Pale Guiteau slants his disappointed child’s face downwards; the better to study bloodstains left by assassins more accomplished than himself who required benefit of anonymous surgeons specially qualified for skewering the muscles of the mighty.
The guard who saw him claimed also to hear demon cats and could not be relied upon. these portents once were matters of congressional dispute; now no matter; caught within the marbled lurch of history, victims
of the uninspired mad; those who pursue the corpse from whom the ghost escaped. He haunts our history like the villainous barber who sings as he slits both throats and wombs, a pure tune some say, picked clean of tragedy which only the dying hear.
Seafronts.
Coastal Rd, Morecambe, Lancashire.
Venus and Cupid sculpture by Shane Johnstone (2005).
Seated mother swinging child with Morecambe Bay and Cumbrian hills beyond.
THE WITNESS
You say you love me for myself but I killed that bitch out of jealousy Now as sole survivor I’m the only clue. She was the confidential client I left to clean up after.
In the furnace of morning I lie Between darkness and wolfcall Charges taunting me like unborn children: Ask him to marry you, mommy! Ask him! Ask him!
God said, “Bring for the creeping things” It is you who are a creeping thing thinks Lord Julian Of his pasty priest, with the Underdone face.
Were he a fish I’d throw him back. Good thing his knees are flexible as his Scripture. The priest speaks Of dominion, something
His lordship understands. It means Possession without surrendering the Self. Power begs abuse. He’s the master, he alone
Understands that here. Necessity’s The chain that stops the dumb animal Straying. Lifting eyes to the Steepled trees he feels the boredom of fall
Fade into the dullness of winter. The animals would be fat Were any left – ripe for scissoring but He ripped too many out.
Life’s start and stop – a blood bath brings Renewal. These men could stand a wallowing. They await his pleasure with Lowered eyes.
His pleasure is not them. He needs Men glamorous as girls, hopes As high as fever but none Are to be found.
Like the animals, they are gone. Julian’s scarred hands twitch the reins – Each scar is named, he counts them proudly: Attempted usurpation
The burning brand, the bear that fought The dog that turned on him The boar defending young. Past pain surmounted
Makes him long for wounds – A cut so deep he looks into The creature’s eyes for Some sweet glimpse of freedom.
Lord Julian, the scorpion-hearted Scents a smell the dogs can’t follow – The jingling behind him should be men The silky shadow should be deer.
His horse afraid – the creature moves Too smooth – when he dismounts Avenger plummets off – now He’s alone in moss and slime.
This thing is stalking him! He sees it through the trees Smells hot stink – a tiger! What ghost is this?
The prickled hairs stood high – he threw His knife – a sailor’s trick but Useless. He saw boars Twelve deep, spirals snorting
Through their tusks. The trees Morphed into deer and every beast He’d ever killed surrounded him. Face forward in the muck
At least the mud was real. Fox feet pattered, the tiger whisked him With its ruff – he dreamed a lifetime Lying there – every friend a slight
And every promise broken. This dark that stops his ears is surely death. But when he stands it’s not hell he sees but Dripping swamp. The mare he kicked and drove
Now leads him home. His blood is dried But he must cleanse the blood of others. To be struck he understands, now he must Know what spared him.
Washerwomen lift their heads At his approach – they don’t recognize this man. Hiding faces not from fear but Some new glory.
Lord Verne confessed – If you call taking an Alford plea a confession – Got 40 years on each count. He refused to “alocute” – Describe how he did it – And got away with that too.
I don’t care about that – He would have blamed Mirabel. In court for sentencing he refused My gaze. Mirabel – Jace now that she’s Ambisextrous – should have given A victim impact statement – I asked her but she said no.
Said she was “Full of new life” Designing jewelry and training To be a yoga teacher. Mom and Dad could have spoken but They’re not over the shock. “You write it,” said Derek So on my phone I wrote this all down and Made Derek laugh.
“Too long” – he critiqued – “I like it but Not for court. Just hit the high points.” First question with any writing is Who are you talking to? Ravi Krutupian was right there in court – Watching me like I’m The New Mirabel. This isn’t for him.
