To my Koro, who I lost earlier this year. Who stole me from my mother when I was nine-years-old, booked us flights to Christchurch, New Zealand, and took me to my first ever circus.
I get my rebellious soul partially from him.
“Welcome to Midnight Mayem. We are not a circus, we are not a carnival, and the only thing that you should be afraid of losing tonight, is your sanity…”
Thirteen years ago, I felt evil. It penetrated my flesh and imprinted its scent into my soul to create a haunting concoction of poison, also known as The Shadow. I would further use this scent to draw out other evil because The Shadow was the worst of the worst. He wasn’t just dark or evil; he was deranged. There was no good in his soul, no droplets of light. He tormented me. Everywhere I turned, he was there to make sure I knew that I’d never be free.
In every dark corner, he would be there. Watching me, waiting. For what? I never knew. But I was about to find out…
Dove Noctem Hendry. Cheer captain and most popular girl at Charlston Academy, apparently. People were astounded that I became so popular so quickly in Eureka Springs, Arkansas, even as a small child. We moved here when I was just short of eleven, right after—the incident. The incident was something we didn’t talk about. I mean, my parents and highly paid shrinks could only bring it down to me suffering from PTSD and suppressed memory. It’s all I’d known, which was not much at all. But according to this yearbook, I was the most popular girl at school and a modern-day ballerina. Yearbooks are weird. Like, hey! Here’s a reminder of what might have been the worst years of your life. Mine weren’t bad; they were actually pretty great. I just didn’t like reminders in general.
A knock on the door pulled me out of nostalgia. “Come in!” I yelled, closing the book.
My dad was standing at the threshold, his collar loosened around his neck and a smile on his face. “We’re thinking of getting takeout for dinner. What do you want?”
I fluttered my eyelashes. “Thai!”
Dad nodded his head toward the hallway. “Thai it is. Come on, before your mom starts yelling about your ballerina slippers being left out in the foyer.” Mom complained about everything, but she liked to pick even more when it came to me. I was used to it. When you’d been cultivated by the neglect of your own mother, it’s easy to acclimatize to the callousness of the world.
Her emotional desertion only somewhat stabilized me in a way, making me stronger, and anyway, I was one hundred percent a daddy’s girl.
Climbing off the covers, I dashed into my closet to pull on my Ugg boots. My mom did nothing but stay at home and work on her garden beds, and my father was into political science. He wanted to run for office one day, probably sooner rather than later.
I treaded down the marble stairs, an extra bounce in my step. I had been reciting the cheer that would no doubt take home Nationals, so every single step was a dance step.
“Come on, kiddo.” Dad pulled me under his arm, kissing the top of my head, just as my mom smiled at me, opening the door.
It happened fast.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
I remembered my dad shoving me behind him, and the desperate screams coming from my mom. We all dropped to the ground, my father lying on top of me, his back to my front, shielding me from harm.
“You need to run, Dove. Run.”
I—words were caught in my throat, threatening to choke me.
The door swung open, and four men stood still, all with their guns raised. They were wearing plain black bandanas, and on any other day, I would have thought they were street thugs, maybe wanting money. Until I noticed a couple of them were wearing suits.
The main one tilted his head, and just when I thought he was about to say something, my dad opened his mouth. “Dove is going to leave before you do anything…”
They seemed to think over their next move. Words being silently spoken between the distance of each breath.
“Dove…” My father leaned up onto his elbow, his eyes coming to mine. A dark blue pool that’s deep enough to spill over his cheeks. “You’re going to leave.” His voice was slow. Hushed, but forceful.
I shook my head, not wanting to leave my dad. Not like this. Not ever.
“Little Bird…” he pleaded, tears finally leaking over the edges. “Please.”
He shoved me back, and the first thing I felt was the warm liquid seep through my clothes and stick to my belly. The first thing I smelled was the strong metal slosh of blood. The first thing I heard was the dying screams of my mother. But the last thing I heard before everything went black was his voice.
“We’ll be back, Dovey. I’ll hear you when you speak. I’ll see you where you dance. I’ll always be watching you…” His voice sounded juvenile. Not as old as what I would think they all were due to their size and shadows.
Another man stepped into the pact. This one I felt was older. He was wearing a fedora that shaded his mouth and a cigar was hanging between his lips. “Leave.”
I felt him in places that I shouldn’t have felt. Through foster home after foster home, he was there, existing between the furnishings and oxygen. I could sense him when I thought I was all alone. The Shadow was everywhere I was. It existed between what was real and what was in my mind. It tormented me for what felt like all of my life, and the worst part about being tormented by something you didn’t know, was that you never knew when that torment would end.
Present
I was fourteen years old when I stopped expecting the world to soften its edges for me and learned to roughen mine instead. I learned that if you find yourself in a dark day, it only means that the sun is about to rise. Well, it was a mantra that I became accustomed to as I was growing up. I had to bring it down to that simple paragraph to strengthen my mind and remind it that I was going to survive. Bouncing from foster home to foster home until you hit eighteen isn’t ideal, but I’m an optimist, so the way I see it, I never had to really rely on anyone.
Not. At. All.
And besides, I’ve managed to keep a fairly positive outlook on life, despite my current circumstances. Once I hit eighteen, I emptied my bank account and hitched a ride way the hell away from where anyone would know me, or where most people like to call Miami Beach. Okay, so it’s not a terrible place to live, and it’s probably one of my favorite places to be, but eventually, I want to bail. Maybe settle in the PNW or somewhere with a little more frost in the air. I prefer cold to the heat.
“Dove!” Richard calls out from behind the bar. I work in a bar right on the outskirts of the city. It draws in the right crowd for good tips. Rich folk who just want to splash some cash.
I raise my eyebrows at him in question, so he continues to jog toward me, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Sorry. I always forget about the speech thing.”
They always assume that because I don’t talk much that I’m incapable of doing so. Humans are so quick to slap a label on someone who doesn’t conform to the norm. I do talk, but I don’t talk much here where I’m scared and shackled to the reality of always being watched. I knew it wasn’t safe. I wasn’t safe. “I’ll hear you when you speak.” I shiver, zipping my leather jacket up farther while slipping my hands into my pockets to keep them warm. “Are you able to work at the bar tomorrow? Jules called in sick, and we usually have a backup, but we can’t get ahold of any of the temp girls.”