The Beckoning of Beautiful Things (The Beckoning Series) (22 page)

She flicked her hands madly and hopped up and down.

“Did you find one?” Tom’s voice called through the air.

“Yes…no…yes…maybe.”

“Is that a yes or a no, Ms. Marissa? Make up your mind.”

“It’s a yes
, but it’s my head.
So
not suitable.”

“Bring it.”

“No,” she wailed.

“Bring the damn head,” Tom commanded with the same force as before.

Marissa ground her teeth together, scrunched up her face, and let out a loud exclamation, spraying spit from her mouth as she did this. She clenched and unclenched her hands over and over and over.

“Get over here!” Tom yelled. “Chiara’s going to sail away and that is
not
going to make me very happy. I’ve been trying to claim her for years.”

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” Marissa cried. “Okay…picking up the head…picking up my head…picking up a head that looks like mine.” She plucked the dirty hair out of the mud and looked at her face. It looked so sad. It looked like it should have been a happy face. This face should have belonged to someone else, someone who could give it a happy, fulfilled life. Using her thumbs, she gently closed the eyelids over the dead, hazel eyes. She reached for the corner of her shirt and wiped away the smudges on the cheeks. Tears started trickling down her face. She hugged the head tightly to her chest and wept.

“I’m waiting,” Tom yelled.

“I’m coming,” she snapped. “Hold your damn horses, old man.” She began to climb out of the abyss, using her instinct to guide her, as well as Tom’s chuckles. Once more immersed in the white world, she handed the head to Tom.

“Good choice. This one will bring Chiara right down.” He fastened the head to the hook and began to twirl the line.

“This is creepy,” she said, watching the head that looked like hers spin in a circle.

“Pull on your big girl panties and deal with it.”

The wind from the gilded wings began to buffet. Marissa peered up into the white sky but could only see white, swirling to and fro in billowy gusts.

“Yip, yip, yip, yip, yip. Come on now. Get your big, beautiful self down here,” Tom called. He whirled the lure until it blurred. The blur began to crackle with light. Tom slowed down the whirling.

Marissa’s mouth fell open as she watched the head. Light beams poured out of the eye sockets and mouth.

Vague colors appeared through the mist as the Coati-lumina came into sight. Tom released the head and it soared into the sky, tumbling like a light filled rocket into the claws of Chiara. The bird beast screeched in triumph, her wings beating hard. The second the knifelike talons perforated the scalp of the severed head, Marissa clutched her own head and shrieked. No longer separate from its body, it was now her head, attached to her body, being painfully hefted into the creepy white sky.

I’m definitely losing my mind.
The forceful, steady squeeze of the giant bird’s talons pierced her scalp. Blood trickled from her temples. Her hands grasped the smooth, chiseled claws of her captor. “Let me go,” she pleaded, twisting back and forth. “Let me go!”

The bird did as she asked
, and she fell through vistas of white, landing in her aunt’s bedroom.
No, wait a minute, this is my bedroom. Or, wait, it was my bedroom after my mom died.

As if she was watching a movie of her life, she viewed her
15year old self, laying on the bed sobbing. Her aunt appeared at the door, her long, brown hair tucked inside of a white turban, like a Hollywood star from the old glamour era.

“Marissa? I’ve brought you something to ease your mind.”

“Did you bring back my mom and dad?” she wailed.

“No, dear, I can’t do that.”

“Then I don’t want whatever you’ve brought me. Nothing will ease my mind.” She rocked back and forth on the bed.

“The doctor said this will help.”

“The doctor didn’t lose his parents in a plane crash. Go away!”

Her aunt’s shoes softly shuffled across the white carpet. The bed gave way where her aunt sat, like a small bird, at the edge of the white bedspread. A hand reached out and stroked her hair.

Marissa squeezed her eyes tighter, hoping the hand would disappear.

“Come on, dear, do as the doctor ordered.”

“No!” young Marissa protested.

Older Marissa peered out from her vantage point, observing her surroundings. Tom’s face poked out of the white wall, chewing on a blade of grass.

“Where are we? Stuck in the wall?”

“Not stuck, exactly. We’re incognito, Ms. Marissa.”

