Heather's story part 5

Heather's story part 5
By Varian Milagro


Heather bolted up in bed, gasping for breath. The room was dark and it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. For a moment she thought that she was still dreaming, especially when she glanced over at Abigail’s bed and saw a pair of amber orbs glaring at her in the darkness. She fought back a scream until she realized that they belonged to Mr. Whiskers. His owner lay on her side, facing the wall, breathing deeply and peacefully.

She lay back down and reflected on her latest dream. Like the dream the night before, this one seemed more like an uncovered memory than a straight up dream. What had Starshine and Bethany done to her? What kind of ceremony had they performed? It made her wish that she’d slept a little longer, she might have gotten more answers.

As she reviewed the events of her dream she realized that Starshine seemed familiar, not her face, but her voice. She’d heard that voice recently, since arriving at Abigail’s, but she didn’t know where. No one in the house sounded like the old crone and she hadn’t spoken to anyone else.

At least she knew what her body had been craving for the last 16 hours. Although knowing the source of her discomfort was worse in a way. Now that she knew the remedy she fought a mental war with herself. Part of her wanted to rush out and do what was needed to make the pain go away while the other part was disgusted that she’d even consider smoking. Her withdrawals seemed to get worse by the second.

Her headache was reaching migraine levels and in addition to the cravings her lungs literally ached. Her skin felt brittle and all of her nerve endings were overly sensitive. Even her hair hurt. How could she survive a month of this? She looked up at the clock; it read, 10:47.

She lay on the inflatable mattress, listening to Abigail sleep, as she slowly suffered. In a way, she wished that she’d taken her sister up on her offer: smoke a single cigarette and have sex with Paul to avoid a month of suffering, not to mention whatever horrors they’d inflicted upon her inside that chalk circle. The strange forceful heat that she’d been feeling in her body, that must have been from the ceremony, but what was it and what would it do when it finally broke free?

She stared at the ceiling for another agonizing twenty minutes before she slipped out of bed, grabbed her clothes and then tiptoed down the stairs. After dressing quickly in the hall bathroom, she disabled the burglar alarm and then headed out to her car. Once behind the wheel she put the car in neutral and released the emergency brake, letting the car roll backwards down the slight incline of the driveway, waiting until it was in the cul de sac before starting the engine and driving off.

There were plenty of places in Laramie to buy cigarettes, but she feared running into someone she knew if she tried buying them in town, so she got on interstate 80 and headed west, where it was nothing for the next two hundred miles except truck stops and the long haulers who frequented them. As she stressed about where to smoke and her worries over being caught, the power in her belly grew, making her feel like she might explode soon.

After driving for twenty minutes she felt that she was far enough away from Laramie that the chances of seeing anyone she knew were fairly slim. She took the next exit that advertised a truck stop. About a quarter of a mile from the interstate sat a wide two story building with a immense neon sign that promised the best food, showers, wifi, mechanics and prices for hundreds of miles in any direction. Fuel pumps branched out of the building on both sides, four wheels to the right, 18 to the left. Ample parking in the back.

The pumps on right side of the building were deserted, but on the left at least a dozen trucks were filling up with fuel. Heather drove around back where scores of semi-trucks sat idling, their running lights making it look like it was Christmas time again.

She found an empty space between a green Kenworth and a dark blue Peterbuilt. Between the sprawling building and the towering trucks on either side her little car was hidden from view. Even in the unlikely event that someone she knew decided to visit this truck stop in the middle of a Tuesday night, the chances of them spotting her car was almost non-existence.

As she stepped out of her car she was assaulted by the deafening rumble of so many idling diesel engines. There were only a few people in the parking lot, all men, either on their way into the main building or heading back to their trucks. None of them paid her any mind, but she still felt like a trespasser.

Harsh artificial light blinded her momentarily as she entered the store. The smell of pine scented floor cleaner replaced the smell of diesel exhaust. Stepping around the yellow plastic sign warning that the floor was wet, she walked to the back, grabbed a Sprite and then headed to the cashier, the squeak of her shoes on the freshly mopped tile floor briefly drowning out the tinny, instrumental music playing through speakers in the ceiling.

