She Laughs Last

by J Nell Brown

  Chapter 6

  6—Nomed

  Five Cosmic Revolutions

  Immortals—Time without End

  One black wing, tipped with metal hooks, pops through, followed by the other, as Nomed pushes himself into the unseen world—his rightful dimension—while wearing a smile bigger than the false grin of a human clown. He catches up to Yahweh’s warrior, Legna. “I’d like to introduce you to my understudy.”

  A grotesque humpbacked creature with five legs and cyanotic purplish skin infected with oozing green pustules lumbers toward the two warriors “Her name is Aglaope. The humans call her depression. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Why is she here?”

  “To visit the girl, your Orphan Dreamer.”

  “You’ll never kill her.”

  “Don’t intend to. Once depression finishes with Rose, she’ll kill herself—then her dreams will perish, slaughtering everyone inside of them, including the Orphan.”

  “Aglaope’s resume isn’t flawless.”

  “You’re forgetting the power of the inquisitor. If he convinces Rose’s mother to doubt her child’s sanity, could the Orphan Dreamer survive a mother’s disbelief in her very essence—her reality?” Nomed shrieks a laugh. “No—never. Her hope will be wiped out by her own mother. With hope dead, Rose won’t even fight back before she takes her own life. I’ve perfected the process; it works.”

  “She hasn’t even been born yet.” Legna rests his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “One day, she will be born. And I. Will. Be. There. Johnny-on-the-spot, as the humans say. I’ll make her cry, alright. Without mercy, I’ll rip her soul into shreds and make her weep. Because when tears are present, hopelessness always lurks nearby. Hopelessness proceeds despair. Despair begs for death, and I answer the cry of beggars.”

  “In your world of lies, laughter equals joy and tears equal pain; but lies are your truth, so how could you know the difference between what is true and what is false?” Legna walks away, then pauses. “Nomed.”

  “Miss me?”

  “Hardly. I can smell you a universe away. Listen carefully.”

  “All ears.”

  “In the human’s world, laughter can be heard even while they hide behind a mask. But no human can see another’s tears unless the person crying chooses to remove their mask, revealing their vulnerability. Their truth.”

  “So what, Zorro?” Nomed laughs at his own joke.

  “Not every laugh equals happiness, nor does every tear represent sadness.”

  “Legna. The warrior and the philosopher.” Seething, Nomed returns to his hellish lair.

  Chapter 7

  7—Grandmothers Can Lie Too

  Wednesday, July 8, 1981

  Gainesville, Florida

  Like darn near every other Southern baby girl, Daniela Rose Cavanaugh was crying the moment she was born.

  No.

  Actually squalling. But ain’t no sound more thrilling than the cries of a healthy newborn.

  A girl.

  A dreamer.

  A warrior.

  Grandma Gertrude Smith’s first—and only—grandchild.

  Hours after Jeanette’s hysterectomy, Daniela’s parents sleep. Grandma Gertrude cradles Daniela in her arms, then kisses the baby’s nose. “Just like a button.” Daniela whimpers. “Life’s gonna make you cry, Button. It’s supposed to. But I’m going to make you smile if it’s the last thing I do.” No one and nothing are going to stand in the way of Grandma Gertrude’s determination.

  In the 1960s, when Southern women who looked like her didn’t own anything except for aprons, mop buckets, and brooms, she had purchased her farm from the bank, making her a landowner.

  “No crying gonna last forever. Joy comes in the morning.” But the child keeps on wailing as though a demon is chasing her mind, planning to enslave her thoughts. “Ain’t no devil gonna win this battle. No ifs, ands, or buts. You gonna die laughing, all the way to the pearly gates. Because at the finish line, you win, Button. Just wait and see.” She whispers a prayer over her fretful granddaughter, Daniela Rose Cavanaugh, the Orphan Dreamer.

  Chapter 8

  8—Grandmothers Can Lie Too

  Thursday, April 20, 1993

  Gainesville, Florida

  Grandmothers can and do lie.

