The Birth of Bane (27 page)

Elijah was
nodding at every other word coming out of her mouth, his eyes as
big as saucers. It was easy to see he wanted to believe, but there
was something in the back of his mind – just as there’d been with
me – telling him otherwise.

Valerie must’ve
sensed it. “Plus, Mom had a restraining order put on him that says
he can’t come within five hundred yards of us.” Her voice was
soothing.

My little
brother gazed behind him so he could see her.

I caught my
mother’s look. Her face had gone deathly serious before she turned
to peer at my sister. “Elijah, why don’t you go play in your room
with your ColecoVision for a bit, ok? Can you do that? Mommy needs
to talk with Jeremiah and Valerie for a few minutes.”

He stared at
each of us individually, his gaze appraising. Then, the idea of
playing with the brand new video game console my mom had purchased
for him as a “Welcome Home” present must’ve appealed to him,
because suddenly he was beaming with excitement. He was nearly
bouncing on his toes. “Can someone help me set it up?” he asked,
his hands clasped before him in excitement.

“
I will,” I
volunteered and led him from the room.

Five minutes
later, I was back down in the dining room with my mom and my sister
seated at one of the end of the dining table. I made my way toward
them, sitting in one of the chairs closest to their
position.

“
Are you serious, Mom? He was right outside, on the front
porch, while we were watching the movie
the whole time
?” She
was vexed, disgusted too, as if she’d walked-in on someone in the
bathroom, in the middle of pushing out a tremendous
crap.

My mother shook
her head in the affirmative. “He’s not going to stop.”

“
You think so?”
I asked, scooting the chair closer to the table.

“
I’ve known the
man since high school. Once he gets something in his head, he won’t
stop.”

Valerie clicked
the roof of her mouth. “Even after Jerry put the smack-down on
him?”

“
He won’t be
caught by surprise the next time.” My mother made certain her and I
shared a glance. She wanted to understand, if there was to be a
second encounter, it wouldn’t be as easy as the first. “He’ll be
ready.”

“
God, I hate him!” My sister was glaring at the both of us. “I
know I’m not supposed to say the word, let alone
feel
it, but I can’t help it. I can’t stand him!”

My
m
om reached out to take both of
Valerie’s hands within hers. “You just make sure, if he comes you
find your brother and you run. Don’t stop until you know the both
of you are safe.” I saw the knuckles on my mother’s hands
whiten.

My sister was
peering directly into hers, tears beginning to well. “What about
you? What about Jeremiah?”

My
m
om was adamant. “You don’t
worry about us. You take Elijah and you keep him safe. Remember
what we talked about.”

Valerie’s head
was bobbing up and down.

“
Your brother
and I will take care of what needs to be taken care of.”

We talked for a
few minutes longer, but there was nothing else of merit to be said.
My mother had explained it perfectly.
We
would take care of
it. That was the plan.

So, ironic it
didn’t quite turn out that way.

*****

I woke up in the
middle of the night. It was terribly windy outside. It’s what had
to have awakened me.

Huge gusts
buffeted the house, howling as it swirled through the canyons and
valleys of the portion of Highland Park we lived. They sounded
eerie like a giant woman lamenting the loss of her beauty or her
lover… or her child. Every time I heard it, my imagination went
wild. I kept seeing this lady in a long flowing gown walking
silently about the yard, from front to side to back, to side to
front to side, around and around she went. Sometimes she was young,
at other times she was impossibly old and misshapen. Sometimes her
dress was pristine, perfectly white. Other times it was torn and
tattered, dirty as she she’d walked through the shallows of a muddy
river or stream, for the hem was nearly black with grime. She would
make no sound other than the
“OoooOoohooOoooo!”
that
came with every billow of air.

I would roll
over, attempt to banish her from my thoughts, but she kept
returning. I tried to think about Myra, her young body in my arms,
kissing me, holding me, making love to me – anything to get away
from the image of the maiden/hag circling the house outside. It
didn’t work. I tried pulling the blankets over my head, but I got
too hot and had to pop my head back out from underneath them. I
tried counting sheep or think about the last book I’d read or a
story I wanted to write, but she kept invading my
thoughts.

The young woman,
the old witch, the young woman, the old witch, the young woman, the
old witch – I couldn’t get away from her.

After nearly an
hour, I got up to look for my Walkman. I was hoping music would
help distracted my mind.

I got no more
than three or four steps when the doorknob turned and the door to
my bedroom began to open. I froze in my tracks, so frightened I
nearly peed. Though I didn’t want to look, my eyes betrayed me,
forcing me to gaze over at the portal of my room.

I expected to
see her, dressed as I’d envisioned, beautiful, resplendent. Her
bearing would be regal. Her delicate skull would be perched atop a
sculpted neck, her collarbones visible through the loosened strings
of her bodice. Her hair would be swept back, tucked prettily behind
her ears. Her lips would be dark shadows in the absence of true
light. Nonetheless, I would be able to tell they were pink, or
maybe red. There would be no lipstick. It would be their natural
color.

