Dark Reality 7-Book Boxed Set
Author: Jennifer Martucci
Date: 2015-02-24T05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Teen & Young Adult; Science Fiction & Fantasy; Fantasy; Paranormal & Urban; Science Fiction; Dystopian
Description: The Dark Reality Boxed set is a compilation of work by authors Jennifer and Christopher Martucci. It includes Planet Urth (Book 1), Arianna Rose (Part 1), Arianna Rose (Part 2), Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3), Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1), Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2), and Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3). **

The Dark Reality Box Set

by

Jennifer & Christopher Martucci

Planet Urth

(Book 1)

A novel

By Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

PLANET URTH (BOOK 1)

Published by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Copyright © 2013

All rights reserved.

First edition: October 2013

Editing by FirstEditing

Cover design by Damonza

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Wind howls through the trees and rushes in the cracks of the cave, whistling shrilly.  I bolt upright, startled.  In the bleary moments just after waking from a deep sleep, I worry that they’ve found us.  When my eyes adjust, I see that we are alone and our defenses have not been breached.

I sigh and feel the panic begin to leak from my body as my eyes sweep the familiar surroundings.  The sun has not risen yet.  Eerie, iridescent light trickles in with streams of air that carry the sweet, pungent zing of ozone.  Sharp and fresh, the scent fills the cave.  I wonder if my sister, June, smells it.  It is one of her favorite scents, the way the atmosphere smells before it rains.  But she is still asleep, her small body curled in a ball beside me.  I am tempted to wake her.  She does not like to miss any opportunity for joy, as joy is a rarity in our world.  But she looks too serene to disturb.  With her eyes closed and her features relaxed, she looks her age: eight years old.  Her brow is not creased in concern.  Her eyes are not narrowed as they usually are.  Her face is smooth, innocent.  She looks at peace.  But I know that when she finally wakes, favorite scents or no favorite scents, peace will seep from her.  Daylight will appear to age her.  It always does.

I watch her for several moments.  The familiar ache begins in my chest and quickly tightens my throat.  I swallow hard, gulping in vain against the lump of dread stuck there.  I don’t know why I bother.  It never moves.  I doubt it will ever leave.

Thunder rumbles and shakes the cave’s stone walls.  Rain patters at first then drums loudly, the shriek of the wind accompanying it.  A violent storm is underway.  Still, June remains asleep, unbothered and unaware of it.  I almost envy her.

Her eyelids flutter and a small smile tilts the corners of her mouth upward.  She must be having a pleasant dream.  I have forgotten what pleasant dreams are.  My dreams are never pleasant.  They are usually filled with dreadful images, and running, always running, without a destination in sight.  The veil between nightmares and reality is thin.  Some days, I have trouble distinguishing between the two.  I would have ended it all long ago were it not for June.

June is my reason to live, the only reason I still live.  She is my purpose.  I exist to keep her safe, for she needs protection from many things in this world.  It has been eight years since I’ve seen another human being that wasn’t my father or my sister, June.  I’m convinced we are the last human beings on what was once called planet Earth.  I would never tell June that.  I tell her every day that I believe someone will find us, that we will one day feel safe instead of scared all the time.  But I know that is not true.

I force a smile on my face each day, in defiance of the truth, in defiance of the ache in my heart, and tell June that one day our lives will be filled with calm and order.  It is a sharp contrast to the jumbled chaos of our day-to-day existence.  Most days the madness of it all weighs on me so heavily I contemplate scouring the forest for berries my father warned me against, and filling my belly with them.  Once, I came dangerously close to doing just that.

A few weeks ago, I leaned against a tree trunk, mesmerized by the yellowish-orange fruit, and picked a handful.  I brought my hand to my mouth and parted my lips, tears of relief slipping down my cheeks as I envisioned an end to it all, to the never-ending tightness in my throat, the constant worry, the suffering.  I was about to eat several berries when my sister called out to me in the distance.  She was cheering excitedly about catching her first squirrel, which turned out to be a skunk.  I froze.  The gravity of what I was about to do hit me like a fist to my gut.  The berries fell between my fingers and dropped to the ground below.  “In a minute, June,” I yelled.  I needed time to collect myself and breathe through the swell of emotion crashing over me.  I had intended to take my life, had come dangerously close, in fact.  The actuality of it staggered me.  I was angry, scared, and grateful all at once.  I sprang to my feet and paced for several moments, panting like a wild animal, before I calmed down enough to plaster a tight smile on my face.  I returned to June and did not speak of what I almost did.  She never asked, and I never told.  I haven’t done anything that reckless or stupid since.  I don’t have the luxury of doing such things.

Now, as I watch the rise and fall of June’s chest as she takes deep, even breaths, I realize I was selfish weeks earlier.  I am selfish every time I entertain the idea of ending the yawning pit of sadness inside me for good.  She needs me.  She would not survive without me, especially since our father died a little more than a year ago.  He lived what I guess was a much longer-than-average life and passed away peacefully at the age of fifty.  In the days before his death, I promised him we would stay safe, and I would keep June out of harm's way and never give up.  He showed me how to do it, how to survive.  The rest, namely living, is a bit more complicated.

I lie back down and close my eyes, remembering all my father taught me.  I curve my body around June’s sleeping form, comforted by her stillness.  She does not feel me there.  She continues to sleep.  The storm rages outside.  And the lump in my throat balloons to the point that I fear it will strangle me.

But in spite of the turmoil outside and the havoc rattling around inside me, exhaustion takes hold and pulls me on a dark and velvety tide.  I sleep until the chirping of birds wakes me.

Sooty shadows still stretch across the cave I’ve called home for the last six years, but the light filtering in is considerably brighter.  My stomach clenches violently, rumbling and growling, and I know it is time to hunt.  Food has been scarce the last few days, leaving only small animals to trap and eat.  I have only caught rats.  They taste terrible, have very little meat on them, and always leave me feeling sick.  I crave the filling sustenance of boart meat, but haven’t seen one recently, not in the last three days, at least.

The thought of filling my stomach with tender, succulent boart flesh forces me to sit up.  My back complains and my neck aches.  Too little sleep and positioning myself oddly conspire against me.  Regardless, I push myself to stand, shoving my palms and heels against the hard, rocky floor.  I scrub my face with my hands, and then stretch before pulling out the logs that are lodged between the wall and the boulder at the mouth of the cave.

Six years ago, my father found a stone to cover the cave’s opening.  He spent months etching it, chipping away at its surface little by little, until it fit, rounded and able to roll bumpily.  With an assortment of wood stuck all around it, the boulder conceals us, and keeps creatures of every kind from getting in.  The beings that roam the land after dark are deadly.  We cannot go out once the sun sets, not even in the event of an emergency.  No human being can, should any exist.  And together, the boulder and the logs safeguard us from Lurkers.

The thought of Lurkers makes my skin crawl, as if thousands of insect feelers are scuttling across it.  The need for fresh air and light becomes urgent.  Large logs wedge the boulder into the mouth of the cave to keep it securely in place.  The logs extend from the boulder to the far wall.  I frantically clear them, working so hard I am winded.  When the last log is cleared, I rest my hands on my knees and gulp air greedily.  I brush my brow with the back of my hand and my eyes immediately go to June, still fast asleep.  I regret having to wake her, but the next task is too difficult to be performed by only me.  The boulder is heavy, and while I’m at my prime at age seventeen, my strength is no match for the stone.

Reluctantly, I move toward her and sit.  I brush a lock of golden hair from her forehead.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I say.

She stirs and slowly opens her eyes.  Her eyes narrow and focus on my face, erasing the smoothness of youth.  She suddenly looks all of her eight years, plus some.

“Time to move it.” I thumb over my shoulder to the boulder.

June groans and scrunches up her face.

“Come on, lazy bones,” I tease her.  “If you want to get outside and enjoy the long, warm day, I suggest you quit moaning and help me.”  I poke the tip of her small nose with my index finger.  She smiles, an expression that lights her entire face, then sits up and hugs me tightly.  The gesture loosens the tightness in my chest and I am reminded of what, or who, I am living for.

“I do want to go outside,” June murmurs into my hair.  “I hate nighttime.”

Her words resonate in my bones.  She loosens her grip on me and sits back.  “We need to do a lot today, but if we have time left, we will go to the meadow.”

Her face lights up and her pale-blue eyes sparkle.  “Oh, Avery, you promise?” she squeaks, and her eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline.

“Promise,” I say.

She mumbles something about having the best sister ever and my cheeks grow hot.  I do not deserve her compliments.

June scrambles from her sleep sack and stands.  Her long limbs are thin, her elbows and kneecaps prominent.  Our recent diet, reliant on rats as a source of protein, is taking its toll on her.  I curse myself under my breath for not doing a better job, for not taking care of her properly as I’d promised my father I would.

“Let’s move this thing out of the way,” I say more cheerily than I feel.

We must crouch to walk through the narrow, tunnel-like structure that leads to the mouth of the cave.  It is a tight squeeze, but we do whatever is necessary to secure ourselves.

June follows, placing her hands beside mine.  A crisp breeze blows, cooling my skin just before we pull the stone until a thick rim of light appears all around it.  We continue until a brilliant glow pours into the cave.  I squint and shield my eyes with my hand as they adjust to daylight.

“Wow,” June comments, her eyes round with wonder.  “Look at the sky.  It’s so blue.”

She’s right.  The sky is bluer than usual.  It looks as if it has been scrubbed clean.  Not a cloud mars its perfection.

“You know why it looks like that, right?” I ask.

“No, why?” She looks at me quizzically.

“We had storms a couple hours ago, and someone slept through all of it,” I comment playfully and elbow her lightly in the ribs.  She frowns and knits her brow as if she’s done something wrong, not quite the response I’d hope for.

“Were you scared?” she asks, her eyes pleading pools of crystal-clear water.

“Nah, not at all,” I lie.  “The only reason I woke is because you snore.” I elbow her again.  This time, a wide, goofy smile spreads across her face that makes my chest temporarily release the stranglehold on my heart.

“Yeah, well, it’s better than drooling like you do,” she teases me back.

“Hey!” I say with exaggerated annoyance.

“Come on, drool-girl, I’ll race you to the river!” She arches a pale brow and twists her mouth to one side before darting off into the woods toward the fresh-water river where we start our days.

“No fair!” I call as I dash after her.

The air is cool, refreshingly so, when it rushes in my face as I race after June.  She is small and thin and quick as lightning as she streaks between trees and bushes, dodging vines and creepers.  Birds flit from tree to tree and chipmunks peep in annoyance.  All around us, the woodland wakes.  A new day has dawned.  Storms have passed and the grass is wet, but the mugginess is gone, the air is lighter, as if the world has sighed away a heavy burden.  But I know the Lurkers still exist.  I wish it were that easy.

When I reach the river, June is there already.  Her hands are on her hips, and her chin is tipped upward, a sly smile rounding her cheeks.

“I thought you’d never get here.”  She tries to sound smug, but she is incapable of conceit or arrogance of any kind.  She is better than that.

“What can I say?  You’re fast, too fast for me,” I reply.

Her smile broadens.  It reaches her eyes and makes them dance with pride.

“Come on, let’s wash up and hunt.” I splash my face with water warmed by the summer sun.

June follows my lead and scoops handfuls of water and scrubs her face and underarms.  Once we are clean, I turn to her.

“We are going out a little farther than the perimeter today,” I say.  June’s brow furrows deeply and her eyes narrow to slits.  She folds her willowy arms across her chest and listens intently.  “Do you feel comfortable going off on your own out there?  Do you think you’ll be okay?” I ask, fearful that she is not ready yet.

She nods resolutely and says, “I’ll be fine.”

I place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as I smile.  I do not hide the pride I am feeling, or the relief.  Going beyond the boundaries we’ve observed for years is crucial.  The knobbiness of her shoulder is a painful reminder that if we do not push our boundaries, our food supply will continue to dwindle.

“Great,” I say.  “I knew you were.”

June’s eyes widen at my words, gleaming with satisfaction, and my heart swells.

“I’m going to get us a couple of rabbits for dinner tonight,” she says with steely determination.

I admire her grit and wish grit alone were capable of snaring a pair of rabbits.  But it is not.  The sad fact is that June rarely catches anything, and has never caught an animal substantial enough to feed us more than once.  I feel confident today will be no different, but I respect her more than words can say for waking up every single morning and trying.  She is undaunted by failure, unsullied by it.

“Good,” I tell her and wink.  “I look forward to it.”

“Count on it,” she says.  Her posture straightens, so full of optimism and hope.

I wish she would learn to hunt.  I hope she reaches her goal today.  She needs to be able to kill and prepare her own food as a precaution.  We live in a dangerous world.  If something were to happen to me, I want to know that she will not starve.

“All right, let’s get going before the sun is overhead and the animals seek shelter from it,” I tell her.

She realizes it is time to separate and a strange look clouds her face.  Without warning, she closes the distance between us and wraps her arms around my waist.  “Be safe, Avery,” she says.  “You are my sister and my best friend.”

My throat constricts around words that are jammed there.  I swallow hard and try to talk, managing just a hoarse whisper.  “I’ll be fine, sis.  Don’t worry,” I tell her.  I hold her briefly, then gently push her away.  Our eyes lock, and I hold her gaze.  “We’ll go to the edge of the woods together.  Stay nearby.”  Nearby means that she is not to wander more than a few hundred spear lengths from me.  “I will signal when I get something.  Okay?”

June nods in understanding and we move through the woods.

The forest is awake and humming with activity.  Birds dart from tree to tree, rustling leaves and branches.  Intermittently, a chipmunk scurries across the needle-covered ground and chirps loudly.  June is silent as we walk.  I watch her from the corner of my eye.  Her expression is concerned.  I reach out and take her hand.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I say.

She clutches my hand for a moment, then releases it.  “I know,” she says and smiles.  But I’m unconvinced.  She is eight years old, a child by most standards, yet she must shoulder adult burdens.  It’s necessary for her survival, a point that I regret with every fiber of my being.

When we reach the edge of our safety zone, the trees grows farther apart and the area is brighter.  We are not as concealed.

“Don’t go too far,” I tell her.

June’s eyes plead for a moment, shining with emotion.  “Love you,” she says.

“Love you, too,” I reply.

Her demeanor haunts me as I watch her crouch low and move cautiously between spiny ferns and brush.  Why was she so worried?  Did she sense something I’d missed?  My mind starts spinning questions, rolling around in my head like a ball of barbed wire.  But I need to force them to the dark recesses of my brain.  I cannot worry or speculate about intuition or what-ifs.  Too much is at stake.  Eating takes priority.

I walk for several minutes until I find fresh boart droppings.  My father once told me that long ago, before the war, boarts were called boars.  But like every other animal on the planet, the boars changed.  They mutated into a different species.  I quickly look all around, scanning the low growth for the pot-bellied beast responsible for the droppings.  I do not see one, but know it is near so I decide to seek higher ground.  The massive oak beside me is the perfect lookout point.

With my knife sheathed at my thigh and my spear and sword in a scabbard at my back, I grab hold of the lowest branch and hoist myself up.  I climb from one to the next, scaling the tree cautiously, gently.  I do not want to disturb anything or make a sound.  I do not want to scare the beast and send it running.  I continue, gingerly navigating the dovetailed branches and only stop when the limbs above me become thin and fragile-looking.  I do not want to risk resting on one that cannot bear my weight and settle into a squatting position where I am.  I crouch low, balancing.  Unsheathing my spear, clutching it securely in sweat-slickened hands, I watch as nearby growth stirs and a boart comes into view.

Minutes tick by and the boart does not move.  The sun beats down through limbs and leaves.  Sweat stipples my brow and trails between my shoulder blades, but I do not dare brush it away or shift.  I must remain still, poised to strike when the moment presents itself.  The snorts and chuffs of the beast grow closer.  I do not move.  I barely breathe.  My muscles ache and tremble, and my knees protest holding the same position for so long.  My pulse hammers against my temples.  The beast continues to inch forward, creeping at a leisurely pace.  Hunger gnaws ceaselessly.  My belly rumbles, a sound so loud I worry it will frighten the boart and ruin any chance of eating for myself and June.  But it does not.  I have it in my sight, my gaze zeroed in on it.  It disappears for a moment behind a dense thicket, so close to me I can smell its pungent stink.

It reappears after several painstaking seconds.  Up close, it is enormous.  It must be nearly three hundred pounds.  Not that I would know that for sure.  The last scale I’d seen was when my father was alive and we’d stayed at a camp with other humans.  Then, I’d been weighed and told I was one hundred five pounds and five foot one.  Years have passed and I’ve grown since then.  But the beast easily triples my girth.  Massive shoulders and hindquarters are connected by a rotund belly, and small eyes sit atop a generous snout.  Pointed tusks bulge from its lower jaw and saliva drips from its wide mouth as it sniffs a tuft of blossoms near the trunk of the tree I am perched in.  It continues to snuffle and grunt.  I grip the handle of my weapon so tightly my palm aches.

When it is just below me, I jump.

The ground hurtles toward me.  All breath leaves my body and needle-sharp stabs of pain claw my legs as branches lash my thighs.  Bruises and cuts will result, but I do not care.  All I can think of is feeding my sister, and me.

My spear drives into the base of the beast’s neck before I land atop it.  I hold the spear steady with one hand while I unsheathe my blade and slice its throat.  It squeals, a tortured, awful sound, and thrashes.  Warmth gushes over my hand, covering my blade, but I do not let go.  And I do not let go of my spear either.  I hold fast and plunge it until the entire middle section of the spear is no longer visible.

My chest heaves and every part of me quivers.  The world around me has gone quiet.  All I hear are my own ragged breaths and the fading shrieks of the stuck animal.

Before long, the boart stops flailing.  Blood is everywhere–on my hands, on my arms, my legs, and my face, even feels like it’s coating my tongue, but it’s not.  It is just the heavy, coppery smell, so thick and overpowering, tricking my mind into believing blood has entered my mouth.  The boart’s weight begins to shift as it topples to one side.  I must keep my dagger from becoming trapped beneath its massive body.  I must keep from getting trapped beneath its massive body.

I flick my knife to the side and hear it land with a soft thud in the grass, then yank as hard and fast as I can to pull the spear from the boart’s body.  I dive to the ground, reaching and stretching with every ounce of strength I have to throw myself clear of the beast’s fall.  I land hard just in time to avoid being a squashed blob underneath it then whistle loudly for June.

The faint swish of wet grass and leaves sounds and before long, my sister appears.  At first she sees the blood covering my hands and splattered across my face.  She gasps and her hands fly to her mouth.  She cries out words that are unintelligible.

“Oh no, no, no,” she sobs.

“June, no, I’m okay,” I assure her and point with a trembling hand to the boart carcass.

Her eyes widen.  “You got one!” she squeals excitedly.  “Oh wow!”  She bounces on the balls of her feet, clapping her hands, and I am reminded of her youth, of her innocence.  I suddenly wish she did not have to see the boart’s carcass.  But one day she will have to gut a boart on her own.

“Come on, let’s prepare this boart quickly before the scavengers come out to play,” I say, referring to the buzzards and other winged predators that could announce our position.

June assists while I carve enough meat to stuff ourselves for the day, as well as the next morning.  The boart is robust, its flesh plentiful, but we cannot take all of it.  It would spoil by midday the next day.  Wastefulness of any kind pains me, particularly when it concerns food.  If it were winter, every bit of its meat would be taken and packed in snow, then eaten for weeks.  Today’s kill is just for the day.

We return to the cave with our haul and cook it immediately.  Cooking after the sun sets is off-limits.  The smell of roasting flesh would frenzy the creatures of the night and all but guarantee our deaths.  The thought makes me shudder.

As soon as the meat is fully cooked, I offer the first piece to June.  She devours it immediately.  I nibble a chunk and watch as she reaches for a second then third serving.

“Be careful not to stuff yourself,” I warn her.  But it is hard not to.  The salty taste and the tender texture of the meat are irresistible.  Before long, I find myself ignoring my own advice and helping myself to more.

“I have to stop,” I moan, but a full belly is blissful.  “We have to train still,” I say more for my own benefit than June’s benefit.

“Aw, do we have to?” she asks and frowns.

I level my gaze at her and do not say a word.  I do not need to.  She knows better, knows that it is imperative for us to train each and every day, to keep our senses sharp and our reflexes swift.  I never allow a day to pass when we do not train.  That is what our father taught us.  And June needs to become as good with a sword and spear as I am.  Her life depends on it, and so does mine.  Room for improvement always exists.

“Can’t we just relax for a little while?” June begs.

I look to the sun, my mind warring with my heart, and realize there is plenty of daylight hours left.  June deserves a reprieve.  I owe her that, at least.

“Okay,” I concede.

Her head whipsaws from me to her food then back to me.  “Are you kidding?” she asks suspiciously.  “’Cause if you are, it’s not funny.”

“Nope, I’m serious,” I say.  “Let’s go now.”

June does not need to hear me say it twice.  She is on her feet before I am.  We make our way to the meadow quickly.  The clearing is overflowing with wildflowers that perfume the area.  I would love to run through the field and pick as many as my arms could carry but I am not permitted such an indulgence.  Instead, I settle for sitting on the outskirts of the meadow.

June plops down then flops backward.  I sit for a while then lean back on my elbows.

Warm, buttery sunlight heats us from overhead.  A tangy, earthy scent infuses the air as we lay in the tall grass gazing at the sky, a vast blue canvas scrubbed clean by the early morning storms.  A butterfly flits past June before landing on her nose.  She giggles as the floppy-winged insect stops for a second then flaps and flies away.  The sound is sweeter than anything I’ve heard in a long time. I turn to face her.  Light washes across the top of her head, highlighting the natural gold of her hair.  It makes her appear almost angelic.  She closes her eyes and dozes while I fight the exhaustion that follows the adrenaline rush I had from killing the boart.  A full belly assists my physical fatigue.

Before long, my eyes grow heavy and my body feels as if it is being rocked, cradled in warm arms, a sensation I barely remember but yearn for nevertheless.  I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 2

My eyes snap open, and immediately my heart batters against my ribcage.  I scramble to a sitting position, my eyes surveying the clearing.  Tears burn and blur my vision as I squint at the blindingly bright light all around me.  The sun is high in the sky, the heat blazing.  I realize I have slept for hours not minutes, and a sense of deep regret fills me.  A good portion of the day has been lost, wasted really.  Time spent sleeping that should have been spent training.  I exhale loudly, pinching the bridge of my nose as I do so.  This day has been marked by squander; first the boart meat, and now this.

In my periphery, I see that June is still sleeping.  I am grateful she is okay, that she is still by my side, despite being annoyed that time, a precious commodity, has been lost.  I take a deep breath, calming myself before I wake June.  I do not want her to see my frustration.  After all, it is not her fault.  None of it is her fault.

I twist my body and look at her.  Her hair is fanned out all around her, a riot of golden tendrils coiling around flower stems.  I hesitate for a moment then tap her arm.

“June.  June, wake up,” I say as I jiggle her shoulder.  “June,” I try a bit louder.

June whips her head in my direction, her eyes wide and bloodshot.  “What, what is it?” she asks concernedly.  She looks dazed, still half-asleep.

“We both fell asleep,” I tell her, and she looks at me strangely, as if to say, “No kidding.”  I shake my head then add, “We slept a long time.”

She sits up quickly and I follow her gaze as it sweeps the meadow.  Little by little, what I have said registers.  A frown creases her face.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” she starts to say, but I interrupt her.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, June.  This is my fault.  I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

“No, it’s not your fault.  Please don’t blame yourself,” she says, and touches my arm lightly.  “It’s a beautiful summer day and you were tired.” She tries to excuse my negligence, but I have made a mistake and cost us valuable hours of daylight.

I ignore her attempt to let me off easy. “Half the day has been wasted.  We never should have rested in the meadow in the first place.” I do not temper my aggravation.  “And now, we need to hurry to our spot and train.” I raise my voice, allowing some of the irritation I am feeling to slip out.

Her face wilts and her eyes glaze with tears.

“June,” I start.  “I didn’t mean to sound so angry.  I am not angry with you, just the situation, okay?” She seems unconvinced.  She tips her chin up and swallows hard, blinking feverishly.  “Come on, please don’t be sad.  I am a jerk,” I say, and know it is true.  I have hurt the one person in this world I share my life with, the one person I love.

Regret and self-loathing knot in my stomach.  June is only eight. I should not have taken a sharp tone with her.  It does not matter that my anger was not directed at her.  I should know better.  My father always did.  He was calm.  He would be disappointed in me if he knew I upset June.

A cool hand on my hot skin yanks me from my brooding.  “I am sorry I’m such a baby, that I cry when I’m upset.  I wish I were more like you,” June says.

I clamp my eyes shut.  “No, you don’t,” I say.  I want to tell her she is perfect, that she is better than I could ever be, but my voice chokes when I try to speak.  I open my eyes then look away from her and chew my lower lip, gulping hard against the stinging pain in my throat.  But thin arms encircle my shoulders.

“You’re not a jerk,” June says into my neck as she squeezes tightly.  “I love you.”

I hug her back and tell her I love her too.  I do not let go until her grip relaxes.  I don’t know why she forgives me, but I am grateful for it.  She is the only thing that keeps me going.  I stand and offer my hand to help her up; the time to leave is upon us.  She follows me wordlessly, away from the field and back into the denser part of the forest.  We walk for several minutes, passing our cave, and continue until we reach an area my father constructed years ago, where trees have been stripped of their branches and trimmed, their bark removed so that the hard, inner wood is exposed.  Targets have been fashioned out of stretched animal hides and stained with berry extract for spear-throwing practice, and wooden swords have been designed so that June and I can spar without hurting each other.  This is our training area, where we prepare to fight for our food, to fight animals; to fight for our lives.

A quick look at the sky reveals the sun is sinking fast.  Little time is left to spar.  I move toward our weapons.  The swords are hidden.  A large boulder sits in front of a thicket of thorny bushes.  Under the thorny bushes, our swords wait, wrapped in an animal pelt.  They are left in the woods, concealed by the bushes.  To any creature roaming about, the pelt and swords would go unseen.  But June and I know better.  I drop to my knees and reach for the skin, scraping my forearm as I hurriedly drag it.  I unroll it and toss one sword to June and keep the other for myself.  June catches hers clumsily, and then clutches it in her hands.

Though the weapon is light in my hands, such is not the case for my sister.  The small muscles in June’s upper body bulge as she wields the wooden sword and takes several practice swings.  I know she is straining, but I must see beyond what is in front of me.  I must look into the future, a future that requires her to be able to defend herself.

I advance several steps and June and I begin.  June uses a small sword I practiced with when I was little.  I now use the one my father did when he was alive.  It feels different in my hands than the one I keep on me at all times, perhaps because it lacks the heft of its metal counterpart, or because it lacks the finely honed tip.  Either way, these swords suit our purpose, which is to exercise.

The wood of our weapons makes loud clacking sounds as they collide with each other.  When sparring with my sister, I exercise a degree of restraint.  Our sessions are for her benefit only.  After we finish, she rests, and I must sharpen my skills with the poles my father made.

My father designed all that we see before he died.  I practiced with him throughout the years for more hours than I could count.  I loved sparring with him.  He trained me, fostering what he called my ‘gift’ until I could best him in a match.  Of course, the gift he referred to was my ability to swing a sword.  He said I was born with it.  I think it is a result of hard training.  Perhaps it is a combination of the two.  Whatever it is does not matter.  All I am certain of is that I must continue practicing, keep my muscles strong and my reflexes quick.  The poles are helpful, but lack where instinct is concerned.  Subtleties are missing.  A being must be read when fighting; at least that’s what my father always told me.   I was able to beat my father by the time I was fifteen, always anticipating his next move, sidestepping it before acting faster.  He was a great warrior and was proud that I would win.  He never held back and he was never embarrassed.  I miss having an adult to spar with, someone stronger than me.  I miss sparring with my father.  I wish he were still alive.  But he is gone, and I am responsible for June’s survival, as well as my own.

I keep that important point in mind every time I train with her.  My goal is to build her endurance and strength, her speed and instinct.  I need to build her confidence.  The way she hefts and swings her sword screams that she is not comfortable doing so.  I worry about her.  We have been working for months and her improvement has been minimal.

In my heart I believe she should have existed centuries ago, back when children her age played with dolls and went to places called schools to learn about all kinds of subjects.  Sometimes I think a cosmic joke of some sort has misplaced her here instead of an era when she could have been safe and healthy and happy.

The tension in my chest pulls, tightening painfully, when I look at her and imagine her wearing dresses the color of wildflowers.

My insides feel as if they are coiling like a snake readied to strike.  I focus the pain, focus the anger, and take it out on the poles.  Extending my arms, I swing the wooden blade, slicing through the air with a whoosh before it strikes wood, scoring it.  I continue, repeating the motion, but alternating between my left and right arm, swinging high and low, until my skin is slick with sweat and my throat burns.  My entire body throbs to a single rhythm and I feel alive, truly alive.

Blood rushes through by body, drilling against my skin so hard I feel I could burst, but I do not stop.  I swerve and twist as I cleave the air.  I must be prepared in case they find us.  Other beings live beyond the woods we call home.  They rule the world and will kill us if they find us.  If they knew humans were living deep in the forest, that June and I exist, they would come for us.

They used to be human, but have evolved into something far different. They now call themselves Urthmen, and they hate us in a way I do not understand.  They want nothing more than to drive humanity to extinction.  They may have already been successful for all I know, except for me and my sister.  I watched them kill hundreds when I was younger, my neighbors, my friends, my mother.  Back then, we lived in a village with others like us.  My father, sister, and I were the only survivors.  My father fled to the forest with us, knowing that the Urthmen do not venture deep into the woods, for they are not the most dangerous species roaming the planet.  Lurkers are.  They live in the forest.  They only come out at night.  And Lurkers would feast on the flesh of Urthmen as quickly as they would humans.

The Urthmen live in the cities that used to be inhabited by humans, before our kind fell at their hands.  They rarely enter the woods by day.  Doing so at nighttime would mean certain death.  Even Urthmen fear the forest.  The only reason they would ever leave the comfort of their communities would be to hunt humans.

I used to ask my father why the Urthmen hate us so much.  He said they fear our intelligence and they resent that we are unchanged by the War of 2062.  Recalling tales of the War of 2062 sends a shiver down my spine.  My father explained to me what happened to our kind, that we had brought this misery on ourselves.  Humans from different countries had warred with one another.  A powerful chemical virus had been created by a Middle Eastern country, and released on the people of North America.  The attack caused the leaders in America to launch nuclear weapons in retaliation, destroying much of the world.

North America, where I live, is the only place where life is thought to still exist.  It has been ravaged by chemical warfare, but life has continued.  I do not know for certain whether the rest of the world is inhospitable, but judging from the stories I’ve heard, I do not see how it would be possible.  The only reason many humans survived the war in the first place resulted from the mass underground shelters that had been created when the threat of war seemed imminent.

Bomb shelters, as they were aptly named, were created for important people and rich people to take refuge in.  Hundreds of thousands of the rich and important people lived there for decades until their supplies ran out and forced them to come aboveground.  By then, they figured the diseases had cleared and that they were safe.  The diseases were gone, but something much worse awaited them.

When they surfaced, they were met by grotesque, distorted versions of human beings, abominations, who had gone mad from the chemicals and diseases.  Those abominations butchered any humans they came across, who had hidden and were unaffected by illness.  Some humans managed to get away, and they hid.

Two hundred years later, the offspring of those affected, the abominations, have evolved.  They look much as they had then.  They are grotesquely distorted versions of humans, and their intelligence is far lesser than a human.  They call themselves the Urthmen.  They now rule the world.  And even after all these years have passed, after watching the fall of humanity and the rise of their kind, the Urthmen’s hatred of humans remains.

I haven’t seen Urthmen since the massacre at the village I used to live in.  Thinking of them makes me pause and look at June.

“Come, let’s go again,” I say between pants.

“But we just finished a little while ago,” she protests.

I beg her with my eyes to stop and she does.  She reluctantly stands and picks up her wooden sword.  We spar again, only this time I push her harder, challenging her, demanding with my weapon that she defend herself more intensely.  Her posture becomes more rigid, her strikes more purposeful.  Her lip curls over her teeth, and in her eyes there’s a steely resolve I’ve never seen before.  She is suddenly focused, pushing herself to her limits.  She is using her speed and agility to her advantage, darting all around me as she attacks unrelentingly.  Pride mushrooms inside of me.

I smile broadly when she lowers her weapon to catch her breath.  “I am proud of you, June,” I say, and her spine lengthens. She is barely able to stifle the grin creeping across her cheeks.  “Oh, go ahead and smile,” I tell her.  “You should be happy.  You have made tremendous progress.”

June’s eyes crinkle with her smile.  “Really?  You mean it?” she says, and cannot keep the excitement from her tone.

“Absolutely,” I nod.  “Maybe we should goof off more often,” I add, and arc an eyebrow at her.

Her lips part briefly before snapping shut, as if she is not sure of the correct response.  I was being sarcastic, making fun of myself, really.  But she is uncertain.

“Come on, give me your sword.  We are done for the day,” I tell her.

She hands over her weapon and I wrap both in the animal pelt and return them to the space beneath the bush.

As we walk back to our cave, June comments on the sky.  “Wow,” she marvels.  “It’s so pretty.”

The sun has just about set and bands of pink and lavender streak the sky.  June has only seen a handful of twilight skies.  We seldom stay out this late.  Danger prowls when the sun goes down.

With that threat in mind, I link my arm through June’s and pull her close, quickening my pace.  She rushes to keep up with me, and we make it to the cave just as darkness falls.

As soon as we are inside, we roll the boulder in place and secure it with brush and logs.  We eat some of our cooked boart meat, then I light a small candle made from beeswax.  June settles into her sleep sack for the night.

“Avery?” she calls as I roll out my bedding.

“Yes?”

“Will you tell me some stories Dad used to tell us at bedtime?”

“Of course,” I answer as my mind’s eye produces an image of my father sitting right where I am, tucking us in for the night and sharing stories of years long-passed, stories his father told him that his grandfather had shared.

I lie beside her and place the candle between us.  “Once, long ago, people like us, human beings, lived in big, sprawling structures made of wood and brick.  They were called houses.  Usually, only one family lived there, parents and children.”  I pause and look at June.  Her sack is pulled up to her chin, her fingers curled around the edge.  Her eyes are fixed on mine as she waits for me to continue.  “Inside the houses, they had little rectangles on the walls with knobs at their center.  When they moved the knob, lights would turn on.”

June laughs at what I’ve just said; the idea so far-fetched it is funny.

“The rectangles were called light switches and they were pretty much what their name stated: switches that made light shine.”

June covers her eyes with her hands and shakes her head.

“And the light switches were not alone.  There were other rectangular things called outlets.  People would plug tools into these outlets and they would work by themselves.”

“Like the picture boxes?” June asks, and drops her hands, her eyes lighting up with interest.

“Yes, people plugged their picture boxes into the outlets.  Picture boxes were like magic.  They would show miniature people inside of them that could speak loud enough for everyone to hear.  The people inside would perform and tell stories.”

June claps her hands over her face again and laughs.  “That can’t be true,” she says through giggles.  “There wasn’t any such thing!”

“No, there was,” I say.  “Dad’s father told him, and his father before him.  It is all true.”

She lowers her hands and rolls her eyes.  “Wow,” she breathes.

“Oh, but there’s more,” I continue.  “There also used to be friendly animals that lived in people’s houses and they were treated like family.”

“No way!  Now I know you’re making that up!” she snorts and is overcome with silliness again.

“I am not making it up,” I say and can’t help but chuckle softly, mostly at her delight.  “They were called dogs and they would lick people’s faces and let people pet them.  They would even sleep with the people they lived with in a big, cozy bed.  Great-grandpa told Dad that some people had clothes for their dogs.” I watch as June doubles over clutching her belly in hysterics.

The notion of an animal living with a person is preposterous.  Mammals are ferocious creatures to be avoided.  Most only come out at night, as their eyes are no longer able to handle daylight.  The thought of one licking anyone’s face is inconceivable.

When June’s laughter calms, I continue telling stories until her eyes struggle to stay open.  After her eyes close, I blow out the candle.  The cave is plunged in darkness, but I am not afraid.  The dark of our cave is familiar, it is safe.  Beyond our stone walls is another story entirely though, one that does not include friendly animals, magic picture boxes, houses, or families.  It is a world of violence and chaos; a world of danger.

I fight to push the never-ending risk surrounding us to the back of my mind.  I know it will be waiting for me when I wake.  But right now I need rest.  I close my eyes and feel sore muscles relax before all the terror stills and sleep takes hold.

Chapter 3

The constant rumble of my stomach wakes me.  Four days have passed since I caught the boart.  In those four days, food has been scarcer than usual.  Yesterday was the worst so far.  Typically, eating rats indicates a severe shortage of available food, but yesterday, I couldn’t even find any of them.  June and I were forced to eat insects, mostly crickets and grasshoppers.  I roasted them over an open fire and wrapped them in leaves to mask them.  But the distinct crunch when I bit down, along with the irreversible knowledge of what I was actually eating, surpassed what a thin green leaf could do.  I gagged on them, and so did June, barely able to keep them down once I swallowed.

My body is demanding heartier nourishment, something more than crickets and grasshoppers.  Physically, I am exhausted.  Emotionally, I am in agony.  June looks thinner than usual, gaunt.  The few days of meager food have taken their toll on her.  I roll onto my back to avoid looking at her.  I am failing her.  Today I will venture past our safety zone to hunt.  It is a risky endeavor, but it is one I must take for June’s sake.

I twist onto my side.  All energy has deserted me, even though I slept through the night.  I am barely able to push myself up to a sitting position.  When I finally do, my limbs tremble, and a dull ache at the base of my skull persists.  I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, then force the corners of my mouth to lift.  I must keep a brave face for June.  I must smile even though I would like nothing more than to scream and cry.

I give June a gentle shake.  Her eyes open, and I immediately notice that the silvery sparkle in her blue irises has clouded to gray.  Her expression is bleary, and her cheeks have hollowed further.

“Hey, sleepy girl,” I say.  My voice is chipper and I smile.

“Is it morning already?” June asks.

“Yep, time to rise and shine,” I maintain my put-on cheerfulness.

June tries to sit.  She hesitates.  Her hand goes to her forehead.

“June, are you okay,” I ask, and cannot hide the panic in my tone.

“Whoa, my head is spinning,” she says and closes her eyes.  Her thumb is rubbing one temple while her fingers work the other.  “I must not have slept well.  Did I toss and turn a lot?”

She did not toss and turn.  Movement of any kind wakes me.  June was still all night.  Hunger is what is exhausting her.

“Hmm, maybe,” I lie.  “I slept like a rock, so I can’t be sure.”

“That must be it,” June bobs her head slowly.

“Listen, why don’t you stay here and skip going to the river.  I’ll bring back extra water and you can just stay here while I hunt.”

June’s sunken eyes search the stone floor as if considering my suggestion.

“Besides, I am going out beyond our perimeter today.  Staying in the cave, or close by at least, would be the best thing for you to do.”

Her head whips in my direction as soon as the words have left my lips.  “What?” she asks, shocked.  “You’re going to go out where Dad told us never to go?”

I sigh and feel tremendous weight bear down on my shoulders.  “I have to, June.  We need to eat.  You need to eat.  We cannot live on grasshoppers and crickets.”  Just the thought causes a wave of nausea to quiver through my stomach.

“Those things are disgusting,” June shivers and wraps her arms around her body.

“I know.  And they are not enough,” I say somberly.  “So I have to go out there and get us something more, a turkey or squirrel.”

“I see,” June says thoughtfully then adds, “I will come too.  We will go together.”

“No!” I reply snippily.  June’s face withers and I immediately regret my tone.  “June, I’m sorry, but you cannot come with me.  It is too dangerous.”

“If it is too dangerous for me, how come it isn’t too dangerous or you?” she asks as tears well in her eyes.

I bite my lower lip, measuring my words carefully.  “June, I love you.  You are my family, my only family.  I will not bring you to an unsafe area and risk anything happening to you.”

“The same goes for me!” she protests.  “You are my only family, the one person I have in this world.  What will I do if something happens to you?”

Her question catches me off-guard.  I am unprepared for how adult she sounds.  She has a valid point.  “June, you are staying here and that’s final,” I hate myself just a bit for treating her as I am.  “I am in charge and I say you must stay, okay?”

“Okay,” she says feebly.  Crimson ribbons streak her cheeks.  She is sad.  I have hurt her feelings yet again.  I cannot tell her that I value her safety over my own.  She wouldn’t understand.  Also, in her weakened condition, she would slow me down.  I have a long hike ahead of me and limited hours of daylight.  I do not have time to spare.  Hunting and cooking must be finished before the sun sets.  I try to appeal to her sense of duty.

“I have to hunt.  The animals in this area have scattered for some strange reason.  I need you here, ready with a fire going when I return so that we can cook and feast before sundown.”

June’s stomach growls as if on cue.  “I am so hungry,” she says softly.

“Me too,” I whisper.

“Have the animals around here learned to stay clear of us?” she asks.

My muddled brain entertains the notion for a brief moment before dismissing it as ridiculous.  “No, some have probably just moved on to other areas to eat.  Maybe some have found a lush meadow filled with sweet clovers.”

“Rabbits like clovers,” June says and licks her lips.

I swallow hard.  My mouth is watering for tender, juicy rabbit.  My empty stomach rolls under and over itself like a wave, snarling anxiously.

“Yes, they do,” I say.  “Hopefully I will get us a nice fat rabbit.”

“I am still worried about you going out there alone,” June says and her voice falters.

“I will be fine,” I promise.  “I will come back, and with dinner.”  I smile broadly until I notice a thin rivulet running down June’s cheek.  My smile capsizes immediately.  “June, what is it?” I grip her shoulders.

Her eyes lock on mine.  “I don’t know.  I’m just so scared, all the time I am so scared.”

I want to tell her I am too, that she is not alone in feeling as she does.  I live in perpetual terror right alongside her.  But I can’t.  I need to be strong for her.  I need to hold us together.  “Everything is going to be okay,” I tell her as I draw her close.  “I will take care of you, I swear.  And I will come back.  I will never leave you.  I am coming back, always coming back.”  I blink back tears that brim and threaten to spill.  My throat is too tight to say another word, so I stay where I am and just hold her.

Before long, June pulls away.  She wipes her face with her hands and tells me to go.  I race to the river with a small bucket my father left us and return with it filled.  June is grateful.  After a little more reassuring, I set off and begin my journey past our area of safety.

The sun has just risen and it is not hot yet, but it will be soon.  The air is balmy and the grass is coated in dew.  My skin feels clammy, but I am oddly cold.  I grip my spear tightly and use it as a walking stick as I navigate creepers and vines that slink along the forest floor.  My weapons and canteen are heavy, and I hope I do not have to go too far to find an edible animal.

Hunger has heightened my sense of smell.  The forest is thick with the scent of evergreens and musty earth.  My eyes alternate between scanning the low-growing brush and the ground below.  I look for pinecones stripped of their seeds, for torn bark or bite marks of any kind.  I do not see anything but thickening vegetation.  I am also looking for impressions in the earth or droppings.  Either would indicate that I am on the trail of a mammal.  But I see neither.  Most would be active when the sun is positioned as it is.  Boarts eat all day long.  I hope I will be lucky enough to cross paths with another boart, but I do not see any signs of wildlife whatsoever.  I continue to press on despite feeling discouraged.

The sun is beating down from overhead, penetrating the treetop canopy with blazing shafts of light, when the terrain becomes so crowded with growth it is difficult to continue at my brisk pace.  Earlier, I began pulling large flat leaves and twisting them before tying them to trees as markers to follow back to the cave.  My dad always told me I was a good tracker with an excellent sense of direction, but I do not want to risk breaking the promise I made to June.  I will not take any chances that involve a return to her after sunset.  I do not want her to worry.

I still have not come across so much as a trace of a creature other than the occasional chirping of small birds perched in treetops.  I am about to turn and head back, to give up, when I hear the distinct sound of moving water, the gentle hiss and rustle of it rolling over land and rock.  Winding vines and undergrowth are giving way to more stony terrain underfoot.  The heavy brush thins considerably, and sudden thirst grips me.

My body feels overheated and the back of my throat burns.  I want nothing more than to spear an animal and wade out into cool water.  But neither seems possible at the moment.  I continue for a bit longer and do not see rushing water.  I decide to sit, depression crushing my chest like lead.  Hunger gnaws in my gut, and I am forced to scoop a beetle from the dank soil and eat it.  I close my eyes and slip it between my lips.  All the while I suppress the urge to retch.  I chew fast and try my best not to think about what I have just eaten.  I chug the last of my water from my canteen, but still feel as if I may vomit.  I breathe deeply several times, willing myself to hold it down, until the feeling passes.

After a brief rest, I stand again and hope to find food.  All of a sudden a high-pitched laugh slices through the silence.  I freeze in my tracks and my stomach plummets to my feet.  I hold my breath, listening intently, waiting, hoping my hearing is playing tricks on me.  The laugh sounded as if it came from June.  Who else could it be?  She must have followed me, putting us both at greater risk.  My heart thunders in my chest.

I whirl around, half-expecting to see her, but find that I am still alone.  The laughter sounds again, persisting this time.  I follow it, wondering why she would draw attention to herself.  She knows better.

I sheathe my spear on my back and I plow through bushes dotted with prickly balls, feeling them scratch and scrape my skin, but do not stop.  I must get to June before she gets us killed.

Suddenly, the laughter is interrupted by another, slightly deeper laugh; a boy’s laugh.  I move faster.  Blood rushes behind my eardrums and my heart has lodged in my throat.  I shove forward, the ground beneath my feet pebbly, until I reach a gentle slope that leads to a narrow river.  The river snakes and winds until it ends finally at a lake.  And what I see in the lake makes every hair on my body rise.

A girl about June’s age, flops and flounders about.  She is laughing, delighted.  Next to her is a boy.  He looks older than the girl.  He, too, is laughing happily.

I stand, hidden by more hostile bushes loaded with burrs.  My mouth is agape as my mind whirls in lopsided circles, struggling to make sense of what my eyes are seeing.  Human beings, children, are swimming in a lake just hours from where June and I live in our cave.  Other humans are alive!  My entire body trembles.

The children continue to caper about and I find myself smiling naturally.  I hear a splash but do not see where it came from.  Are there more?  The idea is almost too much for my brain to handle.

The water beside the boy stirs before a large form becomes visible.  And then I see him.  He breaks from the surface of the water and surprises the smaller boy, grinning wide and greeting him with a growly “Argh!”  The boy flinches then squeals in delight, but I cannot even look in his direction.  My eyes are fixed on the one who emerged from the depths and is standing now, his waist covered by water, while droplets trickle between the swells of his chest to the hollows of his stomach. He appears to be my age.  His skin is tanner than mine, bronze almost, and his eyes are so light they stand out and seem to glow.

I know I should look away, scan the area and see if there are more, but I cannot.  My gaze is pinned and I realize I have not yet blinked.  Part of me is afraid that if I look away, he will be gone; that all of them will be gone, and I will wake from whatever dream or hallucination I am having.

I take a tentative step forward, toward a thin tree.  My heart drills against my ribs and my belly feels as if it is filled with butterflies fluttering and flapping at once.  I rest my shoulder against its trunk and inch closer still, wanting to lean all of my weight against it.  But a branch snaps beneath my foot unexpectedly.  My sprinting heart stumbles, and the boy in the water with the glowing eyes looks in my direction.

Though I am concealed by tall plants, bushes, and the puny tree, my breathing hitches and heat burns up my neck until it reaches my cheeks.  I know he does not see me, cannot possibly see me, but I see him, and not just his profile either.  I see his entire face.  A strange tremor vibrates through my belly that has nothing to do with hunger.  He rubs his hand through his thick, dark hair and I am riveted by the cords of rippling muscles that intertwine and gallop down his arms.

I am suddenly lightheaded and realize I have forgotten to breathe.  My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.  I am overwhelmed by thirst.  I reach a trembling hand to my canteen and remember it is empty.

A sweet female voice calls out, and the boy with the pale, radiant eyes looks toward the sound.

“Come on, guys.  Let’s eat,” the voice says.

The children groan, and I watch as the older boy shepherds them out of the water, and guides them to the shore of the lake.  I follow him with my gaze.  It is trained on him as if acting separate and apart from my will.  He steps out of the water and, seeing him stand beside the others, I see that he is taller than I thought, and stronger looking.

He shakes his head and water cascades from his hair and sprinkles the children.  They screech, their joy evident in their expressions, and I feel my own surge of glee rocket from a part of me I never knew existed.

I watch as a woman approaches and embraces the children.  For a moment, I think she will embrace the older boy as well.  In those seconds, a hot tendril sparks inside of me that is anger and fear fused.  The sensation is completely irrational, but I am powerless to stop it.  She says something to him that I cannot hear.  He laughs, and the flame is replaced with an odd sense of loss.  But when he speaks and says the word “Mom” loudly, I am heartened.  The woman turns and faces the woods, where I am. Her face is creased, and she looks similar to the boy I have been watching.

She continues to focus on the spot where I stand.  I think about going to them.  My muscles twitch as I debate.  But something inside me keeps my feet rooted where they are.  Just envisioning myself approaching them, speaking to them, to the older boy in particular, makes my breath short and shallow and my stomach free-fall.  I try to slide a foot forward, but my muscles are tense, too tense.  They begin walking toward an opening in the craggy shore and opportunity slips from my grasp like grains of sand.  I am left standing, watching the lakeshore, and feeling a pang of remorse.

But my regret is quickly trumped by pure excitement.  I have seen human beings, others like me and June!  I press my back against the tree trunk and close my eyes.  I clinch my mouth with my hand and curb the elated yelp begging to be released.  I have not killed a meal for us and the sun is dipping fast.  I need to head back to the cave right away.  The hike here was long.  The hike back may be longer if I lose my way.  A potentially risky situation is looming, yet I am almost giddy.

I spring to my feet and bound back, deep into the forest.

As I walk, I am lost in thought.  The older boy’s face is imprinted on my brain, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to focus on anything else.  I make a lame attempt at surveying the riot of tangled bramble all around me.

A tuft of glossy, russet fur catches my eye.  My concentration shifts from the boy at the lake and grinds to a razor-sharp point.  I train my gaze on it, watching it, stalking it.  The fur jerks then bounces, edging out of concealment.  That’s when I see a puffy tail, downy and round, popping from a cluster of weeds.  I unsheathe my spear as silently as possible, then creep toward it slowly, clutching my weapon, careful not to spook my dinner.  I move in to kill the rabbit.

I am just seven or eight paces from it, poised and prepared to skewer it, when it turns on me unexpectedly; whipping its small head so that I swear it is looking at me.  Large eyes, more forward-facing and predatory than I have ever seen, watch me.  A deep growl rumbles from its chest and its thin, black lips snarl back and reveal oversized, pointed teeth.  It hops away from me, a small cautious move that is not in keeping with its threatening demeanor.   I remain where I am, holding fast to my spear.  Its nose tics then it is perfectly still for a moment.  I prepare to strike, but am caught off-guard when it leaps into the air without warning, lunging at me with its jaw wide.  I do not delay and launch my spear at it.  The spike lodges right into its open mouth and pitches it backward until it sticks into the trunk of a tree.

The rabbit does not move, and it is no longer growling.  A small flash of triumph flickers inside me.  June and I will eat well tonight.  I walk over and pull my spear, with the rabbit attached, from the tree.  I slide the carcass from my weapon and place it into a satchel made of animal skin then toss it over my shoulder.  I continue my journey to the cave, to June and the only home I’ve known, hiking at an energetic pace.  Tonight, I will sleep well.  My belly will be full, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel hope.

Chapter 4

When I reach the woods near the cave, my cheeks ache from smiling.  I cannot recall the last time a smile born of genuine joy made me feel as I do now.  My insides hum and buzz with a trembling sensation, giving me a weird, jittery energy I have never felt before.  I have forgotten how hungry and tired I am and do not feel as though I have hiked the entire day.  I am practically bouncing, my stride is springy.  I spot June just beyond the opening of the hollow.  One arm crosses her waist while the other is raised.  I see that she is chewing the skin around her thumbnail.  She is pacing, lost in worry.

“June!” I call out to her, perhaps a bit too excitedly. She instantly spins toward my voice, her face a mask of fear.

“Avery!” her voice pitches up an octave.  “Oh gosh, are you oaky?  You’re bleeding!” She rushes toward me.

I forget I have not washed since slipping the rabbit from my spear.  Gore still coats my hands and likely my face as well.  I am sure I have absently wiped sweat from my brow and temples and have smeared blood there.  Judging from June’s reaction, I look frightening.

June descends on me and is plucking at my arms.  Her lips press together firmly, and a crease marks the space between her eyebrows.

“I am okay, June.  No worries,” I assure her.  “I killed a rabbit and did not have time to stop and clean up.”

Her features smooth and she exhales noisily.  One hand splays across her hairline while the other clutches her belly.  “Thank goodness,” she breathes.

I rub a hand on her back, then pull it back quickly, remembering the blood.  I have been so distracted by what I saw at the lake, I cannot seem to concentrate.  It is a wonder I was even able to catch the rabbit I am carrying in my satchel.

“You were gone so long.  I’ve been worried sick.”  Emotion causes her voice to crack.

I am tempted to tell her about what I saw, to tell her about the children and the woman, and the older boy.  The words bubble inside of me before they are on my tongue, but I hold back.  She will ask why I did not approach them.  She will ask why I did not make my presence known.  I do not have a legitimate reason for not, other than panic.

I panicked, and I am embarrassed.  I promised her that when I found others like us, I would embrace them, join them.  Strength exists in numbers, at least that is what I heard when I lived in the village years ago.  She would consider finding one human being a gift.  Four would be too wonderful to be true.  Yet it is true.  Four humans live a quarter of a day’s walk from where we stand.  And I froze.  I did not go to them as I said I would.  My cheeks burn with shame briefly, but I recover when the weight slung over my shoulder reminds me of an important aspect of my trip.

“I got this,” I pull my satchel from my shoulder.  “We’re having a fat rabbit for dinner,” I add with a smile.

June looks at me quizzically for a fleeting moment then smiles.  “Rabbit,” she says and nods.  “That sounds so good.”

I roll down the opening of my bag and pull the plump rabbit from it, showing her what is in store for us.  A grin lights up her entire face, and for a moment, I do not feel so bad about not approaching the others back at the lake.

“Is the fire ready?” I ask.  “I want to cook this up right away.”

“Yes, I did just as you told me to,” she says proudly.

I tip my head to one side and my smile widens.

“Something is different about you, Avery,” June eyes me suspiciously.  “Something happened that you’re not telling me about.”

“What?” I say and stall.  “That’s crazy.  Nothing happened.”  I sound so absurdly dubious I don’t even trust me at this point.

“Hmm,” June murmurs.  Her eyes bore into me.

I shift uncomfortably.  My skin feels too hot, too tight for my body.  “Come on!”  I say and start to walk toward the fire.  “I can’t take another minute of being as hungry as I am.”

“I know.  I’m starving,” June says and reminds me of the direness of our food shortage.

My smile shrivels.  I have been preoccupied with my outing.  I have been selfish.  While I was out, delighting in the realization that we are not alone, June was here, very much alone.

“Well, let’s remedy that,” I say brightly.  I skin and prepare the rabbit then place it on a spit to cook over the open flame.

“My mouth is watering,” June says as the mild, almost sweet scent of roasting rabbit meat infuses the air.

“Mine too,” I admit.

Once the rabbit is cooked, I serve June first.  She gobbles it quickly and I immediately hand her seconds.  Her appetite seems insatiable as she wolfs down the meat.  She gulps water and it dribbles down her chin.

“Do you want more?” I ask.

“I do, but my stomach hurts already,” she reluctantly confesses.  “It just tastes so wonderful, and I don’t know when I’ll eat something this good again.”

“Hey,” I say, and place a hand on her forearm.  “You don’t have to make excuses.  Eat up.  And there will be more like it tomorrow.”

“There will?” she questions and her brow rises.

“Yep,” I say confidently.

“How?” She leans in and her voice is just above a whisper.

I lean in too and lower my voice conspiratorially.  “I am going back out tomorrow, going past our boundaries to hunt again.  We will feast for a second time tomorrow.”

“What!” June shouts.  Her features are screwed up, horror marking them.  “No!  You can’t!  I can’t handle it if you go again!  I just can’t!”  She shakes her head and waves her hands to punctuate her point.

I am not sure what prompted this outburst but am eager to end it, to calm June.  “Whoa, whoa, hold on, June.  Calm down,” I say in a soothing voice.  I take one of her frantic hands in mine.  “It’s okay.  Everything is okay.”  I whisper.  “Talk to me.  What is going on?”

Tears stream down her cheeks, carving streaks through the dirt that has accumulated on her face.  She sniffles and turns her head away from me, as if embarrassed.  “It’s just that, well, it’s just that,” she stammers.  “I was so worried about you, worried you would not come back, that you’d be killed.”  Sobs beset her.  Her shoulders shake.

“Oh June,” I say and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she manages and is barely able to choke out the words.  Her face is still angled away from me.

I reach my index finger under her chin.  “Hey, come on, June, look at me,” I say gently.

She turns toward me timidly.

“You are not going to lose me,” I try to comfort her.

Her eyes drop to her feet.  “Humph,” she mutters and makes plain her doubt.

“Listen to me, June; I am not going to leave you.  I am a warrior, just like Dad was.  He trained me and I am even better than he was.” I do not feel as if I am bragging; I am stating a fact.  “I only take risks that are necessary and make sense.  We need to eat so I need to hunt, and if there aren’t any animals nearby, I have to move out farther to hunt.  Do you understand?”  I hold her gaze and wait to see if the gravity of my words sinks in.

June nods and bobs one shoulder halfheartedly.

“Good,” I say calmly.

I drop my finger from beneath her chin then stand.  The sun is about to be swallowed by the horizon line.  We must hurry and clean up and get inside right away.

June, as if reading my thoughts, begins poking the logs and embers with a long stick, breaking them apart.  I race to the river with our bucket and fill it with water.  Every branch that cracks makes my pulse rate spike.  It is late, later than I have ever been out in the woods alone.

Water sloshes from the container as I run with it, stopping only when I make it to the fire. I dump half of its contents first.  The fire hisses and smoke billows as soon as the water touches it, then June rakes over the debris left behind.  We repeat this a few more times until we are confident the fire is out, and any remnants of it ever being there are gone.  We scurry inside and secure our boulder and brush.

I light our beeswax candle, and June and I chat for a little while.  I tell her more stories our father used to tell me about the world before the war.  She listens carefully and laughs as she always does when I tell her of gas-operated vehicles humans used to get where they needed to go rather than walking.  The absurdity of it all makes her howl with laughter.  But soon, her eyelids droop and her yawns become more frequent.  She dozes just as I begin telling her about handheld devices that people used to talk to each other from great distances apart.

I blow out the candle then lie back with my arms folded over my head.  I reflect on the day, and my thoughts center on the boy at the lake.  I close my eyes and picture him, picture his sun-kissed skin, his dark hair and pale eyes.  I find myself wishing I knew the true color of his eyes, whether they are blue or green, or a color in-between.  I would like to see his face up close.  I would like to see all of him up close, to stand beside him and see how much taller he is than I am, or what he smells like.  I imagine he smells like grass and sunshine.  The thought makes my heartbeat quicken and my stomach cartwheel.  The boy at the lake was very pleasant to look at.  I hope to watch him again soon and plan to return to the spot tomorrow.  I will hunt, too.  But watching him is what I look forward to most.

As I think about him, I begin to wonder whether I am pretty.  June tells me I am, but I have only seen my reflection in water, and even then, it mattered little.  My appearance has never been something I concerned myself with; until now.  At the moment, my looks, or more specifically pondering what the boy at the lake would think of my looks, is all I can think about.  Would he like the sandy color of my hair?  It tends to get streaks in it that are nearly white by midsummer.  His hair is so dark.  Maybe he would find mine unappealing.  And my eyes, my dad told me they are hazel just like my mom’s eyes were.  He used to say I look just like her.

I remember my mother’s face.  I remember her eyes, the way her irises looked, a light-brown palette speckled with green, gold, and blue flecks.  In sunlight they would lighten in color, the green and blue eclipsing the soft brown and gold, always changing, always unique.  They were so pretty.  She was so pretty.

Reminiscing about her nearly knocks the air from my lungs.  I would love to see them again, just once.  But she is gone forever.  The best way to honor her memory is to look to the future, to live.  And living requires survival.  The cornerstone of survival is food.  I will hunt again when I wake.  I will return to the spot I went to today, far past the outer bank of the forest June and I have explored, where a river winds to a lake and four others just like us live.  I will indulge in watching the oldest boy and silently envy that the woman I assume is his mother still lives.  Perhaps I will work up the courage to make my presence known to them.  I owe it to June, to all the people that we have lost, to do it.  And meeting the boy with the tan skin and pale eyes would not be such a bad thing either.

His face is the last image my mind produces before my eyes close and a tide of darkness sweeps me away.

Chapter 5

I wake with a start, struggling to catch my breath.  My heart is racing, hammering as if trying to break free of my body.  My hand flies to my forehead.  The skin there is slippery to the touch, coated in sweat.  I look all around me.  It takes a moment for complete consciousness to return to me, for my brain to register that I am awake now.  Beside me, June is sleeping, snoring softly, swathed in inky shadows.  Just a thin stream of predawn light streams in and I know it is not time to rise, yet I cannot imagine going back to sleep.

I comb my fingers through my hair and discover that the front is wet.  I am not surprised though.  I have had a nightmare, the same nightmare I have had almost every night for the last six years.  None of what I am experiencing is new.

I push myself up to a sitting position.  The act requires effort, more than I feel capable of using.  I exert myself against a rushing current of emotion that crashes over me, intent on drowning me.  My clothes cling to my skin.  I run my hand down my neck then over the top of my covering.  My body and sleep sack feel damp.  Though I am sweaty, tremors rack my body.  I draw my knees up and hug them to my chest, still haunted by the vivid images that flashed through my mind’s eye.

When I sleep, a mere dream does not plague me.  It is so much more, so much worse.  They are horrible, violent memories that replay in my head with striking clarity over and over again.  I relive the day my mother was killed.

I rub my eyes, wishing to purge all of it from my brain, but know it is useless.  I cannot rid myself of the memory any more that I can rid the sky of the sun.  And just as night surrenders to day powerless against the rise of the sun, I am powerless against recollections that are branded into my brain.  They are always with me, always lingering at the surface of the dark ocean of my heart I keep it in.  Each time it surges forth, it feels as if I am experiencing that day all over again.

I was eleven years old playing with June, who was just two at the time, on the dirt floor of the hut I shared with my parents.  I was making her laugh; crawling around on all fours, grunting and snorting like a boart.  My father sat on a tattered piece of wood and fabric he said had survived the war.  He told me it was called a couch and that people used to spend hours at a time sitting or lying on them.  I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to do either.  The few times I’d sat on it, I found that it smelled strange, like decay and smoke.  Regardless, my dad did not seem to notice and rested on it, beaming each time a fit of laughter overtook June.  My mother sat beside him, her head nuzzled against his shoulder.  Every so often, she would rub her round belly and sigh.  My parents looked so content, so happy.

I remember that moment.  I remember that it was the last time in my life I felt safe.  That moment ended abruptly.

Screams ripped through the peace we’d been enjoying, piercing the very air we breathed, and echoed outside our hut.  My father jumped from the couch, a look of concern etching his features as he crossed the small space and went to the door.  I sprang to my feet and my mom leaned forward to the edge of the couch.  My father turned and leveled a serious gaze our way.  He told us to stay put; that he was going to see what was happening.

More screams rang out followed by a flurry of inhuman sounds.  My father glanced over his shoulder with his hand perched on the doorknob.  A look unlike any I’d ever seen flashed across his features; one filled with dread and fear, of awareness that life as we knew it had just changed.

As soon as he opened the door, he was met by one of the men from our village. The man’s face was pale, his demeanor horror-stricken.

“They’re here, Gerald,” he told my father.  “The Urthmen have found us.”

As soon as the word “Urthmen” was uttered, my stomach lurched before it nosedived.  We had spent our entire existence either fighting them or avoiding them, but never at our camp.  We’d always encountered them out in the forest when we’d wandered too far, but never near our camp, never close to home.  They’d never made it into our village; not until that night.

“How many are there?” my father asked, and the urgency of his voice raised the fine hairs on my body.

“It’s hard to tell,” the man replied.

My father did not wait for the man to speak another word.  His look of worry was replaced with steely resolve.  He drew his sword and clutched it in one hand.  With the other, he reached out to my mother and helped her up from the couch.  Her belly was swollen, and pulling herself to her feet from a seated position was a challenge as she was eight months pregnant.  My mother scooped June from the floor and followed my father as he led us out of our hut and into another, one that had a tunnel burrowed beneath it that led deep into the woods as an emergency escape route.

“Wait here,” he told us once we were inside.  “If I am not back soon, or if you hear voices close by that aren’t human, take the tunnel and get out of here as fast as you can.”

My entire body shook when he gave us his instructions, when I realized there was a chance he would not be with us, that he was preparing for his death.

“Gerald, no,” my mother started, her voice smothered by emotion.  One hand flew to her belly while the other clutched June.  “We need you.  We can’t survive out there alone, if we even make it out there.  Please,” she pleaded.  “Please, come with us.”

“No,” he replied, his tone firm.  “I will not run and leave our people to die.  I am not a coward.  Besides, surviving the night with or without me will be next to impossible,” he said, grief lacing his words.  He looked at June and me then said, “Hopefully there aren’t too many Urthmen and we can fight them off.”

My mother’s gaze locked on my father’s face, holding him there for a moment before she hugged him and whispered something in his ear that I did not hear.  He said good-bye to her in a hoarse whisper.  He kissed June’s forehead and my mother’s belly then the top of my head before he walked out.  He left us there and went to join the others in their fight against the Urthmen.

The hut where we waited was one of many that comprised a community.  Nearly two hundred humans lived there.  We were lucky to have found them.  The complex was tucked in the woods, deep enough within its protection that we were hidden from the Urthmen that patrolled, but far enough from where the trees grew close together and the terrain became too difficult to navigate.  A high stone wall had been built and was heavily guarded.  Lurkers shared the woods with us.  We needed protection from them as well as Urthmen.  No one wanted to lose the only sense of belonging they’d ever had.  No one wanted to lose the complex, or each other, but they did.

As time passed, more men from our community placed their families in the hut with the tunnel beneath it and gave them instructions similar to the ones my father had given.  Many of the people left behind were women, children, and villagers too old or too ill to fight.  Some of them cursed and expressed outrage, but most of them just stood where they were placed, clinging to whichever family member they’d been left with.  We all wore the same expression.  We all looked equal parts terrified and confused.  I was anxious too; worried in a way I’d never been before about my father.

My mother rocked June, cradling her tightly in her arms with their cheeks pressed together.  I felt pressure build in my body with such force it strained against my skin.   Tortured cries rang out; the sorrowful sounds of life ending brutally, of suffering, shrieked through the hollows of my core as they grew closer, and I thought I would explode.  All around me, women and children wept.  June wailed and even my mother cried.  I held my tears in, balling my fists so tightly my nails bit into the tender skin of my palms and drew blood.  I wanted to help.  I hated not knowing exactly what was going on, being incapable of playing a part in my own fate.

When I’d finally reached my breaking point, I moved to the door.  With my hand on the knob, I turned to my mother and said, “I can’t take it anymore.  I need to know what is happening out there.  I have to know what’s happening to Dad.”

My mother’s face contorted.  “No!” she hissed.  “Come back here now and wait for your father.”

My mother had never raised her voice at me.  I never remembered her even being angry with me.  But she was beyond angry.

For a moment, my hand recoiled from the handle as if it were on fire.  Then I placed it there again and, ignoring my mother, I pulled it open.

“Avery!  You heard what your dad said!” I heard my mother say, but I had already taken a step outside.

My eyes swept the area just beyond the hut.  I didn’t see anyone, so I took several more steps, venturing further.  And when I did, my brain was unable to process what my eyes were seeing all at once.  Urthmen were everywhere, flooding our village in a tidal wave of frenzied violence.  Many were atop fallen men, rearing their misshapen heads and baring their oversized teeth savagely.  The metallic stench of blood hung in the air like mist and I fought the urge to gag.

“Avery, come back here this instant!” my mother called.  But her voice sounded muffled and distant, as if it were echoing from the end of a long tunnel.

My feet felt as if they were being swallowed by quicksand.  I was unable to move, paralyzed by fear, by shock.  The carnage before my eyes held me hostage.  I tried to breathe, but each time I inhaled, my senses were assaulted by the smell of bloodshed.  I looked around for signs of survival, of any of my fellow villagers, but only saw countless mutant Urthmen slaughtering everything in their wake.  My gaze zeroed in on an Urthman who hefted a club high overhead.  The man beneath him was one I knew.  It was the man who’d come to our hut to warn us.  The Urthman was about to bludgeon him.  I wanted to scream, to shout for the beast to stop, but my voice was strangled somewhere deep in my throat.  I watched in horror as the Urthman brought his club down hard against the man’s head.  The fiend raised it again and hammered the man’s face until his features were pulverized.  When the Urthman had finished, gore had splattered all over his distorted face.

I turned from the massacre, from what must have been thousands of Urthmen butchering our village, and ran back to the hut.

Once inside, I leaned my back against the door and immediately said, “We need to leave now!”

“Avery, your father,” my mother began.

“He’s dead, Mom.  They are all dead,” I said to her.

My mother’s face paled.  She nodded slightly, agreeing that the time to leave had come.  “We have to leave,” my mother informed the others in the hut, but none of them were willing to accept what they’d heard.  They refused to leave and said that they would wait for their husbands.

“There are thousands of Urthmen out there!” I screamed.  “All of our men are dead!  If you want to live you have to leave!”  But the others refused.  No one would follow us.  So we went alone.

After opening a hatch in the floor, my mother handed June to me, and I climbed down a long ladder that led to the start of the passageway.  My mother followed right after me.

A yawning pit of darkness stretched before me.  It smelled of wet earth and lime.  The only light I saw was feeble and came from the hut above us.  But it did little more than create a weak beam of light that crawled across the floor and revealed a narrow swath of glistening, gray stone.  The pitch-black shadows seemed to continue endlessly.

The tunnel was huge, about ten feet wide and eight feet high.  It ran underground, beneath the stone wall and out deeper into the woods.  Years had been spent constructing it.  I never understood its purpose, after all, I’d enjoyed the security and safety of the village for so long, I’d come to almost take it for granted.  But all that had changed.  Reality had come to call.

I began to run, holding tight to June.  I could not clearly see what was ahead, but heard my feet slapping against the hard ground as I raced as fast and as far as I could from the hut we’d just left.  My heart contended with the sound, and I swore it echoed along with my footfalls down the tunnel.

I looked over my shoulder, though I could not see my mother, when a loud thump rattled overhead and rumbled like thunder, shaking the walls all around me.

“Oh no,” I muttered and June began to cry.

“Just go!” my mother urged.  “Keep running, Avery, and don’t stop!”

Suddenly, a high-pitched whistle filled the air all around me, clawing at my eardrums, before an unearthly din howled out and resonated through the endless hollow.  The sound beat against my skull with such force I thought the bone would crack.  Urthmen had arrived.

Bloodcurdling screams immediately followed their call, the sound of women and children dying.  I covered June’s ears with both hands, trying desperately to shield her from their cries.  The people we’d just left, all of them, were most certainly dead.  I wanted to scream, to cry, anything, but could not.  I had to keep running.

I pushed myself harder, faster, until my lungs burned and my muscles ached as I rushed headlong into the blackened abyss.  I peeked over my shoulder to see my mother’s dark form behind me and saw something that made my breath catch in my chest.

Behind my mother, the tunnel was lit.  Four torch-wielding Urthmen made their way toward us, gaining ground fast.  In the firelight, I could see their faces clearly.  The closer they progressed, the more horrific they became.  Nearly transparent skin did little to cover the expansive, vivid entanglement of veins that webbed their malformed heads.  Lidless eyes shrouded in a thick, milky film darted wildly, bloodthirsty.  They did not have noses but two asymmetrical holes that appeared to serve the purpose of nasal openings.  Lips were also missing from their faces, though lines gave the impression that mouths may reside beyond them.  They were monstrous, my worst fear realized at the time.

With my heart threatening to beat out of my chest, I pressed on, testing my muscles as they’d never been tested before.  But I was small and weak, and carrying June was hard.

My mother caught up to me. “Keep going and don’t look back!”

She slowed down and I did not see her beside me anymore.  Then I heard her footfalls stop altogether.  I looked back. She stood there with her arms out in surrender.

“Run, Avery!” she yelled, but I stopped moving.  I could not believe what I was seeing.

Panic seized every cell in my body.  “Mom!” I cried out.  “Mom, what’re you doing?”

She did not answer me.  She spoke to the four Urthmen that approached.

“Please don’t kill me,” she begged.  “I am pregnant.”

But her pleas fell on uncaring ears.  The Urthmen did not care that she was pregnant.  In fact, in hindsight, they probably saw the unborn child she carried as a bonus kill.

While my mother raised her hands and submitted, one of the Urthmen hoisted his club high in the air and whipped it forward until it crashed against her skull.  My world went completely still.  My beautiful, kind mother, pregnant with my next sibling, had been hit.  She sunk to her knees, a thin rivulet of blood streaming down her temple.  Another strike followed, and she collapsed to the tunnel floor.  And then the Urthmen swarmed, beating her feverishly.

I tried to scream, to shout at the beasts to stop, but I could not breathe.  My lungs refused to fill and remained frozen, like blocks of ice so cold their chill burned.

“No,” I tried, but the word came out as a raspy whisper.

Pain radiated from the center of my chest and branched out, throbbing and aching as my heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.  My knees threatened to collapse beneath me.  The woman who gave me life, the one who protected me and taught me, fed me, and cared for me, was dead, murdered by monsters.

I wanted them dead; all of them.  I wanted them to suffer for what they’d done to my mother.

When finally I was able to draw a breath, I heard a female scream tear through the chaotic grunts of the Urthmen and soon realized the scream was mine.  And I wasn’t the only one to realize this.

The Urthmen spun to face me.  “Get the humans.” One pointed a blunt, stubby finger at us, as his voice scraped like metal against metal.

But before he could say another word or make a move toward us, his head was lopped from his body.  It tumbled from his neck and landed against the ground with a thud.  Two of the others with him turned and were carved at their waists.  They dropped to the earth below, eviscerated like the animals they were.

When they fell, I saw my father square off with the last of the Urthmen in the tunnel, and for the first time in my life I saw him as the fierce warrior he was.  He looked deadly.

The Urthman swung his club recklessly several times.  My father dodged his attack with the calm and poise of a predator.  The next swing the beast took was met with my father’s blade.  His sword glinted in the glow of the fallen torches right before it cleaved the Urthman’s arm.  The arm fell to the ground, and my father immediately veered and decapitated the monster.

For a moment, my father just watched the fallen Urthmen, his chest heaving.  Then he fell to his knees, to where my mother’s body lay still, and released a guttural cry of agony so profound, I felt as if my bones shook.

I wanted to go to him, to crumple into his arms and cry until my body was emptied of tears.  But the sound of footsteps approaching kept me in place, still holding June.  My father stood and ran toward me.  He ripped June from my arms, then flung both of us over his shoulders.  He took off, away from the looming Urthnmen, and sprinted faster than I thought was humanly possible.

Each step he took punished my ribs and back as I jerked and flopped against him.  But none of the physical pain I felt compared to the heartache of witnessing my mother being murdered.

When we reached the end of the seemingly endless tunnel, my father stopped and began kicking a thick log.

“Come on,” he spat as he continued to kick a support beam.

“Dad, put me down.  I’ll help!” I shouted above the ferocious cries of the Urthmen echoing down the passageway.

He placed me on my feet and I helped him.  We kicked until the rafter gave way and he gripped my wrist.  We ran several yards then stopped again.  We climbed out of the tunnel.  We were in the forest.  It was dark and damp and there was a nip in the air.  Bare tree limbs gashed the night sky, black and skeletal against the navy heavens.  The musky, moldy scent of fallen leaves that I would’ve usually found pleasant terrified me.  I knew that Lurkers waited, their movement muffled by the hoots and calls of nocturnal hunters.  My father placed June in my arms, and then dug with his hands through leaves and brush until he pulled a length of thick rope from it.  He leaned back, pulling it with every ounce of his weight, until the sound of wood splintering snapped through the night.  Another beam toppled, only this time it was followed by a low growl, deep in the bowels of the dirt.  The growl rolled and shook, and I understood in that instant that the tunnel had been booby-trapped.  The passageway was collapsing on itself.

Chunks of soil sprayed as it caved in.  Pebbles flew in every direction and pelted us.  Confused shouts turned to wails of agony as the Urthmen were buried alive.  But we did not stay to hear them go silent.  We ran.

That was six years ago.

Six years have not dulled the pain I feel each time I dream of that night.

I swipe beneath my eyes with the tips of my fingers to clear the tears there.  I do not want to risk June waking and seeing me like this.  She does not remember what happened.  She is lucky.

Each day since my mother was killed, I regret that her body was left behind, that she will rest for eternity alongside Urthmen, monsters.  She deserved better than that.  I also regret that I spoke harshly to her and disobeyed her when I left the hut.  I never got to ask for her forgiveness.  Now it is too late.

A silent sob shakes my body and I hug my knees to my chest as tight as I can.  I breathe deeply, trying to calm myself until it passes, until the knot of pain inside me loosens enough for me to breathe.  I must hold myself together.  I must be strong.  I concentrate on relaxing every muscle in my body and breathe through my nose, sucking in air until my belly puffs out.  I blow it out in a thin stream through my lips, repeating the process until I feel more in control of myself.

I glance at June and see that she is still asleep.  She is unbothered by my crying seconds ago.  I am thankful for that.

I force myself to lie back down.  My eyes burn and I am thirsty, but I close my eyes and push both discomforts to the back of my mind.  Neither is of any consequence.  I remain still and rest until threads of light slip through the cracks of the boulder and another day of hunting begins.

Chapter 6

I doze on and off until light begins to spill through the openings around the boulder.  I am still shaken by the recurrent nightmare I had, by the past.  Time has not dulled the pain, and it has not ended the dreams.  They continue.

My mother is still on my mind.  Her death weighs on me with untold heaviness.  My throat constricts around the sadness that has collected there.  I sit upright, not wanting to be still a moment longer and risk crying.  I kick the covering from my legs and stretch.  My movements cause June to stir.  Her eyelids flutter then open groggily.

“Is it morning?” she asks, her voice thick and tired.

“It is morning,” I say and my own voice surprises me.  It breaks.

June scrunches her features.  “Avery, what is it?  Are you okay?”

I hate that I have alarmed her.  “I’m fine,” I lie and clear my throat.  “Must be the way I slept or something.  I sound like a frog, you know, a little croaky I guess.”

“Are you sure?” June looks at me with eyes so wide and vulnerable, I almost feel guilty for lying.

“I’m fine,” I say and smile.  “But if it keeps up, I might be forced to leave the cave and find myself a sweet, deluxe lily pad,” I narrow my eyes and tease her.

She laughs.  The sound is just what I need.  Her laughter is delightful.  “Hmm, that might work.  But I am sorry to say you wouldn’t cut it as a frog.”

“I wouldn’t?” I ask with pretend surprise.  “And why not?”

June’s eyes sparkle mischievously.  “Well, for starters, you hate the smell of pond scum,” she begins counting on her fingers.

“You’ve got me there,” I confess.  “I do find it extra stinky.”

“Second, you hate eating bugs.” She marks her comment with her middle finger, tallying the second reason, then grins, proud of her clever remark.

“That is a fair comment.  I find bugs as meals revolting.” I nod somberly as if she has clobbered me with her points.

“And lastly,” she continues.

“Sheesh!  There’s more!” I throw my hands in the air then clutch my head and bow with feigned defeat.

“And lastly,” she says again with a stern look.  “You don’t even like frogs.  You can’t be something you don’t even like.  You have to like yourself.”  She nods her head.  She looks satisfied with all that she has said.  “So, no lily pad for you,” she concludes.

I clasp my hands together and interlace my fingers.  “Well, that settles it,” I say gloomily.  “I guess you’re stuck with me.  Lily pads are not in my future.”

June throws her head back and giggles.  Her laughter is contagious and I find myself smiling just before a small laugh slips past my lips.

“Come on, silly girl.  It’s time to get up and start our day,” I tell her.

I stand and stretch and feel as if every muscle in my body is complaining at once.  June copies me and even adds a groan for good measure.  Together, we move the boulder blocking our cave and head to the river to wash.

As we dab ourselves with water, I inform June of a decision I’ve made.

“So June, I am going out again today, past the perimeter.  I need you to do something while I’m gone.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to hunt on your own today.”

June freezes where she wades and looks at me, her eyes round with surprise.  “Really?  You want me to hunt by myself?” she asks.  “I thought you said it is too dangerous when you are not close by, that I am not ready,”

“Well, maybe you should stay put and hang around the cave,” I toy with her.

“No!” she exclaims quickly.  “Uh-uh!  There’s no way you’re making me stay inside the cave by myself!”

“Oh, so you do want to hunt on your own?” I ask as if I don’t already know the answer to my question.

“Of course I want to, and don’t you dare think about changing your mind, Avery!”

“Okay, fine,” I say as if she’s somehow convinced me.  “You win.  You can hunt.  But you need to be careful.  Be aware of your surroundings.”

“Yes!” She claps her hands and bounces up and down.

“Calm down there, Miss Springy,” I tell her teasingly.  “I am not sending you out there so you can bounce and play.  You have to try to kill something for dinner, and you have to stay close to the cave.”

I meant to sound playful, but June stops bouncing and frowns.  She straightens her posture.

“I know I am not going today so I can play,” she says quietly.  “I am going so I can help.  I am going to hunt for us near the cave while you hunt farther out in the woods.”

Her cheeks are pink.  I have embarrassed her.

“June, there’s nothing wrong with playing and bouncing around.  I love that about you,” I tell her.  “I was trying to joke around with you.  I guess I didn’t do a very good job of it because you are hurt.”  I reach out and place a hand on her shoulder. “I never want to hurt your feelings.”

I am surprised when she shrugs off my hand.  “I’m fine,” she says.  “You don’t have to keep treating me like a baby ‘cause I’m not a baby anymore.  I’m eight, remember?”

She is eight.  How could I forget?  I was just a little older than she is when I held her minutes after she was born.  I remember twirling and bouncing when I first met her.  I remember what the magic of littleness feels like.  I do not want her to lose it.  I do not want her to feel pressure to grow up faster than she has to.  I am the adult, not her.  I am here so she can enjoy as much of her youth as possible while learning to survive in the hostile world we live in.

On a whim, I decide to do something I have not done in a long time.  I bounce and splash, scooping handfuls of water and slapping my palms up before the water returns to the river.  When my hands collide with the water and smack it, droplets spray in every direction.

June watches me from the corner of her eye.

I use both hands to ladle a generous amount then toss it up and whack it as hard as I can.  Water cascades over June’s hair.  She whips her head around and looks at me, rolling her eyes.  She is being stubborn.

I ignore her stubbornness and continue to caper about, splashing and jumping and laughing.  At first, I fake my enthusiasm for June’s benefit.  But after a few minutes, my silliness becomes genuine.

Before long, I am not alone in my frolicking.  June joins in.  She is splashing, stomping, and flopping in the water, splattering me with as much as she possibly can.  My hair is dripping and my clothes are soaked, and I laugh so hard my belly hurts.  June is laughing too.  She laughs so hard her eyes tear.  I guess she needs to see me let loose once in a while.

“Ah, Avery,” she gasps, but does not say anything more.  She does not need to.  I can see the relief on her face.  She is not mad at me anymore.  “I am going to catch a boart today,” she says.

I am shocked and proud at the same time.  The odds of June actually finding and killing a boart are slim at best.  I do not wish to sell her short or undermine her intention, but tracking and killing a boart is not an easy feat.  Regardless, trying will be good for her, even if it means we will eat a rabbit or squirrel I catch for dinner.

“I would love to have boart for dinner tonight,” I encourage her and rub my empty stomach.

“And breakfast and lunch tomorrow too.  I am going to get a big one,” she says and sets her jaw. Determination radiates from her.  June looks at me then unexpectedly says, “I can do it, you know.  I am ready.”

“I know you are, June.  I believe in you,” I say with certainty.  “Go for it,” I smile.

She does not smile, but her eyes shine with satisfaction.

We play a little longer then I am forced to remind her that my trip will be a long one, and that I must leave now if I want to make it back before the sun sets.  We return to the cave and I collect my gear.  I reinforce the fact that she must be extremely careful, and then I set off toward the lake.

I walk through the forest hurriedly.  The rustle and stir of leaves keeps me alert.  I continually scan trees and brush for any sign of movement, or danger.

The sun has just risen and the air is already warm and sticky.  The woods are rich with the smell of decomposing leaves and logs.  I walk for hours.  The air quickly becomes stifling.  I stop to drink for a moment, and when I do, I look down and notice large, tubular droppings, boart droppings.

I notice a section of weeds that has been overturned.  A small hole has been dug.

I narrow my eyes, press my lips into a hard line, and stalk past the uprooted earth.  I follow and watch the low-growing brush as I clutch my spear.  I lower my body when I move, my head moving from side to side.  I see more droppings ahead.  I continue until I find another patch of ripped-up growth.

The faint swish of water in the distance distracts me from my trail.  My heart pounds.  I realize I am fast approaching the edge of the forest where the trees begin to thin.

I look to the trail then toward the direction of the sound.  The rush of water calls to me as if singing my name.  I know who lives near it.  I know I should stick with following the boart.  But I don’t.  I follow the strange flutter in my belly, the extra beats of my heart.  I move away from the trail and toward the lake.

I pursue a different animal entirely.  I find myself moving toward the rim of the woods.  Thin trees are spaced farther from one another and lower-growing shrubs offer little shelter.  But I cannot stop myself from shuffling closer.  I want to see the other humans again, especially the older boy.

I inch forward, creeping slowly, until I see the younger children. They are dunking clothes in the water and swirling them around.  The woman comes out and wrings what they’ve washed and lays them on flat rocks to dry.  The children watch and listen as she explains what she is doing.

I see the silhouette of another person at the mouth of their cave.  It is taller and broader.  My pulse picks up speed.  He steps from the shadows, out into the bright, golden sunlight, and I have to remind myself to breathe.  He is even more beautiful than I remembered.  His bronze skin glows in the sunshine, and his short, almost-black hair sticks up on end and looks shorter than it did yesterday.  He must have just gotten it trimmed.  I am suddenly envious of whoever was lucky enough to run his or her hands through it, close enough to stare into his pale eyes.

Mesmerized, I move closer.  I stand behind a sickly looking bush and poke my head out from beside it.  I am sure I look like an idiot but cannot imagine leaving.  I want nothing more than to march right over to the family and introduce myself.  I want to be close to the older boy for reasons I cannot explain.  But the idea of it seems much easier than actually doing it.  In fact, when I picture myself going there and speaking to him, when I try to build my courage, my stomach clenches and I feel nauseated.  I feel shaky and cold despite the sweltering heat.  Still, I know I must go there and overcome the intense nerves.

I take another step closer, away from the bush.  As I do, a man comes up behind the boy. My legs feel spongy.  He is about the same height and has identical coloring.  He claps the boy on the back, then rubs his hand on top of his head playfully, messing it further.  If it is possible, his mussed hair looks better still.  He turns toward the older man and gives a lopsided smile.  I find myself smiling along with them.  I cannot hear what they are saying to each other, but the exchange seems playful, loving even.  I assume the man is his father, and I am struck with a pang of jealousy so sharp I clutch my chest.  The boy, the man and woman and the children are a family; an entire family intact.  I did not know such a thing was possible.  June and I were not as lucky.

I shift my weight from one leg to the next and a branch snaps loudly beneath my foot.  Everyone near the lake looks up.  Blood rushes to my cheeks and burns there.  Then it gets worse.  The boy takes off and runs toward me.  He is charging for the bush I am standing behind.

For a moment, I cannot move.  I am utterly frozen.  But his fast-approaching footfalls force me to act, to move.  I stumble backward, then scramble behind a young spruce tree.  The boy stops at the bush I was just hiding behind.  My heart is hammering so hard I worry he can hear it.  I can see him clearly now.  He is close, too close, a fact that steals the air from my lungs.  I watch him, my body trembling with unfamiliar nervousness.

His eyes are a brilliant blue-green, pale, like tropical water I once saw in a picture, and his hair is as dark as a raven’s feathers.  He is near enough for me to make my presence known to him, and him alone.  I know I should step out, yet all I can think is that I am dirty.  My clothes are filthy from the hike and sweat coats my skin.  But he is sparkling like a gem and I am a grubby stone.

The knocking in my chest stutters.  My shoulders curl forward.  I realize I do not want to be seen.  I feel something I have never felt before.  I feel self-conscious, ashamed of the way I look.

When the boy moves from the bush back toward the lake, I run away.

“Hey, come back!” A voice calls out that makes goose bumps emerge on my skin.  It is him.  It is the boy.  He has seen me.  “Why are you running?”

Heat blazes up my neck and sets my face afire.  Hot tears burn down my cheeks and blow back into my hair.  I do not know what I am more embarrassed about, the fact that I chickened out and ran from him, or the fact that he saw me looking as I do.

I hear fast footsteps gaining on me, but I do not stop.  I am humiliated.  I wish I were braver.  I wish I were cleaner.  But I am neither.  And I do not want to meet him like this.  I push myself and move quickly, disappearing into the woods.

I run toward the cave, back in the direction I hiked from, until the landscape becomes too tangled to run.  I slow then stop and listen.  I do not hear the rustle and crunch of footfalls atop brush and feel confident I am not being followed.  I crouch and catch my breath, and silently scold myself for running away.  Finding other human beings is everything June and I have ever hoped for.  I failed her.  I failed myself.  I have no idea what came over me.  I have faced off with boarts and other wild animals.  I have seen death and destruction that haunts my days and nights, yet talking to the bright-eyed boy with the suntanned skin terrifies me in a way I cannot explain.

I rest for a moment until my breathing becomes less labored.  I stand, still feeling the effects of shame prickling my insides.  But when I turn, the prickling stops stinging and crashes to the soles of my feet.  In that instant I realize that my failure to talk to the boy with the bright eyes and tan skin is the least of my problems.

Standing a fallen tree trunk’s length from me is an Urthman, glaring at me with lidless pits of blackness, the murderous eyes of a slaughterer.

Chapter 7

Murky black eyes the color of sludge are locked on mine, yet I do not move a muscle.  My mind screams for me to reach for my sword, to run, to do something, anything.  But my limbs are suddenly made of stone.  The forest has gone still.  I do not hear a thing, not the crackle of dry leaves, the buzz of insects, or the chirp of chipmunks.  Even the birds are silent.  The forest is scared stiff, too, holding its breath and willing the beast gone.  All I hear is the rush of blood behind my ears, and the frantic beat of my heart.

The Urthman opens his mouth, an oily pit of blackness, and a dark, vile tongue slithers out.  It slinks over his pointed teeth and I feel as if I might puke.  I force my eyes from his rotten mouth to the hand that clutches a club, just in time to see his arm tense.  In the space of a breath, he swings his weapon and I draw mine.  I raise it and block his blow just before it connects with my skull.  Still, the impact is powerful.  It knocks me back a few steps.

I struggle but regain my footing.  The rhythm of my heart has passed panicked and is now wild, dangerously so.  He swings again, but this time I dodge it entirely and launch an attack of my own.  I swipe my blade, slicing the air horizontally, and carve a gash below his chest.

He howls out angrily.  I have hurt him.  He looks down at the wound and sees that it is bad.  Glee tiptoes down the length of my spine.  I hoist my sword to shoulder height and summon all my anger, all my fear, and use every ounce of my strength as I swing.  The blade whistles through the air and meets with his neck, cutting through flesh and bone until his head falls from his shoulders.

The Urthman’s body collapses to the ground in a heap and his head rolls into a bush loaded with burrs.  I am panting.  My entire body trembles.  I cannot believe what I have just done, it’s the first Urthman I have ever killed. And I am not the least bit sorry.  But movement in my periphery demands my attention.  I snap my head toward it and see another Urthman a few feet away.

His misshapen head shakes quickly, horrified by how easily I have slain his friend.  He turns and runs, afraid he will suffer the same fate.  I panic and take off after him.  The notion seems absurd.  Urthmen are what I have spent my life avoiding, yet here I am chasing one.  But I cannot let him go.  If he and the one I just killed were the only two scouting the area then he will return to his base and tell the others.  The rest of the Urthmen in the area will know that there are human beings living in the woods.  They will return with hundreds more and scour the terrain until they find us.  They will kill the family by the cave.  They will kill me.  They will kill June.  I cannot allow any of that to happen.

He is not far ahead of me, but he is fast.  I push myself hard, testing not only my speed but my agility too.  Exposed tree roots arise like gnarled knuckles of underground beasts, and vines snake and snag at my feet while thin branches whip at my legs and body.  Still, I pursue him.  I pump my arms and push my legs to their limit.  But no matter how fast I run, the Urthman runs faster.  He seems to be putting more and more distance between us.

Hungry and exhausted, I am running out of energy fast.  I have just one option left.  I reach my hand behind my back and pull my spear from its sheathe as I continue to run.  My muscles are spent and the weapon feels heavy in my hand–heavier than usual.  But I hoist it level with my shoulder and aim it as best I can while moving.  When the center if the Urthman’s back is in sight, I launch my spear with every bit of power I have left in my body and fall to the ground just after I release it. Fortunately, my knees and hands hit the earth before my face does, lessening the impact somewhat.

My palms and knees throb and I have a mouthful of dirt, but I force myself up onto my hands to see if my spear landed anywhere near him.

I am shocked when I see that I scored a direct hit.  The Urthman is slumped against a large boulder with my spear sticking out of his back.  He is still moving, but barely.

I slide my feet beneath me and stand. I slowly walk over to the boulder on aching legs.  When I reach him, I yank the spear from his back.  He groans loudly, then rolls onto the ground on his back.

My hands, which shook moments ago, have stilled.  I hold my spear tightly.  Its tip is poised just above the Urthman’s heart.  Black eyes rimmed in cherry red stare up at me.

“Please, human, don’t kill me,” he begs.

His voice scrapes like knives inside my ears.  I want to shout at him to shut his filthy mouth, that he is not worthy of sympathy, but the words get stuck in my throat.  A memory flashes in my mind.  I see my mother, with her hands held out in front of her in surrender, begging for mercy, begging that her life and the life of my unborn sibling be spared.  But the Urthmen did not show her mercy.  They took her pleas as an invitation to beat her to death.

I feel my lip snarl up over my teeth and a dangerous emotion winds inside me tightly.  I squeeze the handle of my spear so hard the wood bites into my flesh.  My chest heaves and my breaths are short and shallow.  My body is drenched in sweat when I pull the tip away from his chest.

The Urthman’s face relaxes, and his stubby fingers touch the area just above his heart.

“I will tell them you spared me,” he says.

I watch him for a long moment.  I know I ought to feel compassion for him, pity of some kind.  I search my mind, the hidden hollows of my heart.  But I feel nothing for him.  I only feel hatred.  I raise my spear high in the air and stab down with it, burying the tip in his throat.  His final expression is complete shock as life leaves him.  A wave of satisfaction washes over me, but I do not have time to celebrate.  I look around carefully to see if there are more.  I scan the immediate area, searching tall weeds and brush, shrubs and small trees.  I do not see any movement, and I do not see any more Urthmen.  I need to get back to the cave and see if June is all right.

As I run, I realize I should return and tell the family at the lake about the Urthmen.  I need to warn them.  But it is getting late, and Urthmen are not the only threat to us.  Lurkers will be out as soon as the sun sets.  And even Urthmen know better than to be out when Lurkers are out.  I hurry my pace even though my legs feel as if they will collapse beneath me at any moment.  Rest would be nice, but is a luxury I cannot afford.  I have a considerable distance to cover before I am home.  I will go to the family in the morning.  I will steel my nerves and approach them despite the wobbly knee feeling the oldest boy gives me.  I will not chicken out this time.  Lives are at stake.

Images zoom through my mind in a hazy jumble as I approach the woods near our cave.  I relive my mother’s death.  I relive the experience of claiming the lives of the two Urthmen.  In the moment, I felt as if her death was being avenged.  But in the calmer time that followed, I realized that until every Urthmen falls, justice will never be served.  The score will not be settled.  And even if that moment ever comes to pass, I still won’t have my mother.  The thought makes my eyes as blurry as the pictures in my head.  I try to think about something else.  I immediately picture the family, the mother and father, the two young children.  I see him, the boy with the aquamarine eyes that shimmer like fish scales.  They make me feel better, happy almost.  They make me feel something else, as well, something dangerous.  They make me hopeful.

I cling to that hope even though I fear it will slip through my fingers like the silk of a spider’s web.  It keeps me going.

I am overheated and drained and want nothing more than to wash and sleep.  When I reach the cave, June is nowhere in sight, and worry worms its way into my brain.  I examine the woods immediately in front of the cave.  I do not see her.  Panic floods every cell in my body.

“June!” I call out against my better judgment.  If we are not alone in these woods, I have just alerted the enemy to my presence.  But June is my sister, the only flesh and blood that is mine on this planet.  I will risk my life to find her.

She does not answer, so I call out to her again.  “June!  Where are you?” I say louder.

After a moment too long, warning is shrieking through my body, and I am about to charge into the woods and not return until she is with me.

“Avery, over here,” I hear June’s voice echoing strangely.

I search the bushes, but do not see her.

“Avery!” she cries.

Her voice snares me like a lasso then pulls me.  I run in the direction of her voice and do not stop until I am deeper in than I’d like to be and standing before the base of a tree.

“Avery!”

She sounds as if she is right beside me, yet I still do not see her.

“I got one,” she says, and it sounds as though she is speaking to me from the treetop.

I look up and see her sitting on a thick branch.  I start to walk around the tree to see if there is an easy way to get her down and am met with the angry grunts of one of the largest boarts I have ever seen.  It is brown with an enormous patch of jet-black fur on its back, and its angry gaze is locked on me.

“Oh my gosh,” I breathe.

The boart scuffs its hoof against the dirt.  When I look down, I see a boartling, small and plump, with a narrow spear through its neck.

With my eyes never leaving what I presume is the boartling’s very angry mother, I kneel and grab the largest rock I can find, then wing it at her.  “Get out of here!” I threaten through my teeth.  The rock knocks her in her hindquarters and sends her scrambling.

“See, I told you I’d get a boart today!” June squeals excitedly from the tree.  “See it?  See the boart?” She points to the boartling she skewered.

“Yes, I do,” I say proudly.  “Excellent job!”  I make no mention of the fact that she is hiding in a tree from the baby boart’s mother.  That detail is not worth bringing up.

June climbs from the tree limb and clambers down the trunk.  When she is on her feet, I ask, “When did you learn to scale a tree like that?”

She shrugs then marches up to her kill.  “Our dinner,” she says, and splays her hands out to her sides proudly.

“I am so glad.  I wasn’t so lucky today,” I say and weigh whether or not I should mention my run-in with the Urthmen.  I do not want to scare her, but not telling her could be more dangerous than telling her.

“Why?  What happened?” June asks.

If I tell her, I decided, I will tell her after we eat.  I want her to have her moment to celebrate.  She deserves a victory.

“I didn’t track as good as you did I guess,” I frown.  “You are the hunter today, Miss I-speared-a-boart-for-dinner!” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and bring her in close.  “You did a great job,” I tell her again.

She collapses into my arms and hugs me tightly.  “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Don’t thank me.” I nudge her with my hip.  “You’re the one who did all the work.  My hunting trip was a flop,” I say.

June laughs.  “I don’t know about you, but my belly is rumbling.  Let’s eat already,” she says.

I pull the spear from the boartling and hand it to June, then carry the carcass by its feet.  We bring it back to the cave and prepare a fire.  I roast the boartling and slice the meat from its bones.  We will have enough for dinner tonight, as well as breakfast in the morning.  I am very proud of June.

We fill our bellies then put out the fire and wash up for bed.  After several stories, June falls asleep.  I did not tell her about the other humans and I did not tell her about the Urthmen.  I will tell her in the morning, right before I set out to warn the family by the lake that Urthmen have been in the woods, and that others may know of our existence.

Chapter 8

As soon as my eyes open, the realization that today is the day I not only meet the boy by the lake, but tell June everything as well, makes my insides curl into a heavy knot.  Both are tasks I desperately want to fulfill, yet at the same time am terrified of fulfilling.

Beside me, I feel June stir.  She typically sleeps later than I do.  I am the one who wakes her, but not today.  On this day, she rises with the sun.

“Avery,” she whispers softly.  “You awake?”

I close my eyes and do not answer right away, stalling.  I know it is foolish of me, that there is no way around the things I must do today.  Still, I wish to buy myself a bit more time.  I wish I could roll over, pull the cover of my sleep sack over my head, and hide from the always-chaotic and scary reality that is my life.  But I cannot.

“Avery?” June tries a little louder.

“I’m up,” I say in a strong clear voice, startling both of us.

I feel June jump.

“Sheesh, you scared me!” she gasps.

“Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you answer me the first time?” she asks.

“Sorry,” I say.  I take a deep breath.  “Let’s get ourselves together and have some breakfast.  There are some things we need to talk about.”

“Talk about?” June asks, and a worried expression clouds her sunny features.  “Am I in trouble for yesterday, for being in the tree because of the whole boartling thing?”

“No,” I start but June talks over me.

“Because that mother boart was huge!  I mean, did you see the size of her head?  Her head was bigger than the two of ours put together!  I got scared.  Anyone would have.  Well, not you.  But most people, if there were any people,” June rambles.

“There are other people,” I say.

But my words do not register with June right away.  She continues thinking aloud.  “You are like a boart expert, a boart slayer.” She laughs at her own joke, and then her face goes blank briefly.  Her brows gather and she looks at me.  “Wait, what did you just say?”

“I said there are other people, other humans.”

I did not plan to tell her like this.  The words just fell from my lips like rain.  I do not know who is more surprised by what I’ve said, June or me.

June bolts upright and twists her body so she is facing me.  Her jaw has unhinged and her eyes are wide.  “Other human beings?” she says, and her eyebrows rocket to the middle of her forehead.  “As in, more than one person?” She can barely get the words out.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Oh my gosh!” she exclaims and explodes from her sleep sack.  “Where?  Where are they?  When did you see them?  How many are there?”  The questions fire from her in rapid succession.

“I saw them two days ago.  There are five, a family.  They live past our perimeter, out where a river and lake meet,” I say, and hope I have answered all of her questions.

“Two days ago!” she nearly shouts.  “And you’re just telling me about them now?” Her cheeks blush a deep shade of pink.  Her eyes have narrowed to slits and her hands are on her hips.  She begins pacing.

“Please don’t be angry,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t be angry?  Are you kidding me?  I am angry!” She stomps her foot.  “The one thing I have been waiting for my whole life, to find other human beings, and you wait to tell me?  It should’ve been the first words out of your mouth when you saw me!”

I have never seen June so angry.  She is livid with me.  I am not sure what to do.

“June, calm down,” I say.  “Please I did not mean to upset you.”

“But you did upset me!” she fumes.

“I am sorry, June,” I say feebly.

A long moment passes between us.  June simmers.  But after a while, she nibbles on her lower lip and a small smile rounds her cheeks.  “I am not as angry as I seem, just disappointed.  I mean, really, how mad can I be?  I just found out we are not alone!” she squeals suddenly.

I am impressed by how maturely she is handling my misstep of not telling her right away.

“So what are they like?  You said they are a family.  Are there any children that are my age?  I can’t believe this, Avery!  I can’t wait to meet them!  Tell me all about them!”

She is exuberant.  She bounces and twirls and smiles from ear to ear.  I am afraid of what she will say when I tell her I did not speak to the family by the lake.

“Well, uh, let’s see,” I fumble.  “How do I say this?”

“Just spit it out already!  I want to know everything!”

“I don’t really have much to tell,” I say quietly.

“Huh?  Why?” she looks at me, puzzled.

“I didn’t exactly, you know, go up to them and, uh, you know, talk to them,” I admit embarrassedly.

“What?” June shrieks.  “You didn’t talk to them!  Why?  Why in the world wouldn’t you talk to them?”

I lower my eyes to my feet.  “I chickened out,” I say, and my cheeks blister with shame.

“You were scared?” June asks.  Her tone is softer, gentler.  I feel undeserving of her understanding.

“I-I don’t know what happened to me,” I confess.  “I saw a little girl.  She’s probably your age, and a boy who looked about twelve, but then the older boy came out, and I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe or something.  I choked.  I wanted to go talk to them, but my legs were shaky and my belly felt all wobbly and squishy and I just couldn’t.” I feel so ashamed I wish I were a turtle with a shell I could tuck myself into.  I cover my face with my hands.  “I probably sound crazy right about now.  I’m not making much sense.”

I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and drop my hands from my face.  June kneels beside me.

“You don’t sound all that crazy,” she says soothingly.  “I can’t say I know what I would do if I came across another human.  I would probably chicken out too.”

She wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me close.  She does what I do to her when she is feeling insecure.

“I should have gone anyway.  I should have gone even though I was scared out of my wits,” I say.  “I guess I am not as brave as I think I am.”

June shakes her head.  “You are the bravest person I know.”

“I am the only person you know,” I say.

“Not for long,” June smirks.  “And you are still brave,” she adds with a wink.

I shake my head.  “No, I am not.  I chickened out twice.  I saw them again yesterday, and I think the older boy saw me.  But like an idiot, I ran off.  Trust me, I am not brave.  I am a coward.”

June considers what I’ve said and I expect her to erupt and scold me.  I deserve it.  I had a perfect opportunity to meet one person from the family, to not be outnumbered or overwhelmed, and I blew it.  I ruined my chance by running away.

“You were scared.  So what?” She shrugs.  “I don’t blame you.  I probably would have done the same thing.  Besides, we need to be careful, even with other humans.  What you did doesn’t mean you aren’t brave.”

“I don’t know, June.  Being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared, that you do things without fear.  I always thought being brave means doing something despite being scared.”

She is quiet for a moment then tsks at me and smiles sadly.

“You are mean to yourself, you know that, Avery,” June says, and rests her head against my shoulder.

“And you are too kind to me,” I say and kiss her forehead lightly.

She flashes a lopsided grin at me.  “Okay, so when are we leaving to meet them?” She claps her hands together in excitement.

“I am going to them as soon as we wash and eat,” I say and emphasize the word I.

“I am coming too, right?” June asks with a smile.

“No, June, you can’t,” I say matter-of-factly.

“What? Why?” Her smile collapses completely.

“June, the family is not the only discovery I made in the woods when I went hunting,” I tell her.  Remorse swirls in my gut.  I am about to stab a dagger through the heart of her hope.

“What do you mean?” she asks, and I can see fear flicker in her silvery eyes.

I fill my lungs then blow out a breath through pursed lips.

“Yesterday, on my way back from watching the family, I came across two Urthmen.”

Her face drops “Oh no,” she breathes.  “Oh, my gosh, no.” Her hands fly to her mouth, covering it.

“I killed them both, but I think more are coming,” I say.

June looks as if she’s been punched in the stomach.  “You fought them?” she asks.  Her complexion is pale, and her bottom lip quivers.

“Yes, I did,” I say.  “They are dead now.  But where there were two, there will be more.”

June throws her arms around my neck and a small sob trembles through her body.

“You should never doubt your bravery,” she says, her voice a strangled whisper.  “I am so sorry that happened to you.” She weeps.

“June, no, no, please don’t cry.  I’m okay.  I’m right here. I got them,” I try to reassure her.

“But you were out there alone, and could’ve been,” she says, but her voice trails off.  “You could’ve been killed.”

June’s words send a chill racing down my spine.  She is right, of course.  I could have easily been killed.  There were two of them and only one of me.  What if there had been more? What if there had been a dozen?  The what-ifs rattle through my brain, through my bones, and any semblance of safety I ever had in these woods is stripped from me.

True, something primal, something animal and ferocious overtook me when I faced off with the Urthmen.  But I don’t know if that was a one-time occurrence.  I may not be so lucky in the future.

“I have to warn the others.  That is why I am going out there today.  That is why you can’t come.  In fact, I want you to stay in the cave while I am gone.  Keep your spear at your side and don’t leave it for a moment.”

June’s entire body is trembling.  She doubles over and clutches her belly.  I rub her back.

“I-I-I can’t do this.  I can’t be alone all day wondering if you are dead, or if Urthmen are coming for me, or both,” she says.

I understand how she feels and wish there were another way.  But she is much safer tucked in a cave no Urthmen would bother to look in than out in the open with me.  No, that cannot happen.  I will go as quickly as possible and warn the family.  Then I will return to her.  And when I do we will decide whether or not we will leave.

“June, the Urthmen were right by their cave.  They must know about the family.  Why else would they be there? I have to help them.”

June nods in agreement then adds, “Get them out of there.  Bring them here.”

As much as the idea of sharing our tight space with the older boy makes my stomach flop like a fish on dry land, the fact of the matter is that our cave cannot accommodate five more people.

“We don’t have enough room for five people,” I tell her.

“We can make room if they want to come, if it will save their lives.” She levels her sharp gaze at me.  She looks so much like my father my heart clenches.  She has his fire, his commitment.  I see it plainly now.

“Okay.  I will invite them here,” I agree.  “You’re right. We cannot leave them to die.”

“Good,” she says, and somehow, she looks as if she’s aged in the moments that have passed.

“You will stay here and ready this place for our company.  After we wash and eat, I need you to help me move the boulder to cover the opening so that you are as concealed as possible,” I tell her.  Her spine lengthens at news that she has a job.  “I will leave enough room for you and me to get in and out of the cave, but that’s it.  When the family gets here, we can open it further.  But while I am gone, I don’t want to take any chances,” I say firmly, and then add in a faltering voice, “You are too important to me.”

I do not like entertaining the possibility of ever losing June.  I am sickened by the idea of leaving her, but taking her is not an option.

“I will be fine here,” she says.  “And I will get everything ready.  You have nothing to worry about.  Our new guests will feel welcome and comfortable.”

I want to tell her that I highly doubt any of us will ever feel welcome or comfortable in these woods after knowing Urthmen were here, but I keep that grim thought to myself.  She is calmer, and that’s all I care about.  If I am to fight for my life, I must preserve the one who is most important to me, the person I fight for, the person I live for.  My sister must remain as safe as possible, as healthy as possible, and as happy as possible in this sinister world we live in.  June must live for me to live to fight another day.

Chapter 9

My heart pumps frantically and echoes the hurried pace of my footsteps as I journey through the forest toward the outer banks to warn the family near the lake.  My insides quiver and my mouth is dry, but I know the option to chicken out does not exist.  I must overcome my overwhelming anxiety and go to them.  Lives are at stake, five to be exact, and that’s not including June and I.

Despite the direness of the situation, the thought of crossing the thin strip of woods and coming face to face with them makes the contents of my full belly somersault endlessly.  For once, having breakfast seems to be working against me.  Every time I picture myself approaching the family, my food threatens to launch up my esophagus.  I take deep breaths to calm myself, but they are of little help.  I am still a nervous wreck.  But I must warn them.  I must warn the boy with the shimmering eyes.

Just thinking of him sends a jolt from my stomach to my feet.  My knees feel weak.  I realize my fear is less about the mother, father, and younger children than it is about the boy who looks close to my age.  Thinking about standing arm’s length from him makes me lightheaded.  Speaking to him might make me faint.

What if I faint?  The question whirls through my head.  What if I see the boy with the aquamarine eyes, faint, and never even warn him and his family that they are in danger?  I will make a complete fool of myself and fail to accomplish the task I set out to achieve.  The worry joins the multitude of other worries swimming around in my brain and worsens the tumbling in my belly.  The last thing I need right now is to play out possible scenarios in my mind, especially ones that involve me failing, fainting, or falling.  Imagining any of those possibilities works against my waning courage.  I will get there in one piece, still standing, and I will warn them.

I continue repeating that sentence in my head over and over.  It becomes a rally cry as I slip through the forest.  But with each step I take, the challenges to my self-confidence are replaced by the sensation that I am not alone.

I quiet my racing thoughts and focus every bit of my energy on the space surrounding me.  Every twig that snaps, every shuffle of leaves and stir of treetops sets my heightened senses on even higher alert.  I lower my stance to a crouch, clutching the hilt of my sword as I dash through the woods.  I swear I feel eyes on me.  But what I believe are the sounds of footsteps following me stops me dead in my tracks. I unsheathe my sword and spin around, ready to fight.  I expect to see the deadly, milky-eyed stare of an Urthman.  Instead, I see a plump rabbit watching me with oversized eyes that sit unusually close together on its face.  I take bold step toward it, warning it off.  It hops away, but not before unhinging its jaw, showcasing its impressive fangs, and hissing at me.

I contemplate running after it and adding rabbit to our boart feast later, but I do not have the time.  Each moment I am not moving is a moment wasted.  I slowly turn from the rabbit’s path and head to the lake.

My run-in with the Urthmen the day before has shattered my feeble sense of safety.  Now, as I tread in unfamiliar territory, I feel an added element of fear.  I believe these woods could be overrun with Urthmen.  I quicken my pace and jog; thankful for the boart meat I ate this morning.  It supplies me with enough energy to continue until the sun is high overhead and the twisting vines underfoot become so dense and tangled that I must slow down.  As I do, I hear the river and know the lake is nearby.  My moment has come.

When I reach the edge of the woods, where the trees grow farther apart and the brush thins, I see them.  The family is out of their cave and sprinkled around the lake.  I must go to them.  It is the reason I came.

I slide one foot forward, and it feels heavier than usual, unstable.  I am dizzy and nauseated.  I feel cold though it is warm.  My palms are damp and the base of my throat throbs in time with my racing heartbeat.  My mind wills my body to move, but my body is reluctant to cooperate.  I am a quivering bundle of contradicting signals.  I do not understand what is happening to me.  I have slain wild animals, have fought and killed mutant beasts known as Urthmen, but those tasks generated less of a physical response than my current undertaking.  I feel as if I may need to vomit.  I pull in a sharp breath of air in hopes it will have the same effect as before.  To my surprise, it does not.  Instead, my legs are shaking violently.  So I do what has become typical of me in recent days.  I duck behind a hostile-looking bush and stay there to try to build my courage.

My cheeks burn.  I am embarrassed of my behavior.  The family’s safety depends on me alerting them that a threat is on the horizon.  I cannot let them die because I am a coward.  I will not live with more blood on my hands.

I stand, emboldened by the knowledge that lives depend on me.  I close my eyes briefly, and then take a step forward, then another, and another.  I keep going, putting one foot in front of the other, until I am at the shore of the lake.  I see all of them, the entire family.  Each of their heads whips in my direction.  I quickly raise my hands up, my palms facing outward, in surrender.  I do not want them to feel threatened.  I want to communicate that I will not do them harm.

“Hello,” I say because I do not know what else to say.  I have not seen another human being in a long time.  My socialization has been limited to June in the last year.

Glances volley from one person to the next, and though I have been consciously avoiding looking at the boy with the aquamarine eyes, I turn my head and meet his gaze. A small smile plays across his lips.

My breath catches in my chest.  I wonder if he is smiling at me because he is happy to see me, or if I have done something stupid.  Thankfully, his mother’s voice yanks me from fretting about it.

“You can put your hands down,” she says.  “You are not a threat.”

I am not a threat; to them at least.  But if they only knew of my hunting and sparring skills, that I killed two Urthmen by myself just yesterday, the woman might have thought twice about counting me out in the threat department.

“My name is Avery,” I begin, but my words are suddenly smothered by the woman’s shoulder when she wraps both arms around me and brings me in for a tight hug.

“Avery,” she says my name aloud.  “You have a beautiful name befitting your beautiful face.”

I wonder how she could possibly know what my face really looks like.  It is buried in the space between her neck and elbow, but I keep that detail to myself.  She sounds as though she may cry and I do not want to upset her further.  Especially since I do not know why she is so upset.  I am perplexed by her words and actions.  She hugged me and complimented me, yet she is sad.  I do not know what to do.  I stiffen a bit and she releases me.

“Oh, gosh, I am so sorry,” she says.  She brushes back tears with the tips of her fingers.  “It has been so long since we’ve seen another.”

“We haven’t seen another human in a few months,” the man whom I presume is her husband says.  “Kate is just so happy to see you.  We are all so happy to see you.”

I awkwardly shift my weight from one foot to the other as I blink back the hot tears that threaten unexpectedly.

“Oh dear,” Kate says and shakes her head.  “You’ve introduced yourself and here we are not doing the same.  I guess that’s what isolation does to people,” she says.

I smile tightly.  I know all too well about isolation.  But I do not speak.  I do not trust that my voice will hold up.  I feel eyes on me, and if they belong to whom I think they belong to, I do not want to risk breaking down in front of him.

“I am Kate, and this is my husband, Asher.  And these are our children,” she begins.  “This is my daughter Riley and my sons Oliver,” she points to the smaller boy, “and Will.”

Will.  The boy I’ve been watching for the last two days is named Will.  I say his name in my head and each time my stomach flutters.  I inexplicably feel like twirling.  I don’t, of course.  I look from face to face and smile at the new people I’ve met.  I mutter something about being pleased to meet them as my dad instructed me was proper to do if or when I ever met another human.  But when I get to Will, my smile capsizes.  He looks directly into my eyes and heat creeps up my neck and spreads over my cheeks.  A boy has never looked at me the way Will is looking at me right now.  Probably because the last time I saw a boy my age was when I was eight and lived in the village, and even then, I had not seen many boys at all.

“Glad to meet you, Avery,” Will says.

My heart sets off at a gallop.  I wonder if he can see it bashing my ribs, if it is causing my shirt to drum visibly.  I bite my lower lip and look at my feet.  I am grateful when his sister Riley starts talking.

“Avery, I’m so glad you’re here.  Another girl makes things even. You can be my sister,” Riley’s eyes light up, and she bounces on the balls of her feet the way June does.

“Uh, thanks,” I say self-consciously.

“Who says she’s staying?” Oliver asks unexpectedly.

Kate and Asher’s glances shoot in Oliver’s direction.

“Oliver!” his mother says with obvious embarrassment.  “Say you are sorry.”

“No, don’t.  You don’t have to be sorry,” I say quickly.  “I am not staying.  And neither should you.  That is why I am here actually.”  I dive into my purpose of coming without thinking.

Five sets of eyes land on me.

“What?  What are you talking about?” Kate asks.  Her soft brown eyes are fixed on mine.  She is crestfallen.  “Why would you want to be alone?”

I look at her and Asher then to the smaller children.  “Maybe we can talk somewhere else,” I say when my gaze returns to them.

“Oh, I see,” Asher says and takes my rather obvious hint.  Then to the children he says cheerfully, “Can you two go to the cave and collect the clothes?  We need to start our chores.”

The children’s faces droop, but they take off toward the mouth of the cave before their father utters another word.  I smile at Asher and he smiles back, but it does not reach his eyes.  Worry seems to be weighing down his face.

Kate folds her arms across her chest and Asher places a hand on her back.

“So what is it you need to speak with us about?” Kate asks with concern.

“Urthmen are here,” I answer and watch as my words transform their demeanors.

“Urthmen?” Will repeats.  His voice makes my scalp tighten and tingle, even though it should not.  The circumstances are grave, but I am powerless to stop the effect his voice has on me.  His hands rocket to his hips, fists balled.  “How do you know?” he asks.

“I saw them,” I say.  “I killed two in the woods right beyond this lake.”

Will cocks a brow, as if he does not believe me.  A quick look at his parents tells me he is not alone in his doubt that I could kill not one, but two, Urthmen.

“You killed two Urthmen?” Asher asks.  I hear the disbelief in his voice and feel my temper flare ever so slightly.  I am not used to proving myself to anyone.  I am what I am, and that is not up for debate or question.  If I say I did something, I did it.  In the world we live in, exaggeration does not possess a benefit.  If any other humans exist in other areas, they either have the skills to survive, or they do not.  The ones who do not are likely dead.

My spine lengthens and my shoulders straighten.  “Yes, I did,” I say in a strong, clear voice.

“But, uh, you are so small,” Kate says and looks embarrassed by her words.

“My size means little.  My father trained me well.  I hunt each day for my sister and me, and have killed boarts as well as the two Urthmen yesterday.”

Kate, Asher, and Will look at me skeptically.

“Believe me or don’t believe me.  I know what I saw and I know what happened.  The Urthmen are dead. I would show you their bodies, but I’m pretty sure Lurkers took care of them as soon as the sun went down last night.  I came here to warn you,” I say as annoyance blisters inside of me.  I am not accustomed to this kind of interaction, the exchanges of secret glances, and the subtle facial expressions that doubt my integrity.  “I also came to invite all of you to stay at the cave I share with my sister.  It is a quarter of a day’s walk from here, so I suggest you gather your things and come along.  Do not waste any time.  We need to go right away.”

I expect the three of them to begin moving and gathering their belongings, but they don’t.  They stand perfectly still as if they’re made of stone.

I clear my throat, wondering whether I imagined what I just said to them.

“Uh, you guys heard me just now, right?” I ask quietly. My stomach feels like a bag filled with snakes slithering and rolling over one another.

“Yes, we heard you,” Kate says, and tilts her head to one side the way I do when June is melting down.  “But I think I can safely speak for all of us when I say thank you for the invite, but we will be fine here.”

Her words do not register in my brain right away.  I am dumbfounded by what I have just heard.  “What?” I ask and hope I was wrong, that I did not just hear her say she and her family plan to risk their lives and stay where they are with Urthmen afoot.

“We are not going with you,” Asher says and I feel as if I have just been punched in the gut.  “We are safe here.”

His face is so smooth, so calm, as if what I’ve just told him is so absurd, he cannot not even react to it.  But it is true.  Two Urthmen had been close to their camp, too close.  I want to shake each of them and shout in their faces that they are being ridiculous, that they will be found and killed.  But if I did that, it would solidify any ideas they already have about me.  The best thing I can do now is walk away and put Kate, Asher, Oliver, Riley, and Will out of my thoughts.

“I see,” I say, and do not mask my disappointment and shock.  “I hope you are heavily armed.”

I stalk off toward the woods. Scalding tears stream down my cheeks.  I know their names, I have met them, but I wish I hadn’t.  Now I know more people who will die.

I am just past the area where I hid behind the bush when a voice calls out to me.

“Avery!  Hey Avery, wait up!” Will exclaims.

“Quiet!” I hiss.  “Do you want to announce where you are?” I ask heatedly.

His features rumple and he stops walking for a moment.

“What do you want, Will?  Did you come to mock me as I leave?” I do not hide my frustration.

“No,” he says.  “Nothing like that.  I just want to talk to you.”

He stops an arm’s length from me.  This close, I can see every detail of his face, the brilliant blue-green of his pale eyes, the dip of his upper lip just below his straight nose, and the smooth, even quality of his skin.  It looks as if it would feel like a rose petal.  Still, I am angry that he and his family treated me like a liar, and chose to stay and face certain death rather than listen to me.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” I huff.  “Didn’t you and your parents say everything that needed to be said back there?”

“Why did you run from me yesterday? Why did you run away?”

I want to tell him I was afraid, that the thought of talking to him made me so nervous my legs froze, that I am still nervous, but the words die on my lips.

“Turns out it was the right thing to do,” I say.  “I should never have come back.”

A pang of hurt flickers in his eyes.  I regret being so harsh.  I open my mouth to tell him I am sorry, but he speaks first.

“I am sorry about how my parents were, how I was, back there,” he says.

I am too surprised by what he has said to respond right away.  My mouth is agape and an uncomfortable silence fills the space between us.  I consider bolting out of sight, but my legs are leaden once again.

“You are?” I mumble.

“Yes, I am,” he says and reaches out.  His fingertips graze my forearm and send a euphoric shock of bliss racing straight up my arm and down my back.  “You put yourself in grave danger to do the right thing, to come back here and warn us.”

“So you believe me?” I am mesmerized by the pastel azure and emerald in his eyes that undulate like waves in water.

“I do,” he says and holds me with his gaze.

“Then you need to talk to them.  You need to get them to leave as soon as possible.  It is not safe here.  The Urthmen I killed were here, just past where we are now, in broad daylight.  And if they were here, others know about the area, they know about you.”

A crease forms between Will’s brows as the weight of my words settle on him.  A small muscle by his jaw flexes.

“Please,” I continue.  “Get your family out of here.”

“I will.  I will convince them,” he says.  “I do not want to be like the others we’ve met over the years.

“Others?”

“Yes, the other humans we have met.”

“You have met other humans?” I feel my eyebrows rocket toward my hairline.

“Yes, we traveled for a long time before we settled here and saw many like us, colonies, in fact.  But the ones we found hid and kept to themselves for the most part.  They are killed off regularly.”  Will frowned.  “I think that’s why my parents are so hesitant about leaving.  This is the first real home we’ve had, and it’s close to the river and lake.  We have everything we need here.  It’s much better than what most have.”

“I understand,” I say.  I want to tell him about the village I lived in, about my mother and father, about June.  There is so much I want to say, but time is ticking.  I need to hurry back before night falls.  My journey is long. I wish I could stay here for hours, gazing at Will, and exchanging stories.  But I can’t.  “I have to leave.  I have to get home before the sun sets.”

Will’s shoulders sag.  I would have missed it if I weren’t so focused on everything about him.  I saw the small change in his posture.  I wonder whether he is disappointed that I am leaving.  The idea makes my insides teem like a full beehive.

“Oh,” Will says.  “So this is it?  This is the end of our, uh, you know, meeting each other?” he says nervously.

“No,” I say and surprise both of us.  “I will come back tomorrow. I’ll see if you’ve convinced them to go.  If they decide to come with me, they will need me to lead the way to the cave I share with my sister.”

Will’s lips collapse to form a hard line.  “Is it safe for you to come back?”

“According to your family, yes, it is,” I say bitterly, and as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

He stares at his feet then, he glances at me through a thick fringe of dark lashes.

“I will be as cautious as I was today,” I say.  “I am always careful.  My sister is young.  She needs me.  I am all she has.”

“And you risked yourself to come here and warn us.” His voice is thick with apology.

“Yes,” I say honestly.  “I did.”  My words hang in the air between us for several beats.  “I must go.” I tell him again.

I turn and begin to walk away from Will.

“What is her name?”

“Who?” I twist and ask.

“Your sister, what is your sister’s name?”

“June.  Her name’s June and she is about the same age as Riley,” I say with a half-smile.

Will’s face brightens.  “Tell June I say hello, okay?”

“I will,” I reply.

I turn and resume walking.  I sense Will’s eyes on me and feel my cheeks flush.  My trip was not a success by the standards I set forth when I left, but I am pleased, nevertheless.  In fact, I smile so broadly my cheeks hurt.  I replay every word he spoke, how he looked when he talked, and most importantly, the moment when he touched my arm.  Though brief, the contact was like lightning bolting beneath my skin, exhilarating and delightful.  My entire body shivers like leaves in the wind.  I have no recollection of ever being touched by another human who was not related to me.  Will was the first.  I wonder what it would feel like to touch him back, to run my fingers over the lean cords of muscle that twine up his forearm.  I hope to find out, and that hope twists in my chest.

Hope is dangerous.  Humans are an endangered species.  Still, I find myself indulging in it, imagining a future, a life with Will in it.  Even if my hope is futile, I enjoy it while I walk.  The distance seems smaller and time passes quicker as a result.  I have not prepared for how I will tell June about the family’s rejection of my offer.  I do not know what I will say or how I will tell her that I plan to go back there for a fourth day in a row, knowing fully that Urthmen have infiltrated our safety.  I am certain of only two things: I will pass along Will’s message; I will share his greeting with her.  And I will go back to him in the morning.

Chapter 10

I walk along and feel as if my feet are barely touching the earth as I make my way back to the cave to June.  A smile continually tugs at the corners of my mouth.  I keep picturing Will, the way his eyes glowed against his tan skin and nearly black eyelashes, the way his lips moved when he spoke.  Just remembering the sound of his voice sends a wave of tingles from my scalp straight down my neck to my arms.  Goose bumps appear on my skin though the midday sun is sweltering.   I am happy in a way I have never been before.  I cannot wait to return to the lake, to Will, in the morning.

Despite my happiness, though, I remain vigilant.  My eyes continue to scan the surrounding woods.  And the sensation that I am being watched returns.  Only this time, it is more than just a paranoid concern.  I feel eyes on me.  Someone or something is drilling their gaze right into me.  I am sure of it.  The realization drains any excitement I’ve been feeling.

I slow my pace and examine the area before me.  I see nothing, not even the slightest movement stirs the leaves.  I turn and look toward the direction I just came from.  I study the dense bushes for any sign of disturbance, but again, I see nothing.  Everything looks as it did.  I begin to wonder whether I am imagining things.  For a moment, I try to convince myself that I am, that my overwhelming excitement has sent my senses into overdrive.  But no matter how hard I try to tell myself that, I still have the feeling, the heaviness of being a target.  I feel as if I am being stalked.

Awareness slinks down the length of my limbs and the fine hairs on my body stand up at attention.  I am being hunted.

My hand reaches behind me slowly.  The rustle and swish of branches causes me to grip the hilt of my sword.  I stop walking and listen.  Above the caw of birds and the chirp and scurry of chipmunks, I hear heavy footfalls.  I silently unsheathe my sword and hold it out in front of me, gripping it with both hands.

My heart is banging against my ribs and a rivulet of sweat trickles between my shoulder blades and slips down to the small of my waist as I wait for whatever or whoever has been tracking me to make an appearance.

“Come out!” I shout as the stress of waiting to be confronted takes its toll on me.  “Come out and face me!  I know you’re there!”

I do not get a verbal response, but hear a throaty huff instead, and every cell in my body floods with adrenaline.  I am under attack.  Urthmen are undoubtedly positioned and poised to ambush me at any given moment.

I squeeze the handle of my sword.  Every muscle in my body is tense.  I take two wary steps on the path I’ve been on, but halt when the sound of crunching twigs echoes through the ether.  I stiffen and look in the direction of the sound.  Low-growing bushes part.  Prickly fronds shift, and I move in for a closer look.

Cautiously, I approach the cluster of spiny plants.  As I do, I see a large snout jutting among the tangled mess of branches.  The snout is connected to a boart, but not just any boart.  This one looks familiar.  I saw it just a day earlier, the one I assumed was the boartling’s mother, the boartling June had killed.  I recognize the unmistakable swath of black fur that interrupts the otherwise all-brown coat.

Small, closely set eyes glare at me, and saliva drips from its wide mouth, over pointed tusks that protrude like deadly spikes.  A bristly tuft of fur at its nape stands on end and quivers like quills and it grunts first then emits a sound that can only be described as a wail.  The sound freezes the blood in my veins and I clutch my sword, ready to act.  The boart bursts from the brush, charging at full speed.  I do not have time to stab it so I take the only other option I am left with.  I dive out of the way, narrowly avoiding being gored by her lethal teeth.

I nearly lose my sword when my body meets with the hard ground.  I roll to my side and scramble onto my hands and knees then spring to my feet.

The boart stops abruptly and turns.  Her eyes lock on me and suddenly, the feeling I had earlier and then again a moment ago gels.  I was not being hunted by Urthmen.  I was being stalked by an angry mother boart.  She is avenging the death of the boartling, her boartling, June killed yesterday.  Though the notion seems farfetched, it is the only likely one.  Boarts do not simply attack unprovoked.  At least they never have before.  I also thought that rabbits did not attack.  Apparently, I know less than I thought about the new, ever-evolving animal kingdom.

The boart rotates her bulky shoulders and scuffs her hoof against the earth.  Her eyes narrow to gashes, and then she lets out a guttural cry and charges me again.

I sheathe my sword just before I turn and put my head down and take off.  I push my legs as hard as I can, demanding they run faster than ever before.  Thin branches whip my face and thorny vines lash my legs.  But I do not care.  A boart is after me, hoping to impale me with its massive tusks.

I glance over my shoulder and see her hefty form barreling down on me.  Her back is almost as tall as I am, and her tusks match the length of my arm from elbow to wrist.  If she sticks me with one of them, I am dead.

The terrifying reality of my predicament propels me forward.  But my speed is no match for the boart.  She is faster, stronger.  Out of desperation, I dip behind a tree and watch her blaze past me.  But the moment she becomes aware of what I have done, she skids to stop.  I do not waste a second of precious time and bolt in a different direction.  I attempt to dart through thick, interlocked growth, but the patch is closely packed and makes running difficult.

I hear the grunt of the boart and see that she is tearing after me, plowing a path through the solid foliage.  I cannot fight the boart as it charges me.  Even if I stab it, I will be hit and killed for sure.  Without any other choice, I run from her.

My feet slap against the dirt as I sprint, but my effort is useless.  She is gaining on me.  A quick glance over my shoulder confirms as much.  And when my gaze returns to the path I am headed on, I see I am at the top of a steep ridge.  I do not remember climbing a hill as I traveled to the lake.  But then I also did not have a boart that probably quadrupled my weight and nearly matched my height on my heels.  I try to turn and avoid the sharp descent, as well as getting hopelessly lost in the forest, when my foot snags on an exposed root that pokes out from the soil.  I stumble and find myself tumbling down the embankment full speed.

Pain erupts across my flesh, blasting against my body like hot coals, as I plunge faster and faster.  My left side topples over a sharp stone.  I scream, unable to harness the agony in my ribs, and still, I am falling.  I clutch my head in my hands to protect it and feel my forearms being shredded by rocks and sharp branches.  At the base of the mound, the terrain lips and hurls me into the air.  I expect to smash into a boulder or tree trunk and break every bone in my body, but I am surprised when I land against a spongy surface that absorbs my weight and rebounds it so that I bounce, springy and in midair.

I look up, grateful that I did not crash into a boulder or tree trunk, only to see the boart careening down the ridge.  It is heading right for me.  Suddenly, I think I would have been better off having my bones shattered by the boulder or the tree rather than being demolished by the largest boart I have ever seen.  I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth, bracing for the impact.  All the while, images of June and Will and the life I would miss flash in my mind’s eye.

I am shocked when the boart lands just a leg’s length from me.  It sticks to the flexible material I’m leaning against, hovering above the ground.  It squeals and flails and appears to be stuck, but I can barely hear or see its tantrum.  I am panting and crying and mumbling all at once, tears blurring my vision.  I try to move my hand to my face to rub my eyes, but feel resistance.  My skin is being tugged.  My arm is stuck.  I wriggle and twist, trying to free my arm, but my entire body is stuck to the squishy net-like structure that prevented me from launching into the woods.  I feel my sword sliding around at my back.  I want to be still but can’t stop the panicked squirming of my body.  I attempt to kick my legs and use my heels to free myself, but my movements are a waste of time.  A loud clang, the distinct sound of metal clashing with rock, and the immediate loss of weight at my back means my sword has dropped to the ground below.  Held by the gummy meshwork and stripped of my sword, I am frightened.  I frantically search all around me.  My head is not connected to the tacky substance, so I am able to look beneath me and above me.

Sunlight filters through treetops and illuminates the odd pearlescent threads that crisscross intricately between two sizable trees.  When it does, it reveals I am trapped in a net of some sort, a web.  Overhead, I see bones, many bones arranged neatly, that resemble the skeleton of a boart.

My mind struggles to think of what could have created the sticky snare I am caught in.  Urthmen come to mind.  Perhaps they’d fashioned this to capture humans.  Maybe this is what the two I killed yesterday built and I just caught them as they were leaving.  Thoughts spin in my brain, burrowing into murkiness faster than a grub burrowing into soil.  If that is true, if Urthmen built the web, then June is in danger.  My eyes are wild as they roam the web for weakness.  But the terrified glimpse of the complexity involved in its construction makes me think the Urthmen would not be intelligent enough to make something so elaborate.

I curl my torso forward and pull with all my might, trying to separate from the sticky mesh.  But all that happens is the skin on my back stretches and pulls, hopelessly stuck.  I cannot budge.  Angry shrieks and protests from the boart remind me that it is also trapped.  It flails and fights but is not strong enough to free itself.  It is a powerful beast, much tougher and much stronger than I am.  Yet it, too, is ensnared.  My situation is far worse than I ever dreamed possible.  I will either die at the hands of whatever has me trapped, or I will die at the hands of a Lurker.  Either way, I will die this day.  And what’s worse is June will not be able to roll the boulder in place and cover the opening of the cave to secure herself.  She will be wide open, a midnight treat for Lurkers.  She has been issued a death sentence.

Tears rain from my eyes and stream down my cheeks.  I cannot bear the thought of June being butchered by a Lurker.  I twist and pull again, and this time it is not the boart’s cry that pierces the forest.  It is mine.

I remain bound to the web until the sun sags low in the sky.  One arm has lost feeling.  It has been perched over my head since I first landed here.  The rest of my body aches from the fall and holding my awkward position.  But none of that even matters now.  If I make it out of the web alive by some stroke of luck, I will never make it back by nightfall.  I will be dead before sunrise one way or another.  I allow my chin to fall to my chest and close my eyes, when a quiver on one of the strands I am stuck to vibrates.  I see something moving at the base of the web.  The bushes shimmy.  I strain my eyes to see what is coming, to finally meet my awful fate, and when I do, I learn that nothing I have seen in either reality or my worst nightmares has prepared me for the sight before me.  Shock prevents my gaze from leaving the creature that slowly scuttles onto the lowest fiber of the web.

Armed with eight leathery looking legs with prominent joints that bend and flex as it creeps, and a fleshy body sectioned into two defined segments, both coated in tawny fur, the being makes its way up the silken thread.  The closer it looms, the clearer my vision of it becomes.  An insect face with five amber, feline eyes watches the boart.  Its body is as long as mine only much thicker.  Bulky, pronounced muscles flex as it walks.  I want to scream, but the sound is smothered by my heart firmly wedged in my throat.  I am thankful for that, because the boart is shrieking and carrying on.  All the sound and motion seems to be encouraging the beast.

The spindly legs of the creature reach the lower half of the boart.  The enormous boart thrashes again, but like me, it is attached solidly.  All the while it cries and screeches as the creature reaches its head.  The creature perches its colossal form atop the boart and rears the upper sector of its body.  Each of its five eyes is a bottomless pit of doom.  Its mouth opens and two huge fangs, glistening with a thick, iridescent substance, extend from the roof of its mouth.  It lowers its mouth to the boart’s neck, then in one lightning-fast motion, it buries its fangs into the boarts throat.

The boart yelps and cries.  It is the most awful, anguished sound I have ever heard an animal make.  I am sickened as small whimpers pass through my lips.  The boart is in agony.  But the more the boart howls, the longer the creature’s fangs seem to grow.  My eyes widen in horror when I see their tips poke through the other side of the boart’s neck coated in red.  The boart stops moving, and the fangs retract suddenly.  The creature backs up slowly.  Its golden eyes are now on me.  It scurries off the boart unhurriedly, watching me with the eyes of a skilled predator.  It takes every bit of restraint I have to keep from screaming.  I know screaming will not help me any more than the boart’s cries helped it.  Instead, I feverishly try to free myself.

My entire body trembles, as the milky filaments all around me quake.  I pull my arm, wrenching my shoulder until it feels as if it will separate from my body altogether.  But I do not care.  Anything will be better than enduring what the boart endured.  I tug and yank.  Skin stretches to its limit, but I ignore the pain.  I continue to pull with strength I never knew I had as the beast draws nearer.  My skin starts to tear from my forearm and I am flooded with a sick sense of relief.  The stinging is torturous.  I can’t stop though.  If I do, I am going to die.  And I don’t want to die, not like this.  I will die fighting.

With a sickening rip, my skin breaks free of the sticky web.

My forearm is raw and bleeding when I feel the first of the beast’s legs begin to make their way up my body.  With a shaking hand coated in my own blood, I reach for the dagger I keep sheathed at my thigh and wield it just as the beast’s face is at my chest.  I thrust the tip of my blade upward and lodge it deep into the lower section of its torso and twist.  I cry out the primitive cry of a warrior and it screeches as well.  Warmth gushes over my hand.  I look down and see bright-yellow goo pouring over it.  I withdraw my dagger and stab the creature in one of its golden eyes.  It howls out again, and the points of its fangs begin to lengthen.  If they appear fully, I will not survive the speed and deadliness of a strike.

My body is slick with sweat and I am panting and crying at the same time, gore and the pus-like substance covering me.  It is lowering its mouth closer and closer to my face.  With every inch of space that is closed, my mind centers on thoughts of June, sweet, innocent June who will die because of me.  I pull the blade from its eye and, with no room left to shove it, I am trapped, waiting to have my throat pierced by the razor-sharp incisors suspended just above my jugular.

“I’m sorry, June,” I sob as the creature drops against me.

“Oh, oh my gosh,” I am gasping and wheezing as the beast collapses so close to me its blade-like teeth nick my shoulder.

I laugh and cry and feel a spurt of warmth saturate my torso.  I have killed it.

Covered in sludgy gook and with the creature on top of me, I use my dagger to slice the web that my upper body rests against.  The spongy mesh immediately gives way and I begin to plummet.  But before I plunge to the ground with the creature on my chest, a crushing death for sure, the sticky network of threads clings to my legs and the massive beast rolls from my chest and tumbles to the ground below.  I am left suspended upside down, knowing that I must cut my legs free, that I will drop on my head.  I curl my aching body forward and slash at the web to free the rest of me.  I go down hard and hit a branch before my head and upper body takes the brunt of my fall.  My neck and back complain.  A patch of my skin has been torn from my body and my entire body feels banged up.  I also smell fouler than anything I have ever smelled.  But those are the least of my problems.  The pinkish-orange glow of the setting sun surrendering to twilight is.  I am far from home, off any path I have ever traveled to make it to the lake, and darkness is almost here.

I scramble to my feet and race for my sword before taking off in a full sprint toward the cave, toward June.  I race against my battered body.  I race against time itself.  I hope against hope that I win.  My life and June’s life depends on it.

Chapter 11

The muscles in my legs ache as I challenge them and clamber up the steep embankment I fell down earlier.  I must push off with my toes while I use my hands to stabilize myself, digging into the loose earth with both.  I am hungry and thirsty and drained of all strength, but I cannot stay where I am.  I cannot let myself die.  I need to get to June.

I move as quickly as I can and make it up the ridge.  I do not slow as I glance quickly from one direction to the next.  I must assess my position fast.  Time is running out.  I am uncertain of my exact location and am forced to choose without true consideration.  I cannot survey the area and find my tracks to follow back.  I think of my father and wish he were with me.  His face flashes in my mind’s eye along with June’s as I turn and race in the direction I hope is a familiar one, the one that leads back to the cave.

Day is surrendering to dusk, and the sky is a pale shade of violet.  It is a lovely color I have never seen before, and never want to see again, not alone in the middle of the woods as I am now.

I pump my arms as I run.  Wind rushes in my face and is the only relief I feel.  There is not a part of me that does not hurt.  My heart is beating so fast I hear it echoing in my ears.  Branches slash my arms and legs, and vines tug at my feet as I run for my life.  A stitch stings my ribs and demands that I slow, but slowing is not an option.  I continue, my feet pacing my heart.

I pass a clustering of poisonous berry bushes and feel confident I have seen them before, on my hike to the lake.  The sight is welcome.  It means I am heading in the right direction.  Time still remains a problem though.  The last rays of sunlight bleed around the horizon line as it is devoured by the landscape.  As the sky deepens in color, the likelihood of me being swarmed by a pack of hungry Lurkers increases with it.

Panic has me in its grips.  Trees reach with darkened, skeletal arms.  I cannot tell which limbs belong to trees and which belong to something else entirely.  I have slowed.  So much time has passed, too much time.

I am getting close to home.  I am approaching the small clearing at the outskirts of our cave.  I try to run faster.  Home is so close I can almost smell the mossy, piney scent that hangs heavily just outside the opening of the cave, the same scent I breathe in every morning.  I want to breathe it again.  I want to survive this night and many after it.  I don’t want to die.

I am only several hundred paces away from the cave when I see the first Lurker make its appearance.  My pulse races frenziedly before spluttering to a near halt and plunging to my feet.  It slinks from behind a spruce tree.  I see its eyes first; it’s deadly, closely set eyes.  They are an eerie, iridescent color that glows against the darkening sky.  It sees me, I am sure.  I feel its lethal gaze trained on me, burning into my flesh.  I do not know what to do.  Lurkers hunt in large packs.  My father told me that long ago they were called wolves, and they used to walk on all fours, and that their bodies had been shaped differently.  Now they walk on two legs.  And they are never alone.  Their bodies look human in form, only with more muscles than I have ever seen a human have.

As I watch the Lurker, I realize I have slowed.  Its glittering eyes are mesmeric, and also the reason it cannot hunt during daylight hours.  They cannot handle bright light.  I tear my gaze from it, terrified that it may strike suddenly, and look ahead.  I see the cave.  June is standing outside of it.  She is looking at me.  Thankfully, she is smart enough to be silent, to not call out to me.  She knows they would descend on her if she were to do that.

I turn and run in the direction I just came from.  I know it could be suicide, that if the half-formed plot I’ve hatched fails, I will be offering myself up to them readily.  But I need to try.  I need to do something to try to save us both.  I slide under a bush and hold my breath, waiting, watching for the approach of Lurkers.

Lurkers are not bright animals by any means.  They are incapable of speaking and higher cognitive functioning.  The only thing that motivates them is hunger, constant and insatiable hunger.  My father once said that their brains had not evolved at the same rate as their bodies.  They are more cunning than Urhmen, but their intelligence does not compare to that of a human, or even an Urthmen.  I hope what my father has told me is accurate, that I am not just a meal beneath a bush waiting to be feasted on.

When I see ten sets of feet shuffle past me, my spirit is buoyed slightly.  They have followed the trail they thought I took.  But they will not follow it for long.  I keep this in mind as I slide from the bush and dart toward the cave.

I do not need to look back to know that they have turned back and are now behind me.  I hear the swish of grass and brush beneath their feet as they lope after me with animal grace.  Trees and bushes stir and I know more are joining in the hunt.

In the distance, I hear a sound, a low rolling that echoes through the trees.  Faint at first, it grows louder fast, and more distinct.  Like innumerable hooves beating the earth beneath it, the noise thrums through me in time with my heartbeat, a pounding that sounds as though hundreds of boarts are racing toward me.  I would welcome a herd of angry boarts over the bloodthirsty packs of Lurkers determined to tear me limb from limb.

I am afraid to turn and look behind me.  I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead.  I see June.

June is within my reach.  I get to her in time to watch her eyes widen in terror before she dives inside the cave.  I am squeezing through the narrow opening when I look up.  My breath catches in my chest as I see them.  Dozens of menacing shapes are visible, dozens of eyes glowing hungrily.  Manes of golden hair that match the paleness of their gleaming eyes billow in the breeze, and impressive paw-like feet with long, lethal talons tear at the ground with each stride they take, rushing toward the cave.  They are monstrous, hideous beasts.  And they are racing toward us.

I shove myself through the tight opening.

“Help me!  Hurry up!  Help me roll it now!”  I bark orders at June.

She is as still as a stone for a brief moment.

“June!” I shriek.

Her body jars into action, and she springs to her feet and begins pushing the boulder into place.

The beasts are so close I can see saliva dangling from their sizable jaws as I push the boulder with every last drop of strength I have.  Terror rockets through me, jolting my system as if lightning has passed through my veins.  The thunderous clatter of the Lurkers’ approach grows deafening.  They emit spine-tingling howls.  The sight and sound of them is a nightmarish vision.

“Come on! Come on!” I cry as I clumsily wedge the first of several logs around the boulder.  My hands shake violently, and my legs feel as if they are made of sponge.

Though the sloped edges of the base of the logs are wedged beneath the boulder and the tops are flush against the wall of the cave, I feel faint resistance on the other side of the rock.

“Oh my gosh,” June begins sobbing.

“No, no, no!” I exclaim.  I use both feet and every ounce of will to live to hold the boulder still, to prevent the monsters from moving it before all the logs are in place.  My back is pressed against the rough stone, straining.  “June!  Get the last wedged in now!”  My voice is shrill and foreign to my own ears.

June does as she’s told.  The last log is fixed in place.  I am reluctant to drop my legs.  They tremble from nerves and effort.

The howling outside gives way to throaty hissing that curdles the blood inside me.  The Lurkers are just outside the cave.  One is attempting to push the boulder, trying to get inside.

My mind spirals in a thousand different directions.  I do not know what to do.  I know the opening of our cave is only big enough for one Lurker at a time so they can’t all push at once.  The logs wedged in place would be impossible to break.  Still, I do not feel comforted by our defense, but there is nothing more I can do.  I lower my knees and bring them to my chest.  I collapse to the floor of the cave and take my head in my hands.  The fate of my sister and me rests with stars I’ve never seen.

I feel every emotion I did not have the luxury of releasing well inside me, rising like floodwaters.  The first tear that rains begins a deluge that cascade down my cheeks.  I cannot remember the last time I cried in front of June.  For once, I do not try to hide it.  I do not feel weakened or embarrassed by my tears.  I simply let them fall.  My chest heaves and makes my whole body throb, but I do not deny myself this release.  I glance at June.  She is undoubtedly stunned by everything she has seen and is seeing.  I do not blame her.  I am pretty shocked myself.  I realize my appearance is likely contributing to her fright.  A quick look at my hands reveals they are caked in filth of every sort.  Dirt, blood, and the eight-legged monster’s sludgy gore are caked all over me from the neck down.  My cheeks have likely been sliced by more branches and thorny limbs than I want to know about.  I am a bloody fright, a fact that is not lost on June.

“Avery, what happened to you?”  Her voice trembles, but at least she isn’t sobbing as I am.  I wonder whether she is in shock.

I tell her what happened, about Will and his family, about the mother boart chasing me, about falling down the steep hill, about landing in the web, and about the eight-legged beast.  I tell her everything in as much detail as I can remember.  The days of withholding information are over.

Several times throughout my recollection, her hands cover her mouth and she gasps.  The sounds are muffled, though.  The yelping and hissing beyond our cave continues and drowns her out.  We both keep looking to the boulder, half expecting Lurkers to burst through at any moment.  I am trembling uncontrollably.  The day’s events have crashed over me with the force of a tidal wave and are pulling me down, sinking me.

When I finish recounting my day, when every last word has been choked out, I see that June is crying softly.  She looks more frightened than ever before.  Still, she is holding up better than I am.

“Those cuts and bruises look painful,” June says gently.  I am surprised by how composed she sounds.

“They are,” I mumble through sniffles.

June stands and slowly walks to the far corner of the cave.  She moves several bags and retrieves a backpack.  She brings the pack over to me, then sits and begins rifling through it.  She pulls out gauze pads, bandages and a tube.

“Let’s get you fixed up,” she says and begins using the supplies my father risked his life to take from the village we used to live in.

He returned multiple times after the settlement had been sacked by Urthmen.  He made dangerous trip after dangerous trip to stockpile as much medical supplies and clothing as he could.  I am thankful that he did.  They come in handy as June squeezes ointment from a tube directly onto the raw flesh of the skinless patch on my forearm.

I wince when the salve touches it.

“Sorry, Avery, I know it hurts,” June says soothingly.  Her hands shake as the baying beyond the boulder is accompanied by frenzied snarling and scraping.  The sound chills me to my bones.  “I don’t know if this stuff is any good,” she continues, her voice is as unsteady as her hands.  “But I remember Dad saying it prevents infections.”

“I remember him saying that too,” I say and watch as she dresses my arm.

When it is wrapped, she looks up at me and says, “What are we going to do, Avery?”

I take a deep breath.  I cannot imagine doing anything at present.  Not with packs of bloodthirsty Lurkers howling just beyond our home.  But I know I must plan for the future.  I must think about tomorrow.  The sun will rise again and drive the beasts back to their lairs.

“Tomorrow morning, we are going back to the lake to speak with Kate, Asher, and Will.  We will see if they have realized that they are not safe and hopefully they will come back with us.”

“We?  Us?” June picks up that I have included her in my plan to visit the lake.

“Yes, June,” I say and look directly into her eyes.  “I will never leave you here alone again.”

“Are you serious?” June asks.  Tears spill from her eyes.

“Yes,” I reply.  “I see now that it’s even more dangerous to leave you by yourself.  I’ve been wrong all along, thinking I’ve been protecting you from what is out there.”  I am barely able to get the words out.  My throat is thick and tight.  “I’ve left you alone and scared,” I say, and wipe my eyes, but it is useless to try to clear the steady stream of tears flowing.  I don’t know why I bother.  I guess old habits are hard to break.  Keeping my true feelings from June is another major mistake I have made along the way.  Maybe she needs to see me for who I really am.  Maybe she needs to see my tears, hear of my worries and fears.

“I am so sorry, June,” I say.  A fresh set of sobs rack my body.  I am sorry for leaving you here, scared and alone.  I am sorry I tried to keep everything from you.”  I swallow hard.

“No, Avery,” June says.  “Don’t you dare be sorry for doing what you thought was right.  You were trying to protect me.”  She throws her arms around my neck and squeezes.  The hug, though physically painful, is the best feeling in the world.  We hold each other for several moments.  When June drops her arms, I allow mine to fall too.

The Lurkers continue their loud wailing.  The sound claws at my insides like sharpened blades.  The threat of violence quivering through the air is simply too much for me to handle.

“We’re safe, right?” June asks.  Her eyes are wide and pleading.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.  “I don’t know if we are safe here anymore.”

I watch as June wrings her hands in front of her.  “I know,” she whispers.

“The Lurkers know we’re in here now.  They know where we are.  And they will come back.  They crave our flesh and blood.”  Dread, unlike any I have ever experienced slithers down my spine.  “Their hunger is what motivates them.  It’s only a matter of time before they figure out a way to get in.”

Speaking the unabashed truth is harder than I thought it would be.  June cries and my gut twists.  Seeing her hurt and fearful and knowing I am responsible is difficult.  The reality of our circumstances, the gravity of our situation, is harsh.  I know now that she needs to be aware of it.  I draw her into my arms and hold her tight.

“We may need to find a new place to live,” I murmur into her hair.  This makes her sob harder, but she needs to know.  She needs to be prepared to make a change.  She has lived in our cave for most of her life.  A move would be a tremendous upheaval. But if it means our lives will be saved, she will have no other choice than to learn to accept it.  “Maybe we will find a place with Will and his family,” I say and stroke her hair.

“But where would we go?” June asks.  “Where is safe?”

“I don’t know, June,” I reply. I wish I had an answer.  I wish I knew of a place free of Urthmen and Lurkers and eight-legged fiends.  I can’t even imagine such a place.  It is the stuff of daydreams, of whimsy.  My father told me that once upon a time, the Earth was a place where dreams could come true, where monsters did not roam and Urthmen did not exist, where safety, food, and shelter were things most people took for granted.  I cannot envision the world as he said it was.  But I would do just about anything to travel back in time, to see June safe and free.

I do not let go of June as the night wears on.  I rest her head against my shoulder and cup my hand over her ear, trying to block out the awful sound of the Lurkers calls.  We doze off and on for short periods of time throughout the night, all the while we wish for the infernal racket to end, we wish for peace.

Chapter 12

I open my eyes to see sunlight sifting through tiny crevices around the boulder.  The sight, along with the silence it brings with it, is welcome.  I blink several times.  My eyes are puffy and bleary from crying and spending much of the night awake.  June is slumped across me with her head on my lap and my legs are numb.  I napped lightly while sitting exactly where I am while Lurkers scratched and snarled just outside our cave.

I give June a gentle shake.  I need her to wake.  We have a long trip ahead of us.  We will both be exhausted, I am sure, but we have to go.  We have to convince Will and his parents that they are in danger.

“June,” I whisper and jiggle her shoulders.  “June,” I try a little louder.

She wakes with a start and her head rockets up.  “They’ve pushed in the boulder!” she gasps.  Her eyes are darting from one side to the next.

“No, no, June,” I say and rub her back.  “We are okay.  It is morning.  They are gone,” I try to calm her.  “The Lurkers are gone for now.”

“Oh gosh,” she breathes, still rattled.  “We made it through the night?” she asks more than says.  “Yes, we did,” I tell her.  “And now we will take our trip.”

A slow smile spreads across her face.

“But before we go anywhere, we need to wash and eat.”

“That sounds like a good idea.  Especially since some of us need to wash more than others,” she says and crinkles her nose at me.

A hysterical chuckle surges and brims unexpectedly.  My nerves are frayed and it takes effort to subdue it.

“Who?  Me?” I ask with pretend confusion.

June nods and twists her mouth to one side to suppress a giggle.  She seems to be afflicted with the same panic-induced humor as me.

“Are you saying I don’t look my best?” I tease.

A giggle slips from June’s lips.  “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Then she doubles over laughing.

“Hey!” I say with exaggerated offense.  “How rude!”

“I’m doing you a favor,” June says between chuckles.  “You can’t let that family by the lake see you looking like that.” She points at my dirty clothes and matted hair.

“What do you mean?  I look fabulous,” I say in a silly voice.

June snorts then her laughter starts anew.  “I-I don’t know, Avery,” she says between pants.  “Would Will like the way you look right now?”

I do not respond.  The mere mention of Will makes my stomach feel filled with insects, all beating their wings at once.

June does not notice that I have gone quiet.  She keeps teasing me.  “In fact, if he saw you now, he would probably run away,” she says and continues to laugh.

I take her words lightly.  She is right, after all.  I would probably run from me if I were to see myself as I look now.

“All right, wise guy,” I shake my head.  “That’s enough.  I get it.  I’m gross.  Now let’s go to the river and get clean already.”

I stand sluggishly.  Movement causes pain in varying degrees of severity to explode throughout my body.  I groan involuntarily. The surge of twinges is overwhelming.

June’s smile dissolves.  “Avery, let me help you.” She springs to her feet, cups my elbow with one hand, and pulls me up with the other.

“Thanks,” I say as I straighten my posture.  “I’m okay.”

I hobble to the logs and begin dragging them away.  Though I know Lurkers sleep during the day, a part of me fears we will move the boulder and come face to face with the wide-mouthed muzzle of one of them.  I try to force the worry to the back of my brain.  We need to wash, eat, and leave as soon as possible.  I do not want a repeat of last night.  I expect that they will be at our cave again tonight, but I do not want to lay eyes on a Lurker ever again as long as I live.  I shudder just thinking about their vicious faces.

June rushes to my side to help.  We clear the logs then roll the boulder to the side.  I peek out of the cave before taking a tentative step forward.  My eyes sweep the surrounding area.  I do not see any Lurkers, but I smell them.  The acrid stench of their urine fills the air and replaces the mossy, piney scent that normally greets me when I leave my home.  The Lurkers have ruined it.  They have marked the territory.  I fear the act guarantees their return.

June pinches her nose.  “Ugh!  It stinks out here.  What is that smell?”

“Pee. The Lurkers have peed all around the cave.  They’ve marked where we are so they can track the scent.”

“And come back,” June says somberly.

“Yes,” I whisper.  “I think they will be back.”

June’s eyes shine with unshed tears.  I feel like crying as well, but I do not dare.  I do not want my eyes to swell more than they already have.  I blink back the moisture feverishly.

“Come on,” I grip her hand.  “Let’s go get ourselves clean.  I don’t want to send the whole family scattering,” I say, trying to remind her of her joke earlier.

She smiles feebly and nudges my arm with her shoulder.

We make our way to the river.  The cool water feels good against most of my cuts and bruises.  I begin removing the bandages from my arm.  As I peel away the gauze pad, I see how raw and angry looking the tender flesh is where the skin tore from it when I pulled my arm free from the web.  I splash water on it and wince as soon as droplets touch the wound.  But I must clean it as best I can despite the agony it causes me.  I do not know what poison the spidery beast had running through its veins.  I was forced to spend the night with its vile fluid seeping into my pores.  I do not want it on me a moment longer.  I scrub my skin, all but the wound, with spongy moss until it is a rosy pink.  I scrub my scalp with my fingertips, then comb my fingers through the knots.

When I feel sufficiently purged of the web ordeal from the day before, I dress and make my way back to the cave.  June follows and is carrying an aloe leaf.  Before we eat, she cracks opens the fleshy gray-green leaf, careful to avoid its serrated edges and small white teeth.  She holds the opened side over my wound and allows its clear contents to trickle over the inflamed skin, then wraps it in a loose dressing.

“What about the ointment?” I ask her.  “Shouldn’t we use it?”

“No.  That is for cuts more serious than this,” she says and points to my forearm.  “Remember, Dad said the stuff in the tube is rare.”

I nod.  “Yes, that’s right.  You’re right.”

I am so proud of how calm and mature June has behaved.  For the second time, she has bandaged my arm and not recoiled from it.  I realize that perhaps I have underestimated her for too long.  She is handling the discovery of Urthmen not far from us in the forest, and the Lurkers marking our cave with their urine for an all but guaranteed return with more composure than I ever thought she possessed.

“I’ll get us the leftover boart meat while you check on the rest of your cuts and scrapes,” she says with a tight smile, then turns and sets about unrolling the strip of leather the cooked meat is packed in.

The meat is two days old, but June trimmed the thick chunks to thin slices and hung them on a tree branch.  When they’d turned dark and wrinkly, she placed them in the leather.  My dad once told us about preserving meat this way, but we never tried.  The idea of leaving meat overnight seemed too dangerous.  That danger seems trivial now in light of all we’ve been through.

Still, I hope we do not get sick from the dried boart meat as I inspect the gashes and bruises that litter my skin.  There are too many to count and range in color from purplish-red to bluish-black.  Now that I am clean, their colors are pronounced against my pale skin.  I find myself hoping that Will is not revolted by my battered appearance.  It should not matter, I know.  I am not going to the lake to be on display.  I am going to make a final attempt to urge his family to leave, to join us.  But a part of me that I do not quite understand can’t resist hoping he is not disgusted by me.

After a deep breath, I forego braiding my curly blonde hair that falls to the middle of my back as I usually do.  I allow it to cascade over my shoulders in hopes it will hide some of the more obvious welts on my upper body.  I turn toward June.  She has set out two crinkly, unappealing-looking strips of dried meat ready for me to eat.

“Wow, Avery.  I forgot how pretty you look with your hair down,” June says.

My cheeks warm.  “Thank you,” I say.  “I’m sure I will braid it once the sun is high, but figured I’d take your advice and try to hide some of my ugly bruises.”

June’s chest puffs out a bit.  She smiles wisely.  “Good.  I’m glad,” she says, and hands me my breakfast.  “Now let’s eat and get over there.”

The excitement in her voice is obvious.  I can understand why.  I am feeling as if countless bubbles are bursting inside me.  It amazes me that the night we had has not dulled our ability to feel enthusiasm, to feel hopeful.  But we do.

We dress in clean clothes and leave.

June is excited as we walk.  Her excitement radiates from her brightly and rivals the sun’s sickly rays that barely dribble from behind a bank of tattered gray clouds.  She has a bounce to her step.  She does not seem to want to stop chatting either.  She has so many questions about the family, questions I do not have answers to.  I find it hard to concentrate and am only partially listening.  My focus is elsewhere, preoccupied with every branch that shifts or leaf that rustles.  I search the woods for Urthmen, for boarts, and for webs made by giant spidery monsters.  My hand does not leave my spear at my back.  Anything could be stalking us.  I am nervous, jumping at every snap or crackle of wood.  June seems unbothered by my edginess.  She is likely oblivious of it.  She tells me what she will say when she meets Kate, Asher, Oliver, Riley, and Will.

At mention of Will’s name, my ears prickle and I tune in.  But she only brings him up in passing.  My focus returns to the surrounding forest.  The trees and bushes are bustling, teeming with critters I never bothered to notice.  Sounds of life abound.  They could easily dampen the sound of footsteps and I find myself feeling more vulnerable than usual.  Perhaps it is because June is with me, or perhaps it is because I know that these woods are overrun by Lurkers when the sun goes down.  Maybe the presence of Urthmen has destroyed any semblance of relaxed awareness I hunted and hiked with, or maybe it is the fact that there are monsters like the eight-legged creature I was almost eaten by roaming about that I have yet to see.  Maybe it is all of the above, conspiring together.  Regardless, I am more anxious than normal.  I do not feel the least bit safe.  And now June is with me, the person I worry about most.

Time passes quickly and we reach the stubby plant I have come to know and kind of like on the outskirts of the lake.  I crouch behind it and invite June to do the same.

“Oh, Avery, I’m so nervous,” June says as she squeezes her hands together.

Her words echo my exact sentiments.  Ordinarily I would not say as much, but things are different now.  I do not hold back.

“Me too,” I say.  “Every time I have come here, I feel like I am going to puke.  I get so jittery,” I admit.

“Really?” June looks at me incredulously.  “I didn’t know that.”

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know, I suppose,” I tell her and feel a pang of regret.  “I kept it all to myself for so long.”

I lower my eyes to the ground.  June reaches out and takes my hand.  She gives it a gentle squeeze.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says.

“I know,” I answer and wonder when exactly it was that she transformed and became this grown-up.

She lets go of my hand and her eyes lock on the lake.  I hear a high-pitched voice, the voice of a young child, then see Riley trot out of the cave.

“Get ready, June.  You’re about to see humans for the first time, other than me and Dad, of course.  Well, at least the only people you remember seeing,” I qualify my statement quickly.  “Take a look,” I say and stand up.

June stands beside me.  Her gaze travels down the gentle slope of the hill we stand on.  The broadest smile I have ever seen her wear stretches across her face when she sees Riley, followed by Oliver and Kate, make her way to the lake.  Riley dips her toe in the water, and Oliver comes up behind her.  He shoves her playfully and her entire leg is submerged.  She squeals and a sound catches in June’s throat.

I stop watching June from the corner of my eye and face her.  And what I see makes my breathing hitch.

June’s eyes are moist.  But for once, she is not upset.  Her eyes are glazed with tears of joy.  They overflow her lower lashes and trickle down her cheeks, glistening like morning dew on the petal of a flower.  I hear Will’s voice, but I cannot take my eyes off June.  She looks so content.  I have never seen her look as she does now.  I wish she could feel this way always.  I wish I could freeze this moment in time.  Seeing my sister, the only person I love on this planet, experience, pure unadulterated joy, is a gift I will not soon forget.

I continue to watch June, and then suddenly her smile disappears.  Her eyes widen and a mask of terror replaces her blissful features.  My head immediately spins toward the family, toward what she is seeing.  And when I do, my heart stops beating.

I see more than a dozen Urthmen clutching their clubs.  Their thin lips are pulled back over their pointed teeth as they streak with impossible speed toward Will and his family.

“No!” I scream.  My voice rips through the forest.  “They’re here!  Will look out!  They’re here!”

Will looks up.  He is watching me and I am pointing to the approaching Urthmen weaving through the trees that border the lake.

Will and the others look up, but by the time they see what I see it is too late.  Will starts shouting words I cannot hear over the pounding of my pulse in my head.  Asher turns to grab a spear and a nearby rock, and Kate unsheathes a blade from her thigh.

“Oh no, oh no,” June is repeating beside me.

I grip her shoulder.  “June!”  Her eyes are unfocused.  I worry she is in shock.  I shake her.  “June!  Please!  Get under that bush and hide.  Do not come out until I come to get you.   Do you understand me? They haven’t seen you.  You need to hide while I go help Will and his family.”  My words come out quickly, quicker than I can think.

“No, Avery,” June finally says.  “No.  Don’t leave me.  Please, you said you wouldn’t leave me again.”

She is right, but I have to help.  I cannot sit by while another family is slaughtered.

“I have to go,” is all I have time to say.

Understanding flickers in June’s terrified eyes, and I hope I never have to see the look of defeat, the brokenness in her gaze, ever again.

June scurries beneath the lowest branches of the bristly bush and tucks her limbs within it until she is no longer visible.  I race toward the lake.

As I rush, all sense of time and space leaves me.  My legs feel disconnected from the rest of me and the sounds of the forest fall silent.  I only hear the rush of my blood behind by ears and feel the weight of my weapons on my body.

Ahead I see Will hefting a large rock.  He is at the perimeter of the lake, where the Urthmen are pouring through, and catches one midstride.  He smashes the rock against the Urthman’s misshaped head and sends the unsuspecting attacker reeling backward with his face split open.  Will does not waste time.  As soon as the Urthman falls to the ground, he finishes him off with the stone.  He then grabs the Urthman’s club and turns to face the other two that are upon him.

My attention is pulled from Will to the smaller children.  Three Urthmen are descending on them.  I need to get to them.  I need to help.  Oliver is only a few years older than June, yet he is attempting to defend his sister, Riley.  He is armed with only a stick that he just picked up.  It is not sufficient to protect himself with, much less his sister.

I am less than fifty strides away but realize I will never make it in time to help.  Oliver will be pummeled to death, as will Riley.  I make a split-second decision and draw my spear.  I launch it midstride and watch without slowing as it pierces the air with a soft whistle just before it plunges in the center of the Urthman closest to Oliver.

The Urthman’s head whips in my direction, and for a moment, he is stunned silent.  He sees the lance sticking out of him and wails in agony.  He drops to the ground just as I reach Riley and Oliver.

I pull my sword from my scabbard and clutch it with two hands.  When the next Urthman advances, I cleave the air.  The metal meets flesh, my strike landing at his neck.  I follow through with the swing, bringing my blade down until it does not move any longer.  I pull it free with a grunt.  The Urthman is opened from his collarbone to his navel.  But I do not stop to watch him die.  Two more are coming at me.

“Run!” I shout to Riley and Oliver, but they do not budge.  They are frozen in place.  I have no choice but to shield them with my body.  I will not let them die.

The pair of Urthmen rushing me swipes their clubs at me.  I dodge both blows with dexterity I never knew I had, especially since my entire body trembles so hard it is a wonder I am even able to stand.  But I not only stand, I fight.  I feel as if the Urthmen are moving at a slower speed than I am, that I can see their actions with razor-sharp clarity and anticipate what they will do next as plainly as if they were my own thoughts.

When the Urthman closest hefts his club overhead to skull me, I drive my sword through his throat then yank it free and turn on the other alongside him.  His arms are at one side and his torso is twisted.  His midsection is unprotected, and is now my target.  With a cry that comes from somewhere deep inside my core, I grit my teeth and ram my sword straight through his gut, then wrench it free.  The Urthman calls out words I have rarely heard; words my dad called swear words.  He then drops his club and clutches his stomach.  As he falls to his knees, I bring my blade up and slash his throat.

My movements, though brutal, are necessary.  I do not regret them any more than I regret breathing or eating.  They are fluid and natural.  They are what I have trained for my whole life.  But despite my training, I realize that the ease with which I can kill and the swiftness of my reflexes are special skills.  I understand why my father had always been so shocked by my abilities, why he praised what he called my ‘gift.’  I always thought he was just complimenting me to get me to train harder.  I know now that he was simply sharing his thoughts about what he saw.  Fighting is instinctive to me.  It feels as if it is what I was born to do, that ridding the world of the hideous Urthmen is my purpose.

A flurry of movement in my periphery jerks my attention from the Urthmen I have killed to Will.  He is battling two that stormed him.  I contemplate helping him, but I am intercepted by my own set of Urthmen.  They both attack simultaneously.  I sidestep the first club but can’t avoid the second.  A club catches me squarely in the arm.  I cry out and evade a swipe intended for my head.  I twist and cut through air and slice open the arm of the Urthman that hit me then immediately sink my sword into the other’s heart.  But as I am retrieving my sword, a shadow crowds from behind.  My short life flickers before my eyes in quick, disjointed flashes.  And in a fraction of a second, I know I am about to meet my end, that it is too late for me to react.  I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for the blow of a club to strike my head but snap them open when I hear a scream, the scream of a young boy.  I spin and instead of having my skull cracked open, I see a spear tip protruding from the Urthman’s chest, my spear tip.

The Urthman falls, revealing Oliver standing there.  He is shaking and his breathing is short and shallow.  He pulled my spear from the Urthman I killed, the one that was about to butcher him and Riley, and used it to save my life.

“Thanks,” I say to Oliver. His eyes are wide and his mouth is partially agape as he looks over my shoulder.

I turn and see that Will has taken down one of the Urthmen he was fighting and struggles with the other on the ground.  My eyes travel and zero in on what has caused Oliver’s look of horror.

“No!”  I scream.  Kate is on the ground, and an Urthman swings his club overhead.  He drops it against her head, pounding her skull again and again.  “No!  Kate!” I hear myself screaming, but my voice sounds as if it is echoing from the end of a long tunnel.

Oliver is crying and mumbling words that, while not entirely intelligible, are familiar.  I am sure I have muttered them before because I have lived through what Oliver has just witnessed.  I want to hug him, but there isn’t time.  Asher has just killed one, but two more Urthmen are just about on him.  I take off at a sprint to help.

“Hey! Over here!” I shout to distract at least one of the Urthmen, but they do not look up at me.  Their gazes are fixed on Asher.  One wields the knife Kate used earlier in addition to his club while the other circles around, behind Asher.  I just about reach them when the Urthmen strike instantaneously.  One grabs Asher from behind while the other drives the dagger into the center of his chest.  Asher falls to his knees, an expanding circle of garnet staining his shirt.

“No!” Will screams. His voice tears through my veins and echoes through my soul.  He attacks the Urthman he was fighting against with reckless ferocity, ignoring the possibility of being hit himself, and boldly steps forward, swinging the club ceaselessly.  The club smashes the Urthman over and over until he collapses to the ground in a pulpy heap.  Will does not stop though.  He charges toward the two that just killed his parents.  I meet him there and fight beside him to avenge his parents’ deaths inasmuch as any death can truly be avenged.

Will’s eyes are wild and his pulse darts at the base of his throat.  I feel his fury.  I feel his anger and sorrow, the anguish coursing through his body like lifeblood.  I remember it.  I know it well.  It is a dark and ever-present companion of mine.  I let it fuel me and drive my sword as I carve the air horizontally and behead the putrid Urthman nearest.  Will waves the club expertly and bashes one of the last two remaining until he is reduced to a bundle of unrecognizable features.  But while Will vents some of his overwhelming suffering on the fallen Urthmen, another reaches him before I do and hits him in the back.  Will tumbles forward, but before the Urthman who raided him from behind can strike again, I drive my blade through him.  The Urthman falls to the ground.  I have killed the last of them that stormed the family at the lake, but I do not feel satisfaction of any kind that they are all dead.  Will parents were lost.  There is nothing to celebrate.

Will staggers to his parents’ bodies and drops to his knees. For the first time in many years, I hear another human being’s heart cry out.  Through sobs, Will says over and over, “Mom, Dad, no, please no.”

My breathing snags several times before I begin to cry too.  I know I do not have the right to cry, but I am powerless to stop the tears from falling.

Riley and Oliver join Will.  Their small bodies shudder as they weep.  No one should have to see what they just saw.  No one should have to live through what they just lived through.  Through my tears, I silently vow that if I ever find another family, I will do anything and everything in my power to preserve it.  The core of humanity is family.  Whether they are people we are born to or people we embrace along the way, family is the crux of human life.  And I will defend it with every last drop of blood that pumps through my body.

Armed with my newfound resolve, I turn and allow Will, Oliver, and Riley time to grieve.  I set about checking each fallen Urthman for any signs of life.  I plunge my sword in all of them for good measure.  I will not take any chances.

When I have completed my task, I call to June.

But June does not reply.

“June,” I try again a bit louder.

But still, she does not reply.  I do not hear her shuffle or see the woods stir.  I do not hear a sound, apart from the soft whimpers coming from Will and his surviving family.

Panic sets in.

I race toward the bush June was stashed beneath, and when I get there, my insides crystallize.

An Urthman has a handful of June’s hair, and he’s pressing the tip of my spear just below her ear at her throat.  Will runs up beside me.

“Drop your weapons, or I will kill her,” the Urthman orders.

“Please,” I begin to beg.  “She’s just a child.”

“I said drop your weapons, humans!” the Urthman shouts.

There isn’t a doubt in my mind that he will kill her regardless of whether I drop my weapon or not.  He will kill us all if given the chance.  June will die no matter what.  I must do something.  I will not let the Urthman kill her.

My mind scrambles for a plan.

I look off to the right of the Urthman, just past him.  “What are you waiting for?” I say to no one.  “Kill him! Cut his head off!”

The Urthman turns around to look behind him, and when he does, I only have seconds to act.  I pull my dagger from its sheath and hurl it at him.  It tumbles through the air end over end, and when he turns back to look at me, the blade lodges into his eye.  He releases June and my spear and drops to his knees, shrieking.

June dives into my arms.  I hug her tightly and mumble, “Urthmen are as stupid as Dad said they were.”

But June is uninterested in anything I have to say.  Who can blame her?  Will finishes off the Urthman and hands me my dagger just before his brother and sister rush to him.  They huddle and cry.  June is crying, and silent tears stream down my cheeks as well.

All of us have seen too much violence, too much death and destruction.  We have been left to fend for ourselves and survive against impossible odds.  But as I look around at our blended group, I feel an odd glimmer of hope spark inside of me.  I don’t know when or how, but I believe for the first time in my life that we will someday overcome the carnage and cruelty we were born into.

Chapter 13

I watch as Will transforms before my eyes.  I know he is grieving, that he is hurting in a way that cannot be expressed aptly.  But I see the change he is undergoing.  His posture straightens.  He extends his long, sculpted arms to Oliver and Riley.  They rush to him, fall into him, and he envelops them.  I see cords of muscle bunch and flex as he embraces them tightly.  The black sleeveless shirt he wears dampens from their tears.  He whisks away his own tears with the back of his hand, then turns and looks toward June and I.  His light blue-green irises glow brighter than when I saw them the day before.  Their color pales against the reddened whites of his eyes.  His gaze locks on me and the air suddenly leaves my lungs.  I don’t know why I feel this way and hope I am not falling ill.  I give him a small smile and watch as the sun-kissed skin at his cheekbones deepens in color.  I worry that I have embarrassed him by witnessing the raw emotions flowing between him and his siblings, or that perhaps my smile was misunderstood somehow.

I turn so that I am no longer facing Will and his brother and sister.  I do not want to intrude on the very painful, emotional moment he is sharing with them.  I also know that he is in the process of assuming a new role, that part of his change includes surrendering any semblance of a childhood or any shred of youth he ever held.  He is in charge now.  He is the person Oliver and Riley will turn to.  And he knows it.  He is being strong for them, comforting them, and putting on a brave face when he is sadder and more terrified than he has ever been in his life.

I just met Will, but I know him better than he thinks.  I know exactly what he is doing, what he is going through.  I have done and been through it myself.  I wish I could make it easier for him.  Losing a parent is bad enough.  But watching them lose their life is quite another experience, a horrendous one that will be branded in his memory forever.

“I feel so bad for them,” June whispers to me.  “What they went through, it’s just awful.”

June does not recall our mother being murdered by Urthmen while we watched.  She only remembers our father’s gentle passing.  She is lucky.  I can close my eyes and relive it all.

I do not share that detail with her.  Instead, I reply, “Me too.” Then add, “It is a terrible thing to watch your parents die,” with sadness so profound it causes my voice to falter.  “We will help them though. We will take them back to our cave with us and figure out a plan.  But no matter what, we will help them.”  I rub June’s back softly and she leans into me.  Her head whips toward Will and his siblings when Oliver’s voice rings out.

“No! I won’t calm down!  Those monsters killed Mom and Dad!” Oliver nearly shouts then breaks away from Will and Riley.  He races to the Urthman closest to us and kicks the corpse.  “I hate you!  I hate you all!” he cries.  Spittle sprays from his mouth.  He is sobbing and yelling at the same time.  He turns and picks up a good-sized stone.  He hoists it over his head.

But before he brings it crashing against the dead Urthman’s lopsided head, Will quickly covers the distance between them and circles his arms around Oliver, pinning his arms to his waist.  The stone tumbles from his grip and lands on the ground by his feet.

“It’s okay, Oliver,” Will says soothingly.  “Just calm down.  Everything is going to be okay.”

Oliver’s lower lip begins to quiver and tears pour from his eyes.  “Nothing is okay, Will,” he barely manages then turns and buries his face in Will’s midsection.

“I know, I know,” Will says and holds his brother tightly.  Pain is etched in his features.  Everything he is feeling is visible just below the surface of his expression.  I see it plainly and resist the urge to go to him and throw my arms around him, just as he is doing with Oliver.  My muscles twitch, urging me to take the first step toward him without my mind’s permission, but a gentle squeeze at my hand holds me back.

June’s small hand grips mine firmly for a moment then releases it.  I wonder whether she sensed my movement and guessed what I was about to do, or whether seeing firsthand what Will is going through with his brother and sister is giving her insight into what life has been like for me.  Either way I stay where I am and wait until the crying subsides before reminding everyone that we need to leave immediately.  About a dozen Urthmen stormed Will’s family.  I doubt they were acting alone.  More will follow.  I do not want to chance being ambushed out in the open as we are now.

I clear my throat.  “Uh, Will, I’m sorry to, uh, interrupt, but we need to leave as soon as possible.”  Will trains his aquamarine eyes on me and an odd quiver passes through my belly.  “They know we’re here,” I say of the Urthmen.  “There will be more.  The ones at the lake might even be part of a bigger team that split up.  They could be on us at any minute.”

Will’s dark brows gather.  His gaze hardens.  “No,” he says resolutely.

His refusal throws me almost as much as his expression.

“No?” I feel my features scrunch as they showcase my complete confusion.

“No!” he says heatedly.

Blood rushes to my face, and I am certain it is the color of a crimson rose petal.  “What do you mean no?” I ask and blink back the hot, unexpected tears searing the backs of my eyelids.  Does he have a sudden death wish?  And why does he seem so angry with me?  Each cell in my body is firing at once.  I do not know what he will say next, whether he will shout at me or speak sharply to me again.  I do not know why I care if he does or doesn’t, but I do.

“I am not leaving my parents here,” he says softly.  He features have smoothed.  He no longer looks as he did seconds earlier.  He looks vulnerable.

I feel the color drain from my cheeks.

“I won’t leave them here for Urthmen to take and put their heads on spikes,” he grits through his teeth.  “Or leave them here to be devoured by the creatures that come out at night.”

“The Lurkers,” I practically spit when I angrily mumble their name under my breath.

“The what?” Will shocks me by asking.

He heard me.  My head feels engulfed in flames.  I don’t know the technical name for the beasts that roam the woods when the sun sets.  I know what they were once called.  And I know what my father called them, what I still call them.

I shift uncomfortably under the weight of Will’s stare.  “We call them Lurkers,” I say and nod.

“Lurkers?” Will asks, and I wait for him to mock the name, to mock me.

“Yes,” I say, and twist the hem of my shirt with my hand.  I am waiting for him to tell me how idiotic the name is, how babyish and laughable it is.  I brace for it when he parts his lips to speak.

“Huh, makes sense, Lurkers, and I did figure that’s what you meant when you mentioned them yesterday.” He nods.  “They’re always out there in the night, lurking and waiting.”

I nod, awkward silence hangs in the air like a bank of fog.

“What do you call them?” June’s voice chimes like a bell.  She has not seen or spoken to another human being besides myself and my father in her entire life, yet she has better social skills than I do.  “Do you have a name for them?”

Will smiles the saddest smile I have ever seen.  His eyes are focused on a distant point.  “My mom and dad called them Prowlers,” he says with a hollow, cheerless chuckle.

“Sounds as if they thought like our dad used to think,” June says with respect in her voice that exceeds her eight years of life by decades.

Will’s gaze leaves its far-off focal point and lands directly on June before flickering to me.  “What happened to your father?”

I am unsure of whom he has asked, but I answer anyway.  “He passed last year,” I say and feel guilty for the strain in my voice, because while we did lose him, his death was a serene passing compared to the butchery Will and his brother and sister just saw.

“I’m sorry,” Will says with genuine remorse.  “What about your mom, is she,” he hesitates for several beats, “alive?”

I swallow hard.  I do not know how to answer his question without upsetting an already sensitive and sore situation.  I stare into the distance.  I take a deep breath, and then hear the words spill from me freely, gushing like blood from an open wound.  “She was killed by Urthmen.  She was pregnant and running with me and June in a tunnel beneath a village we used to live in with our parents and they killed her right in front of us,” I say in one breath.  I see it again, see the brutality in my mind’s eye as if it is happening in front of me a second time.  “She begged them not to kill her, begged them, but they showed her no mercy.  They did not care one bit.  She was nothing to them.  They killed her.  June was a toddler and I was holding her.  I saw it all.  I saw them beat her to death.”

I have let go of June’s hand.  My fists are clenched tightly at my sides, and my breathing is short and shallow.  I look up and see that Will is speechless and so is June.  I have never spoken of what happened the night our mother was murdered. Our father had told her what had happened, but I could never bring myself to speak of it.  I have held it inside me for years, bearing the burden of an unspeakable scar alone; until now.  Now was the most inappropriate time ever to suddenly feel the need to share, and I hadn’t wanted to.  The words rushed from me as if of their own accord.  I have had time to grieve.  Will, Oliver, and Riley have not.  Their parents were both just murdered right in front of them and they are reeling from loss and shock.  And I had the audacity to blurt out my sad story!  Perhaps it has been for the best that I haven’t met another human in some time.  I wish the earth would swallow me whole, or that I could disappear, disperse like grains of sand in the wind.  But I cannot do either.  I am stuck, left to stew in my embarrassing outburst.

Just when I feel as if I will die of shame, Will says, “I am so sorry, Avery.”

I want to shout that I am the one who is sorry, that he does not owe me words of consolation.  It is quite the opposite.  I have been through what he is going through and because of that, I should have known better than to open my big mouth.  I cringe and shake my head slightly.  His eyes are on me, and he sees it.  I know he does.  He sees how mortified I am.  June wraps both arms around my waist.  My body is slick with sweat and she feels like a hot rock plastered against me.  But I do not dare move.  I will not take the lead yet.

“We are going to go and bury my parents,” Will says solemnly.

“Would you like us to help?” June offers.  “Or would you like privacy?”

Again, I am astounded by her poise and tact.  She grows more amazing with each minute that passes.  I realize I have so much to learn from her.

Will smiles at June tightly.  “Thank you for offering to help, but I think Oliver and I can handle it.  But if Riley wants to stay with you, can she?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” June answers brightly without missing a beat.

Will turns to face Riley. “Would you like to stay here with Avery and June?” he asks.  “Oliver and I are going back to the lake.  We have to take care of Mom and Dad’s remains.”

Riley’s eyes are wide and frightened.  “I-I don’t want to see them as they are now.  I want to see them how they used to look,” she says through tears.  “But I want to stay with you.”

“Then I will carry you and cover your eyes and you can wait in the cave while we work,” Will says tenderly.  “Whatever you need me to do I’ll do, okay?”

Riley bobs her head and lifts her arms to him.  Will scoops her up.  “We won’t be too long,” he says before turning and going back to the lake.

When he is a far enough distance away and out of earshot, I drop my arms then slap my hand against my forehead.  “I can’t believe what a jerk I was,” I say with a groan.

“Avery, I don’t think what you said upset him.  If anything, knowing he’s not alone will help him.”

I hadn’t thought of that possibility.  I just assumed that my blabbing would have nothing but negative effects all around.  And while I am not totally convinced of June’s theory, I find it helpful.

“Maybe,” I say with the exact amount of uncertainty I feel.  “Still, I can’t believe I said all that.  I mean, talk about terrible timing.” I shake my head.

“Yeah, well, maybe the timing would have been better if you waited until later or tomorrow, but as I said before, I think you did more good than harm,” June says.

I am astounded and impressed by her wisdom.  “June, are you sure you’re only eight?” I ask in another unfiltered, random bout of blather.

June giggles.  It is a sweet sound that reminds me of when she was little.

I smile at her.  “After all you went through yesterday, last night, and today, I am amazed by how well you are holding up,” I admit honestly.

With shining eyes in a powdery-blue shade that rivals the sky on a clear day, she tips her chin and looks directly at me.  “I had a really great role model who taught me to deal with what life throws at me.”

“Yeah, Dad was pretty great, wasn’t he?” I think of how levelheaded he always was, how calm and in control he remained at all times.

“I am talking about you!” she says and smacks me on my arm lightly.  She stomps her foot then places both hands on her hips.  “Sheesh, don’t you even know how to take a compliment?” she asks me exasperatedly.

I am taken aback by what she has said.  “Me?  I’m the role model you’re talking about?”

“Yes, you dope!  Who else would I be talking about?  I was looking right at you.” She throws her hands in the air.  They land against her thighs with a slapping sound.

“First of all, where the heck did you get your temper from?  And second of all, I thought you were talking about Dad because I am not half the role model he was.  I kept everything bottled up forever, remember?  I was too afraid to tell you anything,” I say then add, “and I am not a dope.”

I wait for June to erupt and unleash the last few days’ worth of fear and anger on me.  But she does not.  In fact, her face is serene.

“You’re right,” June says.  Every bit of fire in her voice is extinguished.  “You are not a dope.  Not at all, in fact.  You are smart and strong and an amazing hunter and an even more amazing fighter.  You can do anything you set your mind to, Avery.  And you take good care of me.  All those things make you someone to look up to, the person I look up to and want to be like.”

My throat tightens and my eyes burn again, but this time they are not tears born of sadness or shame, anger or frustration.  This time, they are tears of gratitude, and pride.

“Thank you,” I say in an unsteady voice.

“No,” June says.  “Thank you.”

I allow a moment to pass between us as I blink feverishly and try to keep from crying.

“My pleasure,” I barely manage.

June smiles broadly then turns toward the lake.  I take a moment to compose myself and at the same time, scan the woods for any sign of Urthmen.  All seems quiet for now, but the day is slipping from us.  I did not realize so much time had passed.  Will and his brother and sister have been gone for a while, and June and I have been talking for quite some time.  Time feels as though it is ticking faster than ever.  We need to leave as soon as possible.  We need to hurry if we want to make it to the cave before the Lurkers come out.

“It looks like they are almost done down there,” June says quietly.

I breathe a silent sigh of relief.  I do not mean to be disrespectful in my thoughts, but the world we live in does not provide us time for anything.  We are always running from something horrible, hoping we are headed toward something that will bring us comfort and solace.  Moments of peace are rare and precious.  And they do not last long.

Will, Oliver, and Riley head up the hill with some of their belongings.  Their moment has ended, and a new one begins.

“Are you ready?” I ask Will.

“I guess so,” he replies after a deep breath.

I want to reach out and touch his arm and tell him that he will be okay, that his brother and sister will make it through this.  But now is not the time, and standing in the middle of the woods where Urthmen just struck is certainly not the place.

“All right then you guys can just follow us,” I say with a weak smile and wave them on.

We walk and backtrack the trail June and I traveled to get to the lake.  Our pace is brisk and I notice that Will is as vigilant as I am.  His eyes sweep the landscape continually.  The forest is filled with ordinary sounds.  Birds flit from treetop to treetop.  Leaves rustle, and squirrels and chipmunks scurry across our paths.  The only added sound is the pleasant lilt of June’s voice as she tries to make conversation with Oliver and Riley.

“Our cave is not huge or anything.  It is cozy.  And Avery and I have candles made from beeswax that we use at night.  She usually leaves them lit until I fall asleep,” I hear her say.

I strain to watch Will from the corner of my eye.  A tiny smile pulls at the corners of his mouth.  His smile becomes contagious.  I feel a similar one begin to make its way across my lips.  June has a charm about her that I never knew existed.  And how could I have?  We’ve been isolated for her entire life.  Her gift has been kept under wraps.  Now, though, as we walk and I hear her working her magic on Oliver and Riley, getting them to respond with tones that are remarkably upbeat considering their circumstances, I am blown away by her.  She is my new role model in that regard.  I will look to her when hoping for pointers on how to win them over and help them.

We continue at our hurried speed and June captivates Will’s brother and sister with her magnetic personality.  She has described our cave inside and out, has told them about the river we go to every morning and her incident with the boart that led to my incident with the mother boart.  I notice she is careful to leave out the part about me getting entangled and almost eaten by the spidery monster and the Lurkers that we barely escaped.  Neither Oliver nor Riley need to hear a story as disturbing as the one that unfolded last night.  Even I would prefer not to hear it.  The memory is just too frightening to relive. I can only hope that the Lurkers have moved on, that they don’t return again tonight.

When we reach what I believe is the halfway point of our journey, I slow and take a quick glance at the children.  The conversations have ended and the three of them look tired.  I look at Will and take my cue from his expression.

“I don’t know about everyone else, but I need to stop and rest my feet for a minute,” I say.

“Me too.  Who else is with us?” Will asks.

June, Oliver and Riley raise their hands.

“It is unanimous, I guess,” he says to me.

“Okay, how about we rest over there by those big flat rocks,” I say and point to a pair of stones that jut from the earth and are surrounded by bushes dotted with plump, yellowish-red berries.

The children do not need to be told twice.  They scramble for the opportunity to sit and beat Will and me there.  The three of them sit on one rock while the other remains empty.

Will sits first and slips the straps of his backpack from his shoulders.  He places it between his feet and looks at me.  My feet are throbbing and I want to sit, but the thought of being so close to him makes my insides tremble like leaves in a windstorm.  But exhaustion triumphs and I make my way to the rock slowly before sitting.

I notice his scent right away.  Unfamiliar but pleasant and welcome, I am suddenly filled with his musk-and-sunshine scent.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says and tears me away from the strange joy I am reveling in from simply sitting next to him.

I pause for a moment and need to remind myself what he is talking about.  I do not know why my mind feels so scrambled.

“I don’t know how to do what my parents did, you know?  I don’t know what to do for Oliver and Riley,” he says quietly.

“You did great back at the lake when Oliver was about to smash the Urthman,” I say and feel as though the sun is blazing down on me from overhead when it is not.

My clothes cling to my body.  My skin is suddenly damp with perspiration. My calves complain from trekking all day as I tuck one leg under my bottom.  I am suddenly very aware of Will’s close proximity.  He reaches for his backpack and unzips it.  As he does, his forearm brushes mine.  His skin is fiery against mine, unexpected and yet so deliciously welcome despite the fact that I am perspiring as though I have been running in midday summer sun.  I scoot aside ever so slightly, away from Will, for fear I will burst into flames if his skin touches mine again.  I am suddenly parched.  I reach for my canteen.

As my fingertips graze the hard exterior, my thirst burgeons.  I quickly open it and bring it to my lips.  Cold water trickles down my throat as I greedily gulp.  It is refreshing and cools me from the inside out.  Some dribbles from the corner of my mouth.  I try to whisk away the droplets with the back of my hand without Will noticing.  I glance at him quickly and see that he drinks from his water bottle, too, but is far more refined about it, sipping rather than swigging as I did.  When he finishes, he turns to face me.  He bends his leg as he twists his body and his knee rests against my thigh.   I feel heat bloom across my cheeks.

“How did you do it?” he asks.  “How did you care for June all by yourself for the last year?”

I consider his question briefly before answering.  “Truthfully, I have no idea.  I know that’s probably not the answer you want to hear, but I just woke up every morning and did it.  I rarely have a plan for anything.  I take one day at a time, and some days, it feels like I can only take one breath at a time,” I admit. I hope I have made sense and that I have not said too much.

“Yeah, I understand what you mean,” he says and looks directly into my eyes.

I am lost in the swells of pastel blue and green as they blend seamlessly and undulate like ripples on a still lake.  I have to remind myself to blink, to breathe.  The moment quickly becomes one that I can only take a single quivering breath at a time.  Words escape me and my heart plucks away at an unsteady rhythm inside my chest.

Will scrubs his face with both hands and the hypnotic spell of his eyes is broken.

“I just, I just can’t believe they’re gone,” he says and his voice cracks.  “One minute my family was happy and fine and the next. . .” He allows his sentence to trail off.

Sadly, I know exactly what he is talking about, what he is feeling.  “I know,” I whisper.

“The hurt,” he begins, but his ability to speak is strangled by loss.

My hand darts out, acting without the authorization of my brain, and touches his forearm.  His skin looks exactly as it feels: rich, almost velvety.  He is hurting, suffering, and I know that my thoughts about his skin and the fact that I am touching him is inappropriate, but I am inexplicably powerless to stop myself.  I want to comfort him, but do not know how.  Words of consolation do not exist in the English language for what he and his brother and sister have been through.

He looks at my hand on his arm then to my face.  Heat zips like a laser beam from his eyes to my cheeks and sets them afire.  I start to pull my hand away and am shocked when his long, slender fingers cover my hand and keep it there.  My pulse quickens and a peculiar rush similar to hope gushes through my veins.

“How do you work around it?  How do you get through it and take care of June?  Right now I can’t imagine anything other than how I feel right now.”

His grip on the top of my hand tightens and I worry that when I try to speak, my words will come out in one breathless jumble.

“It wasn’t easy,” I say honestly.  “I mean, after seeing my mom,” I cannot say the word “killed.” I clear my throat and continue.  “I still had my dad.  But once he passed we were on our own.”

Will lowers his head.  “Oh,” is all he says feebly.

“You will figure it out.  You’ve already started.  I saw it back at the lake,” I say.  “And I will help any way I can,” I add.

He lifts his chin and looks at me.  “Thanks,” he says and offers a small, pained smile.  He looks to the sky and I follow his eyes.

“It’s getting late,” I comment on the position of the sun.  “We’re only about halfway to our cave.”

“I guess we should get going,” Will agrees.

He releases my hand.  I withdraw mine and delight in the puzzling tingling in my fingertips.  He stands and turns to me.  Golden light sluices through the forest canopy and kisses his deep-tan skin, illuminating his lustrous eyes, making both glow with unearthly radiance.  Even his rich, dark hair has scattered highlights.  He offers his hand to me and I take it unquestioningly.  He helps me up.  I did not need help, but the feel of his hand wrapped around mine again is welcome.  Once I am on my feet he releases it, but not before giving it a slight squeeze.

“Okay guys, we need to start walking again,” he tells Oliver and Riley.

I nod to June.  She stands and we resume our hike back to the cave.  I lead the way and Will picks up the rear.  The sun is dipping lower with every minute that passes.  Dusk will be upon us before we know it.  We must hurry if we want to avoid another massacre, one that none of us will survive.  I am all too aware of the danger threatening all around us, Urthmen, Lurkers, both seem unavoidable.  But as I walk knowing Will is behind me, my thoughts remain divided, split between the endless hazards that menace us continually and the endless possibilities of a future with our new friends.

Chapter 14

When finally we make it to the cave, Oliver, Riley, and June are exhausted.  Will and I killed a rabbit each on the way home and roast both quickly before putting out the fire and settling inside the cave for the night.  I show Will the boulder and logs and how the boulder fits perfectly against the mouth of the cave and how it is wedged in place by logs that extend to the far wall.  He seems impressed by our security system.  I used to be.  But after the night June and I had with the Lurkers screeching and hissing as they scratched at the boulder, I am not so sure anymore.

June has lit the beeswax candles and served dinner.  We eat in silence, then the children, June included, lie beside each other.  June wants to hear about Will, Oliver, and Riley’s lives before they moved to the cave by the lake.

“Where did you live before finding the cave by the lake?” she asks.  “Are there others out there, other humans like us?”

“Yes, there are,” Will begins speaking.  “Remember the people we met?” he addresses Oliver and Riley, prodding their memories.  His rich, deep voice fills the space.  His brother and sister nod.

“We’ve met quite a few different people along the way,” he says.  “Remember Calyx?” he says to just Oliver.

Oliver shudders as if bugs are crawling over his skin and says, “Oh yeah, how can I forget her?”

“Calyx was an old woman who lived underground with her daughters.  They had survived attack after attack somehow and found us when we were out hunting.”

“I screamed.  She looked like a girl Urthman,” Oliver adds.  His expression is grave.  “She had only one eye that worked and it was droopy.  Half of her face was like that.  The other eye was all cloudy-looking and whitish.  It rolled around and never focused.”  Another tremor shakes Oliver, and he crinkles his nose as if he has smelled something unpleasant.  Will shoots him a stern look and Oliver’s features smooth instantly.

“That’s true,” Will says.  “She had an unusual look about her.  So when Oliver saw her, he started screaming.  My mom and dad came running, ready to kill her, but her daughters rushed to help her.  We saw them and realized they were human and that the old woman belonged to them.”

I look at June.  Her eyes are wide and her mouth is shaped like a small ‘o’.  She looks captivated by Will and Oliver sharing a tale of other human beings living in our midst.

“What happened next?”  June asks.  “Did anyone get hurt?”

“No,” Will answers and rakes a hand through his short hair.  “No one was hurt.  My parents lowered their weapons and they all greeted each other.”

“What about Calyx?” June persists.  “Weren’t her feelings hurt because everyone mistook her for a female Urthman?”

A chuckle passes through Will’s lips, an amazing sound I want to hear again.  “I don’t think so,” he says.  “We didn’t tell her what we thought.  We kept our initial opinions to ourselves, especially after seeing her daughters.”

“Oh wow,” June says dreamily.  “That is so great.  What about the daughters?  Were they beautiful?  They must have been,” June says.

A strange sensation washes over me at her words.  I feel agitated and threatened for no reason.  I feel a blend of anger and sadness at the thought of Calyx’s daughters being beautiful, or more specifically, of Will thinking they are beautiful.  I do not know what has come over me, why it would matter if he did or didn’t.  My fists are balled in my lap.  My nails are biting into my palms.  I am waiting for Will to agree or disagree with what June has said with the same eagerness I anticipate a meal.

“Uh, no, not exactly,” Will says uncomfortably.

“Yuck!  No way!  Tell them the truth, Will,” Oliver chimes in impishly.  “They looked just like their mother: old and scary!”

“Ollie, it’s not nice to speak about people who were nice to you, to all of us, like that,” Will says levelly and trains his gaze on his younger brother.  The mischievous twinkle that sparkled in Oliver’s eyes dulls and his shoulders slump.

I am relieved that Will did not find the women attractive and I am proud of how he handled Oliver’s expression of his opinion.  He was calm but firm.

“Sorry,” Oliver says sheepishly.  “And please don’t call me Ollie.  I’m not a little kid anymore,” he adds and sounds exactly like June.

“Okay,” Will agrees.  “I won’t call you Ollie and you won’t speak unkindly about others who aren’t here to defend themselves.  Deal?”

“Deal,” Oliver agrees.

“So there are three more humans in the forest?” June says excitedly and steers the subject back to Calyx and her daughters.

A gloomy expression clouds Will’s features.  “Calyx and her daughters are,” he starts then pauses.  He clears his throat before he continues.  “They did not make it.  They were killed in an ambush.”

June’s hands rocket to her mouth and cover it.  “Oh my gosh,” she says.

“We weren’t there when it happened.  We had left for the day to hunt.  When we came back the place had been stormed by Urthmen,” Will says through gritted teeth.  “That’s been the case with everyone we’ve ever lived with.” He looks at his feet.  “I guess we’re bad luck or something,” he adds weakly.  His shoulders hunch forward, he looks defeated.

“I don’t believe that,” June disagrees adamantly.  “You are not bad luck.  And besides, we don’t need luck.  We are all safe with Avery here,” she says proudly.  “Avery is the best fighter there is.”

I feel Will eyes bore into my skull and I am afraid to turn and look at him.  A bead of sweat trickles between my shoulder blades when I hear him speak.

“I know she is.  I have never seen anyone fight quite like her,” he says to June but continues to watch me.  I see him in my periphery.  His eyes are the sky and treetops combined and bathed in a pale glow of sunlight, and they are on me.  He and my sister are talking about me, about something that comes as naturally to me as breathing, yet I am so unsettled by it I could jump right out of my skin.  “Where did you learn to fight like that, to swing a sword and throw a spear?” he asks me directly.

I turn to face him slowly.  My cheeks are burning, but the rest of me feels ice-cold.  “My dad,” I say quietly.

“Your dad must’ve been some teacher,” Will says.  He studies my face.  “I have never seen anyone with skill and speed like yours.”

I squirm uncomfortably.  As June knows, accepting compliments is not my strong suit.

“She was better than our dad by the time she was fifteen,” June offers.  “Avery has a gift.”

I would like to melt into the stone of the walls and floor I am so embarrassed.

Will is still watching me.  “Yes, she certainly does,” he says then looks to June.  “I think you’re right.  We are safe here.”  He smiles at June, and she returns the gesture with a sunny smile of her own.

“Tells us more stories,” June urges him.

“Yes, Will, please tell us stories Mom and Dad used to tell,” Riley says.  Tears slip down her cheeks and I slide June a glance.  June puts a comforting arm around Riley’s shoulders.  Riley nuzzles against her, and I realize in that moment that June’s gift goes beyond bloodshed and violence.  It transcends butchery and war.  Hers is so much more important, and not just to me, but to the world.  She represents all that our present world lacks.  She is kind and decent.  She has an open heart and a capacity to love that I never even knew existed.

“Okay, let me see,” Will begins.  “Once upon a time, people, humans, ruled the Earth.  They lived in houses and the adults went to places called jobs and children went to places called schools.”

I look to June again.  She is watching me with a mysterious glint in her eyes.  Perhaps it is because she has heard me tell similar stories, or perhaps it is something else entirely.  I am too tired to figure it out right now.  I am enchanted by Will’s voice.

“School was a place where children would gather.  They would learn their letters and numbers and sometimes even play together.  One grown-up would teach them to read and write and ready themselves for the future.”

“Teachers were important people,” Riley says then yawns.

“Yes, they were,” Will smiles at her affectionately.

He continues telling them about school and jobs and the order that once existed in our disordered world.  Before long, June’s eyelids grow heavy.  Will’s voice flows smoothly.  His cadence is as soothing as floating on a gently rolling river.  It has lulled the children, and one by one, they drift off to sleep.

I am left alone with Will.

We clean up any remnants left behind from dinner and straighten the new gear he and his siblings have brought.  Once everything is organized and put away, I unroll my sleep mat next to June.

“You’re tired?” he asks quietly.

“I should be, but I’m not,” I admit.  Having him in the cave with me, so close by, I doubt I’ll ever be relaxed enough to sleep.  “How about you, are you tired?”

“No, I guess I’m like you.  I should be exhausted, but the thought of sleeping right now seems impossible.”

“Huh,” I say awkwardly.

Will walks away from the sleeping children and leans against the far wall, exactly where I spent all of last night awake.  He slides down until he is sitting.  I am suddenly self-conscious of the fact that I am now standing alone, hovering over my sleep sack.  I do not know what to do.  I do not know whether he wants company and wants me to come and sit beside him or whether he wants to be left alone with his thoughts.  I have messed up once today, when I blurted out that I watched my mother be killed by Urthmen back at the lake.  I do not want to do it again.  I do not want to offend him on his first night without his parents, away from home and at our cave.

“Want company?” I ask stiffly and steal a nervous glance his way.

“Yes, please,” he answers sincerely.

My heart stutters a moment while my brain commands my legs to move.  I walk on shaky legs to where he sits and take a seat beside him.

“Okay,” I say as candlelight flickers and dances across the smooth stone walls of the cave.  I am thankful for the dim light for once.  My face is flushed, I am sure.

When I am seated beside him, he turns his body to face me.  As he does, his knee grazes my thigh then rests there, his skin touching mine so lightly it send chills racing over my flesh.  “I can’t believe that this day actually happened.  None of it seems real,” he says.  “I mean, I know it really happened, but I guess I keep hoping it is just a bad dream, a nightmare I’ll wake up from.”

I wish I could wake him and tell him it was all just a dream, a horrible, vivid nightmare.  I wish I could make it all go away and take away his pain.  But I cannot.  Life isn’t that simple.  Nothing is easy in our world.

“I am sorry, Will,” I say.

My words are so minimal.  They seem so empty on the surface.  But I mean them, all of them.  I am truly sorry for what he and his siblings have been through.

“Thank you,” he says.  “Thank you for warning us right before it happened, and for saving Oliver and Riley.” He pauses and swallows hard.  His voice is gravelly when he begins talking again.  “What you did was brave, braver than anything I’ve ever seen.  You risked your life for us.  Without you, we would all be dead.”

The starkness of his statement strikes me like a slap in the face.  He is thanking me profoundly, genuinely, yet all I can think of is the last sentence he spoke.  I’ve only known Will for a less than a day, but the thought of losing him terrifies me.

“You’re welcome,” I say when I realize an awkward amount of time has passed.

I want to say more.  I want to tell him I worried for him and his family for two days, that I am so happy to have them with me, but I cannot.  He is suffering, grieving the loss of his parents who were taken from him in the most heinous fashion imaginable.  I have lived through it.  I know what it is like to feel as if a raw, ragged hole has been punched in my chest.  I wish I could fill it for him, heal him.  But I do not possess the power to do so.  Instead, I smile as warmly as I can and try to silently share the sympathy I feel for him.

Will parts his lips and is about to speak, when a horrible din peals through the quiet of the cave.

I know the sound.  The sun has set.  Night has fallen and the Lurkers have returned.

Hissing and howling clashes with a snarling noise that sounds like the wet slopping of one animal feasting on another.

Will’s face is haunted when he looks from the boulder to me.

“They’re here,” I say.  “The Lurkers are back.”

“Back?  They were here before?” he asks incredulously.

“Yes, last night,” I say.

“You slept though this last night?” he asks and is clearly rattled by the unnerving shrieks and calls.

“I stayed awake all night, afraid they would get inside the cave,” I say and look at June.  She stirs then opens her eyes.  Her head shoots up frantically.

“No, no, no,” she cries.  “They’re back.”

Oliver and Riley wake as well.  They begin to cry.  Between the crying children and the incessant yelping outside, the cave is flooded with harsh, discordant sounds.  I am overwhelmed.  My insides tremble.  My nerves are frayed.  I feel as if I cannot withstand another moment of the loudness.

Just when the noise becomes deafening, Will shushes everyone.

“Please, everyone be quiet for a second,” he says.  The children stifle their cries, reducing them to sniffles and small gasps.  And when they do, I hear what he heard over their tears.

A clanging sound echoes and grows louder and louder, closer.  My head whips toward him and his features mirror mine.  Dread drags them down, taking any hope for safety and a good night’s sleep with it.  The Lurkers not only regrouped before their return, but they’d also formulated a better plan.  They are trying to get inside.

“Oh my gosh,” Will breathes.  His eyes are locked on mine.  He is looking to me for answers I do not have, chief among them: What do we do now?

After a moment of chaotic, panicked thoughts, I do exactly what I did the night before.  I assume my post beside a log and June joins me.  She rests her head on my lap and I cup her ear with one hand, stroking her hair with the other.  The act soothes both of us slightly, but I know eventually she will fall asleep.  Will watches me, then gestures for his brother and sister to follow suit.  They drag their sleep sacks to him and place their heads on his legs.  He covers their ears and begins humming.  I have never heard the tune he hums, or any other tune for that matter, but the sound he creates is comforting.  I focus on it and try to block out the cries and clangs of the Lurkers.

Will and I spend the night upright with the people we love closest to us.  We do not talk.  We do not need to.  The glances we exchange at the deepest point of the darkness covey more than thousands of words can express.

When the sound has finally stopped, my ears are ringing.  My legs are numb and I feel Will’s head resting against my shoulder.  I am achy all over, but happy he was with me, that I was not alone while in charge and experiencing the awful sounds.

I carefully slide June to the floor in hopes of letting her sleep a little while longer.  But her eyes snap open.

“It stopped,” she says groggily.

“Yes,” I say.  “It is morning.”  I point to the faint threads of light seeping in.

“We made it.  They did not get in,” she says.

“No, they didn’t,” I say.

Not this time, they did not, I think.  But they might tomorrow, or the next day.  It is only a matter of time.

I do not share my thoughts.  June and the others have been through enough.  Besides, I think Will knows as well as I do that we have not heard the last of the Lurkers.

Riley and Oliver stir and Will’s head leaves my shoulder.

“Are we alive?” Riley asks.

“Yes,” Will answers and smiles at her tenderly.

“Why don’t you guys lie down for a bit?” I suggest.  “I need to move the boulder and make sure everything is safe before we go to the river and wash, okay?” I tell the children.

Will nods in agreement.  “I’ll help,” he says and stands.

I stand too.  My body feels kinked and gnarled as we make our way to the boulder.  We both crouch to reach it, a movement that makes every muscle in my body complain.  Will is strong, stronger than I am by far.  We move the boulder with ease and cautiously step outside.  The stench of urine is potent as my eyes scour the once-comforting landscape beyond my home of stone.  I notice deep holes have been dug all around the entrance and small fragments of rock are littered everywhere.

My heart begins to hammer and the situation comes into stinging clarity.

“Will, come with me,” I say.

He hears the urgent edge to my voice and becomes alarmed.  “Help me,” I say as I grip the boulder.  “Help me turn it so I can see the side that faces out.”

He and I grunt and labor until the boulder is turned enough for me to see exactly what I feared had happened.

An enormous crater has been chipped away on the surface of the rock, the part that faces outside.  The clanging we heard last night was the sound of Lurkers chipping away at the only solid defense we had.

“They’ve chiseled a hole in the boulder,” Will says.  Terror creases his face.

“And they will keep chiseling until it shatters.  They will be able to get to us in a matter of days,” I say.  “We cannot stay here anymore.  We are not safe.”

“Where can we go?” he asks.  Desperation laces his words.  “We’re dead by nightfall if we are still in the woods without shelter.”

“Maybe we should leave the woods,” I say, though I cannot fathom life beyond the walls of green I have called home since I was June’s age.

“We can’t.  It’s not possible.  There’s nothing for us out there,” Will says and points toward the skyline where the sun has just begun to peek over the horizon.

“I don’t think we have another choice,” I say.

I turn and look at the three small faces that have gathered near us then to back to Will.  Oliver, Riley, and Will are now mine and I am now theirs.  We are a new, blended family, and even though we are not bound by blood, we are bound nonetheless.  I know a new chapter of my life is about to begin.  I know now that other humans are out there.  I feel the need to find them, to band together and grow our numbers.  To do that, we will be forced to venture out into a hostile world ruled by beings who seek to end our existence entirely.  We will face Urthmen, if we make it out of the forest.  And I don’t know how we will survive the night.  It is likely we will not.  We might be ambushed by packs of Lurkers before our feet ever touch asphalt.  But I do not see another option.  I cannot simply sit passively and wait to be executed, clubbed to death by an Urthman who’s infiltrated our sanctity, or torn to shreds and eaten by a Lurker.  I cannot stay and wait to die, not with three new people added to my life, people I will give my life to keep alive.  I will not fail.  I will not surrender June, Oliver, Riley or Will’s life to any creature.  It is time to leave the meager safety of the woods and risk creating a life together on Planet Urth.

About the Authors

In early 2010,  Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed.  To date, the jury is still out.  But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mom of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book, together!”  Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool, and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer simply stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years.  After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them had possessed for much of their young adult lives.  Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success.  They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot would fall apart, or characters would lose their zest, or the story would just fall flat.  Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance.  Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued alternate (paying) careers.  But the dream had never died.  And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination.  When he proposed that they author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright.  His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night.  By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

The Dark Creations series, as well as the Arianna Rose series, the Planet Urth and the Hunter of the Light series, are works that were written while Jennifer and Christopher continued about with their daily activities and raised their young children.  They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section.  Life simply continued.  And in some ways, their everyday lives were reflected in the characters of each series.

As the storyline continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration.  Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped, and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing.  They hope that all enjoy reading their work as much as they enjoyed writing it.

Books by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci:

The Dark Creations Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1&2)

Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3)

Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4)

Dark Creations: Hell on Earth (Part 5)

Dark Creations: Dark Ending (Part 6)

The Arianna Rose Series (A paranormal romance series)

Arianna Rose (Part 1)

Arianna Rose: The Awakening (Part 2)

Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3)

Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4)

Arianna Rose: The Gates of Hell (Part 5)

The Planet Urth series (A YA science-fiction/futuristic series)

Planet Urth (Book 1)

Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2)

Planet Urth: The Underground City (Book 3)

Planet Urth: The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4)

Planet Urth: The Fate of Urth (Book 5)

The Hunter of the Light series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Hunter of the Light (Book 1)

Thank You So Much For Reading Our Book!

We deeply appreciate your readership and would love to hear from you!

For information about upcoming releases (or just to say hi!) please visit our website at http://darkcreationssaga.com or at http://on.fb.me/1dlUUF5

Thank you again for reading!

Love,

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Oh, One Last Thing Before You Go…

When you turn the page, you may be given the opportunity to express your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter automatically.  If you enjoyed our book, would you take a second to click that button and let your friends know about it?

If they get something out of the book, they’ll be grateful to you, and we will be, too!

Thank you so much!

Love,

Jenny and Chris

Arianna Rose

A novel

By Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

ARIANNA ROSE (Part 1)

Published by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Copyright © 2012

All rights reserved.

First edition: October 2012

Cover design by Indie Designz http://www.indiedesignz.com

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

The sound of tires screeching on pavement sliced through the silence of Lily Andrew’s house like a high-pitched scream wailing in the wind.  Piercing and shrill, the shriek cautioned from beyond her room.  Seconds earlier she’d slept, nestled comfortably in her bed, dreaming peacefully.  Now, however, she stirred, and concern crawled within her, rousing her from sleep.  She lifted her head, rubbed her eyes groggily then opened them briefly.  The world appeared fuzzy, as did her thoughts.  Slumber summoned her and her eyelids closed several times.  Returning to the dream she’d been having seemed like a far more inviting prospect than getting out of bed and inspecting what was likely a neighbor returning from a night of too much partying.

She was about to let her head fall back against her pillow and ignore the skidding sound she’d heard, as well as the faint worry that whispered through her body, when she realized her room was bathed in light.  She glanced at her alarm clock.  It read 3:30 a.m., too early for the sun to have risen.  Yet, white light poured through her curtains like molten steel and blanched everything around her.  She sat up immediately, alarmed, and jumped out of bed.  The preternatural glow disoriented her, but she managed to cross her room on unsteady legs to her window.  Once there and concealed by her curtains, she peeked out beyond the pane into the blinding light.  She squinted against it and her eyes watered, but she was able to make out an image.  Her breath caught in her chest when she saw that three large black SUVs blocked her driveway and faced her house with their headlights left on.  Her mind began to swirl, exhaustion and confusion conspiring against any form of reasoning.  What she was seeing did not make any sense.  But something prickled inside her, a feeling or sense warned her to get her parents and leave.  She did not know what the vehicles were there for, but did not hesitate a second longer to consider it.  She ran out of her bedroom down a long, narrow hallway to her parents’ bedroom and pounded on their door twice before rushing in.

“Mom, Dad! Wake up,” she said but they did not move.  “Mom, Dad! Come on!” she tried again and tapped their feet.

“What, what is it honey?” her father asked, his voice thick with sleep.

“Are you sick?” her mother asked drowsily.

“There are people here!” she said with urgency.  “Get up, now!  Three black SUVs are blocking the driveway with the lights on.”

Just as she finished her sentence, the sound of glass shattering was followed by thunderous pounding and wood splintering.  It sounded as though the front door had exploded.   Both of her parents sat upright.  Lily’s body jerked as though she’d been struck by a bolt of lightning, and deep within her, intuition cried out for her to flee.

“What the hell?” her father said and sprang out of bed.

“Call the police!” her mother said and moved to stand beside her.

Her father stood and gripped the phone in his hand.  He began to dial and she watched his features transform from worried, to horrified.  His complexion paled and his mouth formed a hard line.  Her stomach churned and he didn’t need to tell her the line had been cut.  His face had said it first.  “Damn it! There’s no dial tone!”

Lily felt as though her legs would give way beneath her.  The feeling inside her that warned seconds ago screamed now, and demanded that she heed it.  Her body began to tremble.

“No dial tone?” she asked and felt tears begin to well.

“No!  It’s dead! And my cell phone is downstairs!  Shit!”

“Mine’s in my room.  I can get it,” she said but did not trust her legs or courage to carry her there.

“There’s no time!” her father said.

“We need to stay together!” her mother ordered and clasped Lily’s hand between her own.  She felt calmed by her mother’s touch, but only briefly.

Heavy footsteps stomped decisively through the downstairs hallway and began ascending the staircase.

“Oh my God! What’re we going to do?” she panicked.

“The window!” her father said.  “Out the window!  It’s our only hope.”

Lily felt a tug at her hand, and her mother pulled her toward the window.  She looked out.  Her parent’s bedroom overlooked the backyard.  The landscape was usually a picturesque scene of lush greenery, of serenity.  Normally, she would see a meticulously mowed lawn sprawling and stretching to a verdant tree line that marked what looked like an endless forest beyond.   But she did not see any of that now.  The rich, vibrant hues of green that usually colored her yard had been paled, faded to a sickly silver-gray shade.   Stony moonlight cast a ghostly pallor and allowed her to see that her backyard was not as it had been left hours earlier.  And there were people milling about.  Her heart thundered in her chest as she saw nearly a half-dozen men moving by the scant ashen light of the Moon, as well as the headlamps of the SUVs, piling branches and brushwood around a tall wooden stake.  They moved somberly, but with purpose, in the dusky dimness and lent the perplexing scene gravity and darkness.  Lily felt her mother’s hands release hers and watched as they shot up to her mouth.  Her mother gasped.

“Oh my God,” her mother breathed.  “Jim, in the yard; look what they’ve done in the yard!”

But her father never had the opportunity to see what she and her mother had seen.  A torrent of black swept into the room, a flurry of blurred shapes that moved in a coordinated but hurried manner.  Lily heard the scream escape her lips as she saw them enter.  Her father did not have time to turn toward the window or react.  They moved too quickly.  Men, all large and dressed in dark clothing, descended on them like a tide of blackened ocean.  They surged into the room with ski masks pulled over their faces and advanced without breaking stride.  The men grabbed both of her parents.

“Mom! Dad!” she cried and felt hands yank at her wrists.  She lurched backward and nearly fell.

The world began to spin.  Her mind filled with disjointed incomplete thoughts, whirling and revolving faster and faster.  She desperately wanted, needed, to anchor herself to a coherent thought, something concrete; something that made sense.  But nothing made sense.  She heard her parent’s voices shouting.  They sounded as if they were calling from the end of a long tunnel.

“Take your hands off my daughter!” her mother shrieked.

“Who are you?” her father demanded. “What do you want from us?”

“Just let our daughter go!” her mother pleaded.

None of the dark figures answered.

“We don’t have any money or valuables!” her father argued.

“We’re not here for either,” a calm voice said from the doorway and sounded far closer and clearer than any other.  The spinning in Lily’s mind slowed considerably, albeit inexplicably.  But her heart pounded more rapidly, speeding dangerously at the sound of the man’s voice.  His voice flowed smoothly in a deep, rich baritone, the cadence as soothing and lulling as floating on a gently rolling river. Yet, it did not make her feel at ease in the least.  To the contrary, the feeling inside that warned when she had awoken and continued to warn, though blindsided seconds earlier, began to rage against it, presaging of imminent danger.  She and her parents were being held against their will, and something about the man in the doorway, something about his demeanor, terrified her more than the men holding them.

With her mind no longer spinning and her thoughts sharpened, she looked to the entryway, curiosity mingling with terror, to see the person whose serene voice had set off a firestorm of fear and aversion deep within her core.  A tall sinewy shape filled the frame.  He wore dark clothing like the others, but instead of a mask, a large hood covered his head and obscured his features.

“Is this her?” one of the men that held her asked.

The man with the hood approached her slowly, his gait deliberate.  She could not see his eyes, but felt them on her, burning her skin like acid.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” her father yelled, but the man remained unfazed.  He kept walking until there were only inches between them.  Lily’s heart knocked dangerously fast against her ribcage and tears streamed from her eyes.  Each breath she took was short and shallow; she had never been so afraid in all of her sixteen years.  The man did not speak right away.  He loomed over her with his body so close to hers she could feel the heat radiating from it.  He smelled of pine and musk, and she felt sickened by the scent.  He raised his hands and she flinched, certain he was about to strike her.  Only he did not.  Instead, he lifted his hands to his head and pulled back his hood.  She inhaled sharply, involuntarily, at the sight before her.  Beneath the hood, he was monstrously disfigured.  Deeply pitted flesh in shades of brown, pink, gray and angry red spread out in a horrific network and covered his entire face.  His skin was puckered and charred, his features consumed completely by what looked like burns.  His lipless mouth remained in a perpetual snarl and his ears seemed to have melted to his skull.  He stooped to look at her and she recoiled in fear.  He glowered at her with sunken, slate-colored eyes that had neither eyelashes nor eyebrows, yet managed to convey intensity with their stare.  The hatred he radiated for her was palpable.  But the reason for his hatred of her remained a mystery; she did not know why.  She had never seen him before, would have surely remembered his face.  And if she survived this encounter with him, she was positive his features would be indelibly etched into her memory, for it was the content of nightmares.  With him so close, she struggled to move, to breathe even.  Every part of her, including her lungs, had frozen.  He looked like a demon, a beast that had risen from the depths of hell.

“Yes, yes,” the demon man hissed and ran his tongue over his bared teeth.  “She is one of them,” he said then he reached a hand into his jacket.  Before she knew what was happening, a deafening blast rang out.  She saw the muzzle flash, but did not realize a gun had been fired until she saw her father fall to the floor.  Her mother opened her mouth to cry out, but the words never formed.  She was silenced by bullets to her head.  Lily collapsed to the floor, every part of her trembling and teeming with emotion.

“No!” she screamed; her voice shrill and foreign to her own ears as she looked at the image before her.  Her parents lay in an expanding pool of blood on their bedroom floor.  Her mind began to spiral, plunging headlong deeper and deeper into a blackened abyss from which there was no escape.  Dark, velvety oblivion beckoned her with welcoming arms and numbness.  She heard a flurry of voices and fought the seductive swell of shock.

“Why did you kill her parents?” a voice questioned.  “Was that really necessary?”

She watched blearily as the demon man unsheathed a knife from his belt and slashed at the air with astounding speed.  The man whom she presumed had spoken dropped to the floor beside her, his throat slit in a long arc below his jaw.

“Does anyone else wish to question God’s will?” the demon man asked.  “He who harbors the devil’s minions will suffer God’s wrath.”

He waited for someone to respond and Lily felt herself fall to the darkness until the man’s voice rang out again.  “Grab her and follow me!”

She felt both of her arms being tugged by two separate people.  Her eyes scanned the room and landed on her parents.  She began to scream and thrash, but the men who held her did not react.  They dragged her down the stairs, through the hallway and out the sliding glass door to her backyard.  She fought and kicked, but was powerless against them.  They were simply too strong.  Her mind no longer tried to succumb to the void though.  Something else entirely began to happen; something primal and inexplicable began to rise within her.  What she saw beyond the glass of the doors sent it coursing through her veins like electricity.  She saw a group of men clad in hooded cloaks.  They held crudely fashioned crosses made of branches and chanted verses that were unintelligible.  They stood and had formed a circle around a tall, wooden rod with brushwood piled beneath it.  She recognized what it was immediately and cried out, “No! Please, no! No!” But no one responded to her pleas.  They hoisted her up atop the twigs and began tying her to the pole.  The circle opened and the chanting silenced briefly as the tall man with the burnt face entered and approached her.  The circle closed around him.  He held a torch in his hand.

“Please,” she begged.  “Please don’t!”

She watched in horror as he pulled a lighter from his pants pocket and lit the combustible end of it.  He held it close to the kindling and said, “Where is she? Where is the One, the Sola?”

“Sola?” she managed in a shaky voice.

“Do not play dumb with me, witch!  The only one; the one who walks alone!”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she cried.

“Liar!  You know exactly who I’m talking about.  She is the sole prophet, the darkest one among your people, witch,” he spat.  “She has been here; I can feel her.”

Lily had no idea what he was talking about, why he rambled on about such nonsense.  All she knew was that he was a murderer, an insane murderer who had killer her parents, tied her to a stake and intended to burn her alive.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I-I’m not a witch! And I don’t know anyone named Sola!”

“Very well, then.  Have it your way!” he said and threw the torch at the brushwood.

The dried branches caught fire immediately.  She felt her bare feet begin to burn as flames licked at them, writhing and blistering, reaching up her ankles and calves searing her flesh.  She heard herself whimper in pain, blinding white-hot pain.  The man watched her face and seemed to relish in her agony.  She saw her own face reflected in his cold, pale eyes.  And rage began to fill her, rage unlike any she had ever felt.  A strange sensation crept up the length of her spine and spread out from her core to her extremities.  She knew the flames had engulfed her thighs; that the fire had reached her waist, but she no longer felt its heat, or the pain.  The unfamiliar sensation had etched away at it.  She looked up into the eyes of the demonic looking man, and a glow of red in her irises was mirrored in his.  Crimson light blazed from her eyes.

“We all see it now, witch.  Evil has shown its true face to us,” he said and attempted a cruel smile.

Lily let his words fall to the flames with her body.  The fire engulfed her fully, yet she felt a sense peace overtake her.  Death embraced her.  Consciousness slipped away, escaped slowly.  The sadness and anger she’d felt earlier dissolved into obscurity along with the ethereal scarlet glow of her eyes.  Her body had been reduced to ashes, but her spirit had been released.  Fear, pain, misery and rage dispersed like cinders into the night sky.

Chapter 2

Arianna Rose looked around the cramped mobile home she and her mom stood in and groaned.

“You can’t be serious, Mom,” she said.

“It’s fine baby.  We’ll be fine here.  It just needs a little sprucing up is all,” her mother replied.

