Living Soul

by S. B. Niccum

  “She made me let every single one of them go and swears to this day that she heard those butterflies.”

  “Really?” I was sitting on the edge of his bed and he was now sitting on a chair that he had scooted to the foot of his bed. As he spoke, I got so into the story that I had leaned forward, so close to him, that we were inches from each other.

  “Dorian draws pictures of people he can’t possibly know. My mom predicts the future and I—I hallucinate about you.” His last words were soft, almost like a tingle against my lips.

  This made me laugh, and I backed away. “But you’re wrong. I’m the one who hallucinates about you.”

  “Tess! Tess! Wake up!”

  “Oh, be quiet Celeste! I’m dreaming.”

  Alex smirked and scooted his chair forward, then placed his hands on my knees and was slowly inching his way over me.

  “You get off her!” Celeste shouted. Something shimmery and white, zoomed past me, and pushed Alex back down on his chair.

  “What-the—? He started to say when all it went dark.

  “What’s eating at him?” Valerie bent slightly and whispered in her daughter’s ear. “He’s been so … so … ”

  “Despondent,” Katie summed up.

  “Yes, despondent. Do you know why?”

  Katie sighed, she knew why; she had gotten the whole thing out of Alex while he visited from school last month. But he made her swear that she wouldn’t tell anyone, not even their parents. This she couldn’t understand, why the secrecy? But out of respect to him, she had kept her promise. But he looked worse now, more so than ever; and she wondered if he didn’t know what was good for him anymore. “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “I have, but he doesn’t say anything! I think it has something to do with a girl, but…he won’t tell me who or why.”

  Kate sighed again. “Just keep pestering him; you’ll wear him down eventually.” They walked in silence for a while, the sound of Christmas music filled in for conversation and the twinkling of the many Christmas lights reflected off their faces. Alex walked briskly ahead, not bothering to look at any of the store windows. They were supposed to be looking for gifts for the Admiral, Dane and for the church Christmas Charity. Every year, they had been assigned a particular family, but this year, the committee had decided to make a list of all the ages, and genders and split that list among the members of the congregation that wanted to contribute. Valerie had gotten teenage girls, because she figured that Katie would be an asset in helping her find suitable gifts for them. Katie however, was not like most teenage girls, and was failing miserably at the whole gift thing.

  While it’s highly understood that most teenage girls are into make-up and clothes, Katie was into animals. In fact she couldn’t fathom what the attraction of painting your face “to attract members of the opposite sex,” was. She merely understood human behavior, from the animal kingdom point of view, and to her, painting your face was akin to peacocks fluffing and extending their tails. But since in the animal kingdom it is traditionally the male’s job to do all the fluffing and showing off, she decided to take the same approach and let the guys show off for her. This point of view had been expressed to her parents; Dane had accepted this with much relief, but Valerie couldn’t help feel a twinge of sadness over the lack of “girl time” with her daughter.

  “I don’t think that a card stating that we donated money to an animal preservation program will cut it,” Valerie said in frustration after Katie shrugged indifferently at the sight of a pile of diverse accessories.

  “You know who would be great at this? Tess!” Katie said brightly and loud enough for Alex to hear from the door.

  “Tess?” Valerie inquired. “That girl we took home after the art gallery?”

  Katie nodded, and Alex shot her daggers with his eyes. “She’s into fashion big time! She designed her prom dress last spring, she designs all her clothes, for that matter.”

  “Really? How wonderful! You know…she is one of the girls we need to buy a present for. Charlotte puts her foster kids’ names in the charity every year, and I seem to remember seeing it again this year. You know her, right Alex?” Alex’s face was now ashen and slightly angry, but Valerie ignored him and continued with her verbal musings. “What should we get her? Hmm … design, design.” She tapped her lips with her finger. “Well, she might need drawing supplies. You need to be able to sketch well to design clothes. Oh, Katie! Remember her foster brother? Maybe we should buy him—”

  Alex walked away fuming and Valerie took exception to that.

