Part 1 - The Confusion

Part 1 of My Muddled Mind - A story about a the daughter of a man who can control people with his mind; but not just control them, but alter their thoughts and memories.

"Ana, Mom is missing," Daniella said, closing the door after coming into my room. I put my paintbrush down, my painting momentarily forgotten. The painting resembled a red rose. I didn’t remember painting it. It was strange to hear her in my room. I couldn't remember the last time she had been in here. 

            Well, I couldn't remember anything about her at all.

            I looked at Daniella.  I saw my twin, but I also saw a stranger. She was breathtaking. I felt a small amount of jealousy run though me. How strange it was that I had most of Dad's features, while she was Mom's replica. 

            But now Mom was gone. Where did she go? 

            I was about to ask the question out loud, but the words didn't come out. 

            "Thank you for telling me," I responded, trying to show the pain through my eyes. She looked at me, exasperated. 

            "I wish he would give you back to me," she said, hugging me. I felt a sudden pain in my chest, as if I was being crushed. I cried out in agony. Daniella let go abruptly.

            "I'm trying so hard, Ana, I really am. He's so hard to please. Sometimes, I wish I were you,” she screamed angrily. She stopped and took a deep breath and looked away from me. “I wish I could forget,” I looked at her, confused. She turned her back towards the door. 

            "Dad would like to see you," Daniella stated, her previous emotion gone. I followed her downstairs, heading to the library. The library was full of sunlight from the huge windows. Everything in the room was spotless. The unused book shelves didn’t have a speck of dirt. The white couches were untouched. I couldn’t see a single thing wrong with the room, except my upset father.

            "Where is your mother?" my father cried angrily. His red curly hair bounced as he paced. He was wearing a gray travel suit with big black boots. He was surprisingly handsome. He had a strong jaw and long lashes, his nose perfect.

            "I was told just recently that she was missing," I said, fear shaking my voice. Daniella stood up straighter, watching me with desperation. He suddenly grabbed my collar and pulled his face into mine. He wasn’t as handsome up close, his red stubble was streaked with gray and his lips were cracked. His gray eyes matched mine, both filled with an unshakable fear.

            "If you're hiding her, I will kill you," he threatened. 

            "I don't know where she is," I repeated. He sighed impatiently and dropped me onto the floor.

            Suddenly, I felt a hand grab onto my mind and memories. I screamed in pain and in agony. I dropped to the floor and curled my legs into my chest, screaming and begging for him to stop. As quickly as the pain had started, it had stopped. My father sighed pleasantly.

            "I'm leaving to go search for her. Daniella, give her the proper medication. I'll be home in a few days," he stated, heading towards the door. He turned around, glaring at Daniella.

            "This is your last shot to impress me. Don't mess this up." Daniella nodded her head, fear in her expression. He smiled smugly at us both and retreated from the room.

            I felt a grip hold on my mind, then suddenly fog. I dug my nails into my thighs to fight the fainting feeling. I realized I was sitting on the floor, Daniella sitting next to me. Her head was in her hands. I could hear the muffled sounds of her crying.

            "Daniella, why are you crying?" I asked.

            "Mom is missing," she said. I felt something in me go hollow and something close to deja vue.  I felt the words come up to ask where she might've gone, but this time, they weren't stopped.

            "Daniella," I said. She looked up at me, startled. "Daniella Daniella Daniella," I said, getting louder with each word. I felt the fog clear the more I spoke. Daniella's smile got brighter and brighter. 

            "Daniella, I love you," I cried happily, hugging her. She hugged me back tightly. It was so strange to feel an embrace of someone you barely knew, but were still so comforted by.

            "Follow me,” she said, grabbing my hand and leading me up the stairs. We walked into my room. Everything was neat and untouched. The walls were a light blue, the floor was a dark wooden color, and the comforter of the bed was a dark blue. It had a curtain of some sort around the bed that made it look girly and strange. The ceiling was painted black and had random glitter. It reminded me of stars. My focus was brought back to my impatient sister. She stood with her hands on her hips. She was wearing a long purple and gray dress. The collar was high and supposed to be unflattering, but it gave her the appearance of a queen. 

            "Mom gave you a potion," she said, looking at me expectedly. "It was a long time ago. Do you remember where?" I shook my head no. But as she spoke about it, I felt a tugging memory. 

            "Why would Mom give me a potion?" I asked, loving the feeling of my own words leaving my mouth.