  Grandma Gertrude’s prophecy of a merry heart defining her granddaughter’s demeanor proved to be a tall order for Daniela Rose. During her middle-school years, chaotic and negative thoughts imprisoned her mind, locking away any speck of joy in a Sing Sing prison kind of depression.

  Concrete grey.

  Not even a solitary stream of light peeked through its bars.

  It was official. The reality of her condition became entrenched in her when a psychiatrist diagnosed Daniela with depression and childhood-onset schizophrenia.

  During recess, Daniela stands at the edge of the creek, watching a water moccasin slither through the water. She slides off her shoes and socks, then dips her right toe into the cold water. Would the snake’s bite hurt? Would death come quickly?

  The kids at school hate her. They say she’s too smart or too dumb. Then what is she?

  Alone.

  Ever since she could remember, she has hated the loneliness. She steps into the water and approaches the snake.

  It stops, turns, and waits.

  What about Daddy? He’s sick. Mom? She’d miss her. Her reflexes ignore the warning growing in her mind. She strides toward her choice of death.

  “Stop!” Her teacher calls from the field behind her, but the determined child sloshes through the stream closer to the snake. The moccasin rears back. She swallows air. Maybe this isn’t such a swell idea. Her foot slides over a smooth rock hidden in the creek bed. Losing her balance, she crashes into the pond. The snake floats inches from her head and rises above the water’s surface, ready to strike.

  Someone splashes into the water beside Daniela’s shoulder. Hands grip her arms, pulling her from the creek. “What on earth are you doing?”

  Daniela’s shoulders start shaking. “I . . . I’m sorry, Mrs. Bender. I . . . I’m so sad.”

  “What are you saying?”

  The little girl wags her head, then falls into her teacher’s embrace.

  “You listen to me and listen real good. Before you were born, Yahweh tucked away great plans for you. Your kindred friend will come. Just you wait and see.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rose smiles, slipping her mask back on.

  Chapter 9

  9—Nomed

  Immortals—Time without End

  Laughing, Nomed faces his master, the Prince of the Power of the Air. “She’s a girl, and a stupid one at that. What twelve-year-old throws down a gauntlet at Death’s feet and wins?”

  “Her mother did.”

  “I forgot, my lord.” Nomed bows low.

  “See that Death wins this time.”

  “Kill her?”

  Lucifer smiles. “You wanted a promotion—more time on Earth. Earn it.”

  “You’re generous, master.”

  “Don’t forget it.”

  Chapter 10

  10—Orphan Dreamer

  Chadbourn, North Carolina

  July 1994

  She’s gone. Left without Daniela’s permission.

  Moss drips off sprawling oaks, gifting shade to the small group of mourners. Daniela’s sweaty hands threaten to slip from her dad’s grip on the right and her mom’s trembling hand on the left. She tightens her squeeze as pallbearers lower her kindred spirit—her Grandma Gertrude—into a vault of cold earth.

  With a gravelly voice, a man leads the mourners as they sing “Precious Lord, Take My Hand,” followed by “Nearer My God to Thee.” After the musical selection ends, Deaconess Brown sings more than speaks
her eulogy, sounding like a female version of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. “Gertrude was my friend. A mighty woman of God . . .”

  But in Daniela’s mind, there is a different scene playing. An orchestra of violins, cellos, and basses replay an ethereal, rich and breathy rendition of “Nearer My God to Thee” as she stands on the doomed deck of the RMS Titanic. The sea’s salty breath sprays her face and whispers, “Sorry, miss. Time’s up. You’re going to drown.”

  Button.

  That’s what Daniela’s grandmother had nicknamed her, and she cherished the name. How long before Daniela would see her Grandma Gertrude again? One raindrop thumps Daniela on the nose. Followed by another. Until, eventually, rain showers her face and soaks her clothes and hair. Everyone is drenched.

  “Daniela.”

  “Yes, ma’am?” She looks up at her mother.

  “I didn’t say anything, Bumblebee.” Her mom opens an umbrella over her head and nestles Daniela beneath it.

  “I thought you called me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Daniela.” The grieving child looks left, then right, then finally over her shoulder, trying to find the source of the gentle, feminine voice. Pallbearers toss more dirt into the black hole.

