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Spirit Prisoners
Synopsis
By
Janie Bill
Glori Hightower
wakes every morning with a sense of doom and regret. She slugs
herself to Royal Palm High in a beautiful Floridian town full of
fabulous people, but she is unable to shake a dark feeling of
despair. No one understands what it is to be different. Her father
is gone and her mother is depressed and a kaleidoscope of ghosts
swirls around her daily. She yearns to escape her miserable
surroundings.
After graduation,
she plans to move afar and begin anew. Yet, which of two colleges
should she choose? If she selects the wrong university, she might
never find happiness.
Glori can’t stand
not knowing for certain what future lies at each university. She
seeks objective advice from a psychic and her life is never the same,
again. Glori has a bad feeling about the flamboyant psychic but her
desire to abandon her haunting past traps her within the psychic’s
control. She panics when the psychic’s horrific predictions begin
coming true, one after another.
Glori cannot stop
the worst prophecy of all from materializing. Her life collapses when
she causes a terrible accident. Desperate to right her wrongs, Glori
thrusts herself into the enchanted Everglades in search of the seed of
her suffering. She confronts paranormal elements that are far more
threatening than those she encountered back home. Secrets at the root
of her quest stem from ancient mystics and underworld beings.
How can a simple
girl from a sheltered community overtake an army of devil dwellers?
If she fails, all that is dear to her will be consumed by misery for
eternity.
Spirit Prisoners
Prologue
Innocent blood
soaked into her flesh. Sleepless since the first night of the Green
Corn Ceremony, Princess Honovi remained locked in a trance. Bred to
understand her territory with its life-giving fruit trees and
circulating waters, she listened to their vibrations. Soundless music
elevated every speck and drifted alongside the angels. Invincible to
Earth’s anger, their vibrations moved at an even heavenlier pitch than
the metal tunes played by dworg braisers.
Princess Honovi
felt a wobble interrupt Earth’s smooth rotation. The hypnotic
movement misguided those men whose pale skin coloring came from their
bitterness rather than pure actions. Accompanying them was a shadow
of a man who had been charred beyond greed.
Princess Honovi
smelled their approaching scent of rotting flesh. Oil spilled from
the pores of their transparent skin. Their blue veins throbbed from
the pressure created by their deceit. Straggly hairs snaked around
their arms and wormed through their tights. Her enemies intended to
devour her soul.
One man seemed
defeated by his actions. He pushed aside orchids framing the colony.
He didn’t pause to sniff their healing nectar. He didn’t notice the
unique coloring of the stems against the leggy petals. Ponce de Leon,
the leader of the murderers, the looters, the cheaters, the liars, the
thieves, and those men who committed so many wrongs they searched for
eternal life to avoid penance, although he heard the high-pitched
vibrations, his bound spirit snuffed the note.
An intoxicating
smoke billowed from the leaves burning in the open fire – last year’s
fire. The time had come for the light to be suffocated and for a new
fire to be ignited in its place.
Doom grounded,
caged her. Princess Honovi’s concentration expanded throughout the
tropical forest. Her vision raced under the men’s pounding footfalls
where the soil slumped in regret for laying the trap. Blooming bushes
trembled as the men broken their branches to create a path for
attack. Cabbage palm trees stiffened and their reliable strength
spoke one word with clarity: Run.
A loud snap sounded
from the scrubs beside her chickee. Princess Honovi had
stopped Ponce’s crew from stealing the precious water source in two
previous battles, but at the cost of innocent lives – women and
children whose complacency suited a cohesive colony, but held no value
when confronted by with men who stole souls.
The Ponce crew
rushed from the lush groundcover – a beautiful camouflage for the
brutal murderers. Princess Honovi moved faster than the armored men,
prancing like a deer toward the hallowed dirt. The white men’s heated
determination swelled throughout the sweaty jungle.
It wasn’t fair.
Divine love should have outwitted metal weapons. Knowledge should
have prevented entrapment. The gifts from her ancestors should have
blocked tragedy.
