by Rena Mason
“Please,” I beg. “Go away.”
“We have come for you.”
The icy, haunting words blow across the fine hairs on my body, making my skin tingle and crawl. The phrase, their proximity, reacts with something internal—the indigo blue. It resounds to freeze the marrow in my bones.
“I don’t want to leave,” I whisper. Afraid Jon might wake and find me talking in my sleep, talking to myself. My teeth are chattering, and I’m shivering almost uncontrollably.
A blast of different voices all sound off at once. “Remember.” “Come back to us.” “You have been too long here.” “There is danger!”
Paralyzed with cold and fear, I can do nothing. Maybe, if I talk to them they will go away. Would it mean then, that I’ve accepted my madness? Does it matter, as long as they disappear? Or will I go into my head with them and lose my sanity forever? I don’t care. I can’t live like this anymore.
“What is the danger?”
“Come with us.” “We help.” “Remember.” “Earth...” “Suns…” “Lost…” “See…”
“I don’t understand.” My voice rises with agitation. “Stop talking like that.” Anger burns inside, warms me, and melts their frozen indigo.
“It is time you return…you will be with us, soon.” The voice was definitely Dr. Light’s. His last word hisses then drifts off and fades away.
The room is different now, though, I can tell they’re gone. I’m lying in bed on my side. The digital clock reads four.
I slide out of bed then quietly go into the bathroom and get dressed.
* * *
Dad is the first one to wake up and join me in the kitchen for a cup of coffee. The turkey is already in the oven. Everything is prepared. I’ve even set the table and brought out the china.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning.”
“Coffee on?”
“Yeah.” The second pot, actually. “I’ll get it. Just black, right?”
“You have any of that flavored cream your mom likes?”
“It’s in the fridge.”
“I’ll take a little.”
“Is this for you or Mom?”
“Your mother.”
“She up already?”
“She thought you might need some help.”
“Tell her I was up early and took care of everything. She can go back to sleep.”
“Once she’s up, she’s up. You know. It’ll take her over an hour to get dressed anyway.”
I hand him the cup. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll be back in a minute for mine.” He grabs the remote and turns on the news. “When do the games start?”
“I have no idea, Dad, but I guarantee Jon will be up before then.”
He disappears down the hall with my mom’s coffee. It’s sweet, even after all these years he gets hers first. That was surely one of the reasons I fell in love with Jon. The things he used to do—does, remind me a lot of how my dad dotes on my mom.
Jon is actually more understanding than I give him credit for. When my parents leave, I’ll get him alone, then sit down and tell him everything that’s been happening to me. If it takes a battery of tests, so be it. We can get through this, and I can’t do it without him. He still loves me, I know it. I’ve just got to be totally honest and open. If I have to spend some time at a sanctuary, sanitarium, I’ll do it—anything now to save my marriage, our family, and my peace of mind.
The mere thought of telling Jon about everything is liberating. I feel better already, more alive—looking forward to a wonderful family meal, then later, time alone with my mom and having fun. Then I notice it…the voices, they’re hardly audible anymore, only hushed mumbles now. Could it be that acceptance of a disorder and plan of resolution is enough to make their influence dissipate? Lose their power? This is really turning out to be a fantastic day.
* * *
Jon eventually comes downstairs for some coffee. “Morning, honey,” he says. Then he leans down and kisses my cheek. “You’re up early. What time did you come to bed?”
“Too late for you,” I say.
“Sorry about that. I was tired. I’m rested now though…” He wraps his arms around me.
“Later.” I wriggle free.
He changes the channel to the football game. “Are your folks up?”
And at that moment, they enter the hall. “Good morning,” Mom says. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Oh good, the game’s started,” Dad says. Then he makes himself comfortable on the couch with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“It’s just the pregame stuff,” Jon says.
“Careful not to spill that, dear,” Mom says to Dad. She grabs a coaster and places it on the natural steel side table next to him.
“Mom, that table’s not an antique,” I say. “I think it might even be bulletproof.”
“If there’s a mess to be made, your father will make it.”
Jon sits on the other end of the couch, casually looks over at me, then rolls his eyes. I smile back and wink.
“What?” Mom says.
“Nothing,” I say. “Would you like some more coffee?”
“No. I only have one cup a day. You should follow suit. How’d you sleep last night? You look a little better this morning.”
“I feel pretty good actually.”
“What do you need help with?”
“Nothing. Everything’s in the oven.”
“My goodness we’ll be eating before noon.”
“Isn’t that what you were hoping,” my dad says from the family room.
“Never mind,” she says. “Where’s Patrick?”
“He’ll be down when he smells the food cooking,” I say.
“It’s not good to let him sleep so late.”
“Mom, he’s a teenager. He needs it.”
“You never slept in late like that. Did she, honey?”
My dad waves her off. “The game’s starting.” He picks up the remote and turns up the volume.
Between the TV and my mom, the voices have mostly become static. I’m so glad, too. I wasn’t sure I would be able to make it through this next week without losing it.
Patrick comes downstairs two hours later. “What can I eat?” he says.
