Transcend

by Christine Fonseca

  He ran faster, his eyes focused on the clearing ahead. Sister Anne impossibly kept pace with him, speaking in whispers.

  “There are other memories, too. Older memories.”

  Ien’s legs faltered as her words slipped into his mind. Memories, too long forgotten, seeped into his consciousness and a familiar sense of fear engulfed his senses.

  “Stop,” he yelled at the apparition. “I won’t let you do this. I can’t go back there again.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “No.” He didn’t want to answer. But the images wouldn’t stop. People, formed from the forest itself, circled his thoughts. Spiny branch-like fingers reached out for him. He couldn’t tell if they were real or drawn from his childhood fears. He dodged their path, still headed for the clearing.

  The opening closed, blocked by more and more tree-people.

  “Stop doing this!” Ien yelled.

  There was no answer, only the constant movement of the creatures towards him.

  “What do you want from me?” he screamed.

  “Tell me about your father. What happened in this place?” Sister Anne’s voice echoed around him.

  A new onslaught of images invaded his senses.

  A whip.

  A scream.

  Blood soaked leaves.

  “Tell me!” The sister’s voice had changed. The gentleness was gone, replaced by an insistence he couldn’t ignore.

  Ien’s mind unleashed the memory. He fought against himself, clamping his mouth shut as the story formed on his tongue. He held the words back until he felt choked by the truth; a truth that had haunted him too long. Unable to resist, the words poured from his mouth in rapid succession.

  “My father used to bring me here as a boy. He wanted to teach us—Erik and me—to hunt pheasant and game. Erik loved it. But me, I hated every moment. The forest was just too alive for me. The way the branches sounded when they crunched under my feet, or the wailing of the birds overhead, it all reminded me of the nightmares I had as a boy. And the tree-people.”

  “Tree-people?”

  “Yes, I used to think the trees would come to life and eat children. Every night I’d stare out of my bedroom window, looking at the forest. I could see them, the tree-people. They’d move through the forest and make the canopy shake. I used to think I could see them break through the clearing.”

  Ien’s heart pounded as he thought of the nightmare. Sweat formed on his brow, his muscles tightened.

  “Tell me about your father.”

  Ien tried to refuse, but it was too late, the memory too strong. “One day, Erik challenged me to go into the woods alone. He said I was too fragile, too afraid, to come here without anyone. I wanted to prove him wrong. Needed to. So, I took Father’s gun and headed out after breakfast. The forest was dark and alive. The wind made the trees whisper things to me. Terrible, horrible things.”

  Ien’s body quivered and he closed his eyes. Inhaling a sharp breath, he swallowed back his fear.

  “I thought I saw the trees moving, coming to life. I aimed the gun blindly and shot into the thick forest. But the tree people kept coming, whispering. Again I fired. Over and over until the gun was empty.

  “The last shot hit something more than a tree. A scream echoed around me, followed by complete silence. I turned and ran away, dropping the gun. I ran hard and fast, right into my father.”

  Tears sprang in Ien’s eyes.

  “What happened after that?” Sister Anne’s voice was scarcely louder than a whisper. Ien walked ahead, stopping next to an old tree. The bark was scarred, scratched in several areas. His hands trembled as he traced every mark.

  He swallowed hard. “My shot hit the neighbor’s son, Charlie. He and Erik had followed me. They wanted to scare me. They were the ones whispering to me.”

  Ien stared at the slashes in the tree, still tracing them.

  “Father scolded the boys for scaring me and sent them home to Mother. The shot had only grazed Charlie’s leg. Father offered to carry him, but Charlie refused.

  “I thought Father would comfort me after the boys left, tell me it would all be okay. But he didn’t. He loosened his belt and told me to stand against the tree. This tree.”

  Tears streamed down Ien’s face.

  “‘I told you never to touch my guns, boy,’ Father said. ‘This is all your fault. If anything happens to Charles, I’ll do more than whip you, you hear?’” Ien’s voice trembled. “He taught me a lot about his love that night.” He closed his eyes, remembering every detail of his beating.

