by Azzurra Nox
“Aaa-aare you okay, miss?” he voice shook, his hands trembled and he tried to grip his steering wheel tightly to make them stop. The ignition was still on, his feet on the brake and clutch, uncertain on what to do.
“Yes…but you’re not.”
“Wh—aaat?”
She lifted herself up, and stood on his hood.
“You’re not okay. I heard your call.”
A puzzled expression overtook his golden boy features. What the girl was saying made no sense. His vision blurred from the many drinks and the girl’s cloak merged into wings. She fluttered them, causing a great gust of wind to rise. Her eyes seemed to glow in a menacing red hue.
“You’re unhappy. You want to leave. I can help you.”
“How do you know?” He was going to add something else, when she rose above the car. Turning the engine off, he stumbled out of the car, and looked up at the sky. She was flying overhead, out of his reach. His eyes blinked for a moment, trying to see if he was imaging things, but sure enough she was still there rising up into the sky, hovering over him like a dark cloud.
“I know weeping hearts.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know you better than anyone else,” her eyes fixed on his in a deadly gaze. “You want to leave, and I can release you from that.” In a moment, she was back down, her hands around his throat ready to restrict his air flow.
“I don’t want to die,” he rasped. His hands attempting to peel the girl’s strong hands away from him, but failing miserably.
“You sure? Because there’s a note that seems to indicate the opposite in your car.”
Dread flashed across his face. How did she know about the note he had written a couple of nights ago? With a defeated spirit, he had scribbled, “I can’t do this anymore. Forgive me,” after he had received the nth letter of acceptance. It was only a fleeting thought, a moment of weakness, nothing more. But enough to make him vulnerable. Jake struggled against her. He kicked his feet out and watched her stumble back and release her grip on him.
Without a second thought, he quickly ran back to his car. He was a fast runner. This was something that helped him in football. No opponent could ever steal the ball from him because he was simply too fast for them to keep up. His keys were still in the ignition and he turned it on, and pushed the clutch in with his foot as he tried to put the car into reverse, trying to escape from the winged girl. She fell on his roof and this only made him push down on the accelerator. The speed made her fall back and he momentarily thought he managed to escape from her. He tried to keep his eyes on the road ahead, but an innate sense of dread continued to coax him to look back, or check his rear view mirror constantly. There were no signs of the strange girl. Nonetheless, he continued to drive fast, as though he were chased. His eyes dashed back to the rear view mirror for a split second and when he reverted his attention back to the road he noticed the sharp turn up ahead. Jake quickly swerved the steering wheel in attempt to make the turn, only that he over corrected his driving and at that speed he lost control of his car and found himself tumbling beyond the road, down into the hills. Everything was a blur, like a black cloud settling over him and cloaking all his thoughts. In the dim night, there was a faint sound of a stereo still playing a Pink Floyd song on repeat and the soft flapping sounds of wings departing the scene. Jake lay immobile, trapped in the metallic coffin, unable to disentangle his limbs from the car. Ironically, the seat belt kept him tightly secured to the point that he couldn’t move his arm to open the door next to him. The car must have flipped several times, for the once gorgeous auto, was now nothing but a crumbled up piece of metal.
A pretty face came into his mind. Of a girl with black hair and a gentle, shy smile. If he had air enough left in his lungs he would’ve uttered her name, but he couldn’t. His life was slipping away from him like a breeze that cuts off the light of a taper. The dream was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Classes were in session when the announcement came over the intercom that Jake Fischer was dead. Late last night he had driven off the road while making a turn on a curve on Mulholland Drive, Father Bob’s voice explained. A memorial for the young man would be expected later in the afternoon the following day. Lena sat in her seat, stunned by the news. A couple of weeks had passed since Jon’s recovery in the hospital for his slit wrists. But he still wore bandages around them to keep in the stitches, but stealthily masked by the long sleeve of the white button shirt. She looked over at Jon, who looked at her in equal disbelief. This confirmed what Hope had told them almost two months ago that day near the gazebo.
“Quick! There’s a fire in the chemistry lab!” Amelia burst into the classroom.
“What?” Lena was still dazed by the news about Jake’s death and now the threat of a fire only a few feet down the hall from them came as an unexpected surprise.
“We need to get out of here!” Jon said, grabbing Lena’s hand, pulling her out of her seat, urging her towards the door.
“Calm down! Everyone calm down! CALM DOWN!” Sister Agnes tried to talk over the commotion to no avail. Students were up from their seat, scrambling to get out whilst the fire alarm blared. The loud wail was maddening to the ears, and Lena rushed out of the classroom with Jon.
Lena and Jon hadn’t spoken much lately ever since he had been released from the hospital. She felt uncomfortable in his presence, and now that she was getting closer to Michael things with Jon felt even tenser. But for a moment, the two of them forgot their ambiguous situation and both ran towards the exit together.
But something stopped them.
“Help me!” someone cried hysterically from within the chemistry lab that was now engulfed in grey fumes.
“There’s someone in there!” Jon shouted trying to get someone’s attention.
“What’s going on?” Bethany stopped in the midst of the crowd.
