Phoenix (Reawakened #3)

Chapter 7

Phoenix

Sometimes, this photograph of Mom and Dad holds me captive for longer than I want it to. After the fire, it was a source of comfort, a portal to happy memories of Mom just existing with me. You might think a paid killer would be rolling in ill-begotten funds, but we were never what you’d consider rich, not even close. Javier’s father soon became the president of their outfit after this photo was taken. He began to pay Dad more than he got before, but Mom died not long after, and Dad never worked for him again. I don’t suppose anyone else would have let him go that easily, but Emilio and he went way back. Not only did he let him go, but he also gave him a big payout so he could buy the bar. And I could breathe again. Even as a kid, I knew what happened that night was no accident; I knew we were targeted. So, Dad going straight-ish, was the only thing that stopped me from going crazy with grief and worry. Damaged, but not completely broken.

But today, with not even one of those people in the here and now with me, this photo only serves to remind me of everything I’ve lost. Even Lou. I’m happy for her, I really am, but it still hurts not being able to see her every day. I guess I was fated to end up alone. Perhaps I’m the one that’s cursed.

Before Dad died, when he still had some strength, he began to write a journal, a story of his life that he could leave for me and Lou. He knew she was desperate for more than he could give her when it came to talking about her mother. I thought I’d hidden my need too, but he gave it to me a week before he could no longer hold his pen and told me to read it whenever I was ready. It took us about two hours after his funeral for me and Lou to open it up and devour the contents, to see how their love story began.

Diesel

The day I saved your mother…

Charlie huffed through his bulbous nose as we pulled up outside the secluded bungalow that was on our list of next ‘jobs’. The fat fucker was sweating already, and it was only eleven. Could have been worse though, I could have been put with Ren who acted like an angry bitch for ninety percent of the day. Only his wife got to see the ten percent when he was anywhere near a normal human being. Dude got so pissed at me last time, he called me a ‘fucking liability’ and proceeded to rain down his fists into my face for a good ten minutes. Being the ‘apprentice’ I had to take it, but it’s being stored for when I’m no longer considered a kid amongst men.

“Ah shit,” Charlie growls in a voice that tells anyone that listens to him, he’s smoked three packs a day for the last ten years and is about as healthy as a tumor. “Guess these two are for the off, you know what that means don’t you?”

Yeah, Charlie’s gonna put two addicts out of their misery for not paying up and no doubt double-crossing someone much higher up. It means a damn mess and a thorough search for any hint of a witness though looking at the place, I can’t imagine anyone’s gonna be missing the inhabitants.

I get out of the car and walk to the front doorway before Charlie’s even managed to turn around and put his feet on the ground.

“Dude, you need to lose some fucking weight,” I laugh at him while he huffs, curses, and then gives me the finger.

“Watch it, kid,” he growls, but with no real intent behind it, “I got plenty of bullets to pop at them, as well as a cheeky motherfucking puppy who needs to learn his manners.”

“Yeah right, fat boy, I could outrun you without even breaking a sweat!”

He grumbles as he shuffles up the gravel driveway, muttering threats he has no intention of following through with.

“Jesus Christ, and I thought my place was a dump!” Charlie looks around the front yard, which is littered with old furniture, dirty clothes, and about three weeks’ worth of garbage. The place looks like a fly-tippers paradise and one step away from releasing a global pandemic. Charlie adds to the flavor of the place by spitting his obnoxious phlegm out the side of his mouth where it hits the stone step with a slow ooze. I grimace, though he doesn’t notice, he’s already trying to break inside using a credit card that’s probably older than I am. He starts grunting at his failure to get the thing open as easily as he thought he would.

“Fuck’s sake!” He grits through his teeth before I put my hand over the handle and try turning the fucker. As luck would have it, the people inside are so brain-dead from an over-reliance on narcotics just to function through life, it opens. “You have got to be kidding me?!” Charlie huffs and then looks at me as if to warn me not to even think about saying anything. I choose my battles and just smirk arrogantly, causing him to roll his eyes before marching his big butt inside.

“Jeez!” I throw my hand over my nose and wave the rancid air in front of me while Charlie begins wrapping his scarf around the lower half of his face. The place is like a squatter’s hovel, only much worse. The kitchen standing to our left is full of dirty dishes and overflowing ashtrays. Fat runs down the walls and onto an oven hob that has clearly never been cleaned. In front of us, the living room is covered in dirty sheets and even more clothes than outside on the front lawn. There’s an overwhelming smell of stale urine and a faint whiff of human feces. Dirty cups and scattered plates line any surface available while the floor is covered with the remnants of drugs and used needles.

