He smirked, “I could ask you the same thing.” She gave her permission and he joined her on the wooden bench. The young man then asked if she was a student at the local high school. “You see, I’m an exchange student and I’m trying to become acquainted with as many possible familiar faces as I can.”
“Where are you from?”
“Romania.”
“Uhh…where is that?” she asked, embarrassed.
He only smiled, “It is in Europe, north of Greece and west of the Black Sea.”
“So do you speak Romanian then?”
“Yes, however I was raised bilingual so I should not have any problems talking to anyone, aside from my accent that is.”
“It’s hardly noticeable.”
“Well thank you.”
“Have you registered for your classes yet?” she asked.
“No, your principal told me that I would register on the twenty-fourth of August.”
“Oh. Well, who are you staying with? Maybe I know them.”
“It’s actually a rotational stay, so I move around every few months…and I have to admit that I do not remember their names,” he admitted.
“Don’t worry, it’s not that important to me. I was just wondering if I knew them.”
A cool wind blew over them and with it a calm. Rachel began to relax as she saw her newfound friend relax as well. He began to recline in his seat and became less rigid than he was at the start of their conversation. It made her smile to think that she might actually intimidate or unnerve him.
She asked him, “What kind of classes are you interested in taking?”
“English for sure,” he said. “I am not really interested in math or science, but I think I might take a writing or a literature course.” He paused a moment before he inquired, “What classes would you recommend?”
Rachel told him what she planned on taking “I’m taking an advanced art class, which allows us to focus on whatever medium we want. Are you into art?”
“Err…if you mean do I like art, then yes. Do you think I might be accepted into that course?”
She shrugged, “If you’re decent then probably. Do you paint, sketch, or sculpt?”
“I have done all of those at one time or another, however my preferred method is painting.” He paused for a moment to retrieve a small leather bound book. He showed her a few pictures of a small village with a castle in the background that he had sketched.
She was shocked at his skill and the level of detail in his work. “Hell, this is fantastic. Why don’t you draw more? You’re really good.”
“I simply enjoy painting more. The ability to breathe emotion, life, and mood into canvas is simply more exhilarating that way, to me at least,” he explained. “When I paint I feel like I am able to show everyone what truly exists throughout the earth. Through painting I can better express what is dwelling within myself as well.”
“Okay…” Rachel said, unable to precisely grasp his meaning.
Droplets of rain fell from the abruptly dark heavens. Rachel was startled to find the sudden change. “When did that happen?” she asked openly.
The boy looked up to discover a dark blanket of clouds which covered the heavens. “I have no idea…is this common here?” he asked, concerned.
She shook her head, “Not at this time of year. Not to mention how quick that was…that’s just weird.”
Rain poured down and doused them both. The young man retrieved his book from her, returned it to its place within his bag, and removed a small black umbrella which he used to shield her from the rain.
“Thanks…”
He handed it to her and said, “I must be going, but please take that with you,”
“No, don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You can have it back,” she returned it to him, and folded her arms in an attempt to avoid shaking.
“Are you certain you do not want it?”
“Yeah,” she looked over her shoulder, “I only live a few minutes from here, so I’ll be fine.”
The boy held it over her head, “Take it. You will need it more than I will, and please do not try and return it to me again.”
She bit her lip, and asked, “You’re sure it’s alright?”
The boy only nodded and smiled, “I will be going now, but I hope we can talk again soon.” He left without another word as a thick fog began to accumulate around the park. Rachel watched the young Romanian leave and soon found herself trying to follow after him. She only walked a few feet before she realized what she was doing. Rachel fidgeted in place momentarily before she pursued the stranger. Once she reached the street at the end of the park she peered through the mist to find nothing but shadows, mist, and rain. The mysterious figure she lost in the fog could not be found.
---*---
3:37 PM
Lynnwood, Washington
Nick sat on his bed with his back against the wall. The rain crashed into his window and afforded him some form of comfort. He listened to The Battle of Evermore through an old stereo he kept on his desk, something his brother once tried to throw out but Nick wouldn’t allow him to discard. The right speaker didn’t work at all, but Nick didn’t care so long as he could listen to something to drowned out the world whenever he needed some relief.
He fished his cell phone out of his jeans pocket to check the time before he got up and left his room. Nick walked into the kitchen to grab a black garbage sack and then he headed into the living room where his stepfather slept. An old western movie Nick didn’t recognize played while he cleaned up the discarded microwave dinner containers, the beer bottles, Paul’s dozens of cigarette butts and the accompanying ash, and also dirty plates and other kitchenware. Nick took the garbage out into their garage and set it inside the appropriate green bin. A strong and sudden gust of wind smashed into the garage door and startled Nick. He took a minute to regain his nerves and finally returned inside. The blast roused Paul, who rose from his chair and headed past Nick toward the bathroom. Nick kept his eyes low as they passed. He retreated into his room and turned his music down.
Paul signaled his leave from the bathroom with the flush of the toilet and proceeded to wander into the kitchen. Nick listened quietly for Paul to open the fridge and retrieve a beer, but the doorbell interrupted the ritual. Paul answered the door and Nick crept out of his room to eavesdrop.