And the press Hot and curious, needing details – Wanting me as the new Mirabel This can’t be for them. I felt how Mirabel felt, that day she was naked In the cage with a thorn in her lip. But I looked down at Derek Who smiled encouragingly So I hissed, “This is for you.”
Cleared my throat, told the court On a hot summer day I went into the city To bridesmaid my sister at her Beautiful wedding to a British aristocrat. Instead I saw fear and heard lies – Met a jealous, angry man Who made people vanish. I lost my only sister and discovered Her beautiful life was one living hell.
That knowledge is now part of me, A scar that I wear that my friends envy Because some of them think -” Flashed a look at my Derek – “That knowledge is beauty. But the only reason I can stand here and speak is Because he’ll be locked up forever So we can be safe.
Thank you, justice For doing your job.” I sat down. Derek squeezed My hand and my eyes filled with Sadness and gratitude –
Sorry the universe is like this but Grateful for having a big sister Who went through all this So I didn’t have to.
Her eyes slid away Fearfully assessing. “Did anyone follow you?” “No. I guarantee. No hiding stalkers On this tiny island.” For the first time she gave me The old Mirabel smile.
“You can see why I love it.” “Derek Lowther knows I’m here. I’m using up his air miles.” Her thin legs in white gauze reached out Pumping our swing higher. I refused to help. “I was there when Verne killed them,” She whispered.
“They wouldn’t give me away, But he heard me screaming.” “He must have followed me From my job – Covered me with their blood – said I’d made it all happen. Threatened me, threatened everyone, so –“
She gulped – “I made him Fall in love with you.” Tears fell out of her eyes as I Gripped her hot hand. “I said you were me without Artifice, made him think You would want him. Verne was always telling me I was ruined, spoiling myself, Destroying our future.
I convinced him you were Unscarred – worthy to be Lady Verne – never told him How smart you were.” “Didn’t it bother him I was only fourteen?” “He liked that. He could mold you.” I recoiled, disgusted. “Why not tell the police?”
Her big eyes shaded blue Gray – ocean color. “They’d lock me up too! He knows too much about me.” “But why wedding fakery?” “That was his plan – make you think I’d gone abroad so you could chase after. That spa sells fake passports.”
She smiled her one-sided smile. “I was right – you were too smart – “Always so confident! Escaped him too fast. You were So good in school! Your brain Just seemed to work right. Helped me with MY homework!” She looked away.
“I thought I had just one thing You didn’t have. “But I was wrong about that, too. You’re more beautiful than I ever was.” I shivered at the horror she’d Subjected me to, degradation Narrowly missed.
“How’d you find me?” She requested. “I remembered You said you loved this place. Now You answer one. How’d you escape?” “My boss’ diamond broker was cheating him. I blackmailed him with the evidence For get away cash.
My passport’s for a boy – I want to start over. Fresh, Just like you. Can you Ever forgive me?” “Not if Verne gets away With murder. How can we Trap him, Mirabel?” She moved her shoulders restlessly.
“Don’t call me that. I’m Jace now. And “I have the murder weapon. Told him I got rid of it. And The shirt he wore – it’s all bloody. In a safety deposit box.”
From around her neck she Hauled up a key – Pressed it into my hand.
Silvery hair just coming in – Glittering studs along the sides of her ears Silver, not diamonds. But those were Mirabel’s Bony shoulders poking through her Gauze shirt. The guru called Shivasena and they Plunged into Corpse Pose –
No one’s talking me into that – I inched around – one student Opened her eyes – gave me The harsh look my inquisitiveness Warranted. But I persisted – the skinny Silent boy lost in meditation Was my sister all right! No jewels, no makeup, Cheapest beach clothing, bony bare feet Scar on her lip fully visible.
The tears that sprang to my eyes told me How much I’d feared that I would Never find her. I closed them Backed up against the stone-washed white wall Tried to mentally connect with her. What could she be thinking Right at this minute?
