Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series

by Tony C. Skye

  “I need to know you're doing the same,” Julianna continues, “Or if you just see me as an easy lay.”

  “I'd never do that to you, Julianna.”

  “I need to hear you say it, Matt,” Julianna's tone sounds final.

  “Julianna Atwood,” Matt complies with her wishes, “I give myself completely to you.”

  Julianna smiles with approval.

  “Kiss me,” she whispers breathlessly.

  Matt's lips part as Julianna's tongue separates them. He feels a sharp sting. His eyes widen.

  “Sorry,” Julianna whispers, “You're really nice. But I need the red key.”

  Julianna coldly pushes on Matt's chest. The boy floats backwards. His large hands are clinched around his throat. Julianna watches as the boy relaxes his thick arms into the dark water. Blood flows from the open wound in his neck.

  She reaches between her thighs and returns with a plastic zip lock bag. Julianna opens it and carefully places the blood-covered black earring inside.

  * * *

  Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

  “Hello?”, Martha answers, “Is everything alright?”

  “No, grams. It's horrible,” Julianna sobs, “He - he tried to rape me.”

  “Oh gawd,” Martha panics, “Where are you?!”

  * * *

  Julianna sits on the back of the ambulance. She pulls the cover around her naked body. Her green eyes observe through their haze a police detective wearing latex gloves. The man expertly bags her torn and bloodied new dress. Julianna looks away with her latest tears running down both cheeks.

  Martha watches another officer snap photos of Julianna's Jimmy Choo shoes. They fell off as her granddaughter ran for her life – ran away to flee the rapist who would harm her.

  “Ma'am,” Julianna vaguely hears an e.m.t. call for her attention, “I need you to follow this light.”

  Julianna watches the flashlight move left to right and then back again. But she stares blankly before her. The female e.m.t. has seen Julianna's zombie-like state before. It is all too common among trauma victims.

  “You say he pushed himself onto you inside of the car. And that's when you got out of the vehicle to attempt your escape,” a female county sheriff’s detective reconfirms the girl's recollection of events.

  Julianna nods one time. Her cloudy eyes, slowly, look down to her right hand where her middle finger's salon-style fingernail has been ripped off. The quick is spotted with dried blood. The female officer waves at someone who quickly walks over. She whispers something in their ear and they walk towards the Camaro. The person begins shining a flashlight around the open door's interior.

  The female detective shakes her head. The young woman in front of her is in bad shape. She may have escaped the actual physical part of the attack, but the emotional damage will remain with her for a lifetime. She may learn to cope. But beyond this, the victim never forgets. And in some cases, like this one, the victim must also deal with the taking of a human life.

  While it may be justifiable in everyone's eyes around her, this woman may never actually forgive herself for such an act. Many victims don't. They blame themselves for being in this kind of situation to begin with. It doesn't matter that it isn’t their fault. Most victims will argue that it is. But truth is, it's not. It's never their fault. No means no.

  “Next,” the female detective reads her notes, “The assailant ran up behind you and shoved you into a tree.”

  Julianna moves her head to the right. She stares at the tree where her face made hard contact – breaking her nose. She raises her shaky left hand and feels a cut in her left cheek. The water from her tears stings her left black eye. It is nearly shut completely closed from the swelling.

  “Take your time,” the detective tries to soothe, “I'm in no hurry. I know exactly how hard this is. I've been where you are right now.”

  Julianna forces her eyes away from the tree. She moves her stare towards the detective's blue eyes. The woman smiles back appreciative of her effort. Julianna nods to convey the woman's facts are indeed correct.

  “From there, he yanked your hair and threw you to the ground,” the detective continues, “You then kicked him in the stomach and he lost his breath.”

  “Yes,” Julianna speaks hoarsely.

  “We're almost finished,” the detective works to keep the victim calm. Julianna stares blankly.

