Steamed milk sprayed towards Lyre Benjamin. The frothy stuff dotted their glasses like homemade freckles. A few amused chuckles drew Lyres eyes to the front of the café. Frustration boiled within them.
What’s funny? They thought. Would you want to be assaulted by hot milk? No! You wouldn’t. Lyre was being ridiculous, and they knew it. The day was dragging on and they were exhausted. Not to mention, the milk had not been the only incident that day. Lyre woke up to a notice that her grandmothers house was up for foreclosure. Unless she could pay the bank 100,000 in thirty days, the house would go up for sale. Grandma Benjamins rickety bones had forced her into early retirement. She kept telling Lyre that it was fine, and the payments were getting made. Ms. Benjamin was the suffer in silence type. The woman wouldn’t ask you to spit on her if she were on fire. She’d say, “You never know when there will be a drought.”
The truth was, she was wary to accept help from anyone. She raised Lyre herself after her husband died. She used his life insurance money to upgrade the house and buy Lyre a new car. She figured she had at least ten more good years until her body gave out. She was wrong. Murphy’s Law and all that. Anyhow, Lyre knew that money wasn’t going to appear out of thin air. They also knew their meager salary at their local coffee shop wouldn’t contribute much. Despite this, Lyre plastered on a smile. They sucked in a deep breath the way Dr. Jamison had taught them and faced the jeering patrons.
“Two white mocha lattes and a chocolate chip quoissant!” She said, shouting over the steady chatter.
The folks came up to grab their drinks. One of the boys stopped and pointed his index finger to his face.
“Ya’ got a little — ” he said.
Yes. I know that dumbass. You watched me get sprayed with steamed milk! Lyre thought.
Instead, they said; “Yeah, the machine shot me down.”
The patron cracked a friendly smile and Lyre decided it was all in good fun. That is how Lyre preferred to live. Though, it was cumbersome. They “had their mama’s rage and daddy’s patience.” Grandpa Benjamin used to say that to them all the time. Lyre rubbed at their chest where a dull ache formed. Grandpa Benjamin kept the bills in order. Before long, it was Lyre’s turn to do the same and they felt like a failure. The house would get taken away by the bank in a month’s time. Lyre didn’t know how they were going to take care of their grandma living on the streets.
The overhead doorbell rang signaling a customer. Lyre discarded the rag they were using to clean up the spill and plastered on another smile.
“Mornin’! How can I help you?”
#
Richie Meyers skirts his Porsche into the handicapped spot. It’s only going to take a minute. He thought. Besides, what’s the chance of someone handicapped coming in right now? Richie shoves his gear shift into park and wraps his meaty fingers around the handle before halting. He grabs his rearview mirror and checks his reflection. He smirks approvingly before opening the door.
Richie had deeply underestimated the demand of the handicapped parking. As he slammed his door shut and beeped the alarm, a Jeep with a handicapped sticker prominently displayed pulled in. Richie saw the elderly man and rolled his eyes.
“Come on! I just got here. You’re coming to shop now?” he said.
The old man in the Jeep rolled down his window with a kind smile.
“Can you please give me this space? There isn’t anywhere left for me to park. I just need a few things.” He said.
Richie grimaced and flung his shoulders around like a toddler throwing a tantrum.
“I only need a few things myself. Can you wait?” He asked the elderly man.
The man was taken aback.
“You shouldn’t be parked here, sir. This is for people with disabilities. You’re young and able bodied.” The man said.
Richie rolled his eyes and got into his car. He burnt rubber with how fast he pulled out, almost hitting a woman and her kids. He looked into the rearview mirror, aggravated that they would dare walk while he was so angry.
“Move, bitch!” He said, pulling into a spot two paces down from the previous one.
The woman he cursed flipped him off as she walked by. Richie shoved to huge hands out the window and returned them. He flung obscenities at her until she quickly shuffled her children into the car.
Richie didn’t have time to waste catering to handicapped men and being kind to women with children. He left his accounting firm under the watchful eye of Dahlia Black. Richie couldn’t think any less of Dahlia, but at least she’s hot. He likes to watch her come to work in her pencil skirts and unbuttoned blouses. He couldn’t wait until she finally broke to his advances so he could take advantage of her.
Richie believed he was intimidating. Women, inferior men, children, and poor folk were the least of his concern. If he did concern himself with them, it was because they had something to offer. He didn’t get any passes in life, and he wasn’t going to give any. People were going to work as hard as he did. Granted, he had prior access to the best schools, the best clothes, and the safest neighborhood. His first car was a Mercedes Benz his dad used for three years and gave away because he wanted a newer model. His dad worked hard for that though. No one else has an excuse. If his dad could do it, and he could do it so could other people. That was that.