“If by sprucing up you mean set on fire than yes, sprucing up is exactly what this place needs.”

“Don’t be so negative, baby.  We’ll make this place a home in no time.”

She knew that making the dumpy trailer “a home” was her mother’s code for picking up a man at the nearest bar and making him a regular fixture in their living room.  The thought of yet another scotch-soaked suitor setting up camp with them made her stomach turn.

“Yeah Mom, I know what you need to make this place a home.  And I’m sure you’ll find Prince Charming at the dive we passed on the way here.”

Her mother raised her brows and feigned insult.  “Don’t you talk to me that way, girl,” she began.

“Oh save it, Mom,” Arianna said and effectively ended her mother’s halfhearted attempt to reprimand her.

“Give me a smoke, will ya?” her mom asked.

Arianna reached a hand into her black canvas bag and dug out a pack of Camel Lights and a lighter.  She took one out for herself and one for her mother.  She watched as her mother lit her cigarette with impossibly long, hot-pink nails.  Arianna often wondered how her mother managed to do anything with her artificial claws, much less ignite a lighter.  But she did, and with surprising dexterity.

Arianna smiled and cocked her head to one side.  Her mom loved to smoke, so much so she closed her eyes and tipped her head back as she puckered her lips and inhaled.  Each crease around her mouth deepened as she did so, yet her expression remained one of sheer bliss.  She left her eyes closed while she blew out ribbons of opaque smoke.  Once the ritual had been completed and the first drag had been taken, she opened her eyes and raked her hand through her dry, dyed blonde hair.  Her hair remained back where she’d pushed it, positioned in place like hay with styling product added to it. The metal bangle bracelets on her wrist clanged together softly as she dropped her hand to her side.

“Yeah, we’re gonna be just fine here, baby,” her mother crooned.  “You’ll see.”

“Oh I’m sure we will,” she replied and lit her own cigarette.  She did not indulge in the same dramatic routine as her mother, but the infusion of nicotine into her bloodstream did improve her mood a bit.

“You have everything you need for school tomorrow?” her mom asked.

“I guess so,” Arianna answered.  “I really wish I could have finished out my senior year back in Rockdale, though.  At least I knew a few people there, had a few friends.”

“Oh don’t start in on me about that now, okay?  Haven’t I been through enough with the whole Carl thing?  Haven’t I hurt enough without you giving me shit too?  I was shamed out of Rockdale.  Do you know what that was like?”

She saw her mother’s eyes begin to well with tears.  She did not want to risk making the blue mascara and eyeliner that rimmed her tear-filled eyes run, so she decided to let her mother off the hook on the subject of relocating during her final year of high school for the moment.  She shifted the conversation, instead, to a more pressing matter at hand.  Namely, the run-down trailer that reeked of mold and a sour stench she could not quite place.

“Speaking of shit, this place is a shithole.”

“Shithole or not, we would be on the streets if it weren’t for your Uncle Eddie.  No thanks to Carl, of course.”

Her mother ran her hand through her hair again and instigated the bracelets a second time.  Arianna found her good mood souring along with whatever had rotted in their new home.  She’d had enough of her mother’s self-pity for one day and decided to remind her that Carl’s decision to evict them had not been on a whim.

“Mom, he found you screwing his cousin on a lawn chair.  What did you think he’d do?”

“Well, I don’t know what I thought he’d do.  But I didn’t think he’d kick us out, that’s for sure.”

Ordinarily, she would never have let anyone else get away with saying something so ignorant, but she genuinely believed her mother lacked the ability to think any situation through.  It was as if her mother has stopped developing mentally somewhere around her sixteenth birthday, that adulthood had eluded her entirely.  Arianna’s mother, Cathy Rose, never considered consequences, especially where relationships were concerned.  She acted on impulse, was self-indulgent, and prone to fits similar to a two year-old baby’s tantrum.  She loved attention – preferably of the male variety – and drank too much, but she was the only mother Arianna would ever have.  And for that reason, she let a lot of stuff go.

“We passed a Safeway on the way here with a Help Wanted sign in the window.  I’m gonna drive by there and pick up some hair dye for my roots and some stuff to clean this place, and maybe see if a manager is around so I can see about the job.  You can start unpacking your stuff.  I’ll help you unload it first.”

Her mother disappeared out of the trailer to their car.  Arianna stubbed her cigarette out on the sole of her boot and looked around.  She dreaded unpacking.  Time and experience had taught her that no home was permanent.  Just as she’d get settled in a new town, her mother would decide that the relationship she had been in had to end.  And they would have to leave.  The same story played out each time.  The only thing that changed was the zip code.  Now, she was in a new town called Herald Falls in New York and she could almost hear a timer initiating the countdown until they left for another town, and yet another miserable trailer.  Until then, though, she would have to deal with the current one.  Reluctantly, she turned from the dismal display before her and walked to her mother’s car.  Two boxes waited for her stacked neatly.  Her mother had passed her and brought one to the trailer.  Three egg boxes they’d gotten from a supermarket held every belonging Arianna owned.  Her life had been condensed into three egg boxes.  The thought made her chest ache, but only briefly.  She never allowed herself to wallow more than a moment.

“Ya got those, baby?” her mother called out as she opened the driver’s side door of her ancient and decrepit Toyota Camry.

“I’m fine, Mom.  Go get your hair dye,” she called back.  But her mother couldn’t have possibly heard.  She had already closed the door and waved absently as she preened in the rearview mirror.  Arianna rolled her eyes and made her way through the small living room and even smaller kitchen to a narrow hallway that ended with her room.  She dropped the boxes she was carrying and opened the one on top.  After moving a few leather-bound albums, her hand felt a plastic scented-oil warmer.  She pulled it out and searched for an electrical outlet to plug it into.  When finally she found one, she shoved the prongs of the warmer into it.  The vanilla oils began to heat immediately and contend with the odor of mildew.  She breathed in the warm scent and began removing her possessions.

She took folded clothes and placed them in the squat dresser that had been left behind by her Uncle Eddie’s previous tenants.  The dresser had water ring stains on the surface and more splintering chips in it than she could count.  But the drawers slid in and out smoothly, a feature she was grateful for.  Her last one would fall off its track half the time and fell out of the dresser completely the other half the time.  Any dresser, or no dresser, was an improvement from the last she’d had.

Unpacking her clothes did not take long, and what little she had fit nicely in the small bureau.  With that done, she turned her attention to the bed, if it could even be called that.  The sleeper more closely resembled an oversized window seat, and she wondered whether it would be long enough for her to stretch out and sleep comfortably in.  She sat on it and crinkled her nose as the smell of sweat and feet rose from it.  Before she would attempt to lay in it, she would need to borrow one of her mother’s old comforters to cover it and stifle the stench.  She stood and slid the last two boxes in the far corner of the cramped room and set about inspecting the rest of the trailer.  Overall, it wasn’t dramatically different from her last.  The trailer her uncle owned and allowed them to stay in for the time being, the one she now lived in, was much smaller and smellier than the last, but the layout was nearly identical.  Of course, one major selling point of their current trailer was that it lacked Carl and his many friends and family members who visited at all hours of the night in varying states of inebriation.  But she was confident her mother would remedy his absence with a new string of frequenters.  She was sure that in no time she would stumble home after a work shift and several cocktails at the local dive bar with someone new.  All she could hope for was that the new clown was a mellow drunk as opposed to some of the angrier, more aggressive types she’d encountered along the way.  Angry, aggressive drunks who sought to enjoy both her mother and her had taught her at a young age that she needed to arm herself when she slept.  She remembered her knife and quickly returned to her room and took it out of the bottom box.  The hilt was slender and the blade lightweight.  It fit perfectly in her hand, familiar and comforting like an old friend.  It, like a friend everyone should have, had saved her many times.  She removed it from its sheath and stared at the silvery blade.

In it, she saw an image of herself, distorted, but her, nevertheless.  She looked different from most girls her age, harder.  She did not opt to bleach her hair as her mother did.  And she did not have her mother’s fair skin and blue eyes either.  In fact, she did not resemble her mother in the least and guessed she looked like her father, whoever he was.  Her deep brown hair fell in pin-straight panels around her face to her shoulders and was all the same length.  Her eyes were nearly the same color as her hair and her complexion was olive rather than peaches and cream.  She lined her eyes with charcoal-colored makeup and preferred to wear black as opposed to the candy-colored rainbow her mother favored.

Arianna was nothing like her mother.  She promised herself years ago that she would never allow herself to be vulnerable and at the mercy of a man.  And if she ever decided to have a child, she would wait until she was older and more settled, and certain she could provide for it.

Settling down and having children were distant, obscure possibilities.  School, however, was definite.  In less than twenty-four hours, she would enroll at yet another school.  Her eighteenth birthday had passed three days earlier and she was sure she would be one of the oldest students in her grade, and likely the newest to the school.  But the months would fly by as they always had, and before long she would do something else her mother had never done: graduate from high school.  After high school, she wasn’t sure what she would do.  She quickly sheathed her knife again and tucked it safely in her boot.  She would place it under her pillow as she had every night for the last eight years, and it would accompany her to school the next day.

The sound of tires kicking up gravel in front of the trailer distracted her from her brooding.  She looked up and realized the room had darkened considerably, that the sun had set some time ago.  A rumbling engine outside meant that her mother had returned.  Her mother had been gone for several hours and had likely found her way to the local watering hole.  Arianna paused a moment in her room and considered going out to greet her and share a smoke with her, but the sound of a male voice followed by her mother’s laughter changed her mind.  She froze where she was.  Her mother did not like to be alone, and Arianna never liked the people she kept company with.

“Baby, come out and meet a new friend I made in town,” her mother called in a slightly slurred voice.  “We got fried chicken!”

More giggling ensued, both her mother’s and the mystery man’s, and Arianna decided to ignore her mother and forgo dinner.  Hunger would be a welcome alternative to sharing a meal and part of an evening with another of her mother’s loser suitors.  Instead, she shut the door to her tiny room, and the world beyond it, and prepared for her first day in a new school.

Chapter 3

The alarm clock radio beeped incessantly until Arianna reached a hand out and silenced it with a smack.  She stayed in bed for several seconds and allowed her eyes to scan her room.  Morning sunlight did little to brighten it by any definition of the word.  The effect was quite the opposite, in fact.  Water stains on the ceiling were more visible, along with the overall yellowness of the walls.  But the condition of her room was the least of her concerns.  She needed to get up and start a new school.  And she needed to slip into the bathroom without encountering her mother’s overnight guest.  She doubted either of them would be awake.  They had stayed up until the early morning hours and, judging from the noise level of their partying, had imbibed plenty of liquor.  To be safe, she hurried and picked an outfit from her dresser: a white tank top with a cropped black T-shirt that hung off her shoulder to layer atop the tank top and a pair of black, stretch skinny jeans.  She accessorized with several hoop earrings that went up her earlobe, a thick-banded wristwatch and her favorite black motorcycle boots.  Her boots were the most expensive article of clothing she owned.  They were genuine leather, steel toed, and her proudest purchase, second only to her motorcycle that waited on the trailer’s porch.

Her motorcycle, a used 2009 Kawasaki KLR 650, had been purchased seven months earlier with money she’d saved working after school and summer jobs.  The three-year-old bike was the closest she’d ever come to owning a new one.  She loved to ride, had caught the fever for it when she was twelve.  A boyfriend of hers had a dirt bike, a KX 80, and had taught her to ride.  As soon as she had become comfortable with the mechanics of operating it, she had fallen in love.  Everything about riding had enticed her, the feeling of freedom, of speeding on two wheels with nothing between her and the world around her, going where cars couldn’t go.  Her relationship with her motorcycle-riding twelve-year-old boyfriend had ended after a short time, but her love affair with riding had just begun.  When she had turned sixteen and had gotten her driver’s license two years earlier, she had bought her first bike, a used CR 250.  Not surprisingly, her mother had not protested her purchase, as any decent parent would have.  To the contrary, she had celebrated alongside Arianna when she’d finally saved enough money to buy it.

Arianna shook her head remembering her mother’s unorthodox reaction to her choice of transportation and took a final glance in the mirror.  She supposed most girls in her position would have started a new school with a new outfit, but new clothes were a luxury she simply could not afford.  The clothes she wore were neither new nor expensive.  But they were clean and she had paid for them herself.  Such details may have been lost on another, but were held as small victories in her mind.  They gave her a degree of confidence and pride she would not have had otherwise.

Dressed and armed with her smidgen of self-confidence, she stole out of her room and crept to the bathroom to brush her teeth and hair.  Once she’d finished in the bathroom, she peeked out beyond the door into the living-room area and saw a man sprawled out on the couch.  She shook her head and was about to slip down the hallway and out of the house when she heard a voice whispering in her ear.

“Funny, I didn’t remember him havin’ boobs last night,” her mother whispered and Arianna jumped.

“Shit mom!  Are you trying to kill me?  You’re like a ninja or something sneaking up like that.  Shit!” Arianna’s heart pounded.  She’d assumed her mother would be in the living room or her bedroom, not right beside her.  It took a moment to compose herself before she laughed at her mother’s comment.

“So, he didn’t have boobs last night, huh?  Looks like he’s got a pretty generous set now,” she said and giggled.

“I know.  His are bigger than mine,” her mother said and cupped her own breasts.

“Mine too.  How much did you drink last night?”

“Enough to free willy in there,” her mother said and laughed.  “The guy’s a whale, get it?”

“Yeah Mom, I get it,” Arianna said and took a few steps closer to get a better look.  The man slept in a white undershirt with matching yellow crescents under each armpit.  His belly was large and round and he did have what appeared to be breasts.  The few hairs he’d had been combed and stretched across his scalp in a feeble attempt at concealing his bald head.

“Oh Mom, I think this one’s a keeper,” she said sarcastically.  “You should marry him.  I see my future father in there.”

“Oh shut up, you little wiseass.  This is not my proudest moment.”

“No, no it’s not.”

“What should I do?  He can’t stay here.”

“For starters, take a shower.  Don’t forget to bring your cell phone in, and lock the bathroom door.  And when he wakes up, tell him you have an early appointment and you’ll call him later.”

Her mom paused and seemed to mull over the advice she’d given her.  The time she’d spent coaching her mother had cost her time she would have spent eating breakfast.  Her stomach rumbled and reminded her she had skipped dinner the night before.  If she hurried, she would have time to stop at a gas station and grab a roll.

“That could work, baby!  What would I do without you?” her mother asked and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.  “Where are you off to so early?”

Her mother had clearly forgotten it was her first day at a new school.  A night of heavy drinking often caused her memory to lapse.  That and what little common sense and good judgment she had generally expired.

“School, Mom, I start school today,” she replied.  “And I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.”

“Oh, good luck, baby!  I’m sorry I forgot.  This has all been so hard on me.  I can’t seem to keep a thought straight in my head.”

“It’s okay.  I’ll see you later,” she said.

She turned and walked down the hallway, past the sleeping man.  She grabbed her backpack that rested against the inside wall by the front door and headed out.  Her motorcycle leaned against the trailer with her helmet affixed to the back.  She slipped her arms into the straps of the backpack and put her helmet on.  Then she straddled the bike and started it.  The Kawasaki engine purred and she felt her pulse rate quicken.  She enjoyed few things in life, and riding was one of them.  She revved the engine twice, released the clutched and shifted into first gear with her foot.  With a slight twist of her wrist, she felt wind in her face.  She rode, enjoying the openness of the county roads, for more than ten minutes before she reached the gas station that skirted the campus of her new school.  She ran in and grabbed a roll and paid.  She ate most of her breakfast quickly then continued to school.

She supposed she should have felt butterflies in her stomach, or nerves of some sort.  But she didn’t.  New schools were old news.  She did feel like having a cigarette.  Twelve hours had passed since her last one and her body was craving nicotine.  Most schools were smoke-free campuses, but as she rode down the driveway, she did not see any signs indicating her new school was as well.  She parked her motorcycle in a side lot and noticed that there were many ordinary cars.  Interspersed among the ordinary cars, though, were many luxury ones as well.  Mercedes, BMWs, Land Rovers and Porsches, all shiny and new looking, popped up frequently and made the normal cars look like jalopies by comparison.  Arianna hadn’t seen a nice neighborhood when she and her mother had entered town.  Hers certainly wasn’t.

She wondered where the fancy mansions that belonged with the equally fancy cars might be as she lit her cigarette.  Just as she filled her lungs with smoke, the first bell rang.  She was the only person in the lot and leaned against her bike, but she noticed that groups had gathered near the main entrance and slowly started to disband.  She figured she ought to start walking and make her way inside.  Surely, a meeting with a guidance counselor would be on her agenda, as well as a tour, compliments of a student council delegate.

With thoughts of guidance counselors and tours filling her thoughts, she began climbing the wide concrete steps.  As she did so, she noticed a group of boys watching her.  Dressed in collared shirts and chinos, they looked preppy, and rich.  She stared back with her cigarette dangling from her lips.  All of them looked away, except one.  With exceedingly bronze skin, light-brown hair and bright blue eyes, he looked like a designer clothing catalogue model or a playboy who would be more comfortable helming his yacht than attending high school.  He stared at her in a way that irked her so completely, she contemplated walking up to him and punching him right in his smug face.  But she did not want to get kicked out of school on her first day.  Not again.  So she decided to let it go, to ignore his scrutiny.  She took a final drag of her cigarette and heard a voice.

“Man, I’d like to go slumming and tap that ass someday,” preppy yacht boy said as she was about to pass him.

Still, she refrained from punching him, but chose instead to casually flick her cigarette at his face as she walked by.

“Holy shit!” he shrieked and ashes, some lit, cascaded down his expensive-looking shirt.  He frantically tried to brush them off and left charcoal smears in their wake.  “What the fuck?” he whined and sounded like a girl.

“Dude, you totally sounded like chick just now,” she heard one of his friends say and they all laughed at him.

She tossed her head back, laughed loudly and kept walking.

Inside, the hallway was lined with students, most bustling at their lockers gathering books, while others lingered and chatted.  A few girls looked in her direction, but looked away quickly.  Arianna was not shy about making direct eye contact with people who eyed her.  She’d been told many times that her stare was lethal.  While she doubted anyone had been killed by it, she felt confident that at least a few had been withered by it.

Her eyes roamed about from the faces of students to room numbers.  She was looking for the main office when a pert blonde placed her face in Arianna’s.

“Hi there!  Are you Arianna?  You must be because I’ve haven’t seen you around here before, and I know everyone,” she said in one breath and eyed Arianna’s clothes disapprovingly.  Arianna caught the not-so-subtle look and bristled immediately.  She also couldn’t help but notice how the girl’s smile curled up at the corners of her mouth, and did not reach her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m Arianna.”

“I knew it!  I’m Cheryl Charles and I am your official tour guide,” she began and flashed her insincere smile.  Arianna repressed the urge to gag.  “I am the Vice President of the Student Council here at Herald Falls High.”

“What, I’m not important enough to get the President,” Arianna joked and watched the phony smile sag.  Clearly, her joke had been lost on Cheryl.

“Well, I suppose I could speak to Principal Wood and get the President here if I’m not good enough for you,” Cheryl said snippily.

“It was a joke, Cheryl.  I was just kidding, relax,” she said levelly.

“Oh,” Cheryl said and smoothed her lavender blouse.  “I see, well, ha, ha then.  Very funny,” she added narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips.

“Hey no need to get all worked up.  I was just trying to break the ice.”

“I am most certainly not worked up,” Cheryl screeched indignantly.

“Of course not,” Arianna muttered as a man approached.  He wore a tweed blazer with elbow patches and had gray hair parted neatly and plastered to one side.

“Good morning Cheryl,” he said in a gravelly voice then turned to Arianna.  “I’ve never seen you before.  Who might you be?”

“Mr. Wood, this is our new student, Arianna Rose,” Cheryl said in a suddenly syrupy voice.

“Nice to meet you Mr. Woods,” Arianna said and offered her hand to him.

“It’s Wood, not Woods dear.  Wood, W-O-O-D, no ‘s’; Wood,” he corrected her.  Cheryl smirked triumphantly and Arianna used just her middle finger to scratch an imaginary itch on the bridge of her nose.  Cheryl got the message and gasped.

“Are you okay Cheryl,” Mr. Wood asked.

“Yes sir, I’m fine,” she sang.

“Very well, then.  Miss Rose, I will see you in my office after the tour and introduce you to our counselor Mrs. Gallagher.  She can help you with your course schedule et cetera.  Good day Miss Charles,” Mr. Wood said and turned on his heels to leave.

“Let’s get this over with,” Cheryl said in a tone far different from the saccharine one she’d used with the principal.  “I have more important things to do than be seen with you.”

“Oh and I want to be seen with a preppy little bitch like you?” Arianna said testily.  “Go.  I think I’ll manage without you.”

Exasperated, Cheryl handed her a map and several other sheets of brightly colored paper.  “Here.  Suit yourself.  Good luck.  I’m out of here!”

“Sounds good to me,” she replied and watched as Cheryl started to walk away.

Cheryl stopped abruptly and turned, wearing a snarky smile on her face, “If you go straight down this hall and take the first left, you’ll see a door.  On the other side of it, you’ll find people who are more your kind,” she said and eyed Arianna from head to toe.  “You know, the trashy kind that really don’t belong here.”

“Excuse me?” Arianna asked.  “What did you just say to me?  Did you just call me trashy?”

“I think you heard me just fine,” Cheryl said icily.  “I would get closer and say it right in your ear, but I don’t want to catch something from you.”

Incensed, Arianna fought to keep her tone calm.  She took several steps and stopped just inches from Cheryl. “You’re about to catch something from me right now, bitch,” Arianna hissed and stared into her eyes.

Cheryl’s face blushed deeply and she recoiled from Arianna, shrinking back a few paces.

“I’d back up too if I were you,” Arianna added.

Cheryl refused to meet Arianna’s gaze and opted instead to stare at her feet before marching out of sight.  Arianna simmered as she watched her walk away and decided she needed a little fresh air.  Left alone with her map, she decided to take Cheryl’s advice and step outside for another cigarette.  After her interaction with the student council Vice President, she needed it.  She figured she had at least half an hour before she needed to report to Mr. Wood-without-an-s’s office.  That left plenty of time to smoke and visit the ladies room.

She continued down the hallway and took her first left and stopped at a pair of doors.  She opened one, but wedged a rock in the hinge so that she wouldn’t be locked out.  A single step led to a clearing surrounded by trees.  The treeline looked afire with rich fall colors.  Leaves in varying shades of red, orange and yellow blazed against the azure sky.  The scene would have been enjoyable, relaxing even, if she hadn’t been so annoyed by the Cheryl incident.  She sat on the step, took out her pack of cigarettes and her lighter and was about to light up when someone called to her.

“What’re you nuts!  Don’t light up there.  You’ll get suspended,” a male voice said.

“God, is that you?” she said and laughed.

The voice laughed as well then added, “I’m serious.  This is a smoke-free campus.  You don’t want to do that.”

“Funny, I didn’t see any signs,” she said and rolled the flint of her lighter.  Before the flame touched her cigarette, she caught sight of a figure near one of the trees.  “Oh shit, I guess it wasn’t God after all.”

She couldn’t see him clearly, but was able to make out that he was tall and dressed in dark clothes.

“Why don’t you save yourself from getting the boot from this dump and join me over here?” he said.

“What do you care if I get kicked out?” she asked.

“Huh,” he replied.  “I guess I don’t.  Good luck,” he said and disappeared.

Arianna couldn’t explain why, but felt compelled to meet the person who’d warned her.  She stood, slung her bag over her shoulder and walked across the grass to the tree he had stood near.  She looked behind it, certain she was at the right one, but saw no one.  She turned around and scanned the clearing.   As far as she could tell, she was alone.  She placed the cigarette she held between her lips and lit it, all the while wondering where the darkly dressed figure had gone.  She looked from left to right a final time as she exhaled a cloud of opaque smoke.  She fanned it with her hand, despite being outside.

“Looking for me,” the now-familiar male voice said behind her.

She spun, startled, and said, “Shit! Another ninja!”

“Ninja?  What?” he asked confused.

“Nothing; never mind,” Arianna said and waved her hand dismissively.

“Okay,” he said.  “You’re new here?”

“Yep, today’s my first day.”

“Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, be in class or something?”

“I’m supposed to be getting a tour from Cheryl Charles.  But we didn’t exactly hit it off so she gave me this,” she showed him her map then added, “and sent me on my way.”

“Lucky you.  Dodging Cheryl Charles is a good thing.  Prissy little bitch,” he spat.

“How could you say that about your esteemed Vice President?” Arianna said sarcastically.

“You’re funny.  I like that.  My name’s Luke by the way.”

“Arianna,” she said.

“Arianna, that’s different.  Pretty, but different,” he said and lit a cigarette of his own.

“Thanks.  So where should you be right now?”

“Uh, that’s a good question.  Art class, I think.  I go so infrequently, I’m starting to lose track.”

“Are you a senior?”

“Yep, for the second year in a row,” Luke said and bowed.

“Ha!” Arianna added.  “I got left back too, but in first grade.”

“No elementary school story here, just cutting class and attendance bullshit,” Luke smiled.

Arianna liked his smile.  His smile was mischievous and pleasant; his entire face smiled, in fact, right up to his gray-blue eyes.  But his smile dropped almost immediately.

“Drop your cigarette,” he ordered her.

“What? Why?” she asked.

“Principal douche bag Wood just passed in that window,” he pointed to a large window on the building.  “He never comes out here.  How much you wanna bet that bitch Cheryl told him to check out here?  Come on.  Let’s get out of here,” he said and took her hand.

She allowed herself to be led, liked the feel of his hand around hers.  He walked quickly and navigated a labyrinth of trees and low-growing brush.  The strip of woods was narrow and they arrived at a grassy clearing which led to the front parking lot.  He let go of her hand once they were on the grass and Arianna felt inexplicably disappointed.  She was not the type of girl who fawned over guys.  She didn’t dare indulge in extravagances like teen romance and crushes.  She was all too familiar with what men did to vulnerable women.  And she did not allow herself to be vulnerable.

“We should be fine now.  I doubt he saw us, just that there were two people standing by a tree.”

She sighed.  “Well that would have been a record for me, getting kicked out of a school on the first day before I even made it to my first class.  My mom would have had an excuse to tie one on,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Sounds like our moms are a lot alike,” Luke said and surprised her.  She didn’t think he’d heard her.  “Mine goes from shitty boyfriend to shitty boyfriend with a glass of whiskey in one hand and joint in the other.”

“Shit, we should send them out together, my mom could be your mom’s sloppy wing man,” Arianna laughed.

Luke laughed too but stopped when he looked up.  Arianna followed his eyes and saw what he was looking at.  She was tall and thin with platinum-blonde hair.  She wore heavy eye makeup and a tight miniskirt that showed off nicely shaped legs.  And she glared in their direction.

“I gotta go,” Luke said and didn’t take his eyes off the mystery blonde.  He turned to her suddenly and added, “It was nice meeting you, Arianna,” then jogged toward the glaring blonde.

Arianna watched as he went to the waiting girl.  She felt a twinge of something, a faint pang of emotion she was uncomfortable with.  Jealously was too strong a word for it.  But it did vaguely resemble it.  It seemed ridiculous to feel jealous, even slightly so.  After all, she had just met Luke.  And he had not flirted with her overtly.  Yet, as she watched him approach the waiting blonde, she felt annoyed and a little sad at the same time.  He stood in front of the girl.  She could not hear what the girl said, but saw that she spoke animatedly to Luke, gesturing angrily to him then to Arianna.  He did not appear to argue back which surprised her.  She wasn’t sure why, but she did not see him as the kind of person who accepted reprimand readily.  Then again, she’d only known him for ten minutes.  Either way, she felt a fleeting sense of disappointed.

She quickly brushed off the feeling of disappointment.  She needed to get back inside and meet with her guidance counselor.  She walked to the front of the building again and entered.  The hallway was deserted and she consulted her map to find the main office.  Her day, as well as her final year of high school, was about to commence.

Chapter 4

Howard Kane knelt upon the pristine, tiled floor before the altar of the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church and listened intently, waiting patiently for God’s instructions.  God had been speaking to him since he was a young boy, guiding him and directing him through life.  Though many people had claimed they’d heard God’s voice, he felt confident only a select few had.  The rest were narcissists who lacked the discipline to hear anything more than their basest impulses.  He was not like others who had alleged to hear God.  Howard had heard God clearly, and the Lord’s voice had not caused him to indulge his desires or whims.  To the contrary, he felt more rooted to his beliefs, compelled to dedicate himself fully.  He needed God, and God and his fellow worshippers needed him.

With his hands pressed together in prayer, he paid close attention to every subtle sound in the hallowed building, opening the sincerest, humblest channels to his soul to foster God’s voice.  In a near-meditative state, he heard many things. Sounds of settling creaked and crackled intermittently.  Dried leaves rustled from a treetop beyond the stained-glass windows, likely caused by the departure of finches or sparrows that had remained too late into the fall.  But his Maker’s instructions did not echo in his head, did not breathe through him like a warm spring breeze caressing tender blooms as it had in the past.  All he heard was the sound of his own breaths, and the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat.

Days had passed since he’d heard God’s words, long days of strained silence.  But he felt neither frustration nor anger.  God would invariably speak to him.  He always had, and Howard doubted He would ever stop.

With his hands still clasped in front on him, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply and focused more intensely.  When concentrating as he was, his senses seemed to heighten.  Sounds were amplified.  His sight became sharper, and his sense of smell more distinct.  He filled his lungs, drawing in air through his nose.  Strong notes of pine infused the air and mingled with the slightest hint of lemon.  The average man would not have noticed the fresh, clean scents surrounding him, their subtlety; their depth.  But he did.  He had a divine appointment.  His followers knew of his blessing and one of them had undoubtedly scrubbed and polished the altar hours earlier.  His many gifts were not secrets he kept from his congregants, and they responded accordingly, heeding and abiding the ancient adage that cleanliness was, in fact, next to godliness.  He was, after all, the closest a human being could ever be to God, and his followers knew that.  For that reason, every surface of the church was cleaned daily in his honor, as well as the Lord’s.  As founder and leader of the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity congregation, in addition to having divine influence, Howard was the heir to a kind of sight only a select few in his family had possessed; sight that the naked eye was incapable of perceiving.  He could see evil, sense it as clearly as the notes of pine and lemon in the air.  His vision, his divination, enabled him to lead his congregation.

He preached daily at the consecrated dais he knelt before, reached out to his flock, shared his vision, and spread the word of God.  But God’s word was not as simple as other groups claimed it to be.  It went beyond Commandments and Sacraments, surpassed feasting, fasting and offerings.  His unique vision offered his devotees a singular experience.  It offered them opportunity to seek out and eradicate evil.  Other sects downplayed the evil that roamed the earth, romanticized it even.  But he did not.  He knew the truth.  He had the gift.

His gift empowered him and the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity to obey the Lord’s commands and protect the world from the vile minions of Satan.  God ordered them, through Howard, to root out servants of darkness.  They were anointed soldiers of light.  The devil had created warriors that roved about and wreaked havoc on humanity.  Howard and his followers were charged with destroying them before their numbers grew unmanageable and threatened humanity.  His church had become powerful with hundreds of devoted disciples worldwide, all committed believers in his mission, God’s mission.

Fighting evil was in his blood, quite literally.  His ancestors had been fighting the devil’s slaves for nearly three centuries.  Their battles dated back to the days of the Salem witch trials.  It was his ancestors who had orchestrated the destruction of countless witches and had rescued humankind from an uprising of catastrophic proportions before it began, before the number of witches had proliferated and innumerable covens had been formed.  The witch trials of Salem had since been held as a benchmark of brutality brought on by mass hysteria.  But what the ignorant masses could never possibly understand, what their fragile minds could never comprehend, was the truth.  An uprising of evil had begun, but was thwarted by the Lord’s soldiers.  He, and his descendants before him, had fought and continued to fight to preserve light on Earth, the slaying of each fiend a result of his divine sight and orders from God.

Howard breathed deeply and enjoyed the purity of the air, of his surroundings.  He found that reflecting on the successes of his predecessors relaxed him and filled him with indescribable peace.  Remembering the sacrifices and trials of those passed opened the channels between him and his Maker.  He felt confident that his work, and the work of his servants, had been far-reaching and considerable.  Many witches had been exterminated.  They had been of little consequence, however.  Some had even claimed unawareness of their power.  Of course, he did not believe them.  Witches were liars, all of them.  Awareness of one’s power was unavoidable.  He was living proof of it.  To believe that a witch was unaware of her power was as ridiculous as believing a muscled man did not know of his strength; it was preposterous.  He knew the demons were conscious of their abilities, and that a herald walked among them.  She was referred to as the Sola in his ancestor’s scriptures.  Sola, or one who walks alone, had been long considered a harbinger of humanity’s demise, but she had not arrived yet.  For more than three hundred years, her arrival had been predicted, her power and capability for chaos warned about.   The Sola had been prophesied to possess the capacity to unite every witch on Earth and create an army of evil.  But no one had ever sensed her.  No one had felt her presence.  But of late, Howard had begun to feel her.

In recent months, he had sensed her, felt her foul presence among humanity.  He was drawn to her in a way that contradicted reason, and instead of repelling her, as most polar opposites do, he was attracted to her.  His pull toward her felt almost magnetic in nature.  And each day that she lived, he could feel her growing stronger.  Her power was rapidly gaining strength, signifying that she’d either become of age for her powers to manifest themselves, or she had made an enormous stride in her dark art.  Either way, the potency of her energy had changed dramatically in recent weeks.  Her essence was connected to his.  His task of killing her pulsed and throbbed in him, summoning him with all its majesty.  God had linked him with the Sola to simplify the greatest challenge in his mission, so he could eliminate her, and the threat she posed against humankind could end.

He had been close to her many times in months past.  He had been on her trail.  But she had eluded him.  He wondered whether she, too, felt his presence, that the fear of the Almighty existed within her instinctively.  After all, they were heritable enemies.

He pictured her in his mind’s eye.  Though he had no idea of what she truly looked like, he envisioned a raven-haired enchantress with black eyes and tan skin capable of seducing and charming with wickedness.  He imagined her raven hair enveloped in flames, her black eyes weeping as fire consumed her.   Her death would be his greatest tribute to the Lord.  The day could not come soon enough.  In the meantime, she still lived and retained the potential to join all evil on Earth.

Howard shivered at the thought of the damage the Sola could cause.  If she were able to do as his descendants predicted, he worried he and his followers would not be able to stop it, that she would overtake humanity.  He rose to his feet slowly, but not before touching his hand to his forehead.  His fingers lingered there long enough to graze the charred and puckered skin, the same scarred skin that covered his entire face, before he dropped his hand to his navel, crossed it to his left shoulder then his right.  He breathed a quiet “Amen” and genuflected before heading down the center aisle of the church, out the door and to the vestibule.  There, he dipped his fingers in the basin of holy water and crossed himself again.  He left not because he doubted God’s voice would fill his head, but because he needed to find her.  He needed to destroy the Sola.  And he believed he would succeed.  The worry and doubt that had plagued him earlier was a test, one of many tests he’d been subjected to throughout his life.  God would fortify him with the strength he needed for his task, as He always had.  God would not allow him to fail.

Chapter 5

The school day had passed quicker than Arianna had imagined it would.  Though it had been practically the exact same routine in every school she’d been to and her new school differed little, her first day at Herald Falls High School had been by far the most exciting one yet.  Thanks in part to her run-in with Cheryl, and meeting Luke, her experience had been interesting if nothing else.  Of course, Cheryl and Luke had been the only departures from the standard first day grind.  The rest of her time had been spent meeting with the guidance counselor, finding classrooms and surviving gym class.  When the final bell had rung at a little after two thirty, Arianna had needed to look twice at her schedule to confirm that she was free to leave.  She had fled the building without a detour to her locker.  She had wanted nothing more than to climb onto her motorcycle and feel the wind rushing at her.

As she secured her backpack to the rear of her bike, her insides trilled.  Riding would give her opportunity to replay the events of the day.  It would free her mind long enough to revisit the better parts of it.  The look on Preppyboy’s face when she’d flicked her cigarette at him was going to be her starting place.  She intended to follow it up with Cheryl crinkling her upturned nose at her in a huff after she’d made plain that she wasn’t the kind of person who tolerated insult from her or anyone else.  Luke’s face had flashed in her mind several times throughout the day.  She’d resisted the image, yet it had recurred more times than she wanted to admit.  He was good looking.  She had seen her share of good-looking guys before, had even dated a few.  But there was something else about him.  She wasn’t sure what it was.  Perhaps it was his smile.  She had found his smile to be pleasant enough.  She liked the way the corners of his mouth turned up impishly, and how his eyes smiled along with his lips.  He was tall and lean, and not pretty at all.  She despised pretty boys, the kind that primped like Hollywood starlets and fretted when a hair was out of place.  She also wasn’t a fan of jocks.  In her experience, athletes were self-appointed royalty.  They reigned over their peers.  And as royalty, the jocks assumed they were entitled to more than the average student as well as maintaining generally arrogant dispositions.  She did not like arrogant people and found an air of entitlement to be loathsome.  Luke did not look like a jock.  The fact that he smoked also suggested he wasn’t involved in sports.  He dressed similarly to her, in darkly colored clothes, and she had noticed tattoos on his forearm that she would have liked to have asked him about.  But she doubted she’d get the chance to see him again, much less talk to him.  His leggy, blonde girlfriend had sent daggers her way with her heavily lined eyes, and would surely not approve of him smoking with her in the woods again.  Arianna placed her helmet on her head and fastened her chin strap and forced Luke, as well as his girlfriend, from her mind.  She’d wasted enough time thinking about him already.  He was taken.  That was it.

She looked into her side view mirror as she slowly backed out of her parking space. As she did so, she glimpsed Cheryl talking to Preppy-boy by a sleek, silver Mercedes.  Cheryl was chattering away and Preppy-boy looked disinterested.  Arianna got the impression the two were a couple.  She contemplated backing up further, lifting her visor and waving at them, but reconsidered.  The road called to her.  So she drove off the campus and onto the county road.  She wanted to test the engine of her bike and feel the world, as well as the wind, rushing at her.  But she was unfamiliar with the area.  Without the ability to anticipate speed traps and upcoming bumps and bends in the road, speeding would lose its edge.  Freedom and a guaranteed adrenaline rush would be replaced by a feeling of recklessness.   She did not want to spoil what promised to be a thrilling ride.  It would come in time.  She would be patient.  In the meantime, she obeyed the speed limit and scrutinized every niche she saw in search of patrol cars.  She passed the gas station she’d stopped at in the morning and was about to turn onto a stretch of tree-lined road when she noticed a figure emerge from the woods a few hundred feet from where she was.

She squinted and strained to see what it was.  The size and shape seemed human.  As she got closer, she saw that it was a man.  She assumed he was a hitchhiker or that his car had broken down.  Either way, he wasn’t her problem and she wanted to steer clear of him, literally.  She switched into the left lane to put as much distance between them as possible.  Something about the man unsettled her.   She looked at him as she passed and saw that he studied her.  He did not resemble a hitchhiker.  He was dressed impeccably in what looked like designer jeans and a fitted T shirt.  Each clung to his fit body.  He watched her intently.  She felt his eyes on her, even after she’d passed.  The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and quivered.  She pulled into the right lane and then off to the shoulder, determined to show she hadn’t been intimidated.  Once on the side of the road, she stopped and twisted to look behind her, where he should have been, but saw that he’d vanished.  People didn’t simply vanish into thin air, so she scanned the road, looked left, right and all around.  He was nowhere to be found.   She did not see a car along the road and she hadn’t seen anyone stop either.  A feeling of worry washed over her, worry and anticipation.  Her heart pounded and she felt beads of cold sweat stipple her forehead.  It seemed an odd reaction to have, for her to feel as such after passing a man she did not know on a stretch of county road she was unfamiliar with.  He had watched her and she had watched him.  Nothing extraordinary had happened.  But something seemed oddly familiar about him.  She tried to remember each detail of his face, of his build.  Everything about him stood out.  If she had seen him before, she would not have been likely to forget him.  Yet, something felt familiar.

Arianna waited for a few seconds before pulling back on to the road, just to be sure she hadn’t missed him, to see if she glimpsed him behind a tree.  When he did not reappear, she chalked her nervousness and odd feeling up as consequences of skipping lunch.  She vowed to eat the moment she got home.

After ten minutes of riding, the trailer park she currently called home came in to view.  She turned down the dirt lane and followed it to her and her mother’s trailer.  She parked her bike on the wooden porch and chained it to one of the banisters.  She doubted it would hold if it were ever tested, but reasoned that some security precautions were better than none.  As she unfastened her backpack from her motorcycle, she felt eyes on her again.  Her head snapped up instinctively and searched the park.  She did not see a handsome mystery man in designer clothes, but she did see a dirty face framed by a small window in the trailer across from hers.  He watched her with wide, unapologetic eyes then smiled when he saw that she was looking at him.  He was missing several of his front teeth and what remained did not hold much promise.  He ran his tongue over his lips lewdly.  Arianna felt her stomach churn.  She found that subtlety was lost on people like the toothless peeper.

“Look elsewhere asshole.  You don’t have a shot in hell with me,” she warned him and he disappeared like a mechanical Whack-a-Mole critter.

Satisfied that at least one riddle was solved, she unlocked the front door and strode in.  The first thing she noticed was that the fat man still slept on the couch.

“Mom!” she called.

“In here, baby,” her mother answered from her bedroom.

“Um, are you aware that fat man is still asleep on the couch?”

“How could I miss him? The guy’s huge.”

Arianna felt her frustration mounting and measured her words carefully.

“Did you try to wake him?”

“Well of course I did!” her mother snapped. “He didn’t budge.”

“Did you check his pulse and make sure he’s not, I don’t know, dead?”

“Didn’t need to.  Last time I checked, dead people don’t snore like a chain saw.”

“So what do you plan on doing, Mom?”

“I don’t know.  I figured I’d wait for you to come home and you’d come up with something.  Meanwhile, I’ve been trapped in this room like a prisoner!  I’ve had to tiptoe to the refrigerator, and forget about watching my shows!  It’s been a nightmare.”

“If you shook him and he didn’t wake up, why would you tiptoe to the fridge?’

“Oh Arianna!  Stop interrogating me!  Jesus!  First I’m stuck in this room all day then you come home and give me the third degree,” her mother pouted.

“Give it a rest, Mom.  I’m not giving you the third degree.  I just asked a question.  Don’t worry, it won’t happen again,” she said with the slightest hint of sarcasm.  She was careful to not overdo it.  She did not want to hurt her mother or incite a tantrum.  “I have an idea of how to get rid of your chubby loverboy.  Follow me.”

Arianna marched down the hallway with her mother in tow and stopped in front of the couch.  The man lounged on his side facing her.  His belly drooped over the edge of the couch.  She reached behind him, behind his generous backside and gripped the removable cushion he slept on.   Pulling as hard as she could, she lifted the cushion as high as she could.  The man rolled forward and fell to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

“What the hell!” he jerked awake and muttered.

“Hello.  I’m Arianna.  What is your name?” Arianna asked politely.

“Uh, Artie, my name is Artie Sellers,” he said with breath so foul Arianna suppressed a gag.  He rose to his feet and raked a hand through his flimsy hair.

“Well Artie Sellers, it’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon.  You’ve been asleep on our couch for more than twelve hours and it’s time for you to leave now,” she said firmly but in the same civil tone.

She and her mother watched as he fumbled awkwardly gathering his shoes and shirt.

“Uh, thanks for your hospitality, uh, uh,” Artie bungled and searched for her mother’s name.

“Cathy.  My name’s Cathy,” her mother helped.

“Thanks for a lovely uh, evening,” he blushed and tottered out their front door.

Once he was gone, Arianna’s mother snorted and laughed out loud.  Arianna couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“That was an interesting way of waking him, and getting rid of him!  Rolling him off the couch like that, I never would have thought of that.  I nearly peed my pants,” her mother managed through giggling fits.  “And then the way you handled him!  ‘Hi, I’m Arianna’ all as pleasant as you please; you’re too much!”

“Well, I try my best,” she said and curtsied.

Her gesture drew another fit of laughter from her mother.  Arianna found herself laughing as well, but less about the circumstances and Artie, and more about how when her mother laughed uncontrollably, her mouth would open wide and just low, intermittent yelps would escape.  She bobbed her head and clapped her hands, all the while yelping quietly.  The overall presentation resembled a circus seal in a silent movie.  When the outburst passed and her mother gained her composure, she blotted her eyes.  “Here I am, laughing like a loon when Artie could’ve been a serial killer or something,” she said.

“Mom, that’s why you shouldn’t bring strange men home,” Arianna began.

“Please don’t ruin this with a lecture,” her mother protested.

“What do you mean lecture?   You’re worried Artie could have been a killer.  Any of the guys you pick up could be killers.  It’s not a lecture to tell you not to bring them here.  It’s common sense.”

“Don’t take that holier-than-thou tone with me.  You know I’ve been through a lot, and that Artie was just my way of, of, well, blowing off steam.”

Arianna raised an eyebrow at her mother.  “Seriously, Mom?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” her mother said and avoided eye contact.  “What did you do today?”

“School, remember, I told you this morning.  I started school today.  First day in a new school, does it ring a bell?”

Her mother’s eyes swept from side to side as if she were literally looking for the answer.  “I was a little fuzzy this morning.  I may have had a bit too much to drink last night.”

“Ya think?”

“Anyway, how was it?  Were there lots of nice people?  I bet there were.   God I loved high school.  I’d give anything to go back in time and be a teenager again.  Of course, I got pregnant before I got to graduate, but that’s beside the point.”

Her mother was rambling.  She tapped her foot impatiently and her mother took the hint.

“Oh, sorry,” she said.  “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Was it a good day or a bad day?”

“It was the same day I’ve had three times in the last two years.  Chirpy student council bitch who thought she was better than me had to be put in her place,” she said and began counting the similarities with her fingers.  “Asshole principal, hot guy in the courtyard, boring classes.  And the added kicker is there are a bunch of rich kids at this school.  I can’t tell you how many BMWs and Mercedes were in the parking lot.”

“Huh, never would have thought that judging from this side of town,” her mother said with a half-smile.  “But let’s get back to the hot guy.”

“What hot guy?”

“The one you just mentioned, in the courtyard or something?”

“Oh, yeah, well, he’s not worth mentioning.  I don’t even know why I did.  We had a smoke together and that’s it.”

“That’s it.  He has eyes, this hot guy, right?”

Arianna rolled her eyes at the question before answering, “Yes.”

“And you’re hot too, right?’

“How the hell should I know?  And besides, Luke has a girlfriend.  She’s a bleach-blonde bombshell with a body like a playmate.”

“His name is Luke, huh?  I like that name.  Luke.”

“Whatever, I’ll probably never talk to him again, so this discussion is a waste of time.  Mentioning him was a waste of time,” she said testily.

“Jeez, don’t go getting all worked up about it.  Sorry I said anything.”

She didn’t mean to snap at her mother.  It had been a frustrating day.  Everything that had happened, from the comment on the steps of her school, to Cheryl, to Luke, to the mysterious man on the side of the road, to the pervert in her trailer park, the entire day had been stressful.  And that was without the whole Artie incident.  With him factored in, the day could be considered one for the record books.

“I’m sorry, Mom.  I’m just…frustrated I guess.  Moving again, the new school, you know, it’s hard.”

“Oh, I do know.  I’ve been so depressed about Carl and me breaking up and him kicking us out and all.  I don’t know where I find the strength to go on some days.  I guess I’m just one of those strong, take-charge kind of people.”

Arianna had so many things she wanted to say, so many instances she wanted to hurl at her mother wherein which she had been anything but strong and in charge.  Artie would have been a prime starting point.  But she did not.  What would have been the point?  Instead she changed the subject.

“I’m starving.  Is there anything to eat?”

“Umm, I went to the store last night I think.  I vaguely remember chicken, but I think Artie and I took care of that.”

Arianna’s eyes scanned the small living room and she saw that an empty fast-food bucket sat atop the coffee table.  Her mother’s eyes followed hers.

“Ah, there’s the empty bucket.  Yep, we finished it,” her mother said peering into the tub.  She then lifted an empty pretzel bag from the floor.  “And we ate the pretzels too apparently.  Let’s look in the fridge.  I think there may be some bologna.”  She watched as her mother opened the fridge and bent down to look inside.  “Hmm, we have jelly.  But I don’t see any bologna.”

“That’s fine.  We have bread and peanut butter right?”

“Of course we do.  What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t have peanut butter and jelly and white bread for my baby?”

Arianna did not answer.

“Let me make it for you,” her mother offered and began searching the drawers for a knife.

She paused and stared at her mother as she opened drawers and cupboards, unsure of what to say.  Cathy Rose was not exactly Susie Homemaker and hadn’t cooked or prepared a meal for her in as long as she could remember.  Dinner, if any, usually consisted of whatever either of them picked up in their travels or after work.  She would have loved a home cooked meal, couldn’t really remember what one tasted like.  But she had to admit, her mother’s offer felt nice.

“Okay.  Thanks Mom.  Mind if I go have a smoke while you make it?”

“No, you go ahead, baby.  I’ll make your dinner and you go smoke.”

Her mother smiled at her warmly and her previous frustration melted away. She almost felt sorry for her.

“Thanks,” she said again then turned and riffled through her backpack until she found her pack of cigarettes and her lighter.   “I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Take your time.  I’ve got everything under control in here.”

She stepped outside and lit her cigarette.  The sun hung low in the sky and the air had cooled.  She wrapped an arm around her waist and allowed the elbow of her other to rest against it.  She took a long drag from her cigarette and thought about her day.  Luke popped into her head again for what felt like the hundredth time since they’d met.  But it was immediately followed by his scowling girlfriend.  She closed her eyes briefly and shook her head.  Instantly, another face appeared in her mind’s eye, one with vaguer features and attached to a larger, sturdier looking body.  The man on the side of the road had also plagued her thoughts.  She was not sure why, or what it had been about him that had struck her, how his eyes had followed her, and how he had disappeared.  It was as though he had vanished.  And there had been something oddly familiar about him.  She shook her head a second time certain she was finally losing her mind.  The reality of the situation was that he likely hadn’t been looking at her at all, but past her, and that he hadn’t disappeared, but had returned to whatever he had been doing in the woods previously.  Hunger and sleep-deprivation had probably caught up with her and gave the illusion of a situation that simply hadn’t happened.  Regardless, she felt confident she would never see the man again.  She would go inside, eat her sandwich, take a hot shower and get some rest.  Another day of school awaited her and was just hours away.  A feeling deep inside her warned her that she’d need all the rest and strength she could get for the days ahead.

Chapter 6

Morning was announced with the continuous beeps of Arianna’s alarm clock.  Normally, the sound would have been unwelcome, but on this day it had provided relief.  It interrupted the nightmare she’d been having the entire night.  Her sleep had been filled with terrifying images of burnt flesh and the sound of a girl screaming.  She had woken several times, twisting and writhing, feeling intense heat, heat unlike any she’d ever felt before.  Each time she had gone back to sleep, she’d expected the dream to have ended.  But it had not.  It had continued.  Dreams – good or bad – had never continued for her in the past.  There had been times when she’d wanted nothing more than to return to Brad Pitt who waited for her on his motorcycle, but had been unable to.  Yet this one, this awful nightmare, had refused to end for the entire night.   Some of it lingered still.  She was wide awake, but kept with her the feeling she’d had, a panicked feeling that was laced with what could only be described as guilt.  She did not know why.  But now, and in her dream, she had felt somehow at fault.

In the light of day, of course, none of it made sense.  Try as she may to remember the exact details of her nightmare, she could not.  Disjointed pieces of it flashed in her head like black-and-white film running through an old projector.  Images, horrific yet blurred, wound around her mind illogically.  Determined to not dwell on a dream that was little more than brain garbage, Arianna sat up and kicked her covers off.  Her pajamas felt damp and her skin felt cold.  She ran a hand through her hair and found that it, too, was moist.  She was covered in sweat and needed to shower again before leaving for school.  She groaned aloud.  Showering would set her back at least ten minutes.  Ten minutes lost in the morning translated to her missing breakfast.  She quickly gathered the clothes she would wear and dashed down the short hallway into the bathroom.  She grabbed her toothbrush, turned on the shower and began brushing while she waited for the water to warm.  As the water ran and heated, the mirror above the sink began to fog.  Little by little, condensation accumulated on the lower edges of it and crept up slowly.  She watched as her reflection was unhurriedly consumed by opaque vapors, and the panicked feeling she’d felt during the night returned.  Her heart began to beat wildly, her mouth went dry and she refused to blink.  All of a sudden, she began to feel hot.  Her feet and legs blazed as if she stood submerged to her hips in a cauldron of boiling water.  The feeling traveled up the length of her body slowly, insidiously.  She was about to scream, the inexplicable heat she was feeling too intense to withstand a moment longer, when a knock at the door ended it all abruptly.

“Baby, you in there?” her mother called.

“Uh, yeah,” she said and took a deep breath.  “Who else would it be?’

“Ha, ha wiseass.  Are you going to be long in there?  ‘Cause I want to get an early start on my job hunting.”

Arianna breathed deeply again and opened the door, “I’ll be quick.  And I’m glad you’re looking for a job today.  I’m doing the same after school.”

“Good, good,” her mother said and looked at her strangely.  “Are you okay?  Your face and neck are all red and your hair is sweaty in front.  You look like my mama when she was having a hot flash.”

Arianna ducked her head down and looked at her feet embarrassedly.  “No hot flashes for me, just hot in here.  I’m jumping in the shower now.  I’ll be out soon,” she said and shut the door.

She stripped out of her tank top and sweatpants and stepped into the shower.  Warm water, cooler than her body temperature, felt refreshing.  She would have liked to relax beneath the stream for several minutes, but needed to rush.  She washed her hair and body, combed in conditioner then rinsed a final time before turning off the faucet, climbing out and wrapping herself in a towel.   She dressed and arranged her hair in a thick braid down her back.  She would be cold going out with a wet head, but did not have time to blow-dry her hair.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” she called to her mother from the hall.

She grabbed her boots from her room, slipped into them then headed to the kitchen.  A jar of peanut butter sat on the counter and she took a spoon from the drawer and scooped a heaping spoonful of it onto a piece of white bread.  It wasn’t the best breakfast in the world, but it was something to put in her stomach.  She ate it as she gathered her books, jacket and backpack.

“Bye,” she yelled and walked out the front door.

She shoved the last of her peanut butter sandwich in her mouth, put her helmet and backpack on and sat astride her motorcycle.  Rain had fallen the night before.  The sky was still cloudy and overcast and she hoped more rain had not been forecast for the day.  Her bike performed well in the rain, but maneuvering it in driving rain was a challenge.  It was also generally unpleasant to get soaked.

Luckily, the sun peeked through thinning clouds in some spots and promised clearing as she traveled along increasingly familiar streets.  Houses and shops stood out as recognizable landmarks.  She felt confident she would be acquainted with the town of Heralds Falls in no time.  She passed an intersection and the stretch of road where she’d seen the mystery man.  Her eyes scanned the woods for movement.  Nothing stirred as far as she could tell and she felt relieved.   The gas station she’d stopped at the previous morning was up ahead in less than a mile.  She glanced down at her fuel gauge to see if she needed to stop.  The needle hovered around the halfway mark.   When her eyes returned to the road after taking them off it for a split second, a figure loomed in the distance once more.

The same figure she’d seen the previous day appeared impossibly, from nowhere, and waited, watching.  She could feel his eyes on her.   The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and quivered.   For reasons she could not explain, she felt afraid, threatened.  She glimpsed in her side view mirrors and checked for oncoming cars before twisting the accelerator handle toward her.  The bike lurched forward, and the world charged at her.  Her speed increased from the forty-five miles an hour to more than sixty miles an hour.  She did not look in his direction as she passed, but knew he watched her.  When finally she’d passed him and was at what she felt was a safe distance from him, she decelerated slightly and twisted her upper body to look over her shoulder at him.  She expected to see him standing there still, facing her expressionlessly as he had the day before.  But he was gone again.  He had disappeared.

Arianna’s pulse began to race.  She reached for the brake lever on her right handlebar, the system that controlled her front brakes, and squeezed it gently.  At the same time, she stomped down on the foot pedal the activated her rear brakes.  Only something had gone wrong.  She felt it immediately.  She had braked too hard on her rear brakes and not enough on the front.  The tires of the bike tried in vain to grip blacktop slickened from overnight rain, but skidded as the back end of it kicked out.  Both the motorcycle and Arianna slid along the pavement.  Metal shrieked in protest.  Sparks rose and evaporated like fireflies in a night sky.  Her shirt and sweater lifted and the ground tore at her skin like innumerable razor blades, slicing and chafing every exposed part of her.  The world fell silent.  A blur of colors rushed at her.  Greens, grays and brown, all melded together in a jumbled mess.  She was rolling, tumbling into wet grass and down an embankment.

The embankment was not steep and she landed hard on her back.  Every part of her ached and smarted.

“Holy shit,” she said to no one, shocked that she was alive.

She lay there, still, for several seconds, afraid to move, afraid that movement would confirm she’d broken several bones.   Sound returned to her and suddenly the world was alive with sound.  A car horn blared, birds squawked, and fallen leaves rustled.  The rustling of leaves made her heart race dangerously.  She wondered if perhaps the mystery man was approaching.  A sudden urge to survive superseded her fear of broken bones and she sat upright quickly.  To her surprise, the stabbing pain she’d assumed would accompany serious injury did not follow.  Even the blistering pain she’d felt as her bare skin had scraped along the road had dissipated.  Leaves crunched again close by, too close by for comfort.  She snapped her helmet off and looked to her left expecting to see the man from the side of the road, the man who’d watched her and disappeared, but saw instead a plump, gray rabbit.

“I survive a bike accident but Peter fucking Cottontail almost gave me a heart attack,” she mumbled and stood.

The rumble of a car engine and voices could be heard from the ridge she’d careened over seconds earlier.  Someone approached.  A slim form dressed in dark clothes dashed down the grassy hill.  Arianna looked down at her clothes.  She supposed she should not have felt self-conscious.  After what she’d just been through, grateful should have been all that she felt.  But looking down at her torn, muddied clothes, she felt vulnerable.  The back of her pants had been completely shredded and revealed her thong underwear, and what was left of the back of her shirt and sweatshirt could not be used to cover her exposed skin.

As the person approached, she realized he looked familiar.  She knew him.  Luke rushed toward her, and stopped several yards from her, recognition touching his features.

“Holy shit!  Arianna, is that you?”

“Uh, yeah, but don’t come any closer, please, my clothes are ripped to shreds and my ass is hanging out,” she said.

“I saw your bike go down.  I saw you wipe out in a massive skid.  How the hell are you standing?  And why are you worrying about your ass?”

Arianna laughed.  She couldn’t help herself.  She stopped abruptly when she looked up and saw another familiar face.  Blonde hair glowed like a halo backlit by emerging sunlight.  Luke’s girlfriend glowered down at them from the road.  Arianna felt confident she would not venture down the hill.  Though the slope was not steep, her high heels were, and certainly not conducive to hiking down wet earth.

“Seriously,” Luke said and took several steps toward her.  “How the hell did you survive that?”

She thought for a second.  “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“How did it happen?  I mean, I saw most of it.  I saw someone on a motorcycle, you, just totally skid out.  No other car.  No collision.  What happened, you lost control of it?”

Arianna wanted to tell him she’d been twisting her body dangerously to look behind her at some man who appeared and disappeared from the side of the road.  Of course, that would sound ridiculous and he’d think she was insane, so she kept it to herself.  Not even her nutty mother who believed in horoscopes and Ouija boards would believe her claim, much less a boy she’d just met.

“I thought I saw something, an animal I guess, and I tried to brake to avoid hitting it.  I didn’t brake hard enough in front and overcompensated with the rear.  Next thing I knew, I was skidding across the pavement.”

“Damn,” he said and raked a hand through his dark, spiky hair.

“Oh shit.  What time is it?” she asked in a panic.

Luke checked his cell phone.  “It’s seven forty.  Why?”

“I’m going to be late on my second day,” she mumbled.

“You should be dead, or at least seriously fucked up right now, your bike is totaled, and so far you’ve worried about me seeing your ass and being late for school.  Am I missing something, or are you crazy?”

She chewed her lower lip and pushed errant hairs that escaped her braid from her brow. “When you put it that way, I guess I’m crazy.”

Luke took several more steps, slowly closing the distance between them.  “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to get in trouble at school or anything, and I’d love to see your ass, but I don’t know, I thought you’d be more freaked out than you are.”

“I am, trust me,” she said.  “The whole thing was just crazy.  And I’m so very flattered by your ass remark,” she said sarcastically.

Luke laughed, and she liked the sound of it.  But a quick glance up the hill reminded her that he was taken.  Never one to ignore the three-hundred pound blonde gorilla in the room, Arianna decided to comment on the heavily lined eyes that watched them.  “I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t like to hear you say that either.  She looks like she’s ready to kill me just for talking to you.”

“My girlfriend?” he asked.   “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he said then followed her gaze with is eyes to the road.  “You mean Stephanie?”

“Is that her name?” she said and heard the edge of jealousy in her own voice.  “What are you guys if she’s not your girlfriend, friends with benefits?” she asked coolly.

“Eww, no!  Benefits?  No! That’s gross!”

“What, hot blondes aren’t your type?”

“Hot blondes?  Stephanie’s not hot!  She’s my sister!”

Arianna felt a trickle of relief seep through her.  “Your sister?”

Then, as if on cue, Stephanie waved him toward her angrily.

“Your sister is waving to you.  And she seems pissed,” she said smoothly.

“She’s always pissed.  It’s some sort of personality deficiency,” he said and turned to her and gestured with his index finger.  He turned back to Arianna and said, “She has two moods: bitchy and pissed.”

“Not much difference between the two if you ask me.”

“Oh, there’s a difference.  Trust me,” he said and quirked an eyebrow at her.  “But we can discuss Stephanie later.  Right now, you’ve got to come with me,” he said stooped and picked up her helmet then reached out a hand.  His hand cupped her elbow and he gently led her forward.

“Wait, what? Where? I can’t go anywhere without my bike,” she protested and allowed herself to be led slowly up the hill.  “Or with my ass hanging out.”

“Here, take my jacket,” he said and removed his lightweight jacket.  She tied it around her waist immediately.

“Thanks,” she said.  “At least one problem is solved.  Now I’ve got to get my bike taken to a repair shop.”

“Lucky for you, I have a pickup.  We can put the bike in back and worry about the rest later.”

“First of all, I’m going to worry about it all day.  I’m not exactly loaded and this accident is going to set me back a lot of money, money I don’t have.  And second of all, there’s no way you and me can load my bike into your truck by ourselves, and I doubt Stephanie is going to help.”

“Don’t worry.  There are other cars up there that stopped,” he said and didn’t address her other concerns. “I’m sure someone will help loading it.”

“More cars?”

“Yeah.  Just two or three, though.  It was a pretty big thing, you know.  And once they see it was a girl riding, a girl that looks like you no less, any guy around will line up to help.”

As they reached the lip of the slope she’d tumbled down, she saw flashing lights, a decrepit pickup truck and two other SUVs.

“Fuck Luke! We are so late now,” Stephanie snapped.  “Let’s go.  She’ll be fine.  The police are here.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Arianna snapped back.  “I’m Arianna, by the way.  I saw you yesterday, remember?”

Stephanie seemed surprised that she had answered her in the same tone, that she’d had the nerve to be huffy right back.

“Yeah, I remember you,” Stephanie replied, the edge in her voice softening slightly.  Then to Luke she added, “We’re going to be late.”

“Then we’ll be late ‘cause I’m going to load her bike into the back of my truck.”

“What?  No!  I’m on academic probation as it is!  If I’m late,” she let her voice trail off.  Stephanie eyed Arianna, allowed her gazed to examine her tattered clothes.  “Jesus, there’s not a scratch on you, but your clothes are shredded to shit.”

“I know,” Arianna added solemnly.

“I have a bag in the back of Luke’s truck, clothes and stuff.  We’re about the same size,” Stephanie said in a much gentler tone.  “You can change on the way, if you’re not too modest,” she added with more bite.

“Modest?  My whole ass is hanging out right now.  The only thing between it and everyone right now is your brother’s jacket.”

“And what a lucky jacket it is,” Luke called from the distance.

“How the hell did he hear that?” Arianna asked.

“Who the hell knows?  He’s a pervert like every other guy.”

“I heard that! And thanks, sis!”

“Huh,” Stephanie said and ignored Luke’s comment.  “Looks like he got a few guys to help him load your bike.  I guess looking like that,” she said and gestured to Arianna.  “Well, I’m sure it helped.”

Arianna wasn’t sure how to respond.  Stephanie’s comment sounded more like an accusation than a compliment, so she let it slide.

Once the bike had been loaded into the back of Luke’s pickup and the other men had left, Luke chatted with the police officer who had stopped.  They spoke briefly and Arianna watched as Luke pointed to her then, with the officer, approached.

“Arianna, this is Ricky, I mean Officer Arnold,” he said then added.  “Sorry man.  Still hard to think of you as a cop, you know?”

Officer Arnold rolled his eyes and nodded.  He looked about twenty.  Pudgy and baby-faced, he seemed genuinely uncomfortable in his uniform.  “Uh, ma’am, I mean miss,” he stumbled.  “Are you all right?  The bike was in pretty bad shape.  Are you in need of medical treatment?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Arianna answered honestly.  “I don’t know how, but I’m okay.”

“Um, I’m not even sure what to do here,” he said.  “I guess you can give me a statement, you know, tell me what happened and I’ll write a report.”

“Okay, sure,” she said and proceeded to tell him the same story she had told Luke, that she’d thought she’d seen an animal and had swerved to avoid it.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Officer Arnold said when she’d concluded then added, “Later Luke”

“Later Ricky!”

“You girls ready to roll or what?” Luke asked.

Stephanie rolled her eyes and sighed loudly as she climbed in the passenger side.

“Here Arianna,” Luke said and opened the driver’s side door.  He moved his seat forward and she saw that the cab had a second row.  She climbed in and sat uncomfortably next to a duffle bag.

“Sorry.  There’s not a lot of room back there.  Just put your legs up on the seat,” Luke said.

“Thanks,” Arianna replied.  Then to Stephanie she said, “Are the clothes you said you’d lend me in this bag?”

“Oh yeah,” Stephanie said, annoyance lacing her words.  “There should be a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt.”

“Thanks,” Arianna said.  “You’ll get them back tomorrow, washed, of course.”

Arianna opened Stephanie’s bag and took from it the two pieces she’d been offered.  She untied her boots and slid them off before tugging her tattered leggings off.  The cotton and spandex material was in shreds and she was left with just her thong underwear, which did not offer much in the way of coverage.  She had placed Luke’s jacket over her pelvis and began sliding the yoga pants up her legs.

“I am so jealous of that jacket,” Luke said.  She glanced up and saw that he’d been stealing glimpses of her.

“Hey! Eyes on the road!” she ordered.  “No more accidents today.”

“It’d be worth it,” he said and smiled mischievously.

“Oh God, kill me,” Stephanie groaned loudly.  “You’re such a douche, Luke!”

Though she had feigned annoyance at his peeking, Arianna was secretly thrilled that Luke had tried to see her as she’d dressed.  She pulled off her shirt confidently and didn’t bother trying to hide behind his jacket.  The front of the truck jerked as she tugged the tight T-shirt over her head.

“They’re just boobs, idiot,” Luke’s sister admonished.  “And they’re in a bra!”

He looked at Arianna in the rearview mirror again.  “And I missed them!” he complained.

Stephanie laughed.  Her laughter was a surprisingly pleasant sound, sweet and mellifluous.  Arianna didn’t know why, but she had half-expected Stephanie’s laugh to be a maniacal cackle instead of the honeyed sound it was.  She found herself laughing as well.

When the laughter died down and just the radio broadcast crackled from the ancient speakers and filled the truck, Arianna began to think about the accident.  She closed her eyes and the entire scene replayed in her mind.  She saw the man on the side of the road, saw his face.  Though she did not know him, she was convinced she had seen him before.  She did not know where or when, just that he was familiar to her.  It was hard to imagine that a man that looked as he did would not be more memorable.  Men who looked like models didn’t exactly constitute the vast majority of the male population.  She racked her brain, struggling to place where it was she knew him from, yet came up empty.  She decided to focus on the other question that plagued her: Why hadn’t she been hurt?  She had felt pain as she’d scraped along the road.  She had ached at every bump as she’d tumbled down the embankment.  Yet there was not a mark on her, not that she could see at least.  No blood, no bumps or bruises, not a scratch.  It did not make sense.  Her brain reasoned that it wasn’t possible for her to walk away from the accident unharmed, but she had.

She opened her eyes and Herald Falls High School came into view.

“You okay?” Luke asked her.

“I’m fine, why?”

“I saw you with your eyes closed, that’s all.  Don’t die or anything, okay? We don’t want Officer Jumbo to lose his job.”

“You mean Officer Arnold,” Stephanie corrected.

“Ooh, so protective,” he teased.  “You must love him!”

“Shut up, asshole,” Stephanie hissed.

“Don’t worry.  I think I’ll live,” Arianna interrupted their bickering.  “I was just resting my eyes.  The adrenaline rush wore off I guess.”

And it had.  The trembling charge she’d felt earlier had left her.   What remained were questions, too many questions.  Each weighed upon her with leaden heaviness.  Chief among them was her escape from the accident unscathed.  That point nagged at her, demanding attention like a willful child.  It had also birthed yet another issue: she could not remember ever being hurt.  As far back into her childhood as she could recall, she had never been injured.  No broken bones, no stitches, no trips to the emergency room.  It wasn’t as if her mother had been watching her every moment of the day either.  To the contrary, her mother had let her roam freely.  And she had been a daring child, climbing trees, skate boarding, inline skating, ice-skating.  None had produced a scratch worthy of so much as a plastic bandage.

Her recollections were interrupted by Luke’s truck rumbling to a stop in the rear parking lot.

“We’re here.  Welcome to paradise,” he said sarcastically.

“Or where happiness comes to die,” Stephanie added.  “I’m off.  See you later.”

“Yep,” Luke replied.

“Bye.  And thanks again,” Arianna said.

“Whatever,” Stephanie added uncomfortably before walking away.

“My sister, the wordsmith,” Luke said.  “We’re really working on her social skills.”

He smiled, and Arianna smiled, too.  Luke had an easy way about him.  She felt comfortable around him.

“Thanks,” Arianna said to him.  “You really saved my ass today.”

“Literally,” he said and leaned as if looking at her backside.

Her pulse quickened a bit and butterflies filled her stomach.

“You know what I mean,” she said.  “If you hadn’t passed by when you did, I’d still be back there with Officer Arnold and God-only-knows-who else. So thanks for stopping, and for helping.”

“No need to thank me.  Thank whatever force let you live today.  Man that was a nasty wipeout.”

“You don’t need to tell me,” she said in agreement.  “I got lucky, very lucky.”

“Speaking of getting lucky, meet me here after last period,” he said and flashed a playful smile again.  Amusement danced in his eyes.

“Excuse me?” she asked sharply.

“I’m just joking around.  I’m assuming you’ll need a ride, right?” he said.

“Yeah, but no one’s getting lucky, got it?”

He laughed.  “All right, point taken.  Can’t blame a guy for trying, right?  But kidding aside, I’ll meet you back here after school, and take you wherever you need to go, okay?”

“Yeah, that would be great.  Wow, that’s really nice of you, but,” she began.

“And don’t freak out about the mechanic thing,” he interrupted as if reading her thoughts.  “I know a guy who fixes bikes, and he’ll take care of it for you, no problem.”

“Really?” she brightened.  “Are you serious?”

“Yep, I’ll introduce you to him at my place after school today if you want.”

“Yes! Please!  That would be great.  I was supposed to go job hunting, but that can wait ‘til tomorrow.  I’ll need that job to pay your guy!”

“He’s cheap.  Don’t worry,” he smiled broadly, a warm smile that she swore made his gray eyes shimmer.  “Be here at the end of the day.”

“You got it!”

He hesitated for a moment and searched her eyes. A strange expression touched his features, flickered there for a fraction of a second, as if he wanted to say something else to her.  But instead he turned and walked away.  Alone, she slung her backpack, now frayed and ragged-looking, over her shoulder, and began her second day at Herald Falls High School.

Chapter 7

God had made plain His disdain for witchcraft.  Exodus, Deuteronomy, Galatians and Revelation all spoke of forbidding a witch to live, and prohibited the use of divination, sorcery and witchcraft.  Howard Kane knew of each verse in the Bible that condemned heretics.  He could quote them all by heart.  He had also heard the Lord’s voice speak them through him.

Though God had not communicated with him in some time, signs had abounded.  He lived his life, ever vigilant and sensitive to more subtle messages from his Maker.  Vigilance and sensitivity combined with technology had enabled his latest endeavor.

He drove along a narrow, winding road.  Wind-driven rain pelted his windshield and his wipers struggled to clear it.  Gusts whipped and lashed at the treetops on both sides of the street, sending fiery red and orange leaves in every direction like burning embers and rocking his SUV.  But he never doubted the capability of his Chevy Suburban, or the envoy that tailed him.

He glanced up into the rearview mirror and glimpsed his fleet of three identical vehicles behind him.  Together, they were on a mission, a divine mission.

Weeks of poring over information received from his network of followers had resulted in his current outing.  A report had come to him, from a very loyal and dedicated source, that a small group was planning an initiation ceremony.  They had intercepted several cryptic e-mail exchanges and learned where and when the ritual was to take place.  Gatherings of witches for the purpose of ritualistic behavior, introductory or otherwise, implied the formation of a coven, and covens of witches were a dire threat to humankind.  Perhaps their gathering had been instigated by the Sola in an attempt to unite forces with others of far lesser strength, others who possessed meager powers by comparison, but powers, nevertheless.  She would rank highest among them, and have the authority to preside over their disgraceful service.  He, and the others who followed in their trucks behind him, were en route to end the ritual by any means necessary.  They were headed to destroy the demons.  If she were there, he would destroy her as well.

A turnoff ahead signaled the entrance to a long driveway.  He did not bother signaling, but veered off the main road and on to the gravel lane.  Muddy impressions made in the pebbles meant that the witches had already arrived, and had likely begun their pagan rite.  Howard’s insides pulsed, infused with righteous power, the power he thrived on to conquer wickedness.

He parked his truck at the end of the driveway, before a crumbling house.  Built in the early 1900s, the building had been a rumored spot for every kind of imagined depravity.  Some said it was haunted.  Others claimed it was a house used for satanic ceremonials.   But none of the rumors mattered now.  After all, everything he’d heard, every rumor, was just that.  The proceedings that were likely under way were supported by facts, evidence, and not mere speculation.   Howard looked up to his rearview mirror again and saw that his followers had already exited their vehicles.  He stepped out as well.  As his feet hit the stony pathway, the rain slowed to a fine mist then ended abruptly.  He raised his eyes heavenward and saw that clouds, unhurried minutes ago, now raced across the sky.  Patches of blue could be seen in some spots.  Undoubtedly a sign from God, the weather was predictive of his upcoming victory.  The earth around him had been doused in heavenly water, purged of its sin and left clean.  The parallels were remarkable, how the Lord made clear his plan, miraculous.

Two men approached him, a father and son.  Mark Andrews and his son MJ had been loyal servants for more than a decade.

“Brother Howard, the e-mail said they were meeting in the basement,” Mark said.

“Ah yes, very fitting that they’d conduct their wretched business on the lowest level of the house,” Howard commented.

“I guess they like to be that much closer to Lucifer,” MJ spat.

Mark put a hand on his son’s broad shoulder and squeezed.   “That’s why we’re here, son. To cast them from their shadowy depths and shine the light of God on them.”

Howard beamed at Mark and MJ.  They were such bright and benevolent servants.  The others joined Mark and his son and gathered around him.  After he’d given his instructions, they entered the derelict house.

He led them through the front door.  There was no need to worry about surprising the witches.  They’d likely known of Howard and his men’s arrival; had sensed it.  Innumerable dust particles scattered as thin rays of light sliced through the darkened entrance.  He immediately noticed several sets of footprints in the thick layer of dust on the wood floors.  He followed them to what used to be a kitchen where they disappeared abruptly.

“They’re here.  I can feel it,” he whispered.  And with his words, God sent him another sign.  The smell of incense assaulted his nasal passages, its woodsy musk thick and heavy.  He closed his eyes and forced himself to inhale deeply, to breathe the filthy scent.  “Yes, they are near, very near.”

He took several steps toward a door that looked no larger than a pantry closet and the scent intensified.  He pointed to a wooden door and nodded.  Mark stepped forward and slowly turned the handle.  The door opened inward, and he expected its hinges to creak in protest.  To his surprise, it opened silently.  Before them was a narrow, stone staircase.  Howard began descending the staircase, into the darkened bowels of the house.  Up ahead, he saw a red glow that swelled and diminished intermittently.  The smell grew stronger still and he fought the urge to hold his breath.  And then he heard it.  Voices chanted, murmuring forbidden words, summoning ancient evil.  The sound of the incantation filled the air.  He turned and looked to Mark who was just a step behind him and nodded solemnly.

At the bottom of the steps, he and his men rounded a corner, and before them stood a hideous display of blasphemy.  Five sinners in all chanted at the vertices of a pentagram drawn in chalk on the concrete floor.  Candles and incense burned, suffocating the room with unholy light and fragrance.  Around the pentagram, a circle had been traced.  Just outside the perimeter of the circle, a blue book with a silver pentagram inscribed at its center sat on the dirt-coated floor.  He knew it well.  Widely held as the most thorough and respected authority on witchcraft, it was a mark of defilement in his eyes, a blasphemous reminder of man’s frailties.  In it pages was the despicable history and philosophy of witchcraft, as well as powerful spells and ritual instructions.  To the novice, the book was a veritable how-to book for the induction into the ungodly practice.  To the experienced sorceress, it was a reference guide that had long since been committed to memory.  Beside it sat a notebook with the words “Book of Shadows” scrawled across it in loopy handwriting.   The Book of Shadows was a common term for a witch’s journal.  It was where she would record each of her rituals and their outcomes, along with her profane journey down the path of evil.  He loathed to touch such offensive works, but needed to confiscate them as evidence for his congregates.  But before he reached for the book, before he made his presence known, he searched his soul and tried to sense the Sola’s presence.

He closed his eyes and held his hands out at his sides, palms facing upward.  He felt her existence thrumming through his core like a constant current of electricity, coursing through his very being.  She was near; of that he was certain.  But he did not feel the charge of her growing power.   The energy he sensed in the room was different from that of the dangerous seer.  The energy of the room, concentrated in the encircled pentagram was latent, its force as yet untapped.  He opened his eyes and noticed that one of the cloaked conjurers watched him.

“Who dares to conjure evil in this house?” he boomed.  No one answered, but five sets of eyes now stared at him.  “Who is the high priestess of this ritual?” he demanded again.

One of the hooded fiends lowered her cloak.  “I’m not a priestess or anything,” she answered.  “But I am hosting this ceremony.”

Her face was smooth and round, childlike, yet had been tainted by dark makeup.  He guessed she was perhaps eighteen years old.

“Ceremony,” Howard said and stooped to pick up the blue book.  “You call gathering together to summon darkness a ceremony?  This is an abomination, an offense against God!”

Howard scanned the faces of the cloaked children.  He searched with his soul, with God’s gift, and realized they were not the devil’s disciples; they possessed no genuine power.  They were just misguided teenagers intrigued by unholiness.

Howard paused and took a deep breath. “Whose book is this?” he demanded but no one answered right away.  “Whose book is this?” he boomed a second time.

“That’s my book,” the baby-faced girl said in a voice that quavered, betraying the confidence she’d feigned.  A silver earring looped through her nostril quivered and reflected the candlelight, and he noticed that her dark hair was streaked with scarlet strips.

He stepped toward the girl, closed the distance between them and removed his own hood.  She gasped and he took her plump face in his hand and squeezed her cheeks.

“Take your fucking hands off her!” another male voice shrieked.

Howard glanced back to his men and nodded.  All twelve stepped from the shadows and drew their weapons.  He returned his attention to the girl.  One hand held her face while the other clutched the book.  He raised it and placed it close to her face.  “You see this?”

She nodded.

“This is a book of witchcraft.  Are you a witch?”

“N-n-no,” she stammered through welling tears.

“Then what is the meaning of this?” he shouted inches from her face.

The girl cried.  Blackened tears fell from her eyes and formed sinister rivulets down her cheeks.

“You are nothing more than an impostor,” he growled.

“I-I-I- know,” she sobbed.

“Where did you get this?” he asked her and held the book to her face again.

She did not answer, but wept uncontrollably.

“Where?” he shouted.

“Online; I-I got it online.”

Howard swallowed back the bile rising in his throat and took a deep breath to calm the rage that scorched inside of him.

“You are not a witch,” he said through his teeth and squeezed her cheeks harder.  “None of you are!”

“I-I-I know.  There’s no such thing,” she blubbered.

Anger shot through him like a lightning bolt.  His body began to tremble and he squeezed even harder.  “Foolish child,” he condemned.

He stared into her eyes.  They were the eyes of a scared and reckless teenage girl.  His peripheral vision confirmed that all present were scared, foolish teenagers.  None held powers.  None were witches.  But Howard felt no pity for the girl or her friends.  They had chosen freely to experiment with darkness.  They had turned from the light, from God.  And he could not ignore such an affront.  He could not forgive it.

“This is a sin.  You are all sinners!” he said and dropped the blue book to the floor.  It landed with a thud and he felt the girl flinch beneath his grip.  With his freed hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his blade.  In one quick motion, he thrust it into the girl’s stomach.

A stunned hush blanketed the room then was quickly slashed by cries of terror and pleas.

“What have you done?” a voice shrieked.

“Oh my God,” another voice sobbed.

“Please don’t kill us too,” a male voice begged.

“I cannot allow for such blasphemy to go unpunished.  This is God’s will,” he said solemnly.  Warmth spread over his hand and a large crimson stain grew over her abdomen, saturating her shirt and expanding to the waistband of her pants.  In the warmth of her waning lifeblood, he felt infused with calm and peace.  He was carrying out God’s work.  Righteousness filled him.  He felt dizzy, giddy even, and weightless.  Tears filled his eyes, the Holy Spirit overwhelming him.

“Kill them,” he calmly instructed his followers.  “Kill them all.”

At his command, shots rang out and echoed though the old house.  Tears streamed down his charred, leathered skin.  Pure joy filtered through him like sunlight.  He relished in the moment and muttered, “I heard you, Lord.  I hear you.”

He pulled his blade from the girl and returned his attention to his men.  All of the sinners had been shot dead.  None lived.  Smoke filled the room and through its hazy veils, he saw that some of his men looked weary.  He recognized their need for divine inspiration.

“Sometimes we have to fulfill commands that are unpleasant on the surface.  But rest assured that at their core, the activities here were unholy, and had to be punished.  These were not children of God.  They had strayed and sought out dark forces.  They sought out Lucifer.”  He paused and heard “Amen” muttered several times then continued.  “These sinners needed to fall,” he said and enriched his voice with virtue.  “They will be examples to others who might consider following them.”  His men nodded in agreement.  He raised his voice, honesty and morality ringing out like a bell heralding a new day, and said, “We are God’s soldiers.  We must be strong and carry out His will, however difficult it may seem.  We will leave these bodies, as they are, around the very symbol of their ungodliness.  They will show the world what happens to those who trespass against the Lord.”

“Amen!” Mark said and gripped his son MJ’s shoulder.  “Amen son.”

Howard watched as MJ’s eyes surveyed the room, the blood that had splattered against the concrete walls and seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight.  A smile tugged at the corner of the boy’s mouth and he looked to Howard and said, “Amen.”  With his loyal followers and God on his side, Howard knew the Sola’s days were numbered.  She, like the sinners he stood before, would fall.

Chapter 8

Starting the day by losing control of her bike and careening down a stretch of road on her back had not been Arianna’s first choice of ways to begin her day.  She felt safe assuming that the accident would be the lowest point of her day, and that anything else that happened thereafter couldn’t possibly be worse.  Not even her second day at her new school.  In fact, thanks to her new friend, Luke, Herald Falls High School didn’t seem half bad, even though she was forced to face it dressed like a prostitute.  She ran her hands down her abdomen and touched her borrowed clothes.  Luke’s sister had surprised her with her generosity, but in her clothes, she felt less like herself.  She felt vulnerable.  Though she’d never shied away from wearing tight clothing, the thin material of Stephanie’s yoga pants left little to the imagination.  Every curve of her body was on display.  The T-shirt she’d borrowed was more fitted than the ones she normally wore as well.  The cotton and spandex blend of the fabric stretched and strained across her chest and hugged the contours of her breasts.   She wished her sweater had fared better so that she could have covered up with it.  She’d wanted to ask Luke for his, but he’d done so much for her already.  His offer to connect her with an inexpensive mechanic to fix her bike was more than she could have possibly expected, not that she’d expected anything that had happened earlier in the morning.

The morning, and the accident, was still so fresh in her mind.  Each time she blinked, she saw a glimpse of it.  The world rushing at her as her bike spiraled out of control, scraping along the asphalt, rolling down the hill, and the strange man on the side of the road.  Images unceasingly presented themselves, but none more disturbing than the man.  The stranger on the side of the road had distracted her, and had arguably instigated her crash.  But she did not want to think about him.  Not now.  She had a long day ahead of her.

Pulling one of two large doors toward her, she pushed the mystery man to the back of her mind, replaced by a sudden need for nicotine.  She could not remember when she’d had her last cigarette and felt a distinct edge encroaching on her temper.  Walking toward her first period class, she decided she’d sneak out at her first opportunity to the small clearing.  Even if she only managed a few drags, the nicotine would mellow the irritability she felt.  She dug through her bag and found her course schedule wadded at the bottom.  She smoothed the creases as best she could and saw that her first class was just a few doors from where she stood.  Few students lingered in the hallway.  The first bell had rung while she had been in the parking lot with Luke.  The ones that remained watched her, though they tried to do so discreetly.  She would have loved to stare each of them down, freeze them out with her hardest look, but there was no time.  She jogged to her class and crossed the threshold just as the second bell rang.

Everyone was already seated.  Arianna looked at roughly twenty-five or so sets of eyes.  And they were all on her.  All looked unfamiliar, save for one.  Cheryl Charles narrowed her green eyes at her and smirked.

Arianna resisted the urge to walk to her desk and wipe the stupid grin she wore right off her face, and probably would have, had her teacher not begun to speak.

“Oh, hello there,” he began in a soft voice.  “My name is Mr. Bates.  Welcome to American History.  You must be Arianna Rose.”

“Yep, that’s me,” she said and took her lower lip between her teeth.

“Good to meet you.  We have an empty desk back there,” he said and pointed to a desk in the last row.

Arianna walked to the back of the classroom and felt eyes on her as she passed.  Some of the looks were approving.  The boys she’d passed let their eyes travel the length of her body and generally rested on her chest.  The attention was flattering.  There was no doubt about it.  But it did not go over well with the girls in the class.  A few huffed and rolled their eyes and Arianna silently cursed Stephanie’s available wardrobe.

Once she’d finally made it to her desk and settled in, she looked up and noticed another familiar face.  The boy she’d flicked her cigarette at, Preppy-boy, sat at the desk next to Cheryl.  Both had turned in their seats slightly and eyed her.  She met Cheryl’s gaze first and watched her unwaveringly.  After she realized Arianna was not going to look away, Cheryl returned her attention to the front of the room and shifted uncomfortably.  Preppy-boy gave up as well and followed Cheryl’s lead.  Mr. Bates began his lecture and twenty-five boring minutes into class, everyone was broken into groups.  Neither Preppy-boy nor Cheryl had been assigned to her, but their group had met beside hers.

More than once, Arianna heard Cheryl remark to Preppy-boy muffled words then laugh and look in her direction.  Anger began to boil in her like molten lava.  She did not know if it was Cheryl’s arrogant smirk, or her body’s need for nicotine gnawing at her, but she could not recall ever feeling as riled as she did in that moment.  Each time she laughed, Cheryl tossed her head back and slung her blonde hair over one shoulder.  The hair toss, the exaggerated cackle, and that smug smirk incensed Arianna.  It felt as though every cell in her body teemed, alert and alive, and on edge.  She balled her fists and put them in her lap, her nails digging into the skin of her palms so deeply, she was certain she’d drawn blood.  She heard the word “slut” hissed and saw Cheryl stand and brush her hair off her shoulder followed by another girl chiming in and adding, “She really does dress like a slut.”

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” Arianna said aloud and looked directly at the girl.

The girl did not reply.  She lowered her gaze to her textbook and stared at it as if it were the last thing she’d read.  Cheryl, however, had become suddenly emboldened.  She looked at her and tipped up her chin, “Arianna, why would you ever think we were talking about you?  The outfit perhaps,” she said and raked her eyes over her before cackling again.

An indescribable feeling shot through Arianna’s body, like a bolt of lightning streaking across the sky.  It jolted each of her senses and all she could think of was humiliating Cheryl, knocking her from the high horse she’d placed herself on.  Her pulse pounded in her ears and her breathing became short and shallow.  Words escaped her fleetingly and she envisioned Cheryl on her ass.  She took a deep breath to calm herself and was about to utter a sharp retort as Cheryl squatted to seat herself in her chair again.  Arianna stared at the chair, concentrated hard on it and focused all of her rage, all of her energy toward it.  She wanted nothing more than for the chair to glide back, away from Cheryl.  She lifted her hand to brush a lock of hair from her forehead and noticed that her fingertips tingled and watched as, impossibly, the chair shot out from behind Cheryl, slid of its own volition more than twenty feet.  Cheryl’s backside landed against the floor with a thump, and judging from the expression on her face, the fall had hurt more than her rump.  The entire class laughed.

“Ow! Oh my God! Ouch!” she squealed and stood slowly.  “What the hell!  You people are not funny!  Not funny at all!  Which one of you did it? Huh, which one?” she accused her group.

No one took credit for kicking her chair out because no one had.  Arianna had seen the chair move by itself.  Or had she?  Searing pain exploded in the back of her head.  She raised a hand and tried to massage the overwhelming ache and found that the tingling had stopped.  She wondered whether the massive headache was nicotine withdrawal or possibly a concussion.  Or perhaps she was going crazy.  Fortunately, the pain subsided quickly, and as the laughter subsided and it had been determined that none of the people in her group had kicked the chair out from beneath her, Cheryl glanced over her shoulder at Arianna.  Only this time, her haughtiness was tinged with embarrassment.   Arianna was the one to smirk this time around, and though she was left with a dull smarting at the base of her skull and the distinct possibility existed that she was injured or losing her mind, she felt that either way, Cheryl had gotten what she deserved.

Mr. Bates quickly regained control of his class and silenced any remaining chatter.  The rest of the period wore on and Arianna’s headache wore off.  When the bell finally sounded and ended American History, she gathered her belongings and bolted out the door.  A quick glance at her schedule confirmed that her next class was two doors down the hall.  When she arrived there, a note had been posted on the door that her teacher had needed to leave unexpectedly.  The class was instructed to report to either the library or computer lab for study hall.  But she had no intention of doing either, not right away at least.  Enduring a fifty-minute class in the throes of a nicotine fit had been next to impossible.   She did not intend to ignore opportunity when it presented itself.  She needed a cigarette.  She dashed down the hallway and found the alcove that led to the clearing in the woods.  She pushed open the door and noticed that it did not fully close.  A rock had been wedged near the bottom hinge.  She smiled and realized someone had borrowed her idea.

The sun was strong for the late-October morning.   Although she wasn’t particularly fond of her tight T-shirt, she was grateful it was short-sleeved.   With one hand reaching into her backpack digging for her box of Camel Lights, she stole across the leaf-littered grass to the tree line.   When finally concealed by a formidable maple, she placed her cigarette between her lips and lit it.  She inhaled deeply and felt the smoke fill her lungs, the nicotine entering her system.  She felt immediately calmed, and a bit lightheaded, but not unpleasantly so.  Her accident earlier in the morning, her run-in with Cheryl, as well the bizarre chair incident moments ago, seeped from her and was replaced with quiet calm.  The area around her, bathed in golden light and bejeweled with brilliant treetops, was peaceful.  But the sound of damp leaves swishing in the distance ended her peacefulness.  Growing nearer, it meant that she wasn’t alone.   She peeked out from around the trunk of the maple she hid behind and did not see anyone.  She guessed animals had made the noise and returned her attention to smoking.

“Hey,” a voice whispered in her ear unexpectedly.

“Holy shit!” Arianna jumped and dropped her cigarette in the wet leaves.   She turned, her heart slapping wildly against her ribs, and found a pair of familiar gray eyes staring at her.  “Luke,” she breathed and clutched her chest.  “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I thought you heard me coming,” he smiled.

“I heard something, but I looked and didn’t see anyone.”

“Guess it’s my ninja skills,” he said and winked.  She did not know whether to be touched or embarrassed by the fact that he’d remembered their first conversation in such great detail.  She chose to do neither and decided to change the subject.

“You’d better hope that wasn’t my last butt,” she said referring to her fallen cigarette.  She began rifling through her bag and Luke stepped closer.

“Here,” he said and placed one of his between her lips.  He stood close to her, with only about a foot of space between them, and smelled of soap and deodorant.  She enjoyed his clean scent, his nearness. He lit her cigarette with his lighter, all the while staring at her mouth.  She felt her insides begin to tremble slightly and removed the cigarette from her lips, the sudden need to busy her hands overwhelming.  She exhaled upward then watched as a veil of smoke descended slowly, shrouding and obscuring Luke’s features.  When the smoke had cleared, she saw that he smiled again, his lively gray eyes sparkling.

“Thanks,” she said.  “What’re you out here all day?”

“No. Well, not all day.  Normally, I’d wait ‘til later.  But someone decided to crash her bike this morning and interrupt my morning cigarette and coffee.”

“Who would go and do something that awful to you?” she said then added, “What an asshole.”

“Ah, you know, maybe ‘asshole’ is too strong a word; rude, might be better.  But she’s really hot, so I let it slide.”

Arianna was not accustomed to compliments or flattery.  Guys she’d dated in the past had shown her their appreciation of her appearance in rather obvious ways, and while she did not prefer their methods to Luke’s, it had been all she’d ever known and come to expect.  Luke wasn’t like other guys she’d dated, though.  He was far different.  The tattoos and scars that marked his ropey arms were betrayed by the kindness in his eyes.  He looked at her and smiled, a wicked, crooked smile, yet his eyes brimmed with anything but wicked intentions.

She was about to make a snappy comeback about the rude comment when voices echoed from beyond the trees.  A male voice said something inaudible and was followed by both male and female laughter.

“Come on,” Luke said and took her hand.  He gave it a gentle squeeze then tugged and led her away from the maple.  “I want you to meet some of my friends.”

“Luke, I don’t know about right now,” she began to protest.

“Why?” he interrupted.

“Well, I don’t know,” she balked.  “I’m not dressed like I normally do.”

“Oh stop,” he said and pulled her slightly.  “No one cares how you’re dressed.  I mean, you look smokin’ hot, don’t get me wrong, but they’re not like that.”

She allowed herself to be led briefly, another unfamiliar action.  She walked alongside him deeper into the woods.  Luke let go of her hand and disappointment at his gesture nipped at her.  He wasn’t her boyfriend. She didn’t know why it had bothered her.  He was just a guy she’d met the day before who had helped her out of a tough spot.  She’d only known him all of one day.  So what if she’d thought about him all evening and most of the afternoon after she’d met him.  Big deal, he was good looking and had kind eyes.  She’d avoided disappointment when it came to guys her whole life.  By insulating herself against caring or getting deeply involved, she’d safeguarded herself against vulnerability, against heartbreak.

Slogging through soggy leaves, she pushed the fleeting feeling of disappointment from her mind and silently promised herself that after he introduced her to his mechanic, she’d thank him and offer him some form of payment for his help then distance herself from him.  She walked beside him and approached his friends, but knew she was alone.

“Hey guys,” Luke said.  “This is Arianna.  Arianna, this is Ryan, Mike, Bulldog, Christa, Carrie and Beth.”

“Hey, how’s it goin’” Arianna said.  Luke’s friends stood, seemingly at ease and all smoking in a circle.

“Good to meet you,” Ryan, a stocky guy with brown hair that grazed his shoulders, said.

“What’s up?” Bulldog said and looked every bit of his nickname.  Broad-shouldered and brawny, Bulldog looked well equipped to handle himself in a fight.  Scars on his face and arms hinted that he’d seen his fair share of brawls.  He smiled at Arianna and raked a hand through the sandy-colored stubble that covered his head.

Mike nodded as did Christa and Carrie.

“Where are you from?” Beth asked casually.

“Where am I not from is more like it,” Arianna said and raised her brows.  “The last school I was at this year was up in Rockdale.”

“This year?” Beth asked and here blue eyes widened.  “Shit, that sucks.”

“How many times have you moved?” Carrie asked.

“Since high school?”

“Oh shit,” Carrie answered.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Arianna added and took a drag of her cigarette.

“Oh man, I gotta go,” Mike announced.  “Second period’s already half over.”  He then kissed Carrie on the cheek and said, “Later!” to everyone.  Before he’d walked to the edge of the wood where the trees gave way to grass, he turned and called out, “You comin’ tomorrow night, bro?”

Arianna wasn’t sure to whom he was speaking.  When Luke answered, “You know I am,” her question had been answered.  “Hey, you wanna come out with us?” he asked her.

She wasn’t sure how to answer, but figured a group get together was conducive to his feelings for her.  Not a date, just a group of friends hanging out.

“Um, I guess.  Where’re we going exactly?”

“To Blue Ivy.  It’s a club on the edge of town.  Eighteen to party, twenty-one to drink, but we all have IDs,” Christa answered.

“Yeah, I gotta take my girl out and show her a good time every now and again,” Ryan added.

By Arianna’s count, Ryan and Christa were together as were Mike and Carrie.  She felt confident, however, that Beth was not with Bulldog.  She guessed Bulldog had to be more than six-foot-two inches tall, every inch of him solid.  Beth, on the other hand, looked as though a stiff wind would blow her away.  Extremely thin and petite, Arianna wondered whether Beth could even shop for clothing in the adult department.  Her mind refused to believe that such an odd pairing could happen.  She smiled and remembered she hadn’t gotten all the information she’d needed.

“Count me in,” Arianna said then remembered her bike.  “Shit, count me out.  My bike is totaled.”

“You ride?” Ryan asked and looked impressed.

“Yep.”

“That’s hot,” Bulldog said and Beth elbowed him in the gut.

“What kind of bike do you have?” Ryan asked.

“Well, before this morning, I had a Kawasaki, older model, of course, but it was in decent shape.”

“I can take you,” Luke said nonchalantly.  “Stephanie’s probably coming too, so if you don’t mind riding in back and listening to her bitch, come with me.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond, couldn’t get a good read on Luke.  One minute he seemed to be into her, and the next, he seemed cool.  Regardless, she had no intention of letting herself get involved with him.  He could be cute and charming all he wanted, she would just keep him at arm’s length and be his friend.

“Uh, sure.  That sounds good I guess,” she said in an equally casual tone.

“Cool,” he said.  “We can work out the details later, at my place.”

“All right.  I’d better get going.  Don’t want to push it on my first day.  With my luck, Mr. Wood is personally looking for me as we speak,” she said and the group chuckled.  “Later.”

Arianna turned and began walking away from Luke and his friends.  As she trekked through the wet leaves, she felt a breeze blow.  The trees did not stir though.  In fact, the woods seemed eerily still.  Yet, a warm wind whispered at her back, tickling her senses.  She spun around and half expected to see the man from the side of the road standing behind her, watching as he had earlier and the day before.  But no one followed.  Not even Luke.  He had remained with his friends.  The annoyingly persistent hint of disappointment that had wormed its way into her thoughts now edged again.  She picked up her pace and was about to step up onto the single concrete step that led to the double door when a voice called out to her.

“Hey! Hold on a sec,” Luke said and jogged to close the distance between them.  “Damn, you walk fast,” he wheezed.

“What’s up?” she asked coolly.

“I don’t know, nothing.  I just wanted to walk back with you,” he said and smiled warmly.

“Oh, it didn’t seem that way,” she said and caught herself sounding pouty.  “You seemed like you wanted to stay.  And besides, you give me too little credit.  I can find my way back you know?” she joked and returned his smile.

“I’m sure you can.  I never mind watching you walk away either.  I just, I don’t know,” he said and let his unfinished sentence hang in the air.

And there it was again.  Was he flirting with her, or was that just what he did with every girl?  Why did she care?  She shouldn’t care.  She refused to care.

“I have to get to class,” she said.  “I’m sure second period is half over by now.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re probably right,” he said and she saw an emotion she couldn’t name dim his features.

“I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“Sounds good,” he said and brightened.

He lingered a second longer and leveled his silvery eyes at her.  He looked as if he were about to say something to her when Ryan jogged up.

“I’ll see you later, Luke,” Arianna said before turning and walking inside.

Chapter 9

The second day of school had begun terribly, but mercifully, had passed quickly.  Arianna had been grateful for how fast the day had passed.   She had not seen Luke since second period in the woods, a fact that irked her for unclear reasons.  He had not been in the cafeteria at lunchtime, but she’d seen his friends.  Though she hadn’t wanted to, she’d wondered where he had been, adding to the irksome feeling.  Now, as she waited by his pickup truck, she wondered still.  She glanced around the parking lot and watched as other students hopped into their cars and took off, eager to leave.  She was eager to leave as well, but perhaps not as much as her classmates.  They were likely headed to more exciting places than she was; at least she imagined the ones in the fancier cars were.  She was not headed anywhere that would qualify as even remotely exciting.  To the contrary, her prospects were rather depressing.  Meeting with Luke’s mechanic while harboring the fleeting hope that the price of repairing her totaled bike would not be ridiculously expensive made her feel nauseated.  She had originally planned to look for a job so that she could help with household bills and have a little spending money.  Now, however, she guessed every dime she’d make in the coming months would go toward fixing her bike.  She would know for certain soon enough.  That’s if Luke ever showed up.  The final bell had rung more than ten minutes ago.  She’d assumed Luke would be the first person out of the building; that he’d be leaning against his truck waiting for her.  But he hadn’t been.  His truck, with her banged-up bike in back, had been the only thing she found when she’d rushed to the rear lot.  No Stephanie; And no Luke.

People parked in surrounding spaces stared at her suspiciously.  She fished around in her backpack and tried to look busy.  Her hand landed on her phone and she pulled it out.  She checked it quickly for a text message from her friend from Rockdale, Lily.  Lily hadn’t messaged her in more than five days.  That was a record for them.  Lily had been the closest thing to a best friend Arianna had ever had.  And now she hadn’t heard from her in almost a week.  Warning whispered in the air and brushed against her skin like a faint breeze.  Her insides fluttered briefly and she froze, concentrating on the feeling so completely that she blocked out the sounds of the parking lot.  Her mind focused on Lily, and the strange sense of portending beating inside her.

Suddenly, a hand grasped her shoulder.  Arianna spun around, her concentration broken, and she pushed the hand off her shoulder.  Luke reeled backward and stumbled, catching himself before falling against the car parked beside his.  She’d just grazed his hand, yet he’d felt the need to lurch and stagger melodramatically.  After waiting for more than ten minutes only to have him scare the crap out of her, she was not in the mood for fooling around.

“Damn, girl!” Luke said and feigned shock.  “You’re freakishly strong.”

“You need to stop sneaking up on me!”

“Sneaking up on you?” he asked and his expression changed.  “What do you mean?  I called your name twice.  Didn’t you hear me?”

“No,” she said and paused, her thoughts retuning to Lily.   Heat crept up her body and flushed her cheeks.  “No I didn’t.  I guess I flaked.”

“With the morning you had, I guess you’re allowed to do more than flake,” he said and reached a hand out to touch her shoulder again.  “Dare I, or am I gonna get thrown around again?” he asked and looked at her with exaggerated fear.

“Shut up,” she said playfully and felt her annoyance dissipate.  “Where the hell have you been?  I’ve been waiting here like a moron for like, fifteen minutes.”

“Sorry to make you wait,” he said then looked at his shoes.  “I was getting things set up with the mechanic.”

“Whatever,” she said.  He seemed genuinely sorry and she simply did not feel angry enough to give him a hard time.  “Everything went okay?”

“Yep.  Are you ready to go?”

She considered making a snide comment about being ready for the last fifteen minutes, but chose not to, opting instead for, “Absolutely.”

Luke reached into the front pocket of his jeans and grabbed his keys before unlocking the passenger side door of his truck for her.  “My sister, Miss Personality, won’t be joining us this afternoon,” he said as he tugged at the handle.  The door screeched open and she climbed in.  “I’m sure you’re all broken up about it.”

“I vaguely remember her mentioning something about that this morning,” Arianna admitted and fought the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  His actions, unlocking and opening the door for her, hadn’t exactly been the pinnacle of chivalry, but they were the closest she’d come to actually being on the receiving end of gentlemanly gestures.  He climbed in beside her and started the truck.  The engine started easily, rumbling to what she guessed was a reliable start.

“What’re you smiling about?” he asked her.

She hadn’t realized the smile had won out against her efforts.  “What?” she fumbled.  “Oh nothing, just uh, Cheryl today.  Something funny happened in first period.”

“Cheryl’s never been funny,” he said seriously.  “Ever.  Mean, yes.  Funny, no way.”

“I’ll give you that,” she said.  “I’ve only known her for two days and funny is definitely not a word that comes to mind.  The word bitch does, though.”

“Agreed, now what happened that was funny?”

Arianna debated telling him what Cheryl had called her, wondered whether she could confide in him.  She wanted to, and did not like that she wanted to.  Deciding against it, she left out the part about Cheryl calling her a slut and the fact that for a moment there, she believed she’d used her mind to move the chair out from under her.

“Cheryl was about to sit down after standing up and flipping her hair around and lecturing the group she was in, when out of nowhere, the chair slid out from behind her.  She went to sit back down and she landed on her ass.”

Luke laughed out loud.  It was a pleasant, hearty sound that made her laugh as well.

“Oh shit,” he said through laughter.  “I would have loved to have seen that.  Shit, I know people who would have paid to see that!”

“I take it she’s only popular with her clique?”

“Hell, I don’t even think they like her.  Was her boyfriend, Paul, sitting next to her?”

“Paul?  You mean Preppy-boy?”

Luke erupted again with his infectious laughter.  “Preppy-boy, huh?  I like that.  I usually just call him douche bag, but I’ll try out Preppy-boy.  I think teachers will appreciate that one more.”

“You asked if he was sitting next to her,” she said and was curious to know where he had been going with that.  “Why?”

“My guess is, he shoved the chair away.”

“But he’s her boyfriend.”

“Yeah, exactly my point,” he said and laughed again.  “If you spent you’re free time with that uppity bitch wouldn’t you want to drop her on her ass every now and then?”

“I would. No doubt about that.  But aren’t she and Preppy-boy the same, I don’t know, species.  They’re both from planet privileged.”

“Oh I like you,” he said through laughter.  “Shit.  I’m glad I met you,” he added and she glimpsed him looking at her from the corner of his eye.

They had been driving for less than five minutes when they pulled out onto the main road near the accident site.  A shiver slithered up her spine and she stopped smiling.  As if he sensed her anxiety, Luke said, “Feel free to smoke.”  He reached onto his dashboard and grabbed a pack of Marlboros.  He pulled two cigarettes from the red pack and offered one to her.

“Thanks,” she said.  “Don’t mind if I do.”

She put the cigarette between her lips and was about to reach into her bag for her lighter when a flame appeared before her.

“I’m seriously trying to woo you here,” Luke smiled and lit her cigarette for her.

She smiled and rolled her eyes as the flame touched the tip of her cigarette.  “So this is what wooing is,” she said playfully then added, “Huh, not bad.  Not bad at all.”

They chatted about their classes and teachers they had in common as his truck rattled along for another five minutes before he pulled in to his driveway.  The gravel-filled path was more dirt than gravel and several tires dotted the dying crabgrass on either side of it.  The driveway ended in front of a detached garage which neighbored a white clapboard house with peeling paint and gutters that drooped dangerously.

“Welcome to Casa Rand,” Luke said and she swore she detected embarrassment in his tone.  She knew for certain that if he saw where she lived, he would not feel embarrassed.  “Need to use the bathroom or anything?”

“Actually, I do.  If you don’t mind,” she said.

“No problem.  Just please, look past the junk.  No one should be home, but certain people in my house don’t clean up after themselves.”

“Hey, no judgment here.  Mess or no mess, I just need to pee.”

Luke laughed.  “God, I like you,” he said and shook his head.

He climbed out and she followed him across the yard to the front door.  A screen with several holes in it stood ajar and the front door looked like a kindergartener could kick it in.  Yet, Luke selected a key from his key ring and unlocked the front door.  The smell of marijuana and another strong, chemical-laden scent hung in the air.  She tried not to inhale too deeply for fear of getting high off of some unknown drug cloud.  Pot she could live with, but whatever else had been cooked or smoked smelled horrendous.  Luke noticed it too.  It would have been impossible not to.  He scanned the room and his lips formed a hard line as he shook his head.  “Damn it,” he muttered and she saw the muscles around his jaw flexing.  She wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, but figured nothing she could do could help.

“The bathroom’s down this way,” he said tightly and began walking to the left, toward a short hallway.

Arianna did not want to stare, but it was hard to ignore what was before her.  A stained, plaid, upholstered couch that sagged on one side occupied the majority of the room flanked by a floral recliner and a straight-back wooden chair.  Directly in front of the couch was an oval wooden coffee table atop which sat a lighter, a hypodermic needle, a blackened spoon and several pieces of aluminum foil.  Beer bottles, rolling papers and fast-food wrappers also littered the table, but had been pushed to its perimeter.  The image was sad really, but not as sad looking as the half-naked woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties and was sprawled out, likely stoned out of her mind, on the floor between the couch and table.  Arianna tore her eyes away from the haunting image and followed after Luke.  He pointed to the first door and said, “Bathroom.”

She went inside and quickly shut the door.  Water stains spotted the ceiling and the sink faucet dripped incessantly. She relieved herself and washed her hands quickly, eager to return to Luke.  When she opened the door he waited for her, the warmth gone from his face.  They walked outside and he did not bother locking the door.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said addressing the obviously strung out drug addict in the room.  “I called ahead and she said she wasn’t going to be here.”

“Who was that?”

“My mom.  And in case you didn’t notice, she’s a fucking addict,” he spat.

“Luke, I’m sorry,” she said.

“Yeah, me, too,” he said tightly.  She was clean for all of four days, longest she’d ever gone.  And now this.”

She could see the hurt in his silver eyes, could feel it.  She stared at him, focused on him, on his life, and was suddenly consumed by it.  She was Luke at eight years old, seeing life through his eyes.  She saw a dark-haired woman with dark circles around her eyes and marks up and down her arms.  The woman was shouting and shaking her then stormed off.  Another imaged flashed before her and it was the same woman lying still in a pool of vomit.  She desperately wanted to help the woman but couldn’t; was never able to help her.  Her palms slickened and a bead of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades.  Fear and helplessness pressed her from every angle.

“Arianna!” she heard Luke call and felt his hand on her arm.

“What,” she said panting.

“What the hell!  You spaced out on me.  Are you okay?”

“You’re mom, she overdosed when you were eight?” she blurted out.

His silvery eyes turned to hardened pewter.  “Yeah,” he said reluctantly.  “How did you know that?”

Her mind raced, searching for a viable response.  “Well, uh,” she fumbled.  “She’s an addict, right?” was all she managed.

“Yeah, but where’d you come up with eight from?”

“I just pulled it out of nowhere, a guess really,” she said and her heart raced dangerously.

“Huh, pretty lucky guess,” he said and offered a sad smile.

Her heart slowed slightly.  “So when’s this mechanic supposed to come?”

Luke arched an eyebrow at her and his face brightened a bit.

“What?” she asked.  “I don’t get it.  Why are you looking at me like that?”

“There is no mechanic,” he said and scrunched his features as if bracing to be hit.

“What?  No mechanic?  You lied to me?”

“Well, no, not exactly.  I’m the mechanic actually.  I’m going to fix your bike.”

Arianna closed her eyes and exhaled.

“I’ll take you to and from school until it’s finished and I’ll only charge you for parts.  Come on, you have to admit that’s a sweet deal.”

Arianna thought it would have been a great deal, if he were a mechanic.

“You seriously are a mechanic?”

“I’ve been fixing cars and motorcycles my whole life. Trust me.  You’re better off with me than some dude at a garage.”

She cringed.  She didn’t have much of a choice.  Her funds were limited, and if she were to take it to a repair shop, they’d double the cost of the parts and add labor charges to her bill.  She simply couldn’t afford such an expense.  “All right, but what’s the catch?”

“The catch?  There’s no catch.”

“So you want nothing from me, nothing at all.  Just money for parts?”

“Well, that and,” he said and his voice trailed off.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “That and what?” she asked suspiciously and hoped he did not have some depraved list to rattle off.

“It’d be nice to have some company while I worked,” he said and tried to sound offhand.  She breathed a sigh of relief as he continued, “You could come here some days after school and hang out with me.”

“I could do that I guess,” she said.

“And I promise you won’t see what you saw today again.”

She didn’t think he’d mention his mother again.  His comment refreshed her memory of her earlier experience.  It had not left her, but she had been distracted by his conversation.  The sensation she’d felt had placed her in his past, it had been as if she were visiting his life in clips through his eyes, feeling what he’d felt at that time.  Her insides shook at the recollection.

“Are you okay, Arianna?  You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m fine,” she answered absently and looked at the ground.  She looked up and saw his concerned expression.  “Seriously, don’t worry about me.  You’ve been through a lot of shit, still going through it.  The last thing you need to be doing is worrying about me.”

“Thanks,” he said and started walking toward his pickup truck.  He opened the back of it and ran to the garage.  When he returned, he dragged a wide, wooden plank.  He rested the plank against the back of the truck and made a makeshift ramp.  Then he climbed into the back of the truck, lifted the bike so that it stood on its wheels and walked it down the ramp.

“Luke, that doesn’t look safe,” she protested.

“I’ve done this before.  Don’t worry!” he called, but her breath still caught in her chest when he reached the midpoint of the ramp and it bent impossibly without breaking.  She held her breath until he’d reached the ground below.

“See!  I’m fine!” he said proudly.  He smiled and she was happy to see that some of its sincerity had returned.  He pushed the bike to the door of the decrepit garage.  “Here, hold this,” he told her and gestured for her to balance the bike.  While she did, he lifted garage door.  Beyond it was innumerable tools lined along the walls, all neatly arranged in size order.  Two chests with several drawers had been placed against the far wall which she assumed held more tools.  The garage had been more neatly organized than his house; that was for sure.  It was clearly the area he presided over, the area he took pride in.  He withdrew the kickstand of the bike and placed it near the center of the space then set about collecting tools from the chests.  She watched how confidently he moved, how purposefully.

“I’m gonna get a look at her and see what the real damage is here.  Do you want anything to drink, a soda or something?”

“I am a little thirsty,” she said and regretted sending him back into the house.  “But it’s no big deal.”

“I have soda in the fridge over there,” he pointed to a miniature refrigerator tucked in a corner.  “It’s not like I have to go back inside or anything,” he said more quietly.

“Then yes, I’d love a soda.”

“Okay.  Can you grab me one, too?”

“Hey!  What happened to the wooing?” she asked with mock irritation.

“You mean you’re not fully wooed?” he said and matched her tone.  “Shit, you’re quite the princess aren’t you?”  He sighed exaggeratedly then walked to the refrigerator.  “Fine.  A soda for the lady.”

“Whoa, whoa, who said I was a lady?” she said and winked mischievously.

“Are you flirting with me?” he said with inflated inquisitiveness.

“I do believe I am,” she replied and batted her eyelashes for affect.

She heard herself giggle and silently chastised herself for being so girlie and silly.  But she felt happy, inexplicably happy, despite being in a garage that resided beside a house with the drugged out mother of a boy she liked.  And there was the matter of what had brought her to the garage in the first place: crashing her bike.  She allowed her gaze to drop and concentrated on a stray thread that stuck out of one of her boots.  Luke crossed the garage and delivered her drink to her.

“Here you go.  It’s not diet or anything.  I hope that’s okay,” he said and handed her a red can.  She looked up at him and reached out her hand to take the can.  When she did, his hand grazed hers.  It was not an unpleasant feeling and sent a small shiver up her arm.

“Thanks,” she said and he held her gaze, his silvery eyes dancing.  He smiled and raked a hand through his dark hair before sitting down on an overturned bucket beside her.  She opened her soda and waited for him to say something, all the while her insides stirred at his nearness.  He placed the can he held in his hands on the floor between his feet and turned to face her.  She strained to see him in her peripheral vision before stealing a glance at him.  When their eyes met, he leaned in toward her as if he were going to kiss her.  She stood and walked toward his work bench, effectively evading his kiss.

“These are cool,” she said nervously.  “What do they do?” She’d heard the words come out of her mouth and died a small death, cringing at how stupid she’d sounded.  Of course, she knew what a hammer, screwdrivers and saws were for.  And it wasn’t as though she’d never kissed a guy before.  She kissed many guys before, and gone a lot further than kissing.  But Luke seemed different than other guys at times.  When they were alone, he was sweet and silly, and kind of a gentleman.  Around his friends, he was a bit harder to read.

“Well,” he said and lifted a hammer.  “This is a hammer.  You hit things with it, like nails and sometimes your thumb if you’re not paying attention.”  He smiled and winked at her as he inched closer.

“I know what they do,” she admitted and felt heat creep up her neck.

“You just wanted to get the hell away from me,” he said still smiling.  “I get it.”

“No, not really.”

He turned and leaned his back against the bench, not looking at her.  He folded his arms across his chest.  With the sleeves of his shirt pushed up, she could see his tattoos more clearly, the colors and elaborate artistry.   She stepped back and reached out her hand and pulled one of his arms forward.  With her fingertip she outlined the outer edge of a serpent of some sort.  He seemed to like her touch because she noticed that goose bumps arose on his forearm.

“What is this, a snake or something?”

“No.  It’s the tail of a dragon,” he said and pushed his sleeve up farther.   His arm was lean, but muscled, nevertheless.  She doubted he lifted weights and that the bulge of his biceps and forearms was a result of the work he did in the garage.

She traced the long, curving tail of the dragon then looked up to find a pair of silver eyes trained on her.  They looked like pools of moonlight, mysterious, yet vulnerable, and contradicted everything else about his appearance.  Something deep within her was drawn to him intensely, and she wanted to act on it.  She did not hesitate a second longer.  Without considering it any further, she rose up onto her tiptoes and kissed Luke.  She pressed her lips to his, and found that his lips were deliciously warm and soft.  Surprised, but seemingly pleased, nonetheless, he reciprocated.  He kissed her sweetly at first, almost chastely.  But the feel of his lips instantly became like a drug to her.  She need more.  She nibbled at his bottom lip temptingly and he immediately responded, reading her need and answering it.  He crushed her mouth with his and wrapped his arms around her waist.  He pulled her body close to his.  She felt his heart racing against her chest.  Warmth filled her as his hand slid up her back and grazed the side of her breast.  Fueled by the brush of his hand, she pressed her body closer to him and felt his tongue slip between her lips, darting and probing.  His hands went up further and cupped her face briefly before moving to her hair.

His fingers tightened in her hair and he pulled her closer.  Her body was already too tight against his, yet she did not care.  In fact, she felt it was not tight enough.  She urgently wanted to be closer still.  To her surprise though, his fingers relaxed a bit in her hair and slid down once again.  They stopped at her lower back and found the small strip of skin that hadn’t been covered by Stephanie’s T-shirt.  The roughness of his fingertips against her lower back made her wish he’d run them over every inch of her body.  She arched her back pushing her chest against his and kissed him more passionately, more fiercely, until his mouth left hers and followed the line of her jaw then explored the length of her neck.  She heard herself moan in delight.  He kissed and tantalized the tender skin of her neck, making his way back up from her collarbone until his teeth grazed her earlobe.  She shivered, felt her body come alive.  She moved her hands from his hips up his back and dug her nails into his shoulders as he continued to kiss just below her ear.  The stubble of his chin swept along her neck, eliciting more moans from her.  She dropped her hands down to his lower back and lifted the back of his shirt, wanting the feel of his bare skin against her hands, against her body.  He dropped his hands as well and gripped her backside firmly.  Every part of her ached with want and she began to lift his shirt.  As she did so, her bag began to roar like Godzilla, her mother’s ringtone.

“Shit,” she muttered and felt the desire and urgency that had assembled within her moments earlier, begin to evaporate.

“Can’t you just ignore it?” he breathed in her ear, tempting her to do just that.

“No, it’s my mom.  She never calls me.  God only knows why she’s doing it now,” she said as she reluctantly pried herself from him and hurriedly crossed the garage to her backpack.  She rummaged for her phone for several seconds before she found it and answered.

“Hello mother.  You have shitty timing,” she said.

“Hi baby,” her mother said in a voice undoubtedly thickened with alcohol.  “I’m in a bit of a jam and could use some help.”

“What kind of jam?  Are you all right?” Arianna asked suddenly worried.

“Well, I just left the bar,” she began.

“Of course you did,” Arianna replied curtly.

“And I went to start my car, but it won’t start.”

“First of all, you shouldn’t be driving in the condition you’re in.  And second of all, when’s the last time you gassed up?”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone followed by giggling.  Arianna looked up and saw Luke looking at her.  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed to him.  He lifted his chin to ask if everything was okay and Arianna shook her head slowly.

“Oh baby! You’re not going to believe this,” her mother crooned.  “I’m all outta gas.  Silly me!  Think you could scare some up and bring it to Joe’s Bar?”

“If I had my bike that would be tough to do.  But since I don’t even have that,” she started but didn’t bother finishing her sentence.  What good would it do to tell her drunken mother about an accident that had happened hours ago?  Her mother would likely just find a way to make it about her and Arianna would end up consoling her mother over something that happened to her.  “Never mind.  I’ll be there soon,” Arianna said and ended the call.

“What was that all about?” Luke asked as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“My mother is drunk at a bar and was about to drive home, but realized she has no gas,” she said and blew out an exasperated breath.  She wasn’t used to sharing her problems with anyone.  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take me to the gas station then drop me at Joe’s Bar, would you?”

He did not groan or complain, but disappointment was evident in his eyes.  “Sure, no problem,” he said.

“Are you sure?  You’ve done so much for me already.  I feel funny even accepting help from anyone, let alone a new friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” he said and looked longingly at her.  “Everything I do is to try and get in your pants,” he said and smiled mischievously.

She playfully smacked him in the arm and said, “Really!  Keep trying!”

“Oh I think I was pretty close before,” he said and slapped her on her backside.

She contemplated arguing, but he was right.  She would have given in to her desire if her mother hadn’t called.

“Well,” she stammered.

“Well what? No smartass comeback?”

“Well, no, not right now,” she said and tapped him on his arm again.

“All this hitting is getting me going again,” he joked.

“All right, all right.  Let’s go before my mother makes a new friend I’ll have to kick out in the morning again.”

He did not say another word but smirked and gathered his stuff.  They left the garage and he locked it up as well as the front door to his house.  In the truck, he was far more somber.  They drove and talked about movies and music until they reached that gas station.  She filled a tank he’d lent her and they promptly left and headed to Joe’s Bar.  In the parking lot, she found her mother leaning against the car talking to a dangerous looking character whose face and neck blazed in an unhealthy shade of red.  He rocked from one foot to the other as he spoke to her, as if teetering on the brink of toppling over.  Arianna called to her mother and the man left quickly.  Luke filled her mother’s gas tank and with a quick peck on her cheek, left Arianna with her mother.  Her heart clenched slightly as she watched his taillights fade in the waning rays of daylight.  The last thing she’d wanted to do was fall for any guy.  She’d avoided it her entire life.  Yet Luke had wandered into her life just two days earlier, and was slowly making her feel as she never had before.

Arianna watched as the sun grudgingly relinquished its grip on the day, as if too tired to continue as the furnace fueling the autumn warmth and allowed itself refuge in the horizon.  Breadths of pink and purple streaked across the sky and twilight befell the earth.

“What a beautiful sunset, baby,” her mother slurred and returned Arianna to reality.

“Yeah, mom,” she replied absently and started the car and drove out of the parking lot of Joe’s Bar.

Chapter 10

The sun had set and darkness began to overtake the earth.  Howard looked out briefly from the vestibule of his church.  The world around him glowed in an ethereal shade of blue.  Dusk had settled.  Preternatural stillness had hushed the birds and bugs.  All that remained were cyan shadows, and silence.  Beyond the door, out in the eerie void, he could feel her.  She was near.  He was sure of it.  And she was growing stronger each day.  Like a low hum deep within his core, her essence reverberated through him.  He knew he was closing in on her.

Howard slammed the door of the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church shut and locked it.  He passed through the narrow enclave to another set of doors that opened into the sanctuary.  Once inside, he dipped his hand in a large basin of Holy water, crossed himself and genuflected.  He walked briskly down the aisle, past more than a dozen pews and stopped just before the altar.  He knelt and crossed himself again and remained bowed in prayer.  With his eyes closed, he concentrated, listening for God’s words to direct him, to guide him on the path of righteousness.

His path had been filled with innumerable detours thus far, but none could be considered a waste of his time.  Diversions strengthened him, reinforced his belief in divine influence.  The incident at the abandoned house the day before had been a shining example of a deviation resulting in the fortification of his faith.  Being able to make an example of misguided fools a day earlier had proved a worthwhile endeavor.  The deaths of teens tampering with witchcraft would surely save lives in the future.  Others seeking to summon dark forces, as well as full-blooded witches who walked among them, would learn of their demises and heed the warning they signaled.

Taking the lives of the teens had not been a direct order from God.  His Maker’s words had not commanded him.  In fact, he had not heard the speech of the Lord in several days.  So Howard had been forced to infer what God would have wanted him to do, his decision based on countless other situations when he had been instructed to example others, others who hadn’t been true vessels of evil, but had been pupils of evil.  He knew the Lord would have wanted the teens destroyed, just as He had in the past.  Howard also felt confident that, despite the taciturnity of God, despite the numerous tests and obstacles presented to him, he would do what was right for humanity.

Tests were not new to Howard.  He had been tested his entire life, beginning when he was a boy.  His father had been a soldier of God as well, had fought to rid the world of evil.  But the law of man had seen fit to take his father from him at a young age.  The law did not understand what his father had been up against, still did not understand.  Every law-enforcement agency on the planet shared the limited view that only human beings killed and committed atrocities against other human beings.  They did not embrace the existence of the underworld, that demons of every kind roamed the earth and hunted humanity.  But he embraced that wherever lightness existed, darkness followed; with good came evil.  Howard had the vision, and so had his father.

When Howard had been just eight years old, his father had been arrested and sentenced to life in prison for murdering a family who had just moved to the neighborhood.  Kneeling before the altar of his church conjuring the painful memories of long ago, he squeezed his eyes shut and remembered his father’s arrest, how police had punished and locked away a servant and soldier of the Lord.  His father, Howard Kane, Sr. had been incarcerated for dousing the new family’s house in gasoline, boarding the doors shut and setting it on fire.  The blaze had burned for hours, consuming everything it had touched except for the concrete foundation it had sat upon, including a husband and wife and their three small children.  The family had been black; a fact that had only been of importance to the rest of his neighborhood, law-enforcement agents and the media of that time.  The police department and newspapers had fixated on the color of their skin, had accused his father of a racist act.  The men with him had been members of a discriminatory group called the Ku Klux Klan and the police had claimed his father had been a member too.  Others in the neighborhood had alleged to have seen his father fraternizing with Klan members, and had charged he had been an active participant in their organization.  But Howard had known better.  He had known his father had shared his prophecy.  His father had told him as much.

He had visited his father in prison.  Guards had the patriarch of his family dressed in a bright-orange jumpsuit, shackled and cowed like a common criminal.  He remembered the sickliness of his father’s pallor, the pale clammy look of his skin.  But neither had left as lasting an impression as his words had on that fateful day.  Strong and clear, his father’s voice had resounded with truth when he’d told him not to believe the newspapers or idle gossip.   He’d told him the family he’d killed had been corrupt and that he had done a service to mankind by cleansing the world of their existence.  Howard had listened intently to his father, especially when he’d told him that God had instructed him to kill the family, that they had been pure evil.

Howard had never bothered to ask if they had been witches.  The thought had never occurred to him, not then.  He hadn’t heard God’s voice in his ear yet.  All he had been told was that his father had destroyed evil, and that was all he’d needed to know.  But his father’s explanation hadn’t ended there.  His father had more wisdom to share.  He had told Howard that he would have to make a very difficult decision in the near future, that he would be put to a test.  Howard had asked what that task would be, but his father had said he could not tell him.

A few weeks after his visit to the state penitentiary, his father had been killed by other inmates.  As it had turned out, other inmates, black inmates, had been fooled into believing his father had been a racist who’d killed an upstanding family.  His father had died, unceremoniously, stabbed to death in the shower room.  The other inmates hadn’t known the truth; that the color of evil’s skin had been, and always would be, irrelevant.  So they had taken the life of one of God’s warriors, his father.

At eight years old, Howard had been left with only his mother.  Still, his stomach churned at the thought of her.  After his father’s death, his mother had transformed into a sinful woman who had poisoned her body with drink and drugs and had allowed her body to be used by any junkie who had offered her a nightly fix.  Relegated to his room, he had begun reading the only book he’d owned: the Holy Bible.   Night after night he had read from it, and just shy of one month after his father’s murder, he had read the Bible from cover to cover.  Certain sections of it spoke to him more than others.  Exodus, Deuteronomy, Galatians and Revelation had been of particular interest to him.  He had absorbed the vital messages communicated in each.  They condemned witchcraft and sorcery, and the evocation of spirits. They denounced heresy.  Every single night he had read the word of God, had absorbed it like a dry sponge absorbing water.  He had prayed each day and night, begging God for strength and guidance, all the while his mother had panted and moaned in the next room with a different overnight friend.  Every day that he’d prayed, he’d thought he’d felt something, an inexplicable sensation that had filled him with utter peace.  That peace had calmed him daily, and had made sleep possible while his mother had become inebriated and cavorted with a steady flow of men.

One night, however, his peace had been interrupted abruptly.  He had awoken to strange sounds unlike the sighing and huffing he’d usually heard in other parts of the house.  The light bulb above his head had begun flickering.  He had wondered whether it had been an electrical surge, or something more nefarious.  When the bulb had hissed and sputtered, he had believed his unspoken question had been answered.  He had leaped from his bed immediately, had felt a cold sheen of sweat cover his entire body and he had dashed down the hallway to the living room.  Experience had taught him to never surprise his mother when she was with a man.  She had not liked it when he’d done that, and had beaten him badly on more than one occasion.  She had even allowed one of her friends to beat him as well.  He dared not surprise her again and incur her wrath, or anyone else’s for that matter.  He had crept slowly to the den and saw that his mother and two men had gathered around a board, a Ouija board, he’d learned later.  He had stared in shock and horror as he saw his mother chanting to spirits, summoning them from the pits of hell.  They had laughed as though their godless actions had been a joke.  But in that moment, when Howard had looked into his mother’s eyes, he had seen the truth.  She had been one of them, one of the evil ones that stalked humankind.

His father had warned him of the evil that lived among them.  Howard had run off to his room, away from the incantation, away from his mother.  In the safety of his room, he had dropped to his knees and implored God for guidance.  And on that day, God had answered.  God had given him his first order.

With his task fresh in his mind, Howard had waited several hours until his mother and the friend she’d selected to share her bed had slept before he had snuck downstairs and selected the largest, sharpest carving knife from a drawer in the kitchen.  He had snuck back upstairs and stole into his mother’s bedroom.  Howard had hovered over the sleeping man first then drove the knife into his heart.  The man’s eyes had opened for an instant.  He’d flailed and shouted, waking Howard’s mother, before life had escaped him.  His mother had awoken and had been shocked.  She’d begged him to put the knife down, to leave her unharmed.  Though he had not threatened her immediately, her inhuman sense had told her otherwise.  He had drawn back the blade and, trembling, had plunged it into her chest.  He had pulled it out, only to return it again and again, thrusting the sharp blade in and out of her flesh.

Killing his mother had been the toughest job he’d ever undertaken.  He had stood beside her bed long after her lifeblood had left her.  Only when he had been certain she had been dead did he leave the room and return to the kitchen.  He had picked up the telephone and called the police to tell them what he’d done.  When the police had arrived, they had stared at him in disbelief, had marveled at his ability to compose himself at such a young age after he had killed his mother and her lover.  They had been fools, all of them.  They had not known he had been chosen by God to war with evil on Earth.   He had heard the words “psychopath” and “sociopath” mentioned several times that night.  He had not known what those words had meant when he had been eight years old, but he knew now.  He had not suffered from a personality disorder then and he certainly did not suffer from one now.  His missions had never been spontaneously violent or aggressive acts for which he hadn’t felt remorse.  They had been well thought out, well planned acts for which he hadn’t felt remorse.  God had charged him with destroying wickedness.  He neither mourned nor repented the death of the wicked.  And evil still walked among man, prowling in the shadows, scavenging for souls.  The Sola, a seer of the devil himself, lied in wait.  She was the lone huntress, sent from the depths of hell by Lucifer himself, to unite those who bowed to darkness on Earth and overtake humanity.  But Howard would not allow that to happen.

Kneeling before the altar of his church, a feeling began to stir.  Familiar and welcome, it spread from the center of his body and traveled, tingling and prickling, to the tips of his fingers and toes.  The sensation pulsed from his core, shivering and vibrating to every part of him, invigorating him with renewed conviction and faith in his mission.  God was not speaking to him, but he could feel Him, feel His divine commands, and feel His righteous might.   Howard Kane knew he must find and kill the Sola, utilize his Lord’s support fast, and rid the world of her foul existence.

Chapter 11

More than twenty-four hours had passed since Arianna had kissed Luke in his garage.  Twenty-four hours that had included a restless night of sleep followed by a school day.  School had been uneventful and the day had lapsed painlessly, and quickly; perhaps too quickly.  Now, she stood in her room and was charged with the task of deciding what to wear to a nightclub in the neighboring town of Shadow Hills with Luke and his friends.

Typically, Arianna did not concern herself with fashion trends or what other people wore.  She’d always worn what she liked and what she felt looked best on her.  Price always had a hand in her decision making as well and often dictated where she shopped, or if she shopped at all.  To her, her wardrobe was just a compilation of stuff, necessary elements of her existence like eating and sleeping.  Of course, she wouldn’t refuse nicer clothes if they were to ever magically appear in her closet, but such a phenomenon was out of the question, as unrealistic and unlikely as her landing a date with Ryan Gosling.  Besides, she’d learned early on that pining for things she couldn’t afford was nothing more than a painful waste of time.  Still, as she looked at her clothes she couldn’t help but feel a little depressed.   All had been affected by time.  Some had faded, while others had not maintained their original shape.  She did not own an outfit she could get excited about, or one she felt Luke would get excited about.  So she settled on a spandex miniskirt and a striped top that hung off one of her shoulders.  She slipped into her black motorcycle boots and stepped back to appraise her appearance.  Unexciting and comfortable at best, her outfit would never place her on a best-dressed list, but she felt at ease in it.  She didn’t feel as if she were pretending to be something she was not.  True, the black fabric of her skirt had washed out somewhat, as did the black in the stripes of her shirt.  But the lighting in clubs was usually dim and she highly doubted anyone would notice.

Satisfied that her outfit was as good as it could be, she ran a brush through her hair and was about to start her makeup when a knock at the door startled her.

Within seconds of the knock, her mother’s face appeared in her doorway.  “Hey baby,” her mother said.  Going out tonight I see.”

“Yep,” Arianna said, terrified her mother would ask to come along as well.

“So I take it that adorable guy who came to my rescue will be there?”

She didn’t bother correcting her mother that it was her who had paid for the gas and drove her home because she had always been too absent-minded to keep tabs on the fuel gauge.  “Yep, he’ll be there,” was all she said tightly.

“Does he have a name?” her mother continued.

“Luke.  His name’s Luke.”

“And does Luke have an older brother, or young uncle who will be joining you tonight, or, maybe perhaps in the future?’

“Mom!” Arianna groaned.  “Seriously?”

“What?  Can’t a girl ask if her daughter’s boyfriend knows any available cuties?”

“Luke is not my boyfriend, first of all.  Second of all, and I want to be really clear about this, I am not going to ask him to fix you up with anyone, okay?  And lastly, the term is hotties, not cuties.  If you insist on using slang, get it right.”

“Okay, okay. No need to go getting all huffy, baby.  Jeez, what’s your problem today?”

Arianna could easily rattle off a list as long as her arm about what was troubling her.  At the top of it would be that her mother had refused to grow up and she was getting tired of bailing her out of jams like kicking out slovenly overnight guests who’d slept on their couch for the entire day, or meeting her in a bar parking lot to refuel the car she’d intended to operate when drunk.  Throw in the fact that she couldn’t get in touch with the only friend she’d made in her gypsy life of moving from place to place after each of her mother’s failed romances and the reason for her alleged huffiness became clearer.  But she knew her mother was incapable of handling difficult or profound discussions.  She never had been.  Even now as she looked at her mother pouting over her refusal to play matchmaker with a boy she’d just met, she couldn’t help but pity her, how even the slightest hint of confrontation sent her into a complete tailspin.  Her mother was used to getting her way.  But that didn’t stop Arianna from feeling bad for being sharp with her.

“I’m sorry, mom.  Things have been rough the last couple of days,” Arianna admitted.

“I know what that’s like,” her mother said.  “I’ve been climbing the walls with loneliness these days; just stuck here, all alone, day after day.  I could really use some companionship.”

Her mother’s strong suit was certainly not subtlety.  She intended to guilt Arianna into fixing her up with someone.  But what her mother didn’t know was that Arianna had no intention of giving in to guilt as she so often did.

“You’ll make friends, mom,” Arianna consoled and felt as though the roles should have been reversed.  “Once you start working you’ll meet people, women and men.”

Her mother offered a weak smile.

“By the way,” Arianna continued.  “How did you make out with the job search yesterday?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” her mother brightened.  “I got a job at Super Mart!  I start on Monday.”

“That’s great, mom.  You see, things are already getting better.”

“Yeah, and let me tell you, the assistant manager is a hottie, as you say,” her mother said and winked.  “And I didn’t notice a wedding band, not that that ever stopped me.”

“Oh jeez,” Arianna muttered.

“Did you find a job after school yesterday?”

Arianna arched an eyebrow at her mother, shocked that she’d even remembered that she’d planned to look for a job, let alone directed the conversation from herself to her daughter.  She was tempted to look outside to see if pigs had begun flying as well.

“Well don’t look so shocked, baby.  I listen to you when you talk,” her mother said and beamed with pride.

Arianna leveled a gaze at her and she quickly qualified her statement, “Okay, most of the time I listen when you talk,” her mother said and rolled her eyes like a child who’d been caught by his mother with his hand in the cookie jar.

“No,” Arianna answered honestly.  “I didn’t.”

“How come?  That little savings you got stashed in the toilet tank is not going to last you much longer,” her mother warned.

“I know,” she said then added, “But I had an accident with the bike and it’s totaled.”

“What!”

“Yesterday morning, I was on my way to school and I thought I saw something on the side of the road.  I turned after I’d passed and lost control of my bike.  The bike is totaled.”

Her mother’s face was aghast, horror etched her every feature.  Arianna’s chest tightened immediately as worry marked her mother’s face.  It wasn’t until her mother began to speak that she understood the horrified look she wore.  “I can’t believe you didn’t call me!  Why didn’t you call me?  Why am I the last person to know?  I’m always the last person to know everything!”

“I’m fine, mom, by the way.  Thanks for asking,” Arianna mumbled.

“Well of course you’re fine.  You’re sitting right here talking to me!  I, on the other hand, think I lost a few years of my life just now,” her mother said and placed her hand over her heart dramatically.  “My chest is hurting all of a sudden.  I hope I’m not having a heart attack.”

“Should I call an ambulance?” Arianna said and called her mother’s bluff with syrupy concern in her voice.

“No, no,” her mother panted.  “I think I’m okay, for someone who was just told that her daughter had an accident and she wasn’t told about it until the day after.”

“Sorry for leaving you out of the loop, mom, but as you said, I’m fine and sitting right here.”

“Thank God for that,” her mother sighed and Arianna felt herself soften slightly.  But her softening was short-lived.  “I mean really, baby, you need to be more careful.  What would I do without you?  I need you.  So don’t go killing yourself on me.”

And like that, her touching mother-daughter almost-moment had vanished.  “And you love me and all that stuff, right?” Arianna said sarcastically.

“Well of course I love you!” her mother snapped indignantly.   “How could you even say that to me?  After all I’ve been through you’d think I wouldn’t need to prove myself to my own daughter.”

“No, no. No one’s asking you to do anything like that,” Arianna added and did not bother trying to conceal the edge in her voice.

“Good, because I won’t.  I gave you life and that was proof enough.  And I’ve sacrificed a lot, too.  My breasts have never been the same since.  Do you know how tough dating was with a baby?”

“No mom, I don’t.  Enlighten me,” Arianna said flatly.

“Really tough, that’s how.  Most men didn’t even want a woman with that kind of baggage. Fortunately, I look like I do, or I would have been home with you every day and night,” her mother added in expectation of sympathy.

“Yeah I know, who would want to do something crazy like, I don’t know, raising their child, when there’s a whole sea of men out there waiting to be Cathy Rose-ized,” Arianna spat and did not temper the acid in her voice.

“You make fun, baby, but you don’t know what you were like.”

Arianna thought her head would pop off her shoulders, anger welling and brimming dangerously.

“Oh, so it was my fault you weren’t interested in being a parent?”

She thought for sure her inflammatory remark would draw some sort of rebuttal, an “I loved being your parent, baby,” comment, or something close to it.  But her mother, absorbed in her own recollections, was not the least bit interested in comforting her daughter.

“You used to get into all sorts of trouble, always climbing trees and cabinets.  One time, when you were about seven or eight, you and the neighbor’s kid climbed up onto the roof of the trailer we’d been living in and,”

“Hold on a sec,” Arianna interrupted.  “I was always climbing things, and clearly you were not around to stop me, didn’t I fall and get hurt all the time?”

“Well if you’d let me finish my story instead of being rude and interrupting, you’d find out.  So anyway, there you were, up on the roof of our trailer, and I came home from the neighbor’s house after enjoying a card game and cocktails only to find you up there.  You and that little girl with the buck teeth, oh, what was her name, Emily, Amy, Mary?  Oh I wish I could remember!  You remember her, right?  She had frizzy, red hair and big ole buck teeth like a beaver,” her mother rambled.

“Mom, focus please!”

“Oh, yeah, so you and the frizzy-haired girl were up on the roof holding hands and, I don’t know how it happened, but you both slipped, together.  Both of you fell from the roof down to the gravel below. And I was sure you’d have to be taken to the hospital.  Of course, I looked a fright from a few too many drinks, so I wanted no part of that.  Me and the neighbor ran over to you girls.  Frizzy was a mess, you know, howling bloody murder in pain and all.  She’d ended up breaking her leg, both wrists and had a concussion.  But not you.  You had not a scratch on you.”

Arianna could not believe what she had heard.  She knew she ought to say something, to tell her mother how severe the accident had been and how she should have been seriously injured, but reasoned it would be pointless.

“Not a scratch on me?” Arianna asked to be certain her ears had heard correctly.

“Not a scratch,” her mother confirmed. “You never got hurt. After all your shenanigans, all your dangerous stunts, you never broke a bone or needed stitches. Guess you were born under a lucky sign or something. That’s why when you wanted to buy that bike of yours when you turned sixteen, I didn’t argue.  With all the luck you’d had through the years, I figured you’d be safe.  Guess your luck ran out, huh, baby.”

She nearly bit her fist to stop herself from screaming at her mother that she was wrong, dead wrong, that she was not merely lucky, that she had survived a series of childhood accidents as well as what would have been a fatal motorcycle accident a day earlier, and that she’d possibly moved a chair with her mind. No, lucky signs had nothing to do with what she had experienced.  Something else entirely had been going on.  She just didn’t know what.

“I guess it did,” Arianna said absently.

“Now you’ll have to be extra careful once the bike gets fixed,” her mother said solemnly.

Watching her mother’s grave expression made Arianna wonder how exactly her mother had lived to be in her forties believing that luck and luck alone, had prevented her daughter from death over and over again.  She guessed that most other parents would have, at the very least, marveled at their child’s ability to cheat death once before shielding them from it in the future.  Not her mother, though.  Her mother had watched her fall from the roof of trailer with a friend who’d sustained serious injuries that had included a broken leg and two broken arms as well as a concussion and chalked her lack of injuries up to being born under a lucky sign.  In all fairness, most other parents wouldn’t have allowed their eight-year-old to roam free unsupervised in a trailer park and end up on the roof of one of those trailers in the first place.  Most parents would have questioned the fact that she had remained unharmed a little further, would have sought answers from a spiritual source perhaps.  But most parents were not like Cathy Rose.  Most parents did not view their child as a burden preventing them from having a more active dating life.  Arianna felt her blood pressure rise.  Her fingertips began to tingle as they had in class when Cheryl’s chair had shot out from beneath her.   She tuned back in and listened to more of her mother’s ramblings and felt the tingling strengthen.

“And then there was the time I let you cook for me and a friend,” she said with a laugh.  “You were maybe five and I was with, I think his name was John or Joe, something with a J, and we had you make us some fried chicken.  You were doing all right until you started frying the breaded pieces.  You pulled a chair up and started tossing drumsticks and wings into the frying pan and scalding hot oil splashed all in your face.  I thought for sure you’d disfigured your face, that not only would I have a daughter no man wanted around, but an ugly one at that.”  Her mother paused to laugh again, as if the story she told were somehow a funny or cherished memory.  “Luckily, your face was fine.  I have no idea how that happened because when I touched that pot, I burned my hand, see?” she pointed to a minute scar on her left thumb.

“Yeah, I see it, mom,” Arianna replied.  The tingling had spread and grown.  She felt as though a current of electricity had charged every part of her.  Suddenly, she felt as though she needed physical distance between her mother and herself.  “Look, we can stroll down memory lane some other time.  Right now, I have to get ready to go out.”

“Oh, okay,” her mother said.  “I guess I’m just so lonely and starved for companionship, I didn’t realize I was holding you up.  I’ll let you finish getting ready.”

Arianna felt her body begin to tremble.  Her mother was actually attempting to guilt her into taking her along on her first night out in months on the heels of bragging about being a negligent parent.

“Shut the door behind you,” Arianna said coolly.

“Think of me while you’re out having a good time,” her mother added pitifully and Arianna wanted to shut the door in her face.

“Okay, mom,” was all she could manage.

The door shut finally and her mother was safely on the other side of it.  Arianna blew out a breath of air then inhaled deeply again.  After several deep breaths, the trembling had subsided and her hands felt steady enough to handle a mascara wand without poking her eye out.  That is, if her lucky sign had not, in fact, failed her.  The thought of such nonsense riled her again slightly.  She quickly pushed it to the back of her mind and tried to concentrate on the task at hand, and the night ahead of her.

She applied two coats of mascara and some eyeliner before grabbing an empty purse from her drawer, stuffing some cash, her cigarettes and her fake identification in it and leaving.  She passed her mother sitting on the couch in the living room as she headed toward the front door.  Her mother sat with a blanket draped across her shoulder sipping a large glass of wine.  Her intention had surely been to guilt her further, a final look-at-me-I’m-so-depressed effort.   But Arianna would not bite.  Instead, she called a quick “See you later!” to her mother and closed the door behind her.

Outside, the air was crisp and cool.  The distinct autumn chill promised an even colder night.  She pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it while she waited for Luke to arrive.  As she smoked, she tilted her chin upward and looked to the sky above.  Constellations ornamented the navy expanses like innumerable diamonds affixed to a velvet backdrop.  The sky was so stunning, the stars so bright and numerous, she felt dizzied slightly, but smiled regardless.  She’d see a great many things in her short life, had experienced far too much even, but none of it had etched away at her appreciation of nature, at her sense wonder.  She’d wanted to be an astronaut when she was a little girl.  That was why she had been atop the trailer when she was eight.  And the little girl had not been Amy, Emily or Mary.  Her name was Avery.  She had been Arianna’s best friend.  Her conversation with her mother prompted her to remember an event she’d blocked from her mind for many years.  Her best friend Avery’s serious injuries, and the trailer climbing that had caused it, had been the reason Avery’s parents had forbidden her from playing with Arianna ever again.  They had blamed Arianna.  After all, Arianna had not been harmed.  But their daughter had been.  The only eyewitness to the fall had been Arianna’s drunken mother.

Arianna’s heart raced wildly in her chest, her memory suddenly vivid.   She was about to turn and walk back in to the house and forget about going altogether, feeling that her mood had been irreparably soured when the rumble of a truck engine stopped her.  Headlights sliced through the darkness and approached slowly then stopped in front of her trailer.  The door opened and the overhead interior light illuminated Luke’s face.  And he wasn’t alone.

Stephanie occupied the passenger seat looking impossibly beautiful despite the unflattering lighting and the sour expression she wore.

“Hey,” Luke said as he rounded the front of his truck.  “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Arianna replied and wondered why he didn’t kiss her on the cheek or anything.  A day earlier they’d shared an intense and passionate kiss, but since then, there hadn’t been any hand-holding, hugging, nothing.  Now, with his sister perched in the front seat and her relegated the back seat, there was no chance of even an accidental brush of hands.  Between her mother’s reminiscing and attempted guilt trip and Luke doing nothing short of pretending like what happened between them in his garage had never happened, Arianna found herself missing her bike more than ever.  If she had her bike, she would have canceled with Luke in favor of a nice long ride to clear her head.  But she did not have it.  Instead, she bumped along in Luke’s pickup truck for twenty minutes until they reached Blue Ivy nightclub in Shadow Hills, a seedy town in an even seedier neighborhood that straddled the border between theirs and the next.

Two cars had followed them the entire trip.  Ryan and Christa had trailed in his Honda CRX with Bulldog, Beth, Mike and Carrie not far behind.  Stephanie had planned to meet friends there and had hitched a ride with Luke.  After parking in a small lot just past the entrance to the club, everybody jumped out their cars, eager to get inside.  Bass rumbled deeply, growling like thunder from beyond the walls of the club, pulsing like an immense heart issuing its rhythmic beat.

“Let’s do this!” Ryan said enthusiastically and Christa rolled her eyes at him.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get my drink on!” Mike said.

Everyone started moving toward the club slowly.  Stephanie hung back and pulled at Arianna’s arm to stay.

“Hold on a sec,” she hissed.  “I got something.”

Arianna couldn’t imagine what, and was afraid to ask.  She waited as Stephanie searched her purse then finally produced two white tablets in a plastic bag.  “Thought you might want to do a little ex before we go in,” she said and offered a tablet to Arianna.

Ecstasy was not a drug Arianna was interested in trying.  She’d smoked pot before, but that had been the extent of her experience with drugs.

“No thanks,” Arianna said and handed Stephanie’s bag back.

Stephanie studied her for a moment and Arianna anticipated a snide comment or pressure, but none came.  Instead, Stephanie shrugged, popped the tablet into her mouth and caught up with the rest of their group.

The line to get into Blue Ivy was long, but moved quickly.  Within ten minutes, they were inside wading through a sea of people grinding and writhing to the roll of booming bass.  Bulldog led the pack, and much like a bulldozer, pushed his way past people until a path had been cleared for them that led straight to the bar.  His intimidating size and appearance, complete with a square jaw, deep-set eyes and countless scars, discouraged anybody from protesting their prime position.  Pressing his luck further, as well as his substantial form, Bulldog managed to secure a small table for them to stand around close to the bar.

In the far corner of the club, they had a view of the dance floor.  Packed with scantily clad girls gyrating and rubbing up against eager guys, the dance floor was crowded.  Arianna was not known to dance and she doubted Luke was much of a dancer either.  She preferred drinking at clubs and watching others dance.

“What’re you drinking tonight?” Luke shouted in her ear over the loud music.

“Beer,” she answered.

Luke smiled then shouted, “You’re a cheap date.  I like you more and more every time I see you!” and smiled.

Arianna smiled too, but not because of his joke.  She smiled at his use of the word date.  Luke disappeared toward the bar with Bulldog.  Though the bar was just a few feet away, they were immediately swept away on a wave of people and carried in the current.  They returned several minutes later with a round of drinks for everyone.  Luke sidled up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.  His body moved to the music faintly and rocked hers pleasantly.  She enjoyed the feel of him pressed against her, feeling his heartbeat against her back, his hard body.

After the second round of drinks had been finished, Luke left her with Stephanie to go get another.  She watched him as he left then allowed her eyes to scan the crowd.  As she did, her breath caught in her chest.  In the distance, near the wall farthest from her, she spotted a familiar face.  The man she’d seen on the side of the road not once, but twice, in the last three days watched her.  She wondered what the hell he was doing there, why he was following her, so she grabbed Stephanie by the elbow and urged her forward.

“Come on Stephanie,” she said and tugged her arm.

“What the fuck!” Stephanie protested.

“Come on!  I think I see someone I know,” Arianna said.

“So? What the hell does that have to do with me?”

Arianna didn’t want to argue.  She just wanted someone with her when she confronted him, a witness that he existed, that he was real.  She quickly searched her mind for a reason that would motivate Stephanie.

“It’s a guy I know.  He’s single and loaded, but I guess I’ll see him another time.”

She could practically see Stephanie’s brain working.   She tossed a lock of platinum blonde hair over her shoulder and took Arianna’s hand and began moving through the crowds.  A sea of swaying bodies, changing faces and snippets of shouted conversations became disorienting.  Unsure of which corner she’d seen the mystery man in, she stopped.

“What are you doing?” Stephanie yelled.  “I thought we were going to see your rich friend.”

“I think he left already,” Arianna fumbled for an excuse.  “Since you took so long to come with me,” she added and worried she would suffer Stephanie’s wrath at any second.  When it did not come, she nearly sighed aloud in relief.

“I need a smoke,” Stephanie said.  “Let’s dip outside, okay?”

Arianna glanced around nervously.  “What about Luke and the others?” she asked.

“We can’t take our drinks outside, and I’m not leaving them lying around here,” Stephanie cautioned.

“Gotcha,” Arianna replied.

Stephanie turned and began leading them toward the perimeter of the club in search of an exit door.   They stumbled through throngs of people until they found one and opened it.

“Wait,” Arianna said to Stephanie as she stepped out.  “What if we can’t get back in this door?”

“We’ll go around to the front if we have to.  Our hands are stamped.”

The door led into a dimly lit alleyway.  Sodium vapor lamps provided meager light as well as an eerie jaundiced glow.  Dumpsters lined the walls and added to the depressing ambience.

“This is gross,” Arianna said.  “Let’s go back in and go out front to smoke, you know, where there’s no garbage or rats.”

“Whatever,” Stephanie answered curtly.

Arianna tugged the handle to the metal door and, as she expected, the door had locked from the inside.

“Great.  We’re locked out,” Arianna said sarcastically.

“Who gives a shit?” Stephanie said with a slurred voice as she lit her cigarette clumsily, the ecstasy and alcohol clearly affecting her coordination.

“Um, I do.  It’s not safe back here.”

“Don’t be such a chickenshit.”

“Call me whatever you want, we’re not staying back here,” Arianna said then added, “One of us has to use her brain here.”

Arianna took a step forward to lead her and Stephanie out of the alleyway when a sound halted her.  She stopped and listened intently.

“What the fuck! First you wanna go.  Now you wanna stay.  Make up your mind!”

“Shh!”

Arianna listened again and heard footsteps approaching.  Fear slithered like a serpent down the length of her spine and raised bumps on her skin.  Her heart began to race, adrenaline flooding her system to flee from what she perceived as danger.

“What?” Stephanie questioned belligerently.

“Shut up!” Arianna hissed as the footsteps sounded closer.  “Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

“Someone’s already here,” a male voice called.

“We were just leaving,” Arianna said and ducked her head down.  She grabbed Stephanie by her wrist and yanked her along.

“What’s the rush ladies?” the voice said again and two men stepped out from the shadows.

Grungy and bedraggled looking, both men looked as though they could benefit from a shower with soap and a stiff-bristled brush.  Heavily tattooed and clad in jeans, they looked as if they’d seen and committed their share of violent acts.  One wore a gray bandana on his head and a black leather vest while the other had illegible tattoos scrawled across his neck.

“I said what’s your hurry?” neck tattoo asked in a gravelly voice.

“We have friends inside.  Came out for a smoke and got locked out,” Arianna answered and tried to sound calm.

The man with the gray bandana stepped away from the man with the tattooed neck and approached Stephanie.  Arianna felt her heart slamming against her ribcage as he raked his eyes up and down their bodies, circling and stalking them like prey.  Neck tattoo advanced as well.  The closer he got, the more hideous he became.  Silver jewelry pierced the skin of his face and ears and jingled softly as he walked and he blinked often, his nearly lashless lids straining over eyeballs that protruded.  His tongue continually darted from between his thin lips like a snake sniffing out its next meal.  Both men looked as if they were high on something.

“Aren’t you both just a pleasant surprise?  So pretty to look at,” neck tattoo hissed and ran his serpentine tongue over his lips again.

“Thanks,” Arianna said flatly and slid a glance at Stephanie.  “But we’re leaving.  Our friends are waiting.”  Stephanie looked terrified and trembled so violently her large hoop earrings quivered.

“I don’t think so,” neck tattoo warned and closed the distance between him and Arianna.  He cuffed her upper arm, his grip on it vice-like.  “They can wait.  We’re just getting to know each other.”

Arianna tried to wrench her arm from him and scream, but he clapped his hand over her mouth and slammed her against the brick wall behind her.  With the pressure of his hand pinning her face and head to the wall, he used his other to pull a small rectangular object from his pocket.  He pushed a button on it and a shiny blade appeared.  He pressed it to Arianna’s throat and said, “If you make another sound, I’ll slit your fucking throat.”

Arianna could hear her blood roaring in her ears.  The man pushed his knife against her skin and she felt the sting of skin breaking.  All the while, he stared into her eyes, his own completely devoid of any sentiment whatsoever.  From the corner of her eye, she saw Stephanie move, attempt to run.  But the man with the bandana grabbed her before she’d taken more than two steps.  He slammed Luke’s sister against the far wall and Arianna heard her head connect with the brick wall with a sickening thwack.  Stephanie slid down the wall slowly until her body slumped to the ground.

“That’s all right,” bandana man said.  “She doesn’t have to be awake for this.”  He then crouched down over her and lifted up her miniskirt.

“Like what you see?” neck tattoo said to Arianna, and ran his tongue up her neck.  Bile rose in the back of her throat and she thought she might vomit, fear fighting to purge the beer from her stomach.  “Now you be a good little girl,” he ordered her and she felt his hands touch the hem of her miniskirt.  He raised it high and revealed her thong underwear.  “Oh, I like those,” he laughed approvingly.

Suddenly the sodium vapor lamps brightened considerably, transforming from a sinister, jaundiced glow to a bright, near-white hue that pulsed all around her; through her. The world suddenly buzzed and the fear she’d felt seconds earlier melted away.

“You think I’m gonna just let this happen,” she spat.

“I like it when they struggle,” neck tattoo said confidently, but the look on his face betrayed his confidence.  He looked shocked by her lack of fear.

Spurred, Arianna felt her muscles bunch and strain, burning to move despite the weight of his body against her.  An odd but not altogether unfamiliar sensation whispered through her body, gently at first then gained momentum immediately until it throbbed through her veins with more force than her lifeblood.  The man who sought to rape her had not noticed the changes that were occurring.  He did not sense Arianna’s transformation.  But she had, in fact, transformed.  She no longer felt fear unlike any she’d ever felt before.  She no longer wanted to flee.  She wanted something else entirely.

Her stomach roiled angrily as if somersaulting over a slithering serpent that moved unendingly inside her gut.  The scent of garbage from the surrounding trash bins in the alleyway intensified, but was overpowered by a different scent: Blood.  The metallic stench of blood hung in the air like mist, overwhelming her, fueling her.  Her vision, shrouded moments ago by tears and darkness, now saw clearly that blood dripped from a wound on Stephanie’s skull.   Fury shook her body and the urge to kill the man before her as well as the one who hovered over Stephanie overtook her.  Kill or be killed. The words passed through her with the tremors that shook her, vibrating and echoing through her core.  She shoved her hands forward with strength and energy she should not have had and the man launched backward.  She swept her arm up and to one side and the man’s body moved, as if he were a marionette on a string guided by her hand, and slammed against the brick wall of a neighboring building.  She heard loud snaps, bones no doubt, and several of them, when his body met with the wall.  In the instant that it had happened she’d wondered how she could possibly hear his bones yielding on impact.  But the thought had been fleeting.  The hum inside her encompassed any reason she’d possessed and drowned it out completely, and she was filled with the urge to punish the man she seemingly controlled.  She retracted her hand quickly and watched as he lurched forward, impossibly, his feet not touching the ground.  Then she flicked her wrist away from her body and he smashed against the wall once more.  A vile thrill of excitement trilled inside of her as his form met with the wall a second time.  She watched as the man with the neck tattoo fell to the concrete unmoving, his leg jutting out from beneath him unnaturally.

Feeling her blood roaring through her veins, she turned her attention to the man with Stephanie.  Stephanie’s underwear had been torn from her body and the man with the bandana had begun to unzip his pants.  He produced his own blade and pressed it to Stephanie’s neck.  “One more step and I’ll kill the bitch,” he said.

At his threat, Arianna’s breaths came in short, shallow pants and she felt as though a black hole resided deep in the pit of her belly, one that could never be filled.  Her eyes burned with red-hot heat as if both were glowing embers.  Everything in her field of vision was bathed in crimson.  She saw the man crouched over Stephanie freeze.  He looked at her, shocked and confused.

“What the fuck?” he shouted.  “You’re eyes!  You’re eyes are r-r-r-red!”  Fear laced each of his words, but Arianna felt nothing for him.  “Stay back or I’ll cut her!” he said again and pressed the point of the blade so that it produced a thin rivulet of blood.  Stephanie began to stir and regain consciousness, undoubtedly in response to the pain of the blade pricking her throat.

The coppery scent of blood filled Arianna’s nostrils once again, burning the back of her throat.  All she wanted was to avenge her friend who lay littered on the ground like refuse, her skirt lifted to her waist and her underwear torn off.  The man had intended to rape her, to strip from her that which was not his to take, her dignity, her worth.  But Arianna would not let that happen.  Her body shook as a ripple of ire passed through her, flaring to the tips of her fingers, tingling and burning.  She raised her hands quickly.  As her fingers lifted to the height of her shoulders, heat flashed from their tips and felt like it was arching in a scorching stream.  The man rose to his feet, but not fast enough to evade her all-consuming rage.   Her scarlet sight watched as he burst into flames.  He rose to his feet and scampered away from Stephanie whose eyes fluttered, flames licking every part of his body.  He screamed and writhed, tried to pat the flashes of fire that rose and fell like the breaths of a great beast.  He howled in pain and pleaded for help as the flames grew larger and encompassed him.  But Arianna did not offer help and she did not want him to feel reprieve.  She wanted him to feel the fire of hell and burn.

Arianna’s felt her own chest rise and fall, her breathing strained and labored.  She looked to Stephanie who had awoken to the sight of a burning man before her.

“W-what’s happening?” Stephanie asked groggily.

Arianna didn’t bother answering any questions.  She grabbed Stephanie and pulled her to her feet with strength that began to drain from her, leaving in its wake pain, indescribably intense pain.  Every part of her ached.  She tugged on the handle of the door they’d exited.

“It’s locked, remember?” Stephanie said.

Arianna yanked it as hard as she could and the felt the lock surrender.  Thumping bass poured out from the opened door and they stepped into the darkness.  The effort of opening the door had sapped what little strength had remained.  She shivered, panicking about what she’d just seen, what she’d done.  Her brain could not process what had just happened, her strength, her power.  The club began to spin in lopsided circles and disgust ate at her.  Had she killed both men?  In the moment, she hadn’t cared, had actually wanted them gone, permanently.  She felt the energy inside her waver and a swelling sting swept through her, tearing at her insides, branching from the center of her body and shooting out.  Stephanie let go of her hand and pushed through the crowd leaving Arianna alone.  The music and voices around her seemed to murmur, suddenly muffled as if she were hearing them from underwater, distorted and indistinct.  Her knees threatened to give way beneath her, stabbing pain radiating from her gut.

She hunched and clutched her stomach about to drop to the floor and curl into a ball against the blinding pain she felt when a pair of warm hands cupped her face.  And just as suddenly as the pain had come, it receded like a wave.   She looked up to see who held her face and drew in a sharp breath when she saw him.  Tall and broad-shouldered with golden hair and blue eyes that penetrated the dimness of the nightclub, the man’s touch calmed her, yet evoked a stirring of warmth in her torso that expanded and touched the tips of her fingers and toes.  Faint light from a roving spotlight shined behind him, haloing his exquisite shape, and if he’d whispered in her ear that he was an angel, she would have believed him.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said in a voice as beautiful as he was.

For unclear reasons, she did not fight or protest.  The man she’d seen on the side of the road twice, the same one she’d seen before she’d gone outside with Stephanie, took her hand in his and stepped forward.

“Who are you?” she managed.  “What do you want from me?’

“You know who I am, Sola.  And who I am does not matter.  Who and what you are is all that matters.”

“What?  What does that mean?” she asked.

“Take my hand and I’ll show you,” he replied.

He pulled her close to him and the world around them disappeared, the club, the people, the tables, everything vanished from sight.  Light burst into her mind, brilliant white light, and she was on a roaring wave.  The warmth she’d felt moments ago filled her so fully she thought it would burst through her arms and legs.  Warmth, comforting, enveloping warmth charged the center of her being.  She was light. She did not feel pain or fear.  Her worries disappeared like grains of sand in the wind.  She was free.

About the Authors

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2010.  To date, the jury is still out.  But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mom of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book together!”  Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer simply stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years.  After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them had possessed for much of their young adult lives.  Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success.  They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot would fall apart, or characters would lose their zest, or the story would just fall flat.  Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance.  Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued alternate (paying) careers.  But the dream had never died.  And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination.  When he proposed that they author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright.  His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night.  By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

The Dark Creations series, as well as the Arianna Rose series and the Planet Urth series, are works that were written while Jennifer and Christopher continued about with their daily activities and raised their young children.  They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section.  Life simply continued.  And in some ways, their everyday lives were reflected in the characters of each series.

As the story line continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration.  Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing.  They hope all enjoy reading their work as much as they enjoyed writing it.

Books by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci:

The Dark Creations Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1&2)

Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3)

Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4)

Dark Creations: Hell on Earth (Part 5)

Dark Creations: Dark Ending (Part 6)

The Arianna Rose Series (A paranormal romance series)

Arianna Rose (Part 1)

Arianna Rose: The Awakening (Part 2)

Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3)

Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4)

Arianna Rose: The Gates of Hell (Part 5)

The Planet Urth Series (A YA science-fiction series)

Planet Urth (Book 1)

Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2)

Planet Urth: The Underground City (Book 3)

Planet Urth: The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4)

Planet Urth: The Fate of Urth (Book 5)

The Hunter of the Light series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Hunter of the Light (Book 1)

Thank You So Much For Reading Our Book!

We deeply appreciate your readership and would love to hear from you!

For information about upcoming releases (or just to say hi!) please visit our website at http://darkcreationssaga.com or our Facebook page at http://on.fb.me/1dlUUF5 . To sign up for our mailing list and receive information about upcoming release and special promos, please visit http://eepurl.com/Jp7yz

Thank you again for reading!

Love,

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Oh, One Last Thing Before You Go…

When you turn the page, you may be given the opportunity to express your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter automatically.  If you enjoyed our book, would you take a second to click that button and let your friends know about it?

If they get something out of the book, they’ll be grateful to you, and we will be, too!

Thank you so much!

Love,

Jenny and Chris

Please enjoy an excerpt from Jennifer and Christopher Martucci’s newest release Planet Urth (A YA Science-Fiction Series)

Chapter 1

Wind howls through the trees and rushes in the cracks of the cave, whistling shrilly.  The sound makes me bolt upright, startled.  I worry in the bleary moments just after waking from a deep sleep that they’ve found us.  When my eyes adjust, I see that we are alone and that our defenses have not been breached.  I sigh and feel the panic begin to leak from my body as my eyes sweep my familiar surroundings.  The sun has not risen yet, but the sky has brightened.  Eerie, iridescent light trickles in along with streams of air that carry the sweet, pungent zing of ozone.  Sharp and fresh, the scent fills the space around me.  I look beside me to see if June smells it.  It is one of her favorite scents, the way the atmosphere smells just before rain begins.  But she is still asleep, her small body curled in a ball.  I am tempted to wake her.  She does not like to miss any opportunity for joy, as joy is a rarity in our world.  I reach out my hand and pull it back immediately.  She looks too serene to disturb.  With her eyes closed and her features relaxed, she looks her age.  Her brow is not creased in concern now.  Her eyes are not narrowed as they usually are.  Her face is smooth, innocent.  She looks at peace.  But I know that when she does finally wake, favorite scents or no favorite scents, that peace will seep from her.  Daylight will age her.  It always does.

I watch her for several moments.  The familiar ache begins in my chest and quickly tightens my throat.  I swallow hard, gulping in vain against the lump of dread stuck there.  I don’t know why I bother.  It never moves.  I doubt it will ever leave.

Thunder rumbles and shakes the stone walls around me.  Rain patters at first then drums loudly, the shriek of the wind accompanying it.  A violent storm is under way.  Still, June remains asleep, unbothered and unaware of it.  I almost envy her.

Her eyelids flutter and a small smile tilts the corners of her mouth upward.  I know she is having a pleasant dream.  I have forgotten what pleasant dreams are.  My dreams are never pleasant.  They are usually filled with dreadful images, and running, always running, without a destination in sight.  The veil between nightmares and reality is thin.  Some days, I have trouble distinguishing between the two.  I would have ended it all long ago were it not for June.

June is my reason to live, the only reason I still live.  She is my purpose.  I exist to keep her safe, for there are many things in this world she needs protection from.  It has been eight years since I’ve seen another human being that wasn’t my father or my sister.  I am convinced we are the last human beings on the planet.  I would never tell June that.  I tell her every day that I believe someone will find us, that we will one day feel safe instead of scared all the time.  But I know that is not true, that I am a liar.

I force a smile on my face each day, do it in defiance of the truth, in defiance of the ache in my heart, and tell June that one day our lives will be filled with calm and order.  It is a sharp contrast to the jumbled chaos of our day-to-day existence.  Most days the madness of it all weighs on me so heavily I contemplate scouring the forest for berries my father warned me against and filling my belly with them.  Once, I came dangerously close to doing exactly that.  I leaned against a tree trunk, mesmerized by the yellowish-orange fruit, and picked a handful.  I brought my hand to my mouth and parted my lips, tears of relief slipping down my cheeks as I envisioned an end to it all, an end to the never-ending tightness in my throat, the constant worry, the suffering.  I was about to take several between my teeth when I heard my sister call out to me in the distance.  She was cheering excitedly about catching her first squirrel, which turned out to be a skunk, and I froze.  The gravity of what I was about to do hit me like a fist to my gut.  I allowed the berries to fall between my fingertips and drop to the ground below.  I called back to her that I would be along in a minute.  I needed time to collect myself, to breathe through the swell of emotion crashing over me.  I had intended to take my life, had come dangerously close, in fact.  The actuality of it staggered me.  I was angry, scared and grateful all at once.  I sprang to my feet and paced for several moments, panting like a wild animal, before I calmed down enough to plaster a tight smile on my face.  I returned to June and did not speak of what I almost did.  She never asked, and I never told.  That was weeks ago.  I haven’t done anything that reckless or stupid since.  I do not have the luxury of doing such things.

Now as I watch June, watch the rise and fall of her chest as she takes deep, even breaths, I realize I was selfish weeks earlier.  I am selfish every time I entertain the idea of ending the yawning pit of sadness inside me for good.  She needs me.  She would not survive without me.  Especially since our father died a little more than a year ago after living what I guess was a much longer than average life and passing away peacefully at the age of fifty.  In the days before his death, I promised him we would stay safe, that I would keep June out of harm's way and never give up.  He showed me how to do it, how to survive.  The rest, namely living, is a bit more complicated.

I lie back down and close my eyes, remembering my father and all he taught me.  I curve my body around June’s sleeping form, comforted by her stillness.  She does not feel me there.  She continues to sleep.  The storm rages outside.  And the lump in my throat balloons to the point I fear it will strangle me.

But in spite of the turmoil outside and the havoc rattling around inside me, exhaustion takes hold and pulls me on a dark and velvety tide.  I sleep until the chirping of birds wakes me.

Sooty shadows still stretch across the cave I’ve called home for the last six years, but the light filtering in is considerably brighter.  My stomach clenches violently, rumbling and growling, and I know it is time to hunt.  Food has been scarce the last few days, leaving only small animals to trap and eat.  I have caught just rats.  They taste terrible, have very little meat on them and always leave me feeling sick.  I crave the filling sustenance of boart meat, but haven’t seen one recently, not in the last three days, at least.

The thought of filling my stomach with tender, succulent boart flesh forces me to sit up.  My back complains and my neck aches.  Too little sleep and positioning myself oddly conspire against me.  Regardless, I push myself to stand, shoving my palms and heels against the hard, rocky floor.  I scrub my face with my hands then stretch before setting about pulling out the logs that lodge the boulder wedged at the mouth of the cave in place.

Six years ago, my father found a stone sized perfectly, as if custom made, to cover the cave’s opening.  He spent months etching it, chipping away at its surface little by little, until every niche of the entrance to the cave was filled with a bulge of the boulder, rounded and able to roll bumpily.  With an assortment of wood stuck all around it, the boulder conceals June and I and keeps creatures of every kind from getting in.  The purpose they serve is great.  The beings that roam the land after dark are deadly.  We cannot go out once the sun sets, not even in the event of an emergency.  No human being can, should any exist, and couldn’t years ago when we lived among others.  The others are long gone.  And together, the boulder and the logs safeguard June and I from Lurkers.

The thought of darkness and Lurkers makes my skin feel as if thousands of insect feelers are scuttling across it.  The need for fresh air and light becomes urgent.  I frantically clear the logs that wedge the boulder in place by extending to the far wall of our cave, working so hard I am winded.  When the last is cleared, I rest my hands on my knees and gulp air greedily.  I brush my brow with the back of my hand and my eyes immediately go to June, still fast asleep.  I regret having to wake her, but the next task is too difficult to be performed by only me.  I need June’s help to move the boulder.  It is heavy, and while at seventeen my strength is at its prime, it is still not a match for the stone.

Reluctantly, I move toward her and sit.  I brush a lock of golden hair from her forehead.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I say to her.

She stirs and opens her eyes slowly.  Her eyes narrow and focus on my face, erasing the smoothness of youth.  She suddenly looks all of her eight years, plus some.

“Time to move it,” I thumb over my shoulder to the boulder as I speak.

June groans and screws up her features briefly.

“Come on lazy bones,” I tease her.  “If you want to get outside and enjoy the long, warm day, I suggest you quit moaning and help me.”  I touch my index finger to the tip of her small nose.  She smiles, an expression that lights her entire face, then sits up and hugs me tightly.  The gesture loosens the tightness in my chest and I am reminded of what, or who, I am living for.

“I do want to go outside,” June murmurs into my hair.  “I hate nighttime.”

Her words resonate in my bones.  They compel me to smile broadly when her grip on me slackens and she is at arm’s length.  “We need to do a lot today, but if we have time left, we will go to the meadow.”

Her face lights up and her pale-blue eyes sparkle.  “Oh Avery, you promise?” she squeaks and her eyebrows nearly disappear into her hairline.

“Promise,” I say.

She mumbles something about having the best sister ever and my cheeks grow hot.  I do not deserve her compliments.

My face is still blazing when June scrambles from her sleep sack and stands.  Her long limbs are thin, her elbows and kneecaps prominent.  Our recent diet, reliant on rats as a source of protein, is taking its toll on her.  I curse myself under my breath for not doing a better job, for not taking care of her properly as I’d promised my father I would, and suddenly my head is a glowing ember.

“Let’s move this thing out of the way,” I say more cheerily than I feel.

We must crouch to walk through the narrow, tunnel-like structure that leads to the mouth of the cave.  It is a tight squeeze, but we do whatever is necessary to secure ourselves.

I walk to the boulder and June follows, placing her hands beside mine.  A crisp breeze blows, cooling my skin just before we pull the stone until a thick rim of light appears all around it.  We continue until a brilliant glow pours into the cave.  I squint and shield my eyes with my hand as they adjust to daylight.

“Wow,” June comments, her eyes round with wonder.  “Look at the sky.  It’s so blue.”

I follow her eyes and see that she’s right.  The sky is bluer than usual.  It looks as if it has been scrubbed clean.  Not a cloud mars its perfection.

“You know why it looks like that, right?” I ask June.

“No, why?” she looks at me quizzically and asks.

“We had storms a couple hours ago,” I say and look at her out of the corner of my eye.  “And someone slept through all of it,” I comment playfully and elbow her lightly in the ribs.  She frowns and knits her brow as if she’s done something wrong, not quite the response I’d hope for.

“Were you scared?” she asks me, her eyes pleading pools of crystal-clear water.

“Nah, not at all,” I lie.  “The only reason I woke is because you snore,” I say and elbow her again.  This time she smiles, a wide, goofy smile that makes my chest temporarily releases the stranglehold on my heart.

“Yeah, well, it’s better than drooling like you do,” she teases me back.

“Hey!” I say with exaggerated annoyance.

“Come on, drool-girl, I’ll race you to the river!” she arches a pale brow at me and twists her mouth to one side before darting off into the woods toward the fresh-water river we start our days at.

“No fair!” I call before I dash after her.

The air is cool, refreshingly so, when it rushes in my face as I race after June.  She is small and thin and quick as lightning as she streaks between trees and bushes, dodging vines and creepers.  Birds flit from tree to tree and chipmunks peep in annoyance.  All around us, the woodland wakes.  A new day has dawned.  Storms have passed and the grass is wet, but the mugginess is gone, the air is lighter, as if the world has sighed away a heavy burden.  I know it has not.  I know the Lurkers still exist.  I wish it were that easy.

When I reach the river, June is there already.  Her hands are on her hips and her chin is tipped upward, a sly smile rounding her cheeks.

“I thought you’d never get here,” she tries to sound smug as she speaks.  But she is incapable of conceit or arrogance of any kind.  She is better than that.

“What can I say?  You’re fast, too fast for me,” I reply.

Her smile broadens.  It reaches her eyes and makes them dance with pride.

“Come on, let’s wash up and hunt,” I tell her as I kneel and begin to splash my face with water warmed by the summer sun.

June follows my lead and scoops handfuls of water and scrubs her face and underarms.  Once we are clean, I turn to her and speak.

“We are going out a little farther than the perimeter today,” I tell her.  June’s brow furrows deeply and her eyes narrow to slits.  She folds her willowy arms across her chest and listens intently.  “Do you feel comfortable going off on your own out there?  Do you think you’ll be okay?” I ask, fearful that she is not ready yet.

She nods resolutely and says, “I’ll be fine.”

I place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as I smile.  I do not hide the pride I am feeling, or the relief.  Going beyond the boundaries we’ve observed for years is crucial.  The knobbiness of her shoulder is a painful reminder that if we do not push our boundaries, our food supply will continue to dwindle.

“Great,” I tell her.  “I knew you were.”

June’s eyes widen at my words, gleaming with satisfaction, and I feel my heart swell.

“I am going to get us a couple of rabbits for dinner tonight,” she says with steely determination.

I admire her grit and wish grit alone were capable of snaring a pair of rabbits.  But it is not.  The sad fact of the matter is June rarely catches anything, and has never caught an animal substantial enough to feed us more than once.  I feel confident today will be no different.  But I respect her more than words can say for waking up every single morning and trying.  She is undaunted by failure, unsullied by it.

“Good,” I tell her and wink.  “I look forward to it.”

“Count on it,” she says.  Her posture straightens, so full of optimism and hope I nearly weep.

I wish she would learn to hunt.  I hope that this is the day she reaches her goal.  She needs to be able to kill and prepare her own food as a precaution.  We live in a dangerous world.  If something were to happen to me, I want to know that she will not starve.

“All right, let’s get going before the sun is overhead and the animals seek shelter from it,” I tell her.

She realizes it is time to separate and a strange look clouds her features.  Without warning, she closes the distance between us and wraps her arms around my waist.  “Be safe, Avery,” she tells me.  “You are my sister and my best friend.”

Her words make my throat squeeze painfully around words that are jammed there.  I swallow hard and try to talk, managing just a hoarse whisper.  “I’ll be fine, sis.  Don’t worry,” I tell her.  I hold her briefly then gently push her arm’s length from me.  Her eyes lock on mine and I hold her gaze.  “We will go to the edge of the woods together.  Stay nearby.”  Nearby means she is not to wander more than a few hundred spear lengths from me.  “I will signal when I get something.  Okay?”

June nods in understanding and we move through the woods.

The forest is awake and humming with activity.  Birds dart from tree to tree, rustling leaves and branches.  Intermittently, a chipmunk scurries across the needle-covered ground and chirps loudly.  June is silent as we walk.  I watch her from the corner of my eye.  Her expression is concerned.  I reach out my hand and take hers.

“Everything is going to be okay,” I say.

She clutches my hand forcefully for a moment before releasing it altogether.  “I know,” she says and smiles.  But I am unconvinced.  She is eight years old, a child by most standards, yet she must shoulder adult burdens.  It is necessary for her survival, a point that I regret with every fiber of my being.

When we reach the edge of our safety zone, the trees grows farther apart and the area is brighter.  We are not as concealed.

“Don’t go too far,” I tell her.

June’s eyes plead for a moment, shining with emotion.  “Love you,” she says.

“Love you,” I reply.

Her demeanor haunts me as I watch her crouch low and move cautiously between spiny ferns and brush.  Why was she so worried?  Did she sense something I’d missed?  My mind starts spinning questions that roll around in my head like a ball of barbed wire.  But I need to force them to the dark recesses of my brain.  I cannot worry or speculate about intuition or what-ifs.  Too much is at stake.  Eating takes priority.

I walk for several minutes until I find fresh boart droppings.  My father once told me that long ago, before the war, boarts were called boars.  But like every other animal on the planet, the boars changed.  They mutated into a different species.  I quickly look all around, scanning the low growth for the pot-bellied beast responsible for the droppings.  I do not see one, but know it is near so I decide to seek higher ground.  The massive oak beside me is the perfect lookout point.

With my knife sheathed at my thigh and my spear and sword in a scabbard at my back, I grab hold of the lowest branch and hoist myself up.  I climb from one to the next, scaling the tree cautiously, gently.  I do not want to disturb anything or make a sound.  I do not want to scare the beast and send it running.  I continue, gingerly navigating the dovetailed branches and only stop when the limbs above me become thin and fragile looking.  I do not want to risk resting on one that cannot bear my weight and settle into a squatting position where I am.  I crouch low, balancing.  I unsheathe my spear, clutching it securely in sweat-slickened hands and watch as nearby growth stirs and a boart comes into view.

Minutes tick by and the boart does not move.  The sun beats down through limbs and leaves.  Sweat stipples my brow and trails between my shoulder blades, but I do not dare brush it away or shift.  I must remain still, poised to strike when the moment presents itself.  The snorts and chuffs of the beast grow closer.  I do not move.  I barely breathe.  Each of my muscles ache and tremble, and my knees protest holding the same position for so long.  My pulse hammers against my temples.  The beast continues to inch forward, creeping at a leisurely pace.  Hunger gnaws ceaselessly.  My belly rumbles, a sound so loud I worry it will frighten the boart and ruin any chance of eating for myself and June.  But it does not.  I have it in my sight, my gaze zeroed in on it.  It disappears for a moment behind a dense thicket, close, so close to me I can smell its pungent stink.

It reappears after several painstaking seconds.  Up close, I can see that it is enormous.  It must be nearly three hundred pounds.  Not that I would know that for sure.  The last scale I’d seen had been when my father was alive and we’d stayed at a camp with other humans.  Then, I’d been weighed and told I was a hundred and five pounds and five feet one inches tall.  Years have passed and I’ve grown since then.  But the beast easily triples my girth.  Massive shoulders and hind quarters are connected by a generous belly.  I watch it as it sniffs a tuft of blossoms near the trunk of the tree I am perched in.  It continues to snuffle and grunt and I grip the handle of my weapon so tightly my palm aches.

When it is just below me, I jump.

The ground is hurtling toward me.  All breath leaves my body and needle-sharp stabs of pain claw my legs as branches lash my thighs.  Bruises and cuts will result, but I do not care.  All I can think of is feeding my sister, and me.  My spear drives into the base of the beast’s neck first before I land atop it.  I hold my spear steady with one hand while I unsheathe my blade and slice its throat.  It squeals, a tortured, awful sound, and thrashes.  Warmth gushes over my hand, covering my blade, but I do not let go of it.  And I do not let go of my spear either.  I hold fast and plunge it further, in fact, until the entire middle section of the spear is no longer visible.

My chest is heaving and every part of me is quivering.  The world around me has gone quiet.  All I hear are my own ragged breaths and the fading shrieks of the stuck animal.

Before long, the boart stops flailing.  Blood is everywhere.  It is on my hands, on my arms, my legs, and my face.  I feel as if it is coating my tongue, but I know it is not.  It is just the heavy, coppery smell, so thick and overpowering, that is tricking my mind into believing blood has entered my mouth.  The boart’s weight begins to shift as it topples to one side.  I know I must keep my dagger from becoming trapped beneath its massive body.  I must keep from getting trapped beneath its massive body.

I flick my knife to the side and hear it land with a soft thud in the grass then yank as hard as I can and as quickly as I can to pull the spear from the boart’s body.  I dive to the ground, reaching and stretching with every ounce of strength I have to throw myself clear of the beast’s fall.  I land hard just in time to avoid being a squashed blob underneath it then whistle loudly for June.

The faint swish of wet grass and leaves sounds and before long, my sister appears.  At first she sees only the blood covering my hands and splattered across my face.  She gasps and her hands fly to her mouth.  She cries out, words that are unintelligible.

“Oh no, no, no,” she sobs.

“June, no, I’m okay,” I assure her and point with a trembling hand to the boart carcass.

Her eyes round immediately.  “You got one!” she squeals excitedly.  “Oh wow!”  She bounces on the balls of her feet, clapping her hands in front of her face, and I am reminded of her youth, of her innocence.  I suddenly wish she did not have to see the scene before her eyes.  Rationally, I know she must, that one day she will have to gut a boart on her own.

“Come on, let’s prepare this boart quickly before the scavengers come out to play,” I say, referring to the buzzards and other winged predators that could announce our position.

June assists while I carve enough meat to stuff ourselves for the day, as well as the next morning.  The boart is robust, its flesh plentiful, but we cannot take all of it.  It would spoil by midday the next day, a point that sickens me.  Wastefulness of any kind pains me, particularly when it concerns food.  If it were winter, every bit of its meat would be taken and packed in snow, then eaten for weeks.  Today’s kill is just for the day.

We return to the cave with our haul and cook it immediately.  Cooking after the sun sets is off-limits.  The smell of roasting flesh would frenzy the creatures of the night and all but guarantee our deaths.  The thought makes me shudder.

As soon as the meat is fully cooked, I offer the first piece to June.  She devours it immediately.  I begin to nibble a chunk and watch as she reaches for a second then third serving.

“Be careful not to stuff yourself,” I warn her.  But it is hard not to.  The salty taste and the tender texture of the meat are irresistible.  Before long, I find myself ignoring my own advice and helping myself to more.

“I have to stop,” I moan, but a full belly is blissful.  “We have to train still,” I say more for my own benefit than June’s benefit.

“Aw, do we have to?” she asks and frowns.

I level my gaze at her and do not say a word.  I do not need to.  She knows better, knows that it is imperative for us to train each and every day, to keep our senses sharp and our reflexes swift.  I never allow a day to pass when we do not train.  That is what our father taught us.  And June needs to become as good with a sword and spear as I am.  Her life depends on it, and so does mine.  Room for improvement always exists.

“Can’t we just relax for a little while?” June begs.

I look to the sun, my mind warring with my heart, and realize there is plenty of daylight hours left.  June deserves a reprieve.  I owe her that, at least.

“Okay,” I surprise her by saying.

Her head whipsaws from me to her food then back to me.  “Are you kidding?” she asked suspiciously.  “‘Cause if you are, it’s not funny.”

“Nope, I’m serious,” I say.  “Let’s go now.”

June does not need to hear me say it twice.  She is on her feet before I am.  We make our way to the meadow quickly.  The clearing is overflowing with wildflowers that perfume the area.  I would love to run through the field and pick as many as my arms could carry but know that I am not permitted such an indulgence.  Instead, I settle for taking several steps and sitting on the outskirts of the meadow.

June plops down immediately then flops backward.  I sit for a while then lean back on my elbows.

Warm, buttery sunlight heats us from overhead.  A tangy, earthy scent infuses the air as we lay in the tall grass gazing at the sky, a vast blue canvas scrubbed clean by the early morning storms.  A butterfly flits past June before landing on her nose.  She giggles as the floppy-winged insect stops for a second then immediately flaps and flies away.  The sound is sweeter than anything I’ve heard in a long time. I turn to face her.  Light washes across the top of her head, highlighting the natural gold of her hair.  It makes her appear almost angelic.  She closes her eyes and dozes while I fight the exhaustion that follows the adrenaline rush I had plummeting from the tree and killing the boart.  A full belly assists the physical fatigue I feel.

Before long, my eyes grow heavy and my body feels as if it is being rocked, cradled in warm arms, a sensation I barely remember but yearn for, nevertheless.  I fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Arianna Rose:

The Awakening

(Part 2)

A novel

By Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

ARIANNA ROSE: THE AWAKENING (Part 2)

Published by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012

All rights reserved.

First edition: November 2012

Cover design by Indie Designz http://www.indiedesignz.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Arianna found herself standing on unsure legs, surrounded by lush fields of green speckled with blossoms in vibrant shades of pink and purple.  The dimness and haze of the nightclub she’d stood in seconds earlier had disappeared, replaced instead with golden light that kissed and caressed the vivid landscape.  The incessant rumble and thump of bass in music that had blared had been silenced, swapped with a faint whisper of a breeze stirring tall grass and the distant sound of birds chirping.  The entire world she’d existed in moments ago had vanished, she had vanished.  Stephanie, Luke, and the group they’d been with, along with the rest of the club-goers, had gone, faded into an oblivion beyond her reach.  She was no longer with them.  She had been transported, impossibly, to a picturesque meadow.  And she wasn’t alone.  A substantial hand gripped hers, a hand attached to an equally substantial arm and body.

The man that held her hand, the same one she’d seen watching her on the side of the road on two occasions, the one she’d noticed in the nightclub, remained with her, and towered over her, as glorious and golden as the sunshine touching the earth they stood upon.  She looked up at him and he smiled a kind, almost affectionate smile, and she noticed that her hand, the one he held, tingled.  The slight tingle moved up her arm to her shoulder, warm and pleasant, and spread.  It thrummed through her in time with her heartbeat for several seconds, a calming sensation that radiated from him in waves of energy so strong she swore they were tangible.

She released his hand and felt the calm come to an abrupt end.  Everything that had happened rushed at her.  Suddenly, the sun felt strong overhead.  Her body heated and flushed with warmth.

“What the hell?” she shrieked.  “What the hell?  What just happened?  Where am I?  Where are my friends?”

Panic began to sweep through her like fire through dried brush, racing and torching everything in its wake.  She wondered whether she were dead, and the field she stood Elysium, the fabled home of the blessed after death.  After all, the man before her could easily have been an angel.  Then she remembered what she’d done in the alleyway before staggering back into the club and realized no paradise would await her after death;  she was very much alive.  Anxiety filled her, burning and corroding any sense of reason she’d ever possessed.

“Shh, calm down, Arianna,” the man said and searched her eyes with his.  The brilliant blue of his irises was a shade she’d never seen and matched the hue of the sky above, only more crystalline in their clarity.

“Calm down?  Are you kidding me?  What the hell is happening?  Am I dead, or drugged?  What is going on?” she shouted.

“You’re not dead, Arianna,” he said calmly.  “And you haven’t been drugged, though drugs were offered to you before you went into the Blue Ivy tonight, were they not?”

“Well, yeah,” she fumbled before realizing there was no possible way he could have known about Stephanie’s offer unless he had been standing right beside her when it had happened.  She and Stephanie had been alone.  “How do you know about that? And how do you know my name?” she asked and felt another flash of fright blaze within her.

“I was with you.”

She stared at him incredulously, becoming more and more convinced by the moment that a hallucinogenic drug had been slipped into one of her beers, that levitating and thrashing one man into a building and setting ablaze another would all be part of a horrific, drug-addled memory in the near future.  And this beautiful man who spouted utter nonsense was a figment of her imagination, little more than brain garbage tangled in the effects of the drugs.

“Yeah, right,” she said laughing in a crazed way that was foreign to her own ears.

“I was.  I’m always with you, in a sense.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” she pacified going along with what she supposed was a delusion.

“I hear your mocking tone,” he said levelly.  “And whatever you think this is, a dream or hallucination, you’re wrong.  This is happening.”

Arianna did not know what to say or how to react.  If she were experiencing drug related delirium, nothing she said or did would matter.  She remained silent.

“Are you telling me I don’t look familiar to you?” he persisted in his serene tone.

“Of course you look familiar to me,” she replied.  I saw you just the other day when I crashed my bike, and the day before that.”

“And you saw me in the club,” he added.

“I thought I saw you in the club.  But that could have been the onset of whatever drug some asshole popped in my beer, the beginning of the freaking delusion I’m having right now.”

“You did see me in the club.  I was there, and you were not drugged.  No drug would affect you, not that I would have allowed anyone to drug you in the first place.”

“No drugs affect me?” she asked indignantly.  “I’ve smoke pot before and,” she said and her voice trailed off.  She did not complete her sentence, could not.

“And what, Arianna?” he probed.

She searched her memory for one time, any time, she had become high from marijuana she’d smoked, but came up empty.  She could not recall a single instance when she had succumbed to the influence of marijuana or any other substance she’d abused.  She couldn’t recall ever being drunk and had long since assumed her father, whoever he was, had an unusually high tolerance for alcohol he’d imparted to her.

“Nothing,” she lied.

“You’ve never gotten high from the pot you’ve smoked, have you?”

His words were more of a statement than a question.

“And you’ve never been drunk either, though you’ve tried.”

“No,” she answered begrudgingly.

“Did you ever think that was strange?”

She had thought it strange.  Many things in her life had been strange.

“I’ve been with you your whole life, watching you, waiting,” he said not pausing for her answer.  “I know your life has been far from ordinary.”

The way he looked at her, his tone of voice combined with how he’d practically read her mind and anticipated what she’d say next, all of it was as compelling as it was disturbing.  Still, all of it had to be a dream of some sort.  He spoke so sincerely, so openly, it would have been easy for her to give in to his words, to believe them.  Of course, if he’d shown the slightest shred of sanity, he would have furthered his cause.  What he was saying was completely preposterous.

“Been with me my whole life?” she echoed his absurd claim.

“Yes.  It is my mission to ensure your safety and guide you as you mature, as your powers strengthen.”

“All right, enough!  This crap has to stop.  Even if this is some kind of hallucination, it’s got to stop.  I can’t listen to this crazy shit anymore!”

“You’re saying all of this is crazy, but deep down, you know it’s true.  The moment you saw me on the side of the road, you knew.  You recognized me.”

She wanted to deny it, wanted to tell him he didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but he was right.  Something had clicked when she’d seen him, something hidden deep within her had sprung forth like a sudden recollection from a vague dream or a missing puzzle piece appearing unexpectedly after days of looking for it.  He had appeared like the missing puzzle piece or muddled face from a long-forgotten dream.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said and decided not to refute his claim.

“My name is Desmond.”

“Desmond what?” she asked and expected a last name.

“Desmond, and nothing more,” he replied cryptically.

“What, so you’re like Cher or Madonna?  No last name?” she joked.

He did not laugh or smile, just stared at her with his crystal-blue eyes.

“Okay, this is awkward.  Don’t you know who those women are?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It was a joke.  I was joking.  You know, trying to be funny.”

“I know what you were trying to be, that you were trying to defuse a situation you cannot control with humor.  You do that a lot.”

The lack of emotion coming from his benevolent face seemed wrong.  Arianna felt heat prickle up her neck, anger partnering with it.

“Please save your armchair assessment of me, Desmond.  I was trying to be funny, that’s all.  No deeper meaning behind it,” she said and hated that she sounded so defensive.

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” he said earnestly and she felt frustrated anew.  “But I think we’re getting off topic here.”

“Off topic?  Are you kidding me?” she railed.  “I didn’t even know there was a topic to be off of.”

“Yes you do.  We were talking about you, why I’ve been watching you, what you are,” he said evenly.

His calm demeanor was grating on her nerves, how he spoke so offhandedly alleging she had powers and what, as opposed to whom, she was.  She was Arianna Rose, just as she’d always been, and he was a crackpot figment of her drugged imagination.

“Stop it!  Just stop talking about watching me and what I am.  I’m going to wake from this soon, so don’t bother trying to sell me your brand of crazy.”

“You set a man on fire back at the club, you, with your powers.”

She felt a fine sheen of perspiration collect and cover her brow.  Her palms slickened with sweat as she remembered the pure rage that had coursed through her veins before the man had burst into flames.  The man that had slammed Stephanie against the wall and drew blood from her head, the one who’d torn Stephanie’s underwear from her body and lifted her skirt like an animal before trying to rape her, appeared in her mind’s eye.  She had wanted him to burn for what he had been about to do, for what he’d done.  He had placed a blade to Stephanie’s throat and had threatened to kill her.  Arianna had felt fury flood her core so fully, it had drowned her.  Even still, the thought of him made her insides tremble with wrath.  His screams, his pleas for help, had meant nothing to her then.  But now, her wrath was tinged with another emotion, one she struggled to name.

“Yes, you are very powerful,” Desmond said staring at her unwaveringly, as if seeing the vision her memory produced as easily as she did.  “That’s the reason I’m here, the reason I’ve always been here with you.  You are the chosen one, the one we call the Sola.”

“The what?” she managed, her voice a strangled whisper.

“The Sola, you are the Sola.  You are the lone one, the most powerful one among us, who will unite us all.”

“Us?  Who’s us?”

“Some would call you a witch and me a warlock, but those are such ugly, hollow terms, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m a witch?” she gasped.

“I prefer to call you a seer.  Your powers are not of this world.”

“So I’m Arianna the Seer?”

“No, you’re Arianna Rose, the Sola,” he corrected.

Her head began to swim, reeling and whirling with conflicting emotions.  She had always been aware of her differences from others, peripherally at least, but had always attributed those differences to her mother’s lifestyle choices, as well as her own.  The fact that she’d escaped injury unscathed time after time and had avoided the effects of both drink and drugs further supported that she was unlike most people.  She found herself awash with confusion.  She wondered whether she was lucid, whether what was happening was real.  Desmond’s words had struck a chord.  They’d touched upon a yawning stretch of her being that had always ached for identification, for validation.  And now she finally had a name for it: witch.

“Okay,” she murmured.  “So I’m a witch, I mean, the Sola.  I am supposed to unite all the witches and warlocks of where, and for what?”

“You will unite the witches of the world.  They will know of your coming of age, of the dawn of your true powers.  They will sense the shift in their own powers and they will know.”

Arianna was speechless.  What he was saying, as insane as it sounded, resonated within her.  All of her life, she had never felt as though she’d belonged.  She’d never felt as if she’d found her place among any of her peers, among anyone.  Lily Andrews, a girl two years younger than her who had been the closest thing to a best friend she’d ever had, had been the only person she’d felt remotely at ease around.  But her friendship with Lily had been brief, as brief as her mother’s relationship with Carl, and she’d been relegated to her usual station: feeling like a square peg being forced into a round opening; until now.  Desmond’s words resounded deep inside of her.

“And why do they, uh we, need to be united?” she asked and felt an instinctive sense of warning wash over her.

“Because we are being hunted,” he said and trained his sky-blue eyes on her.

“Hunted?  Why?  By who?”

“We are being hunted as part of a search.”

“A search for what?”

“For you.”

“For me?”

“There are many people who want you dead,” he said solemnly.  “They are killing off witches, one at a time, in search of you.”

Her mind began to spin again as the rational part of her brain attempted to deny what her heart, what her entirety, knew to be true.

“People are dying, for me?” she asked weakly.

“I will not let you die, I assure you,” he said and misinterpreted her quiet revulsion at people dying because of her as worry for her own welfare.

“I’m not worried about dying, Desmond,” she said more forcefully.  “I just can’t wrap my mind around the fact that people are actually dying because of me, because someone out there wants me dead.”

“Do not feel guilty, Arianna,” he said soothingly.  “They would have been hunted no matter what.  The people who hunt you want all witches dead.  The real witches that died knew they were dying for a greater good.  They did so without prolonged pain or suffering.  Their spirits were returned to the earth, wind, fire and water.”

She wondered whether he actually thought she would be appeased by others accepting their death and only suffering a little as opposed to a lot.  And he had made reference to real witches.  Had there been fake witches?

Arianna raked her hand through her hair then rubbed the back of her neck.  The muscles near her collar complained, bunching and tensing.  “That’s all well and good that their spirits went back to nature, but they are dead!  And all because of me!  How the hell am I supposed to feel about that?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he began but she cut him off.

“And what did you mean when you said real witches who died?  Were there witch impostors who died, too?”

Desmond glared at her, aiming his ethereal cerulean eyes at her as though he sought to bore a hole in her head.  “No, Arianna, there were no witch impostors, just innocent people who had been curious about witchcraft,” he spat.

His words stung.  He had not spoken them with an accusatory tone, but guilt weighed upon her with leaden heaviness, nonetheless.  And how could it not?  She felt horrified at the notion of witches dying in her stead, but innocent, powerless people dying was more than she could bear.

Tears burned behind her lids.  She fluttered her lashes, trying in vain to blink them away, but more came and streamed down her cheeks.

Seeing her cry, Desmond’s demeanor softened visibly.

“It is a tragedy, Sola.  I know.  But we mustn’t focus on the past now.  We need to prepare for what is to come.”

“I can’t imagine it’s worse than this,” she said.

“It’s much worse.  I will not lie to you about that.  There is a man who has made it his sole purpose in life to find and kill witches, or anyone who stands in his way.  And he is getting close.”

“Close?  Close to us?”

“Yes, too close.  He was just outside of Rockdale when your situation there changed.”

“What? He was in Rockdale?” she asked unable to mask the alarm in her voice.

“Yes, but I was able to get you out of there in time.”

“Wait, what? You didn’t do anything in Rockdale.  I never saw you there.”

“I did do something,” Desmond confessed.

“What did you do, Desmond?”

“I nudged Carl to come home, influenced him if you will, so that he would come home that night and find your mother with his cousin.”

Arianna had found it strange that Carl had returned the night he’d found her mother with his cousin. Generally, when Carl had set up shop on a barstool, he had been very reluctant to leave.  When her mother had begun her affair with his cousin, Carl would go to their local haunt without her and nothing short of a fire in the bar would have given him cause to leave it.  Desmond’s involvement in that scenario made sense.

“It did shock me when Carl came home before the bartender kicked him out,” she admitted.  “You must have some serious powers to have gotten him out of there before closing time.”

Desmond smiled; a wide, warm smile that lit up his entire face.  “It did sap a tremendous amount of my strength to move him off that barstool.”

Arianna laughed.  Laughing felt good considering the gravity of her predicament, that lives had been claimed because of her. Desmond laughed, as well.  The sound was pleasant and buoyed her spirits somewhat.

“What do we do now?” Arianna asked and shifted their interaction away from its lightheartedness.

“I think it’s time to get back to the club,” Desmond replied.

“Oh no! The club, I forgot about the club!  My friends are going to freak out that I left, especially after what happened right before I left,” she worried.

“No need to worry.  They won’t even know you were gone,” he said in his tranquil tone.

“What, I mean, how is that possible?” she asked, but he did not answer.  He took her hand in his instead, and she felt a tingle begin in her hand and travel up her arm as softly as a breath blowing across her skin, warm and welcoming.  Within seconds, she felt his energy flowing through her, thrumming in time with her heartbeat, whispering through every part of her.  The scenic paradise around her began to melt, evaporating into obscurity.  All that remained was Desmond’s face, beautiful and serene, perfectly sculpted as if it had been carved from marble, staring at her, through her.  He pulled her close to him, wrapped his arms around her, and she felt her breath catch in her chest.  Light filled her field of vision, brilliant white light.  Desmond and his warmth surrounded her, covering her body with wisps of awareness, light and feathery.  Her entire body quivered pleasantly.  Her worries and fears ebbed as if they were froth. And she was gone again.

Chapter 2

It wasn’t until darkness encroached and a chill raced over her, eclipsing the light and peace she’d felt seconds earlier, that she realized she and Desmond were huddled together in the Blue Ivy nightclub once again.  Music thundered from mammoth speakers and beams of light pulsed and swept over the crowd.  She felt Desmond’s arms around her then in an instant, they were gone.  Arianna looked up and expected to see his glorious face, but realized he’d disappeared.  A scrawny guy with baggy jeans, a rainbow mohawk and a nose ring stood where he had been.  The guy smiled at her and she turned from him.  In her mind, she swore she heard Desmond’s laugh echo followed by a faint message.  “I’ll see you soon,” his voice whispered.  Though he wasn’t there, she felt the heat of his breath at her ear and a warm tingle stole through her.  Her eyes scanned the club for Desmond.  She knew he was gone, could feel it, but looked anyway.  She did not see him, just as she’d suspected, but saw Luke.

Luke waved and signaled for her to join him.  A part of her ached; deeply and inexplicably, she smarted, inundated with an undefined emotion.  She moved toward Luke, through the gyrating throng, toward a life she would never fully be a part of.

Stephanie rejoined her and was crying.  Rivulets of black streaked her face and her platinum hair was ruffled.  A small puncture wound at the base of her neck trickled bright-red blood.  Just as Desmond had said, no time had passed for Stephanie.  In her mind, the men in the alleyway had just tried to attack them and had been freakishly thwarted.  Stephanie had not had reprieve from it.  Arianna had.  But Arianna’s reprieve had been anything but a break from what had happened.  To the contrary, she had been made aware of a far graver threat than two thugs in a darkened alleyway.  She had found out that she’s a witch.  The reality of all that had happened, all she’d been told, sent a shiver through her.  She wrapped her arm around Stephanie’s shoulders, her need for physical contact, for connection, replacing any awkwardness she might have otherwise felt for her action.

“That man was on fire,” Stephanie kept muttering.  “The one who tried to, who tried to,” she struggled but was racked by sobs.

“I know,” Arianna attempted to comfort her, but her words were drowned out by the music of the club.

“He tried to rape me, and then he was burning,” she cried.

Consoling Stephanie would be difficult anywhere.  But with deafening music blasting all around them, it would be nearly impossible.  Arianna tightened her grip around Stephanie.  Any other time, she would have expected Stephanie to balk at such a gesture, to stiffen and shrug her off if she did not shove her outright.  But after what had happened, Stephanie seemed to welcome it.

Nestled against each other, Arianna shepherded Stephanie to the far corner of the nightclub where Luke and the others had set up camp.  He smiled and waved until he saw his sister’s face.  His smile collapsed to a hard line and his hand dropped to his side and balled into a fist.  He shoved past several people and was at their side immediately.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Arianna hesitated to speak, unsure of what the hell she was going to tell him.  The truth was not a possibility and for obvious reasons.  But any variation was a slippery slope to navigate as she was uncertain of just how much Stephanie remembered.  Not only had Stephanie taken the drug ecstasy, she’d also been drinking before her head had been slammed against a brick wall.  Her consciousness had been spotty during their time in the alley at best.

“These two guys tried to attack us,” Stephanie managed, her voice quivering with raw emotion.

“Attack you?  Attack you how?” Luke said and Arianna could see his anger brimming.

“Th-th-they tried to rape us,” she stammered and began crying anew.

“What!” Luke exploded.

Bulldog, Beth, Mike, Carrie, Ryan and Christa looked toward them in alarm then, seeing the state Stephanie was in, made their way over to join Luke.

“What the fuck happened?” Bulldog asked.

Stephanie crumpled into her brother’s arms unable to say anything more.  Arianna realized she would be forced to speak.  She took a deep breath and steeled herself.

“We went out that exit door,” she said and gestured over her shoulder with her thumb to a pair of black doors that led to the outside.  “We went to smoke and when the doors shut, we were locked out.  While we were smoking, these guys came up to us.  They started talking at first only we made it clear we didn’t want to be bothered.  They weren’t too happy about that and they grabbed us and tried to attack us.”

“Motherfuckers!” Mike spat.

“They still back there?” Bulldog asked and Arianna could see the muscles in his jaw flexing angrily.

“No,” Stephanie said.  “That was the weird part.  The guy that was trying to, the guy that was on top of me burst into flames.  Arianna’s eyes turned red, like they were on fire or something and then the guy just burst into flames.”

A stunned silence befell the group.  Furtive glances were exchanged among everyone before they all lingered on Arianna.  Arianna’s mouth went dry and her heart slammed wildly against her ribcage.  Apparently, Stephanie had witnessed more than she had originally thought.

“Red eyes?  Steph, what’re you talking about?”  Christa asked gently.

“Yeah, Arianna’s eyes are brown,” Carrie added.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m fucking crazy,” Stephanie yelled.  “I know what I saw!”

The conviction in her voice was compelling.  Arianna would have believed her, regardless of how preposterous it may have sounded, if she were anyone else in the group.  After all, what Stephanie was saying was true.  Arianna had experienced it, had seen her field of vision veiled in a translucent shroud of crimson, had felt the heat radiating from them, from her entire body, before she’d lifted her hand and produced an arc of fire that burned him.  But no one could know what had happened.  Not even Stephanie.  Arianna needed to convince them that it hadn’t happened.  She needed to mention the ecstasy that Stephanie had taken.

“My eyes weren’t red,” Arianna lied and hated herself for what she was about to do.  “What happened to you, to us, was so unbelievably awful,” she said and felt her eyes well with tears.  One fat teardrop spilled over and trailed down her cheek.  “I wish I’d had some magical power to have set those bastards on fire.  I fought them off the old-fashioned way: a kick to the balls and some scratching.  But I think it was the ecstasy and drinks you had earlier that made you think you saw my eyes glowing red.”  Arianna brushed the tear from her cheek with the back of her hand and watched as Luke held his sister at arm’s length.

“You did ecstasy again?  I thought we talked about that.  No more drugs,” he warned sternly. “Look at mom for fuck’s sake!”

“What, you’re blaming me now?” Stephanie accused heatedly.

“No, no, not at all,” Luke said apologetically.  He looked to Arianna and asked, “Are you okay?  Shit, I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

The last thing Arianna wanted was for Luke to feel guilty about what had happened.  She was far from okay, but she had handled the situation to the best of her newfound abilities.

“No, I’m not,” she answered honestly.  “But I think I’m better off than her,” she said referring to Stephanie.

“Enough of this hugging bullshit, let’s go find these fuckers and deal with them,” Ryan said.

“Yeah, I’m with Ryan,” Bulldog added.

“They’re probably still in the alley,” Stephanie said quickly.  “The guy that was on fire is I bet.”

“The one Arianna blazed with her eyes?” Luke hissed.

“Tell him, Arianna.  Tell him about the guy on fire!” Stephanie pleaded.

“Was the guy on fire?” Luke asked Arianna looking equal parts embarrassed and annoyed to be asking

“There was fire,” she admitted.  “He lit a cigarette while he was, you know, on top of her.  After I got the other guy off me, and I saw that he’d hit his head and wasn’t moving, I ran over to Stephanie.  When I did, she started fighting back and hit into his arm.  It must have dropped down his shirt or something because the guy lit up like a Roman candle.”

Arianna could still hear his tortured screams in her mind, see him flailing about to try to extinguish the flames lapping his body.

“See! I was telling the truth, asshole!”  Stephanie shouted at Luke and interrupted Arianna’s recollection.

“How badly was he burned?  Did he get away?” Mike asked.

“I don’t see how,” Arianna answered truthfully.  “Whatever was on his shirt, maybe cologne or gasoline or something, burned so damn fast.  He was covered in flames.  I didn’t stick around to see what would happen.  I just grabbed Steph and ran.”

Stephanie began sobbing again, gasping and trying to catch her breath, the memory of it all too painful for her to bear.

“Holy shit!” Christa said.

“Should we call the cops or something?,” Carrie asked.

“Yeah, this is all too crazy.  These guys should be locked up, if they’re alive,” Christa said.

“No.  No cops,” Luke said determinedly.  “If those scumbags are alive, I want a piece of them for trying to rape my sister and my girlfriend.”

Arianna supposed she should have been happy that Luke had announced to his friends that she was his girlfriend; it was the first time he’d said it, yet she did not feel even the slightest bit of happiness.  In fact, she felt troubled by it.  Apart from the circumstances that had instigated his announcement, she was upset by it.  She wasn’t sure why exactly, but felt shame at his admittance, at his want to defend her against her attackers.  Guilt gave way to anxiety and anxiety clawed its way into her lungs, making it hard for her to breathe.  She attempted a deep breath, desperate to not let her nerves get the better of her and make her sick all over the nightclub floor.  Not that she doubted that the floor had seen its fair share of vomit on it in the past.  She just didn’t want to be among those who had actually done the vomiting.

“You okay, Arianna?” Carrie asked and took hold of her arm.  “You don’t look so good.”

“I’m all right,” Arianna said, but remained unconvinced.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Bulldog asked.  “Let’s go pound on those fuckers!”

Bile rose in the back of her throat, along with the beer she’d drank earlier.

“No!” she heard herself say and surprised everyone.  “We can’t.”

“Why the hell not?  These guys tried to rape you two,” Luke argued.

“The guy that was on fire is probably dead,” Arianna blurted out.

Deep within her, an innate instinct portended that one of the men lived, that one had survived her counterattack, but barely.  Still, she needed to dissuade them from going into that alleyway.  Too many questions would be asked, questions she could not answer.  Lying was not her strong suit.  She was terrible at it, in fact.  But she needed to convince them to leave.

“Let’s make sure then,” Luke said.

“And if the cops happen to find the nine of us hovering around a couple of dead bodies what do you think they’ll assume?” she asked.  No one offered any thoughts, so she continued.  “They’ll assume we, at the very least, saw something.  Then they might ask why Stephanie looks like she does, why she has that fresh cut on her throat.  Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“They’ll think something happened and we retaliated by killing them,” Ryan said.

“I don’t want to spend any time in county lockup,” Bulldog said as if he’d been there before.

“Neither do I,” Mike added.  “My brother’s been there overnight and he said it’s no joke.”

Luke looked directly into Arianna’s eyes and held her gaze as if trying to silently express a profound truth to her.  His silver eyes had hardened to steel, unreadable to her in the shadowy nightclub.  But she sensed significance in his weighty watch.

“I just want to get out of here,” Stephanie finally said.  “Please, can we go?”

Luke did not lower his eyes to his sister as Arianna would have thought.  He did not acknowledge her request either.  Not right away.  He continued to stare at Arianna.  Whatever he sought to convey wordlessly, whatever psychic message he seemed intent on sending to her, was not reaching her.  She shifted her weight from one leg to the next uncomfortably, waiting for him to speak, to yell, anything.  Heat crept up her neck and touched her cheeks.  She was suddenly thankful for the darkness of the club and the loud music as well.  Had the music not been playing, she feared Luke and the rest of their group would hear the mad pounding of her heart.  She wondered whether he suspected her of lying, whether a part of him believed his sister’s claim about her eyes glowing red.  Of course, he would have been correct in doing so; Stephanie had told the truth, as preposterous as it had sounded.  Regardless of his motivation, Arianna was unnerved.

“Luke!” Stephanie said again.  “Take me home, now.”

Stephanie’s words had broken the spell and Luke released her from his gaze.  Arianna breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Fine, let’s go,” Luke said.

“So that’s it?” Bulldog asked.  “No one’s catching a beating tonight?”

“Nope, not tonight, Bulldog,” Luke said and offered a thin smile.

Luke led them through the club to the main entrance.  Arianna, Bulldog, Beth, Mike, Carrie, Ryan and Christa filed behind him.  Stepping out into the cool, quiet night air, Arianna felt the crushing squeeze anxiety had placed on her lungs begin to subside.  Once they’d reached the parking area, everyone began to disperse.  She was left alone with Luke and Stephanie.

“I’m going to take Stephanie home first then drive you home if you don’t mind,” he said to Arianna.

Arianna felt her heart make a leap from her chest to her throat.  “Uh, okay, if that’s what you want,” she fumbled.  “Seems like a big production to go to your house then my house then back home, don’t you think?”

“I don’t mind.  I really want to be alone with you, and talk to you,” he said and looked at her again in that peculiar way he had in the nightclub.

“Fine.  If that’s what you want,” she said and hoped she hadn’t sounded cold or cruel.  Any other night before this night, being alone with him would have been exactly what she would have wanted.  But this night had not been like any other.  And she wanted to be alone.

Luke’s face sagged a bit and she realized she’d hurt him.  “Sounds great,” she added for his benefit and watched him brighten.  “I’d like that.”  He smiled, his usual warm smile, and she found herself smiling back at him.  He pulled his seat forward and she climbed into the back seat of his pickup truck.  Stephanie assumed her position in the front seat and Luke drove.

The drive to Luke’s house was silent, painfully silent.  The tension in the air had been so thick, Arianna swore she could see it seep from the car in ribbons when Stephanie opened the door and climbed out.  Arianna said a quick “Good night” to Stephanie, which was ignored, before positioning herself in the front seat.

She watched Stephanie stride in impossibly high-heeled shoes to the front door.  When she looked away, she slid Luke a glance and saw that he did not watch his sister, but her instead.

“I can’t believe what happened tonight,” he said.

“I know.  It was, just…crazy…what happened was crazy.”

“I’m so glad you’re okay.  You’re taking it much better than my sister.”

“Different people handle things differently I guess,” was all she could come up with.

“Yeah, you’re right.  You’re a strong person, Arianna.  I knew that from the first time we met.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said, the irony of their exchange weighing on her.

“I am sure,” he said.  “You have this, I don’t know, energy about you, like you can handle anything.  Shit, you fought off not one, but two guys tonight.”

He spoke to her without the slightest hint of sarcasm or suspicion, but with what she could only name as reverence.  His admiration pained her for she was no ordinary high school girl who had fended off a pair of assailants.  No, she’d had an advantage, a tremendous advantage.  And she aimed to conceal her advantage from him.

“I guess it was adrenaline or something,” she said flatly wishing he would just drive already.

He reached a hand across the console and rested it on her leg.  “Well whatever it was, I’m glad you’re okay, that you weren’t, you know, hurt,” he said and she knew exactly what he’d meant.  “And thanks for watching my sister’s back,” he added then moved his hand from her leg to the gearshift.

The car began to rumble slowly as Luke backed out of his driveway.  The short ride to her trailer park was blissfully quiet.  When Luke pulled up in front of her porch, she resisted the urge to bolt out of his truck and run inside, not stopping until she reached the shower.  She wanted, needed, to scrub the events of the night from her skin, fill her nostrils with the scent of strawberry shampoo in hopes of it purging the fetid stench of charred flesh from them.  She wanted to cleanse herself of the man with the neck tattoo’s touch, wash away the entire night.  She liked Luke, liked him a lot, but needed to shower, needed to process everything that had happened.

She watched as Luke turned the key in the ignition and the engine stilled.  He opened his door and walked around to the passenger side to open hers.

“Let the wooing begin again,” he said and smiled.

“Wow, this is some big-time wooing,” she said and smiled back, unable to resist the sincerity he’d radiated.

He took her hand and helped her out.  In the night air again, Arianna felt the need to busy her hands.  She released Luke’s hand and reached into her bag and felt for her pack of cigarettes.  Luke produced two of his own and offered one to her.  She accepted it, placed it between her lips and waited for him to light it.  He lit hers first with exaggerated arm gestures.

“Still wooing,” he joked and winked.

She wondered why, and how, he was able to behave so normally after what he’d heard.  Perhaps it was just her guilty, possibly murderous, conscience convincing her that he ought to be doubtful of the story she’d told him and nothing more.

“Listen Arianna, I know this isn’t great timing, but I just want to say that I like you, you know?  I care about what happens to you,” he admitted.  “When you told me what happened, what that scumbag tried to do to you, I freaked out.  I wanted to kill him.  I mean literally kill him.”

Little did he know, she had likely killed at least one of them.  “Honestly, I wanted them both dead, too.”

“Feeling like I did, as angry as I was, I never felt that way about a girl so quickly.  I mean, I haven’t known you a long time, but I liked you right away.  And tonight, everything that happened,” he said then paused.  He stared at the ground for several seconds before he looked up at her and said, “It made me realize I care about you.”

Arianna wasn’t sure how to react, what to say.  Hours earlier, if he had said anything even similar to what he’d just said, and with the earnestness he’d just said it with, she would have been kissing him already.  But a lot had happened, more than he could ever know, more than she could ever tell him.  She knew that with every second that passed, every second she remained silent, he was dying a small death.  Like her, Luke did not seem like the kind of guy who offered his heart to others readily.  She cared for him too, despite the fact that she was a supernatural being with a bounty on her head.  She dropped her cigarette to the gravel beneath her and closed the distance between them.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and tipped her chin up.  He lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers.  Warm and soft, his mouth was suddenly exactly what she needed.  She began to kiss him eagerly, hungrily.  She slipped her tongue between his lips and tasted the nicotine in his hot breath.  He returned her kiss but with less intensity, less passion.  He slid his hands from her waist up her back and into her hair before cupping her face in his hands.  He slowed her fevered pace, kissing her tenderly, affectionately, until he was placing light pecks on her lips.  Then he pulled her closer, wrapping both arms around her, and hugged her tightly.  She felt the slightest trace of his excitement pressing against her belly, but knew he was exercising restraint; that their kiss had not been about sex, but something else entirely.

They held each other for several seconds before Arianna allowed the tension in her arms to relax and she released him.  “I’m going to go inside,” she said quietly.

“I’m in no hurry if you want to hang out for a bit,” he said hopefully.

“I’ll have to take a rain check,” she replied.  “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, because I do, I really do.  I just feel so…dirty.  I want to just scrub the whole night off me.”

Sadness clouded his features and Arianna felt her heart clench.  “Except for this, these last few minutes with you.  They helped, Luke.  You have no idea how much.  Hearing how you feel about me, well, it means the world to me,” she fumbled.  “Shit!  I’m so bad at this feelings stuff.  I care about you, too, okay?  You know that right?”

He did not say anything, but smiled his broad smile that made his silver eyes twinkle then kissed her lips gently.

“Go on,” he said and patted her backside.  “Go inside and wash very bit of this night off, except for the last five minutes.  Enjoy your hot shower.  I’ll be thinking of you when I take a nice cold one myself,” he winked.

“Good night, Luke,” she said.

“Good night, Arianna.  I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”

He waited, leaning against his pickup truck until she was inside before he started the engine.  His truck wheezed and sputtered in protest as his headlights faded in the dark.  Inside, Arianna turned down the narrow hallway and headed to the bathroom, intent on purging the night from her skin.  She knew that soap and water would never rid her of what she’d seen, what she’d done; who she was.  But it was a start.

Chapter 3

Howard felt a jolt of panic shoot through him, jarring him so abruptly, so wholly, he was forced to brace himself against a wall.  He’d just finished orating to a small group of congregants, had just left the nave of the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church when terror rocked him.  Shaken, he crossed himself, touching his right hand to his forehead, his belly, his left shoulder then his right.  He prayed silently, leaning against a corridor wall that led from the sacristy, where he’d left his Bible, to the presbytery, which served as both his office and private living quarters.

The sudden frightened feeling did not end despite his silent pleas, though.  Instead, it changed, transforming into a familiar sensation, one he hadn’t felt in some time, but a familiar one, nonetheless.  The initial jolt had been a mere catalyst, a warning, for the reaction that began between his ribcage and spread slowly, swelling and stretching like a great beast awakening from slumber inside of him.  Howard bit his lower lip to keep from screaming, the torturous pain branching from his abdomen unbearable.  Twisting and writing demonically, the feeling wound within him weaving and snaking down throughout him to the tips of his fingers.  He heard himself gasp as realization of what was occurring settled upon him.  Abrasive awareness scratched and clawed its way to his consciousness and he grasped that he was feeling the evil energy of the Sola.  Her power had come to fruition, had matured.  And she had used it for her own depraved purpose.

An offense against God had just been committed, and she had been responsible for it.  Of that he was certain.  Her iniquity entwined itself around his very veins with barbed tentacles, pulsing tainted lifeblood through them.  He could not be sure what exactly had happened, could not see her wicked deed, but felt it, felt her sin winding its way inside him agonizingly.

The feel of sin had not been foreign to Howard.  He knew the grotesque sensation all too well.  He, himself, had been a sinner at one time.

As he breathed deeply, trying desperately to exorcise the fiendish ache, memories rushed through him, swirling with the excruciating pain in a horrific dance.

He had not sinned in more than thirty-five years.  He was a man of God and did no wrong, now.  But when he had been a boy, he hadn’t been the shining example of man he currently was.  He had not been on the righteous path he was presently on.  Long ago, he had lost his way.

When Howard had been just twelve years old, he had been living in a youth detention center for two years.  Sentenced for six months to a locked-down facility after he’d killed his mother and her lover, he had been transferred shortly thereafter to an all-boys prison camp of sorts where corporal punishment had been implemented.  There, he had experienced the most trying times of his entire life.  Brutality had abounded.  It had been part of a venomous cycle.  Guards had abused detainees and detainees had abused one another.  Howard, in particular, had endured multiple forms of cruelty.  Small for his age and delicate of feature, he had been branded a “sissy,” had been teased and taunted regularly.  But the abuses had not ended with words.  Every part of him had been raped: body, mind and soul.  Bruises had marked nearly every inch of him and improperly healed fractures and lacerations had marred his appearance.  But neither his bruises nor cuts, nor the deformities of poorly fused bones had deterred his assailants.  No, the assaults had continued.  Some had been worse than others.  Some attackers had been more zealous than others.

Among the seemingly endless string of people who had brutalized him had been two boys who’d taken particular joy in his suffering.  Howard closed his eyes and, even after thirty-five years, could still see their faces in vivid detail.  Tom Callahan and Greg Santos had both been tall and strapping for their fourteen years.  They had badgered Howard relentlessly, had called him Mother Killer.  They had said Howard had been jealous of his mother’s lover, that he had wanted to have intercourse with her and had killed them because of his incestuous desire for her.  They had accused him of heinous feelings.  But Tom and Greg had not understood that his mother had been evil, that he had killed her at God’s urging.  They had not known about his divine calling, of the power he had possessed.  And still, after decades of time spent away from the camp, free from the likes of Tom and Greg, his former name, Mother Killer, nauseated him.

Their taunts and insults, along with their continual abuse of him, had eventually taken their toll on Howard.  One day, after a particularly vicious assault that had included being sodomized then beaten, Howard had been filled with rage, and an unquenchable thirst for vengeance.  He’d yearned for it, longed for the dark feeling of revenge, of retaliation.  He’d read that revenge was a sin.  The teachings of the Bible had advised him to turn the other cheek, to forgive those who’d trespassed against him.  But with bright-red blood trickling from every orifice of his body and the sound of jeers echoing in his head, retribution had beckoned him.  In that moment, he had turned from God, had charged God with turning His back on him first.  He had succumbed to the sinister seduction of score settling.  He’d known what he’d needed to do to avenge all the atrocities Tom and Greg had committed against him.

Several of the guards had been smokers.  Having had lit cigarettes extinguished on his bare torso before they’d ravaged him, he had known all too well of their filthy habit.  Smoking had been the least of their many odious, deviant behaviors.

Since the guards had maintained order though regular acts of brutality, they had not feared disobedience.  They had never guessed that Howard, the smallest, weakest prisoner, would take one of their numerous lighters that had littered their office, a refillable silver-plated lighter.  And they had not expected him to relieve them of a container of lighter fluid either.

Though they had not concerned themselves with insubordination, they had been vigilant, always watching.  Howard had been forced to wait until nightfall late one evening to steal out of his room, down a long, dark hallway while everyone else had slept, to collect the lighter and flammable fluid.  He had moved with agility he’d never known he’d retained, had crept down the corridor with the silence and stealth of a cat and had gathered his tools unnoticed.  From the guards’ office, he’d skulked back to the dormitory and searched for the cots Tom and Greg had occupied.  Their bunks had been positioned side by side, almost touching.  Like jackals, they’d stayed close to one another, existed as a vile pair.

