Hidden Identity

PrologueCase File #101: The Forever Haunt When tragedy invaded his life and forever changed him, it occurred during that tenuous time between boyhood and manhood. What he remembered first and always were the sounds and smells, the strangled cry of human agony, the whiff of cordite from spent ammunition. He would hear the explosion and then the exclamation, he would remember them both as though linked by that moment in time, the utter terror of his own screams that would keep him awake long after on cold dark nights. What next came to him were surprising images, oddly peaceful at first considering the presence of violence. The lazy climb of the morning sun, the blue sky that opened up a world fresh with possibilities, that’s what his father had always told him. Finally, the lasting memory fell upon him like a weighted ghost, the body arching back in shock, topping over a corner display of fresh cut flowers, roses and violets and daisies spilling onto the sidewalk along with the water that kept them alive, now streaming past the fire hydrant and into the gutter on the corner of 10th Avenue and 47th Street. In his mind this incident played out like an old movie, sepia tinged with a shiny red hue, like someone had failed in coloring it. Like he was watching through one half of the 3D glasses he’d always liked to wear as a kid. But he was no kid, not any longer. Not after that day. He had screamed out for the man who was his father, all the while holding him, trying to awaken him. In the distance came the far-too-late wailing of police and ambulance, both of them too late, too goddamn late. For even though his father’s eyes were open, as though looking up at the sun, they could see only darkness, a color beyond this world. Not that bright yellow sun, not that electric blue sky, not the bitter silver tears that fell from his only son’s eyes. A policeman tried to pry him from his hold on his father’s lifeless body. “Come on, Jim, let me help you,” the cop said. That’s when the boy noticed his clothes, a simple outfit of scuffed jeans and a T-shirt, so innocent and perfect for this early spring day, were now splattered with the vibrant blood of his father. Reality began to set in, this was no dream, and his father was dead. Later, his mother would attempt to throw away those clothes, as though such an act could wash away all he’d witnessed, all that had stained him. But he would retrieve them from the garbage bin at the back alley of his building, and he would lock them away, save them. Because he would remember. And one day, he would understand why his father had been taken from him. And by whom. * * * * Two agonizing weeks passed and in that slow passage of time, the fourteen-year-old boy watched as his father was honored by that blue line, buried in a season that usually sprung new life, his body if not his soul safe now from the dangers that lurked on deceptive, sunlit streets. But on the next day, the police came around to their apartment and confessed that, despite the murder weapon having been retrieved from the scene of the crime, apparently dropped by a panicked criminal—murderer—they had no leads, no suspects. It was a simple robbery gone wrong, so they said, his father innocently caught in the fray. A stray bullet from a stray gun, the assailant fitting that hollow description as well. He remembered the look, if not the face. The boy was supposed to be holed up in his room, this wasn’t his business his mother had told him, but he had sneaked into the hallway anyway because he needed to hear there was “nothing more we can do at this time,” he wanted to know what to expect from a world suddenly turned upside down, like when he hung from the monkey bars at the park on West 47th Street, the blood rushing to his head and altering his perspective. A colorless world existed, where fathers could no longer provide for their families, where his own could no longer spot him on a Saturday morning in the park. “I’m sorry, Mrs. McSwain…Maggie, we loved our brother Joey beyond words, he was one of the best, part of our brotherhood, and while we’ll never give up, right now there are other pressing cases that demand our attention. But know this piece of truth: criminals don’t change, and he’ll act again, and when he does, we’ll find him. He can’t stay buried forever.” A strange phrase, he thought, it was the polar opposite of what his cherished father faced for eternity, and a previously unknown sense of vengeance washed over him. The last tear he would shed for his father’s death slipped down his cheek. Other cases called to them, that’s what they had dared to say to the widow while sitting in her cramped living room and drinking her coffee, taking advantage of her understanding, generous nature, that’s what stuck in the boy’s mind, reverberating for forever. “You boys, I know you’ll handle it,” his mother had said, her voice empty. But her son knew they wouldn’t, they’d already admitted as much. Something wasn’t right. Why would the cops not fight to the death to avenge their own? They left, disappeared really, and somehow life was supposed to return to normal. Three months later as a broiling summer raged, the case of the senseless murder of Joseph McSwain, Jr., grew ever colder, just as his father’s body did, lying in its solemn grave, his life remembered just as his death was seemingly forgotten. Something else had also disappeared during this time, the boy he’d once been. The man standing in his place was named Jimmy. He was me. Case File #101: The Forever Haunt Status: Unsolved Part 1: An Angel in Disguise