            "To help you remember," she said simply, walking around the room. "I've tried finding it for years, but apparently you're better at hide-and-seek than you used to be." I walked over to my dresser and opened the underwear drawer. I took out the bright red glowing potion.

            "Is this it?"

            She stared at me in amazement. "Yes. Now drink it, quickly, before Dad feels that you've found it."

            I was more than confused, but I trusted Daniella. I drank the potion in a few gulps. The liquid was warm and went down as easily as water. I felt a warmer feeling in my mind. I suddenly remembered holding the bottle for the first time and clutching it to my chest. I remembered my mother's warm embrace. But I couldn't remember anything else. 

            "Well, that didn't do much," I said, disappointed.  

            Daniella nodded. "But now he can't control your memories." I stared blankly at her, the confusion growing greater. She grabbed her head suddenly, as if in pain. I went to touch her, but she looked at me, afraid.

            "No. He's on his way home. Ana, you have to trust me,” she said, staring into my eyes. They were a deep blue. Even though they resembled my mother’s, I felt more of a connection to them with my father’s. They were both holding secrets and fear. I could feel the power underlying them. I nodded after a slight hesitation.

            "Then close your eyes…" 

            And the haze was back. We both ran back downstairs, this time not touching. We ran into a new room that had a grand fireplace. I saw a chess set in the corner, a grand piano in the other, and more books. This room had beautiful paintings hanging up on each wall. A glass chandelier hung down in the center of the room with beautiful couches around a stone fire place. It was truly breath taking. And I live here, I thought, amazed.

            My father was staring into the fire, his expression unreadable.

            "I've found her ashes," he said. I felt Daniella's catch of breath and the racking sobs about to break through. 

            I could not cry my own. 

            My father smiled smugly. “Her body was caught on fire, but I found this.”

            He held up a pendant that glowed brightly; like the bottle. It shone with a life of its own. I slightly remembered the pendant, but not from the last meeting with my mother. Daniella smiled one of the first true smiles I had seen. She remembered it.

            “I believe you should have it, Daniella, for remembrance of her,” he said lovingly, offering the pendant. She accepted it by bowing in front of him. He attached the necklace for her. Daniella stood up straight, the resemblance of her and our mother incredibly striking.

            “It’s been a long day. We’ll resume with our lessons tomorrow. I can see you did well this time. I’m proud of you,” he said, smiling at Daniella. A warmth grew in my chest with my father’s acceptance of Daniella. He left us in the living room and headed up the stairs. I felt the haze grow thinner and my emotions became my own. I could feel my own sadness, one much hollower than my sister's. The warm feeling was gone.

            "How are you doing that?" I asked, amazed. 

            "Dad taught me," she said simply. I felt a small trace of fear.

             "I won't do what he does. I don't want to do it now. But I have to if we're both to get out of this alive,” she explained with a pleading tone. I nodded. I looked around at the paintings for the first time, the talent obvious in the painter.

            "Who painted all of these?" I asked, amazed. 

            "Why, you did," she said, baffled. "You have an incredible talent. Dad has had you do most of his portraits. You've even done one of mine and Mom's." 

            I felt myself choke up. "Can I see Mom's?" 

            She hesitated, but nodded and motioned for me to follow. I felt Daniella take ahold of my emotions once more, but this time, I let go gratefully. She led me into the entrance way and along the wall, going up the stairs, was her. I wasn’t sure how I had missed seeing it coming down the first time. The portrait was almost perfect. She wore a dark blue gown, one that brought out the beauty of her eyes. She was sitting outside on a wooden bench, a pink flowered tree in front of her. She was reaching for a flower, one just dangling on her fingertips, with a playful smile on her lips. A few tears rolled down my face at her resemblance. I wished I could remember sitting out there with her. I wished I had more than one memory to remember her by.

            "She looks just like you," I said to Daniella. She smiled sadly. 

            "Well, you do too. Just with fire red hair," she pointed out. 

            I shrugged. I knew Daniella was trying to be nice. I was jealous of the fact that Daniella looked like her. She could avoid mirrors to forget Mom's memory. Instead, I had to look at Mom every day. Alive, yet not. 

            "I wonder where she was going to go," I said aloud, not expecting an answer. 

            We both sat in silence. I felt a hatred rise in my chest. I only had one clear memory of my mother and it was surrounded by mystery and fear. Why was he doing this to us? How can we stop him? She died because she was running from him. 

