by Ryan Schow
“That’s a ‘no,’” she repeated, resolute.
The audacity, he thought. Then: “Doesn’t it bother you that one of your students—”
The phone rang, Klein held up her hand and answered it. “Headmistress Klein,” she said, very official. She paused. Her face then proceeded to drain itself of color. “What?” she replied. “Are you serious?” Her eyes darted up and met his. The panic was real. He rose quickly to his feet, the way he would when he heard disturbing intel and needed to act fast.
“Get to the quad, right now,” she said as she hung up the phone. “Two kids are…they’re…Jesus Christ…I don’t even know how to explain it, just get down there!”
2
Black spun on his heel and darted for the door, sprinting all he way to the quad where students were gathered around a charred, smoking corpse. No, he thought, his anxiety mounting.
Flashbacks of the terrorist compound rolled through him like shockwaves to the brain. All those dead children. He shook his head, fought to clear his brain. For a second, though, the ground seemed to waver beneath him. He slowed for a quick moment to gather his bearings. Then he pushed through the packs of students staring at not a body, but two halves of a body. A two piece.
This wasn’t murder, this was a massacre.
“How did he get…into two pieces?” he asked no one in general.
The kids were telling him the story, fast, each talking over the other, the stories convoluted and fantastic, and wholly unbelievable. Then one of them, a young blonde girl wearing the kind of animated expression you get when you see the impossible unfold right before your eyes, she said, “The girl got blinded. Her eyes…they were just burned out of her head.”
“This is the girl?” he asked.
“That’s the boy,” someone answered. “And her eyes didn’t burn out, they freaking exploded!”
The smell of cooked flesh set him at ease. For whatever reason, he felt himself relaxing into the job. He told himself, this is your world, John.
“The guy, he just put up his hand and her eyes popped open and sprayed out blood!” another girl said. “I watched it happen right before my…eyes. Oh, God.” She looked like she was going to be sick from the memory. He understood completely.
“But how did he get…in two?” Black asked again.
“She levitated him in the air,” someone said, “then waved her hands apart and he just…went in half. We don’t know how he caught fire though. She was already gone when the boy…when he burst into flames.”
“Bullshit,” Black said, his brow furrowing. He knew death, but this…this was something else. A lie. A cover-up.
“It’s true,” the blonde girl said, her face looking green. Someone behind her was crying.
“Who was she?” Black asked. “And who is this boy?”
No one seemed to know.
“She went that way,” another boy replied, pointing deeper into campus, toward the dorms. Black got all he needed, including a description, then he left the scene sprinting toward the dorms and the blind girl who could levitate people and tear them in two.
From the shit swamps of Cambodia to the deserts of the middle east, to the icy streets of Russia, to the hovels in Syria, John Black had never heard of such a thing. A telekinetic? That’s the kind of thing you read about in a book, or watch in a Marvel Comic movie. It wasn’t real life. Was it? But the evidence left at the scene backed by eyewitness accounts? It all seemed to fit.
This isn’t possible, he told himself. There must be another explanation.
Astor Academy was a veritable snooze-fest compared to the life that he lived when Black was unofficially enlisted. When Headmistress Klein called and asked if the rumors of supernatural activity were true, he slowed in front of the girls’ dorms and said, “It sounds that way. I mean, it’s technically not possible, but everything looks plausible when you match it up with the statements I heard. Jesus, I can’t believe I’m actually buying any of this.”
“Who’s the girl?” she asked, almost like she was holding her breath. Almost like she knew her already. He gave the description of the girl and the fight that ended the unidentified boy’s life. Sylvia Klein said, “I’m familiar with the girl accused of the boy’s death.”
He said, “What should I do?” to which she replied, “Unfortunately for all of us, with this girl, nothing.”
He laughed. Sylvia Klein did not. Cynical or not, her steadfast manner stilled him.
“Where’s her room?” he demanded. “What’s the number?”
Headmistress Klein gave it to him.
“She’s not normal,” Klein said.
“Neither am I.”
“Let me rephrase,” she said. “She is not bound by the physical laws of men and science. With all due respect, you barely got your legs and your confidence back.”
He ignored the weak-minded jab. “If half of what those kids said about her turns out to be true, then I would agree. She is dangerous.”
“Yet you still want to go?”
“Hell, yes.” No hesitation. Not even a tremor in his voice.
“Perhaps that is why you were chosen as Head of Security, Mr. Black. Though I’m still unsure of whether your drive is born of curiosity, bravery, or outright stupidity.”
“When I figure it out, Headmistress Klein,” he said, his eyes now focused on the front of the dorms, “I’ll let you know.”
One Shot of Guilt, Four Shots of Shame
1
Brayden went to help Raven when she stopped him. Whatever she did, it was like she’d paralyzed his body. He couldn’t move. Then, when he was able to move, whatever it was stopping him—whatever energy she thrust deep inside him—it sat festering in his chest and belly like a dull, stubborn pain.
To stop him like that felt like an affront. The more he thought about it, though, he didn’t blame her because she looked super-charged. And enraged. Her eyes were…they were just gone. Blown out. She had blackish red sockets for eyes.
