chapter NINE
Renaud
I watched the tail lights of the car as it escaped the parking lot. I could only guess the level of crime they had committed to warrant such a dangerous getaway. The car was boxy and chugged along as the pistons scraped the cylinders, meaning it was an older model car. It couldn’t possibly belong to any of the snobs that had attended the party. As I watched, the red of the tail lights was swallowed by the night. In the distance, I could see several police cars charge toward us. If nothing else, the police response times seem to have improved since my wild, carefree days as a teenager. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but my heart told me there was something evil lurking in the shadows, being called to the surface by the moonlight.
Jenny and Wilson came running in though the elevator doors, looking like hell. Wilson tried to hide the fear inside him, but I could see it in his eyes. They were a little too wide and sweat was dripping from his forehead as if he had just escaped a sauna. Jenny was even worse, and she didn’t even try to hide it. Black, tear-tracked streaks of mascara stained her cheeks. I knew I should have felt something more than humor in the way she looked, but an image of a clown came to mind instead of that of a victim. Her dress was torn and tattered, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Wilson had attacked her. He didn’t appear to be scuffed up, but then I don’t think that think would be.
Knowing that I had only really ever loved one woman and remembering the feeling was never the same thing. The image of the woman I once knew came to mind, but was it my memory or simply the way I chose to remember her? The mind plays tricks on you. It sugarcoats the way things were with the way it thinks things should have been. There were dangers in trying to relive the past, or even just trying to remember. The image that existed was never the real thing. Good or bad, my mind was always twisting emotions until they fit into its desired version.
A small crowd had gathered around the couple and, despite the fact they all appeared genuinely concerned, I had the impression that I was watching some kind of corporate soap opera. I stayed at my window, watching the flashing lights from the police cruisers. No doubt this would also be twisted into a nice neat box that could easily fit into another nice little box so that the world could have its desired version of events. Somebody had already mentioned teenagers trying to steal a car. I had my doubts though, because Wilson looked troubled and Jenny looked scared. Not just scared, but terrified. I waited for the crowds to disperse and calmness to enter the house before I went to sleep.
The August sun was already starting to beat down on the world below and it wasn't even 8 AM yet as I marched down Indian Road. It was already bad enough that I could feel the hot pavement burning the bottom of my feet as I went along. The humidity would make things absolutely unbearable in an hour or so, but I needed to return to my childhood home. Time hadn't just abused me, but my home as well. The surrounding buildings didn't look like houses filled with families and happy memories anymore. The whole street was almost empty now, with boarded-up windows and decay picking away at the foundations. I could see the beauty that had once flourished in each one and I was sure, given enough time, that the ghosts from my memory would stare out back at me.
As I passed by house after house, it seemed like such a waste. These weren’t just houses built from brick or stone, but leftovers from countless dreams that had existed as each generation took them and added their own personal touches to make the their own. Each had a front porch that after being left for some time now, had started to twist and rot as they weathered, gravity taking over and smothering the beauty from them. Weeds and vines slowly climbed the walls until the etched stonework was replaced by brown and green as time made everything fade.
I didn’t know why exactly, but my heart told me that there had once been laughter emanating from the very place I was standing. That I should remember orange bicycles with long white banana seats and playing cards poking through the spokes to make motorbike sounds. My heart told me that this very place should be a dear piece of my past that I treasured and wanted to relive, but if they existed they were scattered memories and too degraded to bring back to life.
I stood at the corner, staring at the dark brown brick house that towered over all the others, a veritable castle in their midst. It was old and designed to stand the test of time. Rounded brick formed the wall, with giant oversized windows looking in every direction. Plywood covered them, meaning the windows had been smashed and the elements had stolen the beauty inside, but I knew that it was once a thing of beauty. I could remember that on the front porch, there was once a swing and I spent much of my childhood swinging and watching the world go by. That I had stolen my first kiss there and smoked my first cigarette with Mike and Harrow in the backyard, hidden in the trees. Yes, those memories were still alive inside me. Time may have stolen a lot from me, but those few little pieces of yesterday survived like a mighty oak, refusing to die.
A loud creaking sound erupted from the stairs, and I could feel the wood buckling beneath my feet. I slowly made my way up to the front porch and stood there, staring at the door in disbelief. Nathanial had all this money and success, yet he let our family’s home crumble in disrepair. Stupid little bastard had only a few simple tasks and he managed to screw up the most important part. A giant piece of rotting plywood blocked the doorway, stopping my entry into the house. A large red and white sign on the board stated “Private property, No trespassing.” I pressed against it and it crumbled into little sheets of paper-like material. Great security, I thought as I forced my way through.
Stepping into what was once my family’s living room where we watched Friday comedies and ate flavored popcorn was more than shocking. The ugly wallpaper that my mother had pasted on the wall and the stained cherry paneling had been ripped away, leaving just a skeleton behind. Dust and cobwebs replaced the laughter and love that had once lived here. Each step seemed to send a cloud of dust dancing into the air. The dust sparkled like diamonds as it rolled all around me. I wanted to swat it away with my hand, but common sense told me that it would only make things worse and I was already fighting the sensation to sneeze.
I entered further into the room, noticing a fresh set of foot prints in the dirt. A closer look revealed a second pair of steps scattered all around the room. Somebody had been here searching for something, but I couldn’t imagine anybody would know about the secrets hidden inside here and even if they did, only my family’s bloodline could open the portal to reveal its secrets. In the middle of the room, a full sized mirror still stood as it had always done. It looked just as impressive as before, with its thick oaken frame covered in runes etched all around it. My family’s mysteries and history was recorded here. Proudly displayed, though I doubt few people could possibly read it anymore.