  The exact sound as the leather strap connected with his skin.

  The sharp pain as it ripped open slashes across his back.

  The taste of copper in his mouth as he bit back his screams.

  Tears flowed down Ien’s face with the memory. After a few seconds, the tears stopped. Ien straightened his back and opened his eyes, releasing a sharp breath. He turned toward the Sister, his jaw clenched. “Father whipped me until my back was raw. That was the last time I went hunting. And the last time I dreamed of the tree people.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Six.”

  Silence filled the gap left by Ien’s words. He brushed his hands over the slash marks again, a cold detachment replacing the intense emotions he felt just moments ago. He turned and walked to the clearing as Sister Anne began to fade away, his mind locked on the memories of his father

  …you’re nothing to us…

  …too weak…

  …a disappointment…

  …why can’t you be more like Erik…

  Father’s words encircled him, forming a noose. They choked the air from his lungs, smothering his sanity. New memories emerged from what was left of his mind. Mother and Father arguing over him. Again…

  “He’s only a boy, John. You can’t—”

  Ien saw himself as a boy, sitting on the stairs of the house. He remembered spying through the crack between the doors of the study, hearing the hateful words of his father.

  “He isn’t just a boy, Katherine. He’s a Montgomery. I can’t have him going around shooting up the neighbors or chasing imaginary ghosts.”

  Ien watched his Father pace, back and forth. Back and forth. His face was flushed with anger and Ien knew he was the cause of his father’s displeasure, like always.

  “And Erik? Where are his responsibilities in this?” Mother’s voice held genuine concern.

  “Boys will be boys, Katherine. He was simply trying to scare him. Ien was the one who broke the rules and shot the boy.”

  “He didn’t mean—”

  “You coddle him too much. That’s the real problem. You need to press him harder. Stop acquiescing to his whims and delusions.”

  “John!”

  “Yes, that’s it. Don’t comfort him anymore. Not after his nightmares. Not when he comes to you with his wild stories of the walls whispering to him.”

  Ien remembered every word of his father’s diatribe, dictating how Mother was to treat him and listing all of Ien’s many faults. The memory fueled his rage image by image, word by word. He reached the clearing, his mind blinded with pure hatred.

  ~

  Ien followed the path towards his house. Time passed in a blur as his thoughts continued to burn. They will pay. For everything.

  The air was still cool, despite the strong sun overhead. He scanned the expanse of land before him. Grassy hills and knolls, the stable and caretaker’s quarters, both rundown. Beyond the stables were the guest houses, the main house, and on the far edge of the property, hidden from view, the family cemetery. Ien shuddered thinking about his name carved on a plaque to mark his final resting place. You never should’ve done that, Mother. He fantasized about killing her again, fantasized about finding Kiera and living life anew.

  But first he had more pressing matters—shelter, food, and a place to plan. Ien again scanned his property, settling on the stables. He nodded, a slow smile forming on his lips.

  Care
fully making his way across the knolls, Ien reached the barn. His arms and legs ached. His mind was still chaotic and raw. Taking a quick look around, he pulled on the heavy doors. They groaned from lack of use. He pulled again, gritting his teeth as the hinges creaked. The door opened and Ien ducked inside, quickly closing the doors behind him.

  His breath came in heavy pants. Every muscle hurt, every joint was stiff. His head pounded and his stomach clenched. He took several deep breaths, willing himself to relax. Finally, his pulse slowed.

  Ien walked to the center of the barn. It was large and empty. Spider webs hung from the rafters and the roof had caved in some areas. The stables were neglected, decaying from lack of upkeep. Just like Ien.

  “Perfect,” he said to the empty spaces around him.

  No one came to the stables now, not since Erik’s death. Father sold the horses the day of Erik’s funeral.

  What have you done now, Ien?

  He ignored Mother’s taunts.

  Your fault Ien, it’s all your fault.

  He pushed her voice away, determined to chase it out of his head.

