Chapter 7 Mariella
I creep across campus toward Bromley House in bare feet, avoiding the broad columns of shadow cast by towering elms and oaks.
Sandstone gargoyles leer above the building’s entrance, as old as the campus itself.
Lungs burning, I haul myself up the staircase to the second floor, and find Anna drinking with friends in a cozy communal living room.
Warmth and laughter spill from the room, where students laze on sofas and beanbags.
I hover in the doorway, clutching the metal box filled with journals to my chest. The chatter dies and seven curious pairs of eyes land on me.
The muscles in my upper body stiffen. Don’t cry.
“Ella, you came,” Anna says, rushing toward me, the charms on her bracelet jingling. She’s still in her work outfit, her miniskirt a band of fabric beneath her sheer, overhanging top. She glances at my bare feet and her face falls. “Are you okay?”
I smooth my hands over my crumpled dress. I must look like… well, like I’ve escaped a burning building. The moment she reaches me, my facade crumbles. “There was a fire at my house.”
“What?” she cries, wrapping her arm around my shoulder.
My voice wavers. “Can I please stay here tonight?”
“Of course,” Anna says. She leads me away from the common area and we pause outside a door halfway along the corridor. Tongue pressed to her hot pink lips, she jostles the handle, jimmying the key left and right until the door budges with a loud groan. “This is me.”
Leaving me in the entrance, she breezes past a small, garment-strewn sofa.
Her heels click on the polished floorboards as she waltzes around the room and flicks switches.
The heater rumbles to life, and mushrooms of orange-hued light spill from numerous fabric-draped lampshades.
She pauses at the far end of the room and draws the curtains covering a grand floor-to-ceiling window, framed by exposed brick.
“What happened?” she asks, crossing the room and ushering me further inside.
“I don’t know.” I trace the woven, gray fibers in the floor rug beneath her sofa.
“I was asleep and then—” There’s a flash of ravenous flames escaping my bedroom windows.
“I was outside, and my house was on fire.” More tears burn behind my eyes and Anna rushes toward me.
“I think I just need to go to bed,” I mutter.
“Yeah. Of course,” Anna says, releasing me. She guides me toward two doors leading off the small living area, and points to one of them. “This is my room.” She opens the door to the right of her bedroom. “And this is the spare. Lucky my roommate Jamie dropped out last week or you’d be on the sofa.”
I nod in agreement, but nothing about my situation feels lucky. Anna flicks a switch, illuminating the room with warm light. There’s a single bed pushed against the wall to make space for a small desk. I step inside and dump the journals and my satchel on the floor.
Anna turns toward me, light reflecting off the glitter in her dark purple eyeshadow. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, but I avoid her pitying gaze by studying the oversized black-and-white prints hanging on the wall. “I just want to go to bed.”
“Okay… I’m here for you, Ella. Whatever you need.” She hesitates for a moment, then flings her arms around me and crushes me against her short frame.
Arms hanging limply by my sides, I close my eyes and let her hold me. “Thanks, Anna.”
She releases me and cracks a sad grin. “God, you reek of smoke.”
I sniff the collar of my leather jacket, but I can’t smell anything. “I didn’t have time to get any fresh clothes.”
Anna inclines her head toward the wardrobe, a sequined sleeve pinched between the closed doors. “I’ve been using this room as a second wardrobe. Take anything you want. I’ll just grab you some pajamas.” She ducks into her bedroom and returns with a purple and gold set.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m only staying tonight. I’ll find somewhere else tomorrow.”
Anna scrunches her nose. “Why? The room’s empty, and it’s been super dull since Jamie dropped out.” She gestures her head toward the front door. “The place opposite’s empty too. Please move in?”
“I could never afford it.” My throat constricts. I don’t have property insurance, and until my house is assessed structurally, I’m homeless. What am I going to do?
“Don’t worry about that. My dad owns the building.” Anna’s face lights up. “I know, you can tutor me in exchange for board. Dad’s been begging me to get my grades up.” She places her hands on my shoulders. “Stay as long as you need.”
My body’s tingling, a buzzing energy radiating heat beneath my skin. My fingers extend through clear air, toward a wall of sparkling white light. The sun warms my skin, but above me is more of the shimmering light, each dense ray refracting away from me, encasing me inside an iridescent dome.
Closing my eyes, I inhale salty air, tinged with coconut sunscreen. Waves break against the shore and seagulls screech somewhere in the distance. I move forward, and the light-free circle moves with me, its diameter increasing with each step to reveal a tiny playground beside the beach.
A girl skips past me.
“Mari, come here.”
The soft, familiar voice startles me, the speaker obscured behind the wall of light. I step toward the voice, and the rays bounce backward.
A woman sits on a wooden bench at the playground’s edge. Chest aching, I stare at her, my mother. Her wavy chestnut hair is pulled back into a messy bun, and love and adoration burn in her blue-brown eyes.
Ten years on and our similarities have only grown.
The young girl bounds toward my mother with the same exuberance that swirls within my own chest, despite the silent tears sliding down my cheeks. I search for any signs of illness, but my mother’s face is healthy, a ripe blush in the apples of her cheeks.
“Mommy,” my younger self squeals. She hugs my mother, and her fresh, citrus scent floods my nostrils. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, savoring the smell. How had I forgotten?
“Happy birthday, Mari. I’ve missed you,” my mother says, stroking the girl’s head. Somehow, I can feel her cool hands on my forehead, as if it’s my hair she’s brushing away from my face.
“Mommy, when are you coming home?” the girl asks.
My mother places her hands on the girl’s cheeks, cocooning her round face. “The second I can, sweet girl.”
The little girl’s mouth pulls to the side, a slight frown on her face. “Sarah Walker and the girls at boarding school said you’re crazy. They said you tried to run away.” Tears pool in her eyes. “Promise if you do, you’ll take me with you?”
