Death Sentence
By: Sarah Corner (AKA TrilliumAngel/Angel)
I was only just born when they knew something was wrong. The moment I entered this world, it felt like misery followed me everywhere, even if I never actually witnessed it. The pain was always there, and I could only cope with it. Annette Wilson was the first woman in my life, and up until I turned eighteen, she was like a mother to me. Sometimes even more so than my actual mother.
The complications with bringing me into the world cast my father away, and it was almost as if Mother had too. She was a silent ghost on the edges of a room, and I was sure her quiet demeanor rubbed off on me as soon as I was deemed safe to return home.
I remembered my childhood better than anyone else could have. The details of the hospital were still fresh in my mind, even after Annette suggested we move somewhere less populated where she'd transfer me to a different hospital. I went there more often than not, not just because Annette helped me, but because I didn't have much of a choice. She knew how much I hated being in centers like those.
Death lingered in the air there, and it made my stomach impossibly uneasy.
But Annette refused to come to my house. She was a lovely woman; she stood on long skinny legs and had warm nimble fingers she'd use to hold mine while walking down the vacant hallways of her center. Her hair was round with brunette curls that curved beneath her chin, and as a child I would tug on them not realizing that it hurt people to do so.
Annette's center always used to make me feel alone, because I didn't realize that there were other people like me. I was confused as to why my brother never came with me. Surely he was like me, right?
Wrong.
Kayden was born a few moments after me, but he never cried quite as much as I did when I entered the world. In fact, he never cried at all. The doctors were fearful that there was something wrong, but with me bawling my eyes out in that hospital wing, unable to figure out why I was feeling so sick to my stomach and ill from the sting of dwindling lives in the pit of my very being, I was viewed as the obvious problem. Kayden lived out his months as an infant in the arms of my mother.
When Annette viewed my "minor discomforts" as completely harmless, I was returned to my mother and Kayden three months after our birth. By that point our father had packed up and uprooted his life with Mother. Not that I ever understood anything about that, but it was one of my first questions once I was able to talk. Mother told me that I didn't need a father.
Mother was fine for a while, at least until I was old enough to stand on a stood to use the stove, or to clean the dishes, or to do laundry occasionally. It would have been fine had she had a hobby, but Mother alienated herself from the outside world, living off the money from her father who loved our family dearly. Grandad made visits to our house in the suburbs as much as he could, and I knew with intense certainty that Kayden loved Grandad. Even as he grew, Kayden would seat himself on Grandad's knee in the living room where Mother would be. Those were the few times she made an effort to make herself presentable.
He often suggested Mother move back home with him, and take Kayden and I with him. We'd never visited his home, and Mother was adamant that we wouldn't. She grew weaker, still, and refused Grandad's help. He loved his daughter, and it struck me as odd that I never saw Mother show that kind of parental affection with Kayden and I.
When Grandad came, I slowly became aware of the absence I felt when in the kitchen, in my room, in the basement. I was constantly haunted by people I didn't know, by people I didn't care about, but they'd become background music to the dull, dreary orchestra of my life. The song that I missed so dearly during Grandad's visits was the one that followed Kayden.
He didn't talk often, only when he needed to, but he was a constant shadow that made being on my own in the house not so lonely. In the night when I waited for sleep to consume me, the door would open ever so slowly, and Kayden would enter with his ragged pillow and blanket to sleep on the floor beside my bed. In the morning, he'd be gone.
I never really thought anything was wrong with Kayden. He was more normal than Mother and I combined. Daytime was the worst for me--everyone was up and about outside, and the commotion in our neighborhood was horrendously inconvenient towards my peace inside. I'd become so accustom to Kayden's smooth entrance that sounded as though his feet were barely touching the ground, that whenever Grandad came, the footsteps thundered the floorboards, and his throaty laugh rumbled the picture frames on the walls. Mother's presence felt like a bird fluttering through the air. Passing her was like crossing paths with the wind.
The halls and the rooms of that house in the suburbs provided haunting memories to me. We weren't the first to call the space under this roof home, and we wouldn't be the last. When Kayden and I turned ten years old, we'd barely ever set foot outside the front door. It wasn't that we weren't supposed to, it was just painful being out in public, among people, among living beings, and not knowing what to pay attention to or when. Kayden was usually the one to take trips to the closest grocery store, and even when he made small talk about the wonders of convenience stores, I still never had much of an interest to experience it myself. Being in the suburbs was bad enough.
Annette watched my progress growing up. The older I got, the worse this constant sting inside me became. Our tenth birthday was spent with me ill in bed and Kayden watching after me, not sure what to do. The ache in my head spread into an agony I couldn't bare to remember, until Kayden contacted Annette to help my pain. Neither one of us knew where Mother was when Annette came to fetch me.
As it turned out our elderly neighbor had passed away, and with the houses so close together, his death was just an arm's reach out the window of my bedroom. It wasn't just death that sent my entire world off balance--Annette insisted it was more than just this. The fact that I could record my surroundings with such great precision, and that my attachments with other people was what made living life different for me. The commotion of the cities was too much for me, which was why she insisted Mother move me to a secluded town.
