A Thesis Project WRT 465

Only the Wounded By Erin Monda

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 Only the Wounded Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Before the Eyes of Notre Dame Pages 3-6 Chapter 2: Silver Hills Mental Hospital Pages 6-10 Chapter 3: Cornell Pages 10-12 Chapter 4: Missed the Cut Pages 12-19 Chapter 5: Channeling Doolittle Pages 19-22 Chaper 6 : The Train Home Pages 22-26 Chapter 7: In the Hospice Pages 26-32 Future Chapter Summaries Pages 33+        

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Only the Wounded By Erin Monda

Before the Eyes of Notre Dame, 1991

She smiled, tossed her curly hair in the wind, and looked up adoringly at her father as he

held her hand. Stephen Hoffman was in his mid-forties, and handsome. He wore a familiar tweed

jacket with leather patches at the elbow and carried a carved wooden pipe. Grandpa Nicholas had

crafted that pipe with his own hands, and now his son, Stephen Hoffman, puffed upon it

constantly. Everywhere Stephen went, the rich, warm smell of cherry tobacco seemed to linger

afterwards.

Her father’s rough, calloused hand felt good on Suzette’s own, and she felt reassured by

his presence. It was dark, and late, and the waning moon provided minimal light. Their flight was

the red-eye back to Rome, and she had convinced her father to walk to Notre-Dame from their

hotel. From there it would only be five minutes on foot to Charles de Gaulle airport. Then – on to

Rome! And mother.

Earlier in the day they had come to the same place they now stood, but the streets had

been busier, surging with a sea of people. That had been scary – she would have been frightened

if not for her father’s reassuring grip. It had been easy to see the cathedral then, towering

overhead as it was. Her father had beamed like a child and pointed towards the gargoyles up

above. She had looked at the stone edifice with inquisitive brown eyes, but was unable to see

what the fuss was all about. To her, the entire structure looked like a gate. An entirely too-tall

gate. But he was an architect, and she had only four years to his forty.

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“Do you see the flying buttresses, Seuss?” He asked while gesturing with his free hand, a

sweep meant to indicate all of the Notre Dame de Paris.

She nodded, dutifully, and smiled. She didn’t really know quite what a “buttress” was,

but it must be part of the building. “Did God make it, daddy? Did God make the castle?”

Looming overhead as it was, it was hard to imagine the cathedral could possibly be the

work of man.

Her father had chuckled, and paused. He got that scholarly look he often got on his face,

pursed his lips, and quoted a line she hadn’t heard before: “Did God make it? God? No. Nobody

knows the names of the men who made it.”

“Daddy! How can no one know who built such a great, big thing?!” She stamped her

foot, curled her lip, and adopted an overall petulant demeanor. With her little hands on her

skirted hips, and a fierce scowl on her face, she tried her best to look scolding. But Stephen

Hoffman just laughed, swept her up in his arms, and covered her face with kisses. After he’d set

her down, they had gone for lunch, and she ate her very own croque-monsieur.

And now they were back, back in the night to say goodbye to the great cathedral. It

looked different in the dark, lit from below by a dozen brilliant lights. Notre-Dame made for a

hauntingly beautiful sight, even to an uncultured four year old. And it was quieter now, with less

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tourists pushing and making noise. Her father had the pipe in his hand again, and she inhaled

deeply of the warm spring air scented with cherry and vanilla.

“Hey fella,” said a voice melting out of the shadows. A voice that came from nowhere.

While Suzette squeaked in surprise, her father turned to face the stranger. The sudden

thud of a tire iron against Stephen’s skull was loud and horribly real. A great gout of blood jetted

out from the wound and helpless Suzette watched on, too terrified to react.

Her father fell with a groan, and rolling around on the ground, clutched at his head while

the dark-clad stranger struck him again and again with the tire iron, viciously, until he moved no

more. Her father’s stillness, and the sight of the spreading pool of blood beneath him, proved

more terrifying than any of the rest of it, and Suzette finally mustered into action. Crying out, she

tried to go to her father’s side, but the stranger shoved her roughly away with what felt like

superhuman strength. She went flying on to the cobblestones, landing on her back in a daze.

While she lay there she could hear the violent sounds of the stranger continuing to beat

her father’s body. The noise the tire iron made was grotesque, and it engrained itself in her

mind– such was the trauma that she would never forget it. Finally, the sound stopped, and she

could hear the stillness of the night marked by the echo of retreating footsteps.

“Daddy,” she croaked, but the only response was the warm blood that slipped past her

fingers as it trickled down over the cobblestones. She could hear the great bells of Notre Dame

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begin tolling up above, high up above, with all the angels, and the saints, and Daddy… and she

could still smell the lingering scent of cherry tobacco as her eyes slid shut.

Silver Hills Mental Hospital, 2001

Seuss sat in the dark with a flashlight in one hand and a large book propped up against

her knees. Her brown eyes scanned the words on the page diligently, looking for meaning in

every sentence. “Be what you would seem to be -- or, if you'd like it put more simply -- Never

imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or

might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be

otherwise.”

