A/N: Sorry that this chapter is ( a lot ) longer than the last one, I just couldn't find a good place to end it. Hope you're liking what you're reading...
Anyway. This chapter is called Desks because... well... I guess you'll find out. :)
So, back to Sam's mood swings and Eneile with all her craziness...
***
“Have you located him yet?” hissed a slithery voice. A withered hand stroked a glossy button, among the many, on the advanced computer. He hated all technology, why must he use it?
“No, sir.” An anonymous woman murmured to a hooded figure. The hooded figure’s fingers curl into fists, the knuckles white, razor-sharp nails tunneling into the palm.
“Any leads?” The figure’s voice overflowed with authority. He detached his right hand away from the keyboard to the mouse, tapping rapidly at a screen.
“Yes; Boston, Massachusetts.”
“And?” His muscles relaxed slightly, his nails left imprints in the flesh. I was surprised I saw no blood, even though some of the nails had triumphed, and broken through the skin.
“The book has been checked out.”
The figure’s hood lifted to expose a mouth full of pointed teeth, shifting into a grin.
“Is it someone knew?” The way the inhuman voice gargled over the words set my teeth on edge. My skin is crawling. He licks his lips, eagerly waiting for this news.
“Yes. The book has been checked out by a Miss Eneile Soole.”
“Any relation to Jeane Soole?” His sharp nails clack against the metal computer desk. The air conditioning is humming frantically to keep up with the thermometer, which is turned to its lowest level.
“She’s her niece.”
The figure’s smile fades.
“She’ll soon have boundless power, then.”
“I’m assuming, sir.”
“Dammit!” The figure’s hand swipes at the multiple layers of paper work and files stacked along the desk in neat rows, sending them to their untimely demise on the cold metal floor. The silhouette of the woman jumps slightly but she holds her ground. She’s obviously used to this sort of behavior.
“I want to know who her mother and father are. Siblings, too, if any. I want to know where’s she’s been and why she’s been there. I want dates, facts, rumors, and bank accounts. Address of current residence. If she has any kind of relation with a man, kill him and all she’s slept with. They may know too much about her true form.”
“Sir.”
“I want her dead.”
My own screams awake me from my nightmare. I pulverized the mattress with my fists. My window shatters. I shrieked in horror, pulling the sheets over my head. They found me.
I told you to run.
I anticipated the worst. After a few deep breaths, I apprehended it was most likely just an Airhead, trying to frighten me, make me panic, and leave their precious prep life. I lingered, waiting for the squeal of tires and obnoxious laughter. Not even a rustle of the leaves of trees accompanied my ear.
Way to over-react.
You’re the one that wanted me to run for cover.
The afterthoughts of the nightmare masked my usually clear thoughts, making me think it was real, the figures, but just to make sure, I pealed back the sheets and got out of bed.
I gawked at the shattered glass pieces resting my carpet, like they belonged there. Annie was not going to be overly supporting of the costly window. Sighing, I cautiously inched my way around the shards, out into the hallway. Opening the utility room door, I snatched up a broom and pail. Throwing on my slippers to protect my feet from the vicious glass pieces, I put myself to work, concentrating on where I should step instead of how I could eradicate those Airheads. When the last shard was removed, I noticed something. There was no rock. There was no brick. The only remnants of my window were bended bars.
I awakened to Annie’s glaring emerald eyes, squinted in accusation.
“Whoa!” my arms flew up over my face. “Whoa! Personal space!” I yelled playfully.
“Eneile.” Annie snapped. She straightened herself and crosses her arms on top of her chest, wrinkling her pressed cotton shirt.
“What?” I glanced at the clock. There was still a half hour before I was supposed to wake up and get ready for the day. Who ever awoke me before that alarm was not on my favorite list for the day.
“Explain this broken window.” She demanded, “Now.”
“Umm…” I started, barely remembering what happened. “Oh that? I had a party last night.” I giggled weakly, trying to brush off this conversation. Annie was not dealing with my sarcasm.
