Fire And Smoke

“Give her body to me.”

The night security guard held open the glass front doors of the morgue. “Can’t. Rules.” He was a man of his environment: square jaw, square shoulders, breath the acrid combination of ash and damp city street with eyes the brown of filthy brick. His shoulders brushed both sides of the frame as he loomed over the wiry, straight backed woman with salt and pepper hair tied in a bun.

Ludmina sized him up. He seemed the angry type; at all the ways he was average, unable to resist overcompensating in the ways he wasn’t. His dull nametag caught the murky light from the parking lot. Teddy. Beyond him stretched a hallway kept dark by motion activated lights. Something scurried in the shadows, a hint of bluejean cuffs brushed the floor. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She opened her purse and took out a crinkled fifty.

“Let me see her, at least.”

Teddy frowned. “I need this job.”

She imagined grabbing his testicles through the khaki pants and crushing them. Her skin was wrinkled as worn leather but her hands were still strong. Metalwork required it, from her profession and her hobby. Ludmina sighed and took out another fifty in twenties and a ten. The man didn’t hide the attempt to see how much showed in her purse. She never kept all her money in one spot, but in small bundles throughout pockets and seams. Growing up surrounded by addicts forced one to be cunning or broke.

He didn’t pocket the money. “Why you want to see her?”

“She’s my daughter.”

His face said that wasn’t enough, though not for the reason she expected. “If she’s here, you don’t want to see her. This place handles the…messy.” He offered the money back.

The burn behind her eyes surged forward. She blinked fast to dam the tears.

“I want to say goodbye.”

He sighed. Tried to hand back twenties. “I can give you a few minutes.”

She waved it away. “Im gonna need an hour.”

The request turned his empathy into concern. But money was money. “Weird,” he said, and stepped aside.

Ludmina stood in a cold room covered in stainless steel and linoleum tile. Peppermint oil generously dabbed under her nose mingled with rather than covered the chemical tang around them. “Worse without it,” he assured her. She didn’t have to believe him.

He checked a clipboard to toe tags and morgue drawers while sucking on his teeth. Teddy sighed. “This is her.” He patted one meaty hand against a drawer. A plastic sleeve holding paper hung from handle. “You sure you want to do this? Damage from the accident was intense. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

After swallowing the lump in her throat Ludmina clenched her hands. “I’m sure.”

Teddy fingered the money in his pocket. “Least let me put you with it in another room. For privacy.”

“Her.”

“‘scuse me?”

Ludmina shivered. “Put me in a room with her. Yes. Thank you.”

Ludmina stood alone in a small room with the broken body of her daughter Zora. The shape was wrong. Sharp angles and knobby protrusions. More a pile than a form. In trying not to think about it, it was all Ludmina could imagine.

The first ten minutes were spent fighting her grief as the ceiling lights hummed. Each breath was a shuddering wheeze like a leaky tire. She locked every muscle in her body, refusing to sit, and nearly shook apart.

Grief was beaten back.

“I love you,” Ludmina whispered.

Something under the sheet twitched. The squeak of sneakers on tile echoed down the hall behind the door.

“Please,” she whispered, looking into the light. “Don’t let him find me. Not yet”

The squeak faded.

Ludmina dropped her bag on the floor and tore through it, pulling out candles, a small iron bowl, paper envelopes, the long papery shed skin of a snake, and some jars. When they were all organized against the wall she stuffed an old scarf under the door and stood on top of a lopsided stool to remove the batteries from the old fire alarm. Place gets funding but not enough to keep every room up to date Teddy had said when she asked for a room where she could smoke. He hadn’t batted an eye at that request.

She lit a bundle of dried mugwort in the bowl and placed it beneath the gurney. Smoke danced up and around the veiled body.

Squeak-squeak-squeak came footsteps in the hall.

Jaw clenched, Ludmina focused, muttering under her breath as she rubbed anointed oil into her hands and over her face.

The doorknob rattled, startling her enough she almost fumbled the dropper bottle. “I need more time,” she growled.

With a click and a creak the door swung open and banged against the wall.

Squeak. Squeak.

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Leave me alone.”

“Lud.” The voice was a wet gurgle with a crackle underneath like rolling over bubble wrap. “Don’t be a bitch. I’m family.”

“You’re dead.”

The figure shuffled closer. She could smell him but only for a moment before the incense and peppermint oil reasserted itself; old cigarettes and machine grease. “Rude.”

As in life, he insisted on being acknowledged. She finished placing the rose oil drops around the gurney and faced him.

Dimi had been portly in life. Broad shouldered. Not dissimilar to the night guard Teddy. They’d have been friends if her brother had stayed instead of leaving. Bad debt to worse people is good incentive for relocation and reinvention. His death had been ruled an accidental fall because of the drugs found in his system. She had suspected his lifestyle caught up with him. It was three days from hearing about his death when his broken body wandered into her home.

“Yeah,” he gurgled through a torn throat. “You’re still doin this?”

“Breaking the cycle.”

“Bunch of woo woo, I say.”

She cocked her head. “You know how you look like right now, right?”

