Help for the Haunted(134)

He chastens and hastens       His will to make known.

The wicked oppressing       now cease from distressing.

Sing praises to His       Name; He forgets not His own.

Franky lifted my head by the hair and yanked me out      of that water. For a few fleeting seconds, I saw the cracked gray walls of the      foundation. I saw the fading daylight. I saw the fallen leaves around us. And      then she shoved my head down, smashing my face against the cement. In the white      light and blistering pain that followed, that shhhh      warped itself into the sound of my mother’s voice once more. I heard her there,      so close now, singing that old choir song to me:

Beside us to guide us,       our God with us joining,

Ordaining, maintaining       His kingdom divine;

So from the beginning       the fight we were winning;

Thou, Lord, were at our       side, all glory be Thine!

Again, Franky lifted my head, and again she brought      it down. The force was so great that this time it felt as though the world had      stopped. I tried to open my eyes but could not. I heard no sounds, not even my      mother’s singing.

And then, after what felt like a long stretch of      time, my eyes blinked open into the gloom of that water, and I had a vision of      her: my mother, standing on the other side of some great abyss, that dirty water      an ocean between us. She wore the beige trench coat from the video I played that      day in the basement so long ago while Rose messed with the fuse box and Dot      bathed in the tub upstairs reading her silly book. For a moment, the image      flickered and blurred just as it had done that day on the TV screen. I’m losing her, I thought. Once       again, I will have to let her go. But then her image sharpened. And      when her lips moved, she spoke in a serious voice.

“This is what I will tell you, Sylvie,” my mother      said. “Each of us is born into this life with a light inside us. Some, like      yours, burn brighter than others. As you grow older you will come to understand      why. But what’s most important is to never ever let that light go out. Do you      understand what I am trying to say?”

“Yes,” I opened my mouth to tell her, only to take      in more dirty water, swallowing it, filling my lungs.

“That’s a good girl,” she said. “It won’t be easy,      but you have to believe. And you have to fight. Okay?”

This time, I knew better than to open my mouth to      answer. Besides, it no longer mattered, because that ghost, that globule, that      memory of her—whatever it was—had vanished into that murky green water. At the      same time, Franky made her greatest effort yet. She lifted my head by the hair.      And when I was delivered back into that world of air and fallen leaves and the      gray autumn sky growing dim above, my free hand scrambled along the cement floor      until I found what I needed. Before she could send me down a final time, I      squirmed around until I was on my back, pinned beneath her. And then I used my      free hand to bring a rock against the side of her head.

Once. Twice. A third and fourth time, until I saw      blood. After that, her body went slack and she fell to one side of me.

For a moment, after I let the rock drop, I lay      there catching my breath. As soon as I could manage, I forced myself out from      under her. I stood, wet and bloodied, and looked down at Franky. Her back rose      and fell with each breath, but otherwise she was motionless.

I walked away from her and began the climb up those      crumbling stairs. At the top, I stared back at my house. All those NO TRESPASSING! signs my father had nailed to the      birch trees, which had done nothing to keep danger away. My sister was still      inside, and though I thought to go and help her, I chose the path instead.      Dripping and muddy and shirtless, I stumbled along the twisted trail to the      field, where I stood so many mornings and afternoons. Over that barbed fence I      climbed, careful not to do any more damage to myself. I walked across the      trampled grass, where those turkeys had been for so long, most of them gone now.      I kept going until I reached the doors of the barn.

“Dereck!” I called, knocking and knocking.      “Dereck!”

When no answer came, I slid the doors open. A man      who was not Dereck stood on the other side, wearing headphones and chopping meat      on a wooden block. He had gray hair and a kind face. He looked the way I      imagined my mother’s father to have looked. When he saw me, he yanked the      headphones from his ears and came to me. “What happened to you, young lady?”