iFeel

by Marissa Carmel

  “Is that it?” I ask unhinged. The question was figurative.

  “Well…No” He answers.

  Oh goody, there’s more.

  “As I moved through the crowd, I saw something strange illuminating from your direction. You were trying to fight him off, even though you were mostly unconscious. I saw you for what you really are.

  I’m positive it isn’t there before, but when I reached you and the Stalker, it was blatant. Your aura revealed you.”

  I’ll admit; his storytelling is convincing.

  “I charged the Stalker wanting to get him as far away from you as possible. He toppled through the crowd, releasing you from his lure. I slipped you out the back into the alleyway; it was easy to disappear among the chaos. The Stalker isn’t far behind though.” His lips grimaced. “We fought again in the alley; I injured him in the second assault, and he retreated. For now. When we got back here I put you to bed, and waited while you slept off his effects.”

  I sat there quietly trying to process everything he just told me.

  “Liv?” He knows my name. “Are you going to say anything?" He asks anxiously.

  I wasn’t sure where to begin, I wanted to kick him out of my apartment and erase his outlandish story the same way last night was gone from my head. I would have to be crazier than normal to believe such nonsense, but for some reason, random images from Prime kept popping into my head, and I found myself letting in the lies. That scares me the most.

  I pinch myself under the covers. It hurt. Come to think of it everything hurts; my whole body, especially my head. Are you supposed to feel pain in a dream or a drug delirium?

  I finally speak. “What exactly did you mean when you said you saw me for what I really am?”

  He rubs his hands together, “I saw your aura. It’s strange; it comes and goes. I’ve never seen one do that before. Like its playing hide and seek. Very unusual.”

  I give him a curious look.

  “Every being has an aura; it's kind of like a paranormal thumbprint. The color that radiates around the person or object is what differentiates them. An aura to some, like me, let's me decipher being from being. It's kind of like my way of finding a needle in a haystack. Except you were a surprise and stuck me.”

  “Beings?” I ask arduously.

  “Like I said before, there are entities from ‘the not so human world.’”

  “And what classification do I fit into exactly?” I ask hesitantly.

  “You?” He raises his head and becomes very attentive. “In simple terms, you’re supernatural. Your aura is the same color as your eyes.”

  I stare at him intently. “So if I’m supernatural what exactly does that make you?”

  “Me?” He smirks. “Like you, only different.”

  “Want to be a little more specific, this conversation is a stretch for me.”

  He pauses for a minute, pursing his lips, like he is choosing his words wisely.

  “Angel, devil, hunter, soldier, it really depends on who you ask.” He answers nonchalantly.

  He talks of all this craziness as if we were chatting about the weather or something.

  “I’m sorry, but do you really expect me to believe all this nonsense? You sound insane.”

  Says the one who has one foot in the padded room, and the other on a banana peel.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “It’s a challenge to say the least.”

  “What would it take?”

  “I don’t know a magic trick?” I say sarcastically.

  “A magic trick?” He repeats as he crosses his arms. In that second, like it took no effort at all, he belts towards me scaling the distance of the room. He lands on my comforter startling the hell out of me. There’s no disturbance to the down at all as he crouches up to my neck. I crush my skull against the headboard in fright. Me and my stupid mouth. He leans in close; his hat still concealing his face. His breath is hot as it scathes across my collarbone, making him feel all too real.

  “Believe me now?” He whispers in my ear; his smooth voice has become raspy.

  I look down at him with only my eyes, not daring to flinch.

  “Are you like a vampire or something?” I ask with a short scared breath.

  He snaps his head back. “NO, not at all. Why is it always about the vampires?” He says annoyed. “The only thing I have in common with them is immortality.”

  “Immortality?”

  “Yeah, you know, like live forever.”

  “I’m familiar with the definition,” I confirm. “But that’s impossible the only people that are immortal are writers and rock legends.”

  He snarls at me like he has a wild cat stuck in his throat. It’s terrifying. “Is that the only thing you can say, I sound crazy?” He snaps.

