Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series (19 page)

   “Seriously, I need some clothes. But I need some other stuff, too. I'll meet you at the park down from your house at six in the morning,” Tamara clarifies.

   “Six in the morning? What about your parents? And school?”, Jennifer questions.

   “Tell Rebecca I need her to call in and act like my mom again. I need you to write all of the stuff down I'm going to need. And I'll take care of mom and dad,” Tamara explains.

   The tired girl gives Jennifer a list of things to pick up. She hangs up and dials her parent's house. After they hear her voice, they calm down and have no care about her coming home. She is eighteen and they know if she doesn't want to come home, she won't. Their only standing rule is a phone call to eliminate any parental fears. Tamara ends the call after an exchange of
'I love yous'
and tosses the phone on the passenger-side seat.

   The girl glances to the house and then down to the ignition on her steering column. The car's keys hang invitingly. She looks back towards the house and lets out an exaggerated breath.

  
Tamara, what are you doing?

   The senior gets out, closes the door, walks to the porch, and steps up the four creaky stairs. Tamara takes a deep breath and opens the screen door before stepping inside of the house. She makes the quick left into the living room from the small hallway. She stops.

  
Where did you go?

   Tamara follows the disgusting smell-trail of smeared blood, urine, and feces. The stench path leads into the room on the right. She walks into the kitchen and sees the path leading into another room on the left.

  
Bathroom. Too bad you didn't ask before you made this mess.

   She steps around the mess and peers inside.

  
Damn.

   The eighteen-year-old girl with matted black hair moans while she attempts to turn the tub's water into the on position. Her shaky left hand falls off of the star-shaped silver knob. A defeated whimper follows. She lies her head on the tub’s side and passes back out with tears streaming down her face. Tamara, herself, can feel the stinging sensation of water within her own eyes.

  
Oh, hell no. No one makes me cry, bitch.

   The taller girl notices a stack of bath towels stacked neatly upon a wire-grate shelf attached to the wall to her left. She uses her long legs to straddle the mess and reaches for the towels. She sits the entire stack on the bathroom sink below the shelf and grabs the two top ones. Tamara unfolds them and spreads them out in an overlapping fashion over the grueling mess.

  
Now what, Tamara? Got any bright ideas?

   She looks at the girl slumped over the bathtub.

   “How about you?”, she questions quietly, “No? Didn't think so.”

  
Perfect.

   Tamara looks at her bloody clothes. She glances into the mirror hanging over the sink. Blood is matted into her shoulder-length hair. And her face is streaked with red from wiping at the sweat during each physical bout. She rolls her eyes and begins stripping off her clothes.

   The cheerleader watches the other girl breathe like a rabbit in quick short bursts. She pops the clasp on her 34-b sized white bra and drops it onto the pile of clothes which is now garbage. Tamara slips off her matching panties and points at the unconscious girl.

   “You tell anybody about this and I'll make you eat it next time,” she quietly threatens.

   The fighter softly walks and maneuvers herself over the girl.

  
Squeak. Squeak.

   Tamara turns both water knobs on. She adjusts each one until the water is lukewarm. She finds the tub's plug and seats it into place. Stepping back with both hands on her hips, the cheerleader continues her one-sided conversation.

   “You're lucky my mom's a surgeon. I like my showers hot. But that's a bad idea for you. Come on.”

   The strong girl cradles and lifts the eighteen-year-old. Her unconscious head falls against Tamara's chest. She grunts as lucidity begins arousing her from her slumber.

   Tamara kneels and gently places the messy girl into the water. When her body touches the water, she whimpers.

   “Shh...”, Tamara comforts. The cheerleader looks at the discolored water and gags with the combining smell of odor.

   “We both are going to have to do this a couple of times.”

   She gently props the girl's head up on the back of the tub, “Forgot something. Be right back.”

   Tamara leaves the bathroom and quickly returns. She kneels by the tub,

   “At least your kitchen isn't empty.”

   Placing a pan underneath the streaming water, Tamara gently pours water over the girl's body each time it fills up.

