Black Bird

There is this Roman myth about a luminescent snow-white bird known for its beauty and song.

The caladrius birds were kept in the King's court, where they protected the royal family by using their healing powers. If the bird looked someone in the eye, it could take the sickness into itself and allow the person to live. Once it had taken the illness, it had to disperse of it.

In the wild, the caladrius would find a mate and stay with them for the rest of their life. They'd develop an extra sense of their mate's emotional state, and if their mate ever found themselves in a bind, the caladrius would come to the rescue. If their mate was unhappy, they'd comfort them by singing.

But you don't find any caladrius in the wild anymore, do you?Prologue

Arlo Barman rubbed his nose. The antiseptic smell always made him nauseated, as did the beige linoleum floor, the white sheets, and the too-thin yellow blanket. It wasn’t enough to keep her warm. He reached out and took her hand, careful of the tubes going in both here and there, and forced a smile to his lips.

“Hi, Mama.” The whisper died in the room, but the wrinkle between her eyebrows smoothed out, so he assumed she’d heard him. She was hardly ever awake anymore. Her raven hair was growing out after the treatments, but there wouldn’t be enough time for it to grow long like it once had been.

She was nothing but skin and bones, her hands birdlike talons, and when he met her gaze, her once sparkling brown eyes were dulled by morphine and whatever else they were shooting into her

He bowed his neck and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. A tress of white hair fell into his eyes, but he did nothing to remove it. A sob threatened to climb his throat as he pictured her as she’d been when they’d spun, hand in hand, on the lawn in the summer sun.

It was a long time ago, a time when it had only been the two of them, when she’d laughed and been full of life. She’d worn a red blouse and one of those gypsy skirts. He couldn’t remember what he’d worn, most likely trousers and a long-sleeved T-shirt since he didn’t do well in the sun.

“What are you thinking about, sweetie?” Her voice was sandpaper on glass, and it ended in a cough.

Arlo helped her take a sip of water.

“About how we used to dance on the lawn when we lived in the house.” He smiled, and something in his chest shifted and rearranged itself. A gaping hole formed where his lungs used to be, and his vision grew black at the edges.

“Don’t.”

Her voice halted the process. He was still hollow inside, but his vision went back to normal, leaving him dizzy. “Don’t think about us dancing?”

Her colorless lips momentarily stretched into a smile. “There are so many things I should’ve told you.”

The void spread again, pushing him out of the way to make room for something else. His lungs screamed for air, but he fought not to show it.

“So tell me. You’re still here.” The vacuum crawled into his heart, into his mind.

Her eyes drooped, and she gave him a small shake of her head. “This is as it’s supposed to be.” Arlo waited for her to continue, she would as soon as she’d taken a couple of breaths. “I feared…always feared you’d be like him…”

Like him?“Him? Do you mean my dad?” Arlo had never met him, didn’t know anything about him.

She smiled again and nodded. “I loved him, loved him so much, but he had to go.”

“Had to go? Go where?” Arlo wanted to know, but he couldn’t think straight. The emptiness was searching, reaching for something to fill it with.

“He…he saved me.” She shut her eyes and panted. “He said, once you start, there is no stopping it. You’ll keep on doing it for the rest of your life.” Her pale, chapped lips thinned. “Don’t start, Arlo.”

“Start what, Mama?” He squeezed her hand harder than he normally would, but he couldn’t stop himself. The gap inside extended, strived, sought.

“Start saving people. You probably are like him, but don’t get trapped in that life.” The pause lasted so long Arlo would’ve assumed she’d fallen asleep if it hadn’t been for the way she clutched his hand. “You need to let me go, sweetie. And everyone you meet in the future…” She took a shuddering breath, her brows drawing together before she continued. “You need to let them go too. Promise to shut it out.”

His grip tightened before he dropped her hand, afraid he was hurting her. “Fuck, sorry.”

“Language.” The stern look cost her, but not even on her death bed would she allow foul language. Arlo would’ve smiled, but he was too busy keeping his eyes free of tears.