Trouble Always Finds Me

Trouble Always Finds Me

Copyright 2020 © by James Taylor & Marco Sparks. All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For more information, visit:

mynameistrouble.com

Print ISBN: 978-1-7330662-2-8

eBook ISBN: 978-1-7330662-3-5

Cover artwork by Michael Manuel

First Edition, 2020

For mentors and teachers

Trouble Always Finds Me

James Taylor

story by James Taylor & Marco Sparks

CHAPTER ONE

The Good Twin

NO MATTER HOW many times she read it, that first entry in Nurse Bennett’s journal never failed to give her the shivers.

March 10. Trouble in the ER last night. Pregnant girl blew in with the storm. Soaked to the bone, wild-eyed and screaming, barely 23. Says Valerie Valentine is trying to kill her. Delivered just after midnight. Surprise surprise, it’s twins.

Five days later, that pregnant girl would be dead.

Mom…

She’d been thinking a lot about narratives lately. It was hard not to around her sister. Sometimes, it was like things fit too perfectly to be chance. Did Mom sense that her story was coming to an end? Would she? Was it happening right now?

How did you find me?! the Fortune Teller screeched, pulling the paper bag off her head and punching her in the face.

Something popped, and white novas of pain exploded in her hazy vision. For a panicked second, she thought her orbital bone had fractured. It was the Fortune Teller who cried out, though, wincing and recoiling and cradling her wrist. Good. Now if the room would just stop spinning…

Her brown eyes squinted through the bangs of her crimson wig—Drew’s favorite—as she fought against the dull pressure gnawing away at her consciousness. Drugged. Goddamnit, the tea had been drugged—and she’d drunk it like an amateur, not even waiting to see how Drew reacted first. How embarrassing. And she was supposed to be the smart one.

Her dim surroundings swam into focus. A haggard lady with a rats nest of gray hair loomed, her jaundiced pallor that spoke of methamphetamine abuse. Walls draped in black velvet, crystals and curio cabinets, a single light floating above. Drew Porter, her burly sidekick and Trouble super-fan, face-planted on the scrying table next to her with a Raley’s bag over his head. Like her, he was bound to his chair at the wrists with several loops of twine. Unlike her, he was still out cold.

Some bodyguard you are, she said to his prone form.

They were in the backroom of The Mystic Madame, a cheap psychic joint in a forgotten corner of a forgotten strip mall in Petaluma. The muffled patter of January rain drifted in through the ceiling. She knew from too many YouTube videos that there would be a footswitch under the Fortune Teller’s chair that killed the light and made the crystal ball glow. A nice parlor trick, and a better distraction, if she could just reach the switch.

Answer me! Or I’ll do for your other eye too! her captor shouted again, breath like a rancid diaper.

What are you, like 90? Go on, break your other wrist.

That earned her the back of the Fortune Teller’s uninjured hand.

This was the sort of shit that Jenny Valentine—aka Trouble, the pint-sized girl detective who never found herself in a jam she couldn’t mischief her way out of—practiced for. Lived for. But she wasn’t Jenny Valentine. She was the other one. The ace in the hole. The secret twin.

March 12. Her name is Laura Onishi, the new mom. It seems Dad is Valerie Valentine’s husband. Laura is absolutely paranoid that Val is out to get her, refuses to let her babies leave her sight. Being difficult. Younger twin Elizabeth has an infection, needs the incubator. Doctor Singh is losing patience. I told him not to worry, didn’t he see the birth certificate? Danger is this baby’s middle name. He didn’t appreciate it.

For most of her life, Eliza—as she preferred to be called these days—believed that her mother was a Jane Doe who died in childbirth at Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital in California. A silver-haired nurse from the ER named Rose Bennett took pity and adopted her. Shortly after, they left the North Bay behind for a suburb in East Sacramento. Eliza never had any reason to question this narrative, and honestly, she didn’t really care who her father was. It was just the two of them, and she was content; the brainy little adopted half-Japanese girl who idolized Hermione Granger and wanted to be a doctor when she grew up.

Nurse Bennett had seen 52 winters and lacked the energy to keep up with Eliza after long shifts in the Med Center emergency room. So from an early age, they struck a deal. Eliza would behave, pull down good grades, and practice a hobby. In return, she’d get all the best privileges: the giant box of crayons, a Happy Meal every Friday, a TV in her room. She even got to skip school to go to midnight releases of the last two Harry Potter movies. When she got straight A’s for a whole year in Third Grade, Nurse Bennett bought her a new American Girl doll and all the accessories. Over the years, she took piano lessons, learned to juggle, did ballet, even earned a black belt in Taekwondo. Life was good.

Until four years ago, when Nurse Bennett violated the deal and got herself diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, then, everything changed.

Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to find you, Eliza said, glaring at the old lady. It only took a while. I guess RJ didn’t have time to war-drive to every two-bit Psychic in the North Bay on Yelp. You should have switched Tarot decks.

It was still weird, thinking of RJ Valentine, the late and legendary author of the Trouble: Girl Detective book series as Dad.

March 13. Laura has relented and let Baby Danger stay in the incubator. Infection should clear up in a few days. She’s still paranoid about being followed, but I assured her I hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary in the ER. Except for her, that is.

