“Just let me finish,” she said. “Listen for two minutes, then I'll let you go back to—” She rubbed her forehead and took a deep breath.
“I know you're hurting and I know you blame yourself for what happened to Ethan.”
Chloe kept her mouth shut. It was easier. Once this was over, she could go back to sleep.
“I know your heart is breaking,” Miranda said. “But you have to know that this was Ethan's choice. It was his decision. He accepted the gift. He took the responsibility of being the vessel to finally bind that—thing—and lock it away.
“He saved us all,” she said. “He's a hero. He gave his own life for yours and for everyone else's. And for you to—begrudge him that? To say he shouldn't have, or that you should have stopped him . . .” Miranda gave her a somber look. “It takes away from what he did, Chloe. It makes him less than what he was.”
The tears were back. The numbness ebbing as the pain returned. Chloe choked on a sob and Miranda stroked her arm.
“I know you can't accept that yet. Maybe you won't be able to for a long time, but please think about it, Chloe,” she said, squeezing her wrist. “Someday you'll be able to accept what Ethan did and admire him for it. Be thankful for him.
“Was it his destiny?” she asked. “I don't know. But I do know that it was his choice. And he chose to sacrifice himself. And someday I hope you can honor that sacrifice.”
She patted Chloe's arm once again and handed her a tissue before she left her alone.
Chloe lay there for a long time before she folded the note neatly and put it in her bedside table drawer.
Miranda slammed her car door with her elbow, laptop haphazardly balanced on one arm, a pile of notebooks in the other. It had been three weeks since the fight in the clearing, and she was just about finished with her additions to the journal.
Everything had pretty much gotten back to normal, which was strange in its own way. The confusion over much of the town waking up in the forest clearing with no memory how they got there had lingered for a week or so, but with no answers to the mystery, people came up with their own explanations. Mass hysteria. Drug-induced hallucinations. Government experimentation. Gas leak. The police department had been deluged with reports, but with no evidence of foul play, the case file remained open, and the town moved on to other things.
Gina had been arrested for the attack on Tru. They weren't sure if the charges would stick, but the investigation had turned up evidence of Gina's consistent drinking and emotional abuse. She might or might not go to jail, but regardless, she'd most likely never regain custody of Tru, much to Beck's relief.
To all of their surprise, the chest had vanished from the attic, the dust in the corner undisturbed, as if it had never been there in the first place. Miranda supposed it disappeared once Ethan claimed the final gift, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d found inside. Maybe it was a jar or some other kind of container, since Ethan was the vessel to contain the Chaos. Maybe it was the chest itself, a last gift of power from whatever created The Order. It really didn’t matter. It wasn’t like they’d ever get the answer, but as the Scribe, Miranda felt it was her duty to at least speculate.
As for The Order, they'd been back to somewhat normal for the past three weeks. Back to class, to sports, to work. Professor Kennedy was doing better, although he extended his sabbatical for some additional rest and physical therapy.
Miranda thought a sabbatical sounded like a great idea. Unfortunately, it wasn't in the cards for any of the rest of them.
Wren and Beck were going strong—finally able to do things like go to movies and dinners and all that couple-y stuff that most people took for granted. In fact, they'd gone to the Spring Fling dance together and double-dated with Miranda and Dylan.
Everyone welcomed the calm normalcy of it, and Dylan, at the end of the night, had blushed and shuffled his feet until Miranda grabbed his shoulders and planted one on him.
Sometimes a girl had to make the move. Miranda had no regrets, especially since he'd been quick to return the favor.
It was new. It was fun. Fun was good.
But Chloe . . . Chloe was—well, Miranda wasn't sure exactly what Chloe was. She'd cried for days, of course, pretty much avoiding everyone. But she'd returned to class and pretended to be okay, smiling and taking notes and hanging out at the coffee shop with the others while nibbling on a scone.
