The Rising

by L F Seitz

  ✽✽✽

  Today was another unavoidable blur of routine that made me want to stab myself with rusty scissors. Wake up, work, fill orders, send them to packaging, go home. I just needed to get to Friday. Amanda would for sure be there this time at the bar. I didn’t converse with Cindy, Mark McAsshole, or any of the others in my section. I didn’t even go to lunch. I had too much on my mind without the energy to smile. I talked to no one but the stuck buttons on my forklift. Then I remembered that strange book I had in the bottom of my drawer at home, and after that, the day moved unnaturally quick.

  I ran home in snow flurries, and hoped to make it to my apartment before they stuck. When I got to my floor, I could hear voices coming from an apartment three down from mine with boxes outside of it in the hallway. My stomach twisted in a knot as I approached. Maybe they had something to do with the commotion this morning. I had to walk past to get to my apartment, and when I got closer, I saw the apartment number on the door: 9E, the apartment that belonged to the lady from the laundry room. I froze mid-step and stared at the faded 9E on the wooden door.

  Did she die?

  The door to the apartment swung open, the number and letter disappearing as a man came into view. The police officer noted me. He was young, around my height, and bald.

  “I’m sorry, I was just ...” A lump lodged itself in my throat.

  “Friend of hers?” he asked. I nodded. It was complicated, and telling him I thought she was my future self would probably get me committed.

  “What happened?” I said in a small voice.

  He explained how she had passed away early this morning, which is why I saw the police car parked outside the alleyway last night. Melancholy hung in the air as I stared through the doorway the officer continued to stand in. I felt overwhelmingly sad. She was so nice to me.

  “Again, I’m sorry for the loss,” he said. I nodded back as he walked toward the stairs at the end of the hall.

  Before I could turn to my apartment, a taller man said, “You knew my Gran?” I nodded awkwardly as I peered into the empty apartment. I wasn’t sure if one conversation with her meant I actually knew her, but in a way, I felt like I did. “Do you know anyone who wants a cat? She had two, brothers. One ran this morning, but the other one is shut in the bathroom,” he explained, putting his hands in his dark jean pockets. His bright eyes darted between me and the sound behind him, which echoed through the apartment into the hall. Someone must be with him. “I would take him, but I’m allergic. Just being here is making my allergies flare.”

  I thought about all the animals I had interacted with in my life and smiled. None of the people who fostered me had animals, but the animals I did meet from time to time were cute. It might be nice to have a companion in the apartment. Could I really afford to feed another living creature, though? Could I care for someone other than myself?

  “Can I meet the cat first?” I asked and he nodded just as a woman came up behind him. She was quiet, short, with dreadlocks falling across her dark skin all the way to her hips.

  “She’s taking that cat?” The woman asked the taller man. He nodded. Both seemed relieved. My shoulders grew tight as I felt the pressure: they were already expecting me to take it. What if the cat didn’t even like me?

  “Well, I didn’t pack any of its stuff. There is a bag of food, water bowl, litter box, and extra litter. Help yourself,” she said.

  “We’ll be back to pick up the rest of her things for Goodwill,” the man said as he took the box the woman was holding and stepped into the hall.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.

  The man’s grey eyes searched mine for a moment, he smirked half-heartedly before sighing. “Yeah, well, Gran was a stubborn, cancer-riddled smoker. It was only a matter of time.” He looked down the hall toward the woman who was making her way toward the stairs. “Thank you for helping with the cat. We’ll be back shortly.” He held out his hand and I shook it before he left.

  I stepped into her apartment and recognized its shape. It was a mirror image of mine and smelled like smoke. There was dust and dirt scattered across the floor and stains on the walls where frames had once hung. I wonder how long she had lived here. Frames and photos leaned against the far wall, as well as a few boxes and a space heater that hummed. I spotted the litter box and groaned. Maybe it was inevitable, and I had to take the cat. The lady was so nice to me that it’s the least I could do, right? I mean, she offered for me to come over if it was cold, so I could offer her cat shelter.

