The Lightning Witch Read online

  “Don’t worry. I will keep an eye out for you. You do have friends here,” Jones whispered to me just before Simon lurched me from his grasp. I was thrust inside another room.

  It was a shower hall of sorts, but this was no spa. Mildew spread over the tiles and made its way up the walls and corners of the brown-splotched ceiling. Shower heads jutted out of the crumbling splash tiles and dripped in an eerie constant rhythm. Another door closed behind me, and I realized my escorts, Jones and Simon, were gone.

  Two nurses appeared out of nowhere. They were tiny things that seemed like skeletons wrapped in skin that stretched when they smiled a grotesque and disturbing smile. They wore the same nurses’ uniforms with brown shoes and knobby knees poking through their hose. Both of their hair was pulled back in excruciatingly tight buns that made their eyes jut out and their cheeks taut. The only real difference between them was that one was a full two feet taller.

  “I’m Lydia, and thiz iz my zizta Franchezka.” The shorter one gestured to the almost identical woman at her side, who deepened her smile. Her accent was Romanian or something strong and foreign. “We are zeer to help you wisth tzhe batzhing and disenfechtion.”

  “Well, thank you, but I can manage—”

  In an instant, they were on me, ripping my clothes off. I didn’t even see them move, they were so fast. Their nails were sharp, like pointy needles that I could feel all over me as they prepared me for bathing.

  As they removed my clothes, their eye balls staring, lips licking themselves, Lydia wrapped a metallic bracelet around each of my wrists. They were not name plated, just heavy and unbreakable. I felt weighed down suddenly, and everything felt off, as if I’d awoken from a restless sleep but was still fuzzy. I turned my hands over so I could see them. I looked at her with a question in my eyes, and she shook a finger at me.

  “Zo you get up to no funny ztuff or perform tricks.”

  I realized in horror what she’d just put on me. I had heard of these binding instruments from stories of ancient times of our people who were kidnapped and bound with a certain metal that would prohibit their use of magic. This little bitch had just smothered my power. Not that I had much in that department anyway, but that was beside the point. I picked at the edges, looking for a way out of them.

  “Zay are zare for good now.” Francheska looked down at me with a pleased nod. I could’ve slapped her. I may have been without my element, but I’d still had a few other powers that I was able to tap into. But not anymore with these handcuffs.

  Before I could lose my shit on these crazy bitches, I was quickly inserted by Lydia under the shower head, my feet slipping on the slime of the shower floor. The water came on so freezing cold I had to wonder how it hadn’t become ice in the pipe. They scrubbed me with a rough soap and an even rougher sponge as they moved at near-lightning speed. All I could do was shiver in shock.

  Next I was brought into a room off the main shower. The Needle Twins stopped their fussing with me and donned masks that covered their entire faces. They both turned to me in unison. I shivered, covering myself as best I could with my arms and hands. My teeth chattered as I tried to form a sentence.

  “W-why a-are y-y-ou w-ear…”

  Clouds of dust puffed out all over me. I could hear their high-pitched laughing. Clearly they enjoyed their job way too much.

  When the dust storm settled, the masks were on a table, and the Needle Twins were nowhere to be found. I coughed and tried to blink through the particles to spot them. I felt clothing fall over my head and the sharp nails pulling my arms through holes in the garment. It was a scratchy fabric and very loose fitting. I was now clothed in a sack-like dress that was stained with flecks of old blood, which looked more like rust now.

  Two strong hands propped on my shoulders and forced me down—onto a chair, luckily enough. They flew around me as a new rain began to fall around me like feathers. It became clear quickly what they were doing now.

  They took my hair, hacking away at my long, golden mane, chopping crudely with gigantic scissors. I opened my hands as pieces of myself floated down and rested there like fallen feathers from a bird, immediately losing its luster and shine, now dead in my hands like crisp leaves. I looked at the two women, more like monsters than members of my own sex. They stood back and admired their work. They seemed convinced they had to cut away anything beautiful or natural.

