Oculus

by S. E. Akers

  My thoughts floated to Gallia first. Though I’d only known the little Serpentine Talisman for one month, it was assuredly the quickest anyone I’d ever grown to care about had come in and out of my life. Her sacrifice at the graveyard that night made me truly appreciate the generosity of others, whether or not she’d kept us safe from Lorelei strictly because I was the “Diamond Talisman” or not, she’d chosen to take that risk and then ultimately paid the dearest of prices for it. She made me want to cherish every moment I had. In my mind, she was the perfect example of never knowing when your time was up. I fully planned on telling her how much her choice meant to me when the perfect opportunity presented itself, thanks to those beautiful long blonde locks she’d left behind. And I sort of wished I’d held on to Lorelei’s scalp to show her what I’d done. The vision of the little Talisman the proustite presented may have looked like an angelic ten-year-old girl, but even I could envision the mischievous amusement hoisting those little rosy cheeks after seeing that priceless trophy in my hands.

  Thinking about burning her tresses brought me straight to Bea and the image of her body waning into the remnants of her glistening essence right after my blade had pierced her heart. I had so many memories of her when I was little and then a long gap where I’d inevitably drifted away. Of course I had what appeared on the surface to be legitimate reasons, “kid reasons” — school, friends, and everything else in-between. And yeah, I would see her now and then down at the mine or around town, but it wasn’t the same quality-time that I used to spend with her. I regretted letting that distance form in the first place, though I was so grateful that I’d been given those five endearing months to reconnect with her. My eyes fluttered slowly, heavy with pooling tears. It had been a long time since I felt such a strong swaddle of maternal love like I did from her. And truth be told, I’d wished on more than one occasion that my mother could have been merely half as golden as what she was. Just like with Gallia, I never wanted to take another treasured relationship for granted, which also had me promising myself that I would call Samuel the first chance I got — that was, if this sadistic collar ever released me from its hellish spell. I’d been keeping an eye on the time. Silas had slammed that door shut at a quarter till nine and I still had enough of my senses to know that the little hand hovering over the number two on my wristwatch wasn’t a hallucination.

  My reflections moved on to my alive & kicking bosom friend. Katie, I realized, was my in-the-flesh reminder of how easily I could be manipulated by my enemies, which had me reeling with worry for her and all of my other human friends. From here on out, my identity would have to remain a secret — end of story. I couldn’t afford to have anyone else’s life in danger. The odds of her coming back had to be in the billions and rest assured, I couldn’t see something like that ever happening in my lifetime again, not even if it lasted for all eternity. As far as the guilt over her lost amethyst was concerned, I was going to stop dwelling on it. Katie’s parents were alive. That was the whole reason why she’d wanted me to absolve their grief to begin with. Katie wasn’t blaming me, so I had to stop punishing myself in turn. And if she truly had her heart set on becoming a witch, I would have to face facts and accept it. I wasn’t the keeper of her soul anymore. It was her life to live as she pleased, especially this second time around. All I desired was her happiness, just as much as I wanted for myself. Maybe even a little more…

  I saved the hardest one for last, Daddy. His took the longest, mainly because I didn’t want to watch his image fade away like all the others once the stone and I had struck our peaceful chords. But I also knew the pain wouldn’t fully stop until I put his death into perspective. So I sat there for well over an hour, looking into his blue-green eyes and filling my head with every reminiscent moment I could cram in. Just one of him had made up for a thousand Charlottes and Chloes. My biggest regret was all the new memories I would be making without him. Eighteen years of the ones I currently held would have to carry me through the rest of my life, no matter how long or hard the haul. And though I was blessed to have each and every one of them, the pain of knowing he would never lovingly link his arm with mine to walk his little girl down the aisle almost ripped my soul in two. Our memories would be my only escort if that day ever came. But at least I still had all of them, tucked safely in the recesses of my mental hard drive and merely a heartfelt and misty blink away.

  With a shaky and somber smile, I lifted his picture to my lips and gave it a kiss like I would if he were tucking me in bed—a sweet & simple little girl peck on the cheek that promised I would see him again—and then placed the frame down on the floor. That, I affirmed, was my final farewell to my father. I kept waiting for his image to fade and the hazy air to start magically clearing away, taking all of my pain with it, however, nothing ever happened. Daddy’s vision remained right where it was, staring back at me, and the collar around my neck still felt as tight as ever, without showing any signs of letting me go. In fact, the pain was slowly starting to intensify again, and I couldn’t understand why. I thought I’d done everything I was supposed to. Everything I felt compelled to do. But despite the depths or lengths of my efforts, it seemed the proustite was nowhere near finished wheeling its torture.

