The Time Corps Chronicles (Complete Series)

by Heather Blackwood

  She was in full rage mode now, and there was nothing Astrid could do to stop it. If she was yanking hair, there was no going back.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up. I just got sick. I didn’t mean to hurt your hand.”

  “Don’t you fucking attack me!”

  Astrid managed to dodge the first slap, but she was backed up against the sink, and her mother got a good hit into the side of her face before she could get away.

  “Leave me alone! I said I’d clean it!” Astrid screamed and managed to get past her mother. She grabbed Astrid’s arm, raking it with her nails, but Astrid got free. “Look, I’m doing it now!”

  Astrid ran to the kitchen and got another handful of vomit in some paper towels. If her mother hurt her, she could drop it on her feet, or hold it between them as a deterrent. She imagined mashing it into her mother’s face, but the thought made her stomach heave again. She stood numbly, looking at the remaining smear of black and gray liquid on the kitchen floor.

  “You are a sick person,” said her mother from the entryway, her voice soft. “You are violent and disobedient and you need to learn a lesson. Who the fuck attacks their own mother?”

  Astrid stopped and looked up. She expected more screaming, more hitting, not this. Sure, her mother had accused her of attacking her before. If Astrid put her arms up to shield her face, and her mother hurt her hands, she would be accused of fighting back. And naturally, tearing her mother’s hands out of her hair or off her arm was a punishable offense. But it had always been punished with hitting.

  “Something is wrong with you,” her mother said. “You have a problem, and there’s only one thing I can do. You’re going to learn. You’re going to get rid of that cat.”

  “What? I can’t get rid of her. We’ve had her for years.”

  “She’s a stray that you took in. And she’s affecting your mind. Finish cleaning that.” She gestured toward the smear on the floor and Astrid hurried to grab the Lysol and more paper towels.

  “Just don’t do anything to Cinderella,” Astrid said.

  Her mother watched her clean up the last of the vomit, and then Astrid took out the trash. She found Cinderella lying by the side of the house. She had black blood on parts of her and her own red blood was crusted around her muzzle, her throat and on both ears. One eye was mostly shut and oozed fluid.

  “Oh, sweetie,” said Astrid as she dropped to her knees. The cat’s breathing was rapid and shallow and her good eye looked unfocused. In the distance, a trash truck roared and then stopped to pick up someone’s garbage. The garage door banged shut and then her mother was beside her.

  “Put her in now.” She held out a white cardboard cat carrier. “She’s going to the pound.”

  “No! You can’t take her. She’s hurt. She needs to go to the vet. Look at her. C’mon, please.”

  Her mother had a look in her eye, a mix of pleasure and determination. “We can’t afford a vet. You’re going to put her in the carrier right now. We’re taking her to the pound.”

  “I’m not going to. You can hit me all you want. Come on,” Astrid put her hands behind her back. “Go ahead and hit me all you want. I won’t even move.”

  “You are so screwed up. Something about that cat is messing up your mind and making you act out. And it’s my job to teach you to obey your mother. Now do it.”

  “No.” Astrid glared at her. The trash truck was closer now, maybe even on their street.

  “Then I’m taking the kittens.” Her mother didn’t move to get them, but watched her. Astrid looked at Cinderella, whose eyes were closed now. She looked almost dead.

  “Please,” she begged. “I’ll be good. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” Tears stung her eyes and she tried to breathe in and out, but a sob escaped her. “Don’t take my cat. Please.”

  “Then the kittens. They’ll all go.”

  “They’re too little. They’re still nursing.”

  Her mother smiled then, and Astrid’s blood ran cold. Her mother enjoyed this, had always enjoyed it. She loved the hurt, being able to do harm and also to end it whenever she wished. She controlled it all, the hugs and kindness, the viciousness and cruelty. And Astrid could do nothing about it.

  If she did not make a choice now, her mother would get Cinderella and her kittens and take them all to the pound while Astrid was at work. Astrid could maybe call in sick, but she’d eventually lose her job.

  “Put her in right now, or I’ll take those fucking kittens and put them all in the trash can right now.”

  “No! Please.”

  “Now.”

  “You evil bitch!” Astrid screamed, tears sliding free from her eyes. Her nose was snotty, and she swiped it with the back of her hand.

  Her mother slapped her, hard, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Her mother liked hurting her, hitting her, tearing out her heart. And now she would take away Astrid’s friend. Cinderella’s good eye opened again, and she watched Astrid with a glazed look.

  “Fine,” said her mother and dropped the box. She turned to go inside.

  “Wait,” said Astrid. Her mother stopped and turned, satisfied. She had a little smile as Astrid lifted Cinderella into the box and fastened the lid. The cat gave a weak meow and Astrid murmured an apology. But Cinderella would want her kittens safe. Even if her mother didn’t manage to get the kittens in the trashcan or if Astrid screamed for the trash truck driver to not take that can, her mother would find another way.

  As long as there was something Astrid loved, there would be another way. Art school or the money to get there, the cats, the little girl who had lived down the street. Her mother had told the girl’s parents that Astrid had mental problems, and they had never let her come over again. There would always be something.

