I remembered being carried out of a vehicle. I was helped to the ground, stumbling but held firmly against something. I fought when we got to the door, trying to break out of my stupor. I didn't want to be home. Mom was here. I couldn't be here. Please...
But the room smelled different. Familiar. Stale cigarettes and washer detergent; it was the motel room I had paid for. I groggily remembered a voice harassing me to say where to go. I wanted to tell it to shut up and let me sleep longer, but knew that would end with being yelled at. That someone had smacked my thigh again until I grumbled a place.
Sleep strangled my mind again and I was out like a light. Until the movement of being carried out of something and towards another stirred my thoughts again. I was unceremoniously dumped in a bed. I opened my eyes long enough to realize an annoyed man glaring down at me. Aw, yes. Hayden. I smiled softly. He could keep mom away. He could keep them all away.
"Scary bastard." I murmured groggily into my pillow.
I was commanded to fall asleep, but the light had already faded from my eyes. The rawness of my mind finally found peace and quiet instead of the two days of nothingness that blared its echoes into my skull. I scooted closer towards the warmth that had settled in beside me and let a sputtered sigh take me away.
The last thing I felt was a soft pressure on my cheek. A warm breath stirred afterwards.
The fear of that letter seemed so far away.
.
.
.
I stood silently, fingers outstretched and pressed in to the cool stone. My eyes were closed firmly, yet I was still more than aware of what was around me. My feet had waded into a river of obstacles containing paint buckets, spray cans, and hundreds of brush sets. I had removed my shoes for this reason and had tiptoed over the mediums around. But now I stood still as I pressed the tips of my fingers a little harder into the wall; locking the joints further. The tremor still remained.
He was coming home...
He was coming home...
Harder I pressed my fingers against the wall before me, harder the joints strained. Finally I collapsed forward, pushing my forehead against the chilled surface. "You're okay." I whispered forcefully. Right? I knew I was well rested, and it helped, but yet this new day only brought clarity; crystal clear memories, of all that had happened. And all that was going to happen.
Remember Alys, Doctor Hathaway's words always seemed to guide me, forged into the back of my skull to remain when all else was lost, Don't let it take over. Don't keep the chaos inside of you. You have to let something out, you have to breathe or else no sanity will remain.
Tears swarmed my eyes as I reached down and grabbed a spray-can. I slammed my other palm into the stone again, fighting my own mind as I ground my teeth tightly. My eyes rose, red and raw, and scoured the stone pane above me.
I could see it there, so easily, so wretchedly. The faces of those around me, the echoes of the nightmares that would never cease. I could see all their faces; all the bastards that destroyed the one peace, the one friend, I found since the accident. I could see it all; the truth, the unfathomable simplicity that eluded the rest of the world. But I would catch it. And I would make it come alive.
The base colors left my hand in a frenzy of orchestrated movements. The tick within my fingers jolted with joy as I squeezed the can tighter. I paced the bottom of the mural, bending high and low, straining my shoulder blades and arching my back as I traced colored lines into incoherent blueprints.
The journal containing the layout of the mural was still on that spare bed in Hayden's house. But I didn't need it to recreate the manifestations of my thoughts; I knew where every smile would go, every structure, object, and simile. I could envision where the basic lies would be lay despite the fact I still had yet to gather physical evidence and paint them within.
But that could wait, all else could wait. I needed to change this wall's face like it represented the end of all my pain. The natural colors I chose to balance the darker hues already whispered to me the blending ratio to recreate a roman cathedral masterpiece. The brushes, and string, and rulers, and sponges at my feet all chuckled the precise technique and dance it would take to create the cracks, the flakes, and engraved affects.
Harder again my fingers pushed. Paint-can after paint-can fell empty to the ground as I stepped higher and higher on the ladder against the wall. Finally I stopped, and let my body slide loosely down the rickety metal. The jarring landing did nothing to startle my heart; the daze of my mind was always hard to penetrate like this.
I glanced up greedily at my work, my shoulders rising and falling in time with my elevated breathing. A small smile formed against my lips as I watched the silhouettes and base forms of so many people and objects. There were no details, nothing to be hidden yet- but my mind's eye could see both coming layers. The truth and the cloak. Just like the reality of those around me, the sheep and their costumes. And where I couldn't rip them off there, here I could.
I turned and reached for a bundle of paint brushes and acrylic colors; the demon of my thoughts leering now. It knew what was about to come; the psycho release I carved out for myself...
