by S. L. Naeole
Call it my need to know more about you, and know what kind of person could cut you in such a way because I don’t want to be that person. You’ve been occupying my thoughts so often lately. I was overwhelmed by this need to know more about you, and that need--it ensnared me, trapped me in my thoughts of you. And it is a prison of my own making. I don’t deny that, and I will suffer it gladly if you will accept me back into your life.
I nodded, understanding how he felt, this need to know more. It was a hunger in both of us. But all I had done to drive him away was ask the question that he would have asked about me had the situations been reversed. What was he? And would I ever find out? How could I feel so strongly for someone and not know who he was beyond his name?
I looked at him, knowing he had heard the thoughts run through my mind, and feared that I had once again sent him silently screaming for the hills…too afraid to tell me more.
His silence was deafening.
Finally, his voice came.
Gee, the things you have seen, the things I have shown you, they’re just hints at who I am, what I am, but they don’t scratch the surface of the truth. I have kept you ignorant because knowing who and what I am is dangerous for your kind, but especially for you. However, I do not think that we can continue our friendship without you knowing more about me. I cannot tell you everything, but it must be your choice to want to know more. You must ask me to tell you.
I nodded my head, willing to hear anything he had to say to me at the moment, as long as it meant he’d stay with me, his hand holding mine, my face, his eyes staring into my own. He heard these thoughts and smiled. His thumb caressed my cheek, sending ribbons of heat shooting out of my body.
And then, the images started coming.
My mind was filled with the dancing colors of fire: Reds, oranges, yellows, whites, and blues. In the middle of the fire stood a woman, battered and bruised, her belly heavy with child; she was calling out in a language I couldn’t understand. She had one bloody hand outstretched to an unseen being, her other hand lay on her stomach, the clothing underneath tattered and torn, seemingly trying to protect it from the licking flames.
From some dark corner, the object of her attention made a low, guttural sound, and then appeared, walking calmly through the flames. No, not walking; stalking. It was a large creature, hairy, almost wolf-like in appearance. Its ears were extremely large, tilting and turning towards any sound that it deemed worthy of notice. Its snout was long, coming to a rounded point at its nose, but its jaw didn’t end near the apex of its eyes like most canines. It continued up towards its ears, allowing its mouth to open a full one-hundred-eighty degrees, as was demonstrated when it let out a fierce, snapping bark at the woman.
The woman took a few steps back, but quickly stepped forward again when she felt the lick of flames at her back. She had nowhere to go, and whatever decision she had come to, whatever agreement she had made with this creature was now a done deal. She closed her eyes and started saying something to herself in a strange, yet familiar language. The sound of the crackling flames seemed to become muted, the popping of wood ceased to fill my ears, as this woman’s voice suddenly became the focal point of the vision. She wasn’t talking, so much as she was singing, her voice a strange mixture of joy and sadness. “Quoniam angelis suis mandabit de te ut custodiant te in omnibus viis tuis…”
She had both hands on her belly, cradling it as she sang her melancholy song, her eyes closed and her body swaying softly. Her song slowly reached its crescendo when the attack came. The creature lunged at her throat, cutting off her song with a tremendous snarl. It could snap her neck off in one motion, but it appeared to be hesitating, almost reluctant. But the hesitation lasted no more than an instant, and soon, the woman lay limp on the ground, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears that reflected the light from the flames around her, flames that appeared to be pleased with the sacrifice.
Quickly, the creature moved towards the woman’s belly. Horrified, I watched as its mouth opened wide, as if to swallow the stomach whole, but instead, it appeared to be gnawing. Frantically, almost desperately, it carefully chewed a hole in the now dead woman’s abdomen; a monster in every sense.
