by Becca Fox
“Well, it certainly isn’t for me,” the old woman said with a sniff. “Both of my knees work perfectly fine.”
Charlie and I exchanged smothered smiles before I regained my indignation.
“Can’t I just sleep on the couch?” I asked, nodding at the opening of the sitting room through which I could clearly see her plastic-covered couches. I doubted anyone had ever sat in them, but I was willing to be the first if it meant never having to sit in the damn stair chair.
My aunt placed her keys and coin purse on the side table in the foyer before drawing herself up to her full height. “The sitting room is not meant for sleep and study, Esmeralda. It’s meant for entertaining.”
“And watching soap operas,” I told Charlie out of the corner of my mouth.
Aunt Dinah pointed a bony finger at the stair lift. “This will get you upstairs where you will stay until it’s time for your biweekly physical therapy sessions. I will bring you your meals. Charles will bring you your homework. You’ll have everything you need.” She crossed her arms. “You have nothing to complain about. We’re basically waiting on you hand and foot.”
“Basically,” Charlie said, depositing his backpack and skateboard by the front door.
I rolled my eyes at him. The guy was trying way too hard to get back in her good graces.
“Thank you, Charles.” Aunt Dinah gave me a pointed look. “Into the chair now, Esmeralda.”
With a tortured groan, I hobbled over to the foot of the stairs. “Don’t watch, Charlie boy. At least let me keep my dignity.”
“Stop being melodramatic,” my aunt snapped even as Charlie started to turn around.
He paused, his gaze darting between me and the old lady. He settled for facing me while keeping his eyes lowered.
I shuffled in an awkward circle until my back was to the chair. Then I slowly sat and balanced the crutches across my lap. Aunt Dinah came over to position my cast in the special foot rest. Then she strapped me in and pressed the glowing arrow pointing up. A pitiful whirring sound announced the movement of the chair. Step by slow, agonizing step, I was lifted up the stairs. Charlie was still looking down, but his face was turning red from the effort it took him not to smile. My aunt walked beside me, keeping pace with embarrassing ease.
“Can’t this thing go any faster?” I finally hissed.
“Sit tight and keep quiet. You’re almost at the top,” was the snippy response.
I drummed my fingers against my crutches and glared at her the entire time. At long last, the chair lift stopped. Aunt Dinah unstrapped me, took the crutches and set them aside, and then offered me her hands.
Charlie scrambled up the stairs. “Shouldn’t I do that?”
“You won’t always be here, Charles. I have to be able to do this myself.” Aunt Dinah stared at me, lips bunched to the side, until I took her hands.
“Your stubbornness ain’t gonna get you nothing but a slipped disc,” I muttered as she hauled me to my feet.
She gave a little grunt and a grimace, but then she was straightening up. She snatched my crutches from their place against the wall and pressed them into my chest as if to say, “So there!”
“Congrats. You’re an inspiration to little old ladies everywhere,” I grumbled, limping down the hall. The hardwood squeaked under my crutches. I couldn’t believe it but I’d actually missed that sound. And the musty old-lady smell that followed me down the hall. The low hum of a Roomba inching along the wood made me stop in my tracks.
“What is that?” I asked with a grin.
Aunt Dinah brushed past me to open my bedroom door. “With you gone, I had to make adjustments.”
“You bought a machine?” I pictured her standing at the counter at the nearest Best Buy, growling at the young man on the other side who would no doubt try to teach her how to work the thing. She would snatch it out of his hands and probably say she was “perfectly capable” of reading the instructions herself, thank you very much. I laughed.
Aunt Dinah gave an impatient huff and stepped away from my door. “I’m not completely above reason. I know how helpful these contraptions can be when used properly. I’d just rather not have to deal with them, is all.” She wagged a finger at me. “Don’t get used to it. It’s going into my closet the moment you’re well enough to continue doing chores.”
“Of course,” I said with a shrug. “You only spent five hundred plus dollars on it. Why wouldn’t you shove it into a closet the first chance you get?” I limped into my room, her loud and irritated sigh trailing after me.
