Descendant

by LJ Amodeo

  His lean frame pressed firmly into mine, as my body reacted with an inexplicable awareness. But soon enough the delight ended abruptly pulling us apart. My head screamed‘No’as my hands gripped his arms. I tried to catch my breath, touching my throbbing lips that ached for more of his passionate kisses. To my surprise, the force responsible for ending our glee so suddenly were his massive arms, distancing me from his heaving chest.

  “I. . .I’m so sorry.” He gasped turning away from me. I reached out to touch his arm but he pulled away. Fear tugged at me from all sides.Was it me? Did I screw something up?

  “I promised I’d behave,” he moaned. “I. . .I’m trying so hard to resist you. You drive me crazy, Elizabeth. I want you so bad. I can’t control myself.” He whispered. His head tucked between his massive shoulders as his hands balled tightly into fists.

  “I’m sorry for taking advantage of you like this.” He started turning toward me, but decided not to.

  “Michael. I want this just as much as you do—maybe more.” I ached to hold him. “Please.” I turned him to face me. Traces of russet painted his beautiful face. I slid my hands through his arms and wrapped them around his waist. My head rested against his beating chest. He brushed my dampened hair away from my neck, outlining my cheek and jaw with his tender fingers.We each have one, these angels walk among us every day... I heard my grandmother’s voice recite in my ear. And knowing this I whispered back...“This is all I ever wanted.” I inhaled.

  That afternoon when I returned home from spending the day with Michael, I was surprised not to find Prince waiting for me by the door, again.

  I called everywhere for him, but he didn’t respond. “Prince? Here boy! Come Prince.” I shouted throughout the house and out the back door.

  “Mom, where’s the dog?” I asked her, as she strolled into the family room with her hands on her hips.

  “I’m not sure, I don’t think I’ve seen him since yesterday. Where could he be?” she said, looking around a bit worried.

  “Prince! Come boy! . . .Prince!” I shouted for him to come out of hiding.

  “Is he outside, Beth? Did you see him when you pulled up to the house?”

  “No, Mom, he wasn’t outside. He’s been acting strange lately. Do you think something’s happened to him?” I started to panic.

  “Impossible. He’s never left the property before,” she said, noticeably worried herself.

  Frantically, I ran outside looking for my dog. I asked the neighbors and Mrs. Lynbrook, if they’d seen him or heard him barking. No one in our area had any inkling of where my dog might have gone. I called Freddie asking him to help me look for Prince. Within minutes, Freddie’s car screeched into my driveway. We looked in the shed and scoured the property, but there were no signs of him. As we brushed passed the towering trees that bordered the end of our property line, we entered into State Park property. Freddie and I tirelessly called out Prince’s name with no response.

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Freddie asked.

  “I’m not sure.” I tried to remember when I last saw my dog when it occurred to me that he barked at the sound of Sam’s car pulling up to the house the previous day. “Yesterday, I believe. . .yesterday morning, when you and Sam picked me up. He was freaking out when I left the house. I didn’t realize when I came home yesterday, that he was missing. Freddie? Do you think something bad’s happened to him?”

  “Nah! Maybe he went for a walk and got lost in the woods.”

  “It can’t be. He knows this area really well. He’s gone for walks before, but he’s never gotten lost or stayed away this long.”

  “We’ll find him, Bethy. He’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

  We continued walking deeper into the thick forest. Several hundred yards away from where we stopped to redirect our path, gnats and mosquitos swarmed violently around our heads. We swatted the insects away from us as we ran for cover. It was in a shallow crevice of the muddy earth, that we stumbled upon a decaying carcass. The smell was revolting. . . like the smell of burning flesh or putrid odor of decaying tissue. At first glance, I thought it was a deer, but when I looked closely at its fur, I fell helplessly to my knees. There, lying in dirt and dried blood, Prince’s head and neck had been grossly skinned and de-fleshed. His vocal cords viciously pulled from his neck. A blackish fluid oozed from his body like acid burning through skin.

