Descendant Read online

  After settling the tension between the bickering duo, we sat quietly, sipping on hot chocolate while Freddie polished off the remainder of my ice cream. We walked out to the empty parking lot, civilly, without pestering or wordplay, until Sam turned to face Freddie.

  “So Freddie, how shall I drop you or did your mommy already beat me to it?” she smiled vehemently, at him. Apparently, Sam’s behavior turned sour for the umpteenth time today. I wondered besides Freddie, if Michael had something to do with it.

  “Ha! Ha! Ha! I didn’t know you were a comedian too, Sam. You really do have a bag full of tricks up your sleeve, don’t ya? You’re the Jack of All Trades!” Freddie spat.

  “Jerk!”

  “Tramp!”

  “Hey enough! What’s with you two?” I interrupted trying to calm the situation.

  “Fine, let’s call a truce. Let me come over. And if you’re looking for the best scoop on almost everyone at school, I’m your guy! Come on, give me a chance, I’m trying my hardest here!” “Keep dreaming, Freddie!” I pushed him aside, but Sam remained silent. Freddie, finally giving up, nearly ran into us racing for the Range Rover as we left the diner.

  She unlocked the car with her keyless remote. Before reaching the SUV, I clutched her hand hoping to speak to her about what happened earlier with Michael at school, which still wasn’t sitting well with me. As before, the slightest touch of her hand, catapulted a surge of fierce energy through my chest, igniting beastly images in my head. Lurking, dark images surrendering themselves to my eyes only. Allowing me a glimpse into their dark world, absolved of their flesh, revealing what lay beneath. Disfigured faces with colorless pupils and unimaginable deformities, jounced at me.Sinkah. Kahnis,the voices shouted at me followed by some sort of symbolic sevenfold spirit. Horrified, I stumbled back, forcing away the visions from my head, feeling angry, confused, and ignorant of these signs. Sam didn’t move. She kept her back to me, tucking her head between her shoulders.Did she see them, too? Could she seem them? Were they haunting her, as well?I pondered on the idea that maybe Sam was haunted by visions like I was, and maybe she was too ashamed or embarrassed to tell someone.Was it possible?

  “Sam, why does that happen whenever I touch you?” I whispered, apologetically. “Samantha.” I called, louder this time. “Tell me what’s going on? Did I do something to you?” I asked, unsure of the unusual phenomenon between us.

  She turned to face me, her lips pressed in a tight line. It was clear that she needed a moment to simmer her temper and compose herself.

  Exhaling deeply she replied, “Of course not, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve been my friend since I moved here to . . . to . . . this county.” She struggled with her words, but her pretenses were as clear as day. I knew that she was hiding something, but wasn’t sure what. Sam looked into my eyes, somberly this time, as she spoke, “I’ve been thinking about my father, that’s all. With all the holiday bullshit going on around here, it stirs my emotions. I’m sure you understand. Don’t you ever wonder about your father, Beth? What your life would have been like, had he not left you?” She sounded upset.

  “I do think of him. I cried for a long time trying to understand his reasons for leaving, feeling guilty about it. My mom swears he had good reason to leave. I can’t imagine any reason being good enough for a father to walk out on his family unless . . . unless he fell in love with someone else and even then–. Maybe that would explain the late nights,” I stumbled on my words. I tilted my head up toward the starry sky; a reminder of our campfires by the lake. “My mom adored him. He meant everything to us. But obviously, he didn’t feel the same way. Something more important than his family came along. We had no choice but to let go and move on. But your pain, Sam, I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. My father left us by choice; yours was taken from you. It must be so difficult for you,” I said with a heavy heart. It was difficult for me to speak of my life before now, but with Sam, it was easy. We shared a common ground, the loss of our fathers. She understood my pain and I hers. Speaking openly about it was a weight off my shoulders.

  “Helllloooooo!” Freddie, opened the car window. “Can we get a move-on? Take your squabble into the warm vee-hicle. It’s freezing out there. Let’s go, Highlanders!” He rolled up the window and rested his head against the leather seat. Sam’s expression softened, arching her brows playfully. I imagined our awkward moment had passed, and I was thankful.

