Manifesting Shadow, #1

by Church K Calvert

  “This is a waste of my time,” she began to climb to her feet. In the process, she grasped the arm of my chair, and her hand brushed against my arm. She returned to her side of the desk, but her touch lingered. Everything in the room faded away as I looked down at my arm and experienced the sickening pain of guilt as it coursed through my body. It was her pain. It was so concentrated, so loud, so raw, it caught me off guard. The emotions of this woman, who moments earlier seemed almost robotic, were so strong. It reminded me of my pain. It was pure shame, regret, guilt, and loss. Trying to regain some sort of composure, I bent over in my chair and closed my eyes to stop the room from spinning out of control, but her pain was disgusting and revolting. I began to feel nauseous and opened my eyes just in time to see the doctor hastening back to my side of the desk.

  “Dani! What’s wrong?” She reached for me, and I jerked away, hoping that not even a finger would get close enough. “What is it?”

  She reached again, “Don’t touch me!” I shouted. She appeared scared and embarrassed and took a step backward. I regained my consciousness slowly and things began to clear. My chest rose and fell as I tried to catch my breath.

  I watched her watching me. Her eyes asked almost as many questions as did mine.

  Still breathing heavily, I had to know, “What did you do?”

  The look on her face changed from concern to disbelief.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” our eyes locked, and she was now the one trying to look anywhere else. She tried desperately to change the subject.

  “You know what, Danielle, if our sessions are going to turn into dramatic scenes every time we meet, then maybe I’m not the doctor you should be seeing,” she said firmly. It’s evident she wanted to keep her story hidden.

  “There’s a reason you want to know about my journal, and I think it has more to do with you than me,” my voice was surprisingly calm. “I’ll tell you my story; in exchange, you tell me yours.”

  She waited for a long time before responding.

  “These compromises are quickly becoming a pattern for us. An unhealthy one I think. You’ll get your answers when I get mine.”

  * * *

  My story was one that makes me sick to this day. I didn’t know where or what I did wrong. I just remembered feeling emotions I knew I was too young to feel. It was after the death of my grandmother, after the will, after all the changes. Things were looking up. It was always at these points in my life when things should be best that everything came crashing down around me. It was summer, and I was playing some video games with my brother, in the spacious living room of our relatively new, beautiful two story home. The phone rang from the wall in the adjoining kitchen. Neither my brother nor I thought twice about picking it up and instead carried on with the game.

  “I’ve got it, thank you for not answering, so I can handle this possible pending tragedy myself,” my mother remarked sarcastically. She answered and began speaking quickly. I half listened while continuing to dominate in the racing game against my brother. He, on the other hand, was concentrating on the television.

  “What? Really? Oh my gosh, it’s so much sooner than we expected . . . Yes . . . I’ll call Alex right now, we’ll be there in an hour! Tell her to wait till we get there!” My mother gave a little shriek, while hanging up the phone, and turned to us smiling. “Hurry, get your shoes on. We have to go. You’re Aunt Sara is having her baby!”

  Not especially thrilled at the prospect of seeing a baby born, we gathered our shoes. My Aunt Sara was my dad’s younger sister. She had got married just a few months earlier, probably because she was pregnant. She and her husband were a great couple. They did everything together, and they were excited at the prospect of being parents. As I remember, the baby was a boy, and she was going to name him Alexander, after my father.

  “Do we have to see them cut the baby out of her stomach?” my brother asked, looking at me wide-eyed, with disgust and excitement.

  “Well, of course, that’s why the family has to be there, and you’re the youngest so it’s tradition that you cut the cord!”

  “Wow!” he said and ran to my mother, “Mom, I’m going to help get the baby out!”

  My mother glanced at me disapprovingly, “Really?”

  “Well, he did ask,” I laughed as my mother pushed me out the door. We all jumped into the car and headed to the hospital. Fortunately, Aunt Sara was my father’s only sibling living in the same state as us, so we didn’t have to travel, and no other family would be there. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my dad’s family; they were ten times better than my mother’s, well at least they were a little more normal. It’s just I hated getting together with family, and not knowing who to shake hands with, who to hug, what I’m supposed to remember about them, and what I should or should not say. Everyone had to interpret glances that said ‘stop talking about that,’ or ‘they asked you a question.’ It was all very uncomfortable.

  By the time we reached the hospital, my father was already waiting out front for us, impatient to escort us to the birthing center located on the second floor. As we rounded corners trying to find her room, we passed a window with all the new babies on display. I looked through it, fascinated; I had no idea hospitals in real life had these viewing windows. What if the babies didn’t want to be seen, or what if their parents didn’t want them to be seen?

  We all slowed down momentarily to check them out. It was like a car accident; you just can’t pass by without ogling the scene, even briefly. There were only a few, but each one was unique and beautiful. I guess that explained why they were on display. I realized there’s nothing more beautiful, and precious than a newborn; nothing more pure or fragile.

