Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series

by Tony C. Skye

  “You are so beautiful,” Mandie comments.

  “You're not too bad yourself, Mandie with an i-e,” Tamara's eyes lower their stare as she lingers well below Mandie's chin. She sighs while forcing her eyes upward again.

  “You broke the covenant when you gave yourself to me,” Mandie finally answers the cheerleader's question.

  Tamara's head retreats, “In the bedroom? That doesn’t make any sense. We didn’t even go that far. And I slept with Jason and didn't lose my blood covenant.”

  “No. Remember the first time you kissed me?”, Mandie questions.

  “Yeah. It was right after you got up after I carved on you. You wanted more.”

  Tamara pauses for a moment, “You sure you're not from a mental institution or something?”

  Mandie shakes her head with a smile.

  “That kiss was only the action to what you were feeling,” Mandie explains further, “You might have thought you were mocking me. But that wasn’t the feeling that was driving you.”

  “Oh yeah. And what was the feeling? Because I am pretty sure I know. I was there.”

  “Love – you begin falling in love, Tamara,” Mandie answers.

  “That’s ridiculous. We barely spoke.”

  “Maybe,” Mandie continues, “How do you explain taking care of me when you were done?”

  “Don’t you mean whenever you were done?”

  “Sure. When I was done. Why did you take care of me?”

  “That had nothing to do with love. I felt sorry for you. You were draped over the bathtub. It was heartbreaking. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you…”

  Mandie silences.

  “..What kind of person would just leave you like that? I mean, really. Who would do something like that?”

  Mandie lifts her left brow slightly.

  “You looked so pathetic and helpless. I wanted to protect you and…”

  Tamara abruptly stops her rambling. Worry flashes within her dark brown eyes. Her head retreats slightly. She drops her fork on her plate.

  Mandie watches with expectant eyes.

  “Crap.”

  “You were saying?”

  “Oh gawd,” Tamara says the words as she lifts both of her hands to cover her face, “Oh no. This can’t be happening right now.”

  “When you fell in love with me, Tamara,” Mandie spills out the truth as directed, “You did so completely.”

  Tamara looks up through her fingers.

  “Your love is for real. You cast a bonding spell, far greater, than any pathetic blood covenant.”

  Tamara lowers her hands with pleading eyes. Out of all of the insanity that has taken place since her time here in this horrid farmhouse, this news is tougher than anything else she has come to understand.

  “No more lies,” Mandie says with a wink, “Any more questions, my beautiful artist?”

  Tamara looks down at her plate. She stares at her food as she ponders the girl's words. She can feel Mandie's watchful gaze upon her, but there is nothing for her to counter with. Not without lying. The cheerleader, finally, raises her brown eyes. They are soft and pure with their intentions.

  “Well that sucks,” Tamara admits, “That ritual hurt like hell.”

  Mandie grins with eyes that adore, “You’re not a canvas.”

  “Apparently,” Tamara agrees with a hint of defeat in her tone. She picks up her fork and stabs her food. She takes another bite. The girl finishes off her plate and gulps down her Mountain Dew in silence. She is grateful that Mandie has decided to give her her space by not pushing. Whenever she finishes her plate, she looks up and watches Mandie port the last of her lasagna into her mouth.

  “How do you?,” Tamara's nervous voice breaks in mid-sentence.

  Mandie slowly swallows her food and takes a small sip of her drink. Her eyes remain fixated on the anxious cheerleader.

  “How do you?”, Tamara shakes her head, “Never mind.”

  Mandie stands up and slowly walks around the small table. She twirls her pointing right index finger. Tamara obeys by turning her chair to face her. Mandie hikes her expensive dress and climbs on Tamara's lap. Her small hands lovingly cup each side of the cheerleader's long cheeks. She leans in and gently kisses Tamara on the lips before leaning back to view her beautiful brown eyes.

  “I know you have your life to go back to,” Mandie says while nearing Tamara's lips once again.

