Kzine Issue 15 Page 5

  The king and queen stood and signaled the end of the meal. Feeling dreamy and sated, Arra rose slowly. They took her hands and led her from the room and down corridors that twisted and turned like serpents.

  “Where are we going?” Arra asked. This path she recognized not at all.

  They reached an immense double-door guarded by solemn guards, who stood at the ready with their hands on their sword hilts. The guards bowed them through the doors.

  Arra’s breath caught as they stepped inside the cavernous hall. Sunlight streamed through colored glass windows casting rainbows over the floor. Silver beams crisscrossed so high above to look at them made Arra dizzy. A jewel-toned carpet stretched the length of the room from the doors at the back a mile long to the black wood dais, where glittering silver thrones with towers of crystals along their backs stood.

  The largest, with the purple cushion, awaited the king. To the left sat the red-cushioned throne of the queen. A silver stool sat to the right of the king’s throne. A small silver crown set with diamonds rested atop the stool’s pink cushion.

  Her crown! She’d told Bess so many times about her glittering crown with the silver-lined diamond heart in its center.

  A herald boomed out, “King Tremon, Queen Briavel and the Princess Arrabess.”

  Cheering filled the hall as the king and queen escorted Arra to the dais. Arra’s heart filled with joy. All these people were happy to see her. All of them. They loved her! Loved her better than Ballina! No one was ever so excited to see Ballina. Her mother the queen set the crown atop her head and kissed her. Her father gave her a kiss and helped her to her seat.

  As he took his seat, the bowing courtiers quieted. Tremon began to speak about this joyous day that brought their beloved princess home. The words made Arra’s heart sing, but she grew uneasy. The courtiers should be focused on their king, but they stole glances at Arra throughout his speech. By its end, Arra changed her mind. She didn’t like having a whole court staring and picking apart her every detail. She hugged Bess tight.

  King Tremon nodded. The herald stepped away from the wall and hollered, “Bring forth the prisoners.”

  Arra froze. All blood drained from her face. Five guards marched into the room. The first dragged her father, her real father, not this fantasy king, between them. Blood covered his face. Bruises and scrapes showed through his tattered and torn shirt and pants.

  The next two guards towed her mother forward. Her true mother. The one who’d raised and cared for her since she was born. More dirt than blood showed on her clothes and face, but her clothes were ripped and her hair a disheveled mess. Arra had never seen her in such a state.

  Lastly came a guard carrying tiny Ballina. She was as dirty as their mother. Tears streamed down her dirt-encrusted cheeks. She cried out for her mommy, over and over, and strained forward in the guards’ arms.

  Arra whipped around to stare at the queen and king. How could they treat her parents like this?

  The king and queen looked nothing like the smiling, happy parents of her dreams and stories. The king faced her family with a terrible scowling visage. Black rage filled his eyes. The queen’s eyes narrowed. Her mouth bent in a sharp frown.

  Arra squirmed uncomfortably. Queen Briavel caught her gaze and shook her head. Arra looked from her parents to the Queen. She opened her mouth, but the queen shook her head as the king began to speak.

  “We see no need to list your crimes nor proceed with the pretense of a trial. Nothing can give back to Us the years of Our precious daughter’s life that you stole. No fate We condemn you to will fix the anguish you have wrought. We needn’t deliberate. Death. By hanging. At dawn.” He waved his hand.

  Her mother fainted in the guards’ arms. Ballina screamed and screamed. The child’s uproar drowned out Arra’s father’s protests. Courtiers whispered amongst themselves. The guards dragged the three down the carpet towards the doors.

  Arra turned to the king. “You can’t! You cannot kill them! They’re my parents!”

  The queen closed her eyes briefly. The king sighed and shook his head. “No, Arrabess, we are your parents. You recognized us when you arrived. Remember? You are a princess. Those two stole you from us when you were small.

  “I am glad they took such care of you that you wish to protect them, but they hurt us all badly. Your abduction was treason. They must pay for that crime.”