The fault I had in my own person.
I judged those around me; I had no right, no claim.
I had the only right. I had the only claim.
I walked absently to the silhouettes in front of me, my imagination clouding my vision as it formed over the featureless pane. I traced the smiles projected in my head, rotated the brush to capture the shadow of a throat. I instinctually measured the proportion of a nose, of the lines around the corners of the face... of the slight gap in the teeth.
Slowly, agonizingly, I recreated that student's face; the one who would be the poster child to them all. Behind him I sketched the mass of other faces, of all the students who stood witness to the fake self-harm in the cafeteria halls.
He stood in the forefront of the group; an idiotic grin spread greasily across his face and across the faces of the others. They had no idea of what was beside them; of the impending fate that could, and would, claim them all.
Across from them I traced the frame and finally the full structure of a slaughter house, a snow white sheep hanging loosely inside. Older, decaying carcasses lay further in the back, yet the shadows I cast over them would not draw your eye easily. My fingertips strained to make the small precise lines; to draw the red that was beginning to stain the wool. The tools for the slaughter were white plastic butter-knives scattered below. They remained cleaned, as if there was no way they could do so much damage and harm, but the evidence still lay above them. The slaughtered lamb; the insignificant death.
I traced the teacher's forms, standing in the shadows of the barn, the blood-splatter patterns across the wall and across them seamlessly. For they had watched the slaughter happen, witnessed the lies, and had done nothing to save her. But if they thought the blood wasn't on their hands, they were wrong. I drew the droplets slipping between knuckles and joints. I drew their silhouettes in the blood pattern precisely; clearly depicting they have never moved once throughout the butchery; background objects that were nothing more than just in the way of the spray. Useless. Worthless.
The students, in their ignorance and bliss, had no idea they were in line; that they were all subject to this outcome. Instead they watched over the fence, he watched over the fence, towards the barn in detached disinterest.
"If they don't care, why should I?"
It was the very quote that male student had breathed in front of me. And it would be that quote that he would remember most when he stood beneath this mural.
Finally another paint-can fell from my hands. I had used such dark tones to convey this part of the mural, but made the white of the slaughtered sheep and of the knives stand out to the point they almost glowed. My demon laughed within me; that darker conscious that felt the release and anger within these brushstrokes.
I glanced over my shoulder breathlessly; dreading the realization this trance had hazed my thoughts and awareness so much. But no one stood behind me, and the door remained shut with the internal curtain drawn down. A small breath tremored out of my lungs. I glanced at my phone screen and counted the moments I had until Ms. Lexington would return. Two hours.
That was enough time.
Painstakingly I coated the mural with an unmarked bucket of clear liquid. The water-repellent went on easily and with my careful hand, didn't smear the already surface drying acrylic. We had found a repellent not overly resilient; the molecules within its chemical make-up still allowed enough friction for the next layer of paint to press to its surface once the coat dried. But the acrylic would not bond, not until the paint had settled for a long period of time. But I wasn't going to allow that. As long as the new acrylic wasn't wiped away too soon- no one would know it was merely a sheet laid over monster. And while that clear-coat would protect the acrylic underneath, petrifying the truth, it would be my divide; my fabricated and deceitful pane.
I gave the topcoat it's time to dry. Then with quick movements, I began to repaint the mural. The student's faces' disappeared into anonymous ones, and instead of standing along a fence, I painted them waiting at tables. The slaughter house became the cafeteria; the teachers became unknown faculty and lunch ladies. The colors and lighting brightened and blurred, as if this scene was merely a side point to this story, and small corner of what would be a huge mural. But even still, the details of my mind could not be controlled.
I made each outfit, each smile and action as real and intricate as I could. The folds in the fabric, the shadows below the implied light source, the gentle glow of the cafeteria created an image of peace and comfort. I changed the style of most clothing, making it a blend of modern and older times. The plates and dishes were real silver, etched with intricate designs and covered in what would be delicious food.
Roman and Greek paintings were famous for the grand feasts that lay beneath the higher minded. The food before the scholars, gods, philosophers, and politicians always depicted a sense of culture, richness, and above all else- prosperity. When I was younger, I had wandered a museum and found myself awed with all the banquets and gatherings. It also seemed that never ending plots of assassination and revenge encircled the very bread shared with another. Now was no exception.
The orange gleam of the paint melded and smudged as I blended it slowly against the greens and yellows.