  I screamed.

  Chapter Three

  The bathing was only the first stage of torture in this godforsaken place, I would soon find out.

  I felt more a prisoner than a patient. Over the next few days, I realized that when I fought back, my efforts were rewarded by the prick of a needle that flooded my system with strong drugs that made me extremely passive or comatose for hours.

  Everyone, especially Simon and the Needle Twins, seemed to relish in their duties. It must have provided them with some obscene pleasure, relieving the sickest part of themselves. I was treated like dirt, like less than a person, as were the other patients, who were all withdrawn and maniacal, throwing fits and tantrums and screaming every so often to remind themselves they were still alive. How Lady Veronica could look me straight in the eye and proclaim this was a place for healing was beyond me. She stayed true to her word in one part. We were not allowed outside. If we tried, it would be treated as a breakout, punishable by time in the Chair, which was a fate worse than death.

  I had been imprisoned at Shadow Hills for close to a month now, every day more horrifying than the last. I had arrived here weak and beaten, a shell of a human looking for her spirit to find its way home again. Whatever grand design I was assured by Doctor Flam this place had, I learned pretty quickly that his and Lady Veronica’s pledges could not be any more wrong.

  I had made a horrid mistake. I had entrusted people. This time it was the medical industry, proving to me once again that this type of enterprise would never be for healing. I had turned my back on the holistic healing of Hayden to seek out…what? This dark and demeaning clan of fakers posing as professionals? My soul had screamed at me as I was standing in the hall with Lady Veronica that day, and I had ignored it. I signed my name, even though my senses had cried out and folded in on themselves when they could not turn me from Shadow Hills. Lady Veronica had worn a smile that curled like a scorpion’s tail as soon as the papers had been authorized and were back in her hands.

  After they took my hair and powdered and sprayed me, I was then force-fed pills that were quick to take effect. One man, the orderly named Jones, was still the kindest to me. I could not let go of fearing him or anyone else here, for not only did I trust no man outside of my family these days but also he wore the same uniform as the rest of them. Therefore I painted him with the same brush I did the rest of these heinous people. He always talked to me in a soothing voice and reassured me it would be okay. His words fell on deaf ears with me, because this place was the furthest thing from okay. His visits were always brief, with the rest of the nurses and orderlies shuffling in and out. Finally I was carried to a cell and tied to the bed. I was left for days.

  Lady Veronica only arrived when I was being difficult, the Needle Twins at the ready, always behind her, following her around like evil ducks. I rarely saw her, so I assumed she gave direction behind the scenes. I cursed her. It was bad enough, what men did to women in this world—but for a woman to mistreat another woman? It seemed there would be a special place in hell for such a betrayal.

  I would scream until my throat was raw. I would plead with anyone to let me out, as I had signed myself in, so surely I should be allowed to leave of my own accord. No such luck. As soon as you sign your life over to someone or an institution, you are that institute’s possession, and you have no rights.

  I tried to use my magic, but what little magic I had left in me was suffocated beneath these metal bracelets.

  How could I ever have believed they could or would make me better? No one would or could heal within these pale lime walls, chipping at the base
boards, cracks creeping up the walls haphazardly. Scratch marks lined the inside of every door. Old blood stained almost everything. Water stains painted the ceilings. The floors were concrete, holding zero warmth and only awaiting the smack of a fresh cheek that struck there when pile-driven into the floor by one of the guards.

  We were barely fed. When we were, it was gruel of some unknown source that made hunger look like satiation. If we denied our meals, we were force-fed, the Needle Twins hurriedly running in the rooms with tubes and bladders of filth, excited grins and mad eyes. They shoved their insertions through our nostrils as their needle like nails poked and scratched skin.

  “For your own good,” they said.

  If we resisted further, Simon would hold us down.

  Magic was not a resource inside of these walls. The heavy metal doors slammed and echoed upon arrival and shut out whatever nature had bestowed on us. Even so, the heavy bracelets courtesy of the Needle Twins most definitely were the contingency plan, like a double block and bleed on a valve to prevent any magic filtering through.

