pentacle 8

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Adrian, who at this point in time was called Alice, was glued to the kitchen chair. Not literally glued, but figuratively, glued by obligation. Held down by the idea that if they got up, they would have failed. Which would have been the worst thing in the world. Janet placed a china plate on the table in front of Alice. Alice stared at it reproachfully, sure that the pretty pink roses were mocking them. All the roses had to do were be pretty, but Alice was obligated to stay here, and do what was required of them.

“Try it again,” ordered Janet, not unkindly. Alice stared at the plate until one plate turned into two. They were developing massive headache, and it seemed that their forehead as well would split into two. But as hard as they tried and hoped and desperately pushed with their mind, the plate would not move.

“Mom,” Alice pleaded. “I can’t do it. My head hurts.”

“Of course you can do it, sweetie,” Janet said, again, not unkindly. Alice started to cry.

“I can’t, mom, I can’t,” they said.

“Alice,” Janet said sharply. Alice flinched at the sound of their name. “You will do it. So keep trying.”

“No!” screamed Alice through sobs. At this, the plate shot through the air and shattered against the wall, just barely missing Janet’s head. A single shard fell away and sliced its way down the side of her face. Her eyes turned mean.

“Alice,” she said again, quietly, but this time, quite unkindly. Fear shot its way down Alice’s spine. They knew they were in trouble.

pentacle 7

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Adrian and Aiden had retrieved the box. It was smaller than expected and cardboard with “From Bill and Janet” written in thick sharpie on the top. The scrawling script was clearly Bahir’s. Adrian, once again, had gone numb and was staring that the box, but not really at it all. Aiden put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I’ll get a box cutter,” he said. Adrian had not moved by the time he had returned. “It won’t open itself” he said, handing the box cutter over. Adrian nodded silently and sliced the tape deftly. The flaps fell open. The contents were bundled in bubble wrap. Adrian knelt down and carefully unwrapped the first parcel. As Aiden leaned over their shoulder, he could see that the other parcels were exactly the same, all stack on top of each other. It seemed that the box was filled with delicately painted china plates.

The plate Adrain was holding made no sound as it fell and rejoined the others. The plate was painted with tiny pink roses around the rim. Their breath turned shallow and quick as they recognized the pattern, and relived the memory they recognized it from.

pentacle 6

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Adrian was sitting in the middle of Bahir’s bed. They hadn’t moved in nearly five minutes. Aiden was nonchalantly skimming the belongings strewn across the dead man’s desk. A pen was thrown across a half-finished notebook page. An empty coffee mug sat to the left. As if someone was about to pick up the pen and finish their thought. As if someone would come through the door any minute to clear away the empty mug. Aiden finally broke the silence.

“Ok something’s up, spill it,” he said. He held up his hand. “No, I know. There’s a lot that’s ‘up.’ There’s something else.” Adrian stared into space for what felt to Aiden like forever. But in what was actually only 30 seconds, they finally responded.

“I think he really did shoot himself. That seems to be true,” they paused again. Then continued. “On the left side of his head – I mean, there was makeup on it, but you could stills sort of see that -“

Aiden grimaced. “Okay, stop, stop, I get it”

“Oh,” Adrian continued, “well that part seems true, anyways, but Aiden,” for the first time since they had entered the room, they made eye contact, “there were bruises, on his wrist.” Aiden’s eyes went wide.

“Well how could you – I mean don’t they…” he gestured broadly “cover that up or something?” Adrian shrugged.

“Maybe not, if it’s supposed to be covered by the suit.”

“He’s wearing a suit?” Aiden snorted. “Boy, he would hate that.” Adrian let out one short, soft laugh, then another.

“It’s not like the undertaker would let me put him in a Hawaiian shirt,” they managed between laughs. Aiden snorted again. Adrian doubled over. And they each forgot, momentarily, the reason they were in this room alone in the first place. They forgot momentarily that the man they were laughing over was gone.

In the kitchen Joyce looked up from her late friend’s will and raised a single eyebrow at the sound of two friends laughing hysterically in the room of a dead man. She lined up the edges of the pages, slipped them into an envelope, and quietly absconded. Her work did not end here.

“Okay, okay,” Adrian said breathlessly, wiping away tears. “Let’s do what we came here to do.” They looked around, actually taking in the room for the first time. They pointed to the desk. “What’s in that notebook?”

Aiden moved over to take a closer look.

“Oh,” he said, “it’s to you. It starts ‘Yo Adrian!’ “

“It does not,” Adrian laughed. They stood up to [look over Aiden’s shoulder]. “Oh” their voice softened “it does.” [backstory about name goes here??]

Yo Adrian, the letter read, I thought you and Aiden would appreciate. Aiden and Adrian grinned at each other. The contents of this notebook will shock you. They will challenge your reality and introduce you to a world I worked hard to protect you from. I couldn’t protect you any longer, and I’m sorry for that. I ask that you take this information one page at a time. Each will take time to process.

