Cradle to Grave

Act I

"Shut the hell up! I can’t think...I have to think!"

"Mr. Erickson, please, the police will be here soon."

"The police? You didn’t have time to call the police. What do you think? I’m an idiot?"

"It’s standard operation to alert the police station when a social worker has not reported in from a stop like this one."

Mary Katherine lied.

In fact, Mary Katherine was completely alone on this one. The report had not even been filed in her office yet. No one knew she was there.

Mr. Erickson crossed the room and opened a small drawer at the end of the table, from which he produced a small hand gun.

Mary Katherine could feel the imminent liberation of her bladder, and struggled to keep it together.

"Mr. Erickson, you won’t need that. Please, these ropes are cutting off the circulation to my wrists."

"I won’t let it happen. I can’t let it happen.... I owe the world better...my wife...better..."

Mr. Erickson looked away toward a small, brightly colored and adorned door. It was the baby’s room.

Mary had received a call from Tracy, an old High School friend of hers, and now a lonely busybody in the neighborhood Mary is now confined. Seemed that this Mr. Erickson had been acting very strangely since the death of his wife.

He never left the house and had boarded up the windows and doors. But worse than this was the incessant crying of his infant child.

"Mr. Erickson, what are you going to do with that gun?"

".... ‘now I know...that twenty centuries of stony sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle'...." Mr. Erickson sat hard on the floor in front of Mary, and wept vehemently.

Damn, flight of ideas...suicidal...perhaps homicidal tendencies... this was a real nutcase Mary thought, as she lamented her reckless decision. She had come out to the house on a whim after receiving the call from Tracy. It was an affluent neighborhood, and Mary gave way to the prejudices of the culture. Poor people are crazy; rich people are merely eccentric.

"Mr. Erickson, what is your first name?"

"Thomas" Mr. Erickson spoke to the air. He was no longer aware a live corporeal being was talking to him.

"Thomas, please put the gun away, and let’s get your baby. I know people that can help you."

Mr. Erickson snapped his attention to his uninvited houseguest, suddenly aware of her physical presence.

"You don’t know anything!" he spat. "It cannot get out! Isabelle will be the death of humanity as we know it! Oh, my God.. there might be others.." Thomas rose, wearing a flight path into the carpet. "I never even thought of that. We can’t let them live. Or they can’t let us live. Beam me up, Scotty!"

Laughing hysterically, Thomas swung around, his face inches away from Mary’s nose. He was pale, and sweating profusely. Suddenly Mary became painfully aware of the fetid stench permeating this man and his abode. It was death.

"So what’s your name?" Thomas whirled and began to sing an old Lynyrd Skynyrd song, while thrashing about the room. "What’s your name, little girl..What’s your name...."

"Susan...Susan Trinity" Mary Katherine interrupted.

"Susan, are you a thief? Do you come to my house to rob me?"

"No, Thomas, I came to help you."

"Then, Susan, why did you rob that other woman?"

Like I said, a real nutcase. "Thomas, what woman? I..."

"The woman whose purse you came in with. Whose driver’s license I just looked at. Whose cell phone indicates that her last call was not to the police. Whose name is Mary Katherine Dourghty."

Busted.

"OK, you’re right. My name is Mary. And I told you that it’s standard operation to alert the poli...."

"Yeah, yeah... I know what you said... But for your sake, I hope you are lying...again."

Both adversaries were quiet for a moment, as they studied one another.

Thomas had a muscular physique. Even beneath the months of foul hygiene, one could see a handsome man. His large, grey eyes were encircled by a mass of thick lashes, and masculine brows. His Grecian chin was covered in a bramble of thick, matted beard which nearly completely obscured his lips. Thomas was a caricature of the man he once was.

Mary’s slight build was a bit too thin for her frame. She had short brown hair, and an unkept look about her. The lines in her face were telltale signs that the woman was no stranger to hardship. Social work was not her first profession, but it was her passion. Mary’s deep-set brown eyes hid nothing about the life that drove her to this altruistic occupation.

Adversity had found it’s way into every pore of this woman’s being. Even a madman could see that.

Thomas’ grey eyes gave way to pity. "Do you want some water?"

Seeing the compassion in Thomas’ eyes gave Mary hope. She pleaded again "Thomas, my friends can help you. If you just.."

