For Blood & Glory

by Cassandra Hendricks

  Sefira looked at him, disgust apparent with each word spoken. “No meds for her today, Doc.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Sefira outstretched her arms, spinning around. As she did so, everyone in the room froze in place, including Dr. Ken.

  “I should give you a dose of this crap.” Sefira snatched the meds from his fixed hands and threw them across the corridor. After snagging the keys from the guard, she sifted through them and located the key to the cell. When the lock clicked open her stomach plummeted like she’d taken a dip on a roller coaster. As she gripped the cold, hard steel that was the cell door, she prayed that if this were her mother, she would be the one that she’d known. Her fierce protector. Her shield whose love for her was unmatched. A hollow clank echoed as she shut the door behind her.

  The room was cold and stale. A hard, brown box much like the others. To the left was a simple metal bed with white sheets folded over a dingy blue blanket and a single white pillow atop. Metal hooks were affixed to each corner of the bed. It looked untouched. On her right was a tan sink with water dripping sluggishly from its spout and a rectangular shatterproof mirror affixed above; a toilet besides.

  She imagined herself running in there with a celebratory shout. She’d done it. She was in. And if this was her mother, she would soon be free. Unfortunately, her feet had turned to lead. She took a hesitant step forward.

  The back wall had a barred window perched high in its center. A single pool of light shone through, casting a wide, lattice-shaped shadow and spotlight on the silhouette of a slender woman sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the room. Her head lolled to one side as did her shoulders. Since she was facing the window it was impossible to know whether she was awake, alive or even her mother. The stillness about her had Sefira more than concerned.

  “Mommy?” The word was almost foreign to her. When was the last time she’d used it? She couldn’t remember. With it, memories flickered like flames in a dark room. Amongst the shadows, she glimpsed the gentle creases that formed around her mother’s mouth when she smiled. Felt the long chestnut arms that gathered, protected and embraced. Smelled her locks, freshly washed with hints of coconut pomade infused throughout. The word was powerful and she’d hoped it was strong enough to break whatever spell they might have had her under. Breath abated, she waited for her to stir. But, there was no response. Instead, her shoes clacked sharply against the cement floor as she rounded the chair, resting her eyes on the woman. Her breath hitched and she stepped back aghast. The woman was indeed her mother, but only a shell of what she once was. She was thin. Scary thin. Drowning in the plain white t-shirt and grey sweats she probably would have filled out before. Her thick lush locks were a matted, scraggly tangle atop her mother’s shoulders and her beautiful cocoa brown skin was ashen and grey as if someone had sucked the color out of it. Although her eyes were open, there was no life in them; neither was there any in the way in which she hung her head. It bent low and limp, as if she were either dead or had lost all will to live.

  “Mommy.” Knees bent, she leaned forward and took her mother’s hands. They weren’t the soft supple ones that caressed her face when she was little. They were foreign—calloused. Getting closer still, Sefira knelt in front of her, gently lifting her mother’s chin with the tips of her fingers.

  Sefira whispered, “It’s me. Sefira.” Tears clouded her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to get you out of here.” Gathering her mother in her arms she attempted to lift her from her chair and realized her arms and ankles were shackled. She put her down. Keys tinkled as she fumbled through them, searching for one to fit the locks. Frustrated, she dropped them and focused her concentration on the chains. They popped open.

  Her mother’s bodyweight fell upon Sefira as she lifted her from the chair. She was even lighter than she looked, and she smelled as if she hadn’t showered for weeks. Sefira wrapped one arm around her mother’s waist, draped her mother’s arm around her shoulder and half dragged, half walked her to the cell door. C’mon, Blythe where are you? She focused on the door. It swung open. With caution, she exited the cell.

  It was amazing to see that everyone was just as she’d left them. They hobbled past the paralyzed doctor and the attending guard, making their way toward a corridor when Sefira's powers wore off. In a panic, she tried to replicate what she’d done only a few minutes earlier, but her efforts were futile. Behind her the doctor finished his sentence.

  Oh no!