            "I'm going to kill him," I threatened seriously. Daniella didn't say a word. We both turned and headed upstairs to our separate bedrooms.

            I laid in my bed, tears rolling down my cheeks. I felt waves of grief and fear rolling through me. I didn't know who I was. My mother, the one person in the same situation as me, had somehow found a way out, but ended up dead. How was I supposed to get out of here? I wasn't even sure who I was, how was I supposed to figure out my mother? Or worse, my father?

            How old was I? Do I have any other siblings? When's my birthday? 

            My memories were all a cloud of fog. I sat up abruptly. In my last memory, I was much shorter and my hair was much longer. But Daniella and I were twins, so she had to know most of my life. 

            I had to ask her all of these questions. I had to know who I was. I had to find a way out. 

            I walked out of my room. The house was huge and I felt myself opening random doors, hoping I found Daniella and not my father. I knew I was being dangerous, but I had to find her. To my surprise, Daniella’s room was just across the way from mine. I threw open the door.

            "Who am I?" I demanded. She looked up at me, startled. Her room was painted black with a silver paint sponged on, exactly like my ceiling except they acted more like mirrors then paint. The candle light made the walls seem to reflect the flames. She was sitting on a cream colored bed, clothes everywhere. She didn't look like she had been crying. She had seemed to forgotten that I had my memory and control back and looked shocked. She was holding a book with handwritten scribbles all along the margins. Daniella rolled her eyes back at me and went back to the book.

            "You're Ana. You're 17 years old, have the worst hair cut known to man, and we were both born in June," Daniella said, annoyed. "Now shut up and come read what Mom wrote." 

            I did as she said and looked over her shoulder, mesmerized at my mother's handwriting. I had imagined it perfect, with every line its own mystery. Instead I was looking at chicken scratch. 

            "Why is her handwriting so bad?" I wondered aloud, solely because I could. Daniella sighed in frustration.

            "You couldn't remember your own birthday. I'm surprised you know how to read. How could she remember to write?" 

            I shrugged. "I don't know how to read. But I always thought people's signature's reflected their personality."

            Daniella stared at me. I saw pity in her eyes. "Never mind that. I'll just read what I can to you."

            Daniella went into scrambled entries, all from different time periods. Most didn't make sense and just said random things, like: "Dan's chicken soup"; or "Oranges are red". After a few paragraphs of nonsense, she threw down the book.

            "Well, either she's writing in code, or she was crazy," Daniella said, frustrated. 

            I picked up the book and looked at it myself. I didn't see letters, even though I knew that's what they were, but I saw a picture. The words in the margin suddenly looked like the curve of a wrist and the spaced out letters looked like detailed nails.

            "Daniella, this is a hand. It's reaching for something," I said, pointing to the side of the page. Her eyes opened wide. 

            "She wasn't trying to write it out. She was drawing pictures so she could  remember!" She exclaimed excitedly. I ignored her and held the pages preciously. These were the last things she drew before she died. 

            There were pictures of birds, of cages, of knives, of open windows and wide open doors. Daniella watched with me. I could feel her eyes on my face. 

            "She was reminding herself that she wanted freedom," I whispered to her. I closed the book and gave it to her, the black ink burned into my memory. I wasn't letting him take this one from me.

            I stood up. Daniella followed my lead. 

            "I need you to show me every piece of art that I made," I demanded. She caught her breath and looked at me fearfully.  

            "Ana, you haven't even been through the entire house. You've made thousands of art pieces. He's had you in there every waking moment making art for him. There's no way I can show you all of it," she explained, twiddling with her pink dress nervously. 

            "Then show me the important ones," I replied, hoping my instinct was right.

            "You won't like most of them," she said quietly, avoiding eye contact.

            "I don't like most of anything at the moment," I countered gloomily. She nodded and led the way into a house I've lived in for 17 years but had never seen.

 

"Who is this?" I asked, staring at the beautiful woman on the wall. Daniella shrugged.  We were back in the library. The painting was hanging almost directly behind my mother's favorite chair. The one memory I had included her reading in that spot. It took all of my self-control to not curl up in it and sob. 

            I caught Daniella's eye. Apparently, she wasn't having the same emotions. I looked at the painting of the stranger. She had dark set eyes and light hair. She was holding a dark blue blanket around her, but otherwise she was nude. I had no recollection of who it might’ve been.

