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Part 12.1 of What About Tomorrow: "To A Bird Brain!"
I'll cut to the chase:
HOPE YOU ENJOY!
I'll cut to the chase:
HOPE YOU ENJOY! I haven’t seen a funeral since my father’s—and had never hoped to. Yet here I am—I felt like an intruder. Someone who didn’t belong. And I didn’t know what to do with my body—hands and feet moving in some un-orderly broken fashion. I’d never seen such a small funeral—and didn’t want to guess what it meant. But here I sto—
“Shame.” Demetrius whistled, long and low enough to get lost in the wind.
I shook my head.
“I feel no grief,” Nita stated. My…brother?…and I looked at her, hard.
She explained, “People die—it is a fact—I’ve gotten used to it.”
We nodded, but she said softly, “And I like to think that with every light extinguished there is another newly lit.” I smiled at the metaphor.
“Why’d you bring us here, anyway, Nita?” Demetrius asked. “What we came here for is…in there.”
“Excellent choice of scenery—again, my one question is: WHY?”
“I did not mean for us to be greeted by such an occasion, that was purely accidental.”
“I’m just glad you not one of those ‘there are no accidents and no such thing as coincidences’ people.” “Is this all you two ever did: stand around and converse—I wonder how you guys ever got anything done.”
“Oh, hush your smart-witted mouth, little sis, you don’t know me that well,” the yet was implied, along with the smile.
“You’ve got a point—” And Nita lead the way. I shut the door firmly behind us, and the sound echoed and re-echoed around us—I turned:
“Aren’t there supposed to be dead bodies in mausoleums?”
“This is the antechamber.” As if that was explanation enough.
Demetrius shrugged and mouthed: Just go with it.
So I did.
We shuffled along in the dark.
Somewhere to my left, Demetrius: “Anyone else getting a feeling of déjà vu, anyone?”
I didn’t respond; neither did Nita.
Once we passed through another door, we reached the dead bodies. There we too many for me to willingly count, and I passed by them holding my breath, a little bit irrationally afraid of waking the dead. ‘Cause that was just the thing I needed in my life right now—ghosts or zombies or zombies AND ghosts.
“These the dead people you were looking for, Evelyn?” He exhaled a laugh.
“It’s Lyn.” I shook my head in his direction—whichever one that was.
“And its Carter—my friends call me Carter.”
“Nita calls you Demetrius—just be glad I don’t call you Demetri.”
He chuckled, but the dark world soon returned to silence.
Soon after we reached a dead end.
“Here we are,” Nita breathed, there was a click. And the wall was a rotating door and there were lights on the other end.
“Nice,” voice laden with sarcasm Demetrius stepped through, thereafter the door started to tumble shut so Nita and I hurriedly slid through: a stairway awaited us.
“Follow me,” Nita said needlessly. Down we went.
Demetrius was quiet.
I unconsciously released a sigh, “How much longer will this take, do you think?”
“Why do have somewhere to be—or do you need to go make out with your boyfriend,” voice droll.
“Actually…” I let the word hang in the air.
Demetrius sputtered, coughed—and came to a halt. “Wha—?”
I followed Nita as she continued down the hall.
“Is it just me again, or or does this place need an interior decorator?”
Nita ignored him; I shrugged, “I wouldn’t know.”
“Just around the corner!” Nita announced.
Just around the corner—
We stopped again at another wall; this one had a door in it. And beside it was a hole in the wall.
Here Nita stepped back and swung a hand. “One of you has to open it—only someone of your bloodline can.” “Not it!” The two words resounding in the space—a giggle escaped me, caught in the ridiculousness of the moment. “Real mature.” Demetrius noted, and resolutely reached his hand in—
There was a series of pops and clicks.
The doors swung wide.
ANOTHER hallway, ANOTHER door at its end—
“This is it.” Nita gestured to the door.
“I’ll do this one.” I stated, my curiosity growing.
Nita stepped easily back, Demetrius looked on.
“Would you happen to have another flashlight?” Demetrius asked Nita, good-naturedly.
She shook her head and stepped forward.
The room lit up.
“What is this place?” Even I could hear the awe in my voice.