  At my most desperate moments, in the ice baths used to control our tempers, during the hard nights when you would have to fight for your life from the drunken orderlies, I gave my all to summon my elements. But the bracelets and then the concrete, cement, and metal blocked the world from us, leaving no such hope.

  When I was on the brink of insanity, I had to laugh. I left one hell, which I had walked into willingly before, only to walk right back into a fresh new one! I could picture Lou, if he could see me now—what a laugh he would get out of this.

  I realized quickly that I had to behave. I had to submit. I had to swallow their food, eat their pills, do what I was told. I began to receive privileges. I was moved to a new room that had a small window. It was barred up, but I was so excited for it. I was also allowed access to the common room, where the walking wounded was housed. The lightless eyes of the older patients stared at checkerboards, hands unmoving while the younger patients danced with frowning faces to some unheard song.

  But one ray of sunshine came into my decrepit life: I met my first friend of Shadow Hills.

  Chapter Four

  She was rough around the edges but with a semblance of innocence not lost from this place—a young girl with quick eyes and lithe movements. She wore the same garb as me, and we honestly looked almost like sisters, with our haunted eyes and sunken cheeks. Except for the fact that her hair had grown out some, now matted in places and dull from lack of sunlight. I wondered how long she had been here. I estimated two years from her hair growth, but it could even be longer than that.

  It was hard to discern her age. She seemed young at times, but her eyes told a tale of an older soul. She was sweet but guarded, having learned a hard lesson repeatedly, I was sure. She was too young to be a woman but too old to be a girl. Shadows crossed her face repeatedly, but she still had a small sparkle in her eyes that told a tale of hope.

  She would grab my hand, and we would run down the halls, feeling a small semblance of freedom. We would sit in corners and whisper, like girls do, with a world of secrets. She would sneak into my room at night and curl up next to me. It reminded me of Betty and the way she would do the same thing. I would hum songs to her, and she would drift off to a restless sleep.

  Beth was all I had in that disgusting place. I looked forward to seeing her every day. I decided quickly that I had two goals now. My first goal was to protect us both from the terrors of Shadow Hills. We were prisoners here. The employees were agents of oppression, not healers and doctors. They were our enemies.

  My other goal was to find a way out.

  To keep my sanity until I could find a way out, I hung onto Beth closely. It kept my mind working normally, and I felt a sense of purpose in my urgency to protect her. She loved to read, mostly fantasy books. She loved to breathe hard on the windows and trace little shapes with her fingers, her nails chewed down to the quick.

  One particularly cold night, Beth sat at the window tracing out shapes. She had some trouble squeezing her hands between the steel bars. She carefully slipped her bracelets off, as she wore the same set I had been given by the Needle Twins. Her wrists were so small that it was a relatively easy feat. She breathed out long and slowly on the window again. I noticed that the little shapes she drew began to dance on the window, as if Beth had breathed life into them.

  The little house puffed smoke from its chimney; the cats stretched and yawned, their tails curling high; stick figures of families hugged each other; and dogs wagged their tails.

  “Beth! That is amazing!” I sat up and was in awe of her trick. She grinned widely and came and snuggled into me, trying to get warm, and we watched the scene unfurl on the frosty window set on the backdrop of iced-over bars.

  Her happy scene of characters suddenly morphed and became all too clear. A mother died, and a father and a small child were left to fend for themselves, struggling inside of their grief. A new stick figure woman showed up and displayed kindness and love, as seen in the floating of small hearts. They embraced and became a family—complete at last. A wedding took place, but the new female stick figure became cruel and would not acknowledge the child stick figure. The child lashed out with her magic and frustration, all in the wish for love from a mother that this woman would not give her. The woman became large and menacing, fearful of the child’s powers, and then the tiny house with the puffing chimney cracked down the centre as the rest of the house fell. The scene faded quickly with the loss of humidity. I looked down in my arms to Beth, who was cowering and sucking her thumb. Wet streaks trailed down her soft cheeks as she watched her memory disappear.