My mom perks up from the couch where she took a seat next to my dad. “Good morning, Patrick,” she says. “I mean afternoon.”
“Morning, Grandma.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” she says.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” Then he faces me and rolls his eyes.
“Everything’s almost ready,” I tell him.
“Even the turkey?” he says.
“Yeah.”
“Awesome.” He goes into the family room and sits down next to Jon.
* * *
During the time between games, everyone gets up, comes into the kitchen and piles food onto their plates. I was informed this would be the best time to eat, since the first game was the better match-up of the two.
No one bothered to turn the TV down. Then a local news bulletin comes on and interrupts the programming.
“I hope this is over before the game starts,” Dad says.
Patrick walks into the family room with a full plate and turns the volume up another notch. We all turn around curious at what has captured his attention.
A news anchor I’ve never seen reporting before, talks about the recent activity of sunspots and how it has caused temporary malfunctions with some of the U.S. space satellites, resulting in disruptions with communications networks and spotty cell phone service. On a separate screen to the left of the anchor, they play old footage of an incident that occurred in Montreal, Canada in March of nineteen eighty-nine. The sunspots then had caused electrical surges in energy plants and overloaded their power grids causing them to shut down, creating citywide blackouts.
“This is what I was telling you about, Mom,” Patrick says. He turns the TV up a little more. No one complains about the loudness. Everyone is fixed on the news
report.
Now they’re interviewing a scientist—a solar scientist to be specific. Whoever heard of such a thing? Dr. Jeff Boren, solar physicist.
“We’re entering a cyclical time of increased solar activity,” he says into the reporter’s microphone.
“What can we expect?” asks the reporter. “Is this the end of the world portrayed in recent films?”
“It’s cyclical, meaning it’s happened many times before. You won’t notice any direct physical changes. There will be an increase in electromagnetic radiation,” he says. “These solar storms erupt with coronal mass ejections powerful enough to reach Earth’s atmosphere creating an amplified aurora borealis. They can do some damage as well, like they did to the power grid in nineteen eighty-nine. More than anything else—in this electronic age we’ve grown to depend on—we’ll be annoyed when our gadgets occasionally get out of whack. Solar science is relatively young, and we’ll continue to learn more as the interest in the Sun and the effects of solar radiation grow.”
“Thank you, Dr. Boren. You’ve heard it here first,” the anchor says. “Signing off now. Everyone have a Happy Thanksgiving.”
Patrick turns the TV down then heads into the dining room with his plate. The pregame show comes back on, and the rest of us finish loading our plates with food.
“Humph,” Mom utters. “End of the world broadcast on Thanksgiving. Doesn’t your friend’s husband run the news programming?”
“Not for that channel.” Jon looks at me and smiles.
“What were they thinking?” She continues on into the dining room.
When we are all seated, Patrick gives thanks for our meal and we eat.
“That was an interesting news report, huh Mom?” Patrick says.
“Not at all,” my mom replies.
“It was,” I say. “Why are you so into it?”
“It’s cool,” he says.
“Looks like you might have a scientist on your hands,” my dad says.
“Absolutely not,” my mom says. “You should be a doctor like your father.”
Patrick slides the fork out from between his lips, and I watch his jaw muscles clench.
“So where would you like to go after dinner, Mom?”
Patrick looks at me, and I sneak him a little wink. He swallows his food then grins.
“I thought you were taking me to the place we passed yesterday.”
“Oh yeah…that’s right,” I say.
She quiets down and finishes up her plate. A little faster now, too and with dollar signs in her eyes. It doesn’t take much to put her at ease, just a casual mention of a casino.
I wonder if the sunspots have anything to do with the tones and the voices. I’m sure they said something about it, but I’m positive it was suns—plural.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jon and my dad walk my mom and me out to the car in the garage. They kiss us and wish us luck as though we were heading off to sea.
“Drive careful,” Jon says.
“I will.”
“Have fun,” Dad says to Mom.
“We’ll have more fun than you two,” she says.
They stand at the door and wave until we pull down the driveway then close the garage. No doubt they’ll be heading outside to have cigars on the patio. I just hope Jon doesn’t forget to close the sliding door again. Last time, they filled the kitchen with cigar smoke and set off the fire alarm. And the smell was revolting. It took months to get rid of the odor.
“You sure you want to go to the local place we passed the other day?” I say.
“Why don’t you drive down to the strip? If I see a place that gives me a good feeling, I’ll tell you, and then you can stop.”
“It’ll take a while to drive the whole strip.” I’m not sure it’s even possible. I’ve never done it. It would take at least an hour, if not more, depending on traffic. Ugh, this little outing isn’t looking to be so fun anymore.
“Just aim for that light up there.” She points to the sky.
“There is danger.”
“What?” I say.
“Don’t tell me you can’t see that white light pointing straight through the clouds.”
“We are coming.” “It is time.” “Come back to us…” Their voices are loud, simultaneous, and confusing.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell them.
“Stacy, are you all right?” my mom says.
“Yes. I’m fine. I was just talking to myself.”