“Fucking pigs!” Charlie scoffs, picking up what looks like a walking stick to nudge away the detritus all over the floor. He clears a pathway for us to navigate through, being careful not to touch anything for fear of being infected by all the shit that’s lying around.

I follow him toward the bedrooms out back, walking past a vacant bathroom before we reach there. The distinct buzzing of flies gathering around the fog of something that smells like it died weeks ago can be heard over the otherwise silent house. We look at each other as soon as we notice a human leg poking out the side of what looks like a bed in a room at the far end of the hall.

Once inside that bedroom, we look before us to see a man and a woman, clearly both out of it given their facial expressions and the drug paraphernalia scattered around them. Both look like they’ve been dying of cancer for a good long while, given that they are nothing but grey skin and bone.

“Ese?!” Charlie calls out to the man, whose head lulls around from side to side over his wrinkled neck. It’s hard to tell but I would hazard a guess that he’s in his forties and was once a tall, most likely broad guy, and easy on the eye. Now he’s nothing but a skeleton with dark, sunken eyes, and premature bald patches.

“Ese!” Charlie shouts again, being about as patient as a small child.

The guy’s eyes flicker and he comes to with an expression that would show horror over seeing us, but he can’t really muster it given that he’s injected goodness knows what crap inside of himself. He tries to tap the woman who is currently flat out on the mattress, hair splayed out everywhere, and with a pillow hiding her face. She doesn’t move an inch, even when the guy begins smacking her arm.

“Lisa! Lisa!” He shouts with as much energy as a newborn runt. Still, she doesn’t move. Charlie nudges me and points to the woman, silently telling me to go and assess the situation. I walk over without looking at the guy, reaching for Lisa’s outstretched wrist. The smell of her recent vomit isn’t a good sign but given the fact she doesn’t have a pulse and isn’t breathing, I’d say it’s the least of her worries. I look back at Charlie and shake my head. He rolls his eyes before pulling his trusty handgun out and pointing it toward the guy who can’t even look upset about his partner’s demise.

“You owe my boss money,” he says rather loudly, probably wondering if the guy can make proper use of his senses anymore.

“I know, I know,” he slurs, “and I can get it to him, but not until tomorrow, I swear--”

“You also used his name with another dealer,” Charlie says, waving his gun around in the air, “you know that shit won’t stand with Luis!”

“No, no, that wasn’t me!” he pleads but still can’t move from his slumped position on the bed. At least I won’t have to chase this one down because Lord knows the fat fuck next to me won’t be doing any running today, or any other day for that matter. “It was Lisa, she was desperate. I told her not to--”

“Hey, you believe this bastardo?!” Charlie says to me, pointing at the sickly-looking dude still half-stoned from his recent high. “This asshole is trying to pin his shit on his dead girl!” I clasp my hands together in front of me and shrug with an incredulous look on my face, all part of the act of intimidation. “Dirty motherfucker!”

“Please, tell Luis, I’ll get his money, I’ll do anything!”

“No, too late, ese!”

Charlie takes aim and fires, straight between his hollow eyes, causing his head to shoot blood, bone, and brain matter all over the wall behind him. No matter how many times I see it, I always have the same sensation of bile moving up my throat. Charlie goes to spit again but I nudge him this time with a look that tells him not to be so fucking stupid.

“DNA, fat boy,” I mutter. He rolls his eyes before swallowing back the ball of phlegm already in his mouth.

“Check the place, I’m gonna gather up the leftovers,” he says, meaning he’s going to claim back any unused product to give back to Luis.

I gotta say, I don’t check the house as thoroughly as I’d like because it’s that fucking disgusting. It’s a crying shame really, it’s a real nice building with a large backyard and flowing fields beyond the perimeter. The type of home a guy named Karl and his wife and their three kids would live, complete with a dog named ‘Spot’ because they lack the imagination to look beyond the animal’s fur coat. Instead, a couple of junkies have left it to decay underneath their shit, literally, and got themselves killed from a habit they just couldn’t quit.