Standing by the single bed mattress, I found myself smiling. The room wasn’t much bigger than my hospital room had been but it was quiet, private. Mine. I carefully pivoted and eased myself down over the comforter. Everything was how I’d left it the morning I’d gotten ambushed. The plain white curtains were still drawn back, letting in the afternoon sun. There were a few hair and makeup products scattered along the dresser top. My duffel bag and suitcase lay beside the open closet door where I’d started to hang my clothes. My shoes were already stacked neatly against the closet’s furthermost wall.
I pulled my phone and earbuds out of my pocket and placed them on the bedside table next to the half drunken glass of water. With a sigh, I fell back against the mattress. The crutches rested lightly against my sternum, pressing into my cheek. It still hurt to take deep breaths. The doctors assured me it would get better with time. I was just thankful I’d finally stopped coughing. Getting over a nicotine addiction and trying to heal from two punctured lungs had hurt like a mother effer. The memory of that searing pain across my chest would be enough to keep me from picking up a cigarette for a long time.
“You can say your goodbyes now, Charles. I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
I sat up. “Shouldn’t you invite him to stay for dinner?”
“Some other time, perhaps,” Aunt Dinah said, already walking away. “You have a busy day tomorrow.”
Like she had to remind me. I had a dentist appointment in the morning, a hair appointment in the afternoon, and a court meeting in the evening. I’d have four brand new teeth and a fresh dye job to show off while I spilled my guts about the attack to an audience that just so happened to include the four people who’d put me in the hospital.
It was going to be so much fun.
Charlie came to lean a shoulder against my door jamb. “Not much of an upgrade.”
“Yeah, but at least it’s not in the hospital.” I set the crutches aside. “You’ll be at the courthouse tomorrow?”
He gave a one shouldered shrug. “I said I would.”
“Will Jasmine come with you?”
He stiffened. “No. Why?”
“I don’t know. I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to meet her. Finally.”
“Not in public and definitely not at a courthouse.” He took off his cap with one hand and smoothed his hair down with the other. He’d gotten it cut recently. It didn’t curl out from under the cap anymore but laid flat against the back of his neck. He put his hat back on to answer my questioning look. “Too many reporters.”
Oh. Right. I kept forgetting his sister was something of a paparazzi magnet.
“But we’ll meet soon, right?” I pressed.
He smirked. “As soon as you’re out of your cast. We don’t have any stair lifts at the precinct.”
“Hardy har,” I said in a bad impersonation of his voice. “You tell anyone about that and I’ll let it slip that I beat you at Super Smash.”
My words wiped the smugness from his face. He scowled. “It was one fight.”
“Still counts.”
“Are you ready, Charles?” came my aunt’s voice from the bottom story.
He leaned back to say, “Yes, sorry.” Then he pushed away from the door jamb, dark eyes fixed on my face again. His entire demeanor changed, making me remember that moment we’d had outside by the Cadillac. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I rubbed the goose bumps from my arms before he cou
ld see them. “Sure. Tomorrow.”
◆◆◆
“State your name for the record,” the lawyer said. She was Asian; short, petite, beautiful, with long dark hair pulled back in a painful-looking ponytail. She wore a stylish white and black pantsuit with six-inch heels.
My gaze lingered on her shoes. She’d be regretting her choice in an hour. I blinked hard. That wasn’t important right now.
I leaned forward to be closer to the microphone. “Esmeralda Barnes.”
“Can you tell us how you got your injuries, Esmeralda?” the lawyer asked, pacing in front of me. She kept glancing at the crowd of people sitting on the other side of the waist-high wall. It didn’t seem like a nervous tic, more like an acknowledgement. She was there to impress the judge and jury but she wasn’t ignoring the onlookers.
I wished I could ignore them. I felt their gazes like dozens of mini spotlights aimed at my face. The flashes of several cameras made my eyes burn. I rubbed them with a fist and averted my gaze.
