#Haiku: Negative Energy
Anger
Escalates;
Mutates;
Rage hijacks;
Synchs
Aggression.
Try
Breath work
Category: #History
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Haiku by Alysse Aallyn
Haiku: Relief
Generous souls
Confront fear’s energy
Calmly.
World‘s pain
Blocked,
Transformed.
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Haiku by Alysse Aallyn
#Haiku: Initiative vs Guilt
Shouldn’t but
Couldn’t
Stop; Must
Consume my way out;
Mired –
Stuck;
Stupe-fried
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Haiku by Alysse Aallyn
#Haiku: Old vs New
Antique gods
Mandated murder;
New goddess favors
Propagation.
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Haiku by Alysse Aallyn
#Haiku: Karma
Come round –
Go round.
Love reaps love
Law reaps
Justice
Violence reaps
Whirlwind.
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The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
I had to ask
The ultimate question.
“Did he kill the real Franny?”
Were we a survivor chain of
The lot, the disconnected, the
Threatened?
Her eyes slid back and forth
As she repeated her question;
“Did anyone follow you?”
I wasn’t aware of anyone
But in our day and age
Of advanced surveillance
Was it possible to reassure?
“No. No hiding stalkers
On your tiny island.”
It worked.
For the first time she relaxed
And smiled. But still she
Whispered as if we could be
Overheard.
“I’m sorry for putting you
In that position but I knew
You wouldn’t let him hurt you.
You were always different
Born yourself –
I’m not myself yet but
I’m trying to be.”
She began to swing us
Her thin legs in white gauze reached out
Pumping us higher.
“You didn’t answer my question”
I insisted, “The real Franny
Is dead. Who killed her?”
“Verne killed them,” she confided.
As our swing vaulted heavenwards.
“My friends were
“Hiding me from Verne but
“I still had to work. He stalked me – he
Broke in – stabbed Franny and Jane.”
“But missed you?” I prompted. ”Because
You were in the broom closet?”
“No,” she said, “He found me
Covered me with their blood – said
I was the cause of
Everything, I was the one who
Made it happen.
He threatened to kill me too
But slowly. I knew he planned
To torture me to death.
I could never get away.”
“Why not tell the police?”
Her eyes were so big, pale blue shading
Into gray – same color as the ocean.
“They’d lock me up –
He knows too much about me.
I tried everything I could think
To get away but nothing worked
Till this.” She held my hand
Me – feeling like the
Older sister.
“Remember the fable I used to
Read to you – the dog that dropped the bone
Because he saw a second one?
That’s my gambit –
I felt sure that you would recognize.”
She held my wrists enlaced in
Skinny fingers.
“Verne was always telling me
I was ruined, that I’d spoiled myself
And destroyed our future.
I convinced him you were me
Unscarred – the way I was
Before he met me –
Better than I ever was – me without
The things he hated.”
I recoiled, disgusted, trying not
To show it. That bastard! Hating
Her feeble resistance.
She smiled the old one-sided smile.
“I was right too. You were too smart
To fall for him.
“You were born so confident!
So good in school! Your brain
Seemed always working right –
Reading my schoolbooks
Helping ME to do my homework!”
It was funny, listening
To this different recollection
Of our years together, so distinct
From my modest memories.
At the very moment I was
Iconizing her, she was
Idealizing me.
The swing slowed. My sister
Looked away – that far off glance
That was the skill she’d mastered –
Disassociation –
Floating above the rest of us –
In her inner world of safety.
I heard my voice –
“But I’m so plain.”
“You’re wrong about that, –
More beautiful than I ever was –
I think I’ve learned what real beauty is –
It’s wildness – untamed – and
Those who want to capture it
Are killing their desire.”
My sister, the guru
Clutched at me again – fearful
She could lose me as I’d lost
Her. She knew the world
Was full of melting women
Simulacra who seem
To be but aren’t –
Shadow people enlisted
Replacing those who
Never came to be.
I recoiled in horror at
The degradation
So closely missed.
“And then you found me,”
She breathed, scaring me
With confidence in my miracles.
“This island’s pictures
Were the only ones I ever sent
To you; I thought
That you’d remember.”
“I almost didn’t!
Answer one for me. Did you steal
Diamonds from Kruptupian?”
“His broker was cheating him.
When I gave him the evidence,
He sold my ring
Giving me the cash to get away
Without informing.
I’ve been taking yoga teacher training.
I’m going to give Franny Vallea the
Flourishing life she
Din’t have, without
Family, without chances.
All she ever wanted was enough money
To be safe, to have peace, quiet
And a lock on the door.”
