The Tragedy of Power Read online

  “Go back inside, I can take care of this one,” the second man ran off again, heading back across the yard.

  “Honey, hey, I need to know your name,” the man's voice was meant to be soothing.

  “L'ren,” she managed to mumble in response, her head hanging low between her knees. She was staring down at the asphalt, sounds and sights coming and going as the world spun violently around her.

  The sound of squeaky wheels rumbling across the pavement temporarily pulled Lauren's gaze from the ground between her feet. Paramedics were rushing to load a gurney into the second ambulance, on it was Erin's broken form, her porcelain skin covered by a red-stained sheet. The cloth clung to her, stuck to her skin by the blood that covered her body.

  Lauren's mouth was dry, it tasted of bile and her eyes burned because they had no more tears to shed. The sheet did nothing to hide Erin from her. She could see her blank, hollow eyes clearly in her mind. She could smell the blood and, perhaps worse, still feel her lips and hands.

  Lauren tried closing her eyes, but it only made the visions clearer. There was an incredible pain in her chest, like a titan was gripping her heart and crushing it within his hands. The pain bloomed across her chest and she tensed her back muscles until she literally shook with pain.

  The electric whine of a defibrillator built and then discharged, one of the paramedics yelling 'clear' as it did so. Lauren scrunched her eyes harder, wishing she hadn't seen her friend's body flopping on the gurney.

  Lauren couldn't take it anymore, she stumbled dizzily from the tailgate of the ambulance, wobbling unsteadily on her bare feet.

  “Hey now, you need to sit back down so we can take-” the paramedic was speaking to her in a calm, even tone, but Lauren ignored him.

  She bolted.

  The man made a move to grab her but she slipped his grasp and took off over the pavement and into the woodline across the street. There was shouting behind her, and she could hear the man chasing her, but her instincts took over. Her strides lengthened and her arms picked up a steady rhythm. She could hear him swearing as he fell behind, the wind whipping her hair behind her.

  She ran for a long time. She was trying to run from the pain but it seemed the harder she ran the more it hurt.

  The pain in her chest filled her lungs. It gripped her heart and tightened around her throat. By the time she reached the edge of town she was literally gasping for air. The tension in her back mounted, the muscles felt like they were going to rip her chest open or peel back from the bones, whichever gave first. She stumbled, falling to the cracked, dead grass that lined the highway.

  She began to grow fearful, could you truly die of a broken heart? It certainly felt like it. It seemed when she breathed that there was no place for the air to go, her chest was full and getting fuller, as though filled with stone.

  Her breath grew shallower and shallower. As she began to hyperventilate she clawed at her own throat, looking down she saw ugly purple bruising beginning above her breasts and spreading across her chest. Her eyes widened with terror. She tore open the deep v-neck of the strapless dress, watching the ugly purple spread to the middle of her rib-cage.

  She started to black out, wondering if Erin had felt this helplessness and pain when she died as well.

  With a sickening crunch and searing pain, she felt the skin on her shoulder blades split wide and felt rivers of blood running down her back. The pain was too much, and she finally slipped into unconsciousness beside the road.

  The dull rumble of a powerful engine and the gentle sway of a large vehicle rocked Lauren awake. She was confused, she was laying on an unfamiliar bed, it smelled of stale cigarette smoke and cheap wine. She seemed to be wrapped in some strange fluffy blanket.

  Stranger still, the clothing she had on felt all wrong, it was scratchy and overlarge.

  Still groggy, she cracked open her eyes, her vision was blurry and the room was dark.

  “Erbear? I think we fell asleep,” Lauren mumbled and reached out a hand, searching for her friend. Instead, her hand dipped into a mysterious container of ice-cold liquid. She jerked it back, suddenly wide awake. Her eyes snapped open and she frantically examined the small, cramped room she was in. She was laying on a tiny bed, beside it, in a cup-holder like you might find in an automobile, was a glass of ice water. The small space was decorated sparsely, a wooden crucifix here, an old portable television there, and a tiny door directly opposite her.