   “Ahh!”, the beaten girl screams out and begins sobbing.

   “Oops sorry,” Tamara cringes. She forgot about how deep she had stuck her fingers into the gashes across the girl's chest.

   “Yeah,” Tamara confirms as the water begins clearing away the old blood, “Those are pretty bad. We’re gonna need butterfly band-aids. ”

   The eighteen-year-old works to wash and rinse the soiled female. She leaves her in the bathtub while she fills the pot, drains out the water, rinses the tub with the pot's water, and then starts over with a fresh tub of lukewarm water.

   Tamara sponge bathes herself on the bathroom's floor so she won't recontaminate the broken girl's tattered body. She, then, gently washes the girl with a soapy washcloth found where the towels were. The cheerleader cringes, grits her teeth, and bites on her lower lip every time the torn girl screams out, whimpers, or sobs within her agony.

   When she is satisfied the girl is completely bathed, Tamara double-checks herself for cleanliness before she cradles and lifts the girl out of the tub. The girl with dark hair yells out nearly causing Tamara to drop her. She notices the wounds on the girl's chest are beginning to drip fresh blood.

  
Damn. One thing at a time, Tamara.

   She begins walking towards the girl's bedroom she seen earlier from the kitchen. After she passes through the tiny kitchen, across the hall, and into the bedroom, Tamara accidentally swings the girl's feet against the door frame. The jarring causes the other girl to open her eyes long enough to see Tamara holding her own breath and gritting her teeth. The girl with long hair attempts a smile, but her face hurts too much. She places her hands around Tamara's neck and puts her head against the tall girl's chest.

   “You're such a softy,” the teen struggles to whisper. She passes back out. Tamara pulls her closer so her limp body won't fall away.

   The cheerleader gently lays the girl on her bed and pulls a sheet over her naked body. She quietly answers the girl's last statement.

   “If you tell anybody, I'll make you eat it next time,” she teases.

   The girl opens her eyes. The bright light causes her to squint. The subtle action sends sharp pains coursing through her cheeks.

   “Ow,” the girl moves her mouth in silence. Her dry throat prevents her from wanting to make any sound. The motion of the silent word sends fiery pulses through her jaw. She licks her swollen lips. Needles of pain fire off where her tongue touches.

   Her green eyes adjust to the room's sunlight. A shadow sits in the corner of the room to the left of the girl's feet. The girl of the house smiles through her pain. The shadowy figure has a blanket pulled over its outstretched long legs. The blanket covers around the figure's neck as it sleeps. The shadowy figure shifts with movement. The girl's heart races in response. Her sudden rush of paralyzing fear makes her giggle.

   Tamara startles awake. She immediately looks at the girl on the bed to check her status. She sees a grin on the girl's face. It is not taunting or playful. It reflects amusement.

   “I see somebody's feeling better,” Tamara says quietly.

   “Not really,” the girl struggles to speak, “I didn't mean to wake you.”

   Tamara removes the blanket and carries over a water bottle she had underneath the blanket. She opens it and offers it to the girl. She watches while the girl winces and takes short quick breaths as she sits up.

   “Thank you,” the girl says in between her sips.

   “So what's up with the late-morning giggles?”, Tamara inquires, “I thought you might still need to cry and pass out.”

   The girl smiles with affection, “
Really
, Tamara. Thank you.”

   Tamara rolls her eyes, “You have got to stop doing that.”

   The tall blond notices the girl's disappointment, “Well, just don't be surprised if I throw you around a bit if you decide to keep doing it.”

   The girl's eyes seem to sparkle with the news – green eyes of fulfillment and complete satisfaction. Tamara rather enjoys the way the girl looks so fondly at her.

  
Hmm. Who knew?

   “You gonna keep me in the dark?”, Tamara asks with genuine interest, “Why were you laughing?”

   “Okay,” the girl agrees. She struggles against her swollen lips, “I was watching you sleep. Then you moved and I almost peed on myself.” She pauses before continuing with the truth, “For real. I was terrified.”