Two bedrooms, a dining room, another vomit-inducing bathroom, and the kitchen later, and I’ve found nothing to warrant any concern or excitement. However, when I walk inside the last bedroom, I’m taken aback. It’s clean, ordered, and smells a whole heap better than the rest of the house. There are no clothes on the floor, the bed is made, and the curtains are pulled back to reveal a large window overlooking the messy front yard. I walk over to the desk where piles of high school books and classics by Charles Dickens are ordered by subject. Fragrant candles line the windowsill, and an air freshener is plugged into the wall. So, Mr and Mrs addict had a kid, a high school kid, who was obviously a lot more put together than their parents. Shit!

A loud, unintentional intake of breath comes from the direction of a door on my left, followed by a quiet scuffle. Reaching for my own gun from the waistband of my ripped jeans, currently sporting a few oil stains from my old bike, I point it out before me, then quickly close the gap between me and the door. I place my hand over the metal knob and pull at it. Inside, rows of clothes hang in neat, color-coordinated lines. But when I look down to the floor, I discover a small, quivering body huddled on the top of her shoes. Her face is streaming with tears, her eyes puffy, and her skin is bright red from the fierceness of her crying. At first, she can’t even look at me, just continues to tremble in front of the motherfucker who’s broken into her house and killed her parents, no doubt believing she’s next.

There’s a distinct smell of hot urine and when I look under her, sure enough, she has wet herself through sheer terror. Fuck! I hear Charlie’s heavy footsteps, straining under his massive weight, bringing him closer toward the front of the house.

“Dee, you done?!” he shouts. “It’s fucking rank in here and I wanna get back to scrub my ass clean.”

I stare at the girl, about sixteen or seventeen from the looks of her, and glances back at me with quiet resolution over the situation. She readies herself by closing her eyes and nodding at me, convinced of her fate and prepared to die with what is left of her pride.

“Yeah, I’m done!” I call out, before closing the door on her. “Let’s get out of here fat boy.”

I meet Charlie back inside the car, which looks like it could collapse under his hefty weight at any moment. With his chain-smoking, love of greasy shit, and bottles of beer by the dozen, his heart must be fighting around a mound of fat, sweating over each and every thump, while cursing the asshole and his penchant for consuming ten times the daily recommended calorie intake.

“Find anything?” he grunts.

I could tell him about the girl in the closet and he would either, a) shoot her, or b) take her back with us where she would fall into a life of drugs, prostitution, and probably suicide. Or I could stay quiet and let her figure out what to do next for herself.

“Nah, but…shit, I forgot my phone when I was taking pictures to share with Luis!” The boss likes to see the particularly bad houses of his clients, he finds it fascinating, and this certainly is a bad one.

“Cabron!” he mutters and shakes his head as I get out of the car.

My phone is firmly sat inside my pocket, but for some reason, I can’t leave that quivering mess in the closet. I head straight back to her room and open the door again. She’s still crying in a puddle of her own piss, and her eyes staring vacantly out into the space before her. She tries to shuffle back into the wall behind her, like if she tries hard enough it will take her into the magical realms of Narnia. I wonder how many times she’s tried to do that in her miserable life.

“Hey, hey,” I whisper, crouching down toward her, but she throws up her hands to try and block me from coming any closer. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart…hey, stop it…” I grab hold of her flailing hands, trying to soothe her, but, understandably, she’s skittish and angry. “Hey, look!” I say more firmly and with an expression that tells her not to fuck with me. “What’s your name?”

She finally stops fighting me and finally looks into my eyes with her big, frightened, green ones. She then shakes her head and begins to emit small sobs again.

“Listen, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” I look over at Charlie as he lights up another cigarette. “You have a phone?”

She nods timidly so I get up to scrawl down my digits, which could be epically stupid given that her parents are currently lying dead in the room down the hall, but as she’s seen my face anyway, what does it really matter? I’m pretty much screwed if she decides to hand me in, though something tells me she won’t. Life has already dealt her some shitty cards, so what else does she have to lose? A year or two stuck in foster care? Being passed around like an unwanted rag doll, or worse? Believe me, I’ve been there, I know.

I hand her a scrap of paper and then stand to leave, her watching my each and every movement like I’m the new Messiah.

“Give me two hours and then call me,” I mutter from the doorway, “I’ll help you.”

“M-Mia,” she whispers, barely loud enough for me to hear, but I smile all the same.

