by Tamar Sloan
They both chuckle, and Reign flops onto a milk crate, the closest thing they have to a chair. Although they haven’t been friends for long, they both recognized a kindred spirit the first day Reign arrived at his seventh foster home.
A run-down house a suburb away, Reign had barely paid attention as he was taken through the usual tour and welcome smiles, counting the number of bedrooms in the house—five—and quickly reaching the conclusion about the sort of people Avril and George Blackwell are.
Avril had shown him his room, the one beside Mackenzie’s, before waddling her bulk away, saying dinner was in half an hour.
Mac had been sitting on the bottom bed of a triple bunk. She hadn’t looked up from her book as she’d spoken. “She only cooks when a new kid arrives.”
Reign had looked around the messy, drab room. “So, most Fridays?”
He had no doubt the Blackwell house was a revolving door of foster kids, one that ensured Avril’s porcelain doll collection would continue growing. He’d already decided there was no point unpacking his duffel bag. He didn’t plan on staying long.
Mac had looked up. “And some Tuesdays.” She’d pulled her book back to her face. “Don’t touch my books.”
Which meant Mac had already broken the first rule of foster care—don’t get attached to belongings. Reign had glanced around the room, seeing a stack of paperbacks in the corner of the cluttered space. It seemed there was nowhere safe to store them. “That sounds like an issue, not an—”
“As opposed to an ish-me?” she’d retorted.
Reign had snorted a laugh before he could stop himself, surprised she got the reference to ish-you. Mac had lowered her book again, and their gazes had connected. They’d been fast friends since.
The rustle of a newspaper brings Reign back to the present. He cocks his head. “What’s with the newspaper? Have you finally run out of books?”
Mac rolls her eyes. “I like to keep up with current events, and the TV’s not working.”
“Have you tried turning it on and off?”
Mac shakes her head, smiling a little. No TV is going to work without electricity. She points to the page she was reading. “There’s been a series of abductions across the city. Apart from them all being middle-aged women, there’s no clear link between the victims.”
Reign’s mind starts to wonder about how many of them are mothers, possibly the same age his mother would’ve been if she’d lived, but he shakes his head before he starts down that dark path. “Sounds like an ish-them.”
Mac stills as she looks at Reign a little more closely. “Something has definitely climbed up your nose. What’s going on?”
Reign shoots to his feet. “You know what? If I’m just going to get the third degree—with no happy herbs in sight, I might add—then I’m outta here.”
He strides to the door, conscious that Mac is sitting there, watching him. He’s just reached the door when his friend’s words reach him.
“Yep. Definitely an ish-you of some sort.”
Reign pretends he didn’t hear her as he goes back into his room and flops onto the mattress. He throws his arm over his eyes, pretending the rumpled, gray sheets don’t smell gross.
He closes his eyes, wanting today over with. For a brief second, he considers going back to Darnell and Rico and finding oblivion in a joint, but the thought of getting back up suddenly feels like too much.
He’s exhausted, hitting a low that’s directly proportional to the highs he enjoyed in the stolen car. Before everything turned to shit. He feels sleep start to steal over him as his body sinks into the lumpy mattress, and he cautiously welcomes it.
If the Hell-face is going to appear in his nightmares, he’d prefer to stay awake. He’ll see if Rico has any uppers if he needs to.
But the fog that blankets his mind is nothing but seamless black. Reign gives in with relief, chasing the promise of oblivion. Some days, nonexistence is the only way he can stop feeling...
He doesn’t realize the dream is happening at first. There’s no Hell-face to warn him, the glowing eyes always a signal to get the freak out of there. Instead, he finds himself in some sort of cave. It’s not a big one, jagged gray walls curving only a few feet above his head, and quite dark.
It means he sees the young bearded man at the other end, hears the metal rattle as he desperately shakes the prison cell he’s trapped in. Three men, all in brown robes, stand on the other side, staring at him.
