Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series

by Tony C. Skye

  The buyer reopens the lid. She reaches into her purse sitting to her left and pulls out a small fingernail file. She uses it to poke a small incision into the large bag. Her anticipation levels rise as she pulls out the white substance and drops it onto a small mirror already placed upon the coffee table. She licks the fingernail file before returning it to her purse. Her hand returns with a razor blade. She unwraps the blade and impatiently chops the substance into finer pieces.

  The buyer uses her driver's license to form a long white line. Her left hand dives back into her purse and returns with a metal tube. She places her face near the mirror and snorts half of the substance into her left nostril. She immediately repeats the action with her right nostril – finishing the line off.

  Dipping two fingers into a glass of water sitting on the table's top, the buyer snorts the liquid into each nostril simultaneously. She pinches her nose closed, releases, and then snorts fresh air.

  Jennifer Hammond sits back against the sofa. The cocaine absorbs into her bloodstream. She smiles as her jones, finally, leaves.

  * * *

  Ring. Ring.

  Caroline glances over to the small antique iron table between the bathtub and toilet in her bathroom. She wipes her hands on the small towel hanging from the single bar attached to the table's front side. She reaches for the table's top side and picks up her smartphone. Her right index finger dances across the screen before she sits it back where she found it.

  “What's up, Becca?”, the teen lies back in her comfort spot within the tub's mix of warm water and bubble bath.

  “I need to ask you something serious,” Rebecca Hindsworth's tone supports the words spoken through the smartphone's speakers. But then again, with Rebecca Hindsworth, everything sounds more serious than it actually is.

  Caroline grins as she covers her eyes with a warm washcloth.

  “Ask away, Becca,” the relaxing teen carelessly waves her green flag for Rebecca's latest wordy vomit.

  “Um,” Rebecca speaks, “It's about Tamara.”

  “Becca, just let it go,” Caroline directs, “We've already been through this.”

  “No. It's not about that,” the captain of the cheer squad clarifies, “It's about - uh...”

  “It's about what, Becca?”, Caroline sounds a little irritated from Rebecca's interruption of her relaxation moment.

  “Uh,” Rebecca struggles to say what is on her mind, “Do you - I mean - uh...I can't feel her anymore.”

  “You can't what?”, Caroline attempts to make sense of her bff's ramblings.

  “You know,” Rebecca tries again, “the blood covenant.”

  Caroline sits straight up in her tub. The washcloth on her eyes splashes into the water.

  “Shh! Be quiet about that,” Caroline scolds quietly, “You know better. My mom would totally freak out.”

  “I know the rules. Sorry,” Rebecca lowers her tone, “But I'm serious. I haven't felt her since she left yesterday. Have you?”

  Caroline tilts her head to the right while in contemplation. She shrugs her shoulders.

  “I don't know,” Caroline explains, “I haven't really noticed anything gone. Maybe you're just imagining it.”

  “You don't feel any differences whenever you think about her?”, Rebecca pushes further.

  “Notta,” Caroline answers, “Nothing strange, but your weird phone call.

  “Ha...ha...”, Rebecca states condescendingly.

  Caroline grins.

  “Well if you do notice something different, let me know. It's driving me crazy.”

  “Sure thing, Becca,” Caroline promises.

  “How was the head quack?”

  “Becca, I'm in the tub,” Caroline's tone completes the rest of her thought.

  “Oh. Sorry about that,” Rebecca apologizes once again, “Don't forget to call me if you think of anything. Love ya, bye.”

  “Love you more.” Caroline touches her phone's screen. She runs the soapy washcloth underneath the faucet to rewarm it and to remove any potential stinging to her eyes. The cheerleader lies back, places the washcloth in its rightful place, and attempts an uninterrupted version of her bath time.

  * * *

  “The princess sleeps,” Tamara quietly whispers. Her left arm cradles Mandie against her chest. The cheerleader's long right hand covers and hides Mandie's smaller left one upon her belly. She gently kisses the dark hair girl on the top of her head.