He was folded in half at the waist, backwards. His feet pointed away so his head could face her, wispy hair dusting the ground. Bones at his torso stretched the skin like warm rubber. Dark stains dripped wet down the back of his pants, matting the back of his head. Dimi grinned at her with brown and red teeth. “Yeah. Dashing.” He laughed, exhuding hot fetid breath.

She stood. He craned his neck, pressing chin to chest, looking down so he could look up. “Remember how you got like that?”

His grin slipped. “Wasn’t my fault.”

Ludmina had stopped humoring his excuses long ago. “I didn’t ask if it was your fault. I used to think it mattered.” She removed a circle of woven olive branches and dried animal sinew forming a sigil from her bag and placed it on the shattered form of her daughter. “It doesn’t matter why. Only how.”

Dimi’s gurgled response was his post-living version of a grunt. “I fell.”

“You fell,” she agreed. “Four stories. Landed on a metal fence.”

“Details.”

“Yes,” she growled, turning on him. He shuffled back, waddling in his uneven gait. “Details matter because details are all I have left.”

“Come on. We had some good times.”

She scoffed. “The excuse of the selfish. Trying to balance the ledger. A hundred altruistic acts can’t shift the mountainous burden of a single act of intentional cruelty you absolute fucking prick.”

His face twisted like she’d struck him. Dimis stuttered “It wasn’t all-”

“So what? You know what memories I have left? The lying, the cheating, stealing from our parents, me, your own niece. But sure. Occasionally show up to a recital. Sometimes remember a birthday gift, or cover some takeout. Hundreds in generosity against tens of thousands in theft. From your own. Fucking. Family.”

“Shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

She spat on the ground, aiming away from her careful preparations. “Then the dead shouldn’t keep leaving their bullshit for the living to step in..”

Ludmina lit the candles around around the room; one at the top, one at the bottom, and two on each side. Black from tree tar and speckled with other aromatic herbs trapped in their wax. He shuffled back, unable to enter the circle and unwilling to pass through her. There was a violent intimacy to passing through each other when both the living and the dead were aware of each other. As repulsive as Dimi could be, she appreciated the experience unnerved him too.

“It’s pointless,” he whispered. “Does nothing.”

“Then where’s mother?”

He sneered. She knew, without needing to look.

The sheet over her daughter shuddered. Ludmina placed her hands over it, hesitated, terrified of how it would feel. But it was her Zora. Her hands lowered to rest on her daughter. Choked back a gasp. It was cold, like soft marble. Images flashed through her mind of a twisted gory mess with her daughters delicate features misplaced around it. With difficulty, she managed to push them away and focused on the radiant grin Zora shone with when she got accepted to her preferred college.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” Dimi gurgled.

She heard the sincerity in his voice, so swallowed the venom boiling in her throat. She began chanting, walking in slow circles around the gurney.

“Bunch of nonsense,” Dimi grumbled.

Ludmina finished her first chant and sprinkled dried herbs over each thick candle. “Nonsense that cursed us in the first place.

“No such thing.”

“Been over this. I don’t know who, or why. What I do know, and what ma knew is if someone in our family dies bad, they linger. Hang around the family who knew them best and in the twisted, gruesome state they died.”

“Bullshit.”

“And with an astounding amount of denial.”

Dimi shuffled in small circles, pacing like he did in life, rubber soled shoes squeaking on the tile like a distressed mouse. “It’s bullshit. I don’t know what this is. Part of the plan or whatever. I know I was a shit, thats why I’m here, but you must have done something to make me haunt you. Otherwise I’d be stuck at the track knowing the winners and never being able to bet. THAT would be hell.”

She rolled her eyes.

He pouted. “Why didn’t I ever see dad?”

“Mom did. Bastard followed her around, vomit plastered down his chest and dribbling from his mouth. Smelled like Jack Daniels, shit, and vomit. He tormented her.”

“But why didn’t I see him?”

Ludmina shoved her irritation into a dark corner and gave him a moment of pure honesty. The dance had gotten so old, she could only muster one if she bothered at all. “Because you didn’t know him. Mom did. And you know what Dimi? It broke her heart when YOU died but she never saw you yet I did. She always said I was too hard on you, expected too much. Hell of a way to prove her wrong. Shittiest I’d ever felt to be right.”

He didn’t respond. She continued the ritual as his distressed shuffling squeaks filled the room.

She chanted. Sang. Sprinkled oils, draped snakeskin over her daughter, and burned herbs (not sage, not yet). Finally, she sat on the cold tile. Tuned out the squeak and smell of Dimi. Adjusted her hum till it shook her body. Focused on her daughter and spoke her name for the first time since she’d learned about the accident.

“Zoraaaaaaaa.” Letting the hum carry her daughters name through her body and the room. The candles flickered.

“Zoraaaaaaaa.” A swirl moved through the incense smoke. A hint of a shape.

“Zoraaaaaaaa.”

Nothing. As she chanted, the nothingness deepened. Everything else muffled. Candlelight became hazy, shadows deepened. One corner became a void. Ludmina closed her eyes. Slowed the chant. Took two deep breaths before rolling her daughters name out again. When she could no longer hear the squeak of Dimi’s shoes, she said “Please. Come to me.”

shhhh

She opened her yes.

