Tirade

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Tirade Page 25

by Cambria Hebert


  I wasn’t sure the pain of losing a parent ever went away. My dad died a few years ago and the pain wasn’t gone; it had just changed. It was more of a yearning, a deep feeling of loss for things that would never be and things that we could never share. Of unspoken words and questions that sometimes haunted me, like: What would he think of me now?

  Even though I have talked to him (a blessing, I know), those feelings hadn’t left

  Losing my mother was different, though. Our relationship was more complicated. In the end, I don’t think she even liked me. She definitely didn’t know me. I wondered if it would make mourning for her harder or easier. I couldn’t tell because I was so regretful about never getting to make things right with her.

  That’s when I remembered the envelope.

  The one that Gran found at the hospital. The one that had my name written across the front.

  I pulled away from Sam, going over to my dresser and opening the drawer, staring down at the envelope. Slowly, I reached in and pulled it out, holding it in front of me, wondering what was inside—if I was ready to know.

  “Hev?” Sam said, coming to my side. “What do you have there?”

  I held the envelope out for him to see. “Gran found this in the hospital room after Mom died. She brought it home and I put it in here because I wasn’t ready to read it.”

  “But you are now.”

  I wasn’t sure if I would ever be ready. I was terrified she put into writing all the horrible things she said to me. Hadn’t it been enough that I had to hear them echo through my head without reading them on paper as well? I sighed and went over to the bed and sat down on the edge, ripping the envelope open and pulling out a single piece of white paper, folded in half.

  I unfolded the letter and began to read:

  Heven,

  I know I have hurt you. The things I have said to you—about you—are not things a mother should say to a daughter. I made mistakes in my life. Mistakes that I have lived with for a very long time. I tried to repent, to change. But I have learned that some mistakes cannot be erased no matter how hard one prays. When I could no longer deny that you were being punished for my mistakes, I tried to push you away. I thought that distance from me would protect you, but it only made things worse. It hurt you. Don’t ever think that I don’t love you. I do, more than anything. It is why I am doing this. I should have done it long ago. I will not allow you to suffer for my mistakes a moment longer. Please accept my apology and live your life in the light. I must go… He’s waiting. I love you.

  Mom

  I stared down at the words long after I read them. The tears in my eyes made the letters blur together until they were a giant ball of ink. What did it mean? Who was waiting? And what mistakes had she made that I was being punished for?

  Heven? Sam spoke quietly in my mind, not wanting to disturb me, but no doubt curious.

  I looked up at him, blinking back the tears. Without a word, I handed him the letter and stared off at nothing while he read. When he finished he sat beside me, the paper between his fingers. What do you think it means?

  I sat there for a long time just thinking, staring down at the floor and shying away from the answer that just wouldn’t let me push it away. Finally, I looked up at Sam. I think the ‘he’ is Beelzebub. He killed her, Sam. He killed my mother.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment and then he nodded. I think you’re right.

  I took a deep breath. I think there’s a reason that my father didn’t know my mother had died. I don’t think she went to heaven, Sam. I think Beelzebub did something with her…

  Suddenly, Beelzebub’s words echoed through my head. Soul Reaper. I reached out and grabbed Sam’s wrist. “He took her soul.”

  Beelzebub dragged my mother’s soul to hell.

  What’s worse? She let him.

  *

  I dreamed of chanting witches, of Kimber laughing and of a beast roaring. I dreamed of pain, searing pain against my skin and a feeling of longing so intense that I wanted to weep. I wanted to go home. I wanted to rejoin my family.

  I opened my eyes. The room was dark. It was only a dream. You’re home, I told myself. I tried to calm the racing of my heart and to ignore the burning in my shoulder. I rolled, trying to get comfortable—I felt so hot—and thought about my mother. Where was she? Was my theory right? Had Beelzebub really killed her and taken her soul down into hell?

  The letter made it sound as if she agreed with whatever happened, that she thought it would make things right. “Oh, Mom.” I sighed into dark. Making deals with Beelzebub was never going to make things right.

  I reminded myself I was only thinking up theories, that perhaps I was wrong. Maybe that letter was a result of whatever happened to her brain when she fell and hit her head. Maybe she hadn’t known what she was saying.

  I didn’t believe that. But maybe it was true.

  Something inside me shifted, pushed forward, and Sam’s head snapped back. His eyes sprang open and they were pure, glittering gold. The hellhound in him was being disturbed by whatever Hecate trapped in my body. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and I waited for him to move from the bed. He didn’t move and I saw him struggling, so I began to back away. His eyes snapped open again and he pulled me back in.

  No. Stay.

  It’s hard for you. I’ll move away for a few minutes.

