A memory flashed through Christabel’s mind. Her mother had forced her to attend church with her. This was a duty Christabel hadn’t enjoyed. Her father had left on a mission to a foreign country, maybe Africa or something, Christabel wasn’t sure where to be exact, nor did she care. All she could remember was the look of the marble Jesus on the wooden cross.
It had terrified her as a child. Jesus was staring at her, no, through her. The man in the white cloth was staring at her with a sly smile which so closely resembled a smile of death. A shiver ran down her spine that day. He came to her, his hand grasping hers, his smile widening, like what Christabel imagined the serpent in the Garden of Eden doing when he tempted Eve.
His eyes studied hers, and then he left. Must be seeing things. The world of the outside, the world with her new band, fluttered in and out in hushed church whispers
“…great out there.”
“…gig next Thursday”
I see him, standing there like a demon from a nightmare. His eyes glare down at me, and I know this is real.
God help me, his hands come upon me.
Arched with my back down, eyes facing the cross, my knees lay
“Forgive me father, I have sinned.”
He smiles at me, as doves fly overhead. It’s an omen, a message, symbol, but of what, I have no idea. His hand touches my shoulder. Cold, slick fingers grip me, and I do all I can to prevent the screams from ripping out of my throat.
Now I’ve come undone. My eyes close, and he is gone. Something has passed between us, although my memory fails to serve me. I start to shiver, it’s an odd sensation, sure, but it too, has passed.
Do they like me? Can they stand me? Am I no more than an object for their visual stimulation? I can’t say, although I doubt as much. Might want to say something to them out loud. I don’t want to, but I don’t want to be a victim of my past either.
“I’d love to join you guys, but I want complete creative control over the lyrics.” These songs aren’t to be fucked with. They’re going to be the best therapy I can receive. The band stares at me, eyes wide, and they all start to nod in agreement.
“We were just jamming anyways. None of us are really good at songwriting!” The guitarist is awesome, and I’m assuming he formed our band. Or should I say, mine now. I need to go home, change, allow myself time to develop my thoughts.
“Yo Christabel. Forgot to introduce us. I’m Mark Trimen, this” he’s pointing to the drummer, odd second choice but what can ya do. “is Mikey Neonac.” Their drummer is interesting because he doesn’t look at me but looks towards the wall. Mark smiles at me again, attempting to help me forget this odd encounter. The girls, the chorus to our little impromptu session, are infinitely more interesting, and our ensemble band seems to know that.
One of the girls, Alyssa, has on her neck a dog choker. This is unusual, but knowing almost everyone in Seraphim Falls, it is nothing more than a fashion statement. I don’t want to ask her right now, but it’s something I can’t get out of my head. I want to help her, if I can. Her hair falls down her back, long and flowing blonde. The one next to her, Midian, is leaning against the wall, her short black hair a distinct contrast. Those eyes, they seem to stare into my soul. I need to look away, now. The other members haven’t noticed, thank God? Do the girls? I’m not sure, and not entirely sure I want to know, but I look back at Mark.
“Hey do you want to go to a play?”
“A play? Why?”
“Our friend is the lead role. We figured we’d go show our support.” I’m hesitant. The last time I went to a play, well, things didn’t go well. Well, this is my new band so,
“Sure.” They smile at me, their faces lighting up with joy at this. I turn my head, glancing ever so slowly over at Alyssa and Midian. They seem so lost and lonely. So what-
“Falling into the embrace-“ Her fucking phone. Damn it.
So don’t answer. It’s not like Mom needs you to answer every damn phone call, right?
“Hey mom.” I'm really struggling to keep the voice calm and collected, happy even
“Come home, I have dinner ready and it’ll get cold.” By the time I come home, it WILL be cold, and YOU will yell at me.
“Alright I’ll be home soon.”
“Better be, or no supper for you.”
“B-“ The click was like a gunshot.
“I gotta run or I won’t get dinner at all.”
“You can eat with us. Won’t be a problem.” The black haired one, Midian, speaks to me. This is far too weird.
“Sure I guess. Where we headed?”
“Dinner and a show sound good? My friend is playing a part in a stage production of something new at Angelus Theatre. We said we’d come watch.”
A flash of skin showed a small pair of eagle wings tattooed on Midian’s hip hidden by her waistband.
She could make the show after all. Walking with her new friends, she went to Midian’s bright blue van.
It’s too late to worry now.
Midian sat in the front seat, turning the key as the others followed her inside. “Shotgun!” Mikey called quickly. Christabel got a seat next to Alyssa in the back, Mark sat next to her.
“Our eyes,” a man with a thick southern accent was saying on the radio, “are open to new gateways…”
“Off to the theatre!”
“Our eyes are open to new gateways” I suppose mine is too.