I continued to thumb through the remaining letters, pulling out the last of my medical school responses. I bit my lower lip, not knowing if I should open it right then. I didn’t want Izzy or my mother to know about it, so I slid it into my purse.
Mother’s hands trembled as she popped off the lid of the long tube, drawing out an aged piece of parchment, tattered and frayed at its delicate edges, rolled up like an ancient scroll.
“What is it, mother?” I asked, watching her usually rosy face turn a pallid color.
“Hey! Your Royal Highness,” barked Izzy, “are there any brews left in the fridge? We could use a cold one!”
“Not now, Izzy!” I yelled back.
Mother backed away from the counter, trembling, accidentally knocking her water glass onto the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces, mumbling to herself, “new moon, not yet…”
“I got it!” hollered Izzy, rising out of the chair, making her way to the kitchen. “I’ll get it myself.”
Mother cleared her throat, gazing at me lovingly, and then starred at Izzy. “Girls, I’m afraid…”
“What? We’re out of beer?”
“Izzy, you’re eighteen. You’re not allowed to drink!” I informed her again.
“Who said it was for me?” she smirked, swinging the refrigerator door open, snatching out a tin can. “It’s for Pops!”
“One of you must go!” announced mother, as sweat began to bead over her brow.
“Go?” asked Izzy.
“Go where, mother?”
“I never thought this day would come. It’s your Gran. One of you must go to her, help her.” Mother took in a deep breath, clenching her pellet gun to her side, her knuckles blanching at their seams. “With her duties.”
Before I knew it World War III erupted between Izzy and me. Words like, not me, why can’t you, you always get away with bloody murder, hell no.
The argument escalated.
Izzy wasn’t backing down, and neither was I.
I had clearly stated that with my upcoming nuptials and entering medical school, there was no way I could help her, nevertheless travel to some foreign country 3,000 miles away.
Izzy retaliated stating I was nothing more than a self absorbed nit-wit. She cracked open another beer, spraying foamy lager into my face, chugging it down in one long gulp, using the back of her hand to wipe the suds off her mouth, and then burping loudly into my face, its aroma saturated by an intense odor of Doritos.
“You’re the oldest,” she argued, stabbing a finger at me, “you go!”
“I just said I’m getting married and going to medical school! I can’t go!”
“Really? Someone actually accepted your lame..?”
“Izzy!” mother roared, cutting her off just in time before using a forbidden word.
My blood began to boil. Of course, I was getting into medical school. I had a 4.0 all through college and scored a perfect score of 45 on the MCAT. She wasn’t getting off that easy, not with all her nonsense!
“Izzy should go!” I exclaimed. “She’s got no job!” I watched Izzy back away, her cold eyes twitching at me. “She has no future; she’s just slutting through life anyway, waiting to die.”
Izzy’s mouth was agape, hanging open like a giant ‘O,’ not knowing how to counter attack my cruel words. She plastered a sardonic smile on her face.
Standing in front of me, her fingers fumbled into her robe’s pocket, whirling her hand around inside the terry cloth, searching for something, and then plucking out a pack of cigarettes. With the fleshy part of her palm, Izzy lightly tapped the pack once, a slender white straw popping out of its top, gingerly, plucking it out with two fingers, inserting it into her mouth, a crooked smile crawling across her face like the Cheshire cat. “What do they say?” she remarked, the cigarette sticking to her wet lower lip, her thumb striking a silver lighter, and then torching the tip of her cigarette. “You’re the heir, I’m the spare?”
“Izzy!” screamed mother, pointing toward the front door. “Not in my house!”
Izzy yanked open the front door, the cigarette still dangling from her red lips.
Whirling around, she leaned against the wooden door frame to face us. “You know what they say?” She took a deep long drag on her death stick, expelling ashy puffs of smoke back into the house. “Good girls go to heaven,” she said, winking at me, “but the bad girls go everywhere!”
Mother bulldozed across the room, her hands firmly gripping her pellet gun, ripping the pack of cigarettes from Izzy’s hand, and then strategically tossing it to me sideways. I snatched the sling-shot off the coffee table, realizing how amazing this will be as I marched past Izzy, grinning insolently, and outside into the warm spring day.
