Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series (9 page)

   Tamara forces her eyes to move away from her soon-to-be anger tension release object. She subdues her heated blood flow as if it were a simple switch upon a wall somewhere. The girl refocuses her energy onto the task at hand.

   “Got any ideas?”, Tamara rhetorically asks the infamous plan master.

   “Jennifer's already on it,” Rebecca answers, “She has one of those computer geeks who has access to Mr. Donovan’s office.”

   Tamara notices a strange look on Rebecca's face.

   “I know that look,” Tamara informs Rebecca, “That's not all of it.”

   “Not exactly,” Rebecca grins guiltily. Her blue eyes shift to Jennifer who is sitting to Tamara's right.

   “Crap,” Tamara voices her displeasure.

   Jennifer smiles, “I tried to talk him out of it. But a date with you was his only price.”

   “Are you serious? Who is it?”, the frustrated Tamara reluctantly inquires.

   “David Snow,” Rebecca answers, “He's not that bad. He's a junior.”

   “No way. I've got a boyfriend,” Tamara states, “And if he's not so bad then you go out with him.”

    Rebecca shakes her head, “He specifically asked for you.” The captain pleads her case, “We need you, girl. Do it for the sisterhood. It's only for one night.”

   Rebecca makes prayer hands, “Please.”

   “Damn it,” Tamara's tone reflects her willing defeat. The girl points her finger at Rebecca, “You two are gonna owe me big for this.”

   Rebecca puckers her lips. She makes a kissing sound, “We love you.”

   “And now you have a solid reason to try out some geek,” Jennifer jumps in.

   Tamara playfully pushes her bff hard on the shoulder, “That is so not going to happen.” She gets up from her seat, “Ever.”

   Rebecca and Jennifer laugh as they join their friend in standing.

   Jennifer stares at her bff, “That's what you're saying now, but...”

  
Ring. Ring.

   The school bell issues the warning that lunch is over.

   Tamara shakes her head, “But nothing. It's never going to happen. You're lucky I love you two like I do. And what am I supposed to tell Jason? He's gonna freak out.”

   Rebecca winks, “We have faith in you. You'll figure out something. You always do.”

   Tamara gives both of her friends a pointed tongue to look at.

   Rebecca and Jennifer smile. They all agree on seeing each other again during practice. On her way out, Tamara locks eyes with the new girl across the lunchroom. She will soon feel her wrath and physical prowess. And the disrespectful teacher's pet will soon learn what it means to earn the title:
Tamara's Submissive
.

   Tamara winks her right eye and puckers her lips. She teases with an air kiss. The new girl nervously looks down at the floor before turning away. Tamara grins.

   “You are way too old for me to ground you to the house. Just give me one day for old time's sake,” Victoria pleas with motherly concern.

   Caroline sends her text message to Rebecca, “You'll get no arguments from me. I’m starting to feel like that pig fat you like to stuff in your mouth.”

   Victoria grins, “Well at least you still have your sense of humor.”

   Caroline silently reads Rebecca's response:
'Get bttr clutz. C u 2mrw. Got it here. Fill u n b4 schl. Luv U!'

   The exhausted teen makes a weak attempt at a smile, “Yeah, there's that.” She sets her phone to vibrate before lying her head back against the Cadillac’s leather car seat.

   “My head is pounding,” the girl complains.

   “Tylenol, Gatorade, some soup, and a lot of sleep is what the mother has ordered,” Victoria reveals her plan for her daughter.

   Caroline grins with her eyes closed, “Your comedy is horrible, doc.”

   Victoria laughs. But internally she is somewhat nervous about her daughter's situation. Combine today's recent events with her ever increasing night terrors, and the resulting cocktail blend seems to point to an emotional meltdown.

   The pressures of school activities, friendships, and anxiety build-ups over the inevitable transitional period of school girl years heading into collegiate womanhood – this can be a lot for any teenager to balance. Add the occasional peer pressure moment, the need to always look perfect and beautiful, the body's need to feel wanted and accepted, and the balancing act for an older teen girl then becomes a constant state of fighting gravity.