The peach moon
alighted the shell path to the burial grounds. Princess Honovi tugged
on her bracelet, satisfied she was no longer alone. A copper beam of
light penetrated the palm canopy. Bobbles of the spirits of her
ancestors awakened and descended from the heavens.
Princess Honovi
entered the sacred circle, her toes tapping lightly in her haste.
Rosy mist of encouragement enveloped her bare feet. Dynamic warmth
flowed through her. Precious waters bubbled from the natural spring,
flowed through the burial grounds, and fed the garden of life and
knowledge. Only capable of carrying breath and purity, water
deflected evil.
On this night, the
last night of the Green Corn Ceremony, the passage to hell opened.
Mankind received the opportunity to defile life by swallowing death
whole. Princess Honovi could not allow Earth’s invitation for evil.
The wind shifted.
The sky dropped. A torrential downpour filled the burial grounds.
Nature never interfered with the new year rituals of the Green Corn
Ceremony. Rain would prevent the new fires from being lit by the logs
born from the tree of life.
Failure ripped her
muscles and sliced into her chest. Princess Honovi’s powers had
proved useless. Her mystical jewelry was flawed as a result of being
created with minerals and gems removed from the venomous earth.
A smelly,
dark-haired man stepped into her path. The fool raised his sword and
sliced.
Princess Honovi
shielded her eyes as her bracelet fell into his grip. She dropped to
the ground, confused as to why her magical protections hadn’t blocked
the pain. The gurgling waters beckoned her. If she drank, she could
live, but at a terrible cost to mankind.
Princess Honovi
adjusted the broad surface of her silver ring across her palm and
staggered to her feet. Rosy soil swirled higher and hid her head,
crystallizing her mind.
She muttered the
sacred word above, within, and below the realm of Earth, “His-a-kit-a-mis-i.”
Princess Honovi’s
true essence would be spared for another day. Her body would not.
Chapter 1
Like a demanding
ghost shifting the air to gain attention, a foreboding tingle drifted
up Glori Hightower’s right arm as she approached the psychic’s home.
She stopped and scrutinized the bungalow, questioning her intuition.
Hurricane shutters hung over lead-glass windows. Rust lined the seams
of its tin roof. She couldn’t see the main road behind the
surrounding orange grove. Across a clearing, a barn leaned to one
side, as if a warning. Beyond, a lone train car rusted on weedy
tracks. A part of Glori, the part she didn’t understand, sensed she
was about to receive a bad omen.
Glori swallowed
hard and held her hands over her heart. Death saturated the
atmosphere.
“I can’t do it.
This feels wrong. Trusting some lady who conjures spirits is asking
for trouble,” she said.
Kara put her arm
around Glori and pressed forward. “Stop being a prude. There’s
nothing to be nervous about. Learning your destiny will be good for
you. It’s been done for centuries, even by smart, famous people, like
Abraham Lincoln and Nancy Reagan.”
Glori didn’t
respond. The tingling spread across her chest and swept down her
torso. She knew what was coming, but wasn’t prepared to face an
apparition outside her home, not with Kara as a witness. She dug her
high-heel sandals into the ground and shook her head.
“You can’t make me
confide my problems into a total stranger,” she said.
Glori huffed and
struggled to break free from Kara’s grip. Then she saw it. Above the
top porch step, golden sparks wove into a brilliant web of a man’s
silhouette. He looked familiar, but then again, all ghosts glowed.
Despite her willing him to leave, he remained, blocking her path.
Ghosts were finicky
creatures, always banging and flashing when they didn’t get their
way. Glori pointed at the sparks and inhaled the muggy air, but
before she managed to form a coherent sentence, the image vanished.
The sensation of
being compressed by cold stones lifted and blood returned to Glori’s
head. “I’m okay. He’s gone. Maybe he was just a sign for me to be
cautious,” she said.
“Is this anything
like the time you threw your shoe out the car window because we
crossed a black cat’s path?” Kara asked.
Glori flushed. She
forgot how strange her superstitions sounded to people who lacked the
gift of sight. She looked around for an excuse for acting neurotic.
Her eyes followed a rainbow running across the porch.
