving him a slightly dangerous presence. She wondered how he’d obtained it. Was it from his childhood? An accident perhaps? Or a recent bar fight? No, it was far too old in appearance to be recent. She’d stared at it long enough to see that it had aged for quite awhile. She checked it out again over dinner. Instead of detracting from the man’s beauty though, it only added to it. How very odd indeed…Then her eyes dropped to his lips.

  His smile wasn’t sweet, kind or comforting, but genuine, all-knowing, just like those glowing green eyes of his. She didn’t miss how his hands grazed hers a few times at the table while they dined, and that final time was the real clincher. It felt as if he was making love to her with his damn fingers. Slow…pushing forward, feeling her, caressing her, varying his pressure… It was her undoing. Moments before, he seemed to delight in bringing her to tears with his comical cynicism and timely jokes. He was so laid-back and easygoing; hard to believe that he was stressed out as claimed to be. He seemed to take the world in stride.

  Then, as he sat there speaking about people, events and movies, her heart flipped a bit. She cut him short from his digging around in her personal garden, handed him the hoe, and turned the spotlight on him. That was a mistake. He had the audacity to like a lot of the same shit she did, weird shit that she didn’t tell anyone, and here he was, volunteering the information as if he knew her and believed his admissions would be understood and accepted.

  Ace said he enjoyed playing ping pong, of all things, and that he loved horses. His parents used to take him and his brothers to a farm in southern Illinois every summer and they’d go horseback riding —one of the highlights of his life. Since she was a child, Brooklyn had been enamored with horses, too. She saw them as majestic and free, everything she wanted to be.

  This man brought so many of her past dreams to the fore. He sat there in his dark slacks and even darker brown hair, and skin that glowed with a slight tan, tantalizing her.

  An intelligent man, his voice was steeped in Chicago dialect, waggish, reminding her of the type of guy a woman would try to claim, even a shy one. She wasn’t shy…but he made her feel that way a time or two with the intensity of his stare, even when he was not saying anything at all. She’d made a sudden decision to call the date short once she realized she was losing the battle and things were getting complicated. The fact that she wanted to go out with him again was a sure-fire sign it was time to pull the plug on the entire operation. No way was she going to get on a dance floor with this person, let him touch her, and seal the deal she was trying to back out of.

  If she had sex with him, the attraction would become less manageable, no matter how good or bad he was in bed. Shivering, she walked leisurely past her window up on the ninth floor of her building. She liked him, really liked him…and it sucked. All she wanted to do was get the hell out of there, but what surprised her was that he’d let her get off the hook so easily. She was home free, exempt from having to give a long list of excuses to cut the date short — that is, until the sneaky fucker kissed her. She realized while it was happening, he had it planned all along and now, she couldn’t get away from him. His kiss made her damn body turn to water. She melted right there in the car seat, gripping that steering wheel, while his soft lips pushed against her own for dear life.

  She couldn’t let him get away…

  She fought herself, but understood she had to make this right. It wasn’t his fault she was living a lie. He still deserved better, but she was too greedy to let him go just yet. Besides, maybe she was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t as great as she thought he was; a part of her wished it to be so. That would be upsetting but liberating all the same.

  Why couldn’t he be like everyone else? She asked herself again.

  No, the man had to exude sexiness, a glimmer of peril and more. She needed to know more about him, much more, but then that always opened the door to the truth about her as well. She’d yet to tell anyone that, and it pained her this was a secret she had to keep bottled so closely within. Shock still lingered inside her for what she’d admitted in his presence, under his spell She’d never been that honest with anyone before, man or woman.

  Why did I do that? Why did I tell the truth? Well, at least a little bit of it.

  All of this because of a life in Texas she’d rather forget…

  She knew her parents, especially her father, well. Though she had no proof, she was certain the man had been looking for her, at least initially. There was no telling how many people he paid to try to get their hands on her, but ‘Auntie’ took care of all of that. She helped runaways, abused youth, emancipated young adults who couldn’t quite get themselves together and on occasion, people like her…people needing to get away from a situation that most would never understand.

