The realization

Emma carefully set the steaming cup of tea onto the side table beside her study chair and collapsed into a crumpled ball on the soft cushions. Her feet came up and tucked themselves into the side of the chair, her knees resting just under her chin. Her back curved in a long round ball folding her breasts into her stomach. It was an action reminiscent of when she heard her mother died.

The female detective had walked awkwardly into the interview room, holding two styrofoam cups, translucent steam appearing in short bursts over the rim. Avoiding eye contact with Emma, the detective set the cups down, hot liquid tipping over the edge scalding her fingertips. She swore softly sticking the finger in her mouth for a second before finally glancing up and looking at Emma. The plainly dressed woman with the severely tight hair style let out her breath slowly and sat down. Hands slowing the process by bracing her body weight against the metal table. Emma ignored the cup and stared at the strange woman waiting. Dreading. Hoping.

"Hi," the woman said, wrapping her hands around the cup. Her dark blue eyes looked directly into Emma's for the first time. "I'm sorry I have to tell you this, your mother is dead."

Emma's head filled with a roaring sound. The woman was still speaking, she could hear the words pinging like cold coins against the sterile walls and dirty tiles, they were individual and jumbled. Emma put her hands on her chest, the heel of one hand on top of the other pushing into the sternum. Fingers wrapped around her neck. Thumb jammed against her throat preventing her from breathing; or crying. Feet lifting off the floor to push her knees against her chest, tucking her arm behind them, instinctively trying to keep the emotions inside.

Every since that day Emma would curl into a protective position in the face of something terrible. Something even she could not understand. Today, that thing was the Shadow.

A Visitor

Thump, thump, drag.
Thump, thump, drag.

The odd pattern continued.

Thump, thump, drag.
Thump, thump, drag.

Behind the giant arm chair Charity trembled.

Thump, thump, drag.
Thump, thump, drag. Thump.

It stopped. Squishing herself flat against the floor the 5-year old girl peered our from under the safety of the intimidating claw legs.

FEET!

Charity scurried backward on her stomach. There were standing right in from of her, with two metal poles reaching upward like prison bars blocking her escape.

Clip, clip, clip, clip, clip, clip.

Her mother walked briskly into the room. Silk dress swishing to an abrupt halt as her red heels came to a stop beside the menacing poles. Voices murmured above the chair, dampened by the generous cushions and thick carpet. Suddenly the ceiling of her hiding place sank. Someone was sitting in the chair!

Charity let out one brief squeak before covering her mouth with both hands. Pushing her chin against the floor to put as much space between her and the sitter as possible. The chair groaned as it's new occupant wiggled around to find a comfortable position.

"Charity," her mother said. The red heels shifted and the silk skirts collapsed as her mother bent down to look under the chair. "Come out and meet our visitor," she said, holding out a hand.

Charity wiggled backward like a worm retreating before standing up in the small space between the chair and the wall. Her mother lifted her out gracefully, making sure Charity's now dusty shoes did not scrape the tall chair back. She was placed on her feet in front of the mysterious visitor and firm hands turned her around to face the chair properly.

"Charity," her mother said. "Say hello to your Grandfather."

A new outlook

Harriet stared at herself in the mirror. The thick wrapped dress did nothing to soften the bulging stomach or bloated thighs. She frowned at her image and slipped the dress off again. Hanging back up carefully she got dressed in her sweat pants and baggy t-shirt. She walked out and hanged the dress back to the attendent.

"Oh dear," the thin stick-figured woman said, "It didn't work out?"

Harriet pasted a polite smile on her face and shook her head. She kept her eyes down as she left the store, hands shoved deep into her pockets, shoulders hunched forward. Even her car shook as she sat down. She sat staring at the silver foil of her sun reflector. She felt normal once. She wasn't always this size. She had confidence, or at least less self conscience.

She drove home quickly. Walking into her apartment she went directly to her bedroom and changed into her most flattering top and suit pants. Then she stood in front of a full length mirror and stared at her body critically. She had luscious cuves that gave her body character and definition. Her eyes were a molton grey framed by deep black lashes. Her arms and thighs were firm. Her hair was luminous and curly. She sighed and smiled. She was okay just the way she was.

