The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1)

by Yvette, Miriam

  So it all comes down to money and influence.

  “How about this? I’ll give you some time to think about It.” said Bradley “You’re the first request Ms. Clarisse ever made, but not the last to refuse to work for her.”

  It’s enough that I live in hell at home, now I’m going to work for the devil. With a dead hope, I tried imagining how it can all work out, but I can’t think of a positive outcome by affiliating myself with Ms. Clarisse. If I quit, I won’t have the time and funds to look for a new job. My husband lost his job, and he depends on me to pay our bills. He would throw a tantrum if I got fired out of not wanting to be promoted.

  After parking into the tiny driveway of my home, I lingered inside my truck. My forehead pressed against the wide steering wheel. It appears that my life is always in the hands of another—I have never decided anything for myself. Working at Gilia is the only independence I’m allowed to get. Now that freedom is at risk by an older version of my husband. I thought of my mom, and those words she would holler across the hall. Whenever I made a mistake or tried something new. Nothing can satisfy her, she always revert to saying those nasty words. I straighten my back because what she say’s is true, and I have to remind myself.

  “Lola.” I said to my reflection in the mirror. “You’re worthless, you can’t do anything right. Accept it. You’re not cut out to do anything.”

  I returned Bradley’s call, and painfully accepted my new promotion.

  Chapter Five

  A Tyrant’s Hurt

  “It doesn’t matter what I say to them, they still think I’m crazy.”

  I regrettably returned my old uniform to Bradley’s secretary. She asked me if I was excited for my new uniform, but nothing will compare to my lavender apron, and the logo of a Gilia flower at the chest. My new uniform is now a plain white polo shirt and black satin pants. The Gilia logo printed on the left side of the chest area is barely legible.

  After a month of training, attending CPR classes, and overshadowing my co-workers, I became qualified to work for Ms. Clarisse. When the staff of every department saw my uniform, they shook their heads with pity. Even the overworked nurses feel sympathetic for me. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole nation knew of my ill fate encounter with Ms. Clarisse.

  When I told my husband about my promotion, I had a dying hope that he would be happy for me. “That’s it?” was all that came out of his mouth, then he returned back to drinking. I wanted to storm out and leave him, but I tried that already. I tried being a strong woman. The times I left him, I’d wander around the mall, with nowhere to go. My family wouldn’t take me in and because of my husband, I have no friends.

  His family eventually found me. They humiliated me, and threaten me to never embarrass my husband again. Gilia is the only reason I’m allowed out of the home and I won’t lose it. I held my head up high, and fooled my co-workers that I want this promotion. But it doesn’t matter what I say, they still think I’m crazy.

  My first day with the tyrant is at 6 a.m. a working server passed me Ms. Clarisse’s breakfast tray. When the server walked away, I immediately envied my previous position. I opened the silver lid to peek at Ms. Clarisse’s meal. It’s nothing more than a glass of water.

  This doesn’t feel right, the supervisor in the kitchen mentioned to me that Ms. Clarisse doesn’t eat breakfast at all.

  She must be urgent to see me.

  On the fourth floor, I waited outside her door for five whole minutes. My trembling hands are unprepared for my first day of torment. I thought of the tears I will be forming up, just like her previous victims. If she flings this tray at me, I will turn my back in order to avoid a painful encounter. When I pressed the doorbell, a voice roared from the door.

  “Unfortunately, I’m still alive! Leave me alone—I’m busy!”

  This stubborn woman didn’t even bother to use the intercom. Instead, she let the strength of her lungs travel through the thick door. Memories of the slap returned, and I held my breath. I rocked back and forth, hoping to calm my jittering nerves. If only someone can save me now, sadly, there’s no going back. My index finger regrettably pressed the button to speak into her room. I leaned to the receiver, trembling.

  “M-Ms. Clarisse, I’m L-Lola your new personal attendant, I’m here to bring you a glass of—I mean breakfast.”

  My fingers released the button like it was the hot fire of hell.

