A True Soul
Type X

A bright light seemed radiated over everything as I opened my eyes. I felt overwhelming pain spread through my body. A moan rose up from inside me, everything seemed off…

“Angela Silverwood, we’ve got you. You’re going to be ok.”

Was someone saying my name? I tried to lift myself, but I was pushed back, things started to come into focus and I could tell I was moving.

“Angie, please just stay with us.”

“Dad?” My voice only produced a weak mumble.

“Shh, it’ll be ok,” Julian, my father, said.

“Sir, she’s lost a lot of blood.” The voice sounded distant and unreal. Who was she talking about?

Then I felt the pounding in my head and my whole body began to throb. I lifted my hand to my forehead and felt the warm liquid coming from an open gash. It hit me. I was the one hurt. I was the one bleeding. But I couldn’t remember anything. It was so confusing. My eyes shut and opened again. My vision was coming in and out of focus. I saw my hand tremble in front of my face before it dropped to my side.

I was tired. So tired. There was a strong need to just sleep. The exhaustion outweighed the pain. I shut my eyes. The voices faded, and everything was gone.

I had been driving home from working at my father’s humane society. We were short staffed, so I stayed late to cover a shift. This was not a big deal, my dad was the owner of the Green Acres Humane Society here in New Haven, New York, so he hadn’t minded me working late.

It was chilly and dark by the time I clocked out. I wrapped a jacket around me as I got into my car. The car was a present for my 16th birthday. I was grateful for the black 2001 Ford Fusion, but sometimes I missed riding my bike places. Since I got my car it didn’t seem like I had time for riding it anymore.

Funny¸ I never thought I’d miss that. I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

My mind drifted back to work. How my father managed to take care of all those animals, I don’t really know. He always got them well cared for and placed into good homes, as long as they weren’t too far gone when they came us. Once, there was a dog who had been hit by a car, he had severe internal bleeding. Julian said it would’ve been too cruel to keep it in this world. I remember leaving work brokenhearted. I knew it was impossible to save them all, but I was still going to use all of my power to try.

It was strange how these memories filled my head as I drove. It happened almost 6 months ago. And it wasn’t the first time I’ve gone through loses at the shelter. I sighed and continued to drive down the road. Thick green trees covered both sides. I looked around; this was probably the most beautiful place one earth. Woods surrounded both my home and the shelter. It was the most peaceful place I could imagine.

I smiled at the contentment which had risen inside me. It was so easy to look at all the negative things. But here, I was strong enough to push any negative feelings aside. For a fleeting solitary moment I could be a carefree, naive sixteen-year-old, before everything changed.

I didn’t even see it coming, the car slammed directly in the driver side door. The driver didn’t stop at the sign, they’d just kept coming. And everything went black.

The exhaustion and pain brought unwelcome dreams of my mother’s face, always blurry and never quiet within my grasp.

I often think about my mom and imagine what it would be like if she were still alive. Her name was Ember. I used to say it to myself when I was little, trying to fall asleep. I thought it sounded pretty and would make the monsters under the bed leave me alone. Now I know it’s just a name, with no special powers, nothing to actually protect me from the real evils of the world.

Since her death, I’ve felt like something was missing. Like I wasn’t completely whole. I thought maybe it was normal. I thought this all-consuming void was just an after effect from losing my mother at such a young age. And nothing really filled the gaping hole until I discovered my love for animals. For whatever reason, just being around animals soothed me enough to where I didn’t feel so raw inside. I felt like they understood me. In a weird way it was like I belonged with them, and it took me a long time to figure out why.

The sheets were soft and warm, but the room was cold. I thought I’d left my window open so I pulled the sheets tighter around me. But something seemed off. They smelled wrong. I opened my eyes. The lights were harshly bright and smothering. It’d hurt to keep my eyes open. Everything was too white. The curtains were pulled shut around the door and window, so no one could see in. I realized I was in a hospital room. What happened slowly came back to me. I lifted my right hand to my head again and felt a sharp pain where my forehead was wrapped. I tried to sit, but the searing, blinding pain forced me to lie back. I noticed my left wrist was wrapped in a cast. Tears swelled in my eyes as my body fully registered how much agony I was actually in.

“Angie?”

“Dad?” I saw him rise from the chair he was sleeping in.

“How’re you feeling? Can I get you anything?” He was unshaven and still wore the same clothes I had last seen him in. How many days had passed?

I paused. I was so disoriented I didn’t know what to say, “I feel like my skeleton has been ripped out from the soles of my feet.”

He looked like he was about to cry too. “I’m sorry baby girl, I’m so sorry,”

I forced myself into sitting position and ignored my body’s throbbing protest. “Dad, it wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. I’ll be ok.”

He shook his head. “I wish I could explain. If I had been a better parent this would never have happen.”

