by Norah Wilson
“That was the night Connie first flew out.” Maryanne wrapped her arms a little tighter around her knees.
“Cast out,” Alex corrected. “Connie calls it casting out, which is as good a term as any, I guess. And she called her body on the floor her original.” She aimed a quelling look at Brooke. “And no, we’re not picking up where we left off because there’s more to understand. There’s more to know about Connie and how... how everything came to be. What was happening to her. Not just how she cast out. Not just the parts—”
“That serve us,” Maryanne finished for her in a quiet voice.
“She was being raped,” Brooke said. “By this guy Billy. We know that and—”
“And there’s more!” Alex snapped. She glared at Brooke, who now wore a defensive expression. “If we’re going to do this—if you want to learn this casting thing—we’re going to do it my way. End of story. That’s it.”
It was Brooke who was first to avert her glaring eyes. “Fine! You’re the queen of those bloody scribbles. The keeper of the sacred text!”
“Don’t mock her!” Alex felt her fingers digging into the diary and forced herself to relax them so she wouldn’t damage the delicate binding. “You don’t know what she’d been through. You—”
Maryanne sighed. “Oh come on, you two! Are we going to do this or not?” It wasn’t a question and she didn’t wait for an answer. “Alex, read from wherever you want to. Then... ”
She couldn’t finish. And Alex wasn’t sure she herself wanted to articulate what they’d promised this morning.
Brooke did it for them, without even the smallest hesitation. “Then we all try to cast out.”
“Yeah,” Alex agreed, calming down. “Then we try to cast out.”
Alex began.
August 14, 1962
Sometimes I pretend I’m in a fairy tale locked away in this attic. Rapunzel was trapped in a tower. But her hair was longer than mine.
I know I’m too old for such childish thoughts. I’m sixteen, for God’s sake! But I can’t help it. I think of my father—my real father—and imagine him rushing in to save his only daughter. He’s been dead three years now. He was a good man.
Mother should never have married again. She must see that now. He made me call him ‘father’, right from the start. Stepfather. That’s what he is. Jailor. And if the devil could walk in human form with a bible shoved up in his armpit, then he’d be that too.
No. I guess that would be his son, Billy.
It scares me to think this way.
It really does! I know he’s not the devil—not the one that my stepfather preaches of who waits for me in hell, to carry my ‘whore self away to be his bride in the fiery pit’.
If only he knew it was his beloved Billy’s baby that grows in my ‘whore’ belly.
Brooke gasped. “Connie was pregnant!”
Alex grimaced. “Yeah, by her stepbrother, Billy. Sick bastard.”
“Poor girl,” Maryanne said. “The nightmare just keeps getting worse for her. No wonder she—”
“Cast out of her body,” Alex finished for her. “She had to.”
Another piece of paper fell as Alex turned the pages. The slip of white glowed faintly on the hardwood floor.
“Listen to this entry,” she said. “This’ll really show you... well, just listen.”
September 23, 1962
I saw my mother.
Tonight when I went out, I went to find her.
I know that she’d come see me in this awful attic if she could. It has to be my stepfather that won’t let her come. He rules her with an iron fist—one he claims to be God-given. Just as he’s done ever since he stepped foot in this house. We didn’t need anyone else here in Harvell House. We could’ve lived with being poor.
So, tonight as my bulging body fell to the floor and I moved beyond the window, I didn’t roam the fields or skim above the trees. I didn’t head to the woods to watch the foxes cower. I went down. I went to the kitchen window, and I saw my mother there.
She looked so old it broke my heart! Her cheekbones stuck out. Her eyes were absolutely sunken in her skull, dark and hollow and sad beyond belief. She looked completely defeated as she worked there in the kitchen late at night, kneading the dough for the fresh bread that my stepfather insisted upon for breakfast.
The window was open and I wanted to call out to her so much! I needed to speak her name. I didn’t want her to see me, not in a way that would surely frighten her. But oh, I still couldn’t help but whisper, “Mother”.
