Beloved Evangeline (A Dark Paranormal Urban Fantasy Trilogy for Grown-ups - Book 1)

by W. C. Anderson

  My father’s expression was a little too hopeful. Chris coughed into his napkin.

  I was too overwhelmed to give either of them much attention at the moment. London? Really? London had always been my dream destination. I examined the tickets in my hand. I had never seen anything so beautiful. London. London, I kept thinking. Why hadn’t I thought to take a trip like this sooner? Oh right, the house/money vampire. When I’d first moved back to my mother’s home, the roof had needed replacing, then the pipes, then the insulation, and then the septic system. The floors needed refinishing, there was a problem with mold, and the frame was suffering from a combination of termites and rot. On and on and on the repairs went for the first several years. The house must have been on the verge of collapse when I’d moved in.

  At this rate, I’d be probably be paying for the repairs I’d already made for the rest of my life. With the credit crunch, diminished home values, my rising electric and gas bills, frozen salary/potential layoff, combined with the dour nature of the overall economy in general, I really had no idea what would happen if any new repairs sprung up. I had no means left to pay for anything above a few hundred dollars or so. Maybe not even that. It would’ve been much easier just to let the house go (which was what my dad had instructed me to do long ago), to sell it for whatever someone was willing to pay and then never look back, but... I spent my early childhood in that house, and as much as I hated to admit it, all evidence seems to indicate I am a hopelessly sentimental sap.

  “Thank you so much, Dad.” I said brightly, leaning forward and kissing his cheek. I could’ve sworn I saw him blush. Even though he was still stuck in his backward thinking, buying me tickets to London was an undeniably thoughtful gesture. He’d never given me such an extravagant gift before; he must really be getting desperate for me to get married, which reminded me that I had no idea who I’d take with me given the many recent complications. I was determined to make the trip, with or without a companion. I’d just never tell my dad that I’d gone on my own.

  We said our goodbyes in the parking lot, my dad taking charge of Chris’s car for the remainder of the evening. I would’ve liked to have made arrangements for breakfast with them in the morning, but they’d already planned an early tee time, and I didn’t quite know how to ask for more time with them without sounding too needy and giving my dad further fuel for his argument. Chris was going to have a rough time of it that early as it was. He was already having trouble walking, a clear indicator of an impending hangover. Squeezing any other activities into his day tomorrow was most likely out of the question. By the time they dropped me off at the house, Chris was snoring in the backseat.

  Before stepping out of the car I turned to my father. “Dad, did you ever meet Mom’s family? Her mother or father?”

  He paused momentarily, eyeing me strangely. “No, I never did. She didn’t like to talk about them. Her childhood was not a happy one.”

  “She gave Chris and I each a $100 bill once from our grandfather... was that from Papa or her father?”

  “Must be from her father. I didn’t know anything about that, and my dad never had any money. He’d have never sent you that much.”

  I inclined my head.

  “I should’ve told you this sooner—you’re not like her, Evangeline. She was very free-spirited, impulsive. I suppose that’s what we all loved about her.” He smiled sadly. “But I know you’re much too smart to get mixed up in the weird nonsense she did.”

  “Yeah…”

  I thanked my Dad again for the present and waved good-bye, sending both of them safely away from me.

  12.

  That night I had another nightmare. It was a memory of me, busy entertaining myself with my favorite past-time, a sort of adventure, treasure-hunting game I played by myself, when I heard a strange sound. I finished burying my treasures, an interesting rock, a gnarled, ancient looking bit of wood, and a small, rusty tin box, underneath the hedge and continued to crawl through the labyrinth of hedges and bushes in the front of my house to reach the source of the sound. I came to a stop underneath a sizeable gardenia bush, the prize of my mother’s garden, and my favorite hiding spot.

  The sound was there again, and I could see just enough through the shiny leaves and branches to make out that my mother was standing at the street just behind her car. She seemed to be talking to someone I couldn’t see. After a few moments, however, I realized that, instead of talking, my mother was actually singing. She had a hypnotic, mesmerizing singing voice, even as a child I could tell it was something special. I didn’t recognize the particular song, though I knew enough to know that it sounded very sad. But when my mother turned to look in my direction, she didn’t appear to be sad. She wore a peculiar expression, I would never forget it. Not exactly happy, not exactly sad... what was it? I wasn’t sure what to make of her expression. I stopped breathing for a few beats, afraid she had seen me, but as she continued, it became clear that I hadn’t been spotted. She seemed to be looking for someone.

  Just then a man came into view, and he was looking at my mother in a funny way. I realized he had intended to kiss her, but she turned her head, and seemed to be smiling then. The man looked crushed. I remember it being near dusk, just enough light to see clearly, yet dark enough for me to doubt what happened next for the rest of my life. He said something to her, but of course, I couldn’t hear. He tried to hold her hand, but she pulled it away. I remember she was wearing an above-the-knee floral peasant dress, the skirt of it twirling around her legs when the wind blew. She looked so young and beautiful. The wind kicked up and my mother began to sing again, and the man sort of froze. I know it was just the darkness setting in, but I began to get very cold. They began walking down the street in the direction of the gothic graveyard. I followed them.

