An Ocean of Remorse

by Beryl Butterfly

One girl's story as she struggles to understand and control her power. What devastating results there can be when one is left to face this challenge alone. warning dark theme/ death

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Heroes. LOL obviously

"Mrs. Peterson, Mr. Marx I must impress on you how important our intervention in your child's life may be. I know this is a scary time for all of you. It is frightening when your child begins showing behaviours that many would lock you away for speaking of. You feel there is no where to go, no one to help you understand what is happening." The middle aged man with thinning brown hair and horn rimmed glasses says as he leans toward us his index fingers steepled under his chin and his voice as smooth as velvet. His eyes shine blue with his passion and speak of his desire to comfort.

"This file I hold in my hand contains the story of a girl much like your son. She believed she had no where to turn. If only we had found her sooner maybe everything inside could have been avoided. Your son is going to need help to learn how to control his new abilities. He will need to be with others of his kind who can teach him how to master them lest they master him. Your son is very special. He has the power in the palm of his hands to bring life or if left untrained he could destroy us all. Please read this carefully." He hands the file to my husband with a small smile and walks through the double doors of our suite. "Oh and I do hope you enjoy your stay here."

With slow steps and heavy hearts we walk to our suite. Our minds on the red file held tightly in my husband's hands and our hearts aching with worry for our son. Silently we shut and lock the door behind us. Sitting at the table the silence between us larger than the daunting file we are to read laying on the slightly scarred wood.

Picking it up slowly I open it and begin to read aloud.

************************

Stumbling forward only to fall back I gaze at my surroundings through wide eyes. I wonder how I came to be where I am. How is it that this simple girl of innocent desires came to be in this situation.

Hands reach out to me, caressing me softly leaving a trail of goose-bumps in their wake and a chill of fear racing down my spine. The world around me blurs in a cacophony of light and sound. Reds and blues lit with electric ferocity circle around me pulsing with each beat of my heart. Memories of familiar faces spin in and endless rotation of grotesque masks like some twisted carnival ride in a gruesome horror novel.

My mind screams for it to stop, my heart crying for an ending to this terror. Denying these pleas my body spins faster and faster. The gripping hands never ceasing in their manhandling. Deep purple bruises form on my arms and legs as the hands grab harder spinning me rapidly.

A sigh of relief escapes my lungs as the spinning turns to wobbling. A darkness slowly condenses around everything. The colors and spinning shrink till it is only a small disk in the center of the peaceful ebony night.

A velvet softness surrounds me as I slowly move within the welcome nothingness. Liquid warmth flows against my skin soothing the aching bruises. Floating blissfully I allow the current to pull me along. My body follows willingly; my mind harbors no misgivings.

"Freedom," My heat declares with every beat.

The rhythm of the waves matches the beating of my heart echoing hollowly in my ears. A slight ringing pierces the baritone timber of drums setting an odd harmony. My skin prickles at the discordant feeling of cold water swishing through my lungs as I attempt to will my body into surrender. I struggle not to fight.

In. Out. In. Out. Breath comes as easily fifty meters deep as it does skimming along the surface. I know what will come next. I don't want it to happen. I bind my hands tightly in the belt latched through the loops of my pants trying to pin them down to my side. I will not do this. I will not be a freak show any longer.

The waves remain swirling around me but it is as if a switch has been flipped in my mind. Everything is clear, brilliantly clear. Each molecule of water slows its progress past me as if repelled from and attracted to me much like the field created by holding two magnets together and flipping between opposite and attracting ends. My body feels in a constant state of flux, nothing is solid, both pushing and pulling at the same time. My inner being separates and draws close again as the waves change their motion circling around me gaining speed.

The shadowy silhouettes of large fish can be seen fighting against this new current. Everything within them tells them this is wrong. This is unnatural. Even the fish know the truth of what I am, the truth that must remain hidden at all costs. I am not natural.