            "Well, can you remember anything?" Daniella asked impatiently. She kept getting very still, as if listening, then moving nervously.

            I touched the painting and closed my eyes. I could feel the paint strokes underneath my fingers, the ones invisible to sight. I followed them. Each stroke led in a swift line, leading straight to the women's heart. I opened my eyes to Daniella watching me carefully. 

            "You're very strange," she said, contemplating me. I shrugged off her insight and kept the painting's secret to myself.

            "It was worth a shot. Which one next?" I asked, trying to keep the eagerness out of my tone.

            She thought about it for a moment, then without a word, led me into a dining room I had never eaten in. The room was grand. The walls were a light blue, the table was glass, and the chairs were silver with a slightly darker blue cushions. There was china set up on the table, as if a meal was going to be served at any moment. I glanced at Daniella who shrugged and pointed to the painting.

            This painting was almost childish. It had a couple kissing under a starry sky. They were standing somewhere underneath a street light, something I had never heard of but the name came easily. It was so unrealistic compared to the last two human paintings that I asked Daniella if I had drawn it when I was younger.

            "Actually, it was more recent than the other two. I think you finished this one sometime last month," she replied, turning her head sideways, as if it'd make the painting make sense.

            "Why is it so… bad?" I asked, copying her motions. The couple kissing actually looked worse from the new angle.

            "Father didn't seem to think so. He actually mounted this one himself, saying it was one of the only good paintings you’ve ever made," she said, a hint of disgust in her tone. 

            In the last painting, I had tried to think like Mom- she always felt what she saw. There     was something deeper in the way she thought. If Dad liked this one, I had to think like him. 

            "Daniella, blow out the candles," I commanded. She hesitated, watching me. I motioned towards them. She walked over towards the table and blew the center one out. Then to a few on the wall. Each one she blew made the painting look somewhat different, but the change didn’t happen until the room was pitch black. The window was pooling in moonlight directly onto the painting. The two lovers who looked happily attached now looked forced into a black bond. Their smiling faces now looked scared. The childish streetlight turned into an unwanted spotlight. The stars around them resembled a crowd of people. I couldn't help but think of my parents. My stomach dropped. I knew way more than I was letting on. Daniella grabbed my arm, her expression unreadable. 

            "We need to go back upstairs. Dad is starting to stir," she said bleakly. I had forgotten that the man lived in the house. I had forgotten we were still hiding. We walked back up to our rooms in silence.

            "I'm going to keep going through Mom's book for more clues," Daniella planned as we stood in the hallway to our separate bedrooms. "Whenever Dad comes close to you, I have to… you know…"

            I nodded, avoiding eye contact. She cleared her throat awkwardly. 

            "Maybe I can let you know when it'll happen. I can knock on the wall or something." 

            I smiled at her, appreciating her efforts. I knew she was just trying to keep me safe but I hated not having control over myself or what I felt. Now that I remember each experience, I dread it more and more every time it happens. 

            "Daniella, until you knock, I should practice breaking your hold on me," I said, the idea coming out of nowhere. She smiled excitedly at me. 

            "Yes, that's a great idea. We'll both get stronger in the process."

            She stopped, her eyes fearful. Her gaze moved up towards the ceiling. I waved goodbye. Our doors clicked shut at the same time, a slight knock coming afterwards. 

The haze came over me as I picked up my painting supplies, hoping my inner conscious would come out as I lost who I was once more. 

 

*******************************************************

 

“Daniella, concentrate,” my father said angrily, his arms crossed. I was sitting in a metal chair, my arms wrapped around me as if I was in an insane asylum. I closed my eyes and let my mind relax. I mentally felt through the material of the wrap, trying to find the pin that was hidden in the layers. I had to remove the hidden pin. My mind pushed through the fabric, each layer harder to comprehend. I finally found it, somewhere in the third layer, and undid it. I opened my eyes as the gold pin hit the metal table in front of me.

            “Impressive,” he said, smiling. I felt my own smile form on my face. He turned away from me to get my next challenge prepared. I was disgusted with myself for wanting, no needing, his approval. I could make my mind stronger. I could do the work without him. But I knew I needed him to help me improve.

            “Break the lock,” he instructed, putting a heavy chain, connected to a lock, onto the table. I stared at him, disbelieving.

            “Father, I’ve never performed a task so difficult,” I answered, avoiding his eyes. I felt the slap before it happened. I knew it was coming. I could feel the gold ring imprinted in my cheek. The sting brought my attention back to the lock.

