Lost and Found (Prolouge)

 

“Home.” I said, gazing into new apartment.

 

I had had a place just before this, worked out a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy with my landlord. He didn’t ask me my age and I kept paying the bills. Until some housing committee made him nervous enough to make him tell me to pack up my stuff and move out. I had never really felt at home once in the three months I had stayed there, I was constantly nervous I would be found out and have to move. And in the end that’s more or less what happened.

 

But here, here I was comfortable. You see I had got in contact with one of my craftier friends in Vegas and had him mail me some fake documentation. Took me some getting used to having my new landlord call me Dean, but for now, as far as he knew, that was my name. It was better than Julius, that name had some awful memories tied to it. My parents, the real ones, both left me under that name. I had seen some pretty nasty s**t in my days under that name, I was almost glad to start over.

 

Tasia called me not long after I got my stuff all put away. She told me she had been dreaming about me more lately, we talked for hours, and, honestly, I liked it. She told me to keep in touch and I said I would even though I knew I wouldn’t. She reminded me of the time I had spent under the care of Danny and Janice, and I really didn’t want to be reminded of that. I already had one girl to remind me of that, and that was enough. Little Rosemary had her own room here, her own pillow to cry into. She was why I had left, she was also the reason I was most-likely wanted in the state of Colorado. Kidnapping, I called it liberation, rescuing her from the terror that was Danny’s little secret.

 

Rosemary had her fake papers too, just like mine, and we had to change her name too, although I can’t tell you the name she had before, legal reasons. There was an Amber Alert out for her all over the U.S. and even though it was old and nobody was really looking anymore I still had to be careful when I brought her out in public.

 

And I guess she was at home here too, as at home as she could let herself be. And she loved me too, as much as she could love any man anymore.

 

I guess the reason I had taken to her so quickly was because our stories were so similar, and to tell mine properly I would have to tell you hers first. Her parents, Brad and Angela, had a hard time adjusting to having a baby in the house, Angela became detached and was rarely home by the time she was a year old. This left her with Brad, who for one reason or another took fast to drugs, mostly coke and heroin. By the time she was three years old he had what the police called an “intentional overdose”. It would’ve been declared suicide if it weren’t for Brad’s reckless decision to write the suicide note after he had smoked the lethal drug combination, all the police were left with were a few drunken scribbles and a pen they couldn’t pry out of Brad’s dead hand. Angela, who was slowly becoming a raging alcoholic, was forced to stay at home for the first time in three years to take care of her daughter. Two years of drunken hell ensued. Angela blamed Rosemary for her estranged husband’s overdose, completely ignoring the fact she, his own wife had more or less abandoned him in his last years.

 

She spent the next three years bouncing around foster homes. Things never worked at any of them long, she had a way of scaring foster parents. The little quiet child rarely talked to anyone and was reclusive after any attempt to talk to her; she just wasn’t the happy ball of sunshine all these people had been looking for. The one home she did spend a reasonable amount of time in was the house of two, sixty plus year old spinsters that had been living together since they were twenty or so. They saw a challenge in brightening the day of the sad little child, and after months of trying, she finally opened up to them and let all her demons free. And they accepted her like no one had since her father when she was only a year old. She was happy for three short months.

 

A nosey neighbor brought it all to an end. The neighbor questioned the old ladies’ sexuality as neither of them had ever had a husband or even a long-time boyfriend in all their years of living together. And while they showed no obvious signs of being lovers, the evidence was significant enough that Colorado district courts decided it would best if Rosemary was removed from their custody.

 

From there she found her way to the one horse town of Foxtown, and a month and a half later, so did I.

 

We both came into the care of Danny and Janice, the kind of first time foster parents that wanted hard luck kids to cheer up with a few rich kid toys so they could brag to their neighbors that they were charitable and good. What they were was a pair of christian do-gooders who carried the firm belief that they could do no wrong, and like most people who believed that, they inevitably became as crooked as an inchworm mid-step.

 

Danny was the root of all the evil in that house, he was the kind of old-school fundamentalist that believed that “any wife of (his)” should behave like this was the 1950's, like “a good wife should”. And she did, she cooked, cleaned, took orders, and stayed home all day hitting the wine bottle that he paid for with his more than generous pay-checks.

 

Janice had started the foster children idea in Danny's head hoping he would become more like the man she had known only five years prior. But after their son, Joshua, had turned eight years old, he became more independent of his father, siding with his mother. Danny, in response, became the pain in the a*s Rosemary and I came to know. Once, in candid, half-drunk conversation during a week I was suspended from school, Janice told me “It wasn't always like this, after (Joshua) turned eight... things just changed. But he was a great man, warm and loving like you wouldn't believe, really, he was my angel.” Janice told me she had hoped he would become that man all over again if there were a couple of kids around. “And he has changed, a little, since Rosemary's been here... but...” It took her another glass of wine to finish her sentence, “he's still not the same man he used to be...” she started to cry, “he'll never be... I've lost him for good, I'm a horrible wife.”

