Chasing Sophea: A Novel Page 19

  “Me? Well, you’ve always been able to trust me.”

  “You’re the voice.”

  “Um-hmmmm.”

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Yes, you do,” taunted the woman. “Say it.”

  Dahlia hesitated and then spoke softly. “Phoebe,” she mumbled.

  “Come on, girlfriend. Say it with conviction. Say it like you mean it.”

  “Phoebe,” Dahlia said louder. “You’re Phoebe.”

  “Yes,” Phoebe answered with a smirk. “My, my, my, I think she’s got it.”

  Percival walked the long way home. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so fatigued. He’d said more in the last few hours than he had in several years. And yet he was far from being finished. There was more to be said, and he welcomed the release. Since he was doing all this communicating, he figured he might as well free everything else he’d been holding in for a spell.

  He reached his house and left the front door ajar; Dante wouldn’t be far behind with a thousand questions. When he looked at Dante now, it was hard for him to imagine the baby that he used to be. His survival was a miracle, and Percival thanked God every day that he’d gotten to Leezel when he did. By now, he guessed Dante had read the letter and figured out that his mama was lying up yonder only a few feet away. And as if that wasn’t enough, the fool boy had gone and parked his car in somebody else’s garage—his brother’s garage, no less. Sweet Jesus on the cross, what a mess. Percival shook his head. These kids today just didn’t have any respect for what was right and proper. He spoke aloud: “Dante Culpepper, what in the world were you thinking?”

  “I’ve been asking myself that same question,” Dante replied from the doorway. “Percival, I need to speak with you if you have a minute.”

  “I reckon you do, son.” Percival motioned for Dante to sit down. “I reckon you do.”

  Dante removed the letter from his pocket. “She wrote that there was a fire. She said—”

  “Look, son, I don’t rightly know what’s in that letter there. Your mama asked me to give it to you after she passed, and that’s what I did. If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t be discussing this now, but I figure you got a right to know where you come from. You know what she wanted you to know, and that’s good enough for me.”

  “Can you tell me about her?”

  Percival sighed and told Dante what he claimed he remembered about that night. He didn’t tell him everything, though. He didn’t see what good it would do for the boy to know that his grandfather had tried to burn him alive. Some secrets should never see the light of day, and Percival decided right then and there that what really happened that night would go to the grave with Leezel, where it belonged.

  “I know this is plenty for you to handle right now, finding out about your mama and all, but I believe there are other matters you should be attending to and other folk you should be thinking about.”

  Dante opened his mouth to speak, but Percival held up his hand. “I know what you want from me, and I aim to give it to you, but you’re going to have to clean this mess up you done got yourself into—and the sooner, the better. You and I both know that your mama will find out about you and Mercy by the end of the day, and I don’t want Baby being hurt by any of this foolishness.”

  Dante looked Percival in the eyes at the mention of Mercy’s name. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and I can’t begin to explain my feelings for her. It wasn’t a casual thing for me. I—”

  “Son, stop. You don’t owe me any explanation. I know what it’s like to love a woman your whole life, see her every day, and not be able to touch her—watch her in pain from a distance praying to the good Lord that you could hold her in your arms just once and make everything all right.”

  Dante stood and walked toward Percival. “Is there something I should know here?”

  “I guess there is,” Percival answered. “I love your mama, the woman who raised you, like I love my life, and I have been in love with her from the moment I laid eyes on her. If she’ll have me, I swear I’ll die trying to make her happy.”

  Neither man spoke for a while. The space between them vibrated with relief and opportunity, and each revealed more than he had anticipated. There was an invisible bond that connected them in a way that Dante would never understand. For most of his life, he had been suspicious of the albino but comforted by his presence at the same time. It was an unusual feeling that he was never quite able to identify. He thought that perhaps his reaction to Percival had something to do with the way Percival loved his mother, but now he knew without a doubt that it was something else; something inside him recognized the connection. They’d had more in common than he could ever have believed. He still wasn’t sure how to process his own feelings about Leezel and Percival’s involvement but he wanted to move forward from it once and for all, and he wanted his mother to be happy. She deserved that and more. After all, she would need someone to look after her when he left the business. Dante peered over into yellow eyes, eyes that had always seemed frighteningly familiar, and offered a gift. “Percival, I was wondering if you could do something else for me.”

