My name is Josephine. I'm blind in my left eye, and wear a heart shaped patch over it. My dad drove a screwdriver into my head trying to kill me.
My name is Josephine. I'm blind in my left eye, and wear a heart shaped patch over it. My dad drove a screwdriver into my head trying to kill me. Luckily he only managed to get my eye before mother shot him dead. This is my story, won't you listen to it? I feel like if I don't write it all out, I'll lose my mind. Maybe I'll be like daddy after all. That alone sends a cold shiver down my back.
Look before I start, I feel like I should defend my dad. What happened wasn't his fault; well not really. He had a fever. I contend that it was real, momma says it was all in his head. She says that daddy got religion, the baddest kind. The crazy, killing kind. I think daddy just had a rough go of it, and snapped. Well, I also say he had a fever in his brain that flipped that last little breaker of rationality. I'll never know for sure cause momma had him cremated, and burnt all but one of his death certificates. For my own protection she says. I say she's hiding something, and may have a touch of that same fever. I hope I'm wrong, because if I'm not... Well, I don't wanna think on that none.
I'm sure what I've said paints a pretty bleak picture of my family. I don't mean to. It's just that since Xavier killed himself my family had been a bit roughshod and fragile. Since I was the baby, I won't deny that Xavier was the favorite. I don't like it, I just understand and accept it. Not only was my brother the favorite, he was arguably the smartest. Momma was thinking science like NASA, or something along those lines. Xavier was thinking religion. Daddy didn't mind, momma didn't like the monastic life much, said it was a waste of his God given talents. Xavier just smiled in that maddeningly patient way of his, and told Momma that his path was Gods will. Guilt, not God drove him to suicide. Is that ironic, or tragic? I guess I'll never know, much like what happened to daddy. So do you want to know the rest? I'm assuming you do because I'm not going to stop writing until this is all out. God help me.
'Boo boo! Where you at?' Xavier yelled from the front door. The chamber-like foyer gave his voice an unnatural echo that sounded throughout the house. I poked my head out my bedroom door, looked over the railing down on my brother who stood there with his arms crossed, a smug look on his face. He knew that if the noise didn't get my attention, the nickname would. I hated it.
'Xavier! I told you I don't like that name! I yelled down to him. If he wasn't coming up, I wasn't going down. He wasn't the only hardhead in this family.
'That's cute, bring your little blue-eyed self on down here, your brother has something, and it's all for you!' He yelled, the last bit echoing.
I stared down at him warily, not sure of where this was going. My brother was a notorious prankster, and I'd fallen victim to his wiles more than once. As if sensing my unease, he uncrossed his arms, beckoning me downstairs.
'Come on Josephine, I'm not trying to pull a fast one, promise.' He said, dropping his smile.
'Fine X, but if you...' I said letting my thought trail off.
My brother merely waved me down impatiently. I shut my door and grabbed a pair of pajama pants. The great thing about being home alone is that I could comfortably wear what I wanted, which at present was only an oversized night shirt.
Standing next to my brother I looked up to him. He merely found his smile again, and opened the front door letting in a blast of cold autumnal air. Immediately I regretted not grabbing a sweater.
'Come on X, it's freezing out there!'
'Well, Ms. Boo Boo, if you don't want what I'm offering...' He said in a mournful tone, slowly pulling the door closed. Rolling my eyes, and pushing a strand of my unruly auburn hair aside, I shoved past my brother and the door. Xavier's smile broadened and he followed me. I heard the jangle of keys, and turned to my brother.
'What?' I asked. Xavier tossed me the keys and bowed deeply.
I've always wanted to do something for my dear sister, so here!' He said standing up.
I stared at my brother, waiting on the punch line. When I realized he was serious, I stepped closer.
'X, you're my brother, and I love you, but are you off your rocker? I mean, a car? A BMW? Your BMW?'
My brother looked ill at ease and unsure a moment before his face cleared and he smiled again. For some reason I was starting to feel uncomfortable with that look. It didn't look completely sane. There was just a little too much white showing around his teeth. It unnerved me.
'So?' Xavier asked after a moment.
