Mesmerize, page 12
He was running toward the car, I saw him. He looked like he was in one of those commercials where they have bare-chested guys running along the beach, wind blowing through their hair leaving you breathless just watching. Even with everything going on around him, that’s what I remember he looked like, except he had his shirt on.
Another thing I remember that startles me a bit is that he was running casually. Not like someone with a freaky large creature right behind him. Maybe the creature wasn’t visible to everyone. Maybe just the Mystyx saw it?
But Twan saw it? Didn’t he?
“Did you see anything strange?” With everything that’s happened this week I’m wondering if the entire town of Lincoln is about to record extraterrestrial sightings. Which, coincidentally, would not be a good thing right now. So far the fire at the school was only reported as a fire—nothing out of the ordinary. But tonight seemed different. Maybe it was just different in my mind.
“The club’s a mess. Everybody bailed for some reason but I’m not sure why. There were cops out front when I came out.”
And a large creature that looked like someone had ripped him right out of the pages of a Greek mythology textbook. But he hadn’t said that. And he’s not thinking it so I can’t tell if he saw it or not. I guess it wouldn’t be strange if he didn’t, not any more strange that I did. My temples throb with the thought.
I don’t know what to do or say around Dylan at this moment. Do I tell him that one of my best friends just finished crying her eyes out because her boyfriend died? Or do I just stand out here and act like it’s all cool that I’m at a sleepover and this really cute guy snuck out in the middle of the night to see me?
“I was really worried when you just pulled off. I wanted to make sure you were safe,” he says and something flashes in his eyes.
It’s just a spark but I see it and I want to hold on to it because it feels true.
“I’m fine. I was, ah, a little upset when we were leaving. Sorry I didn’t answer you,” I say because maybe he didn’t see anything out of the way. Maybe this was just another incident for the Mystyx to deal with. Except this time a human had been killed.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
He steps closer to me and I don’t know if he means to kiss me or not but I put my head down, let my forehead touch his shoulder. Dylan wraps his arms around me then, just folds me right into his embrace and I go willingly. My arms twine around his neck and hold him close. I feel like crying and screaming at the same time. I want to know why Twan had to die, why Charon is fighting so dirty and why I keep choking up every time danger shows its ugly head.
I’m not getting those answers right now, which is kind of okay, since what I am getting is something else I’ve always wanted.
There’s this guy standing here with his arms around me and he wanted to make sure I was okay. For the first time since I originally met grief, I feel like there’s something to combat the hideous feeling. And that something’s name is Dylan.
Fifteen
The Morning After
When I wake up it’s to the sound of drawers opening and closing and the television blaring. I roll over until I’m on my back, dropping an arm over my forehead. The assumption is it’s morning because my eyelids twitch and dread opening to the light. And because that’s what the newscaster just announces.
“Four dead in Arkansas as floods and tornadoes strike again,” the newscaster continues saying.
My eyes open slowly and I peek at the television. This isn’t the same meteorologist that was on last week. Actually, there’s been a different one just about every week since Walter Bryant went on hiatus—the network’s words, not mine. We believe Walter Bryant skipped town with Sasha’s dad to further pursue the mysterious Project S. I wish we could have uncovered more about that project but right now I think our biggest concern is what’s here in Lincoln. Oh, and what seems to be spreading across the nation like a sick disease.
“In Missouri, a warning of imminent failure for a levee on the Black River in the southeast part of the state prompted the mandatory evacuation of about a thousand people.” Her name is Lily Barton and as I suspected she’s new in town and new to the local news. She’s pretty enough with her heavy auburn curls and wide model-like smile. Unfortunately, what she’s saying isn’t as attractive.
“In Vilonia, Arkansas, a town of three thousand people north of Little Rock, one death and between fifty to eighty houses were destroyed by a tornado, according to Faulkner County emergency management. Emergency workers report a path of destruction half a mile wide.”
“Jake just texted me,” Krystal interrupts and my gaze shifts from the television to where she sits on the edge of the bed. She’s still wearing her nightshirt, her hair’s all wispy around her head and she’s holding her cell phone.
I hear another drawer slam and both of us look to the other side of the room where Sasha stands holding a top in each hand. “Blue or green? Which matches these shorts better?” she asks.
I guess the first thing I notice about Sasha this morning is how pretty she is. She’s Colombian and has the warmest, brownest eyes I’ve seen. Her hair is simply gorgeous, long, shiny, healthy. Her body is going to be killer when she hits adulthood full-on and she has this cool friendly personality that just pulls you right in to her world whether you want to be there or not. She’s honest and she’s loyal and she’s a friend of mine. I still want to pinch myself on that note.
She’s looking at us expectantly as I pull myself up to a sitting position, my arms and legs aching like I’ve been in a full-body collision instead of asleep in this big bed most of the night.
