I hugged my brother as I led him inside and told him to go change his clothes, and stay in his room, that I would talk to our mother.
I sat at one end of the kitchen table trying to digest everything that had just happened. At first, I expected to hear sirens at any second. Then, I remembered Christian was smart, and surely knew better than to draw attention to the situation. I drummed my fingers on the table and readjusted constantly in the chair. Leaning back, I felt something pressing against my back. Then, I remembered I had the journal. I whipped it out, threw it on the table, and flipped the pages to the only passage I needed to read at that moment; the one I had originally turned to months ago, the one I knew my grandmother spoke of when she rejected Christian on her death bed.
Chapter Eleven: Turning a Blind Eye
December 1980
I have never been filled with such disgust as I am today, I cannot even comprehend to myself the things that have transpired. I ask God for strength and forgiveness, but these feelings feel so far from me. The only thing that courses through my veins is hatred, for my grandson, and for my daughter. I felt that I could have killed that boy tonight; I knew I had enough of the hatred in my heart to do so without a regret. I don’t know why I didn’t, and I have a feeling I might regret not doing so for a very long time.
Everyone was gathered at my daughter’s house for the usual Christmas Eve dinner. I was staying there for a few days and unpacked my things in Bridget’s room. Her room had hints of pink and purple with animal stencils lining the walls. It was the perfect room for a little girl. I wished I had dedicated such time to ensuring visual entertainment in Ivy’s room when she was a little girl. I wished I had the luxury of being close to my children. A visit for the holidays was not enough, but it was all I could give. I remember hearing commotion from the living room. I knew that meant that another guest had arrived. I glanced out the window to see Christian lugging his bags toward the front door. He was on break from college, and here for the next week. Christian was young, strong, charismatic, handsome, and unusual.
I went into the living room to greet him with his mother and little sister as he came in the front door. Bridget ran up to him and greeted him with a big hug. He scooped her up in his arms and hugged her.
“Hey, little lady!” he said, hugging her, “Whoa, you’re getting big. How old are you now?”
“I’m eight,” she said, pushing him.
“Eight?!?! Wow, you’re all grown up,” he said, laughing and hugging his mom.
“Hi, Christian,” I said to him.
“Grandma Elizabeth,” he said with a nod, and proceeded to give me a hug for show, then turned to his mother. Christian had resented me since he was a small child, but he always had clever ways of hiding it.
“Hi Mom,” he said, giving her a great big hug, “You look amazing, not a day over 30.”
He gave Bridget a wink and smiled at his mother.
“Well, I’m going to unpack my stuff and get settled in. If that’s okay?” he said with raised eyebrows.
“Of course, sweetie,” his mother told him, gesturing him up the stairs.
Our eyes met as he walked by with a smirk on his face.
“I’ll help you!” Bridget exclaimed behind him, following up the stairs.
“You will?” he replied, laughing.
Christmas celebrations dragged on, through the days. Family came and went. They all talked about how surprised they were to see me, how it was such a rare occasion. I felt guilty, wishing it was just over. It was the day I was going to leave, and the house had mostly emptied out of visitors. I had taken a stroll through the neighborhood that afternoon while Ivy went to a half day of work. I wanted to be back before she got home so that she wouldn’t think I was completely neglecting spending time with my grandchildren, so I shortened my stroll with nature.
I got back to the house and slowly made my way up the stairs, slightly tired. I grasped the railing at the last step and heard Bridget giggling from Christian’s room.
I started to walk toward my room, then I heard something, and it was just the way the words escaped his mouth. I stopped.
“Did you miss me?” Christian asked.
“Yes,” I heard Bridget say with a giggle.
“You did?” Christian said with a false surprised voice, “How much?”
“That tickles!” Bridget exclaimed, continuing to giggle.
I proceeded to walk toward Christian’s room.
“What’s that?” I heard him say. Bridget laughed loudly.
“Shhh, shhh, you remember what to do?” I heard him ask with my ear close to the door.
“Uh huh,” Bridget said.