  “Daniela.” It’s getting a bit creepy. A voice with no face.

  “Up here.”

  Daniela Rose looks up.

  Grey clouds roll back. Sunrays split the sky, bathing the gravesite in amber hues. A voice seems to whisper, “Stop looking at your feet so much, Button. The Son’s still shining on you.” A grin pushes a smile wider than the Mississippi River in-between her cheeks.

  Hope.

  That’s all she needed. Daniela’s smile loosens into a giggle. The mourners glare at the awkward child, but she was used to people staring. Judging. Then finding her wanting. Their eyes say what their tongues refuse to speak. What is wrong with you, girl? Your grandma’s dead! Show some respect.

  But they were wrong, just like her mean-spirited classmates were wrong about Daniela. Grandma Gertrude is more alive than ever. “See you soon, Grandma.”

  Laughter.

  Lies.

  Smiling, she wipes a tear from her cheek, then slips her hand back into her mother’s safe grip.

  No need to act brave when she isn’t. Daniela removes her mask. Another tear slips down her cheek.

  Tears.

  Truth.

  The mourners stand still, staring, just watching Grandma Gertrude’s only granddaughter—her legacy.

  A chill creeps across the cemetery and settles beneath Daniela’s skin.

  A shadow passes in front of her, blurring the shapes of the leaves, branches, and mourners as though a glaze has been poured over her eyes. Leaves rustle, whispering an eerie call, “I’m coming for you, Rose.”

  Swallowing her fear, Daniela releases her parents’ hands, removes the necklace from around her neck, and slips the ancient diamond—the Glass Tattoo—into her right hand. She makes a fist, clenching the stone.

  Warm energy bursts into her palm, pulsing throughout her entire being. She opens her hand. The jewel has disappeared into her palm, leaving a beautiful blue snowflake tattoo.

  “Be afraid, Rose.” The shadow speaks, moving through the air between her face and its blurry form as though a hand is reaching out from a spider’s web. Something dreadful, evil, and yet powerful abandons its own dimension and intrudes upon hers. A face scarier than a gargoyle’s mug shot materializes directly in front of her. Its breath stinks of rotten eggs.

  She stumbles backward, and her heart threatens to turn to stone. Do the other mourners see the monster?

  No one screams or runs.

  No. They don’t see it. They’re blind to its presence. Ignorance is bliss, until reality catches up with the ignorant.

  Daniela stares at the beast, and it whispers another threat, “I am Death. Your grandmother—I took her. Miss her?”

  “What do you think?” Daniela balls her hands into fists as tears from her raw emotion stain her mahogany cheeks. Leave the watery stains. Don’t hide.

  “I am your period. Your end. Your Armageddon. Be afraid of me, little girl.”

  She gazes at her grandmother’s body’s final resting place—a big black hole. Her stomach churns, and an ache throbs beneath her ribs.

  “Button, you’re a special girl, and don’t you forget it.” Her grandmother’s words comfort her.

  “I-I-I can do it, Grandma. I have to. F-f-for their sakes. Not mine.” She swallows hard, refusing to wipe away the tears, refusing to hide her truth: her loneliness, her pain, and her awkwardness.

  The monster speaks again. “Don’t even think about fighting me. You cannot win this war, Orphan Dreamer, a pathetic little cry baby. Lay down your weapon, and I may spare your life.”

  An icy dread slithers down her slight frame, enveloping her in a cold sweat. Daniela remembers her Grandma Gertrude’s words, “You’re not a slave to fear, Button. You’re God’s girl. His child.”

  I am Daniela.

  I am brave.

  I am Daniela.

  I am brave.

  Sunlight splashes across her face, drying her tears.

  She straightens her back, raises her chin, and speaks to the monster. “You tell me to be afraid. Because you say that you will be my end, my Armageddon.”

  “Humans like warnings. A siren before a tornado. A receding tide before a tsunami rolls ashore.”

