Cravings

© 2001 Richard H. Williams
All rights reserved.

"Now Fiona," Mrs. Callahan said, staring at her intently. "I know the last couple of years have been rough for you. Heaven knows that I don't know how you've coped as well as you have. The murder was downright horrible. But, what of this? Do you really expect this," she said pointing to the book, "to help anything?"

Fiona's eyes met her guidance counselor's with an uncharacteristic icy, blue-eyed stare.

"It was my mother's," she said.

"I understand that remnants from your mom's past are important to you. I admit it's odd that she kept a book with a pentagram on the cover. But it's an antique for sure, written in Old English and some other language that I'm not familiar with. Still, to take it seriously is crazy. Listen to what you're saying. A book of spells? Come on, now."

Fiona shifted in the chair, breathing heavily from the simple movement. Since her mom was killed two years ago, she had gained one hundred and eighty five pounds. Once a slim-figured athlete, depression had taken its toll on her, her weight rising to well over three hundred pounds. Mrs. Callahan said that overeating often signified a craving for affection, that her eating made sense because of the death of her mom. She didn't know if that was true or not. All she knew was that she would never be the same again, since the day she walked into her home to find her mother's arms and legs nailed to the four corners of their living room.

Fiona cringed, remembering the image of her mother's disemboweled body centered in the room, the blood drained from the corpse and nowhere to be found. Since that day, her misery had known no bounds. That is, until she found enough courage to search what remained of their once happy home. Among the boxes in her foster home's basement had been the book, and the answers had begun to form for her. If only she had looked through the old belongings sooner. It was just that they held so many memories, now tarnished by a grisly image.

"I already told you about the other language. It's written in the language of the Old Ones. I never saw it before, and yet I understand it. How do you explain that?" she asked, needlessly brushing back her short, poorly trimmed red hair.

"I can't explain it. How do you explain it?" asked the guidance counselor, shaking her head hopelessly. Since Fiona had found the book, she had begun to experience delusions of grandeur. Both the school staff and her foster parents were quite worried. A psychiatric consultation was due next week.

"I'm of the Old One's bloodline, as was my mother. I believe she was killed by a Hunter."

"Listen Fiona, we've gone through this before. Your mind is trying to accommodate, or make sense of, a nonsensical situation. I know that what you've been through is horrible, but please think about what you're saying. Why don't you focus your energy on starting a dialogue with your dad, rather than on this craziness? That was something you were interested in before the loss. After all, if this were true, if you were a witch of sorts, why don't you just say some magical spell and stop the everyday abuse that you take from the kids?"

"I don't want to yet. I still feel the Hunter's presence. He will feel the magic and look for me. I told you that my mom had been acting weird before her death. She was unusually angry, irritable. She knew he was coming for her, felt it in her bones. That's why I was talking to you about my father; my mom put the thought in my head. She was probably worried about what I would do without her. Anyway, I found him, he's back in jail for drug possession with intent to distribute. Is that the type of person I should start up a dialogue with? When my mom found that out, she didn't think so. Besides, I don't even know him. He's not really family."

"Oh Fiona," said Mrs. Callahan, in conjunction with the ringing school bell. "I think you should come see me tomorrow."

"Okay," Fiona answered, leaving the guidance office for lunch.

Seventeen-year-old Gilbert Garfield sat at a round, six-seated cafeteria table all by himself. He ran a hand through his black, greasy hair and took a moment to look down at his choice of school apparel. He'd donned an old, faded black Slayer tee-shirt and ripped jeans. Not the type that were purposefully torn, though that's what he tried to lead others to believe. The few that talked to him, at least. Gilbert was poor and everyone in the school seemed to know it. To make matters worse, he was smart, and his black-rimmed glasses made him look like the classic nerd. They were really unpopular but the only kind his mom could afford, as a single parent with a dead-end job..

"Hi Gilbert," whispered a female voice behind him. He turned and coughed, choking on his food in amazement.

"Are you okay?" asked a smiling Vicky Torrance. "I hope that I didn't startle you."

