Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series

by Tony C. Skye

  It reads: “I heard Caroline had a breakdown in the hallway. Marcus said he saw her straight check you and Jenny. Is it serious?”

  Tamara disposes of the evidence inside of her backpack. Fake-copying the board of useless information, the teen begins writing. When she finishes, she pushes the notepad on her desk into easy view for Jason.

  It reads: “It's not serious. She's just having a hard time with her dad doing what he did to her and her mom.”

  Jason nods and sits back in his chair.

  With her back to the class, Mrs. Dreiser speaks, “And if Mr. Deveraux and Ms. Stilliard would like to come up here, we will let them show us how to solve these.” The teacher turns around, “Unless, they would rather I read their love letters to the rest of the classroom?”

  Jason and Tamara exchange looks and head for the front of the classroom. Tamara holds out her left hand and receives a blue marker. Jason receives a green one. The two seniors begin their daunting tasks of formula work.

  * * *

  “Ms. Hammond,” Mr. Tolbert calls out.

  The brunette responds, “Here.”

  “No, Ms. Hammond. This isn't roll call,” the Greek Mythology teacher corrects, “You already missed that part.”

  Muffled laughter fills the room with the voices of her peers.

  “Bring it here. You know the drill,” the thirty-seven-year-old male orders.

  Jennifer slips out of her desk and walks over to the teacher's desk. Her dark tan skin is a perfect match to her bff Tamara – a direct result of owning her very own in-house tanning bed.

  She hands Mr. Tolbert her phone. “I'll hold onto to this,” the athletically built senior defiantly states while holding up her smartphone's battery with her other hand.

  “Very well, Ms. Hammond. You can have this back at the end of the class,” the man with gray eyes informs.

  “Whatever,” the irritated teen mumbles as she walks towards her seat. Jennifer notices Rebecca's freaked out look. The tall girl whispers on her way by, “It's locked.”

  Rebecca smiles to thank Jenny for thinking on her feet.

  “As I was saying,” the teacher begins, “Does anyone remember who Artemis is?”

  Scanning his classroom, Mr. Tolbert examines the different students that have raised their hands.

  “Yes, Ms. Hindsworth,” the man chooses.

  Rebecca proudly boasts her answer, “Artemis is a huntress of the night. She is attributed to being the goddess of the moon.”

  Mr. Tolbert nods in approval, “Very good, Ms. Hindsworth.” The man's eyes rescan the room, “Does anyone else have any other input into this fascinating goddess?”

  “Yes, Ms. uh....”, the teacher’s mind goes blank when trying to recall the new transfer student's name.

  “Ms. Skank,” Rebecca venomously utters. The classroom fills with bursts of laughter.

  “No name calling, Ms. Hindsworth,” Mr. Tolbert chastises.

  “Then someone needs to tell her to take the softies D-Ed class. She nearly hit me with that rusted piece of junk she drives,” Rebecca counters.

  The new girl turns her head back to look at her accuser. She is shadowed with embarrassment and fear within her new environment. Her long black hair semi-covers her eye's view of Rebecca. The head cheerleader sits in the back right side of the room.

  The S.V.C.'s captain stares at the nervous girl. “Yeah, I'm talking to you,” Rebecca challenges.

  “That's quite enough, Ms. Hindsworth,” the teacher intervenes, “One more outburst and you'll find yourself missing practice for detention.”

  Rebecca huffs like no one understands her. But detention is so not happening. The curvy blond stays her tongue, for now.

  The Greek Mythology teacher glances at a piece of paper sitting on his desk,

  “Ms. E-vee Mar-ee, is it?”

  “E-vay Mar-ee,” the humiliated girl corrects.

  “Ms. EvéMari,” the teacher nods, “Welcome.” Mr. Tolbert smiles to bring some semblance of comfort to the nervous eighteen-year-old having hair so black it reflects a bluish tinge.

  “Do you have any thoughts into whom Artemis might be?”

  The new girl nods, but still appears to be unsure of her surroundings. She speaks quietly, “Artemis is attributed...”