“Trust me, Mia, I won’t hurt you. I’ll look after you. I mean I know someone who can look after you; she’ll keep you safe. Ok?”

Her wide eyes stare at me but other than that she makes no other movement to confirm she understands one way or the other. In the end, I turn away and leave. Who knows if I’ll hear from her, but at least I’ve tried.

______

It’s 2 am and nothing. No sleep, no dozing, no word from Mia in the cupboard. Just a whole load of staring up at the ceiling, waiting. What the hell am I waiting for though? For the poor girl who had to hear her parents being executed, to call the monster who was there to carry it out? For the girl who was so scared she literally pissed herself and remained shivering inside of the puddle of urine while she waited for the drug dealing scumbags to exit her house before she…what?

I finally get up to go and put the news on, like I have on the hour, every hour since Charlie and I got back from the dump of a house. I’ve seen quite a few murders now, but never done one myself, I am only an apprentice after all. I’ve developed a thick skin to it, totally desensitized to the extinguishing of life right in front of me. I once saw Luis slowly insert a serrated knife inside a guy’s chest and twist it until the life inside of his eyes was completely switched off. The smell of his blood, his death, had me puking up for three days straight. The painful pace of his killing perhaps made that one the most gruesome of all the executions I’ve had to witness. But it made me cold as stone to it all, so now I think nothing of the likes of Charlie killing for no other reason than the victim pissed off one of the higher-ranking members in some way.

However, this one is different. This time, the true victim was an innocent girl, curled up and crying in the tiny, dark space of her methodically tidy wardrobe. This one I can’t sweep under the carpet, save for a rainy day, probably when I will be breathing my last few breaths and remembering all the shit I’ve done in my life.

The Telly comes on in bright technicolor, hurting my retinas with vibrant reds, blues, and greens as the reporter comes into full view. She’s spouting off about the nearby rescue home for unwanted pets holding a fundraiser. Funny, they never held one of those for my home, a house for unwanted kids who have been passed around like hot potatoes that no one wants to hold onto for too long. I guess Fluffykins, the cat, is more endearing than a teenage thug with a whole list of issues, ranging from anger to abject misery because he has no idea who he is anymore.

After a few minutes of watching the dogs wag their tails at the reporter with teeth far too white to be anywhere near natural, the headlines are listed off. Not one word about the killing of a local couple in a pigsty for a house, or the teenage daughter who was left behind in her own piss. I frown over it; something would have been said by now. What if she’s still there? What if she never called it in? Fuck!

Without even thinking about the ramifications, I pull on my jeans and grab a jacket to go outside. I only have one helmet for my bike, but I’ll go without if she’s still there. Because if she is, I’m not leaving her behind this time. She’ll be coming with me whether she likes it or not.

As I enter the quiet road leading up to the house, or ‘the dump’ as Charlie nicknamed it when he regaled Luis of his recent job, my bike suddenly seems to be much noisier than usual. It’s an old bike, a classic if you ask me, but it’s not one I can ever see myself parting with. If I ever have kids one day, God forbid, it will be passed on to them. I have nothing else to give.

At first, I slow down and continue past the house, just to see if there are any lights on, or police tape, anything to say the murder has been reported and the inhabitants taken care of. However, when I go past, there’s nothing, only confirming my suspicion that the girl inside is still in there, traumatized by what happened this afternoon. I switch off the engine and proceed to walk it back up the road to the house, trying my best to remain as quiet as I can. If she’s still in that closet, she’s going to be beyond skittish, a frightened mess, so I need to tread carefully.

The outline of rubbish and old pieces of furniture are clear beneath the moonlit sky, but now silent. Even the flies have given up and gone to bed. All I can hear is the odd cricket rubbing its wings together, trying to keep cool amongst the vegetation surrounding the garden. When I reach the door, I think about knocking, but then decide it’s probably best just to go in, and not give her a chance to run. I prepare myself for the smell, reminding myself that Mia’s room, where I’m now headed, is a relief to the senses. I also try to steady my nerves over the fact that two dead bodies are lying over a bed not too far away. Dear God, I hope she hasn’t gone out to look at them.

I walk inside, trying to navigate the layout from memory because it’s pretty dark except for the moon sprinkling luminosity over the surfaces of garbage lying here and there. Once safely inside the safe haven of Mia’s room, I close the door on the smell, the detritus, and the heavy feeling of death, and take a deep breath in. It still smells of incense, even though I’m guessing they haven’t been lit for a long while. She must have them burning constantly when she’s here and not sitting in a traumatized huddle.