  “Erin? Erin!” She called again, still confused. Then she saw the dress, it was on a hanger at the foot of the bed. Still torn. Still covered in blood.

  Lauren scrambled to get out of the bed, trying to shove off the funny blankets, but they seemed caught on her somehow. As she stood up she banged her head on the low ceiling.

  “Dammit,” she swore loudly, punching the ceiling in anger and stepping from the bed. She put her weight down on a piece of the blanket and pain shot through her back, unfamiliar nerves cried out in protest and she immediately pulled her foot back.

  “Ahh!” she let out a startled exclamation at the unexpected pain. What was happening to her?

  Lauren felt the vehicle stop swaying, slow down, and finally stop, but she was absorbed in the blanket. It seemed to be covered in big fluffy white feathers, and she was having trouble finding the ends of it, it seemed to shuffle and move when she did.

  The engine settled into a steady idle and she heard movement from the other side of the door.

  Lauren looked for something to protect herself with, only now realizing how bare she was. She was wearing oversized flannel pants that were clearly made for someone much shorter and wider than her, they were cinched at the waist with what looked like the belt to a bathrobe. She had no shirt on, only a massive brassiere, it was almost comically too large for her, the shoulder straps being the only thing keeping it on her chest.

  Her self examination halted as the door swung open.

  It was a woman. A plump, older woman with too much makeup and a pair of wild, horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Hey now youngin', jus' calm on den, we almos' there, an' it's an honor ma'am, on ma soul an honor,” the woman had a strong creole accent and the sort of open-book, simple kindness in her voice that you'd expect from a Sunday school teacher or a grandmother. The woman gave an odd little half-curtsy, half-bow.

  “Who are you, where am I, where are you taking me?”

  Lauren's voice quaked with uncertainty.

  “Only one place fern' angel,” the woman winked and smiled again. “Found ye on side a'road las' night passin' through Anna. Figured on you was in some ol' bad way, peck'd y'up so's you'd be safe.”

  Lauren was struggling to keep up with the dialect, and as her fear subsided it left room for the soul-crushing loneliness and pain that still flooded her heart.

  “Where am I?”

  “Nem's Rosalina Merideaux, pleas'ta meet ya my lady. We's on' 'bout twenny miles for Mizz Caroline's. You 'gon be ok there.”

  She seemed satisfied with the answer and turned back ahead, leaving the door open.

  Lauren nervously approached the door, the blanket still dragging along behind her. It seemed she was in the sleeper cabin of a large semi-truck.

  Upon seeing Rosalina more closely, Lauren had no doubt that it was her bra she was wearing. The woman's chest was as massive as the rest of her. Rosalina motioned for Lauren to take the passenger side seat and fired the big diesel back up.

  “C'mon up he'ah, if y'like. On my soul ain' nev'ah thought I's gon' live to see you return!”

  Lauren moved to accept the offer, but the obnoxious feather cover wouldn't let go of her. As she wrestled with it, Rosaline began to laugh heartily.

  “Neva' 'magined 'n angel have so much trouble wit'che own wings!”

  Lauren’s temper was worn thin already and she responded with a biting tone.

  “And what the fuck should that mean.”

  The verbal retort that Rosaline dealt was sharp, and it knocked the sass out of Lauren, who st
ared in shock at the sudden transformation of the sweet old lady.

  “Wat'che mouth youngin', it's the Lord's rules in my home, yes'm, Angel or not.”

  She made a sort of 'mhmm' noise, as if to back up her own judgment. She turned back to the road, leaving Lauren's mouth agape.

  Lauren retreated back to the cabin, shutting the door behind herself.

  Wings? Angels? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

  Lauren examined the blanket, it was big but fairly light. Lauren finally found an end, it tapered to a point. Tracing it backwards she found that it was somehow stuck to her shoulder blade. Frustrated, she yanked on it.

  “Ouch!”

  She jumped at the pain, flinching reflexively. The feathery appendage jerked as well.

  What. The fuck.