The young man shakes the locked door again. “You already hung the son of God on the cross, you fools! Your wickedness only multiplies by sealing me away like this!”
The men shift uneasily, glancing at each other. They start to retreat, moving away from the darkness of the cell, toward the opening of the cave.
“The Son of God whom you hanged upon the cross, will deliver me out of your hands.” the young man shouts after them. “All your wickedness will return upon you."
The men’s shoulders hunch as they leave, but they never glance back. The young man slides to his knees, his forehead pressed against the prison bars. There’s a grinding sound and the pool of light in the center of the cave begins to shrink. Reign realizes the men are rolling a stone across the mouth of the cave. They’re entombing this poor guy.
This guy definitely has an ish-him.
Questioning where in the world such a weird dream came from—probably Avril’s love of bible passages—Reign glances around, noting the impermeable walls around him, wondering when his consciousness is going to get him the heck out of here. He frowns. Since when did he have so much clarity in dreams? Since when did he know he was in a dream?
He takes a step back, wondering if he’s tripping. It’s like he’s here, in the cave.
The young man’s head snaps up. “Who’s there?”
Reign freezes, even holding his breath. The stone at the mouth of the cave thumps into place, plunging the room into darkness.
There’s a scratching sound and a small flame flares to life. The young man holds up a stubby candle, waving it around as he scans the room frantically. Reign doesn’t twitch a muscle. For some reason, he doesn’t want to be seen.
The man’s gaze falls on him, his eyes widening. “It’s you…”
Reign shakes his head so hard the room spins. Whoever this guy thinks he is, he’s not.
The man throws himself against the bars. “They’re coming!” he screams. “You need to stop them!”
Another step back and the rough, cold wall of the cave slams into his back. Reign lifts his hands as if he can ward away the man’s words.
“The Gates are opening!” The man reaches an arm through the bars. “Save them! Save them all!”
Reign sits up with a gasp, glancing wildly around the room. It takes long, heart-thumping seconds for him to register the graffiti on the walls. The light from the street filtering through the cracked window. The bare, dead globe dangling from the roof.
He lets out a shuddering breath as he realizes where he is—the closest version of home he’ll ever have. Not in some cave with a crazy, desperate dude who’s about to die a slow death.
How could a dream feel so real? He could practically taste the dust and desperation. Smell the cold hard stone walls. There’s only one way that could occur.
He draws his knees up, his head sinking into his hands. It’s happening.
He’s following in his brother’s footsteps.
The inevitable decline has begun.
4
Arielle
Arielle grips her cup of mint tea as she enters the living room. Aunt Shell said it would warm her up and settle her stomach. But it hasn’t helped.
Arielle feels like she’s frozen from the inside out. And her stomach feels like it’s been replaced with a rock. Her whole torso does. A rock that’s painfully cracking.
In the living room, Arielle notes that Aunt Shell has tidied up the papers. She always cleans when she’s stressed. The place has probably been dusted, too.
A
rielle wonders what she’s supposed to do with her time. She’s never felt more lost in her life.
“You haven’t eaten your dinner,” Aunt Shell says as she enters.
Arielle shakes her head, putting down the cup of tea. It wasn’t doing what it was supposed to, anyway. “I’m not hungry.”
“Your mother is a fighter, Ari. She’ll do everything she can to come back to us.”
Except, whoever took her is evil. They have to be. Why else would they abduct a well-respected university lecturer?
Arielle glances around. “What if she can’t?” she asks in a small voice.
“Oh, Ari.” Aunt Shell rushes over as Arielle’s knees give out and she collapses onto the lounge. “She’s strong.”
But Arielle is struggling to find any optimism. “Mom’s an intellectual. A vegetarian. She’s Buddhist. She doesn’t know how to fight.”
Aunt Shell snorts as she sits on the arm of the sofa, making Arielle look up in surprise. “Your mother used to sneak out all the time. She told me she gave a cop a mouthful when he tried to arrest someone at a frat party once.”