  “But today,” Mandie whispers breathlessly, “I am deeply in love with you. And it scares me half to death.”

  The painter – the canvas, they part each other's lips. Their kiss is full of passion, love, and fear – fear that today will come to its end.

  Tamara and Mandie separate. Sadness fills the air between them as they stare into each other's eyes. They embrace tightly with regretted understanding. A hug which cruelly says, 'Tomorrow must come.'

  * * *

  Jennifer drops twenty-five cc's of water into the water bottle lid. She cycles through the steps to refill her rig for the fourth time. This time will be her last with this particular needle as it seems to be dulling with each prick of her skin.

  She pulls back on the plunger, raises up the needle for a better view, and grins. The plastic part of the needle reads thirty-five cc's and there's still more of the wonderful liquid left in the cap. The eager girl lowers the needle's point and draws back again. When she completes her greedy theft from the helpless lid, Jennifer reinserts the needle's point between her toes. A needle, which now has forty-two cc's of the water-coke mixture.

  “I love you,” Jennifer places the empty needle on the coffee table while looking at her brother's picture on the wall beside her stereo. Her minimal experience has still not granted her the fortitude of cleaning her needle until after the rush slows.

  Jennifer leans back. She smiles as the rush brings her the happiness that has been missing from her life for over three years. Losing her brother was hard enough. But he was also her twin. When he died, Jennifer lost her other half. The other part of her that made her life have sense and purpose.

  With her head against the blue couch, the girl closes her eyes. Tears stream down her cheeks although her smile remains intact.

  “Miss you,” she whispers as the rush's intensity steadily increases. The vision of finding her brother after he hung himself is a direct conflict with her happy high. But the images never fade. They are always there. Even now.

  “Come on. Come on. Love me for the money,” Jennifer attempts to sing along with her brother's favorite ACDC song. Her voice, however, is more of a whisper than an actual singing voice. She gives up on the strenuous activity and nods her head to the beat's rhythm.

  “This stuff is awesome,” Jennifer giggles. She wipes her face free of the salty water. The cocaine's rush increases as does Jennifer's happiness – a happiness which is, finally, achievable for the first time in a very long time.

  She sits forward and clumsily grabs up her needle. She cleans it the best she can under the circumstances and breaks the point off inside of the orange cap. Just like she has seen done in the online video, Jennifer drops the trashed rig inside of an empty soda can. She places it on the carpeted floor and stamps down with her right foot.

  “Ow!”, Jennifer yelps. She looks down at her barefoot and laughs. The man in the video had tennis shoes on.

  The cheerleader picks up her foot and assesses the damage. She instantly knows if she could feel the pain completely, she'd be a little more panicked about what her eyes can see.

  “Good job you idiot,” Jennifer scolds herself as blood pours from the bottom of her foot. She glances down to the can and sees where one side didn't fully collapse. Instead, the jagged edge lifted above the can's aluminum top.

  “Dammit,” Jennifer curses. Not only is she out of commission for Friday's pep rally, but there's going to be an ugly scar to boot. The gash is deep and not uniform. To make matters worse, she can't go to the hospital and get stitches. Any blood work would get her kicked off
of the cheer squad permanently.

  The girl decides to give up her shirt for the cause. Walking through the house isn't an option. She takes a pair of toenail clippers from her purse and starts an incision in the material. She pulls on the material and repeats the process until she has mangled her shirt into smaller individual strips.

  Jennifer empties her water bottle over the open wound upon her coffee table. The mess she can clean up later. Her foot demands her immediate attention. Soon as she is satisfied she'll be alright until she can make it to the first aid kit in her bathroom, she uses the strips to wrap up her foot.

  The girl looks around the room and sighs.

  “Stereo quiet,” the cheerleader commands.

  “Turning volume down,” a voice informs as the volume lowers to zero.