  Now she’d given Ace, a virtual stranger, a glimpse of past pain and trauma. You know what, Brooklyn? She made a big fuss of cleaning under her right thumb nail, removing a piece of corn bread that had wedged itself there from dinner as she stood by her white sheer curtained window. You might have to stop and deal with this…

  I’m so scared though. If I tell someone the truth, it leaves me vulnerable to being discovered and then all hell could break loose…

  This was the first time since she’d left her family that she’d even considered letting her guard down. Whether Ace was the man for her or not, wasn�
��t the issue. How could she know that after one damn date?A date that blew her damned socks off…but he might just be great with first impressions. At this point, she had to push that aside and concentrate on what she could understand as an unchangeable fact. What she did know, was that all of this going on had opened up a gate from which something came charging right in her direction, something big and heavy, threatening to run her over although she carried no red flag. The bull demanded center stage. That ‘enraged animal’ represented the truth…

  The magnitude of the situation cast a shadow over her entire life. What other things and blessed occurrences had she missed out on due to her fear of discovery? Had it been worth it? She now had to ask herself a very important question.

  When will I stop running and live my damn life?

  ~***~

  Ace held the phone with one hand and traced the side of the yellow envelope with his index finger while Mr. Henderson inquired about the latest findings. He wasn’t really listening. This surreal conversation made him feel more like a well-paid Hollywood actor. Even if they had been face to face, he’d be able to pull off the performance, and that made him question himself even further.

  I’m comfortable doing this. That’s not right…

  He was lying, lying some more, and a bit more after that. Had God himself decided to teach Ace Blackstone a lesson? After one of the strangest, yet fulfilling, nights of his life, this was happening. He’d spent the previous evening with a sexy woman who wore glasses that framed her slightly slanted, dark brown alluring eyes and admitted to enjoying ping-pong, grave etching and dotting ketchup on her pizza on occasion. The female fiend was after his damn heart and instead of spending hours thinking about her right now, as he wished to do, he had to get on the phone and invent a tale that never occurred. But he had no choice. Brooklyn may be Little Red Riding Hood, and dear ol’ dad could be the Big Bad Wolf. He sure wasn’t any granny; he’d rode in from a different fairly tale altogether. A prince dressed in tights, sitting regal on one of the damned horses he’d told her about, but regardless, he was going to stare that wolf creature in the big, black eyes and let him know that Ms. Hood’s basket of goodies was nowhere to be found…

  “Yes, I understand that. I have now realized why so many of the other investigators have run into brick walls,” he lied yet again, and it slightly sickened him how easy it was for him to let the words tumble off his tongue — the same tongue he’d plunged into the subject’s mouth just last night…

  “Are you giving up?” The man’s words seemed to be a combination of melancholy and a challenge, all rolled up into one.

  “No, of course not. I will be in touch,” Ace offered nonchalantly.

  “Thank you.” And the man disconnected the call.

  In Ace’s fifteen-year history, he’d never lied to a client. That realization made his jaw twitch. What he did do was offer Mr. Henderson a cease payment while he reviewed the information and started again. He didn’t feel right taking that man’s weekly fee knowing damn well he not only had found the subject, but was making plans to do some shit that he didn’t even understand even though she’d attempted to back out at one point.

  He knew human nature; she’d acted in predictable ways. But the last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. He’dasked things, probed into her life, and many women didn’t like how he asked questions. He’d been told by other women he’d dated, it felt like he was spying on them. For years, he didn’t know what the hell these broads were talking about. Like his mentor had told him, however, he had something special. He read people fast and accurately and he’d been doing it since he was a child. Despite his dyslexia that that had tried to ruin him during his school-days and prevented him from reading words at a decent pace, he was damn good at reading people. He wasn’t psychic, he was no genius, but he understood human beings on a basic level. They were an easy measurement, because humans moved to a rhythm— the rhythm of life. He found them predictable, and he was good at statistics and observations. Maybe that was it.

  Maybe that was why he was so successful at what he did. He’d beaten the odds. So many people believed he wouldn’t grow up and be worth a damn, but he’d proven them wrong. He was one of the most sought after investigators in the state and beyond, he could read and speak just fine, and even be charming when need be. Despite all of this, human beings both intrigued and disgusted him. At times, he wished he wasn’t one. On occasion, he desired social interaction, but most of the time he just wanted to be left the hell alone. He kept low key, refused many public engagements, board meetings, and the like. He even turned down several media appearances. He had a reputation as Chicago’s best, but very few people knew anything about him personally, even what he actually looked like, and that was how he liked it. Besides, the more people he saw, the more they’d want to know, and he was no goody-two-shoes.

