Black Water Tales: The Secret Keepers

by JeanNicole Rivers

  “Regina,” her father greeted her.

  “Hey, Dad. Sorry I’m late, just going to take a quick shower and I’ll be ready.” She spat as she leapt into the hall bathroom before her father could focus his vision. Mr. Dean had no chance to respond before the girl slammed the door.

  Regina stood with her back against the bathroom door.

  “Was that Regina?” She heard her mother’s garbled voice through the walls.

  Regina moved to stand in front of the mirror and tried to contort her head to a position where she could see the back of her neck while still keeping her eyes to the mirror. There used to be a handheld mirror in the towel closet she remembered as she opened the closet door and shuffled through one of the plastic bins finally fishing out the old, cracked mirror. Regina turned her back on the wall mirror and used the handheld to get a good look at the back of her head. She lifted her hair slightly to reveal a blotch of dry blood a little smaller than a fist on the back of her neck. Separating the hairs on her scalp, she could see the wound that lie underneath her thick mane.

  She winced in pain when she pressed her fingertips too close to the wound. Luckily, it was no longer bleeding and she could forego formal medical treatment. In the closet, she found pain relievers and popped four into her mouth as she turned on the shower. Steam rose in the bathroom until Regina was barely able to see her naked reflection in the mirror as the last piece of clothing dropped to the floor. She sucked the warm air deep into her chest. For years, she had been making her showers so hot that she could barely stand them. As a nurse, her first order of business when she got home after a long shift was to place herself under a waterfall of scorching, plump, fast-paced droplets of water to burn from her skin all foul impurities that she may have picked up in the hospital—bacteria, dirt, remnants of some kind of virus, but most importantly blood. As conscientious as Regina tried to be about washing thoroughly after dealing with a trauma patient there were days—bizarre, other-dimensional lapses of time—when she would return home from work, step into the shower, and in the ritual of cleaning every part of her body in the systematic order that had become routine—first her face, next her arms, after that her abdomen, finally her legs and feet—on rare occasions she would spot the culpable droplet of blood that had somehow slipped under her scrubs and dotted her belly or left a small strike across her chest, and the sight was maddening. On those occasions, she would scrub every inch of her body with the force used in decontamination.

  “Out,” she whispered to the blood.

  Regina took a somber look at her cloudy reflection in the bathroom mirror of her mother and father’s home; she found an inconspicuous new line making its soft trail across her forehead, then noticed a freckle on her face that she had never seen before. It sat low under her left cheekbone, a foreigner among the natives. Through the steam, she could see only the faint glimmer of one of her brown eyes, sporadic bits of her image reflected through the fog, revealing a bewildering duplication of her. She pressed her fingers into her face shifting the splintered pieces to slightly different positions, which did nothing to permanently change the archetype, but at last, she surrendered to the certainties, waving her white flag in the face of herself and stepped into the scalding water. The fiery soak cleansed her. While a horizonless time passed, she dangled helplessly under the water.

  “Regina,” her mother called with three swift knocks on the door, smiting the nurse back to the shower, inside of the bathroom, inside of the house, in Black Water.

  Regina’s heart jumped.

  “Are you OK?” her mother added.

  “I’m fine, Mom, just another minute,” she demanded.

  She pinned her short hair up with a clip, lathered the soap in a rag and began washing away the dried blood at her neck. The pain-killers began to take their effect.

  Regina squeezed her rag and pressed it against her face long and hard one last time before hanging it on the towel rack and cutting off the water. She dried and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. Once more Regina placed herself in front of the mirror and inspected her neck to make sure that no sign of the menacing blood remained.

  In Regina’s room, the light was on and her mother was standing over the bed. Mrs. Dean’s face lit up as she saw her daughter gliding down the hall, she made a quick movement and held up a black cat suit with one hand, and in the other hand Mrs. Dean held a headband with kitty ears. Regina could not hide the grossly questioning expression that she was sure was apparent on her face.

