Mater Ursus
Chapter 1: Metamorphosis
Erica Reyes had always seen herself as the larvae that would eventually become a fly. Something with a thousand eyes to be stared at oddly as she buzzed around; to be swatted at by an annoyed hand and eventually killed by a dishrag. She didn't see herself clearly. Her self-image was a distortion through rusted, broken mirrors splattered with the ugly colors of epilepsy. She couldn't-wouldn't-see past the giant stain that marked her, a birthmark that burned to her soul. She was too young to have that much perception in herself, and too much of an outcast and 'freak' to see any other way.
Her own peers taunted her, made her life miserable, and gave her hell. And she hated them. She hated them so much, them and everyone else; the doctors, the nurses, the people in the store that gave her funny looks while they stood around watching as she writhed on the dirty floor. It hurt. It hurt so much to have someone look at you like you were the freak, an alien in your own world. There was no one for her to fall back on, no one to catch her when she was free-falling through an endless abyss of depression and hurt. No one, except for her sister.
Emma Reyes was to Erica as a lifeboat was to a shipwrecked crew: a beacon of meager hope, something to keep her afloat when all she wanted to do was drown. And sometimes Erica hated her for that. She hated Emma for making her move on to the next day, to keep going, to live in a never-ending spiral of routine. But other times... Other times Erica wouldn't have been able to survive without her. Sisters could see past what the world was completely blind to, and Emma... Emma saw everything. But when Erica became the butterfly that she thought she wouldn't, when she bloomed into something beautiful and fiery instead of an ugly pest, not only would Emma see straight through her, but she would see her mistakes, her regrets. And if there was one thing Erica Reyes hated more than her peers, it was when she looked into Emma's eyes and saw disappointment.
The nursing home just a town over from Beacon Hills was a quaint little place, and was called Green Pastures for no reason in particular. The color scheme was a neutral pallet of brown sienna and tan, spotted by false trees in the lobby and cheaply framed prints on the walls. The atmosphere wasn't completely cold and unfriendly like most homes for the elderly were; it held a neutral note of gray with the occasional colored burst of welcome and warmth. There was an inconsistent theme among the furniture; the chairs, tables, sofas and recliners didn't belong in the same room, yet somehow still fit together in an odd, unorthodox way. In a way, it was reminiscent of the people that lived and worked there.
"Now, Sheryl, you have to take your medicine, understand?" A woman stood in her wrinkled, faded scrubs, hair that was a few shades darker than dishwater blonde falling out of her messy bun. She looked tired, the bags under her eyes indicating a lack of sleep and peace. "It'll help your joints, you know." She laid a hand on the dark, wrinkled forearm of an old woman with eyes as sharp as metal shards and the color of cinnamon and honey.
"Darling, I haven't taken that nasty ass-crack stuff willingly since 2008, and I don't plan to any time soon." Her roughened words were inhibited by her lack of teeth and came out in a way far less than eloquent. She patted the hand of the nurse affectionately and began humming a soft, willowy tune.
"The warden will get you," Emma reminded, lips curling up wryly in a smile. The old woman cackled and began rolling her wheelchair slowly towards an even older table. "Miss Wilson!" Emma laughed, watching as the lady waved over her shoulder.
"She have to catch me first!" she cackled, promptly parking her chair next to an old man in a golfer's hat. Emma shook her head at the devious woman, before walking towards the break room down the hall. Her cellphone was in her purse on the counter, and it was a relief to have no new messages or voice mails from Erica's school. People often said she worried to much about her sister. Truth was, Emma couldn't help it. Erica was beautiful and strong, and she would never see it. Idiots with little to know knowledge wouldn't let her see it. Emma wanted her to see it, see that she wasn't just another kid with epilepsy. She was surviving, living, thriving. Other teenagers under that kind of pressure would crack, but Erica kept going. All Emma wanted was for her to see herself like she saw her: unique, and in no way perfect, but completely different from everyone else.
"Miss Wilson is giving Vicki hell again, Em," a red, frizzy haired woman stuck her head inside the break-room doorway to announce. "She would really like it if you could intervene, get the old bat to give in."