It was rare that Mother came out of her room now, and when I'd returned back from Annette's, she was just coming through the back door. She didn't acknowledge us at all, but I sensed a thickness in the air I'd been picking up a lot in that house. It was a sickening mixture of guilt and sorrow, a mix that tasted like a mouthful of salt.
I loved Mother dearly, even if her involvement in our lives was minimal, so seeing her up and about was all I could think about. I didn't bother asking her what she was doing out of the house, I was just happy she was. No matter how much I tried to get Kayden to see that this was good, perhaps Mother was feeling better, he would constantly have that flat look on his face that suggested otherwise. It was the expression he wore half the day, but I knew he didn't agree with me.
Mother started coming to breakfast. The small meals she did eat were enough to fill the emptiness I'd felt when seeing her lurk into rooms with her scrawny, bird-like frame. She was as skinny as always, and I feared that underneath her robes all I'd find would be skin stretched taunt over bones. Her hollow features were one of the many attributes Kayden and I picked up from her. While his hair darkened in comparison to Mother's and mine, I was glad to see that perhaps Mother and I shared more in common than I thought.
The more she participated in our mornings, the more she faded into our afternoons. I began to forget about the people outside and the awareness I felt that connected me to the home I'd grown up in. Moving wouldn't be as difficult as I thought, so long as Mother was well.
But still, the saltiness on my tongue never faded when Mother was around.
Mother just barely started searching for houses when Kayden started acting strange. The dark aura that followed him and kept him on the tips of his feet started to weigh heavier on both of us. I started to hear his footsteps, to hear his entrance, to find him looming around the room like a brooding thundercloud.
I asked him what made him so upset. There wasn't anything to be upset about. He had scowled at me, his thick eyebrows casting shadows of his hollow eyes. Even though he left the room without saying a word, I understood his misery, but that didn't mean I agreed with it. He knew I wouldn't agree with him, and perhaps that was what added to the depth of his displeasure.
It hadn't been more than a week since Annette had announced that moving was in our best interest. Dinnertime was approaching as I made my way to the kitchen, only to find Mother preparing a stew. There was too much salt in the air, and it made my stomach queasy. The table was set for four. Eight forks, four spoons, four knives, four wineglasses.
"You're starting to count wrong," I had told Mother, my voice light despite the thickness of my tongue. It made swallowing difficult.
She told me, "We're having company," and insisted that Kayden and I be polite, act nice, and accept it. I was excited to see Grandad again; it'd been a while since I'd last seen him. I shooed Kayden out of the room to clean up while I did the same.
I went to my room to put on the dress Grandad had purchased for me. It was white and had lace sleeves that reached the middle of my upper arm. I was excited to show it off to him. The last time I'd worn it was just to try it on, and now I had a purpose for it. When I wore it, a pureness washed over me and I didn't feel so burdened by the darkness that followed me. I clipped on a silver necklace he had given me, and admired the jewel clasped in the center. Its color stood out alongside my blonde, nearly white hair. My hair was as long as it ever was--never once cut--so I braided it over my shoulder. Grandad hadn't had dinner with us as a family in a long while. Tonight was supposed to be special.
It wasn't supposed to end as it had.
The sting inside me overrode the joy the dress provided. I recalled gripping my stomach and trying to catch my breath, but it was too close to ignore. Death was on the doorstep, and it started with a knock.
I heard a pair of heavy footsteps downstairs, and fear drowned me more than the death of my neighbor had. I couldn't recognize the coldness that rose from my feet where the man stepped underneath the floorboards I stood on, and all I could sense was the brooding darkness of Kayden's presence in the doorway of the kitchen.
I ran. I ran faster than I ever had before. I nearly fell down the stairs before skidding to a halt in the living room. Kayden's back was to me, and beyond him stood a man at the doorway. His eyes met mine, and my heart stopped when I saw the dark brown reflecting mine, reflecting Kayden's, and the darkness of his hair that contrasted Mother's so brilliantly, and mine as well.
A bubbling appreciation rose in the air from my mother. All the guilt and sorrow in the air melted in comparison to this warmth that rose from her smile. The shy, apprehensiveness that was Mother was still there, even as she stepped hesitantly closer to the man and took his arm to guide him towards Kayden.
The swirl of emotions was overwhelming, I was sure I was going to faint. I took a shaky step back from them, wishing I could move. Not just move a step or two, but to move away from here. To find that secluded new home Annette talked about, just so I could rid myself of this sting in my chest.
"This is Kayden and Aster, our children," Mother said, looking so incredibly proud it hurt. Only Grandad ever looked at her like that. I'd never seen that expression on her face before.
Neither one of us said a word. The man I never knew as a father stood speechless, until Mother gave us an annoyed look. There wasn't a tinge of regret in her voice as she said, "For once in your life, Kayden, say hello. You too, Aster."