She didn’t hear me. She didn’t turn around or even look around in a ‘what’s-that-sound’ kind of way. I spoke louder. Still nothing. She just kept kneading the bread and staring off into nothing. I raised my voice louder even as I crouched down lower in the bushes. Oh dear God, how I yelled! But mother still did not hear me.
I knew I couldn’t scream my loudest... I couldn’t do that to her.
But as I moved to leave, I saw her blink. I saw her turn to the window, with a strange look on her face. She searched the shadows. But I couldn’t show myself as I was—I couldn’t do that to her either. So I just stayed down in the night and watched my poor mother a little while longer until she turned away.
The girls sat silently. No one said a single thing as Alex stared down into the page, nor did anyone say a word as she closed the diary with finality. Not for several minutes. Finally Alex herself broke the silence.
“You guys still want to do this? I was out for just a minute last time, and it was accidental. Do you really want to try to cast out? To become a cast? Like Connie?” Even as she asked the questions, Alex wondered if they’d be able to do it. Maybe the path Connie had forged out through the stained glass was a path only Alex could travel, because of the abuse they’d shared in this room. She had Connie’s diary; maybe she was supposed to have it. Maybe somehow Connie had left it there just for her and her alone. Alex welled with emotion to think Connie could have done that for her. There was a common bond they shared; two victims from the attic floor.
“I want out,” Brooke stood, and the candle flames flickered off to her left. Flickered but not like they were in danger of being snuffed out. More like they were dancing. “That’s right, isn’t it? ‘I want out’?”
Maryanne answered for her. “Yeah, I want out, I want out, I want out. Those are the words.”
Alex heard the tremor in the breath Maryanne drew, and even in the dim candlelight, she could see the other girl’s eyes glistening with tears. Instantly, Alex knew they weren’t just tears for Connie. They weren’t just tears of fear.
“Maryanne,” she said. “You don’t have to try this.”
Maryanne stood abruptly. Alex rose too.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, side by side in the attic of Harvell House—Maryanne, Alex and Brooke. Trembling as their fingertips touched the cold, cold glass.
“Look into the Madonna’s eyes,” Alex whispered.
The moon light shone through those amazing and yet strange blue eyes as the girls looked up into them. Compassionate. Benevolent. Promising escape. Offering reprieve from their worlds and their wounds.
“I want out,” Maryanne’s voice was thick with tears. She was the first to start tapping. “Please... I want out. I want out. I want out... ”
Alex joined in. And then, so did Brooke. The whispers became a chorus of chants, a holy plea for freedom.
And Alex knew that freedom suddenly. As did the other girls. They were right there on either side of her, and the night surrounded the three of them.
They’d done it! They’d cast out.
“Holy shit! I’m levitating! I’m levitating two stories above the ground!”
Alex swung toward Brooke. She’d heard that! Hadn’t she? Or had she just felt it?
“Oh wow, we did it!” Maryanne cried.
Yes! They could hear each other! Even if other people couldn’t hear them, they could communicate amongst themselves. One less thing to worry about while the
ir defenseless bodies lay on that floor... “Yes, we did it,” Alex said.
“And, oh wow, would you just look!’ Maryanne said. “Everything’s so bright out here! Much brighter than when we’re in our bodies. I can even see you much better than I could the other night. You almost have a bit of a shimmering edge.” She lifted a black hand and looked down at it. “So do I!”
“We all do,” Brooke agreed. “But Alex didn’t have that shimmer the other night. We must see differently out here.”
Alex could find no fault with Brooke’s reasoning. It was much brighter than it should have been out here. Not daylight bright, but much brighter than could be accounted for by the available light. Much brighter than their non-cast eyes would have found it, she was certain. And that glittery edge—it made it much easier for them to see each other, yet Connie’s diary assured that other people would only see their pitch-black form, if they kept in the shadows. It was as though they were uniquely made for the night.
