Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle)

by Wheaton, Kimber Leigh

  I stare into the sightless eyes of a teenage girl sprawled across the grass like a broken, discarded doll. Her legs bend beneath her at impossible angles, the bone poking through the shin of one leg. Blood seeps from her shattered skull, flowing to the grass in rivulets to pool around her lifeless body. As I try to crawl away from the broken girl, I sense the approach of a monster, the man responsible for this gruesome display. With a tiny whimper I surge to my feet. He’s on me in a flash, and I scream a wordless keening cry before my airway is forced closed. My sanity begins to shatter then everything goes mercifully black…

  Somehow I manage to tear myself from the gut-wrenching dream. I bite my lip to keep from screaming. Blood pours into my mouth, and I gag on the metallic taste. As my heartbeat begins to return to a normal rhythm, I untangle my body from the sheets holding me captive on the floor of my room. Lurching to my feet, I try to comfort my mind, ease my quaking nerves. This is the fifth night in a row I’ve had this dream. It’s always the same, always in black and white, gritty, the images jerky.

  I haven’t seen the attacker, the monster responsible for the grisly murder. The faceless phantom hides in the darkest recesses of my mind. He chases me for several minutes in the dream, but I never turn to face him. Deep down I know if I face this dream monster, something awful will happen.

  Leaving the sheets on the floor, I move back to sit on my bed, staring into the room, but only seeing the dream. Vision, my mind insists—it was a vision not a dream. My gaze falls on the red numbers on the digital clock resting on the nightstand. Five twenty-seven in the morning, just three minutes before my alarm would have jarred me awake. With a resounding sigh, I turn off the alarm and switch on the light. Logan will be here in half an hour.

  Crossing the bedroom, I pull some shorts and the Aggies jersey Dave gave me from my dresser. After tugging on some socks and tying my running shoes, I run a brush through my long hair before braiding it in pigtails. I check out my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles stain the skin beneath my eyes. Though I could try covering them with makeup, I’d rather not wear makeup jogging. Some of the girls on the cross country team run with full makeup covering their faces. By the end of a run they all look like scary clowns with smeared, sweaty streaks. No thank you. Logan will just have to accept me au natural. I do look quite adorable in the twin braids. Those and the dusting of freckles across my nose give me an innocent farmer’s daughter look.

  Creeping from my room, I tiptoe down the carpeted stairs. Dad hates it when I go running before dawn, though I’m sure any dangerous criminals must be asleep by now. The last thing I want to explain to Dad is why I’m running before dawn with a boy he hasn’t met.

  Kodiak prances in his kennel when I enter the kitchen. I release our faithful Goldendoodle and attach him to the jogging leash around my waist. The eighty-pound white dog is ecstatic for a morning run and tries to drag me across the room toward the front door. He stops when I murmur a sharp command to heel. I disarm and rearm the security system before heading out the door.

  Outside, the October morning air is pleasantly cool, the humid heat of the San Antonio summer giving way to autumn. The soft glow from the first rays of sunlight creates a beautiful orange tapestry across the eastern sky. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I stretch my muscles while casting surreptitious glances down the street. Most Cedar Bluffs residents are still fast asleep in their beds, leaving the neighborhood quiet. Dawn and late night are my favorite times to run, much to Dad’s chagrin. He doesn’t like me being out in the dark alone, but I crave the peace and quiet I find when everyone else is sleeping.

  Logan appears at the corner, running at a steady pace, much faster than I want to run this early in the morning. My heart hammers as I watch his approach. Now that he’s here, my palms sweat, and I almost shake from nervous energy. This moment is straight out of my daydreams. I wipe my hands on my shorts.

  Straightening up, I can’t help but stare, lost in his rhythmic strides. His mop of light brown hair is darkened with sweat. The curls at his nape, sagging under the weight, still bounce a bit with each step. He slows to a stop within inches of me, giving me a lopsided grin.

  “Love the braids,” he says, picking one up and twirling it between his fingers. “Though I think the jersey’s gotta go.”