“The sunlight
reflecting off the wind chime scared me. The unicorn figurines looked
like hairy vampires. My peripheral vision distorts images when the
sun is bright,” she said.
Kara studied the
glass figurines strung from the eave. She didn’t look convinced. “I
don’t see anything except poor taste.”
“That’s the
scariest part about the unicorns.” Glori laughed. “Let’s forget
about it.” She glanced at Kara’s convertible, still unable to shake
the prickling sensation creeping through her body. Maybe she should
wait in the car. “I’ve heard it’s bad luck to question fate. A slap
in the face to the Big Creator, so to speak.”
“My mom swears by
Madame Bonafide. Her ancestors were brought over here to find the
Fountain of Youth. All the psychics in Evangabella are legitimate.”
Kara pointed to a plaque framed with garlic buds to confirm her
information. “Don’t you want to find out which college is right for
you? You’ve certainly complained about your choices enough to get an
objective opinion from a professional.”
“Evaluating my
circumstances is not the same as complaining. Besides, that’s not my
only concern. I happen to have strong feelings about other events in
my life.” Glori bit the inside of her cheek as a sensation of
heaviness and death pooled around her.
Heading up the
steps, Glori reached out to where the sparks had been, but felt
nothing. Kara must have noticed, because she peered into Glori’s eyes
and said, “You must be sensitive to light reflecting off your contact
lenses. It’s a common phenomenon.”
Uncomfortable with
having attention on her muddy eyes, Glori blinked several times.
“It’s gone, so it doesn’t matter.”
Kara rang a
nautical bell mounted on the keystone. It gave a high-pitched ding.
When no one answered, she tapped her acrylic nails on the lead glass,
opened the door and entered.
“I’m not so sure
you should do that,” Glori said, determined to wait outside. “What if
there’re voo doo rings around the house. We could suffer from an
incurable disease or worse.”
“Hello. We’re here
for our appointment,” Kara called.
Glori turned to
leave, but stopped when Kara shrieked.
“Gross. There’s a
dead bird in here,” Kara shouted.
“He’s not hurt, is
he?” Glori placed her hands over her heart and crossed the
threshold.
The parlor provided
little relief from the humidity. A draft brushed her bare shoulders;
she shuddered.
The decor suggested
a 19th century paleontologist had set up shop. Victorian
furniture with crystal fringe gave a peculiar, homey mood. As if a
Florida panther had slashed his way out of a cage, cracks ran down the
walls. Glori winced when she noticed the shocked expressions of
mounted raccoons, bobcats and squirrels. Stacked books, old enough to
be collectibles, sat on a leather-top desk. Lavender potpourri filled
an elephant foot and several animal skulls.
Glori’s eyes
wandered to the top of a wardrobe. A stuffed, black rooster stepped
forward with his chest puffed out and his head held high. He was
magnificent.
“Poor little guy.
He didn’t have a chance.” To Glori, birds were precious creatures.
Their cries glorified nature; their melodies inspired literature.
With dazzling colors in startling patterns, magic gave birds flight.
Even angels, with their white robes and translucent wings, weren’t as
spectacular.
Glori’s dad had
shared her fascination, observing birds in their natural settings.
She loved that. It was the only time he didn’t lose his temper. He
had been a tongue biter. Deep cracks flared between his lips whenever
Glori sang songs, asked too many questions, or teased him for wearing
jumpsuits with hunting boots. She stepped on his untied shoe strings
that dragged behind him. Perhaps he wasn’t allowed happiness during
his childhood, working the orange groves like most native Floridians.
Glori missed him. Appreciating birds kept him alive.
Kara laughed and
Glori lifted her head to join her. She was a solid six inches shorter
than her graceful friend, but thankfully, Glori was better
proportioned than Kara’s willowy frame.
“I knew a roasted
rooster would get your attention.” Kara hugged Glori and then
examined a metal box with turquoise stones set in strands of braided
wires.
Glori rubbed away
her goose bumps and pretended she didn’t feel foolish. “I hope the
psychic gives me good news. I don’t want to know about anything bad
in my future.”