  “Come on then. Glad you’re learning.” Her mother led the way to the car, and Astrid stopped at the open door. She didn’t want to get in the car.

  Her mother slipped into the driver’s seat and leaned down so she could see Astrid through the passenger window. “You want me to get the kittens?”

  Of course she wanted to see the reaction. When Astrid shook her head and climbed in, her mother pressed her lips together and nodded once in satisfaction. She started the car.

  Astrid reached her fingers through the air holes in the box. She found a spot on Cinderella’s side that was not injured and she stroked her.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll take care of your babies,” she whispered through one of the top air holes.

  Astrid cried the entire way to the pound, and when they stood at the desk inside, she held the carrier to her body as her mother filled out the forms. The man behind the desk asked her questions. He was tall and thin and had an Irish accent.

  “Put it down,” said her mother.

  “Please don’t do this,” Astrid cried. The uniformed man gave her a sympathetic look.

  Her mother tried to take the box, but she pulled away. The man came out from behind the counter and reached for it, gently, not forcing her.

  “She’ll be all right,” he said. His voice was gentle, and his accent gave the words a sweet lilt. He was trying to be kind. Astrid let Cinderella go.

  “Please take care of her. She’s hurt. She got in a fight. She needs a vet.”

  “She’s a stray,” said Astrid’s mother. “And she might have rabies or something.”

  “She doesn’t!”

  But Astrid’s mother took her hand and crushed it so hard that it felt like the bones were rubbing together. It might bruise, but Astrid just left her hand limp. She wouldn’t give her mother the satisfaction of pulling away or seeing her hurt.

  “Come on,” her mother pulled her toward the door.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” said Astrid to the man. “I’m turning eighteen and I can take her. Can you ke
ep her that long?”

  “She’s very upset,” said her mother.

  “Just until tomorrow!”

  “The kittens,” hissed her mother, and Astrid followed her through the doorway. She could still hurt the kittens. There was nothing stopping her. She could get rid of them one by one if she wanted to, stretching it on for months.

  Astrid got into the car. Her breath still came in sobs, but there were no more tears and her nose wasn’t running any more. There was exhaustion, sadness, and a serene sort of acceptance. She knew what her mother was. There was no more illusion.

  It was almost like seeing twice, like the jacaranda and cherry blossoms and the dead baby slaugh that her mother thought was a rock. But this was deeper and worse. She knew what her mother was, and would always be.

  “Quit carrying on,” said her mother. “I’m hungry. Want to get something?”

  “You killed my cat. And no.”

  “Oh, come on. I can’t be expected to take care of your strays. If you weren’t going away to that hippy art school, you could have taken care of her yourself. It’s your own fault she had to go.”

  “You wanted me to get out of the house. Now you want me to stay?”

  “No, I’ve done all I can. I’ve spoiled you, that’s what. I’ve given you everything, worked my fingers to the bone, and you’re ungrateful and filled with so much hate that I just can’t deal with you anymore. I have to let you go.”

  It didn’t matter. None of the words hit their mark, because none of it mattered. It was over. She watched the neighborhood fly by outside the window and hoped Cinderella wasn’t already dead.

  Chapter 24

  After work, Elliot went to his trailer, took a quick shower and dressed in clean clothes. He couldn’t believe that someone like Yukiko would want to go out with him. Well, at first she hadn’t wanted to, but then she had. Well, he understood that. He worked at a boardwalk and lived in a trailer. He was no catch.

  He walked the few blocks to the Seaside Inn. It was a lucky thing it was close, as he had no car and would hate to take a girl out by riding the bus.

  When Yukiko answered the door she was still wearing the pale blue sundress from earlier in the day, but she had put on a white cardigan to ward off the night chill. It made her look smaller, a little different. It was odd, because each time he had seen her, she seemed just a little bit different. Then he remembered thinking that thought before. It was déjà vu, seeing her in her blue sundress and standing in the half-twilight of the summer evening. The moment passed, and he remembered that he had dreamt of this recently. It had only been a few weeks ago, but before he had ever seen Yukiko.

  It was odd. Since he was a little boy, he had experienced these times of déjà vu that didn’t conform to the true definition. And the incidents seemed to be getting more frequent as he got older.

  They made small talk as they walked, but Yukiko didn’t seem like she was having a good time. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen her smile often, and had never heard her laugh. Well, some people were more serious than others. She was a dancer, an artist, and they were entitled to be a little temperamental.

  The Falafel Hut was close by, and wasn’t too crowded for a Sunday night. Elliot held the door for Yukiko and she murmured a thanks. The menu was up over the registers and while Yukiko looked it over, Elliot studied the mural on the side wall. It was of Prometheus, the Titan who carried a stolen torch from the world of the gods to give fire to mankind. The Titan bent over a group of huddled humans, offering them the flame. What an odd choice for a restaurant mural. He could imagine lots of nicer scenes for a Greek restaurant, even one in a strip mall. The other side of the room was better. It had an image of graceful nymphs dancing in a clearing. He paid for their meals and they picked a table.