  “You crawl away to where you lost your shoes,” the detective moves forward in the proposed time-line of events, “He recovers and grabs your ankle. When he pulled on you, you grabbed a rock and took a swing to get him off of you. You attempted to hit him in the head, but the rock went across his throat instead.”

  Julianna's lips tremble. She nods with muffled sounds of sobbing. She jerks when a set of hands touches her shoulders.

  “Does she really have to go through all of this?”, Martha chastises the officer, “You're only repeating what she's already told you.”

  “I'm sorry, Mrs. Dermott,” the detective explains, “But I have to do this. It's protocol; especially, when a death is involved. The prosecutor's office needs all of the information. If we don't do it now, she'll have to do it later.”

  “Are you okay?”, Martha gently tucks her granddaughter's bangs over her right ear. Julianna nods one time.

  “What do you mean by prosecutor?”, Martha's tone becomes defensive.

  “I know this is hard, Mrs. Dermott,” the detective explains, “But there are times when things aren't always as they appear. The DA's office may determine to bring up charges against her.”

  “What?!”, Martha exclaims. She quickly bridles her rage and calms herself.

  “Does she need a lawyer?”

  “That's your choice,” the officer answers, “But from my end, I can say I don't think there's going to be a problem. As long as her story matches what the crime scene investigators find, I'm going to rule this as justifiable homicide. But my report isn't the final word. It's an opinion. The prosecutor's office makes the final decision.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Martha says within her frustration, “It's as if that snake over there is the victim instead of my granddaughter.”

  “I am truly sorry about this,” the female detective responds, “But I have a job to do. And the quicker we can get through this, the faster it will be over.”

  Julianna turns her face and buries it into her grandmother's chest. She sobs loudly. The detective turns around.

  “No-no-no!”, the woman yells at two rookie officers pushing a gurney, “What are you two doing?!”

  The detective watches one of the men scramble to zip up the body bag. The detective turns back around and lets out a sigh of frustration. She hands Martha a business card.

  “If she says anything at all that you think is important,” the officer explains, “You can contact me directly. Please do.”

  Martha takes the card with an agreeing nod. She watches the detective turn and walk over to her scolded officers. The detective reconvenes her verbal beating against them, but she can't quite make out her words.

  “We need to take some x-rays and run some lab work,” the e.m.t. informs Martha.

  “Let's go, honey,” Martha whispers to her granddaughter. The two ladies climb into the back of the ambulance.

  * * *

  “How is she?”, Frank quietly questions his wife as she exits their granddaughter's private examination room. Martha softly closes the door.

  “She's doing better,” Martha informs, “We just got back from getting her x-rays.”

  Frank closes the gap to his wife and places his large hands on Martha's hips.

  “And how is grandma doing?”

  Martha rests her head against Frank's chest. He pulls her closer and wraps his arms around her. His right hand palms the back right side of Martha's turned head. He softly kisses her red hair.

  “I'm better,” Martha's voice reflects her exhaustion, “Now that you're here.”

  “Everything's good on my
end,” Frank speaks while caressing Martha's right cheek; “It's all been taken care of.”

  Martha leans back and looks into Frank's adoring eyes.

  “What would I ever do without you?”, Martha adores her husband through her words. Franks smiles and kisses her on the forehead.

  “I'm the lucky one in this marriage, Martha Dermott,” Frank sincerely gives his answer. The two stand in silence with their second embrace for a few moments before Frank decides to get the hard stuff out of the way. He gently pushes his wife back so he can look into her blue eyes.

  “She's the real deal, I guess,” Frank opens the floor for his undesirable discussion.

  “She is,” Martha answers.

  “I knew what I was getting into whenever I married you,” Frank reminds his wife before getting to the point of his conversation.

  “But she made quite a mess back there. You've got to teach her how to properly use the Network. Clean up works best when it's part of the plan. It can’t be used as a means to clean up some type of whim.”

  “Is there going to be any problem?”, Martha answers Frank with a concerning tone.