“She never told me that…”
Aunt Shell nudges Arielle. “Most kids are surprised to hear their parents had a life before they had children.”
Arielle leans against her aunt, her soft curves so different from her mother’s lean lines, but familiar and comforting all the same. “I’m so scared, Aunt Shell.”
“Don’t lose faith, Ari,” she says as she squeezes Arielle’s shoulder. “You heard Detective Kane. The police are going to do everything they can to find her.”
Arielle shoots to her feet, any sense of hope now shattered. “Like the police found my father?”
Aunt Shell flinches, and Arielle is instantly contrite.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I understand, love,” Aunt Shell says quietly. “We’re all worried out of our minds right now.”
Arielle’s arms clamp around her middle, the brief flash of anger already gone. Now she just feels sick. And scared.
Aunt Shell’s gaze softens with compassion. “Why don’t you go to bed? It’s late, and hopefully Detective Kane will have some news for us tomorrow morning.”
Arielle nods, even though she knows she won’t be sleeping anytime soon.
In her room, she looks around. She had no idea how everything would change today when she got ready this morning. Sitting heavily on the bed, she blinks. Then blinks again. Where is her mother right now? What’s happening to her? Has she been hurt?
Biting back a sob, Arielle quickly leans down to undo her shoes, needing to keep herself occupied. But untying her shoelaces is the worst thing she could’ve done.
Her mother bought her these boots. The day after Arielle had broken down crying as they’d been trying to choose her first year subjects. She had no idea what she wanted to do for a career. She still doesn’t.
Her mother had comforted her, murmuring that it doesn’t matter. That she’d find her path.
When Arielle had come home the following day, her mother had been waiting in the kitchen. The deep blue eyes Arielle had inherited had glowed as she’d passed the large box. “Every journey starts with a single step, Ari.” She loves all the clichéd sayings. “These will carry you. Be a witness to it.”
Arielle had taken the box, excited but nervous. Her mother was just as likely to give her a dream catcher as a textbook on career planning.
But the boots—the cream Converse that reach all the way up to her knees—had been perfect. She’d worn them every day since, letting them become everything her mother said they’d be.
But now they’re stained, a red-brown record of the most devastating day of her life. The day her mother was violently taken from her.
Arielle carefully slips them off, moving slowly as if she’s going to shatter any second. Clutching the boots like they’re a teddy bear, she curves around them.
“Please be okay, Mom,” she whispers brokenly.
Arielle holds herself there, no longer feeling the need to move. What’s the point? There’s nowhere to go, nothing to do. Her life has been cut adrift.
She’s not sure how long she sits there, but she waits until she hears Aunt Shell walk to the guest bedroom. Then she waits another half an hour. When she’s sure the coast is clear, Arielle sneaks back to the living room.
There, she curls up on the sofa. Tucking her knees up to her chin, Arielle wraps her arms around her legs. Her eyes feel gritty, her mind filled with a thick, black fog, but she doesn’t intend on sleeping.
If her mother comes through the door, she wants to be the first person to greet her.
The silence of the house envelops her, no longer comforting like it used to be, and Arielle’s eyelids become heavier with each blink.
She doesn’t even know she’s fallen asleep until the dream starts, and she’s standing in a dark place. She tries to jerk herself awake, but she’s in too deep.
“There has to be an exit,” she says as she spins around. “What if Mom gets back?”
But she’s in a field of some sort, gently undulating hills blotting out the indigo horizon.
Continuing to turn, she stops. She’s not alone in this field.
A thick stone column punches through the soil several yards away. An obelisk. The sizable chips missing from the corners along with the cracks spreading through it like veins suggest it’s old. “An ancient obelisk,” Arielle says quietly.
The color of granite, the pale monolith seems to throb with energy. For some reason, it’s wondrously new and achingly familiar all at once.