Yet she looked in perfect control. No expression. She was macabre, a human horror show, and she had not one single expression, save for determination, and perhaps focus. Did she even know pain anymore? Was that how far she had evolved?
Her eyes were gone and she still managed to raise the boy with the twist of hair ten feet into the air before…doing what she did. How did she do that? What the hell was she anymore? After learning Abby had become Raven, after feeling restless anger—how it was a dark, full-bodied anxiousness—he tried to connect with her, but she was gone.
No longer herself.
Nearly all of what made her who she was when she was Savannah, even when she became Abby, that was gone, bred out of her.
Brayden knew she was powerful, and maybe immortal, but now she was frightening. Probably the scariest thing he’d ever seen. He wanted to follow her when she left, especially when she just up and went, blindly roaming off to…somewhere.
Where the hell was she going?
“Brayden?” Julie said. He almost forgot she was there, he was so deep into trying to understand what had become of his friend. “What just happened?”
He blinked several times, snapped out of it. Jules looked stricken. How could he explain Raven to her? He couldn’t.
His phone started vibrating in his pocket. It was probably Raven. She needed him. Maybe he could shake this feeling about her. If only she’d let him in. If only she would stop shoving him away. When he fished it out of his pocket, however, it wasn’t Raven.
He answered the phone and said, “Netty?”
Brayden’s eyes went to Julie, who was shell shocked and staring at the smoking smithereens of a corpse. Bystanders in the quad were talking, murmuring about what happened, crying, but he could only hear their voices as if they were in a tunnel, or underwater.
“I have to tell you something Brayden,” Netty said.
“I’m sort of preoccupied—” he said, dazed, his chest still tight and buzzing.
“I was pregnant wi
th our child. From that night. That’s why I’ve been mad at you, why I have not been able to bring myself to call you, or get together with you.”
Whatever distress he was feeling a moment ago gave way to the unstable feeling of his world collapsing. He thought, she’s pregnant? It’s mine?
He plunged into a downward spiral, his body swaying on rickety legs, his face going icy/hot with dread. Somehow he managed to find a bench where he sat down, head in hands, eyes unable to stare out into the world. He felt nothing and everything. And then it all hit him and he felt everything.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, dummy, I’m sure,” she said. “It was in my belly until…well…this is why I’m calling you. I miscarried.”
“Wait, what?” he said, light breaking through his dark clouds. “Did you say you miscarried?”
“Yes, that’s what I said. But I didn’t do it on my own.” She paused just long enough to make him a little crazy with the waiting. “Someone did it for me. A boy. A disgusting, really scary boy. I think he’s coming for this girl named Raven who goes to school there. I thought my sensei could take care of the boy, but he couldn’t. He just called to warn me. Do you know her? This Raven girl?”
“I do,” he said, his face slack with concern, unable to process everything going on around him.
“My sensei, he said the boy is dangerous. So dangerous he nearly killed him. A boy, Brayden. He told me to call right away and warn her about this boy. I don’t have her number, but I thought you might.”
“He’s already here,” Brayden said. “The boy.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. Right in front of me. Charred to a crisp in two pieces.”
2
Julie looked at Brayden and said, “Who are you talking to? With all this going on, why are you even on the phone right now?”
“My friend Netty,” he said. “I’m almost done.”
“Who?” she snapped. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”
In his ear, in the phone, Netty spoke. “Who is that?” she asked referring to Julie.
Oh Jesus, he thought.
Julie plopped down next to him, scooted hip to hip, then leaned in so she could hear everything. He shrank back, flashed her a look, then lightly pushed her head away. She burned him with a look of absolute disdain.
“So this is the boy who made you miscarry?” he said. “The one you’re telling me about?” Julie crossed her arms and glared at him. He wondered, is this what passes for true love these days?
“Yes,” Netty said.
“Who’s baby got miscarried?” Julie asked.
Some freshman girl in the crowd of bystanders looked back at the two of them, like she heard everything. Anyone within earshot could see they were about to get into a nasty fight. Anyone could see the boy was mutilated and killed and that trumped whatever menial shit he and Julie were fighting about.
“Mine, apparently,” Brayden admitting, his anger increasing about as fast as his common sense was shrinking. He felt a sheen of sweat upon his forehead. He mopped the slick away, even though it wasn’t that hot and his head wasn’t that wet.
Julie gasped at Brayden’s admission. The girl watching Brayden and Julie, her eyes flashed at the juicy bit of gossip he just laid out like Christmas dinner for two. Brayden blew out a deep breath, reeling from his own screwy production. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. The frenzy building inside of him, if it ruptured, he knew it would be him finally cracking.
He couldn’t crack.
Not now.
“And you were going to tell me this when?” she asked, eyes narrowing, arms folding the way they do when a girl’s getting ready to really lay into you.
“God dammit, Jules,” he barked, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. “I just found out!”