  Percival met his gaze.

  “I should stay around here and make sure that Lucius doesn’t need any help. Could you pick up my mom and Dahlia from the airport?”

  Percival smiled through tired eyes. “Yeah, son, I can manage that.”

  Lucius sat across from his son-in-law and tried not to bombard him with a thousand questions. There was so much he wanted to know about Dahlia and Isabel, but he sensed that this wasn’t the right moment for him to fish for information. This particular time and space belonged to him to do what he should have been doing all along. He didn’t know where to begin, and hoped to God that he could honor the truth without losing himself in the process. He looked around his office and allowed a lifetime of pain to work its way out of his soul. “I was in here the day it happened, the day I got the call. It was right before Christmas, and Dahlia was eleven then.”

  “What happened, Mr. Culpepper?” Michael asked softly.

  “Has Dahlia ever spoken about that day to you? Has she ever spoken about her mother, Reva?”

  “No, she doesn’t talk about this place or you or her family. She told me once that she was very young when her mother died. She also said that she had no memory of her at all.”

  Lucius closed his eyes. He wished he could erase Reva as easily, and Lord knows he’d tried, but she was everywhere. Sometimes he could even swear that he smelled her perfume curling around corners and lingering in the hallways. He longed to be rid of her, and he wished to God that he could stop hating her. Reva. The name alone tormented him. He strained to remember a time when he loved her. He must have loved her once—he was certain of it—but all he could remember was the day she died and took what was left of his life with her. Moments from that day often floated in front of him, sometimes like stills from a twisted dream, and he’d tried on numerous occasions to convince himself that they were someone else’s recollections. But they haunted him just like Reva, and now they flooded his senses whole and intact, sewn together for him to see all over again.

  “I remember I felt funny that morning, and I didn’t know why. Nothing was visibly different, but I knew something was wrong. I could feel it. I don’t know any other way to explain it to you. Dahlia’s mother was sick and had been sick for quite some time. She had the kind of sickness that people don’t like to talk about around here. Back then, there weren’t any fancy names for what she had like there are now. We all thought that she was just a little touched in the head, but I know now that Reva was mentally ill. There, I’ve finally said it out loud. I swear I didn’t realize that she was capable of hurting anyone—not like that, not my babies. My brother, Dante, had just come back from a trip, and I was happy he was home again. It was a busy day, and I was preoccupied with work. Six bodies needed to be laid to rest, and supplies had to be reordered. Aunt Baby was off somewhere, so I
told Dahlia that it was her responsibility to watch her mother and her brother and sister.”

  “Wait a minute,” Michael interrupted. “Are you telling me that Dahlia isn’t an only child?”

  “She wasn’t then, but she is now.” Lucius looked away as guilt enveloped him, creating a pain in his chest that was almost unbearable.

  “Are you all right?” Michael inquired.

  Lucius waved his hand and wiped the perspiration now trickling from his forehead. “What happened was my fault, and I blamed it on my eleven-year-old child. I should have been there. I should have been the one taking care of Reva, but I wasn’t. I was preparing to bury my own children; I just didn’t know it at the time.”

  Lucius remembered gripping the receiver in his right hand frozen in disbelief. “Mr. Culpepper, there’s been an accident,” the voice said on the other end of the line. And then Dante’s voice: “Lucius, Reva’s gone, and she took the children with her!” Everything happened so fast, and in the blink of an eye, his life as he knew it was over. One minute, he was a husband and the father of three, and the next, someone was telling him that everyone he loved was dead.