She tilted her head down and saw the wall stretching down in front of her. “Is my face all you can see, too?”

“Yup.” He calmly chewed in the grass stem. “That’s where it happened, Ms. Em. I knew we’d uncover the truth.”

“What did we uncover? My aunt is only trying to console me.”

“Just wait. Chiara dropped you here for a reason. It’s time to put your face on straight. No more peering through rabbit eyes.”

A loud pop-gun like sound echoed through the dream. The scene changed. Marissa and Tom peered through the kitchen window, like two strange ghosts.

Aunt Topaz stood before a handsome Latino man. His dark hair slicked back from his face. He wore a brown suit, with an elegant green dress shirt, open at the collar. He spoke to her aunt in hushed tones.

“This is importante, Topaz. Muito importante.”

“Is that Spanish?” Marissa whispered.

“They can’t hear us. You don’t have to whisper. And no, it’s Portuguese. He’s from Brazil.”

The man spoke in a smooth, cultured voice. “Your niece is in danger, or she will be. Just give her this, once a week. It will calm her and keep her safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“From outside influences. Just do it, Topaz.”

“I don’t know,” her aunt said, running her fingers along the white tiled countertop. She fingered the pocket-sized bag the man had placed on the counter.

“Will it harm her?”

“No, it will only keep her safe. Please…” He seized her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes.

Marissa frowned.
He’s doing that thing that Daniel does with his eyes – that hypnotic thing.

“You only have to do it until she’s
16. After that, she won’t have any recollection of her abilities.”

Aunt Topaz nodded her perfectly coiffed head slowly up and down. “I trust you, Armando.”

Armando? Where had she heard the name Armando?
It suddenly dawned on her – they had all talked about Armando Navid at brunch the other day. “Is that Armando Navid?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“Appears to be, yes.” Tom spit out the blade of grass. It floated down and disappeared with a small snap.

“What’s in the package?”

“I don’t know, let’s keep watching.”

Another loud gunshot-like crack rang out. Marissa and Tom whizzed into Aunt Topaz’ music room. The white walls held pictures of white orchids hanging next to the undersize window. White curtains framed the window which opened to the back yard and the only source of vibrant color. One dark wooden chair stood in the middle of the room for her aunt to perch on when she sat with her cello.

Her aunt held a paint roller. She picked up a gray paint tray and wandered out into the hallway. The doorway to Marissa’s room framed brilliant light which poured forth from her teenage bedroom. Color bursts splattered the wall around her bedroom. Aunt Topaz dipped the roller in the paint tray, brought it up to the wall and painted the wall with some whitish-gray
substance. The phosphorescence substance oozed and bubbled in the paint tray. Once it was applied to the wall it quickly disappeared, along with the color. The light began to dissipate, too.

“That’s right,” the voice of Armando Navid said. “Cover up all the color. The color lets the light out. Next, use your hands to smooth down the wall where the light is trying to escape. Go down to the end of the hall, quickly before the fingers of light reach it.”

Small, spidery bolts of light began furrowing down the wall. Rapid little cracks and snaps issued forth from the wall, where the light burrowed. Her aunt raced the length of the long hallway ahead of the light. When she reached the end, she walked toward the bedroom and swept her hands along the painted wall where the light leaked out. Wherever she touched, the light fizzled, snapped and disappeared. At times it appeared that her hand would touch a blemish in the surface. She paused, her face scrunched in concentration. She moved her hands around and around until see seemed satisfied.

“What’s she doing?” Marissa asked Tom.

“Casting some sort of spell, I reckon.”

“You only have to do this until she turns
16. Then, her memory will be locked inside,” Armando continued.

Marissa’s frown deepened. “Where is he? I don’t see him.”

“He’s speaking through her mind.”

“What? Is my aunt some sort of witch or some sort of
Numen like Daniel? Like you?”

“Not sure, really. Keep watching.”

“Why can she do that and I can’t?”

“Keep a watching, Ms. Em. We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What memories are they talking about?”

“Just wait. Let’s watch.”