  In the long pause, I kept silent thinking. What if she didn’t hear me, and I have to repeat this all over again? That’s going to make her angry! What if she’s sharpening her knives or preparing an evil plan to hurt me! My palms are now sweating already, this silver tray is about to slide off any moment.

  “Come in.” she said, this time, Ms. Clarisse used the device for the intercom.

  The door unlocked, but I remained motionless. A janitor walked by, quickly taking notice of my strange behavior. He chuckled noticing the room number I’m hesitating to enter.

  “It’s like steak.” he commented. “You can wait and cook in the hallway all you want. Doesn’t matter if you’re medium rare or overcooked, she will still eat you up.”

  “How is that supposed to help?” I peeped.

  “Well, instead of torturing yourself like you are now, you can get this over with. There’s no other way around it.”

  He makes a valid point. I need to let Ms. Clarisse chew me up like a juicy steak. Afterwards, I can find another job and move on with my life. I gripped the gold doorknob, and went inside. I took my sweet time through the hall, quietly taking each step with caution. Who knows, there might be mines on the floor. Maybe she’s hiding in one of the dark corner, ready to pounce on me.

  “Lola, calm down.” I told myself. “You getting over-imaginative, no attendant has actually died.”

  I find it surprising that Ms. Clarisse lets the morning sun bright up her wide living room. I better see the décor I missed from that night. The entire wall and corner is congested with large frames, expensive looking vases, and heavy furniture. One of her walls has a large, interesting painting of a red cabin. When I passed her living room, I made it to her bedroom.

  As I got closer, I’m imagining the attendants before me, walking on what feels like death row. My mouth grew dry, and my muscles are starting to ache. My heart is pounding like an African drum. When I set foot into her bedroom, I found Ms. Clarisse sitting on her bed, with one hand over the other. She’s wearing a nice blend of makeup, even for this early morning she’s well dressed. I quickly took notice that she’s not a grain shy to look at me directly in the eye. I reverted my eyes to the floor.

  “Good Morning.” she said.

  “Good…Morning.”

  “You’re that gal from last night? Lola is it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You may place my breakfast on the over-bed table.”

  I obeyed with a stiff spine. One wrong move from me, and she will have me for dessert. After carefully placing her tray on the table, my feet slowly glides back. Keeping a safe distance is undoubtedly, a good idea. I supervised her hands, ready to dodge anything she may fling at me. When her hands moved, I jumped. She reached for a magazine resting on her lap, and began to read it. I remained in my spot, waiting for something to spark up. It’s been two whole minutes, and Ms. Clarisse is not shouting my ear off yet, what’s up her sleeve?

  “You can rest your mind child.”

  Her eyes never moved from the pages, she flipped the next page and continues.

  “I don’t plan to storm up on you—not yet.”

  That isn’t reassuring, is this how she made the staff cry? She lures them into thinking she’s a calm, old lady and when their guard is down, does she yell their heads off? Well tough luck lady, I live through that on a regular basis. I have the strength to remain another minute in the same room with her. If she wants me to be a statue, then a statue I will be.

  “There’s no need to dawdle here, you may leave for now.”

  The surprising comment
, glued my feet to the floor. Isn’t she going to slave drive me? Maya didn’t last five minutes with her—just how long does she plan to keep me?

  Ms. Clarisse noticed my hesitation, and left the page she read. Her attention shifted towards me, her eyes examined me from head to toe, suddenly.

  “Well go on!” she hollered.

  With haste, I led myself back to her polished living room, and into the hall. By closing the door, my agitation subsided. I survived…for now.

  Two weeks have passed since my first day as Ms. Clarisse’s attendant. Every workday I saw Ms. Clarisse three times, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After dinner, she dismissed me like I was a pain to look at. Not once did I dodge trays of food, nor have I been yelled at. The silence of Ms. Clarisse confused the staff, as much as it did to me. I was told on my days off that Ms. Clarisse resumes her insulting, and reckless personality. On my shifts, Gilia felt at peace, but that awareness threw me off.