  “Let’s forget our woes for tonight and go do something sinful—let’s get wasted!” she laughed.

  After we dropped Freddie off, against his will, we drove to Sam’s house in Cuba, New York. It was a quaint town, well known for its Garlic Festival and Cheese Museum. A winter’s delight, brightly decorated for the Christmas celebration. I understood why Sam was feeling glum about her loss with the overstimulated holiday cheer around her.

  This evening, townspeople gathered for the Holiday Parade and Lighting Ceremony. A gazebo, decorated in Christmas splendor lit up the center of the square. Scarlet bows hung on wreaths placed symmetrically between arches. Oversized candy canes encompassed the marquee, perfumed with spicy cinnamon. Across the front of Cuba’s fire department station house, a large banner displayed“Bridge to Youth Autism Foundation Annual Toy Drive,” while “O Holy Night” played in the milieu through outdoor speakers.

  Sam drove hurriedly past the festivities, nearly plowing down pedestrians who got in her way. Turning onto a private road, Sam’s home was nestled in a secluded area not too distant from town. A tree-lined canopy created privacy for the grandeur hidden just beyond the towering pines. As we pulled into an illuminated circular drive, a magnificent, sprawling mansion came into view. The home was bigger than any I had ever seen, spanning massively across the property with large turrets and stoned walls.

  I stepped out of her truck, astounded at the embellished manor before me. Samantha unlocked the double etched-glass entry doors that dwarfed in comparison to the windows that stretched across the main entrance of the structure.

  “Are you coming in or would you rather camp out?” she chimed.

  “Yeah, I’m coming. I can’t believe the size of your house—it’s enormous. Look at this place!” I grinned.

  I spun around, taking in every acre of the lavished surrounding that remained visible under the glowing moonlight. The exhilarating smell of firewood scented the air. It was how I imagined nirvana to be.

  Samantha was already in the great room when I entered the house. Framed with huge wooden beams and oversized fireplaces, its decor was opulent and polished against the deep burgundy walls. Elegant crimson and chocolate tapestries hung against the stylish furniture accented with crystal fixtures. Baked apple–scented candles created an enticing aroma. Samantha gave me the grand tour of Cuba’s best-kept secret. Each room more beautifully decorated than the next, unrivaled with massive stone fireplaces and scenic balconies.

  In the master bedroom, a portrait of a distinguished looking man hung above the mantle. His face was handsome, but his eyes were grimly familiar. Animated eyes that gave me the impression of being very much alive. I stepped back, nervously. Samantha, instead, stood quietly at my side, looking at the portrait with adoration.

  “Dante,” she whispered. I glanced at Sam as my skin crawled. She smiled at him, transfixed on his painting, as if in a parapsychological conversation with her dead father’s portrait.

  Turning my focus back to Dante’s painting, his eyes grew darker, like black marbles. The longer I stared at him, the harder it was to look away. My body stiffened; confined against my will by some unknown force. I attempted to move, but couldn’t. All, but my lips were claimed by this powerful entity.Ðorn byþ ðearle scearp,a voice growled something about life or evil, ðe him mid resteð,’ the voices chanted. The chant of evil. Its inhospitable touch oozed down my spine and penetrated deep in my core. Its icy fangs pierced my neck while its claws grated across my belly as it jerked my body forward, keeping my feet firmly on the floor. The pain in my
ankles, as the uninvited force compelled my body forward, was unbearable.

  “S. . .Sam,” I stuttered, when instantly, without warning the connection was broken, leaving me defenseless and stumbling to regain balance on my sore ankles.

  “Isn’t my father handsome?” Sam smiled calmly to me.

  “Sam, did. . .did you feel that?” I stuttered still shaken.

  “Feel what?” She grinned and walked out of the room.

  “Nothing. N...never mind.” I stammered, dazed as I quieted my ragged breathing from the unsettling encounter. It would be offensive to tell Sam that her father gave me the creeps, or that he spooked me. Maybe I was freaked out about his brutal murder.That’s it! I thought. I was freaked out.

