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BLACKBIRD FLY
UMBRELLA MAN
WILLOW ROSE
 CONTENTS

Copyright

Prologue
Part I
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25

Part II
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
 Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54

Part III
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
 Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68

Part IV
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95

Afterword
Books by the Author
About the Author
In One Fell Swoop - excerpt
Prologue
Grab your copy today!
 Copyright Willow Rose 2017
Published by BUOY MEDIA
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic
form without permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead is purely
coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is
prohibited.
Cover Design by Damonza
Special thanks to my editor Janell Parque
http://janellparque.blogspot.com/

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Remember that your children are not your own, but are lent to
you by the Creator.
MOHAWK PROVERB

There is no death, only a change of worlds.

DUWAMISH PROVERB

Only an open heart will catch a dream

AMERICAN NATIVE PROVERB
 PROLOGUE

THE BURNING BOY

 CHAPTER ONE

BUSHLAKE, 1997

O n the twenty-first day of July, fourteen-year-old Robert Bloom—or

Gubba—slipped out of consciousness and left the world. Chained by his
mother to the big live oak tree in the backyard of his childhood home,
the sun burned his light albino skin so badly there was no saving him
from sinking into the deep darkness and never waking up.
At least not in this world.
In another, he soon opened his eyes with a loud gasp.
"Momma?"
But there was no mother. There was no live oak tree either and no
chains holding him down. His skin, however, was still burnt, and as he
touched the blob on top of his hand, the skin peeled off.
Where am I?
The strange part was that he knew exactly where he was. Except
he didn't really recognize the place. It was so different from how he
remembered it. As a child, Gubba had always been attracted to the
cemetery outside of Bushlake, and would often play between the
tombstones, playing with the dead, pretending they were alive. He knew
all the names because they used to be his friends.
But the names were different.
Where was Eileen Spanks? And Brett Dover? They used to lie on
each side of that tree over there. And Stan Moore? He was most
certainly lying next to Ed Childs. Ed was there, all right, but the date on
the stone wasn't the same. This one said he had died three years later.
How was that possible?
Could it be a different cemetery somewhere else?
Gubba rose to his feet, pain shooting through his body. He felt so
fragile. Like he was made of glass. The sun was burning him from the
clear blue sky above. It felt painful on his skin. He was so thirsty; he had
to find something to drink. Not worrying anymore about where he was
and what happened to Eileen and the gang, he stumbled across the
cemetery to the water fountain at the entrance, which he had been
drinking from for as long as he could remember.
Gubba gulped down water. He tried to splash some on his sizzling,
burning skin and then screamed in pain. The sun was still right above
his head, his pale skin blistering and peeling off, leaving nothing but the
red unprotected flesh for the sun to blaze.
Oh, my God, it's like I’m on fire!
He stumbled onto the road, towards the city, grumbling, groaning,
and crying out in deep pain. He passed the city limit sign and moved
onto Main Street, which looked nothing like he remembered it. He
spotted Donna's Farmer’s Supply Store and noticed that it was now
called Ronnie's, but didn't have the time to care. He walked right in and
found the place empty, the bell dinging above his head. The cool AC
soothed his burning sensation. Gubba closed his eyes. Someone yelled
from the back.
"Be right there."
Gubba had no money, he realized. And he couldn't let anyone see
him. They might tell his mother. She would only try to kill him again. Or
call the police on him. Lock him away for good like she always wanted
to. Gubba spotted a corner with umbrellas, grabbed one, and before this
Ronnie-fella could come out, he was out of the store.
Out on the street, he opened the umbrella to shade himself from
the sun, and maybe protect himself from anyone seeing him properly.
He spotted a little girl on what looked like a brand new bike. The look on
her face told him everything he needed to know.
He was a monster.
Gubba turned and hurried away, the umbrella leaning on his
shoulder. As he walked, he looked at the houses and buildings,
wondering what had happened to his town.
At first, he wasn't sure it was such a good idea to go there, but he
needed to know if his childhood home was still the same, and most of
all, he needed to know if his mother was still there.
Gubba hurried down First Street, his heart beating fast as he got
closer. In his kick of adrenaline, he almost forgot the excruciating pain
he was in. But he never forgot who had put him in it.
Rage rose in him as he stopped in front of the old house. He stood
behind the white fence and looked at the porch. The big live oak was
still standing tall behind the house. The tallest tree in town, known to
have been used to hang blacks during the Bushlake Massacre.
A sign outside told him the house was for sale. It looked empty. As
a matter of fact, it looked like it had been empty for a very long time.
The windows were covered with plywood. Gubba gritted his teeth
through the pain when thinking about the town and especially his
mother. He felt dizzy and had to sit down on the pavement to not faint.
Then he started to cry. The salt from the tears stung when they rolled
across his peeled off skin.
 CHAPTER TWO

