Birds in a Cage, page 30
“How very sad,” came Georgina’s half-lidded response.
Marcy didn’t want bitterness to overtake her. She leaned forward, and Georgina embraced her and met her lips. Georgina’s sweet but fierce kiss was soft and tasted of black tea and honey. Her hair tickled Marcy’s forehead. This is real. This is real.
It was.
From that night on, they never slept apart. Whatever visions came from the deep waters with their teeming cities never lost their sting. However, the residual terror, the sort multiplied by half-sleep and waking hallucinations, lessened in time. She could even convince herself the more absurd images couldn’t possibly exist, ignoring her trampled skepticism.
The day before André would resume his role as an executioner’s assistant, she called him. An uneasy knot formed in her stomach. She never reconciled her distaste for her family’s legacy, the one André was always eager to defend, but her life revolved too much around maintaining stability to rekindle that unease. Her family was the most at peace they’d been in years. Maman and Georgina had reconciled, and Georgina and André had exchanged apologies.
André let her ramble on about some of her past dreams. He didn’t speak until she stopped and asked, “Does it ever leave?” While she knew the answer, it didn't hurt to have validation.
Without needing elaboration, he replied, “No, but you adjust. In ways. Even when there are terrible, draining moments.”
Blunt and cynical. She liked it. “Thanks, cousin.”
“Ah, you know me. It’s part of my gentlemanly nature.” She detected a hint of self-deprecation.
She snorted, and he didn’t appreciate it.
***
Marcy and Georgina dwelled on the shore together. They rested on a long, purple towel, and most of the other visitors had dissipated when the sky became overcast. There was a chill when all they wore were white-skirted bathing suits. Maman meandered along the shore, languidly pacing back and forth with her hands clasped like she was a lost bride with a ghost bouquet. Caught in a vivid daydream. Before, when he was alive, Papa would stroll with her.
Georgina dozed, her head cradled in Marcy’s lap for half an hour before she stirred. Marcy kneaded her shoulder. “I think if you were a cat, you’d be purring now.”
Georgina chuckled. “It was kind of the Desfourneauxs to take in Charlotte and the puppy.” She sighed. “Will we ever name that poor girl?”
Marcy thought on it for a moment. “Her name is ‘Crow.’ It’s English for ‘hope.’” She was joking, since Georgina likely had the same English education she did while briefly attending school.
“Hm.” It was a content sound. Georgina lolled her head, dark eyes twinkling like the sea and reflecting Marcy’s smile back to herself. “Somehow, I doubt that, but at least she’s named now.” Even with clouds drifting over the pale sand, the world was beautiful in its modest gray. There were no dragons anymore, and Marcy’s palms were quiet today.
Georgina stood and stretched; Marcy already missed the warmth. “I’ll be retiring to the house.” Henri and Marguerite had been kind enough to allow them to spend a week at the Dieppe vacation home. “Feel free to join me.”
“All right, love.” She watched Georgina retreat with a longing, drowsy smile.
Maman cleared her throat, and even with the warning, Marcy started. “How are you faring, poupée?”
Marcy rolled her neck. The rough towel fabric rubbed against her elbows. “I’m surviving.” Maman settled beside her, their arms touching.
“I have a confession.”
“Yes?”
“Oscar was a girl.”
“Oh?” Marcy blinked. She hadn’t expected that.
“You cannot keep a male and female canary in the same cage, but once you named the bird ‘Oscar’ I . . .”
“I forgive you for your transgression.”
“Thank you. I do appreciate it.”
Marcy’s thoughts turned to sleep. They remained in silence for a long while till a thought emerged, random and unwarranted. She had given Maman as many details about what had happened as she could, except for one.
Without preamble, Marcy muttered, “Carmilla, Calla, she was molesting me when I thought I was dreaming.” Not able to bring herself to look at Maman’s face, she inspected the tiny, pink craters left on her elbows by the stiff, prickly towel. Nevertheless, her attention fell to Maman’s lap, where her mother’s shaking hands formed a loose circle and twitched.
After a pause, Maman patted her hair. “It’s not your fault. She’s dead, and if she ever returns, she’ll have me to reckon with.” Thank Mary any fury subdued itself; Marcy didn’t think she could take anyone acting like André and becoming furious when she was close to fracturing. As of late, even André had the decency to not act like André. While she knew this anger stemmed from concern, threats and fist-clenching weren’t what she needed.
Marcy said, “I think I need to rest.” She straightened, back spasming.
“Why don’t you?” Maman asked, not unkindly.
“Do you want to walk along the beach first?”
Maman donned one of her rare, wide smiles that lit the shore. “I’d love to.”
Standing, hair crowned by the cloud-hazed sun, Maman extended a hand, and Marcy took it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my loved ones and friends who have encouraged me throughout this journey, especially Mom, Noah, Uncle Derek, Katie, August, Katelyn, Laurel, Maeve, Paul, and so, so many others. I am humbled by everyone who has supported my writing. This book also wouldn’t have been possible without my incredible beta readers, so thank you Kelsey, Marí, and Jason.
This book was written with many themes and influences in mind; the most pressing idea for me was having a story with a heroic mentally ill (and unapologetically bisexual) lead. Too often in media—especially in the horror and mystery genres—disabled and mentally ill people, particularly those with diagnoses that have psychosis as a symptom, are demonized. A common trope in fiction is the person who is good but has Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) or schizophrenia where their alter is a murderer or “the voices” make them commit terrible deeds, even though mentally ill people are likelier to be victims of violence than perpetrators. Some of those who have read this story have pinned Marcy as “crazy” and a possible killer early in the story, which is disheartening, but it also offers an opportunity of revelation and recontextualization when, instead of being a common harmful trope, Marcy is ultimately a victim, survivor, and hero, and the villain is using their privilege to manipulate a vulnerable person. Though the author cannot and should not have the complete say on what a work means, I do think it is important that I speak on this issue as it is portrayed here.
In this story, Marcy has schizoaffective disorder, which was not a recognized disorder during the 1940’s, though schizophrenia was acknowledged to exist. Unfortunately, disorders such as schizophrenia, schizoaffective disorder, and DID are widely misunderstood and negatively stereotyped. People with these disorders are treated as burdens or dangers to society. As a mentally ill person, I wanted to show a complex but heroic person who has psychosis, and while I understand I am flawed and cannot encompass everything, I want to acknowledge those who not only work to manage their symptoms but also must contend with prejudice every day.
Please consider donating to Brain & Behavior Research Foundation.
https://donate.bbrfoundation.org/
The Trevor Project (Suicide Prevention for LGBT Youth)
1-866-488-7386 or “START” to 678678
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Emily, a loyal fan of the spooky goth aunt aesthetic, enjoys writing macabre narratives with unusual characters often on the edges of society. She earned a BA in English in 2017 and is currently pursuing an MA in Professional Writing. While she works as the editor for the Kennesaw State University Department of English’s newsletter, she is also a co-editor for Exhume, a literary magazine mostly geared toward queer trauma survivors. Emily also works as an intern for Sundress Publications and the social media coordinator and web editor for Doubleback Review, an online journal for works from defunct publications. Her poetry and short stories have been published by Vamp Cat Mag, Honey & Lime, TL;DR Press, Z Publishing House, and Marias at Sampaguitas.
Her debut novel, Dove Keeper, was published in 2018.
Emily Deibler, Birds in a Cage
