Descendant

by LJ Amodeo

  Luca soared through the giant trees, seizing my waist tightly against his decayed body. I no longer felt the pain of my broken ribs. Instead, I began feeling numb and eerily icy. I let Michael down. I let my father down. Most of all, I let God down.

  I wanted just a small moment to tell Michael not to feel guilty, not to blame himself. I knew I would never get the chance to tell him myself, for I would be dead before he got to me. In whatever strength I had left in my pathetic body, I tried to force his grip from my torso. He laughed heinously at my feeble attempt.

  A rumble of anger ejected from his profane core as a choir of beastly voices bawled at me in tongues. “Your precious prince, will watch as I plant my seed. The one thing you’ll have that belongs to me, the Key will be the sole reason I spare your pathetic life, for now, mia

  PRINCIPESSA. Then I will take you apart, limb by limb and tear out your heart, but not until I take what is rightfully mine.” His diabolical voices roared through the blackened sky.

  Luca reached the peak of a mountain and slammed my broken body to the ground. “It’s a pity to waste such a beautiful face and profitable womb.” he sneered as he straddled me and pushed his repulsive body onto my weak one. Fighting against his powerful thrusts, a sharp, piercing pain penetrated through my thighs, while a fury raged inside my body. I knew he plan to plant his vile seed in me could no longer be foiled. It was my destiny, written in the scriptures. I was to be the chosen one for his conception. The mother of his son; The Dark Prince of Hell. I stopped fighting the savage that possessed my limp torso. Slowly, my lifeless body lingered into his dark world, weakened by the gloom of the iniquitous realm.

  Instantaneously, a crushing force slammed into us, hurling Luca off my body hard onto the ground and throwing my wane body rapidly into the trunk of an ancient spruce. The snap of a broken bone in my arm echoed among the chaotic wails of warriors. Through hazy eyes, a faceless savior scooped me up in one swift motion and laid me down under a small tree. I recognized its piquant cinnamon aroma, the Amazing Grace. His familiar voice spoke swiftly, “Stay here Beth and don’t make a sound. You will be safe, my friend.” In a blink of an eye, he was off to battle again. I tried to look past the barrier of the Kasura tree, at the face of this nameless angel. For a moment, I considered it to be only one, but I knew for certain, it wasn’t Michael.

  Again, I peeked out from under the tree and it was Luca who now received the worst of the blows from the winged warriors. His spawn erratically struck from every direction to protect their Progeny, their creator. To their defeat, Luca’s agonizing shrieks trembled throughout the dark clouds, forcing them to collide with deafening crashes above our heads. My protectors cut through the demons, ripping them apart with their sacred blades, sending them scrambling back to their black abyss, seizing the moment to hold up their defeated bodies in victorious celebration. Michael and his two soldiers now circled around Luca in what looked like a choreographed waltz minuet. In swift graceful motions, the trio slashed at the son of Satan, limb by limb.

  The vision was too painful to watch. I laid my head on the soil and closed my eyes. The broken bones in my body left me limp and helpless. The excruciating jolts in my belly left me unconscious.

  ~

  The humming winds on a frigid autumn day stirred me when I woke up in a wheelchair by an partially opened window. A gentleman in a gray suit sat in the chair in front of me. I didn’t recognize this room and wasn’t sure if I recognized him. I was confused. The forty-something year old man stared at me with a curious smirk on his face, as my eyes settled on him. There were others in the room too, some staring at a fuzzy TV screen, while others, sitting in chairs rocked back and forth. One elderly woman insisted she was Anne of Cleaves, and was once married to King Henry VIII. Large-bodied men in white uniforms positioned themselves strategically around the large colorless room.

  “Did you enjoy your nap, Elizabeth?” The aloof gentleman snickered.

  I looked down at my arm, wrapped in a cast and my legs marked with purple-bluish bruises. I rubbed the chalky wrapping around my forearm, searching the room for signs of Michael. I feared the worst may have occurred in the forest.

  “Michael. Where’s Michael?” I muttered as I came to. A sudden panic flooded my stomach.