Arielle’s about to take a step when she realizes there are others already there. Seven others. Her eyes widen.
“With wings,” she whispers in awe, then ducks her head when she realizes she said it out loud.
But the figures don’t seem to have heard her talking to herself. All dressed in white robes, they stand in a circle around the obelisk, facing it with their arms interlinked. Seven sets of magnificent wings arch out behind them, proud and massive.
Almost like she doesn’t have a choice, Arielle moves toward them.
“Hello?” she calls out softly, almost reverently. “Where am I?”
But no one turns around.
“Of course they can’t hear you, Arielle. This is a dream,” she admonishes herself.
“A dream I shouldn’t be having,” she points out as if she’s having a conversation. “I want to wake up.”
But as she waits, the obelisk glows, the seven figures maintain their ring around it, and Arielle remains where she is. Starting to grow a little impatient, she starts walking. Maybe she can try to get one of these people’s attention. Get this dream over and done with.
But she’s barely moved when the obelisk flares with light. It grows brighter and brighter, forcing Arielle to stop and shield her eyes. There’s a guttural groaning sound and the ground beneath her starts to tremble. Arielle stumbles back, confused and frightened, but the shaking is everywhere her feet land.
“What’s going on?”
But the white figures have disappeared and it’s just Arielle and the brilliant obelisk. The ground groans again as it splits open, fissures snaking along the surface. She leaps back, terror clogging her lungs, making it hard to breathe.
Screams rip through the air, so loud and piercing that Arielle slams her hands over her ears. She watches in horror as long, black fingers claw up from the bowels of the Earth, reaching for the obelisk.
“Leave it alone!” Arielle shouts, fierce protectiveness flooding her. “Get away!”
She tries to run, only to find the same black wrapped around her ankles. The fingers surrounding the obelisk reach higher, becoming clawed, obsidian hands. Impossibly, the obelisk blazes brighter, the veined cracks illuminated like lightning.
Desperately, Arielle tugs at her icy bonds. Instinctively, she knows what’s going to happen next.
The black hands grasp at the obelisk greedil
y, the clawed nails snagging on the glittering cracks. And then they’re scraping and lacerating, ravaging and destroying.
“No!” Arielle screams, feeling the destruction deep in her bones.
More hands clutch at her but she tries to push them away. She has to stop this!
“Ari, wake up!”
Arielle sits up in a rush. “Mom?” she gasps.
But although the hands holding her arms are familiar, they’re not her mother’s. Arielle blinks the strange, scary dream away. “Gabby?”
Her cousin shifts back a little. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Arielle blinks in the half-light, trying to shake the sensation that the claws weren’t just ripping apart the obelisk. They were ripping apart her soul.
“No need to apologize. I must’ve been having a bad dream.”
In fact, a nightmare is a perfect way to finish such an awful day.
“I came as soon as I heard,” Gabby says quietly.
Arielle throws her arms around her cousin, squeezing her tightly, her bouncy blonde hair tickling her nose. Gabby clasps her back, her hug full of compassion and understanding.
Although they’ve only seen each other during school breaks as Gabby’s always been away at boarding school, their bond is a close one. Not only are they cousins, born of two sisters who are also best friends, they’re both only children of single mothers. Plus, they’re both always a little… different.
Gabby was the one Arielle spent each summer with. Gabby is the only one who knows about Trinity, Arielle’s childhood imaginary friend.
Arielle yanks back with a start. “I thought you were going away?”
Gabby’s just graduated school. She was going to celebrate with a trip.
Gabby tucks a frizzy curl of blonde hair behind her ear, her gaze averting. “I wanted to check in on you.”
Tears sting Arielle’s eyes, and she quickly blinks them away. “I’m so sorry.” Gabby really sounded like she was looking forward to it, but Arielle knows she won’t be leaving now.
“It’s fine, Ari. Sierra’s my aunt. I want to be here,” she says quietly. “Plus, I have Colt. That’s all I need.”