The pulsing pull and push of my heart spurs this speeding whirlpool even as I cuss at everything that is going on. All I wanted was to escape. The cliffs above east of the city seemed as good a place as any. No fear had accompanied me as I stretched my arms out to the heavens and leaped first fully accepting of the fact that within seconds my body would be smashed into a million broken fragments in less time than it would take for me to have any seconds thoughts.

My goodbyes had been said. No one knew these were goodbyes but me, but when they look back they will realize I was saying my final "I love you" in the only ways I could.

My sister will find the stuffed animals I have taken captive over the years and never returned torturing her with the thought that they had all met gruesome and pain filled ends. Each will be found in mended condition. I could not exactly admit to my snotty little sister who receives everything she ever wished for on a platter that I was stealing her animals all these years after she had torn them or mangled them in some way in one of her multiple temper tantrums. I just could not bear to see her favorite things ruined in fits of anger when I knew she loved them dearly. Maybe one day the seams will open and she will find the little notes I carefully hid inside each one telling her how beautiful and brilliant and beloved she is. Maybe one day she will realize how much I loved her but could never tell her.

My mother will find in her next bank statement the full reimbursement of the money I stole the night of my fifteenth birthday when she forbade me from going out to party with my friends. She always knew where it had disappeared to, but she solidly took the brunt of my father's wrath when the funds proved to be insufficient to his inspection.

Someday when she wants to take a walk down memory lane she will find a note hidden in the old cedar chest she holds all her treasured memorabilia in. Wrapped carefully in my pale yellow baby afghan she will find the last portrait I will ever paint. I spent weeks perfecting the replication of the snapshot I had found deep in the divided trunk coffee table. A picture that had been held many times, a picture that had been cried over and stressed over. The picture was of her holding me in the hospital just weeks after we had heard I was no longer in remission. The Leukemia had come back. Just beneath that picture had been another taken almost two years to the day after both us us smiling and healthy. This picture seemed to have faired much better. I chose to give her the one that had obviously shaped her life so much more. Taped to the back of that canvas is a letter thanking her for every day of love she has given me. A small thank you for the years of sitting at my bedside praying for my healing.

My father will find his gold watch polished to perfection and wound perfectly, exactly 21 times in a counter clockwise fashion. The chain shining as if it were new with no harsh chemicals having ever touched its surface. This was all I could think of for my father. The man who let time rule his world. The man who had based our interaction on the inaudible ticking of the second hand. For the man whose world was ruled by the strict boundaries of numbers and ledgers but whose anger knew no bounds. How do you tell the man who haunted your nightmares from the time you were old enough to walk that you love him. That all you ever wanted was for him to wrap his arms you and call you his princess. How do you admit to being so pathetic.

The burst of emotion welling painfully in my chest causes the water to surge around me. A blast of emotion ridden energy forces me upward out of the depths of this hidden arm of the ocean. My heart soars involuntarily with the adrenalin rush of standing fifty meters above the surface on a swirling vortex held together by nothing more than my body's reactions. Standing upon a waterspout built on adrenalin alone. For a brief second I almost forget that I am not a monster. I try to forget the poor hapless water mammals and fish trapped in this massive funnel of death.

The water rushes under my feet. My body, my soul completely one with the water. The spout following the will of some unspoken hideous part of my subconscious rages toward the pebbled beach stretching along the cities southern boundary. The laughter of children can be heard above the roar of moving water. Their laughter cuts my soul leaving me to bleed dry. I watch in horror willing and screaming at the top of my lungs for the plume of water to stop. The people on the beach have no clue what danger is approaching them at a speed faster than any human could imagine. I begin flailing my arms waving frantically as if they can see my warning, as if I can make any difference at all.

Useless, everything, all my attempts to rid this world of my presence of my curse. My failed attempts to make the water stop before it becomes too powerful are useless. My good intentions, useless. In less time than it takes for the large brightly lit carrousel that I saw when I first rose to the water to move full circle in a joyous roundabout, the dancing multicolored lights are gone. They along with the multitude of other carnival rides and thousands of joy filled exuberant thrill seekers are gone. Forever lost in the murky water risen from the sea and sent hurdling through space in the cover of darkness toward them.