            The lock itself was simple. It had a dial to spin the code, almost like a locker’s. I assumed it was a set of three numbers. I knew how to listen and feel for the numbers, but my hands were still tied behind me. I knew better than to ask him to untie me. I closed my eyes again and pictured the lock. Except this time, I couldn’t feel the substance in my mind. I couldn’t feel the inside of the lock or how to turn it. I opened my eyes in frustration. I couldn’t even move the chain.

            I looked up at my father, afraid. Instead of the anger I had assumed, I saw weariness in his gaze. He looked hollow somehow. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach, afraid I had disappointed him.

            “I’m sorry, Father,” I said sincerely.

            “There’s a reason why you can’t touch it,” he said, ignoring my apology, “but I thought you were strong enough to break it.”

            I looked down at the concrete floor. I stared at the cracks and saw the millions of organisms living inside of it. I could see the coins dropped or the pieces of dust stuck in them. I knew my mental capabilities were extremely strong. But they were nothing compared to my father’s. He took my face roughly and forced my eyes to look into his. They were gray and reminded me of the moon, darker spots randomly in his eyes. I was automatically reminded of Ana, but her eyes weren’t menacing and had an innocent light to them.

            “Don’t worry. When you turn 18, your powers will reach their fullest potential,” he said. He let go of my face abruptly, pushing it to one side. The wraps around my arms fell and he left the room, bored with my training. I sat up slowly and started the journey back up into my room.

 

*******************************************************

 

“Well, have you found anything?” I asked Daniella, striding into her room. She was laying on her bed faced down.

            “No. Go away,” she said wearily, her voice muffled by the blankets. I sat down on the edge of her bed and tousled her hair. Daniella sat up abruptly and glared at me.

            “If you want to live, you’ll never touch my hair again,” she threatened. I laughed and touched her hair again. She looked shocked at my laughter, then joined in. We both started laughing to the point of hysterics. We had tears rolling down our faces and we were falling off of the bed.

            Suddenly we heard the front door bang closed downstairs. We both sat up straight, our laughter momentarily forgotten.

            “Did Dad leave?” I whispered to Daniella.

            “No,” she whispered back. We both inched towards the door and opened it slowly. We heard nothing. It was just as it had been before.

            “Maybe we just imagined it,” I said hopefully. Daniella shook her head and motioned for me to follow her down the stairs. I swallowed deeply, my muscles shaking with anticipation. I followed her step by step as quietly as possible. There were muddy footprints from the front door leading into the living room. Daniella’s eyes became wide with horror. We snuck to the doorway and looked in.

            The living room looked the same as it had the night before, except my father stood looming over the unlit fireplace, the curtains were open with sunlight shining in, and a blonde man sat on one of the couches. The man’s eyes were a warm brown, his hair a dirty blonde, and had a firm jaw. He had sun kissed skin and dirt caked hands. He was staring ahead, avoiding my father’s gaze.

            “Jared, how are things going with the reinforcements?” My father asked, turning towards him.

            “Better than expected, my lord,” the man named Jared said, his voice deep and ruff.

            “I was told you had some difficulties with that silly group from the forest.” The man visually swallowed deeply. My father bent down and put his face close to Jared’s. “Maybe you’d like to explain?”

            “An advisor thought if we could reason with the clan, they could help improve our numbers,” Jared explained, looking straight into his eyes. My father was silent for a moment.  Daniella grabbed my hand abruptly. I glanced at her briefly, but her eyes were glued to the scene. She looked as if she was going to scream.

            “How unlike him,” my father said, stepping away from the man, “He doesn’t usually create highly intelligent decisions.”

            The man’s face remained stone-like as he answered, “Jerome’s ways have begun to change.”

            “And to what influence does he reside?”

            “Undoubtedly yours, sir,” Jared said, a slight tone to his voice.

            My father started to smirk. His back was to Jared then suddenly he had a knife at Jared’s throat. I could see the sunlight shine off of the blade, its sharpness clear.

“How many kids do you have, Jared?” My father asked in a mocking tone.

            “Just one,” Jared answered, his gaze unflinching.

            “I’m assuming you’d like him to stay alive, then, if you have no replacements.”

            “Yes, I would,” Jared said, his tone still unshaken.