  My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes narrow. He didn’t just… as my mind processes his words, I notice his t-shirt—UT Longhorns. So he wasn’t trying to undress me. Is he one of the rabid football fans who despise anyone rooting for the opposition?

  “I mean, uh,” he stammers, his face turning pink. Perhaps he just realized what his words could have implied. “Aggies…” he croaks.

  “I’m neutral,” I say, biting my lip to keep from smirking. “Dave gave me this ‘cause I help him remember to study. See, it has his name and number for next year on the back.” I turn around so Logan can see. “My brother goes to UTSA, so he’s a huge Longhorns fan by association. It makes football season more interesting in my house if I root for the Aggies.”

  “Sorry, that whole thing just came out wrong,” he says with a shy smile. “My mom’s A&M and my dad’s UT. The whole family’s divided. Isn’t most of Texas?”

  “So you’re okay running with a girl wearing an Aggies jersey?” I ask chuckling under my breath. It seems my nervousness has faded in the face of his own.

  “Yes, though I can understand now why Rachel hates you,” he says, motioning to the jersey. “I’ve never seen her wearing one.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. If it was possible, I think I might drown in the liquid gold of his eyes.

  “I’m sure it’s a fashion faux pas of some sort,” I choke out through laughter when I picture Rachel in a football jersey paired with a miniskirt and heels.

  “Who’s this?”

  “This is Kodiak.” Kodiak inches closer to him, his nose scenting the air.

  “He looks like a polar bear,” Logan says, holding his hand out to the dog. “What kind of dog is he?”

  “Goldendoodle,” I say, trying to hide my snicker behind my hand. “He’s half poodle, half golden retriever. A good breed really, even if they do have a dumbass name.”

  When he reaches out to pat Kodiak, his hand brushes mine lying on top of the dog’s back. A tiny jolt of electricity travels up my arm, and I snatch my hand away.

  “What was that?” I ask gasping.

  “I’d say static electricity but that would be a lie,” he says. He gazes at me in silent speculation. “You really are clairvoyant.”

  “What would give you that idea?” I ask, trying desperately to play it down.

  Having learned the hard way long ago, I’m not about to reveal my abilities to a relative stranger. Especially one I’ve had a crush on since last year. I was hoping last night was a distant memory, maybe even my imagination.

  “That spark occurs when two people with talent connect. I’m guessing you didn’t notice it last night when I grabbed your hand,” he replies, still gazing at me with those knowing eyes.

  “I was a little preoccupied,” I say, wringing my hands together.

  “You’re running from a disturbing vision,” he says, closing his eyes and releasing me from their spell. When he opens them he says, “You can’t run forever, eventually it’ll catch up. If you aren’t ready it could overpower you, perhaps even harm you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “I’m sure it’s nothing but a recurring nightmare.” Deciding it’s time to escape before he asks any more uncomfortable questions, I walk to the end of the driveway. “Are we going to run or not?”

  “Sure. Think you can keep up?” he asks with a chuckle.

  He takes off at a brisk jog. Kodiak trots at my side, not pulling on the leash, just content to follow my easy stride. As we turn right at the first intersection, I pick up the pace a bit, pushing my legs to take longer strides. I catch up to Logan and we run side by side. My mind begins to clear, and I settle into a comforta
ble jog, my breathing easy this early in the run. Another quick right followed by a left turn and we’re running past the gate and down the main road toward the park.

  “I’m a member of an exclusive club at school, the Orion Circle. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?” he asks, cocking his head to the side.

  My eyebrows shoot up at his admission, and I stumble a bit on a crack in the sidewalk. He grabs my elbow to steady me. Not trusting my voice to work, I nod in response. Of course I’ve heard of the secretive Orion Circle—everyone has. Speculation as to the nature of the club runs the gamut from academic to secret society.

  The moment we enter the park, Kodiak prances in excitement, eager for the wild trails up ahead. This time of morning wildlife sightings are plentiful. Kodiak lunges at a squirrel crossing our path. I make a clicking noise with my tongue, and the dog reverts to his obedient behavior. Pavement gives way to a dirt trail, forcing me to slow my pace due to the uneven footing.

