by Davis, SJ
***
When Layne walked into my room the next morning I was in different clothes. I’m not sure how the clothes got on me but I guess it didn’t matter. At least I was covered. My arm felr tight from dried blood and tender under the ten little Band-Aids Mateo or Aunt Shelby must have scrounged up.
“I brought you some breakfast. And a coke.” He sat quietly but his legs fidget. He tapped rhythms with his fingers along his knees.
“Thanks, Layne.”
“So will you tell me what went down last night? I couldn’t sleep. I worry about you constantly and I can’t figure any of this out.”
“Everything around me is getting stranger, Layne. I don’t get it either.”
“Is that guy, the one who had his arm around you, the spirit you were telling me about?”
I don’t want to lie to him.
“Yes. He is.”
I gestured for him to sit next to me on the bed. Our eyes locked, staring, our breath in identical rhythm. I started to shake with fever, so I climbed on top of him.
“Sparrow,” Layne whispered urgently as he wiggled out from underneath me. His shirt was damp where I’d been laying. I felt like I was floating under indigo waves. “Sparrow! Wake up! Can you hear me?”
You can’t move, can you? See? I am winning.
I wanted to say yes but my lips were cold and numb. I nod but everything feels slow, like I am drowning in heavy wet blankets. My arm burned as the fire ran up to my shoulder; finally I am able to sit up.
“Layne,” I rolled towards him, my voice clenched and my head feels light. I felt like my heart was pumping slowly and out of time.
“I’m going to get you to a doctor.” Layne grabbed his phone and looks around the room for anything we should take with us. “But you’re going to be fine.”
“My arm is killing me!” I arched my back in pain. Every muscle in my face and neck was taut.
“You are going to be okay. Where are your shoes?”
“No! I’m on fire!”
Layne looked down at my arm, red and punctured. “Those are deep cuts.”
I heard someone running up the stairs, too heavy and too fast to be Aunt Shelby.
“Let me see your arm.” Mateo filled the doorway to my room.
My arm is unmoving and heavy, hot to the touch. Mateo grabbed my wrist and turned my arm over. His face was as agonized as I felt.
“The fact that she is bleeding so heavily is a good thing. Not clotting is a good thing.”
“Why? What do you mean? Just get out of here, would you?” Layne’s mouth was set firm as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Mateo!” I screamed and grabbed for his face. I pulled it to mine, desperate to find relief. “Help me!”
“No one saw another girl,” said Layne. “What is going on?”
I am right in front of you, fool.
“Should we call an ambulance? The cops?” Layne asked.
“There is nothing they can do.”
“Stop this fire!” I pleaded. “Do anything.”
I watched Mateo’s face, first drawn tight with remorse, then anger, and finally determination. His eyes narrowed and jaw tightened. He looked upwards and I screamed again, blinded by flaming arcs of hot pain.
He leaned over into me. His smooth fingers ran across my arm, cooling it by his touch. He turned my arm up to his lips; smoke flashed in the air as my vision tunneled down into a small dot of light. His lips locked onto my arm, and I felt relief.
“Layne…” My lips move with no sound.
“I’m right here, Sparrow. Right here. Don’t try to talk.”
“Don’t leave me.” My voice returned. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Mateo,” I said. “Where’s Mateo?”
“He’s here too,” said Layne as his unwavering eyes meet Mateo’s. Neither of them looked away from the other. A low growl sounded throughout my room.
Which one do you want?
Chapter Twelve
Movement. I knew I saw movement in the trees outside my window. Shimmery and dark shadows surrounded me and I heard the sound of wind sucking outside the windowpane and then it stopped. Total stillness.
“Free me. I want to be free of this, Mateo,” I hissed. “I want you to help me end it.”
It will only end with your death.
“That’s why I’m here. But it’s for you to do. I am just here to guide you and to protect you on your way back to the reservation.”
“I don’t know if I want to return, Mateo. There is nothing for me there.”
