Death's Awakening

Chapter Eleven: Parrish

Parrish opened her eyes to darkness. She sat up and listened. Silence filled the air around her, but just as she started to relax, she heard it again.

A moan.

Her eyes popped open wider, and her throat closed in fear. She'd heard a similar sound the other night.

Craning her neck, she looked toward the clock on her bedside table. 2:15 A.M. She propped herself up on her elbows and listened, not even wanting to move. She wanted it to be a dream.

And she had been dreaming. Something that filled her with a strange sadness even now that she was awake. Something about a man who seemed so familiar. And a purple stone.

Another moan, this time followed by a crash down the hall. Breaking glass. Parrish threw the comforter from her legs and raced down the hall to her parents' bedroom.

"Mom?" She pushed open the door. Her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness.

"Parrish." Her mother's voice was a whisper.

Parrish trembled inside, a twinge of fear taking up residence in her ribcage. She felt along the smooth, cool wall until she found the light switch, then flicked it up.

Her eyes burned in the sudden light. She squinted toward the bed, but it was empty. Her mother's pillow was drenched, as if someone had tossed a glass of water on it.

The large comforter was pulled off to the far side, and the corner of it moved, pulled down out of sight. Parrish crawled across the bed, her mouth dry.

Her mother lay on the floor, her eyes wide and full of terror. Coughs shook her thin frame as she struggled to sit up. A stream of red blood flowed from her hand and arm. Confused, Parrish scrambled the rest of the way across the bed and leaned over to help her up. Was she cut?

That's when she saw the broken vase. It must have gotten knocked over when she fell. A pool of glass and water and tulips as red as her mother's blood all mingled on the floor under and around her mother's body.

There wasn't a lot of room between the bed and the wall, but Parrish managed to squeeze through without stepping on her mom. She grabbed her hand and tried to lift her back onto the bed. At first, her mom seemed to help, pulling her weight against Parrish's hand. But she only made it an inch off the ground when her legs gave out and she tumbled back into the broken glass on the floor.

Parrish looked around, her stomach twisting.

She wasn't strong enough to pick her mom up and put her back in bed, but maybe if she got lower, she could kind of push her up enough that she would be able to pull herself up with her arms instead of her legs. When she knelt, pinpricks of glass sank into the flesh of Parrish's knees and the palms of her hands.

"I was trying to get to the bathroom, but my legs just wouldn't work," her mother said in a frail whisper, struggling to sit up. "I don't think I can stand up."

The confusion in her mother's tone terrified her.

"I'm going to put my hands under you. When I do, I want you to try to grab the sheets and pull yourself up onto the bed, okay?" Parrish asked. She used all her strength to lift up as her mother clawed at the bed-sheets. Slowly, her mom managed to pull herself far enough that Parrish could get her onto the top of the large king-sized bed.

Parrish pulled the comforter from the foot of the bed and tossed it into the corner. She grabbed a pillow and used it to sweep the pieces of broken glass aside as best she could. A sharp piece sliced into her heel and she sucked a breath through her teeth. She lifted her foot and picked the shard from her flesh, setting it on the bedside table with a clink. Blood trickled from the wound, mingling with the pool of blood already on the floor and all over the sheets.