  We made our way to Aunt Sara’s room. It was just her, Peter, and I guessed, Alexander. She lay in bed with the baby resting against her. She was quite small, and I wondered how she could carry a baby. Her skin was pale with blue eyes, and short brown hair. Normally, she was quite pretty but now appeared drained and exhausted. Peter was good looking and a little scruffy. He had short, dark-blond hair and a big build. His humor made him a fun person to be around. Peter rose to his feet and shook hands with my father, hugged my mother, brother, and me.

  “Congratulations, Peter,” my dad said.

  “Thanks, oh man, I wish you would have told me how nerve-wracking it is to have a kid. Apparently, he couldn’t wait, he came out a month early! Can you believe that?” we all nodded in agreement. “But he’s perfect! They said everything is working the way it should, he’s breathing right, and should develop fine.”

  “That’s so great,” my mother said with relief in her voice. Peter had apparently answered the questions she had.

  “You want to hold him?” Peter asked proudly, “I know Sara is exhausted, so maybe Alexander should get to know the rest of his family. Alex, you should do the honors.”

  “Oh, of course,” my father said.

  “Be careful,” Aunt Sara warned as Peter lifted the baby from her arms as gently as possible, and placed him in my dad’s arms.

  “Oh yeah, he’s definitely good looking. He deserves a name like Alex,” my dad laughed.

  “Here let me hold him,” my mother extended her arms. My father carefully transferred the baby to her. I try to peer over her arm. He was adorable. Then I start to get nervous, hoping they didn’t want me to hold him. He was so small, and fragile. What if I didn’t hold the head right? Would it fall off? I began to edge toward the far side of the room hoping to avoid the invitation.

  “Can I hold him?” my brother asked. Of course, a five-year-old is braver than me.

  “No honey, he’s too small, you can look at him if you want,” my mother told him.

  “Not fair, why did I come if I can’t even do anything?” my brother complained, crossing his arms and planting himself on a seat nearby. I stared inflexibly out the window, hoping to fixate on something worthwhile.

  “Danielle, you want to hold him?” Pe
ter asked. My stomach turned a somersault.

  “Oh. No, thank you,” I contrived a smile.

  “Come on, your newborn cousin wants to say hello,” he persisted lifting him out of my mother’s arms. She flashed a questioning glance at my father, which he returned while including me. The manner in which Peter hurried across the room with little Alexander made him seem less fragile than I had imagined.

  “Peter cover him up so he doesn’t get cold,” Aunt Sara said, holding out a blanket. Peter wrapped it loosely around his little body.

  “Here,” he said and deposited the baby into my uncertain arms. I looked down at him, into his eyes for the first time. I saw him, but he didn’t see me. He was perfect.

  “See, just like holding a football,” Peter laughed. I responded with a laugh, wondering why I was so nervous in the first place.

  His little arm waved back and forth under the blanket till it was free from the wraps. His arm was so small. His fingers, so little and cute. I rubbed my thumb across the soft skin of his little arm and smiled. I realized why people loved to see newborn babies. It’s such a rush, such a great feeling. Yet, a familiar sensation. I looked up, still smiling, expecting to see smiling faces looking back at me.

  Instead, I saw stares of horror. The blood had drained from all their faces. Sara tried to sit up as best she could to interpret the expressions on their faces. They all rose to their feet at once.

  Abruptly, the room became very loud. everything merged into a blur. Peter ran up to me and practically yanked Alexander out of my arms. My mother ran out of the room, screaming for a doctor. My dad crowded around Peter as he held little Alexander. In my confusion, I saw little Alexander’s face again, but It wasn’t the same, he was blue in the face, and looked lifeless.

  “I NEED A DOCTOR!” Peter shouted with dread in his voice. Medical staff appeared in a rush and engulfed the room. Everyone was shouting, and crying, and questioning.

  “What happened? What did you do?” a doctor asked with disgust in his voice. Some glanced over at me questioningly.

  As the room faded out into darkness, the last thing I saw was the horrified expression on my brother’s face as he held his hands over his ears. I fell back into an enveloping darkness, crashed into a food cart and dropped to the floor unconscious.

  * * *

  In my unconscious state, I drifted into what I can only describe as the most peaceful place in the world. However, I know that a place like this does not exist in reality. When you are awake you feel everything, the floor, the walls, the pain. It’s all very hard, concrete, unchangeable. In this special place, everything was soft, and light. White covered everything, it was pure, with light emitting from every direction. I laid on a bed of the softest fabrics. For a moment I wondered if conceivably I had, in fact, died, then I remembered the fall I took wasn’t that bad. In truth, I was dreaming.

  This place was different; peace enveloped me. It was a resting place for my soul after a long day. Pain flowed out of my heart here and I wished I could stay forever. As I finally began to relax, I looked around, assuming I was alone. It was then I felt a hand on my arm.

  “Wake up, Danielle,” all I remembered were green eyes observing me closely.

  I felt consciousness returning and not wanting to open my eyes, not wanting to lose my grip on the dream. There’s always that fleeting moment of peace when you wake up before you remember the horrors of the past. The opposite of awakening from a nightmare. That moment where everything is still pleasing. Then, just as you start to breathe a sigh of relief you realize that all those terrible things really did take place. You don’t want to move, you don’t want to wake up, and you would give anything to return to that time where none of it happened, but the body can only sleep so long.

