A Little Bit Ninja

8: Pooey Peace Offering

This chapter is dedicated to the ONE and ONLY Harvdawg. You and I both know, you are my biggest fan. Don't try to deny it.

Chapter 8: Pooey Peace Offerings

Last night when I finally walked in the door, Abe wasn’t even home yet from soccer practice. It had only been two hours since I got shot and kidnapped, but already, the girl who brought an icepack to the supposed hemophiliac seemed like she was a distant memory.

I plopped down face first onto my bed. My whole world had been sent into a tailspin and I was starting to get motion sickness. I wanted to run to my mom’s secret space and raid her desk and shelves looking for answers. But all I had the energy to do was float listlessly in a steaming bubble bath, ruminating on the revelations of the past couple hours.

In my nearly seventeen years of life I had never once considered the idea that I might not have come from where my parents said I did. If my mom wasn’t who I thought she was, could everything in my life be false?

 It seemed like all the rules of my personal universe had been thrown into a blender, to make one massive mess of my life.  So many things didn’t make sense at this point. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find that gravity didn’t work anymore.

 When in confusion, make a list. That’s what I always say. Well, maybe I don’t always say it, but I do believe in list making. So I dripped all the way to my room to grab paper and a pen, before sloshing back into the tub to begin sorting my life in the form of a bulleted list. I began with the most disturbing question.   

·         Why would there be a picture of me and my mom DEAD at the hospital I was born in?

Is it normal for a person to snap pictures of bodies in a morgue? And then to keep them for seventeen years? That is just wrong on so many levels.

·         Was that really me in the picture? I don’t know if I had a heart shaped birthmark there before my bike accident.

·         If I didn’t have a birth mark before the accident it wouldn’t mean anything. Those can be easily removed these days.

I convinced Ivan and Anton that a DNA test would be the perfect way to prove whether I was The Boss’s daughter or not. It’s a good thing I have so much experience with winning arguments to get what I want.

We just needed to pretend that Anton had covertly come by one of my hairs—without my noticing—and that he was just going about the job in a scientific way before jumping in and ruining an innocent girl’s life. And this method, he would argue, would make said innocent girl more pliable when confronted with the wild truth, versus kidnapping say.

 My plan was to supply the proof that I wasn’t any relation of His Royal Head Case before he insisted on kidnapping again. And the only thing that would convince this guy that I wasn’t his long, dead daughter is scientific evidence. He might even question that.   

·         Haven’t my parents been married for nineteen years? If so, how could Mom have been living a double life as the wife of The Boss without either him or my dad noticing?

·         If Mom was living a double life, which one is my real dad? The Boss or Dad?

Note to self: Find Mom and Dad’s wedding certificate, and look up their mortgage to see when they moved into this house.

I don’t know why but I felt like seeing those things would take away this uncertainty, so I wouldn’t have to suffer so much until the test results came. Because if there was proof that my parents were married, that would mean I couldn’t be the spawn of a mad man, right? It would be enough proof for me anyway.