BUSHLAKE, 1997

P arked so it took up two spaces in the empty parking lot outside the
Woodshed Pub, was a filthy beat-up—mostly red under the dirt—pick-up
truck. It had three bumper stickers on the back. ONLY GAY COPS GIVE
ME TICKETS, one read. The other said: REHAB IS FOR QUITTERS. And
lastly, the biggest one said: LEARN FROM YOUR PARENTS’ MISTAKE—
USE BIRTH CONTROL.
Ethel Turner, or E.T. as her drinking buddies called her, emerged
from the double doors and zigzagged towards the truck. She dropped
first her purse, then her keys more than once, as soon as she had
managed to get them pulled out of said purse. E.T. laughed, trying to
keep her balance, and headed towards the truck. Her face was bloated,
her stomach bulging. Her skinny arms and legs made her stomach stand
out even more, making her look eerily like the alien from the movie she
was nicknamed after but had never seen herself.
She cursed when trying to open the car with the key, missing the
keyhole on several attempts, and scratching the door instead.
When she finally succeeded and got inside, she caught a glimpse of
herself in the rearview mirror and touched her hair. It desperately
needed a new dyeing. The roots were growing out and you could see all
the grays at the bottom.
"You look like a darn witch," she told her own reflection, then
grabbed her skin and pulled it back to see what she would look like if
she had a facial lift. It wasn't any prettier, she thought with a sigh, then
let the skin fall back in place and removed her glance from the mirror.
She started the truck and it roared back to life. At first, she forgot
to put it in reverse, and drove up onto the porch of the Woodshed Pub,
knocking over a plastic chair with an oops accompanied by an annoyed
growl. She finally found reverse, the taillights turned on, and she backed
out of the parking lot so fast she almost lost control of the truck. She hit
drive, then stepped on the gas and roared onto the road, heading
towards Bushlake, the town's big water tower guiding her like that star
guided those darn wise men.
She passed the city limit sign but didn't slow down to thirty-five like
the sign told her to. Ethel rushed through Main Street, almost hit
Hannah Charles on her new bike, and waved at her out of the window,
cigarette burning from the side of her mouth.
The girl waved back, her eyes wide open, on the verge of crying,
but holding it back. E.T. stopped at the supply store on Main Street,
slalomed inside, grabbed a six-pack, and threw a twenty at Ronnie
behind the counter, smoke hitting her eye as she stretched out her hand
to receive the change.
Back in the truck, she opened the first beer before returning onto
the road without even looking for traffic. Her tires screeched as she took
a turn on First Street, Mrs. Richardson grabbing her pre-school children
and pulling them to the side, so she wouldn't hit any of them.
She sped down First Street towards her house at the end of it,
when she saw something that made her instantaneously hit the brakes.
What the heck?
On the pavement in front of the old abandoned house was a young
boy, not more than maybe fifteen, holding an umbrella. He was bent
over, crying.
Usually, E.T. wouldn't stop for someone crying or even in distress;
heck, not even if they only wanted to ask for directions, but something
about this boy made her stop the truck. It wasn't the blistering skin or
the fact that he was an albino—an African-American albino. It wasn't the
umbrella either, even though she had to admit it was kind of strange
with the sun shining and all. No, it was something else that had caught
her attention.
It was the flickering. The boy on the pavement was flickering.
One moment he was there, then the next he was almost invisible,
just to return the second after. While most people—ordinary people—
would think something was terribly wrong with themselves, that they
were seeing things, that something was wrong with their eyes, Ethel
didn't. She knew exactly what it meant. And it was what she had been
looking for, for a very long time.
 CHAPTER THREE