            “I suggest you switch to the underground force then. Keep low and stop messing with my troops. I only spare you because of what you’ve done for her,” my father said while standing up straight and putting his knife away.

            “Thank you, sir,” Jared said, a new light to his eyes. They both stood up in farewell. As Jared turned towards the doorway where Daniella and I were hiding, his dark eyes met mine. Daniella pulled me back abruptly and we left hastily. I felt her control of my mind as we ran silently up the stairs. My breathing was somehow controlled and my footsteps quieter than the wind against the ground. Once we both made it to our respective rooms, my eyes were drawn to my easel.

            My breath caught and tears stung my eyes. There was a painting of a man grabbing a woman by the wrist, dragging her to a cliff. Her wrists were covered in blood and her face looked up in desperation. The picture was insanely realistic. I ran my finger along the black swirls of my mother’s hair. The man was looking down at her sadistically and I was surprised when I saw the blonde hair instead of the red. His features were of a strangers, but he seemed somehow familiar. His eyes were as gray as my own, his face contorted in anger. The landscape around the two was a beautiful, luscious green with dark clouds surrounding them. It was almost hazed, making the viewer’s eyes always return to the struggling couple.

            I heard a soft rap on a door, then my mind was taken over. I felt my control slip. I fought slightly until I heard my door start to open. I heard my father walk in behind me. I couldn’t turn to look at his face, but I heard him stop as he saw the painting.

            “Ana, I told you, stop painting these,” he said, weariness in his voice. He came into view as he picked up the portrait. I could see the sadness in his eyes and the regret in his mouth. He touched the figure of my mother softly. A tear rolled from his eye onto his cheek, rolling past the stubble and onto the painting. It fell onto the blonde man’s face, blurring it out. He looked up at me, as if just remembering I was there.

            “I loved her, Ana. I’m not sure how this all happened. I wish I could tell you the story. I’m sorry she’ll never be able to,” he said. He stepped closer to me, the portrait under his left arm, and he cupped my face with his right hand.

            “You look more and more like her every day. If only you knew how much pain it puts me through,” he said, pulling his hand away. He turned and walked towards the door, out of my sight. I heard him open it and hesitate for just a moment before it closed behind him.

 

*******************************************************

 

            I burst into Ana’s room, terrified. I had heard everything he had said while in Ana’s thoughts. His reaction had shaken me to the bone. I had never seen him cry; or show any type of weakness. I felt jealousy rip at my heart. Why did he trust her enough to show her his weakness to, when he didn’t even like her?

            Ana was sitting on the floor, tracing something in pencil on the ground. Her red hair spiraled around her shoulders in waves down to the middle of her back. Her features were so unlike mine and mother’s that at first I was startled on how Ana resembled her. I then realized it in the way Ana held herself, the graceful way she raised her gray eyes to meet mine, and the way Ana parted her lips while trying to draw.

            I sat down next to her and pointed to the drawing, trying to slow down my thoughts. I knew from personal experience how draining it was to be in his presence. I knew he drained energy from others to fill his power and knew how to do it myself, but it had always felt wrong.

            “Are you okay?” I asked her, taking her right hand. Her beautiful blank eyes dropped back to her sketching on the dark wooden floor. I absently took a piece of her hair and started to twirl it. Suddenly Ana put the pencil down and stared at me with a hardened expression. I leaned closer to see her drawing.

            It was of a tunnel. It looked as if I was in the drawing myself. At eye level there was a torch, and in the torch light, very shadowy, was Jared, holding a hand much like my own. I looked up at Ana, afraid. Jared had scratches and more detail than she could have seen in the hallway. His hair and face had mud that was so rich in detail that it could have been a photograph. But of course, Ana didn’t know what that was.

            “Ana, it’s beautiful, but why…” I began before Ana started to cry. I gripped onto her right hand tighter. “Tell me. You know you can,” I coaxed.

            “He can see into your mind,” Ana said, not looking at me. My grip slackened in her hand. The clamminess of both of our hands had created a moist surface, making me feel uncomfortable to keep the contact, but more uncomfortable to break it.

            “No, he used to be able to,” I explained. Ana looked at me, hope radiating out of her features. “I’ve learned how to keep him out. The same way I’ll teach you.”

            Ana nodded. She looked back to the picture, a deep sadness coming over her features. Her pink lips opened slightly as they trembled and began to speak.

            “I think we have special connections to our parents,” she said, keeping her eyes on the sketch, “and I don’t think Mom is dead.”