As its teeth continued their mission, I witnessed the transformation. Like a snake molting from its old skin, so, too did the creature. Fur fell, like rain sheeting off of a roof, revealing the pearl sheen of skin the color of moonlight. The back of this monster was not what I expected. It was smooth, lithe…feminine. Its head became smaller, fur falling away to reveal hair, long and blacker than a starless sky. Paw ended limbs became long, sinuous arms, topped with hands so small and graceful, it seemed almost farcical.
Those hands reached into the woman’s belly now, and removed the precious child that had been protected there, revealed by the monster’s teeth, and now cradled by her arms. She held the infant to her chest, cooing to it, comforting it as if she could erase from its earliest memories the death of its mother at the hands of the one whom now embraced it.
And then the monster spoke, in a language that was very familiar to me, in a voice that was so beautiful and melodious, I wanted to cry. “Ne pleurez pas, mon fils. La vie est maintenant pour toujours la vôtre. La mort ne vous touchera jamais. Do not cry, my son. Life is now yours, forever. Death shall never touch you.”
She rose, holding the baby to her breast, and walked away from the flames as it finally claimed its prize.
Scenes of a young man in a small village filled my head then; his beautiful dark hair and silver eyes contrasting with the bright greens and blues of the surrounding fauna and sky. His angelic face smiling as he walked towards a woman who stood in the doorway of a little mud cottage, her belly large with child, her long, dark hair blowing in the cool breeze.
She held her arms out as he walked into them; he knelt down, hugging her belly and kissing it fondly. She patted his head tenderly, pulling him inside with her. “It is time,” she told him in heavily accented English, and he nodded, quickly gathering things from all corners of the little one room cottage. The woman walked over to a bed in the far corner of the room and began to undress.
She laid down on the quilt and placed her hands over her naked belly. The young man came to her then, his arms containing a clay bowl, some linen cloths, water in a pitcher, and what looked like the head of an axe. The woman took the linen cloths and placed them beneath her, spreading them out as if to protect the quilt underneath.
The young man poured the water into the bowl and placed it onto the table beside the bed, a reserved linen cloth lay next to it. He climbed up on the bed then beside her, handing her the axe head as he did so. She took it and opened her mouth. As it had in her other form, her mouth hinged open one-hunred-eighty degrees, and she placed the axe head between her teeth, clamping down tightly.
Her hands then moved to her belly, her fingers slowly rubbing up and down the dark line that stretched from her navel to the dark apex beneath it, as her fingernails turned into long, blood red claws. Suddenly, she was ripping her abdomen open, a fierce, primal scream tearing from her throat, the axe head collapsing a bit under the pressure of her teeth.
The young man, patiently waiting beside the woman, was splattered with the thick, black blood that spurted from the self-inflicted wound. He watched as the woman struggled with pulling open her abdomen. It seemed as though her belly was fighting with her, trying to close up on itself, and she was desperately trying to keep it open. The young man placed his hand on her arm, and with a final pull, she had her stomach flayed open, a shudder running through her body as she continued to ooze dark, viscous liquid onto the cloths beneath her.
From some unseen source, the young man pulled out a knife, and started to work on the womb, slicing its delicate tissue open with much too much skill for someone his age. Dropping the knife to the side of him, he reached in and pulled out a tiny, blood covered newborn. While still holding onto the baby, he leapt off of the bed with the grace of a cat, and landed next to the
bowl of water. He dipped the adjacent cloth into it and proceeded to wipe down the squirming child. Satisfied that it was clean enough to join its mother, he placed it at her breast.
Quickly, he went back to the woman’s now empty abdomen, removing the hands that seemed frozen in place, and pushed the gaping wounds closed with nimble hands. He bent his head down and kissed the wound, blowing on it softly, humming a familiar tune. The sun was going down, the room was darkening, and still he hummed. The mewling cries from the infant had long since died down.
The darkness took over the room, and suddenly I was surrounded by the unnatural brightness of the hospital’s fluorescent lighting. I could still hear the tune being hummed in my head as I stared into Robert’s eyes, seeing his questioning gaze, knowing what he was thinking right then because he asked me without saying a word.
