by Calinda B
“And you remember how I said I was here to serve, right?” He makes his way over to the closet. He opens it and finds a notebook and pen. “We provide these for all our guests.” He beams.
“Aren’t you worried I’m going to slit my wrists with this pen?”
“If you seemed at risk, yes. But you don’t, so no. Here…” He urges me to take the writing implements.
“Okay, thanks.” I force a smile on my face.
All Smiles and I both whip our head around when a scuffles sounds in the hallway. There’s shouting and panicked voices from the nurse’s station down the hall from my room. All Smiles bursts into the hallway with me following.
“There’s been an accident,” says one nurse.
“It’s Dr. Bellows,” says another.
“Rafe claims they got into a fist fight.”
“That boy has been much calmer for weeks now! What made him snap?”
“We don’t know, but get an emergency team up there now!”
All Smiles takes off at a trot down the hall. He quickly unlocks the door and half the team tear through the doorway leaving us “guests” behind.
What have I done? I chew on my nails. Rafe took the blame. What will happen to him? I rush over to the nurse’s station. “What are they going to do to Rafe? It’s not…” I quickly shut my mouth.
The nurse puts a finger up to her lips and points to the phone in her hands. “Dr. Beasley. Yes. Rafe had another episode, a violent one. He’s apparently knocked out Dr. Bellows. Yes. That’s right. Out cold. Alright. Will do.” She slams down the phone and hustles into the back office.
Through the doorway, I watch her unlock a drug cabinet and remove several vials and bottles. She swiftly re-locks the cupboard, exits the room, and locks it behind her. She shoves the mix of substances into the arms of another nurse. He’s pushing a metal, wheeled gurney. There’s something that looks like a straitjacket on top of the gleaming metal. He gestures to an orderly who unlocks the door and then he whizzes through the open maw.
This is all my doing, all mine.
“Ms. Engles?”
I whirl around to see yet another staff member.
She smiles placidly. “Let’s get you settled in for the night, shall we? I’ve got something to help you sleep. We’ve had a bit of an upset, but it’s all being managed. This will help you rest easy.”
“I don’t think I can rest easy!” I blurt. “I’m way too upset. Rafe is my friend!”
“Now, you barely know him. Rafe will be fine. He’s been here long enough to know how the system works. He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.”
I want to tell her that fine is not a feeling, but she hustles me into my room. No is clearly not an option. I shake my head, roll my eyes, and prepare to submit to modern science, again, as the door slowly eases shut, trapping me in this god awful place of total non-acceptance.
Chapter 7
Tonight, at last, when I sleep, I drift off into the white world of an ether meeting. White mist is everywhere. This is the way this illustrious and secret group of sorcerers, witches, Numens, and other strange characters I’ve only recently found out about, keeps in touch. They send their souls, their spirits, or maybe just their awareness to a gathering place somewhere in the beyond. I’ve never been able to figure out how this works. All I know is that I can see them, even though their corporeal forms are elsewhere.
Members of the Numina are gathered in a somber circle. Tom stands next to Crazy Betty, my elderly Appalachian Hillbilly friend and co-worker - when I had a job, that is. Diego Perona, my mother’s former, and now my, jeweler, who fashions exquisite pieces out of gemstones and spells, stands with arms crossed. Others, whom I don’t know, line the white landscape. All are somber, serious, contemplative.
An ancient woman, who is the Keeper of Time and Records v5.5.1, slowly tramps into the space. Her eyes are milky, opalesque blue and her white hair rises from her scalp like dissipating fog, the ends trailing off into vapor. She appears as old as time is, except that she’s v5.5.1. There must be other versions before her. She holds her Book of Records and Secrets, a huge volume of life passages and events that are mere possibilities. She drops the book in the air and a podium appears to catch it. It lands with a solid thud and tiny clouds of something akin to dust erupt. I don’t know what could be dusty wherever this is - there seems to be an absence of anything remotely resembling dust, as if the atmosphere is vacuumed hourly.