  I know you killed my boy. He should’ve been the one to live. Not you. Never you.

  “Stop it!” Ien shouted, disturbing a family of doves nesting in the rafters. “Leave me alone.”

  He repeated the words over and over until Mother no longer invaded his thoughts. Ien had regained control. For now.

  There was a time when Ien thought he could stop the voices that plagued him after his brother’s death. Voices that blamed him, threatened him, shamed him. He used to bundle them into a sheet of music and hide it deep inside. It worked for a week or two. But, they always came back, louder and stronger.

  Until he’d met Kiera.

  Ien’s mind started to spin with thoughts of Kiera. Need and longing mixed with vengeance and hatred. The concoction released the slight hold he had on his mind.

  …Kill Mother...

  ...you owe me…

  …she tried to kill you…

  …Kiera can never be yours until Mother is gone…

  …Kill. Her. Now…

  The phrases fed his contempt, speaking to the deepest desires in his heart and unleashing the monster he feared most of all.

  He opened the barn doors, his eyes trained on the main house.

  Erik stepped in front of Ien and smiled. “It’s time.”

  21.

  Man’s insanity is heaven’s sense;

  and wandering from all mortal reason,

  man comes at last to that celestial thought,

  which, to reason, is absurd and frantic;”

  ~Herman Melville (Moby Dick)

  ~~

  An overwhelming rage unleashes through me as Erik continues to fan my hate. Mother, revenge—it’s all I crave. All I need.

  “Tell me your plan.”

  I ignore his voice, refusing to let it, him, dictate my vengeance. I’m doing this for me, not to satisfy a madness that grows wilder each day.

  “You are the madness, Ien. And we are you.”

  The words coil around me, through me. There is a truth to them I want to ignore. “I’m not listening to you, Erik. What I do, I do for me. Not because of you. And definitely not because I’m insane,” I say in vain.

  “Accept it or not, you know what’s true. And I won’t hurt you, brother. We want the same things. Mother must pay for everything she has done. To both of us.”

  Blinding light streaks across my vision, distorting the world around me. I grab the barn doors to keep from falling. The landscape turns into my house, the unstable ground now a mahogany floor, the stable door now the large oak doors of my bedroom. My hand cramps, straining to hold onto the door knob to keep it from turning.

  Mother suspects.

  Voices whisper in my head.

  You cannot let her know about us. She cannot find us.

  Louder and louder they get, blocking out the other sounds.

  I release the door handle and cover my ears. “Stop, stop, stop,” I say too loud.

  The door opens. Erik stands in front of me, no older than twelve. “Is it happening again? The nightmare?”

  “Yes,” I manage to say. “It’s worse now.” Every word I say to my brother brings a chorus of No! ringing through my ears.

  You must not tell.

  “You have to ignore them. Just push them out of your mind.”

  “I can’t,” I say. My eyes fill with tears. I want the noise to stop. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  The scene fades. For a brief moment I see the stables before a new memory blossoms. Once more I am in my room. Once more the nightmares overwhelm me.

  “I can’t stand it anymore.” I yell.

  Don’t tell. Don’t tell.

  The voices are too many, the sounds too loud. Disturbing images cloud my vision.

  Fire.

  An explosion.

  Blood.

  I pinch my eyes shut, desperate to obey Erik’s commands, push the voices and images from my thoughts. But I can’t.

  Maybe I am too weak.

  “You have to stop yelling. They’ll hear you.” Erik rubs my back. “You can’t let them hear you.”

  “I don’t care anymore. I have to make it stop. Get Mother. Get. Mother!”

  Within moments Mother is sitting on my bed. She runs a cool cloth over my brow. The voices scream at her touch and I pull away.

  “Shh. It’s okay, Ien. Everything will be okay.”

  Sulfur invades my nose, along with the faintest scent of…incense. Myrrh.

  No no no no.

  The voices rise to a feverish pitch.

  “Erik, you can go back to your room now. I will take care of Ien. Mother always takes care of Ien.”

