by Thomas Grave
As soon as he stepped outside he took in the surroundings and realized he hadn’t taken note of the subway stop. He was in the middle of downtown, in the dead center of the city, a place he hadn’t been in years. Tires screeched, followed by a crashing sound. A car accident. Off in the distance, several gunshots echoed. A lady screamed. A smile of glee broke over his face. He recalled things had gotten pretty rough, but this was insane! He liked it.
Taunting male voices snapped him back to the present and the task at hand. Not far down the beggar-lined sidewalk he saw Turtle holding onto Violet Eyes’ black leather messenger bag. Guppy stood tall in front of her, his hand reaching out now and then to touch her jacket or her hair. The girl swatted his hand away, her expression far angrier than scared. Jared stepped closer and listened.
“. . . you have a really pretty face, and you’re not wearing much makeup. Just eyeliner and lipstick, right? Your fair skin may have powder, but I don’t see any. If it is powder, that’s some mighty good blending.”
“Give me my bag,” she said, her voice hard.
“What’s your name, pretty girl?” the other one asked.
She looked from one to the other before answering.
“Amber,” she pronounced slowly and clearly. “My name is Am-ber.”
It sounded almost like a threat.
“Hey,” Jared called out as he approached.
All parties faced him. Both guys huffed their chests out and sucked their bellies in to make themselves seem like they had more muscle.
“Who is this guy?” Guppy called out.
Jared grinned as he approached. He couldn’t help it. He needed this. “Tick, tick, boom.”
Guppy raised an eyebrow. “Tick, tick—”
But he was interrupted by Jared’s fist smashing his face. Guppy’s nose cracked. With every ounce of power he had, Jared continued forward with his fist, putting his weight behind him. He wanted this guy on the ground. Not only did he want to wreck his nose, but to kick in his face. This felt good. It felt right. A smile broke across Jared’s face. For the second time today, he felt like everything was going to be okay.
Turtle charged him.
Perfect timing, Amber thought as she watched the fight in front of her. She’d wondered what had taken Jared so long to get here. Honestly, what was he waiting for? Her annoyance with these humans had almost gotten to the point where she would have had to deal with this situation herself and that would have been bad. While exploded human bits all over the Baltimore city streets would have been cute, it would have left too many questions.
She carefully moved her violet streaked hair out of her face and checked her nails. Perfect as always. She blinked her violet eyes, letting frightened passersby and beggars get a full view of what she considered her best feature. They were somewhat natural. No contact lenses that is. Still, it wasn’t the color she was born with. . .
A snapping sound brought her back to the fight. The larger one screamed, his head thrown back in agony. That finger was definitely broken. This Jared kid was no joke, the way he moved like a panther, smooth and vicious. Pretty impressive, really. For a human. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the smaller one attempt to punch Jared only to find himself drop kicked in the chest.
Behind her, a pedestrian finally stopped to offer assistance.
“Uh, need some help?” he said. “What exactly is going on?”
“Uhhh . . . These guys started messing with me. And this ginger—”
“JARED!” he screamed at her.
How did he even hear that? she wondered.
“Jared, jumped in and started beating them up,” Amber continued calmly.
The passerby stood beside her, observing. Jared had things completely under control.
“Do you think we should call the police?” the passerby asked.
Probably an ambulance, she thought.
Amber shrugged.
“I think he’ll do just fine on his own,” she said, a menacing grin on her blackened lips.
The passerby pulled out a phone. “I think I’d better call the cops anyway.”
Amber made eye contact with him. “You may leave. Go home. Get drunk. Pass out on the couch.”
He put away his phone. “Sounds like fun.” He turned to leave.
Jared left them barely conscious. He took out his phone and snapped a picture of them before walking off, muttering to himself about how awesome he was. The steel-toe boot print on Guppy’s face was really the best part, or maybe it was when he slammed Turtle’s head into the brick wall.
She came up behind him, her boots echoing off the sidewalk. “Hey, thanks.”
“Huh?”
She flipped her hair and smiled. “Jared, right?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jared said dismissively.
Walking faster, she caught up to him. “You okay?”
“Yup.”
“I’ve never seen anybody move like you before.”
“Nope.”
“You’re not bad.”
“Yup.” Jared continued onward, showing no interest.
“Okaaaaay,” she said with a smile. “This is new.”
“Where the hell am I anyway?”
“Light and Pratt.”
“Hmm. Okay. Food. It has to be around here somewhere.”
“How about you let me thank you for the rescue. What if I bought your dinner?”
“What makes you think I’m hungry?”
Amber blinked. “You just said—”
“Oh, right. I almost forgot. You probably want my . . . yeah.” He fished out a small notepad from his jeans back pocket and a pen from the front. He began scribbling. Once he was done, he tore out the paper, handed it to her and walked off.
The paper read . . .
@JaredRules
She glared at him. “You gave me your twitter handle?”
“Yup. You should be lucky. I have 29 followers.” He pointed at her. “And you could be number 30.”