I stood before the mirror and looked at the creature staring back at me with his old, bloodshot eyes. I might be able to hide my true face from the outside world, but not from myself. This mirror was older then memory and in order to use it, you had to face your soul. It wasn’t a curse, but a reflection of your true self. Some were brought to tears as they viewed the horrors inside themselves, while others like me were repelled by it. I stood there, pressing my hand against the glass infused with magic and whispered ignis, watching as a flame burst out of the palm of my hand. Slowly, the mirror started to glimmer and glow as a blue haze started form. I watched it take over until the entire mirror was consumed. Looking at my glowing hand as the flames danced along my skin, I felt the burning sensation that always followed and my stiff fingers began to tremble. If I were still human, the doctors would call it shock, but I wasn’t human and it was just another side effect of using magic. I sliced a little gash into my palm and watched the blood rise from the wound, boiling. I shouted the second phrase, apertus, and saw the room’s reflection fill the mirror. I heard a loud creaking as the floorboards beneath my feet started to rise and move. Turning, I watched the opening form. Like twisting metal, a screeching sound echoed all
around me and the door opened. I walked downward, going deeper into the crypt where we kept all our secrets, both good and bad. I prepared to face my ancestor and any horrors that might come with him.
The tunnel seemed smaller then I had remembered. Too narrow and low for me to stand up in as I made my down the smooth slippery steps. It was cut deep into the stone this way with the hope that anyone who might be trying to escape couldn’t do so easily. The dim light from the flame I was holding in my hand made shadows dance along the smooth walls. I wasn't scared of the monsters living in the shadows, just the one that was living inside of me.
At the bottom of the stairs I could see a flicker of blue. I should have expected it, but all the same I was surprised that it was there. It was eternal and the ancestor was afraid of the dark. Slowly, I made my way down the stairs and onto the flat base below.
I expected a familiar voice from the past to greet me like he did when I was a child, but when I called out only an echo of my own voice answered me.
"Ancestor, are you there? It's Renaud." I waited, and once again the only response I received was my echo taunting me.
Holding the flame out before me, I stepped into the giant cavern. Bones and dust were scattered everywhere, forming little unorganized heaps. I touched the wall and heard a loud whooshing sound as a flame burst along the wall, forming a ring. At first I was blinded by the bright light and blocking it from my eyes I scanned it once more. The immense cavern was just as I had remembered it. Cool walls that were made as smooth as glass from a hundred years of magic practiced in secret within it.
I walked to its center and stood, gazing around the room. The devil’s trap that had kept the ancestor trapped here for so long had been broken. Had he escaped or was he set free?
“Damn it, Nathanial! What did you do?” I cried out. It was unimaginable that he would let him escape or even worse, that he set the bastard free.
The corner in which my family’s spell books were usually stacked neatly and had been for generations was now empty. These were books that contained spells that had been collected, gathered, borrowed, and stolen over the course of hundreds of years. At least he had had the common sense to move them before abandoning our family stronghold. Now that he was gone, unless he had managed to escape death, I was left alone in my search. He hadn’t left any clues to guide me, so now I was responsible for chasing down our dark secrets alone.
A flash of light blindsided me as I was thrown to the floor. My skin felt as if the flesh was being burned away until it reached the bone. It came in waves that flowed along my spine like polluted water draining into a sewer. I was trying to push the pain away, but the flames just kept growing hotter and hotter until I struggled to breath. I was twisting and reeling from the force of it, pounding on the stone floor and crying out for help, but there was nobody around to help me. I knew that somebody was there because I could hear the hollow footsteps all around me. I knew they were there, taunting me like a bad child would torture a bug. Despite trying to calm myself, I couldn’t look past the pain. The only thing that I could think of was the agony that was invading my body and attacking me over and over.
I don’t know how long I was out only that when I woke up my body still felt like it was on fire. The problem with being completely destroyed inside was that I had lost so much of myself. I am not sure if it was a dream or a fragment of a memory trying to surface, but it seemed real. Too real to be ignored and it scared me. I stood, staring at a tombstone with my name on it. Renaud Barthélémy. Same name, same blood line, yet a completely different person. I never got to meet my father, but I knew everything about him. He was cursed from the day he was born like every other firstborn male in our bloodline. Born to be collected and dragged down to pay the price like a bad debt at the bank. It wasn't exactly his debt to pay, but he still did. My twin brother Harrow inherited that burden. It was a simple twist of fate that chose him and not me to carry the curse. I was born one minute and twenty-three seconds after him. One minute and twenty-three seconds that made all the difference. It was supposed to let me live a real life, but it didn't. I decided that day that I would break the curse. I was twelve when I decided that I didn't want my brother to face the horrors that our ancestors had thrown upon him. The problem was, I didn't know how I was going to do it. An even bigger problem was that my brother had decided to break the curse and he knew how to do it. With that image firmly planted in my mind, I opened my eyes to find myself laying in a pool of my own drool, thinking that if the curse was broken then who killed my brother?
I sat up and stared at the little hole curved into the stone that lead up into the real world. I knew that I had to go and finish my business before my time was up, but it didn’t really matter if I was up there in the sunlight or down here hidden in the shadows. Either way, I felt like a ship lost at sea. I was alone and no matter how much sunlight I saw over the horizon, by the time I could reach it I would still find myself alone in the night.