Instruments of Mortals, page 3
Thankfully, Aunt Naomi didn’t come down to join us until I had nearly finished the twins’ breakfast. She ignored my greeting and barked out her own breakfast order before sitting down at the table with her bouncing twins.
In a moment of spite, to teach the old wretch some manners — because clearly, her mother hadn’t taught her any — I left just enough soap in her cup of orange juice that she would get sick from it, but not enough for her to taste it. A part of me hoped she choked on it, but if she noticed it at all, she didn’t react.
After I had finished cooking and cleaning for them all morning, I sat down in the chair ready to eat myself. My aunt stopped mid-bite, wiped her mouth and said, "What are you doing?"
"Eating," I said wanting to roll my eyes at her as my stomach rumbled. I hadn't eaten since early yesterday after all. Had catering to her every whim already not earned me some scraps of food?
"Are you a fool? You still have your morning chores to do and you must get to school before the authorities ask about you."
"School?" I hadn't even thought about that. The idea excited me and made me nervous at the same time.
It was enough of a distraction for me to power through the last of the morning chores, scarf down my now cold breakfast, and attempt to make it to school with relatively high spirits.
From the moment I stepped foot into the new school, I knew I didn't belong. Everyone looked at me like I was strange and not just because I was the new girl. I had thought the locals would eventually thaw to me, that I’d be able to carve out a sense of normalcy somewhere in this bourgeois, gilded hell hole. Two months in and I still hadn't made any friends.
My aunt picked me up and dropped me off promptly like I was seven-years-old, so I wouldn't have any social life.
She ran me ragged. Any possible gap I could have for myself, she filled by working me; waiting on her hand and foot with inane chores, screaming me, telling me I was worthless night and day, and making me clean the house like Cinderella. It was hard not to make the comparison, given the meager hovel they gave me to live in, the crumbs I was permitted to eat. If I even tried to speak up for myself, she'd make me kneel on rock salt for hours and pray for forgiveness while she called me an "Ingrate, you're crazy, just like your mother."
That hurt bad. I defended my mom any time she spoke ill of her. I didn’t care if it meant she locked me in my attic for entire days, I didn’t care if she denied me meals, if she beat me black and blue, I still defended my mom. If she wanted to put me down, fine, but no one talked about my mother, no one. She'd beat me with whatever she had to hand, to put "Jesus" in me. Let her; if her idea of Jesus was right, then he owed me more than just an apology.
The truth was, deep down inside, I started to wonder if she was right. I sometimes heard voices, saw shadows where there were none. Sometimes when I thought something would happen, it did. I chucked it off as coincidence and a wild imagination, but I worried that whatever it was that ailed my mother was genetic. My aunt didn't make it any easier with her constant insults.
A girl can only take so much abuse. A girl could only take so much of lying awake on a half busted cot in a dusty, empty attic cell alone, trying not to cry because it would waste what little energy I had in me. I had to get out of here. If I had any doubt about it before, I didn't anymore.
They'd taken my mother away from me and I knew that once I found her, everything would be better. I had to make a plan.
CHAPTER 7
Raven
Weeks passed and the plan formulated in my mind. There were moments of hope, where I was reminded what I was fighting for to begin with. My mom tried to visit me a few times, to get me back, but my aunt refused to let me see her.
My aunt locked me in my room, but when I pressed my ear against the rough wooden door[10], I could hear my mother's voice saying, "But I'm better now."
Even through the door she sounded faint, diminutive, already defeated without having even had the chance to fight.
"You're crazier than ever." Though Aunt Naomi’s voice was muffled, I could still hear the snide, condescending tone of hers. It grated against my sanity nearly as much as the door scraped my palms as I clenched my hands into fists against it.
The sound of her voice both made my heart glow and filled me with worry. I just wanted to see her, to hug her, to let her know I was here and so, so ready to come home.
"But you promised if I signed over the papers, it would just be temporary." I heard my mother say, her soft voice cracking with emotion. I had never had to refrain so much from beating my fists against the door until they were bloody. Hearing her so upset made the saturated color of the sunlight streaming through the window seem muted.
My aunt cackled, "You are crazy."
"You know that's not true," my mom said. "You know she is destined for more than this." My ears perked at that — what was she talking about?
"She is destined for what I tell her that she is destined for. Nothing more and nothing less," said my aunt. It was an odd conversation to have. My mom had often told me I was special, but I thought it was something every mother said. Something in her voice told me today that she meant so much more than that. I couldn’t help but wonder: all those attacks my mom went through, the other woman who would seize her, was that all a part of it? If it was, what was worth that? What could it all lead to?
"Let me just see her, talk to her," pleaded my mom. I could tell she was getting desperate.
"Never," said my aunt. I could hear a scuffle then I heard the front door slam shut. My mom banged on the door.
"Emma! Emma, darling! It's mommy. Can you hear me? I didn't abandon you. I didn't want any of this to happen. They made me do it. It was the only way to keep you safe." It didn’t matter that there were two doors, a wretch, and three floors of the old house[11] between us, just hearing her was enough to make tears of relief well up in my eyes. A smile tugged at my lips— the first one I'd had in what felt like an eternity.