“Good, and you can’t tell anyone right?” he asked, “It’s our little secret.”
I ripped open the door. I was overwhelmed by the sight. Bridget lay completely naked on the bed, Christian in only his boxers, propped up over her with his face close to her stomach, his bottom half slightly covered by the sheet.
“Grandma Eliz —”Christian began, but before he could get the second word out I had made my way across the room. Red tint invaded my vision. I snatched him up by his neck and slammed his face into the wall.
“You son of a bitch,” I said, pulling his head back and smashing it into the wall again, “You sick snake!”
Anger consumed me. Bridget had wrapped herself in the sheet, and began to cry and scream, “Stop, you’re hurting him!”
“Get your clothes on sweetie,” I said, looking her way.
She continued to cry, but did as I said. Just as she had finished putting her shirt on I heard a voice behind me.
“What the hell is going on in here?” It was my daughter, “Mother, unhand my son!”
“You don’t understand. I caught him in bed with Bridget,” I walked closer to Ivy and said in a lower tone, “He was trying to perform sexual acts with her.”
“Oh, Mother, that’s ridiculous!” she said with a laugh.
“Ivy, this is not a joke. Your son has been preying on your daughter,” I said, angrily.
“What proof do you have of this, mother?” she asked in a dignified voice.
“I just told you, I saw it with my own eyes,” I said in disbelief.
“I don’t see anything unusual going on here, except you using violence against my children. That appears to be the only unacceptable behavior here.”
“Bridget, tell your mother what Christian was doing to you,” I said.
“Bridget, tell mommy, was Christian hurting you?” she asked with a smile on her face.
I wanted to slap my daughter so much in that instant.
“No,” she said in a low tone.
“No?” Ivy responded, “Has he ever tried to hurt you?”
“No,” she said again.
“Well, there you have it. I think you’re mistaken mother, and I think it’s time you leave,” she said with a serious expression.
Christian, who had been silent in the background, put his hand on my shoulder, “It’s okay. I’ll help you get your things, Grandma Elizabeth.”
I grabbed his hand and pushed him away from me, “Don’t you ever touch me, boy, and if I ever find out that you even so much as think about what you were doing today . . . I will come back and I will finish what I started.”
I left the house that day with more regret and rage than I had felt in years, and guilt within myself. Had I made this monster?
* * *
When I finished reading I felt so many emotions: anger, sadness, pity, and confusion. I closed the journal and was still absorbing the words when I heard the garage door open. My hands began to shake as I tried to plan how to approach talking to my mother. I prayed that my hands stayed put this time. She opened the door and smiled at me. I knew that she was still oblivious to what had transpired today.
“Hey, Dani, is Christian here? I saw his car outside,” she asked, putting groceries down, not looking closely at me.
“No, he’s not, Mom,” I said, hoping
that she would stop moving, and pay attention to me, “I need to talk to you.”
“Okay, let me just finish getting the groceries and then─”
“No, I need to talk to you now,” I said, shaking uncontrollably at this point, and becoming more frustrated every second she avoided me.
“Okay, okay, just let me─” she began.
“Stop! Stop moving! Stop talking! Look at me!” I screamed at her, standing up.
She stared at me, horrified.
“You’re bleeding! Oh, my God, what happened?” she said with her hand over her mouth, crossing the room to examine me.
“I’m not hurt, Mom,” I said, shaking her off, “I’m fine, it’s Nathan.”
“Nathan’s hurt?” she said, looking even more horrified.
“No,” I said, raising my hands up to make her stop talking.
I wanted to explain what happened, I wanted to tell her what I saw, what I did, but that’s not what came out.
“Why didn’t you believe Nathan, Mom?” I asked. She got a shocked look on her face, and glanced at me sideways, pretending that she didn’t know what I spoke of. This began to fuel the flame of fury within me.
“What are you talking about?” she said.
“Don’t do that, don’t act like you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about,” I said, “He told you about Christian, and you told him not to talk about it. Why is that?”