“Mia?” I whisper out into the darkness. I then mentally berate myself and switch the light on, before calling her name again, this time with more backbone behind it. “Mia? It’s me, it’s Diesel.” I shake my head at myself because my name probably induces fear more than comfort to this poor girl. A small bang from inside the closet has me bolting toward the door, my heart pounding and my breathing beyond rapid. “Mia, I’m not here to hurt you…it’s just me.”

Nothing.

“Mia, I’m going to open the door, sweetheart, I’m here to help!”

“Nooo!” I hear her cry and break into a quiet whimper. It’s heartbreaking to hear someone so innocent sound like that over you asking to come inside.

“Mia, sweetheart, you can’t stay in there,” I say softly, “please, don’t be scared of me. I wasn’t the one who shot your parents, that guy isn’t here and I’m not going to take you anywhere near him. Ok?”

“No, no, no!” She begins panting in a panic over my impending entrance to her hidey hole. But fuck it, I’m going to have to follow this through now. She can’t stay in there forever, drowning in her own urine and fear.

I mentally count to three before twisting the doorknob and yanking it open, like ripping off a band-aid. The smell of stale piss hits me first, right before she begins shuffling backward in desperate, panic-induced movements. I ignore her hands flapping around at me and grab hold of her wrist, which is so small my thumb and forefinger touch. I then gently pull her toward me, still with her fighting to get away. With no other idea of what to do, I wrap my arms around her and tuck her inside of my chest to hug it out while she thrashes around like a wild animal, extinguishing all of her energy until she’s a small, defeated huddle inside of me.

Her hands are still braced against my stomach as she loses the battle and instead flops against me and cries, letting it all out over my shirt while I shush her. I begin stroking her hair in gentle movements like you would a dog who is freaking out. Eventually, she falls still, even her crying has ceased, and I know she is completely spent. Exhaustion has finally hit her.

With that in mind, I carry her over to the bed and lie her on top, where she curls herself into the fetal position and closes her eyes, as though defeated. Her breathing soon turns deep and steady, sleep taking her under into a place where she might feel safe, away from all the horror that has happened to her today. I then set about trying to mop up the urine inside of the room, which takes a while seeing as the rest of the house is like a hoarder’s paradise. It takes me nearly half an hour to find some clean paper towels and a mop to clean the laminate flooring. I then look at her and brace myself for what I know I need to do, even though I feel like a fucking pervert for doing it.

I unbutton the fly to her jeans and begin to pull them down, exposing her tanned, smooth skin over her long legs. The denim is saturated and almost stone-cold. I try to pull them off as smoothly as I can, so as not to wake her, a difficult feat when they’re sticking so closely to her skin. As I study the skin on her legs more closely, I notice a red rash developing, probably through the acidity of her urine. It tells me I need to remove her panties too, though the thought makes me feel sick with myself. She’s going to imagine the worst when she wakes up, but what can I do? They’re soaked through and inflaming her skin.

I look away as I take hold of the sides to pull, but then decide the easiest thing is to just rip them apart and pull her shirt down as quickly as possible. It’s a struggle, but I think I manage to do it with her modesty left intact. I just know I’ll have some explaining to do when she finally wakes up.

With little else to do, I remove my jacket, tuck it under my head on the rug, and curl up to go to sleep. Lord knows what I’ll be waking up to, probably a cop’s gun being shoved against my temple, but I can no longer even try to keep my eyes open. I’m just too exhausted. Besides, now that I know Mia is somewhat safe, I’m happy to let unconsciousness consume me.

When the light is bright enough to force my eyes to open, I take a moment to reacquaint myself with the alien room before me. The ordered books along the desk, the neatly folded uniform sitting on the chair beside her bed, and the half-melted scented candles along the window sill. The only mess in this room is the piles of towels and urine-soaked clothes that I had removed from Mia the night before. In fact, it’s so neat and tidy, it’s hard to believe that just outside of her door, something akin to a landfill is stinking up the remainder of the house. The thought of which has me realizing that I need to get Mia out of here. Her dead parents will be starting to smell, even above the stench of their filth. When I brave it, I turn over to look at the sleeping girl and feel immense pity for her. She wasn’t like them; she was a victim of their lifestyle.

