Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series (2 page)

  
Disgusting. Just pass me the cornbread and hold on the pig snout please.

   As of now, I am not the slightest bit hungry. It could be my oh so stabilized emotional state of grief. Or it could be as simple as being linked to a possible eating of about thirty minutes ago. I have no way knowing for sure. Fragmented memories. Gotta love those.

   By the night's end, Martha coaches me into eating some potato soup. I guess pig snout will be served tomorrow evening. After the soup, she gives me some clean clothes to wear after my shower. I recall at one point wanting to slap her and yell, 'Enough! How much Mary Poppins can anyone possibly be?!' But I didn't.

   I did, however, linger in the bathroom's full-length mirror for a bit. I have to admit this body will grow into a very beautiful woman soon. I was actually quite impressed with the visual delights within my eye's view.

   Long, wavy, black raven-like hair. Natural red streaks on the port and starboard sides – just outside of her bang-line directly hanging in front of these small elfish ears. Really cute. And there are lips which are to die for. They are even fuller than Martha's own.

   The nose is somewhat to be desired. But noses are overrated anyway. And the curves on this body are delicious. They definitely are hard to ignore. But curves are below the face; therefore, curves do nothing to counter this nose.

   These dark emerald-looking eyes, on the other hand, most definitely counter this slight nose issue. And whenever the light is dimmed just right, there is an illusion this girl is some kind of mystical supernatural creature. Kind of spooky, yet mesmerizing at the same time. The swelling underneath these gorgeous eyes I have chalked off as the results of seemingly endless tears before my arrival.     

   I, also, noticed something odd last night while in the bathroom. It was right after Martha explained how horrible this must be for a sixteen-year-old. Something which is going on internally and I am unsure of its nature. I have never experienced such a thing as this before.

   To begin with, as I stood examining myself in the mirror, I had a subtle urge to play with the merchandise, so to speak. Not that there's anything wrong with this, but rather it is wrong for me to do this. It's not my body. I have no right to travel such roads. Sex is off limits as far as I am concerned. It always has been.

   Not only do I never consider such things, but I could never imagine such a moment within a sixteen-year-old body. This takes disgusting to a whole new level from my perspective. After all, this body is much younger than my existence suggests that I am.

   Nevertheless, the more I tried to examine myself in a doctor-like fashion, the more intense this desire became. It was deeply disturbing. Let's just say that my shower leaned heavily on the colder side of things. If this was the only oddity, it would still be more than I have experienced before. Unfortunately, it was only the precursor to the confusing state in which I have found myself. And for me, that's saying a lot.

   This body grieves, but I have been completely blocked out in the area of her grief. I am one-hundred percent clueless. Usually, within one sleep-cycle I have gathered enough information from the brain's memory association to defragment most of the shattered memories. But not this time. So far, I have only been able to catch something of a childhood with a woman who I have perceived as Julia's mother. These childhood memories are cherished by Julia, but they have an undertone of pain and regret associated to them as well.  I have come to suspect she must have died when Julia was around seven or eight years old. But I cannot be certain about this either.

   I did gather that Julia's father raised her until just recently. He is an alcoholic. I have found no memories where Julia ever felt threatened or abused by him. But this holds no meaning or value as far as I am concerned - for I cannot trust even these memories to be complete within their linkage to one another.

   With the previous noted, I have the sense that her father is still alive. It seems Julia just became sick of it all. Whatever 'it' truly is. And between her choice to leave then, and her current state of now, there is a big blank of time. There is nothing, but grief and blackness where memories should be.

   Although I am always faced with this sort of puzzle, this is different. Julia is different. Her memories are there. I sense them. But she prevents me from seeing them. Yet, I do not feel her consciousness.

   I am at a loss for explaining the oddities of both the mirror situation and the memory blockages akin to being placed on a no-fly list. They make no real sense to me. And while I do not believe Julia consciously did these things, I cannot rule out the possibility.

   But these events do not concern me as greatly as this next one. In this, I am extremely concerned. It is in the area of my own memory. That is, there is a period last night in which I know Julia was physically awake. But I, myself, have no memory for a brief period – a period in which I should have a memory. I never left this body.

   I have in times past left one body for another and come back again. But I'm very aware of this and lose no sense of time within my own memories. Never, in all of my existence, have I been pushed into a memory blackout while present in a body which is not sleeping. This above all else has me a little more than nervous.

   Maybe, this is a sign on how I cease to be. A series of short-circuits outside of the norm to say, 'good-bye'. I just don't know. And not knowing is where real fear roams. Hopefully, there is some other explanation. I'm not sure if I am ready to die. I think I like living more, even with this messed up existence in which I have been dealt.

   Less than twenty-four hours and I am beginning to feel that moment of blankness coming upon me for the second time. It is disturbing to say the least. I feel a dark cold clamping around my entire being as I sit on this bed within Julia's body. It is suffocating – tightly wound all around me. I’m not too proud to say I am scared. I have no way to combat something in which I am so unfamiliar.

   I will have to try to figure this out in the moments in which I do have lucid control. If I am lucky, I may actually help this girl – along with myself – in the process of going all Sherlock Holmes. If I am not lucky, we both may lose our lives. I just don't know what to expect. I don't know anything about these oddities, whatsoever. And this is where real fear roams – when you don't know.

knock. knock.

   Julianna Cora Atwood jerks in response to the sounds bleeding through the oak wood door separating her bedroom from the hall of mazes outside. The teenager is taken back by the large Victorian mansion. She cannot recall this place being so large whenever she visited her grandmother as a child. But then again, she barely remembers anything from so long ago – a lifetime ago.