  “Not this time,” Frank gives the good news.

  Martha nods and pats her husband's chest with her left hand, “Okay. I'll talk to her. I didn't realize how fast things were moving. I wanted her to have some type of normalcy.”

  Frank takes his wife's hand from his chest. He brings it up to his lips with both of his hands. The man slowly kisses her hand.

  “She still can, grandma,” Frank reassures Martha, “But she must do it with the Network.”

  “I know,” Martha accepts the blame for not sitting Julianna down and explaining these things better.

  “It's like I've heard you say over the years,” Frank refers to his granddaughter's ability to obtain normalcy, “Jules will never become the Mother of Darkwaters. She is her.”

  Martha smiles. She tugs on her husband's button-up flannel shirt, “I love you, Frank Dermott.”

  Frank leans down and kisses Martha's lips. Martha kisses him back. After their gentle pressing of their lips, Frank hugs his wife once more. He grins. He is, indeed, the lucky one in this marriage. He could have never guessed as a young man – that after all of these years – his beautiful wife would still cause him to lose his breath during their moments of intimacy. But she does. Every single time.

  * * *

  “How'd you know to collect his blood with a water bottle?”, Martha question her granddaughter.

  Julianna shrugs her shoulders, “I don't know. I just knew.”

  “Not good enough,” Martha sternly criticizes, “If you hadn't of done it, Frank would have had a really hard time resetting your little crime-spree where it made any sense.”

  Julianna begins to speak, but Martha raises her right index finger in objection.

  “I just knew is sloppy. Not acceptable, Julia,” Martha's tone is sharp and condemning, “You didn't tell anybody what you were doing and you could have easily gotten yourself killed. Or even found yourself a tight little prison cell to live out the rest of your days before they executed you.”

  “From now on,” Martha lowers her hand, “You will use the Network and you will not go off half-cocked like you have no sense to you at all.”

  Martha refuses to give in to the saddened expression on her granddaughter's face.

  “Do we understand each other, Mother?”, Martha drives home her point by not showing any fear of her granddaughter's title.

  “Yes ma'am,” Julianna answers. She glances at the floor from her bed inside of the library.

  “You do realize,” Martha softens her tone considerably, “No one has ever found the red key, right? Its color isn't tied to any of the other books.”

  Julianna looks up. Her green eyes scan her gram's serious expression.

  “No one is not me,” The teen simply states as a matter of fact before lowering her stare back down to the marble flooring.

  Martha's skin crawls with the creep factor exhibited by her granddaughter. The girl's cold and calloused tone takes her by surprise. She understands Julianna was not threatening her. But that last sentence was downright disturbing. The power which filled the room while Julia spoke was intense. It was dark. And it was real. Very real.

  But more than the power itself, the creep factor Martha is experiencing is from how quickly the dark presence left the room. Soon as Julia looked back down, it was gone as if it were never there at all.

  “Grams?”, Julianna's tone exhibits innocence.

  “Yes dear,” Martha attempts to shrug off her uncomfortable feelings by giving her granddaughter permission to freely speak.

  “Am I evil?”

  Um...

  Martha has planned for all sorts of possible questions her granddaughter could possibly come up with. But this is not one of them. She's never even considered it.

  “How do you mean?”, Martha tries to buy enough time to correctly respond.

  Julianna glances up to look into her gram's eyes, “Is the God of Heaven supposed to be a good guy?”

  “Julia, dear,” Martha confesses, “I can't steer you in this. You know the penalty.”

  Martha observes the despair within her granddaughter's eyes as the young woman nods.

  “But,” Martha verbally points out a bypass within the law, “We can talk it out.” The older woman painfully watches as her granddaughter nods. From Julianna's expression, it is apparent she was hoping Martha would break the law for this one.

  “A lot of people believe the God of Heaven is the good guy,” Julianna begins while staring at the floor, “But the more I learn about Him...”