Alice in Wonderland. This book had inspired her. Helped her. She’d read it a dozen times

since her incarceration, and that particular passage was one of the reasons she had stopped

referring to herself as Suzette – and now went only by Seuss. Suzette had stood and watched her

father die. Seuss, on the other hand, was an entirely new identity. Or so she told herself.

She was about to turn the page when she happened to glance down at the watch at her

wrist. Shit. Ten o’clock. They’ll be taking us to our rooms now.

Seuss slammed the book closed and set it down in the dark. No one would find it here –

this quadrant of the hospital had been in disuse for twenty years now. Ever since it had been

deemed inhumane to so detain the mentally ill.

Seuss dashed out of the tiny padded cell, the ancient door creaking shut behind her, and

ran to the common room.

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Itsy was there, all resplendent in his red velvet dress and shaved legs. He was playing the

piano, as always, and the melody was sweet. She nodded at him, though he did not respond, and

looked around to see who else was there. Ted sat in the rocking chair, rocking himself back and

forth and muttering about the devil. A gaggle of twelve or so teenage girls were clustered in the

corner, each more pale and waifish than the next.

“We didn’t eat today,” proudly proclaimed Anna, Seuss’ roommate.

“Err, well that’s very… good?” she said in way of response. What did one ever say to an

anorexic?

“You are late. Where were you? We thought you’d finally gone ahead and did it already.”

Anna turned up her nose primly, clearly uncaring of how cruel her words truly were. The other

girls with eating disorders giggled and huddled together, bound by the camaraderie of their

common defect.

In shame, Seuss turned her wrists downwards towards her sides, trying to hide the deep

gauges marring their surface.

“No. Not today,” said Seuss. Cynically, she added,“Maybe tomorrow?”

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The other young girls giggled, but their merriment was short lived. Proctoress Marie had

arrived, and her expression was stern.

“To your rooms. All of you.”

Anna and Seuss filtered in amongst the rest, until they found themselves in their own

barren two-occupancy room. “Goodnight,” said Seuss to Anna, but the other girl did not deign to

respond. Even though they were the same age – Anna disliked Seuss, and she had never made

any attempt to be friendly. But that didn’t stop Seuss – who always said goodnight, even without

expecting a response.

Sometime in the middle of the evening, Seuss was awakened by a strange bapping noise.

Sitting up in bed, she looked over to where Anna was supposed to be sleeping. The anorexic girl

was gripping a blow-up stress ball in her hand, and bouncing it furiously back in forth.

“What are you doing?” Seuss couldn’t believe what she was seeing. *bap*

“I’m burning calories. They didn’t let us exercise today. Go back to sleep!” Anna

managed to say all this in between *baps*.

Seuss shook her head, sighed, and rolled over. *bap* *bap* *bap*.

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What am I doing here? Really? What am I doing in this place with these people? I

thought I’d cut deep enough, I’m sure that I did…

*bap*

Seuss remembered a different noise, another thudding in the night, and tears and guilt

came unbidden as the memories. Quietly, she slipped out of bed. And then, as she had done

many times before, she snuck through the door and out into the hall – weary for the sound of the

night watchman.

Though there was little light, Seuss knew the way to the chapel by heart. It was straight

down the main hall until the end, then a left, then a right. Finding it was easy -- the hard part was

not being caught. The chapel was closed, of course, as the mental hospital’s normal business

hours were long over. But this did not stop Seuss from picking the lock with a hairpin – a trick

she had learned for just such an occasion. Within the darkened room the air smelled stale as

parchment, and she could barely make out the shadowed effigy of Mother Mary upon the altar.

The darkness twisted her features – making her seem cruel. Unforgiving.

But at least she was there as she always was. And just as silent. Seuss sunk to her knees

before the effigy, bowed her head, and began saying her penance. For each prayer, only silence

answered. But she did not stop offering up her implorations. Her knees grew sore, her back grew

tired, and still Seuss knelt.

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Only after dawn had come did the hospital personnel find Seuss, head still bowed,

murmuring hoarsely for an absolution that would not come.

Cornell, 2015

Beatrix’ voice sounded so warm over the phone, defying the substantial distance between

them. “Just don’t you worry about me, Seuss darling. You just get through your studies.”

Seuss murmured something that sounded suitably acquiescing.

“And don’t be afraid to call me for god’s sake, you’re my daughter!”

Again, Seuss made a non-committal noise.

“Just. Please. You’re all I have left. You know I love you, don’t you?”

“Yes, mom. I know,” said Seuss finally, with the barest trace of annoyance appearing in

her tone.

“Allright, I should rest. The chemotherapy takes a lot out of me. I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Ok,” was all that Seuss said. Once she’d hung up the phone, she rolled over on her side

and looked at the small dormitory room she found herself in. A single – she had not wanted to

share quarters with another student. That’s all she needed – another vapid Anna, whining about

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her weight. But at least this was college now, not a mental hospital. There were no more nurses.