She set the Sprite on the counter and looked past the cashier, gazing at the wide assortment of cigarettes stacked on the shelf behind the middle aged woman. There were hundreds of colorful packs. She’d never realized that there were so many different brands. Some seemed to be in boxes while others were in packs that had softer, rounded edges. There were long packs and short packs and green packs labeled “Menthol”. Heather wondered which she would smoke, if she allowed herself to indulge. Would she smoke a long, white cigarette, like the pretty woman on the cardboard display behind the counter? Or would she smoke a short one with an orange bottom, like the cowboy seemed to enjoy?

“Will there be anything else?” Attached to cashier's uniform vest was a plastic name tag that read, “Kim”

Heather stared at the large variety of cigarettes, unable to decide which to pick.

“Do you need cigarettes?” Kim said.

“Yes,” Heather said.

“What brand, sweetie?”

“Um…I’m not sure.”

Kim gave Heather a puzzled look.

“I want to switch brands and I don’t know what’s good,” Heather said. “Can you recommend any?”

“Well, I don’t smoke anymore, but Benson and Hedges were my best friends for nearly thirty years.”

“I’ll take a pack of those.” Heather pulled her billfold out of her purse. “And a lighter. I’ll need a lighter.” As she pulled out her money a small photo fell out and landed on the counter face up. It was the photo of Constance Morningstar.

“Any color preference?”

Heather stared at the photo. After seeing pictures of Rebecca and Vicky on the Newgrounds website she’d been fairly certain that her dream on Monday night was actually a repressed memory, but the photo proved that the dream she’d just had was true as well. It proved that Bethany and Starshine had performed some type of ceremony on her. They’d imbued this Constance Morningstar upon her, whatever that meant.

“Let’s go with purple.” Kim set a package of three purple bic lighters on the counter. “They go with your friend’s hair.”

Heather carried her purchases to her car. She still didn’t want to smoke, but there was no way that she could take thirty days of ever increasing withdrawals. Still, it didn’t mean that she’d become a smoker like her sister wanted. If Bethany had told the truth then the withdrawals would go away once she smoked a cigarette. Tomorrow she’d be hit with more withdrawals, but she could suffer for a couple days before smoking another. A day or two after that Pastor William would be back and he’d be able to undo whatever it was that Bethany had done to her. Two cigarettes. That’s all she’d need to smoke and then she’d be free.

She sat on the trunk of her car, ripped the cellophane off the pack, tore off the foil and then gazed at twenty orange cigarette butts. She still couldn’t believe that she was going to actually smoke a cigarette voluntarily. She contemplated tossing the cigarettes away, but then she thought about her dream again. The withdrawals she was currently experiencing were bad, but nothing in comparison to how bad they were going to get tomorrow. Thinking about how bad they’d get after a week made her shudder. She never wanted to feel that bad again.

A leafy smell hit her nose as she pulled a cigarette from the package. After taking a couple of deep breaths she put the cigarette in her mouth and then fumbled with the lighter, failing to produce a flame on her first two attempts. On the third try the lighter sprang from her hand as she tried to work it. It slid along the asphalt to the right, coming to rest next to one of the green semi-truck’s many wheels. She pulled a second lighter from her purse, glad that the cashier had sold her a pack of three.

She got the cigarette lit on her first try with the second lighter. As soon as the smoke entered her mouth she spat it back out. It tasted horrible! The harsh, acrid smoke stung her tongue, making her want to gargle with mouthwash.

Initially she wasn’t sure which was worse, the taste or her withdrawals. After a few seconds of smelling the smoke pouring off the end of her cigarette, her cravings went into overdrive and tipped the balance. The second puff didn’t go much better, nor did the third. The whole experience was unpleasant, and to make matters worse, it wasn’t making the withdrawals go away. She puffed away on the cigarette, spurting out ball after ball of smoke, feeling more like a fool every second. Her sister had lied; she’d given her a nicotine addiction with no way of satisfying it. The monster was off laughing somewhere, having tricked her into smoking for no reason.