His organs were still blistered from the push and hold of Raven’s power, and none of this made him feel any better. Dealing with one upset girl was manageable, but two? After this?—hell no! For the first time in a long time, he wanted to look at her and tell her to shut up. Those two words though, laced with hatred and wielded like a sword, those two words when shoved together could easily be the rudest thing to say to a person you cared about, but he ached to say it anyway. He needed to scream those two words right into her face! Really though, when he thought about it, he wanted to say, hello, look around and tell me this is the most important thing going on right now! But he didn’t. He just bit down and held on.
And again, he refused to crack.
“Well this is going to be a problem,” Julie finally said, her voice tame, but still teeming beneath her words.
“I’ve got to go,” Netty said, hearing the commotion between them. “You’re sure that he’s dead though?”
“Yeah,” he replied, exhausted. Ignoring Julie and her tantrum, he said, “I’m sure.”
In addition to being mortified by the fight between him and Jules, he was doubly ashamed of his actions with Netty. He didn’t pull out early. Didn’t use protection. On her first time, she got pregnant then had some…whatever the hell that kid was…some freaking animal make her miscarry. How did he do that? Did he punch her in the stomach? Kick her repeatedly?
What was this all going to do to Netty? “I’m so sorry,” he said to her, as sincere as he had ever been. “I’m sorry for everything, Netty.”
Julie blew out a loud breath then said, “Omigod,” like this was some kind of a joke.
“I’m sorry, too,” Netty said, then she hung up. He hadn’t wanted her to hang up. He wanted to talk about it, but Julie—goddamn Julie!
When he dared look up, her eyes were as dark and vile as the corpse before them. He was about to speak, to lie maybe, or at least try to justify his behavior, when the Head of Security came nudging his way through the crowd.
There was something about the guy that instantly unnerved him. He felt it every time he saw the Security man. Now it felt worse. It wasn’t anything supernatural, like he had seen with Raven and the kid who tried to kill Raven. No, it was something more. Like maybe he’d seen or done things Brayden never would. Like he was war hardened and not afraid of death. Or it could be that he had that look on his face that said he’d rather beat a confession out of you than politely ask a few questions. That was what was most unnerving, he realized: the man’s overt disconnect. He actually shouldered a girl in her back to get through the crowd. Her face was like, WTF? but the man could care less.
Who does that?
Of course, Head of Security, John Black, would never see the kind of things Brayden saw, so maybe that made them alike. Or similar, at least. Except that the man could probably end Brayden’s life nineteen different ways without a second’s hesitation. There was that…
Julie turned her attention back to him, then said, “This boy is dead yet somehow you managed to steal the show with your impregnated girlfriend.”
“Isn’t that a little bit of the pot calling the kettle black?” he rebuked. Whatever he felt for her, it was fast disappearing.
“What does that mean?”
“Will you two take it elsewhere, or just shut the fuck up?” Black turned and growled. Then to the crowd: “And will somebody please tell me what the hell happened here in terms I can understand?”
Everyone resumed talking at once. It was too much to take. For both of them. Julie stalked off first, pissed and pregnant; then Brayden stepped far enough away from the scene to keep an eye on John Black and the dead boy, but out of ear shot of any eavesdroppers.
He activated his phone and dialed Raven thinking he had packed too many women in his life for him to stay sane.
3
The call went to a voicemail that wasn’t set up. Brayden hung up the phone, then waited a long minute because his mind was an avalanche of thought. It was fixated on him getting Netty pregnant, on being with Julie while she was pregnant with Emery’s baby, on how in Vegas he managed to hurt Becky and alienate Aniela. Talk about one shot of guilt and fo
ur shots of shame!
Enough, he thought.
Enough!
Brayden decided he must do what he originally intended to do when he left Vegas, and that was not get emotionally involved with anyone. He was tired of hurting people. Tired of hurting himself. Titan and Romeo were right: if you get out of the habit of the casual, no-strings-attached “hit and run” encounters, you’re just asking for trouble.
He didn’t want to be the douchebag who only learned how to have sex with hot girls, though. He wanted more from his life. Maybe it’s not in the cards, he realized.
The phone buzzed. He fished it out of his pocket. He saw an unlisted number so he answered it with a tentative, “Hello?”
“What is it, Brayden?”
“Raven?” he said. “Jesus, are you okay?”
“Yeah. In a minute. Is everything okay?”
“No,” he said, pacing, “everything isn’t okay. How did you do that? When did you learn to—”
“I’ll have to call you back,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Raven—”
Then the line went dead.
After a moment he called Julie, told her she was too much drama, and that she was good and fun, but she was also a full bag of damaged goods.
She was so startled he rendered her speechless. A miracle. Then the obscenities began to fly, so much that he held the phone away from his ear to keep from going deaf.
When she exhausted herself, just before she hung up on him—which he felt was inevitable—he said, “You should take this time to focus on your bastard child. It’s going to need a mother. Not some adolescent prone to temper tantrums.”
“Don’t ever call me again,” she screamed into the phone.
“I’ll call you a butthole and that’s it. Last call. Butthole.”
She huffed in disbelief into the phone and hung up. He was pissed. But he was sad, too. Instead of worrying about Jules for now, he went to find Georgia. The charred to death boy with powers like he had never seen before—now the human BBQ—that was because of Georgia. Her signature was all over that smoldering pile of meat.