The Oracle’s Tale - Part 10

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Quick update. The Oracle of Dusk has a Patreon account! With a new tier. Bonus clients. Have you ever wondered if the oracle could see you in her dreams? Like that breakup that happened earlier this year. It must have been weird knowing that people were cheering for it when you know that it was a bit more complicated than that.

There’s also the dream journal. As in a retelling of season 1 from a behind the scenes perspective with a lot more of Delphi’s girlfriend if you’re interested in that. So now might be the time to check it out. Maybe subscribe?

Season 2 is about to end. Five more tapes. Then a hiatus and season three. Thanks for listening!

(Beep. Music fades in.)

Little did I know that my stepsister was in the throws of another relapse. Sorry to be so blunt about it. But I don’t know how else to say it. She was relapsing, and I didn’t know. 

I don’t know how much of the silence strategy Mom and Stepdad employed was about the good ole “what would the neighbors say” versus maybe protecting me from the truth. I mean, I was not a neighbor, and my thoughts didn’t seem to matter all that much to them, right? Maybe they did care about me, and they were just bad at showing it. But there had to be more of some sort of reason to not tell me about her relapses as they happened. The only way I ever found out was when their guards were lowered by the perception of safety and her recovery, when she was well, comments would slip, and I would know things that I had not been meant to know.

But in the moment or in that moment, they were trying to protect me from the truth, or that’s what I want to say. They did not give me reasons to be frightened when they were going to keep me safe. Always safe. Or what they thought was safe. At the end of the day, knowledge is still power, including a power to defend one’sself against the darkened reality that is still very much there. Even if it is not recognized.

Lies to children have their merits only if you can ensure the lie will never be discovered. And there will always be the forces of chaos ensuring that they know. Or reasons that they should have known.

Maybe if I had known my stepdad and mom were otherwise occupied with a child that I swear they both loved more than me. I would have done something different, but I don’t know. Because at the same time, I was still a child. Not so young of a child, but I definitely wasn’t in a position to do much. Or to know what to do.

But Stepdad had a better chance than I did, right?

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

There could be all sorts of build up here. I could draw it out, string it along. Make The Oracle’s Tale a 15 parter or more. Whatever. I’m not necessarily answerable to anyone. And even you all who are listening to my voice could just skip the parts of the Oracle’s Tale you don’t want to hear. But I don’t have the heart for that. I just don’t.

When I told my stepdad that Father Thomas was going to have a horrible fall, behind the altar early one morning, and which specific morning it was, Stepdad asked me if I had ever dreamed of my stepsister and how she was doing. It’s not a surprising thing to do. People do it all the time. It’s… I mean, of course you would curious. You would want to know if I have had visions of you and are just reluctant to say them aloud. I mean, even the most well-meaning person… No, I mean, even the second most well-meaning must wonder if I have dreamt about them or those around them. Curiosity and all that.

So I did not hesitate. I told him the truth. That I had not.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

She had OD’ed. Overdosed, and of course she had. Sorry. I mean. You play that roulette enough times, and you are going to get a bad hand. Or whatever that game has. I don’t know. She had overdosed before. When you take drugs again and again, you’re eventually going to get a bad batch or a batch you don’t know the true contents of or a batch you don’t know the true contents of or you’re going to over do it. She had overdosed two days before my conversation with Stepdad, and during that conversation, she was in the hospital. My mom was visiting her, and it’s not like my stepsister knew the difference. All of that. 

I had not seen her, and maybe you would think that was a red flag, but my stepsisters avoided me on both good and bad days. So whatever. That was not unexpected.

I know he was angry about her. I know he was angry about the hand life had dealt her. Not angry at her or anyone just mad, but it’s the sort of emotion that wants a recipient or an anchor. And maybe he was in fact mad at me because he has never been the most reasonable person, but I don’t know. I… I can’t… His daughter was going to die. Sure, she hadn’t died yet, but that just seemed like a technicality. The doctors at the hospital were trying to save her, but even if they could help her right then, there would probably be a next time. A next time that would likely not be the last time. And if not, well. Her body was being hurt and depleted. And the odds just keep getting worse.

(Music fades out and new music fades in)

Hindsight is seldom comforting. In fact, I think in that moment, had he heard that I had a dream about his daughter and said nothing to him, he would have only been more hurt. To know that this could have been prevented, as he might have been inclined to view it. Well, well maybe… Maybe he wanted to think that the universe would have some structure or meaning or purpose. And maybe if I had seen that, and he could have prevented it somehow... Maybe her death wouldn’t have seemed like such a freak accident. Maybe the idea of a warning just shifted the blame onto me, not him. Certainly not him or her or… or things he could never see to yell at, to scream at, to hate. Maybe he just wanted to move that hate, to give it some place to live that wasn’t his heart. But it was always going to be more complicated than that. Your own addiction is hard to beat, but someone else’s is, well, it’s a very different beast to slay. He could fight and fight and fight, but that never meant he was going to win. But that doesn’t mean he wanted to accept that.

That’s one explanation for why he didn’t go, even though he promised me he would, and it’s the one I’ve stuck with for now, though admittedly I am not sure why, exactly. But I can’t know. I can’t know why he did what he did. I know I cannot ask why. Even if he told me the truth. I wouldn’t believe him. I could never trust him again, after that. If I ever did. 

Oh who am I kidding? I did trust him. Wise or not because I wanted to trust him, and that’s how I got into this mess.

(Music fades out gradually)

There’s normally a mass at 8am. But there wasn’t that day. It was Uncle’s mass to lead, and he was out of town. It was the one day of the week they couldn’t get a replacement, and Father Thomas was not supposed to hold a mass by himself. He needed help to hold the various books and dishes, things a deacon could do. But there was no deacon available that. There was no one available. There was no one who knew to come by that was actually going to do it.

And so he fell sometime early in the morning, but they did not find him until 4 o’clock that night.

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Mom and I found out when we went to Sunday mass. Uncle pulled us aside. He wasn’t supposed to be there, but he had cut his trip short. He thought we should hear it from him, personally, citing my closeness with Father Thomas. And he was right. Partially because it gave me a moment alone as my grief washed over me, as I broke down and sobbed. For the first time in my life, my mother comforted me, and then I had another reason to cry.

At that point, they weren’t quite sure how dire the situation was. Reason would say that lying on the ground like that at his age for hours and hours… Well, it was the worst kind of death: the prolonged kind. But we practiced a faith where miracles happen, so we had to be hopeful.

But I couldn’t believe that or in that. Because,as I saw it, I was meant to be that miracle, wasn’t I? If I had just told him. If I had not been vague and instead went into specifics. That on that day he should not go to the church alone, that he was going to fall. If I had told anyone else. I could have told him or anyone. And he wouldn’t have fallen or they would have found him sooner. Or something. But I was too stupid to say it. I couldn’t say it. I didn’t go over there. I did nothing.

I am defined by that moment, and I am not proud to say as much, but it is still true. This is the scar on my face that my eye is drawn to. It is the moment I am haunted by. Whose repetition is what I live in fear of. All things that I am lead back to it. Back to that mistake. A mistake. We all make mistakes, but mine killed a man. Slowly. Painfully. He never wanted to be helpless. He did not want to give up mass, but it took them so long to find him, he had to lose everything.

A mistake you want to call what I did, but it doesn’t feel like one. 

(Music fades out. Beep.)

The Oracle of Dusk is a Miscellany Media Studios Production. It is written, produced, performed, and edited by MJ Bailey with music licensed from the Sounds like an Earful Music Supply. If you like the show, please consider leaving a review or telling your friends about it. And check out Aishi Online, the story of the voice you know all too well.