Requiem of Humanity Page 6

  She turned to her mother then and looked up into the woman’s face. Her eyes spoke all the things she could not say. Mother and daughter made the same silent realization about each other in that moment. The pain had brought on changes. Both looked older, less sure of their place in the world, and both had eyes clouded by the sorrows felt for the lost love in their life. They sat together for a long time with their arms encircling one another, taking comfort in the silence.

  Finally, Jenda pulled free of her mother’s embrace. With an embarrassed smile, she looked apologetically to her mother. “I’m pretty tired. I think that the meds are making me sleepy. I’m going to lie down if you don’t mind.”

  Janine patted her hand understandingly. “Of course, honey. Just let me know if you need anything.” With that, she kissed Jenda’s forehead and left the room.

  Jenda kicked off her shoes and shed her jeans onto the floor. She crawled into bed and covered herself up with Gammy’s quilt. She really was exhausted but she couldn’t sleep. So she did what she always did to help her relax, she began building her world. Tonight it was soft misty grassland. This time in the background, she envisioned herself in the shadows of the mystical Stonehenge. The breeze swayed through the tall grass making it flow like a river of green. She could feel the slight mist on her skin and she welcomed the beauty after spending days in the sterile, ugly hospital rooms.

  Jenda chose to place the crystal tree inside the sacred circle. Instead of merely willing herself to materialize next to the spot she had chosen, she began to stroll slowly towards her destination. She walked with her hands at her sides, allowing her palms to graze the top of the grass as it cascaded back and forth. Her spirits lifted for the first time in days. She wasn’t happy but she felt a small measure of the pain flow from her. It was like the hole in her heart and soul closed just the tiniest bit.

  As she neared the large stones, she turned her face upward enjoying the feel of the mist on her face. She had painted the sky so that it was swathed with the colors of dusk, each bleeding perfectly into the other. She loved this time of day the most, when everything seemed to blend into a melodious beauty. She always modeled these scenes after a painting she had once seen by Monet. Its vibrant colors and forlorn style called to her heart and imprinted itself upon her mind.

  Her pleasurable drifting was interrupted by the sound of rustling. Jenda snapped to attention, searching the shadows beneath the great stones to find the source. Suddenly she saw a dark chasm opening in midair. Jenda stood stiffly, staring into that blackness as if she were catatonic. The black hole opened to the height and width of a human, and from deep inside she heard a familiar voice calling out to her. Jenda’s heart began to race and her eyes were wide with fear and anticipation. She heard the voice again, softly but more clearly defined.

  “Jenda, she will rise.” The voice was strong and pure as it rang from the blackness. Jenda stood frozen in place. She couldn’t fight against the power that held her. All she wanted was to run towards the frightening blackness and tear the fiend from its depths. In the kaleidoscope of fear and revulsion, a tiny bud of hope bloomed. Maybe Soborgne was still alive. Maybe that’s what the message meant, and if Jenda could only move then she could save her. Then, as if it had never been there, the chasm closed and Jenda stood gaping at the space where it had been. The disappearance of the fissure returned Jenda’s power to move and think. Shaking and scared, she willed herself back to reality.

  She knew she hadn’t been dreaming this time. She had been as awake in her world then as she was now in the real world. Jenda had no explanation for how she could walk in an almost parallel world and still be aware of reality but that is what happened when she went away. She was always aware and could always will herself back. She did often fall asleep while transmuting to the other side, but that was kind of the purpose. She went there to help herself relax so that she could sleep. Today she hadn’t slept at all. She had really heard someone calling to her.

  That wasn’t logical though. How could anyone be talking to her through her world, how had the fabrics ripped, how did she see and hear what she hadn’t consciously made happen? The questions swirled inside Jenda’s head. Even if she could believe that the voice meant Soborgne was still alive, what did it mean? Was it really unsafe for her to be walking around in a world she controlled and created at will? Jenda now feared that the doctors at the hospital hadn’t been correct. She wasn’t simply struggling with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She had gone completely nuts.

