The Aeon Star

by Hart, Lauren T.

  "O'Shara!" one of the paparazzi yelled.

  O'Shara. The name was familiar. Jennifer was pretty sure she was a singer; she'd heard her younger brother — err, Jenny Taylor's younger brother – Davin, mention the name before.

  O'Shara smiled, as she made her way as quickly as she could toward a waiting limousine. "Thanks for coming all this way to see me to my car," O'Shara called. "I'm sure I'll see you all later," she sighed. "Watch the fingers and straps," she cautioned the paparazzi with a broad smile as the driver shut her door.

  Jennifer tossed her suitcase in before her and climbed into the back seat of the taxi.

  "Destination?" said the driver, pulling himself away from his Sudoku book.

  "Uh." Jennifer stalled. She had no idea what her destination was, or what it should be. "I don't know." She shrugged. "I need a hotel, someplace cheap. I'm open to suggestions."

  "Ah, geez." He eyed her. "How cheap?"

  "Not scary cheap. Decent cheap."

  He shook his head and pulled away from the curb.

  San Francisco was the biggest city she'd ever seen. She marveled at how compact and pressed together everything was. She was in a towering concrete world that had been sparsely decorated with bits of nature.

  Twenty minutes later they were driving past a noisy nightclub that was probably a strip club. She'd never actually seen one before, but the music was loud and pumping, and people — mostly men — were coming and going.

  Directly next door was The Motel Paradise.

  The person at the front desk was less than thrilled that she didn't have a credit card, but eventually let her check in and pay with cash. A cheap motel room had cost more than she had thought it would for the night. She had to remind herself that everything in San Francisco was going to be more expensive.

  She could hear the pounding beat and the muted tones of the music surprisingly well through the walls of her room. She was beyond tired; there was no doubt about that. But despite her exhaustion she knew that she wouldn't sleep tonight, at least not well, and it had nothing to do with the nightclub next door.

  She kicked off her most comfortable pair of black heels — now her only pair of black heels — then slipped off her jeans and tossed them on the bottom of the bed. She contemplated the possibility of pajamas in her suitcase but lacked the motivation to do anything about it. The clock near the bed read 12:50 making it closer to 3 AM in the time zone she was used to. She was far too exhausted to think about pajamas or tomorrow or what could easily be summed up as the worst day of her life. She pulled the covers back on the bed and snuggled up with one of the pillows. But when she closed her eyes — even just a blink — she thought of Lewis Xavier.

  And the image was so clear; he was smiling, reaching his hand out to her. Why hadn't she opened that letter sooner? Why hadn't he said something? Would it have made a difference? She shut her eyes as tight as she could, trying to blot the image from her tired brain. It was no use.

  When she opened her eyes again, Lewis Xavier was standing next to the bed, smiling, in his black suit and loosened necktie. He was saying something to her, but she couldn't make out the words. She had no idea how he had come to be standing in her hotel room, but for whatever reason, she didn't mind. Maybe because some part of her knew that this was only a dream. Either that or she was so tired she'd begun to hallucinate.

  "I can't understand you," she said back to him, but her own words were the same kind of gibberish. She knew what she had meant to say but it had come out all garbled.

  Xavier held his hand out to her. Cupped in his palm was a small golden star, similar to the one on the greeting card, except the one in his hand was illuminated and glowed soft pink.

  As she reached for the star Xavier took hold of her hand, she could feel the star pressed between their palms. Not a hallucination. She must be dreaming.

  He spoke again. This time, she understood. "I would give you the stars."

  "I'm so sorry," was all she could think to say. "I didn't realize."

  "There is no time, nor need, for regrets."

  He pulled her from the bed, and stepped close to her. At first all she could think about was her lack of pants, but to her surprise she found herself dressed, in a pink flowing summer dress and strappy, heeled sandals. She imagined the dress was not unlike the one she'd seen the edges of in the unevenly trimmed photograph of Xavier. Yes, this was definitely a dream.