Thousands of lives gone in the blink of an eye and why. What purpose have these losses been for? What betterment has the world for their passing? None. No reason for their deaths, no comforting, "He died fighting a noble battle" to tell their families. They will receive nothing but tears and mourning.

Sharp pieces of metal grate across the bottoms of my feet, my blood pours from the slashed soles mixing in with the now murkish brown and crimson red water as it continues inland never stopping or slowing its pace. The happy squeals of children and excited ride goers gone in the murderous water that has consumed them body and soul. My mind slips further and further away with each twist of the water. My sanity dripping, leaking out of me with ever drop of water that is left behind in the sodden soil.

I howl loudly at the sky hurtling my hatred to a god who does not care. My fists pummel against thin air till my anger creates twin miniature water spouts to shoot forward and give me battle. My hands sliding through the water as if through thin air is infuriating. I want to hit something solid. I want to feel the pain of the deaths I have caused. I want to destroy my fists in an attempt to assuage my soul. To know that I can still feel pain. I want blood running down over my swollen torn open knuckles till only a puddle of red is shown.

Growing frustrated with the useless water spouts I turn my fury upon myself. My mental barrage no longer capable of producing the type of harm I require. Flailing my fists harshly against my sides I dig with my nails with every hit. The feel of my nails biting into my skin, sinking deep into flesh and tearing as I claw away to pound once more feels right. The burning is cleansing, the pain welcome and necessary.

The skin rips clogging my fingernails with a bloody pulpy mass. Relief does not come from this act of self violence though. The heinousness of my crime stares up at me from the swirling mass of destruction beneath my feet. The torn and bloodied body of a doll with its clothes long removed by the pull of violent water spins to the top tickling upon the bottom of my bloody foot. A long monstrous scream emits from my mouth as I gauge at my eyes willing myself to see no more. Unable to take the destruction, the hell, I have reeked upon others.

This infernal twister of liquid upon which I ride, this instrument of death that follows some unspoken unknown direction from my inner psychotic mind spins toward a small trailer park lining the banks of the sea. I wail and cry as once again I am forced to watch as others pay for my existence in their own blood.

More shrapnel is added to the whirling mass beneath my feet. Sticking my hands inside the funnel I can feel sharp edged blades of glass and metal biting into my skin trying to tear my hand free from my arm. Warm blood drips from my wrists as I attempt to grasp one of these impromptu devices of control. I will not let anyone die in my stead.

I started this as a way to end. I was only trying to stop this from ever happening. I knew how dangerous I am. I knew the only way to stop this from every happening was to stop myself. I did not know that at the bottom of the narrow finger inlet of cliffs lay a deep tidal pool. Just deep enough for my body to not be broken completely as I lay there in the wetness my body mending with the almost invisible current of the pool. I did not know my body could take the energy, the very life of the small aquatic creatures trapped in that pool waiting for the next high tide to wash them back out to freedom. I did not know I would draw upon their lives to reform my own. Had I known water was at the bottom I would have found another way. A gun, a blade, pills anything, but I had taken the easy way out. The way I thought would cause no pain. There was not supposed to be enough time left alive at the bottom to even know I was dying. It was supposed to end.

As with everything else in my life I had fucked up my death too. None of this destruction would have happened if I had only been brave enough to feel the pain.

Trees bend and break beneath the fury of these circling waves as my hand finally closes around a long splintering and rough edged blade of metal. The weight of it in my hand feels like my salvation. I will not let another die.

I lift the blade high above my shoulder screaming as I bring it down. The thin material left covering the tight muscles of my stomach separate easily beneath the blade. My skin provides little more resistance than the fabric. Biting down hard my teeth grind as my insides rip. I can feel every layer of muscle, every small nick upon the vital organs. I can feel the water trying to draw life from those within its grasp to repair me, but there is no life to draw upon. I have killed them all. Now I can end it.

My hand shakes, time slows as each pearl of blood drips down into the raging waters below me. I pull the makeshift dagger out and stare at it for a second with a pained but pleased smile upon my face as I arch my arm even higher and stab again.