  “Michael? You mean the Archangel? Oh he’s doing just fine.” He smirked at me, again. “Here, take these.” He said coldly, handing me a handful of pills and a glass of water. “Swallow.” He demanded. I obeyed. Well, not entirely.

  “Now, tell me again, who you are. Hold the nonsense about being the princess to some secret cult that has no name,” he yawned. I remained astounded by his words.What have I said to him? I didn’t remember ever speaking to him about Michael or our secret.

  “Where am I?” I murmured looking around the room.

  “Let’s get something straight, around here, I’m the one asking the questions.” He gritted leaning forward toward me. I flinched. “But, if you must know, this is your new home Elizabeth. Welcome to Letchworth Village.” He tapped his pen arrogantly on the writing pad.

  “Letchworth? Isn’t that—” Instantly, I was aware of what was happening, of where I was and especially of what he was doing.

  “You think I’m crazy, Seth? I’m not. And you know I’m not! Where’s my mom. She’ll tell you that I . . . I shouldn’t be here. There has to be a mistake!” I urged him.

  I tried to move, but the stinging in my ribs was excruciating, keeping me confined to the wheel chair.

  “I know, I know. That’s what they all say.” He said, pointing his pen toward the other patients around the room. “Elizabeth, I’m afraid your mother is the one who delivered you to me. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to handle your depression, nightmares and outrages claims any longer. You were becoming a threat to her and to yourself. You left her no choice.” He paused for a brief moment staring at my broken arm.

  “Look, tell me about what you see and the voices you hear. What do they say to you?” he moved closer to me again, squinting his beady eyes at me.

  “I don’t hear anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lied.

  “I see. Until you are honest about the other world that you’ve encountered, then one you’ve been so generously exposing in your nightmares, then we don’t have anything further to discuss.” His monotone voice sneered at me.

  “I’m not crazy. I can prove it. I remember everything about myself. My name, where I’m from. My mother’s name, my father Philip. He died a year ago. I . . . I suffered an aneurysm, had a surgery and survived. I graduated from Houghton Academy with a music scholarship to the University of Rochester and...” I stopped speaking, realizing the creepy doctor hadn’t listened to a word I said.

  “Are you even listening to me?” I scowled at him.

  “I’ve heard enough, Elizabeth, and by the way, I’d hate to burst your bubble, but you never made Rochester’s registration deadline. Classes have been in session for over a month already. Sorry.” He smirked. “Besides, as Chief of Psychiatry, I felt it was my obligation to let

  the university knows about your delicate state of mind. They have policies against accepting people like you.” He laughed wickedly.

  “People like me? How could you!” I trembled in hysterics. He was the crazy one. Not me. I knew I had registered to the university. I wrote it in my journal. He was a liar! What I had experienced with Michael and the Trinity was not in my mind. But how would I ever be able to explain myself. And why would my mother admit me? If she knew about my gift, like my father said she did, then why would she betray me. Again, I whispered, “It’s not true,” I cried, as a fresh wave of tears slid down my cheeks.

  “Perhaps, but I must admit, it was the perfect setup. Your vivid imagination about adventures to medieval castles, where a secret society awaits your return as their princess, made you certifiable. I’ve heard your cries to Michael, the Archangel and your mention of the devil’s child. But what really intrigued me the most beside
a journal you spoke of, was the key,” he growled viciously. “Do you know where thiskeymight be?” He squeezed my broken arm. I forced my eyes shut fighting against the excruciating pain he delivered. Dr. Bates hadn’t noticed the robust staff workers watching him from their posts. But as my eyes darted toward them in an attempt to cry for help, he quickly let go and straightened his posture. “Elizabeth, how much of it do you believe yourself? Think about your claims and how it sounds to a sane person.” Seth looked around the room, making certain that no one was in earshot of us. He leaned over, almost touching his nose to mine and hissed, “I don’t know who else you blabbed your mouth to about this, but I will see to it, that no one will ever believe you.” He sat back and smiled gratifyingly.