The screaming in my head was deafening. It wasn't just me who felt this painful shadow over the room, but the past lives who once dwelled within these halls. Kayden's arms began to shake, and I was sure even in his anger, he looked absolutely completely neutral.
"Father," he hissed in a voice so deep I was startled that it even came from him. He stepped forward, his head only reaching our father's bicep as he gave him a stiff hug. The man smiled, looking towards Mother.
"They're incredible, Penny," he breathed. I blinked, hardly able to comprehend a thing with all that was swirling around inside me. Eventually I made an effort to step into the kitchen as Kayden backed off and stepped around to the table. Mother took the man's hand in her two small ones, bringing them to her chest as if to feel her heart beating in pure happiness. Suddenly the pureness of my dress felt so dirty.
She confessed that she always wanted him to meet us, to perhaps watch us grow older. Their two figures blurred once I saw Kayden pick up a wineglass and study the glass in the light of our single lamp overhead. A red glare caught on it as it passed in front of his eyes, but the moment I saw it, it was gone.
He cracked the edge of the wineglass on the table and cast shards of glass over the perfect dinner Mother made. She turned, perhaps to yell at him, but it never came out when death arrived and he plunged the ragged edges of the wineglass into the chest of our father. The last gasp of his breath seemed to explode inside me. I shuddered backwards, falling along with his body to the ground. I wanted to scream, to do something other than sit there and watch, but there was something oddly reassuring seeing Kayden standing over the dead body of our never-to-be father. Maybe it was the fact that he felt no remorse, as though this man's death was so incredibly sure in his mind that he could not think of any other thing to do tonight than this.
The blood pooled as the tears ran down Mother's cheeks. Kayden stepped over to me, feet light as if he wasn't even touching the ground again. He took my hand and helped me back up to my own feet. He embraced me, and it wasn't until I rested my head on his shoulder that I realized there were tears dampening my cheeks.
"Don't cry, he wasn't supposed to be here anyway," he told me.
Mother took her place at the dining table, staring down at her empty plate while Kayden and I hauled the man's body to the bathroom where we rested him in the shower. No amount of scrubbing would get the stain of red out of the wood, so Kayden moved a rug over the top of the spot in the kitchen and went to start eating.
We ate in silence, as much as we could eat, anyway. Mother became a ghost again, and dissolved from the kitchen and appeared soundlessly on the living room couch. Kayden's dark aura faded as soon as we began eating, and I couldn't help but watch Mother with pity in my eyes. To her, there was a difference between the elderly man next door and the man who intruded on our dinner.
The next morning, our father's body was gone, and neither one of us knew what happened to it.
Grandad caught wind of our need to move and swept me and my family out of our house faster than I ever thought imaginable. The home that I'd lived my entire life in disappeared before my very eyes, and we were taken out to the middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin where his home awaited.
I never would have expected leaving the city would be such a relief. Moving out into the wilderness with Grandad and Mother and Kayden was the best day ever. His home was decorated with flowers and ivy crawling up the stone sides to the highest windows. It was larger than all the houses on our block back in the suburbs, and the amount of color in his yard was brilliant.
The first day I spent mostly laying out in the garden grass soaking in the warmth of the sunshine. My pale skin started to grow tan over that summer of my eleventh year of existence. I often helped Grandad in the garden and started to develop my own green thumb. He gave me a patch of the garden to grow my own flowers, and when I requested a rose bush, he went out and brought one back for me.
Mother was quiet as ever, but whenever I was outside and looked in, I'd often find her sitting on the windowsill of her second-story bedroom staring vacantly out at me. Sometimes I'd find her drinking a cup of tea, or reading a novel from Grandad's vast expanse of bookshelves in the living room.
Back at our old house, televisions didn't exist, but at Grandad's he had an old cranky one that clunked out during storms or sometimes gave a fit after he watched a channel for to long. Kayden and I showed no interest for it, but instead spent our free time listening carefully to the soft tunes of Grandad's radio on the kitchen table.
At first Grandad's house didn't suit very well for Kayden. He hung around me more than ever, and I would often turn around and find him directly on my heels like a constant shadow. The first few nights he spent sneaking into my room and sitting on my windowsill where the moonlight broke through the glass and cast dark shadows over his pale complexion. The time I spent outside was better spent for him inside. He'd hang around the back patio door, not wanting to go much further than that. Sometimes he'd wait hours and hours until I would come back inside for mealtime, and at first I tried to get him to do something other than wait and wait and wait. I gave up after the first few attempts, since he made him miserable to think I didn't appreciate his company.
Dinnertime wasn't as I originally thought it would become. I looked forward to making dinner for four, but Mother never came, and I'd learned not to wait for her. The dining table had a room dedicated to it, and a chandelier that was draped with reflective crystals. It was a table set for six, and on either side a bench. Grandad always sat at the head of the table, and I sat on his right. Kayden, despite Grandad's open left side, took his place beside me and wore a stoic expression throughout the meal until the very end. He didn't participate in our conversations, and it was almost as if it was just Grandad and I.