  “I think you should come to our meeting this afternoon. I’ll find you later today and give you an invitation.”

  His offer blindsides me, and I nod like an idiot, my head bobbing a few too many times. Somehow I manage to smile at him before returning my gaze to the trail. Wow, the Orion Circle and Logan in one day. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud until a rock brings me back to Earth. After stumbling a few steps, Logan’s hand on my arm is the only thing that keeps me from falling.

  If I continue to run down this dirt trail, I’m afraid I might fall to my death. It seems I’m having a hard time seeing anything other than an image of Logan’s handsome face. I glance up at him, surprised by the concern etched across his face.

  “Are you okay? You didn’t twist your ankle, did you?”

  “No, I’m fine, really,” I reply as a hot flush creeps from my neck to my face. “But my mind is a million miles away, and I’m afraid I’ll break a leg on this trail if we keep going.”

  “We’ll head back, then,” he says before turning to walk back to the park entrance.

  “Thanks for understanding,” I say, relieved we are walking rather than running.

  “I only got a glimpse of your vision,” he says in a soft voice. “It was bad. Real bad. Don’t worry, I’ll help you, I promise. I think you’ll feel a lot better after the Orion Circle meeting.”

  His words fill me with warmth along with a feeling of contentment. Perhaps this vision isn’t so bad. I mean, it brought me closer to Logan, after all.

  Chapter Three

  Home

  When I throw the front door open, I notice the alarm is off—someone other than me is awake. I release Kodiak and wander into the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee. Feeling the need to relax frayed nerves, I choose the green tea pod instead of my usual French roast and push it into the Keurig machine. As the machine dumps the tea into the coffee cup, I open an English muffin and place the two halves into the toaster. By the time my breakfast is ready, Dad comes down the stairs dressed for work.

  “Morning, pumpkin,” he says as he pops a pod into the coffee maker. “Saw you were out before dawn again this morning. Now you’re drinking coffee? You know it’s not good for a young body.”

  Concentrating on buttering my English muffin keeps me from fighting with Dad. When he joins me at the table, I glance up at him.

  “This is green tea, not coffee,” I say, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “I took Kodiak with me this morning. No one will attack me with a large dog at my side. Besides, I met up with a friend so I wasn’t really alone.” After the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake.

  “Who’s this friend who can drag herself out of bed before dawn?” he asks, curiosity lighting his face. “That’s a rare trait among teenagers.”

  “Just a guy from school. He’s on the cross country team too,” I say in a breezy tone, before changing the subject. “I have a meeting after school today so I’ll be late getting home.”

  Dad’s dark eyes meet mine with a skeptical look. “You aren’t failing any classes are you?”

  “No, of course not!” I bite back. “It’s an afterschool club. I’ve been invited to attend a meeting today.”

  “By the boy you met this morning,” he says between sips of coffee.

  “What makes you say that?” I ask, staring at the table.

  “You didn’t mention this club last night at dinner,” he replies still eyeing me. “Therefore, I assume you got the invitation this morning.” He rises from the table, grabbing his wallet and phone from the drawer. “Look sweetie, I have to get to work, important meeting this morning. Have fun at school, call if you’ll be later than eight tonight.”

  I nod my agreement as he walks out into the garage, locking the door behind him. With a heavy sigh, I take my dishes and Dad’s coffee cup to the sink and wash them out before heading upstairs to shower.

  As I enter my room fresh from the shower, my cell chimes signaling the arrival of a text. Picking up my iPhone from the nightstand, I groan, realizing I left it behind this morning when I went for my run. Ten missed texts from Celia, none important, the last five all asking why I’m not responding.

  Out 4 run 4got cell my bad, I quickly text back before heading to the closet.

  The cell chimes again as I’m pulling on my gray jeans. Deciding to ignore it, I dig through my dresser drawer trying to decide on a top, selecting a long-sleeve black and gray t-shirt. I love the black lace sleeves and the way it hugs my curves. It’s perfect for today. I look nice, but not like I went to any real effort.