Howard had stood at the foot of their beds and had felt the darkness stroke him with shadowy fingers, guiding him, pushing him.  With a steady hand, he’d opened the canister of lighter fluid and had squeezed it over them, saturating them with the accelerant, careful to soak the small sheet that rested between their beds.  Then he’d taken his thumb and rolled it over the flint.  The wick had lit immediately, its golden flame swaying bewitchingly.  He’d been mesmerized by it, had needed to tear his eyes from the small flicker long enough to toss it atop the sleeping boys.  The lighter had landed exactly where he’d wanted to place it: on the sheet their bunks had shared.  The material had caught fire immediately, and the fire had instantly spread along pathways created by lighter fluid.  Both Tom and Greg’s bodies had begun to burn.  It had taken the boys several moments to rouse from their slumber and realize what had been happening.  They had awakened with a start, screaming and crying out in agony as their skin had begun to burn.  Howard had merely watched, a sense of satisfaction filling his chest as he’d smelled the fetid odor of smoldering flesh.  Tom and Greg had begun to thrash about wildly, trying to pat their bodies and smother the growing flames.  Their efforts had been useless, though.

As they’d thrashed, Tom had released a guttural shriek and had lunged forward.  He had latched onto Howard and had held tightly.  He’d felt the heat of Tom’s blazing form, had watched as his own clothes had begun to burn as well.

Tom had looked like a man possessed.  He’d howled out, a raspy war cry, just inches from Howard’s face as flames crept up his neck and began to blister his chin and cheeks.  Howard had tried to shove him off, tried to pry Tom from him, but each time he had resisted, Tom had tightened his grip.

The last thing Howard Kane remembered about that fateful night was Tom pressing his fiery face to his, a blazing kiss of death, then the feeling of blinding pain searing his entire body, pain unlike any he’d ever experienced.  Voices had sounded from some distant void, and oblivion had tempted the edge of his vision.  He’d resisted at first, had focused on the voices that had likely belonged to other guests at his internment camp, or perhaps emergency personnel.  He would never be sure to whom the voices had belonged to as he had surrendered to the nothingness that had called for him.

The next memory he’d had was lying in a hospital bed.  Weeks had passed and he’d been told that he had suffered third-degree burns over the majority of his body.  He’d been wrapped in lengths of white bandages, his blisters crusting and festering beneath them.

During the time he’d spend in the hospital recovering from his near-fatal burns, he’d sunken into a deep depression.  He had realized that he had not avenged the wrongs perpetrated against him.  He had not emerged the victor.  Tom had the final laugh.  Tom had taken from him the only attribute that he’d retained during his stay as a ward of the correctional system: his looks.  Ironically, it had been his looks, his attractiveness that had bordered on feminine prettiness that had generated such a hedonistic frenzy among the other inmates.  And even that had been stripped of him.  Howard had been mutilated beyond any form of recognition, body and soul.  He had been transformed from a beautiful twelve-tear-old boy, to a monster.  And all of it had happened in the name of vengeance.

For months, his understanding of what his life had become had felt like bobbing lifelessly in a bottomless, blackened sea with no land in sight.  Despair had crashed against him like mighty waves, drowning him.  His dejection had lasted for nearly half a year, until one day, God had sent him a sign.

The Lord’s sign had come in the form of literature.  A volunteer who’d brought books and magazines to patients in the hospital he’d stayed at had dropped a Bible on her way out.  Howard had groaned before stooping to pick up the holy book.  He’d had most, if not all, of it committed to memory during his eighth year of life, when his father had gone to prison and his mother had taken to drugs and men.  He had not touched a Bible in some time.  In the hospital, he had begun thumbing through it and was reminded of verse after verse of testimony that supported God’s ability to forgive him of his egregious sins.  He had flagrantly offended God, as many had before him, but God had forgiven them.  And he had known God would forgive him, too.

Standing in his hospital room, Howard had felt right holding the Bible in his hands, in his heart.  Each word had nearly jumped off the pages, resonating with truth, with sense.  He had known from that point on that everything that had happened had happened for a reason.  He had been tested.  His suffering had been part of God’s plan for him.  Even his disfigurement had made sense in that divine moment.  Vanity issues had been eliminated in one swift motion by his burns.  He had known that no woman would ever want him, especially since his burns had spread over the lower half of his body destroying any chances of procreating or partaking of marital relations.  He had beamed at the notion that God had chosen him, had freed him of the burden of marriage and parenthood, of pride and conceit.  With all of those factors eliminated, his life had been unfettered.  He had been granted the opportunity to devote his life to God and His work.  He had been alleviated of the duty of creating a life for himself; one had been created for him.  He had sinned, had claimed the lives of two people, and would in turn, devote his life to God and pay penance for his offenses.

From that day forward, Howard had begun reading from the Bible each day, had repented each day, begging for the Lord’s forgiveness.  On his eighteenth birthday, six years later, all of his doctors and therapists in the federal hospital that had held him had unanimously decided that he had turned a corner.  They had believed he had been rehabilitated.  They had credited his devotion to Christ for his turnaround, and no longer saw him as a threat to society.  He had been released, freed to pursue his holy quest.

Propped against a wall in the hallway of the Church he’d founded nearly a quarter of a century ago, Howard’s breathing began to calm.  His pain began to subside.  While the event he’d just experienced, the agony of the Sola’s sin, had been devastatingly real, his recollection of his path had confirmed what he had always believed.  He would find the Sola and kill her as God had ordered him to, and he would end a plague intended to beset the planet before it began.

Chapter 4

Standing on the steps of Herald Falls High School on Monday morning, Arianna felt her stomach roil.  The weekend had passed far quicker than she would have liked it to, and she’d only spoken to Luke on the phone.  She hadn’t seen him, or anyone else from school, for the entire weekend.  What had happened at the nightclub, though certainly fresh in everyone’s mind, had not been discussed again.  But inevitably, it would be brought up, and likely sooner rather than later.  She dreaded that moment.  She breathed deeply to calm her stomach and her nerves and pulled one of two twin doors toward her.

Stale air immediately greeted her.  Invisible heat blowing from dusty vents filled the halls as fully as the roar of chatter from students that lingered there.  Both the sound and the smell overwhelmed her, stifling and choking her.  She’d been to school for more than a week, had walked the same hallways in a building that had maintained the same ambient temperature for a week.  Yet, the atmosphere seemed to have changed.  She had changed.  Her senses felt heightened.

Voices echoed loudly along the corridor, louder than they had the previous week.  A group of girls huddled by their lockers laughed, a grating cacophony of high-pitched staccato sounds that scraped at Arianna’s eardrums.  She strained to ignore them, but the harder she tried, the more she focused on them, the shriller they became.  When finally they stopped and began talking again, after Arianna had moved past them, she could still hear their conversation as clearly as she would have had they been standing right beside her.

“John is such a player,” one said.

“I know.  I don’t know why Cheryl puts up with his crap,” another said.

“He cheats on her all the time.  She has to know,” a third voice added.

Arianna turned and looked over her shoulder.  She could barely see the girls any longer.  But impossibly, she could still hear their catty conversation.  She quickly tried to focus on something else, anything else, all the while her heart thumped frantically.  She wondered whether this was one of the new skills she’d gained, whether enhanced senses were among them.  She reasoned that surely, shifting criminals and chairs were the extent of her talents, along with generating fire.  Either way, she decided to find out.  Further down the hallway, her English teacher stood at the threshold of the faculty lounge door speaking intently to her gym teacher.  She stared in their direction, and focused on the two teachers.

“So we can meet tonight?” Mr. Smith asked Mr. Davis.

“Yes.  My wife will be out of town until next week.  Come to my house.  We’ll have the whole place to ourselves,” Mr. Davis suggested.

“Ooh, perfect.  That’s even better than our usual spot,” Mr. Smith crooned.  “I can hardly wait.”

Arianna could not believe what she was hearing, that she was hearing it at all.  Her two teachers, who’d plotted a secret rendezvous, had been so far away, there would have been no possible way for her to hear what they’d said.  But she had.  She’d tuned in to their conversation as simply as she would have tuned into a radio station; And with crystal-clear reception.  Her stomach began to twist and she pressed her hand to her belly, the realization of yet another skill made plain.  In the distance, she watched as the men parted.  To another onlooker, their interaction seemed normal, professional.  Arianna had assumed that if she were able to hear their conversation at all, and it had been a longshot, it would have been a boring, benign conversation.  She had been wrong in both assumptions.

Now, as Mr. Davis approached, heat shot straight to her cheeks.  He nodded in acknowledgment of her.  She smiled weakly, and avoided eye contact.  She would see him soon, but with the information she had unwittingly stumbled upon, she wondered how she would ever look at him again without her cheeks blazing.

Learning she had the ability to move objects and people with a sweep of her hand, to manipulate their state of being, and that she had suddenly amplified hearing, made anxiety tear at her lungs, making her feel as if their capacity had been severely diminished, and sent her stomach churning anew.  The overly warm temperature of the building and her racing heart conspired with what felt like the beginning of a panic attack.  Arianna began making her way to the ladies room.

She navigated clusters of students, narrowly dodged getting leveled by a football jersey-clad giant walking backward and was about to round the corner to an alcove with the bathrooms tucked within it when Luke suddenly appeared beside her.

“Hey,” he said cheerfully.

Arianna sucked in a breath, startled.  “Enough with the ninja routine!” she said and placed her hand over her heart.

“Sorry,” he said with genuine concern.  “I probably shouldn’t have done that after what happened this weekend.  That was fucking stupid of me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she tried to comfort him.  She did not want him to treat her differently.  And she certainly didn’t want him to feel bad for being himself.  “I’m just tired this morning.  I’m jumpy when I’m tired.”

“You don’t need to make excuses, Arianna,” he said and looked at her with his shimmering silver eyes.  He took her hand and pulled her out of the hallway into the alcove.  Once they were alone, he lowered his voice and said, “I saw the news report Saturday morning, too.  That guy, the guy that caught on fire, died. And the other one’s not talking.  I’m glad the bastard’s dead, but I’m feeling pretty jumpy myself.  It’s all so freaking crazy.”

Arianna leaned into him and he wrapped her arms around his waist.  He smelled inviting, of soap and aftershave and minty toothpaste.  She could not believe she had involved him, though not purposefully, in the twisted mess of her life.  He deserved better, deserved to be with someone normal, someone who wasn’t a witch guilty of murdering an attempted rapist.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured into his shirt.

She didn’t think he’d heard her and was shocked when he released her from his embrace.  He quickly pulled away from her and held her at arm’s length.  He stared into her eyes, stared so intensely she worried Luke was looking right through her, seeing her for what she really was: a monster.  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he surprised her by saying.  “That thug had a rap sheet longer than my arm, according to the report, and he and his buddy were trying to rape my sister and my girlfriend.  I’m glad he’s dead.  The world is better off without him.”

She did not argue his point and was grateful when he pulled her against his hard chest again.  The racing rhythm of his heartbeat was a welcome reprieve from the noise level in the hall.  She wanted to stay with him, hide out in the remote nook near the bathrooms with her faced buried in his sweatshirt for the rest of the day.  But the sound of Stephanie’s voice snapped her back to reality.  Stephanie approached from a staircase behind Luke.

“Luke, there you are!” Stephanie said testily.  “You disappeared as soon as we got here.”

Stephanie froze when Luke turned and Arianna became visible.

“I was looking for Arianna, Steph.  Didn’t know I needed to tell you where I was going at school,” Luke said.

“Whatever, asshole,” Stephanie said and scowled at them.

“Hi Stephanie,” Arianna attempted, but Stephanie did not respond.  Instead, she turned on her heels and walked away.

“What the hell?” Luke said, annoyance lacing each of his words.  “Hold on a second, Arianna.  She’s not getting away with being a bitch to you today,” he said and dashed off after Stephanie.

“Hold on!” he called to his sister.

Arianna watched as Luke caught up with Stephanie near the stairwell.  She stared after them, forgetting her newfound ability would allow her to hear their every word.  When she heard their voices clearly, she tried to focus on the chatter around her, tried to hum a song, but nothing worked.  Nothing she did drowned out their conversation.

“I told you Luke, there’s something wrong with her!” she heard Stephanie argue.  “Something weird happened and I’m telling you, her eyes were glowing red in that damn alley.  She set that guy on fire and killed him after she messed up his friend.”

“Oh come on, Stephanie! Not this shit again!  You were fucking drugged out, and now you’re gonna try to convince me of some crazy-ass story that my girlfriend set a guy on fire with her eyes.  Listen to yourself! You sound like a nut, or worse, a druggie.  Either way, I’m not listening to your shit anymore!”

“So you’re okay that your girl over there is a freak and a murderer?” Stephanie antagonized him.

“Have you completely lost your mind?  Those assholes got what they deserved!  They were trying to rape you, and probably would have killed you afterward, in case you forgot.  I would have killed them myself had I been there.  Shit!  I wish your half-baked story were true.  I wish Arianna set that scumbag and fire and cooked his ass!

“Do you hear yourself?  You’re the one who sounds crazy.  It was murder, and we need to tell the cops!”

Arianna wished she could ignore their conversation, ignore Stephanie’s distrust of her, disdain of her.  But try as she may, theirs was the only sound she heard in the school.  All other conversations had faded.  Only Luke and Stephanie’s voices remained.

“The cops?  They’ll put you away!” Luke countered.

“Like hell they will!”

“Seriously,” Luke said and sounded as though he’d gained a degree of control over his temper.  “Do you really want to bring the police into our lives so they can get a look at mom?  They’ll definitely haul her off, I’ll be on my own and you’ll go into the system as a minor.”

Stephanie was quiet for a moment then she added solemnly, “I don’t like her, Luke.  She scares me.  And I don’t scare easily.”

“Look, you were messed up the other night,” he said more gently.  “It was the drugs screwing with your mind, with your sense of reality.  Just let it go.”

Stephanie shook her head slowly then continued up the staircase.  Arianna waited while Luke jogged back toward her.  She tried to smile, to pretend she hadn’t heard what she’d heard.  Eavesdropping was as dangerous an ability as mindreading, and one she wanted no part of.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said smiling a bit too broadly, likely trying to compensate for his sister’s low opinion of her.  Though he’d have no way of knowing she’d been privy to his interaction with his sister, he still wore a look of guilt plainly.  “She was in a hurry and feels bad about leaving like that,” he lied.

“No problem.  I understand,” Arianna said and tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat.

“Just Stephanie being Stephanie,” he said and tried to sound nonchalant.  But Arianna could see the quick throb in the side of his neck, could practically hear the frantic beat of his heart as he tried to cover for his sister.

“Yep,” she said and felt her words choking with emotion.

“I have to get to my locker, but are we on for after school today?  I’ll work on the bike.  You’ll make out with me from time to time,” he said and slipped his arms around her waist.

“Um, sure,” she replied softly.

“I was disappointed when you told me your mom was taking you to school today.  I would have liked to have had the ride in to be with you.”

“I don’t think Stephanie would have liked that,” she couldn’t help but add.

He held her gaze for a moment then added, “No.  I would have stuck her grumpy ass in the back seat and pretended she wasn’t with us,” he said and grinned.

“You lie,” she said lightly.

A look flashed across his face.  Perhaps she had hurt him or perhaps he’d been surprised.  Either way, the look was fleeting.

“I’m just teasing, Luke,” Arianna said and gave him a squeeze.

“Good.  So tell Cathy you won’t need a ride tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t think she’ll ever wake up early enough to drive me to school again.  The only reason she did today is she probably thinks it’s my birthday or something.”

Luke laughed then stopped abruptly.  “Is it?” he asked and looked worried.

“No.  My birthday passed a couple of months ago.  I just don’t think she knows that,” Arianna laughed.

“Gotcha,” Luke replied.  “All right, I’ll catch up with you later,” he said and pressed his lips to hers.

The feel of his lips and the clean minty, scent of him made her temporarily forget the bizarre state of her life.  Her heart ached and the lump returned to her throat when he let go of her and moved down the hall, away from her.  She watched him leave, and an instinctive presentiment pervaded her thoughts.  In the darkest recesses of her mind, she knew she’d witness him leaving her again, but not for his locker or to go to class.  He would be leaving her forever.

Chapter 5

After a school day that had dragged at a pace so slow it had bordered on cruel, Arianna had spent the remainder of the afternoon in Luke’s garage.  She’d watched admiringly as he’d labored and toiled with parts she couldn’t name, parts that belonged to her motorcycle, all the while, his hands had worked expertly, skillfully.  He was undoubtedly talented at repairing anything with a motor.  She’d been impressed with his level of expertise.  Moreover, the confidence with which he’d moved had struck her.  Until that point, she had only seen him as the person he was with her, and with his friends.  He had been relaxed and funny, and quick to flash his warm smile.  In his work space, however, he had been intense, focused.  Neither his lips nor his eyes had smiled.  He had hovered over her bike, his mouth pressed to a hard line, his brow furrowed, and had worked passionately while she’d sat and listened to music.  Of course he had stopped occasionally, and had allowed the Luke she knew to return long enough for a kiss.  But for the most part, he had concentrated on her bike.

She hadn’t been annoyed by his concentration on her bike rather than her.  In fact, she had been thankful for his distraction.  She had enjoyed watching him work inasmuch as she could, enjoyed the way the ropey muscles in his arms flexed and bulged, but did not feel like her normal self.  She supposed she would never feel like her normal self ever again.  Not with the changes that had occurred, and continued to occur.  And certainly not now that she knew what she was.  She was the Sola, whatever the hell that meant exactly.  Her new title seemed to mean she’d be acquiring new powers at warp speed.  The most recent had been her heightened hearing.  She wondered what would come next.  The ability to hear the slightest of sounds had made for an equally draining and revealing day.  Mr. Davis and Mr. Smith’s conversation had been the tip of the iceberg.  She had been involuntarily privy to enough gossip, information and meanness to last her a lifetime.  The only power she could have imagined being more stressful and consuming would have been mindreading.  And she prayed that would not come next.

Interspersed between the nasty and conspiring whisperings she’d been able to hear, the fragments of lectures she had been able to actually pay attention to and the general freaking out she had been doing about the chaotic condition of her life, she’d thought about Lily and Desmond.  She’d thought about them in the quiet of Luke’s garage and thought about them still.

Home and alone in her cramped room, Arianna dug out her cellphone from her bag and decided to try Lily’s number again.  She punched in the ten digits and waited.  When she was met with the same set of nearly a half-dozen rings followed by a voicemail recording, she hung up, not bothering to leave yet another message.  Frustrated, confused and exhausted, she sat on her lumpy bed that did not smell as bad as it had when she’d first sat on it, and allowed herself to fall back.  She stared up at the yellowed water stains on the ceiling still clutching her phone.  Her muscles yearned for rest, for revitalization.  But questions swarmed in her mind and prevented her from relaxing long enough to drift off to sleep.  The question of Lily’s whereabouts was chief among them.  Ordinary people did not simply stop answering the phone call of friends; they did not disappear as Lily apparently had.  Arianna and Lily had been close when she had lived in Rockdale.  She had been drawn to the pale, fair-haired girl two years her junior, had felt protective of her even, though she, herself, had been the new girl.  In the months after their initial meeting, she had become close to Lily.  Lily had been the closet a person had ever been to holding the title of best friend in Arianna’s recent past.  They had spent almost every day together, had confided in one another, and had gained each other’s trust.  Now, Lily was gone.  No fight or falling out had occurred and no indication of their friendship ending when Arianna had moved had been suggested.  Arianna could not think of a logical reason why Lily would suddenly sever all contact with her; unless something else had happened, something far more nefarious.  The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose at once as awareness slithered up the length of her spine with serpentine deliberateness.  She became convinced that something had happened to Lily.  She could feel it shiver through her.  And with that shiver came panic.

A sense of dread forced her to her feet.  Another matter pressed her, made the notion of sleep impossible.  She wondered whether she was responsible in some way for Lily’s disappearance.  The question burned inside her, seared her to her core.  She needed answers. She needed to find out what was happening with Lily.  She needed Desmond.

Unable to be still a second longer, Arianna grabbed her coat from her closet and slipped into her boots.

“I’m going out,” she called to her mother to be sure Cathy Rose was not the last to know about it.

Her mother did not reply and she assumed the woman was either too drunk to answer or did not care.  Either way, she was not waiting around to find out.  She dashed down the hallway and out the front door.

Outside, the temperature had fallen considerably.  She pulled her coat closed and wrapped her arms around her waist.  She looked left then right, undecided about where she should go exactly.  She just knew she needed to move, to be away from her trailer.  She wasn’t sure where she was going, but needed to find Desmond.  If he had been with her for her entire life, he would not be hard to find.  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the crisp night air.  As she exhaled, she decided she would walk for a mile or so to an open field she’d passed on her way to school, before her motorcycle had been totaled, and summon him.  She wasn’t sure how to do it, if there was some special witch way of doing it, but was confident she would figure it out.  She had to figure it out.  Lily’s life could depend on it.

With a plan in place, Arianna began moving.  She walked out of the trailer development and on to the main road.  Her feet crunched rhythmically on the gravelly shoulder of the street, the faint whoosh of the occasional passing car, a soothing sound.  Dried leaves rustled and stirred and a faint but chill breeze blew.  Overhead, the stars, abundant and gleaming against the blackened night sky, looked as though they quivered rather than remain fixed, shuddering with the same nervous energy Arianna possessed.  She would get answers, answers she might not be ready to hear, but answers, nonetheless.  She picked up her pace and walked more quickly, determined to get to the clearing as quickly as possible.  Beyond the clearing was a wooded area.  No houses skirted the clearing or the woods.  As far as she knew, it existed as undeveloped land.  She pictured it in her mind, willing her legs to move faster.  She would go to the woods and call for Desmond.

After nearly twenty minutes of walking, Arianna’s lungs burned.  Despite the burn, however, she wanted a cigarette.  But she would not smoke before calling to Desmond.  She crossed the clearing and stepped into the woods. Around her, barren trees reached skyward with skeletal branches, piercing the navy heavens with their blackened limbs.  The crunch of fallen leaves gave her pause.  She quickly scanned her surroundings, checking to see if anyone lingered near.  She stilled herself and listened, every muscle frozen, for the sound of movement, human movement.  When none was perceived and she was confident she was alone, she spoke Desmond’s name aloud.

“Desmond!” she called and felt foolish for a fleeting moment.

A section of the air before her became visible, quivering and shimmering like heat radiating off pavement on a sweltering summer day.  She instinctively stepped back, away from it, and waited.  She knew she should have been afraid, that anyone else would have been afraid, but felt fearless, her need for answers superseding any fear.  Light burst briefly from the shimmering air, creating a phenomenon similar to a camera flash.  The flare had been unexpected, her eyes hadn’t been prepared for it, and she was blinded briefly.  But when the dark shapes subsided from her field of vision, Desmond stood before her.

“Hello, Arianna,” he said in his soothing voice.

The sight of him stole her breath.  She’d forgotten how tall and broad-shouldered he was, how strong he looked.  How beautiful he was.  His fair skin, golden hair and brilliant blue eyes shined against the moonless night and Arianna had to remind herself to breathe.

“Hello, Desmond,” she replied and her reason for calling to him came rushing back with her breath.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“No.  Nothing is okay.  Everything has changed,” she said honestly.

Rationally, she knew her changes had not been his fault, that whatever defective DNA she possessed, or birthright she was heir to, was responsible for it all, yet could not halt the accusatory tone in her voice.

“How can I help?” he said, unbothered by her harshness.

“Well, you could start by answering one of the, I don’t know, thousands of questions I have for you,” she huffed.

“Okay, shoot,” he replied.

“When you told me that the Carl thing was a catalyst to get me and my mom out of Rockdale because someone was getting close, who did you mean?  Who was following me?”

“Howard Kane.  Howard Kane was, and is, following you.”

“Who is Howard Kane?  I’ve never heard that name in my life.  Why would he be following me?”

“Because he wants you dead,” Desmond stated as matter-of-factly as he would have said it was nighttime.

“What?  Why?” Arianna spluttered.  “Why would he want me dead?”

“He knows the Sola is near, is drawn to her, to you, though he does not know your name or what you look like, and he will not stop until he finds you.  He is the leader of an organization, a church filled with followers who hunt people like us.”

“Hunt people like us,” Arianna echoed his haunting words.  “Like what, like we’re game or something?”

“Yes, just like big game.  Only unlike Bengal tigers or a pride of African lions, we have supernatural powers.”

“With our powers, how does he manage to kill anyone?”

“He is a very skilled hunter.  He and the hundreds of supporters he has get us by targeting the ones whose powers are not yet fully developed, or by surprising us.”

Us, she thought.  Desmond used the word so casually to refer to her and the witches of the world, so nonchalantly.  She still struggled with the fact that she was part of a supernatural order of beings.  Not just one among them, she was their paranormal prophet, designated to unite them in their fight to exist.

“I don’t understand, how does he find us in the first place?”

“I don’t know how he is able to find us, but he does.  He’s been waiting for your arrival.  He’s been following you for months now.”

“So he was in Rockdale, this Howard Kane,” Arianna thought out loud.  “And right behind me, on my trail.  Lily was left behind.”  Emotion collected in her throat and constricted it.  She tried to swallow against it, to speak, but her words came out in a hoarse whisper, “Was Lily one of us?  Did this Howard Kane, did he kill Lily?” she asked, afraid to hear Desmond’s answer.

Desmond was quiet, pensive, his face unreadable.

“Did something happen to Lily?” she screamed, her voice suddenly strong.

“I don’t know,” Desmond replied.  “I left with you, remember.  My mission is to protect you.”

“So you let something happen to her,” she accused more than questioned.  “You let them hurt my friend!” She lunged at him and pounded her fists against his hard chest.  He did not flinch, just stood stoically, unmoving.

“How can you just stand there?  Don’t you care that a sixteen year-old girl could be hurt, or dead?”

“Of course, I do.  But my goal is to,” he began, but she cut him off.

“I know!  Because your goal is to protect me; I get it!  But she’s innocent!  She’s never hurt anyone,” Arianna said as tears welled then spilled down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Arianna, for all of this,” Desmond tried to comfort her.

“Good for you!  Good for you that you’re sorry!  ‘Cause I didn’t ask for any of this!  I didn’t ask to be the Sola or whatever the hell you say I am.  Life was hard enough before.  Now I’m some fucking freak that’s supposed to save others like me when I can’t even save the only true friend I ever had!”

“Arianna,” Desmond attempted.

“No!  Lily’s probably dead because of me!  Just for knowing me!” she cried and took several steps backward, the need for distance between her and Desmond overwhelming.

“You don’t know that anything has happened to your friend, Arianna,” he tried to assure her.

“And neither do you,” she accused.  “I thought you were some all-knowing warlock, but you can’t even tell me if one girl is okay!”

“First of all, I am not an all-knowing warlock,” he said shedding his calm tone of voice for a more commanding one.  “I have powers that are limited and will someday pale in comparison to the ones you will possess when the transformation is complete.  And second of all, I needed to get you out of that town before Howard discovered that you’re the Sola.  I didn’t have time to check in on your friend, who, by the way, may very well be a witch herself given that you felt drawn to her and protective of her.  Had you ever felt that way, an inexplicable pull toward another?” he asked.

She wanted to answer him, tell him that she felt a kinship with Lily unlike any she’d ever felt, that she felt like an older sister to Lily, but her mouth went dry, the lump in her throat burning, and all she could think to do was run, run as fast and far away as her legs would take her.  And she did.

She turned from Desmond faster than she’d ever imagined she could possibly move and began to run.  With her head down, she watched her feet take turns hitting the grass then the pavement.  She knew she should have felt her shoes slapping against the ground, knew that her body should have labored at the exertion, but felt as though she were weightless, as though she were flying.  In her mind, she swore she heard Desmond’s pleas for her to stay, heard them whisper through her as though they were her own thoughts but spoken in his voice.  She tuned them out more readily than her own thoughts, though, and concentrated on the beat of her heart, felt its energy swell and flare through her veins.  But she did not feel peace in the lulling rhythm her heart produced.  Instead, every possible worst-case scenario began to play out in her mind’s eye.  The phantom Howard Kane, his sick followers, all of them, faceless forms in her imagination, faceless, maleficent forms.  They swirled and eddied about like spectral predators prowling for and preying on the naïve, on the innocent.

Anger surged inside her, propelled her forward, faster.  Tears streamed from her eyes and blew back, dampening the sides of her hair.  She balled her fists tightly as she pumped her arms in sync with her legs.  So tight was her grip that her fingernails bit into the tender skin of her palms.  But she did not care.  Physical pain had become irrelevant.  She knew what she had to do.  For the first time in her life, she felt a sense of purpose.  She would go back to Rockdale and she would look for Lily.  If Lily were a witch, as Desmond had speculated, than she would have someone to entrust with her deepest, darkest secret, instead of a guardian hell-bent on shielding her at the expense of those she loved.  Lily would have someone to unburden her secret with, too.  And if she happened upon Howard Kane, she would deal with him, just as she’d dealt with the men in the alleyway behind the nightclub.

Chapter 6

Howard Kane had awakened days earlier from a deep sleep.  In his bed, he had stirred with a start only to find that the sun had just begun its ascent, an eager ball of fire surging from the horizon line.  From the window beside his bed, he had seen pure gold illuminate the skyline, melding into shades of orange, intensifying as it swelled and blended rich pinks and purples before deepening to violet as it shepherded night to day.  He’d sat upright immediately, rapt.  But the glorious sunrise had not been responsible for his rapture.  Something far more magnificent had happened.  He’d heard the sweet sound of the Lord’s voice, crystal-clear, in his head.  Warmth and light had abounded within him, a heavenly peace teeming inside his heart.  Even now, if he concentrated, Howard could hear God’s message echoing in his thoughts, and feel complete tranquility.  He’d been given another mission.  His divine instructions had been explicit.  Howard was to find a man that was on fire; God had told him to find the burning man.

In the many hours since he’d heard from the Lord, he had not slept, only rested intermittently.  He had worked tirelessly on finding the burning man, on orchestrating his meeting with him.  It had not taken long to find exactly whom the Lord had spoken of.  In fact, he hadn’t needed the team he’d assembled to scour the Internet exclusively.  A quick search of the local newspaper archives revealed exactly what he’d needed; what God had wanted.  An article from the weekend edition of the Herald Falls Times indicated that two men, both hardened criminals whose releases from prison baffled Howard, had been attacked in a dark alleyway behind some hedonistic sinner’s club known as the Blue Ivy Nightclub.  One had been burned to death and the other had been badly beaten and had almost died.

As he’d read the text on the screen of his laptop computer, he’d known it was the work of the Sola, had felt her evil deeds as they were occurring, and that now he’d found the burning man who would lead him to her.  Of course, the burning man had died, but his friend had lived.  His survival had been the Sola’s mistake.  She had undoubtedly tortured both men for her own amusement, but failing to kill them both would lead to her demise.  He would make sure of it.

Days of preparation had gone into executing Howard’s plan to make contact with the man who’d survived the Sola’s attack.  The man, a Lester Vice, was recuperating at Our Lady of Perpetual Help Hospital.  Fortunately, the hospital administrator, Graham Everett, was a weak man easily swayed by money.  After being offered generous compensation, Graham had been more than willing to help facilitate his mission.  Graham had agreed to influence scheduling decisions made by department heads so that a skeleton crew would be working on the floor the night Howard intended to visit.  He’d also promised to equip Howard with a maintenance keycard that would permit him to gain access to the hospital through an employee service entrance.  Disabling cameras and security guards had been left to Howard and his team.

With as many factors as he could control being manipulated, Howard arrived at Our Lady of Perpetual Help at one o’clock in the morning.  Visiting hours had ended four hours earlier.  The parking lots had emptied and only staff cars remained.  The lot he sought was around the back of the building near a loading bay.  He directed his black SUV in to a space designated for employees only and quickly scanned the surrounding area.  No one lingered near the loading bay smoking or talking on their phone as he often saw them doing during daylight hours when he’d surveyed the area.  Confident he was not being watched, Howard stepped from his vehicle into the chilly autumn night.  A crisp breeze stirred the dried leaves that had fallen from trees that lined the property.  He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and tightened the drawstrings around it, but not to protect him from the wind.  He did it, instead, to conceal his features, features one could easily remember and remark on.

His hooded coat that hid his face had been placed over of a navy jumpsuit identical to the ones worn by the custodial staff.  The uniform had been a necessary guise crucial to him entering and moving through the building as inconspicuously as possible.  Two of his men, dressed in similar garb, followed alongside him as he entered through the service entrance of the hospital.  He swiped his keycard and the lock on the door disengaged promptly.  Inside, he and his fellow Soldiers moved quickly down a long, narrow corridor, careful to keep their heads low and inaccessible to the prying eyes of security cameras, to an elevator bank.  The area was deserted.  No one milled about, yet they still shifted anxiously until a pair of doors opened.  Jeb Atwood, the man to Howard’s right, immediately produced a can from one of his jacket pockets, aimed it at the camera lens in the elevator and depressed a valve that released a thin stream of black paint.  Once the lens had been sufficiently blacked out, they rode to the fourth floor where Lester Vice, the criminal who’d seen the Sola, convalesced.

Before the elevator came to a stop at the fourth floor, a walkie-talkie at Howard’s hip crackled to life.

“The security guards that were posted by the southern elevator bank have been disposed of,” a deep voice said.

Howard depressed a button on the side of his device and spoke, “Excellent.  We will be stepping off the elevator in approximately twenty seconds.  I trust that the nurses have been busied elsewhere?”

“Yes,” the voice replied and Howard replaced his handset to his belt just as the elevator came to a halt.  The doors opened and he and his men stepped out.

A team had arrived moments before them and had secured the area.  Three nurses and two elderly security guards had been injected with hypodermic needles filled with Ativan, a high-potency, short-acting sedative drug Howard had obtained, which had been prefilled prior to the team’s arrival.  After being drugged, the hospital staffers had been locked in a supply closet.  The sparse number of guards and nurses had been courtesy of Graham Everett, as was the shortage of doctors on call that night.  The last thing Howard wanted, the last thing anyone wanted, was for innocent people to be harmed in his process of collecting information from Lester Vice.  With extraneous individuals out of the way, he could breathe easier, confident he would get exactly what he came for.  Everything had been set into motion, his path made clear and uncluttered by God and His loyal servants.

Cameras had been identified and their lenses blackened in the area surrounding Lester’s room.  Two men from the team that had tranquilized the nurses and guards had stayed behind and now stood sentinel outside the closed door to Lester’s room.  As Howard approached, the men nodded deferentially to him.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Howard said to them.  “Thank you for this divine service you’ve provided.  The Lord appreciates your work.  I appreciate your work.”

He watched as the men beamed at his compliment, how their eyes glistened with reverence when they lifted their heads and looked upon him.  He left Jeb Atwood in charge of the three men that now protected the room.  To him he said, “No one is to enter this room without my command.”

Jeb nodded indicating his understanding and Howard slipped into Lester’s room.

The room was dimly lit by fluorescent fixtures that cast a sickly pallor on everyone, but Howard had to suppress a gasp when he saw the sad state of the man on the gurney in front of him.  Neither the bruises that covered him nor the casts that covered one of his legs and arms had generated the near-gasp.  His aura, stifling and laden with sins, mortal sins, hung around him, clinging like scum on a pond.  He allowed his eyes to inspect Lester’s bare skin.  Almost every inch of his exposed skin, his face, neck and arm straight down to his fingers, had been scribbled on.  Tattoos of every shape and size, some blasphemous, some pornographic, covered his flesh.  He’d defaced and mutilated the body God had given him.  Had he not been in need of information from the wretch before him, he would have wrestled with the urge to strike him down and rid the world of such a vile stain.  But he could not indulge in such assistance.  He needed Lester, despicable as he was.

Howard moved to the foot of the bed and tapped Lester’s foot.  Lester did not respond right away so Howard tapped harder.  Lester’s eyelids fluttered before he opened his eyes.  Howard stepped back, directly under the light fixture, and pulled his hood back from his head.  When Lester’s eyes adjusted to the light, they opened wide in shock briefly before being replaced with an arrogant stare.

Something in the way the man narrowed his beady eyes made Howard bristle, blistering with rage.  How a contemptible man like Lester possessed the audacity to regard a man like himself, a man of God, with such scorn, was beyond him.

Howard swallowed back the anger that arose within him and spoke.  “I’m here to ask you some questions about the night you were attacked,” he said levelly.

Lester’s upper lip lifted into a snarl and he spat, “I didn’t tell the cops shit and you don’t look like no cop, so why would I tell your Freddy fuckin’ Krueger ass anything?  Unless I’m dreaming, then I’m in deep shit,” he said and laughed a twisted laugh.  The laughter caused him to grimace immediately, his face twisting in pain.  Howard couldn’t help but allow a thin smile to touch his lips.

“Do you think mocking a man who has been near fatally injured and disfigured amusing?” Howard lectured in a booming voice.

Impervious to Howard’s scolding, Lester smirked and said, “I have a question.”

“Yes,” Howard replied impatiently.  “Go on.”

“Where’s your claws and red striped sweater?” Lester taunted then laughed before cringing in pain.

Tired of the man’s insolence, Howard approached the side of the bed and handcuffed Lester’s free hand to the bedrail.  He did not concern himself with the other as it had been wrapped in a cast from shoulder to wrist.  With both of Lester’s hands immobilized, Howard shoved a rag in his mouth so quickly the injured man did not have time to react.  He then grabbed Lester’s arm, the one protected by a cast, and slammed it against the bedrail.  Lester tried to howl out in pain, but the cloth in his mouth muffled the sound.

“Now,” Howard began.  “I am going to remove the cloth from your mouth and you’re going to tell me what I want to know, or things are going to become very unpleasant for you.”  Howard removed the rag, sure that his threat had been sufficient.

“Who the fuck are you?” Lester demanded.

“I am a servant of the Lord, and I need to know who did this to you.”

“Okay, I get that you’re a fucking nut job, really I do, but I’m still not tellin’ you shit.”

Howard, undaunted by Lester’s words, shoved the rag back into his mouth.  He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a scalpel.  The blade was long and deadly sharp and gleamed when it caught the light of the overhead fixture, flashing just before he slashed at Lester’s stomach.  In one quick motion, the instrument sliced through his gown and flesh.  The cut made a wide wound just below his navel, wide and deep.  But not so deep that it caused immediate death.  Ruby-red blood spilled from the gash immediately and began collecting near his groin.

Lester’s eyes grew wide and his face contorted in anguish.  He tried to scream, but the gag prevented the sound from leaving his throat.

“It seems as though you have a rather serious injury, Lester,” Howard said calmly.

Lester began to thrash wildly searching for the call button near his bed, desperate to alert a nurse or doctor.  But twisting caused the blood to flow faster, soaking his gown from the waist down and falling to the mattress below.

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Howard warned and pointed to the expanding pool at Lester’s lap.

Lester could not respond, but the desperation in his eyes conveyed every sentiment he wished to convey.

“Such a pity, you with this gaping wound in a hospital full of doctors and nurses who could help.  Of course, they’d need to get here in time to save you,” Howard paused and allowed for the gravity of his words to sink in.  “And I could arrange for that, if you tell me what I need to know.”

The bleeding man nodded eagerly.  Howard issued a final warning before removing the rag.  “If you scream or disrespect me, you will die from that wound; make no mistake about it.”

Lester glanced at the lower portion of the mattress he rested upon, now saturated with his blood.  His brows knitted together in worry and he bobbed his head up and down.  Howard removed the cloth from his mouth.

“Now tell me who did this to you,” Howard ordered him.

“A teenage girl,” Lester said hurriedly.  “My friend and I jumped her and her friend in the alley, just wanted to have some fun with them.”

“You were going to sexually assault them,” Howard said evenly.

“Whatever,” Lester dismissed.  “Anyway, it never happened.  One of the girls, she changed.  One minute she was scared shitless, then she went dead calm.  Next thing I know, I’m flying across the alley and getting slammed into a brick wall.  After I hit the wall, a force pulled me away then slammed me into it again.  That’s the last thing I remember.  When I woke up, Rick was dead and I couldn’t move.”

The “force” that Lester had referred to confirmed that dark powers had been at work in the alleyway the night of the incident, powers darker than the ones that lurked inside of Lester.

“What did she look like?” Howard asked.

“Brown hair, dark eyes, maybe eighteen and fucking hot,” Lester answered.

“What was her name?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was her friend’s name?’

“It wasn’t a date, man.  I don’t know.  Are you going to help me now? I told you all I know.  I’m getting dizzy here.”

Lester’s words had confirmed what Howard had sensed all along.  The Sola had been in the alley, had maimed one of the men and killed the other.  And she remained nearby.  He needed to find her and kill her before she got away, but not before resolving matters with Lester Vice.

He looked at the bleeding man and spoke.  “You are a wicked and foolish man,” he charged.  “In that alley, you actually attempted to rape a soldier of the devil.”  Howard trained his gaze on Lester who looked unbothered by his words.  “And no one is coming for you,” he said then shoved the rag back inside his mouth.

Lester’s eyes widened in horror for a second time, but a look of arrogance never replaced it as it had earlier.  Howard stared long and hard at him, at the panicked look etching his features.  He wondered how many times Lester had caused others to make the exact face he made now.  A swell of satisfaction jolted through his core and he realized that his decision to purge the world of an awful man like Lester was the right one.  God would have wanted it.

Howard Kane walked out of room four-hundred-twenty-eight on the fourth floor of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Hospital and ordered his men to block anyone from entering Lester Vice’s room for at least half an hour.  Lester would bleed to death, a slow and painful death deserving of a being as despicable as he.  But Howard did not feel remorse for his death.  Instead, he took hope in the fact that he had done work God would approve of, that his Maker would have had him carry out the task eventually; he’d simply taken the initiative and done it sooner.  He had rid the Earth of one more sinner.

Chapter 7

Hours had passed since Arianna had called for Desmond in the woods, and in those hours her thoughts had continually returned to their discussion, to his words.  He had attempted to explain away his disregard for Lily by saying his mission was to protect her, and only her, the Sola.  That hadn’t been what she’d wanted to hear.  She’d wanted to hear that her friend was okay, to have her worries allayed and questions answered.  Yet, she had left their meeting with more questions than she’d arrived with, questions that nagged at her brain.

She needed answers. And if Desmond did not have them, she would find out for herself.  After a night of restless sleep, she awoke and decided she would ask Luke for yet another favor.  She would ask him to go with her to Rockdale, back to the town she’d fled with her mother less than a month ago.  With all the help he’d given her already, she felt like an ingrate asking again.  Of course, he had offered to repair her motorcycle, as well as taking her to school each morning until the work was finished.  But she had accepted.  Accepting help had been foreign to her then, was foreign to her still.  Though she liked Luke and he seemed more than willing to help, motivated by his own unique set of reasons, she did not like feeling indebted to anyone.  A thin smile touched her lips as she recalled Luke telling her he was helping in hopes of someday bedding her.  He had been blunt, almost to the point of offense, yet completely charming all at once.  Yes, she liked him.  And he liked her.

After showering and dressing, Arianna waited outside her trailer.  Before long, she heard the faint rumble of Luke’s pickup truck.  Within seconds, it came into sight then wheezed to a stop in front of her porch.  She noticed that Stephanie was not with him and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, Miss Personality will not be joining us today,” he said as he climbed out of the driver’s side.  He walked around the front of the truck and opened the door for her.

“Not giving up on the whole wooing thing, huh?” she teased.

“Not until I get what I’m after,” he said and patted her backside playfully.

He shut the door and rounded the truck then climbed behind the steering wheel.

“Is Stephanie all right?” she asked and tried to mask her concern.

“No need to worry about her,” he said picking up on her worry.  “I’m sure that the stick up her butt bothers her some days.”

He laughed at his own joke and she smiled.

“Seriously, she’s okay, right?”

“Yes Arianna.  She’s fine.  Just has a cold, that’s all.”

“Oh good,” Arianna blurted accidentally.

“Well, not so much for her, I’m guessing,” he said and quirked a dark brow at her.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” she began.

“I think you did mean it,” he kidded.  “I think you’ve been trying to get me alone for a while to, you know, have your way with me.  You probably even planted a sick person’s snotty tissue in her purse, all part of your elaborate plot to claim my virtue.” He’d used a feminine, sugary Southern accent she didn’t know he could possibly produce with his deep voice as he’d said claim my virtue and she laughed out loud.  She laughed so hard, tears sprung from her eyes.

“Hey, it’s not that funny,” he pretended to pout.

She found a rumpled tissue in her purse and was about to blot her eyes with it when she paused.  “Should I be worried about this tissue?” she asked him.

“No, why?”

“With the rash of snotty tissue droppings, I just want to be sure I’m not a target,” she said and started laughing again.

“What?” he asked with mock indignation.  “Are you suggesting it was me who planted the snot bomb?  Little ole me?” he finished with his accent again.

Arianna laughed so hard her sides ached.  She doubled over clutching her stomach and could not compose herself until they were nearing the driveway of Herald Falls High School.  It had felt good to laugh, to truly let go, even if just for a few minutes.  Luke had a knack for making her forget her problems, for making her laugh; for making her happy.

“Let’s take a road trip together, you and me.  Let’s skip school for a day and go to Rockdale,” she heard herself say and couldn’t believe the words had actually fallen from her lips.

Luke slid her a glance, his silver eyes dancing with delight.

“What’s in Rockdale?” he asked casually.

“My friend Lily.  I lived in Rockdale before I came here,” she began.

“Yeah, I heard you telling Mike and the gang when you first met them.  Why not just call this Lily?”

“I’ve been trying since I got here.  I can’t get in touch with her.  I’ve tried her house phone, her cellphone, sent her text messages and emails, and haven’t heard a word from her.”

“Maybe she’s pissed at you, you know?  Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk to you,” he said gently.

Arianna was quiet for a moment, thinking about what he’d said. The possibility existed that what he said was the case; that Lily was simply done with her, their friendship terminated.  But something inside of Arianna, a feeling she could not explain, niggled.  She had known Lily well, as well as she could in the nine months she had spent in Rockdale.  Cutting off all contact so abruptly was not Lily’s style.  She was not like that.  She was not rude or cruel.  In fact, there did not seem to be a mean or vindictive bone in her body, which is likely why Arianna had felt so protective of her, not the theory Desmond had suggested.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Luke said and broke her concentration.  He reached a hand across the console and placed it on her hand tenderly.  He had clearly misread her silence as sadness.

“You didn’t,” she replied.  “I was just thinking about her.  She wasn’t like that.  She wasn’t the kind of person who would do that, I think.  And if I’m wrong, I’m wrong.  I’ve just been worried about her and wanted to see her with my own eyes.  At this point, I’d be happy to get there and find out she’s blown me off.  At least I’d know she was okay.”

Luke directed the truck down the drive of their school and searched for a parking spot.  The lot was emptier than normal, their arrival earlier than most.  Arianna was grateful for the extra time they would have now, without Stephanie, and hopefully on their trip to Rockdale.

“Rockdale, huh?” he said.  “That’s what, five, six hours away?”

“I’ll give you money for gas and pay for our motel room,” she offered.

“Motel room?  Why didn’t you lead off with that?” he joked and was back on his game.

“We’d have to stay in a motel room,” she flirted.  “We’d be leaving after school, today if you want, and we’d need to rest, naturally.”

“Naturally,” he agreed and his cheeks flushed.

“Why Luke, I do believe you’re blushing,” she said leaning across the console and touching the tip of her finger to his chin.  “Aren’t you ready to be rewarded for all your wooing?”

She did not give him time to respond.  And judging from the expression on his face, she doubted he had a response.  She climbed out of his truck and slung her backpack over her shoulder, satisfied she’d intrigued him by turning his tactic on him.  She had bluntly offered him exactly what he claimed he’d been wanting.  Whether either of them would go through with it remained to be seen.  She glanced over her shoulder at him and saw that he smiled his broad, mischievous smile at her from behind the windshield.

“Come on,” she called to him and gestured for him to follow.

He rolled his window down and called back, “Just give me a second okay.  I just need a second.”

She laughed and leaned against the passenger side door, waiting for whatever physiologic response he’d been beset by to pass.

After a few minutes had passed, Luke jumped out.  “I’m in,” he announced.  “Let’s take a road trip.”

“Yay!” Arianna cheered.  “When do you want to leave?”

“Let’s go today, after school.”

“Really?  Are you serious?”

“Yep.  We can miss school tomorrow.  There’s a stupid assembly that’s gonna eat up half the day anyway.  Let’s do it.”

“All right.  Sounds like a plan!”

“We can meet here after school, go back to our houses and grab a few things then leave.  Will your mom be okay with you and me going away overnight together?”

“You’re joking, right?” Arianna asked sarcastically.  “I’m eighteen, and even if I wasn’t, my mom doesn’t say a word about where I go and who I go with.  I’ve been coming and going as I please for as long as I can remember.”

“Sounds like my mom,” he said tightly.

“So it’s settled.  I’ll see you here in a few hours,” she said and rose on to her tiptoes.  She wrapped both arms around his neck tightly, her body pressing to his and kissed his lips.

She kissed him for several seconds then released him and dashed off.

“Oh, that’s just wrong!” he called after her.  She turned to look at him and saw that he held his books low over his waist.

“See you soon,” she called back and smiled.

***

The more than six hours of her school day had seemed like an interminable stretch of time.  She’d glimpsed the clock on many occasions throughout the day certain hours had passed, only to find that mere minutes had passed.  When the last bell of the day finally rang, Arianna felt as though she’d survived a marathon, tired and worn.  But once she stepped outside and the cool fall air greeted her, she felt invigorated.  As she approached Luke’s truck and saw that he waited for her, excitement stirred within her.  Though she was going to Rockdale under troublesome circumstances, she was looking forward to taking a break from her new school, from the idea that she was the Sola, from her life, and hanging out with Luke.  He was fun and funny and they got along well.  She felt certain that the six hours they’d spend together in the car would be enjoyable ones.

“Hey you,” she said and smiled.

“Hey,” he replied and smiled.  “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.  Where to first?”

“Let’s go to your house first and get what you need then we can head to my little circus tent so I can grab a few things.”

“All right,” she said.

Luke opened the passenger side door for her then climbed in to the driver’s seat.  His truck protested twice, sputtering and choking, before the engine turned over, roaring to life grumpily.

“That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence with a six-hour drive ahead of us,” Luke commented.

“No, it doesn’t,” Arianna agreed.

They drove for less than ten minutes, chatting lightly about their respective days, until Arianna’s trailer park came into view.  A depressing display of metal, synthetic turf and plastic ornaments intended for rolling green living lawns, it resembled a junkyard with paths carved through the mountains of debris.  Tires of varying brands and sizes littered nearly every front porch, and clothing lines laden with atrociously patterned clothes spanned as far as the eye could see.  To many who enjoyed a more lavish lifestyle than she, her community was the material of nightmares, offensive and tasteless.  To her, it was home.  After years of living in one trailer park or another, she’d grown tired of apologizing for where she lived and what she didn’t have.  She’d made peace with the fact that belongings, were just, well, stuff.  And stuff was not what made a person interesting or exciting or worthy of respect, character did.

Luke stopped in front of her trailer and turned the engine off.  He reached a hand out and was about to pull the lever on his door when Arianna asked, “Oh, you’re coming in?”

He froze for a moment.  “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“No, nothing like that.  It’s just that this place is cramped and smelly.  It belonged to my uncle and he was either a slob or had rented it to slobs.”

“Arianna, you saw my drugged out mother unconscious near a pool of her own vomit. Nothing in your house could be as bad as that,” he said sincerely.

“Fair enough,” she said then added, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The walked together, up three worn wooden steps, to the front door.  Arianna unlocked it and they stepped inside.  The small living-room area was free of fat men sleeping on the couch and there were no fast-food boxes or bags cluttering the coffee table.  That was always promising.  They walked past the living room and a quick glance at the pea-colored vinyl flooring made Arianna suspicious.  A strong lemon scent hung in the air and the floors looked freshly mopped suggesting that her mother had cleaned.  And Cathy Rose cleaned for one reason and one reason only: for a man.  A man was either coming over in the next few hours or had just left.  Either way, a new man in her mother’s life did not bode well for them remaining in Herald Falls for long.

“This isn’t bad at all,” Luke said from behind her.  “No drugs, no vomit.  Already it’s an improvement from my place.”

She reached behind her and took his hand in hers, gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing it.  They walked down the short, narrow hallway past the bathroom to her room.  She emptied her backpack of books and began grabbing things she’d need.  A change of clothes was chief among them, then underwear and something to sleep in.

“So this is your room,” Luke smirked and sat on the sleeping cushion that served as her bed.

“Yep. And that thing is not where I sleep.”

“Good ‘cause it stinks like mold or something.”

“I know.  It’s gross.  Most nights I crash on the floor or the couch.  That’s when I can sleep at all.”

“I hear you.  I know what that’s like,” he nodded somberly.

She smiled sadly because he hadn’t the vaguest idea what she was talking about.  He’d assumed she had referred to her life with her mother, about the hard times she’d had.  But he’d been wrong.  Of course, she did not blame him.  How could he, or anyone else for that matter, guess that being a witch with untapped phenomenal powers could cause so many sleepless nights?  Having a group of people hunting you with the intent to murder you didn’t make for a good night of sleep either.  But Luke had no way of knowing those were problems that existed in the world, let alone in her daily life.

“Let me grab my toothbrush and some cash and we’ll get out of here,” she said.

In the bathroom, she lifted the lid of the toilet tank and reached her hand inside.  Her fingers felt the cool, smooth surface of a plastic bag.  She picked it up, but not before allowing as much water to drain from it as possible, and opened it.  Inside was a roll of money, mostly twenty-dollar bills.  She took three hundred dollars from the bag then returned her savings to the toilet tank.  She washed her hands, grabbed a brush and her makeup bag and opened the bathroom door.

“I’m all set,” she said.

“Really?” Luke asked surprised.  “I thought we’d be here for hours.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.  Every time my sister packs, she takes forever.  I thought all girls were like that.”

“Well, I’m not like other girls, and I’m not like your sister,” she said and winked at him.

“No, no you’re not,” he said seriously.  “And I’m really glad you’re not.”

He moved toward her, slowly closing the distance between them.  She stepped back instinctively and found her back flush against a wall.  He placed both hands by her ears, trapping her between him and the wall.  But she did not feel trapped.  Her heart raced excitedly.  He stared at her, allowed his gaze to drop to her mouth.  She ran her tongue over her lips, readying them to be kissed, tempting him to kiss her.  Luke dropped one of his hands and placed it on her hip.  He pulled her close to him so that her chest pressed against him.  She felt the planes of his body, warm and hard, touching the softness of her own.  Kiss me already, her mind screamed.  He slid his hand from her hip up the side of her body grazing the side of her breast and cupped her face in his hand tenderly.  She felt his hot breath on her face and did not want to wait any longer.  She tipped her chin up and kissed him.

She did not kiss him with the tenderness he’d touched her with.  Instead, she kissed him with abandon, wrapping both arms around his neck then raking her fingers through his hair.  He lowered his hand and grabbed her backside.  She could feel his excitement through his jeans pressing against her belly.  She writhed against it and heard him moan.

“Do I need to get a hose in here, or something?” she heard her mother’s voice say suddenly.

Neither of them had heard her mother come in.

Luke let go of her embarrassedly.  She saw ribbons of scarlet streak his cheeks as he hunched forward to hide his excitement.

“Hi Ms. Rose,” he said, his eyes darting anxiously.  “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you, too,” she crooned.  “Luke, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied sheepishly.

“Ma’am.  I like that.  So respectful.  Arianna, this one’s a keeper,” she said loving every moment of Arianna and Luke’s discomfort.  Then she turned back to Luke and said, “Did I do that to you?” gesturing to the obvious bulge below his belt.

“All right, mom.  Enough!  Can you give us a minute?”

Her mother did not say another word.  She disappeared in to the kitchen.  The clanking of pots reminded them that she hadn’t left and intended to ruin any further romance they may have had in mind.

“She’s a human mood killer,” Arianna said then giggled.

“You’re telling me,” Luke agreed.  “I’m going to, uh, use the bathroom and um, splash some cold water on my face before we leave.”

“You do that,” Arianna said and smiled.  “I’ll wait for you outside.”

Arianna walked to the kitchen and saw her mother smirking by the sink.

“Well, well, well.  It looks like you and loverboy were having quite a moment there,” her mother snickered.

“Please, mom,” Arianna cringed.  “I’m going out tonight and I won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

“Oh really?” her mother asked.  “Just use protection.  You don’t want to end up knocked up like me.”

“It’s not like that.

“It sure looked like that.”

“We’re going to Rockdale.”

“Rockdale?  Why?”

“Lily, I haven’t heard from her since we moved here.”

“So maybe she doesn’t want to be your friend anymore.”

Arianna didn’t want to have this conversation again.  “Whatever, I’ve been worried and I want to check on her,” she said curtly.

“Suit yourself.”

“Can you call me in sick at school tomorrow?”

“Sure, no problem.  Just leave me the number.”

Arianna pulled a pad from the drawer below the telephone.  She scribbled the school’s attendance office number on it and left if near the phone.  “Thanks mom.”

“Have fun and be safe,” her mother said just as Luke came down the hallway.

“Don’t get my daughter pregnant, you hear?” her mother warned him.

“Mom!”

“Yes ma’am,” Luke said.

Arianna grabbed Luke’s arm and pulled him out.

“Good-bye mother,” she said testily.

Outside she apologized for her mother’s comment.

“I’m so sorry about that, about her, I mean,” she fumbled.

“Don’t worry about it.  She’s just worried about you.  She loves you,” he said offhandedly.

She was sure her mother had meant well, but her tact and timing left much to be desired.

“Yeah, well, she has a funny way of showing it,” Arianna said and folded her arms across her chest.

“At least she’s, I don’t know, conscious,” he said and the sadness in his voice made her heart lurch.

“I guess,” she said and reached in her bag for her cigarettes.  “Mind if I smoke?”

“No.  Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” she said and lit his cigarette first then hers.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get in my pants,” he said impishly.

“You wish,” she joked and climbed in the passenger seat.

He closed the door.  “I don’t know, Arianna.  I think you want me,” he teased.

“Keep dreaming!”

“We’ll see,” he said and started the car.

They drove away from her trailer and out of her complex on to the main road.  Faint rays of sun waged a fruitless war against leaden clouds that encroached, advancing like a fleet of warships.  The wind had picked up and shook flame-colored leaves from treetops sending them cascading to the ground like burning embers.  Arianna watched as they fell chaotically, heard the wind hiss through the dried leaves and branches like a thousand voices whispering at once.  A strange sensation washed over her and made her skin crawl as though innumerable spiders raced across her bare flesh.  Perhaps it was the just the eerie way the wind sounded or how the leaves fell like cinders to the earth, or perhaps it was something far more intrinsic that had unsettled her, but Arianna believed a warning had been issued; a warning that she may not return the same person she was leaving as.

Chapter 8

After four hours of driving, Arianna finally convinced Luke to pull off the highway they’d traveled on and eat before searching for a motel to spend the night at.  Sitting across from one another in a cozy booth at the Starlight Diner, Arianna devoured her cheeseburger as though it were the first meal she’d eaten in days.  In reality, she’d had lunch eight hours ago and had not been in danger of starvation, but the smell of French fries and griddle cooked food had sent her hunger into overdrive.

“Wow,” Luke commented.  “The girls I’ve dated just picked at their salad, never scarfed down a whole cheeseburger before I finished mine.”

Squirting ketchup on to her plate, Arianna paused and searched his eyes.  As usual, his grey-blue irises shimmered with delight.  He was teasing her, and she decided to tease him back.

“Feeling pretty satisfied right about now, Luke?  Now that you’ve hurt my feelings,” Arianna said with feigned hurt.  “Would you have preferred it if I’d ordered a salad?  Or maybe if I didn’t eat at all?”

“No, no.  Of course not,” he fumbled.  “I love that you, that you’re not like other girls.  I meant what I said as a compliment.  I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he said and reached out for her hand.

Arianna smiled and said, “Gotcha!”

“That’s just wrong,” he said good-naturedly.  “Toying with my feelings like that, you’re bad.”

“What’s the matter, sport, you don’t like when people tease you back?” she said and narrowed her eyes mischievously.

“Oh I can take whatever you dish out, Miss Rose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well, I’m fresh out of snappy comebacks,” she said and started to laugh. Luke laughed, too.  “And I’d like to get started on my fries.”

“Jeez, you have room left for fries?  I’m not even done with my burger and I’m stuffed,” he offered a final zinger.

Arianna narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips at him a second time.  But she was not mad.  She imagined it would be impossible to stay mad at him on the off chance he’d ever said something hurtful.  Even the thought of him saying something to make her angry seemed impossible.  He laughed easily, at himself and others.  She liked that he could deliver a sharp, perfectly timed remark.  He had a knack for it.  He was witty and she admired his wittiness.  Perhaps someone with a more sensitive nature would have found his jokes critical, or mean spirited.  But she was not among them.  She was thicker skinned.  Life had hardened her enough and made her realize that fretting over minor incidents and analyzing or agonizing over every conversation with friends and loved ones was a waste of time.

“Earth to Arianna,” Luke said.

“Sorry, I zoned out there for a minute.”

“I know.  It’s hard to be around me and not get lost in a fantasy,” he started.

“Do you ever take a break?” she asked and giggled before eating her fries.

He smiled sheepishly, and she hoped she hadn’t hit a nerve.

“I think we should stay at the motel across the street,” she said changing the subject.  She pointed beyond the window they sat in front of to the Main Street Motor Inn.  Few cars were parked in the lot beside it.  “What do you think?” she asked him.

“Okay.  It looks slow there, so we shouldn’t have trouble getting two rooms.”

“I thought we’d get just one,” Arianna said casually.

Color touched Luke’s cheeks and he glanced at her quickly.  “Oh, okay,” he said coolly.  But Arianna lowered her gaze to his throat and saw the fitful drumming just below his jaw.  His carotid artery gave him away.  She swore she could hear the nervous beat of his heart.  His body language suggested that spending the night with a girl was no big deal to him, commonplace even.  But physiology never lied.

“All right then, it’s settled.  We can get the check whenever you’re ready and head over there,” she said.

“What?  No dessert?” he kidded, but his smile ended at his lips.  His eyes had clouded over and become more serious.

As if she’d heard their desire for the check, the waitress appeared at their table.

“If you’re all set here, I’ll get you your check,” she asked pleasantly.

“We’re all set,” Luke said to her.

The waitress smiled and blushed, obviously thrilled that Luke had spoken to her.  She returned moments later and left their bill on the edge of the table.  Luke reached for it, but Arianna grabbed it before he could.

“Come on,” he protested.  “I’m buying.”

Arianna flipped over the piece of paper and saw that the waitress wrote her name at the bottom of the ticket with a heart beside it.  She’d circled the Come Again Soon logo and had added an exclamation point to it.  Arianna did not feel threatened by the waitress in the least, yet a possessive sense of annoyance prickled inside her.  She’d never been a jealous girlfriend and wasn’t about to start being one now, but a burst of bitterness bubbled inside her.  She looked over to where the waitress whispered with a coworker.  She focused on them, concentrating.  Suddenly, the world around her became quiet.  Conversations, music, the whoosh of cars passing outside on Main Street fell silent.  All she could hear was the sound of two voices.

“He’s so hot,” she heard the girl say.

“I know,” her friend agreed.

“Think those two are a couple?” their waitress asked.

“I don’t know.  They haven’t held hands or anything, so maybe not.”

“Yeah, you’re right.  They might not be together.  Besides, they look just wrong together.  That girl looks like a real bitch,” their waitress concluded.

“Ready to go?” Luke said and stood breaking Arianna’s concentration.

“Yep, I’m ready,” she said and stood.

Luke grabbed the bill from her and said, “Ha! Too slow!  I’m paying.”

She did not argue as she would have under ordinary circumstances.  She refused to give the girls at the counter the satisfaction of having more speculative garbage to mull over.  Instead, she slipped her arm around Luke’s waist.  He immediately reciprocated and pulled her close thereby ending any question the girls had about whether or not they were a couple. Luke paid the cashier much to her chagrin and they stepped outside.  The temperature had fallen drastically.  She wrapped her arms around her body clutching her midsection as an icy breezed gusted.  Luke wrapped both arms around her and nuzzled her neck.  She stood on her toes and hugged him back pausing only to smirk over his shoulder at the waitresses gawking at her with looks of disgust plastered on their faces.  Another gust bit at them and they released each other in favor of running to the truck hand-in-hand.

Once inside, Luke spoke.

“Damn, it got cold out there!”

“I know!  I didn’t know I’d need my winter jacket tonight.”

“Listen, before we go to the motel, I want to stop at the gas station market first, okay?”

“Sure.  Fine by me.  Did you forget something?” she asked.

“No.  I just want to pick up a few things for tonight,” he replied casually.

The gas station he referred to was two buildings away from where they had eaten.  Luke dashed inside the market while Arianna opted for the warmth of the truck.  He returned with a brown paper bag in his arms and settled it between them.  She craned her neck to look inside and he quickly folded the top of the bag over.

“Hey, no peeking,” he teased.

“Okay, okay,” Arianna said and put her hands up in mock surrender.

They turned in to the Motel parking lot a few seconds later.  Arianna had insisted on paying for the room and this time Luke didn’t argue.  She left him in the car and procured their room for the night before returning to the truck with the key.

“Our suite awaits us,” she said and jingled the key at him.

“Let’s go,” he said and climbed out.

They quickly gathered their backpacks and Luke grabbed the bag from the market then walked up to the door with the number that matched their keychain.

“A key,” Arianna rolled her eyes.  “How old school is that?  I bet this place is a dump.”

But to her surprise, when they opened the door, the room was not a dump.  It was neat and brightly decorated and smelled as though it had just been cleaned.  Two queen-sized beds with a nightstand in between them occupied most of the space and a small table with two chairs was to their immediate left.

“Not bad,” Luke said.  “Not bad at all.”

“I know.  This room is nicer than my trailer,” she said and was only half joking.

“It’s nicer than my house, too,” he agreed.

“All right, enough chitchat.  What’s in the bag?” she asked impatiently.

Luke set the bag on the table and reached one of his hands inside of it.  He pulled out a pack of cigarettes first.  Then he reached in a second time and pulled out two decks of cards.  One was a standard playing card set while the other was an Old Maid set.

“Old Maid!” Arianna squealed.  “I haven’t played that game since I was a kid!”

Luke smiled and reached in a third time.

“There’s more?” she asked.  “What else could we need besides Old Maid and cigarettes?”

He lifted up a six-pack of beer and smiled, “Beer, of course!”

Arianna clapped and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Yay!  This is the best trip ever,” she said and knew she both sounded and acted like a child.  But she did not care.

Luke twisted off the cap of one of the beers and handed her the opened bottle.  Then he opened one for himself.  He raised the bottle and touched it against hers.  “To our trip,” he said.

“Cheers,” she said then took a long drink.  She picked up the bag and was about to place it on the floor when Luke said quickly, “I’ll get that.”

His voice had an edge of nervousness to it she’d never heard.  He took it from her hands hurriedly but not before she spied a small box of condoms at the bottom.  She contemplated ribbing him about his lofty expectations, but his nervous reaction had given her pause.  She did not want to embarrass him; not about something so serious.  Ignoring his purchase as well as his reaction she sat in one of the chairs and began opening the box of Old Maid cards.

After several hands of the game and two beers each, Luke yawned exaggeratedly.  “I’m pretty beat,” he said.  “I think I’ll shower and hit the sack.  Which bed do you want?”

He slid her a glance she was certain she wasn’t meant to catch, one that suggested he was feeling her out, trying to see what the sleeping arrangement was going to be.

“Whichever one you want is fine with me,” she said refusing to take the bait.

“Oh,” he said with the slightest hint of disappointment tinting his words.

He stood and took his backpack then disappeared into the bathroom.  When he returned later, he wore nothing but a pair of jersey material athletic shorts and a towel around his neck.  His shorts sat low on his hips and the waistband of his boxers peeked out.  Arianna had never seen him without his shirt before.  She’d felt how hard his chest was through his clothes, had imagined what it would look like bare, but enjoyed the appearance of it far more in reality.  Trim and lean, the planes of his muscles were clearly defined.  He lifted one arm and his bicep muscle flexed as he dried his hair.  Tousled and still wet from his shower, his black hair looked boyish, charming.

“The pressure on that showerhead is phenomenal,” he said and walked past her.  He sat on the bed closest to the table she sat at.  He smelled of soap and warmth and toothpaste and she had to consciously resist the urge to throw her body atop his.  “I may never want to leave this place.”

“Me neither,” she agreed.  “Guess I’m up now.”  She grabbed her bag and headed to the bathroom.

Luke had been right; the shower pressure was strong, a far cry from that of her trailer.  After she’d washed and combed her hair and brushed her teeth, she looked at the clothes she’d hastily grabbed to sleep in.  A tank top and yoga pants hardly seemed like seductive attire.  She’d seen girls at school walk around wearing less clothing; clothing that had been far more enticing.  Regardless, it was all she’d brought so she slipped the outfit on, not bothering to put a bra on.  Hers was not from a fancy retailer and didn’t have all of the push-up features men liked.  She opened the door and walked to the bed she supposed she’d sleep on, the one closest to the bathroom.  She pulled down the duvet and the sheet and slipped beneath them.

“Good night,” she said to Luke.

“Going to sleep now?” he asked.

“Aren’t you?”

“Not right this second.”

“Oh, I thought you were tired.  I just assumed you wanted to go to sleep.”

“I’m tired, but I don’t need to go to sleep right this second or anything,” he said.

“Okay, then come on over,” she said and patted the space in front of her.

Luke walked over to her bed and sat.  She pulled the coverings off her legs and sat on top of them before folding them like a pretzel.  She looked at him for a moment.  He looked incredible.  His mussed hair was not spiked up as he normally wore it and was free of gel, and his tattoos were plainly visible.  She reached out and touched the dragon on his forearm and watched as the hairs on his arm rose.  “I like this one a lot,” she said tracing it.  “Did it hurt?”

“It wasn’t too bad,” he said and she heard the slightest tremble in his voice.

She allowed her fingertips to glide gently up his arm to his shoulder.  He closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation and her fingers skimmed the length of his neck up to the back of his hair before sliding back down his throat past his collarbone and down his chest.  His eyes remained closed and she could see the fitful pounding in his neck again.  She leaned in and grazed the throbbing pulse point with her lips.  When she pulled back, he watched her, his silvery gaze attentive.  He reached out and cupped her face with his hands then bent toward her.  He kissed her tenderly.  She tilted her head and welcomed the warmth of his lips against hers.  His mouth was soft and his kiss was sweet.  She felt the world fall silent save for the sound of her heart racing in her chest.  His tongue traced her lower lip and the feeling sent a shiver through her, raising goose bumps on her skin.  She ran her hand up his arm again, over his shoulder and twisted it in his hair.  He drew in a breath through his nose and pulled her toward him.  She obliged by climbing on to his lap, one leg on either side of his hips.  His lips began crushing hers, his kiss deeper, more passionate.  She could feel his excitement between her legs, rubbing pleasantly against her.

His mouth left hers and traveled down to her jaw first then her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses in its wake.  His hands slid up her back and brushed the sides of her breasts and every part of her ached for his touch.  When his hand slipped under the narrow strap of her tank top, it was she who inhaled sharply, the anticipation of his move overwhelming.  The band fell off her shoulder and exposed to top of her breast.  He lowered his mouth to the soft mound and warmth pooled low in her belly, twisting longingly.  His chin lowered the fabric of her top further, revealing more of her willing body.  She arched her back toward him, welcoming him.  Eager to explore her further, he took a hardened peak between his lips and ran his tongue over it, teasing and tantalizing the sensitive skin.  Arianna moaned then pushed him back against the bed, unable to withstand the desire that burned inside her a moment longer.  She slid his shorts from his hips and started to push his boxers down as well.

“Arianna,” he said breathlessly.  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, Luke,” she panted.  “I’m sure.”

He sat up quickly, unexpectedly and pulled open the drawer of the nightstand.  He grabbed a foil covered square.

“Ah, you listened to my mother,” Arianna whispered seeing the condom.

“Please don’t talk about your mother now,” he said and climbed on top of her.  “Are you sure you’re sure,” he asked again.  “You really want to do this?”

“Shut up and kiss me already,” Arianna said and slipped her yoga pants off.

His eyes roamed her nearly naked body.  He kissed her neck and nibbled her ear. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

His hands slipped under the hem of her tank top and he lifted the material up over her head.  His skin against hers felt blissfully warm.  He stared at her exposed chest with appreciation and her nipples hardened with excitement.  He lowered his mouth and kissed the valley between them before taking a firm tip into his mouth again.  Rippling need wavered through her body.  Her hands slid down to the waistband of his boxer shorts and she began pushing them down.  His hands left her breasts and found their way down her waist.  His fingers slipped underneath her underwear and began drawing them down.  He slipped them off her hips and down her thighs then tossed them aside.  Once they were off and resting on the nightstand, she parted her legs and felt him enter her.

Arianna clutched the duvet as he drew his body against hers.  She wrapped her legs around his thighs and pushed against him, urging him.  He moved slowly at first and she closed her eyes reveling in the feel of him.  She focused on their bodies moving in sync as one.  She glanced up at him briefly, and saw the intensity in the set of his jaw.  One side of his mouth curved up, a half smile, and she closed her eyes again.

Behind her lids, however, an imaged flashed, an unwelcome image.  Golden hair and fair skin, and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.  Desmond appeared in her mind.  She tried desperately to block the image, intent on not ruining her intimate moment with Luke.  But his image persisted.  His likeness stood before her bare chested.  His broad, muscled body highlighted by bright sunlight, golden light that matched his hair.  Suddenly, she was with him, naked.  They were both in a grassy clearing.  He stared at her hungrily, unwaveringly, and a smiled did not touch his features.  He looked upon her, his eyes smoldering pools of tropical water, with pure lust.  With his rippling muscles tensed and the desirous look in his eyes, he looked like a warrior about to descend on an adversary, but none were present; only her.  Luke’s ragged breathing in her ear warned that he was nearing climax.  She wanted to join him, but couldn’t shake Desmond’s nude body from her mind.  Perhaps subconsciously, she did not want to.  She opened her eyes again for a split second and glimpsed Luke’s face, a mask of concentration before closing them again, and returning to Desmond.  Only when she did, it was Desmond atop her, his face confident, his cerulean gaze trained on her.  She imagined her hands tracing the swollen peaks and valleys of his powerful chest and shoulders and felt a tremor of pure bliss overtake her.  The image of Desmond triggered small bursts of light behind her eyelids as her body contracted around Luke.  A quiver of ecstasy caused her to cry out and within seconds, Luke panted in release then collapsed atop her.  She could feel his arms trembling as he lifted himself up to kiss her.

“That was amazing,” he breathed in her ear.

“It was, wasn’t it,” she whispered back as a wave of guilt washed over her.  She hadn’t planned to picture Desmond as they’d made love.  He’d just appeared unexpectedly, uninvited.  Yet, the thought of him, undressed, inside of her, had aroused her in a way she’d never experienced.  But she had been with Luke, not Desmond.  Another wave of guilt swelled, threatened to drown her as Luke lay next to her drifting off to sleep.

The light of the bathroom cast a soft glow on his face, caressing his features, softening them.  With his hair in a state of disarray and his countenance completely relaxed, he looked much younger than he was, boyish really.  Her heart clenched tightly.  She felt as though she’d betrayed him.

Shame clawed at her as she slid beneath the covers beside him.  She kissed his forehead lightly and saw his eyelashes flutter.  He was asleep already.  She rested on her side for several minutes watching him sleep, wondering if he dreamed.  He looked peaceful, and vulnerable, and the squeezing in her heart intensified.  Exhausted and with another two-hour drive ahead of her, she settled her head against the pillow and inched closer to Luke.  Sleep found her immediately, and she floated off into oblivion.

Chapter 9

The sun had not yet made its appearance when Arianna and Luke left the Main Street Motor Inn.  Stars still ornamented the velvety abyss and the Moon had just begun its descent.  They’d dressed and grabbed food from the takeout window of a fast-food restaurant before they’d resumed their drive to Rockdale.  Luke had not mentioned their night together and Arianna wondered why.  In fact, for the remaining two hours it had taken them to journey to the town she’d lived in just a few short weeks ago, Arianna had begun to fret about his silence on the subject.  She had been reluctant to bring it up herself, especially since at the height of her arousal, Desmond had invaded her thoughts, and had become the subject of a sexual fantasy.  Merely recalling the scenario, of her fantasizing about Desmond while making love to Luke, made her cheeks burn, guilt and discomfort conspiring against her.  She was certain Luke had no way of knowing of her fantasy; he was not capable of mindreading.  Yet, he’d acted as though he knew and had been oddly silent for much of the ride.  He’d left the radio on, but it had not been playing so loudly that a conversation would have been impossible.  She wondered whether he had been displeased with her sexual performance.  He had seemed happy enough with it last night.  But she didn’t know what he’d been accustomed to.  Perhaps he was used to more adventurous interplay, or found her body unattractive.

Suddenly plagued with insecurities and doubts she was unacquainted with, she began to feel anxiety stir in the pit of her stomach.  First, her little jealous schoolgirl episode at the diner had occurred, and now this.  She was the Sola, possessed supernatural power and was designated to unite her fellow witches, yet was worrying over her boyfriend being quiet.  It all seemed so absurd.  Whatever his reason for silence, she was determined to not waste another moment fretting over it.  They were headed to find Lily.  Everything else would be addressed, or not, another time.

When finally they turned on to Lily’s street, the uncomfortable silence that had plagued Arianna for the two-hour drive had become unimportant.  The white Victorian waited at the end of a long tree-lined street.  A warning breathed at the back of her neck and tiptoed down the length of her spine.  Lily’s house typically looked warm and inviting, but not today.  Cloaked in thick fog, the steep roof pitches and pointed decorative gable trim assumed a hostile, foreboding quality.  Mist veiled the entire neighborhood, covering it like a funeral shroud.  It clung to the cedars that flanked the residential road causing their limbs to droop as if carrying the fog as they would the weight of wet snow.  As they drew closer, Arianna immediately noticed that both of Lily’s parents’ cars were parked in the driveway.  The digital clock on the radio read 7:45 a.m.  Neither Lily nor her parents would have left for school yet.  The presence of the cars should have been a promising development, but didn’t feel promising in the least.  Something felt off.

“Looks like their home,” Luke commented and ended their silent streak.

“Looks like,” Arianna replied but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right.  “But there are no lights on.”

“Maybe they’re still sleeping.”

“Sleeping in on a weekday?  What about school and work?”

“Maybe they’re sick, who knows?  Either way, I think you have your answer,” he said more gently.

The answer he thought she had was that Lily was fine, but no longer interested in maintaining a friendship with Arianna.  What he did not know was that would have been the preferred answer to what her body, what every cell within her, screamed.  Inside of her, it was as though an alarm wire had been tripped and silent sirens were wailing.

“I don’t have any answers,” Arianna said softly.

“You can do whatever you want.  I’m not telling you what to do.  We can go up to her front door and ring the bell.  You know I’m with you.  I just don’t want to see you get your feelings hurt, that’s all.  I care about you.”

She thought it ironic for him to worry about her feelings after hurting them with his reticence for the two hours it took them to get from the motel to Lily’s, the motel they’d shared a bed in.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine,” she said a bit more testily than she’d have liked.  “And I highly doubt Lily’s going to slam the door in my face or something if that’s what you were implying.”

“I wasn’t implying that at all.  It’s like I just said, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Huh,” she huffed then mumbled under her breath, “That’s why you were so chatty on the ride up.”

To her surprise, Luke had heard her mumbling and replied to it.  “I wasn’t the only one quiet in the car, you know,” he shot back staring straight ahead.  “First I felt stupid, thought maybe you’d had too much to drink last night and regretted sleeping with me.  I was sober, and nervous as hell, but you, you’re a lightweight.  The beer must have hit you like a ton of bricks.  When you didn’t say anything about it, I figured I’d better keep my mouth shut.”

He had no idea what she was, that alcohol had no effect on her whatsoever.

“I was sober and knew exactly what I was doing, thank you very much,” she argued.  “And you’re my boyfriend, right?  Keeping quiet was the worst thing you could do.  I mean, with all the girls you’ve slept with, surely you know the silent treatment never goes over well.”

“What do you mean all the girls I’ve slept with?  I haven’t slept with a lot of girls.”

“Oh give me a break,” Arianna huffed.  “You expect me to believe that?  You’re the badass guy that’s hot and knows how to fix shit.  That’s the stuff of every girl’s fantasy.”

Except hers apparently.

“Arianna, you’ve only been at our school for what, two weeks?”

“Yeah, so?”

He turned in his seat to face her.  “So, you may think you know what goes on there, but you don’t.  Our school is divided into social classes.  In the small group I’m in, yeah, I suppose I’m a stud.  But beyond them, I’m a fucking leper.  I smoke. I drink.  I have tattoos.  And it’s no secret my mom’s a goddamn junkie.  None of that nominates me as prom king,” he said.

“Bullshit,” Arianna said.

“Bullshit?” he asked incredulously.  “Arianna, you’re the second girl I’ve ever slept with, okay,” he admitted, his cheeks suddenly streaked with scarlet bands.  “And you’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen.  I have no idea why you even did it.  Every guy at school wants you.” He refused to meet her gaze, chose instead to stare at his lap.

She was shocked.  For all his flirtation and macho bravado, he had been unsure all along.  The way he’d behaved, his hot and cold moods and his overt attempts at seduction, had seemed like things a hormonally charged playboy would have done.  But he was not a playboy at all.  He was vulnerable.

She reached out and took his hand in hers.  “Hey,” she said and craned her neck to look into his eyes.  “Hey, last night happened because I wanted it to, because we wanted it to.  All that other stuff doesn’t matter.  All the bullshit at school, all the bullshit in your head, it’s just that: bullshit.”

He didn’t reply, just smiled thinly and blew out a small puff of air through his nose.  He looked sad, and his sadness made her chest ache.  Without thinking, she yanked his hand toward her, pulling him to her side of the car, and kissed him.  At first, he kept his lips closed.  But she swept his lips with her tongue playfully then nibbled his lower lip.  Finally he smiled then returned her kiss.

Their kiss continued for several seconds and was passionate.  Luke had returned from whatever brooding doldrums he’d hidden in and she was sad when it ended.  Now it was time to find out, once and for all, what had happened to Lily.

“My, my, Arianna, you have a knack for improving my mood,” he said and smiled warmly.  “Are you ready to do this?” He nodded toward Lily’s house.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” she said and felt anything but ready.

They climbed out of his pickup truck and out into the miasma.  Somewhere beyond the clouds and fog, the sun waited, prepared to rid the area of the seemingly impenetrable murk that had besieged it.  Luke took her hand in his and walked alongside her.  She watched as the fog licked at his body like innumerable serpentine tongues, their silky, sinuous shapes passing over and under him menacingly.  She willed the sun to burn through the clouds, to incinerate the spectral vapors, but as far as she knew, she did not possess the capability to raise the sun.

Arianna and Luke walked up the driveway and walkway and stopped on the large front porch.  She rang the doorbell and waited for a response.  After nearly a minute had passed, she rang again.

“Cool it with the doorbell,” Luke advised.  “Give them a chance to get to the door.”

But she did not hear movement inside.  The street was quiet, unnaturally so, and had someone been moving inside the house, she would have heard it thanks to her newly enhanced hearing.  She stood perfectly still and focused on the area beyond the walls, listening for conversations, for water running, for movement, breathing, anything.  But the house was completely still.  She quickly stepped back from the door and scanned the porch, searching for a ceramic frog.

“What’s the matter?” Luke asked perplexed.

“I’m looking for something,” she said.

“Okay I get that, but what?”

“A frog, I’m looking for a frog,” she said as she moved to the far corner of the porch.  “This frog as a matter of fact,” she said as she lifted a weathered gray frog that rested against the front of the house between two gnomes.  Beneath it was a key.

“Are you kidding me?” Luke asked.  “People actually leave a key to their house on the front porch?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“Seems really stupid to me.”

“Well, maybe to us, but does this look like my neighborhood or yours for that matter?”

“No,” he replied and she watched as his eyes examined the stately houses and the luxury cars that sat in front of them.  “I guess not.  But still, thieves target neighborhoods like this.  They prey on trusting fools like them.”

Arianna bristled at his implication that Lily and her family were fools.  Regardless of his thoughts on the subject, suggesting they were anything less than the kind and decent people they were seemed harsh.

“They’re not fools, okay.  They’re decent people,” she snapped.

Luke raised his hands in surrender.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to offend you.”

She didn’t say anything further.  She knew he hadn’t meant for his comment to be offensive.  Instead, she moved toward the door again and pushed the key into the lock.

“What’re you doing?” Luke panicked.  “We can’t just barge into their house.  They’re home!  Their cars are here.”

Arianna spun around and trained her gaze on him.  “If you’d like to wait in the car, be my guest.  I’m not forcing you to come in.  But my friend and her family could be hurt and I’m going in to find out.”

“If you’re worried, call the police,” he argued.

“Not yet,” she replied.  “I’m going in.”

“I guess I’m coming too,” he huffed.  “I can’t let you go by yourself.”

Arianna turned the handle of the front door and pushed it inward.  “Lily?  Mr. and Mrs. Andrews?  Anybody home?  Hello?” she called.

No one answered.  She stepped inside with Luke behind her.

“Lily?” she called out louder.  “Is anybody home?”

She began walking down the center hallway.  The kitchen lay ahead while a formal dining room waited to the right.  The house was completely quiet save for the ticking of a grandfather clock coming from the living room to the left and the faint whirring of the refrigerator.

“Mr. and Mrs. Andrews?” she shouted.  “It’s me, Arianna Rose!”

No one replied.

“No one’s here, Arianna,” Luke said and tugged at her arm.

“Then why are the cars here?” she asked.

“I don’t know, but this place, how quiet it is, is freaking me out.  Let’s get out of here.”

“No!” Arianna said sharply.  “Something doesn’t feel right.  I’m going upstairs.”

She started to move away from him toward the staircase.  He reached out and gripped her upper arm.  “Wait.  You’re right.  Something does feel off here.  All the more reason to, I don’t know, put in an anonymous call to the police department or the fire department.”

“I’m not waiting around for anyone,” she replied.  “If they’re hurt, we may not have time to wait.”

She turned to leave again, but he spun her around.  “And we’re going to do what exactly?” he asked, annoyance creeping into his tone.

“I, well, I don’t know,” she stammered.

“Exactly.  And neither do I.  So let’s just call the police.  Do you have your phone?”

“No.  I left my bag in your truck.”

Luke patted his pants pockets searching for his phone.  “Mine’s in the truck, too,” he said.  “Let’s go get them, or better yet, call from there.”

She paused a moment and looked around, feeling the strange rise and fall of energy, slow and steady like the chest of a sleeping beast.  “Fine,” she finally gave in.  Or so she’d led Luke to believe.

She waited and watched as he turned to leave before she stole up the steep staircase.  Luke was halfway to the door before he turned and realized she had tricked him.

“Damn it Arianna!” he yelled and scrambled up after her.

He reached the top of the stairs just a few steps after her and must have taken them two at a time.  He grabbed her arm again and turned her to face him.  “That was not right,” he said, his eyes hardened.  “We don’t know what is going on here and you pull shit like that?”

“Sorry,” she said and made no attempt at sounding sincere.

“Yeah, you really sound it,” he said sarcastically.

She stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.  “Oh don’t be mad,” she attempted.  “We’ll just do a quick check then get out of here.  We will call the cops as soon as we get to the truck.”

Luke narrowed his eyes at her as if assessing whether or not she was telling the truth.  When he felt satisfied she was telling the truth several seconds later, he released her from his gaze and smiled. “Okay, okay” he agreed.

“Okay,” she echoed him and walked to Lily’s room.

They stepped inside and Luke immediately commented on the décor.

“Whoa!  This room is like, I don’t know, a dream or something,” he observed.  And he was right.  Arianna had always loved Lily’s room.  The striking midnight blue walls with Sun and Moon ceramic wall hangings and floor-length gray drapes with matching gray bedding, though dramatic and unusual, were whimsical.  Shimmering stars in silver and gold tones of metal hung from beaded strands from the ceiling just over Lily’s bed.

“I know,” Arianna nodded.  “I always loved sleeping over here.”

“I can see why,” he said as his eyes scanned the room.

The room looked neat, far neater than Lily had ever kept it.  Every knickknack was in place and looked freshly dusted and polished.  The bed was made so meticulously it looked as though a hotel chambermaid had done it.  Lily had never liked to make her bed, had usually left it unmade, in fact.  The sudden change set off warning bells inside Arianna.  Ignoring the bed for the moment, she crossed the room and walked toward the window.  For reasons she could not explain, she felt drawn to it.  She pushed the curtain aside and peeked out.  As she did so, an image jolted her.  She felt suddenly terrified and began to tremble.  The fog outside wavered briefly before it was replaced by bright light, blindingly bright light.  Her breathing came in shallow pants and she felt the urge to run, to search for Mr. and Mrs. Andrews.

She bolted out of the room past Luke.

“Arianna!” he called, alarmed. But she did not stop.  She went straight to Lily’s parent’s bedroom.

The room was empty, just as Lily’s had been and possessed the same sterile quality; it was neat, too neat, and smelled of cleaning product.  She stopped at the foot of their bed and her heart pounded frantically.  A vision flashed in her mind’s eye, a vision of Lily’s parent’s lying in a pool of blood where she stood.  She stifled the scream that begged to escape her throat and walked on unsteady legs to the window.  The backyard beyond it, though enveloped in fog, looked different.  She could plainly see a patch of grass on the otherwise scrupulously maintained lawn had been burned, its shape a near-perfect circle.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

“What is it?” Luke asked, concerned.

“There,” she pointed to the grass.

“What am I looking at?” he asked, confusion in is voice.

“The grass has been burned in an almost perfect circle.”

He moved his head closer to the pane of glass and strained his eyes against the mist beyond it.  “Holy shit,” he murmured.  “What the hell?  Why would anybody do that?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  But an instinctive awareness drifted across her skin like a sigh of warm breath.

She took Luke’s hand in hers and pulled him out of the room toward the top of the staircase.  She ran down the stairs and turned down the center hallway once she reached the bottom.  She ran straight through the kitchen and opened the sliding glass door that led from it to the backyard.  She stepped outside and walked until she stood upon the burnt grass.

Standing near the center of the scorched patch of grass, Arianna was hit with a surge of energy unlike any she’d ever felt.  A dark, sinister force crashed against her.  It felt like a million needles piercing her skin at once.  She felt pain immediately, pain and heat.  Burning heat started low and rolled up her body with a flash of intensity, singeing her cells.  She felt her feet burning, felt flames licking at them, writhing and blistering up her ankles and calves.  She cried out, heard the sound tear from her throat, but was powerless to stop it.  She no longer felt in control of her body.  She knew that Luke waited somewhere along the edge of the charred circle of grass, knew that he’d heard her scream, but he began to fade.  The world around her began to fade.  Blackness taunted the edges of her vision and the low clouds that occupied the early morning sky began to spin round and round, threatening to send her off balance.  Her legs buckled beneath her.  She dropped to the hard, unforgiving earth on her knees and for a moment, the world fell completely silent.  She no longer heard anything but the surge of her own blood through her veins.  An acrid stench began to fill her nostrils, smoke and sulfur mixed with something else, something like hair and oil burning.  The smell tore the air from her lungs and made it difficult for her to breathe.  She gasped for breath, yet every attempt she made was strangled by air so heavy, so blackened and foul she could not seem to fill her lungs.  She struggled against the blackness that beckoned her, and felt rage fill her.  Her entire body began to tremble.  Sweat trailed down her form, hot and cold contending.  She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to force back the scorching heat that had reached her thighs.  When she lifted her lashes, a face appeared before her eyes.

The face was monstrous.  Charred and puckered, his complexion was a patchwork of pitted skin in varying shades of brown, gray, pink and red.  His mouth snarled and he glowered at her with sunken, slate-colored eyes devoid of eyelashes and eyebrows.  He spoke to her, words that were muddled and indistinct.  She strained to hear them, but could not concentrate, for something else was happening.  His dark energy shot through her body, clawed its way through her muscles and bones.  She did not know who he was or where he’d come from, but she knew what he wanted; he wanted her dead.  His hatred of her was palpable, throbbing and pounding like a heartbeat.  She blinked and fortified her resolve, pushed back against his encroachment.  A tingling sensation of success raced through her.  She clung to it like a lifeline and pushed harder until his putrid face vanished altogether.

“No!” she cried out, the guttural cry of a warrior.

She heard Luke’s voice, felt his touch jerk her back to reality.  “Arianna!” he shouted.

“They killed her, Luke,” she heard herself say before sobs overtook her.  “They burned her to death right here!”

“What?” he asked bewilderedly.  “Who burned her to death?  H-how could you possibly know that?”

Even in the gray light of the overcast morning, she could see the confusion etched on his face, the worry in his eyes.

“I saw it happen just now.  I felt her pain.  And I’m sure they’re coming for me next.”

Chapter 10

Howard Kane sat before his massive cherry wood desk in the office of the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church and heard a distinct ringing sound coming from one of its drawers.  Surprised, he immediately reached for the drawer’s knob and pulled it toward him.  The ringing was coming from a cellphone, and not just any cellphone, but a phone he had purchased and reserved exclusively for emergencies.  What he and his congregants categorized as emergencies generally dealt with their dogged pursuit of evil in every form, and more specifically, witches.  He watched for a split-second as the small black phone vibrated and moved itself less than an inch in one direction then stopped.  He scooped it up and depressed the “send” button and answered.

“Hello?” Howard spoke into the receiver.

“Sir, it is John.  I’m here at the Andrews house, and was told to alert you of any unusual activity,” the voice on the other end said.

Howard waited patiently for John to continue but was met with silence.

“Go on,” Howard urged.  “You’re calling me on an emergency line, so clearly there is an emergency.”

“Yes sir.  Sorry,” John began.  “I can’t be sure, sir, but I think the Sola is here.”

The phone nearly slipped from Howard’s grip, shock weakening it.  John Cartwright had been stationed at the Andrews house for the last two weeks, but just as a precaution.  On the off chance that a vile cohort of Lily’s visited, he had wanted the area secured and with someone in place capable of handling such a being.  Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that the Sola herself would arrive.  Yet, according to John, she had.

Howard inhaled a trembling breath, anticipation squeezing his lungs.  “What makes you think that the Sola is at the Andrews house?”

“Well, we were here, and the doorbell started ringing.  It rang several times and we assumed it was family or friends stopping by.”

“Go on,” Howard encouraged.

“This person, a girl, she was able to enter the house.  She opened the front door and walked in as easy as you please and began calling out to Lily and her parents.  She announced herself as though she knew them.  She said her name’s Arianna Rose.”

The name jarred Howard, a jolt of inexplicable recognition registering in his brain.  His pulse rate sped, racing dangerously, excitedly.

“Then what happened?” Howard asked John careful to conceal his eagerness and keep his voice level.

“We had been hiding in a hall closet upstairs and came out when she and her friend went outside.  She stood at the center of the patch of grass, where we burned the witch, Lily.  She stood there for a long time then collapsed.  While she was on her knees, she screamed out, the sound of a demon if you ask me.  When her friend grabbed her, she told him she had seen her friend burn.  She said she knew what had happened.”

“It’s her,” Howard hissed, awareness tingling through his veins like lifeblood.  His leathered skin tightened near the spot where his scalp used to be and he felt the few fine hairs of his body that had remained raise and quiver.  The Sola was in his crosshairs.  He would finally have her and the world would be rid of her depraved presence.  “Who is she with?” he asked.

“A boy, a teenage boy,” John replied.

“Did they arrive together?”

“Yes, she arrived in his truck with him.”

“Excellent.  Please get me the license plate number of that truck, John.  I want to find out as much as I can about her friend.”

“Kyle is getting that for you as we speak,” John said.  There was a pause in their conversation and the sound of paper rustling crackled over the line.  When John’s voice returned, he shared the information his partner had obtained.  “Okay, the plates are from New York and the numbers are K4E695.  Did you get all that?”

“Yes, yes.  I got it,” Howard replied as he scribbled the numbers down on a sheet of paper.

“What would you like us to do, wait for you and the others to arrive?” John asked.

“No, they will be gone by then.  Kill them, kill them now.”

Silence befell the other end of Howard’s conversation and was interrupted only by the sound of John’s ragged breathing.

“Are you there, John?  Did you hear what I said?” Howard asked.

“Yes sir,” John replied and Howard heard the faintest tremble in his voice.

Howard ended their call knowing that John and his partner, Kyle would likely fail.  The Sola would not be taken easily.  But they would have to try.  They were bound by oath to do so.  It was what God wanted them to do.  And their sacrifice would not be in vain should they fall to her malevolent powers.  They had identified the Sola, unearthed her human name: Arianna Rose.

Arianna Rose.  The words blew through him like an icy wind and left him breathless.

He clutched his arms across his body, bracing himself against the chill of her soulless existence.  But his arms provided little comfort.  The only comfort he would feel would be when she had been burned at the stake like her ancestors before her.  He would formulate a plan.  Should his soldiers fail, as he felt certain they would, he, with the Lord’s guidance, would bring down the Sola.

Chapter 11

Arianna remained at the center of the charred circle of grass, sweat covering her from head to toe and breathing unevenly.  To Luke, she imagined she looked like a lunatic.  After all, she’d just told him she’d seen what had happened to Lily; that she had felt what Lily had felt and that people were coming for her, too.  She sounded like a delusional, paranoid maniac, but had blurted the words out suddenly.  She hadn’t bothered to filter what she’d said.

“What?” Luke asked Arianna incredulously.  “You can’t possibly know that.  I mean, you can have a feeling, like a gut feeling or something, but you can’t know for sure.”

Luke was looking at her as if she were insane and she couldn’t help but feel resentment creep into the panic-stricken state she was in.  She understood how he most likely felt, seeing her wild-eyed, hearing her scream as she’d experienced the burning heat of flames licking at her body, the same flames that had claimed Lily.  He hadn’t seen what she’d seen.  He hadn’t felt what she’d felt.  He had no idea what she was.

He approached her slowly, timidly, with his palms facing her at chest height.  In a soothing voice he said, “Everything is all right, Arianna.  I’m not sure what you think you saw, but you’ve had a lot of stress lately: new school, new trailer, the attack at the club and worrying about your friend.  It’s been hard for you, hasn’t it?”  He didn’t wait for her to answer.  Instead, he continued.  “I think it’s best if we get out of here.”

“I saw it happen!  I felt it!  It happened!” she screamed.  “Why don’t you believe me?”

She knew she could not reveal herself to him, could not tell him she was a witch, and not just any witch, but the Sola.  He was already treating her like a mental patient.  Her screaming at him, pleading with him to believe her, would not help her cause.  The rational part of her knew he was reacting the way any normal person would, that he thought she was having some sort of breakdown.  But she had seen everything, had experienced it as though it had been happening to her.

“What?  C’mon Arianna, it doesn’t make sense,” he started to argue, but was silenced when something whizzed past his ear and shattered the window of the detached garage to their left.

“What the hell?” he said and immediately ducked with his hands over his head.

“Gunshot!” she cried.  “That was a gunshot!  Run!”

More shots followed, their distinct popping sound pierced the quiet of the morning and echoed as they hit the garage.  Arianna had known they were the intended target, had sensed it before it had started.

Crouched low, she grabbed Luke’s hand and pulled him toward the garage.  Taking cover behind the garage was not the best option, but she figured at the very least, they were safer there than standing out in the open in the middle of the backyard.

With the small structure between them and whoever hunted them, Arianna paused to catch her breath.  “What the fuck?” Luke wheezed.  “What the hell is happening?  Why would anybody be shooting at us?”  His skin had paled to the color of his white shirt and his chest rose and fell quickly as he struggled to catch his breath.

She did not try to answer him.  She did not have time to explain.

“We need to get out of here,” he said and held her gaze.  “You run.  I’ll distract them,” he surprised her by saying.

“What?  No!  I’m not leaving you!” she protested.

“Go!” he yelled, and with his cry, he gave up their flimsy hiding place.

Her feet moved beneath her, though she had not willed them to do so.  She ducked and stayed close to the siding of the garage.  But rather than running toward the woods or making a dash for the front of the house where she would be visible to neighbors and passersby, she darted to the front of the garage, determined to catch a glimpse of the shooter.  She was the one being hunted.  She was the one they wanted dead.  The phantom “they” that pursued her knew who she was, but existed as a nameless, faceless entity.  Howard Kane was the single name she’d heard.  But she needed more.  She needed faces.  She inched around a drainage pipe and peeked around the side of the garage.  Her head pounded and kept time with her thundering heartbeat.  Luke had announced their exact whereabouts, but no one had approached, yet.

Arianna’s insides began to quiver and she focused on the man, or men, who had shot at her and Luke.  In an instant, the world around her began to fade.  The sound of chirping birds hushed.  The buzz of crickets and katydids silenced.  All she could hear was the decelerating beat of her heart, and that began to fade as well.  She immediately recognized that her senses had heightened.  Earlier, she had struggled to see through the dense fog that clung to every surface around her.  Now, however, she could see clearly as if her surroundings had been scrubbed clean of the mist and haze.  She could plainly see a man inching cautiously toward the garage gripping his pistol expertly.  Clearly, he believed himself to be cloaked by the milky miasma for he sought no other form of concealment.  He had been wrong.  He had underestimated her powers.

She was about to step from the inadequate protection of the garage when the faint scent of sweat caught her attention.  Bitter and pungent, an acrid odor assaulted her nasal passages and was followed by the sound of walking.  Blades of grass crashed noisily against one another under heavy footing that approached from behind her.  She spun around to greet the person who intended to surprise her.

A dark hulking figure stood before her and clutched a gun between his hands.  The gun was aimed at her chest.

“It’s you,” he spat with disgust.  “The Sola.  I’m going to be the man who kills the Sola.”

“No, please,” she begged him not to kill her.  His obvious but baseless disdain for her was palpable.  He wanted her dead, intended to kill her where she stood.  She froze temporarily, her arms reduced to useless, leaden appendages at her sides, unable to summon powers she knew she possessed.

“Die witch!” he screamed.  But as he squeezed the trigger, a sickening thud echoed through the air, and a stunned looked screwed up his features.  The shots he’d fired zipped past her and missed her completely.  The man dropped his pistol and fell forward to the ground, a pickax lodged in the back of his skull.  Behind him, Luke stood with a look of utter horror on his face.

“H-he, he was going to kill you,” Luke stammered, his bottom lip quivering.  He ambled toward the man’s fallen body; his eyes pinned on the pickax.  “What have I done?” he asked and began to breathe unusually rapidly.

Arianna paused for a moment, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.  A man she’d never seen before had attempted to kill her, had revealed her to be a witch, but her boyfriend had killed him first.  Her visions, her newfound powers, her title, the fact that she was being hunted, all of it closed in on her.  Death surrounded her at every turn, and all were deaths that she was responsible for in some way, shape or form.  She wanted to drop to the ground, squeeze her eyes shut and cover her ears with her hands and will all of it away.  But Arianna knew that was not an option.  She needed to stay in control of herself.  She needed to protect Luke and survive.  She needed to find the other gunman.

Refusing to succumb to the hysteria that hounded her, she closed the distance between her and Luke and gripped both of his arms.  His skin felt cool and clammy and his eyes refused to focus on her.  “You had no choice but to kill him, Luke.  You saved my life,” she told him.

“I-I didn’t need to kill him, though,” Luke replied dazedly.  “I killed him.  He was alive just a second ago and now he’s dead…because of me!”  He pulled away from her and raked both hands through his hair before covering his face with his hands and squatting near the dead man’s feet.  “Oh my God!” he cried.

She knelt beside him, all too aware of the fact that the other shooter remained, lurking in the early morning shadows.  “Luke, look at me,” she said and cupped the sides of his face.  “You had no choice,” she repeated firmly.  “He was going to kill me, kill us.”

As the words fell from her lips, a man emerged from the mistiness.  Both of them spun to find the muzzled of a gun pointed at them.

“I have you now, witch,” the man said and did not hesitate to fire.

Arianna saw the instantaneous flash of the shots being fired and screamed, “No!”

A bolt of energy rushed through her body to her fingertips and branched like electricity.  She felt the heated streak flare from her fingertips and leave her body in a burst of blue light like lightning and lurch outward toward the man.  His bullets halted and fell to the dew-covered ground and the man pitched backward, stunned.  His gun fell as well.  The man did not venture toward her.  He remained where he was, immobilized, his face a mask of shock.

Arianna entire body trembled, humming and buzzing with energy she could barely harness.  “Why are you trying to kill us?” she demanded of him, her voice shrill and frantic.

“I’m trying to kill you,” the man said and pointed a meaty finger at her.  “Not him.”

“What?  Why?” she asked, but in the dark recesses of her mind, she knew why he wanted to kill her.

“You are a soldier of evil,” he spat.  “Killing you is the Lord’s work.  I am doing the Lord’s work.”

“You are the one who’s evil!” she screamed at him.

“No!” he shouted back.  “I am a servant of God!”

Arianna took a step toward the man, wanted to look upon his face for a feature or characteristic familiar to her.  He wore glasses; that much she could see.  But perhaps he had a birthmark or freckle, something that would set him apart from others.  As she approached, however, his face faded temporarily, replaced instead with the orange-red glow of flames.  Heat swathed her once again and flames crept up her body.  Her arms and legs were bound and she suffered.  But through the thick smoke that billowed all around her, a face appeared, and it did not belong to man with the charred and scarred flesh.  This man’s head was cloaked in a heavy, dark fabric that edged his pasty skin.  Beady, black irises gaped at her from behind wire-rimmed glasses.  The flames snaked up her body and began to melt away her skin.  She wanted to cry out, desperately needed to, but under the watchful, maleficent gaze of the beady eyed man, she could not.  When finally, the flames engulfed her fully and she felt life begin to escape her, she saw that the man smiled, a satisfied, self-righteous smile.

Blackness teased at the edges of Arianna’s vision as she relived her friend’s final moments.

“You were there when she was murdered,” she said through her teeth recognizing the beady bespectacled gaze of the man before her.  “You watched her die.  You watched a sixteen year-old girl burn to death, and you enjoyed it!” she hissed and felt ire roil and swell inside of her.

“She was evil!” he countered.

His words set off a firestorm of reactions within her.  Every cell in her body began to teem with anger, anger unlike she’d ever felt before.  It rose like molten lava, pressing and surging, brimming so closely to the surface of her flesh, her skin felt heated.  She struggled to suppress the urge that raged inside of her, the powerful need to punish the man who’d tortured and murdered her friend.

“She was the devil’s minion!” he offered a final charge.  And with his words, she erupted.

“She was my friend!” Arianna screamed in a voice that sounded foreign to her own ears.

“Arianna, no!” she heard Luke cry out from a distant remote place.  His voice called to her, weak and muddled as if she were submerged in a vast ocean and he ashore.  She was gone.  Her vision was awash in crimson, her body adrift on a blood-red tide.  She felt her arms shoot out in front of her and she watched through a scarlet veil as the man who’d brutalized her friend levitated several inches off the ground.  He shrieked in terror, seemed to sense his fate, but she did not care.  She felt a charge rush through her arms to her fingertips before leaving her body, then saw the man’s head and neck twist sharply, violently, to one side.  She heard a sickly snap and witnessed his head flop and loll to his chest.  His lifeless body dropped to the grass, motionless.  Arianna dropped her hands to her sides and felt drained.  Color slowly returned to the world around her, driving out the crimson.  A voice called to her, a panicked voice; Luke’s voice.

“Why did you do that?” Luke cried.  “How did you do that?”

“H-h-he killed her.  I saw him, he enjoyed it,” she replied in a trembling voice.

Luke took a tentative step back, away from her, away from the two dead bodies that littered the backyard of the Andrews house.

“I don’t understand,” he said in horror.  “I just don’t understand what happened here.  It just, it’s just, all so unbelievable.”  He raked his hands through his hair and rested them at the nape of his neck.  “Y-y-you killed him, without even touching him.  What the fuck are you?”

His words stung.  She had not intended to tell him of her powers, much less example them for him, but had used them twice in his presence, nevertheless.  The first time had been to rescue his sister, and herself, from a brutal attack, and this time, she’d had avenged her friend’s murder and had prevented them from being exterminated in the process.  Of course, he had no knowledge of the truth of what had happened at the nightclub with Stephanie.  But he had witnessed everything that had occurred moments earlier.  Arianna swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in her throat.  Her heart clenched and felt unnaturally heavy in her chest.  He saw her for what she was: a monster.

Luke looked at her and held her gaze for the briefest of seconds.  Usually, his eyes nearly sparkled, their silvery hue shimmering and dancing with delight, with warmth.  But when he looked upon her now, his eyes had hardened, their silvery shade replaced with steel, cold and mirthless.  In the fleeting second that he looked at her, Arianna knew that nothing between them would ever be the same again.

Tears burned her eyes, and the lump in her throat grew so large she worried words would not escape her lips.

“We have to leave now, Luke,” Arianna managed, her voice a hoarse whisper.  “We have to get out of here.”

He nodded mechanically and his eyes refused to meet hers again.  She turned and walked toward the front of the house, toward Luke’s pickup truck.  The only way she knew he followed, was the soft shuffle of his feet echoing behind her.

Chapter 12

For more than five hours, Arianna had ridden alongside Luke, and he had not spoken a single word to her.  They had not stopped to eat at a diner and they had not shared a motel bed together.  Instead, they’d traveled in silence without even stopping to visit the drive-thru window of a fast-food restaurant.  When finally they’d reached her trailer park, Luke returned her just beyond her doorstep, hungry and enervated, and had refused to meet her eyes with his.  Their silence was not for lack of subjects to discuss.  They’d experienced a traumatic incident, had committed murders.  He’d seen her powers displayed in a most violent manner.  And unlike their uncommunicative trip after their night together in the motel, she was certain Luke’s reticence had nothing to do with sex or insecurities; it ran far deeper than that.

Once she was inside her trailer, she dashed past the living-room area, thankful that her mother wasn’t home to ask frivolous questions about her trip.  She had not cried yet, but knew that one look at her mother, one attempt at speaking to her, would have granted her some sort of unspoken mother-daughter permission to cry.  She did not cry often, and feared that if she started, a great floodgate within her would break and she would not soon stop.  Yet, it seemed unavoidable.

Stopping at the bathroom to splash cool water on her face, she felt her throat constrict, felt a lump swell in her throat.  She swallowed hard against it, an act she was all too familiar with, and choked back the tears that threatened.  The events of the last few weeks, all the death and destruction that surrounded her, all of it fell upon her with crushing heaviness.  She felt her chest rise and fall against the seemingly insurmountable weight of it and clutched her head with both hands.  She was responsible for all of it, she was the source.  Her friend had died because of her.  The man in the alley, though he had attacked her and Stephanie, had died at her hands.  And now, two more men could be added as casualties.  Of course, they had been shooting at her and Luke and would not have mourned her death, but celebrated it.  Nevertheless, she was not comfortable with killing.  She was not experienced at it as they were.  They had burned Lily to death.  No matter how enraged she’d been at them, how angry she remained, and no matter how much she tried to justify their deaths, it all came back to her.  The men would have never been hunting Lily had she never been friends with her in the first place.  She was the Sola.  She was the one issued a death warrant by Howard Kane and his people.  She wondered how many others had lost their lives in his quest to slay her.

The thought of more acquaintances, more innocent people whose only crime had been associating with her, losing their lives, sent a shiver of revulsion through her body.  Bile rose in the back of her throat and she dropped to her knees before the toilet as sickness threatened.  When several moments had passed and she was confident the need to vomit had passed, she stood and stripped her clothes off, the need to shower overwhelming.  She turned the water on and stepped behind the shower curtain.  Standing beneath the spray, she was reminded of Luke’s comment about their motel shower’s water pressure, how it had been better than the one at his house.  She had agreed, and he had been right, the motel shower had been better than his and hers, as well.  Everything had been better at the motel.

With a meager mist of water cascading down her body, a chill settled over her, and the heaviness in her chest was immediately replaced with emptiness.  She reached out and turned the temperature control knob to the left, making the water hotter, in an attempt to rid her body of the chill that felt as though it had seeped into her very core.  But even as the water flowed over her, it did little to warm her.

She wrapped her arms around her waist not only to warm herself, but to physically hold herself together.  She leaned her forehead against the cool vinyl of the shower inlay and replayed the entire drive in her head.  Her memory revealed the scene at Lily’s house as it had unfolded.  Luke’s face looped in her mind again and again like a film reel, the look of shock and horror after he’d wielded the pickax, his look of repulsion when she had not been merciful with the man who’d intended to murder her, who had murdered Lily, and had chosen instead to use her powers in front of him.  She rubbed at her eyes, tried to rid her mind of Luke’s look of disgust at her.  All the while, tears began to mingle with the water that fell down her face.

Salty droplets streamed down her cheeks as she agonized over what had happened, and how things had changed.  She doubled over, her body racked with sobs, and yielded to pain of the raw and ragged hole that had been punched in her chest since her powers had been revealed; since she’d learned she was the Sola.

The Sola; the name made her knees weak, made her cry even harder.  She found the title absurd, her role the stuff of science-fiction novels.  Yet, no matter how much her brain wrestled with and resisted her designation, a deep-seated sensation persisted, one that confirmed all she wished to deny, one that resonated with certainty.

The realization was a harsh truth.  She released her grip on her waist and straightened her posture.  Several deep breaths did little to alleviate her profound sadness, but helped take the edge off of it long enough to halt her tears.  She washed her hair and scrubbed her body, allowing to the clusters of bubbles and lather to slide off her body and down the drain.  Cleansed, she turned the water off and stepped from the shower.

As she dressed, other issues arose in her mind.  Chief among them was the fact that she would see Luke the next day at school.  She had no idea what to expect from him, no way to anticipate what his attitude would be.  She wondered whether he would continue to ignore her.  She supposed she’d find out in the coming hours.

The thought of him disregarding her sent a pang of sadness through her once again.  She’d barely managed to stave off tears during the long car ride home, and then it had been just the two of them.  At Herald Falls High School, Luke was her only real friend.  Without him to ally herself with, she would be utterly alone.

She smiled sadly at the irony of her aloneness and her title as the Sola.  After all, the Sola had been prophesied as the one who walked alone, and she had been alone her whole life.  She was a walking example of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But loneliness was not the only concern that plagued her.  Numerous questions nagged as well.  She wondered whether anyone had seen Luke’s truck parked on Lily’s street.  His truck did not exactly fit with the vehicles that typically lined the wealthy neighborhood in Rockdale.  Surely, someone had noticed his rusted, out-of-place truck.  And if the truck had been noticed and coincided with the sound of shots being fired, eventually, Luke would be implicated.  She guessed the police had paid a visit to the Andrews’ residence and had found the two bodies in the backyard.  Luke had handled the pickax with his bare hands, had undoubtedly left behind fingerprints.  His truck, paired with forensic evidence, would all but seal his fate.

The very real possibility of Luke going to prison, of another life being destroyed because of her, left her breathless.  She combed her hair quickly and strode down the hallway, fully intending to hop on her motorcycle and ride, ride as long and as far as it took her to organize her thoughts.  She was about to open the front door when it dawned on her that her bike was not beyond it, chained to a post on the front porch, that it remained in Luke’s garage.  Her temples began to throb and she contemplated punching the flimsy front door to punctuate her frustration.  She was stranded, left only with her thoughts and devoid of any type of outlet.

Chapter 13

After a night spent drifting in and out of restless, nightmare-laden sleep, Arianna woke to the sound of the front door opening.  The sound startled her.  She opened her eyes and sat upright, alerted, only to see shadows covering her room with dusky fingers.  A thin stream of light trickled in from the kitchen through her partially open door and cast eerie shades on familiar objects.  A quick glance at the alarm clock on her nightstand revealed that it was just after three in the morning.  She climbed out of bed and listened at her door.  Footsteps padded upon the carpeting and the jangle of keys rattled.  She assumed her mother had returned home alone after a night out until a man’s voice echoed down the hallway.  It was immediately followed by her mother’s laughter.  Clearly, her mother had brought a friend home.

She nearly groaned aloud.  Another man would be sharing her mother’s bed.  She knew she shouldn’t be as annoyed as she was.  After all, he was just one among a seemingly unending line of suitors.  Arianna felt nauseated.  Too little sleep and too much stress united and aggravated an already offensive situation.  She slammed her door shut, an immature message to her mother that she was awake and did not approve, but a message, nevertheless.  Shushing followed by giggling suggested that both her mother and the mystery man were intoxicated.  The situation was not unfamiliar.  In fact, it was all too familiar to Arianna.  But her blood boiled more than ever before.  She collapsed on to her bed and rested her head on her pillow.  Her alarm clock had been set to ring in three hours.  She needed to force herself to fall back asleep, but as riled as she was, she felt it impossible.

To her surprise, sleep found her faster than she could have guessed.  But it was not peaceful sleep.  Horrific images flashed over and over, images of burning people tethered to posts, screaming and pleading for help, for mercy.  But neither help nor mercy came for them.  Instead, cloaked shapes chanted, their voices carrying in the wind as unnervingly as a haunting wind shrieking through trees.

When the shrill cry of her alarm clock sounded, she did not stir immediately, rather she believed her dream had continued.  But a brightened sky peeked through the narrow rectangular window overhead and warned that a new day had begun.  A night of broken sleep that had been filled with nightmares and gruesome images did little to lift her heavy heart.  In fact, dawn brought with it not only the recurring recollection of her dreams, but also the realization that she would see Luke again at school.  He had not mentioned picking her up for school as he’d done in days past.  She guessed she was on her own.

Thoughts of Luke made her throat squeeze and brought an instant sting to her eyes.  But she forced herself up to a sitting position and slid her body out of bed.  After gathering her clothes quickly, she headed to the bathroom, confident she would not run into her mother or her mother’s overnight guest.  Both had been drunk hours earlier and had likely fallen asleep not long before her alarm had sounded.  She brushed her teeth and washed her face then styled her hair.  A few quick coats of mascara and a swipe of eyeliner completed her morning beauty routine and she was left with the task of figuring out how she would get to school.  She strode down the hallway, not bothering to make an attempt at quieting her movements.  She gathered her backpack and rummaged through it to be certain she had a full pack of cigarettes then stepped outside.

The morning was unseasonably warm.  A fine drizzle fell from gray skies and a balmy breeze blew.  She pulled a cigarette from her pack and placed it between her lips.  She ignited her lighter and watched as the flame wavered in the winds.  With her cigarette lit, she drew smoke from it and inhaled it deeply into her lungs.  As she did so, she glanced about the trailer park and noticed that someone watched her.

“Hey asshole!  I thought I warned you not to spy on me!” she threatened and knew she could support any threat she made.

His face disappeared from the grimy window of his trailer.  She was about to breathe a sigh of relief when it reappeared attached to a body at his front door.

She immediately dropped her cigarette and turned toward him, her stance defensive, prepared.  With her feet spaced shoulder-width apart and her hands on her hips, she squared off with one of the least attractive men she’d ever seen.

She expected him to come out shouting, or angry, at the very least.  She had called him an asshole, after all, and most people did not prefer to be called that.  But instead of yelling, he smiled at her.  His teeth were a dull greenish brown and looked as though they were all competing for the same spot in his mouth.  Overlapped and jagged, his teeth made his smile look more like a grimace.  He held up his hands in surrender.

“Just gettin’ my paper is all,” he called out to her.  “Don’t want no trouble.”

He seemed harmless enough, but Arianna was unsettled that he always watched her.  Even when she didn’t see him as she came and went, she always felt his eyes on her.

“Why do you always watch me?” she asked him and surprised him as well as her.

He froze reaching to pick up the newspaper laying on his stoop.  “I, uh, I guess, well, I guess I just like to look at pretty things,” he said and shrugged.

His candor caught her off guard, disarmed her briefly.  She didn’t know why, but she’d expected him to say something rude.  She’d braced herself for it.  But he had not.  He’d responded simply, and sincerely.  She did not know what to say.

“Thanks, I guess,” she muttered.

“I don’t have much to do most days.  But I like to watch birds and butterflies and flowers in the spring.  Your mom is real pretty, too.”

“Hmm,” was all Arianna could say and nodded.  Then a thought occurred to her.  “Hey, you don’t happen to know the bus schedule around here, do you?”

He stood clutching his newspaper in front of him and twisted his mouth to one side, deep in thought.  “Why yes, yes I do,” he exclaimed excitedly.  “The number seven bus comes by here at 6:48 a.m.  It runs down the county road and out past the high school.”

Arianna glanced at her watch and saw that it was already 6:45 a.m.  If she hurried, she might make it to the end of the park in time to catch the bus.  She slung her backpack over her shoulder and began jogging, but not before thanking the man who’d watched her since the day she and her mother had arrived.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Absolutely no problem,” he replied closing his eyes and shaking his head from side to side enthusiastically.

His goofy,unfortunate looking smile confirmed that she’d said the right words and she headed toward the end of the long pathway leading out of her trailer park.  She reached the end of it just in time to see a bus approaching.  The doors opened and she stepped inside.  After paying her fare, she took a seat at the rear of the bus.  Few people were seated and all bore the same defeated expression.

The ride was short and stopped just next to the gas station near the driveway of Herald Falls High School.  She jumped off and dashed inside the market of the gas station of purchase a buttered roll and a hot chocolate.  Deep within her, a voice whispered that she would need as much strength and sustenance as she could get for the day ahead of her.  She ate quickly as she walked and made it to school in time for the first bell.

The first half of the school day had passed uneventfully.  She had not seen Luke yet and wondered whether he had taken the day off.  She’d sworn she’d seen Stephanie, but wasn’t sure.  When the bell ending fourth period sounded and officially began lunch period, Arianna went directly to the cafeteria.  She had not packed a lunch and needed to buy a sandwich.  In the service area, she grabbed what looked like chicken salad on wheat bread and a carton of chocolate milk.  She turned and was about to pay when she nearly walked into Bulldog.  He was with Beth, and though they’d narrowly avoided a collision, when she looked up at him about to crack a joke about it, he merely looked over her head as if she wasn’t there.  Neither he nor Beth acknowledged her.  She felt heat creep up her neck and color her cheeks, embarrassment and sadness joining forces.  She dropped her gaze immediately, an uneasy knot twisting in her stomach.  She turned from them awkwardly, her hands trembling, and pretended to examine a display of fruit, picking up and sniffing an orange.  Her hair covered her face like a dark curtain and she stole a look from behind it and saw them leave.  She dropped the orange where she’d found it and gripped the plastic tray that held her food so tightly, her knuckles whitened.  Bulldog and Beth had reacted to her peculiarly.  She wondered what Luke had told them.  Perhaps he’d told them he and Arianna had broken up.  Perhaps he’d told them everything.  She did not know.  She needed to speak to Luke.

After paying the cashier for her lunch, Arianna rounded the corner of the service area and saw that Bulldog and Beth had joined Mike, Carrie, Ryan and Christa at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria.  Seconds later, Luke strolled in wearing his usual warm grin.  He sat with his friends, then, as if sensing her eyes on him looked up and made eye contact with her for a fleeting moment.  In the instant that he’d locked eyes with her, she’d tried to convey a psychic message that they needed to talk, but was met with a steely gaze, one that warned her to stay away.  She dropped her eyes to her tray and found an empty table at the opposite end of the lunchroom.

Alone, she set her lunch down and fought tears that threatened.  Determined not to cry, she opened her sandwich and began eating it.  The mayonnaise tasted sour and the bread, chalky, but she did not care.  She ate to have something to do.  Leaving would mean they’d won, that they’d succeeded in making her so uncomfortable that fleeing was the only option.  Instead, she ate her vile lunch, swallowed every bite despite a growing urge to vomit.  She dug through her backpack and produced a textbook and began flipping through its pages.

As she did so, she began to pick up on snippets of conversations from neighboring tables.  A familiar voice nagged at her ear, Cheryl’s voice.

“Aww, look at her,” she said sarcastically.  “She has no one.  Even the rejects don’t want her anymore!”

Arianna glanced up and saw that Cheryl watched her, and that a few of her friends had turned in their seats to watch as well.  None of them knew that she could hear them.  None of them knew of her powers; she hoped.

“She’s looking at us,” a female voice said concernedly.  “Do you think she knows we’re talking about her?”

“That trashy bitch has no idea.  Just smile like you do at your stupid-ass poodle, Lisa,” Cheryl said.

Lisa smiled at Arianna as she was told and Arianna was sure she knew just who the dumb bitch among them was.

“See, she has no idea,” Cheryl hissed encouragingly.

Lisa laughed nervously and Arianna smiled in their direction before erecting her middle finger at them.

“I told you!” Lisa accused Cheryl.  “She heard us!”

Cheryl ignored Lisa, her focus on Preppy-boy who had just sauntered into the cafeteria.

“How does my hair look?” she asked Lisa and smoothed her golden locks.  “Do I look okay?”

“Yes,” Lisa replied exasperatedly.  “You look the same as you always do.”

“Good because he wants to do it again today after school and I want to look as…appealing as possible,” she crooned and unbuttoned the top button of her sweater.

“Oh God,” Lisa groaned.

Arianna was done listening to Cheryl’s nasty conversation and decided it was time to leave.  Lunch was almost over and three more classes were scheduled before the school day ended.

She endured English class, barely, and had nearly sprung from her seat when it finally ended.  She was eager to leave the class, leave the school.  But she needed to speak with Luke, if for no other reason than to discuss how she would get her motorcycle back from him.  She regretted accepting his offer, regretted ever meeting him.  She had allowed him the smallest sliver of access to her heart only to be frozen out.  She’d seen her mother go through breakup after painful breakup, and seen her lose a bit of herself each time.  Arianna did not want to be like her mother, even if it meant never loving another person.  She’d come so close that night in the motel, so close to surrendering to Luke’s sweetness and innocence.  Her fantasy of Desmond had been a blessing in disguise.  It had snapped her back to reality.

Her mind swam with frustration, so much so that she only caught the tail end of a rude comment hurled at her from a small cluster of people gathered by the lockers to her left.  She heard her name and the word “loser” attached to it.  She stopped and glared at the group.  A staccato laugh followed by blonde hair being tossed arrogantly over one shoulder divulged the source of the comment.  Cheryl stood with Preppy-boy, a nervous looking Lisa and two other girls she did not recognize.

“See, she knows her name,” Cheryl said in a cloying, bitter tone. “She responds when we call her ‘loser.’”

Cheryl laughed again and Arianna felt her insides heat, her blood simmering and pulsing through her veins.

“What are you looking at, loser?” Cheryl asked acidly.

Unable to withstand the vicious taunt any longer, Arianna dropped the books she clutched in her arms and strode up to the group.  “What did you just say?” she asked, inches from Lisa’s face.

The two unfamiliar girls stepped back, away from Lisa, and away from Arianna.  “I-I didn’t say anything,” Lisa replied in a trembling voice.

“How about you, bitch?” Arianna said directing her icy gaze to Cheryl.

The chatter in the hallway hushed as Arianna concentrated and focused all of her attention on Cheryl.  Cheryl tipped her chin up haughtily and tossed her hair over her shoulder.  “Ha! You’re calling me a bitch?  Aren’t you the loser who got dumped by the biggest rejects in this school?  You’re pathetic!”

Without warning, a crimson shade colored Arianna’s vision.  She reached out both hands and shoved Cheryl.  Surprised, Cheryl flew backward, a blur of blonde hair and designer clothes, slammed against her locker then landed on her backside, hard.  Preppy-boy, eager to defend his partner of convenience, grasped Arianna’s upper arm.  All she felt was the bite of fingers digging into her skin and she turned on him, and gripped the wrist of the hand that held her.  She yanked it from her body and twisted it.  Preppy-boy howled in pain.  But his pain did not deter Arianna.  All she could see were red shapes, red shapes who had hurt her.

Holding the arm she’d twisted behind his back, Arianna pushed Preppy-boy headfirst and he smashed into a row of lockers.  He fell to the ground, his eyes dazed an unfocused.  She was about to turn to the group and see if any of them had insults to offer when a vice-like grip seized her arm and spun her around.

“Arianna!” a voice spoke.  “What the hell are you doing?”

The scarlet cloak that shrouded her eyes evaporated and she saw a pair of gray eyes glowering at her.  Luke squeezed her upper arm.

“Luke,” she said struggling to catch her breath.

His face held no anger, and it held no affection either, just fear and something else she could not name exactly.  But it was not good.  His expression was a blend of shame and disgust, of embarrassment and repulsion.  He looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time, but only saw a monster, not her.  He slowly released his grip on her arm and shrunk back, and she knew his feelings for her had slipped away just as readily.  She tried to draw in breath, the pain in her chest sudden, but her lungs felt like they had shrunk, refusing to fill.  The air she breathed burned in her throat, ached in her core.

Luke lowered his eyes to the floor and turned his head.  She took a last look at his profile, his spiky black hair, his full, soft lips, then ran out of the building.  She did not know where she was going, did not care, but knew she could not spend another second in Herald Falls High School.

She’d only made it to the edge of the parking lot where school property met with the main road when Desmond appeared.  His large biceps bulged intimidatingly as he crossed both arms across his broad chest.  His face, typically the epitome of calm, looked livid and she could see a small muscle in his jaw tense and flex.  She’d had an awful couple of days, and judging from the look on his face, knew that her day was about to get much worse.  He leveled his sky-blue gaze at her and with her own eyes, pleaded with him wordlessly to go easy on her.  When his features softened and his arms dropped to his sides, she wondered whether he’d heard her silent plea.  She also could not help but notice how, even in the harsh gray light of the gloomy day, he looked like a golden god cast to Earth from the heavens, an angry god, but a god, nonetheless.

When she was close enough to smell his spicy aftershave mingling with the faint scent of leather, he spoke only three words.

“Come with me,” he said in his rich, soothing voice.  He reached out a large hand and she placed hers in it.  With her hand in his, she felt a tingle begin in her palm and travel up her arm as gently as a summer breeze blowing across her skin, warm and welcoming.  The inviting sensation was immediately followed by his energy flowing through her, thrumming in time with her heartbeat, wafting through every part of her.  The anguish she’d felt over recent days began to fade, replaced by a sense of peace.

The world around them, leaden and dreary, began to fade.  Desmond pulled Arianna close to him and enveloped her in his powerful arms.  Her legs threatened to give way beneath her as all of her worries seeped from her.  She closed her eyes, relishing in the feel of his body against hers, his masculine scent; his protection. When she opened them, lush fields of green dotted with blossoms in vibrant shades of pink and purple surrounded her.  Herald Falls had disappeared completely.  The clouds and drizzle were replaced with brilliant sunlight that kissed the vivid landscape.  The stagnant air polluted with the stench of car exhausts passing on the county road they’d stood near moments earlier had been traded for a refreshing breeze that stirred tall grass and the faint sound of birds chirping.  She recognized the field they stood in immediately, it was where he’d taken her the night she’d encountered the attackers at the Blue Ivy nightclub.

Desmond stood just inches from her, bathed in golden light that caressed each of his magnificent features.  She wanted to remain encircled in his muscular arms, breathing in his intoxicating scent, but reluctantly stepped back.

“We need to talk,” he said gently.

“Amazing, someone actually wants to talk to me,” she said dejectedly.

Around Desmond, she did not have to pretend.  She did not need walls to protect her.  He knew what she was, had always known, and did not reject her.

“I am sorry for what has happened to you, for what is happening” he began.  “Nothing has ever been easy for you.”

Arianna blinked feverishly, fighting tears that welled and fell despite her effort.

“But it is imperative that you learn to control your emotions,” he continued.

“That’s easier said than done,” she mumbled.

“I know.  Believe me.  I have been through it myself,” he surprised her by saying.  “But your powers are far greater than mine were or will ever be.  And you need to control them.  What happened today, at your school, can never happen again.  Do you understand me?”

“Of course I understand you!  Do you think I want to be this way?  I have no one.  No one at all,” she said her eyes overflowed with emotion.

Desmond reached out and took her hands in his.  “You are never alone,” he assured her.  “I am always a heartbeat away.  You have me.”

Arianna looked up into his cerulean eyes and saw nothing but kindness and warmth shining in them.  She wanted to believe in something, in him.

“But you’ve only come to me a handful of times.”

“You’ve only ever wanted me a handful of times,” he replied softly.

“I always want you,” she murmured and buried her face in his chest.

The sudden realization of what she’d said sent her pulse racing and color to her cheeks.  She hadn’t given any thought to her words, had just blurted them out.

“I am here,” he said and surrounded her with his arms, with his body.

She allowed her form to meld to his, felt the heat of his skin through his fitted T-shirt.

“You will learn to manage your powers,” he said. She looked up at him and he brushed her cheek with his knuckles.  The contact sent a shiver across her skin.  “It will get easier.”

“How?” she asked.

“First, you will need to stay away from people who evoke strong emotional reactions from you.”

“So, I’m guessing no school, right?”

“And no Luke,” he said then added thoughtfully, “You should not have given yourself to him.  He isn’t worthy of you.”

“Wait, what?” Arianna asked and wondered how Desmond could have possibly known about her night with Luke.  “How did you know?”

“I saw,” Desmond replied evenly.

“You saw?” she asked incredulously.  “As in you saw us, you know, doing it.”

Arianna felt her cheeks blaze and leaned back.

“Unfortunately, yes.  I saw the two of you begin your intimate moment,” he said and Arianna thought she heard a hint of jealously in his voice.  She quickly dismissed it, though.  How could Desmond possibly be jealous of Luke?  The fleeting thought seemed outlandish.  Desmond looked like a god, and Luke looked like an average teenager.  Regardless, she decided to accuse him, if for no other reason than to punish him for invading her privacy.

“You sound jealous, Desmond,” she accused and stepped away from him.

“Jealous?  That’s absurd!” he said and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You sure seem it!” she pressed.  “And I bet you put that image in my head of you all shirtless when Luke and I were doing it.”

Desmond visibly cringed at the words “doing it,” then his expression changed unexpectedly, and a smirk spread across his lips.  “You thought of me while you were intimate with Luke?” he asked and appeared pleased.

“Yeah, like you didn’t know.  Like you didn’t put that image in my head,” she egged him on.

“Arianna, your thoughts and fantasies are your own.  I do not have the power to make you think or do anything you do not want to think or do.  So if you thought of me while with Luke,” he started and his sky-blue eyes suddenly danced with delight.

“Don’t even say it!” she interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.  “And don’t talk to me like you’re my father because I’ve never had one and don’t need one now!”

“Father?” he asked and looked injured.

Thrilled she’d hit a nerve and ruffled his seemingly unflappable feathers, she persisted.  “Well you say you’ve been hovering around me my whole life, like a father.”

Desmond took a step forward and gripped her arms, “I feel nothing fatherly toward you,” he said and his aquamarine eyes smoldered.  He pulled her close.  Arianna could feel his breath hot on her lips.  She wondered whether he was going to kiss her, wished he would kiss her.  But he did not.  Instead he embraced her and placed her head against his chest, over his heart.

With her body pressed against Desmond’s, she felt the slight adrenaline rush she’d felt while arguing with him dissipate.  She felt as though their powers were mingling, felt the calming presence of his energy flowing through her in a steady current.  Yet in that current, she still detected the slightest hint of jealousy concerning her night with Luke.  She ignored it, however, chalked it up to wishful thinking.

“I hate to bring him up again,” she said softly.  “But Luke has my motorcycle, and I need it back.”

“I will get you another motorcycle if that is how you chose to travel.”

“Well, I can’t afford a car.  Besides, I love the freedom of riding,” she said and envisioned herself on an open road, the wind in her face, the sun shining.

“A motorcycle it is, then,” he agreed.  “In the meantime, stay close to home.  I will stay close, as well.  I can be with you every moment your mother is not around.  It will give us time to work on breathing and relaxation techniques that will help you channel your powers more responsibly.”

The news that she’d be spending more time with Desmond was the best new she’d received in quite some time.

“Okay,” she said.  “But what about Howard Kane?”

The mention of Howard Kane clouded Desmond’s glorious features.  “He is close, and you will face him soon.  That is why we need to ready you,” he said firmly.

His words suggested she would be preparing for battle, a battle she would be fighting alone.  Her heart sank to her stomach and she let go of Desmond.

Sensing her reaction, he pulled her closer.  “You will not be alone against Kane,” he said.  “He wants us all dead.  We will help you as much as we can.  Ultimately, though, you will be the one to kill him.”

Arianna squeezed her eyes shut and refused to acknowledge what he had just said.  Instead, she focused on the even beat of his heart.

“It is time to return,” he whispered.  And with his words, the flowery meadow began to evaporate.  Light filled her field of vision, brilliant white light.  Desmond and his warmth surrounded her once again, covering her body with wisps of awareness, light and feathery.

Chapter 14

Howard Kane directed his large Chevy Suburban into the Shady Pines Trailer Park in Herald Falls, New York.  Though it was daylight, thick fog smothered everything in its wake.  Each trailer appeared haunted, crawling with ghostly curdled shapes that dove and lunged at every turn.  He found it fitting that the Sola should live in such a sinister looking community.

He parked his car just outside a smaller unit near the end of the long lane, and saw that a rusted Toyota Camry occupied the space right in front of it.  He turned the headlamps off, as well as the ignition, and spoke to the men with him.

“This is her lair, gentlemen,” he said.

“Are you sure she isn’t here?” the man beside him, Eli, asked.

Eli had sounded worried, frightened by the prospect of a possible run-in with the Sola.  Fear among his followers did not inspire much confidence in Howard.  Fear made them potential liabilities.  He would be sure to keep a close eye on Eli in the coming days.

“Yes,” Howard replied and leveled his gaze at Eli.  “John Pawley confirmed that she is at school.  He called about ten minutes ago.  You have nothing to worry about.”

Eli raised a brow at him, “I’m not worried,” he said, but his eyes told another story.  “I just want things to go smoothly, that’s all.”

Howard could tell that the man had lied to him, that Eli was feigning calm he did not feel.

“Good, Eli,” Howard said plainly.  “We fight with righteousness on our side; there is nothing to fear when God is on your side.  Fear when fighting alongside the Lord would mean your faith has wavered.  Has your faith wavered, Eli?”

“No, no of course not,” Eli replied quickly.

“Good.  That’s good, because I need you in top form in the hours forthcoming.”

Howard did not say more on the topic.  Rather, he climbed out of his SUV and strode to Arianna Rose’s front door.  He turned the doorknob and, to his surprise, the door had not been locked.  Given the seediness of the trailer park, most others would have found more security precautions necessary.  But no other was the Sola, only Arianna Rose.

He opened the door slowly and peeked inside.  The faint light of a side table lamp illuminated the area before them, a crowded area with a couch and coffee table.  No one appeared to be in the living-room area.  He turned to his men who’d followed and nodded before proceeding to enter the trailer.

Once inside, he was immediately greeted with the sour smell of liquor and nicotine.  Both familiar scents from his youth, the stench reminded him of his childhood home he’d shared with his mother, before he’d killed her.  He glanced around and saw that an empty bottle of Scotch sat atop the far edge of the coffee table, along with fast-food wrappers.  His eyes quickly scanned the kitchen area and hallway.  He did not see anyone and was about to address him men when the sound of panting and moaning filled the trailer.

Howard felt a small jolt pass through him and his knees buckled involuntarily.  The moaning, the stink of alcohol, cigarettes and cheap cologne transported him back in time.  For an instant, he was eight years old, his father dead and he alone with his mother.  A different man had shared his mother’s bed each night of the week, and they had drunk and smoked a bevy of vile substances before retiring to her bedroom, and that had been when the panting would begin.

The overwhelming urge to march down the narrow hallway before him and kill the two fornicators snapped Howard back to the present.  He balled his fists at his side so tightly his fingernails bit into his palms.  He glanced at the faces of the men with him.  Their heads had turned toward the sound.  Fortunately, none of them had noticed his moment of weakness.  His movement toward the moaning alerted them to follow him.

The first door on the right was closed, the sounds of sexual intercourse on the other side of it loud.  Howard opened the door and boldly stepped inside, expecting some sort of reaction.  But he did not get one.  The moaning did not stop.  The carnal display before him was grotesque.  A pale man with dark body hair thrust his pelvis from behind a blonde woman like a barnyard animal, one hand gripping her breast while the other bounced and flopped as he did so.  Both the man and the woman had been so consumed by passion that they hadn’t noticed that four men had entered the room.

He stood, stunned, momentarily as they brazenly continued with their depraved act.  Another shock bolted through him as it had moments ago and weakened his knees once more.  A vision of his mother being ravaged by a greasy-looking man with long hair flashed through his mind’s eye.  The man had knelt behind his mother, thrusting, and clutching her breast, just as the one before him did now.  His insides began to quiver and sweat beaded his forehead as anger mounted inside of him.

Silently, he unsheathed his blade from his waistband and crept up behind the man.  He swung it in a wide arc and slashed at the side of the man’s throat.  Blood spurted out immediately.  He’d hit the man’s jugular vein.  The man cried out and held his neck then flopped to his side, disengaged from the woman’s body.  A bright-red pool expanded around him and the shrill scream of the woman tore through the room.  The woman spun and faced them.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” she cried again and again, and the irony of her pleas did little to calm Howard.

“Shh! Shh!” he shushed her.  “Stop screaming.  Please, stop screaming.”

His voice had obviously calmed her as he’d hoped it would as her wailing ceased.  She reached for the covering on her bed and attempted to cover herself, suddenly modest after a room full of men had seen her naked and submitting to immoral behavior.

“Please just take whatever you want.  I’ll do anything you want, Just please don’t kill me,” she said in a trembling voice.

With her hair in a state of disarray, her blue makeup smudged around her eyes and streaming down her cheeks, and her face the epitome of terror, Howard almost felt bad for her.  But pity was an emotion he reserved only for those deserving of his graces, for the just.  And the woman before him was anything but just.

“You have only one thing I want,” Howard said calmly.  “And you are going to help me get her.”

The woman looked at him confusedly before a nod to his men ordered them to descend on her.  One held her arms while another grabbed her feet.  Eli approached with a syringe.

“Please!” the woman begged.  “Please don’t kill me!”

Neither Howard nor any of his men flinched at her entreats.  Eli jabbed the needle into the woman’s buttock.  She blurted out a few incoherent sentences; her voice slurred by the powerful sedative they’d administered then fell to the bed.

“Put her in the truck,” Howard ordered his men.

Three of the four men obeyed, but one paused.  Eli hesitated and turned to Howard.

“This is the woman who bore the Sola?  This is Arianna Rose’s mother?”

“Yes, Eli.  I told you we were coming here for her,” Howard said, impatience creeping into his tone.

“How does she help us kill the Sola, though?  The Sola is so powerful, so evil.  What makes you think her mother will give us any leverage?”

Anger edged its way into Howard’s already changeable mood.  Eli was questioning him.  He wondered who exactly Eli thought he was.  Eli had not heard the voice of God.  Only Howard had.

“I have a plan, Eli,” Howard hissed.  “God’s plan.  Do you question God’s plan?  It sounds to me like you are.”

“No, no, Brother Howard.  I would never,” Eli fumbled but was interrupted by the sound of Howard’s booming voice.

“God does not speak through you, Eli.  He speaks through me!  How dare you question my plan, God’s plan?  Were it not for your father, I’d strike you down here and now!”

Eli did not respond or bristle at Howard’s words.  He knew better.

“Now, get here out of here so that we can move things along.  Make no mistake about it, we will not fail.  Evil will not rule this world.  Arianna Rose will burn at the stake as God intends.”

Eli would not meet Howard’s weighty gaze.  Instead, he kept his head bowed, eyes lowered and assisted the other two men as they covered Arianna’s mother in a sheet from the bed.  Once she’d been covered, they hauled her to the truck parked behind Howard’s.

Howard stayed behind after the others had left, breathing the air Arianna breathed, feeling her presence all around him.  He knew he would triumph, that her remaining days were numbered.  His assurance came in the form of a very special, very sacred article he had in his possession.  Iron shackles used in the various witch trials during the 1600s had been passed down to him through his ancestors.  Blessed by a Puritan priest, the manacles had been designed to restrain the most powerful witch; they’d been designed to restrain the Sola.

A thrill of excitement raced down Howard’s spine, the Sola’s death so close at hand.  In the cuffs his kin had created, Arianna would be unable to move her hands and enact her powers; she would be powerless to conjure evil.  He smiled at the thought of her being rendered powerless then took a final look around her sad little trailer.  In less than a day, the world would be absolved of her vile existence.  Arianna Rose would be denied her chance to destroy humanity.

Chapter 15

Without warning, Arianna stood before her trailer, home again.  The golden light she’d enjoyed had weakened until it had dulled to a pale gray.  Mist bled from fleshy clouds that crowded the sky.  The world around her had faded to a sickly version of the one she’d just visited.  But to her surprise, not everything had disappeared.  Desmond remained, surrounding her with his warmth.  In the past, he had faded along with the magical field they’d stood in.  But this time he hadn’t.  And she was grateful for his presence.

Wrapped in his arms, she felt calm, safe.  Desmond was the only person who truly understood her.  All her life, she’d never had a true place among any group she’d ever been a part of, and those had been few and far between.  Most of the time, she’d been alone.  Moving from town to town, whether it had been of Desmond’s doing or not, had not helped matters.  But encircled in Desmond’s sturdy arms, for the first time ever, Arianna felt like she was home.

She rested her cheek against his solid chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling his energy waft through her with every pulse.  She did not want to let go, wished they could stay as they were forever.  She breathed in his scent.  He smelled of leather and spicy aftershave, masculine.  Warmth spread throughout her and lingered low in her belly, need twisting inside of her.

Suddenly aware of their close proximity and the effect it was having on her, Arianna allowed her arms to drop from his waist and stepped back.  Heat crept up her neck and flushed her cheeks, embarrassment at her overwhelming attraction to him.

As if he intuited her desire for him, Desmond hesitated for a moment and did not release her from his hold.  When finally he did, Arianna felt breathless, but knew she needed to say something.

“I guess I should go inside now and sleep for like, the next twelve hours or something,” she said and immediately cringed at how silly she’d sounded, how juvenile.

“Good, you need your rest,” he replied.  “I’ll be back in the morning.  When I return, we need to decide what to.  But one thing is for sure: you cannot go back to that school.”

“That’s for sure,” Arianna agreed.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She smiled at Desmond involuntarily, unable to hide her eagerness at seeing him in less than twenty-four hours.  She had no idea where he went when he left her, whether he ate or slept, or had a wife or girlfriend.  The thought of him leaving her and resuming some sort of warlock domestic setup with a woman as gorgeous as he spurred a spark of jealousy through her blood and straight to her heart.  She knew feelings of jealousy were as irrational as they were dangerous, but she’d had no control over it.

“I need to go visit a fellow warlock in a nearby town and see if coven formations have begun; all business, you know?  It’s not like I have anyone waiting for me, though,” he said and she swore he’d read her mind.  “I’ll be back shortly after the sun rises.  I promise.  In the meantime, try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

Arianna rolled her eyes exaggeratedly then said, “Okay, fine, if you insist.”

Desmond smiled at her, his face serene and angelic.  His coloring and overall appearance was Nordic, but the energy he radiated was otherworldly, divine.

“I do insist,” he said and the corners of his mouth faltered.  “Stay safe Arianna.  We need you in one piece.  I need you.”

His words had caught her off guard.  He needed her.  He’d said it himself.  But in what capacity?  She wondered.  Did he need her powers, her leadership, or was it something more?

“I’ll do my best,” she said and wanted to ask every question as it popped into her head.  She lowered her eyes, instead, afraid of the answers she might hear had she dared ask.

When she lifted her eyes, Desmond was gone.

“What the hell?” she said to no one.  “Good-bye to you, too, Desmond.”

Alone and suddenly chilled to her bones despite the abnormal warmth of the mid-November day, she wrapped her arms around her waist and walked toward her trailer.  A quick glance at the parking spot in front of her porch revealed that her mother was home.  The pathetic Toyota her mom had driven for as long as she could remember waited there, rusted and looking as though it would collapse under the weight of the thick fog.

Arianna was not in the mood to answer what promised to be an unending battery of questions from her mother about why she was home from school so early.  She leaned against the railing that she’d formerly tethered her motorcycle to and fished around inside her bag for her pack of cigarettes.  When finally she found it, she slipped a slender cylinder from it, placed it between her lips and lit it.  She inhaled deeply and the nicotine entered her system immediately.  Moderately relaxed and a little lightheaded, the morning replayed in her mind.  After her skirmish with Cheryl and Preppy-boy, Luke had grabbed her.  The way he’d looked at her had winded her as though she’d been punched in gut.  He’d narrowed his eyes at her, his face stricken, disgusted by her.  He knew what she was now, and wanted nothing to do with her.  She did not blame him.  But not blaming him did little to ease the disappointment she’d felt, the shame.  And while she was not happy about either dropping out of high school in her senior year or being forced to transfer to yet another district, she was relieved she would not have to see Cheryl, Preppy-boy or any of Luke’s friends any time soon.  She would not be forced to endure the judgmental stares, the intentional snubs or the looks of disapproval.  And she would not have to see Luke.

Luke.  She did not want to think of him, did not want to address the gravity of what had happened between them, yet he had crept into her mind again, no longer welcome, uninvited.  She extinguished thoughts of him, along with her cigarette, and braced herself for her mother’s illogical wrath.  Arianna hoped her mother’s overnight guest had gone home.  She doubted she could withstand another awkward introduction.  She had experienced many in the course of her lifetime and wanted to avoid more than she absolutely had to.

Arianna sighed loudly then turned the handle of the front door.  As usual, the front door was unlocked.

“Mom!  Hey Mom!  You know, you really ought to start locking the front door.  Any weirdo could just let himself in,” she called out then mumbled under her breath, “Or you’ll just bring him home from the bar to spend the night.”

She walked into the trailer and dropped her bag on the floor just inside the doorway.  She looked around and didn’t see her mother, but did see that the living room was in a state of disarray.  An empty liquor bottle sat unapologetically on the side table next to the couch and fast-food wrappers were strewn on the coffee table.

“Way to clean up, Mom!” Arianna called.  Her mother did not answer so she called out again. “Mom, I know you’re here your car is outside!” she said then it occurred to her that maybe her mother’s new friend had arrived in his own car and that they might be out together.

Arianna marched down the hallway and stopped at the first door on the right, her mother’s bedroom.  The door was shut so she knocked and waited for a response.  Ordinarily, if a man had spent the night with her mother, she would not consider opening her bedroom door the next morning for fear of walking in on a scenario that would likely scar her for life.  She checked her watch and saw that it was not yet one o’clock.  Plenty of time had passed for both her mother and her mother’s guest to sleep off the doozy they’d undoubtedly tied on the night before.  She knocked again then turned the doorknob.  She peeked inside and saw the foot of the bed.  It looked as though the bed had been made so she swung it open all the way.

The entire bed came into view and Arianna gasped then covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the scream that fought to escape her lips.  Blood covered nearly every surface of the upper portion of the comforter, sheets and pillows, and a man she’d never met sat, propped up against her mother’s headboard.  His eyes were wide with fright and his hands had been positioned in front of him, pressed together impossibly in prayer.  An angry maroon arc at the side of his neck, along with the tremendous amount of blood that had saturated the front of his nude body, indicated that his throat had been slit.  The scene was beyond macabre.  A man had been murdered in her mother’s bed then placed, ghoulishly, to look as though he was praying.  Arianna felt the world tilt on its axis, the phantasmagoric image before her too much for her mind to process.  She fell to her knees and clutched her belly as the urge to retch overcame her.  Her blood roared in her ears and her stomach clenched violently.  She gagged and heaved yet nothing came up, just sobs that choked the air from her lungs.  She was about to leave, to crawl out of her mother’s bedroom on all fours, when something caught her attention.

On the wall above the murdered man’s head, a piece of paper had been affixed to the wall, stabbed into the plaster with a long blade.  Arianna rose to her feet, her legs trembling so hard she doubted they could support her weight.  She took a tentative step forward and was surprised that, not only had they held her, they’d also moved.  Her body shook so forcefully, she saw the dark curtains of hair on either side of her face quivering as well.  Slowly, she made her way to the bed.

Standing near the dead man, her stomach churned and threatened again, the metallic stench of blood filling her nostrils.  Her breath came in short, shallow pants, hyperventilation looming on the horizon, as she reached out a trembling hand and pulled at the knife in the wall.  The hilt felt cold and slick and she withdrew her hand immediately.  She looked down at her hand and saw that it was covered in blood.

Repulsed, she wiped her hand on the bedspread, desperate to clean the man’s blood from her palm.  But it seemed to have seeped into her skin.  No matter how hard she wiped, the man’s blood remained on her hand.  Panic began to mingle with shock and she fought to keep both at bay.  She moved back to the knife and quickly yanked the paper from beneath it.  She looked at it and saw that the paper was torn but the words were still legible.  The note had been scrawled in meticulous handwriting and said:

Dearest Arianna Rose,

I have your mother.  If you ever want to see her alive again, you will come to the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church at the address listed below.  If you contact the police, I will kill your mother.  If you bring anyone with you, or alert anyone, I will kill your mother.

I have eyes and ears everywhere, Arianna.  You are being watched right now.  Do not do anything stupid.  If you maintain hope that your mother will survive, you will do exactly as I say.

Yours Truly,

Howard Kane, Jr.

Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church

102 Heather Road

Corning PA 06806

Arianna’s mouth went dry as she read the words in front of her.  Howard Kane had her mother.  He held her mother as his hostage.  He had been to her trailer and had killed her mother’s lover.  Another innocent had died because of her.  And now, her mother’s life teetered at the brink of a great precipice from which there was no return.  Her mother would die if she did not face Kane.

Her hands continued to shake as she held the note in her hand as a fresh wave of tremors racked her body.  But instead of trembling with fear, Arianna began to tremble with ire.  Fury seized her, gripping her with an urgency so consuming she could no longer be still.  She stuffed the paper into the front pocket of her jeans and fled the room.  She dashed down the hallway, pausing only to sling her bag over her shoulder and raced out the front door.  She slipped behind the wheel of her mother’s car and turned the spare key her mother had insisted she have in the ignition.  The engine groaned to life and she riffled through the glove compartment for a GPS navigation unit her mother had relieved Carl of weeks earlier.  When she found it, she frantically punched in the address Kane had left her then stomped on the gas pedal.  She sped down the driveway of Shady Pines Trailer Park and on to the main road.

She drove for three hours, blind to traffic, the weather, the world.  She traveled with a single purpose: to rescue her mother from Howard Kane.  She had not called the police and she had not called upon Desmond, though a part of her had wanted to do both.  In her heart, she knew neither the police nor Desmond could help her. She was the Sola, and she would face Kane alone.  Left with the irritating female voice of the navigation system and her own tortured thoughts, Arianna arrived at The Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church a little after four o’clock.

She pulled down a lane lined with stately cedar trees.  The limbs of the trees sagged as if bearing the weight of a great secret upon each of their boughs, and lent their appearance the impression of majestic mustached watchmen guarding confidences they’d rather not keep.  At the end of the long pathway, an imposing structure loomed.  Made of stone and beveled stained glass, the cross at the apex of the steeple looked as though it had punctured the heavens above.  Leaden clouds began to weep fat raindrops sporadically.  Thunder growled in the distance, threatening at any moment to hemorrhage a downpour.

Arianna pulled her car in front of the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church and slid out of her mother’s car.  She climbed a small set of concrete steps and paused before a set of wooden doors.  She tugged at one of the ornate metal handles and was surprised when it opened silently.  She stepped inside and found herself in the vestibule of the building.  Faint light spilled from lit candles and cast eerie shadows all around her.  She reached out and touched the cool stone of the wall and edged her way around a large vat of holy water in the center of the passage until she reached another set of doors.

The doors opened to the congregational seating area.  Rows of pews faced the sanctuary.  From where she stood, she saw a man kneeling at the altar.  She ran down the center aisle past the pews, up three steps and stopped beside the man.

“Where is my mother?” she demanded.

The man turned his head toward her slowly.  He looked like an ordinary man, and she was certain he wasn’t Howard Kane, but something gleamed in his eye, a flicker of something familiar.

“He is waiting for you,” the man replied in a deep voice.

The sound of his voice, the look in his eye, both hit her and an image flashed in her mind.  The man kneeling at the altar had worn a long, hooded cloak.  He had stood alongside Kane and chanted indecipherable words, and had watched as Lily burned

“He is out in the courtyard,” the rumble of his voice snapped her from her vision.  The man gestured with long, thin fingers to the right of the sanctuary.

Arianna rushed in the direction he’d pointed her in and silently vowed to return and find him when she’d finished with Kane.  He would pay for what he’d done to Lily.  She would make sure of it.

To the left of the altar lay the sacristy.  The sacristy was little more than a storage room for books, vestments and an assortment of odd-looking tools.  There was a sink, a narrow window and a single door.  She reached out and tried the handle without delay and discovered it was unlocked.  Though the handle turned, when she pushed against the door itself, it did not budge.  Undeterred, she dropped her shoulder and rammed the weight of her body against it several times until, finally, it gave way.  She found herself standing on a small rectangle of concrete before a courtyard.  An immense fountain surrounded by ornate statues blocked her view, but beyond the overly elaborate display, something else was happening, a nefarious scene was unfolding.  A tingling whisper of awareness inched down her spine and propelled her forward.

She ran around the statues and fountain and she immediately saw a woman’s frightened face.  Her mother had been tied to a stake in the middle of the clearing, brush piled beneath her, tears streaming down her cheeks.  She cried out to Arianna, “Run baby! Get as far away from these deranged killers as you can!” her mother’s voice was panicked and shrill, unlike Arianna had ever heard it before.

“Shut your mouth, sinner!” a voice boomed and a man stepped from the shadows.

He gripped a torch in both hands and Arianna recognized the charred and puckered flesh of the man’s face, the same burnt face that had haunted her nightmares.  Only this time, it was not Lily who burned at his hands.  Her mother would be the one who burned.

Fierce tremors shook Arianna’s entire body and her vision became veiled in crimson.  Her racing heart slowed and all she could see was Howard Kane.  Her scarlet gaze glowed, shining from her eyes, and soaked him in a blood red shroud.  She could hear his lifeblood coursing through his veins; smell the coppery scent of it.  But she did not feel the need to retch.  She did not feel sickened by it.  She felt incensed by it.  A primal voice inside urged her to kill, kill him where he stood, spill his blood and feast on it.  Howard Kane had claimed the lives of countless innocents and the day of reckoning was upon him.  Her muscles twitched, eager and aching to channel the energy that stormed inside her.  She started to raise her arm, the force of her energy pulsing like an electric current.

“I would think twice about that,” Kane warned confidently and signaled.  A man appeared from the direction Kane had just gestured to with an assault rifle in hand.  The rifle was equipped with a small, black scope and aimed at Arianna’s mother.

“This is Eli,” Kane spoke.  “He is one of more than a dozen men who have your mother in their crosshairs.  If you do not lower your arm and calm yourself right now, she will be killed.”

Arianna felt her energy begin to flare despite her effort to control it.  Men surrounded her and her mother.  She could sense them.  And there was no way for her to unarm them simultaneously before one took their kill shot at her mother.  She spun, scanning the clearing, looking to the woods beyond it for armed shapes, when a man sprung from her left.  The bite of tiny electrodes against the nape of her neck was immediate and followed promptly by a burst of electrical energy that dropped her to her knees.  As soon as she felt the cold, wet earth touch her legs, she felt the prick of another set of electrodes hit her back and shoulders.  Men rushed her, she could hear the urgent tone of their voices, knew she had been tasered more than once, as her body began to convulse.  She tried to scream, to thrash, but her body refused to cooperate.  Darkness embraced her, stroking and lulling with silky, sinuous fingers.  She strained to shirk it, to evade its elusive allure, but was overtaken.

Chapter 16

Heat warmed Arianna’s face.  She blinked and tried to open her eyes, her vision bleary as though she’d slept for far too long.  But she hadn’t slept.  She’d been unconscious, and not for long.  Night had not fallen yet and the brightness of day made her eyes tear.  Sporadic rain still fell.  She could feel it on her face.  A scent infused the air, acrid and foul.

The smell of burning flesh struck her, burning her nasal passages and the back of her throat.  She concentrated on seeing more clearly, willing her eyes to focus.  When finally the fuzziness lifted, she saw that her mother burned before her, still tied to a stake. The flames had reached her mother’s waist and her body still twitched as she moaned weakly, suffering.  But the twitching and moaning faded quickly as the fire swelled suddenly and consumed her head.  Arianna watched, frozen, a prisoner in her own personal hell, as the last bit of life drained from Cathy Rose.  She watched as her mother’s head lolled to one side, her beautiful face blackened, gone forever.

A sound escaped Arianna from a deep, primitive part of her.  The sound tore through the courtyard, her soul crying out.  She felt as though a hole had been punched in her chest, a bottomless pit of pain and loss that would never heal.  Tears spilled down her cheeks and a lifetime of memories rushed to her mind.  In each were she and her mother.

“Why did you do that?” she heard herself ask Kane.  “It’s me you want, you monster!” she cried.

Howard materialized beside her, his face gruesome.  “I am no monster,” he hissed in her ear.  “It is you who are a monster.  And that woman,” he pointed to her deceased mother, “that sinful, wretched woman, she birthed you.  She raised you, readying you to begin your dark mission.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” she screamed and felt her anger swell.  He had murdered her mother and continued to insult her as she dangled lifelessly from a pole.

The grieving hole in her chest began to fill with the purest of rage.  The world around her became awash in a crimson glow again.

“Your powers will be of no use to you, Arianna,” Kane said.  “Your wrists have been shackled with restraints designed more than two hundred years ago for the sole purpose of containing the Sola, you.”

Kane watched her, apparently waiting for some kind of reaction.  But she would not give him the satisfaction, so he continued.

“And I have one more surprise for you before I end your mission before it ever truly began,” he said theatrically.

He signaled to the tree line and Arianna saw a man approaching.  He walked slowly and was followed by another, larger man who pointed a gun at his back.  As both men drew closer, she gasped in horror and saw that the man with the gun trained on his back was Luke.

“Arianna!” Luke called to her.  Tears streaked his dirtied cheeks and panic filled his voice.  His eyes were wide with terror as they searched hers for answers.

“Leave him alone!” she yelled.  “He has nothing to do with this!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.  He helped you kill two of my men, two servants of the Lord.  Their deaths cannot go unanswered,” Kane said and withdrew a pistol from his robe.  He aimed it inches from Luke’s forehead and Luke began to cry uncontrollably.

“No!” Arianna screamed but the sound of her voice was stifled by the deafening sound of a gunshot.  Luke’s body fell to the ground, his once lively silver eyes now vacant.

Howard gestured to the men who lingered in the courtyard and each of them began igniting torches they held.  Then, one by one, they threw their torches into the kindling at her feet.  The kindling began to burn immediately, the flames growing and expanding.  But Arianna did not feel the heat of the flames lapping at her ankles, and she did not feel sadness or grief.  A new feeling had overtaken her, surging and coursing through her being.  It melted each of her emotions, the ache in her chest, her anger, and her need for vengeance, each seeped from her, until all that remained inside her was pure power.  Her entire body began to radiate red light.  It shone as if the power within her could no longer be contained by her flesh, pulsing vibrantly, harshly, hissing like fiery snakes from her skin.  In that moment, she realized she was no longer Arianna Rose.  She was the Sola.

***

Howard Kane stared in shock.  He began to feel fear for the first time in over twenty years, since he was a boy being abused.  The vision before him, Arianna Rose’s entire body alight in a scarlet halo, could not be happening.  She had transformed into the Sola, living and breathing.  The fire beneath her had climbed up her body, yet she remained unscathed.  He watched in equal parts horror and disbelief as she lifted her glowing arms out to her sides, like a Phoenix defying its death pyre and spreading its wings.  The shackles around her wrists snapped then fell to the flames as though they’d been constructed of chintzy material, not iron.

He wanted to run, to flee from the imminent destruction, but his legs refused to budge from where they stood.  Instead, he was forced to witness the Sola raising her arms, flames shooting out in every direction.  Each of his men at the perimeter of the circle that had surrounded her was suddenly ablaze.  He heard their tortured screams tear through the evening sky.  He clapped his hands to his ears, trying futilely to muffle their cries, and saw that the rest of his men staggered from the surrounding woods, their flesh burning.  Everyone around him burned.  He was the only one who remained.  He became confident that God had spared him.

That confidence buoyed him as the Sola stepped toward him.  She stopped directly in front of him and glared at him with eyes that blazed with the blood of those who’d martyred themselves.  She loomed near him then spoke with a voice so haunting, the hairs on his body rose like quills.

“You are a fool, Howard Kane,” she said and her voice echoed through him.  “A fool who believes God is directing him to murder.”

“God guides me to do His work,” he replied

“No!” she shouted silencing him.  “You kill because you enjoy it, because you are evil,” she accused.

His insides began to trill, a sudden inexplicable phenomenon.  “God has chosen me to hunt witches, to protect mankind,” he said in a trembling voice.

The Sola began to laugh, a mirthless sound that resonated through the courtyard.  “No, Howard.  You are one of us.  God is not drawing you to us.  Your own power is.”

Howard’s eyes widened and a breath of awareness raced across his skin.  He knew she’d spoken the truth, could feel it deep within him.  He was a warlock.  He was not going to heaven as a soldier of the Lord.  He would burn in hell for eternity alongside the rest of the evil beings he’d already sent there.

The Sola smiled at him as though she’d read the recognition in his heart as plainly as she would have read a neon sign.  She swept her arm out to one side and he felt himself flying through the air.  It wasn’t until he felt his back collide with something slender and hard that he understood what was happening.  His wrists were suddenly immobilized behind him around the pole, though nothing tangible bound them.

“You have spent your life hunting and killing your own people, my people.  You convinced yourself you were doing noble work, God’s work, and now, you will burn here on Earth, and for eternity.”

Howard cried out in terror, her words cutting through his very core.  She gestured again and brush at his feet blazed angrily.  She assumed a position in front of him and locked eyes with him.  He felt the weight of her judgment blister as painfully as the flames that traveled up his body.  He howled in agony, the heat unbearable as darkness teased at his vision.

Fire lapped at him, torturously, excruciatingly.  But the Sola remained before him, unflinching.

The last image Howard Kane beheld was a pair of scarlet eyes glowing vengefully at him, glowering, judging his final moment on Earth, and casting him to hell.

Chapter 17

Arianna staggered from the courtyard, dragging legs that felt leaden, to the small doorway she’d come through and into the sacristy.  Each part of her body resisted movement and ached agonizingly.  She stumbled after every few unsteady steps she took.  Pain shot through her head and felt like someone had shoved a sharp blade into her brain and continued to twist it with every move she made.  Shock had not brought with it numbness, or silence.  To the contrary, every cell in her body screamed at once, a deafening shriek from which there was no escape.  She covered one ear with her hand, a painstaking effort she immediately regretted, and found that the shrill sound only burrowed deeper inside her head and shook her bones.  She dropped her hand immediately and nearly collapsed, but a familiar image flashed before her eyes.

Blue eyes, a brilliant shade that matched the sky on a clear day, penetrated the dimness of the church and watched Arianna.  She was sure it was a hallucination, a wishful product of her fractured brain, until she heard his voice.

“Arianna!” Desmond called and took several strides toward her.

He reached for her as she was about to collapse and she crumpled into his arms.  He pulled her close and she felt his warmth surround her immediately.  Relief carried her on its current and the stabbing pain in her skull began to recede like a wave, taking with it the smarting pain in her muscles.

“I felt what happened here,” he said solemnly.  “I got here as soon as I could.”

“They’re dead, Desmond.  They’re both dead,” Arianna whispered.  And with her admission, the floodgates that had held her emotions at bay faltered.  Tears rained down her cheeks, a sudden deluge from a vast tempest of hurt.  Her mother was dead.  Luke was dead.  Lily was dead.  Everyone she’d cared about had died, because of her.  Desmond was the only one who remained.

Desmond tightened his arms around her.  Her cheek pressed against his solid chest.  She felt his lips touch the top of her head.  “You should have called on me,” he said softly.

Arianna brought her hands up and pushed them against his chest, forcing him back.  She stood of her own volition now, the physical ache and heaviness nearly gone, and put enough space between them so that she could look into his eyes.

“No,” she said in a voice far stronger than she felt.  “I had to go alone.  We both know that.”

Had he fought alongside her, he, too, would be dead.  He stared at her for several knowing moments, his luminous gaze wise.  He knew she had spoken the truth, she could see it in his face.  He could not have helped her in her battle with Howard Kane.  She was the Sola.

“You felt it,” Desmond said as if intuiting her thoughts.

“Yes,” she breathed and brushed back tears.  “I felt nothing but power, like I wasn’t me anymore.  I was everywhere at once.  I was light and fire, I was,” she paused and closed her eyes.  “I was the Sola.”

Arianna opened her eyes and met Desmond’s.  “I know,” he said.  “I felt your power.  We all did.  And now they know you’re here, that you live.”

The gravity of Desmond’s words sent a ripple of uncertainty through Arianna’s being.  The witches of the world had felt her power reach its fullest potential.  They now knew the prophecy had been fulfilled, that the Sola had come.  They would look to her for guidance, for support, for protection.  She was supposed to unite all witches on Earth.  But she hadn’t the slightest idea what to do next.

“What do I do now?” she asked Desmond.  “I’m only eighteen.  I can’t live on my own, alone.”

She heard herself say the word, felt it punch through her core.  Alone.  Her mother was dead, her only family member, murdered.  She was all alone.

Desmond stared into her eyes, his expression grave, and said, “You are the Sola.  It is your destiny to walk alone.”

Arianna paused, repeating what Desmond had just said in her head a few times, sifting through them for sense, for meaning.  Alone.  It was her destiny to walk through life alone, as in, without him either.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she blurted out.  “Come with me, please.”

She knew she’d just begged him to stay with her, heard the words fall from her lips, but had not been able to stop herself from saying them.  She did not want Desmond to leave.  She needed him, hated that she needed him, hated the vulnerability she swore she’d never feel at the mercy of a man, yet felt for Desmond.  He was the only person she had left.  Everyone else was gone forever, leaving in their wake a cavernous, aching hole.  He felt like home to her.  And she needed him.

“I cannot go with you,” he said and she saw it in his eyes, urgency, and a certainty.  His eyes were like matching oceans of tropical water, warm, clear, and bottomless.  She searched them, looked into them for miles and miles, yet nowhere in their fathomless depths did she see contradiction to the words he’d just spoken.  For reasons she was unaware of, perhaps it was destiny or something far more mysterious, he could not accompany her on her journey.

“Why?” she asked and saw an emotion flicker across his face.  She could not identify it.  It hadn’t lasted long enough.  He’d composed his features immediately into his usual mask of serenity.

“Your time has come, Arianna.  You will go off; your missions will be forever changing.  This,” he said and gestured to the church around him.  “This clash with Howard Kane, it was just the beginning.  There are more people like him, people who hunt witches.  Your help is needed in so many places.”

Arianna’s head swam, overwhelmed by a sense of duty she feared she could not fulfill.  “How will I know where to go, who to go to?”

“You just will,” he replied cryptically.

All of it was too much.  The tremendous losses she’d suffered, the responsibilities awaiting her, her condemnation to a life of solitude, it was too much.  She needed something, someone, to anchor her to sanity, to give her something to live for.  Without thinking, she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped both arms around his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline.  She held on to him tightly, pressing her body to his and savored the feel of his warmth, of the safety she felt with him.  She pressed her cheeks to his and whispered, “Please don’t leave me.”

Firm fingers gripped her upper arms suddenly and Desmond held her at arm’s length.  “I want to stay,” he said.  “I want to stay more than you’ll ever know.  Please understand that.”

His eyes, suddenly molten, burned into hers with intensity that was overwhelming.  She inhaled a trembling breath and waited for him to continue.  “I have been with you for so long, cared for you from a distance.  You’ve been a part of my life, a part of me, for as long as I can remember.  I can’t imagine my life without you.  I’ve dreaded this moment,” he said and looked away.

“Then stay,” she begged and cupped his face in her hands, returning his gaze to her.

“I can’t,” he murmured.

“So I’ll never see you again, is that how it works?” she asked and felt her brows draw together in mystification.  “It doesn’t even make sense.”

“Of course you’ll see me again.  I’ll always come when you call upon me.”

“What about now?  I’m calling on you now, to stay.”

“It’s not that simple, Arianna.  I wish it was, but it’s not.”

Arianna wanted to argue, wanted to press him for a reason, but knew deep down, that it was pointless.

She started to pull away from him, his hands still held her arms.  He gripped her more tightly then pulled her against him.  He lowered his face to her and she could feel the hurried rise and fall of his chest, feel his hot breath against her mouth.

“Don’t you understand my feelings for you?” he asked.

“No, I don’t understand anything right now,” she said dejectedly.

He stared at her for a long moment.  He placed his hands under her chin then slowly, achingly slowly, his lips met hers.

The world fell away from Arianna for the briefest of moments.  The insurmountable ache of loss and melted as the sweet taste of his lips sent a tingle of electricity through her body, something that wiggled and whispered through her soul.  It wasn’t about mourning, or her powers, the battles that awaited her or what she could do to help others like her.  It was about the feel of him, and only him, the feel of Desmond’s lips upon hers.  He was an irrevocable part of her, and she of him.  His kiss somehow sealed that unspoken connection between them, and explained why he could not stay.  He kissed her slowly, softly, a gentle act of his undeclared feelings for her.

His mouth felt blissful against hers and she wanted more.  She wanted to be closer to him, as close as she could possibly be.  She wanted to affirm life, to acknowledge the existence of something other than death, for death surrounded her, followed her.

She flattened his lips with hers and tightened her hold on him, then raked her nails down his broad back to his taut waist.  She lifted the back of his shirt and felt his smooth skin beneath her fingertips, warm and inviting.  The urge to peel his shirt from his body and feel his bare skin against hers pressed at her until his hands pushed her away.

“We can’t,” he breathed but his voice lacked certainty.

“Your lips say that, but is that what you really mean?” she replied.  She nibbled his lower lip, and he groaned a delightful sensual sound that reached intimate parts of her.

“Arianna, no,” he said more sternly and grabbed her shoulders.  He held her back, away from him.  “I want nothing more than to,” he said and allowed his eyes to travel her body from head to toe.  “But we can’t.”

“Why?  Are there rules about that, too?  Am I to be chaste as well as alone?” she asked and knew she sounded irrational, like a pouting teenager.

“No.  There are no rules.  And you have not been chaste,” he said and for the first time, his voice was not even.  A hint of acid had crept into it.

Arianna’s cheeks blazed.  He was referring to her night with Luke, a night she’d regretted wholeheartedly.  Desmond had been jealous.  She’d suspected it, had thought she’d heard the slightest traces of jealousy in his voice when she’d seen him afterward, but had dismissed it.  A remote part of her supposed she should be flattered that he cared, but hearing Luke’s name, poor, sweet Luke who had died because of his short relationship with her, only saddened her.

“I have to go,” Desmond said dejectedly.  “And so do you.  You are needed.”

Desmond did not give her time to protest or ask questions.  Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and she felt a tingle begin in her chest and branch out as softly as a breath blowing across her skin, warm and welcoming, throughout her body.  She felt the familiar flow of his energy through her, thrumming in time with her heartbeat, whispering through every part of her.  Arianna pulled back for a second to look at his face, desperate to memorize every plane of his beautiful, serene, face.  She did not know when she would see it again.  His golden hair haloed the perfectly sculpted angles of his face.  He looked as though he had been carved from marble, save for his eyes.  He eyes stared into hers, through hers into the farthest reaches of her soul.  Then he pulled her close to him, and she felt her breath catch in her chest.  Light filled her field of vision, brilliant white light.  Desmond and his warmth enveloped her and for a fleeting second, the loss and loneliness that escorted her like a dark and permanent passenger, faded.  All she felt was Desmond.

When darkness returned, Desmond was gone and the yawning pit of grief slowly returned.  Her hand covered her heart and she doubled over for a moment.  Then she heard a voice whisper through her mind, “I love you, Arianna.  We will meet again soon,” was all it said.  But each word caressed her being with frothy wisps of comfort, of hope.  She would see Desmond again.

About the Authors

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2010.  To date, the jury is still out.  But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mom of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book, together!”  Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer simply stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years.  After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them had possessed for much of their young adult lives.  Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success.  They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot would fall apart, or characters would lose their zest, or the story would just fall flat.  Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance.  Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued alternate (paying) careers.  But the dream had never died.  And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination.  When he proposed that they author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright.  His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night.  By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

The Dark Creations series, as well as the Arianna Rose series and the Planet Urth series, are works that were written while Jennifer and Christopher continued about with their daily activities and raised their young children.  They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section.  Life simply continued.  And in some ways, their everyday lives were reflected in the characters of each series.

As the story line continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration.  Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing.  They hope that all enjoy reading their work as much as they enjoyed writing it.

Books by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci:

The Dark Creations Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1&2)

Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3)

Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4)

Dark Creations: Hell on Earth (Part 5)

Dark Creations: Dark Ending (Part 6)

The Arianna Rose Series (A paranormal romance series)

Arianna Rose (Part 1)

Arianna Rose: The Awakening (Part 2)

Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3)

Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4)

Arianna Rose: The Gates of Hell (Part 5)

The Planet Urth Series (A YA science-fiction series)

Planet Urth (Book 1)

Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2)

Planet Urth: The Underground City (Book 3)

Planet Urth: The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4)

Planet Urth: The Fate of Urth (Book 5)

The Hunter of the Light series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Hunter of the Light (Book 1)

Thank You So Much For Reading Our Book!

We deeply appreciate your readership and would love to hear from you!

For information about upcoming releases (or just to say hi!) please visit our website at http://darkcreationssaga.com or our Facebook page at http://on.fb.me/1dlUUF5  .  To sign up for our mailing list and receive information about upcoming release and special promos, please visit http://eepurl.com/Jp7yz

Thank you again for reading!

Love,

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Oh, One Last Thing Before You Go…

When you turn the page, you may be given the opportunity to express your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter automatically.  If you enjoyed our book, would you take a second to click that button and let your friends know about it?

If they get something out of the book, they’ll be grateful to you, and we will be, too!

Thank you so much!

Love,

Jenny and Chris

Enjoy an excerpt from Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

Chapter 1

Melissa Martin paced about her room nervously until a trio of beeps startled her.  She froze and looked in the direction of the sound.  It had come from the cell phone in her purse, and had seemed far louder than usual.  She rushed to her bed where her bag sat, hoping another set would not ring out, and quickly retrieved her phone.  She pressed a single button and her display screen brightened.  A small envelope icon in the lower left corner indicated that a message awaited her.  She was fairly certain of who the message was from, but checked, nevertheless.

Kevin Anderson had sent two simple words to her via text message.  I’m here was all it said.  And with those two words, her plan had been set in motion.

She inhaled deeply and put her phone back in her bag before crossing her room and placing a hand on her doorknob.  She turned it slowly, all the while willing it to twist silently.  When it had rotated as far as it would go, she pulled it toward her and opened the door.  She scanned the hallway beyond her room and found it dark and still, and saw that her father’s bedroom door was shut.  Satisfied that he was sleeping, she closed her door, tiptoed to her bed and grabbed her purse.  Her heart thundered in her ears and her hands shook as she moved to her window.  She knew she ought to hurry, that Kevin was waiting for her, but paused briefly to consider what she was doing.  She looked out, beyond the pane of glass she stood before, beyond her own reflection, into the blackened sky.  The sky seemed darker than normal, foreboding, as if it wished to warn her to stop, to stay inside.  She knew that was exactly what she should do, stay inside, and forget about Kevin.  Her stomach ached and quivered.  She knew what she was about to do was wrong, that the consequences could be devastating.  She had a good sense of judgment, after all.  But she ignored it, as well as the worry that teemed inside her.

Pushing the worry to the back of her mind, she swallowed hard, placed both hands on the sill of her window and raised the pane first, then the screen.  A gust of cold air rushed in.  She hadn’t seen the treetops stir, didn’t know it would be a windy night, yet a strong blast of air had sent her lavender curtains fluttering and billowing so wildly, they had covered her face and temporarily obscured her vision with their flimsy fabric. The unexpected squall ended as mysteriously as it had begun, however, and left her wondering whether it, like the unusually dark sky, sought to convey some cosmic message.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at the thought of cosmic messages, and guessed that nerves, and nerves alone, were responsible for such thoughts.  After all, neither the elements nor the cosmos cared whether she went or not.  Her father would, though.  She was sure he would not appreciate her skulking off in the middle of the night to meet Kevin.  And if she were caught doing so, he would not trust her again anytime soon.

The thought of losing her father’s trust halted her, but not for long.  Her phone beeped again as if impatiently urging her on.  Without further thought and despite her reservations, she climbed out of her second-story window out onto the frost-coated roof of the garage.  She slid down its length on her backside until she reached the edge.  After carefully avoiding contact with debris in the gutter, she grabbed hold of an outstretched tree limb.  The limb belonged to an old oak that grew alongside her house.  She climbed onto it and began carefully navigating the network of branches deep within the tree until she reached the lowest branch and dropped to the frozen grass below

She took a few timid steps and looked over her shoulder at her house.  Save for the faint glow her nightlight radiated in her window, the house, and the tree, were enveloped in darkness.  Cold crept up her body from the icy lawn.  She turned from her house, wrapped her arms around her shoulders and wished she’d worn a heavier jacket, or perhaps had forgone the meeting entirely.  Either way, she was out already and she did not turn back.  Instead, she stole across her lawn and rushed down her street.  She moved so quickly, she hardly noticed the humble, uniform houses on Blackstone Drive.  Her own home, small and modest like the ones it neighbored, grew smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappeared.  She neared the edge of her neighborhood in the unassuming community of Harbingers Falls, New York and immediately saw Kevin’s car.

His sleek, black Infiniti G37 Sport Coupe was unmistakable.  Undoubtedly freshly washed and waxed, she reached out for the passenger side lever, careful not to mar the flawless finish, and the internal lights illuminated the interior.  For most, the overhead lighting would have been unflattering, but not Kevin.  Kevin was arguably the most popular boy at Harbingers High School, and for good reason.  He captained both the basketball and football teams, maintained a solid B plus average in his academic studies and was charming beyond his years.  Women of all ages swooned and fawned over him.  He was beautiful.  He towered at six-foot-four-inches tall and weighed a substantial two hundred and twenty-five pounds.  But despite his powerful physique, he was wide-eyed and fine-featured with looks that flirted with feminine prettiness.  His eyes were a deep, chocolate brown and fringed with long lashes.  He wore his sandy-blond hair styled expertly into a spiky faux-hawk.  His face rivaled any movie star she had ever seen.  And if his face and body were not enough to frenzy the women around him, his unique smile put them over the edge.  When he spread his full lips and showed his blindingly white teeth, his smile revealed a single dimple in the center of his right cheek.  This anomaly provided genuine character to his near-perfect appearance.

He flashed his signature smile at her as she seated herself in the passenger side of his car.  But something about the way that he smiled seemed forced, phony even.  For reasons that were unclear, she found it cocky.

Her guess was that his womanizing career had entitled him to that cocky smile. His reputation was no secret to her, or anyone else for that matter.  But she had long since considered herself invulnerable to his lures, to his charm.  Yet, she was sitting with him in his car on a school night when she should have been home sleeping.  And she had defied her father.  Her temples began to pound and she replayed his courtship of her, how he’d been so polite and sincere.  He’d said all the right things, had expressed interest in her interests.  He had sought her out, selected her over the multitudes jockeying for his attention.  He had made her feel special.  But she did not feel special any more.  In fact, as he smiled at her, he seemed smug, and she felt certain she had manufactured most, if not all, of his sincerity.

“Hey,” he said cheerfully. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

A moment of pure panic seized her.  She suddenly wanted nothing more than to slip out of the car and teleport back to her house.  Of course, neither was an option.  Instead she muttered, “Yep. Me, too,” and stared at the clock mounted on the dashboard.  It read 12:08 p.m.  Her stomach sank to her feet.

“You look hot.  And you smell phenomenal,” he said and raised his eyebrows mischievously. He then surprised her by leaning across the center console and brushing his nose against the nape of her neck.  He inhaled the sweet blend of vanilla, caramel and coconut, her signature fragrance, that she had applied perhaps a bit too generously.  She supposed his gesture was meant to be some kind of seductive move to entice her.  But she did not feel roused in the least.  Rather, the fluid, flagrant way he flirted annoyed her.  He was smooth, too smooth.

“Thanks,” she replied halfheartedly. “So, where are we going,” she asked hoping to change the subject to a platonic topic.

“I was thinking we would go over to the Rec Center and hang out, you know, and get to know each other better.”

She shuttered at the thought of going there.  By day, the East Fallkill Recreation Center was a designated area for activities.  At night, however, it was a popular haunt for local teenagers.  Beer and various other alcoholic drinks were brought and consumed in abundance, and sexual intercourse, in all its forms, invariably occurred.  Melissa guessed that talking was the last thing that he wanted to do.  She immediately tried to rebuff his invitation.

“Why don’t we go to the diner in town?  We can talk there, and eat.  I’m starved,” she suggested.

Kevin tipped his head imploringly in Melissa’s direction and pushed out his lower lip in exaggerated disappointment.

“I was really hoping we could talk privately.  You know, just the two of us.  I want to be with just you.”

He reached his right hand over the center console and gently squeezed her knee.  Instead of promptly removing it though, he let his hand linger a moment too long. She felt her stomach churn nervously.  She wanted to tell him to forget about it, that it was the diner or home for her, but felt powerless to reject him outright.  Doing so would instigate social repercussions she did not want to endure.  His reputation for womanizing went hand in hand with one that was less familiar, and not discussed as often.  His penchant for revenge was eclipsed only slightly by his flirtatious ways.  She felt compelled to agree with him.

“Fine, I mean, whatever,” she heard herself say.  “The Rec Center it is. But I can’t stay long. If my dad gets up and sees that I’m gone, he’ll ground me until graduation.”

“Wow.  He sounds tough.”

“You have no idea.  Since my mom died, he takes the whole parenting thing way too seriously,” she chattered nervously.  “I mean, it’s like extreme parenting or something.  He has to know where I am every minute of the day.  He worries so much.”

She felt like she had to exaggerate her father’s protectiveness to set some kind of time constraint on their time together at the Rec Center.  Her father was a perfect excuse.

“I’m surprised you came out tonight.  All the other times I asked, you said no,” he said ignoring the comments about her father.

“You can thank Daniella for that.  She talked me into it.”

Daniella, one of Melissa’s best friends, was largely responsible for her agreeing to meet Kevin.  Daniella, ever the romantic, had helped convince her that Kevin was something he was not.  She would not blame her friend in the morning, but intended to dispute her every fanciful idealization of him.

Thoughts of the next morning, and yearning for the evening to end already, swirled in her head. She did not dare speak of them.  Instead, she sat quietly as he drove, and became increasingly uneasy as they approached their destination.  When he finally pulled his car into the driveway of the East Fallkill Recreation Center, her stomach roiled anxiously.  He tested the engine of his sports car and sped down the long pathway past tennis courts, baseball fields, a stout concession building and a football field, before reaching a play area.  Just beyond the playground, the pavement extended into an expansive lot.  Both the lot and the playground were poorly lit and provided little exposure during the infrequent police patrol spotlight searches.

He slowed then stopped and shifted the car into park before switching off the headlamps.  She felt nauseated and dizzy, and contemplated calling it a night when he leaned toward her without warning.  She did not know if he was moving in for a kiss, but was relieved when he rested his elbow on her arm rest.  He touched his index finger to her chin and smiled his blindingly white, single-dimpled smile, then said, “Hey, I’m sorry about your mom.  How old were you when she died?”

She stiffened at his touch, at his mention of her mother.  Her mother was not a subject she was comfortable discussing in general, much less with someone unfamiliar.  She reluctantly answered, “I was seven.”

“Huh.  That must have been rough.  I bet she was as beautiful as you are.”

Melissa felt her cheeks flush and was grateful for the extraordinarily dark night sky. She did not like shameless flattery together with mention of her mother.  She contemplated a curt response, but came up empty.  Try as she may, the words she longed for, ones that would put him in his place, would not come. As she tried to formulate a retort, Kevin surprised her.  Without warning, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

At first his kiss was confident and gentle.  Quickly, however, it transformed from being unexpected to offensive.  His lips began crushing hers.  His tongue probed for hers as his hands seemed to multiply, and explore intimate parts of her.

Her body went rigid.  He was advancing on her too quickly, and without permission.

“Hey! Quit it, Kevin!” she exclaimed and pulled away from him.

He backed off, but only slightly.  He leaned in to kiss her again and cupped her breast in his hand.

“I’m serious! Get off!” she continued more forcefully.

“I just find you so beautiful.  I have a hard time behaving myself,” Kevin argued impishly and made no effort to remove his hand.

“I want to go home!  Now!” she yelled and shoved his hand off her.

“Are you kidding me?  What are you some kind of tease?  You come here in the middle of the night with me, looking the way you do and smelling the way you do and expect me to act like a saint?” he accused.

Her mind reeled.  She couldn’t believe he was actually accusing her, as if she were wrong for not wanting to be groped. “Hey, don’t blame me. I thought we came here to get to know each other better, like you said.”

“Ha! That’s cute. I love the naive act,” he said bitingly.

“Naïve,” she started but was interrupted.

“Yeah, I think you need to go home now.  I’ll take you home, gladly.”

She didn’t understand why he was being so mean all of a sudden.  He had wanted to be with her.  He had made the effort to get her with him in the weeks leading up to the present.  None of it made sense.  She did not know what to do and wondered whether she should get out of his car and walk home.  He seemed abnormally angry given the circumstances.  Her hand grazed the lever on the passenger side door.  She was about to pull it when he switched on the headlights and slammed the gearshift into drive.  He stepped on the accelerator and his well-equipped sports car responded immediately.  The car lurched forward and sped down the driveway and out on to the main road.  Once on the main road, he obeyed the speed limits, but they traveled silently.

The silence was so laden with tension, Melissa felt like screaming.  By the time they’d reached Blackstone Drive, the frustration she’d been feeling had risen to a point where she did not trust herself to speak without crying.  Kevin stopped the car several houses away from hers and turned off the headlights.

He did not say a word.  And he did not flash his trademark smile.  Instead, he stared straight ahead.  She looked at him searchingly, but he refused to meet her gaze, so she climbed out of the car.  She had just shut the passenger side door when he abruptly pulled away.  She watched him go, watched him reach the stop sign at the bottom of her hill and turn his headlights back on.  She heard the sound of spinning tires kicking up gravel as he sped off into the night.  She stood for a moment, after his car had vanished, and felt the tears she had held back for the entire car ride well.  She tried to blink them back, but it was no use.  She cried silently as she turned and began walking up her hill. Her night had been disastrous.  In her heart, she had known it would be; she just hadn’t wanted to admit it.  As she approached her house, she realized her disastrous night was about to get much worse.

Nearly every window was lit.  Only her bedroom window was dimmed by her father’s silhouette, which disappeared as soon as he saw her.  Her heart sank as she walked up her driveway to the front door.  It opened before her key was in the lock.

“I would ask you where the hell you’ve been, but I already know,” her father began. “Do you know how worried I was? What were you thinking? I thought you were smarter than this. Boy was I wrong!”

Her father was not a temperamental man. He was not prone to outbursts. The fact that he was shouting at her meant he was monumentally angry with her, and disappointed.  Tears threatened anew.

“Dad, I’m so sorry. I know how angry you are,” she attempted.

“Angry?” he interrupted.  “You think I’m just angry?  I’m beyond angry!  Angry was an hour ago!  I was worried sick about you!  I woke up coughing and went to the kitchen for a drink of water.  When I passed your room and you weren’t there, I assumed you were still up.  Imagine my surprise and horror when I realized you were gone! I didn’t know what the hell had happened.  I was about to call the police but tried Alexandra instead. She said she didn’t know where you were so I called Daniella.  She answered the phone by asking how things went with you and Kevin tonight.”

He knew everything, or almost everything.  He stood before her with his hands on his hips glowering at her.  She had never realized how intimidating her dad looked before, how his thick muscles and barrel chest strained against his T-shirt and how a large vein protruded like a lightning bolt down his smoothly shaven head when he was angry.  Perhaps she only saw him as the gentle man he was because he had not been angry with her in as long as she could recall.  She began to cry.

“I made a mistake, a horrible mistake.  I’m so sorry.”

Seeing her tears, her father softened. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m disappointed, Missy. I’m not going to lie. I love you, but I really don’t like what you did.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“You’re only seventeen. What were you thinking? What kind of guy wants to meet you in the middle of the night? You could have gotten yourself hurt, or killed.”

“Or mauled,” she said under her breath louder than she’d wanted.

“Mauled,” he asked and she saw the anger flash in his eyes. “What do you mean mauled?”

“Nothing, I meant nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me again,” he warned.  “Did he hurt you, this Kevin guy?  Which Kevin was it, Kevin McNally or Kevin Hartwig? Was it that jackass jock Anderson?  Whichever it was, I can take a drive over there right now and let him try to maul me!”

“No, no Dad. Everything’s fine,” she lied and felt warmth spread across her cheeks.  She was unaccustomed to lying to her father.  “I was just, uh, supporting your argument.”

He did not seem convinced.  “Melissa, you broke my trust once today.  Do not try for a second time. When you lie to me I can’t trust you or protect you.”

The last thing she had wanted was to lose his trust, though she’d known it was a consequence from the start.  She hated herself for being so stupid earlier, for choosing to do something that threatened the trust between them.  She had been wrong, plain and simple.  And earning her father’s trust back would not be easy.  She cried quietly.

“Get some sleep, Missy.  We’ll talk in the morning,” he father offered with a pained look.

“Aren’t you going to ground me ‘til I’m thirty?” she asked through sobs.

“Nope. I doubt it. I don’t think you’ll be sneaking out to meet that jerk, or any other, anytime soon.  But in the meantime, I’m calling Ronnie and Frank tomorrow to see about chopping down that old oak by your window,” he said and winked. “Love you.  And please don’t pull any crap like this again, okay?”

“Okay,” she breathed and watched as her father disappeared upstairs.  She waited a moment before going up to her room. Once she heard his door shut, she ascended the staircase and went straight to her room. She sat on her bed and a fresh wave of tears washed over her.  She felt shame for her bad behavior, and agonized over the days to come, days that included Kevin.  He sat at the desk behind her in third period English class.  The thought of him looming a desk away after the evening they spent together made her cringe. In a few short hours, she’d be forced to face him.  She desperately wished she could rewind the night to the moment she’d received his text.  She would have made an excuse, or told him her father was awake, anything to have avoided the whole ordeal.  But she knew that time continued, that there was no rewind button in life.  If there were, she’d go back even farther, to when her mother had been alive. She slumped down on her bed and allowed her body to fall back against her pillows.  She closed her eyes and willed the night away. And the night vanished.  Within seconds, deep, velvety oblivion enveloped her and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Arianna Rose: The Gathering

(Part 3)

A novel

By Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

ARIANNA ROSE: THE GATHERING (Part 3)

Published by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Copyright © 2013

All rights reserved.

First edition: March 2013

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Water flowed like blackened blood, rushing past Desmond toward a dark and distant heart in the cavernous bowels of New York City.  He drudged against a knee-deep current with his heart thundering louder than the rush of water as he traveled through a storm drain beneath the streets and skyscrapers, beneath the world.  He had no idea where he was headed, just that he was being pulled by a force more powerful than his will.

The current seemed intent on testing his will, on pushing him back, away from his destination.  But he refused to be slowed.  His legs ached and his temples pounded as he frantically forged ahead.  He did not know why, but a sense of urgency drove him as it never had before.

Intermittent rumbles echoed around him and shook the concrete beneath his feet like the growl of a mythical beast awakening from the pits of hell, warning him to retreat.  But Desmond did not heed its warning.  He did not scare easily.  And he knew he was not destined for hell.  Where he was going promised to be far worse than any hell he could envision if past experiences were an indication of what his destination held.

Recently, he had been drawn to many different locations, roused from sleep in some instances, only to be pulled, as if he were being tugged by an immense magnet, from location to location.  Each time, a force potent enough to move mountains had seized him and guided him toward unspeakable horror.  Each time, he’d been too late; unable to save a single soul.

Mass slaughters, dismembered bodies and charred remains had been indelibly etched into his memory, horrific scenes of brutality branded eternally in his brain, scenes that haunted his days and nights.  He could not predict the potential atrocities awaiting him at the end of this new journey.  He only hoped that he would arrive in time to prevent more deaths.  So he continued to slog through deepening water, and remained vigilant.

Sweeping his eyes about the darkened curves of the tunnel, he moved as quickly as the current allowed him to, willing his legs to push onward, and listening with his entire body to the concrete world around him.  Fueled by guilt and panic, he did not know what he was moving toward, just that every part of him was tightly wound, teeming with nervous energy.  All the while, an innate awareness cautioned that his new destination would reveal something more than the others had, and that it would concern Arianna Rose, the Sola.

The mere thought of Arianna evoked a clenching sensation in his chest so strong it squeezed the air from his lungs.  Arianna had been a part of his life for as long as he could remember.  She was a part of him, deep and rooted, unlike any other had ever been.  He felt as though her soul were entwined with his.  But now she was gone, wrenched from his life for the first time in what seemed like forever, her absence leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

He had left her in Herald Falls, alone and reeling from loss, and he hated himself for doing it.  Leaving had been next to impossible, especially since he’d wanted nothing more than to stay and comfort her, to protect her as he always had.  But he’d had no other choice.  He’d been bound by duty.  He had been groomed to guard her, not fall in love with her.  She had an important job, one so significant that she’d been condemned to a life of solitude for fear her focus would be compromised.  She would be their leader.  And her powers were growing fast.  She was rising to her position as the prophetic Sola.  Nothing could stop her.  No one could stand in her way, including him.  Her fate had been sealed according to the most scared of their ancient scriptures, a fate that did not include him.  He’d had no choice but to leave, against both her will and his own.  He was not her fate despite feeling as bound to her as he was to his own heartbeat.  The only difference that remained was that he was allowed to keep his heartbeat, while she remained a distant dream.

He’d thought about ignoring the prophecy, about damning it all to hell and staying with her.  But he’d been afraid, afraid of ruining all that his kind had worked for, their centuries-old struggle to survive.  He had not wanted to selfishly sacrifice the efforts of his people.  Leaving had been the hardest decision he’d ever made.  He’d known that if he’d stayed, he would not have had the strength to ever leave her and would have risked disrupting her future, the future of all of their kind.  And their kind needed her.

Arianna, the Sola would be called upon, would be pulled as he had been to his present location, to assist their people by bringing them together, and protecting them from the evil that ceaselessly stalked them.  She was needed elsewhere, everywhere, and without him.

Without him, the words rattled around in his head like a ball of barbed wire, clawing at his thoughts, at his heart.  Having her ripped from his life had been torturous, and only two weeks had passed.  Envisioning a future without her was so bleak and painful, it seemed inconceivable.

He stopped briefly, weighing the magnitude of a future that did not include her and felt the cool rush of water driving against his legs.  As he paused, he felt something brush against his calf.  It receded for a moment and Desmond was about to disregard it when it bumped his leg again.  It felt large, larger than the other debris that had passed, and solid.

He quickly patted his cloak and immediately felt the small flashlight he’d stored inside it.  Up until now, he’d traveled in the darkened tunnel using only the energy that pulled him magnetically toward his destination.  But whatever knocked against his leg sent caution shooting through him like a bolt of electricity.  He quickly pulled his flashlight from his pocket and shined it downward.

Desmond felt his legs threaten to give way beneath him for a split-second when he saw what waited in the beam of light.  He gasped and nearly dropped his flashlight into the blackened waters, sickened by the sight before him.  A small body bobbed face-down.  Pants and a gauzy pink blouse billowed eerily in the shadows and long blonde hair wafted out around a head like a golden halo.  With a trembling hand, Desmond reached into the water and quickly turned the small body.  The bruised and marred face of a young girl stared up at him with milky blue eyes, imploring him to put her spirit to rest, to avenge her death.

He cradled the frail body, lifting her from the murk and filth, and saw that a maroon arc sat just below her chin.  Her slender throat had been cut.  Tears burned the back of Desmond’s eyelids and he silently vowed to punish those responsible for such a heinous act, for taking her life.

With the girl’s cold, lifeless body pressed against his chest, rage gathered deep inside of Desmond, rage so volatile and pure, his entire body began to tremble and his vision wavered.  Questions swirled unendingly in his brain.  Who would do such a thing, murder an innocent child?  Why was the child floating in the sewer drain among garbage and refuse?  Were there more like her where he was headed?  His mind demanded answers.  The girl’s soul demanded vengeance.

Desmond’s body sprang into action.  He was loath to bear witness to more butchery, but he knew he needed to move.  He needed to see if anyone lived.  He sped his pace and moved at a jog against the flux of water, testing his muscles against it until they burned.  With the haunting image of children dying each time he blinked and the water working against him, his breaths came in shallow pants.  He felt his lungs blaze and was about to pause when a bloodcurdling shriek rang out.

The tortured cry pierced the darkness like a blade, cutting at the gloomy abyss with its razor-sharpness, and resonated through his bones.  The hairs on the back of his neck rose like quills and his heart slammed wildly in his chest.  The desperate scream awakened something in him, a dormant, primal part of him.  His legs answered the call.  He found himself moving quicker than before, racing faster and faster until the resistance beneath him lessened.  He looked down and realized the water level had lowered abruptly.  Little more than a shallow stream covered his feet.  Without moving water opposing his every stride, he was able to run, still clutching the body of the little girl.

The splash of his feet slapping rhythmically against the waning rivulet was the only noise in the tunnel, until the sudden sound of voices stopped him dead in his tracks.  He waited and listened intently, trying to discern what was being said.

Darkness, thick and sinister, surrounded him.  All he heard was the faint, silken, sinuous swish of water trickling past him.  He closed his eyes, using all of his energy to sense where he ought to go next.  His eyelids fluttered briefly before shadowy fingers reached from beyond the blackened void and tugged him.  He opened his eyes and felt himself being pulled forward.  He flicked on his flashlight long enough to see he was approaching a point where the tunnel turned off.  He would either continue along the tunnel, or veer toward what looked like an abandoned maintenance structure.

An overwhelming wave of energy crashed against him and dragged him in its drift to the threshold of a steel door, making plain his destiny.  The maintenance shed door stood slightly ajar.  Faint light seeped from it and the voices he’d heard grew louder.

Desmond gently placed the girl’s body on a narrow ledge just beyond the door.  He closed her eyes and pleaded for his maker’s mercy and promised her in the same breath that those who’d harmed her would suffer.

“Silence!” a voice boomed from beyond the door and caused him to spin toward the sound, prepared to battle.

When he saw that no one addressed him personally, he allowed himself to relax, but only slightly.  He inched toward the entryway and drew the hood of his cloak over his head.  He peered through it and had to stifle a gasp for what he saw shocked him nearly as much as what he heard and felt.

The limited space offered him a view of a crudely fashioned altar.  Behind it, a husky, robed form preached.

“The time is upon us!” the man addressed a full room of nearly twenty other robed figures.  “Our time has come!  We will be drawn together to rid the world of the vile wretches that inhabit this planet!”

He recognized immediately that the man was not human, felt the rush of a familiar force, felt the man’s energy, along with the collective energy of the room, collide with his.  He was a warlock, like Desmond, and the others present were his kind as well.  He did not know for sure to whom the man referred, but felt dread slither down the length of his spine, and the gravity of the situation began to unfold.

He pushed the door open further.  As he did, his mouth went dry and the sound of his blood roaring in his ears temporarily drowned out any other sound.

Folding chairs had been arranged around the room, roughly two dozen of them.  They all faced the makeshift altar the robed man spoke behind.  But beside the altar was a sight so bone-chilling, Desmond had to control the urge to make his presence known and speak not with his words, but with his daggers instead.

A cage had been brought into the room, a compact cage small enough to fit two large dogs at most, and was situated to the left of the altar.  But dogs did not occupy the cage.  It held two people, a woman and a boy no more than eight years old.  Desmond felt the heated rise of his temper brim dangerously as he saw that the boy’s hair matched the flaxen color of the girl whose throat had been slit, the angel who now lay upon a concrete lip of a sewer drain.  His blood began to boil, ire flooding it like molten lava.  The boy trembled and cowered, terrified for his life, and the people responsible were his own.  His own people were caging and slaughtering innocents, children.

Desmond took another step forward, propelled by fury, and disregarded his own safety.  He stepped into a lair of pure evil.

The wicked energy of the room overwhelmed him.  He felt it pulsing like a poisonous parasite, watching and waiting to strike, throbbing all around him.  But he did not care.  He needed to save the humans.

He moved deeper inside, closer to the heart of the room, and saw that just beyond the bars, a third person stood, a man.  He whimpered softly, his blonde curls quivering as feverishly as his legs, and the woman inside the cage cried out.

“No!  You killed my baby!  No!” she shrieked, tears streaming down her dirtied cheeks, the voice matching the one he’d heard tear through the tunnel moments earlier.

Desmond advanced a step, still unseen by the others, his heart slapping madly against his ribcage.  The boy’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with terror and fixed on the man on the other side of the cage.

“Silence!” the robed man roared and ordered the caged woman.  He then returned his attention to the group before him.  “The Sola has been revealed.  Her powers have matured and she will lead us to freedom.  She will lead us to power!”

Sound came rushing back to Desmond in blaring clarity.  His attention had been ripped from those caged to mention of the Sola, of Arianna.  Every cell inside him stood at attention, prickling, readied.  The robed man had spoken of the Sola, of Arianna, and Desmond needed to know why.  He needed to know what role he thought she played in his meeting.

He raged against every instinct that insisted he kill the man where he stood, and avenge the girl’s death by at least slaying her executioner.  His entire being shuddered as he resisted the burning in his fingertips, the fire that needed release.  He forced himself to stand down, to listen to more of the man’s misguided ramblings.

“I offer this sacrifice to the Sola, in hopes that she will come to us now,” the robed man continued.

Sacrifice! The word screamed through Desmond’s core and the entire scene came into grotesque focus.

“For the Sola!” he heard the robed man scream and realized that if he didn’t act immediately, it would be too late, and another would die.

Desmond reached for his blades, but the robed man slashed at the air with impossible speed in one lightning-fast motion.  An angry crimson arc appeared at the man’s throat and his trembling, golden curls ceased moving.  His eyes were wide with fright and shock and he did not move at first.  The robed man had attacked so swiftly, his action so fluid and instantaneous, neither the woman nor the child inside the cage nor the man who’d been stabbed, had time to react.  It wasn’t until blood spurted from the man’s jugular that they all realized what had happened, that the man had been fatally stabbed, and they began to scream, wild, panicked screams.

Desmond rushed forth and pulled his hood from his head as he hurried past the seated audience.

“How dare you commit murder in the name of the Sola?” he roared.  “The Sola has been sent to bring peace to our people, not to slaughter the innocent!”

The robed man did not flinch at Desmond’s words.  He remained as he was and sneered, arching a brow defiantly.

“It is her destiny, you fool!” he shouted and his face reddened to a deep garnet hue.  “The Sola will lead us to power!  How dare you interrupt my service with your nonsensical accusations?  Murder!” the robed man spat arrogantly then turned and looked between Desmond and his followers.  “You are one of us, are you not?  You should know what she is here for!  She is here to slay the weak of the world, to pave the way for our reign on Earth,” he continued.  “How dare you interrupt our tribute to her, to the Sola!” he growled through clenched teeth, and the room erupted into frenzied cheers.

“For the Sola,” they chanted.

The robed man allowed their outburst to continue, only interrupting it to make a final statement.

“Kill this traitor!” he seethed and the room grew deathly silent.

Desmond’s blood froze and from the corner of his eye, he saw twenty sets of eyes begin to glow red.  He folded his arms across his chest, energy pulsing from his core to his fingertips.  Each hand gripped the hilt of two blades hidden beneath his cloak.  Both were ancient daggers that had been given to him as a child, and had armed him ever since.  He watched the men and women opposite the robed man carefully, waiting with bated breath for the first sign of strike.

When he detected the first muscle twitch among them, he tore the daggers from their sheaths.  He felt the heat of fire blazing in his direction, and sifted away from it, appearing and disappearing around the room.  He materialized and placed himself behind more than one robed figure and slashed at the air, fortifying his daggers with every bit of his might, and watched as they fell to the ground.  He repeated the act, sifting and reappearing behind them, and felled more than a dozen in a matter of moments, his power, speed and abilities superior to theirs.  When just six remained, the strongest among the group, they attempted to unite their forces and attack as one.  A brilliant blaze of blue blasted toward him.  Rich with the wrath of six supernatural beings, the fiery launch seemed unavoidable.  Desmond felt its heat, narrowly avoided being incinerated and moved a split-second before it burned him.  He sifted through the air as flames licked at his shoulder, teleporting, as two cloaked figures descended on him.  He reappeared behind them and slashed their throats in an immediate, synchronized motion.

So much sifting had enervated him, though.  His daggers felt heavy in his hands.  He started to lower them, their weight suddenly overwhelming, when a force unexpectedly blasted him backward.  He slammed against the far wall and nearly lost his grip on the two ancient daggers that had been passed down through each generation of his family.

The remaining four sets of crimson eyes glared hungrily at him, their bloodlust apparent.  Once his body hit the wall and he felt it begin to slide down, he gripped his blades as tightly as he could and tested the limits of his powers by sifting again, vanishing from the sight of the others.  He reappeared amid the lethal quartet and watched as their deadly eyes widened.

Shocked by his ability, but undeterred, they continued their attack, launching streams of fire at him.  Flares of fire flashed past him as he twisted and maneuvered.  Embers rained against his cloak, but the others soon learned that Desmond was far quicker than they were.

They were all supernatural beings, but he moved with remarkable speed and dexterity, thanks in part to rigorous training his father had insisted upon, and sprung forward, driving both blades into the throats of two of them.  When another blaze of fire flared in his direction, he was able to disappear in time to avoid his demise and materialized behind the two that remained.  With a war cry, he rammed his blades into the back of their necks and they dropped instantly.

He snapped his head toward the altar and saw that the robed man stared in shock.  But Desmond knew the man’s shock would be short-lived.  He teleported immediately and positioned himself inches from the man, prepared to kill with the final drops of energy that remained in him.

“Who are you?” the man asked and allowed only the faintest flicker of awe to flash in his ruby eyes.

“I am Desmond, son of Agnon, and the guardian of the Sola,” Desmond announced and saw a slight spark of surprise dance across the man’s hard features.  “I have been with her for her entire life and am certain she would never condone what has happened here.  The Sola is not evil.”

The robed man began to laugh, a demonic cackle that clawed at Desmond’s ears.

“What amuses you about my words?” Desmond demanded with strength he feared he did not have.

“No one said she was evil,” the robed man hissed.  “The vile creatures of this world are evil, humans are evil.  And they need to be exterminated.  Don’t you see?” the man cackled again.  “She is the light.  You don’t know her at all.  Just ask your father,” he spat.  “The end of humanity has been prophesied, and she is the medium by which it will begin!”

Desmond took an instinctive step backward, doubt and a sudden need for space conspiring against him, purging his lungs of air they so desperately needed.  Surely, the warlock had gone mad, he was wrong.  But something about the way he’d spoken, his conviction, had unsettled Desmond.  He wondered why the robed man had been so convinced, and why he’d told Desmond to ask his father about Arianna.

As though he’d read Desmond’s mind, the man began to laugh again, louder and more perversely.

Ire racked Desmond’s body and combined with a sudden flood of adrenaline.  Both overtook him so fully, he was helpless against his own hands.  Both stabbed forward, as if of their own volition, gripping the daggers and lodging their blades to their hilt in the man’s neck.  He quickly withdrew both blades and watched as the robed man’s body collapsed to the floor.

He stood staring at the man as life escaped him, feeling equal parts satisfaction and self-loathing.  Killing was not new to him.  Throughout the near-century he’d been alive, Desmond had killed many.  But he’d never grown accustomed to the feel of ending another being’s life.  On this day, he’d taken more than twenty; some men, some women, but all had been his brethren.  All had been like him.

Standing amid the fallen, uncertainty crept inside his mind and stole about like a thief, uninvited, unwelcome, and determined to take his sense of security.  But his doubt was quickly quashed by the weeping of those inside the cage.  He sheathed his weapons and turned toward them.  Through tear-filled eyes, they looked at him, undoubtedly terrified he would turn on them next.

“I will not harm you,” he assured them.  But the woman and child seemed unconvinced.  Given what they’d been through, Desmond could not blame them.  Instead of attempting to reassure them further, he decided that actions would speak louder than words.  He approached their cage and, focusing all of his energy on the bars, pulled two of them apart.

“Go,” he said.  “The tunnels will lead you out of here.  Walk with the flow of the water.”  He handed them his flashlight and still, they watched him warily.

He stepped aside and let them pass holding his hands with his palms facing them in surrender.  Wordlessly, they filed out and left the maintenance building and avoided looking at the bodies on the floor.

With the prisoners freed, Desmond was left alone with the carnage he’d created, and questions.  He needed to leave, to get away from the death around him.  But first, he needed to dispose of the bodies so that they would never be found.  He closed his eyes tightly and summoned every ounce of his power.  He felt the whole of his energy swell.  It swarmed and rose within him like a great surge of electricity until his fingertips tingled and prickled, readied.  He flicked both wrists forward, and as he did, fire leaped from them.  The blazing stream branched in several directions like lightning at his command and touched each of the bodies he’d felled.  Their flesh incinerated on contact, leaving behind small mounds of ashes.

Sadness filled Desmond, sadness and confusion.  Death followed him wherever he went, traveled with him like a dark passenger, always at his side.  And his dark passenger kept a companion: questions.  The more death Desmond encountered, the more questions arose.  This time, the man who’d led the gathering had instigated them.  His words nagged at Desmond’s brain.  The man had seemed convinced of the Sola’s purpose, certain that she’d been sent to unite all witches on Earth for the purpose of destroying humanity.

But the man’s conviction did not mean his words were true.  Desmond did not know whether the man had simply created a bastardization of the truth he had guarded his whole life, or whether something far different was happening.  Regardless, Desmond needed answers.  He needed to know the truth.  But first, he needed to see Arianna.

Chapter 2

“Well this is it,” Arianna’s new landlord, John Jervis, announced and spread his plump arms wide.

Arianna wasn’t sure why he was acting like a game-show host presenting a contestant with what she’d won.  It was just a cabin in the woods, not a free weeklong stay at a luxury hotel.  Besides, she’d already seen the place twice.

“What do you think?” he asked and looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to ooh and ah over property she’d visited before.

“It’s great,” she said and watched as his features shriveled.  She knew from the look on his face that she hadn’t been enthusiastic enough in her response.  But enthusiasm was hard to convey, especially since she’d been there on two separate occasions with a real estate agent before agreeing to rent it.  And then the ordeal had really begun.

“Hmm,” he said and arched a bushy brow at her.  “You don’t seem so sure.”

“John, of course I’m sure,” she assured him and wondered why he was so reluctant to rent the place.  Why list it if you don’t want anyone to actually rent it, moron! She thought.  She was tempted to ask him exactly that, but decided against it.  She did not want to waste more time trying to find another house if she pushed him too far.  So she went another way and reminded him of how difficult he’d made the process up until the present.  “And besides, weren’t you the one who didn’t want to rent this place to me?  I’m starting to think you are the one who’s not sure.  Maybe you don’t want to part with this place.  Or maybe you just don’t like me,” she said and feigned a pained expression.

“I, uh, you see,” he stammered uncomfortably.

She smiled and laughed softly.  “Don’t get yourself worked up, John, I was just messing with you.  I get it.  I know how you feel, about renting to me, at least,” she helped him.  “My age was a factor at first.  No hard feelings.  I understand.  I would have had the same concerns, believe me.”

He looked relieved and his chubby face relaxed a bit.  “Good,” he said and opened his mouth to say something else, but she cut him off.

“Damn right it’s good.  Good for you, that is,” she joked.  “You already made a fortune off me.  If I were to split, you’d make out with three months’ rent and two months’ security.”

Unaccustomed to her direct sense of humor, his ruddy cheeks deepened to an unhealthy shade of magenta.  Nothing she’d said had been untrue.  After all, the terms of her lease agreement had been at his choosing.  And while his sloppy and overall unhygienic appearance gave off the impression of an unintelligent may, John was far from stupid.  He was a shrewd businessman.  He was protecting his investment.

“Yes,” he said hesitantly.  “I guess you’re right.  I am in a good position, aren’t I?”

“Yes, yes you are,” she said and attempted a smile, but it did not reach her eyes.  Her attempt at happiness felt so forced and phony, she feared her face would crack in half.  “I was just ribbing you.  And don’t worry about your cabin here,” she said and swept her arm to one side, gesturing to the living room.  “I’ll take good care of it, okay?  There won’t be any wild parties, I promise.  But don’t go getting any ideas about me skipping town  or anything.  I plan on being here for a while.  Don’t start spending my security deposit,” she finished with a wink.

Looking equal parts heartened and puzzled, the man smiled goofily and leaned in to speak to her.  Arianna immediately noticed that his breath reeked of liquor.  A quick glance at her watch revealed that it was not yet eleven o’clock in the morning.  She backed away reflexively and couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose.

“I trust you, Arianna.  You seem like a nice kid who’s been through rough times,” he said then handed her a single silver key and a piece of paper.  “My home telephone number is on there as well as my cell phone number.  If you need anything, just call me.”

“You got it,” she promised.

John ran a hand through his wooly hair that was more salt than pepper then rested both on his round belly.

“Okay then,” he stalled.  “Take care.”

She wanted to scream, “Okay, get the hell out already!” but thought twice about it.  He was her landlord, after all, and she needed to be polite and respectful.  She nodded and said, “You, too!” instead and did her best to smile again.

He hesitated a moment and parted his lips as if he were going to say something, but closed them abruptly then turned and walked out the front door.

She sighed, relieved, as soon as the front door closed.  She could not have imagined spending another moment pretending she was normal when she was anything but.  Both she and her life were broken irrevocably.  Fortunately, nothing in the house resembled her life.

Arianna glanced around the small cabin she’d rented.  The space was small and sparsely decorated, but immaculately clean.  Clean was a good thing given how dirty and complicated her life had become.  Two weeks earlier, she had lost everyone she’d cared about.  Three people had lost their lives, murdered by Howard Kane, a man who’d devoted his entire life to rooting out and killing her.  While Kane had not succeeded at killing her, not physically at least, he had succeeded at taking from her that which had not been his to take.  He’d ripped three of the only people she’d ever cared for from her life.  He’d taken Lily and Luke.  He had taken her mother.

Luke and Lily had been people she’d just begun to let her guard down with, but her mother had been a fixture in her life since she’d been born.  And while Cathy Rose had not been by any stretch of the imagination a model mother, she had been the only mother Arianna had ever known, and loved.

Thoughts of her mother, her horrific death so fresh in her mind, slammed against Arianna’s chest like a sledgehammer.  The cabin seemed suddenly cramped and the demand for fresh air overwhelming.  She dropped her bags to the couch and strode to a sliding glass door off the kitchen.  After fumbling with the ancient lock for several seconds, the latch released and the door slid open.  She stuck her face out and breathed.

The late-November air was crisp and a brisk breeze blew her hair back, but she felt impervious to the cold.  Her insides already felt frozen, immobilized by the paralytic effects of grief.  She inhaled deeply and felt the anesthetizing properties of the sharp air numb her lungs.  She wondered whether there was a way to numb all of her insides, particularly the ceaseless smarting in her core.

Eager to test the theory, Arianna stepped outside and found that she stood on a small concrete patio.  Two plastic lawn chairs remained as reminders that summer had existed not long ago.  An overturned plastic pot, the skeletal, brown remains of which lay sprawled across the ground where it had succumbed to death by season change, stood as a forensic reminder that winter loomed on the horizon.

Winter.  The thought of spending the holidays without her mother brought with it a fresh wave of pain.  Not that the holidays in the Rose household had been even remotely idyllic.  In fact, they’d been far from it.  Still, she had not been alone as she would be this year.  She closed her eyes and could see her mother leaning against a kitchen counter, a long cigarette protruding from between her lips.  She’d hang around and nit-pick everything Arianna did.  Of course, her mother had never helped prepare a holiday meal. She’d just linger in a drunken, supervisory capacity until whichever wretched boyfriend she’d been shacking up with returned home with a fresh bottle of liquor for them to celebrate with.  It hadn’t been the stuff of carols and cards, but it had been how Arianna had spent each holiday, until now.  The realization stung.

Eager to distract herself from a fresh swell of grief, Arianna turned and walked back inside to find her pack of cigarettes.  She riffled though her bag and felt the box immediately, as well as her lighter.  Clutching both, she returned to her spot on the patio, alongside the foliage crime scene, and lit a cigarette.

She inhaled deeply and allowed the smoke to fill her lungs.  She was about to exhale when a voice called out to her unexpectedly.

“Oh Arianna, just one more thing,” John called from nowhere.

“Holy shit!” Arianna jumped and fumbled her cigarette.  She’d nearly dropped it, but caught it just in time.  The burning head sent embers cascading down the front of her shirt, however, and she lowered her eyes to see if she were on fire.  Once confident she was not burning, she looked up and saw a familiar, flushed face a few feet from her.  “Jeez!” she jumped again.  “What is with people sneaking up on me?”

“What?” John asked and screwed up his features unattractively.

“Nothing, nothing,” Arianna dismissed him.  “What do you want?” she asked and tried to mask her impatience.

“The toilet,” he said and frowned at the cigarette between her fingers.

“Yeah, what about it?” she asked and followed his line of vision to her cigarette.

“Uh, it’s just that, uh,” he faltered.  Then in a sterner tone he said, “You know there’s no smoking in the cabin, right?  It’s in the lease.”

“Yeah, and I’m not inside the cabin am I, John?” she said, annoyance creeping into her tone.

“Uh, yes, technically that’s true.  I just wanted to be clear.  I didn’t know you were a smoker.  That may have changed things.”

Anger bristled inside her and she had to make a conscious effort to rein it in.  Blazing him where he stood would have given her satisfaction, but she knew she should not abuse her powers over trivial matters such as fussy landlords.  “Well, the lease has been signed and I am not violating any of the terms,” she snipped.  “What was it about the toilet you wanted to tell me?”

“Oh yes, the toilet,” he said.  “Sometimes you need to jiggle the handle.  You know, if it runs after you flush, you’ll need to jiggle the handle.”

“Okay,” she said and willed her temper to calm.  She wanted to shout at him, “Are you frigging kidding me, jiggle the toilet handle?  Really?” but took a deep breath and asked, “Is there anything else?” instead.

He paused a moment as if mulling her question over in his mind.  “Nope, nothing I can think of,” he said but made no attempt to leave.

In her head, she was shouting, “For the love of god, leave already!”

Still, John did not budge.  He waved the air in front of him and coughed thinly.  Arianna inhaled again and blew out a large cloud of smoke in his direction.  He rumpled his face and knitted his brows disapprovingly before turning on his heels.

“All right, Arianna, I’m leaving now.  Just remember, no smoking in the cabin.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, John,” Arianna replied and waved at him.

She watched his portly body waddle across the lawn until it disappeared completely. She lifted her wrist again to take a drag of her cigarette and when she did, a wind chime that sounded like the rattle of her mother’s bangle bracelets startled her.  She didn’t remember seeing wind chimes anywhere on the property.  She smiled despite the heartache she was feeling, and decided in that moment to not succumb to the intense heartache she was feeling.  She’d managed to relieve the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church of their substantial funds in spite of it, and had rented the cabin she stood outside of, too.  She had not had a choice.  Her life needed to continue.  And continue it would.

The seven hundred thousand dollars she’d taken from Kane’s church had been a bittersweet surprise after she’d been forced to incinerate Luke’s body with her powers.  The heat of the arc of fire from her fingertips had burned hotter than any ordinary fire, and had reduced it to a small mound of ashes.  It had been a gut-wrenching task, but a necessary one.  No one could know what had happened at the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church, or why he would have been involved.  No one could ever find his body.  She’d had to think quickly, and listen to an instinctive voice deep within her that had guided her.

Her mother’s body had been a different story entirely.  She’d left it there, among the bodies of Kane’s disciples.  She’d had to.  A funeral had to be held and records had needed to reflect her mother’s death.  She had not wanted to think of the traumatic death she’d witnessed in those terms, but she had not had a choice.  She remembered how it had been next to impossible for her to keep her wits about her and remain pragmatic.  But if her mother had taught her anything, she’d taught her to always think realistically.  And she had been realistic, as realistic as a girl who’d just watched her mother burn could have been.  She’d thought about her mother, about the life she’d led and the people she’d known, and in that moment, a realization had dawned on her.  She’d realized that the few friends and family members they had would not be surprised by Cathy Rose’s alleged affiliation with a group of religious fanatics.  She had joined cults in the past.  Police finding her body with them would not be a point that would raise questions.  So she’d cremated Luke’s body only and left her mother’s behind.

Once she had been satisfied that all evidence of what had happened had been sufficiently destroyed, she’d collected Luke’s ashes.  She vowed to scatter them somewhere beautiful one day, somewhere that would honor him.  Until that day came, she would keep them with her in the cabin she’d rented thanks to Kane’s church’s generous, albeit unwitting, donation to her.

His unknown contribution had been a great help to her in the last two weeks.  The money had secured the cabin she now called home.  Convincing the owner of the cabin, John, had been a challenge.  But the almighty dollar had proved potent enough to sway him to rent it to an eighteen-year-old girl.  His price had been three months’ rent upfront and a hefty security deposit.  She’d paid cash, to his delight, and after signing a lease, he had just handed over a key.  He’d seemed like a pleasant enough man, and with his cherry-hued cheeks and nose and a distinct scent of Scotch that clung to his clothes like scum on a pond, he would have been exactly the kind of man her mother would have dated.  Perhaps that’s why she’d felt an odd soft spot for him.  Nevertheless, he was her landlord, and she was a brand-new tenant living alone for the first time in her life.

With a roof over her head, all that remained for her to do was to register for school, again.  Dropping out of high school in her senior year had never been an option.  Sola or no Sola, she was determined to graduate from high school with a diploma.  Apart from her own motivation, her mother would have wanted her to.

“Make me proud, baby,” her mother had always said.  “Be the first in my family to graduate high school.”

The words echoed in the wind as though her mother were reaching out to her from a golden trailer park in heaven.

Arianna smiled, a pained, sentimental smile, and stubbed her cigarette against the sole of her black motorcycle boot.  She set the snuffed butt on the ground for a moment then inspected the backyard.  But before she could take in the entire view, another image distracted her.  Her eyes settled on the overturned pot on the patio, or more specifically, the deceased plant that had been housed there.  Unable to look at the plant cadaver a moment longer, she stooped and scooped it up.  She stood the pot upright and placed the brown and dried carcass inside. With that out of the way, she scanned the surrounding area.  Her cabin, nestled high in Hallowed Hills, Maine, offered a panoramic view of trees.  In the early fall, she guessed the view would be stunning, alive with rich colors.  But now, with the last of the leaves long-since fallen, the landscape looked as though it were filled with innumerable emaciated limbs reaching, pleading with outstretched arms toward her.  The woods were watchful as well, too watchful.

All around her were countless thickets, shrubs and trees.  All could easily conceal predators, animal and human.  Unease tickled the back of her neck like invisible fingers trailing over her skin.  Perhaps it was the result of her strained mind, battered and bruised by the gruesome deaths of the ones she’d loved, or perhaps being hunted by Kane had left her so paranoid, she now thought the forest stalked her.  More of his men existed in the world, but she wondered whether any of them could feel her as he had, or whether they would simply disband in the absence of their deranged leader.  Either way, she felt the need to be vigilant, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched.

She stepped out further, boldly positioning herself on the edge of the patio where the concrete gave way to grass.  The lawn extended to a tree line that marked the beginning of what looked like rolling hills and valleys of woodland.  With her shoulders back and her hands on her hips, she brazenly surveyed the land, staring intensely, as if challenging whomever or whatever watched her, and made known she was not afraid.  But the forest didn’t flinch.  And nothing had pounced from the bushes.  She raked a hand through her hair then turned and walked back in to her cabin.

With the door closed and the daunting chore of unpacking before her, Arianna decided to put stalkers and supernatural beings on the back burner and save any further mourning for her evening shower.  Boxes needed to be unpacked, food needed to be stocked on shelves and in cupboards.  After all, the next morning would be her first day at the last high school she would ever attend, a high school she’d been drawn to in a town her powers had brought her to.

Chapter 3

Desmond teleported from the tunnels beneath New York City immediately, eager to be as far from all that had happened there.  He pictured Herald Falls, far north of the city, the last town Arianna had lived in, and closed his eyes.  When he opened them he stood before the trailer she’d shared with her mother just two weeks ago.

The trailer was empty.  He did not need to knock or look in a window to be certain.  He did not feel Arianna’s energy, and knew she was gone.  He stood for a moment and was about to concentrate on locating her when someone spoke unexpectedly.

“You lookin’ for the girls?” a voice called.

Desmond turned and saw a head peeking out from the door of the neighboring trailer, and a rather unfortunate looking head at that.

“Excuse me?” Desmond replied and bought himself time by pretending he hadn’t heard the man.