  “Oh no, he didn’t!” Valerie protested. Alex had succeeded in angering his mother who was now on an intercept course.

  “Listen son, I don’t know what your deal is but—” she stopped, noticing the pain behind his eyes. “What is it? Look, Alex, I’m not the psychiatrist in the family, but I can tell when something is wrong. You might be surprised to know that I can be very understanding when I want to, and I really want to understand you right now.”

  Alex looked down, then back up at his mother’s violet eyes. “She’s not just a foster kid,” Alex stated through gritted teeth. Valerie cocked her head to one side and stared at her son for a moment. Then a smile crossed her face, “ … you like her!”

  Alex closed his eyes and exhaled, trying to compose himself, before he lashed out. He had no idea why he felt so irritated at his mother. Of course she didn’t know about Tess, he hadn’t told her anything. Of course she would think of Tess as just a foster kid, she was one after all. But the stigma that the word carried irritated him. Eugenia had teased her mercilessly about being a foster kid, and he was angry, mostly with himself for allowing that to happen. And now, his mother’s tone when she said, ‘you like her!’ like it was amusing to her; infuriated him. He didn’t just like her; he loved her, he thought of no one else! And he had to stay away from her.

  Valerie tried to read her son’s expression, but it was riddled with contradictory emotions. “Alex, it’s okay for you to like her, I thought she was lovely.”

  “I know it’s OK for me to like her, mom. It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “You won’t understand.”

  “Does your grandfather understand?”

  Alex looked away; this was a sore subject with his mom. At times she would get slightly jealous of the fact that he confided in his grandpa more than he did with her. “Yes, he does,” he said, waiting for the storm to unleash. But it didn’t. Instead, Valerie smiled and patted his head.

  “Well, as long as you have someone to talk to about this. I know your grandpa will never lead you astray. He loves you and wants nothing but your happiness. Just remember, that I’m a woman, and I understand the way women think. Women warfare is far different than the kind your grandpa has learned about,” she said, then walked on ahead. “If she’s into fashion, then we need to get her some clothes.”

  “No,” Alex howled.

  “Fabric?”

  He shook his head and stalked off. Valerie, and the mute Katie, pursued him with brisk steps and side-glances until he made a sudden stop in front of a bookstore. Shrugging, they followed him in and made themselves scarce while he wandered down the classics aisle. Not ten minutes had gone by, before he was walking out with a large brown bag in hand and a big smile—for a change.

  Every Christmas Charlotte put our names in the church’s charity list. It was embarrassing, but I suppose better than nothing. Charlotte was not going to spend her own money on us, so we had grown up on the kindness of the community. When I was younger, the gifts were adequate, but as I grew up, the gifts got worse—or rather less enticing. This year I volunteered to help wrap gifts, and I finally realized why the gifts I got were always so random.

  People from the congregation were assigned to a family or an age group, and then would buy things. Only one year did I get lucky and received a truly great gift. It was my freshman year, and I got an aromatherapy kit. It was a gift donated by my current employer
, Libby, from The Apothecary and thanks to that gift, I later got the job. I told Libby that I was the one who got the kit that she had donated, and how much I loved it! She hired me on the spot, and we have been great friends ever since. So for the most part, Christmas morning was not something we particularly looked forward to.

  This year, I volunteered to wrap the little kid’s toys, because I know they are more likely to love any toy they get. Also because the organizers think that I, being a recipient, should stay as far away from the teen table as possible. In the mean time I’m getting a taste of what the other side of the spectrum is like. I’ve come to find out that those who donate gifts actually agonize over what the recipients will think; they do hope that what they bought will please some unfortunate child. As one who has been on the receiving end, I of course lie, and assure those who ask that the gifts will be appreciated and cherished.