“Eneile, we both know you don’t have fun.” She smirked at me as she made fun of my social life, which was ghastly.
“I so do have fun!” I protested.
“You read, you complain, and then you read.” She accused, “That’s not fun.”
“Not fun for you.” I throw Aunt Jeane’s pillow at her and laugh. Annie let the pillow plop on her head, unflinching, and falls to the floor with a muffled thud.
“The window.”
“I don’t know, Ann,” I told her. Why couldn’t the woman just let me sleep? I was losing enough as it is. Groping for the covers, I pulled them over my head and buried my face in the pillow and made a show of snoring loudly.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“It means I do not know!” I muffled into the pillow, pronouncing ‘do not’ darkly. “It could have been some kid, throwing stuff. How should I know?” I grumbled.
“Well, we- excuse me, I mean you- is going to fix it. It’s almost winter.” She uncrossed her arms and headed out the door.
“Yes, yes, Martha Stewart.” I sighed.
“Eneile!” she snapped with a hand on the door’s wood border.
“Ok, ok! I’ll pay for it. But I do kind of like the breeze…” I laughed into my pillow. Annie gave me a cold look, shivered, and continued into the hall, coming back with a big roll of sticky duct tape.
“Have fun.” She snickered as the tape stuck to her fingers. I pealed it off for her as a peace offering.
“Sure thing.”
“Oh, and by the way…”
Here’s she goes…
“What now?”
“Martha is a culinary genius, not a handyman, dumbass.” She chuckles and shuts the door behind her before I have the time to throw the duct tape at her unsuspecting face.
I taped up the window, which took up all of my lost, precious sleeping minutes, and started getting ready for school. I settled for jeans and a Coheed and Cambria shirt. Choosing my converse was inescapable and I grabbed my jacket. The weather was reasonable enough today. The clouds had cleared up considerably and I saw a clue of the pale sun. I wondered if Sam liked Coheed and Cambria… he kind of came off as the epic-mind-blowing music type…if Sam ever de-thawed.
“Eneile! Time to go!” A re-run of the other morning. I hope the rest of the program didn’t turn out like the last episode. I fussed over my hair, found nothing to do with it, and let it fall back into its accustomed plain style.
“Can’t I drive?” I begged Ann, while we strolled towards her truck.
“No way, this is my baby.” I actually thought she stroked the steering wheel lovingly, but I could be seeing things.
“Whatever.” I threw out. I had taken my drivers test and passed, after all, and had a license. Annie coaxed her “baby” along at her usual slow pace.
“Really, Ann?” I scoffed. “It’s not that new.”
“Two years is new to me.” Annie answered. I was going to say something about how she may have bought the truck two years ago, but it’s really as old as Aunt Gene, at least, but I held my tongue. I’ve already been snappy with her this morning.
“Mhm.” That’s all I could conjure. She was still on the final fringe of my nerves today.
“Bye, Eneile.”
“Bye Ann.” I muttered, and hopped out of the monster sized truck, scanning the lot for Sam. Was he even here? It wouldn’t surprise me if he left for another school without a goodbye.
“Hello.” Came a voice from behind me.
“Gah!” I whirled around to ascertain Sam’s tired face in front of mine. His red eyes indicated that he hadn’t slept all night. Finally, something we had in common.
“Sorry if I frightened you, it wasn’t my intension.” He apologized, and rubbed his face.
“Hm.” I strolled off, leaving him behind me. He can talk to my backpack.
Don’t be so repulsive to the boy. He had a psychotic episode and he’s obviously very shaken from it.
“Why are walking away from me?” Sam asked, pushing in front of me to get my attention. It worked. I sighed and turned to face him.
“Aren’t you mad at me or something?” I inquired. I’m asking the questions today.
“No… why would you think that?” He said almost incoherently, looking down, guiltily.
I stared at my shoes, twiddled my thumbs, and looked everywhere but in front of me. “You seemed angry at me the other day, Sam, almost like you loathed me- over a book.” I scrapped up some courage and made eye contact, only because I felt like an idiot not talking to him face to face.
