Dead Angels

by Tim O'Rourke

  “Mum would drag me down here and make me strip to my underwear, and all the time she would be praying…almost chanting. She would rant over and over again. Her face would look as if in pain and I remember seeing spit form like foam around her mouth. She would keep me locked down here for days at a time.” Melody looked in the direction of the cross on the wall and I followed her gaze.

  “Sometimes I would have to kneel on the crate for so long that my knees would bleed.”

  “Why would she do that to you?” I asked, stunned at what she was telling me.

  “Because she said I had an evil demon living within me. She would make me fast, too. My mum said she was starving the demon out of me.”

  “How long would she make you go without food?” I gasped.

  “Until I could take no more,” Melody explained. “My stomach would start to cramp and all I would be able to think about was food and water. My thirst was so bad sometimes, the pain was unbearable.”

  “Where would your mum go while you were left starving down here in the dark?”

  “She would sit right here and pray for my forgiveness. Sometimes, I could hear her sobbing hysterically.”

  “When would she let you eat?”

  “When I was near unconsciousness,” Melody said, looking up at the cross, her face haunted as she remembered the torture her mum had put her through. “I used to hallucinate due to the pain in my stomach and throat. I could hear water rushing past me, then drowning me. But it didn’t bring me any closer to God, like my mum hoped it would. It just made me believe there was no such thing. If there were a God, he wouldn’t have let me suffer like that. I would finally rock forward on the crate, my knees red and raw, close to exhaustion. It was like I was falling into a well of blackness, but before I hit the bottom, my mum would catch me in her arms.”

  I put my arm around Melody’s shoulder and hugged her as we sat on the pew and she stared up at that cross.

  “Melody, I’ve never heard anything like that before. I don’t know what to say. You’ve got to report this, she can’t do this to you,” I whispered.

  “Who would believe me? I’m not sure that even you do.”

  “I believe you; it’s just that I can’t believe that any mum could do that to their kid.” But then I thought of what I had seen through Ray’s window and wasn’t quite so sure.

  “Well, believe it or not, she does treat me like that and has always done so!” she insisted.

  “Haven’t you got anyone else, family that you could go and live with?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Anyway, she hasn’t locked me down here for a while.”

  I studied Melody’s profile in the dim light of the makeshift chapel, and for a fourteen-year-old, she looked tired and haunted.

  As if knowing what I was thinking, Melody stood up and said, “C’mon, the tour isn’t over yet!” Throwing the chapel into darkness once more, she led me up the stairs and to her mother’s bedroom.

  Melody swung open the door, and her mum’s room was warmly lit with two red coloured light bulbs that sat in shaded lamps. Like the hall and so much of the house, the room was decorated with haunting pictures of Jesus at various stages of his crucifixion. The room was sparsely furnished with a single bed, a dark wooden wardrobe, and a reading chair. The most dominant feature in the room was the papier-mâché grotto Melody’s mother had constructed in the far corner of the room. If it hadn’t have been for its bizarre location, it would have been a truly impressive piece of work. It was very detailed, and from a distance, it did look like an actual stone structure. It had been painted, and a great deal of time and effort had been taken to paint plant life and flowers all around its base, and what appeared to be wild ivy growing up the length of one side. The front of the structure had been hollowed out and in this stood the most beautiful statue of a woman who I figured had to be Mary, Jesus’s mother. Unlike the many pictures of Jesus which were hanging around the house, this was truly breath-taking. In the statue’s hands she held a set of rosary beads just like the ones that Melody carried in the pocket on the front of her apron.

  “What do you make of that?” Melody asked. She was whispering again.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life,” I murmured, moving forward to get a closer look. “What’s the point of it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Melody sighed. “I think it’s meant to resemble this holy place in France – Lourdes.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to buy a plane ticket and visit the place for real?” I half joked.

  “If you were normal, yeah. But we’re not talking about your everyday pilgrim, are we?” Melody said.

  “What would your mum do if she knew we had been in here?” I asked, continuing to study her abnormal handiwork.

  “To her it would be like one of us taking a leak on God’s robes!”

  I turned away from the grotto and was just about to say, I think I should be going, when we heard it: the unmistakable sound of someone’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Isidor

  We looked at each other. Even in the glow of the red lights in the room, I could see that the entire colour had drained from Melody’s face and she looked petrified.

  “She’s back!” Melody whispered.

  “What are we going to do?” I panicked. I could see Melody’s eyes frantically search the room for somewhere for both of us to hide. Outside, I could hear her mum’s footsteps and they were getting closer.

  “In the wardrobe” she breathed in my ear.

  “Are you kidding me?” I whispered back.

  “Get inside,” she hissed, opening the wardrobe door. I could see real fear in her eyes and sense it in her voice.

  Before I had the chance to say anything else, Melody pushed me in the back and into the wardrobe. The clothes on the hangers smelt musty and old as they brushed against my arms and face. Melody squeezed herself in next to me and closed the door. My heart was racing so fast I thought it was going to explode out of my chest. I stood as still as possible and I hoped that Melody’s mum wasn’t going to bed for the night. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hide in here until morning.