“There seems to be someone still in there,” Lena told her.
“STUDENTS, EVACUATE THE BUILDING!” Father Bob’s voice boomed over the intercom, but the wail of the siren almost drowned him out.
“Help me!” the voice sounded on the verge of tears, coughing loudly. The figure of a waif girl approached the door, her black hair visible in the thick fog of the smoke.
“I think it’s Hope!” Lena shouted, suddenly recognizing the voice, despite it being bathed in panic.
“Don’t worry we’re coming to get you!” Jon called out. But the moment he said that, flames began to appear in the doorway. “Shit!”
“Something went wrong during a lab experiment,” Bethany quickly explained. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“We can’t leave her in there alone! Someone’s got to get her!”
“The fire squad is on its way,” she insisted, “they can deal with it better than you can. It’s too dangerous.”
“She’s right, Jon, we’ve got to get out,” the smoke was causing Lena to cough repeatedly.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lena watched Michael approach in the distance. Jon was still trying to find a way to enter the classroom and get to Hope, who by this point had crumbled down to the ground shaking her head in despair. A flame burst out of the classroom’s doorway.
“No!” Lena shouted. “Get away!” she jerked on Jon’s shirt to pull him away from harm. It was too late. The fire had spread throughout the classroom. Lena was startled as Jon pushed her to the ground, covering her body with his in a last minute attempt to protect her from any possible flames. Screams ensued. The hallway had become utter chaos. Smoke rose, and Sister Agnes shouted for someone to call for help, ordering everyone to evacuate the building. Everyone resembled headless chickens running errant in a frenzy. Panic fueling their limbs to move.
But soon the fire died down, and everyone watched bewildered as Michael carried Hope in his arms, neither of them visibly burned. Lena sat up from her position on the ground not understanding how it was possible for such a thing to happen. Michael had been so fa
r away from them when she last saw him. How had he managed to run that fast to save her? It didn’t make sense. Especially since neither of them were harmed. The flames had been so high and scorching hot. Even from a distance she had felt the potency of the fire.
“She needs to be seen by a doctor,” Michael stated as he walked nonchalantly. Lena couldn’t help but stare at his regal stance.
“How did you do that?” was the only thing Lena could say, but soon everyone was rushing towards him and Hope, Father Bob taking the young girl from his arms and rushed outdoors, setting her slowly on the ground as they waited for an ambulance to arrive. Lena and Jon followed them out along with the other students who had remained behind. On the contrary, Michael’s paces were slow and calm.
Once they were all out, Father Bob approached Michael.
“You’re a very brave young man,” Father Bob told him, his small beady eyes gleaming with pride.
“I was going to get her,” Jon interrupted visibly livid at all the attention Michael had garnered from the gesture. Lena knew that he was upset because his lip quivered into a sneer of disgust over the other young man. She was sad that Jon felt that way, but at the same time she was drawn to Michael’s charisma.
“Weren’t you afraid?” Dior said moving towards them, completely enthralled by Michael’s action.
“No. It was no big deal.”
“But how did you do it?” Lena insisted. “Last time I saw you, you were too far away.”
“I’m a fast runner. Nothing stands in my way.”
“Yes, but you were too far to reach her without getting burned.”
“No, I wasn’t. It was simple. I ran and pushed her down and rolled so that the flames wouldn’t spread. There’s nothing to it really. It’s that simple.”
“But for you to get to her that fast, you had to be moving really fast,” she insisted.
“Lena, I don’t know what you’re trying to get at and frankly I don’t care. I’m just grateful that I got to Hope in time for her to be safe and that’s all that should matter,” his emerald eyes glowed in anger from her questioning.
“Geez…sorry.”
“Stop being so nosy,” Dior broke in, “He’s a hero. In fact, I think this calls for a celebration. How about this weekend at my place? I’ll have a party in your honor.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” Jon snapped, standing up. “Your friend Jake died last night, a girl almost died today and you want to celebrate?”
“Yes, I wish to celebrate life.”
Lena knew Dior was annoyed because of the way she looked away from Jon and combed her hair back with the palm of her hand. She had grown to notice that she did this often whenever something wasn’t particularly pleasing to her.
“I don’t need a party…”
“But I insist,” Dior promptly replied back to Michael. His shoulders relaxed and he gave in with a nod. Lena felt a knot of bile in the pit of her stomach, twisting in rage like unleashed rapid monkeys. How dare he give in to someone like Dior! She wanted to say something snarky to him, be deliberately offensive, but when he touched her hand all her vindictive intentions went to waste. “Let’s go,” he urged as paramedics arrived for Hope who was still supine on the concrete, unconscious. She watched Jon out of the corner of her eye, saw him grimace as she walked away. Something pulled at her heartstrings, but she was oblivious to why she felt that way. Sometimes emotions were just too damn confusing.
