The Rising

by L F Seitz

  It was hard to hide the shock as I worked so hard to hate her. I could have used this information years ago when I punished myself for being sent back. She blamed me for something she couldn’t explain, used me to satisfy her pain of loss.

  “How could I, who was asleep, burn a house?” I asked in disbelief.

  “It was the entire block, Lamia. The fire killed dozens of people. You were the only one who was in the fire and came out unscathed. We all suffered because of you. And those words someone spoke to you only proves it: you’re a bad omen. Don’t come here again or I’ll call the police.” She slammed the door shut in my face.

  I stood mutely on her porch for a good five minutes. I replayed every word she’d said over and over again, like a broken record. Then I ran off toward the Metra, thinking if I didn’t get away fast enough, she would call the cops.

  I held my arms over my head, making an effort to get my lungs to expand, but I felt helpless, like I was drowning. The entire block? A dozen people killed? Some things made sense, but others ... others were beyond psychotic. Sure, heat never bothered me, but I could still get burned by fire. I burned myself with a Bunsen burner in eighth grade. She thought I could make fire? Impossible. Jennifer thinks I can make fire and that I killed a bunch of people at thirteen when I was asleep. I kept repeating the crazy idea to myself. This angel-looking dude comes out of nowhere, calling me a demon and demanding to know why I was showing my markings? Is all of this just a coincidence?

  The Metra station smelled like the inside of a garbage disposal. No one noticed me as I sat hyperventilating. The facts all falling into place. No doubt Jennifer Daluth thought I was the spawn of Satan, and that rumor probably circulated through the foster care system, which was probably why everyone always looked at me with a sideways glance. I was deemed a bad omen. It had been hard to find a new home for me after that incident. I thought it was hard to get housed for every foster kid, but it turns out it was just me.

  I sat there, staring out the window absently as I tried to keep myself from tearing up. Before I knew it, the guy from Friday night floated into my mind, and I imagined him sitting here next to me. His features were just as perfect as the night he tried to kill me but didn’t. I wanted to condemn him as crazy – but then, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The glow on my skin and the pure white of his eyes. I’d have to condemn myself, too. The more I thought about him and the answers he kept, the less I was afraid of him. He had to have saved me. No one else would have been around to.

  I feared it might have been for the wrong reasons, though, why he kept me alive. I prayed if I ever saw him again, his knife didn’t find its way into my flesh.

  “Deep into that darkness peering,

  long I stood there wondering, fearing,

  Doubting, dreaming dreams

  no mortal ever dared to dream before.”

  – Edgar Allan Poe

  Three.

  “DEMONS?” CINDY’S HEAD went sideways like a confused puppy. Given the conversation, it wasn’t cute on her; it was driving me nuts.

  “Yeah, almost every night,” I said. I regretted bringing it up. She wasn’t offering anything helpful. Cindy was a woman I worked with at MedTech, as a secretary in the shipping and receiving office. She was only a little older than me, but you wouldn't know it. Her skin glowed, she was thin, and her cheeks were plump; the smile wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were the only thing that gave her age away. We stood at the same height, but that’s where our similarities ended: her hair was blonde and her frame willowy. She’d been an acquaintance of mine since I began working here in July. Cindy gave me a tour of the facility on my first day. Her office was on the opposite side of the warehouse from me, where I picked items and filled orders for shipment. It was a blessing to have someone to sit next to during lunch and to work the same shift with. Also, it was a bonus that she liked to talk a lot so I didn’t have to speak much.

  This morning, I decided to go out on a limb and tell Cindy about what happened last Friday when that guy attacked me, but it ended up morphing into some lie I’d lost control of. I explained that I had been having a dream about this angel, my attacker with white hair, and this demon – me – getting into a fight where the angel is about to kill me. I lied out of fear of judgment, and now Cindy was caught up in this weird dream I created. What’s worse is that I don’t even dream. I never have.