  I trailed closely behind Sam, frequently turning back to make sure that no one was following me, especially her dead father’s ghost. The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge, as a cold chill brushed against me. I trembled, picking up the pace to keep up with Sam.

  The brightly-lit, state-of-the-art kitchen boasted walls of windows that, I imagined, would give way to unbelievable views in daylight. Outside the kitchen sliders, Sam led me to a deck that overlooked the river that glistened under the moonlit sky. Any of the best ski resorts in North America couldn’t compare to the splendor of this massive designer deck. A heated floor led to a sizzling hot tub area with the largest solar infinity-pool I had ever seen. I was speechless, admiring the enormity of Samantha’s world compared to mine. This home was something I had only seen in magazines.

  “Hope you packed a swimsuit.” She smiled. I looked back at her Olympic-sized pool watching the steam rise off its surface. The idea of putting on a bathing suit in seventeen degrees of blistery winter weather made me shiver.

  “O.M.G. Sam! I never imagined a place like this here, in Allegany! This is . . . it’s like Beverly Hills with snow, not that I’ve ever been to California,” I joked.

  “Come, I’ll show you my room. Bring your bags up.” She guided me up the Southern styled staircase, gliding my hand on the polished, ornate banister as I walked up, taking in every detail of the home, from the Egyptian rugs to gilded mirrors and artwork that I’m sure were worth a fortune.

  Samantha’s room was stylish and impressive with rich caramel-colored walls. A beautifully carved stone fireplace sat between two elongated windows that rose up to a vaulted ceiling.

  “This room is awesome, Sam.” After a moment of dreamily imagining myself living Samantha’s life, I sat up admiring her sumptuous bedroom. It was simply paradise, and surely Sam was one of the luckiest girls I knew. I couldn’t help but feel bad for myself, almost wishing that I could trade places with her.

  I let out a deep breath, whimsically mumbling, “Thismust be heaven.” Sam found my comment humorous, letting out one of the most hostile laughter I’d ever heard from her since we’d met.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, Sam.

  “Heaven? You think this is heaven?” She giggled.

  “Well, not literally!” I teased back.

  As I removed my coat and unpacked my bag, a bead of sweat trickled from my temple. It was stifling in Sam’s room from the fire burning in the massive hearth. It occurred to me that every room in this oversized chalet had a fireplace blazing with heat so intense, it was unbearable to breathe to a point of suffocation.

  “It’s really hot in here, Sam.” I said removing my scarf. Droplets of sweat dripped from my forehead. “Isn’t it too hot for you too? How can you stand it?” I gasped, wiping my forehead with my scarf.

  “It could never be too hot for me. I’ve lived in a very cold and dark place for a long time after he died,” she muttered, shoving another log onto the immense fire.

  This time I stripped off my sweatshirt, down to my navy tank.

  “Honestly, Sam. I can’t breathe. Why do you keep all of them burning? Your mom’s not even home.” I puffed for air.

  “I love the heat. I would travel to the center of the earth’s core if I could. Now that’s a vacation to die for!” Sam laughed at her own joke.

  “You can’t be serious? Would you mind if I open a window? I’m really having trouble breathing.” I continued to gasp, feeling a bit dizzy. Her earlier invitation for a swim in the pool sounded tempting. And truthfully, that would have been the only thing I’d like heated.

  “All right! I’ll let it settle.” Samantha snickered.

  After mollifying the heat from the fireplace, Samantha wiped the soot from her hands on her expensive jeans, “I’m going to change into my pjs. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” She disappeared into her walk-in closet, double the size of my bedroom. She changed into her red paisley silk pajamas and headed downstairs

  I pulled out a pair of drawstring sweatpants with a pink long-sleeved Henley from my duffle bag. Sam waited for me at the bottom of the stairs before sauntering into the kitchen together. Samantha opened the stainless steel refrigerator that glistened under the kitchen lights. “Let’s see, hmm? We have cold marinated salmon with asparagus or arugula, bacon, and mushroom salad.”

  She placed both plates on a crimson polished granite counter.

  “Yum, they look good. Did you make these?” I asked observing both dishes carefully.

  “Me? No way, I don’t cook. Giorgio cooked these.” She replied, removing the plastic wrap from the plates.