  It wasn’t completely dark in the wardrobe, and I noticed a chink of light seeping in through a gap in the door. As quietly as I could, I crouched and pressed my eye against the gap. I saw Melody’s mum enter the room and close the door behind her. I couldn’t see all of her, just brief glimpses, but enough to know that she dressed just the same as Melody.

  How did I get myself into this? I cursed.

  Then her mum stopped in the middle of the room, and I saw her take off her bonnet and apron.

  Oh my God, she is going to bed! I’m trapped! I screamed inside.

  She rummaged around for something in the grotto, and then dropped to her knees. Her head was cast forward so I couldn’t see her face. But in her hands she held a set of beads, just like the ones Melody had. I guessed that’s what her mum had taken from the statue in the grotto.

  How did I get into this? I thought again.

  Then her mum started to speak as if she was having a conversation with someone else in the room, whom I couldn’t see.

  “Forgive me,” she muttered, head resting against her hands which were clasped before her. “Please take the burden which is my daughter from me.”

  Melody must have heard what her mother had said, as she moved uncomfortably beside me.

  “I know that I sinned, that I was tempted by the devil,” her mother continued. “But he tricked me into falling in love with him. He used me to carry his demon.”

  I closed my eyes because if I did, it meant that perhaps I wasn’t hiding in the wardrobe and having to listen to this woman speaking about my friend in such a way.

  “Once he had placed his demon inside of me, he left,” her mum continued to mumble. “But I know he will return one day. That’s why you must help me rid my daughter of her demon.”

 
; Holding my breath, and turning as quietly as I could, I looked at Melody. She cowered in the corner of the wardrobe. In the chink of light that cut through the gap in the door, I could see tears glistening in her eyes. I pulled her close to me, then resting my forehead against hers I gently placed my hands over her ears so she didn’t have to hear what her mum was saying about her.

  Her mum continued to babble her wicked prayers on the other side of the wardrobe door. To block out the sound of her voice, in my head I pictured Melody and me down by the lake, our feet being covered by the cool water that lapped against the shore. With our foreheads touching, I hoped somehow Melody would see those pictures too. I closed my eyes and pictured her.

  It was like I completely lost track of time. I could no longer hear Melody’s mum praying. Taking my hands from over Melody’s ears, I shuffled around on the spot and peered through the gap.

  I watched as Melody’s mum placed the beads back in the statue’s hand, and then headed for the bedroom door. Here she took off her plain grey dress and let it flutter to the floor. With her back to me, I was horrified to see her back was criss-crossed with a network of old scars. They were silver-looking in the red glow of the lamps. She took a dressing gown from the back of the door, wrapped herself in it, and left the room.

  No sooner had she gone, than Melody was pushing me from the wardrobe. She tiptoed across the room towards the door.

  “C’mon!” I could sense the panic in her voice.

  “Is it safe for us to come out now?” I asked.

  “She’ll be having a shower. C’mon!” Melody pulled at my arm and we snuck from her mother’s room. We crept along the landing and as we passed the bathroom, I could hear the sound of running water. I just wanted to get out of there and I began to descend the stairs two at a time. In my haste, I lost my footing and clattered into Melody who fell forward and tumbled down the last few stairs.

  “Melody! Melody is that you?” her mother called out from the bathroom.

  Melody clambered to her feet and dragged me to the front door.

  “Who’s there? Melody is that you?” her mother called again.

  I looked back momentarily and saw a shadow spill across the wall at the top of the stairs. Melody yanked open the front door and pushed me outside onto the porch.

  I looked at her as she stood in the doorway. “Come with me, Melody. I can take you home with me – it’s different – but better than here.”

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “Melody! Melody! Who are you talking to? Who’s there?” her mum called again from the top of the stairs.

  “It’s okay, mum. It’s just me,” Melody called back.

  “Please, Melody, come with me?” I begged in a hushed tone. It was then I finally saw the tears she said she had been unable to cry earlier. They seeped from the corner of each eye and spilled onto her cheeks.

  “I can’t come with you, Isidor,” she said, shutting the door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Isidor

  The next day I was anxious to meet up with Melody, I was worried for her, and I didn’t like the idea of leaving her there, not after what I’d seen and heard the previous night. I hadn’t slept well, deep within The Hollows. The images of what I had seen kept going around in my mind. Humans seemed to be so cruel to one another. It didn’t seem to matter who they were or where they came from. My mother was right, though; they were all the same in a way. Melody’s mum thought she was a holy person, but was very cruel. Ray’s father had been a solider – a brave man – and wanted the respect of others, but he was cruel to his son, too.

  Relieved to see Melody waiting for me, I walked towards her, and as we mooched through the woods towards the lake on that bright, winter’s morning, Melody said, “You won’t ever tell anyone what you saw and heard at my house, will you?”

  “I can’t believe you have to ask me that,” I said back.

  “I know I can trust you, but I would hate for anybody else to find out.”

