Lucifer'Spawn- Chapter 4

Gramps and Memaw never mentioned it again to me, nor did they tell anyone about it either, feeling content with the doctor’s diagnosis.  I wasn’t, but I didn’t let it show around them.  My mysterious angry outbursts didn’t happen anymore, which was a relief, but the nightmares continued to keep me from a restful sleep and the necklace had now left a permanent imprint around my neck from the heat.  However, the rest of the chickens remained unscathed, so I couldn’t really complain.  The days to my eighteenth birthday quickly passed without any serious problems until the day of it.

The night before, I had a terrifying dream that the snake had wrapped itself around me and wouldn’t let go.  It was almost as though we were conjoined twins and he was a part of me.  The more I struggled to remove him, the tighter he’d wrap himself around my waist.  When I tried to show Gramps and Memaw, they laughed and said, “What snake?  She must be going crazy!”

He’d whisper things in my ear to make me mad, things that made me see red.

“Do you see how they mock us?” he’d say as they roared with laughter.  “They think we’re crazy, insane.  They think we’re lying.  But we’re the sane ones; they’ve got it all wrong about you and I.  Maybe we’re the good guys…”

“Maybe we’re the good guys,” I murmured in my sleep, before my eyes flew open.

Now I was talking in my sleep?  I shook my head, touching the warm necklace gingerly.  I dressed and headed into the kitchen.

“Memaw?” I called out, noticing that she wasn’t fixing breakfast the way she normally did.

There was a bright pink sticky note on the fridge.

Went to the store.  No food.  Be back soon, it read in her tidy handwriting.

I looked out the kitchen window and saw that both her car and Gramps’ truck were gone.  I felt a small pang of sadness when I realized Gramps must have started work without me.  I fixed my own bowl of cereal and went into the living room for some TV, carefully pulling myself out of my chair and plopping onto the couch.  I hadn’t even eaten half of my breakfast before I heard Memaw’s little blue Focus pull into the driveway.

“Isabelle, I have a surprise for you!” she trilled as she burst into the door.

“Come over here and give your aunty a hug!” a familiar voice said.

I froze, shocked and happy to hear Aunty Mira’s voice.  I hadn’t seen her in over a year.

“Aunty Mira?  I thought you were in Japan for business,” I said, struggling to get back in my chair.

She walked in, suitcases in both hands.

“I finished early so I could come see you on your birthday!”

She set her suitcases down and helped me into my chair before enveloping me in a huge hug.  She wasn’t my real aunt.  My mom was an only child, but as kids she and Mira were inseparable.

“I brought you a little birthday present too,” she pulled back from the hug with a wink.

“You didn’t have to.  Seeing you is good enough.”

“You only turn eighteen once, Isabelle.  Besides, when have I ever visited without bringing a gift?”

 

I couldn’t help but smile.  Aunty Mira was like a second mother to me.  In fact, she had almost adopted me instead of my grandparents, but her job as VP of a well-to-do fashion company caused her to travel constantly, so it didn’t work out that way.

She held me back at arm’s length and shook her head.

“You get prettier and prettier every time I visit.”

I blushed.  I had never thought of myself as pretty or beautiful.

“Thanks,” I whispered, smiling at the rare compliment.

“Now go get dressed, I’m taking you out for breakfast.”

“But I already made myself cereal-“

“I’ll go rinse out your bowl.  Go get dressed,” she insisted.

I headed out of the living room, distinctly hearing her mutter, “Soggy cereal for breakfast… gotta be kidding me…”

I chuckled to myself as I got to my room and shut the door.  Looking inside my nearly bare closet, I felt embarrassed.  Mira always “dressed to impress”, as she would say, in classy dresses and suits.  All I had was a several T-shirts, a couple sweatshirts, and some jeans.  The nicest thing I had was a pretty yellow sundress that I occasionally wore to Mass.  I put it on, even though Mira would probably insist on taking my shopping for classier clothes after she saw me.

She smiled widely when I came back out.

“You look beautiful in that color,” she said, admiring the dress.

A little surprised, I blushed again.

“Thanks.  It’s my favorite dress.”

Of course it is.  It’s your only dress, a little voice in my head mocked.

“Ready to go?”

I nodded and we headed outside to her white Porsche 911.  Getting my wheelchair into the trunk of the tiny car took about ten minutes, but at last Mira slammed the trunk shut and slid into the driver’s seat next to me.

“I don’t see how you can go anywhere!” she panted, shaking her head so her curls bounced.