As much as I wanted to feel at home here in the middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin, being with Grandad sent a chasm between Kayden and I that no amount of sitting next to him would heal. He was broken from the move, and the darkness inside the both of us didn't blend as well as it used to before the death of our father. His eyes spoke to me in a way his body language could never, and I knew after that first summer at Grandad's, there was something wrong with Kayden other than his bloodlust over our father's body.
Perhaps my thoughts of homes were poisoned by the pain and anguish of death I felt constantly. I missed Annette and her endless wisdom and comfort. She promised to visit me, to help me beyond the boundaries of her clinical center, but I wasn't sure when that time would come.
Both Kayden and I were well into our year of being twelve when Annette paid a visit next. The conversation we had was no more than day or two before she arrived, saying the date and time she would come to have a session with me. By the time I felt the territory of Grandad's land being invaded by her car, I was prepared and it was just a minute before five o' clock.
She gave off a healthy atmosphere, one that was both refreshing and alerting to me. Kayden's cloud of darkness was just beginning to swell again as it had before the appearance our father made, but the cloud was in its infancy and was fairly undetectable the majority of the day. Grandad was starting to gather a cloud of his own, but our time spent together outside in the garden, just the two of us, overrode any worries I had.
When the doorbell rang, I was already in the foyer bouncing on my toes. I hugged her as she came in, which made it difficult for her to walk, but I didn't care. "I've missed you!"
"And I with you, child. You've grown!" she beamed at me, and I returned it with ease. She looked past me, focusing on the figure standing farther off by the carpeted staircase rounding the left side of the foyer. "And who's this?"
"My brother Kayden. Say hi," I insisted of him, but he merely waved before stepping farther back up the stairs. He turned on his heels and darted up the rest of the way, disappearing into the shadows around the corner as if he belonged with them.
"He is a curious one, isn't he?"
I didn't say anything to that, but instead started to lead her towards the study Grandad reserved for our session. It was down a long, narrow hallway that looked oddly wide in comparison to Annette Wilson's nimble figure. Her pale pastel coat hung over the crook in her elbow, and in her hands she held her briefcase that was known to carry a large collection of papers and prints.
My excitement for this day drove me to bake pre-session. On a small platter, I'd piled a pyramid of macaroons that rested on the thick wooden desk. She gave a delightful stir at the sight of them, and helped herself to a single one as she observed the vast window behind the desk.
A shadow loomed over the balcony on the second floor, and I looked to find Kayden had returned, standing against the railing overlooking the study. "Kayden, leave," I complained. It was just supposed to be Annette and I; I didn't want him stealing Annette's attention when she'd specifically came for my case.
He backed up a few steps, just to the doorway. "Kayden," I whined. "And close the door behind you."
Obedient to my word, he walked out and gradually closed the double doors to the second level of Grandad's study. Even though the door was closed and he wasn't in sight, I sensed that he sat himself outside the door, just like he did when I was out in the garden.
"Does he normally follow you about?" Annette inquired.
"Yes, and he's just outside the door so let's talk about something else," I insisted, taking a seat on a nearby couch as we began the session. It pleased her to hear that I was much more at ease out here in the middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin.
Annette stayed for dinner that day, Grandad made sure of it. Together we crafted a brilliant shepherd's pie complete with vegetables from the garden. I'd never smiled so much since I'd come to Grandad's, and I'd been smiling a lot lately. Annette watched over our progress from the small two-person table by the window facing the garden, and Kayden, who had been lurking by the doorway, was coaxed over to sit across from her.
"So tell me, Mister Kayden Everhart, have you always been so hauntingly quiet?" she had inquired of him after a few failed attempts at a conversation. I giggled from the stovetop, catching Kayden's gaze as I shook my head.
"He's not gonna talk to you. He's always been quiet," I answered for him. He gave Annette his bland, bored look, but I knew what it meant. Yeah, what she said.
Annette shrugged and grinned back at the two of us. She swirled her wineglass about, and for a sickening moment I recognized the red wine to be blood, and the rim was no longer a rim at all, but a collection of jagged shards of glass. My throat was suddenly tight, and for a second I recalled the dark cloud that constantly hung over Kayden, but it felt just as it had that night he attacked our father.
I was wracked with confusion. Why was Kayden acting this way in front of Annette and Grandad? It wasn't their time yet. I stared at Kayden, and he stared back. His thick eyebrows cast a shadow over his deep-set eyes, and his pale skin looked more forlorn than usual. His hands were shaking on his lap, and I knew that if I didn't speak with him now, he'd try something horrible.
I rushed him out of the kitchen, making a lame excuse that he had to help me find a book Annette might be interested in. I kept dragging him across the house until we reached the study where I shut the door and whirled on him.
Among the shadows in the vast open library space, Kayden was just a child longing for an answer to this madness that dwelled inside of him. Away from the life sources that called to him, he looked terrified. We watched each other for a long while, as if expecting this link between us to say the words I didn't want to confess out loud.