Demetrius took it in silently while Nita pondered and eventually answered, “Your mother...
…she would call this place home.”
Suddenly, I could feel a pressure behind my eyes and I snapped, “What are we doing here?”
I could also feel Demetrius’ gaze on my back.
He couldn’t feel my emotions (though we had the same set of abilities), not like with everyone else—Nita said our powers cancelled each other’s out. But that meant he couldn’t read mine, otherwise he would’ve felt the sadness that had suddenly engulfed me. To tell the truth, I didn’t completely dislike this world I was now a part of, it was interesting to say the least. But this world had introduced me to the reality of my birth mom and I wasn’t quite sure if I had come to terms with that. Or, I guess, the PAST reality of my birth mom; and when Demetrius had come and told me he was my brother—I didn’t believe him: he’d led me away from Nita and asked if I had any questions about my father.
“No.” I can still remember the surprise plain on his face at my certainty. And if he had asked me again I would have said the same thing, and he knew it; he didn’t ask again.
I felt his fingers, lightly, against my arm, “Do you need a second, Lyn?”
“No.”
He gave a nod, sharp and quick. He turned, “Nita it’s about time you told us why we’re here.”
Nita was, at most times, as emotionless as a rock; now she looked around her and I saw my own sadness reflected in every move she made. She swallowed. “You brought the stone, correct?”
“Yeah.” And Demetrius drew a red stone from his person and gave it to Nita’s outstretched hand.
Without a word she walked further into the room, and ended up in front of a pedestal. She placed it on top with a deep thud. “You see,” she began softly, so softly Demetrius and me took a step closer to her and the stone pulsed and glittered with a strange light, “this isn’t merely a stone. I had originally thought it would crack for you Demetrius, hoped that it would—it did not. What is inside is only for the heir to the Vampyre throne.” Her self- deprecating laugh echoed around the room—the shadows seemed a whole lot more menacing. “This is more than just a precious stone—it carries something of great importance to the current heir, each ruler has one—your mother, I remember that when it died the intricate ceremonies that took place, they were wonderful and beautiful—and terrible. She told me her grandfather’s was a turtle; her mothers a snake—a python, I think; and her own was an eagle…” Suddenly it clicked in my head, the oblong shape of the red oval; Demetrius voiced my thought.
“It’s an egg.”
“Yes.” Nita smiled, a smile that had seen centuries pass. “It is customary to tell a story now.” She mumbled. She didn’t wait for either of our reactions: “Once upon a time in a far away land there was a lord and there was his castle and there was his land. He had thirteen serfs, not including their families, ten loyal knights—which included his sons— and three strong sons and two beautiful daughters. As time passed his serfs died and their children took their place. His knights died in bloody battles for land and their squires took their place. His wife aged and died—he did not. His sons turned hunched and slow—he did not. One of his daughters died from the sickness—the other did not.
“It did not take long for the people to start to question—to start to fear. ‘Enchanter,’ they called him, ‘Demon,’ he was only talked of in hushed tones, ‘Evil Spirit,’ but none of these were true. Would you like to know his name?”
We nodded.
She nodded herself, “Zephaniah Vampyre. It was a family name, and he had a rare genetic deviation that prevented the telomeres on the ends of his chromosomes from deteriorating. His eldest daughter as well. Despite all the people who feared him, Zephaniah Vampyre lived a quiet, normal, though abnormally long life. He was immortal, yes, but he did not live long for one.
“One winter, when the whole world seemed blank and white with possibility a serf’s wife, one early morning, visited the barn where the livestock was kept. They say the scream she made was as terrible as a banshee’s, and it ripped through the night like it was butter. She was found a minute later, along with a cow—dead.
“Discontent among the people grew. Months—years passed with more dead livestock, a cow—then a pig—a horse or two; occasionally, in times of famine, a human was found. Eventually the people had had enough, they stormed the castle…”
“And what did they find?” My voice unduly loud and demanding.
“The long dead corpse of the man they thought they feared, and the raving girl who was their real terror.”
“What happened next?”
Nita shrugged, “The first blood drinking vampire was created.”