  Daniela Rose traces the edges of the Glass Tattoo inked into the palm of her right hand. She kisses the mark, accepting her destiny as the Orphan Dreamer—a journey of pain intermingled with hope, destiny mixed with the ordinary, and bravery amid evil’s fight to fulfill her ultimate fear: the fear of being alone . . . forever.

  “No, little boy. You’re wrong.” Through her tears, she whispers to the creature who dares to intrude into her dimension—her home, Earth, “I give you a warning.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You, sir will learn to fear me.” She steps forward, braving the assault of the beast’s putrid stench blasting up her nose.

  “Pray tell me, why?”

  “Because I-I-I . . .”

  “Cat scratched your tongue?”

  Daniela’s face flushes hot. She swallows hard then waits. Help me. Strength enters her voice. “I. Am. Armageddon—your end, a full stop—your period, your hell.” Her lower lip trembles. More tears fall. Naked emotion stripped of any false bravery or beauty blurs her vision.

  Still, she sees her future with enough clarity to know that where destiny leads her, the mask—formed from a clay of false joviality—will no longer fit. In her imagination, she clutches the edges of the mask with trembling hands and removes it, revealing her true self. Her vulnerabilities. Her fears mixed with bravery. Her faith sullied with doubt. Her joy mingled with pain. Her future influenced by the past.

  One day, she will become the Orphan Dreamer. Wielding her weapon, the God Factor, she must defeat her invisible tormentor—the beast—or her parents will soon join her grandmother. Gone too soon.

  Dark-grey clouds roll across the sky, blocking the sun’s light once more. In the middle of summer, snow—not rain—falls from clouds pregnant with moisture, cloaking the soil in a wintry blanket.

  Shivering, the mourners gasp but not Daniela. She lifts her chin and smiles. In time, frozen prayers—no different than snowflakes—eventually thaw, a winter yielding to spring. She whispers a prayer and a word of thanksgiving, “Walk with me, Immanuel—God with us, like you walked with Grandma.”

  The monster forces a laugh from his contorted face, but a tear slips down his face. He knows that she realizes that she’s not completely alone. Laughter. Lies. Tears. Lies. Again, he taunts the young warrior, the Orphan Dreamer. “Walk? No. You’ll be running after I am finished with you.”

  Snow blows.
Black clouds stumble over each other, but a miniscule ray of sunlight penetrates past the storm. Peace.

  “Be very afraid of this storm, little girl.”

  “Why?”

  “You cannot withstand the storm.”

  Daniela, the young warrior, glares into the intruder’s eyes then speaks, “I am the storm.”

  Its form seizes as water gushes from beast’s face, washing its vile image away.

  Good riddance.

  Daniela Rose wipes crystalized tears—snowflakes—from her cheeks, then laughs. Tears. Truth. Laughter. Truth. “One snowflake falls from heaven to quench hell’s thirst.” She gazes at the Glass Tattoo, the midnight-blue snowflake that stains the middle of her right palm. “I am that snowflake. I am Daniela. I am the Orphan Dreamer.”

  A misfit but still chosen.

  The girl destined to force the beast to accept the truth—her truth, her reality. In the end, she wins. Everyone can win if they so choose. Because the Light has already won. The battle rages fierce, but the fight has been fixed. The beast, the dark shadow of death, has already lost, defeated by the Light.

  “ ‘O death, where is your victory? O grave, where is your sting?’ ”

  Gone forever!

  “ ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.’ ” She studies the shifting shadows gyrating across the angry sky.

  A shadow cannot form without a source of light and a source of darkness, but one day—the day of reckoning, the beast’s Armageddon—the Light will obliterate the darkness. Shadows will cease to exist.

  “Grandma, I’ll be okay and so will you.” A smile spread across Daniela’s face, pushing dimples into honeyed-smooth and cinnamon-spiced cheeks. Standing ridgepole straight, Daniela Rose Cavanaugh gazes past the clouds, finding the Light. “After I’m finished with my to-do list down here, I’ll walk with Immanuel through the valley of the shadow of death, and I’ll join you on the other side where only the Light shines. Until then, I have to be brave, even in the shadows. Love you.” She blows a kiss.