  “What have you done to me, Mandie with an i-e?”, Tamara whispers with a smile. Her joy, however, doesn't last long as her mind races along the paths leading to Jason, David Snow, and the S.V.C.

  * * *

  Jennifer Hammond pulls up into her parent's driveway. She activates the auto-feature to the large six-car garage. She waits as the garage door lifts. Her blue BMW finds its designated spot on the row's far right side. The garage door's timer initiates the auto-close function securely locking the door and resetting the alarm.

  Jennifer turns off the Beamer's engine. She pulls the keys out and drops them into her black leather purse. Next to her purse – on the front side passenger's side seat – sits her backpack with the cocaine inside.

  The girl checks her face in the rear view mirror. Her light freckles on and around her nose are hard to see. The area is swollen and red. She looks as if she is stricken with a sinus infection. But in reality, she understands the coke snorting is the culprit. And she knows it won't be long before someone starts questioning her health.

  Jennifer, however, has researched and found a viable solution to her problem. One that is fool proof. And thanks to the internet, she has watched a step by step video enough times that she has the new method well memorized.

  The six-foot two-inch girl teases her short brunette hair with her right hand. She runs a finger just underneath each of her brown eyes to smooth out any makeup discoloring caused from her high sweats. She kisses the air and winks at herself in the small mirror.

  Jennifer opens the driver's side door. She reaches down into the floorboard in front of her purse and picks up a bag containing her feminine hygiene and a box of one-hundred ultra-fine hypodermic needles. She opens her backpack and slips the plastic bag inside. With her backpack and purse shouldered, the senior exits her BMW.

  Click.

  Jennifer gently closes the door and walks through the adjoining open slot where her dad usually parks. Since Danny's death, he seems to be away on his business trips with greater frequency.

  The girl veers to her right to walk around the front of her mother's Bentley. She keeps to the front side of the row as she walks up to the door leading into her house. Jennifer punches in the security code for her entry. The house's security is kind of a pain, but Jennifer doesn't complain about it too much. Each entry point to a new section of the house is key coded and locked. She has her choice to leave it unlocked by the individual section or the entire house if she so desires. And if she closes the door and ignores the system altogether, then it will automatically reengage the alarm for her.

  She turns the door knob, pushes open the door, and walks inside before closing the door behind her. She scans the kitchen for signs of life, but no one is present. The girl walks through the kitchen area, pushes her way through the double stainless-steel doors, and enters the staging area for parties. At one time in her life, this place was always busy. Her parents usually had somebody coming over who was important for one reason or another. But not anymore. Not since Danny.

  Now this room smells unused. Or at least, this seems to be true through Jennifer's swollen nose. But what does she know? And who really cares anyway? She sure doesn't. Not anymore. Not about this house. And not about school, either.

  All of the garbage at school is a colossal waste of time. Sure, education is cool. It's her way out of this house while retaining all of the comforts of her parent's money. No school – no money. And no way is that ever going to happen. But the other stuff has no real meaning. Who cares if Tamara kills that stupid poor girl? If t
he girl is dumb enough to cross Tamara then she deserves what she gets. On the other hand, Jennifer isn't too keen about the idea of losing her bff to life in jail, either. She'd do anything to keep Tamara safe. But Tamara is stubborn. If she decides to do it no one's stopping her.

  The girl pushes her way through two redwood doors and enters into the grand dining room. Eight dark oak tables sit in their individual rows. Each thirty-foot table has a white cloth draped over their top. The covering, also, serves to hide the matching chairs as though it would be blasphemous if they were to be seen without their respective table. The whole scene seems ghostly and deserted. Just like the rest of this house. Just like her life.