“Honey, sometimes children think that things happen to them that don’t really happen. It’s common for a child to exaggerate or fantasize about things like this, especially at his age. I just . . . I just didn’t want things to get out of hand without any proof.”
“Proof? He told you, his mother, that he was being molested by your brother, and you still thought it was safe for him to go over there to see him? Are you fucking kidding me?” I said, becoming more enraged.
“Well . . . you were there,” she said in a low tone. This put a knife through my heart.
“How dare you put this on me! I didn’t know, and if I did, I would have done what I did now, a long time ago,” I said.
“What did you do, Danielle?” she asked, “Is Christian okay?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? That man has been molesting your son! I wish he was dead right now! In fact, I hope he is!” I said.
“He didn’t do it, Dani! He would never do that! I know him, it’s not true!” she screamed back at me. I didn’t understand how she could say that so plausibly.
“How can you even believe that?” I asked in despair for her.
“You don’t understand,” she said with a helpless inflection in her voice, while refusing to meet my eyes.
“Don’t understand what?” I asked.
“He’s not like─”
“How can you not believe Nathan when I know Christina did the same thing to you!” I yelled.
Her eyes jerked back toward me with a glare I’d never witnessed on her face before. I didn’t even have the time to string together a thought when I felt her hand collide so hard with my face that it knocked me off my feet. That was the only time in my life my mother had hit me, or anyone for that matter. I was speechless.
She pointed her finger at me with tears streaming down her face, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She left the kitchen and closed herself away up in her room. She turned on some music and remained there for the rest of the night, and for days to come. My dad was out of town, and wouldn’t be back till Wednesday, so there she stayed. My anxiety rose as I thought about what would happen when my dad returned home. What would we say, what would we do, how would we put this back together? I comforted Nathan, almost constantly. He felt so guilty about everything, even though he was the last one to be blamed; my mother not only avoided me, but him as well. She wouldn’t even leave her room to go to work or eat. I felt guilt rising up in me, I felt like I had broken her, and I knew it was the kind of broken that I couldn’t fix. All Wednesday at school I couldn’t focus. I became more and more anxious about my father’s return. I knew he must be worried. In our phone conversation, no one had much to say, except that we couldn’t wait till he was home, and that everything was fine, but I could tell he knew otherwise. I knew if there was a way, he would have been back sooner. He wouldn’t be home until around 6 pm, by the time I arrived home it was 4 pm.
I entered the house and Nathan was sitting on the stairs. He looked uneasy.
“What’s up?” I said, putting my stuff down right by the door.
“Something’s not right,” he said.
His unspoken words were clear to me. The energy in the house was intrusive to my being. You could feel it, like a chill that cut through the stagnant air. I heard music from upstairs creeping from under the door of my mother’s room.
I looked up the stairs, then reached into my pocket, and handed my phone to my brother. I meant to tell him something. I meant to explain to him . . . that this wasn’t his fault.
I ran up the stairs, three at a time. I hit the wall when I reached the top, and I plunged down the hall to my mother’s room. I threw open the door. It led to a small hallway that led into the main bedroom area. The door to the bathroom was in that small hallway. The music was coming from behind the door. It was so loud at this point. I could barely hear anything. I banged my fist on the door hard.
“Mom! Open the door!” I screamed with my voice cracking. I didn’t care if the fear showed.
I banged harder and harder with no response. I knew, despite the loud music, there was no way she couldn’t hear me. I stared at the door in frustration. Light seeped out from the bottom of the door, thrown from the interior window. My eyes focused on where the tile in the bathroom met the carpet of the hallway. Blood.
It leaked out of the bathroom and had begun to leach into the carpet. My heart stopped. I reached down, and with my finger tip, touched it lightly, just to make sure it was real. It was still wet. I pulled myself up by the doorknob and began to throw myself against the door with all my strength. The door stood strong.
“Mom!” I screamed. I threw myself again and again. I began to kick the door. I braced my back against the wall opposite and kicked the door four times before I felt it begin to give. I pushed my back against the wall, and with all that was left in me, charged at the door. It gave way.