  “Wait—stop her!” he yelled. Sefira glanced back to see astounded faces and a finger pointing directly at her. A second hadn’t passed and an alarm blared like a bull horn over loudspeakers. A steady thrum grew louder. Sefira realized it was the sound of boots as armed security raced through the hallways advancing upon her and her mother. Soon, they were surrounded by fatigues. Guns were drawn, and shouts burst from every direction, ordering them to freeze or suffer a far worse fate. Meanwhile, personnel scattered like ants, dodging behind guards, diving underneath countertops. People were crying.

  God help us. With a wave of her hand, the guards and their weapons were flung across the room; colliding with one another and dropping guns in the process. It hardly bought her time. More guards descended, pouring like water from every direction and this time they gave no warning. Sefira screamed as the sound of semi-automatic weapons burst through the room. Instinctively, she threw up an arm as if she could shield herself and her mother. To her disbelief, she did. A wave of energy egressed from her body, washing over both of them. As the rounds went off, she could hear the bullets pelting against the energy like rain against a window, but they couldn’t penetrate the field. Instead they clattered like pennies to the floor.

  Chest heaving, she tried to stay focused. She could feel the energy pulsing through her and she was trying to keep it steady. I don’t know how long I can hold this up. Blythe, where are you?

  Glass shattered somewhere in the distance followed by screams as heavy objects crashed into walls. The commotion took the attention away from Sefira as guards yelled into two-way radios demanding answers. Soon, Sefira was all but forgotten. A heavily armed man hurled through a door, hitting a wall before crumpling to the ground. Guns aimed in the direction from whence he came and a whirring sound emerged. Shots rang—bullets flying in every direction, but the noise persisted. One by one, the guards were picked off. Some hit the ceiling, others walls or the floor. Still others screamed in anguish, beating at their throats as their air supply was choked off. Within minutes, there was less and less firepower and eventually there was none. Blythe emerged alone from the residual gun smoke, hair tossed and uniform torn but otherwise unscathed. Relieved, Sefira’s shield dissipated.

  “You guys okay?” she asked, wiping her hands against her dusty black jeans.

  “Blythe, a gun—behind you!” Sefira pointed. A security guard had his gun aimed at Blythe’s temple. Sefira tried to intervene, but her powers failed. With a thump she dropped to the floor dragging her mother with her. Cold tile pressed against her face as the guard pulled the trigger, sending off round after round of ammo. Sefira stomach twisted but she forced herself to look.

  Blythe moved faster than the woman’s bullets. Defying gravity, she ran up one of the corridor walls, a trail of bullets behind her. When she reached the ceiling above the officer’s head she knocked the gun from her hand, grabbed her by her head and used the crux of her arm to choke her until she passed out and fell to the ground. Blythe reappeared in front of Sefira and helped pull them off the floor.

  “Let’s go,” said Blythe.

  “Wait,” Sefira answered. “There are cameras all over this place,” she whispered, eyeing one of the black bubbles on the ceiling.

  “I know, but we have no time and you’re outta juice,” said Blythe.

  “Just—wait. I think…” She looked up, concentrating on the bubbles. One by one they burst.

  “Good job,” said Blythe, hands on her hips, “but the footage is still there.”

  "
Yeah, well it couldn’t hurt.”

  The sound of rustling paper was heard behind them. They turned to find Dr. Ken trembling uncontrollably underneath a counter. A pool of urine formed where he sat. Sefira couldn’t help herself. “The broken, delusional misfits are leaving now.” She placed a hand on Blythe’s shoulder.

  “I can’t believe we pulled that off,” said Sefira, her heart beating wildly. They were in the woods, a safe distance away from the commotion. Sirens blared in the distance. “Can you give me a hand?”

  “Yeah,” was all that Blythe could muster, as she helped her sister lower her mother’s frame to the ground. The girls sat with their mother, knees sinking into the moist earth.

  Sefira shot Blythe a quizzical look. “Why are we here? I thought we were going to your place?”

  “I um—yeah, we are.” Blythe smoothed her hair back. “I just…I just thought that maybe we could have a moment alone.” Blythe’s edgy banter was gone. A certain tenderness presented itself and it was nice to see.

  “Okay,” Sefira replied, turning to their mother.

