Transcend

by Christine Fonseca

  Goosebumps spread over Ien’s body as the last words left her lips.

  ~

  The days that followed brought no relief. Ien continued to drift in and out of consciousness, unable to find a way out of the fate chosen by his mother. Somehow, knowing she wanted him dead renewed his desire to live.

  He fought against the questions in his mind. When will you kill me, Mother? How? He had no answers, no way out of the promise of death.

  “How’s he doing today, Mrs. Montgomery?”

  James. Perfect.

  Ien opened his eyes, his arms still bound. Unable to sit up, he attempted to roll over, straining to hear the muffled voices outside of his room.

  “I’m afraid he’s worse, James.”

  “Worse? He didn’t try to—”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. But, I’m afraid his wounds are not healing. The doctors are not holding much hope for him now. There is nothing we can do but keep him comfortable and wait. That, and pray his suffering ends soon.”

  The world stopped as Ien waited for James’s response. Don’t believe her. Come in and see me.

  “Pray tell, how much longer will he live?”

  “I wish I knew, James. Days. Hours. Maybe less.”

  She’s lying, James. No sound escaped Ien’s mouth as he continued to will his thoughts to his friend.

  “If it pleases you, can I see him? Just to say my own goodbye?”

  “Of course. But, only for a moment.”

  Yes. Finally. Ien waited as James approached him, breath held.

  “We have been forced to keep him tied and sedated for his own safety. He cannot speak with the sedation, but maybe he can hear you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery.”

  Ien opened his eyes as wide as he could, willing James to know he was alive, not dying. At least not yet.

  “Oh Ien. This turned out to be a mess, didn’t it?” James smiled.

  Ien tried to make his mouth move, but the layers of cloth still covering his face and the remnants of medications running through his veins made it impossible.

  “A face full of bandages, your skin charred and raw—you really aren’t looking too good.” James sat at the edge of the bed and took Ien’s bandaged hand. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry I didn’t do more to help . . . I should’ve seen . . . should’ve known . . .” His voice cracked on the words. Tears welled in his eyes and he turned away. Ien watched as James swallowed back a sob.

  I AM NOT DYING! Ien screamed, his voice nothing but thoughts bellowing through his mind. He squeezed James’s hand, desperate to get his attention.

  James turned back to Ien, his face hard. “I know,” James said, lightly grasping Ien’s hand. “This is hard for all of us. I want you to know that I’ll take care of Kiera. Explain everything to her, just as you’d want it explained. I won’t tell her . . .won’t . . . I’ll make sure she’s cared for. You have my word.”

  Ien tightened his grasp as much as he could. His hand barely closed and his vision began to blur.

  “It’s okay now, Ien. Just let go,” James said as he wiped his hand across Ien’s eyes.

  Ien cringed in pain. He began to thrash, twisting his body at odd angles. It’s not okay. It’s nowhere close to okay. Come on, James. Figure this out. Ien wrestled against his bindings, his vision fading more and more.

  Ien saw the shadow of his mother pass between him and James. Within moments, the familiar burning sensation hit his body.

  “You’d better leave now, James.”

  Ien’s eyelids became heavy. He fought against the fatigue, his stomach lurching up his throat.

  “Yes ma’am. Bye Ien,” James said through a deep sob.

  Blackness engulfed Ien’s senses as James moved further away.

  “I’ll come by…”

  Nothingness replaced the last notes of James’s voice.

  8.

  “Welcome, thou kind deceiver!

  Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key,

  Dost open life, and, unperceived by us,

  Even steal us from ourselves.”

  ~John Dryden (All for Love)

  ~~

  A welcoming darkness surrounds me as James fades from view. At first I resist the pleasant distraction, attempting to again reach out for my friend and make him see the lies Mother spins. I’m not dying. Not now. Not yet. But as the dream world envelopes me I remember…

  In the deepest most parts of my soul, I want to die.