Amber gave him a disbelieving smile. “Um, I was hoping for something a little more—”
Jared sighed. “No offense, but you don’t know me. You’re cute and all, and you’ve got some amazing eyes there.” He glanced down. “And legs, but I just wanted to beat some bad guys up. Job’s done. I’m a hero. Good night.”
He went to walk away.
Amber eyed him with a scowl. Seriously? What a flippant ass! Was he making a conscious effort to be ignorant?
After all the trouble she had gone through just for him too . . .
She took a breath. Normally, she wouldn’t let her annoyance get the best of her, but this was a special case. She decided to press it. She closed her eyes and let the words reverberate in her mind. Once the spell was complete, she opened her eyes, revealing a lighter shade of violet. She followed him down the sidewalk.
“When you were young, you saw something. It hurt you. No, scarred you. It was so ugly, you still feel it till this day. You feel it so strongly that you have a need to hurt others. That’s why you pick bullies, right? Every time you see a bully, you feel the need to punish him, to hurt him.” She paused and spoke softly, “it . . . helps make the pain go away.”
That stopped Jared dead in his tracks. He faced her, eyes narrowed.
“What did you just—? You know what? I don’t care. You have no idea who I am or what I’ve been through.” Jared scowled, turned around, and walked off.
Amber watched him as he disappeared among the crowd of commuters.
If he only knew.
“Goodbye, Jared,” she whispered with a confident, eerie smile.
What was that? Jared thought to himself, casting a final glare at the girl. Who did she think she was? Creepy Goth chick . . .
Behind him, a light bulb popped. One of the streetlights. Broken glass sprinkled down on the street below. This city was falling apart. He could feel the darkness behind him. Then, a humming sound. The streetlight.
What the—?
He turned around
, expecting Violet Eyes or “Amber” as she called herself still tailing him. The streetlight that had just popped flickered on.
Didn’t it just break?
He searched the sidewalk behind him for the girl. On it was nothing but dirt, cracked pavement and broken glass.
She was gone.
Monday, 9:04 pm
Sebastian groaned as he lifted his head from the cold, tiled floor. A pain shot up through his spine as he sat up. What the heck . . .? It took a moment for the memory of the strange water lady to come back to him. Was that real? No, it couldn’t have been. But then why was he lying on the bathroom floor? God, why was everything so weird? What was happening to him? Sara, the explosion, the vortex, the weird thing that had happened at school with the creepy classroom. A water lady? Maybe Jared had slipped him some acid as a practical joke, but still. . .
He managed to pull himself up off the tiled floor, cast a quick glance into the sink to see if any water creatures were there, and then spent the rest of the evening lying on his soft bed, reading comics and watching a Judge Mathis marathon on TV. When sleep started to overtake him he clicked off the TV, lay back and willed Sara’s face to come into his mind. He wanted to dream about her, about her lips, her eyes, the way she held his face in her soft hands, the way she moved. Yes, that’s what he would dream about. He would revel in her softness, her midnight blue eyes. He felt himself drawn to them, to their darkness, longing to be consumed by them. Deeper and deeper he fell into them, into the world of dreams. . .
He gazes at the midnight blue, the sky above. The stars seemed bright before, but now they’re extinguished. They can’t handle the pain. The moon shines down brightly, refusing to avert her eyes.
Look at it, the moon seems to say. Look at what you’ve done.
The Great Sphinx of Giza glows under the brilliant moon, a towering backdrop to the small town below. The houses, made of stone and mud, seem to sag under the weight of so much sadness. In the town’s center, a large pit is dug into the ground, billowing out fire, casting an orange glow onto dusty streets. The flames reach out to him, long fingers filled with grief, despair, agony.
He steps back.
What have I done?
On certain doors of the sagging huts there are large blood smears, as though they were put there on purpose. From one of the doors, not marked with blood, his twin emerges. The wet, black hair hangs in his face, white teeth glinting in the dark as an evil grin spreads over his horrible face. Screams erupt from the mud hut. Then another hut. And another. It continues on, the whole village in pain, crying out. The anguish of grieving mothers, the despair of mourning fathers.
His twin comes toward him, closer and closer. He holds onto a scythe dripping with blood.
Sebastian glances down at his arm. Something warm and wet covers his skin. His eyes open wider as he sees the scythe in front of him, blood dripping from the blade and down the handle to his hands. He tries to scream, but nothing comes out.
Throw it away. Get rid of it. But the scythe is stuck to him, stuck with blood. He tries to scream again.
Buuuuzzz.
His twin stands in front of him, gazing at him curiously. His hand comes up, a finger. The twin points at Sebastian, accusing. Sebastian closes his eyes. Stop, he screams inside his head. Stop!
The screams from the village keep coming.
Buuuuzzz.
Sebastian opens his eyes.
His twin is gone. In his place is Mr. Thompson. He’s younger, dressed differently, and covered in mud. He wears a periwinkle blue peasant shirt. Mr. Thompson gazes at him, concern on his face, but still pointing at him, his finger dripping blood.
“It’s you,” Mr. Thompson says. “Don’t you remember?”
Buuuuzzz.
Sebastian jolted awake and sat upright in his bed, chest pounding, hands shaking, forehead laced with sweat. He tried to slow his breathing with steady breaths.