  The horrific sight made me sick to my stomach. I vomited, revolted at what I had seen.

  “Oh my God! Who would do this to my dog?” I cried helplessly at the sight of the mutilated pet. Freddie knelt silently at my side with his arm wrapped around my shoulder as I cried for my dog. Images of Sophie, gruesomely butchering my beautiful Shepherd raced through my mind.

  “That sick, sadistic bitch!” I screamed, as my words echoed passed the trees, causing a rippled effect of birds abruptly taking flight. The sound of a raven cawed in their wake.

  “Who are you talking about? What’s going on, Beth? You’re scaring me.” Freddie stuttered nervously.

  “Prince! Why did she do this to you?” I cried at the mercy of my dead dog.

  “Beth, come on. Let’s go home. It won’t do you any good staying here,” he tried to comfort me.

  “No!” I yelled pushing him away from me. “I won’t leave him here like this. He doesn’t deserve this!” I wept over his decaying body.

  “I understand. I’ll come back for him and we’ll give him the proper burial he deserves. Please.” Freddie assured me, holding his hand out to me.

  The next day, Mom, Freddie, Michael and I buried Prince about ten yards from our property line. Once Michael and Freddie shoveled the last pile of dirt over Prince’s grave, I placed a small crucifix made of wood to mark his resting place.My Prince is what the makeshift headstone read. I named my latest melodic opus after my beloved dog.

  Several days later an empty suitcase sat open on my bed while my mind reminisced repeatedly over Prince. Forcing myself to focus on my trip to Quebec, I fretted over what to wear. Although, I mourned my dog, I did not want to give up a weekend with Michael. He insisted we reschedule the trip to Mont Tremblant, but I would not hear of it. A trip far from here would do me good. I would make the best of it, regardless of how devastating this tragedy was for me on the inside. Reluctant to pack, the excitement of what I was about to do hadn’t dawned on me until I reached for a pair of my flannel pajama pants from my dresser. Nerves danced about in my stomach as I pictured the two of us sharing his bed.

  I slowly pressed the keys on the piano. Allowing one chord to vibrate until it went silent. I thought about my upcoming trip with the most beautiful human I had ever laid eyes on. I was never intimate with anyone, although the idea had crossed my mind since Michael. I imagined my first time would be special—perfectly orchestrated and synchronized like a lyrical. The experience would make me feel absolutely alive, utterly feminine. The thrill of giving myself to him would heighten my senses, magnify every sensation that had, otherwise, been silenced in me. What I never imagined was that it would be so soon, at such a young age. Would I fall prey to yet another statistic of teenaged girls losing their virginity to a boy who wanted only that? A guy who desired to be my “first”? Or was Sam right when she told me that there had been rumors going around school? Was it a team initiation to prove Michael could lay down anyone he randomly chose from campus? Could I be their chosen one; their handpicked prize for the team’s sadistic joke. Would Michael make me the next statistic? Deep down, I knew Freddie would never have allowed it. Not with me, anyway.

  It hadn’t been long since Michael and I started dating and he had been nothing shy of a gentleman every minute we spent together. Most of the girls in school had already been intimate with the athletes on campus. Maybe, like me, in some twisted sort of way, they yearned to be loved, to feel special, and giving it up to the jocks was their confirmation of feeling wanted, accepted. Most of my life I walked in the shadows of girls who were beautiful and more confident th
an I. But being raised with morals and some self-worth, my conscience directed me on a virtuous path. My cravings however, never raged with unknown desires, until Michael and I crossed paths in Angelica. I knew then that I would have easily stepped off that righteous path and given myself to the beautiful angel that swept me off my feet back in August.

  I sat helplessly on the floor beside my bed. Clothes scattered everywhere around the room in piles that were good enough for my trip or garbage, hoping this would lessen my burden of choices. I hated everything I owned. It was hopeless. “If only I had Sam’s clothes for a weekend.” I bantered, considering the idea since desperation crept in and settled on my nerves; I held the phone to my ear.