Heather nearly fell off the trunk of her car when the door to the green truck opened. A heavy set man in greasy jeans and a heavy flannel shirt climbed down. She froze when he lumbered toward her car. He walked straight to her lighter, picked it up and then resumed his journey toward her.

“Well now, if you ain’t a living breathing contradiction.” The trucker had a thick southern accent and an easy smile.

“What do you mean?” Heather said, wanting to hide.

“I’ve seen my share of folks having nicotine fits over the years, but never someone who don’t even know how to smoke.” He held out the lighter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The only thing Heather wanted less than an audience was a critic.

“Darling, you’ve got to inhale if you want to get the nicotine in your body.”

“Oh.” Heather threw the cigarette butt at the ground in disgust. Bad enough that she’d caved in and smoked, but it was so much worse knowing that it had been for no reason. Her withdrawals were as strong as ever.

“The name’s Vince.” He stuck out a large hand while grinding out her cigarette with his cowboy boot.

“I’m Heather.” Her hand disappeared in his. When he continued to hold on she yanked her hand back and then removed a second cigarette from her pack. If she was going to smoke she may as well do it right. She’d already sullied herself, might as well get rid of the withdrawals, too.

Vince whipped a gold Zippo lighter out of his pocket, opened it with a flick of his wrist and then sparked it to life with a snap of his thumb. He looked very pleased with himself for performing the maneuver. Heather struggled not to roll her eyes. Leaning forward she brought the tip of her cigarette to the flame and then pulled in a little bit of smoke. After waiting a moment she breathed it into her lungs and then spent the next minute coughing.

Vince pointed to her pack. “May I?”

“Go ahead.” A bit of smoke rolling off the tip of her cigarette floated into her nose, causing her to sneeze.

Vince double pumped his cigarette to life, took it out of his mouth and then stared at it while holding the smoke in his lungs. He blew out a massive exhale and then said, “I’m normally a cigar man, but I appreciate a cigarette every now and again, especially when I can share one with a sweet little thing like you.”

Heather bit back a snarky reply and took another puff. Her face turning red and her eyes watering as she struggled not to cough only to fail once she exhaled the smoke. Even so, her headache eased slightly and the sensation of ants crawling on her skin began to fade.

“That was better.” Vince took a huge drag. “Keep practicing and you’ll be old pro like me in no time.”

“Great.” She took another drag. A relaxing wave flowed from her lungs, down to her toes and then into her head where it stayed for several seconds. When she blew out the smoke it was a faint stream that shot several feet infront of her, much different than the thick balls of smoke from her first cigarette. Vince’s exhales were dense torrents of smoke.

“You from around here?” Vince said as leaned his body against the car’s trunk.

Heather scooted over on the trunk, trying to put a little distance between the two of them. When he slid closer she said, “I don’t mean to be rude, Vince, but I’d kind of like to be alone right now.” Not that she was going to hang around much longer anyway. The withdrawals were pretty much gone and she was starting to get a little nauseous. She puffed once again, hoping that it would finish off her headache. The smoke was easier to take this time, but it still tasted pretty bad.

“You know, a young pretty thing like you out all by your lonesome could give a guy the wrong idea.” Vince leaned in close. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the sickos.” He place his hand on her thigh and squeezed until she winced.

She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” The nausea vanished and was replaced with a powerful heat. It was accompanied with the vision of a large man running at her, a man with a tattoo of a dog on his neck, a man who wanted to do her harm. The vision told her how to stop men like him.

“Now why you have to go and be like that? You want to hurt my feelings? I’m only trying to be nice.” His hand slid up along her cheek.

Heather pushed at his hand, but he was much too strong for her. The fire inside her began to rise. “Please, go away. I’m afraid that something bad is going to happen.”

“I told you that I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” He licked his lips. “You know, it’s not every day that I get to talk to someone as pretty as you.” His hand slid around to the back of her head. “Tell you what. Give me a kiss and I’ll let you be.”

“I said leave me alone!” Heather grabbed Vince’s arm with both of her hands.