  “Speak up, new girl. The rest of us can't hear you,” Rebecca demands.

  The pale skin girl looks at Mr. Tolbert. The experienced instructor nods his agreement with what Ms. Hindsworth has stated,

  “Speak up a little more, please.”

  The girl closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and re-opens them. Although not as fearful as a few moments ago, the anxious girl still feels the thickness of the air closing in around her. Not exactly exuberant with confidence, she makes a better attempt at being heard.

  “Artemis is attributed to being a goddess of the moon. But she is so much more than that,” the girl glances back at her apparent rival without making any direct eye contact. The teen gains more confidence when she sees a hint of satisfaction on her teacher's face. She raises her voice subtly,

  “It is one thing to hunt during the illuminated world of the daytime sun as Artemis does. But it's quite another to hunt by only the dim light of a nighttime sky. Even on a full moon with a cloudless sky, the most experienced of modern day hunters will struggle without their night vision goggles.”

  The girl's confidence rises further with the ever increasing curiosity upon Mr. Tolbert's face. She speaks louder,

  “Artemis is just not some simple huntress of the night. She is a woman who is extremely determined to achieve her goals. She never asks someone else if it's okay for her to hunt. Artemis doesn’t care if they like it or not. She knows who she is without any doubt. She has embraced her identity to the point no one questions at all whether or not her skills as a huntress are really sufficient.”

  The eighteen-year-old speaks with the authority and confidence of any knowledgeable instructor, “Everyone agrees that she is skilled in this way. But what is sometimes left out is the underlining driving force within Artemis – her reason for being.”

  “And what would that be, Ms. EvéMari?”, the very pleased teacher asks.

  The new girl smiles, “She enjoys taking life. It is her adrenaline rush. Hunting by moonlight only serves to increase the difficulty level for her. She is not bound to the night. That's a misconception. Nowhere does it say such a thing, not in the original texts anyway.”

  “So you're saying Artemis enjoys the kill and raises the ante by sometimes hunting in the night?”, Mr. Tolbert responds curiously.

  “Yes,” the new transfer student replies, “In this way, the thrill of her kills will yield a much higher reward value. Being worshiped by weaker mortals is only a byproduct of who she truly is...”

  The teen makes a point to turn around in her chair and face her accuser, “...a killer. A killer who plans, calculates, watches, and has more patience than her prey. She is a killer who always wins.”

  Cold silence follows the new girl's views on Artemis as she turns back around.

  “Boo-yah!”, a male's voice invades the silence. The classroom's students explode into laughter; except of course, for Rebecca Hindsworth and Jennifer Hammond.

  “Is that some kind of threat?”, Rebecca questions in an effort to regain the class.

  The new girl turns. She seems genuinely confused by the strange inquiry, “I have no reason to threaten you. I don't even know you.”

  The classroom quietens.

  “No you don't,” Rebecca threatens.

  “The world does not revolve around Ms. Hindsworth,” Mr. Tolbert intervenes, “And neither does my classroom. Last warning.”

  Rebecca thinks better of saying anything else. The blond glances at the clock behind Mr. Tolbert. It reads: “9:40.”

  Two hours before lunch. This morning is taking forever. And now thanks to Ms. Skank, I have two targets to take care of. Don't these people know I have practice today?

  Rebecca fa
intly hears Mr. Tolbert ramble on about the inquisitive insights of Ms. EvéMari.

  Gawd. Who freaking cares? That skank will get hers.

  Rebecca Hindsworth, captain of the S.V.C., looks over at her newly sworn enemy. The cheerleader grins knowingly.

  Sucks to be you, skank.

  * * *

  Caroline peers into the two-liter plastic bottle. She reaches in with her long tweezers and retrieves a sample of the moldy dirt. Oddly enough, the makeshift garbage composite didn't look like much two weeks ago. Now, however, it seems the chaotic mess is trying to unify as one.

  The girl with dark brown hair places the sample onto the specimen slide. Slipping it under the electron microscope, Caroline sets the amplification to 100x. She looks through the set of double lenses to view the labors of her work beneath.