  I’ve spent enough time wanting to hold you. The hound in me will have to deal. I don’t care if the devil himself takes up residence inside you. He gathered me close and I laid my head in the crook of his neck. I’m not letting go, he said, directed more toward the hellhound inside him instead of me.

  He fell back asleep almost immediately and I marveled at the control he seemed to have over his own body. He seemed to grow stronger with each passing day. But me… I lay there haunted. Haunted by everything that was happening, haunted by whatever lived inside me and haunted by something that Sam had just said.

  Exactly where was the devil and how come he never put Beelzebub in his place?

  I pushed the disturbing thought away. The last thing any of us needed was to catch the attention of the devil himself. If Beelzebub was second in command to Satan and had this much power and hate inside him, I could only imagine what Satan himself must be like.

  When I finally began to drift asleep, a vision of my mother swam before my closed eyes. It was from when she had been happy… from before life started spiraling out of control. I wondered if she would ever know happiness again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Heven

  Sam ate and ate and ate. He ate so much that Logan, Gran and I (who had long since abandoned our own plates) sat and watched, astonished.

  “Didn’t your mother feed you?” Gran asked, watching him polish of his third stack of pancakes. “She must have. You look bigger.”

  So it wasn’t just me that noticed.

  Logan winced and Sam paused in chewing. “Yes, ma’am. But your cooking is so much better.”

  Gran put another stack in front of him, which he attacked with equal vigor. Before the pancakes, he had eaten two plates of eggs, heaping piles of bacon, toast and a huge bowl of fruit.

  “Should I make more?” she asked, rising from the table.

  “No,” he said between bites. “But thank you. This was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

  I resisted the urge to shudder. Anything would beat rats.

  “I’ll get a roast in the oven for dinner. You’ll stay, Sam?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  “What about the leftovers in the fridge?” I asked, thinking of all the funeral food. My stomach turned uncomfortably.

  Gran waved a hand. “That’s just sandwiches and light food. Clearly, he’s starved.” She motioned at Sam who was still consuming pancakes. “Invite Cole for lunch and he can help eat up those leftovers.”

  “Great idea,” I said, lifting my coffee to my lips, but then sitting it back down. That plate of food I ate for breakfast wasn�
�t settling well.

  Gran nodded. “Call Kimber if you want, as well. Since you two made up from your fight, I haven’t seen her at all.”

  Sam glanced at me and I shot him a look. “Thanks, Gran. I will give her a call. But I know she planned on doing some major shopping this week with school starting soon and all…” I hated lying. I hated more that I was getting very good at it.

  Gran chuckled. “That girl and the shopping mall.” Thankfully, she let it go to say, “I’ll be gone this afternoon. I have some errands to run and a meeting with your mother’s lawyer.”

  “Her lawyer?”

  “It’s just estate planning. I was the executor of her will. There’s no need for you to be there today. But the next meeting, you’ll need to come.”

  “I will?” I never thought about her will and everything she left behind.

  “Of course, honey. Everything is going to you.”

  “To me?”

  “You’re underage so the money will go into trust until you’re eighteen this fall, and we’ll need to decide about her house.”

  “Do I have to move?” I asked, alarmed. I didn’t care about the money or the house.

  Sam dropped his fork and pushed his plate away.

  “Of course not. I’m the only family left.” She seemed lost on this thought for a moment before looking back up. “I’m your legal guardian now.”

  I let out the breath I had been holding. “That’s good.”

  “I know it’s a lot,” Gran said softly. “We can take it slow. We don’t need to make any decisions right now about her estate, but we will have to sign papers and get everything in order so when you do decide what you want, we can do it.”

  I got up and hugged Gran. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  “I love you,” she said and hugged me back. “Now help me get this roast ready.”

  *

  I wasn’t feeling that well. My head was throbbing and my back hurt. The claw marks on my stomach from yesterday were burning and it annoyed me to have to wear a shirt. Every time the fabric touched them, more pain shot through my body. Why hadn’t they healed like the other ones? I had a feeling I might be running a low-grade fever and I was still regretting the big breakfast I ate. The food was laying in my stomach like lead. Even though I had no energy and wanted to lie down, I still felt restless.

  I watched as Cole pulled up next to the house and cut the engine to his truck.

  “Hey, sis,” he said, coming around the hood of his truck and towing me in for a hug. I held back a wince when discomfort tinged through my body. “I feel like I haven’t seen you at all these past few days,” he said into my ear.

  I pulled back, though not completely away. “I know. I’ve thought about you too. It’s just with the funeral and all…”

  “Yeah, I know. You doing okay?” His eyes flashed with concern and he studied my face.

  I nodded. “I wanted to apologize about what happened to you in hell. I’m so thankful you’re okay.” He looked good, and I was sure it was all thanks to the healing powers of Gemma.

