Living Violet

by Jaime Reed

  “Thirsty.”

  Mom reached to the end table for a bottle and poured water into a glass.

  Sitting up, I asked, “Where am I?”

  She handed me the glass. “You’re at the hospital, in one of the private rooms.”

  “Why?”

  She nodded. “We agreed that this was the best place for you now.” The look in her eyes was an odd one to define. Several emotions dueled with shattered logic. “How are you feeling?”

  That was a damn good question. I couldn’t understand what I felt. Pieces cluttered in my head and mixed with others that weren’t there before.

  “I’m not in pain,” I offered, hoping that was enough for her. “How did I get here? What happened?”

  Mom lowered her head. Worry lines appeared around her forehead in strain to find an explanation. “What do you remember?”

  “I remember being at home and Nadine ...” My breath caught, my hand covered my mouth. I stared out to the far end of the room, numb to everything but the brutal arrest of knowledge. “Nadine,” I whispered.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry.” Ignoring her own pain, Mom rushed to the bed and pulled me into her arms. She felt brittle against me, thinly spun glass that would leave a million paper cuts if shattered. She hadn’t held me like this in years and the gesture felt like home. Her nearness restored one of my first memories: the vanilla of her hair and the spearmint of her breath. Warm fingers threaded through my hair, massaging the scalp and untangling the ends.

  The crying continued when Mom whipped out the big guns, and the song of songs caressed my ears. She would always sing it to me when I was a little girl, the only thing that would end my tantrums and dry my tears, that “Baby of Mine” song from Dumbo.

  I lay still against Mom’s chest, clinging to her warmth and comfort, needing more than anything to have something alive next to me. I demanded proof that such a thing existed.

  I didn’t know how long I cried, but Mom’s blouse was a sopping rag of tears and spittle by the time we pulled apart. Wiping my eyes, I said, “Tell me what happened.”

  She kept silent for so long, I didn’t think she heard me. When I was about to repeat it, she spoke. “A great deal. I don’t know where to begin.”

  Despite her shaky state, Mom got it all out. I listened with a sedate disbelief, not interrupting until she finished.

  I remained unconscious for four days, and in that span of time, all hell broke loose. I had encountered severe psychogenic shock. Though my blood pressure had plummeted, I’d had a fever of a hundred and six degrees and climbing, which made no sense. The doctors had been able to revive me before enough oxygen left the brain. Mom had little memory of what happened between then and the night she met Mr. Ross, but the threat of losing her child had shattered her trance instantly.

  Dad had gone ballistic when he returned, threatening to sue the entire city of Williamsburg. It had taken three security guards to hold Dad back from killing Caleb. By that time, Caleb was ushered away in handcuffs for shooting his father in the shoulder. He was released hours later due to his claims of self-defense.

  Grandpa got wind of the fallout and unleashed his wrath on everyone, from the hospital to the police. Grandpa got into another scuffle with Dad, blaming him for interference. After all was said and done, and the entire city of Williamsburg had the fear of God put in them, Mom and I were placed in the penthouse.

  “I didn’t know that Caleb was Nathan’s son,” Mom said.

  “It caught me off guard too.”

  “There are so many holes in the past week.”

  I nodded. “What happened to Nadine’s body?”

  “Her parents arrived yesterday. They’re taking her body back to Poland for the funeral. Oh, Samara, I’m so sorry. The look on her mother’s face. I pray I never wear that look.” She held me tighter. “Caleb’s brothers are talking with them. Apparently their families know each other.”

  “Yeah.” I buried my face in her arm.

  “Samara, I know you’re still weak, but there are a few things I need to know. Is there any way you can explain it to me?”

  My body stiffened. “I don’t wanna lie to you.”

  “Then don’t. I just wanna know the truth. Something happened that night, something that neither I, your father, nor the police can explain.” She swallowed thickly. “But I have a feeling you can piece it together for me.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Try. I’ll believe anything you tell me. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, but you’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

  “If you are, you’ve got plenty of people bunking next to you in the nuthouse, namely the police officers who found you.”

