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Malcolm sat on his bench dressed in thick warm clothing, drinking a cup of hot tea, listening to music in his ear buds. Peace, no stress, no hallucination, just peace of mind.
He sipped his tea, when he noticed a glowing string out on the fire escape. Malcolm's eyes followed it up to his lap, he picked it up and tugged on it, feeling it loosely around his neck.
It tugged back, and he was encircled in warmth. Something he usually felt when Tala showed her face.
?Go,' a hush voice said, ?Momma, wait for you at the tree.'
Malcolm could only nod, enchanted as he climbed out the window into the chilly air. He heard so many voices telling him to move, ?It's an adventure. Don't shy away now,' a woman said.
?Breath, young one,' A man said, ?You fear not what is in you.'
?Your destiny awaits, kid.' and ?You belong there, with all of us.'
Malcolm came upon a cemetery, in the field area a long way from home. Right next to it was a large church-like building. Memorized, he wandered the perimeter of the cemetery and found an opening large enough for him to pass through. ?Your almost there. Good job,' a male deep voice called.
He squeezed through, and fell into the dirt. ?Follow the string, she waited patiently.' Following it through, passing stones finding himself at the end of the string. It tied to a branch on the weeping willow tree.
He tugged on it and it faded away. Malcolm huffed ?Damn episodes,? He said looking around.
?Welcome,' Tala spoke to him, ?this is the start.' He looked up and let out a cry seeing the beautiful woman hanging there, dead as a door knob. Her body spun facing him, eyes opened to look at him, she slowly lifted her arm in his direction. ?Bend time and space, fill in the blankets, of past present and feature. Let us see what isn't known, break these earthly chains. Let us see the beginning.'
There his vision blurred and he fell over. He wheezed as he found himself in a crowd of white dirty men. A young woman was dragged up to the disgusting fish barrel. The crown men shouting curses at the young woman. She was covered in dirt and ash, two braided pulls apart and a mess. A ripped up blue dress, and a man threw her against the barrel. Her hands were tied back with rusted shackles.
?Hey!? Malcolm shouted at the man but he didn't even flinch at his voice.
?Filthy witch,? the man slurred. Malcolm strutted up, waved his hand in the guy's face next to him. Nothing. Was I dreaming?...
She pushed herself to her feet, and a young boy fixed the barrel up right. People all looked like a puritian or a pilgrim from Malcolm history books. The boy's hands were shaking but he held a frown, stone cold face towards the woman.
She was helped up onto the barrel by the stone cold boy. She growled at men who touched her. Her face was angry. An older man dressed as an old timey priest walked out of the crowd with a bit of a limp.
?Emily Smith,? he said with a heavy heart, ?you have been found guilty of witchcraft. You have tampered with Rebeckah memories to not remember her attacker and it's stated that you have come to Rebekah and her sister in spirit to take their soul, and by an anonymous court,? the older man said, ?You have been sentenced to hang for your crimes. Do you wish to confess to being a witch and end this evil??
She cleared her throat, stood tall and proudly said a loud voice, ? I am not an evil witch. I am Tala Proxila. I am innocent. I never had blood on my hand.?
The crowd went wild in shouts that she should hang. She cleared her throat as a man placed the noose around her neck, and the man tightened it with a glare.
No way...this can be happening, Malcolm thought.
?May I see all, in the inferno gates, suffered as I, and that demon I was forced to wed,? she seethed glaring at a man with black hair, ?I will watch everything you love, blackens like you, and let it rot. This whole town knows of your horrid crimes you have committed,? she said glaring at a man. Malcolm looked back at them man. He held a devilish smirk on his lips, the man from the painting.
?In the name of the son, the father and the holy ghost, may this wicked witch be sent to the inferno gates,? he said, making a cross, and folding his hand into a prayer, ?Amen,? he said and the crowd repeated and fell into angry shouts once more.
Tala looked towards the nervous boy who was about to kick her barrel out from under her. She smiled down at him, he looked no older than Malcolm.
?Son, you don't have to worry, I'll do it myself,? She jumped forward and kicked the barrel behind her.
?No!? Malcolm shouted instinctively, reaching out for her. The crowd roared in cheers and shouted over her gasps as she slowly began to suffocate. Malcolm couldn't breath, he reached up and felt the rope around his neck. He saw the crowd cheering for his death below, as he hung.
He gasped as he awoke laying at the base of the tree. He laughed harshly grabbing his neck, he felt the burns on his skin from the rope.
He sobbed, ?I'm dreaming...I'm dreaming,? He repeated to himself. He felt something move, Tala sat in front of him with a soft smile, ?Breath Malcolm,' she told him.