* * *
Two months at her new school and the body count had risen to two. Two apparent suicides. The police had suggested that Jake’s death, like Blake’s was a suicide too. They came down to this conclusion because a note was found in his car that read, “I can’t do this anymore. Forgive me.” Along with the fact that his blood alcohol content level had been over what was considered to be legal in the state of California. They were convinced that he had purposely gotten himself drunk so that he could kill himself. Investigators were also interested in the fact that the same book was found twice in both crime scenes. Cut Here. The teens at St. Lucy’s tried to reason with the officers when questioned if they owned a copy. The book was an international bestseller, the horror equivalent of Harry Potter. A worldwide success. Never before had a book from that genre been that popular and in demand. Madoka Yoshimoto even outsold Stephen King that year. A literary success. Lena had been drawn to the book lately, reminding her of the time when she bought it. How she had gone back to the kiosk. How her last words to her mother had been so superficial, so mundane. It made her miss her even more.
She missed the way her mother smelled, a mixture of femininity and elegance in her staple use of Chanel No. 5. Sometimes, when she walked down Melrose Avenue, she’d catch a whiff of the scent on posh ladies and she’d close her eyes, and almost felt like her mother was there in the flesh with her. But it was only a childlike folly.
It was a week away from opening night for Phantom of the Opera and Lena stayed behind after practice to focus on some key steps. She looked at herself in the full length mirrors that ran down the walls of the studio. She was trying to grow accustomed to the costumes, wearing one at the moment. A black and red tutu ensemble, with long lace sleeves. The bodice was tight while the tutu was less structured and more demurred in layers of tulle. Her en pointe shoes were killing her, but not as much as her ankle was. Since the night she had fallen a couple of months ago, her ankle would occasionally throb in a lacerating pain that felt like someone was jabbing an ice pick at the frail bones. But she was too afraid to complain about it to her dad for fear that he’d take her to a hospital and confirm that she should stay off her feet. That would automatically give Bethany the role of Christine. What utter lunacy! She had worked hard to get this role and nothing would stop her. Pain relief creams and a tight bandage helped. Her only obstacle was jumping which she could do fairly well, but landing was the issue. The ache often brought tears to her eyes.
Her hair was up in a loose bun. Class was over and she could be less strict with her looks. She heard the door open and close, half expecting to see Jon show up as he usually had done during those weeks they were close. But it wasn’t him. It was even better. Michael entered the studio.
“How’s Hope?”
“She’s going to be okay. She’s still in shock. Poor girl,” his eyes held a forlorn gaze for a split second in contemplation of the events that occurred earlier that day.
She watched him walk towards her. Something about his demeanor imposed power and dignified distinction. But she couldn’t quite pinpoint why.
“But how did you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Save her without burning yourself or her.”
“I was just fast.”
“What are you? Flash Gordon? Don’t be ridiculous.”
His emerald eyes flared into hers, as if to say, Stop questioning me. But she insisted. It seemed impossible for the both of them to come out of the blaze completely unfazed. “But you two didn’t even smell of burnt.”
“There’s many things you don’t know about me, and that you can’t understand.”
“What do you mean? Why can’t you tell me?”
“For the same reason you won’t tell anyone that your mother was killed.”
Like a precise dagger, his words plunged into the center of her chest. Right in the heart.
“How do you know that?” she stepped away from him. She had never told him about her mother. It made her feel uncomfortable to bring that subject up with anyone. Suddenly, a quiet fear seeped into her bloodstream like ice.
“Lena, you can tell me,” he cupped her face with his hands. She shook her head, and tried to pull away from him, but his grip was firm.
“Why? So you can feel like you know me better cos of my tragedy?” She could feel her eyes getting wet and she detested feeling so weak in his presence. It didn’t help that he was past six feet tall and so his stature seemed domineering.
His gaze grew soft, almost apologetic and then he said,
“There’s a reason why Hope and I didn’t get burned. I moved too fast for you to see.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible for me.”
“Who are you? Where did you come from? Why were you under the bridge the night we met?”
Anger shifted into his emerald eyes. His gaze was burning into her as his hand moved down to her shoulder. She felt his grip tighten, and winced at the slight pain it caused. Her heart raced in fear and trepidation, but despite that she found herself utterly compelled to bask in his presence.
“Michael,” her voice a faint whisper.
There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her. His eyes were mirrors into a pool of emptiness. He pushed her up against the wall. Now his larger frame was keeping her pinned, unable to move.
“Michael. Michael…” but she knew he wasn’t listening to her. Lena could see it in his eyes. He seemed to have vanished, and now only a mercurial, strong vessel in his guise was there with her, holding her captive.
“Close your eyes,” he spoke with authority and placed his palms down upon her eyes. She couldn’t quite grasp what was happening but she did as instructed. A strange light shone behind her lids and a slight breeze moved through the studio. Then she heard it. The familiar sound of flapping wings. It was the same sound she had heard that night at the dance studio.
“Let go of me!” she screamed terrified, struggling to open her eyes.
“Shhhh, quiet, Lena,” his voice sounded strange, but also sensual. She would’ve shouted once more, had he not crushed his lips on hers. Then everything changed. She was too terrified to speak, but her body spoke another language. One of want and need. And she wanted him. This frightened her. The kiss was heated, passionate, and raw.