His bright silver eyes tightened the tightest bit at the mention of the book, but said nothing and casually adjusted his backpack so it was resting on one shoulder.
“You kept asking me to open it. Demanding.” I continued.
“Eneile, I know what I did yesterday. But I never stipulated anything, I just asked in a rude manner.” He handed me a cocky smile.
“Ah.” I said, pretending to get the puzzle of words he was forming. But really- who could?
Me.
My subconscious throws his arrogant smile and chuckles.
Sam clutched my shoulders with his long hands and twisted me gently to face him, trying to be soft.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where is that little book of yours now?”
I didn’t fall for his cool eyes and seemingly casual question. I twisted out of his grip and made my way to the front doors, contemplating…
You shouldn’t.
He needs my help.
He’s dangerous.
It’s just a book.
Sam catches up to me easily with his long strides.
“Please, I need to see it. Where is it?”
The tone in his voice is impossible to escape. “Still in my bag. I’ve never opened it. I was busy dealing with… broken property.”
Sam’s eyes flickered and he scowled.
“What is it?” I posed, laying a hand on the strap of my bag, where the book stayed in its rightful place.
“Nothing,” He snapped at me, rubbing his already irritated eyes with the palms of his hands, they came back with a simple lash, he tossed it off. His eyes looked so tired, red. I choose to come up with a small talk question to bring up the topic.
“How did you sleep last night?” I asked. “You look tired.”
Way to sound like a psychotic stalker.
“Yes,” Sam sighed, “I am.”
“May I ask why?” I tried not to be palpable. I had a sense he couldn’t sleep because of me.
Because of the book. Don’t make every single thing about you, Eneile Soole.
“No, you may not.” He told me after a few moments. This troubled me. Why didn’t he want to tell me what kept him awake last night? Maybe it wasn’t about me at all. It could be some personal thing. I thought we could be friends, at least, and friends tell their friends what’s troubling them, right?
You’ve only known him a day.
“May I ask why not?” I could tell I was getting on his last nerve, but as they say, curiosity killed the cat.
“It’s personal…” Guessed it. Right on the marker. Point for Eneile.
Point for me.
“Sorry.” Me and my brilliancy, was all I could conjure up.
The bell, mercifully, cut off any further conversation.
“See you,” I told him meekly, watching him ghost over to his class.
They’re looking for him, you know. Don’t get attached.
I know.
I stood there, in the barren lot, wondering what really happened last night.
“Ms. Soole.”
Every being in the room shifted to look at me. I didn’t notice two dozen eyes on my head, I was thinking about the busted window… and the unopened book. The book of seemingly infinite significance. I reached for my bag at the foot of the desk, with its contents partially spilled out on the tile. I could just make out the corner of the cover peeking from the fabric.
“Ms. Soole.”
Snapping back to reality, I answered, “What?”
“Are you following along?” Mr. Larson, my Advanced Literature teacher peeked at me over his impossibly enormous spectacles. He gave the impression of an owl on the hunt for a little mouse. Guess who the mouse is.
“Yes, Mr. Larson.” My eyes trailed to the ground, where the book lay, inviting.
“Really?” Mr. Larson crossed his arms on top of his ridiculous plaid sweater vest. The lumberjack owl. “I think it would be most helpful if your textbook was open to page four- oh- four.” He continued.
“Oh, right.” I retrieved the massive school book from under the desk and flipped it open to a random page and gave Larson a nod. He rolled his eyes and droned on, like a robot. I couldn’t blame him. He’s probably given this speech about the Odyssey a thousand times. Keeping my eyes focused on the page, my arm stretched and brought up the book with no title, and slipped it on behind my textbook, hidden from Mr. Larson’s view. I started to read.
It’s blank. Frantically, I glide through the pages, one by one. Blank, blank, blank. Wait- a sentence on the bottom right corner of the last page. I read:
We are The Blanks.