"Quiet or I'll call the cops," said my aunt opening up the door long enough to threaten her, but that only silenced her for a moment. I heard her feet thumping down the side porch steps — she was moving toward the back of the house, by my window!
I rushed to my window hoping I could see her from above. I tried to open the window but it was sealed shut, the iron bars enclosing it even if I had managed to get it open. The glass was cool against my palms but that didn’t matter. I had almost forgotten what my mom looked like, it had been so long since I had last seen her.
"Mom!" I yelled, finally seeing her and banging on the window. "I'm here!"
My mom backed up and for a brief moment, our eyes met. A warm smile spread across her face and mine too. "Mom!" I said banging on the window. "I love you."
"And I love-" but I never heard her words, nor did I hear my aunt sneak up behind me and hit me so hard in the back of my head that I blacked out as my entire body hit the hardwood floor.
When I came to, my entire body ached. I felt the cold wood floor pressing hard against my hip — my head felt like it had been forcibly split open, and I could hear my own pulse in my ears. I blinked in the darkness, at first unclear of what had happened. As my eyes adjusted, I saw what I realized was Aunt Naomi’s pointed boots in my direct line of sight. Sure enough, she was towering over me. I could smell ... was that paint? My God, she had painted the windows black, leaving the pail of paint beside me side, the fumes so strong I could barely breathe. My chest felt tight, even as my stomach sank. The room felt colder than it had before, and I shivered pitifully. I couldn’t tell if it was because of the lack of light, or if it was because I was so scared of what would happen to me.
"You will never see her again, never," she said, her heel pressing into my bare hand as she made her way out the door, and locked me inside again.
I was so emotionally drained that I didn't have the strength to get angry. As much as I tried to muster up enough energy to cry, to feel anything, all I could feel was the dry, stale chill of the room settling on my skin. Any fantasies I had of being reunited with my mother were just that, fantasies. Even as I scrambled to try and make sense of every moment that had led up to this moment, every cruelty I had been made to endure, I couldn’t think of a single plan that would end in a hard won happily ever after. There was nothing I could use to my advantage.
My aunt had forced my mom to sign guardianship papers over to her so she could have me. She said it was for my own good, but I think it's because of my trust fund.
I'd heard them talking a few weeks ago about my father. "How could you treat her like that?" said my mother. "She's your brother's daughter."
"He was good for nothing, just like she is good for nothing," said my aunt in that same waspish tone she always had.
"Well, he was good enough for you to own this house and all the fine jewelry in your safe," spat my mother. I was proud of her for standing up for herself, even if I didn’t hear it so often from her.
"Weigh your words carefully or neither of us will get the money," said my aunt.
Evidently, my father, who I never met, was some rich man, someone with royal blood or whatever. Anyway, before he died, he'd set up a trust fund for me that I could have once I turned 18. I had just turned 16, so I had a ways to go and anyway, I didn't care about the money. I just wanted to be happy. I just wanted to find my mom.
I'd forgiven her for what she'd tried when I was younger. She was mentally ill, but I believed her when she said that she was better. I could have held onto the anger, the blame, but even if it might have helped me feel anything but numb, I wouldn’t have a ounce of hope to cling to.
I believed in karma, though and the awful things my aunt had done to me would come back to her one way or another.
I had plans and what was more, there was one thing she didn't know, something I had kept very, very close to my chest. She didn't know that I had a boyfriend.
CHAPTER 8
Raven
Ethan and I saw each other during study hall, lunch, and whenever I could sneak away like when she sent me to do all the errands. She didn't have a clue for a full year, until she did.
"Beautiful baby," he'd call me with a twinkle in his eyes. I know it's corny, but it's what I needed to hear. Besides, his voice was so soothing and that smile of his always made me feel at least something in my life was going right.
Ethan's so beautiful, dark hair, gorgeous brown eyes, and eyelashes to die for. He's on the football team at school and he's always encouraging me to get out of my aunt's place.
"You can't let her treat you like that," he said to me again today under the football bleachers, our normal hiding place.
"I know that. Do you think I want her to treat me like that?" I asked. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and glanced around, fearful that someone might overhear us; I didn’t exactly have friends to cover for me here.
"You gotta get angry." He said with an exasperated sigh.
"I am angry. Don't I look angry?" I looked back at him.
"No, you look nice and polite." He seemed unmoved by my display, and shrugged his shoulders.
"What do you want me to do? Stab her?" I asked. Looking around again, I saw that there were some cheerleaders beginning to practice not too far away, though still far enough away — and loud enough besides — that we wouldn’t be overheard by them.
"That could be a start," he laughed.
"It's not funny. It's not," I said, but then I couldn't help but laugh too.
His laughter subsided and he got that look in his eyes. You know the look that tells you a guy wants to kiss you. I could never resist his soft full lips, nor the way I got weak in the knees whenever he kissed me.
His hand slid up my arm, thumbing my bra strap. I wriggled away, twisting my body and giggling. "Stop," I said.
"Come on," he said, and even though he hadn’t tried to touch me under my shirt again, his hand was still on my shoulder. "I just want to make you feel special."