I smiled.  Mira was too beautiful and poised for heavy lifting or any other kind of serious labor.  She was far too neat to do anything dirty either.  Even in her early forties, Mira looked as youthful and gorgeous as ever.  She had a coffee-and-cream skin tone, big cinnamon colored eyes and that long, slender body every woman craves.  She was simply too beautiful for that.

“So where are we going?  Denny’s?  McDonald’s?”

She laughed.  “In what universe is that food considered a good breakfast?  I don’t get to visit very often, and I’m sure as hell not taking you somewhere like that!  We’re going to a classy little French restaurant over in La Mesa.”

I sighed and shook my head.  The same way she wasn’t cut out for farm work, I wasn’t cut out for fancy restaurants and parties.

“It’s okay, I’m fine eating in Spring Valley.”

“No no no, you’re my fake niece, and I’ll take you somewhere special,” she grinned, thinking she was doing something great for me.  “Besides, I know you’ll love how quaint this place is!”

“Alright,” I agreed, deciding to humor her.

We drove in silence the rest of the way.  She pulled up to a tiny little French café, Trés Bon.  It looked a little stuffy, but I pretended to be excited to appease her.

“Wow Aunty Mira, this looks…”  Pretentious.  Expensive.  Cramped.  “…nice,” I said.

“It’s lovely inside,” she grunted, struggling to pull my wheelchair out of the trunk.  “This damn thing…” she gave one more strong pull before it came free and she landed on her back on the street.

“Sweetheart, I think we need to get you a smaller chair,” she grumbled, helping me into it.

The inside was very fancy, but tiny.  Two crystal chandeliers filled the entire ceiling and gaudy, slightly sparkly red wallpaper covered in pretty black designs adorned all four walls.  Even with the chandeliers, the lighting was dim.  Nearly all the tables were taken by customers, quietly chatting and smoking cigarettes, their little French pastries and coffees virtually untouched.

“Isn’t it magical?” she breathed.

I nodded.  It was a decent place, just a little too… fake for my tastes.  We got in the back of the small queue, behind only a few other customers.

“Order anything you like,” Mira insisted.

“Are you sure?” Everything was outrageously overpriced.

“Don’t worry about it!”

In the end, I settled for a blueberry scone and a vanilla bean cappuccino, which actually turned out to be delicious.  The sad thing was, after spending all that money, the proportions were minuscule.

“Are you happy to be done with school?” Mira asked, daintily holding her hand in front of her mouth as she swallowed a bite of her muffin.

“Of course,” I laughed.  “Who wouldn’t be happy?”

“Good point.”

I smiled, realizing that for the first time in over a week and a half I was sincerely, genuinely happy.  Mira had that effect on me.  She was just one of those people.

“How are you and Sean?”

She rolled her eyes with disgust.  “Caught him cheating.  Again.  I told him that was it and I kicked him out.  He made the same excuses he always did. ‘Oh baby, I’m sorry, I’m just so lonely when you’re gone…’  I looked him in the eye and I said, ‘Bitch please.  Why do you think I need a loser boyfriend like you?’”

I laughed again, imagining her throwing Sean out the door, followed by his suitcase.

“So what about you?” Aunty Mira waggled her eyebrows at me.

“What about me?”

“Any boys that I need to know about?”

I shook my head.  They didn’t pay much attention to me and I didn’t pay much attention to them.

She leaned back, looking at me skeptically.  “Really?  You’re trying to tell me that no one has noticed how gorgeous you are?” she cupped my chin in her hand, one eyebrow raised.

I blushed again, gently turning my head to the side.  “Of course not, what would teenage boys want with a cripple?”

“Hey, don’t say that!” she cried, her eyebrows knitting together.  “Why would you even think that?”

I laughed bitterly.  I was flattered by her compliments, but she didn’t understand.

“I don’t think boys think I’m ugly or stupid or anything, it’s just that…” I paused, thinking of how to put it so she’d get it.  “I can’t do things normal girls can.  I can’t go to the beach or for a walk.  Going to the movies isa pain in the ass.   How would he even kiss me?” I shrugged.

She looked me in the eyes.  “You’ll find someone though.  Someday.”

“I know.”

A pause.  We both take a few bites of our pastries and sips of our coffee before she breaks the silence again.

“How about your artwork?  Are you still working on that?” she finally asked me.