  Xavier took her other hand and placed it on his shoulder then put his free hand on her waist, as if they were dancing; and then, suddenly, they were.

  The bustling muted rock beats, became slow, rhythmic, and stirring. The room around them became a broad and expansive ballroom with impossibly tall windows and long curtains. The windows along the wall arched toward a stained glass ceiling of stars.

  The opposite wall housed four sets of large ornate doors and a balcony that overlooked the ballroom. It was beautiful and reminded her of some place out of a fairytale.

  "I have failed to return you to your former life." Xavier looked upset. "I took you from your haven and abandoned you... alone, once again. But I couldn't let them find you."

  "What am I supposed to do now?"

  "You must live. You must make a new life for yourself — your life."

  "But I don't know how to do that," she reasoned. "I don't even know who I am."

  He placed a kiss against her forehead. "You are whomever you decide to be." He spun her around, and then pulled her back to him with a small smile.

  She wanted to smile back at him, to be comforted by him, but something was wrong. A small trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth. "You're bleeding," she gasped.

  "Amazing." His whole image changed in that moment. He was bruised and bleeding and unable to stand.

  She fell with him as he collapsed to the ground. The ballroom was gone now, the music was gone, and they were in an alleyway near the edge of a busy city street.

  "Look at you," he started to smile then coughed.

  "What happened to you?"

  "I became a liability," he coughed.

  "Help!" she yelled toward the street. "Someone, please help!" She stood to go get help but Xavier held tight to her hand.

  "No, you must wait," his voice was firm, desperate.

  At first, she didn't understand then it dawned on her, he didn't want her to let go of his hand, it was their grasp that held their connection.

  "I don't know what to do," she said. She wanted to say something comforting, to tell him that everything was going to be all right, but she couldn't find the right words to say, and she didn't want to start crying again.

  Xavier shook his head. "Live. You must find the strength within you—." He coughed and groaned and gasped for air.

  She could see people coming toward them down the alley. "Someone's coming to help," she reassured him.

  "That's not help," he breathed.

  She looked down the alley toward the small group rushing toward them. There were five of them, men in suits, not unlike Xavier's. And then she saw—

  They had guns. Maybe they were cops, she reasoned, but that didn't seem likely.

  "Listen carefully," Xavier said to her. "When I say, let go of my hand and run away from here, as fast as you can. Understand?"

  She was always running, she thought. And she was good at it. But it was different this time; she wasn't alone. "I can't leave you," she pleaded.

  "But you will," he commanded. "You'll run, and you won't look back. Promise me," he coughed. "Promise me."

  Reluctantly, she nodded. She kept her eyes locked on his, but she could see the men with guns coming closer and closer down the alleyway.

  "Run, Genevieve," he whispered. "Go now! Run!"

  Genevieve.

  "Genevieve run!" he shouted.

  But she couldn't run. She couldn't move. She didn't want to. She knew who she was in that moment, and for whatever reason, that knowledge made her unafraid.

  Genevieve leaned forward and
brushed her hand across her uncle's cheek.

  "Don't move!" yelled one of the men.

  "Thank you, Uncle Xavier," she said.

  She could see the worry in his eyes, and the pain, but there was something else as well, it looked like he was proud.

  "See Xavier, I told you it would all be in vain," said another one of the men. He was tall and thin, his hair was white blond, and his suit was grey.

  Genevieve glanced toward the group of men. The light was to their backs and she couldn't clearly see their features, but their stances suggested they held guns at the ready.

  Xavier gripped her hand. She took his other hand in hers and helped him to stand.

  "I said don't move!" yelled the first man.

  She shot a hate-filled look in his direction. His stance faltered and he took a step away from her. Was he afraid of her?

  "You keep your curses witch," he growled, steadying himself on his feet.

  "You curse yourself, with your actions." Xavier grimaced through his pain, and spat blood on the pavement.

  "Any last words, princess?" the tall blond in the grey suit asked her, pointing the gun directly at her.

  It was her dream, she reasoned. If they were so afraid of curses, maybe she would do just that. She lifted her hand and pointed at them each in turn. "The only lives you take this night will be your own."