Gilbert didn't say a word; he just stared at the beautiful girl in front of him. Her high cheekbones and light green eyes were dazzling. Her blond hair fell off her shoulders playfully, and her curved figure was complemented by a tight-fitting white tee-shirt and black jeans. She didn't seem fazed by his silence. It was probably a typical reaction to her beauty.

"I couldn't help but notice that you really seem to understand what we're doing in Chemistry. I'm such a ditz, I just can't seem to get it. So I was hoping you could maybe, well, help me with it. I would pay you ... I just really need a good grade in the class. I want to be a biochemistry major in college and I'm pulling a D right now. So, what do you say?"

How this miracle had happened to him, Gilbert would never know. The girl whom he and every other student in school had a crush on was talking to him. Him, of all people! He took a deep breath and said all he could.

"Sure. I don't need money though."

"Oh, aren't you a sweetie!" she answered. "How about today after school in the library?"

"Uh, okay," he said, trying to hold back the widest smile that had ever tried to show on his face.

"Okay, then," Vicky said turning toward her friends, who were only one table away. Gilbert just stared at her. She turned back after sitting and smiled at him before beginning a conversation with the popular crowd. Gilbert looked around him and noticed the others looking at him. They did this often, but their expressions were different this time. Now they stared at him in awe. Not one person yelled any insults at him. They didn't yell, "hey nerd," and Johnny Barfield, who sat only two tables away, seemed to have decided to let him eat his lunch on this day. Usually, Johnny would spit on his food and force Gilbert to eat it.

Only one other person was made fun of more than him at school, and that was "fat" Fiona Carter. She was okay. Mrs. Callahan saw both of them and a couple others for a social skills group one time per week. Gilbert glanced over at Vicky's table. She waved to him. This was the coolest he had ever felt. Then she gazed just beyond him, looking horrified. Gilbert turned and gulped. His moment in the sun was about to be ruined.

Fiona Carter was walking toward his table, smiling at him. Usually Gilbert was happy for the company, but today, it could ruin him. He glanced over at Vicky, who no longer smiled at him, but looked down at her plate. Her friends turned and giggled at him. Gilbert had to think fast or his new social status would be gone in a millisecond.

"Fatty Fiona!" he cried.

The whole cafeteria erupted in laughter. Gilbert watched Fiona's jaw drop in horror.

He didn't want to hurt her; she was his friend. He felt both elated and saddened by what he had said. Vicky was looking at him again happily, while Fiona had stopped mid-stride next to his table, in shock. He felt horrible for her. Guilt began to permeate his conscience. Gilbert knew how it felt to be shunned by his classmates. However, he didn't know how it felt to be made fun of by a friend. With the exception of Fiona and a freshman named Bill Jarvis, he had no friends.

He watched as Fiona's eyes began to tear. When the others weren't making fun of her, they were beating him down with insults. In a way, he relied on her to shield him from the other student's hurtful words. As Fiona took her first step beyond his table, he felt terrible, knowing he had let her down. He was probably the only other person in the room who knew what it felt like to hope and pray that one of the lunch tables was deserted. It was far better to sit alone then to be shunned. Only moments before, she had thought she would be able to sit with a friend.

Her gaze was lowered at the floor as she took a slow and cautious second step. Fiona's short red hair looked as if she had cut it herself without a mirror. Disheveled hardly covered it. She wore a long, thin black coat that covered her backside from view so the others wouldn't call her "fat ass." This was something that had come out in group. The other students thought that she brought that label on herself. After all, they thought wearing black tights to school when you weighed over three hundred pounds screamed "call me names" if anything ever did. Gilbert was one of the few at school who knew that she didn't wear the pants by choice. She was a foster child and money was scarce; not to mention the problem of finding clothes for a person of her size.

"Fiona, wait," Gilbert said overcome with guilt.

She stopped short of her third step and her shoulders relaxed. That's when Gilbert noticed Vicky looking at him with displeasure. He began to tremble, unsure what to do. Vicky's eyes were so beautiful, though.

"Fat ass!" he yelled again. Then Fiona did something that he never really expected. After all, she never even so much as answered insults.

This time, she looked back at him.