  The warm Carolina sun complimented everything she touched. Flowers, trees, grass—even insects were all the more beautiful. Sefira found herself wondering how the same sun who was so forgiving and kind to the world could cast such a cold shadow upon her mother. The sun’s rays exposed the bags that had formed under her mother’s eyes and the greys that crept within her hair. It revealed skin and lips that were dry and chapped, and the thin layer of meat clinging to her bones as if she’d shriveled. Sefira’s only hope was that somewhere, buried beneath the odd pallor of her mother’s complexion and the deadened look in her eyes, was a fighter. The question was whether Sefira, or even Blythe for that matter, would ever see that woman again. From the way she looked, the odds were not in their favor. Right now, Delilah sat with her back to a tree, slumped and expressionless atop a bed of red and rust-colored leaves, legs and arms sprawled out in front of her. She did not seem to appreciate who they were, or even that she’d been moved. By the look of her she was defeated, as if life itself had betrayed her.

  “Mommy,” Sefira said, stroking her mother’s dry hair. “It’s Fira. Please, wake up.” Her voice quivered as she fought back tears. “I’m so sorry Mom. For not believing you.”

  As Sefira stroked her, the girls waited patiently for some sign of life, but her eyes remained glazed and she sat in silence. Sefira gently removed her hands from her mother’s face and Delilah’s head dropped.

  The chips Sefira devoured earlier that morning were making a vengeful return and she fought back the urge to give them up. Strength was what she needed, if not for herself for her sister who had been so hopeful up to this point. A quick glance at Blythe and she could tell that her hope was fading away.

  They were outside, but Sefira needed air. Gripping a tree, she steadied herself against its trunk, preparing to stand, when her mother’s hand shot out and grabbed Sefira’s sleeve. Slowly, her head raised and when their eyes met they brightened.

  “Fira?” her mother whispered. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her voice sounded dry—strained. Her grip tightened. “This isn’t real,” she said shutting her eyes, “I know it isn’t. But God, just let me feel something. Feel her face….”

  Sefira dropped to her knees as frail hands lifted to meet her cheeks. They slid along their contours the way she used to when Sefira was a child.

  Sefira placed her hands on her mother’s shoulders. “Mommy this is not a hallucination. I’m really here…”

  Delilah shook her head in disbelief. “No,” she said weakly. “Don’t do this to me…not again.” Tears ran like silent rivers.

  “Mom, it’s me.” She pulled her mother close, burying her in her arms. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” she whispered, tasting salty tears as they slid down her cheeks.

  Her mother’s embraced tightened. “Fira?” They were both sobbing now.

  They held one another for a while, and then Sefira pulled away, gently holding her mother’s forearms. “Mom,” she said. “I brought someone with me.” Sefira slipped her hands into Blythe’s and pulled her close.

  Delilah looked confused, staring at Blythe as if she hadn’t noticed her until now. She leaned forward, reddened eyes narrowing.

  Sefira continued, “Mother, this is—”

  “My daughter.” Delilah finished, wide-eyed. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She sat up, reaching for Blythe, who looked stunned, yet overjoyed. They embraced and Delilah’s entire body shook as she choked on tears.

  “Shhh—it’s okay,” said Blythe. They embraced for what seemed like an eternity before pulling back.

  “My mind said it was over,” said Delilah, wiping away her tears as she looked intently into Blythe’s eyes, “that I had failed you. But my heart—my heart spoke the truth,” her lips trembled, “it never gave up. I knew I would see my children one day, whether it was in this life or the next. And you’re so beautiful, she whispered. “Both of you.” She motioned for Sefira to come close and they all hugged.

  “Wait,” Delilah sat back suddenly, wiping tears away. “This means. . .”

  “What?” asked Sefira.

  “He’s alive,” she muttered.

  “Who’s alive?” asked Blythe.

  Their reunion was interrupted by the sound of helicopters above. A voice boomed over a loudspeaker. “You are surrounded. Do not move, or we will shoot!”

  “Gotta go,” said Blythe. She placed a hand on each of their shoulders, and they were whisked away, materializing in Blythe’s living room. Suddenly, it was quiet and stuffy.