No more forced medication.

Instead… there were drugs. Trying not to think about what she was doing, Seuss took up

the packed bowl from the nightstand and lit it. She breathed deep, the marijuana proving warm

balm to her aching insides. The earthy smell of the smoke drifting from her lips brought her to

another place, and she found her eyelids drifting closed.

There would be time to study for the biology final later on…

She woke to her alarm clock, and jolted out of bed. 7:45! The final is in fifteen minutes,

and I still need to make it across campus… Seuss cursed and threw a baggy black hoodie over

her head – jostling the crucifix at her neck when she did. The hoodie smelled foreign – like

someone else. She couldn’t remember, but it was likely a trophy from some boy or another she

had met at a party. It didn’t really matter.

She knew, without taking the time to look in the mirror, that her hair would be an unholy

bird’s nest of dark brown curls. And she almost forgot to put pants on in her haste to dash out the

door. Seuss knew she must look like a complete mess.

Christ.

It didn’t bear thinking about.

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Appearances didn’t matter, what she got on the test was important. And good grades were

important to her. And at least it’s something I can actually accomplish. I’m so tired of being

helpless…

Upon exiting the dorm in her disheveled state, the sunlight hit her in the face like it were

made of cement, and Seuss found herself cringing, hiding her eyes behind a raised hand. She felt

like some accursed creature of the night.

Dear god. Someone dim the lights...

“Hey, watch it!” exclaimed another girl – a pretty red-head, who Seuss forcibly collided

with in her mad dash across the quad.

“Sorry!” Seuss muttered awkwardly, but didn’t bother to stick around for a response. Not

with three minutes left to get to her class.

By some divine grace, she aced the test.

Missed the Cut, 2020

The throbbing sound of European dance music assailed Seuss' ears as she swung open the

front door. Arms ladened with grocery bags, she made her way to the kitchen. Fumbling around

in the dark, Seuss wiggled around her elbow, seeking a light switch, but instead smacked it into

the wall. Cursing, she slammed her bruised arm upwards, hitting the switch completely by

chance. The eventual light was a welcome touch – the sight of the familiar maple cabinetry and

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stainless steel appliances consoled her some.

What a day. Ten dogs, two cats... I’m 23. Getting too old for this shit.

She plopped the heavy bags down on the counter, swung open the fridge, and began to

rummage around for something to eat.

A sudden giggling noise drew her attention. Seuss looked over the fridge door to see

where the sound was coming from. In the doorway stood a gaggle of skinny girls, none of them

over seventeen. The foremost individual wore a cut-off t-shirt, her belly exposed and decorated

with a glittering naval ring.

The leader of the pack.

Seuss tried her best to smile but the gesture was a wooden one. These girls reminded her

of the ones at the mental hospital.

"Like," said the leader as she tossed her spiky blonde bangs, pursed her glossed lips, and

struck a pose. "Hi Mam’. Is this the, um, like, kitchen? What's there to eat? Umm, we're hungry."

Seuss grit her teeth and assumed her best hostess demeanor. "Why, I can make you ladies

some cheese and crackers, I suppose." These must be some of Alek's bimbos. Christ, they're just

kids. And what must they think of me? Seuss casually ran a hand down the front of her scrubs,

unintentionally self conscious. They must think I'm his roommate, or worse...

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"Gee that'd be great, Miss uh...?" said the head bimbo.

"You can call me Suzette. I'm Alek's girlfriend." She relished the changing of their

expressions, and the uncertain glances they cast amongst themselves. But instead of making

herself feel better, she felt ashamed. She ducked back inside the fridge to hide the blush creeping

across her cheeks. "Well, ex-girlfriend. Sort of. It's complicated."

"Ohhh," said the blonde with the naval ring. "Like, I get it. Well um, sorry. We were

going to leave soon anyways..."

Seuss straightened, block of cheese in hand. "No, it’s allright. You're bound to run into

these situations when you get older, it’s foolish to live with a man before you're married..."

She was interrupted by Alek's arrival. He stumbled into the room reeking of hard liquor,

his handsome face marred by stubble. He was a fairly big guy, built and running a little fat, but

his lips were full and his eyes… Oh, those eyes. Seuss remembered when she had first met Alek

at a college party. Those huge black pools had drawn her from across the room, drowned her in

their depths and left her struggling for air. The effect was no less diminished these few years

later...

"Hey, babe," he said with a smile and a swagger, sauntering over to where Seuss had

begun to lay out crackers on a plate. He slapped her ass familiarly and leered at the gaggle of

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girls as they giggled in response.

Seuss tried to play it cool, keeping her tone even. "Hello Alek." She kept her face turned

downwards, focusing on the cheese, the crackers, the knife. Chop, chop, chop. Alek helped

himself to a stray cracker, munching upon it loudly.

"What are you making for us? Cheese and crackers?" Alek asked nonchalantly.