“She has a choice,” says Layne. “She will always have a choice.”
No choice. I won’t let her choose.
“Her ties to the reservation can’t be severed. She was born into the Blackfoot Nation. There are terms and responsibilities for being a member.”
“The reservation is my home. I was born there and my mother died on its roads. End of story. I am here now.”
“You are wrong,” says Mateo. “It is only the beginning of your story.”
Layne’s knuckles turned white with rage and I stroked his hand.
“And you,” said Mateo, starting to circle the periphery of my room and almost growling, “you may distract her and enjoy her. But she will never be yours to keep.”
“I don’t buy anything you say. I’m only listening to Sparrow.”
“There is nothing here for you to buy. Your blood, your past, your future is nothing as far as the Blackfoot are concerned.”
Layne pulled at his lip ring gently, rolling it around his mouth. “I wouldn’t bet on my future, if I were you.”
Chapter Thirteen
I ran my fingers over the page of art. My stomach was in knots. I gazed at Layne and forced myself to look back at the page. The glossy plastic sheet covering the art reflected my face. I run my fingers over it and imagine what it would feel like to carry this design on my body. Somehow painful and beautiful, all at once.
It won’t work. It’s too soon.
My pulse beat fast under my skin. I straightened my back as Mateo leaned over my shoulder. “We have to try it now.”
Try it and die.
“You shouldn’t rush her. Ink should only be done when someone is ready.”
A book fell from the shelf and Layne turned to grab it right as I did. I turned and stood there. Staring at his shirt, I noticed a button was missing. He kissed me. I stretched up on my toes, trying to get as close as I can as he slid his hand around my waist. It’s like I am suffocating and he is my air.
He lifted me onto the table and I wrapped my hands in his hair, pulling him closer. It is the most perfect kiss and it’s from Layne.
“Definitely worth all the troubled,” he smiled. My legs are on either side of him with my ankles crossed behind him, locking him to me.
“I’m scared. Don’t leave me. I know you have dozens of girls skulking around when you’re on tour, Layne. But I need you here.”
“Hey,” he rested his hands on my thighs. “There’s no one else. Just you. No one else ever since I met you.”
Stuart and Mateo said nothing. Mateo turned away to look outside, but I can tell he is shaking his head in disapproval.
“Let’s do it,” said Stuart. “Say the word. It will take a couple of sessions. And that’s good, we’ll be able to see how she reacts.” Mateo nodded, picking up some bottles of ink.
The room turns cold and I shiver. I pass the design to Stuart.
“Are you sure this is the design you want? You must be able to live with it.”
She’ll never be able to live with it. She’ll die with it.
“Yep, I’m sure.” I chose the design from my dream: the owl and floating feather alongside the four circles, intertwined in a center knot. I added a bridge of sparrows across the top.
Stuart started getting things ready silently. He opened a needle package and pulled out the thin metal.
I look at the tattoo machine – it
s coils and angles. I shiver. Something primal and earthy echoed through me, I will be different after this, and that is exactly what I need.
“Take off your top,” says Stuart. Layne smiles but looks at the floor while Mateo still looks out window. “Keep your bra on.” He wiped my back with cold liquid and picks up the stencil of her tattoo. “Turn around.”
Stuarts steadies me with his hand on my hip. Layne stared at me as I stand there. He looked hungry. Stuart sprayed a cool liquid at the top of my spine between my shoulders and across my back. “Tie your hair up, please.” He presses the stencil on my back and then peels it away. “Go see if it’s right.”
Layne follows me to the bathroom as I look at the markings on my back. He pushes me against the mirror and tangles his hands in my hair.
“Don’t touch my back,” I warn.
“I can’t make any promises.”
He pulls at my bra and I stand in the bright light topless. He bends in front of me, licking my breasts and cupping them. He kneels down and rips my jeans open, he runs his fingers down my slit and then inside, gently pulling my lips apart. I felt the warmth of his mouth suck at me and I put my hands in his hair. I pulled one leg out of my jeans and put my foot on the windowsill.
