Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series (31 page)

   A white man stands next to the large two-hundred twenty-five pound man counting his money. He waits patiently for his business partner's nod of approval. In his left hand is a brown leather brief case.

   “Five-thousand on the nose,” the wide man declares. The white man walks forward and hands the case over to the buyer. He steps back as the buyer sits the case on the coffee table, pops the locking mechanisms, and opens the lid.

   “Girl. You know I gotchoo as long as you stay on the up and up with Big Daddy Graves,” the dark man confirms the item's weight and quality while pocketing the money.

   The buyer closes the lid, “Thank you guys.”

   “You sure you don't wanna come hang with some real men for a change?”, the dark man re-invites the buyer to a night out on the town.

   “Can't mix business with pleasure,” the buyer attempts to reject the offer without offending the dangerous men in her hotel room.

   The dark man lustfully unclothes the buyer with his brown eyes. He scans and lingers in places uninvited. The buyer – although very uneasy – refuses to show her fear over the intrusive perversion. She knows better. These guys are the real deal. They take what they want when they want it. Making them angry is not a wise decision.

   “Mmm - mmm,” the dark man audibly confirms his desire. The two men head to the hotel room’s door. The leader speaks as he walks out, “For the record, rich girl, business
is
pleasure.”

   The buyer exhales in relief after the two men close the door behind themselves. They have never hurt her, but she isn't certain they never will. It's in their nature. She looks at the case with her palms sweaty. The item within is worth more than something that may never happen.

   The buyer reopens the lid. She reaches into her purse sitting to her left and pulls out a small fingernail file. She uses it to poke a small incision into the large bag. Her anticipation levels rise as she pulls out the white substance and drops it onto a small mirror already placed upon the coffee table. She licks the fingernail file before returning it to her purse. Her hand returns with a razor blade. She unwraps the blade and impatiently chops the substance into finer pieces.

   The buyer uses her driver's license to form a long white line. Her left hand dives back into her purse and returns with a metal tube. She places her face near the mirror and snorts half of the substance into her left nostril. She immediately repeats the action with her right nostril – finishing the line off.

   Dipping two fingers into a glass of water sitting on the table's top, the buyer snorts the liquid into each nostril simultaneously. She pinches her nose closed, releases, and then snorts fresh air.

   Jennifer Hammond sits back against the sofa. The cocaine absorbs into her bloodstream. She smiles as her jones, finally, leaves.

  
Ring. Ring.

   Caroline glances over to the small antique iron table between the bathtub and toilet in her bathroom. She wipes her hands on the small towel hanging from the single bar attached to the table's front side. She reaches for the table's top side and picks up her smartphone. Her right index finger dances across the screen before she sits it back where she found it.

   “What's up, Becca?”, the teen lies back in her comfort spot within the tub's mix of warm water and bubble bath.

   “I need to ask you something serious,” Rebecca Hindsworth's tone supports the words spoken through the smartphone's speakers. But then again, with Rebecca Hindsworth, everything sounds more serious than it actually is.

   Caroline grins as she covers her eyes with a warm washcloth.

   “Ask away, Becca,” the relaxing teen carelessly waves her green flag for Rebecca's latest wordy vomit.

   “Um,” Rebecca speaks, “It's about Tamara.”

   “Becca, just let it go,” Caroline directs, “We've already been through this.”

   “No. It's not about that,” the captain of the cheer squad clarifies, “It's about - uh...”

   “It's about what, Becca?”, Caroline sounds a little irritated from Rebecca's interruption of her relaxation moment.

   “Uh,” Rebecca struggles to say what is on her mind, “Do you - I mean - uh...I can't
feel
her anymore.”

   “You can't what?”, Caroline attempts to make sense of her bff's ramblings.

   “You know,” Rebecca tries again, “the blood covenant.”

   Caroline sits straight up in her tub. The washcloth on her eyes splashes into the water.

   “Shh! Be quiet about that,” Caroline scolds quietly, “You know better. My mom would totally freak out.”

