Flight of the Mangled Nightjar Part II

Part I https://theprose.com/ScarlettWoods

The sun was low in the sky as I sat fuming in the treehouse, my eyes burning from tears that streaked my face. A slight shake to the frame, and I knew already who was trying to get up the ladder.

It took her awhile, it was a monstrosity of a house- one my uncle had helped my father build for me when I was 8 years old. The biggest in the neighborhood. And now, it was my hideaway, at least I wanted it to be.

I could hear her wheezing, struggling to get up.

"Wuby?"

I ignored her, hating her. Hating her for the embarrassment she brought on me everyday. Hating the way my parents cradled her. Hating that she never got in trouble for anything. Hating the way she idolized me when I wanted nothing to do with her. And hating more than anything the way I couldn't take her anywhere without everyone staring, looking. Why did she have to be my sister? Why couldn't I have someone- anyone- else?

One last stifled grunt and she was pulling herself onto the top floor, her arms stretched out, dragging her body over the edge, her white gown covered in leaves, her wings flapping in the breeze.

She opened her mouth, her missing baby teeth causing her to look even sillier than normal. Her eyes were red and puffy. Somehow this gave me some slight sense of satisfaction.

"Why did you leave me, Wuby? I couldn't catch up."

I looked out the window, the laughter from the other girls still echoing in my head.

"Please go away."

"Why?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

"Because I don't want you here!" I snap.

She shuffles toward me, that bottom lip poking out, her half closed eye letting a lone tear fall. She had to be by me always, even when I asked her not to.

I open my eyes from this memory, staring around the shadowy room. It's quiet outside. No movement, no moans. I fixate on the twirling fairies, faded and yellowing, hanging above her bed. Numerous drawings still cover her walls. The little stick figures dancing, leaping- and then there we are in the middle. Me, tall with flowing brown hair. Her, tiny, smiling, holding my hand in her crude drawing. I had helped her color in our dresses. I had taught her how to stay in the lines. The edge of the drawing is curled now, hasn't been touched in many years.

So many years.

I lean my head back against her bed, trying to drown out the sounds from a home many years ago banging around in my memories. But I can't. I've tried for too long.

"Wuby!" she says, jumping, dancing around the treehouse, now acting as if nothing is wrong. My sister, nothing can keep her down. "Let's play something. Let's be pwincesses."

I'm staring out the window still and in this moment understanding my sister's need to fly. If only I could fly far away. Anywhere but here.

The shaking of the treehouse jostles me back to my senses. She's leaping around making swishing noises, spinning, glancing back at her wings. I cringe at this part

in my memory.

"Pearl," my voice cracks from the earlier anger-filled tears. "You know mom and dad got you those wings so you can fly, right?"

She stops mid-twirl and stares at me for a moment, her little brain processing this. Her face lights up and she giggles.

"I know that! I'm flying right now!"

She continues to dance and spin.

"No." I say. "They got them so you can really fly. You can fly right out of this treehouse if you wanted to."

"I can't fly now, Wuby. That's silly."

"No it's not. Don't you want to fly?"

She's looking at me, wanting to believe, trusting her older sister. She nods.

"Then do it."

"But how?" Her lips are trembling. She thinks I've let her in on the most magical secret that can ever exist in her little world.

"They're magic wings. When you leap into the sky, they'll begin to flap and lift you high into the clouds just like a little bird. And then you can fly back down and tell me what you saw."

She's breathing heavily now, a smile creeping across her face. "You sure, Wuby?"

"Of course I'm sure. Why else do you think they're glittering? It's magic. You can fly now, Pearl."

She laughs and walks to the edge of the treehouse, staring up into the sky. I watch as her fragile little hands pull the wings tight against her back.

"I'm scared, Wuby." she whispers.

"Don't be." I say. "You can do it. I believe in you. Just fly."

She's thinking about it, she can't possibly fathom this is real, but she's a child and she wants it so badly. She wants to believe in magic. She wants to believe in me.

Turning around she gives me that big smile of hers. "I'll be wight back, Wuby. Wait for me."

And then she jumps, arms stretching out far ahead of her.

My heart lurches in my chest as I see her actually do it. The distance to the ground is far, but I hear a loud smack as I know she's hit the earth. I sit frozen, waiting to hear her cry. Waiting to hear her feel some kind of pain like the pain I deal with by having her as a sister.

There's nothing.

"Pearl!" I call out. No reply.

I scramble to my feet and peer over the edge expecting to see her sitting there, her face red and startled, maybe a scratch or two. And I do see her then, far below. Her little arms and legs are twisted as she lays sprawled in the grass. Her tiny gown gathers up around a bloody knee and her eyes are open, staring. But what brings my heart to a dead still is her mouth, no longer a snaggled grin, but a deformed protruding jaw, a tiny stream of red spills from her lips over a lone rock in the yard.

I sit back, my mouth dry, my head pulsing. This isn't happening. This isn't real. Any minute she'll get up. Any minute my little sister will be okay. None of this will have ever happened. A breeze whistles through the air and I see one tiny wing of hers attempting to flap its bent and broken frame. Everything else is lifeless.

I'm crying now. I haven't fully thought about that moment in so long. It's always been there. She's always been there. But I've tried everything I could to drown it out. To get her to disappear. It was an accident. A freak accident. I had no idea.

Wiping my nose, I look around. Her smell is thick in the air. It's as if she's still alive in this room tucked into bed and waiting for a story.

"Pearl." I whisper.

There's a movement in the corner of my eye then and I know she's here. The charnel stench is thick in the air. I turn, the woman broken and bent stands in the moonlight behind me. Her long tangled hair is illuminated by the window. She's thin and ragged. Sickly.

I don't run. There's nowhere to hide. Not now anyway. Instead I climb to my feet, shaking, and face her for the first time.

Her hair hides her face, but I can hear the heavy breathing, I can see the jaw hanging loosely from her tangles. I can see a pool of dark liquid dripping at her feet

There's a clicking and chattering coming from somewhere deep beneath her mane. But she doesn't move. She's frozen.

I open my mouth, but I can't form the words. I don't know what to say. Instead I step calmly around little Pearl's bed, my finger's tracing the rough quilt.

The woman remains still, but I know she sees me. I can see her eyes glistening beneath. I'm as close as I've ever been, and I'm terrified. Without knowing what I'm doing, I'm reaching out to her, shaking.

She moves then like a wary animal. Her body hunches and a trembling painful moan tumbles from her lifeless jaw.

"Pearl."

I swallow, trying to find the right words.

"I know it's you."

The woman is still, her head cocked and staring. We're both staring, but I'm now looking at her like I never have before. I'm looking at this monster how I should have all a long.

"Pearl." my voice is just above a whisper. "Please, forgive me. It was my fault. It was all my fault.."

She stands tall now and takes a step forward. I reach my hand out, for the first time not afraid of what will happen. Let her take me. I'm ready. Let her fly me away from here.

I spread my quivering fingers and grasp for her hair. For a moment I think I feel it. Soft, yet cold. But just for a moment. There's one more pitiful moan, faint now, and she fades from me, growing lighter in the moonlight. I reach again, trying to touch my sister, straining for her, but she's gone.

I'm all alone.

"Pearl." I whisper, my throat clenching. "Wait for me."