  “But—”

  “Erik,” Mother’s voice is tense. Angry. “I will not tell you again. Leave. Now.”

  Erik drops my hand and walks away. I look at Mother. Something sinister grows in her eyes and panic spreads through me.

  “Just relax, Ien. This may hurt. But I promise, it will help. The demons will leave you.”

  The smell of incense and fire is overwhelming. I can’t see the brand, but I feel the hair on my legs begin to singe. Again I stare at Mother, desperate to quell the rising terror inside.

  “Just close your eyes and let me help you.”

  Her inferno comes closer. No voices speak now. No images stream through my thoughts. Only the singular instinct to survive.

  “No,” I say through clenched teeth, the heat almost too much to bear. I writhe against Mother’s hold as the brand comes ever closer.

  Blinding agony rips through me as my skin sears. I can see the brand now, see my flesh melt. Bile and panic swirl through me. My eyes roll up in my head.

  “It’s for your own good, Ien. I have to chase the demons away. Have to…”

  Her words end and the memory collapses around me. I open my eyes, sweat pouring from my brow. I reach down to my calf, feeling the raised brand ever-present on my skin.

  “I’ll never forget how you screamed that night. I’m sure you woke the entire household.” Erik still stands near me.

  “Why didn’t anyone stop her?” I manage to say through the anguish of my thoughts.

  “No one could. She thought she was helping you.”

  “Setting your child on fire isn’t helping.”

  “Which is why she must pay.”

  He speaks my thoughts. Mother must pay. Settling my fears, I stretch my back, my shoulders, my neck. Mother has tortured me enough. It’s time for me to end this. “Yes, she’ll pay. Tonight.”

  A new cacophony of voices rise up through me.

  ...Make her pay…

  …she tried to kill you…

  …because of her you are deformed…

  …because of her, Kiera is gone…

  The chorus repeats and I listen now. My strength grows through their words. I feel my face, my back, my calves. All of my scars, all of my pain—all from Mother. And Fath
er.

  Take your life back, Ien. Kill them both and reclaim your life.

  I walk away from Erik, my eyes focused on the main house. Only one thought fills me now, propelling me forward.

  Vengeance.

  “Don’t do this, Ien. You cannot kill her.”

  Hers in the one voice I refuse to embrace.

  “Ignore me or not, we both know this isn’t you.” Sister Anne’s words are too loud. “Please, Ien, don’t do this.”

  Ignore her. Ignore her. Ignore her.

  The voices surround me, chiming in unison.

  “I’m not leaving. Once you go down this path, everything changes for you. There’s no turning back. I won’t let you ruin your life for them.”

  Sister Anne’s words continue, no matter how I try to block them out. They bait me, challenge me. Part of me wants to kill her too.

  “Ien!”

  Guilt clouds my intentions. I was never a killer before.

  Things change.

  “What about Kiera? Have you seen her yet?” Sister Anne’s words stop me in my tracks.

  My thoughts grow unbalanced. I want to respond, want to tell her that Kiera will never accept me if I’m weak. I’m doing this for her.

  For us.

  “She wouldn’t want this for you. She loves you.”

  “No!” I yell in frustration. “Don’t speak about Kiera.” My voice bounces off the guest house I pass.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Have you seen Kiera?” Sister Anne’s insistence unsettles me as a pang of longing bursts forward.

  …Stop listening…

  …Stop listening…

  …Stop listening…

  The symphony of voices resume, drowning out Sister Anne’s words.

  …Vengeance, you must seek your vengeance…

  “It’s time,” Erik says, appearing next to me again.

  “Yes,” I say, in a trance. “Time.”

  “See Kiera. Go see Kiera.” Sister Anne’s voice screams through me.

  The bombardment of noise—Erik, the chorus of voices screaming ‘kill’, Sister Anne’s pleadings—consumes me.

  I am lost to the chaos, lost to my hatred. Clouds swirl too fast overhead, covering the sun.

  “Stop!” My voice cracks on the word. I am buried under the weight of the expectations pressing in around me.