  Anxiety tightens my muscles with the truth of my thoughts. I want to die. Need to die. I will…

  Die.

  There is power in my death thoughts, freedom. My mind seeps into the words, planning a way to fulfill the promise they hold.

  Hanging.

  A knife.

  Poison.

  Nothing feels right, but I know I must find a way to end my suffering and create a world where Kiera and I can have a life together. Death could afford me passage to that world.

  Maybe...

  ~~

  “Suicide, Ien? I didn’t realize you were that cowardly. Maybe Mother is right; you are too weak to live.”

  I turn my head, looking for Erik. Only darkness greets me. “You can’t be here,” I call out to the abyss.

  A slight chuckle fills the air. “What makes you think I ever left?”

  The inky space around me gives way to lighter shades of gray, revealing his ghost-like image.

  “Oh, you left. You aren’t real.” I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the phantom to vanish. “None of this is real.”

  “Are we still haggling over my existence? Really? I thought I’d cleared that up last time.” Erik’s figure solidifies. He reaches out and touches my arm, sending a flurry of chills through my skin. I recoil, stepping back in my thoughts.

  “I warned you, Ien. I said Mother would never accept Kiera. Don’t you remember? And now, look at what’s happened.”

  Kiera, where are you?

  “She can’t hear you and she can’t save you. Not from me. Not anymore.”

  My world crumbles with his words. The voices, the chaos, it all descends in a rush, overwhelming my senses. Without Kiera, I’ll never be able to fend off the monsters hiding within.

  “Mother will ruin her, you know. And it’s your fault. All of this is your fault.”

  I’m on my feet, walking away from my brother. Fear and guilt sear themselves into my heart.

  “You can’t walk away from me. There’s no escape.”

  I break into a run, getting nowhere; an endless loop in the caverns of thought.

  Or could this be real?

  Erik’s voice continues, becoming part of the air that surrounds me. “You should’ve listened to me about her. You should’ve listened to me about everything.”

  ~~

  My mind pulls back. My failures have again come home, reminding me of the truth of my existence. I’m not good enough for Kiera. I am the weaker brother. There will never be a place for me in Mother’s world, in any world.

  Thoughts of death consume me. I should have died in the fire. Or here in my home. Why am I still alive?

  ~~

  “Stop wallowing, brother. You’re getting nothing less than you deserve.”

  “Stop tormenting me,” the words stick in my throat, rubbing it raw.

  “‘Stop tormenting me.’ Really brother, are you so weak that death is your only option now? Maybe I should grant your wish and help you die.”

  His words both scare and excite me. The blood rushes to my head as I imagine an end to my suffering. My pulse quickens.

  No more pain.

  No more fury.

  Only Kiera. Forever.

  I cling to the delusions forming in my thoughts. Me. Kiera. Together, locked in my thoughts. I swallow as my stomach clenches.

  “Brother?’

  “Yes, Ien.”

  I turn, facing the shrouded silhouette I once hated. Before he offered the salvation I now crave. “Please, brother. Hel
p

  me

  die…”

  9.

  “My heart, all mad with misery,

  Beats in the hollow prison of my flesh.”

  ~William Shakespeare (Titus Andronicus)

  ~

  Death didn’t listen to Mother’s prayers. Or Ien’s. He continued to breathe life through his lungs. His heart continued to pump blood through his disfigured body. He was alive, no matter how much he wanted to die.

  The physical pain of his injuries had lessened over the past two months. His body was healing. But not his emotional torment, that increased with a violent urgency. Even Jenna couldn’t calm his heart or ease his anguish.

  “I remember when you first started playing the piano,” she said one morning, trying to coax Ien from his depression. “It was the first year I came to live here. Remember?”

  He did remember. He was six. He had loved playing the piano ever since the first moment he’d touched the keys, feeling how they danced under his fingertips.

  “No one can create music like you. Even then I knew you were special.”