Violently shaking his head, Thomas confronted Mary "You think your friends can help me? Do they know the meaning of true love? True terror? And how they can sometimes meet right in the middle?" Thomas gestured exceedingly with his index fingers, ferociously waving about the tattered, blood stained wrappings encircling both wrists.

Mary's mind raced. Had he already attempted and failed suicide? What if he had succeeded in his attempt, and died in the house? What would have become of the innocent child locked in it’s bedroom. The captive social worker filled with rage, but Thomas went on.

"Mary, do your friends know? Do you know?" Moments passed in silence. "Do you have children?"

"I have a son."

"Does he cause you pain?"

"Sometimes. I don’t see him as often as I’d like. He lives with his father now."

"Could you kill him?"

"His father?"

"No, Mary, your son."

"Thomas, is your baby all right?

"I couldn’t kill it either. No matter what it did. I tried. But I couldn’t." Thomas looked back at the brightly colored door again. "My only child. My only love. But maybe if we die together."

"Thomas, don’t talk like that! You are just bereft from what happened to your wife."

Thomas’ eyes gleamed with the fire of hatred. "Do you know what happened to my wife?" he spat.

"Yes, I do."

"Do you know that our beloved innocent infant child killed her?"

"Thomas, your wife had severe anemia. I looked up the circumstances of her death before coming out. She died because of severe complications brought on by her anemia. How could a baby cause that? Listen to yourself."

The fact that Mary spoke to him as a normal human being for the first time since their acquaintance at the front door, gave Thomas back his mind, and he continued.

"You fall in love, and all is good. You get married and it becomes better. We have a house, two cars, a dog.... We wanted a family. For nine months you wait. That miracle grows in her belly." Thomas gestured to his invisible wife. Tears welled up in his eyes as he described " Do you know how happy I was the day when I felt my baby...my baby... kick for the first time? I sang songs to Theresa’s tummy. I read books on raising children. I decided to be Ward Cleaver.

Then, my miracle was born! I was there. Damn, I nearly passed out, but I was there. I held my tiny one in my arms and instantly fell in love. Those beautiful hazel eyes. Almost bald, with a few curly dark blonde baby hairs. Just like daddy in a few years."

Thomas laughed and ran his fingers into his curly mane, which might be showing the slightest signs of thinning. "Those eyes...." Then he stopped laughing.

"Soon the trouble started. My baby couldn’t stop crying. She was voraciously hungry. And she had an allergy to the sun, which was severe enough that it could kill her if we did not take proper precautions. Big words were thrown at us... like Polymorphous light eruption....Actinic prurigo....Solar urticaria.... Theresa was beside herself. We tried medication. We tried topicals. We tried everything. At least that’s what I thought. Then one day, the baby wasn’t crying anymore. She even giggled for Daddy. I thought it was a miracle. I came home from work every day, and played with my little one while my wife slept. Man, she slept a lot! But I was too selfish to notice that. I was enjoying my 'Leave it to Beaver' life, and was totally enamored with my baby. She had my heart and soul.

One day, when I got home, Theresa was out on the lawn..... No, she was out on the lawn! We rushed her to the hospital, and she was diagnosed with severe anemia. She stayed in the hospital for several days. Little Isabelle was as distraught as I was. She began to get really sick. Missed her Mommy, is what I thought. Theresa demanded to come home to take care of her.

For 12 months this went on. Theresa had to be hospitalized at least 4 more times. One night, in the hospital, she asked me.... She said would you do anything for Isabelle? Would you give your life’s blood to your baby to keep her alive. When I asked her what she meant, she told me it was nothing... just one of those women questions.... you know, like the one about if a shark attacked us in the ocean, would you give your life for mine.... those weird questions only women ask.... and understand. Besides, I thought that she was hallucinating, so I dropped it."

Thomas sank into the floor. "I dropped it. I was too busy with my wonderful life to notice what was happening.

Then... that day..." Thomas trailed off and began watching the past in his mind’s eye, fast forwarding to the dreaded event that took his sanity.

"I came in, and it was quiet. So I went to the baby’s room. Theresa was in the nursing chair with little Isabelle. Isabelle was talking gibberish to her Mommy, and I happily approached to scoop up my baby. Then she looked at me.... Her eyes. They weren’t my lovely little one’s eyes. They were black, soulless, flaming..... ‘a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun’.."