On that thought, Alex, following some instinct, held her hands out to the other girls. “Let’s own the night!”
Maryanne took her hand and Alex felt her surprise when their fingers touched. It wasn’t like flesh meeting flesh—not warm and pulsing with blood like their regular hands—but there was a strange solidity there that allowed them to grip each other. A weight.
Maryanne squeezed Alex’s hand and there was strength in her grip and in her voice. “That beats what I was going to say when you held your hands out like that.”
“Which was?”
“One for all and all for one.”
Brooke snorted, but she took Alex’s other hand and then Maryanne’s as well, to close the circle. If she found the sensation of their touch strange, she didn’t show it. “I was gonna say, ‘Let’s roll, bitches.’”
Their laughter rang around them.
Then Brooke released their hands and moved back, throwing her arms wide as if to embrace the night itself. “We got out! Can you believe it?”
Alex grinned at Brooke’s exuberance, but her smile faded quickly.
They’d gotten out, but part of them stayed in.
Alex looked in the window at their three bodies lumped on the floor in the pale, flickering wash of candlelight. Maryanne and Brooke moved closer to do the same, but quickly the two looked away and moved deeper into the darkness, leaving Alex hanging there outside the window.
Though she knew the night was cold, her cast didn’t feel it. But she did feel the warmth on her body—her original—in there, flanked by the semi-paralyzed bodies of original Maryanne and original Brooke.
Co-consciousness... “Come on!” Brooke urged from way over by the glistening river.
Alex glanced back with worry at their bodies on the floor, helpless. She hated to leave them. They were so damned vulnerable. But oh, how she wanted to soar!
So with a last look at their bodies, she followed Brooke’s urging and Maryanne’s delighted laughter. And the three casts soared out into the Mansbridge night.
Chapter 10
Like a Fish to Water
Brooke
As soon as Alex started toward them, Brooke turned and willed herself forward again. And holy crap, her dark form obeyed! God, this was amazing!
Powered by nothing more than the force of her intention, she zoomed out over the broad, flat Saint John River. She heard someone behind her—Maryanne?—murmur about how beautiful the river was. And oh, it was! With that odd, extra clarity, the dark water glittered in the moonlight like a massive spill of dancing sequins.
Brooke willed herself closer to the water’s surface, skimming along as she’d seen birds do when they fished. It was awesome! And the smell! With the air rushing by, it was just like being on a motorboat. Well, without the stink of gasoline and the noise of the outboard. And yeah, the sun-warmed smell of the river was completely different than this night-cool smell. Okay, it was nothing like a motorboat ride. Except it was just as thrilling. More thrilling!
She willed herself faster, but the desire failed to translate itself into reality. For the first time tonight, she felt a twinge of disappointment. Her speed seemed to have topped out. At least with her current degree of skill. But who knew? Maybe they could learn to go much faster, with practice. Right now, she figured she was moving faster than a person could run, but not nearly as fast, say, as a motorcycle. Hell, not as fast as a Moped, probably. Maybe as fast as a horse could gallop, though honestly she really didn’t know how fast that was. It was hard to gauge speed, especially since they were moving upstream. With the water flowing beneath them, maybe it only seemed like they were going fast.
Something touched her leg and she glanced down, startled. Until she realized it wasn’t her leg. Well, yes it was her leg, but not cast Brooke’s leg. Original Brooke’s leg. Back in the attic, one of the other girls had flopped a foot onto Brooke’s calf. How weird to be feeling what her body was feeling back there!
They’d agreed on that terminology—cast and original—right out of the gate. Attaching those labels had been as much about processing what had happened to Alex as it was about efficient communication. The terms made perfect sense to Brooke, “cast” being this free part that shot out—cast out—through the window, and “original” being the body that slumped bonelessly to the floor.
Except it wasn’t just a body she’d left behind. Original Brooke might look like an empty shell in that paralytic state, but she was far from vacant. Her heart had pounded with terror when she’d slipped through that window, and it pounded still, but it did so now with the thrill of flight. She was fully aware and conscious. She just couldn’t move.
