Transcend (7 page)

His words both scare and excite me. The blood rushes to my head as I imagine an end to my suffering. My pulse quickens.

No more pain.

No more fury.

 Only Kiera. Forever.

I cling to the delusions forming in my thoughts. Me. Kiera. Together, locked in my thoughts. I swallow as my stomach clenches.

“Brother?’

“Yes, Ien.”

I turn, facing the shrouded silhouette I once hated. Before he offered the salvation I now crave. “Please, brother. Help

me

die…”

9.

“My heart, all mad with misery,

Beats in the hollow prison of my flesh.”

~William Shakespeare (Titus Andronicus)

~

Death didn’t listen to Mother’s prayers. Or Ien’s. He continued to breathe life through his lungs. His heart continued to pump blood through his disfigured body. He was alive, no matter how much he wanted to die.

The physical pain of his injuries had lessened over the past two months. His body was healing. But not his emotional torment, that increased with a violent urgency. Even Jenna couldn’t calm his heart or ease his anguish.

“I remember when you first started playing the piano,” she said one morning, trying to coax Ien from his depression. “It was the first year I came to live here. Remember?”

He did remember. He was six. He had loved playing the piano ever since the first moment he’d touched the keys, feeling how they danced under his fingertips.

“No one can create music like you. Even then I knew you were special.”

Mother knew it too, which was why she took it away from him. The memories of that night, the night she forbade him from music, from Kiera, crashed into his consciousness, throwing him back to that day…

“Why are you still playing that? I told you there was no future in music.”

“Yes, Mother, you did. But I disagree.” Ien continued to pluck at the keys, waiting for her response.

“My son will not be a…a…musician.” Mother could scarcely form the words spitting from her mouth.

Ien smiled at her loss of control. Before he could think, she slapped him hard across the cheek, stopping his playing instantly.

“I will not tolerate your insolence. You will stop playing. Now.” Another blow landed across his cheek. And another.

Ien took every hit, refusing to acquiesce to the pain that coated his face, or the hatred that swirled up through his soul.

“Why, Ien? Why are you trying to torment me? You were never like this when Erik was alive. You never disobeyed me like this.” Mother sounded almost sad. “You are not going to be a musician and that is final. I will hear no more of this ridiculousness.”

She stared at Ien, waiting. She was always waiting. “Am I understood Ien? Music is done. This incessant playing is done. You will not touch a piano here or at school. And you certainly will not be playing with Miss McDougal again.”

Ien’s hatred smoldered. He turned away from her, hiding the tears welling in his eyes.

“Don’t you turn away from me!” Grabbing a fistful of his hair she forced his face toward hers.  

Ien watched the grin form on her face, starting from her eyes and slowly reaching her lips. He stiffened, refusing to give into her.

“This nonsense ends now. Say it!”

He was silent once more.  

“Ien, are you okay? Ien?” Jenna’s voice pulled him from his memories.

He nodded, still lost in his fractured mind, unable to find a place of solace.

Another week passed and Ien clung to his suffering, as though each tear reaffirmed his existence. No longer consumed with thoughts of death, he relished the agony that ripped through his heart. It served as a reminder to keep fighting against Mother, to survive. Regardless the cost.

Jenna and the other servants continued to tend to his injuries, removing the bandages, cleaning the wounds, and replacing the linens. They never flinched when they cleaned the wounds on his arms and torso, and neither did Ien. The air no longer agitated
those
places. Touch no longer ignited agony.  

Ien’s face was another matter, however.  One by one, his servants removed the strips covering his face. They stuck to his skin, tugging and pulling on the still raw flesh. Waves of nausea crested over him every time the bandages were removed. The bite of the cold February air hitting his face brought its own type of torture, feeling more like a thousand little knives shredding his skin further.

But the physical pain wasn’t the worst part. It was the look on the servants’ faces. They turned their heads as they peeled back the layers of linen, becoming stiff as they tried to bolster themselves against the visual onslaught. More than once, Ien watched the look of terror register in their eyes. More than once he heard them gag and felt their footsteps as they fled the room, sickened by him. Their reactions hadn’t lessened since the accident. In fact, they had become worse.

