My hands shook as I reached for the bird, thinking that at least on this occasion, my curse would actually do some good. Gently, I scooped it up in my hands. It lay very still. For a long time, I just held it, wanting to help it find peace, but not knowing what to do or say. I discovered a place deep inside of me that held pity for this creature and covered it with both my hands. An affliction coursed through my veins, like an electric shock. I saw a faint tint of blue gloss over my vision. I exhaled and knew what needed to be done; had to be done. Sitting on the ground with my hands still closed, a lump built in my throat. I hoped that when I opened my hands again, the bird’s eyes would be closed. I knew its death was my fault. Why did I keep my window blinds open? How was it to know that it wasn’t an open window? I slowly opened my hands.
The bird’s eyes remained open. It was still staring at me. Its dark eyes seemed to look through me completely. It startled me by blinking; then it began to move. It struggled to stand up, and perched, using my hands as a platform, and began bouncing around, examining its surroundings. It chirped once then took off in flight. As it departed, I heard a voice behind me.
“Another bird flew into the window?” Once again I jumped. By now, I was really tired of getting startled. I wished people would announce their presence. This time it was my father.
“Yeah,” I said, quickly getting to my feet, wondering if he had seen what had happened.
“Sometimes they hit the window and go into shock. You almost think they’re dead, then they just get up and fly away like nothing happened.” My dad gave a little laugh. I was not so thrilled to hear this but pretended to be.
“Yeah . . . that must be what happened,” I began to walk back into the house. My dad grabbed me by the arm gently.
“Danielle, you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said, definitely not wanting to discuss my encounter with the bird.
“You sure? You’ve been acting a little different lately. I’m concerned,” he said with sincerity. My dad was always genuine in his conversations with me. It was difficult to lie to him.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I gave him a small smile to reassure him. He gave me a hug, and I began to head in.
“Oh, Danielle,” he said quickly.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“You’re going to your uncle’s this evening, both you and your brother,” I was excited by this news and gave a quick smile that obviously took my father off guard by the expression on his face. He knew Christian and I didn’t get along and wasn’t expecting his news to please me. He quickly changed the subject, “and wash your hands if you touched that bird.”
* * *
Apparently, my parents had arranged some sort of date night. A concert, or play, maybe. It’s hard to remember the details. Clearly, they were reluctant to leave us with Christian; it was something they never did, at least not alone. I assumed we wouldn’t exactly be alone with him. Ostensibly, he was seeing some girl; they had been going together for a couple of months. This must have put my parents at ease; maybe Christian was settling down, perhaps even drinking less.
When we arrived at Christian’s home, he stepped outside onto his porch with his fists on his hips in a sort of Superman pose. It seemed he wanted us to be impressed by his new house. It was beautiful — new and huge. You could still smell the fresh wood and paint on the walls. His much younger girlfriend joined him and put an arm around his waist. This was the first time we were meeting her, she was perhaps in her late-twenties, compared to Christian’s late-forties. Everyone was obviously thinking the same thing: money.
She was gorgeous with blonde hair, tanned skin, hazel eyes, and a perfect smile. She dressed like a college student going out for the night. It made me question if we had some unknown plans. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her. She made me feel distinctly uncomfortable, and I quickly pretended not to notice her.
“Hey, guys, great to see you. Hey, Alex what do you think? Eh?” he said waving his arms and presenting the house.
“It looks great, Christian, not the low-key investment we had discussed, but it’s lovely,” my dad said in a somewhat nervous tone.
“Right? It is badass! I know. Oh! I want you to meet Cindy,” he said displaying his girlfriend from head to toe,” she stepped forward politely and shook their hands. My mother seemed baffled.
“Nice to meet you, Cindy . . . You’re . . . you’re so beautiful,” my mom said, clearly meaning it.
“Nice to meet you,” my dad said in a carefully neutral tone. I was sure he could feel my mother watching him from the corner of her eye to see if he was ogling Cindy. In fact, my mother was stunning that night as well. She’d really gone to a great deal of trouble to impress my dad I suppose, or possibly to impress herself. I could tell she was a little embarrassed that someone could look so attractive with so little effort while she had tried so hard that night. Cindy took care of her insecurities quickly.
“Thank you, Bridget, you as well, I love your hair, where do you get it done?” This put a smile on my mother’s face because she’d had her hair done that day, for a pretty penny, but it gave her something to talk about and to be proud of. They launched into a discussion about hairstylists and salons. So far, I think I liked this girl, Cindy. Maybe things aren’t always what meet the eye although the eyes couldn’t be more satisfied.
“Well, we gotta go if we’re going to be on time,” my dad said.
“Yeah, go have a great night, you can pick up the kids tomorrow if you want some sexy-time alone.”
“Christian . . .” My mom said with a ‘shut-the-hell-up,’ look.
“What? I’m just saying. Alex. Think about it,” he said pointing his finger at him. My dad just shook his head, and they were off.
“Come inside guys, we got food, games, a pool!”
“A pool?” my brother said.
“That’s right, you want to do some swimming?”
“Yeah!”
“Alright then, let’s go!”
