The bruise on her neck had already been there—my mother had been dead.
A second later, her image disappeared along with her book and the chair. As if it had never been there at all, I stood alone in this strange and circular place.
I turned back to the pond, knowing already what I would see but unable to stop the inevitable conclusion. I stared into those strange lost eyes, not thousands anymore—a single pair.
Hers.
This was not the Epiphany Pool, it was a swirling, murky cell for souls so lost they only drifted around on currents of despair. There were no answers here, only more questions.
Why had my mother killed herself?
Chapter Seventeen
Trapped
A coldness settled in my chest that left me feeling like a hollowed shell. The field of boulders spread out around me in every direction, as far as my eyes could see, and I had no idea which way to go.
I believed my mother was dead.
At the edge of the circle, I stopped and turned back, stared at the water’s glittering top and realized it didn’t reflect any light from above, it was the trapped souls beneath the surface.
And my mother was one of them now.
I turned and walked away.
My mind wanted to think of unpleasant things, like the light fixture over our kitchen table and its capacity to hold to the ceiling under significant weight. Like my mother’s lack of friends, nonexistent acquaintances that never had a reason to stop by our home. Even though I didn’t want it to, my mind thought of my mother hanging alone for a very long time—maybe even still.
I shook my head hard trying to force the images away, but they lurked at the edge of my direct thoughts. Not now, there wasn’t time right now to worry about what was physically the case back at my house, or determine what my exact emotional response was to my mother committing suicide—I didn’t know either of these things. All I knew was that I was lost amid acres of rocks and I needed to get out of this offense and move on to the next. I needed to find the Epiphany Pool. I needed to save Daniel—save myself.
And I needed to do it fast.
I kept walking, kept looking, kept trying to find my way back to the chaos of other souls fighting and kicking and clawing, I stopped and strained my ears, listened to hear their shouts and yelling carrying on the wind.
But the wind had stopped and there was no sound beyond my own breath.
“Keep moving,” I muttered to myself and tried to reassure myself with thoughts of Ray waiting for me to come out. Again I stopped. Could Ray even see me from here? None of the other offenses had seemed so large, or if they were, I had never moved so far from the entrance.
Ray couldn’t see me and I had no idea of how to get back to him.
I stood very still, a tiny spot in the middle of a giant field of nothing. I had been swallowed up by the this place and now floated alone in the center of its giant belly.
Somewhere, outside of here, high above in The Between’s strange night sky, that orange moon was almost set. Ray was watching it slide, an inch at a time towards my failure.
To my left, something moved. A slithering shadow between the rocks, I caught the wisp of its emaciated ghostlike form. One of the faints had found me.
My insides turned to liquid dread. I couldn’t see the moon, but as soon as it set, the faints would be free to begin feeding on me.
I started moving, my steps quick, my eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement.
The faint trailed swiftly behind me.
Ahead of me, a cluster of boulders rose up higher than the rest—I had an idea. Running, I jumped up onto the lowest rock then climbed over and between the stones until I reached the top. Straightening up, certain that from up here I would be able to see further than I had walked, I tried to catch my breath while I turned in a slow circle and inspected the landscape all around me.
I circled again, forcing myself to look more closely, I must have missed something.
The barren and rock strewn landscape went on forever. It was like the entrance, and all the souls fighting around it had simply disappeared.
Or never existed at all.
I sat, my legs giving out, and crumpled into a ball on top of my perch. My knees pulled into my chest, I buried my face between them and cried. It felt like defeat, like giving up, but I had no idea what else I could do.
The faint following me hovered just below, watching, waiting. I couldn’t see the moon from inside the offense but I imagined that depleted creature would know exactly when I became available for it to feed on.
And then I would know too.
I stared at it. Tried to imagine what sort of person it used to be, what type of place it used to live—what kind of dreams it used to hold.
I stood up, jumped down to the nearest boulder and then the next until my feet landed together in the dirt. I didn’t have any chance, but I wouldn’t go out just sitting there with that vulture hanging over me.
I picked a direction, and ran towards the horizon.
For a long time, longer than I thought I had left, the only sound was my shoes hitting the graveled earth. The singular faint easily kept pace beside me, biding its time. I tried to ignore it, but it seemed like it hung closer, always inside my peripheral vision now.
Just ahead, a formation caught my attention and I stopped running. I hardly dared to believe it, amongst all the other rocks, a stone archway rose up out of the ground. The exit? Had I mastered this offense and not realized it?
“Ray!” I suddenly called and started running again. Could he see me coming towards him? Nothing had changed, I told myself. My time was still running out with no hope of finding the Epiphany Pool, but if I could see Ray, hold him one last time—I forced my body to move faster.
The faint was right next to my arm.
“Ray! I’m coming,” I cried and imagined him again waiting with open arms, relieved just to see me even if he knew it would be our last time before he lost me for good.