Only Jenna accepted his injured face, never flinching or registering fear. She didn’t question his dark moods, or the names he screamed when he was lost somewhere inside of himself. Nor did she question the strange stories he told her every night. Stories about his dead brother, building a life with Kiera, and reclaiming his broken existence.

“Can I ask you something?” Ien looked at Jenna through the tattered bandages.

“Of course,” Jenna said.

“Why don’t you fear my face?”

Jenna drew a long, slow breath. “I know you, Ien. You. And your face…it doesn’t define who you are. Not to me.”

“But everyone else—”

“Doesn’t know you like I do.”

Ien kept silent for a moment. “What do I look like?”

The question hung between them as Jenna drew a sharp breath. She shook her head and looked away.

He reached to her, his arms still bound to the bed, his wrists raw. “Please, Jenna, be honest. How bad is it?”

Sorrow filled her expression. “It’s bad, Ien. Really bad.” She took his hand in hers. “But it may still heal. You have to trust in that.” A lone tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek.

“Describe it to me.”

“For what purpose?” She leaned in, her lips inches from him. “Just remember who you are, Ien.” She brushed his forehead with her lips, her cheeks flushing. She pulled away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No. It’s fine.” Ien squeezed her hand.

“Promise me something,” she whispered, looking away.

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll remember that how you look is not reflective of the you inside. No matter what happens, what people say, promise me you’ll remember.”

Emotions warred in Ien. Thoughts of Kiera. Jenna. A life he could never have. Ien turned his head, dropping Jenna’s hand.

“Promise me, Ien.”

“I promise.” The lie scraped across his lips.

~

The next morning brought the sunlight streaming through Ien’s windows, warming his arms. He opened his eyes, blinking back the brightness reflecting around his room. He edged onto his elbows, struggling against his bindings. His wrists were red and chaffed. The pain had been replaced by a tingling numbness. And the anguish in his heart replaced by rolling emptiness.

Perhaps this life
was
death.

Whispers and the distinctive footsteps of Mother caught his attention.
Coming to kill me at last, Mother?
He slipped back down under the perfectly pressed linens, pretending to sleep as the door creaked open.

“Clean him up and get him ready to travel.” She sounded tense, antiseptic.

“Yes ma’am.” Jenna’s voice was off.

Something bad was happening; what, Ien couldn’t be certain.  

“Pack only his school clothes. Simple things. He has no need for the rest.”

A sinking feeling landed in the pit of Ien’s stomach.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Today we end this,” Mother said more to herself than anyone else. Her skirt rustled and the floorboards squeaked as she walked across the floor. Back and forth, the sound wafted.

She was nervous, Ien was certain of it. He risked a glance. The sunlight framed her, highlighting her clenched jaw. She exuded a familiar distance—the same distance he had felt when Erik had died last year. The same distance that never left his father’s eyes.  

“Jenna.” Mother turned and looked at the young servant packing Ien’s clothes. “I want him to see it. The service, I want him to see.”

“Ma’am?” Jenna’s brow furrowed, her voice stilted.

Mother remained quiet, her pause stealing the oxygen from the room. She took a steadying breath and walked to the door. “Never mind,” she said as she straightened to her full height, made taller by the command of her words. “Have him ready to travel in an hour.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jenna nodded and continued to open the bureau drawers, putting Ien’s clothes into a small satchel.

Mother left without a glance in Ien’s direction. He opened his eyes and edged up in the bed.

“Jenna? What is she talking about? Travel where? What’s happening?” The questions poured from him in rapid succession, his voice barely audible from lack of use.

Jenna took a step away from him, horror painting the subtle features of her face. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks.

“Please, Jenna, don’t leave. I need to know what’s happening.”

“It’s not my place.” She swallowed back a shaky sob, as her hair escaped its confines, framing her face in blond waves.

“Jenna, it’s me. Please. I have to know what’s going on.” Ien reached out to her, frustrated by the binds that continued to tether him.