Richie meandered around the store with his hands in his pockets. Something pricked his gut with an uneasy feeling. He felt bad about the way he treated the old man and the lady with the children. It was a fleeting feeling. I’m not going to admit that I was wrong! That guy could’ve waited, and that lady was being difficult. I’m tired and hungry. Not to mention Dahlia might crash my entire business while I’m gone. He justified his actions in his mind before turning his attention back to the array of sandwiches. He hadn’t eaten anything all day and Dahlia was incapable of ordering lunch.
When he found what he wanted he fast walked to checkout and paid for his things. On his way out, he quietly tipped the man with the Salvation Army bucket a few loose dollars. He grinned to himself. That should make up for his behavior earlier. Richie slid back into his car and tossed his lunch into his passenger seat. His phone vibrated and he scooped it up to read a text from his wife.
Hey, can you fill in for Mike down at the church at six today? His family came down with the flu. She texted.
Richie sighed and smacked his head against the headrest. His fingers moved to decline; however, he thought about the way he treated everyone earlier and gave in.
Yeah, I guess. He typed back.
He put his phone down and grinned to himself. Two good deeds in one day!? Man, he was on a role.
#
“Can’t you give us anymore time?” Lyre asked Mr. Laughlin from the bank. Their workday had ended promptly at three, giving them just enough time to call the bank and beg for their house.
“Miss Benjamin. There are six months’ worth of payments unaccounted for. We have extended everything we can.” He said.
“I know it’s a lot, but I thought my grandmother was making the payments. Please. Is there anything you can do? She can’t work anymore. I’m the only one paying the bills.” They said.
Lyre wasn’t one for pulling the sick grandma card, but this was paramount. They had to find a way to extend the time. If they had a few more months, they could rally together something to stave off the vultures that circled their childhood home. It was the only place Lyre ever felt safe. They came out to their grandmother in that house. They had their first heartbreak and made their first artworks in that house. It couldn’t all just go to naught.
“I’m sorry, Lyre. Believe me. I tried to get you an extension just this morning. With the renovations to your home, it’s just too good to let go. I’m sorry.”
Lyre’s eyes burned as salty tears threatened to spill down their cheeks.
“I understand. Thank you for trying Mr. Laughlin.” Lyre said.
Mr. Laughlin gave his apologies and hung up the phone. Lyre stayed stuck in the same spot. They rubbed the steering wheel of the sleek upgraded car. Despite being grateful for it, they wished their grandmother would’ve used the thirty thousand dollars to keep the house out of foreclosure. Then those damned upgrades! Grandma Benjamin put every cent into the house only for it to be their downfall. Lyre couldn’t help but wonder if the bank would care as much without the upgrades. Perhaps they would’ve been more willing. However, a four-bedroom house, finished attic and basement with all updated appliances was a gold mine in South Carolina.
Lyre screamed and threw a few punches at their steering wheel. Their knuckles split open, and the gashes ran crimson.
“Hell.” Lyre said, examining their fist.
Grandma would be irate if she saw the scars. Lyre had enough markings on their body that their grandmother didn’t approve of. Years of wrestling with their sexuality, anxiety, and the strains of life made them crave a pain they could control. Lyre started self-harming when they turned eleven. It was the only way they could gain control of their surroundings. They were forced to stop after going too deep one night at seventeen. Lyre couldn’t stand the pain in their grandmothers’ eyes. It was enough to kill. That was when they decided to stay. At least for their grandmother’s sake. At least until she was resting peacefully in Heaven.
Lyre sighed and wiped their eyes with their good hand. They would stop at the store to gather some supplies. Grandma didn’t need any more worries.
#
Richie had done it. He had finally annoyed Dahlia enough to get her to sleep with him. He knew it would happen at some point. Afterall, Dahlia knew she was a horrible worker. Richie used that to his advantage.
“You want to keep this cushy job, don’t you?” He asked her whilst feeling her up.
Dahlia’s eyes had widened in fear and disgust. They were wet from tears that she refused to let spill. Despite Richie’s thoughts, Dahlia was extremely intelligent. She ran the firm like a well programmed AI, but Richie didn’t like giving credit to anyone but himself.
Dahlia scooped her clothes from the floor looking pink and vulnerable. Her soft parts laid bare beneath Richie’s ego and sexual appetite. Richie watched her with ravenous eyes as she prepared to leave.
“When you leave make sure you head down to the unemployment office okay? There’s nothing else I need from you. I’ll mail your last check.” He said, getting up out of bed to show her out.
Dahlia turned and widened her eyes. She couldn’t help but let her lips quiver.