Eventually I said it, my voice flat with reason. "I forbid you from ever causing harm to Annette. I would never forgive you."
For a moment I thought he was going to object, to defy me, but in the end he didn't. He gave a woeful nod, his head lolling down so he couldn't look me in the eyes. I drew my hands up underneath my chin and paced back towards the door before catching sight of one of the many books I'd read during my time here at Grandad's. I took it from the shelf and ordered Kayden to follow me back to the kitchen.
That night there weren't any disasters, but the aroma of Grandad's home was growing stale.
Kayden and I progressed to the age of sixteen. We read together at the windowsills during the winter when the snow accumulated out in the garden, and in the summer we would still be separated by the patio door. He was growing to be a handsome young man, and on the days in the summer when Grandad would go out to town during the fairs and festivals, he'd drag Kayden along with him just so he could meet with kids his age. He'd tell me about the restaurants, the games, and the carnival rides with all the flashing lights and colorful art.
I was jealous of him sometimes, but I knew going out in public would be a disaster. Grandad understood the difficulties I had when faced with commotion and always insisted I stay put in the house and watch over Mother.
Mother had faded over the years. She was skinnier and nearly did dissolve into that windowsill cushion in that second story bedroom. I rarely ever saw her outside of her room, and when I did it was just to make tea for herself and retreat back into the room.
As a sixteen year old, I began to notice things that as a child I never would have. My favorite channel on Grandad's old beat up television consisted of a Spanish drama. As a child I used it as a method of learning a language other than English, but now I was able to process the words, and to understand the love between the characters and the relationships they shared. Their families weren't like mine.
I began to enjoy playing Grandad's records, and that my feet weren't just meant for walking. Grandad taught me how to waltz, tango, and samba on rainy summer days. We'd push aside the coffee table in the living room and make space big enough for a dance floor for two. From his vast collection of records we'd play songs of all the ages and sing together as loud as we could. His rolling baritone paired with my alto voice made up for Kayden's absence of sound from the outskirts of the room.
Grandad's friends called him out of the house some evenings when fishing was just right and there was a crisp coolness in the air that didn't keep me from laying out under the stairs in the dewey grass. On one such night I took with me a blanket and the radio from the kitchen table. The stars were especially bright, and the white glow from each of them reminded me of my own hair--a pale white blonde that had grown so much so over the years that at one point Grandad had cut it to keep it tame. But it was just as long now, and braided just like every other day. I loved how it looked alongside the jewel-studded necklace Grandad gave me as a child.
I had been combing the end of the braid between my fingers when I sensed a pair of feet approaching the patio. I rose up to my elbows and peered back as the door opened. I thought it was a stranger until I recognized the white hair of my mother taking cautious steps down the stairs and out to the garden where I lay.
She sat beside me on the blanket, her bony knees pulled up to her chest with her arms cast around them. All I could do was stare at her, unable to recognize this woman who spent her days up in that second-story windowsill watching over this place she now sat in.
After a few moments of silence, she reached her hand out, missing mine a few times before at last she grasped it in a gently strong hold. She squeezed it, and that was all it took to trigger the stress behind my eyes that brought tears to my eyes. I may not have known why, after all this time, she decided to come back into my life, but I recognized the sting in my chest and tried my best to pass it off as just pure joy of being with Mother again.
The summer of our seventeenth year arrived, and with it came an uncanny tenebrosity that never failed to follow me around. It was resilient in its effort to keep me aware of every shift in the objects that surrounded me. My attention towards the books on Grandad's many shelves was never so keen, and my alertness towards my family was indescribably peculiar. There was an upset in the balance of my life, but I couldn't peg what it was.
It was reassuring every night Grandad left to fish with his friends, because it felt like a weight was off my shoulders. One less person to be concerned about. Dancing helped clear my thoughts, and simply listening to music drowned out the bank inside my mind filled to the rim with a mental map of my territory. Annette often connected my ability to track my surroundings to that of a computer. I was able to log the comings and goings of everything in my wake, and when something was wrong, my system went haywire.
I spent the beginning of Grandad's leave spread out on the living room rug listening to one of my favorite tracks in the light of the candles around the room. It smelled like cinnamon and pumpkin pie. I held up Grandad's silver necklace so that the jewel glinted in the light of the candles and cast colorful beams of light across the room.
Kayden's smooth footsteps paced upstairs--the few times he was on his own was spent pacing, unsure of what to do. Eventually I felt each step on the stairs being passed over by his soft socks. He went to the kitchen, then the study, and finally followed the music into the living room. I was already looking at the entrance he came through, knowing that eventually he'd find me here.
He was frowning fiercely, and it brought me up into a sitting position. I asked him, "What's got you frowning?"
He set his lips into a thin line and took a single step into the room, looking like a hesitant puppy afraid of being scolded. To take his mind off of whatever was bothering him, I insisted I teach him the dance to the song playing on the record. It wasn't as if I hadn't seen his excitement of watching Grandad and I shimmy across the floor, laughing and yelling about.