  Ew. What is that?

  “Some of you may have to take more than one sample before you see anything,” a female's voice instructs, “And if or when you find any movement, I want you to write down your findings in your composition books.”

  Caroline jots down a description of the translucent wormy thingy within her eye's view. She swallows as though there is a bad taste in her mouth.

  The auburn curly hair of the teacher, Mrs. Stoops, briefly moves as she passes in front of the fan. Moving from one station to the next, she continues her instruction,

  “Most of you will find single-celled organisms. The lucky ones will find the earlier stages of complex organisms.”

  The instructor of Introduction to Advanced Biology proudly looks over her classroom. This particular early-year experiment never becomes boring. The mix of emotional faces can be humorous to observe.

  Some of the students are genuinely intrigued. These will be the ones who have the greatest chances of pursuing a field into biology. Over the thirty-one years of her teaching, however, Mrs. Stoops has learned not to discount the ones who exhibit disgust. Some of those students have surprisingly gone on to become excellent scientists within her respective field.

  A soft voice speaks from behind Caroline's right shoulder, “And what has put that sickened expression on one of our prestigious varsity cheerleaders, may I ask?”

  With the right corner of Caroline's upper-lip slightly raised, she glances up at her teacher.

  “Worm,” she responds disgustedly.

  Mrs. Stoops smiles, “Do you mind?”

  “Be my guest,” Caroline answers with no desire to view the creepy see-through creature again.

  Mrs. Stoops looks through the lens before switching the zoom to 500x. She readjusts the fine tuning.

  “Very nice,” the teacher says as she stands upright.

  The older woman gently pats Caroline on her shoulder, “Good job, Ms. Reynolds.” The teacher speaks louder, “If you see a circle-like object that has movement – that would be single-cell. If you find a worm like Ms. Reynolds has, then you have just witnessed evolution at its finest.”

  Mrs. Stoops begins moving around the room, “Make sure to classify each one accordingly. And for the rest of your class time, I want you all to examine multiple samples. We'll stop fifteen minutes before the bell to clean up.”

  The teacher returns to her desk, “Does anyone have any questions?” When no one raises their hand, Mrs. Stoops nods her desire for the students to continue their assignment.

  Caroline glances at her pink watch fixed to her blue backpack.

  10:25 a.m.

  Curiosity draws her in to view the 500x zoom set on the microscope. She peers into the lens.

  Geezus. This thing is squirming all over the place.

  Caroline almost hears the sound-effects of an insect rustling inside of the muddy dirt. She shivers in thought of the imaginary sounds. The teen sits back and looks around the room. The girl returns her attention to her work. She removes the slide, takes off the smaller disposable piece of glass holding the creature in place, and throws the piece into the hazardous waste container. Caroline places the slide into a cleaning tray before resetting her microscope back to its reloading position.

  Oops. Maybe I should have reset it before removing the slide. Oh well. No foul.

  Caroline repeats the systematic preparation procedure for her next viewing. She double-checks her zoom set at 100x before looking through the lenses. The girl begins focusing the fine-tuning.

  What the hell? You can't be serious.

  She stares at what seems to be three more of the wormy thingies. She sets the scope to 500x before finding the fine tune once more.

  Yep. This is so gross.

  Squishy sounds invade Caroline's ears. She jerks back startled. The cheerleader nervously looks around the room. She tries shaking of her case of the hibbie-jibbies by staring out of the classroom's windows. The scenery is beautiful. She finds a tree to regain her thoughts in. The wind blows gently enough to give the illusion that the tree is waving, 'hello'. She smiles.

  Caroline breathes deeply and exhales slowly. A small hint of a headache creeps between her temples. The blowing tree, suddenly, stops as if it has been insta-frozen within the deep arctic glaciers.

  “Carohhh-liiinnne,” a deep voice lingeringly whispers from the direction of the frozen tree.

  She feels dizzy.

  “Mrs. Stoops!”, a girl cries out, “Caroline's on the floor!”

  The teacher quickly gets up and rapidly makes her way to the fainted teen.