We all trooped into his house, which was quite spectacular. Colorful, modern, electronics were everywhere. Big screens, gaming consoles, art. Why art, I have no idea because Christian knows and cares nothing for it. I assumed he had someone decorate for him. This was confirmed later, although Christian still took credit for its beauty.
“We’re getting in the pool,” Christian said. “You want to join us, Dani?”
“No, I’m good, I don’t have a swimsuit and –”
“Oh come with me, we’ve got extras, I’m sure I can help you find something,” Cindy said, grabbing my hand and escorting me to a room filled with clothes. She rummaged through the garments looking for swimsuits and found at least ten.
“I’m going to wear this one,” she said grabbing a purple top and bottom. “Why don’t you look and see if you see anything you like. I’m going to get changed.” She stepped into the adjoining bathroom, only halfway closing the door. I wished she had tried a little harder to close it. I sorted through some clothes, knowing there was no way I would wear anything there. Then, I found my eyes wandering. The way Cindy undressed, she was obviously proud of her body. I didn’t blame her. I averted my eyes, feeling guilty, and focused my attention on the walls.
“Dani, could you help me a sec?” I heard her call. I paused for a moment, not knowing what to say. Not wanting to be rude, I went into the bathroom, trying not to stare right at her body. She gave a helpless face, as though there was a problem she just couldn’t resolve, as she dangled the back ties to her bikini top in her hands and asked, “Can you tie this for me?”
“Uh . . . sure,” I said walking toward her.
“It’s okay. We’re both girls, right?” she laughed. She obviously sensed that I was not used to being around girls revealing so much. I took my time tying the knot around her back.
“So, how old are you, Dani?” she asked
“Uh, just recently turned fourteen,” I said, not sure if I had stated a complete sentence. She smelled so amazing.
“Wow, fourteen, you’re closer to my age than Christian,” she laughed, “I’m not with him for the money, you know, I really do like him. Well . . . most of the time, anyway. He’s funny and does whatever he wants. It’s just nice being around a guy that knows his own mind.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, stepping away. She leans back on the bathroom counter, facing me.
“What about you? Any boyfriends?” She inquired with an eyebrow raised. I got the impression she had further implication with her words.
“Nope,” I said simply.
“That’s good, you’re young. Enjoy it, be free.”
“You are like, really pretty,” I blurt without thinking. She smiles, knowing my embarrassment.
“It’s all real, too, girl,” she said giving a quick spin.
I was feeling extremely confused and awkward. Christian came to my rescue.
“Damn, are you girls coming or not?” he yelled from downstairs.
“Be right there!” Cindy returned and winked at me.
We went downstairs. I had made up my mind not to go swimming and just sat and watched them have fun. It disgusted me to see Cindy all over Christian. I didn’t know if it was because I hated him, or I was jealous of him. I banished the thought from my mind but watched them in the pool for a long time. Nathan seemed to be having a great time. I knew a big part of me did hate Christian, but I could understand why my grandma said she loved part of Christian; a part she didn’t think existed anymore. Maybe this was that part. He looked happy.
The night progressed; we ate and settled in to watch a movie and fall asleep. Unfortunately, the only one with sleep on his mind was Nathan. He went out like a light after so much swimming. I went upstairs to a guest room and tried to fall asleep, but could only think of finding those journals my great-grandmother spoke of. They were probably in the garage. He must have lots of junk stored in there because all his cars were parked outside.
I thought, they must surely have fallen asleep by now, so I made my way tentatively down the stairs. Christian and Cindy were still awake, but without-a-doubt preoccupied. I saw Cindy sitting on Christian’s lap, facing him. His back was to me. They were kissing . . . a lot, and I grimaced at the sight. Cindy noticed me, but she said nothing to Christian; in fact, she kept him preoccupied. It was as if she knew I was trying to find something. She gave me a questioning glance like, “what’s up?” Trusting her, I pointed to myself, then to the garage, enforced with a desperate expression. She seemed to understand and turned his head away from me as much as she could, pulling him down onto the couch so that he was on top of her, and then motioned with her hand for me to head that way. When I had turned the corner, I heard her say, “Why don’t we go upstairs to the bedroom so we don’t wake up the kids?”
I assume Christian agreed. Fortunately, his room was at the furthest place from the garage. I sneaked in quickly and quietly. With a new house, you don’t really have to worry about floor boards or doors creaking.