  I screamed out in a fit and pounded my fist on the floor, both at my wits end and desperate for some cosmic guidance. Did I not cry enough? Had I not wrestled with enough pain over putting his memory to rest? I couldn’t possibly FEEL anymore than what I had, at least I didn’t think I could until my weary eyes spotted something lying beside the metal pail that wasn’t there before. A cold tear shot down my cheek like a bullet as I stared at the box of matches. The way my heart sank into my chest out of protest let me know a tiny part of me was still holding onto my father’s hand and I hadn’t really let all of him go. It seemed there was no fooling a proustite or the chance of evoking any sympathy from its tyrant-like will when it came to delivering you from your burdens. Burning his picture was the worst thing in the world, right next to my mother washing his scent out of his dress shirt on purpose. I’d already seen the light fading from his eyes once before. I didn’t want to see them go up in flames too with the harsh stench of burning paper flooding my other senses. Daddy hadn’t been gone a whole year yet. How much more freaking insensitive could the universe be?

  The longer I resisted, the more barbaric the knife-like pangs grew, carving into my soul like a sadistic butcher. Daddy never wanted this, his flesh and blood suffering with this much agony, not over him. Then suddenly a pain so breathlessly paralyzing began ravaging my insides that sent me scrambling in a panic for his picture. I smashed the glass on the floor and quickly snatched the photo out of the frame. With as much strength as my trembling hands could summon, I slid open the tiny box and pulled out one of the matches. The sound and smell of its strike forced even more tears to fall. Then my eyes tore open like a pair of floodgates when I butted the lonely flame against the bottom of the picture. Looking at Daddy’s face melting away was the last thing I wanted to see, but I feared what pain could come if I didn’t force myself to watch. However something happened that threw me completely off guard. The foul burning stench never came. Instead, all my nose held was the same spearmint and musky blend that laced my father’s skin when I hugged him — the one I thought I would never get the slightest whiff of ever again. My tears came to a halt as I dropped the flaming photo into the metal pail, and then I collapsed onto the cold stone floor. The last thing I remembered was the pain receding from my soul like the tide had carried it mercifully away. Then as my eyes fell to an exhausted close, the most serene wave washed over my soul and bathed me with its grace.

  My eyes fluttered open to the sound of Silas clearing his throat and then something soft smacked my face as I rose. I noticed the collar lying on the floor beside me when I reached for the towel he’d thrown. Then I remembered hearing its lock popping open right before I’d passed out.

  Silas picked up the silver collar and eyed the formerly-red sto
ne. The daggone thing looked like a glassy hunk of coal.

  “My, my . . . It’s as black as a crow’s tail. It’ll take the light of three full moons before all the muck will clear out of this thing,” Silas sneered. “Though I am curious, Ms. Wallace. What did all that nastiness feel like?”

  “Like being trapped in a zipped up sleeping bag and having to wrestle a rabid porcupine with quills made of iron.”

  “That doesn’t sound very pleasant,” he grimaced.

  My eyelids fell to half-mast. “It wasn’t.”

  “It never is. The pain you experienced is what you’ve been feeding those creatures in the Darklands without even realizing it. I hope you see the importance of keeping your soul as clear as possible — not only for you, but for The Veil your stone was created to protect as well.”

  I nodded. Though I was very much aware of how the bad thoughts and acts towards others spawned creatures and fed their souls, I never realized how not resolving your own sorrows gave them plenty to chow down on as well. So I guess Katie was right about negative thoughts and feelings we harbor towards ourselves. She just didn’t know how right she was.

  Silas angled his eyes to mine. “And how do you feel now?”

  “It’s weird,” I admitted. “I feel the same, but sort of lighter in a way. Maybe even a little . . .” My lips closed like the snap of a clam shell before my next admission could escape.

  “Go on, Ms. Wallace,” Silas urged, sensing my hesitation. “There’s no shame in saying it out-loud.”

  I lifted my head. “Freer,” I said. “Much freer.”

  “That’s the stone’s purpose,” he assured. “You’re not abandoning the love you felt for any of them. Your soul has simply been cleansed from all the guilt it has been clinging to, and it’s finally been set free.”

  I looked up at him, my eyes heavy. “For the record, my soul couldn’t be more ‘cleansed’ if you’d given me an emotional enema.”

  A telling sparkle exploded like a firecracker in his eyes. “Hmmm . . . You may have inadvertently stumbled upon a more effective place to stick one. I’ll keep that in mind if you ever backslide.”

  Once my scowl had reached its optimum peak, I went straight back to patting off as much sweat as I could. And I was dripping with it too. Yuck… Though on the plus side, with the amount of perspiration that had gushed from my pores throughout my hours of purging, I never had to play “outhouse” with that metal pail.

  “No need to dry off too much,” Silas announced. “We’re headed downstairs . . . to what you so affectionately refer to as my torture chamber.”

  “Great,” I replied, trying to polish my smile. I’d kind of figured more was right around the corner. But at least the psychological stuff was over. After a six-hour stretch of emotional liberation, I needed a more physical release.

  “You’ll find that your recent experience with the proustite will be valuable when it comes to banishing your toughest opponent,” Silas assured as we wound down the stairs.

  Even with my newfound insight, I was having a hard time swallowing that. “How will acknowledging my guilt’s hold on my soul help me get rid of the chimera?”