  “Well they won’t find out from me. I promise,” I assured her. And that was that, the subject was never mentioned again, but it was always one that would play on my mind.

  Melody had a rucksack with her that day, she had smuggled it from home and bought it down to the lake. Placing the rucksack on the ground just outside our camp, Melody took a beat-up looking radio from it.

  “I thought we could listen to some music,” she said.

  I could remember what she had told me about her mother and her dislike of pop music. I sensed that Melody, in her own secretive way, was starting to rebel. I watched her turn the silver coloured dial on top of the radio until music came from the speaker. I didn’t know the name of the song at the time, but it was played a lot by the radio stations and Melody and I would often sit by the lake and sing along. I later discovered the song was called Heroes by David Bowie. As I sat looking at her, dressed in those plain and old fashioned looking clothes, I noticed something different about her eyes.

  “Are you wearing makeup?” I asked.

  “Yeah, do you like it?” she smiled, looking pleased that I had noticed.

  “Well…I s’pose…” I started. “What would your mother say?”

  “She won’t find out,” Melody said and took a lipstick from the bag.

  It was bright red, and she covered her lips with it. As I sat and watched her, I asked, “Where did you get the makeup from?”

  “From a shop,” she smiled, glancing at me. Then, patting the big pouch on the front of her apron, she added, “Comes in real handy for slipping things in.”

  “You stole that makeup?” I asked, again surprised by her.

  “Just like you and the library book,” she winked at me, and secretly I thought she looked prettier without the lipstick and the black stuff around her eyes. I wasn’t going to say anything, though, as she seemed to like it and that was cool with me.

  “Speaking of books,” Melody added, “I’ve got something for you.”

  Again, I watched as she reached into the bag and this time she produced a comic book.

  “Why have you got me a book?” I asked. “You know I can’t read.”

  “But I can,” she smiled at me, “and I’m gonna teach you.”

  “What’s it called?” I asked, feeling scared at the thought of making a fool of myself in front of her.

  Holding up the book, Melody said, “It’s called The Incredible Hulk.”

  I looked at the shiny cover of the comic book and could see a big, green, angry monster on the front with colourful writing splashed across it – but to me they were just shapes. “What’s it about?”

  “This dude – his name is Bruce Banner but he leads a secret life,” she started to explain, thumbing to the first page. “Everyone thinks he’s like, a regular guy, but really he’s a monster. He can’t tell anyone, because if people find out they...”

  “Would capture him, put him in a cage, then open him up to see how he worked,” I cut in.

  “Pretty much,” Melody said, eyeing me. “How did you know that?”

  “It was just something my mum tried to explain to me once,” I told her, thinking of my wings hidden behind those scars. “People don’t like different, do they?”

  Glancing down at her dress, the apron, and thick workman-like boots on her feet, Melody whispered, “I guess not.” Then, as if wanting to change the subject, she waved the comic in the air and said, “Am I gonna teach you to read, or what?”

  We spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening listening to music on the radio as Melody sat and read the story about the big green man who had to hide the fact that he was different from everybody else. Each page was a maze of colourful pictures and adventure. The words were written in boxes and bubbles scattered about the pages. There weren’t too many words, and Melody would run her finger beneath them. Sometimes, as she was reading, I would look up at her, and I would feel my heart race. I loved being with her and I would have been happy to stay on that tiny stretch of be
ach with Melody for the rest of my life. A couple of times she caught me staring and would say, “Isidor, you’ve got to concentrate! Look at the words and the letters. Listen to the way the letters make words.”

  So, as those cold days and afternoons turned warmer, and the branches on the trees in the woods exploded with shades of pink blossom, Melody taught me how to read. It wasn’t long before I was beginning to understand the letters which made up the words, which then told the story. It helped having the pictures, as when I got stuck, I could look down at the drawings and it all kind of made sense. Then, one bright afternoon, as the tide of the lake lapped about our toes, Melody took a book from the pouch on the front of her apron and handed it to me.

  “Isidor, I’m tired of reading – I think you should read me a story now.”

  I stared down at the book. I felt scared and my stomach knotted. Melody must have seen the fright in my eyes.

  Placing a hand over mine, she looked at me and whispered, “There’s nothing to fear, Isidor. Books are like doorways. Open it and you can step right into a whole new world.”

  Running my thumb under the words printed on the cover – the doorway – I read the words aloud. “Grimm’s Fairy Stories.”

  “Now open it,” she whispered as if casting a magic spell.

  I turned back the cover and tracing the words with my forefinger, just like Melody had taught me, I said, “Rapunzel.” I glanced at Melody.

  “Carry on,” she smiled.

  So I did, and I didn’t stop until I’d finished. Hour after hour, day after day, Melody would sit beside me on the shore, the radio playing in the background, while she smoked and experimented with the makeup she was slipping into her apron, stolen from the shops. My mother had returned from her trip deep within The Hollows some time ago, and Melody still had to go to school. But I would still sneak away from home, telling my mother I was hanging out with friends, and Melody would come to the lake after school and every weekend. Sometimes she wouldn’t show up at all, and I would really miss her.