“My mom sees Madame
Bonafide once a year and she always gets good news,” Kara said. “One
time when she needed a root canal, Madame Bonafide told her she’d
recover in one day. And she did.” She folded her arms as though her
example clarified things.
Glori nodded,
uncertain. Lifting her hair off her back, she wiped away perspiration
on her neck. She ran her fingers down the bleached ends, making a
mental note they needed a trim. She hated to give up the length.
Kara’s high-lighted bob looked polished, but Glori’s carefree layers
were her distinguishing feature. At least, that’s what Lance said.
Glori stepped
around a stuffed alligator used as a coffee table, picked up a red
crystal from inside a basket and held it to light cast by a beaded
chandelier. Inside the stone, a charcoal spiral swirled, starting at
the base and drifting into its arrow-shaped tip. Goose bumps rose on
her arm and she caught her breath. “You’ve got to see this.
Something’s living inside the crystal,” she said.
Before Glori had a
chance to see Kara’s reaction, a door beside the kitchen swung open
and banged against the wall. Madame Bonafide emerged. Her presence
stirred the air. Youthful for a sage, not a line or blemish showed on
her tawny complexion. Glori stood at attention, mesmerized. She had
never seen such a powerful woman.
Madame Bonafide
glided into the parlor, winding along a faded path around a zebra-skin
rug. She had the same naïve expression as the girls who worked in
Dad’s convenience stores out in the country.
As if she were a
flying squirrel leaping from a tree, the psychic raised her arms and
her floor-length caftan spread wide. Its sequins glittered where the
fabric stretched over her tummy. Primitive images of horses and men
holding banners circled the bottom; the sun with rays and birds were
under her arms. Glori wondered how many generations of psychics had
worn the remarkable garment.
Humming, Madame
Bonafide stood on her toes and waved her tiny hands over Glori’s
head. Glori pushed her bangs behind her ear, nervous about what the
psychic could see; worried she couldn’t see anything at all.
Madame Bonafide
pulled a bottle from a hidden pocket and waved it under Glori and
Kara’s chins. Glori’s nose twitched from the sharp scent. Madame
Bonafide dabbed the bottle’s contents onto her fingertip and moved
toward her, as if she were about to strike with a knife.
“What is that?”
Glori cowered.
“Frankincense. It
soothes the mind and gives strength to hear my words.” Madame
Bonafide’s low voice had a comforting drawl.
When Glori refused
the essential oil, the psychic rubbed frankincense on herself and
threw back her head with her arms flung out. After several deep
breaths, she looked around dreamily and asked, “Who wants to go
first?”
Kara nudged Glori’s
knee, almost knocking her down. “Glori Hightower has a life-changing
question. Then it’s my turn, but just for fun.”
Madame Bonafide’s
expression sharpened. She circled Glori, taking in every inch of her
petite frame.
“Avoid anyone whose
name starts with the letter ‘S,’” Madame Bonafide said.
“As in the first
name or last name?” Glori glanced at Kara, curious whether this
should be funny, but Kara was distracted with arranging necklaces on
an Indian woman’s bust.
“The name you use
when speaking to the person.” Without clarifying further, Madame
Bonafide lifted her chin and led Glori to the back.
Dried banana skins
hung from the hinges of a dark den. Glori wondered whether using
material props meant the psychic operated with evil elements. She
tried to smile, but her lips trembled until she sucked them between
her teeth.
Madame Bonafide
must’ve noticed her hesitation. She placed her hand on Glori’s back
and said, “It’s safe, my dear. The bananas keep the bad spirits
away.”
“I wasn’t
questioning your abilities. I just wasn’t sure whether knowing the
future is a good idea for me, personally,” Glori said.
“You wouldn’t have
come to me if you weren’t sure,” Madame Bonafide said.
Unsure what else to
do, Glori ducked inside, holding her breath in case the skins exuded a
sinister force.
Madame Bonafide
closed the door, causing Glori’s eyes to strain in the suddenly dim
light. A crystal ball sat in the center of a table. Metallic drapes
covered the walls. Propped on the floor were prints of exotic men
dressed like ancient shamans with peacock feathers in their turbans.