  Grabbing the blow dryer, I turn it on high and dry my hair for a couple of minutes, leaving it a bit damp. By the time I get to school it should be dry, and I’ll brush it before I go inside. Celia would kill me if she knew, but I’m pretty low maintenance—a brush is the only styling implement my hair will see today. I line my upper eyelids with a charcoal liner followed by a light coat of mascara on my lashes.

  Another chime from my phone, Dave this time, saying he’ll pick me up at eight. It leaves me fifteen minutes to finish getting ready. Sitting on the bed, I type a quick reply to Dave before pulling on some black socks and lacing up my black hiking boots. These boots are fantastic, black leather with a black Sherpa lining on top of a two-inch stacked heel. Whoever thought of these is a genius in my book, comfort and style in one adorable boot.

  Rifling through my black leather backpack, I check to make sure all of my books and notebooks are packed within. After slinging the backpack over my shoulder, I walk down the hall, stopping to pound on my brother’s door. Gavin is nineteen and attending UTSA. His commute is twenty minutes. He’ll miss his first class if he doesn’t hurry. When he finally shouts that he’s up, I head down the stairs to wait for Dave. Knowing Gavin will forget, I feed Kodiak even though it’s his chore. I’d hate for the dog to go hungry all morning until the pet sitter arrives for his daily walk.

  While the dog devours his food, I prepare Dave’s bribe—a travel mug filled to the brim with French Vanilla coffee. His mother is dead set against him drinking coffee, and I managed to snag a ride to school every day with the senior in exchange for his morning hit. The heavenly aroma of fresh-brewed coffee fills the kitchen. I lean forward breathing in the calming scent.

  A car horn blares outside. I grab my backpack and the coffee, locking the door behind me. Dave is in his cherry red pickup, windows open, with the satellite radio blasting Octane. There’s nothing like a little hard rock music to jolt you awake in the morning. As I get into the passenger seat, I toss my backpack in the tiny backseat and hand Dave his bribe. He greets me with a half-smile. His eyes are puffy with dark circles under them.

  “Damn, Kacie,” he says in a raspy, sleep-deprived voice, “you have no idea how much I need this right now.”

  He runs a hand through his disheveled, blond hair before backing out of the drive. After taking a large gulp of coffee, he tears down the street. I grab the door frame as he whips the truck around the corner.

  “D
idn’t get any sleep. Rachel kept me busy all night,” he adds, in a lewd tone. “Only got in a half hour of study time for the midterm. Coach says I’ll get suspended from the team if I don’t pull my average up to a C.”

  “Probably should have taken a break from Rachel last night, Dave,” I reply, looking away so he doesn’t see me roll my eyes.

  “Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” he says with a deep sigh. “You know anything about the War of 1812?” he asks, his voice full of hope.

  “Sorry, no clue,” I reply, looking back in time to see his huge yawn. “Skip first period and go to the library to study. Don’t you have Mrs. Callahan? She’s blind as a bat, she’ll never notice if you sneak out.”

  “Good advice, Kacie,” he says, ruffling my hair with his hand. “I can always count on you for coffee and ideas.”

  Yep, good old Kacie, so many guy friends but no boyfriend. Sometimes I get so sick of being one of the guys. As Dave pulls the truck into the school parking lot, big fat raindrops splatter against the windshield.

  My great-aunt Rosemary used to say: If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute—her tribute to the quickly changing San Antonio climate. When Dave picked me up sunlight was shining through the clouds. I was hoping we’d skip the rain today.

  “I’ll drop you at the theater entrance, Kacie,” Dave says, veering away from student parking to head to the theater.

  “Thanks,” I reply, sighing in relief.

  I don’t know why Dave is acting so chivalrous today, but I won’t complain. Had he dropped me off at our regular location, I’d have been soaked by the time I ran across campus to the theater building. He pulls alongside the curb next to the theater. I hop out, grab my backpack, and race through the pelting rain to the sanctuary of the theater.

  Chapter Four

  Not Your Average School Day