The Ratchet Vampire Chronicles

New Life

DELANEY

I watched my family relax in the lush, secluded haven, enjoying a private beach and biking paths. It was all a whole ocean from Kansas City. My sisters stayed overnight in one of the old French castles, dating back for centuries which was closed to the public, where they got treated like princesses with private servants. Later, when we looked up this area of France, we learned it was the playground of the wealthiest people in the world. Standing out on the beach with Moms the next morning, I watched my siblings play and build sandcastles with kids who didn't know what poverty was.

With the treatments and new medications, Pops even regained just a bit of his old energy. He could still barely talk, but his lips spread and eyes twinkled at his buddies's jokes. Looking at me, he opened his hand. When I placed mine inside his, he closed his weak hand around my own. In calm, weak motions, he began to rub and gently squeeze my hand, all the while his eyes gazing at me. They searched me.

Even in silence, he seemed to be trying to tell me something.

While my siblings and Moms toured the resorts and French villages with family, I had to get working. In exchange for all Fallon had done, it was now time for me to perform. The day after my arrival, I received a schedule. Workouts, trainings, a dietary plan, doctors appointments and checkups, with a team roster, maps to the facilities and gyms, as well as exclusive "insider" locations where players were required to eat, to avoid getting rushed by press or fans.

My heart almost leaped out of my chest. It was finally happening for me. Not exactly the way I hoped, but better than where I was, literally, just yesterday.

All of my facial features couldn't stop smiling. I had been given another chance. There was no way I would turn this down. How could I go back to the 'hood after all this, and say, Okay, time to find a nine-to-five now?

Seeing a slice of the world, and the joy on my family's faces, shot new life into me. That I could provide for them and take care of their needs breathed new life into me. This feeling of being the hero lit a mad fire in my stomach. I put my head down and got to work. Up at five in the morning, workouts twice a day to stay in shape.

Beaming inside, my little brother Davin remained glued to me when he could, trying to race me and even beating me a couple of times. His proud, eleven year-old face gave more confirmation that I made the right decision. Now when he returned home, after seeing all this, he would remember every reason not to fall into street life.

In mid-August, Moms and the kids finally left with Pops to return home. The others had already returned after a few days. Pops was talking a bit again, could laugh and fuss. They had even wheeled him out to the beach where he watched me run.

He still gave me the piercing "look" of concern, asking who was the team owner and where was she and why she had saved him. But I guess he also had figured I was set on doing this myself, and didn't plan to tell him much.

So his eyebrow kept twitching.

"Don't be... ssstupid... Son. Don't let nnn..." he rolled his eyes, getting tired as he fought to breathe, "... nobody take your sssoul." His eyes looked into me, almost like sharp-edged metal.

I had never seen him look so hard, steely even, with eyes cutting into me. But I understood. Of course, I wasn't going to let the money get to my head. But I certainly knew I deserved to enjoy it.

The entire time my folks had been here, Fallon never appeared in person to greet them, which seemed odd considering the several occasions she stopped in Missouri to see me. But, as her employee now, my job was to work.

Things being settled for my family, I tuned everything out, including the women. Two-a-day practices began, I continued the morning workouts, with meals and naps in between, grinding it to get in top notch shape. In bed by ten. Loneliest shit ever but it had to be done.

Hitting the court, I began meeting and getting to know my teammates. We drove hard, on and off the court. All twelve of us formed a melting pot of scraggly guys spanning different areas of the world, from Africa to Egypt to the Middle East to China. Very talented and skilled, for whatever reason, our colleges had not supported our efforts to go pro. Hell, in some cases, a few guys had even been held back by governments.

My suite mate was a six foot ten center they called Tall Timber, from Burkina Faso in Africa. His uncle was suspected of being a member of a terrorist group, the same group that blew up a hotel and killed forty innocent people. As such, the United States wanted nothing to do with him unless he could give up info on his family, which he refused. Too bad, because he could block shots, rebound and handle man-to-man defense in a way that I had studied on Bill Russell reels.

Then, there was a Nigerian point guard, Herdsman, who was a member of the Fulani tribe. His father was rumored to have killed so many opposing Berom tribesmen over land disputes, that his family feared opponents might kill Herdsman out of retaliation if he remained in Nigeria. Of course, the United States would not accept someone connected to that much violence. So here he was. Though he was short at only five foot nine, he was lightning quick in assists and accurate with last-minute jump shots.

We also had a power forward from New Jersey called Bump, who was all set for the NBA when he boinked a fifteen year-old girl who looked twenty-five. The girl had even secretly recorded it to show her friends, posted it to Instagram and then made a brag video on Youtube. All to piss off Bump's girlfriend who had insulted her at a party. So he got the nickname from R. Kelley's famous song Bump n Grind since, well, R. Kelley had a video doing the same thing. Bump's coaches and agent hadn't been able to clear it up or make it go away, so now he was a lifetime sex offender in the U.S. The NBA wanted no part of it.

Other nicknames were playful. Like the small forward from Russia, nicknamed KGB, because he was so quiet we teased that he was plotting some secret mission to kill us. But seriously, I had no idea why he was here. Neither did anyone else. And he wasn't telling, which added to his mystique. He was six foot five and couldn't dunk worth shit, but could shoot some beautiful three-point shots and block.

I sensed in these guys the same desperate need to prove themselves that I carried in myself. We shared an anger that fueled our momentum on the court, pushing us harder.

Fallon had taken a chance on us all. But what baffled me was how each of these dudes had some interesting international backstory. Yet I did not. What was I doing here? Without a complicated family history or intriguing sociopolitical drama, or even anybody in my family who was important, how had Fallon found me?