  Mother knew it too, which was why she took it away from him. The memories of that night, the night she forbade him from music, from Kiera, crashed into his consciousness, throwing him back to that day…

  “Why are you still playing that? I told you there was no future in music.”

  “Yes, Mother, you did. But I disagree.” Ien continued to pluck at the keys, waiting for her response.

  “My son will not be a…a…musician.” Mother could scarcely form the words spitting from her mouth.

  Ien smiled at her loss of control. Before he could think, she slapped him hard across the cheek, stopping his playing instantly.

  “I will not tolerate your insolence. You will stop playing. Now.” Another blow landed across his cheek. And another.

  Ien took every hit, refusing to acquiesce to the pain that coated his face, or the hatred that swirled up through his soul.

  “Why, Ien? Why are you trying to torment me? You were never like this when Erik was alive. You never disobeyed me like this.” Mother sounded almost sad. “You are not going to be a musician and that is final. I will hear no more of this ridiculousness.”

  She stared at Ien, waiting. She was always waiting. “Am I understood Ien? Music is done. This incessant playing is done. You will not touch a piano here or at school. And you certainly will not be playing with Miss McDougal again.”

  Ien’s hatred smoldered. He turned away from her, hiding the tears welling in his eyes.

  “Don’t you turn away from me!” Grabbing a fistful of his hair she forced his face toward hers.

  Ien watched the grin form on her face, starting from her eyes and slowly reaching her lips. He stiffened, refusing to give into her.

  “This nonsense ends now. Say it!”

  He was silent once more.

  “Ien, are you okay? Ien?” Jenna’s voice pulled him from his memories.

  He nodded, still lost in his fractured mind, unable to find a place of solace.

  Another week passed and Ien clung to his suffering, as though each tear reaffirmed his existence. No longer consumed with thoughts of death, he relished the agony that ripped through his heart. It served as a reminder to keep fighting against Mother, to survive. Regardless the cost.

  Jenna and the other servants continued to tend to his injuries, removing the bandages, cleaning the wounds, and replacing the linens. They never flinched when they cleaned the wounds on his arms and torso, and neither did Ien. The air no longer agitated those places. Touch no longer ignited agony.

  Ien’s face was another matter, however. One by one, his servants removed the strips covering his face. They stuck to his skin, tugging and pulling on the still raw flesh. Waves of nausea crested over him every time the bandages were removed. The bite of the cold February air hitting his face brought its own type of torture, feeling more like a thousand little knives shredding his skin further.

  But the physical pain wasn’t the worst part. It was the look on the servants’ faces. They turned their heads as they peeled back the layers of linen, becoming stiff as they tried to bolster themselves against the visual onslaught. More than once, Ien watched the look of terror register in their eyes. More than once he heard them gag and felt their footsteps as they fled the room, sickened by him. Their reactions hadn’t lessened since the accident. In fact, they had become worse.

  Only Jenna accepted his injured face, never flinching or registering fear. She didn’t question his dark moods, or the names he screamed when he was lost somewhere inside of himself. Nor did she question the strange stories he told her every night. Stories about his dead brother, building a life with Kiera, and reclaiming his broken existence.

  “Can I ask you something?” Ien looked at Jenna through the tattered bandages.

  “Of course,” Jenna said.

  “Why don’t you fear my face?”

  Jenna drew a long, slow breath. “I know you, Ien. You. And your face…it doesn’t define who you are. Not to me.”

  “But everyone else—”

  “Doesn’t know you like I do.”

  Ien kept silent for a moment. “What do I look like?”

  The question hung between them as Jenna drew a sharp breath. She shook her head and looked away.

  He reached to her, his arms still bound to the bed, his wrists raw. “Please, Jenna, be honest. How bad is it?”

  Sorrow filled her expression. “It’s bad, Ien. Really bad.” She took his hand in hers. “But it may still heal. You have to trust in that.” A lone tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek.

  “Describe it to me.”

