Transcend by Christine Fonseca Page A

Mother. She doesn’t say anything she doesn’t intend on carrying out.”
    “You are wrong this time,” she always responded.
    Ien prayed she was right. And knew she likely was not.
    Time passed in that slow monotonous way it does when nothing changes, one day bleeding into the next without meaning. Sister Anne’s visits became more frequent, and always in the afternoon. She asked Ien questions about his life, never answering his. They talked about Mother and Erik, Kiera and the accident. She never judged his actions or words, never insinuated disappointment or fear. Nothing like the reactions from Mother.
    The visits with Sister Anne never lasted long; she always left as abruptly as she came. And he always waited with anticipation until she came again, desperate for the hope she represented.
    More than hope, she gave him a normalcy he craved. Even Ien’s nightmares seemed to abate with Sister Anne’s presence. As did Erik’s taunts and Kiera’s screams. Sister Anne had proved to be more than someone to help him pass the time, she became a reason to stay alive.
    “Come, I have something to show you,” she said one afternoon.
    Ien hesitated at the door. “Don’t you have evening prayers? Sister Agnes said—”
    “Trust me.” Sister Anne pulled on his hand, guiding him from the room. He did trust her. Completely.
    Fear and excitement set Ien’s nerves on fire as he walked down the long corridor. It felt like he was in a dream, pulled by an invisible cord attached to Sister Anne’s voice. They walked past gardens and endless hallways. Past dining areas and great rooms. Stone wall after stone wall passed them. Ien had never seen such a large facility, bigger, even, than his family’s estate.
    Adrenaline mounted an assault on his senses as he walked. Thrill and fear increased with each passing moment, an addictive concoction he couldn’t resist. He was trapped by Sister Anne and the promises held within her words.
    “Your life can be more than this, Ien.” She motioned to the windowless corridors and dark rooms they passed. “So much more. But you have to have faith in me.”  
    Sister Anne had a motherly kindness that coated her words. He wanted to drink it in, allow it to soothe and feed the deepest parts of his soul. Through her, he felt healed and the curse of his deformity seemed less important.
    Through her, it felt possible to live again.
    They walked down the last long hallway to the furthermost point from his room. He saw no one save the sister on their journey. No patients or nurses. No nuns. No attendants of any kind. Everything was silent except for the sound of their footsteps against the stone floors. Again he wondered about the place he called home.
    Crucifixes hung on the walls of every room they passed. It must be a convent , Ien mused. The irony circled around him. Condemned to die in a place of worship; only Mother could make this happen.
    “They won’t be finished for at least an hour.” Sister Anne motioned to the group of nuns seated in a small sanctuary they passed.
    “Shouldn’t you be with them?” Ien didn’t want her to leave and he didn’t want to go back to his room. He drew a deep breath.
    “I’ll join them soon, after you’ve seen what I must show you.” Sister Anne pushed the heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway open, her breath marred by gurgles and wheezing.
    The room opened into a large dark space filled with only a few chairs and an old piano that appeared to be abandoned, just like Ien. He walked to the instrument and his fingers began twitching, playing an invisible song. Hesitating for just a moment when he reached the piano, Ien glanced at Sister Anne.
    “It’s alright,” she said. “A piano is meant to be played. Please. Go ahead.”
    Ien sat down and stretched his hands. It had been months since he touched a piano. He longed to feel the keys under his fingertips and create music, to feel control over something in his life. He looked at his