  “Sorry,” Jennifer apologizes while looking at Danny's picture, “Be back soon. Promise.”

  Jennifer puts her paraphernalia away and grabs her backpack. She stands with her weight shifted to her left foot and hobbles towards the door. Destination – bathroom inside of bedroom.

  * * *

  Dr. Victoria Reynolds sits up in her bed. She notices her comforter is no longer on her bed. She reasons she must have kicked it off in her sleep. The woman exits the left side of her bed, walks around to the foot of the mattress, bends down, and picks up her blanket.

  2:30 a.m.

  “Great,” Victoria responds to the clock's information. Sleep interruption is never a good thing when your life's work demands mental alertness.

  “Grrr...”

  Victoria jerks from the unexpected growl invading her left ear. Chill bumps rise on her arms. She slowly takes three steps back while nervously looking towards the darkened hallway. A figure stands just past her daughter's room. Its head is positioned as though it may be staring at the floor. Long hair drapes around its shoulders. Victoria's heart beat thumps loudly within her chest.

  “Caroline?”, Victoria's shaky tone cannot begin to correctly output the amount of fear adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream.

  “Is-is everything okay, honey?”, Victoria watches the motionless being. She feels as if her heart may leap from her chest when the black figure slowly raises its head.

  “Are you okay?”, Victoria is barely able to speak loud enough to be heard from even this short of a distance.

  “Help me,” a small girl's voice begs with a gritty guttural tone. The being turns its attention to the wall next to Caroline's room and steps through as though it isn't there at all.

  “Hee-hee,” a small child laughs.

  Victoria sits up in her bed. She is soaked with sweat. The disoriented woman checks her covers which still lie upon her. She glances over to view her alarm clock.

  2:45 a.m.

  “Caroline!”, Victoria quietly panics as she exits her bed. She rushes down the dark hall and opens her daughter's door. Caroline sleeps soundly.

  You're losing it, doctor.

  Victoria shakes her head as she watches her daughter drool within her Valium coma. The girl lies on her right side with her body partially favoring her stomach. Her right arm is underneath her pillow while her left is tucked against her body.

  The woman quietly shuts the door, stops by her bathroom to take care of her business, and heads back to her bedroom. The exhausted doctor plops back into bed and falls fast asleep.

  * * *

  Breakfast is on the stove.

  Tamara reads the note she found on the pillow next to her. She smiles with sleepy eyes. Wiping some of sandman's visit away, the girl refocuses her eyes upon the paper.

  I had to go. The place is yours until you go to school. I won't be here anymore. The house will be demolished today. The stereo is yours if you want it. Tell Brian where to deliver it. He should be here around six. BTW, he's really punctual.

  You have changed my life, Tamara Hillary Stilliard. All of my dresses I have left to you. You can leave them or have Brian ship them. I know they won't fit. But we both know why you would either choose to keep them or trash them. It's a choice you have to make on your own.

  I'm sorry I wasn't there to kiss you goodbye. But tomorrow is here. I won't upset the delicate balance of your life. Today, you are Tamara – the S.V.C second in command. I am Mandie. Property of the S.V.C. We both know our roles within this crazy place we must call our lives.

  Do not fear any backlash from me, Tamara. I am not a jealous person. I'm not an ignorant person. I am a big girl just like you and can handle this. I have expected it all along.

  I must confess I didn't expect how perfect you were going to turn out to be. How perfect you are. In every way, in every scenario, within every dream...you are perfect. Even your imperfections are perfect to me. And you have only one in which I can actually name.

  Communication from your heart isn't exactly your strongest ability. But yesterday at dinner you fought like the fighter you are and overcame. I will always cherish that memory. Your attempt was perfection. You are perfect. Not pedestal perfect. Tamara perfect.

  You took me and made me your own. More importantly, you gave me you wholeheartedly. You held nothing back. I love you, Tamara. My heart always will and I am with you always. But tomorrow is here. Good-bye.