  “So how did you end up as a performer?” Elliot asked.

  “Oh, I’ve done various types of work. Nothing steady. I just pick up things where I can.”

  “So how did you end up with the Chumash show anyway?”

  “Red Fawn decided to help me out. So she let me do my bit at the end of the regular show.”

  The food came, and Elliot worked on his falafel wrap and soda. His soda tasted sweeter than normal, but maybe it was just because the tzatziki sauce on the falafel was so tart. Or maybe they had put too much syrup in the soda machine. He set down the cup, and experienced déjà vu again as he took another bite. The moment passed.

  “Doesn’t yours taste good?” he asked Yukiko. She looked as if she wasn’t enjoying her food and was glancing at his plate occasionally.

  “It’s fine.” She looked away.

  Then he glanced at the mural behind her. Prometheus was now chained to a rock by wrists and ankles and a giant, sharp-beaked eagle perched on a twisted tree branch just above him. The Titan’s mouth was opened in a scream of terror. Elliot knew the story. As punishment for stealing the sacred fire, the Titan was chained to a rock where an eagle came and ate his liver daily. Being immortal, it grew back each night.

  “What the hell?” he said. “That painting. It’s different.”

  And as he said it, he remembered dreaming that he had said it. He spun around to look at the other mural, but the nymphs were still dancing in the clearing. He hadn’t remembered that one of them was looking out at the viewer. Her eyes were large and black and her dark hair was full and curly.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” asked Yukiko. He caught her looking at his food again.

  “That painting of Prometheus,” he said. “Did you see it when we came in?”

  “Yeah.” She turned to look at it.

  “It’s different now.”

  She turned back. “It’s always been that way. I’ve been in here before and I remember it.”

  “I mean, it’s still Prometheus, but it was different before.”

  Oddly, she looked as if she believed him.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said. “Don’t eat any more of that.” She stood and glanced from person to person behind the counter, as if one of them was going to leap over and attack them.

  Her dress was light purple now. He knew it had been blue before. He remembered it. And he remembered this, the feeling of disorientation and noticing her dress, the look she had, like a hunted animal, but with a touch of ferocity. Elliot got up, and as they left, he glanced at Prometheus, with the eagle overhead. It had not changed. Across from him were the nymphs, all of them blonde and blue-eyed.

  They left the shop and started walking, not toward the Seaside Inn, but toward Luna Park. Yukiko was leading, but without really seeming to. She did not look like she was having a fun time, and why would she? Her date was seeing things. Maybe seeing those horrible monsters in the mirror house had been another hallucination. But Astrid had seen them too.

  “I didn’t imagine the slaugh, right?” he said softly.

  “No, that was real.”

  “Your dress used to be blue.”

  “No, it was lavender. Always has been.”

  As they walked, he studied the shops, the cars, the street signs. All of it was as it should be.

  “Do you have any enemies, Elliot?” she asked.

  “That’s a weird question. No.”

  “Is there anything special about you? Anything strange?”

  “No. I’m nobody.”

  “I’m wondering if someone would want to poison you, make you hallucinate.”

  That had to be it. He had been thinking too much of his weird déjà vu dreams and not enough of ordinary causes. He had dropped acid once with some of his friends at a beach bonfire, but it had been nothing like this. But there were other drugs, weird things that could alter the senses. But all he had eaten was the food from the Falafel Hut, and no one else had been affected. Before that, he had eaten his packed lunch, cereal and m
ilk for breakfast, water, a soda. There would have been no opportunity for anyone to give him anything.

  They got close to the pier, and the wind whipped up. Yukiko pulled her arms tight around her middle, and Elliot wished he had worn a jacket so he could offer it to her.

  Things here were normal. But he would not have noticed if a shop or someone’s shirt had changed if he hadn’t seen them before. At the end of the pier, Yukiko looked him straight in the face.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This place, out by the water is a good place,” she said. “It makes it easier to think.”

  He had a feeling there was more to it, and he remembered how Astrid had asked about the cherry and jacaranda blossoms. They leaned out over the railing and watched the sea foam swirl around the thick, barnacle-encrusted pilings that supported the pier. At Luna Park, the Ferris wheel turned, its orange and yellow lights flashing in a starburst pattern. The other rides lit up, green and blue, white and red.

  He wanted to take Yukiko somewhere fun, a movie or maybe even Luna Park, if she wanted to. He was sick of it, but if she was new in town, she would probably like it.

  “Where are you from? Originally, I mean,” he asked.

  “Japan. I thought you could guess.”

  “Well, I guessed you were Japanese, but you sound like you were born here.”

  “No, I was born there.” She lifted her eyes to the horizon, and just as it had been when he had watched her on the stage, he felt a tinge of longing in her.

  “You came here really young then?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You don’t have an accent.”

  She was still looking out over the water, and something about the light made her face look a little longer, a little more angular. She glanced over at him, and her face regained its regular contours.

  “Yeah, I was young.”

  “Look!” he said, pointing. “See the dolphin?”