   But if someone throws a wrench into this delicate clockwork, the resulting damage can leave a life completely ruined. Victoria, the leading psychologist at HLDI (Human Learning and Development Institute), is all too familiar with the lives changed by this wrench. In Caroline's situation, it is her father who has recklessly seeded this destructive virus into her life.

   The woman glances over at her daughter while she makes the right turn leading home. There's a problem with growing up in a house with someone who works in the medical field. Children like Caroline won't listen to any advice; especially, if they believe they are being psycho-analyzed in any way. So the best thing for Victoria to do right now is to be a mother, and not Dr. Victoria Reynolds.

   The woman slows the car to a stop and places it in park. She quietly announces their destination,

   “We're home. Go on upstairs and lie down. I'm right behind you.”

   Caroline rubs her temples. She gets out of the car and walks towards the two-story house. Her mom, Victoria, is close behind.

Chapter 4

   Dear Diary

   Julianna Atwood. This girl is problematic in every sense of the term. She is currently experiencing some type of extreme traumatic event and is able to keep me clueless as of to its nature. Never, in all of my existence, has anyone ever been able to do such a thing. Nevertheless, she is doing it. And although it may be intriguing, it is a serious problem for her.

   I cannot help her like this. And I'm starting to feel like some kind of parasite. Under normal circumstances the person I am inside of is hidden from me. It is a strange balance. But as I am now realizing, it is a necessary one. It works. This Julianna, on the other hand, is not hidden.

   I do not believe this sixteen-year-old is aware of my being here. Her grandmother, I question in this regard. And that creepy voodoo priestess most definitely knows I am here. I have never been confronted by one of her kind before. Not until that shop, anyway.

   The woman may have examined Julianna with a smile, but I heard words. She spoke without moving her lips. Her brown eyes made me uncomfortable as I heard her say, ‘
I know you are there
.’ As crazy as that might sound, it is eerily true.

   She went on to ask what my name was and who I was. I tried to answer her, but couldn't. Julianna's strange ability for keeping me subdued prevented any conversation on my part. Every time I attempted to speak out, it felt like I was being wrapped and constricted. Sorta like a snake squeezing the life from its dinner.

   The Lady Lanecia seemed to figure this strange anomaly out as well, for she quit probing. And I'm glad she did. Her inquisition was becoming quite painful within this sense. This constricting seems to occur each time I try to influence this girl's decision-making. I would never hurt her. I am only here to help. And if it isn't Julianna who is doing this, then she must have already had company within her before my arrival. It is my only explanation to these things.

   It is my hope that I will be able to overcome this nonsensical restriction. This child needs my help or I wouldn't be here in the first place. I don't ever get to pick and choose in whom I will awaken. If I am here, then there is a purpose other than playing passenger on some roller coaster. Regardless, I am a passenger at the moment. And in addition, my blackouts are steadily increasing.

   I can't help but to maintain an uneasy feeling concerning my existence. I may cease to be at any time. But then again, this could be an unfounded fear with no real merit. One thing is for sure, if I am unable to get a handle on this situation we are both in trouble. Julianna will never receive the help she so desperately needs. And I, myself, may be permanently restricted by the parental controls of a sixteen-year-old.

July 15,1989

Dear Diary,

      This is all so strange to me. It seems I have reached some kind of important turning point in my life. Until a few days ago, I thought this library was just a boring place my mom used as an easy form of punishment. A choice between cleaning or reading – as if I would ever grab a broom or mop in place of falling asleep with a book.

   Today, I turned fourteen and mom gave me a diary. It was hers. She did some weird thing with an oath and made me swear to it before giving it to me. It was off the wall. Even for her.

   I read some of it today. Sorry, can't write about it. It's all part of the mad lady oath I swore to. On the bright side, I can write about anything else I want to. Taking the oath means she can't read my diary at all. That's cool. Definitely worth the oath.

