by L. J. Amodeo
Freddie and the servants referred to my new home as The Flame, but they were careful never to reveal its actual location. After much thought, I decided to rename the area in which my new home was secretly nestled, Eden. I wrote about my new life in my journal. At Eden, there were no harsh winters or brutally hot summers. Keeping track of time became difficult, especially since it was spring—every day of the year. The beautifully manicured gardens bloomed and blossomed with divinely supple flowers. An oasis of immaculate grounds surrounding a fabulous pool and mountainous views to die for blanketed the extensive gardens. It was a perfect balance of nature.
Freddie had been gone for weeks, with an occasional phone call to the estate’s landline to let me know how he was progressing in his quest for answers. Luckily, the Watchers were at a standstill for now. They didn’t know where I was, giving the angels some time to plan their next move. I was safe here at Eden, far from any devices that could easily be tracked, like cell phones or computers. In our long telephone conversations, Freddie would ask about my days at Lake Louise. I missed him terribly, ending all our calls with, “I miss you. When are you coming back?” and Freddie always answering with a sigh, “Soon, Bethy.”
During my oasis at Eden, I had time to grieve and process my mother’s death. I spent many days and long hours in the garden and decided to build a shrine for her. A place where I could visit and speak with my mom through silent prayers and writings.
I found a perfect spot, unobstructed by trees and close to the home, with a perfect view of the radiant lake. The patch of land had been littered with wild vines, small patches of poppies, and weeds. Eagerly, I cleared what I could of the area, and found a decent-sized boulder, covered in moss and ivy, reminiscent of the massive one on Houghton’s school grounds. With Faith’s help, we immediately began pulling weeds and clearing the ground in preparation for my mom’s sanctuary. Searching what was once a beautiful garden house, I’d found gardenia seeds, and I was sure it was not a coincidence. Gradually, gardenias filled the perimeter of my mom’s shrine where weeds once grew. I placed rocks and stones I had found on the estate’s grounds, decorating it in a symbolic design, an image I’d drawn in my journal of a circle with gardenias around its perimeter, and four raised beds stretching out from the circle filled with wildflowers; the same symbol that illuminated my mind whenever I thought of Mom. The stone, large enough to sit on, served as my pew, where I’d read, write, or meditate for hours. Here, in my garden, is where I felt her closest to me. It was a sanctuary filled with the scent of her favorite flower. A flower that reminded me of Michael. I missed them both. Yet, I didn’t know why I felt compelled to create such a shrine, but knew one day I would find out. I attempted to fill my days with busy work so I wouldn’t think of them as often, but to my defeat, I was alone and found myself starting to spiral into a depression.
My routine at Eden had become a daily ritual. In the early morning hours, I’d go for a run, play the piano, or do yoga on the grounds of Eden. After a quick shower, I’d head toward a set of French doors that opened onto a stone terrace overlooking the lake. Each morning, Faith prepared a table of scrumptious breakfast foods and the morning paper alongside my journal. I never tired of writing about the sprawling gardens of rosebushes, mixed Canterbury bells, and Elderflowers infused with chamomile. I’d sit, gladly inhaling the scent of the freshly baked biscuits, warm croissants, and raspberry tea.
The beautiful imagery was halted as I reflected back to the morning of December 21st, the day after my arrival at Lake Louise. I recalled glancing at the morning paper that was neatly folded on a round English garden table next to a cup of tea. The paper was opened to a small article written in the New York State blotter. I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately wanting to read the article whose title caught my eye, but dithered momentarily instead. I blinked as I held up the paper, focusing on one particular story written in small black ink:
“LOCAL ALLEGANY WOMAN AND HER DAUGHTER PLUNGE TO THEIR DEATHS”
THE MORNING OF DECEMBER 20TH, A WOMAN AND HER DAUGHTER PLUNGED TO THEIR DEATH OFF THE ICY CLIFFS OF CHIMNEY BLUFFS, ON LAKE ONTARIO, NEW YORK. JUST AFTER 10 AM, A CALL FROM EYE WITNESSES, DR. SETH BATES AND HIS YOUNG DAUGHTER, CAME IN THROUGH THE NEW YORK STATE POLICE, AND OTHER POLICE AND EMERGENCY CENTERS THROUGHOUT THE REGION. ICY ROADS CAUSED PARTICULARLY TREACHEROUS CONDITIONS AS ROAD CREWS RUSHED TO RESPOND TO DROPPING TEMPERATURES AND THE ONSET OF FREEZING RAIN.