The smallest of smiles came on his lips as he agreed. I jumped up to my feet and snatched him out onto the floor. I kicked his feet apart and instructed him what to do with his hands, how to make his lanky body look not so gangly, and where to place his feet in beats of three.
We glided together--forward, to the side, backwards, and spinning in one fluent motion. From all the time he spent observing, he picked up on the steps quickly, and in time I was no longer focusing on his footwork or even the record for that matter. The song that was singing now was the one that followed me everywhere I went, and comforted me more than my favorite track in Grandad's endless supply of records. Kayden's eyes sang louder than any words he could have spoken then.
As a sixteen year old, I watched those Spanish dramas and learned about love through a television screen. I saw those sinful moments when their lips touch and sparks supposedly fly, and I wondered. I wondered if Kayden ever saw that out at those festivals and fairs. Had he found another girl to watch over like a guardian angel, or did he fade into the background music of their lives?
I wanted to say something that would make this entire experience less insane, but I couldn't even get out the words before all reason became lost in the touch of his hands on my cheeks. We may not have kissed like in those Spanish dramas, or kissed at all, but I could feel the non-existent pressure on my lips as if we actually had.
And it was lovely.
And he said my name in that low, breathy, unused voice of his so that I could feel it on my forehead before he pressed his lips there.
My system was going haywire again. The entire world dropped away from us then, and I feebly gripped onto his shirt sleeves to keep myself from falling with it. I thought that maybe this was what it felt to be normal. To not know where everything was all at once, or to hear the ticking of everyone's clocks running out. Right now, Kayden didn't have a clock, and neither did I, and Mother...
It happened in a blur. Just as the world fell from me, it came crashing back into me and the horribly eerie claws that had been clawing through my chest unleashed in a sting that smelled like death. It wasn't just Kayden and I anymore, it was Mother, and there was Grandad returning from fishing.
As soon as I felt the sting, Kayden turned from me and locked eyes with Mother. She was leaning heavily against the living room archway, as if seeing Kayden anywhere other than the outskirts of a room was too terrible to comprehend. A door slammed shut, and the moment it did Mother surged towards us.
"Mother, I-" I started weakly, but she pried herself between Kayden and I and glared menacingly up into her son's eyes that now towered over her.
"You're a sick bastard, Kayden! I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you would disappoint me! Never go near Aster again!" Her voice was a shrill wail that withered into gasping shudders of breath that shook her entire weak frame. I was torn by the terrible way that life began to evade her, as if she'd waited to die until this moment that she would deliver these words to my brother.
"You don't mean it! Take it back!" I yelled frantically, coming around to face her. She was a skeleton, white as bones and as scrawny as one. The purple bags beneath her eyes melted into the shade of her eyelids. She slouched forward, and as I tried to hold her up, Kayden brought his arms around me and pulled me back. She slumped onto the ground beneath that black robe, as if nothing was underneath it at all.
In the doorway Grandad made a mournful cry beneath his hand. My chest stung like nothing else and Kayden was the only one keeping me from crumpling on the ground next to Mother's robe.
Grandad sobbed as he fell to his knees before Mother, repeating her name over and over again. At last he looked up and saw my tear-stained face and Kayden's vacant one. In a second anger washed over Grandad's face. "What have you done, boy! You killed her just like you did your old man, didn't you!"
"He didn't- he never-!" I cried, breaking away from Kayden to stop Grandad from going after him.
"Don't lie to me! Penny told me everything--there's always been something off about this one!" He shook an accusing finger at Kayden and took a menacing step towards him. I scrambled to block his path, but the moment I did Grandad whipped his hand over his shoulder and backhanded me so hard I saw black dots swarm my vision as I fell.
I hit the ground hard and let out a terrified cry from the pain in my chest. I yelled for Grandad to stop, to let Kayden go, but it was too late. A streak of red cut through Kayden's dark brown eyes like they had the day of the dinner for four at your old house. He spun around and snatched the record player off its stand, and in one fluid movement, took Grandad out by the side of the head. He fell against the coffee table, cracking the glass surface into pieces and shattering across the floor.
He didn't get up again, but Kayden wielded the record player back up, the vinyl already flown across the room, and drove the corner of it down. I scrambled away from the scene before I had the misfortune of hearing the sickening collapse of Grandad's life. I nearly tripped over Mother's robe on the way out of the room, aware of Kayden yelling after me.
I didn't even think as I took in the cinnamon and pumpkin pie scented candles by the doorway and crashed them to the ground. The living room rug was set aflame.
I ran to the garden and the forest beyond, and didn't look back until I'd gotten as far away from that place as I could manage without collapsing from the pain in my chest. When I turned to see the house, all I saw was a dark forest and plumes of smoke billowing in front of the moon.
I was sixteen when I left behind my home and what was left of my family.