  “If I say you sound perfectly sane, do you promise not to hurt me?” I tense.

  “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “You sure have a funny way of showing it.” I say fixated on his covered face.

  “We all have our ways, right?”

  “Right,” I would’ve agreed the earth was flat as long as I can keep breathing.

  He sat motionless, buoyantly perched on my bed like a cat on a cloud.

  “I was just trying to make a point.”

  “You were successful.” I assure him.

  “Good.” He’s satisfied.

  “How are you doing that?” I eye his stance.

  “I told you, I’m like you, only different.”

  “You really think I’m supernatural?”

  “I know you are,” he nods. “And you’ll just have to trust me.”

  That’s easier said than done.

  “How can I trust you when I can’t even see your face?” I ask.

  He repositions himself on my bed, sitting like a human again, one leg bent on the mattress the other anchored to the floor. His slim, athletic body is faced towards me, and I can see the curves of his muscles underneath his clingy blue t-shirt. He lifts his hat off slowly to reveal the face he is trying so hard to hide. That’s when I saw it, the tattoo on his forearm.

  “Is this better?” He looks up at me with familiar striking blue eyes.

  “You.” I’m astounded. “I know you.”

  My eyes widen with wonder. Sitting there on the edge of my bed is the hateful stranger who lit me on fire.

  “Does this make it a little easier to trust me now?”

  “Not really.” I tell him frankly.

  His Caribbean blue eyes are acutely curious, glittery, and wondrous, and it feels like I am drowning in his gaze. He stares back at me, as if soaking up every inch. I can’t help but gawk. I’ve never seen anyone so divine.

  Suddenly, my eyes start to burn.

  “My eyes are on fire.” I blink erratically. “Are you doing that?”

  “No, you have some black stuff,” he circles his finger around his eye.

  “Black stuff?” I go to jump out of bed when I realize something is missing. “Um, do you mind?” I grip the covers with one hand ready to pull them off.

  “Not at all.” He says with a cocky smile.

  I shoot him a look. He turns around to give me some privacy, and I bolt to the bathroom in just my shirt and underwear.

  I turn on the faucet then look up into the mirror with horror! “Oh my God!”

  I hear Justice at the door immediately. “What? Are you alright?” His voice sounds alarmed.

  “I look like a hot mess!”

  Mascara is pouring down my cheeks, and my hair is matted to my head, my face pale and weathered. I look like I could be the fifth band member of Kiss.

  “What did you do drop me in a puddle of syrup?” I ask through the door.

  “It was more like an ocean of alcohol. I knocked you out of the Stalkers arms on the dance floor, remember?”

  No, actually, I don’t remember, but I do recall the grimy layer of slime that coated the dance floor from dirty shoes and spilled drinks.

  “G
ross.”

  I scrub my face vigorously. “I need to bathe myself in bleach!”

  In the shower, the water burns my shoulder; I examine the purple bruise and scraped skin; it looks like someone tortured me with sand paper. After I sanitize and battle against the unruly knots in my hair, I still look like a tractor-trailer has run me over. My eyes are tired and my skin saggy. No amount of hydrating cream is going to help me today. I apply some pitiful make-up and throw on a pair of tattered jeans and a T-shirt, there is no way I am putting any effort into my appearance today. I feel so irritable and unbalanced.

  “Feeling better?” Justice asks as I finally emerge from the bathroom. The first time there is a gorgeous guy is in my apartment; I look like Night of the Living Dead.

  “Not really,” I say brushed. “What happened to my arm? I point to the bruise and pink fleshy streaked tissue.

  “In the ally,” he takes my arm and examines the wound. “I scraped you up against a brick wall when the Stalker attacked me.”

  His hand feels warm and silky against my skin like he’s wearing a cashmere glove; my muscles quiver from his touch. Then he presses his thumb against the bruise.

  “Ouch!” I jump.

  “There’s no infection, you’ll live.” He concludes.

  “Who did more damage you or the Stalker?” I rub my arm in pain.