You were showing me your birth…and the birth of your…sister? You really do have a sister?
He nodded once.
A-are you human?
He shook his head. He dropped his hand from my face then, and tried to remove his other hand from mine. I held on like my life depended on it.
He stared down at my hand, my knuckles turning white with the force of my attempt to hold him prisoner at my side. Why aren’t you trying to run away from me? Didn’t you get it? I’m not human. Hell, I’m not even some fictional monster that you’ve read about.
Why should I be running away from you? I’ve seen worse things in a Scorsese movie. And as for not being some fictional monster, I would never think that, Robert. I’ve read a lot of books, and there are only so many things you could be, but I doubt any of them are monsters.
He cocked his head to the side, amused. Well please then, Grace, do enlighten me as to what those things might be so that I can narrow it down for you.
Biting my lip, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. The last time we had had a conversation similar to this one, he had pulled back, and avoided me like the plague. I had to tread carefully.
Well, it’s obvious you’re not a vampire, and you don’t smell like you’re a zombie because I imagine they smell pretty rank and you always smell so wonderful. You might be a werewolf, since I’ve never seen you after a full moon. Is that it? Are you a werewolf?
He rolled his eyes.
Okay, so not a werewolf. What about a kelpie?
He started laughing. Loudly, the robust sound waking up Dad.
“Grace, you’re awake. Oh, thank God.” He got up quickly and gave me a once over, making sure that nothing had changed about me while I had been unconscious. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything? Something to drink? Eat?”
“I am kind of hungry. I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” I told him, remembering my last meal.
Dad looked over at Robert, “Would you like something, too?”
“A coke sounds good,” he answered. Dad nodded, and looked back at me. “How about I get you a burger and fries from the cafeteria?”
I grinned and my stomach growled at the mere mention of greasy fries. “That sounds great, Dad. Ooh, and get me a coke, too. Please!”
“Two cokes and food. Coming up,” he agreed. He hesitated a bit, looking between Robert and be before finally turning around and leaving. Watching how slowly he moved, how his shoulders slouched down, I couldn’t help but worry about him.
Robert waited until the door had closed, then started laughing again. “Kelpie? Do I look a horse to you?”
I turned my head to look at him and blushed, my thoughts brought back to our little discussion. “You know, it’s not like I said merman or something. You said it wasn’t a fictional character that I had read about, but I’d bet that you thought I wasn’t that well read.”
He laughed again. “I know you’re intelligent, Grace. I was expecting merman, vampire, even Frankenstein. But Kelpie threw me off. Not many people know about them. That and I think I should be insulted.”
I shrugged. “So not Kelpie, not werewolf, not vampire, not merman, and not Frankenstein, right? At least that narrows down the list. There’s still X-Men, swamp thing, and my personal favorite, David Copperfield. He’s not human either.”
His eyes were watering, he was laughing so much. “I can assure you that David Copperfield is very much human, albeit in a loose sense of the term. And while the X-Men idea would be interesting, I’m much cooler than Wolverine and Cyclops combined. Oh, and the swamp thing? Do I look that messy? That’s just as bad as the Kelpie!”
His laughter was infectious, and I began to laugh with him. He looked at me, his smile bright and full, and—there really was no other word in the dictionary to describe it—perfect, and what I saw was so stunning, so brilliant, I gasped. His face seemed to radiate light; it fanned around him like a halo, bright and warm and promising, a corona of light that turned his features ethereal and divine. Not a Kelpie. Not a vampire. Not a mutant comic book character or some human magician. What he was, in that very moment, what he’d been in every moment since I had first laid eyes on him, was an angel.
He stopped laughing then, hearing my thoughts, knowing what conclusion I had come to, hearing what he was in my eyes, in my heart. His silence, coupled with the look on his face scared me for one endless second. Is that what you are, Robert? Are you an angel?