  The Queen raised Arra to her feet and they escorted her out of the throne room.

  Arra shook her head. No! This world was true and that life was true too! “Ballina is only a baby! How could she have abducted me? She wasn’t even born.”

  “And what else might we do with her?” Queen Briavel stroked Arra’s head.

  “A child of traitors will grown up with desire to avenge her parents’ deaths.” King Tremon shook his head. “If we let her live now, we’ll have to kill her later and who knows what might be lost due to such mercy. The child could grow up and succeed in killing you or your mother the queen. Would you wish that?”

  * * *

  Arra passed the afternoon alone with servants. None of them could help. She knew better than to even ask that they beg the king for mercy on her behalf. Never had she felt so lost or confused. She couldn’t even confide in Bess. A seamstress forced Arra to stand about in her underthings while her assistants measured her, and they discussed fabrics and laces.

  They dressed her in purple, ivory and gold for the night’s welcome feast. A maid curled her hair and dressed it with ribbons and pearls. Arra had never looked more beautiful and felt more miserable. She hid her pain by dressing Bess in a matching gown.

  A hundred candles, possibly two hundred, lit the hall in golden light. The courtiers glittered in gold and silver and all types of jewels. Each came to the royal table where Arra sat between the king and queen. They brought fantastic gifts to welcome their princess home. New jewels, new gowns. Both the kitten and the puppy of her heart’s desire.

  Arra wearied of forcing a smile and offering polite thanks. Her parents were hurt and locked in the dungeon. This wasn’t right.

  Servants carried out all her favorite foods. Arra couldn’t eat. Her stomach twisted and turned. The queen and king ate and laughed and talked with their court, but one kept a hand on Arra at all times. They patted her hand or knee, squeezed her shoulder and planted kisses on her head.

  Their warmth melted the ice frosted around her heart. They loved her so. She’d always known they would. No one and nothing mattered more to them than she did. She’d be able to talk them into letting her other parents go. The queen and king loved her. They wouldn’t want to mar her homecoming with such sorrow. They couldn’t.

  Arra smiled. No, they would never hang mother and dad. That wasn’t part of her story. She laughed at the jugglers and gasped in awe at the acrobats. The dancers were beautiful and the bard moved everyone, even Arra, to tears and laughter.

  Dinner ended and six servants entered the room bearing a giant cake in the shape of a swan. Gold tipped the swan’s wings. Its black eyes glittered like onyx. Arra was served the first piece. She’d never tasted anything so good.

  * * *

  The queen and king escorted her back to her room. Two guards stood outside her door. They’d passed another dozen on their way to Arra’s chambers. The king and queen tucked her into bed and covered her face with kisses.

  “Sweet dreams, princess mine,” the queen caressed Arra’s head.

  “Mother?” Arra asked.

  “Yes, my love?” The queen beamed.

  “I don’t want them to die.”

  The queen jerked sharply back. She exchanged a black look with the king. “Don’t worry over it, daughter. That part of your life is done. You needn’t think of them anymore.”

  Arra sat up. “But I don’t want them to die! They’re my parents too and I—”

  “Shh!” The queen laid a finger over Arra’s lips. “Go to sleep. These matters need not concern you. Tomorrow we’ll have great fun. We will
tour the grounds and take you down to the city—”

  “But will you kill them at dawn?”

  The king and queen looked at each other again.

  “Please. Please, don’t.” Arra bit her lip.

  “You’ll understand better when you’re older.” The king gave her a last kiss and escorted the queen from the room.

  Arra hugged Bess tight. Tears slipped down her face. They didn’t listen. “They’re not supposed to do this! It’s not supposed to be like this. No one’s supposed to die.”

  Arra took a great sobbing breath. “I didn’t make this story to be like this. I don’t like it. I want to go home.”

  She buried her face in Bess’ hair and sobbed. She heard a sigh. Her head shot up. The room was empty. Must have been a draft. She hugged Bess tighter.