Mother cocked her head to the side, croaking out of the side of her mouth, “Pull!”
Izzy lurched toward me as I quickly secured her Holy pack of cigarettes into a thick rubber band, stretching it back with two fingers, and shot it high into the clear sky.
Mother steadied her long pellet gun, a twisted grin curling across her pockmarked face, her index finger itching on the trigger. As she released the safety, her eyes steadied on the moving object still skyrocketing through the air. Once mother locked onto the target, she pulled the trigger, her body jolting back a few inches while a lead pellet fired into the sky, splicing through the pack of cigarettes, bursting it into a thousand pieces, its remnants floating down to the ground like tiny brown feathers.
“Got it!” roared mother, pinching the cleft on my chin. “That’s me girl!”
“Nice shot, Mrs. MacAlpin,” said a deep voice from behind.
Vyx swaggered up the driveway, a burly, tattooed Neanderthal who happened to be Izzy’s boyfriend. He was pierced from head to toe, a sharp mini dagger sliced through his lower lip, a silver ring hooking out of his eyebrow, his hideous head covered in swirling black ink while a furry black mohawk covered the rest of his skull’s tattoos. His massive body broke through the tobacco confetti still falling from the sky.
Izzy’s tossed her cigarette to the side and her hands clamped down onto mother’s and my forearms, jerking us back into the house, slamming the door shut, and dead bolting it closed.
Vyx banged his fist on the door. “Izzy, I know you’re in there!” he said in raspy Scottish brogue.
Izzy stiffened, leaning her back against the door, barricading her body against it, raising her index finger vertically to her lip, shushing us to be quiet.
“It’s a bit too late for that,” I said, mounting my fists on my hips.
“I know you’re in there, Izzy!” Vyx hollered from the other side of the door.
“Go away, Vyx!” Izzy seethed.
“I know what you’re thinking!”
“Oh, you mean… for you to drop dead?”
“Listen, to me… She’s just an old friend,” he argued.
Mother pursed her hairy lips. “I told you that guy was nothin’ but trouble, Izzy!” She jabbed her dirty finger into Izzy’s shoulder. “Someone who has more paint on him then the Louvre museum isn't right in the head.”
“Mahh,” whined Izzy, her blue eyes bulged.
“I brought you some chocolates,” whimpered Vyx, hoping to woo her out from behind the door, “you know your favorite ones, lass.”
Now that word chocolate that definitely caught my attention. “Oh, the hazelnut ones?” I said, bolting toward the window, pulling back the lace curtains, trying to sneak a peek, “with the gold wrapper?”
“Bribing me now with sweets?” Izzy said stiffly, blowing a few wisps of her black raven hair out of her face.
“If that’s what it takes,” Vyx cleared his throat, and then whispered in a syrupy sweet voice, “my love.”
Mother rolled her eyes.
Izzy shook her head. “Why not some flowers?” she argued.
“Because...”
“Why?” demanded Izzy, lapsing into a silent giggle, and then changing over to a more discerning voice, crossing her arm
s, and stomping down one of her fluffy purple slippers. “Why don’t you bring me some flowers, Vyx?”
“Because,” roared Vyx from behind the thick door, “I know you don’t want any damn flowers! That’s why!”
“Maybe, I do?” hummed Izzy, examining her newly manicured black fingernails.
I could hear Vyx breathing heavily from the other side of the door, inhaling in and out, huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf, wanting to blow our house down.
“Come on, honey bear,” he chided sweetly, “let me in. Don’t you know…” He paused, hesitating for a moment, and then blurted out his last cheesy line. “I love you?”
Izzy whirled around, facing the door, her fingers slowly sliding the deadbolt back, her other hand clicking the doorknob open.
Mother’s disfigured hand extended out, clenching Izzy shoulder, squeezing it tightly. “He’s lying to you.”
Izzy gazed over her shoulder, and then defiantly heaved the door open.
Vyx’s broad shoulders blocked the sunlight from entering the house, casting a shadow on all our faces.