  Mom had a right to know. I knew she needed the closure. Taking a deep breath, I unloaded my burden on Mom, from the woman in the BB parking lot, to Garrett, to Nadine, to Mr. Ross, to Caleb and his brothers. Mom stayed quiet for several moments after I finished. I waited for the scream of horror or the insistence on medication, but none came.

  She simply held me and sighed. “Interesting story, Samara.”

  I blinked. “It’s not a story. It’s true, all of it.”

  “I never said you were lying. I just said it was interesting. Honestly, I don’t know what to say.” She climbed off the bed and moved to the dresser. “As outrageous as it all is, I can’t see any other explanation for your ... condition.”

  “What condition?”

  Mom returned to the bed with a small mirror in her hand. “I think you should see for yourself.”

  That statement alone brought a chill to my spine. Taking the mirror from her hands, I looked at my reflection, then screamed. Mom seemed to have expected this. She continued to rub my back and shush me quiet, when Grandpa rushed into the room, ready to swing.

  Ever since I was little, he had looked like that oatmeal guy on television. Though plump with white hair and beard, there was nothing jolly about Mr. Marshall. The man had a frigid disposition that numbed the fingers. His gruff appearance was better suited for a life of solace in a log cabin than a boardroom.

  He stood by the door, searching around for the ax murderer in the room. “What happened?”

  Mom looked up at him with weary eyes. “She saw her reflection.”

  Grandpa’s shoulders relaxed and he stroked his beard. “The doctors still have no idea how it happened. They want to analyze her, put her as a special case study.”

  “They are not making a lab rat out of my baby! She’s fine.” Mom’s voice cracked with anger.

  “That girl is far from fine, Julie. Look at her. She wasn’t like that before.” He stared at me in accusation.

  “And how would you know? You haven’t been around to make that assessment.”

  “I’ve been around more than you realize, and I know what my grandchild looked like. And that”—he pointed to me—“is not normal.”

  Too caught up in my shock to join the argument, I scurried to the edge of the bed and curled into a ball.

  “Daddy, I appreciate your help, but I need you to leave. I need a moment alone with my daughter.” Before he could reply, Mom crossed the room and shut the door in his face.

  Shuffling to the bed, she cupped my face in her hands. “Samara, honey, look at me.”

  Slowly, our eyes locked.

  “This doesn’t change anything. You are still you, no matter what this means. I love you no matter what. Remember that.”

  I nodded. What did this mean? I knew there was something off, but I didn’t know to what degree. Only one person could shed some light on this.

  “I need to see Caleb. Where is he?” I asked.

  “He came by a few times, but Grandpa sent him away and placed a restraining order on him. We couldn’t risk him going after you.”

  I shot upright. “What!”

  “I didn’t know what to think, Samara. All I knew was that his father tried to hurt me, and I didn’t know what the rest of his family was capable of.”

 
; “Caleb was trying to help.”

  “Samara, calm down. When you’re feeling better, I’ll invite him over.” She eased me back down. “This is a lot to take in and you need to sleep on it. We don’t need to solve this now. Get your strength back.” Mom tucked me in and kissed my forehead.

  When she left the room, I climbed out of the covers and went to the adjoining bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror for a half hour, examining the subtle nuances of the change, the odd flecks of color that rebounded light. No wonder Mom had freaked out. This was a hard thing to dismiss and an even harder thing to explain to people I knew. If anyone looked long enough they could tell it was natural.

  My thoughts shot straight to Nadine. The girl sure knew how to leave an impression. I would like to think that she had given me this as something to remember her by. This little souvenir wasn’t an easy thing to forget. I had constantly joked that I would kill to have her eyes. She must have taken the statement seriously. It was my favorite color after all. Jade green and tiny flecks of gold shimmered inside swollen, bloodshot eyes.