No more wiggle room

Sarah walked out of the tiny room feeling very exposed. This was supposed to be a cursory inspection. Instead she found illegal activity the second she walked through the door.

Four or five large men casually drifted her way to stand in front of her. Damn. She put her hands on her hips, fingers tickling the hilt of her gun, and tilted her head. "Well what do we have here?" She asked them. "Do you really think this is a good idea? Ambush a marshall and then what? You don't think they would send me here alone do you?" They did but who was she to tell them that. A few men shifted nervously. The leader crossed his arms and smirked. He was short, latino and buff. Too used to getting his own way, that's what his problem is, Sarah thought. The leader kept staring at her. With a jolt, she understood why. He was trying to seduce her. Or intimidate her. She would laugh if it wasn't so serious. "Look," she said. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll report back to my boss, let him fill out the paperwork and you won't have to go to jail. Sound good?" She looked into each man's face and waited for them to look away before nodding once, sharply. "Great. Y'all have a nice day." She started to walk past the small group when the leader stuck his hand in front of her chest. She sighed exasperated and rolled her eyes.

The leader looked her up and down. "You are going to have to do better than that little speech chica," he said.

Sarah was angry and scared, but mostly angry. She grabbed his arm. She twisted, hard until he bent forward. There he stood. Pushing against her. Resisting. She kicked the back of his knees. They buckled. He lurched forward. Almost there, she thought. She stepped on the small of his back. He went down. Almost too easily. She bent forward with him. Keeping him immobilized. It was all over in fifteen seconds flat. She pulled the handcuffs from her belt and slapped them on his wrists. Hard. "Now if there are any other objections?" she asked standing up. "I would be happy to address them." The other tough guys refused to meet her glare. "Hmph," she said. Then bent down and jerked the once fearless leader to his feet. "This," she said pulling him along behind her. "Is getting old."

An inside look

"Mama, Mama look!" Emma tugged on her mother's sleeve and pointed across the street.
"Sh, Emma, it's not polite to point at people."
"But Mama," Emma protested, squeezing a little closer. "She's dead."
Her mother's head snapped up and she looked around. No one had seemed to notice. Her mother grabbed her by the arm. Sharp fingers digging in deep. Relentlessly pulling, dragging until they were hidden behind a nearby tree.
"Mama," Emma protested, tugging at the iron hand. "You're hurting me."
Her mother took once last glance around before bending down to Emma's height. "Emma, you must promise me to never talk about what you can see."
Emma looked down. Scared at the harsh, stern tone.
"Emma." Fingers wrapped around her chin making her look up. "Promise me."
Emma nodded slowly.
The fingers tightened. "Promise!"
"I promise," she mumbled.
Her mother's shoulders slumped forward. Her hand dropped. "Good girl," she muttered standing back up. "Good girl."


Emma walked up the stone steps to her apartment door. The door swung open just as she reached the top.
"Hello Miss Emma," the small boy said brightly.
"Hello Eddie," Emma replied. She forced a responding smile onto her face. "How are you?"
"I'm going to the zoo!" he said excitedly. "Daddy's going to take me and I'm going to see the tigers and the snakes and maybe the sharks."
"Wow, that's pretty cool."
"Yeah. And Daddy said, if I was good, we would get ice cream and hamburgers, just us, just the guys," he finished proudly.
"Sounds like a lot of fun Eddie. Where's your dad now?"
"Well he's not here yet but he will be any time. He said to make sure I was ready by twelve."
Emma glanced down at her wristwatch. "It's only ten Eddie, aren't you a little early?"
"Yeah. I know. Mom said that too. But I don't want to miss him." Eddie looked toward the street, a long-suffering hope etched onto his face. "You don't think I will, do you Miss Emma?"
Emma tried to smile through the pain lodged in her throat. Eddie's childish face only masked the hard, bitter old man underneath. Cracks ran across his face where wrinkles would have been. His soul slowly leaking through. Grim and waiting. For someone who would never come. For the trip that would never happen. "No Eddie," she said turning toward the door. "I don't think you could."