But cast Brooke? Cast Brooke could fly!
She caught a flash of movement to her right and saw that Alex had caught up to them. She craned her neck to see that Maryanne cruised a comfortable few yards behind. And she could almost feel their exhilaration! Their joy matched her own as they raced along over the lazily moving current.
It struck her anew how weird this was. She was floating weightlessly, moving by sheer force of will, seemingly without exertion. It was surreal. Yet at the same time, it felt just as real as anything she’d ever experienced. The more she thought about that, the more she thought she should be freaked out. But she wasn’t, not even for a second. Just as Alex had said, there was little fear as a cast.
They rounded a bend in the river and a tall stand of pines caught Brooke’s attention.
“I’m going to go touch the top of that tree!” she called to the others.
Without waiting to see if they followed, she cut away. The night smell changed when she left the river behind. The scent of the earth and forest was warmer than that of the river, as though it were still releasing some of the sun’s energy that it had stored during the day.
As she neared the tree, she slowed her speed. When she got close enough, she stuck her hand out to trail it through the soft boughs of the giant white pine. Or rather she tried to. But her hand simply passed through them without rustling so much as a single pine needle. She tried it again, with the same result, then lifted her hand to examine it.
She hadn’t touched it, yet she had. Because when she’d drawn her hand back, she came away with a feeling of knowing exactly what it was to be the pine needle, to be the frigging branch! But even as she stared at her hand, the sensation left her. She swiped her hand through the boughs again, and again she felt it. Once more the sensation faded in a matter of seconds.
Bizarre!
“What are you doing?”
Brooke turned to see the other girls had joined her.
“This is so freaky! Run your hand through those boughs and tell me what you feel.”
The others tried it, to the same effect. “Wow, that’s crazy!” Maryanne said.
“This is going to be even crazier,” Alex said, and before Brooke knew what she intended to do, Alex dropped down to where the tree’s trunk grew thicker and—oh, shit!—moved her arm right through the tree.
“Omi
god, it’s so old!” Alex cried. “This tree must have been standing before any of the town was here.”
But Brooke wasn’t listening. She’d caught sight of something below on the ground, approaching from the south. Coyotes. Four of them, at least. “Look, guys. We’ve got company trotting our way.”
“Wow! I’ve never seen a wolf before,” Maryanne said.
“Coyote,” Alex corrected. “We don’t have wolves in the Maritimes, but we make up for it with big-assed coyotes. They’re nothing like the little western ones. Some scientists believe they’re a coyote/wolf hybrid.”
“Let’s go down for a closer look,” Brooke said.
“Don’t bother,” Alex said. “You’ll just scare them away.”
“How do you know that?” Maryanne asked. “Maybe they won’t even see us in the dark.”
But Brooke knew how Alex knew. The diary. Yet Alex said nothing. Typical.
“Let’s check it out for ourselves, shall we?” Brooke said.
Brooke started to move toward the pack, half expecting a protest from the others. Well, from Maryanne anyway. But as she neared the animals, she felt the others right behind her.
The pack sensed something amiss before they got very close. The biggest one—the leader?—bristled, standing there all stiff-legged and growling low in his throat. The rest of them slunk closer to the leader, whining. As the girls edged closer, the leader wheeled toward his pack. Clearly that was the signal to retreat, because they started to melt quietly away.
Brooke shot upward, then pressed for all the speed she could muster. In a matter of seconds, she had overtaken the coyotes, who’d opted for stealth over speed. Then she promptly dropped directly into their path. The lead dog yipped its surprise and scuttled backward.
“Spread out!” she called to the other girls. “Surround them and see what they do!”
To Brooke’s surprise, the girls complied.
Surrounded now, the coyotes formed a defensive circle. Like spokes in a wheel, they put their rumps together and turned their bared teeth toward the threat.