I was almost there when a thought interrupted my momentum—I had never seen the archway on the inside of an offense. Always, the space near me just opened up, like a portal.
So what, I thought and pushed the idea away like an annoyance. It didn’t mean this offense couldn’t be different. But the closer I got, the more I wondered until I was standing directly in front of the curved stone structure.
I didn’t see Ray.
Instead, I peered into what looked like another offense.
I closed my eyes, unwilling to let the bitterness of my disappointment drag me under, but incapable of stopping the downward slide. I wouldn’t be seeing Ray again—ever. The realization sat like a lump in my throat.
I rested my hand against the arch while tears ran down my cheeks. There was nothing happening on the other side, I had no idea what this strange offense inside another offense could be, but there was nothing left besides moving forward, going in, seeing what was left as my final moments ticked down.
My fingers trailed the rough stones beside me and I crossed through.
Chapter Eighteen
Epiphany
It was a forest, dense and thick, completely unlike the arid landscape I had just come from. The ground gave beneath my feet, a soft damp sponge of foliage and rich earth. Drops of moisture fell onto my skin from the trees above my head.
The faint, who had passed through the entrance next to me, now hovered near my ear and caused me to shiver every few seconds.
Here, there was a gentle breeze, the scent of growth—the sound of water.
Having been disappointed before, I didn’t dare hope to think the sound could be the Epiphany Pool, what could hope like that do when at any moment a faint stood ready, waiting to pounce on me. It was practically certain that if it was the pool, I would see it with my own eyes right as the potentiality of being saved was ripped from me by the claws of time run out.
And still, the great desire to hope made my whole body quake in fear. I wished I c
ould shove the faint from me and run towards that sound.
I walked.
Not far from the entrance, beneath the trailing reach of two large willows, an iridescent pool glowed.
It was the epiphany pool—I knew it with every fiber of my being.
I closed my eyes and walked slowly, unable to stand the cold stare of the faint who’s face was now so close it brushed against my own. The answers were five steps away. I counted them and imagined the space between me and pool closing with each one while I braced myself for the faint’s imminent attack.
Three.
Four.
There was a pull. A force outside my body, I could feel it.
Five.
I opened my eyes, the edge of the pool was right before my feet. The faint reached out its spindly arms to embrace me.
My time was up.
Six.
My body plunged straight into the water.
Like a stone, I slid through the viscous liquid much faster than I expected. With my breath held, I looked up and watched the water surface recede from me at an alarming rate. The faint’s ghostly face stared down at me, mouth gaping as if screaming in anger at my unexpected escape. So fast, the face became unfocused and far away. The edges of the pool closed into a smaller and smaller oval and I dropped further and further away.
The pool was vast, much greater than the opening above would suggest. All around me the waters went on and on, further than my eyes could see, a massive underground ocean with only a bottleneck opening leading to the dry land above. I looked down—where was the bottom?
Somehow, my speed accelerated, as if I was suddenly anchored with heavy weights, or being dragged under by some unseen force. Within seconds, the surface of the pool above me became only a pinprick of light—then disappeared all together. Pressure began to build in my head as the urge to take a breath pounded at my chest.
I would not be sucked dry by the faints—I was going to drown instead.
The last flickers of light died when the surface disappeared but I kept descending into the watery darkness.
My breath was seizing in my chest and I choked back the urge to inhale, once, twice, before great bubbles of air erupted from my mouth and my lungs pulled hard at a liquid death.
It hurt.
I continued to fall.
My lungs burned.
I waited.
Watched the darkness.
How long did it take to die from a chest full of water?
Another urge settled in my chest, this time, my lungs pushed the water out, then pulled more back in. I felt it, like a strange, heavy air that tasted faintly of salt—like tears. Was it true? Was I breathing liquid? Or was I actually already dead? Drown? Even now, was my lifeless body floating someplace else? The world was black and my senses were confused. Water filled my lungs—did it also pump though my heart, ride through my veins. Wouldn’t it then also saturate my brain? My senses were confused—I could no longer tell if I was still moving.
Adrift.
In space.
My heart sounded like a thunderstorm inside my head.
I had no idea how long I lived in that darkness.
A long time? Several seconds? Time had no meaning here and direction did not exist.
Before me, spider veins of light wove though my vision. I couldn’t tell if they were real, or just imagery my brain invented to entertain itself. Blues and reds and greens, lines of brilliant electric shock, coalesced together into greater patterns, then images, and suddenly, I was looking at a picture.
A moving picture against the blackness and the subject I saw made me stop and stare—it was my mother.
Younger than I had ever thought possible. She is shockingly thin, with long dark legs and lush hair that cascades all the way down her back. She is wearing a short skirt and high heels, her lips are so red they remind me of a glossy cherry. She is in a girl’s room I have never seen, posters taped askew litter the walls and a dainty white vanity is strewn with compact eyeshadows, tubes of lipstick, vials of nail polish—a hair dryer hangs from a hook on the wall.