“This is the Jacobs residence?”
“Yeah, what are you here for?” Paul asked.
The man at the door hesitated, but finally came out and said, “Your son Victor’s been killed.”
Nick froze. His hands shook and tears flooded his eyes. He tried to remain standing but fell to the ground and wept quietly as Paul continued to talk with the police officer about the details of the incident.
The officer explained, “He was shot twice at Bothell High School, as was the school’s principal.”
Paul cursed and asked, “Do you know who killed him?”
“No, unfortunately we don’t have many leads or ideas as no one witnessed the incident.” There was a pause though Nick didn’t hear it over his sobs, but the officer continued, “I have to ask, do you know of anyone who would have wanted to kill your son?”
Paul shook his head, “Who the hell would want to? He was an English teacher. Unless it was some bastard kid he taught who he gave a shitty grade to, otherwise I don’t know who killed him.”
The officer apologized. He mentioned that the body was at their morgue and that they wanted his permission to perform an autopsy. Paul told the officer it would be fine. The officer nodded and told him that they would be in touch shortly.
Paul shut the door after the man left. He remained silent for a moment before he finally yelled, “Get in here!”
Nick hastily wiped his tears away and walked into the room. He tried to control himself but knew Paul could see the redness in his eyes. Paul told him to walk with him as he headed to the kitchen for the beer Paul failed to get earlier. He offered Nick one but Nick refused.
&n
bsp; Paul drank the first one quickly, opened the second bottle, drank half of it and stopped. He looked at Nick, who stood trembling. He muttered, “You heard then?”
Nick only nodded.
Paul glanced away and cursed to himself. He wiped off the lip of the bottle and offered it to his stepson, though Nick didn’t move. Paul set it on their faded canary countertop while he took another beer from the fridge and helped himself.
“It’s shit,” he continued. “Just shit…”
Nick watched his stepfather finish another bottle and dash it on their laminate floor.
“Paul, wh-what the–”
“Who the–what kind of bastard off’s a damn English teacher?”
“I-I don’t kn-kn-know P-Paul. I’m s-sorry.”
Paul took the rest of the drink he set aside for Nick while he pressed his wide back against the yellowed refrigerator door and slid to the floor. He wouldn’t stop shaking his head and he stared despondently at the floor. “What the hell are we supposed to do now? What in the hell…” he muttered quietly. “No money. No damn money kid. What are we gonna do kid?”
Nick stood halted. Paul murmured the words over and over and over with what Nick thought were diminutive tears in his eyes. Paul shook and spilled his drink across the shattered amber fragments on the ground.
---*---
4:03 PM
Bothell, Washington
Ian sat out on the front steps of Drake’s house. He trembled and hardly noticed Drake drive back up and into the driveway. The storm whipped rain into his face, but Ian hardly cared at that point since he was soaked to the bone. Thunder boomed overhead as Drake got out of his car and ran up to Ian.
He shouted through the storm, “Ian, what’s wrong?” He walked over to him and looked at his friend. “You’re soaked,” he said, “Come on, let’s get inside and–”
“Victor’s dead.”
Drake stopped. He looked at Ian, “What are you talking about?”
He took a wavering breath and repeated his words. “Victor’s dead.”
Drake took a seat on the steps with him. “What happened?”
Ian slowly shook his head, “I’m not sure…We were talking, everything was normal, and then Nick…” he shook his head, “It looked like Nick, I’m sure it was…”
Drake questioned him, “What about Nick?”
“He shot him.”
“Nick shot Victor?” Ian nodded. Drake looked away from him. He gave the situation a moment of thought and asked, “He looked like Nick?”
“Yes.”
“Did he stutter?”
Ian shook his head, “He never said a word.”
“Did he have his helmet or jacket?”
“No.”
Drake let out a breath and said, “It wasn’t Nick then.”
Ian looked at him, “I saw him there Drake, I know–”
“You don’t know anything,” Drake stopped him. “You’re in shock Ian, you need to calm down.”
“I know what I saw Drake,” Ian barked, “He shot Victor and killed principal Summers as well.”
“Then why are you alive?”
“I ran,” he shouted. Ian stood up and took a few steps away from Drake, “I was terrified I mean Nick had a gun with him and killed two people!”
Lightning followed immediately by thunder shook both Drake and Ian. Ian nearly screamed, but maintained what little control he had over himself. Drake remained on the steps and tried to calm Ian down. “Ian, whatever you think you saw is wrong. Nick wouldn’t kill his brother; he wouldn’t kill anyone for that matter. He isn’t capable of something like that.”
Ian scowled, “How do you know that? What if he’s been–”
“Ian!” he yelled, “Nick didn’t kill them.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“Because I’ve known him almost as long as we’ve known each other and even though Nick’s got a boat load of troubles, he’d never take it out on his brother.”
“Why not?”
“Victor was the only thing in Nick’s life that was able to help him deal with life at home,” Drake explained. “Killing Victor wouldn’t make sense. If Nick was going to kill anyone, which he wouldn’t, he would have killed his stepfather Paul.”