Mary suddenly recognized the words; from High School literature class. It was a famous poem by William Butler Yeats - 'The Second Coming'. How curious, she thought, that Thomas kept quoting this poem.

"I jumped back and little Isabelle looked away. I have never been so terrified of something in my life. Her eyes.... they drew me in and repelled me all at once.... When she looked at me again, it was Isabelle. I entertained the thought that I was hallucinating. But something felt wrong.

Theresa? Theresa? Are you all right?" Thomas beckoned the images in his mind. “She wouldn’t move. I'm ashamed to admit that I was too cowardly to approach while Isabelle sat on her lap. But then Isabelle held up her arms to me, and I picked her up, unaware of the fear I had just felt for my own flesh and blood a moment ago....

Then it was slow motion. Theresa fell from the chair. Her wrist came down across her face as I tried to catch her, and I saw.... two tiny slits..."

"Thomas" interrupted Mary "Are you saying you think your wife committed suicide because of Isabelle’s afflictions?"

"No, Mary! Isabelle killed her! The slits in her wrists were never found during the autopsy because they healed up! Right before my eyes!! Then I saw the thing that changed my life forever. Isabelle had blood on her lips."

"I don’t follow, Thomas..."

"Nosferatu, Mary. Legend, Mary. My baby Isabelle is a vampire." Thomas began pacing again. "Oh, God, I hope she is the only one! I hope she is the only one.... I mean, the doctors all thought she was a normal human baby...what if..."

"Thomas, for God’s sake. You cannot really belie..."

"I tried to take her life after Theresa’s funeral. I crept into the nursery, terrified. I didn’t know if it would work, but I had made a stake.... You know, Buffy-style and all. But Buffy’s vampires don’t look like my Isabelle. She woke up. Her lovely little eyes asked me ‘can’t you love me now that you know?’ And I found.. I could... I did....I do....."

Thomas became sorrow.

"I have a microscope and chemistry set downstairs. Do you know why my baby can’t be in the sun?"

"You said something about a sun allergy, but now I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s because she is a vampire."

Ignoring Mary’s sarcastic mannerisms, Thomas went on "I took some of Isabelle’s blood, hoping to see if any of those vampire movies are correct...you know, the ones that say blood transfusions or whatever stop vampirism. Anyway, I’m not a biochemist, so I don’t know what I was trying to do, but, I did find out one very interesting thing. It looks like, at a cellular level, UV rays superconduct Isabelle’s blood cells. They literally explode when the molecules speed up! I mean those little buggers start running around like mad! How the hell do you fix that? Does Isabelle need to ingest blood to replace these cells? How does that work? I am not a doctor, either, but I do know that the circulatory system and the digestive system do not connect. I guess if I sent my baby’s body to be examined, someone could tell me. But, Mary, I love my daughter. Enough to give her my life’s blood" Thomas raised his arms and once again revealed the blood stained rags to Mary.

"You've been feeding your daughter blood?"

"Haven't you been fucking listening to me? I love her! And I couldn’t kill her! How could I let her starve to death?"

"Oh God, Thomas."

"You don’t believe me."

"Would you, if you were me?"

"You need to see."

Realizing this was her only chance at freedom, Mary grasped at straws. "Yes, Thomas. If I see her, I will believe you."

Thomas’ body crossed the room and untied Mary. He then walked her to the door. Mary could see bloody hand prints on the baby’s door, and was apprehensive about what might be awaiting her beyond it. As she slowly opened the door, she noticed that the odor, although just as foul, had a slight sweet smell. The room was not as unkept as the rest of the house. Thomas evidently cared more about this room. It was darkest in here. There were kerosene lanterns and lit candles strewn about precariously.

"Isabelle?" Mary softly spoke.

Thomas interrupted "Isabelle, honey, Daddy is here."

In the corner of the room, a baby bed was turned over. It looked like a makeshift cage. Two burning coals emerged from it’s darkness. Mary started, and lunged backward, but Thomas approached the bed. The coals disappeared as quickly as they had come. A hallucination brought on by fear, Mary comforted herself. Thomas spoke softly to the bed. Mary looked around for an escape, confident that the madman had indeed killed his child. But then, two tiny hands reached from behind the bars. Mary came forward and knelt next to Thomas.

