WHITE WALLS (3 page)

She saw me in the back of the church, in the last pew. My eyes were cast downward because I couldn’t keep the tears from falling. I didn’t even know she’d seen me until she gripped me by the elbow and hissed, “You.” Her voice was filled with pain and hate, and then she ripped me from the pew and escorted me to the double doors.

My eyes water and I let out a long breath when I think of that moment. My heart aches, rips from my chest, and falls somewhere on the bus floor. Seconds later, sobs leave my throat and I have to hug myself to keep myself from shaking.

What I wanted to scream at his mother was I loved him too.

So much.

More than she would ever know.

It wasn’t fair that I wasn’t able to properly say goodbye to him. Because now, I’ll never have closure. I’ll never be able to move on.

My sobbing escalates to the point where howls of anguish leave my throat and there’s nothing I can do to hold them back.

The bus driver hears me and asks, “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

I can’t answer him. The grief and heartbreak is swallowing me.

Consuming me.

Devouring me like a cannibal.

Then I hear something.

“Psst.”

I lift my head slowly, blinking back tears and squinting at the front of the bus. There’s no one there.

I hear the sound again.

“Psst.”

Twisting, I dig my fists into my eyes and swallow a mouthful of saliva, trying to drench the dryness in my throat. My eyes center on the last seat in the bus. Right by the emergency exit he sits. A smoldering look in his blue blue eyes.

“Damien?” I whisper. I pinch myself several times because I know I must be imagining him. Then I shut my eyes, squeezing them tightly before opening them abruptly.

A wide smile breaks out on his full lips. “Don’t cry, love.”

The sound of his voice is like a gift from God and my previously absent heart magically reappears and starts racing. “This isn’t real,” I cry, trying to reassure myself. “You aren’t real.”

Damien gets up, walks down the aisle and sits next to me. “Don’t you remember, my silly beautiful girl?”

I reach out to touch him and feel the warmth from his skin beneath my fingertips. “Damien,” I gasp and pull his lips to mine. They feel hot and wet and his sweet, sweet breath wafts into my mouth. “You’re here!” I can’t help but cry as I plant kisses all over his face.

“You sure you’re okay?” The bus driver says again.

I ignore him and continue assaulting Damien with my kisses. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” he tells me. “Don’t you remember what I said?” We gaze into each other’s eyes and he touches my cheek. “I said that I’d follow you anywhere.”

~ ~ ~

In my head, I hear Mommy's voice.

She hums there.

She tells me wonderful things.

That she misses me. That she loves me. That I’ll always be her little bird.

Her voice vibrates, bouncing off the inner walls of my cranium.

“I love you, Addy. I love you, Addy. I love you, Addy.”
 
Her voice is like a dream. Too magnificent sounding to be real.

Closing my eyes, I revel in the sound of her voice. I pretend like I've had it and listened to it my whole life. I pretend that she was never murdered and she was the one who raised me. She raised me in house full of love and pure, incandescent happiness.

I imagine that we wake up every day with bright smiles on our faces and flip pancakes together in the kitchen. We laugh and play and laugh and play. Then at night Mommy tucks me into bed, whispers loving words into my ear, and sings me a lullaby.

There is no Daddy. It's like he never existed.

It's always just me and Mommy.

Me and Mommy.

Me and Mommy.

The sun drips into the horizon splashing colors of yellow, brown, molten orange with fragmented hints of pink. The assortment of colors fill my gaze and I close my eyes as a gust of cool wind blows tendrils of black from my cheeks. Mommy stands behind me, pushing me on the tire swing. She sings to me.

Softly.

Sweetly.

“Little bird, little bird, spread your wings and fly. Little bird, little bird soar through the sky.”
Her voice is warm and harmonious as it flits through the air. The sound of it brings me so much joy.

“Mommy,” I giggle with a grin and glance at her over my shoulder.

She smiles back at me. The smile touches her violet eyes, and there's a flush of pink in her pale cheeks. “I will always love you, little bird. You know that, don't you?”

“Of course. I love you too, Mommy.”

“I have to go, little bird. Be good now.”

I frown and tears spring to my child-like eyes. “No Mommy! Don't leave me!”

Mommy doesn't listen. Her smile twists from a happy one to a sad one as she backs away from me. “Be good, little bird, be good.”

The tire swing soars higher. I turn, tears dripping off my chin and reach out for her. “No Mommy! Please don't leave me!”

“I'm sorry little bird.” Mommy catches the tire swing by the rope handles and places her lips against my ear. I can feel her skin resting against mine. Her flesh is cold. Clammy. Dead. “I'll always love you, Adelaide. Now be good and fly away,” she whispers. Her voice isn't warm anymore. It's scratchy, raspy, and ragged.

“I want you to fly with me, Mommy. Please,” I beg her in my tiny voice and choke on a sob lodged in my throat. “Please Mommy. I want you to fly with me.”

I face her and rest my forehead against the rope. The sky darkens, the bright colors evaporate, and raindrops that look like ashes float down from the heavens, coating the dead brown and yellow grass in our front yard. Mommy walks backwards, slowly. Wobbly. I try to run after her, but an invisible force straps my thighs to the swing. Thrashing, I contort the upper half of my body as far as I can. Pain stabs at my heart and I cry out for her one last time. “Mommy! No!”

The woman I see behind me isn't my mommy. The woman behind me has skin that's melting away from her bones, all dull, gray, and lifeless. Her vibrant violet eyeballs are bulging from her head, and tiny droplets of blood drip from her sockets.