“Beautiful,” he groaned. I stood before him, open and exposed as he buried himself in me.
There was a knock at the door as it opens. Mateo stood in the doorway, his eyes dark. He looked at my breasts and then lowered his eyes to Layne, as he pleasured me with his mouth.
“What the fuck!” yelled Layne as he kicked the door. “Get the fuck out.” I scrambled for my clothes, embarrassed to be caught naked and enjoying a man’s face in my personal parts.
“It’s time,” said Mateo, looking at me as I shimmied into my underwear. Everything was wet and glistening so putting things back on wasn’t as easy as taking them off.
We left the bathroom and head back towards Stuart. My nerves felt hyper aware and exposed.
I laid face down, but slightly tilted upwards on a sort of massage chair. Stuart smeared ointment on my skin over the stencil. “You good?”
“I’m good,” I say as I brace myself, wondering about the pain. Several ink caps sit next to Stuart, filled with what I need.
“Ready?”
I nodded. Layne sat next to my head, stroking my hair. I feel closer to him than ever. The first touch of the needle startled me. My skin felt irritated but not pained. The tattoo machine is over my back and I am afraid to breathe or move. Stuart starts the outline the tattoo.
“She’s doing fine. She’ll be okay,” said Layne.
I closed my eyes, listening to the machine as it hummed and paused. Lifting and touching. The vibration sent the tattoo deep through my skin, marking me.
“Here we go,” said Stuart as he uncaps an amber bottle. The outside of the bottle is marked with a label, handwritten in Blackfoot.
He poured this ink into another cap and changes his gloves.
“I thought it would hurt more,” I said.
“It will. It does.” He lowered the tattoo machine again. The burn was so intense I couldn’t speak. The hum of the machine was no longer comforting. The hum changed to the jagged but rhythmic sound of tribal drums. When I tried to moan and speak, the echoing sounds of horses running and women with children crying emanated from me.
“Do you hear that?” I asked Layne.
“Hear what?” he answered.
“Yes, I hear it,” said Mateo.
“How’re you doing?” Stuart asked.
I felt loose, like my body is made of Jell-O. “Keep going,” I told Stuart. “I can keep going.”
“Mmm…I don’t know. Not tonight.”
“No, let’s finish it.”
“I think we should do this in two sessions. Let’s not push our luck.” Stuart was quiet as he wiped my skin. Layne took the cotton cloth from him and gently wiped the beginnings of my tattoo.
Time feels like it is off, speeding up and slowing down. Sounds aren’t normal. I hear chants, cries, voices, and drums in my head – all bending to rhythms that aren’t predictable. I pull myself up and unsteadiness takes over.
“I feel weird.”
“There’s something wrong,” said Layne, looking at Stuart. “Her eyes look strange.”
“It’s an endorphin rush, that’s all. It’s normal,” said Stuart as he snapped off his gloves and pulled the machine back and away from me.
Layne whipped his head around, his dreadlocks surrounded him like a halo as the sun shone through them. He knows Stuart is lying, but he says nothing. I can tell. The hum remains in my veins and I feel strangely euphoric.
Chapter Fourteen
I went home alone. I wanted to be free of all this – to have a normal life. The stairs to my room felt like they were tilting and bending, as if they were an amusement ride. The carpet moved under my feet. I ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The mirror twisted and my reflection contorted back at me.
A humming fear rang in my ears. I felt a strange grasping clutch of fingers wrap bruisingly tight around my wrists. My face felt flame red and my back felt tight and raw.
“Let go of me,” I say to whatever is holding my arms. My voice isn’t strong, but I hear it softly echo in the closed room. I blink and try to focus.
Eyes flash behind me.
It’s me.
“Winona,” I gasp. She stood in front of me; her profile glowed in the moonlight shooting through my window. She rubbed her arms and neck with her bony hands; her fingers reached up and stroked her disheveled hair. “What do you want?”
