Miraculous

As I fastened my hands embrace on the steering wheel, I attempted to fixate my concentration on the back of my mother’s tail lights but this mission deemed its self impossible. My mind began to wonder off in a different direction, musing about him while I rapidly advanced and surpassed a sign that read

“The Quileute Tribe Welcomes You to La Push.”

I’d never dared to consciously mention his name by mouth or by thought, because that would entail that he was a legitimate part my existence. Actually, sometimes I would pray that I was somehow mentally deranged and was retained to a bed in a foul asylum. At least if I was a psychotic lunatic stowed away in some loony bin then he was just another fabrication in a illusion that I would be creating in my own insane mind. That way I would be safe, because all he would be was a figment that couldn't’t literally harm me.

Well, I guess I should be honest to myself; he was going to kill me. I knew that was his allotment intention, he was going to murder me in the most horrific way that anyone has ever seen before. Transferring me to this place isn’t going to save my life, it is going to make this game he’s playing more intriguing for when he decides to come and pursue me.

He owns the game board, he’s moving everyone’s pieces, and when ever his whim calls for him to take me out; he was going to remove my game piece from the playing board. Permanently.

My engrossing thoughts were coming to a much needed end as I observed my mother’s car turning left into a gravel drive way, but before I could completely eliminate any farther reflection of my approaching fate, I envisioned his burning eyes.

He was impeccable, in an inhuman way. Everything about him was flawless and captivating; to his ashen skin to the way he conducted himself in such a refined way. Yes, everything about him exceeded your widest dreams of what a man could be, expect those eyes. They were savage and deepest shade of red. His eyes were the only thing that gave any indication of how vile he was, and yet I know there is a tremendous amount of details that I don’t know about him, or would ever like to find out about.

“Bev, couldn’t you hear me screaming at you? I’ve been hollering at you to get out of this dang car for five minutes!?” My mother, Anya, came at my now parted car, complaining and obviously irritated at my unresponsiveness. I peered up at her, her skin with it’s artificially color of bronze glistened in what little sun was out. Her hair soaked up the few rays that were shooting from the clouds, making it shine as well. I admired her so much for her natural beauty, and for her womanly silhouette. Sometimes I pondered if god had aimed for her to be in magazines and on billboards, rather than popping out a kid just to have her husband leave her. God had to have a lager purpose for her life than the one she has lead, and even now, having to up root her whole life for her little bastard child.

“Beverly Lambert, what are you looking at?” Anya inquired, hardening her stance to only soften it moments later.

“Baby, are you okay? You don’t look so hot?”

A sudden feeling of queasiness that I hadn’t noticed before washed over me. I looked away from my ideal mother and into my rear view mirror to stare at my own appearance. In comparison to my mother, any normal person wouldn’t ever expect that I was her daughter. My chestnut colored hair that sat on the top of my head day after day was scattered every which way possible, and my ivory skin appeared even more grim and lifeless than usual as it repelled the light from the sun. I even disliked my lips; they looked like I was pouting, as always, because my lower lip bulged outward a tad bit more than my top. But the only thing I did relish in my demeanor was my eyes, which I acquired from Anya.

“Beverly, why aren’t you speaking to me?” Anya’s distressed voice cracked.

“Sorry, I guess I got a little car sick.” I lied. She opened my door and helped me out.

“It’s okay, I understand” Her angelic voice trailed off just so she could cradle me into a secure hug. I knew she knew I was trying to deceive her so she wouldn’t be troubled but I wasn’t fooling anyone, particularly her. She always knew what I was feeling, which sounds pleasant enough but sometimes people like to keep their thoughts and emotions to themselves.

When we both pulled back to our original posture, concern was transpiring off my mother’s face like rancid off a skunk. She was burdened that he might resume tormenting and harassing me, even in this wasteland. Although, I’d never confide it to her, I was petrified that he would not only hunt me down here but seek me out in my own dreams. Every night he’d slaughter my body, every night he’d steal my soul, and every night in a new way; but in a since, it always ended the same. His constant abuse causes me to go mad and then he kills me, but I wasn’t truly dead, but a part of me stays bounded to the earth.

I shook my head briskly to rid myself of the thoughts. I was 16 years old, I had every right to be intimidated, what 16 year old girl wants to die?

“Come on; let’s go check out our new pad.” Anya declared, wrapping one of her arms around my shoulder, forcing us forward a bit. She was becoming impatient with my hesitance, which made me smile for the first time in a while.

“So what do you think?” Anya asked with all the wonder in the world flickering in her eyes as she beamed brightly at our unusual “pad”.

“Well, it’s a fixer-upper.” I stated with a half snicker. “I’m sure it has character though.”

Our not-so-new house looked barely like a house at all. It resembled more of an assortment of poorly thrown together boards of wood with chipping paint flaking from them rather than an actual house that we were going to be staying in. Some of the shutters were hanging off their hinges, and the pitiful door looked like it would fall to its death at any moment.

“Is it sturdy?” I questioned to satisfy my uncertainly.

“Is it sturdy?” Anya chuckled, throwing my doubt in my face with a laugh. “They don’t make ‘em like this anymore. But come on; let’s get some stuff inside, it looks like it might rain.”

A smirk began to form along my lips as did a giggle in my throat. My mother is 36, and despite that fact she looks much younger, she is hardly old enough to use the phase “make ‘em like this anymore”. Sometimes I even forget that I am her daughter, she’s much more like my sister than mother.

But she did make an accurate weather prediction, even though anyone could guess that it could rain here, I had a feeling it had a lot of precipitation and had it frequently.

We had successfully got almost nothing into the house before the mist started. With no one to do any of the heavy lifting, we got next to nothing moved into our rooms. Anya guaranteed that she could get someone in here by tomorrow to get the rest of our belongings out of the U-Haul and into the house, which I had no skepticism when it came to her getting a man to do something.

“It’s time for us to get some shut eye don’t you say, kid? You’ve got school tomorrow.” She yawned, stretching out her slender arms.

“Yeah, see you in the A.M. Night mom.” I concluded, trying to seem indifferent about what tonight held for me.

***

That night I could have sworn he was in my room poisoning my dreams, and that night he punished me for abandoning him to come to La Push.