   Nevertheless, the grief stricken girl is glad to be pulled from her strange trance-like mood as of late. Sure, she is super sad. But it doesn't seem completely natural. Then again, it's not like Julia's an expert on the subject either. The last time she really had to deal with this crushing feeling, her mother, Theresa, had been cruelly stolen away from her.

  
'A victim of ovarian cancer'
, they said.

   A child stripped away from her mother at this age is nearly too much to handle. The brain's ability to process this kind of information has not fully matured. And not only did Julia lose one parent that day, she lost two. Her father would pick up a drink and never put it back down. He was a good father; whenever, his mind wasn't floating in the sauce. But that was a rare occasion.

   Julia became her own mother in a weird sense. She learned to clean clothes, do dishes, and cook meals for both her dad and herself.

  
'A childhood robbed'
, they'd say.

   But
they
never lifted a single finger to help things change for the better.
They
were filled with worthless, empty, and useless words.

knock. knock.

   “Julia,” Martha's voice softly calls from the other side of the door. “Are you decent, dear?”

   Julianna puts on the pink bathrobe her grandmother gave her last night, “Yes, grams.” She numbly watches the L-shape golden handle turn before her grandmother gently pushes open the bedroom door.

   Martha Dermott, gingerly, steps inside of the spatial room – a room in which Martha has become quite fond of. It is visually comforting to behold and is capable of bringing peace to a troubled soul. It is the perfect place for her granddaughter to close her eyes at night.

   The pale-yellow curtains trimmed with white-lace fringe allow just the right touch of light to enter with the sunrise each morning. The resulting glowing effect from the eastern windows could almost be passed off as an unseen angel floating through the air. Today, however, the morning glow seems to be accenting her granddaughter sitting on the bed in front of her. It is almost as if this unseen angel is trying to wrap its loving hands around her grieving daughter.

   The red-oak cabaret against the southern wall pays a great compliment to the gorgeous vanity mirror and chest of drawers next to it. Their high gloss finish serves to help with the feeding of the sun's glowing delight. And the vanity mirror itself faces the end of the queen-size bed with its lavender canopy overhangs. It seems Julia must have decided to tie the canopy to its bedposts. But when the canopy freely hangs, it is fitting for a princess' sleeping chamber. Not creepy like Ebeneezer Scrooge creepy, but heavenly, like royalty heavenly. If Martha could think of only one person to embody the presence of this room, it would always be her granddaughter, Julia.

   “You're staring grams,” the teenager displaying a heavy dose of bed-head complains.

   Martha smiles and tilts her head slightly to the left, “Yes, I reckon I am. You look a lot like her. Only, you are so much more beautiful.” The older woman points her left hand towards a spot on the bed next to Julia's right side, “Do you mind?”

   The mentally exhausted girl briefly glances at the spot. She subtly moves her head to give her grams permission to take her seat. A loving arm tenderly wraps around her and pulls her close. Julianna lays her head on her grandmother's shoulder as Martha's cheek rests upon the top of her lilac scented hair.

   Martha sighs, “Such young eyes to behold so much pain.”

   The two sit in silence for a while. Julianna, finally, lifts her head to meet her grandmother's patient eyes, “Grams, I'm so lost. I don't even feel like myself anymore.”

  Julia's eyes fill with tears and her lips begin trembling. Martha's eyes water to match the pain within her granddaughter's gaze of hopelessness. The concerning woman places her hands on Julia's cheeks in a cupping fashion, “Oh baby, I know it hurts.” Martha's thumbs make a small attempt at wiping away the steady stream of tears racing down her granddaughter's face, “We're going to do this together. You're not alone. I promise.”

   The sobbing teen nods halfheartedly, “I - I  don't know what to do.”

  
sniffle.

   “I d-didn't mean...”

  
sniffle.

   “Shh...”, Martha quietly interjects, “Everything is going to work itself out. We don't have to figure out how to move planets today. I promise.”

   The woman glances over to the dresser and spots a box of tissues, “Excuse your grams for just one second.”

   Martha makes her way to the dresser and back again with box in hand. Pulling a few tissues out for herself, she hands the box to the messy girl, “Here's some tear catchers.”

   “Thanks.”

  
sniffle.

   The girl pulls out some tissues and blows her nose. She folds them up and shifts them to her left hand.

   Martha reclaims the spot on the bed reserved for her by Julia, “Let me see those wonderful green eyes.”

   Julianna looks into the comforting ocean of her grandmother's deep blue eyes.

   “I love you grams,” Julia gives a pout of sadness instead of the direct reflection of despair she has been sporting lately, “I've missed you.”

   Martha lovingly pushes Julia's hair over her right ear, “There she is.” The woman leans in and kisses her granddaughter's forehead. Placing both of her hands on Julianna's arms below the shoulder-line, the red hair woman examines the lovely creature in her view, “You inspire me child.”

   Julianna's eyes drift downward as though she may find real truth upon the bed's quilted comforter. Martha's right hand instinctively nudges the teenager's chin upward, “Look at your grams, Julia.”

   The girl, reluctantly, looks into her grandmother's eyes. The older woman nods in approval, “That's better.”

   Martha continues, “You
do
inspire me. You have so much strength within you. And you have proven this as a very young lady. Most girls in your same situation would have been committed already. Or they would be life-long drug addicts in the making. Between what you've overcome with your mother and your father, I am deeply impressed with the way you, yourself, have chosen to turn out.”

   Julia not ready for the champion speech decides to stop it, “Grams...”

   “Don't interrupt your grandmother. I'm on a roll here,” the woman quickly parries. Julianna forces a small grin and decides it might be better to allow her grandmother to get it out of her system.

   Martha takes a deeper than normal breath and exhales. She smiles and contemplates whether or not this would be the right time to tell her granddaughter everything. She reasons the timing is too soon, but that the clock nears its bell.