“What?! You said — ”
“I did say and now I’m saying something else. It wasn’t that good for me, okay? Relax, I’ll give you a five-star review.” He said.
Dahlia limped out to the front door with Richie pulling her by her arm. He shoved her out roughly and slammed the door in her face. The girl hobbled outside and rested her back against the fancy building. She couldn’t believe she had let Richie threaten her into — God she didn’t even want to say it. She did everything he asked. Everything.
Dahlia called herself an uber while Richie strutted around his house naked and gloating. He lit a joint and sat his bare butt on his ten-thousand-dollar sofa. He dialed the temp agency that handled his hiring.
“Hey, yeah that Dahlia girl didn’t work out. I need a new secretary.” He said.
He listened as the man on the phone promised another candidate within the week. When he was finished, he scrolled to his hidden banking app. Richie had a bunch of different bank accounts. He couldn’t have his wife finding out about his many conquests. Even the apartment was a front. Richie gave his wife the passwords to designated banking apps so she could basically run the household without him. Right now, she thought he was hard at work. She believed he had burnt the midnight oil and worked himself into a stupor by morning. Such a stupor that he wouldn’t make love to her. He would fall into bed exhausted. Full of the other women he devoured like a wolf.
Richie opened his banking app and his eyes widened. He kept meticulous numbers. He knew what he had in each bank account. He knew what came out and went it. However, the green deposit he was looking at was unfamiliar. Not to mention, it was one hundred thousand dollars shy of a million dollars. He checked around in his accounting apps. He wasn’t expecting that big a payment anytime soon. Where did this come from? He wondered as he scrolled through.
A few incidents played back in his mine. He gave to the salvation army. He went to church for Mike and stayed to help clean up. Not to mention, he had to teach the Sunday school class. Children were a nuisance. This must be God letting me know everything’s on the up and up. Who am I to block a blessing? Richie closed out his app and skipped around the house with added fervor. He danced himself into the shower and dressed in his finest suit. More money meant more stuff. I’ll even get my wife something nice. He thought. She deserves it.
#
Lyre held the phone so tight their knuckles were white with the effort. Something wasn’t right. Money was not something Lyre had the luxury of ignoring. They knew every cent that went in or out. They kept their card locked in fear of being robbed by a miscellaneous subscription in the drive through. Last night, Lyre went to bed with two thousand, four hundred, and eighty-seven dollars in savings. Their checking had ninety-eight dollars and thirty-seven cents. That morning they woke up in trepidation to the sound of their banking app notifying them a transaction was made. The money they had in checking had to last until their oil change in a few days. Nothing could come out that didn’t need to.
However, to their surprise nothing had come out. In fact, nine hundred thousand dollars went in. Lyre called the bank immediately to explain the situation. They knew that money wasn’t theirs. Where would it have come? Biting their nails to the nubs, they wondered if few dozen people woke up to their banks in the negatives. Lyre’s gut twisted just thinking about. They had been on hold for twenty minutes trying to figure it out.
“Miss Lyre?” The agent said.
Lyre sighed. They were used to being called miss. They had stopped correcting people.
“Yes? Did you find out who the money belongs to? Can you give it back?”
“Ma’am, there aren’t any issues on our end. Are you sure you don’t have any secret wealthy friends? Hidden family?” The agent asked.
“No, no of course not. So — so you mean you can’t send it back?” Lyre asked.
“There is nowhere to send it back to. It was sent to us, but it doesn’t have a trace number. It’s almost as if someone wanted it to be anonymous.”
“So, what do I do, now?” Lyre asked.
“Well, I’m going to document that you called and reported it. However, everything looks legit. I’d say enjoy your money” The agent said. “Will that be all Miss Benjamin?”
Lyre couldn’t breathe.
“Yeah.” They said, barely able to get the words out.
The agent said congratulated Lyre once more before disconnecting. Lyre sat with the phone clutched in their hand, pale as a ghost.
#
The bank smelled like leather and expensive candles. Chase bank was fifteen minutes down the street from Lyres home. They rushed in harried with a wild look on their face. It had been three days since nine-hundred-thousand dollars appeared in their bank account. The crazy thing? An additional nine-hundred thousand was deposited the next day. Then the next day. When they woke up to more in their account they rushed out of the house in their pajamas.
There were a few stares as Lyre arrived in a slapdash wearing a cookie monsters onesie. A pair of flip flops hung haphazardly off their feet. The crust from last night’s sleep still settled in their eyes. The only thing Lyre did was brush their teeth.
“Um — ma’am? Can I help you?” A man with a thick beard asked.