“Wow. What a book.” I grumbled to myself. “A real interesting read!” I mocked the librarian’s tone. I threw the book back into my bag. If Sam wanted the book- which he evidently did- then he could have it. It did kind of feel like losing, like this had all been an abnormal game between Sam and I. Who will win the book, Sam or Eneile?
Eneile’s stupid enough so my bet’s on Sam.
Shut up.
I’m sick of his unpredictable mood swings. And maybe- just maybe- this book was the reason Sam lost sleep previous night. I would give it to him. First chance I had.
“Hey, look at this-” Melanie Godfeather, always junior-with-the-hottest-butt contestant for those student-lead polls, leader of the cheerleading squad, snatched the book from my bag and started to read.
“Give that back!” I whisper-shouted.
You sound more like Ms. Crout every day.
“Who’s is it?” She replied. “Yours?” I saw some crust on her mouth. A lipstick flaw. So the blood red make-up wasn’t as intimidating as it could have been. She flips her hair obnoxiously in a way only a blonde could manage, and chomps on her gum.
“Who else’s would it be?” I make a move for the book, my hand coming back empty. She laughs at me.
“I want to read it.”
Just let her read it.
No, she’s a bitch.
“Give it to me.” I said and held out my hand for it, thinking she’d just give it back like a normal, decent human would have the heart to do.
“No- I’ll think I’ll keep it.” Melanie smirked at me. “Aw, this is cute. You’re into anime?”
“What are you talking about? Almost all of it’s blank.” Melanie Godfeather must be trying to tease me. The book was untouched; accept for the bottom right corner of the page.
Is it?
My subconscious glares at me over his spectacles.
“No, little freak.” She scowled. Melanie was messing with my mind.
My hands made a move toward the book but Melanie was faster. With the tip of her index finger, she tossed the book over the side of her desk. Being a hardcover, it hits the tile with a cursed slam. Melanie giggles. I furrow my brow.
“Ms. Soole?” Mr. Larson has emerged from the deep, right in front of my desk, his annoyingly large glasses sliding down his annoyingly large nose. As much an owl as ever. “Ms. Soole, is there a problem here?” He stared at the book, then back to Melanie, who pretended to innocently read with an act that’s seamless.
“No, Mr. Larson. My book just fell off my desk.” I said. “Er- sorry.”
Good afterthought.
Mr. Larson pursed his enlarged eyes at me then circled and paced back to his college-dean sized mahogany desk. He sat in his swivel chair with practiced grace and raised his voice up to the class: “Everybody, stop where you are. I’m going to read you a passage I find most interesting…”
I glowered at Melanie and she smirked back. I’m in progress of getting a hold of the book, but it’s gone. Melanie snickered softly out loud. She hid it! I know she did. Livid is the new item at the top of my emotion list of the day. Livid. My hand compressed into a fist so hard that the fingernails press deep into the dough of my hand, leaving little cresant moons in their wake.
“Melanie. Give that book back to me- now.” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“Nope.” Her crusty lips made a popping noise on the P. It was unbelievably maddening.
“Melanie, I’m serious.” I glared at her, “Its Sam’s. I need to give it to him.” For a moment she appeared to give in, and then she said with a mischievous grin, “Oh Sam! Precious Sam! I know that kid. I’ll give it to him for you.”
“You know Sam?”
“Sure.”
She’s lying.
“How do you know him?”
“I…”
Liar.
“You don’t know him.”
“So. He’s probably some faceless loser, trying to keep his grip on the edge of the planet.” One of her obnoxious brunette friend in the desk beside her snorts and covers her mouth with her hands, laughing delicately, like it was rehearsed.
That pushed me over the edge. Sam. I gripped the border of my wooden desk and endeavored not to make an outburst.
“Hah. Freak.” Melanie leered at me with horrible eyes. No.
Don’t do anything you’ll regret.
She’s pissing me off.
She wants you to embarrass yourself.
I don’t care.