  One morning, I arrived to her room to serve her usual breakfast, except this time, something is tugging inside me—a long awaited question has been fermenting inside my mind. After I placed her tray in the usual table, I didn’t move an inch. I wanted to, but I didn’t let myself. Ms. Clarisse quickly took notice.

  “That is all child, why are you still here?”

  “Why—” I squeaked, and cleared my throat. “Why did you choose me?”

  “Excuse me? I have bad hearing, speak more clearly.”

  “Why did you tell Bradley to promote me and become your attendant?”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you worked in a different department. They must have promoted you to fit my…request.” she chuckled.

  When her eyes looked unto mine. I noticed the dark circles around her eyes, even her own makeup can’t hide it. Even sleep is keeping a distance from her. The room kept silent. I feel like I have stricken a nerve on Ms. Clarisse’s temple. Perhaps my question insulted her, I think my time for judgment is finally due.

  “You really want to know?” she said.

  Before I could utter a word, she interrupted me.

  “You came into my room that night.”

  “Just for that?” I asked “The attendants in the hallway were in the middle of entering—”

  “Nobody.” she interrupted. “Nobody enters this room unless I need a nurse or it’s time to eat. I receive better treatment from the janitors than any attendant who has worked for me. I’m quite aware of the way I mistreat everyone. It gives them a reason to keep their distance from me, and that’s quite alright. I’m not going to pretend to be a nice old lady when I know I’m not. Why did I choose you, you ask? It’s not like I suddenly decided to, I have a very good reason. As of late, I’m suffering from these dreadful nightmares. There has been several times when I wake up screaming, only to bear with the neglect of my attendants. I’m also aware that these brutes wait the hallway, just outside of my suite. How do I know—the intercom of course.”

  “Why don’t you report their behavior?” I boldly asked.

  “Your boss does the firing, not me. I didn’t come to Gilia to fire everyone in my path. Of course, I’m sure you heard differently, didn’t you? I bet the rumor is that I fire your fellow companions isn’t it? Now why would it be my business to increase the value of the minimum wage?”

  I let her words sink in. I tried to imagine the attendants being anything, but courteous to their residents. Sure there’s favoritism from a group of attendants and their supervisors. But I have seen how well Gilia’s residents are treated by their attendants. This is the job everyone wanted, why would they put their job at risk by neglecting Ms. Clarisse?

  “You don’t believe me.” she concluded. “Let me finish answering your bright question. The overnight attendants have never been helpful, they’re scum. But one night, I woke up to a sweet voice, your voice. Instead of running away, like you should—you entered the trolls cave, sat on my bed, and re-assured me that everything will be okay.”

  I couldn’t lie to her, I told her I didn’t know the room was hers, and if I did I probably wouldn’t have entered. Ms. Clarisse coughed up a laugh, her throat gargled and scraped—it’s not a pretty laugh.

  “I must have given you the surprise of your life then.” she said. “To be honest, I took some liking to you Lola, I felt like a real person when you sat in my bed. You didn’t see me as some fragile, decaying disease.”

  “No one should think like that” I commented. “People remain as they are, people.”

  “You say that because you’re young. I like your optimism, but have a lot to learn child. If I had no money, Gilia would skip my meals, and call me by the name I hear in the halls. Forgive my rudeness, but I have no hope for mankind. I’m disgusted that I’m treated like a queen over fear and money. Are you aware of how many seniors like me are abused, neglected, and mistreated by everyone—even by their own family. Age is of no value to the young and midlife. Only the old know how important life truly is.”

  Just one question, and Ms. Clarisse is chatting away. She must have felt like she was on a deserted island. She spoke rapidly, and changed the subject—it’s like she’s compelled to share everything on her mind. Perhaps she is right, as a society, we treat those of the retiring age much differently. In public I scarcely saw anyone over 60, they hardly stood out among the crowd of colored hair people. Where else could they be but here? Senior homes have existed for centuries, but how many residents have felt alone, and in their own deserted island?

  “Don’t you have children?” I asked.