  Phoebe shifted uncomfortably in her first-class seat. Why the hell was she on an airplane anyway drinking cheap red wine? She couldn’t believe she’d agreed to such bullshit, and for what? She should have refused Aunt Baby and waited for Michael at home. He would have returned eventually to get the kid, but no, she had to chase his ass down in Dallas of all places, like a suspicious housewife on a rampage. How pathetic. She rolled her eyes in disgust; she detested Texas—fucking hillbillies, all of them—and she couldn’t stand the sight of any of those Culpepper bastards either. Michael better be there, or else she was going to show them what crazy really was, give them all something else to remember. She was through playing head games with people. It was time to move on with her life and finally be rid of excess emotional baggage, but then again, there was a battle brewing with an old friend, and she planned on being an active participant.

  It had been years since she’d been back on Haven Street, but that didn’t matter. She was sure nothing had changed for the better. People were still dying, the albino was probably digging his way to China by now, and Lucius was most likely shoving cotton up somebody’s ass. No one there had a clue about her or what she was willing to do to protect herself. Crazy didn’t scare her. She was born of madness, and felt quite at home in chaos. And now that she thought about it, there was one person she looked forward to seeing again, one person who thought she’d gotten away with murder. She smiled at Aunt Baby and pulled her seat back into the upright position for their descent into Dallas/Forth Worth International Airport. Phoebe reached in her purse and refreshed her lipstick. She had a man to claim and a long-overdue appointment with a bitch in a red dress.

  Dahlia awoke in a room covered from floor to ceiling with mirrors. As much as it troubled her, she was forced to look at herself from every angle. Soon her reflections morphed into different versions of Dahlias she’d once been. The experience was overwhelming, and she strove to remain conscious and focused. She tried closing her eyes periodically but realized that ignoring what was in front of her face was only a temporary solution. When she was finally able to gaze at the multiple reflections without fear, she stared into the eyes of a grown woman. Her head began to ache again, so she sat down and wondered how her mother had ended up in a place like this.

  “I didn’t feel too well,” her mother said, as she walked in out of nowhere.

  “I was just thinking about you.”

  “I know,” Reva answered. “Every time you think of me, I can feel it no matter where I am.”

  “I can’t feel you.”

  “If you really wanted to, you could. Remembering me hasn’t been a very pleasant experience for you, and I’m sorry for that, but I’m afraid it can’t be helped under the circumstances. I was sick, honey, and my sickness had nothing to do with you.”

  “I don’t feel well most of the time either. Maybe I belong here.”

  “No! Don’t ever let me hear you say that again,” Reva said sternly. “This is no place for you. You are stronger than I ever was, and you can go home whenever you choose. The power is yours.”

  “I’m scared.”

  Reva smiled and opened her arms. “You can do this, baby doll; you’re almost there. Hold on.” Dahlia laid her head on her mother’s lap, and for a moment, it felt like home.

  She was alone again, standing in front of another door. She heard a child crying on the other side, and she instinctively called out to her. The name that passed her lips was a name she’d screamed in a thousand nightmares. “Livia,” she said, and turned the knob once again, “I’m coming.” The scenery changed, and she found herself once more in unfamiliar territory. She stood outside a very large house that was surrounded by trees and flowers. She inhaled, and the scent of jasmine made her smile. She looked around and tried to remember where she was. Somehow she knew she’d been here before. She’d spent time here in her dreams, and had run from here in her nightmares. The child’s cry intensified, and Dahlia experienced feelings of sadness and severe agitation. Olivia needed her, but her feet refused to move. She was paralyzed from the waist down and listened helplessly while the child continued to wail for help that she was unable to give. The ground quivered beneath her, and she strained to break free. “Help!” Dahlia cried out to a figure now standing in the doorway waving. “Help me, please!” she pleaded. “I’m sinking.”

  “I know. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Please help me!” Dahlia pleaded.

  “No. Not anymore.”