Glori considered leaving, scared the reading entailed dark arts, but
then, she recognized a framed poster of Jesus and another of Mary.
Dried flowers hung from their tarnished picture frames and were
scattered on the rug, just like at the chapel where Glori’s older
brother was buried.
At least, Glori
would’ve had a brother if Hugh hadn’t died before she was born. It
was a neighbor’s college son who did it – killed him with his car as
twelve-year-old Hugh rode his bike down Chichester Cove. Mom never
demanded retribution from the Fergusons. She thought telling people
what to do was the most hateful act possible. Glori understood
exactly what she meant.
Madame Bonafide
offered Glori a seat at the table. Glori noticed the same kind of
tablecloth her Granny Emath used – lace sewn between stripes. More at
ease, Glori nodded and sat across from her. The psychic narrowed her
eyes, appearing to test her psychic focus. Not sure whether she was
imagining the pressure at her crown, Glori twitched. It wasn’t
natural for someone else to control of her senses.
“Do you want me to
do the tarot cards, use the crystal ball, or read your aura?” Madame
Bonafide asked.
“Which is better?”
“For the most
accurate information, I need to read your aura.” Madame Bonafide
tucked her hands under her armpits and rested her elbows on her
tummy. It seemed to make no difference to her whether Glori received
a reading or left without another word.
“Okay then. Read
my aura. I want you to be accurate.”
Madame Bonafide
wiggled her fingers down the length of Glori’s arms, which seemed to
cause an invisible tourniquet to tighten around Glori’s temples.
“Relax. You
are re-sisting,” the psychic said.
“I am relaxed.”
Glori straightened. Now was her perfect opportunity to find out why
she was so different from everyone else. “So, do you think I’m the
same as you are? That I communicate with other dimensions?
Supernatural realms regular people don’t notice?”
“No. I don’t see
such talent in you,” Madame Bonafide said without considering her
words.
Glori studied the
psychic’s stern expression, the way she pressed her chin against her
chest, the way her eyes penetrated the air around Glori without
resting on her. The psychic’s soft shoulders invited a hug, but her
abrupt movements deterred physical contact.
“I thought, all
these years since my grandfather died when I was three, I thought I
might be gifted. Like, maybe I can see ghosts.” Glori shrugged,
embarrassed.
“It must be passed
down from generation to generation through the women. You see my
little Livvy, if she lives long enough, she will have the skill. I
will teach my daughter how to use the skill, but I don’t see this for
you in your family.”
A shock ran from
the base of Glori’s spine, split into both sides of her skull and
ended with a sting. She hadn’t expected to be upset by learning she
wasn’t clairvoyant. So then, what was she?
“Do I have your
permission to invite the spirits to help you?” Madame Bonafide asked.
“I don’t want to
disturb any spirits. I only have one question. Everything else in my
life is under control.”
Madame Bonafide
stared above Glori with a horrified expression, apparently able to see
through her words. Glori lifted her chin to keep the light from the
crystal ball from revealing any uncertainty in her eyes.
“You have only your
mother. It is very difficult for the two of you. I see these things
because the spirits tell me.”
“Mom and I are
fine,” Glori said, harsher than intended. She rubbed her lips,
wishing she could put the words back in her mouth.
“To refuse my help
is to deny yourself, my dear. You have no control, only
expectations. Whatever you expect is what happens. It’s important
for you to remember this.” The psychic squinted and curled her tongue
as if reacting to a bitter flavor.
“What is it?”
Glori scooted forward. She glanced around the room, making sure no
sparks, like the ones outside on the porch, were stalking her.
Peacock feathers were arranged below an iron candle stand. Their
vibrant blues and greens glistened despite the dim light. Dad had
kept peacocks on the Poindexter plantation. Several still lived
there. A person who likes peacocks couldn’t be all that bad, perhaps
just melodramatic.
The psychic held up
her finger and angled her ear toward the door. “Give me a second. I
want to make sure my Livvy is not in any trouble. She hasn’t been
right for a long while.”
Glori listened too,
but didn’t hear anything. After a moment, Madame Bonafide nodded,
muttered to herself, and then resumed her trance-like composure.
