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CHAPTER5
CHRISTY
“Mama, is that you?” I blink back the fog, rubbing at my eyes.
“Hello, my darling girl,” she replies, holding her arms out to me.
I don’t hesitate, I run into them, pulling her close and burying my face into her hair. “Oh, Mama!” I cry, a sob releasing from my throat.
“Hush, child. We have no time for tears,” she says, grasping my shoulders and gently guiding me back onto a wooden bench that I hadn’t noticed before now.
“No time?” I swipe at my eyes and blink away the tears, a deep sense of longing making it hard for me to breathe as she settles beside me.
“You need to listen to me,” she says, clasping my hands in hers. I marvel at the warmth of them. She feels so alive.
“Where am I?” I ask, confusion settling in as I look around me. The white mist clears revealing the cottage I spent my childhood in and the garden my mother loved to tend. A warm sun heats my skin and the pond at the end of the garden sparkles under the sunlight.
This is home.
“Somewhere you don’t belong,” she replies, swiping a strand of hair off my face, sadness and love filling her eyes.
“I don’t?” I question, blinking rapidly as her grip loosens from around my fingers. When I look down at our joined hands, mine are rapidly disappearing. “Wait! No!” My heart stutters, my chest aches. Swallowing becomes painful.
“Christy, there is no time. Listen to me now.”
The urgency in her voice makes me focus, and I nod, forcing myself to ignore the pain in my heart, my chest, my throat.
“I need you to remember who you are.”
“What do you mean, I know who I am—”
She shakes her head as if to say that I don’t. “You must remain determined in the face of distrust, and courageous in the face of brutality,” she continues urgently. “You must always show them what is right and what is wrong. You will not be a victim, never that my darling girl, but I am asking you to see that there is strength in forgiveness, bravery in compassion, and hope in redemption.”
I frown, her words making me angry somehow. Then I remember why... The Masks. My hand rises to my throat as I try to understand why it hurts. All I know is that it has something to do with them. “You want me to be kind to those monsters? You want me to have compassion for the men who hurt me? You want me to be tender when all they’ve been is cruel?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief.
“I want you to teach them to be the men they were always supposed to be before the real monster stripped them of what it means to feel loved, what it means to be human. I want you to heal each other. This cycle of pain and hurt has to end. It must.”
“And what if I can’t do that?” I ask, knowing in my heart all I feel is anger, disappointment, rage.
“Oh, my darling, but what if you can?”
“But…”
She presses a kiss against my cheek. “It’s time to go now. Stay strong…”
* * *
I awake with a start,my lungs filling with oxygen that burns, not soothes, as I gasp for breath. Reaching for my throat, bitter tears sting my eyes at the memory of my mother’s words. She wants me to healthem? I would scream if my throat didn’t hurt so much.
Why does it hurt so much?
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here,” an unfamiliar voice says, as I blink away the tears pooling in my eyes. “It was just a dream.”
“Not a dream,” I croak, focussing on the woman before me as gentle hands ease me back onto the mattress. She frowns at my response, cocking her head. I blink, not understanding how she is suddenly talking. “Thirteen, is that you?”
“Yes.” She gives me a soft smile, concern filling her eyes. “How do you feel?”
“You’re talking…” I state, surprised at hearing her voice, making me forget everything else momentarily. It’s not what I expect; there’s a soft lilt to it, an accent. Irish maybe?
