“Kailey, don’t cry. You know my nerves,” she says. “I’ll be fine. Just get me a wet paper towel.” The wad of paper towels I give her is as big as my head, and she starts laughing. It makes me cry more. “Let’s go back to
your place where you can pack an overnight back,” she says, “and then we’ll go home and I’ll make that dinner you’ve been wanting. Sound good?”
“Yes, mom.”
We eventually walk to my mom’s car and I see the tail end of a black Hummer pull out of the parking lot.
My thoughts are haunted by the
one red tear I witnessed, and I hope that my gut feeling is just bullshitting me right now. Otherwise, I fear we’re in for some serious trouble.
Chapter 20
Quick
I let my mom lead me to the kitchenette set and find myself just sitting, letting memories come flooding back of happy childhood days spent lounging and eating blueberry syrup-drenched pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse decapitations. My mom always did her best to provide for me on her limited budget.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings, and in walks Amber.
“Hey girls!” She plops her purse on the ground and wanders into the kitchen. She kisses my mom on the cheek and says, “What can I help with?” She
’s wearing a low-cut halter top, some tight black jeans and four-inch espadrilles wedge shoes.
“What are you doing here?” escapes my mouth as I look at Amber, simply not aware we were having a guest. “And since when do you cook? And in an outfit like that?” I say, a bit sarcastically.
“And when did you turn into such a bitch?” she snarls back, walking to stand directly in front of me.
My mom suddenly walks between us. “Hold up girls! I
invited Amber earlier this week after you suggested dinner, Kailey. She’s our guest, and I think she looks cute! Where did you get those awesome shoes, anyway?” my mom says, looking at Amber’s platformed feet.
I sigh from the loss of opportunity, again, to speak to my mother about Renhala. Amber frowns, evidently mistaking my sigh for the disgust of her company, because she storms toward her purse, and then the door. “I
’m outta here,” she yaps. “I’ll go find someone who wants me there.”
“Amber!” my mom yells as Amber slams the front door. Then my mom turns to me.
“What?” I say, as she walks toward the stove and continues cooking, without saying one word to me. I grab the newspaper on the table and read the personals.
A half hour goes by and I inhale as I smell the lemon Worcestershire sauce, then get a whiff of the godly Dijon potatoes baking in the oven. I shake my head, forcing myself back to reality—to the fact that I have to start
the
conversation with my mom.
But she gets there first: “Kailey, do you want to start, or shall I?”
“The food’s done already?” I know it’s not, but I’m trying to buy some kind of time to make up my mind what to do.
What the heck, just dive in, Kailey. That’s the best policy.
“Okay, Mom. Can you come sit, or do you have to babysit the food?”
S
he jumps right in as she sits, placing a kitchen towel in her lap. “Well, I must tell you that Gunthreon is quite impressed with you and your abilities,” she says. “He says you’re a natural, but still need some practice, especially with traveling. I totally agree, especially after today’s little episode.” She raises her eyebrows at me, then continues. “Renhala can be so dangerous. You must have a purpose, and go in and get out fast. I do somewhat blame him, though.” As she goes on and on, I sit, my jaw hanging down. “He’s your teacher, and you’ve only been to Bu’s Renhala. There are other places, you know, good places. Places you could mistake for heaven.”
She seems dreamy, and I feel she’s imagining some whimsical land of puffy clouds and cream-soda rivers. She smiles as she looks out the window toward a concrete wall.
“What the hell?!?” I exclaim suddenly. “Why did I have to find out the way I did? Why did you never tell me about any of this?”
She sighs deep.
“I wanted you to have a normal life, Kailey,” she says, looking at me. “The life I have lived has been so hard, and I tried to shelter you from the things I have had to do. Did you not live a happy life? Did you ever have to worry about your mother having her head chewed off by a spirithound?”
“Yes, I know you did your best,” I say. “It’s just so hard to take everything in—
especially knowing the one person I trusted the most kept such important things from me.” I hesitate. “So you know my ‘powers,’ right?”
“I know your powers.