“You didn’t eat
lunch, today. It’s not good for the blood to skip meals.” Madame
Bonafide emphasized, “It lowers your vibration.”
Glori thought about
what she did during lunchtime that day. She was in the career
services library comparing campuses – trying to decide which had
better dorms.
“You can see what I
did today? Can you see anything important? Something useful?”
“I see the letter,
‘L.’” The psychic scrunched her face and with a snuffle she softened
her features. “Lance. This name has meaning to you.”
Glori’s mouth
dropped open and she leaned against the table. The name Lance wasn’t
common. “How did you know about him?”
“I see his face.”
With a smirk, Madame Bonafide continued, “He needs to cut his hair.
And his shirt, it’s too tight. He’s very handsome with the way he
keeps his body built up.”
“Lance is just a
really good friend who’s taking me to prom,” Glori said, too fast to
sound convincing.
“Stay away from
Lance for he will always hurt you. You think you can handle him, but
you mustn’t try,” Madame Bonafide said.
Glori crossed her
legs and sucked on an acrylic nail. She studied the psychic. Madame
Bonafide’s gifts extended beyond tingling sensations and seeing
colorful lights.
More confident,
Glori cleared her throat and said, “I need help deciding which college
I should attend. I’m in my final year at Royal Palm High and I got
accepted to Central Tennessee and Northern New York. I have to reply
by next Wednesday.”
“What about your
mother? You are willing to leave her?” Madame Bonafide said.
“I want to go out
of state,” Glori said.
Madame Bonafide
whispered, “The house.” As if erasing a bad memory, she smoothed her
forehead. “It’s better for you to stay in Florida for university.”
“I can’t. Those
are the only colleges that accepted me. Besides, Mom supports
whatever decision I make,” Glori said.
Madame Bonafide
placed her pinkies over her mouth and hiccupped. She pressed her
fingers against Glori’s temples and stared into her pupils.
“You are on the
wrong path. If you do not change directions, the spirits must guide
you to your right path. That can be very painful. Here’s what you
need to do, you must return here, tomorrow, so I can do special work
for you,” Madame Bonafide said.
Glori forced her
gaze away. Was Madame Bonafide trying to hypnotize her? Glori
noticed the posters of spiritual leaders on the floor, some of whom
she trusted. She bowed her head, ashamed for being paranoid. She
realized she had been twisting her fingers in her skirt.
“Your friend
practices evil against you. You must not speak to her for she will
erase the good luck I send you,” Madame Bonafide said.
“Cuddly Kara, in
the parlor – evil?” Glori couldn’t keep from laughing out loud at how
foolish she had been, expecting a stranger to solve her problems by
answering one question. No matter her talent for seeing truth, Madame
Bonafide lacked focus and provided useless fragments of information.
Glori moved sideways in her seat for a quick escape while the spirits
distracted the psychic.
Madame Bonafide
grabbed her neck and gurgled. Tears fell from her lashes. Glori
gasped, clueless what to do when a person strangles herself. The
psychic threw herself across the table and thrust her finger in her
face.
“If you do not find
your path, you will kill your mother. Do you hear what I am
telling you? Your mother will be dead!”
Chapter 2
Granny Emath had
warned Glori against getting spiritual advice from strangers. She
claimed it stopped the natural flow of energy the same way rocks
placed in a stream created a dam. But Glori’s energy had been stuck
ever since the incident at Disappearing Island – and that was several
years ago.
Glori gathered her
books and her bag of goodies Madame Bonafide had sold her before she
made it out from under the banana skins. When Glori swung the
convertible door closed, she noticed Kara’s face was set, the way she
looked when her boyfriend had smiled at a surfer girl.
“Are you okay?”
Glori asked.
“Sure. It’s just
that during my reading, Madame Bonafide claimed Trismen is going to
break up with me for a soccer player. And I’m going to break my ankle
because I don’t want to move forward.” Kara arched one of her
eyebrows, causing the plucked surface to glisten.
“That could never
happen. I mean, you can’t believe everything Madame Bonafide
predicted is fact. Calling it a prediction means it might come
true. Nothing is certain, except death.” Glori felt her throat
constrict at the last word and despite trying to stay composed, her
voice dropped to a whisper. She smiled bravely.