  Love, Mandie

  “I love you, too, you crazy bitch,” Tamara quietly utters. She kisses the letter before folding it in half.

  “Mandie with an i-e,” she whispers as her long fingers grab the top of the paper.

  Rip. Rip. Rip.

  Tamara holds the pile of torn paper as she makes her way into the bathroom. She opens the lid to the toilet and flushes the letter away. The girl readies herself for school by brushing her teeth and taking her morning shower. She cleans her nails of yesterday's news and reaches into her bag to retrieve the blue-metallic polish of her sisters. Images of Mandie's clothes flood her mind. The girl stares into the mirror.

  “What are you doing?”, Tamara questions the mirror's reflection.

  She puts the fingernail polish back and clear coats her colorless nails. Something she has never done. She may be a fighter, but she still likes color in her life. But somehow painting herself to match her sisters seems empty all of a sudden. She may have a life to get back to. But that doesn't mean she must keep acting like a child while doing it.

  Tamara shakes her head with a small grin on her face. She stares back into the mirror.

  “What has she done to you?”, Tamara questions her reflection.

  The cheerleader heads into the kitchen and grabs the pen and paper from the table she seen earlier. She writes a note, gets her belongings together, and walks out of the house onto the front porch. She looks at her Vette.

  Tamara descends the stairs and makes her way to her car. She climbs into the driver's seat and plugs her smartphone's charger into the lighter hole. The blond checks the time.

  5:57 a.m.

  She starts the car's engine and looks to her left. A black Ford Escalade quickly approaches down the gravel drive.

  Damn. She wasn't kidding.

  The suv is followed by two more just like it. Behind the entourage, a mover's van follows. Too large for a stereo. But Tamara is quickly learning not to question the small stuff whenever it comes to Mandie. The woman makes an onion appear as if it only has one layer when compared to her.

  A tall man with broad shoulders and blond hair steps out of the lead vehicle. The way he walks, Tamara easily recognizes him as the leader in Mandie's little hoo-hah. The cheerleader grins. In fact, Tamara realizes just how much she has been smiling as of late.

  “Good morning, ma'am,” the man nods as he approaches the blue-metallic Corvette.

  “Good morning,” Tamara answers, “Are you Brian?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” the man confirms his identity.

  She holds out her note, “I think I'm supposed to give this to you.”

  Brian takes the note, opens it, and reads. He folds it back up and speaks.

  “Yes ma'am. We'll get that done for you righ
t away. Is there anything else we can do for you?”

  “Uh - no,” Tamara is surprised by the additional offer, “That's it.”

  Brian nods, “Yes ma'am. You have yourself a good day.”

  “Thank you. You, too” Tamara smiles as she puts her car into first gear.

  Brian steps back to give Tamara space enough to leave. She maneuvers onto the gravel road. As she watches the vehicles disappear in her rear view mirror, Tamara secretly wonders how in the world Mandie has kept from becoming a spoiled brat. This kind of treatment would spoil her quickly. Like, really quickly.

  * * *

  Tamara pulls into the West Hills High student's parking lot. She drives by Rebecca's Mustang and doesn't see her. She spots her captain standing by Jennifer's car with Caroline. Tamara drives up next to her bff's car and immediately notices the girl’s right foot.

  “What happened to you?”, Tamara concerns as her car comes to a stop.

  “I stepped on a can barefooted,” Jennifer confesses while watching the Corvette’s top close.

  “What happened to you?”, the girl switches the focus back onto her bff.

  Tamara turns off the ignition after the top locks into place. She grabs her purse and backpack, steps out of the vehicle, shuts the locked door, and sets the alarm.

  “Nothing. I told you guys not to worry,” Tamara reiterates the text messages she sent to everyone. She quickly douses any potential fuses, “Thank you guys. You were life-savers.”

  “I thought you killed that skank,” Rebecca admits. She glares across the parking lot, “But I see that's not true.”