“Green,” Krystal says, then follows up with, “Jake wants to meet in an hour. He’s coming over.”
Sasha throws down the blue shirt, pulling the green one over her head. She’s wearing cut-off jean shorts and her feet are bare, neon-pink toenail polish waving like a happy flag. She scoops her hair out of the shirt and lets it fall down her back as she turns to face the mirror. “Right, green,” she says, turning sideways then to the back, then back to full-frontal mirror view.
Krystal and I look at each other and shrug. I’m used to dealing with my own grief, not necessarily someone else’s. I think Krystal might actually be better at this since she’s used to dealing with the dead all the time. Although Sasha’s not the one dead.
“That’ll look great for when we meet with Jake,” Krystal says, getting up off the bed. “You should probably tell Mouse what happened last night. If they’re attacking out in the open now, none of us are safe. The more we have looking out for us on this end, the better.”
Sasha spins around, her hair following her in a silky halo around her face. “I was thinking we could see a movie today.”
With a heavy heart I recognize exactly what Sasha’s doing. “The first stage of grief is denial,” I say kind of quietly and know that only Krystal hears me. Sasha is hearing nothing but her own words right now.
I’m slipping off the bed as Krystal takes Sasha by the shoulders. “You look great,” she says first and Sasha smiles.
It’s a wobbly smile faltered only by the clouding of her eyes, the pooling of tears about to fall. “And it’s not your fault,” Krystal continues. “It’s not any of our fault. What happened just happened. And—” Krystal hesitates and takes a deep breath.
“Twan doesn’t blame you.”
Oh, crap, that’s right, Krystal can talk to the dead.
Tears spill from Sasha’s eyes and her whole body crumbles to the floor. Krystal goes down with her and I cross the room falling to my knees beside them. Sasha lays her head on Krystal’s shoulder and I rub her back. The crying is intense, gut-wrenching and contagious. I’m crying. Krystal’s crying.
Outside the wind is howling, like it, too, is having a hard time dealing with this loss.
An hour and a half and a whole pot of coffee later we’re sitting in Sasha’s family room. Sasha is in a chair surrounded by colorful pillows, which makes her look even sadder than she had lying on her bedroom floor.
Krystal sits on the couch not far away from Sasha. I sit on the other end of the couch and Jake has pulled up a chair from the small table in the corner where an unplayed chess game always sits.
“It’s been all over the news for weeks now, all these tornadoes. It’s like they’re swarming the country or something. People are dying,” Krystal says, then pauses and sneaks a look at Sasha who is pulling the fringes on one of the pillows. “There’s mass destruction and they just keep coming.”
Jake nods. “I know. I’ve seen the reports. The really strange thing is they aren’t even trying to explain it. Like normally they’d said ‘oh, it’s global warming’ or ‘it’s El Niño,’ now they’re just saying ‘another tornado touches down.’ It’s like a weird kind of normal.”
“Not weird,” I add, rubbing my fingers along the hem of my black jean capris. “Maybe a prelude.”
“A prelude to what?” Krystal asks.
“The beginning of the end,” Jake says slowly. “Remember the symbols on the tree trunk? I think that was our warning. Sasha said she was led to that spot, to that tree. We all felt the energy there. We were supposed to go there, to get that message.”
I’m nodding because what he’s saying clicks into place. I’d already researched this, just never had the chance to tell everyone what I came up with.
“On the scroll you found in your yard it said the same thing. The Alpha and Omega, they are the beginning and the end of the Greek alphabet.”
“What else did it say?” Jake asks.
“It’s a prophecy of the beginning—good and evil where they’re always combating each other. In the end one will be left standing, only one will prevail to rule the universe.” I remember the words, the intricately written Greek letters. That message had been for Jake. The one in the forest for Sasha. Krystal’s came from the spirits. And mine, it seemed the creature was bringing my messages right to my front door.
“He’s trying to tell me something,” I say, looking out the window. “He wants me to know that he’s here and he’s capable of bringing death. Just like he did on the train with my parents.”
“Who?”
“This creature that Charon has sent as a messenger,” I answer, not realizing I’ve had this answer for a couple of days now. But as I speak it just clicks right into place.
“He can’t fight in this realm, not for himself. He’s using a demon that can roam this realm freely. The Darkness,” Jake adds.
“His name is Lor,” Mouse’s deep voice echoes from the doorway. And as he walks with heavy steps into the room he continues to speak in that monotone accent. “He is a beastly demon from the Underworld whose real form was once too hideous to be seen in this realm. The fact that you have seen him, all of you, is not a good thing. It means that evil is gaining momentum. Charon is growing stronger.”
“It means we’re losing this fight,” Jake says with a sigh, sitting back in his chair.