Buuuuzzz.
His memory was fuzzy. What was that?
Buuuuzzz.
There it was again.
Buuuuzzz.
Finally, he comprehended the sound. His phone vibrated.
Buuuuzzz.
He took a deep breath and remembered the dream.
Just a dream. He reached over to his end table to grab his phone. It wasn’t until then that he remembered it still sat on top of the book. The tips of his fingers barely grazed the top of the leather binding. The pulse sent a shock throughout his body, like a heartbeat.
He jumped, wide awake, and pulled his phone back with him. His hand had barely touched the book.
Buuuuzzz, his phone vibrated in his hand.
He lowered his gaze to his phone. Hope’s picture glowed bright on the screen. It was his favorite picture of her. She’d taken it of herself exclusively for his phone. It was a close up of her face, the wind blowing her pixie blonde hair, her smile genuine.
“Ha—hello,” he said, still feeling what he called, “the groggy.”
“Have you heard from Jared today?” Hope asked, worry in her voice.
“No, why?” He stretched his aching body and yawned.
“I haven’t heard from him all day and I’m getting worried. I called you earlier to let you know, but you didn’t answer.”
“I . . . took a nap, sorry.” His hands still shook.
“I’ve tried calling him too, but I think he’s avoiding me. I’ve left him all kinds of messages.”
So Jared is missing now? When did this happen? Sebastian scratched the back of his head. “Let me wake up a bit and then I’ll call him too. See if I can find him,” he consoled.
“Okay, thanks.”
Awkward silence.
“Sebastian, um, we need to talk. About what happened earlier?”
A beat of silence.
She continued. “I feel like I need to apologize. I completely overstepped my bounds. That clearly wasn’t the right tim—”
“Hope, it’s fine. I get it.” He swallowed the lump that was in his throat, then took a breath. “You were just trying to help,” he said softly as he took another breath, collecting his thoughts. “If there is anybody I can talk to about this, I know it’s you.” He paused and gazed out the window. “As soon as I’m ready, your number will be the first one I dial.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“No matter what time of day or night, I will always answer. I’m here for you, okay?”
He nodded. “I know. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Sebastian set down his phone, the nightmare disappearing into the recesses of his mind, and then he took in his surroundings, half wondering if any little water fairies, air fairies or maybe even dust fairies might pop up from somewhere. His bedroom seemed its normal, semi-messy self.
He glanced at his alarm clock. The red display blinked 9:05pm. Beside the dreadful thing with the numbers was his lamp. He turned it on, illuminating the room, as well as the thing that had been haunting him for two days: the Book. Something had triggered when he touched it. Now, he wanted to know what.
The memory of the strange water lady intruded on his thoughts. He knew in his gut it hadn’t been a hallucination. What had happened with Ariel was real, and whatever she had done to him still had his body buzzing.
Somehow she had made him feel relaxed about all this. Accepting. A spell perhaps? Considering everything that had happened, why not? Any normal kid probably would have checked himself into some sort of mental institution by now.
He sat up. This was it. In the blink of an eye, he grabbed the Book, pulled it onto his lap and then let go. This time, nothing happened. He glanced at the book it had been sitting on: The Abdominal Snowman by Thomas Grave. It was one of his favorite books, very hard to put down.
With the Book heavy on his lap, he began flipping through its pages, puzzled. They were all blank. He put his hands beneath it and heaved it up. Again, nothing happened. He let its weight settle back on his lap.
Each page was brittle, alm
ost ready to fall apart into dust. Every one of them had some sort of nick or tearing or discoloration. Yet a gentle tug on one of the pages did nothing. It held, even as he tugged harder. He continued to flip through the pages until something caught his eye. It was just another page, just as blank as the others, but somehow this one page called out to him.
No words.
No sound.
But still, Sebastian somehow knew, it had a message for him.
In an instant the page seemed to come alive, almost vibrating. A bright light fell from the ceiling onto the page, showing dust particles floating gently in the air. Writing appeared, faintly at first, gradually becoming darker. The ink was black and shiny with wetness.
Just one word in a beautiful cursive slant.
Ready?
A calmness came over him: the memory of Ariel’s lilting voice. Even though he had just met her, even though she was three inches tall and made of water, he believed her. There had to be a connection between them. She’d said they knew each other. Something in his gut told him he could trust her.
He took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m ready.”
Though the tone of his voice was confident, a twinge of nervousness still nagged at him.
Very well then, a voice intruded in his mind. Let it begin.
A blinding flash came from the book, encompassing the entire room. Shocked and temporarily blinded, he thrust the Book from his lap and leapt off the bed, tumbling to the floor, his arms thrown up to shield his eyes. Before he knew how to react, his hands became heavy, as if a sack of bowling balls were dangling from each wrist. Any attempt to move his arms was met with more weight, pulling his hands towards the floor on either side of him. Beneath him, an inky black puddle of something thick and viscous bubbled up from the floorboards, attaching itself to his feet and legs. Streams of thick, greasy fluid crept up his fingers and wrapped around his hands.