Slowly, so slow I nearly doubted the movement, he brought his hand to my face again, caressing it gently, and stared deeply into my eyes. It was his way of warning me. He was about to share something very intimate with me. It would border on the impossible, the improbable, and the irrational.
I knew I would never be the same person after all that had happened in just these few, short weeks, but what he was about to share with me was going to be completely life altering and wholly unbelievable. I could see it in his eyes.
He leaned in to press his forehead against mine, my mind ready and willing to accept whatever it was he wanted to fill it with. I did not expect what came.
There were no visions of past events, horrifically fascinating, terrifyingly intriguing, or otherwise. There were no frightening memories of blood and broken bones, of death and dying.
Instead, I saw my face as he saw it, as it was in that moment. Trusting, and…happy. The purple bruises that covered my face were not enough to disguise the blush in my cheek as—still with my eyes closed—I saw him lift his hand away from the side of my face to brush my lips with the back of his fingers.
I could see my lips part as I drew in a breath, saw my exhalation as the sigh came when he touched my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. I could see myself bring my bottom lip inwards, to taste the spot that he had touched, letting it fall back out in yet another sigh when I realized that I could almost imagine what it would feel like with his lips on mine.
Impossible, improbable, irrational.
Kind of like everything that’s happened so far. When he lifted his face to kiss my forehead, I counted…counted the seconds, counted the minutes, counted the heartbeats until his lips left my skin. And then I counted how long it took before I stopped feeling their burn. I gave up when I realized that I’d probably feel it until I took my last breath. It felt as though everything he did, every touch, every whisper, every thought was permanently burned into my mind. And, I knew that for as long as I lived, I would never want it any other way.
BEGINNINGS
I hadn’t realized that my eyes were closed again until I opened them to see the mercury of his. I had always used liquid to describe the way they looked when they were this color, but never had I been this close to his face to see that I had been more correct than I thought. The shimmer of his irises looked like actual molten silver rolling around in a bowl, the pupil merely floating on its gilt surface.
He was so close I could count his eyelashes, see that while they were the blue black of his hair, the ends were ash gray, and seemed to have multiple tips like the plume of a feather. I needed to touch his face, but he held my left hand now, tighter than I had when he had tried to remove it. Without th
inking, I moved my right hand towards his face, and touched it softly with my fingers. Just the side of his face, his temple, his cheek, but it felt so good. I wanted to cup his face like he did mine, but the plaster of the cast was in the way.
I turned my head to look at my right arm, and then quickly returned to look at Robert. “I can move my hand and arm,” I said, alarmed, and raised and lowered it as if to prove the point. “I’m not supposed to be able to do that, am I?”
His smile was sheepish. “It’s not like you didn’t know that my touch could heal you.”
Well, I had known that. But he had worked his little healing thing on me before, and my bones hadn’t healed so quickly. “Why did it happen so fast this time?” I was nervous, wondering how I was going to explain this to the doctors, or to Dad.
“It was because I’ve pleased you,” he answered proudly. “The human body seems to respond much better to healing when it feels sated, pleasured in some way.”
I blushed, because feeling pleased was an understatement when describing how my heart raced, and how things were fluttering in my stomach at the moment. I started to gather up the courage to say that perhaps I needed more healing when suddenly Robert was no longer next to me on the bed, but rather, sitting on the chair that Dad had been sleeping in. I looked at him questioningly, almost dejectedly, when the door opened and Dad walked in with a tray of food, the doctor right behind him.
Dad looked at my face, flushed most likely, and then looked at Robert, whose face only showed concern for me as the doctor began pulling, twisting, bending, and poking me, seeing how my injuries were healing.
“Grace, are you feeling okay? You look like you might have a fever,” he said, putting the food and drinks down onto the little rolling table next to the bed and placing his hand on my forehead. He pulled it back quickly. “Jesus, you’re burning up! Doc, she’s got a fever!”