   Tamara sees amusement within the girl's stare. She arches her left brow curiously,

   “And
that
is why you were giggling?”

   The girl nods with signs of embarrassment and shame. She looks down. Tamara sits down by her sheet-covered legs. The cheerleader shrugs her shoulders,

   “If you enjoy it – you enjoy it.”

   The girl raises her eyes to meet Tamara's inviting gaze. Tamara smiles.

   “Besides, I most definitely enjoyed beating your ass.”

   “Thank you for not judging me,” the girl responds while looking away.

   “Judge you for what?”, Tamara questions, “Being yourself?”

   She looks back at the cheerleader. A small smile of appreciation crosses her sore mouth. Tamara's brows narrow. Her voice becomes serious.

   “I do have one problem with this. I can't let it go. And if you don't tell me, I'm going to skip the part where you get time to heal.” Tamara makes sure the girl understands the seriousness of her threat, “I'll go straight to the part where you always scream and never are able to enjoy one moment of your fear. No more giggles.”

   The girl nervously nods. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

   Tamara stares coldly, “What is your name?”

   The girl grins as Tamara smiles.

   “Mandie with an i-e,” she answers the fearsome female fighter.

   “Well, Mandie with an i-e, I have two things to say,” Tamara informs. “First, thanks for the food. I found your note. You're quite the cook. I was impressed.”

   “You're welcome,” Mandie whispers fondly. Her tone is not lost on the cheerleader.

   “Secondly, Mandie with an i-e,” Tamara's tone drops to a whisper, “Tell me why I now want to spend my day with you?”

   “For the same reasons that I want you to,” Mandie's green eyes adores the girl sitting on her bed.

   Tamara leans in to meet Mandie's wanting gaze. She gently brushes her thin lips against Mandie's open mouth. The dark hair beauty gasps from the shocking fire within her bruised and cut lips. Tamara's long tongue separates her parted lips. Mandie eagerly returns the same treatment. Both girls lose themselves within the moment of their emotional connection. Then seemingly out of nowhere, Tamara abruptly pulls away. Mandie sits inside the limbo of puzzlement left behind by the cheerleader's sudden departure.

   Tamara looks into Mandie's confused eyes. “I like boys,” she says breathlessly.

   Mandie cocks her head to the right. She lowers the sheet down to her waistline.

   “As much as you like doing this?”, the proud Mandie illustrates the carvings on her body by tracing them lovingly with her fingertips.

   Tamara's left hand is gently tugged on by Mandie. The girl places Tamara's fingers on the gashes and helps her to trace her own words.

   Mandie softly pleas, “Will you do two things for me before you say that again?”

   Tamara nods, “Yeah. I suppose I owe you that much.”

   Mandie covers herself up with the blood-stained sheet. She moans as she swings her feet from behind Tamara and onto the floor. Her legs tremble weakly while she stands.

   “What are you doing?”, Tamara questions.

   “Two things. You gave me your word,” Mandie holds two fingers up from outside of the cloaked sheet.

   Tamara follows the girl outside. She walks around the house and into the backyard. A cellar door is locked about twenty feet from the house. Mandie grunts as she kneels down to work the combination belonging to the Master padlock.

   “Got it,” Mandie tosses the lock on the ground.

   The cheerleader jumps in to help pull the heavy door back for the struggling girl. Mandie begins walking down the concrete staircase into the darkness below. Tamara follows without a word.

  
Click.

   Light fills the cellar. Tamara's jaw opens in disbelief. A man around forty years old is hanging in an x-formation by his wrists and ankles. He is roughly six-foot three-inches tall and is about two-hundred seventy-five pounds. His chest and belly are extremely hairy.

   His head is strapped against the strange contraption along his forehead. A black ball is shoved into his mouth and is held in place by the leather straps wrapping around his head. The man's large brown eyes silently scream for help – help to escape the mad teenager known as
Mandie EvéMari
.

   Tamara runs to her right and vomits in the corner.

   “It can't be,” the cheerleader begs as she vomits again.

  
click-click.