“Dad, no! What are you talking about?” The pain in my ribs and stomach made me double over. I wrapped my right hand around my waist.

He looked at me as if he was surprised I was still alive. “Dad, it hurts.” I pulled my legs against my chest, pushing myself into a ball.

“I’m sorry, I should have gotten the nurse right away. Sorry Angie,” He mumbled again. Why was he saying sorry so much? This wasn’t like my dad at all. Where was the strong confident father I knew? His eyes were unfocused, and but his face portrayed a look of complete and utter defeat.

I lifted my head as he opened the door to get the nurse. I turned to look at the IV’s in my arm. The first IV was for hydration. The second was injecting blood into me. How much blood had I lost? I looked at the packet of blood. There was an X where the blood type was. What? That makes no sense… There is no X blood type.

My dad came back in with a nurse. “Hey, what does X mean?” I asked in an almost worried tone.

The nurse looked like she felt sorry for me. I hated the pitiful look in her eyes. “Don’t worry about anything now. Just focus about getting better. I’m going to give you some medication, it’ll help with the pain, but it will also make you drowsy.”

“What? No, I don’t want to go to sleep, I just woke up.” I pushed myself away in protest but, moving around made me feel worse and my body flinched. “Dad please.” I hoped he understood my pleading look.

“Angie it’s simply some special medication you have to be on; nothing to worry about,” he said with a distance expression on his face. His eyes glassed over.

“Why do I have to be on special medicine? What are you not telling me?”

“I’ll explain it all after you feel better,” He said as he sat in a chair he had pulled next to the bed.

“But…” I felt like I just been given anesthesia, the pull of the drug dragged me down with its tentacles. There’s no point in arguing now, I told myself, just time to sleep. My eyes closed on their own free will, as darkness overcame me once again.

A week had passed and I had pressed the issue about what the X meant on my IV. Each time I’d ask his would change the subject, saying it didn’t matter now because I was going to be ok.

After being strictly monitored in the hospital for those seven long days, I was released and allowed to return home. However, my father I wasn’t ready to return to school. He had gotten all of my books and requested my teachers email me all of my assignments.

When my father did let me out of the house, it was only to accompany him to the Green Acres Humane Society. Which sounded worse than it was; I hadn’t minded being at Green Acres. I got to walk one of the dogs, Bo, so it was good exercise for both of us. Walking allowed both of us to get fresh air and for me to have a moment to myself.

Bo was a bloodhound who had won the hearts of everyone at Green Acres. He was constantly excited about something, and followed everyone around in the building. Bo was one of two dogs who had permanent residency in Green Acres. The other one was Dax, a husky my dad had grown attached to. Dax was quiet, and stayed away from most of the staff. The only people he paid attention to were my father, Julian, and on rare occasion, myself. A few times he even followed me into the kennel room where I worked. He was scars on a large portion of his body. A small chunk at the bottom of his left ear which was missing. A large scare went from under the corner of his right eye and across his nose. And if a person got close enough they could see the bottoms of his feet had been gruesomely burnt. Dax’s fur covered most of the other scars from ever being seen. Thankfully, my father rescued him from an abusive home.

A few days into my confinement, my father decided to go home early. This was extremely unusual behavior for them. He drove me back home in uncomfortable silence. “So this vacation from school has been… unique, but I’d like to go back no.” As we sat in silence, waiting for his response, all I wanted was to escape the awkwardness hanging between us.

Julian said I had to wait till my strength was back before I left the house for too long. So I waited until the cut on my forehead had scabbed over completely, and it didn’t hurt so bad to move. Three of my ribs had broken, along with my left wrist, I had had a severe concussion, and a punctured lung, all of which the doctors said was healing nicely. There was still a lot of bruising, especially on the left side of my body, but they were fading as well. The only really noticeable injury was my left wrist, which was still in a cast from where the bone had almost completely split. Comparatively I felt a lot better; boredom threaten to kill me now.

“You know most 16 year-olds would not want to go back to school, they’d be milking all the time off they could get,” my father said. He looked like he was trying to put on a humorous face.

“Well dad, I’m not most 16 year-olds.” I sighed, and crossed my arms. “I’ve been taking it easy like you said to. I’ve taken my medicine as instructed. Please, I’m just really bored. I’ve got all my homework caught up and have even been doing the paper work at Green Acres,” I put my head on the back of the passenger side seat and looked at the top of the Ford Explore. Why couldn’t he see I was fine?

“I know, I know. I just wanted to make sure you’re going to be ok,” he paused. “You can go back to school in a week.” He smiled at me and I felt my own smile spread across my face. I could wait a week.

At home later that night we sat watching Hoarders on the TV. We hadn’t bonded like this in a while. Since the accident Julian went out of his way to spend time with me. He made sure to stay up until I went to bed, took me to restaurants, and asked what seemed to be a never ending plethora of questions. I suppose if someone’s kid had almost died it was normal behavior. It had been a bit smothering, but it’d also felt good to spend time with my father.