 

To say they had money is to say chickens have feathers. Of course I had just came from a suburb outside of Las Vegas, nicknamed “white trash hell” by its residents because of its high volume of trailer parks and it being right in the middle of the 666 area code. It was a place full of people who thought they would strike it rich in Vegas' casinos and ended up too poor to leave. Most people there spent their paychecks the moment they got them, either because they barely made enough to buy a months groceries for their families, they were single drunks, or most hopelessly of all they still believed they could strike it rich in Vegas. Most of the last type of people never made it back to their homes in hell, they ended up without even cab fare outside of a casino and slept in Vegas alleyways waiting on their next quarter to play at the slot machines.

 

So I guess you could say I wouldn't have known rich if I'd seen it. But they were and I knew it. And like all the others they thought they could change us, Rosemary and I. But we were who we were and nothing was going to change us, and it was the same for them. I made the mistake of thinking that Jan's drinking, Danny's misogyny and their mutual snobbishness was the worst of my worries.

 

Rosemary came to me after three months and opened up, apparently I reminded her of my father before he started on the drugs. That night she opened up to me told me all about the trials and tortures of her young life, all the stories I've told you so far and more. I held the seven year old girl as she cried, she was the sister I never had, and the daughter I'd always wanted. On that night I vowed that when I turned eighteen in a year's time I would formally adopt her and save her from a life in the foster care system. The life I had had, that life would not be hers.

 

I had to advance those plans a little bit when, in two months time, came the night that changed my life, the night that set in to play the events that would make me a fugitive in that state of Colorado.

 

It was the night of Rosemary's eighth birthday, I was in my bedroom listening to the Avenged Sevenfold CD my friend Jason had let me borrow. She entered the room during the song “Bat Country”. She was shaking, wearing a tee-shirt a size too large but no pants. Slowly, she made her way to my uncomfortable office -style chair in front of my computer, her shaking was becoming more and more evident with every step.

 

“What is it (Rosemary)?”

 

“Danny...” She let the name hang in the air like a foul stench. I looked her over, the dripping blood was now quite evident. It had soaked at the bottom of her underwear and was now making its way down her leg.

 

“Did he do this?”

 

She told me everything, the way that son-of-a-b***h crept into her room and told her sickeningly sweet nothings, told her he loved her, told her not to scream. That was the last straw.

 

“Can you pack your things quickly?”

 

“I guess.”

 

“I need you to do it as fast as you can, pack lightly but take anything that is truly important to you, and if you have any room take anything small and valuable, we'll need money.” I took a shallow breath and added, “We're never coming back here again.” She looked at me questioningly, then, with tears in her eyes, smiled and hugged me. “We have to hurry (Rosemary), change clothes before you go, and put those underwear under your mattress, as soon as I get packed I'll come in and help you, understand?” Still crying, still smiling, she nodded her head.

 

I packed myself three full pairs of clothes, my old laptop (which I backed all of the files on my desktop PC to, including my new CD) and my ipod, along with a few other small valuables I thought would be easy to fence or pawn, whichever became more convenient. I snuck down to the kitchen where I stole Janice's hidden stash of money near her wine and whatever food items I could eat without refrigeration or preparation. I then made my way back up to Rosemary's room where I found her almost done packing. Seeing room left in her bookbag I crammed anything I could find in her room that a thief would take if he was in a hurry.

 

I handed her the bag. “I need you to get to the East Trail entrance of the park, I'll meet you there in about an hour. And don't worry, I'll be fine, and I'll be right behind you, I just have a few things to deal with here before I leave, so get there as fast as you can and I'll be right behind you.”

 

She left with her bag on her back and dried tears on her cheeks.

 

I proceeded to destroy both rooms as quietly as possible. When I was done I examined the sheets on top of Rosemary's bed. The blood was still fresh, along with a large amount of sperm, I assume he pulled out to make sure not to leave the possibility of a child he couldn't explain. I carefully balled up the sheets and hid them under her mattress along with her underwear. He wouldn't be able to find them there before the police came to examine the crime scene. Surely they would understand the clues that I had left them.

 

All this took twenty or so minutes, and I waited outside the front door for an additional ten to give Rosemary an ample head start on the police. Then, when I was sure I had given her enough time I conjured up all my courage and smashed in one of the expensive looking panes of glass on the front door. In seconds, the security alarm was ringing and I was forced to run with my now bleeding arm safely tucked into my shirt where I wouldn't have to worry about getting any blood on the future crime scene.

 

I charged into the backyard, running to a chair by the back fence.

