In 3,000 words or less write about a photograph a girl finds in her mother's secret jewelry chest. It is a picture of a man that the girl has never seen before. Who is it?
The Result:
A hundred and eighty six hours and
fifty five minutes from when Shannon’s mother was admitted to the hospital,
until she was dead. That’s all the time Shannon had with her, and it wasn’t
enough. She stood outside her mother’s hospital room, the wad of tissues balled
up in her hand, soaked through. The tears just wouldn’t stop flowing, and she
dabbed her cheeks with the wet, white ball.
Around
the corner approached Doctor Daniel Flemish, the young physician assigned to
her mother. If circumstances were different, she might actually let her heart
skip a beat in his presence, but now, she couldn’t feel her heart, though it
must have been beating. Walking up to her he looked down with his deep golden-brown
eyes. His nose was a little short she thought, but his lips, cheekbones, and
physique were all sublime.
“I’m
very sorry,” he said with absolute sincerity. Fostering a sympathetic smile, he
laid his hand on her shoulder, “Is there anyone I can call to come take you
home?”
“Home?”
she mumbled, the thought of it stabbing her in that empty place that once
contained her heart. “I flew in from California at the beginning of the week.
Why didn’t she say anything to me? Why did she keep this to herself?”
Doctor
Flemish gave a knowing, but warm smile, “She was a strong woman. In the hours
that I knew her, she was stoic, kind, and big hearted. And, she spoke of you
much. I don’t know why people do the things they do, but all I can say is, your
mother was a very wonderful woman.”
Tears
fell from Shannon’s eyes as she sobbed. His words were true and filled with
admiration, but it did little to stay the pain. “I want to thank you for all
your care. At least she didn’t suffer.”
“If
you need anything, let me know,” he handed her his card. “We have lots of
resources here at the hospital to help grieving family get through the rough
patch.” Again, he looked down into her eyes, then he walked past her and into
the room. “Notify the morgue,” he casually said to a nurse.
Shannon
took up her purse, and like a zombie, walked to the elevator and pressed for
the lobby. The doors closed, and she watched the red numbers flash by; seven,
six, five, four. The lift stopped and the doors opened. A couple with two
children got on, “Now William, I don’t ever want to see you climb up on the
roof again.” the woman said to the oldest child who sported a white cast.
Three, two, lobby – Shannon got out and walked slowly toward the exit. Outside
the air was cool, and in the sky, at the level of the streetlamps, hung a thick
white mist. In roughly eight days she’d gone from just visiting, to mourner. It
had been two years since she had seen her mother. Work was relentless, and her
schedule was always filled with, meetings, presentations, and hours of
technical reviews. She cherished their chats on the phone, which consisted of
loving words. Her mother never seemed to lack a maternal curiosity that
betrayed a mentor’s genuine interest. But, all that time, she never let on that
she was dying. Not once did she say, come home, I haven’t got long to live.
Shannon got to her car. She sat there, then she felt her mind ripping in two.
She balled her fists and bashed them against the dashboard. She screamed
loudly, and put her head down against the steering wheel. Suddenly, there was a
rapping, a tap-tap tapping upon some solid surface. She turned and the face of
Doctor Flemish was looking in. She rolled down her window, and wiped her eyes
with the back of her hand.
“You
forgot these documents,” he kindly stated.
“You
didn’t… I mean, you –.”
He
smiled again, “I didn’t see anything.” He handed her the documents, then added,
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”
“I’m
fine,” she lied. “After all, I’m my mother’s daughter.”
“Okay,”
he stated.
As
he walked away, she noted his demeanor; confident, with almost a swagger. He
looked back, she looked down. A moment passed and she glanced over, but he was
gone. Pressing the start button, she put the car in reverse and backed out of
the parking space.
Down
the street she drove; left at the stoplight and right on Topeka Road. It was
exactly five point eight miles to the left turn onto the dirt road that was the
driveway. She stopped, got out and opened the metal gate. Up the gravel ladened
road she went. It was dark, true county-dark. At the top of the hill she left
her lights on and went up to the three thousand square foot ranch house and
turned on the porch lights. Returning to her car, she retrieved her briefcase,
the hospital paperwork, and her cell phone and went inside.
The
smell of apple pie still circulated in the front room. For a moment she could
hear her mother calling from the kitchen, “Hot pie and coffee.” A few languid
tears seeped out. She tossed the case onto the easy chair and went to the
couch, took one of the red and gold throw pillows, and clutched it tightly to
her bosom. Staring into the darkness, she wished that she would wake from this
nightmare. Exhaustion seized her and before she knew it, sleep overtook her.
At nine in the morning the raspy
jingle of the house phone woke her. She got to her feet and went to the bar and
picked it up. “Hello?”
“Oh, Shannon, I’m so sorry I wasn’t
there,” her sister said. “I was in Spain with my boyfriend and just got your
message. Do you need me to come home, or can you handle the probate thing
yourself?”
