Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

1

Echo drew a deep breath. Sometimes there was reason for fabrications. Was dressing in a human suit too much of a fabrication?  Sitting before the approach of midnight she closed her eyes. Though the first wave of stars had begun to peek out from the veil of darkness hours ago she only now acknowledged them as her gaze returned to them. There was no sense in seeing beyond the place where they hung suspended. Mankind had not yet earned that right. She doubted they ever would but as she continued to engulf herself in their rich throbbing glow her mind spun whispers of hope.

She rested her chin against the backside of her hand. Her knuckles turned white as her fingers curled into her palm. Born of flesh humans become dust. It was as simple as that. She bit her lip. Though the taste of blood was enough to make her tongue lap at the wound she did not cease the occasional bite of cheek flesh.

Dark wonder clouded a dark mind, she reminded herself.

The sidewalk twisted beneath her feet. Trees bent in rippling waves. The air around her thickened as moments later she closed her eyes and opened them again. The room was tight, but not uncomfortable so.  Gazing into the mirror she frowned. A new hairstyle and cosmetics made no difference. She considered the plastic comb setting in frown a box of Kleenex tissues. Its fine pink teeth did the job of tugging through the toughest knots. Her fingers moved past it and plucked a tissue from the box instead. Its dry feel made her palms roll it into a ball. She could defeat her foes as easily. She tossed it into a waste basket and resumed her stare into the glass.

The basin was cool beneath her fingertips as they skimmed its bone white edge. She silenced the voice with a quick twist of the faucet handle. Water immediately sputtered forth and circled down the drain. As she stood and watched it she figured it might as well have been her life. It was always slipping away from her like water. Try as she might to stop it, it always eluded her.

She shook her head. The before time…. She closed her eyes. There was no before time. Her thoughts might have been a little jumbled from time to time but she would have remembered something like-like...the before time. Behind her closed lids the Fourth of July was celebrating another holiday. Her body bent at the waist. The bright exploding streams made her head reel. When she opened them and took a final look in the mirror she exhaled sharply.

"Who am I?" She asked.

She paused to think if she showered, if the clothes she woe were clean and not ones worn yesterday. She thought a bit longer. Often days bled into one another. She sniffed and reached for the knob. Hearing the steady current of water behind her she stopped, turned and twisted the handle. Once the flow stopped she stared into the dark mouth of the basin and her eyed widened.  As she yanked the door open she moved past the thick woman standing in her path. It should have not been an easy feat, but she managed to squeeze by without as much as the slightest bit of contact. She was used to making herself small. It was the only way she could remain unseen when that fat pile of crap came home.

Echo’s pace slowed toward the room at the far end of the hallway she made a turn into. Neither of them were her parents, not biologically or any other way no matter how legal it seemed.  As the door to her bedroom squealed open heavy footsteps sounded behind her. She needed look to know who it was following. She stopped, bothered not to enter and close the door where he could not follow. The steps stopped as the stench of sweat and beer swelled around her.

 "What were you doing in there,” he rasped.

She listened to another hiss of a beer can being opened and his noisy swallows before she answered. "What do you think I was doing?"

Before he even replied she knew what words were about to spew from his slimy lips. It was routine by now, but also something much more.

 "If I had to guess I would say you were masturbating," he said and belched.

She softly laughed and let it die in her throat as she turned to face him. As it met its end it strangled off and made a low strained moan. "I fail to see the interest in such things. You of all people should know that."

He raised the can of Draft to his mouth, drank greedily and then lowered it to say, "You talk to me as though I should be kissing your a*s."

Echo folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes narrowed then shifted to the slanted picture frame on the wall. Funny thing was there were no smiling faces in any of the pictures. Walking up and down the hall, looking at each one hanging, some with frames touching one another, all were of different times, different seasons but always with frowns and reluctance stamped in eyes, especially hers.

"I don't expect anything from you." She backed across the threshold into safety. Of course she was never in danger of him. Others might think so, but deep inside she felt no threat. He may have tried to play the touch game but never did his loathsome hands ever make it more than an inch near her. Something always "happened" to prevent him from succeeding.  By an unseen force the door then swung shut, closing him off to her for the time being.

In the before time the man and woman ceased to exist because they hadn’t been invented yet. Was there ever a design for them or was it a random spur of the moment deal? Much of creation had some sort of blueprints. It was what made it easier to decide who gets what and where to place them. There was always room for revisions. Changes were a good thing.

2

“A charming existence you all lead,” I said as my concentration broke.  A still limp Dr. Sannard hung his head.  Any attempts at words were halted by my voice as I continued.  “Hate should be a grace rather than a disgrace. Pain might be a resolution. Tears will not wash away the truth. No matter what you do, death will find you. You are flesh in wait to rot. And rot you will because everything that lives will someday die. That is the reason why flesh was created. The ultimate cruelty is to give a being consciousness to the truth and then offer nothing to remedy the inevitable fate.”

“Is that,” he shakily whispered as his voice found strength, “why you murdered them?  There never…was any paper work to show for a legal adoption and-”

“And all tests proved them not to be my biological parents,” I interjected.  “Don’t change the subject.  I am not done showing you the terrible things to come.”