  How could someone so young have so many sad memories? It broke my heart.

  Beth got me out of bed every day. She gave me a purpose and an inclination to survive in here. I liked to think I gave her that as well. I felt a responsibility to take care of her. I had always wondered who had brought her here and if they would ever come and seek her out. Now I was beginning to understand.

  We talked about a lot of stuff, but never about her family.

  “Is this where you came from, Beth? You know—in the real world?” I gently moved her over to face me.

  “In the real world?” Her eyes clouded over as she stared off, as if trying to remember.

  “Yeah.” I treaded carefully. “Was this your family? Is this what happened before you came here?” I pointed at the smudged window.

  She shook her head and looked off, a look of fear on her face as she began mumbling to herself.

  “I know it must be hard for you to talk about.” I thought of the evil stepmother and the shattering house.

  “We won’t talk about that.” She raised her voice and shook her head repeatedly. I was losing her.

  “Beth, darling, you can talk to me, okay? I am your friend. I am here for you.” I couldn’t imagine not talking or thinking about my family, about all my loved ones I left behind. I pictured their faces every night and whispered their names in the dark as I said my prayers. I had something to look forward to, something to hope for. Beth was all alone in here.

  “Y-you w-will see. You will see. It’s better this-s way. Nothing to remember, n-nothing to miss, n-nothing to lose.” She bit her nails and rocked slowly, eyes wide and darting. I watched her, feeling fear in my belly. I had never seen her this way. What else had created this adamance to not lay claim to her identity? The step mother was obviously a bitch, but what became of her father?

  Suddenly, the time of her stay at Shadow Hills showed on her face. She was not a young girl now, fresh out of childhood. She was an old woman, wrinkles etched deep into her face, her lips cracked as they mouthed soundless words. Her fingers were gnarled as she curled them around each other, as if trying to make a prayer to save her soul.

  I was in shock. I was truly seeing Beth for the first time. I realized this was the sacrifice she had to make in order to survive in here for as long as she has. She was living in some illusion th
at this had always been her life. Not once had I heard her mention her past—not even her childhood—in the few weeks I’d known her until she drew the magical drawing tonight. I felt such pity for her then. I at least had Beth to help me through, but in her time before I arrived, I believe she was all alone here.

  She began shaking uncontrollably, and tears flowed, releasing her heartbreak onto our laps.

  I cooed to her and patted her back. “It’s okay, Beth. We don’t have to talk about any of that.”

  Finally she slowed down, and the innocence and smoothness returned to her face. She looked around as if she were lost. She found me and smiled wide. My heart broke again for her. She pulled a small pin from the mattress and went to work on my bracelets.

  “Beth, honey, it’s no use; they won’t come—”

  Before I could finish my sentence, the heavy metal bracelets fell to the floor with a clang. Beth smiled in accomplishment.

  I couldn’t believe it. I rubbed the tender flesh of my wrists and felt a surge coming through me. My hands felt lighter, and my spirit came up inside me to sing.

  What an amazing child! Or—woman? I hugged Beth tightly. Her little body was so cold and still shivering. I could feel her sadness permeate through to me. I held her back.

  I had to see this for myself. I wouldn’t ask her to relive painful memories by explaining or drawing them out. I held my hands out to her. She understood and reluctantly opened herself up to me.

  With my hands on her face, I closed my eyes to absorb what I could. Just when I was about to wonder if I could still do this, my magic worked! I could see her now, in my mind’s eye, as a child with severe night terrors and daily tantrums caused by sleepless nights due to the loss of her mother to a terrible sickness. I could see a father desperate to heal his daughter and give her a mother. A fed-up stepmother, who never loved her or wanted to share in the father’s affection, was all too eager to bring her to the clinic once she realized the girl had magical inclinations. Beth was sent to the slaughter.