Aiden, I know you are reading this too. The friends exchanged a sheepish grin. You and I both know Adrian. They are proud, stubborn, and fiercely independent. Adrian blushed. But this path is yours too, you will understand that soon. My task for you is to make sure Adrian doesn’t walk this path alone. Be as annoying as compassionate, and as persistent as I know you can be.

Aiden screwed up his face.

“He has to have to last word, doesn’t he,” Aiden complained. “Can’t even give me a break when he’s dead.” Adrian laughed. They both fell silent and tried not to look at the notebook. They failed. Adrian nervously adjusted their hat.

“Here goes nothing,” they said and flipped the page.

It won’t surprise you, Adrian, Bahir wrote, If I say that your adoptive parents did not have your best interest at heart. But it may surprise you to hear why that is. And why they adopted you in the first place. You see, they were interested mainly in your abilities. The reason is part of a much larger picture that will unfold as you continue to read my extensive notes. They died under suspicious circumstances only two years after you were removed from their care.

An article was cut and pasted onto the page. The headline read “Carmel couple found dead in their home” the picture was of the home Adrian had lived in until the age of seven. Seeing it again, even in black and white newsprint, raised the hair on the back of their neck.

What they left to you in their will is in a label box in the basement. Their death was ruled a suicide. But you should know that a suicide is not always self-inflicted.

pentacle 5

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Angel leaned forward.

“There is one thing though,” she said. Abby gave her a one-sided smile.

“Okay, what is it?”

“They’re saying that Bahir’s is really Adrian’s uncle” she revealed. Abby gave her a blank look. Angel sighed. “Oh I know, of course he is. No, what I mean is…ugh. Do you remember when Adrian was removed from their parents’ care. Well, we know Adrian was adopted. Bahir claimed next of kin. We all assumed he was related to Adrian’s adopted parents, but it’s going around that he was related to their birth parents.” Angel leaned back and let that sink in.

“So he knew Adrian’s birth parents?” Abby asked. Angel nodded. “Do you think Adrian knows?” Angel shrugged.

“I don’t know, but, if it’s true, they’re going to find out soon.”

pentacle 4

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Joyce met Adrian and Aiden at Bahir’s house. Typically in a professional setting, Joyce was never anything but Dr. O’Connor. She hadn’t spend 5 years on her Ph.D. to be called Joyce. But for Bahir and his neiphling, and only for Bahir and his neiphling, she was Joyce, even in professional settings. In fact, it was only as a favor to her long-time friend that she even practiced law. Head of her law department, she was normally much too busy to take on a case, let alone something as small and straightforward as a will. But these were good people and old friends, and for them, she, Joyce, would be there.

“What’s up Dr. O’Connor?” Aiden greeted. Joyce nodded curtly.
“Aiden.” She put and hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “Adrian.” She knew better than to ask them how they were ‘holding up’. She simply lead them into the house by the shoulder. They all sat down at the kitchen table, Joyce holding copy of Bahir’s will.

“It’s pretty simple,” she said, looking up through her reading glasses. “Anything Bahir owned goes to you, Adrian. The house, everything in it, and a substantial sum of money.”

“Oh,” said Adrian, passively. They did not look up. They supposed that normally one might be excited to suddenly come into possession of their own house and a “substantial sum of money.” But they had a hard time getting excited. That the house was Adrian’s, and Adrian’s alone, only made it seem emptier and lonelier. They would rather live under a bridge in a box or something if it meant Bahir could still be here, lighting up the halls with his laughter.

“Yeah, I know,” responded Joyce. “But Bahir also left you items of a more…personal importance to him. I’ll call you later in the week to talk through the financial side of things. But for now, maybe you’d like to take a look at his bedroom?”

Adrian nodded numbly.

This was a big gamble. It was the sort of thing that could either make Adrian feel better or worse, but that didn’t really matter. Because Bahir had tasked Joyce with something much more important than the settlement of his estate. He had tasked her with guiding Adrian to the answers they would need. Whatever the cost.

pentacle 3

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Abby rested her head on her hands. She watched a small group of children screaming outside the coffee shop window. She may have only been just out of high school but she already had a feeling that she had missed out on life, that her nose was too far buried in books, school books, fantasy books, romance novels, and she had missed something critical that couldn’t be found in those pages.

“Getting contemplative again?” asked Angel from behind. Abby shook her head.

“It’s nothing,” she responded.

“It’s not nothing,” Angel replied, “but we don’t have to talk about it.” Abby frowned, always a bit peeved at how quickly her friend Angel could see right through her.

“Got your favorite,” Angel said, setting an Americano in front of Abby and sticking a straw into her own sugary concoction. Abby leaned closer.

“Are those…sprinkles?” She asked.

“They are!” Angel grinned and continued to happily suck up the multicolored excuse for coffee. “So,” said Angel, slamming her drink dramatically on the table, “did you hear about Adrian’s uncle.” Abby looked up.

“Adrian’s uncle?”

“Yeah,” Angel said, “you know, Bahir?”

“I heard that he died,” Abby respond looking deep into her drink.

“Committed suicide,” Angel corrected around a swig of sugar. “Apparently he shot himself. In the head.” Abby didn’t look up.