“I was just askin’ if you were lookin’ for the pretty ladies that used to live there is all,” he said and lowered his eyes as if he’d just been reprimanded.

“Oh, yes, I was looking for them actually,” Desmond said and smiled.  “They moved though, huh?”

“Yep, yes they did.  They moved outta here.  Such a shame too ‘cause they was real nice ladies,” he said and took a small step outside.

In full view, Desmond saw that the man wore a stained T-shirt, fleece pajama bottoms with a yellow, grinning cartoon character printed on them and knee-high rain boots despite the fact that no rain had fallen.  His hair stood on end and looked as though it could use a thorough washing and combing, and his overall appearance was unkempt.  But his appearance meant little to Desmond.  He simply wanted to find Arianna as quickly as possible.

“Did they say where they were going?” Desmond asked.

He knew there was no “they,” that Cathy Rose was dead.  Arianna was alone and he doubted she’d disclosed where she was going to anyone, let alone a random neighbor.

“Nope.  No sir they did not.  And no disrespectin’ to you, but I don’t suppose they’d be wanting me to tell just any ole body where they moved to, so I wouldn’t tell you even if I did know.”

He’d assumed the man would not know of her whereabouts and hadn’t expected to hear any news.  The fact that he would have refused to give information had he had any came as a pleasant surprise to Desmond.  Yet, the man waited tensely, as if bracing himself for a scolding.  With his head bowed, he stole sidelong glances at Desmond.

“I’m not offended,” Desmond said reassuringly and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, hoping to convey that he wasn’t angry in the least.  “In fact, I think you’re a good friend for keeping their whereabouts to yourself, if you knew them.”

The man raised his head and beamed, and when he did, he revealed a mouth full of greenish-brown teeth that looked as though they were all fighting for a single spot in his mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” he said and nodded enthusiastically.

Judging from the way the man reacted, Desmond got the impression he had never received a compliment in his life.

“Thank you for looking out for them,” Desmond replied sincerely.

“Oh you’re absolutely welcome!  Absolutely!  Say, are you headin’ out to look for Miss Cathy and Miss Arianna now?”

“Yes, yes I am as a matter of fact.”

“Well, you tell I said hi!”

“Will do,” Desmond assured him.

He turned and faced Arianna’s former home once again, intent on tuning into her energy as if he were a satellite picking up a signal.  He could not remember a time he’d been without her for more than a day or so.  Zeroing in on her energy had never been an issue, and attempting to do so was utterly foreign to him.

He closed his eyes and focused, picturing her in his mind’s eye.  Immediately, her image popped into his brain.  Lengths of straight raven-hued hair framed an olive complexion.  Large eyes so dark they almost matched her hair dominated the rest of her delicate features.  Her face was before him, so real he resisted the urge to reach out and brush his knuckles against her cheek.  He felt instantly calmed by the vision of her, and was able to concentrate.  As he did, the world fell silent before falling away from him altogether.  White light filled his field of vision.  He bathed in it as it rushed at him, swirling and speeding, as though he were traveling inside a bolt of lightning.

When finally the ride ended, he found himself standing on a dirt road before a small cottage.  The cottage sat atop a steep hill and overlooked a forest filled with trees stripped of their leaves.  They looked like a haggard frontline of soldiers that had long-since been beaten and ridded of their armor.  Behind them, however, waited an endless sea of pines and cedars as far as they eye could see, readied with their barbed spines.  It seemed a more fitting locale for Arianna, stunning and breathtaking, just like her.

With excitement swarming inside him so strongly it threatened to spontaneously surge from his body like a sunburst, he walked up the narrow stone pathway to the front door and knocked lightly.

Chapter 4

Arianna had busied herself unpacking the contents of her box marked “bathroom” when a knock at the front door interrupted her.

“This guy is something else!” she muttered to no one.  “He needs to get a life, or a hobby, something,” she continued as she stomped through her bedroom past the kitchen.  By the time she’d reached the living room, she’d gotten herself sufficiently riled and was prepared to blast John Jervis, the person she was certain had knocked on her door.

“Jeez John!” she shouted as she twisted the doorknob.  “What now?” she huffed, but felt her legs go weak and her eyes widen in surprise.  The person on the other side of the door was not John as she’d expected.  It was Desmond.

“Who’s John?” Desmond asked her and quirked a brow.

“Desmond!” she breathed and felt emotion well in her eyes.  She did not think she would see him again so soon, if ever.  Yet, here he was, standing in her doorway like a god fallen to Earth.  “What’re you,” she started and heard her voice falter.  She wanted to ask him what he was doing there, but her throat had constricted tightly around the lump that had formed there.  Besides, his reason for being there did not matter.  All that mattered was that he was, in fact, standing on her doorstep.

“You’re here!” she managed and gave up fighting the rush of emotion.  She closed the distance between them, threw her arms around his neck and squeezed, inhaling deeply.  His rich, masculine scent filled her nostrils.  He smelled of leather and another spicy note she could not place, and musk.  He smelled like Desmond.  He smelled like home to her.  But not a home she’d ever lived in or anything as simple or traditional as that.  The feelings it evoked ran far deeper than anything she could put into words.  She breathed him in again, filled her lungs with his fragrance, and savored in an indescribable sense of belonging so profoundly entrenched in her core she had to struggle to keep from weeping.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered in her ear and she felt her heart swell so greatly she worried her ribs could no longer contain it.

Two weeks without him had seemed like two years.  She wanted nothing more than to stay, just as they were, wrapped in each other’s arms, but knew that, at the very least, she should invite him in.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” she said.  She dropped her arms from his neck reluctantly and stepped back.  “Come in.”

She moved aside and watched him walk past her.  The cabin looked much smaller with him in it, and better.  His generous height and broad shoulders filled the room.  She’d forgotten how strapping he was.  His face was indelibly etched in her mind, but his body remained somewhat of a mystery.  Filled with hard planes and peaks, it emitted heat so inviting, she found herself yearning for it, yearning for its comfort.  So much had happened in such a short time.  She had missed him.  It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she’d seen him last.  She’d ached for him during that time, ached for the rich sound of his voice, for warmth of his touch.

Having him there in her new place and breathing his intoxicating scent made her forget how he’d left her so abruptly, and when she’d needed him most.  He’d told her they were not meant to be together or some other crap like that.  All of it was a blur now.  All that matter now was that he was standing in her living room.

She wanted to tell him everything, tell him how much she’d missed him, how she’d felt like a part of her had been ripped from her then hold him hostage for the rest of their lives.  But she did none of those things.  Instead, she blurted out, “What are you doing here?” and felt her cheeks blaze.

Desmond shifted uncomfortably and she did not know what to do.

“I mean, I thought we weren’t supposed to be together anymore.  I thought you were relieved of your protector duties,” she continued to fumble idiotically.

Despite her fumbling, a hint of resentment remained in her tone that awkwardness could not hide.

“I needed to see you,” he shocked her by admitting.  “It’s harder than I thought to be away from you after spending so much time together.”

His crystal-blue eyes held hers and she felt her insides liquefy.  She searched them, trying to steady herself, and swore she saw shame flicker in his features.

“Sit.  Stay awhile,” she said in the same tongue-tied tone she’d used since he’d gotten there.

He crossed the small, but exceptionally neat, living-room area and looked between the floral-print sofa and matching loveseat, both situated around an oval, wooden coffee table  as if asking her which he should sit on.  He seemed so nervous, almost as nervous as she felt.

“Are you thirsty?” she asked and realized she’d never seen him eat or drink anything.  “I mean, does your kind get thirsty?” she heard herself ask and cringed.  Why was she acting like such a nut?  She wondered.  They had been around one another before.  According to Desmond, he’d been around her his whole life.

“My kind is your kind, Arianna,” he reminded her gently.

She felt her olive skin blush deeply and she cleared her throat.  “Sorry.  Yeah, wow, that was really stupid of me,” she said and willed herself to calm down.

“I’d love a glass of water,” he said, his voice sending chills racing across her skin.

She raked a hand through her hair before moving to the kitchen area.  As if her every word since he’d gotten there had not been embarrassing enough, she was reminded that she did not have a glass on hand.  All of them were still packed in boxes.  She had to dig through one and pull a glass wrapped in newspaper from it.  She peeled the paper, rinsed it then filled it with water from a gallon jug in the refrigerator.  All the while, her hands trembled.

“Are you okay?” he asked her and she thought the glass would slip from her hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine.  Never better,” she heard herself reply without emotion as she brought him his glass of water and sat beside him on the couch.  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“For starters, you lost your mother two weeks ago,” he said and his words hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Yeah, I know.  How could I forget?” she snapped.

A pained expression clouded his exquisite features and she instantly regretted the harsh tone she’d used.

“Arianna, I’m so sorry.  It’s just that I saw your hands shaking when you poured my water and I got worried,” he started but she cut him off.

“Don’t.  I’m the Sola, remember?  I’m destined to be a miserable, lonely spinster according to you and, well, life.  Turns out, I can’t have a mom, a friend, a boyfriend, you.”

The bitterness poured from her effortlessly and without warning.  A part of her that she had not yet acknowledged until the present had reared its ugly head.  She was angry, angrier than she’d ever been.  Saddled with a snappy title and responsibilities she never wanted, Arianna had a world of hurt thrust at her, the rest of which remained to be seen, though only one person was left to take from her and he was likely champing at the bit to leave right now.  He’d already left once before.

“You’re not destined to be miserable.  You have a very important job,” Desmond said with little conviction.  His sadness was palpable and she could not stand to see him hurting.

“Yeah whatever,” she said dejectedly and decided not to share her frustrations with him.

“Nice place, by the way,” he tried to lighten the mood.  “Where are we, anyway?” he asked.

“You don’t know where you are?” she asked incredulously.  His innocent question, the guileless expression on his glorious face, made the annoyance she’d been feeling disperse like grains of sand in a breeze.  “Didn’t you read signs on the highway as you drove?”

“Read signs?  Uh, no.  Not exactly.  I teleported here,” he replied.

“Oh yeah, duh, I’m such an idiot today,” she said and lowered her eyes embarrassedly.  “You, I mean I, or we, rather, are in Hallowed Hills, Maine,” she continued slobbering all over every sentence she spoke to him.  She hated how she felt and how she was acting.  Yet, no matter how hard she tried, she either acted like a complete moron or a complete bitch.

“Can I teleport too?” she asked and sounded more like herself.

“I don’t know.  Have you tried?”

“No.  I haven’t.  Not since my powers, you know, woke up at Kane’s church two weeks ago.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I will,” she said and took her lower lip between her teeth.

He looked at her expectantly.

“Not now,” she said and caught him staring at her.  “I’m not going to try to teleport right this minute.  I need to, I don’t know, concentrate at the very least, and I can’t concentrate when you’re around.”

She felt color touch her cheeks again.  She could not believe she’d just admitted that he made her nervous.  She was Arianna Rose, for heaven’s sake!  She was never nervous around guys.  But Desmond was not like any other guy.  And there was the fact that he had told her that he loved her.  Not face to face, but he’d whispered it in the wind as faint and frothy as a thought in her mind.  Despite the lightness of its delivery though, what he had told her, his words, had carried more weight than he could possibly imagine.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Arianna?” he asked and looked oddly vulnerable.

“Yes,” she said and lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap.

She was ruining any chance of a pleasant visit that existed for them.  She knew it.  She looked up at him through her lashes and saw that he looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

Without knowing what else to so, Arianna stood and spread her arms out.  “What do you think of this place?” she tried to change the subject.  He’d already told her it was nice, but she was so rattled, she’d lost her train of thought.  She suddenly felt like John Jervis, minus the extra fifty pounds and general hairiness.

“It’s nice, really nice,” he replied uncomfortably.

“It’s different from the string of trailers I’ve lived in, that’s for sure,” she said.  In her frazzled voice, she heard hurt.  She had not wanted to be pathetic, had wanted to put on a braver face for him than she had been, but the mere mention of anything related to her mother pained her.  She wished he would reach out and touch her, hold her tightly and never let go.

“It certainly is,” he agreed.  “How did you end up here?”

“You mean in Maine, or in this cabin?”

“Both.”

“Honestly, I don’t know.  I just felt pulled here, like a huge magnet was attracting me here.  So I got in my mom’s car and drove.  I stayed in a motel for a few days and looked in the paper for a more permanent place.  That’s when I found this cabin,” she said and glanced around.  “It was listed with a real estate agent, who was really annoying and pushy, by the way, and tried to make me look at apartments way out of my price range and in more crowded areas.  But I knew I wanted to be here, in this cabin.  I guess it was pulling me, too.”

“Huh,” Desmond said and rubbed his chin.  He seemed so calm outwardly, save for the slight tremor of his hand.  She wished she felt as calm as he did.  Inside, she felt as if each of her cells was firing frantically.

“And then there’s school,” she chattered away.  “I have to register tomorrow and start classes and all that stuff.  There’s just so much to do.”

“Wait, what?” he interrupted.  “School?  I thought we agreed school was not a good idea until you learn to better manage your emotions.”

“Yeah well, that was before,” she said and wrestled with a surge of sadness beginning to brim.  “And I promised my mom I’d get my high school diploma.  I promised her I’d graduate from high school.”

“I see.  But why can’t you finish high school through distance learning, take online classes.  You’ll still graduate with a high school diploma.”

“That would have been an option at the beginning of the school year maybe.  But now, I have, what, like six months of school left?”

“Seven, but who’s counting,” Desmond added and smiled.

Arianna blushed again.  She wondered for a split-second whether he was flirting with her then silently scolded herself for even thinking something so absurd.  After the way she’d behaved thus far, there was no way in hell he was flirting.  She’d behaved weirdly at best, unpleasant at worst.   He did not want her.  Perhaps she’d dreamed that he’d whispered in her head that he loved her.  Maybe her traumatized brain had invented it.  And then there was the kiss.  She guessed the kiss meant far more to her than it had to him.  He’d been around for almost a hundred years, or so he’d said.  In that time, he’d probably kissed more women than he could count.  To him, it was undoubtedly the equivalent of a raindrop in a vast ocean.  To her, it had been a deluge in a desert.  She understood now, and the longer he stayed, the more obvious it was becoming that he did not feel for her as she felt for him.

She felt foolish and wished she could be more aloof about the whole situation.

When Desmond stood suddenly and said, “Arianna, I’m sorry for coming.  It’s obvious I am no longer needed in your life.  It was a mistake for me to come,” she felt the air squeeze from her lungs.  She was about to ask him why, why he had come in the first place, why he had kissed her, but he spoke before the words ever fell from her lips.  “But before I leave, I have one question I’d like to ask you.  It may seem like an odd one, but, when you killed Kane and his men, how did you feel?”

The moment seemed surreal, his question was ridiculous.

“Wait, first you tell me you’re leaving after being here for all of like, fifteen minutes then you ask me how I felt when I killed Kane and his men!  Are you out of your freaking mind, Desmond?” she lashed out.  She had not felt like herself earlier, but she certainly did now.  The dulled, frilly edges of a mind swamped by girlie delusions came sharply back into focus.  Oh I’m out of here, Arianna, but first, just wanted to drop this asinine question in your lap she imitated his words in her mind with the squeaky voice of a cartoon character.  Was he for real? She wondered.

“No, not that I know of,” he replied calmly.

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.  “It was a rhetorical question, Desmond,” she said snippily.  “Why do you want to leave?”

“I don’t want to leave.  It seems like you want me to leave,” he said and looked as confused as she felt.

“Oh, so now you’re an expert on what I want, too,” she argued.  “It’s not enough that you know more about my powers, my destiny and what I am, than I do.  No, no.  Now you’re a freaking mind reader, too!”

“Clearly, I’ve upset you,” he said levelly.  “I did not come here to upset you.”

Arianna felt her blood begin to boil.  She was not some high-strung, overly sensitive girl prone to fits and tantrums.  She was not overreacting.

“Then why the hell did you come, Desmond, to ask me if I liked killing those men?” she yelled and began pacing.  “Well then, don’t let me waste another moment of your time.  Yes!  Yes I did enjoy killing those bastards!  They would have killed me first if they could have, just like they killed my mother and Luke!  I enjoyed killing them and I’m glad they’re dead!  And I’d do it again if I had to!  There, does that answer your question?  That is what you came for, right?”

“No, it isn’t,” he said flatly.

“Then why did you come?” she shouted at him as she stalked from one end of the living room to the next.

“I came because I love you,” he said softly.

His words stilled every sound, every movement in the cabin.  The stilled everything except the wild beat of Arianna’s heart.  She froze where she’d railed just seconds ago.  Hands that had gestured animatedly fell to her sides and the furious, wild-eyed expression she’d tried desperately to conceal relaxed completely.  He loved her.  He’d said it himself.  She wasn’t sure what to say or do, so she did nothing for a moment.  Then she took several steps toward him and stopped just inches before him, her chest rising and falling faster the closer she got to him.  She raised her hand to touch him and he recoiled just a bit.  She nearly laughed aloud seeing his reaction to her.  Did he think she was going to hit him or something? She wondered.

“I’ll leave,” he said and sidestepped her.

“Shh,” she whispered.  “I don’t want you to leave.”

“You don’t?  Then what was all,” he started to ask, but never finished his question.  She silenced him by pressing her lips to his.

With her mouth on his, she rose to her tiptoes and pressed her body to his.  She could feel the frantic beat of her heart against his hard chest, feel his warmth.  He wrapped his arms around her waist and scooped her up so that her feet no longer touched the ground.  A soft sigh escaped her and she parted her lips and swept her tongue into his mouth.  The sensation was exhilarating, the taste of him delicious.  She forced herself to exercise every bit of restraint she had to keep from trailing her tongue down the length of his neck and tasting more of him.  And she did not want to rush what was happening, rush the inebriating thrill she was feeling.

Her hands raced up into his hair and she tangled her fingers in the short curls at his nape before sliding her body down his, not missing the firmness below his belt, to her feet.  She heard him groan in delight, the sound rousing every part of her body and continued teasing his tongue with hers.

Her fingers danced up under the back of his shirt then trailed down slowly, tracing every muscle as it descended lower and lower, to the waistband of his jeans.  His skin was hot to the touch.  She wanted to feel his hot skin close to her, around her, on her, inside of her.  Need twisted feverishly within her and, as if sensing her intense desire, his hand moved up her side and under her shirt until it reached her breast.  With deliberateness that nearly buckled her knees, he kneaded it over the silky material of her bra and she felt her nipple harden.  He gently squeezed a stiff peak between his index and middle fingers as he rubbed, and the feverish, twisting need coiled so tightly, she thought she would shatter into a million euphoric pieces.  She moaned and began to rub the part of him that had hardened.  He covered her mouth with his and lapped at her lips sensuously.

To hell with prophesies, she thought, imagining what his tongue would feel like elsewhere.  What she was experiencing with Desmond, the fact that he loved her, was more important than any ancient rambling scribbled in a book.

She was about to begin unzipping the fly of his jeans when slowly, Desmond lowered his hand from her chest.  The sensuous probing of his tongue stopped and he pecked her lips lightly.

Arianna backed away from him, shocked and panting a bit.  She searched his eyes for an explanation, but saw the same passion-glazed look in his eyes she was sure she wore herself.

“We can’t,” he said, but his words lacked conviction.  And so did his body.  He wanted her; that much was plain to see.

“I want you,” she ignored his halfhearted attempt to stop what they’d begun and looked at him with every bit of hunger she was feeling.

Desmond cupped her face in his hands then bent his head.  He took her lips hard, sending a burst of emotion through her.  He pulled her close to him and her energy roared inside her like a river, powerful, unstoppable.  Arianna’s body melted against his and she parted her lips.  He slid his tongue between them and sent her over the last ledge of self-control that remained in her.  She loved him.  And she wanted nothing more than to be with him, all of him.

The sudden need to touch every inch of his skin, to feel his naked body writhing atop hers, overwhelmed her.

“I love you, Arianna.  My life is meaningless without you,” he whispered with sincerity.

Arianna threw her arms around his neck and drew herself deeper into his ravenous kiss.  She wanted to hear him say he loved her again and again, to hear that he needed her as she needed him, but desire enveloped her fully.  His hands found the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head before they moved to the clasp at the back of her bra.  The satiny garment fell to the floor soundlessly and he lowered his eyes to admire her soft mounds.  Her nipples were taught with excitement and she could think of nothing more than the feel of him taking a firm peak between his lips and rolling his tongue over it.  He mimicked the act in her mouth, thrusting his tongue temptingly around hers as his hands caressed her eager breasts.  She breathed hard, panting excitedly and he pulled his mouth from hers, kissing the length of her jaw and neck to her collarbone and lower, until finally, he reached her breasts.  He kissed every part of them, progressing slowly until he reached her nipple.  He took one between his lips and Arianna drew in her breath sharply, need twisting almost painfully as it touched every inch of her like tiny shards of mind-numbing sexual desire.

“Oh Desmond,” she breathed and tangled her fingers in his hair.

He began kissing her other breast as he unfastened the button of her jeans.  He slid them down past her hips and she lifted each foot as he slid them off.  Then he removed her silky thong underwear and a quiver of enjoyment wound about her core.  He was about to kiss lower, to delve into the deepest part of her womanhood when she stopped him.  She did not want it to be that way.  She wanted to feel him first, feel his bare skin against hers.  She knelt and pulled at his shirt.  He obliged by lifting his arms and she pulled it over his head.  She tugged at his shoulder gently, before his mouth touched the soft curls between her legs and he looked up at her questioningly.  She gestured for him to stand and he rose to his feet slowly, allowing his eyes to languidly roam over her naked body.

His act made her reconsider her decision to cuddle first as need pooled low in her belly, his eyes fondling every part of her seductively.  The need for him to be inside of her moved her and was nearly her undoing.  She closed the distance between them and pressed her chest to his.  She felt his heat, felt his swell of excitement against her waist.  She slid her hand over it and it was he who drew in his breath sharply this time.  He groaned and cupped her bare bottom in his hands, lifting her.  She wrapped her legs around him and he carried her to the couch.

“Desmond,” she breathed.  “To hell with the prophecy, take me now.”

Her mention of the prophecy seemed to rain on him like a bucket of ice water.  Desmond pushed himself up, away from her. up onto his hands, his body hovering over her.  She hooked a leg around his thigh.

“I want you,” she said lustfully.

“No,” he whispered and shock immobilized her.

“What?” she asked and did not bother to hide her surprise and frustration.

“No, we can’t,” he panted.

“No?  What the hell do you mean no?” she asked, hurt and rejection lacing her every word.

“I mean we can’t do this.”

“What the fuck Desmond?  We can’t do this?  We already started something!  What the hell is your problem?”

Her hurt and frustration quickly segued into anger.  She was naked and they’d been about to make love a second ago and that was the moment he decided it was a bad idea.

“You belong to another,” he said tightly.  “It is your fate.”

“I belong to no one,” she said firmly and pushed his arms away as she sat up.  “And fuck fate!”

“Arianna, it’s not that simple, you know that,” he began but she cut him off.

“Yes, Desmond, it is,” she said through her teeth as she scrambled to cover herself with throw pillows.  She felt vulnerable, more than she had in all her life.  She was exposed in every sense of the word and wanted nothing more than to put her guard back in place, where it had always been.  “Get out,” she breathed.  She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly, fighting back tears.

“Arianna, wait,” he tried, but she did not want to hear another explanation of why they couldn’t be together, or the newest crazy nonsense that she was destined to be with someone else.

“Get out, now!” she hissed.  “And don’t come back.”

The set of her jaw and the look in her eyes warned him not to say another word, that he had hurt her beyond repair.  She watched, feeling the weight of the world crushing her chest, as he dressed then turned and walked out the front door.  She wished he would have teleported.  Watching him go had hurt far worse than it would have had he just vanished from her sight as he had in the past.

For several moments, Arianna sat on her couch, naked in more ways than just the obvious, and stared at her front door.  She did not know what she expected it to do.  Burst open maybe with Desmond on the other side screaming, “To hell with rules and prophecies! You’re my woman!”  No, nothing that dramatic; in fact, she expected nothing at all.  That was how her entire life had been.  She’d gotten nothing from it, and she expected nothing from it, nothing except heartache.  She could not wrap her mind around what had just happened.  One minute, they had been lost in passion and the next, he was spouting about her fate and how she belonged to another.  She had no idea what any of it meant.  She vaguely remembered him saying something similar at Kane’s church.  Of course, they hadn’t been naked and about to make love at the time.  Regardless, it sounded familiar.  She could not remember exactly what he’d said.  Much of that day remained blurry, a horrific, nightmarish blur.  She guessed none of what he’d said mattered.  He’d made himself clear.  They could not be together.  And he’d rejected her when she’d thought it impossible for a man to reject a woman: with her naked and begging for him from beneath him.  But he had.

Intense, indescribable embarrassment consumed her, burned up her body until it settled on her neck and cheeks.  She stood and began picking up her clothes.  She slipped her sweater over her head then her underwear and her pants with tears stinging her eyes.  She was about to walk to the kitchen and unpack to distract herself when her knees gave way under her.  She collapsed onto the couch.  Sobs racked her body, tears of shame and anger, of helplessness and confusion.  Was her life already laid out for her?  Had some ancient seer predicted her future?  Did it include a life of loneliness and misery?  Desmond had said she belonged to another.  She wondered what the hell that meant.  She wanted Desmond, not this mystery person he’d spoken of.  And with her luck, the other man would not be a man at all, but some awful troll of a being she’d be forced to spend eternity with.

Too many questions turned in her mind.  Surely someone had the answers, someone willing to share them.  Desmond merely offered her cryptic clips.  She did not know where he’d gotten his information from or how he’d gotten it, but she wanted to know more.  It was her damn life, after all.

Arianna wiped her eyes with the bottom of her sweater and walked to the kitchen, determined to finish unpacking the kitchen, at the very least, and to make a conscious effort to forget about Desmond.

Chapter 5

Streaks of sherbet orange colored the early morning sky.  For the first time in her life, Arianna had awakened without the blaring of an alarm clock.  Her eyes had simply popped open of their own accord to see a violet predawn canvas giving way to ribbons of salmon pink.  The view from her bedroom was nothing short of breathtaking and would take little time getting used to.  Her last bedroom had boasted scenery through a rectangular sliver of a window that had included an oversized satellite dish and the top of the trailer beside it.  Between those two eyesores, she had only been able to glimpse a slice of the outdoors.  To say her new view was better than the old was a gross understatement.

She rolled over onto her back and stared up at her freshly painted ceiling.  Everything was different at her new cabin, including the glaring fact that she was alone.  New bedding, new clothes and a nice new place to live were, well, nice.  But she would trade all of it to have her mother back.

Thoughts of her mother allowed familiar pangs of grief to encroach.  That, and the events of the night before rushed to the forefront of her mind and jockeyed for the distinguished title of which would make her cry first.  Being stark naked and about to have sex with a guy, only to have him reject her flat-out had wounded her ego badly.  She had strong feelings for Desmond, had wanted to indulge in something pleasurable for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.  But even that had been taken from her.  She was not the kind of girl who was prone to pity parties.  If she’d spent her life bemoaning all that had happened to her, it would have consumed her completely and been a twenty four-hour-a-day job.  She’d always taken life as it came, and dealt with it accordingly.  But nothing that had happened since the dawn of her powers had been easily dealt with.  Death, destruction, humiliation and loss after loss made regaining her footing on her path next to impossible.  Arianna felt her cheeks burn with shame, frustration, and plain old sadness.  She did not want to begin her first day at the last high school she’d ever attend with swollen, red eyes, so she drove each painful thought to the back of her mind, forcefully evicted every one of them until her mind was left with a strange numbness.  She’d return to them later.  She’d have plenty of time after school, and in the future, to mourn.

A glance at the clock on her nightstand revealed it was just after six o’clock in the morning.  Her first class did not start until seven thirty, but she assumed she needed to get there early for her obligatory meeting with the principal and guidance counselor, and for a tour.  Arianna groaned aloud at the memory of her last tour at Herald Falls High School.  Going through the whole welcome-to-our-shitty-school rigmarole again seemed like cruel and unusual punishment, especially since she’d been through it so many times.  Surely, a statute of limitation on such acts of torture existed somewhere.  The only redeemable part of it all was that today would be the last time she would ever have to endure it.  Her mother was gone and moving was up to her.  Arianna had never liked moving from place to place like a gypsy.  She’d always envied people who had true roots to where they were, people who had lived in a town, or state for that matter, for their whole life.  The length of time she and her mom would spend in a particular area had always been dependent upon her mother’s fickle taste in men.  Such was no longer the case.  Now she was in charge, and the taste of power was bittersweet.

A single tear slipped from her cheek.  She quickly brushed it away with the back of her hand and sat up.  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.  The plush carpet was warm and soft beneath her feet as she padded toward the small bathroom in her bedroom.  She’d never had more than one bathroom in any place she’d lived.  And she’d had to share it with at least one other person.  Now, she had two bathrooms and lived alone.  Two seemed decadent.  A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth at the notion of having two bathrooms.  She would have killed for two when she and her mother had lived at Carl’s place before they’d moved to Herald Falls.  Carl’s bathroom habits and his utter lack of cleanliness had left much to be desired.  But Carl was a part of a past that seemed distant.  And today was the first day of her new life, one that included the title of Sola, a role she was still uncertain of how to perform.  She would figure that out, and many other things in her life, another time, though.  Presently, school awaited her arrival and she needed to ready herself for it.

After brushing her teeth, taking a quick shower and dressing, Arianna ate breakfast and headed to school.  She drove her mother’s old Camry and decided to park it in the farthest spot in the lot from the actual school building in hopes of avoiding attention.  To her surprise, there were many other cars just like hers.  In varying states of dilapidation that ranged from rust to tied-on bumpers, the vast majority were older models.  The area surrounding the school had looked like the average working-class neighborhood, but experience had taught her that that meant little.  The parking lot always told the whole story.  The one she was currently in upheld the story the neighborhood had told.

She remained in her car and lit a cigarette, the need to calm her nerves sudden.  She did not know why she was nervous.  She’d had enough first days of school to last her a lifetime.  None of them had been nerve-racking.  Why this one would be any different from those was beyond her.  Nevertheless, she smoked and felt only slightly better before she climbed out and began walking to the front doors of the school.

Her first stop was at the principal’s office.  Located on the right side immediately after the threshold of the main entrance, the principal’s office had been the most conveniently located to date.  She strolled in and was greeted by man hunched over a copy machine.

“Stupid freaking thing!” he said to the machine.  “I’ve cleared your damn paper jam!”

Arianna cleared her throat to alert him to her presence.

He looked up and she was taken aback briefly.  With light brown stylishly mussed hair and big brown eyes, the man appeared to be in his early thirties and hardly resembled the schoolmarm secretary type that had gravitated to every other administrative office in every other school she’d been to.

“Can I help you?” he asked and smiled.

“Uh, yeah, I have an appointment with Principal Keller,” she said.

“Ah, yes,” the man said and walked behind an empty desk in the far corner of the office.  He flipped through the pages of a date book and said, “You must be Arianna Rose.”

“Yep, that’s me,” Arianna replied.

“You’re early though,” he said and glanced at the clock mounted on the wall to her left.

“Oh, yeah, I just assumed I would have to meet with the principal then the guidance counselor then take the tour of the school and all that.  If he’s not here, I can come back.”

“No, no, he’s here,” the man said.

“Okay, great,” she said then mumbled, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Ooh, that doesn’t sound like happiness to be here,” the man said and quirked a brow at her.  “Not a big fan of principals I take it?”

“No, not really, if we’re being honest,” she admitted.

“Why not?”

“I don’t think I should say,” she said warily.

“Ah, go for it.  What’s wrong with a little honesty?”

“Huh, you want the list?”

“Nah, just an answer.”

“Okay then, here goes.  In my experience, which is a lot, by the way, all principals are the same.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“How so?”

“Let’s see, where do I begin?  Bad breath, bad suits, bad listeners, and don’t let me forget that they’re all pompous, power-tripping windbags.”

“Is that all?”

“That pretty much covers it,” Arianna said and shrugged.

The man laughed.

“What?  You know I’m right.  You just don’t want to agree with me because he might hear you.”

“Who?”

“You know, Principal Keller.”

The man shook his head and said, “Come on, Arianna, I’ll take you back to his office.”

She followed him down a short hallway and into a large office.  “Have a seat,” he told her then sat behind a large cherry wood desk.  He leaned back in the leather chair and put his feet on the corner of the desk.

Arianna began to panic and wondered whether she’d started off yet another first day of school on the wrong foot, perhaps the worst one to date.  Everything clicked and her heart dropped to her feet.

“You’re Principal Keller?” she asked.

“Bingo!” he replied and laughed.

She felt her jaw unhinge and knew she must look like an idiot.  She did not know what to do or say.  Surely words existed in the English language to apologize with, convincing words.  Unfortunately, all of them were escaping her.

“Oh my God!  I’m so sorry, you know, about the stuff I said earlier.  I just, well, it’s just that,” she fumbled.

“No need to apologize.  Most of my colleagues do wear bad suits, have bad breath, and, what was the rest?  Oh yes, they’re bad listeners, as well as pompous, power-tripping windbags.  Did I forget anything?”

“Nope, I think you got everything,” she replied and shrank into her seat.

Despite being the most powerful witch on the planet, or so she’d been told, and possessing the ability to incinerate any man she pleased including the one before her, she still felt a nervous drop of sweat trickle between her shoulder blades in her principal’s office.

“Very well then, let me properly introduce myself.  I am Josh Keller, principal of this fine school,” he said and smiled.  He sat up and removed his feet from the corner of his desk.  He picked up a manila file and scanned it quickly.  “You are Arianna Rose.”

“Yep, Arianna Rose with a big old foot in her mouth at the moment.  That’s me,” she said and felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Please don’t sweat what happened.  How could you have known?  I mean, I’m not even wearing a suit, least of all the telltale ugly suit of a principal.”

“Huh, true,” Arianna commented.  “If I may ask, why aren’t you wearing a suit?”

“Truthfully, I hate them.  Really, truly hate them.”

He didn’t like a suit?  Impossible!  She thought all principals adored their awful suits, that they were their uniforms of sorts.  She wondered whether she’d entered an alternate, Twilight Zone-y dimension.  Never before had an adult in a position of authority been so honest with her.  Principal Keller was unlike any other she’d ever met.  Another principal would have made her squirm mercilessly before offering up a severe punishment for her comments earlier.  Keller didn’t even seem offended, much less like he would seek future retribution.  If she weren’t in some alternate dimension, then perhaps this new school had potential, after all.

“So I see here you’re transferring from Herald Falls after less than two months there.  What was your experience like there?  Were there problems you’d like to discuss?”

Arianna wasn’t sure how to handle his question.  She’d prepared to tell a lie, but somehow lying to Keller felt wrong.

“My mom died,” she heard herself say.  “And the thought of living where I’d lived with her seemed, I don’t know, unbearable.”

“Wow,” he said and frowned sincerely.  “That’s awful.  When did this happen?”

“Two weeks ago.”

“Shit,” he breathed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I mean, shoot,” he caught himself.

First, he let her snarky principal comments roll off his back, then he, made the suit comment, and now he cursed.  She liked him more and more by the minute.

“No worries.  I say shit practically every other word,” she said and wasn’t lying.

“Two weeks ago?  You lost your mom just two weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“How are you and your dad coping?”

“No dad; it’s just me?”

“You’re all alone?  No family to look after you?”

“Nope.  I’m eighteen, so I’m on my own.  Not that my mom had anyone lined up for me.  She was an only child and my dad, well, who knows who he is.”

“That’s terrible,” he said.

Arianna hadn’t discussed any of her feelings since losing her mother, Luke and Lily.  Hearing another human being offer a simple sentence like Principal Keller just had, his sympathy, actually mattered to her.  He came across like a cool uncle or father.  Of course, she did not have a barometer by which to gauge such family members, but she’d heard of them, had seen their types depicted on television.  To her, kind or understanding male family members were like the Yeti: elusive, fabled beings she’d never encountered.

“It has been.”

“What are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?  Why not finish out your senior year in an online program?”

He sounded like Desmond, but for different reasons, naturally.  Keller didn’t know she was a witch, a deadly one at that, who was essentially followed by death.

“My mom always wanted me to graduate from high school.  She wanted to see me in my cap and gown, walking in the procession, soaking up all the pomp and circumstance, you know?”

He nodded solemnly.  “I do.”

“So I guess I just want to honor her by doing it, the old-fashioned way she would have enjoyed,” she said and heard her voice crack with emotion.

She stared at her lap and feverishly blinked back the tears that threatened, determined to make it through her first day without crying.  But when she looked up and saw that Keller’s eyes had welled up, too, several slipped down her cheeks.  “I’m sorry,” she said and wiped them.  “Shit, I didn’t mean to get all talk-show-guest-emotional on you.”

“Are you kidding me?” he asked.  “Are you actually apologizing for being upset that your mother died?”

She thought about what he was saying.  He was right.  She was apologizing for no reason.  “I guess I am.”

“Well don’t.  My wife, passed two years ago.  Cancer.  Two years, and I’m not over it, not by a long shot.  And here you are two weeks out of the gate and trying to honor your mom’s memory by finishing school.  I don’t know what to say.  Either you are a masochist or a superhuman.”

He seemed so close to guessing what she was.  Both of his guesses were wrong, of course, but close, damn close.  She was a witch and therefore a supernatural being, not a superhuman.

“I’m neither,” she said.  “I’m just a girl trying to push forward with her life, I guess.”

Keller pursed his lips and stared at her for several moments.

“So when do I meet with the guidance counselor and take the school tour?” she asked nervously.

“Oh, really, you were expecting those?” he asked and stroked his chin.  “Well, I guess I could arrange for it, if you’d like.  But I’ve always found those things so, unnecessary, and a bit stupid if you want to know the truth.”

“You think guidance counselors are stupid?”

“No.  Not really.  The tours, now they are stupid.  Guidance counselors just make bigger deals of things than needs to be made and get students worked up for no reason.  If teachers did their jobs, guidance counselors wouldn’t be needed.”

Again, Arianna felt her mouth drop.  His status in her eyes went from the outhouse before she’d met him, to the penthouse when he’d let her off the hook then made his suit comment, and now, after his guidance counselor remark, he skyrocketed to the stratosphere.

“I absolutely agree with you,” she said unable to mask her shock and adulation.  “Wow, I’ve never heard a teacher or principal be so honest.  Wow.”

“So no tour?” he smiled.

“No tour.”

“Good.”

“So what’s next?”

“I’ll print out your course schedule and you can head on off to class,” he said and smiled.

“Great.”

Keller’s fingers danced across the keyboard of his computer and seconds later a sheet of paper slid from his printer.  He grabbed it and handed it to her.  “Here you go.”

“That’s it?” she asked.

“That’s it.  Oh and here is your locker number and its combination,” he said after scribbling several numbers on his blotter then tearing the piece off.

Arianna took the paper from him and said, “Wow, thanks for making this so, I don’t know, painless,” she gushed.  “And sorry again for before, for my whole principal rant.”

“No need to worry about it.  Though your words will echo through my head next week.”

“Why?  What’s next week?”

“A weekend mixer with every pompous, bad breathed, ugly suit wearing principal in the district,” he laughed.

Arianna smiled then whispered, “You left out the part about being bad listeners and being windbags.”

“Oh, I guess I hadn’t been listening when you said that,” he said and winked.

Arianna laughed.

Her new principal laughed aloud too, a rich, sincere laugh.  Arianna turned and walked out of his office and felt a bit better about her choice to finish school traditionally.  She walked down the long locker-lined hallway and was reminded of Herald Falls.  The scent of the building – an odd mix of stale air and cafeteria food – was the same, the walls were painted the same shade of institutional mint green, and even the floor tiles were the same drab gray and green.  If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she was in Herald Falls High School, not Hallowed Hills High School.  Principal Keller had been a refreshing change from Principal Wood, but Arianna guessed he’d be the only true difference.

Arianna scanned the numbers on the lockers and found hers easily.  Fortunately, it was located just outside of Keller’s office on the first floor.  She would be able to slip out to the front parking lot right after school and not be slowed by tons of traffic.  As she turned the dial and tested the combination, the hallway began to fill.  Students filed in through the front door in a steady stream.  One student among them, a girl, jumped out at her immediately.  Tiny and waifish with a sleek, blue-black bob haircut and matching blue-black lipstick, the girl had a gargantuan presence despite her pixie-like size.  For reasons she could not explain, Arianna felt drawn to her.  Perhaps the girl was a witch, the reason she had been pulled to Hallowed Hills in the first place.  She hadn’t felt a pull so strong since the town she now lived in had practically jumped off the map and collared her.  The feeling she had, the strength of it, had to be significant.  The girl had to be significant.

She watched as the girl passed.  Clad from head to toe in black clothing, the girl, sensing Arianna’s eyes on her, narrowed her heavily lined eyes and pursed her lips.  She offered a look of annoyance then said, “If you’re looking for a date, sweetheart, look elsewhere.  I’m not into chicks.”

Ordinarily, Arianna would have lost her temper at someone mouthing off at her as the girl had.  However, she found herself admiring the girl’s courage instead of resenting it.  Only a person who could back her smart mouth with brawn – or supernatural powers in her case – would be that aggressive.  In the case of the girl, her tiny stature left only one other option: she was a witch.  Arianna was growing increasingly convinced of it.

“Ha,” Arianna laughed and acted against her trademark tendency for knee-jerk reactions.  “Don’t flatter yourself.  If I were into chicks, which I’m not, you definitely wouldn’t be my type.”

The girl paused and stared hard at Arianna.  Arianna did not look away.  She’d expected to feel the buzz of the girl’s energy, strong and similar to the intensity of the pull she’d felt seconds ago.  But so far, she felt nothing.  Was she losing her mind thinking an ordinary girl had powers? She wondered.  She’d also half expected a slow smile spread across the girl lips at her quick comeback, for that matter, and was surprised when it did not.

“Shit, tough crowd,” Arianna mumbled.  “I’m Arianna.”

The girl did not answer, just stared at her blankly.

“Do you have a name?” Arianna asked huffily.

“I’m Beth,” the girl replied begrudgingly.

“Now we’re making progress,” Arianna said sarcastically.

“New,” Beth surprised her by stating more than asking with a roll of her eyes.

“Yep, it’s my first day,” Arianna replied dryly.

“Huh, good luck,” Beth snarled and started to walk away.  She paused only to look to the front doors.

A small commotion had begun near the main entrance.  A group of eight students, five boys and three girls, had just walked in.  Arianna had no idea who they were, but judging from the aggravated look on Beth’s face, she assumed they were not friends of hers.  Curiosity nagged her brain so she homed in on conversations around her while Beth glanced back over her shoulder at them.  From what she could hear, the group was the popular crew in the school.  Chatter ranged from subtle admiration to unhealthy adoration.

“Who are they?” Arianna asked Beth and nodded toward them.

“Assholes,” she replied under her breath and walked away as the group approached.

They circled around Arianna just as Beth left.  She shifted her attention from the conversations she’d been eavesdropping on in the hallway to the people before her.  She tried to tune into the faint hum of energy that existed when she was in the presence of fellow witches.  She’d thought she’d sensed it seconds earlier, the vaguest trace of a current rippled through her when she’d first seen Beth.  But now, she felt nothing.  The faint hum had vanished.  The group appeared to be run-of-the-mill human beings.

“Hey, who’re you,” a girl asked Arianna.

“Arianna.  And you are?” Arianna answered icily.

“Oh sorry,” the girl said.  “I’m Jess.  This is your first day?”

“Yep, how’d you guess?”

“Uh, you have that shell-shocked holy-shit-this-is-my-first-day look on your face.”

“Huh, is it that obvious?”

“Totally.”

“Wow, that’s embarrassing.”

A male voice cleared his throat and Jess fluttered to the side.  “Oh, yeah, guys, this is Arianna.  It’s her first day,” Jess announced to the group.  “This is Scott,” she said and gestured to who appeared to be the heart of the group, the person around whom everyone else had positioned themselves.

“Hey,” Scott said and tipped his chin in greeting.  After seeing Desmond the day before, she thought every other guy would look about as attractive as a gnarled gnome in her eyes.  But Scott was not unattractive in the least.  Her knees weren’t knocking or anything like that, but he was good looking enough.  And if she were judging him based solely upon the conversations swirling when he’d walked in, then he was a god.

“How’s it going,” Arianna said.

“Good, getting better by the minute.  If you need any help finding your classes, or with anything, just let me know.  I’d be more than happy to lend a hand,” he said and smiled a devilish smile.

Arianna felt certain Scott’s smile alone had gotten him plenty of female action in school.  He flashed it at her with confidence that bordered on cockiness, and rightly so.  He did have an amazing smile.  What he did not know was that he was wasting his time.  She wasn’t interested in flirting with him; especially after enduring the ego-crushing rejection episode with Desmond.

“Thanks for the offer,” she said flatly.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Scott’s brown eyes danced with delight.  Arianna wondered why, wondered if perhaps he enjoyed a challenge and viewed her as one.  If that were the case, he’d be in for the challenge of a lifetime.  A prophesied super witch doomed to a life of loneliness and celibacy couldn’t be more challenging.

“This is George,” Jess said and interrupted the intensity of Scott’s stare.  She pointed to a tall, lanky boy beside Scott.  Baby-faced despite his gaunt build, George smiled a humorless smile that ended at his lips.  His boyish features were betrayed by an air of gravity that surrounded him, existing like separate entity she swore she could touch if she tried.  He was the poster child for the surly teenage boy.

Jess continued with her introductions and rattled names as she pointed a Paul, a Chris, a Josh, a Kit and a Meg.

“Nice to meet you,” Arianna said to the group.

“Maybe we can meet up at lunch,” Scott suggested.  His tone was neither flirtatious nor predatory and Arianna felt confident he had received the silent psychic message she’d sent.

“Yeah, why don’t you hang with us at lunch?” Meg asked.

“What do you have first period?” Jess asked and gripped the paper Arianna held for a closer look.

Her hand brushed Arianna’s hand, and Arianna felt a fleeting flux of energy drift across her skin.  She wondered whether it was mind over matter, or whatever the cliché witch expression was for her powers willing into existence something that did not really exist.  Either way, she’d thought she’d felt something.  She looked up from her hand and was met with guileless blue eyes, innocent eyes, not the eyes of a witch.  The expression she wore and the clarity of her freshly scrubbed, freckled face did not belong to that of a supernatural being, but a grown-up Raggedy Ann doll.

“I see you have Mr. Dickinson first period,” she said.  “I do, too.  I’ll take you there,” she suggested.

“We’ll see you later,” Scott said and winked.  He turned from Arianna and Jess and began walking away with George practically pinned to his hip.

“Yeah, I hope we see you later!”  Meg said cheerfully and scurried after Scott and George.

The rest of the group followed suit, traveling like a bizarre multi-legged creature.  Scott clearly led the way, led all of them.  She’d seen the same thing in school after school she’d been to for as far back as she could remember.  Even as early as elementary school, cliques had formed and inevitably had a clearly defined leader.  They generally irritated her, but considering that this was her final high school experience, she was willing to let this one go and maybe even allow herself to be included in theirs.

Arianna looked up and found herself alone with Jess.

“This school is not so bad, once you get used to it,” Jess said as they walked down the hallway.  “The teachers are okay and most of the kids are nice.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Arianna said.  “So far everyone seems all right.”

Arianna stared straight ahead as they walked.  She looked down the long hallway and saw countless heads, but felt Jess’s eyes on her.  She did not know what she was expected to say.  Was she supposed to start rambling about her past, tell her life story maybe? She wondered.  She wasn’t a ready talker when it came to initiating a conversation.  She fared better when she was reacting to a person or situation, not taking the reins and yammering about herself.

“So,” she tried to breach the awkward silence.  “Mr. Dickinson, huh.  That’s a great name.  I bet the kids have a field day with it.”

She’d hoped Jess would start telling her all the rude variations of his name other kids had come up with over the years, but she did not.  Instead, she drew her brows together in confusion.

“You know, because his name has the word,” she started but did not see the point in continuing.  “Oh forget it,” she said and waved her hand absently.  She did not want to ruin what was happening.  She did not want to offend Jess with her crude sense of humor, not yet, at least.  Even awkward silence was preferable to hostility.

“Here we are.  Mr. Dickinson’s room,” Jess stopped in front of an open door.

“Room eighty-eight, it is,” Arianna replied and smiled warmly.

Arianna thanked her and glanced into the room.  Jess walked in ahead of her and sat before a desk near the front of the room.  As Arianna passed her seat and headed to an empty desk in back, Jess tugged her arm and said, “Trust me, Mr. Dickinson does not live up to his name, but I’m happy to fill you in on some of the more colorful names he’s been called recently.”  Jess arched a brow.  A wicked gleam twinkled in her blue eyes and they no longer looked as open as they had before.  She smiled broadly.  “I’m not as innocent as I seem,” she smirked before releasing Arianna’s arm.

Arianna smiled back, but paused for a moment, unsure of what to make of what Jess had said.  She had not thought Jess was prudish earlier.  She just had not wanted to open the floodgates of her crass sense of humor yet.  They’d just met.  There would be plenty of time for everyone to be offended by her in the near future.  She’d simply wanted to try pacing herself this time around.  As it turned out, she had nothing to worry about.  Jess was like her.  She contemplated saying as much, but decided against it and made her way to the empty desk in the last row.  She sat down just in time for Mr. Dickinson to sweep into the room with a Styrofoam coffee cup from a franchise coffee house in hand.

“Does anyone else just hate getting up so darn early?” he asked.  “I didn’t even have time for my morning cigarette, so I may have to dismiss class early.  By the way, anyone who mentions my cigarette comment will fail my class.  Cigarettes are bad, blah, blah, blah, lecture, lecture, lecture,” he said and Arianna reverted back to her initial impression after she’d met Keller.  She must be in an alternate universe.  So far, her new school was too good to be true.

Chapter 6

Sifting from Maine to New York had sapped Desmond of any remaining energy he’d had.  Teleporting long distances often did that to him.  His exhaustion was compounded, however, by what had happened between him and Arianna.  He had not planned to kiss her, much less for things between them to become so heated.  But he loved her, and when he was with her, he felt drawn to her more than any place or person in his life.  A force more potent than the Earth’s gravitational pull kept him in her orbit, kept him close by.  He had to remind himself, though, that despite his intense attraction to her, he would always be kept at a distance.  The prophecy said as much.

Prophecy or no prophecy, he knew she must be seething by now, that any hurt or embarrassment she’d felt had long-since been transformed into pure anger.  He did not blame her.  He was angry, too.  Each time he recalled the prophecy after seeing her, it felt more and more like a sick cosmic joke.  Part of him wanted to say to hell with it, and succumb to the gravity of his feelings.  But he knew he could not, that the ramifications of him disregarding it could be catastrophic.  So he would suffer, with love so natural and instinctive it was like breathing, for a woman he could never be with.

An icy wind howled like a wounded animal through the stately cedars along the lane that led to the Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church and echoed an ache deep within him.  The giant barbed boughs of the trees swayed with the gust, but never surrendered their sentinel stare.  Who or what they watched for, he did not know, but felt as though the entire forest around him was vigilant, waiting with bated breath.  Still, he moved forward and allowed the crisp air to invigorate him.  He needed the time to recharge, knew that entering the church would require him to sift through the buildings formidable exterior.

When Desmond finally reached the end of the pathway, the church towered imposingly.  He had been there just two weeks earlier, but in that time, he had forgotten what a striking structure it was.  Built entirely of stone, it would have looked like a grand fortress were it not for the beveled stained-glass windows that ornamented it like jewels sparkling in the sunlight, and the cross at the apex of the steeple.  But he hadn’t come to the church to appreciate the intricate architecture.  He’d come for answers.  Howard Kane had spent the greater part of his life hunting the Sola.  If a bastardization of her prophecy existed, one that depicted her as a vengeful, evil force sent to overtake the world, Kane would surely have it.

Yellow tape blocked the wooden doors at the top of a set of short concrete steps, and a sticker posted between them announced that the church had been closed indefinitely pending a criminal investigation.  The Soldiers of the Divine Trinity Church had been declared a crime scene.  He’d known that much, and about the investigation.  The local newspaper reported weeks earlier that the police department and the FBI had unearthed the charred remains of Kane’s men.  While most would have been deterred by their destination being declared a crime scene, Desmond was encouraged by it.  Cleared of congregants and staff, as well as the possibility of anyone arriving, the threat of being discovered was eliminated.  He would be free to search for what he’d come for.

Desmond closed his eyes and envisioned himself inside the building, envisioned his body passing effortlessly through stone and wood, through plaster and paint.  As he did so, his body felt weightless and white light filled his field of vision for the briefest of moments.  When he opened his eyes again, he stood inside the vestibule.  Unlit candles sat on an iron rack to his left along the wall and a large empty vat that had once held holy water sat in the center of the passageway.  Ahead was another set of wooden doors.  They opened to the congregational seating area where rows of pews faced a sanctuary.  Desmond walked down the center aisle.  He needed to get to the presbytery, the place where Kane had both worked and lived.  In his office and living space, he was certain he’d find some kind of documentation that had distorted the truth of the Sola’s purpose so much so that it had driven Kane and his people, as well as the man in the drainage system.

He stopped at the altar and looked off to his left and saw the sacristy.  Typically, only Bibles and vestments were kept inside, but he looked anyway.  He stepped into the small storage area and scanned the few titles that were not Bibles.  Nothing of interest caught his attention.  He walked back out to the sanctuary and walked past the altar.  On the right was a small area with statues of saints and another rack of unlit candles.  Beyond them, however, was a door.  Desmond opened the door and found that beyond it was a hallway.  He quickly strode down it, his need for clarity pounding against his ribcage in time with his heartbeat.  He needed to find something, anything, that would shine light on the robed man’s words; on the destruction he continued to be drawn to, and to end the ceaseless grumblings of his brain.

At the end of the hallway, a single door awaited him.  He turned the handle and pushed the door forward.  An ornate cherry wood desk and floor-to-ceiling shelves in a matching wood that gleamed as though it had just been polished occupied one-half of the space.  The other half was a living quarter decorated with furniture in an identical finish.  His eyes went immediately to the bookshelf.  Dozens of leather-bound volumes had been neatly arranged on each shelf.  Most of the titles involved witchcraft in some way or another.  Some were against it; some were reference books, while others were veritable how-to manuals.

He closed his eyes and searched with his entire being for any book of use.  He opened them and his gaze zeroed in on a particular one.  His heart nearly stopped when he noticed the title of one he focused on, and that its spine protruded from the shelf, away from the others, as if beckoning him.  Distinctive in coloring, its leather was worn and the gold lettering on its spine had been scuffed so that the words along it were no longer legible.  He reached out and slid it from its place.

With the heavy book in his hands, the title on the cover became visible.  Desmond nearly dropped the fragile looking volume when he saw that it was the Tome of Ares, written by Asus, one of the most powerful warlocks in recorded history.  How could Kane possibly have such a sacred book in his possession?  His father had read to him from The Tome of Ares long ago, when he was a child.  That is how he came to know of the prophecy, of the Sola.

The book looked too old, too tattered to be a replica.  The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose, as though a warning had been whispered with tempting lips up the length of his neck while his hand slid beneath the leather cover.  He turned the first page and saw that it had been handwritten.  It was the original.  Kane had somehow procured the original Tome of Ares.  He began thumbing through the fragile, yellowed pages and read line after line of horrific text that foretold of the Sola leading the whole of her kind against humanity.

The prophecy he was reading, the words in Kane’s book, did not gel with all he’d been taught, though.  Kane’s Tome stated that the rise of the Sola was to unite the witches of the world to destroy humanity in an effort to claim the planet for themselves.

Desmond’s mouth went dry and his hands began to tremble.  He knew Arianna would never do what the book predicted she’d do.  He knew her, had known her for her entire life.  She wasn’t capable of orchestrating the global annihilation of humankind.  Yet, the Tome said otherwise.  None of it made sense.

He was about to slam the book shut and sift to Arianna’s house when he noticed another difference in Kane’s Tome: there was another chapter.  Written after the one he’d just read, the handwriting in the chapter was different and obviously penned by someone other than Asus.  He leaned against Kane’s desk, certain he’d need the support, and read.  A chill settled over Desmond as he read in disturbing detail how the Sola had been born and given a protector, him.  A furious tremor racked his body when he reached the final page and found that the author had signed his name.  Agnon, the chapter had been written by Agnon, Desmond’s father.

The Tome fell from his hands and landed against the tiled floor with a loud thud.  Desmond’s head began to swirl with more questions than his mind could process at once.  But two among them stood out and bored at his brain like a drill.  Could the predictions in Kane’s Tome possibly be the truth?  Had his father known the truth and lied to him his entire life?  None of it made sense.  All that he’d read contradicted a lifetime of teachings.  Desmond needed answers.  He needed to leave.  He needed to find his father.

Chapter 7

For the second day in a row, Arianna woke without an alarm clock.  Certain it was a personal record she ought to relish in, she lay in bed for several minutes, enjoying the feel of her warm, down comforter. The sun had just begun its ascent over the horizon line and crept over the treetops behind brilliant hues of orange and pink as it slowly edged out the navy night sky.  Her new bed with its new covering in her new cabin with its spectacular new view of a new day was nearly as inspiring as her experience the day before at her new school.

Her first day at Hallowed Hills High School had been her best ever, another record as far as she was concerned.  To date, she’d never used the words best and school, or anything remotely related, in the same sentence.  Yet, lying in her bed with another school day ahead of her, she could honestly say it had been her best first day ever.  Moreover, she wasn’t dreading going back.  She was hoping for another just like it.

Her first day had moved at warp speed and had been filled with fantastic teachers and friendly students.  She’d surprised herself by taking Scott and Meg up on their lunch offer and had sat with them in the cafeteria.  Never before had she been part of an “in” crowd; not even for a day, yet yesterday, she had eaten a meal with them, laughed at their jokes and even cracked a few of her own.  Afterward, they’d hung around together in the gym on the bleachers, just talking and laughing.  In all honesty, she hadn’t wanted her lunch period to end.  She’d been having such a good time she’d managed to forget about smoking after she’d eaten.  She’d gone the entire school day without smoking.  It wasn’t until she had reached her car that her need for nicotine had become bothersome.

Arianna smiled as she recalled the day before.  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and hurried to the bathroom, eager to get to school.  She readied herself quickly and ate breakfast before leaving.

She’d been so busy thinking about her classes, teachers and, dare she dream, friends, that thoughts of her mother, Luke and Desmond only darted into her mind intermittently as opposed to remaining a constant presence in her brain.  She knew those thoughts would invariably return, that once the novelty of her arrival wore off, she’d be alone again, alone with all the pain and loss, the embarrassment and confusion.  But for now, she was determined to enjoy whatever happiness that came her way for as long as it lasted.

She pulled into the parking lot in front of the school and stubbed out the cigarette she’d been smoking while she drove.  She glimpsed Jess getting out of a dented Honda Accord across from her and popped a piece of gum in her mouth before getting out and clearing her throat loudly.

“Oh hey Arianna!” Jess called to her.

Normally, Arianna wouldn’t have been so needy, or transparent for that matter.  She would have ignored Jess altogether and waited for her to approach inside.  But forging friendships had never been her forte.  In the past, at times, she knew she had been standoffish.  Life and experience had hardened her.  She had never had time for the courtship and games associated with joining groups and making friends.  Now, it seemed all she had was time, and the idea of experimenting with group-joining tactics did not seem beneath her any longer.  Still, the prospect of putting herself out there, of making herself vulnerable, was as terrifying as it was foreign.  She was treading in uncharted waters.

“Oh Jess,” she replied and feigned surprise.  “You scared me.  I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry,” Jess apologized and her brows gathered as if she genuinely regretted startling her.

“Don’t be,” she said and worried she’d overacted a bit.  She hadn’t wanted to make Jess feel bad; just make herself seem less pathetic.  “How are you?” Arianna heard herself ask awkwardly.

“Good,” Jess replied and didn’t seem to notice.  “How was your first day here?”

“I have to say it was pretty good,” she admitted.  “Better than some of the others I’ve had.”

“Others?” Jess asked.  “How many new schools have you started?”

“This is my third,” she said.

“This is your third new school,” Jess said with wide-eyed surprise.  “Wow that sucks.”

“I know,” Arianna agreed and felt a pang of guilt for lying.  Hallowed Hills was not the third school she’d transferred to.  In truth, she did not know what number it was.  She’d lost count.

“It must be hard to make friends moving from school to school.”

“No, it’s not too bad.  I keep in touch with quite a few people,” she lied again.

She wasn’t sure why she’d felt compelled to lie, but felt ashamed of the fact that she had never made a real friend at any of the schools she’d been to, save for Lily.  And Lily was gone.  In reality, she had no one.  Not one single person existed on the planet that she could call an acquaintance, much less a friend.  Over the course of her school career, she’d switched schools on more than a dozen occasions and was a powerful witch who could incinerate anyone she so damn well chose.  And she did not scare easily, least of all by a teenage girl.  She wasn’t sure why the lies were just rolling off her tongue, why she felt the need to conceal who she was from Jess.  She’d always been comfortable with who she was.  Perhaps that had been her biggest problem.  No one ever liked her for who she was.  Now that she was the Sola and in a transitional place in her life, she wondered whether changing other parts of her would be beneficial as well.

“Well, your old friends are going to have to learn to share you,” Jess warned and draped an arm over Arianna’s shoulder.  “‘Cause we like to get together a lot on the weekends and after school.”

“Do you?” she asked and felt a little flutter in her belly at the implication of an invite.

“Yep,” Jess began, but was distracted by a Jeep Cherokee backing in to a parking spot ahead.  Her arm fell from Arianna’s shoulders and she said, “Oh look, there’s Scott and George.  Let’s catch up with them.”

Jess sped her pace and Arianna struggled to keep up.  Jess was like metal being drawn to a magnet, seemingly powerless to keep from going to him.

“Hey Scott!” Jess called out as Scott climbed out of his SUV.

“Hi Jess.  Hi Arianna,” Scott said but his eyes remained on Arianna the entire time.  “Glad to see you.”

Jess, buoyed by his words and oblivious of the fact he had not even so much as glanced her way, nearly lifted the hem of her skirt and twirled in a circle like a schoolgirl.  Scott seemed to have that effect on many girls at Hallowed Hills High School.  She’d heard as much when she’d listened in on several conversations a day earlier.  Scott was cute, by high school boy standards.  Tall and rakish with intentionally mussed short brown hair, brown eyes and wearing skinny jeans, he had a boy-band-singer look to him that was pleasant enough.  While Arianna had generally made a point of avoiding guys who wore skinny jeans, she had made an exception with Scott.  Somehow, he managed to make them look neither dorky nor effeminate.

“Did you have a good first day here, Arianna?” he asked.

“It was fine,” she answered.

“Can you believe this is the third school Arianna has transferred to?” Jess chimed in.

Arianna would have bristled at her comment in the past, despite the neutral tone she’d used.  But this time, she just took it for what it was: nothing.

“Really,” Scott replied as he riffled through his backpack.  “That kind of sucks doesn’t it?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Arianna replied tightly and shrugged.  “Gotta make the best of every situation, right?”

Scott smiled and he pulled a pack of Camels from his backpack.  “Absolutely,” he said and slid a cigarette from his pack to his lips.  George pulled a lighter from his pocket and tossed it to Scott.  Scott lit his cigarette and spoke with it dangling between his lips.  “Hope you don’t mind if I smoke,” he said coolly.

“Nope, not at all,” Arianna said and smirked as she pulled her own pack from her purse and flashed them at him.

“See, I knew right away there was something I liked about you,” he said and raised one corner of his mouth.

Arianna swore she saw a glint of amber gleam in Scott’s brown irises as he’d spoken to her.  She wondered whether it was the sun in his eyes or whether her own eyes had deceived her.  She guessed too much time spent in the company of paranormal beings could have that effect on a person.  After all, she hadn’t experienced the slightest tremor of energy radiating from him.

“Need a light?” George interrupted her thoughts by asking in his odd monotone.

“Uh,” she patted her pockets for her own lighter and realized she’d left it in the car.  “Sure.  Thanks.”

He tossed the silvery rectangle to her.  When she caught it between her hands, a small burst of light flashed and a shock nipped her palms.

“What the hell?” she muttered.

“Sorry,” George said.  “Static electricity; got to watch out for it.”

“No big deal,” Arianna said and matched George’s lifeless tone.

He locked eyes with her briefly and she tried to focus her energy on him, to get a read on him, but came up empty.  As far as she could tell, he was just a gangly kid unfortunate enough to have a striking resemblance to Herman Munster.

“Did you ask her yet?” Scott asked Jess and effectively ended her meager interest in George.

“Ask her what?” Jess asked as her face screwed up in confusion.

“About tonight,” Scott said.

Jess’s features were suddenly smoothed by recognition.  “Oh yeah!  No, I didn’t ask her yet.”

“Hmm,” he said and took a long drag from his cigarette.  “I guess I’ll have the honor then.”

“Ask me what?” Arianna heard herself ask, her curiosity piqued.

“There’s a party tonight,” he began.  “A bunch of us are getting together.  I would like it if you could come.”

Arianna wasn’t sure what to say.  Part of her wanted to say, “Holy fuckballs!  You want me to come?  Hell yeah! Count me in!” But she knew that reaction would certainly get her uninvited.  She had never been invited to a party of any kind in all her school years, least of all a party including the “in” crowd.  This was a first.  She began to wonder whether her loneliness had been her own doing all along, whether the not-so-subtle fuck off expression she’d always worn like a badge of courage had kept people away.  Perhaps the Sola prophecy was all bullshit.  Maybe she didn’t have to be alone the rest of her life.  She did not know for sure.  She’d never seen any documentation of this mysterious, centuries-old prediction.  Maybe it was even subject to change.  She did not know.

Hope swirled in her belly dangerously.

“Well, what do you say?  Do you want to come?” Scott asked and she swore she saw the amber glint again.

“Oh come on!  You have to come!” Jess whined.

Arianna let the question linger in the air for a moment in an attempt to not come across like the over-eager loser she felt like.

“All right, I’ll come,” she said as if they’d somehow convinced her.

“Yay!” Jess said and clapped.

Scott glanced at his watch and said, “Shit, I gotta go.  Don’t want to be late for first period.”

He dropped his cigarette to the pavement and stepped on it.  “I’ll see you at lunch?” he stated more than asked.

“Maybe,” Arianna replied, though in her head she said, bet your sweet ass I’ll be there, certain she would join him and his friends.

“Cool,” he said and smiled amusedly.  He looked at her in a way that made her feel as if he’d heard her thoughts.  She knew he hadn’t, but felt heat creep up her neck and touch her cheeks anyway.

“See you later, Arianna,” he said.

Arianna watched as Scott left, with George in tow like an emaciated Frankenstein.

“Oh. My. God.” Jess enunciated each word with restraint so flimsily harnessed, it threatened to blow at any second.  “Scott totally likes you!”

“No he doesn’t,” she lied again.

Scott made plain his interest in Arianna.  She wasn’t about to tell Jess that, though.  Girls did not like it when other girls were confident.  If she’d blurted out, No shit! Really? she knew it would not be well received.

“Yes!  He so does!” Jess gushed.  “You’re so lucky.”

Hurt tinged Jess’s words.  She wasn’t sure why, but Jess’s hurt bothered Arianna.  She’d only met the girl yesterday and had no real reason to care about her feelings, but found herself hoping she wasn’t the one responsible for the hurt.

“Jess, do you like Scott?” she asked.

“No, well, I don’t know, sort of,” Jess replied and seemed tortured by the partial admission.

The last thing Arianna wanted was to get caught up in a love triangle.  She liked Jess and thought she was sweet.  And she had no intention of hooking up with Scott.

“Have you ever talked to him, you know, about how you feel?”

“No.  We’ve always been friends.  Nothing more.”

“It doesn’t have to stay that way, you know.”

“Yes it does,” Jess said and blinked back tears that threatened to fall.  “He likes you, and so do I.  Besides, I’ll be going away to college before you know it.  So will Scott.  What would be the point of creating drama for a relationship doomed to last only a few months?”

Arianna nearly fell over.  Jess’s comment was lucid, intelligent and mature.  She’d never known a teenage girl to be all those things.  Hell, she hadn’t known any women to be all those things.

“Wow, I’m impressed.  You’re really impressive,” Arianna heard herself say and wondered whether it were too much.

But Jess’s expression said it all.  A broad smile spread across her face and pride touched her eyes.

“Thanks.  That means a lot to me,” Jess said and touched Arianna’s forearm lightly.  “I’m glad you’re here, I mean, I’m glad you moved here to Hallowed Hills.”

“Me, too,” Arianna admitted.  “All right, enough with this tampon commercial sappy bullshit!” She said and smiled.  “Let’s get to class before I get my ass tossed out on my second day for skipping.”

Jess laughed and shook her head.  “You are a piece of work, Arianna.  Anybody ever tell you that?”

“No never,” Arianna deadpanned.

Jess froze.  Her face transformed into a mask of nervousness. “Oh. I was just kidding.  I didn’t mean,” she began but Arianna cut her off.

“I’m just kidding!” Arianna laughed.

Jess breathed a sigh of relief then slapped her in the arm.  “Bitch!” she said playfully.

Arianna had never been so happy to be called a bitch in her entire life.  It was the playful profanity of a budding friendship.

Walking side by side, Arianna and Jess entered the front doors of Hallowed Hills High School.  Arianna stopped at her locker just beyond the entrance.

“My locker is upstairs,” Jess said.  “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Okay,” Arianna said and stifled the excitement she was feeling.

Jess turned from her and dashed down the hallway.  Arianna grabbed a notebook and shut her locker.  As she did so, she glimpsed Beth making her way into the building.  Dressed in all black, wearing heavy black makeup around her dark eyes and with dyed, blue-black hair, her skin looked abnormally pale.

“Hey Beth,” Arianna said and tipped her chin toward the pallid pint-sized girl.

Beth ignored Arianna’s greeting and breezed past her.

“What the fuck?” Arianna mumbled under her breath.

She wondered what exactly the little Goth girl’s problem with her was.  It was only her second day, and she’d done everything in her power to be unlike she’d ever been before.  She’d even said hello to her not once, but twice now, only to get humiliated then ignored.  Luckily, Paul, Josh and Chris walked in shortly after, then Meg and Kit strolled in right behind them.

“Hey Arianna!” they called one by one.

“Did the first bell ring yet?” Chris asked and Arianna noticed that today, he looked much cuter than he had the day before.

“No, it hasn’t,” she replied.

“Whew!  I didn’t want to get stuck sitting in detention for being late again today,” he said as he passed.  “See you at lunch!”

“See you at lunch,” Meg and Kit smiled and went in different directions.

Josh and Paul hung back and walked with Arianna to her first class.  She was not used to so much positive attention.  Their friendliness and acceptance of her was nerve-racking.

“You have Dickinson first period, right?” Paul surprised her by remembering.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Arianna said and could not help but smile.

“Is he as awesome as everyone says he is?” Josh asked.

“Um, so far he seems pretty awesome.  Yesterday he started class by saying school was too early and he hadn’t had his first cigarette of the day yet.”

“That sounds like Dickinson all right,” Paul laughed and shook his head.  “I’ve had him before.  He’s a pisser!”

“I’ve never had him.  I had Mr. Jackson.  Total douche!  You guys are lucky,” Josh grumbled.

Arianna was so happy to be walking and chatting with her new friends, she nearly walked right passed her class.

“Oh shit, this is my class, Mr. Dickinson’s room.”

“Whoops!  We almost took you with us!” Josh commented.

“Almost,” Arianna smiled and started to go inside.

“I’ll save you a seat in the cafeteria,” Paul said and smiled then disappeared down the hallway.

Arianna was left clutching her books over her chest with a warm feeling in her heart for the first time in what seemed like eternity.  Though it was not long ago that she’d had a boyfriend, someone to hug and kiss and talk with, her relationship had been cut short, violently.  Luke’s death, and her mother’s death, had left her feeling as though she’d never smile again, never be truly happy again.  Desmond had been the only glimmer of hope on her otherwise bleak horizon, but even he had hurt her in a devastatingly monumental way.  Yet, here she was, impossibly, enjoying the newness and excitement of a group of strangers that were fast becoming her friends.  She smiled and turned to go inside.

Mr. Dickinson’s class, and all of her other classes, flew by.  Lunch, in particular, had sped by so quickly that if someone had told her the hands on the clock had been manipulated forward, she would have believed them unquestioningly.  The entire day had felt like that.  Before she knew it, she found herself standing before her locker gathering her belongings and about to leave.  She’d slung her backpack over one shoulder and was about to leave when she saw Beth approaching.  Arianna stepped in front of her, so that there could be no confusion as to whether or not Beth had heard or seen her, and spoke.

“Hi Beth,” Arianna said flatly.

“Look, I was joking yesterday,” Beth snapped.  “But now I’m beginning to think you’re into me.”

“What?” Arianna asked confusedly and stepped back.  “No!  It’s nothing like that!”

“I’m not interested, sweetheart,” Beth said and held up a hand.

Arianna was about to launch into one of her signature tirades when Beth slipped by her and out the front door.

“Damn it!” Arianna muttered.

She didn’t know what it was about Beth, why she felt compelled to make friends with her.  She’d originally thought that perhaps Beth possessed powers.  Now the notion made her cringe.  How cliché would that have been, a witch who dressed from head to toe in black, wore black lipstick and black makeup?  Beth might as well have worn a pointed hat and towed a broomstick behind her.  All of it would have been too absurd to be possible.  Arianna had felt the slightest tingling whisper through her when they’d first met and thought it would be worth a try getting to know her.  But not now, not after Beth’s continued accusation that Arianna was interested in more than just friendship.  She would not keep making an ass of herself with Beth.  She’d been drawn to Hallowed Hills; that much she knew.  Why or to whom she’d been drawn remained a mystery.  One thing she was certain of: she would not be wasting any more time or energy on Beth.

Chapter 8

Arianna’s features flashed in Desmond’s mind repeatedly.  Her large brown eyes, the curtains of dark hair that fell in straight panels around her face to her shoulders, her perfect lips, each of her exquisite attributes, drifted hazily in his mind’s eye like a lagoon mirage of a man wandering the desert.  His vision of her kept his freezing legs moving, kept him from turning back and fleeing the harsh land he walked upon.  Fierce winds lashed against his body as he trekked along an ice-crusted path toward Ellsworth Land on the Antarctic Peninsula.  Despite the fact that it was spring there and boasted light-filled days, the temperature hovered around negative twelve degrees Fahrenheit and was getting colder the further south he traveled.  Desmond had used his powers to create a protective field around himself, to guard his mortal body against the elements.

While his powers warmed his body, love and faith warmed his insides.  His love for Arianna, his belief in her goodness, pushed him onward. But love and faith were not the only motivating forces heating him.  Anger and betrayal had ignited a considerable fire as well.

His father had written a chapter in the Tome of Ares, and had withheld that fact from him his entire life.  Desmond needed to know why.  Why had his father betrayed him?  Why had his father written such lies about the Sola, about Arianna?

Thoughts of his father’s misguided chapter riled him and sent a bolt of rage surging through his veins.  The flare of energy was so potent, the section of air before him that quivered and shimmered like heat radiating off pavement, his field of warmth, faltered briefly.  Allowing his emotions to rise erratically as they had could get him killed.  He needed to rein them in, to control them until he reached his father’s compound.

The Antarctic Peninsula was dotted with numerous research stations.  All squat buildings that housed scientists from around the world, the terrain on which they sat maintained multiple claims of sovereignty.  Of course, none of those countries that sought to claim sovereignty knew that the land also housed the most powerful living warlock whose abilities would only be eclipsed by that of the Sola.

Desmond’s father, Agnon, lived beyond the acreage that accommodated global scientists.  He lived deep in the hostile heart of Ellsworth Land in a building that rose like an ashen fortress from the colorless landscape.  Protected by an invisible barrier that guarded against sifting, Agnon’s stronghold was impervious to any supernatural being capable of teleportation, including Desmond.

He had been able to teleport from Herald Falls, New York in the United States to Ushuaia at the southernmost point of Argentina in South America.  He rested there then teleported to the Peninsula.  But the closer he drew to his father’s compound, the more he felt his sifting abilities wane.  The continual flow inside of him that raced like electricity along with his lifeblood came to an abrupt stop.  The effect was dizzying and disorienting.  He felt as though the most vital part of his being had been stripped from him.  He knew the reason for it, knew it was his father’s need to survive at work, but never felt prepared for it, no matter how many times he experienced it.

He paused before the looming structure, taking in the imposing scenery around it.  A dark silhouette stood framed by a second-story window, his considerable form backlit by a soft glow of light.  He would have known it was his father had he not seen the shape behind the glass.  He could feel the leaden weight of his stare.  It also helped that his father was the only year-round lifetime inhabitant of Antarctica.  Like a phantom, his father lived, nestled between snowy peaks, without anyone knowing of his existence, hiding in plain sight.

The figure disappeared as Desmond made his way toward the compound.  The front door opened and his father waved him inside.

“Desmond!” his father greeted him.  “It’s so good to see you.”

Desmond stepped over the threshold and into a mudroom.  His father clasped his hand and pumped it vigorously.  Never a man who favored affectionate gestures, a handshake from Agnon was the closest thing to a hug Desmond had gotten since he was a boy.

“How are you, son?  You look tired.  Did the journey drain you of strength?”

“I am well, father.  I’m a bit tired.  The cold, you know, I’m not used to it.  I had to use my powers to keep myself warm.”

His father gave a half smile.  When he did, he looked like a man far younger than he was.  Born centuries earlier, Agnon had seen the rise and fall of empires, dictators, prophets and madmen.  Yet, he didn’t look a day older than his fiftieth year.  With meticulously groomed silver hair and matching beard, few creases lined Agnon’s face.  His blues eyes were the exact azure of Desmond’s eyes and matched the sky on a clear day and his body was large and fit.

“Take some of those layers off, and your boots, and come in.  We will have coffee by the fire.”

Desmond minded his father’s instructions and began removing the outer layer of clothing he wore.  He laid his snow pants, coat, hat and gloves atop a wooden shelf and made his way into the living-room area, but not before removing the Tome of Ares from the backpack he’d brought.

His father sat with impeccable posture in a leather chair, his regal profile outlined by a roaring fire.

“Come,” his father ordered him. “Sit down,” he gestured to an identical chair beside him.

Desmond could feel the panicked pound of his pulse hammering in his neck as he sidestepped the chair and stood, instead, in front of his father clutching the Tome.  He dropped the book in his father’s lap and worried his voice would waver with the words he was about to speak.

“What is the meaning of this, father?” he asked and was pleased that he sounded far more confident than he felt.

His father opened the book and flipped through its pages casually.  “It is exactly what it claims to be.  It is the Tome of Ares.”

“The original Tome of Ares,” Desmond corrected.

“Yes,” his father replied unimpressed.

“The most sacred text of our people, the very one that speaks of the prophecy, of the Sola, right?”

“Yes,” his father answered.

Arrogance waited just beneath the surface of his father’s nonchalant attitude, waiting to pounce like a coiled snake.  Desmond could feel the tautness of his energy wafting in strained waves.

“And the last chapter, it was authored by you?”

“Yes it was,” his father replied tightly.

Desmond wanted to scream in his face, accuse him of unspeakable betrayal for not telling him of his role in the Tome, of not telling him the truth.  But he knew his father’s temperament well, knew of the cruel and vindictive streak he possessed.  He would never get the answers he came for if he indulged his father in a shouting match.  So he measured his words carefully.

“The chapter about the Sola, your chapter, is different from what I was taught growing up.”

His father remained silent, staring at the fire, his face an enigmatic mask of stoicism.

“What does it mean, father?” Desmond asked and struggled against a turbulent rise of anger swelling within him.

“It is exactly what you think it is: the truth, the prophecy.  It is what I have been waiting my entire existence for,” he said curtly.

“This is not what you told me,” Desmond said through his teeth.  “This is very different from what I’ve known my whole existence.”

The mighty warlock Agnon turned to face his son, Desmond.  Desmond trembled with rage and breathed to keep from lunging at his father.

“Desmond,” his father began.  “You are a capable warlock, physically, at least.  But you lacked the internal strength to handle this,” he said and gestured to the Tome.  “You still do.  You have compassion for mankind, the same beings, mind you, that would kill you where you stood if they knew what you were.”  His father paused and stroked his beard thoughtfully before he added.  “Mankind will fall.  It is inevitable.  I’ve lived for centuries, have felt it coming.  Global unrest, climate changes, reality television – each is a sign of impending apocalypse.  What we will do is an act of mercy, really.  We are sparing them a long, drawn-out, self-inflicted demise.  We will rise and build a world that will be far greater than any human could ever imagine.”

Desmond stood, stunned.  His mouth had gone dry and the back of his throat tasted of ash.  His father had never spoken of such things, had never expressed his disdain for humanity.

“The Sola would never lead any of us to do what you’re suggesting,” Desmond argued.

“She can, and she will.  It is her destiny,” his father said with certainty so smug, Desmond’s temper escaped him.

“No!  No Father!  You are wrong!  She is a kind and decent person!” he raised his voice in an uncharacteristic act of contempt toward his father.

“No!” Agnon shouted and placed his face squarely in front of Desmond’s.  “The only reason she maintains the slightest shred of meek or mild qualities is because her powers have just manifested themselves.  She has not yet learned to manage her powers, to wield them.  But she will, and soon.  You’ll see.  She is nothing like you.  She is not weak.  She does not pity foolish creatures.  The Sola has risen.  She is gathering her powers, learning to use them.  Before long, she will be ready to destroy cities on her own, and we will follow her.”

Desmond could not envision the Sola, his Arianna, destroying cities, killing innocents.  That was not who she was, who she’d ever be.  He was certain of it.

“She will not,” he said to his father firmly.  “I know her; have known her for her entire life.  She is not what you think she is.  She is not what the prophecy claims.”

“Claims?” his father asked incredulously.  “The prophecy is not a ragtag magazine that reports on drunken celebrities and makes unsubstantiated claims.  It is our guidebook, the benchmark by which we’ve lived our lives for centuries!”

Desmond desperately wanted to engage his father, to answer his provocation.  But Desmond knew he was right.  He knew his father was wrong about Arianna.  She would never develop into what his father had predicted.

“You are wrong, father,” he said calmly.  “And when I tell her what is expected of her, she will be horrified, and you will see.”

He turned from his father, intended to leave when a question rushed to the forefront of his mind.

“Why did you appoint me her guardian if you knew what she was to become,” Desmond asked from the entryway to the mudroom.  “You’ve known me my entire life, known I was, what did you call me?  Oh yes, weak.  Why would you put me with her in the first place?”

His father paused for a long moment and Desmond could feel his heart slapping wildly against his ribcage, waiting for his father’s answer.

“You were the only one.  There was no other choice.  No one is more capable than you.  You are the strongest, brightest, most cunning warrior I’ve ever trained,” his father surprised him by saying.  “And I have trained a great many men.  None of them could touch your abilities.  I knew that if I charged you with her safety, with protecting and preserving the good in her, you do it.  I knew your honor would compel you.”  His father shook his head and mumbled, “You’re the most honorable man I know.”

Desmond felt himself soften.  He should have been inflamed by his father’s deceit, by his open admission, but wasn’t.  He was touched.

“Too bad honor leads men to make unwise, reckless decisions,” his father continued and drove a spear through the core of any kindness Desmond thought he’d bestowed.  “I mean really Desmond, did you honestly think that we would need her to protect us?  We are more than capable of protecting ourselves.  We need her to lead us.”

With his fists balled at his sides, Desmond wrestled with the desire to descend on his father and rain down upon him with his honorable wrath.  But he did not have the time to waste.  He needed to get to Arianna.

“I will not let it happen.  She will not let it happen.  She is not who you think she is.”

Agnon stood slowly and turned, seizing Desmond with his steely gaze.  “Your faith in her surpasses the false teachings you’ve received,” he began, his eyes boring into Desmond’s brain.  “Ah, yes, I see it.  They are born of something else entirely,” his father hissed through clenched teeth, his penetrating gaze growing sharper with each second that passed.

Desmond lowered his eyes for a fraction of a second, and in that time, the truth left him as easily as air expelled from his lungs.  He’d flinched first during his father’s searching stare, a mistake he regretted immediately.  His father sprung from his chair and crossed the room.  Desmond readied himself for battle with each step his father advanced.

“Are you in love with her?” his father asked, his face equal parts disgust and shock.

“Yes,” Desmond admitted.

His father reeled backward as if he’d been shoved.  “She is not to be with you.  You know that.”

“Whomever she is with, she will not lead you.  She will not destroy mankind.  I will not allow it.”

Desmond turned his back on his father, an act of disrespect he’d never imagined himself doing.  “I am leaving, father.  I am going to tell her everything.”

“Desmond!  Stop this instant!” his father roared at him as he dressed.

“You cannot stop me, father.”

Desmond opened the front door and stepped out into the icy daylight.  Cold quickly penetrated the layers of his clothing and blistered against his flesh.  He summoned his strength, and threw his warming shield up before him.  Warmth immediately drove down the bitter air.  But a chill still remained in Desmond’s bones.  His father, the prophecy, his purpose, all of it had been a lie.

As he contemplated the validity of the prophecy, he realized there was an advantage to its faults.  He no longer had to live by its words.  He could be with Arianna.  He did not give a damn about ancient predictions and oracles anymore.  He loved her and he suspected she had feelings for him as well.  He would return to Hallowed Hills, beg for her forgiveness and tell her everything.  And if he had to spend the rest of eternity proving to her that he would never again reject her, in any way, he would be happy to do so.  She would be his, and he would be hers.

Chapter 9

Agnon watched as his son had swept out his front door in a self-righteous flurry.  He stood, glaring at Desmond’s disappearing form with his arms folded across his chest, seething and wondering how it was possible that the two of them shared the same DNA.  Desmond was a fool, a sympathetic, sanctimonious fool who wore his weakness for the world to see.  He’d always been that way.  Since he was a boy, his compassion for all living things, human beings in particular, had been evident.  Agnon had known it would be a problem someday.  However, he’d just assumed that rigorous training and minimal affection followed by time spent submerged in society would change his views.  That once he saw them for what they truly were – arrogant, selfish creatures who’d raped their planet of its precious resources – it would harden him.  But it hadn’t.  To the contrary, being appointed the Sola’s guardian and living among humankind had not had the effect Agnon had hoped it would.  In fact, each time Desmond visited, he seemed softer than when he’d left.  And softness had no place for what was to come.

An uprising was on the horizon, a violent uprising.  The Sola would helm it.  She was the linchpin, the unmatched being among them that would lead them to triumph.  Desmond did not think her capable of such a task.  He did not believe she possessed the capability to separate from the species she’d existed in her entire life, to turn from them, to take their lives.  He was wrong.  Dead wrong.  Agnon was certain of it.  Desmond did not understand that with each day that passed, the human side of the Sola seeped from her.  The human blood she was born with was being replaced with the essence of her true self, weeding it out much like the witches and warlocks of the world would weed out human beings.  She’d always possessed traces of her true essence, but had existed as a hybrid creation; until now.

In the past she’d likely enjoyed benefits associated with being a witch such as a high threshold for pain, robust immunity and a body far sturdier that the average human construct that was less prone to injury.  Now, however, she was sure to be at the great precipice of her transformation, on the verge of plunging into the most glorious moment he, and all those like him, would have the privilege of witnessing.  That is, if Desmond did not dissuade her from embracing all that awaited her.

Free will remained a potential hitch in their destiny.  The celestial joke of all celestial jokes and proof that the Creator had a wry sense of humor, free will hovered above his people like an invisible ax waiting to fall.  Though it had not been foretold anywhere by anyone in her prophecy, there still existed a slight chance for her to avert her fate.  And right now, Desmond was hell-bent on exploiting that slight chance.  If he held even the most trivial of influence over the Sola, he could sway her.  He could destroy all that Agnon had been waiting for.  He would not allow his son to prevent the revolution from happening.

Agnon pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.  Tension gathered at his neck’s nape and bunched his muscles unpleasantly.  He knew he needed to act.  He needed to stop his son.

Stopping Desmond would not be an easy feat.  He would not listen to reason.  Brute force would be necessary.  And that would be a challenge.  After all, he had trained with the best.  He had trained with Agnon.  While he could not bring himself to murder his son, he did know of someone or something rather, that would be eager to do it for him.  Charged with ensuring Agnon’s safety for as long as he could remember and aptly named after the Greek god of death, Thanatos existed beneath Agnon’s compound, perpetually ready, waiting to kill.

Thanatos was gifted to Agnon from an elder warlock centuries ago.  A legend maintained that Thanatos had transcended time and space and was from an ancient realm.  Judging from the beast’s appearance, Agnon could hardly argue the legends.  Thanatos’s sole purpose was to protect his master.  He patrolled the frozen landscape while Agnon slept and had thwarted more assassination attempts against him than could be counted.  And now, he would be dispatched to deal with Desmond.

As Agnon walked from the window to the kitchen, a slight pang of remorse caught him off guard.  He knew Desmond had to go, that there was no other way.  But dying by Thanatos’s hands seemed excessive.  He was well aware of Thanatos’s skills, how he was unrelenting when pursuing prey.  Desmond would not die a quick honorable death.  The thought sent a shiver up his spine.  He would need to force such details to the back of his mind.  He was acting for the greater good, for the whole of his kind.  He repeated that over and over again as he grabbed a large key from a hook on the inside door of a large pantry closet.  He gripped it tightly as he left the room and went directly to the first door in the hallway off the kitchen.  Beyond the door was a wide stairway that led to a finished basement.  Stark black tiles glistened in the bright overhead lighting.  The soles of his shoes moved soundlessly over their heated surface as he sped to a door in the far corner.  With each step he took, his grip on the key grew tighter and tighter until the metal punctured his skin.  He breathed in short shallow pants despite his stellar physical condition, a rush of emotions crawling through every part of him.

Intent on ignoring them, he raced down a narrow stone staircase, and stopped in front of a large steel door.  His fingers trembled and fumbled with the single key.  Sweat stippled his brow and he brushed it away with the back of his forearm.

Beyond the door, a guttural howl scraped down the corridor and caused every hair on Agnon’s body to rise.  As if the beast sensed his master’s approach, Thanatos could be heard clambering loudly.

Agnon took a deep breath and slid his key into the lock and turned it slowly.  Thanatos burst forth eagerly, each of his four powerful arms flailing wildly.

“Easy, Thanatos,” Agnon spoke.  “Easy.”

Thanatos stopped thrashing and straightened his posture inasmuch as his haunches would permit.  Almost standing, he towered at nearly seven feet tall.  Every inch of him was muscled.  Four hulking shoulders protruded just beyond his thick, short neck and extended to four equally hulking arms.  Pectoral muscles rose like mountains in the upper portion of his torso and descended to the only set of twelve abdominal muscles Agnon had ever seen.  His narrow waist flared to two brawny legs sturdy enough to balance the tremendous mass of his upper body.  Thanatos looked every bit the predator he was.  And his face, perhaps the most arresting part of his overall appearance, looked even deadlier.  Closely spaced eyes bearing the color and hardness of topaz glared out from a forehead that overhung them.  Between them, a narrow bridge sloped down to an upturned snout that rested atop a mouth with a considerable under-bite.  Two large canine teeth, pointed and waiting like spears, jutted out from his jaw, too large to fit inside.

While most would have gasped or fainted at the sight of Thanatos, Agnon had grown used to him.

“Thanatos, I have a job for you,” he said.

Thanatos could not speak, but the generous stream of saliva that dripped from his mouth indicated his readiness.

“You will find Desmond,” he ordered.

The beast cocked his head to one side.

Agnon did not believe Thanatos meant to question him, but bristled, nevertheless.  Desmond was his son, and even a creature as dense as the one before him understood he was second only to Agnon himself, the most powerful warlock in the world.

“You will find him and kill him,” Agnon asserted.

Several eager huffs erupted from Thanatos and one of his colossal legs began to scuff the concrete floor he stood upon, scraping impatiently like a bull preparing to charge.

“Go!” he ordered him and the beast turned from him and stampeded in the opposite direction, to where the underground tunnels split.  One side led to Thanatos’s lair, and the other to the frozen world beyond the compound, to Desmond.

Agnon closed his eyes and listened to the thunderous clamor of Thanatos’s hooves as they tore off, the sound as pulse-pounding as the hurrying of the horsemen of the apocalypse.  Dispatching the beast all but guaranteed his son’s demise, a thought that left his head whirling.  But Agnon took comfort in the fact that Desmond’s end meant the dawn of a new era.  He would sacrifice his only son so that their kind could rise to power.

Chapter 10

Arianna stood in front of the cheap, full-length mirror she’d purchased at the local super store and attempted to get a feel for her new outfit.  The fact that the mirror reflected a slightly distorted image did little to bolster her self-confidence.  She should have splurged and bought a more expensive one.  She did have a substantial amount of money now, thanks to Kane and his crazy followers.  But old habits were hard to break.  A lifetime spent clipping coupons and counting pennies had made it impossible for her to splurge on luxuries.  Even the outfit she’d bought to wear out was chosen from a reduced rack at a retailer she never would have dreamed of paying full price at.

She ran her hands down the front of her new jeans.  The feel of the dark-wash denim was a better quality than any she’d ever worn before.  It hugged her curves in all the right places.  She twisted to glimpse her backside and a fleeting thought of Scott breezed through her mind.  He’d been nice to her in the last few days, and helpful, just by acting like a normal high school senior.  Normality was something she’d desperately needed, especially after all the cloak-and-dagger nonsense surrounding her abilities and her destiny.  She didn’t know what all the secrecy was about.  She was the Sola, therefore, logic reasoned that she ought to be the most informed person of her destiny and her abilities.  But she guessed logic had flown out the door the day she’d flicked her wrist and slid a chair across a room.  It had also escaped her when she’d watched her mother and Luke die.

A twinge of guilt stabbed at Arianna’s heart.  Here she was preparing to go to a party with her new friends when her world was upside down at best.  Her mother’s death, Luke’s death and then the mortifying incident with Desmond had not been minor setbacks.  They’d been crushing obstacles.  If she were like any normal person, she would be in her pajamas nursing a cup of chamomile tea and tending to her shattered heart.  But she wasn’t normal, was she?  She was Arianna Rose, a damned superwitch with superpowers who hadn’t the vaguest idea what the hell she was supposed to do with them.  Her temples began to throb.  She rubbed them with both hands and contemplated calling Jess and canceling.

Before she went to grab her phone from her bag, she glanced at herself a final time.  The clothes were great, the makeup was fine and her hair had cooperated.  But inexplicably, she did not feel like herself; perhaps because she wasn’t the self she’d been her whole life any longer.  Her eyes traveled down to her feet.  Trendy boots in a sleek style made of supple leather rose to just below her knee and made her legs look a mile long.  She plopped on her bed and slipped both off before sliding her motorcycle boots from under her bed.  The leather was worn and scuffed in some places and the zipper at the side had to be jiggled several times before it grumpily agreed to rise or fall, but they were more her than the others.  A bit distressed and by no means perfect, they felt familiar, comfortable.  And in that moment, she realized her mother would want her to grab at any bit of happiness that came her way, just as she had.  Cathy Rose had always lived for the moment and never allowed a chance to party to pass her by.  Thinking of her mother’s zest for life made Arianna’s eyes fill with tears.  She blinked them back, determined to honor her mother’s gusto, and decided not to cancel.  Instead, she waited patiently until headlights appeared outside her cabin.

She watched as Scott climbed from his Jeep Cherokee and strode to her front door.  He rang the bell and she gathered her coat and bag from the couch.

“Hey!” Scott said cheerfully as she opened the door.  “You look incredible.”

Arianna felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  “Thanks,” she replied coolly.  “You look nice, too.”  And he did.  He wore boot-cut jeans that sat low on his hips instead of skinny jeans, a darkly colored hooded sweatshirt with a winter vest over it.  He looked like a J Crew model that had fallen from the pages of a catalogue and landed on her doorstep.

“Thanks,” he said and shifted nervously.  Scott looked as anxious as she felt.

He walked beside her to his SUV.  The back of his hand brushed against hers more than once along the way.  The feel of his cool skin grazing hers drew the faintest hint of energy.  Each time his hand swept hers, she felt an odd sensation crawl up her wrist to her arm.  She could not decide whether it was pleasant or not.  It was unlike when Desmond touched her.  Desmond’s touch whispered warmly through her body in calming waves that thrummed in time with her heartbeat.  But Scott’s touch felt different.  It crept and prickled unfamiliarly.  Regardless, she decided to not waste another second lamenting about the difference in their touches.  Especially since Desmond had made it clear that touching her was off-limits.  Of course, that information would have been far more useful before he’d begun touching her and arousing her as he had.  Scott knew of no such rules.  He was just an ordinary teenager.

“Sorry, but George called shotgun,” Scott said and gestured to teen Herman Munster perched in the passenger seat.

“Oh,” Arianna said and didn’t mask her surprise at the sight of George.  “I didn’t know he was coming with us.”

She wanted to ask him why they were always together.  Under normal circumstances, she would have ribbed him and asked, “What are you two, a set of balls?” but she knew the friendship was new, that she needed to refrain from being her usual self until she got a better handle on their personalities.  She assumed Scott could handle her sense of humor, but George was another story entirely.  Something about George just seemed off.

“Yeah, I hope it’s not a problem,” Scott said and drew his dark brows together.  “I thought we were going alone, but he needed a ride.”

Scott seemed so nervous, so normal, Arianna wanted to pinch his cheeks.  The look on his face screamed, “Oh no! I’m blowing it!”  Little did he know there was nothing to ruin.  They were not on a date.

“Don’t worry,” Arianna assured him as she opened the rear passenger side door.

The interior light revealed that George was not the only one who’d hitched a ride with Scott.  Meg and Paul were crammed in the back seat as well.

Arianna slid in and said, “This is cozy,” as she quirked a brow at them.

They laughed and greeted her.

“Oh my God, I love your boots,” Meg gushed.  “Those are vintage motorcycle boots, aren’t they?”

“You could say that,” Arianna answered and thought, Yeah, vintage Arianna circa two weeks ago.

“I love them.”

“Thanks,” Arianna replied and smiled to herself.  She never dreamed she would have a group of friends to go to parties with, and girlfriends to talk about clothes and hair with.  Okay, so she’d never had much interest in either clothes or hair, but she would talk about whatever they wanted to, as long as they kept talking to her.  Hell, she would even research hair and beauty topics, buy magazines if she had to, anything to keep herself where she was at the moment.

“And your hair,” Meg continued.  “Do you flat-iron?”

“No, I just shower, comb and let it air-dry.  Though, if I’m in a hurry, I blow-dry.”

“Wow, you’re so lucky.  I went to the salon in town and they suggested a straightening treatment and,” Meg began but was cut off by Paul who was sitting between them.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but let’s switch seats ‘cause I don’t give a crap about hair treatments and all this girlie bullshit,” Paul grumped.

Arianna laughed out loud.  “Damn, Paul.  Don’t hold back, tell us what you really think.”

Meg and Scott laughed and so did Paul.  Arianna felt satisfied that she’d allowed a bit of herself to leak out and everyone had been okay with it.  Everyone laughed, except George.  Surly, unsociable George could not muster so much as a “ha!”  Arianna did not know what to make of him.  But something about him unsettled her.

Her misgivings about George were distracted by Meg’s backside being thrust in her face as she stood, hunched, and switched seats with Paul.

“Sorry, pardon my ass in your face,” Meg joked and Arianna laughed.

“Not a problem,” Arianna said.  “At least it’s a good ass.”

“Ooh, I like where this conversation is going,” Paul teased and raised both brows mischievously.

“Give it a rest, perv!” Meg fired back.  “You guys and your girl-on-girl fantasies!”

“Yeah,” Arianna chimed in.  “Like we’d ever let you watch.”

Everyone laughed, except George, then Scott said, “I’m in love,” and clutched his chest dramatically which drew even more laughter.

Arianna had panicked as soon as the words had left her mouth.  In light of her recent run-ins with Beth, she did not want to start rumors about herself with a joke.  But luckily allowing more of her personality to seep from her had gotten a good response.  She began to loosen up and found herself feeling completely comfortable.

Meg resumed her salon story while Paul and Scott chatted about sports.  The conversations were flowing so smoothly, so effortlessly, Arianna hadn’t realized they’d been driving for quite some time.  She’d lost track of time and was shocked when she looked at the clock on the dashboard and saw that more than forty-five minutes had passed since Scott had picked her up at her cabin.

“So where are we headed?” Arianna asked and addressed the entire group.  “Where is this party?”

“It’s in Jettison,” Scott answered and looked at her in his rearview mirror.  “We have about ten or fifteen minutes before we’ll be there.”

“Jettison?” Arianna asked and couldn’t mask the surprise in her tone.  She wondered why the hell they were traveling nearly an hour to go to a party, and on a school night no less.

Even in the darkness of his SUV, she could see amusement dance in Scott’s eyes as he said, “Yeah, Jettison.  Is that a problem?  I mean, do you have a curfew or something?”

The notion of her having a curfew was ridiculous to her, yet Scott had asked as if it were to him, as well.  She’d never had to answer to a parent, but just assumed everyone else in the car did.

“No, not at all, actually.  Don’t you guys?”

Scott laughed bitterly, a sound that did not quite fit with his squeaky-clean appearance.  “Curfew, what’s a curfew?” he joked and glanced at her again in the mirror.

“I don’t know.  Never had one,” Paul added.  “And Meg here doesn’t either, right Meg?”

“Nope, never,” Meg said and shrugged.

“Shit,” Arianna commented.  “This is a first for me.  I always thought I was the only one.”

She scanned the faces in the car and saw that everyone nodded somberly.  When she looked up, Scott’s eyes watched her from his mirror again.  “You’re not alone anymore,” he said levelly and held her gaze.  He paused a moment and she was about to question what he’d said, whether it had more meaning than what was on the surface, but was glad she did not as the conversation quickly returned to normal when Paul belched loudly.

“Dude, that was nasty!” Scott said and fanned in front of his nose with one hand.  “What’d you eat today?  Damn!”

“A burrito,” Paul replied.

“Smells like shit, dude,” Scott said then lowered the window.

“And there are ladies in the car,” George shocked her by adding in his monotone voice.

“Oh, you mean me?” Meg chimed in as if she’d just been roused from a nap.  “Oh don’t worry about me, I’m not a lady,” she smiled sweetly and a ripple of laughter swelled through the car.

Arianna felt like an idiot for thinking Scott had some kind of insight into her psyche moments earlier, when he’d locked eyes with her and told her she was not alone anymore.  How dumb could she be?  What other possible meaning could his comment have had?  He was a regular teenage boy for heaven’s sake!  Her reading into it was proof positive that she’d spent far too long in the company of supernatural or otherwise damaged people.

“How about you, are you a lady?” Meg asked and returned Arianna to the conversation.

“Uh, I’m gonna have to give you a no on that one,” she said and crinkled her nose as she shook her head.

“See George, no need to get worked up,” Meg said and Arianna could hardly imagine George getting worked up about anything, least of all the manners of teenage boys.  “No ladies here.”

“Umm, but there are some there,” Paul said and pointed to a group of girls just ahead as Scott directed the SUV to a clearing just past a drive-in movie theatre that had been closed for the season.  “And fine ones at that.”

“You’re so gross,” Meg looked to where he’d pointed and rolled her eyes.

“Nah, just admiring the scenery,” he said and leered some more.

This was another aspect of friendship Arianna had yet to adjust to.  She’d never had girls that were friends, much less guys who were friends.  She wasn’t sure how to respond.  She had no romantic interest in Paul, yet felt uncomfortable with him ogling the scantily clad girls they’d pulled up in front of.

The girls, seeing only Scott and George in the front seats, kept looking over their shoulders, directly into the light of the headlights, and tossing their hair and arching their backs.  She assumed Scott was enjoying the view as much as Paul was and felt an unexpected sting of jealousy.  They were not on a date, just hanging out as a group.  Why she felt as she did was a mystery, an unpleasant mystery.

“Are we ready?” Scott said and twisted in his seat to look at her.

“Yep,” Meg answered.

“How about you, Arianna?  You’ve been kind of quiet.”

Arianna felt the fuck you badge making its way back to her and fought it.  So she was uncomfortable, big deal, right?  She had been in far worse situations recently.  Spending a few hours watching a group of horny teenage boys try to get lucky would be a breeze compared to all that she’d been through.

“I’m fine,” she smiled and hoped her smile didn’t look as tight as it felt.

Scott eyed her, his face unreadable.

“So whose party is it?” she heard herself ask.

“No one’s I guess,” he shrugged and she realized he was right.  A party in the woods was not one person’s party usually.

“Right, that was a stupid question,” she fumbled.  “What I meant to ask was who do you know at this party?”

“No one,” Scott answered with a straight face.

“What?  You’re kidding me, right?” she asked and felt certain he was just messing with her.

“No.  I’m not kidding,” he said.

“C’mon!  Cut it out,” she laughed.  “Okay, you got me.  For a minute there I believed you.”

Scott smiled and looked at Meg and Paul.  “I’m serious.  I don’t know a single person here, right guys?”

“No, he doesn’t.  None of us do,” Paul said without a smile.

“C’mon!  Enough!  You got me!  I said it already,” Arianna waited for them to laugh, but no one did.  “Meg, c’mon, they’re messing with me, right?’

“No, we do this all the time, you know?  We hear about a party and crash it.”

Arianna couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  Sure, on stupid reality shows about rich kids with nothing better to do people crash parties in mansions it was fine.  But she doubted that was the case for regular kids from Hallowed Hills.  Driving an hour to crash a party in the woods was absurd.

“You’re joking, right?” Arianna asked.

“No, what do you mean?  It’ll be cool.  We do it all the time.  We like to meet new people,” Scott said and smiled self-consciously.  Meg and Paul nodded in agreement.

Arianna felt her cheeks burn.  She did not want to insult them.  Maybe this was what everyone did, what normal people her age did.  Who was she to judge?  Normal was a term she’d never used to describe herself or anyone she’d known.

“Yeah, you’re right I guess,” she said then chewed her lip nervously.  “Sounds like fun.”

In truth, it did not sound fun at all.  Arianna was about as outgoing as a turtle and would just as soon find a shell to dive under then saunter up to a group of strangers and start chatting.

“Great, so you’re in,” Scott said then opened the driver’s side door and slid out.  George followed suit, as did Paul who was followed by Meg.  Reluctantly, Arianna gripped the handle and took a deep breath before opening the rear door she sat beside.  As she did, another car pulled up alongside them.  The driver’s side door opened and the light inside revealed that Chris was the driver and Kit his passenger.  Josh and Jess were in the back seat.

“Hey,” Chris said to her as he climbed out then added shyly, “Glad you came.”

She would have mumbled, “That makes one of us,” if he hadn’t seemed as timid as she felt, and if she weren’t trying desperately to fit in.  She’d been enjoying their company so much and didn’t want to screw things up by reverting to her former ways. So she smiled and said, “Thanks, me, too,” instead.

Jess swung the back door open and jumped out.  “Yay!  This is going to be so much fun,” she said and linked arms with Arianna.

Arianna wasn’t sure how to react and stiffened a bit.  Walking arm-in-arm with a girl was not something she was used to doing, though Beth would likely beg to differ.  But Jess was so bubbly and talking so excitedly, she found herself relaxing and falling into step with her.

“I can’t wait to get back there and have a few beers,” Josh said as he hurried to join Scott, Paul and Meg who’d begun talking to the girls they’d pulled up near.

Seeing a girl with short, blonde hair and an equally short shirt laughing with and touching Scott made Arianna bristle.  She did not know why she felt jealous.  Scott was not her boyfriend.  She’d just met him.  But for reasons she could not explain, she felt like marching over to them and forcing herself between them, either that, or punching the short-haired blonde right in her perky nose.

“Arianna, Jess!” Scott called to them and motioned for them to join his group.  “Come and meet some great people.”

She rolled her eyes and was thankful Jess had been talking to Kit with her head turned and had missed it.

“Looks like Scott has made some new friends already,” Jess said and did not hide the acid in her tone.

“Yuck, that chick he’s talking to looks like a skank,” Kit added.

Arianna would have loved to chime in, but felt it was too soon.  “Hmm,” Arianna uttered instead.

“Oh don’t worry, Arianna,” Jess said and looked worried.  “He’s into you, not the skank.”

Jess nudged Kit in a not-so-subtle way and Arianna smirked.  Jess was not particularly sly, but her effort was commendable.

“Yeah,” Kit added nervously.  “He just likes to meet people.”

“Unfortunately, some of them look like tramps,” Jess mumbled and Arianna was beginning to really like her.

They approached the group and she watched as Jess put herself between Scott and the skank.  Other guys, seeing Jess, joined and soon, she held most of the groups’ attention.  She spoke animatedly and told a story about the last party they’d been to in a nearby town and how they’d thought a drunken man was a cop and took off only to come back and find the man naked, sitting on their keg.  Laughter erupted and Jess had turned her back to the blonde, effectively edging her out of the group.  Jess glanced over her shoulder casually and watched as the girl left with her friends then looked to Arianna and winked.

Arianna had never needed anyone’s help get rid of an unwanted person in her midst.  Of course, Jess did not know that and clearly felt as if she’d done Arianna a service.  The thought warmed her.  She had a friend, a real, normal friend.  Her heart swelled and felt two sizes too big for her chest.  Scott’s hand on her elbow nearly stopped in from beating, his touch bolting up her arm like lightning.

“Let’s go,” Scott said and nodded toward the opening in the sparsely wooded area.  He held out his hand for her to hold.  She noticed his long, elegant fingers and compared them immediately to Desmond’s hands.  Desmond had large, capable hands, hands roughened by doing god-only-knew-what.  She tried to force him from her mind.  Thinking of him only brought her pain where it had once brought her comfort, happiness.  She slid her hand into Scott’s outstretched hand and he clasped it tightly.  She felt an unexpected jolt like electricity rip though her.  Her eyes snapped up to him as she jumped, surprised by what she’d felt.  She swore he grinned at her start and felt a shiver sweep up her spine.

As if sensing her reaction, Scott gave her hand a gentle squeeze and she realized how remarkably soft his hands were.  He held her hand and led her into the woods.  Not surprisingly, George followed less than two steps behind them.  When she slowed unexpectedly, she worried he’d slam into her back as the smell of burning leaves hit her and nearly staggered her.  She now associated it exclusively with Kane and his church, with her mother’s death.  She squeezed her eyes shut, battling the anxiety rising inside her and breathed deeply.  The air was chilly, yet she suddenly felt overheated, memories and nerves uniting against her.

With her emotions feeling as volatile as they felt, she wondered why her fingertips hadn’t begun to tingle, why all the hate and angry energy she felt toward Kane did not begin to bleed from her.  She did not want to frighten Scott, or even creepy George, with a sudden display of her powers and hoped she’d unknowingly learned to control them better.

Scott gave her hand another squeeze and returned her attention to the party.  People passed her and Scott holding plastic cups which meant the keg was somewhere close.  She studied the clearing and saw the source of the smell.  A large, metal trashcan had been filled with leaves and brush and lit as a makeshift bonfire.

“Shit, I hope there’s no poison ivy in there,” Scott leaned in and said into her ear.

Arianna laughed and shook her head.  “That would not be good,” she agreed and saw that George nodded cheerlessly just inches from them.

She groaned silently and spotted Jess and the others approaching behind George.

“This party is off the hook!” Paul exclaimed as his eyes followed a pair of girls.  “Hey, what’s up ladies?  My name’s Paul.  This is Arianna, Scott and George.”

The girls stopped and introduced themselves.  One was named Gina and the other Sarah.  Gina had white-blonde hair that skimmed her shoulders and Sarah had short, curly black hair.  They went to Jettison High School and were seniors, just like Arianna and the others.  After pointing them to the keg and promising Paul they’d meet up with him later, Gina and Sarah exchanged tipsy pleasantries and moved along.

“See what I mean?  Off the freaking hook,” Paul nodded to her and Scott.  “Now, let’s get some beer.”

“Paul is behaving himself tonight,” Jess said more to Scott than anyone else.

“For now,” Scott smirked.

“I wonder if the cops ever come here,” Arianna said to Jess as she examined the clearing again.  She noticed that it was not only a wide-open space off of a main road, but that it lacked any kind of real coverage, as well.  Few trees shielded the area from headlights and the fire they had going worked against what little protection they offered.

“I have no idea, but I’ll find out right now,” Jess said then spun and grabbed the sleeve of the first boy that passed.  He was tall and wore a brightly colored winter hat.

“Oh Jess you don’t have to,” Arianna began, but was interrupted by Jess speaking to the boy whose sleeve she held.

“Hi there, I’m Jess.”

“Hey, I’m Jeff,” he replied and did not even seem to notice the unusual way she’d gotten his attention.

“Hi Jeff,” she purred.  “My friends and I were wondering, do the cops come by here a lot?  We don’t want to get too comfortable if we’re going to have to run off any second.”

“Cops?  Are you kidding me?  There are, like, two in this town, and they’re probably at the doughnut shop in the square.”

“Ha!  Funny.  I like you, Jeff!” Jess said and released his sweatshirt, but took hold of his forearm instead.  From what little Arianna had seen of Jess, she never would have imagined she’d be so flirtatious.  But beer often did that to a girl, transformed her from silly and girly to flirty.  No one else seemed surprised by her change so Arianna dismissed it.

After a few moments of talking, Jeff went on his way and Jess bounded back to them.

“I see you worked your magic,” Scott teased her.

Jess tossed her flame-red hair over her shoulder with exaggerated attitude and both she and Scott laughed.

“I want to mingle more,” Jess said.  “Come one!  We can all go together!”

The thought of mingling made Arianna want to scream, but since everyone they’d met so far had been friendly, she could not find a legitimate reason that it made her want to scream.  The kids of Jettison seemed as nice as the kids from Hallowed Hills.

Led by Jess, she and the others moved from group to group and got to know a variety of people.  Everyone was drinking and laughing and having a good time, and while Arianna was not intoxicated in the least, the atmosphere was intoxicating.  She felt alive and light, unlike she’d ever felt before.  Time was flying, as well, and she nearly dropped her phone when she glanced at it and saw that it was close to one o’clock in the morning already.

As they worked their way through the crowd, Scott continued to look at her strangely, as if he had something to say.  Finally, when they’d left a group of particularly rowdy football players, he leaned in and said, “Want to go somewhere a little more private?”

She wasn’t sure what he was getting at and hesitated.  She was not going to go off into the woods with him and hook up.  She worried that if he tried anything, she would lose what little restraint she had and incinerate him.

“I just want to talk to you for a while, just you.  I promise, no funny business,” Scott said as if he’d read her mind.

“Okay,” she replied cautiously.

“C’mon,” he said and heard the doubt in her voice.  “Where’s the trust?”  He reached out his hand and she took it, but not before looking over her shoulder for George.  When he didn’t follow, she felt a bit relieved.  Something about George got under her skin.  She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was that irked her but felt uncomfortable around him.

They walked until they found a pair of tree stumps close together.  They sipped their beers and talked a bit as the party wound down and people began to leave.  The conversations turned from lighthearted to serious.

“I like you, Arianna,” Scott blurted out unexpectedly.

Arianna wasn’t sure what to say.  “Uh, thanks,” she fumbled awkwardly.

“Ouch,” Scott said and screwed up his features. “I got the old ‘thanks.’  That’s never good.”

“I didn’t mean to, well, you know, dammit, I’m just not good at,” she stammered.  “Shit.  Can you tell I’m not good at this?”

“Not at all,” he said with playful sarcasm.

Arianna shook her head and raked her hand through her hair.  “It’s not that I don’t like you, I’m just not ready to start anything up right now,” she admitted.

“Arianna, I’m not asking you to marry me.  I just want to hang out with you.”

By hang out, she assumed he meant make out.

“So, what, you’re looking for a friend with benefits to mess around with when you feel like it?” she asked and could not keep the sharpness from her tone.

“What?  No!  Nothing like that.  I just meant that I want to get to know you, see what happens, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” she eyed him warily.

“I’m serious.  If I were looking for what you said before, I could get it, trust me.  But I don’t want that with you.  You’re different,” he said sheepishly and dropped his gaze to his feet.

She did not know what to make of his admission.  He’d basically told her that if he were looking to fool around with some random girl, there were plenty waiting in the wings to do so.  But he did not want them right now.  He wanted her.  She found that point interesting, and kind of flattering.  He thought she was different.  He was right.  She was different.  If he knew just how different she was, he would run from her, or worse, get himself hurt just like everyone else had.  She needed to end things before they had a chance to begin.

“Trust me, you don’t want to be with me,” she said honestly.

“Why would you say that?” he asked softly.

“Jeez, you want the list.  It’s pretty long.  It’s a good thing you don’t have a curfew,” she said and looked away from him.

Scott gently placed his hand on her cheek and turned her face toward him.

“Hey, I don’t believe that for a second,” he said and watched her with intensity so fierce it made her want to giggle.  Yet despite the bizarre way he concentrated on her, the air between them seemed to crackle with energy.  She wasn’t sure why or what had caused it, but it was there.  He tipped her chin up and she had no choice but to look into his eyes.

In the darkness, his eyes caught the light of the fire that had been started in the trash can and looked as though they were glowing in an eerie shade of gold.  The color pulled her in, almost hypnotized her.  He brought his other hand up and stroked her hair back.  No one had ever petted her as he did now.  She wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Nothing that he’d done was wrong or bad, just odd.  He’d probably won over more girls than he could count with moves like the ones he was putting on her.  Those girls had probably eaten it up.  But she was not other girls, and as it turned out, teenage boy moves did nothing for her.  She did not want to insult him so when he closed his eyes and moved in for a kiss, she let him.

She closed her eyes as his lips lightly touched hers.  He wasted no time attempting to deepen their kiss and Arianna felt his tongue, cold from the beer he’d sipped a moment earlier, glide between her lips and dart about with the eagerness of a snake inspecting its surroundings and picking up scents.  She slowed his overzealous pace by creating her own and when she did, an image flashed before her, clear, unmistakable.  She saw Desmond.  She was staring at his broad chest, resting her hands against it.  She remembered the feel of his thick muscles bunching beneath her fingertips; feel the heat radiating from him as she lightly caressed his skin.  The fantasy of him made her long in a way she never had to be with him, to feel him, to kiss him.  She did not want to remember what his lips tasted like.  She wanted to taste them for herself.

She opened her eyes for a split second and glimpsed Scott’s face instead of Desmond.  A sense of loss enveloped her and left her emotions rioting messily.  Hurt tore through her as memories threatened to rush forth.  She closed her eyes again and braced herself for the tidal wave of sadness that wanted desperately to break free.  Desmond had rejected her outright.  Scott had not.  Why did she still want Desmond?  What was it about Desmond that made her feel as if she were being magnetically pulled toward him? she wondered.

Scott’s hands moved to her face and cupped it sweetly before he brushed them down the length of her hair and rested them finally at her waist.  He pulled her close and the air between them sizzled again, a strange charge that hummed.  The sensation was not unpleasant, and neither was his kiss.  He was not Desmond.  No one was or would be.  Scott liked her and wanted to kiss her.  No prophetic complications existed for him.  So she gave in and allowed herself to be swept up in the moment.

After several seconds, their lips parted.

“Wow,” Scott said and guided her head so that it rested against his chest.   “That was nice.”

His gesture was sweet, clumsy, but sweet.  “Thanks.  Likewise,” she replied.

She did not know how long he wanted to stay as they were.  She’d relaxed considerably, content to hear the steady beat of his heart when Scott pulled back.  “Looks like the party is breaking up,” he commented.

“Smells that way, too,” she said and fanned the air in front of her face with her hand.

The scent of marijuana hung heavily in the air.

“Whoa, yeah, I smell it now.  You smoke weed?” he asked.

“I’ve had it a couple of times.  It doesn’t do much for me.”

“Me neither,” he said.  “I think I’m done with my beer, too.  Whatever brand they got tasted watered down.”

Arianna laughed.  “I didn’t want to say anything, but it was pretty crappy.”

“You didn’t have to worry about offending me.  I just pick the parties to crash, not the beer.”

She was about to ask him more about his love of party crashing when Paul appeared out of nowhere.

“Guys, the party has cleared out except for a few people.  There’s this couple, Gina and Jeff, they’re so baked.  It’s funny.  You’ve got to come and see them.”

Scott looked to her as if to ask if she wanted to go.  She shrugged and he took her hand and followed Paul.  She did not have any particular interest in people who were stoned, or drunk, or under the influence of any other behavior-changing drug.  She found that people managed to humiliate themselves and act inappropriate enough on their own, without drugs and drinks.  But if this was what her new friends enjoyed, she’d tolerate it for them.  They were nice and she enjoyed being with them.

“Look,” Paul pointed to a boy and girl they met earlier.  She remembered them distinctly, especially since the boy, Jeff, wore a silly, neon hat and Gina had hair so pale it could probably be seen from space.  They were laughing like loons as they passed a joint between them.  A third girl, Sarah, whom they’d met as well, was with them.  She, too, was laughing as she sat beside another boy whose name escaped her.  His hair was styled in dreadlocks and he sat with his arm was draped over her shoulder and his eyes were squinted as he smiled goofily.

“Oh wow,” Scott said flatly.  “Looks like it’s about time.”

“Yeah, they really should go home.  They’re all messed up” Arianna added.

Scott did not acknowledge what she’d said.  He simply stared at the two couples with a strange look on his face.  She did not appreciate being ignored and hoped that wasn’t what had happened.

“They need to get home,” she said again to see if perhaps he hadn’t heard her the first time.  She glanced at Scott, waiting for a response, but he remained focused on the four that stayed behind.

“I’m going to win this one,” Chris came up and said behind Scott and seemed to break his concentration, a fact that irritated her.

She had no idea what Chris was talking about and was about to ask when Jess chimed in.

“No way, Chris, I’m going to kick both your asses.”

“What are you,” Arianna began, but Scott had already leaned in to speak to the boy with the dreadlocks beside Sarah.  He’d heard her speak all three times, she was sure of it, but had ignored her.  She began to feel extremely annoyed.  Seconds earlier, Scott couldn’t tear his eyes, or lips for that matter, off her.  Now, she was nonexistent.  And for what, a group of kids who were high as kites?

“What’s your name again?” Scott asked dreadlock guy.

“Steve,” the boy replied and his grin grew wider, sillier.

“Okay, so we have Jeff, Gina, Sarah and Steve,” Scott announced and Arianna became more confused than she was a moment ago.

“I get Steve!” Chris called.

“I get Jeff,” Jess exclaimed.

“Dibs on Gina,” Paul added.

“I guess I get Sarah then,” Scott said.

“What’re you guys talking about?” Jeff slurred.

“Yeah, are we, like, picking dodge ball teams or something?” Steve asked.

Scott laughed wickedly, a sound that did not look befitting his boy-band-member appearance.  “Yes, something like that,” he replied to Steve.  Then Scott raised his arms out in front of his body and pointed them at Sarah.  He turned his wrists outward and gestured slightly and she jerked forward as if she were connected to his hands by invisible wires.  Her dark curls jiggled and the expression on her face that had been happily high turned to one of fright.

“What the hell is going on?” Sarah cried out, but Scott did not answer her.  Instead, he clenched both fists and Sarah’s hands mimicked his motions.

“Oh my god,” Arianna breathed as her mind struggled to fathom what she was looking at.  The scene seemed absurd, impossible.  Sarah was acting as though she were Scott puppet, doing what he commanded her to do, moving as he ordered her to.  For a moment, Arianna wondered whether she was high, whether some powerful hallucinogenic drug had been slipped in her beer and had actually had the potency to outdo her powers.  “Scott, what the hell, what’s happening here?” she heard herself ask and her voice sounded as if it were echoing from the bottom of the ocean, muffled and distorted.

Scott did not respond and her frustration mounted, along with fear.  The sound of blood rushing behind her ears became a deafening roar, interrupted only by another voice, Chris’s voice.

“Oh it’s on now!” Chris said excitedly and raised his hands before Steve.  Steve pitched forward, his dreadlocks swinging, and moved clumsily toward Chris.

Jess and Paul did the same and Gina and Jeff staggered from the fallen tree they’d sat upon.

Arianna could not believe what she was seeing.  She stood, stunned, mouth agape, unable to react for several seconds.  A chill befell her body like an icy, wintery storm rushing through her veins and crystallizing her blood.  She had to remind herself to breathe, and tried, but her lungs felt frozen.

“What the fuck are you guys doing?” she heard herself question and while her voice sounded louder and stronger than it had moments ago, it still sounded foreign to her own ears, and weak.

“Calm down Arianna,” Scott said exasperatedly.  “We said you weren’t alone anymore.  What did you think we meant?”

“W-what?” she asked as the world began to swirl around her.

“We know you’re one of us.  We felt it the day you walked into school,” he said, but did not tear his eyes from Sarah, who trembled so powerfully, her tightly coiled hair quivered like Jello.

The spinning quickened and the trees seemed to roll past her in a dizzying blur.  They knew she was a witch, and they, too, were witches and warlocks.  The notion was too much for her brain to process.  She was not drugged.  They were using their powers to manipulate people they’d met at the party like pawns.

“What are you doing to them?” she managed to ask and pointed to Sarah.

“It’s just a game we play,” Jess answered casually.  “Chris won last time.”

“Won?  What?” her mind felt as if it were being swallowed by swirling quicksand.

“Yeah,” Scott added and laughed.  “So I owe him a beating.”

“You guys have powers and this is what you do with them?” she cried, but no one acknowledged her.

“He’s going to get that beating right now,” Scott said.

At Scott’s challenge, Chris flicked his wrist and his dreadlocked boy stumbled toward Sarah.

“What’s going on?” Chris’s person panicked as his body moved without his control.  “Help me!  Help!” he cried as he wobbled closer to Sarah.  When he got within arm’s reach of her, Chris launched his arm out and Arianna watched in horror as the boy with the deadlocks’ arm did the same.  Chris’s motion made the boy with the dreadlocks punch Sarah in the face with more power that he could have possibly had.  Sarah’s head snapped back and blood spurted from her mouth.  Her brow knitted and she cried out in pain.

“Enough guys, this isn’t funny!   Stop it!” Arianna shouted and felt as though she had been placed in a nightmare.  But no one paid her any mind.  Her frustration escalated to rage and she tried to move, to take a step forward toward Scott, but found her legs would not budge.  “What the hell?” she fumed.

“Ooh!  That was a cheap shot!” Scott screamed in delight, disregarding her yelling then began moving his hands.  As he did, Sarah marched, still bleeding, toward a thick tree branch and picked it up.

“Oh god!  Sarah!” Chris’s guy sobbed.  “I-I don’t know what’s happening!  Sarah, I’m sorry!”

“Shut up,” Chris ordered him, annoyed.

“I want in on this action!” Paul called out and began gesturing quickly.  Paul’s motioning made Gina appear behind Sarah.  Gina’s platinum-blonde hair glowed ethereally in the darkness as she moved, against her will, close to Sarah.

Scott laughed aloud as he twisted his wrist several times and Sarah did the same, swinging the branch.

“Please stop hurting them,” Sarah begged as tears and blood rained down her chin.  “Please leave me alone.”

“Scott don’t!” Arianna screamed just as Scott made Sarah swing the thick branch in her hand at Gina.

“No!” she cried again, but it was too late.

The limb smashed against Gina’s face with a stomach-turning thwack.  She watched as a flurry of pale blonde, now tinged with red, fell to the ground.  The red slowly edged out the blonde as Gina lay there, unmoving.

Arianna tried to run again, to run to Gina who was face-down in a pool of her own blood, but her legs would not move.

“Damn Scott!  You got me again,” Paul called, and to anyone who did not see what he was doing, they would have thought he was jeering about a video game.

“Oh my god!  You bastard!” she called over and over again.  “Why are you doing this?”

“Yeah!  That’s what I’m talking about!” Scott cheered as if she weren’t there.  “Look out guys, I’m coming for you.”

Everyone laughed except Arianna, and those being moved against their will.

“Stop it!” Arianna screamed as crimson began to cloud her vision and a familiar feeling began to surge and course through her.  She’d been trying to keep her powers under control, had successfully kept them at bay, though she did not know how she’d done it.  Her legs were frozen, but her powers were not.  She would not allow for innocents to be manipulated like pawns for Scott and the others’ sick enjoyment.  She would stop them.  She would punish them.

Her entire body began to tremble and her fingertips tingled.  The forest was suddenly silent, save for the roar of her lifeblood through racing her veins.  She knew her eyes glowed red, and that a dangerous swell of power waited just beneath her skin, pulsing harshly, hissing like fiery serpents.

“Uh oh,” Jess called out playfully as she glanced in Arianna’s direction.

“Uh, George, a little help here,” Scott said and nodded at Arianna.

“I have her immobilized,” he said flatly.

“Well, then do something else,” Scott ordered him.

George materialized from the shadows and raised his hands at her.  When he did, she felt her fingertips go numb.  The world, which seconds earlier was awash in a blood red hue, returned to normal.  Arianna felt as if her power had seeped from her, as if she’d been drained of it.  Her feet were still anchored to the earth beneath them.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” she shouted.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Scott said to her, acid lacing his words.  “George’s power is that he can freeze everyone else’s.  We never go out without him,” he laughed, a vile, cruel laugh.

“Please,” she begged.  “Scott, please stop this.”

Scott glanced at her briefly and smirked.  “I’m immune to pretty girls who beg,” he hissed.  “But nice try, anyway.”

Arianna felt her stomach roil angrily, as if somersaulting over a slithering beast inside her belly that moved unendingly.  But that was it.  The energy that would have heedlessly rushed from her core and stopped him had been immobilized.  She was forced to watch in disgust as Scott moved Sarah like a marionette on strings guided by his malevolent hands.  Blood and dirt streaked Sarah’s face as she cried and begged Scott to stop.

“Please stop!” Sarah sobbed as she looked in fright at Gina who lay still in a garnet puddle.

But Scott simply sneered at her, ignoring her pleas, and made her swing her branch again at the person closest to her.  Steve, the boy with the dreadlocks, was nearest and trembled so violently, his twisted strands of hair looked as if they’d come to life.  He tried to move, to run from Sarah, but Chris was too busy chatting with Jess and held his arms, unmoving, in front of him.

“Like a cow awaiting slaughter,” Scott muttered as he angled his arm back as far as it would go.  His stance was that of a baseball player intending to send a pitch sailing over the farthest fence of the playing field.  Then, with lightning-fast speed, he whipped it forward in a wide arc.  Sarah’s arms did the same, only holding the thick branch.

Arianna shrieked, “No!” but, it was too late.

Steve’s eyes widened in fright before the branch crashed against his temple.  The impact of the hit sent blood spraying in every direction, as well as one of his eyes, before he collapsed to the ground.

“Oh my god!  Oh no!  You sick son of a bitch!” Arianna screamed

Red colored the leaves around Steve’s head.  He gurgled and convulsed several times before life escaped him.

Ire coursed through Arianna’s veins like fire, raging and blazing, urging her body to act.  But she was being held by George.

George.  The name raised every hair on her body like quills.  She would have her moment with him if it were the last thing she ever did, but only after Scott were punished for what he’d done.

Her thoughts of vengeance, though comforting, were fleeting.  The carnage around her was overwhelming, but had yet to end.  Sarah and Jeff remained.  And Scott had already begun to send Sarah after Jeff.

“Ugh!  My guy is so boring!” Jess complained and set Jeff’s fists into motion.

Jeff wept and he looked at his fists in disgust.  Jess brushed her wrists forward and his feet moved without coordination right to Sarah.

“W-what’re you doing?  Don’t!  No don’t!” Jeff cried as Jess inched him closer to Sarah’s deadly branch.

“I’m bored already,” Jess sighed.

“No!” Jeff called seconds before Scott cocked his arms back and swung again, making Sarah’s arms do the same.

“No!” Jeff cried again.  But his cries were interrupted by a sickly thud.

He tumbled to the ground, crimson staining his neon hat.  He tried to scramble to his feet, wounded, but still alive, when Scott sent Sarah to where he scrambled.  He had her swing her branch high over her head then bring it down hard, again and again, until specks of blood and matter covered her face and Jeff’s skull had been caved in.

Arianna felt as if she were going to be sick, the massacre more than her mind and stomach could handle.

“See, I told you I’d win this one,” Scott said and smiled humorlessly.

“No!” Arianna screamed at all of them.  “What have you done?  Why did you do this?”

Sarah still stood with the bloody branch in her hand, her own blood smeared across her face, trembling and crying.

“You fucking scumbag!” Arianna cursed at Scott.  ‘This isn’t who we are!”

“Oh relax!  They’re just useless humans,” Scott spat as he pulled an object wrapped in a napkin from his pocket.  He tossed it to Sarah, made her pick it up and unwrap it.  When the napkin fell to the ground, Arianna realized that a knife had been wrapped in it.  Her heart sank to her feet as she worried what he was going to have Sarah do with that knife.

She was forced to watch in shock and disgust as Sarah raised the knife with a trembling hand.

“No, no, no!  Please no!” Sarah bawled uncontrollably.

“Scott no!” Arianna screamed again.

Scott simply smirked as he dragged his hand up his wrist to his elbow.  Sarah did the same, causing a red ravine to appear in its wake as she slit her own forearm from her wrist to her elbow.

Arianna’s legs buckled and she fell to her knees clutching her belly as the urge to retch overcame her.  She gagged and heaved as her stomach clenched violently, but nothing came up.  Her mind swam.  The atrocities Scott and the others had committed were unconscionable.

“See, when the cops come, all they’ll find is good old Sarah’s DNA, and they’ll just think she went haywire and killed these three herself,” Scott said offhandedly.

“Yeah, no harm done,” Jess said, then to just Scott she added, “What a drama queen, falling to the ground and what not.”

“We were just having some fun,” Chris chimed in.

“Come on, Arianna, get up, enough with the whole I’m-so-shocked act.  You’re with us, one of us.  There’s no need for it,” Scott tried to persuade her.  But she ignored him, refused to even look up at him.

“Let her go, George,” Scott ordered.  “She’s not a threat now.”

As soon as she felt the oppressive weight of George’s power lift, she brought her legs beneath her and stood.  Though he no longer held her powers, her fingertips did not tingle and she did not feel a raging inferno burning beneath her skin.  All she felt was the need to flee, to get as far away from Scott and the rest of them as fast as possible.

“We’re going to get out of here, Arianna,” Scott said.  “Let’s go, come on.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.  I’m not one of you.  I’m nothing like you!” Arianna said, her voice unsteady.

She had no intention of being near them, much less riding in a car with them for forty-five minutes.  Instead, she turned from them, faster than she dreamed possible, and began to run.  With her head down, she watched her feet take turns hitting the ground.  She knew she should have felt her shoes slapping against the leaf-littered earth, but felt nothing.

In the distance, Scott called to her several times before giving up.  “Let her cool off,” she heard him finally say.  “We’ll see her tomorrow.”

She tried to tune out the sound of his voice, sickened by it, and concentrated on the beat of her heart, felt its energy swell and flare through her veins.  The rhythm her heart produced did not lull her, though.  It was not strong enough to keep the nightmare she’d just witnessed from playing out again in her mind’s eye.

Fury and fright surged inside her.  They propelled her forward, faster.  Tears streamed from her eyes.  She balled her fists tightly as she pumped her arms in sync with her legs.  So tight was her grip that her fingernails bit into the tender skin of her palms.  But she did not care.  Her pain did not matter.  People had been killed; innocent kids whose only crime had been allowing the likes of Scott and the others to crash their party.  And Scott believed her to be one of them.  He was wrong.  She was nothing like him, or any of them.  She needed to get the hell away from them, all of them.

They were witches and warlocks, a fact that offered no comfort whatsoever, especially after seeing what they did for fun.  She did not know what to do.  She was the Sola, the most powerful witch on Earth, yet she did not know what to do about a murderous group of her kind.  She realized she needed help.  She needed Desmond.

Her legs slowed, deep in the woods, far from the sight and smell of burning leaves and headlights.  She reached out with her senses and could not even hear the sound of cars passing.

Once she felt confident that she had not been followed, she called out to Desmond.

“Desmond,” she said softly and waited.  She waited for the air before her to ripple like a glare coming off of a scalding hot road in the summer sun just as it did the last time he had appeared before her.  But nothing happened.  He did not appear.

“Desmond!” she shouted again.

A clenching sensation began to settle in her chest and her throat constricted around the lump that had formed there.

“Desmond!” she tried again, but her voice was little more than a strangled whisper.  “Desmond, please.  I need you,” she begged then began to cry softly.

She sank to her knees once again and clutched her midsection waiting for him to appear as he had in the past.  But he did not.

Arianna realized she was completely alone.

Chapter 11

Blue-black cold nipped at Desmond’s feet despite the heat of his shield and the sun overhead.  Though he was aware of it, the searing cold creeping up his legs bothered him far less than it should have.  He’d walked for nearly a mile, coping with it, his thoughts clearer than they had been in some time.  He no longer felt as though his mind swam in dizzying laps.  He no longer felt lost.  By turning his back on his father and leaving, he had effectively split from rules and rulers.  His life was finally his own.  He was free.

He knew that freedom was not without consequence, that it would come at a price.  But whatever the price, he took comfort in knowing that included in his freedom was Arianna, the chance to be with her as he wished to be with her; if she’d have him.  He suspected she’d need a lot of convincing, but he did not mind.  Proving his love for her would be the easiest task he’d ever undertaken, and the most enjoyable one.

He could hardly wait to get to her, but knew he had many miles to travel before his eyes rested on her beautiful face.  So he decided to rely on his mind’s eye for the time being.

He concentrated on her features, on the feel of her skin briefly before she appeared, and his memory transported back in time to the first instance he had sifted with her.  He’d taken her to a field filled with flowers.  The air had been pleasantly warm and a gentle breeze had blown.

He remembered her face, the awe etched in her features, as she’d stared at the vibrantly colored blooms.  They’d begun to sway as one in the breeze that had brushed through the meadow and her dark eyes had danced with curiosity.  She had almost been attacked in an alleyway behind a nightclub, had just harmed the two dangerous men who’d attempted it with her powers, moments before he’d sifted with her.  Yet, she’d not numbed herself to the power of nature, to its beauty.  He’d always loved her, but until that moment, he’d never realized how deeply that love had run.  In that instant, he’d felt as though a pure white light had been glowing inside of her and that a mesmerizing sensation radiated from it, pulling him in, drawing him closer to it, to her.

Her soul was not dark as the prophecy stated.  It glowed radiantly despite all she’d been through, all she’d seen, all she’d done.  She’d risen above it, above a life that had not been of her choosing.  Her life had not been easy.  Her struggles had been numerous.  But she’d managed to maintain an undeniable brilliance.  She’d cared for her mother, championed those weaker than her instinctively.  She’d been hardened, but not to the point of detachment, coldness.  And that had emerged in the meadow; the innocence she’d retained had become visible.  Her eyes had softened to liquid onyx as she’d watched the flowers in wonder and he’d fallen more deeply than he’d ever dreamed possible.  From that moment on, he was certain he’d found his compass, and knew he’d follow her to the ends of the Earth.

A smile tugged at the corners of Desmond’s mouth as he crunched along the frozen path.  He knew that each step he took was a step closer to Arianna.  He inhaled sharply, breathing warmth from his shield, and was about to exhale when the air inside him froze.  He had not dropped his defense, yet his lungs blistered with cold that seized his lungs.  Every cell in his body screamed at once, warning racing through his core, spreading fiercely and singeing everything in its wake like wildfire.

Something was wrong, very wrong.

He could not pinpoint what was happening, just that a force other than his own was at work, a dark, dangerous force.  He could feel it, feel the vile fingers of pure evil reaching out.  Desmond stopped walking and explored with each of his senses, but feared his powers had been taxed heavily by travel and maintaining his shield.  He pushed his waning energy forward, searching, as he scanned the hostile plains before him.  Though he saw nothing, not a soul walking the white abyss, he knew he was no longer alone.  Evil stalked him; he could feel a slithering inside of him, slick and sinewy like a mighty serpent sliding stealthily before it struck.  And with it, dread slunk down the length of his spine.

He spun to look behind him, felt his shield waver, and saw no one.  But when he turned to face forward again, shock knocked the wind from him.

Thanatos loomed before him, his hulking form unmistakable.

“Thanatos,” Desmond whispered and the beast advanced a step, the ropey muscles in his thick legs twitching anxiously.

His mind began working overtime, questions launching headlong to the forefront of his brain.  Why was Thanatos there with him?  Had his father sent the fiend to travel with him, or had his father dispatched his monstrous henchman to bring him back to the compound?  He did not know the answers to either.  And try as he may to answer them for himself, none of it made sense.  Thanatos was used for one thing, and one thing only.  He was a killer.

The fact that he was a killer raised a far more frightening question, one that made Desmond’s hand instinctively finger the hilt of his blade.  Did his father want him dead because he’d learned of his love for Arianna?

“What are you doing here?” he asked Thanatos, though he knew Thanatos could not speak.

The beast rolled his four hulking shoulders forward and cocked his head from one side to the other, eliciting a sickening snapping sound from his neck.  The cracking sound echoed through the tundra and chilled Desmond’s blood.

Thanatos’s actions were meant to intimidate him, and they were working.  Desmond slid his dagger from its sheath and readied himself for a battle he would not win if the beast were to grab hold of him.

“Be on your way.  I will not return to my father’s home,” Desmond said with far more confidence than he felt.  “Go!”

Thanatos’s eyes, barely visible from the shadow created by his protruding forehead, narrowed briefly, murderously.  Desmond felt his muscles contract and gather, readying.  He knew all too well what the beast was capable of, had seen him tear adversaries, all supernatural beings with impressive powers, limb from limb.  He’d also seen him devour warlocks without killing them first.  Those images, all etched vividly in his memory, flashed before him and he realized he held his breath.  He locked eyes with Thanatos, felt the lethal weight his topaz stare clawing at his skin.  Yet, Desmond refused to back down.  He refused to look away.

“Go,” he ordered Thanatos again.

Thanatos huffed several times and saliva dripped from lips so purple they looked black before his eyes widened and resumed their normal appearance.  The nostrils of his upturned snout flared and shockingly, he broke eye contact.  Desmond wondered what the hell was happening, a sentiment that was only compounded when Thanatos turned from him and walked toward an unseen tunnel opening.

As he watched the beast lumber away with shocking coordination despite his impressive size, he felt the wild pounding of his pulse begin to subside.  Relief flooded his system and swept some of the indescribable tension he’d felt from it.  For a moment, he’d feared the beast would attack him, an attack he was certain he would not have survived without being able to teleport.  But Thanatos had not attacked him, and Desmond had made his intent clear.  He would not leave.  He would go to Arianna and challenge the Tome of Ares.  Thanatos returning without him would be proof enough that he was no longer his father’s pawn.

Making a stand against both Thanatos and his father had been draining.  His head pounded and when finally he exhaled, he felt a large part of him relax.  He strengthened his shield, the need for warmth more urgent as the sudden rush of adrenaline combined with the demand for his senses to be at their sharpest had weakened it.

With his muscles relaxing and his body warming, he was able to return his thoughts to Arianna and how he would explain his father’s role in the prophecy of her existence.  He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes for a split second before continuing on his journey.  But the thunderous sound of heavy footfalls caused him to open them and snap his head in the direction of the sound.

His eyes widened briefly in shock and horror.  But he did not have time to react.  Nearly seven feet of monstrous flesh slammed into him and dropped him to the frozen ground below.  His shield collapsed completely and every part of his body smarted from the sting of cold and the deadly grip of four massive arms squeezing him so tightly, he felt his eyes begin to bulge.  Thanatos had him in his clutches.

Desmond twisted desperately and thrust his arms forward with all his might, and managed to temporarily break the beast’s grip.  He immediately unsheathed his blades and sprung to his feet.  Thanatos rose, too, and a low rumble sounded from his chest.  Desmond did not waste time trying to figure out what the growl meant.  He knew he did not have a moment to spare.  He began attacking, swinging and lunging, an ancient dagger in each hand, praying to the gods above that he would survive this moment so that he may return to Arianna.  He slashed at the beast’s body, causing gashes in his flesh deep enough to ooze a vile, green liquid.  Thanatos howled out, rearing his head and arching his back several times, but did not retreat.  He simply kept coming, and seemed to gain strength with every primal howl that escaped him for in spite of his weeping wounds, he sidestepped Desmond’s bolder attempts with speed dexterity befitting a small, lithe creature, not one of his gargantuan size.

Desmond struggled with every swing of his weapons.  His breathing was labored, the frigid air burning his lungs.  His arms began to grow heavy as cold and exhaustion conspired against him.  Blasts of icy air washed over his exposed skin, gnawing and scraping at his strength, at his defenses.

Thanatos continually dove and grasped at him, trying to place Desmond within reach of his vice-like grip.  Desmond made every effort to keep away.  He knew he needed to keep moving, keep himself out of the beast’s reach.  Each time the beast grabbed, he swung his daggers and sliced at Thanatos’s ropey arms.

But his efforts did little to slow the beast, and his strength was waning.  Without his powers, his reserves were low and his ability to protect himself against the mythical beast was weakened.  Thanatos pursued him indefatigably, raking at the air with his claws.

His clawed hand thundered against Desmond’s blades, swatting and batting at them so hard, they nearly fell from Desmond’s hands.  And each time one of his talons struck, Desmond was pitched backward.  He needed to stay on his feet.  He needed to stay clear of Thanatos’s hold.  But the task was growing more and more difficult with each second that passed.  Desmond’s body was wearying fast.  His vision began to waver, and his arms felt leaden.  Thanatos knew he was tiring and vulnerable.

Desmond staggered, stumbling clumsily as he tried to dodge Thanatos.  He was no longer able to feel his feet and his fingertips had grown numb..  He swore the beast smirked as he ran his tongue over his pointed teeth just before he charged.  He tried to evade colliding with him and faked moving to the left before he dove right.  Only his actions were a fraction of a step too slow, and one of the beast’s shoulders slammed against Desmond’s side.  The wind was knocked from him and his lungs were bled of air.  He crashed to the ice-covered ground, landing with a solid thump.  He tried to stand, tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs refused to cooperate.  Leaden and heavy, they would not move as quickly as his brain commanded them to.  He looked up in time to see Thanatos’s body eclipsing the arctic landscape before descending upon him.

Thanatos affixed his massive limbs around Desmond, grappling him close, with arms that felt like tentacles made of steel, and began squeezing.

He wriggled and squirmed trying to free himself.  But the harder he tried, the harder Thanatos gripped him, pinning his hands to his sides.  And without his hands, he was unable to invoke his powers.

Blood flow to Desmond’s hands halted.  He felt his blades begin to slip from them and fall.

Darkness teased the edges of his vision as Thanatos crushed his body.  Desmond winced as his mind spiraled, plunging headlong, deeper and deeper into a blackened abyss from which there was no escape.  Every part of him ached, yet dark, velvety oblivion beckoned him, tempting him with welcoming arms and numbness.

Arianna, like an intangible apparition drifted before him, a brief beacon in the swirling ocean of black.  He wanted to reach for her, to touch her one last time before the darkness claimed him.

He struggled, stretching and reaching with every part of him, to feel her silky skin, to make contact, but the tide of darkness was too great, too inviting to resist any longer.  The pain was unbearable.  The darkness was its end.  He felt himself slipping away, embracing it; falling to it.

Fleeting thoughts ebbed then surged with intense clarity, flashing like a strobe light against the gloom.  His father, Agnon, rushed to his mind and with it brought realization.  And the realization caused a swell of pain more agonizing than the hold the beast had on him.  His father had not sent Thanatos to travel with him, and he did not send him to bring Desmond back to his compound.  He’d sent the beast to kill his only son.

“You were sent to kill me,” he gasped and choked as he offered a final fight against the black current.  “My own father,” Desmond struggled and his eyes fluttered long enough to see closely spaced eyes the shade and severity of topaz glaring out from beyond a prominent forehead.  Recognition flashed in their murderous glare, and Desmond felt his life slipping from him.

The beast snarled once and his lips twisted into a cruel smirk.  He swept his large, black tongue over his lips and the two teeth that jutted from his jaw.  As he did so, Thanatos’s grip on Desmond lessened just long enough for him to lower his open mouth.

Rows of sharp teeth veiled by milky breaths, crystallized by the cold, glistened with saliva as they inched toward Desmond’s throat.

“Arianna,” Desmond mumbled, but felt his lungs crush under the insurmountable weight of Thanatos’s chest as it leaned against him readying to feast.  He knew that if he did not do something soon, if he did not fight with every last drop of his fast fading life force, he would not live to see Arianna ever again.

Chapter 12

Arianna bolted upright, startled from a nightmare.  Sweat beaded her brow and dampened her hair, and her face was wet as if she’d been crying.

The night before had been so horrific, she doubted anything could top it, yet her dream had, and it left her with a feeling of dread so potent, her chest actually ached.  She shivered and drew her knees to her chest and realized she’d fallen asleep in the clothes she’d worn to the party the night before.  Dirt and dried leaves were littered in her bed, marring the pristine white of her comforter and sheets.  She shook her head and nearly laughed at the notion of concerning herself with something as trivial as dirty bedding, not after everything she’d been through.

In recent weeks, she’d been exposed to more violence and bloodshed than she felt capable of coping with.  Last night had been no exception during both her waking and sleeping hours.

She’d expected to toss and turn rather than sleep, tormented by images of Sarah and the others moving like puppets for the twisted entertainment of Scott and his friends.  But she had not.  After she’d taken a cab from Jettison to her house, she’d collapsed into her bed and fallen asleep immediately.  Only instead of being plagued by images of a branch-wielding Sarah, another more nefarious boogeyman had appeared.

Hours earlier, she would have though it impossible to conjure something in her sleeping brain more despicable than what she’d seen at the party, but she had.  And while the details of her dream were beginning to fade, the feelings they’d brought forth remained razor-sharp in their clarity.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as images swirled disjointedly through her mind.  As she did, the sensation of being crushed began to overwhelm her.

Weight, overpowering and devastating, settled deep in her core, crushing and slaying everything in its wake.  She could not breathe.  Her lungs felt as though they refused to fill and remained frozen, like blocks of ice so cold their chill burned.  Her hands instinctively went to her throat and she tried to speak, but could not.  Her voice, her words, had been immobilized, suspended deep within a yawning pit of frost.  A sound rumbled.  Deep and throaty, it echoed like a vicious snarl, but was muddled and slightly distorted, as if she were hearing them from the bottom of an endless sea.

Arianna gasped for breath several times.  She felt her ribs ache and her lungs burn, frantically clinging to meager threads of air slipping down a collapsing windpipe.  Although rationally, she knew she sat on her bed, out of harm’s way for the moment, her body responded as if she were experiencing it in that moment.  She released her legs and tugged at the collar of her shirt before frantically tearing her clothes from her body.

She yanked her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor then began pulling her jeans down past her hips to her knees before kicking them off, too.  She stood, stripped down to her underwear and bra, and still felt as if her entire body were being compressed by a powerful, unseen force.

She raced to the bathroom and turned the shower on full-blast.  She shrugged out of her bra and slid her underwear down her legs and stepped into the stall.  Warm water cascaded down her body, but did little to combat the chill she felt.  She turned the dial farther to the left and stood beneath a stream that was as hot as she could possible bear.  The chill began to subside, as did the feeling of being crushed, but only marginally.  Both still lingered to some extent and made her insides quiver.  She closed her eyes and tried to picture a calming image and immediately, the meadow Desmond had sifted her to the night she and Stephanie had almost been raped entered her thoughts.  She squeezed her eyes tightly, willing the brilliant blooms to present themselves, but they did not.

Other, entirely foreign images flashed in her mind’s eye.  A man with silver hair and a matching silver beard appeared first.  She’d never seen him before, yet there was something achingly familiar about him.  She tried to cling to his features, to discern where she’d seen them before, but he was quickly replaced by inky blackness.  Darkness so deep and cavernous it felt as though she could reach out and touch it stretched before her and sent her pulse racing feverishly.  Then in an instant, the blackness evaporated and bright white light replaced it, blinding her temporarily.  The effect was dizzying, the high-intensity flashing pulsing through her brain.  She rubbed her eyes vigorously, the pain from the glare rocketing through their sockets with a force so great it nearly knocked her off her feet.  Within seconds, however, the glare was eclipsed by a hideous creature, its wide mouth and dangerously sharp teeth hovering over her, poised to clamp its massive jaw around her neck.  Her eyes snapped open and her heart thundered over the spray of the shower.  She reached with a trembling hand and turned the water off then pulled her towel from the rack.  She wound it around her body and clutched her torso.

The squeezing sensation had left her, and so did the weight she’d felt in her chest.  All that remained was the hellacious image of a beast befitting a gatekeeper of the underworld.

She knew it had been a nightmare, knew she’d simply remembered a terrifyingly vivid dream, but could not shake the feeling that there was truth to it.  Warning raced through the center of her being and raised goose bumps on her flesh.  She wished she had time to focus on it, but had another pressing matter awaiting her: school.

With every moment that ticked by, she was delaying the inevitable.  She had to go to school.  The weekend had yet to arrive.  She had two more days of classes before she would have two days to hole up and truly deal with the night she’d had.  The thought of ever laying eyes on Scott, Jess, Meg, Paul, Josh, Chris and George made her feel as if she’d be ill.  Especially since she now knew that George could suppress her powers.  He was particularly dangerous to her, more so than the others.  With him around, she was defenseless.  And she’d seen what Scott and the others did to those who were defenseless.

Her body shuddered involuntarily, the idea of being manipulated against her will so despicable it physically shook her.  She did not know what to do, what they’d expect of her or how they’d act around her.  Would they harm her, or would they expect her to fall into step with them and their behavior?  Did they know that she was the Sola?  She wondered.  So many questions needed to be answered.  The few that popped into her mind did not even begin to scratch the surface of a seemingly impenetrable fortress of uncertainties.  Desmond would know the answers, she was sure of it.  He would know what to do.  But he’d refused to appear when she’d begged him to in the woods.  Apparently, he had not been sincere when he’d promised her he’d always come when she called him.  He’d lied. He’d humiliated her and lied to her.

Her hand went to her heart reflexively, as if trying to repair its fractured pieces.  She wished to feel the frothy wisps of comfort that caressed her very core each time he’d held her, feel his warmth.  But a voice inside of her cautioned she would never feel either again.

A tear slipped down her cheek and she brushed it with the back of her hand.  She’d never been one to pity herself, but the odds were continually stacked against her, a fact she could no longer ignore.  She had lost her mother, the only friend she’d ever had, Luke, and now Desmond.  Desmond was not dead, but was gone, nevertheless, and all because of some godforsaken prophecy.  All of them gone because she was the Sola.

She hated that she’d driven everyone away, and that hatred awakened feelings George was not around to suppress.  Her hands balled in fists at her sides and she felt a swell of pure power surge through her veins, familiar and not entirely unpleasant.  The dark part of her was present.  She felt her fingertips tingle, charged and capable.   She concentrated on the wastepaper basket in the corner of the bathroom and flicked her wrist.  The basket overturned and a thrill of delight fluttered in her belly.  She spun, still wearing only her towel, and flipped her wrist again.  The bathroom door opened wide and she stepped back into her bedroom.  Every part of her smarted, throbbing and aching with loss and loneliness, and using her powers felt good, natural.  She glimpsed her pack of cigarettes peeking from her purse and decided to try something new, something she’d never attempted before.  She straightened her index finger, aiming it at the small box then curved it back toward her several times.  As she did, the box was coaxed slowly from her bag.  She bent it more quickly, and the movement of the box matched the pace of her finger.  A slow smile spread across her lips and she guided the box toward her.  It floated in midair, gliding until it hovered before her other open and waiting hand.

After several other feats that included sweeping her hands to one side and opening both her closet and the curtains, Arianna found herself feeling enervated.  She slumped to the bed.  Her powers had distracted her and entertained her for a little while, but did not fill the void created by loss.

A glance at the clock on her nightstand saddened her further as it was just about time for her to leave for school.  She dressed and ate then dashed out the door.

She smoke two cigarettes during the car ride, yet still did not feel calmed.  She wanted to hurt Scott and the others, but George first.  His power was the only thing standing between Scott and justice, her justice.  She needed to find a way to isolate him, catch him off guard and attack before he managed to summon his blocking power.  She needed time to think.  But as she pulled into a parking space and saw Jess pull in beside her, she knew she would not be given any time whatsoever.

Arianna turned her head to look at Jess.  Jess smiled pleasantly, as if nothing had happened, and waved.

“Is she for real?” Arianna muttered to herself.  “Yeah, hi there, I see you, you violent psychopath,” she said and waved back, her words protected by the closed windows.

Jess, encouraged by Arianna’s gesture, jumped out of her car and smiled as she peered in the passenger side window.  She knocked on the glass lightly and Arianna lowered the window, wondering what the hell the vicious nutbag could possibly want to say to her.

“Hey Arianna!” Jess said excitedly and Arianna felt her stomach churn.  “Glad you made it today.  I was so worried about you.”

Arianna did not reply verbally.  Instead, she leveled a stony stare at Jess and revived the old fuck you expression she’d always worn across her features.

Jess looked taken aback, hurt even, and Arianna had to struggle to keep from laughing at the absurdity of the situation.  Jess actually looked wounded that Arianna was not greeting her with a, “Hey there, bestie! So glad to see you after you manipulated a bunch of innocent teenagers into getting murdered!”  Jess was clearly out of her mind.  She pictured Jess’s face from the night before, the twisted look of pleasure she wore as she watched Sarah, used like a tool by Scott, bash the skulls of three teenagers before being forced to take her own life.  The memory set her afire.

A fierce jolt of energy racked Arianna’s body and she began to tremble.  Power swelled unexpectedly, building strength with every second that passed.  Her vision immediately became shrouded in crimson.  Kill, kill! The words whispered through her brain.  They demanded vengeance.  They demanded Jess’s death.  Her muscles began to bunch and strain, tensing for a tidal wave of energy.  Fury shook her body and the urge to end Jess passed through her with every tremor, vibrating and echoing through her core.  Searing rage throbbed through her veins like fiery lifeblood.  She focused all her wrath on Jess and watched as a thin rivulet of blood began to trickle from Jess’s nose.

She was about to launch the heft of her might at her when a tapping on the driver’s side window triggered a tug on her energy so strong she nearly fainted.  She spun in her seat and saw George’s expressionless face filling it.

“Oh thank god you’re here,” Jess breathed dramatically as she blotted her nose with a tissue she’d pulled form her purse.  “Our girl here was about to try something.”

Arianna was about to retort, but agonizing pain exploded at the back of her head.  She closed her eyes against it and small bursts of light appeared behind her eyelids.  George, she thought bitterly.  Him slamming the breaks on her powers as suddenly as he had produced a headache similar to a migraine.

Knocking from the driver’s side window sounded again, only louder.  Arianna opened her eyes and saw Scott’s smug face smiling at her.

“Roll down the window,” he shouted.

Arianna shook her head.

“C’mon Arianna, enough pouting!  I told you last night, we have George here,” he called out.

Arianna decided to lower the window, if for no other reason than to quiet Scott.

“There you go.  Was that so hard?” he said acidly.

“Screw you,” Arianna said through her teeth.

“Oh, Arianna, and here I thought you and I would have something special,” he said with feigned hurt.

She stuck up her middle finger at him and began gathering her books from the front seat.  She refused to be pushed around by a ragtag group of teenage witches and warlocks.  They could suppress her powers with George around, but they would not always be together, and they would not always have George around to hold her back.  She would get to them, one by one, and when she did their smug faces and condescending tones would be silenced.  She was the Sola, the most powerful witch on the planet, whether they knew it or not.  Surely, she could handle them.  All she needed to do was figure out how to tap into her power fully, as Desmond had told her she’d be able to someday.

She no longer had time to wait for “someday,” though; “someday” had come, now.  She needed the full potency of her power to keep George from suppressing her.  She’d only been in Hallowed Hills for a few days, and already she was sick of being pushed around by Scott and the others.  The only reason they’d been able to was because of George.  George needed to go, sooner rather than later.

Arianna pushed her car door open, shoving it hard into Scott and George’s legs.

“Move,” she said flatly.

“Oh wow,” Jess commented.  “I gotta hand it to her, she’s ballsy.  I kind of like it.”

Scott pursed his lips then slid the sunglasses perched on his head down over his eyes.  He raised both eyebrows above the rims of his shades and said huffed, “Yes, well, let’s see how long it is before ballsy becomes boring,” then strutted toward the front door of the school.

George lingered a moment longer and stared at her, his dead eyes and blank expression crawling over her skin like the legs of innumerable spiders.

“Oh and Arianna, one more thing,” Scott turned and called out to her unexpectedly.  “I will see you at my house tonight.”  He dropped his glasses to the tip of his nose and glared at her over the rim of them. “And I will not take no for an answer.”  His tone was confident as always, and threatening.  Arianna’s own confidence faltered for a split second and she began to question whether she would, in fact, be able to handle them as she’d hoped earlier.

“You have no idea who we are, how powerful we are,” George warned her in his monotone voice, and though his tone had not held the slightest inflection, the fine hairs on her body rose.

“Come on, George,” Jess called him and finally broke the hold he had on Arianna.

Arianna felt like vomiting and wondered what the hell she’d gotten herself into by rashly heeding the call to Hallowed Hills and rushing there.  She looked over her shoulder to see if any of Scott other flunkies were approaching and found that a pair of eyes did, indeed, watch her.  Beth’s heavily lined eyes watched her closely with her blue-black stained lips pressed to a hard line.  In the harsh light of morning, Beth, whose tiny frame was clad from head-to-toe in black, looked frail, but Arianna swore that if she made another lesbian comment, she would punch her in her petite head without thinking.  She had nothing against lesbians, but did not appreciate assumptions of any kind being made about her, especially now, not with a group of her own kind prepared and possibly poised to strike against her.

“What?” Arianna spat hostilely.  “You have something to say?” she challenged, but Beth did not flinch.  Arianna began to feel the same odd pull toward her she’d felt the first day she’d met her.  She remembered it had been significant then.  Arianna quirked her brow at Beth and Beth wagged her index finger at Arianna as if she were a naughty child.  The gesture was as perplexing as it was annoying.  What the hell was the pint-sized Goth girl doing?  She shook her head and looked annoyed, warning Beth off.  Beth shrugged and began walking into the front entrance of the school.

Arianna supposed she should do the same, but the bizarre beginning to her day gave her pause.  What else did the day have in store for her? she wondered.  And now with a visit to Scott’s house looming on the horizon, she guessed it did not hold anything good.  In fact, she had a strong feeling that her day would be all downhill from this point on.

Reluctantly, she straightened her posture and clutched her books to her chest.  She walked toward the school building and noticed that it no longer looked like a friendly welcoming structure.  Instead, it seemed to rise from the ground with sharp, hostile angles, dark against a fairytale pink sky.  It looked ominous, sinister.  She wanted nothing more than to turn from it, turn from Scott and the others, turn from her calling, and head off toward somewhere warm and sunny, a place where supernatural beings did not lurk, a place where she could be at peace.  But she knew that no such place existed, for her at least, and that peace was something she was unlikely to ever attain.  So she made her way across the parking lot toward a destiny she never wanted and began her day.

Chapter 13

Arianna had spent the more than six hours of her school day feeling equal parts angry and unsettled.  Each moment of the six hours had crept at a snail’s pace, making the stretch of time seem interminable.  She’d felt like a ticking time bomb poised to explode at any second.  But those who’d been deserving of her wrath had been strategically protected, always shielded by innocents, or George.  That fact had generated frustration unlike any she’d ever experienced.  She had not known what to do with it, how to channel it.  Without a form of release, it had festered, gnawing and biting from the inside out like a parasite.  All she’d wanted was for the day to end, yet it had dragged on mercilessly.  She’d craned her neck to glimpse clocks on so many occasions during the day that she swore she’d pulled a muscle.  But pulled muscles were the least of her problems.  Catching sight of Scott and George, as well as the others, throughout the course of the day, seeing their nauseatingly smug faces and knowing that she would have to wait to unleash her fury had been her biggest problem.

Now, as she paced her small living room and contemplated her expected attendance at Scott’s house, the school day seemed like a distant memory.  She glanced out the sliding glass doors off the kitchen and saw that the sun had grudgingly relinquished its grip on the day.  It peeked from the horizon line, just a sliver of waning gold, while breadths of pink and purple streaked the sky.  Darkness was coming, and soon.

Arianna ran a hand through her hair and blew out a long breath.  Originally, she’d had no intention of going to Scott’s house.  She’d planned to tell him to go to hell if he so much as questioned her the next day at school for not going.  But she’d never been the type of person to run from tough situations.  She’d always confronted them head-on.  She would not hide from Scott and the others and she would not run.  She would stay in Hallowed Hills.  She’d been drawn there for a reason, and she was not leaving until she found out what that reason was.  She began to question her decision to stay home.  But could she really go? She wondered.

Worry needled her brain.  With George in place, she was vulnerable.  They could kill her if they chose to.  The only rebuttal to that worry was the fact that if they truly wanted her dead, they could have killed her last night at the party along with Sarah and the others.  She could have easily been one of the alleged victims of Sarah’s bogus murder-spree.  But she had not been.  Perhaps they’d wanted something else from her.  Either way, she would not know if she stayed home.

Arianna pinched the bridge of her nose.  Pressure had gathered in her forehead and around her eyes.  Nothing about Scott and the others made sense, and she was growing more aggravated with every second that passed.  Her hand dropped from her face and fell slack at her side, her fingertips prickling with the burning need for vengeance.  She concentrated on a glass she’d placed in the sink, focusing all her energy at it and watched it shatter at her command.  Delight tiptoed down her spine, and in that moment, she decided she was not going to waste any more time debating whether she would go.  She stalked off toward her bedroom and began dressing.

After she’d selected pieces from her wardrobe that represented her mood – a black sweater, black skinny jeans and her black motorcycle boots – Arianna was ready to leave.  Scott had slid a piece of paper with his address under her windshield wiper earlier in the day and had scribbled ‘Be There at 6:30’ on it.  His nerve at ordering her there, as if he held some kind of authority over her, had made her bristle when she’d read it.  She bristled still as she double-checked the address before entering it into her GPS navigation system.

The drive took less than twenty minutes and she’s smoked half a dozen cigarettes during the short trip.  She’d needed to keep her hands busy for fear they would get her into trouble otherwise.  When she pulled down a tree-lined lane in a middle-class neighborhood in town, she felt surprised.  She did not know why, but she’d expected him to live on a more isolated street, one surrounded by darkened woods or a cemetery, one that looked as hostile as he truly was.  Her imagination had him living where a monster in a horror movie would.  But he did not.  Instead, he lived on a cheery, well-lit street complete with cast-iron lampposts painted black, each crowned with a set of three globes.  SUVs in varying colors and makes occupied well-maintained driveways that led to nearly identical Colonial-style houses.  Her overall impression was that Scott hid in plain sight, a wolf nestled comfortably among a flock of well-to-do sheep smack in the middle of suburban heaven.  The thought made her stomach churn.

She was about to light yet another cigarette to combat the sudden nausea she was feeling when the voice coming from her GPS informed her that Scott’s house was ahead.  Number twenty-seven on an absurdly upbeat named street called Merryville Road was the address he’d given her.  With cream-colored siding, chocolate trim and landscaping that was impeccable, the house looked as if it had been built of gingerbread.  Steep roof pitches were softened by the color of the material selected which matched the trim and looked like icing.  All that was missing was a pair of candy canes on either side of the entrance and peppermint rounds below the first-story windows.  The columns beneath the overhang at the front door sufficed as substitutes for the candy canes, and perfectly rounded shrubbery stood in for peppermint rounds.

“Is this a joke?” Arianna muttered to herself as she parked her car at the curb.  “The fucker lives in Candy Land.”

Scott’s house looked as lovely and inviting as a house possibly could.  Little did his neighbors know, he was a murderous supernatural being.  She guessed he and his family neglected to share that tidbit of information at barbecues at soccer games.

As she climbed out of her car and walked to the front door, she realized that her rusted Toyota stood out like a sore thumb among the newer, higher-end cars parked along the street.  She chuckled to herself, imagining concerned neighbors peeking out from behind designer window treatments, wondering who’d have the audacity to park such an old, atrocious car in front of their house, hoping that no one thought it was their company doing it.

She rang the bell and waited.  What was next, she wondered, a white poodle and a little sister with pigtails twirling her baton in the foyer?  But all idyllic images ended when Scott answered the door with a bottle of beer in his hand.

“Ah Arianna,” he smiled, but his smile stopped short of his eyes.  “Glad you could make it.”

“Huh, that makes one of us,” she replied coldly.  “Your parents let you drink?”

“Did she just say parents?” Jess called from another room, her shrill voice echoing through the high ceilings.  Her comment was followed by an uproar of laughter.

“Guess I missed the punch line,” Arianna said and did not understand what all the laughter was about.

“Oh, it’s the whole parent thing,” Scott said as if she would know just what he was referring to.

She looked at him and tried her damnedest to invoke George’s dead-eyed expression.  “And?” she said flatly.

“Oh, right,” Scott said and smirked.  “You don’t know anything.  I forgot.”  He took a long swig of his beer then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before continuing.  “We don’t have parents, not that live here, at least.”

“None of you?” she asked and could not mask her surprise.

“Nope,” he said casually.  “We all live here in this house without any parental supervision.”

“You all live here, together?” she stated more than asked.

“That’s right.”

“How do you explain that to the school?  I mean, haven’t they called child protective services or anything?”

“We all have other addresses,” he said in a patronizing tone of voice.  “Duh, we’d have to be idiots not to.  And those of us whose parents still live nearby in town vouch for us.”

Arianna arched a brow at him.  “Really,” she said coolly.

“They know what will happen to them if they don’t,” he said as an evil smile spread across his lips.  He slid his index finger across his throat in a slitting motion and Arianna felt her insides begin to simmer.

“Oh wow, where are my manners?” he said and replaced his wicked smile with a warm expression that would have fooled anyone, except her.  “Please, come in.  Welcome to my home,” he stepped back and swept his arm to the side.  As he did, ornate wall sconces that held unlit candles burned brightly at his order.

“Nice,” she said ironically, unimpressed and unwilling to hide it.

He walked in front of her, leading her to an open living room and dining-room area.  Hardwood floors gleamed as if they’d been freshly polished and the walls, a warm shade of caramel, were offset by white moldings.  More sconces holding candles adorned the walls and overstuffed couches had been situated around a large fireplace.  Jess, Josh, Chris, Meg and George were there.

“There’s our girl,” Meg said in a chipper voice.

“Yeah, here I am,” Arianna replied dryly and locked eyes with George.

In her mind, she imagined she was boring a hole in George’s oblong skull, drilling through to the other side.  He, and only he, was the lone barrier between her and the others.  His ability to suppress her powers was the one thing protecting all of them.

She glowered at him with unrelenting intensity.  To her delight, he shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her hateful stare.  It was the first time she’d see him exhibit the slightest shred of humanity, of weakness.  She was pleased.  He lowered his eyes to his hands clasped in his lap and a part of Arianna wished she could jog a victory lap around the room.

She watched him for several more seconds to punctuate the psychic point she wished to communicate then looked away.

She scanned the room, taking in where everyone was, where doors and windows were, where sharp or heavy objects were, when movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention.  A large figure moved with impossible speed and she turned to face it.  When she did, she saw a man, a very familiar man, and her breath caught in her chest.

She’d seen him before, last night, in fact.  She’d seen him in her nightmare.  He had appeared wraithlike, haunting, as she’d plunged headlong in to darkness so gloomy she doubted she’d return.

Recognition must have raced across her features because his eyes, the same shade of tropical blue as Desmond’s eyes, watched her, dancing with curiosity.  He smiled and dimples at the center of both cheeks deepened, dimples identical to Desmond’s dimples.

“Hello Arianna Rose,” the man said, his voice rich and deep.

“Hello,” she said.  “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh forgive me,” he said and took several steps toward her.

He’d made no move to harm her, yet she flinched instinctively.  He looked pleasant enough, but something in the way he moved made the fine hairs on her body rise and quiver with awareness.

“I am Agnon,” he introduced himself.

Up close, she could see that he had a meticulously groomed beard the same shade as his equally meticulous silver hair.  But despite his hair color, his face was fairly smooth.  Just a few creases lined his eyes, eyes that matched the sky on a clear day and were so familiar her heart ached.  All she could picture was Desmond.

“Are you well, Arianna?” Agnon asked her and moved closer.

“I’m fine,” she lied when in fact, she felt far from fine.  Something about the man unsettled her.  She could not identify why exactly.

“Has everyone been treating you well?” he asked and looked sternly at Scott, George and the others.  She couldn’t help but notice that in Agnon’s presence, they behaved differently.  They’d assumed a more mature, more respectful demeanor.

“Huh, that’s a loaded question,” Arianna answered acidly.  “Define what you consider well for me.”

Agnon shot a look of warning their way and she swore she saw Scott and George cower.  Agnon clearly held some kind of clout among them.  He did have an air of regality about him that was undeniable.  Still, something about him repelled her.

“Let us eat,” Agnon said to everyone.  “I don’t know about you, Arianna, but I am famished,” he said and took her elbow in his hand gently.

She allowed herself to be led to the spacious dining area where a lavish meal had been prepared for them.  Platters overflowed with beautifully garnished meats and vegetables and several bottles of wine had been uncorked, breathing and waiting to be poured.

“What is this for?  What are you celebrating?” Arianna asked.

“You,” Agnon whispered, his lips so close they brushed her ear.

She pulled back from him and looked directly into his eyes, her brow gathered in confusion.  He raised his index finger to his lips as if to silence her.  His gesture worked, surprisingly, as she did not feel the need to say another word.  She would have believed him to be a crazy old man were it not for his aura.  His aura commanded authority.

Agnon slid a chair out from the long cherry wood table and waited for her to sit.  Once she was seated, he assumed a seat to her right.  He nodded and the others, who’d waited beside their chairs, sat as well.

He began reaching for plates and offering her food from them.  She wondered what the hell was going on, and more importantly, if anything she was being served was safe to eat.  Was the meal tainted?  Had they intended to poison her?  Her head spun with questions.

“Don’t worry, Arianna, everything here is safe.  No poison, I promise,” Agnon said quietly and smiled, as if he’d read her mind.  He then piled a generous scoop of scalloped potatoes onto her plate.

“We should poison her for running from us at the party last night,” Jess mumbled.

As soon as the words left Jess’s lips, Agnon brought a large hand crashing sown to the table.  “That’s enough!” he thundered and the group collectively recoiled.  “I will not have you disrespect our guest and disgrace yourselves in the process.”

They have no idea who is sitting among them.  She heard Agnon’s voice whisper through her mind with the weight of a feather, faint and fleeting.

She snapped her head toward him, but he did not look directly at her.  Instead, he smirked as he slipped a forkful of meat between his lips.

Arianna was tempted to stand up and demand answers from the first person willing to speak.  All the cloak-and-dagger mystery was starting to piss her off.  Who was he and why was everyone acting like children in church around him?  They were obviously on their best behavior, but why, the question of the moment, remained.

As if he sensed her mounting frustration, Agnon reached out his hand and patted her shoulder. “Eat,” he said.  “Please, enjoy this delicious food.”

Her stomach growled and she obliged its calling, eating until she thought her skinny jeans would burst.  When coffee and dessert was offered to her, she declined and Agnon leaned in and spoke.

“My I speak with you, privately?” he asked.

She eyed him suspiciously and hoped with every part of her that he did not intend to try to put the moves on her.  She had daddy issues, but not so many that she was interested in bedding grandpa.

Agnon chuckled softly and shook his head and she grew increasingly convinced that he was a mind reader.  After all she’d seen and heard, all the bizarre situations she’d been placed in, present moment included, him being able to read her mind would not surprise her in the least.

He stood and began walking.  She followed suit and was led to a library.  Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls and held more books than she ever dreamed possible.  She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against one of the book-lined walls.

“Okay, let’s talk.  Who are you?” she did not waste time asking.

“Dear Arianna, you know who I am,” he said smoothly.  “Think about it.  Search you mind, your heart.”

And with his words, the familiarity he possessed gelled.  “Desmond,” she breathed.  “You’re Desmond’s father.”

“Very good,” he said and clasped his hands in front of him.  He began wringing them slowly, deliberately.  “I know who you are, too.  You are the Sola.”

She probably should have been more surprised than she was that he knew who or what, rather, she was, but the fact that he was related to Desmond took precedence over all other facts.

“How is he, Desmond, I mean?  I tried calling on him last night, but he did not come.  Have you seen him?”

Agnon lowered his eyes.  “I have seen him,” he said somberly.

“Why didn’t he come then?” she asked and searched his eyes, but they revealed nothing.

“He couldn’t.”

Arianna threw her arms in the air.  “Jeez, not you, too,” she huffed.  “Let me guess, the prophecy, right?  The prophecy says he and I can’t be together.  I’m so sick of that damned prophecy!”

Agnon shook his head.  “No, it wasn’t the prophecy.  But you should not speak ill of it.  It is you destiny.”

She rolled her eyes at him and rested her hands on her hips.  “Then explain why he did not come to me,” she said arrogantly.  “He is my protector, right?  But he did not come to me.  Why is that?”

“Arianna, he did not come to you because he is gone.”

“Gone?  What do you mean gone?  What is he, on vacation or something?  Did he get a break from babysitting me, like time off for good behavior?” she fumed.

“Arianna stop.  Calm down,” Agnon said softly.

“No! I will not calm down.  All of this is total bullshit!  First he tells me he’s been with me my whole life and that he’ll always be with me.  Then when I need him, he’s nowhere to be found!  What the hell?”

“Arianna hush!” Agnon roared.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “What, you don’t like me talking about your son, your son who flaked on me?” she hissed.

“Desmond is dead, Arianna?” Agnon said and leveled his azure gaze at her.

“W-what?  What did you just say?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Desmond is dead,” he repeated and Arianna felt her legs threaten to give way beneath her.

“No, no, no!  That can’t be!  You’re wrong.  Desmond is strong.  He’s a powerful warlock,” she argued.

“I am not wrong.”

“You have to be.  It’s not possible!  Who did you hear it from?”

“Myself,” he said and she did not understand what he was saying.

“What?  What do you mean you heard it from yourself?   What does that even mean?”

“I ordered his death, Arianna.  I sent one of my people to kill him,” Agnon said with the same calm a normal person would have said they’d picked up their dry-cleaning with.

Her heart froze, along with every other function in her body.

“You what?” she breathed and watched as her world was bathed in blood red.  “You killed him?  You killed your son?  You killed my Desmond”

“I had no choice,” Agnon boomed.  “He told me he had feelings for you, that he loved you.”

Her breaths came in short, shallow pants and her entire body started to trembled.  A thousand daggers pierced her heart at once.  He had loved her.  And now, he was dead.  Rage filled her, roiling and bubbling like molten lava.  Agnon had taken Desmond from her, murdered him, and he would pay dearly for it.

She lifted her wrist, felt the current of fire sting her fingertips as it surged forward, exploding toward Agnon in a scalding flood of fire.  He lifted his hand in expectancy of it, and she watched as the torrent of fire split and branched in two different directions, avoiding him.

“Oh Arianna, don’t even bother,” he said and raised both hands.

She felt her powers drain from her with such immediacy, she reeled backward.

“What the,” she started, but Agnon interrupted her.

“Someday you will have the power to destroy me if you so choose, but you are nowhere near that point now; soon, but not now.  Not today,” he said calmly then added, “I only hope that when that time comes, we will be on the same side.”

“Never,” she spat and felt the anger being suppressed inside her soar dangerously.  It needed to be freed.  She needed to end the man who’d ordered Desmond’s death.

Consumed by bloodlust, she struggled to concentrate.  She heard his voice and forced herself to listen, though she did not care what he had to say.  He’d said all he needed to say already.  The only sound she wished to hear escape his lips was his final breath.

“A very important moment in time is coming,” he preached with an air of self-importance so condescending, the need to tear his throat open made her fingers throb and burn with need.  “And you will be an important part of it, the most important part of it, in fact.”

Kill.  All she could think about was killing him.  She would not be part of a moment in time.  Especially not one he supported, he and his flunkies in the living room.

“You’re delusional!” she hissed.  “Maybe you and those dirtbags, your dirtbags out in the living room will be, but not me.  I don’t stand beside murderers.”

Every part of her quivered and shook, demanding that she release the mighty beast inside of her.  She guessed the old man was strong, for he kept the beast at bay, for now.  But she felt it, felt the strength of her power stretching and spreading slowly, achingly, between her ribcage, scratching and clawing with abrasive awareness, begging for release.  But Agnon held it prisoner.

“Those dirtbags are just being kids,” he defended his flunkies.  “They don’t know who you are.  I haven’t told them.  They think you’re one of them.”

Arianna laughed bitterly.

“Considering that you killed your son, I’m not surprised that you think slaughtering innocent people is them just being kids.  And why exactly haven’t you told them who I am?” she asked and wondered if they would have been so inclined to threaten her if they’d known who she was.  Not that it mattered, their days were numbered whether they knew it or not.

“They will find out when the rest of the world finds out.”

Yes, yes they will, Arianna thought.  And so will you, Agnon.  But she did not dare speak those words.  She would not give him or the others advance warning.  She would strike, and soon, when they least expected it.  But she did wonder what he referred to when he’s said the world would know who she was.

“What the hell are you talking about?  How will the world find out who I am?  I have no plan to tell anyone who does not need to know.”

“I think you need to go home.  You’re in shock.  I can see it in your eyes.  Go home.  Take time to process everything.  We will talk again soon,” he said and did not answer her questions.  And answers were exactly what she needed.  He had them, but refused to share them.  Perhaps she’d have the privilege of torturing those answers out of him.  Someday soon, perhaps.

Agnon twisted his wrist and Arianna winced.  Every ounce of her hatred, her ire, the deadly power that writhed like a predator inside of her, suddenly seeped from her veins as if a drain stopper had been pulled.  It chafed as it left her, felt as though her insides were being ripped from her.

She shook her head, trying desperately to remain conscious as unimaginable loss swirled with mind-boggling pain as it circled the drain of her being.

“I will never understand this,” she managed in a weak voice then turned on unsteady legs to run out of the room, out of Scott’s house.

She pushed past Agnon out into the living-room area where Jess sat, perched on the arm of the couch, hovering over Scott.  She took one look at them, all of them, and felt the dinner she’d just eaten threaten to spew.  Without pause, she dashed past them to the front door.

“Good-bye and you’re welcome,” Jess called sarcastically.

“What the hell is her problem?” she heard Josh ask.

But she did not care what they thought, or anyone else thought for that matter.  Her heart had stopped beating in her chest.  She was dead inside.

***

Arianna could not recall the drive home from Scott’s house to hers in the woods.  All she knew was that when she saw her small cabin, she wanted nothing more than to be inside it, to shut out the world forever.  She staggered through the front door and dropped her bag to the floor then made her way into her bedroom.  She collapsed to the bed and felt a tidal wave of emotion crash against her.

Desmond was dead.  She’d heard the words fall from Agnon’s lips, heard him say the only words that had remained in this world capable of bringing her to her knees.  Her comfort, her inspiration, the only reason she had for waking each morning, Desmond, her love, was dead.

The air suddenly sweltered.  She touched her fingertips to her forehead; felt her skin, warm to the touch, grow warmer.  The room began to sway and the lightbulbs flickered overhead and in the lamps on her nightstands.

“Desmond,” she wept and wished she could hear his voice, if only for a moment.

Pain unlike any she’d ever felt or imagined rocketed through her, singeing every cell in her body with excruciating precision.  The lights swelled again before each bulb burst, dimming for good.

Desmond was dead.  She repeated the phrase in her head over and over.  She did not know why.  Repeating it did not diminish the torturous ache in her chest.

She felt as though a hole had been punched in her core, through the very center of her being, its edges raw and ragged.  She closed her eyes and fought against it, fought the fiery flash of agony so pure it bled the air from her lungs.  She tried to breathe, but felt as if her lungs had collapsed.  Her throat had tightened and tears blurred her vision.

“Desmond,” she cried again and the dams that held her tears broke.

She cried with the very essence of her, her soul wept.  A life without Desmond was unfathomable.  They were connected.  He was hers and she was his.  Prophecy or no prophecy, she’d known it from the first time she’d laid eyes on him.

Imagining his glorious face bathed in golden light that matched the color of his hair made her double over clutching her waist.  His hair was sunshine, his eyes the sky and she would never see either again, not as they were meant to be seen.

She did not have a picture to hold, or a sweater he’d left behind, nothing, just her mind’s eye to rely on to preserve his memory.

Suddenly, the too-hot feeling she’d had seconds earlier was replaced with a chill that felt as if it reached her bones.  Violent sobs racked her body.  She was powerless to stop them.  Hurt poured from her in a great deluge.

Desmond was gone.  And nothing else mattered.

When hours had passed and the tears slowed, Arianna leaned back against her pillows and rolled to her side.  She tucked her knees to her chest and did something she had not done in a very long while.  She prayed.  She silently begged the heavens above for an end to her sorrow.  She prayed to be with Desmond.

As she laid still, her sobs reduced to a steady stream of tears, she did not hear an answer to her pleas.  She did not hear a thing, in fact.  Instead, darkness, soothing, velvety darkness, lulled her, welcoming her with its blackened void and comforting her with arms readied to embrace her.

Chapter 14

Arianna awoke to find the house submerged in darkness.  The only light she could see came in the form of glowing red numbers on her alarm clock.  She squinted to read them, her eyes blurry from crying, and saw that only an hour had passed.  For one hour, she’d been granted reprieve from the insurmountable swell of pain she’d been feeling.

Now, however, the pain returned, and mingled with a rush of anger.  But her anger was not reserved exclusively for Agnon as it had been earlier.  Someone else was fueling it, someone familiar.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax just a bit, to push the anger and hurt aside.  She felt her eyes grow heavy, felt sleep tempt and tease at her consciousness, but was struck by a sensation that chafed her to her very core.  She shook her head several times, hoping the action would clear her brain, and it did, briefly.  Rolling to her side, she closed her eyes a second time and felt it again, felt the sensation return.  It niggled like nails on a chalkboard, piercing and grating as it shrieked through her ears and scraped everything in its wake before piercing her brain.  She struggled to identify it at first, knew it was familiar, but it squealed through her so loudly, she could not concentrate long enough to identify what it was.  After several more attempts at naming it, she willed the sound to be softer, and that’s when she placed what it was.  The sound was a cackle, a high-pitched female cackle, Jess’s cackle.

Her blood began to simmer as she wondered why Jess’s laughter screeched through her.  Why would Jess trespass in her mind while she grieved so deeply?  Arianna did not recall having a dream during her brief rest, so how was it that a voice resounded in her ears, unmistakable and crystal-clear?  She did not know why or how, but Jess’s laughter had echoed then, echoed still.

If it were a dream, she would not ignore it.  After all, the last dream she’d had foretold of Agnon, and he had materialized hours later, the silver-haired messenger of death, of murder.  His existence made her reluctant to discount the warning screaming inside her as a mere nightmare.  Her life had become a nightmare, and with nothing left to lose – no mother, no friends, no Desmond – she decided to find Jess and asked her why her annoying laugh echoed in her head.  If the rest of the group was with Jess when she found her, she would face them all.  She was not afraid of dying, not anymore at least.  She no longer had anyone to live for.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fought the tears that threatened to fall once again, and forced images of her beloved Desmond from her mind.  She tried, instead, to picture Jess’s face.

Immediately, pale-blue eyes she’d once found open and kind now stared at her in her mind’s eye, glimmering with deadly delight.  Shoulder-length flame-red hair framed pale skin dotted with freckles and a long thin nose sloped close to full lips curled to a cruel smile.  Just a few short days ago, Arianna had thought Jess was fresh-faced and sweet, her looks representative of her personality.  But Arianna had been wrong, dead wrong.

The time had come to right those wrongs.  She was the Sola.  She supposed that woven within the fabric of her esteemed title was the obligation to uphold some type of moral code among others like her, other witches and warlocks.  As far as she could see, Jess and the others had violated any conceivable moral code that could possibly exist between supernatural beings and human beings.  They had used humans as their playthings, had caused them to maim then murder each other.  She had seen it for herself, and she could not allow for that infraction, for that blatant abuse of power, to go unpunished.

Her heart began to pound, its beat a thunderous roar in her ears.  The vaguest trace of a current began to ripple at her core, wavering at first.  She concentrated harder on the image of Jess she’d created in her mind, focused with every bit of attention she could muster.  As she did, a stronger flux of energy surged forth, stronger than the first and drifted from the center of her body, gliding and flowing, until it branched slowly down the length of each arm and leg.  Only it did not feel like a reckless force rushing and charging outward.  It felt unlike any experience she’d ever had, in fact.  For the first time ever, she felt completely in control of her power.

She breathed deeply to steady her racing heart.  She did not want to lose whatever influence she was using to govern the hum of power buzzing through her.  With Jess’s deceptive face still swirling in her head, she crossed both arms across her chest to form an x.  Her position change, combined with her intense focus, caused the hum to strengthen and pulsate, teeming with energy so potent she felt as if she could move a mountain if she tried.  But she did not want to move a mountain.  She wanted to find Jess.

Potent power poured through her veins like electricity and light filled her field of vision, brilliant, blinding, white light.  The experience was identical to the one she’d had with Desmond the first time he’d sifted with her from the nightclub to a meadow.  But instead of feeling surrounded by warmth, his warmth, she felt cold and alone.

Desmond.  Suddenly, Jess slipped from her thoughts and all she could think of was Desmond, how much she cared for him, how much she would miss him.  He was gone.  She would never see him again.

Both hands instinctively covered her heart and the twisting ache in her chest returned full-force.  With her concentration broken, shifting from Jess to Desmond, she pictured his face and was lost in a vast, unknown sea.  Hurling and tumbling though a silvery abyss, he filled her every thought, her memory, her mind.  Beautiful and serene, his face was perfectly sculpted as if it had been carved from marble, and his azure eyes, bottomless oceans of tropical water, stared at her through the void.  She reached out for him, was sure she’d called his name.  But he did not respond, and her hand did not touch his skin.  It landed, instead, on something hard.

As soon as her hand grazed the hard surface, on impact, Desmond vanished and darkness seized the light.  The cold she felt was replaced with stuffy, dank air.  She found herself lying on her back feeling as if she were being pulled to one side against her will.

“What the hell?” she murmured and her voice did not travel far.  She became increasingly aware of very limited space, and very limited air.   She felt as if she were enclosed in a sealed area.

Her arms rocketed forward involuntarily and slammed against something hard and close by.  She forced her arms out to her sides and felt only a little more room in either direction.  Panic gripped her as she felt barriers all around her, all the while, the air available seemed to diminish rapidly.

Sweat began to stipple her brow and her heart started to slap madly against her ribcage.  She did not know where she was exactly, just that she was confined to a dark, tight, airless space.

The need to free herself from the tight enclosure, to feel air circulating around her, pressed her to move.  She reached out again, pushing her arms forward, trying to force the barrier closest to her face farther away.  But her effort was without result.  The barrier did not budge.

Her breathing became short and shallow, claustrophobia instigating an attack of anxiety.  Had she been buried? She wondered.  She blinked several times, sure she was dead and that being aware of her burial was part of her eternal punishment.

She was about to begin screaming and thrashing when the strange tug she felt stopped abruptly.  She jerked to one side and felt an idling to her back, redirecting her focus from walls closing in around her and airlessness.  Her body was on high-alert, waiting and listening.  The only sound was an odd whirring.  After several seconds, the movement restarted and she lurched to the opposite side.

She braced herself and tried to prepare to be pitched to one side again, and she was.  Less suddenly than the first time, the pull she felt was interrupted.  The idling resumed, competing with the whirring sound.  But over both, a high-pitched cackle sliced through the waning air.  Arianna felt her heart stop.

The high-pitched cackle belonged to Jess.  She realized she had found Jess, and that she’d sifted to her.  She reached her hands out and felt along the walls around her.  The one overhead was smooth, but the rest had a fuzzy quality to them, like flat, stiff carpeting.

Realizations hit her like a sledgehammer.  The tight, cramped space, the limited air, the carpeted walls, to movement and idling, all of it gelled at once.  She was in the trunk of a car.  She’d teleported herself to the trunk of Jess’s car.

A bump jarred her and made her roll to one direction.

“Goddamn potholes!” a shrill voice yelled then the car came to a stop.  When the idling ended, Arianna guessed the engine has been turned off.  Now, she heard Jess’s voice distinctly.  And Jess was not alone.  A male voice spoke, as well.

Not willing to allow herself to be held captive in Jess’s car, though Jess had no idea Arianna had sifted there, she focused every ounce of her energy on being outside, beyond the confines of the trunk.

Her entire body tingled once again and her power felt controlled.  Only this time, she worked at blocking Desmond from her mind.  As hard as it was to do, she did not want to risk finding herself at the bottom of an ocean, or a trash receptacle, or inside a coffin.  The horrific possibilities were endless.  She had never sifted on her own before the trunk incident.  Apparently, losing focus on where she intended to go was a risky endeavor, one she would not want to experience again.

She concentrated on seeping through the walls of the trunk, on fresh air and freedom, and felt her body become weightless. White light filled her vision and within seconds, she stood atop pavement.  She immediately crouched low, gulping cool air while clinging to the bumper of Jess’s car, before scanning the surrounding area.

Sodium-vapor lights cast an eerie yellow sheen over the blacktop and a building loomed close by.  Everything around her was familiar, but she did not know why.  It wasn’t until she her eyes swept past the building to the football field beyond a low wall that she realized she was in the rear parking lot of her school.

The sound of car doors opening then closing abruptly drew Arianna closer to the car.  Why would Jess be at the school in the middle of the night? She wondered.  Something did not feel right.  Warning whispered through her and raised the fine hairs on her body.

Originally, Arianna had wanted to catch Jess off-guard, to surprise her and confront her.  Now, however, she decided to change tactics.  She wanted to follow Jess and see what she was up to.  Deep inside her, a primal voice screamed that Jess was not simply visiting the school to hang around its parking lot.

When she saw Josh trailing Jess to the locked back doors of the school, that primal voice was validated.  She watched as Josh snapped the lock with both hands, as easily as anyone would have snapped a thin twig.  He was a large boy, broad-shouldered and tall with thick ropey muscles.  He looked like a linebacker capable of breaking the lock with his bare hands without supernatural powers.  The fact that he did possess them made his bulk all the more lethal.

Both Jess and Josh strolled inside Hallowed Hills High School without a care in the world.  Arianna waited several moments then followed.  She did not need to see them when she entered.  She heard their voices immediately, heard Jess’s intermittent cackle.  She wondered what the hell was so funny, why she needed to laugh all the time at every little joke people made.

Arianna slunk down a long, darkened hallway and stood just beyond the doors to the gymnasium.  She followed the voices, followed the shrieking laughter that had taunted her brief sleep and led her here.

There, she listened as Jess and Josh’s conversation turned serious.

“So that’s eight doors on the east side and six doors on the west, plus the front entrance and the back one,” Jess said.

Arianna peeked around a set of heavy doors into the gym and saw that Josh held a clipboard and was charting what Jess had said.

“Okay, got it,” Josh said.  “We need to make sure all of the doors are chained shut.  We don’t want anyone to escape.”

“No, we definitely don’t want that,” Jess agreed then laughed.  “Oh this is so exciting!  This will be our biggest triumph yet!” she said and bounced on the balls of her feet like a child.

Arianna wanted to wring her neck.  Her heart began its fitful pounding.  Something was being planned at the school, something awful.  They were planning to trap the entire school and do what?  What awful event did they have in store for the students of Hallowed Hills High School?  After seeing the gruesome display at the party a day earlier, Arianna could only imagine.

“What about the windows?” Josh asked and interrupted Jess’s demented happy-dance.

Jess froze on her tiptoes and smiled.  “Chris will be waiting for anyone who tries to escape out a window.  Don’t worry about that.  He will cover it.”  She laughed her awful laugh again and resumed bouncing.  “Ooh, they’re all going to die.  I can’t wait!”

Arianna could not believe what she’d heard.  An icy chill raced across her skin as she imagined the hundreds of students who attended the school, as well as teachers, scrambling to escape certain death, only to find doors chained shut, or Chris waiting for them outside if they were lucky enough to escape.  She stepped back away from the door and expected to find a wall to lean against.  Instead of falling against a wall, however, she fell against a water fountain.  Her backside depressed a small button and she heard the faint tinkle of a thin stream of water trickling from it for the briefest of moments.

The sound, faint and fleeting, was barely audible.  A normal human being would not have heard it.  But both Jess and Josh’s heads snapped in Arianna’s direction.  She was caught.  Dread slithered down the length of her spine as they began walking toward her.  She contemplated running, but since George was not with them, she figured the odds were in her favor.  She felt confident she would be able to take them one way or another.  She was the Sola, after all.

The rhythmic clacking of Jess’s trendy leather boots echoed through the gymnasium like the hands of a clock ticking down to the exact moment they would face off.  Arianna had never fought a pair of her kind before.  It would be the second “first” of her night.  She took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall.

Though still partially concealed by shadows, Arianna was no longer hidden by the doors.

“Oh Arianna, I know you’re there.  I can feel you.  Just come on out,” Jess purred.  “I should have known you’d follow us.  A nosey bitch like you can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble.”

Nosey bitch, huh?  Arianna thought and felt an unprecedented spike in her powers.  Her vision began to vacillate between multiple vibrant colors and blood red.

“What do we do with her,” she heard Josh ask, his voice muffled as if it were traveling a great distance to reach her ears.  “You know Agnon thinks she’s important.”

Important indeed, at least that’s what everyone kept telling her.  Arianna’s entire body began to tremble and heat filled her body.  Pure power sprinted through her veins, rushing from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.  She felt as live and dangerous as a high-voltage wire dangling above an unsuspecting victim.

“Oh Agnon can go to hell, that crazy old man,” Jess trilled, unaware of the transformation occurring just feet from where she walked.  “Besides, I want to have some fun with her.”

“I don’t know, Jess,” Josh hesitated and Arianna wondered whether his body instinctively cautioned him, if deep inside he sensed she was more powerful than they were.  “It doesn’t seem like a great idea, and I’d watch what I say about Agnon if I were you.  I swear that guy hears everything.”

“Shut up, Josh.  Don’t be such a tool,” Jess dismissed him.  “Arianna!  Come out, come out wherever you are!”

Arianna slid her foot forward, though she had not consciously decided to do so.  It was as if her body, fueled by the power coursing through her veins, had moved it.  She felt her emotions begin to melt and seep from her.  Jess was in her crosshairs.  Jess who taunted her now, Jess who had used human beings like toys before killing them, Jess who planned to kill the entire student body of her high school would die shortly.

“Oh there she is,” Jess crooned as if she were talking to a toddler.  “Finally came out to play, huh?”

Arianna did not say a word.  The intense heat she was feeling just below the surface of her skin was too intense to ignore.  Her body began to radiate red light, shining as though it could no longer contain the immense power she possessed.

“Uh oh, someone looks pissed,” Josh joined in the teasing.

“What a dumb-ass power that is,” Jess commented.

A loud hissing sounded from the vicinity of Arianna’s hands and she raised them to waist-height.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” Jess continued.

“You are both dead,” Arianna heard herself say in a voice that sounded foreign to her own ears.

Jess cackled and lifted her arms.  A flow of fire fanned from her fingertips and Arianna deflected them with ease.  Jess’s eyes widened in shock and she no longer laughed, all mirth stripped from her.  This time, Arianna laughed aloud before gesturing with her hands to one side.  As she did, Jess’s body was tossed like a ragdoll across the hallway.  It slammed into a row of lockers with a thunderous thump that felt as if it shook the walls around Arianna.  Jess’s body was limp as it slipped down the wall, and when it finally fell to the floor, Arianna saw that an enormous indentation stood where Jess had hit.

In Arianna’s peripheral view, she saw Josh charge her.  She immediately raised her hands and flicked her wrists to the opposite side.  His large body careened through the air and crashed against the far wall of the gymnasium.

“Shit!” he yelled as his body slid down the wall and crumpled to the ground.  “How the hell is she so strong?”

“I don’t understand,” Jess said and she clambered to her feet.  “Who are you?” she sneered and tried to advance.

Arianna moved one of the two hands aimed at Josh and held Jess in place.  With Jess stilled, Arianna spun to face her.  Jess was a crimson silhouette.

“I am the Sola,” Arianna said levelly.

A blend of fear and shock overtook Jess’s features, but she recovered quickly and resumed her haughty expression.

“You can’t be,” Jess spat.  “The Sola is with us.  She’s on our side.  It’s in the prophecy!”

“I will never stand with you and kill innocents.  The prophecy is wrong.  You are wrong!” Arianna shouted.

“No, I’m not!” Jess argued.  “You are not the Sola!  You can’t be!”

A flow of energy flared inside her so intensely, it flashed from Arianna’s fingertips.  “I am.  I am the Sola.  And I demand you tell me what you’re planning here?” she said through clenched teeth.

“Oh you demand, do you?” Jess mocked.  “Good for you!  Keep demanding.  I’m not telling you shit!”

Arianna’s powers began to teem dangerously.  “What are you planning?” she shouted again feeling her ability to reign over her powers slip from her as they stormed violently.

She felt a torrent of fire begin to spit from the outstretched hand that held Jess.  But just as the flames emerged, her body pitched forward.  Something solid slammed into her back and knocked the wind from her lungs.  She stumbled and fell forward but felt her body being held upright.  She tried to turn, to break the hold on her, but felt her arms being pinned to her sides.

Without her hands, she could not unleash the full potency of her power.  She was being held from behind.  Arms gripped her tightly.  She tried to move, but felt as if she’d been seized by steel clamps, squeezing and clutching her so firmly, she struggled to breathe.  But steel clamps did not hold her.  Josh held her.  She’d focused her attention on Jess and had been distracted.  She had forgotten about Josh, a mistake that would likely prove fatal.

Arianna tried to sift from Josh’s vice-like grip, tried to concentrate on being behind Jess.  But concentrating was impossible as she felt her ribs being crushed by overwhelming pressure.

“Don’t fight it,” Josh whispered menacingly in her ear.  “I got you and I’m not letting go.”

“Bastard!” Arianna spat.  Josh laughed a cruel, hollow laugh.

“Time to die, bitch,” Jess said and she strutted toward her.

Jess made her fingertips dance and as she did, miniature bolts of lightning crackled from them.

“Nice trick, Jess,” Arianna managed with arrogance she did not feel.  “Is that all you’ve got?”

Jess tossed her head back and laughed.  As she did, the miniature bolts of lightning sizzling between her hands mushroomed into impressive flames.  Arianna’s eyes grew wide and she realized she was about to die.  She writhed and tried to arch her back, but to no avail.  Josh tightened his grip on her further and the pressure became unbearable.  Her eyes felt as if they bulged and her lungs burned.  There was no way out.  Her powers were not available to her, and the pain she felt prohibited her from focusing long enough to teleport away.  She was as good as dead.

Arianna closed her eyes and surrendered to her fate.  She allowed her mind to envision her mother, Lily, Luke and Desmond, though she doubted she would go where they had gone after death.

Desmond.  His name whispered through her mind and she only wished she could see him one last time.

She focused all her energy on him, on the feel of his touch and felt the first sting of Jess’s fire lick at her legs.  She envisioned him cupping her face and felt the bite of pain recede like a wave.  Jess, seeing her unflinchingly accept her fate, was not amused in the least.  She retracted her hand as if regrouping her own energy and was about to launch both forward again when a familiar figure appeared behind Jess.

A tall, golden-haired figure with eyes so blue they penetrated the dimness of the empty school materialized like an archangel.  He hoisted shining daggers high above his head then plunged them, lightning-fast, into either side of Jess’s neck.  Jess fell instantly and the figure withdrew the blades from her neck immediately.  He looked up, his ethereal eyes meeting hers for an instant, before he heaved a dagger toward her.

The blade hurled end over end in Arianna’s direction and she froze and squeezed her eyes shut.  Josh cried out and she felt his grip yield.  She slipped from him and spun to face him immediately only to see that a dagger was buried to its hilt in his left eye.  But Arianna did not care about Josh’s eye.  All she cared about was the man who’d wielded them.

“Desmond!” she cried and closed the distance between them.

“Arianna,” he breathed and she dove into his arms.

It did not matter that his hands were stained with blood, that he had just killed two of their kind.  All she wanted was to feel him, touch his solid form as proof that he was not a figment of her imagination.

When she felt his sturdy arms envelop her, his warmth surrounded her.  Relief swept through her and carried her on a current.

“Desmond, you’re really here,” she whispered and buried her face in his neck.  The spicy, masculine smell of his neck, his smell, filled her and the floodgates that had held her emotions at bay faltered.  She wept unabashedly.

“Where else would I be if I weren’t with you?” he said into her hair and she clutched him tighter.

“I love you, Desmond,” Arianna said.  “Please don’t leave me ever again.”

She had never put herself at the mercy of a man, but no longer cared about pride or self-preservation.  She loved him and loving another meant being vulnerable, completely vulnerable, whether she liked it or not.  Arianna loved Desmond.  He was indelibly etched into her soul.

She felt his lips press to her cheek and she turned her face toward him, toward his mouth.  Wrapping both arms around his neck and clinging to him like a lifeline, she pressed her body close to his and savored his heat.  His lips brushed hers and sent a tingle of electricity through her body.  His mouth felt blissful against hers, and she wanted more.  She immediately swept her tongue hungrily over his lips, parting them.  His tongue teased at hers, meeting it thrust for thrust seductively, until need twisted achingly, low in her belly.

When he pulled away from her, Arianna felt as if she’d been slapped.

“We must take care of them,” he nodded toward Jess and Josh, “before we leave.”

She heard his words and knew what he meant, but was drunk with euphoria.  Desmond was alive and with her.  Her heart felt full, blissfully full.  She did not want to let go of him, not even for a moment, but they needed to clear the school of evidence.  They needed to incinerate the bodies.

Desmond stepped back, away from her, and the distance between them grew by just a few feet.  Even that small degree of separation caused a sharp pang in her chest.  But she knew what they must do.

Unwillingly, she tore her eyes from him as he retrieved his daggers and tried to focus on Jess.  She channeled any energy that remained after the enervating scene that had unfolded before Desmond’s appearance.  She did not have much left.  Much of her force had been sapped when Josh restrained her and Jess began attacking her.  Now, Jess lay in a pool of her own blood, a fact that should have pleased her, especially since Jess and Josh had been plotting death and destruction at their high school.  But she did not feel pleased, not about that at least.  The joy she felt over Desmond’s safety usurped any other emotion she could possibly feel.  The time would come to celebrate Jess and Josh’s fall, but that time was not now.

A sudden tingling at her fingertips signaled the readiness of her power.  Her reserves had replenished themselves, and faster than ever.  She was growing stronger.  She could feel it.

Effortlessly, an arc of fire blazed from each hand and met with Jess’s body, white-hot and precise.  Within seconds, Jess was reduced to a heap of ashes.  From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Desmond watching her.  She turned to face him and saw pride touch his lovely features.  She offered him only a half-smile and blinked to keep her tears at bay.

“Your powers have grown, haven’t they,” he said softly as branches of blue fire danced between his hands.  “Just in the last few days, you’ve grown stronger.”

She nodded and he smiled.  Then he slowly turned from her and cremated Josh’s body.  When Josh’s hulking body was turned to ash, Arianna felt Desmond at her side.  He leaned in and lowered his mouth to her ear.  His lips grazed her earlobe and his breath was hot when he spoke.

“Let’s take care of the car they came in and get out of here,” he whispered, the rough stubble of his chin sending a shiver up her spine.

They moved together to the rear parking lot of the school and, together, they destroyed Jess’s car.  When no trace of it existed, Desmond pulled her close to him.  She felt the steady beat of his heart thrumming in time with hers and suddenly, Hallowed Hills High School, along with and the ashes of Josh and Jess’s bodies and car, vanished from sight.  Light burst into her mind; brilliant white light, warm and inviting, and she was carried on a roaring wave.  The warmth she felt, Desmond’s warmth, filled her fully.  She was light, free from pain and fear, from grief and loss.  Every worry she’d ever felt dissipated like grains of sand in the wind.  She felt herself fall away.

Chapter 15

The light and peace Arianna felt while sifting with Desmond did not leave her when she arrived at her house.  He was still by her side.  He had not left her, and that alone made her insides quiver with delight.

They stood with their arms wrapped around each other.  She refused to release him and he did not move release her.  Rather, he remained as he was, holding her in the center of her bedroom.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Arianna said with her cheek pressed to his chest.

“I am so sorry for how I left you,” he began, his voice a deep rumble echoing comfortingly through her mind.  “I was wrong, so wrong.”

Wrong? She wondered.  Wrong for what, for surviving a murder attempt orchestrated by your own father? The question spun in her head.

Arianna grip slackened and she stepped back, confused.  “Wait, what?”

“You know, what happened the last time we were here,” he fumbled and color touched his cheeks.  “And then I just left like an idiot, left you here.  I don’t expect you to forgive me for how I behaved,” he started, but she interrupted him.

“None of that matters now.  I am just so glad you’re alive,” she assured him.

“Alive?” he asked and looked at her warily.

“Yes, after Agnon, I mean your father, told me he’d had you killed, I just, I felt my whole world collapse.”

“My father?” Desmond growled and dropped his arms.  He took a step back and watched her, shock and horror etched in his features.  “He came to see you?”

His mood shifted from passionate to furious in a matter of seconds.  With his jaw set in stone, the muscles around them twitching anxiously, his fair brows gathered and his eyes narrowed, he looked as if he were ready to pounce, and not in the way she would have liked.

“Yes, he showed up at the house of those two back at the school,” she said referring to Jess and Josh.  “A group of witches and warlocks are students at the high school I started two days ago.  They all live in the same house.  They invited me over and he was there.”

Desmond raked a hand through his golden waves and began pacing.

“There is a coven here in Hallowed Hills?” he asked.

“Yes.  I assumed that was why I was drawn here,” she answered honestly.

“And they know who you are, right?”

“No, they have no idea.  They were screwing with me, actually.  They have this guy, George.  His power is that he can block the powers of others like us,” she said and the mere thought of George made ire bubble within her.

“They screwed with you?” Desmond said through his teeth.  His fists were balled at his sides and for the first time, she realized how dangerous he looked when he was angry.  “And this George, he blocked your powers?”

“Yes,” she admitted and her fingertips tingled involuntarily.

“Did my father know what was happening, what they were doing to you?”

“He didn’t say if he knew about that specifically, but he knew they were going to parties and killing people for fun.”

“What?” Desmond asked heatedly.

“Look, none of that matters now, Desmond.  You are alive and that’s all I care about.  We can deal with everything else tomorrow.  The others, your father, we will take care of them, all of them.  Trust me, we will.”

His face smoothed and a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“I just need to take everything in now, to, I don’t know, enjoy the fact that you’re alive.”

“I am alive because of you.  I live for you, Arianna Rose,” he said and looked at her for a long moment before closing the distance between them.

Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms, clamping his substantial arms around her waist.  He drew her close, hugging her so tightly, their forms molded to one another.  Her head rested over his heart and its steady rhythm made her nearly weep with joy.  He was alive and safely in her arms.  His beating heart was proof.

With her head on his chest, she breathed in his scent and was suddenly desperate to feel him as close to her as he could possibly be.  She rose on to her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.  Soft and inviting, they tasted of night air, salty and sensual.  He kissed her gently at first, almost timidly.  She nibbled at his lower lip playfully then traced them both with her tongue.  A low growl rumbled deep in his chest and his kisses ceased being gentle and timid.  He began kissing her with ferocity, as if he’d abandoned tender need and replaced it with animal lust.  He kissed her with intense desire that shouted he would take what was his.  And she was his, body and soul.

Her heart pounded and her mind spun as emotions inundated her, overwhelming her.  Each of her senses was heightened, begging for more of him.  His tongue swept against hers, deeper and deeper.  Need pooled low in her belly and her hands went to the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his chiseled midsection.  Her hands grazed the valleys and mountains of muscle along the way as she slowly slid his shirt up.  She knew he’d have to pull away from her for her to fully remove it, but she was reluctant to separate from him, terrified of losing him again.

As if intuiting her reluctance, Desmond pulled away from her quickly and just far enough for her arms to snap his shirt over his head then returned to her.  She allowed her eyes to drop and see what her fingers had felt seconds earlier.  His pale skin, stretched tightly over powerful muscles, looked like marble.  He was perfection, golden, glorious perfection.  She allowed her fingertips to trace the swollen peaks of his chest, her legs growing weak as she did.  The need to memorize every magnificent inch of his form became unexpectedly urgent.  She had lost him once before, at least she’d thought she had.  She would not waste a moment taking him for granted, not ever again.

She watched as her touch made him shudder.  His breath caught in his chest more than once and she found herself giddy with delight.  He, a powerful warlock, nearly one hundred years old, was quivering at her touch.  She stole a glance at his face and was startled to find his brilliant blue eyes trained on her.  But he did not watch her with primal lust as she’d expected, the lust he’d kissed her with a moment ago.  Lust was there, but it was not alone.  Softness was there as well, a softness that made her belly flutter.  She was no longer hurting.  She was no longer scared.  She and Desmond existed as if suspended in time, just the two of them.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

“Arianna,” he sighed, his breath hot against her lips.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she breathed and she saw tears well in his crystal-blue eyes.

Her heart hammered.  He loved her.  And she loved him.  No doubt existed in her mind.  For the first time in her life, she was absolutely certain of her feelings.  She was completely and irrevocably in love with Desmond.

He slipped his arm around her waist and lifted her, cradling her against him.  As he did, she felt the heat of his body melt her, his heart pounding in time with hers.  He carried her to her bed and laid her there, planting soft kisses at the corners of her mouth, and rested his weight beside her instead of atop her as she wanted.  He lifted his head and gazed deeply into her eyes and she swore he saw her soul, naked, vulnerable.  Her throat grew thick and she fought the tears that threatened as she reached her hand to his cheek.

“You’re really here,” she murmured as a tear slid from her eye.

“I will never leave you again,” he promised and cupped her face in his hands.

His mouth made a slow, torturous descent before it found hers.  He kissed her tenderly for a long while and every part of her craved his touch.  She tugged at him, urging him to slide over, on top of her.  When finally he did, he lowered himself on her so carefully, her body cried out.  She wanted to feel him, all of him, surround her.  She wanted to tear her shirt and bra from her body and feel his warm skin pressed to hers, but Desmond remained unhurried.  He teased and tempted his way down her chin to her neck, stopping and lingering at the sensitive spot behind her ear, before making his way down.  He nibbled and tantalized the tender skin of her neck to her collarbone then began unbuttoning her shirt.

With infinitesimal slowness, his kisses travelled lower.  He lifted his head briefly, watching her.  She arched her back, her body begging for more, for his touch, for his hot mouth to take a rosy bud between his lips.  He watched her writhe for a moment and she glanced at him.  His eyes were glazed and desirous as he lowered them to her chest.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Her breasts grew heavy under his gaze, her nipples beading as need coiled at her center.  He began kissing them, trailing his tongue around a stiff peak before licking and suckling them.  She moaned and shifted, parting her legs farther and pressing her pelvis to his.  She could feel his excitement and tangled her fingers in his hair as his kisses lowered more.  He placed wet kisses down past her bellybutton then stopped just long enough to unfasten her pants.  She closed her legs as he slid them over her hips and feet and watched as he tossed them to the floor.  He yanked his own pants down and stood in only his boxer-briefs.

Desmond was an amazing sight, every inch of him solid, hard.  His broad shoulders and tight waist, his brilliant blue eyes and golden hair, every part of him was perfection.  She wanted him as she’d never wanted another in her life.

He lowered himself on her, his excitement rubbing pleasurably between her legs.  All that stood between them was the thin fabric of their undergarments.  She wanted nothing more than to strip him of his last remaining article of clothing, to tear her own from her body and take him inside of her.  But he seemed determined to take his time.  His kisses returned to the peaks and valleys of her breasts, tempting and coaxing ripples of sheer pleasure from her.  She inhaled sharply, relishing in the feel of him, and in his delicious scent.  He smelled of leather and musk and another spicy note that was purely masculine, purely Desmond.

“I want you,” she moaned.  And with her words, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her underwear and tugged them down her thighs.  He pulled his down as well and stood before her, completely naked, before hovering over her.

“I want you,” she whispered again.

“I love you,” he breathed and she felt him lower his body and enter her.

His hands slid under her hips and with a thrust, he was fully inside her.  The motion was almost her undoing.  She heard herself cry out in ecstasy as shivers raced across her skin.  She wrapped her arms around his powerful back, kneading his thick muscles as she wrapped her legs around his and lifted her hips.  Every nerve ending in her body screamed for him, aching and throbbing for release.  He gazed at her lovingly as he moved slowly, drawing out and surging back into her.  The feel of him, of being one with him, was so intense, so satiating, she wished it would never end, wished they could stay as they were forever.

Desmond’s pace increased and Arianna closed her eyes, no longer able to control the swell of bliss that beckoned.  She arched her back and moaned as her body tightened around him and every part of her shuddered.  Bursts of light flashed in her eyes and she was adrift on a wave of pleasure.  Desmond groaned and his face was a mask of delight before he collapsed atop her.

“I have lived for almost a hundred years,” Desmond said breathlessly.  “But I have never felt as alive as I do right now.”

Arianna smiled.  His words, save for the part about living for nearly a century, echoed her thoughts exactly.

She giggled.  “Well, I can’t say I’ve lived that long, but I know what you mean.  I feel the same way.”

Desmond rolled to his side and lay next to her.  She knew they had pressing matters to discuss, but was loath to begin.  She did not want to ruin what she was feeling, the peace, the happiness, both so pure they were as brilliant as the white light she saw when she’d teleported.  It was as if she were feeling her true life force.

“Can we stay here forever, just hide out and forget about what we are?” Desmond asked her and she became convinced he was reading her mind.

“I wish,” she said and meant it.  “Count me in.”

“I don’t want to leave, ever.”

“Me neither,” she agreed.  “But somehow, Desmond, I think whatever it is we’re up against would find us no matter where we went.  Whether we went to the far ends of the Earth, or stayed here, it would always come knocking.  It would always find us.”

She did not know exactly what was expected of her, what the Sola was supposed to do in the face of witches and warlocks like Jess and Josh.  Prophecies foretold of her leading others.  But so far, she’d done what had felt natural to her.  She’d ended Jess and Josh’s deadly existence with Desmond’s help.  And she knew there were more, more like Scott’s group in Hallowed Hills, those who sought to harm humanity.  Their foulness summoned her and she could practically hear her purpose, her calling, hard and demanding, a voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.  She would never feel continual peace as she felt now.  Not until her mission was complete and the evil ones fell.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Desmond asked softly.  “You feel the calling.”

How he knew that was beyond her.  “Yes, but how the hell do you know that?”

“Your energy,” he said offhandedly.

“My energy?” she asked and quirked a brow at him.

“I feel a shift in your energy,” he said simply as if she should just understand what he meant.

“Oh, yeah, right, a shift in my energy.  Sure, who doesn’t understand that?” she said with playful sarcasm.

Desmond laughed a deep rich laugh.  “Oh Arianna, I do love you so much.”

“And I love you, too.  But what the hell do you mean when you say you feel a shift in my energy?”

He paused a moment and looked as if he were deep in thought.  “It’s hard to explain now that you’re putting me on the spot.”

“Jeez, sorry to put you out,” she elbowed him in the ribs lightly.

He laughed again.  “All right then, here goes.  When we were together a few minutes ago, I felt like we were one.”

“That’s because we were, genius,” she sassed and he rolled his eyes at her exaggeratedly before a mischievous look flashed in his features.

“We were?” he joked.  “I hadn’t noticed.  Huh, gotta pay closer attention next time.”

“Hey!” she said and tapped his arm with feigned insult.

They both laughed.  “Can I explain now, you know, without you heckling me?” he asked lightheartedly.

“Okay, fine,” she said and pretended to pout.

He propped himself up on his elbow and kissed her lips quickly.  “Thank you,” he winked.  “So as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted,” he began and slid her a glance.  “Before when we were intimate, I felt as if we were one, as if, I don’t know, the essence of our beings had united.  But it wasn’t an altogether new feeling.  I’ve always felt that way about you, just not as fully as before.”

He paused as if considering his words.  “I’ve always felt attuned to you, to your energy.  But recently, as your powers have grown, that feeling has strengthened.”

Arianna was suddenly beset by a frightening thought.  What if Desmond was only attracted to her energy, to her power?  She was the Sola, a leader of her kind.  What if, within that role, was an attractive force? She wondered.

“See, I feel it now,” he said and his brows knitted with concern.  “What’s troubling you?”

She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and contemplated making up some silly reason for her upset.  But that would not help matters in the least.  Honesty was the only way her relationship with Desmond worked.  In fact, he was the only person she’d ever been able to be completely and utterly honest with.

“Well, I was just wondering, I mean, it would make sense if,” she fumbled.  “Oh damn, I’m scared that you only love me because I’m the Sola,” she blurted out.

The hurt that streaked across his face made her regret saying anything.  “What?” he asked and his shock was evident.  “Are you kidding me?  I can’t believe you just said that.”  He flopped backward and lay flat on his back.  Arianna propped herself up on her elbow and arched a brow at him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she prodded.

“I don’t even want to dignify that with a response,” he said tightly and she couldn’t tell whether he was legitimately angry with her or whether he was just exaggerating.

“Come on, answer the question,” she shook him playfully.

“No,” he said and raised both brows as he closed his eyes.

“No as in you won’t answer my question or no as in you aren’t just attracted to my power?”

“The second one, obviously,” he answered.  “When I fell in love with you, your powers had not even begun to manifest themselves.  Hell, in the beginning, I didn’t even think you were the Sola.  I thought my father was wrong.”

“Hmm,” Arianna said.  “When and why exactly did you fall in love with me?”

“I don’t know when exactly.  It happened gradually, over a long period of time.  It wasn’t until we teleported to the meadow together, when you’d been at the nightclub, that I realized how deep that love ran.”

Arianna frowned and swallowed hard against the lump that had gathered in her throat.  Emotion welled there, as well as in her eyes.

“What is it?” Desmond asked concernedly.

“It’s just,” she started.  “It’s just what you said, that’s all.”

He sat up immediately and looked right into her eyes, his expression serious.  “Oh Arianna,” he said gently and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.  Her insides fluttered at his touch, at his warmth.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.  Forget what I said.  I love you for your body, your smoking hot body.  That’s all.  Nothing else,” he smiled broadly and his eyes danced with merriment.

Arianna’s intense emotional moment quickly switched from tears born of heartfelt declarations of love, to tears of laughter.  She laughed so hard, her face and stomach hurt.

“Oh my god, Desmond,” she giggled and brushed tears with the back of her hand.  “I never knew powerful warlocks were such goofballs.”

“It’s a well-known fact,” he smiled, satisfied.

“Jeez!  Talk about hamming it up!” she said and laughed as she ruffled his hair playfully.  With his hair mussed, he looked like a model that had tumbled from the pages of a magazine.  Her smile faded as did his.  His eyes locked on hers and held them for a long while before roaming her nude body lovingly. He shook his head slowly.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze filled with yearning.

“There you go again, after the body.  Warlocks are such perverts,” she said and expected him to laugh, but he did not.  His face was serene, peace and love radiating from every feature.

“While I do love your body, it is your heart and soul I crave,” he said and she felt as if her heart had swelled so that her body could no longer contain it.  “I love you, Arianna Rose, forever.”

He leaned toward her and kissed her gently and her heart no longer needed to be contained by her body.  It no longer belonged to her.  It belonged to Desmond.

Chapter 16

Light poured through windows like liquid gold, adorning everything in its wake.  Desmond had spent much of the night making love to Arianna; an experience he had only ever imagined, and never dreamed would come to pass.  But it had.  And now, he lay on his side facing her.  Her olive skin was kissed by gilded rays as she breathed evenly, each breath a gift from heaven as far as he was concerned.  Lengths of raven hair shimmered in the early-morning glow.  He wanted to wake her, to look upon her eyes, a luscious shade of dark-chocolate, but decided against it.  She looked too peaceful to rouse.  Instead, he slipped from the bed.  He wanted to shower and make himself presentable before making breakfast for her.  After all, it was the least he could do for her.  She had suffered for so long now.  Her belief that he had been dead had only added to that suffering.

He glanced around her bedroom in search of his underwear when broken glass caught his attention.  Tiny slivers of pale glass littered her nightstand.  He scanned the room for a wastebasket to sweep it into and found one overflowing with tissues on the other side of the bed.  The sight of it gave him a pang of profound sadness tinged with guilt.  She had cried over his presumed death.  He had caused her pain.  Not intentionally, of course, but he had been responsible to some degree, even if for no other reason than his family tree.

Agnon.  His father’s name chilled him to his core.  The man whose very blood ran in his veins had ordered his death.  It seemed unconscionable.  But it was not.  It had happened.  And he had lived to bear its burden.

Arianna rolled over and what began as a small tick between her brows quickly grew to a full-blown expression of anguish masking her features.  She was having a dream, and likely a bad one.  He wanted to wake her, to protect her from whatever boogeymen haunted her sleep, but knew she needed to rest.  Many challenges awaited them, challenges that would tax her powers as never before.  So he resisted the urge to kiss both her eyelids until they flutter awake, and reminded himself that her well-being took precedence over all else.

He set about cleaning odd heaps of glass he found throughout the house.  It wasn’t until he tried the light switch in the bathroom that he realized the slivers of glass were lightbulb shards.  He searched for spare bulbs in a pantry closet in the hallway and found several.  After replacing each bulb, he showered and dressed.  As he was leaving the bathroom in the bedroom, he was greeted by a face so lovely he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Hey there,” Arianna said.  “How long did you let me sleep?” she asked groggily.

He glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand.  “About an hour longer than I did,” he replied.  “Did you sleep well?”

She hesitated a moment and her features clouded.  He wondered whether she was recalling a bad dream, the one he guessed she’d been having when she’d winced in her sleep.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said and lowered her eyes to her lap.  She looked up and met his eyes.  He smiled at her and she brightened.  “How about you?” she asked.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Best night of sleep I ever had,” he said and smiled warmly.  Truth be told, he had never slept well.  For as long as he could remember, he’d been plagued by visions, visions of violence, of destruction, but not last night.  Last night was the first night he’d ever drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.  He credited her for that.  Lying with her in his arms, he’d felt whole.

“I was going to make breakfast, is that all right with you?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure, that would be great.  Thanks.”

Sadness laced her words and he did not know why.  Was it the nightmare? He wondered.  Regardless, he refused to allow her to be sad in his presence if he could help it.  He moved to the side of the bed, to where she still laid, and kissed her tenderly before wrapping his arms around her.  “Good morning, my love,” he said into her hair and felt her body relax.  “I forgot to say that to you.  How rude of me,” he quipped.  “And by the way, last night was the best night of my life,” he breathed.

“Mine, too,” she said and he felt relief sweep through him.

He pulled away from her to glance at the clock.  “Oh, it’s six-thirty,” he said and remembered it was a weekday.  She had school.

“Six-thirty?  So?  You have a hot date or something?” she teased.

He smiled and wanted nothing more than to climb back into bed with her and stay there all day.  But he knew that was not an option.

“No, no date today.  I’m hoping for later, though,” he said and winked at her.

“Oh, you don’t have to hope,” she flirted and he felt his pulse quicken.  He knew that beneath the covers, she was naked and had to focus on forcing that fact to the back of his mind.  “What’s on the agenda for today?” she asked him and then sat up.  Her bare shoulders were exposed, as well as the skin above her luscious mounds.  “Hey,” she called to him.  “Eyes up here, big guy,” she pointed to her face.

He laughed and returned his gaze to her eyes.  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.  “It’s hard not to stare.”

“I know, I know, you already told me you’re with me for my body,” she grinned wickedly and he had to stop himself from diving on her.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yep, you did.  Now, where are we headed today?”

“You are headed to school,” he said and cringed inwardly.

“What?” she asked in disbelief.  “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not,” he admitted and cringed, afraid of what her reaction would be.

“Are you crazy?  Did you see what happened with Jess and Josh last night?  You were there last I checked.  And had you not been, they would have killed me without batting an eyelash.”

“You have nothing to worry about Arianna,” he started but she cut him off.

“I have a lot to worry about!  They’re crazy!  They use human beings as their own personal Punch and Judy puppets!  And that’s when they’re not planning something awful for their fellow classmates.  Then there’s the fact that you and I killed two of their coven last night, you think they don’t know about that?”

“Wait a minute, go back to the part about the plan they have for their classmates.  What are you talking about?” he asked and felt the fine hairs on his body stand at attention like quills.

“Last night, after I met with your father and he told me you’d been killed,” she began and he saw pain wilt her features at the mere mention of the news she’d received.  “I took off, got the hell out of the house as fast as I could.  I was so upset,” her voice quivered and he felt as if he’d been punched in the gut.  “I don’t even remember how I got here.  I cried and cried then must have dozed.  When I woke up, Jess’s voice was in my head.  I couldn’t shake it.” She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly.  “It was like I was being led to her.  I focused on her with what little energy I had and accidentally sifted to the truck of her car.”

