PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “No choice?” I laugh bitterly. “There’s always a choice.”

  “Yes, Alex, there is always a choice but sometimes the right choice isn’t the easy one. In your mother’s case, the right choice cost her everything, including her family. She told me it tore her apart, but she had to go. Leaving would keep her family safe.”

  “Safe? Safe from what?”

  “I don’t know. She wouldn’t explain it, but she was terrified. That much I could see. She made me promise to never say anything about it, that it might put everyone in danger. I’ve kept that promise all these years, but now it’s time you knew the truth. It wasn’t easy for her. She loved all of you so much and knew her decision would hurt her children and that not being able to explain would make it worse. I know how deeply it hurt her to go. I saw the pain in her eyes and held her while she cried. Hate her if you must, Alex, but never doubt for a moment that she loved you or that she wanted to leave.”

  I look at her uncertainly. If all of this is true, why had Emma never said anything before? I am confused. I had thought for so long that she’d left us because it was something she’d wanted to do. Now, Emma is painting a different picture. Could it be true?

  “Alex, you’ve been angry with her for so long. Don’t you remember anything besides the anger?”

  I remember everything. That’s the problem. It’s why I’d hurt so much in the beginning. Compton helped me realize that. My mother had been wonderful. She was kind and loving, with never a hurtful word for her children even when she scolded us. She would read to me every night and listen with patience as I told her of all the grand adventures I was going to go on. She always knew just what to say when I was afraid or hurt to make everything better.

  I had felt like the most loved little girl in the world until the day she left me crying and broken in the middle of the street.

  Tears prick my eyes at the remembered pain. It washes over me with a force I don’t expect. It crashes into me as fresh and real as the day it happened.

  It’s too much.

  It hurt too much and I can’t stop the tears once they start.

  “Shh, honey,” Emma pulls me up and wraps her arms around me. “It’s okay. You can let yourself feel grief and pain and still be angry.”

  “Why did she leave me?” the words tumble out, unbidden. “Why?”

  “Shh,” she croons, crying herself.

  I don’t know how long we stand there like that. It doesn’t matter really. She accomplished what she’d set out to do—making me remember my mother as she used to be. She eventually leads me home and settles me into my bed.

  I hear her mumble something about having to tackle Jason. Emma is well aware of the fact that he feels the same way about our mother as I do.

  God help him when she gets a hold of him.

  My eyes close and for once, I fall asleep to blessed silence. The nightmares leave me alone.

  Chapter 14

  I blink at the clock with bleary eyes, surprised to see its nine fifteen. I’d slept for hours and Lord how I hurt. I feel like that same little girl again from all those years ago. All I want to do is crawl under my covers with my teddy bear and cry.

  I hate feeling like this. Anger flares hot and hard. My mother—how, how could she leave us? How could she leave me? I’ll never get the chance to confront her now, to scream and yell. That is what my therapist at Compton was adamant about, that I need to confront her to deal with some of my abandonment issues. She’s gone and that chance is gone with her.

  Do I love her? Yeah, I guess I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that I still hate her. Letting myself feel the pain I’ve bottled up for years doesn’t change that. I can’t forgive all the pain she’s caused. Maybe I never will.

  I clean myself up in the bathroom. The girl in the mirror shocks me. I’m a mess—my face pale and tired. Black hollow eyes stare back at me. I pull out my phone, feeling it vibrate-Devon. It shut off before I can answer it. Three text messages from Morgan demand to know what is wrong.

  How could he know something’s wrong? He always seems to know when I need him. How? I still have no answer to the puzzle that is Morgan Chandler. With a sigh, I go downstairs.

  I find my way down to Dad’s office. I start a fire in the hearth. I’m cold. My eyes find the picture of Alecia Reed over the mantle. Always smiling. Every time I look at this picture I have the insane urge to smash it, to destroy her smile like she had mine. I still want to despite everything Emma told me. She is the reason I’m crazy, the reason for my going to Compton.

  Everything bad that has ever happened to me centers around the day my mom left us. The nightmares started the night she left and gradually got worse and then when I cracked, I remember seeing her face flash in and out of the glimpses of snarling, snapping teeth. When I first checked into Compton, they put me in the “infirmary.” It’s the smell that stays with me. It smells of antiseptic and sterile cleaning fluids. I almost choked on that smell for the first few days. The doctors couldn’t understand it. The scent overpowered everything else. They had to move me to a room that was free of the cloying scents. I started to breathe a bit normally after that.

  They strapped me to the bed, to keep me from hurting myself they said, but it was more to keep them safe from me. I was only twelve and apparently I’d done some kind of damage to a few orderlies when they’d tried to help the nurses calm me down during my Night Terrors my first night there. I’d been strapped down every night for the first two years I was there. It wasn’t until they’d found the proper blend of meds to keep the nightmares away that they’d stopped with the restraints.

  That is one of the most horrible feelings in the world, to wake up immobile, to not be able to move. It’s terrifying in and of itself, but if you added my fear into the equation, it was almost debilitating. I was so scared all the time, I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, I felt abandoned by everyone. They hadn’t allowed me visitors for over a year. I needed to have time for my therapy to work.