  He picks up his hat from my bed and folds the brim into his back pocket.

  “Ready to go?” He asks like we have a pending date or something.

  “Go where? I have to see my parents today.”

  He narrows his eyes and his lips form a pout. “Your parents? We need to go see Daniel to figure you out.”

  I fold my arms, “you make me sound like a Rubix Cube. And who’s Daniel?”

  “He’s sort of our head of household.” He explains.

  “It sounds like you live in a bad episode of Big Brother.”

  Justice raises his perfect eyebrows. I don’t think he found any humor in my comment. Maybe immortals don’t laugh.

  “We have to see him now.” He pushes.

  “I can’t,” I protest, “I have to go to my parent’s house; it’s my birthday, and they’re having family over for me.”

  “Liv,” his tone is sharp, “there’s a looming threat after you and you’re going to blow it off for a birthday party? The Stalker won’t stop until he finds you.”

  “A Spirit Stalker won’t be the only looming threat if I don’t show up. Besides what am I supposed to tell them- Mom, Dad, I can’t come over because I met this immortal last night who saved me from a psychic vampire, and now he wants to take me home to meet his leader?”

  There was strong silence between us, I’m irritated and tired, and I can only imagine what he’s thinking, his emotions are impossible to read. This whole situation is way beyond bizarre; I’m still trying to process.

  Justice shakes his head with an objective stare, and gives me the most disapproving look wrapped in irritation. You know, the kind you get from your parents when they catch you doing something really wrong, and it wracks you with guilt. I’m still not entirely sure if I’m in fantasyland or not, but God knows, he is able to make me feel some crazy, tangible things.

  “Fine. I’ll blow them off.” I tell him fully aware of the crucifixion I’m in for.

  I only look over at the clock for a second and he was gone; all that was left of him was a small piece of paper floating to the floor. I pick it up and read the address etched in beautiful handwriting.

  707 Pacific Hills Highway, Dealth.

  I suddenly found myself standing in my apartment alone, late, and perplexed.

  Fickle Aura

  Holiday traffic is causing everything to take forever. Stuck on the Clearwater Memorial Bridge I can’t help but run through the events of the morning. The word supernatural bounces around like a pinball in my mind. Was there really a dark and mysterious stranger in my bedroom or was I drunk dreaming? I keep trying to second-guess myself, but his sparkling eyes and warm breath feel all too real, as does his scent that lingers on my clothes. Not to mention the concrete evidence I was holding in my hand.

  I don’t know what’s worse than being crucified, but my mother achieved it. Stuck on the bridge she chewed through my Bluetooth, making sure I was aware of how disappointed her and my father were I isn’t coming, and how unfair it is that my brother drove all the way from the city, in holiday traffic no less, to see me. Not to mention Nikkee, and a seven layer chocolate cake that’s going to go to waste.

  I was sorta pissed about the cake.

  I drove southbound on Ocean Ave. through Sea Bright. Ducking as drove by parent’s house hoping no one was looking out the window at this very moment. Driving a convertible, leaves you a bit exposed, and when you’re a coastal resident, your house is a snow globe for everyone to see. Which means if I can see them, they can see me.

  My phone buzzes in my lap. It was a text from an unknown number-

  What’s taking so long? Daniel is waiting. Imminent threat, remember?

  707 Pacific Hills Highway, Dealth.

  I text back-

  Patience is a virtue. I’m on my way.

  My phone rings a second later.

  “How far?” His tone is not patient .

  “I’m in Sea Bright, just crossing over into Point Beach. Traffic is a ninightmare.”

  “Hurry.” He says flatly.

  CLICK.

  I look at the phone. I guess someone is still working on his virtues.

  I crawl down the coastal highway coming to a complete stop in Point Village; a shopping and dining district nestled against the Atlantic. A fifteen-minute drive has turned into an hour and a half long affair. It actually gave me time to think and consider what I’m doing; going to some stranger’s house who claims to be magical and even worse, makes claims that I’m magical too. I must be crazy.