  I collected everything I could find for the cat. I had to clean the litter box before bringing it back with me, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. I placed it in the corner near the front door to my apartment, where my dining room table would go if I had one.

  After everything was transferred, I went back to 9E and stood in front of the bathroom door. I had no idea how to catch a cat. What if it clawed my face? Do I just tell it to come to me? I chastised myself for the silly thought. I felt sorry for this cat since now it had to live with me. I was an idiot. I opened the bathroom door and quickly closed it behind me. I turned to find myself under its gaze as it peeked around the toilet. Unsure of what to do, I sat on the tile. I thought I should let it get used to me before dragging it back to my apartment and its new life.

  “Hey,” I said, giving it a little wave. The bathroom looked identical to mine but painted blue, which surprised me because we aren’t allowed to paint the walls. It was in the lease contract, but I guess she didn’t care for the rules. Rebel Granny. The black shorthaired cat slunk around the toilet to sit in front of the tub in a very proper way, with its head tilted to the side, as if studying me. It’s probably thinking, Who’s this moron? Why is she talking to me? Reminds me of my last crazy owner.

  “Hey, I know. I hated being moved around when I was a kid,” I said. First I compared myself to the old woman who lived here, my future self, now I’m comparing myself to a cat. My life is officially sad. “I want to take you back to my apartment. It’s not as warm as this, but you can sleep in my bed. Bet that’s a plus. And, uh, well, you won’t be on the streets fighting off wild dogs and stuff.” I gave a cheesy smile.

  As we both sat in the bathroom, I recalled doing something relatable when I was young. I was brought into a room to meet strangers who were going to take me to their home. Sometimes I would hide or stand as far away from them as I could, because after getting comfortable where I was, I didn’t want to move again. “I don’t want to force you, but I think you should come with me. I mean, I’m a loner and don’t even have a TV for you to watch, but it’s better than nothing.” I watched as the cat drew closer to me. He sniffed my knee, never taking his eyes off me.

  “I mean, it’s the least I can do for the old woman. She was nice to me. I didn’t even know her name. I should have asked. Anyway, she was technically your mom, so I should take care of you for her,” I said.

  I lifted a few fingers to pet him. He snapped his head around as they caught his attention, but when I lifted my hand, he bolted back toward the toilet. Well, I guess animal whispering isn’t my thing. I stood slowly, feeling a little frustrated. Maybe I should just grab him. When I reached out for him, his back arched, and he hissed, baring teeth. I reached for the bathroom door.

  “Really, dude, going to go that route? Fine, I’ll leave the doors open. Come whenever you want. Scratch at my door when you want in. I live in 12E.” I shrugged at him and opened the bathroom door, holding it open for a moment, thinking maybe he would make a run for it. He stood like stone staring up at me, not moving an inch. I gave up and walked toward the front door, stopping as I eyed the space heater again. The thing was super old, but it worked. They said they were taking the rest of Goodwill, so would they miss it if I took it? I hefted it up from the floor and carried it back to my apartment, leaving 9E’s door open for the cat like I promised. I didn’t warm up to people right away when I was young, but I was sent away with them anyway. I wish I could have hissed at th
em to leave me alone. I don’t really know if animals can understand people, but if he didn’t come in an hour, I’d check on him.

  Once I locked my own apartment door behind me, I didn’t waste time taking the heater to my bedroom and plugging it in. When I flipped the switch, it lit up my room with bright orange light, making it instantly warmer. It reminded me of when I was little: being in a house full of foster kids and staying in a room with other girls my age. The furnace had broken once, and we all laid on the floor together to keep warm. One of the girls told a few of us to think of summer to help our minds overcome the freezing.

  The heater looked like an antique, so I made sure it wasn’t near anything that could catch fire. I took off my bag and put my shoes near the heater. If the room didn’t heat up, at least my shoes would be warm when I left for work tomorrow. I turned to find the leather book from the bookstore lying on my bed.