“And THEN!” I pressed.
“She escaped.” Nita was now focused on the egg, but me—I was hungry for more details: “That’s it?—you can’t end there; come on!”
Demetrius caught me, “Kid, calm down.”
(Because he asked) I did.
“Now what, Nita?”
I finally noticed the toll that story had taken out of her and I bit my tongue. Demetrius was way more aware of people then I could ever be, even with our emotion reading ability. But I pushed that thought away and watched Nita.
“Now,” she said, “Touch it.”
I couldn’t help myself—“All this time—I just had to touch the thing?”
“Yes, but it is customary to—”
There was a burst of light.
There was a crack.
It was too bright to hear.
Too quiet to see.
The stone was broken in half by the time I regained my senses, though still ringing. I felt a pressure on my shoulder and on my mind—I was starving, light, and new.
Nita grabbed—me, “It is natural for a little…disorientation…”
I felt something click inside of me and I noticed Demetrius staring at me with worry, “Are you all right,” he said.
I squawked. Panic flooded me and I had to work through it to find myself—and my words again, “I’m good.”
“You two are joined now.” “To a bird brain.” After I said it a sense of self-loathing rose in me. I questioned that feeling.
She sounded amused, “Yes, with a bird—and its brain.”
“Her. Her brain.”
“Progress.”
“I think she’s hungry.” Her weight on my shoulder seemed natural—like it had been there all along.
“Well let’s go find her something to eat, shall we?”
I nodded and Demetrius led us back the way we came. Needless to say, I left the bird outside. And I had only just shut the door, and my mom had pounced on me—or at least her best attempt at it. “Where have you been?” She asked coyly.
“Ow-outside.” My coy needed a bit of work.
“And would you like to elucidate?” I don’t know when it happened, but she had demure down to a science.
I steeled myself, “Ya know…how it is—just around. I’ve been just around AND outside.”
“And were you with anyone—when you were outside?”
Yeah, two vampires…heads up: I’m one too—I waited too long to respond.
“Maybe with Pilot?”
I was so glad for the out; I nodded vigorously.
This seemed to sate her and “Tell me about your date.” “You mean the one with Pilot?”
“Yes,” she half smiled and half laughed, “Who else?”
Zeth.
I forgot about it and responded, “Uhh.”
“I mean you’ve already told me where you went—It was my idea. But did you have a good time—what’d you talk about—is there going to be another date in the near, possible, future?”
She sounded like me, but I tried not to blush at the last question; I nodded some more.
“Is that a yes?”
“I think so.”
“Well,” she came over and hugged me—“I think you picked a good guy to fall in love with.”
“You too.” Alan Michael—she’d stopped staring dolefully out of windows, and her garden in the back was flourishing; and her smile, like the dawn after one long terrifying night, shone more and more often—this Alan Michael was also a good guy.
And I’m glad to be her daughter and Marcus’ (even if for a short time), they were a part of me—and I would never want to change that.
I felt the burden of my other life lifting off my shoulders—
The phone rang.
My mom answered it. “Hello.”
—Words I couldn’t hear—
She nodded, “Okay-okay—Dawn, she’s right here: I’ll give it to her.”
Before I even had it to my ear: “Why aren’t you here! What—are you too busy? Hanging out with that guy again?” She was shouting, anger clear and sharp. “I can’t believe you—I don’t know if I even WANT you in our band if you can’t be bothered to come to the hospital when—” “Hospital.” I croaked.
“I would recommended that you don’t interrupt me: I’m already pissed—”
“Who?” Please not Pilot please not Pilot please not Pilot please not Pilot—then I thought about my other four friends—please nothing serious please nothing serious please nothing serious please nothing serious! “Oh, god, you really don’t know do you—I-I thought.”
“It’s obvious what you thought, Dawn.” I couldn’t think, “WHO?”
There was a pause, and she didn’t have to finish for me to know ‘who.’
“Pilot.” She said like the softer she said it the less it would hurt. “Bu-but—He was pushed into that pothole, I-I. I’m sorr—”
I hung up.
“Evelyn?” My mom stood. “Are you—What ha—”
My face was wet and I was crying.
