A Whisper of Secrets

1. Tabloids and Terrible News

'My mother is dead...'

My mind kept repeating the thought like a mantra, replaying the doctor's words.

"I'm terribly sorry Ms. DarkRaven, but I have bad news... I didn't want to tell you like this but your mother didn't make it. There was nothing we could do, the damage to her was too extensive to repair. I'm afraid she was beyond help when she arrived."

'My mother is dead... My mother is dead... My mother is dead...'

When my brain finally kicked into gear and moved past the shock of my mother's death, the new thought was just as unpleasant.

'My mother is dead... My father is dead... I'm an orphan.'

I think the shock made me a little hysterical because suddenly tears were streaming down my cheeks, and I was talking to myself and crying at the same time. In between sobs and laughs I choked out "I'm an orphan! At 27!"

Then the full realization hit me. My mother was dead. My father was dead, long dead. Both their bodies had been reduced to hamburger, to so much meat, that they were unrecognizable. Had my mother been killed by the same thing that killed my father? I had no idea what had killed my father, so I had no way of knowing if the same thing got to my mother so many years later.

I played the recorded message on my outdated tape answering machine again, listening to the date of the message. I had been on a plane to Europe for a backpacking vacation when my mother was ripped to shreds. On my way to a vacation, of all things, as my mother was being torn to bits. How selfish was that? 

I had backpacked from the Southern Tip of Italy, all the way to Norway, a three month trip. Today was my first day back home, and already I had bad news. More, I felt guilty because I hadn't known, I was too busy taking my vacation. There had been no calls from my mother, no e-mails. Now I knew why. I hadn't even questioned it before, hadn't thought about it even though it was so far out of character for her. Not until I saw the tabloid cover.

The figure on the cover was unrecognizable as a human, but it was. The only part that looked even remotely human was two fingers on the left hand, the smallest finger and the ring finger... With my mother's ring from my father, zoomed in, put in a highlighted box.

A silver ring with a crane engraved in an onyx stone. A ring I had seen nearly every day for my entire life. It had been my father's. He had given it to my mother the day she had found out she was pregnant with me, their only child. He'd said something about now they were allowed to marry, or something like that; my memory of it was a childhood memory, from so long ago it was a bit hazy. My mother didn't talk much about my father after he died, I think it was too painful. So clouded memories were what I had.

The tabloid had been in Norwegian, so I'd snatched the magazine from the table and raced to find someone to translate. Tall, blonde Hans was one of the employees at the ski lodge I was staying at. In addition to having amazing blue eyes and a smile like the sun, Hans spoke and read English in addition to his native Norwegian.

Hans had looked at me with sorrow in those blue eyes, and in a heavily accented soft voice he had told me "Cat, you should sit down."

"I don't want to sit down, Hans! Please, just read it to me!" I could hear the frantic tone in my voice even them, but I couldn't stop it.

I had nearly passed out when I heard the article's headline, my knees went out from under me at the horrible words. I dimly remember Hans catching me, his mouth moving in more words I couldn't hear over the ringing in my ears. I'd had no idea that the complicated-looking bold yellow words above the horrifying picture were so gruesome:

"AMERICA'S WORST BEAR ATTACK IN HISTORY! NORTHERN CALIFORNIA WOMAN TORN TO SHREDS, NO SIGN OF KILLER BEAR"

Hans had translated the headline from the cover, and skimmed thru the article enough to tell me the victim's name... Rosemary DarkRaven... My mother's. I was on the next flight home, but I don't remember buying the tickets, or going to the airport. Everything was a ringing blur, I think I was in shock. 

18 hours, five layovers that I didn't much remember and a smelly cab ride later, I was home, repeating the doctor's message again. And again. And again.