  My mother meandered through the crypts and gravestones, with the man trailing after her. They stopped beneath a splendid magnolia tree, and I hid behind a gravestone, watching.

  The man looked scared now, but he didn’t take his eyes from my mother. She continued her song, and she stroked his face just once. The man twitched and seized. He began to jerk and shake unnaturally. It was hard to watch, but I was too scared to look away. All I could think about was how much longer this could possibly go on. My mother was looking at him, her face very calm. The twitching finally stopped, but not before I had gotten the feeling that my own body was shaking. My mother leaned toward him and said something very softly. His eyes were grotesquely wide, panic-stricken.

  She kissed him gently on the cheek, just once. The man was trembling, in a frantic, ugly way. He shook his head back and forth. It looked as though he was crying, and I even thought I lip read him saying the word please. I can’t be sure that wasn’t just a trick of the light. Then, as though he’d been given an enormous electric shock or stab of pain, his back arched severely, unnaturally, his head and neck vibrating furiously, his arms rigidly behind him. I was breathing rapidly, almost feeling the amount of pain he must’ve been in to be making that kind of unnatural movement of his own volition.

  And my mother—she continued to watch him. Finally she made a very small gesture with her hand, a sort of graceful flick of the wrist, just once, and the man fell to the ground.

  He did not get back up.

  Dogs began barking very near to us, and I looked away, just for a moment. When I turned back, they were gone. I scrambled around, stooping low so I wouldn’t be seen, until I’d reached the street. My mother was standing behind her car. I couldn’t understand how she’d gotten there so fast. I was panting and out of breath; she didn’t seem to be. The trunk of my mother’s car was open, and a man’s leg was sticking out. My mother gave the leg a hard shove and closed the trunk.

  Later, I was asked many, many times by many different people if I had ever seen my mother doing anything unusual. I always said, no. No, no, no. But I’ve never stopped wondering, that maybe, if I had just told them what I had seen, maybe they wouldn’t have locked her up. I didn�
�t think she was crazy. I later learned that the missing men they’d linked to her had all been wanted for some type of violent crimes. I don’t think any of them were ever truly missed, or that anyone was too broken up about them being gone. Nothing was ever proved; there was no evidence. But suspicions lingered. After awhile, my father thought it best to get me and my brother, who was so small at the time, out of town. But... even though she’d never told me so, I just felt like this was her secret, not mine.

  The memory gradually shifted to a time when my mother told me she was some place special. My mother always dressed glamorously, but on this particular day she had outdone herself, wearing a formal full-length gown and strappy silver heels. She had a fantastic light in her eye when she’d told me she wanted to take me on a walk. I could feel her excitement at times like this and understood we were embarking on a spectacular adventure.

  Whatever I did with my mother, it was always very special, magical. She hummed tunelessly as we walked through the trees, never stumbling once. She pointed at things here and there, telling me the type of tree or bird or rodent as we passed them. She was particularly fond of trees. We stopped here and there to admire them. The magnolias and dogwoods were still in bloom. The Florida maples had new spring leaves. We finally came to an unnaturally lovely ravine, at the bottom of which was a gigantic tree towering over a little creek. We climbed down into the earth on a narrow trail—descending down into another world.

  As we reached the bottom, nothing was as it had been just a few moments before. The wondrous tree, covered in cerulean blooms, towered overhead. Ethereal blue rays of light illuminated the blooms floating gently down in the fading amber sky. With its smooth white bark, gargantuan leaves, and delicate flowers, I thought of the species as a kind of cross between sycamore and silver birch, but to this day, I’ve never see either one of that size or color.

  My mother set a picnic underneath the tree canopy. I didn’t know at the time that she was pregnant with my brother, but I now know she must’ve been. She didn’t have much time left then, and this was the most vivid memory of her I would get. She began to sing as I was eating my cucumber sandwich and sipping grape juice. She always sang the most lovely old-fashioned sounding song. I was entranced, enraptured, by her loveliness and grace. Although that tune lodged itself in my memory, I can never recall the words.

  The sky gradually changed from amber to a beautiful rosy gold color. At first, I didn’t notice anything different, but as she continued her song, a kind of magic seemed to fill the air. I know, probably it was just my imagination, but still, to a child of six, it was unbelievably fantastic. How best to explain what I saw that day? I don’t know that I can—the right words simply do not exist.

  The first stars of the evening twinkled a little brighter than usual in the twilight hours. The branches of the tree seemed to move unnaturally. As my mother sort of twirled around, there was a rustling sound in the wood. Slowly, three beasts emerged from opposing directions: a glorious white stallion, a silver gray wolf, and a velvety black panther. I was frightened for a moment, but as the creatures moved forward, my mother beckoned them in welcome. She stroked each of them and then walked with them toward me.

  My mother gestured that it was alright, that I should come closer. Hesitantly, I petted the horse first. The wolf licked my face, and the panther brushed his back against me.

