Excerpt from The Beasthood: Letters and Converstions Between Boston and Indianapolis

From Boston
to
Adorra Rose, c/o Cicsi Loop
1 West 2nd, Apt. B
Indianapolis, Ind.

September 11, 1834

    Dear Sister,

    You must come home.  Mr. Cougar has been asking for you.  He is very ill, and the doctor believes your presence will do him good.  I never did understand why you left.  He loves you so much, and I thought you loved him.  He speaks of you often.  Last night he held a dinner party in your honor, to your return.  It took so much out of him, and his face, his eyes, were so down trodden I didn’t’ think he would be able to entertain.  Many women made a move on him.  He warded them off, thinking only of you.  We talk often, but he will not tell me what it was that made you run.  Please come home, just to brighten those eyes of his.  It is sad to see him this way.  When he hears your name he brightens, only to sink back into the deepest depression of himself.  This party brightened the house, for the curtains were pulled back, and still are—this gives me hope.
    I’m writing this letter against his judgment.  He says you must come to him of your own free will.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish
        XOXO
   I miss you!
----------------------

February 24, 1835

    Dear Sister,

    I was exuberant in seeing you, as was mother, after two years.  Your return made him alive; but you left so abruptly that day.  What was wrong?  Won’t you speak to me?  Mr. Cougar expects your return any day again, and waits.  I think he wants to marry you.  Miss Tossil has tried to catch his eye.  I overheard her speaking to him, making snide remarks about the way you have treated him.  I must agree on one thing, your actions leave things open for gossip.  Anyhow, Mr. Cougar thwarted her advancements, detouring her thoughts into starting a shelter for widows—or more less, made Miss. Tossil think it was her idea.  The Old Hill place, the one left abandoned, that will be renovated.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish

P.S. My friend in Indy visited today.  He said something very odd.  You don’t live at this address.  The residence acted as if my friend had lost his mind.  Why would they lie?  Or have you moved?  Let me know.
----------------------

January 30, 1836

    Dear Sister,

    Mr. Cougar is bedridden.  He will not see any person, not even the doctor.  I had to force him to allow the doctor in.  I’m surprised he even allows me to come and visit.  But he has me read your letters to him; they comfort him.  After I read a letter I see a small shine in his eyes.  What have you done?  What did he do?  I’m afraid if you don’t come soon he will die.  The doctor says there is nothing more he could do for him.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish
----------------------

March 1, 1836

    Dear Sister,

    I’m telegraphing you because we will be burying Mr. Cougar in two days.  Is there anyway you can come?  Boston isn’t far from you, by train.  I think you should give your last departing words to Mr. Cougar.  No women made him stray from your love.  His last words to me were he wanted a family, to have a family with you.  Since he is gone now, come on home.  Mamma misses you, and so do I.  Have you liked the pictures I’ve sent you?  You never mention them in your letters.  Mr. Cougar wanted you to have them; he took most of them himself, with the new type of photograph box.  I’ve learned how to use it.  I think there is money in this new product.  I’ve strayed from the subject.  Please come to Boston.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish
----------------------

March 15, 1836

    Dear Sister,

    You will find the photograph box enclosed in this package.  Mr. Cougar’s Will will be read March 4th.  Please come.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish
----------------------

March 26, 1836

    Dear Sister

    Mr. Cougar left you everything!  The house and all within it, the stables, the new business that he bequeathed me to run, as president!  Sister, why is it that you ran, and keep away?  Can you not share your secret?  Something had to be wrong.  Every moment, every hour, he spoke of you with love, nothing more.  What was it that kept you away?

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish

P.S. Finalization cannot be completed until your arrival or that of your offspring.  Come soon.  Why would he request you offspring?
----------------------

April 11, 1836

    Dear Sister

    I’m sorry to hear you feel that way.  And in turn, I and ma, and my new husband thank you for the home, but we cannot keep it.  We will send you rent money.  Mr. Cougar made it very clear that the property could never be sold, and any heirs that you were to have would inherit the property.  Mr. Cougar bought a law firm to secure this.  Please come home and claim what has been given to you.  In the mean time, mamma and I will keep the place in shape.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish

P.S. The business keeps us real busy.  Short letters will be my best.  Come home.
----------------------

October 13, 1836

    Dear Sister,

    I was surprised to see you open up.  I will keep this news from mamma, as you asked.  But you must know, mamma wants grandchildren, and if I told her she would stay off my back!  Come home.  I really need your help here.  The business is crazy!  Who did you marry?  You did marry?  Why didn’t you tell Mr. Cougar and release him from his pain?  Two girls: Darling and Precious.  Lovely names.  Boston is wonderful, so full of life, a wonderful place to raise children.  Think about it, would you.
    Your letters worry me.  Are you ill?