“But my mom swears
by her,” Kara said. “Mom wouldn’t listen to some kook.”
“Madame Bonafide
was too vague to be wrong. She’s mastered manipulating people who are
afraid to follow their hearts.” Glori stepped back, irritated by her
own philosophy.
A howl drifted from
the hedges. It twisted around the palm trees lining Glori’s property
and brushed the tips of cattails running along the hedges.
Glori hugged her
bag against her chest and swallowed hard, uncertain whether she’d seen
a grotesque face among the leaves. “Did you hear something?”
“You’re so jumpy
these days. It must be the caffeine from all that chocolate you eat.
I’m going to have to put you on nutritious diet.” Kara jutted out her
chin to make her Mussolini face.
“It sounded like a
cat fight. Must be some of those strays from the river.” Glori
laughed, relieved Kara’s pouty moment had passed.
Kara glanced at her
diamond-studded watch and clicked her tongue. “Sorry I got you back
so late. I know your conservative mom has dinner ready by six o’clock
on school nights.”
“Mom just dresses a
certain way as an act of humility. Salt of the earth kind of thing.”
Glori tried not to
be embarrassed by her modest parents; they were good people, after
all. It was ironic they were modest compared to the flashy Royal Palm
Grove crowd since her dad developed the community along with most of
Central Florida. Mom was more complicated. She acted older than a
woman in her sixties. Black and navy dominated her wardrobe and her
hair never seemed to know what it was supposed to do.
A cormorant landed
in a tree and stretched his wings, catching a blush of the sinking
sun. From the darkest recesses of the palm trees, a figure shifted
and then vanished.
“Did you see that?
I know you saw him,” Glori said.
“Your contacts
aren’t bothering you again, are they?”
“There was a
little, dark –” Glori couldn’t think of the kind of animal.
“Spider?” Kara
scooted toward her steering wheel and wiped her seat.
“A squatty face on
an enormous opossum’s body. Staring at us.”
“Well, tell him I’d
stay for some of your mother’s fudge, but I have to study for our big
history exam tomorrow.”
“Me, too. Thanks
for the ride. And for helping me figure out my life. I’ve got to get
out before I lose my mind. I was thinking if I moved to New York,
there would be lots of snow. I’ve never seen snow before.”
“It’s decided. Go
with New York. So, we’re on for sneaking over to Ybor City this
Saturday? It’s your night to drive,” Kara said.
“I’ve got curfew at
midnight. It’s too far for me to get back in time,” Glori said.
“You’re going to be
on your own soon. It’s time you stood up for yourself,” Kara said.
“I don’t want to
hurt Mom’s feelings. She gets upset when I least expect it,” Glori
said.
“Start by telling
her you need a car,” Kara said, with a twist of her wrist. Without
looking back, she glided out of the driveway.
“I’ll do that,”
Glori mumbled to herself.
Glori turned toward
her stucco house and looked at the cobwebs in the window sills.
Wilted peace lilies ran the length of the loggia shading the front
door. She never swept away the cobwebs or replaced the flowers – and
neither did her mother.
Glori entered
through the garage because she couldn’t open the front door. It had
been blocked since she was six or seven. Holding her breath so the
musty smell didn’t overwhelm her, she swung the door shut. Mom had
taped wax paper over the glass, and had topped it off with a layer of
foil, “for privacy.” Before walking through the laundry room, Glori
made sure she put her keys in her purse so she wouldn’t lose them.
Zigzagging around the clothes piled on the floor, she sighed. To
reach the breakfast room, she pushed aside Dad’s shirts. Although
unworn for several years, they remained hanging from a metal clamp on
the door.
The breakfast area
was a junkyard. It had been impossible to sit at the table ever since
Glori turned twelve. She paused to admire her kindergarten finger
paintings, ripped and still taped to the walls. She was flattered Mom
appreciated them. The foil wrapped around the window unit, “to keep
out the wind,” crinkled cheerfully.
The
Revolutionary Princess
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