The King is Dead
Ana was only four years old. She was just a little figure among all the grown-ups. Her little hand curled around the black umbrella as she followed closely behind the six men who carried that long wooden box. Six men—she knew because she counted them, just as her momma and her had practiced out in the gardens, counting butterflies and rose petals—carried her father. She knew he was in that box because Uncle Nevio told her. When she asked why, he said it was to protect his body so they could bury him.
The box was black and shiny. Droplets glittered on the polished wood before they became too heavy and slid down the slippery surface. The sky was covered in clouds. They had all the shades of grey. From light to almost black. Rain fell from those clouds like watery twine. A curtain she could hardly see through. Everything looked like a blurry photo. She saw pictures like that when her mother used one of her cameras. Some of them were blurry, but through the blur, she still recognized her smile. Those pictures were all Ana had left now.
She still didn’t understand what had happened, even though she had been right. She saw it all with her own eyes. At night she still had bad dreams about it.
Momma used to sing her lullabies when nightmares kept her up. But now that she was gone Ana was just scared. Screaming and crying all by herself.
The gunshots still rang in her ears. The way her father shouted at her. Words she couldn’t understand over all the noise. But she could tell by the look on his face that he was scared. Or maybe he was angry because she didn’t listen.
But Ana couldn’t understand.
All she could do was stand there frozen as she counted the shots fired.
Seven.
She had seen a gun before. The men protecting Papa and Momma always carried them. Her Uncle had one too. He had shown it to her once. It was heavy, and she didn’t like the cool feel of the metal in her little hands. She could barely hold it up. She remembered Uncle Nevio laughing and patting her thick, black hair.
“Such an innocent little thing. But you don’t need this, do you?”
She shook her head. Ana didn’t need a gun to protect herself. She had her papa and the men that surrounded her family all the time. Papa always called them their private police.
She liked that.
Especially Angelico.
She couldn’t quite pronounce his name, so he started calling him Kiko. He was fun. Sometimes he would sneak her some candy and tell her it was their little secret. He even played hide and seek with her in their house. Never outside though. He said it was too dangerous.
Ana didn’t know what it meant until that fateful day when her parents died. Kiko had been by her side. He had pulled her away, but she held on to her Papa’s hand.
He always held her hand in public, and she liked that. She used to pretend to be a princess.
His princess.
A few years ago, she overheard someone calling him a king, and she knew from all her books that if her papa was a king, it would make her a princess.
She knew little about his kingdom. Most of her time was spent at the manor. The property was enormous. Maybe that was enough of a kingdom. She sure thought so.
It would take days if she wanted to walk from one end of their land to the next. Maybe even a week. She wouldn’t know exactly, because she never tried, but maybe she should.
One day.
But what would happen to her now that her papa was gone? Was she still a princess? Would she keep their kingdom?
The night her papa and her momma were taken away from her she wore a pretty dress. Not like the one she was wearing today. She never liked wearing black. It made her sad.
That day she wore a rose-colored dress, with a pretty skirt. Her hair was beautifully braided, and her momma even gave her a little tiara.
Just like a princess.
Her papa was more than a king though. He fought the bad people. He said that’s why they needed protection. Because he was a hero.
To her he was.
No matter what he did as a king. She tried to read an article in a real newspaper once. It was about him, but she didn’t understand half of the words in that article. She wasn’t very good at reading yet, but she would try harder. Especially now that he couldn’t read to her anymore. She was a big girl now, and she needed to read what people—bad or not—wrote about her papa.
A hand, not much larger than hers, curled around her cold one, and when she turned to look at who it was, she saw her cousin John. He was only a few years older than her. He used to play with her, but not so much anymore. He had new friends. Kids his age. She understood that, but she was glad he was here now. Holding her hand and offering a little comfort.
“Papa said you’re my little sister now,” he explained, “and I’m your big brother. You know what big brothers do?”
She shook her head. She didn’t have any siblings so she wouldn’t know.
“He protects his sister,” he looked so serious at that moment, that she didn’t doubt him. If he was her brother, then maybe she wasn’t as alone as she thought she was.
“Will I stay with you and your parents?” she asked him. She had been at her uncle’s house ever since her parents were killed, but she wasn’t sure if that was something she should get used to.
John nodded his head, “Papa said so! You can stay in my room if you want to,” he gave a little shrug, “I don’t mind.”
“I’m scared the orphan people will take me away,” she confessed, lowering her head as she felt her little heart pick up speed. She heard some kids talk about it. About a place where children would go if they had no parents. They said it was a sad place and Ana didn’t want to live there.