  Afraid to attempt sleep, Jenda began a task she dreaded. Soborgne’s memorial was scheduled the next afternoon and Jenda had to choose what she would wear. Carefully she looked at each outfit, trying to find one that would be suited for mourning one’s best friend. For over an hour Jenda dug through her closet and dresser until she decided. She chose her black Theory Gabe pantsuit and a crimson silk tank. To Jenda, not even the midnight black fabric was dark enough for this occasion. How could anything show the depths of her pain, her sorrow, and her loss? No one could ever understand what it was like to be so alone in a world full of people as Jenda was without Soborgne.

  Calmed from the tedious and sorrowful task, Jenda felt her eyes begin to droop. She still felt uneasy about sleeping but her body wasn’t giving her much choice. The medications took their toll along with the stress and sorrow, making it difficult for her to remain conscious. Fighting that need, Jenda continued to find minuscule things to help her stay awake. She busied herself by looking at her jewelry and shoes to find the perfect accessories. All the time she tried not to think of the reason she would be wearing them. Finally, giving in to human need, Jenda lay down and slept.

  7

  Jenda’s sleep was undisturbed by any ghostly figures or creepy voices warning her of impending doom. Yet her dreams held strange and unusual things. She remembered fighting and feeling a furious need to protect something or someone. She faced an army of shadows, slaying each with hands, feet, and even teeth. Then, as she stared around her at the multitudes of seething, dying shadow creatures, she saw a tree. It stood on a hill above her, its strong branches seeming to beckon her. She felt a surge of love and protectiveness all at once. The tree was the reason she had slain so many demons. She needed to protect it above all else.

  Shaking off the silliness of her subconscious mind, Jenda rose from bed. Seeing her clothes laid out on her dresser reminded her of what she must do today. She began to cry and the sorrow she felt turned her world gray. For a mere second she had almost forgotten Soborgne was gone. The loneliness and sorrow seeped in, shredding her heart into bloody tendrils of despair. She felt as if she would never be happy again.

  The service was held at the Franklin and Sons funeral home on Michigan Avenue. As Jenda and her family arrived in the sleek black limousine, she grasped her mother’s hand until her knuckles turned white with the pressure. The nausea and fear rolled through her lower abdomen threatening to make her ruin the plush interior. Finally, the car came to a halt and Janine and Neil protectively escorted Jenda into the side door of the funeral home.

  She hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone at school since the day Soborgne disappeared, and she dreaded it now. Some of the kids had tried to call her and some sent flowers to the hospital, but Jenda refused contact completely. She could feel their eyes on her back now as her parents led her to the first pew. Soborgne’s mother had asked that they sit there with the immediate family because she felt it was the right place for Jenda to be.

  The service was, of course, closed casket because they had never found Soborgne’s body. Instead, they placed a large photograph of Soborgne on an easel next to the silver box. The photograph was one of Jenda’s favorites. It had been taken six months before, and in the glossy reproduction of the girl with whom she had shared all her secrets, Soborgne’s eyes shone with the happiness of her life. The floral arrangements crowded the coffin, and as the pastor stepped to the podium, they sent a nauseating sweetness through the crowd.

  Than
kfully, the service was not overly done, and within an hour, the pastor announced that the mourning people should approach the front for their final goodbye. Jenda stepped out of the pew, thankful for her father’s hand that steadied her. Her legs felt like rubber and she had to force herself to put one foot in front of the other. She sobbed openly, not caring that the whole of Porter could see her pain. As she approached the casket, she could no longer stand on her own. Her father’s arms encircled her as she laid a single white lily on the empty casket.

  Jenda could feel the eyes of everyone watching her. Despite their best efforts, it was no secret that she had been taken to the hospital and treated for a breakdown. Half the room watched her with pity and the other half with mild fascination. All were waiting to see if she would snap. As Jenda turned from the casket she tried not to meet the eyes of any onlookers, but a strange woman caught her eye.

