The Death Mask, Page 2

  On that summer day, Michelle's mother had taken the young girl to the beauty salon for a makeover and hair styling. Now these were merely girls who would enter sixth grade in September. And keep in mind that although it's a common practice in modern times for those with extra money to take a child to a beauty spa for a makeover, it was a rare occurrence in 1983. But being that this was the prestigious town of Sillmac, it was appropriate for eleven-year-old Michelle to be treated to a makeover before a family barbeque that was to be held later in the afternoon.

  Seeing Amber outside with a group of mutual friends, Michelle approached everyone with a lively greeting, and definitely showed off her styled hair.

  Amber was polite as always and was sure to compliment Michelle's hair. “Your hair looks nice, Michelle.”

  “What's that, Amber?”

  Amber repeated herself. “I like your hair; it's nice.”

  Being terribly envious of Amber also included envy towards her natural beauty and her long, brown hair. Michelle's styled, fresh-out-of-the-beauty-salon hair was finally proof that she was superior. As the spoiled child that she was, Michelle harshly replied with a tone a voice that suggested her simple statement to have deeper meaning. “Uh… Thanks!”

  It was an indicator for Amber to shut down and close up before receiving a dose of verbal and critical abuse.

  But Michelle felt her point hadn't been made clearly enough. “Hey Amber, why are you suddenly so quiet?”

  “I don't know; I don't have anything to say, I guess.”

  “Don't have anything to say? Do you know what I think? I think you're jealous of my hair.”

  It was the most ridiculous thing Amber had heard. “What?” Although she was polite to compliment Michelle's hair moments ago, she secretly felt that it didn't look right on an eleven year old girl, not to mention the over-applied makeup.

  “That's right; you're jealous. Who here thinks that Amber is jealous of my hair; just plain jealous of me?”

  Somehow, Michelle swayed their mutual friends into her way of thinking as everyone took turns replying, “Me!” Then poor Amber would have to hear her friends proclaim how they truly liked Michelle, and if Amber wasn't a friend of Michelle's, no one would be a friend of Amber's.

  Now alone that summer afternoon, Amber angrily sat in her bedroom, gazing from a short distance through the open window that provided a clear view of the activities of Michelle's backyard. How she hated Michelle in that moment, feeling that punishment was long overdue.

  Inside Michelle's home, her older brother by five years sat in his bedroom, listening to an audio assault of shrilling death metal that dictated all sorts of acts of violence. He lounged in his comfy chair while relaxing to the soothing music, and reading an article from Soldier of Fortune magazine that described how to make homemade C4 explosives. Where-as most teenage boys hide Playboy magazines under the bed, Danny maintained his hidden stockpile of controversial Soldier of Fortune magazines that were forbidden by Father.

  Suddenly, Mother's voice could be heard from downstairs, “Danny? Danny!”

  He softly cursed and quickly hid the magazine. Then he ran to the hallway. “What?”

  “You need to go outside and start the barbeque!”

  Start the barbeque? That was a terrible mistake! Mother was unaware that Danny had the nickname of “Pyro”. He had a secret, makeshift shack in the woods where he stockpiled a collection of homemade napalm in old mason jars. Has the reader ever made napalm?—dropping Styrofoam into a jar of gasoline to make a flammable gel that sticks to walls and burns for a long time. Danny was the master of doing this. He would act out his soldier of fortune fantasies by sneaking a jar of napalm to one of the neighborhood parks after dark, and stick it to the playground equipment to be ignited and burned for hours. He once attempted the construction of a pipe bomb by filling a pipe with hundreds of match heads. Fortunately he lacked the technique of effectively sealing the pipe at both ends which would have caused a serious explosion if done properly.

  Danny had no reason for his pyromania other than something to wildly decorate his reputation with. He was a rebel without a cause. And on that summer day, he was being asked to start a fire in the barbeque!

  Danny cracked a most disturbing smile along with a terribly devious look in his eyes! “Sure Mom!”