Tears fell from his face, as he took deep breaths, whipping them, ?You're showing me this...Why?? he pleaded. She reached up and ran a hand through his hair, so warm and tender, motherly. She said nothing as her lips moved, speaking in silence.
?I can't hear you,? Malcolm cried, and laid his head down. He cried quietly beside her, as she rubbed his Back lightly. He fell asleep under the tree, cold and sad.
Trigger warning: blood, self-harm, violence, slight sexual content
Crimson blood webbed out like tree roots down the porcelain sink. Lydia observed the blood with cool detachment as it dripped from her left wrist, which was slit by the pen knife clutched in her right hand. The blood evaporated within seconds, and she barely felt the pain. It was nothing in comparison to the ache from the absence of her fifteen year old son Nathan.
Lydia gazed into the mirror of the tiny washroom. Her grey eyes, underlined with wrinkles, were vacant with exhaustion and there was a sickly yellow undertone to her clammy skin. Today was the fourth day of her son's disappearance, and she was determined to find his whereabouts.
On the first day that Nathan went missing, Lydia called the school principal frantically. ?Has anyone seen Nathan Thompson? He never came home today.?
Principal Khan, an elegant woman who looked more like a princess than a principal with her thick eyeliner and voluminous black hair, responded in confusion: ?Nathan Thompson? I don't believe we have any students with that name.?
Lydia's voice increased in pitch. ?What do you mean? He was in grade 7. He's been attending your school for the past two years.?
?I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't know of a Nathan.? The principal's tone was sympathetic, but firm, indicating the conversation would go no further.
After wasting her breath trying to convince Principal Khan to care about her missing son, Lydia reported the case to the police. Inspector Claire O'Malley, a tall black policewoman, arrived at Nathan's school the next day and interrogated the students and teachers. They all shook their heads, claiming ignorance of the existence of her son. Just thinking about it made Lydia want to wring someone's neck.
When Nathan didn't return home, Lydia waited three days for the police to do something. She realized with a sinking heart that the police seemed content to put up Missing Person posters and then forget about her little boy. After the first day, Inspector O'Malley and Principal Khan stopped taking her phone calls. Nathan's large blue eyes haunted Lydia's nightmares. In her dreams, he reached out to her with wiry arms and wailed at her, screaming ?Mama! Mama!?
Lydia decided to take over the investigation herself. Today, she entered Nathan's room and rifled through his laptop and diaries. In the diaries she found angsty poetry, journal entries and dark drawings of a child alone in a corner. There was one name scrawled all over the last page of his diary: Phillip.
Now, Lydia picked up a tube of dry, red lipstick and pressed it over her papery lips. She coated her eyelashes with mascara and her sun-spotted skin with expired foundation. She ran her fingers through her wiry dirty-blonde hair, threw on a pair of black leather pants and a white shirt, and left the house.
Twenty minutes later, the boom of the electronic music vibrated in Lydia's ears as she approached the club. Scantily clad women and men in tight shirts peered at her from the line-up. Lydia passed the line and strode directly up to the bouncer. The bald Middle Eastern man, built like a brick house, sneered down at her. ?Aren't you a bit old for this joint, love??
She leaned in, close enough to bite his ear, and whispered, ?Would your wife want to know about your escapades with Anita over the last two weeks??
His superiority morphed into a wide-eyed look of shock. ?What the f***, lady. You stalking me??
She smiled sweetly. ?I won't say a word if you let me in. But I bet your wife would especially be interested in the new gymnastic moves Anita was showing you yesterday.?
The man's nostrils flared and he balled up his fists. She froze, expecting a punch to the face. Then his shoulders slumped and he pushed open the door behind him. He muttered to her as she passed, ?If you say anything to my wife I'll find you and kill you.? A shudder ran down Lydia's back, but she pursed her lips and nodded as she swept past him.
As soon as she entered the tightly packed room, Lydia rammed into a body slicked with sweat, leaving a dewy stain on her arm. She jumped back and was instantly swallowed into a throng of humans writhing and bending to deep house beats.
Pushing her way into a relatively empty corner, she saw a handsome server dressed only in black pants and suspenders marching through the crowd with a tray held high in the air. She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down to her height. ?Hey, where's the VIP room??
His gaze swept over her imperiously. ?The VIP room is hidden. It's only for special members. You don't look VIP, lady.?
?Well, you don't look like you've been embezzling cash from your place of work either, but here we are.? Bits of her scratchy voice were overpowered by the pounding of the music, but he heard enough. His face turned ashy grey and he gulped.
?The VIP room is in the back.?
He escorted her to a huge gold-emblazoned door, then faded back into the masses. A thick wave of exhilaration and anticipation hit Lydia. After four days of hunting, maybe this was finally the end of the journey. Her lips trembled, contemplating that she might get an answer she didn't want to hear. But at least it would be an answer. She gritted her jaw and pushed the door open.