   This diary stuff is new to me. I've never wrote to a book before. Not sure why I'm doing it now. But I think I like it. I believe I've met the mandatory entry requirements mom talked to me about. But I'm still not clear on all of the rules when writing to you. I'll have a better understanding after reading more of mom's diary. All she really mentioned was having a library and using it. Gee. Thanks for the insight, mom.

                                                                                           Sincerely,

                                                                                                     Theresa

  
July 17, 1989

   Dear Diary,

      I've spent the last two days reading my mom's diary. There's a lot of weird stuff in there. I'm going to need some time to try and understand it all. It's just too much to take in all at once. But I'll say she seems a little crazy. It blows that I can't write anything about it. Stupid oath.

                                                                                         Sincerely,

                                                                                                   Theresa

   Julianna laughs and then wipes her nose. Before now, it was tough for her to consider her mother as a teenager. Theresa was always mom. Her mom. And now she is dead. Killed by the 'Big C'.

   Julianna grabs more tissues to wipe the water from her eyes. She, carefully, closes the diary and locks it. She kisses the key before tucking the necklace it is bound to down her shirt. The girl decides it is time to prepare for the long haul.

   Julia puts her new clothes into the wardrobe. She holds out her nightwear for after her shower. The teen turns and looks at her mother's diary lying upon the desk. Julianna's partial smile reflects both the sadness she feels for her mom's departure and a renewal of  closeness she is gaining from the diary.  She grabs her clothes and heads towards the washroom.

  
Tonight, it's about you and me, mom.

  
Click.

   “Whoa,” Julianna mesmerizes at the scene before her. The illumination of the room unveils an array of beauty products along the floor-to-ceiling shelves against the far wall. Julianna smiles. She had no idea her grams was this wealthy. This one washroom alone is worth more than some people's entire house. It has to be.

   She examines strange symbols decorating the marble flooring. Not a big surprise there. Every room down here is the same way. The exception would be to the center room where she now stays. All of its symbols are carved high around the wall's perimeter. It becomes quite obvious that the wall's symbols are copies of the symbols she has been seeing upon the floors. And while they may be beautiful to look at, Julianna has no understanding of them. Nor does she care to; at least, not at the current moment. Shower, munchies, and her mother's diary…these are her priorities.

   Her admiring eyes drift away from the symbols. They trace along the blue-swirl white marble flooring. Its coloring is a rather elegant touch in conjunction with both the shower and tub to her left.

   She looks at the massive six-person blue-tiled shower. It is full of all kinds of water jets. She quickly understands there is no place where these golden jets can't reach. The teen grins as she notices the individual behavior and temperature controls for each one. And their coloring causes her to wonder if they are of a plated or of a pure nature.

   Julianna drops her clothing upon a bench between herself and the six-man shower. It is made of wood and runs the length of the showers and tub. With its high gloss finish, Julia assumes it must have something to do with protecting the light colored wood from water. Suspended from the ceiling, the bench does not break up the flow of curious symbols upon the flooring. Furthermore, its spacing from shower to bench is perfect. Not so close as to be in the way; yet, not too far as to make someone track water everywhere.

   The girl's left brow rises slightly as she contemplates the bathtub placed between the showers and linen area. The tub has an appearance of black glass. Its strange pentagonal shape is constructed beautifully to nestle within its own personalized space.

   Julianna's eyes move beyond the tub to examine the linen area. Housed inside of black-tinted glass, the area is every bit as big as some bathrooms she has seen. She walks over and enters the room. Her mouth opens slightly while she stares. The room is filled with a variety of robes, towels, face clothes, shower shoes, house shoes, and feminine hygiene products. Every color of the rainbow has its own section. Julianna reaches over to her right and gently touches the red velvet covering of the shelving. It has been charged with holding the royal-like linen within their rightful places. With a sense of becoming a little too overwhelmed, Julianna grabs the first towel and facecloth within reach. She turns and heads back out.