“Mirabel, you must let me
Tell Mom and Dad. They don’t
Deserve this silence.”
She turned mulish. Resistant.
More stubborn than I’d ever be.
“Mirabel is dead. It’s better for everyone.”
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Chapter 18 – Dream Island
Isla Ensueno is a resort –
Luckily Derek’s air miles included the
Pink stucco hotel.
“No one by that name,” the desk clerk told me so
Patiently. What kind of avatar name would
Mirabel choose? He wouldn’t stand for
Guessing so I tried describing her –
But the clerk shook his head.
Well, I couldn’t leave until tomorrow
Might as well check in and prowl.
It’s a very small island.
My thoughts were uncomfortable –
That oh-so familiar feeling –
Dinned into me by every adult I’ve ever met
That I’m probably doing
Everything wrong.
My “great idea” seemed feeble now
Typical teen impulsiveness.
This wasn’t far enough away – Florida!
How could Mirabel feel safe here?
Smart money said she’d flee
Ocean-wards – the Maldives or Malta or
Some such place – with a whole new
Passport and some new man in tow
Whose identity she could hide behind.
That’s if she wanted to create
A new persona. But what if –
This is what I gambled on –
She wanted instead to uncover
The old persona – the person
Who had always been there?
It was the only explanation
For involving me –
Other than simply feeding me
To her monster.
I had one single chance –
And possibly I’d blown it.
Dream Island was authentically gorgeous –
Mirabel hadn’t lied
But in the eight years since
Her photo shoot hadn’t its splendor
Diminished, wasn’t it becoming
Just the tiniest bit shabby?
Some people – myself for example
Like things whose edge has been
Taken off. As I circumnavigated
The island’s walking trail
A certain peace overtook me
That could have been
Maturity.
Was this what it felt like
Having nothing left to prove?
If you can enjoy the moment –
Filling yourself with it and
It with yourself –
Then you’ve arrived.
Questions bubbled.
What do you do
When your game has gone horribly wrong?
You start over.
Even if my guess was off
There was still that intriguing
Probability: what if Mirabel evolved
Until her only desire was having a self
Worthy of presentation to the magnificent
Universe this island represented?
Even at fourteen I understood nostalgia –
Viewing the confident know-it-all
My eleven-year-old incarnation
With the purest envy.
What if Mirabel re-set the game –
Made different choices
Stopped pleasing others by
Contorting her body into
Simulacra and challenged the world
To accept her real being?
The younger self I knew – hopeful –
Gorgeous – naïve, impatient –
Wasn’t in the Maldives!
As I walked I systematically
Searched every nook;
Old trees shading the privacy of
Lovers: I broke into – peering under
Awnings, stared right through
Sunglasses: but Mirabel
Wasn’t there.
The trail wound around a sand beach cove
And right up to the lighthouse;
I was unprepared; requiring
Binoculars, sunscreen and a
Really big hat;
Sea breezes made me shiver
In just cami and jeans –
Something put me
In the mood to climb the lighthouse.
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The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Chapter 16 – The Escort Murders
“I remember those murders now” says Derek
As the taxi struggled against downtown traffic.
“The Escort Murders! It was talk of the news for months
Year before last. “
I’d never heard of it.
Escorts! Was Mirabel an “escort” or
Only a “friend?” “Escort” did have a
“Porn scout” feel. Did I really want to know
About Mirabel’s life if
This is what I found?
Disquiet shading to
Repugnance. “I remember
Nothing about any survivor,”
Derek went on, completely
Oblivious to my mood.
He wasn’t perfect. Or maybe he was –
Too “perfect” ever to worry about
Mirabel selling herself. I pushed:
“”But they arrested someone?
Someone confessed?”
“Yes. Some sixteen year old kid
From that same building
Said he crawled in the window like
Spiderman. They gave him a plea deal and
They never went to trial because
Experts say that it’s impossible. He must
Be bragging.”
“Who’d confess to a crime
They didn’t commit?” I asked
But hollowly, because I already knew
The answer. Haven’t you ever
Heard word come out of your mouth
That amaze you – words
You deliberately feed the thirsty person
Standing at your side?
We toted the boxes
Up to his chicly forlorn eyrie,
But he couldn’t let it go.
On his laptop he summoned
Sheaves of bloody newsprint.
I reeled – nonconversant, I admit, with
CAPITALIZED TABLOID MURDER.
I avoid true crime, finding that
Getting through high school is grisly enough.
“Crime’s an acquired taste,” admitted Derek.
“I advise you not to acquire it.
You can’t unsee some things.”
Truly helpful and caring or
Stuffy and condescending?
