Lily:
The bar was dark. It didn't matter much, I could see what I needed. Even when the flare of a lighter and thick clove-scented smoke caused my eyes to blink and tear, I could see my reflection in the mirror clearly over the bottles. And knew myself for what I was.
The same wasn't true for my companions, they were too young to see anything at all. They tried and tested life, rejected and embraced ideals. I found them both amusing and tiresome at the same time. But they accepted me fully as the real thing, even when my clothes and actions didn't always mirror theirs. My life was darkness and darkness was what they said they wanted. Fools. All of them fools.
That night we played a game, we always played games. I didn't usually join in, but this one, in particular, interested me. Smiling at my reflection in the mirror, I ran my fingers through my closely-cropped red hair, downed my Pernod and knew I'd win.
"Earliest childhood remembrance, right?" The boy who called himself Hyde began. "I guess I was about three and I fell down and cut my knee. I watched the blood run down my leg and put a finger in it and tasted it and liked it." He licked his lips and smiled what I guessed he considered a wicked grin. "I liked it a lot and went back for more. Then it started to hurt and I cried. My mother picked me up and cleaned it off, the bandage had pictures on it. But I liked the blood better."
One after another they told their stories, childhood woes of despair and pain, disillusionment and deaths, grandmothers' funerals and hospital bleakness. When they had all finished Hyde turned toward me and touched me, tracing the black rose tattooed on my shoulder. "Okay, Lily, love, your turn. What's your earliest childhood remembrance?"
A smile twisted my mouth. "Interesting that you should ask, Hyde." My voice was quiet, pitched almost to a whisper, but they all stopped to listen. From behind the bar, Moon gave me an admonishing glance, but I winked at her and shook my head, sending her the message that it didn't matter. They'd never believe what I had to say.
"Go on, then, Lily, tell us."
I looked each of them in the eyes before I started and when I was sure I held them, I spoke. "One night, my first night of awareness, I wake to darkness and death and the dirt of the grave. How long I've been here, inhaling the corrupted odors of the surrounding dead, I don't know. But I know that I have to get out."
I paused a bit for effect and Moon filled my glass. As I swallowed it and continued, the memories took hold and my voice filled with desperation. "I have to get out." I hissed the words. "Get out. I am suffocating. Dying again. I do not want to die. Not again. I claw through the cheap wood of my coffin, splinters piercing my tender baby hands, blood dripping onto my face and into my mouth as I struggle, giving me strength, feeding my desire. Finally I break out and tunnel through the compacted earth up to the surface. It's a long way, and I feel like I've been digging forever. My shroud eventually falls away in tatters, scraped away by the dirt. And when I emerge into the night, my second birth, I am naked, shining lily white in the light of the moon, squalling after life and the bitch of a mother who left me for dead."
Deirdre:
It came as no surprise when I found myself mounting the steps to Elly's cabin and knocking on the door.
She threw the door open. "Deirdre? Oh, my dear, please come in. You're soaked to the skin." She peered past me into the darkness. "Isn't Mitch with you?"
At the question, I collapsed into Elly's arms, incapable of speech. She let me cry for a while, then led me into the warmth of her cabin and sat me down in a chair next to the fireplace.
I shivered. "You'd better get those clothes off," she said. I fumbled with my shirt, but my hands trembled far too much.
"Help me. Please."
She couldn't have heard the words clearly through my sobs, but she understood and knelt down in front of me, taking off first my boots and socks, then my jeans and panties. Her touch as sexless as that of a mother, she unfastened the buttons on my shirt, undid my bra and pulled me to my feet.
"Stand there in front of the fire and dry off. I'll get you a blanket."
I did as I was ordered, comforted somehow by her command. It was a relief to let go of all the decisions and cares, to deliver myself into the hands of someone I trusted. Elly's cabin was plainer than ours, but homier, somehow. I never walked into her place without feeling peace descend on me; from the candles always burning on the mantle to the braided rugs on the floor, the room exuded a welcome, even for such as me. Watching the dancing of the flames, my sorrow subsided and I felt warmed.
Elly entered the room again, bearing a heavy blanket, and gasped when I turned around.
I managed a smile. "What?"
"You are so perfect. Like a goddess."
I laughed — a wild and desperate sound. "I am not a goddess, Elly."
"No? Are you sure?" She held out the blanket to me, an offering.
"Positive," I said and took the blanket, wrapping it around me as I sat back down. "Not a goddess, just a bedraggled and miserable creature of the night. Thank you for taking me in."
"No problem." She showed no surprise at my description, but merely nodded. "Can I give you a cup of tea? Or," she gave me a shy smile, "something a little stronger?"
"Something a lot stronger would be great, thank you."
She nodded and headed out to her kitchen, coming back with a large bottle of red wine and two glasses. "Will this do? I have scotch instead," she said as she uncorked the bottle, "but as I remember that is Mitch's drink. Dare I ask? Is he okay?"
"He's fine. And the wine is, too."
She poured the wine and held a glass out to me. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not particularly."
"Ah."
The fire crackled and sighed. Beyond the cabin's walls, the storm continued, accented now with great booms of thunder. It was exactly the sort of night that had always made Mitch and me abandon all thoughts of the world outside; we'd make slow love by the fire for long, lazy hours, needing only each other.
I choked back a sob and drained my glass.
"More?" Elly's glance was curious, but kind.
"Keep filling them."
She did so and we were silent for a while, drinking and listening to the rain.
"So," Elly said as she poured the last of the wine into my glass, "we're not to talk about Mitch. What shall we talk about?"