            I stared at her, confused. Does she mean she can see where mom is? I grabbed her arm hard enough to make her cry out in pain.

            “Where is she?” I demanded. Ana’s eyes became bigger somehow, her gaze fearful. I threw myself into her mind and ran through her memories. I saw the sudden vision she had of mom. I saw Dad cupping her cheek. I saw her recognition of Jared and their brief eye contact. I went to the first one she had ever had, the one with mother. I saw the love in her eyes, the way she had never looked at me, and I heard her simple request of Ana, “Don’t trust Daniella”.

            I pulled myself out of her mind, tears running down my face. Ana lay unconscious on the floor. I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder, him pulling me up and away from her. I expected to see disappointment in the crease of his eyebrows and worry in his eyes, but instead found pleasure and pride.

            “Daniella, your powers are starting to come to,” he said. He pulled me into a hug, his embrace warm and inviting. I felt myself melt into him, feeling love for the first time in years. I could only describe the feeling as warm honey filling my chest.

            “Daniella, I am so proud of you,” he said, running his callused fingers through my hair. He pulled away to look at me, a grin across his face. I felt the same expression on my features as well, until I looked down at Ana’s unmoving body.

            “Ana!” I cried, jumping down to her body. “Dad, can we help her?” I watched his features turn to ice and disgust as I looked up at him with desperation.

            “She’ll come to. Meanwhile, we have training to do. Come,” he demanded, the previous emotion gone. I copied his statue expression and agreed. I looked back at the red hair sprawled at the floor before closing the door, a cold guilt spreading through me.

 

*******************************************************

“Jared, I can’t go any further,” I said, gripping onto the stone wall around me. Jared stopped and turned to me, his beautiful brown eyes playfully dancing in the harsh light. I would have found him handsome in any other situation, his blonde hair tasseled into his face and his strong arms pulsing with adrenaline, but the situation was too dire to stop on thoughts of appearances and appeal. Without a word, Jared pulled me up into his arms. I could feel his tightened muscles through his loose shirt along my back and legs. He carried me in silence.

            “I’m sorry he’s making you do this,” I said after a few minutes, my voice breaking. Jared looked down at me, surprised.

            “You didn’t want to leave?” He asked me curiously.

            “Of course not,” I said, amazed, “my two daughters are in that dungeon. I never would have agreed to leave without them.”

            He stopped abruptly and would have dropped me if I had not been holding onto his neck.

            “You two have children together?” He said, staring at me incredulously.

            “Yes,” I said proudly, “He wasn’t always a monster.”

            Jared shook his head in response. He started to move farther down the tunnel. I let myself relax into his protective grip and rested my head onto his shoulder. I knew I shouldn’t press the argument, Gabriel was an evil overlord now, but he was once the best of them all. Jared shook me a little until I opened my eyes and met his worried gaze.

            “I’m sorry. It must have been so hard to watch someone destroy themselves and their family. I wish I didn’t have to take you away from your children,” Jared said honestly.

            I smiled up at him. “That’s alright. Maybe you’ll feel guilty enough to help me get them out.” He smirked at me, knowing I was partially joking. I felt myself smile a real smile, one I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

            “That was the plan,” he said. I was about to respond when the cave opened up to an underground cavern, a sleeping town below us.  

 

*******************************************************

 

I woke up on the floor, shaking. Every part of my body felt drained and tired. I opened my eyes to the blackness of my room, the light from the moon barely visible through the partly closed shades. I suddenly remembered the dream and Jared’s warm brown eyes looking deep into mine. I stood up abruptly, my head spinning.

            I have to get to Daniella, I thought, throwing open the door. The house was unusually quiet. It felt as if the floor boards themselves were holding their breath, waiting for an echoing step. I went to Daniella’s door and opened it slowly to an empty room. Her room was usually a comfortable messy, but I found instead a perfected picture.

            I closed the door and ran down the stairs into the living room, my stomach twisting. Did he bring her somewhere? I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking at the doors leading outside. They were a dark wood and looked out of place compared to the light hallway I was standing in. I touched the wood, it rough on my fingertips. I had never been outside, or at least not to my prior knowledge. My hand rested onto the gold nob, the metal cold on my sweating palm. I thought of running and leaving this fearful place behind. I took a step back, away from the door, and headed into the library.

            I couldn’t leave Daniella here with him.