  “Sam, hi it’s me.”

  “Hi.” She sounded gleeful over the receiver.

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I’m going skiing this weekend and I was wondering if I . . . well . . . ” I stuttered for words, feeling too embarrassed to ask.

  “Do you want to borrow my clothes, Beth?” she interjected.Good guess. I was relieved that I didn’t have to ask.

  “Would it be a problem? I really don’t have much to wear that is . . . you know, pretty.” I twisted my lip.

  “Of course I don’t mind. Come over.” She chimed.

  “OK. You’re the best! I’ll be right over. ” I raced for my keys and headed out the door.

  After volunteering at Young Musicians, I drove to Cuba feeling excited about my weekend with my Michael. I imagined howitwould happen and how I would cherish the moment for the rest of my life. I was ready, ready to take the sacrificial step, finally closing this chapter of my life calledYouth. Besides, I’d be turning eighteen in a couple of months, I wasn’t a child anymore. It was time to grow up.

  I turned into the long canopy of umbrella pines leading to Sam’s magnificent hideaway. As I reached for the doorknob, Sam opened the double glass entry doors looking beautiful. Her winter-white outfit complemented her dark hair and radiant skin. She posed, resting one arm high above the door tapping it with her polished nails and the other positioned gracefully on her slender hip. She resembled a pinnacle representation of splendor, like a ski advertisement.

  Her wicked smile led me to believe that she was up to something, “I’ve taken the liberty to pack some outfits for you.” She twisted her lips and wrinkled her nose. “Hope you don’t mind.” She playfully raised her brows.

  Worried at first, I refused to let myself be vexed, so much as an inch, although I was apprehensive about the clothing Sam may have packed for me. I imaginedflirty dresses and skimpy lingerie,but I didn’t let it bother me. In fact, I was excited to have a bag full of surprises to take with me on my road trip.

  She lowered her long lashes to an oversized Chanel duffle bag placed just beyond the doorway. A wide smile stretched across my lips. I moved closer to hug my friend, but she skidded back a few steps. “No need for that.” Her slender body tensed, as I stepped toward her.

  It was awkward standing there, with my arms still stretched out waiting for a hug, when I realized that our indescribable surge would make for an uncomfortable goodbye. I reached for the buttery leather bag, instead, using my arm strength to lift the weighty sack before heading back to my jeep. “Thanks, Sam. I owe you!” I waved, hauling the massive bag into the back seat of the car.

  “More than you’ll ever know.” She muttered still waving and smiling.

  “Hey, did you ever find out what happened to your mutt?” she asked almost tauntingly. I knew by Sam’s remarks in the past that she was not very fond of Prince, but somehow today she sounded almost amused.

  “No,” I murmured sadly.

  “So, where are you heading, anyway?”

  “Mont Tremblant,” I replied with a cautious smile.

  Early, Friday morning, I heard Michael’s voice at my front door. Mom greeted him in heronly for Michaeloptimistic glee. Her voice then became serious and almost inaudible. The whispering had become their thing, but it didn’t affect me as much. Just knowing that Michael’s presence made her smile, made me happier still. It was seconds after Michael entered the front door that I heard his voice reassuring my mother. “I will. You don’t need to worry,” I heard him say.

  I pulled the expensive duffle bag to the edge of the staircase. They both looked up at me. Two steps at a time, Michael sprinted up the stairs and in one swift motion, grabbed the oversized sack and headed down to the front door. Mom stood at the landing looking beautiful and diplomatic. The sun shimmered through the door behind her, forming an aura around her small frame. Like someone revered; I appreciated now how Michael’s adoration for his deceased mother seemed sanctified. Mom was sacred to me, as his mother was to him.