Randi, Karen, Winston and Allan sat with their lawyers at the table across from me. Any evidence of our fight had healed by now or was hidden behind concealer. Allan’s hand was wrapped in gauze. I saw it resting over the table. It made me want to laugh for some reason. I bit back the stupid impulse. Either I was having a panic attack or I was about to have a stroke.
I tugged on my collar. Aunt Dinah had insisted I wear a button-down shirt and some slacks. I felt like an overheating nun, but she was so sure it would help my case. Looking at my attackers, I realized their lawyers had had the same idea. They all wore clothes that were too nice for them, clothes I’d never seen them wear at school.
I forced myself to breathe. I wasn’t here to make a fool of myself or criticize everyone’s fashion sense. I was here to make sure those four paid for what they did to me. Finding Charlie’s face helped me refocus faster. He sat in the second row by his uncle, watching me intently. He was the only person who wasn’t dressed up, the only one not pretending to be someone else.
I tugged open the first two buttons of my shirt and rolled my sleeves up. After tousling my hair, I felt much better.
“Esmeralda?” the lawyer prompted.
“Yeah. Sorry. I got my injuries from those four,” I said, pointing. “They ganged up on me after school.”
August 12th, 1953
Our mission was unsuccessful. From Norway to Russia down into Asia, we searched monasteries and churches for hints of Death, but any description of her was either too Christian (meaning Death was not a separate entity, simply an act of God) or it was far too specific (some cults worshiped Death as a god who is purely a vindictive force of the universe with no method or reason).
That is not the Death we know. Death, who showed herself very subtly as feminine, timidly asking if we would choose to live for eternity. Death, who left us a sour curse and never reappeared to be held accountable for her treachery. I begin to wonder if Death has ever approached anyone aside from us three couples. I wonder if she realizes the error in her ways, that no human should live forever. Perhaps she sees how truly dangerous her gift was only after witnessing the harm Izz and Segil, Nij and Fadele have caused to mortals.
Unfortunately, we cannot know for certain. Our only comfort has been the journey of discovery. Speaking to monks and scribes in different languages, learning their ways and their cultures, has been so rewarding. Here we have found a closer connection to mortals. We have no friends to say by name, however, we have found that holy men and scribes are very willing to teach those who want to learn. It’s a true joy.
Not everyone is as welcoming of strangers as these men. In fact, there have been priests who have banished us from their town for asking questions, for being foreigners. It is in human nature to fear others, especially if they look or sound different. At first, I could not fault them. I was cursed, after all. But after a few instances where Dymeka was assaulted on the streets, I hated them. They did not fear us for our immortality. They feared us because of our dark skin, black hair, and foreign accents. Many times, I fought the urge to hurt those who hurt my Dymeka.
And in those moments, I thought of my immortal brethren.
They have committed atrocious acts to create a world where their partners could be safe. I see the reason for their ways. In one breath, one motion, I could be like my fallen brethren. I wonder if Death can see this. I wonder if she knows or can even recognize our laws of morality and the battle it is to keep to a certain code of conduct after all these years.
Did you know this would happen, Mistress Death? No, I don’t think you did.
Chapter 19
Jasmine
The birds were restless when I went to see them. I called to them, held out a handful of seed, stayed very still, and waited. Still they wouldn’t come. They fluttered around their perches and trees, twittering anxiously to one another. I poured the seed back into the bucket and watched with a wrinkled forehead.
“What’s wrong, friends?” I walked to the largest tree in the enclosure, craning my neck to see the birds perched in its branches. “Count Dooku? Sir Verde? Ms. Riding Hood?”
The cuckoo bird ruffled its feathers and shook its head at me. The parrot screeched and flew off. The cardinal hopped along the branch, farther away from the others.
There must’ve been a big storm coming. My birds could sense things like that. It was pretty amazing.
“You’ll be safe enough in here. I promise.” I took out more seed and tried offering it to them. “Don’t be afraid.”
