The First Evil Ch 02

I look around the diner with its scarred, pealing beige linoleum and Formica, its clouded chrome edging and vinyl barstools. Normally, I love the faded vintage quality of this place. Normally, the three old ladies who gossip behind the fluted glass desert covers wrap me in nostalgic memories. Normally, the food is welcome and astonishingly good for such a small, forgotten location.

Today is not normal.

The smell of generations of deep-fried food blended with the stiff smell of Aquanet surrounding the waitresses and the too-ripe body odor of the man sitting three tables over. All I could hear was a soft whooshing sound like the inside of a shell or waves sucking at the sand on the beach. I tried to focus on Juliet like she was my anchor to reality with little luck. The room was running in streamers of color that pulsed in time with my slowing heart beat.

I'd felt fine when I first left my house. I'd felt better than fine, actually. The night air had seemed to seep into me, refreshing and energizing me. The sweet, cool smell of the rainy air simply filled me with joy. Raindrops, still clinging to branches and eaves, christened my forehead, washing away the last of my lingering malaise. The full white face of the moon seemed to share a secret smile with me as if we alone knew the mystery of this magical night. I felt justified and more at not taking my medication. Tonight was the first time since Juliet handed me the first bottle that I'd ever missed a pill, and I remember having an unfair thought that maybe she had wanted to keep me sick for some reason.

I got to her place in record time. My heart beat steadily, evenly, more so than it had in a decade. I felt like I could run forever without ever even losing my breath. Jules looked great, her strawberry hair cut into a short, pixie style and her pert body barely covered in a brief, red bubble-dress, showcasing her short but fantastic legs.

Jules took one look at my gaunt face and immediately herded me toward our favorite diner. I went readily, feeling hungry for the first time in days, weeks if I was honest. I tried to order a steak and was vetoed by the good doctor and gotten soup instead. I ate the whole bowl and then asked if I could have a piece of the six-inch-deep lemon meringue pie that we usually split after rough shifts and bad reviews. Before the waitress could lower the chipped plate to the table, I knew I was going to throw up.

I didn't even make it all the way to the stalls before I heaved into the sink closest to the door. My insides were on fire and, when I wiped my mouth, my hand came away smeared in blood. I stared in confusion at the blood slowly draining out of the sink. Juliet skidded into the bathroom after me, in time to see me tense and heave again. Her face was ashen as she looked at how much blood was in the sink. Then she gathered her composure and Dr. Martin took over.

The doctor felt my forehead and then took my pulse against a glowing Budweiser clock as Jules looked at me frantically from behind her deep brown eyes. I could barely feel her touch as she checked me over. I didn't know how I felt about dying like this, right now. I'd made peace with this possibility, but I had plans tonight. I thought, "'life is what happens when you're busy making other plans,' not death." At least, according to John Lennon, or not considering how I'd probably butchered the quote.

I staggered back over to the table, weakly swatting at Jules's grasp. I looked down at my pie; it'd toppled over in the waitresses haste to call for help after I'd bolted for the bathroom. I picked up my fork and scooped up a mouthful before Jules or Dr. Martin could think to stop me. If I was going to die tonight I wanted to taste that pie to once more let the sweet meringue and the tart lemon dance on my tongue. I looked over at Jules, who looked torn between being my doctor and my friend, and I summoned my absolutely best smile from way down deep inside me; the one that makes me shine and captivates others completely.

Unfortunately for me, I'm unusually beautiful, eyes notwithstanding. It is a fact I hated for the attention it brought me, despite my best efforts, but now I wanted her to see me smile and know how much I loved and cherished her friendship. It was truly my most prized possession. How nice that I would get to take it with me.

I couldn't even hear myself speak over the sound in my ears that I finally realized was my pounding heart slowing and struggling. I reached up with shaking hands and carefully removed the dark brown contacts from my eyes and really looked at the only person who mattered to me in this world for the first time. The contacts are specially designed for my eyes, not just to cover the red but also to give me the appearance of a pupil. I looked at her petite body and her softly curling hair without the fuzzy grey dots clouding my vision and let her see my eyes truly for the first time.