  “Mom, I love you and thank you for trusting me this weekend. Are you sure you’ll be fine alone, now that Prince is . . ?” I wasn’t able to complete my question to Mom, the thought of Prince hurt badly. I hugged her instead, for a long time.

  The moisture on my cheek implied that she was crying as well. She sniffled before she spoke. “I love you, Sweetie. Be safe and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” she said softly.

  Michael leaned forward and kissed Mom’s dampened cheek. “You can come with us if you’d like, and as promised, I will bring her back in one piece,” he smiled sweetly.

  She returned a smile and waved us out. “Go! Go, get out of here. You kids go have fun!”

  Chapter 11: Dreams

  In the universe, there are things that are known, and things that are unknown, and in between, there are doors.

  William Blake

  We drove north on I 90 toward Canada. Michael held my hand for a good portion of the ride. His touch felt natural, as if my hand was molded to fit perfectly in his.

  “If you need to stop or if you’re hungry, let me know.” He said, as he stoked my cheek with his thumb. “No. I’m good.” I smiled politely. Today, food was an unnecessary filler that I did not desire. Instead I craved only Michael.

  “We have an eight-hour drive, you sure?” he raised his brow.

  “I’m sure. I will let you know when I get hungry or have to use the potty, if that’s what you’re asking me.” I reassured him.

  “Okay.” He replied chuckling.

  The road on Interstate 90 was dusted in chalky flurries. Tall firs and barren birches continued to stretch across the infinite landscape design, as we hurtled past them. Clusters of deer gathered close to the road, feeding on the earth’s natural shrubbery. Hawks soared high above the Giant Sequoias. Scenic mountain peaks rose above the landscape ever so beautifully. With snowcapped mountains shimmering in the wintery sunlight, the panorama was breathtaking. I had spent my entire life in Caneadea, as if I were blinded from its natural beauty. Perhaps, I’d seen these exact peaks before on my way to visit my grandmother in Kaslo, but never had I marveled over their magnificence like I did today.

  Maybe, meeting Michael made it all possible for me to open my eyes and see the earth’s splendor for the first time in an entirely new light. Maybe I died and this was heaven. Maybe he was my angel. . .Maybe.

  The drive to Quebec was long. I admired the heavenly scenery before resting my tired eyes for a bit.

  ~

  As I drifted, the cries of children snarled wildly with fury. Concentrating on the shrieking tumult was dreadful, as I followed its sound through the forest. Running into a small clearing that broke through the darkness, two children, the boy a bit older than the girl, wailed over the rotted corpse of a man not quite human. It was apparent that the children cried out, weeping for the loss of the heinous creature, perhaps their creator, their father. His twisted shape was slashed and hacked at, exposing not blood, as I would exude, but black, thick, foul liquid spewing from his decaying carcass and mutilated head. Deep in the darkness of the woods, watching the anguished progenies, an angel wept.

  ~

  I stirred with the stroking of Michael’s hand on my hair. His finger followed the twist of my spirals that spilled over my shoul
der. I looked at his face, instantly forgetting about my peculiar dream, one with an eerie intimacy. A light scent of gardenias thrusted out from the air vents. He watched me with an amused smirk on his face until I realized why. Moisture trickled down the edge of my lip. I was drooling in my sleep, feeling completely mortified, I wiped the moisture on my sleeve.How embarrassing! I thought, rolling my eyes in total humiliation.

  “How was your nap?”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” I said, in disgust as I wiped the corner of my lip with the back of my hand.

  “I didn’t want to. I enjoyed watching you sleep.”

  “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping well. I keep having nightmares that wake me at all hours of the night,” I said, stretching my back against the seat.

  “Really? What about?” he eyed me inquisitively.

  “Strange visions. It’s nothing, just stupid dreams, that’s all.” I looked out of the window at the passing brushes, thinking about Prince.

  “Dreams have meaning you know.” He said with an indication of strong beliefs about them.

  “I don’t believe that.” I protested.