  In their neighborhood, everyone knew everyone, but Jenda certainly did not recognize the lady in the third row. The woman was beautiful and ugly all at once. Her blonde curls were half masked by a small black cap and veil. Her large bosom seemed to be straining at the seams of her dress. It was quite scandalous for a memorial service, definitely not fitting. Her face wore a dour expression, but there was a light about her, as if the illumination came from within her. Her low brow was furrowed in deep thought and she was staring directly at Jenda as though she were the subject of those thoughts. Before Jenda could ask about the woman, her parents ushered her past the crowd and into the awaiting car.

  There was no graveside service. Soborgne’s parents were waiting until her body could be found in order to do that final task. Jenda begged out of the gathering at Soborgne’s home. The house had always felt cold and unlived in before, but without the echo of Soborgne’s heavy boots clattering through the marble halls it would be unbearable. Her mother refused to go without her but Jenda convinced her it was the right thing to do. She was relieved when the limo pulled up outside of her home. She kissed her mother and father as she got out, and promised to call them if she did not feel well. Jenda held Janine’s hand for a moment as she wept again for the millionth time that day.

  “Tell Maria that I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. I just can’t go there. It hurts too much.” Jenda sobbed and bowed her head. The anger was rising inside her again. She hated the sun for shining, she hated the cold blue skies, and she wanted to silence the birds that sang whimsically from the trees. The world should be gray and sad, every person and every creature should mourn the loss of such a great human being. Before her mother could speak and before Jenda could explode with the rage bubbling up to the surface, she turned away and walked into the house.

  She wanted nothing and no one except for her dear friend. Jenda’s face looked haggard and aged far beyond her young years. She glanced around the house, feeling a helpless anxiety that she could not fight. The fog of depression rolled through her and she screamed in agony and frustration.

  Jenda couldn’t escape the images flashing in her mind, the same images as before. She saw her friend beautiful and smiling and then horridly disfigured by an unnamed monster. She pressed her hands to the sides of her head, trying to drive the images away but they did not go. She tried to see Soborgne without the evil destruction that Jenda’s mind could only imagine but it wouldn’t stop.

  This is it, Jenda thought. I am going to sit here in this house and go insane and when they find me gibbering like a mad woman they will all say they knew it was coming and what a shame it is. She wondered to herself if a person who was going crazy could actually know they were going crazy. You would think you could stop yourself from going crazy if you knew it was happening, she thought. Wouldn’t it be like taking an aspirin if you felt a heart attack? Couldn’t you somehow stop it from happening if you knew about it first? Wouldn’t it be like taking an aspirin if you felt a heart attack coming on? The thought of the pill reminded Jenda of the evil little bottle in her purse. She fished it out and shook two of the green and white pills out. Without bothering to get a glass of water, Jenda choked the pills down and waited for the images to fade.

  Finally, she felt the anxiety fading and the images grow faint. The fog was a thick layer of haze between her and the world but the anger and fear were buried again. When Janine and Neil returned from Soborgne’s home, they found Jenda asleep on the living room floor. She had pulled the afghan from the chair and lay sleeping on the cold hardwood. Neil, though not as young as he used to be, gallantly attempted to lift her without waking her. Jenda blinked sleepily and gave him a genuine smile.

  “Oh Daddy, I can walk.” She said it just like she had when she was six, and his heart almost broke. He gently set her on her feet and she laid her head against his chest. Janine came to wrap her arms around them both and they stood like that for a moment. They quietly celebrated that they had each other to hold in moments such as this. No guilt could outweigh their relief to not be mourning one of their own.