  Lauren's mind bent at the unthinkable implications of what she was seeing, feeling. It was impossible. She thought back to her last, horrifying memories of the night before. The pain, the unbearable pressure in her chest and the horrible ripping sensation in her shoulders. No way, she thought, shaking her head, more likely she still had a piece of glass stuck in there from the truck, and this stupid blanket was caught on it.

  Lauren yanked again, it hurt, a lot. It felt like something was pulling at her shoulder blade, but with the kind of sharp pain you'd get from a hangnail. She examined the blanket more closely, it was warm to the touch. She dug through the feathers, looking for the fabric she knew had to be beneath them. It sent an odd, ticklish sensation down her spine.

  Skin. Skin? The feathers gave way to pale, unbroken skin. Well, maybe not unbroken. The tip of each feather was embedded deeply into the skin, which seemed to be stretched tightly over long thin bones and lean, clearly defined muscles.

  Maybe she had lost it, maybe she was in an asylum somewhere and having some twisted, drug-induced dream, Lauren thought to herself.

  As much as her mind wanted to deny it, what she had mistaken for a blanket did seem to be a pair of wings. Moreover, they seemed firmly attached her back.

  Resigned, but with growing excitement, Lauren experimented with the muscles in her back. She began by flexing and relaxing them in various combinations trying to get a reaction from the unfamiliar limbs.

  They twitched and shuddered, flitting open and curling up with incredible speed. There wasn't enough room in the cramped living space, so she wound up knocking just about everything over as she practiced.

  After one particularly uncontrolled motion, she knocked the portable television from its place atop the small end table. It crashed to the floor and flickered on.

  “...tragic news from the small town of Anna, Illinois, this morning. A young woman was found dead after apparently committing suicide. Police there have said that there is a person of interest, I think we have a sketch, don't we Donna?”

  Lauren's wings drooped low as she was dragged back to reality and away from the distraction of her transformation. Erin's house was being shown with caution tape all over it, the door wide open and policemen searching the house. As she watched, an artist's rendering of her flashed up on the screen.

  If the circumstances had been different she might have laughed, the girl in the sketch was far prettier than she. As it was, she barely managed not to break down again.

  “...anyone with news of this young woman should report to the Anna police department...”

  Dropping to her knees she picked up the device, looking for a power button. She found the button but it seemed to be broken, jammed inside the machine by its collision with the floor.

  “... Police and paramedics on scene described the death as a suicide, but indicated that the young woman pictured on your screen was a person of interest after she fled the scene…”

  With increasing violence she jammed a finger into the button, finally resorting to bashing the little television set against the floor until the picture flickered again and died.

  Lauren was no longer in the mood to experiment, she wasn't in the mood to do anything. Remaining on the floor she sat back and hugged her knees to her chest. Instinctively she curled her new wings around herself, hiding her crying face.

  The truck pulled over and stopped, this time the engine was shut off as well, leading Lauren to believe they must have reached their destination.

  Wherever that was..

  Sure enough, Rosaline tapped lightly and then opened the door.

  “C'mon out he'ah child, y'oughta meet Mizz Caroline shain't the mos' patient na.”

  Lauren stared stupidly at the woman, was that even English?

  Rosaline seemed to feel she'd made her point, however. She gave another funny little bow as she backed out of view. The cab of the truck shifted as the woman left.

  The muffled sound of voices overcame Lauren's hesitation and she crept carefully through the opening, wings tucked tightly behind her.

  The cab was cramped, but Rosaline had left the door open. Lauren gingerly climbed down the chrome-plated ladder to the ground.

  The sun was just creeping up over a line of trees to the east, shining cool winter light onto a large, well-maintained field. They seemed to be near the center of that field, and about 40 feet away sat a modest, single-story white building. The building's most distinguishing feature was a quaint bell-tower, about three times the height of the rest of the roof. A large sign read 'Cherry Hills Reformed Church of the Immaculate Child' in big red lettering.

  Rosaline was talking to a woman who couldn't have been more her opposite.

  A tall, stern looking woman with ebony skin and a piercing gaze stood, arms crossed, speaking intently with the squat trucker. Rosaline seemed to be animatedly describing Lauren. At least, she was making exaggerated flapping motions with her arms.