Nurse Bennett had been getting increasingly absentminded for a few years already, with Eliza picking up more and more of her slack. Reminding her adoptive mother when to pay the bills. Buying groceries with the family debit card. Pretending it was a private inside joke when her mom couldn’t remember a neighbor’s name. The first time Nurse Bennett forgot who Eliza was, it was terrifying. She kept saying, Danger. Danger.

After the diagnosis, Nurse Bennett had to retire. They sold the house and moved to a smaller place in the Auburn Foothills to save money. Trips to Disneyland for a flawless report card were no longer on the table. No more Shakespeare Camp, no more archery lessons. Eliza was to be homeschooled, which meant keeping an eye on her mom while taking classes online.

The tests were easy; Eliza’s attention wandered. She grew restless and reckless, cooped up in that shabby house with all the responsibility now, and none of the reward. Her old friends had drifted away, but the internet was always there to shock and horrify and entertain her. At night, she delved deep into the dark corners of the web: X-rated tumblrs, troll forums, K-pop fandom. She brigaded shitty gamer dudes, traded memes, and invented new online personas, relishing in the chaos she could cause. Years passed in quiet desolation.

A week before her 15th birthday, Nurse Bennett sat her down. It was time, she said. There was a very important secret that needed telling, and she’d better tell it while she still remembered.

Eliza could still recall the moment, sitting on the couch under that scratchy throw blanket she always hated. She was only half-listening, worried this was another delusion. According to Nurse Bennett, Eliza’s actual birthday was today! Eliza’s birth mother wasn’t a Jane Doe after all. She was a grad student who’d had an affair with an English professor and aspiring author named RJ Valentine. Yes, that RJ—

Valentine? the Fortune Teller sucked in a breath through missing teeth and leveled a cold, deadly stare at Eliza. He got what was coming to him.

What, he fuck you over or something? What was your beef with him? asked Eliza.

I’m going to have to kill you both, the Fortune Teller said absently, glancing around the room with calculating eyes that sent a chill down Eliza’s spine. She was far too detached, like maybe she’d done this before.

Hey hey hey, enough of that talk! Eliza said, writhing in panic under the rough twine that restrained her. Have you seen how big this guy is? She jutted her chin at Drew’s passed-out bulk. Let’s work something out.

Don’t matter how big when he’s unconscious, said the Fortune Teller, opening and closing drawers in a nearby armoire.

That’s not what I mean. You’re not thinking this through, Eliza said, her mind racing ahead of the stiletto dagger her captor had just produced. Do you know how hard it is to get away with murder when there’s a body? Can you even imagine how many pieces you’re gonna have to chop this guy into before you can carry him to Lake Berryessa in small, watertight, durable plastic bags, weighted down with lead fishing tackle?

The Fortune Teller was appalled. Drew groaned.

What the fuck, Jenny? came his muffled voice from under the paper bag.

March 15. I shouldn’t have told her. A friend works at Blackbird Springs General, says Valerie Valentine just gave birth to a son of her own. When Laura found out, she wouldn’t wait any longer, even with Elizabeth still recovering from the infection. She packed up the other baby and looked me dead in the eye and said: No matter what you hear, no matter how much it might seem like an accident, if something happens to me or my baby, it’s murder. If I don’t come back, you take Lizzy, and you hide her from Valerie Valentine! Insisted I swear on it. Sure. Fine. Anything to calm her down.

Narratives. Mom knew hers was coming to an end. Knew Val was involved. She told Nurse Bennett so that one day, Nurse Bennett would tell Eliza, and Eliza would have her revenge. If that was the story, Eliza should make it through this, right? She still had a story of her own. Or was framing Val for murder already vengeance served?

Who told you to wake up?

With surprising speed, the Fortune Teller yanked Drew upright and pulled off the bag covering his face. His normally golden-brown skin had gone ashen from whatever they’d been dosed with.

How much did you give him? Eliza asked, more panicked than she wanted to admit.

Not enough, said the Fortune Teller.

Drew barely had time to blink in surprise before the Fortune Teller grabbed his chin and forced more tea down his throat. He spit it back in her face, the magnificent bastard. Eliza’s heart fluttered as Drew growled in defiance and said, I prefer hot chocolate!

He was such a dork! She could kiss him, but in a heartbeat, the stiletto was back in the Fortune Teller’s injured hand, this time its needle-sharp point twitching an inch from Eliza’s neck.

Drink! the Fortune Teller commanded, holding up the cup of tea to Drew’s mouth with her other hand.

Drew threw desperate glances at Eliza and the dagger.

She was doing the math, trying to figure their odds with Drew unconscious again when a familiar pattern from her Apple Watch tapped her on the wrist.

It’s okay, Eliza said to him. Give us a little time for some girl talk.

Drew scowled. Jenny—

Trust me, she said.

He flared his nostrils and gave the Fortune Teller a feral grin. You have no idea who you’re dealing with, he said, rather ironically, and drank the tea.

Within seconds, his eyes were drooping. The Fortune Teller covered his head with the paper bag again and Drew face planted back into oblivion.