Emma trudged up the plain stairs to her third floor apartment. Quickly, quickly! Then she was inside. All five locks bolted securely. Kettle on the stove coming to a boil. With a sigh, she sank down onto her couch. Feet tucked inside a light, fuzzy blanket. Arms wrapped close and tight around her.

Her mother had called it a bestowed curse. A chance to right the wrongs done to the young and the dead. She could see what would happen. What things could affect their souls. What aged the innocent and condemned the compassionate. When the lives of the young would fade or simply be stolen.

She had this curse since childhood. The first time she mentioned it to her mother it was about a beautiful young girl standing innocently on the sidewalk waiting to be picked up from the bus stop.  Five days later, they pulled her body from a shallow grave under the dog house in her backyard. Emma's mother didn't want her to see but they couldn't avoid it. The little girl looked exactly the same as she had that day by the bus stop. Eyes filmed over white. Flesh rotting off her fingers and face. Angry slashes to her skull and chest. One arm dangling, attached only by a stubborn tendon. Emma was shocked and sad to see the violence. Stark and visible for the world to see. No longer hidden away behind her beautiful mask of a face.

The kettle whistled.

She stood and walked over to the stove, shakily pouring a cup of tea out. Her mother had taken her on a trip to a state reserve a few months later. Just to get away from the media and the constant haunting face of the little girl. Her mother said it was her duty to help the masked ones before their real face showed what was lurking underneath. She said Emma was the only one who could.

That was exactly ten months before her mother disappeared.

Emma wrapped her fingers around the scalding mug. Red calloused fingers welcoming the harsh warmth. What could she do to help? Evil would prevail whether she was there or not. She didn't have some super power. There wasn't a villan to fight. There was just her and the brokenness. The never ending pain. How can you fight against something like that?


To be continued...

Ardra’s Beginning

Ardra sat beside the river watching the wind as it played with the leaves. Periodically it would stoop and tease the water into tiny ripples before dispersing across the long cattails. Yukiko, Ardra’s white tiger companion; raised his head briefly, and eyed the noisy river greenery disdainfully before letting his head drop to the forest floor again. Ardra stretched out over his back, arms tucked comfortably behind his spine, fingers playing with his ears, and let her mind drift.

She had come a long way since stumbling onto the druid’s hut. She had been stolen when she was 15; a young age for anyone, especially an elf. All she remembered about those first few years was sunshine and happiness. But all that changed.

Her kidnappers kept to the forest. Stealing food from nearby farms or cheating town’s people out of their money. They lived in the shadows those first two years. Each day a wizard or a mage magically stunted Ardra’s growth, keeping her small and desirable. Ardra escaped more than once; melting into crevices or ditches, rolling away with bound hands or tearing the rope on a tree’s bark. Each time the tracker brought her back. He was a human, more gifted than he ought to be. Always averting his eyes guiltily when she pleaded with him and disappearing quickly to avoid her punishment.

And then the day came when she was bought. The leader came in loud and swaggering, a packhorse full of gold and goods behind him. The slavers were merry that day.

Yukiko shook his head and gave a low growl. Ardra grinned and folded her long hands under her chin.

When night came the slavers smuggled her past the town’s tall wooden walls to a country estate. A short time later the solid brick castle walls signaled her arrival to her prison. She was shoved through a small door, arms scraping painfully against the frame into the darkness of the room beyond. The heavy bolt slid home with a loud thump, as soon as she was inside.

Her new masters were wealthy nobles; far enough away from court that they did not fear punishment for keeping an elf as a slave. She was given to the oldest son as a birthday gift. He was the same age she was, at least in years.  But there was darkness in him that even his parents could not see. He would taunt Ardra frequently with hopes of freedom only to snatch it from her at the last moment. He would corner her in a stone room where no help was to be found. That is, until the night of her escape.