BUSHLAKE, 1997

G ubba blinked. Once again, he found himself waking up in a place he

didn't recognize. A face appeared to him. An elderly woman, who reeked
of alcohol, smiled while looking down at him.
"Wakey, wakey," she said. Her crooked teeth looked like they had
been shoveled into her mouth.
He sat up in the bed. The woman looked at him with anticipation.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"Bushlake," she said. "Where did you assume you were?"
He looked at her, his nose wrinkled. "Bushlake, where else?"
The woman tilted her head. She looked like a crazy person with
those mad eyes of hers. It made Gubba feel uncomfortable. How did he
even end up in this place? This house?
Gubba threw a glance around the room. It was messy. Books and
newspapers everywhere. The couch he had been sleeping on felt greasy
and was worn on the arms and corners. The wooden walls were dark
and made the living room gloomy. The windows were behind closed
thick curtains like the woman was trying to keep the light out.
"Sleep well, hmm?" she asked and handed him a cup. The wording
on the side read: THERE'S A CHANCE THIS IS VODKA.
He looked at it.
"Coffee," she said. "To get you going."
His head was hurting when he took it. He sipped it and then
coughed. "That's really strong."
"You need it," she said, her eyes still scrutinizing him.
"How did I end up here?"
"I found you. In front of the old abandoned house down the road.
The one that has been for sale for years."
Gubba nodded and drank again. He remembered the house and the
sign. He also remembered feeling like he was going to die. Had this
woman saved him somehow?
 "You were unconscious," she said. "Been out for three days.
Thought you might never come back. Kept sliding in and out."
"Sliding?"
She smiled widely. "A first-time traveler, huh?"
He wrinkled his forehead. "What do you mean? I haven't traveled in
my entire life. I grew up here in Bushlake…only now…everything is
different."
She leaned forward like she was especially interested in what he
had just said. "Different, huh? How so?"
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, forgetting how his skin was
blistered, then recoiled his hand in pain.
"It's better, but the burns will probably never go away," she said.
"Smart thing with the umbrella. You should stay out of the sun with that
skin of yours. So, tell me, how are things different, huh?"
"It's just…well…" he looked up and their eyes met. She looked like
she was about to explode with excitement.
"I don't know…like, for example, the names on the tombstones.
They’ve changed. And even though one of them was the same, the date
was different. And then the shop downtown, the supply store where I
got the umbrella. It was Ronnie's, not Donna's Farmer's Supply. And…
and my house…where I grew up…" He stopped and bit his lip. She saw
his glance towards the window.
"The abandoned house," she said. "The one with the big oak. You
lived there, right? Where you come from, you live in that house, am I
right?"
He looked at her again and nodded. "I don't understand."
The woman clapped her hands eagerly. "But I do. But I DO!"
 PART I