His heart skipped a beat.  She’d sifted already!  And she’d ended up in the trunk of a car.  Teleportation was dangerous to those who had been trained properly in its nuances, but for the novice, it could be downright deadly.

“What happened?  How did you end up in the trunk of a car?  Whose car was it?” he panicked.

Arianna blushed deeply.  “I was focusing on Jess, really concentrating, and things were going well.  Then you popped into my mind and I fell apart,” she lowered her gaze again.

He hooked his finger under her chin and tipped it toward him, forcing her to look into his eyes.  “I am so sorry for everything, for my father, for the pain you felt, everything.”

She blinked rapidly, trying to hide her tears from him.  Her tears only fueled the hatred he felt for his father.

“Anyway,” she continued in a shaky voice.  “I lost my focus completely and came to in the trunk of Jess’s car.”

Despite losing her focus, she’d still managed to arrive at her destination.  Such an occurrence was unheard of.  He realized her powers would surpass any and all prophetic writings, both past and present.

“Unbelievable,” he marveled aloud.

“I sifted from the trunk and saw that I was at my new high school.  I followed her and Josh inside and overhead them saying they would chain all exits shut and that Chris, another guy in their coven, would get anyone who manages to escape through a window.”

Desmond’s blood crystallized.  His insides froze.  The coven she’d been drawn to, the one his father had linked himself to, was plotting a large-scale attack on their high school.

“Desmond?” Arianna pulled him from his icy distraction.  Her eyes were dark pools of molten chocolate.

“Yes.”

“There’s something I don’t understand,” she started as she bunched and twisted the comforter in her lap.  “Why did your father tell me you were dead?”

He watched as she took her lower lip between her teeth.  She shifted uncomfortably and he regretted that she had to be a part of his father’s sordidness.

“He told you that because he believes I am,” Desmond admitted solemnly.

“Your own father,” Arianna spat and he could see that her nervousness had seeped from her, could see her anger brimming, feel the hum of its current thrum through him.  “How did he, I mean, who did he send?  Was it someone you knew?”

“He sent Thanatos,” Desmond told her and felt ice race through his veins.

“Thanatos?” Arianna asked, horror in her tone, as if she knew the beast well.

“Yes, my father released his monster to hunt me.  He had me, too, had me in his death-grip with his jaw unhinged, ready to tear my head from my shoulders.”

“Oh my god,” Arianna breathed as her hands covered her mouth.  Her face had paled and her expression was one of shock.  “How did Thanatos get you?  Does he have powers too?”

“Not the supernatural kind.  Not like us.  His advantage over me was purely physical.  And with my powers blocked by my father,” he said but Arianna interrupted.

“Wait, what?” she exclaimed.  “Your father is like George?  He blocks powers too?”

“No, not in the same way at least.  My father has a force field that surrounds the perimeter of his property.  The field blocks the power to teleport of any other supernatural being bold enough to set foot on his soil.”

“But how?  How does he do it?”

“He is the most powerful of our kind on the planet, for now.”

“For now?”

“Yes, for now.  His power will only be bested by the Sola, by you, Arianna.”

He allowed for the gravity of his words to sink in.

“I still don’t understand why he wanted you dead, why he sent this Thanatos after you,” she said softly and shook her head.

“I went to see him, after finding out that he had written a chapter in our most sacred book, the Tome of Ares.  The chapter was about you, and I wanted to confront him about what he’d written, why he’d kept it from me.”  Desmond paused to gauge Arianna’s reaction.  Her eyes were wide, she looked stunned.  He decided to continue.  “In this chapter, he claims that you are to unite all witches of the world against humanity.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Yes, that is what he wrote.  And when I got there and confronted him, he told me it was your destiny to stand against mankind.  I told him you’d never do that.”

“Damn right I won’t!  Is he out of his mind?” she railed.  “Well, clearly he is.  I mean, he did try to have his son killed because he told him I would not off the human species!”

Color touched her cheeks and neck and her voice had risen.

“That’s not the reason he tried to have me killed, Arianna,” he said softly.

“What?  You mean there’s more?” she asked incredulously.

He hesitated, unsure of how she would take what he was about to tell her.  The last thing Desmond wanted was for her to feel responsible for his father trying to kill him.  “Well,” Desmond stalled.  “He asked me if I were in love with you.”

“And?” Arianna asked impatiently.

“And I told him yes.  I told him that I love you.”

“And?” she prompted.

“And that was it.”

“So what are you saying, he tried to have you killed because you love me?” she asked as tears welled in her eyes.

Her tears pained him.  He’d heard her cries howl through him when he’d nearly succumbed to Thanatos, felt her pain claw at him.  He refused to allow her to assume guilt.  She had saved him.  She, and she alone, had saved him from certain death.

“Arianna, no, you don’t understand,” he started.

“No, I think I get it just fine.  Because you love me, you were nearly killed by your father’s henchman.  I understand.  I nearly got you killed.”  Tears spilled down her cheeks and she brushed them hurriedly.

“No!  You saved me,” he said and cupped her face in his hands.

She turned her head and muttered, “Yeah right,” under her breath.

“Yes!  Yes it is right!  When Thanatos was about to bite down, his massive jaw hovering over my head, I swear I heard you, heard the sound of your cries, heard you sobbing and saying my name.  I felt you, Arianna, felt very beat of your heart.  And it was broken.”  Now, it was his tears that spilled as he remembered the profoundness of her pain.  “I never wanted to see you hurt, never.  And I refused to be the reason for it.  You are my reason for living.  I closed my eyes and concentrated on your face, trying my damnedest to sift, though I knew it was impossible because of the shield.  But it happened.  A power that was not my own, a familiar one, coursed through my veins like lifeblood and it happened.”  He brushed his tears with the back of his hand, but still kept one on her cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb.  He lowered it slowly and took both of her hands in his.  “Don’t you see, Arianna?  You saved me.  You somehow shared your power with me so that I could teleport behind Thanatos just before he claimed me, and I slit his vile throat with my daggers.”

Arianna wept, tears showering down her cheeks.  He pulled her hands toward him, drawing her close.

“We are connected, Arianna.  Prophecy or no prophecy, we are connected.  I am yours,” he vowed.

“And I am yours,” she said and his heart swelled in his chest.

He held her in his arms for several moments then kissed her tenderly.  When their kiss ended, she asked, “What did you do after Thanatos was dead?”

Desmond remembered the beasts colossal body heaped in a puddle of his own gore, remembered incinerating it with power that was not foreign to him, but by no means his own.  “I went back to my father’s compound.  I went back to kill him.”

“What happened?” she asked breathlessly, though she knew Agnon lived, that his visit had not gone as planned.

“He was not there.  He was gone.  And now I know where he was.  He was here, with the coven from your school.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered.  “I can’t believe it.”

“I know.  But you have to go to school, Arianna.  Things have to appear normal,” he brought their conversation full-circle.

“Desmond, things are anything but normal,” she knitted her brows with concern.  “And you dad’s deranged groupies are going to be gunning for me.  We did kill two of their friends last night?”

“Jess and Josh are gone.  Their car is gone, too.  How could they know for sure it was you?  I’m dead, remember?  So I had nothing to do with it,” he attempted to lighten the mood.  But Arianna’s face was etched in stone and she did not even smirk.

“I will be with you.  I will not leave your side, I promise,” he assured her.

“That’s all well and good, but you’re forgetting one key piece of information.  They have George.  With George, I am powerless.”

While the thought of sending Arianna anywhere powerless terrified Desmond, he knew he’d be close by, and that whoever this George was, he felt confident he could get him alone and take him down.

“I am not going,” she said and he heard the nervous tremor in her voice.  “No way.”

“But if you don’t, they will know it was you who killed their friends.”

“Didn’t you just say they couldn’t know for sure?”

“Yes, but I was just trying to lighten the mood.  Arianna, they will naturally assume it was you.  You’re the only other supernatural being they’ve come across here.  They’ll come for you anyway.”

He did not want to scare her more, but the facts remained.  “At least if you show up today with me shadowing you, we will have the element of surprise on our side.  We’ll have an advantage.  My father thinks I’m dead and they think you’re going to join them and their cause.”

“I will never join them,” she said and leveled a resolute gaze at him.

“I never doubted you, Arianna,” he said and meant it.  “I just don’t understand why everyone, past and present, believes you will.”

“Me neither,” she said softly.  “But they are just predictions, right? Nothing is finite.  I still have free will.”

Arianna had a point and Desmond wondered whether anyone had ever considered it.  Free will, the very ability to make unconstrained choices, was inherent in her as she still retained humanity.  She was a hybrid of sorts.  She did not unquestioningly yield to the demands of her energy.  She used discretion.  Every oracle throughout their long history had referred to the Sola as a being enslaved by her power.  But Arianna was not.  She questioned her powers, questioned her destiny, and even railed against it.

“Ugh,” she groaned and sagged against her headboard.  “The thought of going to school and seeing Scott and the others makes my skin crawl.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t see them the other night.  You didn’t see the sick joy in their faces as they manipulated these poor people at the party like they were toys for their amusement.  It was twisted,” she said and he could feel the turbulent rise of her energy, feel the shift in its flow.  “Scott made a girl bludgeon the others to death then slit her own wrists,” she said and wrapped both arms around her waist.

The actions of Scott and the others made her shudder with disgust, genuine disgust.  She was telling the truth, not that he’d ever doubted her.  If she’d wanted to join in with them as the prophecy suggested she should have, she would have done it then at the party.  But she had not.  She had been repulsed by their abuse of power, by the atrocities her fellow brethren had committed against human beings.  That much was plain.

“I will be with you today, watching you always.  I won’t let anything happen to you.  If you need me, I will be there, a heartbeat away,” he promised her.

“What if they know that I killed Josh and Jess?  What if they just know?”

“I doubt they do.  But if by some slim chance they do know, I will take them out myself.”

She eyed him for a long while as if weighing the risk.

“Well then, I guess it’s settled.  I’m going to school,” she gave him a quick peck on his lips.  “I’d better get ready.  We need to keep dear old dad in the dark about his son being alive,” she said and stood.

The comforter fell away from her and he watched with his mouth partially agape as she passed him, naked, on her way to the bathroom, a smirk playing across her lips.

“Whoa, hold on a second, maybe school is a bad idea after all,” he reached for her, but she sidestepped him.  “We have time.  Come back!”

“Nope, gotta do what I gotta do,” she quipped as she closed the bathroom door.  “The Sola’s work is never done.”

He flopped back onto the bed and heaved a sigh.  The day ahead promised to be a challenging one, yet all he could think of was the soft curves of Arianna’s body, and how in love with her he truly was.

Chapter 17

Leaden clouds raced like a fleet of warships and quickly invaded a picture-perfect morning.  Snow was coming.  Arianna could smell it in the air, heavy and unmistakable.  Though the clouds advancing had not yet overrun the sky completely, there was a distinct frostiness to the air unique to snow.  She supposed she should be excited like the rest of the student body undoubtedly was.  Snow early in the school day typically meant an early dismissal.  But Arianna couldn’t care less about early dismissals today.  She was worried about making it in the front door, as well as getting out that very same door in one piece.

Thoughts of survival swirled in her head, a dizzying churn of deadly faces, as she pulled into the parking lot of her school.  She circled the front lot several times, determined to steer clear of the rear lot, searching for a parking space.  After her second tour, she found one in the row closest to the building and directed her car into it.  She was about to breathe a sigh of relief at her good fortune, but her breath caught in her throat before she could complete the act.

The first car she spotted was a Jeep Cherokee, Scott’s Jeep Cherokee.  She swore under her breath as a rush of nervous energy seized her.  She trembled and her hands felt cold despite the heat being placed on the warmest setting in her car.  The fact that one of the few available spots left in the front lot was two cars from his felt less like an unfortunate coincidence and more like cosmic punishment.  Staying where she was meant that seeing him at some point would be unavoidable.  She had not deluded herself into thinking she would be able to dodge all of them all day, but she’d hoped to limit her time with them to the actual school day inside the actual school.  More witnesses meant less possibility for supernatural power use.  Out in the open, in the parking lot, she was vulnerable.  Desmond was vulnerable.

She closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds and thought about Desmond.  Desmond was the reason she was here.  Desmond was the reason she worried as she did.  Hers was not the only life at stake.  His was as well.  And she valued his life more than hers.  She had lost him once already or at least she’d spent a day truly believing she’d lost him.  She did not intend to lose him again.  Still, she did not want to be there and worried what awaited her.  She knew that George, for one thing, awaited her and loomed like dread incarnate.  She could see him, practically attached to Scott’s hip, making his way to the main entrance.  She contemplated shifting the car into reverse and hauling ass out of there, but for the sake of upholding Desmond’s supposed death, she did not.  Now, as she sat and stubbed out the third cigarette she’d smoked on the way, she began to regret her decision.

A coven, recently diminished by two and at her hand no less, was not likely to accept the lie she intended to tell them.  Lying was not her strong suit.  She knew Scott and the others would suspect her.  How could they not?  She was the only one among them at the party who had not approved of what they’d been doing.  She’d screamed and cursed and tried to invoke her powers to stop them.  If George hadn’t been there, she would have used any means necessary to stop them, and they knew that.

Her stomach quivered nervously despite Desmond’s presence.  She could not seem him, but felt the steady hum of his energy nearby, and even that did not calm her.

“I am here,” she heard Desmond’s voice whisper through her mind as frothy and light as wisps wafting on a lazy summer breeze.  The sound of his velvety voice in her heard raised goose bumps over her skin.  The fact that he was there and willing to sacrifice his life for her only made matters worse.  If George were capable of suppressing their powers simultaneously, neither of them stood a chance at protecting one another.  She did not know whether George was capable of such a feat, but the possibility chilled her to her core.

She combed her hand through her hair and waited.  She watched as Scott and George went inside before gathering her books and sliding out of her car.  She walked on unsteady legs, looking over her shoulder every so often, until she made it to the front entrance.  After taking a deep breath, she opened the front door and stepped inside.

To her relief, the hallways were almost empty. Few people stood by their lockers, none of whom were Scott, George, Paul, Chris, Meg or Kit.  She did see Beth, however.  The petite girl with the black hair, black lipstick and heavy black eyeliner, eyed her.  But for the first time, Beth did not watch her with annoyance or disgust.  Arianna nodded to her, a kind of half-assed greeting and Beth actually smiled, sort of.  It was more of a smirk, but it was something.

Inspired, Arianna said a quick, “Hey,” to test the waters.  After all, she had nothing to lose.  Today could very well be her last day on Earth.  When Beth replied to her, she became convinced it was her last day on Earth, or at least that hell had frozen over.  Either way, she was floored.

“Hey, Arianna,” Beth said and smiled.

Had Arianna not been so consumed by worry for Desmond’s life as well as her own, she would have felt as if she’d made definite progress with Beth.  Sure, another lesbian comment was likely to come, but she did not care.

“Holy shit, no lesbian comment today?” Arianna could not help but comment and figured now was as good a time as any to push the envelope.

“Ha!  No, not today,” Beth laughed and Arianna swore she felt the faintest pulse of energy radiate from Beth.  “I know you’re not into me.  I mean, if you liked girls, I wouldn’t blame you for being into me.  I am hot.”

Beth smirked, her face a mask of self-satisfaction and confidence, and Arianna realized she liked her immediately.  She wished things had been different, that Beth had been open and easygoing three days earlier.  Befriending Beth would have been a far better choice than the group she’d become entangled with.

“Yes, and modesty doesn’t seem to be an issue for you either.  You’re the whole package,” Arianna teased.

“I am, aren’t I,” Beth laughed.  “How about you, what’s your deal?  I mean, clearly this is not your first new school experience.  You seem to have all the bullshit down pat.”

“Yeah, you could say that.  I’ve done this once or twice, or six times before,” Arianna nodded.

“Shit, that sucks for you, huh?”

“Yeah, well, it is what it is, right?”

“No really,” Beth said sincerely and reached out a hand.  Her fingertips grazed Arianna’s forearm and she felt as if electricity crackled through her skin.  “I know how awful it can be.”

Arianna was about to open her mouth and ask Beth a question she already knew the answer to but Beth’s eyes left her and looked to her left, over her shoulder.  Her face had gone blank, as if every bit of emotion had been drained from it.  Arianna glanced over her shoulder and saw what Beth had seen.  Her stomach plummeted to her feet as she saw Scott and George just a few steps from her.  She looked to Beth again and the dour look had returned.

“Beat it freak,” Scott ordered her in a casual tone.

“Fuck you, douchebag,” Beth replied in the same casual tone.  She then turned on her heels and walked away, but not before erecting her middle finger at him.

Arianna wanted to laugh out loud, but figured it would not be in her best interest, especially not with George boring a hole in her head with his creepy eyes.

“Where are they?” Scott did not waste time asking as soon as Beth was out of earshot.

“Where are who?” Arianna asked and pretended she did not know he was talking about Jess and Josh.

“You know goddamn well who I’m talking about,” Scott growled through his teeth.

“No, I don’t having a fucking clue who you’re talking about actually,” she fired back indignantly.

Scott glowered at her with such focused intensity he looked as if he were trying to peer into her brain.  All the while, George stared at her, his expression unreadable, his eyes dead.

“Well?” she asked impatiently.  “Are you going to tell me what the hell you’re talking about or do I have to guess?”

Arianna’s false annoyance and ignorance was convincing.  She was proud of her newfound acting abilities and would have believed her if she were they.  Still, her heart pounded in her ears and she felt her breakfast rush to the back of her throat.

Scott leveled his brown eyes at her again as if trying to read her mind.  She swore she saw the same flash of amber she’d seen the night of the party.  She’d dismissed it then as a reflection of the trashcan bonfire.  But now she knew it was something else entirely.  The light in his eyes was as good as a poker tell.  He was using his powers, perhaps trying to influence her and coax a confession from her.  She did not feel the slightest tug within her which meant whatever he was trying to do, he was failing miserably at.

“Well?” she said with an arrogant smirk.  “I don’t have all day.”

He hesitated a moment then checked the time on his phone.

“Why were you talking to that little freak?” he asked her and changed the subject, clearly trying to throw her off kilter.  She had not had an answer ready so she went with the stock I’m-going-to-deflect-your-stupid-question-with-another-stupid-question answer.

“Why wouldn’t I talk to her?”

He screwed his features up at her, crinkling his nose in a way she supposed other girls found charming.  She felt her stomach churn.

“She’s not one of us,” he spat as if he believed that to be a bad thing.  “She’s just a strange little girl.”

“So I can’t talk to strange little girls?” she asked defiantly.

“Talk to whoever you want, but don’t waste your time with Beth.  I know what you’re thinking,” he said and smiled condescendingly.

“Oh you do, do you?” she challenged.  “Okay, what am I thinking?”

She could hardly wait to hear the nonsense he was going to spew.  He held about as much psychic power as a call-in charlatan peddling her bullshit abilities in a late-night commercial.

“You think she’s one of us.  She gives off that odd vibe, like a little electric current,” he said and for once, was spot-on.  “But she is nothing.  Trust me, we checked.  We thought the same thing when we first met her.”

“I never thought she was,” Arianna said and doubted she sounded at all persuasive.  “So what were you accusing me of before,” she said and hoped to switch gears.  Unfortunately, that was the only subject she’d been capable of blurting out, the very subject she’d wanted to avoid.

“Jess and Josh never came home last night,” Scott said and attempted his weighty gaze again.

“So?” she said.  “What does that have to do with me?”

“They’re missing,” he enunciated each syllable as if her were speaking to a child.

“Maybe they’re off torturing children,” she said in the same tone he’d used, pronouncing each word and exaggerating each syllable.  “You guys seem to like doing shit like that.”  She smiled and wrinkled her nose as he had moments earlier.

“You think you’re so clever, Arianna Rose, but if I find out you had anything to do with this, you’re dead.  You understand me?”

She knew she had to act as if his words were hollow, his threat without merit, but a dark, sinister forced brushed against her skin, licking at her with its serpentine tongue.  Her insides crawled, revolted by the sensation.

Scott took a step and the feeling grew stronger.  “You see, Agnon may think you’re something special.  I still don’t know why.  But here’s the thing: I don’t give a fuck what Agnon thinks.  No one fucks with one of my people,” he hissed inches from her ear.

Arianna turned her head and looked directly in his eyes.  “Okay.  Thanks for the warning,” she eyed him as though he were crazy to maintain her casual appearance.  Meanwhile, her insides were screaming for her to get as far away from him as fast as she possibly could.  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, but I have to get to class right now.  Unless you want to accuse me of global warming or John F. Kennedy’s assassination, I’ll see you later.  Try not to kill anyone until then, okay, pumpkin,” she winked and patted his cheek patronizingly.

Scott narrowed his eyes at her and his mouth formed a hard line.  She could practically feel his insides teeming with fury; feel the heat of his boiling blood.  She’d mocked him openly and she knew he wanted to punish her within an inch of her life because of it.

As she walked away, Arianna had to make a conscious effort to keep her legs from collapsing beneath her.  Both felt as if they were made of gelatin.  He knew she was involved in Jess and Josh’s disappearance and he was pissed.  He wanted to kill her.  That much was plain.  Even now, she could feel his eyes trained on her, drilling into the back of her skull hatefully.

Any hope for surviving the day began to falter.  She’d be lucky if she survived the next hour.  But her life was not what she concerned herself with.  She was worried for Desmond.

Chapter 18

Agnon gazed out the bay window in the living room of Scott’s house and watched as snow continued to fall.  A layer of white already blanketed the picturesque neighborhood, draping on boughs and lampposts as perfectly as it would have if it had been painted by an artist’s hand.  The entire landscape before him begged to be put on a canvas, in fact.  Puffs of white smoke plumed from the chimneys of several houses and warm golden light glowed in the windows.  Dusk had not befallen the area yet, but it was coming soon.  The world beyond the windowpane was swathed in the preternatural glow of newly fallen snow and impending twilight.  The view was breathtaking.

He would have thought himself bored with snow.  After all, he did live in one of the coldest, snowiest locations on the planet.  But where he called home was less hospitable than Hallowed Hills, and far less inhabited.

People filled this part of the world and made use of every little act of nature, found a way to make it pleasurable for themselves, a fact that fascinated him almost as much as it amused him.

He watched as a school bus pulled to the far end of the street and several children climbed off.  They immediately dropped their backpacks and began playing in the snow, scooping up mounds and forming them into balls, lying in it and making snow angels.  As he watched, he could not help but think how human beings certainly knew how to take advantage of the world around them.  And they knew how to exploit every resource and bleed it dry.

Enjoy yourselves, fools.  This will likely be the last winter you ever see, Agnon thought as he stroked his silky beard.

He lingered by the window for several moments, watching the children play, until Scott’s Jeep Cherokee made its way down Merryville Road then turned in to the driveway.  The sound of the garage door opening was followed by the rumble of the SUV’s engine beneath his feet.  Seconds later, heavy footsteps could be heard stomping up the steps.

“Hello Scott,” Agnon greeted Scott before he stepped into the room.  “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“No,” Scott snapped huffily.  “I hate driving in this crap!  It’s so annoying!”

Scott was not Agnon’s favorite among the younger warlocks he’d met, but he was fearless and arrogant, traits Agnon respected and admired, traits that mirrored his own.

“Now, now, it isn’t that bad,” Agnon said calmly.  “Besides, doesn’t that monstrous contraption you drive have four-wheel drive?”

“Yeah it does, but it doesn’t matter.  You can’t get traction in this sloppy shit!”  Scott blustered and dropped his backpack to the floor dramatically.  “And why the hell are we talking about the weather and shooting the breeze all nonchalantly when two of our own are missing.”

“I am a bit concerned, I’ll admit, but you have to ask yourself: are they really missing?” Agnon asked and did not acknowledge Scott’s haughty tone.  “They are teenagers.  Perhaps they’ve gone off on their own on a road trip or done something impetuous like that.”

“Impetu-what?  Speak English!  Or at least speak like a normal person!  Damn, you and your fancy talk,” Scott ranted.

Agnon felt the slow roll of his insides as they began to simmer at Scott’s increasingly disrespectful tone.  How dare he address an elder in such a voice, and with such vulgar language?  And he was not just any elder.  He was Agnon, the most powerful living warlock.  Perhaps Scott needed to be reminded of his place in the order of their kind.

“I know Arianna had something to do with it too, by the way,” Scott continued.

Agnon shot him a look of disapproval and hoped it would end the conversation about Arianna then and there.  But Scott persisted.  “She is involved and I know it.  Who else could it be?”

“It is not Arianna.  She is with us,” Agnon assured him in a stern voice that left little room for argument.

“She sure as hell doesn’t seem like she’s with us,” Scott bickered and Agnon felt his insides begin to teem with white-hot energy.

“She will be when the time comes,” Agnon raised his voice, the sound of it filling the room intimidatingly.

“Look, man, I know she’s you little pet, or maybe you have some kind of old man boner for her but,” Scott stormed, but Agnon raised his hand and silenced him.  Pure, white-hot energy branched between Agnon’s fingertips making it look as though a small lightning storm were raging among them and, using only his powers, he gripped Scott’s throat.  Scott gasped and choked as if his windpipe were being crushed.

“Silence!” Agnon boomed.  “How dare you speak to me that way?  You are an insolent, insignificant part of our movement.  I could kill you now, do you know that?  Oh, of course you know that.  You can’t breathe right now, can you?  And if I don’t stop what I’m doing, you will pass out and die of oxygen deprivation,” Agnon said levelly.  “Oops!  There I go using big words again.  Shall I give you the rundown of what everything means?  It may take a while, I must warn you.”

Scott’s face had turned an unhealthy shade of magenta and his hands clutched his throat.  A thrill of delight raced up Agnon’s spine.  While he did not enjoy harming his own kind, he did enjoy putting others in their rightful place.  Scott’s hands and his powers were useless.  Agnon’s powers surpassed all others and would until the full strength of the Sola’s powers manifested itself.

“Raise your hand if you wish to live,” he ordered Scott.

Scott raised his hand feebly and Agnon relaxed his invisible grip just a bit.

“When we take the school and begin to execute the students, she will feel it.  The urge to join us will compel her to act.  It will be beyond her control.  It is her destiny.”

Agnon dropped his hand and Scott collapsed to the floor, wheezing and struggling for breath.  The scene was disgraceful, a pitiful flurry of hair gel and skinny pants.  Scott, the future of warlocks, was not like the warlocks of Agnon’s early days.  He was puny, and not only weak of body and strength, but also weak-minded.  The thought of seeing Scott attempt to heft a sword like the first he’d ever wielded made a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.  No, warlocks today barely resembled the ones he’d had the pleasure of knowing in the past.  They were not even remotely comparable to warlocks of centuries ago.  Scott and the motley crew he lived with lacked discipline, intelligence and most importantly, they lacked respect.  Agnon knew the world was to be overtaken by their kind, young and old, but eventually, the younger among them would have to shoulder the responsibility of leading.  He did not have much confidence in their ability, and that was why the Sola was so crucial to their movement.  She would guide them, mold and shape them into what they needed to be; she would prepare them to rule the world.

“I just don’t get why we need her, why we need Arianna,” Scott croaked, his vocal cords tender from being compressed moments earlier.  “You said that the Sola was going to rise after it begins and that it would set off a chain reaction across the world.  You said we would all rise and begin to rid the world of these useless humans.  Why do we need her for that?”

Agnon felt his anger coil tightly like a snake ready to strike.  “Because she is the Sola,” he shouted at Scott.  “Arianna Rose is the Sola!”

The color drained from Scott’s face, shock and confusion replacing all of the overconfidence he’d been feeling.  “What?  How?” he stammered.  “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

Agnon leveled a steely gaze his way.  Scott’s features withered and he seemed to sink into himself, into the wall behind him.  “You and the others did not need to know.  But now you understand why she is not to be touched by you or anyone else,” he growled.  “She needs to be at that school tomorrow morning when it begins, when we take the school and begin the chain reaction.  She is the key to everything.”

Scott stared at him with his mouth partially agape and his eyes glazed over.  Agnon wanted nothing more than to kick him like the wretched dog he was.  They were nothing alike.  Scott was arrogant and fearless, but lacked the true fortitude necessary to support either.  He was a step above the drooling fools that currently inhabited the planet, the ones they would purge the planet of.

“Leave me now,” Agnon dismissed Scott and resisted the overwhelming urge to act on impulses that urged him to incinerate the immature buffoon where he huddled.

Scott slowly scrambled to his feet.  His skinny jeans, already seated so low on his hips that they revealed garish bright-red and yellow boxer shorts, slid down further.  With the entirety of his ridiculous underpants exposed and his equally ridiculous pants hanging at his thighs, any semblance of dignity Scott may have ever held evaporated along with the shred of respect Agnon extended as a courtesy to fellow warlocks.  Agnon shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.  The whole of his kind would someday be at the mercy of idiots like Scott.  What would the world come to?  He wondered.

He had to force the image of that future from his mind, along with the image of a pathetic teenage boy scuttling away as he clutched his dangling pants.  Too much was at stake for him to waste time on morons with wardrobe issues.  A revolution loomed on the horizon.

He stared out of the bay window once again, out into the darkening sky.  Beyond the glass, the world had assumed an unearthly electric-blue hue.  Weak rays of daylight, ashen and wan, had transformed the scenic landscape into an eerie, foreboding one.  Arianna entered his thoughts.  She swirled in his brain like a riddle, an unwilling participant in her own destiny, armed with more power than she could possibly imagine, and he began to wonder whether he was wrong about her, whether she truly was what he believed her to be.  Such worrisome thoughts lingered in his mind longer than he would have liked, plaguing and irritating at him.  But then he reminded himself of the prophecy, of his role in it, and was able to dismiss his troublesome musings with ease.  Ancient predictions never lied.  They were never wrong.  They had foretold of countless occurrences throughout their long history, had prevented the fall of their kind even.

Furthermore, his hand had been guided by Asus himself when he’d written his entry in the Tome of Ares.  He’d heard Asus’s voice in his head as clearly as he’d heard Scott speak moments ago.  He’d only needed to revisit that glorious period in time to buoy his faith, to renew it.  Desmond had been the only factor that had the potential to change Arianna’s intended course, if he had lived to tell her he loved her.  For that reason, Agnon had been forced to kill his only son.  He’d done what needed to be done to protect the fate of his people.

With Desmond thrust to the forefront of his thoughts, an unsettling sensation scurried over his skin, crawling and scampering like the legs of a thousand spiders.  A familiar scent perfumed the air.  It smelled of spice and leather and was accompanied by a hum of energy as calm as the sea on a windless day, but as profound as it as well.  Desmond.  The name whispered through his core and each of his senses identified Desmond.

He spun around to look behind him, convinced he would find Desmond waiting there, daggers in each hand, readied to exact vengeance.  When he saw that the room was empty, just as it should be, he realized the feelings he’d gotten were completely irrational.  Likely the work of the minimal guilt he’d felt about ordering his son’s execution, his body had been tricked into believing it had perceived him.  Desmond was dead.  No doubt existed in his mind about that.  He had dispatched Thanatos personally, and Thanatos had never failed him.

Agnon smiled and reminded himself of Thanatos’ unimpeachable track record.  Desmond never stood a chance against the murderous beast.  His son was dead and had taken with him any possibility of upsetting their rise to power.  The future had been preserved, and awaited them in just a few short hours.  Tomorrow morning was going to be the greatest day in his centuries of life on Earth.  It would be the beginning of a new age.  He and every other being like him would rise and claim the world for themselves.  The Sola would rise to the occasion and feel the full extent of her power swell.  She would set into motion the dawn of a new day.

He turned from the window slowly.  Darkness had swallowed the last light of day.  Everyone had retreated to the warmth and comfort of their homes.  Little did they know, the time to savor in the warmth and comfort of their homes were limited to mere hours.  After Hallowed Hills High School was overtaken and its students and teachers killed, the rest of the witches and warlocks around the globe would be called to action.  They would set about slaying every human being until the last one fell.  Then they would begin their reign on Earth.

Agnon smiled broadly.  He could hardly wait for morning.

Chapter 19

Arianna returned home from a day of school that had felt as if it had been doubled in length and went to the couch immediately.  She needed to sit, needed a period of time to process all of it.  Her day, the last few days, had lingered like a never-ending nightmare.  The only bright spot had been Desmond’s return, their time together.  That had been heaven-sent.  He was heaven-sent.  The rest had been horrendous.  Her school day hadn’t been any different.  Minutes had dragged and had felt like hours.  She’d felt as if her time at Hallowed Hills High School would never end.  When finally the last bell of the day had rung just after three o’clock, she had to force herself to keep from springing from her seat and sprinting out the front door to her car.  Fortunately, her will was strong and she’d done neither.  Both would have drawn attention to her, attention she did not want.  She’d grabbed her books and walked at the same pace as the rest of her classmates, praying all the while that she would avoid Scott, George and the others.

Of course, she had not avoided running into any of them.  She’d seen and spoken briefly with Paul and Chris near the cafeteria and had bumped into Meg and Kit in the ladies’ room.  Each encounter had been awkward.  Everyone had spoken to her in the same tones they’d always used, relaxed, friendly, and nonchalant, nothing had been out of the ordinary; nothing on the surface, at least.  But they’d looked at her differently, warily, accusingly.  It was clear that if they did not know for sure already she was behind Jess and Josh’s disappearance, they strongly suspected her.  The tension, particularly between Meg, Kit and herself, had been so thick, she could have cut it with a knife.  She’d never wanted to stop mid-stream while relieving herself as badly as she had when she’d sensed Meg and Kit’s presence enter the ladies’ room.  Their energy had been laden with hostility and distrust.  It had practically entered on its own, as separate entities, ahead of them.  Her only advantage had been, and still was, that no one knew she was the Sola other than Desmond and Agnon.  No one else knew, not Scott, not George, no one.  So as Paul, Chris, Meg and Kit had plastered phony smiles on their faces and had laughed and joked as usual, they’d been completely unaware of the fact that Arianna had practically heard their thoughts.

Her powers were growing rapidly, more rapidly than she’d ever dreamed possible, and on more than one occasion during the day, she’d sworn she had heard the thoughts of others when she’d concentrated hard enough.  She’d unintentionally read the mind of a handful of human beings and had been shocked when it had happened.  For a moment, she’d been certain she’d finally gone crazy.  She was about to try out her new skill on Beth at her locker at the end of the day, but when she’d seen George’s pasty face bobbing along above the sea of other faces walking out of the school, she’d known her powers would lapse.  She’d also known Scott would be at his side, and she’d been right.  She’d quickly grabbed her belongings and was about to make a run for it when she’d found herself face to face with a very smug Scott.  He’d slid her a sly, half-smile, the facial equivalent of a raised middle finger.  She’d wanted to slap him, had actually contemplated doing it for a fleeting moment, then had remembered Desmond and had reconsidered.  To her surprise, Scott had not said a word to her.  He’d stood there, threatening her wordlessly, with his Herman Munster sidekick hanging on him like an ugly, oversized corpse-purse.  She’d smiled at him, as pleasantly as she could possibly smile then made her way out of the building.

Now, as she stood in the living room replaying the few, but odd, interactions she’d had with Scott and his coven, she realized nearly a half-hour passed and wondered where the hell Desmond was.  He’d promised her he would not leave her.  She began to wonder whether something had happened.

Her eyes scanned the living room and kitchen area before she marched into her bedroom.

“Desmond?” she called quietly and reached out with all her senses, searching for him.

When she did not feel him, she began to panic.  Where was he?  He would never leave her, not without a good reason, a threat to her life.

“Desmond?” she called out again and felt her heart speed frantically.

She stepped into the bathroom and flipped the light switch on.  She knew he was not in there, the room had been dark, but she had held out hope that perhaps he’d been in the shower and hadn’t heard her.

“Oh god, Desmond,” she said to herself.  “Where are you?”

She was about to turn when a voice startled her.

“Right here,” Desmond said softly and she heard a small scream sound from her.

“Holy shit Desmond!” she jumped.

“You screamed like a little girl,” he smiled, but his smile did not reach his eyes, and his skin was unusually pale.

“No, I didn’t and what’s wrong?” she wasted no time getting to the point.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Arianna considered her statement and their supernatural powers.  “Wait, did you see a ghost?” she asked and was serious.  With the rate at which her powers were multiplying, she would not be surprised it that were next.

“Arianna, they’re planning it for tomorrow morning,” he said and it took her a moment to realize what he was talking about.

“They’re what?” she fumbled.  “Tomorrow morning?  How do you know?  You heard them planning at school today?”

Too many questions swam in her brain, around and around in dizzying laps.

“I heard my father.  I saw him today,” Desmond said, pain etched in is features.

“Your father was at school today?”

“No, I went to him,” he admitted and dropped his eyes to his feet.

“You left me?” she accused him.

“No, well yes, but you were in your car driving home.  Scott had waited in the parking lot.  He and the others had gathered by his car and threw snowballs at each other as they laughed about how epic tomorrow would be.”

“Huh,” she huffed.  “Sounds just like a scene Norman Rockwell would paint.  Instead of Girl at the Mirror, the title would be Psychos at School.”

“They plan to kill the entire student body tomorrow at the end of first period.  Actually, they expect you to kill everyone at the end of first period,” he said and met her stunned gaze.

Arianna’s lungs burned and her mouth had gone dry.  She could not speak, could not find the words to describe how she was feeling, the horror.

“What?” she managed to whisper, her voice hoarse.

“When I left you, I went to Scott’s house.  My father was there.  He and the six in the coven went over the details after he and Scott had a little run-in.  Arianna, they think you are going to kill all the kids at school and that when you do it, it will be felt around the world by every witch and warlock just as it had been felt when you killed Howard Kane.  Only this time, the act will be a signal for all the others to begin their attack on mankind.  It will begin the war against humanity.”

The room tilted violently and Arianna staggered out of the bathroom to her bedroom.  The sudden need to sit pressed her.

“Desmond, this is crazy.  This can’t be real,” she said in a trembling voice.

Desmond rushed to her side.  She felt his warm hands rest on her shoulders.  “Are there really that many of us that Agnon thinks we can overthrow humanity?” she asked feebly.

“The prophecy says that when you initiate the war, your powers will have matured and all of our powers will grow, that a handful of us will be able to overtake cities, that we will be unstoppable.”

Arianna’s mind struggled to understand the words he was speaking.  Five witches would be capable of overtaking a city.  It seemed impossible.  Countless cities existed on the planet, cities that would fall.  And she was slated to begin all of it, begin the chaos.  She could not wrap her brain around it all.  She felt as if she were floating, hovering over her body and listening, as it all unfolded like a hideous nightmare she could not wake from.

“Do you believe it?  Do you believe the prophecy, Desmond?” she heard herself ask him.

“No,” he said and tipped her chin up so that she looked at him.  “What my father believes, what he’s preparing the others for, is nonsense.  It’s not what I believed my whole life and I don’t believe it now.  I don’t believe you will kill innocent people, now or ever.”

“No, I won’t,” she said and felt strengthened by his faith in her.  Of course, the urge to kill innocents did not exist within her, it never had.  She would have gleefully joined in with Scott, Jess and Josh at the party in the woods if it had.  But she was not like them.  And she never would be.  Still, a question nagged at her.  She wondered how all of the prophecy nonsense had come to pass, how she became involved in it.  Of all the supernatural beings on the planet, what force decided she was the one, the Sola?  She wanted to ask Desmond, but was afraid of the answer she would hear.  Instead, she settled on one only slightly less complicated.  “Why is everyone so convinced that I will do this?  Why do they believe I will join in this mass slaughter tomorrow?”

“Honestly Arianna, I do not know the answer to that question,” Desmond answered and looked as confused as she felt.  “All I do know is that we need to stop the attack on the school.  It cannot happen,” he said firmly and his eyes had hardened with his words.

Arianna agreed, and there was only one solution that came to mind.  “Let’s go now,” she said determinedly.  “Let’s go to Scott’s house and kill them now before they ever have a chance to set foot on campus tomorrow morning.”

“I thought of that too, believe me.  That would be the simplest way.  But there are other witches involved, others who have been recruited for this day, for their cause.  They are a part of it.  I don’t know who they are.  They were not named.”

“Then what do we do?” she asked, desperation seeping from her veins.

“The only option we have that I can see is to stop it as it happens.”

“What, so we’re going to wait until tomorrow?” Arianna asked incredulously.  “That sounds way too dangerous.”

“I know.  I agree.  But what other choice do we have?  If we go now, we risk running into more of our kind than we can handle at once, and with powers that are unknown to us.  I don’t know about you, but I think that puts us in more danger than picking them off one by one tomorrow morning.”

Arianna did not know what the hell she thought.  She just knew the attack must never happen.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed with him halfheartedly.

“They are planning to lock everyone in the school after the first bell rings and everyone is in their first-period class.  When the bell rings to end first period, it will begin.”

“So we have a little more than forty minutes in between to stop them, is that what you’re saying?” she asked dejectedly.

She wished she could close her eyes and will it away, will all of the madness away.  But she could not.

“Yes, and hopefully we will be able to stop them without being seen,” he said.

She had not considered the fact that they needed to be careful for reasons beyond general safety.  The task before them grew increasingly difficult with each detail that was revealed.

“What is going to happen?  What do we do?” she asked.

“We’re going to have to kill them all, and if my father is there, we are going to have to kill him, too.  Actually, you will have to kill him,” Desmond spat.

“Me?  Why me?”

“His powers are too strong.  Mine are hardly a match for him.  But you, you have untapped powers that will surpass his and mine combined.  You will have to release them, though.  You will have to be the Sola, just as you were with Howard Kane.”

She remembered the transformation when she’d killed Kane.  However, the change had been spontaneous.  Intense emotions had fueled it.  Loss, grief, pain unlike any she’d experienced until that point had spawned a veritable fire within her.  She wondered whether she could do it a second time; unleash the great beast that slept within her.  But with Desmond at risk, all doubt left her.  She would be able to.  She would not risk losing him ever.  She would let her love for him be the catalyst.  Her profound love for Desmond would spark the Sola’s return.

Though her spirits were lifted somewhat by the confidence she was feeling, one factor remained.

“What about George?” she asked.  “He can block my power.”

“He is just a teenager by mortal years and extremely young and inexperienced by warlock years.  He cannot stop us both.  I will place myself behind him, teleport there without him ever knowing, and take him out first,” Desmond promised, and by the resolute set of his jaw, Arianna did not doubt he would deliver.

Arianna felt the weight of the world resting squarely on her shoulders.  The task ahead of her was insurmountable.  She was terrified of the responsibility.

“Don’t be afraid, Arianna,” Desmond whispered as if he’d heard her thoughts.  “You can do this.  You will do this.  You will lead everyone as they were truly meant to be led.  Stopping this attack will show our kind the truth.  It will show them the true meaning of the prophecy.”

His words, his faith in her, touched a part of her that had never been touched before.  He believed in her unwaveringly.  He saw in her what no one else had ever seen.  He saw goodness and strength.  He saw his present as well as their future, together.  Desmond was her beacon, the light that guided her in dark waters.

She did not bother responding to him verbally.  Words were incapable of conveying all that she felt for him.  Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders.  He pulled her close to him, so close that she felt the steady beat of his heart.  The sound of it, along with the heat of his body, sent a wave of relief over her.  It washed away her fear and doubt, and she allowed her body to fall into his.  She pulled back briefly, just long enough to gaze into his eyes.  They were matching pools of tropical water, warm, clear, bottomless.  She found herself lost in them.

“I love you,” he said and brought his forehead to hers.

“I love you, too,” she breathed.

“We will survive this,” he promised her.

She hoped both of them would, and knew she would sacrifice her life for him.  But she would not allow him to do the same for her.

Yes, you will survive this, she thought as she smiled and nodded at him.

He closed the small distance between them and drew her against his chest again.  He sunk back slowly until his back rested against the pillows.  They spent the remainder of the night wrapped in each other’s arms as they lay in her bed.  They clung to each other and the fleeting feeling of safety, fighting sleep, for as long as they could.

Chapter 20

The low, irregular grumble of her mother’s Toyota was the background music for Arianna’s frantic thoughts as she waited outside Hallowed Hills High School.  Desmond sat beside her, his large hand wrapped around hers, and was the only thing anchoring her to any semblance of sanity.

Neither of them had spoken in the last ten minutes.  There was not much left to say.  Their purpose was clear.  They knew what they needed to do.

They’d only arrived twenty minutes earlier, but the time spent waiting and watching for the henchmen of the apocalypse felt like an eternity.  Not that she was at all eager to see them.  She just wanted to identify who the enemies were as opposed to allowing them to remain phantom, faceless entities menacing her thoughts.  So they continued to survey the campus.

She looked out her window at the pristine landscape.  In the bright early-morning sunlight, the snow glistened as if crushed diamonds, not snowflakes, had fallen from the sky a day earlier, sparkling and glittering dazzlingly.  The beauty of it was a sharp contrast to the ugliness that lurked on the horizon.

Evil, putrid and primal, breathed its foul breath down the necks of everyone that milled about, poised and positioned to strike.  Students and faculty made their way into the building, smiling and chatting, oblivious of the fact that mankind teetered on the brink of a great precipice and that a group of witches and warlocks expected her to stand at their back and pitch them over it to their demise.  She could not conceive of the mercilessness that was expected of her.  It was unconscionable.

Suddenly, the air felt too warm, too thick to breathe and the collar of her shirt her too tight around her neck.  She felt as if she’d been dropped in a pit of quicksand and it was rising around her and spilling over her chin.  Her entire body felt overheated.  Her cheeks blazed and her breath came in shallow pants as her heart sprinted.  She scanned the faces of the people in the front parking lot.  Some smiled, some made silly faces while others looked serious, yet all of them held a common bond.  They were all innocent people just going about their lives, working, attending school.   They were neither deserving of nor prepared for the hell that was about to rain down on them and end their lives on Earth.

Arianna felt tears begin to burn the back of her eyelids.  What if they were too late?  What if plans had changed and there was no chance of stopping the intended attack? She wondered.  Too many what-ifs existed.

The shrill peal of a bell made her jump and signaled the start of first period.  Arianna turned to Desmond and was about to ask, “What do we do now, just go in?” when a rusted and dented black passenger van rumbled into the lot.  It parked on the far side of the space, close to the school building, but far enough so that few cars were parked near it.

Awareness slithered down her spine with serpentine deliberateness.  Desmond gave her hand a gentle squeeze and she knew he’d felt the same sensation she had.  Agnon’s reinforcements had arrived.

They watched with bated breath as both the driver’s side door and the passenger side doors opened simultaneously.  Arianna gasped aloud when she saw what climbed out of each.  Four people in all exited.  None of them stood even the slightest chance of going unnoticed among the students and faculty.

The first of them circled the van, looking over his shoulder so often she was surprised someone had not called the police for his suspicious behavior alone.  Then when Arianna saw his face, saw all of him, she was genuinely shocked.  Long, dark, greasy-looking hair draped to the middle of his back.  His facial piercings reflected the sunlight and glinted dangerously.  An equally frightening-looking man joined him at the rear of the van.  Thick and barrel-chested, the man had a smoothly shaven head adorned with what looked like large, fanged snakes tattooed on it.  Earrings trailed up his earlobe and one among the many had a chain that linked to a piercing in his nostril.

“Oh my god,” she breathed and Desmond drew his breath in sharply.  “Do you know them?”

“No.  Those are not the kind of warlocks I know.  Those men do not walk among my people,” he said and his words were like ice that penetrated her core, chilling it completely.

“What was Scott thinking, bringing those freaks here?” she asked.

“I don’t know Scott, but those mutants look like the work of my father.”

She was about to ask why and how his dad knew such people, but the other two made themselves visible.

A woman, the only female with them, emerged from the shadows.  Long, bedraggled hair hung to the small of her waist, dry and frizzy.  Her skin, a ghastly ashen hue, was as wrinkled as a woman well past her seventieth year of life, yet her body was lithe and youthful looking.  She wore jeans with the knees torn out and a tight, cropped top that exposed her midriff.  A slender snake tattoo wound around her waist like a permanent belt.  The fact that the temperature hovered below the freezing mark and there was snow on the ground and she was wearing a half-shirt was the least of her problems.  She would pass for a teenager about as well as the Monopoly man would pass for Justin Bieber.  Another man joined them as well.  He, too, had long unkempt hair that fell past his shoulders, only his was a shade of blonde Arianna had never seen.  Yellow so bright it bordered on neon was the color of his hair.  He wore a sleeveless denim jacket and jeans, both tattered and dirty looking.  He gazed out, his eyes searching the parking lot.  When he did, she saw that his face was tattooed with a similar image to the bald man and the woman.  Snake tattoos wound their way up his neck and ended at his forehead, their opened mouth and fangs primed to strike near his eyebrows.

“What the hell?” Arianna said quietly.  “What’s with the snakes?  The bald guy has them on his head, the woman has one on her waist, and the guy with the yellow hair has them on his face for heaven’s sake.”

“I don’t know.  It could be the symbol of their coven,” he guessed.

“Or their sick mascot,” she mumbled.

The four freakish-looking strangers lingered near the rear of the van, glancing all around them like drug addicts in desperate need of their next fix.  The bald one opened the rear doors and they all busied themselves, reaching and digging.  When they stopped digging and leaned away, they held lengths of thick chains equipped with locks.

“Oh my god, it is definitely them.  This can’t be happening.  It’s like a scene from a nightmare,” Arianna said.

“We have to stop them before they hurt a single person,” Desmond said, his voice filled with an urgency she’d never heard before.  “Arianna,” he turned and faced her.  “I know you can teleport like me.  Have you ever made yourself invisible?” he asked and his question would have seemed preposterous months earlier.  Now, however, it seemed anything but.

“No.  I’ve never tried, though,” she answered and knew that, of late, any supernatural feat she’d attempted, she’d succeeded at executing.

“All you need to do is envision yourself as one with the air around you.  Picture yourself as weightless and buoyant,” Desmond continued, but she was too busy concentrating on the sensation she was experiencing to focus on his words any longer.  She felt her entire body tingle and prickle, the same way her foot or hand would when it fell asleep, before she felt herself fade.  Her arms and legs became insubstantial, like flimsy fabric flowing in a gentle breeze, then the rest of her followed suit.

“Very good,” she heard Desmond’s voice echo around her.  “Now, continue to see yourself as one with the air, but envision yourself inside the school.  You will be using two powers at the same time, layering them.  I know you can do it,” he encouraged her.  “You and I are going to teleport inside the school while maintaining our invisibility.”

“And then what?” Arianna heard her voice fill the car.

“We will each go to the doors and take them out.  They will likely split up to lock the doors.”

“Okay,” she said and acknowledged their simple plan.

“Just remember, you have to reappear before you can attack them,” he cautioned.  “Your powers will be too weak from sifting and upholding the invisibility to hurt them, much less kill them.”

Arianna started to nod then remembered he could not see her.  There were so many rules regarding her powers, rules she was simply unaware of.  What if she screwed up?  What if she discontinued her invisibility too late and Agnon’s freaks were able to hurt some of the students or staff?

The what-ifs began to plague her again.  She felt her focus waver and her hand reappeared briefly, flickering like the picture on an old television set without its antennas.

“Arianna, are you okay?” Desmond asked concernedly.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said.

She forced herself to center her thoughts on remaining invisible, but worry still niggled at her brain.  Hundreds of lives were at stake.  She did not have time for self-doubt.  Her mother and Luke flashed in her memory and made her heart clench.  But the pain strengthened her resolve.  She would not see more innocent people die.  She’d already let too many fall to dark forces.  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, filling her lungs with air as light and insubstantial as she wished to be.  She felt herself merge with it.

She looked down and saw that her hand no longer flickered, and she felt herself fade away.

“Are you ready?” Desmond asked her.

“Yes,” she said and meant it.

“We will teleport into the school.  You need to go directly to the rear entrance and I will go to the entrance on the west side.  Don’t say a word.  Just kill them,” he said somberly.  “We do not know what powers they have, but I’m guessing that if my father chose them, he chose them for a reason.  They must be powerful.”

Three warlocks and one witch, whose powers were undetermined but likely great, needed to be caught off-guard and killed.  No problem, right?  Desmond seemed to think so or at least he gave her that impression.  She wished it were that simple.  But her body screamed otherwise.  A voice inside her, the voice of loss and reason, instinctively balked at what they were about to do, balked at her confidence.  She could not bear to lose another person she loved.  She could not bear to lose Desmond.

“Please be careful, Desmond,” she pleaded.  “I cannot lose you again, I cannot survive it.”

“I will be,” he assured her.  “You be careful too.  I cannot live without you either.”

She wished she could hug him, wished she could melt against his strong chest and hear the steady beat of his heart.  But she knew time did not exist for such an indulgence.  She was about to say good-bye and wish him good luck when an unexpected phenomenon occurred.  For a moment, she felt Desmond’s warmth surround her.  The fine hairs on her body rose along with goose bumps, the same reaction she had when he held her.  Though she could not feel him physically, she sensed him all around her, felt his soul link with hers.  She breathed deeply and smelled a spicy leather scent, his masculine scent.

“I love you, Desmond,” she breathed and felt his presence slowly ebb.

“I love you, Arianna,” she heard his voice whisper through her, and then he was gone.

She did not get to say a proper good-bye to him and would never forgive herself if he were killed on this day.

Pushing back fearful thoughts, she sifted.  White light filled her field of vision and cold raced through her veins.  She pictured herself standing in front of the rear doors of Hallowed Hills High School as visible as the air she breathed.

When light returned to her, she floated inside the building hovering like a wraith.  With a hand she could not see, she reached out and tried the door handle.  Her heart stopped as she realized the door did not budge.  It had been chained shut already.  She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry, panic and terror conspiring against her.

She was about to call for Desmond, to reach out to him with her powers alone and alert him to the shocking discovery she’d made, when she heard voices coming from the gymnasium.  Gym classes were not scheduled during the first period of the day.  Yet, voices came from there.

Awareness glided through her with winding fluidity, curving and bending as sinuously as a silk.  She knew Agnon’s people were there.  She moved toward the open doors, the very place she’d listened to Josh and Jess plot this very day hours ago.  But this time, she did not have to cloak herself in shadows.  She did not need to cower behind a door.  She was hiding in plain sight.

“As soon as the bell rings, move into the hall and kill anyone you see,” the bald man hissed and the colossal serpent tattoos on his head pulsated with every word he spoke, as if they’d come to life.  He addressed the man with the facial piecing and dark, greasy hair.

“I know, I know,” the man with the greasy hair replied and twitched anxiously as if craving a hit of a drug.  But as far as she could tell, his drug of choice did not come in the form of a pill or injection.  What he seemed hell-bent on getting high on was bloodshed.  She could feel the excited beat of his murderous heart pounding.

Arianna advanced several steps, determined to end their hellacious existence on Earth.  But as she moved forward, both men stopped talking.  Their heads snapped to their side, in her direction.  She had not made herself visible yet.  Still, they sensed her, saw her, somehow.  She felt the weight of their lethal stares, felt their deadly intents penetrating her skull.

The bald one sniffed the air, the chain between his ear and nose quivering as he did.  Greasy hair’s tongue darted in and out like a snake, as if he tasted and smelled the air as they do.  She froze and held her breath, convinced that they saw her.  She waved her hand in front of her face and did not see it, yet the minute swish of air it generated caused the men to take tentative steps toward her.  They exchanged glances and were likely communicating telepathically when a sound distracted them.  It came from a storage closet and sounded like a basketball falling to the hardwood flooring.

They looked to one another and nodded before moving with impossible speed and grace to the closet.  The bald man yanked the door toward him and opened it.  The smell of marijuana filled the air, pouring from the closet in a thick white cloud.

“Out, now!” the bald man ordered and four boys filed out, all dressed in pants so baggy their underpants showed.

“Whoa, dude,” one said to the bald man, his face a mask of terror as he stared at the monstrous snake tattoos on his head.

“Shut the fuck up,” the bald man spat and the boy took an instinctive step away from him.

“Now what the hell do we do?” the man with the greasy hair asked.  “They heard everything we said, but we aren’t’ supposed to kill anyone until the bell rings.”

“We won’t say anything, man,” one of the boys said in a shaky voice.  “I promise.  Just lets us go and we’ll leave the school right now.  We won’t say a word to anyone.”

“Yeah, man, please.  Just let us go,” another begged.

Arianna felt a sudden surge of energy seep into her system, wild, frenzied energy.  She knew that both the man with the greasy hair and the bald man were vacillating, that they were on the verge of giving in to their deadly desires.  She could feel it, feel their intentions.  She was about to appear and attack them both when the bald man spoke.

“We will keep them here until we here that bell,” he said determinedly.

“So we’re not killing them yet?” the man with the greasy hair asked with restless longing saturating his tone.

“No,” the bald man said and shot a look of warning his way.

“Please don’t kill us,” one of the boys begged, his voice faltering with emotion.  “We won’t say anything, I swear.”

“Quiet!” the man with the greasy hair said sharply, and though he did not raise his voice, the boys jumped as if he had.  Two of the boys began to cry as they quietly begged and pleaded for their freedom despite greasy hair’s stern warning.

“Shh,” he bald man shushed them tranquilly.  “Just be cool,” he continued and his voice no longer sounded as it had earlier.  Suddenly calm, his voice was a clear, rich, deep baritone.  “Everything is cool. You’re fine.  All of you are fine,” he assured them, his cadence as soothing and lulling as floating on a raft on a gently rolling river.  She did not know how he’d done it and guessed it was part of his power that enabled him to charm them with his voice.  And charm them he had.  She could see that they’d been hypnotized into submission.  His words coaxed them into relaxing visibly.  The worried creases in their faces smoothed.  Their rigid posture loosened.

“Mind if I have a smoke?” one asked with heavy eyes and a thick voice that sounded as if he’d just roused from sleep.  He slowly slid a cigarette from his pack.

“Go ahead,” the bald man said in the same soothing tone he’d used seconds earlier.

The boy placed his cigarette between his lips unhurriedly then began patting his pants pockets.  “Got a light, bro?” he asked one of his friends.

“Please, allow me,” the man with the greasy hair offered, his demeanor suddenly cool and composed.

“Cool, bro,” the boy drawled.  “I think I left mine in the –,” he started but did not get the chance to finish his sentence.

The man with the long, dark, greasy hair raised his hands and flames launched from them in a white-hot arc.  They lashed forward like a raging lasso and licked the boy’s entire body.  His face contorted into a mask of agony in a flash as flames engulfed him.  He started to whimper, a weak, defeated sound that urged a veil of crimson to befall Arianna’s eyes.

The sound had barely escaped his lips when, incensed, greasy hair’s fire blazed brighter and within a split-second, the boy was completely consumed by fire until his flesh melted and fell from him, his body reduced to a pile of bones.

Seeing their friend incinerated, the remaining three boys, the ones who had been in the closet, stared in shock, their mouths wide with terror.

“You scumbags!” Arianna screamed and burst forth from the hallway, her form no longer invisible.

She felt a familiar sensation hiss and crackle just beneath her skin.  It quickly raced, gaining momentum until it throbbed through her veins with more force than her lifeblood.  Fury overtook her body and her vision was shrouded in crimson.  Kill them.  The words passed through her with tremors that shook her, vibrating and echoing to her core.

They both turned and looked at her and she saw it, saw the tick on both their faces.  They saw her eyes glowing.

Heat began to consume her, sweeping like brushfire and searing everything in its wake.  The inferno storming inside her raged as it had the night she killed Kane, towering and soaring to the point where she felt her skin would not be able to contain the immense swell of pure energy.

The man with the long, greasy hair snarled at her and raised his hands.  But before he could release his fiery attack, she shot both arms out to either side of her body and watched as both of his arms ripped from their sockets as easily as they would have had he been made of straw.  Of course, he was not made of straw, and gore gushed from where his arms had been seconds ago.  His limbs fell to the hardwood floor with a sickly thud shortly before the rest of his body did.  Blood pooled around him, smearing as he writhed and howled, producing the most bloodcurdling cry she’d ever heard.  But instead of being revolted by the sound, a trill of excitement tiptoed through her.

With the metallic stench of blood hanging in the air like mist, overwhelming her, fueling her, she spun and faced the bald man.  Fear flashed fleetingly in his narrow eyes as he trained them on her.  For a moment he held her with his gaze and she saw straight down to the depths of his blackened soul.  A small sneer tugged one corner of his mouth and she felt the storm inside her intensify dangerously, growing to a great tempest of rage.

She swept a hand to one side, a small gesture, and was shocked and amazed when the bald man’s body rocketed past her and smashed into a concrete wall of the gym.  His skull slammed against it hard then ricocheted forward, flopping reflexively.  She knew his skull had been fractured, had heard the loud pop, but he lived.  She could still hear the beat of his heart.  Lying on his side, he attempted to raise his hands and use his powers.  A thin arc of fire dribbled weakly from his fingertips and Arianna balled both of her hands into tight fists, envisioning every bone in his body splintering.  As she did, he wailed in agony and his hands drooped.  The crunch and snap of his bones breaking filled her head and echoed as if being amplified mechanically.  He slumped, unmoving, no longer a threat to the students of Hallowed Hills High School.

The stoners from the closet looked as if they’d faint when she spun and faced them, her vision still awash in blood red.

“Go,” she told them.  “Get out of here.”

They hesitated only a fraction of a moment to thank her profusely then scurried out of the gym as fast as their legs would carry them.

She watched them leave and did not feel her power retreat in the least.  Instead, it continued to strengthen.  Both her anger and power multiplied with each second that passed.  Her entire body glowed red like a burning ember and the only sound she heard was the hum of energy coursing through her until the shrill shriek of a fire alarm screeched through her brain.  She immediately suspected one of the stoners she’d released was responsible for pulling it.  His attempt at getting emergency personnel to the school might be the end of every life there as she had only killed two of the four people Agnon had sent.  Two more remained, as well as Scott, George, Chris, Kit and Meg.  The fire alarm would send students pouring into the hallways and scrambling toward exits.  With the exits chained shut, they would be fish in a barrel waiting to be shot.

Voices filled the halls.  Voices that laughed and chattered excitedly at first quickly turned to concerned cries as people tried to open doors.

“Hey!  What the hell?” she heard a male voice call out.

Several screams tore through the chaos and Arianna made her way to the hall.  Seeing her body and eyes glow red, more screams sounded as they pointed and gestured to her.  Some turned to run from her while others hid.  They saw themselves as trapped with her, that she was the enemy.

Arianna felt her anger escalate further.  She was there to protect them, not harm them, yet they were carrying on as if she were a monster.  She was about to open her lips and scold them for their irrational behavior when Agnon appeared suddenly and blocked her path.

“It is time, Arianna,” he said in a calm, mesmerizing tone.  “Our time is upon us.  You need to do what you were born to do.”

For a moment, Arianna was staggered by a sense of inexplicable, but potent awareness.  It breathed through her as simply as a sigh, but jolted her with it profoundness.  He held her with his steely gaze, penetrating the walls that guarded her, that had guarded her for her entire life.  He stared directly into the yawning pit of her being and sought to draw from it her essence.  She felt the tug, felt the pull begin to drag it forth.  His words resounded in her with a strange familiarity, and a foreign feeling began flowing through her.  For the first time, she believed he was speaking the truth, believed that she stood on the verge of fulfilling her destiny.

With that tug propelling her, urging her on, she turned to the large group of students amassed in the hallway and in her mind, saw herself setting the school ablaze, killing every last student.  But it did not end there.  She envisioned cities burning, countries crumpling; she saw any and every human being who crossed her path falling, dying.  Red light radiated from her and the need to act made her hands prickle and tremble.

Slowly, she lifted her wrist.  She looked all around her.  People were crying and panicking.  They would die.  All of them.

“Arianna!” she heard Desmond shout just as he appeared before her.  The scarlet hue that veiled her vision wavered.  Light shined from him, haloing and highlighting his pale skin and golden hair, and tempered the burning in her with its steady warmth.  “What are you doing?  This isn’t you.  This isn’t the woman I love,” his turquoise eyes pleaded with her, love flowing from them like sunlight from the sky.

In the instant that his eyes searched hers, she began to recognize the feeling inside her.  And it was far different from what Agnon had projected.

She felt the heinousness of Agnon and the others’ purpose, felt it entwine its barbed tentacles around her veins like a vicious parasite, trying to pump its pitiless intentions through her lifeblood.  It had almost succeeded.  Every part of her felt dark, tainted.

Guilt and confusion began devouring her, consuming her wholly.  As if sensing the turmoil brewing inside, Desmond reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand.  His touch, the warmth and light that it exuded, filled her and brought her back.

She immediately spun and thrust her arms forward at Agnon.  Caught off guard, her gesture blasted him into the far wall and engulfed him in flames.  Fire lapped hungrily at his skin for several seconds before he regained his composure and extinguished himself.  He reeled, his eyes wild and the majority of his skin charred and puckered as the stink of smoldering flesh filled the air.  He was badly burned and half-dead.

“You fool,” he wheezed at Desmond through blistered lips.  “You have ruined everything for us, everything we’ve waited centuries for.”

“I have ruined nothing, father,” Desmond replied levelly.  “It is my destiny to keep Arianna, the Sola, on the right path and not be poisoned by evil, by you.”

Agnon attempted a step toward them, tottering and swaying like a drunk.  “You know nothing,” he slurred with a mouth so badly burned his speech matched his unsteady gait.  “What will you do when he comes for her?  You know he is coming, don’t you?” Agnon continued to taunt.

“I’ll be ready for him, too,” Desmond said confidently and Arianna wondered who and what they were talking about.

Agnon looked at her and laughed, a sinister, mirthless laugh, then disappeared into thin air.

Arianna turned to face Desmond.  “What now?” she asked him.

“I killed two of them,” he said, but was interrupted by the sound of tortured screams.

“Scott and George,” Arianna panicked.  “It’s them!  We have to stop them!”

Arianna and Desmond raced down the hallway and followed the sound of screams, using them as their bone-chilling guide, and stopped outside a classroom.  Scott, along with Paul, Meg, Kit and Chris, stood with their backs to the doorway and were in the process of killing several students, burning them slowly, and one limb at a time.  Desmond disappeared, teleporting, and appeared behind Paul and Meg.  In one instantaneous motion he unsheathed his daggers and plunged them into the backs of their necks.  They collapsed to the floor face-down in an expanding puddle of blood.

Seeing the slight twitch of Chris and Kit’s wrists, Arianna raised her hands and lifted Kit and Chris off their feet.  She pulled them far from one another then sent them racing back toward each other until they collided with a thunderous thwack.  Both dropped and lay unmoving.  She reached out with her senses and did not detect even the faintest pulse coming from either of them.

She turned to face Scott, keeping Desmond in her peripheral vision.  Three people, their skin blackened and singed beyond recognition, had just died at Scott’s hand.  Arianna raised her hands, unbridled power surging through her, and was about to destroy him when a sudden force wrenched it from her.  Her body lurched forward as if her insides had shattered into a thousand agonizing pieces.  Her energy had been leached from her, bled so quickly, she felt faint.  She’d felt it before, but not when the same magnitude of power was at stake.  George was nearby.  She felt his revolting presence crawl through her core.  Unsurprisingly, his tall, lanky form stepped from the shadows near the window.  His arms were outstretched and his features, for the first time, were contorted into a strained expression.

“Kill them,” he urged Scott.  “Kill them now.  They’re too strong for me to hold them off.” Sweat stippled his pasty forehead and his arms quivered as if the strain were growing unbearable.

Arianna looked at Desmond and saw pain etched in his glorious features.  His powers had been halted as well.  His pain spawned a whirlwind of ire so strong that despite George’s concerted effort, small surges swelled from her core and stole through her body.

Scott laughed his trademark sick, twisted laugh.  “Oh Arianna, when will you ever learn?” he mocked.  “Look at you getting all worked up.  Bet you’re feeling all backed up right about now.”  He laughed again then his face went calm.  “Time to die, bitch,” he said.  “I am going to be the one who kills the Sola.” He lifted his hands and aimed them at her.

A tear slid down Arianna Rose’s cheek as she glanced at Desmond.  His was light, living and breathing light, the embodiment of goodness and decency.  She closed her eyes, her final vision of him too painful to withstand, and accepted her fate.

All of a sudden, a cry ripped through the weighted silence of the room.  Arianna’s eyes snapped open, her powers bubbling and brimming within, restored, and her head shot to the side to the direction of the scream.  What she saw made her breath catch in her chest.  George had collapsed to the floor on both knees, his head swallowed by flames and Beth, the petite girl who favored black, stood behind him with fire streaming from her fingertips.

“Beth!” Arianna called out.

“Oh hey Arianna,” Beth said casually and smirked.  “I always hated that piece of shit,” she continued as the fire flowing from her grew and she completed the process of cremating George.

Arianna was shocked briefly, too many question rushed and swirled disconcertedly in her mind.  But no time existed for questions or confusion.  Another matter needed to be tended to.

“Well, Scott, it looks like the only bitch that’s going to die today is you,” she hissed and advanced a single step.

The full force of her power flooded her system on command.  Her entire body was alight, glowing and blazing with energy so strong it felt like a separate entity, like a great beast stretching and readied to strike.

Desmond nodded to her.  His was not a nod of approval for she did not need anyone’s approval.  She was the Sola and she was doing that which she’d been created to do.  He nodded to her deferentially and did not dare try to step in and kill Scott himself.

She clenched one fist tightly and visualized the bones in Scott’s legs yielding to her force.  She squeezed tighter, channeling how she’d felt when she saw him using humans as murderous puppets for his entertainment.  A loud snap was followed by a wail of misery and she watched as Scott fell to his knees, suffering.

She walked toward him slowly, relishing in the moments he awaited his death, savoring the look of defeat in his eyes.  He narrowed them at her and cursed at her.  She smiled at his weak attempt to insult her.  He then flicked his wrists at her and a feeble stream trickled her way.  He cried out, a pathetic war-cry and the flames grew considerably.  She raised her index finger and the fire stopped short of her nose and split in two around her head.  She remained untouched.  His pathetic attempt had failed.  Arianna smiled again and her smile did not reach her eyes.  For the first time since meeting him, she saw fear flicker in Scott’s eyes.  He knew he was about to die at the hands of the Sola.

Arianna lifted both fists to chest-height and gripped them tightly, squeezing and clenching as firmly as her muscles allowed.  A series of hair-raising cracks whipped sharply and Scott sagged forward.  His lifeless eyes stared vacantly in her direction and a sense of satisfaction overwhelmed her.

“We need to go, now,” Desmond said quietly and interrupted her moment of satisfaction.

“Yeah, that sounds like a really good idea,” Beth said.  “Where are we headed, you know, so I can set my sifting GPS,” she chuckled then looked to Desmond’s expressionless face.  “What, too soon?” she asked jokingly.

Arianna felt like laughing, but thought it inappropriate given the circumstances.  “My place,” she said to Beth.  “The cabin is the last house on Ridge Road.”

“Got it,” Beth said.  “But don’t go getting any funny ideas about me coming over,” she arched an eyebrow mischievously before disappearing.

Arianna shook her head and moved toward Desmond.  “Shall we?” she said and opened her arms to him.  He immediately enveloped her in strong arms and the world around her began to fade.

“Yes, we shall,” he replied and they were gone.

Chapter 21

When the white, warm rush of sifting with Desmond ended, Arianna found herself standing in her living room.  Beth arrived seconds later and stood with her trademark look of disinterested annoyance on her face.  Only Arianna no longer saw her as an annoying Goth girl who constantly accused her of being interested in her romantically.  She saw her as the girl who’d saved not only her life, but more importantly, the life of the man she loved, Desmond.  She did not know how she would ever repay her, had never been so indebted to another person in her entire life, but knew deep within her that she would someday return the favor.  Before that time came, however, a thank-you would have to suffice.

“Thank you,” Arianna blurted out.  She knew there was probably a much better time and way to thank Beth, but after the experience they’d just endured, she seriously doubted flowers or a fruit basket would be appropriate.  Now was as good a time as any to express her gratitude.

Beth looked quizzically to Desmond then to Arianna.  “Huh?” she said.

“Thank you,” Arianna said again.  “For saving Desmond’s life and mine.”

“Uh, whatever,” Beth said uncomfortably before mumbling, “You’re welcome,” under her breath.

“I knew you were one of us, you know,” Arianna smiled.  “I felt it the first day I met you.  It was weak, but it was there.”

“Well what did you expect?” Beth asked and rocked from her heels to the balls of her feet.  “With weirdo George always lurking, glued to Scott’s side and shadowing you, too, you couldn’t feel a supernatural being if she walked up to you and bit you.”

“Whoa, sounds like you’re getting ideas now,” Arianna arched a brow at her playfully and smirked.

Beth loosened up visibly and stopped rocking.

“Ha!  Guess I had that one coming to me, you know, after all the shit I gave you the last few days.  Sorry about that, by the way.”

“Are you seriously trying to apologize to me?” Arianna asked incredulously.

Beth’s eyes dropped to her feet and shifted anxiously.  Arianna could not tell if she’d shocked or insulted her.  Either way, neither had the intended reaction she’d been going for.

“You saved my life, Beth.  If you hadn’t taken out George, we wouldn’t be here,” she gestured between her and Desmond.  “You do not owe me an apology for some smartass comments.”

“I kind of do though,” Beth shrugged.  “You’re the Sola, and whatnot,” she concluded with the same uneasiness.

Arianna looked at Beth puzzled.  She knew she was the Sola, but how did Beth know? She wondered.  And why was Beth being so weird, even weirder than she usually was?  Arianna wondered whether Beth was expecting more of her, whether the fact that she’d needed to be saved meant that she’d fallen shy of all the grand predictions about her.  She supposed she would find out soon enough.  In the meantime, Beth had just revealed that she’d known Arianna was the Sola, yet she’d kept it to herself. Arianna was genuinely surprised.

“You know who I am?” she asked.

“Of course, I knew as soon as you came to town, before even.  I felt you coming.  Everyone should have, you know, people like us.  The fact that Scott and the others did not seem to know was really confusing.”

“So you knew from the first time you met me?”

“Yep,” Beth admitted and only made brief eye contact with her.

“But why – ,” Arianna started, but Beth interrupted.

“Why did I give you a hard time?” Beth finished.  “Scott and George and the rest of his stupid groupies were oblivious to me.  You see, I can hide my power.  It’s a neat trick my mother taught me.  Since you’re the Sola, I’m sure you can, too.  You’ve just never tried.”

“Huh,” Arianna said and knit her brows.

“I’m sure you can do it.  It’s nothing special really.  I wasn’t trying to brag or anything,” Beth rambled.

Arianna bristled a bit.  Her powers had yet to fully manifest themselves and she did not appreciate being patted on the head.  She felt as though Beth were saying, “Oh don’t worry, you’ll get it soon enough.  Now here’s a lollypop.  Go sit in the corner and eat it, stupid Sola who needed to be rescued from a group of lowly, doofy teens supernaturals.”

“Beth, I have not gotten a handle on my powers yet.  Hell, I don’t even know what half of them are.  But I will, and soon.  I’m sure I must seem like a real disappointment after all the hype from the Tome of Ares, but isn’t there a learning curve?  Jeez!”

“Arianna, I don’t think Beth meant,” Desmond began, but Beth cut him off.

“Wait, hold on a second.  What the hell are you saying, Arianna?” Beth asked sharply.  “It sounds to me like you’re getting way ahead of yourself,” she huffed.  “It sounds like you’re accusing me of being I don’t know, like, disappointed in you or something, which is not the case by the way.”

“Well, it’s just seemed like you were,” Arianna started but Beth cut her off too.

“It seemed like exactly what it was.  I helped you out.  Period.  The fact that you’re the Sola, well, that is a whole other issue,” Beth said with her brow furrowed.

“How so?” Arianna asked.

“As you know, there are two very different interpretations of your destiny.”

“Yes, and?” Arianna motioned with her hand for Beth to get on with it already.

Beth took a deep breath then spoke.  “The second I saw you, I knew you were the one.  I just didn’t know if you were like the prophecy said, if you were a slaughterer of innocent people who was going to turn our people into monsters, or if you were the way you had been depicted to my mom, that you were here peacefully.”

“And?” Arianna prodded.

“And what?” Beth screwed up her features, annoyed, and shrugged.

“And you’re still not convinced that I am not looking to off humanity and turn all of our kind loose on the people of the world?”

“After what you did today, yes, I am mostly convinced, but you can’t blame me for still worrying, right?  I mean look at Josh and George and Jess and all of them.  They seemed normal enough at first, right?”

“Yes,” Arianna admitted and recalled how happy she was her first day at Hallowed Hills High School, how accepting and, well, normal Jess and the others seemed.

“It’s easy to be tricked by our kind.  I just stay guarded, that’s all.”

“You don’t have to,” Arianna assured her.  “I’m not out to hurt anyone.”

She could see the tension in Beth’s shoulders loosen visibly and she began chatting and laughing with Desmond about their first interaction when she’d told Arianna she wasn’t interested in her.  But Beth and Desmond’s voices began to fade in and out.

Arianna’s head was suddenly spinning.  She had so many questions for both Desmond and Beth, too many.  The adrenaline rush had not yet left her.  She felt as if each of cells teemed with both her power and nervous energy.  She felt dizzy and the sudden need to sit pressed her.

“Arianna, are you okay,” Desmond was suddenly at her side again with his arm around her waist, his voice strong and clear.

“Yes, I’m all right, I think, just a little, I don’t know, lightheaded,” she said and allowed him to lead her to the couch.

Once she was sitting, Desmond slid into the spot next to her and watched her with concern.

“How lightheaded do you feel?” he worried.

“It’s okay, Desmond.  I’m okay,” she assured him, though she did enjoy how he fawned over her.  No one had ever done that before.  “I just feel exhausted all of a sudden.  It just hit me all at once.”

Relief relaxed his features and he exhaled.  “You’ve used so much power today.  I’m surprised you’re still awake.”

“So this is normal,” Arianna looked to him then Beth.

Beth nodded.  “I would need to sleep for like twelve hours after doing what you did today.”

“She layered her powers, too,” Desmond said to Beth proudly.

“No kidding!  Really?  Wow.  I’ve heard of that being done by elders, but never someone as young we are,” Beth replied about her and Arianna.  “Wait, what am I saying?  She’s the Sola.  She can do, well, anything.”

“As an, ahem, elder, as you put it,” Desmond seemed a bit offended by being referred to as an older warlock.  Arianna could not help but smile.  “I can layer my powers like she did, but it took many years of practice and patience to do it.”

“Great,” Arianna said unenthusiastically.  “I can sift like an old warlock,” she joked and winked at Beth.  Beth laughed, only her laughter starting sounding as if it were coming from the end of a long tunnel.  Arianna blinked several times and clutched the arm of the couch.

Beth stopped laughing and Desmond turned Arianna to face him.  “You need to rest,” he said firmly.  “We can talk another time.  We need to leave, and soon.  A lot of people will be looking for us, others like them who’ve been waiting for you to wage war against humanity.”  He raked a hand through his hair.  “You will be their number-one enemy.  We will need to hide.”

“Oh my god,” Arianna breathed.

“Rest, if only for a little while,” Desmond advised her.  “Just let your eyes close and your body relax.  You will need every ounce of your strength to travel.  They will be coming soon.”

“They will know we helped,” Beth said solemnly.

“Yes,” Desmond matched her tone.

Arianna felt as if she were living in a nightmare.  First Lily, then her mother and Luke had lost their lives because of her.  Now, a bounty existed for both Desmond and Beth.  They’d all been marked for death.

As her mind struggled to comprehend the gravity of their situation, something Agnon said popped onto her mind.

“What did your father mean when he said ‘He’ was coming for me?  Who’s ‘he’?  Who’s coming for me?”

Desmond paused before answering, staring hard at his feet.  When he lifted his chin and leveled his brilliant blue eyes at her, Arianna felt her heart flutter wildly before stopping.

“The man my father referred to is the man you are supposed to marry.  He supposed to rule our people.”

Arianna’s heart began beating again, racing, in fact, thundering in her hears deafeningly.  Nothing that Desmond had said made sense.  The more information she received about her role as the Sola, the more confusing and contradictory things became.

“I thought I was supposed to be the most powerful witch on the planet, that here and now, I was coming of age, or whatever nonsense, mumbo-jumbo the book said,” she felt her temper flare.  “None of this makes sense, Desmond!  What the hell!  Why is it that the more I learn, the less I understand and the more confused I become?”

“Here and now, you are the most powerful witch in the world, even though not all of your powers have manifested themselves yet.”

“You’re talking in riddles again, and it’s really starting to piss me off!” she railed.

Desmond reached out his hand and placed it on her knee.  She looked down at it then to his face.  He started to pull it back, but she placed her hand over his. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is crazy.”

“I know, Arianna.  You were not born to other supernatural beings.  This is all new to you.  You’ve led a normal life until recently.”

“Huh,” she huffed.  “Oh yeah, my life’s been a dream!” she said and felt as if she were unraveling.  “What does it mean that here and now I am the most powerful witch?” she asked and braced herself for his answer.

“The man who is to marry you is not in this dimension,” Desmond said softly.  “But the prophecy says he’s coming for you, for the world.”

“What?  When?  This is news to me!” she shouted and sprung to her feet.  “Another dimension!  This is nuts!”

“Calm down Arianna, please,” Desmond said calmly, but she could not.

Her eyes were wild as they darted about the room.  Beth remained, as if rooted to the flooring in the living room, with her arms folded across her chest and watched as Arianna had a tantrum.  But she was not sorry in the least.  How else was she supposed to react to this new nugget of information?  She had a fiancé now?  How brilliant!  Of course she did!  Weeks earlier, she’d learned that she was a witch, but not just any witch.  She was the frigging Sola, the most powerful of all witches.  Now, some random guy from another dimension, no less, was coming to make her his bride!  She felt as if she were losing her mind.

“How do we know this exactly?  This could be bullshit, like the chapter your dad added to the Tome of Ares.”

“I read the rest of it, read the chapter my father added.  It tells of him coming for you.”

“So?  Nothing that your dad said was true in there, right?  I didn’t hurt anyone.”

Desmond’s eyes, those bottomless pools of tropical water, stared straight into her soul once again.  “You might have,” he said quietly and let his words hang in the air.

His words stung, though she did not know why right away.  He had not spoken them in an accusing tone, but guilt weighed upon her, nonetheless.

“Remember,” she heard him whisper through her.  His voice, teased at the back of her mind, coaxing and encouraging her memory and his eyes did not leave hers.  All of a sudden, it came back to her in striking clarity.  Her heart made a mad leap from her chest to her throat and she remembered.  Arianna remembered what had begun to happen, the vile feelings and thoughts that had swirled inside her when Agnon had confronted her in the school.  She’d seen death and destruction, the fall of towns and cities, and all at her command.

“You’re right,” she said and tears burned behind her eyelids.  She fluttered her lashes, trying to blink them away.  “If it weren’t for you, I would have fulfilled the prophecy.  I am a monster,” she said and the tears she’d been fighting began to fall, realization hitting her full-force.

“No,” Beth’s voice broke the silence by saying.  “It’s the two of you together that unites us.  That’s what I was told.  That’s what my mother and grandmother always taught me.  You complete one another.  Together, you will guide those of us who are good and lead us to defeat evil.

“I was told I would someday protect both of you, but when I saw you with Scott and his gang, I wasn’t so sure.  But I understand it now.  I understand.  Evil is rising and we need to stop it.”

Understanding filled Desmond’s features and he seemed to glow with divine radiance as brilliant light streamed in form the sliding glass doors.

“We need to go,” he said in a voice rich and sure.  “We will leave before he finds us.”

“So what, now we live a life on the run?” Arianna asked.

“For now, yes, we have no other choice,” Desmond replied.

“Where are we headed?”

Beth asked and offered a half-smile.

“Somewhere far from here,” Desmond said and took Arianna’s hand.  Together, they walked to Beth and each of them took one of her hands.

Arianna’s cabin in the woods wavered, and for a fleeting moment, she was annoyed about losing the sizable security deposit she’d given to John Jervis.  She envisioned his bushy eyebrows rising and his ruddy cheeks deepening in color when he realized she’d skipped town.  He would feel a smug sense of self-satisfaction and get to keep her money.  The idiot.  It wasn’t until she forced him, and all the other worries of her former world from her mind that she felt her body fill with warmth and light, and felt herself fade.  She knew that only time would tell what the future held for them, for her.  All she was certain of was that she was no longer safe.

About the Authors

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2010.  To date, the jury is still out.  But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mom of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book, together!”  Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer simply stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years.  After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them had possessed for much of their young adult lives.  Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success.  They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot would fall apart, or characters would lose their zest, or the story would just fall flat.  Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance.  Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued alternate (paying) careers.  But the dream had never died.  And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination.  When he proposed that they author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright.  His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night.  By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

The Dark Creations series, as well as the Arianna Rose series, are works that were written while Jennifer and Christopher continued about with their daily activities and raised their young children.  They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section.  Life simply continued.  And in some ways, their everyday lives were reflected in the characters of each series.

As the story line continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration.  Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing.  They hope that their work, though penned for a young adult audience, will be appreciated by the young of every age, and that all enjoy reading it as much as they enjoyed writing it.

Books by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci:

The Dark Creations Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1&2)

Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3)

Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4)

Dark Creations: Hell on Earth (Part 5)

Coming Soon:

Dark Creations: Dark Ending (Part 6)

The Arianna Rose Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Arianna Rose (Part 1)

Arianna Rose: The Awakening (Part 2)

Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3)

Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4)

Arianna Rose: The Gates of Hell (Part 5)

The Planet Urth Series (A YA science-fiction series)

Planet Urth (Book 1)

Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2)

Planet Urth: The Underground City (Book 3)

Planet Urth: The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4)

Planet Urth: The Fate of Urth (Book 5)

The Hunter of the Light series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Hunter of the Light (Book 1)

Please visit our website at http://darkcreationssaga.com

Dark Creations

Part One

By Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

DARK CREATIONS (Part 1)

Published by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci at Smashwords

Copyright © 2011

All rights reserved.

First edition: October 2011

Cover design by Indie Designz http://www.indiedesignz.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

PART ONE:

Dark Creations

For the power of man to make himself what he pleases, as we have seen, the power of some men to make other men what they please.

– C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man

Prologue

Sergei Sokolov would have chosen to be anywhere other than his current location—stationed at an obscure site just outside an alleged mobster’s lair.  He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose, frustrated from weeks of staking out a prominent member of the Russian Mafia and his gang from the driver’s side of his unmarked car.  Instead, Sergei momentarily focused his thoughts on his wife, Antonina, and their newborn daughter, Anna.  Both were so beautiful, so warm, and so far away.

Separated by nearly a thousand miles, the distance between he and his family seemed vast, endless. Homesick and in desperate need of solace, he flipped down the visor just above his head and was immediately greeted by his wife’s smiling face, beaming with pride, holding their daughter in her arms. The image, a photograph taped to the shade, was comforting, and briefly made him forget what was troubling him.

Sergei’s heartening reflections were interrupted by his partner, Yuri Popov, feverishly rustling papers.

“Could you be a little louder?” Sergei asked, his words dripping with sarcasm and bitterness.  “I can’t even think with all that noise!”

“Sorry! Didn’t know I was bothering you,” Yuri replied with matching acid in his tone.  “What the hell is your problem, man?”

Though he would have loved to rattle off a list cataloging his many complaints about their present assignment, he refrained from doing so, opting instead to respond with a generic “nothing” when, in fact, something felt off.

Their location, the stakeout, the men they were shadowing, all of it felt wrong. Sergei could not quite identify exactly what was wrong, but he could feel it deep in his core.  A sort of sixth sense he prided himself on possessing during his fifteen years with the Russian Police indicated that trouble lurked just beyond the confines of their vehicle. As an agent of the central law-enforcement body in Russia who operated under the Ministry of Internal Affairs, Sergei had employed his instinctive perception to solve more crimes and apprehend more criminals than he cared to admit.

Seated in his unremarkable tan sedan with the heating system activated at full force, Sergei felt goose bumps dimple his flesh despite the warmth of the car. Both he and Yuri had been patrolling incognito, surveying the comings and goings of a Russian mob boss and his crew. Thanks to intelligence collected by the Ministry of Internal Affairs about possible shipments of plutonium to a port in the Avacha Bay, they were both sent to the Kamchatka Peninsula to the city of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky.

Several mysterious communications intercepted by the Ministry revealed that the recipient of the plutonium batches was a member of the Russian Mafia, a development that, if corroborated, could prove disastrous. To that end, Sergei understood the need for his presence, its urgency. But the necessity of his attendance did not ease his misgivings about leaving his wife and child. The prospect of validating or invalidating the cryptic claim did little to abate his intuitive qualms; he was stricken by the notion that something far worse than the possibility of mobsters with plutonium awaited.

Situated just down the road from a brick warehouse with hundreds of miles of woodlands to their rear, thus far, Sergei and Yuri had not seen any deliveries other than lumber companies. Such transfers were appropriate as the dossier provided by his department stated that the formidable repository, which featured approximately thirty four thousand square feet and occupied an entire block of real estate, housed timber.  Nestled in the expansive area, the Ministry suspected that a three thousand square foot office existed and was operated by the Russian Mafia.

As Sergei and Yuri sat vigil outside the expansive storehouse in tense silence, the sun began its descent into the frozen horizon line, relinquishing its weak grip on the day and surrendering in shades of deep orange and salmon to darkening breadths of violet sky.  The enfeebled rays of dwindling light transformed the bleached landscape to an unearthly electric blue, lending it a preternatural eeriness.

Blanketed by cyan shadows, the scenery around them became unnatural, ethereal.

“The countryside looks like something out of a horror movie, no?” Sergei commented.

“Am I allowed to speak without disturbing you, Sergei?” his partner asked derisively. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt you or anything, seeing as how you’ve become so sensitive to noise,” Yuri continued.

Sergei laughed aloud, heartily, for the first time in long while.

“Oh man! I guess I am a bit sensitive lately, aren’t I?” he asked still chuckling. “You know how it is, Yuri, to be away from your family. It’s hard.”

“But it’s our job. It’s what we signed on for,” Yuri rationalized. “This assignment will end, and you will be back with your family again.”

“I know, I know. I just wish I didn’t have to be away from Anna so soon.  She is so young. I wonder if she’ll remember me when I return.”

“She’ll remember you. Don’t worry about that. And she’ll thank you someday for catching scumbags like the ones were tailing and preventing a possible nuclear catastrophe.”

Sergei said nothing. He knew his partner was right, that their current task would end as all others did– hopefully with several arrests—and they would both go home to their loved ones. But the notion of home never seemed so remote.

While Sergei Sokolov contemplated his pronounced, albeit, unreasonable, sense of impending dread, a tapping noise distracted him.

“Yuri,” he said. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That tapping noise,” Sergei paused, lowering the radio and heating system.

The soft drumming continued.

“What tapping noise?” Yuri asked, confused. “Turn the heat back on, I’m freezing, man.”

“Listen, dammit!” he ordered.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The patter continued, like the sound of sleet against a tin roof, beating ceaselessly against the rear of the unmarked police cruiser.

“What the hell?” Yuri questioned. “What could be making that sound?”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Sergei and Yuri both twisted in their seats toward the rear window. The sun’s complete submission to the otherworldly blue of twilight cloaked the back end of their car in gloom, bound it in lengths of sapphire ribbon that appeared to glide then hover, waiting, but not still.

Tap. Tap. Tap

Confounded, Sergei was uncertain of what his eyes struggled to see but was certain that something evil lingered in the shadows.

“I’m going out there,” Yuri declared as he unclipped his gun from its holster. “It’s probably a goddamn squirrel. Little rodent needs to be put out of its misery.”

Sergei opened his mouth to speak, to warn Yuri, but his argument was based on nothing tangible, just intuition. And despite the elusiveness of his hunch, he fought to repress telling his partner of his gut feeling.  Before Sergei could deter his partner from venturing into the murk alone, Yuri was already out of the car.

“This shouldn’t take long. Stay here and keep your eyes where they need to be,” Yuri smiled as he tipped his head toward the warehouse.

“Hey wait. Hold on a second!” Sergei attempted but was silenced by a closing car door.

He closed his eyes, shook his head and attempted to dismiss the feeling troubling him as nothing more than a suspicion easily remedied by a hot shower and a good meal.

Sergei watched as Yuri circled the front of the car first, gripping his pistol with both hands. The warehouse, the focus of their stakeout, loomed ominously in the distance. With only two windows illuminated on the third floor and several lit on the ground floor, the building was a sinister face behind Sergei’s partner, menacing. Rounding the front bumper, Yuri drew near the driver’s side window. He scrunched his face in mock determination raising his weapon out in front of his body in a two-handed grip. Once parallel to his window, Sergei watched as his partner turned his head and grinned before assuming his parody of an officer in pursuit.

Sergei laughed again.

He turned the radio back on and relaxed a bit as his partner disappeared behind their vehicle. He guessed that momentarily, his partner would return having successfully chased off a starving squirrel.

Sergei waited for his partner to return. Interminable moments passed. Yuri did not return.

He twisted in his seat again, looked to the rear of the vehicle where the tapping noise had begun. He did not see his partner. Darkness had encircled the back end of their cruiser. Sergei strained his eyes against the blackness, desperately trying to decipher a shape of any kind but saw nothing, a blackened void.

The abnormal blackness unsettled Sergei more profoundly that any presentiment he ever experienced. It had become too dark too quickly.

His hand began to tremble involuntarily as he reached for his radio, deeply suspecting that both he and Yuri were in danger, and in need of backup.

As his fingertips grazed the transponder, a loud crashing against the car jolted him. Reflexively, Sergei squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for an implosion of safety glass. His mind raced, reasoning that a car crashing into their sedan had generated such a sound.

Sergei opened his eyes immediately and expected to see a car pulling away. He instantly realized, however, that another car was not responsible for the thunderous clamor. It was something else entirely.

Before him, atop the hood of his vehicle, Yuri Popov’s lifeless body was splayed. His mouth was agape, screaming soundlessly; his eyes wide with terror. Yuri’s body was battered, the look of torture fixed on his face.  Sergei tried to tear his eyes from the horrific image before him, needed to look away, but was held, shocked.

Suddenly, Sergei could not hear a sound. The world had gone silent, completely still. He held his breath, could have sworn he heard the distinct tapping return at the trunk through the unearthly static.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It had returned.

The tapping was muffled, however, by the sound of his own heartbeat thundering against his ribcage.

He was dizzied, sickened by the mangled corpse of his partner positioned on the hood of the car. His mind raced nearly as fast as his pulse, searching for a logical explanation, but came up empty. Someone, or something, had dropped Yuri onto the vehicle and left his body a twisted, distorted heap of broken bones.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound was incessant, maddening.

Sergei retrieved his radio and immediately called for backup, alerted other units that there was an officer down. He then grabbed his pistol from his hip holster and released the safety before flipping down the visor above his head and grabbing the picture of his wife, Antonina and daughter, Anna. Placing the photograph in the inner breast-pocket of his jacket, Sergei climbed out of the cruiser.

He left the door ajar to allow the meager light it provided to penetrate the thickening night, and then moved cautiously to the rear of the vehicle.

He listened intently for the tapping sound, but heard nothing. There was no crackling of dried tree branches. No animals stirred or scurried. The street, just a short distance away, was soundless. The surrounding area was strangled, stifled.

Sergei’s heart continued at a dangerous pace. He breathed unevenly in short shallow breaths, expecting at any minute to be met with a mysterious adversary.

A sudden horn blast from the lumber warehouse made Sergei jump and nearly wet himself. Releasing one hand from his revolver and clutching his chest, Sergei stopped briefly. After several deep inhalations and exhalations, he was not calmed but slightly less jumpy.

He skirted the trunk of the car and found nothing, then turned the corner to return to the front of the vehicle, where his partner, Yuri lay dead. Sergei felt dread flow through every vein in his body. He did not want to see Yuri in the condition he was in.

Circling the car with his weapon in hand, Sergei Sokolov’s watchful gaze was met by a pair of wide-set, honey-colored eyes.

In the distance the eyes were almond-shaped, feline.  They seemed to float in the obscurity.

Questioning his sense of depth perception, Sergei guessed the eyes belonged to some sort of mountain lion. But they looked too small, and too high up.

Familiar with the terrain, he knew there were no foothills in the immediate surroundings, so the animal did not stand atop an elevated perch.

Suddenly, he heard footfalls. Heavy treads began crunching down on ice-crusted snow. Slowly at first, they advanced toward him then picked up speed.

Sergei fired his gun at the approaching beast. He was certain a bullet had hit it yet it kept coming, faster and faster. He had not injured it.

He squeezed the trigger again and again, emptying his clip as he fired into the blackness. Impossibly, the animal still advanced.

As the creature drew closer, Sergei realized it was no mountain lion.

What he saw was an abomination. Its features were inhuman, but the body was that of a man, an enormous man.

He turned to run, to flee the fiend that charged at him. Adrenaline flooded his system as flight conquered confrontation. A deep-seated aversion, inherent in his very DNA propelled him forward, away from the golden-eyed leviathan.

With his legs moving as fast as they could, his feet alternately slammed to the icy snow beneath them, racing against resistant ground. But effortless footsteps behind him gained momentum, closing the distance between them too quickly. He heard them, galloping like the last of the four horsemen of the apocalypse; Death was pressing him.

Sergei’s heart threatened to pound out of his chest just as a massive hand collared him from behind hoisting him high into the air, pulling him back. As he lurched rearward, the beast spun Sergei, positioning him so they were face to face.

He stared into the eyes of what he could only imagine was the devil himself, escaped from the depths of unnamed underworlds to claim the souls of humankind. He heard himself cry out, a tortured scream, as he realized his newborn daughter, safely sheltered in the warmth and comfort of her mother’s arms, would grow up without him.

Chapter 1

Two words glared at Melissa Martin from the screen of her cell phone.  Two simple words.  I’m here was all the text message from Kevin Anderson said.  And with those two words, she knew it was time to go.  She crossed her room, opened her door slowly and peeked down the hallway.  Her father’s bedroom lay at the end of it.  The door stood open and she could hear the faint sound of his television.  Most nights, her father fell asleep in bed with the television on.  She hoped this night was no different.

As she was closing her door, a trio of beeps shrieked irritably from her cell phone.  She dashed to her bed, terrified the sound would alert her father, only to find that Kevin was growing impatient.  He’d sent a second message identical to the first.  I’m here it said again and pressed her.  Yeah, I get it, she thought.  You’re waiting for me.  She found sneaking out on a school night to be laden with enough pressure.  His messages were just adding to it.

With a silent huff, Melissa tossed her phone in her purse then slung the bag over her shoulder and moved to her window.  She looked out beyond its pane, beyond her own reflection, and into the blackened sky.  The sky seemed darker than normal, moonless and foreboding, as if it wished to warn her to stop, to stay inside.  She knew exactly what she should do, that she should stay right where she, and forget about Kevin, that what she was about to do was wrong.  She did have a good sense of judgment, or so she’d been told.  But she was intentionally ignoring it in favor of a first date with the most popular boy in school.

She opened her bedroom window and a gust of cold air rushed in.  She hadn’t seen the treetops stir, didn’t know it would be a windy night, yet a strong blast of air had sent her lavender curtains billowing so wildly, they covered her face and temporarily blocked her vision with their flimsy fabric.  The unexpected burst ended as mysteriously as it had begun and left her wondering whether it, like the unusually dark sky, was trying to warn her to stay put.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at the thought of anything other than her nerves issuing a warning.  The universe did not care what she did.  Her father would, though.  She was sure he would not appreciate her sneaking off in the middle of the night to meet Kevin.  And if he caught her, he would not trust her again anytime soon.

The thought of losing her father’s trust gave her pause, but not for long.  Her phone beeped again as if rashly urging her on.  Jeez, keep your pants on! she thought as she climbed out of her second-story window and onto the frost-coated roof of the garage.  She slid down its length on her backside until she reached the edge.  After carefully avoiding contact with decaying leaves in the gutter, she grabbed hold of an outstretched tree limb.  The limb belonged to an old oak that grew alongside her house.  She climbed onto it and began navigating the network of branches until she reached the lowest one and dropped to the hardened grass below

She took a few steps and looked over her shoulder at her house.  Save for the faint glow her nightlight radiated in her window, the house, and the tree, were enveloped in darkness.  Cold crept up her body from the icy lawn.  She turned from her house, wrapped her arms around her waist and wished she’d worn a heavier jacket, or perhaps had not gone at all.  Either way, she was out already and she did not turn back.  Instead, she crossed her lawn and rushed down her street.  She moved so quickly, she hardly noticed the humble, uniform houses on Blackstone Drive.  Her own home, small and modest like the ones it neighbored, grew smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappeared.  She neared the edge of her neighborhood in the unassuming community of Harbingers Falls, New York and immediately saw Kevin’s car.

His sleek, black Infiniti G37 Sport Coupe was unmistakable.  Undoubtedly freshly washed and waxed, she reached out for the passenger side lever, careful not to mar the flawless finish, and the internal lights illuminated the interior.

“Hey!” Kevin said cheerfully.  “I’m glad you finally decided to come out with me.”

“Hi,” Melissa replied and noticed how Kevin looked impossibly hot, even under the unflattering overhead lighting of his car.  She guessed she’d be hard-pressed to find any lighting he’d look unattractive in.  He was gorgeous.

All girls gravitated toward him.  The combination of his wide-eyed, fine featured face which verged on feminine prettiness and his tall athletic body was the object of most girls’ fantasies.

“Do you think your dad heard you leave?” he asked her.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Excellent.  You’re free then,” he said and smiled.

His smile was perhaps his most attractive characteristic.  A single dimple at the center of his right cheek appeared whenever he smiled and made most girls swoon.  She’d thought herself one of them, but something about the way he smiled now seemed forced, phony even.  For reasons that were unclear, she found it cocky.

“You look hot.  And you smell phenomenal,” he said and raised an eyebrow mischievously.  He then surprised her by leaning across the center console and brushing his nose against the nape of her neck.  He inhaled the sweet blend of vanilla, caramel and coconut, her signature fragrance, that she had applied perhaps a bit too generously.  She supposed his gesture was meant to be some kind of seductive move to entice her.  But she did not feel roused in the least.  Rather, the fluid, flagrant way he flirted annoyed her.  He was smooth, too smooth.

“Thanks,” she replied halfheartedly. “So, where are we going,” she asked to change the subject to a platonic topic.

“I was thinking we would go over to the Rec Center and hang out, you know, and get to know each other better.”

She shuttered at the thought of going there.  By day, the East Fallkill Recreation Center was an area for activities.  At night, however, it was a popular haunt for local teenagers.  Her classmates went there to drink and have sex.  Melissa guessed that talking was the last thing that he wanted to do.  She immediately tried to rebuff his invitation, his womanizing reputation nagging at her brain.

“Why don’t we go to the diner in town?  We can talk there, and eat.  I’m starved,” she suggested.

Kevin tipped his head imploringly in Melissa’s direction and pushed out his lower lip in exaggerated disappointment.

“I was really hoping we could talk privately.  You know, just the two of us.  I want to be with just you.”

He reached his right hand over the center console and gently squeezed her knee.  Instead of promptly removing it though, he let it linger a moment too long.  She felt her stomach churn nervously.  She wanted to tell him to take his hand off her and to forget about the Rec Center, that it was the diner or home for her, but was afraid.  Kevin was spiteful.  He was not used to hearing the word no, much less being rejected by a girl.  Her only hope was that he’d meant what he’d said about wanting to get to know her better.  After all, he must’ve heard rumors before he’d asked her out that she was a virgin, and not likely to have sex with him on their first date, and in his car no less.  She felt compelled to agree with him.

“Fine, I mean, whatever,” she heard herself say.  “The Rec Center it is. But I can’t stay long. If my dad gets up and sees that I’m gone, he’ll ground me until graduation.”

“Wow.  He sounds tough.”

“You have no idea.  Since my mom died, he takes the whole parenting thing way too seriously,” she chattered nervously.  “I mean, it’s like extreme parenting or something.  He has to know where I am every minute of the day.  He worries so much.”

She felt as if she had to exaggerate her father’s protectiveness to set some kind of constraint on their time together at the Rec Center.  Her father was a perfect excuse.

“I’m surprised you came out tonight.  All the other times I asked, you said no,” he said ignoring the comments about her father.

“You can thank Daniella for that.  She talked me into it.”

Daniella, one of Melissa’s best friends, was largely responsible for her agreeing to meet Kevin.  Daniella had helped convince her that Kevin was something he was not.  She would not blame her friend in the morning, but intended to dispute her friend’s idealization of him.

Thoughts of the next morning, and yearning for the evening to end already, swirled in her head. She did not dare speak of them.  Instead, she sat quietly as he drove, and became increasingly uneasy as they approached their destination.  When he finally pulled his car into the driveway of the East Fallkill Recreation Center, her stomach roiled anxiously.  He tested the engine of his sports car and sped down the long pathway past tennis courts, baseball fields, a concession building and a football field, before reaching a play area.  Just beyond the playground, the pavement extended into an expansive lot.  Both the lot and the playground were poorly lit and provided little exposure during the infrequent police patrol spotlight searches.

He slowed then stopped and shifted the car into park before switching off the headlamps.  She felt nauseated and dizzy, and contemplated calling it a night when he leaned toward her.  She did not know if he was moving in for a kiss, but was relieved when he rested his elbow on her arm rest.  He touched his index finger to her chin and smiled his blindingly white, single-dimpled smile, then said, “Hey, I’m sorry about your mom.  How old were you when she died?”

She stiffened at his touch, at his mention of her mother.  Her mother was not a subject she was comfortable discussing in general, much less with someone unfamiliar.  She reluctantly answered, “I was seven.”

“Huh.  That must have been rough.  I bet she was as beautiful as you are.”

Melissa felt her cheeks flush and was grateful for the extraordinarily dark night sky. She did not like shameless flattery together with mention of her mother.  She contemplated a curt response, but came up empty.  Try as she may, the words she longed for, ones that would put him in his place, would not come. As she tried to formulate a retort, Kevin surprised her.  Without warning, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to hers.

At first his kiss was confident and gentle.  Quickly, however, it transformed from being unexpected to offensive.  His lips began crushing hers.  His tongue probed for hers as his hands seemed to multiply, and explore intimate parts of her.

Her body went rigid.  He was advancing on her too quickly, and without permission.

“Hey! Quit it, Kevin!” she exclaimed and pulled away from him.

He backed off, but only slightly.  He leaned in to kiss her again and cupped her breast in his hand.

“I’m serious! Get off!” she continued more forcefully.

“I just find you so beautiful.  I have a hard time behaving myself,” Kevin argued impishly and made no effort to remove his hand.

“I want to go home!  Now!” she yelled and shoved his hand off her.

“Are you kidding me?  What are you some kind of tease?” he accused.  “You come out in the middle of the night with me, here, looking the way you do and smelling the way you do and expect me to act like a saint?”

Her mind reeled.  She couldn’t believe he was actually accusing her, as if she were wrong for not wanting to be groped. “Hey, don’t blame me. I thought we came here to get to know each other better, like you said.”

“Ha! That’s cute. I love the naive act,” he said bitingly.

“Naïve,” she started but was interrupted.

“Yeah, I think you need to go home now.  I’ll take you home, gladly.”

She couldn’t believe he was being so mean all of a sudden.  He had acted like he wanted to get to know her.  He had made an effort to get her to go out with him in the weeks leading up to the present.  None of it made sense.  She did not know what to do and wondered whether she should get out of his car and walk home.  He seemed abnormally angry given the circumstances.  Her hand grazed the lever on the passenger side door.  She was about to pull it when he switched on the headlights and slammed the gearshift into drive.  He stepped on the accelerator and his well-equipped sports car responded immediately.  The car lurched forward then sped down the driveway and out on to the main road.  Once on the main road, he obeyed the speed limits, but they traveled silently.

The silence was so loaded with tension, Melissa felt like screaming.  By the time they’d reached Blackstone Drive, the frustration she’d been feeling had risen to a point where she did not trust herself to speak without crying.  Kevin stopped the car several houses away from hers and turned off the headlights.

He did not say a word.  And he did not flash his trademark smile.  Instead, he stared straight ahead.  She looked at him searchingly, but he refused to meet her gaze, so she climbed out of the car.  She had just shut the passenger side door when he abruptly pulled away.  She watched him go, watched him reach the stop sign at the bottom of her hill and turn his headlights back on.  She heard the sound of spinning tires kicking up gravel as he sped off into the night.  She stood for a moment, after his car had vanished, and felt the tears she had held back for the entire car ride well.  She tried to blink them back, but it was no use.  She cried silently as she turned and began walking up her hill. Her night had been disastrous.  In her heart, she had known it would be; she just hadn’t wanted to admit it.  As she approached her house, she realized her disastrous night was about to get much worse.

Nearly every window glowed.  Only her bedroom window was dimmed by her father’s silhouette, which disappeared as soon as he saw her.  Her heart sank as she walked up her driveway to the front door.  It opened before her key was in the lock.

“I would ask you where the hell you’ve been, but I already know,” her father began. “Do you know how worried I was? What were you thinking? I thought you were smarter than this.  Boy was I wrong!”

Her father was not a temperamental man.  He was not prone to outbursts. The fact that he was shouting at her meant he was monumentally angry with her, and disappointed.  Tears threatened anew.

“Dad, I’m so sorry. I know how angry you are,” she attempted.

“Angry?” he interrupted.  “You think I’m just angry?  I’m beyond angry!  Angry was an hour ago!  I was worried sick about you!  I woke up coughing and went to the kitchen for a drink of water.  When I passed your room and you weren’t there, I assumed you were still up.  Imagine my surprise and horror when I realized you were gone! I didn’t know what the hell had happened.  I thought about calling the police but tried Alexandra instead. She said she didn’t know where you were so I called Daniella.  She answered the phone by asking how things went with you and Kevin tonight.”

He knew everything, or almost everything.  He stood before her with his hands on his hips glowering at her.  She had never realized how intimidating her dad looked before, how his thick muscles and barrel chest strained against his T-shirt and how a large vein protruded like a lightning bolt down his smoothly shaven head when he was angry.  Perhaps she only saw him as the gentle man he was because he had not been angry with her in as long as she could recall.  She began to cry.

“I made a mistake, a horrible mistake.  I’m so sorry.”

Seeing her tears, her father softened. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m disappointed, Missy. I’m not going to lie. I love you, but I really don’t like what you did.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“You’re only seventeen. What were you thinking? What kind of guy wants to meet you in the middle of the night? You could have gotten yourself hurt, or killed.”

“Or mauled,” she said under her breath louder than she’d wanted.

“Mauled,” he asked and she saw the anger flash in his eyes. “What do you mean mauled?”

“Nothing, I meant nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me again,” he warned.  “Did he hurt you, this Kevin guy?  Which Kevin was it, Kevin McNally or Kevin Hartwig? Was it that jackass jock Anderson?  Whichever it was, I can take a drive over there right now and let him try to maul me!”

“No, no Dad. Everything’s fine,” she lied and felt warmth spread across her cheeks.  She was unaccustomed to lying to her father.  “I was just, uh, supporting your argument.”

He did not seem convinced.  “Melissa, you broke my trust once today.  Do not try for a second time. When you lie to me I can’t trust you or protect you.”

The last thing she had wanted was to lose his trust, though she’d known it was a consequence from the start.  She hated herself for being so stupid earlier, for choosing to do something that threatened the trust between them.  She had been wrong, plain and simple.  And earning her father’s trust back would not be easy.  She cried quietly.

“Get some sleep, Missy.  We’ll talk in the morning,” he father offered with a pained look.

“Aren’t you going to ground me ‘til I’m thirty?” she asked through sobs.

“Nope. I doubt it. I don’t think you’ll be sneaking out to meet that jerk, or any other, anytime soon.  But in the meantime, I’m calling Ronnie and Frank tomorrow to see about chopping down that old oak by your window,” he said and winked. “Love you.  And please don’t pull any crap like this again, okay?”

“Okay,” she breathed and watched as her father disappeared upstairs.  She waited a moment before going up to her room. Once she heard his door shut, she ascended the staircase and went straight to her room. She sat on her bed and a fresh wave of tears washed over her.  She felt shame for her bad behavior, and agonized over the days to come, days that included Kevin.  He sat at the desk behind her in third period English class.  The thought of him looming one desk away from her after the evening they spent together made her cringe. In a few short hours, she’d be forced to face him.  She desperately wished she could rewind the night to the moment she’d received his text.  She would have made an excuse, or told him her father was awake, anything to have avoided the whole ordeal.  But she knew that time continued, that there was no rewind button in life.  If there were, she’d go back even farther, to when her mother had been alive. She slumped down on her bed and allowed her body to fall back against her pillows.  She closed her eyes and willed the night away. And the night vanished.  Within seconds, deep, velvety oblivion enveloped her and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 2

Dr. Franklin Terzini had a singular purpose in life: to repair the rotting cesspool commonly known as society.  He was tired of being forced to exist alongside the filth that inhabited the planet, or more specifically, people in general.  What the world hailed as civilization was far from civil.  He loathed living among others and had learned early on that all people were motivated by selfishness, by their basest desires.  He’d also learned that those desires were a direct result of emotion.

Emotion was the cause of all evil as far as he was concerned.  As a result he wanted to rid the world of emotion.

Changing all that was wrong, rooting out evil and the emotions that caused it would be both a challenge and a process.  He knew that.  But it was his destiny.  And he was never one to ignore destiny when it beckoned him.  But several obstacles needed to be addressed before he overhauled humanity and pursued his destiny.  One such obstacle had arrived at his house moments earlier and was walking across his property.

He heaved a sigh and pursed his lips and felt his stomach drop to his feet as he looked out his window.  Dmitri Ivanov approached.  Terzini watched as he lumbered up the snow-covered walkway to his front door and he felt his stomach churn again.  The sight of Ivanov was revolting in so many ways.  With perpetually inflamed skin that looked ablaze as it flickered across the snow like firelight, he was as ugly as he was intimidating.  His platinum-blond hair was lost in the backdrop, camouflaged completely by the frozen landscape.  Terzini groaned aloud at the thought of sitting across from him, of being forced to look at his face up close.  As he did so, Ivanov looked up, trained his bulging eyeballs in his direction and stared, hard, as if he’d heard the involuntary moan and Terzini’s thoughts as well.  The eye contact was intense and unsettling.  He stepped back nervously, away from the window, away from the penetrating glower beyond its pane.

Once he was out of sight, he attempted to dash across the living room and leave from the back door in a last-ditch effort to avoid his meeting with Ivanov altogether, but was halted by a banging sound at the front door.  He froze and turned to look over his shoulder only to see Ivanov’s red face in the glass to the left of the door.  He’d felt the weight of his stare before he’d turned and realized with a sinking feeling that there was no escaping.  Reluctantly, he walked to the door and opened it.

As soon as he did so, he was greeted by Ivanov’s enormous form crowding the doorway.  He marveled at how the man’s brawny physique managed to menace before he even opened his mouth to speak.  Terzini detested him with every ounce of his being, dreaded their every encounter.  Each time he arrived unexpectedly, it was to criticize, to belittle.  Terzini hated to be criticized, especially by someone so far beneath his enlightened, elevated status, someone not worthy of his company.

“Hello Dmitri.  What a surprise it is to see you,” Terzini said flatly and rolled his eyes, not bothering to mask his disdain for his uninvited guest.

“Hello Doctor,” Ivanov replied and smirked.

Without being invited in, Ivanov stepped across the threshold and pushed past him.

“Excuse me!” Terzini exclaimed, unable to conceal the exasperation in his voice.

Ivanov did not flinch or bother to respond verbally.  Evidently, the buffoon did not view his utter rudeness as an offense.  To Terzini, Ivanov represented all that was wrong with humanity.  He wanted nothing more than to scold him, but knew better than to open his mouth.  Instead, he swallowed hard and shuddered as the ill-mannered brute focused his bulging eyes on him long enough to intimidate him.  Under ordinary, less threatening circumstances, he believed someone who’d behaved as Ivanov had would benefit from an etiquette lesson.  But his circumstances were far from ordinary, and he was not in the presence of an ordinary, ill-mannered brute.  Ivanov was no stranger to violence and Terzini was not prepared to be injured or lose his life while trying to educate his guest on social conventions.

After reminding himself of Ivanov’s taste for violence, Terzini decided to proceed more carefully.

“Let me take your coat, Dmitri,” he offered and made his tone more hospitable.  “We can sit in the kitchen.”

Ivanov plodded into the kitchen area and sat in a chair before a small, wooden table.  Terzini had no choice but to follow and sit in the remaining chair.

“Can I get you something? Tea perhaps?” he asked and made a concerted effort to be civil.

“I am not here for a tea party,” Ivanov replied sarcastically.  “You know what I’m here for.”

“No, Dmitri, I do not,” he lied.

He looked on in horror as Ivanov’s red complexion deepened in color to an unhealthy shade of violet.  It had become painfully obvious to him that he had infuriated Ivanov and he regretted toying with the man.

“We are through playing games, Terzini!” Ivanov thundered.  “You have been paid your money and still, we have nothing!  This is your final warning!  Either you deliver, or we’re going to have a problem!”

“What do you mean by problem?” he asked and felt his concern skyrocket along with his pulse rate.

Ivanov did not answer right away, which was never a good sign.  His pale brows gathered and his nostrils flared several times, another sign that trouble brewed, then he leveled his cement-hued eyes at Terzini.

In that instant, words were unnecessary and Terzini felt as if the air had been sucked from the room.  He realized Ivanov had not come to argue or complain.  He’d come to threaten his life.

Terzini shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  The room suddenly felt uncomfortably warm despite the scarcity of air.  He wanted to run, run out of the house and into the snow, to be anywhere other than where he was.  But he knew fleeing was not an option.  So he stayed where he was, seated across from a man who wanted to kill him, and endured the relentless, murderous glower.

He knew he ought to say something, anything, to acknowledge what Ivanov was implying.  But words escaped him.  His mouth had gone dry.

Seconds felt like hours and when finally he was able to choke something out, “Oh.  I see,” was all he managed.

His mind raced. He panicked and wondered whether the threat would be carried out sooner rather than later, as in today, now.  He wondered whether they were on to him, whether he would die in mere moments.  Dmitri Ivanov, the head of a small faction of the Russian Mafia, did not make empty threats.  He had known that from the beginning, knew that if he failed to deliver what he was contracted to create, he would be killed.  To date, he had not delivered.  His assassination orders loomed on the horizon, perhaps closer than he’d originally thought.

“Do we understand each other?” Ivanov growled through clenched teeth but did not break eye contact.

“Of course Dmitri, of course, you will have what you need,” Terzini began.

“What you were hired to produce!” Ivanov interrupted.

“Yes, yes.  You will have what I was hired to produce,” Terzini agreed and felt annoyance begin to prickle.  He was not used to being spoken to with such disrespect.

“We have people waiting on you!” Ivanov reminded him as if he needed to be reminded.  He held multiple doctoral degrees, for goodness’ sake!  And this man, this Ivanov, what accolades did he possess?  None, that’s how many, unless, of course, there were some kind of degree program for violent criminals.  That would be the only program a half-witted thug like him could possibly earn a diploma in.  Terzini had revolutionized reproductive cloning, yet had to answer to a buffoon with a gun.

The absurdity of his situation made him feel as though he were going to explode.  He could not withstand the hounding any longer, and interjected without considering the dangerous nature of his company.

“Dmitri, you do realize that constructing a nuclear weapon alone has been a challenge.  I cannot rush the process.  Rushing would be foolish, disastrous even.  Surely you understand that, right?” he said and did not curb the condescension in his voice.

“I am not here to understand you, Terzini!” Ivanov shouted as he slammed a solid hand on the table between them.

The gravity of his predicament suddenly weighed on him with leaden heaviness.  He recognized the need to proceed far more cautiously.

“Fair enough, Dmitri.  Fair enough,” he said calmly.  “I was not trying to insult you.  I only meant to explain that what I am working on–what I have nearly completed–has been a long, arduous process.”

He was almost positive that Dmitri Ivanov did not have the slightest idea what the word arduous meant.  He doubted the mindless criminal had ever even heard the word.  His use of language that exceeded his company’s limited vocabulary was intentional.  He enjoyed small, subtle acts of superiority that often went undetected.  They allowed him to passively own Ivanov, to entertain himself at another’s expense.

“Arduous, huh,” Ivanov said as he rubbed his scarlet face with one hand before raking it through his white-blond hair.

Terzini struggled to determine what Ivanov’s thoughts were, his hardened features were unreadable.  He guessed Ivanov was wondering what exactly arduous meant and was too embarrassed to ask.  He found himself suppressing a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.  He could not expect Ivanov to understand a synonym for the word difficult, much less the extreme level of intelligence, patience and tenacity involved in nuclear fission.

“Yes, Dmitri, very arduous,” he continued and was delighted by his own wittiness.  “But now that it is almost completed, it will be yours to use as you wish.  Just tell me how we will go about delivering it.”

“We are not a delivery service. We are not picking it up. You will bring it to us,” Ivanov demanded. “We’re not going to risk blowing ourselves up with something as unstable as a nuclear weapon.  We’ll know it was assembled correctly if you make it to the location in one piece.”

Offended by Ivanov’s implication of incompetence on his part, he watched as the grotesque thug retrieved a small slip of paper from his pants pocket and balled it into his fisted hand.

His outrage quickly turned to fear as he became uncertain of what exactly Ivanov intended to do with his large fist.  He cringed as the mobster launched his brawny arm toward him.  Then, stopping short of his jaw, Ivanov’s arm froze.  Confronted with four impressive knuckles a mere fraction of an inch from his nose, he sighed imperceptibly as Ivanov unclenched his hand and dropped a crumpled piece of paper on the table between them.

“Here, this is the date, time and address of the drop site,” Ivanov said.

The theatrical nature with which Dmitri Ivanov exchanged information was impressive.  Terzini wondered whether the burly thug had missed his calling in life.

“Thank You, Dmitri.”

“Then it is set. We will see you very soon,” Ivanov snarled.

“Yes,” Terzini lied.

Though he had agreed to the terms set forth by the Russian Mafia, Dr. Franklin Terzini had no intention of delivering a nuclear weapon to Dmitri Ivanov or his associates.  He had never even attempted to build one.  He had the ability to, but thought it an utter waste of his talents.  Instead of wasting his time and talent fashioning a weapon of mass destruction, he had been using their money for his genetic research and development.

His work had originated when he had lived in America.  He had made unprecedented advances in his field.  But strict government regulations had forced him to leave the United States and relocate to the remote Kamchatka Peninsula in the Russian Far East to continue his work independently.  Initially, he had financed his own work, but saw his money wane quickly.

He had been desperate for funding when he had approached Ivanov and offered his expertise in physics and unique ability to build a nuclear weapon for the organized crime group.  He saw working for them as an opportunity to receive a steady cash flow.

He knew they would research him and discover that his sterling reputation spoke for itself; that he had been the most respected nuclear physicist in the world. And when they did, they enthusiastically sanctioned his financial backing.

As he reflected back, he could not believe Ivanov and his associates had been foolish enough to believe a man of his caliber would actually provide them with a nuclear warhead.

He did intend to deliver something to the Russians, however.  He nearly smiled as he thought about what it was they would receive, but stopped as Ivanov, satisfied that a drop site and date had been established, rose from his seat unexpectedly and stretched, flexing and straightening his brawny form.  He stood as well and felt dwarfed by the towheaded mobster.   Ivanov narrowed his eyes at him, offered a look of disgust then puffed out his chest and tipped his chin up arrogantly.  His posture was one of triumph, of dominance.  Terzini was all too familiar with this portion of their meetings; it was the victory stance that preceded a painful handshake.  He dreaded the handshake as much as he dreaded looking at Ivanov.  His hand ached at the thought of it.

Then, as if on cue, Dmitri Ivanov reached his arm across the table and offered a meaty hand to him.  He reluctantly accepted it and felt a tremendous amount of pressure being applied.  Though the handshake was a regular part of their meetings, knowledge of it did not prepare him for it.  There was no way to prepare for it.  Ivanov would squeeze his hand until he winced in pain.  It was a juvenile act meant to emasculate him.  The only redeeming part of it was that it meant their meeting was over.

He envisioned Ivanov leaving as he felt the man’s powerful hand squeeze tightly, unbearably.  He felt his breath catch in his chest, but resisted the urge to react.  Instead, he tried something new.  He accepted the pain and denied Ivanov the response he so desperately desired.

To his dismay, his passive aggression seemed to incense Ivanov further.  The blond thug unexpectedly jerked his hand forward and yanked him.  He found his upper body dangerously close to Ivanov.

Ivanov leaned in even closer, placing his face just inches from his and whispered, “I will personally slit your throat if you disappoint us again.”

Terzini felt the color drain from his face as Ivanov froze, glaring unflinchingly at him.  Neither of them moved.  He was unable as his hand was being squeezed and contorted with impossible pressure.  Ivanov stared at him with unnerving concentration as if boring holes into his skull.

After several seconds passed and the bones in his hand risked collapse, Ivanov relinquished his ironclad grip and turned toward the front door and walked out, but not before he slammed the door so hard the wood threatened to splinter.

As Terzini rubbed his smarting hand, he took comfort in knowing that despite what he’d just endured, soon, the world would be purged of Ivanov’s vile presence.  He closed his eyes and imagined the entire lot of them dead.  His daydreaming was interrupted by the rumble of a car engine in the distance, Ivanov’s car engine.  He felt a degree of relief knowing the ignorant thug was finally off his property.  He never thought his life would come to this, that he’d be reduced to dealing with criminals.  But it had, and experiences such as the one he’d just had made him feel ill.

He took a moment and breathed deeply, trying to compose himself.  Being forced to suffer insults and threats from Ivanov was draining, demeaning.  He deserved better.  After all, he had been revered by scientists, professors and researchers worldwide not long ago.

Although associating with degenerate criminals sickened him, he realized the necessity.  His recent projects did not fund themselves.  The price he paid for the funding of his genetic research included rubbing elbows with them, as well as living in a house that should be condemned.  Both seemed small inconveniences to endure when he considered how the work done there with the criminals’ money supported the eventual transformation of humanity.

That thought, the thought of his work and how it would affect the planet, made him smile.  He glanced around the unfortunate-looking living space a final time before grabbing his coat and leaving.  He stepped out into the cold and trudged through several inches of snow on his surrounding property before reaching a large, white, rectangular piece of plastic.  To anyone else, the material would have gone unnoticed, blending seamlessly with the snowy landscape.  Beneath the plastic, however, lay a formidable steel door.  Once opened, a concrete staircase led to his secret facility.

Twenty feet below the snow-crusted soil, an underground refuge that had once been a small nuclear fallout shelter was now his laboratory.  It retained some of the most sophisticated technology in existence, some of which he had personally fashioned.  It was both his living chamber and workspace, where he preferred to spend most, if not all, of his waking hours.

Before moving from the United States to the Kamchatka Peninsula, he had expanded the square footage and installed updates that supported electricity, telephone and Internet connection and cable television.  The space had also been supplied with a ventilation system that circulated fresh air and deterred insect infestation.

Fluorescent light fixtures had been mounted to seven-foot ceilings and lit the workspace.  Computers that performed various tasks edged the walls while stainless-steel tables equipped with electron microscopes, test tubes, beakers, petri dishes, flasks and centrifugal equipment occupied the interior area.

As Dr. Terzini walked along the pristine concrete floors, a voice called out to him.

“Is he gone, sir?” the voice asked.

“Yes, Gabriel.  He just left,” Terzini replied addressing a boy who appeared to be seventeen seated in front of a computer monitor.

The boy looked up from his workstation and Terzini was taken aback as he looked at the superb specimen sitting before him.

Gabriel James was the embodiment of excellence.  Everything about him was perfect.  From his face to his physique, he looked as if he’d been created by the gods themselves.

But the gods had not created Gabriel James.  Dr. Franklin Terzini had.

“We are going to have to leave sooner than expected,” Terzini announced.  “I was just told that if I fail to deliver by the date I was just given, I will be executed.”

“You knew this day would come, sir.  You have been deceiving them for months.”

“I have not been merely deceiving them, Gabriel.  I have been helping them, allowing them to use their money for something that will actually benefit society.”

He paused to allow the significance of his words to settle in before he continued.

“For the first time in their putrid lives, they will be financing a project that will improve humanity instead of furthering its destruction.  I’m doing them a service, don’t you think?”

He waited for a response, but received none.  Instead, he noticed a look of perplexity cross Gabriel’s features.  Gabriel’s confusion agitated him slightly

“Surely you see my point, don’t you, Gabriel?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

He felt his anger begin to rise considerably, but was immediately calmed by the realization that, despite Gabriel’s unsurpassed intelligence and superior education, there were still subtle nuances in life that he would have to learn on his own.  After all, he was a human being, a perfected version of a human being, but a human being, nevertheless.

Every organ in Gabriel’s body had been grown from human DNA and functioned better than humans born traditionally.  Each of his cells had been modified, but still maintained organic properties.  All had been genetically altered to function more effectively and more efficiently so the aging process by which cells begin to die in the human body would be slowed.  By selective processes and meticulous engineering, Dr. Franklin Terzini had created perfection.

“Gabriel, regardless of whether you are able to understand what I’ve done for the Russians, I had no choice.  Without their money, I could not have continued my work.  Their funding allowed me to create the perfect human specimen.”

“Thank you, sir.  I hope that I meet your expectations,” Gabriel said flatly.

“Why are you thanking me, Gabriel?  My statement was not meant as a compliment to you.  You had no hand in your creation.  You are a result of my work, mine alone.”

“I’m sorry, sir.  I didn’t mean,” Gabriel began but Terzini was not interested in hearing an explanation.

“Didn’t mean to what Gabriel, accept praise when you are not deserving of it?”  Terzini snapped, cutting Gabriel off mid-sentence.

“Again, I’m sorry, sir.”

Dr. Terzini studied Gabriel’s face.  It remained placid.  Gabriel showed no signs of agitation or offense at his tirade.  His calm was appropriate as he could not produce such a response.  He had been created without the ability to experience human emotions.

Terzini believed that without emotional connections, Gabriel would not only live far longer but also be free to recognize his fullest potential.

He thought that by unlocking and engaging parts of his brain that had been used for controlling and regulating emotions, Gabriel, and his offspring, would be able to build a world free of all wrongdoings, that every problem in the world would be resolved when logic trumped sentiment, when rational choices were made and romanticism was removed.

Dr. Franklin Terzini was confident that, through his unique genetic adjustments, he would be able to achieve what neither man nor God ever had.

He had a vision of an improved world; a world where common sense and education prevailed, a world where people did not need to be shepherded by corrupt politicians or disillusioned religions.

Gabriel was the key to his vision.

“Are the preparations for our departure completed, Gabriel?” Terzini questioned.  “We will need to leave as soon as possible.”

“Everything is in place.  We can leave as early as tomorrow morning, sir.”

“Excellent.  Excellent,” Terzini approved.  “This trip is important.  Our move to America, to Harbingers Falls, New York, is my opportunity to send my perfect creation, you, out into the world.”

He began pacing about his lab, excitement teeming inside him.

“You do understand that once we’re there, everyone will believe us to be father and son.  You will call me dad, go to high school,” he reminded Gabriel.  “This relocation will be the culmination of all my hard work and dedication.  All that you’ve been taught, all that you’ve been given, will be tested and will showcase my capabilities.”

“Yes, sir,” Gabriel nodded.  “I am well aware of what is expected of me, and I am prepared.”

Terzini believed that Gabriel was prepared, too.  He did not doubt the time and effort he’d invested in his master creation.  He had unwavering faith in his skills, in his genius.  His resume supported his steadfast confidence.  He had prospered at every task he’d ever attempted.  He’d excelled as a physicist and had worked for the United States Defense Department soon after his early graduation from his doctoral program.  Shortly thereafter though, the stifling stranglehold of operating under the constant scrutiny of the government prompted him to move on.  Moving on had been necessary.  He needed to challenge himself, to continue to excel.  Remaining would have wasted his most precious resource: his genius.

After leaving the Defense Department and the field of physics, Dr. Terzini worked with the Human Cloning Organization, but he’d grown restless there, as well.  Too many governmental restrictions had been in place in the United States and had held him back from his true interest, his obsession: reproductive cloning.

Reproductive cloning had enabled Gabriel’s existence.  Had he stayed, he would never have created Gabriel and his plan would still be a distant dream.  The thought made him shudder.

Now, Dr. Franklin Terzini was returning to the United States, but not to work for any government-sponsored agency.  He would work off the global grid.

His would integrate Gabriel into society and record his findings.  He was certain that academics would not present a problem.  After all, Gabriel had received an impressive education at Terzini’s research facility on the Kamchatka Peninsula.  Through a rigorous series of streaming educational downloads, Gabriel collected and processed information at an almost direct computer-to-brain pace.  His advanced brain function supported an accelerated learning rate.  School would not pose a challenge or risk exposure.  Interacting with others did.  He needed to behave identically to his peers.

“You understand that everything, all that I’ve worked for, depends on you blending unnoticed with everyone else.  Once I have recorded documentation, I will be able to present that evidence, along with all scientific processes that I used to perfect your DNA, to the global research and development community to petition for support.”

“Yes sir. I understand. I will perform as you expect me to, as I’ve been created to.”

“Incomplete or insufficient evidence, your failure, would be catastrophic on many levels.  It would alert governmental branches of authority to the irregularities of your construct.  They would seize my work and ruin everything.  If you merely underperform, well then, that presents quite another problem.”

Dr. Terzini waved his hand in the air as if swatting an insect. “I hate to even consider what would happen then, Gabriel.”

He had not intended his statement to be a threat.  It was not a threat.  It was reality.  If Gabriel were unsuccessful at any point of his assignment, the entire project would be wasted.  Gabriel would have been a waste of time.  And like any other rubbish, he would have to be disposed of.

He flinched at the thought of such an outcome.

“There is nothing to worry about, sir.  Everything will go as planned,” Gabriel assured him.

“I am confident that it will,” he replied, but worry still plagued him, always plagued him.

“I will finish my studies and go to bed early.  We have a long day ahead of us,” Gabriel said.

Terzini watched as Gabriel returned his focus to the computer monitor he was seated before.  Though thrilled by the triumph of his creation, he felt a surge of anger at having to abandon his current project as he was on the verge of an advance as significant as Gabriel himself.  He had so many projects in the making, technology and processes that would take the global research and development community by storm.  But all of that would have to wait.

He supposed he should be pleased with the advancements he’d made thus far.  After all, they had been cutting-edge.  He had pioneered an enormous, tubular stainless-steel tank that served as a surrogate womb for his first two creations.  No one else could boast an accomplishment like that.  And while he craved recognition for triumphs such as his tank, complete with his own enhanced version of amniotic fluid, he had to remind himself that Gabriel was the end result of his technology.  He would be proof enough.  Gabriel would take the medical community by storm more so than anything else, especially since both the tank and the fluid had been used for his formation.

Terzini was on the brink of applying the same success that could be achieved by the tank and fluid, only making it more accessible to the general population.  He was closing in on a way to accomplish the same results on a pregnant human host.

He believed that no expectant parent would refuse the opportunity to birth the perfect child, a child invulnerable to genetic defect or abnormality, to disease, a child who would be physically appealing.  They would jump at the chance to have children born with exceptional health, as well as exceptional beauty.  They would need virtually no convincing.

His peers, however, posed an entirely different challenge. Their persuasion depended on Gabriel’s successful integration into society.

Everything depended on Gabriel.

By having his perfect subject blend seamlessly, he could prove how, over the course of a generation, the human species could begin a dramatic process of improvement.  The face of humanity would be restructured, revolutionized, reborn.

Terzini inhaled deeply as a swell of nervous energy surged inside of him.  Within hours, he and Gabriel would be headed to America and what had begun as a vision would be set into motion.  He knew it would take time, but felt certain that ultimately his handiwork, combined with the basic rules of natural selection, would prevail.  His dream of an improved world would be realized.

Chapter 3

A song that cautioned of a bad romance blared from the tiny speakers of Melissa’s alarm clock radio.  She fumbled clumsily with her covers, exhaustion trumping coordination, and attempted to silence it.  After several tries, she found the correct switch and quieted the music only to find that it was twenty minutes later than she normally woke.  She muttered a swearword under her breath and sprung out of bed on shaky legs.  She hurried into the bathroom prepared for a revised, and shortened, version of her morning routine.

She did not have time for a shower so she quickly brushed her teeth, washed her face and freshened up.  She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and looked in the mirror.  A pair of puffy eyes stared back at her.  The swelling was courtesy of too few hours of sleep and too much time spent crying.  Her shoulders slumped dejectedly.  She did not want to go to school at all, much less looking as she did.  She would see Kevin shortly, and possibly be the next recipient of his brand of payback.  The face looking back at her did not offer her the slightest bit of confidence.  She immediately began filling the sink with cold water.  While she waited, she pinned back any errant hairs that remained around her face.  As soon as the sink had filled, she submerged her face in it.  The cold felt like thousands of needles pricking her at once and would have taken her breath away had she not been holding it.  She remained, with her head in the sink, for several seconds.  When she could no longer take the cold, she lifted her face, patted it dry with a towel and drained the water.  She did not bother to look at herself again before she went to her room to dress.

Jeans and a long-sleeved T shirt was her outfit of choice.  After slipping into a pair of boots, she returned to the bathroom and discovered the swelling in her face had gone down considerably.  She applied a touch of makeup and started downstairs.  As she did so, the night before rushed at her, the realization of what was to come crashed into her like a freight train.  In a short while, she would see Kevin.  Whether it was in the parking lot, the hallway, or her third period English class, she could not avoid a run-in. How could I be so stupid? she thought.  Kevin’s reputation was well-known.  She had been aware of it well before he had shown interest in her.  He loved girls, all girls, especially the good-looking ones who were open to the idea of sleeping with him.  He was, and had always been, promiscuous.  She was not promiscuous.  She was a virgin, and not interested in offering herself up as a conquest to anyone.  She had simply been flattered by the attention he’d paid her.  And while she hadn’t deceived herself completely about his interest in her, she had believed it was at least partially genuine.  But she had been wrong.

Each of her mistakes would culminate in a matter of moments.  The smell of coffee coming from the kitchen meant that her dad had not left for work, and was likely waiting to serve her a complete course of guilt with a side of righteous lecturing.  She could not argue with anything he could possibly say.  She was wrong, after all.  What would be the point of arguing?

As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she saw her father hovering over the stove making pancakes.  She nearly groaned aloud.  He did not cook.  She assumed responsibility for preparing their meals.  His attempt at breakfast almost certainly meant that a lengthy conversation would accompany it.  She did not want to be reprimanded before school.  Her day promised to be bad enough.  She decided to try to keep things light and behave as normally as possible.

“Hey Dad,” she said as cheerfully as she could. “What’re you doing?”

“Just making a little breakfast,” he replied casually.

Typically, her father would have responded sarcastically when she asked him what he was doing.  He would have answered, “Knitting, what does it look like I’m doing?” then would have smiled and winked.  He would have kept his usual sense of humor, if things were okay between them.  Clearly, they were not.

“Sit down,” he said and placed a plate piled high with misshapen pancakes on the table.  “We need to talk a bit.”

“Okay,” she said nervously and sat down.  “I’m sitting.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he began.  “I’m guessing you didn’t either.”

“No, not really.”

“What you did was awful.  Let’s be clear about that.  But I don’t think punishing you is really necessary.  I think you beat yourself up about it pretty badly already.  Am I right about that?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“So I feel that you know what you did, you know it was wrong, and you won’t do it again.  Am I right about that, too?”

“Yes, of course!”

She couldn’t believe it.  Her father was treating her like an adult, and letting her off the hook.  No lecture.  No punishment.  Optimism filled her and she thought perhaps her day wouldn’t be as bad as she’d originally thought.

“I am not going to punish you then, per se,” he added

“Per se?  What do you mean?”

“Well, there is the issue of your road test.”

“My road test?”

“Yes.  Before last night, I thought you were responsible enough to take your road test and get your senior license.  Now I feel like maybe you’re not ready.”

Her theory of being treated like an adult ended abruptly.

“Dad, Come on!  Getting my senior license and driving a car without you has nothing to do with what happened last night,” she protested.

“Oh really?  So respecting rules and behaving responsibly has nothing to do with driving a car without me?”

She could not dispute his argument.  He was right.  “Seriously, Dad?” was all she could manage before her throat constricted and tears filled her eyes.

“I’m not trying to be a jerk, Missy.  I want to keep you safe.  You’re all I’ve got.”

She did not respond verbally, but nodded in compliance.

“How about we put off the DMV, just for a few weeks, and see how things go.  We can talk about things then, okay?”

She nodded again.

“All right, hurry up and finish up your pancakes.  The girls should be here any minute,” he said.

The girls he referred to were Alexandra Georgopoulos and Daniella Colucci, her best friends.  They were they closest thing to sisters Melissa had ever had.  Together, they existed on the outskirts of the “in” crowd, happily and safely.  She worried, however, that their happy safety would be threatened by Kevin.  She knew that whether it was a physical altercation or in the form of vicious and unending rumors, he always retaliated.  And she had rejected him.  Surely, her actions would not go unpunished; she was no different from anyone else who had ever opposed him.  If anything, her offense was far worse than any other she could remember.  She had hurt his ego.  Thinking about what he was capable of doing to her socially, how he could cast her into social purgatory, made her pancake breakfast sour in her stomach.

Her worry-filled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a horn honking from her driveway.

“You’d better go, Missy.  Daniella is waiting,” her father nodded toward the door before adding, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

She wondered how, at times, her father seemed capable of reading her thoughts.  She shook her head at him and smiled then left the kitchen.  She quickly grabbed her coat from the hall closet and her backpack from the kitchen table just as Daniella honked the horn a second time.

“I’m coming!” Melissa said to no one. “Jeez!”

“Bye sweetie!” her father said.

“Bye dad.”

Daniella waved to her from the driver’s seat of her Toyota Prius.  Alexandra nodded in acknowledgment before pulling down the passenger-side mirror and inspecting her lip gloss.

Melissa opened the rear door of Daniella’s car and climbed in.

“Hey!” Alexandra greeted and turned her attention from the mirror to Melissa then back again.  She smoothed her long, black hair. Every time Melissa saw Alexandra, she couldn’t help but think her friend’s appearance looked more befitting a lingerie catalog than anywhere else.

“Hey, Alex,” Melissa began. “Hello Daniella.  Boy, do I have a bone to pick with you.” She was about to begin ribbing her friend about encouraging her to go out with Kevin, and for the conversation she’d had with her father when Daniella surprised her.

“I’m so sorry about last night, Melissa.  I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.  When your dad called, I thought it was you.  I never thought he’d be up so late,” Daniella said in one breath as she backed out of the driveway.  She had a tendency to speak quickly, and abundantly, when she was nervous.  She was obviously feeling guilty, and Melissa decided not to give her a hard time about it.

“Don’t worry, Daniella. It’s fine.”

“Ooh! Things must have gone really well with you and Kevin then if you’re not mad at me for the thing with your dad,” Daniella said and her tone changed.

She supposed Daniella could not help herself.  After all, her longtime friend was an optimist whose positivity bubbled over at times.  For her, the glass was always half-full.  Fittingly, her appearance echoed her upbeat personality.  From her sandy-blonde hair that bounced in a riot of curls past her shoulders, to her dimpled, effortless smile, each feature echoed cheerfulness.

Unfortunately, optimism hadn’t been enough to make her date with Kevin better.

“Not exactly,” Melissa offered.

Alexandra turned in her seat to look at Melissa. “What the hell does ‘not exactly’ mean?”

Never one to beat around the bush, Alexandra got right to the point.

“Well, as it turns out, Kevin hasn’t changed at all.  He took me straight to East Fallkill Rec and jumped on me,” Melissa answered.

“What!” Daniella exclaimed.

“Are you kidding me?” Alexandra asked incredulously.

“Nope. I wish I were,” Melissa began. “I suggested the diner.  He said he wanted to get to know me better and wanted to go to the Rec Center.  Stupid me, I agreed.  As soon as we got there, he assumed we were gonna do more than talk.”

“Well, of course he did.  What did you think he meant when he said he wanted to go to the Rec Center?  He was telling you he wanted to fuck you,” Alexandra fumed.

She knew that Alexandra possessed an expansive vocabulary; that she was capable of speaking without swearing, but seldom did.  She was unapologetically foul-mouthed, brutally honest, crude, and at times, downright disgusting.  She belched often and with abandon and had, on occasion, been known to ask a friend to pull her finger.  Her vulgarity was as much a staple of her personality as was her beauty.  A statuesque goddess of Greek descent, Alexandra was intelligent and studious.  With long raven locks and irises so dark they appeared black, she was breathtaking.  From her full lips to her bronze skin and voluptuous curves, Alexandra’s stood out in every crowd she had ever been in.

Alexandra’s beauty would not serve her at the moment.  And Melissa was not in the mood to endure her brutal honesty or profanity-laden tirades.  She just wanted to get through the day as quickly and painlessly as possible.  There would be plenty of time to inform both of her friends of all the awful details surrounding her date with Kevin.  The present moment was not the right one.

“Thanks a lot Alex!  Way to be my best friend,” Melissa snapped.  “And to think, I thought you’d be on my side!”

Alexandra locked eyes with her.  She watched her friend’s demeanor soften, how her eyes, hardened earlier, turned to liquid onyx. Alexandra knew she’d gone too far, that she should have been more supportive; her eyes said as much.

Daniella, in an attempt to diffuse the thickening tension in the car, began regaling Melissa and Alexandra with tales of her study group for the remaining moments of their drive to school. Filled with minutiae humorous exclusively to those who were actually present at the study group, Melissa listened politely and laughed when she thought it appropriate. All the while, she was comforted by the familiarity of the conversation, and the fact that it did not involve Kevin.  But her comfort was short-lived.

“Melissa, I’m sorry about what I said.  I’m such a dick sometimes.  That asshole thought you were gonna screw him in the car on the first date, and that makes him an even bigger dick,” Alexandra said.

Melissa laughed.  “Yes, I guess it does,” she agreed.  It wasn’t the best apology she had ever received, but it was the best one Alexandra could offer.  And it made her laugh.

Her laughter ended, though, as they turned in to the driveway of the school, and was replaced with upset.  A familiar car pulled up behind them then slowed and dropped back out of sight.  Daniella parked her car in the front lot, and Melissa watched as the black Infinity reappeared, and as Kevin maneuver it over one of many large speed humps interspersed along the path to the rear lot.  He did not act as if he’d noticed Daniella’s car, or Melissa sitting in the back seat.  But she was sure he had.

Her stomach churned, threatened to expel her father’s deformed pancakes.

“Melissa, are you okay?  You’re like, really pale,” Daniella observed.

“I’m okay,” Melissa said. “I’m just a little nervous about seeing Kevin today, how he’s going to react.”

Alexandra and Daniella nodded solemnly before climbing out of the car and flanking Melissa. They walked together across the parking area. As she approached Harbinger’s High School, she took a deep breath and steeled herself for what lay ahead.

Chapter 4

Eugene sat upright in a wooden chair, at ease in the bounds of his sixteen by eighteen foot room.  He looked about his confines.  The room was simply furnished and possessed only basic fittings.  But its bareness and plainness did not offend him.  The space served its utilitarian purpose.  Furnished with a twin-sized, metal-framed cot, an oak chest of five drawers and a computer desk in the same light finish that featured a slide-out center keyboard drawer and a matching chair in which he sat, Eugene’s room was meticulously clean and orderly.  His bureau was uncluttered by photographs or knickknacks.  The smooth concrete walls, painted an institutional shade of pale green, were unadorned by posters or framed works. A simple black and white fifteen inch diameter wall clock sat above his work area.  Atop his desk, a computer monitor resided, unaccompanied by any other objects. Each piece of furniture was pushed against one of four windowless walls.  Every surface was tidied, austere.

Eugene disliked any form of pretentiousness, intensely.  He viewed it as troubling and disorderly.  He did not appreciate pretention in his living space and he did not welcome it elsewhere in his limited encounters with others.  His disdain for it was so intense that he took exception with his maker’s latest creation, Gabriel.

Dr. Franklin Terzini always sought to improve his greatest achievements, strove for superiority.  Such pageantry was acceptable, essential even, when developing new instruments for his projects.  But Gabriel was more than a mere project of his maker’s.  And Gabriel was nothing short of ostentatious.  He was a vulgar display that pandered to the loathsome masses.  Humanity would embrace such a stunning specimen, never question his purpose among them.  History had proved to him that humans responded positively to shiny, pretty things.  Eugene was neither shiny nor pretty.  Yet it was he, not Gabriel, that possessed the capabilities to properly transform humanity.  He was the shining example of the improved human species Terzini envisioned, stronger faster and far more punishing. Gabriel was just a flashy, less imposing, version of him.

He was confident that a scientist as brilliant as his maker would eventually realize the extent of his mistake, that he was the perfect specimen after which all future creations should be modeled, and correct it.  He imagined that such a revelation on the part of Terzini would result in Gabriel’s immediate termination.

A powerful quiver passed through him at the thought of Gabriel’s demise.  He needed to push down the intense anger that rose within him.  He positioned his enormous body in the undersized chair and breathed deeply.  He rested his hands on his knees, kept his posture impeccable and his face serene while he concentrated his focus on the clock in front of him until the tremor passed.  Outwardly, he seemed tranquil, placid.  His contentedness was a façade, though.  Inside pure, unadulterated rage coursed through his veins.

Eugene, the earliest innovation of Dr. Franklin Terzini was created to not experience human emotion.  He understood this detail of his construct and was aware that such a feat was made possible by changes made to the left side of his temporal lobe and the deep limbic system of his brain.  Despite these adjustments, however, instinct had unexpectedly evolved.  A natural predisposition gave him fury unparalleled in humanity.  Concealing his ever-growing anger from his maker was imperative to ensure his survival though.  He needed to dominate it, to oppress it, on a daily basis.   If Terzini became aware of his rage, he would be destroyed and the world would be deprived of his magnificence, of his undeniable supremacy.

The only times he was able to release his hatred was when his maker demanded it of him.  Deprived of that directive, Eugene forced himself to remain in a meditative trance, transfixed and possessed by his bloodlust.

He struggled to contain violent urges, found it necessary to be entranced more frequently.  What stormed in him far exceeded the pedestrian nature of blind rage, was far more profound than mere indignation.  Eugene scorned the human species; saw them as little more than transitory beings inhabiting the planet, clinging to material possessions as mold adheres to decaying fruit.  He longed to kill them all. He knew that he was the future of the humanity, a vast improvement of the ever-present colonies of useless microbes that occupied Earth.  Yet he was forced to live in exile, alone in a small room tucked in an underground bunker.  He could not integrate into society or unite his genes with a host-willing or unwilling.  But Gabriel would.

Gabriel was weaker and slighter of build than Eugene, more similar to lowly humans.  He despised Gabriel as much as he despised humanity.

Eugene was the embodiment of strength and speed, far larger and superior in form and function to any human being.  On the infrequent occasions he ventured out among the sparsely populated towns surrounding Terzini’s lab, he observed those around him.  They were much smaller, slower, inferior beings.  He towered over them; standing erect, he reached six foot ten inches, his large skeleton enshrined by thick muscle.  Most substandard humans were insulated by copious amounts of fatty tissue on their diminutive frames.  He wondered how such deficient creatures laden with so much extra weight managed to propagate the species.

He, on the other hand, was a far more formidable specimen.  He was hulking and muscular.  Yet despite the sheer size of his limbs, he remained unencumbered.  He was not restricted as humans were. To the contrary, he was fast with responses that were nearly immediate.  Eugene rose above the inadequate masses.

He was physically superior, but believed that his face was by far his most arresting feature. Distinguishing him from all others in humanity were his widely spaced, honey-colored eyes.  Although he deemed them magnificent, breathtaking, his creator disagreed arguing that they were too feline.  Dr. Terzini thought it necessary for Eugene to keep them shrouded in dark lenses.

But his eyes were not the only distinctive characteristic he had.  When scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror of the lab lavatory, an act he seldom performed, Eugene observed how the bridge of his nose, wider and flatter than the average person, sloped steeply to thin perpetually compressed lips.  He noticed that people on television and in person had a much different appearance. Their collective features were not just closer together geographically, but also more refined.  Their lips were fuller, their smiles less intimidating.  Their looks were unlike his.

When he mirrored his maker’s smile, as was taught to him through conditioned response techniques, he observed how Dr. Terzini often recoiled in horror and commented on the menacing and maniacal expression it produced. Eugene was offended by his responses, especially since the architecture of Gabriel’s appearance was a perfected version of those in society, not terrifying in the least.  Terzini never shrunk back from Gabriel.

Eugene was advised by his creator that he could integrate with other human beings minimally and only if he did not smile and kept his eyes cloaked by sunglasses. Terzini told him that people would find him hideous, revolting.

He could not understand why Dr. Terzini wanted him to believe such obvious lies; he knew the rightful reason he had to hide his superiority, that mere mortals would be incapable of comprehending his magnificence.  He wrestled with the notion that an entire race of people would not only accept Gabriel’s unimaginative, uninspiring appearance, but celebrate it, that they would be seduced by his improved, but ordinary, attributes.

Eugene was not ordinary.  He embraced his extraordinary features.  They gave him an edge.  When presented with an adversary, shock proved a worthy weapon.

His appearance served an important purpose and was a direct result of his genetic makeup.  His composition differed markedly from Gabriel’s.  Eugene enjoyed a blend of genes as unique as his face. Dr. Terzini had altered his DNA at the embryonic stage of development just as with his contemporary, Gabriel. The crucial difference had been that Terzini had synthesized human and animal genetic material.

For Eugene’s development, Terzini had experimented by uniting human DNA with the DNA of a male lion.  In doing so, Dr. Franklin Terzini had created an individual as vicious as he was intelligent.  He’d created Eugene.

Eugene regarded the unusual circumstances of his bio-molecular configuration as a gift.  The interspecies combination sharpened his senses beyond that of human beings, made him more keen and alert.  As a result, he had developed into a ferocious fighter.  Moreover, he came to enjoy not only hunting his prey, but killing it as well.  He considered every attack and expertly executed each with precision.

During routine training exercises, he refused to concede defeat.  Instead, he persisted until an opponent was overcome, permanently.  His maker had introduced a variety of beasts and placed them as battle challengers.  All had attempted to best him but none had posed a threat.  His cunning and kill methods had proved superior.

His work ethic did not end in the physical arena.  It extended to his learning prowess as well.  He devoured knowledge as an animal devours its prey.  His maker had exposed him to every literary genre yet he focused on works that centered on war and power and the mastery of one’s emotions and environs.  Though written by prosaic humans, surprisingly, he had discovered that such volumes had strategic value, that uninspired people who struggled to conquer their passions had far more useful information than he had originally concluded.

Eugene’s preference for books about aggressive impulses and their relation to battle had not gone unnoticed by Dr. Terzini.  He had observed how his enthusiasm for such works was misinterpreted by his creator.  His passion had been dismissed as diligence, a characteristic his maker viewed as devoid of emotion, that carried evolutionary purpose.  Eugene believed Terzini had chosen not to see obvious responses that stirred in him.  Instead, his creator celebrated how he attacked tasks rather than simply completing them; it was the purpose of his existence.  He had been created to dispose of those who became aware of or interfered with Dr. Terzini’s work.  He used his gifts to carry out such tasks.

What his creator did not know was that killing was a rare treat Eugene savored.

Sent to resolve conflicts where his skills were warranted, he was called out of his brooding abstraction to assassinate people who threatened his creator or the nature of his work.  He accepted his calling for murder.  He had been called on intermittently in his short existence and looked forward to each occasion.  Most recently his talents were required for a situation involving his maker and an organized crime group in Russia.

Dr. Terzini moved from the Russian Far East with his most recent creation, Gabriel, to their new residence earlier in the week and left Eugene instructions that first included the slaughtering of Dmitri Ivanov and his crew.  How the task was to be carried out was left for him to decide.

After he finished with Ivanov and his men, Eugene needed to tend to other projects that were meant to ensure the murders would never be linked to Terzini.  His maker’s plan was carefully calculated and he was certain of its success.  He believed his creator to be the single most intelligent human being world-over and that fooling a group of useless criminals would occur with relative ease.

Excitement stirred in him as he considered his long and detailed assignment.  The time was fast approaching when he would be able to release his fury and kill again.

Though he knew he was designed to be devoid of human emotion, Eugene felt a stirring similar to pleasure at the thought of taking a human life.  His insides quivered, threatened to break the concentration of his trance.  But he knew he must carefully control his excitement.  Control was essential to his existence.

The murder of Dmitri Ivanov caused more stimulation than others had in the past.  Ivanov was of particular interest to Eugene.  Not only did the lowly criminal have the audacity to threaten his creator, Ivanov also traveled with a small band of men, always.  It would be a necessary phase of Ivanov’s extermination to dispose of his associates as well.  The prospect of additional assassinations made him shudder involuntarily.

Struggling to regain his composure and harness his rage, Eugene refocused on the simple analog wall clock, the regular sweeping of the second hand and the rhythmic ticking of the minute hand.  He watched each second of every minute counting down until the hour came when he would be able to bring his murderous wrath to Ivanov and his men.

Eugene reached into the pants pockets of his plain, tan chinos and retrieved a folded piece of paper.  He smoothed out the creases against the side of his oaken chair.  On it was written an address.  The information was the location he was to deliver a nuclear warhead to the faction of the Russian Mafia headed by Dmitri Ivanov.  The corners of his mouth pulled up, curled into a sinister smile as he considered how no such transaction would ever occur.  The site listed on the crumpled piece of paper would be the slaughtering ground for Ivanov and his men, the last place they would ever see.

Chapter 5

Gabriel James moved through a corridor filled with teenagers who ranged in age from fourteen to eighteen.  Though he had been thoroughly prepared academically for school via computer programs and distance learning facilities, and his brain absorbed and processed acquired information almost instantly, he experienced a sense of unpreparedness as he walked down the hallway of Harbingers High School.  His pulse rate elevated slightly as he observed how each student indulged their curiosity and stared at him as he passed.

He did not stare back.  To do so would have been improper, confrontational even.  His maker had been clear about that.  The last thing he wanted to do was seem threatening; that was not Terzini’s objective.  He needed to blend in, integrate with his peers.

Though he knew he was created without conventional human emotions, Gabriel endured the intense awareness of concerted inspection from his fellow classmates and perceived an uncharted sensation: uneasiness.  He knew what the sensation was, of course.  He had read about it, seen it portrayed in various cinematic scenarios and practiced the subtle facial changes involved when one is experiencing discomfort, but had no firsthand knowledge of it.

To compound the strangeness and intensity of their interest in him, he noted that many students divided their interest, looking to him while thumbing feverishly upon handheld devices simultaneously.  Dr. Terzini explained this trend as “text messaging,” an occurrence when a person uses his or her cellular phone to both send and receive messages instantly.  His maker, intent on having him mix seamlessly into the student populace, impressed upon him the importance of “texting,” as his cohorts called it, fluidly and often.  Gabriel was armed for his first day of school with a cell phone, equipped with a slide-out keyboard, and hours of practice so that he could fire off messages quickly, effortlessly.

With his new-fangled skill and gear, he strode down the student-lined passageway toward the main office.  He was to report to a guidance counselor and obtain his course schedule.

As he made his way to the office, more and more students arrived.  The hallway became crowded.   Throngs of students gathered, congregating in front of their lockers, chatting, texting and staring.  Gabriel’s pulse rate continued to climb steadily.  He dismissed it as a normal physiologic response to a new environment.

Further down the hall, he glimpsed three girls huddled together talking.  He noticed that they were all attractive but one stood out among them.  His maker did not deny him the ability to appreciate beauty; he merely disconnected the pathways in Gabriel’s brain that would erroneously cause him to act impulsively, irrationally.  Yet, he did find her to be remarkably attractive, so much so that his heart rate elevated considerably.  Such a reaction was unprecedented.  He knew he ought to discuss such matters with Dr. Terzini; that his maker would find the root cause of such reactions, but promptly rejected the notion of doing so.  He knew that any divergence from his expected performance could warrant destruction.  Self-preservation, a basic, innate desire to stay alive, had evolved within him. And while he did not possess a passion for life, he did not want to die either.

***

Alexandra and Daniella accompanied Melissa into Harbingers High School as they did nearly every morning.  Once inside, they did not disperse immediately.  Rather, they stood, huddled together watching everyone else arrive and chatting until their attention was diverted.  A boy they had never seen walked through the main entrance of the building and began walking down the hallway.

“Who is that?” Daniella asked.

“I don’t know, but he is hot!” Alexandra added.  “Wow! That boy is fine!”

Melissa tried not to stare as Alexandra and Daniella, along with every other student and faculty member roaming the hall did, but it was difficult not to.  The new boy was unlike anyone she had ever seen.  He was attractive, more attractive than any actor or model she had seen starring on television, in movies or gracing the cover of a magazine.  Yet, he did not stride with the self-assurance of boys far less attractive than he; he did not seem to embrace his spectacular looks.

She struggled to place the exact attitude he assumed, could not find words to properly describe the way he carried himself.  He seemed confident enough, but lacked the swagger she expected of a boy as handsome as he.  Instead, he seemed oddly nervous, uncomfortable.  She guessed it would be impossible for him to not feel nervous and uncomfortable while everyone around him stared and seemed mesmerized by his presence.  She didn’t think anyone would be capable of adjusting to scrutiny so focused, so concentrated.  She cringed at the thought of it happening to her.  She felt bad for him.

He continued moving and was about to pass them, all the while his eyes remained ahead of him, staring toward a distant destination.  As he came closer, his eyes briefly glanced in her direction.  She could not be certain, but she believed they made eye contact.

Melissa quickly rejected that belief, however, and dismissed it as nothing more than wishful thinking.  She blushed, embarrassed, and lowered her eyes to her feet and silently scolded herself for thinking a boy as good looking as he would look at her.  It was more likely that he was looking at something behind her, or just next to her, a point that gave the illusion of his eyes meeting hers.  She turned to her friends and was about to speak but stopped when she saw that both of them were nearly drooling over him.  Alexandra and Daniella allowed their gaze to follow him as he passed.  They, like the others, were blatant and unapologetic for their intense inspection and deep appreciation of his generous physical attributes.  When he had finally passed and the spell that had been cast was finally broken, Alexandra spoke first.

“Damn girl! Did you see how he stared at you?” Alexandra asked Melissa.

“Yeah right,” she replied sheepishly.

“What are you blind?  He looked right at you.  And no one else”

“Come on, Alex! That’s ridiculous!”

“Believe what you want, but I know what I saw.”

“I have to agree with Alex on this one,” Daniella chimed in.  “He looked directly at you.”

“You guys are nuts!” Melissa countered.  “I can’t even listen to this nonsense.”

“Suit yourself, Melissa.  You’re so clueless!”  Daniella began playfully.  “I have to run. See you later!”

Daniella walked quickly toward the staircase leading to the next floor where her locker resided.

“See ya, Daniella,” Melissa said.

“Later,” Alexandra chimed in.

Alexandra turned to Melissa and spoke. “I gotta go, too.  I’ll see you later.  I need to go to the nurse before the bell rings.  I need an antacid or something.  That breakfast burrito I had isn’t sitting well,” she said patting her chest to encourage a burp.

“Good luck with that,” Melissa said as Alexandra turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Melissa was alone.  She began walking to her first period class

Kevin was not in her first two sessions.  She was not sure whether that was a blessing or a curse.  On one hand, it bought her time to prepare for their awkward confrontation.  On the other hand, it allowed for time, a lot of time; time that would be spent worrying over how the situation would play out.  The interim between their date the previous night and third period English was nightmarish, agonizing.  She simply did not know what to expect.

After several seconds of brooding, she resolved to push Kevin to the back of her mind and submerge herself in her courses.  Determined, she walked confidently to her locker and grabbed her books for her morning classes.

First and second period passed quickly.  There had been no social repercussion whatsoever.  As far as she could tell, no one knew of their middle-of-the-night date, how it had ended poorly.

As she sat in her third period English class and waited for the room to fill, Melissa expected the quintessential ax to fall.  She waited for Kevin.

When Kevin finally did arrive, he breezed in past her and did not offer so much as a fleeting glance in her direction.  She felt relieved.  She had not entertained the possibility that nothing would happen, that their first interface would be free of drama.  Her penchant for negativity had grossly exaggerated Kevin’s meanness.  He was lecherous, but perhaps not all bad.  She allowed herself to relax before the bell rang and felt certain the day would not be as awful as she predicted.

Chapter 6

Thick fog shrouded the Kamchatka Peninsula.  An unusually mild air mass had settled over the area and drew murk from the deep snowpacks in the Northern section of land.  Eugene was unbothered by the fog, however.  He traveled, oblivious of it, with a single purpose: kill Dmitri Ivanov and his gang.  His focus did not deviate from his objective.

Behind the wheel of a behemoth Hummer H1 Alpha that pawed and climbed over rough terrain, he was focused, intent upon murder.  Every cell in his body seemed to vibrate and resonate with anticipation.

He could hardly contain his excitement as he drove along icy, unpaved roads toward Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, the main city on the peninsula which was situated on high, snow covered hills surrounded by volcanoes.  His destination, the one that promised multiple opportunities to kill, was an abandoned building selected as the alleged drop sight for a nuclear warhead Dr. Terzini was contracted to create.  Of course, there was no nuclear weapon to deliver.  He would provide them with something far different.

Imagining the murders of not one, but five useless humans elicited a response so intense, Eugene struggled to repress it.  He knew they were alone.  He had surveyed the site earlier.  They were like lambs awaiting slaughter and he was the predatory wolf.  A reflexive shudder threatened to rack his body.  He nearly doubled over but managed to control his enthusiasm and drive on until the drop site came into view.

It was a squat, sad-looking building with peeling paint, a location befitting the grisly deaths Ivanov and his thugs would receive.  Eugene had researched the area before he arrived and discovered not only that the men were alone, but also that the building they were to meet in once functioned as an automobile repair shop.  Formerly, it had a white concrete exterior and black, framed windows.  Now, it bowed in dilapidation.  Moss and graffiti littered the walls.  Paint peeled along the casement frames.  Of the five windows on the garage door, three were broken, replaced with flimsy plywood.  A worn wooden door with a broken fixture beside it held a bare bulb and was the only entry and exit point.  Pathetic humans had constructed it, and equally pathetic humans had ruined it.  And soon, pathetic humans would die in it.

Eugene parked the Hummer in the wooded hills beyond the building as per Ivanov’s instructions.  Ivanov had informed Dr. Terzini that no one was permitted to park their vehicle in the vicinity of the drop site. To do so would risk drawing attention.  The last thing Eugene wanted was to draw attention to himself and risk sullying what was about to transpire.

He scanned the surrounding area just to be sure then grabbed a large metal briefcase from the passenger seat and dark glasses to mask his feline eyes before climbing out of the Hummer and moving on foot toward the decaying building.

He trekked across frozen, packed snow cluttered by dense foliage.  The trees and undergrowth were a chaotic spectacle, a loathsome riot of twisted and tangled limbs.  Eugene’s senses were briefly overwhelmed by unruly branches and intertwined vines.  He quickly regained his composure, though, and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.  After all, it was imperative for him to push the disorder of nature from his mind and keep moving; the excitement of his assignment needed to remain untarnished.

Ignoring the pandemonium of the landscape, Eugene moved toward the impending conflict unarmed.  He believed that weaponry was reserved for the weak and cowardly.  Eugene thought that in order to appreciate and fully enjoy a kill, it must be performed with his hands.

As he approached, he spotted two members of Ivanov’s gang posted at the door.  Though they were hidden by dense fog, he could see they were large and armed.  Both burly and brunette, the two were obviously related, likely brothers who were nearly identical outwardly save for a slight height difference.

Eugene advanced toward the pair.  His heavy tread on the ice-crusted snow alerted them.  Both men looked into the white abyss.

Stepping out of the concealment of the woodland, Eugene moved through veils of fog that licked with serpentine tongues at his body, their silky, sinuous shapes passing over and under him.  He moved as easily and effortlessly as the opaque vapors, quickly closing the distance between him and the sentinels who stood watch at the building.

He drew nearer, shedding his cloak of foliage and fog, and delighted in the response of the guards.  Both moved their meaty arms to their guns.  Each fortified his stance.  Eugene felt a sinister smile wrench the corner of his thin lips.  He scoffed at how such feeble-minded humans clung to their shiny weapons to give themselves a false sense of security.  He could not wait to strip them of their metal trinkets and punish them for their arrogant display.

Eugene moved to the door, looming before the two men.  He saw how their haughty expressions changed as they stood before him, permitted to fully appreciate his impressive form.  The twins glanced nervously at each other.

Eugene chose not to speak right away.  He threatened wordlessly, allowing for his enormous physique to intimidate them.  The guards stood dwarfed by him.  He imagined they no longer felt empowered by their pathetic guns.

After a moment passed and the guards were amply warned, Eugene decided to speak, his voice a rumbling bass he enjoyed hearing.

“I’m here to see Dmitri Ivanov,” he said levelly as he laid the briefcase at his feet.  “Lower your weapons. I am unarmed.”

“Are you here to deliver the package?” one of the men asked.

The guard’s voice trembled.  Eugene reveled in his desperate attempt to steady his voice and assume confidence.  He chose to be silent again.  With one of his powerful hands, he pointed to the large, metal briefcase in the snow at his feet.

The man standing to the left turned and strode away, beyond earshot.  His twin was left clutching his gun and shifting nervously from one foot to the other.  Eugene did not look at the anxious man.  Instead, he trained his gaze on the guard who distanced himself and spoke into a small, handheld transponder and alerted Ivanov to his arrival.  The man with the transponder listened intently while the voice on the other end instructed him.  Eugene heard he was to be fully searched before being allowed to enter the building.

The guard with the radio transceiver returned and his partner stopped fidgeting.  Aware of what their orders were, Eugene stepped forward with his arms outstretched in expectation of their check.

Ivanov’s guards, surprised by Eugene’s actions and compliance, allowed their harnessed automatic weapons to hang slack against their chests as they stepped forward to search him.

Their hands traveled over his body in search of firearms. Their facial expressions divulged their awareness of Eugene’s strength, that each limb was more solid than the next.

As they continued, Eugene fought to overcome the intensifying sensations that surged inside of him.  Excitement mounted, rolled and boiled, threatened to spew at any given moment.  He could not wait to kill.

Eugene tensed, slightly, fighting to control his urge to act.  Ivanov’s guards felt him stiffen.  They exchanged a cursory glance and suddenly realized their enormous oversight.  Neither man had kept their gun fixed on him.  Both men frantically reached for their weapons.

But it was too late.  Eugene struck.

In an instantaneous motion he lashed out both of his massive arms ensnaring the two men by their throats and lifting them off the ground.  He squeezed with measured, vice-like pressure.  His hands crushed each of their windpipes and snapped their spines rendering them dead simultaneously.  The speed of his kill was necessary to not alarm the three remaining men inside.

Dropping their bodies to the ground, Eugene smirked at the irony of synchronized deaths issued to the nearly identical humans.

He kicked Dmitri Ivanov’s pair of recently deceased guards aside and proceeded.

Stepping across the threshold he entered the decrepit building.  He walked down a long, darkened hallway toward a vaguely illuminated room.

The space was dimly lit and sparsely furnished.  The fluorescent lights overhead flickered at irregular intervals and lent an air of eeriness to the shabby space.  Three large wooden tables and one small table along with a dozen wooden chairs in various states of dereliction cluttered the area.  A filmy clock that no longer kept time hung on the far wall alongside an old calendar featuring scantily clad women posed on motorcycles.

Eugene stepped into the room.  Thanks to his creator’s description, Eugene immediately spotted Ivanov seated behind a worn desk in the rear of the shadowy room under the stopped clock.  With translucent blond hair and a complexion colored a vivid shade of red, Ivanov leaned back in his chair confidently with his two arms folded across his broad chest.  Flanking him were two men armed with automatic weapons.

Dmitri Ivanov tensed visibly and straightened his posture at the sight of Eugene.  His protuberant gray eyes widened and seemed to bulge farther.

“Put the case on my desk!  Do it slowly!” Ivanov barked commandingly.

Though Ivanov addressed him firmly, spoke to convey his absolute authority, Eugene heard a faint tremor in his voice that betrayed his outward confidence.  He was certain Ivanov was afraid.

Eugene obeyed and slowly approached.  He placed the briefcase on the desk in front of Ivanov.

Ivanov’s scarlet face flushed with anger to an unhealthy purple at the sight of the case that was clearly too small to hold a nuclear warhead.

“What is this?”  Ivanov spat angrily.  “You are supposed to be delivering a nuclear warhead, and you’re sent with a case that’s not even big enough to hold the money that I paid for its construction!”

Eugene remained silent.

Ivanov glared at Eugene and yelled, “Speak dammit!  Is this some kind of a joke?”

“This is what I was given,” Eugene stated adding an inflexion of perplexity.  “This is what Dr. Terzini instructed me to deliver.”

“Your boss has been warned.  And now he plays games!”  Ivanov shouted his face a dangerously dark contrast to his pale hair.

Eugene pushed the case closer to Ivanov. Ivanov angrily grabbed at the case and opened it.  Upon seeing its contents, the brawny criminal’s red face blanched.  He froze in horror.

Inside the container was an explosive device.  Fastened to the center of the bomb was a digital timer in the process of counting down from ten.

Eugene watched Ivanov’s guards from behind his dark lenses.  The shorter of the two, a ginger-haired man of squat stature stood to the right of his boss.  He had beady eyes the color of soil that shifted about nervously.  Whether it was drug use or nerves that caused his eyes to dart, Eugene did not care.  He simply knew the dumpy redhead would die first.  The bodyguard standing at Ivanov’s left was a tall rangy man with black hair. His face drooped and sagged like an aged hound dog.  A prominent nose filled much of his face and arched continuously from his forehead, curving outwardly as it sloped to his blubbery lips which jiggled and shook in sync with his racing pulse.

Eugene watched as their confidence collectively waned, replaced with dread, with fear.  Their weapons lowered as they stared in shock at the contents of the case, a mistake that would prove deadly.  Such a misstep allowed Eugene a fraction of a second, sufficient time to act.

In a motion orchestrated with skilled precision, Eugene descended on the guard to Ivanov’s right.

Caught by surprise, he looked up just in time to see Eugene advancing.

Eugene moved with the speed and grace of a jungle cat descending on his prey, grabbing his adversary by the face.  He used the full weight of his enormous frame and drove the flame-haired guard’s skull into the concrete wall behind him.

Eugene quivered, elated by the sound of bone meeting the hardened surface, of the man’s cranium crushing under his blow.  The impact sent the defunct wall clock above Dmitri Ivanov crashing to the floor below.

Eugene felt cheated that he could not linger and allow himself to be fully enraptured by the redhead whose life was slipping away incrementally.  He wished to lock eyes with the dying man; to be hypnotized by his death, to delight in it.  But such luxuries could not be afforded. Others needed to die; individuals with loaded automatic weapons that would soon be pointed at him.

Instead, Eugene moved without pause to the other man.  His movements were instant. Ivanov’s remaining guard had no time to react.  He attempted to fire his weapon, but Eugene was already on him and had seized the gun by its barrel, ripping it from his hands as bullets sprayed into the far wall.

After being disarmed, the raven-haired guard wanted no part of a confrontation with Eugene and turned to run.

Eugene extended his arms, swiftly landing his hands on the fleeing man’s narrow shoulders.  With a swift grabbing motion, he positioned the man in front of him then hoisted him high overhead.  With one hand on his groin and the other at his arm pit in a hold resembling a professional wrestling maneuver, Eugene brought Ivanov’s gangly guard crashing down on his raised knee.

A loud, sickly snap was heard as the spine and surrounding vertebral bones were severed.  Death slowly encroached before finally overtaking him.  A tremor passed through Eugene as he tossed the lifeless carcass to the floor.  He then turned his attention to Dmitri Ivanov.

As he moved toward the mob boss, the timer on the explosive device bottomed out to zero.

It signaled the end of its countdown by issuing a distinct ding sound as benign as a toaster.  No explosion ensued.  The artificial bomb proved a successful distraction.

He advanced further, stepping slowly, relishing Ivanov’s reaction.  Dmitri Ivanov sat mouth agape.  Eugene removed his dark sunglasses revealing his unnatural, feline eyes.  He parted his thin lips and stretched them across his teeth into a twisted smile.  Like a ferocious animal baring his incisors, his face contorted into a nightmarish image.

He watched as Ivanov’s carotid artery pulsated erratically; he could practically hear its fitful drumming. The burly, blond criminal’s expression was no longer cocky.  Instead, he more closely resembled a man who had seen the devil himself.  Fear and horror flashed across his reddened face as he regarded the abomination positioned across from him.

Dmitri Ivanov, though shocked and horrified, attempted to feign confidence.

“What the hell are you?” he asked.

Eugene leaned toward Ivanov and spoke, “What I am is the man who was sent to kill you, Mr. Ivanov.”

Eugene paused, allowing the weight of his words to be fully absorbed.

“You’ve insulted Dr. Franklin Terzini.  You threatened his life.  Now, I’m here for yours.”

“If you kill me, you will start something you cannot finish!” Ivanov said his words pressured by fear he sought to suppress.  “Do you have any idea how many men I am connected to?  There is no country in the world that you or Terzini will be safe in, you will be tracked down like dogs.  If you Let me live,” he tried, but Eugene had heard enough.  He interrupted Ivanov’s ramblings and spoke, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“Let you live?  I don’t think so.  But I will give you a sporting chance and offer you a count of twenty to flee before I come after you.”

“Do you hear me?” Ivanov asked, his voice turning shrill.  “There is no,” he tried again futilely.

“Twenty!” Eugene spat angrily, alerting Ivanov that there would be no bargaining.

“You’re a dead man!” Ivanov proclaimed as he rose from his chair.

Eugene smirked at Ivanov, before resuming his countdown.

“Nineteen!”

Accepting his fate, Dmitri Ivanov frantically scrambled out the door in to the surrounding wooded hills.

Eugene, true to his word, gave Dmitri Ivanov a full count of twenty before slowly walking to the door of the dilapidated structure.  He paused at the threshold and sniffed the air.  Though thickened by fog, the scent was distinct; it lingered.  Savoring the trail for just a moment, Eugene felt a familiar emotion swell with in him: rage.

He needed to kill.  His entire body quivered involuntarily before he stepped outside to begin his pursuit.

Swiftly closing the distance between him and Ivanov, Eugene descended on his prey.

There was no longer a need for him to rush, he was able to take his time, enjoy himself.

If anyone had been in the forested hills of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, they would have heard the tortured screams of Dmitri Ivanov suffering at the hands of his killer.  Fortunately for Eugene, no one was present to hear the cries.

Chapter 7

The second of two electronic bells sounded and signified that Gabriel was late for his third period English class.  His meeting with his academic adviser had taken far longer than he had estimated.  Additionally, he had to meet with the school nurse, the principal and had received a tour of the campus from the student council president Evelyn, an overly enthusiastic girl with braces on her teeth.

When the tour was finally over, Gabriel proceeded to his first class at Harbingers High School.  He consulted the campus map Evelyn had given him and arrived at Mr. Adams’s third period English class.  He rapped his knuckles against the door, lightly at first.  There was no response, so he knocked louder.  A tall, lanky man with gray hair opened the door and accepted his late pass signed by the principal.

All eyes focused on him as he entered the classroom.  The unfamiliar sensation of discomfort resurfaced.  Unsure of exactly how to manage it, Gabriel shifted his weight from one leg to the next, waiting for instructions.  But he did not receive any.  Instead, he received a formal introduction.

“Class, your attention would be nice.  Okay.  Direct your eyes to the front of the room, please.  Thank you.  People, let’s welcome Gabriel James,” Mr. Adams rambled with a pronounced nasal twang then directed him to sit at an empty desk near the rear of the room.

As Gabriel scanned the room, he saw many unfamiliar faces; most were unremarkable, but friendly, nevertheless.  One male student among them did not seem altogether friendly, however.  Though seated, Gabriel could tell he was tall and athletic.  He watched Gabriel through narrowed eyes, all the while wearing a crocked smile that revealed a single dimple in his right cheek. Gabriel met his gaze, did not look away, but matched the dimpled boy’s intensity.  His intention was not to be confrontational.  He merely wanted to make plain that large athletic high school students posed no threat to him, that he was not intimidated in the least, that he felt no fear.  Gabriel watched as the boy with the dimpled cheek ran a hand through his spiky blond hair and turned to the person sitting next to him and whispered loudly
“pretty boy” then laughed.  The person to whom he spoke did not share in his laughter.  Neither did Gabriel.

Gabriel intensified his stare, his face expressionless.  He guessed that his posture and stony aspect warned the dimpled boy off for he immediately fumbled with his textbook and submerged himself in its content with urgency.

Satisfied that the fleeting incident between him and the boy with the dimpled cheek had been adequately handled, he scanned the room again quickly.  Mr. Adams had finished his rather winded inaugural presentation and ushered Gabriel to his desk.  Upon closer inspection, he realized the seat assigned to him was next to someone he had seen before.  His desk was beside the girl with the green eyes from earlier in the morning.

Her eyes were cast down, likely examining lecture notes.  She looked up as he brushed past her desk, locked eyes with him for a split second.  Without warning, his pulse rate accelerated again.

Gabriel struggled to understand the occurrence.  His reaction to her was completely alien to him, yet not entirely unpleasant.  He decided it would be beneficial to speak to the green-eyed girl.  He reasoned that it was imperative to forge friendships as they were a necessary element of his integration process.

***

Melissa found Mr. Adams’s English class to be the longest and most grating of all her courses.  Though it was fifty minutes, just as all other classes, it dragged on endlessly.

Typically, the point at which her misery peaked was the precise time the bell would ring to end the session, but not on this day.  Instead, twenty minutes into class, Mr. Adams droned on and on but stopped briefly to introduce a new student who had just entered the classroom.

She recognized him immediately.  She had seen him earlier in the hallway before school had started.  It would have been impossible to forget him; he was breathtaking.  He was better looking than any boy she’d ever seen.  Melissa dared not stare at him as others did.  She found their gaping to be brazen, rude even.  Instead, she focused on her notebook, but couldn’t concentrate.  She looked at the words she had just written, but read none of them.

She glanced up as he passed her desk and took his seat beside her.  For a fraction of a moment, they made eye contact.  There was no mistaking it this time; she was certain of it.  His deep-set sapphire eyes met hers.

He sat and turned to her unexpectedly.

“Hi.  I’m Gabriel,” he said and waited for a response.

Melissa did not answer right away.  She was too stunned to speak.

“Your name is?” he asked.

“Um, Melissa, I’m Melissa Martin,” she fumbled.

She smiled and felt a familiar sensation of warmth spread across her cheeks.  She knew they’d reddened.  He smiled back at her, a genuine smile that did not end at his lips but traveled to his eyes and she felt her face blaze.  Embarrassed, she immediately turned from him and feigned interest in her study materials, trying desperately to avoid resembling a tomato with hair.

Gabriel’s gaze lingered.  She felt his eyes on her briefly before he lowered them.  Straining to see him through a curtain of golden-brown tresses, she stole a quick glance at him.  He was scanning the contents of his course textbook.  His azure eyes were veiled by dark, thick lashes.  He seemed preoccupied so she allowed her gaze to settle in his general direction.  She scanned the far wall with him still in her line of vision.  She glimpsed at the analog clock mounted on the wall, she looked over notes her instructor had scribbled on the dry-erase board.  She tried desperately to remain inconspicuous, but it was almost impossible to keep her eyes averted.

His profile displayed the contours of his face.  The straight line made from the base of his nose to the tip, the gentle indentation of the skin between his nose and upper lip, the ampleness of his lips, the architecture of his high cheekbones, the strength of his jawline, all of it culminated to form perfection.  He looked unlike anyone she’d ever seen, like an extraordinarily handsome work of art.

Without warning, Gabriel lifted his chin and turned back to face her.  She froze briefly.  Certain that his exceptional looks enabled him to read her mind, her face flushed anew.  She feared she resembled a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, but did not look away immediately.  He looked back at her, puzzlement etching his every feature.

Her shyness and general lack of confidence colored her skin a deep crimson and left her worrying whether the new student was mocking her. Mercifully, the electronic pealing of a bell signaled the end of third period English.  She gathered her belongings as quickly as possible and left.

Fortunately, fourth period was lunchtime.  Embarrassing or awkward interactions would be limited.  After what had just taken place, she desperately needed a moment alone to decompress.  She intended to navigate the students bustling through the hallway and make a quick exit from the back doors of the school.  Fresh air and a brisk walk off campus would clear her head.

Moving across an area littered with the desks of twenty-five students, some of whom loitered and loafed about, Melissa politely edged her way to the door.

As she rounded the corner outside the door to Mr. Adams’s English classroom, Gabriel James caught up to her.

“Hey Melissa!” he called.

Shocked, she turned to face him.  She was powerless to conceal the expression of astonishment on her face.  But her surprise was quickly replaced with confusion as Gabriel stood wordlessly before her.

He shifted from one foot to the other as if searching for something to say.  Yet, Melissa dared not speculate that he was nervous around her.   After all, he must own a mirror. She found the idea inconceivable, ridiculous; his good looks would likely render every girl to putty in his hands.

The silence loomed.

Melissa furrowed her brow as she sensed another red mask settle across her cheeks.  She waited for what seemed like eternity for Gabriel to speak.  But he did not.  He simply stood there.

She remained, mirroring his behavior, shifting her weight from one leg to the next, unable to simply walk away and leave him standing there.  She inhaled sharply, mustering the courage to answer the voice in her head that screamed, urged her to say something, anything, and break the silence. But before her words were formed, Gabriel spoke.

“Does Mr. Adams always sound like that, or is he sick or something?”

Melissa paused briefly then laughed aloud.

Though embarrassed by her outburst, she could not stop herself from laughing.  The tense moments, the awkward silence leading up to his question about Mr. Adams instigated it.  She did not want Gabriel to think she was mocking him or worse, that she was crazy.

“No.  He’s not sick,” she giggled, wiping tears.  “He just has an unusual voice.  You’ll get used to it, eventually.”

“Wow.  That’s a nice way of putting it.”

She laughed again.

Gabriel remained, smiling at her as she fumbled through her purse for a tissue to blot her eyes.  He continued chatting with her, asking about other instructors and courses.  As he did so, various girls, many of whom were barely acquainted with Melissa, suddenly stopped to ask her an assortment of questions.  She knew they were just excuses to be around Gabriel as most, if not all, were ridiculous questions about homework assignments for classes she was not a student in, foreign language programs she was not affiliated with, and hairstyling tips she did not have.  With Gabriel at her side, Melissa was suddenly the most in-demand person at Harbingers High School.  Yet as each girl spoke, their eyes remained on Gabriel, not Melissa.

Gabriel stayed despite looking as though he wanted to flee the pack that had descended on him, circling and stalking him like wolves surrounding wounded prey.  He stayed as she addressed absurd questions and deflected others altogether.  She tried to stay calm.  Her tone was neither sarcastic nor angry and she kept her facial expression neutral.  But the more she interacted with her hormonally charged peers, the more obvious their agendas became.  She also noticed that Gabriel was uncomfortable.

Unlike Kevin Anderson who rejoiced in being flanked by groups of adoring girls, Gabriel subtly rejected the advances offered.  Melissa watched as many girls flirted overtly.  Hair was flipped, bosoms were outthrust, Gabriel’s arms were continually touched, giggling reached excessive levels, and eye contact was prolonged.  The display was shameless.

Unable to endure it a moment longer, Melissa ushered him out of the group claiming she needed to get him to the guidance counselor’s office to iron out conflicts in his course schedule.

As she shepherded him away from the group, Melissa turned to him and said, “I’m sorry for those girls back there.  They’re a little overcharged, hormonally, I mean.”

She blushed and rolled her eyes at her words, at her awkwardness then continued, “I mean that must have been weird for you.  They kind of descended on you like a pack of wolves.”

She shifted uncomfortably.

“Anyway, I would have been freaked out if I were you.”

Gabriel listened intently.

Melissa composed herself and asked, “So where are you from Gabriel James?”

“I am from Russia, the Kamchatka Peninsula in the Russian Far East to be exact.”

“Huh.  That’s cool.  You don’t have an accent or anything, though,” Melissa commented on his absence of foreign inflection.

“No.  I was educated exclusively in English, taught American history.  What can I say?  My education is all-American.”

She smiled at him.  He smiled in return, effortlessly, openly.

“Do you speak Russian?” Melissa inquired.

“Yes, I do, fluently.”

“Huh.  You’re bilingual.  Cool.”

Melissa continued toward the exit doors, but paused in front of the gymnasium and turned to face Gabriel.

“Hey, are you hungry? I was going for a walk, but I can show you where the cafeteria is,” she asked.

“I’m not really hungry,” he replied.  “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

She thought about it for a moment, though there was nothing to think about.  Of course, she wanted to walk with Gabriel, even though she’d made a fool of herself in front of him a handful of times in the five minutes she’d known him.  Who wouldn’t want to walk with him? “Sure.  Why not?” she said and smiled.  “I just need to drop my books in my locker.  Wait here.  I’ll be back in just a sec.”

As she turned around and started toward her locker, Kevin, with his blinding smile and solo dimple fully engaged, was heading toward her.

Her stomach rolled and churned nervously.  He had ignored her in class just moments ago.  Melissa doubted she would be so lucky this time as he was looking directly at her.  She wondered what ugly words awaited her behind his counterfeit smile.

To her surprise, however, Kevin spoke pleasantly, as if he simply had not noticed her during class, and the night before had never happened.

“Hey Melissa!” he called cheerfully.

Melissa found him remarkably chatty and upbeat given the circumstances.

“How are you?  How’d you sleep?” he asked and wrinkled his nose in exaggerated concern.

“Not good, Kevin, not good at all,” Melissa responded honestly.

“Huh.  Sorry to hear that.  I was thinking that maybe we could go to the kegger together tonight after the bonfire.”

It was Friday, but not any ordinary Friday.  It was the beginning of homecoming weekend.  A school-sponsored bonfire was scheduled on campus for that night.  The bonfire would be immediately followed by a gathering of popular students in the woods behind the school.  They would huddle around a keg of beer for as long as the police stayed away.  Inevitably, the police would come and everyone would scatter in varying states of intoxication and attempt to find their way to their cars.  Melissa considered it a sad rite of high school students, one that did not interest her in the least.  Spending time with Kevin did not interest her either, especially after what had happened the night before.

“Seriously, Kevin?  After last night?  I don’t think so.”

“I was hoping you’d forgiven me for last night.”

“You never asked me to forgive you.”

“I’m asking now.  Please forgive me.  I was a bad boy last night,” Kevin frowned exaggeratedly.

Then in a voice Melissa deemed positively cloying, he continued, “You just have this effect on me.  I don’t know what it is.  I’m crazy about you Melissa Martin.  But I promise you, I will behave.  Just give me another chance.  I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

Melissa felt sickened by his show of inflated sentiment, but knew better than to start an argument or humiliate him in the hallway of the school he was revered in.  She was also pressed for time.  Gabriel was waiting for her by the gym.  She dared not dream that Gabriel wanted anything more than friendship from her.  Surely, a boy as handsome as Gabriel would only date a girl of his caliber.  Melissa did not consider herself of that standard.

“Well, I’ll be at the bonfire with Daniella and Alexandra.  Maybe we’ll run into each other” she said offhandedly.

“That sounds great!  I’ll find you there tomorrow!  We’ll hang out.”

She was growing increasingly impatient.  Gabriel was waiting for her, and Kevin was not letting the whole bonfire thing go.

“Fine.  I’ll go with Alexandra and Daniella.  We’ll talk when I see you there,” she asserted.  “But no joking around, we’re just going to hang out and talk, right?”

Kevin held up three fingers on his right hand in a Boy Scout salute and said, “Scouts honor.  I’ll meet you at the bonfire?”

“Fine, see you later.”

***

The boy from his class, the one he saw talking to Melissa seconds earlier, strode toward the gym, passing Gabriel, where a group of his friends were gathered.  All were tall and athletic looking and waited for him inside gymnasium.  One broke away from the rest and made his way to Kevin.

“Well, what did she say?” he asked.

“What do you think she said, John?” Kevin replied arrogantly.  Gabriel now knew the person he spoke to was named John.  “She’s meeting me after the bonfire at the keg party.”

“No way man! After last night?” John asked incredulously.

“Are you finally gonna tap that ass, or what?” another of his friends asked as he approached.  He rolled his hips in a thrusting motion as he spanked the air with his hand.

“I am gonna tap that ass tonight, whether she likes it or not, Eric!” Kevin bragged and high-fived the boy before him named Eric.

Gabriel, just outside the doors of the gymnasium, overheard the interaction between Kevin and his friends.  As he listened, an unfamiliar feeling surged inside him: anger.  He thought it impossible for him to feel anything.  Yet, the rage he felt at Kevin’s intentions with Melissa was undeniable.

He had just met her, but felt compelled to protect her.  She had awakened something in him that could only be described as emotion for the second time that day.

Gabriel glared at Kevin, John, Eric and another boy whose name he had not learned yet as they bounded into the gym to play basketball during their lunch break.  The nameless one looked over his shoulder at Gabriel.  Gabriel stared unwaveringly at him and the others.

“Come on, Chris!” Kevin called to the boy who looked at Gabriel, only now he had a name.  Chris.  The name was branded in Gabriel’s brain.  Kevin waved his friend near.  But Chris did not budge.  He did not join his friends immediately.

“Got something to say, douche bag?” Chris asked Gabriel, sarcasm and venom lacing his words.

Gabriel did not mimic Chris’s expression as he had learned to do during downloaded instructional video sessions provided by Dr. Terzini.  He did not parrot his sarcasm.  Gabriel did, however, lock eyes with Chris, as unfamiliar reactions stormed within him.

The intensity and boldness of Gabriel’s stare warned Chris off for he did not volunteer another word.  Instead, he retreated to a rack that held over a dozen basketballs, selected one and began dribbling.

While he warmed up and shot basketballs at the hoop, Gabriel glowered at him from afar.  Chris pretended not to see him, but Gabriel saw him glance in his direction several times.

Once the adrenaline surge passed, Gabriel took his eyes off Kevin’s pack. “Whether she likes it or not,” a malignant phrase spoken by Kevin, resonated in Gabriel’s mind.  And he knew he would be attending the bonfire scheduled for later in the afternoon and the keg party that followed.

Melissa returned to where Gabriel waited outside the gym.  He inhaled deeply as he caught the scent of her faint but intoxicating fragrance.  He had never smelled such a scent, save for his first interaction with her.  He failed to place exactly what the specific notes of the perfume were that tantalized his sense of smell.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Yep,” he answered, dizzied momentarily by the rush of foreign forces that were at work within his construct.

They traveled the rest of the short corridor in silence.  They approached the rear exit doors that opened to a student parking lot.  Gabriel opened the door for Melissa.  He was momentarily blinded by the brilliant golden light which filled the unseasonably warm November morning.  He spoke first, inquiring about the unusual weather.

“Wow.  It’s so warm.  I thought November was a colder month around here.  Is this normal?” he asked.

“No.  It feels like a day in late April, not November.  That’s global warming for you,” Melissa offered.

“In Russia, there is little temperature difference between November and April,” Gabriel began nervously. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Summers on the Kamchatka Peninsula are from June to October.  But we lived in a more remote area in the Northern portion of the peninsula.  It had more of an arctic climate,” he babbled, tensely trying to maintain a conversation.

“Oh.”

“This feels great compared to winter nearly year-round,” he added.

“I keep forgetting that you’re not from around here.  It’s hard to remember that you aren’t American.  I mean, your English is better than most Americans.”

“Thanks.  I haven’t been here long.  But my dad says the same thing.  He was born here then moved to Russia for a while. ”

“Oh.  So he is American?”

“Yes, he is.”

“So your mom is Russian?”

“I wouldn’t know.  I never met her.”

“Did she, I mean, is she,” Melissa stammered.

“Dead?  I have no idea.  My dad never talks about her.  And it’s always been just the two of us.”

Melissa stopped walking and turned to face Gabriel.  Her eyes were sympathetic.  She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.

“I am so sorry.  It must be really hard for you.  Not having a mom and all.  I can relate.  Trust me.”

At her touch, Gabriel felt a tremor pass through his stomach.  His heart raced again.  He identified the response as nervousness but was unsure why he was feeling it.

They continued walking and had wandered across the parking lot and on to a residential street.

“How about you?  What’s your family like?  Do you have any brothers or sisters?”  Gabriel asked.

“No brothers or sisters.  My mom died when I was seven.  It’s just me and my dad.”

“It must be hard for you,” Gabriel said and could see pain plainly in her eyes.  Oddly, her pain created a strange clenching sensation in his chest.

Melissa looked over her shoulder at him as they walked.  Her eyes were moist with emotion and the clenching tightened.

“You’d think that with all the time that has passed, I mean, it’s been ten years, I wouldn’t miss her so much,” she said earnestly.  “But I really do, especially now.  There are so many things I want to tell her and things I want to ask her about.”

Melissa stopped talking abruptly.  Her cheeks turned rosy.  Gabriel had never seen such a response.

“Whoa!  I’m sorry,” Melissa said wiping under her eyes with her fingers. “I’m so embarrassed.  I didn’t mean to turn in to an Oprah guest on you.”

Gabriel immediately made the connection between her reference to the renowned talk-show icon and her emotional response.  The parent-child connection was powerful among human beings.  Though he had no such relationship, he found himself undergoing something more than a mere glitch in his psychological configuration.  He was inexplicably overcome by a flood of emotions, emotions he had knowledge of but no firsthand experience with.  He was created to be devoid of sentimentality, had lived as such for his entire existence.  Her effect on him was baffling.

Unequipped to deal with the sudden rush of feelings, Gabriel realized he had connected with her despite the nature of his composition.  He floundered, defenseless against sympathy for the loss of her mother.  He sensed her sadness and began to feel what could only be described as sympathy.  He felt compelled to wrap her in his arms, inhale her sweet fragrance and offer her comfort.  He was unsure of precisely how to execute such an act, had no practice with such matters, yet felt bound to do something.

Gabriel opted not to embrace Melissa.  Instead, he placed his hand on the small of her back and leaned in slightly and spoke.

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed.  There is nothing to be embarrassed about.  I can’t imagine what you go through every day.  It must be so hard.”

Gabriel hoped his words were helpful and that the physical contact was appropriate.  He did not wish to offend her.  Though Melissa did not tense at his touch, he worried that his actions were too forward.  Hesitantly, he removed his hand from her back and backed up.

They began walking again.

“What about you?  Here I am whining.  At least I have memories of my mom.  You don’t even have that,” Melissa stated.

Gabriel considered Melissa’s question and statement.  He searched for an adequate response.  He did not want to lie to Melissa more than was necessary to preserve his and Terzini’s safety.  His silence was interpreted as offense; Melissa began apologizing.  He had deliberated on the topic for far too long.

“Look, Gabriel.  I am so sorry.  That was a stupid, insensitive thing to say.”

He watched as she chewed her lower lip nervously, agonizing over the presumed offense.  Her cheeks reddened again.

“I say really dumb things sometimes.  I mean, really.  You don’t know me.  But if you did, you’d know that my mouth might as well have a sign that reads ‘insert foot here.’”

Gabriel held up a hand and interrupted her.  He would not allow her to feel guilty.

“I think you’re great.  Please don’t call yourself dumb anymore, okay? You’re great.  Really,” he asserted.

“But,” Melissa tried to interject.

Gabriel continued.

“And you didn’t upset me or anything.  I was just thinking about how to phrase what I wanted to say,” he admitted.  “I didn’t know how you would take me saying that I am not bothered at all that I don’t have a mother in my life.  I don’t have any memories and that’s fine.  Can’t miss something or someone you never had, right?”

Melissa stopped walking.  She looked pensive.  He hoped he did not seem uncaring or remote by saying what he said.

“I guess I see what you’re saying.  I mean, things are what they are, right?” Melissa offered.

“Yes.  I just didn’t want you to think I was cold or anything.”

“You just met me.  I mean, what would you care what I think.” Melissa touched her hand to her forehead before saying, “That came out all wrong. I just meant to say why would you worry about me judging you?”

Then, under her breath she muttered, “I should not be allowed to speak.”

Gabriel surprised himself by taking Melissa’s willowy arm in his hand and turning her to face him.  In the sunlight, her eyes were a kaleidoscope of subtly varying shades of green.  The complexity of the color was layered, emerald with hints of olive and turquoise.  Gabriel felt his breath catch in his chest.  He tried to compose himself before he spoke.

“I’m not sure why, I know we just met, but for what it’s worth, I do care what you think of me.  I don’t worry that you’re judgmental.  As I said before, I think you are great,” he said honestly.

Suddenly aware of their physical proximity and the implications of such closeness, Gabriel released Melissa’s arm.

Her face glowed, radiant.  Gabriel’s heart threatened to beat out his chest as he regarded her lustrous features.

But all too quickly, Melissa glanced at her wrist watch and noted the time.

“Oh man!  We’re late.  We’ve got to get back to class, like, right now or we’re going to miss fifth period,” she said.

Crestfallen, Gabriel turned and followed Melissa as they doubled back at a jog toward Harbingers High School.

Chapter 8

Eugene returned to Dr. Terzini’s laboratory.  His insides still trilled from his hunt. Ivanov and his associates had proved no match for him.  His speed and power was unsurpassed.  Despite vanquishing his prey with ease, he was exhilarated, energized.

Equipped with numerous canisters of highly flammable lab materials, Eugene intended to douse the entire bunker and set it afire with Terzini still inside.  Not the Dr. Terzini, the geneticist who had created him, though.  The Dr. Terzini that would die in the laboratory fire was a clone.

The clone did not have altered DNA as Eugene and Gabriel did.  There had not been any gene enhancement.

The replica was not educated as Terzini was.  He did not perform experiments or conduct research.  To Eugene’s knowledge, the duplicate Dr. Terzini was not even capable of speech.  Rather, the clone existed as an empty vessel that spent his waking hours confined to a small cell in the laboratory.

The Terzini clone had one purpose.  He was created to die in the laboratory fire.  Retaining genetic material identical to his creator, the demise of the clone provided Dr. Terzini with a unique opportunity; the world, and more specifically, the Russian Mob, would believe him dead.

Dr. Terzini had detailed to Eugene that in order to be exonerated from all the debt he had incurred with the mob and the certain death that would follow if that debt were not paid, it was imperative that he create the illusion of permanent disappearance.  He’d made it clear to Eugene that fleeing the country was not possible, that he would be tracked down and killed.  The only acceptable way for him to withdraw without repercussion would be to die.  Eugene would simulate his maker’s death.

But before the lab would burn and the Terzini clone perished, Eugene had needed to assassinate Ivanov and his men.

His creator viewed the death of Ivanov and his guards as an essential phase of the plan.  Their deaths had been as vital as the creation of the empty sleeve that appeared to have housed a nuclear warhead and occupied a large section of his lab.  They were all components of an elaborate illusion, that Terzini had, in fact, spent their resources on the intended project–a nuclear warhead–and died at the hands of an enemy faction.

Eugene believed Terzini’s plan to be flawless.  It did not leave any loose ends.  To the Russian mafia, Terzini’s death and the alleged theft of the nuclear warhead, together with the slaughter of Dmitri Ivanov and his men, would appear to be the actions of a rival organization.  The Russians would exhaust innumerable hours and manpower scouring the Earth for the phantom group.

In death, Dr. Franklin Terzini would be absolved of all debt, he would not have to flee and live the life of a fugitive. His falsified demise also released him from regulations that burdened researchers in the United States.

Additionally, Terzini would have unrestricted access to his inheritance that had been transferred incrementally over his years on the Kamchatka Peninsula to numbered Swiss bank accounts.  Eugene revered his maker’s vast intelligence, his rigid adherence to the nature of his work and meticulous attention to every detail of his plan.  He respected Terzini’s genius.

As Eugene doused the lab, he paused and inhaled the noxious fumes.  One last task remained at hand.

A portal lay ahead at the far end of the laboratory.  Eugene surveyed the space before approaching the entrance.  He hesitated a moment then opened the wooden door that separated the Terzini clone from the rest of the lab.  After removing his dark lenses, he crossed the threshold and stepped into the replica’s tiny living quarters.

Once inside, Eugene filled the room with his extraordinary size.  Furnished sparsely with a metal-framed cot and a three-drawer side table, the Terzini clone sat on the makeshift bed and looked up at Eugene.

Eugene noticed how the clone did not react at the sight of him as others did.  Instead, he gave a lopsided grin.  Smiling, the bespectacled twin looked frail and childlike.  His slight build and smooth face gave him a serene and youthful appearance.

Eugene had been instructed to allow for the clone to burn to death in the fire.  Yet as he looked at the small figure in front of him, Eugene was overcome with confusion.  The face of the clone was that of his maker.

Loyalty clouded his judgment.  Incinerating the Terzini clone seemed unwarranted.  He simply could not allow Terzini to perish in such a manner.

Instead, Eugene seized the beaming mute’s face in his hand.  Pinching his nose and covering his mouth simultaneously, Eugene began to smother him.

The clone did not struggle or fight.  He accepted his fate and allowed life to escape him.

Eugene removed his hand from the duplicate’s face.  His lifeless form fell against the wall behind his cot.

Loyalty and mercy were not feelings Eugene was accustomed to having.  He became agitated.

Circling the lab, he stalked equipment that enabled his creation.  Breathing heavily through bared teeth, his chest heaved and his mind flooded with thoughts of destruction.

Eugene began thrashing his balled fists.  He battered the equipment in the lab, hammering computer screens and monitors, anything that stood in his way.

Rage coursed through his body.

Trembling, he turned to face the far corner of the facility.  There stood the tank that served as a surrogate womb to genetically cloned embryos created by Dr. Franklin Terzini.  It was the very vessel that bore he and Gabriel and the Terzini clone.

The large tubular receptacle sustained the harvested eggs and donated sperm of unsuspecting women and men that would be modified by his maker.  It nourished and supported the accelerated growth of the manufactured humans.

Erupting, Eugene pounded the tank.  As he drummed on the steel walls, large indentations formed.  The metal buckled under the assault.  Frenzied, Eugene exhausted himself leaving in his wake a formerly cylindrical container U-shaped.

Sweating profusely and still panting through bared teeth, Eugene struck the first match.  The highly flammable chemicals ignited immediately.  The gases produced glowed in an array of colors, blue then blue-green, before assuming the light yellow-orange of typical fires.

Dr. Terzini’s laboratory and his clone blazed.  Flames enveloped the destroyed computers, microscopes and centrifugal equipment before encircling the U-shaped development tank.

The fire raged as Eugene stepped out of the laboratory through a steel door.  The door opened to a narrow, concrete staircase that traversed ten feet of earth to the surface.  As Eugene exited, he did not bother replacing the large, white rectangular piece of plastic that concealed the entrance, blending it seamlessly into the vast snow-covered landscape.  Without its covering, the charcoal entryway was easily visible.  The Russians would certainly find the charred facility in search of Terzini and their money.  Eugene was confident they would locate everything they were intended to discover.

Eugene, above ground and a safe distance from the underground facility, looked skyward.  Dark-gray clouds moved quickly, crowding out the white expanse, their tattered and ragged shapes assembled with haste, portended.  The wind did not stir, yet the great and grim billows advanced, threatened with moisture.  Snow would fall soon; Eugene could smell it in the air.  The snowfall would conceal his tracks but not the smoldering metal door.  It would stand out against the silvery terrain.

Satisfied that his maker’s plan was executed, he replaced his dark lenses and walked toward his Hummer.  Once the evening grew darker, he would proceed to the docks in search of a vessel traveling to America.  Eugene would then reunite with his maker.

Chapter 9

Gabriel James sat at his desk in fifth period History and wondered what was happening to him.  Dr. Franklin Terzini had created him to not feel human emotions of any kind.

He knew of their existence and was informed of their physical manifestations.  But sentiments were not part of his design.  He was well-versed in emotionality, its every nuance.  He could readily discern each sensation inherent in human beings and mimic it when necessary.  But he did not possess any of his own; until recently.

Gabriel recognized that genetic modifications made by Terzini endowed him with intelligence, strength, reflexes, agility and physical perfection unheard of in the general humanoid populace.  He also knew that he utilized a larger portion of his brain for higher cognitive functioning because the portions of his brain that would be engaged in regulating emotions had been disconnected.

His maker had presented various materials aimed at generating an emotional response from him.  Music, literature of every genre, movies and religious material all offered opportunities for a response.  Yet, Gabriel remained detached, impassive.  He never produced a physiologic, physical or psychological response.

Until several hours ago, Gabriel had been disengaged, emotionless.  Things had changed for him, quickly, unexpectedly.

Today, he had been roused more than once.  Feelings surged and swelled inside him without warning.  But this odd reaction only occurred when he was near Melissa Martin.

She intrigued him.

But he knew that he had to abandon all thoughts of Melissa.  If his maker were to detect the slightest hint of emotion, he would be terminated, his existence deemed a failure.

***

Melissa sat in her fifth period chemistry class listening to Alexandra Georgopoulos, her lab partner, gush about the new student at Harbingers High School.

“He is so hot. I’m telling you, Gabriel James is even hotter than Kevin.” Alexandra said.

“He seems really nice, too.  We went for a walk together at lunch.”

Alexandra gave Melissa a furtive glance and leaned in.  “What?  Really!  You went for a walk with him and you’re just telling me about it now?  And just what happened during this walk, hmm?” Alexandra could not contain her excitement and arched one of her meticulously groomed eyebrows in expectation of juicy gossip.

“What?” Melissa asked distractedly as she dipped a piece of litmus paper into a green solution in a test tube.  The paper turned blue.  “Alex, write down that test tube A contains a basic solution.”

“Ah she won’t answer my question.  Something happened between you and Gabriel,” Alexandra teased.

“You’re horrible!  And what are you implying?  Nothing happened during our walk.  I mean, we walked and talked.  That’s it.”

Melissa watched as Alexandra brushed a hand through her shiny black hair.  Even with safety goggles on, she managed to look sensational.  Her rubber apron fit her like slinky lingerie, accentuating all her best assets.

Anyone standing next to her could not help but feel inadequate.  Her perpetually sun-kissed skin, deep chocolate-hued eyes and generous curves made for a striking presentation.  Then, without apology, Alexandra produced a loud belch.  Surrounding students turned to gape at her.  Embarrassed, Melissa contemplated crawling under their workstation.  But her friend did not seem to share in her embarrassment. To the contrary, she appeared oblivious.

Alexandra continued her interrogation.  “So you spent lunch with the hot new guy.  I hope this means that jackass Kevin is out of the picture for good.”

“Actually, Kevin and I spoke just before lunch,” Melissa offered, “He wants me to go to the bonfire with him tonight. I told him I was going with you and Daniella and that I would talk to him for a few minutes if I saw him.”

“You cannot be serious.  After what happened last night?  Seriously?  You’re actually going to hang out with him again?”

“No!   No way!  I only said I’d talk to him to shut him up.  Gabriel was waiting for me.  I just wanted to get the hell away from him.”

“Good because after what happened, that asshole proved he’s nothing but a dog.”

“You won’t get an argument from me, Alex.  He is an asshole,” Melissa said and they both giggled.

They finished their lab assignment, laughing and chatting until the bell rang and ended fifth period chemistry.  They quickly cleaned up their workstation and submitted their findings to their teacher.  Both girls had a free period next.

“Hey let’s go see if Daniella will cut class and hang out with us,” Alexandra suggested mischievously.

“No way!  That girl is going to go to Harvard.  I know I don’t want to mess with that.”

“Ah, you’re no fun.”

Melissa and Alexandra walked down the corridor toward their lockers.  As Alexandra fumbled with the combination to hers, Melissa’s noticed someone waiting at her locker.  Gabriel James stood smiling at Melissa.

“Hey.  How’d you know this was my locker?” Melissa asked.

“I asked the girl with the curly blonde hair and blue eyes I saw you standing with this morning.  I think her name is Danielle or Daniella.”

“Daniella,” Melissa corrected.  “She’s been my best friend since kindergarten.”

“Cool.  She was very nice and very helpful.”

Alexandra, who had been watching from her locker, approached.  She brushed her raven locks out of her face and over her shoulder turning her head ever so slightly.  Melissa marveled at how her friend managed to make an ordinary gesture such as removing hair from her face sensual.  She had applied a fresh coat of lip gloss and, standing with her back arched more than usual and her lips slightly pursed she looked as though she were ready for a photo shoot for a men’s magazine.

Melissa was relieved that Gabriel made no attempt to gawk at Alexandra with mouth agape as all other men did. Instead, he seemed oblivious of her.  His focus remained on her.

“I’m glad,” Melissa continued. “What’s up?”

Alexandra cleared her throat.

“Oh, sorry. This is Alexandra Georgopoulos, my other best friend since kindergarten,” Melissa said.

“Nice to meet you,” Gabriel said barely looking at Alexandra.

“Likewise,” Alexandra replied slightly irritated.

“Anyway, Melissa, I heard that there is this bonfire tonight and a party afterward. Are you going?”

“Umm, yeah, I am going. I mean, I’m going with Alex and Daniella.  I’m supposed to meet someone after, you know, at the party, but I’ve changed my mind.  I’m going to go for a little bit and head home.”

“Oh.  Well, I’m going to the bonfire too,” he began.  “I was hoping we could go together, you know hang out for a while.  But I don’t want to ruin your plans with your friends.  I’ll just see you there.  You can give me all the goods on everyone another time.”

Alexandra spoke next.  “We can all hang out at the bonfire.  That’s not a problem for me.  I’m sure Daniella won’t mind either.”

Melissa and Alexandra exchanged a quick glance.

“Yeah, that sounds like good idea,” Melissa agreed.  “Why don’t we do that?”

“Great I’ll see you there,” Gabriel said to just Melissa.

As Gabriel walked away, Melissa felt excitement bubbling despite her many self-doubts.  Every cell within her buzzed and hummed.  But pure excitement was replaced by negative self-talk.  She watched Alexandra. Her best friend looked as if she were about to burst as she waited for Gabriel to walk far enough away for her to begin gushing.  And she did not try to conceal that she enjoyed watching him stride away as much as she enjoyed watching him approach.

“Hello! Earth to Alexandra!” Melissa began.

Completely enthralled by his backside, Alexandra was oblivious of her friend’s words.  Instead, she shook her head and muttered to herself, “That boy is just too damn fine.”

After Gabriel was far down the hall and about to round the corner, safely out of earshot, Alexandra turned to Melissa.  Wide eyed and expressive, she said, “Holy shit! He is so into you.”

“Oh, you’re back,” Melissa chided.

“Huh?” Alexandra asked genuinely confused.

“Never mind,” Melissa giggled.

“He’s hot for you,” Alexandra said confidently.

“No, he’s not.  I’m the only person he knows here,” Melissa reasoned.  “He’ll probably ditch me once he hooks up with his own kind at the party.”

Melissa shifted uncomfortably.

“His own kind; what the hell are you talking about?”

“You know, guys and girls that he belongs with; the ‘in’ crowd, jocks and cheerleaders.”

“Excuse me.  You are his kind.  You’re beautiful and sweet and smart and funny. That is everybody’s kind.  And, furthermore, you don’t even know that he’s a jock,” Alexandra contended.

“Come on Alex, with that body.  How could he not be?” Melissa countered.

“Good point.  But still.  He seems into you.  Go with it.  Wear that blue shirt of yours.  You know, the one that brings out your eyes, and your good ass jeans.  You got to bring you’re A game tonight, girlfriend.”

Melissa walked with Alexandra the remainder of the locker-lined hallway past the door to the gymnasium and out to the rear parking lot.  She could not wait until the end of sixth period to tell Daniella everything that had happened.

Chapter 10

Gabriel could not recount the drive from Harbingers High School to the old Victorian house he lived in.  Instead, as he drove, his mind swirled and spun with thoughts of Melissa Martin.  Her face continuously appeared in his mind’s eye, her shy smile, her pale green eyes, her full lips that curved to form a perfect bow.

He tried numerous times, unsuccessfully, to focus on guiding his hunter-green Ford Explorer along the winding roads of Harbingers Falls, yet his mind continually returned to Melissa.  He envisioned them together at the bonfire as ambient light reflected from the flames illuminated Melissa’s exquisite features.  He daydreamed she would focus her attention on him.  The more he visualized himself with her, the more his insides stirred.

Stirrings would not be something his creator, Dr. Terzini, would take lightly.  Gabriel knew he was designed without human emotions, had embraced the idea; until now.  He wrestled with strange and unfamiliar reactions that could only be identified as feelings.  If Terzini were made aware of Gabriel’s recent responses, he would be considered a failed experiment.  Failed experiments were unacceptable to his maker.  He would be destroyed.  And he would never see Melissa again.

The thought of not seeing Melissa again made Gabriel’s heart race. He needed to convince Terzini to allow him to go to the bonfire.

As he approached the long, gravel-filled driveway, his residence came into view.  The house, constructed with cream colored brick and trimmed in forest green, was a Victorian Gothic-style structure. It boasted materials of different colors and textures, carvings in a foliated pattern and pointed arch windows and doors.  An expansive deck occupied the front of the house and wrapped around to the rear of the structure.  The overall appearance of the house was stately, impressive.

A knot formed Gabriel’s stomach as he pulled up to the three-car garage.

Certain that Terzini was in his laboratory, the task of obtaining permission to attend the bonfire remained.  Gabriel would cite that it was imperative for him to attend to further develop his social skills.  He would argue that it was a necessary annual rite; that such a convention was socially obligatory for him to meld seamlessly with the student populace.

Gabriel did need to attend the bonfire, but for reasons that did not involve his maker.  The primary reason was to be close to Melissa.  He could not aptly articulate the impact she’d had on him.  He could not describe the intensity of emotions that had manifested themselves, emotions he was unaware he could possess before meeting Melissa.

It was vital that he be present at the bonfire for an additional reason that concerned Melissa.  Kevin Anderson, the blond student at Harbingers High who’d spoken of her depreciatingly, made plain his intentions with her, worried Gabriel.  He intended to separate Melissa from her friends and have sexual intercourse with her.  Kevin viewed it as a conquest, an acquisition that he could mark with his friends.

As he recounted Kevin’s degrading remarks, he felt an unprecedented rise of anger inside.

Gabriel struggled to push the thought of Kevin Anderson from his mind.  Such considerations infuriated him.  He was unprepared to bear such emotions, let alone cope with them.  Prior to meeting Melissa, anger–or any type of sentiment for that matter–had been a remote emotion he’d read about and seen on his educational downloads; he had seen it represented by actors in movies and on television but had never truly been exposed to it, much less experienced it.  But after encountering Melissa Martin, a range of sensations presented themselves.  Though perplexing, the reactions were surprisingly easy to accept.  Some were even pleasant; except the anger.

The necessity was clear. He needed to be at the bonfire.  He would do whatever was necessary to get permission from Dr. Terzini to attend.

Composing himself, Gabriel exited his SUV and the garage before walking toward the underground bomb shelter.

He moved resolutely to an unremarkable patch of grass among the rest of the sprawling, well-manicured lawn.  Then, using his foot, he lifted a rectangular area of sod to reveal a steel door laying flush against the earth.  Using a key from his key ring, Gabriel unlocked the door.  With a soft whoosh, the lock released.

Prior to their relocation, Terzini had replaced a rickety wooden door with a vault door that opened silently.  The original shelter was gutted and refurbished.  Thick concrete walls lined the expansive, updated refuge.  The ceilings were seven feet tall and the entire facility measured approximately thirty-six-hundred square feet.  The entire space rivaled any fully operational, state-of-the-art laboratory.  Any university in the country would have salivated at the chance to have one like it.  But this laboratory was not up for auction.  It belonged to his maker, Dr. Franklin Terzini.

Gabriel spotted Dr. Terzini hunched in front of a microscope in the far corner of the room.

Terzini, was a smallish man.  His face was rumpled and perpetually frowning, creased and lined from countless hours spent squinting into various magnification instruments.  Atop his puckered face sat a mop of meticulously coiffed, ink-black hair.  The harshness of the concentrated darkness perched on his crown offered a strong contrast to his pasty, ashen skin.  Small, sunken eyes the color of coal resided behind wire-rimmed glasses balanced on his long, narrow nose.

“Dr. Terzini?”

Without looking away from his project, Dr. Terzini responded icily.  “Hello, Gabriel,” he said.  “Did school provide sufficient academic stimulation?”

“Yes sir.”

“That’s hard to imagine, considering the sad state of the American educational system.  But if you say so.”

“Sir, there is an event scheduled on campus this evening.  I believe it will enhance my understanding of adolescent functioning, that attendance would benefit your mission.”

“What is this event, Gabriel?”

“It is a bonfire.”

Dr. Terzini looked up from his magnification apparatus.  “A bonfire?” he asked disdainfully.  “What skills could you possibly acquire from congregating around and staring at burning rubbish?”

“Sir, the students attend.  They gather and interact socially.  It could yield invaluable information.”

“Invaluable information,” Terzini taunted.

“Yes sir.”

“The invaluable information you have acquired has been provided by me,” Terzini began.  “You possess superior DNA and have received superior schooling designed to augment your worthier genes.  You are to mimic their behavior only when necessary, to mirror them to keep attention off us.  Do not forget that, Gabriel.”

“Yes sir,” Gabriel said evenly, but struggled to remain poised.  He continued, “It is my thinking that I will be provided with a better vantage point to observe the students when they are in a relaxed, social setting as opposed to an academic environment.  I can hone my skills and pick up on subtleties without drawing attention to myself.  A less structured situation, such as this bonfire, will provide me with a unique learning opportunity.”

“I will not grant you permission to waste our time.  Your observations will be made at school as per my instructions,” his maker stated impassively.

“But sir, this could be a very useful opportunity for me to,” he began but was interrupted.

“Are my words somehow lacking clarity, Gabriel?”  Dr. Terzini enunciated each word with emphasis.

“Sir, I just thought it could be beneficial,” he tried again and was cut off a second time.

Dr. Terzini’s frustration had mounted noticeably when he interrupted Gabriel this time.  His small clenched fists rapped the desk to punctuate each word as he spoke.  No longer bearing the aloof demeanor he possessed earlier, Terzini spat, “You are my creation!  You will be where I tell you to be!  You will not go to this or any other extracurricular activities of any sort!  I forbid you.”

“Sir, I’m,” Gabriel attempted.

Regaining his composure, Dr. Terzini interrupted him a final time and ended further discussion by coolly stating, “We will not speak further about this matter.”

Gabriel stood in silence as Terzini turned his back and resumed his experimentation.  Dr. Terzini had forbid him from going to the bonfire.

He had never disobeyed his maker’s orders.  Such an idea had never occurred to him.  Now, however, he contemplated leaving despite the instructions given to him.

Dr. Franklin Terzini did not live in the old Victorian with Gabriel. Instead, he lived in his underground lab. Gabriel could easily leave the grounds and go to the bonfire without Terzini ever knowing.

Gabriel grappled with the idea of disobedience.  He considered what punishment would be issued for such an infraction.  Insubordination was unfamiliar, dangerous.  He knew of the wrath handed down to those who crossed his maker.  He was confronted with a choice: follow his newfound feelings, or comply with his maker’s orders.

After leaving the underground laboratory, Gabriel replaced the rectangular patch of grass to its previous resting place and entered the main house.  Uninterested in eating dinner, he retired to his room to think.  Everything he was experiencing was strange and perplexing.  The order of life as he’d known it no longer existed.  His head swam with confusion.  Disobeying Terzini was unheard of.  He wondered whether he was capable of such a deed.

Yet in his head, Melissa’s face remained as fixed as the constellations adorning the night sky.  She would need him, of that he was certain.  Kevin Anderson had plans that did not coincide with Melissa’s. And Kevin did not seem as if he was used to hearing the word “no” very often.  Rejection from Melissa could catapult him into a tailspin.  Whatever the circumstances, Gabriel felt the need to protect her.

Hours passed as Gabriel contended with disobeying Dr. Terzini.

As time passed, the answer became clear.  He would go to her.

Compelled by a certainty he had never felt before, Gabriel knew what he must do.

Chapter 11

Melissa walked back and forth about her bedroom anxiously.  The bonfire was less than an hour away.  She was looking forward to seeing Gabriel there, couldn’t wait, in fact.  Anticipation had kept her daydreaming about him during many of her classes.  She’d imagined him with her at the bonfire, focusing all of his attention on her, holding her hand, kissing her.  She’d wondered often that day what his lips would feel like against hers, how they would taste, and wondered still.  She wanted to believe that he might actually be interested in her, that what her friends had said was true.  But inevitably, self-doubt crept in.  She worried she was getting her hopes up for nothing.  And then there was Kevin.  Kevin presented a possible problem for her evening with Gabriel.  She had promised him some of her time after the bonfire.  But she knew that a lot of drinking took place both before and after it.  Kevin was belligerent in general.  Popularity and privilege had fostered it.  But when he drank, his personality worsened.  If she were to snub him in favor of Gabriel, she worried how aggressive his response would be.  Especially since Kevin was much bigger than Gabriel.  If he started a fight with Gabriel, she would never forgive herself.  She started to think that going wasn’t such a good idea.  She crossed her room to her phone and was about to call Daniella and cancel when the doorbell startled her.  She glanced at her alarm clock and realized that it was likely Daniella at her door, that she’d spent longer than she’d thought worrying and that canceling was no longer an option.

She left her room and dashed down the steep staircase.  She opened the door and saw that Daniella waited beyond it.

“Hey Daniella,” she said.  “You look great!”

And her friend did look great.  Wearing her favorite red sweater and impeccably tailored jeans, Daniella was radiant.  She smiled brightly at the compliment.

“Thanks!” Daneilla said cheerfully.  “I’m so excited about tonight!  But you, you must be freaking out!  What are you going to wear?”

“I have no idea, which is not exactly helping with the freaking out as you can imagine.  I couldn’t eat.  I’m starving, but the thought of eating makes me nauseous.  Ugh! I’m a mess!”

“Well, that’s why I’m here, and Alex.  By the way, where is Alex?”

“Who knows?  You know her.  She’s always late.  She’ll be here.”

“We’re here to help was my point, but since there is no we, just me, then I’m here to help,” Daniella said and she followed Melissa upstairs.  “I hear the band is supposed to be good this year.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too.  I’m really excited.”

“You should be! I know I’d be.  Just picture it: you, Gabriel, the romantic lighting of the bonfire.  It’s perfect!”

“I’d love to believe that.  In fact, it’s all I imagined all day.  But the reality is, he’ll probably show up, say hi to me and bail.”

“What? Why would you say that?” Daniella asked with a shocked expression.

“Come on, really?  I mean, you have eyes don’t you?  Look at him and look at me.  We don’t exactly match up, you know?”

“No.  I don’t know.  Look Melissa, you’re beautiful.  Everyone sees it but you.  And he likes you!  If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have asked you to the bonfire in the first place, right?”

“I don’t know,” she hesitated.

“Well I do!” Daniella said sharply.  “So stop it with the ‘he’s too good looking’ crap, got it?”

“Whoa, calm down there Daniella.  Crap?  Really?  That’s some tough talk there,” Melissa joked.

“What can I say?  I’m not exactly Alex in the swear department!”

“No, you’re not.  And I’m glad,” Melissa said and the doorbell rang again.  “Speak of the devil.  Let me go get the door.”

Melissa went back downstairs and opened the front door.  Alexandra stood, framed by the doorway, and looked like a model that had fallen from the pages of a magazine and onto her doorstep.  Clad from head to toe in black form-fitting clothes, she looked stunning.

“Wow Alex.  You look amazing,” Melissa said.

“Thanks, but can I use your bathroom. I have to take a mean dump,” Alexandra announced.

And with those words, the spell was broken.

“Sure. Umm, go right upstairs,” Melissa muttered.

“Great. I hope you have matches in there.”

Alexandra climbed the staircase slightly hunched and clutching her stomach.

From Melissa’s bedroom, Daniella called out to Alexandra, “Hello to you, too, Alex,” just as the bathroom door slammed shut.

“Nature is calling pretty loudly. My guess is she had Mexican fast food after school again,” Melissa offered.

“God help me, she’s sleeping at my house tonight,” Daniella fretted aloud.

Melissa laughed so hard her eyes began to tear.

After several flushes, Alexandra emerged from the upstairs bathroom looking relieved.

“Oh my Lord, if I ever say I’m getting drive-thru Mexican food again, shoot me!” she proclaimed.

Pinching her nose between her thumb and index finger, Daniella said, “You may want to go light another match or something.”

“Shut up, bitch,” Alexandra answered playfully and plopped down onto Melissa’s lavender-swathed bed.

“So we’re here to help.  Put us to work,” Daniella said.

“I guess I need an outfit first,” Melissa began.

“I’ll cover that,” Alexandra interrupted.  “Just pick something tight, something that hugs your curves.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You actually have curves,” Melissa replied and looked down at her small chest.

“Well, then your ass, you have an ass, so play it up!”

“Again, not much there either.”

“What do you want me to tell you?  You’re a boy with no curves to play up?”

“Why are you being like that?” Daniella asked.  “You know she’s nervous and not in the mood for you brand of, I don’t even know what you call it, humor?”

“Don’t lecture me! I’m trying to loosen her up!  She knows she’s not a boy and what she lacks in boobs she makes up for in other ways.  She has a small ass, but it’s a great ass, am I right?”