"Cheese and crackers, yes. It's all I could whip up on such short notice." She kept her

eyes down, face burning, glad for the veil provided by her long, thick, curly hair. Chop, chop,

chop went the knife.

"Well, give me a kiss at least." He sounded positively petulant now, and she couldn't

ignore him. Not with guests in the house. Slowly, she sat down the knife, and turned to face him.

She tried to ignore the way his masculine scent invaded her nose and set her mind off-kilter. It

did her no good. And when their eyes met... her heart plummeted and her breath caught in her

throat. Those trade-mark beauties had no bottom, no depth, no soul. They were cold and

glittering, predatory. A shark's eyes. And they had a sheen to them, as on this occasion like so

many others – what she knew to be the faint gleam of madness. Alek was privileged enough to

live in a haze of delusion. Family money paid the bills, and little else was required of him. God

knew Seuss required little of him.

She chastely pressed her lips to his, and he pulled back with a chuckle, not returning the

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gesture.

By now, Seuss' cheeks were blazing.

The group of girls at the door had gone largely silent. They shuffled around awkwardly,

but he was quick to return to them, thrusting the platter of cheese and crackers into the blonde

girl’s hands. Alek draped his arms around the shoulders of the two closest to him.

"So… Lita, Kriss, Taylor, Carmen, Vicky and I are headed back upstairs. We're going to,

you know… do a few lines, drink a little Raki... maybe listen to a little music..." He paused, and

as an afterthought, “You can join us if you want.” His boyish grin was almost infectious.

Alek-speak for getting fucked up and fucking… Seuss nodded, but she needn't have

bothered because the whole gang had already turned and was headed in the opposite direction.

There goes my Prince Charming. The thought caused her to shudder. She had to take a

deep, calming breath to regain control of herself. There was no use crying about it, not with no

one around to hear or care. Why do I do this to myself? I'm damaged. He’s damaged, and I don’t

need this. I should leave him, leave the veterinary clinic, pack up, go home, start over...

Seuss clenched her eyes shut, trying to hold back tears and failing. No! I can’t go back.

There are too many memories. Jesus. I can remember Dad sitting there at the table, and Mom

beside him, back when she was healthy. Now the place is a goddamn crypt.

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Seuss wiped her wet hands at her scrubs, distractedly. Wet? She looked down at her

hands in shock and was transported back to memories of her teenage years. Blood trickled from

open wounds at the wrists, blood in a slow yet steady stream. The knife? Did I cut myself with the

knife? Was I that upset? Confused, Seuss looked over the blade and saw that it seemed to be

clean. .

It’s so deep… These were last cohesive thoughts before blackness set in.

She awoke in his arms. They were big and strong and she felt cradled like a doll – safe

there, for once. His big black eyes were moist with tears – tears?! Seuss tried to sit up abruptly,

shocked into motion, but Alek tightened his grip, keeping her pinned.

“Why did you do it, whyyyy…” he wailed. It was moments like this, when she could see

the pain in him, that she thought he might almost care. And maybe in his own, demented, crazy-

man kind of way, Alek did.

“Alek. Let me up.” Her throat was dry and her voice came out as an unseemly croak.

“The girls are gone,” he sniffled, dragging a large hand through her hair in his version of

a caress.

“That’s fine Alek, that’s fine. It wasn’t about the girls, my knife slipped…”

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He shook his head in disbelief. “I know about Silver Hills, you don’t have to lie to me.

You know, of all people – I’m the last to judge about that.” He frowned, getting a faraway

expression, and Seuss knew he was thinking of his own time in Bellevue’s mental ward.

“Alek, I wouldn’t hide it from you!” She finally wrenched clear of his grip and rose

shakily to her feet. She looked around the kitchen, searching for any sign of foul play. The knife

was still on the counter, clean save for a few stray morsels of cheese.

Aside from that, there was only the massive quantity of blood to incriminate her. Blood

on the counter, blood on the cabinets, blood on the floor – all pooling into a coagulated mess.

Sticky, it coated the front of her scrubs in a damning layer. And her wrists still throbbed… Seuss

looked at those last, afraid of what she might find.

There were holes in her wrists! Holes clear through! Like a bullet had pierced them. And

they were still oozing blood, unlike the horizontal wounds she had inflected on herself in her

confused youth. And she didn’t feel dizzy now, even after losing what must have amounted to

several pints.

“Jesus,” Seuss said.

Alek looked up from his position on the floor, covered in her blood, his expression oddly

ponderous. “Are you ok, babe? I feel…strange,” he said.

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Seuss sank back onto the floor next to him, her mind still reeling. “I’m ok, I think. I don’t

know what happened.” She leaned into him for support, and he cradled her against him. It was

that gesture – so sweet – so alien – for Alek, that made her look up in alarm.

He was pale, but other than that looked unchanged. Save for… his eyes. They had in

them an unusual clarity, a normalcy – that was not to be expected. They were warm and giving --

eyes she had prayed for. They were not Alek’s.