  The blood drained from my face. I stared at it for a long moment before I scanned the room. That was supposed to be at the bottom of my underwear drawer. I hadn’t touch that book since I brought it home nearly two nights ago. I wanted to read it, but felt ... off every time I went to retrieve it. Like I wasn’t going to like what I found when I opened it. Now it's out. On my bed. I don’t know how it got there, but my gut told me it wouldn’t stop until I saw what’s inside.

  I sat on my bed and turned on my small, gold bed lamp. I stared at the book for a few moments, touching the flaws of the leather cover. When I opened it, a loud meow echo through my apartment. I flinched, dropping the book onto my lap. I waited for a few minutes, wondering if I was hearing things, but there it was again.

  That couldn’t be the woman’s cat. It had never been to my apartment. How would it know I was in here? I peeked around my bedroom doorway and across the apartment to the crack of light under the bottom of my front door, bisected by a shadow. I unlocked the door for the cat, which quickly trotted in. I locked the door behind him and turned to see him sitting in the middle of the kitchen, observing me, curious and shy all at once.

  “So, you decided I’m worthy to take care of you, I see. Wise choice.” I filled the cat’s water bowl from the tap and put food in the other bowl, setting them at the base of the cabinets. He didn’t move until I started walking back to my bedroom, but I could hear him scarf down the food by the time I made it to the door.

  “You better poop before climbing into my bed, or I swear you’ll sleep in that litter box,” I said.

  I tossed one of the cat pillows in front of the heater in case he wasn’t comfortable sleeping with me yet. Plopping into bed, I opened the book to the first full page.

  The Names of the Damned.

  Underneath that, starting alphabetically, were listed what I assumed were demons, all handwritten. A short description followed each name. A couple had pictures drawn beside them. I read a few of the names: Astaroth commands the western legions of Hell. Cresil, a greater demon, the ruler of impurity and uncleanness. The ominous aura from the bookstore returned as I tried to read more names. It felt as though weights piled on my shoulders, keeping me from breathing. The more names I read, the more scared I grew. Quickly, I flipped through the old, thin pages.

  Lamia: The name derives from the Greek word Laimos, a demon, alluding to her stigma as a child killer. She’s an ancient Greek demon. Stories tell of her taking the form of a beautiful, voluptuous woman. Often seen as a charlatan, she tricks children into coming to her dwelling so they can later be devoured. Also seen as a succubus, slipping into men’s beds and tricking them into fulfilling her sexual desires and lust for blood. She is a sexual predator, as well as being a cannibal, vampire, and an extremely dangerous daemon.

  I slammed the book between my hands and collapsed back onto the bed. I felt like the air had been sucked out of me as I stared dizzily at the ceiling, like I had just seen my soul for the first time. I had never even kissed a boy, and babies freaked me out, so how could I be a succubus baby eater? I didn’t know anything about my parents but was told by my social worker that my father named me. Now I wish I would have asked more questions. Was he demented? Is this why that man attacked me? Maybe he knew more about this than I did. I rubbed my temples and dropped the book to the floor. The cat, lying on the pillow I’d put in front of the heater for him, jumped. He probably wondered: What the hell is wrong with you now?

  “Don’t judge me, OK? You would be freaking out, too, if you just read your name in a demon book about eating babies.” I grunted and let my head fall back onto my pillow. I’ve had enough – enough of the guy and the dreams and the book. Ugh. I stood and kicked the book under the bed as I turned off my side lamp. I lifted the covers and slid under them. No more of this crap. I had an OK life, I had a new pet, and I even had a friend in Cindy, but I didn’t need this fantasy crap. I was never going to see angel dude again, and that was that. There was no such thing as glowing marks on my skin. I needed to stop myself before it became an unhealthy obsession.

  Six.