I have always disliked hospitals. Something about them put me on edge.
“You don’t have to go in now—you can wait.” The first words she’d spoken since we left.
A nurse exited, spotted me, “Sorry, Miss, only direct family can enter.”
I saw someone inside, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking very, very sad—I’ve never seen her before or seen someone look so heartbroken. But I saw something of Pilot in her face, or was it the other way around?
“Join the club.” Dawn spat. She wasn’t lying about being pissed off. She stood. She narrowed her eyes at me and must’ve seen something worth forgiving because she dropped her head a bit. “Lyn,” Ace, “I’m glad you’re here.”
I didn’t quite have it in me to say “me too.”
Mark yawned quietly while Luke seemed to be looking for something.
“Where are your parents?” My mom asked.
“Markus and Lukas’ parents brought us.” Ace mumbled.
“And my dad dropped me off,” Dawn swiped at her face with her hand.
Ace continued:
“He was found this morning,” he took a breath, “He has a concussion…and I stopped listening after they said that.” Ace shook his head.
“The Police are investigating.” Mark mentioned.
“But they have no suspects—”
“—And their considering to just call it a hate crime and—”
“—Drop the case.” Luke finished.
I felt out of the loop. Completely. After a moment they wandered back to their seats: I followed.
Suddenly the door to room 234 opened and I don’t know why but I thought it was Pilot at first, like he had come to tell us he was fine—it was just his mom, (because she looked to much like him to be anything but his mom) and I kept my face perfectly still.
She ignored us, intentionally—I…don’t know.
She caught the attention however of Pilot’s step-mom, who immediately hurried over to the far of corner and…I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
I put my head down and closed my eyes.
Nita said that the easiest way to utilize my heightened senses with the training I didn’t have was to stop using one of my other senses: hold your nose, or shut your eyes.
“…I think it will be for the best.”
“You can not take him away from me.” Fierce.
“He is my—”
“He is as much your son as he is mine.”
“No. He is not.” I don’t know when but I could hear tears, falling. “When he was ten, when you got custody—when he choose you-he-he. Before he left he held my hand and he told me: ‘I have to do this,’” a self-deprecating laugh echoed loud, “he said, ‘if not for them then for myself, I have to, ‘cause I couldn’t live with myself if they got in trouble because of my father too,’ imagine: a ten year-old boy, begging me to understand with those beautiful green eyes—begging me to forgive him for not choosing me so he could protect you…” Her voice wavered. “Pilot is the worst type of hero—one who doesn’t fight for himself, no, he fights for his friends and his family—but never himself. I don’t want him to have to fight anymore.” “His friends are here,” desperate, “Not in Appaloosa Plains and-and we need him.”
“No. This time it isn’t about you and it isn’t about your daughters and it isn’t even about me. It’s about Pilot’s happiness—he can’t be happy here. Being constantly tormented—it breaks you down and tears you to pieces—”
“You don’t think I know that,” hissed across a small space. “Do you know how hard it’s been on me for the last—”
“I don’t care; I am taking my son home with me; I am not going to argue with you; and I am not going to give either you or him a choice.”
I heard the vibrations of her footsteps, echoing closer and louder—the door’s swift opening and it’s determined close.
I got up. All of their heavy gazes shifted from the door to me. “Bathroom.” I mumbled.
And ran. I didn’t need to use the bathroom just seemed like a quick getaway, anyway, after a minute I exited and bumped into a familiar chest—“Pervert.”
He didn’t laugh.
“You didn’t answer my calls…” He said mockingly.
He must of saw something in my face that said “go away” because he took a step forward.
He whispered in my ear, “I was going for civil, but if you don’t come with me I’m all for doing it the hard way.”
I rolled my eyes and turned in the other direc—next thing I knew:
I yelled, “Put me down you jerk—and get your hands off my—” …And then everything was dark. Cliffhanger:
-an ending to an episode of a serial drama that leaves the audience in suspense.
I think this ending qualifies. Or I HOPE it does. And furthermore:
I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!
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1 Comment(s) posted so far
#1 On Apr 22, 2012 fruitopia wrote:
Poor Pilot
: