Taren
by A Solitary Burch Tree
A/N: So, um, ya...it kinda starts slow and the first chapter is a heck of a lot longer than all the others but I have to set the mood, ya know?
Chapter One: An Ominous Beginning
A single girl walked across the flagstones of a deserted courtyard. Leaves skittered and twirled their ways around her feet, creating wind tunnels. The air was cold and blustery, twisting her shoulder length red hair around her face and neck. The sky above was the same color as her eyes – dark, steely grey. Cold benches surrounded her, hard and uninviting. A leaf-covered pathway, shown glumly from under stone archways, gothic decoration twined around the supports like snakes. Gargoyles stared at the girl with unseeing eyes from their perches on the towers above. There was an eerie, muted silence over the place; not even the wind made a noise.
A lone figure stepped from behind one of the many archways, cloaked in all black, its face hidden in shadows. The figure slowly glided toward her, its arm purposefully rising to point a slender stick ominously at her. As the girls eyes stared at the tip of it, a quiver of fear twitched down her spine – there was power behind that twig; tremendous power.
She felt mild recognition, but it was quickly wiped away as her body was paralyzed by fear of the unknown; she watched, helplessly, as this thing, glided closer, closer, until only inches and a layer of cloth separated her heart and the subtle weapon. All she could do was stare at it, defenseless and resigned to her fate.
The rod stayed above her heart, but the things body slowly drew closer, until the face was mere inches from her own, its slow, deadly breath blew across her face, sour and vengeful. Its face was still shrouded in shadow. The beings other hand slowly rose, unseen by the terrified girl, held in her place by a strange force she couldn't comprehend. The hand crept closer and closer to her face, and slowly drew a long, thin, decrepit finger across her cheekbone, sending chills down her spin and pain shooting in every direction from the fingers path.
Her trance was broken and she cried out in pain, the sound echoing around the courtyard, rustling the leaves with its unnatural noise. She stumbled back clenching her cheek where the finger had touched. Landing awkwardly on a bench, she gazed at the thing in fear, breathing hard, residual pain still scorching through her body. It simply laughed, a harsh, maniacal laugh that reverberated from all sides, surrounding the pair in the sordid sound of its twisted glee, the stick still pointing steadily at the girls hunched form, hand still raised to where it had caressed her face. The sound sunk into the girl's body as sudden and excruciating pain yet again shot through her entire being. Her mind was incapable of coherent though, only able to let out a piercing, agonizing scream as she crumpled to the cold, hard stone, clenching her cheekbone.
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Thousands of miles away, Taren Potter let out the same blood chilling scream in a dormitory of Saint Josephine the Merciful's Orphanage in Seattle. She thrashed in the bottom bunk of her rickety bed, tangled in the thin sheets. Still not awake, she fought off the girls who surrounded her bed, desperately trying to control her flailing limbs and piercing screams before the Head Sister came to investigate. Tears of pain fell from her eyes, as a thin scar continued to sear into her cheek, and her nails dug into the already marked skin surrounding it. The entire dorm was now awake, fear instilled in their minds because of the mysterious thing that caused Taren to repeat this scenario far too often.
Finally, one of the girls slapped Taren across the temple; the force causing her to lurch up, still screaming, and fighting the hands that held her, but eyes now wide open, pupils dilated in terror and pain. The girls descended on her with strangely organized and rehearsed agility, pinning her limbs to the bed, way from her face, forcing her to calm.
Taren continued to breathe heavily, her chest heaving, eyes darting around for the unseen enemy who had seemed so real only moments before. The other girls of her dorm continued to crowd around her, bracing her to the bed, whispering mollifying words to her.
It was late in the night. A waxing moon shone brightly through the tall window across form her bed, shedding a patient and calming light across her frame and the large huddle of girls surrounding her. The room was large, housing thirty girls ranging from five to seventeen years, all clad in white dressing gowns and in various states of wakefulness. They crouched on the floor and hung from the bunks above and surrounding Taren's. The same look of worry and fear covered all their faces.
After many seconds, Taren's breathing calmed down and the girls cautiously let her go. "What happened?" one girl whispered. She was about fifteen years old, willowy and dark. Her black hair was carefully plaited down her back, her deep brown eyes filled with worry and fear of hearing Taren's answer.
Taren slowly pushed her self up on shaky arms. Her night gown, identical to the ones around her, was clinging to her tall, sturdy body, drenched in sweat. Her red hair was matted and unruly, tangled and insanely frizzy.
"I – I just–" Taren's voice cracked and she coughed. Someone handed her a glass of water, which she sipped slowly, letting it sooth her throat. She looked closely at the faces surrounding her, seeing how young many of them were. "It was just a dream guys, it – it was nothing. Just go back to bed." She gave a weak smile, and gently pushed the closest girl – a shy, but friendly nine year old named Sasha - in the direction of her own bunk. Her stormy gray eyes turned confident and sure, masking her real feelings from the small girls she felt a desire to protect.
But Samantha, the girl who had originally asked, wasn't swayed. She stayed by Taren's bed until everyone else was gone. "Bullshit Taren. This is the third time this week you've woke up the entire floor, screaming. What is going on?" she whispered forcefully.
Taren sighed. "Nothing Sam, it was a bad dream, we all have them. Go back to bed."
Sam lifted one elegant brow. "Oh really?" She sighed, exasperated. "Taren, why do you do this? Why do you never tell anyone?" she voice slowly pick up volume as her rant went on. "You've had these things for as long as I can remember, and we all know something's up. I know this is eating you up inside. I'm not blind, none of us are."
Taren glared up at her. "If you're going to berate me, Sam, at least do it in private, or quietly." She sent pointed glances around the room at the other girls who pretended to not hear.
Sam sighed and rolled her eyes in annoyance, but sat on the bed and spoke in a whisper. "Why do you do this to yourself Taren?" she asked, worried. "I've heard the other girls talking. Tatiana keeps saying she's gonna go to Sister Kathryn if you keep doing this. Half the younger girls can't sleep because of you."
"Because of me? What have I done?"
"It's not what you do, Taren, and you know it. With the lives these girls have lived, they've heard screaming before." Sam snapped. "It's the look in your eye every time this happens. You're always terrified, and the girls are starting to fear it as well–"
"They don't even know what my dreams are about –"
"That doesn't matter!" Sam yelled, her voice echoing around the room. All eyes watching the pair. Sam dropped her voice to a whisper again. "Little girls are more afraid of faceless demons than anything else."
They sat in silence, listening to their roommates settle back to sleep. Taren finally broke the silence.
"What will Sister Kathryn do?" she asked, careful to let any worry show. "If Tatiana tells her, what will happen to me?"
Sam stared sadly into Taren's eyes. "I don't know." She answered, wringing her hands and looking out across the vaulted dormitory. "But the Sisters already know–"
"What?"
"Other girls had already thing." Sam quickly whispered, trying to keep Taren's infamous temper in check. "Just last week I hear Sarah complaining to Sister Mary because your nightmares kept her up all night. And the Sister wasn't surprised, said she'd hear it before.
"Taren, you have to stop this." muttered Sam. "Tatiana's influential. The Sisters like her. If she complains…"
"I'm screwed." Taren whispered, staring blankly at the moon as it shined down on her.
Every one knew what happened to problematic orphans at St. Josephine the Merciful's Home for Girls. Most were "disposed of", sent into the states care; usually foster homes. Horror stories always came back about those sent away. Ending up on the street, dead or prostituting themselves before they were even legal. The tales of rape and assault alone was enough to keep any girl from acting up. The few that weren't heard of again just disappeared. No stories; no nothing. They never came back and the Sisters acted like they never existed.
And Taren knew what it was like out there. She had been an orphan since she was a year old, and of her fourteen years of being with out family, only the last five had been at St. Josephine's. She had battled through those raging and horror filled waters for nine years, tossed from home to home because of things she had no control over. It wasn't just the nightmares that forced her to pick up everything and leave. There were also the strange occurrences that happened around her. Glasses exploded when she was angry; people disappeared when she ignored them and then reappeared thousands of miles away when she wondered where they had gone. Most reappeared in Timbuktu. Many of her foster families had accused her of demon possession. A few even called for Priests to perform exorcisms. Needless to say, they never worked, and before long, she was packing her few belongings and shipped off again.
It wasn't like Taren enjoyed it either. These things always ate away at her and she feared herself because of it, feared the strange things she could do. It wasn't until Taren arrived at St. Josephine's that her caregivers had tried to fix her problems instead of punishing her for them. After only one glass explosion, the Church set her up with a psychologist and a weekly yoga session. Taren was on the fast track to normalism. It only took a few months of that and nothing strange has happened since. But the nightmares never went away. Never in the same place, but always the same figure, pointing a stick at her and causing her scar to burn into her cheek anew.