She blinked as she entered, shielding her eyes from the onslaught of red shades that painted the walls and furniture of the room. Even the light that shone down from the ceiling was red. Teenagers in various levels of undress were wrapped up in each other in corners, on the floor, and on the countertops.
Lydia searched the room until she saw the boy she was looking for, naked from the waist up and making out with a blonde teenager in a silver dress. She'd searched his photo on Facebook before coming here. She trotted up to him and yanked him back from his embrace. His companion, floppy with booze, grumbled and left.
?Phillip, where is Nathan?? At 5'7, she towered over him. Golden flecks glowed in her grey eyes as she glared at him.
The boy stared at the floor, jumpy, afraid and drunk. He was shorter than her, built like a linebacker, but with the bravery of a lost puppy. ?How'd you know my name? I don't know a Nathan.?
She slipped her hand in her pocket and whipped something out. Calmly, she put her pen knife, gleaming in the red light, against his exposed throat. He froze. She came up so close to his face she could smell the alcohol on his breath. ?You know who he is. Tell me.?
His eyes shifted from side to side. ?Umm.. I really don't know who you're talking about.?
She pushed the knife in and it pierced his throat. A few drops of blood dribbled out. ?Tell me where he is or I'll cut your throat right now. You don't want to try me.?
His eyes filled with stark fear. ?Okay, okay! I guess I've seen him around here a few times. He was this tiny fellow, built like a baby deer. He told me we went to the same school, but I had no idea who he was.?
Tears sparked in Lydia's eyes. Her sweet, antisocial boy, invisible to everyone but her. He didn't even attend school enough to be registered as a student.
She shook Phillip's shoulders. ?So how did he end up missing??
Guilt sprawled over his chubby face. ?I? I don't know??
?Tell me or I'll send proof to your dad of all the drug deals you've been doing. I don't want him to start hitting you again, but I'll do what I need to do.?
Phillip's face washed pale white. ?How do you know all these things about me?!?
After a few seconds' pause, he said under his breath, ?Nathan and I met two Fridays ago. The first Friday, we just chatted and drank, then went home. The second Friday, we ended up lying on the couch together. I'm not usually into guys, but he intrigued me. We drank tequila and smoked some weed.? His voice rose. ?Then he suddenly moved in and kissed me, right on the mouth.?
He gulped, his Adams apple obscenely bobbing. ?I lost my shit. I was scared that everyone would think I'm gay. It's a blur now, but my friends said I threw him to the ground and kicked him in the face, the ribs, the nuts. He lost consciousness? and then apparently he stopped breathing.? He shrugged. ?Maybe he was asthmatic or something.?
Lydia's voice was tight. ?What did you do with his body??
?Me and some of my buddies buried it behind this club. We figured no one knew who he was, so no one would miss him.?
The golden orbs in Lydia's eyes seemed to expand and emanate bright light. ?He wasn't asthmatic, you entitled asshole.? she hissed through gritted teeth. ?You killed him. You killed my baby because he reached out to you. You were the only one he ever connected with. He didn't even have a mother.?
Lydia grasped his neck with power that surpassed a woman her age and stature. She squeezed his throat as she slid him up the wall. Dangling above her, Phillip thrashed his legs and squeaked, ?Let me go! Help me!?
The other teenagers decoupled from their partners to rush to Phillip's side. Their hands yanked at Lydia's shoulders and waist, but she felt no more than a feather's touch. She remained in position, face trembling, eyes fixed on Phillip. One of the teenagers dialed security and begged for help.
At the sound of the security call, Lydia startled out of her rage. She opened her fist and let Phillip crumple to the floor in a heap. She sent a single text on her phone, and disappeared.
A few moments later, two security guards burst through the door. The first one, a lean but muscular man, crouched and checked Phillip's pulse. ?He's breathing, just unconscious,? he barked. ?Call an ambulance.?
Constable O'Malley marched in. She took in the scene of Phillip sprawled on the floor surrounded by eight teenagers and two security guards. ?What the hell happened here? I received an anonymous text to come here.?
The lean security guard grimaced. ?These teens were partying in this secret room. We'll have to report them. They told us a lady came in asking about some kid named Nathan who's gone missing. She almost strangled Phillip, then vanished.?
Realization dawned on the constable's face. ?Oh, we received an anonymous call about this Nathan boy a few days ago. We're still trying to find out what happened to him. To be fair, I haven't looked very hard, since there's no pressure from above to find him.?
?I see. Maybe that was his mom who waltzed in here trying to get some answers??
The constable shook her head. ?Nah, his mom died five years ago of lung cancer. Poor Nathan lived in a homeless shelter for teens. He's an orphan.?
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