A woman knelt on the other side of the gurney, looking at her through bars and wheels. One eyes was blocked, the other a deep yellow that flickered red. Small horns swept back with her long flowing hair. In the flickering light it seemed first black then red. Never sitting still.

Ludmina whimpered. A tear rolled down her cheek. “No. Not you.”

The Lady smiled. She gestured at candles, the ritual, the incense. “All of this is appreciated, but not needed.”

Ludmina couldn’t change her frown. “I just want to see her.”

The Lady stood. She was beautiful. Dark. Though slender, muscle rolled beneath her skin, like watching an elk stroll through a field. Her face was unlined and smooth in an unnatural and timeless way. She looked down at Zora and wept. “Your daughter. I’m so sorry.”

Ludmina looked at the floor. “You didn’t do it.”

A fever hot hand gripped her chin and lifted. The Lady stood before her, looking down into the woman’s eyes. “Neither did you.”

Ludmina nodded, but looked away. “What did I do wrong?”

“You were impatient. Desperate. The feelings do not match your intent. The twisting will bring her to you twisted.” A delicate hand rested on Zora. “She is twisted enough.”

Her mistake threatened to overwhelm her. Everything she’d done, every sacrifice, every self denial to set a better example and provide a better life. Undone by a single rushed mistake of good intentions. Ludmina began to come apart. First came the shakes. The gasped breaths melted into sobs.

“I. Can’t. Undo. It. I don’t know. How to fix. THIS.”

The Lady knelt and drew her into a hug. She smelled of pine, fresh earth and wine. Ludmina opened herself and wailed, letting the pent up anguish and despair out like draining a wound. The Lady took it all. Comforted. Cooed. Stroked her hair. A mother comforting a mother. Shared in it so the grief wouldn’t be so heavy. They were like that for hours. Days. Ludmina didn’t know, only that the embrace lasted until she’d purged it all.

Pain would return, but that first outlet was purifying and sacred. The Lady stood, the gravity of that grief pulling at the smoke and candleflame, drawing all towards her. “You must offer something more to fix this. What do you-”

“Take me.”

The Lady raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll walk with you after I die. Be in your service. Whatever you wish.”

“Then bleed for it.”

Ludmina didn’t hesitate. She bit into the pad of her thumb, tearing the meat away, and traced the sigil on her forehead. No hesitation.

The Lady nodded in respect and admiration. She placed strong hands on the shattered form of Zora, and breathed deep. A ripple ran through the sheet. The form twitched as the soul ripped free. The Lady exhaled smoke and mist through her nose. It swirled into the form of a young woman, lithe, vibrant, hair in a pixie cut. Ludmina remembered often critiquing it. Her chest became tight as she reached for Zora.

The Lady appeared behind. “Before the end, you shifted away from your mother’s mistakes. You told this beautiful young woman that her hair made her look fierce.”

“She does,” Ludmina said, choking on the words.

The Lady smiled. “She does.”

Zora’s mouth moved but no words came. She looked from her mother to The Lady, question plain on her face.

“Your family carries a curse. Who and why doesn’t matter. What does is your mother. SHE is breaking those cycles. As many as she can. Her flame grew in you and love, you burned so bright.” She grabbed Zoras shoulders and turned her to face Ludmina. “Look at this woman. In the face of every horror and tragedy life hurled, she gave you happiness. Taught you freedom. Encouraged that spark in you. Your end is a tragedy. Unfair. But further tragedy won’t bind you, or your infant son. Because of her.”

Despite the tears, Ludmina kept her chin even and her gaze steady. It took everything she had not to look away in shame or guilt. “I’ll take care of him. I swear. He’ll grow up knowing you.”

Zora threw her arms around Ludmina. There was a moment, brief as a blink, where she felt the weight of her daughter and smelled her coconut body wash, and the heat of her. Then once more Zora was smoke form suspended, with a wispy smile.

Zora’s mouthed I love you.

“I love you too.”

Her daughter slipped away.

The Lady stayed waited as Ludmina cleaned up from the ritual. Dimi remained quiet, as he always did in Her presence. If he didn’t acknowledge anything now, later he could claim ignorance. Both women shed tears as she packed everything, zipped up her bag and headed to the door.

Sssssss

Ludmina knew what the sound was; the sheet sliding off the body. Just as she knew Dimi, with what little power he possessed to influence the world with gusts and chills, caused it. He’d learned to open doors. Cabinets. Knock cups off the counter. Ludmina tensed, chest seizing. She started to turn, to look.

The Lady stepped around her in a blink, gripping her face between alabaster hands, gentle but firm. “Don’t. You broke the curse. Saw her. Remember her like that.” She let go of her face. “If you look, THAT is what you’ll remember. Stay strong. By my side, you will only help the lost and broken children. You may speak with Zora whenever you wish.”

Ludmina took a deep, unsteady breath. Nodded.

The Lady stepped aside, opening the door with a gesture.

Ludmina paused. Thought of her daughter. Smiled. “We are fire and smoke.”

The Lady squeezed her shoulder with a warm hand.

Ludmina stepped into the hall. The door closed behind her with a soft click.