In abundance to the meals that cluttered the marble tables, books and modern projects shared the space, as if they were fueling their minds while still working. The food chosen for the feast was both classic and common; healthy fruits and vegetables, cheeses and olives, and large roasts and meats.
The central table that contained the main course was painstakingly, intricately painted; a whole roasted lamb, sheep, with a gleaming silver... almost white under the reflection of the light, serving knife sitting adjacent. This all lay perfectly over the hideous truth underneath. But here, all of the students around were feasting on that meat; eating and gorging on the kill in front of them.
Again my fingers stiffened on the fine-haired brush, and I strained my grasp to fight the tremors that might smudge the wrong color in the wrong place.
I heard the door open before I saw anything. I whirled around as Ms. Lexington walked into the room. Her brows were lowered with a slight crease in them, and small frown hung on each corner of her lips. She had been so cheerful these last few times I saw her, it took me by surprise.
"Oh, Ms. Lexington." I said hastily before turning hurriedly towards the mural. With a quick glance around I was satisfied to see everything was covered, though I was not done adding details. I glanced to my phone. An hour and half had gone by. That was a close one.
"Alys." she responded tiredly. I glanced back at her, eyeing her face and emotion.
"Is everything going good?" She squinted up at the mural, "It looks like you painted the base coat halfway up. Dear god you did this alone?"
"Yes." I answered, though hesitantly. She didn't seem pleased. It seemed right on cue she glared in my direction, "You will never be so careless again, do you hear me? Where is Hayden, he was supposed to be in here helping you!"
"He was called into his councilor's office," I said unsure, still wary of that text message I got this morning. I tried not to dwell on the sensation of having slept next to something... somebody all night. But it was there, the remembrance of shallow breathing, of idle warmth, of a pressure against me. When I awoke I was alone in a motel room. Hayden was outside his jeep drinking coffee and watching the early morning cars go by.
We drove silently to my house where he dropped me off. My mother didn't look up from the TV as I walked in. Nor did she say a thing as I wandered back downstairs, showered, clothed and off to my morning classes. I stopped behind her, waiting, watching, examining the way she held tightly to her morning coffee.
"We'll be okay." I said softly. I could sense more than see her shoulders drop slightly. This would be the part Hayden would never understand. I hated her. Truly hated her. And I loved her with all of my heart. She might not have protected me then, but I felt the need to protect her now. She was beaten more than I. She was raped more times than she ever told the police. She was a well-crafted picture perfect lie who found herself unable to cope with any other identify after my father was removed from our lives. And I knew the realization that she was nothing but broken on the inside was what made her porcelain exterior that much harder.
Hayden said nothing to me in our first class together. It was only in Mrs. White's class, my final class before the mural, did he text me saying to start without him. At first it didn't bother me. His new counselor these past two years was a fruit loop like mine and could be satisfied with one quick smile or subtle jest.
Only Kinsley was the one who knew too much about Hayden. And for whatever reason, Kinsley left school early- suddenly choosing to retire which shocked the community. Only Hayden knew why, and where before I thought it was because he was a monster- now I wasn't so sure. I knew he was still capable of fucking someone's life over if they stepped too close, and that still might have been what had happened. But I tried to stop jumping to conclusions with him; I had been wrong too many times before.
But now the day was almost done, and he had still not returned. So the worry had begun to accumulate.
Ms. Lexington narrowed her eyes slightly more at me, and at first I thought she didn't believe my words about where Hayden was at, but then she scoured the mural again and I realized she was straining to see it.
"Ms. Lexington, do you wear glasses?"
She raised an eyebrow, surprised at my observation, "I need them, yes. Do I wear them, no. I hate the blasted things. But today's contacts went buh-bye so..." she shrugged and wandered forward, still peering up at the mural.
"Unfortunately Alys, I was just in a school meeting concerning this mural. Principal Campbell was suddenly concerned about our work, though god knows why. All I know was I was pulled from my classes so that we could pointlessly go back over this tribute, and what we were doing. She even reprehended Mr. Rodrigues for not fully enlightening her on the detailed processes and about our... small... work force."
That pause in her sentence told me that small was not her first choice of words. Probably more like concerning work force. AKA me, not Hayden.
I slowly began to resume painting. "I'm sorry to hear that." I said evenly, wondering if she was gauging my reaction. "But I assure you, I'm trying to make up for lost time. I apologize for not being here on Friday."