  “Who’s Giorgio?” I asked.

  “Giorgio is a chef in Manhattan, and a friend of my father’s. He’s had our favorite dishes delivered weekly for some time now.” She handed me a dish and utensils. “He’s eternally indebted to my father for a minor circumstance daddy helped him out of several years ago.” I briefly thought about Dante and the kind of power he had at one time. Although, he scared the hell out of me, I surmised how influential he must have been in life and how tragically it ended.

  We sat at the large square table made of distressed wood and picked at our food and drank some iced tea. Samantha watched me with a complacent smile across her face. She’d often look at the bruises on my arms from the blood tests I went for every couple of weeks, occasionally taking small bites of the salmon and a swig of her beer. “How are you feeling? Are you still suffering with the headaches?” She asked lighting up a cigarette.

  “No, not as much as I suffered this summer. It was scary. From time to time though, I still feel pain, but it has gotten much better since taking the medication Dr. Miller prescribed.” My reflexes reluctantly made me reach up to touch my temple. Her mysterious eyes followed the involuntary movement of my hand. She slowly exhaled the smoke.

  “Maybe the miracle drug he’s been stabbing you with is your lucky break.” She hinted toward my arms, taking another sip of beer. I immediately pulled down my sleeves to cover the bruises that marked up my arms.

  “I’m going to stay positive. I have faith that I’ll get through this nightmare.”

  She cleared her throat and set down the beer and cigarette, clasping her hands under her chin. “Faith? Do you have faith?”

  I considered her question for a moment watching the cigarette burn through its wrapper. “You speak of faith, yet, how can you still believe in him?”

  “What do you mean?” I twisted nervously at my pajama top.

  “Well, look at what he’s done to you. How he’s made you suffer!” Sam spoke as if she knew my secret. My dark past with the voices and visions.Was that truly God’s plan–to make me suffer?I thought about one particular journal entry:Why do I exist?. . .To be tormented to lead a life of misery? “Anybody can suffer, Sam. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “I guess it could have been worse. You’re a lucky one, Elizabeth. Maybe youralmighty protector is watching over you, after all.” She gave a false smile.

  “I’d like to think so most of the time, and you should, too. But, what I can’t believe right now, this second is that I’m really in this awesome house!” I hollered excitedly raising my glass of iced tea to her beer bottle.

  We sat for a while at her kitchen
table, picking at the delicious food and yakking about school, boys, Freddie, and of course, the ever soun-popular, Sophie. Sam took out her little black book filled with names and numbers of the rich and famous. Justin Timberlake was among the names, when my eyes widened, grabbing the book from Sam and indiscreetly drooling over Timberlake’s cell number. Justin’s face was one I had often fantasized about, still pinned to my locker at school. “Here, call him,” She said handing me her cellphone.

  “No way!” I screeched, as giddy as a toddler. As I finished going through her list of phone numbers, Sam dared me to take a puff of her cigarette. At first, I declined, but she insisted and I complied. It made me feel dirty, as if I’d lost my purity, my innocence.

  “So what’s with that girl Sophie, anyway? Is she your friend or not?” Sam asked perturbed, extinguishing cigarette number three.

  “No. Not really. She mocks me more than she likes me. Since she moved here, it’s been hell on earth for me. Especially after she found out about the Salvation Army,” I said embarrassed.

  “What about it?” Sam asked.

  “It’s humiliating. I’d rather not talk about it,” I muttered into my chest.

  “You mean the hand-me-downs?” Sam smirked. How could she have known about something from years ago. It was this damned town. Everyone knew everything about everyone. The revelation made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. Did they know about the voices, too?

  “Don’t let that bitch get to you,” she replied, breaking the silence.

  “She seems to want to be in your good graces, though,” I said nonchalantly, steering the focus away from me.

  “Ha! First of all, my graces are never good, and she would never survive in my circle. She gets under my skin. She’s really good at putting up a front, you know. There seems to be much of that going on around this little town of yours.”

  “What do you mean? What would Sophie have to hide? She lives in her perfect little world, with her perfect little ponytail and perfect little family.” I said mockingly.