  The cold air caused Lauren to shiver, her feathers making a dry rustling noise as they rubbed together. She crossed her arms in front of herself, warding off the chill.

  As she left the confines of the truck and suddenly had space again, she felt the irresistible urge to stretch.

  She no sooner thought it than her muscles responded. Crackling and popping, her wings spread wide. All told they must have been ten feet or more, tip to tip. It was the deepest, most satisfying stretch she'd ever experienced.

  A startled gasp brought her attention back to the pair of women now staring at her.

  Lauren stood awkwardly for a moment, her borrowed pajama pants hanging scandalously low on her hips, chest exposed but for the circus tent of a bra that she wore, arms and wings spread wide.

  Miss Caroline, she assumed, was the first to regain her composure. The woman dropped to her knees, raising her hands upwards to the sky and lowering her gaze to Lauren's feet.

  “Holy lady, forgive me my doubts, I am Caroline Adams.”

  Lauren felt very out of sorts.

  Who was this woman, and what on earth was she on about. Nervously she covered herself up as best she could.

  “Um, hello, I mean good morning, my name is La-” she cut herself off, thinking of the television broadcast she had seen a glimpse of. She didn't know if they had given her name out, or if they knew it.

  Caroline looked dutifully at Lauren's feet, her arms held wide. She seemed content to wait for a complete answer.

  “Could you, um, not do that?”

  Lauren regretted the request immediately, as the woman reacted strongly to it.

  “Yes your grace I am sorry,” she bowed low to the ground. “What would you have me do?”

  The woman seemed determined to keep this act up, to Lauren's irritation.

  “Stop acting funny, just, just speak to me like a normal person!”

  She answered a little more sharply than she intended.

  Caroline looked confused, but she slowly rose to her feet.

  “Yes your grace, as you wish.”

  “Just, call me Lauren, please.”

  “Yes... Lauren,” the woman said.

  “Are you cold? We can go inside?”

  Lauren was in fact quit
e chilled, so she nodded an affirmative.

  The two parted company with Rosaline, who rumbled off in her truck before Lauren could think to thank her.

  Caroline ushered Lauren into the church. “Cherry Hills” she called it, it was a small, wayside church outside of Paducah, Kentucky.

  The name struck a bell. She’d traveled through this area for a class trip once, and again on vacation. Apparently Caroline lived here and looked after the rare traveler who happened through.

  Lauren was grateful for the warmth of the building, but not as much for the company. She wanted to be alone. Caroline was nice enough, but Lauren was quickly growing tired of her bizarre behavior. Caroline seemed to sense her discomfort as she directed her to a small living area at the back of the building.

  “Here's the shower, there's not much hot water I'm afraid, but there are towels in the cupboard.”

  Lauren nodded, still too shell-shocked to say much.

  “When you're finished, my room is down the hall to the left. Wear anything you like, you'll find my wardrobe is modest, but you are of course welcome to it.”

  Another nod.

  “Good, dinner is in a few hours. If you'd like to rest you can use my bed for that as well, please make yourself at home your gr-Lauren.”

  Their gazes met. Caroline seemed to sense the broken nature of Lauren's heart. To see the emptiness in her eyes. Lauren broke eye contact first as she turned to walk away but paused.

  “Thank you, Miss Adams.”

  The shower turned out to be more complicated than Lauren expected. Her wings made the space cramped and everything more challenging to reach and scrub thoroughly. Initially she tried to wash the wings as well, but once the feathers got soaked they were terribly heavy.

  Eventually she settled on running her fingers through the feathers repeatedly while water ran over them. Drying them was considerably easier. They shed water quickly and she found she was able to fluff them up a bit if she concentrated.

  Caroline's room was simply adorned. A large wooden cross hung above a surprisingly lavish bed. A series of scriptures were beautifully painted in black upon the cream colored walls. There was a small desk, a low table, a simple bookshelf, and an old box-style television. Lauren looked around for a wardrobe, but saw none. Instead, she saw a door across the room. Perhaps she had a walk-in closet?