I regarded him with freshened
Disapproval.
“Didn’t I invite you on this case?” I chastised.
“This is my sister’s case.”
He was suitably repentant.
“Mysteries without murder are a parlor game,”
He defended, “But when they bring out the knives
Everyone’s at risk.”
Too true. I shivered. Couldn’t feel safe
Until both me and the boxes
Were quadruple-locked behind Derek’s guarded,
Security-cammed, barricaded front door.
I made him show me that the only other entry
Into the apartment (in the kitchen) was
Barred & sealed.
I studied the news reports. They didn’t mention
Mirabel or her broom closet.
Could it be an urban myth?
“Do you think Mirabel was really there?”
I whispered as if we weren’t
Alone. “But what could she hear
Locked in the broom closet?”
“Screams?” suggested Derek.
“Maybe a name? If they
Knew who attacked them?”
I posed the ultimate puzzle.
“But why take a year and a half to run away?”
“If the killer didn’t know she knew –“
That sent a stab right through me.
I didn’t want to play this game
It struck too close to home. It was
The first good reason I’d heard since my arrival
For Mirabel dropping out without a word.
“The alternative theory –“
Then he stopped. Too late.
From his expression
I knew what he was thinking.
“They got her,” I said as cold as
I could muster. “Ugh. I hope not.”
“So now we have another mystery to solve,”
Said Derek. “This one
With knives. Find the killer – and maybe
Find Mirabel. Or give her reason
To come home.”
Both of us turned to stare
At the dusty boxes just brought in.
I tried not to elevate my hopes.
Derek was thinking the same thought.
“What can be valuable if she abandoned them?”
But I had the answer.
“She couldn’t return – if
The place was crawling with police.”
Derek was comfortable
Playing devil’s advocate.
“What if the real Mirabel WAS killed that night?
And the person you met was an impostor?”
“Verne would have to be in on it,” I spoke
Before I thought;
Antithesis was obvious.
“He could have done it. That gives him motive
For proving Mirabel’s alive.”
We both needed cups and cups
Of good hot sugared tea –
Orange, cardamom
And cinnamon.
“If we’re listing suspects,” Derek braved.
“Maybe we need a murder board.”
A murder board?
Didn’t he move too fast for me?
I struggled with my memory of Mirabel’s eyes –
Pleading underneath her teasing.
“I think that was really Mirabel.”
“Oh well, there’s always confirmation bias.”
Derek sipped. “People hating to admit they’re wrong.”
Obnoxious know-it-all!
I felt the pressure to one-up him.
“We’re forgetting something,” I suggested.
“Mirabel could have done the murders herself.”
I’d shocked him. I was appalled
By my hypothesis but proud of its result.
He was silenced.
“Still, kill her own roommates?” I queried.
“What could be her motive?”
“These are roommates we’re talking about!”
Derek knew about roommates; he’d been
To boarding school.
“They made her stay in the broom closet!
Who needs a reason?”
Derek plays to win.
“They were helping her by hiding her, so
Occam’s razor says
Whatever she was hiding from
Came and got her.”
I tried envisioning Kruptupian and
His minions. Derek sighed.
“What if it was your sister,” I started
To demand, then recalled how
Annoying Sierra could be.
He followed my thought and burst out laughing.
Proved his devotion to the game. “It’s hard
Physical labor knifing someone.”
“TWO PEOPLE,” I corrected.
Perhaps that meant two killers.
We spread the boxes out on newspaper.
My hopes WERE high.
Whoever it was I’d seen last Friday
Already a life-time ago – now
The real Mirabel was ready to
Jump out at me.
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The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Was Mirabel just about breaking rules? Or
Breaking herself against them?
“Different people have different sets of rules,”
I suggested. “She was looking for a different world.”
“Still looking,” suggested Derek.
“Probably for a world where
You don’t have to lie all the time.
“She lied to your parents and -”
“She lied to me and she lied to Verne.
She said bridegrooms
Get in the way.”
“Wow. And you were with her
So briefly!”
“Maybe we’re all impostors,” I suggested,
“Until we find out who we really are.”
“Trying to get “it” right without knowing what “it” is.”
I could really talk to this guy!
What a relief.
He googled. “Impostor syndrome.”
We played dueling phones.
“No,” I corrected. “I substitute
Capgras delusion.
Thinking everyone’s a fraud.”
“Neva vu, I call it. When the familiar suddenly
Seems so unfamiliar.
What’s that phrase?
Fake it till you make it?
Doesn’t that make everyone a fraud?”
“Adults think kids are easy to fool.”
“Some teens believe anybody,”
Derek agreed. “Look at the stuff they post!