They all missed Ethan, of course. His absence was felt every day—and even more tragic was the fact that most of the world would never know what happened to him. Would never know what he really was.
So The Order mourned him and tried to keep his memory alive.
All except Chloe. She wouldn't talk about Ethan; got up and walked away if anyone brought up his name.
They were all worried about her, and Miranda finally decided enough was enough.
She stomped up the walkway and shoved through the front door of the Victorian. “Chlo? You here?” she shouted.
“In the kitchen,” she called back. Which was typical. These days if she was home, Chloe was either in the kitchen or in her room. She refused to spend any time in the living room at all. And never even looked at the window. She wouldn't talk about it, but Miranda suspected her visions had been calling to Chloe, but she refused to look.
Miranda didn't even know if that was possible—to ignore the visions. But if it could be done, she suspected, Chloe would do it. She could be pretty stubborn. And maybe whatever was giving her these insights into the future was allowing her a choice—giving her time to deal with what had happened without forcing the visions upon her. She hoped so. Chloe deserved that bit of respect.
As Miranda made her way to the kitchen, she prayed that today Chloe would at least listen to her, wouldn't walk out without giving her a chance to say what she had to say. Miranda had a feeling—hoped, more than anything—that it might help. She figured it couldn't hurt.
Straightening her shoulders with determination, she strode into the kitchen. Chloe sat at the breakfast bar twirling a straw in a glass of juice. She stared sadly into the liquid, but when she spotted Miranda she sat up and put on a smile.
“Hey! How's it going?” She got up and went to the refrigerator. “Want something to drink?”
“No, I'm good.”
“Food? We've got some cheese and stuff—”
“Chloe—”
“Or there might be some cookies.” She whipped open a cabinet. “They might be kind of stale, but with milk—”
“Chloe, we need to talk.”
She froze, hand buried in the cabinet. “Nothing good ever starts with those words.”
Miranda smiled. “It's nothing bad, but I want to show you something.”
Chloe closed the cabinet and made her way back to the breakfast bar. She looked skeptically at the pile of books Miranda set before her.
“What do you want to talk about?”
Miranda pushed the books aside for now. “Are you okay?”
She shrugged. “Sure. I’m fine.”
“Chloe.” She ducked to meet her friend's gaze. “It's me. What's going on with you?”
Chloe looked away.
“Are you eating?”
Chloe let out an irritated sigh. “I'm eating.”
“Sleeping?”
She glared at Miranda, a hint of her old backbone appearing. “Yes, Mom.”
Miranda's lips twitched. It was nice to see a little fire in her.
“Any visions?”
Chloe looked away, but didn't say anything.
“Are you ignoring the window?”
She shrugged again. “I don't want to see what it has to show me,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Chloe—”
“No!” she snapped, finally sparking to life. “What good does it do me?” she asked. “Why should I listen? It's all a bunch of vague nonsense that doesn't tell me anything! I can't make a difference. I can't help anyone!” She looked up at the ceiling, almost screaming. “I don't want it anymo
re!”
Her heavy breaths echoed in the room for a few long moments and Miranda wasn't sure what to say. Then she swallowed.
“You realize you're yelling at a house, right?”
Chloe gaped at her, mouth dropped open in shock. Then her lips quirked. “It kind of deserves it.”
Miranda bit the inside of her cheek. “What's next? You going to ground your car? Send your mailbox to bed without supper?”
Chloe burst out with a sharp laugh. “The mailbox is very rebellious.”
“Yeah, well it's hit that age.”
“Always talking back.”
“Leaving its flag up all night.”
“Doesn't it realize the other mailboxes will think it's a tramp?” Chloe choked on her giggles, and tears filled her eyes. “I—I . . .” In a flash, her laughter turned to sobs and Miranda gathered her friend into her arms.
“Shh. Chloe, it's okay.”
“I can't . . .” She stumbled over her words, her throat clogged with emotion. “I miss him.”
“I know you do.”