Mouse has been moving about the room, closing all the blinds and pulling heavy drapes over them. Just as Mrs. Hampton had done that night at our house. “Not exactly.”
“Then what does it mean?” Krystal asks.
“I cannot tell you how to fight this fight,” Mouse says when he comes to stand by the chair where Sasha sits not looking at anyone. “I can only tell you that it will take all of your combined strengths and powers at the precise moment in time. It will mark Charon’s end.”
“And in the meantime,” I say because Mouse hasn’t really told us anything we don’t already know, “we sit back and watch innocent people die? That doesn’t make sense.”
“She’s right,” Jake adds. “It seems like we should be doing more to protect the ones who don’t have power.”
“You are coming into your full power,” a familiar female voice says. “Each of you will need your full power during this time.”
“Fatima,” Sasha whispers as she looks across the room to the white-robed messenger she met in the Majestic.
When Sasha stands, Fatima reaches out a hand. It’s a little surreal to see Sasha go to this shimmering shadow of a woman and actually embrace her.
“Your pain is great and not unexpected, but it will make you weak.” Fatima speaks with her arms around Sasha but she’s looking directly at me. “And Charon preys on weakness.”
“Yeah,” Jake says, nodding his head. “He does.”
Charon had attacked Jake when his grandfather died.
“So what do we do now?” Krystal asks. “How do we keep innocent people safe and prepare for this fight at the same time?”
Fatima releases Sasha and looks over at Mouse, whose arms are folded over his massive chest. “You cleanse your mind, strengthen your hearts and let your power guide you. Answers will not always be in front of you, but they will come to those who hold the power to reveal them.”
Jake frowns and I know—even without reading his mind—that he’s not liking Fatima’s cryptic message. I, on the other hand, get exactly what she’s saying.
Sixteen
No Introduction Necessary
School is quiet and dreary, even for a Monday morning. Over the weekend everybody heard about what happened to Twan. As far as I can tell the police have reported it as an accident, but there’re whispers of suicide.
Sasha visited with Twan’s grandmother yesterday. Her mother went with her. When I called her last night she said that things went “fine.” She’s not real big on lengthy explanations right now and she’s not in school today.
At lunch Jake went to the library so Krystal and I sat at our table, just the two of us. I saw Dylan this morning in class but haven’t seen him since. I’m so confused on what we’re doing together but more concerned about the state of the world if we can’t stop Charon or at least head off his next attack.
“Who are they?” Krystal’s question snaps me out of my thoughts.
I turn to stare in the direction she’s looking and sigh. “Just two new girls. Twins I think, Isis and Ivy something or other. They’re on the cheerleading team with me.”
“Oh. More newcomers to Lincoln,” she says and I look at her. She thinks it’s strange that we’ve had so many new arrivals in the past year. I’ve thought that, too, so I don’t say anything. No use being repetitive.
“They’re very pretty,” Krystal notes.
I’ve already seen them, there’s no need to look back again. Besides, there’s more action on the other side of the cafeteria where one of the guys Twan used to hang with is arguing with a jock. Their anger is intense, fueled by the burn of grief and the indignation of embarrassment.
Trigga, his real name’s Braxton Lewis, is tall and stocky with mean eyes but a quick smile. He and Fats, the shorter, rounder one who is now standing right by Trigga’s side with an awesome grimace on his face, used to be like Twan’s shadows. At least until he started going out with Sasha. Both the guys liked Sasha and didn’t give Twan too much grief about being with a richie. It was like they were this ethnically blended family. Now Twan was gone and Sasha wasn’t here. Trigga and Fats looked more than a little lost right now.
Pierce Haynes, the captain of the football team, is standing with Dylan. I try not to gasp in shock because Dylan is on the team. It stands to reason he and Pierce would hang out together. Only it looks like Dylan’s all for a fight with Fats and Trigga, as well. Before I can explain to Krystal I’m up and moving toward the altercation.
A lot of other kids are, too, nothing more exciting on a dreary Monday than a fight in the cafeteria. As I get closer I can hear the argument.
“He was probably high on something and thought he could fly,” Pierce chuckles as if he’s a famous stand-up comic. “Dude, you’re not Superman,” he continues, holding his stomach like he’s laughing so hard it hurts.
“Shut your mouth,” Trigga said, stepping closer to Pierce.
Pierce sobers. “And if I don’t?” He steps right back at Trigga.
“I’ll shut it for you.”
There’s a lot of cheering on both sides. “Do it,” Pierce dares.
And Trigga swings, his beefy fist connects with a loud crack against Pierce’s jaw. The next blows come too fast and fiercely for me to accurately commentate. But I’m hustling through the crowd trying desperately to get to Trigga, to pull him away before Principal Dumar makes an appearance.