'So? My brother is giving me his Beemer. I don't know what to say.' I answered truthfully.
'How about thanks, squirt?' Xavier asked in a more familiar tone that put everything right.
Lord I wish I would've heeded my initial feeling because what I didn't know then, is that a great big greasy ball of madness and death was already rolling, and it was headed straight for our front door. I wonder if there is anything I could've done to prevent things, but I doubt it. I have a feeling that Xavier would've done... well, what he did anyway regardless.
'Thanks bubba.' I said, standing on my tip toes to kiss my brother on the cheek. Right away something felt off. For one, he was unshaven, which was unusual, and for another he smelled... well, odd. Later I understood that I was scenting my brothers madness, his literal, incarnate madness.
Xavier merely smiled uncomfortably, hugged me gingerly and disengaged my arms from around his neck.
'Josephine, I want you to know that whatever you hear over the next few months, know that I love you.' He said, taking an envelope out of his suit jacket. He held the envelope out to me, and when I reached to take it, he closed his hand around mine, and hastily whispered a prayer. He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, his stubble tickling me. Holding my hand a moment longer, he finally turned and walked towards a white van I hadn't noticed. One thing I'll never forget is that the last time I saw my brother alive he didn't turn around, merely climbed into the van and vanished. I found out later that he paid a visit to my parents while I was in class. I'm pretty sure that was when this whole thing went off its rails. However, I still don't know a lot, so I could be wrong. What I'm not wrong about is that the last visit from Xavier was when daddy started acting weird.
'X? That you buddy?' Dad asked a few hours later, his voice booming in the foyer.
For the second time that day, I poked my head out of my door, and looked down to my dad. I wanted to run to him in tears and beg him to call my brother and demand that he come home right away. However I knew my father would pat me reassuringly and inform me, that Xavier had made his decision, and I must respect it.
He's not here dad.' I said instead, hastily wiping my still leaky eyes.
'That a fact?' My dad asked, dropping his own keys in the small white porcelain bowl near the front door. He bumped the low mahogany table, its legs scratched across the tiled floor. 'His car's here, where is your brother?' He asked, dropping his wallet and cellphone on top of his keys. He was watching me intently.
'Gone.' I answered shortly.
'Gone where, Josephine?' Dad asked impatiently, unbuttoning his cufflinks before dropping them on top of his other things.
'I don't know, his note doesn't say. He signed his car over to me.' I said with a sniffle.
'Note? Josephine, make sense girl!'
'Here daddy!' I yelled, tossing him the sealed envelope with his and mommas name on it.
I slammed my door, the tears flowing again. I'd had a rotten day, and didn't need my father making it worse. I made my way to my desk and fell heavily into my chair. Through the veil of tears I could make out the picture and the note, which was curled like a disembodied hand reaching up for something to grab. Next to the note was a stack of bills still bundled in their bank wrapper. According to my brother it was ten thousand dollars; I hadn't bothered counting it, my heart was aching too much. I reached out for the picture, flattening the note with my other hand. I heard a gentle rap on my door. Wanting to ignore it, and cradle the picture as I lay in bed, I answered.
My dad stood there leaning against the frame, one hand behind his back, clutching his letter, the other resting on the door frame supporting him.
'Yeah daddy?' I asked wiping my eyes, still holding the picture.
'You know anything about this?' He asked harshly. Instantly I retreated from his tone. Realizing how he sounded, he softened. 'I'm sorry baby.' He said pulling me into him in a bear hug. He pushed my head against his chest, and I could hear the rhythmic pounding of his heart. I began to relax. 'It's just that this is such a shock. I don't mean to take it out on you.'
'Daddy, he says he's never coming back!' I cried. 'I want my brother!'