“Shut up!” I crash my hands against my desk. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” As my fingers bang into the wood- at that exact moment- all the school desks in the room rearrange. Each student looks up in alarm. The desks were all turned into some kind of circle, with me at the heart… Melanie’s eyes are glued to mine, among numerous others, open with shock.
“What the hell?” yells a pathetically unintelligent football jock, leaping out of his chair and backing toward the wall with the You Can Do It! Poster. Everything tumbled into pandemonium. Some girl squealed “earthquake!” another shrieked “What happened?” Air heads. Although I don’t know myself…
They all scramble out of their seats. Mr. Larson looks up, “Students, students! Back in your seats! And put the desks back into their single-file order!” He screeched.
Chaw chaw.
“But we didn’t do it Mr. Larson!” shouted Melanie, “It just came out of nowhere!” She pulled a hand through her hair, and looked around wildly, before her fuming eyes settled on me.
“Sure, sure,” mumbled Mr. Larson, “Just put them as they were and open your books or you will all have detention.”
The children did as they were told, whispering to their friends, planning on telling everyone what they saw once they were released to open lunch. All the while their eyes remaining to stare at me, the only person’s desk who had not moved, the only one in the center, the only person who did not stand and run away.
“Freak.” hissed Melanie. Was that all her brain could come up with? She was getting good mileage on the word. “I don’t know what you did, but-”
“But what?” I snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence. I shoved all my stuff into my bag excluding the book with no title. That particular item I clutched close to my chest.
“I don’t feel well, Mr. Larson.” I told him and rapidly dodged into the hall, securing the door tightly over Mr. Larson’s aghast face. What ever was going on with this book wasn’t good and I was positive Sam had the answers to the never-ending questions in my head.
“Eneile.” Sam had materialized from around the corner.
“Sam,” I hissed, “Stop doing that!”
“What are you doing out here, Eneile? You should be in class.” He leaned against the wall; backpack in hand, as always.
“I was about to say the same.”
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes at me. I narrowed mine at him. If you don’t say anything in about two seconds-
“Something happened in class.” I hear myself say.
Point for Sam.
So what, he was taking too long.
“I feel ill.” I continue and shove past him and head for the office, planning on replicating a stomach flu, or migraine.
“Tell me.” As expected, Sam came up from behind me, and made a move for my hand but I slipped it out of his reach.
“Get away from me.”
Sam winced, and I automatically felt guilt-ridden.
“Here…” I pitched the book that he caught reflexively. “You can have it.” Sam opened it and seemed to be reading. I lingered for a few moments than asked, “Sam? There is only one sentence in that entire book. Either you’re dyslexic or-”
“Only one sentence, Eneile?” He interrupted.
“Yes.” I was irritated at him for interrupting me. But whatever amused him…
You like to amuse him, I see.
Don’t you mean us?
Being that you never listen to me, I prefer for us to be our own independent being.
You’re impossible.
“So it’s started…” Sam breathed and closed his eyes.
“What’s started?” I asked, and he ignored me, deep in his thoughts. “Sam!” he seemed to stare at the wall behind my head, his eyes were unfocused. “Sam.” I pleaded, “I need some answers here.” A broken window, weird dreams, and a recent explosion all were topics we could talk about-
He sighed, and then slowly shifted his eyes to me. “Here.” Sam tossed me the book I could barely hold a grip on. “You can have it back. There’s nothing I can do now.”
And with that, he stalked away, always too swiftly, out the front door. I starred at his retreating figure that I could still see through the glass frame, my mouth open. I stood there for a while, just taking up space, still a deer in the headlights, holding the book. All that upheaval with him for this idiotic novel and he just gives it back?
Then I remembered why I was even out in the hallway in the first place, and crawled to the office, feeling sick now. Or was it remorse?
You shouldn’t have let him go.
What have I done to make Sam so livid? I’m an innocent, not a serial killer. Pushing the office door open with much more force than I intended, I made my entrance, feeling a blast of cold air as I entered the gray nurse’s office.