  “That’s bizarre. I’ve never heard that one before,” she said as we walked back from our lunch break toward the warehouse. I tried not to take it offensively, because it was my fault in the first place for even saying anything. I thought the events would be clear after telling her about what happened to me, but I got scared once she showed interest and twisted it into a mess of lies and reality. Would she have believed me if I told her about the Latin I learned or the glowing lines I swear I’d seen on my skin? I hardly believed it myself. Now my anxiety had the best of me, and Cindy was looking deeper into this fake dream I didn’t know what to do with. Why did I lie in the first place? I’m not evil! I’m not a demon! Talking about it only made it worse.

  “Yeah, well, I’m bizarre, so if the shoe fits. ...” I trailed off, trusting she’d get the idiom. I walked a little faster to get away from the conversation, but I couldn’t lose her. She was soon right next to me again, matching my pace, no longer focused on the ground but on me.

  “OK, let me get this straight one more time. So you had this dream that you are this demon thing, and this guy, who’s an angel, comes and kills you because you’re evil?”

  I couldn’t help but huff loudly.

  “Yes, Cindy, you have it right ... for the billionth time. Can we please just let it go? I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” I pleaded and pushed through the double doors that led from the break room to the building’s main hallway. Lunch was over, and we were making our way back from the break area at the front of the building towards the back, where the warehouse was. The double doors were the first out of two that lead to the back, where we’d inevitably part ways, giving me hope that soon I’d be left alone with my frayed thoughts once again. The quiet might give me time to collect myself and fix this mess I’d gotten into.

  I clicked on my radio, hoping the blaring sounds of warehouse communications would quiet Cindy’s questions. Putting on my neon green visibility vest over my long sleeve MedTech shirt I glanced down at my jeans and black work books, making sure I didn’t get anything on myself from lunch. I yanked my gloves from my back pocket and put them on as I gave Cindy a sideways glance. She was fixated at her feet, mumbling something before she turned back to me.

  “Well, if it helps, there’s an old bookstore near here that has a religious book section. I’m sure they’ll have angel and demon books,” she replied as she pushed open the second set of doors that brought us to the warehouse. She smiled at me before turning toward the offices as if nothing she said was of consequence. I froze, causing the two guys behind us to run into me. They grunted and continued on their way.

  Demon books? That could help me. Why didn’t I think of that?

  The rest of the workday my mind ran wild every time I thought about the books. I avoided the clock, hoping time would move faster. When I finally clocked out, I frantically searched the group of second shifters to find Cindy, praying she hadn’t already left for the night. There wasn’t much room in the break area between the next shift coming on and the rest of us leaving, I only had a small window before Cindy left. I needed her. A hand caught my arm.

  “Can you show me that store?” I asked Cindy before she could speak. She laughed and hooked her arm around mine.

  “I knew you wanted to go there. You looked excited when I brought it up,” she grinned. “Let me just text Eli that I’ll call him to pick me up once I've shown you where it is.”

  As we walked to the bookstore, I memorized the path so I could return without Cindy, at this time of night I'd most likely be closed, and I wanted come back on my day off and look around on my own
. On the way, she told me about Mark, the assistant shipment manager, who made her uncomfortable countless times by hitting on her.

  “He touched my lower back today,” she said, staring at the pavement, embarrassed.

  “You told him about Eli, right?” I asked, nudging her. Cindy and I didn’t talk much outside of work, but I had a kind of loyalty to her, and it did make me mad when Mark pulled that crap. My need to protect others from the world’s bullies kept me on guard. He was a grease ball, and he knew she had a fiancé at home.

  You’d think she’d have other friends, too. Someone as beautiful and cheerful as Cindy should have other friends, better friends, than me to consult. Yet surprisingly, I was the only person at work I’d ever seen her talk to. She said hello to a few people, of course, but we sat together every morning before work for a few minutes, every afternoon at lunch, and said goodbye to one another every night.