“I…” she dragged her tongue against the dry roof of her mouth, “Alek, you feel strange?

How do you mean?”

“I feel good,” he shrugged. “Better than ever, really. Like… I could run a marathon.”

As Seuss nestled her head in the crook between his shoulder and his neck, she knew with

startling clarity that something had happened in the kitchen, but she was hard-pressed to say

what.

Channeling Doolittle, 2021

The next morning Seuss went to work as she usually went. Beneath her scrubs she was

dressed simply in jeans and a sweater. Her long, curly hair was bound up into a pony-tail, and

she hadn’t bothered putting on any makeup. Over her wounds she wore tightly bound Ace

bandages. She had not wanted to go to the hospital for treatment, fearing they would commit her

and ruin the progress she had made in her life. Seuss had graduated at the top of her class from

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Cornell, for Christsakes. She was no longer that scared little girl, that confused teenager.

Alek had actually made her breakfast – he’d been awake, not passed out until 4:00 pm. It

unsettled her a little because he had never doted on her like this before. She chalked it up to guilt,

and went about her business with only the faintest suspicions in the back of her mind.

Seuss was the first employee to arrive at the clinic. She dug in the bottomless pit of her

purse for the keys, rummaging amongst all the accumulated junk until she felt the familiar, cold

touch of metal. And just as she inserted the key into the doorknob…

“Shiny!”

Seuss jerked backwards in alarm, looking up to see where the shrill voice had come from.

Above, there was only a large black raven perched over the clinic’s door. Seuss composed

herself as best she could, ignoring the pounding in her chest, before asking “E-excuse me?”

“Krrrraak! The key. It’s shiny.” The raven clacked his beak mantled his feathers proudly,

as if he had just announced something of critical import.

“Yes, it is shiny.” Seuss spoke as if scripted, unsure what she should say in this situation.

If she should even say something in this situation. Now I know there’s something wrong with me.

I’m talking to a bird. A bird! The gleaming creature tilted his hide from side to side, taking her in

with his bright, intelligent eyes.

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Seuss jammed the key into the lock, turned the doorknob, and stepped inside the clinic.

But the raven’s voice followed her through the walls, as did those of his brothers and sisters who

were quick to land on the roof beside him. They cackled in unison, each bird joining their voices

together, forming an unintelligible cacophony.

“Birds have no class,” said a childish voice over the din. Seuss set her purse down on the

receptionist’s desk and fearing what she might find, peered over the edge. There, on the floor, sat

the veterinary clinic’s resident feline, a fat brown tabby named Theo. It was Seuss herself who’d

adopted him.

“Theo?”

“Theophrastus, if you please.” The cat adapted a very smug appearance, sitting up and

puffing his furry chest out some. “Pronounced like the Greek philosopher of the same name.”

“Theophrastus.” Seuss sat down heavily in the receptionist’s chair, trying to clear her

mind. Outside, the ravens were still cackling. Yesterday, she’d begun bleeding without

explanation. Today, animals were talking to her – and she was talking back. “That’s good and

all, Theo… Theophrastus. Can you tell me why I am hallucinating?”

“Hallucinating? No. You’ve been blessed. Marked, if you will.” Theo studied her with his

yellow eyes as he spoke, his whiskers trembling slightly.

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“Blessed?” Seuss couldn’t hold back the bitter laugh that escaped her throat. When the

cat reacted only by staring at her, she sobered up some. “And… this means what? Every animal I

encounter automatically senses this?” Seuss was skeptical, but the cat actually shrugged in way

of response.

“You understand us. We understand you. Every word, every nuance, every action can be

judged accordingly. It’s a covet-worthy gift.” Though Seuss wasn’t sure why, Theo fluffed up

his bushy tail and stalked away sullenly.

“Blessed?” Seuss rested her head into her hands and let out a miserable sigh. “More like

terminally crazy…”

Her self-pitying was interrupted when the clinic door swung open, and Barbara the

receptionist walked in. “Hey, are you ok?” said Barbara, a middle-aged woman with soft grey

eyes and a motherly demeanor.

“Fine, just fine, Barb. I’m just fighting with Alek. Again. Sorry.” Seuss rose to her feet,

dabbed at her eyes, and took a long, composing breath. It was going to be a long, long day…

The Train Home, 2021

Seuss Hoffman looked through the train’s grimy glass window and observed the station

as if she were a photographer taking a picture with her mind. Stamford, she could tell by the

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number of adjacent tracks, was a hub for travel. The nearby buildings towered overhead,

modernist structures of dark glass – cruel and beautiful all at once. Corporate castles in the sky.

But when the train doors slid shut, and the metal beast began its steady, lumbering pace towards

New York City, all the buildings became a homogenous blur.