  Not wanting to leave the comfort of her parents, Jenda asked Janine to make some hot chocolate. Neil built a fire in the large stone fireplace. Jenda kept the afghan wrapped around her as the three sat in comfortable silence sipping chocolate and watching the flames dance in the hearth. Jenda treasured the moment and mentally filed each smell, sight, and sound. She would add this to the crystal tree when she dared to go back, when she thought it was safe from the intrusions that were becoming common now. Little did she know this would be the last peaceful memory she would have of her home.

  The night grew late and Jenda silently rose and hugged her parents who were snuggled cozily on the sofa. They whispered goodnight as she climbed the stairs to her room. The fog had not been driven away but it had lifted slightly. With a heavy heart, she set about readying herself for bed. Her power nap had taken the edge off and helped her ease out of the raging madness but unfortunately, it had also left her feeling restless. She did not have the energy to do anything, but she wasn’t physically tired now. Her depression was still a black void encasing her, and it seemed to suck all desire from her world.

  As she prepared for bed, Jenda thought about the strange occurrences that plagued her since Soborgne’s disappearance. A thought occurred to her. Jenda didn’t actually believe in ghosts, spirits, or any such nonsense, but a secret part of her was asking what if. What if she could communicate with Soborgne by going to her secret world? A spark of hope against the dark backdrop of despair spurred her into action. She turned her laptop on, wanting to research this idea before she tried it. Soborgne would have said it was very Jenda of her to spend an hour reading about an experience instead of just experiencing it.

  As the computer hummed and the various programs loaded, Jenda sat unmoving in her chair. She thought about how absurd this all was. She kept replaying the times before when something or someone had appeared or spoken to her inside her world. She knew she had been awake. She knew that it was real, but the logical side of her still demanded that it was due to the stress, the drugs, or a combination of both.

  Finally, Jenda opened her browser and entered in the words “dream walking” into the search bar. Realizing this wasn’t the correct term for what she had been doing all this time, she held down the backspace key until the line was blank. What should she even be searching for? She knew she was awake when she created her world so it couldn’t be anything about dreaming. While she pondered her own questions she docked her iPod and let the music fill the silence of her room.

  Jenda typed in “mentally creating your own world” but the listings that followed were full of mentally ill references and she quickly clicked the back button. She did not want to entertain the thought of being crazy right now. She tried several other phrases and gave a cursory glance at the results. She was beginning to think that it was useless when she saw an article on parapsychology. The entry triggered a memory from her junior year psychology class. Thinking hard, Jenda tried to remember her teacher, Mrs. Mathews, scoffing over fake psychics and mediums. She recalled as
tral projection, which was supposedly leaving your body or something. That might be it. Jenda was looking towards science, but what she needed to do was look towards the mystical. After all, she was dealing with hearing voices and seeing mysterious black holes while walking in a made up world.

  She typed the words “astral projection” into her search bar and clicked the first website on the list. A man who practiced and taught the art of astral projection had created the site. Jenda skimmed through his own experiences and found what she was looking for. Apparently, by putting the physical mind to sleep through either meditation or actual sleep, a person could leave their body and travel to other physical places or the astral world. Had she been doing this? As she read further, everything seemed to fit. She had repeatedly counted the thirteen steps and visualized climbing them each time. Was the act of building her “world” meditation? It certainly matched up with what the article said. It even said that you could communicate with others who visited the astral plane.

  Jenda’s breathing quickened and her heart raced. It was farfetched and a week ago, she would never have entertained the idea that she had been leaving her body for as long as she could remember, but the information before her was too exact to be coincidence. She decided that, despite her fears, she would travel to her “world” again. The cryptic message “She Will Rise” made her hope that maybe she’d find answers.

  Jenda feared the hope that was slowly pushing away the gray fog around her. It was a tiny bud of light in her dark world, and if she failed, if she was wrong, she was unsure she would survive the disappointment. If this didn’t work, she would have to admit that she was crazy and go on the medications full-time. There had been little relief from the pain and madness she experienced since losing Soborgne. The only thing that seemed to help was the pills the doctor had given her, but she hated them just the same.