  Mother continued, “And use the big one, Danny. We've got a lot of guests coming today.”

  Watching through her window, only Amber was aware of the teenage boy who burst out into the backyard and quickly dragged the large barbeque near the pool where it was nearly overflowed with charcoal.

  While this was happening, Danny's sister, Michelle, played a rowdy game with her friends as they chased each other around with water balloons. At some point, little Michelle called out, “Hey, you can't get my hair wet! I just got it done!”

  At that moment, Amber thought to herself, “You're going to wish that your hair got wet!” Then she recalled every rude and mean thing Michelle had ever said. Amber let her emotions build up while remaining still and silent. To her, the emotions were flashes of energy that discharged in the air as she began to fantasize with all her heart, wishing for her thoughts to finally come true.

  While this happened, Michelle's brother held two bottles of lighter fluid upside-down and heavily sprayed the charcoal, crisscrossing back and forth while calling imaginary people, who lived in the charcoal, obscene names and demanding that they die.

  But Danny's game had to be briefly interrupted as the charcoal needed to soak up the lighter fluid. He would return several moments later and drop the bomb on the enemy village.

  In the meantime, Amber sat completely motionless and absorbed in flood of harnessed, negative emotions. She maintained a fixed gaze on that little bitch, Michelle, while fantasizing the most horrific tragedy.

  One could call the new game between Michelle and her friends, water balloon tag. For you see, Michelle found the perfect gool and it was located at the barbeque. No one could throw water balloons around the barbeque. Of course remaining on gool for too long was no fun! Michelle would soon run away to be further chased by rowdy girls with water balloons.

  Sometime later, Danny ran out of the house with a box of matches. He was an expert of making what he called, “fireballs”, which involved striking the match against the rough surface of the box while simultaneously flicking it into the air. The end result looked like a projected fireball that continued to burn as it hit the ground.

  This “fireball” technique was going to be his missile launched at the enemy village. But before launching from the air, perhaps it was best to add more lighter fluid to ensure that those bastards scorched upon impact.

  A responsible adult would have never taken lighting the barbeque to such an extreme measure. Even more, a responsible adult would have never stood six feet away while further drenching the charcoals with fluid. It was in this moment when his younger sister had run past to receive a heavy spray of lighter fluid to her hair.

  Michelle was outraged, “Danny!”

  “What? Get out of the way, stupid! What are you playing by the barbeque for?”

  The other girls weren't outraged like Michelle, and instead whipped a couple water balloons at her. This resumed the desperate game of water balloon tag as Michelle looked for a place to escape. She was still concerned about the heavy amount of lighter fluid sprayed on her head. But she hadn't considered the danger it presented.

  And then a “fireball” had been launched that glowed towards the sky and quickly returned to hit the target. While this happened, Michelle ran back to gool for safety. Although Danny may have been six feet from what was about to be an explosion, little Michelle stood one foot away from the barbeque, and was short enough to be even closer to the destruction.

  The barbeque nearly exploded with a violent eruption of flames that reached four feet in the air. To make matters worse, upon initial explosion, a wind blew the flames in Michelle's direction so that her entire head and f
ace became engulfed in flames. The combined lighter fluid on her hair and any chemicals used at the beauty salon served as an accelerant that quickly set her head ablaze.

  Instinctively, she ran away from the explosion but was soon aware that her head remained on fire. And this wasn't a case of someone's hair simply burning; this was a roaring, twisting flame that violently danced around her head. She screamed in horror, all the while the sizzling and popping of her hair and scalp could be heard.

  The brave soldier-of-fortune now ran towards the house in tears to get help. This wasn't supposed to happen! He was responsible for cooking his sister's head, and there would soon be Hell to pay.

  But Father saw everything and ran outside. “Jump in the pool! Michelle, jump in the pool!” He ran towards his daughter who was horrified and in shock, obviously confused and not thinking of the sensible thing.