NEW YORK STATE POLICE INVESTIGATED THE ONE VEHICLE FATALITY, KILLING GRACE MORGAN, 47, OF CANEADEA, NY AND HER DAUGHTER ELIZABETH, 17. EMERGENCY WORKERS WERE ABLE TO RECOVER THE VEHICLE FROM THE FROZEN WATERS OF ONTARIO LAKE, ALONG WITH THE REMAINS OF GRACE MORGAN. THE BODY OF HER DAUGHTER HAS NOT YET BEEN RECOVERED.
DR. BATES CLAIMED ELIZABETH MORGAN WAS A PATIENT OF HIS AT LETCHWORTH VILLAGE ASYLUM. HE ALSO DISCLOSED ELIZABETH HAD ATTEMPTED SEVERAL TIMES TO COMMIT HARM TO HERSELF AND WAS SUICIDAL. DR. BATES COMMENTED, “IT SADDENS ME MS. MORGAN’S DAUGHTER MAY HAVE INTENTIONALLY CAUSED THE TRAGIC ACCIDENT THAT RESULTED IN THEIR UNTIMELY DEATHS.” THE ACCIDENT REMAINS UNDER INVESTIGATION.
The news of our deaths and how I was responsible for it infuriated me still. The reminders escalated a fury from my chest to my fingers, causing me to tear apart the morning paper, wanting desperately to strike the psychiatrist whose lies riddled the paper on that fateful morning instead, with the biggest and deadliest blade I could have gotten my hands on.
“Miss Beth, would you like some more tea?” A kind voice interrupted my grim thoughts.
Faith was the youngest of the three maidservants, buzzing closely behind my every move. There was something vaguely familiar about her. She was a sweet girl of about twenty. Her frame was thin in comparison to the matronly others in the house. Her silky skin, painted cheeks, and bright blue eyes resembled that of a porcelain doll, with sandy hair which she kept neatly tied in a twist. Her voice was soft, like a breeze, never demanding or irritating like Deborah, who was a fiery, robust woman in her fifties. Victoria, like Faith, was kind but stern, presenting herself as the sensible one of the trio. They were all wonderful in their own simple ways. I became fond of them and them of me.
“No, thank you, Faith.”
“How are you feeling this morning, Miss Beth?”
“Better—no headache.” I smiled.
Her full eyes scoured the grounds, searching for any signs of the others within earshot. She bit her bottom lip, apparently nervous about something.
“Are you ok?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she replied abruptly.
“You seem a bit tense. Is there something on your mind? It’s all right, you can ask.” She twisted her apron, still biting down on her full lips.
“Faith, really, it’s ok . . . you can talk to me.” I looked past her into the house and winked at her, letting her know the coast was clear. I whispered, “I won’t tell a soul.”
She smiled and scrunched her sweet face, “Miss Beth,” was all she said before I cut her off.
“Please, Faith, I’ve told you a dozen times, you don’t need to call me that. We’re practically the same age. Besides, I don’t like the sound of it. It makes me feel old.” I smiled politely at her.
“Forgive me.” Faith smiled back.
“What was it you wanted to ask?”
Faith glanced back into the house, “I don’t want to seem like I am prying and I don’t intend any disrespect by my inquiry, but do you love Michael enough to trust him?”
Her question took me by surprise. I hadn’t given Michael much thought lately. It had been quite some time since I last saw him. I wasn’t sure anymore, especially knowing now that our love would never be possible, and having spent so much time apart, my feelings for him seemed distant.
Before I could answer, Faith’s eyes blinked wide with apprehension as she looked toward the double entry doors.
“If that is all, Miss Beth, I mean Beth, I’ll clean up the breakfast dishes.” She curtsied and flitted away quickly, balancing the plates a
nd teacup in her hands. In the background, Deborah watched us suspiciously. I understood her abrupt exit and smiled at them both.
In the past, my thoughts were often about Michael, but not recently. I thought of Freddie. What if he doesn’t return, and something were to happen to him. What would I do? My conscience teetered on the two boys. Yet, I paced nervously, hoping to see or hear from Freddie soon.