"No no," she sighed from across the room, "I can see that in one day you have made grand progress. But now it seems all further development will go by even slower for outside parties now wish to be involved with this. We broke down our goals and process to her, and though she became delighted in the end- I'm afraid her paws did not quite relinquish their grasp on this. If anything, she went from anxious to ecstatic so fast; it was like she had thought of something very clever."
I had glanced back and watched her from my lowered lashes. Other parties? Those must have been the ones who encouraged Mrs. Campbell to put her foot in the door. And apparently she had liked what she had seen. So what was the clever idea she had?
I ground my jaw tighter, wondering if Mr. Rodrigues finally realized how much influence Doctor Augustine had. She had always reminded me more of a politician. Perhaps that was why instead of being a Standard Practiced Physiatrist, she worked instead in the affairs of the State, one of which was Child Services. Government based organizations offered her a higher authority, a more powerful platform than remaining solely in the privately owned field like Doctor Hathaway.
But the State was close-knit. And the State was like the father to all these facilities beneath it, this school included. Mr. Rodrigues should have seen this coming.
"Is it a big deal if other parties are involved in this?" I said mildly, containing again any telltale emotion.
"Hmmm?" she said searching through her pockets, "No, I suppose not really now that I fully understand how fast you can paint. I must say Alys, it is a shame you never proved yourself in my class. But that's beside the point, I suppose the reasoning for my stress is this is my last year- and though I wanted everything to be perfect before, now I will be damned if it's not. We have to make this something nobody has ever seen before."
I chewed lightly on my lip, contemplating what had changed. "Because important people will be scrutinizing it?"
She pulled glasses out of her pocket and began breathing on their lenses. "Oh yes. The funds to build this second stadium were toughly gained. As you might have noticed, they spared no expense making this new auditorium inspired addition. It caught us off guard when they approved us for it, but I suspect it is due to our school's prideful high grade point average. And with such a prized new addition, other banquets, events, and even political proceedings will now have a remarkable new stage to showcase at. This is as much the communities gift as it ours. " She shrugged her shoulders slightly, but I could tell she was reminding me why it is this mural would mean so much; everyone- even beyond this school- would see it.
Her words continued on, "And as you now know, Principle Campbell wasn't satisfied with the level of information she had on this. Obviously she was aware that a tribute had been voted for and was adopted for our school, but she didn't seem to actually care for it until now."
I glanced towards my hands again, staring at the calmness within those bones. It was listening as well. It was absorbing those words.
It was odd how the State spared no expense on the stadium, and to a High School of all things, even if we were impressive and were the best ranking. In fact, a lot of the school had mysterious money to use in some places... But somehow not in others.
I turned my palms slightly, gazing in mild appreciation at my demon's sudden ability to remain still.
I wondered if Ms. Lexington ever noticed something. Hayden and Randal had. Trying to get dirt on Hayden's old coach, they accidentally uncovered there were large funds missing in the sports logs- and Mr. Hashimoto wasn't to blame for all of it.
Was is too far of a stretch to assume Ms. Lexington saw things too? I had once told Hayden I had noticed bits of curiosities before; Twice since my high school attendance I had watched instructors who had a bit more expensive classes run about trying to count their sheets and present their finance reports to the school. This is what always caught my eye. It seemed portions of the school were grossly starved for revenue, yet other parts- like the back offices or the "visible" parts, were more than well endowed.
While painting this mural, it had never really occurred to me to wonder why this school was approved to build a stadium/auditorium that was beyond any other architecture within the State. Why spend so much? Why make it so architecturally beautiful?
Why, when teachers still couldn't afford their classes?
"So Principal Campbell has decided to monitor this personally, as well as Mr. Rodrigues?" I repeated softly.
"Yes, it appears so. During our discussion she mentioned that someone in the State had asked her about the mural, though god knows why they knew about it or were even interested in it. I wonder if perhaps it finally occurred to the State to make sure no unwanted changes were made to their original plan."
They knew about the mural because Doctor Augustine had clearly put word in someone's ear- making them fear their donation might have been ruined if not for her sudden intervention and supervision. Perhaps she told them she had saved the day because she could now keep me under a watchful eye, but it was a gross oversight of the school to have let me begin this in the first place; a complete lack of management by the Vice Principal, Mr. Rodrigues.
If I was them I too would be upset and angry that a school I bestowed a gift upon was having an untrusting child paint a large corner of it.
So they came to watch. And unexpectedly they had liked what they had seen.
It suddenly clicked, like a piece of a puzzle interlocking within my head. I grinned to myself, though Ms. Lexington could not see it stretch upon my face.