Not me. I’m always ready
For the universe to turn
Upside down and inside out.”
I considered it.
Maybe I was too. “It makes life more
Interesting. Trying to see through
Reality to the reality beneath.”
“They’re lucky you’re not a snarky Goth.”
Relaxing guy!
“Who says I’m not a snarky Goth?”
Now we both laughed.
I gave him the Brooklyn address –
No luck there – far away from traffic cams.
Spa camera was on the fritz.
“We need people who knew her when,”
Derek suggested. Providing an
Interesting hour
Of online search.
Mirabel’s most recent address
Was an apartment
Building on the Upper East Side.
We looked at each other.
“Well, it’s something,” I said.
And Derek said,
“Wanna go see?”
Chapter 15 – Stage Set
“Are you here about the rental?”
One eye peered out at us across a solid-looking
Door-chain. My voice was raw from unsuccessfully
interviewing all the other tenants about Mirabel
So Derek swept into the breach.
“Didn’t Mirabel Marshott live here?”
The eye rolled, then closed.
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m her sister,” I said, but
Helplessly.
Just another bust I assumed – yet possibly
My breaking voice produced
Some good; next sound a gasp followed by
Unlocking. “You’re the answer to a prayer,”
She said. Crazy! “Come in. Hurry.”
Reached out an arm to yank us inside.
We were in a tiny 20th floor apartment
on the Upper East Side –
I’m telling you, SMALL – entirely empty. There was
A highly-polished floor and a fantastic view
Of other people’s balconies and terraces.
“Her stuff’s in the storage bin,” said the girl.
“We have to make this fast.”
She was a tiny Filipina with literally POUNDS of
Makeup. Any age between twenty and eighty.
Artily dressed – expensively – I surmised –
In flowing hand-painted chiffon. Checked her Rolex;
Opened her Day Planner, plucked out a sticky note,
wrote BACK IN 5 MINS and slapped it on the door.
She pulled us outside and carefully locked
All three locks. “We don’t want them
Finding out about Mirabel,”
She hissed as she frog-marched us to elevators.
“She’s a deal killer.”
Derek and I were both too stunned to speak.
Me of the short game, found my words first.
“Who’s them?” I asked.
“Oh, you know,” she whispered, punching the button
“Anybody who knows the case.
People fear the killers could
Come back. If you’re savvy enough
To afford this apartment you know
The guy who confessed couldn’t
Have done it. So the killers are still out there.”
Derek was the first to address
This fray.
He was more familiar
With the wayward ways
Of Manhattan tenantry.
“Mirabel stayed here unofficially?”
“Right,” said our hostess, seemingly irritated
By the elevator’s slowness.
“She was in the broom closet. It has no windows!
Six kinds of illegal.
I mean, she wasn’t actually here that often.
Probably used it as a mail drop – or
Stayed with boyfriends while avoiding
Other boyfriends. You know how that goes.”
We didn’t. She looked me up and down
Realizing far too late –
She was giving too much away.
“I heard your dad was terribly strict.”
She pursed her lips.
I wanted to defend my poor dad –
After all, if you have a lot of boyfriends and
Play them off against each other
Won’t you find – eventually –
One who’s “terribly strict”?
But I cared too much what Derek thought.
I muted. Elevator arrived. We rushed inside.
“She was there that night?” prompted Derek.
“When the – killing – happened?”
“MAYBE,” breathed our Latinx, so excited to be a
Bad news bear she vibrated physically.
“Stabbed to death in their beds. – Franny and Jane.
Mirabel just took off – I mean who wouldn’t? So the cops
Maybe even the murderers – never knew she was there.
Now we have to sell the place –
I’m Dominica – Jane’s sister.”
Uncomfortably long elevator ride
To the basement. Finally she said,
“You know, you look like her. Here we are.”
A bump along the basement floor.
“Mirabel kept her stuff in bins.
Here, you’ll need one of these.”
She slid a trolley at us.
I gathered courage.
“Did you know Lord Verne?”“We all heard plenty
About the titled ex-.
Violent and threatening. But
I thought he was in Europe?”
“5106, 5107 – here we are.”
She unlocked a storage unit. Three boxes piled
In the center of the floor. Marked MM.
Our helper watched us load them.
“Thank God you’re getting these out of here –
We didn’t know how to contact her.
I’ve got to get back. Interest
Has been heavy.”
“How do you explain the murders?”
“When you need real estate
You’re not scared of death. Just
Don’t say how – they don’t want
To know.” She nodded fiercely
“Unbelievable I know – but that’s New York.
Your door’s is that way.”