  By the time little Michelle had been thrown in the water, her scalp was cooked and included many boils. Only patches of charred strands of hair remained. Finally, justice had been served!

  Chapter Two

  Amber told no one of what she had done, especially Mother! As Amber saw it, maintaining humility while at the same time radiating a simple beauty as Mother demanded, would sometimes make her a victim to cruel people like Michelle. Surely there would be many times in life that this power needed to be called upon. It was best to keep it a secret from everyone.

  And she certainly used this gift plenty of times in high school. Once during a track meet, there was an equaled contender who was worried of losing to Amber. It was best for this girl, Molly, to approach Amber, directly, and let it be known that she would win—not Amber.

  Being modest and down-to-earth, Amber merely replied, “Well best of luck to you!” Then she shook Molly's hand.

  It wasn't the response Molly anticipated. She came from a family of winners and was full-aware of the winner's attitude. It was confidence that set a winner apart from a loser. This confidence needed to be established with her contender. “Well that's very nice of you to wish me luck. But you know, most people would agree that I have the winner's edge and you don't!”

  That was a big mistake on Molly's part! Had she turned and walked away after Amber's wish, she probably would have won the race.

  But for Amber, this sudden concept of being a loser, simply because she didn't have the winner's edge, was disturbing. What if Molly was right? Was Amber destined to go through life, losing and never coming out ahead?

  Anxiety-driven fantasies of what people truly thought of Amber continued to invade her mind. It wasn't right to be trampled over by winners and then to be laughed at. Ill wishes against Molly that were fueled by ever-expanding, negative emotions were repeated in her mind again and again. It was Molly who did this to her. Molly needed to have something bad happen to her!

  Running like never before, ready to take what was rightfully hers, Molly lost control and severely rolled her ankle; not just pulling the ligaments and tendons, but tearing them. It would require surgery and many weeks in a cast, and many more in therapy. Would Molly ever restore her ankle to what it was before? Hopefully her winner's edge would have maintained a positive attitude.

  * * *

  Holding boys captivated and spellbound is an easy task for any beautiful, young lady. Amber certainly had no need for the gift when it came to her love life. But after graduating high school, she found it very tempting to attract the right sort of guy with her magical charm. But she soon realized that imposing her will and captivating the perfect guy wasn't really true love. As soon as she eased the spell, a certain guy would become distracted and suddenly become attracted to another young lady.

  Perhaps it would have been better to cast a milder spell on a desired guy, just enough to sway him into surrendering to his feelings. This is what Amber finally did, and then released the mild spell to test a certain guy's reaction. As luck would have it, the first subject to this experiment stayed with Amber, proving to be true love!

  But in all life's cruelty with its twists of irony, Amber's true love left her in a most vulnerable time when Amber needed him most. She had been abandoned; left cold, empty and heartbroken at a most-challenging moment in her life. (More on that later.) Amber could have made him stay simply by focusing all her will until he was madly in love again. But it wouldn't have been true love. Amber knew this. And she suddenly grew tired of pursuing young men her own age.

  In that moment, Amber believed herself to be some years wiser than other young women her age. And she was, really; just needed a little fine tuning and some life experience. With her true love gone and realizing that she deserved better, Amber began to call out to an older man who, somewhere, may have been experiencing heartache. Perhaps he was married to an unfaithful wife and was soon to receive divorce papers. Or perhaps he was about to lose his beautiful wife to a tragic accident or sudden illness. Whatever the case, Amber would enter his life with open arms and heal the heartache. He would never leave her, only love and adore Amber forever more.

  Over a year passed as Amber played out this emotional fantasy night after night. And then she had awoken one drizzly, Saturday morning in 1994, truly feeling that she somehow bonded or connected with the man who needed her. She gazed out the window and softly whispered, “I'm here for you. Where are you?”