She was the one looking fourteen Years old, deep in dream land, I find meditation Annoying. I like my own brain And don’t want to escape it. I launched experimental thought volleys Determined to make her feel My presence. That project quenched my tears;
Opened my eyes and forced my lasers on her. Her mouth quivered first – One small tear slid from her eye. I had reached her! I knew it. She stirred. Eyes opened. My sister Mirabel took a Long, long look at me.
I mouthed her name. She ducked her head, Bowed deeply forward, then rose To her feet. A ripple ran through The group and the leader opened one eye In displeasure.
She grabbed my arm And began dragging me downstairs. “My name here is Jace.” Jace? Whose identity had she Stolen? “Don’t run away from me”
I lectured her Refused to unleash as if She could melt back into the Mirage at will. “I never will again.” She squeezed me; “I knew You’d escape him. I wasn’t strong enough.” At the final lighthouse step We burst into the sunlight.
“I thought you were dead,” I hectored her. “You abandoned me!” She pulled me into a big swing Under an awning Siblings swinging companionably – If anyone cared to notice One of them crying.
The crying one was me. She said, “Jace was the name I bought From some West side spa.” So that explained her visits! Scam not disclosed to me.
“I guess without my hair I thought I was invisible.” The joke was on Mirabel – Bald, at her thinnest – she’d Magnified her true self so No one who’d loved her – Could ever mistake it.
“Why’d you give me TO HIM,” I raged at her. “How effing dare you!” I clutched both her wrists Where the purple blood beat. “He wouldn’t kill YOU.”
She said with equal ferocity, “He wouldn’t let me go unless-“ She hesitated. I was being Managed. I can always smell it. “Bur he killed Franny and Jane,” I accused. Her eyeballs slid back –
This part of the story she thought I’d never find out. “But we can trap him,” she said. “The two of us.”
Do you have a spare phone?” “Sure,” said Derek, “Brand new trac phone in my dad’s office Still in the packaging. And Plenty of air miles burning holes in my pocket. Do you need a passport?” “It’s only Florida. Isla Ensueno.”
Isla Ensueno is a resort In a bird sanctuary – 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 refused to play. Tomorrow was earliest I could Check in and prowl. It’s a very small island Only one hotel. Thoughts assailed uncomfortably – That oh-so familiar feeling –
Dinned into me by every adult I’ve ever met That I do everything wrong And require their help Going forward. Typical teenage impulsiveness. Was this far enough away – So Mirabel could feel safe? Or was she making it easier For her sister to track her?
Would she have some new man in tow Whose identity she could hide behind? I’d had just one chance – Using up those air miles – had I blown it? Dream Island was gorgeous – as I found out The very next day – and it had a Shabbiness guaranteeing she’d meet No one she knows.
As I circumnavigated the island’s Walking trail; studying the world Through my binoculars A certain peace overtook me. Peace that evolved an idea Stemming from my quest for Mirabel’s Avatar. What can you do When your game goes horribly wrong?
Even if my guess was off There remained one intriguing Possibility: what if one the thing Mirabel coveted was her own Younger self? Even at fourteen I felt that nostalgia – Viewed my confident eleven-year-old Incarnation with envy.
If Mirabel decided To re-set her game – Make different choices Finally become “real”? Systematically I searched every nook Old trees shading privacy; interrupted Lovers: peered under Awnings, stared boldly through Sunglasses. The trail wound around A sand beach cove and up to The lighthouse; sea breeze made me shiver. Put me In the mood to climb the lighthouse.
Hundreds of steps – quite a trudge – And I was quite alone. Possibly these Holiday-makers were all just too old. I came up to a sign: “SSSSHHH! MEDITATION IN SESSION!” I tamed my hard breathing – Climbed the final steps Silently. One teacher – an elderly man – Perfect lotus position – His eyes closed – six students –
Their backs to me Gauze shirts, t-shirts, Ponytails – no hair in Mirabel’s Color. A couple of blondes and one boy – Balding, maybe chemo? Studied him thoughtfully, then felt I was hallucinating. Isn’t that Mirabel?
Alysse Aallyn 