At that thought, Taren brought her fingers up to her cheek, absently tracing its lightening bolt shape. It no longer felt as if it was being carved into her flesh, but it still tingled.
The lightning bolt had been there for as long as she could remember thought she never knew why or how she got it. It was thin, well defined; delicate and following the curve of her cheekbone perfectly. The skin around it was dotted with short curved scars. She used to tell people they were small moons, created to go with her scar. But in reality, they were the same shape as her fingernails when they unconsciously broke the skin during a nightmare.
She pulled her hand away to find her finger tips red with blood. Taren groaned and rolled her eyes at her luck. Now the Sisters would defiantly know. She reached for a tissue to clean herself up. Sam sighed at her and tugged it out of her hand. "Here let me."
She sat down on the bed and proceeded to wipe the blood from her best friends face.
A heavy silence filled the room. Most of the girls were asleep, their even breathing echoing through the hall. Taren sat in a deep, helpless state. She couldn't go back. They wouldn't send her back. Not after all the kindness and work they had put into her. St. Josephine's wouldn't just turn their backs on her now. They couldn't.
A tear spilled from Taren's eye, slowly carving a path down her cheek. It joined with a bead of blood and turned red. It fell from her chin staining a perfect dot on the sheets. Sam looked at her friend with deep seated worry and sorrow. In the five years Taren had been at St. Josephine's, not once had she ever cried. Never. Not when she broke her arm two years ago, or when she had watched helplessly as her boyfriend, a boy named Jeremy from Dorm 4, was hit and killed by a drunk driver. She had been extremely close to the hyper but gentle boy. She didn't speak for a week, but not a single tear dropped. She did not cry when her pet rat, Reigning Monarch Francisco Ricardo VI of Guadalupe (Frankie, for short), had been eaten by a cat, or when her beloved violin had been stolen, then found, smashed to bits of sawdust and metal three days later. She never cried, never allowed herself that privilege or anyone else the privilege of seeing her in such a vulnerable state.
And now, there she sat, quietly sobbing. In a silent dormitory, having blood wiped from her face by the only person in which she held a semblance of trust.
Sure, Taren was Sam's best friend and they trusted each other as best they could. But even with that relationship Taren wouldn't show any feelings. It was a defense thing with her, protecting both her friends and herself from things she couldn't control. Sam didn't even know what the dreams were about. Taren always refused to say, as if ignoring it would make the problem go away.
Sam pulled the tissue away, Taren's face finally cleaned, her tanned skin showing smooth in the moon light. "Taren, I – "
"Don't let them take me."
"What?"
She turned, a reckless desperation showing in her eyes. "Don't let the state take me. I'll go away, if the Church won't keep me, but promise me you won't let them send me to the state." Taren was clearly trying to stay calm and controlled, but was quickly turning hysterical.
"Taren, I don't have that kind of –"
"I'll take care of myself if I have to. I'm young, most won't care if I'm pretty, just as long as I'm female – "
"Don't you dare talk like that Taren Lily Potter. You are not going to – "
"How do you know?" Taren gripped Sam by the arms, her eyes shining insanely - desperately. "I would do anything not to go back there. You don't know what it's like. The families don't care you like them or not, if they're good or not. Most only take you in for the money. And the state doesn't care. They don't care if you're raped or robbed or murdered, just as long as they don't have to deal with you any more."
The two girls sat silently, staring at one another, both stunned by what Taren had said. Everyone knew it was true, but no one ever said it out loud.
"Okay, I'll try."
Taren continued to search Sam's eyes, but finally let her go, slowly dropping her hands to her lap and giving a slow nod. Her eyes began to traverse the room blankly, as if searching for something that was not there. She continued to nod with that same haunted look, slowly laying back to stare at the underside of the top bunk, emotionally drained.
Sam continued to watch as her friend stared at the bunk above her. Her eyes slowly fluttered shut, and as Sam finally got up and fell into her own bed, Taren again started tossing in her sleep. Her hand again flew to her cheek and the drops of blood could be seen from across the room, but no sound came out. Her eyes and mouth were screwed shut.
It tore at Sam's heart, to know that, when morning came, Taren would be just as bright and sarcastic as always, acting as if nothing had happened.
As Sam finally dozed off that night, one final thought crossed her lips in a whisper.
"I'm sorry, Taren."
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Woah, that's deep. well, anyway, see that cute little periwinkle-ish colored button? Ya, the one that says 'review' on it? yep. that's it! Well, you can do something really cool if you click on it. You can tell me what you think! I know! Isn't that neat?