Reborn (6 page)

ear of the unexpected startled me. I spun toward the door to see who or what the disturbance was. Melba, clutching her chest, turned also. But when I saw a young girl backing into the living room, dragging large bags with her, a new awareness sprouted inside me. Excitement and curiosity bloomed, replacing the fear. Her legs, long and tan, were bare almost to her hips, where short pants and a sleeveless T-shirt molded to her curvy upper half. Her purple shoes loaned her an extra four to five inches of height.

She turned with a start at the same time as Melba burst out, “Desiree! What on Earth are you doing here this time of night?”

Long, thick, persimmon curls cascaded over one shoulder and halfway down her back, ending at the arch. The redness enhanced the stunning grassy green of her eyes, and the soft rose of her cheeks against the warmth of her light brown skin.

A set of keys hit the floor in front of her, breaking the silence.

Melba’s hands flew to her hips and her gaze narrowed on the girl. “And why are you sneaking into my apartment?”

But the beauty she called Desiree stood motionless, casting a look of shock at Melba, as if she wasn’t expecting the woman. Then her doe-eyed gaze flicked to me.

“Child, you had better answer me!” Melba continued her interrogation.

The girl put on a white-toothed smile that held me entranced. So many emotions embraced me in that moment; my heart didn’t know how to beat. Then she turned her attention back to Melba, her hands still clutching her bags.

“Auntie Mel, I-I kinda need a place to crash for a couple nights.” She chewed on her bottom lip, moistening it, looking nervous—and desirable all at the same time.

Melba took a few steps toward her, half blocking my view of this beautiful creature she called Desiree.

“And what about school? It’s long past spring break, so don’t lay that one on me.”

Desiree, being taller than Melba, flashed a glance my way over the woman’s shoulder, and then she raised her thin eyebrows at Melba. She cocked her head, as if waiting for her own answers to unspoken questions.

“Oh, ah, this is… my cousin from South Carolina,” Melba said to the girl, surprising me.

“A white boy?” A playful grin stretched Desiree’s plump lips across her flawless face.

“Desi, that’s not nice.”

Melba tossed me an apologetic look over her shoulder, but I read more into her expression than apologies—like a sudden concern that hadn’t been there before the half-naked girl arrived. I understood then that Melba didn’t want this girl to be any part of the mystery surrounding me. So I played along and stepped to her rescue.

Taking a stride forward, I extended my left hand to the girl, my arm strong and my back straight. “I’m Solomon.”

Amusement sparkled in her eyes as she lifted her arm and placed her delicate hand in my rough palm. “You don’t say… cousin.”

Somehow, I knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to kiss the back of her hand, but for some reason, I thought better of it. Not with Melba glaring on in horror. Instead, I took a moment to savor the soft warmth of her skin on mine. In the few short seconds we connected, I noticed how my tanned hand was darker than the soft brown of hers, and how her fingernails were painted the color of lilacs—a distraction, as a memory of the flower’s scent swept through my mind.

When Melba cleared her throat, I snapped to my senses and opened my hand, allowing Desiree to retrieve hers. With our connection broken, we both turned toward a concerned Melba.

“Solomon, this is Desiree, my niece, who’s supposed to be at her apartment right now, not sneaking into my house in the middle of the night, dressed like… like a street girl.”

Desiree’s blush lips flew open into a gasp. I wondered what a street girl was.

“So,” Desiree said to Melba while looking at me, “if he’s your cousin, he must be mine, too, since you and Mom were sisters.”

“Yes. He’s our cousin… Connie’s son.”

“Oh? I’ve never heard you or Mom mention a cousin named Connie.”

I had the feeling she wasn’t buying into Melba’s lie.

“So, Solomon, how long will you be staying in Savannah?”

I looked at Melba for help.

Clearly, she didn’t know what to say, so I answered, “I have no set plans.”

“Really? A drifter.”

“What he means is, he is out of work and came to help me with the yard and the gardens.”

“Oh, how nice.”

As if Melba sensed the sudden awkwardness she said, “Solomon was just going to bed, so why don’t we give him some privacy and go upstairs. I’ll make you up a room, then you can tell me why you’re really here.”

When Desiree grabbed her bags and turned toward the door, something kicked inside me. I stepped toward her and took the handles from her. “Allow me to carry those for you.”

“Why thank you, Solomon… cousin.” She seemed to mock me, but in a sweet manner.

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss Desiree.” My voice suddenly grew deeper, more refined.

“So formal,” I heard her whisper to Melba as they walked ahead of me up the outside steps to Melba’s. She glanced over her shoulder, tossing me a flirtatious smile. “He’s so tall, and straight, and did you see those muscles?”

“Hush, child. He has ears as well as muscles.”

The way Desiree spoke of me instilled desires in me I didn’t remember feeling before. I grinned to myself at the compliment I wasn’t meant to hear.

Once I had Desiree’s bags deposited at the top of the stairs, Melba turned and said goodnight to me. I got the hint and climbed back down to my new apartment. Last I checked, Excalibur was inside the shed on my old bed. I wondered if he would miss me.

