Blank: Chapter Nine: History

The only reason my mind isn’t racing is because it’s being subjugated by the protective instinct inside of me to keep Phoenix safe. I’m sitting on the floor against the wall outside of the ICU, trying to keep from melting into a fetal position. After the doctors had wheeled Phoenix away, I told them that Phoenix had been mugged outside of my house. They seemed skeptical, because the wounds are deep, and he has severe internal bleeding. When the nurse did a background check on me, (probably because I looked pretty suspicious wearing a robe and slippers, covered in blood that wasn’t mine,) they knew from my file on the computer that I lived in a nice neighborhood. Muggers seemed unlikely. I called Ann, but she didn’t answer, probably still talking to her hot professor at Harvard.

I didn’t call Sam. If I called him and said I was at the hospital, he would freak out. In fact, he’s probably checking out my house already. Crap, he’ll see the blood! I realize I have to call him before he spontaneously combusts or something.

My phone buzzes. Speak of the devil. I flip it open, my fingers shaking a little. “Sam…”

“Eneile, fuck! There’s blood all over your damn yard. What happened. Where are you.”

“I’m at the hospital. My friend came to visit me-- this thing attacked him...he got hurt.” I hear my voice break on the last word as Sam intakes his breath sharply. “He’s in fucking surgery. The doctor’s haven’t told me if he’s stabilized yet.”

            “Which wing are you in?” Sam’s voice has taken on a dead calm.

            “Um,” I crane my neck and twist, trying to get a glimpse of the ICU number. “The room number says 125 B-”

            “Meet me in the boy’s bathroom down the hall.” He hangs up.

            “Sam…?” I whisper to the dead line, breathing hard. I glance down the sterile white hallway. Sure enough, there’s two bathrooms near the end. One for girls, one for guys. Does he really expect me to go in there? I realize that I really don’t care and unfold from the ground, my knees cracking. The trek down the hallway is brief. I pass only one nurse --who gives me a warning look as my hand grabs the doorknob leading to the men’s bathroom, but she doesn't press the issue. I thank her with my eyes. She probably just thinks I’m some transvestite. Oh well, I twist the knob and enter the bathroom just as a gust of wind takes over me, pushing my hair back and into my eyes. Does that mean Sam teleported from outside? It is pretty windy today...
            A lurid thump sounds from inside one of the stalls and I hear a curse. Sam bursts out of the stall, a piece of toilet paper sticking to his foot. This would be comical if I wasn't going to burst into tears at any moment.

            “Eneile,” Sam picks the toilet paper off his boot and tosses it aside. “You’re covered in blood.” The color drains from his face as I cross my arms over my chest, trying but definitely not succeeding in covering up the crimson blots dotting my robe. Abruptly disgusted, I untie the robe and toss it in the bulky trashcan set by a urinal, revealing the clothes I slept in last night from yesterday, my gray sweater and jeans.

            “Who did it.” Sam steps towards me. The tone in his voice sounds like he already knows-

How could he know?

-but feels the need to ask anyway. He’s wearing dark jeans and a dark knit sweater that probably feels as soft as it looks. His outfit reminds me of Phoenix and his “No Colors Allowed” wardrobe. I push back waterworks and reach out tentatively to pluck a piece of lint off Sam’s shoulder.

“Them.”

“Them?” Sam’s forehead creases, his brows knitting together to make a V.

“The figures from my nightmares. They are real.”

“Figures… Do they have blazing red eyes, scaly skin and razor sharp nails with a voice that feels like it cuts your soul in half when it speaks?”

“You know!” I knit my eyebrows together and give him a quizzing look.

“Remember last night,” Sam states, pacing the floor, “When I told you that once you told me about your dreams, I’d tell you the cons of having powers?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you’ve told me about your dreams, now I’ll tell you about the cons.”

I hold my breath, waiting for him to speak. God, I've been waiting for this. 