  Dahlia concentrated on the sound of Olivia’s voice and tried again to move her legs, which were now starting to buckle underneath her. She jumped blindly, struggling with all her might, and took one laborious step at a time until she reached the entryway. “Move, Phoebe,” she said to the figure blocking her path. “Move the hell out of my way. I’m coming for you, and I’m going to get my life back.” She breathed deeply, suddenly sure of herself and unafraid, ready to do whatever was necessary to get through the door. Phoebe vanished, and Dahlia rushed into the house to find Olivia. She had to comfort her baby sister, feel her heartbeat one last time before it was too late.

  Percival Tweed took meticulous care in dressing. He was picking up Baby Marseli, and there was no time for mistakes. This had been the longest day of his life, and he knew it was just beginning for Michael. He adjusted his tie and looked at himself in the mirror—something he never did. He, too, had tried to forget that day, but like a few other days in his life, it hung around to keep him company. The worst of it was the pain that it had caused Baby Marseli, pain that he couldn’t take away from her, pain that he felt somewhat responsible for.

  He saw her the morning of the accident. She was on her way to help somebody on the other side of town, and he didn’t think it was a good idea, seeing as how the tornado was coming and all, plus he didn’t have a good feeling about her leaving in the first place. They exchanged pleasantries, and as always, he kept his opinions to himself. “Good morning, Percival,” she said. Lord, even then, she looked like an angel walking. He tipped his hat and asked her if she needed a ride. “Well, how many people are going in the ground today?” she inquired.

  “Well, I done dug six graves, but I had to dig three more—one regular, two small,” he answered.

  “Lord, I hope it’s nobody we know. No parent should ever have to bury their child,” she’d said, and Percival nodded in agreement. He never knew who was going to die on any given day. He just sensed how many graves to dig. He couldn’t rightly explain it. That was just the way he had always been, and God help him, it never occurred to him that he’d dug those three extra graves for Baby Marseli’s kin or that he should have told her to stay home. That day, after Reva did what she did to those poor children, he wished Baby had never seen those graves, and he wished they hadn’t spoken at all, because she was wracked with guilt for leaving, and he h
ated himself for letting her go.

  Percival drove in silence. He’d been talking all day and couldn’t think of one word to say to Prettybaby. He’d asked God for help sorting this mess out before he left home, and prayed until his knees were stiff for the Culpepper family. He hoped that everything would work out for the only real family he had ever known. He hoped that Dahlia would finally be able to forgive her father for what he did, but mostly he hoped that Prettybaby would take one look at him and know right away how much he loved her, and then, God willing, he wouldn’t have to say anything at all.

  The plane hit the tarmac, and Aunt Baby called on every ancestor she could recall. This had to work, and if it didn’t, she’d go ahead and lose her mind right along with Dahlia. There were moments when she thought she saw glimpses of her niece when she looked at Phoebe, moments when she wanted to reach over and pull her close, but Phoebe was still there eyeballing her, nagging the flight attendant for another vodka tonic. Baby wanted to strangle her and put her out of her misery. But she knew that Dahlia was fighting, and Baby willed her precious niece to hold on just a little while longer. They’d be home soon enough, and Baby was determined to get Dahlia back, pull her out with her bare hands if she had to. Baby rubbed her right arm, which had fallen asleep during the flight, and briefly thought about her own life. She should have traveled more and seen the world. She should have taken more time for herself, and most important, she should have loved the only man who smiled at her every day for no reason at all.

  Baby scanned the area for Dante and started to get nervous. What if he was late? What if Phoebe ran? And what if nothing she did brought Dahlia back to them? Ugly memories interrupted her present worries, and she tried her best to keep them at bay, but they were resurfacing one after the other, begging for her undivided attention. She shook her head “no,” but she still saw what was left of those babies laid out on Lucius’s steel table covered in blood. She began to second-guess herself. Maybe Lucius had been right all along. Some stories should never be told. Baby didn’t realize she was crying until she felt the moisture creeping down her face. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Percival Tweed was standing in front of her smiling as usual.