“What’s wrong.” The secretary twitted in monotone. She smelled of Clorox, and didn’t even flick an eye up from her computer. The secretary’s plaque read Ms. Whittler. She twitched as her plump fingers tapped the keys, seems like the schizophrenic kind of person.
“My name is Eneile Soole. Tenth grade. I feel ill.” I told her and watched as she had a minor spasm.
“How.” She clicked rapidly with the mouse. She also seems like the person who would play computer games at her job. A quick look at her screen told me I was right.
Solitaire. Classic.
“I have a… migraine.” I hoped her burning desire to continue her game would make her believe my atrocious lying. I rubbed my temples to add a convincing effect. After a few minutes of repetitive coaxing, Ms. Whittler let me go home, saying they were out of aspirin to give me, even though she never checked.
It was bitter outside air, but I needed to blow off steam. Walking in the cold does that to a person. Thinking about what had happened in class, I throw a quick glance at my fingers. Clenched them inward, unclenched them outward, and remembering my first nightmare.
You’re a dumbass. Can’t you see what you’ve done?
Why had the desks shifted, and mine not a single centimeter? I had been angry, slammed my hands against the desk and-
Boom.
It was impossible to move an object without an outside force, right? Simple seventh grade science, it wasn’t me, a gravitation pull from beneath the deep, perhaps. There’s your outside force. And Sam- why had I seen him there alone, in the hallway, without a pass? He could be ditching, as most students do at least once in their lives, but he doesn’t seem like the ditching type.
He could be a delinquent, remember? He switched schools and didn’t give you a reason. I can’t believe I’m stuck with someone so illogical.
But why was he on my floor? Tenth grade floor. These questions were turning me into a fanatical mess. I would find Sam, one way or another.
I wandered around aimlessly in the general direction I thought he had gone when he left me. For an hour. Once the snowfall came to be in a dreadful state it was my cue to return to the humble abode. I arrived before Annie came home from her afternoon class, so I called and told her not to pick me up.
I stay in bed until I hear Annie shuffle through the door. She slams it hard enough that it rattles my crippled window.
“I’m home!” I can hear Ann through the barrier of my closed door. Now, I’m in my bed, pretending to be ill in case Annie decides she should be a caring sister and check up on me. No matter how hard I strived to sleep, I couldn’t prevent the constant flow of memories from the day’s events. There was a draft coming from the disfigured window, so I went in the hall, searching for the duct tape.
“Hello, Eneile.” Ann called from the dinner table, picking at a sliver of pizza with a fork and smirks. “Feeling in good health?”
“A little.” I grumbled. Not a total lie. My body is in perfect condition. My mind is going to detonate. I dig around the junk drawer piled with a random assortment of things. A hammer, pliers, wrench, some nails and bolts and a few packages of rubber bands and erasers. I recovered the duct tape from the back side of the drawer.
“I thought you liked the draft?” Annie sneered. I glare at her.
After the freshly insolated window had my room becoming somewhat warmer, I spotted a piece of paper, resting on the floor. It didn’t give the impression of being happy there, so I picked it up. I was going to throw it away in a bin, but then I realized it’s not just an ordinary piece of a tree. Unfolding the paper, I read what I had written two nights ago. Flames, midnight hair, hands pulling, were crushing denting damaging desecrating.
Turning around, I flicked my wrist and watched a murky green oil truck flip twice, crash and burn, the flames licking away at the metal container. An explosion. My eyes searchlights as I scanned my surroundings. Flames. Purple, golden yellow, sunset and orange. Beautiful. My lip twitched as I tried to veil my smile. My crooked smile.
The vision attacks my mind in waves. Yes, I remember all too well. I shook my head out of the nightmare.
“Eneile, are you hungry?” asks Ann, emerging by the doorway. That was enough to break my trance.
“No Ann, thank you, though.” I sounded like Sam. If I didn’t stop thinking about him, it was a good chance I would be admitted to an insane ward.
Sooner, rather than later, I presume.