Kristine was always self-absorbed,
and it was no surprise that she would ask such a thing. “No, I’ve got it
handled.” Shannon stated. “We can talk when you get back.”
“Okay, but if you need me, just
call. I’ll keep my cell phone on me all the time now.”
“It was hard last night, but I think
I’ve got a handle on it today,” Shannon felt a surge of her mother’s stoic
nature pulse through her veins.
“See you in two weeks,” Kristine
said, then the line was dead.
Shannon looked around the bar, the
kitchen, and the dining room. It all spoke of her mother, but was now devoid of
her energy. She went into the kitchen and filled the coffee pot with water,
four scoops of ground bold coffee, and turned on the switch. Retrieving some
clothes from the guest bedroom, she went to the master suite bathroom and
turned on the shower. As the steam filled the air, she went into the large
walk-in closet and looked around. Amidst the designer labels and pants suits,
the shoe trees, and the winter sweaters was a strange reflective plate on a
three foot high piece of wood paneling. Approaching, she touched it with the
palm of her hand. A click echoed to her ears and she watched as the wood façade
extended out toward her. Moving it aside, she looked in. Inside was a set of
drawers with polished brass knobs. She pulled out a drawer and was shocked to
see gold, silver, and platinum jewelry, some with the Tiffany marking, and
others with hallmarks she could not identify. Some of the pieces had two, and
three carat diamonds, and others rubies, emeralds, and sapphires the size of a
grown man’s thumb.
Pulling
on drawer number two, she was surprised to see papers; piles of stocks, bonds,
copyrights, and real estate holdings. Below, the pile were her mother’s birth
certificate, passport, and a variety of other personal documents. Now, she put
her attention to the third pull-knob and pulled. The compartment was stuffed
with pictures, some of which were very old. She thought for a moment, then
closed up all the drawers and the secret cover, and headed back into the
bathroom to shower.
The
hot water felt good against her tired muscles. As she closed her eyes, she
could almost see her mother. Heavy in the air was the smell of the shampoo,
conditioner, and body wash; all things that shouted to her of her mother’s
presence. Once finished, she turned off the water and toweled off.
Wrapping
a crisp white towel around her, she went back into the closet. Opening the
compartment, she went for the third drawer. Taking out the contents, she began
to thumb through the many photos. The image of her father dressed in a cardigan
sweater and holding a pipe made her long for his loving presence. A picture of
her sister was next, when she was two – as it said on the back. Her
grandparents were next, followed by a host of high school pictures of her and
her sister. One, made her chuckle for it was her at the prom with Tim Halthy, a
boy she “liked”, but he didn’t “like” her back. Sifting took a good while, but
then she came across a picture of a man she did not recognize. He was not any
relative she knew, and on the back of the photo was written, AB-7459856314
Knight’s Guard Elite, Lamb Row Place 1947. The image was of a young man dressed
in a red velvet dinner jacket, a pipe in one hand and a highball glass in the
other. It was in color, and the man’s bold blond hair and blue eyes were
captivating. The picture was clearly candid; for it appeared that the man was
unaware of being photographed. In the background were dark wood paneling, a
Fourteenth Century chair, a polished wooden end table, and several framed
paintings. For a moment her mind wondered. Who was this man? Why was his
picture in her mother’s secret compartment? Was he some lover, before her
father, or after his death? Surely he couldn’t have been a lover while her
father was alive. She shook her head to clear the disturbing thought. No, she
reasoned, it’s a relative, or just some friend of the family.
Taking
the picture, she retreated back to the guest bedroom. Putting the picture up on
the tall dresser, she examined it while dressing. There seemed nothing more she
could glean, then she saw the ring on the man’s finger. Taking the picture, she
went into her mother’s study, and turned on the light on the high-powered
magnifier. Slipping the picture under, she gasped at the image of the ring; a
deaths head skull and crossbones. The phone rang and she nearly jumped out of
her skin.
She
picked up the phone, “Yes?”
There
was a pause, then a voice on the other side said, “Is this Shannon Sopur?”
“Yes,
who is this?”
“I
was informed of your mother’s passing…”
“Who
are you, and who told you? She passed last night, and I haven’t told anyone but
my sister,” Shannon stated.
“Ah,
yes, your sister Kristine. Is there someplace we can meet? I knew your mother
and father, and I have something for you. Something she wanted you to have, but
couldn’t trust to any else.”
“What
cloak and dagger bullshit is this? What do you mean, couldn’t trust to anyone
else?”
“I
know you are in some shock. As the saying goes, I’m just the messenger. Is
there someplace you’d like me to meet you?”
She
thought for a moment, “The Deluth Grind House, two o’clock,” Shannon said.
“Very
well, two at the grind house.”
“How
will I know you?”
“I’ll
know you,” and the phone clicked off.