Gilbert was paralyzed with anxiety as she stared at him through her bright blue eyes. With her nose pierced with a dangling pentagram, she looked quite intimidating all of a sudden. Possibly that last comment hadn't been such a good idea.

Fiona smiled and then stepped toward his table. She sat down.

Gilbert could hear the others snickering around him. Fiona, now with a full-fledged grin on her face, took a bite out of her meatball wedge. Tomato sauce dripped down her chin as she chewed with her mouth open. The scene made Gilbert both sick and nervous. Tomato sauce still oozing down her face, Fiona spoke.

"I almost walked by you, ya little weasel. You shouldn't have said that," she said through clenched teeth. Then she spit on her sandwich. "Now, you've got to take a bite, just like you always do for Jimmy." Fiona dropped the meatball wedge in front of him.

"What? Are you crazy?" asked Gilbert.

"Take a bite or I'm gonna kick your ass all over this cafeteria."

Gilbert looked around at all of the students. Some had their heads down. Most were smiling and laughing at him. He was now the butt of their jokes. Vicky was even laughing at him. A low chorus of, "eat it, eat it," began to emanate from the crowd.

"Last chance, geek!" yelled Fiona, clenching her fists on the table.

Gilbert knew he was in a no-win situation. Still, figuring Fiona could beat him up easily, the best option was to be made fun of and not end up in the hospital. He took a bite. "There," he whispered amidst the laughter. "Now leave me alone."

Fiona smiled and stood up. Gilbert rubbed the tears from his eyes, knowing that he would never live this day down. He looked at her and began to tremble. Her eyes seemed to change. He squinted, hoping to get a better view. They flickered, both green and blue.

"Caron Kio La," she said, dropping a piece of paper in front of him. She walked away laughing. Gilbert picked up the paper, yellow and decaying, and read it.

"Binge for the night and live like me for one day," it said, encapsulated by a pentagram.

Gilbert woke up in a cold sweat. He rose from his damp covers and walked upstairs. The whole night he had been dreaming about food: cupcakes, pies, and chocolate. He opened the refrigerator and found what he was looking for. A chocolate cake!

He sat down at the kitchen table and began to eat, not even bothering to cut a piece. Instead, he devoured the cake, taking handfuls at a time. Only vaguely did he realize that night hungers weren't something that had ever plagued him before. He finished three quarters of the cake and decided that it was time to quit.

Just as he stopped, a strange pain burrowed within him. Though he had felt full just a moment ago, he was hungry again. Something was missing; he didn't know what. He felt sad about Fiona and vowed to himself that he would apologize and explain what happened to her tomorrow.

This time he went after the cherry pie in the fridge, putting it down in less than five minutes. This was strange and he knew it.

He grabbed a Coke and struck a match to the candle on the kitchen table, shutting the overhead light off.

His stomach was beginning to press up against his pajamas. He was skinny, and he'd never even attempted to eat one full cake or pie, but two? He pulled up his shirt and saw the stretch marks on his skin. He felt worried for a moment, but then the craving hit again. He was depressed, but he didn't know why.

Gilbert got up from the chair and opened the freezer, taking out a full carton of vanilla ice cream. He finished it quickly, rising to go to the bathroom. But he felt as if he were over three hundred pounds. He walked toward the bathroom and stumbled, his legs not used to bearing the weight he felt. He defecated in his pants.

Gilbert was barely aware of the footsteps behind him or the front door both opening and moments later closing. He breathed heavily, trying to sit up. Unable to, he rolled over and pushed himself back into his chair, his craving for food severe.

On the table was a note.

"If you make it through the night, you will live. However, tomorrow you will know the true pain of being shunned for something beyond your control. Perhaps you will think twice before hurting a friend next time. Please tell Mrs. Callahan that I've left to hide from the Hunter."

The letter wasn't signed, but even in his hunger-induced daze, Gilbert knew who wrote it.

He began to corral the crumbs on the tabletop, scooping them into his mouth frantically. At this rate I'll look like Fiona by tomorrow, he thought, and then the horror hit him.

He crawled to the fridge for a slice of cold pizza from dinner.

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