Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series

by Tony C. Skye

  Good for you.

  She smiles at the sight of her daughter's slumber. There's no faking a Valium-coma. It is what it is. Quietly closing the door, Victoria walks back into her own bedroom.

  Good grief, Victoria. You're really losing it. Stress out much?

  The woman shakes her head as she makes her way over to her dresser. She pushes the open drawers closed.

  I could have sworn I already did this.

  Victoria chuckles at her scatter-brain self before going over to her closet to choose tomorrow's outfit. Once done, the doctor heads downstairs to make her daughter some dinner. Valium-coma or not, the girl must eat. Or at the very least, she will need to drink some more Gatorade.

  * * *

  Caroline and her king follow their royal escort through the enormous halls of the castle. Two rows of six men of the royal guard march about ten feet ahead of them. Around the same distance behind them, an even larger procession of guards marches up the rear. And behind these guards are servants and maids of every order.

  The girl wonders after the large oil paintings decorating the castle's walls. They depict a lot of violence for such a dreamy place as this. But they sorta fall in line with the rows of knightly armor showcased along each of the wall's lengths. And the armor itself looks as if it might spring to life at any moment.

  Caroline's watchful eyes takes in as much of the castle's beauty as she can, but her entourage moves at a rather brisk pace. Keeping up with them sort of steals away the moment for her. But she understands she has all the time in the world to linger later. This is her castle. No one can take this away from her. Not even her dad.

  The procession marches to the hall's end, makes a left, and begins another long trek down a seemingly endless hallway. Just when Caroline is about to throw a complaint out into the air, the entourage leads them all into a massive open chamber.

  Down each side of yet another red velvet rolled out carpet, stands six erected pillars fit for any royal family. They are each solid white with amazingly intricate designs carved from floor to ceiling. Caroline estimates them to be no less than twenty feet tall and at least twelve feet thick.

  The girl tugs on the man of her dreams. He leans down to place his right ear closer to her mouth.

  “They're so big,” Caroline whispers while still staring at the monstrosities. The man follows the girl's eyes and grins.

  “Yes. I do believe all of you ladies enjoy big,” he answers. Caroline's head retreats. She glares at the man.

  “Don't be disgusting,” she threatens.

  This time, however, it is the tall being that slightly retreats his head. His dark eyes convey confusion while he attempts to understand her anger.

  “I just thought you ladies enjoyed big houses,” the man explains, “Do mansions and palaces not make you all happier? I can make it smaller if you like.”

  “Uh,” Caroline struggles while trying to backpedal. She shakes her head.

  “I'm sorry,” the teen apologizes, “I love it. It's great. Big is good. You did good.”

  The man arches his brows slightly, “You sure you don't want me to change it for you?”

  “No,” Caroline answers quietly, “Please don't. I just panicked. That's all. It's a lot to take in all at once.”

  “As you wish,” the man bows his head reverently. When he lifts his head, the man's eyes lock with the embarrassed girl before him. He smiles his boyish grin and Caroline blushes. He places his free hand on top of hers.

  “Wait just a second,” he instructs with kind words. Caroline nods.

  Two by two, the front guards divide off to form a gauntlet of high arching crossed swords. When the final pair are in place, Caroline looks up to the tall man. He nods and slowly blinks the okay. They both walk underneath the raised swords and step up the stairs on their way to the two large thrones before them.

  The man gently guides Caroline to the throne on the left. She stands in place not really knowing what to do.

  “Turn around,” the man directs quietly, “It's okay. Go ahead and sit my queen.”

  Caroline stares at the huge throne. Her heart races while her feet stay frozen in place. She can feel all of those eyes upon her back. She hears restless words beginning to cycle through the crowd.

  “This is your kingdom,” the man states as a matter of fact, “No one has ever sit on your throne, my queen. You have my word on that. Tell me if you do not like it. I will have it destroyed.”

  “Destroyed?”, the teen can't believe he just said such a thing.

  “Hell no,” Caroline unlocks her feet, turns, and sits as if she has done this a thousand times before.

  “This is my kingdom,” the girl says playfully. She blushes as the man – having the cutest boyish grin ever – nods with amusement.

  “Spoken like a true queen,” he concedes. The man then turns to address the royal court.

  “Be it known,” the man's strong voice causes Caroline's pulse to quicken, “If anyone tries to bring harm to the queen, I will see to it personally they will suffer beyond measure.”

  Caroline's eyes widen as she attempts to process that last statement. She feels restless while the words dance their way throughout her mind. The phrase is so loaded that she isn't sure exactly how to weed it out correctly. She blankly watches as the man turns both of his large palms upward.

  “If anyone attempts to interfere with our business,” his voice becomes darker with each word spoken, “they will suffer beyond all comprehension.”

  Caroline feels a cold chill invade through her transparent dress. Her moment of romance is starting to click into the off position. The man swings his right hand towards her with a pointing finger.

  “This is the Recorder!”, the king announces.