“That doesn’t seem -“

“Like him at all?” Angel cut her off. “I know! Do you think they did an autopsy?” Abby was beginning to feel sick.

“I don’t know…” she faltered. Angel’s demeanor softened.

“We shouldn’t be talking about this like this,” she said more soberly. “Bahir was amazing.” Abby felt her eyes prickle with tears.

“Yeah, he was,” she said softly. The earth trembled softly.

“Huh,” said Angel, looking around her, “a tremor.”

pentacle 2

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS (cont.)

Stepping out into the street was like being hit with a bucket of ice water. It may have been April, but the seaside town of Columbia remained cold and damp well into June when the fair-weather tourists would begin to show their faces.

Adrian, with a detached sense of calm, realized that they were running on fumes. Eventually, they would crash and understand what had happened. Until then, they reasoned, they should continue to walk. It they stopped, they might forget how to do the locomotion-thing in the first place.

If the fog had any goddamn respect, it would have swirled, or done something majestic like that. But no. It hung cold and dead in the sky, daring Adrian to make it stop. The wind picked up and danced around Adrian, but the fog stubbornly stayed put.

Columbia was one street and if you blinked, or, if like Adrian, your eyes had stopped noticing anything in front of them, you could miss it. And miss it they did. They took a step forward into an unexpected substance.

“Oh,” Adrian said passively. Because they had just realized that they had stepped into the ocean. They might not have even removed their right foot from the ocean had they not heard a familiar call of “Yo Adrian!” followed by an obscene amount of laughter, from the lifeguard tower.

When Adrian reached the top of the ladder, Aiden was still laughing to himself.

“You know that kind of gets old,” Adrian said.

“Maybe to you,” Aiden shrugged. His demeanor turned a variation of serious. A half-smile still poked around his stoic expression. To Aiden, being fully serious meant you were loosing the battle against life’s slew of hardships. “So,” he started, “did you see him.” Adrian nodded.

“Yeah, he’s dead alright,” they repeated. It seemed to be the only thing they could say about their uncle.

“Was there any doubt?” Aiden asked. Adrian sat down and dangled their legs over the edge of the tower’s platform.

“I don’t know,” they replied. “He just never seemed like kind of guy who would -“

“Commit suicide?” Aiden finished.

“Die,” Adrian said. “It just didn’t seem like he could die.” Aiden nodded.

“You’re right. It did seem like he could live forever.” The two friends fell silent. The rhythmic sound of the waves washed over them. The seagulls screamed bloody murder and dove, in turns, to the ocean’s surface. Aiden joined Adrian on the edge of the platform. Tears threatened Adrian’s eyes, but they knew they would have to wait to fall. Aiden turned to talk to them again.

“What else do you have to do?” he asked.

“I have to talk to Joyce, er, his lawyer…will stuff. I think,” Adrian responded, uncertainly. Their stoic autopilot was beginning to falter. Aiden looked at his watch.

“Give me 15 minutes until my shift ends and I’ll go with you,” Aiden said.

“I’lll be fine on my own,” Adrian said. Aiden put his hand up to his ear.

“What’s that? What’s that?” He dropped his hand. “Yeah, I don’t care. I’m coming.”

pentacle 1

PART 1 – THREE OF SWORDS

Adrian leaned casually on the funeral parlor’s overly decorative side table. Their backwards baseball cap sat at a slight angle and they were dressed perfectly casually, more appropriate for a baseball game than to make arrangements for their dead uncle’s funeral. But Adrian was alone. There was no one, no one there to tell them that they should dress nicer or show more respect, so Adrian was going to dress however they damn well pleased.

The undertaker motioned to Adrian with a stoic gesture of her head. Adrian sighed and followed her. Despite their casual attitude, they were dreading this moment. This unfortunate moment of finality.

Uncle Bahir had his own room. Which Adrian was sure he disliked greatly. He always craved attention and activity, and he was quick to laugh, a laugh that originated deep from his stomach.

Adrian quickly repositioned their baseball cap as a way to avoid their growing sentimentality. The undertaker lead them to the casket. Bahir was half uncovered by the two-part lid, as if tucked in for bed or something inane like that. He was done up, so to speak. The undertaker had worked her magic and Bahir looked better in death than he ever did in life. Though vivacious, he was prone to dark circles. Though he loved life, he also worked himself to the bone.

Adrian wondered if Bahir should have been shrouded in white, but they wouldn’t know what to say. They had been on a long-haul red-eye flight when funeral arrangements were put in to action. The shroud, even, was only something Adrian noticed in passing at the funeral of Uncle Bahir’s great aunt or third cousin or something like. Adrian only enjoyed in passing a connection with the muslim faith theoretically belonged to them.

The undertaker looked expectantly at Adrian. Adrian looked back at her.

“Yeah, he’s dead alright,” they said. The undertaker, a very professional undertaker, simply nodded and lead Adrian to her office to discuss the funeral details.

Was there ever, she reflected, a proper response to being shown the body of a loved one?