I have never been angry about my situation. Never. I’ve tried like hell to understand it, but mostly I’ve tried to forget about it. It never lasts long, something always comes around to remind me that I have no past, no ties, nothing.
I start trying to buckle down these feelings. I need to get control of myself. If I can’t do that, I’ll fall completely apart and the deputy will come find a blathering idiot. The tide would turn. I wouldn’t be a hero, I’d end up in lock up. Sometimes I think that wouldn’t be so bad.
The tears slowly begin to recede and I can breathe again. I’m not sure if they stop because I’m dehydrated or because I’ve gained my wits back about me. Frankly, I don’t care.
I pick myself up, use the dish towel to wipe my eyes, and open the fridge. It’s half full of odds and ends, but I grab a bottle of water. As I guzzle the cool liquid in three gulps. It gives me a brain freeze. I never thought of that as a possibility, but there it is.
After my blissfully wonderful hot shower, the deputy arrives to take me shopping. It’s very odd going in and out of places that I normally avoid because my kind isn’t welcomed. Wandering through the store just like I’m everyone else. It amazes me some of the things I notice in people’s carts. I don’t even recognize half of the fruits and vegetables.
Once back at the apartment, I unload my bags, thank the deputy, and even offer to have him stay for dinner. He politely declines. I never would have thought I was a host.
I eat a small dinner then sit on the sofa. I pick up the remote and start pushing buttons. I have no idea what I’m doing, but pictures start flashing by on the screen. I just sit here.
There’s a knock at the door. It sends me to the ceiling. You don’t realize the little things that happen every day to normal people until you’re not a normal person. It’s Sheriff Jennings.
I open the door. I must look flustered because he opens with, “Damn, son. You okay?”
I chuckle nervously, “Just not used to having a door for someone to knock on.”
He laughs, “I guess you wouldn’t be. Mind of I come in?”
I move out of the way and make the sweeping arm motion that opens an imaginary gate allowing him to cross the threshold. He’s carrying a six-pack of beer. I haven’t had a beer in ages. Most people assume that the homeless drank all the time. After all, why else would they be homeless.
We sit on the sofa and chat like two buddies. It strikes me as odd since he barely knows me, but suddenly I’m important to his life. More important than I was two years ago.
“We’ve got your flight to D.C. booked. Three days and you’ll be headed to our nation’s capital. There was some difficulty because, obviously, you have no identification and with all the security…” he trails off. For all he knows, I could have been a mad bomber in my previous life. Hell, for all I know I could have been just that. I don’t feel like that, but that doesn’t mean anything. “After a couple of days in D.C., we’ve got you set up with a forensic psychologist to see if he can’t help you get back who you were. You deserve that at the very least.”
I sit here dumbfounded. The thought of actually recovering who I was is beyond my realm of speculation. I never even dared to hope it was a possibility. They always say it’s who you know. I say it’s just dumb luck that put me here.
We finish the beer, he politely takes his leave and, I’m alone again.
Alone, with nothing.
I decide to go to sleep; in a bed. A real bed with sheets and blankets. I toss and turn for hours. I should be sleeping like a baby, but my mind won’t stop. It wonders if there really is a person that can help me get my old self back. I just can fathom something like this. It’s beyond my scope of reality.
I wake up in a cold sweat with my heart beating so quickly it was as if I had just finished a marathon. I’m not even sure when I fell asleep, but the sun is peeking through the blinds. I take another shower. It’s nice to be clean.
Everything is so mundane. My life outside of normal was far more interesting. I suppose if I had a job, something to do every day, things would feel differently. I get dressed and head out into the sunlight. In a few days, I’ll be in the smog and noise of the capital. Every picture I’ve ever seen shows miles and miles of cars.
I walk around for hours, completely aimless. I stop at the Red Cross to visit the dame at the front desk. I want to thank her for her kindness. I know it really isn’t her kindness that allows me to cool off or to get clean, but she is always a friendly face. She never lets on about her personal feelings. If they differ from her demeanor I would never know.
I smile, “Good afternoon!”
She returns my greeting with a smile of her own. “It’s a hot one today. I heard we’re going to have a ripper of a storm a little later. I also hear that you are a hero!”
I am completely taken aback by this assertion. I stutter, unable to form complete sentences. It never occurred to me that anyone would know what I did. Of course they would though. Sheriff Jennings told me about the news stories. I don’t want to be a hero. I just want to be me. The old me. The old me that I have no recollection of. It doesn’t really matter to me what that person was, I’m sure there are small parts of it that are in the current version of me.
She giggles nervously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to throw you off!”
“It’s okay. I’m just not used to any type of recognition. I’m usually so anonymous.”
“Well, what can I do for you today? Need to cool off?”
“Nope. I just came in to say hello and thank you. You’ve always been so kind to me.”
She blushes a little. “It’s my job, hon, but thank you. That’s really sweet.” Her blush deepens. I feel the urge to kiss it, but manage to keep my wits about me.