  “For what purpose?” She leaned in, her lips inches from him. “Just remember who you are, Ien.” She brushed his forehead with her lips, her cheeks flushing. She pulled away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No. It’s fine.” Ien squeezed her hand.

  “Promise me something,” she whispered, looking away.

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me you’ll remember that how you look is not reflective of the you inside. No matter what happens, what people say, promise me you’ll remember.”

  Emotions warred in Ien. Thoughts of Kiera. Jenna. A life he could never have. Ien turned his head, dropping Jenna’s hand.

  “Promise me, Ien.”

  “I promise.” The lie scraped across his lips.

  ~

  The next morning brought the sunlight streaming through Ien’s windows, warming his arms. He opened his eyes, blinking back the brightness reflecting around his room. He edged onto his elbows, struggling against his bindings. His wrists were red and chaffed. The pain had been replaced by a tingling numbness. And the anguish in his heart replaced by rolling emptiness.

  Perhaps this life was death.

  Whispers and the distinctive footsteps of Mother caught his attention. Coming to kill me at last, Mother? He slipped back down under the perfectly pressed linens, pretending to sleep as the door creaked open.

  “Clean him up and get him ready to travel.” She sounded tense, antiseptic.

  “Yes ma’am.” Jenna’s voice was off.

  Something bad was happening; what, Ien couldn’t be certain.

  “Pack only his school clothes. Simple things. He has no need for the rest.”

  A sinking feeling landed in the pit of Ien’s stomach.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Today we end this,” Mother said more to herself than anyone else. Her skirt rustled and the floorboards squeaked as she walked across the floor. Back and forth, the sound wafted.

  She was nervous, Ien was certain of it. He risked a glance. The sunlight framed her, highlighting her clenched jaw. She exuded a familiar distance—the same distance he had felt when Erik had died last year. The same distance that never left his father’s eyes.

  “Jenna.” Mother turned and looked at the young servant packing Ien’s clothes. “I want him to see it. The service, I want
him to see.”

  “Ma’am?” Jenna’s brow furrowed, her voice stilted.

  Mother remained quiet, her pause stealing the oxygen from the room. She took a steadying breath and walked to the door. “Never mind,” she said as she straightened to her full height, made taller by the command of her words. “Have him ready to travel in an hour.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Jenna nodded and continued to open the bureau drawers, putting Ien’s clothes into a small satchel.

  Mother left without a glance in Ien’s direction. He opened his eyes and edged up in the bed.

  “Jenna? What is she talking about? Travel where? What’s happening?” The questions poured from him in rapid succession, his voice barely audible from lack of use.

  Jenna took a step away from him, horror painting the subtle features of her face. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks.

  “Please, Jenna, don’t leave. I need to know what’s happening.”

  “It’s not my place.” She swallowed back a shaky sob, as her hair escaped its confines, framing her face in blond waves.

  “Jenna, it’s me. Please. I have to know what’s going on.” Ien reached out to her, frustrated by the binds that continued to tether him.

  He caught her hand as she rushed around the room, gathering a few of his belongs. She froze, the tension palpable.

  “Jenna?”

  She faced him, choking back the sadness storming in her eyes. “I can’t…”

  Jenna had always told him things about Mother, truths the servants overheard, the gossip spoken in hushed tones in the halls.

  “Please,” he pleaded, refusing to release her hand.

  She closed her eyes and released a heavy sigh. “Mrs. Montgomery…your mother…she’s sending you away. After your funeral.”

  “Funeral?” Ien’s blood ran cold. “Aren’t those only for people who’ve died?” His voice cracked on the last word as he dropped Jenna’s hand and looked away.

  She was really going to do it; Mother was going to kill him.

  “Mrs. Montgomery…she…she announced your death last week. Preparations for your funeral have been in full swing.

  “When?” There was a cold detachment in Ien’s voice, as if he was no longer part of the scene.

  “Today.”