  “Isn’t this cute!” Her mother seemed excited and was making a statement rather than asking a question. “We saw it in town and I just had to get it for you. I thought maybe you could wear it to the parade tonight.”

  “Uh …” Regina bit at her bottom lip lightly. “Mom, I’m not sixteen anymore.”

  “I know, I know, but we always dress up and I thought it would be fun.”

  Regina hated to dampen the spark that flickered in her mother’s eyes, the flare that had been ignited by her little girl being home, but even more she hated the thought of walking around all night in a glorified onesie. Mrs. Dean was dressed as a cowgirl and Regina secretly thanked God that her mother’s costume was not too ridiculous. A pair of fairly fitted dark denim jeans, a cowboy shirt, cowboy hat and cowboy boots made up her mother’s simple costume.

  “You look really cute, Mom, but …” Regina started to defend her stance on not wearing a costume when her mother cut her off.

  “Just try it on, OK? Your father and I will be waiting downstairs. Hurry up!”

  She smiled before she laid the suit across the bed again and scurried down the hall. After closing the door, Regina sighed and flounced unto the bed, burying her face in her fabric-softened quilt. She lifted her head and did another exasperated review of the cat suit that lay next to her on the bed and sighed again. For sure, she was not wearing that abomination, there would be absolutely no negotiation on that fact, but she thought that maybe she could still appease her mother by finding something festive.

  Fifteen minutes later, Regina plodded down the stairs to her parents that were watching TV in the living room. A brief moment of disappointment crossed her mother’s face when she saw that Regina was not wearing the fun costume that she had purchased, but it was superficial and faded fast. Regina wore a tight, long sleeve black shirt with dazzling rhinestones in the shape of a skull across the front; she wore fitted black jeans with the bottoms tucked into a pair of leather riding boots.

  “Sorry, Mom, your costume gave me a major camel toe.”

  Her mother frowned.

  “A what?” Her father’s face was rife with confusion.

  “Never mind, Charles let’s go.”

  The streets of Black Water were a jungle, wild with titillating amusement. Regina’s father parked about a block from Main Street. As they began to make their way on foot toward the nucleus of the celebration, the happenings that unraveled all around them were stimulating enough to appease all the senses. Streetlights marked every corner, lambent points of navigation adding to the romantic draw of small town U.S.A. Whoops, hollers, screams, and shouts penetrated the night as children of all ages laughed, frolicked, and crisscrossed the friendly streets. Regina inhaled the unmistakable aroma of funnel cake, which made her smile. Happy clowns, evil clowns, angels, and super heroes overflowed the sidewalks, jumping, wiling, and moaning. An expressionless Michael Meyers eyed her hungrily through the two black eyeholes and Regina was amused by the costume, but she still recoiled when he suddenly reached out for her, causing him, his friends, and even herself to explode into laughter. Mrs. Dean purred at a rotund infant dressed as a bumblebee.

  Regina forgot her reality and drowned in the magical world that unfolded, swept around, and enraptured her. The entire town had shown up for Lola’s macabre welcome home party.

  People that Regina had not seen in years greeted her with inviting smiles and open arms as she and her parents engaged in lively conversations with many passing couples and
families that they knew. Regina noticed a vibrating hum emanating from a white mobile trailer where a nun stuck her head out of the window.

  “CUPCAKES, GET YOUR SWEET CHOCOLATE CUPCAKES!” The ragged nun yelled with the curbed enthusiasm that was expected from a person that performed the same job year after year.

  Charlie Dean bought himself and his two favorite girls chocolate cupcakes with orange icing and candied spider webs. They continued to stroll along Main Street until they found a comfortable nook along the side of the street under a tree to set up their lawn chairs.

  Just before the parade began, Regina scanned the crowd looking for any sign of Barron, Nikki, or even Natalie, but unless they were under the cover of one of the many masks that danced deceptively past her, none of them was there. Reality dealt its hard blow again as she contemplated the idea that even if they weren’t under a mask, she still did not know them anymore. Her neck began to throb.