'I know baby, I know. But your brother is a grown man, and he's entitled to live his life how he wants.' He began stroking my hair, contemplating. 'I want your brother back too, and who knows, he might change his mind eventually.' He kissed me on top of the head gently. I'm sorry I snapped at you baby, none of this is your fault. Besides,' he said with a smile, taking my head in his hands. 'You're the one who got a car.' He wiped my cheeks, his smile widening. 'Don't worry honey, I'm sure this will all blow over and he'll change his mind.' With that my father kissed me on the cheek, disengaged himself from me, and gently shut the door. I stood there a moment, trying to feel reassured, but only felt colder and lonelier. My dad loved me, but I got the feeling he didn't know how to truly communicate with me. It was a depressing thought on top of an already depressing day. I fell onto my bed, wiping my runny nose, clutching the picture tightly. My dad hadn't seen Xavier earlier, hadn't felt that crease of unsteadiness welling up from him. If he had, I doubt he'd be so optimistic now.
Momma came to my room several hours later after I'd slipped in and out of a restless nap. She didn't knock, she never did, she merely slipped in quietly. I woke up with my head in her lap. She was stroking my hair and humming quietly.
'Oh hey Jo-Jo B, what's the story?'
'Mom, when's the last time you called me that?' I asked rubbing my eyes.
'Too long doll, too long.' She answered, slipping into a tone of voice that always reminded me of bars with too low ceilings, hazy with smoke from clove cigarettes, people in black berets, and hip to be square attitudes. This always cheered me up, but not today.
'Momma?' I asked, sitting up.
'I don't know baby.' She answered, leaning back on her arms. 'He says he loves us, that this is something he's worked through with God, and...' She trailed off. 'I know it's hard baby. One day he's here short-sheeting your bed, the next he's off to be some messiah or something.' She stared at the canopy covering my bed. 'I don't like it Jo-Jo B, I know that for a fact.'
'If you could've seen him earlier.' I said gesturing with my hands.
'Truthfully, I'm glad I didn't.' She answered, looking over the rims of her frameless glasses. 'I might've smacked him around a bit, talked some sense into him.'
'Really mom?' I asked. The thought of my mother taking on my brother, who had a good foot and a half on her, was absurd.
'I'm very agile.' She said with a wink. 'Just ask your dad.'
'Mom!' I cried in horror.
'Oh the things we can do in the bedroom...' My mom carried on like she didn't hear me. 'You hungry? Cause I brought you some special milk and your favorite, tuna sandwich.'
Special milk was usually a glass of warm milk spiked with a shot of whiskey. I can count on one hand the number of times I've had it. Nodding, I took the tray from my mom, who held a white tablet.
'Half a Xanax?' She asked holding it out.
For an answer, I craned my neck forward and stuck my tongue out. Momma dropped the pill onto my tongue and patted me on the cheek. Swallowing, I washed it down with a swig of spiked milk. Soon my eyes were heavy, and I crawled up in a ball, the milk and tuna sitting comfortably on my stomach. The whiskey and Xanax had my head buzzing and my eyes feeling heavy. I faintly remember my mother tucking me in and kissing me goodnight.
The next few weeks passed at a miserable grind. Me wishing Xavier would call, text, email, or anything, and the day passing with no word from him. I was in my fathers study late one evening about a month or so after Xavier made his sudden departure from our lives hunting for some paper for my printer when I saw the two brandy snifters on my dad's ledger. I didn't think anything of it, and was about to dismiss it entirely when something caught my eye. I looked closer at the glasses realizing that one was nearly empty, and the other still held a modest amount of liquor. Something about the whiskey seemed off to me, so I snapped on the desk lamp. I saw that while it looked like whiskey, there was an odd greasy sheen to it. The rainbow effect reminded me of oil spills, and made me uneasy. Smelling the glass, I noticed an odd bitter scent laced into the stronger punch of the whiskey smell. Whatever was in this glass was tainted for sure, but with what, and by who? The cold certainty that these glasses were held by my parents chilled me, and I hurriedly put the glass down, and shut off the light. As I reached the door, I bumped into my father, who was re-entering the study. His tie was yanked askew, and his short hair stood up in wild, erratic spikes. Staring at my father momentarily I felt trapped. He stood aside, looking at me strange.
'Josephine, what are you doing in my study?' He asked cautiously.
My throat refused to work, so with a minute squeak, I held up the paper. Dad grunted noncommittally and went to his desk. He planted his hands wide on the teak furniture, his back to me, dismissing me. I left in an anxious hurry never seeing him swig down the half drank snifter of tainted whiskey.