The 18 month old baby could not walk well, but spoke "Daddy, out, peeeaase?"

Thomas opened the door to the upside down bed, and Mary picked up the child.

She was filthy, but she was beautiful- eyes that could steal your heart. The baby spoke again "Kiss?"

Mary smiled and leaned her face closer to the baby.

"No!" Thomas lunged forward, smashing Mary into the side of the bed hard.

He had finally completely lost it. In a desperate lunge, Thomas flung himself toward Isabelle.

Before she could think, Mary swung aside, scattering several candles across the small room. A metal lantern went flying, sending fuel everywhere. The flames instantly crept across the carpet. Mary dove toward the door, as the blaze engulfed the room.

The fire consumed a life that day.

Act II

The hallway was narrow. The door at the end swung open effortlessly.

"Hello Aunt Mary" whispered the girl from behind the door.

Mary started and took a hard step backward, sitting on her bed like a rag doll.

"It’s been a while" continued the girl in a soft voice. "I have been worried about you. The doctors tell me you can’t sleep."

Mary still sat upon her bed, quietly analyzing the young girl who stood before her. The girl was stunning. Her long, dark blonde hair climbed her back in soft curls, quietly settling on her head. It was pulled back by a gold comb, which was shamed by the shimmering locks it held. The girl had a slight widow’s peak, an arrowhead, drawing one’s attention to those eyes. Framed by a thick black tangle of lashes, those hazel orbs were so enchanting - full of wisdom beyond her age. They beckoned.

"Aunt Mary..." Mary startled out of her trance. "The four years I spent with you were the best I am so sorry they put you in this place."

Compassion aggrieved the girl and seeped from those windows, as they welled with tears. It broke Mary’s heart.

"Since then, I have been to many homes, Aunt Mary. Foster homes, children’s homes..... I am always sent away. They always just get too tired. So tired...." then the girl smiled shyly to herself "..they can’t figure out how I get out of the house at night. That’s our little secret, right Aunt Mary?"

The girl started toward Mary who wretched in surprise. The girl found a seat next to Mary on her bed. "I am sorry they put you in here... If you would just stop talking crazy..." The girl trailed off, looking around the room.

It was a small room, painted a nonconfrontational, pale blue. There were a few chips of paint peeling from the wall. Two small, matted prints adorned the space. Both created in the pseudo- impressionistic, knock off style that had become so popular in places like these. A small dresser held Mary’s personals. Some letters were strewn across the twin bed the two sat upon. The mattress was hard and worn, but the flowered down comforter simulated a congenial, homey atmosphere. Still, it smelled like a hospital.

Mary Katherine Dourghty hadn’t seen her family in years. They had their own families to worry about. She wrote them almost daily, and promptly received a photocopied update every year at Christmas, along with a box of cigarettes. Mary Katherine did not smoke, she hadn’t for years, but she kept the boxes in a plastic container at the foot of her bed - a testament of familial devotion. Perhaps Mary Katherine’s family had confused her present confinement with incarceration. This girl is the first visitor Mary Katherine has had since she was institutionalized.

The girl spoke softly to Aunt Mary. Her full, pink lips curled around every word, as she gently brought Aunt Mary up to date on the twelve years of her life Aunt Mary had missed. The girl reached for a letter that was sitting next to her on the bed. It was written to Mary’s son. In large underscored letters, it read

"Forgive Me. I Miss You."

Mary snatched the letter away from the girl and hissed " ‘what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?!’ "

"My Father’s favorite poem.... I almost remember some of that life."

The girl turned quickly on Mary Katherine.

"You saved me. You took me in. Now I will save you."

Mary Katherine’s anger quickly turned to abhorrence. The girl touched her arm, and the fear subsided.

"The doctors say you can’t sleep..."

A warm feeling of devotion, idolatrous admiration and affection flooded Mary Katherine’s feeble mind.

The benevolence in the girl’s eyes turned into something else.

"I can help you sleep, Aunt Mary."

Aunt Mary fell into the girl's outstretched arms, and with "a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun", Isabelle whispered the last words Aunt Mary heard on this earth.

"There are others."