  The whole process is organized chaos. Working under the constant din of Christmas music and sparse North Pole decorations, the volunteers line several rows of rectangular tables arranged end to end. Each table has a gender and age group assigned, and the volunteers form an assembly line. One measures and cuts the paper, another folds, and yet another tapes. A fourth person applies the bow and a fifth writes the age group on the sticker and drops the gift in a huge bin. Those who deliver the gifts pick them at random from the bins and put them in boxes with the family’s name on them. Those boxes are delivered on the twenty-fourth, by yet another large group of volunteers. It’s impossible to get personal under these circumstances, and now I understand.

  Once the last gift was wrapped and in the right bin, the large group of volunteers, sang a carol, and shared hot cocoa. I stayed with the people from my table, which consisted of grandmotherly-type ladies who told a great deal of jokes while they wrapped, and were members of a crochet group that I said I would be interested in joining.

  There were so many people roaming around that I hadn’t noticed until the hot cocoa was passed around, that Valerie and Katie Preston were there too. All of a sudden all the blood drained from my face, and strangely, I felt like I should run away. All I could think of was that dream that I had last night, where I confessed to Alex that I heard voices; then Celeste’s sudden intrusion in the dream. I still wasn’t sure what that was all about, and she hadn’t turned up yet so I couldn't ask her.

  My grandma group noticed my odd behavior and started with their inquiries. I told them that I had forgotten that I had to work, so after hugging them all and promising to join them at their next crochet club meeting, I left.

  Chapter 12

  At Charlotte’s, no one wakes up early on Christmas morning. When we were children, Charlotte would threaten to take all our toys away if we woke them up before 9 a.m. to open gifts. Now no one even wants to wake up early. In fact, Charlotte has to coerce us with all kinds of threats to come down at all.

  This year though, Charlotte must have been in a good mood, because she woke us up, not with threats, but with the smell of sausage and biscuits with gravy. Once she had us all in the kitchen, she cynically announced that we had to open presents before eating. Agatha rolled her eyes and walked right past the tree, heading back to her room, but Joe stopped her and sat her down. Usually she would have made some rude display at being touched at all, but she was still acting weird, so she simply flopped herself down on the floor and fell back asleep.

  Joe gave his customary short speech of all the things we should be grateful for; it was really more of a Thanksgiving speech, but he always delivered it on Christmas morning, leaving Thanksgiving wide open to football. After waking Agatha back up, we opened gifts, one at a time. Under the tree there were the customary gifts, wrapped with cheap paper and stick-on bows; but this year there was one gift that was different. This one was expertly wrapped with expensive, thick paper and had an actual cloth ribbon tied around it. The present itself looked beautiful, like a decoration. Once Joe reached for Charlotte’s gift, we all noticed it, and even Agatha seemed to perk up at the sight of it. Charlotte opened her gift first; it was a gift card to a local spa. Joe got a new suit for church. He hated suits, but he would wear it nonetheless. Then Joe reached for another present, being careful to avoid the ‘nice’ one, announcing that it was for Dorian. It was two country music CD’s, that he stared at blankly. I put my hand on his knee to reassure him that I had gotten him a present and it was waiting for him upstairs.

  Up next was Agatha, who shot me a hateful look when she was given the second to last present—a box of popcorn and the movie ‘Becoming Jane’. She pocketed the popcorn, and tossed the movie back under the tree, then laid back on the floor, and promptly fell back asleep. I couldn’t possibly fathom who would take the time to wrap a present like this. Perhaps it was Brandy’s mom, or maybe …

  All my anxiety over who might give me this present disappeared the moment I opened the box—all the while being careful not to rip the pretty paper. Sitting at the bottom of the box, under several layers of fluffy tissue paper, sat a leather-bound, gilded, ribbon marked copy of Jane Eyre.