“You’re not an orphan, Guliana,” he shook his head and hope sparked in her bright blue eyes, “you still have a family! Remember,” he pointed proudly at his chest, “I’m your big brother now!”
“Right,” she nodded and for the first time in days she smiled.
“Can I play with your toys too?”
“Not the cars,” John said, “you’ll break them.”
“Aw, but I like them. Can’t we play together? I promise I’ll be careful!”
He thought about it for a moment and caught his mother’s eyes. He knew that look and he knew he had to share his toys with his cousin.
His sister.
If he was honest, he didn’t mind. He always enjoyed playing with Ana. He liked to watch her play. Sometimes she danced to her silly music. But he liked how happy she looked. With her long black hair and those bright blue eyes.
“I miss them,” she whispered and stood a little closer to him. “Where do you think you go after your family says goodbye? Haven? Do you think they are angels now?”
“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. He couldn’t know. He never lost someone like that. All he knew was how upset his father was when the phone rang that night. He was furious at first and after that, he was sad and then angry again. Maybe anger was a natural reaction to loss. His father lost his brother after all. Just like Ana lost her father.
He eavesdropped when the police came to their house. He heard them talk about guns and death. It fascinated him more than it scared him. He learned it hadn’t been a random ambush. It was a deliberate attack. They knew because the attackers used silver bullets in their guns. They said that there was only one family using silver bullets in their guns. Moontague. John remembered their name. He always would.
“Ana,” his mother’s voice soft and tender interrupted his thoughts, “it’s your turn to say goodbye,” she reminded the girl in her black dress and the black umbrella. Ana nodded and let go of John’s hand to take the white rose from her aunt’s hands. She cried when she laid the roses on her parents’ caskets. People whispered about heartbreak, but he found it beautiful.
“Come here, darling,” his father crouched down for her to step into his arms. He hugged her like she was his own flesh and blood. Comforted her and whispered soothing words as she whimpered into his black suit. John recognized the guilt on his father’s face as he tried to make right what was wrong. “You’re going to be okay. Your parents will always watch over you from the next realm and we – ,” he opened one arm, gesturing for John to step closer, “ – will protect you in this.”
“From the men with the guns?” she whimpered as John stood next to her, his father’s hand on his shoulder.
“They won’t harm you. I promise you.”
“Is… is Kiko going to stay with us too?” she mumbled, playing with the hem of her skirt. She didn’t want to lose him too. She liked him.
He protected her. He always had.
“If that’s your wish it can be arranged,” Uncle Nevio nodded and carefully brushed her hair back. “Now,” he stopped her from playing with her dress, “why don’t you and Johnny wait by the cars?”
Ana glanced toward the waiting cars. They were all black with dark windows. So dark Ana couldn’t see what or who was inside. They looked Just like the car that blocked their way into the theatre moments before her parents were shot.
Men jumped out, their guns drawn.
Everything moved so fast in that moment, that she barely had a chance to be afraid. Only when her papa let go of her hand and Kiko wrapped his large body around her as a shield, she knew something was wrong.
It was on the third loud bang of a gunshot, she and Kiko landed on the hard concrete floor. It hurt because his body was so heavy, and she couldn’t move. She was buried underneath him. Unable to move or scream. Her voice was stolen, and she couldn’t use it anymore. It was the fear that muted her.
But she remembered crying, her little head turned to the side, staring right into the lifeless blue eyes of her father. A thick red liquid dripped down his forehead. She had never seen someone die before. She rarely ever saw blood. Only once, when she pricked her finger on a thorn of her mother’s roses. She had a band-aid to stop the bleeding. A band-aid and a soft kiss to her little finger, telling her she would be fine. That night a band-aid wouldn’t have been enough. Nor would a kiss have fixed it.
“Come on, Ana,” John tugged on her hand, wondering why she dug her heels in, staring wide-eyed at their car. She looked scared. Maybe because she didn’t like riding with strangers or maybe it was just one of those girl things John couldn’t understand. “I’ll let you play with my toy cars if you want,” he tried, hoping it would distract her from whatever scared her.
“Really?” her sad eyes lit up a little. He liked it when they did that. It was pretty.
“Just today,” he clarified, “but yes, we can play together if you like.”
“Okay,” she nodded and followed her cousin who was now also her big brother to the cars.
She followed him, setting one foot in front of the other. Her black shoes were extra shiny. She would have liked that if it didn’t remind her of the smooth surface of her father’s casket. Of the thick raindrops rolling down her mother’s coffin.