It was a jarring sight for most: a larger-than-normal iris with no pupil to interrupt the deep crimson color. It wasn't even the light, almost pink/red color that albinos have but truly, the color of well-oxygenated blood ringed by a slightly darker circle of almost black. Meeting my unobstructed, direct gaze had always unnerved people and made them uncomfortable around me afterward, but I risked it now to see her. To have her see me. Confusion and shock washed her face of all its other, more urgent feelings for a moment before determination and stubbornness charged to the front. I could see the questions Jules wanted to ask but Dr. Martin tried to put her off in favor of saving my life. I decided to answer her questions instead. She had earned true answers from me.

"I was born like this over," I paused, thinking, "well, seventy years ago, I guess. I've never known my parents nor did the nuns at the first orphanage where I was found. Really, it was a convent but since the school wasn't technically part of the convent they called it an orphanage."

I was starting to babble and tried to reign in my drifting thoughts, "You can imagine what nuns in the 1940's thought of this," I said while gesturing at my face and opening my eyes really wide. Some small part of me died when she flinched a little, though she still kept her fingers on my wrist checking my pulse.

"I ran from place to place trying to avoid anyone seeing my eyes or noticing the extra-slow aging. And... other things." I looked deeply into her eyes and decided to confide my deepest shame. "Boots, you just can't imagine the horrible things people will do when they know no one can stop them," I said as tears filled my eyes. Her eyes had crinkled at the familiar nickname even as I saw her brace for the coming horror. "I've done awful things too. I guess I'm still not the woman the nuns tried to make me since I just don't regret them and I wouldn't take them back if I could."

A pervasive numbness began to steal throughout my body, starting at my furthest extremities and creeping inward. My heart was starting to noticeably stutter and I could feel another wave of nausea crashing over me. Dr. Martin must have seen it too because a plastic trashcan was suddenly thrust beneath my pale face and I was retching into it with help from her and the smelly man. I looked down and saw that it seemed to be mostly blood again and knew I didn't have much time left.

"Shit, the ambulance is on its way Rory. Please hold on. If we can just get to Jefferson, everything will be fine. I promise," she said, staring into my eyes as if she could will my death away from me.

"Stop. Saving my life isn't the most important thing. I want, need, to tell you something. I want you to know about me so you understand how hard it was to let you in, and how much you truly do mean to me."

I paused and took a strained, shuddering breath and continued, "When I was little I had to leave behind anyone who gave a shit about me so they wouldn't notice how abnormal I am." I saw Jules shake her head in disbelief so I grabbed her face sharply with my free hand so she would look at me.

"I. Am. Eighty. Years. Old. You have to know. I've been raped. More than once, I looked like a child and it tainted my soul to know that some actual child might have suffered what I did if not for me being there already." I fought with myself to maintain eye contact.

"I've killed people who hurt me, and not in self defense, not by the definition the law provides. I've only had one other person care about me and she died twenty years ago. You and Rachel are the only real friends I've ever had and."

I paused again, tensing against the bone deep pain that followed in the wake of the numbness and said, "I love you both, so much. My real name is Aurora Sloane, and if you look in any art history book that includes the sixties forward you'll see my work. More importantly, you'll see my face, this face in my work, it'll prove that I'm at least not lying about my age."

I saw a crack in the dam of her denial then but it wasn't love or friendship that dripped from behind her barriers it was an anger bordering on hate.

"You are a liar. No one could deny themselves for that long," she snarled at me and pain entered her eyes, a far deeper pain than even my death should cause. "It would mean you were infected as a child and that's impossible. Impossible!" she screamed, but there were tears streaking down her face in scalding sheets.

I was so shocked I didn't even feel the flames consuming my skin or the lightning racing through my blood for a moment while I processed the implications of her outburst. "It can't be true," she whispered as she leaned her head against mine and wrapped her small strong arms around me. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what she was talking about, but I realized our secrets might have had more in common than I had ever imagined.