  I reached down and retrieved the book with care. I could feel all eyes on me, or rather the object I was about to reveal, then I could feel their disappointment at the sight of the book, and their amazement at my joy. Agatha snorted and got up to leave, making sure she stepped on the tissue paper and her movie. Charlotte announced that breakfast was ready, and Joe followed her. I gathered up my box and went back up to my room, while Dorian followed Joe and the smells of sausage and biscuits.

  “Your life will be a living Hell,” Agatha warned as I passed her bedroom on my way up the stairs. “They know all about you, and they know how to crush you!”

  I froze in place. The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, sending chills up and down my spine. I had no doubt that she spoke the truth, yet something inside of me burned. It was anger, not toward Agatha per se, it but toward those unseen voices that haunted her. I was sure that they were using her. She was guilty of listening and heeding everything they said, but I hated the voices more than I hated Agatha.

  “They will ruin your life too, if you keep seeking them out,” I cautioned.

  “Ha! Since when do you care?”

  “Just saying,” I shrugged, then walked up to my room.

  “They’ll help me be who I was meant to be!”

  “No they won’t. They’ll use you, then they’ll ruin you.” I said without turning.

  In the privacy of my room and with my heart racing, I inspected the beautiful hardcover copy of my most favorite book in the whole entire world. With misty eyes I traced the cover and turned a few leaves. This wasn’t just a book, it was a message … he loved me—I hoped. At the very least, he was thinking about me. He loved me.

  For the rest of the day I felt like a caged lion. I kept pacing my room back and forth, trying to decide whether I should go to his house and thank him for it, or not. There was no note of any kind, no dedication—nothing. What if the gift wasn’t from him after all? Then I would be making a total fool of myself. If only Celeste were here! I might be able to coax her into telling me who sent this! I wonder what Christmas in Heaven is like?

  Suddenly there was an odd sound downstairs. It was like a gasp and a thud. I rushed out of my room and down the stairs to find Agatha’s bedroom door opened and Charlotte on the floor recovering from some sort of fainting spell. Joe was there in an instant as well. “What’s wrong?” he inquired. Charlotte was mute, but managed to point inside Agatha’s room. Joe and I peeked in, and stared at the same time.

  Against the already depressing backdrop of graffiti and vandalized furniture, hanging from the ceiling fan, was a dead cat. Agatha and her belongings, however, were nowhere to be found. Her window was ajar, indicating that she left from there. Both Joe and I stared in dumb amazement at the cat and the room. Finally, Charlotte regained her composure, rushed to the phone and called the police.

  Two officers came. One of them looked familiar, but I couldn’t qu
ite place him. Because Agatha was still a minor, an Amber Alert was issued, and a detailed investigation into her disappearance was underway. They asked for a list of her friends, this list was short. In fact, I only knew Amanda by name, the others I always referred to as—her coven. The officer that looked familiar bit his lip and suppressed a laugh when I said this. Then he quickly recovered and handed me a business card. “Just in case you remember any names,” he said, with steady eyes that seemed to burn into mine. I took the card and inspected it. “John Lovell, Detective”, it said in big bold letters.

  The officers wanted to question us all separately, but when it was Dorian’s turn, I explained that he didn’t talk to anyone. Both Charlotte and Joe verified this and added that I seemed to be the only one who could ever understand him. Cold sweat broke out on Charlotte’s forehead after this; she feared that the officers would figure out that Dorian and I shared a room. The detectives noticed Charlotte’s sudden uncomfortable shifting of her body, and one of them was about to ask more questions when officer Lovell sent him back to Agatha’s room to look for further signs of a possible forced entry.

  I was next on the interviewing list, so the others went to the kitchen to wait for me. Without wasting any time, officer Lovell started questioning me about Agatha. My answers were short; the fact was I didn’t know Agatha that well. “Why do you think she did that to the cat? Was she in the habit of killing animals?”

  “I don’t know, to both questions,” I told him. He stared at me a bit longer, clearly wanting me to expand my answer. “I wouldn’t put it past her,” I added, to please him and to seem like a ‘willing’ witness.