“Well I heard you loud and clear,” she says. “If you don’t want to go out with me then turn this car around and take me home. I’ll have your father drive.”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t mean it to you.”
“Then who? I’m the only one here.”
“You’re right. Sorry. I do want to go, really. I just thought I heard something, that’s all.”
She turns away and stares out the window. I keep my mouth shut and drive toward the beacon. It’s glowing bluish-white like an iceberg. Because it is one of the older casinos at the south end of the strip, Jon and I don’t frequent it. Usually when people visit or for special events, the newer, north end of the strip is more popular. Everyone wants to see magnificent fountains and the ceiling made of hand-blown glass.
As the voices in my head become more intense, I’m ready to pull into whatever place is next, but the light…I’m inescapably drawn to it. With everything that is happening, I’m not sure how I’m able to concentrate on driving, but I get to the massive pyramid of black glass. One minute I’m on the beltway, and then a minute later, the car is idling in the valet parking line. My mom practically jumps from the passenger seat, snapping me out of it. I turn off the engine and leave the keys in the ignition. Then I exit the car and stand next to her. She is complaining about the parking attendant taking too long. When he finally comes, he writes down the license plate then hands me a ticket stub.
“Wow,” she says, “you’ve never brought me here before.”
During the day, the windows on the outside are gold and reflect the sun, but at night they are shiny and black. It is a magnificent feat of engineering. The light above is so bright. “I’ve never been either,” I tell her, “or seen it this close up. It’s amazing.”
“Yes, yes, it looks nice. Now let’s go and see what it’s like inside.”
My mom grabs my arm and yanks me through the casino doors by my coat sleeve, just like when I was a little girl. I guess this means I’m forgiven. Now it’s my turn to say, “Wow.” The high center of the pyramid ceiling is visible all the way from the casino lobby. Everything is decorated in Ancient Egyptian, reminding me a little of my earliest past life déjà vu. I remember Dr. Light telling me I was in Sumer, but I wonder exactly how he would know that from this.
“Come on,” she says, “let’s go and see what kind of slot machines they have.”
Too much like a mother and her child, she pulls me along by my purse while I stagger behind and stare at everything in awe. It amuses me how a modest, intelligent woman such as my mother could become so helplessly entranced by the mindless spinning reels and flashing lights of slot machines.
“Okay, okay. Just stop pulling me.”
She turns back and gives me a wicked glance. The don’t push it look.
“Which ones do you want to play?” I ask with a forced smile. “I’ll help you look for the ones you like.”
“I want to play the ones that win.”
I guess I set myself up for that. “Mom, I don’t play them enough to know which ones win. Do you want me to ask somebody in here?”
“No. Don’t do that. What about those over there?” She points to a circular bank of slot machines lit up with sevens and flames.
“That looks good. Let’s go.” I take the lead and she follows. There aren’t a lot of people around these, but I’m glad it doesn’t make her leery about their winning potential. I’ll be happy to get away from bumping shoulders with strangers.
“You’re s
ure these are ones you like?” I say.
I turn around to see her wide-eyed, staring at the machines. I guess this is it.
“Yes. Why don’t we start over there,” she says, as she walks away.
Exhausted, I sit right down on a stool in front of a machine. The balls of my feet are tender, the voices in my head are louder, and now, I’ve got the sound of people talking and slot machines all going on at once. My head is ready to burst.
“What are you doing?” she says.
“You said this is where you wanted to play.”
“Yes, but don’t you want to walk around and check them all out first?”
“Check them out for what?”
“You might get a better feeling from one, more than the other.” The look on her face and her tone, tell me she’s completely serious. She honestly believes she’s going to win because a slot machine told her so.
“No, you go ahead. This one feels pretty good to me.”
“Fine, but I don’t feel it. I’m going to walk around and check out the rest. I’ll let you know where I am when I’ve found one.”
“Okay, good. I’ll be right here, waiting.”
Last year when I took her out, she wandered off without telling me, and it took me over an hour and a half to find her. I had every security guard and change person on the lookout for her. She was embarrassed and scolded me about it when they finally found her. She had been playing at a sit-down poker machine near one of the restrooms. She had herself hunched over it, so she wasn’t recognizable. It was ridiculous.
After several minutes, I sit up and look around. She waves at me from across the way. I nod, wave, and sit back down. Not five minutes later, a loud shriek comes from the other side. Afraid, I jump up and look over the top of my machine. She’s already standing, almost bouncing and pointing at me.
“Come and look,” she shouts. “I hit the jackpot!”
Great, now I’ll have to hear about her psychic gambling mojo for the rest of my life. I get up and walk around to her. I’m glad she’s happy, though.
She hit the jackpot all right. Loud, obnoxious carnival music blares from the machine. Three, red fiery sevens are perfectly aligned underneath the glass. The dollar amount she won flashes up at the top of the machine. The lucky woman who listens to machines won twelve hundred and forty dollars. People walking by, stop and stare. A few step up to congratulate her. She just stands and smiles, pointing to the jackpot like a game show model.