She would be
mesmerizing, captivating. I wouldn’t be able to take my eyes from
her. I would be forced to stare. She would regard me, her pale blue
eyes like unheated sapphires aglow with an inner flame no wind
could extinguish. There would be the beginnings of a simper at the
very edge of her lips. She would train her gaze upon me and know
me.

There would be
little I could do, other than to stare back.

Then, she would
melt. Right before my eyes, she would change. Her beauty would be
stripped away like flesh rotting before my eyes, fast-forward,
drying out, with huge clumps falling to the ground. Her dress would
wither. Her hand would become claws. The warm glow in her eyes
would burn white-hot. The color in her eyes would be burned away.
She would shrivel. She would become something else.

I could feel the
fear begin to rise.

I wouldn’t want
to look, but I couldn’t help myself.

She would
become
Her.

I didn’t want to
know. I didn’t want to see.

“
Can I sleep
with you, Jerry?” asked Eli.

It wasn’t her.
She hadn’t changed before my eyes.

It was my little
brother and he was frightened.

I cleared my
throat. “Is the wind scaring you, little buddy?” I asked, masking
the fear with my inflection.

Even through the
dark, I could see him shake his head. “It’s the voice, not the
wind.”

“
The
voice?”

“
Yeah, she won’t
shut up.” He walked the rest of the way into my room.

I beckoned
toward him. “Come on, get in.”

He scurried
forth, knee-walking to the head of the bed.

I got in the bed
with him, comforted at once by his presence. I was asleep within
minutes.

But later, I
awoke again and I heard her. It wasn’t
Her
, my phantom from
before. It was something else.

Over and over,
it said, “Not safe. Not safe. Not safe.

The mantra, the
drone, put me back to sleep.

~~~~~~~<<<
ᴥ
>>>~~~~~~~

PART
THREE

THE
BREACH

~~~~~~~<<<
ᴥ
>>>~~~~~~~

Chapter
Seventeen: A Family Affair

Not long after,
Scott was walking to his car after work and found all four of his
tires slashed. He called fifteen minutes before my mother walked
through the door.

Valerie had
answered. After a short conversation, she informed Eli and me what
had happened. We knew without a shadow of a doubt it had been Lenny
who had childishly marooned my mother’s boyfriend at work. We knew
he was off somewhere laughing like an idiot over his immature
antics. We knew what he was telling us as well. It might be a
silent message, but it was a clear one all the same. I am fairly
certain the act was to dissuade the man from hanging around us that
night, but in the uncertainty of the real world, it didn’t quite
work out that way. It served to push him in directly toward
us.

Deciding as one
to go and get him versus having him call a cab, we picked him up.
We left his car parked in the parking structure underneath his
building. It would be safe until Scott could get the tires repaired
the following morning.

We had been
silent at first, more than a little uncomfortable over the
situation. Scott was embarrassed, because he felt as though he were
imposing. He had almost insisted he take the taxi option before my
sister got on the phone and told him under no uncertain terms, we
were going to bring him to the house. As she figured, we kinda owed
it to him. Besides, a cab from downtown to Culver City would’ve
cost him an inordinate amount of money.

Valerie was
practical like my m
om.

My mother was
uneasy, because she’d never had to assist her significant other
before. No matter the situation, Lenny would’ve never called. He
would have a “friend” help him instead. To him, my mother was
useless, unworthy of helping.

We kids were
disconcerted, because we were ashamed of our father. There was no
way to “sugarcoat” the emotion. Having Leonard Favor for a dad was
a constant battle with self-deprecation and loathing. It was hard
not to associate his actions with our own, and that night it felt
like being a direct descendant of his was a curse.

Now, Scott, the
mild-mannered, soft-spoken man my mom liked was his latest
victim.

Though lashing
ones tires isn’t the end all of bad things one could possibly do to
another, but to us it was grossly boorish. Scott had never hurt
anyone. Scott was a true gentleman around my mother, around
Valerie. He was a fun-loving companion to Elijah and myself, who
took us to play basketball or catch – whether with a football or a
baseball – it didn’t matter. Over the past months, he’d brought a
degree of normalcy to our family. He brought routine around to
visit once again. And, he brought passion into my mother’s life,
something she needed more than anything at the time.

“
Are you going
to spend the night, Scott?” asked Eli, his head tilted to the right
as he gazed at the man in the front passenger seat.

Valerie giggled
before she could stop herself.

My
m
om glanced at me through the
rear-view mirror, a semi-chagrined expression trying to invade her
visage, though she was fighting valiantly to keep it from coming
forth.

I
shrugged.

It wasn’t one of
Scott’s “days” to stay over, but it wasn’t everyday he’d had all
four of his tires slashed either.

“
I think I’m
going to have to, little buddy. Is that ok with you?” said the
light-complected man with his amber eyes and dark brown hair,
combed back as usual.

To me, Scott
always reminded me of John Travolta. He was around the same height
and build, though his face was narrower, his hair was cut higher
along the back of his neck and face. But, his lithe frame and the
bouncy manner in which he walked were a “spitting image” of the
world famous actor.