Seuss panned back her view to focus instead on the window right before her, and caught

her reflection in the glass. Dirty as the window was, she could still make out the oval shape of

her face. Seuss studiously examined her dark lashes and long, curly black hair. Her face was

more hollowed than it had been before she met Alek, a realization causing her full lips to curl

into a frown. But at least she was free of him now – she’d finally mustered the courage to leave,

and now there was a bit of strength in the gaunt contours of her features. The overnight bag in

the seat next to her was testament of her resolve.

Resolved. She fancied her reflection looked thusly.

“Suzette…” The unexpected voice, softly-spoken and sibilant, may as well have been

trumpeted in the nearly empty train car. But Seuss ignored it, along with the goose-bumps that

crawled up her arms. Instead, she became quite interested in counting the number of freckles on

her own nose.

“Suzette...” She looked down at her hands now, at the twisted ivory digits clutched

together in her lap. These were a savior’s hands -- hands that operated on animals – saved their

lives. And now she studied every contour on their surface.

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After that, there was silence. She waited a minute, and then a minute more. When she

casually looked over to her right, she saw that the aisle was empty and so were the seats

immediately across the way. A careful glance backward revealed the only other living occupants

of the train car – a middle-aged mother traveling next to her young child. The former was

reading a magazine, and the latter had his earphones on.

They were both charmingly oblivious.

Seuss took a calming breath and craned her neck around further, so that she could see the

seat directly behind hers. And there it sat. A horror from the umpteenth dimension – a mass of

tentacles, fangs, and suckers. Glistening and purple, the odd entity dwarfed a standard mountain

gorilla, and managed to be ten times more frightening. While it had no eyes, it managed to

communicate its intent clearly by clacking the thousand, sharply pointed black teeth housed

within its multitude of mouths.

The creature lurched upwards suddenly, and waved its tentacles towards her. Seuss

trembled, struggled not to wet herself…

“Do something holy-like, you useless idiot!” yowled a boyish voice from within the cat

carrier beneath her seat.

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As calmly as could be expected for someone who had come into her abilities just a few

days ago, she simply held up her shaking hands. Christ, look at those teeth. What do I say?

Jesus! I can’t think… The words popped into her head, and in as steady a voice as she could

muster, she said a phrase she had spoken countless times before – though usually at mass: “In the

name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost…”

And that was all it took. Like a slug strewn with salt, the creature began to deflate

rapidly, all the while making sizzling and popping sounds. It folded in on itself, tentacles waving

helplessly until all that was left was a puddle of steaming goo on the seat.

“I don’t know what that was, but thank you,” she said to the cat, while slumping back

into her seat.

“A demon,” replied Theophrastus. Unfortunately, since he was a cat, she could not be

certain as to his sincerity. Sensing her disbelief, he added, “They take various forms. That looked

like one of those Japanese ones – and you don’t want to know what all those tentacles were for.”

“Why would a demon appear on the train with us?” asked Seuss, feeling stupid.

“I’m a cat, not an Oracle,” said Theo by way of response, and then was quiet.

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Nearby, the boy elbowed his mother and pointed at the crazy girl a few aisles ahead, who

was waving her hands at the empty seat behind her. His mother patted him idly on the head, not

even bothering to look up from her copy of Cosmopolitan.

“Nutter,” The boy muttered for no one’s benefit but his own.

In the Hospice, 2021

Seuss had gotten the courage to leave Alek three days ago, when word had come via

telephone. The voice on the other end of the receiver was sympathetic, but the message was no

less terrifying; “It won’t be long now.” Those dreaded words conjured up images Seuss had been

trying to forget; of her last visit, where her mother – no -- the skeleton masquerading as her

mother -- had hacked up blood. It still haunted her dreams, even amongst all the terrors lingering

there as of late.

And now Seuss Hoffman had arrived at St. Luke’s Hospital to see her dying mother. A

pleasantly plump nurse met her at the visitor’s desk, and with Beatrix’ chart in hand, led Seuss

down the hospice’s twisting corridors. Seuss followed her with her travel bag slung over one

shoulder, and the heavy cat carrier in hand.

As Seuss followed the nurse into her mother’s room she noticed the hospice’s cold, dead,

white walls and reflected that this was no proper place for a woman like Beatrix Hoffman. But

the waste laying in the hospital bed could not be Beatrix. Her skin hung off of her thin form – all

yellow and withered. And her head gleamed bald – gone was the long, luxurious hair that had

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been Beatrix’ pride. Dozens of tubes crawled out of her skin, attached to inhumanely beeping

medical machines.

The nurse who led Seuss in gave her a look of pity before she began checking the

machines. Then, with an unreadable expression, she left Seuss to say her goodbyes.

Seuss sat by Beatrix’ bedside and glanced down at the bouquet she’d brought all the way

from Connecticut for the sleeping woman. These mocking red roses were mere baubles in the

face of adversity; the realization was unbearable, and Suzette cast the useless flowers onto the

floor. There was near silence in the room then, broken only by the beeping of the machines and

the weak sounds of Beatrix’ inhalation. Laying there still as she was, it would be easy to mistake

her for a corpse.