  Ms. Clarisse looked at me, squinting her eyes. Her body language changed, her expression grew stiff, and her mouth started to quiver. The room fell silent, I feel like my presence is beginning to suffocate her. These are obvious signs of mental pain. Instead of venting out, she gulped those thoughts and gazed at her frail body. My heart began to sink, I recognized this in myself. She’s suppressing her pain.

  “Take my food today, I’m not hungry.” she let out. “I’d like to be alone.”

  I took the quietly walked out of her bedroom. Ms. Clarisse’s behavior changed the instant I asked about her children. It’s uncommon for someone to quickly revert to a misery state like that. Even so, to witness it, bothered me.

  When I returned the tray to the kitchen, a cook saw my mellow state, and asked me if the tyrant has finally lost attacked. By a miracle she didn’t, but I remained disturbed. I told the cook about my mentioning of her children drove Ms. Clarisse to dismiss me. The cook nodded knowingly, and told me about a rumor concerning Ms. Clarisse.

  “Her own family has cut her off from their lives.”

  “What do you mean cut off?” I asked.

  “You don’t know?” said the cook. “She’s been living at Gilia for three years now, and has not received a single visitor.”

  The next morning was my day off, but Bradley called me in to work. He said Ms. Clarisse had an accident, and was urgently admitted to the hospital. My thoughts immediately returned to the overnight attendants who Ms. Clarisse says neglect her. Without proof, I can’t believe any attendant would put any resident in danger.

  “I know you’re off today but we need you. The doctors can’t stand her. With you around, they have a better chance of her cooperation.”

  “Cooperation?” I repeated.

  “She doesn’t want to see anyone. Every time the doctor walks in, she’s on her phone calling that lawyer of hers.”

  “Lawyer?” I resounded.

  “Oh you haven’t met him yet. His name is Mr. Müller, he belongs to the Company Five, a chain of private, successful high-profile lawyers. Be on your best behavior around him. With that, are you coming or what?”

  If Ms. Clarisse is throwing a tantrum at the hospital, what makes him think I can work a miracle? Ms. Clarisse may not want to see me after I asked her if she had children. I don’t want to risk upsetting her again. Bradley offered to pay me overtime, hinting an extra bonus. When I asked him the details of the accident, Bradley dismissed the
m. He just wants to know if I’m going to work or not. My only concern is her new partner in crime, Mr. Müller. I’m afraid that he’ll be just as intimidating as Ms. Clarisse. My husband never comes home on my days off, working is a much better option than being home alone.

  When I arrived at the hospital, my first goal was to ask about the cause of her accident. The nurse who led me to her room told me it was assumed that Ms. Clarisse had broken her wrist and hip trying to get out of bed. This type of fracture is common for the elderly, but these accidents rarely happen in Gilia. After finding her room, the nurse immediately excused herself.

  Her room lingered in darkness, the curtains have been shut, blocking any light from entering. Ms. Clarisse looks less intimidating at a hospital, than at the Gilia. I scoot a seat beside her bed, and watched her sleep. Her head tilted sideways facing me, her mouth remained half open. There’s no makeup on her pale skin, none of her belonging are here. No one bothered to fetched her anything—not even the attendants who were supposed to care for her on my days off. The cast on her wrist laid stretched out on the bed, just staring at it brought me an unappealing ache.

  My co-workers do neglect Ms. Clarisse. This could have been prevented, but I have become ignorant to accept it. The night I ran into Ms. Clarisse’s room, I always found the attendants wrong behavior as a violation of company policy. Bradley wouldn’t allow that kind of treatment to fall on anyone—especially Ms. Clarisse. When I return from my days off, I have to pick up all of the slack the attendants didn’t do. Why does Ms. Clarisse put up with them, why doesn’t she fire them? Everyone says she can fire anyone with the snap of her finger, but that isn’t so. How ironic that the most feared senior in Gilia is indirectly being mistreated.

  I returned from my thoughts and found Ms. Clarisse awake—staring at me. I gave her a smile but her expression remained empty.