Eventually, when I feel I have enough energy to get through this, I sit up and stretch. I’ve slept on many floors before, but I can’t say I’ve ever gotten used to it. It makes you feel about a hundred years old no matter what age you are. I rub my hands over my face, then get to my feet to try and nudge the girl awake. However, when I take a closer look, I notice she’s trembling; is she pretending to be asleep?

“Mia?” I whisper and notice her whole body tense up in response. With a long sigh, I prepare myself for the ensuing battle I’m about to have with a terrified girl. With caution, I carefully sit beside her and rest my hand on her back, wincing when I feel her shuddering against me. “Mia, please—"

Before I can finish my reassurances, she begins thrashing against me, screaming and panting with complete fear in her voice. I hold her down, not only to stop her from running and giving away my name to the cops but also to save her from finding her parents bloodied and dead in the other room. It doesn’t take too long for her to lose her energy and submit to my hold over her, but her panting continues as she stares up at me with wide, moss-green eyes.

“Mia,” I whisper to her with the softest voice I can muster, one full of sorrow for her, “Mia, I’m sorry.”

As soon as I say those final words, her whole body seems to fold in on itself and she begins to howl with tears. It shocks me, her relenting in her fight to show me her vulnerability. Once I’m over the initial surprise, I wrap my arms around her and hold her tight. I hold her for as long as she needs me to; I owe her this and so much more.

When her cries eventually subside, and her breathing steadies, I take a chance to talk to her again.

“Mia, sweetheart, I need to get you out of here,” I tell her, “you can‘t stay in this place. You know what happened to your parents, don’t you? You know they’re not here anymore, don’t you?” She gives no answer, just keeps her body slumped against mine. “Mia, this is what we’re going to do, we’re going to pack a bag of your stuff, ok? Whatever you need, we’ll put in a bag, and I’ll drive you someplace safe, ok?”

She doesn’t communicate, not even a nod of her head, so I pull back to look at her. She gives me nothing, just those sad, moss-green eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to work out she’s in shock; I’m more likely to get an answer from the dead couple out back than I am from this girl. I slowly let go of her and get to my feet. She wraps her arms around her legs and watches as I begin to look around for a bag. I try to hold up items, asking her if she wants them, but she simply stares straight into space. In the end, I pull out some clothes, grab a few books, and a framed photo of her and a man, which is sitting on her bedside table. I then sling the bag over my shoulder and reach out for her hand.

“Come on, Mia,” I tell her, but she simply continues to stare at it with an indecipherable expression. “I will look after you, Mia, I promise.”

Still, she makes no attempt to move. I feel for her, I really do, but my patience is wearing thin. Besides, the idea of two corpses lying not ten feet from here is beginning to make me feel itchy with anxiety.

“MIA!” I eventually shout, causing her to jump and for me to feel like more of an asshole than usual. “Mia, take my hand, NOW!”

It might well have been a shitty act on my part, but it works. She lets me take her hand away from her knee and drag her to her feet. She looks even smaller than she did last night, but I have no time to worry about it; I need to get her and me out of here before someone comes by to discover the murder that took place in the room down the hallway.

When we step outside of her room, her trembling begins to intensify, and she clings to me for dear life. Something about this house terrifies her even more than I do, even knowing what I must have done to her parents not more than twenty-four hours ago. I hold her hand a little tighter, wrap my other arm around her waist, and begin to shuffle us out before the smell can fully infiltrate our noses. Avoiding the detritus around our feet, I manage to get us outside to where my bike stands, looking like a dream come true. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to get Mia and me far away from this shithole.

I lift Mia onto the back of my bike, put my helmet on her, and then get on the front. Just as I’m about to kick off and hit the rev, she grabs hold of my upper arm and pulls back.

“Y-you won’t ever bring me back here, will you?” she asks in no more than a whisper. “P-please, don’t ever bring me back to this place.”

“Ok, Mia,” I tell her, even though her pleas confuse me, “I promise. You have my word!”

_____

Phoenix

But that’s where it ended. I thought there’d be more, something to tell us about how we came to be, something that would remind me that I was more than just ‘Phoenix’. I was once Warren, a normal little boy with a mother, a father, and a baby sister. Because, other than snippets of dancing around in that house with Mom or watching them bickering like a couple who were truly in love, I can’t remember a damn thing about my life before I became the ‘Phoenix’, the hero, the monster…the myth.