Page 4 of Light As A Feather
“No disrespect, but you have no idea how hard I’ve tried. I’m not giving up; I’m accepting my circumstances.” The arches of my feet ache, my knuckles are covered in invisible calluses and scars. All I’ve done is fight. But not just for my freedom. For the future I desperately wanted, with the man who loved me, unlike anyone else.
She nods and looks away from me as an ocean of regret swells in her eyes. “I understand. Some of us are dealt an ugly hand. The damned always seem to find each other. Don’t we?” As if summoned, a figure appears behind her. Dark. Heavy. Possessive. When our gazes meet again, I recognize the same defeat painted in dismal strokes.
There’s nothing more to say between us. I pull the stack of bills from my purse and set it in front of her, then turn to the door. “Thank you for your time.”
“I’m sorry,” she utters as a goodbye.
Stepping out into the cool relief of the evening air does nothing to dispel the sickening dread that clings to me. The walk to the car is a death march.
I don’t even register the girl on the porch until she calls out to me. “There’s a man behind you.” There’s an undercurrent of fear in her voice as she snatches at the lace that trails from my sleeve.
When I look down at her, our resemblance stops me in my tracks. It still surprises me how you can find such a simple kinship in just setting your sights on someone. I know that curious terror that reflects in her wide brown eyes, but more than that, I see a younger version of myself standing in front of me. The familiarity is in her thick brown hair, in her full cheeks, in the straightness of her lashes that are now coated with thedew of terror as she stares behind me, looking into the eyes of the man who’s taken so much from me.
I glance over my shoulder, meeting those cold blue eyes. The frigid stare I send his way returns to me in a full-body chill as he watches us,watches her. I’d bet she’s not yet thirteen, much younger than even I was when he found me. I didn’t think it was possible, but my hatred for the vile entity intensifies.
But it also reaffirms what I know:this has to end. I won’t let anyone else suffer his existence.
“Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you.”
“I know. I’ve seen things like him before.” But the worry in her expression only intensifies. “He only wants to hurt you.” She doesn’t taunt me; she only speaks the truth.
“Take care of yourself.”
“You too.” She means it, but the awareness of her mother’s similar plight dampens the expression.
If I speak, the grief might consume me. Despite the suffocating weight of my burden wrapping itself around my limbs, I manage to pull forward the familiar mask of a soft smile and nod my acknowledgment.
Tightness grips my chest as I stumble to the beat-up car parked just a few feet away. I’m helpless to do anything but lean against the driver’s side door as I’m sent down a spiral where the memories of that fateful night wait for me. The chanting voices of teens and the droning monotony of the highway.
Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
Light as a feather, stiff as a board.
It all comes back to those eight words that held no significant meaning until they changed everything. A silly chant, just a game, until it became all too real, until it altered the course of our lives.
Groaning, I lean forward and clutch my head in my hands as the chanting grows louder and louder until it drives away clear thoughts, any sense of time, and my hold on my composure. I manage to crawl into the driver’s seat with great effort, cold sweat slick against my skin as I pass the back of my hand across my forehead. Memories paint over the reality of the present, oil pooling on pavement and distorting what’s underneath. In horrific iridescence, I see the dizzying promenade of those who reside on the other side of the veil. Disoriented by my displacement, everything is a bit stretched, a little blurry, not quite right. At the center of it all is Ivan.
“Wake up, Little Dove,” he whispers in my ear.
Jerking in revulsion at the pet name, I hit my knee on the steering wheel. An indecipherable conversation rumbles from the speakers, the car vibrating with power. Instead of the sun-eaten sign of the medium’s storefront, my rearview mirror shows the motel I’ve been staying at, its bold and bright sign winking at me.
“How did we get back here?” My voice is unsteady with fear. This is the worst blackout I’ve had in a long time. It’s a miracle that I’ve made it here in one piece. In a hurry, I jump out, checking the car for damage, any signs that I might have harmed someone else in my dissociative state. But everything is as it was.
Scrubbing a hand over my face, I attempt to ground myself in my body once again. With deep breaths, I gather myself enough to turn off the car and grab my belongings. The door to my room feels like it’s a mile away on legs that tremble with adrenaline.
Shutting the door to my motel room behind me, I slump against it. I’m so goddamn tired. Tired of reliving the same memories. Tired of feeling the same sense of failure. Tired of existing like this. My mind, body, and soul are aching for rest. And not the kind I’ll find by locking myself in the cold solitude of my room.
I’ve been fighting this exhaustion for years, promising myself just one more consultation, just one more state, just one more mile. I’ve survived by scraping together shreds of hope and scraps of willpower. But the stores have gone dry.
I left half of myself back in Big Sur—arguably the most important part—and the other half he’s been slowly draining day after day, year after year.
And yet I’ve still found reasons to keep going—reconnecting with my family, exploring my culture, getting answers about myself, seeing the beauty other states have to offer. I’ve been strong. But I can’t do it anymore. Nothing can fill the void that Hawthorne Addams left in my life. Or rather, the one that was made when I walked away from him.
I had no other choice but to leave the way I did. I don’t regret the decision; I’d do anything to keep him safe, just like he’d always protected me. No. I don’t regret it, but I also can’t live with it. Not anymore.
Dropping onto the squeaky, too-firm bed, I pull out my laptop and open the browser. I ignore Ivan’s presence next to me while I type “McWay Falls” into the search bar. It looks exactly the same as I remember it—peaceful and breathtaking.