He caught her hand as she rushed around the room, gathering a few of his belongs. She froze, the tension palpable.

“Jenna?”

She faced him, choking back the sadness storming in her eyes. “I can’t…”

Jenna had always told him things about Mother, truths the servants overheard, the gossip spoken in hushed tones in the halls.  

“Please,” he pleaded, refusing to release her hand.

She closed her eyes and released a heavy sigh. “Mrs. Montgomery…your mother…she’s sending you away. After your funeral.”

“Funeral?” Ien’s blood ran cold. “Aren’t those only for people who’ve died?” His voice cracked on the last word as he dropped Jenna’s hand and looked away.

She was really going to do it; Mother was going to kill him.

“Mrs. Montgomery…she…she announced your death last week. Preparations for your funeral have been in full swing.

“When?” There was a cold detachment in Ien’s voice, as if he was no longer part of the scene.

“Today.”

Ien fell back on the bed, the truth crushing down on him. He was already dead. At least to the rest of the world.  

“And Father? He agreed to this?” Ien knew the answer before the words left his mouth.

Jenna nodded.

“It was his idea,” Ien whispered. His fate wasn’t his own now. No one wanted him alive.

Ien’s stomach churned, clenching as the truth of his reality wrapped around him, squeezing the air from his lungs. He coughed, sputtering on the lies his parents had spun. James believed him dead. Kiera as well.

“Where are they sending me?” His mind raced to try to figure a way out of his private hell.

“I don’t know.”

“Jenna?” He couldn’t accept her answer. He had to know, had to prepare.

“Really, I don’t know.”

Silence engulfed the room, as Ien sat, lost in a palpable fear. Jenna put the last of Ien’s things in the bag and fastened it closed as a few sobs escaped her lips. “It’ll turn out okay,” she lied. “I have to believe that.”

Ien had no response. Whatever was going to happen to him, it was far from fine.

“Your parents love you. They’re just—”

“Don’t make excuses for them.”

It was Jenna’s turn to be quiet. An awkward distance grew between them as Ien’s blood pounded in his ears.

Jenna placed the bag near the door. “It’s almost time.”

He nodded, swallowing his own tears. “Jenna. I need you to do something for me. Please?”

“What?”

“Take a letter down for me. To Kiera.”

“That isn’t a good idea. Not now.”

“Please, Jenna. She has to know the truth. She has to wait for me to return.”

“But, your mother—”

“Do this for me. Please.”

Jenna’s shoulders slumped as she resigned, walked to the writing desk and sat. “You know I won’t refuse you, Ien. I can’t.” She released another heavy sigh. “Hurry. We haven’t much time.” She pulled the paper from the desk, grabbed a pen and looked toward Ien.

“Thank you.” Ien closed his eyes and composed his thoughts. “My Dearest Kiera.” His voice cracked as the words died in his mouth. His eyes began to water. “I am not dead,” he started again. “The accident that stole me from you could never force me to leave. I am being sent away from my life by forces too sinister to mention.”

Ien stopped, his breath coming in quick gasps.

“Go on,” Jenna prodded.

He started again. “I will find my way back to you, no matter the cost. We will have a life together, the one I promised. Wait for me, my love.” Ien’s eyes filled with tears. “As I wait for you. Forever yours, Ien.”

Jenna finished writing and blew lightly on the parchment.

“Read it back to me.”

Jenna read the letter slowly, deliberately. Ien closed his eyes and choked back a sob. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

She folded the letter into an envelope and walked to the bed, her eyes reflecting a dark tempest of emotion.

“I have one more favor to ask of you,” Ien said as he took Jenna’s hand again. “Will you give it to her for me?

“I don’t think…I…no. I can’t.” The storm broke loose, filling Jenna’s eyes with tears.

      “It has to be you. There is no one else I can trust.”

Jenna shook her head, yanking her hand free and turning away.

“For me, Jenna. Please. Kiera has to know this funeral is a farce. She has to wait for me. I’ll die without her. I know it.”