Weariness of the day settled upon me, so I went into the washroom to brush my teeth. Melba said brushing morning and night was a good habit to get into, especially since I had a good set of chompers, according to her. And I liked the coolness that lingered in my mouth from the toothpaste.

Comfort embraced my healing body as I lay naked on top of the covers on my new bed. Above me, the ceiling fan whirled, invisibly pulling in cooler air and blowing it across my skin, making the balmy night tolerable.

Almost immediately, Desiree’s image soared into my brain, replacing the fan, fuelling a new blaze in the pit of my stomach. Her lush green eyes, framed in swooping black lashes, stared down at me. She blinked in slow motion, unveiling pink, shimmery lids, a smile stretching slowly across her face. She reached out a slender hand to me, and as the tips of my fingers grazed hers, a white hand curled around her throat. Fear crawled over my skin, dousing the flame. I grabbed for her, but the large hand hauled her away from my grasp, and out of my sight.

My image replaced hers, or someone who looked a lot like me. There were differences. I stood in front of an ornately framed hall mirror, proud, my hard chest puffed out under a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a feeling of immense power coursing through me. Strength swelled veins, running the length of muscles in my arms. A thick moustache curled down the corners of my sinister grin. Dark blue eyes, identical to mine, exuding diabolic hatred, stared back at me.

The scene changed. Like a spirit, I floated upward, into the high ceiling, hovering like a cloud over the likeness of me. From above, I watched with unease as the massive, more powerful me picked up a bullwhip from a mahogany hall table and burst past a screened door.

My spirit followed outside, hovering in the air, invisible.

In front of a familiar, grand plantation house, an assembly of dark-skinned people gathered. They wore scraps for clothing, and most walked with bare feet. Agony and despair lined their faces, clawing at the heart of my spirit. Another smaller group of people burst through the assemblage. One tall white man, dressed in middle-class wear, dragged a slave boy across the lawn, throwing him at my likeness’ feet. I wanted no part of the scene I knew was about to unfold, but I had no control. So, I watched in horror as the flesh and blood me cracked the whip in the air. The slaves staggered backward.

The tall man held his head high and spoke. “Sir, the boy hid in the shade while the others picked cotton.”

A small, older woman stepped out of the crowd. “Please, he’s been sick with the fever. He came to the fields. He helped all he could.” She bowed, hiding her tear-streaked face.

I willed myself to move, to grab the boy and escape with him, to end this nightmare, but I had no body, no eyes to close. So in my spirit form, I watched in terror as Solomon, the plantation owner, the slave owner, erupted into a fury of rage. He threw the whip to the ground and grabbed the trembling boy by the throat, lifting him to his eye level. A wail tore through the grouping of slaves. The evil Solomon squeezed the boy’s neck until his bulging eyes turned lifeless, and his kicking ceased.

Veins bulged over muscle down the murderer’s neck as rage tore through his lips. He raised his other fist in the air. The slaves scattered and fled.

But for me, the nightmare had just begun.

The man, still holding the boy’s lifeless body, twisted his neck and looked up.

Fear clutched at my very soul, as the evil, blue-eyed master of this plantation held me prisoner with his glare. A deep, wicked laugh erupted from his throat.

“Don’t stress over the boy, Solomon.” He tossed the body to the ground. “Instilling the fear of their master—of
you
—in the wretches is the only way to ensure productivity.”

“But…” I tried to speak, but my non-existent mouth was dry. Bile welled in my throat. I went through the motions of swallowing, feeling my tongue moisten with the sour liquid.

“I’m not you.” My voice was just a whisper. “I’m not you,” I said, louder this time.

But somehow, in my wrenching gut, I knew this vile creature was indeed me, or had once been me. And in that sickening moment, I knew a lot more than I had known before. Yet, I knew nothing.

Another wicked laugh erupted from the evil image of myself.

“You understand now, don’t you, Solomon?” he said. “You feel the power coursing through our veins, and you crave more, thrive on it.”

“
No
!” My voice came out loud and strong this time. “
I am not you
!”

The nightmarish scene faded, the evil laugh lingering, then fading with it. A bang sounded inside my head, and I woke.

Except for the low whoosh of the ceiling fan, silence reigned. With widened eyes and a rapid rise and fall to my chest, I stared at the light in the center of the fan, too afraid to move, trying to calm my accelerated heartbeat. With hands powerless against the evil me, I gripped the bed coverings on either side of me. That monstrous beast of a man couldn’t have been me. But I had felt the power, and also the despair of the people.

Moisture pooled at the corners of my eyes for the murdered boy. My heart ached for him… for his people.

“It was a dream,” I whispered to myself. “Just a dream.”

I unclenched a trembling hand and ran my fingers through hair soaked with sweat, hair shorter than the evil Solomon’s in the dream, but those eyes—they were undeniably mine. My mind wandered to the plantation, to the yard. Six Corinthian columns supported the vast portico. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped the mansion, and the emerald green lawn, split in front by the long oak-lined drive—these were all achingly familiar to me. Not like a dream, but real. I’d been there long ago—I was sure of it.