“Once your power begins to grow when you’re mature, they are able to track you… better than before.”

“You mean they have been tracking me... before all this happened? The figures?” I interrupt him, my mouth going slack at this new information. A chill travels up my spine at the thought of being watched all the time, from the moment I was born.

“You catch on quick. They try to kill people like us, because we try to eliminate them as well. You might call it fair, but they’re the bad guys, trust me.”

“What do they do?” I ask. They aren’t the normal kind of threat, surely? Wouldn’t the national defense take note of what they do? With their scaly skin and supernatural demeanor, they should be recognizable as a threat and taken down by the government. Why don’t they?

“Their only purpose is to exterminate us. They feast on our souls to keep themselves unnaturally strong. In our records their involvement has been tracked all the way back to 1809, when people like us started having powers. It’s been rumored that they gave us our powers, by implanting a part of their own souls in human prisoners, to create a challenge in killing off the human race. They love a good challenge. But our powers grew and developed. Soon, humans didn’t need to have their souls implanted in our bodies. It’s passed on by birth. Like a superhuman gene…” Sam’s words die off before he picks up again. “They’re strong and dangerous. We’ve asked for the name of their kind, but they refuse to tell us."

"Why isn't the government involved with this?" I ask incredulously. 

"They shape-shift. Take on human and animal forms. One of them could have easily been Hitler, Jack the Ripper, or Osama Bin Laden, or... do you get my point? The government is involved... technically. But only we know that it's them. The scales are the revelation of their true form."  

I let his words take in. "How do you stop them?"

"Some of our kind are born with unique powers that develop to overcome them. Those special people are put into groups to fight them-"

"Do you force them to fight?" I interrupt, staring straight into his eyes. If he lies, I'd be able to tell.

"Yes." He sighs. "All organizations have their rules. That is one of ours."

"Well what if someone didn't want this life? It's not their fault that they're born with the gene. There's no way you can just force them to fight!"

"Most volunteer." Sam mutters, eyes on the floor. He shifts his weight from side to side, the leather of his boots squeaking against the white tile. "I-"

A man strolls into the boy's bathroom. He has a sweater vest and one of those creepy pedo-mustaches. He nods to Sam in a polite "hello," before he notices there is a lady in the room.

"Hey! You can't be in here!" His hand reaches up to smooth back his mustache as he glares at me in all my adolescent glory. He seems like the kind of guy who has a lawn that kids like to play on. He also seems like the kind of guy that would scream and shake a gun at them for doing so.

"Excuse me," I mumble and let him pass by me. He gives me the dirtiest look before walking over to the urinal and unzipping his pants, muttering something I can't understand.

"Alright, I'm out of here." My cheeks flush, I push open the bathroom door and enter the hall, Sam right behind. It looks as if he's holding back the biggest laugh of his life. I twist around to meet him face to face, only a few inches away. I glare at him.

"You should have told me sooner. If I had known about them the night before I would've been more cautious and Phoenix wouldn't be having surgery right now!" I hiss. 

Sam's face falls and he immediately looks forlorn. My eyes soften the slightest bit before I tighten them again. Sam mumbles an apology but either my ears don't work or I'm not listening. I'll go with the latter. My fingers poke into his chest. Hard. "You should have told me!"

Of course, Sam is still as a statue. My poke did make him flinch though, probably more from surprise than actual force to his body. I whirl around and sit right back down outside of room 125 B. Sam's mouth is open and he's staring at me. I cross my arms over my chest, resilient. Then something clicks in my mind.

"Shit!" I scramble up from my place on the floor and run right past Sam back into the bathroom. The creepy pedophile is just getting done zipping up his pants when I burst through the door. 

"What the-"

I push past him, almost knocking the old guy to the ground. I reach the mucky trashcan and shift through old stinky paper towels and grab my robe. It's then that I breathe a sigh of relief. The letter that was given to me is still in the robe's dark blue pocket. Snatching it from it's hiding place, I stuff it in the back of my jean's pocket. That thing that attacked Phoenix said to read it alone, and Sam is no exception. If they are really watching me like Sam says they can, then I have to play this safe and do what they say.