  Her room at home didn’t make strange noises at night. It was cozy and safe. “It’s too weird here. It’s beautiful and…” she gasped for breath. “And someone loves me… they both love me…but I want to go home!”

  Tears overtook her again. She sobbed into her pillow.

  “This is what you wanted. You asked and asked for this. It took a lot of work to create the world of your story, your dream.” Startled, Arra sat up and surveyed the room. No one forced her to sleep in the dark here. Tiny globes of light sparkled on the table. They lit the room well enough to show that no one was there.

  Arra hugged Bess close. Her own thoughts. That’s all it must have been.

  Just like this place was. It was a dream. She’d made all this up. So. Maybe she could fix it.

  She hugged Bess closer and took a deep breath.

  “Once upon a time, there was a plain girl named Arra, who no one ever paid any attention to. She dreamed and dreamed that she was really a stolen princess. One days the fairies heard her story and decided to play a terrible, cruel trick. They kidnapped the girl and took her parents away under threat of death. But the girl knew the truth and she knew how to save them…”

  LOVELY GIRL

  by Kathleen Wolak

  “Hello there, Maggie. I’m Doctor Fisk—can I grab you a bottle of water or anything before we begin?”

  I was shaken out of my daze by the young doctor’s friendly, but somehow sharp voice. This man was definitely one of the personable therapists. The kind that made you feel as though his office was a womb—a safe, non-threatening environment. Outside though, well that was anybody’s guess.

  I shook my head at his offer and tried to smile warmly at my new doctor. I knew my smile was coming across as pained and forced. Even when I was a child, people would tell me that when I smiled, it looked like I was wincing. It happened so much that I pretty much gave up on smiling altogether.

  Doctor Fisk nodded and sat down on a shiny, dark red chair. He put his notes and pen down on a table next to him and rested his hands on his lap, keeping his gaze somewhere around my head the whole time.

  “So,” he finally said, “why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself before we really delve deep into what happened at Gaustad?”

  I stiffened, making the shiny black couch I was sitting on screech. I hated when therapists played the ‘let’s get to know you’ game. It was exhausting.

  “Well,” I started. “My name is Maggie James. I’m twenty-eight and I was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was fourteen. I like dogs, but I’m not allowed to have one, and some day, I would like to have my own talk show.”

  Doctor Fisk stared purposefully into my eyes. “Do you often use humor to avoid talking about real issues?”

  I stared back at him with what I felt was equal intensity. “I thought you just wanted to get to know me better.”

  Fisk nodded. “I do, Maggie. Do you really want your own talk show?”

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like a bad gig. If someone were to offer one to me, I bet I would take it.”

  “Mm-hmm. Well, I bet I would too. But do you? Use humor, I mean— as a coping mechanism? On your form here, when it asks you to describe your mental illness, you just put ‘you bet’.”

  “I’m sorry.” I broke my gaze with Fisk and focused instead on the wilting fern in the corner of his office. “Your plant needs water.”

  Fisk looked to where I was pointing and made a weird sighing noise. He was getting frustrated.

  “Okay, let’s just jump right in to why you’re here now. It’s been two weeks since you’ve been back in the states. How are you feeling about what happened at Gaustad?”

  He was wrong. I had only been back from Gaustad, the Norwegian mental hospital for six days. I wondered briefly if I should correct him, but I decided against it. He already didn’t like me.

  My parents decided to pack me up and send me off to the Gaustad Facility two months ago. I had arrived at their front door after my boyfriend and I broke up and he threw me out of his apartment. We had made a deal when we moved in together—if I took my meds religiously and held down a job, he wouldn’t even ask me to pay rent. It sounded like such a sweet deal that I agreed and stayed with it until it was time for my refill. I conveniently forgot to go to the pharmacy that day and he came home to what I thought was a perfect home-cooked meal. I remember the panicked look on his face when he frantically searched the apartment for his bird, Jerry. The weird thing was that I didn’t even remember killing the bird. But there he was on a bed of lettuce, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane—style on the kitchen table. He wanted to hit me, but instead just took one look at his entre, gathered my few possessions and threw them out the third floor window.