In a split second, I took in everything: my mother sitting with her back against a wall with a vacant expression on her face. Her hair looked like she had spent all day working on it. She sat wearing a beautiful dress. Her makeup was perfectly placed on every contour of her face, her eyes, nearly lifeless. Her arms were at her sides, her left wrist cut deep down the middle extending vertically up her forearm. The pool of blood ran from one side of the bathroom to the other. The bathroom reeked of fresh blood. It smelled like copper.
I knelt down next to my mother, trying to comprehend what was going on.
“What did you do?” I asked her.
I tried to grasp her other wrist to see if there was a pulse. I suddenly felt a presence standing in front of me, and looked up to see my mother, or at least a vision of my mother staring down at herself. It was her shadow, her soul. I reached for my mother and clutched her hand. I felt the energy flow through me and into my mother. I knew there was still a chance to bring her back. Just as the room began to fade into a light blue tint, and I began to be reassured that hope wasn’t lost, my mother’s shadow spoke.
“How could you let this happen?”
I froze at those words, and sick guilt shot through me, and the room faded into blackness. As I felt myself drifting I reached for my mother’s hand, but to no avail.
* * *
I awoke in my dreamland the way one would awaken from a nightmare. I was in a nightmare. I had to get back to my mother. There could still be enough time to help her if I could just get out of here. I sat up quickly in the peaceful bed that I had once found so comforting, it now only sickened me. I looked around.
“Danie
lle, you need to relax,” said a voice behind me. Anarah stood next to the bed.
I sprang up and began pacing the room.
“How do I get out of here?” I said, clenching my fist, looking for a door that I knew didn’t exist.
“You can’t leave, your soul needs to heal,” she said in a concerned tone, “Danielle you need to stay here.”
Her voice was changing from concerned to cautious. I didn’t care. I wanted more than anything to be out of that place, and I would do anything to leave. Anarah tried to put a hand on my arm and I pushed it away.
“Dani, it is important that you calm yourself right now,” she commanded.
“Dani,” I heard an unexpected, yet familiar voice, and turned toward it quickly. There, sitting on the side of the bed was Peyton.
“Peyton?” I said, in disbelief.
Anarah hastened across the room to stand between Peyton and me.
“Danielle, you need to listen to me very closely right now. Whatever you do, do not talk to her, do not welcome her presence in this place.”
Peyton got up from the bed and walked past Anarah.
“Dani, your mom, she needs you,” she said, grabbing my arm.
“I don’t know how to leave,” I said.
“You have to make it happen,” she said, looking straight at me, “She’s trying to keep you here, but time is running out. If you stay here any longer, you won’t be able to save her! Dani, you have to go.”
“Don’t listen to her, Danielle, she’s an illusion, she’s not real. You can’t leave here till your body is ready, it will tear your soul apart!”
Nothing logical crossed my mind at that moment. Nothing mattered except getting back to my mother.
“Get me out of here. Get me out of here now!” I screamed. “I want to go back!”
“Don’t do this, Danielle,” Anarah said with pity in her eyes.
“I have to,” I replied.
Peyton smiled at me, and Anarah hung her head.
“Then so it is,” she said.
* * *
When I awoke I expected a commotion. I expected to be back where I left. I was ready to act, to save her. I tried to move, but my body could barely budge. I opened my eyes, but still only saw darkness. I struggled to gain my bearings. It was like being suffocated by emptiness. I turned my head left and right and then looked up. Above my head, I noticed a small chink of light. Like the moon in an otherwise dark sky. I continued looking at it for several minutes trying to understand what it was. I began to free my hand from my side and reach above my head. I reached for this moon, but it wasn’t far away at all. My hand covered the light, and it created darkness. Around this light, I felt metal. I put my finger into the light and pulled. The sound that resulted was unsettling, the light unzipped through my fingers and air filled my lungs. My arms became free, and I unzipped this thing that imprisoned me. I sat up and looked around.
Manifesting Shadow, #1 Page 16
