Michael

Given a set of extraordinary circumstances, a person can respond in either of two ways. One, crumble in the face of overwhelming adversity and be forever swallowed by it, or two, find a previously unknown inner reserve of strength and courage allowing them to rise to the challenge.

For eighteen years, Michael Hearst had floated through life, spoiled, able to absolve himself of all responsibilities, using his name and position to place himself above others with little or no regard for the effects he had on those others. Right here, right now, huddled on hands and knees in the hollow between two pillows on his sister’s bed, Michael had his moment of epiphany. He could simply surrender to the self-pity drowning him, or he could fight. Giving up would be easy.

In a moment of absolute clarity, it seemed as if his entire life flashed through his mind. Although he knew he had been a shit, he now understood the deeper ramifications of his behavior and the effects he had on others. Did he deserve to be made small? Perhaps, though he didn’t know. What he did know was that he was no longer going to be the hapless pawn in this drama unfolding around him. No longer was he going to be a piece of driftwood at the mercy of the waves. No longer would he blubber and sob at his misfortune. Nodding slowly, he wiped his tear streaked face and sniffling nose. He would not go gentle into the void.

Lowering himself down the crevasse between the mattress of the bed and the headboard, he managed to get down onto the box spring. Following it to the side of the bed, he grabbed hold of the edge of the quilt draping down from atop the bed and lowered himself close to the floor, dropping the rest of the way. Landing on the soft carpet, he paused to look around.

The sounds coming from above were those of passion and love play. He suspected Mirielle now understood or at least had a greater appreciation for what it was to be at the whim of another. A smile crossed his smile, not because he took delight in Mirielle’s situation, but because he did not feel spiteful or vindictive, instead only compassion and commiseration.

Commiseration? Reflecting back, he knew he could not honestly say that his entire handling had been distasteful.

Shaking his head, he skirted along the edge of the wall, arriving at the door. Dropping down low, he crawled under the narrow space and into the hall. This was indeed the Hearst home, the sense of familiarity giving him a small measure of comfort. At least he knew the lay of the land.

He could hear the sounds of two voices coming from down below as he hurried down the hall. He didn’t understand the words they were speaking but the tone suggested they were arguing. Deciding he wanted to see what was happening, he crossed the carpeted floor, taking cover near one of the spindles under the railing overlooking the landing below.

There were two women standing in the foyer almost toe to toe, engaged in a heated and animated conversation, body language full of arm gestures and gesticulation. One of the women was clearly Lucie, shaking her lovely head and waggling an index finger at the other woman. He didn’t recognize the other woman but her resemblance to Lucie was enough to suggest they were related, perhaps a slightly older sister. She possessed long dark hair with a slight wave, dark eyes. She was beautiful and defiant as she allowed Lucie to speak.

When Lucie was done, the other woman replied in the same language, then he saw it, when she moved her arms and the shawl across her shoulders shifted. The spangled necklace around the throat of the other woman. The exact same spangled necklace he had seen on Lucie who had turned out to be not Lucie. It had to be Adelina. Could she change her appearance at will? Had she been wearing it the day she had cursed him? He couldn’t remember.

He felt the prickly fingers of fear in his gut. He refused to be debilitated by the sensation, resolving himself to use the cautioning sensation. He wondered after the nature of the conversation. Why was Lucie here? What were they fighting about? Did it involve him and Mirielle?

She had tried to warn him, convince him to make amends and he had foolishly ignored her. He frowned. If maybe he could somehow get her alone, would she be receptive to aiding him or Mirielle?

His concealment felt too limited, leaving him vulnerable and exposed, He decided he needed a better place to hide. The problem was where. When Madison discovered he was gone, which would now be much sooner than later, where would she look? That’s the first place she would think he would go would be to his room, somewhere he might feel safe. He nodded, that’s where she would look for him first. He chuckled to himself, it was actually the first place the old Michael wanted to go so it was most definitely out.

If only he could get downstairs, there were so many ideal places he could hide himself down there. Plus, Lucie was down there. Imperative bid him move, but seeing Lucie so close made him reluctant to leave. She was here now, and if she left the house, he doubted she would ever return.

Indecision paralyzed him, Should he just go hide? Dad’s room maybe? Or, should he try and catch Lucie’s attention? Adelina suddenly turned and walked away from the entryway, out of his field of view and deeper into the house, Lucie on her heels.

Michael’s new found sense of self leapt into action. Running to the stairs, he lowered himself over the edge, hanging by his hands. Glancing down, the space beneath his feet was still about ten feet. Releasing his grip, he dropped down, tucking and rolling.

The impact was less than he thought. Hustling quickly, he descended another stair, then another. Then he heard the sounds of the voices drawing closer from below.

Determined, he made his way down two more stairs when Adelina came into his line of sight. He immediately tucked himself behind one of the spindles under the bannister. He could feel his heart racing.

“Enough!” Adelina barked, this time in English, shaking her head assertively. “We shall discuss this no further.”

“No,” Lucie replied, shaking her own head. “You must undo this thing,” she said, “before irreparable harm has occurred.”

Adelina snorted, indignantly. “What is done is done.”