  He looked at his watch. “Your time’s up,” he said, standing up placing his pen in his jacket pocket. “We’ll continue our session on Monday. I expect you to talk! Your mother’s been insisting that I decrease your meds. I wouldn’t hold my breath, though. It doesn’t look too promising for a schizophrenic, like you. Besides, there’s no other way to keep your mouth shut, but to keep you sedated! I’d hate to disappoint mommy dearest, although her nagging is starting to really irritate me.”

  “Please!” I grabbed his arm. “I need to speak with her?” I stammered. Seth vehemently clutched my fingers, forcefully prying them off his forearm.

  “She stops in, but only when we have plans to meet for dinner!” Without looking back, Seth walked out, locking the door behind him.

  Desperation got the best of me. A nurse wheeled me into a small room with a single cot and an old beaten up nightstand. A window with steel bars looked out to a barren garden, and the outline of a murky lake. The view from the room was eerie and dreadful, compared to the view I once admired from my bedroom window. A tattered bible was on the wooden table. I stroked the sacred manuscript, calling to St. Michael to hear my silent prayers, as I cried for him.

  Michael, Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil....

  Empty laughter and bitter sobs of the lonely minds filled the corridors echoing through the long, dreadful nights. I wept quietly beneath the comfort of the thin, abrasive blanket, my bible and a prayer:

  The Lord is my light and my salvation whom shall I fear?

  The Lord is the stronghold of my life of whom shall I be afraid?

  When evil men advance against me to devour my flesh,

  when my enemies and my foes attack me,

  they will stumble and fall.

  Though an army besieges me, my heart will not fear;

  though war break out against me, even then will I be confident.

  --- Psalms 27: 1-3

  It was the morning of Thanksgiving. The nauseating aroma of turkey stuffing reeked out of the institution’s main kitchen. Decorations hung aimlessly on the cafeteria walls. Visitors and family members flooded the banquet room. My mom stood talking to Seth at the far end of the room. Her beautiful smile reminded me of better days at home.

  My therapeutic sessions with Barbara, my case worker, helped me cope with my circumstances. I never accepted that I was crazy, only gifted like my grandmother convinced me I was. However, it was crucial I played the role of the recovering schizophrenic or I would inevitably become insane myself. I had no choice. I did whatever it took to make Seth believe I was getting better. Everything except pollute my blood stream with his pills. I’d make sure he’d see me take them, but managed to hide them beneath my tongue until I was clear to spit them out. I was careful not to slip or repeat any stories about Michael, Sam, Luca, or the Trinity. I never again mentioned my journal in any of our sessions. Something he seemed desperate to get his grimy fingers on. I had to do everything humanely possible to get out of this place. I was under Seth’s scrutiny. Yet, I could tell by my mother’s elated expression on this festive day that I was convincible enough to be going home soon.

  She hurried over to hug me cautiously.

  “Elizabeth, Seth told me how nicely you are doing. He mentioned how proud he is of your small steps toward recovery. I’m sure in no time you will be able to come home and perhaps spend the holidays with us. Of course, Seth said it will be temporary, just short visits for now......until you can prove that you are fully recovered. He worries you may hurt yourself again.” She stuttered, as she touched my healing arm and snapped a quick, nervous glance at the doctor who stood several feet away, watching us. I had to simmer the anger that boiled in my core.Hurt myself? Is that the story this bastard told her....that I was suicidal?

  I forced myself to smile, falsely reassuring her that I understood. “I am looking forward to spending some time at home, even if it is temporary.” I needed to ask her something and hoped she would be able to answer me. “Mom, have you heard from Freddie?” my eyes fought back tears.

  “Yes,” she smiled sincerely, stroking my face. “Freddie is back in Caneadea. He’s been asking for you. I see him at church. He’s worried about you, Bethy,” she said sweetly. Her lip quivered as she gave, yet another weary look at Seth, who was now occupied filling out routine medical forms. For the first time in a long time, my heart pounded, in a good way, knowing that Freddie was home and well.

  We ate our Thanksgiving meal together, Mom, Seth and I. I hardly ate or spoke, unless spoken to. Mom and Seth reminisced about their trips to Lake Erie, Colorado and Vancouver. They chatted casually about their dinner parties and outings with friends and colleagues at Seth’s remarkable chalet. I had no interest in their stories, but pretended to be listening anyway, nodding every so often and laughing when it deemed necessary. My mind instead, replayed the

  visions of me and Michael, his lips kissing mine and his hands stroking skin. The smile on my face suggested to Mom and her friend that I was enjoying their stories.