In the Quarterdeck room, one of the estate’s grand rooms, the views overlooking Lake Louise were breathtaking. I strolled toward the grand piano positioned before a sea of windows, carefully stroking the keys. I played Braga’s’, Angel’s Serenade, remembering my father’s love for classical music, as I recalled my own.
As the sun started to set in the tangerine sky, I strolled along the plush gardens of the lake. The estate was more beautiful than the Trinity’s Obidos. Its stone steps were designed to resemble a waterfall spilling out to a statue of Neptune and into the Italian gardens which continued through the delicately designed croquette lawn, and beyond to a forest. I placed a scented flower in my hair as I wandered past the white cherry blossoms and delicate magnolia trees. I stumbled upon a path that led deep into the woods. The scent around me was invigorating, pulling me deeper under a canopy of trees. I wasn’t sure how long I’d walked before finding a clearing. Stepping into the sunlight, I stared up at magnificent mountains reflecting off the crystal waters of the lake, just steps from where I stood. Mesmerized by the beauty, I sat on the glistening grass, listening as the rich blue waters grazed the rim of Lake Louise.
Tilting my head toward the sun, my cheeks tingled from its warmth, remembering the comforts of our own waterfall. Freddie’s and mine. I missed him terribly. An inexplicable yearning for my best friend rattled my core. I found myself wishing he were here—with me. Imagining how happy and perfect we’d be together. My thoughts slipped away to the past, the night we returned from Sophie’s Valentine’s Day party. The kiss. The bittersweet feeling of Freddie’s lips on mine. The pandemonium that galloped in my stomach and head. The feeling of his hard chest pressed against mine. Was it Freddie all along? The one I had been searching for. My missing link. My soulmate. I loved him, but I thought I loved Michael, too.
A chorus of confusion pounded my thoughts. I tried to shake the sounds from my mind, but they remained noticeably present. I missed Freddie and my mother, and suddenly felt abandoned by the one I imagined I loved. My premonitions were right. Michael left me, just as my father had, and now I was on my own; left with feelings of resentment and fear that my visions of having Luca’s baby would come true. And if by fate I’d be cursed to carry the child of the beast, I’d have to think of a plan to escape; save my child’s soul and start over somewhere remote, and where we’ll never be found . . . Tabula Rasa, a voice faded into the breeze.
A sharp pain sliced through my stomach. Prophetic visions of my pregnancy darted through my mind, allowing me a glimpse into what lay ahead.
“Please be good,” I whispered to the life that grew inside me.
“We can be so happy together,” I confided to it.
A strong kick to my left side made me flinch. I sat up rubbing the pain. Yet again, the baby pushed at my stomach, forming a perfect shape of its tiny foot. My heart pounded, knowing the feeling was wrong. I should loathe Luca’s spawn. Yet, I couldn’t. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to hate it. I crouched at the edge of the lake, feeling the water with the tips of my fingers and toes. Bluegills and minnows swam in schools as I stirred the cool waters with my fingers. The pools of silvery fish encircled my hand, going around in an unusual ritual. The lake turned eerie as Michael and Samantha appeared before my eyes, both luring me—one into the light, the other in darkness. ‘Vos mos diligo tantum mihi’, a small voice chanted as an unnatural urge to reach into the water and snap up a fish, quaked violently in the depths of my stomach. A bluegill slithered and flapped wildly in my hand as I burrowed my nails into its slimy flesh and hungrily tore its head off with my bare teeth.
I stared at my reflection in wide-eyed horror as the vision faded. This couldn’t be true. How would I allow myself to love this child? It was Luca’s creation. The end of all that was good.
In a state of confusion, the salty taste of fish permeated my mouth. I spat out, gagging from the vile taste, wiping what appeared to be blood from my lips with the back of my hand. In utter shock, my conduct became unexplainable, ignorant to what was happening. My belly walloped as if something had suddenly taken residency inside it. This was all a trick my mind was playing on me. Freddie said there’d be more visions. Premonitions of what would happen if Luca ever found me. I would not give in. I gripped my stomach and cried, “Stop it! I will not allow you to do this to me!” I shouted toward the silhouette of the mountain peaks, which echoed my desperate pleas through its valley . . . Stop it . . . stop it . . . don’t do this to me . . . to me . . . to me . . . Again, the tiny voice insisted I listen, Vos mos diligo tantum mihi, it demanded. “How could I ever love you? You’re the child of darkness,” My voice trembled back, as I gripped my head trying to release the voice that taunted me.