From that forest outside of Grandad's house I ran downtown where I found a gas station still open at the intersection of two streets. I took a map and a few other pamphlets from nearby the pay phone and left the gas station to find the pawn shop Grandad went to so often to purchase antiques and sell his books. I waited outside of it until dawn, and waited another few hours until the owner appeared on the stoop where I'd camped out with my map of the states spread out on the sidewalk.
"What can I do for you, girly?" he'd asked me, and when I held up the necklace around my neck, he pursed his big fat lips and gave a purr of admiration for the jewel. He led me inside the shop where I swapped the necklace I'd come to wear every day for enough money to get me across the states.
For all the days I spent on a bus that autumn, I was glad I spent it passing through lands I'd never seen. The unfamiliar territory brought with it the thrill of traveling and becoming free from the confines of the places I called home. I stayed westbound until I reached a place that would never remind me of Mother or Grandad and the sting that came from Kayden's violence.
People came and went, just as their lives drifted in and out of mine. Traveling in a bus was dizzying because of that, but with everything as one big blur, no amount of closing my eyes could block it out. I got little sleep on my journeying.
I kept myself from mourning and standing out by observing the landscapes around me, and the people I'd only see for a little while. On a trip between two stops, a woman came on board with a gigantically huge backpack. She stood at the front for a while before picking the spot next to me and dropping her backpack down in the isle. She heaved out a loud sigh and laughed.
"You look at me as if you've never seen a backpacker before," she joked and nudged me with her elbow. I found her voice peculiarly intriguing. I'd never heard a woman's voice so rough and course, as if worn by her days on the road. I shrugged, since I knew it was true that I actually never witnessed a backpacker before.
The bus started back up, and she started talking. "Say little lady, what's your name? Where're you from?"
I hesitated answering. "Aster Everhart. I'm from Wisconsin."
"Well, Aster Everhart from Wisconsin, I'm Kristine Pike from Minnesota. What brings you to South Dakota?" I told her I was traveling west, and when she asked why I told her I didn't know. She seemed content with that answer, and settled back in her seat with her elbows propped up on the armrests on either side of her chair. We were both silent for a while, at least up until we reached the town where her stop rolled up.
As the bus shuttered to a stop and the door opened, Kristine stood up and hiked on her backpack. Watching her leave the bus left a bitter taste in my mouth, as if there was something I should have done or said other than just sit there in complete silence. I sat there in my seat for another minute before I took a chance and left my seat and darted off the bus after her. I looked right and left down the street, and found her instead sitting on a bench outside the bus.
When our eyes locked, she gave me a full blown smile and said, "I knew it. Come on, I'm starved. I'll pay for dinner."
Kristine and I were fast friends, but I figured it was just dumb luck that I came across her and her twenty-pound backpack. Over a plate of hamburgers and french fries she told me her life story--how when she was little, her father would take her up to Canada on fishing trips, and how when she was ten he passed away from the ruthless clutches of cancer. Her mother and her father were divorced at that time, and when she reconnected with her mother she was married to a rich lawyer man that sent her to boarding school. As soon as she was out of school, she ditched her mother and left Minnesota.
"I was just visiting her for thanksgiving. Some family traditions can't be broken, ya know?" she told me. She smeared the back of her hand over her mouth a gave me a calculating stare that I could sense as I looked around the nearly empty restaurant. "Hey Aster," she started, calling me to attention. She waited a second before saying, "You don't have to tell me why you ran away from your home, but if you need a place to stay, I could always use a house sitter."
"House sitter?"
She swirled her massive soda cup in her hand and took a chaste sip. "Yeah, I mean, I travel a lot, but I need a place to keep my junk. It's not real big, but it keeps things together. I'll be crashing there for a few weeks, and then I'm heading off to California to meet a friend of mine."
I agreed because I wasn't sure I had many options. Up until now, I hadn't realized how much I had handed to me. Kristine asked me about school, and because I knew I didn't have much school experience, I told her it was complicated. She asked me about college, and because I knew college would be impossible for me, I said I was thinking about it. She asked me if I'd ever been to Utah, and I didn't know why she asked until I realized where she lived. It was no wonder she was so tan.
Kristine taught me the art of hitchhiking, but before she taught me that she bought me a knife from a artisan stand at a truck stop. I was sure I wouldn't have to use it, so I kept it in its cover attached to the belt on my pants because that was what she did. I picked out my own rucksack to use so we could share the weight of her backpack. She picked out a pair of hiking boots for me after my feet started to blister and bleed during our time walking over the gravel shoulder. She taught me how to read a map properly and said she didn't blame me for not knowing, since a lot of people nowadays were so used to GPS's. I didn't know what a GPS was until we got into a car with one.
She shared all aspects of her life with me, and talked about her home as I might expect myself to. She admired all its flaws, and joked about how far it was from town, but insisted that the walks weren't too bad. Eventually I felt compelled to tell her about myself, and the reason why I was so sheltered from life outside of Grandad's home. She waited until I told her how I'd set fire to my house and left, and by that point she'd grown even quieter than usual. She told me to prove it, and I did so by telling her there was a ten dollar bill under the back seat stuck in the vent. She fetched it and gave it a good look before passing it to me and saying, "Good thing I live in the middle of nowhere."