I dismissed the strange whiskey over the course of the next month. I'd gotten wrapped up in winter finals, and was too busy trying to maintain my average to put much thought into it.
My world shifted off its axis the day after Christmas. I was standing in the living room bundled snugly in my new Christmas sweater, admiring the tall spruce decked out in festive lights and ornaments. I felt a momentary pang of longing when I saw the small present I had gotten for my brother lying unopened under the tree. I turned to go back to my room so I could take in my haul. Passing by our media room, I saw my mom and dad huddled around the television. Mom had her hands over her face, dad held a snifter of brandy loosely in his hand, his face blank, mouth open. Easing silently into the room, I caught what they were watching. It was Xavier. He had grown a beard, and his hair had gotten noticeably longer, but it was my brother. I took the remote off the arm of a nearby recliner and turned the volume up. Xavier appeared to be sitting in a small room behind a hastily strung up white linen sheet. In his hands he held a mason jar filled with a strange purple brew. Immediately I noticed the strange oily rainbow sheen. My mouth went dry.
'I never meant for any of this to happen.' Xavier was saying, rolling the jar between his hands. 'This was supposed to be a peaceful retreat.' He took a long draught from the jar, and continued. 'But things got out of control so quickly.' He took another pull off the jar. 'This is the concentrated formula. The side effects will not be diluted. I will die.' He sobbed quietly before regaining his composure. 'I love you Josephine. I'm sorry you have to live through my sins.' He took a longer drink from the jar, and cringed at the taste. 'This is such a mess. I'm no messiah, no savior. I never wanted to be. I just met someone with deeper pockets than me who was interested in my research.' He suddenly grabbed his sides, and doubled over in agony. Belatedly, I realized I was holding my breath, and let it out. Xavier seemed to regain control of himself, and looked back into the camera. 'All I wanted to do was help. I never intended for people to die, never intended for people to lose their minds. I begged him, pleaded with him to wait, to let me test it. He said no, said that Gods work must be done.' He dropped the mostly empty jar with a thud. 'I killed him.' He wiped his mouth. 'I injected an undiluted amount into his eye. I think he understood my objections.' Xavier said with a chuckle. 'Of course, I didn't hear him say much of anything... Subdural hematoma- brain hemorrhage. See, the neurons cannot process the chemical and start fighting one another. Effects range from severe Parkinson's type neural decay, to Alzheimer's, to insanity. Well, a direct injection in the eye is like swallowing a nuclear bomb. His brain literally melted. He went quickly. More quickly than half the camp. I told him, told him, told him TOLD HIM!' Xavier leapt suddenly at the camera and jerked it off its tripod. He hurled it, and the tape went blank. The television quickly panned to a newswoman who sat statuesque at her desk, papers neatly held in her hands. Finding her rhythm, she stared at the camera.
'We do not have a total number of dead at this time, but estimates range from sixty to two hundred. Bodies are still being drug from the compound.' She cleared her throat. 'For those of you joining us late, we have breaking news from Boulder Colorado of a messianic suicide cult led by Xavier Ridley. No word on who this mysterious donor is, if he even exists. Preliminary results from The Church of the Latter Day Zion compound have the number of dead in the hundreds to include women and children. Some as young as ten. The tape we just aired was of Xavier himself, and was his last transmission. We do have conformation that his body has been recovered. Investigators still have not released a cause of death, or what the mystery liquid Xavier was seen drinking is, or if it's what his followers drank.'
I fled the room then. My mind was buzzing like a swarm of angry locusts. Women, children, suicide cult, the words kept screaming at me. Mostly though, the realization that I just watched my brother die wounded me deeply. His last words came to me, and I began sobbing, falling to my knees in despair.