  FINALLY, IT’S FRIDAY. A holy day that shined down on the sadness of my soul. I knew it was healthy to be around people and that working fulfilled that social requirement, yet I still hungered for the weekend. I got to be alone for two whole days without the need to socialize with anyone, which can be so exhausting, I felt like I had to be this person everyone found likable. Say the right things and smile every time anyone spoke to me. Pretend I was in a good mood all the time. The weekend gave me a break from that, and now, I’d get to spend time with my cat. After that thought came into my head, I instantly pitied myself. I’m already that lady in 9E. Oh gosh.

  I practically ran to Grave Diggers, praying Amanda would be working today. After everything that happened this week, I really needed a drink. I pushed open the heavy metal door and slipped my way through the crowd. It was just as busy as every other Friday, but less packed around the bar, which was a good sign. As I pushed through, I got a glimpse at the far end of the bar in the corner where my seat was. It was open. She was here. I made it to my seat with a heavy plop and waited as I watched her take orders at the other end. She wore a studded bra underneath a netted shirt and tight, gothic pants with neon thread holding the black patches together. Chains swung from the fabric, connecting to random metal loops in her pants. It was a bold style, something I'd never pull off, but I loved it, and it looked so good on her. Her skin was pale from working nights, and her hair consisted of green and black dreads tied together in a half bun atop her head.

  Amanda’s face lit up once she saw me, and I couldn’t help but grin as she pushed past the other bartender from last week and hugged me over the bar top. “Oh my gosh, I’m so glad to see you. I missed you last week! Jax said you came in. I’m sorry I was sick, winter flu,” she yelled over the din with a smile.

  “Oh, it’s all right. When’s your break?” I asked. Usually, her break was around the time I got off work, which was great because then we could sit for fifteen minutes and just hang out.

  “Ten minutes. You think you can wait?” she asked with a mischievous grin. I snorted. A silly question. She set two chilled shot glasses on the bar.

  “Oh, I know you have been alcohol-deprived for two weeks, so let’s have a quickie,” she said as she filled them with a clear liquid easily mistaken for water. We slammed them on the bar then cheersed and shot them back in unison. She always took a shot with me, something I looked forward to. The vodka burned the back of my throat as I swallowed it, wincing. It’s been a while, and I had forgotten how shitty the taste was. She slid me a Mountain Dew and made her way back across the bar to help whoever needed to order. I popped open the soda and took a big gulp.

  We weren’t close, compared to my friendship with Cindy, but she treated me like we were. We only saw each other once a week and spoke for twenty or so minutes before she’d go back to work again. I think she saw me as a little sister. She always smiled kindly at me and listened to me complain about my boring days at work. She had a fiery personality toward everyone i
n the bar but changed when she talked to me. More like herself: gentle and loving.

  I had friends throughout my life – well, I called them friends, but I guess others would call them acquaintances. I’ve talked and joked with people I’ve known through school and the foster care system, but no one who really got me. No one who knew what was really going on inside my head or asked too much about my past. I never had a best friend. I always wondered why that was: bullied more than befriended. Now I’m set in my ways. I realized now that I come off as shy and awkward, and have a lot of anxiety. Letting anyone in is difficult and being vulnerable is not something I'm good at.

  Before graduating, I was so self-conscious about telling people I was a foster kid because it raised too many questions. Do you know your parents? Why has no one adopted you? What's it like living with no parents or siblings? Have you ever stayed anywhere long? It made it difficult to relate to kids and their family problems. I wasn’t raised like them, so I guess it made me too weird to associate with.

  Amanda treated me like someone special. She made me a priority when I was in the bar without forcing me to talk about myself too much. I just wished I could get out of my comfort zone and hang out with her outside of her work, but I wasn’t ready for it. I wanted to be closer to someone, yet it terrified me that someone might actually get to know me. That I’d open up and someone would destroy me. I’d lose control of everything in my life. What if things went wrong? What if they didn’t like what they found?