The pain was starting to overwhelm and consume me. It left no part of me unscathed. I couldn't even scream for fear that the vibration of my vocal cords would somehow increase the agony. I could feel unconsciousness looming like a bloated black cloud and at this point any respite would be welcome. I think I felt it when my heart stopped. I know I felt my last breath puff from between my lips.

Jules's wrenching sobs filled my ears but I was still selfishly happy to have known her. I was glad to have shared in some part of her life even if it had only been a brief five years. Blackness wrapped me in comforting nothingness and I felt myself drift away.

# # #

I was a thought.

I was the wind blowing through the trees and the grass growing from the earth and even the water bubbling up through a fountain of reclining classical figures, but those things don't think "I" and I do and so I was separate from them. It made me sad that I could be sad.

I was many thoughts.

I was worry about feeding a small boy with bright brown hair and an understanding smile, elation at her yes in Love Park where we met when I fell off my skateboard trying to impress her; crushing blue despair that causes your bones to ache and exhaustion to steal your will, liquor-soaked anger at her unimagined betrayal after so long and so many shared hardships, innocent wonder at the bright orange and white goldfish swimming in the new tank that was a birthday present from earlier today, the rushing ecstasy of hands and tongues and thrusting bodies.

I stopped at that. I had never experienced that. It was unfathomable that I ever could. I was separated again, almost myself, because I had experiences that were just my own.

I'd had a life, but that life was ended now.

I was a broken woman, an artist, an abused child, a patient, a stranger, a runaway, a bitch, a freak, somehow a daughter, maybe a friend, and a mystery. For all my so-called deep self-knowledge, I still didn't know what I was, but I realized that I did know who I was, who I still want to be.

I was floating.

I continued to be connected enough to the collective subconscious to see emotions like sparks of different colored candles flickering throughout the entire city. There was still enough of nature in me to feel the pink-orange light of the dawn I was named after pressing against the night. I was no longer every leaf on every tree or every blade of grass. I was becoming myself again.

I had a name.

I was Aurora Sloane. But I was still everyone and everything else too. I felt like the energy of the city flowed through me and took pieces of me with it and left other things behind instead. It was an indescribable euphoria to feel so much belonging. All of it was precious, even those darker emotions we don't like to feel. I could see from where I was how I'd needed my pain to shape me into who I was and who I needed to be. I could also see that I wasn't done experiencing pain or becoming who I needed to be.

Finally, I was Rory.

I looked out over the city and saw all the people glittering with a kaleidoscope of different emotions. All the regular people were going about their daily lives, shining their hopes and fears to the heavens. I thought about what I might have looked like down there and suddenly my focus shifted; I wasn't seeing the same faint shine but steady stronger lights. Some were like the flame in a kerosene lantern while others were like bright spotlights shooting into the sky, illuminating the night like mini suns and moons. There seemed to be less of them the more brightly they shone.

I didn't know what this meant. It was like the information was on the tip of my tongue but every time I tried to grasp it, it disappeared. I almost knew the deeper meaning and the significance of the different levels of light but I was distracted by the absence of light looming beyond the horizon.

A pervasive darkness that was growing and seemed to be seeping from below the earth, where the lights were weakest and dimmest. I was just seeing a pattern and realizing what my new purpose should be when I sensed a presence surrounding me. It wasn't the pure white light you hear people describe in their near-death-experiences, nor was it the creeping darkness below us. It was the kind of comfort you'd feel next to the boy you'd grown up with but who wasn't related to you. I felt sort of flustered but also happy and excited at the same time. A flare of amusement surrounded me and then the feeling of contentment filled me, reminding me how we'd always known each other, how we always would. I wanted to explore the familiarity. How could I know this being that was so much more than me? How did it know me?

Are you done here? The thought was in my head but it was not my thought. I knew he didn't mean here over the city but here on earth. I'd thought I was done and that the time of choice had ceased along with my heart beat. Now, I was being asked a question. Being offered a choice I'd never expected. I remembered my life: all the pain, degradation, and crushing loneliness. I weighed it against the joy of painting and the friendship I had with Jules and her partner Rachel. I felt Juliette's hot tears splash against my cheek as I died and knew there was really only one choice right .