TAKE THESE BROKEN WINGS

 CHAPTER 4

HOLLYWOOD RESERVATION, FLORIDA, SEPTEMBER 2002

A ndrew looked out the window. There were still a few nicely kept
homes at the rez, but they were soon to be outnumbered by cinder
block buildings with fading paint, some even with boarded-up windows
and abandoned cars in the yards.
Andrew remembered how it had been when he was growing up on
the reservation when it had been all Chickees, the traditional open-
sided, thatch-roofed structures of the Seminoles. Now most of them
were gone.
Andrew felt a shiver run down his spine. The rez was bathed in the
Florida sun, but he saw nothing but gloomy darkness in this place. He
turned away from the window and looked at Julia. His beautiful wife,
holding their newborn daughter, Anna, in her arms. She was the one
who insisted they come there. To show the baby to his mother.
"Why can't she come here instead?" he had argued, back at their
townhouse in Ft. Lauderdale. He was exhausted enough as it was,
between the baby waking up at night and his new job at Florida's
Atlantic University, in the Department of Anthropology. Julia knew he
didn't like to go to the rez unless he was absolutely forced to.
Apparently, having a baby qualified as one of the moments she could
force him.
"We should show her to the elders," she had argued. "Just because
my parents are no longer with us, and you only have your mom left,
doesn’t mean we have no ties to the rez anymore. We're still Seminoles,
no matter if you want to be or not. And we have a lot of other family
there as well. Cousins and uncles and such."
"Of course we do. Everyone is related in there," he had said with a
sigh. "It's hard to even find a girlfriend who isn’t your cousin."
"We met there," Julia said and touched his face gently, the way she
knew he loved. It made him calm usually, but not now.
 Andrew grunted. Meeting her had been the only thing he ever liked
about the place. She belonged to the Snake Clan, he to the Bird Clan.
No one could marry within their clan.
“Come on, it's just for a few hours, then we'll leave and your
mother can come here whenever she wants to see Anna from thereon,
okay?"
Andrew had tried to find more arguments, but couldn't really come
up with any good enough to convince her not to go, so there they were.
Inside the rez again, back at his mother's house that they had moved
into when he was fourteen, the house he hated more than any place on
this planet.
"She eating well, hm?" his mother, Igoshi, asked and looked up at
Julia.
Julia smiled, exhausted. "Yes, yes. She is very good."
Andrew smiled when his eyes met Julia's across the small room.
Having a child was not like he expected it to be. It was so intense, but,
oh, the love. Julia had been strong through the sleepless nights the past
two weeks since the birth, but she was still pale and hadn’t yet regained
all her strength. The birth had been tough and she had lost a lot of
blood. The doctors wanted to do a C-section, but Julia had refused. She
wanted to do a natural birth more than anything. No drugs, no knives.
Andrew had cried and feared losing her, but she had been firm in her
faith.
"You want me to take her for a little bit?" Igoshi asked and held out
her hands. "Give you a little break."
Julia sighed. She looked at the baby's face, then back at Andrew's
mother, the small round woman who was standing in front of her, her
arms stretched out. "Sure," Julia said and handed her Anna.
Igoshi looked at the small child, then smiled. Igoshi walked to her
rocking chair and sat down, while Julia sat on the couch. Igoshi rocked
herself and the baby while singing. Andrew recognized the song from his
own childhood. It woke some soft memories, along with some really
tough ones and he sat down too, next to Julia.
Anna soon dozed off in her grandmother's arms, when she started
to flicker. Like a light bulb or candlelight would flicker before it went out.
Julia grabbed Andrew's arm, hard.
 "She's doing it again," she said, deep anxiety in her voice. "What is
it? I’m scared, Andrew; what is going on with her?"
Igoshi saw it too and then smiled widely in her weathered face. She
looked at them both, her eyes narrowed.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it," she said. "She's just fine.
Don't you worry."
 CHAPTER 5

HOLLYWOOD RESERVATION, FLORIDA, SEPTEMBER 2002

T hey had eaten and showed Anna off to all their cousins and the
elders and whoever else wanted to stop by and congratulate them.
Luckily, the flickering had stopped as soon as she was done with her
nap.
Julia had never been this tired in her entire life. She looked happily
at their daughter as the guests left and they were once again alone with
Andrew's mother.
She was happy they had decided to come, even though it was
exhausting. It was the right thing to do. Anna was, after all, Seminole
Indian, and Julia wanted her to know that, even if Andrew didn't. If it
were up to him, the girl would be brought up in some suburb thinking
she was just like the white kids she was going to be among. She was
already born outside of the rez, and that was going to make the other
kids at the reservation look at her like a foreigner. Julia knew it was
going to be hard for her to make sure her daughter knew her
background and honored it.
Igoshi took one more glance at her granddaughter, while Andrew
helped one of the elders out the door.
As soon as Andrew's back was turned, Igoshi grabbed Julia by the
arm. "You should move back. You really should. For the baby's sake."
Julia sighed. Andrew had warned her that his mother would try and
get them to come back. It was one thing when the young people left to
go to college or even just try the outside world, but once the children
came along, most people came back. Most people who grew up on the
rez themselves had a longing inside of them that usually made them
come back after a few years on the outside. Julia had started to feel
that longing; it had been pulling at her forcefully ever since Anna came
into the world. It was getting harder and harder to ignore.
"I don't think I can get Andrew to…"
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
General description and date of
structure.
On 20th November, 1777, a lease[759] was granted of the
seventh house westward from Charlotte Street, on the south side of
Bedford Square. This was No. 47, Bedford Square.
In plan and arrangement this house is similar to No. 46. The
doorway is well shown on Plate 99. A photograph of the ceiling above
the staircase is given on Plate 100. The front room on the first floor
contains a remarkable ceiling, a portion of which is shown on Plate
101. Another of similar design is in the front room of No. 31. The
carved wood chimneypiece (Plate 100) in the same room has a
central panel representing a sacrifice (bull before an altar).
Condition of repair.
The premises are in good repair.
Biographical notes.
The occupants of this house are given by the ratebooks as follows:—

1782–89. John Raymond.