I’ve always known them.” Her eyes tear up. “You’ve always been such a sensitive girl, but
now
, given your full access to them, it’s absolutely wonderful,” she says, taking my hands in hers. “Since you were born, I always had an inkling you were something extraordinary.”
“Only an inkling, eh?” Her remark gets a faint smile from the corner of my mouth. “I
’m your daughter. You’re supposed to feel, without a doubt, that I am infinitely extraordinary. Now what makes
you
special?” I smile, squeezing her hands.
She sits motionless for a bit, looking as though she is gathering strength. Just when I’m going to ask her the question again, there is movement. It’s almost as though a thin layer of film covers everything in her apartment, and she’s no longer in her seat.
Suddenly, there are feathers and polyester stuffing and wood splinters everywhere as I look toward what I think is still her. One couch is torn to shreds, along with the pillows, as well as two of those portable “TV dinner” tables.
Then, she’s more solid, sitting again in her chair, holding about three of my hairs from my head in her one hand and a long, elegant blade in the other. My mouth might as well collect flies.
“They call me Quicksilver. This is what I can do.”
“You
get that, and I get karma?” I wail. “That is so not fair! That is
soooo
cool!”
“Kailey, you have to understand something,” my mom says
, looking concerned. “Most of our powers must be kept secret—used only for helping those in need and making both our realms safe. You, on the other hand, can do something that people will believe without discovery threatening our lives. You can affect everyday life for far more than I can. All I can do is fight fast. You let all creatures know the golden rule is real. You change the world in a way that I cannot. See, your ability to feel others’ energies doesn’t make you crazy. It makes you a karmelean; it makes you
special
.”
“Well, I don’t like being special if it means putting myself in comprising positions, like Devoten’s closet.”
“
What?
”
“Yeah, that’s where I ended up today, briefly. He spoke of ‘the releasing’, do you know what that is?
It sounded very wrong to me.”
“Did he see you?” I shake my head.
Her strength seems drained after her little show, and her wrinkles are suddenly deep. “One thing I ask is that you keep your experience at the spa today to yourself for the time being. I need to roll it over in my head before anyone else knows, especially anything about a ‘releasing,’ whatever the hell that is. Please. It’s very important you don’t intrude on someone as dangerous as Devoten. Do you understand?”
I agree with a nod, even though I want to run and share with Gunthreon.
Changing the subject seems a necessity, so I say, “Guess Helping Hands could use my help, as a karmelean. You think?”
She looks confused, then says,
“Yes! Maybe you’re the answer. You have
no idea
what you are capable of. Believe in yourself, but believe equally in the need to play things smart and safe.”
“
Is it possible that I can just, maybe, inherit some of what you just did? I am, after all, your
extraordinary
daughter.” I know I’m reaching.
She says,
“I
have
witnessed a sort of passing of powers, but that always ends in tragedy, so let’s not go there. And believe me, it takes a strong person to be me, I will openly admit this. Do you realize why?”
I shrug
.
“All I’ve done in my life is fight. That’s what I found I was bes
t at, and so I do it. All those ‘odd jobs’ I do? It’s not painting, or giving advice, but instead protecting and preventing. There’s really bad stuff happening now, in both realms, and I have sworn to do what I can for Neda. But what does this oath give me?” She raises her arms to reveal her scars. “This is what karma gave me: health issues.” My scowl only makes her shake her head. “I’ve learned to live with the lessons I’ve learned, but have chosen with my own free will to keep punishing myself. I am so very tired, running from the inevitable. But I cannot live any other way. To me, there’s no escape. Just when I think there’s a possibility for freedom, I am yanked back.” I don’t know what to say, so I sit, staring forward at her.
She stands, staring at her furniture and says, “I was actually planning on redecorating, anyway. I just got a head
’s start!”
I gaze at her and
say, in a saddened tone, “Mom, I love you more than anything in this world.” I look down at my hands. “Gunthreon has spoken to me, about your needed...freedom.” The clock timer on the oven goes off loudly, drowning my sentence.
“Dinner is ready!” My mom gets up and moves to the kitchen with cheetah speed and starts piling the food on our plates. “Can you get our drinks and napkins, Kailey? The conversation can wait until after we eat.”