“Well, I’m off to the capital in a couple of days and I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate what you do for people in my situation. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. So, thanks again!” I reel around and take off out the door before she could respond. I hadn’t felt like that around a woman since I can remember.
I walk around with my hands in my pockets for hours, I only stop one other time and that is because the rains come hard and fast. Once the rain clears, the sun begins to bid this side of the world a good night and the sky becomes a rich purple and orange. It’s truly miraculous.
I have walked all the way to the other side of town without realizing it. I turn to walk back to the apartment. My stomach lets out a protest. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and my gut just now realizes it. I ignore the protest and keep moving. The street lights start popping on one by one, illuminating the path behind me. Eventually, they catch up with my pace, acting more like a spot light. I notice a pawn shop that’s still open. I’ve walked past several today, but this one catches my eye because of something in the window.
It’s an ornate box. I have never seen anything like it. It’s a deep, rich hardwood of some sort. The carving is mesmerizing, like one of those stupid optical illusions, it seems to move when you look at it. It’s got a hefty brass latch on the front that looks very much like a pig’s nose. The design of the fastener was crude compared to the craftsmanship of the box. It looked very old.
A chill runs up my spine. I look around, half expecting to see someone standing behind me, but finding no one. I scan the area nervously, then I open the door to the pawn shop.
The guy behind the counter looks older than Jesus himself. His long scraggly white hair hangs around a pallid wrinkled face. His eyes throw me off completely. They’re ice blue and full of youth that his body once housed. He greets me with a sparkling used car salesman smile.
I wave my hand and smile, but turn the corner immediately to the window display where the box is. I can almost hear it talking to me. I shake my head and reach for it, but immediately pull back. Something walks by the window and catches my eye. For a moment, I think it’s a bear. I laugh out loud. There are no bears in Phoenix. It is big, whatever it is. I crane my neck to look out
the window so I can see down the sidewalk, but there’s nothing there. Just a couple of flickering street lights. I shake my head again trying to clear the weird feeling I have and turn my attention back to the box.
It looks like there is a greenish hue seeping out of it, but that can’t be possible. I reach for it again, running my finger along the design. It’s cold. It’s still near 70 outside, although the air conditioner is clearly on in the shop, the shop is warm. I run both hands over the box and close my eyes. I can feel the ornamentation moving beneath them, but when I open my eyes again, the feeling is gone.
Something catches my eye outside the window again. I cannot figure out what it is. I look over my shoulder at the proprietor and smile. “I’ll be right back, I’m afraid I dropped my wallet on the sidewalk.”
He smiles and gives me a cursory wave. I exit the store. The wind is kicking up as if another storm is blowing in, which would be somewhat unusual after a massive afternoon rain. I look up and down the sidewalk for whatever walked by the window, but there is nothing. There is nothing for miles, no cars, no people, not even a bus. It’s a bit discomforting.
Three of the street lights are still flickering, why wouldn’t they be? Who would be out this time of night to fix them? Something else catches my eye. It’s glinting as the light above it continues to do its spastic dance. I walk over to investigate and another chill races down my spine. The air feels thicker and smells of sulfur, like a struck match.
As I get closer, it looks like someone has just left a shot glass on the sidewalk. It strikes me as completely out of place and I let out a chuckle before I can stop myself. Someone was so drunk they have just randomly dropped a shot glass on the sidewalk. That is amazing, but as I reach the light, I realize it’s not a shot glass at all. I feel a screech welling up in my throat. It’s a tooth. It’s a huge, serrated tooth. It’s laying in a puddle of something that looks radioactively green. In spite of every cell in my body screaming in protest, I bend over and pick it up. I hurriedly wipe it off and puts it in my pocket to examine later.
The lights are still doing their awkward dance, then they go out. The section of street is completely black. I feels very uneasy, then I hear a low menacing growling. Whatever had passed by the pawn shop earlier is back. I do a one-eighty and shoot back through the pawn shop door. The old man, not seeming to notice that I am now sweating profusely, completely out of breath and even more pale than the shopkeeper himself, smiles and waves again.
I wave back and round the corner. The box would be the perfect place to keep this…tooth. I reach for the box and something walks by the window again. This time, I don’t waver. I take the box to the merchant.
“I don’t see a price on this. How much do you want for it?”
He grins again, this time, it isn’t welcoming. It looks a bit sinister, but I dismiss this as my mind playing tricks on me. My thigh is throbbing and I all want to do is buy this box and get out of here.
“What would you offer me for it?” His voice is caught somewhere between puberty and baritone. It is maniacal sounding.
“Look, Mister. I have no idea what something like this goes for, but I know what I have. Tell me what you’d take for it and we’ll go from there.”
He looks off into the distance like he was listening for someone to tell him how much to ask for the box. He nods a few times, then looks back at me. “Well, let me show you something else first. I’ve got a whole collection in the back that you might be interested in. I don’t bring them out because I almost don’t want to sell them. You look like a fellow who knows what he wants. Would you care to take a look?”
I begin to get frustrated. My thigh is now pulsating with pain and all I want is to buy the box and be on my way, but something tells me I need to see the collection. I nod and he motions for me to follow him.