“God Alex!”

“What?  Her boobs are fine too.  Guys just need a little something to grab hold of.  She’s fine.”

Melissa stepped into her closet and considered shutting the door to muffle the sound of her friends bickering.  She did not.  Instead, she called out to them, “Please stop discussing my boobs and my butt!”  They both apologized like scolded children and turned their conversation to the band playing at the bonfire.  With more gentle talk at hand, Melissa came out of her closet and glimpsed her reflection in the mirror.  As it turned out, nothing Alexandra had said was untrue.  At five-foot-five inches tall and one hundred pounds, Melissa was by no means curvy.  She was the opposite of curvy really.  Her arms and legs were long and thin.  Her hips were slim but her waist was slimmer.  She did have a figure, just a slight one.  Many cautioned her to enjoy her stick-thin body as they called it, that it was a genetic gift.  But Melissa sometimes wished to be fuller-figured, particularly on nights like this one.  Being around Alexandra did not help matters either.  Although she never felt jealous of her amply endowed friend, it was hard not to notice the attention she commanded from men of every age.  Her voluptuousness had universal appeal.  And while Melissa did not categorize herself as ugly by any means, she merely yearned at times to fill her clothes out a bit more.  She returned to her closet and picked an outfit that suited her small shape, one she felt comfortable and confident in then looked in the mirror again.

Her blue, long-sleeved T-shirt clung to what little curves she had.  Rather than focusing on what she lacked, however, she chose to focus on her attributes, how the blue of her top reflected in her eyes giving them a teal hue, how her long hair cooperated fully, and fell in golden-brown waves down her back. She was not entirely displeased with her reflection and began to feel slightly less nervous.  She even began to feel buoyed by possibility, by hope.

She strode away from the mirror to her bureau and selected a cosmetic in a long slender tube.  She opened it and quickly applied a coat of the blush-colored gloss to her lips before spritzing herself with her favorite body mist.

“Yeah baby! Shake that ass!” Alexandra said and sat up and slapped Melissa on her backside.  “Look Daniella, she’s rocking her good ass jeans.”

“And she should.  Tonight is a special night.  She’s going to get rid of Kevin and reel in Gabriel,” Daniella added.

“I was just starting to calm down a bit, but thanks for reminding me about the whole Kevin thing,” Melissa said sarcastically.

“Oh God! I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean anything by it,” Daniella apologized.  “I just wanted to join in, and the whole Gabriel thing is so exciting.  I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.  The Kevin thing is my fault.  I should have just told him no in the first place, but I don’t know what happened.  I froze I guess.  I didn’t think for a second that Gabriel was into me; I’d just met him.  And Kevin did the whole persistent thing,” Melissa agonized and raked a hand through her hair.

“You don’t have to explain.  We get it,” Alexandra said.  “Kevin is a dick and doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“Uh, yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

“And you thought Gabriel would never be into you because you’re an idiot,” she continued.

“Wow, Alex.  That was a fine forensic analysis.  Really,” Daniella joked.

“A what?” Alexandra asked confusedly.

“Never mind,” Daniella replied.  “We’ve got to go.  Are you guys ready?”

“We are.  Are you?” Alexandra asked.

“I hope so,” Melissa said and shut the light and door to her room.

She walked down the steps with her friends behind her at stopped at the door to say good-bye to her father.

Daniella was the designated driver and helmed her peppy, silver Toyota Prius. Their drive was short and energized by upbeat music and lively chatter.  She had almost relaxed completely when they turned in to the driveway of Harbingers High School.  As they navigated the paved path and approached the rear parking lot, the smell of burning timber infused the crisp autumn air, and her stomach began to quaver.

The bonfire, responsible for the aromatic scent, was an annual homecoming tradition at their high school, and tonight, would be the backdrop for what she hoped would be a romantic evening with Gabriel. Daniella parked and they all walked toward the back of the school.

In a grassy clearing between two separate wings of the school that met and formed an L shape, wooden pallets had been gathered and piled high, then ignited.  Off to the left of the blaze, Sorrowful Rejects, a local band comprised of five high school students in various states of disarray, strummed, plucked and banged away at their instruments while the lead singer crooned angst-riddled lyrics.  Groups of admirers had congregated and bobbed their heads to the rhythmic beat.

The local fire department and several officers from the Harbingers Police Department were stationed on the campus to deter alcohol-induced injuries.

Melissa scanned the crowd for Gabriel.  She did not see him.  Alexandra and Daniella ushered her toward a spot closer to the bonfire.  Each student appeared mesmerized by the bonfire.  Melissa was unsure to whom the accolades belonged, whether it was the atmospheric conditions or the way the wooden pallets had been arranged by the fire department, but the fire staged a more theatrical presentation than in previous years. She looked on as it spawned tornadoes of smoke.

She stared in amazement as pillars of spinning clouds, small and large, emerged.  They started on the ground and began their rolling, whirling dance before disappearing into the night sky.

The bonfire was breathtaking.  Yet despite the awe-inspiring spectacle, something or someone, rather, was missing.  Alternating between scanning the crowd and glancing at her watch, Melissa eagerly awaited Gabriel’s arrival.

An hour passed, then another, and then thirty more minutes.  Still, Gabriel had not arrived.

The longer Melissa waited, the more completely her hopes were dashed, until finally she concluded that Gabriel must have come to his senses and realized she was simply not good enough for him.

Dejected, she decided that two and a half hours was long enough to wait for him and told Daniella and Alexandra she wanted to leave.  Her friends agreed that it was time to go.

As they were leaving, Kevin was arriving.

He strode confidently toward the girls. His broad, cocky smile displayed his over-bleached teeth.

“Ladies, ladies, what’s the hurry?  You guys aren’t leaving now, are you?” Kevin asked.  “The real party is after this lame, campfire stupidity is over. Melissa, we’re supposed to hang tonight, remember?  Me and the guys already set up the keg in the woods.”

“Yeah, about that, umm, my head is killing me.  It must be a migraine or something,” Melissa lied hoping to make a swift, uncomplicated exit.

“Hey, I think I have some Tylenol in my car.  If not, I’m sure one of the firefighter dudes has a first-aid kit with something that will help.

“Uh, no thanks.  I’m just going to go home and sleep.”

“Come on, I thought we were gonna hang tonight,” Kevin whined.  “Just stay for an hour.  How about that?  I’ll get you some Tylenol.  Take one or two and we can hang out.”

“You can’t be fucking serious after last time!”  Alexandra began, but Melissa shot her a look.

She had no desire whatsoever to spend time with Kevin.  The thought, in fact, made her head begin to ache for real.  But it couldn’t hurt to hang around a while longer.  Gabriel might show up after all.  And she wouldn’t look pathetic if she were talking with a group of people rather than just waiting around with her two best friends.

After exchanging a number of furtive glances with her friends and receiving the crystal-clear message indicated by Alexandra’s erected middle finger behind Kevin’s back, Melissa decided that an additional hour of her time would not kill her.

“Fine, Alex and Daniella and I will stay for an hour.  But that’s it,” Melissa said firmly.

Much to their annoyance and with protests that ranged from eye-rolling to obscene utterances expressed exclusively by Alexandra, Melissa’s friends agreed to stay with her, acting as chaperones.

“Great. I’m so glad.  Let me go get a couple of Tylenols for you, okay.”

“Sure.”

***

Kevin strutted away in search of analgesics for Melissa.  Though it was a crucial element of his charade, he was nauseated to accommodate her needs.  After all, he was way out of her league.  Melissa was cute, a little skinny and flat-chested, but cute.  But he believed himself deserving of a girl who more closely mirrored his own level of attractiveness.

As he trudged along past masses of mediocre girls, he noticed how all of them looked at him approvingly, adoringly.  He wondered how the hell an average looking girl like Melissa had had the nerve to reject him. She should have considered herself lucky to have been with him.  Any other girl in the school would have been thrilled to be in her place, they would not have turned him down.  Her prissy little virginal act was infuriating, but also enticing.  He loved a challenge.  And since she was loath to give it away willingly, he would help her along pharmaceutically.  He kept a prescription bottle with several Vicodin inside in his car; a couple of them along with a few beers and Melissa would be far more cooperative.

He smiled to himself, knew that the dimple in his cheek deepened as he did so and how much those around him loved his smile.  He continued working his way through the throngs of dazzled onlookers and strutted away from the crowd.  Near the edge of the grassy area, he spotted his friends, John DeNardi, Eric Sala and Chris Mace.

John spoke first.  “What’s up man?  Where’s the princess?”

“I left her back by the bonfire with her babysitters.  I’m getting the royal virgin a little something for her headache.”

“She better make your head ache later!  Know what I’m sayin’!”  Eric joked.

“You know it, man!”  Chris chimed in, high-fiving his friends.

“Tonight’s the night.  No more of her cock-tease bullshit,” Kevin declared.

“You wanna guarantee payment, just slip her a Vicodin or two chased with a beer and she’ll have her panties down like all the others did,” Chris added.

“That’s the plan, my brother!  I’ll see you guys in a little while.  I gotta get the bitch something for her pain.  I’m gonna run to my car and serve her up some real pain relief.”

“Take care of business, man.  Take care of business,” Eric said, punctuating the word business with a joint fist pound with Kevin Anderson.

Kevin jogged to the rear parking lot to retrieve a pair of small white pills from an orange prescription bottle in his glove compartment before jogging back to Melissa smiling and displaying his trademark indentation in his right cheek.

***

Melissa looked up just in time to see Kevin returning.

“Here’s your Tylenol,” he said, extending a hand that held two pills toward her.

She accepted the medicine despite the fact that she did not, in fact, have a migraine headache or any other pain that a pill could cure.  But before she put them in her mouth, she inspected the oval-shaped tablets.  They did not resemble the ones she kept in her medicine cabinet.

“They look funny.  I mean, don’t they usually have one red end and one blue end and the word ‘Tylenol’ written in the center?”

“Oh, yeah, all they had in the first-aid box was the generic stuff.  Sorry.  They told me it works just as well,” Kevin lied before adding, “Oh damn. I didn’t grab you a water bottle.  You’ll have to just wait to take it at the kegger.”

“Fine.  Whatever.”

Three hours into the annual bonfire at Harbingers High School, the fire waned and students began to disperse.  As the crowd grew smaller and smaller Melissa and her friends decided to leave.

Kevin informed Melissa, Alexandra and Daniella he would meet them behind the school at the entrance to the woods.  Beyond the entrance was a trail leading to where the party was set.  Normally, the trail would be tricky to navigate, but Daniella came equipped with a small flashlight.

Alexandra and Daniella walked ahead of Melissa and Kevin.  He tried to take her hand in his. Melissa, uninterested in any type of advances, subtly rebuffed his gesture by putting her hands in her pockets feigning to search for a pair of gloves.

After walking along the footpath and arriving at the clearing, she and her friends found a large boulder to sit on.  Kevin went to one of the kegs to get them each a beer.

“Ladies, your drinks are served,” Kevin quipped pretending to be a butler tending to his employers.

“I’m driving. None for me,” Daniella told him.

“Are you kidding me?  If I come home with this shit on my breath, my father will kill me.  And then my brothers will kick your sorry ass,” Alexandra crudely affirmed.

“Suit yourself,” Kevin replied, handing a plastic cup filled with beer to Melissa.  “More for us, then.  Oh, Melissa, here’s you bargain-brand Tylenol.”

To placate Kevin and maintain the charade, Melissa accepted the pills and swallowed them with a swig of beer.

The clearing quickly filled with students.  All held tall, red plastic cups that they had forfeited seven dollars apiece for so that they could visit the kegs an unlimited number of times. Each partygoer drank quickly to achieve intoxication as quickly as possible.  The threat of patrol cars with their sweeping spotlights loomed ceaselessly, lending the gathering an air of urgency.

Melissa had barely finished her first beer when Kevin, beaming, arrived with another.

The alcohol was affecting her more than normal, going straight to her head.  Without warning, she felt lightheaded and loopy.  Her surroundings took on a fuzzy, indistinct quality.  Muffled voices faded in and out.

Kevin spoke to her and his voice sounded as if it were echoing from the end of a long tunnel. “Wanna take a walk?” he asked.

“Are you crazy?  I’m not going anywhere with you,” Melissa laughed loudly and felt less inhibited than she’d ever felt before.

The large smile he’d been wearing sagged.  He looked over both his shoulders, checking to see if anyone had heard her.  When he looked back to her, his eyes had hardened.  “That’s cool, whatever.  No walk,” he said tightly.  “I’ll catch you later.”

Kevin walked over to a group of girls and began chatting with them.

“Holy shit!  That was fucking awesome!”  Alexandra gripped her elbow and gave a hearty shake, “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d grow a pair, but damn girl!  You shot his arrogant ass down!”

Melissa wanted to tell Alexandra how she was feeling, that her inhibitions had melted away, and had apparently taken her ability to think straight with it.  She wondered why the beer was hitting her harder than normal.  Perhaps if her nerves would have allowed her to eat a bigger dinner, she wouldn’t have felt as loopy as she currently did.  Earlier, she’d been excited about seeing Gabriel, too excited to eat.

Gabriel, she thought.  He could be looking for her right now.

“I’m going to go back to the bonfire to see if Gabriel is there,” she surprised herself by announcing in a voice far clearer than she felt.

“We’ll go with you,” Alexandra offered.

“Yeah, we’ll come,” Daniella said.

“No, no, you guys stay in case he comes straight here,” she said.

“I don’t want you walking through the woods by yourself,” Daniella worried.

“Don’t be such a worrywart!” Melissa smiled.  “It’s just down that path,” she pointed toward a narrow clearing.  And there are people everywhere.”

Daniella knit her brow concernedly and slid Alexandra a glance.  Alexandra shrugged.

“All right, just be careful and come right back, okay?” Daniella hesitated.

Melissa saluted her and said, “Yes, ma’am,” then she headed toward the path.

She began walking through the woods along what she thought was the path.  Voices of party-goers began to fade and the canopy of trees above her seemed to hover lower than before.  She turned, looked behind her and realized nothing looked familiar.  Brush pulled at her ankles where it hadn’t on the way in.  She narrowed her eyes, squinting against the deepening darkness, to get her bearings, but could not.  Everything had assumed a fuzzy, muddled quality.  Her heart began to race frantically.  She wondered what was happening to her, why everything looked blurry, how she’d gotten herself turned around on a path she knew well.  Beer had never affected her as it appeared to be now.  A voice sounded from behind her and her heart made a mad leap to her throat.

“Hey, if you wanted to get me alone, all you had to do was say so,” Kevin’s voice said nearby.  “You don’t have to play these games, you know, making me follow you and all.  I saw that look you gave me before you walked off.”

“I didn’t give you a look.  I didn’t even look at you,” Melissa snapped.

“I said enough with the games, Melissa.  You know you want me.  Stop with the tease routine.”

Melissa spun to face him, to shout every curse word she could think of, but felt the world tilt violently.  She stumbled, the woods suddenly spiraling.

“Whoa,” she said and shot both arms out to her side to grip something, anything.  “I think I need to sit.”

Kevin rushed to her side and grabbed her waist.  She supposed she should have felt grateful for him being there to help, but she did not.  Her skin crawled at his touch.  A strange feeling, a warning, whispered through her and made her shiver.

“Let me hold you.  You’re shivering,” Kevin said embracing her as he seated her atop a moss-covered fallen tree.

But quickly, his embrace progressed to something else entirely, something unwelcome.  He began kissing her neck, tightening his hold on her.  Melissa, despite feeling inexplicably hazy, stiffened.

“Hey!  What the hell are you doing?” she protested.

He did not respond.  Instead, his lips moved from her neck to her mouth.

“Stop it!” she said and tried to shove him, but her arms felt as if they were moving in slow motion.

He continued to kiss her, but she did not kiss him back.  He persisted, his lips flattening hers, suppressing her ability to speak.

Melissa panicked.  Her arms and legs were uncooperative.  Her responses were sluggish.  She felt as if she were moving against a current of water.  She fought against it, and after a lot of effort, managed to bring her arms between their bodies.  She tried to push him off of her with the heels of her hands, but her effort was ineffective.  He did not let go.  Rather, he moved his hand up under her shirt and under her bra.  Anger replaced her wooziness and she tried to fight, to resist him.  She struggled and pushed harder with her hands to unpin herself, but to no avail.  Kevin leaned on her with all of his weight, slammed her back against the felled tree and positioned himself on top of her.

With her heart slapping against her ribcage, Melissa turned her head and tried to scream, but Kevin covered her mouth with his.  She shoved at him, tried to force his body back and off hers.  But he did not budge.  Her attempts to free herself proved fruitless.  Tears singed her cheeks as the gravity of what was happening became clear.

In the distance Melissa thought she heard Daniella and Alexandra faintly calling her name.

Flooded with terror and adrenaline, her mind reeled.  Scattered thoughts failed to present a defined escape, but she knew she needed to keep fighting.  She writhed and twisted and turned her head from side to side. Screams escaped each time she turned, but all he did was grope at her more aggressively.

She thrashed and wriggled, fought him as best she could with limbs that refused to help, and brought one hand from between their bodies.  She clawed at his face, hoped to gouge an eye, but missed.  Her effort did distract him long enough for her to free one leg and bring her knee up between his legs.  She thrust it as hard as she could and landed it squarely against his crotch.

Kevin released her immediately then cursed and fell to the ground clutching his groin.  She paused as a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her.  She steadied herself and attempted to run but was halted as Kevin seized her ankle.  She fell to the ground on her hands and knees.

He dragged her back toward him before rolling her over and slapping her across her cheek.  The blow stung, disoriented her into temporary silence and submission.  Her face throbbed.

“You little bitch!” he spat.

Melissa regrouped quickly from the unexpected strike.  Instinct compelled her to continue fighting.  She flailed and scratched once again, this time marking Kevin’s face with a bloody scrape.  His hands immediately went to the area just below his right eye, felt where her fingernails had broken the thin skin and pulled them back to inspect them.  He screwed up his features in anguish at the wet and reddened fingertips he retrieved.  Melissa saw Kevin’s preoccupation with his injury and attempted to seize the opportunity.  She twisted more forcefully, resisted his weight atop her and struggled and fought as hard as she could.  But her exertion was useless.  He outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds.

Seeing his blood, Kevin flew into a fit of rage.  A flash of what she could only describe as hatred flickered in his eyes before he raised his hand to her again.  From high above his head, he brought the back of his hand crashing down against her face.  A blast of white-hot pain exploded from her cheek and her ear rang deafeningly.  Over the incessant ring in her eardrum and the intense pain emanating from her cheek, she heard Kevin shout at her.

“No more of your fucking games!” he screamed spraying spittle at her as he began tearing at her jeans unbuttoning them. “I will not be dicked around anymore. This can go one of two ways. You can let it happen or things will have to get rough!”

***

Gabriel arrived at Harbingers High School just as the annual bonfire was ending.  The crowd had thinned to a small group of stragglers surrounding a smoking heap of scorched wood.

He quickly scanned the faces of those who remained and approached a small group of girls to ask where everyone had gone.  They told him that most of students that had attended the bonfire had gone to the wooded area behind the school’s rear parking lot for a keg party.  The girls even escorted him along the footpath that led to a clearing in the woods where the gathering was being held.

After thanking them for their help, he moved through clusters of drunken classmates.  He examined every person he passed.  He spotted Alexandra and Daniella at the edge of the clearing.  They seemed to be gazing off into the darkened woodlands.  Melissa was not among the party-goers.  Neither was Kevin Anderson.

An immediate feeling compelled him to go off in search of Melissa.  He could not explain it, but something deep inside of him, something primal sensed that she needed him.

Striding blindly into the thicket, he wandered slowly at first, allowing his superior vision to adjust to the blackened shadows of the forest.  Stepping over copses and averting entanglement in various prickled shrubs, he ambled aimlessly until a feminine voice was heard in the distance.

Though muffled, the sound was distinct and urgent.  He continued toward it, his feeling growing stronger.

His feet crossed the leaf-strewn forest floor soundlessly and with agility, responding stealthily to every obstacle that presented itself.  He halted when he heard screams slash through the darkened canopies.  The voice was unmistakable.  It belonged to Melissa.

Though gatherers at the keg party on the outskirts of the woods would not have heard her cries as readily as he had, his enhanced hearing enabled him to do so.  Her tone indicated distress and struggle.  Adrenaline surged throughout his body, propelled him forward through undergrowth and brush and drove him at full speed toward her panicked screams.

Gabriel quickly arrived at a small clearing.  In the distance, he could distinguish two figures, one was Melissa.  And the other was Kevin Anderson.

Kevin was atop her.  They were struggling.  A hand was raised.  A slapping sound followed.

Rage flashed through Gabriel like lightning slicing through a midnight sky.  He thundered forward, fury storming within him, fueling him, until he reached the dell.  Melissa was beneath Kevin.  Dirt and blood streaked her fear-stricken face.

Running as quickly as his muscles permitted him, he heard a barely audible but distinct threat issued.  Through the rush of wind in his face and the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears, he saw Kevin atop Melissa, clawing at her pants and issuing a string of ugly threats.  But before Kevin could complete his venomous diatribe, Gabriel, never breaking stride, burst from the shadows and launched his body, slamming himself headlong into Kevin.  The force of the impact sent both of them hurling to the leaf-covered ground.

Gabriel sprung to his feet effortlessly, unaffected by the collision.  Kevin, however, slowly clambered to his feet, a look of shock and indignation plaguing his features as he saw Gabriel already standing, positioned and primed to fight.

“You just made a big mistake, brother,” Kevin said.  “I’m gonna fuck you up!”  He said raising his tightly clenched fists.

“C’mon!” Gabriel screamed with his arms outstretched, urging Kevin toward him.

Kevin needed little provocation.  He swung at Gabriel.  Gabriel swiftly sidestepped the intended hit. Bowing then rising deftly, Gabriel struck a quick jab followed by a powerful uppercut that landed evenly on Kevin’s jaw.  The impact of the blow knocked Kevin to the ground on his backside.

Kevin’s facial expression quickly transformed from one of astonishment to one of utter confusion.  His confusion rapidly morphed into indignation.  He scrambled to his feet.  Wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand, he spoke.

“Sucker-punching bitch!  Now you’re gonna pay!” Kevin exclaimed and charged at Gabriel, swinging blindly, fiercely.

Gabriel dodged the assault and delivered an effective shot to Kevin’s abdomen.  He felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction as Kevin dropped and gripped his stomach.  As Kevin knelt in the dirt below, Gabriel landed another blow to his face just below his eye.  Kevin tumbled into the underbrush on his side.

Trembling with wrath, Gabriel walked over to Kevin who remained in a prone position and spoke.  With every ounce of restraint that he possessed, he managed to avoid striking Kevin again and again, pummeling him until every ounce of his anger was spent.  Gabriel wanted Kevin to feel fear and pain, fear and pain like he had caused Melissa.

Swallowing the bile that filled him, Gabriel managed, “Just stay down, Kevin!  This is over.  I better never see you near her again,” he threatened.

“Fuck you!” Kevin spat as he raised himself to a crouched position.  From his squatted stance, Gabriel watched as Kevin reached for a pointed, shiny object sheathed on a holster at his ankle.  He hurriedly tried to conceal the knife under the cuff of his shirtsleeve before staggering to his feet once again.

Kevin lumbered toward Gabriel.  Leaves and twigs littered his clothes.  Blood and dirt caked his cheeks.  Gabriel did not retreat from Kevin’s advance.  Instead his feet remained planted, his fury-filled gaze trained on his adversary gauging and anticipating Kevin’s next move.

As Kevin moved closer and positioned himself at arm’s length from Gabriel, he lowered his eyes to the ground and put a hand up, palm facing outward, an implication of surrender of sorts while the other lay slack at his side.  Gabriel, flooded with indignation and distrustful of Kevin’s false gesture of submission, remained, readied.

Instantaneously, Kevin lunged at Gabriel brandishing a dagger and stabbing at Gabriel.

“I’ll kill you!”  Kevin shouted as he cut through the air at Gabriel.

Gabriel evaded having the weapon plunged into his torso.  Instead the cutting edge grazed him, lacerating his forearm.

Incensed, Gabriel seized Kevin’s hand that held the weapon and struck his face as hard as he could with his free hand.  The impact drew a snapping sound and an immediate gush of blood from Kevin’s nose.

Kevin fell to the ground.  His blade lay at Gabriel’s feet.

“Fuck!”  Kevin screamed with both hands at his nose.  “You broke my nose, asshole!”

As he clambered to a standing position, he glared at Gabriel defiantly and warned, “This is not over!” before he plodded off into the surrounding woods.

Gabriel turned, half expecting Melissa to be gone.  But she remained, transfixed, sitting with her knees cradled to her chest on the leaf covered earth.  Tears streaked her dirt covered face.

Taking a deep breath to steady his insides that rattled with anger and adrenaline, he walked over to her with his palms facing her.  “Melissa?  Are you okay?”

Her voice quavered, “Just get me out of here.  Please.”

Gabriel offered his hand to Melissa and she accepted it.  He raised her to her feet and wrapped one arm around her waist.  Together, they found their way out of the woods to the parking lot.

“Please, just take me home Gabriel,” Melissa said softly.

“What about Alexandra and Daniella.  They’ll worry.”

“I’ll call them from home.  I just need to get away from this place,” she said tearfully.

He did not say another word.  He opened the passenger side door of his hunter-green Ford Explorer for her and helped her in, making sure to fasten her safety belt.  After seating himself in the driver’s side and fastening his own seat belt, Gabriel and Melissa headed toward Blackstone Drive.

Chapter 12

Dr. Franklin Terzini hurled an object through the air, hard, and did not flinch as it exploded into the far wall of his work area.

Slivers of glass ricocheted from the concrete and showered down, littering the floor of his laboratory with prismatic splinters of varying shapes and sizes. Just seconds earlier, the shards had been intact and had formed a large beaker. The flat-bottomed glass cylinder was empty at the time of its destruction but several hours ago had held a thick, opaque liquid crucial to his work.

Pure rage had overtaken him and produced a rare, but intense, emotional outburst.

Breathing heavily in short shallow breaths, he panted. His heart raced. Beads of sweat stippled his forehead. He bent forward and placed both hands on his knees and attempted to catch his breath.

He had gone to the main house in search of Gabriel but found that his creation was not there. Gabriel had left, though he had not been granted permission to leave the grounds.

Gabriel had defied him.

Wiping his damp brow with the back of his hand, Dr. Terzini straightened slowly. As he rose, he glimpsed his image in the stainless-steel paper towel dispenser near the decontamination and sink area of his lab. He was startled by his reflection. An unfamiliar face stared back at him.

With glasses that sat askew across the bridge of his nose, hair disheveled and a mouth contorted unnaturally, he vaguely resembled the man who commanded worldwide respect a short time ago, the genius he knew himself to be, the man who would transform humanity.

As he gazed at himself in the reflective metal surface, a new feeling washed over him replacing the rush of anger that propelled his previous eruption: shame.

Shame rippled and flowed throughout his entirety, relaxed the grimaced muscled around his mouth and drained the color from his cheeks.  Looking at his slackened and blanched face, his reflection, though disgraced, became more familiar.

He quickly smoothed his black hair, coaxing errant strands back to their prescribed coif shape then smoothed his dress shirt before tucking it into his trousers.  Pulling back his shoulders he stood erect, with pride, composed again.

After several deep breaths, his thoughts were righted, his emotions reined in. Once he was calmed, he began to survey the tremendous mess he had made when rashly launching a beaker at the wall.

He had dozens more like the one he’d smashed, identical in shape and size. He was not upset that a piece of lab apparatus had been destroyed.  He was upset, however, by what had caused it. He had been goaded to the point of emotionality, a loathsome, revolting state of existence.

His forced expressiveness was a direct result of Gabriel’s noncompliance. Gabriel had operated against ingrained conditioning that dictated he never act against Terzini.

Yet, Gabriel disobeyed direct orders, his orders, and likely attended the bonfire. In doing so, he exhibited a sign of defect, of weakness. He was demonstrating a mark of failure. And failure was alien to Dr. Franklin Terzini; alien and unacceptable.

The ramifications of such a catastrophic letdown implicated his work, challenged his integrity, his genius.

He inhaled deeply through his nostrils and exhaled through his mouth to halt the onslaught of another anger and adrenaline-induced frenzy. After relaxing and narrowly avoiding a repeat of the earlier equipment wrecking incident, he began considering his choices.

Gabriel’s apparent malfunction had provoked a destructive act. He would not allow Gabriel to rescind the significance of his work and make a mockery of him as well.

Fortunately, he prided himself on being pragmatic. He had a contingency plan, though it was not preferred in the least. A lifetime’s worth of work had been utilized; Gabriel was the culmination of that work.  An alternative creation could be formed, though he never imagined he would need to do so. That is, before Gabriel had engaged in his supposed insolent behavior. If evidence and admission corroborated Terzini’s suspicion, that if Gabriel did not have a reasonable excuse for breaking protocol and going to the bonfire, then drastic measure would need to be taken. The potential for dire circumstances existed, circumstances that would warrant the new creation’s activation.  He would be forced to start from the beginning again, educating, training and preparing for the replacement’s successful integration.

It would present a problem with his relocation. With his alleged death fresh in the Russian Mafia’s mind, moving would be a tremendous risk. Finding another house that boasted an underground shelter would be challenging as well. Both threatened exposure and, ultimately, his life.

He would also need to dispose of Gabriel.

But before such drastic measures were taken, he needed to be certain that a defect did exist. And if so, it was imperative that he know whether Gabriel’s malfunction was correctable. So many questions swirled about in his mind. Gabriel’s failure would be his failure. Was it possible that he was capable of making a mistake? The query seemed ridiculous, preposterous.

If he did not receive an explanation he deemed suitable and satisfactory from Gabriel, he would have to be destroyed; a new champion would be produced to advance society to its future state of perfection.

Chapter 13

Arrangements had been made for Eugene to board a fishing vessel docked in the Avacha Bay, a Pacific Ocean Bay on the southwestern coast of Kamchatka Peninsula in the port city Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky.

More than five hundred miles needed to be traversed to reach the Avacha Bay from the underground laboratory that burned outside Talovka, Kamchatka.

A plane ride would have been the quickest and safest method of travel for Eugene, but driving posed the least questions.

Instead, Eugene traveled in his rugged all-terrain vehicle. His Hummer H1 Alpha negotiated the hostile landscape with little effort.  Torrents of heavy snow pelted the windshield and winds whipped and gusted up to thirty-five miles per hour throughout much of the trip.

Unpaved roads crusted with black ice and covered in snow failed to provide sufficient traction. Eugene, responding to the inhospitable conditions, employed his superior genetic attributes, his enhanced vision, quick reflexes and instinct to guide him.

Requiring infrequent rest stops, Eugene closed the vast distance between Talovka and the Avacha Bay which featured fierce blizzard conditions in less than ten hours. Later than originally planned, he arrived at Petropavlovsk Harbor just before midnight.

Eugene searched for the dock where he was to meet a man named Sasha Titov, a Pacific salmon fisher headed to the rugged coastline of the Aleutian Islands. Eugene had never met Titov. Dr. Terzini had made the arrangements prior to his departure. He was to meet the mystery fisherman and his small crew at a numbered slip where the craft was moored.

Parking his Hummer in a designated space, Eugene walked out on to the pier where half a dozen ships were birthed.

As he strode along the jetty, the only sound he heard was his own footsteps on the sturdy structure below. All else was still and silent.  Darkness enveloped the wharf, hushed it. Each ship loomed lightless, ensconced in the thick, velvety shadows. Eugene wondered whether the captain and his crew had left without him as his arrival was several hours behind schedule.

Checking the number on the paper Terzini had given him, Eugene moved toward the corresponding slip. He was relieved to find that a ship still awaited him.

As he looked to its bow, a burly, bearded man lumbered toward him. Cloaked by a navy woolen hat and matching parka, Eugene presumed the robust man to be Sasha Titov.

Removing his glove and thrusting a beefy hand at Eugene, Sasha Titov moved with a pace that betrayed his heft.  He spoke Russian, one of many languages Eugene was fluent in as he rapidly approached. Eugene clasped the brawny fisherman’s hand in his. Sasha Titov smiled a genuine, affable smile.

Titov’s proximity enabled Eugene to inspect his appearance closely.

He was surprised to see that nothing about Titov was weathered. His features were not hardened like other fisherman but, rather, softened. His plump, pink cheeks were round and gave the appearance of a perpetual smile. His abundant facial hair, all a reddish brown, curved and arched. Beneath his cheeks sat an auburn beard filled with hairs that hooked and bowed, swirling into an unexpectedly neat arrangement. The curved line of his nose ended with a bulbous formation. Bushy eyebrows curled toward vibrant blue eyes fringed by eyelashes that arched up and outward. His every attribute was rounded, merry. Eugene could not deny how the sum of his features lent him the appearance of a brunet Santa Claus.

In keeping with his Santa Claus facial composition, Sasha Titov’s body was rounded as well. His pudgy build was barely contained by his winter coat. His belly strained and pressed against the zippered material and threatened to separate the teeth that interlocked to hold it closed.

Pumping Eugene’s hand, Titov said, “I am so pleased to meet you. I saw headlights in the lot and figured it must be you.” Titov laughed, a deep bass timber resonated in his throat. “After all, who else would be traipsing around this place in the middle of the night?”

“I’m sorry for holding you up. The weather was far more treacherous than I had expected. Please accept my apology,” Eugene offered, curiously held by the stranger’s rotund and jolly manifestation.

“That’s not necessary,” Titov said pumping Eugene’s hand.

“Thank you for being so understanding,” Eugene said as he reciprocated the enthusiastic handshake.

“Wow, you’re a big man, and strong, too. I was told you were tall but I never guessed you would be so big,” Titov continued, smiling broadly.

“So I’ve been told,” Eugene responded with a half-smile.  It was rare for anyone to merely comment on his size. He awaited further remarks on the subject.

“What is your name, my big friend?” Sasha inquired

“Eugene. And you are?”

“Sasha. Sasha Titov.”

“Nice to meet you.”

To Eugene’s astonishment, he did not pursue the typical course of conversation concerning his appearance, or more specifically, his build. During the few instances he encountered a member of the general populace, the focus centered on his looks.

Sasha Titov did not.

If Titov was repelled by Eugene, or distracted by the dark sunglasses he wore at night, he did not appear as such. Instead he gave the impression of immediate acceptance, welcoming him as a shipmate. Such courtesy perplexed Eugene.

As they ambled along the length of the ship, Titov engaged Eugene in light conversation.

“I hope our accommodations will be suitable. The cabins are a quite small,” Titov rambled.

Eugene’s mind struggled to understand how a common human being could be interested in the comfort of another, least of all his comfort. After all, he had long-considered human beings the most selfish of creatures.  Titov’s concern for his lodging implied generosity, kindness. Eugene found himself calmed by his new acquaintance’s bighearted attitude. Such calm confused him. He sought to redirect the conversation.

“I am sure the cabins will be just fine. By the way, where is your crew, Mr. Titov?” Eugene asked.  “I don’t see anyone on deck.”

Eugene assumed that more people would be present. To his knowledge, when a ship was departing for a long journey such as the one they were embarking on, there would be a buzz about the boat-longshoremen loading it with supplies, families seeing their kin off-yet Eugene observed that no one lingered about the pier. The deck was deserted.

“Please, call me Sasha,” Titov appealed before adding,  “I told my men to get a few hours of sleep before we sail, that I would wait for you alone.”

Eugene considered the plump and perpetually smiling man’s explanation for the deserted deck and deemed it commendable.  Sasha Titov appeared to be truly concerned with the welfare of others, a fact that puzzled Eugene.

“Again, I’m sorry for being late. I’ll apologize to your men when they wake,” Eugene found himself saying without prior thought.

“Don’t trouble yourself. The weather is not your fault. They were happy to rest before our journey.”

“I look forward to meeting them. How many men are there?”

“We have one member who does most of the cooking,” Titov began. “We think of him as our chef, and then there are three other crew members. Including me, there are five members total. They’re all good men. We’re like a family.”

Titov spoke of his crew warmly, protectively. It was the first affectionate words Eugene had heard a human being speak of people not bound to them by blood.

Sasha Titov was not related to any of his fellow fishermen, yet he felt a kinship with them that surpassed that of familial constraints. He embraced outsiders. Such a notion intrigued Eugene.

“I hope I can be helpful. I am not a fisherman, though. I’ll likely be most helpful to you and your men by just staying out of the way.”

“Nonsense! A strapping man like you will be very useful.” Sasha Titov said walking toward the boarding ladder of the ship. “Let’s get off this dock and onto the ship.”

“Sounds good,” Eugene said as proceeded up the ladder of the small trawler.

The modest craft was painted a simple white with the name Titov painted in black at the bow. Large fishing nets, used to ensnare the intended catch, occupied either side of the boat. The ship was meticulously maintained but old.

Eugene assumed that the portly fisherman could likely afford a better vessel.  Yet much to his puzzlement, Titov opted to retain his humble ship. Such humility was not in keeping with Eugene’s perception of the human species. He was baffled, but not displeased.

“Let me release the bow line from the berth,” Titov declared as he released the stern line and bow line from the quay.

The vessel was adrift.

“I will give you a tour of the ship and make introductions as we cruise. Okay?”

“You’re the captain,” Eugene conceded.

Titov embarked. Standing on deck, Sasha Titov took a deep breath. “Ahh! There is nothing like filling your lungs with good sea air, huh?”

“No, there’s nothing like it,” Eugene agreed and mimicked Sasha’s action of profound inhalation and exhalation though he loathed the smell of decaying marine life and presumed only a human could enjoy such a foul stench.

The vessel groaned and complained as it drifted beyond its slip farther out into the bay. Both men stared reverently into the blackened abyss.

Titov broke their pensive silence by offering, “Come. Let me show you the state-of-the-art bridge.”

Eugene allowed himself to be ushered by Sasha Titov to the ultramodern compartment that functioned as the control room of the ship. Various sophisticated nautical electronic devices occupied the console.

“Wow,” Eugene marveled as he picked up a small rectangular object. “What is all this stuff?”

Proudly, Titov began describing its purpose.

“This is a Garmin GPSMAP 5215 Chart Plotter,” he began. “It features a highly detailed Blue Chart g2 marine preloaded cartography to the Alaskan shoreline. It also has a worldwide base map with high-quality satellite images instead of more traditional maps.”

Next, Eugene retrieved a bulky object resembling a 1980s car phone. “This looks like the original model for the cell phone,” he joked.

Sasha Titov laughed a jovial, full-bodied expression. “No, no, not an early cell-phone design. This is actually an Inmarsat Isat Phone Pro, a global handheld satellite phone capable of voicemail, e-mail and text messaging and GPS location data.”

“Wow, but it’s so small,” Eugene wondered aloud. “Amazing!”

Eugene found Titov’s congeniality infectious. He began unconsciously mirroring the pleasant fisherman’s enthusiasm, smiling even, though cautious to conceal his sharp teeth. Titov did not recoil in horror as all others did. Instead, Eugene watched as the rounded, russet-haired man, unbothered, moved effortlessly and excitedly about his workspace. He wondered how, despite his cumbersome build, Titov was so light-footed, unburdened by his generous insulation.

With lithesome steps, Sasha Titov darted to a metal desk in the far corner of the bridge and selected a piece of apparatus similar to a high-tech flashlight. He held it out, his face the embodiment of pride.

“This, Eugene, is my newest acquisition,” Titov beamed. “It is a high-performance handheld waterproof thermal imager that provides superior night vision.”

With a grin that broadened, dangerously skirting the border between acceptable and frightening, Eugene gaped at Titov’s trinkets then spoke. “Such sophisticated technology. I was unaware that all of this equipment even existed,” he offered.

Smiling broadly, Titov said, “We have some of the finest maritime technology available.”

Interested in maintaining their conversation, Eugene continued, “Being a career fisherman must warrant such technology. You are out at sea three out of four seasons, right?”

Sasha Titov deftly navigated the tight confines of the cramped quarters, replacing his beloved equipment to its rightful place. As he returned, his demeanor had transformed slightly.

“Sometimes we are gone for months at a time. It is not an easy life,” Titov offered solemnly as his expression became melancholy. “I’ve missed much.”

“Do you have a family?” Eugene asked spontaneously.

“I’ve been happily married for twenty-two years. We have four boys, all strapping young men,” he beamed, pride swelling in his every feature. “But I have missed many birthdays, many holidays. My absence is necessary to put food on the table, so they forgive me.”

He considered the idea of kinfolk, of the profound interdependence that exists among its members. Eugene also reflected on Sasha Titov’s profession, how it affected his domestic arrangement before adding thoughtfully, “You’re lucky to have such wonderful people to go home to.”

After a pause, Sash Titov continued in earnest. “After this trip I will return home to my wife and children, settle in to my life as we brace ourselves for the long winter when it becomes too cold and I cannot fish, when money will become scarce.”

Eugene’s expression was solemn. He believed Sasha Titov to be not only a likable man, but a decent man as well. He came dangerously close to experiencing genuine regard for Titov.

He offered his large hand to the fisherman.

“You are a good man, Sasha Titov. I am happy to be aboard this fine vessel.”

Titov extended his hand and clasped Eugene’s. Eugene’s hand dwarfed his. The men shared a sincere handclasp.

Eugene stared at Sasha Titov. His gaze zeroed in on his round face.  Titov’s features withered slightly and began to display concern. Eugene did not relinquish his grip. Instead, he held tightly.

Eugene considered Sasha Titov a likable human, the most likeable he had encountered yet. But he was still a useless human, nevertheless.

He glowered down at the fisherman, watched as Titov’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed in confusion. Confusion quickly transformed to alarm as Titov tried desperately to remove his hand from Eugene’s vise-like grip.

Every cell within his construct hummed and vibrated as he tightened his grip. He savored the seconds that the plump, perpetually pleasant man ceased smiling and winced in pain. But Titov’s wounded cries did not deter him. They encouraged him. Eugene grasped even harder as his thin lips spread across his abnormally sharp incisors and twisted into a cruel smile.

Sasha Titov’s pallor blanched as Eugene wrung his hand. Within his crushing clutch, Eugene could feel the small bones in his hand yielding under the tremendous pressure being applied. He basked in the paling complexion of the enervated fisher.

Titov stared up at Eugene, his eyes bleary and unfocused. Eugene glared back at him from behind his dark glasses.

“Why?” Titov pleaded in an unsteadied voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”

Fueled by the misery he was inflicting and still, grinning maniacally, Eugene employed every ounce of his superior strength squeezing and twisting Titov’s hand. He felt knuckles shattering under the crippling compression as every bone in his hand splintered and fractured. His stomach quavered as he witnessed the loss of consciousness instigated by the excruciating pain of the pulverizing pressure.

When Titov regained cognizance, Eugene took the bowed man’s face in one hand. Squeezing his cheeks with his thumb and index finger, he removed his dark lenses forcing Titov to look into his feline eyes.

His face was stricken as he questioned Eugene one last time. In a weakened whisper, he asked, “Why?”

Eugene spoke with rancor lacing his every word as rage welled within him.

“You’ve seen my face, friend,” he said, his voice low and maleficent. “You also know who sent me. I cannot allow anything that could lead back to him.”

He stared at Sasha Titov with hatred as the fisherman managed to murmur, appearing to struggle against succumbing to blackout.

“What about my crew?” Titov begged feebly. “They’ve never seen you.”

“I will tend to them as I am tending to you. Make no mistake about that,” Eugene growled.  “Although I intend to make their suffering far greater.”

“No, please, don’t! They don’t know anything. You can’t do this!” Titov begged with sheer terror in his voice.

Ignoring his pleas Eugene cupped his hands around Titov’s face and cocked his head to one side to observe the burly, cherub–faced fisherman.  Disgust brimmed and boiled beneath the surface of his skin as he regarded the loathsome human who enjoyed the rancid odor of fetid fish. Then in one swift motion he snapped Sasha Titov’s head sharply to the left, breaking his neck and severing his spinal column.

An involuntary shudder passed through Eugene’s body as the nauseating twinkle left his exasperatingly merry eyes, replaced instead with a fixed and vacant stare. Sasha Titov’s lifeless body lay inert, with mouth agape in horror, on the floor of the bridge. Eugene trembled a moment longer, his body overcome by exhilaration. He delighted in the seconds that life escaped Titov, allowed himself the privilege of lingering longer than he had with past killings. Such protraction was a treat he afforded himself on rare occasions, but knew that in this instance such an indulgence was unnecessary. He did not need to savor the fisherman’s death as the remaining four crew members slept in cabins below.  Eugene would be able to take his time with them and appreciate their deaths.

The thought of more murder frenzied his senses. His insides buzzed and hummed alive, teeming with fervor.  Eugene relished in his body’s impassioned response to the crew members who unknowingly awaited his wrath. He did not need to focus on any other aspect of his journey. Fortunately for him, the vessel captained by the late Sasha Titov was operating on autopilot. The steering mechanism was guided by a control positioned in the helm and interfaced with the ship’s GPS navigation system. The system did not require further interference unless he deemed it necessary. A course had been plotted by Titov prior to their encounter. The automatic pilot would steer the ship on the intended course. The vessel was headed for the Aleutian Islands, a chain of small islands in the Northern Pacific Ocean that separated the Bering Sea from the Pacific Ocean. Once it reached the preordained destination, however, Eugene would change the coordinates and head to the United States of America.

As the ship headed out of the Avacha Bay, an inlet large enough to accommodate any ship in the world, Eugene glanced out of the port hole at the horizon. Tri Brata, a set of three rocks at the entrance to the Avacha Bay, could be seen, their outline blacker than the darkness of the night sky. The usually picturesque arrangement was considered a symbol of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky. Local lore suggested that they were the three brothers who went to defend the town from a tsunami and turned to stone. In the obscurity of the nightfall, the array looked sinister and foreboding. Eugene smiled broadly at the dark, stony brothers; their fate was far kinder than the one the remaining men aboard the Titov would receive.

Eugene headed out of Avacha Bay past the “Three Brothers” rocky pinnacles, through the mouth of the bay past Starichkov Island. He was destined for Alaska. Once on American soil, Eugene would travel to Port Angeles, Washington and refuel. He would be at sea covering nearly one thousand nautical miles.

In Port Angeles, Washington, a Hummer H1 Alpha identical to the one he abandoned in Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky awaited Eugene. He would drive close to three thousand miles and cross through eight states to New York. He would traverse a great distance before taking up residence in the rural town of Stonewall in upstate New York.

Chapter 14

Gabriel drove Melissa to her home on Blackstone Drive. She sat in stunned silence, unable to process all that had happened. Overcome by shuddering that refused to end despite the warmth of the SUV, she wrapped her arms around her body.

She did not glance at Gabriel nor did she gaze out the window. Her eyes remained fixed, staring straight ahead, but focusing on nothing. Her thoughts had yet to regroup and regain a semblance of order. She continued hugging herself and gazing with unfocused eyes until Gabriel pulled his Explorer in to her driveway.

“Please, let me walk you in,” he said snapping her out of her nonspecific concentration.

She did not respond verbally, but waited as Gabriel climbed out, rounded the car and opened her door for her. Despite the violent trembling that racked her body, Melissa found Gabriel’s desire to open the door for her to be a courteous gesture, one she had heard of but had never been on the receiving end of. Even under such stressful circumstances, she appreciated his gallantry.

He took her hand and walked her to the front door. She was comforted by his help. Releasing her hand, Gabriel held the storm door as Melissa let herself in.  He held her hand again as they moved down the hallway, past the living room and dining room to the family room in the rear of the house.

Melissa’s eyes widened when she saw that her father occupied the couch. Hunched over a tray table with a can of beer and fried cheese sticks, Christopher Martin took one look at his daughter’s battered face and lunged forward from his seat.

His features hardened as he sprung toward his daughter.

“Melissa what the hell happened to your face?” her father growled.

“Dad, what are you doing here? I mean, I didn’t see your truck in the driveway,” she asked and ignored her father’s question.

“I parked in the garage. But who cares. I asked you a question! What the hell happened to your face? Were you in an accident?” he demanded.

“No. Dad, there wasn’t a car accident or anything. I, well, I don’t know how to tell you. Gabriel,” she tried, but her father cut her off prematurely.

“Who is Gabriel and where do I find him?” he exploded.

“No, Dad, Gabriel is in the living room right now.”

“What?” he shouted.

Christopher Martin stormed past his daughter toward Gabriel. She looked on as he raged erroneously at Gabriel.

“You did this to my daughter?” he shouted.

Quickly closing the gap between him and Gabriel, her father seized Gabriel by his shoulder.

She watched in horror as her father grabbed Gabriel. Hate etched his every feature.

Melissa moved swiftly, positioning her body between the two men and shouted, “Dad, stop! Gabriel did not do this. Kevin Anderson did!” She felt her face blush to a deep crimson. “Kevin Anderson tried to attack me in the woods by the school after the bonfire. And I think he drugged me, too. ”

“He drugged you and took you off into the woods?” her father screamed.

She saw his face redden then immediately progress to an unhealthy purple. His brow furrowed to a scowl. His eyes were steely, penetrating. His jaw locked. Melissa had never seen her father so angry. She worried for his health–both physical and mental. A large vein protruded from his otherwise smooth forehead as he hissed through clenched teeth, “I’m going to kill him!”

“No, Dad. You can’t kill him,” she panicked. “As much as I’d like you to, you just can’t.”

Christopher Martin paced, each step crashed down on the hardwood flooring forcefully, with purpose. He stalked back and forth like a caged animal that had been provoked and contemplated its limited attack options.

“Tell me what happened,” he managed without halting his movement.

“There was a keg party in the woods after the bonfire. Kevin told me I was taking a Tylenol. I took it with a beer. Next thing I know everything was hazy and spinning and Kevin was trying to, you know.”

Melissa could not speak the words to her father. They caught in her throat as tears streamed down her cheeks. She reeled from the events of the evening. Verbalization would mean reliving everything. And she was simply not ready to do that.

Melissa felt like a bystander witnessing a force of nature she was powerless to stop. She watched as her father, who just seconds ago resembled a volcano about to erupt, exploded.

“Where does Kevin Anderson live Melissa?” he demanded no longer speaking through clenched teeth but screaming in a voice hoarse and raw with rage.

Melissa’s mind raced as she searched for the words to halt her father from committing an act that, though deserving and befitting its intended target, was a crime.

“Dad, wait! What? Why? I mean, calm down. Gabriel took care of him.” Her voice quavered as she brushed back tears.

Unyielding, her father stormed past her to get his work boots from the garage.

He slammed the door shut and declared, “I am going to kill that Kevin Anderson.”

Melissa panicked, knew her father fully intended to make good on his threats against Kevin. She needed him to be rational, to see that killing Kevin Anderson–or even threatening him–would not be helpful to her in the least.

Incapable of controlling her father’s emotions, she instead sought to engage him with a piece of information she hoped would give him pause.

“Dad, seriously, Gabriel beat the crap out of Kevin. Even broke his nose.”

Though the information intrigued him, her father simply said, “Really, huh,” then blustered past Melissa and Gabriel toward the staircase.

“Yes! Dad, this is Gabriel,” Melissa stressed as she gestured to Gabriel.

Melissa attempted an introduction hoping to distract her father long enough for him to calm down.

Gabriel extended his hand. “Hello, Mr. Martin, sir. I am Gabriel James.”

“Good for you kid,” he fumed. “I’m glad you hit the bastard a few times. Glad you busted his nose. But she’s my daughter. And I’m going to kill that scumbag.”

As her father articulated each word, the degree of calm he possessed during his brief interaction with Gabriel seemed to seep from him. Speaking enraged him anew. But one question remained; one he had not posed yet.

In a raspy whisper, he asked, “Missy, did he, violate you?”

“No Dad, he didn’t,” she answered.

“But the bastard tried to. And he hit you. I’m getting my shotgun!”

He thundered upstairs to get his Remington 12-gauge shotgun.

Melissa was dizzied with panic. She followed him but to her chagrin, she was much too slow. He reappeared almost instantly armed and threatening. Before Melissa could intercede, Gabriel offered his thoughts. She was paralyzed by Gabriel’s bravery and stupidity as he led her father to the kitchen for conference.

“Sir, if I may speak,” Gabriel began in a calm, measured voice.  “I beat the hell out of him, I really did. If you were to find Kevin’s address and beat him to a bloody pulp or shoot him where he stood, you would be completely justified. But his parents would call the police and you would be arrested which would leave Melissa orphaned and vulnerable to retribution, sir. Melissa has been through enough tonight. She has experienced enough violence,” he reasoned.

With his chin tipped up defiantly, her father was courteous and composed enough to listen and consider Gabriel’s thoughts.

“So what do you propose I do, kid, just let him get away with trying to rape my daughter?”

Frustration temporarily overcame her dad. He slammed his hand against the kitchen table. The sound startled Melissa.

“Absolutely not sir, I just think we need to act first. We need to call the police.”

“Maybe that makes sense to you, but you’re not her father! I want that asshole dead!” he seethed.

“Sir, you’re right. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling,” Gabriel offered. “I got to feel my fists pounding on the dirtbag. You ought to have the same satisfaction, but not now, not tonight. Pardon my language sir, but let him get the shit scared out of him with the cops showing up on his doorstep.”

Her father remained silent for several minutes. Brooding and deep in thought, his complexion regained a fair hue. The bulging vein diminished. His facial muscles relaxed.

“Huh. There may be something to what you’re saying, kid. Let the whole damn neighborhood see their precious star athlete taken away in handcuffs. Let them read about him in the paper.  He can kiss his scholarship offers good-bye.”

“Yes sir. And he’ll probably be benched and when he is, everyone will know why.”

Everyone would know why. The words resonated in her head. If Kevin were arrested, it would most certainly be newsworthy enough. The school, along with the entire town, would be privy to the attack she’d endured.

“Exactly!” she shouted. “Everyone would know what happened!”

Melissa neared hysteria.

“Doesn’t anyone care about how this affects me?”

Both her father and Gabriel halted and turned to look at Melissa. The night’s events, her father’s near-felonious response left her raw and exposed.

“Wasn’t it enough that all this happened in the first place without every student, every parent and every teacher knowing about it?” Melissa began. “I mean, I don’t want everyone staring at me and talking about what happened. It’s just so embarrassing. I just want this to be behind me. Don’t I get a say?”

“Missy, this scumbag deserves to be punished and embarrassed. He deliberately drugged you, told you that you were taking Tylenol. I am no lawman, but I’m guessing that’s illegal, as is trying to force yourself on a woman,” her dad explained.

“Your father is right, Melissa. And since you are a minor, I imagine that the authorities cannot disclose your name without the consent of your father,” Gabriel added.

“It doesn’t have to be in the paper either,” Melissa’s father reasoned. “So the only people who will know what happened apart from us and Kevin would be the police and Kevin’s parents and trust me, they will not want this to get out any more than you do,” Melissa’s father concluded.

Melissa considered what had been proposed to her. She knew that what Kevin did must not go unpunished. He drugged her, tried to render her powerless and strip her of her dignity. Though she had no control over her situation earlier, she would have control over its outcome.

“Fine then, let’s do this. Let’s report Kevin,” Melissa asserted wringing her hands.

Her father crossed the room and picked up the telephone. As he dialed, the doorbell rang.

Melissa answered the door to find Daniella and Alexandra standing at the entrance. She could only imagine the thoughts that raced through their minds as they looked at her bruised face.

Judging from their horrified expressions, she looked as bad as she felt.

Melissa opened her mouth to speak but Daniella beat her to it.

“Melissa! Oh, my God! What happened?” Daniella exclaimed as she stepped through the doorway.

Her face, usually the picture of happiness and vivacity, was twisted into one of horror. Guilt struck Melissa for generating such a response.

“Who the hell did this to your face? That fucking asshole Anderson?” Alexandra questioned heatedly.

Before she could continue her profanity-laced invective, she was interrupted.

“Uh, nice language Alexandra,” Melissa’s father quipped. “It’s warranted, but can we try to keep things PG-13.”

“Sorry, Mr. Martin,” Alexandra said slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t see your truck in the driveway.”

“Fair enough,” he said to Alexandra. Then, to the rest of the group, “The police are coming. I called and a pair of officers should be here any minute.”

“Okay, Dad,” Melissa said dreading the task ahead.

“Melissa, tell us what happened. Did Kevin really do this to you?” Daniella asked incredulously.

“Umm yeah, he did,” Melissa admitted as fresh tears welled in her eyes.

Daniella embraced her. Melissa and her friends walked into the living room and settled on a large, black leather sofa. Gabriel sat on the matching loveseat positioned at a ninety degree angle to the couch.

Melissa described what had happened to her two best friends. After she finished reciting the details, Alexandra had a single question for Gabriel. She fixed her near-black eyes intently on him and accused, “Where the hell were you? If you had shown up when you were supposed to, none of this would have happened.”

Gabriel lowered his eyes sadly.

“There were some complications. I had trouble leaving my house. I got there too late and the bonfire was over,” he offered contritely. “On my way to the party, I heard a girl screaming. I followed the sound of her voice. When I got to the small clearing I saw that it was Melissa. I saw what that dirtbag was trying to do to her and I flipped out.”

Melissa’s heart clenched. The guilt laced in his every word, the shame in his posture pained her. She considered Gabriel a hero, yet he somehow held himself accountable.

“I hope you beat the shit, uh, snot out of him,” Alexandra said flatly as she exchanged a quick glance with Melissa’s father who smirked approvingly at her choice of words.

“Don’t worry about that. Gabriel leveled him. We’re pretty sure he broke Kevin’s nose,” she chimed in. “Kevin kept coming at him but Gabriel dropped him every time. I mean, Gabriel, you handled him like he was nothing.”

“It was just an adrenaline rush. I was really angry,” Gabriel said modestly.

“You really handled Anderson like that?” her father inquired.

“I suppose so, sir.”

“That guy is a monster. What is he like, six-four and two hundred twenty pounds?”

“That’s a fair estimate, sir.”

“He’s all-state in football, too. Huh, pretty impressive. Do you box or something?”

“I had a little training in Russia. Nothing formal though sir.”

“Huh, impressive,” her father mumbled again as he walked to the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee.

Melissa followed him but was distracted by headlights illuminating the windows of the kitchen. A black-and-white patrol car had pulled in to the driveway. Two uniformed officers exited the cruiser Melissa watched as the pair approached the front door.

“They’re here,” Melissa notified her father.

Her pulse raced and her palms slickened with sweat. She took a deep breath to steady herself before answering the door. She acted so quickly, the police officers did not have time to ring the doorbell.

“Come in,” she said and ushered the male and female officer down the hallway and into the living room. The officers remained standing.

Daniella and Alexandra took the police presence as their cue to leave.

“We’ll call you tomorrow, sweetie,” Daniella said.

“Yeah, if we can help at all, give them our numbers,” Alexandra added.

Officer Mark Nettle introduced himself to Melissa, her father and Gabriel, in a rich, melodic voice. The contrast of his voice and his physical appearance was remarkable.  A narrow-shouldered man with thick, black hair trimmed to a buzz-cut and with piercing black eyes.  Melissa was unnerved by his intensity, yet oddly soothed by the quality of his voice.

Officer Nettle then presented the group with his partner, Officer Charlene White. Officer White had smooth, coffee-colored skin and an easy smile. A portly, large-bosomed woman in her mid-thirties, Charlene White maintained squatness that measured her to be as tall as she was wide. Her function would be to work with Melissa.

Officer White spoke first.

“So tell us what happened tonight in as much detail as possible,” she instructed in a, gravelly voice.

Melissa’s ears ached at the quality of Charlene White’s coarse and jagged tone. It conflicted with her smooth, rounded appearance. As she addressed Melissa, her words clattered and crashed as they resonated throughout the house, each word more raspy and gruff than the one before.

Melissa recounted the evening’s events in explicit detail to the two police officers. Sickened by the graphic nature of the incident, she pored over every fact while Officers Nettle and White took notes. They asked many questions posed with an array of terminology. They inquired about specific threats that were issued and abusive language that was used against her. She was asked to articulate, in vivid detail, every act that was violent or sexual in nature. She was asked what she thought, felt and feared during the attempted attack. Her condition was observed and documented in the police report. Melissa spoke emotionally as the officers remained inexpressive. Each recount was nauseating, painful.

As Melissa described what had happened, she was aware of Gabriel’s presence. He remained at her side. Positioned attentively with flawless posture, his intense cobalt eyes never left Melissa’s face as she addressed the officers. He remained stoic save for the intermittent and almost imperceptible cringes during the more graphic portions of her reporting. His support eased some of her tension and embarrassment. She felt like his serene support willed calmness her way. He was supportive but unobtrusive.

As Melissa finished giving her statement to the two officers, Officer White asked, “Is that everything?”

Melissa did not answer at first. A question had been burning in her mind during her interview with the officers. She was terrified to address a key concern, terrified of the answer she might receive.  But an answer was imperative.

She looked directly into Officer White’s hazel eyes and asked, “Will this all go away because I was drinking or because I took the fake Tylenol Kevin offered me?”

Officer White did not answer Melissa’s question. Instead, her partner replied in his rich, baritone voice, “Quite the contrary, Miss Martin, alcohol and involuntary drug use caused increased vulnerability, not culpability.”

“Culpability? I’m not sure what you’re saying,” Melissa said.

“Culpability is defined as,” Officer Nettle began in his silken cadence.

Officer White interrupted her partner, her voice, sharpened tacks against polished glass.

“It means even if you were as drunk as a skunk and went willingly with this Anderson guy with the intent to have sexual intercourse in the woods, once you said no, it should have been over. No means no. You are not to blame,” she grated then added, “Before we go, we’re going to need to clip you nails.”

Officer White wheezed and puffed as she struggled to twist and reach for a plastic, forensic collection bag from her fanny-pack.

“Since you allegedly scratched Kevin Anderson,” she continued, “his DNA will be under your nails. Our guys in forensics will be able to extract the material that will be put to use in the case against Anderson.”

Melissa proffered her hands as Officer White covered her own plump, russet-hued fingers with latex gloves. She then clipped Melissa’s fingernails. The trimmings were collected in a clear plastic zip-closure bag and labeled before being replaced in the officer’s fanny-pack.

“We’re also going to need a statement from you. You’re a witness.” Officer White pointed a meaty finger at Gabriel. “We’ll need you to come down to the station with us for that. How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen, ma’am,” Gabriel stated.

“Then we’ll need to call your folks,” she said.

“If you remember anything else just call us,” Officer Nettle added retrieving his business card from his jacket pocket.

He offered it to Melissa. The small, rectangular card smelled of pine and leather, masculine and smooth, befitting his voice.

“And you can meet us at the station,” Officer Nettle said to Gabriel.

“Thank you very much officers,” her father said as he offered his hand to them.

Melissa watched as her father gave each a hearty shake then walked them to their cruiser.

He returned almost immediately. After closing and locking the front door, he strode into the living room and addressed Gabriel.

“You’d better call your parents and get yourselves to the police station as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir,” Gabriel replied solemnly.

Gabriel looked sickened, like the mention of his father’s involvement terrified him.

Concerned, Melissa was about to ask if everything was okay. But before the words were on her lips, her father began soliciting information in his unique way.

“Gabriel, are you all right,” Christopher asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you worried about telling your folks what you did?”

“It’s just my dad and I. But yes sir. I am worried about how he’ll react.”

“He ought to be proud of you. You did a good thing. You saved a girl from being attacked.”

Melissa was shocked and warmed by her father’s honesty. She waited for Gabriel’s reply.

“I’m not sure my father will see it that way, sir.”

“Want me to call him?”

“No thank you, sir. I’ll have to deal with him.”

“Well then you’d better get to it.” Looking Gabriel directly in the eyes, he added, “And thanks, for everything.”

Melissa was proud of her father. He was not a man who shared his feelings readily. His expression of profound gratitude was rare, monumental.

“I’m going to grab a beer. Want a water or soda guys?” he asked.

“No, thanks, dad,” Melissa replied.

“No thank you, sir,” Gabriel answered.

Her father disappeared into the kitchen.

Seizing an opportunity to be alone with Gabriel, Melissa turned and spoke.

“Gabriel, I never thanked you. I mean, thank you doesn’t even seem like enough?” she began. “But thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I am so grateful that you came through the woods when you did and heard me. You saved me.”

Melissa eyes filled with tears as she spoke. She walked Gabriel to the front door. Impulsively, she leaned forward and hugged him tightly then kissed him quickly on his cheek before shutting her front door.

***

Gabriel’s heart pounded in his chest when Melissa embraced him. He returned her hug and held her briefly. When the tension marginally escaped her arms, Gabriel released her. To his surprise, she gave him a quick kiss on his cheek and said good night.

Dizzy with emotions from her affectionate gesture, he walked to his car in a dream-like state.

His dream quickly transformed into a nightmare, however, as his cell phone beeped alerting him to missed calls.  Twenty-three calls had been missed, all from the same number, Terzini’s cellular phone number. And a single message awaited him.

Terzini’s call meant his maker knew of his disobedient behavior. Rebellion would not be tolerated. Gabriel’s involvement with the police may warrant his demise.

Another new emotion arose within Gabriel. He was scared.

He had seen Kevin’s face, the wild-eyed anger; the malevolence. Melissa would need him, of that he was certain. It was imperative that he live to help her. After all, Gabriel knew Eugene’s arrival was imminent. Eugene’s presence granted Terzini unprecedented leverage, made him more dangerous to Gabriel than he already was.

Terzini undoubtedly knew of his transgression, that he had attended the bonfire. Once his maker was apprised of the magnitude of the situation along with the coming of Eugene, Gabriel’s life would be in grave danger.

About the Authors

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2010.  To date, the jury is still out.  But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mom of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book, together!”  Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer simply stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years.  After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them had possessed for much of their young adult lives.  Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success.  They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot would fall apart, or characters would lose their zest, or the story would just fall flat.  Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance.  Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued alternate (paying) careers.  But the dream had never died.  And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination.  When he proposed that they author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright.  His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night.  By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

The Dark Creations series, as well as the Arianna Rose series, Planet Urth series and Hunter of the Light series, are works that were written while Jennifer and Christopher continued about with their daily activities and raised their young children.  They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section.  Life simply continued.  And in some ways, their everyday lives were reflected in the characters of each series.

As the story line continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration.  Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing.  They hope that all enjoy reading their work as much as they enjoyed writing it.

Books by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci:

The Dark Creations Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1&2)

Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3)

Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4)

Dark Creations: Hell on Earth (Part 5)

Dark Creations: Dark Ending (Part 6)

The Arianna Rose Series (A paranormal romance series)

Arianna Rose (Part 1)

Arianna Rose: The Awakening (Part 2)

Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3)

Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4)

Arianna Rose: The Gates of Hell (Part 5)

The Planet Urth Series (A YA science-fiction/dystopian series)

Planet Urth (Book 1)

Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2)

Planet Urth: The Underground City (Book 3)

Planet Urth: The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4)

Planet Urth: The Fate of Urth (Book 5)

The Hunter of the Light series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Hunter of the Light (Book 1)

Thank You So Much For Reading Our Book!

We deeply appreciate your readership and would love to hear from you!

For information about upcoming releases (or just to say hi!) please visit our website at
http://www.darkcreationssaga.com or at http://on.fb.me/1dlUUF5 To sign up for our mailing list and receive information about upcoming release and special promos, please visit http://eepurl.com/Jp7yz

Thank you again for reading!

Love,

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Oh, One Last Thing Before You Go…

When you turn the page, you may be given the opportunity to express your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter automatically.  If you enjoyed our book, would you take a second to click that button and let your friends know about it?

If they get something out of the book, they’ll be grateful to you, and we will be, too!

Thank you so much!

Love,

Jenny and Chris

Gabriel Rising

Part Two

By Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

All rights reserved.

First edition: October 2011

Cover design by Indie Designz http://www.indiedesignz.com

Gabriel Rising Part Two

Published by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci at Smashwords

Copyright © 2011 Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Eugene waited patiently, enveloped in darkness, savoring the moments of pure anticipation while Sasha Titov’s crew members slept unaware of his presence and oblivious of their impending fate. With their bodies still, no doubt dreaming peacefully, the men sleeping in their metal-framed cots had no idea that when they woke, he would kill them, slowly.

He had already assassinated Sasha Titov, the ship’s captain, despite coming dangerously close to liking him. He’d almost enjoyed his company. Almost. His human imperfections had hindered his likability far too greatly. Eugene had no choice but to dispose of him.

Though the exhilaration of Titov’s execution was fresh, the thrill of approaching murder energized Eugene anew, threatened to overtake him. His insides trembled violently. He fought to remain still.

Sitting with impeccable posture on an undersized wooden chair in a dormitory-style living compartment of the ship, he watched as one of its crew members stirred and groggily opened his eyes. The man’s gaze widened gradually, then froze, unblinking, no doubt shocked to see a figure seated before him.

The man did not waste time reacting. Without taking his eyes off Eugene, he immediately reached an arm out to alert his bunkmates.

Slowly, each roused and became aware of the stranger among them.

Eugene turned on the light switch just behind him. Stark, fluorescent light flooded the room and offered the men an unobstructed view of his magnificence. He briefly enjoyed the amazement etched in each face staring at him before he spoke.

“Good morning gentlemen,” he began. The rich bass timbre of his voice filled the small room. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Who are you and why are you in here watching us sleep?” a man asked nervously.

Eugene could smell fear seeping through the man’s pores. He delighted in the pungent aroma.

“Sasha asked me to wake you earlier, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it; you were all sleeping so peacefully.”

Eugene paused before adding, “We are already at sea.”

Confusion arose among the crew, confusion and questions.

“Where is Sasha? Why didn’t he wake us?” another man asked.

Eugene wished to toy with them, draw out his expectancy.

“He was very busy, getting prepared for our journey. I was simply doing him a favor. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”

“Who are you?” an angry voice demanded.

“Oh, forgive me. I’ve forgotten my manners,” Eugene taunted. “I am Eugene. I’m hitching a ride with you. Thanks to Sasha, I’ll be riding with you to the Aleutians.”

He observed how his words affected each man, how they grew increasingly distrustful and agitated.

“I can see that you are all concerned. Please try to stay calm,” Eugene said extending his powerful arms out at his sides. “Let me get Sasha for you. Seeing him will explain everything, answer all of your questions.”

Eugene stepped out of the sleeping area and into the narrow hallway to retrieve Sasha Titov’s lifeless body he’d propped against the wall. Grabbing the rotund man by the neck, he dragged him to where the crew waited.

“Here he is, gentlemen. I apologize for not having him with me in the first place.”

The corners of Eugene’s mouth pulled away from each other and produced a sinister smile.

“It would have explained things more clearly,” he concluded as he released Sasha Titov’s neck, allowing his corpse to collapse to the ground unceremoniously.

There was a long pause as shock prevailed and the gravity of the situation failed to register with the crew members.

Eventually, however, four pairs of eyes gaped at him in horror. Eugene enjoyed their collective look of equal parts despair and dread. They understood they were going to die. The experience bordered on intense pleasure, the heightening sensation of excitement leading up to the actual kill, the release. The swell of eagerness was a challenge to contain. But Eugene knew control was crucial, that it bolstered the pure elation of the final act.

Eugene sat back down in the chair he occupied moments ago. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, watching intently as the men scrambled from their cots and moved frantically about the cabin. A tremor racked his body without warning, exhilaration overwhelmed him unexpectedly.

Men clambered to their feet and ran past him. He afforded them such courtesy as it would prove all the more entertaining for him in the long run. Once they reached the deck and realized he had released both rescue boats, the late Sasha Titov’s crew members would be faced with a choice: plunge overboard into the frozen waters of the Northern Pacific Ocean-a certain death-or take their chances with him, and fight.

The option Eugene longed for was clear.

He allowed the men several moments to decide, to either convince one another to unite and strike at him together, or to split up and hide. Either alternative would be entertaining.

Once enough time had passed and he was confident the men had chosen their fate, Eugene slowly rose from the small wooden chair he sat on and stretched before venturing out into the hallway to begin his hunt.

Chapter 2

Gabriel drove from Melissa Martin’s home on Blackstone Drive to his house on the outskirts of town. A sentiment that could only be described as dread pervaded his every thought with each moment that passed. He did not bother returning Dr. Terzini’s calls. The severity of the situation required that they be face to face.

Turning in to his driveway, his stomach clenched and coiled. Worry twisted about within him.

Pulling down the long, gravel pathway, the sprawling Victorian came into sight.  The soft glow of light coming from the downstairs windows meant that Dr. Franklin Terzini awaited his arrival.

Parking in one of the three garage ports, Gabriel climbed out of his hunter-green Ford Explorer and entered through a door leading to the laundry room. From the laundry room, a staircase led to a hallway that entered into the formal living room.

As Gabriel climbed the staircase, footsteps were heard overhead. He could hear the rhythmic clacking of heeled men’s dress shoes and the purposefulness with which each stride struck the hardwood floors. His maker was pacing.

Pacing was an uncharacteristic behavior for Dr. Terzini. It suggested agitation, emotion. His maker was an unusually detached man, indifferent to everything. Terzini’s mood was nearly impossible for Gabriel to gauge as it rarely changed. Gabriel did know, however, that sneaking out was an outrageous offense. Disregarding Terzini’s attempts to contact him would not be well received. The pacing meant only one thing: he would see his maker’s anger.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself against what lay beyond the door, Gabriel turned the doorknob.

He immediately saw Dr. Terzini walking across the width of the oversized formal living room. Upon hearing Gabriel enter, he stopped and turned to face him.

To Gabriel’s surprise, his face showed no trace of agitation whatsoever. Instead, it was eerily calm, serene.

“You left tonight despite my instructions, Gabriel,” Terzini offered levelly.

“Yes sir,” Gabriel admitted.

Gabriel noticed how Terzini’s face hardened almost imperceptibly at his admission.

“And why, pray tell, would you do this?” Terzini asked.

Gabriel felt his pulse quicken, though not together with pleasant sensations as it did when Melissa was present. His stomach contracted violently and his palms were slick with perspiration. His mouth went dry.

Gabriel swallowed hard before replying, “I thought it crucial to our mission, sir.”

Terzini paused briefly, his frame of mind indecipherable. Unsure of what to expect from his creator, Gabriel waited.

Then without warning, Terzini laughed, a bitter, cutting laugh.

His odd laughter reverberated not with happiness or humor but with contempt, a stark contrast to his calm exterior.

“Yes, we discussed that,” he affirmed, abruptly ending his outburst. “And I expressly forbade you from going.”

“Sir, but -”

“No Gabriel,” Terzini interrupted. “I will not allow this type of insubordination.”

Terzini’s gaze met Gabriel’s. With tiny eyes as sooty as coal, his intense watchfulness pierced Gabriel as effortlessly as a scalpel passing through flesh.

Gabriel disrupted Terzini’s intimidating stare with more bad news.

“Dr. Terzini, sir. I am here to bring you to the police station,” he began, anxiously awaiting a retort. When none was offered, he continued, “There was a situation at the bonfire. A girl was being attacked and I fought off her assailant. The police were called by the girl’s father.”

Gabriel paused and tried to estimate Dr. Terzini’s response. His maker’s expression remained unreadable. He reluctantly added, “They were told of my skirmish with the attacker. They need me to give a statement. The officers told me I needed a parent with me.”

Dr. Terzini’s face remained impassive, but Gabriel sensed hostility beneath his calm appearance.

“You have compromised our entire objective,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

Terzini approached Gabriel, his demeanor suddenly threatening. Though small in stature, his creator had tremendous presence. He imperiled with brainpower, not brawn.  Gabriel instinctively sought to move away from his maker but found his legs leaden, unresponsive to what his mind commanded them to do. Instead, he froze in place.

Dr. Franklin Terzini advanced. He stepped closely and raised a clenched hand high in the air. Gabriel flinched, expecting an assault, as his maker brought his fist down and pounded it against the coffee table between them in an act of controlled aggression.

Unnerved, Gabriel remained fixed in place as Terzini spat, “Why, Gabriel? Why? After everything I have done for you! I created you! Why would you destroy my work, my vision of the future, by intervening in a situation that did not concern you?”

Gabriel stood, his body rigid, as his maker’s words accused, condemned. After all, it was against his code of conduct, a cipher so deeply engrained in his construct that it was woven into the fabric of his existence, to oppose Terzini.

Instead he stood, feet planted as his maker’s attitude transformed again. His demeanor morphed from carefully measured to enraged and back again. He had returned to his unflappable manner and cast his stony stare on Gabriel again.

“You have risked exposing yourself to the world and now you have put me at risk as well. The police will see me. Someone may recognize me.” Terzini said frostily. “This is an infraction I cannot forgive. You have single-handedly upended our objective. It appears as though you need to be destroyed,” he offered as a final matter-of-fact thought.

“Sir, I was doing as you have instructed me to do,” Gabriel countered. “I was trying to behave as any other human would.”

“You were not created to behave as other humans do, Gabriel. You are to follow my orders,” Terzini said emphatically.

“Sir, it has been my understanding that I am to act as other humans do. Human beings are motivated by their feelings, right?”

“Of course they are,” Terzini answered flatly.

“Well sir, the screams of a girl would generate an emotional response,” Gabriel began. “That is the case in most Hollywood films you have ever shown me. And in the ones that featured a person – usually a female – in distress, that person was rescued.”

Terzini paused and began to listen intently. Gabriel sensed his maker’s desire to hear a plausible excuse.  He knew Terzini to be a vain man therefore Gabriel’s missteps would represent his own. Failure of any kind was unfathomable to the geneticist. Terzini’s narcissism gave Gabriel more time to explain, to persuade.

“Go on, go on,” Terzini urged.

Gabriel approached his manipulation of Terzini with extreme caution. He kept his face expressionless and his intonation flat and emotionless. It was imperative for him to present a lucid, rational explanation for his earlier actions.

“Wouldn’t it have drawn attention to me, and to us, had I ignored the situation and not helped a girl who was being attacked?” he asked then added, “And she saw me, too. That would not have been in keeping with the behavioral patterns of feeling human beings. Furthermore, I know that I disobeyed your direct orders by attending the school function. My objective was sound. My intent was to further submerge myself into the student populace, to blend seamlessly. I told many of my fellow students that I was going. Not attending would have made me seem odd on my first day. I am supposed to blend unnoticed,” he reasoned. “I went, as most other students did, and I responded in a crisis much like any of them would have, sir.”

Terzini did not respond immediately, but allowed Gabriel’s counterpoint to linger in the air. He stood eerily still, his face expressionless, inscrutable. His maker’s gaze did not waver. It remained on Gabriel. He was forced to wait uncomfortably as Terzini deliberated internally.

When finally ready to speak, Terzini was firm and businesslike.

“Let us go to the police station before the officers become suspicious of our whereabouts. Go to the study and secure our identification information from the desk drawer. Remember, at the police station, I am your father. You must refer to me as ‘dad’ not ‘doctor’. I am Mr. James.”

“Yes sir.”

“And as for the situation this evening, you will not associate with anyone in any type of extracurricular capacity, ever. Is that understood, Gabriel?”

Gabriel knew that such infractions would not be tolerated; that he had received a singular pardon. Though his creator was arrogant to a fault, he dared not underestimate him a second time.

“Yes sir.”

“This must never happen again. If something like this happens again, I will destroy you,” he warned callously before releasing Gabriel from his arresting watch.

Gabriel’s mind spun out of control as he turned from Terzini and walked to the study. He knew he would have to figure out a way to see Melissa aside from at school.

Chapter 3

On Monday morning, Melissa arrived at school fifteen minutes before the first bell sounded. She needed the extra time to prepare for her day. She did not sleep much over the weekend. Too much time had been devoted to agonizing over this day. She knew there would be whispers and stares, questions even, and thought the sooner she arrived and handled whatever arose, the better off she would be.

She felt certain the entire school knew what had happened at the bonfire Friday night, but Melissa did not know what consequences to expect. She had been drugged. Kevin tried to rape her. Though the facts were plain that she was the victim, she wondered whether his immense influence alone would lend him credibility and exonerate him from what he did, what he had tried to do.

Her thoughts swirled around the many factors that contributed to public opinion, churned at the idea that intentional drugging and attempted rape could be excused by his reputation

Her worry filled the weekend. She fretted over the judgments of her classmates. Yet all the while, she found it impossible to reflect on the incident without considering Gabriel. She had not spoken to him all weekend and wondered whether he had gone to the police department with his father and given his statement.

Standing before her locker on the morning she had dreaded for two days, her hands trembled. Two days and an extra fifteen minutes were not sufficient time to brace herself for unknown and possibly harsh judgment of her fellow students. She fumbled with uncooperative fingers, attempting the combination on the dial of her locker. After several unsuccessful tries, she finally opened it.

As she searched her locker for specific books, she heard footsteps approaching. For a fleeting moment, she wondered whether her body would fit in the narrow locker, if she could closet herself inside until graduation.

Melissa assumed the impending footfalls belonged to a fellow student in search of juicy gossip. Her knees felt rubbery from nerves as she prepared for the beginning of a day of unending prying. Nevertheless, she stood ready to decline answering any questions. She took a deep breath to calm herself before she closed the door of her locker and simultaneously attempted to balance a stack of textbooks and binders in one arm. But Melissa’s deflection was not necessary. As she looked up from her toppling stack of books, she saw a familiar pair of deep-set, sapphire eyes staring at her. Entranced by the depth of their color, her hands trembled and her mind swirled for a different reason. Her pulse quickened and she felt the warmth of a deep blush spread across her cheeks as the notebooks and hardcovers tumbled from her arm and fell to the floor.

Gabriel smiled and stooped to help her gather her things. She was relieved to see him rather than a nosey classmate.

“Oh you don’t have to do that,” she smiled and fumbled as they collected her belongings. “Thanks so much for helping.”

“No problem,” he replied. “You okay?”

“Um, not really. I’m kind of a mess today as you can see,” she admitted.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t hear from you this weekend. I mean, I had hoped you’d call me.” Melissa’s blush deepened.

“Yeah, about that, my dad was not too happy about having to go to the police station in the middle of the night.”

Melissa winced. “Oh God!  You helped me and I got you in trouble. Great. Way to go me! Did he ground you?”

Melissa was deeply saddened, to say the very least, and felt responsible for Gabriel’s punishment. She did not intend to get him in trouble, but did. The blame was hers.

Her insides quaked at the thought of Gabriel being punished for helping her. The fault was hers, yet she was powerless to help him as he had helped her, which got him into trouble first. The irony of the circumstances was unfathomable.

“According to him, my punishment hasn’t even begun,” Gabriel murmured.

“Gabriel, I am so sorry. I mean, the last thing I wanted to do was cause problems for you.”

“He’ll get over it,” Gabriel said offhandedly. “It’s been a long time since he was a teenager.”

Melisa regretted ever agreeing to spend time with Kevin Anderson. Her poor judgment had begun a chain of events with profound consequences, some of which had yet to manifest themselves.

Gabriel opened his mouth to speak but closed it immediately as he turned and saw Kevin approaching. His eyes were bruised and a piece of white tape sat across his swollen nose.

Melissa felt faint and dizzy and feared she would vomit as Kevin advanced. Flanked by his minions, Chris Mace, John DeNardi and Eric Sala, Kevin shot her a withering glance. Gabriel stepped in front of her, positioning himself protectively.

“Whoa, down boy,” Kevin said sarcastically. “Get a leash for your attack dog, Melissa.”

“What do you want, Kevin?” Melissa asked, struggling to steady her voice.

“I just wanted to thank you for sending the cops to my house Friday night. It gave me the opportunity to tell them my side of the story, you know, the truth.”

His words were cutting and dripping with hostility. Melissa had been the victim and had truthfulness on her side. But Kevin’s arrogance and anger made him sound as if he had been the one wronged.  She found herself thrown completely off balance.

“Your side of the story?” she wondered aloud.

“Yeah, you know, how you were popping pills at the bonfire and how you and your boyfriend here were drunk and drugged out and jumped me in the woods,” Kevin began.

“What?” Melissa asked incredulously. She was thrown by his accusation, the ridiculousness, the inaccuracy.

He ignored her question and continued. “Of course, I told them the facts after my parents called the family lawyer. Made those flatfoots wait nearly an hour while Alan Shapiro drove up from his estate in Bedford Hills,” he bragged. “In case you’re wondering, yes, it is the same Alan Shapiro that was on the Today show over the summer. He represents celebrities and my family.”

“Get the hell out of here Kevin, now!” Gabriel warned in a low, threatening voice.

Kevin persisted, disregarding Gabriel’s warning, with his unrelenting speech. Melissa felt her legs threaten to give way beneath her as his monologue was beginning to draw a crowd.

The group formed with a single student who stood by her locker to be in earshot. Quickly, however, more joined him.

Incited further by the gathering audience, Kevin carried on.

“The bullshit story that you spun, Melissa, was something else. I’ll give you credit for that. Me trying to rape you? Please! That is about as obvious as a lie can get!”

Kevin no longer spoke just to her. He was addressing an audience. He was orating, performing.

“After my parents and my lawyer finished with those cops, they were apologizing to me. And you,” Kevin gestured to Gabriel. “You’ve been here what, two days, and you go to the cops to try to set me up for this piece of white-trash ass?” he accused. “Do you even know who I am? This is my school. I’ve lived here all my life. I am this fucking place.”

Kevin had raised his voice so that he was close to shouting. He began rattling off his accomplishments as if his school resume would somehow validate his story.

“I’m all-state in football, basketball and wrestling. Teachers love me, my classmates love me,” he boasted. “You think your bullshit statement to the police is going to change anything?  I have a future–college, a great job, money. And where will you go, Melissa?” Kevin directed his attention back to Melissa.  “Maybe you’ll go to community college or maybe you’ll work for you dad at the supermarket stacking bananas for him. Either way you will always be poor white trash.”

Melissa was paralyzed by the ugliness of his words, by his cruelty. Her feet felt immobile, as if weighted by lead boots. Her mind willed her to leave, to get out of the line of fire, but her legs remained inert as his words assailed her. Students circled her and Gabriel. Some whispered, others screwed up their faces and shook their heads in disapproval. Her head began to spin. Panic seized her. But his bitterness was unrelenting.

Kevin’s voice faded in and out as he spoke to Gabriel, “My dad even suggested that I press charges against you, pretty boy.”

Gabriel ignored Kevin. Instead, he focused on her and her deteriorating condition.

“I’ll deal with you another time,” Gabriel threatened through clenched teeth. “And I promise you’ll have more than a broken nose next time.”

Melissa could not distinguish one menacing face from the next, they melded together to form a unified, nightmarish image. The animosity of the horde was palpable, their ill will clear. Gabriel wrapped his hand around hers and pulled her toward him before pressing through the crowd.

As the two pushed passed the perimeter of students, Melissa’s legs lightened and she quickened her pace from a brisk walk to a jog. Shoving open the metal exit door, they stepped into the rear parking lot.

Immediately, Melissa and Gabriel were bathed in golden light. The brilliance of the day was a stark contrast to the darkness that lurked in the confines of the school building. Blinded briefly, they had to squint to locate Gabriel’s SUV.

After their eyes adjusted from the gloom of the school to the lustrous glow outside, Gabriel found his car. He quickly opened the passenger side door for Melissa then climbed in and turned the key in the ignition. The SUV roared to life.  He depressed the gas pedal and the two left the campus of Harbingers High School.

The abundant sunshine had warmed the leather interior of the vehicle but Melissa still felt cold inside. She wrapped her arms around her body to combat the chill. Gabriel, attuned to her need, turned on the heater. She felt drained by what had happened at the school. She could not summon the energy to speak. Instead, she tipped her head back on the headrest and gazed into the intense sunlight. Melissa and Gabriel drove in silence to the entrance of Interstate 29.

Gabriel broke the silence and spoke first. “Hey, don’t let that dirtbag get to you Melissa.”

“Huh, too late for that,” Melissa replied sadly.

“I’m serious. That guy is scum. Everyone will see that.”

Melissa turned to face Gabriel, saw how his golden skin glowed in the sunlight.

“You were there. You saw how those vultures gathered around us to get a front row seat. They don’t care if Kevin is scum or not. He’s Kevin Anderson. Every girl wants to date him and every guy wants to be him.”

She felt her sadness quickly being replaced by anger.

“This will pass,” Gabriel assured her.  “I promise you. Kevin had his five minutes to strut around. This will blow over. It’ll just take some time.”

“I can’t imagine that happening,” Melissa said dejectedly. “Where are we headed?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. But I have a full tank of gas and six and a half hours for us to decide. I’ll just drive until you tell me to stop, okay?”

Melissa and Gabriel continued westbound on Interstate 29. They crossed a river and traveled across three entire counties. Just before leaving the state, the roadway crested at 1,275 feet, its highest elevation. Scenic overlooks occupied the right-hand shoulder and offered an expansive view.

“Can we stop here?” Melissa asked, pointing to a service area that bore a sign boasting a scenic view.

“Sure,” Gabriel answered as he directed the Explorer to the rest stop.

Once the car had stopped, Gabriel turned the engine off and they both climbed out of the Explorer and stretched.

The sky was scrubbed clean and was a clear, rich cobalt blue. Unfiltered sunshine lit the fall foliage on the rolling hills of the valley. Shades of red, yellow and orange highlighted the treetops. The view lived up to its title.  It was scenic and filled with vibrant colors and lush greenery.

Picnic tables had been placed on the grass and a small building stood to the side.  Along the wall of the building, various vending machines had been stocked with drinks and snacks. Passing one such dispenser, Gabriel bought two bottles of water and two bags of pretzels. He offered one of each to Melissa as they ambled along the grassy space and found a picnic bench to sit at.

Looking out at the breathtaking view, Melissa spoke.

“Thank you for getting me out of there. I couldn’t take much more.”

“No problem. I would have liked to have crushed Kevin’s face in.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten an argument from me,” Melissa joked.

“I would’ve liked to knock him around for what he said about me being poor white trash,” she continued. “I mean, everything he was spouting was total bull! Just because I am not living in the biggest house in Harbingers doesn’t make me poor or trash.”

Melissa turned a deep crimson.

“And so what if I can’t afford to actually go to the schools I apply to. There’s no shame in working and going to community college. Last I checked a college credit is a college credit. I can get my Associate’s degree and transfer to a four-year school.”

“I’m so pissed that Kevin got to you like this. That jerk succeeded in making you feel bad. He wanted to make you feel small and ashamed, and he did,” Gabriel fumed. “It wasn’t enough for him to smack you around and try to force himself on you, now he’s going to make up lies and try to turn people against you and try to humiliate you? No way! I won’t have it. This will end. I’ll see to it myself if I have to.”

Warmed by Gabriel’s passionate rant, Melissa found her mood lightening slightly. She was reminded that she had skipped school, however, and decided that she should call her father.

“Gabriel, I need to call my dad.  Do you mind if I go back to the car?”

“Here are the keys. Take your time.”

“Thanks.”

Melissa returned to Gabriel’s SUV and called her father. She knew that he would worry if the school attendance office called asking where she was. He would call home and find her not there either. Then he would really be upset. Melissa wanted to spare her father any unnecessary anxiety, so she called him and told him exactly what had happened.  Honesty proved the right decision as her dad shocked her by telling her he’d phone the attendance office and tell them she was ill.

Never one to lie, Melissa knew her father to be a man who prided himself on being honest. His willingness to fib, as perplexing as it was, was intended to be a show of unity. He was communicating his support for her, and she appreciated it.

Relieved and pleasantly surprised, Melissa joined Gabriel at the picnic table.

“Is everything okay?” Gabriel asked.

“Amazingly, yes,” Melissa answered. “I told my dad I ditched school and why. I told him I was out here with you and instead of freaking out he called me in sick at school. I have the whole day. Go figure.”

“Wow. You’re lucky. If I called home and told my dad that I cut school and took off, I’d be a dead man,” Gabriel confided.

“I know what you’re saying. I mean, my dad used to be really strict like that. But lately, I don’t know,” she paused to ponder her dad’s recent behavior. “He’s changed. And after what happened this weekend I totally expected him to, like, lock me in the basement or something. But he didn’t. Instead, he’s been sympathetic and nice.”

“It sounds like he loves you and respects you. He wants to take care of you, make things easier for you.”

“He’s always had good intentions, don’t get me wrong. He’s just never gone about it like he is now.”

“That’s good. I wish I had a dad like that.”

Melissa considered the weight of Gabriel’s words. She had often thought of her tiny family of two in terms of what, or who, it lacked. After all, her mother was dead and she had no sisters or brothers. Her continual emphasis on the negative points of her life had blinded her to all that was positive.  She had never bothered to concentrate on how very fortunate she was to have a strong and loving father and an extended family; to have grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins–a brood of people who loved her and she loved in return. Nearly every facet of life centered on family. Family was the core of her existence.

As she thought about her many blessings, she glanced at Gabriel who looked lost in thought. She stared at him, enjoyed the perfection of his profile. With every feature highlighted by golden sunlight, he appeared angelic, divine.  She watched as he peered out at the spectacular landscape before him deeply deliberating, distant from their destination.

“Hey. Where’d you go?” she asked.

Suddenly, Gabriel’s eyes were upon her as he returned from his daydream. Puzzled, he responded. “Huh?”

“You were, like, elsewhere a minute ago. Your eyes glazed over. I mean, you seemed kind of lost in thought. What were you thinking about?” Melissa reddened at her bold questioning.

“I was just thinking about family and stuff like that,” he admitted.

“You live with your dad, right?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have any other relatives in the United States?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Seriously? No crazy aunts that wear a pile of lipstick and still pinch your cheeks even though you’re seventeen?”

“Nope. None of those.”

“How about an uncle who farts at the dinner table and tries to blame a dog you don’t even have?”

“Can’t say I have any of those either.”

“Wow. So what do you do for the holidays? I mean, Thanksgiving is in a couple of weeks, where will you go?”

“My dad does not observe Thanksgiving, or any other holidays for that matter.”

This piece of information left Melissa reeling. Her brow furrowed as she considered Gabriel’s earthly existence without holiday celebrations of any kind. Such a world seemed bleak and empty and inconceivable.  She gave her next idea little thought as overthinking it would only invite self-doubt. Brightening, she asserted “It’s settled then. You will celebrate Thanksgiving with me and my dad. I won’t take no for an answer. You’ll get to meet all my cousins and my Aunt Lorrie who wears like, a tube of pink lipstick and pinches my cheeks and my Uncle Steve who is going through a midlife crisis complete with a wig and a sports car and oh, there’s my Uncle Jack who passes gas at the dinner table and tries to blame the dog.”

She paused and looked levelly at Gabriel before saying, “Gabriel, we don’t have a dog.”

At that, Gabriel laughed out loud. He couldn’t seem to stop himself. Fueled by his laughter, she continued.

“You don’t know what you’re in for.  Just wait till they all start sharing stories about their childhood. My nana chimes in after a glass of chardonnay and inevitably curses which gets everyone behaving like rioting monkeys.”

Gabriel doubled over, laughing uncontrollably. She had never heard him laugh before and was enjoying the sound of it.

Gasping for breath, Gabriel managed, “I would be honored to spend Thanksgiving with the rioting monkeys.”

Delighted by his acceptance of her invitation and by his infectious laughter, Melissa’s mood soared. She subtly edged closer to him. Her leg brushed his. Gabriel tensed at the contact. Melissa, sensing his tension moved away.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“For, you know, getting too close. It never occurred to me that you might be gay.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You know homosexual?”

“Where would you get an idea like that?”

Melissa’s cheeks reddened to scarlet. “Well. You know,” she fumbled. “I mean, when I just scooted closer to you and our legs touched, you stiffened, like you were uncomfortable. And the other night, you also tensed up when I kissed you on the cheek.”

“I am not gay.”

“Really? You like girls? I’m cool if you don’t, you know. No judgment,” Melissa added “I’m not going to lie, I’d be disappointed for other reasons but I wouldn’t, like, stop being your friend or anything.”

“Honestly I’m not gay.”

“So you like girls?”

“I don’t like girls.”

“Oh?”

“Nope.”

“Gabriel, I’m confused.”

“I don’t like girls, just one in particular.”

Crestfallen, Melissa weighed the next question she wanted to ask but was uncertain whether or not she wanted to hear the answer.

“Is it Alexandra? I mean, I understand if it is. She’s so pretty. Every guy drools over her.”

“No. It’s not Alexandra.”

“A cheerleader?” Melissa asked and thought she’d choke if he said yes.

“Definitely no.”

Taking a deep breath, Melissa brazenly asked “May I ask who it is then?”

“Melissa, it’s you. I like you, a lot.”

Melissa felt her breath catch in her chest and the heat of a rosy glow burn her cheeks. Her entire body fluttered with joy.

This time it was Gabriel who inched closer. Sitting on the wooden picnic table with their feet resting on the bench, their legs touched. Neither tensed nor attempted to move away.

“Just to let you know, I am nothing like Kevin,” Gabriel said gently.

“No, you certainly are not like Kevin,” Melissa agreed.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. I don’t have the same familiarities he has.”

Confused, Melissa asked, “What, like his social circles or his athletic involvement or something?”

“Not exactly.”

“What? You mean his experience with the ladies?” Melissa quipped.

“I guess you could say that.”

“So you have no moves?” Melissa teased.

Laughing, Gabriel answered, “Nope. Not one.”

“That’s good to know. I mean, I don’t have any, either,” Melissa admitted. “In fact, if awkwardness were an Olympic event, I’d be a gold medalist.”

Melissa giggled, but Gabriel did not. Apparently, he did not find her awkward. He looked at her, intensely and with profound sincerity, as if he found her to be anything but. After a brief, mutual gaze, they continued talking. They broached many topics, many of which involved their hopes after graduation, the future.

Melissa had never talked so easily with a boy. Gabriel was different. He was a good listener and participated when she spoke by asking relevant questions, offering his opinions and laughing often. He seemed honest and at times refreshingly as nervous as she was. One conversation spawned another, and then another. They talked and talked, each discussion was fluid, effortless.  The only way she knew that time had passed was when she felt the sun beating down atop her head.  She guessed it was lunchtime.

Hours had passed effortlessly with Gabriel, hours that would have been interminable if spent at school. Unaware that he had continued watching her, Melissa looked down and found herself face to face with Gabriel. She desperately wanted to lean in and kiss him on his full lips. But to her chagrin, his lips parted and began speaking.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving,” Melissa answered.

“Want to get back on the highway and find a place to eat?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

Gabriel and Melissa walked back to his SUV. He opened her door and let her in, then got into the driver’s seat. They reentered Interstate 29 and headed westward.

The highway led them into Charming, the last exit before leaving the state.  Spotting a McDonald’s restaurant, Gabriel and Melissa decided it would be their destination for lunch. They pulled off the exit and into the parking lot of the fast-food restaurant.

Gabriel came around and opened the door for her. Each time he did this, she felt warmth within her as it was not merely a courteous gesture, but one that he performed without pretense.

They went to the counter and bought their burgers, fries and drinks and selected a booth in the far corner of the dining area. The lunchtime rush was in full swing and the place was filled with customers, many of whom slowed to look at Gabriel. Certain that they were among a celebrity of some sort, passersby stopped to gawk and stare. Some whispered and glanced subtly while one went as far as fumbling for her cell phone to snap a picture of him.

Melissa studied Gabriel’s reaction to the attention. She thought that while many teens with inflated egos like Kevin would have loved the absurd flattery, Gabriel was not amused in the least. He seemed completely unaware of his exceptional good looks and the effect he had on people. Moreover, he seemed nervous and uncomfortable and asked her if she were okay with them leaving.

She agreed to take their food to go and they left.  This time, they headed eastbound on Interstate 29. The drive home would take them about an hour, just in time for Gabriel to return home without arising suspicion from his dad. So they ate while he drove.

After finishing their food and drinks, Melissa packed up the trash and stuffed it in the bag it had come in. She would throw it away at home and leave no evidence behind for Gabriel’s father to find. She would not risk causing another argument between him and his dad that could result in further punishment.  She’d done enough harm already.

As they continued along the highway, Melissa couldn’t help but mention how people had stared back at the restaurant. She had never seen such a spectacle firsthand, much less been indirectly part of it.

“That was weird back there. Does that happen to you a lot?” Melissa asked.

“No. That was the first time. It was really bizarre. I felt like a fish in a fishbowl.”

“Maybe there’s some ‘it’ guy in a gossip magazine that looks just like you or something.”

“It’s possible. Those guys seem to be a dime a dozen.”

“I mean, people were staring at you, and one girl even took a picture with her phone. Weird.”

Gabriel appeared uneasy with their conversation. She wondered if the brand of handsomeness he was blessed with was commonplace in the Russian Far East and that such gawking was absurd. She found herself speculating that perhaps he was a celebrity overseas and came to the states to escape the paparazzi. She knew it was a farfetched theory, especially since Gabriel seemed far too well-adjusted to be a famous person of any sort. He had neither a shred of arrogance nor an overinflated sense of self-importance, two components she deemed synonymous with celebrity. He offered his estimation, interrupting her wild guesswork.

“You’re probably onto something with your ‘it’ guy theory. We’ll have to do some research and scour not only the gossip magazines but the gossip shows, too,” he joked.

“I think I’d rather have algebra homework.” She paused a moment then added, “Besides, I’ve tweaked my theory. I think maybe you’re the cutest guy they’ve seen in a while and in our celebrity-obsessed society, they figured you must be somebody, even if they didn’t know who, and they didn’t want to miss an opportunity to be like the paparazzi.”

Melissa blushed after blurting out that she found Gabriel attractive. She turned to look out the window so he would not see her embarrassment at her admission.

“That’s interesting,” Gabriel replied as he slid his hand over and offered it to Melissa. With butterflies storming in her belly, Melissa accepted his hand and held it the rest of the way home.

She struggled to contain the excitement that bubbled within her. She smiled continuously until her face ached as the Explorer navigated Interstate 29 to Harbingers Falls. Sadness enveloped her fully as Gabriel turned off Route 9 and onto Cornwall Road. From there he drove to Top Hill Road and her heart sank even further when he turned onto Blackstone Drive signifying the end of their afternoon together.

She was back in reality where school and Kevin Anderson awaited her the next day. As if sensing her anxiety, Gabriel gave her hand a gentle squeeze when he pulled into her driveway.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at school,” she said softly and released his hand.

“Can I pick you up for school?” he asked.

Brightening, she said, “Sure!”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at 6:00,” he said enthusiastically.

Laughing, she said, “Yeah, umm, that’s a little early.”

“I know it is,” he said and lowered his eyes to his lap.  “It’s just that, I, well, I just want to be with you.”

For a moment, Melissa wondered whether she’d heard him correctly.  Surely, he couldn’t have just said he wanted to be with her straightaway.  Boys were never that honest, or that sweet.  They played games and delayed calling after dates. They never flat-out said what they felt.

“Do you want to be with me, too?” Gabriel asked nervously and his words set her heart pounding madly against her ribs.  Her mouth went dry and she could not catch her breath.  She feared she would hyperventilate.

When finally her breathing steadied enough for her to speak, she said, “I want to be with you, too.”

Gabriel’s glorious features brightened.  “How about six forty-five?” he asked.  “I’ll tell my dad I’m doing something school related. I’ll be creative.”

“That sounds great,” Melissa said as her pulse accelerated wildly once more.

“See you tomorrow morning,” he said and seemed as reluctant to leave as she felt about him leaving.

“See you tomorrow,” Melissa she said and echoed his words.

Every cell in her body screamed at once, urging her to reach across the console and wrap her arms around Gabriel’s broad shoulders. She wished she were forward enough to do it, wished her cheeks didn’t blaze at the mere thought of it.  But she was who she was, and she did not dare act on the impulse. Besides, she did not want to risk ruining whatever was developing between them. So she waited as he walked around to the passenger side of his car and opened the door for her.  He said good-bye to her and watched as she slowly walked up the stone pathway to her front door. As she watched him wave then drive away, she realized that six forty-five could not come soon enough.

Chapter 4

Melissa shut the front door then rushed to the kitchen window and peeked out it.  She made it just in time to see the tail end of Gabriel’s truck disappear.  Seeing him go generated a pang of sadness so powerful, it radiated throughout her entire being.  She missed him, plain and simple, and would have to wait more than twelve hours to see him again.  Twelve hours seemed like eternity.  She needed to find a way to pass the time.  She needed to busy herself.

She slung her backpack over the back of a kitchen chair and set about inspecting the house, intent on finding a distraction. Loads of laundry needed to be done, the dishwasher needed to be filled and run and the floors looked as though they could stand to be swept and mopped.

She busied herself with housework that took far too little time to complete. Before long, she found herself wandering to the family room at the rear of the house.

Each time she entered the room, she felt a blend of equal parts relief and grief. The room had been her mother’s favorite. Added when Melissa was three, it had not been part of the original construct. It was a playroom during Melissa’s earlier years and was now a cozy TV room.

Her mother, Jennifer Martin, influenced every article of the room. Her image gazed out from framed photographs that filled the interior wall and offered the story of a happy family of three. Such pictures comforted Melissa on most days but pained her on others.

In this particular room, her mother still existed. The happy family was still intact, even if only in pictures. It was as if the cancer had never claimed her mother.

Growing up she imagined her mother looked out beyond the glass, past the void and into the room. She dreamed that her mother lived beyond her grasp but still in sight. As she grew to be a teenager, such notions were abandoned and replaced with the bitter truth: the photographs held no cosmic magic. They did not exist as a portal between two worlds. They were simply representations of the past.

She stepped into the family room. Her feet were immediately greeted by thick, plush carpeting that cushioned her every step. She looked about the space. Long and rectangular and decorated in various shades of brown, the room ran the length of the house.

She moved past the entryway, each tread protected and supported by the plush carpet.  Selected by her mother, the tan carpet maintained near-new quality. Her mother lovingly deep-cleaned them regularly to keep them clean for her daughter and to uphold the best possible appearance of the fibers.

The carpet, nearly fourteen years old, was still meticulously maintained by her father who believed that preserving his late wife’s routine preserved her presence.

And preserve it he did as Melissa’s mother even existed in the furniture that outfitted the room. An inviting leather sectional, selected before her death, still occupied the far-right corner of the room and was positioned in front of their forty-inch plasma screen television.

Along the internal wall where the television stood and the photographs hung, a simple, inexpensive desk resided. The cherry wood stained table was two tiered and wobbled dangerously. It housed the family computer. Though different from the computer her mother had sat at while earning her Associate’s Degree online, the current model closely resembled the former.

The shaky bureau, assembled by her father, had endured countless wallops. Many nights of frustrating Internet poker tournaments provided ample opportunities for him to whack, bang and smash his hand against it adding to its instability. Fortunately, a sleek laptop computer served as a portable workstation and homework center for Melissa as opposed to the sad, sagging desk.

Passing the desk and pausing to study her mother’s smiling face frozen in time and preserved by a simple wooden frame, Melissa sat on the welcoming sofa. Enveloped in the soft folds of its fibers, she relaxed. After locating the remote control, she turned on the television.  But just as she positioned herself in the cushions, her cell phone sounded and indicated that a message awaited her.

She sprung from her snug spot and jogged to the kitchen.  Her phone sat atop the counter. She touched an icon on the screen and was brought to a message. I miss you was all it said. The sender’s number was Gabriel’s cell phone. She smiled and was struck by how three simple terms wielded such enormous power. Her mood lightened significantly.  She smiled broadly and returned to her niche on the couch.

After an hour of staring vacantly at the television screen but not actually watching anything in particular, she turned her attention to preparing dinner. But whether attempting to view a program on television or getting dinner started, Melissa struggled to concentrate. Her mind wandered and drifted from whatever task was at hand and found its way to Gabriel. The mere thought of his name sent shivers racing across her skin and a smile tugging the corners of her mouth. She had never been so preoccupied with a boy. She prided herself on not being the type of girl who sat through class, lost in a daydream, doodling hearts with the name of a boy at each center.  Yet now, she stood with a package of chicken in one hand and the refrigerator door ajar, fantasizing about Gabriel.

She blinked several times, tried to erase his image from her mind long enough to get dinner started. But halfway through her process, the familiar rumble of the automatic garage door opening distracted her.  The garage door opening meant that her father was home from work.

Her father held the position of produce manager at the Atlantic and Pacific Tea Company more commonly known as the A&P Supermarket in the neighboring town of Hartwell Cross. His commute was a mere seven minutes from home which allowed him to return from work shortly after her. Predictably, the door opposite the small half bathroom in the short corridor off the main hallway opened and her dad’s footsteps could be heard advancing toward the kitchen.

“Hey Dad,” Melissa called out “Take your shoes off please. I cleaned today.”

“Hey Miss,” he answered. “Already did.”

Melissa could hear her father fumbling and muttering in the hallway immediately followed by the sound of a work boot hitting the floor then another.

“Thank you,” she called out letting him know she was aware of his shoe transgression.

She smiled as she ribbed him. Her father was a hardworking man. Each day he came home after a nine-hour shift dirty and tired. Such was his routine six days a week. This day was no different.

He came into the kitchen with socked feet holding the mail in one hand and a stainless-steel coffee thermos in the other. His black uniform sweater was littered with stickers from various fruits and vegetables and his pants had patches where mud had caked to them.

“Fried chicken with rice and broccoli sound good?” Melissa inquired though she knew it was her father’s favorite meal.

“Sounds great,” he responded as he dropped his coffee mug and a stack of bills and sale circulars atop the counter. “So? Did your day get any better?”

“Oh yeah,” Melissa responded and couldn’t refrain from grinning as she spoke.

Her father looked worried. He furrowed his brow and asked, “Not too good I hope.”

Blushing, Melissa protested, “No dad. It was nothing like that. Gabriel and I just drove and drove.  We drove all the way to the state line, had McDonalds and came back.”

“McDonald’s huh. That’s all?” her father probed.  He narrowed his gray eyes and studied her face.

“I promise, Dad. We stopped at a scenic rest stop place. We sat on a picnic bench and talked.”

She left out the part when Gabriel professed his feelings for her and held her hand. Such details would be unwise to share with her overprotective father.

“That Gabriel kid seems all right. Not like that piece of crap Kevin Anderson. I’d like to kick his teeth down his arrogant throat. “Christopher fumed.

“Me, too,” she agreed. “If you could’ve seen him today, I mean, arrogant doesn’t even begin to describe him. He was beyond obnoxious. He was cruel, trying to shame me.”

“Shame you? You didn’t mention that on the phone this morning. What was he trying to shame you about?”

“Nothing Dad, really,” Melissa lied.

Although she was generally against lying, she felt obliged to spare her father’s feelings. She knew he felt no shame in going to work daily, that he never regarded his job as menial or embarrassing. He did not love it by any means, but was a practical man who viewed his job as a means to an end. His job neither defined him nor limited him. But hearing the blatant insults of a pompous teenage boy might give him pause. Melissa would not risk opening the door of uncertainty for her father.

But he stood before her, scrutinizing her expression. She did not want to disgrace him with the cruelty of Kevin’s words, but she was a lousy liar. She felt the warmth of truth spread across her cheeks as she tried to avoid direct eye contact with her father.

“Melissa, I can look at your face and tell that you’re lying. Now what the hell else did he say?” Her father demanded.

“He just, well, he just said stuff about where you work and how I’d end up working part time for you and going to community college, if I were lucky. Like that’s somehow a bad thing.”

Her father folded his arms across his broad chest and grew silent. Her stomach clenched and churned simultaneously. She had dishonored her father. And though it had not been intentional, indirect, in fact, Melissa hated herself for it. She damned Kevin under her breath before weighing in with her thoughts.

“Dad, I am not ashamed of where you work. Your job supported me and mom when I was little and supports me just fine now,” she said. “He’s the jerk who should be ashamed of what he did to me and what he would have done had Gabriel not been where he was when he was.”

Melissa watched how the mere mention of her mother caused her dad’s eyes to moisten. In the days, months and years that followed her mother’s death, sadness was her father’s constant companion. It had slipped in and replaced his wife. She knew then that depression bore down on him with a mighty heft. She heard him explain to his mother, her grandmother, that breathing was an effort, getting up and facing each day, a challenge.  She never wanted to contribute to all that burdened him.

She saw how being brought back to a time, even briefly, when his wife was alive made breathing difficult again. She hated being responsible for that.

After he took a moment and collected himself, the sentiment passed and he rejoined their conversation.

“I could kill the bastard!” he said through gritted teeth.

“I know, I know.”

“To think that what you told me on the phone earlier,” he began. “About how he and his fancy-ass lawyers have cooked up some story about you being a pill popper and conspiring with a guy who’s lived here for what, a week, is crazy. It’s just plain crazy.”

“I know. The worst part is, because he and his family are who they are, people will believe them.”

“Some people, Melissa. Damn stupid people if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but a lot of kids at school were paying attention when he was talking, like a bunch of sheep. It’s pretty obvious he’s going to make my life there a nightmare.”

“Well, we’ll figure out a way to fight back. We’re not going to let these rich pieces of crap get the best of us. Besides, we have the truth on our side and DNA. We’ll fight.”

In the moments that she was verbally attacked by Kevin, Melissa had forgotten the forensic aspect of the case and that he had been charged with a crime, not her.

She considered how, in his hubris, Kevin had pranced and pleaded his case in front of a jury of easily influenced teenagers. He could argue that her injuries had been sustained as he fought against her and Gabriel, that they’d been the attackers. After all, he had a more battered face than she did. But none of that mattered in a court of law. Everything Kevin was attempting to do was for the benefit of onlookers in the court of public opinion, which in this case, were his parents and his peers. Eventually, the students at Harbingers High School, and perhaps even Kevin’s parents, would be forced to accept the ugly truth about him. He was a monster.

Melissa’s father scanned the mail while she contemplated her predicament. Their thoughtful and mutual silence was interrupted by his words.

“Melissa, I’m sorry I can’t afford to send you to the colleges you deserve to go to,” he said self-consciously, not looking up from the papers he held.

She realized then that Kevin had managed to spread his poisonous words and infect her father’s self-esteem and undermine his ability to provide properly for his only child. Her hatred for Kevin deepened. She did not think it possible.  But now, she loathed him with every cell in her body. He had hurt her father, a good and decent man she adored.

Melissa turned from the chicken she was breading.

“Forget that, Dad! You have nothing to feel guilty about,” she declared. “You’ve always taken good care of me and been a good father. College credits are college credits. Don’t let what that jackass Kevin said get in your head. The Andersons, they should be ashamed of the monster they created!”

Considering her last point, her father looked up and met her eyes and said, “Huh” before he walked to the counter where her hands worked to bread chicken tenders and kissed the top of her head.

“I guess I have lots to be proud of,” he said. “Look what I’ve created.”

He then turned and walked out of the kitchen and ascended the steep staircase.

Chapter 5

Night had fallen in Harbingers Falls. The India-ink sky was dappled with stars that seemed to float rather than remain fixed, as if humming and buzzing with nervous energy.  The stars mimicked the way Gabriel felt. He no longer felt part of the canvas he’d been created upon.  He no longer felt a part of his maker’s plan. In fact, every part of him felt disconnected from the house he lived in and his existence with Terzini. All he could think about was his new life, and the new relationship developing between him and Melissa.

Melissa.  Her name whispered through him and made his stomach flutter.  Sitting on the edge of his full-sized bed staring out into the indigo abyss, he struggled to remain still. Excitement pulsated within him. Spending an entire afternoon with Melissa, talking with her, eating with her, holding her hand, had left him invigorated, enlivened. He felt a sense of drunken euphoria he had only read about. But alcohol was not responsible for the way he felt. Melissa was. It was all her.

Melissa had awakened something in him that he had been devoid of, something he never knew he was capable of experiencing. The inebriating thrill was not accurately described in the written word, nor was it correctly portrayed in movies. It was so much more. He closed his eyes and pictured every feature of her face: her green eyes, her delicate nose and full lips and her hair, like liquid copper, spilling over her shoulders and down her back. He envisioned her smiling and laughing as she so easily and often did. He could almost hear the sound, pleasant and charming.

But it was not just her outward appearance that enthralled him, though it did personify her greatest attribute. Melissa had a quality that transcended her looks. She had grace. Gabriel believed her grace to be where her truest power rested; she was the embodiment of grace. Every facet of her personality seemed effortless, fluid. And while she did not seem aware of this gift, he was.  Even under duress, she managed to maintain a sense of decency and dignity. In his eyes, she was the kind of girl that moved artists to create and writers to write. He wondered what attracted her to him. After all, he knew what he was.

Thoughts of his creation, the implications of it, spun like a never-ending wheel in his brain. It was nothing new.  He wondered since his first days. But his previous thoughts had been less personal than they were now.

As he sat awake in his bed, his creation, the method by which he’d come to be, troubled him again. In the dark recesses of his mind a question had arisen and nagged at him unendingly. He had pondered it often, but it had taken on new meaning now that Melissa had entered his life and awoken feelings in him, feelings he was not supposed to have. He wondered whether he was, in fact, human.

Gabriel knew he was not like other humans beings. He was fashioned from superior DNA, designed to be free of all human sentiment as his creator believed that sentiments were responsible for all the ills of society.

He was not the product of a man and woman uniting their genetic material. He was not born of love or lust or anger or violence. Gabriel had been manufactured by a selective process. His chromosomal components had been handpicked, chosen for supreme function not by God, but by the geneticist Dr. Franklin Terzini. Terzini’s genius constructed him to reject conventional sentiment and, instead, use the area of his brain that was used by most human beings for setting their emotional state for higher cognitive function.

For most of his existence, he believed that his maker had succeeded, that what other scientists and geneticists could only conceive of, Terzini had attained. Gabriel had grown and absorbed knowledge at a much faster rate than the most advanced human being. His creator had documented every milestone of his development. He had read every record for himself. He knew of his many feats and cerebral prowess. Included in every file was his inability to exhibit any form of emotion despite being provided with ample stimuli.

His maker had been thorough in his experimentation. Gabriel had been exposed to every literary genre available – poetry, novels, short stories, and plays – all by authors who employed various tones, styles and lengths for their material and covered a wide range of subjects. None of the works had generated an emotional response of any kind.

His exposure did not stop with literary heavyweights. He was given religious reading material as well. He had been provided with the Holy Bible, the Qur’an, the Torah, the Vedas, the book of Mormon, the Guru Granth Sahib, the Avesta, the Zhuan Falun and various books by L. Ron Hubbard, author of Dianetics and founder of the Church of Scientology. Religious conviction did not sway him either. In truth, they confused him further.

Each work spoke of a spiritual essence of a person, a soul. Supported by the world’s greatest thinkers including Aristotle and Plato, the soul had been presented as the personification of a being. It had been believed to directly affect one’s earthly actions and was thought to function as the guiding force behind one’s thinking, emotions, memory, desires and will.

This idea of a soul was the antithesis of what Terzini had taught him. His maker had instilled in Gabriel the uselessness of emotions and the baseness of desires.

Until recently, he found himself without reason to disagree. History indicated that countless atrocities had been committed, wars had been waged, all in the name of religion, politics and greed and all fueled by impassioned people. So moved were these groups, so convinced of their righteousness that each clung vehemently to their convictions despite the loss of human lives. Before he’d met Melissa, Gabriel had embraced his maker’s philosophy, despite being perplexed by the mystery and mysticism surrounding the soul of a human being, what it means to truly be human. Now, however, he challenged the concept of his creator’s core thesis. He was confronted with the possibility that Dr. Terzini was a sanctimonious madman hell-bent on transforming the human populace into an emotionless, utopian society.

The significance of such a dilemma weighed heavily on Gabriel. He allowed himself to fall back on his bed. When he did, his mind reverted to thoughts of Melissa. He felt very human. He felt moved by vastly human forces in him that superseded the teachings of his maker.

Against Terzini’s revolutionary developments and techniques, and despite his preaching, emotions had evolved in Gabriel. Though unexpected, they had emerged and developed as rapidly as he absorbed, processed and retained information. He reasoned that this progression of sentiment was inherent in human beings, not mere creations. Yet despite such rationalization, he viewed himself as a monster. How he’d come into existence shamed him.

Cupping his head in his hands, he agonized over his existence, whether he was human. Flooded with uncertainty, he began to wonder whether Melissa, too, would see him as a monster if she were made aware of the truth. Entertaining the notion of her not just rejecting him, but repelling him, caused an ache in his chest so profound it caused him to wince aloud. He could not bear the thought of her eyes on him disapprovingly, disdainfully, with disgust.

He sat upright and rose to his feet. He walked across his room to his bureau and retrieved his cell phone.

Without hesitation, he dialed Melissa’s cell-phone number.

The phone rang just two times then suddenly her voice was on the other end. He had not concocted an excuse for calling, especially this late in the evening.

“Hello?” asked the melodious voice on the other end.

“Hi Melissa,” he said nervously.  “Um, it’s Gabriel.”

“Oh. Hi Gabriel,” Melissa answered. The tone of her voice suggested that she was smiling. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”

“Uh, not much.  I was just, you know, uh, here in my room, uh thinking about stuff…you,” he said and hated how idiotic he sounded.  He was slobbering all over a call he had made impulsively.  He wished he would have thought it through.

“Oh,” she said and he could not gauge her tone.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath then blurted, “I’m not going to lie. I just needed to hear your voice. I’m sorry for calling so late. I was just sitting here thinking and I wanted to hear the sound of your voice.”

A moment of silence hung heavy in the air.

“I’ll let you go,” he said and felt so foolish for calling, his cheeks blazed with embarrassment.

“No, don’t go!” she said quickly and his heart skipped a beat.  “And don’t be sorry either. It’s not too late to call. I mean, I wasn’t sleeping or anything. I’m glad you called.”

“You are?” he said and his stomach flip-flopped.

“Yeah, I was sitting here thinking about you, too, actually.”

Gabriel closed his eyes and savored the new and exhilarating feelings flickering through every part of him. He was hot and cold at the same time, dizzy and nauseous yet he could not stop smiling.

“I had a good time today,” Melissa continued. “I mean, except for that whole Kevin thing and the fact that everyone at school hates me now.”

“No one at school hates you,” he reassured her and felt his smile droop.

“I don’t know about that. I’m pretty sure Kevin and his friends would disagree with you on that one,” she teased and the fact that she was attempting to joke about it reinforced his belief that grace was her finest attribute.

“I guess you got me on that one,” he laughed softly. “But seriously, don’t worry about those guys. I won’t let them give you a hard time. I promise. And as far as the rest of them are concerned,” he continued, “anyone who is dumb enough to go along with that ridiculous story Kevin is spinning, doesn’t deserve a second thought. They’ll forget about this as soon as the next drama unfolds.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I just can’t help but feel nervous about tomorrow,” she began. Hearing that she was worried made his heart clench. “I mean, I appreciate that you want to stick up for me, and I’ve seen you in action. But I have to deal with this on my own. You’re not in all my classes. You know?”

He understood and respected that she wanted to be able to get a handle on the situation with Kevin and the vicious rumors he was circulating, but he felt an inherent need to protect her. He could not explain it; just felt that she needed protection. He struggled to suppress the anger that mounted within him at the actuality of what had happened, the brutality that Kevin had perpetrated against her, and the cruelty he continued to perpetrate.

Swallowing the bitter rise of rage, he said, “I know. But I am always a call away. If you need me at any point during the day, just hit the send button on your phone and I’m there, no matter what. I won’t let him hurt you again.”

She seemed to understand the gravity of what he was saying. She responded with a solemn, “I believe you, and thank you.”

“Listen why don’t we do something this weekend?” he said and shifted their conversation. “We should go out, you know, on a date.” Gabriel heard the words come out of his mouth without thinking them through. He hoped he wasn’t being presumptuous.

“I’d love to, but I thought you were grounded. I mean, didn’t your dad freak out about the Kevin thing?”

Gabriel breathed a silent sigh of relief after hearing her say she wanted to spend more time with him.

“He did, but there’s always a way around things,” he said. “We have a few days. In the meantime, I’ll try to figure out a way for us to do this. The only problem is my car. He always knows when I’ve used it.”

“Maybe we can enlist some help from Alexandra or Daniella,” she suggested.

“They would do something like that for you?”

“Well, yeah. I guess. I mean, they’re like sisters to me. We would do anything for each other. So, it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?”

“Sure, why not.”

Infused with hope and inspired by courage born of optimism and deep emotions, he felt compelled to share his true feelings with Melissa.

“Listen, I need to tell you something,” he began and ignored the doubt trying to edge its way into his mind. “I feel something for you, something that I’ve never felt before,” he began before suddenly, he lost his words and much of his courage. He no longer felt brave enough to tell her what he needed to say, at least not on the phone.

Fearing rejection, he completed his sentence with “I just miss you, a lot. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to see you,” she said then paused. “Gabriel, are you sure you’re okay? You sound like you’ve got something on your mind. Anything I can help with?”

Melissa’s voice, so pleasant and full of compassion, affected him deeply. He wanted to tell her; tell her everything, tell her he wasn’t supposed to have any feelings whatsoever yet he felt everything for her. He wanted to explain his existence and that despite the ugliness of it, he felt sure he was falling in love with her. But the words were lost on his lips.

Instead, he answered her question with a simple, “I’m fine, really.”

“Okay. I mean, if you say so,” she said but sounded unconvinced.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he replied and knew he’d be counting the hours until sunrise.

“Yep, looking forward to it,” she said simply.

After saying good-bye, Gabriel turned off his phone. He replaced the cell phone to its charging cradle, and lay in his bed only to return to his troublesome thoughts.

Chapter 6

After killing Titov’s men and pitching their bodies overboard, Eugene voyaged from the Russian Far East, enduring the notoriously erratic weather conditions of the Aleutian Islands, to the Alaskan island, Kodiak.  He’d crossed the Alaskan Gulf before arriving in Port Angeles.  As Terzini had promised, a Hummer waited there, hidden at an abandoned shipyard.  He’d rested briefly then began his journey from Port Angeles, Washington, through Idaho and picked up Interstate 80, the second longest Interstate Highway in the United States. He drove along this thoroughfare across Wyoming into Nebraska.

As he passed through state after state, Eugene’s grip on the leather laced steering wheel tightened. Held by an overwhelming fury that seized him with the urgency of a laboring woman, compelled to push her offspring into the world, he needed to birth his rage.

Each time his thoughts reverted to his destination, a small cottage in rural New York, wrath clutched him and surged with intensity. But he knew his anger must be tempered. His seclusion was ordered by his creator. Though he realized his distance was a necessary step in his maker’s process, the thought of wasting countless days in exile spawned resentment. He would be forced to wait, banished and isolated until he was called upon by Dr. Terzini. It would be an utter waste of his time. After all, he was designed to hunt; to battle; to kill. Woven into the very fabric of his DNA was the inherent need to pursue and conquer prey. Ostracism in a vacant cabin was an utter abuse of his fundamental talents.

Bitterness flooded Eugene as he contemplated Dr. Terzini’s master plan, a plan that did not include him integrally. His maker had created Gabriel to be the future of the human species, a prototype of sorts. Gabriel was the geneticist’s proposed gift to the world–his intelligence, his refined DNA, his physical perfection. Eugene grasped Terzini’s vision of an transformed species. He simply regretted that it would be Gabriel’s superior DNA, not his, initialing it.

He boiled at the notion of Gabriel changing humanity through procreation as his maker intended. Such an idea was a source of great indignation and contempt. It aroused questions, questions of loyalty and allegiance to his maker. He believed himself to be superior to Gabriel in every way. He viewed himself as the ultimate specimen, the specimen that others should be modeled after. He contended his creator’s theory, though only in his mind, and believed that more like him ought to be created. He was the perfect fusion of human and animal genes, the best of both kingdoms. If a legion of men were all manufactured like him, they could start the systematic annihilation of the weak and the feeble.

He, and others like him, would eradicate the human species. The extermination process would proceed swiftly as opposed to gradually as Terzini intended.  Eugene’s plan offered circumstances that would give him the freedom to kill as he pleased, at his discretion, liberated at last from preordained orders. Each time he entertained such considerations, a new feeling began to stir within him. The revamped design of a new race with himself as the model filled him with an odd sensation that he struggled to name. It could best be described as hope.

He had read of hope before and dismissed it as ridiculous, impractical and evident of disordered thinking–typical human behavior.  Yet now, hope manifested itself in a more logical form. It suited his needs and served the original purpose of his maker.

But hope was a dangerous and futile notion for Eugene to accommodate for he was created without the ability to disobey his orders.

Nevertheless, Eugene still questioned how he could pledge his allegiance to a man incapable of seeing the obvious flaw in his strategy, that he had selected the wrong archetype.  He caught himself wondering whether Dr. Terzini was nothing more than a self-righteous windbag too arrogant to acknowledge his oversight.

As he brooded over a revolution, Eugene looked down at the gas gauge and saw that the needle was fast approaching empty.  Thoughts of mutiny and mutilation had blinded him to his basic maintenance duties. Seconds earlier, he had passed a blue sign indicating that food, gas, and lodging were located at the next exit. He reached for his dark sunglasses and baseball cap before turning off the interstate to a gas station.

He pulled the behemoth Hummer around to a pump at the farthest corner of the location to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention. After swiping a debit card linked to an account Terzini set up in his name, Eugene began pumping fuel into his vehicle.

While he did so, a large tractor-trailer pulled up to the pump parallel to him. A burly trucker climbed down from the cab. Wearing a worn denim jacket and equally tattered jeans, the barrel-chested hauler lumbered around the front of the cab to the fueling chamber, his long, bushy beard and bedraggled, shoulder-length hair stirred in the breeze created by passing cars on the expressway.  A large, mesh and foam hat perched atop his uncombed hair read ‘Born to Haul’ and threatened to blow away at any moment.

As the truck driver passed, Eugene noticed how the slovenly human glanced at him but immediately looked away. Then, doing a double-take, he snapped his head back in Eugene’s direction, with eyes wide and mouth agape. The act of stealing a second look incensed Eugene. He felt the familiar rush of anger, felt it flashing just below the surface of his skin. Attempting to calm himself, he breathed deeply to contain the blaze that burned.  While he inhaled and exhaled deeply, the hauler turned his head to look over his shoulder and gawk at Eugene again. He studied him from head to toe, examining him with such unapologetic intensity that he nearly walked into a concrete support column. His unrelenting scrutiny fueled the growing firestorm.

Eugene’s breathing became shallow. Taking short quick breaths, the inferno propelled him.  He advanced a single step, burning instinct urging him to descend on the gaping driver. He paused to consider the disastrous consequences of such a rash act. He chose to repress his urge. Instead, he glared at the man from behind his dark lenses, willed him to look away.

He watched and waited as the trucker, sensing the hatred Eugene radiated, turned his attentions toward the convenience mart. Eugene continued fueling the Hummer, fighting to calm himself.

The hauler returned from the store quickly, too quickly Eugene had not fully recovered. He watched as the man passed clutching a large wooden block with a key attached to it in his dirty hands.

The grotesque human plodded past him toward the men’s restroom. Eugene was briefly relieved, the burning in him quelled. Though he longed to murder the trucker, such an act was not sanctioned by Terzini; there would be consequences.

His relief ended abruptly, however, when the trucker turned to look back over his shoulder at Eugene.

Blinded by all-encompassing fire, Eugene stalked off after the rumpled truck driver leaving the nozzle in his car. He trailed him the entire distance between the pumps and the restroom. Driven, he opened the door and entered the restroom.

The trucker stood at the sink washing his hands as he stepped behind him. Eugene’s body trembled with anticipation as he bore into the back of the man’s head from behind his sunglasses. Though trembling, he was poised, ready to strike. The man looked up in the mirror and saw him looming in the reflective glass.

“Can I help you with something pal?” the trucker asked as he continued cleaning his hands.

Eugene smirked, observing how careful the wretch was to avert his eyes.  He saw how desperate the unfortunate creature was to not seem confrontational, allowing himself just a fleeting glance at Eugene.

Eugene said nothing but continued to stare from behind his dark glasses. The only sound he emitted was his ragged breathing. Supreme frustration flooded, threatened to extinguish the glorious hell raging within, as the established rubrics set forth by Terzini came to mind. He was all too aware of the many restrictions enacted by his maker. In particular, he was not permitted to act without Terzini’s permission. He was not to interact with anyone without the expressed consent of his maker. Moreover, he was forbidden to kill or harm anyone unless ordered by Terzini.

As he remained, towering over the doughy trucker, the need to attack overwhelmed every muscle in his body. He grappled to suppress the urge to maul him. Yet deprived of instruction, he could not act. The trembling became violent. Resisting the attack was nearly impossible.

“Are you hearing me pal?” the man asked. “What are you some kind of fag? ‘Cause I don’t swing that way my friend,” he continued, his fear masked thinly by a pathetic attempt to diffuse the tense situation with disparaging humor.

Eugene did not laugh. Instead, his body produced one last powerful tremor before he went still.

The trucker looked confused, terrified.

Without warning, Eugene’s motionlessness ended abruptly. Madness overpowered Eugene and he seized the man by the back of his head and thrust it forward smashing his face into a mirror mounted flush against the concrete wall. With a thunderous thud created by skull striking glass, the mirror exploded on impact, cascading bloodstained shards in every direction.

With his shoes crunching on splintered glass, he spun the truck driver around hoping that the force of the blow had not killed him.

To his delight, the trucker clung to life.

Eugene swiftly grabbed him by the neck and hoisted him off the glass-littered floor. Raising the dying man to eye level, he listened to meek pleas for life.

Eugene could not grant such a request.

He looked upon the imploring slob with contempt, felt no sympathy whatsoever for the simple creature. What he did feel, was a need for release.  The darkness in him demanded death. His mouth twisted into a malevolent smile as his body issued a final shudder. Then, applying pressure unparalleled by the strongest hands in world, he compressed the trucker’s throat, mindful to keep the dying man elevated high enough to stare directly into his eyes.

He watched closely as the trucker resisted death at first, flailing and kicking, before succumbing to his fate with bulging eyes and tongue thrust between clenched teeth.

Still holding the dead man with one powerful hand, Eugene hauled him by his broken neck, then kicked open a stall door and tossed the lifeless body inside. He closed the door then stepped up to a urinal to relieve his bladder before leaving. He took precaution to not trounce the foam and mesh hat that sat, wilted, in front of the restroom entrance.

Eugene finished fueling his Hummer A1 Alpha before climbing in and reentering Interstate 80.

He struggled to recall what had unfolded at the rest stop. It remained a blur to him. In his mind, indistinct images swirled and eddied without taking form. They existed as phantom representations, elusive, indefinable.

From the dark recesses of his mind, an innate sense warned that he had succumbed to an urge, that he had broken protocol. The gravity of his departure from how his creator, Dr. Franklin Terzini, expected him to behave sent him spiraling into despair. Eugene realized his actions threatened to jeopardize everything.

Chapter 7

Nerves had awakened Melissa from a fitful night of sleep. Each hour was interrupted by an incessant need to check the alarm clock on the nightstand by her bed. Her restlessness was not entirely unpleasant, though. It was generated by excitement, pure and simple. She was genuinely eager to see Gabriel. Waking multiple times was a small price to pay to know that she would be able to see him for even a short while before school.

She stayed in bed until six, daydreaming and fretting over her less than glamorous wardrobe before deciding to primp.

For forty minutes, Melissa passed her time preparing for Gabriel. She showered, brushed her teeth, dried her hair, dressed and applied a small amount of makeup.  Then she turned to her closet only to be disappointed by a hodgepodge of sweatshirts, T-shirts and jeans.

Her wardrobe was pathetic by teenage girl standards, but fashion had not been that important to her before meeting Gabriel. Now, however, she wished she had been more judicious when spending the money her father allotted her for clothing. She searched though the sea of frumpy, lackluster garments before settling on a fitted, long-sleeved, button-down shirt and her favorite go-to pair of jeans. She took a quick look at herself in the mirror then gathered her books and backpack and dashed downstairs.

She checked the clock on the microwave on the counter between the stove and the refrigerator.  It read 6:40 a.m., about five minutes before Gabriel’s anticipated arrival.  She took a deep breath to steady her anxiety then set about rummaging through the cabinets, food pantry, refrigerator and freezer in search of something for breakfast. She intended to piece together a meal to be packed into a cooler and shared with Gabriel.  But after examining the sad contents of the cupboard and the fridge, Melissa came up empty. She desperately wanted to do something for Gabriel, to express her affections for him and convey a fraction of the gratitude she had for his presence in her life.

Instead, the best she could offer him were two overripe bananas, one frozen chocolate chip waffle and a box of granola bars with an expiration date of more than six months ago. Abandoning her breakfast idea, Melissa chose, instead, to open the front door and wait for Gabriel.

At precisely 6:45 a.m. Gabriel’s hunter-green Ford explorer pulled into her driveway. He was smiling at her from behind the safety glass of the windshield. Leaving the engine running, he stepped out of his SUV and made his way up the footpath to Melissa’s front door.

Facing due east, Melissa’s house on Blackstone Drive boasted spectacular sunrises. This morning was no exception. The eager sun surged from the horizon in a dazzling spectacle. Pure gold illuminated the skyline melding into shades of orange and intensifying as it swelled, blending hues of rich pink and purple then deepening to violet as it shepherded night to day.

In the luminous light of the dawning day, Gabriel was stunning. His chiseled features, punctuated by deep-set sapphire eyes, the linear structure of his nose and the fullness of his lips were splendid. His appearance made Melissa’s breath catch in her chest. She had to look away from him, distract herself to avoid the possibility of hyperventilation. She turned and grabbed her backpack off the kitchen table then opened the storm door. Gabriel held it ajar for her as she stepped out.

“Good morning,” Gabriel said, smiling as he spoke.

“Good morning,” Melissa replied as she shut the front door and locked it behind her. “How did you sleep?”

“I had some trouble. I was looking forward to today,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Me, too,” she confessed.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Do you want to get something to eat?”

Melissa had not eaten during the time she was awake. And, although being with Gabriel offered her comfort, anticipation of his company had the opposite effect.

“Sure, sounds great. What did you have in mind?” Melissa answered.

“I don’t know. We can go to Joe’s Deli and look around. Everyone says they make a great egg sandwich. Or we could go to McDonald’s if you want.”

Preferring to not waste time at the deli instead of spending time with Gabriel, Melissa chose, instead, the familiar menu choices of the fast-food restaurant.

They pulled out of her driveway and traveled to Route 9. After visiting the drive-thru window and receiving their meals, Melissa and Gabriel headed toward Harbingers High School.

Gabriel navigated the length of the winding, paved pathway leading to Harbingers High and parked in a spot in the rear lot. Once the ignition was turned off, Melissa set about distributing their respective breakfasts, napkins, straws and cutlery.

She watched as Gabriel chewed his bacon, egg and cheese biscuit before asking playfully, “What do you think of my diabolical plan for the weekend?”

Melissa thought about his question for a moment as she cut her steaming hotcakes with a plastic knife. “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily call it diabolical,” she joked. “I mean, I definitely want to be together, and spend time outside of school this weekend.” Melissa blushed as she continued, “I’m just so worried that you’ll get caught and be, like, banned from seeing me ever again.”

“That’s not a possibility,” he answered quickly without the faintest trace of humor.

He seemed repulsed at the thought of punishment involving separation from her. Though she could not be certain, such a notion sent a tremor of delight through her stomach. She smiled and took a bite of her food to avoid passing out from excitement-induced fasting.

“Do you really think Alexandra or Daniella will agree to help us?” Gabriel inquired.

“Umm, yeah, I’m pretty sure. Besides, they’re such romantics.”

“So let’s see, Friday night works for me. But so does Saturday night.”

“It’d be great if Alexandra took one night and Daniella took the other,” Melissa dreamed aloud. She caught herself amid a fanciful dialogue and a faint pink blush spread across her cheeks.

“That’s a great idea! Do you think they would do that?”

Pleasantly surprised that Gabriel shared in her desire to spend both weekend evenings together, Melissa contemplated the enormous favor she intended to ask of her friends. She sincerely hoped they would at least consider extending such an enormous service to them. A vague “We’ll know soon enough,” was the best she could offer.

They finished their breakfast and engaged in light conversation. Too quickly though, the clock on the dashboard radio indicated that their breakfast date was over. Much to Melissa’s disappointment, the adage about time flying when one is having fun proved true. First period was about to begin.

Leaving the SUV, Melissa and Gabriel crossed the parking lot to the rear entrance of the high school. Beyond the doors were the cafeteria and a wide corridor known as the common area that featured over a dozen finished wooden benches that lined the perimeter of the windowed walls. “The Commons,” as they were called, offered students a place to assemble indoors yet enjoy nature through a panoramic view of the park-like campus.

Directly across from the commons were two sets of widely spaced double doors that opened into the gymnasium.

Melissa and Gabriel passed the cafeteria and the common area and paused past the first set of double doors. Loud, rhythmic thumping could be heard.

Peering into the gymnasium to locate the source of the pulsating noise, Melissa eyed a large boom box perched high on the bleachers. The sound system issued blaring beats. On the hardwood floor, a group of about twenty cheerleaders were assembled for an early morning practice session.

Clad in various skimpy articles of workout wear, the girls strutted and gyrated in a formation similar to that of a line dancing troop but with choreography more closely matching strippers at a gentleman’s club.

Kevin Anderson, Chris Mace, John DeNardi and Eric Sala grouped in the gym as well. Melissa knew their predatory presence was not a show of support for their cheerleaders. They leered and gestured obscenely, making plain their intent to survey prospective conquests. But the cheerleaders did not seem to mind. Rather, it incited their behavior.

The bass of the song rumbled as the cheerleaders, aware of their appreciative male audience, performed each move more erotically than Melissa had ever seen them perform, writhing and shaking seductively. Melissa could not help but stare at what looked like a perverse mating ritual, unbridled and animal.  She immediately worried that Gabriel, too, was as tantalized as the other boys. He looked on just as she did. Their overt sensuality was undeniable. Yet when she turned to face him, she realized he was not looking at the girls. He trained his gaze, instead, on Kevin Anderson’s pack.

“Wow. That’s something, huh?” Melissa asked.

“What? What’s something?”

Melissa was relieved by Gabriel’s response. It did not seem contrived or artificial. It seemed genuine. Gabriel seemed oblivious of the vulgar display in the gymnasium, of the girls.

“Them. I mean, those girls, the way they move.”

“Oh, them,” he muttered, disgust lacing each word.  “Yeah, there’s a word for that. Gross.”

Thrilled by his aversion, Melissa celebrated silently, but was still bothered by sporadic bouts of self-doubt. After all, she could not writhe and slink about as they did. She rejoiced over not falling as she roamed the halls of her high school. The thought of attempting to dance and gyrate seductively invited disaster–or at least a trip to the emergency room.

“They have talent. I mean, I’d land myself in the hospital if I tried to do what they’re doing.”

Looking Melissa directly in her eyes, Gabriel affirmed, “You don’t need to be half naked and prancing around like a stripper. You’re too good for that. You’re beautiful and smart and have self-respect. Those girls in there, they’re auditioning.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look over there,” Gabriel gestured to the far corner of the gym where Kevin and his friends gathered. “You see Kevin and his crew? Why do you think they're there?” he asked. “I’ll tell you, they’re not there to offer any kind of help, that’s for sure. They’re there because this practice session is like a sick buffet to them.”

“Oh,” was all Melissa could manage.

Blushing, she turned away from the spectacle in the gym in revulsion.

“Melissa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you with my crassness,” he began. “Really, I just get so mad when I see that guy, after what he did to you, what he wanted to do to you, and here he is objectifying these girls.”

Melissa waited while Gabriel paused and glared at Kevin.

“And the sad part is that the girls don’t seem to mind. They seem to be willing participants in their objectification.”

It became clear that Gabriel interpreted her blush as shock at his frank talk. She was not offended, though. To the contrary, she was impressed by his perception and sensitivity.

“I get pissed too. Believe me,” Melissa admitted. “That’s why I can’t even look in there. I wasn’t mad at you. You weren’t crass as you said. I mean, really? I’m best friends with Alexandra for heaven’s sake. She curses like a sailor. I don’t even notice anymore,” Melissa laughed aloud.

“And if anyone knows what Kevin Anderson is, it’s me,” she added solemnly.

Gabriel’s face relaxed as he questioned the truth of her explanation.

“Are you sure?” he asked.  “Because I would never want to hurt you in any way. You mean…so much to me.”

“Gabriel, you didn’t hurt me. I promise. You make me feel the opposite of hurt,” Melissa fumbled, blushing. “I mean, you make me happy.”

Then Gabriel took her hand. Interlacing his fingers with hers, he gave a gentle squeeze as they began walking. They continued down the hallway, side by side, to Melissa’s locker.

“By the way Gabriel, when did you become such a smarty-pants? Objectification?” Melissa laughed again. “You can’t use words like that on me this early in the morning. It’s like 7:30 a.m. You have to wait at least until lunchtime to start working the SAT power words,” she teased.

Gabriel laughed aloud. His mirth was infectious. Melissa found herself laughing too.

Approaching her locker, she was reluctant to release Gabriel’s hand. She adored his deep understanding of people and shuttered at the thought of parting with the warmth of his personality. She noticed his unwillingness to let go as well.

Satisfied that the need to stay was mutual, Melissa turned to face Gabriel. Emboldened by an overwhelming urge to express her affection for Gabriel, she leaned toward him, positioning herself closer.

Her heart began to pound, threatened to beat out of her rib cage. She never acted so boldly before. And she did not have a plan. Unsure of exactly what she was doing, Melissa arched her body toward his and silently hoped he did not recognize her complete inexperience.  Dizzied by an unrelentingly racing pulse, she said nothing but leaned in even further and tipped her head slightly. She was drunk with adrenaline, overtaken by the profound need to press her lips against his, feel the tender skin of his mouth touch hers.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Gabriel seemed to grasp what her positioning suggested. He bent forward in expectation, dipping his head lower. As their faces drew closer, her mind flooded with racing thoughts. Worry filled each. She panicked.

She worried she was going about things incorrectly. After all, a boy as attractive as he was had surely kissed many girls before. What if her skills were subpar? Did she even have skills? She had little practice. Each question swirled as they inched closer to each other slowly. Then suddenly, with their lips about to touch, all of her negative thoughts were quieted. In her mind there was complete silence; peace. She abandoned all fears and, instead, proceeded with the most natural, exhilarating action she could possibly begin. But just as her lips grazed his, a familiar voice grated in her ears.

“Hey Bitch!” Alexandra greeted Melissa. “Ugh. I feel like shit. I’m getting my period. I have such cramps and I’m so gassy and constipated.”

Melissa felt frustrated and disappointed simultaneously. She cringed then looked at her best friend with a look of puzzlement and watched as Alexandra patted her chest, and belched before asking, “What the hell? Am I interrupting you guys or something?”

Reluctantly, Melissa stepped away from Gabriel. The distance pained her.  She feared her disappointment was etched on her face.

“Hello?” Alexandra continued. “Are you people deaf? Do you hear me?”

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Melissa replied, “Wow, mental pause, sorry Alex. It’s been an interesting few days. Sorry you’re not feeling well.”

“Yeah, you know how backed up I get before my period. If the cramps and bloat are not enough,” she began.

“I apologize for interrupting you, Alexandra,” Gabriel interjected. “But I have to get to my locker before first period. I’ll leave you two to chat privately. Melissa, remember what I said. My phone is on. I’ll see you in third period.”

Melissa watched as Gabriel walked away toward the staircase. His locker was on the second floor. Even though he had just left her, she missed him already.

He was out of sight when cheerleading practice concluded and the cheerleaders began leaving the gymnasium.  Three were approaching their lockers beside Melissa’s.

Kelly Primrose, Marci Davis and Kristen Taft, a trifecta renowned in Harbingers High School for the malicious nature of their gossip and supreme bitchiness, strode up to Melissa and Alexandra.

As they passed, each turned and looked over her shoulder to glare at Melissa.

“Slut,” one hissed.

“Whore,” another condemned.

“Bitch,” one denounced.

Melissa looked nervously to Alexandra and pleaded, “Let’s just go. Come on. I need to get to class anyway.”

Ignoring her friend, Alexandra spun around to confront the trio.

“Excuse me?” She demanded. “Do any of you fucking bitches have something to say?”

Refusing to meet her eyes, the threesome just tossed their heads back and laughed. More cheerleaders advanced. Some pointed and whispered and made slanderous remarks while others just stared at Melissa. She felt vulnerable, withered by their stares, weakened by their words. Yet, she had nothing to feel ashamed of. She had done nothing wrong. In her mind, her words rang true. In the court of public opinion, Kevin Anderson was judge, jury and executioner.

She could do nothing but watch as Alexandra began, at their goading, to defend her friend and distribute her wrath.

“Who the fuck do you think you are!” she shouted at the group. “You have no idea what happened. You’re just a bunch of sheep. You believe whatever bullshit that asshole Kevin feeds you! You’re too fucking stupid to question him! He tried to rape her!”

As if on cue, Kevin Anderson rounded the corner and moved toward the scene unfolding.

“Ladies, what’s all the drama? I certainly hope a fight results from this. You know, clothes get ripped off when girls fight.”

“Only on your porn channels, asshole,” Alexandra spat.

Before Kevin could retort, Arlene Cardwell, a retired prisonguard who was now the hall monitor for Harbingers High School, came out of the cafeteria. Hearing the commotion and sensing an impending skirmish, Arlene made her way down the hallway toward them and ordered everyone to get to class.

“Come on guys. Let’s go,” Arlene instructed. “Everyone has a class they need to be in! The first bell rang already!”

The group disbanded slowly at first. The closer Arlene got, however, the more quickly the process proceeded.

As the group dispersed, some of the cheerleaders made comments, snickered. Kelly, Marci and Kristen lingered the longest, as did Kevin Anderson.

“I’m sorry, Melissa. I have to get to class. If I’m late again, I’ll get detention,” Alexandra explained.

Despite feeling a knot form in her stomach that squeezed intensely, Melissa knew it was not her friend’s battle to fight. She did not want someone else she cared about getting into trouble trying to rescue her.

“Don’t be silly. Go. I’ll be fine,” Melissa offered. “And thank you.”

Alexandra embraced her friend. “No problem,” she said sincerely. “See you later.”

From behind the open locker door of Marci Davis, Melissa heard one of the nasty trinity of cheerleaders sarcastically jest, “Aww. Her babysitter is gone now. Hope she’s able to find her way to class all by herself.”

Snarky laughter followed as the three remaining girls continued their scathing interaction aimed at her.

Melissa slammed her locker shut. She summoned as much courage as she could muster at the moment and fired back.

“Why don’t you three go to hell?” she said.

Then she turned on her heels and headed with trembling legs toward the stairwell. Footsteps were heard behind her. Too heavy to be one of the girls, she guessed it was Kevin Anderson that followed.

“What’s your hurry, princess?” he asked mockingly confirming her presumption.

“Just go away Kevin. This is your fault.”

“This is only the beginning. You think this is bad?” He warned.  “Just wait and see how much worse it’s going to get if you don’t.”

Kevin did not finish his sentence. Instead, he let the last word hang in the air to draw a response from her.

Baited, she asked, “If I don’t what, Kevin?”

“Call this off. Take back your statement to the police, call off the cops and end this crap with me.”

She could not believe what he was proposing. He wanted her to recant her statement–the truth–and absolve him of any offense. In doing that, she would not only pardon his actual and intended acts but also sully her reputation further. She struggled to fathom how he could be so arrogant, so presumptuous. She never imagined she could find him more vile than she did on the night he tried to rape her. Yet by threatening her to get her to retract her statement, he had managed to make himself even more despicable.

“Kevin, you and I both know what happened, what would have happened if Gabriel hadn’t come when he did,” she said careful to keep her voice calm and controlled.

“Yeah, well you got roughed up. Who cares? You’re such a tease anyway. You’ll be begging for what happened then once you get a load of what’s gonna happen next.”

“What? What do you mean?” Melissa asked incredulously.

“Oh, you’ll see. You know you can avoid all of this if you just cooperate.”

“We both know that is not going happen.”

“Suit yourself. Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Kevin laughed. “I am going to make your days here a nightmare,” he threatened before taking the steps two at a time ahead of Melissa.

Shaken, Melissa felt as though she would vomit. She took deep breaths to try to calm down. Sweat beaded her forehead, lightheadedness disoriented her. She wanted nothing more than to call Gabriel, have him leave the class he was in and whisk her off school grounds again. But she knew that that was not an option. She understood that she would have to survive the day–and many more like it–before it all ended, before the truth was finally revealed. Melissa took a moment and steadied herself before continuing up the staircase to attend her first period class.

Chapter 8

Dr. Franklin Terzini paced about in his underground laboratory. Unable to devote the level of concentration that was required for his research he stalked about his work area. The heels of his black patent leather shoes generated a distinct rhythmic clacking sound upon the pristine, painted concrete floor with each step he took.

As his sense of prudence prevailed, he realized such parading was a waste of energy. He opted instead to perch on the edge of his wall-mounted cot in the alcove that served as his makeshift bedroom.

With one arm folded across his chest and the other stroking his chin, Terzini unconsciously rocked back and forth. He was unnerved by Gabriel’s blatant decision to defy him.  He could not tolerate rebelliousness. Though Gabriel offered a sound argument to explain his insolence, the fact remained that his creation should not have been capable of defiance.

He trusted in his creation’s conviction, that the bonfire excursion was crucial to his process of blending into mainstream society, but Gabriel’s disregard for protocol left him unsettled.

Outwardly, no one would guess he was troubled. He always projected composure, coldness. Despite his visible calm, however, Terzini battled bouts of paranoia. Uneasiness festered in him like a wound, chafed until it became raw.

He continually revisited and questioned every aspect of Gabriel’s behavior in the days after the incident of insubordination.  It became a pervasive presence in his life. It affected Terzini’s eating habits, disturbed his sleeping patterns. The occurrence galled him, became so persistent it interfered with his research and development.

While Dr. Franklin Terzini could contend with sleep and food consumption disruption, distress during his numerous hours of work was simply unacceptable.

Distraction in the laboratory inhibited his ability to build on the foundations of his previous works, to create. His drive and dedication and tireless trials, continuously seeking to surpass his last achievement, had led to the creation of his masterpiece: Gabriel.

Gabriel would be Terzini’s legacy, his gift to the world. Even his designation was selected to carefully articulate his purpose. Bearing the name of the archangel Gabriel who, according to Abrahamic religions, was a messenger of God, the geneticist considered his creation to be other-worldly, if not angelic, in appearance. His name, however, did not reflect Dr. Terzini’s religious convictions, for he possessed none. To Dr. Terzini, religion was reserved for the weak-minded.  The name Gabriel maintained its implications only to serve as a suggestion of an emissary that would transform the world.

Gabriel and his subsequent offspring would transform the fabric of the human species. He would evoke a revolution. Because Gabriel was his conception, it would ultimately be Terzini who was responsible for the reformation of mankind.

The thought of having to destroy his stunning success drove Terzini to the brink of madness.

Gabriel was formed with free will but had been adapted to never challenge his maker. Though he was equipped with a brain that absorbed, processed and retained information at a rate unequalled in the history of humanity, conditioning Gabriel was relatively simple.

Dr. Terzini implemented fear conditioning, a process by which a person learns to fear new stimuli. Fear conditioning imparted Gabriel with a physical response similar to fear. This fear was reserved solely for his creator, Dr. Terzini.

Though designed to be devoid of human emotion, Gabriel received this subliminal distress. Terzini viewed it as a necessary means of controlling his subject. Therefore, fear was permitted and was to function on a somatic level as opposed to a psychological one.

If a design flaw were to occur and Gabriel considered defying his maker, a physical response similar to that of a paralyzing anxiety attack would overtake him. Such an overt display would alert Terzini and warrant immediate destruction. Under those circumstances, Gabriel would be considered a failure.

Dr. Franklin Terzini considered the prospect that Gabriel had flouted him, superseded his authority, and managed to circumvent the conditioning he had received. Such a notion was preposterous. It would represent a mistake.

Though Dr. Terzini believed himself to be incapable of such a mistake with Gabriel, he thought it necessary to consider the remote possibility. He reasoned that observation of Gabriel’s behavior when he was unaware of such scrutiny would yield empirical evidence as it did with every other subject he researched.

Compelled to act immediately, Terzini researched and visited numerous websites that offered an array of surveillance equipment before he decided on a large quantity of wireless devices that would provide him with audio and visual feed directly uplinked to his personal computer.

Thanks to overnight express delivery, Terzini would receive his investigative instruments the following morning.

He would utilize the full six and a half hours during which Gabriel was at school allocating numerous mini cameras in virtually every corner of the stunning Victorian house. He would mount minute motion-activated reconnaissance apparatus in lamps and overhead lighting fixtures, clocks, fake plants, framed art work, cabinets, closets and mirrors.

No room would be unmonitored, no corner unexposed to the watchful eye of Dr. Franklin Terzini.

To even the most observant of people, the paraphernalia Terzini purchased would be nearly invisible. Gabriel would detect no difference in the furnishings of the home. He would go about his day-to-day routines and he could observe and study his subject’s behavior, record any changes.

Inspired, Dr. Terzini also purchased a duplicate of his initial order for his laboratory.  Though he did not consider his clandestine research site to be vulnerable by any standards, in the interest of meticulousness, it was imperative that it not be neglected.

Dr. Terzini would not be constrained by time when wiring his lab as he would be when connecting the system in Gabriel’s residence.

Each row of florescent overhead lighting fixtures would be equipped with devices that would survey the entire quarters and provide more than twenty-four hours’ worth of streaming video with audiovisual authentication.

Once all cameras were tested and proved to be fully operational, Dr. Terzini would be satisfied with himself once again and able to resume his daily activities without distraction. He would be able to recommence his genetic explorations and advancements.

Chapter 9

Melissa was grateful that her first and second period classes passed uneventfully. Save for the occasional stares that lingered or whispers between classmates that she could not be sure involved her, the day was proceeding as usual. She found herself feeling cautiously optimistic. She even entertained the notion that perhaps the occurrence that preceded school was an isolated incident, that the possibility existed that somewhere deep inside Kevin lurked a shred of human decency. But such thoughts were pure guesswork, and dangerous at that.

The bell sounded and it snapped her back to more rational thinking.  It also signaled the start of third period with Mr. Adams. It meant she would see Gabriel, as well.

She promptly strode to her designated course. As she entered, she scanned the room for Gabriel. To her disappointment, he was not present. She took her assigned seat near the rear of the room and waited for him. In the front of the class, Mr. Adams positioned himself behind a black metal music stand that was his makeshift podium. His eyes were focused on the analog clock mounted on the wall beside the door. The tolling of a second bell would signal that the class officially began. Any student arriving thereafter would be deemed tardy.

Just before the second bell rang, Gabriel crossed the threshold. Melissa felt a rush of relief at the sight of him. She was not the only person who enjoyed his arrival though. As one of the last to enter, Gabriel held an audience of more than twenty-five students spellbound. She watched as all eyes in the classroom tracked him. He garnered a response that was equal parts captivation and appreciation. They stared approvingly, like art aficionados admiring a famous work.

She believed it impossible to look at him any other way. Gabriel James was a masterpiece. He was not good looking by conventional standards. He could not be categorized as merely noticeable. Instead, his attractiveness was worthy of awe, fascination, his features so flawlessly arranged they seemed divine.

As he sat next to Melissa, Gabriel turned and looked at her. He offered her an open, honest smile. His guilelessness was something Melissa marveled at. She wondered how a person as breathtaking as Gabriel remained so genuinely unaware of his perfection. Kevin Anderson, on the other hand, was not nearly as exquisite as Gabriel but relished in attention, preened more often than anyone she had ever known and continually stole glances at his reflection in any surface with a reflective property. He was vain by every definition of the word; But not Gabriel. Gabriel James was different, dramatically different.  He was neither cocky nor conceited. Rather, he was calm, composed and humble.

Melissa smiled back at Gabriel. He mouthed to her, “Are you okay?”

She silently answered by shrugging and tipping her head to one side.

As if reading her mind, Gabriel reached across the aisle that separated them and wrapped his hand around hers, a gesture so warm and affectionate a rosy glow spread across her cheeks.

“Let’s get to work people,” Mr. Adams began droning. “And to Melissa and Gabriel, let’s focus on our classwork please. Thank you.”

Melissa unwillingly let go of his hand, opened her notebook and began transcribing Mr. Adams’s lecture.

After a lengthy fifty minutes, the session ended. With the sound of another bell, the class was freed from their instructor’s incessant whining. Happily, Melissa left Mr. Adams’s classroom hand in hand with Gabriel.  Lunchtime was next and her spirits were buoyed. She smiled broadly while they walked to her locker. Gabriel suggested they grab a sandwich from the cafeteria and head out to his Explorer to eat. As they approached her locker, however, she realized Gabriel’s plan might change.

Daniella stood, waiting at Melissa’s locker.

Though Melissa was always happy to see her lifelong friend, she needed to be with Gabriel, just Gabriel. She did not want to hurt Daniella’s feelings nor did she want to alienate her friend for a boy. Both she and Gabriel had been through traumatic events together recently. And with his punishment, school was the only place she would be able to spend time with him.  She knew Daniella would understand.

As Melissa and Gabriel approached, she spotted a familiar and unfriendly trio of vultures circling behind Daniella. Kelly, Marci and Kristen, the vapid pride of Harbingers High’s cheerleading squad, lurked about.

“Hey you two! Any lunch plans?” Daniella inquired.

“Umm, we were just going to get something from the cafeteria and eat in Gabriel’s car,” Melissa answered.

“Huh. Good. We won’t have to look at the whore while we eat,” Kelly muttered.

Melissa did not dignify Kelly’s cruelty with a response. Instead, she ignored the comment as did Daniella. Her friend calmly continued asking, “Want to go to my house? My mom made, like, a vat of her vegetable soup,” she offered.

Melissa’s mouth watered at the thought of Mrs. Colucci’s soup.

“My dad is off today,” Daniella continued. “He’d be happy to see you, Melissa. Alex and I are going. You’re both welcome to join us.”

“Be careful, she may try to do your dad,” Kristen murmured then laughed snidely.

Melissa lowered her head sadly. Unwilling to engage the trio in an argument, she turned instead and began to walk away, to retreat.

Unexpectedly, Gabriel lashed out. In a low, almost hoarse voice, he assumed an arrogant tone that could have rivaled the most loathsome leading man on television.

“Hey! You’re calling her a whore?” he hissed. “None of you have an ounce of the dignity and self-respect she has! You three skanks walk around here dressing and acting like hookers and you have the nerve to call her a whore? What a joke!”

Judging from the expressions on their faces, his tirade did not prove as effective as he had intended. So he added, “None of you are anything to look at anyway.”

Melissa was confident that insulting their appearances had landed a direct hit; he had struck them in their self-esteem. She had never heard him speak a mean word, didn’t know he could do so. But she was proud of him.

She watched, pleased, as Kelly Primrose, Marci Davis and Kristen Taft froze, their faces a mixture of astonishment and humiliation. Gabriel had not yelled at them as Alexandra had. Instead, he ridiculed them.  His words were weightier, more significant than Alexandra’s because he was a boy; an extremely handsome boy. His words stung.

Unsure of what to do with their wounded egos, the threesome slunk away.

Melissa and Daniella turned to Gabriel in unison and grinned.

“Oh my God! That was amazing!” Daniella cried.

“Seriously, Gabriel, that was awesome! Did you see their faces? It was priceless!” Melissa exclaimed.

“I’m texting Alexandra right now! She may want to erect a statue in your honor!” Daniella declared as her thumbs worked feverishly at the key pad of her cellular phone.

Gabriel seemed discomfited by the praise he was receiving; he shifted uncomfortably before excusing himself.

To Daniella he said, “Thanks for inviting me for your mother’s soup but, I’m going to have to take a rain check. I’m going to grab a sandwich from the cafeteria and eat in my car.”

Gabriel smiled sincerely then added, “I have to review my history notes for fifth period.  We’re having a test and I didn’t have a chance to study last night. I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I totally understand. Besides, my mom makes this soup, like, all winter long. It’s mine and my dad’s favorite. Melissa, are you coming?”

“I think I’ll stay with Gabriel if it’s all the same to you.”

“Sure no problem,” Daniella answered without a trace of animosity. “I’ll stop by your house after school, okay?”

“Sounds great,” Melissa said as she embraced her friend. She knew she could always rely on Daniella’s understanding nature and generous spirit.

Smiling broadly, Daniella turned to Gabriel once more and joked, “You’re a rock star, Gabriel James. Seriously, you’re my hero.”

Gabriel playfully rolled his eyes at her then snarled his lip imitating the great Elvis Presley and drawled, “Thank you, thank you very much.”

Melissa watched as Daniella, delighted by Gabriel’s impersonation, giggled and floated down the hallway toward the main entrance of the school in the front of the building.

They waited, holding hands, until Daniella left the building. Then, Gabriel turned to face Melissa.

“I forgot to dump my books off in my locker,” he began “And I have to ask my history teacher, Mr. Feldman, a quick question about the test today. I’m going to run upstairs and do that. While I’m gone would you mind getting the sandwiches at the cafeteria?”

Gabriel reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. He opened it and produced a fifty-dollar bill.

“Sure. I mean, I don’t mind. Geez, Gabriel, do you have anything smaller,” Melissa wondered aloud looking at the large sum of money he was entrusting her with.

“Sorry, that’s all I have. Do you think the cashier will have enough to give you change?”

“I have no idea. But if you want, I’ll just buy fifty dollars’ worth of cafeteria food,” Melissa teased.

“Fine, but only if you’re really hungry. Hey and if you’re going to eat that much school food I hope your dad has a good health insurance plan. You’ll need it to cover the trip to the hospital from eating so much garbage,” he joked back.

She savored his sense of humor, adored their breezy banter. To maintain their repartee, she furrowed her brow and squinted.

“I resent that,” Melissa said feigning irritation. “Our lunches aren’t so bad. Besides, who are we to criticize when our meals together have consisted largely of fast food?”

“Huh. Good point. Well then, be sure to get extra mayo and extra Swiss cheese on my turkey sandwich, you know, just to keep my diet consistent,” he winked and smiled then continued. “And if we’re going to do this right, we’ll need some fries or chips, too.”

Laughing, Melissa asked “Will that be all? I feel like I should be writing all of this down.”

“Nah. I have faith in you. You’re a smart girl. You’ll remember,” he kidded. Handing her his keys, Gabriel said more seriously, “Are you sure you don’t mind? I hate to ask you to, I don’t know, serve me.”

“Honestly, Gabriel, you don’t have to worry. I don’t feel like your bossing me or anything. After all, you did save me the other night. Picking up lunch for you is the very least I can do,” Melissa said tenderly.

“You owe me nothing. I’m just happy to know you,” Gabriel smiled sweetly then added, “I’ll meet you in my car in like, ten minutes, okay.”

“Yep, see you in ten with a whole lot of food.”

Shaking his head and smiling, Gabriel trotted off in the opposite direction of Melissa before disappearing into the stairwell.

Just as Gabriel moved out of sight, Melissa spotted John DeNardi and Eric Sala leaving the common area opposite the gymnasium. They saw her and loomed closer.

As Kevin’s friends approached, Melissa gathered her books and stuffed them into her locker as quickly as she could. She shoved the fifty dollar bill that Gabriel had just given her into her front pocket and tried to flee to the cafeteria.

Somehow, they witnessed her shove the fifty dollar bill into her pants pocket. John DeNardi offered his thoughts first.

“Well, I guess it’s safe to bet what she got that for,” he began.

“Yeah,” Eric chimed in. “I guess fifty is the going rate for a roll in the sack with her.”

“Huh, so sad though, that she has to resort to turning tricks during school hours,” John continued, raising his voice.

A few students began to gather. Melissa tried to push through and escape but could not penetrate the unwilling crowd. A hostile audience had assembled and was enjoying the show again. Inspired by the spectators, Eric and John continued.

“Yeah, man. I guess her daddy doesn’t make enough stacking bananas or whatever it is he does over at the A & P. His little girl has to work during school days instead of just on weekends,” Eric mocked.

Cruel laughter sounded from the growing mob.  Melissa felt the customary nausea that accompanied each encounter with Kevin or his followers. The group crowded her, encircled her in a ring of ridicule. She attempted desperately to break the circumference of the gatherers, but was denied access.

“Who’d you bang today, Melissa, a student, or have you moved on to the faculty?” John taunted.

“Leave me alone!” Melissa shouted as she frantically strained a second time, pressing to pass through the fringe of onlookers.

Undeterred, they persisted.

“Aww. So sensitive. I didn’t think your kind was so thin-skinned,” Eric derided.

“Yeah, I thought dirty whores were tough, like they are in the movies,” John insulted.

“Just let me through!” Melissa screamed on the verge of hysteria.

***

As Gabriel returned from his locker and preemptive meeting with his instructor, he paused at the top of the stairwell. He checked his cell phone to see if there were any messages from Dr. Terzini. There were none. As he placed his foot on the first tread, he heard a voice; Melissa’s voice. It was shrill and distressed. His body immediately and inexplicably responded to her cries sending a surge of adrenaline through him. It activated every cell in him. He ran down the three flights of steps with dexterity and ease, descending them at full speed three at a time.

Reaching the last step then finally the landing, he ran and rounded the corner of the vestibule. He immediately saw the large group that had formed. In the center of the chaos, Eric Sala and John DeNardi stood.

“Hey!” Gabriel yelled as he approached the horde. He knew who was at the center enduring their verbal brutality before he even saw her. Melissa, fragile, vulnerable and with tears streaming down her face, was cowed before them.

Enraged, he screamed, “What tough guys! Picking on a hundred-pound girl!” as he shoved past the outer-edge of the crowd. Gabriel stepped up to Kevin Anderson’s two disciples.

Toe to toe, with his face just inches from theirs, he growled, “This ends here!”

Gabriel’s intensity and posturing forced both Eric and John to instinctively back away.

“Let’s do this right here right now!” Gabriel confronted.

Eric and John, stunned, offered no response. Stifled and silenced, they stood shiftlessly.

Talking through clenched teeth, Gabriel challenged and spread his arms, “What, nothing to say now, you friggin’ cowards?”

Still, neither Eric nor John spoke.

“Where’s Kevin?” Gabriel demanded once again.  “I am ending this, with all of you, today, right now!”

John and Eric remained quiet and gestured, rather, to the double doors at the rear of the hallway that led to the back parking lot. As they did so, the mob that gathered to witness Melissa’s verbal bashing began to break up. Unflinching, Gabriel glowered at the set of followers. Most squirmed with discomfort before lowering their gazes to their feet and turning to walk away.

“I will see you both in the parking lot,” Gabriel resolved, addressing John and Eric.

To Melissa Gabriel asked concernedly “Are you okay?”

When she answered him, her voice was overwrought and quavering. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“No! I am ending this now!”

“Please Gabriel, just let it go.”

“I can’t let it go. It’s not going to stop. It’ll keep getting worse.”

“Please!” Melissa begged as she trailed Gabriel down the hallway.

Although Gabriel suffered at hearing her emotional appeals, he knew he must not be swayed. He recognized the necessity of confronting Kevin in front of his followers. He needed to be shamed the way he and his friends continually attempted to shame Melissa; he needed to agonize as she had over his many abuses.

Rallied further by his irate thoughts, Gabriel slammed open the metal doors and stalked out into the rear parking area.

Across the lot, he had a clear view of Kevin holding court beside his sleek Infiniti G37 Sport Coupe, likely regaling a group of his adoring peers with tales of his many sports-related achievements: game winning touchdowns, expertly executed three-point basketball shots and complex wrestling maneuvers.

Smiling smugly as he spoke, revealing his signature set of blinding-white teeth along with his trademark solitary dimple on his right cheek, Kevin seemed to hold his audience spellbound. He gestured vigorously as he addressed them, giving emphasis to his every account.  Every gaze remained fixed on him.

The group of eyes veiled by adulation for Kevin proved beneficial for Gabriel. It gave him an advantage. Kevin’s admirers did not take notice of his advancement toward them; they did not warn him.

Utilizing the benefit of surprise, Gabriel strode with confidence and purpose as anger coursed through his veins. But he did so unnoticed. As he drew near, Kevin, as if possessed by his bloated and distorted sense of worth, did not even bother to look up until it was too late and Gabriel was before him.

“Hey, Anderson!” Gabriel shouted. “I thought I told you to leave Melissa alone!”

A faint expression of surprise flashed across Kevin’s face before he regained his composure and retorted. “Let your little whore fight her own battles.”

Hearing Kevin supplant Melissa’s name with such a revolting euphemism evoked a resurgence of rage in Gabriel. He longed to release his wrath on Kevin, to free the contempt he’d carefully harnessed at their last encounter in the woods.

“You better watch what you say about her, Kevin!” Gabriel warned.

“Yeah, what’re you gonna do about it asshole?” Kevin challenged.

Gabriel could tell it was fake confidence. He could see sweat trickle down from his hairline and the wild pulsation of his carotid artery. Gabriel assumed Kevin was hoping he would not accept his challenge.

“You want to settle this right here? Let’s go!” Gabriel accepted.

“Go away, Gabriel,” Kevin said. “Don’t make a fool of yourself. You’re not catching me off-guard now like you did at the bonfire.”

The mention of the bonfire, the night when Kevin drugged Melissa and struck her repeatedly and tried to rape her, was all Gabriel needed to incense him.

“If by off-guard you mean when I interrupted you attacking a defenseless girl you were trying to rape, then yeah, you were off-guard! I’m not going anywhere! This ends right here, right now!” Gabriel contested.

Gabriel remained, readied to jump at the first sign of aggression. With his shoulders squared, and feet planted, every muscle in his body yearned to attack. He listened intently and waited for Kevin to accept his challenge, and act.

“No, man. Another time, another place,” he faltered.  “Don’t embarrass yourself. You’re new here. I’ll give you a pass. Just go inside.”

Gabriel scrutinized Kevin as he spoke. His calm façade was just that. Gabriel guessed he was not the only one able to see past the thinly veiled fear imprinted on his every feature. He decided to exploit his opponents dread.

“What’s the matter, Kevin? All talk? Are you afraid or something?” Gabriel taunted. “We both know what would happen if we fought again, the same thing that happened at the bonfire. I’d kick your ass again like the little punk you are!”

“Shut up asshole!” Kevin whined.

“Why don’t you come over here and shut me up! I’m standing right here!” Gabriel outstretched his arms. “Come on Kevin. What are you waiting for?”

It did not surprise Gabriel when Kevin did not move toward him. Predictably, Kevin just stood, astonished, unable to speak.

“Nothing to say now Anderson? Cause all you’ve done for the last few days is run your mouth about how you were jumped, how I, alone, couldn’t have messed you up like I did while you tried to rape Melissa in the woods! Well, put your money where your mouth is!” Gabriel shouted. “Let’s go! Right here right now! Prove to everyone what a badass you really are!”

Still, Kevin remained silent.

“Oh! That’s right. I forgot. If I were a drugged and defenseless girl, you’d be all over me. But I’m not, am I?”

The crowd that moments ago stood captivated by Kevin Anderson, began to slowly distance themselves from him. Gradually, the pack started to thin as onlookers became painfully aware that Kevin would not answer Gabriel’s challenge.

“See Kevin, even the sheep who worship you here are seeing that you’re not just a coward but a liar!” Gabriel yelled.

Kevin’s posture degenerated right before Gabriel’s eyes. Instead of standing proudly erect before a captive of audience, he slouched alone. With rounded shoulders, he hunched slightly.  His hands were now stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans.

More students departed. Some muttered negative comments about Kevin as they passed. His self-serving anecdotes would no longer have the potency they did earlier. Kevin had been humbled, shamed.

Gabriel suppressed a triumphant smirk as he witnessed the effectiveness of his public chastisement of him. Kevin turned toward the driver’s side door of his black sports car and, careful to not meet Gabriel’s stare, climbed in. After starting the engine, he shifted into gear and accelerated quickly. Dirt kicked up and scattered as his tires spun. He left, unceremoniously, quickly.

Gabriel watched as Kevin sped off before turning to Melissa who had nervously witnessed the entire scene unfold.

Half-expecting Melissa to turn and run from him, Gabriel was pleasantly surprised when she approached him and wordlessly wrapped her arms around him

Chapter 10

After a long day at school that included three tests and a confrontation with Kevin Anderson, Gabriel was glad to leave. He regretted that he could not drive Melissa home; that they could not spend time together. He needed to go home. Terzini would be expecting him.

He reflected on the day as he drove, losing himself in thought until he arrived at his driveway. As he traveled the length of the gravel-filled path, the Gothic Victorian came into view. The house, positioned against the waning daylight, looked menacing. Its many striking edges were not softened by the shades of gold and orange, but intensified. It loomed darker in contrast, each angle sharpened, every slope steepened. It stood, a blackened castle against a fairytale-hued canvas of colors, cold and dark, puncturing the warm and brilliant backdrop. Pulling up to the garage, Gabriel noticed that the interior lights were on. Terzini was there.

Gabriel drove into the garage and turned off the engine of the Explorer. He remembered the last time his maker left the laboratory and visited the main house; the confrontation was fresh in his mind. Gabriel had already engaged in enough conflicts for one day. He did not need another.

He climbed out of his SUV, laden with concern, and entered the house through a door that led to the laundry room. He crossed the laundry room to a flight of stairs. As he ascended the staircase, anxiety hailed his every step. He paused briefly to listen for sounds of activity. None were heard and he continued, unsure whether stillness was a good sign.

Gabriel reached the top of the flight and stood before another door that opened to a hallway. The corridor led in one direction to a bathroom and the other to a formal living room and dining room. He listened again and still heard silence. The quiet was eerie, unsettling.

Turning the knob and entering slowly, Gabriel did not see the geneticist at first. The bathroom door stood open, vacant. The formal dining room appeared unoccupied. Gabriel moved forward in search of what he could only imagine would turn out to be an unpleasant visit from Dr. Franklin Terzini. Surprisingly though, his maker was not seated on any furniture in the formal living room nor did he inhabit any corners in the room. He was nowhere in Gabriel’s field of vision. Perplexed, he remained where he was, in the center of the living room, wondering where exactly Terzini was.

Finally, a man was heard clearing his throat from the kitchen. Surprised, Gabriel moved swiftly to the kitchen and entered only to find Terzini leaning against the granite countertop of the center island, one arm folded across his chest while the other feverishly stroked the lower half of his creased, scowling face. The petite genius appeared deep in thought and looked ill. His thick, neatly arranged jet-black hair provided a severe contrast against his skin that, even in the more forgiving glow offered by incandescent lighting, remained ashen, pallid.

“Hello, Dr. Terzini, sir,” Gabriel said careful to not reveal his growing unease.

His apprehension increased as Terzini did not reply right away. Rather, he waited, allowing his beady eyes to search Gabriel’s through wired-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Inside, Gabriel felt tense, worried.

Finally, after what felt like an endless period of scrutiny, his maker elected to speak.

“Gabriel,” Terzini replied remotely.

“Can I be of any service to you, sir?” Gabriel offered still fraught with questions about the unscheduled encounter.

“Yes, Gabriel. You can,” Terzini began, enunciating each word with painstaking precision.  “I am going out of town for a few days. I am leaving Friday afternoon and I will be returning Sunday evening.”

“Yes sir,” Gabriel answered still unsure of where the conversation was headed.

“I demand that you stay home. Do you understand me, Gabriel?”

Suddenly, Terzini’s intention was clear; he feared rebellion. The bonfire incident had rattled him, made him distrustful of Gabriel.

“Yes sir.”

“You must remain here in this house, Gabriel. No bonfires, no skirmishes in the woods,” he commanded icily.

“Yes sir,” was all Gabriel would allow himself to say. Feigning complete compliance was crucial.

“I want to be very explicit with my instructions. There should be no confusion. My instructions are not subject to interpretation.”

“Yes sir.”

“I do not wish to be carted off at a ghastly hour of the night to the local police station to verify your fabricated identity.”

“Yes sir.”

“It is essential that I make my demands clear as we both know what the consequences will be for noncompliance, Gabriel,” Terzini warned bitterly as he stepped toward him.

Involuntarily, Gabriel flinched when his maker advanced. His heart began to race and perspiration beaded his forehead.

Terzini appeared satisfied with the response he evoked and retreated, leaning once more against the counter. Only this time, his usually unreadable countenance bore the slightest trace of self-contentedness, arrogance.

Feeling his pulse rate return to normal and the tension releasing within him, Gabriel internally questioned what was happening to him. Melissa had evoked a similar physical response but it was accompanied by a pleasant fluttering sensation and heightened his senses; it roused and energized him. The phenomenon that occurred with Terzini’s advance was dissimilar. He felt paralyzed inside; dulled to his surroundings, save for the expression on his maker’s face.

“Gabriel, do you understand what is required of you?” the geneticist questioned, his tone terse and impersonal in nature.

“Yes sir. I do.”

“Very well then, I will return on Sunday sometime after five o’clock.”

After Terzini stressed his expectations during his absence, he promptly left.

Gabriel watched as his maker turned on his heels and strode out of the kitchen. The rhythmic clacking of his dress shoes could be heard echoing through the living room and dining room and down the flight of steps which led ultimately to the garage.

Gabriel was shaken. Uncertain why his body responded as it did, he breathed deeply to steady himself. All the while he resisted the urge to call Melissa immediately and inform her that plans had changed; that he would have access to his car over the weekend. They would be free to be together. He opposed every compulsion that urged him to grab his phone and instead postponed texting Melissa with the good news until the sound of the garage door opening then closing could be heard. When both were heard, he immediately pulled his cellphone from the back pocket of his jeans and began texting.

***

Daniella drove Melissa home from school. She was happy to spend some time with Daniella, but she missed Gabriel.

As they sat at her kitchen table chatting, three beeps sounded from Melissa’s phone. A text message had been sent to her.

Picking up her phone, Melissa was shocked to read the text message from Gabriel. It said that his father would be out of town for most of the weekend.

They would not need to plan a double-date with another couple. They would not need to solicit favors from her friends. Gabriel and Melissa would go on an actual date. She was elated, overjoyed as she turned to Daniella and told her of the change of plans.

“Daniella, you’re not going to believe this,” she began. “Gabriel just texted me. His dad is going out of town for the weekend!”

“Get out! Really?”

“You know what this means right?” Melissa asked but didn’t wait for her friend to answer. “He and I can go out this weekend, on a date!”

“Oh my gosh! This is so awesome!” Daniella squealed. “But will your dad be okay with it?”

“I don’t see why not. I mean, Gabriel did pretty much save me…”

Melissa’s voice trailed off as she briefly relived the night of the bonfire.

“Melissa? Melissa? Hey! Are you okay?” Daniella was asking.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just everything that has happened, and is still happening, gets to me. It eats away at me every day. It would be impossible except, well, I mean, except for the Gabriel thing.”

She could not adequately explain to Daniella how much it meant to have Gabriel in her life, doubted it would sound anything less than corny. But their relationship was growing, developing. It was far more than a shared dislike of Kevin Anderson. She realized it was never about that. She liked Gabriel. He was easy to talk to, open, honest. Though run-ins with Kevin often prompted their time together, they spoke of other things, anything; everything. Gabriel was intelligent and a good listener. He laughed easily and seemed to genuinely enjoy her company. And he was gorgeous. She felt fortunate to know him.

Daniella seemed to recognize the dreamy-eyed expression on her face and asked, “You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you?”

Bobbing her head with an enormous grin, Melissa replied, “Absolutely!”

“That’s so great,” Daniella gushed. “Have you two kissed yet?”

“Nope, we were about to, but guess who came up and offered way too much information about her monthly friend?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look as if I’m kidding?”

“Seriously? Please tell me Alexandra did not come up to you two as you were about to suck face and tell you about her period,” Daniella asked incredulously.

“Oh but she did,” Melissa laughed. “And it gets worse. She went on to tell us how constipated she was, also.”

Both girls grimaced before erupting into laughter.

“Stop it! You’re kidding me, right?” Daniella giggled.

“No I am not,” Melissa doubled over.

“Oh man, that girl is something else!”

“You’re telling me! But we love her!” Melissa managed, still laughing.

“We certainly do,” Daniella said between chuckles.

Blotting tears from her eyes, Daniella glanced at her wristwatch and sprung from her chair.

“Wow! I didn’t realize it had gotten so late! I have to get home and start studying for my calculus test tomorrow.”

Melissa stood and began walking her friend to the front door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Daniella said as she collected her keys and her purse from the kitchen table.

“Sure will. Oh, and do you think you could come over maybe before my date? I’m going to ask Alexandra to come too. I could use some serious fashion advice from the two of you. You know I’m challenged in that area,” Melissa continued. “I want everything to be perfect.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be here to help, not that you need it. You’d look stunning in a Hefty bag.”

“You’re the best!” Melissa said as she crossed the distance between them and embraced her friend.

Daniella left and the evening progressed uneventfully as did the rest of the week

Chapter 11

The evening of Melissa’s highly anticipated date with Gabriel had finally come. Friday-a day of the week so beloved songs had been composed and performed in its honor-arrived at the end of a week that, though peppered with tests and papers to prepare for, proved an uneventful school week. In the busy days leading up to their date, Kevin Anderson and his followers were silent.  Melissa was grateful for their reticence, even if it were temporary. It gave her time to revel in expectation of her weekend plans with Gabriel.

As the designated time of their get-together rapidly approached, Melissa was anxious. Alexandra and Daniella had come and gone earlier in the day and offered Melissa a sufficient pep talk and their fashion expertise. They helped her select an ensemble that highlighted her physical attributes. The advice and support of her two best friends was indispensable. Together, they had managed to bolster her ever-fluctuating confidence and did nothing short of hold her hand as she dressed.

After they left, however, Melissa began scrutinizing her appearance in her full-length mirror with less than kind eyes. Though she felt satisfied that her reflection looked as attractive as it possibly could, her overly critical, anxiety-riddled mind presented an opposing viewpoint. She blamed her negativity on hunger; nerves had kept her from eating a complete meal all day. She grazed on fruit, drank a glass of milk, nibbled on half a bagel, but never actually sat and ate a meal at any point of the day.  The combination of her nervousness and low blood sugar clouded her perception of herself, etched at her fragile self-image. It also made her head ache and her stomach churn.

But her overall excitement trumped her hunger and worry-induced symptoms. She turned from the mirror and took a slender glass bottle from her dresser. Then, after misting herself with a spritz of her favorite body spray, Melissa took a deep breath, shut her bedroom light and moved to the top of the staircase. Her palms were slick with sweat as she steadied herself and held the railing and descended the steep steps. Her hand squeaked as it traveled the length of the wooden banister.

“Dad!” she called out once at the bottom of the steps.

“In here!” he replied from the family room.

Melissa walked down the short hallway, across the living room and through the dining room before entering the most frequented room in the house.

Her father sat at the wobbly desk that occupied the interior wall just past the entrance to the family room. He was seated in a faux-leather office chair, partially reclined, one hand on the mouse while the other held a can of Budweiser beer. A dual-tone beeping sounded from the computer speakers and alerted him that it was his turn to act in his Internet poker tournament.

“Hey Dad, I’m going,” she began.

“Just a sec, honey, I’m in this hand,” he said distractedly.

“I’m going out with Gabriel. He’ll be here any minute,” Melissa responded impatiently.

Her father slapped his hand down onto the desk, clearly unhappy with the outcome of the hand.

“Dad, focus here. Gabriel will be here any second. Do I look okay?”

“You look fine. Do you have money?”

“Yes Dad.”

“Do you have your phone?”

“Yes.”

“And the pepper spray I got you?”

“Yes Dad. But I highly doubt I’ll need to pepper spray Gabriel.”

“Look, I like the guy as much as a father can like his teenage daughter’s boyfriend, but you never know. After the whole thing with that Anderson clown, I don’t want you taking chances.”

She watched as her father’s face turned an angry scarlet at his mention of Kevin Anderson. He worked to compose himself before chiding, “You’re lucky I don’t tag along as a chaperone,” then smiled impishly.

Melissa leaned down and kissed her father on his smooth-shaven head.

“Bye Dad. Love you.”

“Love you, Missy. Have fun. Be home by midnight.”

“Fine,” she agreed.

With a few moments to spare, she ambled toward the front door.

As she did so, the doorbell chimed.

Melissa nearly sprinted to the front door. She couldn’t manipulate the knob fast enough and nearly cursed before opening the door.  When she finally did, Gabriel stood at the threshold.

Even in the shadowy light provided by the exterior fixture, Gabriel was exquisite, his every feature superb. He smiled admiringly at Melissa.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented.

“Thanks. You do, too,” she fumbled then blushed at her gaffe. “I mean, you look great. Come in. I just need to get my jacket.”

Melissa held the door open as Gabriel entered her home. Once he was inside, she walked to the hall closet and snatched her coat from a plastic hanger. Before she maneuvered it on her body, Gabriel took it from her and held it so she could simply slide her arms in the sleeves.

His gesture gave her goose bumps. They covered every part of her skin his hands brushed against; every inch he touched came to life.

“Hey Gabriel,” her father called from the family room, promptly interrupting her multisensory experience.

“Hi Mr. Martin,” Gabriel called back.

“Have fun and be safe. Her curfew is midnight. Not a moment later,” her dad warned.

“Yes sir. She will be home on time. I promise.”

Melissa and Gabriel walked out together to his waiting Ford Explorer in the driveway. The engine was still running. Gabriel opened the passenger side door for Melissa.

“The movie starts in half an hour so we’ll have plenty of time to get our tickets and popcorn and find seats,” Gabriel began.

“I hear this movie is really scary. I just want to warn you, I’m a big chicken when it comes to horror flicks.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you,” Gabriel offered jokingly.

“You think I’m kidding. The last time I went to the movies with Alex and Melissa, I kept a napkin over my face and peeked out from behind it.”

Gabriel laughed then seemed to notice that Melissa’s expression was earnest.

“If things get too intense, we can leave. I promise. Or we can see another movie if you’d like,” he offered. “I just want you to have a good time.”

“That’s so nice of you, really, but I checked the time clock and the movie is a little less than an hour and a half with credits” she reasoned. “So really, it’ll only be an hour and change of terrifying scenes for me to deal with. I think I’ll manage.”

“Wow. You’ve really got this all worked out,” Gabriel smiled.

“Yep,” Melissa answered touching her index finger to her temple and rolling her eyes. “I’ve got an exceptional mind for planning,” she said mocking herself.

“You’re really silly, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Not recently, not since I was, like, five years old.”

“Well you are; pretty, but silly.”

Melissa’s pulse quicken at the compliment. It didn’t slow until Gabriel pulled onto Route 9 and drove toward the neighboring town of Darling. The movie he and Melissa were to see was playing at the Regal Cinemas at the Darling Galleria.

Turning in to the entrance of the mall, Gabriel asked Melissa “I was thinking, maybe after the movie we could go out for a late dinner. What do you think?”

“That sounds great. Honestly, I was too excited to eat earlier,” Melissa admitted as a crimson flush spread across her cheeks.

“That makes two of us,” Gabriel confessed then reached across the console and took Melissa’s hand in his.

She felt her heart beat wildly and goose bumps dimpling her skin again.

After finding a parking spot, Gabriel and Melissa walked, holding hands, to the theater and bought their tickets.  They chose a movie about a young woman who suffers the misfortune of demonic possession.

Nestled in theater seats, they positioned their bodies as closely as possible. With fingers entwined and shoulders touching, the film began. Terrifying and horrific images flashed on the screen from the start. Satanic forces had assumed proprietorship of a teenage girl who went on a ritualistic murdering spree.

Typically, Melissa would have found the movie too intense, too frightening and would have opted to leave. With Gabriel beside her, the focus was not on what was projected but on the person next to her.  Melissa could not concentrate on the movie, even if she wanted to, it would have been an impossible feat.

Her insides quivered excitedly as Gabriel’s thumb stroked the soft skin on the underside of her wrist. Melissa longed to feel his lips on hers but intuited that it was not the right moment.

Mercifully, after the opening and closing credits were extracted, the movie was a little more than an hour and a half. Melissa and Gabriel left the cinema with all the other movie-goers and walked out to Gabriel’s Explorer.

“Are you hungry?” Gabriel questioned.

“Amazingly, yes,” Melissa answered.

“And what’s so amazing about that?”

“Well, I can’t imagine how anyone would want to eat after seeing that movie. I mean, the possessed girl ate a human heart for heaven’s sake!” she returned.

“That was pretty gross. I can’t imagine I’ll be eating any rare meat tonight, that’s for sure,” Gabriel joked.

“Yeah, I’m thinking salad or anything without meat for me,” Melissa kidded back.

The drive from the movie theater to a local franchise restaurant opposite the movie theater on Route 9 was short.

As they walked in, Melissa noticed that the restaurant was crowded and very loud. Background music blared and diners were forced to shout conversationally to compensate. The combination was distracting, deafening.

To add to the already suffering ambience, a rowdy group occupied the stools at the bar. A collection of men and women clad in professional attire had assembled for happy hour and remained long after it had ended. Melissa and Gabriel exchanged glances as she silently hoped they would be accommodated far from them.

They were ushered to a table away from the loud group at the bar. Melissa was thankful until she realized their table was in the center of one of three dining areas. After they were seated, the hostess handed them their menus and told them a server would be with them shortly.

Melissa glanced at her wristwatch.  Time raced at an unprecedented speed. Two hours into their date, Melissa and Gabriel had yet to spend time alone together.  Peeved by this last fact and determined to spend some time talking to Gabriel, she silently vowed to order the simplest to prepare and quickest to consume meal the restaurant offered.

A server arrived and rattled on about drink, appetizer, entrée and dessert offers. Though she recognized that the waiter was doing his job, Melissa wanted to scream. She did not, however, but waited patiently until he finished the specials list before ordering a Caesar salad and diet cola. Gabriel took her cue and ordered the same meal she did.

After meals were served and consumed and the tableware was cleared, Gabriel and Melissa waited impatiently for their bill to arrive. They then paid and left quickly.

Stepping out into the crisp and comparably quiet fall evening, Melissa felt relieved; the best part of their date was before them. As they climbed back into Gabriel’s SUV, though, the clock on the dashboard warned that their time was limited.

Gabriel seemed attuned to their pressing time constraint and did not ask about a future destination. Instead, he drove to the East Fallkill Recreation Center.

Following the familiar long and winding driveway passed tennis courts and baseball fields, a concession building and a football field, Gabriel drove to the exact location Kevin Anderson had taken Melissa to. Instead of being filled with a sense of dread, however, Melissa felt electrified.

“At school, I overheard that this place was pretty quiet, private. I know what most people do when they come here so let me say up front that I am not going to try any of that with you. You have my word,” Gabriel began.

Slightly disappointed, Melissa followed with, “Oh, yeah, of course not.”

“I came here because I want to be alone with you, where it’s quiet and close to your house. If this makes you uncomfortable, we can leave,” Gabriel said sounding nervous.

“No, no. This is fine. I’m fine,” Melissa fumbled. “Actually, I’m better than fine.”

“Me, too,” he agreed. “Oh, and by the way, I set the alarm on my watch so it will beep at ten minutes before midnight. I don’t want to risk bringing you home late for two reasons.”

“And what are they?” she asked playfully.

“First is that frankly, your dad scares me a little. And second, if you were to be late and your dad decided not to kill me, he would definitely ground you and that would ruin our weekend plans.”

“Gotcha,” she asserted.

“Are you sure this is okay, Melissa? Cause if this place freaks you out, we can go.”

“No, really Gabriel, I’m fine. I trust that you’re not going to, like, maul me or something. I mean, considering everything that’s been going on, the only reason I haven’t had a breakdown or something is because of you.”

Melissa blushed deeply at her admission and was thankful for the concealment of night.

Seconds fled into minutes and minutes hurried into an hour as time rushed by. Melissa and Gabriel chatted about everything yet nothing at all. She observed how she was not the only person engrossed in every word being spoken. Gabriel was outwardly intent and focused as well. He seemed to savor the fleeting moments as she did.

As time sped on and midnight fast approached, Gabriel took Melissa’s hand in his and brought it to his lips. Pressing his full, soft lips to the top of her hand, her pulse quickened. Her stomach flipped and stirred and she felt a foreign sensation. She shivered and felt goose bumps emerge on every inch of her skin.

Gabriel brought her hand away from his mouth and rested it on the center console, still enveloped in his.

“Melissa, I feel so much for you,” he confessed. “Feelings I’ve never experienced before, feelings I never knew I had.”

The sincerity of his admission, the unabashed truth of his words made Melissa’s eyes moisten with emotion.

Gabriel continued, “I’ve never loved anyone in my life, Melissa, but I can honestly say that I’m falling for you.”

“I feel the same way,” Melissa said in a voice trembling with affection.

Still holding her hand in his, Gabriel turned to face Melissa. He gently pulled her hand toward him and almost sent her into cardiac arrest as her heart raced madly, uncontrollably. Her mind swam with apprehension. She feared her inexperience would hinder his romantic effort. The thunderous palpitations of her heart did not help matters.

With one hand in hers, Gabriel lifted his other. It trembled slightly as it touched her cheek. Melissa recognized his tremor as nervousness as well. Encouraged, she brought her face closer to his, in expectation. Gabriel tilted his head to one side and slowly moved his lips to meet hers.

As he drew nearer, Melissa felt breathless. She felt the world spinning on its axis. She was lightheaded, giddy as he pressed his lips to hers chastely. His mouth was warm, his lips soft and supple. She delighted in their heat. Her heart continued to pound fervidly, threatened to escape the containment of her ribcage. She was completely unprepared for the euphoric sensation his lips inspired. She felt high in every sense of the word.

Then, with an unceremonious trio of beeps emitted from Gabriel’s wristwatch, Melissa and Gabriel were brusquely reminded of the time.

Their kiss ended. It was time for her to go home.

Despondently, Melissa accepted that their evening was over as Gabriel turned on the headlamps of his Ford Explorer and began navigating the curved pathway out of the East Fallkill Recreation Center.

The drive lasted less than ten minutes, ample time to deflate the emotions that surged and swelled moments ago.  Gabriel turned onto Blackstone Drive before stopping at number fifty.  He pulled into the driveway and switched off the headlights.

Dreading the valedictory portion of their every encounter was something Melissa had become used to. This night was no exception. In fact, it proved more difficult than usual. They acknowledged their feelings for each other, and sealed them with a singular kiss.

“I guess I have to go in,” Melissa said dejectedly.

“I’ll miss you,” Gabriel affirmed.

“I’ll miss you, too.”

“I’ll call you in the morning. We can talk about our plans for tomorrow night. I was thinking maybe we could just hang out at my house. I can cook you dinner,” Gabriel offered.

With spirits buoyed anew, Melissa smiled at his suggestion. “That sounds like a great idea. I can’t wait. I can make something if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’d love the opportunity to showcase my culinary skills…for my girlfriend.”

Melissa took great pleasure in hearing Gabriel refer to her as his girlfriend.

The outside light flickered. Her father was awake and summoning her.

“Looks like I've got to go,” Melissa said as she gestured to the flickering fixture. “My dad is so subtle.”

Gabriel climbed out of the driver’s seat and came around to open the passenger side door for Melissa.

“He just cares about you. And I do too. What I mean to say is,” Gabriel stalled momentarily.

“I love you, Melissa.”

“I love you, too,” she replied suddenly electrified, enlivened.

“Goodnight Melissa”

“Goodnight,” Melissa said and gave Gabriel a peck on the cheek and dashed inside.

Chapter 12

Gabriel drove away from Melissa’s house on Blackstone Drive.  His heart thumped wildly as he replayed the evening in his mind, how Melissa’s fingers interlaced with his, how her lips melded with his. His hand unconsciously touched his mouth as if searching for a sensation that lingered and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Her words resonated in his ears, three in particular. The expression she articulated, I love you, was indelibly imprinted in his core. He had never heard those words spoken together, for him. Melissa loved him. She had said so herself. She professed the most profound of feelings a human being could have for another, for him.

Although that fact evoked an emotional and physical response more potent than any book or movie could convey, guilt circled Gabriel, stalked him as a ferocious beast shadows its prey.

He turned down the long driveway leading to his house. As he pulled his Explorer in to one of three garage ports, self-reproach descended on him, tore at him with fanged teeth.  He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Everything about him was a lie. His home and his relationship with Terzini, why he was in Harbingers Falls, his existence, were all carefully crafted lies. Shame overwhelmed him. Closing his eyes and depressing pressure points would not lessen his burden, though. He knew that such actions were irrelevant, ineffective. Hampered by despair, he reluctantly exited his SUV.

His stomach rolled as he crossed the threshold of the beautiful house. It stood as a beacon, an elaborate reminder of his many falsehoods. The structure, bought not by his father as he had led Melissa Martin to believe, but by Dr. Franklin Terzini, enabled research and development; the same research and development that led to his creation.

Dr. Franklin Terzini was responsible for his existence, had created him, but not as other men claimed responsibility for their offspring’s actuality. Gabriel’s maker had hand-selected and altered each strand of his DNA. Terzini was singly accountable for his being, had offered little more than his genius to achieve it.

Gabriel knew Dr. Terzini had acquired the genetic material of others, how he had preyed on those who sought the help of fertility specialists to enhance their chances of conception, and had exploited them. Utilizing several pseudonyms and the anonymity proffered by the World Wide Web, his maker had relieved countless fertility candidates of their samples but never united them as they had hoped. Instead, he engineered their matter to suit his scientific pursuits. He used it to create Gabriel.

Yet Gabriel did not view himself as an innovation, an idea realized. Nor did he regard himself as a product of corrupt activity. Rather, he considered himself as human as anyone he encountered thus far–more so in some cases. He wondered if presented with the truth, Melissa would deem him a monster. After all, she had not been given the opportunity to know what he really was. Melissa was not privy to the secrets of Gabriel’s formation.

Remorse slashed at Gabriel, threatened to consume him. He had lied to the one person he cared about, the one person on Earth who cared for him in return.

It became painfully clear that he needed to tell her the truth. He attempted rationalization, telling himself that if she loved him as she said she did, surely she would understand. But the reality of the situation was that he would not know until he told her.

Gabriel retired to his room and undressed. He desperately needed rest, a reprieve from the unrelenting reflections that raided his psyche. But sleep eluded him. Torment supplanted slumber. He tossed and turned before surrendering his battle with insomnia and conceding defeat.

Instead of repose, he sought solace in his favorite volumes of literature. He took his sketch pad from beneath his bed but could not draw save for the exquisite lines of Melissa’s face. Every attempt at comfort failed. So he lay awake in his bed as the night progressed slowly, torturously until daybreak finally arrived.

He watched from his window as dawn crept at an equally cruel pace and the sun began its indolent ascent from the horizon line.  Reluctant rays lazily stretched and strained against the indigo heavens. A new day slowly emerged.

The rising sun signified a reckoning; it was the day Gabriel would confide in Melissa his deepest and darkest secret. He would tell her of his origins.

Motivated by an intense desire to please and impress Melissa, Gabriel began preparing and planning for his evening with her. He showered and shaved then brushed his teeth before making breakfast for himself.  After assessing the state of his house, he decided he would need to clean each room. He also planned to cook a romantic dinner for Melissa. But before doing so, he consulted an Italian cookbook and chose a recipe he considered both palatable and appropriate for the occasion. After deciding on a salad appetizer, a linguine and shrimp main course and a decadent dessert, he formulated a shopping list and went shopping.

Busied by various chores, the day passed quickly; more quickly than Gabriel had expected. Shopping, cleaning and cooking had taken several hours. But he performed such tasks with relative ease.  As part of his multifaceted learning program, domestic maintenance had an integral role.

His education embraced every nuance of etiquette. As a result, Gabriel had arranged a table setting that would have impressed Martha Stewart. Satisfied with his tableware arrangement complete with fresh flowers and candles, he double-checked that his shrimp linguine dish, perfected with fresh Portobello mushrooms and freshly made linguine he had prepared after his grocery excursion, was simmering not burning.

Another phase of his comprehensive education included the acquisition of culinary skills. Gabriel had cooking competences comparable to world-renowned chefs. His maker valued the concept of a Renaissance man and held that his gift to the world should not merely have generous genetic endowments, but also be highly skilled in multiple fields and multiple disciplines and should have a broad base of knowledge.

In Gabriel’s accelerated learning curricula, exposure to numerous focuses was compulsory. Consequently, he was fluent in seven languages, had unsurpassed spatial awareness that gave him generous artistic ability and was proficient in cuisine creation, philosophy, astronomy, religious studies and literary techniques and analysis.

Cooking was one of Gabriel’s many learned skills that he found enjoyable, especially under the current circumstances. The speed with which he comprehended and executed each subtlety of the craft was courtesy of his superior genes. The pleasure he felt while preparing such fare on this night was credited singularly to Melissa Martin. The thought of her delighting in delicacies prepared by his hands excited Gabriel, filled him with a sense of contentment.

He smiled as he checked the strawberry tiramisu he had constructed. Melissa had a sweet tooth. Because of her fondness for sweets, he believed a store-bought version of this dessert would not be sufficient. He considered every strawberry he hulled, cleaned and quartered them, contemplated the brand of rum used and brooded over the quality of the mascarpone cheese selection at the grocery store. He deliberated over every detail.

After a quick check of the time, Gabriel went upstairs to his bedroom and dressed. He selected a royal blue button-down shirt and khaki chinos.

At 5:15 p.m. Gabriel went to the garage and started his SUV. He pulled out and drove the length of his winding driveway and drove to Melissa’s house.

As he traveled the now familiar route, a pang of sadness struck him. He wondered if he would be driving this route with happiness and exhilaration ever again. After hearing the news that she was about to receive, Melissa may never want to see him again.

Panic seized Gabriel as he entertained the very real possibility of her rejection. His heart pounded. His palms slickened with sweat. His breathing became shallow. He fought the urge to pull his car off the road and vomit. Instead, he settled on opening the windows. The fresh air helped, but did not fully calm his fears.

After a brief blast of chilly air, he felt slightly better. He put his windows up and turned on the heating system as he turned on to Blackstone Drive. He did so for Melissa; she was always cold and would appreciate the warmth. He left the ignition on as he went to the front door to get her.

Melissa appeared seconds after he sounded the doorbell. Gabriel smiled when she opened the door.

“You look breathtaking,” he admired.

“Thanks,” Melissa said blushing slightly. “I went shopping this morning. Alexandra helped me pick out this outfit.”

Melissa looked sleek and sexy in dark-wash, fitted skinny jeans and black leather riding boots that rose to mid-calf. Her top was feminine and befitting her personality. Ensconced in pale pink, Melissa donned a camisole topped with a cropped cotton cardigan that fell to her hips.

Her emerald-green eyes, lined with charcoal liner and mascara, smoldered. Melissa looked stunning. Gabriel fumbled as he reached for her coat.

Her long, light-brown hair cascaded down to her elbows.  Several curls tumbled over one shoulder. As Gabriel helped Melissa with her coat, she lifted her hair from beneath the woolen material. He detected a warm vanilla scent with caramel and coconut undertones, Melissa’s signature fragrance. Each time he inhaled it, he was intoxicated anew.

She looked up at him, caught him grinning as he relished in her fragrance.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“Yep. Let’s go.”

“Bye Dad!” Melissa called out to her father.

“Remember, midnight, Gabriel. Not a moment later,” he called back.

“Yes sir,” Gabriel replied.

Gabriel opened the passenger side door for Melissa before climbing back into the driver’s seat of his Ford Explorer and pulling out of Melissa’s driveway.

Smiling and holding hands, Gabriel and Melissa drove in comfortable silence.

As they turned on to the private road that doubled as his driveway, his impressive home came into sight.

“Gabriel! Your house is…spectacular!” Melissa marveled. “I mean, you didn’t tell me you were rich!”

“Well, technically, I’m not,” he offered only half-joking.

“This house is amazing. It should be on the cover of Architectural Digest or something.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“No, seriously, Gabriel, it’s a compliment. Wow. Now I’m sorry I let you see my house,” she kidded.

“What do you mean? I love your house.”

“You live here. You cannot possibly love my house,” Melissa countered sarcastically.

“Yours is a home. Mine is just a house.”

“Is there a difference?” Melissa inquired.

“A house is where you sleep, eat and shower, where you exist. A home is where you live, where you make happy memories and, I don’t know, grow as a person.”

“Huh,” she said and looked as though she were considering his words. “That’s really deep. I mean, you’re pretty much saying that you’re not happy here, with your dad. Is that right?”

Cringing at the word “dad” but weighing the sincerity of each word as he spoke them, Gabriel proposed, “Not before tonight.”

Melissa did not respond verbally. Instead, parked in the garage of his house, she leaned over and gently kissed him on the lips.

“Let’s go inside. Dinner is ready and waiting for us,” Gabriel declared, still reeling slightly from the spontaneous kiss.

Melissa let herself out of the Explorer before he could get to the passenger side door.

“Hey, what was that about?” he asked jokingly.

“Gabriel, you don’t have to do that whole door-opening thing for me. I mean, it’s so sweet and gentlemanly of you to even want to, but really, it’s not necessary,” Melissa said.

“It’s not a chore. I like to. Besides, it’s part of who I am, how I was taught.”

“Then I stand corrected,” Melissa smiled. “By all means, open as many doors for me as you like. Knock yourself out,” she kidded.

As if on cue, Gabriel opened the door of the laundry room for Melissa and grandly stated, “After you!”

Laughing, Melissa crossed the threshold and ascended the flight of stairs with Gabriel in tow.

At the top of the staircase, Gabriel opened another door for Melissa and used the same exaggerated statement.

Melissa and Gabriel, both giggling, stepped into the hallway of his house.

He watched as her eyes widened upon seeing the gleaming hardwood flooring that extended the length of the hallway into the formal living room and dining room.

“This place is amazing,” Melissa commented as she surveyed the living space.

Gabriel knew of his creator’s eye for decorative design. Though Terzini was continuously distracted by improving on his many achievements and chose to live primarily in a bunker, he did have an eye for beauty. Every piece of furniture in the Gothic Victorian exuded refined taste and high quality. Impressive but not ostentatious, leather sofas were positioned around a grand fireplace and resembled furnishings befitting an exclusive hunt club. With cigar-hued distressed leather finish and fabric upholstery, the appointments were equal parts intimidating and inviting.

In the center of the arrangement of sofas, a hand-crafted mahogany coffee table rested atop an intricately designed area rug that incorporated the rooms earth-toned color scheme.  On the exquisite coffee table was a hand-painted rectangular black and bronze planter with an intricate fruit design painted on it. Artificial cream colored flowers and several pieces of wax fruit filled the planter.  On the mantle of the massive, antique eggshell marble fireplace, an array of cream colored vases adorned with delicate brown flowers sat. Two of the walls were lined with mahogany bookcases filled with books and extended from floor to ceiling. The remaining two walls were painted a light brown and trimmed with off-white crown moldings,

“Gabriel, I don’t even know what to say. This place is…wow. I mean where do I begin?”

Embarrassed, Gabriel did not acknowledge Melissa’s awe.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he faltered.

“I’m starving,” she replied as her eyes roamed the room. “But seriously, this place is a palace. I mean, I thought the outside was spectacular! You are so never allowed in my house again,” she teased.

Then, wrapping her arms around his waist Melissa added, “Hey, you okay? I’m sorry if I’m acting like, I don’t know, I’ve never worn shoes before or something.”

Gabriel looked at her, puzzled.

“What does that even mean?” he asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Melissa laughed.

Melissa’s arms encircling him and her melodious laughter relaxed him marginally. Tension still remained as the most daunting task was still before him. He had yet to share his secret with Melissa.

She released her grip on Gabriel and he reluctantly freed her from his reciprocal embrace. He led her to the dining room.

As they entered, Gabriel watched Melissa. Her mouth fell open at the layout before her, the oversized cherry wood table flanked by upholstered cushioned chairs in a rich garnet shade, how the colors of the fabric were all in the same color scheme as the walls and drapery and contrasted the cream colored crown molding.

The room was illuminated by an ornate crystal chandelier and tapered cranberry candles arranged in a sterling silver candelabra. Every article in the space was lustrous, radiant. The chandelier sparkled, reflecting and refracting light. The silver of the candleholder glistened with the reflective properties of a mirror. Polished and perfect, every appointment resembled that of a royal chamber.

A runner lay in the center of the table. The fabric, an identical shade of blood red to the walls, candles and fabric covering of the chairs, was freshly laundered and pressed. Fine crystal stem wear, utensils and china were arranged deliberately, expertly. Gabriel took his time arranging, polishing, laundering and ironing each article. He wanted the evening to be special, unforgettable.

“Gabriel, who did all of this?”

“I did,” he said.

“Are you kidding me?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper. “You did this yourself, for me?”

“Yes,” Gabriel answered simply.

Melissa’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke.

“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. This must have taken you all day.”

He did not speak.

“Please tell me you have a cleaning service that just came today at least.”

“Nope. No cleaning service.”

“Oh my gosh!” Melissa said covering her mouth in astonishment. “This place is, like, sparkling. I mean, it’s beyond clean. It’s immaculate. All of the silverware is freshly polished. The table is downright glossy. Everything is gleaming!” she exclaimed. “So much preparation, so much work went into this. I can’t begin to tell you how much this means to me; how much I appreciate all that you’ve done, Gabriel.”

“There’s no need to try. I enjoyed all of it because it was for you. Now, can I persuade you, perhaps to sit down and eat?”

“Yes, of course. What’s on the menu? Surely, you didn’t have time to cook right?”

“Oh no, I cooked. I made linguine with a creamy shrimp and Portobello mushroom sauce and,” Gabriel began.

“Hold on a sec,” Melissa interrupted. “I am sorry for cutting you off, but, you made a fancy dinner for me and cleaned and arranged this elaborate table setting?”

“Guilty as charged,” Gabriel said sheepishly.

“I may need to lie down or something,” Melissa joked. “I mean, my head is spinning. Is there anything you can’t do? Your grades are fantastic and you don’t seem to ever study so you’re, like, a genius, you’re pretty much Martha Stewart at home and you look like an underwear model.”

Gabriel watched as Melissa’s face turned the crimson color of the drapery at her last divulgence.

“I’m sorry about that last part,” she stammered and blushed more deeply. “But really, you’re polite and chivalrous. I could go on and on. You’re unlike anyone I know or have ever known. What the hell are you doing with plain old me?”

Struggling with the confession that remained to be imparted, Gabriel measured each word before uttering them.

“First of all, there is nothing plain, or old, about you. You are perfect. I love everything about you,” Gabriel admitted. “And part of what I’m hoping to talk to you about tonight, that is, if we ever manage to eat dinner, is about my origins, why I am the way I am.”

Wordlessly, Melissa turned to Gabriel and kissed him tenderly on the cheek before seating herself in the chair he stood behind.

Gabriel disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned, he carried two heavy, salad plates laden with various field greens, ripe cherry tomatoes and fresh mozzarella cheese. He relished in the moment that Melissa inhaled deeply and smelled the tangy-sweet aroma of aged balsamic vinegar.

“My gosh. Even the salad smells terrific,” she said. “The dressing, it smells so sweet.”

Gabriel did not respond. Instead, he smiled and returned to the kitchen a second time. He reappeared with a decanter of sparkling water and a carafe of white wine. In one of the two crystal glasses in each setting he poured water, in the other, wine.

He then seated himself in a crimson armed chair at the head of the table, placed his burgundy cloth napkin in his lap and waited for Melissa to eat before doing so himself.

After eating their salads, Gabriel cleared the emptied plates and vanished into the kitchen. He reentered with dinner plates. He served shrimp and Portobello mushrooms atop linguine. He garnished the main course with fresh parsley and carrots peeled carefully and precisely to form a rose. He was pleased with the overall presentation but awaited Melissa’s seal of approval.

“This looks wonderful,” she complimented.

“Thanks,” Gabriel smiled as he went to the kitchen and retrieved a chunk of fresh parmesan cheese and a handheld grater.

He began shredding the granular block over her dish. Flakes of aromatic cheese fell on her food.

“Thank you,” Melissa said.

“Sorry. I didn’t even ask you if you like Parmigiano-Reggiano. It just compliments the sauce so nicely.  Try it. If you hate it, I’ll get you a fresh serving.”

“No this is fine. I trust your judgment.”

Gabriel watched intently as Melissa took her first bite, how she closed her eyes, seemed to savor the rich flavors. He guessed she was enjoying the meal he lovingly prepared for her. He was pleased.

“This is outstanding!” she complimented enthusiastically. “Did you go to culinary school in Russia?”

“No not exactly, but I did read a lot of cookbooks.”

“You have a talent. You really do. I mean, I can read a cookbook, but I would not be able to do this,” Melissa said gesturing to her dinner.

Gabriel shrugged and raised his hands self-consciously, “Thank you. I think.”

“You are so humble, too. I’d be bragging like crazy if I could do all that you do.”

“I’m just not used to the attention, that’s all; all of the compliments.”

“Well, don’t expect me to stop. You’re going to have to learn to deal with it,” Melissa teased.

Gabriel leaned across the table and kissed Melissa’s lips. He smiled then continued eating.

Once dinner was eaten and the tableware cleared, Gabriel brought out his strawberry tiramisu.

“Would you like to eat this in front of the fireplace?” he asked.

“Are we allowed to? I mean, I’m kind of clumsy. If I spill something, I’ll just die.”

“It’s just furniture. I’ll drop something first if it will make you feel better.”

“It just might,” Melissa kidded.

“Grab the wine and glasses and I’ll bring the dessert.”

“I’m so full, I can’t imagine eating another bite, but this tiramisu looks so delicious. My sweet tooth wins I guess.”

Gabriel placed the plates on the mahogany coffee table and began arranging wood in the fireplace. Once the wood was positioned correctly, Gabriel lit a long match. The fire was started.

The combination of Melissa’s fragrance and the burning wood mingled with the warm, rich notes of the leather of the couches. The scent was inviting, enchanting. No one had ever sat on the upholstery, much less entertained in the room. Neither he nor Terzini had ever used the formal space or the fireplace. Everything was new, pristine.

Melissa was a glorious image framed by the striking setting. Each of her features was illuminated by the firelight, the gold of her hair was softened further, irradiated; the clarity of her porcelain skin, brightened; and her green eyes glowed and danced, brilliant, enlivened. She faced Gabriel. Their knees touched. He struggled to repress the urge to take her in his arms and leave, take her away from Harbingers Falls and Dr. Terzini, from the truth. But he knew he could not. She deserved better. She deserved to know. He braced himself, preparing for the words he was about to speak, words that could never be unspoken.

“Melissa, the love I feel for you,” Gabriel began. “It’s a new feeling for me. I’ve never loved anyone before. My feelings for you were… unexpected.”

“I love you too, Gabriel. I wasn’t expecting to fall in love either. I mean, this is a first for me too.”

“There are some things about me, really serious things that you don’t know about,” he added softly.

Kindles twirled and danced about the tinder before enveloping it entirely in flames.

“You’re not a serial killer are you,” Melissa attempted comically. “I like Dexter as much as the next person but being in love with a serial killer might be a bit much for me.”

Gabriel loved her sense of humor; saw how she used it to defuse awkward or tense situations. He couldn’t resist indulging her and seeing her dazzling smile, perhaps for the last time.

“No. I’m definitely not a serial killer,” he said with a wry smile. “And who is Dexter? Do I know him?”

“It’s this amazing show about a blood spatter expert who works for Miami Metro Police by day but by night, he methodically picks off serial killers,” she said excitedly.  “He’s like a vigilante, but a killer, too. You find yourself loving this guy even though most people would consider him a monster.”

Her last point intrigued him. Gabriel added, “That’s very interesting. Do you like this Dexter character?”

“Oh yes. Absolutely!”

“Huh. It sounds like a show I’d like, too. Be sure to let me know when it’s on.”

“I will, and sorry for going off on a tangent there. You were about to share something and since I’m nervous that you’re going to tell me that you have a wife and kids in Russia or something, I’m rattling on and on.”

“I promise I don’t have a wife and kids in Russia.”

Melissa took a deep breath, looked as though she were steeling herself for bad news.

“Okay. Let me hear these serious things about you, Gabriel,” she said.

“First, the most important thing for you to know is that I love you, okay.”

Gabriel inhaled and exhaled deeply.

“The man I live with is Dr. Franklin Terzini. He is a geneticist, a genius really, who has made unparalleled strides in his field of research and development of cloning.”

Gabriel paused and inhaled deeply again. Then in a calm, measured voice he uttered, “He created me. But he is by no means my father.”

“Well, father is a subjective term. I mean, of course he created you. You don’t have to love him for that.”

“No, Melissa, you don’t understand.”

“Sure I do. I can understand how that could happen,” she began.

“Melissa everything about me is a lie,” he interrupted desperate to voice what needed to be said. “He didn’t create me conventionally…with a woman or anything.”

“So you were adopted?” she asked then paused. “Wait, what? I ‘m not sure I understand.”

“Dr. Terzini created me.  He harvested eggs and sperm from unsuspecting donors, altered the DNA and made me.”

Melissa stood. Her expression was stricken. “What?” she managed. “Gabriel, you’re not making any sense.”

Abashed and terrified that she would walk out immediately, Gabriel pleaded, “Please sit down. Let me explain everything.”

To his surprise, she complied and reluctantly sat.

“Melissa, I love you. Just promise me you’ll keep that in your mind while I tell you everything. Okay?”

“Yes sure. Just tell me!” she insisted.

“Okay,” he said knowing full well he was setting circumstances into motion, the results of which he was uncertain of, terrified by.

“Dr. Terzini, he specializes in human cloning. He used to work here in the states with the Human Cloning Organization but felt too restricted by government watch dog groups. He wanted to further his research and development but couldn’t do so with all the administrative restraints in place. So he left the country and went to the Kamchatka Peninsula in the Russian Far East. Terzini set up a state-of-the-art underground facility and continued his work off the grid. You see, Terzini has this vision. He wants to change the world. He feels the human species suffers from emotionally charged decisions. Terzini believes that if emotion is factored out, wars would end, drug addiction, political corruption, and terrorism in all its forms would all end.”

“Okay. So this Terzini guy, this genius geneticist you live with, he went rogue and fled the country to Russia?” Melissa asked warily.

“Yes. I was created there,” Gabriel said as tears burned down his cheeks.

Shaking her head in disbelief Melissa’s voice quavered, “You keep using that word, created, like this doctor put you together piece by piece like Frankenstein’s monster or something. What does this mean?” she panicked.

“Dr. Terzini changed the DNA he came across. He improved it. His alterations eliminated every emotional point in my brain so I could use a greater amount of brain matter and have higher cognitive functioning.”

“What?” Melissa demanded incredulously. “What does this all mean? You’re not telling me!”

“I’m saying I am a new version of human beings Terzini will create.”

“So what does that mean? This is all an act? All of this love stuff! For what reason?” Melissa ordered as she got to her feet.

“Melissa, please sit down,” Gabriel begged.

“No thanks. I’m fine where I am.”

Melissa’s face had hardened. She was no longer readable, no longer open.

“Listen. I was designed not to feel anything. That was Terzini’s plan. But,”

Melissa cut Gabriel off.

“Oh! Wait a second! I get it now. How could I be so stupid! Now I realize what’s going on here.”

Melissa touched her forehead as if visualizing her epiphany.

“This is your deranged idea of a breakup! It makes perfect sense!” she began. “I’ve heard about guys who make a nice dinner for their girlfriends before they dump them, like a parting gift or something, then make up some ridiculous story about why they can’t be together anymore, you know, the guy is really in the CIA and she would blow his cover or he’s leaving the country. I watch Dr. Phil, I know all about this stuff!” Melissa ranted.

“Melissa, I am not breaking up with you. I’m telling you because I love you and I think you deserve to know. I don’t want to keep anything from you and I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Then stop!” Melissa commanded. “Just stop all of this craziness! Is it that you want me to break up with you? Because I’ve heard of that too, a guy makes himself sound like a nut because he’s too chicken to break it off with the girl, claims he loves her and all then she dumps him because of all the crazy business. Is that what’s happening here?” Melissa questioned.

“No not at all.”

“Then tell me Gabriel! Tell me! How can what you’re saying be real?” Melissa voice was shrill. She was crying and yelling, gesturing with trembling hands.

“Melissa this is the last thing I wanted to do. I love you. Please –“

“You just said that you were programmed not to love. Remember? You have no emotions because the mad scientist made his monster that way!” Melissa fumed.

Monster. The word stung. He was not a monster; some fiendish beast concocted in a dungeon with parts sewn together, animated by a bolt of lightning. He was human. Furthermore, he was not responsible for how he came into existence. He was responsible for how he chose to exist.  Despite Terzini’s objective, the pivotal tenet of his theory had failed. Gabriel possessed feelings. He loved Melissa. He simply could not leave things as they were, with her condemning him as a monster, an aberration.  He needed to counter her faltering opinion of him.

“That’s the point!” Gabriel refuted. “I was not supposed to feel anything. But I do. I feel everything for you. I’ve loved you since the day I met you. Don’t you see? I am not an unfeeling monster. I’m not a monster at all.”

Tears streamed from his eyes, raw and honest. He looked to Melissa, noticed that emotion overtook her as well. Her tears pained him further. He watched as she wrapped her arms around herself and stepped back, away from him, suddenly cold. He could do nothing to warm her. Her posture warned him as much.

“This can’t be real. Gabriel, this is just too much, underground labs, a scientist creating a new race. I mean, this is science-fiction; fiction being the operative word.”

Resigned, Gabriel put his head in his hands, ran his finger through his russet locks. Then, wiping the tears from his face, he stood, closed the distance between them and reached out to Melissa. But she stiffened at his touch.

“I’ll show you. I’ll show you Terzini’s lab,” he resigned. “He has one here. It was originally a nuclear fallout shelter. Before we came to America, he had it gutted and renovated. It is now a sophisticated laboratory.”

Melissa looked to Gabriel disbelievingly.  “Take me, then,” she ordered. “Take me to this lab.”

Chapter 13

Melissa waited, still uncertain of whether she believed Gabriel’s story. It seemed incredulous, implausible. Such stories were the works of science-fiction novelists, not reality. She stood with her arms folded across her chest in the living room while he grabbed flashlights from the kitchen. When he returned, he handed her one and kept the other for himself. He then directed her out of the living room and down the short hallway to the staircase that led to the garage. After opening one of the garage doors, they crossed the expansive property.

Devoid of the sun’s warmth, the air had grown much colder. The fall evening had darkened considerably. Melissa regretted leaving her coat behind as they ambled in the chilly autumn night. They walked several hundred feet from the house before Gabriel stopped at an unremarkable location in the grass. She watched as he used his foot and kicked over a large, rectangular patch of sod. Beneath the sod was a steel door flush against the ground.

Gabriel produced a ring with many keys on it from his pocket. After selecting the corresponding one, he opened the door. Anticipating a loud screech from the steel door, Melissa braced herself for the sound. But there was none; it released with a soft whooshing sound similar to a vacuumed seal being broken.

A concrete staircase was before them. Gabriel descended the steps first. Melissa followed. She was more than skeptical of what lay beyond.

Motion-activated overhead fixtures lit in succession as Gabriel and Melissa moved down deeper into the subterranean dwelling.

Once at the bottom of the steps, the laboratory was fully illuminated. Her eyes widened in disbelief.  From the indiscernible patch of grass directly overhead, no one would have ever guessed at what resided beneath. She stood below seven-foot ceilings amply lit with bright fluorescent light fixtures. Thick concrete walls lined the impressive area. The single-level refuge appeared larger than her home. There were innumerable computers stationed along the walls. Rows of stainless-steel tables filled the interior portion of the space and held a variety of scientific equipment–all foreign to her. If she had not descended the steps, she would have difficulty believing she was underground. She had expected it to smell musty as a basement of a house might, but it did not. Instead, fresh air circulated through screened vents. Every surface was gleaming, strangely immaculate.

Viewing the entire facility, Melissa’s mind was dizzied, spinning with disjointed, incomplete thoughts. As her mind whirled and revolved faster and faster, she desperately wanted, needed to reach out and anchor herself to a coherent thought, something concrete, something that made sense. But opportunity to do so did not present itself. And somehow she knew the spiraling would gain momentum in the moments to come.

“Come on, I want to show you something,” Gabriel said to her as he took her by the hand and led her toward the far corner of the construct, toward a massive stainless-steel tank.

Staring at the cylindrical chamber Melissa gaped, “What is this thing?”

“This is where I was developed,” Gabriel said as shame burned plainly on his face.

Gabriel began turning a large, steel wheel affixed to the cistern. As he did so, a locking mechanism was disengaged, a portal began opening. As the small entryway expanded, Melissa could see inside.

She gasped and her hand reflexively covered her mouth. She felt her face twist into a tortured expression as she withdrew in confusion, in horror.

Before her in the reservoir, submerged in a thick, opaque fluid was a partially formed human being.

Alien-looking with bulbous stumps where limbs should have been, the creature immersed in the milky liquid had a small, curved torso atop which a bald head with eyes that peered out from its temples sat. The being resembled an adult-sized fetus in its eighth week of development.

She needed to look away but was held, compelled by curiosity, paralyzed by fear and revulsion. She was transfixed. As she watched, the rounded ends where limbs would be elongated. They continued to lengthen to form crude-looking arms.

Her mind spun even faster, dangerously, threatened to lose control.

Inhaling sharply, Melissa cried, “Gabriel! Did you see that?”

She looked to Gabriel as he regarded the form in the tank with shock and dread.  A strange expression clouded his features. It was more than shock and dread. She saw pain, and understanding.

“I assumed the tank would be empty,” Gabriel whispered more to himself than her. He studied the vessel.  “It was supposed to be empty.”