I scream.

I sob.

I shake.

Out of fear and out of pain.

The woman behind me begins to disintegrate. Her skin melts away from her muscles and organs and turns to ash when it hits the ground. She's open, exposed, and I can see her heart pounding. I hear her life-force thumping.

Ba boom.

Ba boom.

Seconds later the pinkish, red organs' steady beat slows before the organ itself shrivels into a deep crimson colored rock and falls out of her chest. Dropping my head into my small hands, I cry quietly to myself. The woman behind me is not my mommy.

No...

The woman behind me is nothing but a corpse.

Bravely, I lift my head, daring myself to take one last look at the grotesque scene before me. My eyes widen and I shudder.

Now the corpse is nothing but a pile of bones.

A thick gust of wind whips through the trees and the pile of bones behind me turns to dust. Soon they are tossed up into the air and it hits me that the only remnant of my mommy is glittering dust particles being carried away by the wind. “Please,” I cry out and suddenly the invisible barrier fusing me to the hot rubber of the tire vanishes. I'm able to move. I hop up from the swing in a flash, chasing after Mommy. I claw at the air, but can’t grasp one piece of my mommy, and I am forced to watch her blow away.

“No,” I sob quietly. “No.”

Then I hear a voice. I think it's a man's voice. “Sweetheart.” Now there are fingertips on my shoulder. “Get up.” Someone shakes me. “We're here.”

The bus driver's bulging belly is an inch from my face and he's hovering over me. He smells of cigar smoke and lunch meat from the deli and the buttons on his flannel shirt look like they're about to pop off. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes kind. I can tell he means me no harm, but I am so startled and groggy from my slumber, and my awful dream that I cower away from him, huddling in the crook of my seat. I remember Damien taking a seat next to me and reach out for him, desperate to feel him squeeze my fingertips, but I feel nothing.

I am grabbing at air.

Panic clutches onto the walls of my stomach and I bolt from my seat. My abrupt action startles the bus driver and his back hits the seat across from mine. “Where is he?” I gasp as my eyes wash over every seat on the bus. “Where did he go? What did you do with him?”

The bus driver scrunches his chubby face and scratches the bald spot on his head. “Sweetheart, you're confused.” He reaches out to me, but I push past him, running down the aisle my eyes scouring frantically over ever seat. “Let me help you inside.”

I don't need this man to help me inside. I need him to tell me where Damien is. “What have you done with him?” I raise my voice as I run down the aisle a second time, making sure I check underneath the seats. “He was here a little bit ago and now he's gone.” I stand and lurch forward. My knees wobble and I do the best I can to lock them in place. “Please, sir,” I beg. “Tell me where he is. Did you let him off somewhere?” I catch myself on the corner of the seat when my knees give out. “I know he was here.” I point to the empty seat where I was sitting. “He sat right next me.” He told me he'd follow me anywhere.

And now he's gone.

The bus driver lifts his stubby arms in a calming gesture. “Now calm down.” Bravely and with wary eyes he takes a step forward. “Sweetheart. Now you know there was no one else on this bus aside from you and me.”

I frown, clench my fists and spit out, “You're lying.”

His eyes widen and even though he takes another step forward, I can tell by how tense his limbs are that he's terrified of me. “Now why would I lie about that?” His voice comes out soft, but forced. “You need to realize he was never...”

The loud crack of my hand against the bus driver's cheek bounces off the painted sea green metal ceiling and it occurs to me that something inside of me has been chipped away. I've lost it. I've really and truly lost my mind. And if that isn't enough, I can't stop my heart from aching or my temper from flaring. I don't want to face reality.

It's too hard.

Too real.

Too excruciatingly painful to even ponder.

The bus driver staggers backward, clutching his cheek. A shocked look has taken up residence on his fat face. He juts his left hand out to hold me back, but a hand isn't enough. A hand will never be enough to hold back a girl with a tortured soul, a broken heart, and a fucked up mind. “Stay where you are,” the bus driver croaks out.

But he's too late.

I hurl myself at him and scream. Tears blind me and my fists sink into the bulge of his stomach. “Why did you take him from me?” My voice is shrill, hysterical, and my throat is raw. “How could you do this?” The bus driver blocks my punches with his forearms and I barely notice the whimper leaving his lips. My mind is too warped from love and loss and my inability to be willing to overcome it all. “Give him back!” I grip onto his shirt and shake him. “Give him back to me!”

Relaxing my grip on the bus driver's shirt, I pause to catch my breath, not realizing I've given him an advantage. Before I can react any further, he shoves me off him and bolts for the door. I'm on my feet in seconds, chasing after him, but he somehow barricades the door locking me inside. Pacing back and forth, I run shaky fingers through my tangled hair.

Where are you Damien? Where are you? And why did you think it was okay to say you'd follow me anywhere then not follow me at all?

Within seconds I see the bus driver at the entrance to this place I've been brought to. He's accompanied by two strong-looking men dressed from head to toe in white and pointing to the bus. They start down the steps and I realize something.

They're coming.

For me.

I try to flee by jumping out the back door of the bus, but I'm too late. There are four hands on me, pinning me to ground and my nose digs into the dirty bus floor. I thrash beneath the grasps of these men, and I try to shimmy my way to the exit. But I'm not strong enough. The men over-power me by putting all of their weight on me.