In her prime, Beatrix planned fund-raisers, sheltered runaways, and found help for those

less fortunate than her. God had repaid her by snuffing out the life of her husband through a

brutal and senseless crime. But this tragedy did not diminish the scope of her generosity --

Beatrix continued doing her good works. And Seuss’ mother had seen that her troubled daughter

received every bit of therapy she could possibly receive.

When Seuss had grown up, and recovered a little, Beatrix had paid fully for her Cornell

education.

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Now Beatrix, a good woman, was dying. In a day – in a week – it would be over. Her life

snuffed out too soon.

“Mother?” Seuss had asked as she carefully took the dying woman’s hand in her own.

There was no response, save for the soft beeping of the many medical machines.

“Mother, I’m here now.” Seuss slid from her seat, to her knees. The tile was cold and

hard beneath her. Uncomfortable, but it did not matter. Her mother still did not respond.

“When I was little we went to church every Sunday, do you remember? And one of my

earliest memories is of Notre Dame…” Seuss drifted off in mid-sentence to wipe the warm tears

from her cheeks. The doctors and nurses had said that if she talked to her mother, even in this

drugged state, that she would hear her. That it would help. But she felt, in her heart, that the

doctors and nurses were liars.

“And I stopped believing when I was a teenager, but we do a lot of stupid things

when we’re teenagers. I remember your face when I told you I didn’t want to go anymore. I

know it hurt you. But I want you to know I’ve found faith now. Or, more aptly…” Seuss paused,

tears stinging at her eyeballs and making it hard to see, “Faith found me.”

She reached out with her free hand, the one that was not clenching her mother’s, and

reached over to stroke the other woman’s smooth head comfortingly.

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“I’ve been thinking a lot about all the things I’ve ever said or done to hurt you. How

spiteful, how childish I was. I think about how I would do anything to erase the wrongs that I’ve

committed. I’ve watched helplessly the past two years as you turned into a husk of yourself. I’ve

even gone back to church, began praying again.”

She trembled as she said the next words, “And I want you to know, that I think God heard

me.”

“God?” The unexpected, masculine voice came from the room’s shadows, and Seuss

turned her head in shock. Expecting to find a nurse or a doctor, she was even further surprised to

see someone sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs. She had been so intent on her mother that she

had not noticed him. Nor, come to think of it, had the nurse. But what an odd sight not to see.

The man, if he could be called a man… was wearing a voluminous black robe and cowl.

As he rose awkwardly to his feet she noticed that his shape was a malformed one – it looked as if

he might be stooped over or hunchbacked. Nonetheless, he cut an intimidating figure, even

misshapen as he was he neared almost seven feet in height.

The cowl pulled up over his head obscured his features, and the only other distinguishing

mark were the piercing red, pupilless eyes staring out at her.

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Seuss rose from her knees, her legs shaking. In the time since her gift flowered, she had

seen a few odd things – talking birds, Japanese demons, etc... But the strangest of all was this –

this – apparition. It glided across the floor smoothly, as if it was flying, rather than walking, until

it stood tall over the bedside of poor Beatrix Hoffman.

“God is godly, this is true, but what of the rest of us? What of you?” The apparition

leaned curiously over Beatrix’ prone form.

“I do not claim to be godly, but this is my mother. That’s all. Who are you?” Suzette tried

to still the shaking in her legs, but it had grown damnably cold in the hospice room. The robed

figure chuckled, a throaty sound tinged with winter. She could smell its breath – dead leaves

cooled by hoary frost.

“I have many names. You may call me Mavet.” The entity turned towards her, his

features shrouded in darkness. His glowing red eyes stared out at Seuss from the darkness of its

cowl. “And I am here for your mother.”

Mavet. The angel of death. Seuss, knowing the name from her mornings at bible study,

instantly grabbed her grabbed her mother’s limp wrist and began reciting the holiest words she

could think of. Any words from the scripture, even if they weren’t necessarily accurate. As she

prayed, she glanced only once at the figure claiming to be Mavet – and he did not seem

particularly ill-affected by her words, as the supposed demon on the train had been. But he

eventually straightened and tilted his head curiously.

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“Be sure if this is what you want to do. Her life is marked, bought, and paid for in the

Halls of Beyond. Her name is on the list, and the leaf has fallen. Even one of you should be

weary at tampering with such things as this.”

Seuss acted as if she did not hear him. The torrent of babble coming from her mouth was

non-ceasing – every prayer she had ever learned bubbled from her now like a spring. And it was

enough. Only when Mavet shrugged and melted back into the shadows did Seuss allow herself to

slump over her mother, exhausted.

When she regained consciousness it was on the barren floor of the hospice room with a

concerned nurse standing over her.

“Are you ok, shug’?” said the nurse in a gravelly voice. Seuss merely nodded and let the

nurse help her to her feet, careful to keep her now-bleeding wrists tucked firmly inside the

dampening sleeves of her black hoodie.