It was so poetic. Perhaps I should thank Doctor Augustine instead.
"I think it's a grand idea" I turned and smiled brightly. She glanced towards me skeptically, finally putting on her glasses.
"You do?"
"Well yes, I mean we got the funds for being exceptional. But you were right that there was an abundance of expense used to make this a venue a grand platform. For other events as well... political affairs especially. This stadium was as much as gift to themselves as it was to us. And now you can't blame them for realizing it would be a great publicity stunt with the mural."
"Publicity Stunt?" she asked amused.
"Why else would they have decided to monitor the completion of a school's mural? It's because this tribute is a great chance to prove to the world what they have donated." Though Randal would be the final judge of that use of the word, "It makes sense to me. The unveiling of the mural, the official inauguration of this stadium, and the State's highest ranking Graduating Class- we've literally become this biggest chance of good publicity for any State Politician running again."
The only person I could see approving these funds.... Was the Governor. Why make a huge, over the top stadium? Because the State didn't own any platform like this.
You can't go nuts at the State Hall building, or any of the main government buildings. But a High School... one that within the State's pocket had already been receiving and losing funds before.... Was the perfect foundation to lay this present on. But it wasn't a present to us- though it was easy to make it look like that- it was just one of many presents to the governor; a new stage to stand and gloat upon. One that might awe and inspire to help with a reelection.
Hayden and Randall were already digging into Governor Nichols M. Robison as much as two young men with unique resources could. How hard would it be, especially if any condemning emails were lying about? Especially if Mark Donovan already knew something. If they already accidentally pulled up such sensitive information locally... and so easily, I wondered whose computer had the condemning evidence so enticingly accessible.
Something inside of me began to laugh wildly in a craze. Hayden, for what ever reason, wanted revenge on the State- on the governor. How poetic would it be if that man was here himself for the unveiling?
Ms. Lexington smiled at me, never realizing the crazed mirth that ran through my eyes, "You're too smart for your own good Alys. That's exactly what I think this is becoming- a big publicity stunt. I don't know why we caught their attention this late in the game, but it doesn't matter. It caught their attention; they suddenly realized they are missing out on some profitable exposure. Principal Campbell has already demanded to be notified of all progress hence forth, and I assume with the intention of passing along the information."
I held her gaze with my steady smile. But before I could say anything else, those eyes across from me finally glanced away and to the wall's pane. They froze instantly.
Then slowly, distrustfully, they traveled the colors, lines, and images behind me.
"What have you done..." she whispered.
"What..." I fumbled nervously, an unrealistic fear the paint slid off while I was looking away. A glance back showed me it was still there. "I thought this would be okay... I'm sorry. I was just-"
"No. Alys. What have you done? How have you done this?" she stepped forward hesitantly, scanning my work.
"This is unbearably... beautiful." She covered her mouth slightly, "Dear god, how have I not seen this? How have I never been there to help bring this out of you? Alys, if I would have known your abilities... your capabilities..."
I shook my head dumbfounded. "Please don't apologize to me." Please don't apologize to me after what I'm about to do to you.
She looked away and towards my eyes. "All these years, I resented your talent." she confessed. "Your detachment as you mimicked the things around you. I thought this ability was wasted on you, that nothing great would ever leave your hands after you left my room. Only now do I see it was never you. It was me. I couldn't find the fire, the drive, to help you succeed, to help you become more."
My mouth opened slightly, both wounded and indebted to her words. She forced her voice over mine when I attempted to interrupt her.
"Though I am so thankful you found this on your own; that you stepped forth and grasped this tribute... I am ashamed to think it was only by a chance in the wind; this might have... no, should have never happened. I had been there this whole time, not believing in you. And I am so sorry for that."
She looked away from me, staring into the section I had painted of the grand feast. "They don't deserve this," she said softly, "I wanted to impress them, for my own sake. For my own selfish reasons. But seeing this, seeing you- they don't deserve this."
I watched her back. Those words echoed inside of me. Slowly I shook my head slightly and moved to stand beside her.
"You're wrong," I whispered, my eyes finding the carcass on the table.
"They do."
________________
A/N:
I can't keep up with life, I am sorry. I've got a lot on my plate, I have over 30 messages I haven't read due to being un able to open my inbox, and I have other's poetry to add to Child's Lie that I still have not gotten to yet.
Please be patient with me.
I'll try and get everything back in track.
-Helium