  Seth often looked at me hoping to pry into my personal thoughts. Luckily for me, he wasn’t the only award winning actor in the room. He wasn’t able to penetrate through my well-rehearsed façade.

  “Perhaps one day you can join us on a vacation. Wouldn’t you like that, Elizabeth?” he asked with a sinister inflection in his voice. Mom looked on with a blank stare in her eyes. Something wasn’t right.

  “That would be great.” I smiled back.

  I excused myself from their presence with the pretenses of being fatigued. I kissed my mother on her cheek and went to my room. I tore a blank page from the back of my bible and wrote a little note to Freddie:

  Freddie,

  I am so happy to hear that you’ve returned home. I miss you so much and would love to see you. Please, come visit me when you have time.

  Your friend,

  Bethy

  I folded the paper and I returned to the cafeteria. Mom was putting on her coat when I called out to her. “Mom, before you go, would you mind giving this to Freddie? You can read it . . . if you’d like. It’s no big secret. Here!” I said, handing her the folded paper. She looked down at the creased sheet and then hesitantly over at Seth. He eyed the squared sheet suspiciously squinting his spying eyes at me.

  “Go ahead, you can both read it. I miss him, that’s all.” I turned away slowly walking back to my room. I could hear the crumpling of the paper unfolding behind me as I walked through the secured doors with a satisfied grin on my face.

  Most evenings, after my session with either Seth or Barbara, I retreated to my room and prayed for my angel to come for me. Time passed slowly. The naked trees outside my window had a light frost coating on their barren limbs. A bare Christmas tree and a Menorah decorated the dining hall. Soft jingles hummed through the speakers hidden in the ceilings as I waited patiently for a visitor to come. Any visitor.

  I was truly starting to lose my mind in this place. The solitude and constant reminders of the lunacy around me were becoming a nag and a burden. I fought beastly urges to lash out at the psychiatrist whose constant presence riled my core, but it was vital I kept calm. Seth continued to tell me how I was making small progress. However, he relentlessly pressed for
information about a certain book he thought was a journal. But, I knew he referred to a manuscript protected by the Trinity for centuries. The same book perched in the hands of the head council in the cave before Michael left for the big battle. I always knew he was after something. Something he’ll never get his hands on. Not as long as I was alive. I did not gave him any reason to suspect that I had been in the presence of this very book he so desperately searched for. With my small strides toward recovery, I found the opportunity to finally ask him, “Do you think it would be possible to spend the holidays at home?” I tried to sound pleasant. However, the rage of deceit continued to boil inside me.

  Seth cocked his head with a small curl forming in the corner of his thin lips. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” he stated despairingly. I remained calm.

  “Yes, I think it would be good for me to spend some time at home with my Mom and perhaps, get to know you outside of this place.” I smiled sweetly, continuing to mask my hatred for the swine.

  I knew I was annoying him when his beady eyes squinted to barely a slit and his nostrils flared noticeably. It pleased me to know I was getting under his skin.

  “I think I may be able to arrange a visit home for one day.” He spoke quickly, through gritted teeth.

  The sound of unbolting locks made us both look toward the doors. A man, no a boy my age strode into the room. His broad shoulders and vibrant eyes caught my attention immediately. For a quick second, I wondered who he was, when suddenly I leapt off my seat and ran toward him. “Freddie!” I hugged him tightly. He was much taller and more masculine than the boy who came to say goodbye months earlier. His hair was a bit longer too, not as spiky. I held him tightly. He smelled real good, like I always remembered.

  “Help me,” I whispered in his ear.

  I let go to look at him again. I couldn’t believe how much he had changed in such a short time. I grabbed hold of his hand and led him to where Seth waited patiently for an introduction. I squeezed his hand. “Freddie, this is Dr. Seth Bates. He’s my mother’s friend.” I winked at Freddie pretending to be playful about the doctor’s relationship with my Mom.