What I’ve always wanted. You. You are in my place.
“What are you talking about?” I look at the inside of her arms and see streaks of scars and fresh cuts. “Do you cut yourself?” I stepped back, tripping over the carpet’s edge, knocking over by toothbrush and body lotion. I tried to balance myself on the edge of the sink, holding on to the cool granite.
If you are gone, I will have won.
“Sparrow, say the words!” Mateo’s voice shouts from the other side of the door. “Sparrow, look at her. Look at her face!”
“Why Mateo? What am I looking for?” I pleaded, biting my lip and flinching under Winona’s hot gaze. “Come, help me!”
Blind girl.
“I can’t. You can do this. Look at her and say it.”
I spin around and am pushed to my knees. Winona pulls a razor from her mouth and hands it to me. I accept it. She smiles.
“Sparrow! Don’t do anything!” Mateo yelled from the other side. “Look at her, please.”
I pull my head up, the razor still sitting in my hand. The edges of Winona’s form seem to fade and blur.
You think you’ll wear the perfect art across your back. But it will never be right. It’s mine. I’ll have it before you.
“Don’t listen to her,” Mateo begs through the door. I reached for the doorknob but it burned my skin. “Find it. It’s inside you.”
I struggle to stand, while my eyes are closed. I feel like I am waiting for the world to end.
Yes. It is true I am no stranger.
I opened my eyes. I heard a cacophony of loud voices and wind.
“Look at her,” pleads Mateo again.
I stared into her eyes; a gentle buzz hummed in my ear. Familiarity. Faces of my family flashes before me like an old movie reel. I reached out, squinting through the darkness. I see her. Her face is my face. I am Winona.
Chapter Fifteen
The door kicked open and it’s Layne. Mateo is behind him, trying to hold him back. They both stand in my doorway, two young men whom I have come to care for, one dark and one pale. They fill its space, side by side. Layne pulls back his blond dreadlocks and twists them into a makeshift ponytail. He rubs the scruff on his chin and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Tired black circles hang under his eyes and his high cheekbones look gaunt.
Who will you fuck now?
I turn to her again. Her ey
es match mine – the almond shape, the caramel color; the wide bridge of her nose is mine, and even her lips. Her nose has the same tiny bump and she has the same dimple on her cheek, just one, not two. Even the tiny freckles on our cheeks match. “What is going on?”
You never knew, but it’s obvious. It’s me or it’s you. Light or dark.
“I’m not fighting for anything. I just want to be…” I struggle to answer between tightened breaths, “normal.”
Mateo stood behind me, patting my back, making small soothing circles between my shoulders. “It’s okay. You will find the words. Just breathe.”
“It’s not okay, Mateo.” My voice sounded pinched. “I don’t understand! Am I her?” Nausea rises and I close my eyes.
“Stay calm. She is a part of you. She is a reflection of your fear, your guilt, and your misplaced anger. Use your mind and let her go.”
Layne moves closer. “She isn’t real. She will disappear when you tell her you don’t need her.” His voice comforted me in a way it always has. “Find peace, Sparrow. It’s inside you. Forgive yourself for living after the accident. Let go of the guilt of your mother’s death. Live. You have the power to free yourself.”
“I don’t have that kind of power.”
“You do. Don’t let the worst parts of you win.” Mateo pulled me into the hallway while Layne remained leaning in the bathroom doorway.
“I don’t know…” I watch Winona grow taller and stretch out, her limbs elongating and twisting. She almost becomes transparent.
Layne stepped in front of me and leaned down onto my shoulder. The longer strands of his hair fall like a web over me. “I’m here with you. You aren’t alone. End it and end her. Then move on. Move on with me.”
I look down into my hand. The razor Winona handed me sits in my palm.
You can’t give that up. You need it. Cut yourself and die!
I throw the razor to the floor violently. “No, I don’t.”
“Do it,” Mateo bent and whispered into my ear. “Do it. You can.”