  Caleb told me that his spirit used the eyes to show itself. Well, mine had no problems making its presence known.

  31

  The rest of the night took place in bed, though little sleep occurred.

  I tossed and turned, toiling with an inner battle that had no victor. The efforts left me too exhausted even to use the bathroom. Memories from past lives tangled and spread like weeds, stunting the growth of healthy dreams.

  Seeing Mr. Ross’s life story play out before me didn’t help my sleepless night. I envied the undying devotion for his wife, I rejoiced with him when Caleb was born, and I commiserated the events that sent him down this dark road of perversion. I became the hostile witness to the sick thrill, the conflicted guilt, and the demented reasoning to continue. I knew and felt it all, and I wanted it gone.

  None of the food the nurse brought me filled me up that night. I scarfed down two sandwiches and half a cheesecake, but that only pacified the hunger for a few hours at a time. Nadine had warned me of how substantial human energy was when taken in its entirety; that it would take weeks to digest. One would think consuming two lives would fill me up for the next month, but the trauma from the body swap must have burned through most of the reserve.

  Whatever the case might be, this thing inside me was unhappy with the new arrangement and demanded compensation, like a child who kept crying for her mother. I didn’t have the heart or the wherewithal to explain that she wasn’t coming back. That would only produce another meltdown and the diagnosis of schizophrenia.

  I had teased Caleb about his spirit being a pet, but it was more like an infant that needed food and attention at regular intervals. There was no self-help book or instruction manual to handle this affliction, and evasion was not an option, no matter how hard I tried.

  The tapping at my door the next morning was a welcome diversion. Mom popped her head in the room and smiled. “Hey, sweetie, are you in the mood for company?”

  “Who is it?”

  “Nadine’s mother. She wants to talk to you.”

  I sat up straight. This visit was unexpected, but a part of me anticipated it. I wondered what she would say. Would she blame me for her daughter’s death? Would she detect the being in my body? Curiosity and the need for acceptance outranked my fear. Though walls separated us, I could feel her presence and I couldn’t pass the opportunity to meet its source.

  “Yeah, sure, let her in.”

  Moments later, a tall woman entered the room. I almost jumped out of the bed.

  She lifted her hand for me to stop. “It’s all right, child. Calm yourself.”

  Seeing her up close, I could detect the years and wisdom in her features. At first sight, a surge of information rushed before my eyes—images, sounds, smells, and events in which I had not participated. I knew everything about this woman, her favorite song, her favorite food, her political views; I even knew what she looked like naked, which was kinda gross.

  Mrs. Petrovsky was the mirror image of Nadine, give or take twenty years. She had the same golden hair, green eyes, and pouty mouth. From head to toe, she carried that tasteful European poise, a fashion plate in casual wear. I’m sure she had to beat men off with a stick in her youth, and probably still did.

  “Forgive me, child, but your grandfather is an irritating man. I had to use great deal of charm to get on this floor.” Her thick accent rolled off her tongue like a purr. Her voice soothed my bones, drifting me to warm nights by a roaring fire and stories before bed. The familiarity was intimate, giving me ease and safety that only a mother’s presence could provide.

  She took a seat in the chair by the bed and placed her hands on her lap, just watching me. She seemed quite comfortable with the silence, but I wasn’t.

  “Mrs. Petrovsky, I’m so sorry about—”

  “Don’t. Do not apologize for something you couldn’t control. Nadine made her choice, and we all must live with it.”

  “I’m still sorry. It’s not easy to lose a child.”

  “No, it’s not. But, you must understand, I cannot dwell on her absence, but only her presence. The years she spent with me were precious, and I’m thankful for each one. We do not celebrate death, but life. Mr. Ross and others like us forget that key principle of what we are. Life is what sustains us. The sooner you realize that, the better. Besides, my child isn’t really gone. I’m looking right at her.”