  “I’m not talking about the chimera, Ms. Wallace. I’m referring to the balegore,” he affirmed and then popped off a nod that struck the air like the smack of a gavel. “You’re very much aware how comfortable that creature is with its current accommodations. You’ve been to The Darklands. Tell me, where do you think the Jolly Red Giant would prefer to exist? Here in the safe confines of a lush forest where all its needs are met or playing survival-of-the-fittest in a savage wasteland with creatures hungering for its blood?”

  Banishing Kiera was hard enough, and I hadn’t known her for long at all. But I’d grown a little attached to the giant troll doll throughout my weeks of butt-whippings. Silas was on the money as usual. Mentally, it was going to be the toughest one.

  “Isn’t there any way it can stay for a little while longer?”

  “There are cells all over the world that have been holding Darklands creatures for centuries. I think we both know why Professor Grey selected it as one of your opponents. Hard choices must be made more times than not, Ms. Wallace. You know that.”

  “Well from where I’m sitting, the balegore doesn’t have a thing to worry about,” I acknowledged.

  “Here, here,” Silas facetiously cheered in agreement. “So that is what we will be working on next. Putting some pep into those muscles you’ve sprouted, so it doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “If you can do that, I might have to take back half of everything I’ve ever said or thought about you.”

  Silas laid his hand over his heart with a pucker. “Only half?”

  I wasn’t about to back down, regardless of my creeping grin. “Oh, you know you deserve some.”

  I followed him straight into the torture chamber to find one of my favorite things standing front and center, all primed and waiting on me — that damn wall of iron. And from the way it was gleaming, I was pretty sure he’d waxed the daggone thing.

  Silas nodded to the pristine sheet of iron. “Determination hasn’t been your problem, Ms. Wallace.”

  I couldn’t wait to hear this. “Then what has been?”

  “You simply don’t know how to throw a punch,” Silas said dryly.

  Well, at least he didn’t say I hit like a girl.

  “And do you know why that is?” he posed.

  “No,” I smiled. “But I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”

  “Your present emotions, of course,” he grinned.

  My head crashed backward in defeat. UGH! No more EMOTIONS, I sobbed silently. I breathed out a huff and stared at him, my eyes weary. “The only present emotion I’m feeling right now is frustration.”

  “Precisely,” Silas cooed. “And it is the same one you’ve been carting around with you all summer — no matter what the source has been.”

  I wasn’t oblivious. I knew whom he was really talking about, and I had a bad feeling that I wasn’t going to like this therapy session either. “You’re not going to stick another collar on me are you?”

  “No. This is something you can do on your own,” he assured. “You simply need to work on rechanneling all those annoyances churning inside you and then diverting their force straight into your blows.”

  My eyes swelled with disbelief. “I promise you, Silas. I can’t possibly get any madder than I already have been whenever I’ve launched my fists at those creatures.”

  Silas shook his head. “I’m not talking about the output that results from your negative emotions. Trust me, I’ve seen plenty of your willy-nilly sideshow strikes. I’m referring to the energy that rests at the root source of your feelings,” he explained. “The energy that comes straight from your soul, before it turns into frustration and anger — the same magic that fuels what lies beyond The Veil. You need to find a spot in your mind where you can lock up your bad emotions and extract the raw magic right out of them. Do that and you can topple the Eiffel Tower with only a handful of blows,” he vowed.

  “That’s a tall order,” I said.

  “Very . . . but not impossible,” Silas agreed, “particularly when one claims a stone that magnifies any and all power at its source a hundred-fold.” He tilted his head knowingly. “But that same being must also possess the most unrelenting focus and passion to achieve such a feat as well.”

  “So you basically want me to go to some ‘happy place’, focus on the diamond’s power, and then come out swinging?”

  “A crude assessment, but yes. That’s the key to keeping control,” he stressed. “No matter what lays in front of you, whether it is a creature or any other supernatural you wish to take down, you must counter your bad feelings with a desire for something else that is more intense than what you are facing. Victory is only imminent for those who claim an unpolluted mind.”

  “That’s easier said than done,” I argued.

  “No, it isn’t. Not when you choose to
focus on the things that are most important to you . . . The things you would fight tooth and nail for and would never want to be robbed of,” he insisted. “Take the incredible feeling that you get when you heal someone for example. Nothing compares to it, does it?”

  “No,” I answered in agreement.

  Silas lifted my chin and then mocked me with a sarcastic wince. “Then tell me . . . How can you ever heal another soul, if whatever you’re facing takes your last breath?”

  My insides started burning. That was something I never wanted to let happen and the fierce and focused look swirling in my eyes was all the confirmation my coach-turned-therapist needed to see.

  “By George, I think she’s found it,” Silas boomed and then motioned to the iron wall. “Shall we test out our newfound honey-hole?”

  I positioned myself in front of the wall, waiting for Silas’ further instructions. He pulled a red wax pencil out of his pocket and drew a fist-sized circle on its surface.

  “Now, I want you to think about what you’re feeling and lock all the bitterness away by concentrating on your deepest desires. Draw out that positive energy and let its magic fuel your muscles. Use that amplifying power the diamond affords you and drive it straight into your jabs.”