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Two.
My eyes widen but my vision is blurry and I feel like I’m slip slip slipping.
“You must choose, Olivia,” she says, and her words twist and turn. “You must give something to get something.”
“I don’t understand,” I say woozily, and I think I’ve been drugged, or I’m crazy. The bundles in her lap squirm and cry, and tiny fists raise in the air.
“You do,” my mother says and she’s right, I think I do.
There are two, and I can’t keep them both. I’ve known that since I was small. I would dance the dance of Salome, and I would choose.
So it has been written,
So it shall be.
I close my eyes and open them, and then I point.
I choose.
My mother hands me one bundle, and takes the one I pointed at away, disappearing into the shadows. I think she hands it to Phillip, but I can’t make it out through the haze.
My heart rips into two and I can’t breathe, so I do the only thing I can do to survive. I put it out of my head, out of my mind, and I don’t focus on what will happen to it, or even wonder if it is a boy or a girl. I can’t think on it. I can’t I can’t I can’t.
Instead, I focus
on the dark eyes staring up at me,
The dark
Dark eyes
That are blacker than night.
“Your name is Adair,” I croon to him. “Adair DuBray. And you will avenge me, and you will be your father’s son.”
From the shadows, with his arms full of death, Phillip smiles.
* * *
The days pass and I waste away.
I dream of horrible things, terrible things, nightmarish things.
My mother comes to me often, and she begs my forgiveness. “It had to be done, Liv,” she tells me, and I hate her, I think. “I had to do it, my mother had to do it, your son will have to do it. We all have to choose, we all have to pay for the sins of our fathers.”
Of Salome.
I remember now, a final piece of Salome’s story. Her mother had pulled the strings that night, her mother had wanted John the Baptist’s head. She had used Salome’s wiles to get it. She had used her daughter, just as my mother has used me.
“Leave me,” I tell her, and when I dream that night, I scream, but no one listens, and no one cares.
My baby, my beautiful Adair, sleeps through the nights so peacefully and he grows and thrives, and has no idea what the world has become, or who he is, or who I am.
I rock him and sing to him, and when he sleeps, I scream.
Sanity is lost on me,
And I’m lost in an ocean.