I was right about him storing my great-grandmother’s things in the garage after I turned on the light, I saw it was packed from the floor to the ceiling. All uniform, unmarked boxes. Who doesn’t mark boxes? How are you ever going to find anything? I felt overwhelmed but had to start somewhere so I grabbed the boxes furthest from the door so that they might conceal me in case he walked in. There were so many things, knick-knacks, decorations, some quite expensive. However, I was looking for the box with, seemingly, the most worthless items. I was worried that Christian had probably disposed of the journals because of their ostensible lack of value. Eventually, I located some boxes actually containing books. This gave me hope. Perhaps he hadn’t had time to go through her items yet. I dug through three boxes full of books before I knew I had found the one I was looking for. Dozens of journals, all black, all tattered from being carried and written in and discarded. I hesitated to know what these books could tell me. I saw one very small volume that looked like a schedule book and quickly grabbed it and put in my pocket; knowing I wouldn’t be leaving empty handed. I seized others, flipping through them quickly, seeking anything important. Nothing jumped out immediately. Then, slowly words became familiar: Euphoria, anger, pain, confusion. One passage stood out clearly, the first word I caught said: Christian
It felt wrong to read the words that I knew no one else ever had, even though my great-grandmother had insisted I should, I still felt ashamed. It wasn’t only her secrets in here, but the whole family’s secrets. I stopped myself. Whatever was in Christian’s past could wait for another day. As I was packing everything away, I noticed a glint of red protruding from under the pile of journals overflowing inside the box. I reached for it and tried to read it quickly and soak up information. What was in this book that I was meant to read? What hidden message?
I heard footsteps approaching and began to try to rip out pages that might be of importance, anything to guide me, but every page I tried to tear either ripped upward or across the middle. I don’t know why I assumed they would have any sort of perforation; they were decades old. I slowed myself down to be more careful, and at least save one page. Just as it was detaching from the journal ninety-five percent intact, Christian opened the garage door. I jumped knowing I had been caught red-handed. He looked suspicious at first, but not the least bit angry.
“I thought I’d find you down here at some point,” he said, with a shake of his head.
“Sorry . . .” I said in a low tone, hoping to appear sincere.
“Listen, I know you probably miss her a lot,” he said kneeling down next to me.
“Yeah,” I lied, and adopted a sad expression to confirm his inaccurate suspicion.
“I miss her too,” I think he lied as well, then he became very serious and contemplated me, “I am so sorry for how I acted that day.”
The words felt real. I knew Christian was the best actor, but nothing seemed to slip through the cracks this time. I search his expression and found no sense of falseness.
“You are a lot like her you know, I mean both stubborn, stoic, passionate, and loyal. I don’t blame her for hating me, you know? I deserved that. I’ve done the worst things that you probably can’t even imagine at your age,” his gaze shifted as he tried to repress the memories he spoke of, “I’m not that person anymore, Dani, I promise you that. I don’t drink, and I don’t hurt the people I love. I’m not perfect, but I think I’m getting better. Cindy might have a little to do with that.”
I smiled, thinking that he was right. He had changed, there was no denying that. For how long, was the real question.
“I forgive you,” I said, and meant it. He smiled in acceptance.
“Now let’s get outta here, it smells like old people in this garage. I’ve been meaning to get rid of this shit.”
“Get rid of?” I ask.
“Well, the unimportant stuff, not everything. Don’t worry if it’s important in any way I intend to keep it, and I’ll let you go through anything before I get rid of it, promise,” he wrapped one arm around my shoulder and lead me back inside. I relaxed, knowing I might have another chance to retrieve what I needed.
* * *
“Danielle, if I may interject,” Dr. Joy said, holding up one finger and looking at me over her glasses.
“Yes, doctor, who suddenly wears glasses that I don’t think you even need, what is it?”
“Uh ha,” she said disdainfully. “What is the significance of the story?”
“I don’t know, the part about the journals, and Christian . . . it will eventually be important,” I stated blandly.
“Well, what did the pages say? It’s not in here.”
“At the time it didn’t make sense to me . . . like it just seemed like a riddle or casual advice. It talked about disciplining your emotions and not investing too much into one thing. If your emotions became too concentrated, they would be like a ticking time bomb, but in saying that, it works both ways. It could be good or very bad. But that’s true for everyone, right? Letting
our emotions get the best of us can be all too dangerous. The little book I kept was nothing more than an address book, irrelevant for the time being.”
The room grew quiet, and I fidgeted a little in my restraints, for the most part, they’re relatively comfortable.
“I don’t understand you, Danielle. If what you’re saying is true, then why can’t you prove any of it, why can’t you just accept the fact that maybe none of this ever happened, at least not the way you think it did? A ninety-something-year-old woman dying, a journal that says nothing supernatural, a bird only half-dead, a premature baby in critical condition. These are things that happen every single day.”
“It’s real . . .” I replied, offended, but I could hear the slight doubt in my voice.
“Then, why not prove it right here right now?” she said insistently, but in a tone that implied she didn’t think it was impossible. Apparently, she really wanted to know.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t feel the way I did then. It’s still there, but it’s not the same; I’m blocked out. It’s inside, and it can be felt, but not accessed,” I spoke rapidly to convey my point convincingly while at the same time not destroying my fading credibility.
It was true since the second week of my confinement to this hell-hole, things had begun to change. I felt no connection to other people, other than my encounter with Dr. Joy; I could not help nor hinder anyone. It was as though it was all part of my imagination, but as I read the pages of the journals, I could not help but believe that at one point it was real; that all these unbelievable acts really did happen, and that people lived because of me, and more importantly, people died because of me.
“I’ve read your journal, I’ve listened to what you’ve said, I’ve talked to your family. It seems you are under the impression that you have the power to inflict and heal pain telepathically . . . but it’s not true,” she said as if she was imparting the worst news ever.
Manifesting Shadow, #1 Page 5