“Definitely.  I have a few I’ve been meaning to show you,” I said, draining the last of my coffee.  “You’re welcome to take any pictures you like.  I’m running out of room to put them.”

The walls of my room were plastered with drawings, paintings, photos, and even several news articles that I’ve found interesting.  Everything from doodles on scraps of paper to full on canvases that had to be hung on nails.  The walls used to be purple, but over the years they’ve become entirely covered with art.  Even the mirror in my room was slowly being covered up with sketches.

“Good!  I love taking home your artwork,” she gushed.  “You are a fantastic artist.”

I smiled, admittedly a little proud of myself.  “Thanks.”

“Oh, and I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Mira started, pausing a brief moment before continuing.  “How has your therapy been going?”

I gave her a confused look before I remember that the last time she was here I was still doing therapy.  Two years ago, the doctors found out that I had some feeling in my hips and thighs, so I began therapy to build muscle and hopefully learn to walk again.  I found it hard to tell her what happened.

“I haven’t been going much lately,” I said sadly.

“What?  Why?” she still didn’t understand.

I took a deep breath.  “About six months ago, they found out that my paralysis is… permanent.” I forced the last word out, it feeling like poison on my tongue.  It only made me realize how hopeless I was.

Her hand went to her mouth and tears sprung up in her eyes.  I could tell that it hurt her more than it hurt me.  I remembered back to the last time she had visited, when she promised to take me traveling with her after I “ditched the wheelchair”.

“We can go to Paris or Rome or Hong Kong,” Aunty Mira had rambled, pulling me close.  “Just you and me, it’ll be great!”

The tears in her eyes had been tears of joy then, but now her eyes sparkled with tears of genuine sadness.

“Oh sweetheart,” she gasped as the first tear fell, leaving a wet spot on the table.  “I had no idea…”

“It’s okay.  I’ll be fine,” I lied, feeling my heart break as I thought of all the things we had intended to do.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.”  I rested my hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze.

Drying her eyes carefully with her napkin, she stood up.  “C’mon, let’s get out of here.  We can talk more in the car.”

She walked briskly with her head down to her car, and I knew she was fighting back tears.  She carefully helped slide me into the seat before jamming my chair into the back.

“Are you okay?” I asked timidly as she got in.  Clearly she’s more upset than I assumed she’d be, I thought.

“Not really,” she admitted, a few more tears cascading down her cheeks.  She blinked hard and her eyelashes sparkled with them.  “I suppose it’s selfish of me, but I was really hoping that we’d be able to travel together like I promised you last time I visited.”

“It’s really not selfish,” I told her truthfully.  “It was what I was most looking forward to also.”

“It’s just… I was so excited when I found out she was pregnant,” she was choking out the words now.  “We were gonna raise you together… but then… she died, leaving you to me… but my new promotion required traveling… and then we found out you would never walk…”

She couldn’t talk anymore, her sobs becoming audible and painful.  I was crying now too, feeling guilty for being such a burden on my friends and family, for her death being my fault.  I had always wondered about whether my mom would be here still if I wasn’t.  And I knew my grandparents and even Mira wondered about it too.  Your fault, a little voice in my head snarled at me.

“I know,” I whispered.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.  It’s not anything you did,” she said reassuringly.  “It’s just this time of year.”

My birthday was never entirely happy, of course.  How could it be when it’s also the anniversary of the death of a woman who gave her life for a child that was more of a pain than anything else?  A queasy, guilty feeling crept up into my stomach, threatening to make me lose my breakfast.

Mira leaned over and hugged me close, making me sob even harder.  She shared some stories with me about my mother, making me laugh and cry, sometimes at the same time.  I don’t know what time we got in the car nor how long exactly we had been in there, but by the time we realized we needed to leave, it had been a couple of hours since we left the farm.

“I think we need to head back now,” Mira sighed, wiping the black mascara tracks from under her eyes.

I just nodded, toying with the little stone on my necklace.

She gave a small gasp when she noticed but smiled a bit.  “Is that… Violet’s necklace?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.  Gramps gave it to me last week,” I smiled weakly, putting it in the light to give her a better look at it.

“You become more and more like your mother every time I see you,” she said, wrapping me in another hug.

I hugged her back, the necklace gripped tightly in my fist, its strange heat radiating through my hand.  It was starting to burn by the time we ended the hug and she began to drive home, but I still held it tightly.  Once it cooled down, I let go, studying my palm.  The same cursive “Vi” was there once more, but right above it this time was the Greek symbol “E”.