  Drifting along the breeze were the sounds of the high school band marching up the street playing a hideous symphony, seconds later they came into view. The Oakley High School band dressed in tight black outfits with skeletons painted on the fronts of them. White paint covered their faces and black makeup circled their eyes, cheeks and mouths. Regina gazed up into the sky at the silver dollar moon that occasionally masqueraded behind slivers of dark clouds as it floated silently across the sky; she shivered and rubbed her hands together.

  “Ouch.” Regina was startled when she realized that she was being pelted by small colorful objects. She looked down into her lap to see colorful pieces of Bubble Gum and Tootsie Rolls that were being tossed off of one of the passing floats. Her eyes caught her mother’s as they were both reveling in the little joys, but her mood darkened quickly when she peered over her mother’s shoulder and into the mass of people farther down the sidewalk. A hooded monk stood no more than twenty feet away and with one alluring hand motion it summoned her.

  15

  The monk’s head was lowered and his face was shadowed by an oversized hood. The draped figure was short, small in frame and its bulky taupe gown covered it completely. When Regina lifted from her chair to get a closer look, the figure beckoned to her once again, then turned and fled into the alleyway, the bottom of his gown billowing behind him in the wind.

  Regina’s father grabbed her hand.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” a distracted Regina told her father as she moved up the street, compelled to the covert character.

  “OK, you want me to walk you?” Mr. Dean asked with concern.

  Regina declined with a headshake, never looking back.

  “Hurry back,” her father told her as she walked toward the port-a-potties that lay just ahead of her.

  The chaotic cluster of noises that was wailing all around her faded into a distant murmuring and Regina could hear herself breathing hard as she came to the corner where the monk had stood only seconds before. Down the alley, she could barely see the door of Clark’s swinging to a close with just enough time for the swell of the brown gown to slip inside. She looked around at the streets whose unconventional activity now made her feel like she was inside a funhouse. Her head was spinning and she rested against the brick wall for a moment before leaning forward and placing her hands on her knees trying to catch the breath that now eluded her.

  “What the hell?” she whispered to herself when her eyes fell to the ground. Regina dipped to pick up the photograph. Regina ran her fingers along the jagged edge of the photo where it had been torn. Nikki smiled awkwardly at her from the picture, but Glen was now gone, ripped away.

  Initially, logic discouraged her from following the cloaked creature, but in the end it was the same logic that changed her mind and made her decide to pursue the stranger. Because in this hour, in this place, nothing made sense, but she reasoned that in a world where nothing made sense, everything made sense and just inside of that door at the end of that dark alley were some answers that she needed.

  Regina jogged down the alley, her boots thudding on the concrete.

  She stopped in front of the door where she contemplated the consequences of crossing this point of no return.

  Running away was a viable option, but then what, she wondered. How much longer could she run? She couldn’t. Despite what may happen, she just wanted the running to be over and end the treadmill hell. Regina swung open the metal door and stepped into the gloomy showroom.

  “Hello? Mr. Clark?” Regina spoke out.

  Silence; nothing but stiff, throat-clogging silence.

  Regina walked the room cautiously.

  “I know you’re in here,” she said to the stranger.

  “I just want to know what you know. You want me or want to tell me something, so here I am.” Regina waited for an answer that never came.

  In the light of day, Mr. Clark’s angel sculptures were serene, they offered a certain peace, but in the obscurity of the shade of night, they were different creatures altogether. In the dimly lit rooms of the store, these angels appeared to be sorrowful mourners. The same cold stone hands that reached out to save one in the golden sunlight of high noon now reached out to pull one to a place of uncertainty. Regina had expected a confrontation, a fight and she had prepared herself for such, but this quiet, this deadly stillness was making her more frightened than any animalistic brawl.