We both stared at her departing back,
And clattering heels.
“Wow,” said Derek, “Plenty to chew on.”
-
The Missing Bride – a mystery by Alysse Aallyn
Chapter 8 – The Psychic Link
Power is some heady thing.
Maybe it meant I could get some
Questions answered.
“You really think she stole his jewels?”
He pulled away.
“Loose diamonds were his wedding gift.”
Well, THAT seemed weird.
I envisaged the rock weighing down
Mirabel’s finger.
Had it come from Ravi?
If he threatened prosecution
Would that be enough
To make her disappear?
“At least he gave us one name.” I offered.
“Jacobson’s.” Verne’s face set
Mulishly.
“A toady!”
Seemed to me Verne enjoys me pushing
As much as he treasures
His resistance. So I pressed on.
No more of this false modesty.
“How long’d she work for him?”
Sore subject! He thrashed in his seat
Like a captured cat.
“Years. I took her to England
To make her break things off
Only to discover
He was still hounding her with
Requests.” Requests?
“What requests?”
Fingers drummed. “Scouting.”
“Scouting for what?”
“Well, he’s a porn producer.”
Verne touched my knee to
See into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Was this the secret Mirabel
Did not want me to know?
Was this why she disappeared?
“Was there…anything between them?”
“Definitely at first. I wooed her away.”
He considered. “He disappointed her somehow.”
Not hard for married men to do!
Verne looked at his hands.
“In Europe
He asked her to launder money
Buying diamonds. I think it was a trap.”
I caught on quick.
“He set up the theft?”
In Ravi’s mind was he the only
Rightful owner and
Everyone else a thief?
Verne explained:
“He wanted people around him
Who couldn’t get away.”
Why did that sound like such
A perfect description of Verne?
Here’s Mirabel surrounded by
Men wanting to shackle her;
Possess her utterly. It’s a
Horror tale. I shuddered.
It made ME long to disappear.
But; it also made it a lot less likely
She escaped to be with him.
“Where’s Mrs. Ravi?”
“He SAYS his wife lives in Paris. But
No one’s ever seen her.”
Could we have two, not just one
Missing brides? Was marriage itself
A disappearance?
As we conversed
Another limo pulled up, a
Beaver-coated man rushed from
The building – Ravi! And off they went.
I made my decision.
“Follow that car!”
Back to Brooklyn.
Obviously that address meant something
After all. “Stop here,” I ordered
At the final turn. Now that we knew
His destination why risk
Confrontation?
“But he lied to us!” Swore Verne.
“Just watch,” I argued,
“He’s one step behind.”
Ravi vaulted from the car
Phone clutched to ear and paced,
Shaking his fist at the darkened sky.
“Look. He’s blowing up her phone.
And see? She’s not answering,”
I pointed out. “She’s long gone. Maybe
She kept a vehicle here.”
“She didn’t have a license,” quibbled
Verne. But he seemed oddly cheered.
Slowly, I was becoming his
Authority. Already I felt I knew Mirabel
Better than he ever could.
So, I didn’t bother telling him
How easily fake licenses are to get –
Girls must keep some secrets.
Verne’s new role was
To unplug his thoughts
And wave them about
Like a series of semaphores.
“Maybe it was my mistake to insist
We be married in New York. But
I wanted to meet her family.”
I could HEAR this tale
Evolving. Hadn’t he said that was
Mirabel’s idea? Were the two of them
Ever separate in his mind?
I flirted with the notion of men as
Paramecia, seeking islands
To engulf & absorb.
“Let’s sleep on it,”
I suggested. “Give her a chance
To contact us.” It would take 2 Benedryl
To sleep with all this buzz. I wished
He’d take his hand off my knee
But I recognized this as a
Compromise, when I could tell
By his eyes that what he really wanted
Was to launch himself into my lap.
But why say that
Just when we were getting along
So splendidly?
She wasn’t “home” at the unhomeless
Home. She’d get as far as possible
From any address associated
With these two men.
But what was MY future?
That was the deepest mystery here.
Now Verne was trying to hold
My hand, laying his head
Awkwardly along my shoulder.
“You’re such a comfort.
Did you share sister secrets?”
I could feel his inner engine
Throbbing, luring
Me to be fake with him.
I know my parents do it – beg that
Opiate of reassurance.
I can’t do it with them
And I couldn’t with him.
“Buck up –“
I braced him, “We’ll
Find out more tomorrow.”
He unloosed my hand and
Glared at me distastefully.
“I blame this androgyny,”
He grumbled. “Girls have lost the art
Of coquetry.”
Good riddance, I thought.
Alysse Aallyn 