Storymania - Alone In Blood by Christina Aspears

Alone In Blood
Christina Aspears

   Emily stared blankly out the window, in deep thought about everything that had happened to her. She had been sitting on the Greyhound Bus for hours, after departing from Boston at 1:00 P.M. She sat on the bus, waiting until she arrived in Syracuse so she could see her parents. Seeing them made her feel very excited. After staring quietly out the filth-stained window, she decided to focus her attention on the inside of the crowded bus. Across from her sat an old lady with white hair and light blue spectacles, the gold chain attached to them glowing in the warm, bright sunlight. Her eyes seemed to be glued to the gray newsprint, as she concentrated on reading to herself silently. Directly in front of her sat a Hispanic-looking man with shiny black hair who seemed to be in his twenties. She noticed that the cologne he wore was eye-stingingly strong. Observing people made up her absolute favorite past time. She loved to watch people, to analyze their different movements and decisions. Everything they did was extremely interesting to her. She especially enjoyed how much they differed from each other. All of them made completely different choices, looked different, and sounded different. Having to ride a dirty, smelly bus wasn’t bothering her much because it would give her a chance to watch people.

   Emily looked at her blue sports watch. It displayed 2 o’clock in black digital numbers. She glanced outside again, observing the plain-looking, flat terrain. The sun shone, hot and bright, high in the cloudless sky. She yearned for days like that. They always reminded her of how her dad used to take her to the small park across the street and play baseball. She smiled broadly when she tenderly remembered that her dad would never forget to pick her up and swing her around every time she’d slam one out of the park. This memory made her more excited to see his friendly, kind face smiling lovingly at her.

   The old lady across from her finished reading her paper and sat quietly, looking at the smiling Emily while she reflected on her childhood memory. When Emily noticed the lady watching her, she turned and they looked at each other. After a long, awkward second, the old lady smiled.

   “What’s your name honey?” she asked congenially.

   “Emily. What’s yours?” she quickly responded, returning the same friendly tone.

   “Cecelia.” she answered. “I’m coming back from visiting my grandson. He graduated from Harvard last month, so of course I had to come out and see him to tell him congratulations. He’s a very smart boy.” Emily nodded, taking in what she said.

   “What’s his name?” she asked politely.

   “Oh, he’s inherited my husband’s name, Roy, and his father’s name, Jerome. When he was a little boy, we just called him R.J., but now that he’s in college, he wants to be called by his proper name, but he still responds to R.J. when someone slips and calls him that,” she added. Cecelia gently cocked her head and looked at Emily. “I’m not talking too much, am I? Because if I am, please tell me. I tend to babble in my old age,” she thoughtfully asked.

   Emily looked at her and responded, “No, I’m really enjoying having someone to talk to, even if that person does most of the talking.” They smiled at each other, and they fell silent.

   Cecelia began to flip through her dingy, wrinkled newspaper again, stopped suddenly, and turned to Emily. “How old are you honey, if you don’t mind me asking?”

   Emily quickly said, “Oh, I’m 16, and in case you’re wondering, I’m on my way home to see my parents.”

   Cecelia then asked, “Are you visiting them or do you live there?”

   Emily replied, hesitantly, “Oh no, I live there. We went to Boston for a weekend and they left me there.” She paused for a second, carefully choosing her next words. “I made them leave me there,” she added. The old woman scrunched up her pale, make-up deprived face, her forehead wrinkling, and her mouth partly open, confused about Emily’s last statement.

   “So you made them leave you there? Were you mad at them or something?” she curiously asked.

   Emily pondered over those words for a while, and then said, “Yeah, I guess you can say that. We sort of had a falling outs, and I’m going to go and make up with them. I hope that I can make things better.” The old lady gently nodded her head, slowly taking in what Emily had told her. They halted their conversation for the duration of the trip, both persons completely absorbed in thought.

   Emily stared impatiently at her scratched sports watch. It stared back at her, saying 4:00 in bold. She had been sitting on the bus for nearly three hours, so she guessed that they would arrive soon. This fact made nervous butterflies rise from the pit of her empty stomach. I can’t wait to see them, to hold them again, she said quietly to herself, a smile spreading wide across her face.

   The red and blue Greyhound finally came to its last stop a half an hour later, at a loud, crowded, and definitely blighted bus station. The end of the trip equaled good news to Emily since she could hardly sit still. She didn’t have any more money to pay for a city bus, so she plodded along the city streets for an hour to get to her destination. While she walked, she casually took in all the familiar scenery. Nothing had changed since the last time she had been there. The old and cracked sidewalks still hadn’t been fixed and noise still consisted of loud, obnoxious car horns and the occasional four-letter curse words from the average person guilty of road rage. She came back to the same old atmosphere, although very muggy and hot for the middle of August. I’m glad I wore shorts. Otherwise I’d go crazy, she thought, tiredly wiping large amounts of sweat from her brow.

   When she ultimately arrived at Tall Oaks, a residential area, the atmosphere quieted down. She could hear the sweet chirping of small robins and the happy, playful squeals of adorable little toddlers jumping through the strong sprinklers. She saw tired-looking unshaven men scrubbing their expensive BMW convertibles, making sure that every little speck of filth and dust washed off. The wonderful smell of freshly cut grass was in the warm, heavenly air, a smell that gently tickled her nose, reminding her that it was summer, a glorious time for everyone.