  "No!" screeched the first man.

  Xavier gasped.

  "No!" screeched the grey suit in a panic. "You have sworn yourselves to me!"

  Genevieve didn't understand their responses, she saw what was happening, but she didn't understand it. Three of the five men turned their weapons on themselves and took their own lives.

  Had she done that? Could she make people kill themselves? Was she some kind of witch like the first man had accused?

  "Run," Xavier ordered.

  This was their chance — their only chance — she turned and bolted down the alleyway with Xavier in tow. More gunfire played behind her. She felt the rush of air as a bullets whiz by her, one narrowly missing her left cheek. Xavier wrenched his hand from hers. She kept running, but glanced back over her shoulder.

  Xavier wasn't there. She'd promised not to look back but she couldn't help herself. She had to see, she had to know. She spotted him lying on the ground in front of the two remaining men. They stepped over him and began racing toward her, still firing.

  There was no help for Xavier now. She could only save herself. She rounded the corner to the right at the end of the alley, and collided with a tall man in a suit. He gripped her by the shoulders, steadying her. "Sorry, excuse me," she said, and then gasped, horrified, as she saw what should have been his face.

  Two hollow formless holes gaped where his eyes should have been, there was barely a bump of a nose, and his mouth was much the same as his eyes, a formless hollow. Gaping and sneering, he began to laugh. The sound was deep, dark, sickening, and... familiar. This was the Hunter. She'd heard his voice in a thousand nightmares. She knew his form took that of a dark shadow, but had never been so close as to see him snarling at her like he was now.

  "I've waited so long," his raspy hollow tone cut through her very soul. "No more running. No more hiding," the hollow face contorted into a grimaced. "The end is now. It's time for you to die."

  She wrenched herself free from his grip and ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction. He started after her but she was much too fast for him. She rounded the corner at the end of the street, desperate for a place to hide. She could hear the distant sound of thumping rhythmic music. She couldn't tell where it was coming from but it was familiar somehow. Then she remembered.

  San Francisco.

  Jennifer practically leapt from the bed. Disoriented. Confused. How did she get here? Where was here? This was not her bed, not her room. Not her pajamas. Where was she? Where were her pants?

  All at once it came rushing back to her. She was in a motel, in San Francisco. She'd been having the worst day of her life and she must have fallen asleep and... and thank the stars — it had only been a dream. Well, no, it had been a terrifying, horrible, nightmare — and it had felt so real — but still, it was just a dream. After the day she had been having, it was hardly surprising.

  "Just a dream," she assured herself. "You're safe now. It was only a dream." It felt like such a lie. Today, her entire life had become one big bad dream she couldn't escape. She was grateful to be away from the nightmare of the faceless Hunter, and of seeing Xavier murdered in the street. But there was no way around the calamity of being stranded in a huge and unfamiliar city, of her parents practically throwing her away, and her entire life being a sham.

  Jennifer turned off the lights in the room and climbed back into bed. She tried to calm herself, to breath, to reassure — but the dream was sticking with her. It had been so vivid, and it had felt so real. And she was terrified that the nightmares might still be awaiting her if sleep found her again.

  She took off the jewelry Caitlyn had given her and set them on the nightstand. Then she stripped down to her panties, not caring where her shirt or bra ended up. She curled herself around one of the pillows and pulled the covers over her head. She would have sworn that she had cried every tear she had, but she was wrong. Silent tears pooled, and spilled from her eyes. She cried and cried and cried some more. And eventually, she cried herself to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  Wherever You Go...

  Images of Xavier, the sounds of gunshots, and the horrid hollow features of the Hunter fluttered their way into her mind. It was only a dream she reminded herself.

  Just like it had only been a plane ride to a new city. It was easier to lie to herself and pretend that it had been a happy parting, than to admit the truth. She pushed the thoughts from her mind. The past was in the past and she had enough things to worry about right now. Fretting about the past — about things she couldn't change — would only hold her back.