  But this morning was not about Amber, despite what she would have believed. This morning was about a man named Michael, who sat in a chair, overlooking his beautiful wife, Linsey, who remained peacefully in dreamland. Her chest would slowly rise and fall under the blankets, a sight that Michael drunk in very deeply as he further imagined Linsey's life-radiating skin receiving circulation and oxygen. Every moment together was precious. In recent months they maintained the practice of sleeping closer than in previous years. They made love a little more, laughed and cried a little more and continued to reaffirm to one another how deep their love was.

  Throughout her life, Linsey had natural, strawberry red hair that was worn straight and long below her shoulders. She had fair skin that was nearly transparent enough to reflect more of a pink color. Her eyes were the lightest and vibrant blue that could melt one from a distance just with a momentary glance. And through womanhood, her body had that deliciously curvaceous build to include a barely noticeable cinnamon dusting along the flesh of her chest, shoulders and upper back.

  But in the course of a year, Linsey's body deteriorated to a state of being sickly thin and pale to the point of losing her once healthy, pink color. Her eyes remained blue, of course, but they lost the ability to melt with her warm and vibrant gaze. And her long, straight, strawberry, red hair had thinned in many parts, many other areas to be replaced by lifeless, split grays.

  In just over a year, Linsey was dying of a mysterious, autoimmune disease for which there was no cure. Her body was aggressively attacking itself; destroying tissue, muscle, organs and even elements of her nervous system. If failing to identifying the cause was not frustrating enough, the typical treatment of immunosupression (medicines that shut down the immune system to prevent further destruction of the body) would only provide a temporary remission. It appeared that Linsey's immune system would build up a tolerance to the medications so that it rebounded with a fury, causing damage far worse than before.

  Just like many who are dying of a disease, Linsey had an indomitable spirit that provided her the will to live each day to the fullest. She refused to lie in bed. The disease would certainly kill her, but as Linsey felt, she would not allow her condition to take those final moments of life away.

  Although transformed from the woman that Michael once knew, he loved her all the same, and much more! As he sat over her bed that drizzly Saturday morning, Linsey stirred and opened her eyes.

  Michael was the first thing seen for the day. “Good morning…” She greeted her loving husband.

  “Good morning; were you dreaming?”

  She stretched some, “Yeah…”

  “I love sitting here watching
you sleep. You look so peaceful, like you're having sweet dreams. Linsey, I really wish you would let me have a death mask of you made. I'm going to miss you so terribly when you're gone. The death mask could lie at your pillow and give me comfort, suggesting that you are merely sleeping beside me so peacefully.”

  Her blue eyes locked on his, “Michael, no! We've been through this before. I don't want a death mask of me made. That's so morbid. And besides; when I'm gone, I won't be laying in this bed. I'll be in a better place, watching over you and Paulette.”

  Michael didn't want to discuss or be reminded of the times beyond his wife's death. It was better to live in the moment and cherish what they had in the present. He recoiled his wish and simply replied, “As you wish…”

  Although possessing an indomitable spirit, Linsey wasn't capable of rising out of bed every morning. There were times when she could hardly move her legs. On a couple occasions, paramedics were summoned because of fear that Linsey was having a heart attack. Again, it was the mysterious, autoimmune disease. Any region of her body could have been under lethal attack. However, in recent times, she was under a state of remission. But like always, Linsey would slowly get out bed in a means to gauge her condition for the day.

  Like often, Michael asked, “Are you ready to get up for the day? You can lay there if you want. I'll take care of Paulette and make breakfast for the morning.”

  “No, I'm fine.” Linsey pushed herself up and removed the covers. “I think it'll be easy today.” Linsey's feet touched the floor then she stood up.

  Michael gently put his hands to Linsey, “Are you alright? Do you need help walking?” Michael would have walked every step if she needed it. He would give half of his life to keep his wife breathing when that sad day finally came.

  But this was the line that totally annoyed Linsey. Although kind and sweet, his sappiness was a little overdone. “Michael, I'm fine! Thank you, but I can walk and get ready for the day. Make us some coffee. I'll get Paulette ready and make us breakfast.”