My stomach rumbles, and I know I must eat despite my shaky insides. I dig my fork and knife into the steak Diane, realizing the meat is so tender that I don’t even need the knife, but can barely gather the strength to bring it to my mouth. The potatoes are cooked perfectly, both sweet and spicy at the same time, with a wonderful caramelized, crunchy skin. The corn is perfect, slathered in salty garlic butter and dressed in fresh parsley my mom has sprinkled throughout. It’s a meal made with love—an ingredient my mom always has plenty of on hand, and I can barely eat four mouthfuls.
As my mother finishes and rises to bring the dishes to the sink, I lay my fork on my plate
and let one tear drop into my potatoes as I watch my mother wash a casserole dish. Deep in thought, she hums softly to herself, something I always thought was lame, until now. “Kailey, you need to eat,” she says with her back to me. “I’ll pack Amber up a doggie bag, and if your food’s not gone by then...no dessert.” She turns and smiles at me.
I agree to eat, and force down the food, followed by a whole helping of ooey-gooey monkey bread, which I sniffed out, hiding in the microwave. After all dishes are washed, we sit on the couch in front of the television and I lean on my mom as she scrolls through the channels. W
ithin minutes, I’m out.
I
sleep soundly until eight o’clock the next morning, and find myself covered with a blanket, still on the couch. I’d almost say my mom drugged me to avoid any further Renhala conversation, but I know that can’t be possible. So I learn to accept that I was so comforted by home and a home-cooked meal from my momma that I was able to become that child again, and sleep with no thoughts of the monsters in my closet.
There’s sausage in the fridge, and pancake mix in the cabinet, so I decide the least I can do is make my mom some breakfast.
She’s usually up once the sausage browns, but not this time. I decide to let her sleep, because I’m sure her body can use it.
I sit and watch some bilingual Saturday-morning cartoons—when what I’m really craving is some politically incorrect
Tom and Jerry
—and decide that, after two hours, I have to wake her up.
As I approach her room, a scent drifts along my nose. I recognize it—the coppery scent of urine. Quickly, I open her door, and she’s lying on the floor wrapped up in a drenched blanket like a taco. She mumbles something, and her eyes are open, but she doesn’t see me. The inside of her mouth is black and blue, and her tongue is so swollen she barely has room even to open her mouth.
She then passes out. There have been so many times I’ve had to take care of my mom when she got sick, but this is serious.
Chapter 21
Underestimated
I call nine-one-one, fearing for the worst. Two paramedics arrive and inform me they
’re rushing her to Stroger Hospital, as she has no insurance. Unfortunately, Stroger Hospital is one of the scariest and craziest hospitals in the area; it’s also the place I was born. Spend two minutes there, and you’re likely to see five gunshot wounds, four domestic disputes, and a litter of injuries involving alcohol and crack. I ask if her normal specialists will see her there, and the EMTs just shrug their shoulders.
I agree to ride shotgun in the ambulance. I do not want my mom out of sight.
Upon arrival, our driver has to convince some bum to get up off the arrival dock, telling him he’s not on stage at the Improv and that he should pull up his pants. What a beautiful start to what I’m sure will be a most wonderful stay.
They wheel my mom inside
, where I cannot see her, and proceed to shoo me towards the outdated and depressing ER reception vestibule. Staff then gathers all her information from me. I make sure I only answer what is asked of me and don’t give the nurses any lip, because they are some tough cookies.
An unknown doctor eventually finds me and informs me that, after examining my mom, he
’s going to run a gamut of tests to find out what happened. He also says she’s awake now, but is still incoherent.
I find her in
ER number six, babbling to herself. She stares at me as I approach, and yells something, angrily. My eyes tear as I feel the pain and sickness her body is exuding across the room.
As I lay my hands on her hand, my insides spasm and I become nauseous
. My mom watches me carefully with hostile eyes as I close my own, and wish for simple relief for her—something to ease her pain. She doesn’t deserve this.