  I squealed with delight as these fantastic beasts played with me and lavished me with affection. The four of us played chase, rolled around in the ravine, and laughed and played in the sparkling glen for what seemed like hours, the four of us becoming fast friends.

  Without any warning, the beasts turned in alarm and ran, disappearing into the forest. My mother turned to see what had frightened them, fixing her gaze on the figure of a man who had suddenly appeared at the edge of the wood.

  I let out a small shriek. The man was dressed all in black and simply did not look real. My mother seemed not to notice anything unusual and ran toward him, looking deliriously happy.

  I screamed in alarm but she didn’t hear. I watched helplessly. I wanted to tell her somehow there was something very wrong about that man. He looked like a ghost. It was in the air all around.

  He was wearing a long black coat, which looked out of place to me even then, but my mother, she looked overjoyed to see him—more delighted than I’d ever seen her.

  To my surprise, the reunion soured unexpectedly. Though I would’ve sworn she was about to throw her arms around him, she slapped his face instead. The slap echoed against the enormous walls of the ravine, the sound of it ringing in the air long after her hand had left his cheek.

  The two of them seemed to be arguing. My mother said what sounded like, Leave. Now. But he wouldn’t leave; the strange, scary man stood his ground, arguing back. He bent down on his knees in front of her and hugged her at the waist. I’m sorry, he said, in a very strange-sounding voice.

  My mother had always been very tender-hearted, one of the few traits of hers I had inherited, so I’d never known her to really be angry. But she pushed the man backwards, pushing him to the ground. He scrambled back toward her, still shaking his head and reaching for her.

  His appearance changed suddenly into a crumpled mess, sobbing into the earth. Please, I need you, he pleaded. I almost felt sorry for the man, the tone in his voice sounded so sad, but an odd feeling of fear held me at bay. My mother coolly disentangled herself from him and marched over to me. She grabbed my hand, dragging me out of the lovely ravine and onto the path for home. We left the strange man just standing there, watching after us. I stared back at him with unabashed curiosity until I could see him no longer.

  She brought me to that magical place a handful of times, but that is the one that stands out. Of course, she never really got the chance to do much more. Soon afterwards, she started to deteriorate. I don’t know if her mental decline can be traced back to that day or not. All I have as evidence are my childish memories, which could certainly be flawed. But, still....

  People began to come to the house after that day, people that I’d never seen before and would never see again. My mother hushed me to my room when they came, and they spoke in the living room in whispers. I tried listening in, but of course they were clever enough to outsmart a seven-year-old. She stopped going to work shortly after that. I’ve never known if she quit or got fired. My father never spoke about any of this to me. And my father was at work during that sad strange time, always at work. I don’t know how much he even noticed. I’m quite sure he never saw her stuffing a man into the trunk of her car.

  And then later, when the police starting coming by, I never said a word. I told them I hadn’t seen anything. Even when they warned my dad, in front of me, that she might be dangerous, I lied. The truth is I didn’t want them looking at me the way they looked at her, when she started telling them any of the men that were missing deserved what they got, so what did they care if they went missing? They looked at her like she was crazy. Of course, I knew better, but who would believe me? And so, I willfully betrayed my own mother with a treacherous lie. With this knowledge I continue to live, as she continues to live, in the state mental hospital. She has every right to withhold her forgiveness.

  13.

  Weeks blurred past. You’d think the time would’ve slowed, given that I was impatiently awaiting some sort of sign or whatever, telling me what to do next, but just the opposite happened. No deadline had been assigned, but I couldn’t help feeling that sitting around and waiting was a mistake.

  I looked for signs in everything. I felt the sands of that hourglass falling so rapidly and was so convinced I’d somehow misinterpret or just full-on miss any sign that was given me that—I’ll admit—I may have gone a little sideways.

  If there was a traffic jam on the way to work that must mean I was supposed to have stayed home that day. Surely the sign would’ve presented itself to me had I been where I was supposed to be, instead of driving to work like the sell-out slave to th
e system that I am. A news story about New Mexico on television? A sign, obviously. I was supposed to be in New Mexico right now. The sign must be there—but I had lacked the courage to take the leap of faith necessary to hop on a plane and would probably miss it. One day I just sneezed, like, 15 times in a row. That must’ve meant.... well, I’m not sure. Maybe I should’ve gone to the doctor.

  The point is I just wasn’t enlightened or worthy enough to see anything clearly. Everywhere I turned there seemed to be overwhelming evidence that I lacked the required vision.

  Meanwhile, I’d fallen back into a pseudo-normal routine at work. Most everyone had resumed their usual behavior around me, and thankfully, I hadn’t run into Steve once. I really wasn’t looking forward to that confrontation but felt strongly I wouldn’t be able to prevent one given my temper and the current state of things.

  At that moment I turned in the direction of the dark shadow behind me, which now appeared several times a day, only to see nothing. Usually the form appears out of the corner of my eye, predictably disappearing the moment my head turns to investigate. Despite testing everything from sudden jerks to feigned nonchalance, the resulting emptiness is always the same.

  Nobody confessed to the white lie that had been told to my boss. I looked at the faces of my four real friends in passing, but none gave away even a hint.