When she speaks, her voice sounds eerily hollow, as if it’s echoing and ricocheting through canyons. “Beloved gathering of dignitaries,” she begins. “Our kind have been persecuted and misunderstood, feared and sought after, loathed and loved.” The words glow as they sail from her mouth. They drift and swirl in the air before disappearing with small puffs and pops. “And now one of our most powerful is in a mental institution as others before. And the other, as you know, is in custody.”
The hair on the back of my head stands out straight. They’re talking about Daniel. What do they mean ‘in custody?’ “Can anyone hear me?” I ask. The last time I was here they all welcomed me into the circle. No one turns in acknowledgment so I guess the answer is no. Damn drugs.
“The Night Numen. How is he faring?”
“He’s pissed, your grace,” answers Crazy Betty. “And he has a right to be.” Crazy Betty has retained the accent of her past, growing up in the hills of the Appalachia Mountains. The word “pissed” has at least three syllables when she says it and “right” sounds like it’s spelled with an ah instead of an i. “He saved the life of the Light Rebel. He’s responsible for her restoring her abilities, at least in part. He helped rid this earth of evil. Although I have to say…” She pauses, chuckling. “I have to say that the young Light Rebel took care of the mess El Demonio and Daniel made with their former love Josephina. And she managed to off the devil sorcerer herself.” Her laughter turns into wheezes and coughs, thanks to a lifetime of tobacco. She stopped smoking a while back, but still her lungs remember.
Her little Chihuahua, Buddy, pops into view. Buddy died not too long ago but he still keeps the old dear company. “There you are, my little champion. I wondered what kind of mischief you got yourself into.” She reaches down and scoops the ghost dog into the air. “So, why, exactly was he put into custody? None of us knew what he was capable of. He didn’t even know what he was capable of. You’ve blocked and bridled that boy since the day he was born. And then you all gave him your permission and blessing to move without restraint in dealing with that old windbag, El Demonio. And this is how he’s rewarded?” She spits a huge wad of ick. It lands, with a sizzle, by her feet, and then vaporizes.
“He did it to himself,” Tom tells her. He speaks in a similar Southern accent.
Maybe they grew up in the same region. When I met him, I thought he was nothing but an old hick. All I know is that this ancient, elderly pair is dating…dating! And, according to Betty, having the best sex of their lives. I still can’t wrap my head around that one.
“What do you mean?” Crazy Betty asks. “He was advised that he’d be reprimanded for his actions. We sat here a few nights back, and he was told there would be consequences. If what you’re saying is true, he probably figured it best to take matters into his own hands rather than be given consequences by you all. You’d have schooled him like he was a child. I just wonder what he hopes to accomplish in there.”
“Tom’s right,” a young, bored-looking guy says. “He hurled himself deep into his dark world when his beloved Marissa was taken away. He believes himself to be dangerous and a threat to the safety and well-being of his soul bound lover, the Light Rebel.”
“Well, isn’t that just a crock of shit,” Crazy Betty replies. “Are you telling me that one of the most powerful males that we have has shut himself up in darkness to protect his lover? That just ain’t right. I think the boy is just afraid of love. He’s afraid he’ll mess it up, like he did with Josephina.”
“Whatever h
is reasons, he is doing penance for his behavior.”
“There’s nothing to do penance for.”
Crazy Betty sounds angry. Her voice rises and grows shrill. If anyone is anyone’s champion, she is mine and Daniel’s. I’m starting to love her.
A cacophony of sound erupts as the Numina argues and debates Daniel.
“Silence!” The Record Keeper’s voice booms like thunder. “Daniel Navid did what was right. He assumed his own consequences. He took responsibility for his actions.” She pauses as if listening. “His father’s hand was at play in all of this. Armando sought out his young upon his return from El Demonio’s plantation in Brazil. He sought to capture and control his son’s power. Daniel cast himself into the place that only he commands. Even Armando cannot find him there. I’m certain that Daniel is scheming in the dark. He’s buying time until his beloved Marissa is freed and he has a solid plan for dealing with his father. Armando’s power has become unruly. It is said that, upon the death of El Demonio, there was one who captured the sorcerer’s power. We believe that man to be Armando Navid.”
