Mayhem || B. Bradshaw

Prologue II

     "PETE–" CECILIA SAID, STOPPING for breaths and coughs. She tried to calm down, tried her best to prepare for a longer sentence, "but we always called him–", Cecilia didn't get longer before her lungs required another set of coughs.

     "You don't have to tell me," Lizbeth tried, even though it was a complete lie. She had waited her whole life to hear who her father was, other than knowing the fact that he was a Naval Aviator and white judging by the fact that her mother was latina and she herself was clearly mixed. But she knew that at the moment, her mother's ability to stay alive longer was more important to her than knowing who her father was.

     "I– I need to," Cecilia was able to press through. "We– always– called– him– Mav." Those were the last words Cecilia said before she was caught in a coughing fit, and suddenly, two nurses came rushing into the room.

     "Miss, you need to leave the room," one of them said, a woman with dark brown hair set up in a tight bun.

     "But she's my Mom!" Lizbeth tried to argue as the woman slowly guided her out to the hallway, but there was no point in fighting.

     "I understand, Miss, but for us to help her be comfortable, you need to leave the room," the woman said, before closing the door in Lizbeth's face, leaving her to herself in the hallway.

     As the nurses went to work, Lizbeth couldn't help but let her mother's words sink in, and the realization dawned on her that she now knew more about her father than she had in her entire life.

     The fact that she now had two names, Pete and Mav, was more than she could've asked for, considering how angry her mother had been all the times when she had asked about her father as a child.

     Pete.

     That was his name. Lizbeth let the name roll off her tongue, trying to remember if she had heard it in the Navy before. Truth to be told, she had. A lot of times. Pete was way too common, and Lizbeth sighed.

     But she had Mav as well. Since her mother had said that they called him Mav, Lizbeth could only result in the fact that Mav had to be related to his call sign. Either Mav could be his entire call sign, or it was short for something.

     Lizbeth's call sign was an example of the latter. A lot of her colleagues called her "May", but her entire call sign was "Mayhem".

     Lizbeth leant against the door across her mother, which was the door to her old room, and pondered on the case.

     The new information had lit a spark inside her, one that had died out a long time ago when she had figured that it was impossible to find her father unless she got access to the DNA from every male pilot around the age of fifty in the Navy and could take paternity tests.

     Though, a thought struck her. Mav could be short for his surname as well. Lizbeth sighed. It would be impossible to find him.

     But soon enough, she couldn't help but let worry about her mother sink in again, and together with the newly awoken memory of what happened a year ago, Lizbeth Mendoza broke down.

***

     "From dust you came, to dust you shall return."

     "Jesus Christ, is the resurrection and the life."

     The priest's words echoed in Lizbeth's head, and she held tightly onto the single rose she had brought with her, biting her lip in hopes of preventing the tears from falling. She could manage it, she just had to wait until everyone had left.

     The six feet deep hole was now inhabited by a white casket, and Lizbeth took a shaky breath, before she let her rose fly down and land on top of it.

     What irony, Lizbeth scoffed, though in her state, it looked more like a scrunched up sob. A white casket. Peace. Light. I don't feel peaceful. There's no light.

     Lizbeth stood alone on the edge of the hole, not able to take her eyes away from the piece of wood that separated her from the only person who had always been by her side.

     And she had only been fifty.

     Then, at last, the awaited sob broke through her stiffened body, and Lizbeth's knees threatened to give away. She put a trembling hand over her mouth, muffling the cries into whimpers as the image of her mother dying flashed before her eyes.

     "May?" Lizbeth was soon engulfed in a warm embrace, and the smell of Natasha Trace made Lizbeth hug her closest friend tighter. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't able to come earlier."

     Lizbeth just shook her head to tell her that it didn't matter, unable to speak as she for once let all her feelings out. And on top of it all, she hadn't seen Bradley during the ceremony.

     He didn't come.

     And that broke her even more.