He had come from one of the special offices in the back to cater to Lyre. He looked at them like they didn’t belong there. Lyre figured it was because of the onesie.
“I need to speak with someone. I don’t know what going on with my account. I’m a millionaire and I didn’t do anything to make a million dollars!” Lyre said, shouting.
A few heads turned and squinted at Lyre. Some with mired intentions, some like Lyre was a raving lunatic.
“Excuse me?” The man asked.
Lyre pulled up their banking app and showed the man. His eyes popped wide as did his smile.
“Well, I’d be happy to help you! Let’s just step aside and I’ll take your concerns in my office.”
Lyre looked at the three people ahead of them in line.
“Don’t you need to take them first?”
The man fanned at the other folks in line and shook his head dismissively.
“They have problems much less complicated than yours. Follow me.”
Lyre complied but it gave them a smarmy feeling. They didn’t like being regarded as more important than anyone else. Especially not because of number on a screen.
#
Mr. Assad told Lyre the same thing the agent did when they money first appeared. It was Lyre’s to keep and do with as she pleased. Lyre didn’t touch it and grew distressed as more arrived each day that passed.
“God, Source, Universe, whatever you are! Is this some kind of sick joke? I can’t pay back millions of dollars!” Lyre said, shouting into the sky.
Lyre out their hands over their face and sighed. They looked at the facts and decided on a course of action. I’ll call the bank one more time. If they say it’s mine, I’ll use it to pay for the house and leave the rest. Deal? Deal! The call went as it had before. Lyre had the agent triple check over the phone. They requested the statement in writing. The moment Lyres emailed ding confirming the money was theirs, they paid of their house.
Each day that passed more funds were deposited. Lyre sat in their bedroom staring at the billions of dollars they had acquired over a few weeks. They decided to use some to help with student loans. They hired a full nursing staff for their grandmother. When no one called to collect the funds from them, they splurged and bought themselves some new clothes. It didn’t matter what Lyre spent money on — it was never enough to put a dent in it.
#
SNAP! A hallow plastic noise echoed in Richie’s ears. He peered down at the two halves of his battered debit card. The poor thing had been running a marathon at full sprint. Richie’s bank account also continued to grow. Each day, the money appeared and kept appearing. When he realized, the funds were going to keep coming he divorced his wife quietly. He sold his Porsche to a father looking to buy his son a new car. The Porsche was barely driven. Richie haggled the price up as high as he could before settling on one hundred thousand dollars. With that money, Richie invested in mining efforts in Congo and tourism in Hawaii. He bought stock and traded flesh. He began spending every night in brothels and strip clubs.
The young women of these clubs hated to see Richie coming. If you asked them, they’d say his head tripled in size every day. He swaggered into the club speaking to the women as if he were God. He had them kneel and worship him before making them earn every penny they got. He worked them until he couldn’t anymore.
When the clubs grew old, and the women grew boring he traveled. His new private jet hummed like a songbird as it glided through the air. Afterall, in the air was where Richie belonged. He was God. It was his domain. The plush leather seats and excessive luxury were what Richie deserved. Of course, he wasn’t a depraved soul. He made sure to throw a few twenties in the offering plate at church. He taught Sunday school every week now. It’s the least he could do. Not to mention, church women were more fun to ruin than strippers or prostitutes. Richie loved how women regarded him in the church.
Even more, he loved the way he made the men tremble. He loved the way the pastor would cater to pander to him. He had even been named church treasurer. Pastor Pike said he had “the wisdom of Solomon,” and Richie ate the praise like poison. Icarus flew closer and closer to the sun.
#
The alley was dimly lit and dank. Lyre stood in sweats from a store in the mall they didn’t remember. A child’s voice was lifted as high as it could. It was strained from fever. Loretta Grange lived down the street from Lyre. They didn’t speak much, but Lyre remembered the woman’s watchful eyes through the window. Ms. Grange kept eagles’ eyes on Lyre during her high school career. The moment Lyres bullies’ feet pounded asphalt; Ms. Grange was there.
She would beat back the heathens with a broom stick and threaten to tell their mothers. When Mr. Grange got dementia and stopped working, she did everything she could to help him. When he was gone all he left was his ashes and a pile of debt. Ms. Loretta’s grandchild and daughter moved in to keep her company. However, the two were just barely treading water.
Ms. Grange held the baby with both hands while Priscilla gingerly took the stairs. Her baby hairs were slick with sweat and her scrubs were a mess. It must have been a rough night in the ER.
“Mama, what’s this?” Priscilla asked.
Ms. Grange leaned on the banister more than she would’ve liked to before kicking the package. THUNK! THUNK! The box had weight to it. Lyre quietly flailed their arms around waiting for the pair to pick up the box. Priscilla hefted it up.
