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Butterflies and Hurricanes
Chapter ten . . . Into the Cops
~o~o~o~
I wanted to protect Alex with my life . . . The only human who's ever been close to me . . . If it means I need to go with you Bausch, Then I will try to help . . .
After Bausch and I came to an agreement he led me in towards the forest. I had never thought that a town so small could have such a large one looming behind their only run-down school. This one did.
It's called Hawthorne copse. I was told this by one girl who thought she'd be friendly with me. I forgot her name. But I responded by saying how much that sounded like corpse. She didn't say anything else to me. Thus, the reason why I can't remember her name.
The edge of Hawthorne copse was composed of thick stout bushes and thicket. This didn't seem to matter to Bausch, as he plowed through the thicket with his tall frame like a knife through warm butter. The rest was full of openly spaced skeletal willows and randomly placed birch and evergreen. Every now and again he would lift a branch high overhead so I could pass. Often when he let go of those branches, they'd flick back with tremendous force. After a while I began to walk slower and duck under those branches quickly. (As images of his grip slipping and me being flung several feet backwards had roused themselves in my mind.)
It seemed we had been walking for ages when I had an epiphany.
What had would make these "Mortal Others" think Mother would go so far as to try genocide on the human race?!
Suddenly I thought this over clearly. At first I could only think of Alex and his safety. But now, as I thought it over . . . Sure Mother was tremendously evil, and she spoke often of killing humans at random like a game . . . I might have expected it eventually, but how exactly did they know her? Why would they want to take me away to plot her death?
And why did I feel like I could trust him so suddenly?
What had Mother done to these people?
What exactly was the power she had?
Bausch was ahead of me as I timidly followed him further into the copse. I slowed as if to compensate for the fast pace at which my thoughts were speeding.
Then there was the question about me . . . What power did I posses that Bausch would find useful against her? Sure Mother had always used me to find souls for her to consume. That was my power; to consume a soul's energy . . . She lived off of the aura of souls. It's hard to explain, but it was just how she seemed to work.
Lately I had found plenty souls wandering aimlessly around this desolate town. It was probably one of her reasons for coming to this tiny town, I guessed. It was old and possessed several graveyards and numerous ghost stories. . . But Mother seemed anxious lately. My power was something ghastly and melancholic. I had gotten used to it. At first the power was extraordinary to me. Mother wasn't impressed. She expected this. . .
It was a long time ago. I had come to Mother when I was only five. The years before that were all a blur.
The first few years with mother were those I remembered the most. The first time Mother used her mirror to torture me . . . The first time Siphul came and transformed . . . and the first time Lunya read my mind . . . It was imprinted on me, the memories of my supernatural "family." I was very young.
I hadn't known anyone other than Mother. The way she would scold me and tell me I was worthless. Every lip curled, malevolent smile. Every wisp of demonic power from her comes to strike me. Every day among the humans learning things about them I'd never learn from my "mother".
I was sitting in the corner desk. Everyone was coloring. I was drawing. I drew a picture of a bird. When it was quiet, I heard a little noise. I turned around to the back of the room. There he was.
At first I was scared. He was thin and pale and he was a faint blue color. His eyes were round and wide. His hair was limp and his shoulders were slumped. The scariest part of all I realized, was that I could see all the way through him.
I turned around fast to see if anyone else saw what I saw. But they didn't. They all stayed coloring as happy as ever. I turned to the man. I wasn't frightened any more.
He reached out a hand to me and he seemed at peace. At once, he glided near me. Then he was so close to me that I could reach out my hand to him too.
I reached out my hand. The air in front of me was thick where he was. Suddenly he started to glow. As he glowed brighter and brighter, he slowly forced himself through me. It was an odd, prickly feeling at first and it slowly numbed as his hand seeped through me and then his arm and so on . . .
Looking back you would see a little girl and wonder why she didn't scream when a spirit was forcing himself into her . . . I didn't. He was calm. When he was done, I felt lighter, happier and satisfied.
Later when I had recounted my story, Mother seemed delighted. She brought out her mirror, ornate and golden. She told me to put my hand to it. Now she was excited.
Slowly I brought my hand to the mirror, and then lightly, slowly I touched it. All at once a sharp pain ripped through me. I was peaceful no more. My body convulsed as I felt the man's eerie glow forced out of me and into the mirror. Finally when it was over, I felt myself slump to the floor . . . exhausted . . .
Mother caressed her Mirror. The last thing I saw before I passed out was Mother's curled malevolent smile looking into the man's soul. She was pleased now that I had proven my worth . . .
Mother had always expected souls since then. Every time she took them from me the pain had dulled away and no longer was as sharp or gripping. It seemed with every soul token from me, I became more and more numb. Only when I had found an exceptionally amiable soul did it hurt like hell was being opened through my body. Like I was ripped to shreds.
I looked ahead to see Bausch ahead of me, still walking, yet slower this time.
I looked up at the sky. It was dark and it had begun to get chilly. Mother would probably be home in an hour or so . . . I grew weary and worry filled me. I wondered when and where we'd stop. And if I could really trust this haggard looking man to protect me from Mother. . . I stopped.
"Bausch?" He stopped and turned to face me. He looked tired.
"Jenna . . .”
"Um . . . How exactly will my power help destroy Mother. . . " The words seemed to drip off of my mouth. Yes . . . How . . .?
"Jenna . . . Mother has no soul." I thought about this for a minute. This was no surprise to me. She seemed to have already sold it.
"OK . . . But that doesn't explain how . . ." Bausch suddenly looked ages older than he had earlier. He looked frightened. He looked down at the ripped and worn paper in his hands. The blue scrawl of Mrs. Mère seemed to light the paper. He slowly drew his gaze away and took a deep breath. He looked me straight in the eye.
"Jenna, you are Mother's soul . . ."
 Madame Joli Rouge · Wed Dec 16, 2009 @ 02:34pm · 0 Comments |