  He’d been a bad kid. There was truly no other way to describe it, no need to water it down and make his past look less polluted than it actually was — a cesspool of debris and muck. A hodge-podge of indecency. He owned it, it was his, and it wasn’t going any damn where. His juvenile delinquency was public record, squirreled away in mildewed folders at the boarding school. He had no desire to discuss it with others. It was bad enough he had to look into his mother’s eyes and constantly see the hurt he’d caused her from years of emotional and verbal abuse. He’d been so fucking out of control; having been abandoned and adopted gave him no right to shit on her after all she’d done for him.He blamed her for loving him, and his old man, too. Anyone who gave a damn about him had to have an ulterior motive or be screwed up, he’d figured. These were serious trust issues, which he had to deal with later in life. He’d never fully recovered, and he hated himself for his flaws and his past. For no one was ever exempt from his scrutiny, from an underlying skepticism that colored everything he did.

  He looked at his phone then back at his desk, as he slowly spinned in his revolving desk chair. Those emotions had a way of bubbling up and choking him with steely dukes. He’d stolen something from his mother that he could never give her back, and it messed up his mind. No matter how many Mother’s Day cards he gave her, no matter how many necklaces with shimmering diamonds and golden clasps, the truth would always make such acts of kindness appear soiled and less dazzling. And he still suffered for it all. His obsession with his birth parents continued, something he couldn’t shake. In fact, it had become worse than ever and the nightmares kept coming like a fucking re-run that would never leave him alone. They chased him at night when he closed his eyes, tortured him with every opportunity they had. His body heaved with emotions at the realization he was a walking basket case.

  In his mind, everyone merited subjection to investigation. He didn’t trust his parents. His didn’t trust women. He barely trusted himself…But why?

  He stood from his seat and tossed a black canister of pencils across the damned room, his rotator cuff burning as he did so.

  “Uggghhhh!”

  The object smashed into the wall, the yellow number twos falling this way and that, rolling across the floor in various directions. Turning away from the scene, he looked out his window and ran a hand over his eye, then down his face. The clouds were moving slow, but they were moving nevertheless. Where were they going? They had a destination, and he didn’t. Even the damn clouds had an objective, an end in sight, and he had nothing. He felt like a man with no beginning and no end, just a run-on-sentence that wouldn’t fucking stop.

  That’s not a man. A man knows what he wants and what he’s doing. I’m a fraud…

  The conversation with Mr. Henderson brought everything to a head. Ace had to admit something to himself — he was falling apart. Swiveling back towards his desk, he slumped in the chair, then picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Hi, this is Ace Blackstone. Uh, I know tomorrow is my appointment, but does Dr. Rose have any availability today, like soon? I’m in a bad spot right now. Something is wrong and I need someone to ta
lk to. I’m afraid I might run out of here and do something foolish…”

  He wanted to punch a wall. Hard. It wouldn’t have been the first damn time…

  ~***~

  Brooklyn lay in her dark sleigh bed, the deep, red sheets wrapped around her form like a ball gown. She glanced at herself in the vanity mirror straight ahead, a reflection she shared with two old-fashioned bottles of perfume, a silver tray with her Victoria Secrets Pear lotion and a gold and black ornate hairbrush she’d gotten from a visit to China. On her walls hung paintings she’d brought with her from around the globe. They made her feel safe, like she’d done something, been somewhere, seen some things. Despite that, she now sat up, already late for work for the first time in over five years, gripping her ragged photo album. She’d perused photos of her family, all a little worn and battle-scarred, the sight pulling at her emotions and twisting them into knots.

  She slumped forward; a new tummy ache had taken its toll. The stress of the situation was getting worse, so much worse. She couldn’t go on like this. She toyed with the idea of calling in sick…wanting to simply get her head together, to be alone. Instead, she shoved the damned thing away in her nightstand drawer, pushed her bare feet against the soft, black carpet and made her way into her bathroom, adorned with Vietnamese artifacts. Closing the door, she started the steamy shower and let it burst so loudly, it did a damn good job of muffling her cries…