  Martha watches her granddaughter's eyes fill with tears. She wipes at the water falling carelessly down her face before attempting to speak again. Martha waits patiently.

  “The more I learn about Him,” Julianna pauses to sniffle, “The more I hate Him.” Julianna looks up at her grams. Her stare is cold and hard.

  “He created Lilith and demanded she accept a life of submissive rape. He watches people hate other people. And if the haters are on His side, He calls them His chosen. If they're not, He damns them to burn forever. Forever grams.”

  Julianna pauses with her heavy heart, “He is so cruel.”

  “Grams, I hate Him,” Julianna pleas with her eyes, “And I know I will never love Him. I can't. How am I to love someone who is like that? And because I can't do it, I am doomed to burn in His fire. Where's the fairness in all of this? If He is as good as everyone says He is, then why would He burn someone forever because they don't love Him? How can anyone even call that love?”

  “I reckon there are two questions you need to answer before you can decide whether or not you're evil,” Martha speaks up.

  Julianna listens intently for her grandmother's wisdom.

  “Do you see Lilith as evil?”, Martha gives the young woman the new questions, “Or do you see Him as evil?”

  “You know that answer,” Julianna doesn't see the wisdom she expected to find.

  “If you say the God of Heaven is evil and you hate Him for it,” Martha pushes further, “Then how can you consider yourself to be evil when you don't follow Him?”

  Julianna considers the woman's words.

  “There's more to it than that,” Julianna counters her grandmother's simplistic reasoning.

  “I'm still here,” Martha answers.

  “Promise you won't judge?”, Julianna gives her only condition.

  “I would never,” Martha responds, “Besides, I'm an old slut from way back. I'm the last one in this room who could ever pass judgment. ”

  “Grams, that's gross,” Julianna answers before using her palm to wipe her runny nose.

  “No dear,” Martha counters while walking over to Julianna's desk to grab a box of tissues, “Snotty hands are gross. Enjoying sex is just part of growing up.” She turns, walks over to Julianna's bed, and hands the girl the box.

  “The truth's the truth, dear,” Mar
tha steps back to give her granddaughter some space, “No matter how much we might not like hearing it. So let's have it. Your old grams is ready.”

  Julianna takes a nervous breath before exhaling.

  “Okay,” Julianna signals she will tell her story, “Last night at dinner, I saw a necklace around Matt's neck. I asked him to show it to me and it had a silver cross with Jesus crucified on it.” Julianna stops and looks away.

  “Julia,” Martha quietly speaks, “I am not going to judge you. It's okay, sweetie. You can tell me anything.”

  “Johnathan had a necklace just like it,” Julianna explains, “But his was made of wood with silver ends on the cross.”

  “Go on,” Martha coaches.

  “I asked him if he believed in the God of Heaven and why,” Julianna revisits the moment, “He said he did and his reasons were because that the God of Heaven was kind, full of love, compassionate, and merciful.”

  “The more he talked,” Julianna continues as her stare begins to fill with spitefulness, “The more I wanted to watch him bleed like his Jesus.”

  Martha takes a nervous breath as she patiently awaits the rest of her granddaughter’s recounting of last night's events.

  Julianna's brows narrow, “I enjoyed slicing through his throat. The surprise on his face and the thought of me lashing out against the God of Heaven caused me to have a reaction.”

  “What kind of reaction, dear?”, Martha isn't sure where her granddaughter is trying to go with this. The hatred dancing within the young woman's eyes has her somewhat off kilter.

  “You know,” Julianna relaxes her brows. She continues with a quieter voice, “A reaction.”

  “No, I don't,” Martha follows her granddaughter's eyes downward.

  “Oh!”, Martha's mental light bulb illuminates. Her new insight causes her to laugh.

  “Is that why you think you are evil?”, Martha questions within her laughter.

  “Let me tell you something, Julia,” Martha smiles widely, “If having an orgasm is evil, then your grams here would cause flowers to wilt and die whenever she walked by them.”