1789–99. John Raymond Barker.
1799– Peter Pole.
The Council’s collection contains:—
[760]Entrance doorway (measured drawing).
[760]Ornamental plaster ceiling and lantern light over staircase
(photograph).
[760]Carved wood chimneypiece in front room on first floor
(photograph).
[760]Ornamental plaster ceiling in front room on first floor
(photograph).
LXXXIX.—No. 48, BEDFORD SQUARE.
Ground landlord.
His Grace the Duke of Bedford, K.G.
General description and date of
structure.
On 16th January, 1777, a lease[761] was granted of the sixth
house westward from Charlotte Street, on the south side of the
square. This was No. 48.

There were formerly four fine marble chimneypieces in this

house. Unfortunately burglars have destroyed three of these by
breaking away all the sculptured portions, and have mutilated the
fourth by the removal of its central panel. This last is situated in the
front room on the first floor, and is shown on Plate 102. It is of large
size, and has three-quarter attached Ionic columns, mottled buff
coloured marble surrounds, and inlaid flutings in the frieze, and
when complete it would appear to have been an excellent example of
the period.
The ceiling in the same room (Plate 103) is in ornamental
plaster work, with small plaques.
Condition of repair.
The premises are in good repair.
Biographical notes.
The occupiers of this house, according to the ratebooks, were:—

1782–83. —— Bevan.
1784–89. Samuel Gaussen.
1789– Robt. Parnther.
The Council’s collection contains:—
[762]Ground and first floor plans (measured drawing).
[762]Marblechimneypiece in front room on first floor (photograph).
[762]Ornamental plaster ceiling in front room on first floor
(photograph).
XC.—No. 50, BEDFORD SQUARE.
Ground landlord.
His Grace the Duke of Bedford, K.G.
General description and date of
structure.
On 16th January, 1777, a lease[763] was granted of the fourth
house westward from Charlotte Street, on the south side of the
square. This was No. 50.
The premises are a good example of the general planning of
houses on this side of the square. The fanlight (Plate 104) to the
screen between the vestibule and hall is characteristic of others in
this district. The staircase is of stone with mahogany handrail and
wrought-iron balustrade of coupled bars, alternating with one of
scroll design, as has been described in other cases. The end of the
staircase is semi-circular in plan. The ceiling is of ornamental plaster
work, pierced by a large oval lantern. The front room on the first
floor has a good decorative ceiling.
The rear room on the same floor has an ornamental ceiling
with designs in the angles of the central portion, representing drama,
painting, music, and agriculture.
Condition of repair.
The premises are in good repair.
Biographical notes.
The first occupier of the house, according to the ratebooks, was “Mr.
Serjt. Glynn,” who was resident here in 1778. John Glynn was born in
Cornwall in 1722. He entered the legal profession and was called to the Bar
in 1748. In 1763 he was created serjeant-at-law, and the following year
Recorder of Exeter. He enjoyed a great reputation for legal knowledge,
which he placed, in many cases gratuitously, at the disposal of the adherents
of Wilkes, in the legal proceedings connected with the latter’s agitation. In
1768, and again in 1774, he was elected as one of the representatives of
Middlesex in Parliament. In 1772 he was elected Recorder of the City of
London. He died in 1779.
In 1779 William Lushington was at No. 50, Bedford Square, and
remained until 1781, when he was succeeded by John Hunter, whose
tenancy lasted over the end of the century.
The Council’s collection contains:—
Ground and first floor plans (measured drawing).
[764]Fanlight in entrance hall (photograph).

Ornamental plaster ceiling in front room on first floor (photograph).

Ornamental plaster ceiling in rear room on first floor (photograph).
XCI.—No. 51, BEDFORD SQUARE.[765]
Ground landlord and lessee.
Ground landlord, His Grace the Duke of Bedford, K.G.; lessee,
the French Consulate-General.
General description and date of
structure.
On 16th January, 1777, a lease[766] was granted of the third
house westward from Charlotte Street, thus corresponding to No. 51.
In the vestibule of this house is fitted a small chimneypiece
with a sculptured marble panel.
The staircase is similar to
that of No. 50, and the friezes
beneath the ceilings have
moulded plaster designs.
The front room on the
ground floor has a white marble
chimneypiece with Ionic
pilasters, the rear room on the
same floor having one of simpler
design in the same material. The
chimneypiece of the front room
on the first floor is also simply treated in white marble, with three-
quarter Ionic columns. The ceiling (Plate 105) is decorated in
moulded plaster work of good design.
The rear room on the same floor has a white marble and green
inlay chimneypiece and a decorative plaster ceiling.