Relishing the Pain

Lucy dreaded the meeting with her father, detective extraordinaire Jimmy Daleson. Madame Crezan had promised that it would spin her witchcraft into new directions, as meeting Detective Daleson would be an attractive opportunity to overcome past demons. Lucy had prepared herself for the event both mentally and spiritually, but the shock of seeing him in the frat house’s haunted house rattled her to the core.

Lucy wrestled with the notion that her father was to blame for mother’s passing. He had only been doing his job sleuthing criminals when the attack on their family happened. No one, not even her, predicted that her father would be targeted. In his line of police work, the investigator is responsible for building the case, seeking evidence and hunting for clues. When those clues lead to a killer, then killers do what they do best. In this instance, a killer had sought retribution against Detective Jimmy Daleson and his family. 

The booming of gunshots and shattering glass haunted Lucy’s dreams, even fifteen years later. She was only seven years old on the night of her mother’s murder. The local ruffian Jason Stewart had come for retribution, and he had gotten it. Her father wasn’t even home at the time, and Stewart knew that he’d be absent. He wanted the man responsible for tracking him down and sending him to the slammer to discover that everything he had in life could be taken just as easily. Criminals are selfish that way, Lucy thought bitterly, they always blame someone else for their misery. Never themselves. 

She could not blame her father though. She refused to. Detective Daleson was a hero to many, seeking justice for family and victims. He hunted thieves and murderers for a living. Holding them accountable gave those who had been wronged some reprieve, some solace. It was noble work, but it took a heavy toll on the family. Daleson’s family paid the price of long nights, news stories of shootouts, and never knowing if Father would come home. Both Lucy and her mother Jenny never knew if they’d see Jimmy Daleson again each time he stepped out of their modest home. He made a point of driving Lucy to school every day, and she always wondered when it would be their last drive together. Seven-year-olds shouldn’t have to deal with that kind of anxiety. 

Stewart was a different breed of criminal though. He was ruthless and angry, blaming the world for his unemployment and lack of education. In truth he was just another poor drug addict that used crime as his get over, his means of funding the next bump. Tall and lanky, clad in filthy jeans that had seen too many oil changes, Jason was the epitome of a trailer park loser. His long, greasy black hair perpetually stunk of stale cigarettes, and his lack of good hygiene left his face a pimply mess. His appearance was off-putting, and it wasn’t hard to see that this was not a man that desired your birthday party invitation.

Lucy stared into her father’s face, watching the shock of seeing her register with the force of lightning. She had been missing for ten years, and it had thrown him into a drunken tailspin. First my mother, and then me. He has suffered so much. 

If only he knew how lonely being a witch is. Her eyes swelled with tears as she thought back on their happy times. So much had been lost the night Stewart killed Mother. So, so much. In the flash of gunfire, Lucy had become the child of a single parent, a parent that didn’t know what she needed. The detective had withdrawn from the world and especially from his daughter. Simply looking at her brought back painful memories of her mother, his best friend and the love of his life. Lucy had barely hid her disgust of Father’s budding alcoholism, even if it was his coping mechanism. I needed to cope too, Dad! Why couldn’t we have done that together? 

She had tried talking to him, but a child didn't know how to communicate the sorrow she felt. She was eight when she finally wanted to speak about that horrible night, but eight-year-olds aren’t supposed to know how to do that. She wasn’t emotionally developed enough yet to interpret and share her feelings, so her pleas fell on deaf ears. Instead, she began writing in her diary, journaling as a way of finding release. 

She understood now that her childish writings and crude sketchings had turned her simple journal into a leather-bound grimoire. Magic pulsed through her, finding expression in her pain. Growing ever stronger, her powers began to manifest odd occurrences of objects moving, or enemies waking in the morning to find unexplained bruises. She was able to travel through dreams, and not just her own. She slipped into the sleeping minds of others, manipulating them to perform actions she desired. Her direction of others gave her the attention she so desperately craved.  

She began frequenting her father’s dreams so she saw first-hand that he was as broken as she was. There was no joy in this sad man’s heart, no interest in love or affection. He had given up on anything other than a singular focus at work after Lucy’s disappearance. His spark of life was extinguished, and at just 48 years old, he was waiting for death to claim him. She helped him dream about reuniting with her and Mother on a beach vacation somewhere, creating memories for him that had never actually happened. She’d watch his stubbled face crinkle into a waking smile, only to deflate a moment later when he’d realize it was all just a dream. She’d only done that a few times before she couldn’t stand hurting him any further. She wasn’t sure he could take any more pain. 

Dreaming with Father had turned her away from inspiring happiness in others. Pain is power became her mantra, and she wielded the ability to cause suffering like a weapon. Hurting others became a way for her to ease her own burden, silencing demons one at a time.

She unexpectedly stumbled upon Madame Crezan one night, and understood immediately that she had found her mentor. They had both gone after the same teenage boy, meeting in his dream. The poor boy must have woken feeling like he had a screw loose with two witches dancing around in his head. Lucy tiptoed behind Madame Crezan, watching in rapt fascination as the woman steered the boy into dreams of manhood. The elder witch had the boy fantasizing about his future, about a fancy money management job with a powerful investment firm. Then she collapsed the poor kid, spiraling him into a drug-addled night with another woman and thereby destroying the boy’s fictitious marriage. None of this had actually happened, but the boy woke with a distraught start. I want that power for myself. 

Madame Crezan had stepped into Lucy’s own dreams just a few nights later, claiming she had tracked the girl to better understand who was pursuing her. It was an awkward, confrontational meeting but fruitful with the promise of training. Lucy was only 11 years old at the time and needed guidance. Madame Crezan feigned reluctance, but had recognized right away that this young witch possessed tremendous power. No other witch Lucy’s age had such independence in exploring her abilities and Madame Crezan was giddy with anticipation in the witchcraft they could develop together. They would make a formidable team, once Lucy was properly trained. 

Lucy peered deeply into her father’s eyes, seeing the hurt in person for the first time in over a decade. She trembled at his obvious confusion, and the pain in knowing that she had not actually been kidnapped. He wants to know why I left. He needs to know.

Lucy formulated a selfish plan so her father would understand what she had been doing these last several years. She’d visit him in his dreams again and steer him towards the inner workings of her witches' coven. There were other witches and wizards standing in her path to power, and she would manipulate her father into eliminating her competition. He would benefit by making arrests and solving crimes, so both would come out stronger. The possibilities were exciting!

Her sly smile made Detective Daleson’s eyebrows jump. What in the world is she thinking, smiling at a time like this? What happened to her? 

Unfortunately, he’d have to wait to find out. He watched the two witches clasped hands with the young boy who had bravely stood to join them. The moment the trio’s hands united, the air was rent with a shrieking pop and a blinding flash. Then poof! all three were gone. They had disappeared into the ether, like they were never even there. 

The frat’s lights flickered back on, and he realized he was no longer fixed to his chair. However, glancing around the makeshift haunted house presented an eerie scene. Everyone was asleep except for him. Had he just dreamed of this encounter with his missing daughter? Would anyone believe him when they woke up? Did he even believe it himself?