            I turned into the library, the room empty as well. I had a gut feeling that she wasn’t going to be in any of the rooms I knew, like the dining room or the sitting room where I had seen Jared. I heard a bang behind the bookshelf. I touched it gingerly and remembered suddenly of a lever, a memory that I couldn’t have had. I pulled out a dark blue book with square writing on the spine, and the door opened without a sound to a stone stairway. There was no ceremonial greeting when the door opened, only the dust playing in the candle light rejoiced my discovery. I peered into the stairway cautiously. I saw no light at the end of the stairway as it spiraled down into darkness.

I took a deep breath and started down, my hand on the outer wall. The stone was cold to the touch and slightly damp, the air getting heavier with every step I took. There was no sound but my toes hitting the next step and my shallow breaths. I could no longer see the steps in front of me. I watched as my hand disappeared from view in front of my face. I closed my eyes and waited for the darkness to lift, fighting the panic blooming in my chest.

The light behind my eyelids got lighter slowly. I opened them and saw at the bottom of the stairway a torch, leading into a room built out of stone. The room was plain, nothing like the rest of the house, with a simple wooden table and chair in the middle. Jared sat at one end and looked up towards the other end of the room. He was wearing all white, his expression sober, listening intently to a female voice I knew so well.

 

****************************************************************

 

I looked up at Daniella, annoyed. She was standing above me on some sort of stage, carved out of the stone itself, and was speaking well above her years. She looked like what I imagined her grandmother would look; a long, purple dress that reached the floor, a high collar to hide her chest, a tight bun that pulled her skin too tight, and black gloves that hid her long, delicate fingers. Her blue eyes were dark and dreary. The only thing that seemed to have life was the red pendant hanging from her neck, pulsing with a heartbeat of its own.

            “Jared, I don’t know how to convince you that she isn’t here,” Daniella said, her voice threaded with annoyance. Her hand went up to her face, covering it slightly.

            “I need to know where I can find her,” I replied, moving uncomfortably in the small wooden chair. I had always hated this meeting room and usually avoided it at all costs. Gabriel seemed to be almost charitable when we met in his well-furnished house, but here, his mood was more like his daughter’s.

            Daniella was about to answer, her hand up in midsentence, when a young woman with bright red, curly hair ran into the room. The girl wore a long grey gown that reached her bare toes. It wasn’t as old fashioned as her sister’s, the top stopping just under her collarbone. The sleeves ran down to her wrists, ending at her elegant fingers. Her hair was blowing out behind her with every step. The beautiful young woman ignored me completely, her face full of concern.

            “Daniella,” she started, her expression quickly falling. Daniella glared at her with impatience, her stare cold. I felt Ana’s disappointment and confusion as if it were a light blinking on her chest.

            “I thought she wasn’t here,” I said, standing up and joining Ana to stand in front of Daniella.

            “Well, I lied,” Daniella said, turning away from us and towards the stone doorway, “Take her, Jared.”

             “Is Dad still here?” Ana asked.

            Daniella didn’t turn as she responded, “Yes.”

            “Then I’m staying,” Ana said, determined. I glanced at her, her expression matching her tone. I suddenly remembered Theresa saying the same thing as I tried to lead her away from Gabriel. Is she coming? No? Then I’m staying.

            Daniella turned around abruptly. Her eyes burned with an angry fire. Ana was suddenly on the ground screaming in pain, holding onto her head. Her screams sounded as if she were burning alive. Just like my wife. I fell onto the floor and pulled her head into my lap. As soon as it had started, it ended. Ana was knocked unconscious, slightly moaning in her strange sleep. I looked up at Daniella, my expression blank. She was pail and looked slightly nauseous. 

            “Take her,” she said, her previous anger gone, “and take care of her.”

            I nodded and looked down at the red hair pooling onto the ground as I listened to her footsteps retreat down the hall, wondering why I had ever agreed to help Theresa.

 

Reviews

[Astrid]

I can't wait to read more. This is so original and captivating. You have good use of repetition in this.

Near the end of the first section there is an area with a huge gap between words, like literally a gap like the space bar was held.
Also, be careful of starting sentences with "I"s too much.

[H.D. Murphy]

Thank you for the kind words and the advice! The space bar thing was probably a problem when transferring it from the word processor.
I'll watch the I's! Thanks for the advice! :)

[Astrid]

Haha, I gotcha.
No problem! Glad to help and a great read ^-^