Suddenly I was being pulled in a direction so that I was no longer floating aimlessly but with purpose. I was approaching one of the areas of darkness though I could still feel the presence with me. A woman who appeared to be about twenty was getting dragged into an alley near the club district. She sported pretty standard club wear, nothing too over the top for Philadelphia in the fall. Not that clothes should ever be misconstrued as an invitation for violence or violation. Her face turned toward me and I flinched from the familiar horror that I could see in her eyes. I'd been there, in that place where you realize no one is going to help and this horrible thing really is going to happen to you.

A shout echoed off the bricks and distracted her attacker. A young-ish man in a leather biker jacket grabbed the assailant's shoulder and the woman jerked away from the loosened grip. The would-be rapist tried to run after her; he almost grabbed a handful of her hair when the Good Samaritan punched him in the face. He spun and landed against the side of a dumpster leaking garbage. Biker-guy turned to leave and got ten steps before the bad guy came up behind him. It looked like he punched him in the back but the pain written across his face said it was much worse than a punch. It was the first good look I got at his face and I realized he was younger than I'd thought he was.

The bad guy pulled his hand back and blood covered the end of a serrated hunting knife, probably how he'd gotten the girl into the alley in the first place. He ran off but Biker-guy was still alive, still walking but much more slowly now. His steps were stumbling. Pity and anguish were like a weight in my chest; tears burned behind eyes I no longer possessed. I floated with him urging him on and wishing I could lift his feet for him. I wished I could do anything but be an impotent witness to this awfulness.

There was a gas station just ahead; its brightness shone like a beacon. I just knew if he reached it someone would help him.

The darkness was thick here and my hope took on a desperate edge. Someone with a cell phone would call 911 and he would be safe. He would get the help he'd so gallantly offered to someone else. He was almost at the door of the convenience store when his knees buckled, like his strength was gone between one breath and the next. I silently willed someone to come, to see him. I screamed for help with no lungs and no mouth. His chest still rose with his breaths and I could see his fingers moving as if he tried to pull himself forward those last few feet to the door.

A group of girls about sixteen years old came out of the store. The door gave a cheerful little tinkle as it opened and relief filled me that they'd come in time. The man on the ground didn't look up or try to speak. I assumed that he must have finally fallen unconscious but breath still puffed weakly from his lips. Their conversation tapered off as they saw him and I felt my heart give a glad leap. He made it. These girls would certainly have phones. Unfortunately, whether they had phones or not was irrelevant because they just stepped around him and continued off into the night.

I don't understand. How could they just walk past him? My heart felt like it was breaking. I always believed in the inherent goodness of people, the people here in Philly especially. I felt anguished tears fall from eyes I no longer had. It's not supposed to be like this. How could anyone with even a sliver of decency not stop and help another person in such obvious distress. I couldn't process this level of malicious indifference.

I stayed there for an hour as person after person walked by the prone figure. I was no longer watching to see if he was still alive, almost sure that he wasn't but not strong enough to face it for certain. The darkness grew denser around the man as each person turned their eyes away and it clung to them, the ones that pretended not to see. He'd saved that girl and now he would die because no one wanted to get involved. I couldn't bear it. I tried to get someone's attention but I wasn't really there in any physical way. One person actually took out his cell phone and I'd felt treacherous optimism rise only to be brutally murdered when he snapped a picture and continued on.

Black anger filled me and I could see the darkness try to rise and touch me.

The being with me stopped it from reaching me. Quickly, the anger faded some and I realized how that feeling might have grown, become something evil. I realized how not helping that man had changed all these people and they would never be the same again. They'd never believe that someone would help because they hadn't and they wouldn't want to think ill of themselves. This could have been an example of how strangers can rise to the occasion. He helped her, they help him and only the bad guy suffers. Instead, each indifferent witness was as culpable in his murder as if they had handed that other man the knife and offered instruction.