All this thought about family has my mind reeling with unanswered questions. Questions it’s time were resolved.
Who am I?
Where did I come from?
Do I have any living biological family? Maybe brothers or sisters?
My heart swells with hope. That would be awesome.
I’m prompted to type in my username and password. I do and a window opens.
Full access.
I’ve been granted full access to the Mirage database. Excitement makes my head pound.
I start by scanning my bio and alternate identification documents. I quickly view the photographs. Some I have posed for, some candid. Shot from far away. When I get to the tab marked history, my eyes widen and my throat tightens.
This is it.
Swallowing hard, I click on the tab. A small window comes up. I frown.
Access Denied. Enter Password.
Access denied? Access denied?
Are you kidding me right now? Why the f**k am I denied access to my own history? Anger heats my cheeks. I start keying in codes that might possibly work.
CatarinaWhite.
Denied.
Mirage.
Nope.
FatherRobert.
Try again.
RobertWhite.
Better luck next time, kid.
BobWhite.
Denied, denied, freaking denied.
I push away from the table with a huff. Frustration has my hands shaking. I’m so close. I can feel it. There’s something important there. I refuse to feel the stinging behind my eyes and take a deep breath. I inhale then exhale slowly, forcing the anger out of me.
Blinking, I pull myself forward and try again.
NightFury.
Access denied.
Okay. I take a breath and think. I wrack my brain for something – anything – that might help. But nothing comes. My shoulders slump. In a last ditch attempt, I lazily type without feeling.
CatarinaNightFuryWhite.
I hit the enter key hard and drop my forehead to the desk. Head meet desk. I chuckle silently. Seems appropriate. This was probably a good thing. No point in dwelling in the past forever. How am I supposed to have a good future if I can’t move on? I can’t change things.
Resolve has me standing and logging out of the computer. Just as I’m about to hit the escape button, my heart skips a beat.
The file is open.
Three files are inside.
The first I open is a scanned document. It’s my adoption papers. I skim over it with wide eyes. In the area where it says previous guardian, someone has scribbled: state.
Well that doesn’t help.
The second file is an image. When I click it, I stare openly at what comes up.
Tears blur my vision as I take in what I’m sure is my only photograph as a baby. And what’s better, it’s with Bob. A much younger looking Bob cradles me with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. He looks down at me with a smile. A loving smile. It makes me smile right here in the now. As a baby, I had long black lashes. Dressed in only a diaper and a white baby tank, I grip his collar tightly and shove it in my mouth; with the other hand, I reach up to place a chubby hand on his cheek.
I look in awe.
I was a pretty cute kid.
I take in that image for a long while before I print a copy, close the file and move on to the next. My fingers waste no time in opening the last file, and when it pops up, I almost faint.
My palms sweat and my neck heats. I’m having a hard time swallowing. I could be wrong, but I think I’m looking at my birth certificate.
Mother.
Carmela DeVito.
Father.
Nick Bianco.
I mentally read in wonder.
My name was Bianca DeVito. I guess my father didn’t want me. Which I guess is cool because otherwise, I’d be named Bianca Bianco.
My face contorts into a grimace. Talk about tragic.
I was born on August 15th, 1995. That’s my current birthday. Looks like Bob didn’t have the heart to change it.
I know I should let sleeping dogs lie, but let’s be honest… Who would?
My fingers glide the mouse over the desktop and I bring up the FBI database. I type in my mother’s name and wait. A minute later her file opens. My stomach flips when I see the face of my mother for the first time.
She was a pretty thing. Dark hair, big brown eyes. She was petite and slim. Her mouth had a natural pout. Before I can stop myself, I print the photo.
I spend time reading her file, although there isn’t much to read. She was a no one. An anybody. She was a civilian. Just a normal person.
I could have been normal.
My heart sinks. She died two months after I was born. My gut twists. It seems she was killed by my father. She was strangled to death, and my father killed her. I read on. Nick Bianco went to jail for her murder where he died in jail. He hung himself.
My heart begins to race. Fury courses through my veins. The coward hung himself. I don’t even know my father, but I hate him. I go back to the main search page and type in Nick Bianco. I wait patiently for his file to come up and when it does, I wheeze out a breath.
The file photo taunts me.
My father wears a smirk in his mug shot. His eyes are dark and evil. He stares into the camera with pride. Trembling, I breathe hollowly. The blood drains right out of me. My life is crumbling before my eyes.
My father is Bob.
End of Act Two