The diminutive discharge sounded again, and they whirled into the bedroom she had lived in as a child. The room was painted red and turquoise.
I thought it was blue,
older Marissa recalled. She watched as her 11 year old self tiptoed into the bedroom, along with her Siamese cat, Chum, by her side. “Shhh,” she said to the cat. Her brown hair was pinned in two bobbing ponytails. Freckles covered her nose and cheeks. “We can’t let Mom and Dad know or they’ll kill me.”

The cat leaned against the wall and rubbed his head and side.

“Look what I learned to do,” she whispered conspiratorially to the seal-point cat.

Chum sat down and regarded her with his cool blue eyes.

Little Marissa tiptoed out to look in the hall and then slunk back into the bedroom. She lifted her small hands, squinched her face tight, and concentrated. Tiny sparks erupted from her fingertips. She opened her eyes and told the cat, “Now watch. This is the cool part.”

She swept her hands in the air, painting colors and child-like shapes along the wall, using the electricity as her paintbrush and her imagination to apply the color. When she’d painted to her satisfaction, she shook her hands out by her side. The room was now spring green with childish trees and flowers dotting the surface. “Pretty cool, huh?”

Chum lifted up a tiny paw and groomed it.

“Watch this. This is even better.” She stooped down to retrieve a Barbie doll from under the bed. “Look,” she told the cat, as she placed Barbie in her metal waste bin. She held her small hands over Barbie’s head and laughed. “Bye, bye, Barbie!” Sparks erupted from her palms, catching the doll’s hair on fire. The fire spread to the plastic skull, melting the doll’s head into a smear of smelly beige and black remains.

“Marissa?” her mother called, from down the hall. “Marissa!” she scolded. “Are you burning your dollies again?”

Eleven year old Marissa picked up the smoldering doll, ran into the bathroom, dropped it in the toilet
, and ran back out, slamming the door behind her.

Her mother appeared in the doorway, frowning. “Marissa! You’re such a rebellious child! What are we going to do with you?”

Twenty-six year old Marissa hovered at ceiling height, stunned. The memory of that moment leaked into her head, much like the light fissures racing down the hallway of her aunts. “My memories! They’re coming back! I used to play with light. I used to will it into shape and form and color. I used to comb it through my mom’s hair. She’d laugh. I’d laugh. We were happy!” A small sob escaped. “I even pretended I was a bad-ass cowgirl, shooting light from my fingers. I burnt my neighbor’s fingers when he yelled at me for torching his roses. Boy, did I get into trouble for that one! What the hell happened to me? I became an amnesiac!”

The last snap and sizzle, like a cigarette being extinguished in a mud puddle, burst within earshot
, and she and Tom once more floated above 15 year old Marissa, watching her swallow whatever vile concoction Aunt Topaz held. Fifteen year old Marissa gagged and coughed as her aunt wrestled with her to try to get her to swallow.

“This is for your own good! Now swallow it!” her aunt commanded.

Fifteen year old Marissa struggled and yelled.

Topaz chanted in some strange language. As teenage Marissa stilled and swallowed the concoction, the great winged Coati-lumina appeared, its wings blowing the scene out of existence. It closed its claws over Marissa’s skull and took off into the air. This time, each hole produced by a piercing claw gushed with light, making Marissa the light source from earlier in the dream. This time, the lightning bolt down the front of her turtleneck vibrated with about a thousand watts. They sailed through the white
-washed world, soared through the rain-soaked gloom field, and wheeled into vistas of color.

Seconds later,
26 year old Marissa landed in her own bed, soaking wet and shivering, Sober’s nose pressed to her face. The dog now sparkled with light. His eyes danced with a bright glow, like two tiny flashlight beams. Pint-sized, luminescent wings popped out from his shoulders, beating as rapidly as his tail wagged. “Look at you, Sober! You’re my big, doofy, angel-dog!” She cast her eyes to her bedspread, and sure enough, light penetrated the colorful bedding and spilled out from beneath her sheets. “We’ve done it, Sober! We’ve restored our light!” She flung aside the covers. “How in the world will I cloak this?” Sober wagged his tail. “Easy for you to say. Today’s going to be interesting. I guess I’ll have to figure it out – after I feed my sparkling canine.”