  “I don’t think it was helpful,” I said quietly to Doctor Fisk.

  When I rang my parents’ doorbell that night and explained what had happened, they didn’t even flinch. My mother just put down her cocktail and strode over to the ornate desk that sat in the great room of our house. She calmly pulled open a drawer and withdrew a piece of paper. Without saying a word, she went to her handbag, took out her phone and proceeded to dial while shutting herself in one of the guest rooms. My father just shook his head and went back to watching television in the living room, leaving me to stand alone in the cavernous entrance of their Long Island mansion. I hated how big their house was—there was no need for so much empty space.

  After a few minutes, my mother emerged from the guest room with a larger piece of paper and a look of accomplishment on her face.

  “Maggie, honey. Listen to me carefully. I think, well your father and I think that it’s time for extreme action. This isn’t the first time you’ve purposefully forgotten your meds and have been completely destructive.”

  I nodded, still taking note of how unnecessarily large their house was. Even as a child—an only child—I couldn’t fathom why they owned this house.

  “MAGGIE!” My mother snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Listen! We are sending you to a facility in Norway. Just for a few months. It’s supposed to be the absolute best in the world, and clearly the hospitals around here have done nothing for you. This is our last resort. Hopefully, the doctors there will be able to help you. And if this doesn’t work-well, I just don’t know.”

  She looked at me sadly before grabbing my arm and leading me upstairs. “We leave first thing in the morning.” When we reached the top of the stairs, she directed me towards my old bedroom. “I hope you know that this is costing your father and I a lot of money, but we love you and know that this is for the best.”

  She gently shoved me into my room and closed the door behind her. I could hear a key turning to lock the door, and she was gone. I paced around my room for a few hours, thinking about what had happened. At the beginning of the night, I had a boyfriend, and a place to live. Sure Greg was a bit sloppy, and he watched television all the time, but he was my companion. As for our apartmen— it was small and cramped and it smelled of mildew, but it was nice to have a place to go and just relax. Now, I was homeless, pacing in a childhood bedroom with bars on the windows and padding on the sharp corners of the dresser. Another problem with having a huge h
ouse is that rooms rarely get redecorated.

  “Why wasn’t what happened at Gaustad helpful, Maggie? In your opinion?” Fisk was writing things down now, in a leather bound notebook.

  I looked once more at his dying fern. “It—it wasn’t the hospital’s fault. I was very distracted when I was there.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well,” I looked around his office for something else to hold my attention. “It was just that there was this other girl there-well, woman I guess. She…” I trailed off, hoping for a subject change.

  Fisk looked at me expectantly. “She what, Maggie? How did this woman affect your treatment?”

  I started to rock quickly on the couch, making it whine with every movement. Somehow, this calmed me down.

  “Doctor Fisk—I met the devil in there.”

  Fisk quietly put down his notebook and leaned forward. “What makes you think that, Maggie?”

  I narrowed my eyes at Fisk. I hated when anybody was condescending but I particularly abhorred the behavior in doctors. “No-no I don’t think that. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true, Doctor Fisk. I met the devil in that place.”

  My mother was my traveling companion to Norway. The entire flight, there was not one word spoken between us, and when we landed, there was a doctor waiting at the gate for me.

  “Miss James, I presume?”

  The doctor extended his hand to me and smiled heartily at my mother. “Will you be joining us to see your daughter off, or is our fairy tale to end here?”

  I liked this doctor. He was a jovial, middle-aged man who spoke with a perfect British accent. I wondered if he was from Norway and learned this accent to make outsiders feel more at home.

  My mother looked completely taken aback, as if he had asked if she would pleasure him on the tarmac. She quickly shook her head.

  “Uhm, no. No, Doctor…” she quickly glanced at her phone. “Jenson. I’ll be staying in a rental in Oslo for a couple of days then I am heading back to the states. Maggie is a big girl, and I trust she’s in good hands with you.”