  Voices in the crowd gasp. Caroline notices faces of concern acting like a contagion spreading through the audience of disbelief. She feels a surge of heat and reaches up with her right hand to touch her feverish forehead. Sweat beads are forming fast, but her hands feel cold and clammy. Any previous notions of a fabled classic princess story has now give way to her nausea. She hears the man's calloused voice speak out again as he points out into the crowd.

  “If anyone so much as comes near to the Recorder, they will answer with unimaginable pain,” he continues his demanding speech. Caroline observes the narrowing of his brows as his anger grows.

  “Do not test my resolve in this,” he threatens the court of followers with finality.

  The teen's vision begins blurring as the bodies in the crowd seem to be shifting in form. They almost look like those heat mirages in a desert – except for one.

  How did they get in here?

  She notices the cloaked stranger from earlier. They seem to be unaffected by the weird heat-mirage illusion as their form refuses to shimmer. And although she cannot see their face due to the hood, Caroline gets the feeling this stranger is locking gazes with her.

  The king, too, has seen his court's invader. He calms his voice, “I see you are not going to let this one go.”

  Caroline observes the hooded figure move its head from left to right. She jerks as the man yells.

  “She is mine!”

  She wipes at her forehead again. Sweat is pouring down her face. She feels the edges of her nausea reaching its peak. Her eyes shift from the king back towards the intruder. Caroline hears a voice boom out from underneath the hood.

  “Wake up!”, the stranger orders, “You do not belong in this place!”

  * * *

  Caroline's stomach muscles begin convulsing in rhythmic spasms. She jumps out of bed and grabs her trashcan. After the dry-heaving stops, the exhausted girl moves away from the trashcan and looks at her bed.

  Ew gross.

  knock. knock.

  Victoria steps back as her daughter unexpectedly opens the door. The teenager looks at the tray of room service and shakes her head.

  “You don't want to come in here,” Caroline says disgustedly, “Vomit.”

 
“You're clothes are soaked,” Victoria's motherly concern envelopes her tone. She forces her daughter back as she steps into the putrid smelling room. Glancing at the horror called Caroline's bed, the woman detours to her right and places the tray on top of the girl's dresser.

  “I need a shower and a toothbrush,” Caroline complains.

  Victoria steps away from her daughter’s dresser, “You get some clean clothes.” She turns and faces the bed with both hands on her hips, “And I'll get this.” The woman notices a trashcan pulled out away from the computer desk, “And I'll get that, too.”

  The girl unwilling to argue with her mother while in supermom-mode, halfheartedly, picks out some new bed clothes and closes her dresser.

  “Take that with you, honey,” Victoria motions towards the blue Gatorade sitting upon the tray. Caroline snatches up the ice cold refreshment and walks towards a door in the corner of her room. She opens it and enters her bathroom.

  The woman waits until her daughter closes her bathroom door. She heads downstairs and grabs a trash bag from the kitchen's pantry. When she returns, she fills it with the messy bedding and ties it closed. Victoria walks over to the bathroom's door. She can hear Caroline gargling with the blue mint Listerine she always uses. After her daughter flushes the toilet from spitting, Victoria speaks through the door.

  “Are you okay, Caroline?”

  “Yeah mom,” the girl hoarsely calls back.

  “Your soup will be cold when you get out. I'll reheat it.”

  “Okay,” Caroline responds with no intentions of eating anything at all.

  Victoria looks over at the wet mattress, “You can lie down on my bed when you're done.”

  “Okay,” the weak teen answers.

  Caroline's mother walks the trash bag and trashcan downstairs. She proceeds to the back of the kitchen. With the backdoor in eye's view, Victoria sets off on her mission to pre-wash the sickness away with her garden's water hose.

  * * *

  Caroline winces soon as the shower water pelts the back of her left hand. It is the same hand the man of her dreams touched before she walked up to her throne. She examines her oversensitive palm where they held hands together. If that is true, then it would only make sense that the slight red line she seen while brushing her teeth must be whenever his finger barely touched her lips.

  Geezus, Caroline. Do you know how insane you sound?

  “There's gotta be a better explanation,” she argues with herself aloud.

  The confused cheerleader explores the concepts of sleep walking while washing her hair.

  Only if I'm having blackouts with it.

  The odds of burning herself like this multiple times and not waking up is extremely low. A blackout might explain it, maybe.

  Caroline shakes her head. She growls to vent her frustration before rinsing the shampoo from her wavy brown hair. She follows up by lathering her blue scrunchie with her body wash. The teen grins while an epiphany occurs when rubbing her body with the skin-friendly soap.

  Rebecca's right. Freddy is real.

  Caroline laughs at the enormous height of her last thought's absurdity level. But as the raining water continues to rinse the lather from her body, her amusement washes away with it. A more realistic concept brings its heavy weight into her worrisome eyes.

  You're a nut job, stupid. That's your answer. Plain and simple. You’re certifiable.

  * * *

  10:15 p.m.

  Victoria looks away from the clock as she folds the last of Caroline's bed linen. The girl's comforter, however, still hangs on the clothes line. Victoria's mouth tightens in anger.