  Jennifer has literally grown up around Rebecca, Caroline, and Tamara. And out of all of her friends, Rebecca is still the one among them who acts like the world is built around her existence. The girl has always been their leader, so to speak. But it's not because she is a wonderful and all-intelligent person. No. It's because the rest of them hate listening to Rebecca's know-it-all mouth. The girl never shuts up. Unless of course, someone makes her leader and acts like they care about whether or not some teacher cheats on his wife with the school's nurse. And one thing is for certain, Jennifer could care-a-less about the drama. It's empty and pointless. No meaning that's worth anything of real value. Just a ghostly existence in a day which will never be remembered. Just like this room.

  Jennifer turns right and follows the wall's perimeter around to the furthest table. About midway down the table's length, she turns right and exits into the grand hall. It is a giant open space with a dome ceiling. From the marble floor to the dome's peak it is an astounding fifty-four feet. The room's square footage at twenty-four hundred square feet is larger than most homes are on the average. And the two sixteen-foot wide marble staircases could be construed as overkill by the less fortunate. They both lead up to the second floor landing and curve around a giant indoor water fountain that divides them.

  The custom fountain is of a boy and girl. Jennifer and Danny to be exact. They were fourteen when their parents had it carved. And it always inspired conversation with the guests.

  Jennifer walks over and touches the boy statue's right foot. He stands on the left with the girl to his right. They face each other with playful looks as water spews from their mouths like a gross spitting match. The concept is comical. But the reality is just plain depressing. Just like the rest of this house. Just like her life.

  “Miss you,” Jennifer kisses her fingers before retouching the statue's foot. She takes the left side staircase and makes her ascension. As she reaches the second floor landing, she looks to her right down a long hall. At the hall's end, the T-intersection to the left leads to her parent's area. To the right, Danny purposefully took that area. He wanted his twin sister to have the left wing of the house all to herself. On the condition of course, that she would allow him to have two rooms of his choosing. And she gladly accepted the proposal. Because if truth be told, had Danny made an issue of the left wing, Danny would have received it. Jennifer's mom would have made sure of it.

  But Danny didn't do that. He loved Jennifer too much. He knew how their mom treated Jennifer whenever their dad was away. The left wing was his way of forcing their mother to show a little more favor towards Jennifer. And down deep she always knew it had nothing to do with her mom's love. It had to do with Danny. It was a favor from him. Not her.

  The only reason her mom ever stopped hitting her was because of Danny. He intervened by grabbing her arm when they were both twelve. But the verbal attacking never ceased. Danny couldn't stop that. Instead, he gave her what he could...the left wing.

  Her mom nowadays doesn't do what she did whenever Jennifer was younger. Mainly, because Jennifer isn't a little girl anymore. She could kick her mom's ass and her mom knows it. But her mother has never once apologized for the years of abuse she did dish out. And Jennifer refuses to ask her to do so. She shouldn't have to. They are just two women in a house of lies. Two women, who tolerate one another, but have no relationship beyond the occasional 'Hi' or 'Bye'.

  Jennifer looks away from her brother's side of the house. She turns to her left and walks the long distance to the T in her hallway. The girl makes a left and stops at the first door on the right. She reaches up and gently touches the door's center.

  “Love you,” Jennifer whispers through the door. She looks down at the keypad, but cannot bear to push in the combination. She sighs and turns to face the T-intersection again. Jennifer walks away from the scene of her brother's suicide.

  The girl passes four doors on the right and left sides of the hallway after crossing over the T-intersection. She stops at the fifth one on the left, pushes in the security code, turns the gold L-shape handle, and enters her party room.

  Click. Beep-beep.

  The door locks. The alarm resets. Jennifer Hammond stands alone in the dimly lit room. Alone in this house of lies. The girl looks at the stereo sitting cater-corner in the far right corner of the room.

  “Danny's favs,” Jennifer speaks.

  “Loading Danny's favs,” the stereo answers back.