  “Mrs. Petrovsky, I—”

  “You need to be aware of what is going on with you. You will need teaching and support. I’m here to help you, Samara.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She leaned forward. “I think you do. This is quite an unusual situation, something that has never occurred in our lineage, but there it is. You will not face this alone. I promise you that. You are family now, and I embrace you as my child.” Sitting up, she handed me a small envelope. “I want you to have this.”

  I opened the envelope and a thin bracelet fell into my palm. Recollection made my heart jolt in pain. “I can’t take this.”

  Mrs. Petrovsky closed my hand over the chain. “You can and you will. Every one of my children have them, for their protection.”

  “But this was Nadine’s.”

  “She no longer needs protection, but you do. You know it is not simply a bracelet, yes?”

  I nodded with a hard swallow. This wasn’t just a sentimental gesture, but an initiation, a rite of passage given to all the Petrovsky heirs. A privilege that I hadn’t earned.

  “I will take no refusal on this matter, little one. Nadine would want you to have it,” she asserted before I could protest. “For my love and peace of mind, never take it off.”

  My shoulders sagged in defeat; then I fastened the clasp around my wrist. My fingers traced over the inscription.

  I knew Mrs. P. was grieving and any coping device would do, but I wasn’t trying to have another Nathan Ross on my hands. “I’m not Nadine.”

  “I know that, but Nadine is in you and so is her spirit. You feel it, do you not?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  She cocked a blond eyebrow. “You don’t? Have you not noticed your eyes, or the strong hunger that has nothing to do with food, or the fact that we have been speaking in Polish since I walked in the room?”

  I flinched. How on earth did I know Polish? How did I know this woman’s voice as well as my own?

  “When I first heard what happened I had my suspicions, but now seeing you has removed all doubt.” Seeing my baffled look, she continued. “Let me explain something to you. When a host dies, the spirit will try to fight it, grabbing at life, consuming as much energy as it can. When all traces of life are gone, it will leave the body and it takes the life of its host with it. Something happened to interrupt the ascent, and now the spirit is with you, and with it, Nadine’s energy.”

  “Then what happened to Mr. Ross’s spirit? Is it in my body too?”

  “I highly do
ubt it. Our beings are gender specific. The human body is small compared to the vastness of a spirit. There is barely room for one. Nadine’s spirit staked her claim on you and will not let go.”

  I knew what she was saying was true. I just couldn’t accept it. How does one cope with a possession? Nadine, Caleb, and his brothers were born with this malady; they knew no other way, no other life. But I was now tossed in a whole other world with no map or compass to guide me.

  “I am sure this is difficult for you to accept. And the alteration may be awkward, but we will help you through it. Caleb and his brothers understand the situation and are willing to aid you through this transition.”

  “Transition,” I repeated dully.

  “Being what we are has its advantages and consequences. I am sure you are aware what some of those are.” Her firm stare dared me to contest.

  “You say that I ingested her life energy. How long will the energy last?”

  “A week or so. However, the memories are another story. I still have memories from my very first donor, and that was but a taste. So I can only assume the knowledge that came from Nadine and Mr. Ross is now yours. Once seen, it cannot be unseen. I can tell that you are burdened by his past. Do not dwell on the evil that comes to you. Preoccupy your thoughts and let them pass away. Only learn what you wish to learn and block the rest, for it will stay with you for life. What you do with such knowledge is up to you.”

  She reached in her purse and pulled out a white business card. “I would love to stay longer, but I must catch my flight. I will contact you after the service. These are all my contact numbers, my fax and e-mail address. Call me day or night, all right?”

  When I took the card, she said, “This will not be our last meeting, Samara. We will have time together soon.”

  The promise of her return made my chest swell. I reached for her hand as she got up to leave. Smiling down at me, she bent and kissed my forehead.

  The meeting was brief, but nothing she could say would enlighten me any further. It was like I’d known her for years. I knew because Nadine knew. I loved this woman as much as I did my own mother, and the likelihood of reciprocation brought more tears.