If God allowed Luca, the son of the diabolical tempter to orchestrate bad things on me, then I believed he had an ultimate purpose for me. I promised never to lose faith or give up hope. Never!
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth? Dear child, where are you?” a bold voice called out from the path that led back to the mansion. I quickly washed my blood stained lips.
“Yes Deborah, over here.”
“Oh there you are,” she gasped out of breath, waiting a moment to regain composure. “Mr. Freddie is back and he’s brought someone with him.”
Angels are inseparable friends, who bring strength and consolation to those who include them in their lives. In truth, angels are our best friends.
~ Janice T. Connell
I stood paralyzed at first. My feet weighed heavy on the soggy grass. I wanted to run back to the house, but was too scared, wondering who had returned with Freddie. Beads of sweat trickled down my face. I grabbed my journal and slowly took one step forward, then another, and another until I was running—running so fast I thought my body almost levitated off the ground.
“Elizabeth, do not run; you are still too weak!” Deborah hollered behind me.
I didn’t listen. I continued sprinting through the trees, taking the same path back that resembled a waterfall, which held Neptune erected in its hub. I reached the croquet lawn and raced up the steps onto the terrace. Inside the double doors, the oak and rosewood paneled entry gave way to an ornate butterfly staircase. Poised on one side of the stairs was my best friend, more striking than ever, Freddie. Across from him was a face I had never seen before; one that was so beautiful and mysterious it could knock the wind out of you. She seemed familiar. I recognized something about her, perhaps her eyes. Her chocolate hair fell straight against her back. Her long legs and slender body made her a splendid vision. Her graceful stance imitated one of a prima ballerina.
Freddie continued watching me gaze at the new face. In a motionless triangle, we remained still and quiet.
“You can’t stand here all evening. Go into the dining room, dinner is waiting,” Deborah bellowed from the doorway, still puffing for air.
Without uttering a word, I stiffly turned on my heels and walked toward the dining area, disappointed that it wasn’t Michael with Freddie. Instead, this evening I was welcoming Freddie’s latest fling. I fumed, feeling the anger steadily growing in my chest. Freddie and his new female friend walked silently behind me. I sat down at the long table set for three. Warm washcloths scented with fresh mint were neatly folded beside our plates. I quickly cleansed my hands with the warm towel as Freddie and his friend followed suit.
The clear broth smelled heavenly as I stirred it with my spoon. Still feeling somewhat queasy from the earlier events, I quickly blessed my food and lifted the utensil. I cleared my throat, eyeing him carefully, slurping on my soup hoping to catch his attention. The young gir
l who sat across from me kept her eyes down, never making eye contact with either of us.
Freddie looked up at me with a wide grin on his face. He emulated the slurping sound followed by a long, “ahhhh.”
I cinched my eyes and tightened my lip, attempting to threaten him with my stare, but instead he burst into hysterics.
“What’s so funny?” I hissed, clenching my teeth.
He sat back in his chair, continuing to laugh like a child.
“I’m sorry Bethy, but what’s with all the facial expressions?” he chuckled, covering his mouth to stifle his laughter. “Sorry, but I can’t help myself.” He continued laughing.
I set my spoon down, sat back in my seat and waited for him to show some self-control, reminiscent of his juvenile behavior in the past. Although Freddie was now a warrior, his actions were still of a dumb-ass high school boy.
“Are you done?” I growled as my patience flared.
“Yes, I am, sorry,” he snorted, raising his hands in defeat.
Inconspicuously, I flickered a glance toward the girl and signaled to Freddie to make an introduction. He too, looked at her and straightened his posture, finally composing himself.
“Beth, I’d like you to meet . . .” He paused, struggling to keep his laughter contained, while I patiently waited.
“This is Kali . . . Kali Morgan,” he quickly murmured under his breath.
Twitching, not sure if I heard him correctly, I asked, “I’m sorry, what did he say your name is?”
Her soft voice replied, “Kali Morgan.”
My eyes jerked up in shock at Freddie. “Is this some sort of sick joke, Freddie, because it’s not very amusing!”
His face turned serious. “Beth, no, no joke. Kali’s your—family.”
The tightness in my chest became so constricting, I began hyperventilating. The idea of having a family I never knew about was more than my heart could handle.