A collective gasp rings out.
“But why?” someone asks. “He was one of us.”
“Power corrupts. Love affects and wounds. When his wife left him, unable to tolerate his cruelty, he snapped. You saw what happened with Josephina. We have reason to believe that a similar fate has befallen Gabriela Catalina Padilla-Navid.”
“You mean she’s trapped in a bronze statue somewhere?” Crazy Betty scoffs. “Those boys and their schemes.” Buddy licks her face with his pint-sized tongue, and she smiles at him. “I hear you, Buddy. They’re a bunch of loonys, those Navids. If Daniel didn’t love Marissa so much, I’d give him the what for and the why do it, I tell you.”
“No,” the Record Keeper states. “We don’t know where Gabriela is. When she left, she disappeared. She only left a whisper poem.”
“What’s a whisper poem?” I ask. Since no one can hear me, no one responds.
The ancient fingers of the Record Keeper flip pages until she reaches the one she must be looking for. Her fingers move back and forth, quavering slightly. “Here is it.” She taps the words, slowly and deliberately, seven times. Each tap causes a few words to rise into the air, hovering inches above the book. The words glow, similar to the words that appear from her mouth.
After the seventh tap, she gathers the luminous words between her hands, patting and shaping them into a ball. Once the ball has been formed, it hovers near her heart. She spreads her arms and claps the glowing orb so quickly, I’m taken by surprise. The old crone has speed when she needs it.
The force of impact causes us all to bend backward, as if a sonic boom has occurred in our presence. When we recover from the sensation, a lilting voice speaks in a soft whisper like ocean fog or sea breezes.
“I asked what’s true and this was not,
The willing of my heart.
I asked for gifts and gifts were shot,
And so I chose to part.
I leave my seed in my true place,
For should there come a time.
For him to hold his heart in place,
I’d gladly give him mine.”
A collective murmur rises like the hum of approaching bees. I make out snippets of words.
“What does this mean?”
“Armando destroyed her heart!”
“She sacrificed herself for Daniel!”
As the group tries to make sense of the whisper poem, no one seems to notice the small flames licking at the Book of Records and Secrets. Buddy, the ghost Chihuahua, yips and tears at the pants legs of anyone within his grasp. I yell, trying to get someone’s - anyone’s -attention. It’s no use. No one ever listens to me, I think gloomily. The Record Keeper raises her hand high and a staff appears in her grip. She lowers it and a thunderous earthquake shakes the foundation of this strange place. It ripples through the collective like a giant scream. All catch their balance, and turn and stare at their Book of Records and Secrets. Faces fall, horrified.
“Stop it!” someone shouts. “Put out the fire! Our heritage is being destroyed!”
The Record Keeper, v5.5.1 stares impassively at the flames. She inclines her head to the right. She inclines her head to the left. She scoops up the flames in both hands and extends the fiery bundle toward the gathering. The pages of the book seem intact. As all eyes stare at the flames, the Record Keeper speaks. “The whisper poem has elicited a response. Listen. Watch.”
A face appears in the middle of the flames. It’s a man’s face. He looks vaguely familiar. He looks like Daniel, but cruel. Is that his father?
“The rat bastard himself,” Crazy Betty says, as if she heard me. “Armando Navid.”
“Quiet,” Tom shushes her. “Listen.”
Armando’s voice crackles like an old time recording. “Hello, my foolish friends.”
“He ain’t my friend,” Crazy Betty whispers.
Tom glances at her and shakes his head.
“I heard my wife’s words. Wherever did you store that poem? I should have liked it for myself.”
“It was not yours to keep,” The Record Keeper replies. “It was meant to be kept safe from you.”
Armando laughs. His laughter sounds vicious, like an angry, rabid dog. “Oh, I’ll find her, regardless. It’s just a matter of time.”
“She’s no longer yours to find, Navid,” someone shouts.
“I haven’t seen any divorce papers. Nor shall I ever. Ours was a binding of souls.”