“Gabriel, what is all this? What is happening to that thing?” Melissa breathed, as a flood of tears spilled down her cheeks.

“This tank, it is like a womb of sorts.  The milky substance inside was created by Dr. Terzini. It allows extremely rapid development; development unparalleled in humanity.”

“That creature in there, it is going to form into a human?” she asked as her eyes, moistened with emotion, searched his for an explanation that would make the horror of what she’d witnessed somehow acceptable.

“Yes, well, sort of. It’s not a creature in the sense that you’re saying it is.  It’s already a human, created from human DNA.”

“Fine, but it’s been changed, dramatically,” Melissa exclaimed hearing her voice become shrill bordering on hysteria.

“Melissa, I don’t know what alterations have been made to the DNA of the person growing in there. Terzini must somehow know that I am a failure. But I can tell you this: I am every bit as human as you are,” Gabriel emphasized every word as he spoke as if trying to punctuate their importance.

“Gabriel, I don’t feel so good. My head is spinning and I feel nauseous,” Melissa confessed.

The spinning, coupled with tremors that racked her body, shook her limbs violently.

“Let’s get out of here,” Gabriel said as he wrapped his arm around Melissa’s shoulders.

Melissa tensed at his touch. Typically, she would allow her body to meld into the contours of his. But now, inexplicably, her body resisted contact with his, repelled the comfort he offered.

He led her quickly across the vast underground research facility to the stairs that ascended to the earth above.

Once the steel door had been closed and locked and the rectangular piece of sod had been replaced, she walked with Gabriel, slowly, back to his house. Returning to the earth above, to reality, the cold air felt refreshing, cleansing. Stopping on the grass just before reaching the stone–edged border of the gravel driveway, she inhaled the crisp air, turning her eyes heavenward as she did so.  She noticed how clouds had gathered and obscured the brilliance of the moon, shrouded the constellations in a murky mask.

“Melissa, I know you’re upset. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you. I love you.”

“Gabriel, I am something other than hurt,” she said struggling to remain composed. “I am, I am, reeling, okay. I mean, I cannot begin to wrap my mind around everything I’ve heard and seen tonight. Here I thought we might experience a first tonight, together.

“Well I had a first all right! Boy was I wrong about what kind of first I would experience, though!” Melissa exclaimed, her voice laden with self-derision.

“This doesn’t have to change anything. It shouldn’t change how we feel about each other,” Gabriel said softly.

He took her trembling hand in his. It felt warm and soft, a sharp contrast to hers. He placed his other atop hers so her fingers were enveloped in the warmth of both of his hands.

“Please, Melissa. I can only imagine how confused you must feel, how betrayed.”

Gabriel placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. She watched as tears flowed freely down the breathtaking planes of his face. He continued.

“I am the same person you fell in love with; the same person who loves you despite what Terzini’s original intent was. You evoked feelings I was never meant to have. You Melissa.”

Melissa leaned in toward Gabriel allowing her hand to soften beneath his, above his beating heart. She rested her head on his chest, allowed him to pull her close to him. The tension in her body relaxed as sobs escaped her lips. Gabriel held her as she wept unabashedly.

After agonizing moments passed, Melissa’s tears had run dry. She looked up into the face of the person she thought she loved. She did not feel anger or revulsion. She did not feel sadness or confusion.

“Please take me home, Gabriel,” she whispered.

Without protest, Gabriel released her from his embrace.

He walked with her wordlessly to the open garage door where his Ford Explorer waited.

He opened the passenger side door for her and climbed into the driver’s side before turning the key in the ignition.

Melissa glanced out the window as Gabriel directed the SUV out of the large garage. Clouds had assembled and thickened considerably, fortifying their alliance against the hazy Moon and stars. With each celestial body eclipsed by their charge, the substantial veils of vapors threatened precipitation as they drove away from Gabriel’s house.

Darkness fully shrouded the ornate structure where Gabriel lived. It no longer resembled the house they approached just hours ago.  Instead, cloaked in shadows and blackness, it was arcane, ominous.

Melissa shivered and hugged herself. Responding immediately to her needs as he always did, Gabriel raised the temperature of the heating system.

She did not speak as he navigated the winding roads to Blackstone Drive. Silence prevailed until the Explorer turned in to her driveway.

Ranks of rainclouds sprayed the earth with a fine mist of water. The only sound emitted was the intermittent swiping of windshield wipers pushing drizzle from the glass.

Gabriel put the SUV into park and spoke, his voice strong and measured.

“Melissa, I love you. Nothing has changed. Please don’t end this, don’t end us.”

“I’m not ending us,” she said in a voice wavering with emotion. “I’m just really confused. I mean, I feel like I’m in a dream, like none of this is real and I’ll wake up tomorrow and everything will be fine again. But in my heart of hearts, I know that’s not true.” Melissa took a deep breath to compose herself then continued. “The way I feel about you has not changed. I just need a little time to process all of this.”

Gabriel could not meet her eyes. He seemed unable to speak, as if doing so would somehow undermine what she needed. Silently, Melissa turned Gabriel’s beautiful face toward hers. She leaned across the console of the Explorer and kissed him tenderly on his lips before leaving. He waited in the driveway until she disappeared into the house before driving away.

***

Once inside, Melissa observed from her kitchen window as Gabriel hesitated before backing his SUV out of her driveway. She watched as the illumination of his headlamps was enveloped in the indistinct darkness, how quickly their brilliance faded and was absorbed by the obscurity. A sharp pang of sadness pierced her heart as his Explorer disappeared in the night.

Melissa turned from the window and looked through the dining room and into the family room.  The space was dark; no lights illuminated the downstairs rooms save for the single fluorescent overhead bulb of the stove.  Thankful for the dimness and what it indicated, Melissa stepped quietly away from her position in the kitchen. She moved past the front door and up the steep staircase and down the hall to her bedroom.

She passed her father’s bedroom first. His door was shut signifying that he slept. Grateful for the solitude that her father’s slumber offered, Melissa stepped into her room and stripped off her outfit, the clothes she bought for her special night with Gabriel.

Forcing his image from her mind temporarily, Melissa pulled off her boots and jeans before shrugging out of her sweater. She peeled off her pink camisole and slung it over her desk chair sitting at an askew angle from her computer desk against the windowed wall.

In her undergarments, Melissa left her clothes where they had fallen on the floor and stepped into the bathroom. With her father sleeping soundly, she did not risk indecency with her state of undress. Closing the door behind her, Melissa turned the shower on full blast and stepped behind the curtain.

She stood before the spray allowing its powerful flow to massage her weary body. Melissa turned the temperature control knob to the left making the water hotter, attempted to rid her body of the chill that settled on her, infiltrated her very core.

With copious beads of steaming water cascading down her body, its warmth enveloping her, relaxing her, Melissa cried. Her tears blended with the running rivulets of the shower. They were cleansing sobs; cries of sadness and confusion, of regret and distress.

Gabriel had confided in her a secret so profound it overwhelmed her.  Melissa closed her eyes tightly as the image of that partially formed abomination in the steel tank appeared in her mind. She rubbed at her eyes with both hands, tried to expunge the horrible image from her mind.

When the image had sufficiently cleared–even if momentarily–she could envision Gabriel. She rationalized that Gabriel, in his beatific glory, was not a mere fabrication. He was not inhuman despite what Terzini’s plan was. She recalled every tender action he performed, every polite gesture he undertook. They did not seem contrived or artificial. He was genuine and generous of spirit, more so than anyone she had ever met. Gabriel embodied benevolence and kindness. He was patient and protective; brave and bountiful.

Melissa opened her eyes and turned off the stream of water. With the sudden realization that she knew Gabriel, knew what kind of person he was, Melissa stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. Determinedly, she strode out of the bathroom and into her bedroom.  As she dressed in her bedclothes, she fully appreciated the importance of her epiphany. It did not matter how Gabriel came to be; it did not matter what the original intent of his creation was; no more than how or under what circumstances any other human being on the planet came to be. Gabriel James was every bit as human as she was.

Satisfied with her insight and firm in her resolve, Melissa Martin climbed into her twin-sized bed and slept. In the morning she would rise and go about her day. She would call Gabriel and tell him of her newfound understanding.

Chapter 14

Gabriel waited until Melissa was safely inside her home before he pulled out of her driveway. The final moments they spent together replayed in his head.  He had refused to look into her eyes. He believed that doing so would compel him to beg her not to leave–even if the separation was temporary. He knew that begging would not have been fair to her. She needed to process all she had seen. She needed to decide whether to be with him based on her needs, not his. And he would be forced to accept whatever choice she made.

He stopped at the bottom of her hill as earlier events of the night repeated in his head. Images of her troubled face flashed before his eyes. In the flashes, she did not resemble the person he knew. She was wild-eyed with fright, wrought with confusion, with disgust. The memories bombarded him, streaming her horrified expression over and over again. They were seared in his mind. He was powerless to erase them, despite having caused them.

Gabriel removed one hand from the steering wheel and pounded it, damning his very creation. His eyes clouded with emotion as he began driving again.

Mist had turned to a steady rainfall as droplets precipitated more purposefully.

He drove the Explorer dangerously, swerving on rain-slickened pavement, testing the engine as he stepped down heavily on the accelerator. Driving became a challenge. But Gabriel did not care.

Struggling to stay on the road, he agonized over her impending decision; that morning would bring about a painful verdict and he would lose Melissa forever.

Envisioning his life without her was unbearable. His days would be meaningless. Terzini’s vision, his many genetic gifts, all of it was inconsequential, his existence worthless if she were not a part of it.

His erratic driving continued during his soggy journey home. He sped down the gravel driveway and directed the SUV in to the garage before turning off the engine and getting out. He walked through the laundry room and climbed the steps. As he opened the door to the hallway and peered into the living room, a fresh swell of despair racked him. Before him was a once inspiring setting, romantic and filled with promise. Now, however, it was empty.

He immediately spotted the plate Melissa had eaten from sitting atop the coffee table. The once meticulously stacked dessert, lovingly prepared, sagged, melted and malformed.

The fire still burned in the hearth. Candles still glowed in the dining room. He was now charged with cleaning, restoring everything to its previous position.

After he cleaned, Gabriel surveyed the living room and dining room. As his eyes scanned the space, he noticed a piece of charcoal-gray woolen cloth draped behind the sofa. He walked to it and picked it up immediately.

Recognizing the shape of the material and its owner, he realized the small coat belonged to Melissa. She had not worn it when they went to Terzini’s laboratory. She did not wear it home.

He stood for a moment, clutching the fabric in his hands before raising it to his face. The warm, familiar scent lingered. Notes of vanilla, caramel and coconut, Melissa’s fragrance, brought Gabriel to his knees, an unrelenting pang twisting in his chest.

Outside, the rain picked up in intensity and mixed with sleet. Tiny ice pellets showered down, mortaring the roof tiles. Frozen precipitation bounced and ricocheted about the house and its surrounding property before changing back to a heavy rainfall again, soaking and saturating everything in its wake.

A fresh wave of agony washed over Gabriel, threatened to drown him in a churning sea of misery. Instead of retiring to his room as he originally intended, Gabriel lay on the couch fully clothed, grasping Melissa’s garment.

Thoughts swirled about his mind, muddled and fragmented until mercifully, sleep found Gabriel. Comforted temporarily by dreams of a future with Melissa, he was granted repose for several hours. But with dawn came reality.

The rain and sleet had stopped. The earth was washed clean, absolved of its impurities.

As the sun punctured the horizon and sliced through the darkness, bleeding the blue-black refuge in torrents of crimson and shades of sallow ginger, a small, dark presence appeared before Gabriel.

Sitting up, Gabriel rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. The blurred image of his creator came into focus. Terzini’s stood, looming over Gabriel with his feet planted at shoulder width, his hands on his hips. His thin lips were pursed and the creases that lined his rumpled forehead were deepened further in pensive silence.

Terzini was alerted to his awakening; the nearly imperceptible twitch that arched his left eyebrow revealed as much. Gabriel watched as Terzini, from behind his wire-framed glasses, trained his small, watchful eyes on him and searched, narrowing them until his minuscule coal-hued irises were nearly invisible.

“Sir,” Gabriel said groggily. “I wasn’t expecting you until later this evening.”

Terzini remained, unflinching and eerily still, his gaze as stony as his stance.

“Who were you expecting Gabriel, Melissa Martin?” Dr. Terzini asked and enunciated each word slowly, icily.

“Sir, I can-”

“Do not insult me by attempting to concoct a story, Gabriel. I know everything. The question in my mind is: how long have you felt such stirrings?” he continued, his inflection flat and formal.

“Sir, it began when I met her,” Gabriel confessed. But how did you-”

“Know?” Terzini finished Gabriel’s question coolly then continued. “After the incident with the school bonfire when you defied me, I decided to install numerous extremely sensitive audiovisual recording devices. Tiny cameras with microphones were put in almost every article in this house and in my laboratory, though I doubted you would have the audacity to trespass in my inner sanctum. Yet you did,” Terzini said levelly.

“The information recorded was routed directly to my personal computer. Then, I lied and told you I was going away to buy more equipment for the lab. But, I checked into the Hilton Hotel in Fallkill to watch what you would do when you thought you were alone. As I did so, I became aware of various interesting developments in you construct, of your flaw. Then the piece de resistance came when you invited her here and cooked her dinner. I do not need to recount the rest. You just experienced it; as did I. And what a pathetic display it was,” Terzini said emotionlessly. “I don’t know who cried more, you or her. Nevertheless, she will be dealt with as well.”

Gabriel hung his head not in shame or defeat but in emotional exhaustion.

After summoning his strength, he spoke.

“Dealt with?”

“Yes, Gabriel.”

“But sir, I love her,” he said.

“Love?” his maker questioned. “You do not love, Gabriel.”

“But I do, sir,” Gabriel countered.

Anger flashed almost undetectably, fleetingly, in Terzini’s hardened eyes. “You were not created to experience such a useless emotion. I made sure of that.”

“Sir, I know what your intentions were with me.  My feelings for her were entirely unfamiliar, unexpected. I’m not certain whether they evolved subtly or-”

“An explanation is unnecessary. This situation will be handled,” Terzini interrupted.

“Sir, I realize what I’ve done. I have jeopardized everything. But I will speak to Melissa. I assure you, she will not say anything to anyone.”

Gabriel regarded Terzini; his face impassive, unrevealing.

“Are you proposing that I just trust some foolish teenage girl? You have unparalleled intelligence, Gabriel. Surely, you do not expect me to take a chance with a random, hormone-saturated adolescent. That would be absurd.  If anyone were to discover the nature of my work or that I live, everything I have achieved could end; my life would be jeopardized. No, Gabriel, I am not willing to risk the entirety of my research and development-all of my work-by trusting your limited little girlfriend. No, absolutely not. And you, you will be destroyed and dissected by nightfall.”

“Sir, I’m not sure I understand. Melissa, she’s done nothing wrong. What do you intend to do with her?” Gabriel asked.

His mind raced, searching for an explanation for his creator’s vague plans for Melissa. He recalled the expression “dealt with” being used concerning her fate. A direct threat had been made. Terzini made plain his intent to kill Gabriel. But that fact was irrelevant. He feared for Melissa.

“That is no longer your concern. Your work is complete. I have no further use for you.”

“It is my concern, sir. She is my concern. She will not tell anyone. I am certain she would not share what she knows. I assure you, I will speak with her. She will listen to me.”

“Oh yes, Gabriel. I know; because you believe she loves you, right?” Terzini offered flatly. “Such nonsense. She has to be disposed of. There is no alternative.”

Gabriel lifted his chin and met his maker’s intense glower.

“Sir, I understand the consequences for my transgressions. I accept my fate. But Melissa…”

Gabriel breathing became labored.

“Sir, you’re not going to kill her. I won’t let you.”

Terzini laughed the shrill staccato laughter of an evil man before declaring plainly, “Gabriel, you will be dead, you will not be able to do anything.”

“No, no, no,” Gabriel shook his head in disbelief. “This can’t happen. You’re not a monster. You wouldn’t kill an innocent.”

“An innocent?” Terzini raised his voice slightly. “She could destroy everything!” he vented, shedding his composed veneer. “It astounds me that you somehow believe any of this could be taken lightly! After all Gabriel, you sealed her fate the moment she crossed the threshold of this house.” Terzini accused, then after calming himself he added more levelly, “Eugene is already en route to deal with the situation.”

Gabriel’s mind reeled. Panic settled upon him. He had no idea that Eugene had even arrived yet. Stopping Eugene would be nearly impossible. Eugene was far stronger than Gabriel, but his deadliest attribute remained his uncompromising obedience to his maker.  He would kill on command, targeting whomever Terzini deemed deserving.

Melissa would be his target.

Infused with rage equal in intensity to the love he felt for Melissa, Gabriel stood, towering over his diminutive maker and hissed angrily, “Neither of you will touch her!”

Terzini seemed genuinely shocked by Gabriel’s threatening tone and posture yet tried to speak with authority.

“It is done Gabriel. It’s over,” Terzini said.

Gabriel suddenly realized that all the doubts he had about his humanity were unfounded. He was not a monster. But Dr. Franklin Terzini was.

Gabriel erupted in a furious rage. His body was suddenly overtaken by an intense, primal urge to harm the man standing before him.

“NO!” he heard his voice scream, foreign to his ears, before he attacked Dr. Terzini.

Gabriel outstretched both arms, snapping them forward with the entire weight of his body behind them and shoved the diminutive geneticist by his shoulders.

The blow exploded against Terzini’s small body and forced him backward, slamming him against one of the mahogany bookshelves in the living room.

Gabriel watched as his creator’s head struck the shelves, hard, before his body slumped in a near seated position, unconscious on the hardwood floor.

Gabriel looked at Terzini with both satisfaction and misgiving. But he wasted no time on consideration. His mind had ceased its dizzying whirl. His thoughts were no longer confused. His next steps were clear.

Trembling, Gabriel turned and ran for the door. He needed to get to his car.

He needed to find Melissa.

Chapter 15

Dr. Franklin Terzini contacted Eugene by telephone late Saturday night, shortly after he arrived in New York. He had barely settled into his cottage when Terzini informed him that Gabriel had presented with a flaw and was to be killed. But not before another matter was dealt with first.  An additional problem had arisen, one that demanded his immediate attention.

After apprising him of the recent developments between Gabriel and a human teenager, his maker charged him with another task. He was to hunt down and kill a seventeen-year-old girl named Melissa Martin before he executed Gabriel. Eugene was given her address and wasted no time in his pursuit. He quickly traveled to her home, his insides trilling all the while.

Though hardly a worthy adversary, the thought of slaughtering a weak, female adolescent excited him. He had never killed a girl before. He wondered what differences the experience would offer.

Receiving permission to kill gave Eugene the chance to do what he excelled at, what he hungered for, what he enjoyed. The addition of a foreign element heightened his anticipation.

He parked his Hummer at the bottom of Blackstone Drive. Barely able to contain his enthusiasm, he traveled on foot up the steep slope of Melissa’s street.

Thanks to the season and colder weather that accompanied it, neighbors were not roaming about. Eugene moved past Melissa’s house unquestioned and noticed that a second-story window was illuminated.

He boldly stepped on to the Martin property and strode across grass hardened by frost to the back of the structure. No one saw him or stopped him from proceeding. He heard neither the baying of dogs nor the shouting of concerned citizens.

He climbed a flight of small wooden steps to a door. He tried the handle, found it locked. But the door yielded effortlessly to Eugene’s strength.  The owner had not bothered to engage the deadbolt.

Eugene crossed the threshold of Melissa’s Martin’s home.

He entered through the rear of the house and found himself in a rectangular room. Framed photographs filled with smiling faces stared at him and lined the far wall. Under the photographs, a flat-screen television resided, along with an unstable looking desk equipped with a personal computer. A leather sectional rested against the outer wall. No one sat upon it. The room was unoccupied.

Silently, Eugene continued. He crossed the unoccupied space and entered a small dining area next to a living room. Still, he encountered no one.

He skulked through both areas before prowling down a short hallway. His shoes strode soundlessly on the hardwood flooring.

At the end of the corridor, Eugene was at a landing between a flight of steps and the front door. He paused briefly to listen for the home’s residents. He heard the faint sound of music coming from upstairs.

With feline grace and agility, he scaled the steep staircase, his strides remarkably quiet despite his size. He quickly climbed the incline of stairs and was in a long hallway.

Music permeated the stillness of the house, the sound amplified.

He moved toward the increasingly loud music, down the carpeted hallway and found a haloed doorway.

Eugene followed the light.

As he approached the door, a sign shaped like a crown with the words “Princess Melissa’s Room” emblazoned on it signified that Eugene had located his prey.

Slowly, he pushed the door back and stalked in.

Chapter 16

On a road still dampened by rainfall from the previous night, Kevin, John, Eric and Chris watched through the darkly tinted windows of Kevin’s car as Gabriel sped out of his gravel-filled driveway.

“What did I tell you? I knew we wouldn’t have to wait long,” Kevin said.  “I bet you he’s going to meet that little whore right now.”

Kevin’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, Gabriel had made a fool of him twice, and it was time for payback. If he wanted to regain his former status at school and in the eyes of his friends, his retaliation needed to be significant, memorable. Kevin was going to make a big statement and show everyone at school what happens when he is crossed.

“I can’t wait to fuck up that pretty face of his,” John added.

“He called me out at school, made me look like a little bitch,” Kevin complained. “Did he really think I was gonna let him get away with that shit?”

“He made us all look like punks,” Eric grumbled.

“He’s gonna get the ass-kickin’ of his life,” Chris chimed in as he gripped his weapon.

Kevin and each of his friends were armed with aluminum bats.

Kevin felt a surge of adrenaline as he realized his plan for revenge would be a reality. His excitement grew by the moment. He would make Gabriel pay dearly for his transgression.

“I’m gonna crack his fuckin’ head open,” Kevin spat. “And when I’m done with him, I’m gonna make that little bitch of his pay.”

Kevin felt his anger rise to a new level as his thoughts shifted to Melissa. Twice, she had come on strongly to him, only to back off after they had begun to fool around. He knew she wanted him, but she was a tease. She would have learned her lesson at the keg party if Gabriel had not come.

“Yeah, man. She was all over you at the bonfire, goes off in to the woods with you; then has the balls to say you tried to rape her,” John said.

“Like I need to rape that scrawny skank? She’s just pissed her boyfriend caught her all over me,” Kevin declared haughtily, enunciating the last three words of his declaration venomously.

Sheltered between two minivans, Kevin Anderson and his friends watched as Gabriel sped precariously along the saturated stretch of road.

“Where the hell is this guy going?” Chris asked

“I don’t know but he’s driving like a maniac,” Eric added.

***

Frantically, Gabriel touched the screen of his cellular phone as he commanded the Explorer, stomping on the accelerator and testing both the engine and traction of the sturdy vehicle against the road conditions. The small display monitor brightened at once as a menu appeared. He depressed an option that produced a photograph of Melissa. With fingers unsteadied by anxiety, he stroked her image. A ringing sound immediately began.

“Come on! Come on! Please pick up!” he pleaded impatiently as the car swerved briefly, veering toward the shoulder before he resumed control of the steering wheel.

After nearly a dozen rings, Melissa finally answered, her voice hushed, but still sweet and melodious.

“Hello?”

Relieved at the sound of her voice, Gabriel sighed. She was still alive. Eugene had not gotten to her, yet.

“Melissa! It’s me, Gabriel. You need to get out of the house, right now!” Gabriel ordered.

She was immediately alarmed by his urgency. She panicked.

“What’s going on Gabriel? You’re scaring me.”

“Listen to me, Melissa. Where are you? Are you home?”

“No, I’m with Daniella. She called and offered to take me out for brunch. We’re at the diner. Why?”

“I need you to meet me,” Gabriel said. “Can you do that?”

“Yeah, sure. I was going to call you when I got home anyway,” Melissa fumbled.

Gabriel struggled to focus on navigating his SUV along the winding roads of Harbingers Falls as the rain-doused streets and his mist-veiled eyes conspired to undermine him. When he managed to speak, his voice was thickened with emotion as his mind quickly recalled the events of the evening past.

“Look, I know you don’t want to see me right now, maybe never again. But,” he began.

His voice faltered. He took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing.

“There is something I need to tell you. It’s an emergency and I can only do it in person.”

“Gabriel, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about-”

Gabriel interrupted, expecting her to chastise him.

“I know, Melissa. An apology isn’t good enough given the circumstances. But listen you are in dang-”

The cellular reception began to break up. He could not be certain Melissa heard his warning; that she was in danger. He began panicking that the call had been lost, that Eugene would get to her before he did.

“Melissa, are you still there?” he asked, desperate and raising his voice.

The interruption in their call felt endless. Finally, the silence crackled and Melissa’s voice resounded out of the void.

“I’m here,” she assured him before continuing. “Look, my feelings for you have not changed. And last night was, well, intense, you know? But none of that matters. I know you. I know what kind of person you are. That’s all that matters.”

Momentarily relieved by her words, Gabriel breathed deeply and braced himself for what he had to tell her.

“Melissa, you are in danger,” Gabriel blurted out, his meager composure faltering.

“What?” Melissa asked incredulously.

“I was just on my way to your house. I need to turn around. Meet me in the back parking lot of the school, at the entryway to the trail. You remember the place, right?”

“Yes, of course. But Gabriel, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

“I’ll explain everything to you when I see you. Whatever you do, do not go home, Melissa. Promise me you won’t go home!” Gabriel pleaded as he turned the wheel sharply, directing the Explorer in to the shoulder.

His tires skidded along wet pavement as he took the turn too abruptly, narrowly avoiding a collision with oncoming traffic.

“Okay! Okay! I won’t go home!” Melissa agreed urgently.

“And tell Daniella not to go home. She isn’t safe either,” Gabriel revealed, his car now pointing in the direction that would take him to Harbingers High School. “Get to the entrance of the trail as soon as possible. Don’t stop off anywhere! Do you understand me?”

“Yes! Yes!” Melissa said her voice shrill with terror.

“I love you,” Gabriel whispered before ending the call with Melissa.

***

Suddenly, tires screeched in protest in the distance as Gabriel’s SUV made a dangerous U-turn upon the busy thoroughfare it traveled along before racing back in the opposite direction. The Explorer headed back toward them barely eschewing an accident with another vehicle in the opposite lane.

“What the fuck is he doing?” Eric exclaimed.

“Shit! He’s gonna see us!” Chris yelled.

Gabriel raced by them, his gaze resolute, intent. He did not offer a glance in Kevin’s direction.

“He didn’t even look at us! Quick, turn around!” John shouted.

“No shit! What do you think I’m doing?” Kevin countered as he traveled farther down the road and out of sight before cutting the wheel of his sleek sports car sharply to the left and directing it in to the shoulder executing a U-Turn to continue his pursuit of Gabriel.

Kevin followed Gabriel’s Explorer at a safe distance and watched as he navigated the SUV hurriedly into the entrance of their high school.

“He’s turning in to the school,” Kevin noted with a hint of confusion in his voice.

“Why the hell would he be doing that?” John questioned.

Kevin slowed to a halt, remaining at a distance that concealed them sufficiently. He and his friends observed Gabriel park his car in the far corner of the rear parking area before climbing out of his vehicle and looking around anxiously.

Clouds began to thicken again. Filtered sunlight was buried by impenetrable, gray masses. Malignant clusters, dark and foreboding, crowded out any blue sky and lightness in its wake.  A storm brewed it the atmosphere.

“He’s meeting her here I bet,” Kevin speculated. “This couldn’t be any better!”

Kevin picked up his baseball bat, thrilled with the change of events. No one would be on school grounds. He and his friends would be able to take their time with Gabriel and Melissa, make them suffer.

“This shit is gonna go down now!”  Kevin rallied.

Chapter 17

Eugene scanned the room. A twin-sized bed adorned with a frilly, lilac covering sat flanked by twin cherry wood night tables with small amethyst-shaded lamps atop them occupied the middle of the room. A matching cherry wood dresser lined the wall opposite the bed. In the far corner a full-length mirror resided in a matching finish. Directly ahead, double-hung windows curtained by lengths of lavender material offered adequate natural light. Positioned below them was a small, wooden desk of shoddy construction with a varnish similar to the other furniture. A simple, wheeled desk chair was tucked beneath the small table and a laptop computer rested atop it.

Melissa was not home but had left her room lit by an overhead fixture. An alarm clock radio blasted noise from its small speakers filling the house with a discordant form of ambient melodies. Wasteful humans he thought as he traversed her room.

He picked up several pieces of clothing that littered the floor and sniffed them. All were suitable. All provided a scent that could be tracked. But a pink camisole tossed haphazardly over her desk chair offered a particularly potent scent. The garment bore a sweet mixture of vanilla, caramel and coconut mixed with natural secretions unique to Melissa’s body chemistry. Closing his eyes, Eugene pressed it to his face and inhaled deeply.

Sweat, oils and pheromones, and the perfumed substance on Melissa’s clothes, frenzied him.  His mouth watered. A strong urge overtook Eugene.

He did not merely want to kill Melissa, he hungered to; he needed to.

Eugene shuddered as he inhaled the pink material a final time before replacing it on the chair.

He struggled to compose himself, to control his bloodlust. He began opening the drawers of Melissa’s bureau. He found nothing of interest. He searched her walk-in closet and nightstand. Still, no useful items were unearthed.

He did not want to waste time performing fruitless inspections. He decided it was time to leave.

Before he left, he surveyed the room a final time.

A piece caught his attention. A small, leather-bound book peeked out from beneath lavender ruffled bedding. Intrigued, he reentered her bedroom and moved toward the bed.

He picked up the book and immediately sensed he had found an article of great importance.

He opened it and began reading. His superior vision and comprehension skills enabled him to speed-read Melissa’s diary.

In doing so, Eugene became privy to Melissa’s innermost thoughts, her most personal moments.  He was introduced to the people closest to her. More specifically, he was familiarized with Daniella Colucci and Alexandra Georgopoulos. Evidence contained in the pages suggested that the likelihood of locating Melissa Martin with either of the girls was great.

Melissa’s diary also brought to Eugene’s attention the intimate nature of her relationship with Gabriel James. He found himself laughing aloud for the first time in his life, a vicious, demonic cackle, when he read that Gabriel, Terzini’s perfect specimen designed to remain devoid of human emotions, proclaimed his deepest affection for Melissa. Moreover, Melissa claimed to love Gabriel in return.

These developments provided Eugene with an advantage greater than physical dominance. By torturing and killing Melissa, Eugene would be tormenting Gabriel as well. He had longed to torture Gabriel since his creation.

Invigorated, Eugene tossed the journal back on the bed and reached across to grab the pink camisole. Stuffing it in the pocket of his parka, Eugene left the Martin home.

He moved swiftly and stealthily down Blackstone Drive. He stopped briefly at a cluster of communal mailboxes. Under the postal boxes were bagged telephone directories for the community’s residents.

Errant droplets of rain began to fall as Eugene grabbed a phone book before continuing down the street and climbing into his Hummer to continue his hunt for Melissa Martin.

Alexandra Georgopoulos, Daniella Colucci, the names of Melissa Martin’s closest friends were branded in Eugene’s mind.  He was sure he would find Melissa with one of these girls.

He quickly consulted the directory to locate either girl.

One Georgopoulos was listed in Harbingers Falls.

Confident that listing was the one he sought, he set his GPS navigation system with the address registered and found that her home was just under a mile away.

The dark sky opened with a ceremonious rumble of thunder before large drops of rain began showering down from angry heavens.

Chapter 18

Alexandra Georgopoulos was sitting on her bed painting her toenails when the ringing of her telephone interrupted her pedicure. Careful not to smudge the freshly applied lacquer, she tottered on her heels from to her dresser where her cordless phone rested in its charging cradle. Grabbing the handset, she immediately recognized Melissa Martin’s number on the phone’s caller identification feature. After the third ring, she answered.

“Hey bitch,” Alexandra greeted.

“Alexandra! Thank God you’re home! Listen to me. You need to get out of the house, now!” Melissa ordered.

“Are you high or something?” Alexandra asked snippily as thunder rumbled, shaking the house briefly.

“No I am not high!” Melissa retorted, her voice shrill with panic. “Gabriel called me and told me that we’re in danger, and none of us–me, you, and Daniella–should be home. Daniella is going to the mall. She said she can pick you up after she drops me off at the school.”

“You guys are fucking with me. Don’t think I’m going to fall for it this time,” Alexandra chided. “Besides, my brothers will be home in, like, an hour. If what you’re saying is true, which I don’t think it is, I would feel bad for anyone who came here trying to hurt me.”

“Alex, this is not a joke! Get out of the damn house!” Melissa screamed.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” Alexandra antagonized. “By the way Melissa, your acting has gotten much better since last time. Bravo.”

With that, Alexandra ended the phone call.

“Idiots,” she muttered to herself smiling.

Her best friends, particularly Melissa, often attempted playing practical jokes on her throughout their many years of friendship. She had yet to fall for any of them and was not about to start now. Though she had to admit, Melissa had upped the ante with this most recent phone call. Her frantic and pressured speech pattern was convincing; almost. She was impressed with her friend’s acting skills. She briefly envisioned Melissa moving out West and pursuing an acting career, then laughed aloud at the absurdity of her wild imaginings. Still smiling to herself, she crossed her room and placed the phone in the charger on her dresser.

She paused and looked out her window and saw a chaotic display. Winds whipped through trees littering the ground below with splashes of vibrantly hued leaves. Rain poured in sheets, limited her visibility to her property.

As she continued watch nature’s elaborate show, she was startled by a loud noise from downstairs. A thunderous sound crashed inside her home. The crackle of wood shattering and splintering sounded as though the backdoor leading from the yard into the kitchen had imploded.

Frantically, Alexandra raced out of her bedroom to the hallway. Peering over the balustrade offered her a partial view of the kitchen.

Fragments of wood were strewn across the floor. The doorframe laid in shards and slivers on the ceramic tiles.

Gripped by panic, Alexandra returned to her room, shutting her door behind her as silently as possible. Surveying the area hurriedly, she searched for a quick exit from her second-story bedroom. She immediately realized there was none. She was trapped.

Her heart pounded frenziedly in her chest as the staircase groaned and creaked, divulging stealthy footsteps on it. Then, almost as suddenly as they began, the groaning stopped. The footfalls ceased. Whoever had broken into her home had halted outside the threshold of her bedroom.

With nowhere else to go, Alexandra scanned her bedroom, her pulse thundering, before finding refuge in her closet.

Through slatted louvers, she peered out and saw the door to her room opening slowly.

A hulking figure stalked through her room, picking up and sniffing strewn clothes that cluttered his path. Taller and broader than any man she had ever seen, the colossal being filled the room.

Alexandra involuntarily whimpered then covered her mouth to suppress a scream as he trained his gaze in her direction. His eyes were an unnatural yellow hue and were spaced widely from each other, his nose wide and flat, sloped to a thin line where lips should have sat, but didn’t. His face was hideous, inhuman.

He sensed her presence, looked directly at her.

Her pulse rate quickened, resounded in her ears. Her breaths became short and shallow, threatened hyperventilation. Rivulets of perspiration trickled down between her shoulder blades, beads of sweat stippled her forehead.  She crouched, alone and defenseless in her closet as the gruesome beast swung the wooden closet doors open violently. He stood before her, glowering down at her huddled and trembling form.

Every nuance of his demeanor suggested an inherent need to tear her limb from limb. Alexandra was confronted with her impending demise. She turned her head to one side and squeezed her eyes shut. Tears escaped her closed eyes as visions of her life flashed before her.

The behemoth creature advanced.

Though she refused to look at him, she felt the heat of his body as he loomed over her, his ragged inhalations and exhalations upon her. Her mind raced faster than ever. Her thoughts made little sense; except one. She was going to die. It was a certainty. She would never see her family again. She would not graduate or go to college. She would never marry nor have children. Instead, she would be murdered in her closet.

Her heart rate accelerated dangerously. She prayed a heart attack would claim her before the killer did.

Suddenly, the house phone began ringing. It alarmed her further, though she could not imagine how that was remotely possible. It rang loudly until the fourth sound chimed and a recorded message indicated the Georgopoulos family was not available but would return any incoming calls at their soonest convenience.

Daniella’s voice echoed from the machine.

“Hey, Alexandra. Listen, Gabriel is having me drop Melissa at school by the entrance of the woods. Something is going on. She wasn’t kidding around. I’m glad you left. I hope you’re meeting me at the mall. I should be there in a few minutes. I’ll try you on your cell. Bye.”

The answering machine beeped to signal that the message had ended.

Though the fiend was briefly distracted, Alexandra did not dare open her eyes; terror did not permit her to do so. They remained tightly shut as she silently implored God for a miracle.

Seconds passed. The monster did not strike.

Alexandra cautiously opened one eye, then the other. To her surprise, no one stood before her. The beast was gone. Her prayers had been answered.

Chapter 19

Melissa was deafened by the sound of rain hammering against Daniella’s car and the endless stream of questions her friend asked as they drove from the diner to meet Gabriel. Frustrated that she could answer so few of Daniella’s inquiries, Melissa was relieved when they finally arrived at Harbingers High School. They proceeded along the length of the winding driveway to the rear of the school where she immediately spotted Gabriel’s hunter-green Ford Explorer. They pulled up beside him and Melissa thanked Daniella profusely before climbing out of the car and into the storm.

In the short time they traveled from the diner to the school, the winds picked up.  Strong gusts sent rain cascading to the ground at a slant. Large droplets pelted her face as she turned to watch Daniella’s Toyota Prius power out of sight. She then ran to Gabriel’s SUV. He started to get out and open her door for her but she called out for him not to bother. After all, it was pointless for both of them to be soaking wet.

As she climbed in, she was instantly greeted by his worried, tortured expression.  The beauty of Gabriel’s features was veiled by anxiousness, by fear. He looked at her briefly and did not speak. Instead, he shifted gears and began driving.

She sat, a sickened entanglement of nerves, and waited as he drove along a service road used primarily by the maintenance department of the school district. The dirt road traversed the woods, paralleled the clearing where keg parties ensued and where Gabriel rescued Melissa from Kevin, and ended finally at a squat building that housed various landscaping apparatus.

Stopping in front of the stout construct, Melissa could not endure the silence and spoke first.

“Gabriel, what the hell is going on?” she demanded. “Why are we parked here?”

“I need to keep my car out of sight. The person who’s hunting you, I mean us, knows my car.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Why would someone be hunting us?” Melissa exclaimed.

“Melissa, Terzini knows I showed you the lab. He had everything wired, the house and the laboratory, with cameras and mikes, I had no idea.  He’s insane, and now he wants us dead.”

“Oh my God!” Melissa whispered, confused considerations eddying about her head. The moment felt surreal, nightmarish. All of it was more than her mind could process–a rogue geneticist wanting to create an improved human species, a half-formed being in a tank, and now, someone was pursuing them. She felt like she was rapidly approaching a breaking point from which there was no turning back.

“What I told you, the things you saw, no one else knows about. The kind of research Terzini is doing is not allowed. If the Russian mob found out he was alive, they’d kill him. If the government found out he was alive, he’d be arrested. Either way, he can’t risk what he does getting out.”

Gabriel paused and put his head in his hands.

“Melissa, I’m so sorry I ever got you involved in this. I shouldn’t have had you over the house or showed you the lab. I shouldn’t have even gotten involved with you. I was selfish. My feelings for you, I let them cloud my judgment. You don’t deserve any of this.”

Gabriel took a moment before continuing. “The man that’s after us, his name is Eugene. He was created by Terzini for situations like this, to tie-up loose ends.”

“We’re loose ends?” Melissa cried in disbelief.

Before Gabriel could respond, a familiar black car pulled up behind his Ford Explorer ensnaring the SUV in its position.

She turned in her seat to look out the back window and was shocked by what she saw.

From the driver’s side door of his car, Kevin stepped out, heavy showers plastering his highly stylized hair to his skull. She watched as he stood straight, a smug smile spreading across his lips as he moved toward them leaving the engine running. She squinted, perplexed to see that he brandished a silver aluminum baseball bat.

Without warning, the remaining three doors of his sports car opened. John DeNardi, Eric Sala and Chris Mace climbed out wielding similar weapons.

“Oh my God,” was all she could manage.

“What the hell is going on here?” Gabriel muttered.

“This can’t be happening!” Melissa exclaimed.

Melisa jumped as loud thumps pounded against the body of Gabriel’s SUV. Her heart raced as she saw Kevin and his crew rounding from the rear; the source of the pounding became clear. Wind-driven precipitation lashed as they shouted for both Gabriel and Melissa to get out of the vehicle.

“Get the fuck out of the car!” Kevin ordered.

Afraid, Melissa watched as Gabriel put his hand on the door handle and pulled. He leaned across the console and kissed Melissa.

“I got us into this. Let me deal with them and see if I can get us out of it. I’m so sorry, Melissa.”

Frantically, she pleaded with him to stay in the car.

“Gabriel, don’t go! They’ll kill you!” she screamed.

Melissa looked imploringly at Gabriel as she tugged on his arm, pulling him closer to her.

“There’s nothing you can say to him that will make him back off,” she argued in a more controlled voice.

Taking her face in his hands, Gabriel kissed Melissa once more and said, “They won’t kill me. And I have to try to stop this somehow.”

“Please,” she began and clutched his arm, but offered nothing more. The resolute look on his face warned her off. She withdrew her hands that attempted to restrain him and Gabriel pulled the lever the remainder of the distance. She could do nothing more than sit idly by as Gabriel opened the door.

Despite the closed windows of the Explorer and the pounding, windswept rain, Melissa was still able to hear Gabriel’s muffled voice as he made an effort to reason with Kevin and his followers.

“Guys, come on, move your car so we can get out of here, all right?” she heard Gabriel say levelly.

She then heard Kevin raising his voice. He shouted, “Not a chance, asshole. We’re settling this right here, right now.”

She immediately recognized that Kevin was mimicking Gabriel’s words from their parking lot skirmish days earlier.

Gabriel’s posture seemed unperturbed. She heard him say, “Settle this?” as rain poured on him, obscuring his serene features. “You call four guys with bats against one unarmed guy a fair way to settle things?”

Another voice chimed in. Eric shouted, “We don’t give a shit about fair asshole!”

“Yeah. We just wanna kick your ass!” John added, yelling.

“Did you think we were gonna let you get away with that shit you pulled the other day?” Kevin rallied sarcastically. “This is our school! You came here and tried to fuck with that!”

She watched as Kevin stepped toward Gabriel as he spoke. Then without warning, he swung his bat high and Gabriel’s head became the intended target. Gabriel ducked and dodged the swipe before Eric, John and Chris descended on him.

With aluminum bats attacking him from every angle, even someone as strong as Gabriel could not fend off the strikes. Melissa screamed from inside the car and slid to the driver’s side as she reached for her cellular phone. She immediately dialed 9-1-1, desperate to contact the police, but her location and the inclement weather conspired against her; call service was unavailable.

Melissa cursed and shifted her position and tried again.

As she expected, there was still no service. She watched in horror as a blow landed against Gabriel’s back, causing him to arch his body and howl in pain followed by another swing that struck him in the arm. A third hit landed against his thigh, knocking him to the ground.

His face was pained. With no other choice than self-preservation, she saw that Gabriel remained on the ground and protected his head with his arms as Kevin and his cronies advanced.

Their assault was tireless. Melissa watched as Kevin, Eric, Chris and John kick Gabriel about his body with fervor and conviction. He could do little to defend himself. They were fierce, merciless.

Melissa swore again, raging at Kevin and his group, at her inability to call the police. She was powerless to help Gabriel.

Gabriel would not be able to sustain many more blows. He was bruised and bloodied.

Without thinking, she jumped out of Gabriel’s Ford Explorer.

Stepping into the hellish rainstorm, Melissa began screaming in a voice panicked and piercing, alien to her ears.

“Leave him alone!” she shrieked repeatedly.

Kevin turned toward Melissa. He no longer resembled the handsome, star-athlete beloved by most people at Harbingers High School. He looked like a wild-eyed criminal, like a monster. Rivulets of rain streamed down his face lending him a distorted, demonic expression befitting his malicious actions.

He glowered at her and shouted, “You’re next bitch! Don’t think we’ve forgotten about you!”

She knew his threats were anything but hollow.

She listened as John, Eric and Chris jeered at her as well, taunting as they kicked at Gabriel.

Gabriel screamed at her from his prone position.

“Run, Melissa! Get out of here now!” he screamed.

Melissa paused, briefly immobilized. She knew she must leave and get help but could not fathom abandoning him. Her heart and her mind contended with each other, one preventing the other from acting effectively. Finally, words were formed on her lips. She heard herself say to Gabriel, “I’ll get help!” then she reluctantly turned from him and ran.

With her head down, she strode as fast as her legs would allow. Her mind had a single objective: get help; despite the consequences, she needed to get help. She ran against the rain as it gusted and mixed with snow periodically, deeper into the woods.

***

From the leaf-littered floor of the woods, pain radiated from every part of Gabriel’s body. Despite his injuries, he was thankful that Melissa was gone. His attackers had retreated for the moment. Gabriel lifted his head. He sensed their silence was anything but reassuring. As he did so, he saw Kevin watch as Melissa ran off into the woods. On his face, he wore the realization that she would quickly happen on another trail that led her to a residential road, a road where she could easily be granted access to contact the authorities. He watched as Kevin clenched and flexed his jaw contemplating his next move.

Suddenly, Kevin roared, “Get her!” to Eric Sala, a track star, and fellow football and basketball teammate. “Get that bitch back here! I don’t care if you have to drag her by her hair to get her back here!”

On command, Eric sprinted into the thicket after Melissa.

Unadulterated rage coursed through Gabriel’s veins as Kevin ordered Eric to accost Melissa. Adrenaline surged through him, enabled his battered body to rise.

“You will not touch her!” he howled standing erect and squaring his shoulders.

Chris charged at him with his aluminum baseball bat. Gabriel anticipated the blow, allowed it to strike his body. Instead of absorbing the swipe, he tensed his abdominal muscles at the precise second of impact and immediately dropped his arm on the bat trapping it. Then Gabriel yanked the bat with both of his hands, seizing it from Chris’s grasp.

With the weapon in his hands, Gabriel used the butt of the bat and struck his opponent squarely in the jaw.

Devastated by both the force and swiftness of the blow, Chris Mace staggered and fell to the ground clutching his chin and writhing in pain.

Gabriel turned, now armed, and confronted John DeNardi who approached behind his fallen comrade. Confounded by what he had witnessed, John advanced more cautiously than Chris had.

Gabriel noticed that John approached, tentatively at first. Then, trying to surprise him, John charged. He swung his weapon wildly, recklessly. With no specific target intended though, John’s swings were easily deflected by Gabriel.

Gabriel blocked and dodged the many, fevered strikes. John struck with zeal but without strategy. As he stepped back drawing both arms to one side trying to swing the bat with all of his might, Gabriel saw that John left his back exposed, vulnerable. Gabriel calculated the ideal time to launch a counterattack against him. He spun and rammed the butt of his own bat forcefully into the back of John’s head. John dropped to the ground and fell, unconscious.

With John and Chris down, Kevin Anderson remained the last member of the group on his feet. He looked at Gabriel with deep concern, with fear. Gabriel guessed Kevin had not planned to fight him alone.  He did not want to let Kevin off so easily this time, but time was a complication. Time was ticking away. Eric still trailed Melissa. And Eugene was undoubtedly in pursuit of her as well, though it was unlikely he was in the woods. Nevertheless, Gabriel could not consider Eugene at the moment. Instead, he focused his anger on Kevin and faced off with him.

Mixed precipitation teemed down from grayed heavens as they stood before each other.  Each droplet rained angrily, pointedly, pelting and pummeling them, obscuring movements.

But Gabriel held a genetic advantage. With his unmatched vision, he assessed Kevin’s every action, each step taken. He noted the slightest shift in his opponent’s body and was prepared for an attack from any angle. He did not need the advantage of his superior sight, however, to see that Kevin no longer retained the arrogance he enjoyed earlier when all his followers were present. He assumed the pallid hue of a man outmatched.

Yet despite the inkling that he would be bested, Kevin attacked first. He intended to land a blow to Gabriel’s head.

Gabriel studied how Kevin swung his bat with speed that was both astonishing and impressive. Familiar with the feel of a bat gripped in his hands, the star baseball player who captioned his school’s team handled the equipment with acuity, with adroitness.

But Gabriel’s reflexes were unparalleled. As the club approached his temple with a mere fraction of a second to spare before impact, Gabriel dropped on one knee. Narrowly avoiding a blow to the skull, he swung his weapon directly into Kevin Anderson’s kneecap.

The knock brought Kevin down hard on the thicketed ground.

Howling in pain, the celebrated athlete gripped his injured knee.

Gabriel then balled one powerful fist and hurled two blows in quick succession. One landed on Kevin’s temple while the other fell on his jaw. Kevin’s head slumped back as consciousness escaped him.

Though his adversary was unconscious, he wanted nothing more than to hammer at Kevin with both of his fists, to dole out the punishment he deserved. But there were more pressing matters, more dire situations to contend with. He needed to find Melissa. He needed to protect her from Eugene.

Summoning every ounce of restraint he had, Gabriel refrained from beating Kevin Anderson to a bloodied pulp. Instead, he dashed off in the direction that Eric Sala ran to find Melissa.

Chapter 20

Kevin Anderson regained consciousness and found himself on the brush-covered floor of the wooded area behind his high school. Rain and sleet pounded him. Intense pain radiated from his fractured kneecap.

Cold, wet and wounded, he rolled to one side to ease the pressure on his broken bone. As he turned, he felt his face throb. Instinctively, he raised his hand to his cheek. Beneath his fingertips, he felt swollen, tender flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut in agony.

Kevin opened his eyes to a sight that had gone unnoticed earlier. In his blurred line of vision he saw his friends, Chris Mace and John DeNardi, struggling to their feet in the thicket. Both had been bruised and beaten. But he no longer cared about them. Gabriel was nowhere in sight; his friends failed him.

Despite pain searing through his body, Kevin seethed.  Word of his fight with Gabriel would spread quickly. Respect for him would be lost, impossible to regain. Something more than his body began to hurt: his pride.

He realized he would not be superior to his peers anymore; it was a realization more painful than he could articulate.

A noise interrupted Kevin’s self-pity. It directed his attention from his friends, as well. His eyes were drawn to a dense cluster of bushes that moved noisily.

From inside the bushes came a rustling louder than the lashing elements. Rain and sleet pelted his face as it cascaded and whipped about from overhead. With his vision obscured by the elements, Kevin squinted at the brush as it parted.

Kevin stared in shock and disbelief at what emerged from the bushes. It appeared to be a man, but it wasn’t. It was larger and more heavily muscled than any man he had ever seen. Kevin gaped at what loomed in the distance.

The being’s brawny body was impressive, intimidating. But the genuine horror of its manifestation was its gruesome face. It was not human.

Like a nightmarish apparition arising from a cryptic tomb, the immense creature stepped out from the brush.

Through precipitation that poured and pounded, feline yellow eyes glared at Kevin hatefully, murderously.

Instinct urged him to flee, but his injured knee prevented him from doing so.

Instead, Kevin squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He was certain the figure before him was a hallucination, a result of a severe concussion. He shook his head from side to side, tried to clear the image from his mind.

Yet when he stopped shaking his head and opened his eyes again, the monster remained. And it had busied itself.

Kevin looked on in shock as the creature grabbed Chris Mace, writhing, off the ground by his neck and hoisted him high in the air to meet his unnatural honey-hued gaze.

Chris squirmed and flailed to free himself from the clutches of the veritable boogeyman. He cried out in terror, pleaded for his life. But his pleas were pointless, it was impervious to appeal.

Kevin watched as the leviathan glowered at Chris. He heard a loud cracking sound as it squeezed his friend’s neck.

Chris stopped moving, his body hung limp.

The yellow-eyed behemoth threw his friend’s corpse to the forest floor and shuddered. He seemed to rejoice in killing him.

An intense piercing noise suddenly echoed through the woods. It clawed at Kevin eardrums. He moved his hands to cover his ears before realizing the noise was coming from him; it was the sound of his own panic-stricken screams.

The goliath remained, unperturbed by his shrill cries. He seemed intensely focused on John DeNardi. John sat motionless on the ground, paralyzed by shock, catatonic from fear. Kevin watched as the beast lifted John by the front of his T-shirt, raising him with ease.

The spell of unresponsiveness was broken and John suddenly comprehended his fate. Sobbing uncontrollably, he tried to maneuver his body out of his T-shirt, but could not. The giant had him throttled.

Then, in one sinuous motion, the fiend slammed John’s flailing body against the trunk of a mature tree.  He stopped moving. The blow killed him. The monster released his body, allowing it to fall to the saturated copse.

He turned toward Kevin and advanced, quickly closing the distance between them.

Kevin no longer worried about Melissa or Gabriel. His reputation at Harbingers High School was suddenly irrelevant. A gush of fluid warmed his lap.

Wounded and saturated in his urine, Kevin looked up pleadingly into the face of pure evil and saw not the vaguest capacity for mercy. He saw hatred.

The monster lifted his leg and suspended his foot over Kevin’s head.

With tears in his eyes, Kevin Anderson drew his last breath as he stared up at his final vision, the sight of an enormous booted foot as it came crashing down on his skull.

Chapter 21

Amid the smell of fear-saturated secretions of teenage boys who had recently met their demise, a new scent perfumed the air.  The sweet aroma permeated the atmosphere despite the downpour from the angry heavens.

As the wind blew stirring branches and limbs and whipping colored leaves in its wake, a familiar scent lingered: vanilla, caramel and coconut.

The notes alerted Eugene’s senses. Inhaling deeply, he immediately recognized the intoxicating fragrance.

His mouth salivated profusely and his body shuddered.

Thunder rumbled through the trees, shook the forest floor.

Eugene stalked off after the trail of Melissa Martin.

***

Gabriel sprinted, aluminum bat in hand, into the wind and precipitation that refused to commit to being frozen or liquid. Alternating between sleet and rain, it stung his face as he ran as quickly as he could.

In the distance, he saw them. Eric Sala tackled Melissa to the ground, her body slammed against the leaf covered forest floor. Writhing and kicking frantically, Melissa attempted to free herself. Eric straddled her, seized her wrists and held them in one of his hands then raised the other to slap her into submission.

Gabriel saw the impending strike, but had only seconds to close the considerable distance between them. It would be impossible for him to physically halt what was about to ensue. Instead, he looked to the aluminum bat in his hand and made a decision.

His rapidly approaching footsteps diverted Eric’s attention. From atop Melissa, he snapped his head up quickly to see who advanced. When he did, he glimpsed Gabriel hurling an object into the air.

Instantly, the expression on his face registered recognition of the article racing toward him. An aluminum baseball bat tumbled end over end, too rapidly to dodge.

The barrel of the bat caught Eric Sala in the upper-portion of his forehead. A loud popping sound echoed as the aluminum struck his skull. Blood trickled from his hairline and he collapsed sideways, unconscious, off Melissa.

Though violence was not part of his original objective, it became an increasingly necessary tool in securing both Melissa’s safety and his own. He did not like engaging in violent behavior but was comforted when it shielded Melissa from harm. As he rebuked his aggression internally, he moved toward her. Melissa was sitting, stunned and silenced by the precise and effective attack he launched.

Gabriel rushed to Melissa’s side. “Are you okay?” he asked frantically. “Has he hurt you?”

“No, no. I’m all right. What was all that screaming I heard?”

He reached out and helped her up.

“It’s time to go. Now!” Gabriel told her.

“What? I mean, what the hell happened? What was all that?” Melissa stammered, lost for words.

He did not have time to fully explain that the bone-chilling cries she heard indicated Eugene’s arrival.

“Melissa, he’s here,” was all he managed.

“Who?”

“Eugene! Eugene is here now! We have to go!” Gabriel ordered. “You have to double back. You can’t make it on foot to the street. It’s too far. He will outrun you. You’ll have to double back. Get to my car!”

“But the car is pinned between Kevin’s car and the maintenance shack,” Melissa countered.

Gabriel recalled that the daytime running headlamps of Kevin’s sports car were on during their skirmish.

“Not Kevin’s car. His car was still running.”

Gabriel did not know how to tell her that Kevin was dead, that he had been killed by a murderous beast created by Dr. Franklin Terzini, the same man who created him.

Despite Kevin’s malicious intents, his death was abrupt. He found himself briefly mourning the death of a fellow human being.

“Okay. Yes, you’re right. His car was still running. But won’t Kevin try to stop me?” Melissa asked.

“Melissa, Kevin will not need his car.”

Gabriel paused to insure Melissa fully comprehended what had happened.

“Ever again,” he finished.

“I’ll stay back and draw Eugene here. That should buy you enough time to get to the car.”

“What? No! I’m not leaving you Gabriel!” Melissa shrieked.

He knew she did not have the slightest chance of outrunning Eugene, doubted whether he could either.

“You have no choice, Melissa. You can’t outrun him. I can at least slow him long enough to get you safely out of the woods.”

“But Gabriel, he’ll kill you,” Melissa whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ll distract him until I hear you pull away. Then I’ll run to the parking lot,” Gabriel managed. “If I’m not out when you get to the lot, leave.”

A tear streamed down Melissa’s dirtied cheek as she breathed, “No. I won’t leave you here to die.”

“Go Melissa. Now! I’ll make it back to you. I promise!” Gabriel pledged in hopes that his assurance was more than empty words.

Reluctantly, Melissa took off deeper into the woods.

Once she disappeared, Gabriel bent and retrieved the aluminum bat from the ground. He found a large, mature pine. Intending to hammer the bat into the formidable trunk, certain that Eugene would hear the sound, Gabriel drew the bat back but stopped midswing as he heard footsteps approaching swiftly through the brush. Eugene stepped into view.

Gabriel fortified his stance clutching the bat in both hands like a sword. He faced Eugene.

Spreading his thin lips across menacing fanged teeth, Eugene’s face contorted into a hideously sinister smile before he spoke.

“That’s quite an uninspiring weapon, Gabriel. Just what do you intend to do with that little stick?” he asked.

Gabriel did not speak. Instead, he met Eugene’s gaze, fully prepared for confrontation.

“What’s the matter Gabriel? Have you nothing to say to me?” Eugene taunted shaking his head from side to side. “And here Terzini thought you were his masterpiece, his opus. And what did you do, Mr. Crowning Glory? You fell in love.”

Eugene paused. A wicked laugh escaped his compressed lips.

“With an insignificant human!” he finished sarcastically.

Eugene and Gabriel slowly circled each other.

“Where is she, your precious Melissa? I can smell her.  Her scent is so thick in the air,” Eugene menaced as he sniffed the air dramatically. “But it moves farther away,” he said closing his amber eyes. “No worries though Gabriel, I will be able to catch her before she gets far. My only regret is that you won’t be around to see her die; you’ll already be dead.”

The sound of a rapidly accelerating car engine and tires spinning on dirt interrupted Eugene’s rant.

Snapping his head immediately toward the sound, Eugene’s features expressed realization that he had been outwitted.

“Clever,” Eugene hissed.

Gabriel launched the aluminum baseball bat he gripped at Eugene, striking him in the temple. The blow, though ineffectual, further incensed Eugene. Gabriel turned to run as the bat was released from his grasp.

Racing toward the paved parking area in the rear of Harbingers High School, Gabriel did not think of his safety or survival, but of Melissa’s.

Engaging in battle with Eugene would be futile. Gabriel did not stand a chance against the trained killer who outweighed him by nearly two hundred muscled pounds. He needed to live. Without him, Melissa would die.

Racing through the bushes, the parking lot came into view. Behind him, Eugene’s murderous stride was gaining momentum.

He advanced with inhuman speed quickly closing the distance between him and Gabriel.

Gabriel pushed his body to its limits, tested the boundaries of his muscles and surged ahead, adrenaline supplementing his speed.

As Gabriel passed the phantasmagoric scene of mangled bodies, the corpses of Kevin, Chris and John, he averted his eyes and pressed forward.

Eugene’s vicious gait approached rapidly. Gabriel did not turn to see the monster behind him.

Gabriel’s feet finally landed on asphalt just as he spotted Melissa behind the wheel of the late Kevin’s black Infiniti G37 Sport Coupe. The car was stopped and the passenger side door stood ajar.

Gabriel did not break stride but shouted at Melissa, “Go! Go! Go!” as he slid into the passenger seat. Melissa stomped on the gas pedal. Tires fought the rain-slickened blacktop, struggling for traction and protesting Melissa’s haste as she simultaneously slammed the gear shift from park to drive and depressed the accelerator as far as it would permit.

Eugene appeared at the edge of the woods. He stepped on to the pavement and ran toward the car.

As the car finally found grip on the wet pavement, the powerful 3.7-liter V6 engine of the Infiniti roared to life at Melissa’s command responding at once, moving them rapidly out of harm’s way.

Gabriel glanced behind him and saw that Eugene’s powerful engineering was bested by the powerful engine of the sports car. Thoroughly vexed, Eugene would not relent. He continued his pursuit, crossed and riled.

“Go! Go! Go!” Gabriel continued to prompt.

“I’m trying!” Melissa screamed as she looked up at the rearview mirror.

“Don’t look back!” Gabriel cautioned too late. He saw her horrified reaction when she stared rearward at the creature threatening from behind. He knew the mirror reflected an image more frightening than neither literature nor Hollywood could produce, that the image of Eugene’s face would be etched in her mind’s eye forever.

When Melissa finally tore her eyes away from him, Eugene produced a guttural din, ferocious, savage.

Eugene hoisted his fists high into the air and brought them crashing down on the trunk of the sports car. Enormous, balled hands descended with a deafening boom as metal caved beneath his strike.

“Oh my God!” Melissa screamed as the Infiniti Sport Coupe tore out of the long driveway leading to and from her high school and onto Shelton Road. Without hitting the brakes, she directed the vehicle through a reddened traffic light fearful of oncoming traffic that continuously flowed along the busy residential street.

Both Melissa and Gabriel were met with the sound of rubber opposing wet pavement as cars were forced to break unexpectedly, abruptly. Horns honked indignantly. Drivers issued curse-laden directives and threats. Some offered obscene gestures while others merely raised an irate hand.

Despite being angrily greeted by fellow motorists with their sudden entrance into the flow of traffic, Melissa and Gabriel were grateful that they had momentarily dodged Eugene and being plowed into by the movement of onrushing cars along the main thoroughfare.

Melissa began to cry, softly at first then at once quiet tears gave way to uncontrollable sobbing. She struggled to maintain control of the powerful sports car.

Wiping her eyes and composing herself slightly, Melissa spoke.

“Gabriel, what the hell was that thing?”

“That was Eugene,” he said simply.

“This can’t be happening. I feel like I’m in a nightmare. I mean, he killed them all! I thought it was just me he was after.”

“He’ll kill anyone who gets in his way, Melissa. He will not stop until we are dead,” Gabriel said solemnly.  “We need to get you as far away as possible.”

“He’ll go to my house,” Melissa declared. “My dad will be home from work now. Gabriel, we have to go back!” she panicked. “We need to get my dad!”

“Melissa, we have to keep moving.”

“And what? Let this Eugene kill my dad?”

Gabriel paused before offering, “Call your house. Have him meet us.”

Melissa removed one hand from the steering wheel and fumbled in the front pocket of her jeans. After retrieving her cellular phone, she handed it to Gabriel. He quickly touched an image of a house on the illuminated screen labeled “home.”

He waited, listening intently for a ringing sound. Instead, he heard an incessant buzzing repeated at regular intervals.

“It’s busy,” he said. “We’ll try back again in a minute.”

“Gabriel, you don’t understand! We have call-waiting! There should not be a busy signal!”

Melissa pulled on to the shoulder of the road. After checking for approaching cars, she promptly made a U-turn.

Heading back toward Melissa’s humble home on Blackstone Drive, Gabriel’s mind raced. Gripped by panic and fear he was unfamiliar with, he struggled to remain calm, but he knew he must do so for Melissa. He was now charged with saving her and her father, an insurmountable task. He silently vowed to protect both of them. He would fight to the death if necessary.

Chapter 22

Gabriel burst through the front door of Melissa’s home on Blackstone Drive with her at his side.  Instantly, he was greeted with an eerie silence. Stillness had settled over the house like a thick layer of freshly fallen snow, stifling and silencing the hum and buzz of machinery. Ordinary household sounds, the ticking of the clock, the whirring of the refrigerator, the purring of the heating system, were muffled, deadened.

He noticed Melissa was alarmed as well and immediately began calling out to her father.

“Dad! Dad!” she shouted, but was answered with silence.

Gabriel scanned the space before him. A long hallway leading to the living-room area was ahead. From where he stood, he had a clear view of the living room.

Melissa’s father was not in the hallway or living room

He decided to search the house. Something or someone was responsible for the unnatural silence. Gabriel feared the worst; that Eugene had beaten them to the Martin home and murdered Christopher Martin and that he remained, lurking in the confines of their home waiting for the moment to strike. Unwilling to waste another moment and possibly prolonging an inevitable confrontation, he cautiously turned to his left and moved into the kitchen. Melissa followed, silent and anxious. Gabriel rounded the corner into the kitchen and quickly inspected the area fearing that at any second he would unearth Christopher Martin’s lifeless form crudely positioned as both an affront and preview of things to come for both of them.

No corpse was visible. The room was empty. However, atop the wooden dinette, various articles of mail and flyers were strewn. Such evidence suggested that her father was home but not answering his daughter.  Gabriel’s concern grew.

Prompted by the silence that filled the house and a profound worry for Christopher Martin’s life, Gabriel moved faster.

Swiftly, he continued the length of the vacant kitchen and proceeded into the dining room. The chairs were unoccupied. Only a laundry basket filled with cleaned and folded clothes rested on a chair.

Gabriel looked to Melissa. Her face was filled with worry. She did not utter a word, but her eyes spoke of panic, of dread. He reached out and took her hand in his, gave it a reassuring squeeze. She accepted the gesture and returned the grasp then smiled thinly. Gabriel knew it was a halfhearted attempt at feigning confidence; that it was done for his benefit. He knew she feared for her only family member’s life.

Gabriel’s hatred of Dr. Terzini intensified. Terzini was responsible for Eugene, for him, and, for Melissa’s pain. Whether or not Christopher Martin lived, Gabriel was uncertain. But he was certain Melissa would. Standing in her dining room, he silently pledged to not fail her as he imagined he had failed her father.

From the dining room he swiftly led Melissa into the family room at the rear of the house. The otherwise cozy living space stood uninhabited. As Gabriel suspected, her father was neither seated at the desk, nor did he rest on the sectional in front of the flat-screen television.

“Gabriel, let’s check the basement, see if my dad is working out or something,” Melissa said, her voice breaking with emotion.

Then she paused and reconsidered as if thinking aloud before adding, “Wait, we should look in the garage first and see if his car is there. I mean, there’s a slight chance he had to run out or something.”

Taking her lead, Gabriel dashed down the hallway. Directly across from the doorway to the basement lay a short corridor. In this passageway, straight ahead stood a door to the laundry room and lining both sides were ingresses as well. One led to a small half bathroom while the other led to the garage.

Melissa rushed to the entryway of the garage and opened the door. A black Toyota Rav 4 occupied the bay, her father’s SUV.

“His car is here,” Melissa said quietly.

Gabriel did not speak. He did not have the right words to soothe her, if such words existed. Instead he stared into her emerald eyes wordlessly willing her to be strong and know that he loved her, that he would protect her. He believed she received his psychic message of love as she tipped her chin up defiantly, refusing to accept the possibility of her father’s death. She shut the door to the garage and left the short hallway. Melissa stepped into the main hallway with him following and opened a door along the wall. Beyond the entryway was a painted, wooden flight of steps leading to the basement.

“I’m going first,” Gabriel said, leaving no room for argument.

Melissa did not fight him but moved out of the way and followed him.

Gabriel stepped gingerly from each tread to the next and held fast to the guardrails on either side of the partially finished staircase. His heart pounded as the silence of the house grew thicker the deeper they descended into the basement.

Stepping off the last rung of the staircase and on to the black linoleum flooring, Gabriel felt colder. He placed his arm out protectively in front of Melissa with his hand at waist level. He found the light switch and turned on the overhead fixtures then quickly surveyed the room. Furnished with a weight bench and an array of free-weight plates and bars, a Bowflex exercise machine, a treadmill, an elliptical trainer and a power cage that provided safety for her dad when he lifted heavy weights, the underground room was a shrine to physical fitness. During several conversations, Melissa lovingly referred it as her dad’s “man-cave” teasing that when she stepped into the room, her voice dropped an octave in response the high levels of testosterone present. Gabriel smiled sadly at the loving anecdote.

Melissa looked warily at Gabriel.

“He isn’t down here. Let’s look upstairs,” she said meekly.

Gabriel’s stomach churned nervously. He had inspected the main floor of the house and the basement. Only one level remained. He was convinced that it was on the top floor that they would find her father’s corpse, and possibly Eugene. He switched off the lights and both he and Melissa ascended the staircase.

After shutting the door behind them, they strode down the longer corridor past the front door and began climbing the steps slowly at first, then faster, more resolutely.  Gabriel raced up the staircase with Melissa behind him.

“Dad! Dad!” Melissa shouted again.

No one answered immediately. Overhearing movement from the master bedroom, Gabriel paused at the top of the steps.

“What? What’s going on Gabriel?” Melissa asked.

Her hearing was not as sensitive as his. She had not heard the sound of footfalls coming from the room down the hall.

“Melissa, leave. Now!” he commanded.

As the footsteps grew closer, Melissa heard them.

“Run!” Gabriel shouted.

Suddenly, from the master bedroom, Melissa’s father emerged.

“What’s all the yelling about?” he grouched. “Can’t a man use the toilet for heaven’s sake?” he asked, gesturing to the small bathroom off his bedroom.

“Gabriel,” he nodded in recognition. “What the hell is going on with you two?”

Relieved, Gabriel smiled. “Hello Sir,” he said.

“Dad, I was calling and calling. Why didn’t you answer me?” Melissa began.

“I was in the bathroom with the fan on. I didn’t even hear you. Besides, last time I checked I’m the parent and you’re the child,” her father began lecturing.

“We have to get out of the house!” Melissa interrupted impatiently.

“What’s with the attitude, Missy?”

“Dad, just listen to me! There’s no time to argue! We have to leave right now.”

“Why? Is the house on fire?” Christopher asked with concern.

“No, Dad. Something much worse is happening. You’re going to have to just trust me. We have to get out now!” she urged.

“Calm down Missy and tell me what the hell is going on!” her father demanded uneasily, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Dad, don’t you hear what I’m telling you? We have to leave now!” she pressed.

Gabriel watched as Christopher Martin embraced his daughter, how the safety of his embrace allowed her to crumble.  Emotion engulfed her fully. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she began to sob.

“He killed them, Dad. He killed them all! We have to get out of here.”

Her father’s jaw flexed as he tried to process his daughter’s cryptic statement. He held her back and looked directly at her.

“Who is ‘he’? Who did ‘he’ kill?” he asked, his voice laden with confusion and alarm.

Before Melissa could answer her father’s question, the sound of the front door slamming redirected their attention.

From the top of the staircase, Gabriel, Melissa and Christopher glanced over the balustrade to the landing below.

“What the fuck!” Christopher screamed.

At the bottom of the staircase, a hulking and familiar presence loomed. Eugene had arrived at the Martin household.

Gabriel saw Christopher Martin hesitate at the sight of Eugene. He recoiled in horror briefly before an intense instinctual inclination compelled him to act. He did not need further instruction but knew that the beast intended to harm him and his home’s inhabitants. Heeding the inherent warning, he responded instantly, running back into his bedroom to retrieve his Remington shotgun that remained loaded and waiting on a rack on the interior wall since the night that he intended to imperil Kevin Anderson.

When Melissa’s father returned to the hall, Eugene was at the top of the steps, but froze as Christopher Martin pointed the barrel of the shotgun at him.

Christopher shouted to his daughter without taking his eyes off of Eugene.

“Missy, get in your room and lock the door! Don’t open it at all, for any reason! Do you understand me?” he yelled.

“Yes Dad! I do!” Melissa cried.

With no other exit route available, her father stood, ready to defend himself and his daughter.

Eugene slowly advanced taking a tentative step forward.

“Don’t take another fucking step!” Christopher shouted.

Eugene halted and raised his hands, his giant palms turned outward in a mock show of cooperation, of surrender.

“Gabriel, go! Go with her,” her father commanded.

“No sir. I am staying with you,” Gabriel said in a level, voice.

Though he had no plan for exactly how to protect Melissa and her father, he intended to fight. He would not run and allow Christopher Martin to stand alone against Eugene.

As if he understood Gabriel’s commitment to both he and his daughter, Melissa’s dad did not bother trying to discourage him. Instead he ordered Gabriel to remain where he stood. Gabriel, of course, would not stand idly by. He would defend the Martins. For the moment though, he did as her father told him.

He was forced to observe the wide-eyed gaze of Melissa’s father as he seemed unable to look away from Eugene. Then unexpectedly, Melissa’s father exchanged a mysterious message with her, stole a furtive glance in her direction as he called out, “Missy, remember the tree! I never did what I said I’d do!”

Melissa locked eyes with her father fleetingly before shutting and locking the door to her bedroom. She understood her father’s secret instructions. Though Gabriel was not privy to their clandestine code, he could only hope that it contained an escape route.

In that instant, Eugene capitalized on Gabriel and Christopher’s grave mistake. They had taken their eyes off him for mere seconds allowing him ample time to advance.

As he and Melissa’s dad turned to refocus on the leviathan, they realized they were under attack. Eugene descended on them, moving faster than was humanly possible.

Reflexively, Christopher Martin discharged his weapon hitting the behemoth in the shoulder. Eugene howled in pain. Gabriel waited to see if he had been stopped, then quickly discovered that while he was wounded, the bullets did little to halt his advancement.

Shocked at the ineffectiveness of his artillery, Christopher cocked and aimed the shotgun and attempted to squeeze off another round. But before he could successfully fire his weapon, Eugene swatted at him with his enormous hand. The blow sent Melissa’s father crashing into the far wall of the hallway. The shotgun landed at his feet. His body was still.

Eugene began to move toward the felled man. Anger and fear melded as Gabriel realized he stood about to battle with the personification of Death. Though not cloaked in a long black cloak and not a mere skeleton of a man, Eugene performed as Dr. Franklin Terzini’s personal Grim Reaper, as an executioner. It was the sole purpose of his creation. But Gabriel was unwilling to allow Eugene the opportunity to orphan Melissa. He stepped out from the recess and made his presence known.

Gabriel confronted Eugene, his posture defiant, prepared for the inevitable physical confrontation that would ensue.

Incensed by Gabriel’s impudence, Eugene launched a rage filled assault. He delivered a punch with unparalleled speed. Gabriel narrowly dodged the blow. He did not recover from its velocity in time to see the second swipe coming. It crashed into his skull just above his temple, knocking him to the floor. Pain exploded from his head. He saw a burst of blinding white light followed by a pinwheel of colors.

Stunned and reeling, Gabriel’s eyes slowly focused. He lifted his chin and looked over his shoulder. From his prone position, he spotted the shotgun more than an arm’s reach away. He extended his limb as far as it would allow, his fingertips grazed the warm steel of the recently discharged weapon.

Watching his attempt, Eugene extended his powerful arm outward and seized Gabriel’s foot. He dragged Gabriel toward him, positioning him away from the gun.

“Did you honestly think you’d be quick enough to get that gun before I crushed you?” Eugene spat.

He towered over Gabriel, obviously enjoying the moment before he would release his vengeful, violent fury.

***

From her bedroom, Melissa listened in horror to what occurred outside her bedroom door. Helpless to assist the two men she loved, she realized she needed to obey her father’s instructions.

Melissa crossed her room and opened the window. Leaning out, she lifted one leg and hoisted herself out on to the roof of the garage and slid down the length of the shingled surface on her backside and grabbed a large, outstretched branch of the mature oak that hugged their home.

Once enveloped in its sturdy branches, Melissa moved down, navigating its interlocking limbs before landing on the lawn below. She looked left then right, contemplated which neighbor was closest. She went to the right, though not to seek a neighbor’s help, but to reenter her home.

Melissa pushed open her front door and dashed into the kitchen unnoticed. From the ten-slot wooden knife block sitting atop the kitchen counter, Melissa selected a twelve-inch butcher knife. It had not been used since her mother was alive, but the blade retained its shine and a razor-sharp edge.

Peering around the corner from the kitchen, Melissa had a clear view of Eugene. He stood with his back to her. With stealth and silence, she swiftly stole up the stairs. She saw that Eugene was intensely focused on Gabriel. He did not notice her approach until seconds before she reached him.

The abomination loomed over Gabriel. He raised his muscled arm to strike at him as Melissa sprung into motion.

As she mounted the treads and was just steps from him, Eugene inhaled deeply. It became clear to her that his sense of smell alerted him to her presence. He shuddered and snapped his head to the side as she plunged the blade of the butcher knife into the center of his back.

Eugene cried and grabbed for the knife between his shoulder blades. Melissa slipped past him to the opposite end of the hallway and into the spare bedroom.

Using the distraction, Gabriel scrambled to the shotgun. Once the weapon was in his hands, she watched as he rolled onto his back and leveled the weapon at Eugene. He squeezed the trigger, blasting a bullet directly at the behemoth beast.

The shell exploded into Eugene’s chest, knocking him back several steps. As he staggered, Gabriel got to his feet. Once standing, he pumped the shotgun extracting the spent shells as Eugene approached. He fired again, hitting Eugene once more in the chest and knocking him back to the top of the stairs.

Gabriel then stepped forward and engaged the weapon a final time. The round sent Eugene flying down the staircase before landing, a lifeless mountain, at the front door.

Gasping and crying simultaneously, bordering on hyperventilation, Melissa moved immediately to her father’s side as Gabriel descended the staircase.

Her father’s body was in the hallway, in the alcove where he’d initially been when he’d warned her to get into her room. His eyes were closed and a thin rivulet of blood ran from a gash in the side of his head. Although she always viewed her father as strong and capable, indestructible, Melissa now saw him as the mortal man he was.

She called his name and lightly tapped his cheek.

“Come on, Dad!” she pleaded. But he remained unresponsive. She pressed her fingertips to his neck searching for a sign of life. A strong pulsation radiated from his carotid artery.

Relieved, Melissa hugged her father and cried.

***

At the bottom of the steps, Gabriel stepped cautiously around Eugene. When confident that Eugene would not strike, Gabriel used his middle and index fingers and depressed a point midway down the length of Eugene’s neck.

In the hollow between Eugene’s windpipe and the thick, ropey muscles of his neck, Gabriel examined him for a pulse. None was detected.

Eugene’s corpse presented a problem for Gabriel. Eugene’s distinctive facial characteristics and exceptional size, together with the circumstances surrounding his death, would raise questions.

Gabriel needed to leave.

He ascended the staircase and joined Melissa at her father’s side. Christopher Martin stirred. Melissa sat upright.

“Dad, are you with us?” she asked and put her face in front of his.

“Oh! Missy, what the hell happened to me? I was out for a while,” Christopher murmured, his voice thick, his eyes darting and disoriented. “That thing,” he continued “that was some kind of monster. No man is that big and those eyes,” he rambled.

“Shh, don’t speak Dad. Save your strength. I’m calling an ambulance,” Melissa said as she pulled her cellular phone from her pocket.

The screen illuminated at her touch. After selecting the corresponding prompt, a keypad appeared. Melissa depressed the numbers 9-1-1 and gave the relevant information to the operator. An ambulance was sent.

Gabriel turned to Melissa. “You understand that I need to leave now,” he said earnestly. “This is what we wanted to avoid. I have no choice. Questions will be asked, questions that will lead to Dr. Terzini, to me.”

Wiping the tears that streamed anew, Melissa nodded her head in understanding.

“I understand, Gabriel. Will I ever see you again?”

“I’ll call you later, after I speak with Terzini,” he managed, his voice quavering with emotion. Gabriel took Melissa’s hand in his and whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Melissa breathed.

Gabriel descended the staircase again and, stepping over Eugene’s colossal corpse, left her home.

He climbed into the driver’s side of Kevin Anderson’s black Infiniti and turned the key in the ignition. Gabriel’s Ford Explorer was still at Harbingers High School.

As he rounded the corner of Blackstone Drive and began traveling on Top Hill Road, the sound of wailing sirens drew near.

The siren howled like an injured animal, warning of the approaching emergency vehicle. It marked a painful comprehension of what was to happen.

Gabriel knew that there was only one way to insure Melissa’s safety. He needed to kill Dr. Franklin Terzini.

Chapter 23

Gabriel obeyed each speed limitation imposed and was mindful to stop at every yellow light to not draw unwanted attention to the fact that he was driving a dead man’s car.

He drove with vigilance and caution until he reached the private gravel-filled road that doubled as his driveway.

He did not bother entering the house. Instead, he strode directly to the unremarkable patch of sod that covered the portal to Dr. Franklin Terzini’s underground research laboratory.

Using the keys that remained in his pocket from days earlier, Gabriel disengaged the locking mechanism. With a soft whoosh, the door opened.

He moved down the concrete staircase, stepping down slowly on each tread. The corridor was already illuminated indicating that Terzini worked, waiting for confirmation from Eugene that Melissa and Gabriel were dead.

To the right resided an alcove with a fold-down cot, a chest of drawers and a nightstand. The sparsely furnished niche was Terzini’s living quarters when he slept. Atop the chest of drawers sat an instrument resembling a thin, black notebook. The apparatus was not a notebook, however. It was Dr. Franklin Terzini’s personal computer, a device that contained hours of filmed research and development and journals of the results of hours of experimentation.

Gabriel took Dr. Terzini’s computer before continuing, a single purpose propelling him.

Stalking down the center of the formidable facility, Gabriel spotted a small figure perched on a steel swivel-top stool. He was hunched over a stainless-steel table looking into an electron microscope.

Dr. Franklin Terzini peered through the dual lenses, unaware of his visitor.

Gabriel approached his maker. He reached his hands out behind the collar of Terzini’s crisp, white dress shirt. In one swift motion, his hands would clutch his maker’s neck, squeeze and collapse his windpipe. Terzini’s death would guarantee Melissa’s safety.

Gabriel wrestled with the idea of murdering his creator. Aggression against Terzini was a breach in protocol. Killing him would be an epic violation. Gabriel doubted he could do it.

His hands began to tremble. His breathing became shallow. Beads of sweat dappled his forehead. His anxiety-riddled body would not comply with what his mind instructed it, urged it to do.

He spun Terzini in his chair to face him. Shock marked the geneticist’s features.

“Surprised to see me?” Gabriel asked through clenched teeth.

“Gabriel! I don’t know what to say,” Terzini began in a shrill voice.

“Then don’t bother saying anything,” Gabriel interrupted, “I will do all the talking.”

“Eugene is dead,” Gabriel continued evenly. “I killed him. But not before he murdered three teenage boys. Their bodies and my SUV are in the woods behind the high school where the killings took place.”

Gabriel paused, gauging his maker’s response. Terzini’s face was blank, unreadable.

“Eugene went to Melissa’s house, tried to kill her father. I stopped him. His body is in her foyer. An ambulance is heading there now. A police cruiser will not be far behind. You know what all of this means, don’t you?”

Terzini bobbed is head in affirmation.

“Investigations, autopsies, everything will eventually point to us. We will have to leave.”

Terzini opened his mouth to speak. Gabriel raised a hand, warned him against doing so.

“You will not destroy me. And you will not harm Melissa,” Gabriel commanded. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Terzini muttered feebly.

“If you so much as imply that she will be contacted by you or any of your creations, I will go straight to the FBI and tell them everything. They will lock you up and destroy all that you’ve achieved. You will be powerless to stop them. You will sit idly by and rot in prison while untrained strangers rub the Earth clean of your existence.”

Then, Gabriel leaned in closely and whispered, “I have your laptop. It has hours of footage of everything you’ve been doing down here. That will be my insurance policy.”

Dr. Franklin Terzini assumed a more sickly pallor than usual. He swallowed hard, but did not speak.

Gabriel offered his final condition.

“You will leave, tonight. And never return to this continent. I will monitor you from wherever I go. If I get the slightest inkling that you are planning anything that involves Melissa, you will suffer.”

His maker nodded, indicated he understood Gabriel’s demands.

Gabriel turned and walked, with Terzini’s personal laptop computer tucked under his arm, the length of the clandestine facility to the concrete staircase that rose to the grass above. He fastened and secured the steel door before replacing the patch of grass on top of it.

After crossing the property, he entered the Gothic Victorian for the last time to pack a few items for his journey and to retrieve a large sum of money.

He would wait until sundown to handle the last phase of securing Melissa’s safety.

Chapter 24

Gabriel James waited until nightfall before going to Melissa Martin’s home on Blackstone Drive.

Turning off the headlamps of the nondescript tan Toyota he drove, he left the vehicle at the bottom of her hill and went on foot to her driveway.

He looked up into the blackened universe.  The sky was clear save for vivid balls of yellow and blue ornamenting it, creating impressive, eddying shapes. To most, the glow would have been awe-inspiring, exquisite. But to Gabriel, the clarity of the evening and all its beauty was obstructed. He lowered his gaze to his feet and the pavement they walked on, concentrating on the rhythmic sound they created as each foot alternated, one in front of the next, until he reached the edge of the Martin’s property.

He stepped across hardened, icy grass and approached the tenacious oak that stood sentinel beside the garage. Its bark, furrowed and scarred with wounds of battles past, was beautiful in its imperfection. Standing beneath the boughs of the majestic oak, Gabriel marveled at the sheer dimensions of the tree, at its many paradoxes.

He placed a foot tentatively on its rough outer covering as he reached up and grabbed a branch. He began climbing pausing briefly to admire how each branch, though pliable in form and function, refused to relinquish its interlocking grip.

Gabriel gazed up into the network of branches that reached and stretched, expanding to the heavens.

But his destination was not heavenward. He was going to Melissa’s bedroom window to say good-bye, a descent into a personal hell.

Reaching the top of the garage, Gabriel scrambled over frost-coated shingles and saw Melissa’s delicate features framed in the windowpane.

Throwing open the pane, Melissa smiled and gestured for Gabriel to enter.

“Hurry, you must be freezing,” she urged.

“I’m fine,” Gabriel offered.

He knew Melissa immediately sensed falsehood in his demeanor; his lips smiled, but his melancholy eyes betrayed them.

“What happened with the police?” he asked.

“My dad and I gave our statements. I mean, I didn’t mention Terzini or anything. I just told them that we were in the woods talking out by the maintenance building, you know with Kevin and his friends, when this enormous lunatic came out of nowhere and attacked. I said he must’ve followed us home, here, because we were witnesses. They seemed to buy it.  My dad and I said we thought he was drugged out or something because the attack was unprovoked.” Melissa paused then added, “They’re looking for you, to take your statement.”

“What’s really weird though,” Melissa continued, “is that we gave our statements, like, four hours ago and we haven’t heard anything since. I mean, is that normal? There was a dead body in our house, for heaven’s sake! You’d think there’d be some kind of follow up or something.”

Gabriel sat silently, his heart aching.

“What’s happening Gabriel?” Melissa asked alarmed.

Gabriel was reluctant to answer right away. He gazed into Melissa’s pellucid green eyes as he measured his response.

“I’m leaving tonight,” he said finally.

Melissa did not ask why. He could not answer her if she had. His lips would not form the words. His throat constricted so tightly it threatened strangulation. Heaviness settled in his chest.

Wiping tears with the back of her hand, she asked, “Will I ever see you again?”

“Yes,” Gabriel whispered, his throat burning, struggling to articulate each sound. “You will.”

“What about Terzini?” Melissa asked. “He wants me dead.”

Gabriel’s thoughts immediately refocused to the reason for his departure. The raw, squeezing feeling dissipated briefly and allowed easier communication. “You won’t need to worry about him. I have dealt with him,” Gabriel offered cryptically.

“Dealt with him? How?” Melissa worried.

“Put it like this, I have an insurance policy of sorts. I have very incriminating audiovisual feed that, if placed into the correct government branch of law enforcement, could end Dr. Franklin Terzini. He would never risk offering up his life’s work for you.”

“Why wouldn’t you just give it to the authorities now, turn him in? Then you could stay, with me,”

“Who knows what else Terzini has sent out into the world? I simply will not risk your life, again.”

“I’ll go with you, then.”

“And what about your father, you would leave him here alone?”

Melissa shook her head in frustration.

“If we could tell him, explain to him what’s going on I could come with you. I could call him and check in from wherever we go.”

“Melissa, you know we can’t tell your father about me,” Gabriel reasoned gently. “And while I’ll be able to contact you, I will not be able to disclose my exact location.”

“Gabriel, I don’t understand. How I will ever see you again?”

“I love you. I will find a way,” Gabriel promised his eyes stinging with emotion.

“Please don’t leave,” Melissa begged.

“I have to leave, at least until things die down here. I am connected to murders, murders of people who could easily be considered enemies of mine. It won’t be long before others students at school are questioned and my name comes up over and over again with Kevin and his friends.”

“But you didn’t kill them!” Melissa protested, tears streaming anew.

“Shh. Please don’t cry, Melissa,” Gabriel soothed, lightly touching his fingers to her soft lips. “You know that having me stay would be impossible. But I promise you, we will be together again.”

Gabriel climbed through Melissa’s window into her bedroom and took her in his arms. He pressed his lips to hers, tenderly at first, then, with urgency.

His heart throbbed and smarted.   Their kiss was brief and bittersweet.

Gabriel held Melissa tightly, pulled her as closely as his arms allowed. He inhaled deeply, breathing the warm vanilla, caramel and coconut scent of her hair and skin.

Finally, with tears burning down his cheeks, Gabriel released Melissa from his grip.

“I’ll call you in a few days, when I get where I’m going,” he said. “I love you Melissa Martin.”

“I love you too, Gabriel,” Melissa managed through sobs.

Gabriel climbed out of Melissa’s bedroom window and slid on his backside down the length of the frost-coated roof of the garage. He then found an abiding limb outstretched to him and grabbed it. He descended the intricately dovetailed branches of the oak shielding a large section of the house before landing atop the frost-crusted grass below.

An unremarkable beige Toyota awaited his arrival at the bottom of the hill.

He walked, unable to feel the earth below his feet. All he felt was pain.

A hole had been punched in his heart. A vacuous space, raw and ragged, ached. Each breath that he took hurt more than the last.

The crisp autumn air offered no reprieve. It did nothing to ease the burning pain that etched at him.

Though the notion offered little hope, he knew that someday he would be whole again. He did not know how. He did not know when. Everything, save for the agony he felt, seemed unclear, uncertain.

As he strode down Blackstone Drive, Gabriel was certain of one thing and one thing only: as long as his heart beat in his chest, he would return to Melissa.

About the Authors

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2010.  To date, the jury is still out.  But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mom of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book, together!”  Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer simply stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years.  After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them had possessed for much of their young adult lives.  Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success.  They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot would fall apart, or characters would lose their zest, or the story would just fall flat.  Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance.  Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued alternate (paying) careers.  But the dream had never died.  And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination.  When he proposed that they author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright.  His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night.  By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

The Dark Creations series, as well as the Arianna Rose, the Planet Urth series and the Hunter of the Light series, are works that were written while Jennifer and Christopher continued about with their daily activities and raised their young children.  They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section.  Life simply continued.  And in some ways, their everyday lives were reflected in the characters of each series.

As the story line continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration.  Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing.  They hope that their work, though penned for a young adult audience, will be appreciated by the young of every age, and that all enjoy reading it as much as they enjoyed writing it.

Books by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci:

The Dark Creations Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1&2)

Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3)

Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4)

Dark Creations: Hell on Earth (Part 5)

Dark Creations: Dark Ending (Part 6)

The Arianna Rose Series (A paranormal romance series)

Arianna Rose (Part 1)

Arianna Rose: The Awakening (Part 2)

Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3)

Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4)

Arianna Rose: The Gates of Hell (Part 5)

The Planet Urth Series (A YA science-fiction series)

Planet Urth (Book 1)

Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2)

Planet Urth: The Underground City (Book 3)

Planet Urth: The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4)

Planet Urth: The Fate of Urth (Book 5)

The Hunter of the Light series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Hunter of the Light (Book 1)

Thank You So Much For Reading Our Book!

We deeply appreciate your readership and would love to hear from you!

For information about upcoming releases (or just to say hi!) please visit our website at http://darkcreationssaga.com or our Facebook page at http://on.fb.me/1dlUUF5 To sign up for our mailing list and receive information about upcoming release and special promos, please visit http://eepurl.com/Jp7yz

Thank you again for reading!

Love,

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Oh, One Last Thing Before You Go…

When you turn the page, you may be given the opportunity to express your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter automatically.  If you enjoyed our book, would you take a second to click that button and let your friends know about it?

If they get something out of the book, they’ll be grateful to you, and we will be, too!

Thank you so much!

Love,

Jenny and Chris

Dark Creations: Resurrection

A novel

By Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

DARK CREATIONS: RESURRECTION

Published by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

All rights reserved.

First edition: March 2012

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

“It is not more surprising to be born twice than once; everything in nature is resurrection.”

― Voltaire

“Being deeply loved by someone
gives you strength;
while loving someone deeply
gives you courage.”

– Lao Tzu

Chapter 1

Robert Hernandez struggled to fathom the bizarre appearance of the patient in the rear compartment of his ambulance.  He had been a paramedic for more than five years and had been tested on more occasions than he cared to admit.  He had witnessed his share of gruesome accidents caused by individuals who chose to mix drugs and alcohol with driving, dealt with uncooperative overdose victims who resisted his treatment in lieu of death, and even had a naked man attempt to hijack his vehicle.  The instances he’d experienced, though shocking, had not disturbed him the way the man on the gurney did now.

He did not consider himself to be a jaded man.  He did, however, view himself as seasoned to circumstances that would make most others faint.  It was seldom that a patient in his rig unsettled him as intensely as the one currently on board did.  Generally, calls involving injured children shook him, as did circumstances concerning the mistreatment of the elderly. Beyond children and senior citizens, little else affected him.  He had been told by several of his medical school professors that his ability to compartmentalize his feelings was a gift, a gift that would make him a fine doctor in the near future.  That is, if medical school and ambulance calls did not kill him first.

He was good at keeping his work and feelings separate, both in school and on the job.  But still, he felt an aversion to his current patient, a distrust of him.  He could not explain it, could not explain why he felt so uneasy.  It was a mystery to him.  After all, his patient was half dead.  Yet, even in his condition, eyes closed and seemingly lifeless, his patient seemed sinister.  His patient was enormous and dangerous looking.  There was nothing new about that, though.  Big, creepy patients had been in his rig before. This was different.  There was more to it, something else; something instinctive.

Whatever it was, he needed to push his inexplicable feelings aside and do his job.  He needed to transport his patient to the hospital.

“How’s he doing, Joe?” Robert asked his partner, fellow paramedic Joseph McCauley.

“I don’t know, man.  His pulse is thready; I can barely feel it.  He’s lost so much blood with these holes blasted in his shoulder and chest.  I’ll be surprised if he makes it to the ER,” Joe stated as he depressed his middle and index finger along the point of the carotid artery on his patients neck.

Holes.  The word struck a chord within Robert, primarily because the word “hole” did not adequately describe the bloodied chasms that littered his patient’s body.  Notwithstanding the wounds, the patient still breathed and maintained a pulse much to their astonishment.  He and Joe, both trained professionals, had had difficulty detecting the slight throb that signified life in their patient.  The faint beat, along with weak breathing, denoted life.  The patient not only breathed, but surprisingly managed to be an intimidating presence as well, though logically incapacitated beyond intimidation.

While Robert contemplated the frightening nature of the man in the back of his ambulance, he had been depressing the accelerator with his right foot unconsciously.  The road conditions were treacherous and he drove just slightly faster than the speed limit indicated, carefully navigating the rain-slickened streets of Harbingers Falls.  He realized his marginally hastened speed and the unnecessary risk it posed and immediately compensated by slowing down as he approached an intersection.

“We gotta move things along, man,” Joe called from the rear.   “This guy’s circling the drain.”

Circling the drain was Joe’s shorthand for dying, fast.

As Robert moved toward the intersection, the traffic light facing him turned red. Slowing to a near halt, he immediately checked the flow of traffic in all directions.  Every vehicle was stopped in response to the wailing of his ambulance siren and its accompanying flashing lights.  For good measure, he sounded his horn, which issued less of a blare and more of an electronic buzz, to warn any vehicles who dared entertain the notion of proceeding along on their route and getting in his way.

Once he safely passed the intersection, Robert called back to his partner.

“Hey Joe, how’s he doing?” he asked.

“Not good, man.  Not good at all,” Joe replied solemnly as his hands worked frantically over their colossal patient.

Found at the Martin residence and assumed an alleged attacker, their patient had sustained multiple gunshot wounds.  Robert and Joe were not informed of the giant’s name.  According to Melissa Martin, a very frightened teenage girl, she and her friends had met in the woods behind Harbingers High School and had been ambushed and chased by the startling leviathan.  Their patient had apparently intruded in the Martin home shortly thereafter and had threatened her and her father.  He was ultimately met by Melissa’s shotgun-wielding father.

The nameless man’s behavior and the details surrounding it were for the police to investigate and determine.  Keeping the anonymous hulk alive until they made it to the hospital was Robert’s job.

He was curious to see and hear the reactions to his patient’s appearance from the emergency room staff.  After all, the man on the gurney looked unlike any human being he had ever laid eyes on.  He wondered whether he would be alone in his bewilderment of how his patient came to look as he did.  The unidentified titan’s face and stature were dissimilar to any he had ever seen before.  Robert estimated he stood nearly seven feet tall and weighed more than three hundred pounds.  Both he and Joe were fit and strong, but had struggled to load the massive man into the rear of the rig.

The man’s enormous body was also enshrined with thick ropey muscle tissue.  So dense were the fibers that Joe, who had ten more years than Robert as a paramedic and also served his country as part of a medic unit dispatched overseas to aid in a Middle Eastern conflict, had struggled to run an intravenous line.  Penetrating what seemed to be foreign matter beneath the man’s skin had proved to be nearly impossible.  Robert surmised that the staff at Harbinger’s General Hospital would have an array of questions regarding the gargantuan man’s physical composition. He would love to hear the answers to all of those questions, but for now, he was charged with his patient’s safe arrival.

Robert proceeded along Hoyt road, a residential street.  He would follow it to the next intersection and turn onto Route 53, a road that would lead him directly to Harbinger’s General.

Rain, which had been mixing all night alternating between sleet and wet snow then back to rain again, had picked up in intensity.  Large droplets pelted the ambulance issuing a fitful drumming against it. The windshield wipers delivered a rhythmic accompaniment to the cacophonous pounding of the rain.  The beating of the rain and thumping of the windshield wipers in conjunction with the howling of his ambulance siren became a maddening musical arrangement, an insane symphony.  Normally, such noises were mildly annoying but easily tuned out by Robert.  However, something more than the loud, disjointed noises unsettled him, something far more profound.  His mind kept drifting back to his patient.

Approaching the juncture where Hoyt Road led to Route 53, he saw that no cars were present.  Though it was not a heavily frequented crossroad, he depressed the horn and issued the electronic buzz once again both before and while he proceeded across the interconnected streets.  As he traversed the connected roads, a black van appeared out of nowhere.

He could not see a driver.  He did not have time.  The black van rushed toward him, seemingly unable to stop.  Blurred by wind-driven rain and not appearing to break, the black van deviated slightly askew, as if avoiding a direct impact.  Robert had nowhere to go.  He stomped on the brake pedal.  Decelerating too quickly, the ambulance went into a full skid.

Frantically, Robert tried to direct the rig.  If he turned left, he would crash his ambulance squarely into the black van.  Continuing straight would place a telephone pole directly in his path.

With no time to react, Robert veered right, hard.  The black van veered right as well, forcing its bumper to roughly graze the port side of the ambulance.  Metal shrieked, offended by the abrupt encounter, sending angry sparks thrashing and flaying about briefly in the descending rain.

The impact of the black van colliding into his ambulance sent Robert careening farther to the right.

“What the hell!” Joe shouted from the rear.

“We’ve been hit!” Robert yelled back as he tried to regain control of the ambulance.

But it was too late. Landscape rushed at him faster than his mind could comprehend.  The needled boughs of an immense pine tree loomed just a few hundred feet ahead.

Without a second to spare, he jerked the steering wheel of his ambulance to the left, barely avoiding a head-on collision into the trunk of the pine. Instead, the passenger side bumper met with the trunk and exploded against it.  Wood splintered as the tree sagged and drooped, dangerously canopying the ambulance.

Beneath its bowed trunk and the covering of innumerable green spines and barbs, the front half of the ambulance was buried.  He found himself pinned beneath a mangled mess of metal.  His right leg, in particular, was trapped below a collapsed and crumpled dashboard.

Dazed and dizzied, he touched his fingertips lightly against his forehead and immediately inspected them.  Wet and bright red, his hand revealed a bleeding wound in the vicinity of his hairline.  He had been slammed headlong into the steering wheel.  His head had also ricocheted off of the safety glass of the driver’s side window.  Had he not employed his seatbelt, he would have certainly gone straight through the windshield.

Pain radiated from his pinioned right leg.  But he was too thankful to be alive to focus on the pain.  Immense gratitude for his life was abruptly interrupted however, as something in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

He turned his head, slowly, to the left to look out the driver’s side window of his ambulance.  To his surprise, the black van that had sideswiped him drawing the accident had pulled off the road parallel to his rig but just slightly farther down the road.  More curiously, there was activity at the rear of the instigating vehicle.  He lowered the window to get a clearer view.

Not taking his eyes off the mysterious and perplexing van, he called to his partner Joe.

“Joe! You all right back there?”

Robert waited for an answer.

“Hey Joe, this is not the time to mess around! Something’s going on here.  I’m not sure what,” Robert mumbled more to himself.   “Hey, you okay?”

When Joe did not respond, Robert attempted to turn in his seat but was immediately met with a blistering ache that smarted and throbbed, white hot and intense.  He was forced to train his gaze to the rear-view mirror.  When he did, he saw that his partner was slumped over their patient, motionless.

“Joe!” Robert called out, emotion cracking his voice.

With his leg wedged beneath the battered control panel of the ambulance, Robert was incapable of helping his partner, his friend.  Helplessness was an alien feeling to him.  His life had been shaped by helping others, his career precipitated as a result of his unique ability to act and react wisely and swiftly when others could not.

Despite his knowledge and training, he sat, unable to attend to Joe, or free himself, and in need of help.  Exasperated by his predicament, Robert gripped his head in his hands and gently squeezed his temples before raking his fingers through his thick, brown hair.  Movement around the black van distracted his frustration at once, however.

The rear doors of the van swung open and out of the back, two figures emerged.  Though obscured by hammering, wind-driven rain, Robert was able to discern that the pair differed dramatically in size but were both decidedly male.  The smaller of the two was bespectacled and gave the impression of instructing the larger, gesturing animatedly with his hands as his lips moved.  The smaller man’s face was hardened, serious.  The larger man moved immediately, as if on command.

Something about the nature of their interaction unnerved Robert though, and alarmed him.  An indescribable feeling of terror settled upon him. He could not pinpoint exactly why.  He was reluctant to take his eyes off of the man with the glasses and his apparent subordinate.

After several seconds of spirited signaling, the smaller man of the pair seemed to have impressed whatever point it was he sought to make.  The more imposing of the duo began looking at the ambulance, at Robert.

As the larger man came toward him, Robert gasped as he realized it was hardly a man at all.  Advancing was a creature more bizarre looking than the one on the gurney in the patient compartment of his ambulance.  He nimbly moved toward Robert’s disabled vehicle.  Robert was surprised by how agile the being was considering its lack of discernible facial features.

The closer it progressed, the more horrific the image became.  Nearly transparent skin did little to sheathe the expansive, vivid entanglement of veins and capillary networks that webbed its malformed head.  Lidless eyes shrouded in a thick, milky film darted from left to right, seemingly unfocused, searching.  A defined nose was absent from its facial construct but two asymmetrical holes appeared to serve the purpose of nasal openings.  Lips were also missing from the abomination, though a line gave the impression that a mouth may reside beyond it.   Robert pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and rubbed vigorously.  The logical voice in his brain dictated that what he was witnessing was a concussive effect, a hallucination.  He had just been in a car accident.  His memory of it was clear.  He had hit his head more than once.

With his eyes still pressed shut, he reasoned that the horrifying image progressing in his direction must be a product of a trauma to his brain.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

The blasphemous image was gone.  Robert nearly laughed out loud, relieved.  But relief was a luxury he could not afford himself as two men remained in the rear of the vehicle, one with mortal injuries, and his partner whose injuries had not yet been assessed.  He breathed deeply to calm himself and formulate a plan of action.  He needed to release himself from the tethering of the safety harness in order to unpin his leg enough to reach for the radio transponder and call for help.  With the press of a button, another ambulance would be en route with the assistance of the police department and fire department.  He just needed to free himself.

Suddenly, he saw that his partner’s Swiss Army Knife lay behind the passenger seat.

He twisted his torso rearward.  Squirming and wriggling sent an intense flare of pain from his ankle that continued up his leg to his hip.  The slightest movement had a similar impact.  But the actions, no matter how excruciatingly painful, were necessary.  He needed to get the Swiss Army Knife.

Deciding against prolonging the pain, he turned in one swift motion.  A wail of agony sounded from him, a voice that belonged to him but sounded foreign to his ears, as he finally succeeded in rotating to the rear section of the ambulance.  As he did so, he was met with a pair of cloudy black eyes.

The monstrously deformed atrocity was in the patient compartment of his vehicle.  It appeared to be looking at him, though its filmy eyes refused to focus.  The line of its mouth turned up at each corner revealing small, pointed, bud-like teeth.  The creature’s expression became even more offensive, more hideous as it appeared to smile demonically at him.  Dizzied by what resembled a six-foot fetus leering at him, Robert felt an inherent need to scream, to flee.  But sound escaped his lips.

His mind struggled to process what his eyes beheld, the impossible arrangement of virtually absent features.  With his heart knocking violently against his ribcage, Robert felt an innate fear the likes of which he had never felt before.  His survival, the most primitive aspect of his humanity, took precedence over all else in the presence of the faceless man.

“No!” Robert heard himself screaming over and over again.

Seemingly unperturbed by Robert’s cries, the ungodly fiend calmly turned from him and busied himself in the rear of the rig.

With impossibly webbed fingers, the beast dexterously detached every line from the colossal patient.   Then, effortlessly the faceless man tossed Joseph McCauley to the floor of the patient compartment.  A sickly thud indicated that his partner had suffered grave injuries from the collision with the black van, and he was powerless to break his fall in any way.

The passenger side of the ambulance was puckered, the door a chaotic mess of contorted metal.  Safety glass littered the seats.  Robert frantically surveyed his every escape option.  They were limited at best for one whose leg was not pinned down by a mangled dashboard, nonexistent for one in his predicament.

Flooded with fright, he recognized that Death loomed on his doorstep quite literally.  A faceless Grim Reaper, devoid of his razor-sharp sickle, stood armed with a countenance created in hell and waited to claim him and drag him into the fiery depths from which he came.

As his pulse thundered in his ears, Robert guessed that if the ghastly fiend were able to cast his partner aside with ease, as if he were as weighted as a ragdoll, then the creature must possess superior strength, supernatural even.  His heart rate accelerated dangerously at his last thought.

His head began to spin as sheer panic muddled and confused any coherent thoughts from evolving within his brain.  Robert did not want to die at the hands of the faceless freak.  He needed to free himself, immediately.

Rain lashed against his face through his open window as a gust blew and volleyed fine, needle-like barbs of icy precipitation across the ambulance.  The imploded passenger-side window created a perfect cross-breeze for the sleet.  He felt its moisture but not the sting of its coldness.  Fear and shock dominated such sensations.  Survival instincts prevailed.

Without allowing the scream that desperately desired to be released from the depths of his being to escape, Robert struggled against the agonizing pain emanating from his trapped leg.  He wrestled and thrashed against the destroyed dashboard that imprisoned his limb.  An animalistic instinct urged him on, enabled him to ignore the unfathomable pain in his leg.

As Robert fought to free himself from the wrecked console, he felt compelled to keep his gaze trained on the miscreation in the patient compartment.  He looked on with equal parts horror and astonishment at how adroit the webbed digits on each hand worked.  Expertly and rapidly, the featureless monster had detached and detangled the multitude of electrodes, tubes and probes that functioned to keep the near-dead leviathan on the gurney alive.  The faceless devil had unbuckled the patient and was attempting to lift him.

Robert’s mouth hung ajar as he gaped in wonderment. Though he and his partner, Joe, struggled to place their patient on the gurney and in the ambulance, the faceless abomination hoisted him up with ease and draped him across his malformed shoulder.  His featureless face attempted a smile once again, this one more malevolent and hideous than the last, before turning and walking toward the black van.

The sight of the deformed being moving effortlessly across the street with the gargantuan patient slung diagonally across him, nearly dragging along the wet pavement, was illogical, bizarre.

The rational voice in his head argued against what he was seeing, what he had seen, that all of it had to be a nightmare, a delusion.  Logic dictated that monsters did not roam the earth and abscond with arbitrary patients from ambulances.  Therefore, none of what had transpired could be true.  Such occurrences simply did not happen.

Certain that his visions were mere fallacies of an injured brain once again, he felt a brief sense of giddiness despite watching the creature disappear into the rear of the black van across the street.

He gripped his head in his hands and laughed aloud, a frantic, crazed sound.  He was overwrought, strained beyond acceptable parameters.  Yet oddly his stress was tinged with relief, his mind comforted by assurances that what he was seeing was an illusion.  But instinct balked at rationale.

His respite ended abruptly when the creature reappeared.  And he was not alone.  The small man with the glasses accompanied him and gestured animatedly again.  Only this time, he pointed to the ambulance, he pointed to Robert.

The creature nodded and the small man climbed into the driver’s seat of the black van.  The abomination followed.

He saw the faceless man emerge from the concealment of the black van once again and advance.  In his misshapen hand, he held a bottle with a rag dangling from its opening.  The container held a liquid of some sort.  Robert squinted, strained his eyes to discern its contents.

The featureless beast reached his other hand into his front pants pocket and retrieved a lighter.  He pushed a crude-looking thumb to the lighter then pulled it back, rolling a metal flint wheel.  A bright, yellow flame appeared.

He watched in horror as the faceless atrocity placed the flame to the rag dangling from the fluid-filled bottle before hurling it toward his rig.   It spiraled through the air with laser-point precision, careened through his open window and shattered against the dashboard.

Robert released a sound from his body, a hoarse, primal scream of sorts before a bright light more radiant than a thousand suns, burst before his eyes.  The light consumed him, blinded him temporarily with its magnificence, before his body became enveloped in flames. He experienced the purest of pain, unbearable, overwhelming pain, before the world fell silent and darkened forever.

Chapter 2

“One may have a blazing hearth in one’s soul, and yet no one ever comes to sit by it,” Melissa’s art teacher began.  “At least that’s what the famous artist Vincent van Gogh was quoted as saying.”

Mr. Clancy, Melissa’s advanced placement art instructor was known for his dynamic lectures infused with passion and enthusiasm.  His lessons were often laced with pithy quotations from artists, authors, politicians and religious leaders that were inspirational, motivating.  Melissa did not find his current choice to be consistent with his usual selection.

Tall, dark and handsome and in his mid-thirties, Mr. Clancy was the object of just about all of his mostly female class’s affection.  But his appearance had little to do with Melissa’s decision to switch to his section during the start of the January semester.  She chose his class because he challenged his students, demanded nothing short of excellence from each student.

Mr. Clancy’s class, complete with lengthy assignments, projects and field trips was a brilliant distraction from the profound unhappiness she had felt during the months leading up to the switch.

“As you can see when examining van Gogh’s pieces like Starry Night Over the Rhone and Wheatfield with Crows, loneliness is evident.  In Wheatfields, the sky appears angry; the landscape is vast and sad.  The overall tone of the piece is one of extreme desolation, of solitude,” Mr.  Clancy continued.

Typically, Melissa enjoyed her teacher’s interpretations of various pieces.  His current lecture was touching upon a very exposed nerve, however, and beginning to upset her.

“In Starry Night Over the Rhone, we see distant, almost intangible heavens as the backdrop of the piece.  Two lovers walk along clutching each other as lights in the distance are reflected off the water.  To me, it is a haunting image, very melancholy, very forlorn,” he persisted.

Melissa felt immobilized by a kindred sense of understanding of the late Mr. Vincent van Gogh.  His work echoed her sentiments: sadness, loneliness, despair.  But her distant, intangible heavens were unlike his; they were neither stars nor the anticipation of a realm of paradise beyond Earth.  It was Gabriel.

Gabriel James was the distant, intangible light she longed for.  They had not been together long and many had considered her incessant pining ridiculous, unnecessary.  But she could not change her feelings; she would if it were in her power to do so.  She had fallen for him, hard and fast.  And he seemed to share her feelings.   He had been willing to die for her, had risked his life for her safety.  She had always thought that love and devotion such as the kind he exampled was much like the Loch Ness monster in that everyone had heard of it, but no one had actually encountered it.  Her feelings for him had developed just as unexpectedly as his arrival to Harbingers Falls.

Though sudden and confusing at times, their mutual affection was love; she was certain of it.  Their love was rare, the subject of romantic films and novels.  The fact that he was the product of altered genetic material by the deranged geneticist Dr. Franklin Terzini was an issue she had struggled with initially but overcame quickly.  After all, he was not what he was created to be: an emotionless experiment sent to transform humanity.  His physical perfection was as much a success on his creator’s part as it was an attribute she enjoyed.  Thankfully, he was much more than his exquisite appearance.  Emotions had evolved in him, emotions he claimed she was responsible for awakening, and kindness transcended his looks.  Each of his unique and magnificent qualities made accepting his absence that much harder.  Their love story, the likes of which authors penned about and Hollywood producers sought scripts for, ended far too soon.  Parting with Gabriel had felt more like a horror film.

Far away in an unknown corner of the planet, Gabriel sequestered himself just before Thanksgiving.  Melissa had been left to either answer, or deflect innumerable questions surrounding his abrupt departure.  But the countless inquiries had proved far easier to cope with by comparison.  Her broken heart posed a greater challenge.

For weeks following Gabriel’s parting, Melissa had had no communication with him.  The silence had been agonizing, unbearable.  It brought about a rebuttal to the many philosophical quotations concerning silence Melissa had read about and subscribed to throughout her high school years, the beauty of it; the necessity of it. She found no solace in silence.  It did not nourish her or refresh her.  The beauty of nature was not revealed in silence.  To the contrary, silence revealed the austerity of the world around her.  The winter air felt colder.  Barren trees had pierced navy skies with sharp and blackened branches more markedly.  She had felt stripped; drained and depleted.

Winter had been a dark and dreary time for Melissa.  Gabriel had gone.  Her life felt empty, meaningless.  She disappeared deeper into the obscurity of high school, vanished.  When Gabriel finally did contact her and they began correspondence, it was at irregular intervals, unpredictable, unreliable.  She alternated between feeling profoundly saddened by his absence and profoundly angered by it.  She willed herself to stop caring, but could not; her heart failed to cooperate.

Like a great funeral shroud, sadness eclipsed Melissa’s life, enveloped her in darkness.  Conversations with Gabriel were few and kept her hanging on, kept her from moving on.

Her father had been instrumental in preventing her from slipping into a deep, depressive state, from being completely encompassed by gloom.  He did not shy away from her grieving as other fathers might have.  True to his personality, he tackled his daughter’s first heartbreak head-on.  She never would have expected him to be so honest and open with her regarding matters of the heart.

Melissa’s mind swirled around the painful memory of the days and weeks after Gabriel left.  She succumbed to the familiar pain only briefly before a voice distracted her from her brooding.

“Hello! Earth to Melissa!” Alexandra exclaimed from her seat beside her.

“What?” Melissa replied testily.

“Mr. Hotness just gave us our project and you haven’t moved.  Did you even hear him?”

“Yes,” Melissa lied.

“Yeah right! I know when you’re lying,” Alexandra accused.  “I know it’s hard to concentrate.  This guy is so hot I can barely focus on what he’s saying.  I wish he’d just shut up and take his shirt off.  Right?”

Melissa did not respond.

“You do have eyes don’t you, Melissa?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You do realize we have, like, the hottest teacher on the planet, right?”

“He’s okay I guess.”

“Just okay? Are you kidding me?” Alexandra asked incredulously.  “The guy is off-the-charts gorgeous!”

“Whatever, Alex.  If you say so.”

“Are you ever going to join the living.  I mean my God, it’s been like five months.  When are you going to just get over Gabriel,” Alexandra asked.

“I don’t know,” Melissa answered honestly.  “Maybe never.”

“Well, you’d better get your shit together.  Spring break is coming up and I don’t want to spend it with some sorry-ass girl all moping over a guy.”

“Don’t worry, Alex.  I’ll be fine,” Melissa asserted.

Though Melissa told her friend she would be fine in a matter of days, she knew it was a lie.  She could not be certain she would be fine in weeks, months, maybe even years.  She would not be fine until Gabriel returned.

For five months, Gabriel James had been communicating with her sporadically, sending her cryptic text messages and e-mails.  They had spoken on the phone only a handful of times, but hearing his voice managed to buoy her spirits enough to get her through the seemingly interminable weeks of non-correspondence she was beginning to resent.  The rational part of her brain understood that Gabriel’s absence was warranted, necessary even, but her heart begged to differ.

Though she took comfort in knowing that he was safe, she was not comforted in the least being kept in the dark regarding his whereabouts.  She did not have the slightest clue of his location.  All of the unanswered questions festered at times, gave way to doubt.  Once a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind, invariably, a field of insecurity would grow.

The insecurity overwhelmed her at times.  It had been far worse in the beginning, during the first days after Gabriel left.  Shortened days were spent at school where the entire student body wondered where three of their four most beloved athletes had gone.  Melissa had shared what she’d seen in the woods; that she believed they were dead.  But their bodies were never found and doubt abounded.  Furthermore, the doubt of her classmates was confounded because Eric Sala, the only other person present in the woods that remained in Harbingers Falls currently, had not corroborated her account.  His presence, along with his silence, was a source of confusion for Melissa.  She wondered if his reticence was out of fear, fear that his attack on her, though thwarted by Gabriel hurling an aluminum baseball bat at him as he was about to strike her, would result in charges brought against him.  Regardless, everyone maintained his or her own opinions and speculated about various potential scenarios regarding what happened to Kevin, Chis and John.   They did not know the truth.   But Melissa did.

Melissa knew they had been murdered in the woods behind Harbingers High School, that Eugene, Dr.  Franklin Terzini’s earliest and most lethal creation, was responsible for their deaths.  Her knowledge was an unimaginable burden more weighted than any she could fathom.  As classmates guessed about the circumstances surrounding the trio’s disappearance, their whereabouts and fate, Melissa silently agonized over the information she possessed.  She knew the full story, had heard their tortured screams as they suffered at Eugene’s hands.

Their screams still echoed in her memory, kept her awake some nights.  Her friends did not know the full extent of what had happened in the woods five months earlier.  She had told them as much as she could; shared with them more than she had shared with the rest of her classmates and the police, but withheld details that were too haunting to speak of, to relive.  Daniella and Alexandra did not know what life was like for her, how she not only bore the burden of Gabriel’s absence, but the unspeakable truths and the memories that accompanied those truths served to trouble her in multiple ways as well.  She could not bring herself to tell them everything; they worried so much already. Her friends loved her and wanted her to be happy again.

“Enough is enough, Melissa,” Alexandra said and returned her thoughts to their conversation.  “You have to accept that he might not be coming back.”

Her words stung.  Melissa had no retort.  She did not know for sure whether Gabriel would ever return.  All she had was a promise he made to her five months earlier before he climbed out of her window to the roof of the garage and disappeared into the night.

Melissa looked to Alexandra and shrugged in defeat and struggled to steady her voice.  “You’re right,” she replied.  “What can I say? You’re right.”

“Shit! Please don’t cry.  I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Alexandra panicked.  “I’m just sick of seeing you so sad all the time.  You’re better than you were, don’t get me wrong, but not right by a longshot.”

“Girls, I believe you were given an assignment,” Mr. Clancy reminded them.

Alexandra and Melissa immediately busied themselves rummaging through their supplies.  Alexandra bent down and pretended to look through her backpack for a phantom article.

As she bowed forward, she whispered to Melissa, “I can think of an assignment I’d like him to give me” and then winked and smiled mischievously.

Melissa began to laugh softly at first, then more heartily.  Suddenly, she could not control herself.  She laughed hysterically until tears spilled from her eyes.

“Is something funny, Miss Martin?” Mr. Clancy asked.

Melissa could not answer.  She could not catch her breath.  She had not laughed in what felt like an eternity.

Classmates turned in their seats to gawk at her but she did not care.  The laughter felt too good.

“Perhaps you need to excuse yourself, Miss Martin,” Mr.  Clancy concluded in frustration.

Melissa sucked her cheeks in and tried to compose herself.  She tipped her chin up in defiance of the fit of giggles that threatened once again.

“I’m fine.  Really,” Melissa managed then turned to look at Alexandra who stared at her wide-eyed.

She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly before focusing on her assignment.

Once adequately collected and confident a recurrence of laughter was at bay, she worked diligently and continued until the electronic pealing of a bell signified the end of her advanced placement art class.

As she gathered her belongings, Alexandra spoke.

“Geez, I know I’m funny but what the hell?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  Maybe I had some kind of breakdown or something,” Melissa speculated.

“Maybe,” Alexandra agreed.

“I just couldn’t stop laughing.  I don’t know why.”

“Well whatever the reason, it was good to hear you laugh again, that’s for sure.  I was beginning to forget what it sounded like,” Alexandra quipped.  “By the way, you snort a little when you laugh.”

“Thanks, Alex,” Melissa said and rolled her eyes.

“I’m just saying, it’s not attractive to make pig sounds when you laugh,” Alexandra joked.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Melissa responded with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Alexandra laughed.

“Seriously, though.  It was good to hear you laugh,” she said earnestly.

“Even if I snort?” Melissa smiled.

“Come on! Don’t be an idiot.  I’m being serious here.”

“I know, I know.  I just don’t want to get into a heavy conversation, that’s all.”

“No complaints here! I would much rather talk about Mr. Clancy’s ass.”

“Oh brother! I gotta go, Alex,” Melissa said.

“All right, we’ll pick up this conversation later, you can bet on that.”

“Oh, I’m sure we will,” Melissa said and offered a tortured smile.

“See you later.”

“You bet!”

Melissa strode away from Alexandra and headed toward her third period English class.  Mr. Adams implemented the exact opposite teaching style of Mr. Clancy.  The boring nature of his lectures was a guarantee that her mind would begin to wander.  And when her mind strayed, it invariably found its way to thoughts of Gabriel.

Of late, her thoughts flirted with “what ifs.”  She wondered what her life would have been like had she never met Gabriel.  What if she met him but never allowed him to get close to her? What if he chose to stay rather than leave? The last “what if” was the most painful to pose; it was the only one that had ever been an option.

No matter how many times she entertained such notions, she always chastised herself immediately after.  Gabriel was everything to her.  He had his reasons for leaving, even if the most selfish part of her refused to comprehend them.

Regardless of whether every part of her understood his absence, the fact still remained that she was in Harbingers Falls and Gabriel was elsewhere on the planet in a secret location.  Melissa knew the time had come for her to make a concerted effort to stop thinking about him and accept that which she could not change, that which she had no control over.  She needed to move on.  She hoped he would return.  But with each day, week and month that passed a return seemed less likely.

Acceptance struck her like a blow, winded her briefly, before Melissa clutched her books tightly to her chest and moved resolutely to her English class.

Chapter 3

A staff landed, hard, against Gabriel’s temple and interrupted his tormented thoughts.  The blow sent him tumbling to the ground.  He immediately scrambled to his feet, refocused and intended to answer the hit with a counterattack.

“Ha! I got you!” Yoshi celebrated.  “And landed you on your, well, ass, as they say in America.”

His training partner, Yoshi, was a dexterous and skilled fighter.  Though small in stature, Yoshi was renowned in his village as one of its elite martial artists.  Their numbers were few, but Yoshi was counted among them.   He had earned the respect of his peers.  Gabriel had learned a lot from his diminutive instructor.

“Don’t get too excited.  My ass never touched the ground.  Yours, however, will be dropped in about two seconds!” Gabriel warned.

“Talk, talk, talk!” Yoshi taunted as he lunged forward with his weapon.  “Why don’t you shut up and focus?”

“What makes you think I wasn’t focused?” Gabriel replied as he sidestepped the jab.

“Lately, the only time I can drop you is when you’re distracted,” Yoshi conceded verbally but continued his onslaught.

“So you admit I’m the better fighter!”

“Yeah right! You wish!”

“I don’t know.  That’s some tough talk for the number-three man in the county.”

Incensed, Yoshi attacked wielding his weapon ferociously, unrelentingly.   Gabriel was impressed as always.   Their armaments clashed again and again, neither man willing to surrender to fatigue after hours of training in frosty conditions.   Yoshi, accustomed to the volatility of the climate, was expertly trained in the ancient art of Kalarippayattu and wielded an otta, a curved, wooden stick, lethally if need be.  Gabriel knew that his friend exercised restraint when they sparred, that if he so chose, their match could turn deadly.   Save for his instructors, Yoshi had never been bested in a sparring match; until Gabriel arrived.

Five months earlier, Gabriel had arrived in Motuo County, a small community in the Tibetan Autonomous Region.  After researching the area, he found that it was one of the few places in Asia still untouched by the modern world, that Motuo was one of the remotest areas on the planet and therefore perfectly suited for the purpose of his disappearance.

After a grueling trek through frozen portions of the Himalayans that included crossing a six hundred and fifty-five-foot-long suspension bridge, Gabriel reached Motuo located in the Nyingchi area of southeastern Tibet, on the lower reaches of the Yarlung Tsangpo River and found it to be all that it was renowned for.

During his first moments in Motuo, he had found himself submerged in clouds and mist, surrounded by imposing peaks and steep ravines superimposed against a paradisiac backdrop.  Before long, however, birds had begun to sing in the forest.  Sunshine had pored through the fog and woods and created rainbows.  The golden light had sliced through the condensation and revealed azaleas and vanilla orchids along with large white lilies that blossomed in vast fields.

When Gabriel had arrived, he had been fully convinced that Motuo County was a mirage, a figment of his exhausted imagination.  His conviction had transformed, however, when a man appeared from the veils of vapor.  Clad in a felt hat, trousers, sheepskin robe and leather boots, the man had loomed in the mist a threatening presence.  Gabriel had hesitated at first when it appeared as though the man had disappeared.   Then, without warning, the man had reappeared, as if he had been a manifestation of the fog, and attacked him.   He had wielded a short, wooden weapon and struck Gabriel several times.   It wasn’t until Gabriel had been in a prone position, that Yoshi had addressed him.  Gabriel had realized in that moment that he had neither experienced a mirage nor stumbled into an unexplored paradise.  He had, instead, met the first villager of Motuo County.

Yoshi struck him again, interrupted his recollection of their first run-in.  He attempted to strike Gabriel a third time.   He could not allow his sparring partner the moral victory of hitting him again.

As Yoshi thrust his otta forward, Gabriel twisted and dodged the blow.  He then lunged forward, extended his arm to his side then swept his weapon at Yoshi’s feet.  Though his weapon did not achieve what he’d intended it to, it did catch one of Yoshi’s feet and offset his balance.  He stumbled backward, nearly fell but quickly recovered and was distracted from further engagement by a sound in the distance.

The faint tolling of a gong resonated through the trees, shivered off leaves and brush.  They both immediately recognized the sound and its purpose and lowered their weapons; their training session had come to a conclusion.  Neither Yoshi nor Gabriel ever lowered his weapon otherwise.

They began gathering their apparatus and moved from the small clearing to its edge and began their trek across the frozen landscape.   Where vanilla orchids once bloomed in abundance and had infused the air with their sugary-sweet aroma and had reminded him of Melissa, dried and tangled vines now stood.   He had been thankful for the dramatic change of season, of plant-life.   Passing through fields of fragrant flowers that bore the same scent as the girl he loved but was forced to leave had been more challenging than he’d imagined.  It had been unbearable.  He preferred to avoid things that reminded him of her; Thinking of her, of his time spent in Harbingers Falls, was imprudent.  Geography, weather and open investigations conspired and prevented him from being with her.  Remembrances merely reinforced his worry, his frustration.  He needed to protect her from what he believed to be the inevitable return of Terzini but he could not.   He tried to drown out the frustrated voice inside of him that screamed for his return to America, to Melissa, by focusing on the sound of his boots crunching on frozen soil.  Watching his feet offered little in the way of reprieve.

Ahead of him, Yoshi travelled, seemingly free of the burden of worry.   He envied his friend briefly, was snapped from envious thoughts as a slender frozen branch whipped him in his face.  Gabriel cried out.

“What the hell!  Ouch!” he spat.

Yoshi spun around and laughed.  “Oh man, that must have hurt! Guess we’ve got to work on those reflexes, huh, Gabriel?” He turned back around and continued toward the village, laughing most of the way.

Yoshi had a robust sense of humor.   Born and raised in Mutuo County, he had experienced hardship and the wrath of highly unpredictable weather conditions, yet still managed to find humor in whatever situation he was in, even if it meant laughing at someone else’s expense.   He also considered himself an expert on American culture and surprised Gabriel by being fluent in English.   Yoshi traveled to a distant village when weather conditions permitted and submerged himself in countless books about America in the local library.   There, he had utilized instructional cassette tapes accompanied by workbooks and mastered the English language, determined to someday visit the United States.  When Gabriel had arrived speaking English and with intentions of returning to America, Yoshi was fascinated.  They became friends almost instantly; Yoshi had welcomed him to their community as soon as he had been sure Gabriel did not intend to harm them.

Trust had been established between Gabriel and Yoshi rapidly.   Yoshi’s family took him in much as they would a family member.   He became a relative of sorts to Yoshi, lived with him, trained with him and worked the family farm with him.   He had been adopted into a group of veritable strangers and offered food, shelter and friendship.   Gabriel had never experienced friendship with another; he hadn’t been afforded the time to do so in Harbingers Falls.   He had also never experienced what it was like to be part of a family unit.   He had read about families and was well-versed in the various roles each member played, but had never been a part of one.   He had welcomed the warmth and hospitality of Yoshi’s family and cherished his function within their group.   Yoshi became his brother and for that reason, he had confided in him the secret of his origins, had admitted his reason for arriving in Motuo County.   Gabriel had told him about Terzini and Eugene and about Melissa.

“You look pretty miserable.   I’m guessing the whole branch to the face incident is not the reason,” Yoshi guessed.

“My mind is elsewhere,” Gabriel admitted.

“You’ll go back soon.  You’ll be there to look out for her again.”

Gabriel couldn’t help but notice that Yoshi emphasized the word “you” slightly.  He wondered if he were hinting at something.   He decided to find out.

“Geez, do you think I’ll be capable of protecting her all by myself?” he mocked.

“Well, you should be.  I trained you, so you’ll be fine.”

“Of course I will.   My skills are all a result of your hard work and dedication not mine,” Gabriel joked.  “And since you’re the real talent here, you’ll come with me when I return.”

“Naturally,” Yoshi said quickly then appeared to realize Gabriel was inviting him to visit America.

Yoshi snapped his head to look at Gabriel, hesitated initially and looked away then looked to him again, as if, for a fraction of a second, he did not trust that his ears really heard what he thought they did.  When he faced Gabriel a second time, his expression was one of complete astonishment.

“Are you serious, man? America?” Yoshi gaped.

“Yes Yoshi, America.  You’re kind of slow for an expert, aren’t you?”

“I can live with you being the brains I guess as long as you admit I’m the talented one of us–which you have–and know your place.  Master,” he pointed to himself.  “Student,” he pointed to Gabriel.

“Whatever you need to make you feel important,” Gabriel said sarcastically.

Yoshi ignored him and began chattering about his future trip to America.

“I can’t begin to imagine how amazing it’ll be; all of the skyscrapers, the streets of gold.”

“There are no streets of gold, I assure you; none that I know of at least.”

“But there are skyscrapers, right?”

“Yep, there are skyscrapers.  I’m not sure if we’ll necessarily see any, but they’re there.”

“I know, I know.  The only sight you want to see is Melissa,” he taunted.

“That’s right,” Gabriel said and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.  “No worries.  You won’t be disappointed.  Melissa’s more impressive than a tall building.”

“To you maybe, you big girl! I’ll have to meet her then see a skyscraper before I can make an informed decision.”

Gabriel laughed and clapped Yoshi on the back.

“You are quite a character, Yoshi, quite a character.”

“So I’m told time and time again.”

Gabriel and Yoshi resumed their journey back to the small village they resided in.  Each home in the hamlet was made exclusively of wood and was situated on nearly two hundred acres of land.

As they walked, Gabriel’s mind returned to his earlier days in Motuo County, how he had come to learn the art of Kalarippayattu.

While most students of Kalarippayattu began training at approximately seven years old, Gabriel was invited to begin his at Yoshi’s recommendation as a teenager.  Exceptions had been made for him at Yoshi’s request.  It helped that Yoshi’s father, Anil, was both the gurukkal and a master in the martial art of Kalarippayttu.  As the supreme spiritual leader of the village and their fiercest warrior, Anil performed an initiation ritual at which time Gabriel was admitted into the kalari, the school where the martial art was taught.  The sacred ceremony included Gabriel placing his right hand then forehead to the ground as a sign of respect, submission and complete acceptance of the master, the deva, and the kalari itself.  Anil then placed his hand on Gabriel’s head, blessed him and prayed for him.

Though Gabriel did not subscribe to the particular doctrine of thought Yoshi and his people did, he respected the sincerity of it, valued the honor and virtues it encompassed.

As a novice in Kalarippayattu, he had much to learn but little concentration.  His thoughts continually drifted to Melissa; he could not harness in his rage and redirect it.  He had struggled with his inability to protect her, to seek retribution for the attempt made on her life.  He could not reign over the worry that plagued him; worry that his creator, Dr.  Franklin Terzini had reneged on their agreement and pursued Melissa directly or indirectly.  Gabriel fully understood that he was of no use to Melissa if he returned to America too soon and was arrested for the murders of three of his classmates, but felt he needed to do something, nevertheless.

Feelings of helplessness had fueled his anger and apprehension and did little to facilitate his training with Yoshi during his initial time in Motuo County.

But quickly, Gabriel learned to push his emotions to profounder areas of his mind and readdress them when not training.  Once he released himself from the bounds of anger and surrendered completely to his instruction, he advanced.  He entered at the first stage, Meithari, and rapidly progressed through the remaining three until he reached the same level of proficiency as Yoshi.  Yoshi was second in the village only to his father and had been Gabriel’s mentor, had counseled him in each rigorous sequence of exercises and complex jumps, fostered his discipline through balance–both physical and mental.

The Monpa people had never seen a student move through the stages of Kalarippayattu as quickly as Gabriel had; they were not privy to the secret of his origins.  Only one member of their clan knew that Gabriel had not lived on Earth for seventeen years as his peers had, that he was created with superior genes in a laboratory in the Russian Far East by Dr.  Franklin Terzini.  Yoshi was the sole protector of his confidence in the village and the second person on the planet with whom Gabriel shared it.  Yoshi knew about his augmented DNA, about Terzini, and why he left the United States.

Yoshi’s father, Anil, was not informed of Gabriel’s beginning.  He regretted not being able to share the most key piece of information about himself with the sage.  Instead, he cringed inwardly each time Anil admired his skill, celebrated his remarkable improvement and distinguished him with praise.  Anil regarded him with such reverence that Gabriel feared he viewed him as champion of sorts, sent to defend the great mysteries of their region.

Gabriel knew that in Tibetan, the word “Motuo” meant hidden and mysterious lotus.  Anil and his people held that theirs was the most mysterious land in Tibet.  After all, one need only look around to confirm such an assumption.  Like the land, Gabriel was a mystery.  He had singly survived the adversity of the landscape, the elements and the climate.  He had become proficient in their ancient and nearly extinct language of ‘Olekha in a matter of days as opposed to years.  He also had the necessary skills and control to improve at an unprecedented rate in the art of Kalarippayattu.

Under Yoshi and Anil’s tutelage, Gabriel had acquired stamina, mental alertness and poise to complement his genetic endowment of strength. It took him several weeks to be a comparable match for Yoshi when training, an unparalleled feat.  When the moment did arrive and he was a not merely suitable match for his mentor, but had surpassed him, Yoshi did not begrudge Gabriel outright.  He grumbled from time to time but, for the most part, was gracious in his acceptance of his reduced ranking within the colony; his fierce competitiveness ended beyond the walls of the kalari.

Reflecting on Yoshi’s diplomacy, Gabriel could not help but smile.

Gabriel walked beside Yoshi for several miles in silence passing women in home-spun wool gowns carrying baskets containing various vegetables and fruits.  Each greeted him and Yoshi deferentially, reverently.

When they finally reached Yoshi’s home that he shared with his father, mother, siblings and Gabriel, Anil waited for them.  With no roads in Motuo whatsoever, Anil stood, knee deep in brush wearing a sleeveless fur vest that hung nearly to the top of his leather boots.  With a fur hat perched atop his head, Anil appeared royal, impressive.

“Hello Yoshi, Gabriel,” Anil addressed them.  “How was your training today?”

“Excellent father, I landed Gabriel on his backside,” Yoshi bragged.

“Technically, sir, I landed on my side,” Gabriel offered.

“He dropped you, huh? It appears you are less able to control you feelings these days. You are distracted,” Anil said sagely.  “Soon you will be able to check on her and be less distracted.  Your questions will be answered and your curiosity satisfied.”

“Sir?” Gabriel asked genuinely confused.

“You will be contacting her sooner than you thought,” Anil announced.

Excitement bubbled in his belly.

“Sir, are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Anil asked with a deadpan expression then continued.  “The weather will be favorable in the coming weeks.  It would be wise to take advantage of nature’s gift.  The days forthcoming will be the best suited for travel.  We will be blessed with unseasonable warmth.  You will be able to go to Pai Village and contact her, find out if all is well.  I suggest you leave at dawn.  Take Yoshi.   The four-day trip to Pai will be without difficulty.”

Gabriel was familiar with Pai Village, had traveled there often over the last five months to contact Melissa.  But harsh weather conditions between his arrival in November and the current month of April had severely limited his visits to the area.  Even still, the pathways were covered in ice and snow with another month of unpredictable conditions on the horizon would make travel difficult.  Anil’s prediction for milder weather was unexpected but welcome.  Anil was rarely wrong in his estimation of upcoming weather.

“You are happier already, Gabriel.  It is evidenced in your posture,” Anil observed.

Gabriel’s spirit was buoyed.

“Father, Gabriel has asked me to accompany him to America, when he is finally able to return,” Yoshi blurted out excitedly.

“He did, did he?” Anil asked staring directly at Gabriel.  “Funny, he did not discuss such a matter with me.”

“Sir, I was going to speak with you about it, but I assumed there would be ample time for us to discuss it with you.  I don’t anticipate my return to America to be anytime in the near future.

“Yoshi, do you want to go to America?”

“Yes, father.  Absolutely.”

“You do realize it is very different there than it is here,” Anil warned.

“Yes father, I know it is different.  But I want to see different things, cars, skyscrapers, roads paved in gold,” Yoshi began.

“Yoshi, there are no roads paved in gold.  I told you that earlier, remember?” Gabriel interrupted.

“Whatever, maybe you’ve just never seen them.  I can believe what I want.  Anyway father, I want to see the world, eat the fast food.”

“You are seventeen years old, a grown man now.   I trust in your judgment and training; I know you can take care of yourself.  I would not stop you from experiencing anything that you would want to in life.  I can only hope that when you’re through eating fast food while driving on streets of gold you will want to return to us.”

Anil stepped back and began to turn from Gabriel and Yoshi but paused to add, “Eat and then rest.  You will leave at dawn.”

Gabriel did not consider the hour he’d be waking at or the conditions he would face.  Personal inconvenience was of no consequence to him.  He would speak with Melissa, be given proof of her safety.  Confirmation of her well-being granted him peace of mind, quieted the unrest that raged within him.  He would hear her voice and be pained and reassured simultaneously but it would be sufficient to calm his inner turbulence; at least for a while, until he could return.

Chapter 4

The faceless man never traveled in the daylight hours.  To do so would have drawn far too much attention to his differences.  He journeyed at sundown, cloaked in shadows and night, concealed by darkness.  Forced to leave the only home he’d known, he had fled, scared but determined to save himself.  He had known he could not stay any longer, that if he wanted to live he’d have to leave.

He had been commanded to do horrible things by his maker.  He had been told his bad deeds had been necessary, deserved even, but the faceless man had not been sure.  Though he had questioned his maker’s commands internally, he had been unable to ignore them; he had felt compelled to do as he was told.   He did not know why.

Sitting in the coppice on the outskirts of Veteran Park on the warm, moonless spring night, the faceless man stared in the distance at a large, bronze statue of a kneeling soldier, momentarily relieved of the burden of his past actions.  The statue and the surrounding park was illuminated by cast-iron lampposts painted black and crowned with three globes each.  From where he was situated, he was granted a clear view of the statue yet maintained his concealment.

The bronze statue on bended knee held him, soothed him.  With his helmet at his side and one hand at his brow, the soldier stared somberly at the ground below.  The faceless man was sure that there were people who had cared about the soldier, people who had loved him.  He wondered what it would feel like to be loved.

No one cared about him.  No one loved him.  The soldier had been lucky.

The faceless man had not been so lucky.  Early on he had discovered that he was alone, that conventional humans were a cruel species reluctant to accept him.  His only hope, the very one that kept him moving and offered him the will to live, was that somewhere in the world, the perfect friend for him existed, someone kind enough to see past his unique exterior.  He had seen himself in a mirror in his former home.  He knew he did not look quite like his maker or other humans he had seen.  He did not resemble the handsome soldier statue either, did not have the same sad eyes.

His maker had told him that he was a product of an untimely end to his handiwork, that the urgent need for a formidable ally had superseded his proper formation.  Terzini had said that he had been taken from his development tank far too early–earlier than was possible to allow for a meaningful, productive life of service to him; that he was a monster who would never be able to integrate into society.

He did not like what his maker had said.   His maker’s words had been cruel.   They had hurt him then, hurt him still.

In the silence of the thicket that bordered Veteran Park in the presence of the striking soldier statue, the faceless man relived the pain his maker had caused him, heard the words spoken in his cold voice, felt their chill.   He hugged himself briefly to fend off the frostiness.  Though the ambient temperature was moderate, he shivered.  The memory of their last interaction was fresh in his mind.  He felt as though he were sitting in Dr. Franklin Terzini’s laboratory, attempting to express his misgivings.

When the faceless man had resisted Terzini’s commands by gesturing with hesitance and grimacing at the orders, his maker had become very angry.  He had shouted at him, had hurled a glass container at him.  He had wanted to strike back or at least prevent his maker from throwing things at him, but something inside him had prohibited such an act.  He had tried in vain to lift his arms in retaliation, had willed them to move but they had not cooperated.  Instead, he had felt his insides tremble, had found it difficult to breathe.   His pulse rate had sped dangerously.  The world had spun around him.   He had felt as though he’d fall to the ground.

Hugging himself tightly in the undergrowth, the faceless man suddenly found it difficult to breathe once again.  His heart thundered; he heard it pounding in his ears just as it did the day he’d realized he wanted to leave.

He could still hear his maker’s voice echoing in his ears telling him that no one defied him and that he would die just as soon as the others were fully formed.  Terzini had expected him to surrender to destruction.

Even still, five months after his fateful interaction with his maker, the notion of conceding his life, of forfeiting his future willingly sent a chill down his spine.  His maker had insisted that he simply agree to his death; accept it as affably as one accepts a gift.  His maker had had very unrealistic expectations.   He did not want to die; he was newly born.  He had not yet experienced life, save for the horrible things he had been ordered to do.

Day after day, in his short existence at Dr. Franklin Terzini’s laboratory, the faceless man had been given directives then banished to a room the size of a closet.   For him, it had felt more like a cell or a cage because, each night, the door had been locked from the outside.   His maker had sequestered him.   He had not been free to roam about.  Instead, he had been detained like an animal or criminal devoid of rights and privileges.   He had known he’d done nothing wrong.  He had done just as his maker had instructed, yet remained imprisoned in a tiny room.

His captivity had grown very upsetting to him.  He had felt trapped and confused by his maker’s rules, why his maker had thought it necessary to punish him with confinement.  He had also refused to willingly accept death once Terzini’s new creations were born.

As part of the next phase of his maker’s plan, other creations like him had been formed and were in the process of development.  They would remain in their tanks for a predetermined amount of time that was far shorter than the gestation of a human being conceived by conventional means, but far more effectual.  His maker had told him that their births would signify a momentous moment in the history of humanity; that a great transformation would begin.  The birth of the new creations did not represent a significant event to the faceless man. It was more like a death sentence.  He had known what would’ve been expected of him, that once they had grown and matured and were ready for release, he would no longer be needed.  Dr. Terzini had made it clear to him that once the new creations were born, he would be required to surrender his life.  He had fretted over his death many nights while locked in his tiny room.

One night, when his internment had grown particularly unbearable, he had rested on his cot and looked at the ceiling of his small space.  He had noticed a large metal grate affixed with screws.  He had become curious about where the ventilation opening led, and if, perhaps, it led outside of his room.  He had been certain it would lead to a fascinating locale.

That night, he had stood on his cot and excitedly yanked the vent from the ceiling.  Tiny screws had dropped to the floor, but he had not cared.  He had thought he was embarking on an adventure.  He had dropped the grille to his cot, hoisted himself up and wriggled into the opening.

Once inside, to his dismay, the ventilation duct had not been interesting in the least.   In fact, it had been rather terrifying.  The channel had been narrow and dark and littered with spider webs and insects, both living and dead.  The space had been so tight that it had greatly restricted his movement and had caused him to feel an overwhelming sense of confinement.  He had been forced to slither forward as there had been no room for him to twist and return to his room.  The farther he had moved from the meager light provided by the opening to his room, the darker and scarier the ventilation duct had become.  He’d had to close his eyes tightly, had to resist the urge to stop moving and succumb to fear.

He had slid through the dusty darkness for less than fifty feet, eyes still shut, before he had happened upon another grate.   He had felt it with his face and immediately opened his eyes.  Dim light had pushed back the dark slightly, and he had wanted nothing more than to be in the light.  He had pushed against the grate with his large, webbed fingers and the screws had yielded under their pressure.  The grate had fallen off easily and he had dropped to the room below.

Grateful to be standing once again, he had squinted and allowed his vision to adjust to the light of the room; the light had been dim but far brighter than the gloom of the duct.  Once his eyes had adjusted, he had realized where he was, that he stood in Terzini’s laboratory, a laboratory that led to the outside.

The prospect of freedom had been an unexpected and irresistible temptation.  He had been outside on rare occasions and had found the outdoors fascinating.  The lure of independence, of choice, had been too great to ignore.  He had decided that returning to his room was not as appealing as liberation.

So he ran.  He ran as fast as he could away from the life that enslaved him.  He had felt it vital to get away from the horrible little man who wanted to kill him.  He had fled the laboratory and the grounds of Dr. Franklin Terzini’s property without a formal plan, had known only that he would actively pursue friendships.

Sadly though, as time passed, the faceless man had begun to recognize an unfortunate pattern: everyone he had come in contact with seemed to share in his maker’s estimation of him.  The people he had encountered were rarely able to suppress a scream much less forge a friendship with him.  They had reacted negatively, hostilely in some cases, toward him, had screamed at him, and had attacked him; he quickly realized that acceptance would be a challenge.

The faceless man began to linger in locales that were less inhabited, favoring darkened alleys and abandoned buildings.  When in these locations, he unearthed many people like him, people who were displaced, people who had been relegated to darkness.  They were vagabonds, unwanted and unloved, who pushed their meager possessions about in carts and carriages and ate out of trash cans.  He thought them kindred spirits.  He was wrong, of course.  His vagrant peers excluded and rejected him vehemently, violently.  They proved mean, and scary.

Without food, shelter, or companionship, he roamed alone, forced to urinate and defecate in the wilderness and feed on small creatures indigenous to the area.  He survived primarily on rabbits, raccoons and squirrels and the occasional rat.  He drank and washed in streams and ponds.

Most days, he was afraid and lonely.  But living a lonely and rootless life was still preferable to the life he previously led.  His maker had used him to hurt people, kept him locked in a tiny room then wanted to kill him.

Though the faceless man had fled from the captivity of his maker’s laboratory after being informed of his impending destruction months earlier he re-experienced it regularly and in vivid detail.  Just recalling the fact that Terzini had wanted to exterminate him as if he were a loathsome pest of some sort caused him to feel each emotion as if it were occurring in the present.

He shivered again and clutched his body closer as if physically trying to hold himself together, fighting a phantom force that sought to dismantle him.  He knew his maker’s call for his death had been unfair, unjustified; he knew that much was true.  He could not object to it, could not articulate his desire to live. He was incapable of speech, and therefore unable to argue on his own behalf, or plead with Terzini to pardon his impending death sentence.  He valued his life, even if Terzini did not.  The faceless man knew that Dr. Franklin Terzini was nothing more than a mean little man filled with harsh words and malicious ideas, and very unrealistic expectations.

His maker was not unlike other humans he had met.  Everyone he had come across had been unkind.  They shrieked at the sight of him, shrunk away in his presence.  He could not imagine why they could not see past his differences.

As he sat with his knees tucked against his chest and his arms wrapped around them, he wondered if Terzini had been right, if no one would ever accept him as he was.  As he contemplated such an idea, an overwhelming sentiment swelled within him.  He felt a profound sense of sadness for himself.

Fortunately, the sadness was fleeting.  His resolve countermanded it.  He was determined to seek out a compassionate person, one who saw past his miscreation.  He had heard talk of one who’d managed to see past another of Dr. Terzini’s creations and cared about him deeply.  That is what he wanted, what he was determined to find, a person who would not condemn him for his origins but would celebrate him, instead.  He refused to accept that his experiences represented the whole of humanity.  Gabriel James had found a person who cared about him, and so would he.

A warm breeze gusted, stirring the plants and blossoms around him.  In the distance, the bronzed and bowed statue did not waver.  His gaze remained fixed on the earth beneath him, cast down in perpetual despair.  The faceless man breathed in the sweet spring air and realized he did not wish to be like the gilded soldier after all.  He wished, instead, to be like Gabriel.

Chapter 5

The days had been passing by mercifully fast.  Three had elapsed in what felt like the blink of an eye.  For months, Melissa submerged herself in the details of her days, allowed them to carry her like a mighty tide guiding an ocean.  Most days she felt as though she were bobbing in a vast body of water, being pulled along by forces beyond her control.  Schoolwork, family obligations, and her friends united and acted as a current towing her through each day, week, month, through life.  But the last three days had been different.  Melissa felt more like herself than she had in five months.  She felt energized, enlivened; almost happy.

Melissa felt as if she’d awoken from a hideous dream.  And though she felt slightly battered, she was beginning to feel again.

Situated in the back seat of Daniella’s car on her way to school, Melissa felt at ease for the first time in a long time.  She missed Gabriel; that fact remained unchanged.  But something had changed within her, something inexplicable and profound. She felt more at peace with her circumstances, wondered if she were letting go of Gabriel.  Such a notion had been unfathomable earlier, seemed improbable still.

Melissa could not quite pinpoint exactly what has transformed and did not feel like exhausting herself trying to figure it out.  She was grateful for the reprieve and that was enough to sustain her.

“This has been the longest week ever.  We are so going out tonight!” Daniella affirmed exuberantly.

“I know! I can’t wait! I have the hottest outfit,” Alexandra agreed.

“What should I wear?” Daniella asked.

“Something slutty!” Alexandra joked.  “I’m just kidding.  Just wear that green top with your skinnies.  Your ass looks smokin’ hot in that.”

Melissa listened to Alexandra and Daniella chatter on about their weekend plans, had done so absentmindedly for several months.  Earlier on, just after Gabriel had left, they had regularly asked her to join them and she had continually refused.  As time passed, however, her friends had begun asking less and less frequently before they stopped asking altogether.  Her two best friends no longer bothered to try and include her in their plans as their invites had always been declined.  She had not been offended by their exclusion before, had thought it a relief even to no longer go through the motions of getting an invite, turning it down then listening to angry or pity-filled appeals.  Now, however, she felt differently. She wanted to be included.

“Hey, what should I wear?” Melissa heard herself ask.

“Oh my God Daniella, pull over! I think I’m going to have a heart attack!” Alexandra chided.

“Melissa, are you really going to come out with us?” Daniella asked incredulously.

“I’m thinking about it,” Melissa answered.

“Don’t think!” Alexandra urged.  “Just come!”

“Yeah, it’s been, like, forever since you came out with us,” Daniella added.  “You have to come! Greg is having a huge party at his house.  His parents are away so it’s going to be epic.  He has an indoor pool, Melissa!”

“It’s going to be off the hook! That guy is loaded.  I’m excited to just see his house, everything else is a bonus,” Alexandra said.

Melissa was suddenly panicked by what she was feeling.  Excitement, an emotion she’d been virtually devoid of over the last several months, swelled within her.

“You have to come, Missy! We miss you,” Daniella begged.

She felt dizzied.  Her heart raced.  Her hands felt frozen.  She felt nauseated and elated simultaneously.   In her belly, a swarm of butterflies had emerged from their chrysalides and flitted about, beating their wings.

“Count me in!” she blurted out.  “I’m coming to Greg’s party!”

“Yay!” Daniella cheered.

“Wait a sec,” Alexandra interrupted. “You’re not going to come with us and get drunk and start crying about you-know-who are you?”

Although she could not be completely sure that that would not happen, Melissa felt confident she would be okay and that the night would pass tear-free.

“No,” she said.  “I’m not going to cry this time.”

“Are you sure?” Alexandra asked skeptically.

“Of course,” Melissa lied.

“So you’re over him?” Daniella asked softly.

Melissa considered her question briefly before answering.

“I don’t know that I’m necessarily over Gabriel.  I’m just not going to sit home all the time waiting for him to call or text or e-mail.  I mean, I’m sick of being sad all the time, of being, like, pathetic, you know?”

“Yeah, you have been pretty pathetic,” Alexandra stated plainly.

Daniella elbowed Alexandra.

“What the fuck was that for?” Alexandra asked.

Melissa watched as Daniella shot Alexandra a warning glance.

“Sorry,” Alexandra mouthed.

“Guys, stop it! This is what I’m talking about,” Melissa began.  “You think I don’t see what you guys are doing?”

“We’re not doing anything,” Daniella answered.

“Yes you are.  You treat me like a mental patient!”

“We’re sorry, sweetie,” Daniella said.  “We don’t want to upset you.”

“No! Stop apologizing.  I’m the one who should be apologizing.  Because I’ve been, like, a zombie for the last few months, you guys have had to tiptoe around my feelings.  I mean, it’s unfair that you have to be like that around me and watch what you say or don’t say and what you do or don’t do.  It’s ridiculous.  I’m ridiculous!”

“You’re not ridiculous.  You’re hurting.  We just want to make things easier for you,” Daniella replied.

“Yeah, we’re sick of seeing you upset all the time.   We want to help any way we can,” Alexandra added.

“Well it stops today,” Melissa asserted.  “Starting today, things are back to normal.  No more moping and crying and waiting.  You don’t have to hold back anymore and coddle me.”

“Great! You mean we don’t have to pretend to understand why you’d want to waste your time boo-hooing over a guy–a very hot guy–but a guy nevertheless?” Alexandra asked.

“Alex!” Daniella exclaimed.

“What?” Alexandra replied.

“You don’t have to be rude about it!”

“No Daniella, Alex is right.   I shouldn’t sit around crying over him.   I mean, he’s probably off somewhere having a great time which is why he hardly ever even calls anymore so why should I be upset?”

Her question was rhetorical and her friends dared not offer so much as a hypothetical or lighthearted retort.   But Melissa was certain the same questions that ran rampantly in her mind crossed theirs as well.  She had wondered if his infrequent contact with her was a result of waning interest more than risk factors.   Recently, she began to doubt his feelings for her.

As soon as she felt the familiar doubt, which invariably precipitated hurt, begin to encroach, she forced it to the back of her mind, refused to let it ruin her newfound sense of calm.

“So, I’ll ask again, what should I wear tonight?” Melissa asked and redirected the conversation back to a lighter topic.

“Something slutty, like I told Daniella,” Alexandra joked.

Melissa laughed.   And it felt good.   She giggled with her friends as Daniella parked in the front lot of Harbingers High School before they gathered their books and entered the building.

As Melissa walked down the hallway toward her locker, she couldn’t help but feel an energy swirl about her.  There was excitement in the air; she felt it the moment she walked in.  It was electric.  Some students passed, gesturing to one another animatedly.  Others whispered eagerly.  Something significant had happened, Melissa just wasn’t sure what.

“I gotta go,” Alexandra said unaware of the buzz around her.   “I can’t be late, like, ever again or I’ll get detention.  Later!”

“Bye Alex,” Melissa said distractedly.

“See ya, Alex,” Daniella replied.   “Melissa, I have to go too.   I have a test first period.”

“Go, go.  I’ll see you later.”

Melissa watched as Daniella disappeared around the corner into the stairwell then refocused her attention to the odd flurry in the hallway.   More of her classmates had gathered and stared down the long corridor pointing and gesturing.   She strained her vision to see what was causing the commotion.   She could not quite make out who or what she was seeing.

She began pushing her way through the crowd that had amassed.

As Melissa got closer, she discerned a tall figure that appeared to be the center of all the attention.   She kept moving, pressing passed onlookers.   She saw that there were two slightly shorter figures flanking the person at the end of the hall and kept moving toward them.

When she was finally close enough to see who was responsible for the ruckus, she felt her breath catch in her chest.   Her knees weakened.  Her mind spun like tires in mud, spinning and struggling to gain traction when all the while the only progress that was made was deeper submergence in mire.  What she witnessed seemed impossible, unbelievable.  Thoughts swirled and eddied about.  None of them made sense.  She felt faint.  Surely it couldn’t be him.  She hadn’t seen him in five months and was certain she’d never see him again.  But he had returned.

Her heart began to race and, though she felt cold, perspiration dampened her forehead and palms.  Her pulse raced dangerously.  Her knees threatened to give way beneath her.  She felt lightheaded and unsteady.  He seemed to float toward her, an apparition materializing.

A hush seemed to have befallen the hallway, save for the rapid thumping that resonated in her ears.   Everyone around her appeared to be moving with infinitesimal slowness, as if they were actors in a film reel moving in slow-motion.

Standing at the end of the long, student-filled hallway a familiar face smiled at her showcasing his blindingly white smile and single dimple in the center of his right cheek.

Melissa felt the color drain from her cheeks as Kevin Anderson winked at her then waved coyly.  Terror, unlike any she had ever experienced, prickled along her spine.  Her insides shivered.  He grinned broadly as if sensing her horror at the sight of him, confident, arrogant; antagonizing.  She wanted to run from him, keep running, and never be forced to lay eyes on his menacing expression again.

Kevin Anderson was dead.  His presence implied that he had returned from the grave; and he was not alone.  Beside him, Chris Mace and John DeNardi stood, as they always did in the past, very much alive.

The situation was nightmarish; they were all dead.  She had heard their tortured screams, knew that they suffered at the hands of Eugene.  She had seen their mangled corpses.  The scene had been gruesome, their deaths violent.  Their return was impossible.  They could not be at Harbingers High School.

Her mind continued to roll and turn incapable of gripping a solid thought.  Each idea seemed to flow past her like a phantom, ephemeral, evanescent.  She worried she was hallucinating or suffering an emotional episode of some sort.  Kevin, Chris and John appeared to have returned, impossibly, from the dead and she felt her world upend.

Chapter 6

Dr. Franklin Terzini’s footsteps echoed along the corridor of his new laboratory in Santa Ynez, California.  The layout was similar to his two previous research facilities, save for the fact that this one existed above the ground as opposed to buried deep within it.

The heels of his leather dress shoes clacked rhythmically on the pristine tiled flooring.  He moved swiftly down a path in the center of his lab.  On either side, stainless-steel tables loaded with magnification apparatus, centrifugal equipment and computers lined the walls.  Beakers of every imaginable size, along with innumerable test tubes in holders, sat atop shelving units and occupied the far wall.  His new space, though organized, immaculately clean and nearly identical to the others, still unnerved him. The work area was far too bright.  Despite room darkening shades installed at each window prior to his arrival, abundant sunshine still permeated minuscule gaps in the treatments and managed to light the room.

Terzini despised sunlight and daytime in general.  He hadn’t relocated for the lightness or beaches.  He had selected Santa Ynez for its obscurity and although it was just a car ride away from the densely populated city of Los Angeles, it offered rustic anonymity without sacrificing modern convenience.  An additional element also added to the allure of his proximity to a major city as well: defiance.

Nestled in the Santa Barbara Wine Country, he felt as though he were hiding in plain sight.  Such a notion amused him given that his creation had had the audacity to banish him from his previous residence, as if he were a subordinate and not the other way around.  Gabriel had attempted to blackmail him into leaving the country and living out his remaining days in exile in an isolated niche of the planet.  While Gabriel had succeeded in banishing him from his stunning residence in Harbingers Falls, complete with a state-of-the-art underground facility, he had not succeeded in chasing him to the far reaches of the planet.  He had been driven, instead, to Santa Ynez.

Terzini loathed Santa Ynez and all of its quaint shops and folksy inhabitants.  Others flocked to such places and adored the western-style architecture and the niceties exchanged with every person who passed along the narrow stretch of land that served as the main artery of the community.  The only reason he had selected such a ghastly location was because of its scarce population and the expansive land upon which he could develop.  With roughly four thousand four-hundred people in the area, few eyes were on him.   It was unlikely that he would be recognized.

He had selected a modern home set on twenty acres of semi-rural property.  The house boasted seven- thousand square feet in the main living space and an additional twelve-hundred feet in the guest quarters and gave Terzini ample room for his laboratory.  After brokering a deal several years earlier with sellers who had relocated to Austria, he had begun construction on his lab as soon as the deed was his.

He had maintained the home befitting his unique needs and taste unbeknownst to both Gabriel and Eugene.  For years, the house stood empty but at the ready for his occupancy.  Complete with all the amenities he required, he had contracted a company years earlier to renovate the guest suite to a laboratory.

His laboratory was vital to his residences as it was the place he spent most of his time.  And since his work area once existed as a guesthouse, it already had a bedroom for the infrequent times he elected to sleep.

The rest of the living space was impressive.  He appreciated the spaciousness and luxuriousness of it, though he had no use for the floor-to-ceiling windows in nearly every room, each offering a view of the land it was situated on.  He guessed other humans would enjoy the vista.  He, however, held little esteem for nature, least of all in a state as garish as California.

Looking around at his new research facility and all of its sophisticated equipment, he knew he outclassed all other humans, that they were lesser beings.  He knew he ought to belong to the new breed of beings he was creating, despite their disappointing performances of late.  First, Gabriel presented with a flaw, and then Eugene.  Eugene’s failure had been shocking.

Eugene had been defeated, a fact that had haunted Terzini in the days after his relocation to Santa Ynez.  He lived now because of the quick-thinking and talent of his maker, but had been beaten by Gabriel.  Gabriel had been designed for battle only not as deliberately as Eugene; he did not possess the inherent instinct or the training that Eugene maintained, yet still managed to adapt and best a trained killer.  Had Terzini not been present to rescue Eugene, he would have perished.

He had barely made it to his new facility with Eugene in time to save him.  His ferocious creation had retained a pulse, but it had been weak.  Once in the van, he had been submerged in Terzini’s unique development fluid in an enormous cistern to begin the process of healing.  He could have let Eugene die.   The thought had crossed his mind.  But cloning Eugene would have been far too precarious an undertaking.  Even for a geneticist as exceptional as he was, there would be no guarantee that the end result would be as perfect a predator as Eugene.  And to train another, possibly inferior fighter, would have taken too long.  Based solely upon practical, rational factors, he opted to save Eugene from Gabriel’s conquest.

Terzini briefly considered Eugene’s near-death at Gabriel’s hands a failure on his part but soon realized failure was not possible for someone as gifted and talented as he.  Eugene’s defeat was neither a failure nor a disappointment, but a testament to his genius.  Gabriel’s adaptation, his ability to trump Eugene’s formidable brawn with his intelligence, was a result of Terzini’s brilliance.  Gabriel was his most recent creation and therefore possessed his most recent improvements.  Those improvements were invaluable to his future project despite the evolution of sentimentality in Gabriel.

Gabriel was meant to be the future of humanity.  But he hadn’t guessed Gabriel would evolve beyond what he’d been capable of anticipating.  He’d predicted enlightened thinking, possibly even his development of telekinetic powers in the future.  He attributed any and all of Gabriel’s successes to his own genius, his ability to unlock and unleash areas of the brain heretofore unused.  What he did not anticipate was that Gabriel would fall in love despite modifications made in his temporal lobe and the deep limbic system of his brain that prohibited him from emotionality.

Months of experimentation and analysis revealed the reason for Gabriel’s flaw.  Terzini was reluctant to accept any responsibility for said flaw, but conceded that future creations would be developed with a greater sense of superiority, that Gabriel was far too humble, too modest.  Terzini had wanted him to blend into society, which had been a grave oversight on his part.  The purpose of future creations would not be to integrate, but to shun the humans that occupied the planet.  The new race would regard humanity with the same disdain human beings regard insects and rodents.  The thought of mating with one would be utterly repugnant, deviant.  The only species they would be attracted to and mate with would be ones he produced and at his discretion.

It had been extremely difficult coming up with the formula for his new creations, especially since his attention had been divided.   He needed to refocus his concentration and devote himself entirely to his new project.   But before he could do that another matter needed to be addressed.  He needed to dispose of Gabriel.

Gabriel’s existence was a constant threat to his body of work a threat that needed to be eradicated.  Dr.  Franklin Terzini needed to carefully root Gabriel out of hiding.  To do so, he had a plan, a plan he was certain would be effective at drawing Gabriel from his lair.

He had cloned Kevin, Chris and John, the three teenagers Eugene had killed in the woods of Harbingers Falls.  He had taken their corpses and used their DNA to replicate them with the assistance of his creation tank.  After extracting the necessary tissue, he had disposed of the bodies by cremation.  The three teenagers had been recreated for the sole purpose of returning to Harbingers Falls.  Their bodies had never found, therefore their return would not generate suspicion.

Rebirth and reintroduction to their peers had been the easiest part of the process for Terzini.  The re-creation process had proved far more daunting than he had anticipated.  When recreating them, he had been careful to not alter or augment their brains or make any changes that would have risked changes in appearance.  Such restraint had been challenging. Dr. Terzini was a man who recognized the need for improvement among humanity, and made it his mission to remedy it.

He had refrained from tampering with their cognitive processes but had taken the liberty of enhancing their muscular development by upgrading their fast-twitch responses and speeding their recovery time capacity.  The result was overall strength enhancement without any other modifications.  Strength enhancement was a necessary component of Terzini’s plan. The three teens needed to be strong enough and fast enough to crush Gabriel.

With three of them, equally matched in strength to Gabriel and outnumbering him, his demise was all but guaranteed.

The rebirth of Kevin, Chris and John had been successful.  Dr. Terzini had been pleasantly surprised to discover that when cloning a human being using their preexisting DNA as opposed to intermingling augmented genetic material it resulted in the preservation of the temporal lobe of the brain. With their temporal lobes identically replicated, their memories had been preserved as well as their appearances and personalities insofar as he could tell.  Outwardly, they were exactly as they had been.  Yet despite the seeming success of his endeavor, Terzini was reluctant to deem it a victory.  He was hesitant to trust that the three flawed creatures could carry out his plan by themselves.

With such distrust weighing heavily upon him, Terzini, ever the pragmatist, decided to enact an alternate plan; a contingency plan.

He paused and stroked his chin as he stood before a massive stainless-steel tank that occupied the far corner of his laboratory.  On impulse, he turned the large wheel affixed to it and began opening the container.  Through the thick, opaque fluid, he saw that Eugene’s arm moved slightly.  He knew it would not be long before his plan was set into motion.

His plan was to have the three teenage humans draw Gabriel out from where he hid.  He hoped Gabriel was not certain the three had been dead when he had seen them in the woods.  Uncertainty would pave the way for curiosity, a need to see for himself whether Kevin, Chris and John were, in fact, alive.  If all went as planned, Gabriel would return to Harbingers Falls and find more than just the three teens; he would find Eugene and meet, ultimately, with his demise.

Chapter 7

The unexpected return of Kevin, Chris and John sent shock waves throughout the school.  Their names were on everyone’s lips.  Melissa struggled to regroup after her initial shock at seeing them and felt as though she were in a nightmarish trance for the remainder of her day.  She existed in a daze, listening to her classmates go on and on about the astonishing reappearance of their beloved classmates.  She alternated between numbness and the persistent urge to vomit at every mention of their names.  Adding to her uneasy feeling was the fact that her name was invariably mentioned each time theirs was.  After all, everyone knew that she was the person who had claimed that they were dead, not merely missing.  Their return brought with it the return of weighted stares.  Fellow students stared in her direction again, regarding her with suspicious eyes; judgmental eyes. She felt as though the day could not end soon enough.

When finally it did, Melissa rode home with Daniella and Alexandra who also discussed the homecoming of the popular trio.

“Holy shit! Melissa, what the fuck is going on!” Alexandra said, echoing the sentiment of everyone in the car.

“This is insane. It’s just, crazy! All of it is crazy!” Daniella exclaimed.

“Melissa, I thought that you said that they were dead, that you saw their bodies, you said that freak that broke into my house killed them. I don’t understand what the fuck is going on,” Alexandra said struggling to stay calm.

A stunned silence befell Daniella’s typically lively carpool.

Within seconds, it ended, however. Alexandra turned in her seat to face Melissa who sat in the back seat.

“Well!” Alexandra began, her statement sounding like an accusation.

“Well what, are you asking me if I was making it up?”  Melissa countered as her anger began to rise.

“Dead people don’t just become, I don’t know, undead and go back to their normal lives,” Alexandra persisted.

“Don’t attack me!” Melissa fired back.  “I know what I saw. I didn’t stop and take their pulses while I was running for my life, if that’s what you want to know!”

“Then what made you so sure they were dead?” Alexandra asked coolly.

“Uh, the fact that Kevin’s head was crushed for one thing,” Melissa answered sharply.

“This doesn’t make any sense at all,” Alexandra added.

“What do you think is going on?”  Daniella asked.

“It has to have something to do with Terzini, I told you the crazy things that he was working on,” Melissa said.

Melissa had shared with her friends the nature of Dr. Franklin Terzini’s work; that he was a genius geneticist who experimented with human cloning.  Alexandra had seen Eugene and it became necessary for her to offer an explanation. She did not, however, include in her explanation one small detail: that Gabriel could be counted among Terzini’s experimental creations.

“Are you trying to tell me that you think this Terzini brought them back to life?”  Alexandra replied

“I don’t know what I’m trying to say Alex, I don’t have an explanation.  I just know what I saw, and they were dead.  Why are you acting like this?” Melissa asked.

“Look Melissa, I’m sorry all right.  I don’t want to sound like I’m attacking you.  I’m just totally freaked out and I want to know what is going on.”

“You don’t think that I do too?  I’m the one who is going to be considered a nut, or even worse, a liar.”

“Well, you’re going to have to just lay low until we figure out what’s going on.  Maybe they staged it to look like they were dead that night or something,” Alex said

“So you’re saying they created an elaborate hoax, and took off for five months just to make me look bad? That seems a little far-fetched,” Melissa said

“Oh, and this Terzini guy bringing them back from the dead seems more logical to you?” Alexandra mocked as they pulled in to Melissa’s driveway.

Melissa promptly climbed out of Daniella’s car and thanked her for the ride home.

“Oh and I’m not going to lay low,” Melissa stated.  “I’m still going to Greg’s party tonight.  There is no way I’m going to let them intimidate me, not this time.”

“Good, you shouldn’t,” Daniella said.

“Yeah fuck them; of course you should still go.”

“Don’t get me wrong I hope that they’re not there tonight.  But they’re not going to get me to lock myself in the house and hide.”

“Okay then we will pick you up at eight,” Daniella said excitedly.

“All right I’ll see you guys at eight,” Melissa said as she shut the car door and walked toward her house.

Melissa unlocked her front door and walked in. The familiar smell of home did little to ease her anxiety. Questions began to form in her mind. Would Kevin, Chris and John be at Greg’s party so soon after their mysterious return? If they came, would they approach her? Would there be a scene as there almost always was since their initial meeting?

As Melissa agonized over the answers to her questions, she busied herself with household chores. She began washing pots in the sink and loading the dishwasher with plates and glasses. When she had finished that task, she moved on the hamper and separated white, light and darkly colored clothes before running a load of towels.

When the rumble of the garage door interrupted her dinner preparations, Melissa realized she had lost track of time, and was thankful for it. Within seconds, she heard the door to the garage open and the predictable sounds of her father shuffling into the hallway.

“Hey Miss!” he called out.

“Hey Dad!” she replied.

She waited for the sound of work boots hitting the hallway floor before she inquired about his day.

“How was work?”

“It sucked like every other day. How was yours?”

“It sucked too, and oh yeah, Kevin Anderson, Chris Mace and John DeNardi showed up at school today.”

Melissa watched as her father’s stainless-steel coffee thermos nearly slipped from his hands and tumbled to the floor.  His eyes grew wide and his mouth fell agape.

“Yeah, I know. That’s exactly how I felt, still feel,” she commented on his astonished expression.

“What, I mean how?” her father stammered.  “Holy shit, Missy, I thought they were dead. You told me they were dead, that that psycho killed them.”

“And I told everyone else too, because I saw their mangled bodies. I heard their screams.”

As Melissa spoke, her father stared at her with confusion apparent in his every feature but intently, concernedly.  The sound of the doorbell interrupted their conversation. It rang once.  Then almost immediately it rang a second time exemplifying the impatience of whoever waited on the other side of the door.

“Who the hell is ringing the bell now?” her father asked. “Geez!  And the jerk is impatient too.  Okay, keep your shirt on!  I’m coming.”

Melissa shrugged, equally as confused as her father.

She watched as he answered the door only to find a police officer standing before him.

“Well, if it isn’t Chucky Miller,” her father stated as his frustration with the dual doorbell rings quickly segued into downright unfriendliness.  He did not bother to mask his dislike of the officer standing opposite him.

“That’s Officer Charles Miller,” the police officer replied puffing out his chest and emphasizing his rank. “And I’m here to see your daughter.”

Melissa watched as he father stiffened then asked, “For what reason?”

“I’m interested to see if there is anything about the statement she gave five months ago that she’d like to change seeing as how there are now three corpses going to school with her,” Officer Miller replied haughtily.

“Now hold on a second,” her father said heatedly. “She already gave her statement quite some time ago. I’m pretty sure her story will be the same.”

“I believe I asked to see your daughter, not you, Chris.”

“That’s Mr. Martin to you, son,” her father replied derisively.

Melissa’s heart pounded against her ribcage. She knew that it was not possible that Kevin, Chris and John could have survived.  She knew something else was going on, but she would never be able to tell the police what she thought without sounding like a crazy person.  She would not betray Gabriel even if she could get them to believe her.  Their reappearance, the whole scenario was a total mess. And now, it seemed her credibility was being called into question.

Without thinking, Melissa stepped out from the kitchen and blurted, “I told you what I saw and what happened.”

She did not temper her tone when she spoke to Officer Miller. She did not restrain her frustration at his implication. Under any other circumstances she would have spoken more respectfully, would have regarded a police officer with higher esteem. But Melissa had heard the name Chucky Miller spoken on more occasions than she cared to admit. She knew of his less-than-esteem-worthy past.

Charles “Chucky” Miller had been the neighborhood troublemaker when she was a child.  Years later, her father had hired Chucky to work for him in the produce department at the A&P, as a favor to his parents, a lovely couple whose only conceivable fault was their inability to see their son for what he really was. But Chucky had not lasted long and had been fired after just a few months.  Chucky had never forgiven her father for firing him, and neither did his parents.  Her father had been shocked to see him at the Harbingers Falls annual fall festival two years earlier donning a police officer’s uniform.  He had always assumed he would have extensive involvement with the police, just on the opposite end of the spectrum.

Now, as he stood before them accusatorily, the situation felt wrong to Melissa.

“Well Melissa, let me tell you what I think happened,” Officer Miller began but not before allowing his eyes to travel up and down her body and linger on her breasts. She felt her skin crawl as he continued, “I think you and this Gabriel guy hired someone to beat the shit out of Kevin and his friends. You know, a little revenge for what he allegedly did to you, but the thug got carried away and almost killed them. Then when the guy showed up at your house to collect, Gabriel shot him and took off.”

Melissa froze as Officer Charles Miller spoke irately, jabbing a finger animatedly all the while. Judging from his words and demeanor, he had already decided on what had happened; convinced himself that it was a fact rather than an opinion. And he wasn’t finished.

“I wonder, did he kill the ambulance driver, too? Where is he Miss Martin? Surely, you must know.”

Melissa did not have time to answer. Her father interjected.

“All right Chucky, that’s enough! It’s time for you to go! You were a punk when you worked for me and now you’re a punk with a badge. How that happened, I’ll never understand!”

She watched as, much to Officer Miller’s chagrin, her father abruptly shut the front door.

“I think that went well. How about you?” her father asked employing his usual sarcastic sense of humor.

Melissa did not respond verbally. Instead, she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, Missy, everything is going to be okay.”

“No dad, it won’t. I mean, after everything that happened to me and Gabriel because of Kevin and those guys and now Gabriel is gone and they’re back,” Melissa rambled, her mind thinking faster than her mouth could speak.

“Maybe Gabriel has some idea about what’s going on. Call him and ask him.”

“Dad, you know I can’t call him. He doesn’t even have a phone wherever it is he’s staying,” Melissa said, frustration lacing her every word.

“All right, calm down. When he calls you or texts you or whatever it is that you teenagers are doing with your cell phones, ask him.  There must be some sort of explanation for all this.”

Melissa wasn’t so sure about his last statement, but she was certain she wouldn’t be hearing from Gabriel anytime soon.

“That’s not going to happen,” she muttered.

“What’s not going to happen?” her father asked.

“Jeez Dad, you have hearing like a bat!”

“Well?”

“Nothing, Dad.”

“Don’t ‘nothing Dad’ me. Spill it.”

“There’s nothing to spill. That’s the problem,” she erupted. “Gabriel hasn’t called me in I don’t know how long. I have no idea where he is, or who he’s with. It’s like he’s gone for good, like everything he said to me was a lie–all the love stuff!”

“He said he loved you?” her father prickled.

“Yeah, whatever Dad, a boy loves me–or so I thought–but that’s not the point!”

“Yeah, it kind of is the point. Speaking of which, did you two, you know, umm when two people love each other, they want to share their love and express their love,” he fumbled.

“Gross Dad! Are you trying to have a conversation with me about the birds and bees now, seriously?”

“No. I mean, yes, well, kind of. I think you know what I’m trying to ask.”

“We didn’t okay.”

Melissa could see her father’s face relax along with the rest of his body, which had become visibly tense and intensified incrementally as he tried clumsily to ask if she and Gabriel had slept together.

“So you’re just sad because you miss him and think he’s not coming back not because you gave him something he can’t give back.”

Melissa stared at her father briefly before she rolled her eyes at him and retreated to her room.

He called up to her as she reached the top of the staircase.

“Love you, too Missy!”

She shut her door and immediately went to her bed. She stretched out on it and tried to wrap her mind around all that had transpired during her day so far. It had been surreal, nightmarish. Seeing Kevin, John and Chris at the end of the hallway, feeling her knees threaten to collapse beneath her had been more frightening than any nightmare she had ever had. They were dead. She was certain of it. She wished Gabriel would call her at that exact moment, willed the phone to ring, but it did not.

She rose from her bed and shuffled to her closet to set about picking out an outfit to wear to the party she had regrettably agreed to attend.

Chapter 8

Gabriel and Yoshi journeyed from Motuo County to Pai Village on foot. They traveled along ice- and snow-crusted trails, and endured cold that, though warmer than usual, blistered nevertheless. But Gabriel remained unbothered by the elements, or by the fact that he could no longer feel his feet.  He would not stop walking until they reached Pai Village.  Pai Village promised modern conveniences he hadn’t enjoyed in recent months.  Electricity, indoor plumbing, phone and Internet connection awaited him there.  Internet service was what connected him to the rest of the modern world, and to Melissa.

Thoughts of Melissa had kept him moving along frozen paths, and had kept his heart warm along the way. He fantasized about hearing her voice, and envisioned her smiling face as she spoke.  He had not had the privilege of hearing her voice in quite some time.  The weather had been too harsh, the conditions too dangerous for travel.  This particular trip had been unexpected but welcome.  He and Yoshi were headed for a local Internet café.  There, he would either call or message her depending on the time of their arrival.

After what felt like an eternity spent walking along a frozen jungle, they reached Pai Village.  Pai Village was a stark contrast to Motuo County.  Bustling with people and filled with modern shops, the area was thriving and lively.  Though he appreciated the energy of the village, he could not wait to get to the café.  He also did not like how the villagers stared at him and Yoshi, how those who roamed about the streets browsing in local shops took notice of them immediately. Their clothes and travel gear along with most elements of their appearance suggested rural heritage, and for that reason, neither of them blended in. But most people focused their attention on him rather than Yoshi. They eyed him from head to toe, scrutinized him intently. Passersby studied his attire, but their eyes invariably focused on his face, lingering on it longer than he was comfortable with. In the last five months, he had become accustomed to the treatment he received in Motuo County, how the villagers expressed appreciation of one another subtly and silently, respectfully. Such discretion on the part of the Monpa people allowed him to forget that his maker, Dr. Franklin Terzini, had endowed him with superior genes, that his construct was branded as superior. He cringed at his maker’s hubris, his narrowed scope of vision that allowed him to think only in absolutes: superior or inferior; subordinate or insubordinate; for Terzini, there was no in between. In Motuo, a member of the community was judged primarily by his or her contributions to the group, by his or her achievements. Whether it was the family they raised, the art they mastered or the animals they drove across the region, the Monpa people placed tertiary value on physical appearance. In fact, the majority of homes did not even possess any form of reflective glass. Gabriel respected their values. And he loathed his reflection.

As he walked through the heart of Pai and the area became more densely populated, he became increasingly uneasy. His face, deemed aesthetically perfect by Dr. Terzini, was a constant reminder of his plight, the never-ending question of his being. The bane of his existence rested in one question: was he, in fact, human? He had not been born of man and woman. He had not been conceived by conventional methods. He was the product of deception and thievery blended with genius, created without emotion to weed out what his maker condemned as “imperfections” in humanity. His advent was an offense to the highest deity religions prayed to. Gabriel was well aware of the circumstances. Yet, feeling had evolved within him.  A conscience developed in spite of being conditioned otherwise. He felt human by every definition of the word. But his origins continually plagued him, his worries exaggerated by the unwanted attention he received as he moved toward the Internet café on the corner.

“There it is,” Yoshi said excitedly. “I’m surprised you’re not running.”

“Believe me, I’d like to. But I don’t want to draw attention to us, you know. I want to blend.”

“Oh yeah, Gabriel, no one is paying any attention to us. We blend,” Yoshi replied sarcastically.

Gabriel turned to his friend and shoved him.

“Let’s not get started here, Gabriel, then we’ll really draw attention to ourselves,” Yoshi said returning a shove then gesturing to his otta.

Gabriel laughed. A trio of women turned and stared at them, then just at Gabriel. The women nudged one another and whispered then giggled. Gabriel did not understand what they said; their dialect was foreign to him.

Yoshi smirked and rolled his eyes as the women giggled and continued along.

“What was that all about?” Gabriel asked.

“They like the way you look,” Yoshi replied.

“Oh.”

“It’s not a bad thing, Gabriel. I thought Americans like it when others find them attractive.”

“I can’t speak for the population of an entire country, but I’d rather disappear in a group.”

“Good luck with that,” Yoshi said mockingly.

“You know Yoshi, when I first met you, you were much quieter. Now you’re a smartass as we say in America.”

“Smartass, huh? That’s a swearword, right? And it’s generally considered insulting if I am correct.”

“You are correct.”

Yoshi did not pursue a verbal response.  Rather, he smiled and erected his middle finger to Gabriel.

Gabriel laughed aloud then said, “Case in point, my friend.”

Gabriel and Yoshi opened the door to the Internet café and were met with bright overhead fluorescent lighting and over a dozen kiosks.  Each cubicle housed a desk, computer terminal and chair. For a small, timed usage fee, Gabriel was granted access to the outside world, to Melissa.

Yoshi seated himself in a booth and Gabriel occupied a stall right beside him. His hands trembled as the computer wheezed and sputtered to life. He would e-mail Melissa first and hope that she received it on her cell phone.  If she were available to talk, he would call her immediately from a landline phone.  He could not wait to talk to her, and hoped his timing was okay. But before he started typing, Yoshi tapped him on the shoulder.

“What the hell Yoshi?  I’m in the middle of something here! What is so important?” he said sharply.

“Check the Harbingers Herald archives.  That’s what’s so important,” Yoshi replied levelly.

Gabriel did not know why, but he felt his heart sink in his chest.  He often scanned the Harbingers Herald archives, the local newspaper of Harbinger Falls, before they left the cafe for stories that might hold significance to him; stories that suggested Terzini had resurfaced.

As he skimmed the headlines, one from several days earlier caused his breath to catch in his chest. He blinked several times, certain that his eyes had somehow deceived him.  But they had not.  The words raged impossibly from the Harbingers Herald website.  “LOCAL TEENS MAKE DRAMATIC RETURN” the front page from the previous day read. Below it was a picture of Kevin Anderson, Chris Mace and John DeNardi.

Gabriel felt his mouth go dry. He tried to swallow but could not. The back of his throat blazed. The room began to spin. He struggled to regain his composure, and focus on the words before him.

The article continued and explained how three local teens, all celebrated athletes, from Harbingers High School had disappeared mysteriously and were believed dead according to an eyewitness statement. It stated that, although no bodies were ever recovered, the circumstances of their disappearance had been suspicious and that the police department, along with the entire town had feared for Kevin, Chris and John’s safety and well-being.  In an interview with the Harbingers Herald reporter, the three had claimed to have been spending time abroad.  They had stated that they had made an impulsive decision to travel overseas together without bothering to inform their parents, friends or family.  In the interview, they had apologized profusely for causing worry to those closest to them.

Gabriel’s mind reeled as he stared at the monitor.  What he was reading seemed impossible. He had seen their corpses firsthand after Eugene had attacked them. He had been running for his life and hadn’t had the time to stop and inspect their bodies.  But judging from the condition of the bodies he’d glimpsed, they had been dead. Their bodies had been so badly beaten, so dreadfully positioned, that survival had seemed impossible.  They had been dead. Gabriel had been certain of it.

As he quickly searched his mind and replayed the scene in the woods from five months earlier, no doubt had existed then that Kevin, Chris and John had been killed.  But now, he hesitated.  Uncertainty began to invade his thoughts.  A new idea began to present itself, an idea that was more stirring than three teenagers surviving an attack and deciding to travel abroad.  He began to worry that Dr. Franklin Terzini was responsible for their dramatic return.

The room began to spin again.  Thoughts raced through his mind, disjointed and unclear.  Terzini’s possible involvement suggested dire circumstances. It also meant that Terzini had not upheld his end of their agreement.  He began to doubt what he’d seen in the woods behind Harbingers High School five months earlier.  As far as he had known, Terzini had not had the ability to resurrect someone from death; he could only form them from their most basic building blocks.  Furthermore, if Kevin Chris and John were re-creations, Terzini would have had to have taken their bodies from the woods unassisted.  Too many questions existed, too much doubt abounded surrounding that fateful fall night.  He suddenly realized it would be necessary for him to see for himself whether their return was as they had stated in their interview, or if something far worse had happened.

A sharp pain in Gabriel’s hand distracted him, forced him to look away from the computer monitor.  He had been unconsciously gripping the desk with such pressure that the flimsy corrugated wood began to splinter and had speared his hand with one of its jagged shards. He glanced down and noticed that a rivulet of red trickled from his hand.  His hand smarted and bled, but he ignored it. He did not waste time dwelling on his bloodied hand, a more important matter pressed.  He needed to read on.

Gabriel frantically scrolled through the archive, traveling back in time farther and farther until he reached November of that year. He scanned several articles frantically searching for one in particular.  He stopped when he found the article concerning the ambulance explosion the day he left in late November. The article stated that the bodies of two paramedics had been recovered. Though burned beyond visual identification, their dental records had indicated that they were Robert Hernandez and Joseph McCauley. The body of the unidentified patient they had been transporting had never been recovered; he had been presumed dead.

The details of the patient’s condition were topped by the sensational nature of the accident, and as a footnote, the piece commented on the lives, careers and contributions of the paramedics. Gabriel did not need to read the name of the patient in the ambulance that exploded. He knew it had been Eugene, that it had not been a coincidence his body had never been found and that the drivers were dead. He had always assumed that Terzini had been responsible for the accident, that he had taken Eugene’s body to conceal his research.  He just never understood how such a feat had been possible, and why two men had had to die in the process.  If Terzini had been capable of taking Eugene’s body, then he would have been capable of finding a way to take Kevin, Chris and John’s bodies as well.

Staring at the article from November, nothing made sense in his mind. The timeline, the ambulance explosion, the disappearance of the patient, the return of Kevin and his friends, nothing added up. Melissa’s safety could no longer be guaranteed.  She was in danger.

Trembling with rage, he rose from his workstation and tapped Yoshi’s shoulder. Yoshi removed his headphones and turned to face Gabriel. His eyes registered understanding in them.

“Melissa is in danger, I need to go,” Gabriel said levelly.

“We will go then,” Yoshi said.

“You’re not going with me to America.”

“You’re not going without me. You’ll need all the help you can get. I just need to tell my family.”

“There is no time to return and tell your family, Yoshi.  I have to leave now.”

“I see,” Yoshi stated solemnly and hesitated.

“You go back. Go be with your family. This is not your fight, Yoshi.”

“If it is your fight, then it is mine as well.”

“No Yoshi. This is not a sparring match. This is real. There is a good chance you will never return here alive. You have a family who needs you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Yoshi attempted sarcasm.  “As you are well aware, I am a much better fighter than you.  I trained you, remember.  So I’ll come back to Motuo County when I’m ready.  Furthermore, you will not be risking my life.  I’m going with you because you need my help and we are brothers.”

“Yoshi, that’s nice but,” Gabriel began.

“But nothing,” Yoshi interrupted. “And don’t go getting all misty-eyed on me, Mrs. James.  I said I’m going, so I’m going. End of discussion. We’ll go to America and end this once and for all. Then you can show me the skyscrapers and roads paved in gold as planned.”

“Fine, but we need to leave now.”

Chapter 9

Eugene opened his eyes but saw nothing, just a murky film shrouding his field of vision. He blinked to clear the coating and discovered his efforts were ineffective, useless.  Blinded, he began to panic, tried to breathe but felt his mouth fill with coagulated matter. He immediately sought to move his arms, but his movement was met with resistance, with density. His limbs pushed against a thick substance. Thicker than water, the fluid he was suspended in was viscous but parted with little exertion on his behalf. As soon as he realized he could easily move against it, that his strength was sufficient to do so, he brought his hands to his chest where he remembered bloodied chasms to be. There were none. His body was intact.

Rage immediately washed over Eugene, drowned him. Instantaneous images flashed in his mind’s eye. Vivid memories began rushing back. Gabriel’s face appeared over and over, flooding him with anger so pure, so unadulterated, he struggled to name it, doubted he had ever experienced it before. Tremors racked his body uncontrollably. He made no effort to resist them, or restrain them.

Gabriel James, his maker’s beloved creation, had shot him in Melissa Martin’s home. He remembered feeling the bullets blast against his skin, exploding into his flesh. He fought and clung to life, determined to complete the coveted task of murdering Gabriel. He had not accomplished that which Terzini had expected of him. He had failed.

Eugene felt his blood race through his veins fueled by vitriol and thunder in his ears. Failure was foreign to him, unheard of. Sightless and breathless, he thrashed and flailed, felt metal walls all around him. Balling his massive fists, he found a hard, slightly rounded surface and began pounding. He struck and hammered until he felt it buckle beneath his might. The harder he hit the more incensed he became. He kicked and punched until he felt the walls around him yield.

As the structure of his containment surrendered, a light unexpectedly appeared. A crescent shaped sliver appeared at first, then the brightness grew quickly and the gelatinous substance began to drain.

He gasped for breath, ravenously inhaling oxygen as a bespectacled face appeared before his.

Helmeted with thick, black hair, the face was haggard but recognizable: Dr. Franklin Terzini.

“Hello Eugene,” his maker said.

“Where am I?” Eugene demanded.

“You’re safe. Don’t worry.”

“Where am I?” Eugene growled.

“You’re in California, the land of eternal sunshine. And it would behoove you to calm down. You do not want to destroy the very equipment that has kept you alive the last five months, do you?”

Eugene fought to calm himself, to harness the tempestuous ire he felt bubbling within him. He looked around and recognized his surroundings. He was situated in a large, steel tubular container identical to the one that facilitated his initial development. The thick, milky fluid that had just drained was an augmented version of amniotic fluid Dr. Terzini had created.

“Kept me alive? I wasn’t dead?” Eugene heard himself ask incredulously.

“No, Eugene. You almost died,” Terzini began. “And to think, Gabriel, along with the help of a few lowly human beings, nearly killed you. It’s hard to believe, I know,” Terzini goaded.

His maker shook his head from side to in exaggerated dissatisfaction before adding, “So disappointing.  I expected so much more from you, Eugene.”

Eugene felt the venom seethe within him and threaten to brim. He exercised the modicum of restraint he possessed and reined in the compelling urge to resume pounding his enormous fists against the cylinder, pummel it until it collapsed, surrendered to his will. His breathing became short and shallow again. He strove to regulate it, to conceal from Terzini the burning hate he experienced unceasingly.

“Relax, Eugene, I’ll have you out of there in a few moments; just be patient. I know it’s tight in there,” Terzini coached.

It was evident his maker mistook his anger for physical discomfort with confinement.  Eugene relaxed marginally.

“Fortunately, I was able to save you before you were hauled off to some inferior hospital only to be treated by an incompetent, sleep-deprived intern.”

“How did you do it?” Eugene asked.

Terzini was deep in thought, thinking out loud.

“I suppose I could have let you go.  I am certain you would have died.  But then I would have been forced to start over–the creation process, the training, the education–it would have taken so much time.  This way was not nearly as neat, but easier nevertheless.”

“I’ve been in here for five months?” Eugene questioned.

“Yes, Eugene.  You spent five months submerged in the highest quality amniotic fluid I have ever fashioned.  I had to tailor it to your specific needs.  You required greater amounts of growth hormone for healing those nasty wounds Gabriel and his little friends caused,” Terzini pushed.

“I will deal with them,” Eugene promised.

“Yes, yes, Eugene. I’ve heard that from you before.  Of course, if you had dealt with them as I asked you to, this never would have happened.  We wouldn’t be having this discussion,” Terzini reminded him.

Eugene felt his rage mingle with a new emotion: shame.  It wasn’t enough that Gabriel had been the one chosen to transform humanity, now he had succeeded in disgracing him as well.  He inhaled deeply to push back his rising bile, instantly shaking off the fleeting feelings of indignity and replacing it with rancor.

“Yes, Dr. Terzini, you’re right. If I had killed Gabriel and Melissa as planned, this would not have happened,” Eugene agreed and gestured to his surroundings.

“Well, as long as we understand each other,” Terzini said levelly. “Let’s get you out of there.”

Eugene watched as Dr. Terzini began turning a large, steel wheel affixed to the cistern.  Little by little, the reservoir opened lengthwise.   When it had parted sufficiently, Eugene swung his legs out and placed his feet on the concrete floor below.  He leaned forward to stand and was shocked to discover that his lower half was capable of bearing the totality of his weight.  His knees did not collapse, his ankles did not crumple.  His legs felt strong and sturdy.

“You seem fine, Eugene. How do you feel?” Terzini asked.

“I am myself.”

“Do you feel any weakness at all, or dizziness?”

“No. I feel strong, stronger than ever,” Eugene replied as he stretched and flexed his formidable arms.

“Excellent, I have a plan that will allow you to redeem yourself, Eugene; a plan that would give you the opportunity to dispose of Gabriel once and for all.”

“I’m listening.”

“I have reproduced Kevin Anderson, Chris Mace and John DeNardi, the three boys you murdered in the woods in Harbingers Falls.”

Eugene was careful to keep his facial expression neutral despite the outrage and incredulity he experienced.  He could not fathom a suitable explanation for time spent, resources, and above all, the remarkable talent of his maker, expended to recreate three contemptible teenage humans.  He tensed every muscle in his face in an effort to abstain from twisting it into a mask of rage.

Through taught lips he asked, “Why would you do that?”

“Are you questioning me Eugene?”

He felt as though he would explode.  Though it went against the indoctrination of his maker, instilled at his inception, Eugene bristled at the condescension in Terzini’s voice, the arrogant and accusatory tone.   But he knew he needed to guard his resentment and judiciously choose his words as well as his own tone of voice.  He could not risk inflaming his maker; he could not risk termination.

“No, I’m merely wondering the reason for resurrecting three useless humans.”

“There is a reason for everything I do, as you very well know.  Gabriel has threatened to expose me if any harm comes to his pathetic little girlfriend.  To ensure her safety he has left her and moved to some unknown location.  I have recreated the three teenagers and sent them back to Harbingers Falls. Their return will get Gabriel’s attention, wherever he’s hiding and draw him back.  After all, he believes that they are dead, and will suspect that I have a hand in it.  When he returns to protect her, you will be there and kill them both.  Afterward, you will also need to dispose of the three clones; we cannot leave any loose ends.”

“I won’t disappoint you again.” Eugene stated.  The explanation had pleased him by offering opportunity to do what he did best, to kill.  Excitement replaced offense.  He found himself barely able to contain his eagerness at the prospect of murdering Gabriel and Melissa, as well as the three re-creations.

“You will need to be careful; I have augmented their physical prowess and implemented a new method I’ve been working on. They were infused intravenously during their development in the tank with various hormone combinations to heighten their fast-twitch responses and muscle tissue production. The serum acts as a cleaner, more sophisticated anabolic steroid.”

“So they will be stronger and faster than normal humans?” Eugene asked carefully concealing that the added challenge excited him further

“Yes, Eugene, they will, I thought it was important that if they had the opportunity to dispose of Gabriel themselves they would not find themselves at a disadvantage and fail. There appears to be a problem though, the boys seemed far more motivated than I expected. I am extremely concerned about their mental stability.  Identically cloning ordinary humans without improving their mental capacity is not something I have ever had reason to experiment with.  Until now it would have been a waste of time, my objective as you know has always been to improve mankind, not recreate its flawed beings.  I’m concerned that their newfound strength and agility, combined with their fragile mental state could prove problematic. The sooner you return to Harbingers Falls to monitor the situation, the better.”

“So the plan is for me to babysit three teenage boys, and wait for Gabriel?”

“You can think of it any way you like, though given your recent performance, babysitting would not be an unsuitable assignment for you.”

Eugene stared angrily at Terzini; the insults were becoming increasingly difficult to endure and threatened to edge out his growing anticipation of sanctioned murder.  Terzini seemed determined to test his innate inability to lash out at his maker verbally or physically.  His makers words incensed him despite the truth they maintained, Eugene had failed him.

“I will complete my task this time, Dr. Terzini. You have my word,” Eugene promised.

“You had better, Eugene. I will not tolerate failure a second time,” Terzini concluded and began walking toward a reinforced door that led outside. The clacking of his heeled dress shoes stopped abruptly as he paused and looked over his shoulder to add, “There is a Hummer in the garage. I would leave for Harbingers Falls as soon as possible if I were you.”

His comment was not a suggestion, it was an order. Eugene immediately moved to an empty computer workstation and began searching for the most direct route from California to Harbingers Falls.

Chapter 10

The weekend had passed fast, faster than Melissa would have liked. She had not been in a hurry to return to school, had not been looking forward to seeing Kevin, John and Chris roaming the halls of Harbingers High School once again.  It had begun on Friday afternoon with an unexpected and unpleasant visit from Officer Miller.  That visit, combined with the anticipation leading up to a party at a classmate’s house, had thoroughly unnerved her and set an unfortunate tone for the remaining two days before a new school week began.

Friday night had been spent with Alexandra and Daniella at Greg’s party avoiding any form of interaction with Kevin, John and Chris. Eric had rejoined them as soon as they’d arrived. Just as Kevin’s many other followers aligned with him, Eric, also resumed his role as the fourth in their nasty quartet.

She noticed how their arrival at Greg’s house generated a commotion similar to a famous boy band arriving on a red carpet. Everyone seemed intent upon making some form of contact with them.  Wide-eyed and adoring, her classmates approached Kevin and his crew with awe and admiration that was as unnerving as it was nauseating.  She watched as the foursome set about chatting and socializing with their adoring peers.

Kevin and his group had immediately established their presence, confirmed their authority.  They worked the party, doing nothing short of signing autographs; they shook hands, fist-pounded and high-fived their way through the crowds. To avoid contact with them, Melissa would shepherd Daniella and Alexandra to another room just as Kevin, John, Chris and Eric moved into a room with their followers in tow. Each time she glanced in their direction to signal it was time to leave, Eric’s eyes had met hers.

He’d stared at her with intensity she had found truly disconcerting. She did not bother to tell her friends, make them aware of her discomfort and desire to leave. She didn’t want to ruin their evening. She simply continued to find excuses to leave every room they entered.

As a result, the evening unfolded like an elaborate game of hide-and-seek, only she experienced no form enjoyment in playing as she assumed the role of the player who was continually pursued. In fact, she recalled that hunted felt like a far more appropriate word for what had occurred.

Each moment she had spent narrowly escaping a confrontation with Kevin and his friends had crept at a cruel and sluggish pace. Petty and pigheaded, time had refused to comply with her fevered need to leave.

When finally the moment did arrive and Melissa had left the party, she’d felt as though she’d been liberated from imprisonment. She nearly danced out of the front door smiling, until she caught a glimpse of a familiar set of eyes boring through the void in her direction. As she met Eric’s gaze, she sensed something more than whatever concentrated emotion he sought to psychically direct toward her. There was genuine urgency in his stare, desperation even.

Melissa could only speculate about what encouraged such intensity, especially since Eric had all but vanished after Kevin, Chris and John’s disappearance, once his friends were no longer staples of everyday life at Harbinger High School. He had vanished, more completely than even she had, into the backdrop of the student population. He hadn’t spoken to her or so much as looked her way in quite some time.

After months of silence, Eric seemed to reappear as if resurrected from the bottomless depths of obscurity he’d concealed himself in. Melissa found it curious how he appeared from the oblivion reenergized, readied, and oddly intent upon her. He immediately fell in step with Kevin, Chris and John as if he, too, returned from the dead.

For five months, she had enjoyed his absence. It had made her life slightly more tolerable in the wake of all that had happened. But with his return, unrest resumed.

On Friday night, he stepped out from the shadows he’d hidden in and made plain his latent feelings toward her. He had glowered so intensely, unsettlingly, Melissa felt the need to avoid him altogether. She couldn’t quite place the look he wore on his face, was reluctant to name it, though she’d had a fair guess at what likely fueled it. At the party, she’d wondered whether it was an inherent need to complete unfinished business between them, and whether Kevin, Chis and John’s return prompted Eric’s newfound boldness.  After all, without the support of his friends, he hadn’t had the protection and motivation necessary to seek retribution.

As Melissa stood in the hallway of Harbingers High School and briefly relived the lowlights of her weekend, Eric’s eyes continued to haunt her. Many questions arose in her mind. Was he sorry for what he had done? She highly doubted he was. Was it pure malevolence she saw in his eyes? She deemed that far more plausible. She guessed his focus on her was born of anger, of hatred, and that he intended to complete whatever torturous payback he felt she deserved. She would likely bypass social purgatory altogether and be cast into social hell instead, unless he was planning something far worse.

A shiver slithered down the length of Melissa’s spine before she opened her locker and began collecting her textbooks. As she fumbled with her belongings, she heard footsteps approach. They advanced quickly, with purpose. She immediately worried that whoever advanced was doing so hurriedly, to surprise her, catch her off-guard.

Her heart began to race and a familiar sense of dread filled her. She quickly stuffed her books in her backpack and slammed her locker shut. She turned, fully prepared to square off with the hasty individual who was within her reach. She looked up, dizzied by anxiety with vision partly blurred by eyes moistened from concern only to see Alexandra standing before her.

“Ugh, I have trapped gas,” Alexandra complained as she patted her chest and screwed up her exquisite features. “That’s the last time I’m getting a breakfast burrito.”

Relief washed over Melissa like rain on a hot summer day. She relaxed, found herself smiling and shaking her head.

“You said that last time,” Melissa reminded. “And the time before that. And the time before that one as well.”

“All right, all right! I get it. Save the lecture! I’m in pain here. Who cares if I get another one ever again?”

“Um, you should. But that’s just a guess,” Melissa said jokingly.

Alexandra belched loudly.

“Ah, finally,” she said, relief lacing her words. “Whoa. I feel so much better now.”

“Okay. Glad to hear it. By the way, where’s Daniella?” she asked.

“Daniella said she’d catch up with us later,” Alexandra replied.

Before Melissa was able ask another question, Eric rushed toward her, his face etched in stone. With his jaw set, his brow furrowed and his lips pressed to a line that bordered on frowning, Melissa braced for hostile words. The closer he loomed, the more terrified she became.

“What the hell is his problem?” Alexandra asked, not realizing he was looking directly at Melissa.

“I’m not sure, but I think it has something to do with me.”

“The fuck it does! You’re not going through this shit anymore,” Alexandra said heatedly.

Eric was upon them, his posture tense, threatening.

“Melissa, I need to talk to you,” he said tersely.

“Get the hell out of here, Eric,” Alexandra spat.

He did not turn to look at Alexandra, did not even respond. He behaved as though he did not hear her.

“Please Melissa, I need to speak with you; alone.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Eric,” Melissa heard herself say as her legs threatened to give way beneath her.

“You don’t understand. It’s not like that,” Eric stressed.

“Not like what, Eric? Not like you’re gonna tackle her in the woods? Or slap her?” Alexandra hissed.

Melissa opened her mouth to speak, but the words were lost one her lips when she looked up to see Kevin rounding the corner, with Chris and John flanking him, headed straight toward her.

Suddenly, her heart thundered in her ears, racing dangerously. Her stomach churned violently, her breakfast in danger of expulsion. Shaking and nauseated, Melissa stepped back and began to turn from Kevin.

“Where are you going in such a hurry, Melissa?” Kevin taunted and smiled revealing the singular indent in his right cheek.

“I would hate to think you’re leaving because of me,” he continued.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alexandra urged tugging at Melissa.

“She’s a big girl, Alex. Let her fight her own battles,” Kevin ordered.

Melissa leaned back and whispered to Alexandra, “Go get Arlene. Hurry.”

Arlene Cardwell, a retired corrections officer and current hall monitor was a no-nonsense enforcer of the rules. And she was not a fan of Kevin Anderson, living or dead.

“I’ll be back with help,” Alexandra promised. “This bullshit is not starting again.”

Melissa pushed forward.

“I’d love to stay and chat Kevin, but I have to get to class,” she attempted.

“Not so fast, bitch,” he spat. “We’re not finished here. In fact, we haven’t even begun.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” she asked, though she feared she already knew the answer.

“It means now that we’re back, things are going to be bad for you; unimaginably bad.”

“What?” she asked incredulously as she felt the world spin on its axis.

“And soon, your little pretty boy will be back to save you and we’re gonna finish him off.”

“No, no, no,” she heard herself say.

“Oh yes. And when we’re finished with him, we’ll have plenty of time to entertain ourselves with you,” he said and licked his lips.  And then he leaned toward her and whispered with his lips nearly touching her ear, “When the three us finish having our fun with you, were finally going to fucking kill you.”

Melissa did not remember fainting. She did not remember dropping her bag or hitting the cold, hard floor. She recalled seeing Kevin Anderson’s face haloed by the florescent overhead lighting, his sandy blond hair, expertly styled as usual, his deep brown eyes generously fringed with dark blond lashes and his gleaming white teeth. She recounted how contradictory it seemed, how incongruous it was, that he should retain such an innocent, angelic appearance while he spewed such venomous words. His full lips stretched across his bleached teeth seemed out of place, as inappropriate as a Ken doll manufactured as Jack the Ripper. His exterior was not representative of his interior. That was the last coherent thought she had before the world took on a nightmarish quality, eddying and swirling in a dizzying whirl of sounds and colors; And then, darkness.

Chapter 11

Eugene drove along the endless stretch of highway, oblivious of the monotony of travel, until an urge to kill awakened him from his slumberous state.  Five months of inactivity had left him with a vague sense of fogginess, of digression from his true purpose.  He was hesitant to precisely place what he was experiencing, but was relieved by the wonted and easily identifiable impulse to murder.

No matter how strong the need to kill pressed, however, the unnamed feeling pressed as well.  It inflamed him beyond explanation to reflect upon sensations that stirred within him beyond his yearning for bloodshed.  Possessing emotion was a useless attribute unique to humans; he deemed pondering emotions more futile than humans themselves, as well as being an activity overindulged in.  Nevertheless, for the purpose of identification, Eugene considered the feeling that threatened to ruin the realization of his hateful reverie.

As he did so, he reached a shocking conclusion.  The sensation he was experiencing was self-doubt.  Designed free of the burden of emotion, he resisted the revelation at first, refused to concede to such a pedestrian sentiment.  After all, a superior being like him did not feel anything profoundly beyond hate, least of all insecurity.  In the interest of preserving the perfection of his single-emotion capacity he decided that insecurity threatened to hinder his potential performance and warranted immediate examination.  He scrutinized the events before his five-month hiatus and immediately identified the culprit of his uncertainty: Gabriel.

Gabriel James, the ever-present thorn in his side, was the reason he doubted himself.  Gabriel had surprised him with his girlfriend, Melissa, who had unexpectedly made violent use of a kitchen knife, and her shotgun-wielding father.  Both of them had joined forces with his nemesis and coordinated an attack.  Neither Gabriel nor the pair of humans was capable of defeating him on their own.  They had needed to arm themselves and unite to even pose a challenge.  They had gotten lucky.

Eugene allowed a bitter chuckle to escape him, found the pathetic trio’s victory unimpressive, laughable.  Though their uninspiring conquest was just that, it had succeeded in putting him out of commission for an unacceptably long duration.  Being confined to a steel creation tank, unable to do what he excelled at, for five long months had caused him to question his abilities.  He worried his razor-sharp skills had been dulled.  Fretting over his aptitude was unacceptable and a waste of time, time that needed to be spent gaining ground and getting closer to Gabriel.

He determined that the best way to remedy needless worry was to reassure himself of his unique talent. He needed to prove to himself that he could perform at the same stratospheric level he’d always maintained.  He needed to kill, soon, to confirm his competence.

Healing in his maker’s augmented version of amniotic fluid had served its purpose; he felt strong, but unmotivated until the present.

A fresh wave of wrath surged through him.  He would kill again and redeem himself.  He would kill Gabriel and Melissa, of that he was certain.  But in the meantime, a practice exercise designed to sharpen his skill and bolster his confidence was necessary.  A training drill involving multiple murders would serve both purposes.

Under normal circumstances, unsanctioned murder was forbidden by his maker.  Eugene seldom disobeyed his maker’s edicts.  However, the nature of his predicament demanded revision to the rules in place, they demanded defiance.  Continuous training had been an integral part of his development and remained a crucial component in maintaining his advantage over humanity.  His DNA necessitated that he engage in regular hunting; therefore killing without orders from Terzini could not be considered wrong given the circumstances.  His unofficial drill was an essential step in readying himself for his most important task: killing Gabriel and Melissa.

Of course, he would not allow himself to diverge from his most momentous undertaking.  His mission would remain on schedule.  He would merely prepare along the way.

Anticipation overcame Eugene.  He felt obliged to answer the call to kill; he needed to act and immediately formulated a plan.  Months of rejuvenation had left him with a thirst that needed to be satiated; he hadn’t realized its urgency until the root cause of his lethargy was identified.

Behind the wheel of his behemoth Hummer H1 Alpha, a violent tremor racked his body.  His grip on the steering wheel tightened as the wrath he longed for finally simmered and smoldered within.  Indecision melted away and rage replaced it.  He had many miles to travel before reaching Harbingers Falls and knew that such a distance would be impossible to close if he did not kill.  The intrinsic need to pursue and conquer prey was woven into the fabric of his being; carnage was more than a simple desire for him.  It beckoned him like a lustful lover and did not dismiss him until its need was met.

Gripped by bloodlust, he pulled off the highway at the next exit and searched for a residential neighborhood.  Densely populated areas composed of single-family living units invariably possessed wireless network technology within them.  Wi-Fi, as it was commonly referred to was available in public domains such as coffee bars, bookstores and delicatessens, but Eugene had no interest in conducting research in a public place among dreadful humans.  Instead he drove, navigating the stop-sign littered streets of a neighborhood filled with oversized homes set on too-small lots.  He parked between two willow trees, a clearly undesirable place to park for most as its sagging branches all but covered any vehicle beneath it, and activated an app he purchased from an app store named WebGen.  The application required that he type in the name of local wireless network providers first before several codes appeared. He selected codes at random until one granted him Wi-Fi access.

Once properly locked in and logged on, he started searching for criminal activity between his current location and Harbingers Falls. He sought criminal activity in surrounding states, specifically those where the suspects or assailants had been identified in some way. He planned to target criminals because of their ineffectual function in society; the police would not bother wasting a tremendous amount of time or taxpayer dollars searching for their slayer. They would likely assume the deaths of delinquents as retaliatory, a drug deal gone awry or revenge for wrongdoings. Regardless, he was confident he would be doing the state a service by disposing of its offenders.

As he perused various sites concerning useless factions of equally useless humans, he happened upon a particularly active and misguided group responsible for several incidents in the neighboring state of Pennsylvania. They called themselves white supremacists, a term he deemed positively absurd. The basic tenets of their membership stated that they expressly believed they were superior to all others racial and religious groups and therefore entitled to dominate them.

As he narrowed his search, he learned that a local chapter of the neo-Nazi group had been orchestrating violent attacks on people who possessed deeper shades of pigmentation than themselves and those who worshipped differently. Eugene decided he would visit one of their local haunts. In fact, he needed to do so. No one would miss the bigoted miscreants, not even their kin who they likely sought to copulate with in order to preserve what they believed to be their true Aryan bloodlines.

Eugene felt the corners of his mouth twist, bearing his lethally pointed incisors. He pulled them downward and suppressed a grimace that would likely startle fragile-minded and easily frightened humans.

He focused his thoughts instead on slaughtering the beings who proudly assumed membership in an elitist club. He thought about the irony contained within such membership, how such lowly creatures could actually believe themselves better than others. No one particular group within the set of humanity could boast bragging rights; they were all inferior beings.

Anticipation swelled within him. He began to tremble, barely able to contain his agitation, his eagerness. He would find a motel and rest for the afternoon before training exercises began that evening at a known hangout of the neo-Nazi gang that was believed responsible for many of the violent crimes committed in their neighborhood.

He started his car and pulled out of concealment then proceeded down the tree-lined lane.  He crossed several similar streets until he reached a main thoroughfare.  He continued until he found a shabby-looking, no-name motel with two cars parked in front. He quickly turned in to the lot, climbed out of his vehicle and entered the motel office.

After a brief encounter with an elderly man wearing the thickest eyeglass lenses he’d ever seen, Eugene procured a room at the far corner of the L-shaped outfit. He visited the vending machine and bought two sandwiches with questionable-looking meat and cheese inside and two colas before retiring to his room. He needed to rest before his much-anticipated pursuit commenced. And according to his research, he would be pursuing quarry accustomed to violence.

His insides trilled at the thought of toying with adversaries familiarized with brutality and savagery. They made for a more interesting experience. Though his aggression invariably trumped theirs with ease, it was still far more exciting when victims offered a fight.

He wrestled the urge to leave without delay and murder them in broad daylight, but reconsidered the ramifications of such actions. Terzini would be less than pleased. Instead, he ate his sandwiches and drank his colas and soothed himself into a vitriol-filled trance for the next four hours.

Once the sun had set and the earth was blanketed in darkness, he roused himself from his meditation and prepared for his expedition.

Chapter 12

The faceless man had begun his journey, but hadn’t progressed in several days. His attention had been diverted. He had been watching someone of particular interest to him.

He had found her by accident. Wandering through a wooded area on the outskirts of a small town in Pennsylvania, he had heard a sweet, melodious voice. He had never heard a sound so inviting, so enchanting. Drawn to it, he had felt compelled to follow it, to find the source of the captivating sound.

And he did.

As he expertly navigated a labyrinth of low-growing weeds and bramble, the voice began to sing a song about a farmer who had a dog unfortunately named Bingo. He had never heard such a song but was mesmerized by it. He had been so enthralled by the lyrics and intonation that the underbrush chafing at the delicate skin of his legs was numbed.

Once he had arrived at a clearing, the sight he had beheld left him breathless.

He was greeted by a field of plastic and metal arranged interestingly in an array of primary colors. Brightly painted and gleaming, each piece of equipment looked inviting. Chutes, some curved and some straight, sloped down from ladders in a variety of heights. U-shaped slabs of brilliant rubber dangled from chains enveloped in rubber tubing. Miniature horses and rocket ships wobbled precariously from large springs that emerged from the grass like bouncy blossoms.

The faceless man had felt excitement well up inside of him, brimming and teeming like carbonated bubbles. At that moment, he had wanted nothing more than to climb over the short, chain-linked fence that separated him from the colorful wonderland and discover the purpose of each piece of apparatus.

Just as he had raised a formidable foot to the top of the fence, movement beyond the playground had halted him. He had remained perfectly still, had waited to see what stirred.

And then he saw her.

Bathed in the ethereal glow of dusk, she had emerged from a haloed door and floated across a small patch of grass to a network of ropes held together by a pulley. She had held in her hands a large, rectangular piece of paper with over a dozen brightly colored handprints on it and began to affix it with clothespins. Once the paper had been properly hung, she stepped back to admire the shiny marks.

The faceless man had gasped then struggled to exhale, sheer delight held him captive, spellbound, as her lips spread slightly at first, then so much so that her cheeks formed near-perfect circles on either side of her face. He had found her breathtaking.

Much smaller in stature than he with thin, fragile-looking limbs, she had light blonde hair that was cropped closely to the nape of her neck and at the sides. The top hung like flaxen veils across her forehead and framed her elfin features, each tiny and refined, save for her eyes. Her eyes were pools of deep brown. Striking and large and fringed generously with long lashes, they penetrated the growing darkness and were unmistakable despite the onset of twilight. They had peered into the early evening as if they had looked right at him. He had imagined that her eyes held him briefly; that she looked directly at him, even though he knew she had gazed at some distant point beyond him, before she returned her focus to the hodgepodge of prints hanging from cording. Then she had turned and reentered the lighted building.

The faceless man had known then that he would have to see her again.

Each day since, he had returned to that same spot in the woods behind Sunbeams Nursery School and watched her. He had risked exposure by lurking in the daylight hours rather than sleeping. But sleep had evaded him. His mind had refused to rest. He had needed to see her. His need supplanted whatever jeopardy he placed himself in.

He had spent each of the last three days watching as she shepherded a dozen children from the building to the outdoor play area. He had observed her delight at their enjoyment. They would run and frolic in the warm sunshine of early spring chasing butterflies or picking flowers. She had read them stories and sang songs with them. She had never yelled at them or shrieked. She had not beaten them nor had she attacked them. In fact, her actions had been tender and affectionate, gentle. She was the epitome of kindness.

He had known from observation that the spritely, doe-eyed woman was incapable of meanness. He had been certain of it. So sure was he that on the fifth day of surveillance, a rainy day, he had become emboldened by confidence and ambled up to a window of the building. He had crouched in a clustering of tall shrubs and afforded himself a closer view. The pane had been raised to allow fresh air to circulate. Fortunately for him, it also awarded him the privilege of hearing her voice.

He had listened and stared intently through the opened window as a situation arose. A boy had unexpectedly erupted after being given instructions to sit in his seat for a midmorning snack. He had refused to comply with her instructions.  He had begun to flail his arms erratically, shouting and crying simultaneously. One of the boy’s arms had even struck her in her porcelain cheek as he flapped and floundered.

The faceless man had been frightened by the boy’s outburst and had been positive she would have to strike him for being so mean to her. To his shock, she had not struck him back. Instead, she had done something rather odd. She had squatted down beside him, opened her arms and embraced him tenderly.

The boy had been soothed instantly. She had held him in her arms for what seemed like an eternity before holding him at arm’s length from her and using the back of her hand to brush away tears that remained on his face.

Mollified, the boy had begun to comply with her original request that he be seated and consume the nutritious snack she had offered him.

From the interaction he had witnessed between the little boy and the elfin angel, the faceless man had received all the proof he would need; he had known she was incapable of cruelty. To be doubly sure, though, he had decided he would wait until sunset and follow her home. After all, a person did not pretend at home. He had not wanted to risk being hurt by yet another unkind, malicious human. He had required one last piece of reassurance before he would offer himself to her.

He had resolved to observe her one last time, in the comfort of her domestic habitat, before forging what he perceived as the beginning of a lifelong friendship.

That night, after the children had left, tables had been sanitized and chairs had been upturned upon them, she had locked the doors and exited the building. The sun had just retreated into the horizon line in brilliant shades deep orange and salmon to darkening breadths of violet sky.  The surrounding woods had been blanketed in cyan shadows. He had waited in the obscurity for her to begin her voyage home. Shockingly, she had not traveled to the adjacent parking lot rather, she began walking. Such a gesture had further supported his belief in her goodness; only a truly conscientious human being would elect to employ her natural machination as opposed to a pollution–peppering automobile to move about the planet.  He had been impressed.

He had followed her, allowed her to gain a considerable head-start before he shuffled, at an inhumanly swift pace, after her to her house only a few blocks away.

Cloaked in shadows, he had watched her from her window, had seen that she lived alone. From such an intimate vantage point, he had been able to scrutinize her every move, her behaviors when no one was watching. She had been so peaceful, so serene, radiating light and love curled up on her couch with a book in her hands, he had contemplated stepping up to the front door and showing himself to her in that moment. But doubt had prevailed. And he skulked away unable to muster the courage to meet her.

The world had wearied him, jaded him.

He had left her house and scrambled to his retreat in the woods beyond Sunbeams Nursery School confident that rest would reveal the self-assurance he sought.

After another day of watching and waiting in the misty shadows beyond the windows of her classroom, the faceless man had felt buoyed. He had not been able to fully comprehend why exactly he had felt as such; he simply knew he would meet her in the hours forthcoming.

A fine mist of rain was falling.  The air was thick and humid.  He decided he would rest before their first official meeting and stepped from his bush-covered crevice of the school and dashed across the play area to his lair beyond the chain-link fence.

Resting against a sycamore with his knees drawn to his chest, the faceless man tried to close his sparsely lidded eyes and induce sleep.  As he rested, he could hear her mellifluous cadence.  Thanks to his superior hearing, her voice sounded as clear and strong as it would if she were standing before him.  The sound should have soothed him.  But it did not.  Relaxation and sleep eluded him.  Instead of drowsiness, he felt a rush of anticipation.  It abounded inside him crowding out any lingering feeling of doubt and despair. Suddenly restless, sleep no longer felt necessary.  He needed to move, to stretch his legs while he contemplated the dawn of a new phase of his short existence.  He would go to her the next day and make plain his desire for friendship.  He was certain she would be kind to him, embrace him as she did her students.  She would accept him as no one else ever had.

He rose to his feet and began to walk, optimism encouraging his every step.  He did not intend to go anywhere in particular he just needed to put his nervous energy to use.  He would never rest if he did not exhaust the seemingly indefatigable enthusiasm within him.

He wandered deeper and deeper into the more heavily forested territory beyond his hideout.  Fog blanketed the woods, clinging to branches overhead and adhering to intertwined vines that crept with serpentine stealth from the forest floor up trunks until they extended sinuously and wrapped themselves in a helix formation around boughs.  The farther he moved into the woodland, the more challenging walking became as creepers reached from underfoot in a brazen attempt to topple him and dense vapor sought to disorient him.

The faceless man refused to be deterred by his surroundings on the eve of the most momentous day of his life.  He continued, instead, through milky condensation until he arrived at a familiar location.  Crossing the threshold of the woods, he stepped down on pavement.  And there it was.

Her house stood alone at the end of a narrow lane of cracked blacktop flanked by massive cedars.  The limbs of the cedar trees drooped as if carrying the fog as they would the weight of wet snow.   Their appearance gave the impression of majestic mustached watchmen guarding the neighborhood.  They stared out sightlessly through an intimidating network of needles, as if poised to dispatch their prickly spines at the first sign of an intruder.

The sightless sentinels ignored the faceless man as he passed, however.  Nettles were never hurled at him as he proceeded toward her home.

He was vigilant as he passed neighboring homes.  He watched for people milling about but there were none, just him, and pale shapes of curdled mist that pressed to casement windows, gazing in like peeping toms, deciding whether the inhabitants were conducive to their spying.

With a dormered roof, cedar-shingle walls, trumpet vines espaliered along the roof line and an ivy-covered porte-cochere, the cottage could have easily been replicated from a storybook and constructed to full-scale by a talented architect and construction crew.  The cottage was a striking contrast to the colder, more modern homes on her block.  But they lacked charm and whimsy.  Her home seemed as unique and special as she was.

As he drew closer, he saw that a cheerful light glimmered and twinkled along the beveled edges of the diamond-shaped pane of glass on her front door, as though a person of magical power resided within.  He knew she was not home, that the light was a ruse for wayward intruders, and stepped onto her property.

He walked under the plant-covered awning that preceded her front steps and briefly imagined a horse-drawn carriage would have suited the fairytale appeal of her home before he moved up the treads and, using a spare key he found beneath a ceramic frog found on his last visit, opened her front door.

Nothing had changed since he last viewed her there.  Furniture had not been moved, decorations had not been replaced.  He listened intently for the sound of stirring from within the dwelling. When certain that it was, in fact, temporarily vacant, he breathed deeply, inhaling the fragrant aroma that infused the air. He detected a faint scent of lavender and vanilla.  The perfume was spellbinding, inviting.

He began searching a stack of papers spread haphazardly on a table in the entryway.  Each article was addressed to Lisa Evans.  He found the unearthing of her mail to be a most fortuitous and beneficial discovery as friendship would best be forged if he knew her name.  Though he could neither speak her name nor share his own as he was incapable of speech and remained unnamed, knowing her name made him feel more acquainted with her, closer to her, like a friend.

Thrilled with his newly acquired information, the faceless man felt readied to meet Lisa Evans in moments rather than hours.  He decided to wait until she arrived, refused to allow the passage of time to wither his confidence.

He seated himself on her floral-printed sofa and eagerly anticipated her arrival.

And as if the karmic powers of the world had conspired to right the many wrongs perpetrated against him since his creation, a sound at the front door fostered his hope and indicated that his new friend was home.  He waited until she entered and hung her slicker on a hook in the foyer before he rose from the sofa and approached her.

She didn’t see him right away, but from the slight change in her posture, she sensed a presence.

“Hello?” she called out.  “Is anybody there?”

Unable to call out to her and alleviate her fears, the faceless man rushed toward her from the concealment of the shadows.

As he hurried her way, he saw her eyes widen and the color drain from her complexion.  He did not mean to startle her and raised his hands in a gesture of submission, of friendship.  She did not understand his gesture and began to scream.  The shrill, piercing sound hurt his ears.  She screeched and cried out, shouting unimaginable profanities at him, words he didn’t think a schoolteacher could possibly know.

She yelled unendingly. Her shrieks became so fevered that the faceless man began to panic.  He didn’t understand her reaction, how she could respond with such negativity to him when he meant her no harm.

He reached his hand out to her, to touch her arm.  She jerked it away from him and screamed more vulgar language at him.  With no other option, he lurched forward and grasped the lower half of her face firmly in his hand.  He needed to silence her in order to make her understand his desire for friendship.  As his hand brushed the soft skin of her lips, she reached up her elfin hands and began to claw at him.  She scratched and bit and kicked at him with every ounce of might contained within her diminutive body.

The faceless man was mystified by her behavior.  She had seemed so nice before, so kind and accepting. Now, however, she was being so cruel.  He pulled away his gnawed hand and replaced it with his other, only this time he pressed harder to stop the horrendous sound that resumed.  Strident and high pitched, her scream sounded nothing like her honeyed singing voice or her sweet speaking voice.  He continued to push harder and harder against her mouth, fearful that she’d thrash again and unwilling to hear her restart her earsplitting shrieks.