  I finally make it to Dealth and watch as the middle-class homes turn slowly into mansions and then full-blown manors. In Dealth, every house is Home and Gardens perfect with very little commercial space. In this part of the area people took Sunday drives just to admire the artistic architecture. Pacific Hills Highway is a small street that almost looks like someone’s driveway. I made a left onto the long narrow road that opens up as you get closer to the water. The sun has started to set in the west, and the lush sea grass sways in the warm summer wind. It kisses my face through the convertible top.

  I follow the street until I come to the end, and there settled against the water’s edge is one of the largest houses I have ever seen. It’s enormous; I can’t believe the shoreline holds such secret treasures. I pull into the horseshoe driveway numbered 707.

  I walk up to the immense front door where two angelic figures are etched in stained glass. The cherubs remind me of images copied straight out of the bible. They have a fierce, guardian like persona, as if somehow they are actually real. Above their heads, a stone tablet reads “THE CLIFFS.”

  Just before I ring the doorbell, I tell myself it was my choice to follow the white rabbit, so now I need to see where he will lead. I stand there fidgeting, waiting for someone to answer. Moments pass, finally the large panes of glass flash from the reflection of the sun as Justice opens the door. He projects this air of divinity as he stands in the large glowing entree.

  “Finally,” he crosses his arms and steps aside so I can enter.

  “Sorry, the drive took way longer than usual.” I walk hesitantly passed him into the grand marble foyer. Holy hell. The cathedral ceiling must be twenty feet high with a mural depicting fiery gold serpents slithering through stark white clouds. The image is so magnificent it’s reminiscent of Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel.

  “Daniel’s been waiting.” He says irked.

  “Sorry.” I half-heartedly apologize.

  My lack of enthusiasm only annoys him further.

  Justice leads me up one side of a large butterfly staircase. I slide my hand along the smooth cherry wood banister; t
he grandeur of it all takes my breath away.

  “Your home is amazing.” I say in awe.

  “Thanks, but you’ve only seen the foyer,” he answers casually never tuning to look at me.

  I follow him down the long hallway at the top of the stairs; we stop at a large cherry wood door with a red-jeweled doorknob. As we enter I am immediately taken back by the beautiful décor of the study. It is immaculately done in Japanese furnishings and impeccable style; large screens, ginger jars, and black lacquer furniture decorate the room. Daniel is sitting behind a rectangular writing desk, waiting. He is young and handsome just like Justinian, with dirty blonde, poker straight hair, that hangs across his forehead. He pushes it aside as he looks at me, his wide amber eyes setting me at ease.

  “Liv, welcome, please come in and sit down.” He says with a peaceful smile. I walk towards the large writing desk. Under the glass tabletop, there is an Asian village scene fashioned out of soap stone and jade. I can’t help but admire it.

  “Lovely, isn't it?” Daniel asks.

  “It is.” I agree.

  “It's my favorite piece in the whole house. I won’t tell you how old it is though, it will date me.” He chuckles. “But it’s nice to find someone who shares in fine taste.”

  Although Daniel’s face is just as young and beautiful as Justices’, the astuteness of his eyes age him; as if he has the laughter of a boy with the wisdom of a man.

  As Justice and I sit across from Daniel, there is a long awkward silence before he finally speaks again. The energy in the air feels strange; and the way Daniel looks at Justice is so imminently silent it feels as if they have some cerebral connection.

  “So Liv,” Daniel addresses me kindly, “Justice has told me some interesting tidbits about you. A purple aura, very rare.”

  “He informed me.” I glance over at him.

  “But that’s not what’s so interesting,” Daniel goes on. “Although purple auras are rare and unusual, yours does something, particularly peculiar.”

  “It plays hide and seek?”

  “Yes.” He says with pondering eyes. “When Justice interjected the Spirit Stalkers attack, he thought he was saving no more than a mere mortal, but when you started to fight back, your true self emerged. I’ve never heard of anything like it. Plus you gave Justice here quite a shock, which is also rare and unusual.” He smirks contently.