  See Michael. I told you there was a reason we would need the line. Getting you to put it up was like asking you to cut off your hand. Just like everything else. You never did anything without making a big fuss out of it. Except that whore you're with.

  The woman inhales deeply through her nostrils, pauses to hold her breath until it burns, and exhales. She shakes her head.

  How dare you blame me for your infidelity? My fault lies in ignoring all of the warning signs posted right in my own home. My fault is convincing myself you would stop. Yes, Michael. I knew. It was our daughter who didn't know about her father's indiscretions. She worshiped you. And I thought you might love her enough to stop. But you don't.

  You crushed your little girl's heart. Her spirit is struggling and you just might have caused an avalanche of a break. You selfish bastard.

  Victoria looks around the area. She sees the sofa in the living room. The woman finds the decorative pillows lying upon it and grabs one. She plants her face into it and lets out a long scream. When she releases her tension, Victoria replaces the pillow where she found it and picks up the bed linen she sat down. She heads upstairs and places the clean sheets and pillowcases into the linen closet. She shuts the door and walks back into Caroline's room.

  The woman scans the bedroom for any would be last minute chores. The mattress leans against the far wall next to the window across the room. It is drying nicely, but was rather stubborn about being cleaned in the first place. Victoria nods to a job well done, steps out into the hall, and pulls Caroline's door closed. She runs security checks through her mind. Able to recall double-checking the front and back door's locks and setting the house alarm, she walks over to the staircase and dims the hall's lighting with a dial attached to the wall.

  Victoria makes her way to her own bedroom. She spots Caroline sleeping where her dad used to. An empty Gatorade bottle sits upon the nightstand. The soup, however, is barely touched.

  Convinced her evening is finally over, Dr. Victoria Reynolds crawls underneath the covers next to her daughter. It doesn’t take long to join Caroline in rhythmic sleep. The two ladies sleep soundly throughout the night. No dreams. No nightmares. Just precious and valuable sleep.

  The next morning goes off without any major snags. Caroline threw up a small fight over seeing a 'head quack' as she so eloquently put it, but she agreed without too much fuss. Victoria attributes her daughter's agreeable nature to last night's fiasco. The poor child had a very rough day, to say the least. Her daughter's objection mainly centered around seeing a man. And had Victoria been thinking a little more clearly, she would have thought of this obvious angle to begin with.

  Dr. Jason Evans, however, is one of the best in his field. Victoria has never had a single complaint filed against the man. It is a very strong mark in his favor. And one not many other psychiatrists can boast having themselves. But his best quality, according to Victoria, is that he genuinely cares about people. He cares for his patients.

  Dr. Evans isn't too proud to conference other doctors for their advice about a particular diagnosis and or treatment plan concerning his patients. And whenever one of his patients makes a successful step from doctor visits into living their own lives without treatment, Dr. Evans never brags about his accomplishment. It is always their accomplishment.

  The humble man takes his oath very seriously. It's not an empty mantra for a speech recital. Instead, it is the way Dr. Evans lives his life. As far as Victoria sees it, too many doctors under her authority are more about the money than the patient. But not Dr. Evans.

  In fact, not too long ago, Victoria was forced to reprimand the good doctor for a rumor that turned out to be true. Apparently, Dr. Evans had a few more patients who were unable to pay for their care than the institute allows. Regulations state that there can be no more than two indigent patients for any one doctor. The Human Development and Learning Institute reimburses each doctor accordingly.

  It wasn't like Dr. Evans was trying to charge HDLI for these extra patients. But rather, the man was paying for their care out of his own pocket. The other doctors who caught wind of his extra patients were unaware of this fact. They immediately gathered up a mini doctor-mob and basically stormed Victoria's office. The only things they were missing were their torches and pitchforks.

  As bad as Victoria didn't like it, they were right. Dr. Jason Evans was in
breach of contract because of his heavy load. His jealous colleagues had them both in a corner. And there was nothing she could do about it. Except of course, Victoria had free reign with the punishment in this particular case. After all, none of Dr. Evan's actions fell under any requirements for suspensions, license revoking hearings, or an outright firing. So like a good little boss, Victoria called Dr. Evans into her office to punish him properly.

  She explained the situation to him. The man full of honesty and integrity admitted to everything. She had suspected he'd do this. And whenever he admitted that he'd keep doing it if he had to...well, she suspected that as well.

  When Victoria gave him the business card with the name of the charity she had created, she thought for a brief moment he was going to cry. And if the doctor-mob would have caught wind of a cry session, Victoria and Jason both would have probably been lynched in a dessert somewhere.

  With Michael removing himself from her life like he did and Caroline getting ready to go to Stanford University, Victoria was unable to put much into the donation pile. But after she made a few phone calls, the charity had received over one-hundred eighty- thousand dollars and was still counting whenever she handed him the card.

  Not only would this cover his current patients, but it would cover many more in the future. And with the character of Dr. Evan's heart, Victoria knew beyond any doubt that he would never misuse any of the funding.

  So yes, Victoria reprimanded Dr. Evans just like a good little boss. But no, she would not punish him as per mob rules. And there was absolutely nothing the lot of them could do about it either.