Mother raised her air rifle, her eye peering down the rib of its grey barrel, sighting her close range target, Vyx, just in case.
Vyx’s black eyes leveled on Izzy, a faintly mocking smile creeping on his scarred face, leaning his left elbow onto the door frame. “I knew you’d come around, honey bear.”
Izzy’s nostrils flared. “Honey bear is leaving town!” she declared, her knee raising up high, her fuzzy slipper rearing back, kicking the tip of her shoe toward Vyx’s package, and crashing it into his genitals.
Vyx buckled over, his face turning a strange shade of purple and red, he collapsed down to his knees, wheezing in a few sharp breaths.
“Go find yourself another child to corrupt!”
Vyx crumpled to the ground, covering his groin, moaning and cringing in pain. His muscular arm lurched out, hanging mid-reach in the air, wanting to strangle, Izzy.
“Go on!” cried mother, aiming her air rifle into Vyx’s face. “Or do you want me to make you dance in the tobacco rain?”
“Izzy,” Vyx said gasping for breath.
Izzy stuck her big fat tongue out at Vyx. “If I liked you,” she said with the attitude of a Diva and the neck roll to go along with it. “I would’ve punched you in the face!” And then in one quick motion, she flung the door shut in his face.
“That’s enough horsing around, Izzy,” scolded mother, prodding her finger into Izzy’s shoulder again. “Time for you to pack!” Mother crossed the room, snatching up the ancient scroll and dumping it in Izzy’s hand. “You just won yourself a one-way ticket to Scotland. Let’s see you if you can prove yourself worthy of the MacAlpin name!” Mother tilted her head to the side, with a sarcastic smile. “Now, we’ll see if this bad girl really can go everywhere!”
Chapter 2
♦♦♦
Izzy
I punched my fist two times into my sterile white pillow, hard, trying to make it mold to my head. It was just a big waste of time, wiggling the back of my head into its spongy foam, my three dreadlocks always got in the way, jabbing at me, scratching against my right ear.
Sometimes I wondered why I kept them, and then I remind myself that they really pissed Anabel off and then somehow they didn’t bother me as much. I let out an exasperated breath, surrendering to the pain, blinking, and then mindlessly staring at the brown stained ceiling tile in my room.
Anabel was the perfect girl, in every way. Her skin was porcelain, not a freckle or blemish ever appeared on it. You’d think she was some sort of china doll. Personally, I thought she was bit of a freak that way. Who the heck is always perfect? I scoffed. Me on the other hand, well I have more tattoos than a Hell’s Angel. All of them hidden away, except for the black widow spider inked onto my neck, crawling on her web, which is there for all to see.
I rolled onto my belly, blinking into the metal head board I had made from an old Harley Davidson’s frame. I liked the fact that it doubled as a mirror. I guess I wasn’t that offensive looking. I had crystal blue eyes, rimmed with some seriously cool ultra-violet eye shadow that was a lot hipper than Anabel’s sappy emerald eyes.
“Ugh,” I said aloud, starring into my distorted reflection, noticing my black eyebrows needed some serious tweezing, “gross!”
I flipped back onto my back, flinging my arms out wide, bouncing a few times on my chunky mattress.
I just wanted to get far, far away from here, from all this crap!
My whole life I lived like a troll in the basement, living like an unwanted child, hidden in my subterranean cave, living in a different world from my control freak of a sister. Anabel always got her way. I huffed. I don’t know why I even bother to fight with her, might as well tattoo sucker across my forehead.
I threw my hands behind my head, cradling my skull, scratching my mangled hairdo, feeling like there might be something living inside my big mop of raven hair. I let out a loud sigh, all these years of living, never being wanted, never being appreciated, never being worthy of the name, MacAlpin!
“Screw them,” I sneered, rolling my body to the side, picking up the old parchment from my nightstand, studying its strange rune symbols. “Scotland will be my chance, my chance to change it all.”
I leapt to my feet, pressing play on my iTunes and rocking to Lady Gaga’s “Poker face.” I curled my fingers into a tight fist, pounding my hands in quick succession into my sand filled punching bag in the corner of my room, its weight swaying to the side after each strike, slowly relieving my body of all its stress. I did a final roundhouse kick into the bag, swinging my leg around in a semicircular motion, slamming the front of my foot into it, jostling the sturdy bag on its chains.