I didn't hear the doorbell when it rang, but noticed the blue and red lights playing off the wall. Standing I peered out the window. Our front yard was a riotous circus. There were countless blue and white police cruisers parked haphazardly across the street. An army of microphone wielding, camera following reporters swarmed, and the uniformed officers looked like they were barely able to hold the crowd back. I heard voices downstairs, and peered over the railing. Two suited detectives, one was a female wearing a brown fedora, were talking to my father. My mother was bundled up in his arms sobbing uncontrollably. My father caught my eye, and the two cops looked up. Silently, I went into my room and shut the door. I had nothing to say, I just wanted to let this shock wash over me at its own pace.
I was sitting at my desk tightly clutching the picture of my brother and I, the picture Xavier had given me, when someone knocked at my door. Trying to wipe away the tears, I answered it. It was the female cop, who, I noticed was around Xavier's age, and was very pretty.
'Hi there. My name is detective Kelsey, may I come in?'
For an answer, I went back to my chair, and picked the picture of my brother up. Tears began racing down my cheeks.
'First I want to express my deepest sympathies on the passing of your brother.' She cleared her throat uncomfortably before pushing on. 'But, uh, I need to ask a few questions.'
'I don't know anything. The last time I saw my brother was during the Thanksgiving break. He gave me his car, a letter, then vanished.' I said, trying not to start crying harder. 'Lady I don't know what to tell you, I just saw my brother die on TV.' That did it, and I began sobbing.
The detective stood there momentarily before clearing her throat again. 'His car, do you mean the silver BMW parked outside?'
'Yeah? What about it?' I asked, feeling that she had something more than a passing interest in the car.
'You mind if my partner and I take a look at it?' She asked, pushing her fedora back.
'Sure,' I said evenly. 'When you get a warrant.'
That soured things between us. I saw her posture stiffen, and she readjusted her fedora.
'Josephine, I understand that you're upset, but denying us access to the car is not helpful.'
'Lady, I'm upset when I can't find my car in the parking lot, I'm upset when my fingernail polish chips...' I wiped my eyes, glaring at her. 'But this? This is light years beyond just upset. Now you show me a reason why a car, months removed from your scope of investigation is pertinent to things here and now and I'll gladly hand over the keys.'
The detective watched me a moment, thumped the brim of her fedora and shrugged.
'Okay hard ass, we have reason to believe that your brother hid evidence inside, and we are requesting permission to lightly search the vehicle.'
'No dice.' I said evenly. 'Like I said, I've had the car for awhile, and have had it cleaned a billion times.' Now if you'll excuse me.' I said dismissing her.
She doffed her fedora, and silently left my room.
I went to the window, and watched the circus outside. White news vans were parked up and down the street with their tall satellite masts extended, cops milled in a loose line, preventing anyone from getting past. A few neighbors I recognized were mixed into the crowd. More than a few flashbulbs went off as the two detectives left the house. The female looked to my car, paused, and looked up to my window. She doffed her fedora once again, and I shut the blinds.
And that's how it went for the next several weeks. Reporters camped out on the front yard, wanting an interview. Our house phone rang so much that daddy yanked it out of the wall. Mom had vanished into Xavier's room, barely to be seen. Finally, dad broke down, and swarmed out the front door in his bathrobe. He gave a jerky, disjointed interview, that I now realize was only a sign of troubles to come.
Things eventually calmed down, and my brother slipped from the front page. Life returned to as normal a pace as it would, which to me, was a blessing. I'd all but forgotten about the female cops request for a search of my car when a business card caught my eye. It was crammed under the white bowl in the foyer. I was prepared to dismiss it, but the wrongness of that card jutting out from under the bowl irritated me. I grabbed it and was ready to ball it up when a name caught my eye. The interview in my room came back to me, and I balled the card up, absently dropping it in the wastebasket under the table. I went outside and stated at my car. Surely Xavier wouldn't hide anything in it; would he? I began a half-hearted search that somehow got serious. There was nothing under the seats, floor mats, in the glove box, taped under the dashboard, I was closing the hood when I realized I hadn't searched the trunk. Soon I stood with a small collection of things around me. A jack stand, a lug wrench, the spare tire, my empty backpack, but I still found nothing. Feeling disappointed and more than a little foolish, I began to put things back in the trunk. As I grabbed the spare, I felt paper crinkle. Dropping the spare back onto the driveway, I looked inside the spare. A legal sized yellow page was taped there. I felt a sense of jubilation marred with dread. Whatever this was, surely couldn't be good news.