   “I know the rules. Sorry,” Rebecca lowers her tone, “But I'm serious. I haven't felt her since she left yesterday. Have you?”

   Caroline tilts her head to the right while in contemplation. She shrugs her shoulders.

   “I don't know,” Caroline explains, “I haven't really noticed anything gone. Maybe you're just imagining it.”

   “You don't feel any differences whenever you think about her?”, Rebecca pushes further.

   “Notta,” Caroline answers, “Nothing strange, but your weird phone call.

   “Ha...ha...”, Rebecca states condescendingly.

   Caroline grins.

   “Well if you do notice something different, let me know. It's driving me crazy.”

   “Sure thing, Becca,” Caroline promises.

   “How was the head quack?”

   “Becca, I'm in the tub,” Caroline's tone completes the rest of her thought.

   “Oh. Sorry about that,” Rebecca apologizes once again, “Don't forget to call me if you think of anything. Love ya, bye.”

   “Love you more.” Caroline touches her phone's screen. She runs the soapy washcloth underneath the faucet to rewarm it and to remove any potential stinging to her eyes. The cheerleader lies back, places the washcloth in its rightful place, and attempts an uninterrupted version of her bath time.

   “The princess sleeps,” Tamara quietly whispers. Her left arm cradles Mandie against her chest. The cheerleader's long right hand covers and hides Mandie's smaller left one upon her belly. She gently kisses the dark hair girl on the top of her head.

   “What have you done to me, Mandie with an i-e?”, Tamara whispers with a smile. Her joy, however, doesn't last long as her mind races along the paths leading to Jason, David Snow, and the S.V.C.

   Jennifer Hammond pulls up into her parent's driveway. She activates the auto-feature to the large six-car garage. She waits as the garage door lifts. Her blue BMW finds its designated spot on the row's far right side. The garage door's timer initiates the auto-close function securely locking the door and resetting the alarm.

   Jennifer turns off the Beamer's engine. She pulls the keys out and drops them into her black leather purse. Next to her purse – on the front side passenger's side seat – sits her backpack with the cocaine inside.

   The girl checks her face in the rear view mirror. Her light freckles on and around her nose are hard to see. The area is swollen and red. She looks as if she is stricken with a sinus infection. But in reality, she understands the coke snorting is the culprit. And she knows it won't be long before someone starts questioning her health.

   Jennifer, however, has researched and found a viable solution to her problem. One that is fool proof. And thanks to the internet, she has watched a step by step video enough times that she has the new method well memorized.

   The six-foot two-inch girl teases her short brunette hair with her right hand. She runs a finger just underneath each of her brown eyes to smooth out any makeup discoloring caused from her high sweats. She kisses the air and winks at herself in the small mirror.

   Jennifer opens the driver's side door. She reaches down into the floorboard in front of her purse and picks up a bag containing her feminine hygiene and a box of one-hundred ultra-fine hypodermic needles. She opens her backpack and slips the plastic bag inside. With her backpack and purse shouldered, the senior exits her BMW.

  
Click.

   Jennifer gently closes the door and walks through the adjoining open slot where her dad usually parks. Since Danny's death, he seems to be away on his business trips with greater frequency.

   The girl veers to her right to walk around the front of her mother's Bentley. She keeps to the front side of the row as she walks up to the door leading into her house. Jennifer punches in the security code for her entry. The house's security is kind of a pain, but Jennifer doesn't complain about it too much. Each entry point to a new section of the house is key coded and locked. She has her choice to leave it unlocked by the individual section or the entire house if she so desires. And if she closes the door and ignores the system altogether, then it will automatically reengage the alarm for her.

   She turns the door knob, pushes open the door, and walks inside before closing the door behind her. She scans the kitchen for signs of life, but no one is present. The girl walks through the kitchen area, pushes her way through the double stainless-steel doors, and enters the staging area for parties. At one time in her life, this place was always busy. Her parents usually had somebody coming over who was important for one reason or another. But not anymore. Not since Danny.