  It was during therapy that the doctor had determined that all my issues stemmed from what happened to me that day in the park and my mother leaving me the next day only compounded the issue. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to remember what happened and she is, was the only person who can tell me what happened. Now, I will never know, so does that mean I’ll never get better? Will I always live with this constant fear, this feeling of the walls closing in on me? Will I ever really be normal?

  My worst fear is that I’ll end up back in the mental hospital. The kids I met, the ones I got to know, the few I’d called friends shared the same fear. We used to talk about it outside of group. We knew we were messed up, and the real question always was, can we be fixed? I still have no answer to that one, but deep down, I don’t think we can. Once you break as badly as we did, I’m not sure anyone can put the pieces back together.

  My mother had caused me to end up the mess I am. I can’t forgive her for that. I can’t.

  “Hey,” Jason says from behind me and then falls on the rug in front of the fireplace.

  I take a seat beside him.

  “You okay?” he asks, his eyes wary and concerned.

  “You know me, Jase. I’m always fine.” I hold my hands out to the heat. “Did Emma tell you?”

  “About why she left?” he nods. “Yeah, but . . . ”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I finish for him. “I do love her, Jase, but I can’t forgive her.”

  “I know,” he whispers. “I love her too, but I can’t stop hating her either, and it hurts, Sis. It hurts so much. She’s our mama and she’s gone.”

  Tears trail wet paths down his cheeks and I start crying myself. He pulls me close and we sit there for the longest time like that wrapped up in our memories. My brother and I are close, made so by the mother who walked out and left us. It made us harder, more determined to protect each other. No matter what, we will always have each other. She can’t take that from us.

  Some people’s memories
of their loved ones fade as time goes by. Mine don’t. I can still remember the sound of her voice as she sang me to sleep or hear her laughter as she listened to a joke only a six year old would find funny. She always smelled like apples and cinnamon, claiming it was Dad’s fault for making her bake so many apple pies. The feel of her arms are imprinted into my skin. She used to crawl into bed with me when I’d had bad dreams and hold me until I went to sleep. She told me everyday how much she loved me. It hurts to remember those things. I locked them away in a box for so long, but now that they’re out, they eat at me.

  She’s my mama and she’s gone. Just . . . gone. I’ll never hear her tell me she loves me or feel her hug me again. I’ll never get the chance to tell her good-bye. No matter what she’s done to us, I love her and losing her hurts. I can’t seem to breathe past this crushing pain in my chest. It just hurts.

  A few hours later I crawl under my own covers. My bear, Gingi, is firmly grasped in my clutches. The poor little thing has seen so much wear and tear over the years. Dad said Uncle Sabien gave him to me for my third birthday. My rag tag little bear is my woobie. Always has been, always will be.

  Jason and I talked for a long time. We both agreed on one thing. Even if she did leave because she thought she had no choice, how were we supposed to forgive her?

  I don't think it's the leaving part that hurt so much. No, we could have lived with that, but she ignored us for years. Did we get so much as a birthday card or a phone call? No. Yet she found the time to talk to her own brother almost every day. What are we supposed to think? Parents put their children first and Alecia hadn't done that whether she meant to or not. Forgiveness isn't in the cards right now. The anger burns too hot, too fresh.

  I pull Gingi close and go to sleep.

  Chapter 15

  I stood on the cliffs overlooking the beach. The cold air made me shiver. I smelled the salt and heard the wind as it sighed over the waves. A light drizzle was falling and the dampness seeped through my thin nightgown, causing goose bumps to break out over my bare arms.

  My mother sprinted towards me, her long legs eating up the distance between us. Good Lord, but she was fast. Faster than anyone I’d ever seen. Her long sable hair swung as she kept looking over her shoulder. She stopped a foot away from me. Her face was as pale as ivory and showed her sadness, but it was her eyes that held my attention. They glowed with a soft amber color.

  “I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered, looking back once more. “You’ll be safe now. Even if they find you, you’ll be safe.”

  She stepped off the cliff.

  I wake, barely able to breathe.

  No. It can’t be.

  I recognize those cliffs. I’ve been dreaming about them for days. It was there I’d run from them in my dreams just as my mother ran towards me.

  It can’t be.

  Just a dream, I tell myself.

  God, please let it be just a dream.

  I climb out of bed and make my way to Jason’s room. He’s tossing and turning, the cover’s thrown into the floor.

  “Jase?” I shake him and jump back when I see his eyes. They seem to be . . . glowing. I blink hard and when I look again, they’re normal.

  “What, what is it?” he asks groggily and sits up.

  “I had a nightmare . . . ” My eyes zero in on his feet. They’re dirty. No, they’re filthy. My hand finds the lamp, turning it on.

  “Al,” he gripes and rubs a hand over his eyes.

  “Jason, why do you have mud on your feet?”

  “What?”

  I point to his feet. They are caked in mud. It’s almost like he’s been running through the muddy woods. It’s rained for two day straight and the ground is a sodden mess.

  He frowns and examines them more closely. “What the . . . I haven’t gotten up since I went to bed.”

  “Could you have been sleepwalking maybe?”