So RJ, Eliza said, picking up the thread and hoping to keep her captor occupied. Come on, I never met him. Tell me, what did Daddy do to you?

March 16: Oh my god! On KRON tonight, ‘Deadly Traffic Accident on Highway 12.’ They showed a picture, and it was her, it was Laura Onishi! She’s dead! Did Val really have her killed?? No mention of the other twin, Jennifer. Oh my god, what do I do?

Nurse Bennett’s secret was out, and Eliza couldn’t help but snort in derision. It was a joke, right? You couldn’t just hide a person. That was impossible. But as Nurse Bennett told it, she’d made Eliza’s mom a promise and felt honor-bound to keep it. With the help of Doctor Singh, they fabricated a death certificate for Elizabeth Danger Valentine. Then, a new birth certificate for a Jane Doe baby that Eliza was to become.

Just in time, too. The next morning, a stranger in a black suit and overcoat had come to the hospital, asking about Laura’s other child. Officially, Eliza had died from a neonatal infection. They turned the stranger away, Nurse Bennett adopted the Jane Doe infant, and they moved to another city at the first opportunity. From then on, not a word was spoken of Eliza’s real parents.

Not for 15 years.

Not until Nurse Bennett’s memory was fading and time was running out. After Eliza laughed it off, Nurse Bennett opened her antique wooden jewelry box and reached inside. Eliza had been borrowing shiny bracelets and necklaces from it for years and somehow never noticed it had a false bottom. Out came several pages of a journal, still ragged at the edges from the diary they’d been hastily ripped out of, and a pink and blue document. Eliza’s real birth certificate. Eliza’s real middle name.

What about her twin sister? Was she killed in the accident too? Nurse Bennett didn’t know or couldn’t remember. What were they talking about again?

It was at the county fair last spring, said the Fortune Teller, gently stroking her injured wrist, her eyes far away. Valentine was there, signing books. My husband and I had a booth nearby. Every few hours, Tomas would walk down the line for RJ’s autograph and do a cattle call, and I’d do some cold reads to drum up business.

She hissed, still aggrieved about what came next.

I did a reading on some young lady. I guess it was his daughter.

Wait—Tori?

She was a real superior bitch. The Fortune Teller licked her lips. Didn’t like my read. Said I’d insulted her. Excuse me for smelling the vodka on her breath. She went and complained to daddy. The next time I went out for a show, RJ was waiting. Her voice caught in her throat. "He somehow knew that Tomas had an old warrant and got the sheriff to arrest him. Then he dismantled me. Exposed me. Gave away every trick I had in front of a huge crowd. Even pulled off my turban and wig, said I was from Turlock and ‘cultural appropriating.’ And everyone laughed and laughed, because he was RJ Valentine, the Gentleman Sleuth, just showing off for his fans.

It was humiliating. He ruined us. We couldn’t work in Blackbird Springs after that. We were broke, and Tomas couldn’t afford the legal fees, only saw one way out. She sniffled. The dumb idiot didn’t even check the insurance policy first. It wouldn’t pay out for suicide, so it was all for nothing. She studied the tip of the blade, her dark eyes full of scorn and hatred. So yeah, RJ got what was coming to him.

Where were you on the night of August 10th? Last summer? Eliza asked.

The Fortune Teller laughed.

I was waiting for him, you know? The night of the Gala?

Goosebumps prickled on Eliza’s arms. Go on.

Who do you think this was for? she said, fingering the dagger. I’d been watching him. I knew he had a room at the Crow’s Nest he liked to keep secret. Figured he’d show up after the Gala. The Fairmont was only a couple blocks away. Her shoulders collapsed in resignation. She set the dagger down. But he never showed. Turns out Valerie Valentine did for RJ herself. Who’s laughing now, you arrogant prick?

"So, you didn’t kill him? Eliza deflated, letting out a breath she’d been holding. Damn. I just lost a bet."

March 10. You’ll be 15 today, Elizabeth. Maybe I should have told you sooner. Maybe I should have tried to track down your mom’s family. She said they disowned her, but maybe they’ve changed. I think she had a sister named Michelle. But you’ve brought me so much joy. Joy I never knew I was missing. I’m sorry if I did the wrong thing, but I’d do it again. I love you.

Nurse Bennett was never the same afterward. Slowly, inexorably, the only mom Eliza had ever known was fading away, a frightened, helpless stranger emerging in her place. She wasn’t the only one. After years of increasing isolation and a shocking birthday surprise, Eliza was a stranger to herself. Or maybe this was growing up. She found new hobbies more befitting of her namesake. She pilfered cash. She learned to drive. She prepared.

It took her nearly a year to find Jenny. She hadn’t even known to look for her. There were a dozen women named Michelle Onishi in the Bay Area, but none with a dead sister named Laura. After many fruitless Google searches and some embarrassing phone calls, Eliza chanced one night upon a user on the r/TroubleNovels subreddit with some very odd and spiteful personal opinions about RJ Valentine’s wife Valerie. Stalking her profile, Eliza discovered that she lived down south in Glendale, CA. A quick search revealed a Michelle Onishi who lived in Glendale and taught at a local high school.