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish

P.S.  There is one room we cannot open.  The skeleton key won’t even open it.  Do you know where this key is?  The house plans does not even show that the room exist.  If we do not find a key soon, I’m afraid Alfred will cut down the door.
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November 25, 1836

    Dear Sister,

    Why so frantic?  I’ll do my best to change Alfred’s mind about opening the door.  Whatever is behind it?  You sound frightened by it.  Please tell me why.  Come home so the door will never be opened and the secret of Mr. Cougar’s will be kept.  I’m sure you are right that Mr. Cougar never wished that door opened by anyone but him.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish
----------------------

February 12, 1837

    Dear Sister,

    Do not worry, Alfred has given up on opening that door.  Mamma was very forceful in persuading Alfred that the room was a sacred place and that Mr. Cougar would haunt him for disturbing it.  I’m confused by mamma’s way.  She seems just as frightened of that room as you do in your letters.  What is behind that door?

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish
----------------------

June 27, 1837

    Dear Sister,

    Why did it take so long for you to tell me all this?  What do you mean you are not married?  Were you raped?  Did you let yourself  . . . go?  I understand why you do not want mother to know.  Were you having an affair with a married man while you were away?  This is not you.  What happened all those years ago?  Maybe I have jumped to a conclusion, and you are a widow.  Many widows do not speak of their dead husbands.  It causes too much pain.  I apologize for judging you.  I have no right, I do not know what circumstances you were in.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish
----------------------

July 19, 1837

    Dear Sister,

    Your last letter was . . . .  I don’t know what to say.  No one would have known what Mr. Cougar was.  Why did you not tell me? tell mamma?  But you were wrong in not telling Mr. Cougar about the children, for they are his.  No matter how much of a disorder he had, he was a man with a heart, more heart than a full-fledge man.  I understand your fear of the girls becoming animal like in instinct, but don’t you think living in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a wild forest that it would make it prominent?  The city does not contain the same hunt as the woods.  I will pray for you.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish
----------------------

October 1, 1838

    Dear Sister

    I’m sending the last letter.  All funds due you for rent and profits will be done through a lawyer.  I only wanted the best for you and your daughters; and regardless how you feel, your daughters will inherit everything.  I’m sorry you feel as you do.  I didn’t send anyone to bring you home.  I don’t even know this Mr. Lyon!  Someday I hope to see you and the girls.  I have a son, Will.  I will no longer take these accusations from you.

Love, Your Darling Sister
Cherish

P.S.  I do believe that Mr. Cougar had a nephew, which visited mamma and I before Mr. Cougar died, sometime after you left the second time.  Whom you describe sounds like that person.  But he didn’t say his name was Mr. Lyon, he called himself Detroit.