I willingly touch her
surrounding energy with my own, and begin to siphon it, carefully picking out the poison which has leeched into her energy from her body, and replacing it with my own clean energy. It takes a bit, for there is some resistance, but she once again feels renewed. I feel her body tremble slightly as I open my eyes, just before her tears fall from her eyes as she watches me. She shakes her head no once as her eyes begin to close, but before she goes totally under, I see a faint attempt to sign me our special signal. She’s still in there.
By the look on her face and her wide-open mouth as she sleeps peacefully, I know she’ll be in the ER for a while. The only thing I can do is pass the time by going for a walk.
I wonder what I may see today. Every day at Stroger Hospital is an adventure in itself. It’s a resident psych major’s dream come true. A few left turns take me to the nearest vending machine.
Junk, junk, one granola bar and junk.
I
should
eat the granola bar, but I go for the pork rinds, since there are several rows of them. Gotta keep the vending machine orderer happy, after all. It’s my civic duty. Of course, I promise myself never to tell anyone I actually ate a bag of pork rinds from Stroger Hospital.
I turn the corner, shoving fried skin in my mouth, and notice a small man crouched near the waiting area, examining something under the nearest chair. His grin resembles a circus clown’s exaggerated smile as he feeds some imaginary creature his last Flamin
’ Hot Cheeto. Several women are curled up in their chairs staring at nothing, while one delirious looking man actually spits in his hands, then proceeds to draw pictures of decapitated nurses on a hospital pamphlet.
The bathroom is not far from the waiting area, and I feel my bladder calling for help, so I enter, making sure I use my shirt sleeve as a barrier against the metal handle. The stalls seem empty as I peer for feet. I find one stall without several piles of toilet paper and unidentifiable liquid on the floor and take my seat
after layering up the toilet seat with clean paper. Suddenly I hear whispering from the stall next to me.
“Quiet, quiet. They’ll find me. Don’t be scared, Sadie. They won’t hurt you.”
“Hello? Is everything all right in there?” I don’t expect an answer, and don’t really hope for one, either. I do my business as quickly as I can and wash my hands four times before I leave—and then use my hand sanitizer for safe measure. Just as the door closes, I hear, “They’re only bunnies.” Visions of meeples flash into my head as I walk, and I shake to clear the heebie jeebies just as a particularly dirty man jumps in front of me, staring into my face. He whispers, “You have to let me use it, please!” His breath smells like fish and stale beer.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know you.” I turn and try to walk around him, but he
’s quick.
“You must! They know where I am and what I did to their daughter,” he says. “Give me your blade,
now
!” His eyes do not stray from my back. I put my hand behind me and sure enough, feel the monk’s spade, warm and affixed to me. It knows danger when it senses it.
Hey! He sees it.
“No!” I shout
, suddenly brave. “Get away now, or I will use this in a way where you’ll never get to piss again.” My glare frightens him, and he turns without another word and walks into the men’s bathroom. I am officially insane on the Stroger scene as another crazy smiles and gives me the thumbs up, approving my actions.
Thou
ghts of Renhala dance before me as I twirl around, spotting the man with the Cheeto. Another glance down, and I see it now—a foggy form of a ceetchan cowering underneath, baring its teeth, evidently pregnant. The revelation of mistaking insanity for true sight smacks me upside my head. Somehow, these folks are in-between realms, and some poor creatures have also gotten stuck. I shoot the Cheeto man a look of craziness—I’m getting the hang of it—as I walk toward him, then look down under the chair, but the extremely scared ceetchan bares her fangs at me.
“It
’s okay honey. I’m not going to hurt you,” I coax. “Let me bring you home.” She’s kind of cute, with her big eyes; one covered by a white patch of hair. I grab a handful of pig skins and coerce her out from underneath the chair. She wriggles out, and I feed her two of them. All the while, she watches me cautiously with her huge eyes, trying to fight her maternal instinct to feed the babies growing inside her. But once she seems comfortable with me, I grab her, close my eyes, and travel—just like that. I thought of Renhala, and needed to travel for the sake of this innocent creature, and I did it! I jump up and down in celebration before realizing where I landed, so I immediately put her down and attempt to travel out of Bu’s land, back home.
But nothing happens.