“I was so mad at him, you know?” she said through her tears. “Then I felt guilty for being mad because he's . . . he's a hero. He's . . . he was so incredible.”
Miranda nodded against the top of her head. “He was.”
“And now I'm just . . . the visions won't stop,” she said. “I keep seeing him, surrounded in darkness. Over and over. Even without looking at the window, I see him in my dreams. I don't even have to be asleep and he's right there in front of me like I could reach out and—” Her voice lowered to a whisper, tears falling quietly until Miranda pulled away a few moments later.
“I want to show you something.” She slipped The Order journal from the stack of books and flipped to a page marked by a black ribbon. Glancing at Chloe, she slid the book toward her.
Chloe stared at it for a moment, then pulled it closer with two fingers, blinking at the sight of Ethan's name. She wiped her eyes so she could see the words before her.
The creature—Chaos, for lack of a better name—set out to destroy us all. To seize and consume power, use people for its own pleasure, and basically eliminate the human race from the face of the Earth. The Order was created to stop it. To save humanity. Against all odds, The Order came together to accept this mission and risk their own lives to protect the world we know and love.
They learned, in the most painful way possible, that sacrifice was the only way.
Chloe sniffled. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her trembling lips silently formed the words she was reading.
For future generations, know that the creature can only be contained by a vessel—one strong and brave enough to give his or her own life to keep it imprisoned. For us, this vessel was Ethan Reynolds, a young man who threw himself into the battle with no fear for himself, who sacrificed himself for the sake of all humankind.
Chloe stared at the words, breathing deeply.
“I know it doesn't bring him back,” Miranda said quietly after a while. “But it's recorded. What he did won't ever be forgotten.”
Chloe nodded and brushed tears from her eyes. “It knew.”
Miranda blinked in confusion? “What? What knew?”
“The . . . thing. The Chaos. It knew what Ethan would do. That he was the prison.” She stood and walked to the back door, looking out over the yard. “That's why Gina said that to me. That's why she told me it wanted Ethan. She was playing me. She knew I'd try to keep him away.”
Miranda let out a heavy breath. “You almost did.”
“I know.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. “If I had, maybe . . . maybe he'd be here. But maybe . . .”
“Maybe we'd all be dead.”
Chloe looked at her, her eyes shiny with tears and regret, but also something else. Something like resignation. Acceptance.
“Ethan—” She choked a little on his name and swallowed thickly. “He knew what he was doing.”
“Yeah, he did.”
Chloe nodded, as if she needed someone else to confirm it for her. “Thanks. For putting it in the journal. I think he would like that. That he'd still be helping people in the future, you know?”
“Yeah.” Miranda took a deep breath. “Now get your jacket. We're all meeting for pizza and it's time you get out of the house for something other than school.”
Chloe hesitated, opened her mouth like she was going to protest, but then shook her head a little, smiling slightly. “Okay, let me wash my face and we'll go.”
Miranda flopped onto the living room couch to wait while Chloe went upstairs. She stared at the picture window for a moment, lost in thought, then, glancing over her shoulder, got up and walked over to it, placing her palm flat on the glass.
“I hope you're watching out for her,” she murmured to whoever was listening. “Somebody needs to.”
Chloe splashed water on her face, then decided to brush her teeth as well. Miranda was right. She needed to get out of the house and spend some time with the others. It was difficult—just looking at any of them reminded her of what they'd been through, of Ethan—but they were her friends and it wasn't right for her to cut them out of her life.
She grabbed a jacket and started down the stairs. Miranda was sitting on the couch, putting her books in her backpack, but as Chloe entered the living room, she caught a flash of movement in the picture window.
The window was tricky. Since she wouldn't come when it called, it waited for her to be looking at it. Almost like it knew once the vision began that she wouldn't be able to look away.
“Chloe?” Miranda whispered. She said nothing else when Chloe stared at the image in the glass.