I wiped away the beads of sweat from my brow as I yanked out my old green duffel bag from the back of my overly stuffed closet, tossing it onto my bed, and shoving everything I could get my hands on into it for my trip to the Motherland.
Yup, I tossed in everything that was black, which is pretty much everything I owned: black undies, bra, stretchy pants, T-shirts, gotta love those platform boots, tights, socks, belts.
I paused for a moment, studying the extra pair of long black gloves clenched in my hand. “What a great day it’ll be when I finally get rid of you!” I said, hurling them into my bag on top of a couple comic books.
Boom! Boom!
Great, someone was pounding on the backdoor.
“Yeah?” I called out.
I heard a man hacking up thick ball of phlegm, spitting it out onto the concrete steps outside. “I brought you some flowers, honey bear,” Vyx groveled.
I was flabbergasted.
Vyx was definitely not the type of guy to beg, especially to me of all people. Vyx was as hard as nails. He’d make a Hell’s Angel cry if they crossed paths. Why was he sucking up to me now?
I hesitated. What was he up to?
I pressed my ear to the door to listen.
“The red ones,” Vyx said sweetly.
I scratched my head. Should I say something?
“Blood red,” he whispered.
I was still furious at him. He was mumbling in his sleep one night, about a beautiful woman, he kept rambling, my love, my love…. It was pretty darn pathetic as he literally worshiped this woman he called “my love.” He definitely never called me “my love.” I knew he was up to no good.
I could hear him inhale through his nose, like he was trying to stay in control.
“Come on, Iz, open the damn door!” he wailed, pounding his fist against it.
“No!” I snapped.
Vyx went silent for awhile. I could hear his mind thinking; maybe it was from all the steroids he was on. And then it sounded like something rustling outside. I peered down at my feet, noticing a slender white cigarette poking out from underneath my back door.
I bit my lip, and stared down at that white tobacco stick. I had to give it to the man, he knew my sweet spot. Mom and Anabel just destroyed my la
st pack of cigarettes. I snagged the ciggy from the floor, rolling it gingerly between my two fingers, and then slid it under my nose, inhaling all of its sinful qualities.
My hand cradled the doorknob, cracking it open, nudging my nose through the gap to discover Vyx kneeling on his burly knees.
I swung the door open, a mischievous smile planted on my lips, popping the ciggy between my lips.
Vyx climbed back onto his feet, hesitating, not knowing if I was going to kiss him or smash the family jewels twice in one night.
I jumped into the air, straddling my legs around his waist, while Vyx happily lit my ciggy.
“You know,” Vyx said in a scratchy voice, splaying his thick fingers across my butt, “those will kill you.”
“Good, I wanna die,” I admitted as he carried me into my bedroom, tossing me down onto my lumpy bed. “What do the Scots say again?”
“Shyte,” he said devilishly, his gaze scanning the room for something.
“Yeah, I just want to get away from all this Shyte,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh, sucking on my cigarette.
Vyx flopped down onto my bed, a sinister look carved into his dopey face, his fat fingers snatched up the yellow stained parchment off my nightstand, analyzing it like it was some mystical treasure. “What’s this?” he asked.
My eyes glanced down to an ivory knife, peeking out of Vyx’s Timberland boots.
“More like… what’s this?” I said teasingly, unsheathing the dagger from a small pocket nestled inside his boot. My eyes studied the exquisitely carved blade, somewhere I had heard that it was made from a human’s bone. I shivered inside. My eyes darted back at Vyx. Seriously, I wouldn’t put it past him.
Vyx kicked his chunky boots up onto my nightstand. His nose was buried in the MacAlpin’s scroll. “Just an old blade,” he said dismissively, waving his hand at me like I was an annoying fly, to be swatted away, “I had lying around.”
“Nice.”
“This parchment’s real old,” Vyx said, rubbing it between his calloused fingertips, his body tensing as he touched it.
I raised my brow. No surprise there, Vyx. It’s old, I get it.
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