Seuss looked around the room carefully. There was no sign of the entity in black – Mavet

– as he had called himself. Beatrix, on the other hand, had a decidedly healthier complexion. A

surge of joy shot through Seuss’ chest when she saw this – it had worked! Seuss had had a hunch

that she was capable of healing – ever since she’d bled all over Alek he’d become sane. But she

hadn’t known – really known – until just now

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On the ground, she noticed the flowers she had discarded were withered as if touched by

death’s own hand. Scattered inexplicably amongst them were three long, black feathers. While

Seuss made casual notice of this, the nurse did not seem to care.

Her attention was otherwise occupied.

“Why, look at that,” remarked the nurse as she glanced over at the machines with a

frown. “I’ll have a technician come in here, this can’t be right.” The nurse hit the emergency

button and began fussing with the wires. The other nurses came running.

The next day, the miraculous recovery of one Beatrix Juliet Hoffman graced the front of

almost every newspaper – national and otherwise.

It did not go unnoticed.

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Future Chapter Information

I’ve made some changes to this story from when I last submitted it. My initial submission spanned between 50 and 60 pages. I’ve instead decided to submit my strongest thirty-odd pages of writing, and summarized the yet-to-be-written chapters below. I’ve kept it to the “meat and potatoes” of the descriptions – suffice to say that there are plenty of unspoken supernatural occurrences sprinkled throughout. The tone of the story changes after Seuss develops the stigmata – she goes from being a troubled girl to having a purpose -- and seeing and doing things that other people cannot. Chapter 8: A Vatican Investigation Beatrix, recently recovered, is paid a visit by Vatican representatives. They want to ensure her miraculous recovery is not associated with any supernatural events. She is as of yet unaware of Seuss’ abilities, so is, in all honesty, able to deceive them. Satisfied, the Vatican representatives depart, leaving Beatrix in peace. She tells Seuss about it, who becomes nervous about the potential for other parties to take an interest in her gifts. She resolves to be careful. Chapter 9: Spreading the Wealth Seuss, upon discovering her ability to heal, decides she has to start thinking of others besides herself. She considers the stigmata a gift, and her new purpose in life is to share it with the unfortunate. She infiltrates a local children’s hospital and an old person’s home, posing as a visitor, and heals as many people as she can. Chapter 10: Holy Vigilantism Isn’t Easy Shortly after the previous chapter, Seuss continues her vigilante hospital infiltrations, and is caught in the act and taken under custody by hospital security. While in containment, and awaiting transportation to the police station, Seuss begins bleeding profusely from her wrist wounds. The security detail calls in one of the hospital’s doctors on duty – Ryan Avery – who is fascinated by Seuss’ inexplicable wounds. Luckily for Seuss, Ryan is a devout Catholic, and it is easy for her to convince him of her legitimacy. Ryan throws his considerable weight around the hospital and gets Seuss discharged. Chapter 11: Operating Under the Radar Ryan Avery honors Seuss’ secrets and implorations of discretion, and the two become friends. Ryan is married, but there is a definite attraction between them – one which neither party acts on. Ryan switches to the late-night shifts at the hospital in order to help Seuss operate with minimal notice. Chapter 12: The Jig is Up Up until now the chapters have been in relatively consecutive chronological order. At this point, however, the story jumps ahead. It is presumed that between Chapter 11 and Chapter 12 several years have passed. Seuss has been living on Park Avenue with her mother, and does not work per say. Instead she is a frequent guest of Ryan Avery’s at the hospital. Ryan’s wife Belinda has become suspicious of their relationship, and hires a private eye named John Dexter to follow them around. The P.I. masquerades as a patient and gets more than he bargained for. He fast discovers Seuss’ supernatural abilities, and intends to sell the evidence to a local newspaper.

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Chapter 13: The Road to Rome The Vatican representatives catch wind of Dexter’s plot to make Seuss’ stigmata public. They intervene by paying Dexter off, and keep the evidence for themselves. Using information gleaned from Dexter, the Vatican representatives ambush Ryan and Seuss’ when they rendezvouz at the hospital. Seuss is taken into custody and it is presumed she is being transported to Rome. Ryan is shaken down by the Vatican representatives, and warned to keep quiet… or else. Chapter 13: The Bravery of Father Shane Michael A rogue agent at the Vatican, the elderly Father Shane Michael, learns of Seuss’ impending arrival in Rome. We learn through a dream/flashback that he has worked as a Vatican representative in the past, and has a great deal of guilt about the stigmatics he himself has sheparded to Rome. He makes a plan and intervenes on behalf of Seuss – and the two escape before she is ever incarcerated. Chapter 14: Coming (Back) to America The two – Priest and Stigmatic – find their way back to New York City and assume aliases. Father Michael becomes something of a spiritual guide for Seuss, and he helps her begin to understand the scope and history behind her gift. The pair vow to operate under the radar as much as possible, and continue to try and use Seuss’ abilities for the better good of humanity. This chapter ends with a hopeful note.