Nice. I'm not stupid. My mom had been warning me about guys since I was a little girl. She said that's how my father talked her into their first time.
I pecked him on the head and headed out, "I gotta get home." He sighed and I turned back to wink at him. He's always trying to get me to do more than just kissing, but I told him I was a virgin and I wanted to stay that way until I was ready. He said he understood, but lately he was distracted. I'd caught him flirting a few times with other girls. He said he was only being friendly, but I wasn't so sure. I was rarely sure of anything anymore.
I tried not to think about such things. He was the closest thing I had to a friend since my aunt didn't let me have any social life and all the weirdos at school looked at me strange. Maybe it's because I'm ugly, at least that's what my aunt keeps telling me. I tried not to think about it, but the thoughts would stick around all the same. They kept me company the whole way home, the same as they always did. In a twisted sort of way, they had become my friends.
"Hello!" I said as I stepped inside my aunt's house. Luckily everyone was gone and I looked in the long mirror at the top of the stairs. Between my mom’s insistence of covering all the mirrors when I was younger and my complete and thorough isolation from everything outside of the attic nowadays, I’d practically forgotten what I looked like.
As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, it only grew more grotesque when I frowned at what I saw. I didn't like my crooked button nose or my emerald green eyes. I didn't like my dark hair or my ugly glasses. Sure, my boyfriend said I had a great figure, if I'd only wear more provocative clothes, but my aunt would never let me do that. Besides, nothing would erase the ugly scar I had on the side of my face. Fortunately, I could style my hair to cover it most of the time, but it still made me feel insecure.
"Emma ..." whispered a voice as I looked in the mirror. I turned around swiftly. Despite desperately searching, I couldn’t find anyone, not in the parlor, not in the kitchen, not down the hallway I’m not allowed in, or the staircase leading to my attic. Who was that? Why was I always hearing voices? I tried not to dwell on it too much as I somberly made my way back to the attic. Much as it was my prison, I was aware of what would happen to me if I wasn’t back in my cage by the time my jailers were back. Maybe it was my imagination, overactive from years of isolation and neglect. Maybe it was some form of imaginary friend I had just never had the chance to grow out of. Or maybe it was my greatest fear, that I was becoming crazy like my mother.
CHAPTER 9
Raven
"Good morning," my aunt chirped one morning, not long after that day, with a pleasant tone in her voice as I finished up the dishes.
It startled me. I'd never seen her actually in a good mood as she hummed a little tune, opening the fridge and pulling out a few fruits. She set them on the counter, a smile almost passing for pleasant on her face. Even though I knew I shouldn’t feel guilty for it, I felt a little bad that I was immediately suspicious.
"Would you be so kind as to make me a glass of juice. You are so good at it and I don't know where to start."
"Well, yes ma'am, of course," I said, still surprised at how pleasant she was to me.
I pulled the blender from under the cabinet in a daze, plugged it in and after I washed all the fruit I began to put everything inside. Call me an optimist but part of me wondered if perhaps I had misunderstood my aunt, maybe there was some good in her after all. Maybe it was just buried under all the unpleasantness of the rest of her on most days.
Beep-beep-beep. I searched my jean pockets for my phone. I thought I'd put it on silent, so that my aunt didn't suspect something. I was getting upset at Ethan at first because I'd made it clear that he couldn't call me at this time so she didn't catch on. I swallowed the lump of panic in my throat— I needed to find it, and fast. Worse yet, I needed to come up with a feasible excuse for the noise.
But the phone kept beeping and I couldn't find it anywhere.
"Looking for this?" my aunt asked and as I turned, I saw her drop the phone in the blender, put the top on it and before I could say anything or even think to move to stop her, I watched her start the machine.
It ground my phone along with the fruit to my horror. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I watched, nauseating dread curdling in my stomach as the bits of metal and plastic that had once been my lifeline were torn to shreds.
"I think I made it clear that you are only to associate with the other students at school, that your extracurricular activities are reserved for the church, but you didn't listen," she said, stopping the machine.
I stepped toward her but she held her hand up. "No, no, no. I think I made it especially clear that you are not to have a boyfriend. Say goodbye to Ethan," she said grinding up my phone with a flick of the blender’s switch once again.
Tears burned down my cheeks. Even as I frantically tried to think of a way to evade her dark punishment, I knew it was an exercise in futility. Once my aunt found out that I had a boyfriend, she put me on lockdown. I hadn’t realized what little freedom I had left until she robbed me of it. She didn't let me out of her sight. My window into the outside world was reserved only for classes and when I saw Ethan between classes, I had to ignore him with no explanation, even to the point of having to duck into classrooms and places to avoid him seeing me altogether. He was hurt, I could see it in his eyes, but something inside me told me my aunt was capable of anything and I was doing it for his own good.
My aunt is the Wicked Witch of the West incarnated. If I had any doubts, any at all, as to how evil she could truly be, they were promptly dashed, along with my phone. She thought she could keep me as her prisoner for all eternity, but she was wrong. I was burned out, tired, and angry. But above all, I wanted out.