Ian glared at him, “How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen the way Paul treats Nick,” Drake told him. “If my own father treated me that way I’d harbor ill will as well, but Nick somehow bears with all of the constant grief Paul gives him. Besides, I truly don’t believe Nick is capable of killing anyone.” Drake wiped the hair out of his face and continued, “Remember all the times we’d go out camping? He wouldn’t even fish with us because he didn’t want to have to kill the fish he’d catch. It was the same reason he’d never go hunting with us. Nick isn’t capable of that level of harm on any living thing.”
Ian looked away from Drake. He sighed, and asked, “Then who the hell was that?”
Ian hardly spoke his last word when a bolt of lightning struck him in Drake’s front yard. The incident happened in a fraction of a second, and once it was over, Drake hardly believed it happened.
Ian fell to the ground and Drake sprinted to his side. Drake tried to wake him but after a few seconds realized he needed to get Ian to a hospital. He picked Ian up and got him into his car. Drake didn’t buckle in, check as he rapidly backed out of his driveway, or make a single stop as he drove to the nearest hospital he could immediately think of.
---*---
7:10 PM
Kirkland, Washington
Drake sat hunched forward in a chair in the lobby of the Evergreen Hospital. His father brought Ian’s mother and sat with her on a sofa opposite Drake, who sat alongside Jordan. Jordan had only arrived minutes earlier and he reeked of something Drake recognized as marijuana. He was at the very least coherent, which relieved Drake. Jordan was the only drug user of their circle of friends and although none of them rejected him, Drake felt it didn’t reflect well among their group or for them.
It’d been hours since Drake brought Ian into the emergency room. Ian seemed hardly alive at that point, but one of the doctors had informed them that he was stable and that he was breathing, however the doctor also said that Ian had slipped into a coma.
“He’s going to be alright,” Jordan said. Drake looked at him and saw the slight smirk on his face. “Ian’s gonna walk right out of here as if nothing ever happened, like we always do whenever something bad happens. It’ll be just like old times, nothing’s changed. He’ll be fine.”
Drake nodded and tried to reassure himself of the same feeling. He clutched his phone in his hand and prayed silently for the display to illuminate and for Nick to call him. Drake couldn’t get a hold of him. Nick’s phone was off and a part of Drake believed that he didn’t want to be reached. His brother was dead, and discovering one of his good friends was comatose on the same day wouldn’t make matters any better.
Tony looked over at him and tried to ease his mind. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
Drake shook his head, “No…no he won’t.”
Jordan looked puzzled, “Why wouldn’t he?”
Drake glared at him, “Why do you think?”
Jordan’s smile faded. He apologized, “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that he’s…that Victor’s dead.”
Tony took a breath and asked Drake if he’d left Nick any messages about what had happened.
“Yes, but that was about two hours ago after I called all of you.”
“He’s most likely grieving Drake,” Tony told him. “We just need to give him some time and I’m sure he’ll come in a few days.”
“I know,” he muttered. Drake looked at the doors he felt Ian was beyond and mumbled, “This all couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
Jordan got up out of his seat and walked around the room a bit. He briefly glanced at the magazines the hospital offered on the table, completely ignoring the children’s magazines and the People and Time magazines, and
selected an outdated one about foreign cars. He reclaimed his seat and thumbed through it. Ian’s mother sat a seat away from Tony with her set of scriptures in hand. She read out of them to keep her mind off the incident and stopped only to listen to the doctor when he did bring them news, or to pray. Drake’s father sat with them and had his phone off, which was a rarity. Drake knew his father needed to remain in contact with Jonathan Vane and others in his company at a moment’s notice, but to see his dad completely remove himself from his work and to focus and sacrifice his time for something so personal; it only reminded Drake of how self-sacrificing his father could be.
Drake couldn’t sit and wait anymore. He left his chair and walked out of the waiting room and into the main foyer to call Nick once more. He called him, let it ring five times, and it went to voicemail again. Drake sighed. “Nick, it’s Drake again,” he paused and let out a strained breath, “I’m sorry about your brother.”
---*---
August 17th, 2029
5:30 AM
Gaza, Palestine
The morning never came easily for Hariz Shaheen. He lay in his bed alone, tired, and parched. His stomach felt as if it rubbed against itself, as it had ever since he was a much younger man, before he met the woman he eventually wed. She always liked to jest with him about his morning sickness and now that he was alone he missed those quips.
Hariz rubbed his dry eyes and once he mustered what little strength he had he removed the blanket and pulled himself to the edge of his small bed. He rubbed his rough face with his equally worn and calloused hands. It was quiet through his home as well as outside. None of his daughters were awake yet from what he could tell.
He stood and walked across the cold floor toward the front of his home. Once he reached his kitchen he found his eldest daughter awake at their kitchen table. Hariz claimed a drink from his refrigerator and after a moment asked his daughter why she was awake.
“”
He frowned and asked if it was her headaches again. “
His daughter, Afifa, nodded, “
Regenesis (Book 1): Impact Page 7