  “Make room,” Mrs. Stoops demands. She kneels by Caroline and looks up at the girl who alerted her to Caroline's situation, “Go get the nurse.”

  “Everyone else needs to take their seat,” the teacher continues, “You can't help by getting in the way.”

  When the teacher feels she has control of her class, Mrs. Stoops returns her focus upon the girl who is unconscious upon the floor.

  * * *

  “Easy, Ms. Reynolds,” a woman's voice floats through the fogginess of Caroline's transition into lucidity. The teen squints against the brightness of the flashlight crossing over her pupils.

  “W-what happened? Where am I?”, Caroline works to fit a solid black puzzle together.

  Ms. Davis holds up a hand, “How many fingers young lady?”

  Caroline struggles to speak above the sounds of a whisper, “Three.”

  The nurse smiles, “Correct. Would you like to try and sit up for me?”

  The nauseous cheerleader, slowly, sits up. She lands both feet on the floor.

  “Here you go,” the nurse hands a clear plastic cup to Caroline. The girl downs the water as though she has been in a desert for weeks.

  Ms. Davis speaks, “Dehydration. You need to take in a lot of fluids today. And I, also, need to ask you something that's a little more personal.”

  Caroline nods.

  “Is there any possibility that you might be pregnant?”, the nurse questions.

  “What? No,” the teen defensively answers, “Gawd.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Caroline nods her head, “Yes, I'm sure.” She realizes her answer is not sufficient for the inquisitive nurse. Caroline sighs. She continues with a tone of embarrassment, “It's impossible if you really must know.” Caroline's green eyes focus upon the floor.

  Ms. Davis smiles, “Well, good for you. That is something a beautiful girl like you should never be ashamed of. I wish more young ladies your age would follow your lead.”

  Caroline looks at Ms. Stoops, “Whatever. It's just a choice. We done here?”

  “As for your fainting, has that ever occurred before today?”, the nurse ignores Caroline's dismissal.

  The cheerleader shakes her head.

  “I see,” Ms. Davis continues, “Have you been sleeping well?”

  “Nope,” Caroline responds. The teen's mind is much clearer now. The nurse is the woman Jennifer has on her smartphone. The same woman Mr. Donovan is destroying his family over. Caroline's body tenses.

  “Lack of sleep could very well be the cause of your fainting spell,” Ms. Davis informs.


  Caroline grits her teeth. A burning heat boils inside of her. The enraged cheerleader lunges forward and knocks the woman to the ground. She straddles the struggling female. Caroline grins as her mouth nears the screaming nurse's throat. The girl's teeth sink in as she clamps down as hard as she can. Her long wavy hair shakes violently in conjunction with the ripping and tearing of human flesh.

  The seventeen-year-old throws her head back. Blood runs out of her mouth while she smiles in victory. She reaches down to tear another piece of meat from the fresh carcass. Caroline plops the salty cuisine into her mouth.

  “Caroline!”, a voice yells out with authority.

  The girl looks up. Ms. Davis stares down at her. Caroline realizes she is still sitting on the medical cot.

  What in the? Why would I imagine something like that?

  The teen scans the small room and spots a trashcan nearby. She runs over to it. Caroline feels Ms. Davis' hands holding back her hair while she vomits.

  * * *

  The nurse watches while Caroline brushes her teeth with the toothbrush from her purse. She understands how hard it must have been for the teen to admit her virginity to her. But the girl is exhibiting all the classic signs. The girl throws the gargle cup into the trash and turns around. Ms. Davis directs her to lie down.

  “Your mom's on her way,” Ms. Davis explains, “You're done for the day.”

  “But I've got practice,” Caroline objects.

  “Not today,” the nurse counters, “You can take it up with the administration if you don't like the policy on concussions. You hit your head on the floor.”

  “This is stupid.”

  “It’s better than brain damage.”

  Caroline glares for a brief moment before closing her eyes. She replaces her frustration with happy thoughts concerning the nurse. She grins. The ignorant woman has no idea what she's in for. But she will. And she will never forget the S.V.C.