Shannon
left the house and drove back to the hospital. There she filled out papers, and
arranged to have her mother’s body picked up by a mortuary. As she was leaving
she saw Doctor Flemish walking out to his car. “Doctor!” she called.
The
doctor turned, “Ms. Sopur, I’m glad to see you’re okay.”
“I
just wanted to say thank you again for your kindness,” she smiled.
“My
pleasure, and please call me Daniel. Say, I was just heading out to get some
coffee. Would you like to come along? A little mocha or cappuccino might do you
well. Plus, it’s on me.”
His
gaze leveled on her and she felt a rush of emotion. “Uh… I’d love to.”
She
got in his Mercedes and he pulled out into traffic. They drove down the street,
and took a left onto Main Street. Half a block down, he pulled up and parked.
“One of my favorite places. They roast their own coffee here.”
She
looked up and was surprised that she was in front of the Deluth Grind House. “I
was actually coming here at two.”
“Really?”
“I
a strange phone call this morning,” she said.
“Why
was it strange,” his curiosity was plain to see.
“A
man said he had something for me from my mother that couldn’t be trusted to
anyone else,” she shrugged her shoulders, “someone who knows my parents.”
They
got out of the car and went inside. Her eyes widened as the rich, coffee smell
filled her nose. The coffee house was crowded with customers, but it seemed
most were getting their beverage and dashing out. He walked up to the counter,
looked down at her and said, “If I were to guess, I’d say you’re a mocha gal.”
She
felt herself blushing, then tried to focus in her mind on any other situation
that could undo the feeling. “Actually, I like the mocha Frappuccino quite a
lot.”
“Excellent,
I do too. See if you can find us a seat and I’ll take care of this.”
She
walked over and found a round table in an intimate corner and sat with her back
to the wall. She watched him, his tweed sport coat neatly hugging his lean
frame. He glanced back and saw her, smiled, then the service person distracted
him. She never took her eyes off him. There was something about him; the
confidence in which he carried himself was most attractive. He waited patiently
for their beverages and then came over to the table.
“What
do you do?” His voice carried an air of authority.
“I
work in advertising. I’m the creative director for Hubert, Rothschild, and
Associates in California.” She sipped the steaming liquid.
They
talked for quite a long time, then Daniel’s cell phone made a sound. He looked
at it and declared, “Yikes, its one fifty already! I have an appointment back
at the hospital. I’ll drop you off at your car.”
“I
can’t. I have to meet that man here in ten minutes. I’ll take a cab back.
Thanks for the coffee and the conversation. I hope we can do it again
sometime.”
Daniel
nodded, “Me too. How’s Thursday?”
“I’d
like that very much,” she said.
Daniel
left and passed an elderly man in a gray wool coat coming in. The man looked
around the room, then came toward Shannon. “You have your father’s nose and eyes,”
he said.
“Who
are you and how do you know my parents?”
“Your
father and I worked closely together for many years. We served in the war
together.” He sat down and smiled. The image in the picture came through; he
was the man in the picture. “Your father and I were very close, and served der
Fuhrer.” He set down a manila envelope and passed it to her. “Your mother
forbade me to give you this, until she’d passed.”
She
opened the envelope and looked at a host of pictures. One was her father in a
SS uniform standing at the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York harbor.
Another was him commanding troops and securing the remains of the American Whitehouse.
And, another showed him receiving a medal from Adolf Hitler, the Chancellor.
“So,
my father was a war hero? He helped take the Americas?” She was dumfounded.
“How… when was this?”
“In
nineteen forty-four when we dropped the hydrogen bomb on the capital of the former
United States, Washington. We were poised to do the same to New York, and then on
the West Coast, but the American president surrendered before we had to. Your
father was a very important man, who tried to put the ravages of war behind
him. Your mother wanted to forget also, but they both understood that when it
was time for you to get married, and have children, that the heroic exploits of
your father would need to be known. A sad day indeed, but also a glorious day
for the Reich in that you will bear the children of the future.”
Reeling
from the information, she stood and gathered up the papers. “I saw a picture of
you.” she said.
“From
the old day’s maybe?”
“It
had written on it letters and numbers and something about a knight’s guard?”
“Ah,
yes, AB-7459856314 Knight’s Guard Elite maybe? That was my blood group and SS
group division identification.” He unrolled his sleeve and showed her a faded,
tattoo on his wrinkled arm. “We were all very close after the war, then drifted
apart. But… that is academic now. I am the only one left.”
She
opened the manila envelope and took out the papers. It was medical information.
She scanned down the document, then her eyes went wide. It said that she and
her sister were the product of a genetic experiment. The gene donor was named;
Adolf Hitler.
“There
are no guarantees in life, my dear,” the man said, “but I know that you will
make a wonderful mother,” the old man stood, clicked his heels together, bowed
slightly, turned and left the Deluth Grind House.
Could there be another
Fuhrer?
she wondered.
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