We walk through one door into a small office that’s littered with papers, he then holds a door open and motions for me to pass through. I’ve got the box wedged tightly in the crook of my arm as I walk through the door.
There’s one sterile light in this small warehouse which is piled to the ceiling with stuff that creates lots of shadows and makes navigation very difficult. I follow him through the winding shelves, stubbing my toe twice and only letting out a yowl once. He leads me to the back corner where there is nothing but a small table and a door. The phone rings. He excuses himself to answer it. There is something very wrong. I don’t see a collection of boxes back here.
Suddenly, I hear another low growl. My blood rushes, my hairs stand up, and my throat gets very tight and dry. I turn around, fully expecting to be eaten alive by whatever this thing is, but there’s nothing there. Even though I can’t see anything, I can hear something breathing. I back myself up against the door on the far side of the table waiting for the proprietor to return. It lunges at me from the top of the shelves.
It’s a huge dog. It doesn’t have fur. It looks as if it’s wearing tanned black leather for skin. It’s wearing a gargantuan collar with metal conical spikes that were even bigger than the tooth I had found earlier. The slobber dripping from his mammoth jaws is that toxic green from the puddle. There’s something, other than these details, that tells me it’s not actually a dog, but I don’t have time to ascertain exactly what it is before it lunges again.
The first lunge puts it on the table in front of me, the second is for my throat, but he doesn’t think about counterweight and the table flips over before he can get the full thrust of his back legs behind him. The table tumbles and pushes me through the door into the alley. I notice, for a split second, that the solitary light in the alley is flickering and think about how weird that is.
I turn to run from the beast, box still tucked in securely. As I run under the flickering light it goes out and I lose consciousness.
Part Six
The Curse of the Gift
She discovered that she had the touch when she was just eight. It wasn’t so much discovery as it was realization. Her grandmother was her favorite person in the universe. She loved spending lazy summer days in the garden with her learning about the plants and their different uses. Some were for nutrition, some were for healing, and some were for other things. This particular day she was tending the carrots, they always planted extras so the rabbits could take their fill, but there was still plenty for harvesting. She was struggling with a particularly stubborn weed when a voice interceded.
She heard a few, but she mostly ignored them as something conjured by her mind to sort out her own creativity. She had always had a vivid imagination, so it really wasn’t a stretch.
She loved to read. Madeleine read everything she could get her hands on. Her grandmother’s library was vast and bursting at the seams. She had books on every subject, although the majority were about potions, spells, and remedies. Madeleine liked the love stories the best. Although most were predictable, she couldn’t help but imagine herself a damsel in distress to be rescued by a handsome man that would sweep her off her feet.
As she matured, the voices turned into visions. She would get pictures of events involving people she knew. It took her a while to grasp this concept and what it meant to her and for her. These premonitions were special, she could see everything, hear everything, but do nothing. If she tried to interfere, the situation would go horribly wrong and she would wind up on the bad side of things. The gift was wonderful, the curse that came with it was heart wrenching.
She kept her secret a very long time. She didn’t want people to think she was weird. People fear what they do not know, so she was always a bit of a pariah. She had her circle of friends who thought she was fun and interesting, but there were many more who would do their damnedest to skirt her, even in the hallways of her school.
She watched her friends, loved ones, and even strangers perform in the novel in her head, then lived the events again. She never let the anger or sadness get to her. She finally told her grandmother about it. She had to share it with someone. She was glad she
did.
“Madeleine, we’re part of a long line of Wiccans. The touch is a very special gift. It’s not one that anyone can learn, it’s bestowed. It carries a very difficult path with it. No one has ever understood what the touch meant for them, or why it works the way it works. I will guide you the best that I can, and you can always come and talk to me,” her grandma, Seraline, assured her.
“Thank you, Grandma. I knew you’d understand. I was afraid to talk about it. I really don’t want it to go away,” she uttered sheepishly.
“Oh it will never go away. It is yours for life, dear.” Seraline had a way of being very succinct.
She read stories of others with the touch. It was unnerving. The touch was different for every individual. There’s vision, voices, tongues, communication with spirits, and a plethora of other lesser versions of the touch. The non-believers always called people like Madeleine and Seraline loons. That’s why it is a well-kept secret outside of the Wiccan circles. It’s not as extreme as it was in Salem, but it was a different type of persecution.
Madeleine went on with few incidents. She grew from a cute little towhead into a stunning blond young woman. She towered over her grandmother now, in fact she was taller than almost anyone she knew. As she matured, she slowly moved away from her Wiccan roots in favor of a more cosmopolitan lifestyle. This was much to Seraline’s chagrin, but she knew she had to let Madeleine build her own path.
Madeleine studied advertising in college, never recognizing her natural ability to read people as her biggest asset. She watched her classmates struggle to build campaigns, learn the ins and outs of the advertising world as she sailed through all of her classes and projects with minimal effort. She graduated at the top of her class with full honors and was instantly courted by one of the largest advertising firms in New York City. They offered her the world on a silver platter, and she ate from it gluttonously.
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