Stevan Mena - Transience

Rebecca disappeared upstairs. Laura stopped washing the dish. Under normal circumstances, she’d say it’s too late to be up painting; it was time for bed. But she didn’t remember what normal was anymore. And she was appreciating the silence. Long may it last. She heard Rebecca’s door close. She put her head down and sighed.

Laura went to the den and stood amongst a few boxes that were still waiting to be unpacked from the move. She reached into one and upended the contents, sifting for something. She pulled out a small spiral bound address book. She opened it.

Inside under M was an old entry for Carmen Muniz, with a phone number. Her name was circled with a heart. Laura turned a few pages and a worn, yellowed photograph slipped out. She held it up; it was a picture of her and Carmen, snapped by a friend at Lakeview Park after a ride on the roller coaster. They were both shouting something, she’d always loved the candid smiles on their faces.

She stared at her 15 year old self, her hair so much longer and blonde then, Carmen’s hair so dark next to hers. They were like contrasting pieces on an Othello board. She was reminded of an odd moment while giving Rebecca a bath, back when she was about two years old. She was toweling her off when Rebecca commented how she preferred her with long hair, asking why she cut it short. But Laura had cut it short a few years before Rebecca was born. Rebecca never knew her with long hair. Laura figured she must have seen pictures of her. She never really tried to rationalize what she’d said, she just remembered it being weird at the time.

Laura smiled at the picture. Fond memories, stored for safe keeping years ago, floated to the surface. Her eyes welled up. She didn’t realize how hard she was gripping the photo until the edges started to curl inward from the pressure. She placed it back in the book and opened her mouth to breathe again, emotional. She tucked the book back into the box and folded the top over.

Each step creaked as she climbed the staircase. The old house had a real personality, especially at night. Every floorboard made a sound, every door had its own unique whine. Rebecca’s was especially loud.

Laura opened it as slowly as she could to mute the sound. Rebecca had climbed into bed herself. Peacefully asleep, she seemed so alone. A wave of guilt washed over Laura, she felt useless.

“Sleep, baby. Just, please sleep,” Laura whispered.

Laura crept back into the living room and lay down on the couch. She checked the clock on the wall, 9 P.M. She closed her eyes.

The house was silent. Laura’s thoughts drifted to work, doctor bills, all the things she was putting off. She could hear the wind wheezing through a small crack in the sill. It breathed a lonely song. She, too, felt lonely. She tried to block it out of her mind — how selfish — with the way Rebecca was suffering. The emptiness of her situation was like pangs of hunger with no food to satisfy it. No other adult to talk to, confide in. No one to unload her problems to at the end of the day. No strong shoulder to lean on, gentle hand to caress her cheek and tell her it was going to be alright. No one to share her burden.

She drifted in and out. Thoughts became moving images, dreams. She entered a rare, peaceful sleep.

Something itched at the tip of her nose, she scratched it and suppressed a sneeze. She looked over at the clock on the wall. 1 A.M.

4 hours?

It felt like she had only closed her eyes for a moment. She snapped up off the couch and went to the kitchen to check the clock above the sink.

1 A.M. She rubbed her eyes. “Shit…”

Her thoughts immediately went to Rebecca. It was the longest she’d gone without waking the dead with her blood curdling shrieks. Laura headed for the stairs quickly.

As she opened the door to Rebecca’s bedroom, Laura had to silence a gasp. Rebecca was wide awake–sitting up in bed, her eyes big and dark, her stare almost catatonic. The sight gave Laura a shudder.

Rebecca’s vacant eyes slowly turned, finding Laura in the doorway. Her glare made every hair on the back of Laura’s neck stand up straight.

They stared at each other a few moments. Rebecca didn’t blink, no expression at all, like some animatronic doll with no soul.

“…Becca?” Laura said, as if asking permission to speak to her daughter in there, half expecting some demon to answer.

Rebecca slowly raised her hand towards her chest, gently feeling around her throat. “I can’t find my necklace,” Rebecca said, soft and monotone.

Laura stood frozen in the doorway. She swallowed. “…What necklace, baby?” Rebecca didn’t answer. “Becca? What necklace?”

Rebecca’s eyes were open, but she wasn’t present in the room. Her spirit was somewhere else — speaking to someone else. The fact she was currently staring at Laura was mere happenstance.

Laura sprinted down the hall to the bathroom. She threw open the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of pills Doctor Hellerman had prescribed, the ones that were supposed to help Rebecca sleep — the ones she’d stopped giving her. They never worked before, what makes you think they’ll work now?

Laura desperately shook two into her trembling hand and filled a Dixie cup with water. She caught a brief glimpse of the black circles under her eyes in the mirrored cabinet. She closed it, afraid Rebecca’s ghostly image might be standing behind her waiting to shout boo !

She raced back down the hall and re-entered Rebecca’s bedroom. Rebecca was now on her back, sound asleep. Eyes closed this time.

Laura crept towards her. She slowly extended her hand to pull Rebecca’s blankets up, half expecting her eyes to suddenly pop open like at the end of some B horror movie. But they didn’t. Laura ran her fingers gently through Rebecca’s wavy hair.

She watched her a moment, then gazed around the room at her artwork. The paintings took on a slightly different appearance in the dim glow of the night. Rebecca’s easel was off to the side, turned away. What’s she trying to hide?

Laura inched towards it and snuck a peek.

The picture of the tree had been replaced with a portrait. In the soft light, Laura couldn’t quite make it out. She turned it silently towards the window to better see in the moonlight. It was a pixel perfect replica of Carmen.

Laura covered her mouth. She looked down at her feet and noticed she was standing on top of yesterday’s newspaper. Rebecca had spread it around to prevent ink from damaging the floor. Carmen’s picture was visible on the front page. The headline read: Missing girl’s body found after ten years .

The portrait seemed so lifelike that Carmen’s voice — her memory of it, came rushing back. Laura looked at Rebecca, still asleep. She quietly picked the newspaper off the floor and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her gently.

Laura returned downstairs and entered the kitchen. She flipped open the wastebasket lid, crumpled the newspaper and tossed it in — right on top of Jack’s card, the name slightly blotted out from her recently discarded tea bag. She reached in and retrieved the card, wiping away the smudged brown tea stain with her finger. Jack’s number was still legible.

Jack took two pills and was going to return the bottle to its hiding place behind the book, but the pain was especially bad today, so he tucked them into his front pocket.

He sat forward at his desk and picked up his pen, placing it firmly between his teeth, before pressing play on the tape machine. Leonard’s voice cued up.

“Rebecca?”

“It’s getting dark,” Rebecca said in her deep other voice, “ Church bells. I hear church bells. ”