The cuckoo bird took flight so fast that he made the branch whip to the side. The other birds sitting over it flew off with frightened squawks. Count Dooku then flew straight into the glass wall and toppled to the floor. I dropped my bucket as I ran to him.
“Count! Are you all right?” I fell to my knees and took him in my cupped hands. His body was warm and soft and so very fragile. I gently pressed my thumb against his chest. There was a frantic fluttering beneath his feathers. I sighed in relief. “Don’t scare me like that.”
The bird stayed still in my hands as I walked him over to the bench by the pond. I sat there and lowered him into my lap. He recovered quickly, flipping right side up and giving himself a shake. He made a quiet cooing sound as I ran a finger over the top of his head.
“You have to calm down. You could’ve seriously hurt yourself and then where would you be?”
I thought of those old but beautiful gates, the ones I saw when I visited Death. Was that where animals went after they died? They couldn’t possibly go to that other place…
Every so often those who passed on would be taken someplace dark, empty, and so cold it was stifling. I assumed it was where the cruel ones of this world went, a land where they would never rest. Eternal punishment for their crimes.
But I didn’t know where animals went. I’d never seen the land that lay beyond the gates or beyond the dark place. No matter where I ended up, though, Death was waiting for me.
I couldn’t quite picture her face after I came back to life, but I could always pick her out from among the other souls entering eternity. I knew she was young looking and pretty, emanating the same pearly glow all the departed did. I knew she wore a strange silver dress. It moved like cloth under water, slowly and rhythmically, even when she was standing still.
I could only guess what she was like as a person...or entity...or whatever she was. We’d never actually spoken. Sometimes she seemed happy. She’d smile as she held her arms out to me, but there was a secret behind her eyes. Other times she seemed annoyed by my presence, as if she’d expected someone else and had gotten stuck with me instead. And then there were times when she outright ignored me. Which never made sense.
She was the one who had cursed me. She forced me to keep visiting her. She must’ve had a reason. Charlie always said she was just plain sadistic. When I was younger, I thought her motives had been purer, like maybe she wanted someone to be with those who died alone. But then there had been times when
I’d followed multiple casualties through to the other side.
As I grew up, I developed another theory; maybe Death wanted someone to know her, to understand her job and how hard it could be. But then why did I have to suffer the same injuries as the dying? Death didn’t feel what they did. She just collected them from the land of the living and escorted them into their final rest. The most recent conclusion I’d come to was similar to Charlie’s. Death was just torturing me for the fun of it, seeing how long I could last before I tried to take my own life.
The big question was: would she let me stay dead? I wasn’t brave enough to find out. Charlie, Anthony, and Uncle Vic kept me tethered to life like a buoy in a storm. They needed me. I was their purpose, their calling, no matter how much that bothered me. If I wasn’t there, what would they do with themselves? Continue to hide from the world, but this time without a good reason? They could be so brave sometimes and yet so cowardly. It was infuriating.
Count Dooku’s takeoff made me wince and come back to myself. His talons had torn little holes in my tights. I watched as several beads of blood rose to the surface of my skin. Looking up, I witnessed the cuckoo bird settle down in that tree again, this time alone. The others weren’t keen to join him after his explosive takeoff. Or so it seemed.
What was my purpose then? Other than finding some way to keep those men from becoming complete hermits. I sighed and stood. Nope. That was pretty much it.
I wasn’t smart or passionate enough to invent something that would make life better for humanity, the environment, or the animal kingdom. I wasn’t capable of traveling or helping the less fortunate. No matter how much the idea appealed to me. My circle of influence wasn’t big enough, my experiences limited; what wisdom could I share and with whom?
I went through a phase my sophomore and junior years of high school where I was determined to have an online presence. I visited chat rooms for the young and terminally ill. I created a blog for my depressing poetry. I met guys on dating websites and even found friends through online role-playing games. But people were curious. It was only a matter of time before they wanted to meet face to face or talk about the mysterious condition that kept me so secluded or ask about my future goals. It became harder and harder to lie the longer I tried to keep those relationships going.