The bonfire in her belly raced up her arms and into his. He stiffened and his hand went slack. He gurgled out some random syllables. She let the power flow. Fear flowed with it, the desire to flee to be far from harm. Anger, too. How dare he manhandle her! May he never force himself on women ever again. It felt good to let the power out; besides a slight burning sensation on her left buttcheek, it felt like taking a warm bath on a cold night.

When she noticed the terror in his eyes she tore her hands away. He towered before her, eyes unseeing, body slightly swaying. She pushed at him with all her might until he staggered back a step. She used the opportunity to hop off the trunk, dive into her car and then lock the doors.

She watched him through the rearview mirror as she fumbled for her keys. He looked like a terrified statue. By the time she got the car started he started coming back to his senses. He reached down between his legs, feeling his crotch as he let out an anguished roar. Heather slammed the car into drive and hit the gas. Looking into her rearview mirror, she saw that Vince had fallen to his knees, still holding his crotch. She thought that she heard him scream, “Where’d it go?” as she drove away.

Once she hit the interstate she started to relax, no longer feeling like she was in danger. Still, she kept her one eye on the rearview mirror, looking for anything large and green.

What had she done to that man? She’d felt something flow out of her body and into his, something powerful. Starshine had said that Constance was powerful and that she’d be imbued with that power. Had she meant magic? She didn’t know what magic felt like, but she knew that whatever she’d done to the trucker hadn’t been natural. One part of her was horrified; magic was evil as were all of its uses, even self defense. The other part of her was glad that she’d caused Vince pain; he was a vile person that deserved punishment.

It was after midnight when Heather parked her car in the cul-de-sac next to the Smith’s mailbox, fearing that if she pulled into the driveway her car’s engine noise might wake someone up. Her nerves began to settle when she saw that all the lights were still off and they eased even further when she entered the silent house. After resetting the burglar alarm she tiptoed up the stairs. She froze when she reached the top of the stairs and saw a faint light coming from beneath Abigail’s door.

Abigail was lying in her bed on her belly, bible in hand, a small reading light providing illumination. Without looking up she said, “So, when did you start smoking?”

Heather’s throat seized, removing her ability to speak. The heat in her gut flared along with her panic.

After a half minute Abigail said, “You reek of cigarette smoke.”

“It’s Bethany, she’s making me smoke,” Heather said, wanting to find somewhere to hide. “She used her powers on me and now I have to smoke a cigarette every day or I get horrible cravings. I don’t want to be a smoker, but the withdrawals are hell.”

Abigail looked up finally, her face a mix of worry and disappointment. “You have another one of those dreams?”

Heather nodded. “Please don’t tell anyone, I don’t want anyone to know that I’ve smoked; it’s too embarrassing.”

Abigail looked at Heather like she’d just been slapped. “I’ve kept your secrets for ten years. I’ll keep this one, too.” After another moment her face softened and she added, “I’m sorry; you don’t need me getting snippy at you, you’ve got enough problems.”

“Thanks.” Heather sniffed her arm. “I’m sorry for the stink. I’ll go take a shower.”

“No, that might wake my parents. Shower in the morning.” Abigail sat up in bed. “I don’t care if you smoke. It changes nothing between us. If your sister makes you dance naked on a stage you’ll still be my best friend. Nothing she can do is going to change that."

“You’re so amazing.” Heather hugged Abigail. After a few seconds she pulled away and said, “Do you see why I have to get Jimmy and Donna away from Bethany? If she can make me smoke she can make Donna do anything she wants.”

“Maybe they can go to one of your relatives?” Abigail said.

“My grandma lives in Florida,” Heather said as she mulled over the suggestion. “That’s probably far enough away from Bethany.”

“How would they get there?”

“Jimmy turned 16 yesterday and he was supposed to get his license on his birthday. I could give them my car and he could drive.”

“He’s had his license for a day and you want him to drive across the country?” Abigail said. “It’d probably be safer if they flew.”

“I’m scared that Bethany will be able to track them if they fly. She could probably hypnotize someone at the airport to tell her where they went.”

After deciding to continue the conversation in the morning, Heather undressed, crawled into bed and then fretted herself to sleep.

Heather's story - chapter 6