Unfolding the page, I was baffled by myriad shapes and symbols scattered across the page. I recognized a few mathematic equations but had no idea what they meant, or how to solve them. A cold, invisible fist punched me in the stomach. I held, in my hands, the key to a hundred and fifty deaths. For some irrational reason, I folded the page up and stuffed it into my back pocket. Whatever all that meant, it was bad news, and I wanted to ensure that no one got ahold of it. Common sense told me to rip it up and be done with it. Sentimentality begged, and won, telling me that this was my brothers masterpiece, as cruel and evil as it was. I couldn't bear the thought of destroying it, no matter how foolish it was.
I'd just finished hiding the page in an old rag doll of mine when I heard the front door open and slam. I heard my fathers voice raised in anger. My mother answered quickly, just as angrily. This was odd. My parents never fought. Curious, I poked my head out my bedroom door, and saw my father standing there. I almost didn't recognize him. His normally immaculate suit was disheveled, he held his briefcase by the handle, but it had sprung open, and papers were scattered all around the foyer. His tie hung low and loose, he had lost a cufflink, and a red smear marked his white cuff. My mother looked equally messy. She wore a pair of nonmatching house slippers, and her nightgown was haphazardly shoved into the waist of her khaki slacks, her glasses hung askew on her face. What was going on here? My dad saw me, dropped his briefcase and pointed a finger at me.
'YOU!' He bellowed. 'This is your fault!'
'Earl! Earl, you leave her alone, she hasn't done anything!' My mother yelled.
My father didn't seem to hear, he had began stomping towards the stairs. Fear and panic froze me, and I didn't move as he approached. The backhand caught me completely unprepared. In my whole life, my dad hadn't raised a hand in anger against me. This was new, and entirely unexpected.
I fell from the force of the blow, and didn't see my father reach behind him and pull the screwdriver from his pants. I saw him swing it down, and had just enough time to get my hand up. The force of the blow coupled with my father's strength drove the blade through my hand and into my eye. The effect was immediate. I screamed in horror. Daddy reached down, and put his hand on the shaft of the screwdriver. Just the contact mushroomed the pain, and I wailed louder than I ever had in my life.
'EARL!' My mother boomed from behind us. 'You get away from her right now!'
My father ignored her, and focused on trying to yank the screwdriver free. It was wedged in between my hand and eye, and wasn't budging.
'Goddammit Earl, I'm warning you!' My mother yelled.
'You're next bitch!' My father answered finally. Spittle flew from his crazed lips. He tugged on the handle one more time, I screamed again, and the house exploded with the sound of a gunshot. My father pitched forward, his throat vanishing in a crimson mist. I passed out.
I awoke in the hospital, half my world covered in itchy darkness. My hand and face throbbed, my lips were parched. Blinking my good eye, I looked around best I could. I saw a blurry shape next to me, and tried raising my good hand. Immediately momma took it, kissed it, and began sobbing.
Well, that's about it. That's about everything that happened, and that was all last year. Mom and I are doing okay, except I've recently began catching her standing somewhere completely shut off. I have to really work to bring her around. The doctors say it's likely PTSD, but I'm not so sure. I keep remembering a whiskey snifter with a drink or two out of it, keep seeing that oily rainbow gleam, and my stomach knots up. I hope I'm wrong, but momma is downstairs now, pacing in the study, talking nonsense to herself. Oh God, I hope I'm wrong.
Rovella is a beautiful woman with a cold heart whom blames herself for an unfortunate old family secret that is literally ruining her life. This secret impedes a gorgeous woman from having happiness in her childhood, and throughout her life. Dark sec
A page-turning novel about a relationship between best friends that is interrupted because of betrayal , deceit, sexual promiscuity and pregnancy happens!
Rovella is a beautiful woman with a cold heart whom blames herself for an unfortunate old family secret that is literally ruining her life. This secret impedes a gorgeous woman from having happiness in her childhood, and throughout her life. Dark sec