The burning ripping sensation is a welcome agony this time. The water beneath my feet slows slightly, my elevation lowers. I'm winning. I breath shallowly as the strength leaves my body. I must finish this. I can't leave it to chance, this water must never touch anything still living as long as I remain so.

Slowly I pull the shard out of my stomach, my flesh acting as a vacuum fighting against my waning strength as if in one last desperate appeal for my life. I snort at the thought of mercy for my soul before I raise the blade to my neck. There is only one way to be sure. With all the force I can gather I press the blade to my neck, aiming for the spot the old mobster movies always show as the perfect spot. A comical picture of me wearing a gangsters neck tie almost makes me laugh, but my soul is dead. I have killed it. Laughter is impossible.

I push against the blade sliding it back and forth like an old loggers saw. Each ragged tooth bites into my skin tearing slowly. I cherish each inch I can force myself to cut. The pain sears cleansing what little remains of my humanity as it leaks through the wound. A weak smile curves my lips the light surrounding me softening as my world begins to spin.

The swirling below my feet slows as the spinning before my eyes increases. Fingers of ice trace along my veins throughout my body as I gasp for one last breath as the blade drags along my esophagus. A curdled scream mixes with the bubbling sound of air escaping from an over inflated water toy. I fall to the watery tower upon which my body still rides. With every drop of blood pushed through my slowing heart my life seeps away. The life of this storm of death seeps away with me.

Whatever anger, or hatred, or psychotic passion that was buried deeply within me fueling it can find no refuge. The water slips from it towering form shaping into one last large wave, pulling my body under the surface and swirling me around with the other dead refuse.

I refuse to close my eyes as the bodies of my victims float past. Their faces are masked in grotesque images of their final terror. A mother holds a young infant to her chest her mouth open in a last scream, her hand still held protectively over the head of her baby.

Darkness closes around me. Cold deeper than the depths of an Arctic snow cover me. Feeling recedes from every limb. My core feels like it is shaking as my heart stills, my breathing no longer. Black.

***********************

My hands shake as the file falls to the table, a single dvd and a small clipping of a newspaper fall to the table. My husband with tears in his eyes picks up the dvd and places it in the player. The young face of a tanned newsman fills the screen.

This breaking news just in from San Jose California: A large pile of debris have been found in the vicinity of Norton Beach. Among the mysterious debris and new formed lake in the small hollow of hills bodies have been found. The number of dead at this time is unknown but experts are estimating over 300. No survivors are expected to be found. This seems to be the results of a freak waterspout. More news as it becomes available.

Mike that is terrible news when will we be able to know the extent of the damage.

Valerie, one traveling carnival and a large retirement village were in the path of this deadly display of earth's power. It may take weeks to sort through the fallout and collect the bodies. The president has declared the area a national disaster zone and the red cross and National Guard have been called in.

"Turn it off." I beg, my voice shaking. "I can't watch that."

My eyes scan the news clipping afraid to see what the final body count was.

News Break May 5th 2007

Delays in the clean up of what is now being called the Typhoon of the ages is delayed once again. A mysterious illness seems to be effecting all those who touch the water. The first stages of this ailment is sever fatigue within minutes of working with in the contaminated fluid. The stages progress to difficulty breathing and finally uncontrollable bleeding from the esophagus and trachea. The final stage is ultimately death. There have been no surviving victims of this new plague. The CDC are at a loss in figuring out this strange new pathogen. The area has been cordoned and no one is allowed to enter. Several families of those believed to have been killed by the Typhoon have held memorial vigils outside the barrier walls. They may never find the peace of burial for their loved ones.

Case file *14765932478

Subject: Tiffany Gonzales

Location: San Jose California USA

DOB: December 23, 1990

Status: alive

Current Location: classified

Source: subject # 34875099983

date collected: May 30, 2007

Chills run down my spine as I read those final two lines. This girl is still be out there. We can not let this happen to our son. We will do whatever the company wants. They have to help him.

AN: Please review good, bad, whatever. Any questions ask away. LOL