Before long, she ceased to resist his efforts.  The screaming stopped and so did her flailing.  He wondered if perhaps she’d finally come around to the idea of him.  He removed his hand from her face and saw that her eyes were wide, wider than usual.  But her doe-eyed stare was vacant.

He let go of her immediately and her body fell to the floor lifelessly.

The faceless man fell to the ground as well.  He curled into a ball and clutched his knees to his chest in the fetal position.  It had been the worst day of his existence yet.  He had been sure she would be kind to him, certain they’d be friends.  But he had been wrong.  She turned out to be a cruel and horrible person just like everyone else he’d encountered thus far.  He pitied himself.  He was a treasure, not a monster.  He had been nothing but mistreated since his inception.  He began to shed tears of sadness for himself and his unfortunate fate.  He started to doubt once again, doubt he’d ever find a friend.  But he quickly remembered that he still had one chance.  He would complete his journey and travel to Harbingers Falls. He would find Melissa Martin.  She would be his friend undoubtedly.  After all, she had lovingly accepted Gabriel James, a fellow creation of Dr. Franklin Terzini.  She would accept him as well, love him even.  If goodness existed in the world, he would find it, and he suspected it resided in Harbingers Falls.

Chapter 13

Leaden clouds advanced determinedly, pressing their way past waning rays of gold, across the spring sky. In the distance thunder rumbled. Trees shivered and turned over their tender leaves shining an eerie, iridescent shade of jade against darkening heavens. Branches whipped and lashed about as the wind began to gust. Gabriel and Yoshi were driving directly into a storm’s path.

The rising wind rocked the rental car as they traveled along Interstate 98, a highway canopied by American Sycamore trees that led directly to Harbingers Falls. Thunder growled again like a starved and angered beast, snarling and roaring a ferocious warning. Lightning flashed; the wind howled thrashing boughs as they surrendered new foliage to its might.

Outside, the light had been besieged, eclipsed. Inside the rented 2012 Jeep Cherokee, however, optimism prevailed.

Though time spent traveling did little to allay Gabriel’s worry, he couldn’t help but feel excited. Despite hours spent moving about that left him feeling powerless and incapable of defending Melissa, his frustration and restlessness abated as he moved closer to Harbingers Falls. Such feelings were a welcome reprieve from the more than fourteen hours spent flying from China to New York during which time Gabriel’s mind entertained various scenarios that would have been judged science fiction by most rational people.

Yoshi, on the other hand, appeared to be in awe of all he had seen. While Gabriel labored testily through the chaos of the airport terminal after they had landed, his travel companion chattered incessantly about the thrill of flying, the lights, the people, the shops, and more specifically, New York. With countless places to eat and shop, John F. Kennedy Airport functioned as a city within a city and did nothing short of amaze Yoshi. He stared with mouth agape at every site proffered.

From the passenger seat of the Cherokee, Yoshi remained enthusiastic and eager to discuss what he’d seen.

“I can’t believe how exciting this place is!” Yoshi said, enamored of his limited American experience. “I knew there would be lights and people, but I never imagined there would be so many. And the roads, they’re paved, all of them! They’re not paved in gold but, wow! How did you sleep, ever, in such an exciting place?”

“It’s a challenge, Yoshi,” Gabriel admitted recounting his many sleepless nights spent contemplating his growing feelings for Melissa, then agonizing over revealing his origins to her.

“And this place we’re headed, Harbingers Falls, is it as exciting as the terminal? Does it have as many lights and people as Kennedy Airport?”

“Not quite.”

“Does it have the restaurant with the golden arches?”

“Yes. Two in fact”

“Two arches or two restaurants?”

“Both, technically; there are two restaurants. Four arches total.”

“Excellent!” Yoshi said enthusiastically.

As far as Gabriel could tell, the apex of the many high points of Yoshi’s trip thus far, had been dining at McDonald’s. They stopped there to eat while in the airport. Yoshi had expressed his delight rather verbally, oohing and clucking throughout his meal.

“There are other restaurants, too, you know,” Gabriel offered.

“Are they as good as McDonald’s? Do they have the French fries? If so, I would like to try them all,” Yoshi declared.

“Some do, some don’t.”

“We will go to the ones that do, right?”

“Um, we’ll try. We have to find Melissa first.”

Thunder rolled once again, closer this time. Lightning struck in the distance, lit the horizon. Large droplets of rain began to fall slowly at first, then faster.

“I can’t wait to meet Melissa. I’ve heard so much about her,” Yoshi said.

“You’ll like her. She’s,” Gabriel began.

“Beautiful,” Yoshi teased.

“Yes, beautiful,” Gabriel agreed. “I just hope she still likes me.”

“From everything you’ve told me, there is no need to worry.”

“I’m not so sure. A lot of time has passed.”

“It’s only been five months. That’s nothing.”

“She may not feel the same way for me anymore. Five months to a teenage girl is a lifetime,” Gabriel worried aloud.

“Not where I’m from, a man could leave his wife and go on a journey for years, and when he returned, it would be as if no time had passed.”

“It’s different here, Yoshi.”

“What do you mean different?” Yoshi asked puzzled.

“I mean that people are different, there is so much going on, and they are much quicker to move on with their lives.”

“After only five months?  Not possible if she felt about you the way you said she did.”

“Maybe, but we weren’t married, we weren’t even together very long.  I probably took it a lot more seriously than she did.”

“I doubt that,” Yoshi said

“When I was with Melissa it was the first time I had ever experienced feelings, it’s no wonder that I haven’t been able to think of anything but her, but it certainly wasn’t like that for her”

“Okay, but you told me that she felt the same way about you?”

“Think about it Yoshi, we were only together for a short time, and now I have been gone for five months, I have barely even been able to contact her, anyone would have moved on.”

“I still don’t get what being gone for a few months has to do with your relationship. Feelings are feelings. They don’t change that quickly.”

“But they do, feelings diminish over time.”

“I don’t believe it, not if they were real.”

“Well if I’d been here this conversation would be far less relevant. Being on the same continent would have helped. Having unlimited Internet and phone access would have helped.”

“But you didn’t. So?”

“So maybe she forgot about me. I couldn’t even tell her where I was. I wasn’t reachable.”

“You had to do what you had to do to survive. It’s not like you picked up and moved to Motuo County for fun or something, though I am partial to my home just for the record. You never would have left her if you didn’t absolutely have to.”

“She was the only person I ever loved, I shouldn’t have left.”

“Are you saying you don’t love me?” Yoshi asked sarcastically as he leaned toward Gabriel and batted his eyes dramatically.

“Not even a little!” Gabriel retorted.

Yoshi laughed then added, “Don’t worry about it, when you see her you’ll see that I’m right, that nothing has changed.”

“I doubt it.”

“Wow, you’re really difficult. And acting kind of like a girl. Maybe after this car ride, I will be an expert on girls,” Yoshi mocked.

“Shut up! You don’t understand,” Gabriel said irritably.

“Oh no! Miss James is getting mad. Look out! She may throw one of her high heels,” Yoshi continued.

Gabriel kept one hand on the steering wheel and launched the other into Yoshi left arm.

“Ouch!  You’re a testy little girl, aren’t you?”

Gabriel raised his fist again and Yoshi raised both hands meekly.

“Okay, okay. Point taken. No need for violence. I know you’re sensitive,” he railed again and promptly deflected a blow intended for his bicep.

“Cut it out Yoshi. I’m serious,” Gabriel said plainly.

“All right, all right.”

“Don’t you get it, Yoshi? Just as quickly as it began, it could have ended; for her.”

“Stop worrying. Everything will be fine, Miss J–,” Yoshi began but was interrupted by Gabriel’s balled fist blasting against his shoulder.

As Gabriel leaned and punched, his other hand on the steering wheel jerked to the right as well. The Cherokee lurched dangerously on the rain-soaked highway, veering into the adjacent lane. Fortunately, he and Yoshi were the only ones driving on the road at that moment. Other motorists appeared to have headed the warnings issued by the National Weather Service that advised against traveling in the path of the dangerous storm.

“Whoa, man! Focus on the road! You can’t help Melissa if you’re dead,” Yoshi declared.

Gabriel did not respond. Instead, he took his friend’s advice and concentrated on driving.

Rain pelted the windshield and the wind blew more forcefully. After flexing its muscles temporarily, the fiendish storm confronted intensely, became fierce. Silvery streaks flashed threateningly across the iron sky, tearing at ashen heavens until they hemorrhaged furiously.

The wipers on the Jeep Cherokee worked frantically to clear the windshield from the assault. A formidable vehicle in most weather, the Cherokee proved an excellent choice. Gabriel had never selected a vehicle himself, his maker had chosen for him. When the moment arrived at the rental station in the airport terminal, he opted for a vehicle that closely resembled his hunter-green Ford Explorer. A midnight-blue Jeep Cherokee was the closest match.

After picking the vehicle he desired, Gabriel was informed that cash was not an acceptable form of currency and that a credit card was needed for insurance purposes. He had quickly contemplated the ramifications of such a transaction before nervously offering a credit card to the teller.

Before leaving Terzini’s residence in Harbingers Falls, Gabriel had procured a substantial amount of cash and several credit cards. He was reluctant to use the cards as the accounts were linked directly to his maker’s; a paper trail would begin. Certain that Terzini would closely monitor the activity of the missing cards, Gabriel had used them only a handful of times. He was loath to announce his arrival in America much less his arrival in New York.

Horizontal rain blustered as the storm raged on. Gabriel’s eyes remained on the stretch of road before him but his mind wandered.

With Yoshi silenced and only the weather to contend with, the rest of the trip passed quickly. In what felt like seconds rather than just under an hour, the exit sign for the neighboring town of Darling appeared.

In just a few short miles, Gabriel would be in Harbingers Falls and with Melissa Martin again.

Chapter 14

Eugene traveled less than fifty miles to his destination and after consulting his GPS navigation system confirmed his arrival at a clapboard house that had been converted to a tavern. Colonial-style with heavily timbered framing, a gabled roof and central chimney and doorway, the architecture suggested construction in the 1700s and meticulous maintenance. Eugene’s extensive education enabled him to perceive such subtleties.

The Rider Motorcycle Club was inconspicuous looking from the outside. To the untrained eye, it looked like any other biker-friendly hangout:  a neat row of motorcycles aligned in front, Harley-Davidson and American flag decals affixed to the doors. The bar was identical to any other that favored motorcycle riding clientele. But Eugene knew otherwise. He knew its inhabitants were far more vested than the colors they donned, that they were united by hate, by fear.

Eugene despised the fearful.

He parked his Hummer in the gravel-filled lot alongside the building and strode the front door. He tried the door and half expected it to be locked due to the virtually nonexistent light in the narrow windows. When the handle turned and he pushed open the door, he saw a sparsely populated clubhouse of sorts.  Drab and dimly lit, the interior of the saloon was not consistent with the exterior. It displayed a weathered bar area with stools, a pool table and roughly six round tables. As he looked about, Eugene guessed that every surface would be sticky, grimy. Filthy humans, he thought. He inspected the space further and thought it deserted save for the faint sound of music coming from an open door to the rear.

Light poured from the entryway illuminating pictures along the walls. A mustached man with slickened black hair stared out angrily from behind his glass enshrinement saluting with his right arm extended straight ahead at shoulder level while his banded left arm held his hat across his body. Eugene had never noticed how much Dr. Franklin Terzini resembled Adolf Hitler until the present. Hitler hung alongside Ku Klux Klan photographs, and Confederate and Nazi flags draped on the walls.

Voices loudened from beyond the doorway and footsteps approached quickly. The inhabitants of the bar had become aware of his presence.

Five men moved through the doorway, one brandished a pool cue. All had smoothly shaven heads, all were heavily tattooed.  Eugene wondered why they, or anyone else for that matter, would voluntarily mutilate their bodies with such atrocious shapes and colors. Having childish pictures drawn on one’s flesh was a premise so ridiculous, only a human could have thought it up. Yet, so many humans did. It was as if one had decided it was a good idea and the rest followed suit, like a flock of wretched sheep. Eugene posited that it was this very behavior that was the ruination of mankind, their inability to think rationally, and for themselves. Instead of self-guided learning and exploration, they wandered aimlessly incapable of any form of originality.

Eugene longed to execute them where they stood for their unoriginality, their pathetic need for acceptance. They strode through confidently, clad in matching leather vests over denim jackets with a red and white patch bearing a Greek mythological figure of a winged harpy at its center on the breast pocket. Just below the patch was a Greek cross with the four ends of the arms bent in a clockwise direction. Also known as a swastika, the insignia was the clearest indicator of white supremacy in Western countries. He fought to suppress laughter at the notion that the idiots with corresponding haircuts, identical outfits and similar ink drawings disfiguring their skin, actually considered themselves superior to anyone, living or dead. The idea was preposterous, pathetic.

He watched as the men stopped in their tracks as soon as they saw him. They said nothing, just looked on in silence. Eugene did not speak either. He simply stepped up to a stool at the bar and sat, waiting to be served.

A burly, barrel-chested man in his mid-forties walked behind the bar and stood before Eugene.

“I’ll have a draft beer,” Eugene ordered and placed money on the bar.

The bald and brawny biker looked quizzically at him then set about retrieving a glass and filling it. Eugene divided his attention between the man before him and the mirror. The reflective glass enabled him to keep an eye on the others that milled about. They were all well-constructed humans, hearty-looking and substantial. Eugene could not wait to engage them. He could feel the tension mounting in the room, could smell it in the air.

He spied one of the men move at his back. A tall man with pale eyebrows and a swastika tattooed on his throat approached the seat beside him. He ordered a beer from the barkeep as well.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Neck Tattoo said then trained his gaze on Eugene.

“You know this is a private club, right pal,” he stated more than asked.

“I do,” Eugene answered flatly staring straight ahead.

“You don’t look like a member from another charter.”

“Because I’m not; do I look like a bald-headed fool who has people scribble on my skin for entertainment?” Eugene interrupted.

The man with the neck tattoo became visibly agitated; he appeared to be calculating his next move. Eugene fought back a tremor of excitement.

“What’re you doing here then?” Neck Tattoo said between clenched teeth.

“I thought it was Ladies Night,” Eugene stated calmly and turned to face the man with the neck tattoo.

He discerned the look of surprise on his face. The man with the neck tattoo was clearly not used to defiance.

“Ladies night,” he spat with confusion lining his features, then looked to the barkeep.

“Yes, Ladies Night,” Eugene affirmed as he turned and looked at the rest of the men in the bar. “Is it not? Because all I see in in front of me are six little bitches.”

Eugene loathed the use of colloquial lingo and profanity but felt it necessary in his current circumstance; low-functioning humans related to such debasing language, and responded strongly to it.

“Bitches? Why don’t you take off those glasses and that cap, asshole?” the man ordered as he stood up and faced Eugene.

“Why don’t you try and take them off me?” Eugene responded calmly.

At that, the bartender produced a shotgun he’d likely grabbed from beneath the bar, cocked it and pointed it directly at Eugene.

Eugene disdained armaments of any kind. He believed weaponry was reserved for the weak and cowardly, and in this instance, the unoriginal. He abhorred how human beings clung to their shiny guns, falsely comforted by the power they erroneously offered.

“You think you’re fucking funny pal?” the man with the shotgun asked.

“I say we waste him and throw his body in the river,” Neck Tattoo said.

“You walked into the wrong bar asshole,” a voice said behind him.

Eugene smiled; a full, teeth-baring smile. Neck Tattoo jerked his head back, shocked.

“Oh, I’m in just the right place,” Eugene replied as he immediately snapped his hand forward and grabbed the barrel of the shotgun aiming  it away from himself  as the bartender pulled the trigger.

The weapon discharged with a thunderous boom and blasted against Neck Tattoo’s chest, a bloodied crater left in its wake.

“What the fuck!” one yelled.

“Kill that mother-fucker!” another rallied.

Eugene then yanked the gun, pulled with the entirety of his might, as the barkeep refused to relinquish his grip.

The shotgun and the barkeep sailed over the bar. Eugene maintained control of the gun and landed the burly barkeep on his back. Stunned and in a prone position, the barkeep did not have time to react to the enormous booted foot that crashed down against his neck crushing his windpipe and severing his spine instantly.

With the shotgun in his hands, Eugene aimed it at the remaining four men.

A hush befell the motorcycle club.

The identically dressed hairless humans adorned with inky symbols about their exposed flesh began to produce an enchanting aroma. Their scent perfumed the air. Eugene pushed back the rising exhilaration within him, wanted to delay his enjoyment. He turned his head to one side, away from the Neo-Nazi club members, to savor the smell of fear briefly.

As he did so, the men became emboldened.  They stepped backward, awakened from their stunned silence and immobility.

“Oh, I bet you wish I didn’t have this gun,” he said.

Eugene proceeded to eject the residual shells from the shotgun and threw the emptied weapon behind the bar.

Seeing his gesture, the men exchanged quick glances then charged. Eugene smiled as he caught the first man in stride and grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed him face-first into the bar. As his upper body bounced back ricocheting off the worn wood of the bar, it revealed crushed and distorted features crumbled and misaligned from impact. Blood bubbled from his nose and mouth as he wheezed his final breaths.

Eugene wished he could prolong the man’s death, extend his anguish and suffering and gaze in his eyes as life escaped him. But such luxuries could not be afforded.

He allowed himself a fleeting glance at the dying man as a biker rushed him from behind. The man dropped his shoulder as he charged, making plain his intention to tackle Eugene to the ground. What the foolish, testosterone-driven human motivated by emotion did not anticipate was Eugene’s lightning fast reflexes.

Eugene caught the supremacist in the seconds before his shoulder smashed into his body and hurled him over the bar. His body slammed against the glass behind the bar.

Bottles of liquor placed on ledges along the length of the glass crashed to the ground as the mirror itself exploded, showering innumerable shards of reflective glass in every direction. Dichroic slivers rained to and fro like dazzlingly deadly daggers.

The rusher remained unmoving in a pile of broken bottles and bloodied glitter. Eugene was certain he had not survived the impact. If the Neo-Nazi biker somehow retained a modicum of vitality, Eugene would not be able to enjoy its evaporation.

Two others remained. One still held his pool cue and descended upon Eugene immediately.

Eugene turned just as the stick was being swung at his head. He reached up a massive hand and grabbed at it, snapping it in half. He turned the cue in his hand aiming the splintered and jagged edge outward then thrust it into the man’s abdomen. The stick passed through with the ease of a knife passing through warm butter and jutted out from his lower back giving him the appearance of a grisly human kebab.  Color drained from the impaled man’s face as he bled out.  His features twisted in shock first, then pain.  Eugene wanted to stay with him, to watch his lifeblood leave him and enjoy his slow death.  But he did not have time for such a luxury.  Another remained.

The last man standing did not exhibit fear outwardly, but his body chemistry suggested otherwise.  Eugene detected the vaguest whiff fear-tinged sweat.

With his head gleaming in the overhead lighting like a pallid spectral dome, the remaining man projected bravery.  Eugene doubted any human could be foolish enough to still believe he was capable of posing a challenge to him.  He wondered how, despite his display of obvious superiority and power, the man remained delusional and believed he had a chance at survival.

“You don’t scare me, asshole. I’ve killed bigger than you on the inside,” he declared defiantly.

Eugene guessed his bold talk was more for his own encouragement than intimidation.  Prison references did not impress him, it simply indicated that his poor attention to detail and overall sloppiness had gotten him caught and subsequently incarcerated.

The man moved toward him swiftly and swung at him. Eugene allowed the punch to connect with his face and land against his jaw. When the blow barely registered any pressure, he was promptly disappointed. He thought the man would have more power. He ought to have more power. He was not shoddily constructed or laden with excessive body fat as most other humans were. He was tall and muscular; a formidable specimen by lesser, human standards.

Clearly heartened, the man struck again. The strike collided with Eugene’s nose and shattered his sunglasses. The man paused and regarded Eugene’s feline eyes and finally displayed fear.

Satisfied, Eugene spoke.

“My turn,” he said calmly then lashed his fist forward at full force into the man’s ribs,

Bone surrendered readily to his strength, collapsing and crumpling on contact.

The man howled out in pain but his scream was silenced by Eugene’s balled fist striking his jaw, fracturing his face and mangling his features. The man fell to the floor unable to catch his breath.

Eugene felt the excitement swell inside. Only this time, he did not deny himself. Rather, he picked the writhing man from the floor by his flaccid neck and rewarded himself with an unadulterated view of his death.

The man stubbornly clung to life. Eugene began to apply steady and deliberate pressure to his throat, squeezing just hard enough to prolong his passing as he suffocated, slowly.

As Eugene dropped the man’s lifeless body, a powerful ripple of pleasure flowed through him, rose and crashed like a colossal wave breaking in a frenzied sea. His body tensed at once and held momentarily then released gradually.

Gratified, Eugene scanned the room, appreciating the carnage. He realized that his time spent regenerating in Dr. Franklin Terzini’s laboratory did not hinder his performance or dull his razor-sharp senses; he hadn’t lost a thing.

Chapter 15

Melissa stood in her kitchen and leaned against the counter dumbfounded.  Still clutching the receiver of the cordless telephone in her hands she remained, with mouth agape, confounded by a phone call she’d received moments earlier from Eric Sala.  During their brief conversation, he informed her that he was on his way to her house.

She could not begin to fathom what had precipitated his call and refused to speculate.  Entertaining wild ideas would not serve her.  Conjecture was a waste of time.  She would know the reason for his visit soon enough. In the meantime, it was necessary that she remain calm. She needed to think clearly before, during and after their meet.  She breathed deeply to steady her trembling hands and replaced the receiver to its charging cradle as heavy footfalls thundered down the steps.

“Hey Missy, how do I look?” her father asked as he outstretched his arms and turned.

“Like a man who’s going to clean up at the tables,” she replied.

“That’s my girl! That’s what I like to hear!”

She did not reciprocate his enthusiasm.  Unable to mask her worry, she bit her lower lip and turned from him.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Eric called,” she began.

“That dirtbag friend of Kevin’s?”

“That would be the one.”

“What the hell did he want?”

“He wants to talk. Now. He’s on his way here as we speak,” she said.

“What could he possibly have to say to you after all this time?”

“I have no idea, Dad.  I am so confused.  I’m totally freaking out!”

“I don’t have to go, you know,” he offered.

“Yes you do! You are going.”

“Not if you need me I’m not,” he protested.

“Dad, come on, be serious.  You put in for two personal days to play in this poker tournament, talked about it every day for the last two months.  You are going.”

“How can I leave now that this clown has called and is possibly stirring up more trouble?  The answer is I can’t and I won’t.”

“No way!  I’ll call Alex as soon as Eric leaves right in front of you and make plans to stay at her house for the weekend.  I’ll be safe there.  I mean, with her brothers, come on!  I’ll be safer there probably than I am here right now.  Her parents will be around, too.  No worries.  Go.  Enjoy yourself.  You deserve it.”

Melissa’s father did not say anything for a moment.  He appeared to weigh her words and consider her argument.  She watched as his eyes darted from one side to the next as if literally searching for a sound rebuttal but came up empty.

Finally he grumbled, “Fine.”

“Then it’s settled, you will go to the Connecticut woods and play some poker!” she said trying desperately to seem cheerful.

“I’m not leaving for a while.  I’ll be here when that jackass Eric gets here.  And I’m not leaving until he’s gone,” he assured her.

“Great.  I wouldn’t want it any other way,” she said, relieved.

Suddenly parched, she walked toward the refrigerator in search of a beverage.  As she placed her hand on a bottle of iced tea, the doorbell sounded.  A wave of nausea rolled through her belly.  Eric waited on her doorstep.

Carrying the bottle, Melissa crossed the kitchen and walked to the front door.  After taking two deep breaths to calm herself, she opened the door.

Eric Sala, tall and lanky, stood framed by the entryway.

“Hey,” he said nervously.  “Can I come in?”

Before she could answer, he was in her house looking anxiously over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him.  His eyes were rimmed with dark crescents, his features haggard.  She could only describe his overall demeanor as terrified.  Eric looked terrified.

“I didn’t see your car.  Did you walk?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, I cut through the woods behind your house just to be sure I wasn’t being– ,”

“Hello Eric,” her father interrupted as he stared at Eric with contemptuous eyes capable of intimidating the toughest of adversaries.

“Oh, uh, hello Mr. Martin, I didn’t know you’d be here.  I can leave if you want?” he asked just Melissa.

“Please stay,” her father answered robotically.

Eric looked at Melissa imploringly and asked in a hoarse whisper, “Can we speak privately?”

“Sure,” Melissa answered, uncertainty lacing her every word.  “We can go up to my room.”

Melissa began climbing the staircase, with Eric in tow, to the second floor of her house.  At the top of the steps, a long hallway waited.  At the far end was a bathroom that neighbored her bedroom.  Her father stomped up behind them and stopped them before they entered.  He spoke to Eric.

“I’ll be right across the hallway in my room, you got that?  If I hear anything I don’t like, you’re gone,” he warned in a voice that was a low growl.

The word gone hung in the air. There was a sense of permanence in the way he had spoken it, of irreversibility.  With her father’s message clear, Melissa ushered Eric in to her room.

“Wow, you really like purple,” he joked nervously as he gestured to her frilly lavender comforter and matching curtains.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” she replied icily.

He sat on her bed with his back to the window.

“Eric, what do you want? Why are you here?” she heard herself ask in a strong, clear voice.

He rubbed his palms down the length of his jeans as if smoothing phantom creases from his thighs to just above his knees.  The single hoop earring he wore in his left earlobe quivered as he parted his lips to speak.

“I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Well, since I allowed you here unannounced and uninvited after you tackled me in the woods behind our school, I’d think an apology would be in order for starters,” she said firmly.

Eric shoulders slumped. His pale cheeks became streaked with red.  He raised his hands, palms out, and said, “I don’t think an apology would cut it, Melissa. I screwed up, bad. Things are far worse now, so I’m paying, believe me,” he rambled.

“What are you talking about?” she asked impatiently. “If you came here to start crap, my father is right across the hall and he’ll kill you, trust me.”

“I’m not here to hurt you, honest.  I’m not going to do anything to you. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then I’ll ask the question again: why are you here?”

“Because Anderson and the others, they aren’t themselves.”

“What, they’re reformed,” she asked sarcastically.

“No, no.  You don’t understand.  They’re not who they used to be.  The people you see aren’t them.”

“Are you on drugs?”

“No, come on, I don’t do drugs anymore,” he pleaded.

“Then what do you mean?”

“They’re not who you think.”

“Then who are they?”

“What are they is a better question,” he mumbled.

“Huh?”

“It can’t be them, Melissa.  I saw their bodies in the woods that day.”

“That’s not what you told the police,” she countered testily.

“Yeah, I know.  I told the police I didn’t see them.  I wished I hadn’t seen them then. Kevin, Chris and John, they were dead.  I know they were,” he fought back tears.  “The guys now, the ones who came back from wherever, are worse.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine.  Every cell in her body seemed to shudder simultaneously, contesting at once the question that burned in her mind, the question she felt bound to ask.

“Who do you think they are, Eric?” she asked in a voice that quavered.

“Monsters,” he replied with conviction.

Melissa felt the room begin to spin.  A vivid memory appeared in her mind’s eye.  She remembered seeing a monster less than half a year ago.  It had been submerged in thick, opaque fluid in a large cylindrical tank in a far corner of Franklin Terzini’s underground laboratory.  Alien in appearance, it had resembled an adult-sized fetus.  She remembered how it transformed before her very eyes.  She agreed with Eric’s assessment; Kevin, Chris and Eric were very much monsters.  But she reasoned that they had not been grown in a deranged geneticist’s lab like the creature had been, nor had they been assigned the gruesome semblance associated with the word “monster” that had been indelibly etched into her psyche.  She winced involuntarily and wrapped her arms around her body for she knew monsters did, in fact, exist, and in multiple senses of the word.

“Monsters?” she asked and feigned incredulity.

“Melissa, I know it sounds crazy.  I hear myself saying it and to my own ears I sound bat-shit crazy.  But that’s the only word I feel describes them. They’re out of control.”

“How so?” she asked, but did not want to know the answer.

She watched as Eric’s fair skin paled even further and a look of utter fright claimed his features.

“The first night they came back I was stunned, believe me.  I couldn’t wrap my mind around it the first time I saw Kevin. I mean, I thought it was some kind of after-effect of a bad trip or something.”

“Okay,” she rolled her hand forward in a gesture meant to encourage the point of his story to arrive sooner.

“Anyway, we went out to celebrate.  We went to that club down on First Street in Darling, The Terrace Club.  They had been drinking when they picked me up; nothing new about that.  But when we got there, they did shot after shot of tequila then drank beer after beer.  It was insane.  Those guys could always drink, but they put away an inhuman amount of liquor, and didn’t seem all that drunk.”

Melissa couldn’t help but pick up on yet another reference to their less-than-human characteristics.  She did not comment on it or react visibly.  She listened intently as he continued his story.

“It wasn’t just the crazy drinking that got me, though.  It was how they were acting too.  They’re usually jerks, but smooth about it, you know?”

“Oh I know,” Melissa said acidly.

Eric’s pallid skin adopted crimson bands again.  He looked down sheepishly.

“Continue,” she ordered him.

“They just started getting loud and rowdy, grabbing girls and stuff, you know, groping.  They were being total assholes.  I was embarrassed but I didn’t say anything.  I couldn’t.”

“Of course, you couldn’t,” she said sharply. “Eric, none of this makes me think there’s anything unusual about them, just that they were drunk and aggressive; seems pretty typical, to me at least.”

The scarlet smatterings that colored Eric face expanded.  He ran his palms down his thighs once again and one of his legs began to bob up and down incessantly.

“I know what they’ve done to you, what I’ve done to you,” he said quietly. “But believe me, if you let me tell you the rest, you’ll see what I’m saying.  You’ll believe me.”

“Okay,” she said softening slightly.

“So they started dancing up on these girls on the dance floor, really grinding on them and the girls got pissed.  They pushed them off.  Three guys saw this happening and stepped in.  A fight almost broke out and we got bounced out.  Turned out, there had been complaints about us, or them rather, from some other people and the girls and the owner had us kicked out.  The other guys, they stayed and got to hang out. Kevin, Chris and John were pissed.  They were flipping out like I’d never seen before.”

Eric paused.

“Is that it, Eric?” Melissa asked calmly.

“I wish it were,” Eric replied and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Have you ever been to the Terrace Club?”

“No, never,” Melissa answered.

“The parking lot there is set way back, far from the club and far from the street. It has lights but they’re those ones that give off the creepy yellow light.”

“Sodium vapor street lights,” she informed him. “They cause less environmental pollution.”

“Yeah, sodium vapor street lights, sure.  So the lot is lit by them and it’s pretty dark and Kevin tells us we’re going to wait for the guys in the parking lot, wait for them to come out and kick their asses.  I told them I wanted to leave.  They got really pissed and started calling me a little bitch.  They’d never been like that with me before, Melissa.  I can’t explain it.  They were different from the guys I’d been best friends with since we were kids.”

“Hmm,” Melissa managed, held by his account.

“We waited for those guys for three hours until like two in the morning when the last of the people cleared out.  We were in his car in the far corner of the lot.  No one saw us.  We watched the guys come out with the girls they stuck up for.  They walked them to their car, talked for another, like, twenty minutes, exchanged numbers and the girls drove off.”

Eric’s disposition darkened dramatically, visibly.  He took a deep breath and blew the air out through pursed lips.  As he raised his hand and raked it through his spiky black hair, she could see it trembled.

“There were a few cars left in the lot that probably belonged to employees. It was deserted except for the guys that they argued with in the club.  Kevin jumped out of the car; John and Chris followed.  I got out last.  I wanted no part of a fight but I went with them because,” Eric’s voice faltered and trailed off briefly before he continued.

“Right away they started cursing at the guys.  They turned to face us and looked shocked.  Next thing you know, Kevin, John and Chris were on them.  I mean, I couldn’t believe how fast they moved; they were just there, right on top of the guys from the club, pounding on them.  The guys never stood a chance.”

Eric swallowed hard.  His eyes brimmed with tears.  Melissa could see the pain in his face, the torment.

“Next thing I knew, the guys from the club were on the ground and Kevin, Chris and John were going crazy, punching them and stomping on them.  The club guys, they were screaming in pain, screaming for them to stop.  But they didn’t seem to care or even notice the screaming.  I tried to stop them Melissa, I tried,” he said in a voice cracking with emotion. “But they were frenzied, just swinging and kicking. They threw me to the ground.  I half-expected them to start stomping me, too.”

Tears streamed down Eric’s cheeks as his eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused.  When he trained his gaze on Melissa, his fear was palpable.

“They just kept going, Melissa; they killed them,” he whispered huskily.

Melissa felt chills spread over her entire body, expanding outwardly from her core in lacey threads of ice. She knew the story.  She’d heard about it in the news, read about it in the newspaper.

Her eyes met his and filled with tears as she said, “I know about them, the three kids that were killed from Marlboro. It was all over the news!  That was just last week.  Their bodies were found outside of the Terrace Club.”

“Those are the ones,” he affirmed. “Those are the guys Kevin, Chris and John murdered.”

Murdered; the word sent about another onslaught of anxiety.  Melissa sat on her bed beside Eric.  They both sat in silence staring at the floor below.

After a moment, Eric spoke.

“The murder, it wasn’t even the worst part, if you can imagine that,” he said bitterly. “The ride home was unreal, like something straight out of a horror movie.”

“How so?” Melissa asked and, once again, didn’t care to hear the response.

“They were laughing about it.  On the way home, they laughed about killing those guys, like it was some kind of fucking joke or something.  I sat there stunned.  I couldn’t say a word.  I couldn’t believe what I saw, couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  It was like a nightmare,” he gasped and broke down crying.

Melissa wasn’t sure how to respond to his tears.  He was raw, vulnerable, but had attacked her not long ago.  She felt for him, but only to an extent.

“When they dropped me off that night, they asked me if I was cool with what happened.  Like anybody could be cool with seeing three people murdered, then hearing the murderers laugh about it all the way home,” he said bitingly.  “I said I was fine, that everything was cool but I don’t think they bought it.  They also told me not to tell anyone, that if I did there would be a problem.”

“Oh God,” was all Melissa could manage.

“If they find out I told you or anyone else about this, they are going to kill me.  I know it.”

Eric began to sob after his last admission.  He cried, hard, releasing whatever anguish he’d held for the last week, or perhaps the last five months.  Melissa had no way of knowing for sure. But she was certain his tears were ones of terror, and repentance.

Though reluctant to offer him any form of consolation, she knew what it was like to be in mortal danger, had a working knowledge of fear; after all, she’d been an intended target.  Eric was defenseless, pathetic at best.  She awkwardly placed her arm around his shoulders and patted stiffly.  He responded eagerly and collapsed into her and wept.

Melissa allowed him to rest against her as he cried. She left her arm around his shoulders, despite her reservation and tears of her own that threatened, for what felt like forever.  She would wait until he was sufficiently calmed before she attempted to convince him to go to the police.

Chapter 16

Gabriel had been put to many tests in his short existence.  He had survived extraordinary circumstances, contended with a ferocious enemy and survived an assassination attempt.  He had also loved for the first time, a phenomenon he was constructed to never experience. Navigating the winding roads of Harbingers Falls, he relived each exhilarating moment spent with Melissa and, despite the dire circumstances he suspected that prompted his return, he was thrilled.  His heart pounded wildly, threatened to beat out of his chest. The excitement inside him was electric.  He felt lightheaded, elated.  The moment he’d awaited for five long months was finally upon him.  He’d dreamt about it, saw her face vividly in his memory, but couldn’t wait to see her in person: her clear, emerald eyes, her full lips, her lengths of golden brown hair.  Every part of him hummed and buzzed excitedly.  He would wrap her in his arms as soon as he saw her, inhale the sweet scent of her skin before holding her at arm’s length from him and looking at her, enjoying her every feature.

Turning on to Blackstone drive, Gabriel James could not think of anywhere else he would have rather been.

“You’ve been really quiet,” Yoshi observed.

“Just thinking,” Gabriel replied.

“Don’t worry.  Everything is going to be fine.”

Gabriel said nothing.

“Seriously, it will.”

“I don’t know.  It’s been so long.  I can’t wait to see her.  But what if,” Gabriel’s voice trailed off.

“What if what?  What if she’s with someone else?”

“Well, yeah.  You know that’s what I’m worried about.”

“Listen, from what you’ve told me, that’s highly unlikely.  She loves you and you love her.  All you need to do is see her.  Once you’re with her, you’ll see that nothing has changed.  Her feelings will be the same as they were five months ago.  Trust me.”

“Yoshi, I have to admit, it’s kind of hard to argue with someone when he’s just told you exactly what you want to hear.”

“I’m not telling you what you want to hear.  I’m telling you what I sincerely believe to be true.”

“So, you really think nothing’s changed?”

“Well maybe something,” Yoshi said solemnly.

“What?  What do you mean?  What do you think will be different?  Tell me!”

“Well, it’s hard to say exactly.  It could be any number of things.  For starters, her hair may be different.  I’ve read in several gossip magazines that girls often cut their hair when they are sad.  Melissa may have chopped all her hair off.”

Gabriel exhaled sharply, relieved, and then said, “I don’t care if she has buzzed all her hair off, she will look just as beautiful to me.  And don’t believe everything you read in gossip magazines.  Not all American girls are like the starlets you read about.  Women and America are really misrepresented by those kinds of magazines.”

“Hey I like my Tattletale Weekly!  I’ve learned a lot of useful stuff about popular culture from them,” Yoshi said.  “Wait until we get to her house before you judge my information sources.  She could have a purple Mohawk for all you know.”

“I doubt it, Yoshi.”

Yoshi did not offer any further opinion.  Instead, he sat silently in the passenger seat of Gabriel’s rented Jeep Cherokee as they drove up Melissa’s street.

“How can you possibly be calm at a time like this,” Gabriel asked and grabbed Yoshi by the arm.

“Hey, eyes on the road!  You don’t want to see her for the first time in five months wrapped around a tree do you?”

Yoshi was quiet for a second then added, “I’m happy for you.  I’m happy you’re finally going to get to see her.”

“Thanks, man.  I can’t wait.  And I’m nervous as hell.”

Gabriel could not stop smiling as he drove up her hill.  His face began to hurt from doing so as her house came into view.  He slowed to a near crawl as he approached and felt a familiar feeling of excitement surge in his stomach before he noticed that her bedroom light was on.  Eager to see her, he parked the Cherokee four houses away.

“Is this her house?  Where’s the big tree you told me about?” Yoshi asked.

“No, this isn’t it. We passed it.”

“Why?  Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.  We’re going to walk to her house, cross her property and climb the tree to her window.”

“Wouldn’t the front door be easier?”

“Well, yes, of course.  But I’m guessing her father is home and would not be too thrilled to see me after what happened last time I was here, how I just took off and left Melissa to deal with the police and everything.  And how I hurt his daughter.”

“When you put it that way, I can see why you’d want to avoid him.  He’s probably not a big fan of yours,” Yoshi replied. “It sounds like the tree is the best route.”

They both climbed out of the Jeep Cherokee and began walking up the steep incline of Melissa’s street. Each residence was uniform in construct, only subtle variations in choice of shutter color or siding hue differentiated them.  Composed predominantly of working-class residents, the members of the Blackstone Drive’s community dutifully maintained their property.  Gabriel noticed that each lawn they passed had been mowed, flower beds were meticulously upheld, and shrub shapes were maintained.  The overall landscape was neat and orderly, a refreshing departure from the unpredictability and, at times, unruliness, that defined the environment of his previous habitat.

“All the houses are exactly alike,” Yoshi commented.

“Kind of,” Gabriel agreed.

“Is that how all neighborhoods are in America?”

“No, not all, but who cares, really?  Look over there, look what this neighborhood has that’s unique,” Gabriel said pointing to the eastern-facing houses that bore odd numbers.

Beyond the odd numbered houses, the sun hung low in the sky, almost disappeared into the horizon, its vanishing light a faint glow in the west.

“I see.  Sunsets for one side of the street, sunrises for the other.  Interesting,” Yoshi said but didn’t seem interested in the least.

Gabriel believed his friend would have been happier in a less suburban setting, one with tall buildings and bright lights.  But Yoshi’s entertainment was not his foremost thought.  Furthermore, he was far too distracted to entertain such thoughts.  Everything around him shimmered and thrived.

The air smelled sweet and green with hints of lemon grass and lavender scenting it.  Everywhere he looked, something bloomed.  Daffodils, tulips and magnolia lined driveways, cherry blossoms and early azalea blooms made debuts in front yards.  Blackstone Drive flourished with signs of spring.

Gabriel, like the street he treaded upon, was awash with hope and vitality.

And then he saw her house.  The light of her bedroom lamps cast a faint golden glow onto the garage that shelved below it.  He felt his breath catch in his chest, couldn’t believe he was actually standing underneath her room, that he would hold her in his arms in a matter of minutes.

He looked beside the house and smiled.  The mature oak looked bigger.  Though he was sure it hadn’t gown taller in the last five months, he knew it grew wider.  With an abundance of leaves that assumed a fluorescent hue in the light of early evening, the oak looked considerably fuller, robust.  All the brightly colored leaves intertwined in an elaborate web of boughs reaching and stretching upward, outward.  He marveled at the majestic guardian of the Martin home, and eagerly wanted to climb it.

As if reading his mind, Yoshi spoke.

“It’s been a while since I climbed a tree,” Yoshi said slightly embarrassed. “You think I can get up there?” he asked and pointed to the lowest branch which was several feet taller than he.

“Sure you can.  You were born and raised in Motuo,” Gabriel encouraged.  “Remember?  No electricity.  No supermarkets.  You hunted in the wild.”

“Thanks Gabriel, but I really don’t need a pep talk.  The problem is less about my abilities–which are superior to yours, by the way–and more about the fact that I can’t even get my leg to the lowest knot.”

“First of all, those things on the tree are not knots Yoshi, their called galls and they occur when a tree is recovering from an injury or stress; it’s like a lump of scar tissue.”

“What, now you’re a tree doctor or something?”

“No, I just learned a lot of stuff when I was with Terzini.  He wanted me to be well-rounded, well-informed.”

“With useless information, I guess.”

“It wasn’t useless.  You learned something just now, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Yoshi answered slightly exasperated.

“Are we going to do this or not, because there’s a gorgeous girl just a tree-climb away who I’d like to see rather than stand here and argue with you.”

“Fine, say no more,” Yoshi agreed and rubbed his chin as he looked again to the enormous oak.

“I’ll give you a boost,” Gabriel promised then stooped and offered his interlaced fingers for his friend to step upon.

Yoshi stepped into Gabriel’s hands and hoisted himself up onto a sturdy outstretched branch.  Once he was confident that the branch could uphold his weight, he stood up and looked down at Gabriel.

“This thing is huge,” he called. “What kind of tree is this?”

“It’s an oak tree,” Gabriel answered readying himself to reach for the same bough.

Once Yoshi was farther up in the massive tree, Gabriel began climbing.  His hands trembled as he reached for the first branch.  His pulse kept rhythm loudly in his ears.  He pulled himself up and lifted his leg so that he straddled the bough first, then moved to a squatting position.  He stood quickly, stretched and grasped another branch, and another, and another, until he reached the roof of the garage.  Yoshi waited for him at the edge as he stepped from the tree.

“This is it,” Yoshi began. “This is what you’ve been whining about for five months.”

“Please, Yoshi! Stop trying to ruin this for me!”

“Sorry,” Yoshi said sincerely.

They scampered up the length of the garage roof.  When they reached the sill of her window, Gabriel peered inside, expecting to see Melissa’s face just beyond the glass staring intently at her laptop computer as he’d seen her do on numerous occasions in the past.  He did not see her face. She was not seated at her desk focusing on her computer.  She sat on the edge of her bed with her back facing him, her long hair trailing almost to her waist.  And she was not alone.

Gabriel moved closer to her bedroom window.  With his face nearly pressed against it, he saw that Melissa’s arm was wrapped around a male figure.  Thin with a large frame and bristly black hair, he leaned into her, his body resting intimately against her.

Gabriel felt as if he’d been struck in the stomach.  He struggled to breathe.  His eyes burned and his mouth went dry.  He blinked several times to expunge the moisture that accumulated suddenly, unexpectedly, and blurred his vision.  He turned to Yoshi who sat waiting with his back against the siding that framed the window.

“Let’s go.  This was a mistake,” he said levelly.

“What?  What are you talking about?  This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Did you not hear me?” Gabriel said sharply.  “I said let’s go!”

“What the hell’s your problem?”

“Look, Yoshi, I’m not in the mood for your crap right now.  Let’s just get the hell out of here. Okay?”

“I don’t get it. Why?”

“You really want to know Yoshi?”

“Yes, I do!”

“Look! Look in the window and tell me what you see!” Gabriel ordered.

Yoshi stepped up to the window and looked in.

“She moved on,” he said apologetically.

“Yes, she moved on!  And I am not going to interrupt her date to talk about the possibility that Kevin and his friends were somehow saved by Terzini and sent back to do who knows what,” Gabriel said heatedly.

“All right, all right, calm down.  Let’s get out of here.”

Yoshi moved down the garage roof, gripped a branch and descended the oak with dexterity that implied he’d done it hundreds of time.  Gabriel moved toward the tree but paused to look over his shoulder at Melissa and her supposed new beau.

In the instant that he did, Melissa and the mystery guest parted.  Gabriel turned his body and rested on all fours.  He stabilized himself in such an awkward position by carefully tensing his leg muscles and engaging his upper-body strength.  He strained to see.  He tilted his head to get a better look, then saw the boy’s profile and immediately wished he hadn’t.  He recognized the boy with Melissa, and felt as if a dagger had been thrust through his heart.  Despite his education and broad knowledge base, he could not, for the life of him, understand why Melissa would choose to be with the boy on her bed.  He felt disappointed and disgusted.  He did not want her to be with anyone else, least of all the person she was with.

Eric Sala sat beside Melissa on her bed and gazed longingly at her.  Eric Sala was the boy she had embraced just seconds ago.

Gabriel struggled with what he was looking at.  He could only view Eric as an outspoken member of Kevin’s gang, a jerk and a troublemaker.  He could not envision him as someone she would choose to spend time with, much less hug.  Eric had been responsible for many of Melissa’s miserable days, had assisted Kevin with his attack against them in the woods five months earlier and had even gone as far as personally assaulting her.  In fact, Gabriel’s lasting memory of Eric was of him tackling her to the ground then straddling her while restraining her with one hand, and raising the other to strike her into submission.  He could not fathom how his act of violence, added to the numerous verbal attacks, had been pardoned by her, how he ended up in her arms.  The situation did not make sense.

Part of him wanted nothing more than to make his presence known, confront them both and demand an explanation of their relationship.  But that very primitive part of him, the part that wanted to act irrationally, did not dictate his actions.  Though such an act would have undoubtedly been gratifying momentarily, he knew it would have repercussions.  He knew nothing good would come from acting impulsively.  Ultimately, he did not want to embarrass or hurt Melissa, though he was hurting.

Gabriel felt heartbroken.  It was a foreign feeling for him.  He had never been hurt by one he loved. Melissa was the only person he’d ever loved.  He did not know what to do.  He felt hot and cold, confused and enlightened, angry and sad.  All of his emotions seemed to conflict as he experienced them simultaneously.  He felt dizzy and nauseated and struggled to catch his breath.

Without warning, the surface he knelt on seemed to give way beneath him. He didn’t realize he’d relaxed the muscles that held him upright in his unsafe position.  Shock caught him off guard, diminished his natural defense instantaneously.  He began to fall.

Melissa’s bedroom window, illuminated with soft, golden light, rushed away from him. The lower half of his body raced toward the driveway below. Gabriel’s body scraped along asphalt shingles until his feet caught in the seaming of the gutter.

Yoshi called out from the ground below.

“Gabriel, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Gabriel lied then slid his feet gingerly along the drainage trench until he reached the edge of the roof. He reached for an outstretched branch and quickly navigated the entanglement of leaves and boughs until he reached the lowest one.

When his feet landed upon sturdier ground, his chest began to tighten.  His eyes continued to burn. He dared not speak, didn’t trust that his voice would project without faltering.  He did not look at Yoshi who walked alongside him down Blackstone Drive.  He kept his head turned from his friend and looked to the skyline.

Clouds assembled, swiftly strengthening their ranks and readying for rain. The air felt weighted with moisture, a preemptive maneuver before the complete strike began.

They moved swiftly down the hill and arrived at Gabriel’s vehicle.  Once inside, Gabriel turned his key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. He allowed the Jeep to idle for several seconds as he collected his thoughts.  His brain struggled to comply with what he demanded of it.

Frustrated, he pounded the steering wheel with his fist. Smarting and angry, Gabriel fought to focus on the original reason for their return. Instead, his rational thought process was muddled, blindsided by unforeseen events and unimaginable pain.

He rubbed his eyes with both hands, determined to purge the image of Melissa hugging Eric Sala from them. But the more he rubbed, the more intense the sensation of sand wedged beneath his eyelids became. So he gave up, stared straight ahead and shifted the Jeep into gear.

He drove to the end of Blackstone Drive and stopped at the stop sign. Rain drops began to fall.

“We’ll get a room for the night. I need to shower and sleep,” Gabriel said wearily.

“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” Yoshi asked.

“I can’t.”

“Then what’s the plan?”

“We’ll find a motel and get a room for the night. In the morning, we’ll head over to Harbingers High School and I’ll find Melissa and try to see what’s going on.  At least I know she won’t be on a date there.  After we talk, we’ll have to figure things out from there.”

“If you aren’t with Melissa anymore and it’s you this Terzini is after, then she won’t be in any danger, right?”

“Wrong,” Gabriel began. “She’s still in danger because of all she knows, everything I showed her the night I told her about me.”

Gabriel’s chest began to ache more penetratingly. He felt as if his heart were being drilled against with a jackhammer. He remembered, in vivid detail, the night he’d told her of his origins. He remembered what she wore, how she smelled, what she ate. He remembered how she delighted in the efforts he made to make the evening perfect and how she glowed when he told her he loved her.

He also remembered the stricken look on her face when he shared with her his darkest secret, the expression of horror when they went to Terzini’s underground lab and unearthed a partially formed person in the development tank.

He started to think that perhaps he would have been better off just letting her go then.  If he had embraced the anger and hurt, merged them together perfectly enough, he would have been capable of killing Terzini when he’d had the chance.

Gabriel grew tired of entertaining what ifs; they were a futile waste of energy. The fact of the matter remained that he loved Melissa. Melissa appeared to have moved on, but was still in danger. He would not allow harm to come her way, harm he was responsible for, simply because she no longer possessed feelings for him. He had left her. The materialization of his biggest fear was his own fault.

He avowed silently as he drove along the darkened and winding roads of Harbingers Falls to right the wrongs he had initiated, right them and then leave for good.

Chapter 17

From deep within the folds of lengths of velour drapery that smelled of mothballs, the faceless man rose from his crouched and concealed position and pressed his face to the window.  He couldn’t believe what he had just seen, wondered whether his eyes had deceived him.  Squinting, he looked again to be sure and found that, to his delight, his original perception held true; Gabriel James had left Melissa Martin’s home.

Moments earlier, he had looked on in horror as Gabriel, accompanied by a man of short stature, had marched up Blackstone Drive and onto the Martin property.  Terrified, he had watched, certain that Gabriel had returned to take Melissa away.  If that had happened, he would never get to meet her, to become her friend.  He had traveled so far, endured unspeakable hardships and experienced countless disappointments almost exclusively at the hands of human beings.  All of his suffering would have been in vain had Gabriel taken Melissa from him.  But he had not.

The faceless man smiled revealing his pointed teeth.  The torment he’d withstood would at last be rewarded.  He had withstood so much, persisted in the face of innumerable individuals who sought to hurt him.  Procuring a home next to Melissa’s for surveillance purposes had been among the many ordeals he had braved to be near her, so close to friendship.  He shivered as he remembered what he’d been through.

He had hidden in the wooded area behind the homes in Melissa’s neighborhood and watched, waiting to see whether a welcoming person stood out from the rest, someone who would invite him into their home and understand his objective though he could not explain it.  But few people milled about in the evening and by day, the street was virtually deserted.

After two days of deliberating and wrestling with his overall distrust of all humans, the faceless man, about to give up, spotted an elderly woman stepping out of her home and onto her porch to retrieve her newspaper.  Someone had callously thrown it in the bushes that hugged her entryway.  He had watched as she toiled and labored to get down her steps and then strained to reach her paper.  All the while, he had noticed how her kindly face never pursed in anger; she never shouted an explicative, just grunted softly.  With a tuft of wooly, white hair perched atop her head, doughy skin that was deeply lined, she looked soft and gentle like a rumpled pillow, worn but wonderful.  And her house bordered Melissa’s.

The elderly woman turned out to be a disappointment as all other had that he’d encountered.  Her appearance was not representative of her personality.  He had not been particularly shocked to find she was cruel.

He was shocked, however, when she first attacked him with a mop, and then a rolling pin.  She swatted and whacked with speed that contradicted the network of creases that marked her skin.  She had beaten him with vigor.

The faceless man had tried to calm her, make her see he did not intend to harm her, that he simply needed a place to rest and spy on her neighbor, but the inability to speak complicated matters.  He’d had no choice but to shove her off of him; she simply would not stop hitting him.

He had learned many things since leaving Dr. Franklin Terzini’s laboratory.  Among those many things, he had discovered that elderly people such as Melissa’s neighbor were brittle.  They were brittle and mean.

Her meanness and brittleness had been her demise.

He felt a shiver pass through him once again as he recalled his interaction with the old woman, how she had been so unpleasant, so hurtful toward him.  Tears began to threaten as he felt genuine pity for himself.

He fought back his sadness, refused to shed one more tear for the cruel and despicable people of the Earth.  He would not fret, had no time to.  He had more intriguing things to think about, to dream about.  Melissa Martin was in his field of vision.  Gabriel had left without speaking to her.  He had simply watched her as the faceless man did, only closer.

But Gabriel would undoubtedly return.  Surely creations like them could never turn their backs on someone willing to accept them, to embrace them.

The faceless man resolved to act immediately.  Delaying would only give rise to opportunity for Gabriel to take her from him.  He would not allow that to happen.  Melissa would not only be his friend, she’d be his savior.  She would deliver him from a life of loneliness and isolation, of torture and ridicule.  He had seen her benevolence in action, had witnessed her magic.  A boy had been to her house at the same time as Gabriel.  He was tall and long-limbed with black hair that prickled unnaturally from his scalp.  He had come to her sad and broken, had cried to her.  She did not scream or curse or attack him with mops or kitchen tools.  Melissa embraced him and made him feel better.  He was certain she would do the same for him.

The only obstacle that remained was finding a way to explain his feelings to her, to make her understand he wanted friendship and acceptance, that he wanted love.  Thus far, surprising people with his friendship had not gone as he’d intended.  As it turned out, human beings did not favor surprises.

Chapter 18

Eric Sala left Melissa’s house feeling equal parts relieved and apprehensive.  Though he had taken a calculated risk and entered through the front door of her home, he did not dare endanger himself by repeating such an action.  After explaining to her the nature and severity of his worries, she offered him an exit through the family room at the rear of the house.

He had traveled on foot.  Parking his car three blocks away, leaving it inconspicuously sandwiched between a mobile home and minivan, Eric had traversed a considerable stretch of woods, crossed one of her neighbor’s backyards and walked up the remainder of her street to her front door.  Such precautionary measures had been necessary then, were necessary still.

The sun had set about an hour ago.  Clouds had filled in where navy expanses should have dazzled with infinite celestial jewels.  The evening sky was dark, darker than usual.  Mist clung to treetops.  The air was cool but balmy.  A preternatural silence had befallen the surrounding area.  Eric wondered if the fog had acted as a blanket of freshly fallen snow would have, muffling and quieting everything in its wake; it seemed as though the rain were falling soundlessly around him.

He cut across Melissa’s small backyard and went directly into the woods beyond it.  After crossing a small seasonal stream, swollen with the wealth of spring rain the area had seen and residual winter snow that had long since melted, Eric moved deeper into the woods.  He was immediately swallowed by the abundance of growth around him.  Branches, crisscrossed at every turn, threatened to gouge his eyes, undergrowth tugged at his pant legs and fog gathered conspiratorially, disorienting him and robbing him of his vision.

A branch snapping behind him sliced through the milky mist and echoed through the void. Eric’s pulse quickened, as did his pace.  Certain that someone was pursuing him he moved faster, clumsily jogging through a riot of twisted, entangled branches.  Sweat dappled his clammy skin as he looked over his shoulder.  Movement behind him, unseen but distinct nevertheless, skyrocketed his racing heart rate.  He began to run.

With each foot momentarily off the ground in each step and his nearly nonexistent sense of depth perception in the darkened and shrouded woodland, Eric tripped.  He toppled face-first to the ground below.  He never saw the fallen tree in his path.

Facedown on the ground, he did not move right away.  He paused briefly and remained as still as he could.  He listened for the sound of footfalls, but heard nothing over the rush of blood against his eardrums.  Once he felt confident that he was not being tracked, he rose to his feet, brushed the debris from his clothes and sprinted to the edge of the woods where his car waited on an unfamiliar street in a neighborhood that was not his.

Street lights illuminated the pavement but reflected against the thickening fog.  The sound of his own footsteps lulled him into thought.  He began to replay his conversation with Melissa.  He wondered whether he’d made a mistake by telling her, yet felt it necessary to unburden himself.   He reasoned that it had been necessary to share what happened with her.  After all, she had been there when Kevin, Chris and John had been killed.  She was part of everything he’d been through.

But something about his visit with her left him feeling unsettled.  He could not quite pinpoint what it was, but something did not feel right.  As he mulled her reaction over, he came to the realization that Melissa had not reacted as he’d expected her to, the way anyone else would have.  In fact, other than tearfulness, she hadn’t had much of a reaction at all.  He had assumed she would think he’d lost his mind and need a tremendous amount of convincing.  He had thought he’d have to talk to her more than once to make her understand.  To his surprise, she had accepted everything he had to say, even the things he’d speculated.  Nothing had shocked her.  She had been upset, but by no means as shocked as he’d anticipated.

One point she had impressed upon him was the necessity of going to the police.  She had suggested he go right away, even offered to go with him.  Eric knew he could never go to the police, and though she had seemed to fully comprehend the magnitude of the situation, as well as its utter weirdness, Melissa could not have possibly understood the danger he was in.  If he were to go to the police, he was sure he’d be killed.  He had seen the look in their eyes as they mercilessly executed the guys from the club, their maniacal, crazed expressions.  She hadn’t been there.  She had no way of knowing.  But she’d believed him, and having someone to share his fears with did help.

Eric felt slightly buoyed as his car came into sight.  Just where he’d left it, his dented Ford Escort waited between the vehicles he parked it between.  Nether Kevin, Chris nor John waited against it.  In a few hundred feet, he would be behind the wheel of his car and on his way home.

His faint glimmer of optimism was dimmed, however, when he became aware of a presence.  He did not see who loomed ahead, but felt another with him.  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he heard footsteps against the pavement.  They began slowly at first, then picked up in pace quickly.  Whoever was coming had undoubtedly seen him, and was coming right at him.  Faster and faster, the sound rushed toward him.  With nowhere to run to and few places to hide, Eric ducked between two garbage cans at the end of a car-filled driveway.  He crouched just in time to see a pair to light-up running shoes gallop passed him.

A jogger, he thought.  A jogger going for an evening run had advanced and nearly scared him to death.  Relieved, Eric arrived at his car; he got in and locked the doors, then started the engine.  He raked his hands through his hair and smiled.  He would be home in a matter of minutes.

He pulled out of the space he’d parked his car, a small niche between a behemoth camper and a minivan, and drove to his house.  He could not wait to walk in the front door and head straight upstairs.  His parents would certainly be home, his mother in the kitchen experimenting with a new recipe from the food network, his dad leaning against the counter telling her all about his day.  He longed for the sounds of chatter, of laughter, of home.  He would strip out of his soiled clothes dirtied from his fall in the woods, take a hot shower and join his parents for a much-needed dose of normality.

Eric couldn’t help but smile, a rare expression he seldom produced in recent days, as he parked across the street from his house.  Each window was illuminated.  The outline of his parents was framed by the kitchen window.  He locked his car doors and trotted toward his house.

As he stepped on to his driveway, a car turned on to his street.  Headlights blinded him temporarily.  He froze as he discerned the make and model of the car.  It was a black Infiniti G37 Sports Coupe, and it belonged to Kevin Anderson.

Kevin pulled into Eric’s driveway and opened the door.  And he was not alone.  Chris and John occupied the passenger seat and back seat respectively.

“What’s up man?” Eric asked and tried to sound nonchalant.

“Nothing, man, nothing at all,” Kevin said tightly.  “We’re just heading out to get some beers and hang, thought you’d like to join us,” Kevin suggested, but the tone of his voice implied that he was not suggesting that Eric join them, but rather ordering it.

“I can’t tonight.  My parents are home and they’ve been on my shit about my grades.  You know how that is,” Eric attempted.

“Don’t be a punk.  Blow off your parents or tell them you’re going to a study group or something.  Or better yet, don’t tell them anything,” Kevin said testily.

“I don’t know, man.  I think they’d freak out,” Eric replied.

“Who gives a shit?  Aren’t you going to be eighteen in, like, two months?  Come on!  Stop being a punk and get in the fuckin’ car,” Kevin commanded.

Eric knew he could not refuse them, that refusal would imply disrespect, and he knew what happened to those who disrespected them.  His only chance of survival would be to go out with them, play along with whatever game they were playing, and pray that they did not know of his meeting with Melissa earlier.

Reluctantly, Eric agreed to go with Kevin, Chris and John.

He climbed into the back seat of Kevin’s car and glanced at his house.  He saw the basketball hoop in the driveway and remembered exhausting himself when he was nine, trying to perfect his layup so he could show his dad when he returned from work.  He saw his mother’s rosebush out front just beyond the porch. He remembered planting it there as a Mother’s Day’s surprise for her five years earlier and how she enjoyed clipping the blooms and filling the house with vases of crimson roses.  He had grown up in the house and made so many memories there.

Eric heard the automatic lock engage in Kevin Anderson’s car, saw his parents’ silhouettes in the kitchen window and, with a tear rolling down his cheek, realized he’d never see them again.

Chapter 19

Melissa had watched as Eric dashed across her backyard and into the wooded area behind her house.  He disappeared into the thicket quickly, his gait like that of a deer, graceful, agile, and frightened.

He had shared with her information that compounded her worst fear; that Kevin, Chris and John had returned from death and were more dreadful than before.  Her hands trembled still.  She wondered if they’d ever stop trembling.  She wanted nothing more than to run upstairs and tell her father everything, beg him to stay with her and not drive two and a half hours away from her for a weekend poker tournament.  But she knew that it was not an option.  She could never tell her father about Kevin and the others.  She could never tell him about Gabriel, Terzini or Eugene either.  To do so would all but guarantee her father would have her committed to a mental health facility.

Instead, she hugged him tightly and watched as his taillights trailed down her street and vanished out of sight.

Her house suddenly felt far larger than it actually was, and far more vulnerable.  She set about fortifying every entry point.  Starting with the front door, she engaged the deadbolt then moved to the backdoor off of the family room and to the door that led to the garage.  She then went to the basement and double-checked that the casement windows had been closed and locked after her father’s workout.  When satisfied that the basement was sufficiently secured, she shut the light and returned to the main level of her house.

The curtains in the kitchen billowed.  She did not remember opening the kitchen window but shut it immediately and locked it nevertheless.  Drops of water stippled the sill.  The late afternoon drizzle had graduated to wind-driven rain.  She watched from the recently closed kitchen window as it whipped and lashed treetops in her neighborhood before checking the remaining windows in the living room and dining room.

Once all were closed, she ascended the staircase to call Alexandra and make plans for her to spend the weekend with the Georgopoulos family.  She would then gather her toothbrush and other personal effects, pajamas and a few outfits and head over to Alexandra’s.

She looked to her desk and saw that her cell phone did not rest on its charger.  She did not see it on her bed either.  As she scanned her room she realized it could be anywhere, lost in a sea of clothes and shoes strewn about the floor.  She began to pick up articles of clothes from the floor, frustrated by her lack of housekeeping, when a tapping sound startled her.

She paused, dropped the clothes in her hands and listened.

Then she heard the tapping sound again.  It came from near her desk.  She froze and held her breath, waited for the sound again.

The taps sounded again in quick succession, and it came from her window.

Her heart beat wildly.  She could think of only one person who had tapped on her window, and that was five months ago.  Excitement fluttered in her stomach as she quickly smoothed her hair with her hands and walked to the window.  She was certain that Gabriel waited on the other side of the glass; that he had returned from whatever exotic destination he called home for nearly half a year after hearing of Kevin, Chis and John’s return and had returned to protect her.

The dimness of early evening combined with the brewing storm outside prohibited Melissa from seeing anything in the glass but her reflection.   She immediately crossed the room and moved to the window where the tapping originated.  She placed both hands on the casing and pressed her face to the pane.  She guessed that Gabriel, wanting to surprise her, had backed away and off to the side.  Melissa did not want to delay their reunion any longer.  If Gabriel waited on the other side of the glass and had been responsible for the tapping as she suspected, she refused to waste more time.  She immediately threw open the sash and then the screen.  She stuck her head out.  Rain beat against the roof of the garage.  But she did not see him.

Crestfallen, Melissa had erroneously believed he awaited her beyond her windowpane.  In all likelihood, a branch, propelled by the gusting wind, had been responsible for the tapping.  Leaving the screen open, she closed the sash and resumed her search for her cell phone.

As she rifled through her untidy room, she heard tapping at the window once again.  Cautiously heartened, she went to the window without hesitation.  This time, a face stared back at her.

Shock briefly deprived her of voluntary movement, rendered her speechless.  The world went silent around her.  She did not hear the rain and wind; she did not feel the balmy breeze blowing against her skin.

The face that looked back at her was neither Gabriel’s nor her own reflection.  It was monstrous, inhuman, and moving closer.  It reached its arm at her spread its webbed fingers outstretching its hand toward her.  Instinct screamed for her to back away as the world regained sound.  Each noise resounded loudly, echoing and reverberating at an amplified volume.

She took two steps backward, sheer fright commanding her back, away from the hideous beast that advanced.  Her feet became entangled in a pile of clothes and suddenly she was falling.  She put her hands out to her sides, reaching blindly for something to hold on to, but grasped papers on her desk with her fingertips.  She felt the back of her head meet with the wood of her bedframe before everything went black.

***

The faceless man fretted as he watched Melissa tumble backward and hit her head against the wooden frame of her bed.  He did not want to believe misfortune had befallen him again.  He refused to believe he would not even be offered the opportunity to propose friendship to her before she went still forever as the others did.  He immediately rushed through her window and into her bedroom and put his face close to hers.  He felt her breath on his face.  She lived!  And he would have his chance with her.

But they could not stay at her house.  Too many people came and went from it.  Moreover, he had seen Gabriel loafing about on the rooftop of her garage just beyond her bedroom window not long ago.  He had been there once and he was confident he would return.  After all, their kind could not afford to shun friends.  He could not risk Gabriel returning and taking her from him.  He realized that they needed to leave.

He decided to take her with him to the house next door.

The faceless man bent down and wrapped his arms around Melissa’s waist then stood erect effortlessly.  With her slung over his shoulder, he descended the staircase and walked to the door in the family room at the rear of her house.  He crossed her property and went directly to her neighbor’s back door.

Once inside, he began to panic.  He worried she would shriek, or attack him with a mop, or a rolling pin.  He worried she’d be cruel.  He simply did not want a repeat of any of the negative incidents he had survived.  He did not want to get hurt again.  He wanted an opportunity to demonstrate that he was a friend; that he was going to be her best friend.  She would love him and see he would never harm her.  But he needed time to exhibit such sentiments.  His inability to speak slowed his ability to communicate effectively.

Then an idea evolved in his mind, one he considered a rather good idea.

He rested Melissa on a lumpy couch in the living room careful to turn her on her side and elevate her head then scrambled to the garage.  He scanned the area for rope, did not see it right away.  He began to dig through a variety of gardening tools.  He moved a wheelbarrow, gardening gloves, a watering can and a stack of dust-covered issues of Gardening Digest before happening upon a neatly coiled length of rope.

The faceless man smiled and returned to the living room.

He lifted Melissa and placed her in a wooden rocking chair that sat alongside the lumpy couch.  He tied her hands behind her back and bound her feet together.  In such a position, she would pose less of a threat to him, she could not hurt him.

He regretted tethering her like an animal but he needed time and wanted to avoid being attacked again.  He did not want history to repeat itself.

He seated himself on the couch and watched as her eyes began to dart behind her eyelids.  She started to stir.  She moved her head from side to side and her eyes opened wide with fright.

Panic seized the faceless man.  He dove over the back of the couch and hid behind it.  He closed his eyes and pulled his knees to his chest and silently hoped she would accept him.  She was his last chance.

***

Melissa regained consciousness and immediately recoiled from the nightmarish presence before her.  She attempted to raise her hands to protect her head that smarted from the beast before her but realized they were bound behind her back.  Then, for reasons unknown to her, the beast darted behind the couch.

She did not know how much time had passed or what exactly had happened to her, only that a monster had tied her to a rocking chair and that the back of her head throbbed.  She looked around and attempted to search for clues that would divulge her whereabouts.

Her eyes studied the room, sweeping from left to right.  A pair of upturned orthopedic shoes in the far corner of the room caught her attention.  She squinted her eyes against the weak lighting of the room and saw that the orthopedic shoes were worn by plump legs that lay inert surrounded by a pool of dark fluid.  Sheer panic set in as Melissa realized that her kindly next-door neighbor, Miss Harriet, was facedown, dead.

Her mind shut down, refused to acknowledge or process what was happening.  She suppressed the urge to scream, but instinct suggested it would do no good.  Furthermore, she did not want the creature to spring from his hiding place and attack her.  She needed to act subtly and try to free herself.

She wiggled and rubbed her arms in an up-and-down motion and felt a slight give in the roping.  While she manipulated her arms, she caught a glimpse of the creature cowering behind the couch.  It poked its awful head up and looked at her, then hid again.  It repeated this twice and resembled a hideous version of the beloved whack-a-mole game offered at carnivals, except she did not have a mallet with which to strike and doubted she possessed the speed and strength required to dominate it.

The creature persisted peeking at her intermittently for quite some time.  She did not understand the purpose of its perpetual peeping and disappearing.  It almost seemed afraid of her.  But such a notion seemed nonsensical.  After all, it had murdered Miss Harriet.

Each time it spied from the concealment of Miss Harriet’s bumpy couch, it lingered longer and longer, revealing more details of its construct.  She began to detect something very familiar about it.

And then it hit her.  Recognition and realization gelled.  She knew where she’d see it before.  Five months ago in the underground laboratory of Dr. Franklin Terzini, she and Gabriel had seen a partially formed human being in a stainless-steel development tank.  Its face had haunted her since.  She wondered why she hadn’t recognized it immediately.  She supposed some protective measure rooted deeply in her brain engaged itself and forbade her from connecting the two occurrences.  She never imagined she would see the creature again save for her mind’s eye, wouldn’t have needed to; its image was seared into her memory.  It had resembled a gigantic fetus in its eighth week of development.

Now, however, only insignificant changes had occurred.  Gauzy-looking skin barely sheathed the veins and capillaries that bulged in an elaborate matrix throughout his body.  Small, thinly lidded eyes had been tightly shut when in the tank but now spied at her through a thick, milky film that shrouded them.  She did not remember if it had a nose then, did not see one now; just two holes she guessed functioned as nasal passages.  It did not appear to have lips either, though a line that formed where they should have resided implied some type of opening existed beyond it.

As the creature continued its game of peekaboo with her, she pondered whether Terzini had released it early from its fluid-filled development tank to kill her.  But her question only gave rise to another question.  If it had been released and dispatched to kill her, then why was she still alive?

Question after question swirled in her head.  She was stunned when she realized it had emerged from its hiding place behind Miss Harriet’s sofa.  It moved toward her slowly, cautiously, with its arms extended in front of it, hands up with palms facing her in a gesture of surrender.  It looked even worse out of the tank than it had in it.  Its torso was large and curved, lending it the overall impression of crouching as it advanced.  Melissa wanted desperately to scream, to cry out in fear.  Its webbed fingers, though raised submissively, were attached to formidable hands, dangerous hands.  It approached slowly, but she knew it was capable of far swifter movements, its body betrayed its strength.  Its flimsy-looking skin did little to hide the thick, ropey muscles in his arms, legs and torso.

She wondered why it didn’t simply kill her, why it was drawing out her death, prolonging the moment before it struck.

A fleeting thought crossed her mind.  She didn’t believe it had much merit, but still wondered whether Dr. Terzini had left it behind or whether it had escaped.  Such a thought seemed implausible, impossible. Why would it come to her if it had been left behind or had escaped Terzini?

Suddenly she heard herself addressing it in a calm, rational tone that sounded contradictory to what she was feeling.

“Are you going to kill me?  Did Terzini send you for me?”

The creature responded with shock initially, narrowing its eyes and creasing the space between them as its head shot back as if upset by the mere implication.  Clearly astounded and possibly hurt by her queries, it began shaking its head from side to side in disagreement.

Melissa realized it could not communicate verbally, that gestures and its facial expression would have to suffice.  More importantly, it did not appear to want to hurt her.  In fact, it looked pathetic.

“Untie me,” she ordered the creature.  “I have to leave.  Why are you keeping me prisoner?” she asked, but knew he could not explain.

It immediately began pacing.  Her question had clearly raised conflict within him; its back and forth walking in the limited space between the couch and rocking chair indicated as such.  It scrunched its meager features as it strode, appeared genuinely distraught.

“Please, people are going to be looking for me.  I cannot stay here.”

To Melissa’s surprise, it dropped to its knees and placed its two hands together in front of it.  Though she couldn’t be sure it wasn’t praying to some foreign deity Terzini had manufactured in his lab, she felt confident his body language was beseeching, that he was begging her to stay.  Then it rose to its feet and gestured with one hand in a scooping motion as if digging into an imaginary bowl it held in the other.  From these signals its movement transitioned to motions that asked.  It was asking her if she was hungry.

Melissa could not believe it had the audacity to think she wanted to eat!  She had been kidnapped and tied to her murdered neighbor’s rocking chair.  Food was the farthest thing from her mind.

Survival instinct overtook her.  She began thrashing, tilting the rocking chair from side to side rather than back and forth.

“No!  I do not want to eat!  I want to leave!  Let me go!” she screamed.

The creature briefly looked as though it had been slapped.  Stunned stillness then precipitated a wounded expression on face.  Its posture suggested that her outburst had hurt it.  Its shoulders slumped dejectedly. It lowered its head woefully.

Slowly, it walked past her, picked up a remote control that sat atop the coffee table and turned on the television then ran from the room like a child.

Melissa’s mind felt as though it were teetering on the apex of great precipice, that at any moment it would plunge into an unfathomable void from which the was no return.  People created in tanks with superior DNA, genius geneticists who sought to transform humanity, a monster that wanted to feed her and keep her like a pet, all of it was madness, an incalculable departure from sanity.  She could not, and would not, remain where she was.  She began feverishly rubbing her arms together to loosen her restraints but to no avail.  They were tightly knotted.  The minuscule give she felt was for her comfort and nothing else.

After several moments passed and the creature didn’t return, she called out to it, asked it to come back.  When it did, she begged it to let her go, to release her.  It did not gesture or wave.  It ran away from her.

She wobbled wildly once again and toppled the rocking chair.  From her position on the floor, she was afforded a clearer view of the late Miss Harriet.  Melissa began to cry.  She sobbed for quite some time, she was uncertain of how long.  Mercifully, mental exhaustion overtook her and she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 20

Gabriel awakened several times during the night.  His sleep was fitful, filled with the same dream that repeated continually, looping like a film reel until finally interrupted by the sound of his own protests.

In his sleep, he would see her clearly.  She sat atop a picnic table, bathed in a golden glow.  The natural highlights in her hair shimmered, haloing her like a gilded crown.  Her eyes blazed green as emeralds fired by sunlight.  She was breathtaking.  Before her lay rolling hills colored in shades of red, yellow and orange.  He knew the place, had been there with her in the fall less than half a year earlier.  But in his dreams, it was not he that was with Melissa.  She was with another.  She sat with her knees nearly touching him, the tall and thin boy with dark hair.

Gabriel called to her to get her attention and let her know he was there but she did not hear him.  He moved closer, stood right beside her and called to her once again.  Still, she did not respond.  He reached out and tried to touch her only his hand passed through as powerless and weightless as a shadow.  He called out to the boy with the dark hair, called him by name.  Eric heard him and turned his head.  As he looked to Gabriel, his face was not Eric’s.  Instead, he had feline features.  Widely spaced eyes the color of honey stared at him challengingly and his thin mouth twisted into a cruel smile.  He reached his hands out and grabbed Melissa by the throat and began to squeeze.  Melissa did not fight.  Gabriel swung at him but his blows were ineffective, nonexistent.

Each time he woke he was screaming, drenched in perspiration and left with the same sinking feeling.  He was certain Eugene had not been the person he saw with Melissa in her bedroom the night before.  He did not believe Eric intended to choke her.  But the thought of Eric’s arms around her, and hers around him, gave him an unparalleled feeling of dread, of misery.  He did not blame her for moving on.  He could not fault her for seeking comfort from someone else.  He had been gone for a long time.  After what they had been through together, after the traumatic events leading up to his departure, he understood her need for protection, for warmth.  What he did not understand was her decision to be with Eric.  Eric and his friends were who he had fought, who he had protected her from.  For Melissa to have Eric as her boyfriend, she would have had to forgive him of his long list of transgressions against her.  Gabriel knew Melissa to be a sympathetic and compassionate person, but marveled at the notion that even she could possess the capacity to overlook the things Eric had done to her.

The sun had not yet risen when Gabriel finally gave up on sleep and resigned to shower and dress for the day.  A few hours later, Yoshi woke and knocked on his motel room door.  After a quick breakfast, complements of the motel and a trip to the mall, they drove back to Harbingers Falls and parked in the lot behind Harbingers High School and waited.

From the driver’s side of the Cherokee, Gabriel watched as former classmates came and went.  No one recognized him as they passed, despite his rather unoriginal disguise.  Dark sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead served as his concealment.

Seeing students he used to socialize with in his early days at Harbingers High School caused an unexpected pang of sadness.  Their faces and the hustle and bustle of racing to class brought to mind the first time he saw Melissa, how she stood out among them.  The pang quickly transitioned to a squeezing feeling in his chest that traveled the length of his neck and constricted his throat.

His reaction was suspended as he saw Yoshi’s small frame moving against the tide of students that swelled toward the rear entrance just as the bell rang signaling the end of lunch.  He bobbed like a buoy in breakers, his face expressive, his gestures animated.  When finally freed from the chaos of the crowd, Yoshi looked over his shoulder in exasperation then climbed in to Gabriel’s waiting SUV.

“She’s not in there,” Yoshi declared.  “I spoke to a few people and no one had seen her.  Two of the kids I talked to had classes with her this morning but she never showed.”

“Why wouldn’t she be in school today?”  Gabriel said more to himself that Yoshi.  “If something happened to her,” he did not finish his sentence and instead slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

“I hate to say this, but I also asked about that Eric Sala kid and he isn’t in school today either.”

Though the realization that both Melissa and Eric’s absences coincided with one another, he felt the slightest modicum of relief that she was likely skipping school with her boyfriend and was probably fine.  Gabriel felt the sinking feeling return and silently chastised himself for being so ill-equipped to deal with her moving on.

“Sorry man,” Yoshi began but was immediately distracted.  “Whoa, who’s that?” he asked but Gabriel didn’t bother turning.  He was descending into a dark, depressive depth he’d never been before.

“She’s the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen,” Yoshi admired.  “I’ve seen the beautiful women of America, you know, the actresses and models, but she is, wow, she’s gorgeous.”

Gabriel was only half listening to his friend as a flash of black streaked past him.  He would have missed it if he hadn’t looked up at the moment he did.  Lengths of raven hair trailed a female figure, a familiar figure, just two cars away.  He lowered his window and heard a string of profanities issued and instantly knew who it was.

Alexandra Geogopolous huddled against her red 2010 Ford Mustang and swore as she fumbled for her keys.  Gabriel couldn’t help but laugh.  Alexandra was unaccustomed to the responsibility of key location, and car possession in general because, despite having the car for some time, Alexandra continually lost her privilege to drive it as a result of her foul mouth and resistance to the imposition of her parent’s rules, or at least that’s what Melissa had told him when he’d asked about her frequent presence in Daniella’s front seat.

On impulse, he got out of the car with Yoshi in tow and approached her.  Yoshi’s mouth stood open, his eyes wide as he walked toward her.

“Close your mouth, Yoshi.  You’re embarrassing yourself,” Gabriel warned.

She looked up and recognized him. With a broad smile, she embraced him then promptly stepped back.

“Gabriel!” she said excitedly.  “What the fuck, you’re back?  Where’s Melissa?”

“She’s not with me.  She must be with her boyfriend,” Gabriel said as diplomatically as he could.

“Boyfriend?  What boyfriend?”

“Come on, Alex, you don’t have to pretend.  I know about him and I’m not thrilled, but I get it.”

“Hold on, Gabriel.  You may think you know something, but you are way off,” she said testily.

“It’s okay, Alex, you don’t have to lie for my benefit.”

“First of all, I am not a liar, and second of all, how dare you even say that about Melissa when all she’s done for the last five months is whine and moan about you, waiting for you to come back.”

“I saw them!  I saw her with him, with my own two eyes. And so did he,” Gabriel said and gestured to Yoshi who stood beside him.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about or what you think you saw, but she definitely does not have a boyfriend.”

“Alex, stop it.  I know okay, I know about Eric Sala, that she’s dating him.”

Alexandra wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Are you out of your fucking mind!” she exploded.  “You must be if you think she’d date that asshole!  You must have taken up smoking crack while you were gone if something that fucking stupid sounds right to you!”

“We saw them together at her house, on her bed.  They were hugging,” Gabriel spat.  “Tell her Yoshi.”

Gabriel turned to Yoshi expecting him to deliver a full report to Alexandra.  But instead of a detailed account of what he saw at Melissa’s, he simply stood, as if frozen, with his lips slightly parted, unblinking, staring at Alexandra.

“Yoshi!” Gabriel barked.

Yoshi remained silent as if entranced by Alexandra’s presence.  The only discernible change in his demeanor was his coloring.  His cheeks flushed to a shade of scarlet Gabriel had only seen him wear when training intensely.

“Tell her what we saw,” Gabriel attempted again.

Finally, his friend responded with pressured speech that was almost unintelligible.

“We saw them at her house,” he said firing the words in rapid succession before tuning a deeper shade of garnet.

“What?” Alexandra asked incredulously.  “There’s no way.  I don’t know what you think you saw, but I would know if she was hanging out with Eric.”

“Where is she today then?” Gabriel questioned.

“I don’t know.  I was getting a little worried she was sick or something because I’ve been calling her cell phone since last night and she hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

“That’s because she’s with Eric,” Gabriel enunciated each word to punctuate his point. “Eric isn’t in school today either.  You do the math.”

“There is no fucking way.  Something’s wrong here.”

“Well, we are going to find her.  I don’t care who she’s dating,” Gabriel lied.  “I just need to make sure she’s safe.”

“Safe from what?”

“From Kevin, Chris, and John.”

“Let me get the rest of my stuff from my car and I’ll come with you.”

“No.  Just stay here.  I don’t want you cutting school and getting your car taken away again.”

“Cut the shit, Gabriel!  I’m coming with you.”

“Alex, no!”

Alexandra pushed passed Gabriel and Yoshi and then turned back to them.

“If something’s wrong with my friend and you think I’m staying here, you’re definitely on crack,” she asserted then tapped her foot impatiently.

Gabriel unlocked the Cherokee with a push of a button on his keychain.  The car beeped twice and the headlights flashed.

Alexandra called out “Shotgun!” then proceeded to climb into the front seat.  Yoshi stood with his hands out, palms facing upward with a look of bewilderment on his face.  Shocked by the turn of events, he reluctantly assumed his seat in the rear of the vehicle.

Gabriel climbed into the driver’s seat, turned the key in the ignition and they left the grounds of Harbingers High School in search of Melissa.

Chapter 21

The faceless man hid in the kitchen as Melissa napped on the floor of the living room.  He’d heard her struggle before a loud crash had sounded.  He had covered his ears, terrified of the noise.  When silence had followed, he’d thought it safe to remove his hands.  He had peeked around the corner into the living room and had seen the rocking chair overturned, had heard her sobbing.  He had covered his ears and curled into a ball once again on the cold, vinyl flooring.

He remained, in a bowed position, for an undefined amount of time, uncertain of many things.  All he knew was that the sobbing had ceased and that the house was far brighter.

Long shadows stretched languidly across the dingy dark-yellow walls.  Scary shapes emerged from oddly shaped appliances, made it difficult for him to relax, to rest.

He had fretted incessantly throughout the night, fretted still.  Things were not going as he’d hoped they would and he was destroying his last chance at friendship.

He tensed briefly in his bent pose then released his hand from its resting place between his knees, retracted it and promptly thumped it against his temple.  He silently scolded himself for being such a fool.   He drew his fist back farther and punched himself a second time in frustration.

He gradually pushed himself up to a seated position.  His head throbbed, his hand ached.  He felt sad for himself.

He had not had an easy stretch of time.  He had held Melissa captive for an entire night.  He knew that friends did not do things like that; they did not hold one another hostage for hours on end.  He was uncertain of the details of friendship, of the specifications entailed in such a social contract, but he was sure kidnapping and captivity were not included within them.  But he’d had no other option.  If he had untied her, she would have fled.  Even still, he knew if were were to march into the living room and cut the rope from her wrists and ankles, she would run away from him, run away forever to Gabriel and forget all about him.  He did not want to be abandoned or forgotten.

In an effort to prevent such an occurrence, he had attempted several times during the night to make her understand that his intentions were innocent, that he wanted to make her more comfortable and happy.  He wanted her to see that she’d been contented by friendship with him, that he was pleasing.  But each time he appeared, she would become agitated and upset.  The sound of her crying, her tear-riddled pleas for release, were more than he could bear.  She hadn’t been cruel like the other horrible people he’d encountered but she was very emotional.

Her emotional state did not appear overly volatile.  She did not seem as though she would attack him with a mop, or a rolling pin, or her hands, but she did seem as if she was intent on leaving.  She had said repeatedly that she wanted to leave.

Melissa’s desire to leave had hurt him deeply.

His hurt motivated him to try harder, though.  Sitting on the vinyl floor patterned with mustard and brown-colored flowers and trailed with alarming, darkened shapes, the faceless man resolved to try again.  He had to.  She needed to see that he needed her and that he would be the best friend she would ever have, that he would never disappoint her.

The faceless man rose to his feet and straightened his posture as much as his curved torso allowed.  He walked to the sink and turned on both faucets.  He touched the stream of water that flowed gingerly.  Once confident he would not burn his delicate skin, he cupped his hands and filled them with water and began splashing it on his face.  He wanted to cleanse himself before his final attempt at convincing Melissa.  He pumped soap from the dispenser and scrubbed his entire head before dispensing more to just his forefinger then running it across his small, pointed teeth.  Hygiene could only help matters.

When he felt he’d been sufficiently cleaned, he walked slowly into the living room.  He saw her on the floor.  She rested on her side with the rocking chair tipped over.  She saw him as well.  Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

He wondered how she could do such a thing to him, to cry at the sight of him.  He felt sympathy for her predicament but at the same time felt entitled to happiness.  She was the linchpin to his happiness yet she cried.  The entire arrangement presented a conundrum.  The only point that was clear to him was that he could not endure more crying.  Her tears pained him too greatly.  And he did not deserve to be pained.

He began backing out of the room.

“Where are you going?” she asked him between sobs.  “Please don’t leave!”

He covered his ears with his hands again.

“You have to let me go.  Please!  People will be looking for me!”

Her desperate weeping was dreadful.  The faceless man began to feel his heart rate accelerate dangerously at the sound of it.  His breathing became shallow and his brow dampened with beads of perspiration.  In his stomach, it felt as though thousands of butterflies emerged from their chrysalides and beat their wings against its lining.  He needed to leave, immediately.

He turned on his heels then on legs that trembled, he ran back to the safety of the kitchen.

Melissa continued to cry; he could still hear her.  He didn’t know what to do.  He was going to have to untie her sooner or later.  Untying her was the only way to earn her trust, and he knew trust was implicit in the terms of friendship.  But if he untied her and she tried to leave or hurt him, she might be lost forever just as the others before her had been.

Chapter 22

Gabriel, Yoshi and Alexandra turned on to Blackstone Drive.  Direct sunlight blinded them as they rounded the corner and the Jeep Cherokee managed the steep incline with ease.  The street was lit by afternoon light, lemon-hued, pale and dazzling.  The nighttime rainfall enriched the lushness of the surrounding greenery and deepened their color to a rich shade of emerald.  The landscape was a vibrant palette illuminated by pastel sunlight.

Gabriel squinted against the glare then remembered his disguise that included dark sunglasses that rested on the back seat next to Yoshi.  He regretted not wearing both, but not as much as regretted leaving Harbingers Falls five months ago.  He felt the same sensation of nervousness in his stomach as he had the previous night, but his current feeling was a result of uneasiness rather than anticipation.  With his insides quavering, he turned in to Melissa’s driveway and immediately noticed an older model Camry parked in it.

“See, what did I tell you?  That’s the same car that was here last night, Eric’s car I presume,” Gabriel told Yoshi and Alexandra.

“Uh, no jerkwad, that’s Melissa’s car,” she said gesturing to a late model Toyota.  “Her dad let her get her license and use some of her savings to buy that thing.”

“Oh, she didn’t tell me,” Gabriel said quietly.

“Well maybe if you would have called her more often, you would have known,” Alexandra accused.

Gabriel was stunned by her words.  And hurt.  He did not have a biting comeback, didn’t need one.  Alexandra was right.  She was right to be mad with him just as Melissa was right to move on.  He chose to disappear to one of the remotest places on Earth.  The fault rested with him, for everything.  He blamed himself for every moment of Melissa’s life that he’d missed, every significant event.  She had needed him, but he had been gone.

Downcast, he reluctantly got out of the car and moved to the front door.  Alexandra and Yoshi followed. Alexandra pushed in front of him and Yoshi and rang the doorbell.  They waited several seconds.  No one answered.  All was quiet at the Martin residence.

Alexandra wrapped her knuckle against the door, and still, no one answered.

“I don’t get it.  Her car is here,” Alex said with concern.

“That’s because she’s not here and is probably out with Eric,” Gabriel said miserably.

Alexandra spun on her heels to face him.  Her deep-brown eyes darkened dangerously to a smoldering onyx.  She wore her anger plainly.

“She is not out with Eric!” Alexandra pronounced each slowly and loudly.  “You are starting to really piss me off, Gabriel!  I made it clear to you back at the school that all she’s done is cry about you since you left.  She’s only gone out, like, one time.  She was so miserable, I was actually starting to get worried about her, and you have the balls to start this shit about Eric again!” she fumed.

“Alex, I’m sorry.  I’m not trying to upset you, and I believe you when you say she had a hard time after I left, but is it possible she didn’t tell you about Eric because of what happened, because maybe she thought you’d freak out about it?”

“Not possible,” Alexandra said confidently then added, “Forget about the Eric shit for a second if that’s possible.  I’m starting to get worried.  Maybe something’s wrong.”

“If something happened, her father would have called you, right?”

“Yeah, if he was home but he’s away this weekend.  In fact, she said she was probably going to stay with me.  She didn’t want to be alone when he was gone.  But she never called me.  I just assumed she changed her mind or that her dad decided not to go.  He’s clearly not here, and she’s not answering the door, or her phone.  I’m really worried now.”

Yoshi, who had been silently observing Gabriel’s interaction with Alexandra, turned from them and began inspecting the exterior of the house.  He stood on his tippy toes and peered into the windows of the garage.

“Alexandra’s right,” Yoshi said.  “There’s no car in the garage, so her dad’s not here.”

“I’ll go look around back and see if there are any broken windows,” Alexandra added, worry lacing her words. “Or if anyone’s inside.  For all we know, Melissa’s asleep on the couch.”

“I hope she’s alone,” Gabriel muttered to himself.

Alexandra overheard his comment and shot him a withering glance.

“What?” he asked.

“So you think she’s doing it with Eric on the couch or something?” she said through her teeth.

“I didn’t mean, I wasn’t trying to imply,” he stammered.  “I wasn’t saying that I think she and Eric are sleeping together on the couch, Alex.  Get your mind out of the gutter!”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant I hope Melissa is alone, that’s all.  If she’s sick, I hope he is not with her.”

Alexandra stared hard at Gabriel.  He wondered if she were contemplating an attack of some sort until she turned from him suddenly and began walking around the house.  She paused in the driveway and pointed up above it.

“Look! Do you see that?”  Alexandra asked both he and Yoshi.

“The window,” Yoshi replied.  “It’s wide open.  The screen is up, too.”

Gabriel looked up to the window and saw that her curtain billowed in the slight breeze, that the screen was lifted as was the pane.  He felt his mind unravel like a spool of thread only the reel had disappeared, rolled off into the void, his only lead a seemingly unlimited length of ribbon he intuited he must follow.

He rushed to the oak that stood beside her house and scaled it with speed her never knew he possessed.  He did not know what he rushed toward, just knew that time was somehow constrained, like an enormous hourglass had been overturned and each grain of sand that fell profoundly impacted Melissa’s fate.

Once on the roof of the garage, he quickly scrambled up the shingles and dove headlong into her opened window.

“Gabriel, is she in there?”  Alexandra shouted from the ground below.

Gabriel did not respond right away.  He looked around her room, processing every detail of its condition.  The room was in shambles.  Melissa had never been the neatest of people but the room was messy by her standards.  The chair by her desk that sat just under the window had been knocked over.  Her purse sat atop her dresser and her cell phone beeped from beneath a sweater.

Gabriel crossed her room, ran down the hallway and descended the staircase.

“Melissa!” he shouted as he quickly scanned each room.

He did not search the basement.  Instead, he opened the front door.  Alexandra burst through, her eyeliner-rimmed eyes brimming with tears.

“Why didn’t you answer me?” she screamed.  “Didn’t you hear me call you?  She’s not there is she?  But something happened.  I can see it on your face.”

Alexandra’s voice was shrill, bordering on hysterical.

“Calm down, Alex.  Let me check downstairs then we’ll be certain she’s not here, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” she said tearfully.

“Fine, we’ll go together.”

Gabriel stepped from the foyer into the main hallway followed by Yoshi and Alexandra and opened a door along the wall. Beyond the entryway was a painted, wooden flight of steps leading to the basement.

Once the door was opened, he was immediately greeted with silence.  The silence unsettled him, profoundly.  He remembered the last time he entered the Martin household and was met with preternatural stillness.  Death had not claimed a loved one then, he hoped it did not claim one now.  He would not survive Melissa’s demise.  And in the darkest recesses of his core, he felt Melissa was in danger.

With Melissa’s imperiled image in his mind, he stepped cautiously from each tread to the next and held fast to the guardrails on either side of the partially finished staircase.  He stepped off the last rung of the staircase and on to the black linoleum flooring. He found the light switch and turned on the overhead fixtures then quickly surveyed the room. The furnishing remained the same.  A weight bench and an array of free-weight plates and bars, a Bowflex exercise machine, a treadmill, an elliptical trainer and a power cage were exactly as they when last he saw them.

The open floor plan afforded him an unobstructed view of the entire room.  Melissa was not there.

“This is bizarre, Gabriel,” Alexandra said in a composed voice.  “Where the hell could she be?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel replied.

“I know you think I’m overreacting about this, that she’s just off with that douche, Eric.  But I really feel something is wrong here.”

“So do I,” Gabriel admitted.

“Let’s go back upstairs to Melissa’s room and see if there’s anything to suggest her whereabouts,” Yoshi offered.

“Good idea, Yoshi.  Come on Alex,” Gabriel said and gestured for both she and Yoshi to go ahead of him up the staircase.

At the top of the basement steps, he closed the door behind him and paused to listen.  The house was still except for the hum and whir of major appliances in the kitchen.

Alexandra and Yoshi moved quickly up the main staircase in the house toward Melissa’s room.  Gabriel scanned Christopher Martin’s room.  Nothing appeared to be disturbed.  The spare bedroom remained untouched as well.  Just Melissa’s room was in a state of disarray.

“What the fuck?” Alexandra exclaimed as she entered Melissa’s bedroom.  She covered her mouth with both hands and a pained expression overtook her aspect.

“It looks like there was a struggle,” Yoshi observed then moved to the overturned chair.  “See here, where the chair is turned over is right below the open window.”

Gabriel noticed the chair as soon as he climbed through the window.  He narrowly avoided injury because of its positioning.  Hearing Yoshi formally catalog each suspicious characteristic of the room justified his growing concern, exacerbated it.

“And her phone!” Alexandra cried.  “It’s right here.”

Alexandra bent down and picked up her friend’s cellular phone. She touched the screen causing it to illuminate instantly.  Her fingertips moved quickly as she tapped at the monitor before reporting her findings.

“Eleven missed calls.  They are divided pretty evenly between my cell number, her dad’s and Daniella’s,” she said then added, “And there are no numbers on here that I don’t recognize so your stupid Eric theory is just that, stupid.”

“Is this her purse?” Yoshi asked as he lifted a black, rectangular handbag.

“It is!”  Alexandra confirmed.  “Something terrible has happened.  Melissa would never leave without her cell phone and purse.”

“It’s Kevin,” Gabriel heard himself say.  He had been thinking it all along but was loath to speak the words aloud for fear that verbalization might somehow validate his suspicions.  He knew his thought process had been irrational, foolish even, but an indescribable presentiment warned him that Kevin and his friends were somehow connected to all that had happened, even if peripherally.

“You really think so?” Alexandra asked.

“That’s the guy you read about at the Internet café, right?” Yoshi questioned.

“Yes and yes. He is the guy I read about,” he said to Yoshi then looked to Alexandra and said, “I think they’re involved, directly or indirectly.”

“What do we do next?  Call the police?”

“We can’t do that,” Gabriel cautioned. “All we have here is an open window and a cell phone.  And also, I’m not supposed to be here, remember?”

“Right,” she replied.  “So what’s our next move?”

Gabriel thought for a moment and suddenly the answer became clear.

“Let’s go to my house,” Gabriel said.

“Your house?” Yoshi and Alexandra said in unison.

“You know, the house I lived in when I was in Harbingers Falls with Terzini.  Think about it, it would be the perfect place to take her.  It’s abandoned, secluded and no one but me would think to go there and look for her.  And they think I’m gone.”

“Huh, interesting,” Yoshi mumbled as he stroked his chin pensively.

“Let’s not waste time standing around,” Alexandra stated as she exited Melissa’s bedroom, strode to the steps and out the front door.

Gabriel and Yoshi followed.  They all climbed into Gabriel’s rented Jeep and traveled to the house he lived in with Dr. Franklin Terzini just five months earlier.

The drive took less than ten minutes.  The Jeep mastered the narrow, winding roads of Harbingers Falls as if it perceived the intended route, hugging each sharp turn and adjusting to varying road conditions expertly.  When finally he reached the private road that doubled as his driveway during his earliest days, a familiar knot twisted in his stomach.  He turned down the long, gravel-filled path and his former residence came into view. The house, constructed with cream-colored brick and trimmed in forest green, was a Victorian Gothic-style structure. It had been constructed from materials of different colors and textures and displayed ornate carvings in a foliated pattern.  Pointed arch windows and doors highlighted potential entryways for curious teenagers looking for a deserted place to hang out and party. An expansive deck wrapped around from the front of the house to the rear and was filled with leaves and debris. Even in a state of abandonment, the overall appearance of the house was stately, impressive.

“Holy shit!” Alexandra gaped. “You live here, or used to live here?”

“Um, yeah,” Gabriel replied self-consciously.

Gabriel drove them to the end of the long driveway and parked outside the three-car garage port.

“This place is amazing,” Alexandra commented again.

“It is pretty impressive,” Yoshi chimed in and thumped Gabriel on the back.  Yoshi was the only one among them who knew the details of Gabriel’s origins and of his stay in Harbingers Falls.  He also knew of what lay beneath the grounds of the grand Victorian.

“Thanks, I guess,” Gabriel said awkwardly.

After exiting the car, they climbed the steps of the porch and Gabriel produced a key.  Though the house had not changed much on the outside save for a broken window, the inside had undergone tremendous change.  Books had been toppled from built-in, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the exquisite furniture had been defaced with cigarette burns and food stains, beer cans littered the once-pristine hardwood flooring and a suspicious odor he could not place lingered in the air.

“This place smells like pot,” Alexandra announced.

“Pot, as in marijuana?”

“That would be it, smarty pants,” she replied.

He watched as Alexandra walked around inspecting his former home.  “There doesn’t seem to be anyone here, now,” she observed.  “But I’m guessing there are, like, a million places she could be in this place.”

“Yeah, and there weren’t any cars on the property or surrounding area,” Yoshi offered.  “I don’t think she’s here, man.”

“Well, let’s look here in the house first.  Then we can look elsewhere,” Gabriel said ambiguously. “Obviously, this place has been someone’s hangout.  And Kevin, Chris, John and Eric were the only people other than Melissa that knew where I lived.”

“I’ll look upstairs,” Alexandra said as she moved to the staircase.

“I’ll look in the downstairs,” Yoshi said.  “Gabriel, why don’t you start on this floor?”

Each began their respective search.  Gabriel unearthed nothing of interest.  He found ashtray and empty cigarette boxes, more beer cans and bottles and an abundance of trash that ranged from gum wrappers to empty potato chip bags.  Nothing stood out as evidence that Melissa had been there.

Suddenly, a loud shriek sliced through the stillness of the abandoned house.

“Oh my God!” Alexandra screamed from upstairs.  She repeated the phrase continually in the same terrified pitch until Gabriel flew up the staircase and down a long corridor to his former room.  Yoshi arrived seconds after he did.  They flanked a trembling Alexandra and looked in the direction she pointed.

Before them, in what once existed as Gabriel’s closet, was Eric Sala.  His body slumped lifelessly against the far wall.  Bruises covered the ashen skin of his face, neck and arms mottling him with discolorations of varying shades and sizes.  His eyes stared straight ahead in a perpetual expression of vacancy.  But his mouth betrayed the vacuous, drawn appearance of his eyes for it remained open, as if screaming silently in horror.

Alexandra finally stopped screaming, shock seemed to have settled upon her.  Her skin had paled unhealthily and in a trembling voice she said, “I can’t believe what I’m looking at.  I mean, he’s–he’s dead.”

“He looks like he was beaten to death,” Yoshi added softly, unable to look away from the horrendous display before him.

But Gabriel hardly heard them over the thundering in his ears.  His mind raced as terrifying, unthinkable scenarios played out.  He began to panic.

He sprinted out of the room and inspected the remaining three on the floor, entering and searching closet spaces and corners.

“Gabriel, you okay?” Yoshi asked.  “I know he wasn’t your friend or anything but that was gruesome.”

Sweat dappled his forehead as he feverishly tore off dusty bedding from beds and stooped to look under them.

“Don’t’ you get it, Yoshi?” he began.  “If something happened to her, to Melissa, I saw her and could have stopped it.”

Yoshi looked at him solemnly.

“We both saw her and how could we have predicted or stopped something like that.”

Alexandra’s voice distracted them again from hallway.

“Guys!” she called.  “Guys, we have to go, now!  It’s them!  They’re here!”

She stood looking out a large window in the center of the corridor and pointed with a shaky hand to the long, gravel-filled driveway beyond its pane.  A sleek black Infiniti Sports Coupe sped brazenly down the pathway and raced toward the house.

“We’ve got to leave Gabriel, now!  They’ll kill us!  They’ll kill us, too!” Alexandra shrieked.

Pure, unadulterated rage began to course through Gabriel’s veins.  It throbbed and hummed through him like an electrical current, connecting and awakening every cell in his body.  His senses felt heighten, charged beyond their extraordinary capacity.  Every part of him hissed and crackled like high-voltage live wiring, exposed, dangerous.

“We’re not going anywhere,” he growled.

He descended the staircase, took two at a time, until he reached the landing.  He positioned himself before the front door.  He fortified his stance, and waited.

Kevin Anderson opened the unlocked front door.  John and Chris trailed behind him.  As he stepped through the threshold, a look of shock flashed across his features.  His face revealed that he did not expect to see Gabriel waiting, readied, on the other side of the door.  Gabriel watched as he instantly regained his composure and smiled sardonically at him.

Gabriel felt his temper flare.  Yoshi joined him and stood at his side.

“Where is she?” Gabriel demanded.

“Don’t know, but now that you’re back, she is dead,” Kevin said confidently.

Gabriel struggled to control the rage that surged inside him and refrained from fighting Kevin in that moment; to do so would have been reckless.  He needed information; he needed to know where Melissa was.

“You know where she is, Kevin,” Gabriel accused. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

“Oh no, you’re scaring me, Gabriel,” Kevin mocked.  “Ha! You’re a joke.  And you don’t even realize that once you’re dead–and you will be dead very soon–we’re going to kill her, too!”

“Like hell you are!” Gabriel exploded.

“Temper, temper Gabriel!”  Kevin warned.  “We’re different than we used to be.  We have the same modifications you have, and there are three of us and just one-and-a-half of you.”  He gestured to Yoshi and laughed.  “We’re stronger and faster than you.  You’re the one at the disadvantage now.”

Kevin began to laugh, a strange, staccato laugh.  Everything about him, his posture, his facial expressions, his attitude and mannerisms, was different.  Gabriel had had several run-ins with him in the past; he’d never behaved as he did now.  He had possessed a swagger in the past, but never the courage or means to back it up.

Gabriel moved boldly toward Kevin, disregarding the considerably height discrepancy.

“Stop running your mouth and show me,” Gabriel challenged.

Without hesitation, Kevin charged at him, moving faster than Gabriel remembered, faster than was human.  Midstride, Kevin extended his formidable arm and swung his fist at him.  His athletic rapidity and reflexes was far quicker than Gabriel remembered, more coordinated.  Yet Kevin maintained his aimless, emotional style.  He remained careless, sloppy.  And though Kevin’s disordered attack was swift, Gabriel perceived it as if it were happening in slow motion, how Kevin sprung forward punching with his right fist while his left knee lunged ahead, vulnerable, exposed.

Gabriel immediately capitalized on Kevin’s weakness, his careless approach, and turned on the ball of his foot while the other launched out and drove directly into Kevin’s kneecap.  A sickly snapping sound reverberated through the abandoned Victorian followed by a howl of pain as Kevin began falling to the floor.  But before his body ever touched the once gleaming hardwoods, Gabriel hurled a roundhouse kick.  His airborne foot connected with Kevin’s face just as his splintered leg met with the floor below him.  His body jerked backward on impact and his large frame was thrust against the interior wall of the vestibule. As he slammed into the wall, he knocked a massive oil painting from its supports.  It crashed down atop his head just as he collapsed to the floor.  He did not move or stir as consciousness seeped from him.

“I guess some things never change,” he muttered as he regarded Kevin’s still form huddled against the wall.

Gabriel assessed that despite modifications evidenced by Kevin’s improved strength and speed, his abilities still remained superior in every sense.  His training in Motuo County served to further enhance his genetic aptitude, to refine his talents.  Hours spent training with Yoshi and his father in the ancient martial art of Kalarippayattu sharpened his awareness of his surroundings and opponents, reinforced his reaction time and reflexes, improved his flexibility and offered him a stratospheric level of combat proficiency.

The sound of footsteps behind him caused Gabriel to turn and glance up.  As he did, he saw that Chris and John had descended upon Yoshi.  He quickly moved to assist his friend.

John challenged Yoshi and clearly operated on the assumption that his enhanced might would be sufficient to best his diminutive adversary.  Gabriel noticed from the corner of his eye how he swung with tremendous force but wildly, making plain that he possessed strength but lacked strategy.  Yoshi, on the other hand, bobbed and weaved as if he anticipated John’s every move avoiding blow after blow with speed and dexterity.  Yoshi handled the genetically augmented athlete who outweighed him by roughly one hundred pounds and stood nearly a foot taller adroitly, expertly.  John did not show signs of physical exhaustion but Yoshi appeared tired by toying with his opponent.  He quickly switched from avoiding blows to deflecting them, and answering them.  Within seconds, Yoshi demonstrated the power of his extensive training and landed direct shot after direct shot in succession until John, bested, fell to the floor a huddled heap of defeat.

Chris, seeing his altered comrade felled, circled Gabriel tentatively, as if formulating a plan of some sort.  Whatever plan he may or may not have intended to execute was swiftly upended when Gabriel surprised him and attacked first, striking him in the torso.  Chris doubled over immediately and clutched his midsection.  As he hunched forward, Gabriel placed the entirety of his might behind his fist and punched him in the face.  The blow knocked him from his knees to the floor.  His body flopped sideways then fell still.

Gabriel and Yoshi, saturated with adrenaline, were prepared to topple anyone who attempted to stand.  Neither spoke but both remained intensely focused breathing in short, quick breaths.  But a strange squeal diverted their readied concentration.  The sound bordered on delight and repulsion and came from the landing at the bottom of the staircase.

Alexandra stood perfectly still with her hands covering her mouth emitting a perplexing vocalization.  Her mouth was concealed prohibiting Gabriel from gauging her reaction, whether it was happy or horrified.

“Alex,” Gabriel said softly.  “Are you okay?”

She did not respond but went silent instead.  Fearing shock, Gabriel rushed to her with Yoshi steps behind him.  When he was just an arm’s length from her, he moved cautiously toward her, unsure if her eyes even focused on him.

Without warning, she became extremely animated.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed exuberantly.  “That was fucking awesome!  Melissa said you could fight, but I never dreamed you could do that! And Yoshi, you’re an ass-kicking machine!”  Her words escaped her lips rapidly.  She fired each in such quick progression, Gabriel had trouble keeping up.

Gabriel’s attention was dissuaded from Alexandra’s rambling to movement from Chris.  He moaned audibly and waved his arm feebly.  Gabriel looked to Alexandra who did not appear to be suffering from shock and with a nod, left her in Yoshi’s charge.

He stepped from the landing and crossed the foyer to the far corner of the passage and collared Chris by the front of his shirt.

“Where is she?” he demanded and drew his fist back and angled it to strike.  “Tell me!”

“I don’t know, really.  We didn’t do anything to her,” Chris said in an even voice then mumbled, “Yet.”

Ire rose within Gabriel, the likes of which he’d never felt before.  His fisted hand trembled with fury as he discharged it with the force of a spring-loaded bullet, blasting it against Chris’s nose.  Blood gushed from it immediately and bone rendered under the tremendous impact of his punch.  Gabriel released Chris’s shirt and allowed him to fall back to the floor writhing and whimpering in pain.

He returned to where Alexandra and Yoshi stood and caught the tail-end of their conversation.

“Where did you guys learn to fight like that?” he heard her ask as he approached.

“I taught him everything he knows,” Yoshi bragged.

“Wow, that was amazing.  You kick ass for a little guy,” she gushed.

Yoshi face reddened to a bright shade of scarlet as he beamed at Alexandra’s compliment.

“Ahem,” Gabriel interrupted.

“Did you find out where she is?” Yoshi asked.

“No.  He said he didn’t know where she is.  And I believe him.”

“Where the hell could she be?” Alexandra asked in a panicked voice.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel answered.  “I think we should go back to her house.  We had to have missed something.”

“What about them?”  Yoshi asked and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb to Kevin, John and Chris.

“I don’t know what to do about them, but I doubt they’ll be going anywhere for a while,” Gabriel replied.

Gabriel, Alexandra and Yoshi stepped around the hunched and cowered masses that were strewn about the entrance hall and out into the warm afternoon. They climbed into the Cherokee and headed back to Melissa’s house.

Chapter 23

Eugene pressed the end button on his cellular phone and terminated his brief but informative conversation with Dr. Franklin Terzini.  His maker had shared news with him, news that generated a swirl of excitement within him.

In an invigorating turn of events, he was told he would not be subjected to the torturous task of waiting indefinitely for Gabriel to arrive in America and subsequently, Harbingers Falls.  According to Terzini, Gabriel had taken the proffered bait and returned to rescue his beloved Melissa.  Gabriel was such a fool, attempting to uphold sterling moral rectitude and adhering to emotionally driven urges.  Eugene felt nauseated by Gabriel’s inflated sense of righteousness and romantic impulses and felt them encroach upon his excitement, the thrill of a sanctioned murder.

Gabriel’s pathetically human emotions threatened to sully his anticipatory delight.  Eugene would not allow for such an imposition, despite his extreme misgivings toward Gabriel and his foolish quest to rescue a useless human being.  He would not surrender the power of pending pleasure to a sanctimonious savior.

Hate bubbled inside of him.  Eugene could not wait to kill them both, to see their wretched faces as they met with their fate: him.

He also yearned to exterminate the three teenage fools Terzini had shoddily constructed.  His maker had decided that he would recreate Kevin, Chris and John, an act Eugene had serious reservations about.  His issues with their creation were not a matter of ethics; it was personal.  He remembered their murders vividly, and felt somehow deprived of the intensity of his remembrance knowing a variation of their DNA existed on the same planet he walked upon.  Moreover, his maker seemed to put far less effort into their creation than with his previous handiworks.

Terzini’s recent endeavors lacked the education and refinement both he and Gabriel possessed.  They were endowed with brute strength, but little in the way of anything else.  Without the ability to think on a higher plane than the average man, their power was virtually invalid.  Eugene believed their lowly function was an utter waste of his maker’s genius and an affront to the concept of enhanced humans.  What Terzini did was simply replace Kevin, Chris and John with stronger, faster version of their original selves.  Eugene disdained them and the entire project, but Terzini deemed their existence as crucial to drawing Gabriel out of hiding, and as usual, he had been right.

The sensation their reemergence caused generated media coverage.  Media coverage caught Gabriel’s attention and lured him from whatever hole he’d hidden in and returned him to Harbingers Falls, and a certain death.

The scent of their death would be intoxicating, exhilarating.  Melissa Martin’s natural secretions intermingled with fear and the sweet-smelling fragrance he hoped she’d be wearing lingered in his olfactory memory.  He suppressed a shudder at the thought of it.  The only element that could further enhance the aroma would be the addition of blood.

He could not wait to murder her, to hear her preliminary screams and pleas for mercy.  Of course, he would never extend her the courtesy of compassion; it was not in his genetic makeup.

Eugene’s insides begin to trill once again as bile inundated him, submerged him into dark, deep dominions of venomous hate.  The vitriol he felt engulfed him fully, the thought of multiple deaths teased at him like white-hot flames searing and scorching his flesh from the inside out.

As his rage sweltered and blazed, he began to unconsciously depress the accelerator pedal of the Hummer.  He trembled involuntarily, no longer able to control the excited rage that boiled inside of him, and stepped down harder on the gas lever.  The powerful engine of the H1 Alpha resisted at first, balking at its substantial weight then surged forward explosively.

The world rushed toward Eugene in a swirl of exaggerated colors, all bright and garish, a kaleidoscopic melee of hues.  The barrage of shapes and shades coupled with his overwhelming bloodlust distracted him from his handling of the Hummer.  He did not realize his acceleration exceeded speed limitations until an equally loud and tasteless display of vulgarity distracted him from behind.

He glanced up at his rearview mirror only to see a riot of flashing lights.  Confused by the brash and glinting display following him, he looked to his speedometer and saw that it revealed he was traveling at ninety miles per hour.

The patrol car that trailed keened loudly, added incessant wailing to its offensive overall presence.  It then began issuing a series of electronic buzzes in addition to the chaotic cacophony that sounded, a clear indication he was being summoned to the side of the road.

Though it galled him to adhere to the pedestrian rules and regulations of humanity, he conceded they were incumbent.  He would’ve liked nothing more than to continue driving and ignore the orders of the law-enforcement officer, but he knew that doing so would have proved problematic.  Not only would he be unable to outrun the far-reaching network of agents that spanned the highway and bled into each county and town, he also did not wish to aggravate his maker by risking exposure.  Both exposure and provocation would result in his termination.  He could not risk termination; the world deserved him, after all.

Eugene decelerated and pulled his car to the shoulder of the highway.  He watched as an officer parked his cruiser approximately twenty feet behind the Hummer.  He saw the officer hesitate before exiting, clearly taking time to input Eugene’s license plate number into the state Motor Vehicle Database to preview who owned the vehicle, and whether or not the owner had any outstanding warrants or other violations.

Once the police officer ascertained that his car held no warrants, he would undoubtedly approach the driver’s side of the Hummer and issue Eugene a summons for his excessive rate of travel.  Terzini would not be thrilled with a speeding infraction.  The incident would result in undesirable attention.

Eugene reached to the passenger seat and grabbed his baseball cap and dark sunglasses.  He placed the hat on his head and pulled the brim low over his forehead and concealed his widely spaced, honey-colored eyes with the sunglasses.

He had just clothed himself in both articles when he noticed a uniformed man approaching from the rear of his Hummer.  He noticed immediately how he strutted with swagger; his chest thrust out, arms at his sides with one hand placed casually on his revolver.

Clad in gray wool trousers and jacket and a wool open road Stetson with a leather security strap, the man strode with confidence but caution, his hand readied at his exposed and holstered weapon.  His tie and the band of his hat were purple, a distinction of membership to an elite group.  Eugene suppressed a smile at the notion that any insignificant human could consider himself elite.

Burly and broad of shoulders, the man moved with fluidity that was surprising. His uniform and patrol car indicated he was a state highway patrolman and therefore more heavily armed and held a significant amount of training. Eugene possessed such information from extensive education that enlightened him with innumerable facts and details. From this, he could infer that the officer had already informed his command post of the traffic stop; fellow officers were aware of his location, and aware that he was with a person identified as Eugene Smith.

Eugene knew it was imperative that he wait patiently, accept his speeding ticket and whatever admonishments the officer elected to give and be on his way. With just two hours to go before he reached Harbinger Falls, he did not want to be slowed by a dispute with a law-enforcement officer. Yet, being chastised by an insignificant human was degrading, insufferable.  He felt a surge of wrath shoot through him with such force he nearly pitched forward.

Within seconds, a large hand by conventional human standards rapped on the driver’s side window of his Hummer.  He lowered his window and heard the whooshing of cars as they raced by.  In his side view mirror, the gray wool-clad man loomed.

“License and registration,” he boomed.

Eugene reached into his wallet and produced the requested documents then carefully handed them to the officer, all the while breathing steadily to keep waves of rage at bay.  The officer looked to the identification and then to Eugene.

“Please remove your sunglasses, sir,” he ordered impatiently.

“What for?” Eugene asked.

“Sir, remove the glasses, please.”

“I realize I was speeding and will happily accept and pay whatever tickets you give me, but why do I need to remove my glasses?”  Eugene asked and swallowed rising fury.

“Sir, in order to be certain that the man pictured in this driver’s license is you, I need to be able to see your face, all of it.”

Eugene grew increasingly agitated by the officer’s patronizing tone.  How dare he command him to remove his glasses?  Feeble-minded humans awarded small badges and a sidearm could assume authority over the masses, but not him.

“I don’t see how it is necessary,” Eugene began, fighting to keep his tone even, respectful, but was interrupted abruptly.

“Sir, I am not going to ask you again.  Remove the sunglasses, now,” the officer barked.

Eugene noticed in his peripheral field of vision that the officer’s right hand had unsnapped his holster.  He had begun to draw his weapon.  He felt his anger mount.

Once his gun was in his hands, he aimed it at Eugene and in an authoritative voice said, “Step out of the car, sir.”

Eugene did not move.

“I said, step out of the car!”

Eugene remained still, contemplating his next move.  It appeared as though a suitable option did not exist.  His anger had mounted far beyond his control.  He opened the driver’s side door and slowly stepped out of his vehicle.

As he rose before the officer placing his massive and stunning form in full view, he noticed how quickly his confident demeanor transformed.  His eyes widened; his mouth hung open.  He regarded Eugene with awe, with reverence.

Eugene longed to crush him like the insect he was.

But such an undertaking had not been authorized.  He needed to calm himself.

“Put your hands on the vehicle and spread your legs!” the officer shouted.

Eugene found it impossible to calm down while the arrogant human, undoubtedly inflated beyond measure by his meaningless victory of threatening him into supposed submission, shouted at him.  He felt his legs begin to tremble, temper overtake him.

“Is there some kind of law against wearing sunglasses on a sunny spring day?” he asked sarcastically.

“Keep your hands on the car and your mouth shut.  I’m the one asking questions now.”

Any attempt at calmness escaped him and was replaced with all-consuming ire.

“So you feel there is a reason other than my sunglasses to treat me as a criminal?” Eugene asked acidly.

“You’re behaving suspiciously, so I’m treating you accordingly,” the officer said as he patted Eugene’s legs from his groin to his ankles.

Eugene became indignant at such intrusive probes.  He began to turn his body toward the officer, his breathing ragged and shallow.

“Sir, I said hands on the car!” the officer roared.

A violent tremor racked Eugene’s body, his temper beyond his control.  He turned his head to one side and watched as a cluster of cars passed.  The highway was not crowded; traffic had been light.  The second Eugene saw that no cars approached, he spun and grabbed the officer’s right wrist, the one that held his revolver, and bent it forcefully.  The bone beneath his fingers yielded as readily as a dry twig.  The officer cried out in pain.  Eugene savored his pain.  The gun fell to the ground.

He cupped the officer’s head in his hands, regretted he could not enjoy the moment, make it linger, but time was a constraint.  He snapped the officer’s head quickly and forcefully to one side, effectively breaking his neck in one swift motion.  Life escaped him instantly.  His body fell slack against Eugene.

Eugene picked him up and hurled him over the Hummer and into the bordering woods, out of view of oncoming traffic, taking caution to relieve him of his Stetson and the shiny star on his breast before doing so.

Several cars approached then passed.  Eugene felt confident that no one had seen what had happened.  When the highway was clear again, he walked from his Hummer to the police cruiser and grabbed the keys from the ignition.  He then used the keys to unlock and open the trunk then retrieved the officer’s body from the brush.  With no cars passing in either direction, he tossed the officer’s corpse into the trunk of the cruiser and slammed the trunk shut.

Eugene went back to his Hummer and grabbed a duffel bag from the back seat and placed it on his lap and waited patiently for another lull in traffic before driving it off of the shoulder of the highway and into the surrounding woods.  He knew his plates had been radioed in to the state trooper’s command center.  His car and his identity had been disclosed to a dispatcher with the range and capability to notify other officers of his infraction.  He needed to halt that from happening.

As soon as the roadway was clear once again, Eugene grabbed his duffle bag, dashed to the cruiser and situated himself in the driver’s seat.  He immediately radioed in that no speeding violation was committed, but that an equipment violation was issued.  He then opened his bag and pulled out a charcoal-colored wool sweater and pulled it on.  He placed the Stetson he removed from the highway patrolman atop his head, pinned the gold badge to his sweater and drove off in the direction of Harbingers Falls.  He planned to wrap things up in just a few short hours, hopefully before state authorities discovered the missing officer or his Hummer in the woods off the highway.

Chapter 24

Gabriel tested the engine of the Cherokee as he raced to Melissa’s house on Blackstone Drive.  For reasons he could not explain, urgency surrounded his return.  He felt compelled to get there as quickly as possible, that a second tour of her house would reveal crucial evidence.  Tension coiled tightly within him, twisting and winding tauter the closer he got to her home.

When her street finally came into view, he felt as though his compactly wound worry would launch his body and propel him forward like a canon straight in to her house and enable him to initiate a frantic search for a clue that suggested her whereabouts.  He knew that more orthodox methods would be employed as opposed to blasting through her front door but struggled internally to manage his fear for her safety.  Without a hint of her location, Gabriel felt helpless, powerless.

Once on Blackstone Drive, he noticed that nearly every driveway stood unoccupied by vehicles indicating that most people were out, their homes empty.  Gabriel had fleetingly entertained the notion of knocking on the doors of some of Melissa’s neighbors to find out if they had seen her leave or had noticed anyone out of the ordinary coming or going from her house.  Given the scarcity of available neighbors, his idea became void.

Instead, he parked a few houses away from hers and hesitated before opening the driver’s side door.  From where he sat, he stared at the white vinyl-sided structure wondering what he had missed in his initial search.

“We’ll find her, Gabriel,” Alexandra assured him as if his thoughts were obvious. But her voice sounded unconvincing.

“We missed something. We must have,” Gabriel replied.

“And we’ll find it now,” Yoshi said confidently before opening the back door of the Cherokee.

Gabriel and Alexandra followed him and they proceeded cautiously up the hill.  Gabriel had left Melissa’s bedroom window unlocked as it had been during their first visit but closed the pane instead.  This detail proved useful as it allowed him access a second time.  He climbed the massive oak and let himself in just as he did earlier.  Once inside, he descended the staircase and opened the front door for Alexandra and Yoshi.

After Yoshi crossed the threshold, he immediately began utilizing his hunting skills that included tracking based upon intuition and basic senses as opposed to logical search methods that suggested they begin looking in Melissa’s bedroom.  Instead he moved about the main level of the house and allowed himself to be guided by a more comprehensive force than mere logic offered.

“We’re going up to Melissa’s room,” Gabriel said to Yoshi.  “You’re staying down here?”

“Yes,” Yoshi replied.

“Something’s not right here,” Alexandra said cryptically.

Before Gabriel and Alexandra reached the top of the staircase, they heard Yoshi call out to them.

“Guys, get down here!”

Gabriel’s mind reeled as the horrific image of Eric’s badly beaten corpse flashed through it.  He bounded down the staircase taking two at a time until he reached the bottom and ran in the direction of Yoshi’s voice with Alexandra following after him.

He reached the family room at the rear of the house and noticed that the door stood ajar and Yoshi was nowhere in sight.

“Yoshi?”  Gabriel called.

“Out here!”  Yoshi called back.

Gabriel stepped out into the pale light of the backyard.  The sky, several shades paler than it had been earlier, had been encroached upon.  Ashen clouds, dull and dirty, advanced from the west and pressed slowly soiling and sullying stretches of pastel blue in its wake.  The green of the grass, emerald earlier, looked a drab hue of olive in the muted light of late afternoon.

“What is it Yoshi?”

“Well, for starters, the door to that room was left unlocked and open slightly,” Yoshi gestured to the door off the family room that led to the backyard.

“It wasn’t like that before, was it?”  Alexandra asked.

“We never checked,” Yoshi answered.  “It looked normal to me at a quick glance.”

“Me, too,” Gabriel added.

“I wouldn’t have noticed it either if I wasn’t staring at the deadbolt.  I saw that it wasn’t engaged and then saw light passing through the doorjamb.  Anyway, the door was unlocked and open, so I walked out onto the porch and look what I found,” Yoshi pointed to rain-softened grass that had been pressed down flat and smeared in a trail.  Beside it were a set of large footprints.

“What the hell am I looking at?”  Alexandra asked.

“Footprints,” Yoshi replied.

“I see that.  But what does that have to do with finding Melissa?  Anyone could have made those prints.”

“Look beside the prints,” Gabriel interjected.  “That mark looks like something or someone was dragged.”

Alexandra’s golden complexion paled and her dark eyes grew wide, began to fill with tears.

“Oh God,” she whispered.

Yoshi began following the tracks.  Gabriel and Alexandra followed.  The large foot imprints continued across the width of Melissa’s property and that of her neighbor’s property before ending at her neighbor’s painted wooden deck.  Peculiarly, the depressed smears of grass and mud ended midway across Melissa’s yard.  A black, fabric, slipper-like woman’s shoe, sat alone in the yard.  Muddy footprints continued on to the lightly colored deck to the sliding glass doors at the rear of her neighbor’s house.

“That’s Melissa’s shoe!  This doesn’t make any sense,” Alexandra said.  “The woman that lives here is like, eighty years old.  I sincerely doubt she dragged Melissa across both lawns, onto her deck and into her house.”

“Is she a really big old lady?” Yoshi asked.

“No way, she’s tiny; like less than five feet tall tiny.”

“None of this makes sense, but we’re going to find out what’s going on right now!” Gabriel said determinedly.

Alexandra and Yoshi exchanged furtive glances before Gabriel climbed the wooden steps to the deck and stealthily began peering in windows.

***

Melissa’s body ached all over from spending the night tied to an overturned rocking chair.  Her shoulder joints complained most pronouncedly as her arms were bound behind her, straining the fragile tissue of her rotator cuffs.  Her head ached as well, and her sinuses burned from hours of crying interspersed with light dozing.

Her tears were born of despair rather than fear.  She had grown rather confident that the monster did not intend to kill her or harm her.  She simply did not know what he wanted.  But she knew no one would be looking for her; her father was on an Indian reservation in Connecticut playing in a poker tournament and wouldn’t return for at least two more days, Alexandra and Daniella would have assumed she wanted time alone and would have given up calling her hours earlier and beyond that, there was no one else in her life to care about her whereabouts.

Just as a fresh wave of tears began, the creature returned from its hiding place in the kitchen.  It looked at her sympathetically.  It appeared to possess some form of compassion, of kindness.

“What’s your name?” she asked in a soft voice.

It did not answer but gestured by shaking its head from side to side implying that it did not have a name.

“You don’t have a name?”

It nodded somberly.

“That’s very sad, to not have a name I mean.  We will have to give you a name.”

It seemed to brighten at the idea of being named, bobbing its head enthusiastically like a child who’d just been asked if he’d like ice cream and cookies for dinner.  Melissa did not share its enthusiasm but wanted to gain its trust in an effort to get it to release her.  Its response indicated that she was making progress. It began to gesture again.

Curling all of the webbed fingers except for one on each hand, it began gesturing animatedly. It used its forefinger on both hands and it began pointing and smiling broadly.  It then alternated between pointing at her and hugging itself, a gesture she assumed indicated some kind of affection it possessed for her, or hoped she possessed for it.  She could not be sure of the exact significance of the gesturing so she decided to ask.

“Friends?  Is that what you’re trying to say?  You want to be friends?”  She asked.

It nodded with conviction.

“With me?”

It nodded excitedly and grinned.

“We can be friends.”

It clapped its hands in front of its chest and beamed.

“The only problem is, friends don’t tie each other to chairs and hold each other prisoner.”

Its face drooped immediately and it lowered its gaze to the floor, allowing its chin to rest on its chest as if ashamed.

“If you really want to be my friend, you need to let me go.  You know that, right?”  Melissa said in a soothing voice.

It slowly shook its head up and down and stepped cautiously toward her.  Melissa’s heart began to race. She would be freed in a matter of minutes.

A loud banging at the front door interrupted her brief hopefulness.

The monster, seemingly startled by the sound, dashed behind the couch and cowered.

“Melissa!” a familiar voice called out from outside.  “Melissa!”

“I’m in here!” Melissa yelled back to Alexandra.

Suddenly, the front door opened and a dark shape burst across the threshold followed by two others.  The monster darted from its concealment behind the couch and scrambled across the living-room floor into the kitchen.

“Oh my God!  Are you okay?” Alexandra asked then leaned down and fumbled with the rope at her wrists.  “Who the hell did this to you?”

Before Melissa could answer her friend’s question, she saw another familiar face.  The exquisite planes of his face were highlighted by the waning sunlight in the dim living room and his sapphire eyes stared at her with concern, with love.  Her breath caught in her chest and her eyes filled with tears as she realized Gabriel stood in her late neighbor’s living room.

“Gabriel!  You’re here!” she said breathlessly.  “I can’t believe it!”

Gabriel put his forefinger to his lips to quiet her then knelt down and whispered, “Is whoever did this to you still here?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Where?” he asked.  His voice was a low rumble, threatening; his eyes suddenly steely, dangerous.

“In the kitchen, but it did not hurt me.”

A loud racket from the kitchen distracted their reunion.  Pots and pans could be heard thudding and thumping against the vinyl flooring as well as boxes and what Melissa guessed to be canned goods falling to the floor and rolling about.  Gabriel was crouched over her protectively and froze.  His stillness was extraordinary but disconcerting as Melissa could not discern if he breathed.  He remained motionless for several seconds before he rose to his feet, poised and ready to confront the creature he had yet to see that took cover in the kitchen.  More sounds arose from beyond the living room.  Gabriel began creeping toward to entryway, moving toward the noise.

Unexpectedly, the commotion in the kitchen ceased and a large shape emerged and dashed past them out the sliding glass doors.  Melissa noticed how it moved with impossible swiftness despite its massive size from the deck and across the backyard and into the surrounding woods.  Gabriel shook off his initial surprise and immediately moved to chase the creature.

“No, Gabriel!  Don’t!” she pleaded.

Gabriel stopped and turned to look at her quizzically.

“It didn’t hurt me.  It could have.  Believe me, it could have killed me; it had plenty of opportunities. But it didn’t even want to hurt me.”

Gabriel, still looking perplexed, shifted his focus from the creature that blasted past him to the ropes around her wrists and ankles and began to untie her.

“What the fuck was that?” Alexandra asked stunned and unmoving.

“That was what grabbed me from my room and took me here.”

“I’ve never seen anything so big move so fast,” Yoshi commented.

Gabriel seemed to ignore both Alexandra and Yoshi.  Instead, he concentrated on her.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Gabriel breathed.

“I didn’t think you’d ever come back,” Melissa said.  She knew her comment was random, inappropriate even, but the words poured from her as if by their own volition, reflexively, involuntarily.

Gabriel met her gaze.  He knit his brow and his beautiful features contorted into a pained expression.  “Of course I was coming back.  I could never leave you for good.”

Melissa felt a tear stream down her cheek.  She felt shamed by her exasperation at his necessary absence and for doubting the promise he’d made her.  His pained expression relaxed and he wrapped his arms around her and the rocking chair she was tethered to.

“I’ve missed you so much!” he said embracing her tightly.

“Wow that hurts!”  The words escaped her lips reflexively as his firm grip aggravated her tender arms.  She regretted them as soon as they were spoken.  Being wrapped in Gabriel’s arms surpassed the brief pain that shot from her shoulders to her wrists; his affection was well worth the pain.

“Oh sorry,” Gabriel replied sheepishly and relaxed his arms.  “I didn’t realize, I mean, I wasn’t thinking,” he fumbled.  “Let me get you out of there.”

“Thanks,” Melissa said but was saddened to be released from his embrace.

Gabriel moved behind her and began unraveling the ropes around her wrists.

“By the way, Melissa, this is Yoshi,” Gabriel said and pointed to a small man of Asian descent.  Melissa guessed him to be around the same age as she and Alexandra.

“Nice to meet you,” Yoshi said with a slight accent she could not place.  “I’ve heard a lot about you.”  His almond-shaped eyes danced with delight and the dark-brown of his irises seemed to twinkle at his last statement.  Gabriel shot him a look of warning.  Melissa had no idea what inside joke or secret they shared but knew it was amicable.

“Wow, these knots are impressive,” he said returning to the task at hand. “Melissa, did you know who he was?  I didn’t get a look at him as he flew past me.”

“What is a better question.  That thing that was in the kitchen that tied me up. You wouldn’t believe your eyes if you saw it.”  She immediately rethought her statement and recalled that he had been with her when she had glimpsed the creature in the tank, the same creature that kidnapped her and cowered in the next room just seconds earlier.  “Wait a second!  You’ve seen it before, the night you made me dinner and we went to the lab afterward, remember?  It looked like a giant fetus. That was him, and he hasn’t really changed much except for now he’s huge and has arms and legs, big arms and legs.”

She looked over her shoulder at Gabriel.  His hands stopped moving as recognition flashed in his eyes.  He narrowed them at her, his long, raven lashes slightly veiling the azure of his irises.  He clenched his jaw tightly, she could see the muscles of surrounding it flexing as he set it resolutely.

“Terzini,” he growled. “Terzini sent it to kill you.”

Melissa could feel his mounting anger, the palpability of his need for vengeance.

“No Gabriel.  This thing didn’t want to kill me,” she said softly.  “Like I said before, it had plenty of chances to kill me, trust me.  It had me here all night.  If it was going to kill me, it would have.  So if Terzini sent the creature to do that, it would have.”

“Then why is it loose?  Why would he take it out of the development tank?  What would be the reason if not to benefit him and his purposes?”

“I have no idea.”

Gabriel’s hands began to move again untying the knots.

“Wow, these knots are tight.”

“I know,” she said barely able to wiggle her hands.  “But who cares about the knots.  When did you get here?”

Gabriel paused a moment then quietly said, “Yesterday.”

“Really?  Why didn’t you come right over?” she asked then silently chastised herself for being so forward.  She felt her cheeks warm and was certain that scarlet streaks colored her cheeks.  “I mean, I would have liked it if you came.”

“I did come, but you were,” Gabriel paused again before adding, “busy.”

“Busy?  You mean in school?”

“No.  Busy with someone.”

“Oh Gabriel cut the shit already!” Alexandra chimed in as she walked to the far corner of the room with her arms positioned angrily on her hips. “He came to the house and saw you with Eric Sala and thinks something was going on between you two.”

“Thanks Alex,” he said curtly then turned to Melissa.  His expression softened visibly.

“Melissa, I don’t know how to tell you this,” he began then took a deep breath and continued, “but your boyfriend Eric is dead.”

“He’s dead?” she asked incredulously.  “Wait, my boyfriend? Are you crazy?”

Gabriel did not respond.  He was completely still.  His silence allowed for the gravity of what he’d told her to settle upon her.  She felt dizzy and nauseated.  The culmination of everything that had happened that day still swirled in her mind.  Eric’s death added to the confusion, to the horror.  In her heart, she knew what had happened.  Gabriel did not need to tell her, yet she asked anyway.

“Eric is dead?  How do you know?  When did it happen?” Melissa asked.

Gabriel explained everything that had happened earlier, how he’d gone back to his old house and found Eric’s body and then encountered Kevin, Chris and John.  She listened intently and did not blink as he recounted each detail.  She could not find words capable of articulating the shock and panic she was feeling just the release of her arms from their binding as Gabriel unraveled the last loop.  Her arms felt stiff and achy.  She wrapped them around her body and massaged her shoulders, hugging herself in an attempt to physically hold herself together.

“I knew they’d get to him.  And so did he,” she murmured.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Alexandra asked.

“Eric came to my house last night, told me he was afraid of Kevin, Chris and John, that they’d changed since they came back.  He knew he was in danger; he even broke down and cried, he was so terrified.  He trusted me enough to tell me and now he’s dead.”  Emotion made her voice falter.

“Melisa, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Gabriel said.

“So you weren’t with him,” Alexandra said looking at Gabriel.  “Eric wasn’t your boyfriend or anything.”

“No, never!” Melissa said quickly.  “After everything he put me through, I didn’t even want to let him in my house.  The only reason I did was because my dad was home and in the room across the hall from us.  I still feel sad that he’s dead even though I didn’t like him.”

“And then there was Gabriel spying from the roof of your garage,” Alexandra added sarcastically.

“And me, too,” Yoshi chimed in.

“What? Was there a party on my garage roof and I didn’t get an invite?”  Melissa attempted sarcastic humor.  Her effort fell flat as everyone looked to her curiously.

“So you and Eric weren’t a couple?” Alexandra persisted.

“No, I feel bad that he’s dead, that he came to me and I couldn’t help, but, no, we were not a couple.” Melissa answered.

“See, Gabriel. What did I tell you?”

Gabriel moved to Melissa’s feet and began untangling the rope around her ankles.

“Wait a second.  Gabriel, you came to my house, saw me with Eric and left because you thought he was my boyfriend?”

“You were hugging,” he said quietly.  “What was I supposed to think?”

“I hug my grandmother, doesn’t mean were dating,” Alexandra snapped.

Yoshi laughed aloud, a deep, throaty laugh inconsistent with his diminutive stature.

Alexandra was about to sit down in a dramatic display of annoyance when she looked over her shoulder and saw Melissa’s deceased neighbor.

“What the fuck!” she exclaimed her voice a shrill scream that left Melissa’s ears ringing.  “Is she dead?”

Alexandra bent forward and moved closer to where Miss Harriet lay face down in a pool of her own blood.  “Oh my God,” she gasped.

Gabriel sprung to his feet and moved to where Alexandra stood.

“That thing was clearly not harmless,” he said looking from Miss Harriet to Melissa.  “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“We have to call the cops,” Alexandra said.  “Eric, Miss Harriet, there’s murder all around us.  We need to call the cops.”

Gabriel ran a hand through his thick russet hair.  “We can’t Alexandra.  How would we explain all of this,” he said spreading his arms out at his sides.  “Monsters killing an old lady, teenage boys who were previously presumed dead returning only to kill one of their former friends; it’s all too crazy.  The cops would never believe us.  They would think we were involved.”

Melissa knew why calling the police was not an option, could not allow her face to reveal her privileged information.

“Whatever we do, I’m not staying here with a dead body.  Let’s get the hell out of here,” Alexandra said tearfully.

“I’m with Alex, I don’t want to be here another second,” Melissa agreed.

“Fine let’s go,” he said and began turning off the lamps in the living room, then the lights in the kitchen.

As they moved to the front door, headlights illuminated the kitchen window briefly, sweeping across the front of Miss Harriet’s house.  Melissa parted the closed curtains that concealed the window and saw a vehicle in her driveway.  She strained to see the make and model to identify who could be arriving at her house just as the motion-detecting lights above the garage came on and exposed a patrol car.

Yoshi’s hand was on the doorknob about to turn it.

“Stop,” Melissa ordered him.  “Don’t open the door.  There’s a cop car in my driveway.”

Yoshi backed away from the door as if it were on fire.

“Sorry,” she added.  “I didn’t mean to be so rude but there’s a cop in town who has been harassing me about Gabriel and his involvement in the whole Kevin thing.”

“You never told me about that,” Gabriel said.

“I haven’t spoken to you in so long,” she replied.  “And when we did get to talk, I had other things I wanted to say to you.”

“Why is he here now?” Gabriel asked.

“He probably thought up more questions to ask to try and break my story.  He thinks I’m lying about what I said I saw in the woods, about thinking Kevin and the others were dead.”

“Huh,” Gabriel said pensively then stood beside Melissa to peer out the window.

Gabriel’s arm was touching her sore shoulder, the heat of his body warmed it, soothed it.  He bent down and leaned forward, his face was positioned so that they were nearly cheek to cheek, as he watched the police cruiser, waiting for the officer to emerge.  She could hear the soft whirr of his breathing, its lulling rhythm.  She turned her eyes from the cop car and looked to Gabriel.  He was focused, concentrating on the parked car. She allowed herself only a fleeting glance, a glimpse of his full lips before returning her attention to the suspicious activity in her driveway.  In spite of all that she’d endured in the last twenty-four hours, in the past five months, her stomach still quivered in such close proximity of him.

“There’s a light on in the car,” Gabriel whispered.  “Someone’s getting out.”

“That cop, he’s huge.  That’s definitely not Officer Miller,” she observed.

They watched as the hulking officer placed a Stetson atop his head and strode to her front door.  Melissa waited for him to return to his car after he rang the bell and found that no one was home.  But he did not return immediately.

“What’s going on? How many times is he going to ring the doorbell?” Alexandra asked.

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” Gabriel replied.

“Do you think he let himself in?” Melissa asked.

“He would have to have a reason.  Police officers can’t just barge into your house when you’re not home,” Gabriel answered.

Alexandra began to pace about the kitchen.  Yoshi maintained his post at the front door.  And Melissa and Gabriel watched and waited for the police officer to return to his cruiser for what seemed like an eternity.

After nearly twenty minutes passed, the police officer returned.  As he walked toward his car, he paused briefly under the motion-activated floodlights affixed to the garage.  With his head nearly touching the fixture, Melissa and Gabriel were afforded a clear view of the man’s face.

Melissa heard herself inhale sharply and whisper, “It can’t be.”

Gabriel wrapped his arm around her waist as she felt her knees give way beneath her.

“I’m all right,” she lied then rubbed her eyes as if the motion would purge the vision she’d just seen from existence.  She pulled back the curtain again and saw that the image remained.

Eugene was standing in her driveway clad in a gray state patrol unit Stetson, gray shirt and slacks and about to get into his police cruiser.

Chapter 25

Melissa and Gabriel quickly ducked out of sight as Eugene restarted the car and switched on the headlamps.  The headlights passed across the neighbor on the opposite side of her house, not Miss Harriet’s, but she and Gabriel moved away from the window just in case.

“What do we do now?  Do you think he saw us?” Melissa fretted.

“Who?  Who do you think saw you?  The cop?” Alexandra asked.

“That was no cop; that was Eugene,” Melissa told her friend.

The color drained from Alexandra’s face. “Eugene, I thought he was dead.  He can’t be, he can’t be back,” she stammered.  “It’s impossible.”

“What’re we going to do?”  Melissa asked again.

“We can’t leave,” Yoshi offered.  “That Eugene guy could be anywhere.  He could be at the bottom of the hill waiting for all we know.  No one would be suspicious of a parked patrol car.  If anything, they’d be grateful for it.”

“Yeah, unless they knew what was driving it,” Alexandra said in an unsteady voice.

“I agree with Yoshi, it’s too risky to leave.  We should stay here until we figure out what to do,” Melissa agreed.

“And what, hang out with the dead old lady?”  Alexandra asked in a shrill voice.

“I’ll run upstairs and find something to cover her with,” Yoshi said.

“This is insane, all of this,” Melissa said rubbing her temples.

“I think you’re right, Melissa,” Gabriel began.  “We should stay here for a few hours, at least until it’s completely dark out there, before we consider leaving here.  Then I’ll get my car and pull it up to the end of the driveway and everyone can jump in.  I want to limit our exposure.”

“I don’t want you to go alone. It’s me he’s after.”

“Eugene is after both of us.”

“Then we should go together.”

“I don’t want to put you at risk.”

“I’m already at risk.  And alone, I’m a sitting duck.”

Gabriel sat quietly and seemed to consider her point.

“I was alone for five long months.  Anything could have happened to me while you were gone,” she added.

The words floated from her mouth.  She heard herself speak them but felt as though someone else was commanding her word choice.  Melissa had not planned to ever address the misery she experienced during Gabriel’s five-month absence, her pain had been her own and not his burden to bear.  Seeing him burst through the door of her neighbor’s house, realizing that he’d returned, was one of the happiest moments of her life thus far, one she’d been dreaming about.  She had wanted nothing more than to tell him how much she loved him, how much she’d missed him.  She did not want to be critical of him or speak harshly to him, but the thought of separating again–even briefly–sparked a feeling in her she’d pushed down for several months: resentment.

“Terzini and I had a deal,” she heard Gabriel say.

“Evidently, he was not a person who could be threatened into backing off or he didn’t feel you would ever follow through on your threat.”

Melissa heard her own voice.  It sounded foreign, as if it belonged to someone else, the accusing tone; the anger.  She did not want to hurt Gabriel, it was the last thing she wanted to do.  She did not want to drive him away forever.

“I know you’re angry with me.  You have every right to be.  I never thought Terzini would resurface.  I thought having his laptop with proof of what he’s been working on would be enough.  I never would have left if I thought you would be in any type of danger.”

“Jesus people!  This is like some nauseating soap opera As My Stomach Turns or something.  I think I’ll go upstairs and see what Yoshi’s up to.  You two work your shit out.  We have enough to deal with without you two arguing!” Alexandra interjected then stomped up the staircase in search of Yoshi.

“She’s right,” Melissa conceded.  “The last thing I should be doing is giving you a hard time.  You scared away that creature that kidnapped me and tied me up.  And I know you never would have left if you thought I was in danger but it was hard for me when you left.”

Gabriel’s shoulders slumped, his posture assumed a position similar to a person who had just been punched in the stomach.  She did not want to hurt him.  That was never her intention.  But surely he had known she was far from happy when he left.  He had known how strong her feelings were for him; she had told him, professed her love for him.  He possessed superior DNA and clearly processed information more thoroughly, more rapidly, than the average person, yet seemed shocked to hear that she’d had a hard time in his absence.  She found his reaction perplexing, frustrating.

“I’m sorry, Melissa. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Well how did you think I would feel?  Did you ever once think about my feelings when you were God-only-knows-where doing whatever it was that you did while you were gone?  You hardly ever called or emailed or texted me, it was like you fell off the face of the Earth.  I thought maybe you’d met someone else and moved on!”

“Moved on?  How could you say that?  How could you think I would want anyone but you?” Gabriel asked, pain etching his features and lacing his every word.

“The problem was that I didn’t know; I was in the dark, about everything.”

“It had to be that way, Melissa. I never wanted to leave. You think it was easy for me?”

Melissa had never considered his feelings, just assumed he was fine wherever he was.  She deemed herself worthy of little esteem, guessed he’d distracted himself with something or someone else.  Worry and loneliness had transformed and assumed an uglier hue.  It had been replaced with jealousy and uncertainty.  Self-doubt had pervaded her thoughts allowing for a seed of irrational suspicion to grow to a field of distrust in herself, and in Gabriel.

“The hardest thing I did was leave you.  I thought about you every single day.  Don’t think for one second you were alone in feeling isolated and frustrated.  I missed you so badly it actually hurt to think about you.  I was halfway around the world in one of the remotest places on the planet with no access to phones and Internet connection.  There wasn’t even electricity where I was.  I had to travel for days just to get to a village that had modern conveniences.  The times I called or messaged were carefully planned and executed trips.  But it was worth it just to hear your voice and know you were okay.”

His words stung, though he clearly did not intend them to.  He was merely vocalizing his side of their separation.  She had never considered it, was so busy picturing him surrounded by exotic women more befitting his company than she, as beautiful as he and far less virtuous than her.  Notwithstanding the earliest days of their good-bye, she never envisioned him sad without her.  She only saw her own pain, her own loneliness.

“I had no idea,” Melissa whispered.

Tears began to burn her eyes.  She blinked several times to clear them but her efforts failed.  She started to cry.

“I’m so sorry, Gabriel.  I was so selfish.  I never thought you would miss me.  I mean, look at you. You could have any girl on the planet.  I just thought,” she sniffled but was interrupted.

“You are beautiful, Melissa and definitely not lacking in any way other than self-esteem, maybe.  But I don’t love you because you’re beautiful, though it doesn’t hurt,” he smiled mischievously.  “I love you because you are kind and funny.  You’re smart and much tougher than you give yourself credit for.  I love the way your cheeks turn bright pink when you’re uncomfortable.  I love the sound of your laugh.  I love that you can accept me for what I am and how I came to be.  Melissa, no one can compare.  You are the girl I love.”

Melissa looked to Gabriel.  Tears streamed down her cheeks and she felt her cheeks flush.  Gabriel smiled at her.

“There it is,” he said and brushed the back of his hand across her blushing cheek.  “You have nothing to apologize for, Melissa.  You didn’t leave.”

“Kiss her already, you big girl!” Yoshi called from a room upstairs.

Alexandra laughed out loud, “You’re a funny little bastard!”

“No pressure or anything,” Gabriel said uncomfortably then cupped her face in his hands.  He stared into her eyes and she wanted nothing more than for him to press his full lips against hers, to feel their softness, their heat.

“You think he finally kissed her?” she heard Yoshi ask Alexandra.

“Who the hell knows?  Knowing him, he’s writing her a sonnet or some corny thing like that,” Alexandra answered.

“We hear you, you know!” Melissa shouted up to them.

“Why are we friends with them exactly?” Gabriel asked nervously.

“Beats me,” Melissa answered.

Melissa’s heart pounded in her chest as she contemplated reaching up and tangling her fingers in his russet-colored locks and crushing his lips with hers, kissing him passionately enough to compensate for the five long months she missed out on kissing him.  Her hands trembled at the thought of doing something so bold, so presumptuous.  She felt her cheeks burn with deeper color.

Gabriel ran his fingertips down her arms and took her hands in his.  She felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise and quiver as if charged by the power of an electrical storm.  Goosebumps dimpled her exposed skin.

Without thinking any further, she pulled him toward her, stood on her tippy toes and took his face in her hands.  Dizzied by anticipation and anxiety she brought her lips to his, felt his breathing.  She closed her eyes and tried to force the nervousness from her mind and simply listen to what her heart ordered her to do.  Before she followed through on her endeavor, he wrapped her in his arms, leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

The world fell silent for several seconds.  Monsters and rogue geneticists ceased to exist.  Crass, sassy friends disappeared.  Dead neighbors did not linger and killers posing as cops vanished.  She and Gabriel were the only two people in the world for that period of time.

But all too soon, reality reared its head and their dire circumstances were illuminated once again.

“I’m guessing the silence means you two have kissed and made up,” Alexandra bellowed from upstairs. “That’s all well and good but we still don’t have a plan to get out of here.”

Gabriel’s arms relaxed around her.  He did not fully release her rather he allowed his arms to fall and loosely encircle her waist.  He drew his mouth away from hers and rested his forehead against hers.  She knew their kiss was over but was reluctant to accept the distance between them nevertheless.

“We do need to get out of here, Melissa.”

“And do what exactly?”

Gabriel did not answer right away.  He took a step backward and looked directly in to her eyes, the cobalt of his irises seemed to deepen, darken.

“Kill Eugene,” he said levelly.  “We need to kill Eugene.”

Chapter 26

Eugene slammed the driver’s side door of the patrol car he’d taken from the overly arrogant state trooper who’d drawn his weapon on him, attempted to intimidate him.  The mere remembrance of the officer’s brazenness sent a current of anger through his veins so charged it threatened to overtake him.  He abhorred guns and any form of artillery, thought them reserved for the weak and cowardly.  He believed that to truly take ownership for death, it must be performed barehanded.  He knew from research and experience that human beings clung to their shiny guns passionately.  He also observed how heavy weaponry prompted humans to feel superior to those who were unarmed, how it made them feel smug.  What amused him about this particular condition of humanity was that their smugness, their arrogant underestimation of him, unarmed, invariably led to their deaths.

Armed humans were far more loathsome than weaponless ones; those who elected to be without defenses proved more aware, more feral and far more ferocious.  With his superior capabilities, his advantage surpassed all measurable human acuity and savageness of course, but unprotected humans proved far more entertaining.  They were craftier, more cunning, and far more exciting to hunt.

Eugene loved to hunt.  Disappointingly, his intended quarry, Melissa Martin, was not in her house.  He longed to kill her, to satisfy a long-standing vendetta.  She had assisted Gabriel in his untimely and unceremonious demise.  She was responsible for the months he had spent submerged in opaque fluid, confined to a long cylindrical chamber recuperating from near death.  He had been unable to kill for a long period of time, too long.  When the time had come and he finally emerged from his induced slumber, he had doubted his killing integrity.  Doubt had been unfamiliar to Eugene, utterly alien.  He would never allow for such doubt to prevail again; Melissa’s death would all but guarantee its eternal absence.

But Melissa was nowhere to be found and he did not have hours or days to spend searching for her.  Traipsing around randomly was not an option.  And if he were to do so, the police cruiser would need to be disposed of.  With no sound idea of where Melissa might be, Eugene decided to pay Kevin, Chris and John a visit.  Terzini had imprudently cloned them and released them into Harbingers Falls.  Without additional education or refinement, they remained the same drooling idiots they’d always been, only stronger, faster drooling idiots.

The thought of spending time in their company was debasing but necessary as he needed to locate and kill Melissa as quickly as possible.  He drove operating on the assumption that they might possess knowledge of her whereabouts.

Within ten minutes of leaving Melissa’s house, he arrived at Dr. Terzini and Gabriel’s former house.  He sped down the winding, gravel-filled driveway and gaped at his nemesis’s previous dwelling.  The structure was stunning with elaborate, imposing architecture, more worthy of his inhabitance rather than Gabriel’s.  Eugene felt resentment rise within him.  He had deserved to live in such opulence, not Gabriel for he was the rightful heir to humanity.

Unconsciously, he had begun to breathe in short, shallow pants, bitter indignation burning like bile in his throat.  He wrestled with his vexation, knew it was necessary to dominate it long enough to obtain the information he desired from Terzini’s revitalized flunkies.

Eugene stepped out of the patrol car and strode to the entryway.  He opened the unlocked front door and stepped across the threshold.  He quickly scanned the room only to find Kevin and his drudges seated on mistreated but clearly expensive furniture with cans of beer in their hands.  The scent of marijuana filled the air along with a milky layer of smoke that clouded the area surrounding the couches.  All three had been bruised and badly beaten.  Kevin sat with his leg elevated and a bag of frozen peas sat atop his knee.  The display was contemptible.

He did not move right away, rather he looked upon the pathetic humans with disgust.  The three of them sat ingesting as much poison into their bodies as was possible.  They had been cloned with additional strength and speed but without augmented cognitive capacity therefore they were as wretched as the rest of humankind, and a waste of his maker’s talent.  His frustration began to mount.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Eugene demanded.

The three of them looked up shocked.  Their eyes, reddened and bleary from the alcohol and marijuana, widened.  Recognition registered on each drug-clouded face.  There was no doubt in his mind they remembered him, remembered how he murdered them just five short months ago in the wooded area behind their school.

He also detected a vague sense of comprehension flash across their dazed expressions, like it had just dawned on them that they had failed to fulfill that which they were ordered to carry out.  His maker had recreated Kevin, Chris and John with one purpose: to root out and terminate both Gabriel and Melissa; Terzini had been emphatic when detailing his instructions to them.  Yet, both Gabriel and Melissa lived.

Eugene suppressed a wicked grin as he appreciated their confusion and attributed it to what they obviously perceived as his premature arrival.  They had not yet showcased their incompetence to Terzini, had no reason to anticipate his appearance, but now he stood before them glowering at their ineptitude, their futility.

Soon, however, shock was replaced with dread, and fear.  He watched as each carotid artery began beating wildly on their respective necks.  He began to smell their terror.

He did not bother engaging in senseless platitudes.  They were beyond small talk.

“How many were there?” he asked and expected to know who, if anyone, Gabriel had aligned himself with.

Judging from their state of defeat, he guessed an army had stormed the once meticulously maintained house and surprised them.

“Two,” Kevin replied meekly.

Eugene laughed.  He enjoyed the low maleficent rumble that emanated from his body.

“That is disappointing, and pathetic,” he hissed.  “The three of you were beaten by Gabriel and another human I’m guessing.”

“Yes, a little Asian guy,” Kevin said, the slightest hint of defensiveness modulating his tone of voice.

“There was someone else too,” John added. “A girl.”

“Did the girl beat you, too?” he asked.

“No way, of course not,” Kevin said as if the idea of a female was more absurd somehow that an unenhanced human.

Eugene erupted in thunderous laughter, a cruel deep sound that resonated through the house like mortar explosions.  They each smiled and looked to each other nervously, laughing but not entirely sure why.

He then stopped laughing abruptly and leveled his honey-colored eyes at them with contempt.  He saw the color drain from Kevin’s face and opened his mouth to speak.

“So, let me understand this,” he growled.  “The three of you, all enhanced with additional strength and speed, were outdone by love-struck Gabriel and a pint-sized Asian guy; is that correct?”

No one spoke.

“And instead of going after them and attempting to redeem yourselves from this embarrassing failure, you are sitting around, smoking pot and drinking beers!” he roared.

“What do you want us to do?  Besides, I heard you were taken down by Gabriel and a hundred-pound girl,” Chris sassed.

Eugene realized that the potent combination of drugs, alcohol and an overabundance of testosterone in the adolescent male body produced a reckless person, lethally reckless.  Add to that heightened power and reflexes and the result was an oppositional fool on the verge of receiving a thorough thrashing.

He suppressed the urge to kill Chris where he stood, restrained only by his need for information.

Through clenched teeth he asked, “Where did they go?”

“I don’t know, man. Gabriel, Alexandra and the Chinese dude didn’t tell us,” John answered, emboldened by Chris’s unpunished arrogance.

Eugene felt a shudder pass through him at the colloquial use of the word “man,” nearly exploded at the use of the idiom “dude.”  He was neither, and he was becoming increasingly infuriated by the sarcasm.

“Melissa wasn’t with them?” he asked.

“No,” Kevin answered groggily.

“What kind of car does she drive?”

“Who?”

“Melissa, you moron!”

Eugene was thoroughly incensed by Kevin and his friend’s maladroitness, their slurred cloudiness.

“She drives 1999 Toyota Camry, black.  It’s a real piece of shit, you know, all she could afford.”

Eugene reviled Kevin’s continuance of inanities, his incessant need to offer his vapid opinion and running commentary.  He wished to silence him, forever.  But the extraction of information was proving somewhat useful.  He had remembered seeing an older black Toyota Camry in Melissa’s driveway earlier.  Either she had been home and hiding in a most meticulous manner or she had been out when he was there.  Regardless, he had a remedy for the situation.

He reached into his pants pocket and retrieved his cellular phone and punched the numbers 9-1-1.  He began to speak in a voice that expertly mimicked the average human being’s voice to the operator and claimed to be a neighbor.

“I heard screaming and things crashing around then I saw three teenagers run out of the house,” he impersonated.  He paused and listened to the person on the other end then responded, “Um, there were two guys and a girl and they got into a late 1990s model Toyota Camry, black.”  There was another pause and he rattled off a license plate number and added that he heard one of the guys referred to as “Gabriel.”

Eugene watched as Kevin, Chris and John looked on in awe at his formidable ability to imitate the various intonations and nuances of human speech pattern.  He approved of their admiration of him, he knew his skill was indeed impressive, particularly when he added his final piece de resistance and produced a tremor in his voice that implied impending tears and said, “I rushed over to see if something was wrong, if I could help, you know, and that’s when I saw them.”  He feigned an emotional breakdown, gave the address he was at and added, “The three dead kids!  Oh God!  Hurry please,” then pressed end on his cellular phone.

Confusion marked their drug-addled features.

“What dead kids?” Kevin asked.

“The ones that will be her when they arrive,” Eugene replied cryptically and smirked.

Kevin made an effort to stand, wobbled on his tender leg and fell back to the couch.  John and Chris rose and attempted to dash past him.  Eugene shot his massive arm out and grabbed Chris by his neck and slammed him to the hardwood floors with such force the back of his skull crushed on impact.  With his other hand, he accosted John and held him still.  Desperate to free himself, John began thrashing and swinging his limbs.  Eugene grabbed him by the back of his neck and used his free hand to simultaneously pinch his nose and cover his mouth.  He held his formidable hand firmly in place.  Eugene watched as his wriggling slowed and eventually stopped.  He felt a tremor pass through his body, didn’t bother fighting it.  He relished in John’s death, delighted in his vacant stare that replaced once animated eyes as life escaped him.

After the quaver ceased and Eugene felt partially satiated, he walked slowly to the couch.  Kevin looked up horrified, and met his gaze.  Eugene hoped his glower communicated the pure hatred he felt for Kevin, the utter disdain.  He did not speak, dared not interrupt the thrill of descending on prey.  Instead, he gripped the leather sofa with both hands and overturned it.  Kevin toppled from his seated position and landed on the floor.  Eugene felt nauseated watching him squirm and writhe helplessly like the pathetic insect he and all of humanity truly was.

“This will look familiar to you,” Eugene said finally as he raised his booted foot high in the air and stomped it down onto Kevin’s skull.

Kevin’s death did not elicit the thrill he’d hoped for.  He was disappointed; murdering a pathetic, incapacitated human lacked the pleasure of pursuit.  It held the same excitement as stepping on ants on a sidewalk; it is done every day yet is seldom celebrated.  But a future adventure loomed on the horizon, one far more titillating than Kevin’s extermination.  Melissa, Gabriel and a new male were in the vicinity.  He could almost smell them.  They would prove far more worthy as adversaries and far more entertaining to slaughter.

Buoyed, Eugene walked out the front door leaving it ajar behind him and climbed into his police cruiser.  He directed the vehicle down the long, winding driveway and he activated the radio mechanism of the patrol car.  He smirked as he heard instructions from the command post.  They were dispatching units to Gabriel’s former home.  Presently the police would arrive and discover the bodies of Kevin, Chris and John.  The police force, with additional help from state authorities, would soon be participants aiding in his hunt for Melissa, Gabriel and the mysterious Asian man.

Chapter 27

Melissa listened anxiously as Gabriel outlined a sketchy plan to defend them against Eugene.  She stared out the kitchen window as dusk gave way to night, as darkness crowded out daylight.  Her neighborhood was eclipsed as a warship fleet of iron clouds shadowed overhead, accelerating nightfall and expanding their dominion to more than three-quarters of the sky.  In the distance, the landscape flickered as if with muzzle flashes followed by a cannonade that shook the remaining twilight.  Another springtime storm brewed overhead.

She turned from the pane and looked to Gabriel who conversed with Yoshi and Alexandra in the dining room.  Alexandra glanced at her briefly, a look of fear and disbelief flashed in her deep brown eyes.  Melissa wished her friend had not been involved in the nightmare that was unfolding, again.  Gabriel seemed to perceive her misgivings and gestured for her join them.  Reluctantly, she moved from her post at the window as lightning flashed across the black clouds, sharp and bright, and flashed again.  Thunder crashed.  The sky convulsed and shook innumerable silvery scales of rain.

“Jesus!  We’re getting some storm!” Alexandra said and shivered.

Melissa joined Gabriel and stood at his side.  He wrapped an arm around her protectively and rubbed his hand up and down her arm.  Though she was certain the gesture was meant to soothe her, it had the opposite effect.  Goose pimples arose on her exposed skin once again and she struggled to concentrate. Instead, her focus was diverted to what felt like a riot of winged insects darting and flitting about in her stomach all beating their wings feverishly in unison.

“Don’t worry, it’ll end soon,” Yoshi assured Alexandra.

“What are you, a meteorologist?  How would you know it’s going to end soon?” she asked haughtily.

Alexandra’s response to Yoshi lacked the razor-sharp edge that was always present when her friend sought to humiliate or essentially silence one who dared speak fatuously in her presence.  Her current demeanor was different, almost playful.  If Melissa didn’t know better, she would think her friend’s behavior verged on flirtation.

“I know because where I live the weather can be very harsh.  Since we don’t have the modern conveniences you enjoy here in America like satellite-guided weather reports, we have to rely on thunder and lightning patterns, cloud color and thickness among other things.  Judging from what I see and hear, the storm will last no more than twenty minutes tops.”

Melissa waited for a snappy response from Alexandra.  When none was offered, she became equal parts suspicious and worried for her friend’s emotional state.

“Yoshi’s right,” Gabriel affirmed.  “When the storm breaks, it will be dark enough out there for us to walk to Melissa’s house and get her dad’s shotgun.  He does still have it, right?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“And ammo?” Yoshi asked.

Typically, Alexandra would have issued him a verbal lashing and charged him with asking an asinine question.  Melissa expected it, paused in anticipation of it but, again, silence.

“Um, yeah, I guess.  Why would he keep a gun without ammunition?” she asked then blushed.

“Good point,” Yoshi agreed, the skin of his face matching the scarlet hue she imagined streaked her own.

“We arm ourselves and stay put.  Eugene will be back.  It’s only a matter of time.  If we run, he will follow us.  He will never quit; until we’re dead,” Gabriel said somberly.

“What!” Alexandra exclaimed.  “Are you saying we’re going to wait for him to come back and kill us?”

“Well, kind of, but not exactly,” Gabriel began.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Alexandra railed.  “You must be if you think it’s a good idea to just stay rather than run and give ourselves a fighting chance.”

“Alex, you don’t understand –”

“No, you don’t understand!” Alexandra panicked.  “You don’t understand!  That thing came to my house and wanted to kill me once before, would have if Daniella hadn’t called when she did.  I am not risking another run-in with him.  No way, no how!”

“So you’re proposing we live a life on the run and never come back to Harbingers Falls, or anywhere else for that matter?  You want to go from place to place across the country indefinitely with no home, no family, nothing?”

Alexandra was clearly rattled by the prospect of either option; both seemed bleak, hopeless.  She lowered her head and ran her hands through her thick, raven hair.  When she raised her chin and looked to Melissa, Gabriel and Yoshi, her eyes were pools of liquid onyx, red-rimmed and filled with tears.

“Running, staying, both are horrible options,” she said in a trembling voice.  “I don’t want to die.”

Her sentiment echoed Melissa’s, appeared to resound through everyone.

“No matter what, we need the gun,” Gabriel said solemnly.  “No decisions need to be made right this minute, but time is an issue.”

“Fine, whatever, but we need to come up with a third option,” Alexandra said.

Finally in agreement, Melissa waited with Gabriel, Alexandra and Yoshi as the storm raged.  Rain pelted the rooftop and windows, exploding like shrapnel in every direction.  Thunder cracked, shook the house, as though a great war was being waged between Heaven and Earth.  An extended barrage of lightning blasted from an angry sky showcasing its might, its fury.

When finally the battle ended, quicker than she would have imagined and just as Yoshi had predicted, darkness had fallen.  Clouds remained but were retreating swiftly.  All that was left was otherworldly stillness.

Melissa had spent much of her time waiting out the storm perched in an upstairs bedroom, away from Miss Harriet’s lifeless form, and in the company of her friends.  Gabriel kept her enveloped in his arms to calm her, reassure her.  His proximity did little more than cause her pulse-rate to skyrocket.

As the last droplets fell, the storm long since passed, Gabriel released her from his protective embrace.

“We should go now,” he said soberly then slowly walked to the top of the staircase.  Melissa followed, as did Alexandra and Yoshi.  They descended the steps and followed him to the sliding glass doors off of the living room.  The sliders led to a large, painted wooden deck.  From the deck, they would have access to both Miss Harriet’s backyard and Melissa’s as well.

As they crossed the living room, Melissa glanced at Miss Harriet, face down in a large, garnet halo of blood.  Sadness and guilt filled her.  Her kindly neighbor, the person who had baked her cookies each Christmas and prepared every conceivable dessert for Melissa and her father after her mother’s death, was dead. And it was her fault.  A wave of nausea washed over her.  She had seen her deceased neighbor earlier, had spent the night in the same room as her, but the shock of being kidnapped by a veritable monster had superseded normal emotional responses.  She had feared for her life.  She had contended with more questions than her brain could process.  Now, however, when presented with a far graver potential future and a moment of reprieve with Gabriel, reality settled in and weighed upon her.

Melissa shook her head as if the act alone would clear her mind.  It did not of course.  The image of her late neighbor remained, etched indelibly in her mind’s eye.  She doubted it, along with so many other images she’d witnessed in the last five months, would ever disappear.  She would deal with them another time.  She had to get to her house safely and retrieve her father’s shotgun and plan an exit first.  She looked away from Miss Harriet and focused on the sliding glass doors.

Once at the doors, Melissa, along with her friends, looked to Gabriel for further instructions.

Melissa’s heart maintained its dangerous pace as Gabriel opened the front door and peered out.

“All right, we go, get the gun then come back here, okay?”

“Yep.  Easy-peasy,” Melissa heard herself speak with confidence she did not possess.  In the dark recesses of her mind a nagging presentiment warned her that the task they were undertaking would be anything but easy, that it would prove a challenge unlike any they’d ever been presented with.

Forcing intuition from her thoughts, Melissa opened the glass storm door and stepped out concealment.

The darkness beyond Miss Harriet’s door loomed impenetrably, so solid in appearance it assumed a sinister life of its own.  The profound gloom paired with Melissa’s churning imagination turned exceptionally darkened niches into portals that descended into unknown depths of hell and shadows into mythical harbingers of doom that, like cockroaches, crawled walls and fences, fleet and quivering, silently championing bloodshed and awaiting impending chaos.

She felt unsettled, walking into perfect darkness. In the most primitive portion of her mind, an inner voice dictated that she always move toward light and away from darkness.  Each step she took into the blackness disoriented her further, contradicted an inherent demand for lightness and made her primitive voice scream that she turn back.

She heard Gabriel’s squishy footsteps behind her navigating the rain-saturated lawn.

As if he sensed her need for him at her side, he sped up and walk alongside her.  They reached the porch that led to the family room at the rear of her house and, after climbing three steps, Melissa used her key to unlock the door.

“This door was unlocked when we left,” Yoshi observed.

“Maybe the psycho bastard locked up for Melissa.  You know, you can never be too safe,” Alexandra joked and smiled wryly.  But humor did not reach her eyes.

Melissa opened the door slowly and listened for sounds of movement.  The house was still, save for the hum and buzz of major appliances.  She stepped across the threshold but did not turn on any lights.  She did not want to draw attention to their arrival, to possibly alert Eugene to their presence.  Rather, she stepped quickly and cautiously through her blackened home, avoiding obstacles by employing her memory and mental maps.  Gabriel, who possessed superior vision, followed her with ease as did Yoshi.  Alexandra did not fare as well.

“Fuck!” Alexandra screamed as her legs tangled in a blanket haphazardly strewn on the family room floor.  She caught herself before she tumbled to her knees.

“Guess the psycho locks up after he ransacks the place but doesn’t clean up after himself,” she grumbled loudly.

“Shhh!” Melissa admonished then whispered, “It was there a few days ago.”

“And you didn’t pick it up because?”

“Oh shut up, Alex!  We’re trying not to get killed here and you’re judging my housekeeping?”

“Knock it off you two,” Gabriel said gently then, to Yoshi he said, “Watch the driveway from the kitchen window.  We’ll go up and get the gun.”

Yoshi took his post in front of the kitchen window and Melissa ascended the staircase quickly.  Alexandra and Gabriel followed.  Once inside her father’s room, her eyes scanned the area quickly and focused almost instantly on a rack upon which the Remington shotgun was mounted.  Gabriel grabbed the gun while she searched the cabinet below it for ammunition.

“Where’s the ammo?” Gabriel asked.

“I don’t see any!  Gabriel, I can’t find it!” she panicked.

As he turned to her to speak, Yoshi called out.

“We have a problem people; A big problem!”

“Eugene?” Gabriel asked.

“No.  Two patrol cars just pulled into the driveway, lights on and everything.  We need to go, now!”

“Cops?  Why would the cops be here?”  Melissa whispered.

“We have to leave,” Gabriel ordered.  “Now!”

“But what about the gun and the ammo?” she asked.

“Forget it!  We don’t have time,” he replied and replaced the Remington shotgun to its mount.

“Let’s go!” Alexandra said and dashed down the steps.  Melissa and Gabriel followed.

The doorbell sounded followed by pounding at the front door.

“Quick, out the back,” Yoshi said quietly.

As they opened the backdoor and stepped onto the porch, another series of knocks at the door made Melissa jump.  She knew that in no time, the police officers would make their way to the back of the house, searching for whatever or whoever they were after.  She could not be certain, but felt intuited that the police pursued her and her friends.  They needed to leave, unseen by the officers.  Such an endeavor would be tricky, near impossible.  Gabriel’s car was parked farther down the road; to get to it, they would encounter the cops.  Running back to Miss Harriet’s house posed the same problem.  Melissa could not think of an acceptable escape route.

Shafts of light, approaching purposefully, distracted her from her escape route rumination.  Sweeping from side to side, the beams sliced through the murkiness, illuminated the land at the side of her house.

Gabriel grabbed her arm and half-dragged her straight across her backyard and into the wooded area bordering her property.

“Run!” he commanded in a hoarse whisper.

Melissa’s feet moved faster than she ever imagined they possibly could.  Alexandra kept pace with her while Gabriel and Yoshi remained to their rear.  Melissa was sure they could both outrun she and Alexandra easily, but stayed back to ensure their safety.

Rain-soaked leaves canopied their pathway, sent water cascading at every stir.  Wet and tangled brush underfoot made running next to impossible.  Melissa struggled to keep her footing. The deeper they moved into the woods the darker it became, more dangerous. Branches lashed at her face.  Undergrowth tugged at her ankles and feet.  The air was heavy with moisture and smelled vaguely of fungus and decay.  Melissa’s lungs burned as she pressed forward reluctant to inhale the thickening scent of rotted mushroom and tree bark.  The scent, dank and dense, mixed with animal spoor, became overwhelming.

A thump beside her followed by a whispered profanity indicated that her friend had fallen.  She halted her feet and was forced to gulp the putrid air.

“Ouch!  Shit, I think I twisted my ankle,” Alexandra whispered.  “Go! Go without me!”

“Just be quiet a minute,” Yoshi ordered her.  “I’ll lead them away from you.”

Yoshi, who previously moved with the stealth and sense of direction of a nocturnal jungle cat, began running clumsily with his arms at his sides rustling and disturbing everything in his path.  He crunched down hard on felled branches and twigs created a commotion.  Distracted by the noise, the police officers traced their rays after him.

“Damn it!  Why did he do that?  They’re going to catch him for sure,” Alexandra said as she stood and faltered on her ankle.

“Not a chance,” Gabriel assured her.  “There’s no way those town cops will be able to navigate the woods like him.  Put one arm around Melissa’s shoulder and one around mine.  We’ll get you out of here.”

“And go where?” Melissa heard herself ask.

“My car is still parked at the lot behind the school,” Alexandra offered.

“All right, that could work.  We’re close to the edge of the woods where they open to the street,” Melissa said.

“How far from the school would we be then?” Gabriel asked.

“A few blocks, two maybe three,” Melissa replied.

“I say we go for it,” Alexandra said and began hobbling quickly with Melissa and Gabriel’s assistance.

“Let’s go,” Gabriel rallied and picked up their pace by nearly carrying Alexandra to the border of the woods.

Once on pavement, Melissa felt heartened but only slightly.  The Harbingers Falls Police Department was unlikely to relent.  The reason they had for pursuing so doggedly, though unknown to Melissa as of yet, was clearly deemed sufficient enough to warrant two patrol cars and four officers.  She did not slow for fear of being caught.  She worried for Yoshi, imagined the only reason the police hadn’t bust through the trees after them was because they had caught him.

She ran, assisting her friend, across the street until headlights sent them searching for cover.  Long beams of blue-tinted light carved through the murkiness and warned of an approaching vehicle.  Fearful of another patrol car, or worse, Eugene, they found refuge behind a large, rectangular trash receptacle dropped in a driveway and filled with construction debris.  They hunkered down along the length of the massive metal receptacle and waited for the rays to fan out as the car drew closer.

A flash in Melissa’s peripheral field of vision distracted her from her vigil.  An animal or person darted from the woods.  Low and crouched, it moved too quickly to be human, too stealthily.

“Did you see that?” she whispered to Gabriel.

“See what?” he responded.

“Something shot out of the woods, an animal or something.”

“Right now I’m more worried about Eugene catching us, or the police.”

Melissa, returned to reality, realized her misstep.  She felt her cheeks burn with shame.  Gabriel reached his hand out and took hers, gave it a gentle squeeze.  She never understood how someone designed to be devoid of emotions managed to be so in tune with hers.

A rustling behind her, however, proved her earlier observation was neither worthy of shame nor a blunder.  Gabriel turned immediately to see what approached.  Footsteps advanced quickly.

“What the hell?” Alexandra said as she twisted her upper body to face the sound.

Melissa touched Gabriel’s arm, felt the tension in his formidable muscles.  He was poised to strike, alert and vigilant, no doubt employing each of his heightened senses to ascertain what loomed in their midst.

Without warning, Yoshi materialized from behind a shrub of the neighboring property.

“Shit, little man!  Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Alexandra whispered her admonishment.

“Sorry,” Yoshi apologized with sincerity.

“Good to see you in one piece,” Gabriel said.  “Would have liked to see you coming and not been ready to kill you, but good to see you anyway.”

Yoshi smiled, his teeth a striking bright white against the darkness.

Melissa did not bother whisper-scolding Yoshi.  She was too relieved to see him and not a mountain lion, lion-man or half-formed human descending upon them.

“Why are we hiding behind this big smelly thing?”  Yoshi asked.

“A car, right there,” Gabriel pointed to where a vehicle drove with infinitesimal slowness.  “There’s no floodlight on, so maybe it’s not the police.”

“Maybe the driver is lost, looking for an address or something.  He’s going really slowly,” Alexandra offered.

“With our luck, that’s unlikely,” Melissa said and rose to look around the corner of the trash receptacle.  She felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck raise as, upon closer inspection, she determined the car to be a police cruiser; a state police cruiser.

“Eugene,” she murmured. “That’s Eugene.”

“Where?” Gabriel asked.

“That car, the driver is Eugene.”

“You see him?”

“No, but that’s a state police car just like the one from my driveway.  I know it’s him.  We have to go, now!”

Gabriel looked at her, and despite the darkness, conveyed a look of understanding.

“We have to move quickly and stay out of the light. If he catches even a glimpse of us, it’ll be too late,” Gabriel said and led the way.

Melissa, Alexandra and Yoshi followed moving quickly but cautiously.  They traversed several yards in the neighborhood and skirted the perimeter of a playground before they reached the rear parking lot of Harbingers High School.  Alexandra’s car was still parked exactly where she’d left it. Dozens of other cars surrounded it as the school hosted a rival town’s wrestling team.  With the match under way, Melissa guessed they did not stand out among others milling about talking on their cell phones and smoking.

Gabriel elected to drive. Alexandra did not object.  Instead, she climbed into the back seat of her own car beside Melissa.

“Now what?” Alexandra asked.

“We have to figure out what the hell is going on, why the cops are after us,” Melissa said.

“We’ll likely find out if we go back to my old house.  I bet Kevin and those other morons know something or are involved somehow.  They might have tried to pin Eric’s murder on us,” Gabriel suggested.

“How are we going to get out of this?”  Melissa asked.

“I don’t know, but first we have to find out what we’re dealing with,” Gabriel replied.

Chapter 28

Gabriel turned Alexandra’s car key in the ignition of her red Mustang and the engine roared to life, eagerly awaiting his demand for speed.  He depressed the gas pedal gingerly and the car responded with immediacy propelling them forward out of the parking space it rested in for several hours until a traffic light at the end of the long entrance path halted them.  The engine rumbled anxiously as it idled, as if waiting patiently to be tested on an open road or highway.  But Gabriel and his friends were not headed for a destination that required either.  To the contrary, they would be traveling along back roads and side streets in hopes of remaining inconspicuous.  The Mustang’s tight suspension and nimble handling hugged the narrow lanes and winding roads of Harbingers Falls.  Gabriel obeyed each speed limit imposed, careful not to draw attention to them despite the showiness of the color and model option of their mode of transportation.

He quickly arrived at the threshold of his former driveway thanks in part to minimal traffic and was stunned to see lights flashing in the distance.  He slowed to a stop, turned off the headlights and squinted.  At the end of the gravel-filled pathway red lights flickered incessantly from a multitude of vehicles.  The colorful pulses of light, all blinking at different intervals, combined to form a visual discord so disorienting the effect was similar to that of a strobe light.

“What’s going on?” Melissa asked.

Gabriel could not be sure but he guessed Kevin, John and Chris were dead.  The presence of several ambulances, a fire truck, three police cruisers and an SUV with the words County Coroner emblazoned on its doors suggested they were not just dead but that foul play was likely.  He was reluctant to tell her what he figured, what he knew had happened, but saw lying as both futile and an insult to her integrity.

“Eugene did this,” he admitted.  “And we are being blamed.”

“What?  Why would anyone think we did anything?” she questioned.

Before he could answer her, paramedics and a man wearing a jacket with reflective letters announcing his position as County Coroner exited his front door.  They maneuvered a stretcher with a covered body atop it.  Behind them, more emergency personnel followed with matching stretchers, four in all.

“They’re dead, Melissa.  Kevin, Chris and John are dead.  Eugene was here, I’m sure of it,” Gabriel said.

“They killed Eric and Eugene killed them and we’re being chased by the cops?” Alexandra asked incredulously.  “This is beyond a nightmare!”

“Why would Eugene kill them?” Melissa probed.

“I don’t know for sure, but maybe he was unhappy that they weren’t able to stop us,” Gabriel offered.

“Or for fun,” Yoshi said solemnly.

Gabriel felt a shiver pass through him.  His friend was likely right.  Eugene did not merely kill for utilitarian purposes; he was not practical by any means.  Whatever the reason for their death though, he and Melissa, along with their friends, had been indicated.

“Regardless of his sick reasoning, aren’t we better off or safer in jail than being hunted by him?”  Melissa stated.

“He’s driving around in a cop car.  I would imagine he’d get to us long before that happened,” Gabriel replied.

“You think he’d try to kill us in front of a bunch of cops?” Melissa asked.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.  He could kill them just as easily as he could kill us from what you guys have told me,” Yoshi added.

“Yoshi’s right.  He’d probably get some sick thrill out of it,” Gabriel agreed.

“But everyone would see,” Melissa said, her features twisted in shock.

“If anyone lived to tell about what they saw, Eugene would disappear before a search for him even started.  And with us dead, there would never be a reason for him to return,” Gabriel said solemnly.

Silence blanketed the car.  Gabriel regretted his candor but felt everyone deserved to know the unfiltered truth about their circumstances and what they were up against.  He looked to Melissa.  Her eyes were filled with tears, her face oddly placid.  She stared at the scene in the distance and brushed back silent tears with her fingertips.

Gabriel was mildly startled when Melissa leaned forward in her seat and pressed her face to the window.

“What is it?” Gabriel asked.

“I know that cop,” she said pointing to one of the many uniformed officers.  “That’s the jerk cop Chucky Miller that’s been harassing me.”

She pointed at him.  Gabriel didn’t recognize him but suddenly felt the urge to punch him in his smug-looking face based solely on Melissa’s testimony.

“I know that asshole too,” Alexandra chimed in.  “I’ve actually been pulled over by him.  What a prick!  He gave me a ticket for doing thirty-five in a thirty-mile per hour speed zone.  Can you believe it!  Worst part is, he was in his glory doing it, like he was all puffed up by it.  He also kept looking down my shirt; fucking pervert.”

As Alexandra spoke, Gabriel watched as the officer looked up from his notebook and seemed to gaze in their direction.  He felt certain Chucky Miller had noticed them and was looking right at them.

“He pulled you over in this car?” Gabriel asked Alexandra.

“Yeah, about a year ago. Why?”

“It looks like he’s looking right at us.”

“What? No way! I doubt he would remember,” Alexandra dismissed.

Alexandra leaned across Melissa and looked out the window.

“Holy shit!  He is looking right at us.  We need to leave right now!” Alexandra exclaimed.

No sooner than the words were out of her mouth, Gabriel depressed the gas pedal.  He did not turn on the headlights and he did not accelerate too quickly.  He did not trust that the powerful engine would not accelerate beyond the ability of the tires to gain traction.  Skidding on wet leaves would gain the attention of the entire group at his former house.  As far as he could tell, Chucky Miller was the only officer who had spotted their car.  He drove away slowly with Yoshi watching Officer Miller’s every move.

“Okay, it looks like he’s walking toward his car,” Gabriel announced.

“Shit!”  Alexandra shouted.

“Just keep driving slowly and don’t put on the headlights until we turn on to the next street,” Yoshi said calmly.  “Once we turn, hit the gas.”

Gabriel inched the car out of sight unhurriedly.

“He’s getting in his car,” Yoshi said.

“He can’t know it’s us,” Alexandra declared.

“He obviously suspects something, but he’s not telling the others,” Melissa said.

Gabriel felt a modicum of relief as he reached the stop sign at a near roll and made a left.  He immediately turned on the headlights and stomped on the gas pedal.  The Mustang sprung to life and launched forward with a rolling growl.  He sped along weaving in and out of side streets until he reached a juncture in the road that would place them on one of two main thoroughfares.

“Where do we go now?” Melissa called.

Headlights rapidly approached from behind them.  Alexandra twisted in her seat to get a better view.

“Shit!  It’s him!  He’s behind us!” Alexandra cried.

“He hasn’t turned his lights on yet,” Yoshi said referring to the fact that Officer Miler had not yet engaged his emergency overhead lights.

“He’s probably calling in the plates.  We’re screwed,” Melissa said to Alexandra.

Within seconds of her statement, Gabriel noticed the light bar atop his cruiser illuminated and emanated short, electronic pulses in blue and red.

“What the fuck do we do?” Alexandra yelled.

“Try and get away.  We have no choice,” Yoshi asserted.

“We can’t outrun the cops,” Gabriel said.  “He’s not stupid.  I’m sure he already called it in.  There will be a dozen cops here in about two minutes.  We’re going to have to try to explain the situation.”

“No one is going to believe us!” Melissa shouted.

“What other choice do we have?” Gabriel reasoned.

Three automated beeps sounded from their rear signaling them to pull over.  Reluctantly, Gabriel slowed and pulled to the shoulder.  He looked up into the rear-view mirror of the Mustang and saw Officer Miller approaching cautiously with his firearm drawn.  Gabriel lowered the driver’s side window.

“Get out of the car!” Officer Miller screamed.  “And keep your hands where I can see them!”

Gabriel opened the driver’s side door and stepped out.  Yoshi, Alexandra and Melissa followed.

“Well I’ll be damned!”  Officer Miller bellowed.  “If it isn’t Miss Melissa I-know-what-I-saw Martin.  There are a whole lot of people looking for you right now.”

“We didn’t do anything,” Melissa began.

“The fuck you didn’t!”  Officer Miller hissed.  “Now put you prissy little hands on the car.  Same goes for all of you!”

Gabriel felt his temper flare and roil at Chucky Miller’s sardonic tone, his insolence.  However, he complied with the officer’s demands in hopes of persuading him to at least hear their version of matters.  The notion seemed far-fetched, ridiculous even, given Officer Miller’s facial expression that could only be described as equal parts rage and exhilaration; he looked like a madman.

He watched as Officer Miller approached him and began to pat his body in search of a weapon.  His inspection was brief.  He patted the length of Gabriel’s leg from ankle to groin as well as his torso from armpit to waist.  He quickly moved on to Yoshi and conducted a similar, albeit short, search before he turned to Alexandra and Melissa.  A look of derangement flashed in his beady eyes and the wind stirred gently whipping his hair into a frizzy pompadour.  He began with Alexandra and took his time, allowing his hands to linger about her chest.  He then traced his hands in a slow serpentine motion down her torso to her legs then back up her inner thighs.

“Hey, get your hands off me you pervert!” Alexandra protested.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!  I’m conducting official police business here,” Officer Miller spat and continued his lewd groping.  He cupped and squeezed her buttocks then leaned his pelvis against her backside.  He slid his hand up her thigh again and was about to place it between her legs when a voice halted him.

“Get your hands off her,” Yoshi warned through his teeth and began to back away from the car, clearly riled. Yoshi advanced several steps, his stride confident, his jaw set resolutely.  Gabriel had never seen his friend look upon another as fiercely as he looked upon Chucky Miller.

“You better stand-down and put your hands back on the car before I put a bullet in your head!” Officer Miller ordered as he backed his crotch away from Alexandra.  He then strode up to Yoshi and placed the barrel of his revolver at his forehead.

Gabriel watched as Yoshi locked eyes with Officer Miller boldly, defiantly.  He did not demonstrate the slightest hint of intimidation.  Officer Miller had no idea who he was standing off against.

But suddenly, their standoff was interrupted by blinding light.

An additional patrol unit had arrived its headlamps bathed the confrontation between Yoshi and Officer Miller in a dizzying array of colors.  Red, white and blue flashes throbbed from its roof rack and a double set of headlights glared.

“You’re lucky,” Officer Miller uttered as he quickly withdrew the barrel of his pistol from Yoshi’s forehead.  He looked over his shoulder at the unit that arrived. “Very lucky.”

Gabriel squinted and shielded his eyes with his hand, despite cautions from Officer Miller.  Initially, he could not discern any facial features or even the silhouette of the police officer that hesitated to exit his vehicle.  When finally the driver’s side door opened and a leg emerged, followed by another, he was better able to gauge the officer’s physicality.  He watched as the officer rose to his feet and stood with his fists balled at his hips, a mountainous shadow, broad, brawny, and colossally built.  Gabriel immediately recognized the considerable outline; Eugene.

He was not alone in his immediate recognition.  Melissa gasped and Alexandra whispered a profanity.

“Chucky, I mean Officer Miller, turn around,” Melissa began in a trembling voice.  “That guy coming toward us is not a cop.  You have to let us go.  Please!  He’s going to kill us.”

“Shut your mouth you murdering little bitch.  You think I’m stupid?”  Officer Miller replied and released his handcuffs from his utility belt.

The enormous shape moved slowly, deliberately toward them and paused after every few steps to inhale deeply as if savoring the scents in the air.  Officer Miller remained fixated on their compliance.  With handcuffs in one hand and his firearm in the other, Officer Miller appeared poised to discharge his weapon at the slightest hint of resistance.

“Turn around!” Melissa urged.  “I’m not playing games!”

***

Eugene approached Gabriel, Melissa, Alexandra and the mystery Asian man unhurriedly but with purpose.  He halted from time to time to sniff the air.  It had become saturated with the bodily secretions of all present.   Adrenaline was the most prevalent note, pungent and acrid, indicative of intense emotions swirling about.  He wrestled to contain the urge to charge them, tear each of their limbs from them and watch them die slowly.  He knew he would have the opportunity to do just that but wanted to relish the moments leading up to it equally as much.  Experience had broadened his knowledge base further regarding death, opened an anticipatory realm of enjoyment to him.  He learned that delaying gratification made the final act all the more fulfilling.

Suppressing a shudder, he moved at a slow pace and saw only one officer detaining Gabriel and his pathetic human companions.  He was surprised by how well his plan had worked out, how easily human beings were manipulated–even those in positions of authority.  He listened as the officer, too pompous to heed their warnings, did not bother to turn around despite Melissa’s incessant pleas.  He felt a swell of anger at the notion that the pathetic officer deemed himself too important, too powerful to acknowledge a member of the same species, that somehow his uniform and badge earned him a position of superiority.  Superior humans seemed an oxymoron, a contradiction in terms.  They were all fools, cattle awaiting slaughter.

Eugene felt his pace increase the angrier he became.  He took larger steps, covering the distance between them faster and faster until he was arms-length from the armed policeman.  In one swift motion, he grabbed the uniformed drone by the back of his head and smashed his face through the rear window of his cruiser.  He immediately pulled him from the fractured glass and spun him to see if he had died.  To Eugene’s delight, the officer lived.

“I guess you should have listened to the murdering bitch,” he sneered then watched as a look of horror clouded his expression.

The tortured guise of pain and the smell of blood threatened to frenzy him.  He longed to kill him slowly, watch as each shred of life escaped him, but knew Melissa and her friends had scattered.  Their deaths would be slow.  He would have time to spend on them.  He breathed deeply to control the fitful rage that coursed through his veins as he raised his free hand and clutched the officer by the throat.  He stared into his eyes and thought about the affectation produced by the drab uniform and tin badge he donned.  Eugene clamped his massive hand and applied every ounce of his might.  He felt bone yield beneath his grip and saw the officer’s eyes widen and bulge briefly before staring straight ahead vacantly, lifelessly.

A ripple tore through Eugene, involuntary and powerful.  He doubled over in exhilaration and noticed the gun that lay on the ground by his feet.  He abhorred guns.  He promptly picked up the deceased man’s armament and released the bullets from its chamber before rocketing it into the black abyss.  He returned his focus to Gabriel, Alexandra, Melissa and the small Asian man.  They looked on in shock, in horror.  They had spread out temporarily only to return to their cluster formation, well aware that running would be futile.  They knew they could not outrun him, could not hide from him.  There was no escape.  He would always find them. They had no choice but to fight.

Eugene stepped toward Gabriel and saw in his peripheral vision that the small man had scampered toward the dead officer and grabbed the nightstick from his utility belt.  As he turned toward the scurrying man, Gabriel attacked from behind.  Eugene turned and swung but missed.  Gabriel appeared to move faster than he had previously, and more skillfully.   He even managed to land several blows against Eugene’s body but the blows were ineffective; they did not slow him.

Without warning, he felt the nightstick land against the back of his head.  Eugene howled out angry and frustrated, he turned only to feel the same weapon strike his face.  The small man managed to hit him not once, but twice.  He moved with remarkable speed for a human, an attribute that served to both vex and impress Eugene.  Presented with a worthy adversary, he began to enjoy himself.  No longer willing to repeat the mistake of underestimating his opponent, he paid closer attention to the stick wielding man as he advanced again and launched a fast, dextrous attack.

Though the man was fast, he was still only fast by human standards.  Eugene caught the nightstick mid-swing and grabbed the assailant by the collar of his shirt.  He then effortlessly tossed him into the windshield of the cruiser.  Glass exploded and showered in every direction. Unfazed by the shards of shattered windshield, Eugene, motivated by a single purpose, moved toward his diminutive adversary eager to kill.

Gabriel, determined to thwart his objective, jumped in front of him and landed a powerful punch to his throat.  A burst of pain accompanied by difficulty breathing disoriented him temporarily.  He wheezed and gasped and tried to catch his breath.  As he coughed and sputtered, Gabriel seized opportunity to strike him in the nose.  Eugene was not certain but guessed his nasal septum had been comprised.  His hands reflexively went to his nose, which bled profusely.  Gabriel spun and kicked him, hard, in the abdomen.  He felt himself fall backward and slam into the parked car, before falling to the ground.

Vitriol held him as an unpleasant but not entirely unfamiliar sensation burned through him: disgrace.  Eugene had been disgraced and humiliated by Terzini’s failed champion.  The love-struck answer to the mistakes of humanity had successfully broken his nose and managed to topple him.  But he would not enjoy victory for long.

Eugene sprung to his feet and straightened himself, flexing each of his imposing muscles simultaneously.  He felt the power of pure hatred surge through him, energize him.  Nourished by fury, he was prepared to unleash the fullest extent of his wrath ever.  His insides quavered violently as his inherent bloodlust motivated him as never before.  Gabriel advanced again, undoubtedly intending to assail him with another of his uninspiring new martial arts maneuvers.  Eugene halted Gabriel’s attack, however, by launching his large fist forward almost instantaneously and blasted him in the chest.  On impact, he detected the sound of at least two ribs fracturing.  Gabriel clutched his midsection and Eugene swung his hand connecting the backside of it with Gabriel’s face.  He watched as Gabriel fell to the ground but did not waste time.  He wanted to rectify the disgrace he’d instigated.  He walked toward him panting with excitement, fighting to not succumb to an all-encompassing shudder that would render him paralyzed by elation, and began to kick and stomp at him.

The harder he kicked the more exhilarated he became, the more challenging fending off the euphoric blackout became.  Sweat poured from his brow as he continued his blitz.  It wasn’t until a whimper of despair distracted him and caused him to reconsider his course of attack.  Melissa huddled with her friend at the front of the shiny red car they arrived in.  He left Gabriel, a battered mass of flesh, where he lay and moved to Melissa.

“Now you’re going to watch her die before I kill you,” he said and enjoyed the tortured look of misery in Gabriel’s face as he tried desperately to rise to his feet.

Eugene pulled Melissa by her frail arm and realized he would enjoy murdering her with a terrified audience more than he could have imagined.  He would kill her slowly and satisfy two needs at once: his savagery and Gabriel’s misery.  Both entertained him.  Both thrilled him.

With Melissa’s willowy arm dwarfed by his enormous hand, he swung her toward him and swung his cupped free hand at her concurrently.  The impact of his hand against her cheek produced a loud whack and sent her flimsy body backward until it collapsed against the car.  He had hit her hard enough to hurt her, but not kill her.  He dared not sully the climax of his torture with a quick death.

As he loomed over her deciding precisely how to brutalize her, a high-pitched sound tore through the night and pierced the darkness.  The sound was unlike any he’d ever heard before.  It slashed at his eardrums with razor-sharp shrillness.  He covered his ears against it and turned in the direction of the sound.  From the darkened shadows surrounding the three vehicles, a hunched and hulking shape emerged.  Best described as a partially formed human, Eugene saw the creature just as it lunged at him.  He did not have time to raise his arms protectively or step out of its path.  It was immediately upon him.

***

The faceless man had been following Melissa since she left her unkind neighbor’s house earlier.  She and her friends had not seen him but he had traveled alongside them invisibly the entire evening.  He had worried that she might need him and remained with her without her knowledge like a shadow, ever-present but not considered.  He moved through the darkness, as he had since leaving Terzini’s underground laboratory, cloaked by the velvety blackness of nighttime skirting side streets and exerting himself to keep pace with Melissa and her friends once they commandeered a shiny red car.  It had been difficult for him to keep up with them once they were no longer on foot but he pushed himself hard, tested the limits of his strength and endurance.

He had followed her, not for his own selfish reasons, but to protect her if she needed protection.  He knew that protection was inherent in the social contract of friendship.  Threatening forces conspired against her and her friends.  He had been certain he would be needed.  Police had chased them.  The large, frightening creature that he had rescued from the ambulance for Terzini had pursued them as well.  He had vivid memories of the monster.  He saw now that it had angry eyes and a cruel smile.

He watched from the wooded area beyond the street in shock as Gabriel and a small, Asian man attempted to fight the beast, to overcome it.  They could not defeat it as he’d hoped.  The monster was too powerful.  And very mean.

He listened intently for ugly words to befall the monsters pressed lips.  It did not speak much, but when it did, its words resonated through the faceless man.  It said it was going to kill Melissa, his friend.  He edged closer to the street, his fist balled at his sides tightly and his breath came in short, shallow pants.  He watched the monster stalk toward Melissa and yank her by her slender arm.  He felt his fingernails break the skin of his palms as he clenched tighter and tighter, tensing the formidable muscles of his forearms and biceps.  Then to his horror, he saw the monster raise its massive hand and strike her; he knew in that instant that it intended to make good on his threat.  He knew the monster was going to kill her.

A strange sensation surged through the faceless man, an inexplicable phenomenon akin to a bolt of lightning flashing through his core.  Horror, anger and fear merged and sliced through him like a high-voltage current.  He opened his mouth and produced a sound heretofore unheard in nature; a sound as strange and dangerous as the reaction his body was producing.

From a dark recess of his crux, he emitted a primitive warning to the beast that dared harm his friend.  He would not allow for her to be killed, and notified his adversary of impending conflict.  The same energy that flared within him set him into motion.  He ran as fast as his legs would allow and burst through the brush exploding against the behemoth brute.  His arms wrapped around it, locked it immediately in an unrelenting grip.  He buried his face against it.  As soon as he felt his face connect with the monster’s flesh he opened his mouth and bit down, hard into his neck.

The monster swatted at him, wriggled and flailed.  Its blows were more powerful than he could have ever imagined; each one felt as if a sledgehammer had drilled against his body.  It attempted to rake his eyes, scratching and clawing with animalistic ferocity.  But he did not let go, knew he must not let go.  He did not release his arms from their powerful encirclement and did not relax his jaw.  Pain radiated from every part of his body, but the faceless man refused to relinquish his grip.  His jaw clamped down squarely on the beast’s throat, he felt a warm gush of metallic-tasting fluid drain from it profusely.

Though the monster bled, he still managed to pound at him, battering and injuring him.  From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Melissa, wounded and frail, and bit down harder.  He felt the beast’s windpipe crush beneath the compression of his jaw and immediately felt the monster’s assaults weaken. Still, he did not retreat; he did not renounce his rigor.  He twisted his clinched teeth and felt the tension that once existed in monster slacken.  Still, he did not let go.  Blood flowed from its torn neck and dripped from his own mouth.

In the time it took to empty life from the monster, the faceless man had not noticed the arrival of several police cars.  He did not see the uniformed men climb from their vehicles and train their pistols on him.  They shouted at him from every direction, a hideous cacophony of warnings and expletives.  He did not understand what all of the urgency was about; the monster was dead, his friend was safe.  He had done something noble, yet the uniformed men with their guns aimed at him did not seem to agree.

He released the lifeless beast, watched as it fell to the ground.  He reached a hand to his chin, felt the blood and matter beneath his fingertips and realized he must look frightening to them.  He took a step toward the officers, trying desperately to gesture his intentions and the circumstances of the monster’s death but the armed men did not seem to care.  Instead, they seemed to mistake him for the monster when, in fact, he had saved his friend from one.

“Take another step, and we’ll shoot!” one shouted.

“Stay where you are, asshole!” another yelled.

They did not understand his gestures, that he did not mean them any harm.  He put his arms up with his hands facing them, palms turned outward to signal his cooperation.  He stepped forward and heard a thunderous sound ring out followed by searing pain in his shoulder.  A bullet had penetrated his flesh, lodged somewhere in his upper arm.

“No!  Leave him alone!” a female voice cried out.

He looked up to see Melissa screaming, urging the armed men to stop firing at him.  Her face was distraught, worry creased her face; she was concerned for him.  He staggered toward her, moved a fraction of a footstep in her direction and felt a stinging blast against his thigh and then another in his unwounded arm.

“Leave him alone!”  Melissa shrieked.  “He didn’t do anything!  Stop shooting! Please!”

Tears poured from her eyes, tears for him.  Melissa showed the truest mark of compassion; she wept for her friend.  He was her friend.

He felt the next bullet tear into his chest, felt an unimaginable explosion of pain emanate from it.  He struggled to stay on his feet as he clutched his chest, and realized that someone cared about him; someone loved him.  He was Melissa’s friend.   It was the first time in his short existence that he was truly happy.

The faceless man outstretched his arms desperately trying to reach his friend and embrace her.  His legs gave out from beneath him, and he collapsed to the ground.  From his prone position he gazed up at her a final time before the world grew dark.

Chapter 29

Dr. Terzini, a man who prided himself on being detached man, felt enraged.  Each hour that passed without communication with Eugene or the clones caused him to unravel further.  Clearly, something had gone wrong.  Despite enacting a secondary plan, Terzini’s strategy had been hindered, possibly obliterated.

He felt his hands tremble with ire and frustration as they grasped a wooden holder with four test tubes inside.  He hurled it against the far wall.  Glass exploded in every direction as the test tubes caused innumerable, microscopic slivers of dichroic matter to ricochet in every direction.  Light that seeped in from his room darkening shades and thwarted his need for darkness reflected and refracted in the glass slivers and lent them the appearance of glitter.  But there was nothing shining about the current moment he was experiencing; it appeared as though he had failed once again.

Ignoring the shimmering mess at his feet, he began to pace stroking his chin feverishly.  He wondered whether any of the three teenage clones lived.  Surely if any of them lived, they would have called long ago to inform him of their success, of Gabriel’s demise.

In all likelihood, Gabriel lived and was well aware of the fact that he’d dispatched the clones, as well as Eugene, to destroy him.  He even entertained the possibility that Gabriel had shared his generous amount of information and working knowledge of the cloning that took place with the authorities.

He did not have time to waste on such speculations.  He had more important work to tend to.  Furthermore, Gabriel had no idea where he was.  Regardless of the information he decided to share-or not share-with authorities, Terzini was confident that no one would find him in time to stop what he was about to start.  His hands stopped trembling.  A sense of satisfaction usurped feelings of frustration and doubt. He calmly walked out of his laboratory and left the broken glass where it was.  He would clean it later.

Once outside, the daylight was blinding.  White light singed his corneas, caused his eyes to sting and tear. He squinted uncomfortably and walked faster to the main house.  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth with it to protect his respiratory system from the dusty, smog-filled air.  He could not get indoors and out of the pollution-riddled environment soon enough.

Relieved, he reached his back door, crossed the threshold and stood in his kitchen gulping the purified air of his residence hungrily.  He went to the sink and immediately washed his hands and face with antibacterial soap and scalding hot water.  As soon as he felt sufficiently cleansed of the atmosphere beyond his home, he moved down a long corridor to a door that led to his basement.  He descended a flight of steps and was instantly comforted by what he saw.  Sixty development tanks, neatly arranged in rows, filled the over-sized space.  In each, a partially formed human being was growing and maturing, awaiting its birth.

The realization of Gabriel’s flaws, as well as Eugene’s, had prompted a sweeping transformation in his thought processes and caused him to realize the weakness in his original plan.  Initially, he had planned to have Gabriel integrate into society slowly, seamlessly.  The goal was for Gabriel to be the linchpin in his ultimate strategy of transforming society as a whole.  His original plan had been far too subtle, though.  He had never fully embraced subtlety but had thought it necessary given his former governmental affiliations.  Freed of his previous associations and dead according to global authorities, he could embark on a more aggressive approach.  He could begin the rebirth of society with the release of his first legion of his new race.  Together, they could expand and create more like them.  With sixty fully formed beings capable of reproduction, with heightened fertility and a far shorter gestational period after conception, their numbers would multiply quickly.

His army of beings would busy themselves with reproduction and assist with creating more development tanks.  While they worked at their respective projects, he would be able to finally complete his experimentation with fetal enhancement in-utero and possess the irresistible ability to change all of mankind thereby eradicating the possibility of a woman ever birthing a flawed individual.  His goal was lofty, but attainable.  And since he currently resided in a location unknown to Gabriel, there would be no one to prevent him from achieving it.  If Gabriel still lived and somehow managed to locate him, his efforts would be in vain, his timing poor.  In the time it would take him to travel from Harbingers Falls to Santa Ynez, the first legion of beings would be born already and would have begun the initial change.  His legion would quickly grow to an army, an army led by him.  The world needed an exalted person such as himself capable of enlightened thinking and grand ideas with the talent to deliver meaningful results.  After all, humanity was so flawed, only the brightest most talented among them could commence a transformation of such magnitude.

He knew the transformation would take time; his project was multifaceted.  But patience and diligence would yield rewards beyond measure.  He would not only succeed where God had failed, he would replace God altogether and be heralded as the person responsible for ending war and crime, hate and violence, the Savior of Civilization.  He would be known as the Creator of the perfect civilization.

Chapter 30

Melissa spotted Gabriel immediately as she emerged from the Harbinger Falls Police Department.  He had received medical treatment shortly after officers shot the creature that saved her.  His face was badly bruised and swollen but remained handsome nevertheless.  His arm dangled in a white sling and his ribs had been taped in place.  He looked battered.

She quickly closed the distance between them eager to be at his side despite the stiffness she felt in her back, an injury incurred from being thrown into Alexandra’s Mustang.

“Melissa,” he breathed.  “Look at you.  Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.  It looks worse than it feels,” she lied and touched her fingertips to an angry welt on her cheekbone.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” he said and leveled his cerulean eyes at her.  He regarded her with such concern, she believed he was not looking, in fact, but gazing into the depths of her psyche and drawing from it truths she would have rather concealed.

She felt her face blaze with warmth and was certain her pallor was replaced with rosiness.  “All right, if you must know, it feels every bit as bad as it looks.  There.  Does that make you happy?”

“Not at all. This is all my fault,” he said.

“Damn fuckin’ straight it is,” Alexandra announced from the top of the police department steps.  “If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened.”

“Alex!”  Melissa admonished.  “Please!”

“Please what?  You know it’s true.  But we like him, so we put up with monsters chasing us, almost getting locked up for murders we didn’t commit.”

In the shadow cast by the sodium vapor street lights outside the police department, Alexandra’s face was obscured.  Melissa could not be sure whether her friend was joking around or being serious.  She hoped for Gabriel’s sake, Alexandra was kidding.

“Alexandra, I’m so sorry for getting you involved in all this,” Gabriel began.

“Oh save the cow eyes for her,” Alexandra gestured to Melissa.  “I was involved as soon as that Eugene creature came into my house and scared me shitless.   I was glad to see him die.  I could’ve done without all the blood and gore of it but therapy will help, I’m sure.  And seeing old Miss Harriet dead and Eric was pretty horrifying, also.”

“I’m so sorry; for all of it,” Gabriel said earnestly.

“No apologies, seriously.  Besides, I never would have met that pain in the ass,” Alexandra said and gestured to Yoshi as he walked through the glass doors of the building and began descending the concrete stairs.

Melissa was sure her friend had intended for him to hear the compliment; that Alexandra enjoyed toying with him.  If it were anyone else, she would believe there was flirtation between them.  But Alexandra was not a flirt.  When she liked a boy, she was anything but shy about it.  Furthermore, Yoshi was unlike the boys Alexandra usually showed interest in.  Every guy, regardless of his age, showed interest in her but she was very selective with whom she bestowed her attention.  Yoshi, who was completely unaware of Alexandra’s preferences or patterns, beamed unabashedly and absorbed any attention she offered.  Melissa could not help but smile at whatever may or may not be going on between them.

“How’d everything go with you?” Yoshi asked Gabriel.

“Everyone seemed really freaked out.  They seemed to be under the impression something monumental had occurred here, that what they killed was an alien or something.”

“Ha!” Alexandra laughed.  “Are you sure it wasn’t an alien?”

“I wish it were that simple,” Gabriel replied cryptically.

“That thing was one of that Terzini guy’s creations?” Alexandra asked.

“Yes,” Gabriel answered.  “And that’s where things get complicated with the investigation.”

Melissa watched and listened as Gabriel returned their conversation to the matter at hand, deferring any further discussion that may delve into the nature of Terzini’s work until a more appropriate time.

“They have no proof that any of us were involved of course; only suspicion.  They can’t hold me, just like they can’t hold any of you.”

Melissa had already heard everything Gabriel had just said.  Only when it was explained to her by the police officer questioning her, a far different spin had been put on the story.  During her interview, the officer seemed intent on extricating some elusive key piece of information from her and of convincing her that she was nothing more than a pawn in an elaborate murderous plot.  Melissa resented every implication.  She did retain crucial information but vowed to die with it or rot in jail in its company rather than offer it to the authorities.

“They have no reason or evidence to hold any of us,” Melissa agreed.

“Eugene also had a dead cop stuffed in his trunk and the cell phone that placed the 9-1-1 call in his pocket,” Gabriel stated.

“And the massive bruises on the dead bodies at your old house were all consistent with his fists,” Melissa added.

“Thank God for forensics, right?” Alexandra offered.

“And we all kept the same story, that Eugene was responsible for everything,” Melissa said.

Melissa noticed that Yoshi remained silent as they discussed their separate interrogations.

“Yoshi, how did you do?” she asked.

“I just acted like I didn’t understand a word they said.”

Alexandra laughed, “Ha! You’re a funny little bastard, you know that?”

Melissa and Gabriel laughed as well but neither she nor he offered profanity-laced praise.

“No one tried to get you an interpreter?” Melissa asked.

“They tried.  They got a Korean guy, then a Chinese woman but my dialect is obsolete.  No one speaks the dialect but the Monpa people from my village.”

She watched as Alexandra nearly doubled over with laughter.  She exchanged a worried glance with Gabriel and tried to nonverbally communicate her fear that her friend was unraveling.  He returned her concerned expression with a shrug and a sly smirk.  Melissa was about to nudge him when she noticed Alexandra’s signature hair flip.  The gesture was reserved solely for those she wished to flirt with; it supported her suspicion that her friend was flirting with Yoshi.

Inspired, Melissa tipped her chin up to Gabriel and looked lovingly at him.  Far too much time had passed since she felt his lips against hers.  After all they’d been through, all of the death they had witnessed and encountered, she longed for normality, for a semblance of warmth and affection.

Once again, Gabriel seemed to read her mind simply by looking into her eyes.  He leaned forward and gently touched her lips with his.  The tender skin of his mouth barely grazed hers, his reluctance an obvious result of his injuries.   She knew that bending was a challenge for him, that twisting was torturous.  She did not wish to cause him anguish.  Instead, she stepped in front of him despite her back that complained with each footfall.  She cupped his bruised face in her hands and kissed him carefully.

Melissa felt the pain and madness of the days leading up to the moment her mouth met his seep from her. She did not fret about the police or her father’s early return from his poker tournament.  She did not worry about impending punishment.  Horrific memories were purged from her mind’s eye for just a moment.   And she felt euphoric.

“Ahem,” Alexandra cleared her throat exaggeratedly. “Okay, break it up you two or I’ll have to get a hose or something.”

Melissa reluctantly released Gabriel’s face from her hands and slowly backed away from him.  Only slightly embarrassed as opposed to utterly mortified, she scowled at her friends.  Yoshi laughed loudly.  Alexandra chuckled and smiled coyly at him.

“Well lovebirds, what do we do now?” Alexandra asked.

“Let me guess, you have to leave again or else Terzini will send something else after me,” Melissa heard herself say and immediately regretted the infantile tone of her voice and biting nature of her words.

“I’m not leaving you again,” Gabriel assured her, ignoring her juvenile accusation.

“Then what do we do?” Melissa asked.

“We only have one choice really,” Gabriel replied.

“And what is that?”

“We have to find Terzini,” he began. “And kill him.”

No one spoke immediately.  Melissa processed the notion of a premeditated killing.  She gathered her friends were considering the gravity of what Gabriel proposed just as she did.

“I just hope I can do it this time,” Gabriel added.

No one seemed to fully understand what his words meant; Melissa certainly did not.  She assumed it was information he would disclose when the time was right but guessed it had more to do with Terzini and the fact that he was engineered in a very deliberate fashion that it did with moral rectitude.

“I’ll do it then,” Yoshi surprised her by declaring.  “I will kill Terzini.”

“And I’ll help,” Alexandra announced.

“Guys this isn’t your fight,” Gabriel said quietly.

“He’s tried to kill all of us, so it is our fight; all of us,” Melissa said.

“Shit yeah!” Alexandra rallied.  “But should we really be talking about offing the scumbag on the steps of the police department?”

“Yeah, that can’t be good,” Melissa said in a near-whisper.

“How do we find him?” Yoshi asked.

“I don’t know, but we are going to have to figure it out, fast, before it’s too late,” Gabriel concluded.

Melissa looked at Gabriel; there was no denying the truth of what he said.  She knew they had to find Terzini before he had a chance to send another of his creatures after them, that their lives were at stake.  If they failed at stopping Dr. Franklin Terzini, their fate was all but sealed.

About the Authors

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2010.  To date, the jury is still out.  But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mom of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book, together!”  Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer simply stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years.  After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them had possessed for much of their young adult lives.  Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success.  They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot would fall apart, or characters would lose their zest, or the story would just fall flat.  Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance.  Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued alternate (paying) careers.  But the dream had never died.  And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination.  When he proposed that they author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright.  His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night.  By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

The Dark Creations series, as well as the Arianna Rose, the Planet Urth series and the Hunter of the Light series, are works that were written while Jennifer and Christopher continued about with their daily activities and raised their young children.  They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section.  Life simply continued.  And in some ways, their everyday lives were reflected in the characters of each series.

As the story line continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration.  Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing.  They hope that their work, though penned for a young adult audience, will be appreciated by the young of every age, and that all enjoy reading it as much as they enjoyed writing it.

Books by Jennifer and Christopher Martucci:

The Dark Creations Series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 2)

Dark Creations: Gabriel Rising (Part 1&2)

Dark Creations: Resurrection (Part 3)

Dark Creations: The Hunted (Part 4)

Dark Creations: Hell on Earth (Part 5)

Dark Creations: Dark Ending (Part 6)

The Arianna Rose Series (A paranormal romance series)

Arianna Rose (Part 1)

Arianna Rose: The Awakening (Part 2)

Arianna Rose: The Gathering (Part 3)

Arianna Rose: The Arrival (Part 4)

Arianna Rose: The Gates of Hell (Part 5)

The Planet Urth Series (A YA science-fiction series)

Planet Urth (Book 1)

Planet Urth: The Savage Lands (Book 2)

Planet Urth: The Underground City (Book 3)

Planet Urth: The Rise of Azlyn (Book 4)

Planet Urth: The Fate of Urth (Book 5)

The Hunter of the Light series (A YA paranormal romance series)

Hunter of the Light (Book 1)

Thank You So Much For Reading Our Book!

We deeply appreciate your readership and would love to hear from you!

For information about upcoming releases (or just to say hi!) please visit our website at http://darkcreationssaga.com To sign up for our mailing list and receive information about upcoming release and special promos, please visit http://eepurl.com/Jp7yz

Thank you again for reading!

Love,

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci

Oh, One Last Thing Before You Go…

When you turn the page, you may be given the opportunity to express your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter automatically.  If you enjoyed our book, would you take a second to click that button and let your friends know about it?

If they get something out of the book, they’ll be grateful to you, and we will be, too!

Thank you so much!

Love,

Jenny and Chris

Please enjoy the first chapter of our latest novel Hunter of the Light (Book 1)…the first installment in the Hunter of the Light series.

Chapter 1

If I’d have known today was the day I was going to die, I never would have left the house, never would’ve left my bed.  But in this world, we have no idea what waits around the corner, what’s going to happen next, so I didn’t have a chance to avoid my fate.

Bread, milk, cereal.  Bread, milk, cereal.  I recite the three things my mom asked me to get at the market on the corner over and over again.  You’d think they’d be easy to remember, but lists like hers tend to fly out of my head when I’d rather be where I was five minutes ago: camped out on the living room couch playing video games and eating Cheetos.  I groaned when she handed me a twenty dollar bill and told me not to come back with candy or more salty crap as she called it.  She smiled and winked and I felt like a jerk for groaning in the first place.  She’s a night nurse and picks up shifts anytime one becomes available.  She’s always tired and she’s thinner than she should be, but always manages to make sure I’m fed and have clean clothes.  For those reasons and too many more to list, if she asks me to do something I do it.  Period.  This trip to the corner market is no different.

Stuffing one hand in my pocket, I reach for a piece of gum.  As I bring it out, the twenty falls on the floor.  I sigh and wish my mother had sent my sister, Kiera, instead of me.  I kneel and scoop it up, standing just as the elevator doors open.

“Daniel!  Hello, dear!”  A stubby body waddles toward me.  Mrs. Alder, wearing orange lipstick that’s smeared on her two front teeth, smiles at me.  “So nice to see you.”  I hold the door for her, and hold my breath, as she squeezes past me into the tiny metal rectangle that passes for an elevator in our apartment building.

“Hey Mrs. A,” I mumble, glancing at her before I concentrate on my shoes.

Advancing a single step, Mrs. Alder’s foul breath mingles with her flowery perfume.  Both make me feel a little sick so I slide back a few steps until I feel my back touch the far wall of the elevator.  “Can you press number five, dear?” For a minute, I don’t know whether to be overjoyed that she’s not riding to the lobby with me or disappointed that I have to go up two floors with her.  It’s a push I suppose considering we are on the third floor.  I nod and oblige by depressing the number five.  “I’m going upstairs to see Grace.  You know Grace, right?  Grace Kellerman?”  She doesn’t wait for me to say a word or nod, but continues.  “Her husband died, four, no maybe, five years ago.  Or was it six?  Let me think.”  She brings a liver-spotted finger to her lips and taps it there.  Her cloudy blue eyes light up after a long moment and her finger moves away from her mouth with an orange blotch on its tip; then she claps her hands together.  “Seven!  Marty died seven years ago.”  She smiles proudly, and I can’t help but feel one side of my mouth lift as well.

When the elevator reaches the fifth floor and the door begrudgingly opens, Mrs. Alder shuffles out, leaving behind the vague stench of her perfume and her breath in her wake.  Sighing and shaking my head, I close my eyes briefly once the door closes.  I open them and resume my chant in my head bread, milk, cereal until the elevator stops and I step out.  The vague smell of cigarette smoke and about fifteen different foods cooking mixes with the stuffy mildew smell unique to apartment buildings.  All greet me immediately.  All are familiar.  All are what I’ve come to recognize as the scent of home.  It may not be the substance of home and garden magazines but it’s fine by me.  Home doesn’t have to be filled with frou-frou junk and look like a museum.  It has to be filled with the people you love and who love you.

I smile to myself and think of my mom in her light blue scrubs plugging in a scented oil diffuser and saying, “Okay. That’s all the Martha Stewart I have in me,” before I force myself to remember the list again.  Bread, milk, cereal, and M&Ms maybe?

My mind wanders around speculation about my favorite zombie show on television and my favorite video game as I walk along the crowded city street.  The area is commercial.  Cars and trucks continually drive by, an interesting blend of music thumping and horns blaring accompany the whoosh of air as they pass.

I’m lost in thought and the sensory overload of my busy street when I find myself rounding the corner and almost passing Joe’s Convenience Mart.  My feet stutter to a stop and I yank open the door.  A bell tinkles and Mr. Soon’s head snaps in my direction from behind the counter.  “Oh, Daniel, how are you today?” Mr. Soon asks in his thick Korean accent.

Smiling, I bob one shoulder and say “Fine.  How’s everything going?”

“Oh I’m good, Daniel, always good.”  Slim and probably not more than five feet tall, I can’t remember ever seeing Mr. Soon angry or sad, he’s perpetually happy.  I suppose that’s why I’ve never heard anyone question why he kept the market “Joe’s” when that’s not his name.  Mun-Hee is what I’ve heard him called.  Regardless of the name, he’s a nice guy who flashes a toothy grin as I make my way down a narrow aisle to the back of the store where the refrigerated cases are.  Scanning the selection of milk, I reach for one with a pink cap and rack my brain to remember whether my mom wanted two-percent or one-percent.  I should’ve asked.  I pat my pockets and realize I forgot my phone when I hear the bell above the door jingle loudly, louder than usual.  I turn and see a man enter.  Tall and broad-shouldered and with dark stubble covering his chin, half of his cheeks and his upper lip, he’s about as intimidating a man as I’ve ever seen.  Looking away to avoid eye contact at any cost, I gulp hard and accidentally swallow my gum.  I spin and grab the first gallon of milk my hand touches.  As the door closes, I catch my reflection in the stainless steel frame of the glass.  A stark contrast to the man who just walked in, I’m still built exactly as I was in eighth grade.  Medium height, medium build, I haven’t filled out yet as most of the boys in my grade have.  And let’s face it, a boy going into tenth grade who’s built like me might as well be invisible.

Filling my lungs, I exhale loudly, envisioning myself taking Mrs. Alder to my senior prom.  But my breathing snags, catching mid breath when a loud voice fills the market, leaving in its wake a shrill ring in my ears that burrows to the center of my brain.  “Give me all your money!” the man booms.  Heart battering my ribs like a sledgehammer, I twist and look in the direction of the voice.

Every cell in my body shrieks at once, ordering me to run, to try to find an exit and get as far away from the shouting as possible, but inexplicably, my legs follow the trajectory of my eyes, moving as if of their own volition toward the front of the store.

Above boxes of tampons and tubes of athlete’s foot cream, I see the top of a head.  Thick hair, sooty and blacker than the darkest night sky, looms, speeding the rhythm of my pulse dangerously.  Still, my legs continue to carry me forward, toward what every instinct within me warns me to get away from.

And then I get a clear view of him.

Towering at what must be six foot four inches, every inch of him looking as if it’s carved from granite, the man who entered seconds ago would be threatening without a weapon.  The shotgun he brandishes and points directly at Mr. Soon adds an even deadlier layer to the terror he exudes.

“I said empty the damn register!” the man shouts, spittle spraying from his mouth.  And with his words, a volt of energy as potent as a bolt of lightning rockets through my body.  I jerk, my right arm suddenly completely numb, and the milk I hold in my hand slips, falling to the ground with infinitesimal slowness.  All sound, including the buzzing in my ears, is silenced.  I watch it with stunned wonder as it descends, falling to the tiled floor in slow motion before it crashes; hard plastic shattering to sharp shards and jutting from a puddle of pure white.

Then sound returns, and my world erupts into complete chaos.

The man’s head snaps in my direction.  Eyes as dark as volcanic glass bore into my skull before he aims his weapon squarely at my chest.

Pounding a frantic tempo, my heart surges to my throat and lodges there.  Raising my hands to chest height, palms facing out, my voice shakes.  “Please don’t shoot.  I won’t cause any trouble.”

Bushy brows knit, the man’s expression represents that he’s making a choice.  He’s deciding whether or not to kill me.

Tears sting my eyes, my world suddenly surreal, a nightmare from which I cannot wake.

In my periphery, I see Mr. Soon’s upper body dip.  He reaches for something beneath the counter.

Blood pounding so hard against the surface of my skin, I will the man with the shotgun to keep his eyes on me.  But he doesn’t.  He sees Mr. Soon.  Turning quickly, his weapon is trained on Mr. Soon the second he lifts the handgun he’d reached for.

An earsplitting blast roars through the ether.  A gaping hole appears at the center of Mr. Soon’s chest and his small body lurches backward into a display of air fresheners.  Colorful plastic explodes, raining from the ceiling like fragrant confetti.  Shelves collapse as the market owner’s body falls to the floor.  Glass shatters.  Papers fly.  The once-meticulous space is reduced to a jumble of disarray.  And Mr. Soon, the kind Korean man who always had a pleasant smile and a never-ending supply of Cheetos, is slumped against the wall, a craterous wound in his torso and a vacant stare glazing his eyes.

My face contorts and sobs rack my body.  I don’t dare cover my face with my hands or wipe my nose.  I keep both where they can be seen.  Especially after seeing what happened to Mr. Soon.

Turning slowly, the man with the shotgun cocks his head to one side and regards me with a crooked, almost sad smile.

“Please, p-please.  I won’t say anything,” I beg as fluid from my eyes and nose stream down my chin, but in my heart of hearts, I know my words are wasted.  I’ve seen too much.

Still looking at me with the deadened amusement of a psychopath, the man purses his lips briefly then licks his front teeth.

“Sorry kid” are the last two words I hear before a deafening boom erupts like a clap of thunder, rattling the ground beneath my feet.  Light flashes briefly, and then pain unlike any I’ve ever experienced explodes in my chest sending trembling veins of agony snaking through my body.  My eyes rove about the market a final time before darkness reaches out to me, beckoning me, seducing me with the promise of an end to the suffering, the promise of release.  And I fall to it.

Table of Contents

- Planet Urth(Book 1)
- Arianna Rose
- Arianna Rose:The Awakening(Part 2)
- Arianna Rose: The Gathering(Part 3)
- Dark CreationsPart One
- Gabriel RisingPart Two
- Dark Creations: Resurrection