  Delilah’s eyes widened as she slowly pulled away from Sefira and steadied herself on the back of a loveseat. “Which one of you did that?” she inquired, continuing to wipe the endless tears streaming down her face.

  “I did,” Blythe confessed.

  “Amazing.” She smiled, and for the first time, Sefira caught a glimpse of what her mother used to be. It gave her hope.

  “You haven’t seen half of it, trust me,” said Sefira as she took off her lab coat and backpack, placing them on the sofa. She fished her phone from the coat’s pocket, shoving it in the back of her jeans. “Can you believe I’m telekinetic? And I can freeze objects. People, even.”

  “I’m sorry, my mind,” she closed her eyes, running a hand across her forehead, “—it’s foggy. Is that what you did to get me out of there?” her mother asked.

  “Yes.” Sefira nodded. “I can only do it for a couple minutes tops, but it helps.”

  “Indeed, it does,” her mother agreed.

  “I can do other things too,” said Blythe, sounding like a child trying to impress.

  “Like what?” asked her mother, smiling again.

  “Defy gravity. Plus, I’m strong and fast and I can turn into this—creature.” She scratched her head. “I don’t even know how to describe it, but I can kick butt.”

  “You are both very special, no doubt, regardless of your power,” said her mother.

  “It feels so good to have you back,” said Sefira. It was still hard to believe that the plan had worked. “And I’m sorry—”

  Her mother threw a hand up. “No apologies. You have nothing to be sorry for.” She looked at both of them. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.” Her eyes surveyed the room. “Where are we?”

  “We’re at my….” Blythe answered, but stopped short.

  Sefira understood. If this was awkward for her, it must truly be awkward for Blythe.

  “Your parents’ home?” asked Delilah. “Your home. It’s okay,” she reassured.

  Blythe averted her eyes. “We’ll be safe here.” She walked into the kitchen. “Come in here,” she motioned, “have a seat.”

  Sefira helped her mother into the kitchen, and Blythe pulled out a chair for Delilah to sit in. “You must be starved. Want something to eat? Drink?” After washing her hands, she poured her mother a glass of ice water. “Here,” she said, handing her mother a cup, “drink this.”
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  Delilah took a sip, exhaling. “Water never tasted better.” Motioning towards the sink, she asked, “mind if I freshen up a little?”

  “Of course not,” answered Blythe. “There’s a bathroom right down the hall.”

  “No need,” her mother answered as she pushed her chair away from the table and walked over to the kitchen sink. After clearing the dishes from one side, she turned the faucet on, poured dish soap in her hands and worked them into a nice lather, then slathered the suds over her face and neck. With a wet hand she pulled the shirt over her head and placed it on the counter beside her, revealing her bra and bare back. Blythe gasped, clutching her stomach, mouth agape. Sefira felt the hurt too. There were ugly burns on her back, some in the form of shiny brown welts and others fresh—white and pink. And there were more scars besides where it looked like the flesh had been torn away and hadn’t properly healed.

  Blythe headed in silence for a kitchen drawer as Sefira made for her backpack. When Sefira returned, her mother was near naked with a towel wrapped around her middle as she leaned over the sink, rinsing her mouth out and splashing water on her face and bare chest. Her mother was always tough, but she used to be a lot more discreet. That place she was in, it changed her.

  Blythe sat at the kitchen table, looking away as Sefira placed the extra change of clothes she’d brought neatly on the countertop along with toiletries and a brush. Her braids tumbled over her shoulders as she pulled the rubber band from her hair, placing it atop the pile as well.

  “Thank you,” said her mother as she scrubbed her arms with a wet towel.

  A couple minutes more and she was done. Her mother looked more like herself, although a Millennial version. She was wearing a blue t-shirt with Maui emblazoned across the front and a pair of ripped blue jeans. Her hair was wet and pulled back in a ponytail with a face, fresh as ever. “I feel much better now,” she said, rubbing lotion over her face and arms.”

  “I can get you a bag to put those clothes in,” said Blythe, nodding toward the discarded t-shirt and sweats. She pulled a bag from a cupboard, placing the clothes inside.