“Jesus! This thing weighs a bunch. You sure you didn’t order anything mama?”
“I ain’t got two nickels to rub together and make music! Of course, I didn’t order nothin.” Ms Grange said.
Lyre continued waiting in the alley. Ms. Grange and Priscilla put the baby down for a nap inside. The poor thing was wheezing and coughing. The doctors had dismissed them for lack of insurance; however, someone was so kind to give them a few doses of medicine to help him. The baby — Leroy was named after Mr. Grange. Poor Grandpa never got to meet his grandson.
Priscilla rummaged around in junk drawers for a box cutter while Ms. Grange checked the refrigerator for something to make. The two of them together had just enough money to buy a can of baby formula and a packet of chicken. She didn’t know what they were going to eat with it, but something was better than nothing. Ms. Grange cleaned the chicken thighs and seasoned them until they changed color. That’s the way her mama taught her. That’s the way her daughter knew.
“MAMA! MAMA! Oh my god!” Priscilla howled from the other room.
Ms. Grange dropped the chicken as her heat hammered in her chest. Leroy had been fighting a cold that spiraled into pneumonia due to lack of insurance and unhygienic daycares. Ms. Grange feared the worst. However, when she turned the small corner that separated the kitchen from the living room, she nearly fainted.
In the middle of the floor was Priscilla on her knees in front of a pile of bills with Benjamin Franklin’s face on them. Priscilla stared at her mother as she read the simple message on the card.
From one guardian angel to another. May you never see an empty storehouse again.
#
Lyres boots thudded on the asphalt. They wore a hood to keep their face off the news. Lyres neighborhood and surrounding areas had become ground zero for news crews. Everyone was trying to decode an anomaly. Hundreds of residents had woken been waking up to sums in their bank accounts, boxes of money on their steps, groceries, new cars, and other miracles. People all over were thanking God, the universe, a source. Whatever or whoever the stranger was had renewed the faith of an entire neighborhood forgotten by society.
Eventually, people from other places began taking to social media. People all over the world began receiving anonymous gifts. The government suspected massive fraud and began shutting down peoples banking accounts, but the gifts kept coming. The best part? No one knew where from. The money was untraceable.
Lyre tied her apron around her waist with a small smile. Their heart was so warm it felt like their body was made of fire. New crews swarmed the outside looking to interview the newly blessed. It seemed Lyre’s heart was spreading. People who got blessed began blessing. A construction company received an anonymous donation to start working on upgrading the shoddy infrastructure the government left to rot. People were happier. Neighbors could be seen outside chatting. Kids were outside playing. Some of the gang bangers stopped fighting. There was finally enough to go around. They redirected their energy into protecting their neighborhood as police came in to try and confiscate the money.
Lyre watched from the windows at work, serving coffee as if nothing had changed. They schooled their features into sly grin when the news began broadcasting live right outside her door. She listened in as the story shifted to a legal case. People were clamoring around a small Asian woman stood outside a courthouse. Another beautiful young woman was standing with her. Lyre hadn’t seen that kind of beauty around before.
“Hello ma’am, what is your name?” The Asian reporter asked.
“My named is Dahlia Black.” The woman said.
Dahlia? Dahlia Black? That name sounded a bell in Lyres mind, but they couldn’t place it.
“What happened to you Miss Black?”
Lyre listened in horror as the woman detailed a series of assaults. Being one of many victims, Black talked about how she stalked her abuser for information on his life. She collected victims’ stories from brothels, strip clubs, and a church in a town over from where Lyre lived. A picture of a ghastly man with an inflated head filled the screen. The image was clearly a mugshot. The man looked strung out on every kind of drug there was. His named flashed across the screen as; Richie Meyers.
Richie’s crimes ranged from fraud and tax evasion to SA and trafficking charges. Strip club owners were suing him for misuse of their facilities to prey on young women. Church members were in an uproar over his violent misuse of power in the pulpit. A pastor was also on the chopping block for enabling Richie’s lewd behaviors.
Lyre threw off their apron and ran to the breakroom to check their phone. They watched the news on the breakroom tv while scrolling through the lists of anonymous donations they sent. At the bottom of the first page was her name. Dahlia Black. Lyres mouth popped open as they stared at the tv. They fell heavily into a chair as Dahlia filled the screen again.
“Whoever you are. Thank you. The money you gave me allowed me the power I needed to go up against this monster. I never thought I’d be able to get him back for the ways he has tormented me. Your kindness gave me my power back.”
For the first time since beginning their work, Lyre fell to their knees and cried.