  He shook his head. “There wasn’t anything you could do. He’s one powerful, evil man. I hated leaving you there like that.”

  “He tried to run back,” Gemma said, practically appearing out of thin air beside us. “I had to heal the wound he got from that too.”

  I frowned at Cole and he rolled his eyes, then moved away from me toward Sam, who was sitting on the porch swing with Logan. “I know I’ve seen you since you came home, but I haven’t got to tell you how damn glad I am you’re back, man.” He held out his fist, which Sam bumped with his own.

  “Thanks for keeping an eye on Heven,” Sam told him. I rolled my eyes and turned back to Gemma.

  “Thanks for coming over. I have something I want to talk to you about.”

  “What is it?” Gemma asked.

  “Some stuff happened in hell and then I read this letter from my mom…”

  “Where’s Riley?” Gemma asked, like she automatically assumed he was responsible for whatever I was about to say.

  “I didn’t call him,” I said. “Sam isn’t too happy he’s here.”

  I thought back to the last time we saw him, before the funeral when he acted like a jerk and got into a fight with Sam…

  The beast, or whatever was trapped inside me, seemed to like (or dislike) my memory of the fight. I suddenly felt like it was throwing itself around in a tantrum, trying to escape, trying to get out.

  I stumbled forward, bending at the waist. I felt like all the organs inside me were being pushed around and I gagged.

  “Heven,” Gemma said from above, reaching down to help me up. Fresh searing pain ripped through my chest and I cried out.

  “Don’t touch me,” I said, hoarse.

  Then Sam was there, lifting me up and walking through the house with me as the beast fought against my skin, trying to rip its way free. I couldn’t understand why it hadn’t managed to get out already.

  Behind us, Cole was making a fuss, demanding to know what was wrong with me. Sam laid me on the couch and hurried to grab the blanket draped across the top, but I shook my head.

  “I can’t stand to have it touch me, please.”

  “Did it scratch you?” Sam said, the blanket falling to the floor as he kneeled beside the couch.

  “I think so.” I pointed to my chest. I was wearing a simple pink T-shirt with a rhinestone pocket off to the side, and Sam grabbed the shirt to rip it open.

  “I like this shirt.” I growled.

  He let go and I sat up and lifted the shirt over my head and threw it aside, leaving me wearing only a pink bra with my white cotton shorts. The air brushed over my skin and I felt instantly better. The fabric of the shirt felt so heavy against my skin. I sighed and closed my eyes.

  “Heven,” Sam said, exasperated.

  My eyes shot open and Cole stormed into the room. “What the hell is going on?” He roared. He looked at me and his eyes widened. Then he looked at Sam and his eyes narrowed.

  “I couldn’t take it anymore. It was driving me crazy.” I lay back against the pillows and everything around me fell silent.

  “Can you heal her?” Sam asked Gemma quietly.

  Gemma leaned over the couch and looked down at my chest. “What the hell is that?”

  I looked down, trying to see. Fresh claw marks blistered beneath my skin, puffing up the edges like giant bubbles filled with blood. The skin around them appeared to be bruised. I glanced briefly at the claw marks on my stomach. They weren’t healed, but they looked good compared to this new mark.

  “Beelzebub had Hecate trap some kind of demon or beast or something inside her. It’s been trying to get out.” Sam explained, his voice strained. Then he looked up at Cole. “Will you get her some ice?”

  He rushed from the room.

  “I can try, but I’m not sure I can heal this.” Gemma came around the couch and sat in front of me. She held her hands palm down above my chest and closed her eyes. My skin warmed and tingled, but the pain didn’t stop.

  “It’s not working,” I said.

  “Try.” Sam insisted. The look on his face was enough to get me to close my eyes and focus on the warmth that Gemma was creating. But I didn’t think it would work. Slowly, the pain ebbed and I was able to relax against the couch. Gemma fell back, looking drained. Cole was at her side, helping her into a nearby chair, momentarily forgetting the ice bag in his hand.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Gemma.

  “I’m sorry. Whatever they did to you, I can’t undo.”

  “I feel better, though.” I insisted. Well, sort of. My claw marks didn’t hurt, but otherwise, I still felt the same, which wasn’t good.

  “They’re still there,” Sam said, staring at the marks.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling like it was somehow my fault.

  The front door opened and Riley waltzed through, whistling a tune. We all stopped and stared as he came into the room.
When he noticed us all staring, he stopped. “No one called to invite me to the meeting?”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Sam demanded.

  Riley smirked. “Can’t a guy visit his friends?”

  “What do you want, Riley?” Sam said, barely holding onto his patience.

  He shrugged. “Just curious as to what the Mickey Mouse Club is up to today.” Then he glanced at me. “Love the pink.”

 

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