It was her . . . well, not her at the moment, not in the present. She looked about the same age, but her hair was shorter, like she'd gotten it cut really short, but it was starting to grow out.
It was a glimpse into the future.
She was looking at someone, listening to them, although Chloe couldn't see who it was. She nodded like she was agreeing with the person, then paused for a moment, eyes narrowing in thought . . . and then she burst out laughing.
Chloe watched herself laugh—saw the joy in her eyes—and it was something she had doubted she'd ever see in the mirror again.
The vision faded and Chloe realized she was crying. Soft, gentle tears, although not entirely from sadness.
“Chloe?” Miranda was standing next to her and reached out to touch her arm. “Are you okay?”
Chloe wiped her eyes and glanced at the window before looking at her friend and smiling softly.
“Not yet,” she said. “But I think I will be.”
Three Weeks Later
“Okay, stop it!” Chloe shouted into the darkness. “Why do you keep showing this to me?”
She'd wakened—again—with tears on her pillow and an ache in her stomach, dreams of Ethan haunting her whenever she closed her eyes. It wasn't only dreams, either. Waking visions, images in the window, over and over again she saw him floating in the darkness—a constant memory of that horrible moment in the clearing when he vanished.
Chloe was trying to move on. She was. Going to class and hanging out with her friends. Eating and showering regularly. Aunt Cara had even stopped threatening to come visit and cook for her.
But the visions kept coming. And she had no idea why.
With a huff, she threw off her blankets and got out of bed, certain she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. It was nearly dawn anyway, so she figured she might as well get an early start on the day. Chloe emerged from her room to find Maia and Miranda in the hallway, both wearing tired and worried expressions.
“Are you okay?” Maia asked.
“Oh yeah . . . yeah I'm fine.” Chloe waved a hand. “Sorry to wake you guys up. Just the usual, you know?” She'd told them about the visions, and they'd been concerned, but of course there was nothing they could do about it.
“You want to talk about it?” Miranda was already heading for the stairs.<
br />
“No,” Chloe said quickly. “Really, you guys, it's nothing. Just the same, stupid vision. Go back to bed. I'm just going to do some reading for English.”
“You sure?” Miranda asked, watching her closely.
Chloe smiled. “Of course I am. There's no reason for you guys to be sleep deprived, too.” When they still hesitated, she huffed. “I'm fine. I swear. Go back to bed!” She herded them both back down the hallway and into their rooms. She paused to make sure they weren't going to come back out before turning to head downstairs.
Yawning, Chloe started a pot of coffee and grabbed a cup out of the dish rack as she waited for it to brew. She tapped her fingers idly on the countertop, staring into nothingness, when she felt it.
Again.
“No,” she muttered as the window called to her. She could ignore it, she supposed. But who knew if she'd be suddenly swept up into a vision without her consent? Despite becoming more comfortable with that, she still found it way more unnerving than watching the visions through the window.
It called to her again and she let out a long, weary, breath.
“Fine,” she grumbled, pouring herself a cup of the intensely dark coffee from the bottom of the pot before heading into the living room.
She braced herself, but the sight of Ethan filling the glass still tore at her heart. Chloe inhaled sharply and resisted the urge to reach for the image. She approached slowly and took a sip of her coffee.
“I still don't get it,” she murmured. “Why are you showing me this?”
Chloe shoved aside the emotions ignited by seeing Ethan—the guilt, the grief, the pain—and tried to focus on what was before her. He looked calm, quiet. Peaceful, even. Suspended in blackness so she could see nothing surrounding him. She wondered if this was what the afterlife looked like—maybe she was getting an insight into heaven?
Or hell?
Tru's light bindings were gone, something she noticed when she first started having these visions. Instead, Ethan floated, his arms relaxed by his sides, eyes closed, although she could see the infamous black smoke swirling around him and in and out of his nose and mouth.
Super Natural: The New Super Humans, Book Three Page 15