The hair on my neck, on my head, all over my body stands straight out, poking out from miniscule mounds of gooseflesh. Bound souls! That’s what Daniel did to me!
“As for her sacrifice to my son…” He scoffs. “It won’t matter. I may not be able to reach him where he is, but then…” He leers at the group. “If he can’t emerge from wherever he’s hidden himself, what does it matter?”
“What are you saying?” Tom shouts.
“Only that, with these new powers I’ve acquired, my abilities are enhanced. I’ve managed to find a way to bind him in the darkness.”
My heart clenches. I want to rip this man’s eyes from his sockets. “You can’t do that! He isn’t yours to hide! You can’t bind him there! He’s mine!”
The eyes burning from Armando’s face cast about wildly as if he can hear me.
“That’s right,” I say. “I’m talking to you, asshole. I’m stuck in a mental hospital, in part, because of you. I lost my memories as a child because of you. I was kept from my prophesized destiny because of you. And guess what? I’m going to be your undoing.”
His face is turning right and left, searching for me, I know it. A surge of determination wells up in me. I’m drugged. I’m stuck in a loony bin. I’ve been messed with and lied to. I lost my parents when I was only 15. I lived a lonely life with my aunt in her pastel world. I’ve been betrayed by my family. I’ve been betrayed by my dick of an ex-boyfriend, Jason. I’m not the most popular person on the planet. I keep to myself. Poor me. Wah, wah, wah. But guess what? Regardless of what’s been done to me, I intend to make you pay, Armando Navid.
The light begins to stream through my body. I can’t hold it back. I burst into brilliance. The collective turns and stares at me. A few gasp.
“I knew you was in here all along,” Crazy Betty says to me.
“You did not,” Tom says to her.
“Did, too. Buddy told me. And I could feel her.”
I ignore them all and turn my attention to Armando’s face.
“Feeling a little fuzzy-headed, Light Rebel?” he says. “Head clogged? Haloperidol will do that to a person.”
“Yup, I am. Just a bit. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be out soon enough.”
“And just how will you do that? Topaz and I have influence there. We can keep you there for a long, long time if we want to. Ask your friend Rafe.”
“What does Rafe have to do with you?”
“Ask him yourself. When he gets out of
isolation, that is.”
I frown, perplexed. This is a trick. It’s all a trick. Tricks and lies. The electricity streams into my fingers. This is the time I can do things. This is the time I can shape the light into form. I try to visualize something horrible happening to Armando. Only thing is, the drugs are affecting me. My imagination is definitely affected.
“Can’t seem to make sense of anything, Light Rebel? Brain not working as it should? Pity. I would have liked to tussle with you.” A mocking laugh erupts from his flaming face.
I strain to focus. Struggle to collect my thoughts. Even in this ether world, I’m affected by the drugs, the doubt, my sense of betrayal and injustice - all of it. Now is not the time. This is not the time, nor the place, to deal with this evil man.
Armando’s face falls, as if disappointed. He must have hoped for more of a showing from me. These goddamned drugs must be time-released or something because my attention and awareness are wavering. The ether world is growing blurry. I can barely make out the faces of the collective. Armando fades away. My consciousness drifts, as if billowed by winds. I reach for the only thing I know I can trust. I reach for the muzzle of my dog, Sober Dober. His dream-self licks my face, delighted. His wings sparkle. This animal, this canine companion - he’s the truest friend I have ever had. I hug him to me. He wriggles and wags his tail. He slurps my face with his wet tongue. And then I am ripped away from him, too. I think I’m still streaming with light as I fall into a dark, dark place, unconscious, broken, extremely sedated, but alive.
Chapter 8
In the morning, I wake up and utter a small groan. The sleep of the sedated. All Smiles sits in a chair next to me, intently watching me. The sun is streaming through my bar-covered window. It makes a striped pattern on my bed. I study this pattern for a moment, wondering how I could paint it. Then I shake my head. Why in the world would I want to remember this place?
“Good morning, Ms. Engles.”
“Morning,” I say, swirling my tongue inside of my paste-filled mouth. “What time is it? Don’t you ever sleep?”