  “She’s fine, and I must say I’m surprised. With a fall like that, I suspected a concussion. She might be a little sore, but everything checks out.” I didn’t open my eyes, but I knew this must be my doctor speaking.

  I heard my mother: “Thank you, doctor.”

  “If you need anything, just asks one of the nurses and they’ll be able to help you,” he said and I heard him walking away. Silence ensued, and I wasn’t sure if just my mother was in the room, or both my parents were there.

  “Alex,” my mother whispered. Just the sound of that name was painful to my ears.

  “Alex, look at me,” my mother said again. “What did the doctors say?”

  I felt my heart beating so loud, I thought they must surely hear it too. I tried desperately to quiet it so I could hear. But the pounding in my ears was almost deafening. I had to know if baby Alex was okay. Did I do something wrong?

  “We need to leave as soon as we can,” my father says, despair evident in his voice. Tears begin to run out of my eyes, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I wished I could pass out again. I just wanted to get out of there.

  * * *

  I remember finally leaving the hospital. No one said anything, not even my brother, not the whole way home. The thing I remember most about our departure was once again we passed the window with a view of all the newborn babies.

  This time, I didn’t look.

  Aunt Sara’s baby was revived after four minutes. The doctors said his organs had begun to shut down. They attributed this to his early birth. He spent the next three months in the NICU. Aunt Sara, Peter, and my parents were questioned relentlessly. Their concern was not how suddenly his life had drained out of him, but that the bones in his little arm appeared to have multiple fractures, which rendered the bottom half of his left arm practically useless for the rest of his life. They could not explain what would cause something so traumatic to manifest itself. The family shared their bewilderment, but I could tell they blamed me.

  After that day, we hardly saw Aunt Sara again; she and my father had an intense falling out. She had more children, but we were never again invited to their births. My parents never questioned me about the event, never blamed me. For that, I couldn’t be more grateful. Although the birth certificate had already been filed, Alexander was never addressed by that name again. His middle name was Gabriel, and from that day forward, that’s what he was called.

  * * *

  Silence filled the room for a long time. The look on the doctor’s face made me question whether she knew the story was finished.

  “Well, that’s all the time we have for today.”

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

  “I told you my story. You said you would tell me yours.”

  “You misunderstood me, Danielle. This is not a game, I’m trying to help you get better. Do you want to be in this place forever?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  I was extremely irritated by this mind game but intrigued, nevertheless.

  “This is bullshit . . . ,” I said slowly.

  “What was that?” the doctor asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Nothing, can I just go back to my room now?”

  “Of course,” She replied, buzzing her phone, “Patient is ready for escort.”

  Chapter Four: Walking in the Dark

  After the day at the hospital, I wanted answers; anything to tell me about who I was and what was wrong with me. All I could think of was my great-grandmother, and the day she died. She was trying to help me, and she said there was no way to prepare me for what was ahead. I remembered that she never held any children or grandchildren when they were born. Now I knew why. She was obviously the only one who would get me closer to resolving this dilemma, and it behooved finding her journals and learning her secrets. The only problem was, in the old will I was supposed to get her journals, but in the new will Christian inherited all of her possessions. I waited months for my opportunity to get my hands on those books. In the meantime, I was preoccupied with my suspicions and killed time with investigations of my own.

  First, I searched in the most obvious place, the internet. But it proved confusi
ng. At first, some really good information came to light, then I realized it was all superstition, dreams, and movies that I was reading about; really good movies, I might add. It was entertaining but frustrating. Was it really possible that the only person in the world who was like me was already dead?

  I reached a point where I was afraid to be around anyone. I was fearful I would hurt everyone I got close to. I started covering up as much as possible to avoid contact with people. I didn’t think this had any effect at all. It just caused me to be really hot all the time, and my parents worried.

  The first time anything useful occurred, I was in my room, lying on my bed, contemplating all the thoughts that constantly invaded my mind those days. A loud thud on my window startled me. My heart racing from this unexpected sound, I got up and cautiously crossed to the window. It was already daylight, so a potential robbery didn’t concern me. The view from the window revealed nothing, and I was about to return to my bed when the bright sunlight revealed a faint imprint on the glass. When I leaned closer and looked down, right under the window I saw a bird. It seemed it had sustained major injury from its collision with my window.

  I carefully crept out of my bedroom. Everyone was still asleep, so I tried to be as quiet as possible. I opened the back door and rounded the house to the side overlooked by my bedroom. There on the ground lay the small bird. I knelt down to get a closer look. It was only about the size of a baseball, brown with little hints of white feathers in its wings. Its neck was twisted at an unnatural angle and it lay motionless with its eyes wide open, looking at me. It was as if it was asking for my help, staring into my soul, pleading that I had the decency to put it out of its misery. I reached for it but pulled my hand back quickly.

  Disgusted by the prospect of hurting something, I stood up. As I did so, the bird made a small noise that sounded so pathetic. Its wing twitched a little. I stood there for several minutes as my mind became frozen in time and refused to contemplate my next move. I took a deep breath and knelt back down.