  Guilt punched me in the pancreas as I thought about earlier, about how annoyed I was with myself that I took it out on her. She didn’t understand because I didn’t let her, but if I’d let her in, would she have judged me? I don’t know how to do this. I was basically a loner through school. It was easier to be alone, and now that Cindy wanted to be my friend, I found myself reverting to my old habits of pushing people away to keep myself safe.

  “Yeah, I passively mentioned it again. I mean, I made it obvious when I told everyone Eli and I were engaged. He just. ...” She paused and grunted. “He just won’t take the hint, you know?” She shook her head in frustration. Wrinkles formed between her eyebrows. I nudged her again with my shoulder.

  “Next time, you should punch him in the face. Or in the nuts. Whichever you prefer.” I never had that problem with boys or men. There were times when I lived in co-ed facilities, and maybe that made me accustomed to boys and their personalities more than most. Living with boys helped me in not being so intimidated by them, seeing them vulnerable and afraid like me when we all were waiting to be fostered. I guess I don’t see them as anything special. They were human, like me. Though I found some guys to be cute throughout high school, I never had a crush that made me weak in the knees. None of them showed interest in me, either. I don’t know if that meant I was lucky or I’d missed out on something great.

  “Well, I’m not as brave as you, Lamia. Can’t you just tell him you’re my lesbian lover?” She laughed. “Or maybe you can tell him to leave me alone?” She almost pleaded with me. On the one hand, her fragility annoyed me. I always had to take care of my own problems; why couldn’t she do the same for herself? Being vulnerable to another person, asking another person to help me like she was doing now – I’d never done that. Growing up without a solid support system forced me to do everything myself, made me grow up faster than most. Something like this, standing up to someone, sounded so simple it almost felt silly for her to even ask me. On the other hand, I knew she wasn’t like me, and that everyone has a weakness, and maybe this was hers. I should be grateful she was asking me to help, that she wanted me to help. The risk was that Mark could get me fired if he wanted: he’d been at the company for, like, seven years, and was management, which made things harder.

  “Well, then tomorrow, if I put my arm around you and give you a kiss on the cheek, don’t freak out, OK?” I joked with her, making her laugh. She squeezed her arm around mine. Focusing on not going rigid from the closeness was a feat in itself. I can’t remember the last time I had human contact; I think it was when I was attacked. Before that, it was when I shook hands with my boss in August when I first started at MedTech.

  I craved human touch, but it was something my life severely lacked. When I was really little, sometimes I would intentionally fall at school so a teacher would have to pick me up and carry me to the office. Just for the sake of closeness I did something similar in high school, too. Embarrassing as it was, I’d intentionally bump into people, and they would touch my arm or pat my shoulder and apologize, but really, it was all me.

  I’ve never been kissed, and I was rarely offered hugs. The only person I’ve ever hugged was Gramma Beth. To me, hugs were like telling someone you loved them, but with your body. And that’s something I’ve only ever said aloud to Nathan, my stuffed hippo. I got him from my social worker for my eighth birthday. It was the only gift I got that year, and I loved him dearly. One morning when I woke, only a week after I got him, I searched for him in and around my bunk and couldn’t find him anywhere. The other kids at the Napoleon House denied seeing him, with mischievous grins on their faces. After that, after he was stolen from me, I refused to say those words again. Because anyone or anything you show your heart to will be taken from you.

  My excitement grew as we arrived at the bookstore. Avalon’s Books. It was in an inconspicuous spot, on a side street with few other unkempt brick businesses and overgrown shrubbery. The storefront itself looked abandoned, with old windows and chipping paint. The books in the window were definitely not from this century. Even more shocking- the sign in the window said open. I couldn’t hide my smile. Finally, maybe I’d find some answers. One of these books might tell me what that man was talking about: demons, Latin, and The Rising. We walked in, and instantly, I was high. The smell of old paper, leather, and incense were a cure for my hard heart, and I felt at peace the moment I walked in. By the smell alone, I knew I would love this place.