My white fluffy cat, Greta, plopped herself on my lap and curled up. “So, dad, what do you think of this episode so far?” I asked as I stroked Greta’s back, her long white fur stuck to my jeans and the couch.

“I’d be making me some rabbit stew,” he said as we both laughed. This was the episode where the couple had let rabbits consume their home, which they were only renting. The actual owners, needless to say were horrified at the condition of their house.

“You couldn’t eat your pets,” I said.

“Did you see how they ran away from everyone, even their owners? They weren’t domesticated pets. They’d have been dinner long before they became feral.”

“Ok, whatever dad,” I said teasingly.

“Besides, rabbit stew is really good, don’t you remember having it?”

“Um, nope, can’t say that I do.” I paused before answering the question. My father was constantly trying to invent new recipes to test out on me.

He got a faded look in his silver-gray eyes and a small smile crept over his face. He leaned back in the chair. “You’re mom made the best rabbit stew in the world. I guess I just didn’t believe I could recreate it.”

I pulled my legs underneath me as Greta decided to lie on the cushion next to me. “I bet she did…” My eyes drifted to the floor; I did not remember her very well. The memories I did have of her were foggy. Most of the time her image would just fade in and out, her face was blurred and I could never grasp a clear memory.

“Your mother would be very proud of you.” He looked at me. “I miss her a lot,” I saw him brush something shining from his eye.

“I do too dad.” We hardly ever talked about her. She had died so long ago, it’d had been 14 years a couple months ago. We had put flowers and cards on her grave.

“You look a lot like her, you know? You have her dark red hair, and you’re about the same height now. But you still have my eyes, it’s the one thing you got from me.” He laughed a little, but for the first time since the accident, I saw a real smile on his face.

“You know that’s not the only thing, dad.” I didn’t look too much like her, though I wished I did. Her face had more angles than mine; it seemed sharper, but still made her look beautiful. My face was more heart shaped, so really I had more of my father’s features. In the one picture I’d see of my mom, she was tone with a flat stomach. And me? Not so much. I mean I had some muscles, but at 130 pounds, 5’6’’, I definitely did not have my mother’s athletic body type. “I got some of your extra padding.” We both laughed. I believe he did see some of my mother in me because it was easier than letting her go. I didn’t blame him this, I wanted to hold on to her too.

“You’re prefect the way you are child,” he said as the show came back.

I closed my eyes during one of the commercials. I guess I’d fallen asleep. I’d woken, slightly, when my father slid a blanket over me and shut off the lights. Too tired to walk through the kitchen and up the stairs to my room, I let myself willing fall back to sleep.

There was a hissing sound coming from behind me. I thought it was Greta complaining about something on the back porch. I shifted to a sitting position and rubbed my eyes. I threw the blanket off and yawned. My eyes seemed to adjust to the dark quicker than normal. I heard Greta hiss again. I turned and saw her trying to bat at a raccoon. What the hell?! How’d it get inside? The rodent growled back at her. Greta pounced, clawed the raccoon in the eye and acrossed the face. I stepped backwards and grabbed a lamp sitting on a side table. The raccoon turned and looked at me. Dark tiny eyes seemed to pierce through me. It seemed to be talking. “You’re mine,” its eyes said.

But it felt so real. I took a swing at it, but it jumped back. A raccoon shouldn’t have been that smart. Greta tried to leap on it.

“Leave it girl!” I yelled at her. But it was useless. The raccoon threw Greta off of him. She tried to fight back, but it grabbed her neck with its teeth and ripped. Blood poured and squirted everywhere. I screamed. She made a horrible wailing sound. It was a blood hurtling cry I’d never heard her make. The raccoon turn back to me. “They’ll kill you next.” Its ugly voice rang in my ears. This was only a raccoon… What the hell’s wrong with it?

I heard my father running down the stairs. The raccoon leaped at me, I swung the lamp at it. I heard it crack against its face and the rodent went flying into an end table by the patio door. It laid there for a minute. I didn’t drop the lamp, even though it had broken and glass had shattered a crossed the floor.

The thing stood, growled at me, and ran out the open patio door. Why was the door open? Wasn’t it locked?

I dropped what was left of the lamp, and heard it roll across the wood floor.

“Oh my god, what happened? Are you ok Angie?” my dad asked.

I looked at him; tears filled my eyes as I bent my arms toward Greta, and cradled her limp body against mine. Her white fur was stained crimson. Blood covered my clothes and arms as well. I didn’t care; I couldn’t leave her like this. “Dad, Greta’s dead. The raccoon killed her.” I couldn’t believe what had just happened. It was just a raccoon. Nothing more than a raccoon. This wasn’t possible.