“Eneile, are you alright? You seem kind of stressed out.” inquired Annie.
“Do I?” I mumbled.
“Well, sure,” Annie claims, crossing the room with brisk strides and setting a hand on my forehead. “You feel a little warm, too. And cold. It’s real strange, Ennie.”
She hasn’t called you that since you were in grade school.
“I’m tired, goodnight Ann.” I crawled into the bed and pulled the covers all around me like a cocoon. By no means would it ever be warm in here again. Damned window-
Ann exited the room without a word, leaving the door open a fracture. A sliver of light escaped into my bedroom and fell onto my hands that were laid flat against the pillow, mocking me. I drifted.
“Seek the Blanks. Take all they have,” The hooded figure chanted as he always did, and always will, a thousand millennia more, as he ghosted across the alleyway. “He’s on the roof.” An anonymous voice within his head informed him. “Perfect.” He told himself.
I saw him powerfully ascend a gutter; his midnight cloak matched the atmosphere as it billowed around his eternally obscured face. When he leaped the last few feet to the top, all I could make of him was a silhouette with the rising dawn. I noticed I was positioned on the summit of the roof, standing motionless a hundred yards away. A menacing hand raised; his fingernails sharp and almost as pale as his reptile-like skin. He turned toward a groveling figure, the new addition to the rooftop, who was screaming incoherent nothings. The deathly hand slashed through the air so fast my eyes could not adjust to the movement. Hearing a blood curdling scream, I fell to my knees, plastering my hands to my ears and squeezing my eyes so tightly I thought they would disintegrate and leave me forever to stare at the horrifying landscape…
“He’s gone.” I heard someone say in a voice so low it's barely a whisper. Frightened, I twisted around to a face I trust. Sam.
“Sam, I’m scared.” I said in an undertone, even though the sentence was diminutive, my voice broke twice. I dared a peek up from my arms. The figure has departed, along with the body.
“I know.” He told me.
“I can’t believe he’s gone…”
“He did what he had to do to save you.” Sam’s impressive facial façade liquefies for a quick second before grabbing my arm and lifting me from the ground. The feel of his arms around my shoulders makes me breathe a little easier.
“This is all my fault.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I’ve done everything wrong!” I slam my fist into his chest, barely moving him. “If I didn’t exist, then he wouldn’t be dead and… she…” I bury my face in my hands again. Sam tenderly embraces me and entombs his face into my hair.
“This will never happen again.” He breathes.
“You don’t know that. You could never know that.”
Sam sighs and his eyes flash blue for the shortest part of a second, then they emerge into their normal silver depths. Oh God, I’ve caused this.
“I need you to come with me.” He says.
I grab his hand for safety. And then we vanish, leaving no trace.
Sam? Now he lurks in my nightmares. What else? The hooded man… dark, deadly, and inescapable crosses my mind. I trembled, and it was not from the wintry air bleeding through the crevices in my duct tape barrier. I heave a sigh. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would confront Sam and demand answers. I looked at the book. The novel seemed to cause all the dilemmas in my life as of late. Only one sentence, Eneile? He had said. Only one. Could there have been more for him then there had been for me? Reluctantly, I pulled out the book with no title and read.
We are different. We’re more than special, we’re everything. Everything we are, -everything we will be- is very important to this earth. The page fell out. I snatched it from where it lay on the floor and noticed it had been taped in to the book. Then, letters ghosted to the page, one by one, to form words, sentences.
Powers are only for the strong- minded, strong-willed. You’re wondering why you selected this novel. Why you? Why you’re drawn to it- even before your powers decided to come to you?
The paragraph ended. I flipped the page over, looking for where the ink had seeped through. Nothing. I needed to call Sam, I really did, but I didn’t have his number. I needed Sam because now, I was absolutely positive he knew the twisted relationship between me and this book, and outlandish dreams, and supernatural desks. I knew it. Even though I was the opposite of exhausted, I slept, just to pass the time before I could go to school.
End of Chapter Two.