"Alright. Tell her I'll be there in a minute," Emma said, nearly interrupted by the chirping ring tone of her cellphone. BEACON HIGH SCHOOL flashed on the screen before she accepted the call. Dread weighed like a rock of ice in the pit of her stomach.
"This is Beacon High School's assistant principal, Ms. Knowles, calling. Is this the guardian of Erica Reyes?"
"Yes," Emma answered softly, gripping the phone so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
"I am calling to inform you, Ms. Reyes, that Erica had a seizure earlier today. She was transferred to the Beacon Hills Hospital and was admitted to their care." Emma bit her lip at the assistant principal's cold tone.
"Oh God. Is she okay? What happened?" she rushed through her questions quickly.
"We weren't able to acquire details, Ms. Reyes."
"Okay, okay. I'm on my way." She hung up before the other woman could utter another sound. Emma tugged at the roots of her hair and took a deep breath. Erica's state of mind had been extremely fragile as of late. Emma was walking on eggshells around her as it was and this... This would only make it worse. Her sister had always wanted to be accepted, had pined to fit in like a lost piece to an endless puzzle. But wasn't that what everyone wanted? Emma wanted it for her. So much. She just didn't know how to give it.
Emma gathered her things in a flurry of movement and went to clock out. Erica would want to be alone in the hospital, would want to linger in her thoughts; Emma wouldn't let her. She wouldn't let her sister chain herself to a boulder to be pushed into the middle of the ocean. She wouldn't let her drown.
"Reyes, if you leave I'll have to fire you. You've already missed fifty-one hours in the past three months." Vicki Hubert was the 'warden,' for all intents and purposes, at Green Pastures. The woman was uncaring and had a heart as sharp as her red, manicured fingernails. She was the Wicked Witch of the West to Emma's Toto.
"Erica had a"-
"Seizure. I know. You would never leave for any other reason. But we're already understaffed as it is, and I can't have you leaving now," the warden interrupted her swiftly. She was like a tsunami, sweeping up the shores in a blink of an eye and wiping out a city with little effort. "She'll be fine."
"Oh," was all Emma was able to unintelligibly say, before heading over to Miss Wilson. The the skin around the old woman's eyes was crinkled in thought, and without any prompting she knocked back her 'ass-crack' vitamins and pills.
"You went all the way to that hospital San Diego last weekend darling. How was it?" she asked, patting the young woman's forearm with tenderness. She didn't miss the way Emma's face blanked of emotion; wiped clean like the chalked letters on a black board.
"Eye opening," she managed to say.
"Mayhap you could call up that old hospital in Beacon Hills and ask them about your sister." Miss Wilson was a perceptive old bat indeed. She pushed the younger woman's back with hidden strength, nudging her in the direction of the break room. She was a strong, perceptive old bat. "Go ahead girl. Elsewise you'll be worried about her all day. Go on, get." Emma smiled weakly and headed off. And not five minutes later, all hell broke loose.
"Hello, this is Emma Reyes. I'm calling for my sister, Erica Reyes. She was admitted to the hospital earlier today from Beacon Hills High School."
"Erica Reyes? Would you please hold while I pull her records?" Elevator music played over the earpiece of the phone endlessly. "Erica Reyes was admitted, but she wasn't checked out."
"Is she there or not?" Emma asked, impatience making her voice sharp and to the point. It felt like a rock was in her throat, an immovable lump of uncomfortable. It stifled the panic that was welling in her heart.
"No."
"Then where is she?"
"We don't know, ma'am," the woman answered nervously. Emma took a deep breath as blood rushed to her face in an angry flush. Anger pooled in her gut, as hot as pure cayenne and black pepper.
"What!" she screeched, like some banshee from hell. Before the woman could say another word, Emma hung up. The entire situation felt surreal, like the painted image in the cheap frame. She felt like she was going through a tunnel; she was dizzy, frantic, panicking. Still, on the outside she steeled herself and squared her shoulders. She couldn't be weak in the face of fear, lest it take hold. Like a Fury she swept through the room and towards the front doors.
"Reyes, you can't leave"- The warden began as Emma wrenched open one of the double doors.
"I quit," she hissed, the whites of her eyes tinging an angry red. Then the doors slammed behind her, and the sound echoed through the halls for long moments after.