Yukiko gave a sigh and stood up. Ardra fell backward with a small thump. Yukiko glanced at her, glared at the teasing wind which had taken to dancing in his fur and started walking back toward the hut. Scrambling up, Ardra slowly followed.

The son had locked her in a closet, licking his lips, eyes lost in lust, walking toward her slowly. His left hand held a knife, his right fumbled with his belt buckle. Ardra squeezed herself against the corner closed her eyes and prayed. A loud shout startled her eyes open. The wooden door had exploded with thorny vines and had thrown the son against the far wall, he moaned, only semi-conscious. Ardra darted forward and picked up the knife, holding it in front of her in defense. After several minutes when he didn’t more and the vines did not disappear she started sliding toward the door. As she got closer to the thorns the vines moved gently away, like lady’s picking up their skirts in a curtsy. Ardra whispered a thank you as she glided past.

From there things became easier and harder. The nobles refused to let the uppity slave girl get away, even if she was an elf and gave chase. Ardra remembered running, stumbling, falling through the forest. She also vaguely remembered the forest pushing her attackers back; always holding them at bay just long enough for her to keep moving forward. It was the forest that led her to the hut.

Ardra shielded her eyes and looked up at the brownish unassuming hut in front of her. It was almost invisible against the dark greens of the woods, unless you knew what you were looking for. Yukiko ambled inside and lay down with a huff. Ardra stopped in the field, arms wrapped tightly around her body.

The druid met her at the door. She hadn’t even realized it was a door until he stood in her way. He glanced down at the stork behind him with a questing look. The stork nodded once and the druid took off, pushing her into the hut as he left. The door slammed shut behind him as the wind began to pick up. Rain slashed at the windows. The stork paced.

The druid did not return until the next morning. The stork flew to him making concerned noises. The druid was injured, badly, and fell as soon as he saw Ardra. She ran to him and helped him into the hut.

After that things seemed pretty simple. The druid taught her what he knew and nature taught her the rest. The druid said she was chosen by nature to defend it, to preserve it. When he died she took his place.

It was shortly after his death that Yukiko came to her. At his arrival the stork flew away. She has never seen it since.

Ardra sighed and lifted up her hands. She smiled as the butterflies danced around her fingers and the flowers bloomed around her feet. The wind whipped up into a small cyclone around her then scattered across the field. There was one thing she knew for sure; she was finally home.

The Confrontation

Emma struggled up the steps of the grand old building, blind to the beauty around her. People glanced at her as they stepped lightly up the smooth marble steps. A couple stopped and asked if she was okay. Emma absently waved them away. Forgetting the concerning voices as soon as she took another step.

The mental vines wrapped around her ankles and wrists pulling her backward. Wave after wave of repulsion hit her. Each one made it harder and harder to continue struggling upward. Her vision clouded the closer she got to the door. Another wave hit, she dropped to her knees and grasping the pillars which held the railing up, continued to pull herself along.

Suddenly her grasping hand only clutched thin air. The pillars had disappeared. Totally blind she flatten her body to the ground and used the last pillar to push her body forward with her feet. Single minded, she used her fingers to claw at the ground desperately trying to move just a few inches further. Her nails bent backward until only her finger pads were pulling her body along. Then suddenly, wood. She had reached the door. She grasped the edge and just as quickly as the attacks began, they ceased.

She blinked and wearily stood. Leaning against the haven she dropped her head breathing heavily for a few moments before looking around. She straighten, almost loosing contact with the door. The surroundings were completing different. Dark gray walls wavered around her, seeming intangible. Well, she thought, I've come this far. She took a deep breath and took a step forward, keeping her fingers brushing against the doors hard surface. The floor ahead of her lit up, steadying in an otherwise constantly moving room. After a brief hesitation she swiftly brought her other foot forward to stand on the single panel. The door swung shut behind her with a loud bang.

"Hello Emma," a deep brassy voice said. "Welcome to my home. I will make you a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Emma asked anger lending her much needed strength. "What kind of deal do you think I will make with a killer of children?"

"The only one you can," the voice responded calmly. "I will live, and you will die."