  His frown deepens and then I see a small spark of panic brighten his eyes. He can’t remember getting up and walking anywhere. He stares at me in horror for a heartbeat and then forces himself to relax, to calm down. I know what has just gone through that head of his. He’s afraid. He’s afraid that my mental illness might be taking hold of him. I never remembered anything that I did while I was in one my fits, my night terrors. I lost chunks of time.

  “It’s probably just you being overly tired and stressed, Jase,” I try to reassure him. I hope that is all it is. “Go get cleaned up and I’ll throw these sheets in the washer before Emma sees them.”

  He nods and does as I tell him. I grab a pair of new sheets from the linen closet and change his bed after throwing the sheets in the washer. He’s fine, I tell myself forcefully. He is. Worry about my brother drives the memory of the dream I’d had to the back of my mind. When Jase comes back, he looks tired. I put him back to bed and then grab a throw and curl up in his cushy chair. It’s a long time before I fall asleep, worry keeping me awake until almost morning. Jase is asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. He’s exhausted and I have to wonder if he hadn’t had a mad, 3am run through the woods himself. God I hope we’re not both crazy.

  What more can happen to us?

  Chapter 16

  When tragedy strikes it is swift, brutal, and leaves a trail of broken bodies in its wake. There is no mercy, it takes no prisoners. I came to understand that over the next few days—some of the hardest I’ve ever faced. Jason and I helped with the arrangements for our mother’s funeral just like I’d promised Dad, but neither of us realized how hard it would be. We’d done more than was expected of us, though. We owed Dad that much. At least Uncle Sabien, someone who’d known our mother, could make sure her wishes were honored.

  I stand next to my brother and my father, listening to the minister and tears gather in my eyes. Reality is catching up. She’s gone. My mother is being put to rest today and I’ll never see her again. I still love her no matter how much she hurt me. I always will.

  Emma gives my shoulder a squeeze. God knows what we would have done without her. No one made it past her unless she deemed them necessary.

  I feel my father stiffen and turn my attention back to the graveside service. They are beginning to lower the coffin into the ground.

  “She’s afraid of the dark,” he whispers hoarsely and Emma wraps her arms around him. My hand flies to my mouth. There is so much raw pain in his voice that it makes me hurt for him. Emma is standing strong. I don’t know how she can, but she is his strength.

  Morgan wraps his arms around me, staring grimly at the scene. I lean into him, grateful for his strength. I feel like I am going to collapse at any minute from sheer exhaustion myself.

  Morgan has become my lifeline. He’s been with me every day, always knowing exactly what I need. The weird thing is, the more time I spend with him, the more aware I become of him. Even now I can sense his growing worry.

  The minister concludes his final prayer and everyone files up to the grave to throw in the customary flowers. My mother loved carnations and that’s what accompanied her down into the cold, dark ground.

  Jason has already fled the scene, no more able to bear Dad’s grief than me. He stands at the bottom of the hill accepting condolences. Everyone thinks our tears were for our mother. They are, but only just a little. Our tears are mostly for our father. We hate seeing him like this, watching him go through this, not knowing how to help him.

  John stands above his wife’s open grave, Emma’s hand clutched tight. It hurts to watch him. I turn away when Morgan’s grandfather collects him and then I start toward Jason.

  Uncle Sabien spots me and waves me over. There are several people with him. I so do not want to hear any more condolences right now.

  “Alex, I would like you to meet some very dear friends of your mother’s. This is George, Helen, and Phillip.”

  The rage surfaces unexpectedly. Friends?

  “Hello, honey,” Helen smiles at me. “I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am. You’re mother was
a special woman and close friend. We’ll miss her very much.”

  My expression freezes and my eyes harden. Good for you, I think bitterly. “You were close?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I nod and tramp down the urge to scream.

  Seriously major brownie points that.

  Sabien’s eyes narrow at my expression, but he says nothing.

  Smart man.

  We pile into the car and remain silent on the ride home.

  Mourners flood the house. Whispers banter back and forth while they eat from the buffet Emma and I spent most of the morning on. It all seems too bizarre to me and more than a little depressing.

  Emma finds me where I am standing by the window overlooking the backyard.

  “Why don’t you go upstairs for a while, Alex? You look ready to drop.”

  “Thanks, I think I will.”

  Morgan leans against my bedroom door, waiting for me. He looks as worn out as I feel.

  “Need some company?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  I follow him inside and curl up on my bed, staring at nothing. Morgan stretches out in my cushy chair. We stay like that for the longest time, content to say nothing. It’s a comfortable silence and neither of us have the need for idle chit chat. He surrounds me in the smell of crisp clean air and freshly turned dirt. I’ve gotten used to his woodsy scent over the last couple of weeks. It helps to keep me calm and steady somehow. Bizarre, I know.

  Not only that, but Morgan understands me on a level that goes beyond simple friendship. It should be weird, but it doesn’t feel weird. It feels natural. He and I forged some kind of deep connection. Morgan managed to ingrain himself so thoroughly in my life, he’s become a living, breathing part of me. The last few days have shown me that simple fact. I need him. He keeps me sane.