  A crackling laugh broke my contentment. A lady, who appeared to be past her prime, stood beside the counter in long, tattered gray dress with patches of mismatching lace and fabric. A floor-length emerald green and deep purple vest hung over it. The whole ensemble made her look ... witchy. “Olden spirits all experience it when they walk in here.” She continued to laugh as she crossed her arms. Her hair was a gray mess of curls in beads and braids, and strange-looking necklaces decorated her throat.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Like they have been here before. Like they’re home,” she said, staring. Her right eye twitched as her gaze traced my frame. Her finger tapped the inner skin of her elbow as she held my gaze, and soon grew unsettled it seemed I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Cindy?” I called out into the small store, smiling tensely at the woman.

  “Over here,” her voice echoed from the back-right corner. With the tips of my fingers, I touched some of the book spines sticking out as I moved past them to the back of the store. I turned the corner to find Cindy’s tousled, bleach-blonde hair. She already had a couple books in her hands.

  “OK, so I grabbed the Bible. Maybe you’ll find some stuff in there about angels, and The Encyclopedia of Witchcraft and Demonology by Rossell Robbins looks promising.”

  A stained, leather book with a blank cover and spine suddenly fell from a shelf onto my foot. It felt warm, as though someone had just been holding it a moment before it fell. I glanced from left to my right, looking past Cindy as I did. We stood at the back wall, so there was no way someone could have pushed it from the shelf on the other side.

  “What’s that?” Cindy’s voice resurfaced. I slid my fingers against the leather and opened the cover. On the worn, dirty first page was handwriting: Omnes discedentes a se esse damnatos. Qui modo abire vis atque orbium concure necesse est. Superstes est ad deditionem conpulit. Contra eum, et non vivere, ut videret finem2.

  It looked like Latin, so I couldn’t understand it. Meeting Cindy’s troubled expression, I slammed the book shut. “I’ll take all three,” I told her, smiling brightly as I took the other books from her hands. Cindy smiled weakly, her shoulders hunched as she crossed her arms, her eyes falling to the old leather book again. From her stance alone, I could tell she, too, sensed the ominous aura surrounding the book.

  The storekeeper was still standing behind the counter, arms crossed and finger tapping as before. She was staring at where I had been standing before I walked off. The sight sent tingles down my spine. I stepped up to the counter as Cindy moved past me. I regarded her for a moment. She stared out the window toward the old bui
lding across the street. It was darker now, and the streetlights made the overgrown shrubbery more prominent around the building across the way. Her shoulders were still hunched as she rubbed her arms, worry lines accompanied her features. Something about this place was making her uncomfortable.

  “Hey, Cindy, I know you have to get back home to your son and fiancé. Why don’t you call Eli to pick you up? I got it from here,” I said.

  “Are you sure? I could walk you home if you want. Eli won’t mind,” she said in a small voice. Her eyes drifted back to the leather book between my fingers on the counter.

  “Nah, I’m OK. I know how to get home from here. Thanks for this,” I said, motioning to the books. She nodded and then glanced at the storekeeper. Cindy was paler than when we walked in.

  “OK, well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said as she headed for the door. Before I could answer, a gush of cold air came in, the little bell rang at the top of the door, and she was gone. I felt my shoulder loosen with her absence. This place seemed to be affecting her. I surveyed the leather book she’d kept eyeing and felt the odd warmth of it on my fingers. Why didn’t the oddness I was sensing affect me like it did Cindy? Why wasn’t I afraid?

  “What did you pick up?” the old woman asked as she slid the three books I’d picked out toward herself to look through them.

  “Oh, just some information I’m looking for,” I said lightly, hoping she’d take the hint that I just wanted to pay and leave. I looked out the window as my mind drifted back to Cindy, hoping she was OK. It was eleven at night. Maybe I should have made her wait in here until Eli showed up.

  “Encyclopedia of Witchcraft and Demonology. Looking to find out who you are?” she asked, her words catching my attention.

  “Excuse me? No, just researching some dreams I’ve been having.” I told her the same lie I told Cindy, and like with Cindy, I hoped she would let it go.