  Her attention was drawn to an angel that stood backlighted at the far end of the store, the statue’s intricately detailed wings were partly outstretched. One of her arms was reaching for something that stood in front of her, her fingers were spread and her mouth was open, narrowly, as if she were trying desperately to warn her subject. Regina walked closer to the sculpture so that she could be in the light with it; she peered up into the upstairs corridors of the open showroom. Regina heard a rustling in a corner near the storefront window that faced the crowded street, and then turned her back on the angel whose outstretched hand brushed against her shoulder. Effortlessly, she slipped out of the grasp of the angel and ran toward the noise, throwing her hands on the glass counter and lifting herself to see if there was anyone on the floor of the other side.

  Nothing.

  She whipped around to see the person that she was sure stood behind her, but again she was alone.

  “I’m here!” she yelled, fear giving way to frustration.

  “Tell me what you want.” Regina changed her tone, trying to speak calmly as she walked back toward the statue hoping her adjustment of inflection would convince the person to reveal him or herself in a manner as peaceful as her voice. She was back at the other end of the room before she heard a quick movement behind her and felt powerful hands thrust into her back, sending her reeling into the arms of the same stone angel that had tried to warn her. All of the wind came swooshing out of her in a terrifying screech. She hit the floor hard and grunted at the weight of the monk plunging down on top of her. The cloaked figure wrenched Regina onto her back with a jerk so powerful Regina thought she heard a snap in her neck. Hard fists pounded into Regina’s chest. Straight black hair tumbled out from below the hood and the only thing that Regina could see was the occasional sparkle of the rich dark eyes as they caught in the faint light of the room.

  “Lola, no! Please!” Regina managed to choke out between strikes of the fists. She was unable to breathe, but not just because of the beating that was raining down on her thin frame, but because it was Lola who sat on top of her, screaming and flailing in a furious rage. Regina was still unable to see the face of her attacker in the blackness of the store, but she knew it was Lola. Regina did her best to shelter herself from the attack, but she could not bear to fight this person that she had once loved so dearly, this person that had succumbed to unspeakable, unfair tragedy. Regina curled and protected her body as best she could with the mad woman on top of her when a kaleidoscope of color filled her eyes and she saw an array of metal- and glass-ornamented crucifixes that had tumbled to the ground when both girls had fallen to the floor. Lola was in such fre
nzy that Regina’s strategy had gone unnoticed as she lifted one of the heavy metal crucifixes and bashed it against the side of the hooded figure’s face, causing her to go flying sideways to the ground. Regina had only a moment because within seconds the damned monk was scrabbling back to her feet. Regina hit the girl once more and dashed for the door. Lola was the last person she wanted to hurt, but she had to stop her. The dead girl was so close upon her that Regina could hear Lola’s breathless cries behind her. Regina slipped out of the door with the crucifix still in her hand. She stood in the cold alley rooted against the door, her chest heaving as the wild animal, formerly known as Lola, pounded on the other side of the door screeching. Regina looked to the sky and closed her eyes tightly, praying for the strength to be able to keep the deadly spirit contained.

  “Help,” she yelled out to the people she saw passing on the street at either end of the long alley, but the excitement of the night, the anxious voices and thundering sounds kept her from being heard. Lola was now taking a running start toward the door and banging it with her entire body, but Regina figured the banshee’s strategy and altered hers to match. Regina timed the blows to the door and began anticipating the exact second of Lola’s collisions with the door; Regina threw her weight into the door on the opposite side at the exact same time, each time. Seconds passed sluggishly and it seemed like hours when the banging finally stopped and she listened to the nothingness. With her next breath, she took her chance and dashed up the alley toward the street, where she could see people walking, talking, and eating. Only a little bit farther, she told herself as she heard the door clank against the brick wall as it blew open clamorously. Regina screamed as she saw the monk burst into the alley with such force that she ran into the next building hitting it hard. Regina tried to run faster, but she was beaten and could muster no burst of energy. She pushed her trudging body along and the bright lights of the street drifted closer with every labored step until she reached the goal, running directly into the arms of Barron Forte.