The Case of Two Brains

    In the courtroom, a man sits on the witness stand, the man innocent of killing his boss, his mailman, his fiancé, his . . . better half, or at least the attempt of killing his better half.
    The prosecuting attorney approaches Mr. Kim.  “So, Mr. Kim, isn’t it true that no one saw you at Toe Joe’s Jam & Celery the morning of April 15th, where you said you were grocery shopping for exotic foods needed for that nights business party, the same morning your boss came up missing, the same morning your fiancé was found drowned in your pool, the same morning the mailman crashed right after delivery your mail?”
    “Yes.  I mean no.  I mean—”
    “Which is it Mr. Kim?”
    The docile, quiet, wringing hands, mild manner clerk breathes deep.  The man whom broke into tears when nervous or under a great deal of pressure loses his composer, coming out booming; booming like a gorilla poked in his cage: “MR. CROMBAG, YOU’LL NOT ADDRESS MY BROTHER AS SUCH!”
    Mr. Crombag backs off, but not before the face of the defendant plunges into Mr. Crombag’s nose, blinding him with close proximity.  He looks at the demeanor of the man sitting on the witness stand.  Mr. Kim is different.  His face scowls; frightening to look at.  The scowl has a knowingly smile behind it.  His posture is now straight, not slumped, a confident person full of sureness, strength, and power.  The man who now sits on the witness stand isn’t Mr. Kim but a person who takes Mr. Kim’s body at will.
    Mr. Crombag has heard of things like this before when a calm, normal man just goes wacko.  “Who are you?” he squints his eyes and dares to near the new witness.
    The voice is rough, a gargling sound, gruff like a dog growling through a bark: “The man who protects my brother.”
    “Do you have a name?”
    “YOU’LL ADDRESS ME AS SIR!”
    The judge pounds his gavel.  “Mr. Kim, you’ll not be hostile towards Mr. Crombag.”
    The unknown looks at the judge, calmly, and with the same voice speaks softly: “I am not Mr. Kim, Your Honor.  I will,” the word is backed by gritted teeth, “be addressed with respect if,” his eyebrows raise and a finger points up, “you want answers.”  And quickly he adds, pointing his finger towards Mr. Crombag, “You no longer attack my brother.”
    The judge glares at the character before him.  They stare.  The message is clear: This is my court, you’ll not dictate.
    “Of course, Your Honor, I apologize for my temper.  Just don’t attack my brother,” he glares at Mr. Crombag with a heavier warning. The eyes speak Death.
    “Carry on, Mr. Crombag.”
    Mr. Crombag nods to the judge.  “Thank you, Your Honor.”
    “I will ask again,” with a look from the unknown, and a low growl, from the witness stand, “. . . sir,” Mr. Crombag heavily sighs, “what are you named?”
    “My name is Trent.”
    “Trent, will you allow Mr. Kim to return?”
    “No.  My brother need not deal with you any further.  You will be dealing with me.  Is that clear?”
    Very clear.  Mr. Crombag has to think quickly about his next move. This was unexpected.  He paces a bit before Trent, tapping his fingers upon his leg.  What does he know about dual personalities?  Nothing.  He would have to play this out by instinct.  I just hope it doesn’t get me murdered.  And then he looks over to the District Attorney.  He is making no move to ask for a recess.  In fact, the man looks like he is in serious shock, still.  Mr. Crombag looks at the judge.  His expression isn’t identifiable—is it shock like the rest of us?  This is a judge that doesn’t rattle; this is why he chose him; better chance of getting something done.
    “Trent, why does Mr. Kim need your protection?”
    “Because of people like you.  He’ll say anything to keep conflict out of his life, just like that dumb bitch that was making him dress like she wanted.”
    “Who is this dumb bitch?”
    “Toto May.”
    “Trent, sir, did you kill Toto May?”
    “Not actually.  As Kim Kim turned away frustrated after trying to say he didn’t like the outfit she wanted him to wear that night for best appearance with the boss, I stuck out my foot so she’d fall into the pool while jerking the chair from out under her as she stood up to follow him.  She hit her head on the way down, made no noise.  Kim Kim kept on going, knowing nothing.  I wasn’t going to tell him.”
    “And the mailman, Jarmen King?”
    Trent sits silently.
    “Answer the man,” the judge leans over, as if to whisper into the defendant’s ear.
    No attempt is made by Trent to open his mouth.
    The judge keeps his eyes upon the Mr. Kim. “This is my court, and respect is two ways, not one way; thus, you will answer the man Mr. Kim. Do not intimidate me.”
    Trent stares out into the court room. Growling.
    “Bailiff!” the Judge calls.
    The answer comes immediately, “I didn’t do that one.”
    “You mean Mr. Kim did?”
    “No.  We would be dead if Mr. King hadn’t been there before us.  Mr. King was a good man. The letter wasn’t supposed to blow up until I called mom. The letter was programmed to Robin’s signal coming through, no one else's.”
    “Who wrote the letter?  Sir?”
    “Kim Kim did most of it.  But I had to tell mom I was still alive. I knew she would get the letter in two days; I would give her a day to think, in which she would call Dr. Handable to get rid of me. I know she wouldn’t let the letter out of sight.”
    Still alive?
    Even the judge straightens in his seat.
    “So Mr. King was inadvertently killed. You didn’t get the signal set quite right, the mini bomb exploding when his phone went off?”
    “I supposed so. I felt badly about that.”
   