  Today was a new day, and she had finally gotten what she had wanted for so long — something different. Why couldn't she just have been happy with what she had, when she had it? She'd had a family, friends, a town full of people with familiar faces. And now it was all gone. She could feel the tears starting to well up again.

  No, she told herself. No more crying. She was not going to cry over getting what she wanted. Today was definitely going to be different than any day that had come before it. In fact, her whole life was going to be different from now on. That didn't have to be a bad thing, she reassured herself. Different didn't always have to suck. Different could still be a good thing couldn't it?

  She tossed the covers off of her — she had forgotten that she was nearly naked. The cold rush of air caused an unexpected shiver to race across her skin. She immediately covered up reaching for her shirt, but then, she stopped.

  'You are whomever you decide to be.' Xavier's words echoed in her thoughts.

  But who did she want to be?

  Genevieve. The name echoed through her thoughts.

  Was that really her name? Quincy had thought so. Xavier had said it in her dream... yelled it at her actually. Even so, she had liked the way it made her feel, like she was somebody.

  And Genevieve was strong, Genevieve was courageous, Genevieve wasn't afraid. Genevieve was the kind of person she'd always wanted to be, always wished she could be — except for the making-people-kill-themselves part. That wasn't cool.

  She tossed the covers aside, stood and stretched. She was mostly naked and she liked it. And best of all, no one needed her for anything. Her life was finally hers — at least for the time being. If she ever met up with Xavier again it was pretty clear that her life, and what was best for her, would once again be decided by others — just as it had been her entire life. But for now, while she could, she was going to make the most of her freedom.

  Nancy had forgotten to pack some of the more essential things, like make-up, or clothes she might actually want to wear. As far as clothes went, Nancy had packe
d her a long blue skirt, a pair of tan slacks, a light blue dress shirt, and a white dress shirt. She'd also included a flannel nightgown, two pair of socks, and some nylons but no shoes. There was also a plain white bra and three pair of complete coverage white underpants — not panties, because panties are cute — these were underpants. She couldn't help but think of Caitlyn and Megan who were probably thrilled with the wardrobe they'd just inherited.

  Where on earth did Nancy think she was going? A nunnery? First of all they were terrible choices, but more than that, they wouldn't last her very long.

  Fortunately, Nancy had also packed some extra cash. Jennifer counted it, six hundred dollars. Adding it to what Quincy had given her, she had about fifteen hundred dollars now. Oddly enough, it didn't sound like very much money considering she had spent over a hundred dollars just for a place to sleep for the night.

  Clearly, she needed to find a job. For now she'd have to be conservative and do her best to make the money last for as long as she could.

  Jennifer grabbed her jeans from the bed and slipped them on. She hooked herself into the blue bra and pulled on the white dress shirt. She slipped on her heels and her new sunglasses, grabbed some money from her wallet and her card key. She shoved everything else into her suitcase. There was a small marketplace across the street that looked friendly enough. She grabbed a basket and loaded up on the necessities: a lighter, make-up, scissors, hair-dye — a deep red color — yogurt, an apple, and some orange juice.

  On the way back to her room she stopped by the front desk to pay for another day and pick up a newspaper. At least, she hoped it would only be another day.

  Back in her room, in the bathroom, she read through the letter from Xavier one last time. She knew it by heart now, even if she didn't understand all of it. She folded it back and lit the edge of it on fire and watched it burn until there was nothing left but ashes in the sink, which she rinsed down the drain.

  She stripped off her clothes and stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror. She leaned forward and let her hair fall in front of her face. She pinched what could be her bangs between her fingers and held them tight. She'd cut her hair once before, in second grade, and it hadn't turned out very well. She slid her fingers down her hair just a bit, remembering her ultra short second grade hairstyle. She brought the scissors to her hair, took a breath for courage and cut and cut and cut. It was a little uneven, and a little long but she could fix that. She trimmed some more, being careful to snip off only a little at a time. It was a little tricky, but when all was said and done, she thought it looked pretty good.