Utah was nothing like my old home, which was probably why I loved it so much. The trees in Grandad's forests were nothing like the ones we came across at the small rivers, and I'd never seen so much orange dirt and sand in my life. Kristine's home was a far cry from the civilization of the nearest town. The walk from the road was enough to put down anyone who might attempt to find her cabin, but she assured me that she had a truck.
"It clunks out after long drives, so I can't take it much further than the border," she explained to me as we approached the garage attached to the side of the house. I saw her small ranch and immediately fell in love with the strange yet beautiful array of cacti blooming nearby the porch. I fell in love with the swing out front, the dusty windows, and even the orange dirt inside the front door. I even loved the mattress without a bed frame.
The first day at Kristin's cabin was training. She explained to be the basic rules of her home, and there really weren't many considering the limitations I had. Parties were off the list of concerns, that was for sure. She kept a hidden stash of money in a ceramic jar on the counter in the small kitchen, which she left for me to use for strictly personal needs such as groceries and toiletries and anything of the sort.
After a week of living with Kristine, she told me that this was what having a roommate in college was like. I thought it sounded pretty nice, so she told me more about college and what it was like to live in dorms, go to classes with a hundred other peers, and how homework was a pain in the ass.
"I've never been to college, but I have a cousin who graduated. Must've been worth it since she's living the high life," she told me. She was drinking from a dark amber bottle which she explained was beer. Even though she told me it wasn't something I'd like, and that it was bad for my health, I took a sip and it was enough to convince me.
Another week later and I was living without Kristine in a house that felt like home. Using her phone, I brought to memory Annette's number and called her to assure her that I was in fact alive. I felt it was in my duty to tell her this, because she was the last connection I had to Wisconsin and my home with Grandad. The thought of the dinner she shared with my family tore at my heart, especially when I heard the relief in her voice.
"I knew you'd survived. They couldn't find you in the fire, so I only assumed," she explained, sniffling at the end. It was rare that I ever used the phone, and I never expected to uncover so much emotion through just that speaker piece. "Where are you now? I can come pick you up and-"
"No, don't do that," I interrupted quickly. "I'm fine where I am, trust me. Just please, don't tell anyone else."
"By anyone else, you mean your brother." I remained quiet when she said this. It confirmed the suspicions I had that he'd survived the fire. I was sure to have felt it had he been consumed by the flames and failed to live to this day. It gave me a strange sense of bitter sweet relief to know that Annette spoke the truth. "He's distraught, Aster. With your blessing, I'd like to let him know you're safe."
After reluctantly giving her permission, we parted ways. She promised not to call again, and that was enough to put me at ease. At least for a while.
I was on my own a lot with Kristine, that was, if she didn't take me with her on her trips. She was excited to show me the world, and when that became too overwhelming, I'd return to the peace and tranquility of our home in Utah where I read and read and read off of her computer and learned as much as I could possibly learn from her old school books. Even if college was out of the question, the thought still amazed and excited me.
Life was like this with Kristine. It became easier to ignore the callings of everything around me when I was with her or on my own. I even started to forget where things were placed, or whether or not someone was at the door. By the time I was in my twenties, I had fallen so far from my sixth sense that I was almost normal. Kristine had rubbed off on me, and traveling wasn't a hassle anymore. She even took me to California where the big cities didn't upset me enough to make me ill for a week.
It was on such a trip that her friend George took us on a roundabout journey back home that landed us in Las Vegas for a few nights. Kristine admitted that Las Vegas wasn't one of her favorite cities. "It's too... artificial, ya know? I like those cities that keeps the old fashion in it."
I wasn't sure what she was talking about, but I agreed with her anyway. Las Vegas was one of those cities that still made my stomach churn. On the last night there, I woke to a sting in my chest stronger than the usual ones that faded. We realized after an ambulance came crying up to our hotel that a man died a few doors down. I didn't want the details because I already knew; some medications and drugs weren't meant to be mixed.
Kristine, George and I finished our trip by entering our hometown in the orange desert. When we rode down the driveway, I was welcomed by the soft touch of home that felt so familiar on my skin that I nearly tricked myself into skipping over an important detail. We spotted a black vehicle on the horizon, and when we parked next to it to investigate, George walked over to the driver's side and knocked on the window.
I stood farther back, my rucksack slung over one shoulder while Kristine went to give an earful to the person in the front seat of the black vehicle. The man appeared to have been sleeping, and promptly stepped out to speak with the two of them. He nearly reached George's height, and there was something familiar in his cleanly shaven face and pale white complexion. I'd never seen a man out in Utah as pale as him.
"Oh my God," I gasped in sudden realization. The smooth transition of his movements brought forth the memories of our childhood, and the power I sought to suppress. He defied any and all efforts towards my search for normality, and as I watched a flicker of a smile appear on his emotionless face, I nearly fainted.
Death was here--death was everywhere. No wonder it felt so much like home.