My mother dips her head to bring their gazes level, hands still holding her tiny face.
“I’d never leave you, Mari. Never.” She pulls the girl toward her, her head nestled over my mother’s heart.
“You’re the light of my life,” my mother whispers, her voice wavering with emotion.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Releasing the girl, my mother unclasps a rose-gold, heart-shaped necklace from her own neck and secures it around the girl’s. “Happy birthday, special girl.”
I’m oblivious to the reapproaching wall of white, but it’s upon me in seconds, encasing me in a tunnel of blinding light. My mother’s muffled words fade away. A cool breeze ripples over my skin and voices sing out in the distance, strange and distorted, like a recording in slow motion.
Eyes watering, I squint through the impenetrable beams, but they’re no easier to discern than the blinding rays of the sun. I close my eyes and exhale, switching my focus to the voices.
A man’s deep chuckle echoes around me, growing sharper as he approaches. My eyes snap open and the wall of light has regressed, as if repelled from my body by an invisible force.
Smoke laces the frosty air, stinging my throat after the humidity in my previous dream. I walk forward and my boots sink into thick snow. The light-reflective circle moves again with me, expanding to expose numerous tall pines.
An adult version of myself steps inside my circle of clarity, and my legs halt. Unaware of my presence, my dream-self walks past me with confident, purposeful strides. Long, wavy hair hangs past bony shoulders, her physique slight compared to the fullness of my own.
I touch the small single stud in my left ear. The “other” Mariella’s ears hold many more piercings—dainty, feminine jewelry, some pieces spotted with tiny diamonds.
She’s holding a black flask, and her gaze is focused on something outside the perimeter of light.
A man steps through the wall of white and I jolt.
Parker.
He runs a hand through his messy hair, shorter at the sides and longer on top to give the appearance of a model who’s just rolled out of bed. Butterflies swirl in my stomach as he prowls toward this dream version of myself, yet she steps away in a slow, tentative dance.
She extends the flask toward him, flashing him a flirtatious smile. “Did Nickol kick you out again?” she asks, her tone light and taunting.
Parker reaches toward her and his hand wraps around her wrist, making her pause. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to be alone with you?” he murmurs, holding her gaze.
He moves closer still. One more step and his body will touch hers. They stare at each other, breaths mingling in the cool air, fingers threading together. His gaze flickers to her lips, and I shudder.
My palm tingles from the graze of his fingertips, the warmth of his touch transferring to my skin.
Is it her knees shaking? Her heart pounding?
Or my own? He lowers his head, and my breath quickens as he brings his mouth to hers.
Brushing my tingling lips, I close my eyes and it’s as if Parker’s soft lips are pressed to mine.
His hands move to my waist, pulling my body against his, and his tongue slides into my mouth.
Erratic, warm energy flares inside my chest, and I stumble backward with a startled breath. The heat intensifies, spreading through my body. I clutch my hands over my racing heart and my body begins to shake, a light tremble that strengthens until every cell in my body is vibrating.
Doubling over, I gasp for breath, but it feels as if the air entering and exiting my lungs is pulsating. Pressure builds within my chest, and I cry out as the energy explodes.
I jerk awake in Anna’s spare bedroom with electricity flooding my body. The blood drains from my face at the too-familiar sensation. One I haven’t experienced for seven months. My medication. I didn’t take it last night.
Waves of residual current race down my arms, the energy dissipating through my fingertips in miniature, heated zaps. I flick my hands to will it away, and the old injury in my wrist protests in sharp stabs of pain. I need to get more medication from Dr Williams. Today.
My dreams of Parker and my mother replay in my mind. They seemed so real, almost like memories. And my mother—she was well. Lucid. Nothing like a woman contemplating suicide. Nothing like the woman I remember. No signs of her demons, hiding beneath the surface.
“I’d never leave you, Mari. Never. You’re the light of my life.”
My mother loved me.
The realization leaves me breathless. Guilt bubbles up through my chest. How had I forgotten?
Another surge of current races through my fingers and I flick it away.
My mother knew about my dreams and my symptoms. She told me to ignore them.
Is that what she did with her own demons?
Suppressed them until they consumed her?
The dream replays in my mind. I remember the day well—my eighth birthday.
She’d been healthy. Adamant she would return home.
And yet she died three months later. How had her mind failed her in only three months? Were there warning signs?
My attention snaps to the metal box beside my feet and I leap off the bed, knees sinking into the plush sage rug.
I pull the journals out, arrange them in chronological order, and devour the first from front to back.
There’s a brief mention of my nightmares, but the rest of my mother’s journal is—mundane.
She writes of daily activities and general life stressors.
By the time I reach the third journal, I’m skipping pages, skimming my mother’s neat, curling scrawl. I turn through page after page, searching for signs of poor health or paranoid thoughts, but my mother’s life seemed… good. Healthy. She’d enjoyed being a mother.
I grab the last journal, flicking to the back, and a crinkled piece of paper flutters into my lap.
The frail paper wavers in my hand, the folded seam crackling when opened to reveal an intricate drawing of a bizarre clock.
I trace its outline with a trembling finger: a large circle with a rippled edge on one side.
At the center, it has not two but six unique hands, and above and below the clock are long vertical lines of varying length, some broken. What does it mean?
I pick up the journal and turn to the last page, which contains only one sentence: Let the current carry you.
My fingers find their way to the charm on my necklace, and my thumb brushes the same worn inscription on its back.
My mother’s necklace. The one she fastened around my younger self’s neck in my dream.
I read the sentence again. Her last entry. Written on—
I lurch forward, scrutinizing the date from ten years past. December 25.
The day after my mother died.