She looks excited. She looks happy. She looks around her room, grabs a small blue purse, adds some of the items from her vanity to it then walks to her window.
She stops, stares at her bedroom door, listens, then unlocks the latch and shoves the difficult frame up. Beyond her, it is dark outside, and she swings first one leg and then the next over the sill right before she slides off the window edge and plummets into the night.
My mother was sneaking out of her house.
The image faded, like an unraveling tapestry, the separate strands of colored light pulled away from each other into a confusing chaos, a blinking light show, then began to weave themselves back together.
A new scene.
My mother is lounging on a battered sofa, a candy colored bottle of alcohol hangs from her limp hand. She is smiling, laughing—a boy leans in close and whispers something in her ear. She pulls away in mock shock and slaps his leg playfully before laughing again.
The room is full of kids. Drinking, dancing, laughing—my mother opens her purse and passes her lipstick to one of her girl friends. My mother had friends.
The lights again pull apart, jumble into a heap as if they have to shake themselves up and then begin again to snake over and through each other. The picture forms.
The party is over and almost all the kids who had been there before are gone.
Except my mother, her face is slack, eyes lidded with a woozy stupor. Her friend with the borrowed lipstick is standing over her, annoyed, talking at her in angry bursts and showing her watch. She has to leave—now.
My mother shakes her head and takes another sip from her full bottle, leans back over the couch and calls to someone I can’t see. Both girls look that direction and then back to each other. The friend’s lips move, “Are you sure?”
My mother smiles and shoos her hand at her friend, “I’m fine.” I can read her lips even though there is no sound to this strange film.
The friend hesitates, looks back to whoever was in the background, then back at my mother. “Come on,” she tries again.
“No! I’m fine. Go!”
The friend stands a moment longer, she looks worried, anxious, frustrated that my mother won’t come with her. When she glances again at her watch she visibly sighs and I watch her mouth say, “Call me.”
My mother nods her head then leans back, lets her head loll over the back of the couch.
Her friend turns and walks away.
It seems like the end of another scene and I expect the picture to pull apart again, fragment into incomprehensible lines.
But it doesn’t.
I watch my mother. She sits, she drinks, she closes her eyes and her lips move gently as her head rocks to the beat of some song that must be playing.
More people walk past and leave through the door.
Minutes tick and I wonder if my mother has fallen asleep sitting upright in this strange house. I remember that she snuck out of her house and imagine her getting in trouble for being late.
I begin wonder if there is something more to this, something I’m not understanding, something I’m supposed to be learning—and how does any of this have to do with Daniel’s death—when another person enters the scene. At first I think he is leaving, but then he sees her and stops.
He looks back the way he came and nods his head at her, it’s as if he were saying, “You see this?” Then he smiles.
For some reason, a sudden sinking dread settles over me.
He walks over to where she is and flops down onto the couch beside her, making her body bounce, but she doesn’t stir.
She is asleep—passed out.
He leans over her, traces his finger from her forehead to her chin. Brushes her hair from her neck.
Still she doesn’t move.
His lips move, “Hello?” he smiles. “Anybody in there?”
When she doesn’t respond, he grabs her ch
in and shakes her head back and forth, “Hello?”
He leans closer to her, moves his other arm behind her so that her head rolls onto his shoulder and for a moment, he just sits there like that with her. His free hand against the side of her face, like they were a couple.
Then, his hand slides from her face to her breast.
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to watch this, didn’t want to know. A hot ball of anger and fear lodged heavy into the back of my throat.
When I opened my eyes, they were no longer alone.
“Mom!” I cried, my voice rushing, ineffective, out into the water. But it was like watching a movie I had no control over—I could not help her.
Her shirt was unbuttoned, her bra unfastened, the guy sitting with her fondled her while the other one stood and watched.
I wished for it to end, to fade out, for someone to rescue her, for the guys to develop a conscious. None of these things happened.
It got much, much worse.
Eventually, one of them picked her up, cradled her in his arms, while the other said something I couldn’t make out to someone I couldn’t see. Across from the front door, a set of stairs rose up to the second floor. I watched them carry her up. They were smiling, joking. When her head accidentally hit the banister, they burst out laughing and almost dropped her.
Gathering themselves and her together, they disappeared with her up the stairs.
Again, I waited for the image to dissolve, break apart, crack into a thousand strands of light and become nothing at all. I prayed that was all I had to see. I knew what was happening, what they were doing to her—please don’t make me watch that.
But it didn’t. The scene didn’t finish, not yet.
A few seconds later, two more guys came running in, smiling, racing each other like kids vying for position. They rounded the banister and took the stairs two at a time.
This was the someone I couldn’t see.
They were not rushing to help her—they were going to hurt her too.
The Exquisite and Immaculate Grace of Carmen Espinoza Page 13