I spin on my feet, taking in the scenery and start panicking as I hear footsteps and snarling approaching at a very quick speed from the forest.
The fear of no way out strangles me as the unknown approaches.
I freeze as the hideous half-man, half-dog creature emerges from the trees, grimy and famished, with its human, but sharp teeth bared at me. It stares as it examines its prey, calculatingly scoping me out and figuring the probability of me inflicting any damage when it attacks. It finishes its computations and suddenly lunges in the air toward me. Instead of letting myself become dinner, I stand my ground, gather courage, then grasp its savage, evil energy and pull with all my might, ripping the creature open as I tumble upon Stroger Hospital’s floor, covered in black goo.
Black sludge.
I stand
, and as I assess my situation, several of those waiting to be admitted start applauding. A feeling of strength enters my being, and I allow myself one brief bow and then begin quickly walking to find my mother, smearing the goo as I hurry, trying to flick it off my body. I find my mom and her eyes are open.
“Mom, how are you feeling?” I say.
She shrugs her shoulders. “Fine, I guess.” Her face scrunches up as she sees the goop plastered across my clothes. Her eyes then widen, knowing what it is. She tries to sit up as a crisp white coat labeled M.D. enters and asks if I am Dena May’s kin. After a nod from me, he then informs me that due to shift changes, he is my mother’s new doctor for the next several hours.
“What did you find out?”
I say.
“Well,
” he eyes the sludge dripping off of me and onto the floor, “we tested your mother’s blood and the results suggest total renal failure. But, strangely, we ran another set of tests and both of her kidneys are functioning, and functioning normal. We don’t know how this is possible, but would like her to stay here for more tests.”
My mom turns to me and there are now tears in her eyes. “No,” she says.
“But mom—”
“No!” she insists as she sits up
straight. “I am discharging myself. Get me the papers.”
“Ms. Rooke, I rather you stay,” says the doctor to my mom.
“I’m functioning normal, am I not? You cannot keep me here, legally.” She gets up and starts dumping all her belongings out from the clear plastic bag they were stored in. “Get me the paperwork!” The doctor then leaves us.
“Mom!” I say.
“Don’t put me through the prodding and poking, Kailey, please. We both know it will get us nowhere,” she says, slipping on her pants as she slips on goo. She says nothing, as though black sludge dripping from her daughter is a daily occurrence.
One prescription later—which we know is useless—and several agreements to watch her diet, she gets discharged. I promise my mom I
’m going to disown her, or better yet drown her for not staying.
I dial Gunthreon’s number on my cell, figuring I don’t need to owe Conner any more favors. “Gunthreon, can we use your driver?”
“He’ll be there in five minutes.”
Three minutes is more like it. This time the driver actually gets out of the car to open the back door for my mom.
He’s huge, and I am amazed how he fits in the limo. His muscles ripple underneath his white, short-sleeved shirt as he offers his arm to her. “Hey, I never got that!” I squawk, furrowing my brow at him. I’ve never even seen the guy’s legs.
“Fidello is an ol
d friend of mine, aren’t you?” my mom chuckles, giving him a great, big old bear hug. He just nods and smiles. He reminds me of a giant tree stump with two arms, which are also tree stumps, decorated with scrollwork tattoos. His dark skin shimmers in the sunlight as he picks my mom up off the ground in his hug. It is then I see his facial features clearly: broad nose, wide forehead, straight black hair, resembling one of Native American heritage. He then places her gently back on the ground.
Their friendliness bugs me in a jealous sort of way. “Well, take your old friend here home,
because she’s a pain in my ass,” I say, crossing my arms. Fidello apparently thinks this is funny, and laughs a big, hearty, ear-splitting laugh. Then my mom chimes in, while I climb in and pout because there’s some inside joke going on that I am not involved in. It happens a lot.
My mom is dropped off at her home
, seemingly upbeat. She gets out of the car herself, brushing off Fidello, but before she leaves, she says to me, “If you see Gunthreon, tell him I said, ‘Meadow’s Edge.’” She waves farewell and runs faster than the wind to her front door, with still a bit of my energy clinging to her.