   As she walked closer to Camelot Place, the street of her destination, the annoying lump in her throat continued to grow larger until she thought she would choke on it. The butterflies in her stomach now felt more like gigantic bumblebees, noisily buzzing around, stinging sharply every time she took a step forward. She was terribly nervous, more nervous than she ever had been in her whole life. When she finally rounded the corner and saw the familiar-looking dented and metal plated mailbox at the end of the road getting closer, she no longer heard those heavenly sounds or smelled the summertime aromas. She could only concentrate on the sound of her heart loudly pounding in her ears. Before she knew it, she was there, standing tall in front of the large, green house. She blankly looked at it for what seemed to be forever, never moving from her spot on the sidewalk. She could see the bright, large sun setting in the orange sky behind the stately home, casting eerie shadows across the neighborhood, which made everything seem even more surreal. It was now or never, and she chose now.

   As she trudged along the front pathway, her heart pounded noisily in time with her heavy steps. Step-buhbum, Step-buhbum, up the pathway-buhbum, up the steps-buhbum, on the porch-buhbum, buhbum, buhbum, buhbum. Slowly she opened the screen door, apprehensively rapped three times, and then let it close soundlessly. This is it, she thought. Here goes nothing.

   The window-laden inside door opened to a tiny, blonde-haired woman in her late thirties. “Can I help you-” she politely asked, a look of horror on her face, cutting her off mid-sentence.

   Emily brightly smiled and happily responded, “Hi Mom.”

   “Emily! Emily, what are you doing here?? Oh my God! Ben, come here quick!” she hurriedly said. Emily started to get confused, not knowing why she reacted that way.

   “Mom, it’s me, your daughter. Look, I have so much to tell you since I’ve been away,” Emily excitedly added. A tall man coming up behind the woman interrupted the rest of what Emily intended to say.

   “Jenny what’s wrong?” he worriedly asked. When he approached the door he greeted Emily with the same look of horror. “Oh my God! What is she doing here?” he said, a quiver in his voice.

   The woman quickly jumped back, not taking her icy blue eyes off of Emily, and shouted, “Ben, get the phone and call the police, now!” Ben dashed off to get the phone and he hurriedly dialed the number. As Emily watched this, hot tears rolled silently down her cheeks, not comprehending the events taking place.

   “Mom, who’s dad calling? Aren’t you going to let me in?” she wondered.

   The woman brutally answered her with a surprised expression, “Why are you calling me mom? I’m not your mother, Emily. Your mother’s dead, and so is your dad. Remember? Do you remember what you did to them?” The woman was starting to cry now, too, fear rising in her voice with anger bubbling just below the surface. All this happened while Emily longingly stood outside the screen door.

   “What are you saying? You are my mother!” she sobbed.

   “You’re crazy! I’m not your mother, I’m your Aunt Jennifer, and that’s not your dad; that’s your Uncle. You don’t know what you’re saying,” she said angrily. The man came back to the door, glaring at Emily with horror and disgust. Hatred, not fear, filled his every thought.

   “Dad, dad, tell mom, tell her that I’m your daughter!”

   He looked at her and said, his voice dripping with cruelty, “I would rather call a rat my daughter than you.” Emily examined both of their faces, wondering if the knowledge she had gained watching other people would benefit her now, but it didn’t.

   “Why are you saying this? I don’t understand what I did to deserve this,” she wondered aloud. The sounds of sirens as an ambulance and three cop cars pulled up into the lawn interrupted her empty questions.

   Out of the cop cars poured three burly police officers who approached Emily with extreme caution, guns drawn. One of them grabbed her from behind while the other stood in front pointing the gun directly at her. She screamed, “No, no! Mom, Dad, why are you doing this, why? Nooooo!” She was sobbing in big gasps now, and a crowd of people had gathered around the house, watching the action intently. The policeman handcuffed her behind her back and brought her to the ambulance. She was roughly thrown into the back of the ambulance with a paramedic, and the doors were shut. Everyone, including her aunt and uncle who were now talking to an officer, could still hear her gasps and shrieks.

   All the onlookers could hear Officer Griswold talking to Emily’s uncle, now trying to console his wife. The police officer explained, “Emily escaped last night from the mental hospital in Boston. Thank God she came here and you called the police; otherwise she could have hurt a lot of people. You say that she thought that you were her parents?” The couple nodded.

   “Well, you are her only living relatives now, so that must be why. She’s severely disturbed mentally, you know. She doesn’t even know what she did.” He added. He looked at them, sympathy rising in his heart. “Look, I’m sorry for the trouble that you’ve been through over the past couple of months. She’s going to be placed in a maximum security asylum from now on, so you don’t have to worry about her anymore,” he thoughtfully said, trying to make them feel better. He said a few more words, and the officer firmly shook his clammy hand, patted the woman on the shoulder, and left.

   In the back of the ambulance, the paramedic with a needle and syringe injected a tranquilizer into her arm. Then, he threw the tools away and climbed into the passenger side of the vehicle, opposite his partner at the steering wheel. They pulled out of the driveway with her still sobbing in the back, leaving the scene far behind, out of sight, but not out of mind. As she felt the tranquilizer move through her veins, she blacked out, her screams became softer and she was left on the floor of the ambulance, alone as she was only six months before in Boston, moments after stabbing her parents to death. But this time, she was the one who was screaming.