 

Jump, chair. Jump, table. Jump, shaky trash can and up and over the fence. I fell onto the cold alley pavement with a stunning thud. I collected myself and continued to run. Police response to this area was about fifteen minutes because this was an upper class suburb outside of Foxtown. I ran as fast as I could (almost wish I could thank Coach for running me so hard in track) for about two miles along the road that lead to Foxtown, and with it their park. I was almost at the end of the road when I saw approaching headlights and a silhouette I easily recognized as a police car. I ducked into the ditch and, keeping low, made my way to the woods where I stood and ran till I came to a large tree. Hiding behind the tree I watched as the police cruiser slowed as it passed and left, but I knew it would be back when it figured I would think it was gone so I made my way to the other edge of the woods and came out on the outer city limits of Foxtown.

 

 

I knew I couldn't run another four miles to the park on the other side of the town. So I did something I knew I would come to regret, I pulled the cell phone my aunt in North Carolina had given me and called Jason.

 

Jason answers, “Hello?”

 

“It's Julius, and I am stuck in the a*s end of Foxtown and I need to get to a party by the park, think I could get a ride?”

 

“Man, my parents are still pissed at my slipping out with ya last weekend, I can't be out past eleven.”

 

“It's only 10:30.”

 

“And you expect me not to party too?”

 

“Well.... yeah, I guess.”

 

A brief pause as he thinks things over.

 

“You payin' for gas?”

 

“Sure, just get me there.”

 

Five minutes and he was there.

 

“So, who's throwin' the party?”

 

“Some people from Elderidge.”

 

“Oh, no wonder I didn't hear about it. So what's in the bag?”

 

“B.Y.O.B.”

 

“Cheap sons-of-b*****s, you gonna let me have one for drivin' ya?”

 

I looked nervously at the bag, didn't have anything to give him.

 

“You have to drive home, and your parents are already pissed at you, what'll they say when they smell fresh beer on your breath?”

 

“Nothing they haven't said before.” He said, reaching for the bag.

 

“Jason, there isn't any beer in the bag. I lied, I'm not going to a party.”

 

“Quit feeding me horse s**t and hand me a beer.”

 

“Danny really pissed me off tonight.” I let the words hang in the air, I wasn't sure if I should say the words right on the edge of my lips. He gave me a look as if to say 'doesn't he always' as he reached for the bag's zipper, I couldn't let him see all the stolen goods inside. I had no choice.

 

“He raped her, he raped (Rosemary). Even had the nuts to say it was her 'secret birthday present'. Sick son-of-a-b***h.”

 

“You're f*****g kidding me... right?”

 

“No, I'm meeting her at the park and we're never gonna set foot in Colorado again. All that's in the bag is my ipod and some clothes.” I just kept talking. About all the things that happened that night, all the things she had told me, everything. He grinned when I told him how I hid the evidence of the rape so he wouldn't be able to find it before the cops arrived to start the search for evidence.

 

“Nice to see the child molestin' b*****d getting what he deserves.” he said as we pull into the park's small parking lot. “Hey, Ju, you sound like you've had one hell of a night. I think you deserve a treat.” Carefully, he removes a near perfectly rolled joint from his inner jacket pocket.

 

“Now, this s**t ain't the the kill, and it don't hit ch'ya too hard but it'll last ya a bit, and it's a pretty smooth buzz. On top of all that I have to drive home so I'm not gonna want too much of it, I figure I'll take one hit to every two of yours, cool?”

 

“Damn cool Jason.” I said as he passed me the lit joint.

 

Now, I'm not quite sure how it hit him but I had a hell of a time when I started trying to walk over to the East Trail entrance, and on top of it all I was to stoned to be able to tell you clearly how long it took me to get there. He probably sat on his a*s playing video games when he tested this weed out, because it sure as hell got a lot more harsh when you tried to walk around. All I know is I got there before Rosemary did.

 

Kid scared the living hell out of me when she walked up. Poor thing got lost out in the woods and instead of coming up from in front of me like I had came and like I had expected her to come, she popped out of the woods behind me, hugging me as soon as she saw me. We spent the rest of the night sleeping a little ways back in the woods. I had my ipod set to wake me before sunrise and slept all night with the headphones in my ears.

 

Early in the morning I walked to a CVS and bought some black hair dye and scissors. I dyed our hair, washing it out in one of the park's rivers. I cut her long, flowing hair to just above shoulder length, she cried as I did it. (“I promise, soon as we make it out of Colorado I'll let you grow it out as long as you want it.”) Then I cut off about half of my trademark 'swoosh'. I silently made myself the same promise I had made her as we left the park. We made it to a train station just outside of Foxtown jurisdiction by nine o' clock. I knew they would've put out a statewide Amber Alert for Rosemary by then (they only have to wait about twelve hours, putting them just outside of the range of the morning news) but most likely no one outside of Foxtown would know about it until lunchtime.

 

And that's the story of how I came to leave Colorado. I would tell you more, but I have to leave now, Rosemary and I are hungry for dinner and I need to get some marinara sauce from the grocery store and maybe see if they have any black hair dye, I think I'm starting to see Rosemary's roots again.

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[Cold Coffee Magazine]

You have a real talent for telling a story. Keep with it and you will go places.

Dave