   Now this room smells unused. Or at least, this seems to be true through Jennifer's swollen nose. But what does she know? And who really cares anyway? She sure doesn't. Not anymore. Not about this house. And not about school, either.

   All of the garbage at school is a colossal waste of time. Sure, education is cool. It's her way out of this house while retaining all of the comforts of her parent's money. No school – no money. And no way is
that
ever going to happen. But the other stuff has no real meaning. Who cares if Tamara kills that stupid poor girl? If the girl is dumb enough to cross Tamara then she deserves what she gets. On the other hand, Jennifer isn't too keen about the idea of losing her bff to life in jail, either. She'd do anything to keep Tamara safe. But Tamara is stubborn. If she decides to do it no one's stopping her.

   The girl pushes her way through two redwood doors and enters into the grand dining room. Eight dark oak tables sit in their individual rows. Each thirty-foot table has a white cloth draped over their top. The covering, also, serves to hide the matching chairs as though it would be blasphemous if they were to be seen without their respective table. The whole scene seems ghostly and deserted. Just like the rest of this house. Just like her life.

   Jennifer has literally grown up around Rebecca, Caroline, and Tamara. And out of all of her friends, Rebecca is still the one among them who acts like the world is built around her existence. The girl has always been their leader, so to speak. But it's not because she is a wonderful and all-intelligent person. No. It's because the rest of them hate listening to Rebecca's know-it-all mouth. The girl never shuts up. Unless of course, someone makes her leader and acts like they care about whether or not some teacher cheats on his wife with the school's nurse. And one thing is for certain, Jennifer could care-a-less about the drama. It's empty and pointless. No meaning that's worth anything of real value. Just a ghostly existence in a day which will never be remembered. Just like this room.

   Jennifer turns right and follows the wall's perimeter around to the furthest table. About midway down the table's length, she turns right and exits into the grand hall. It is a giant open space with a dome ceiling. From the marble floor to the dome's peak it is an astounding fifty-four feet. The room's square footage at twenty-four hundred square feet is larger than most homes are on the average. And the two sixteen-foot wide marble staircases could be construed as overkill by the less fortunate. They both lead up to the second floor landing and curve around a giant indoor water fountain that divides them.

   The custom fountain is of a boy and girl. Jennifer and Danny to be exact. They were fourteen when their parents had it carved. And it always inspired conversation with the guests.

   Jennifer walks over and touches the boy statue's right foot. He stands on the left with the girl to his right. They face each other with playful looks as water spews from their mouths like a gross spitting match. The concept is comical. But the reality is just plain depressing. Just like the rest of this house. Just like her life.

   “Miss you,” Jennifer kisses her fingers before retouching the statue's foot. She takes the left side staircase and makes her ascension. As she reaches the second floor landing, she looks to her right down a long hall. At the hall's end, the T-intersection to the left leads to her parent's area. To the right, Danny purposefully took that area. He wanted his twin sister to have the left wing of the house all to herself. On the condition of course, that she would allow him to have two rooms of his choosing. And she gladly accepted the proposal. Because if truth be told, had Danny made an issue of the left wing, Danny would have received it. Jennifer's mom would have made sure of it.

   But Danny didn't do that. He loved Jennifer too much. He knew how their mom treated Jennifer whenever their dad was away. The left wing was his way of forcing their mother to show a little more favor towards Jennifer. And down deep she always knew it had nothing to do with her mom's love. It had to do with Danny. It was a favor from him. Not her. 

   The only reason her mom ever stopped hitting her was because of Danny. He intervened by grabbing her arm when they were both twelve. But the verbal attacking never ceased. Danny couldn't stop that. Instead, he gave her what he could...the left wing.

   Her mom nowadays doesn't do what she did whenever Jennifer was younger. Mainly, because Jennifer isn't a little girl anymore. She could kick her mom's ass and her mom knows it. But her mother has never once apologized for the years of abuse she did dish out. And Jennifer refuses to ask her to do so. She shouldn't have to. They are just two women in a house of lies. Two women, who tolerate one another, but have no relationship beyond the occasional 'Hi' or 'Bye'.