    “So, there are people who know about you? Does Mr. Kim?”
    “They did; they do.  But I was weak for a long time after mom sent us here for surgery.  Something was wrong with Kim Kim.”
    “Where is here?”
    Trent doesn’t reply. Mr. Crombag doesn’t pursue. He then looks back at the District Attorney, Antonio Biggs.  He shrugs his shoulders.
    “Trent, sir, may I speak to Mr. Kim?  I promise to not attack him.”
    “No.  Lawyers lie.”  Trent crinkles his eyes right at Mr. Biggs.  Biggs isn’t watching his client because he is too busy writing on his tablet.
    Very well.  No one is objecting to this, I’m going to go on full blast.
    “Trent.  Why do you think Mr. Kim had surgery?”
    “Something wrong with his head.”
    “How old were you when this surgery took place?”
    Trent puckers his lips in and then speaks thoughtfully.  “About two.  We hadn’t been toilet trained for long.”
    He actually wants me to believe he can remember that far back? A handful of people may remember when they are two.
    “What happened after the surgery?”
    “Kim Kim was able to move but I couldn’t.  I could sense all Kim Kim did; could see and hear some things, but limitedly; could feel Kim Kim was a little lost, too, so I vowed to get better, for him.  It was difficult.”
    Mr. Crombag comes closer to the body of Mr. Kim and stares into those eyes glazed by contempt.  “You keep calling Mr. Kim, Kim Kim.  How come, sir?”
    “That was his name.  Not this Robin name.  Mom wanted him to sound more United States of American.”
    “How is it you chose the name Trent?  It is a European name, sir.”
    Trent became tense, his face narrowing along with his eyes.  Aha!  He had hit a nerve.  He didn’t like his name.
    “I don’t remember any names from our home country.  I couldn’t call myself Kim, could I?”  Trent snorts, as if he had won a battle.
    “No.  I guess you couldn’t.”
    “Besides,” Trent continues, “Trent is a strong name.  Is there something wrong with it?”
    Perfect.  Strike now.  “Yes.  It doesn’t mean Victory, as my name Victor.”
    “HOW DARE YOU!  I’M GREAT!”  Trent stands and lifts his fist in the air, roaring, bringing them down onto the banister.
    “MR. KIM,” Judge Be Leigh pounds his gavel, “You.  Will.  Sit.  Down.  No More Outbreaks!”
    Trent sits.  Mr. Kim’s face puffs and reddens, his hands clutch the banister.
    “Mr. Kim,” Mr. Crombag changes strategies, “have you ever known of Trent?”
    “I Am Trent!”
    “Mr. Kim, why is it that your brother defends you?”
    “He doesn’t know I’m alive!”
    “How can Trent be in your brain without your knowledge, and yet he knows all about you?”
    “I shut off the memory when I do the work.”
    “Mr. Kim, why do you allow another to do your dirty work?”
    “HE DOESN’T!”
    The guards are right there before Mr. Kim’s body lifts over the banister to strike at Mr. Crombag.
    Quickly, Mr. Crombag goes to the judge.  Mr. King joins him.  “We’ve gone this far.  Restrain him.  I want to finish this.  This can’t be real; the mandatory psychological testing done every month by his company couldn’t miss this.”
    “If Mr. King approves.”
    “Very much.  This will put in a plea of insanity.”
    Mr. Crombag smiles brilliantly.  There isn’t going to be a new trial for an insanity plea.  It is ending here.  He goes back to the defendant.  He looks at the body of Mr. Kim as they restrain him.
    “Whom am I addressing?”
    Mr. Kim jerks at the cuffs placed on his arms and legs.  Obviously it is Trent.  His confinement takes away some of his fight as the realization that he is going to harm no one comes to him.
    “Your name is Robin Kim.  You are named after the bird with a red breast to show off.  They fly away.”
    “My name is Trent!”
    “Trent is nothing.  Trent deceives his brother.  Trent lies to his brother.  Trent hurts his brother.”
    The man growls and jerks, again, the muscles bulge from his forearms.
    “Trent is imaginary.  Trent doesn’t exist.  Trent is an excuse to destroy because Robin can’t, just like the bird, because Robin can’t accept his weakness.”
    Mr. Kim’s face is nearly purple.  The man is holding his breath, and covering his ears best he can between his upraised arms.
    “Trent is a coward, makes Robin a coward because he hides in Robin as Robin hides in Trent.  Robin is afraid of Trent.”
    Mr. Kim keeps his hands up with his body bent forward, allowing him to plug his ears. He doesn’t move from this position.
    “I will win because I have the strong name and your real name is weak.  I’m Victor, victorious; you’re Robin, the bird that flies away.”
    Mr. Kim straightens, struggling for breath, his eyes rolling up into his head.  The whites are clearly visible.  His face is purple and red; his throat instinctively grasps for air that just isn’t there, clutching for air in a the space filled with tense aspiration of a crowd, a crowd that swallows the air for their own lungs.  The body collapses to the floor, banging into the banister before rolling down the two steps on the side, flopping wildly.  A medic is called.  An observer from the courtroom comes forward as the words ring out, “Call 911.  He’s seizing.”