  Godsmack's I Stand Alone begins its grungy rhythmic drive. Jennifer walks over to the blue couch placed against the left wall. She places her purse on the glass coffee table and sits in the couch's center. The girl places her backpack by her left foot, unzips it, and pulls out her pharmacy bag. She sits it on the table in front of her and retrieves the box of needles.

  Jennifer opens the box and pulls a ten-pack of needles out. She places the box back into her backpack before opening the ten-pack. Jennifer pulls out a needle and checks the cap's seal like she seen done in the video. Satisfied of the seal's integrity, she lays the needle upon the table. The girl reaches into her purse and returns with a brown vile. She sits it on the table and reaches inside of her pharmacy bag. Her left hand returns with a bag of cotton. She opens the bag and pulls out a cotton ball – tearing a small piece from it. The cheerleader sits it next to her vile of cocaine.

  She gets up and walks over to her party fridge across the room. Opening the door, Jennifer grabs a bottle of water before returning to her place on the couch. Content that she is ready, the girl runs through the steps to ready the needle. When she finishes, the varsity cheerleader removes her tennis shoes. Her hands sweat with anticipation.

  She anxiously pulls her pink low-cut ankle socks off and places her right foot on the table. Examining the veins between her toes, Jennifer settles on the biggest one she can find. She slips the needle in, pulls on the plunger, and maneuvers the needle until she sees blood fill in the empty air pocket. Jennifer smiles as she empties the needle's contents into her body.

  The girl pulls out the needle and reaches over to the water bottle to clean her needle, but the rush comes on quicker than she is used to. She elects to placing the needle on the coffee table. She grins as the music from the stereo begins sounding like a band of robots and synthesizers are mocking the song that plays.

  “Pfft,” Jennifer shakes her head slightly nervous, “This is freakin' intense.”

  The girl leans back against the couch and closes her eyes. It isn't long before the perfect blend of euphoria and happiness balances itself out. Jennifer Hammond smiles for thirty long minutes.

  As the high lessens its intensity over her, she opens her eyes and glances down to her backpack. The cocaine inside has introduced itself on a more intimate level. An intimacy unlike any other. She had no idea how much she had been cheating herself from cocaine’s true potential. But now she knows. And there's no way she's going back.

  This will be her and Danny's secret. Something the two of them can share between the divides of life and death. In life – a needle. In death – music.

  * * *

  “Hello, earthly-one,” the man greets with his cute boyish grin.

  Caroline sits in a leather-bound chair. Upon her lap rests a tablet for writing. In her right hand, she holds the pen she used the last time she wrote for the gorgeou
s hard body man standing before her.

  “Why are we here? What happened to the castle?”, the teen questions.

  She watches as the being turns and glances out of the lone window in the room. He stares down below and sees the peasant wearing the brown tunic with a hood. He grins at the stranger before answering the questions.

  “We must work today,” the large being turns and faces Caroline, “I don't like the idea of contaminating our home with this boring work stuff.”

  Our home?

  Caroline uses her left hand to move her brown hair over her shoulder. She blushes.

  “Yes, earthly-one,” the being seduces, “Our house.”

  The girl doesn’t consider the fact that he just read her mind.

  “Um - why me?”, Caroline quietly speaks, “I mean you could have anyone you want. I'm a nobody.”

  The man walks over and kneels down to eye-level of the sitting girl. He reaches out to take her left hand, but she instinctively pulls back.

  “Sorry,” Caroline nervously explains, “Every time you touch me I wake up with burns or scratches. It hurts.”

  “Oh, earthly-one,” the man's deep voice soothes, “That's what happens when love and desire meet one another within their purest form. Most humans never know this kind of perfection.”

  “I suppose it makes sense,” Caroline answers, “Kinda.” She nervously slips her left hand into the waiting man's large hands. He rubs it adoringly. Caroline's body rushes with excitement as his eyes fill with lust.

  “Not yet, earthly-one,” the man releases her. He stands upright, “We need to work.”