    One second passes, then two, and before the third second strikes, Mr. Kim is sitting up looking dazed and confused, but also spouting words in a calm voice: “You will not have control of me Trent; you were erased because you could not function; I was saved to be complete, to be whole; you will not take this away; I will not be weak; You will not make me do what I do not want; I will tell them the truth; I will admit to what has been done through my body by your brain, the brain that I will rid myself of; do you hear me Trent; do you understand me Trent; I am no longer a patsy to you, to anyone; I was a fool; I have found the way to stand up for me; I never needed you; don’t use me as an excuse to do as you please; you were never suited for society, you are not suited for society; I am done with your presence; you will no longer force me into darkness; I will no longer hide from you to do what is right; do you hear me Robin; do you?”
    “Order, order,” the Judge pounds his gavel hard and in rhythm with the breaths of the crowd “oh”ing as if watching a magician do a trick.
    “Yes, sir,” Mr. Kim stands slowly after spewing his intentions. “Trent will no longer interfere, you have my word.”
    “Is this some game, Mr. Kim?”
    “No Your Honor. Please call me Mr. Kim, or Trent.” Mr. Kim takes the witness seat. As he sits, a man from the back of the court runs forward, the doors to the court room booming against the wall as they strike, the man waving a paper, yelling, “Please, sir, allow me to come forward, allow me to speak!”
    The judge, wanting some clarity, demands to know who this man is, demands to know if either lawyers know about this paper, if someone is attempting to make a circus out of his court, spurting everything that comes to mind. After some time, Judge Be Leigh calms into his finals words, “Will this paper give evidence to Mr. Kim’s well-being, seeing you are the doctor, one of several doctors, who performed the initial surgery that Mr. Kim mentioned.”
    “Yes, Your Honor, this paper will. I even brought in my hard drive to prove that it wasn’t fabricated.”
    “Hard drive?”
    “This is a message to me via email, coming late in the night about a week ago. Thought it was some prank until I heard about Mr. Kim’s trial.”
    Dr. Handable is sworn in. Mr. Kim is removed from the witnessed. He sits along side his attorney, Antonio Biggs, waiting for what is to follow. He leans over to Mr. Biggs, informing him how he used the computer in his office to send this message to the doctor. “You understand, I couldn’t tell you because information must be shared with the prosecutor for preparation to dispute. Trent was napping. I had worn him down by forcing him to let me be me.” Antonio Biggs looks at the man he thought he knew, a man that didn’t scheme, didn’t lie, didn’t do anything to harm a fly. Nothing ever suggested something like this. All of this must be an act!
    Dr. Handable’s voice is loud, taking over any other though now in Mr. Biggs mind. “By the time this email is read, it is my hope that the secret past of Robin Kim is now public.  I had a twin at birth, an incomplete twin physically attached to me with its own brain intertwined with mine.  The doctors couldn’t take all of the second brain out. Doing so would have destroyed the whole being of the body you see me present in today. Thus, the doctors did their best in killing off the extra brain, realizing the second brain interfered with motor functions of the my complete brain. All that could be disconnected and destroyed was.  The altar ego, the other brain, learned to compensate and renew some of the damage, and retained knowledge and memories!  Thus, two brains in one body. The man who, hopefully, ran into the court room is one of the original doctors that helped in the surgery. I, Robin Kim, was able to contact Dr. Handable, without the knowledge of Trent Kim. I, Robin Kim knew when Trent slept, taking advantage of those times. A week after the death of my wife, and others, I came to realize what my blackouts were. Knowing what I was facing as I watched from a distance as Trent took over more and more each day, I knew keeping myself unbeknownst to him was best until I had the willpower to take my life back, regardless if I did jail time or not. I also knew my best time to strike was during the trial because of Trent’s hatred from lawyers. Dr. Handable can now explain anything you need to know about my twin, known as Trent currently, but was once called Kong. But before he faces such questions, I must ask you, the jury, the listeners in the courtroom, all officials, 'Whoever said Two Heads Are Better Than One?'”