Briskly, paying Pedo no mind, I glide out of the bathroom like I own the place.

"What was that about?" Sam asks, crossing his arms. He follows me. I can only hope he doesn't spot the letter burning a hole through my jeans pocket as I sit by room 125 B and he plops down by my side.

"Forgot my phone. I didn't want that guy to steal it." I murmur. Sam nods in agreement, his eyes have dark circles under them. He looks so tired.

"I hope your friend's okay."

I don't answer him. I bury my face into my sweatshirt sleeves and ignore his presence. After a few moments of awkward silence, Pedo creeps out of the bathroom and strolls past us, pretending we're not there.

It isn't Sam's fault.

Ya, I know...

Do you really?

My head twists around to study at him. His legs are all stretched out and his head leans against the wall. His eyes are closed with the look of innocence. Of course I forgive him. It wasn't Sam's fault that thing came to my house this morning. If I was in his position, I wouldn't want to talk about them, either. I don't even want to talk about them now. Besides, what could I have done against one of them, anyway? It would have come and beat up Phoenix any time it wanted to. If it's anyone's fault it's mine. I brought them straight to my house.

"Sam?" I whisper, "What do we do now?"

"We're not doing anything about this until your powers develop."

Oh. I stare at my hands, pale and unmarked and just... small looking. Like they wouldn't lay a finger on anybody...

"You're sure I have them? Powers, I mean."

"Trust me, after that day in the woods, you have them. You were able to leave dents in me. You dodged a car. Left dents in that, too."

I smirk at the thought of Cotter and Melanie's gaping faces as I launched over them like a Cirque performer. That was pretty cool...

"Tell me about your dreams." Suddenly Sam's eyes are on me, piercing.

"They feel real," I start, gazing at my thumbs and twiddling them. "when I'm in them. Sometimes when I wake up it feels like it actually happened...or is going to happen."

"Like a vision."

"Exactly." I quickly phrase. "I dreamt about them wanting to kill you and me."

"People like us, Blanks, are able to have more than one power. But that extra power is usually not as strong as their main one."

"Do you think that my dreams are really visions of real life?"

"It's just a hunch. Your dreams about them could have just been a coincidence."

"Ya, I guess your right."

I ponder this for a while with my head leaning back against the wall. Sam has been silent for a long time, content with sitting quietly. This hospital smells like disinfectant and soap. It bothers me, and I realize I can't sit around and wait for Phoenix's surgery to be over. Suddenly I remember I haven't showered in a while. At least Sam's nose isn't scrunched, which probably means I don't smell too bad. Sighing heavily, I get up and hold my hand out to Sam, whose eyes snap open and watch me.

"I want to go home," I say and grab his hand, helping him up off the floor. Sam sneakily glances down each end of the hallway, making sure no one is around. Then he grabbed my forearm and we melted into the air, more gracefully then last time since I wasn't frailing around like a frightened little child. The airplane feeling in my gut was expected, and the wind pressure against my body as well. When we landed, I gasped quickly at a sudden freefall feeling. I guess I can't adapt to everything that easily. Sam keeps a vice grip on my arm so I don't fall, and he rights me, so my two feet are planted firmly on the ground.

"Thanks," I tell him, and kick dirt from my slippers. We landed in my back yard that conveniently has a high brush fence to keep my neighbor's prying eyes off of us. Never in my life would I have thought that I would be standing here, in my slippers, next to a super-strong teleporting hottie, gripping his hand, staring at my best friend's blood slowly being sucked into the grass and dirt, trying to come up with a believable cover story to tell Ann when she comes home, and a supernatural killer's letter sitting pretty in my pocket. 
...never in my life.
Never in your life.






End of Chapter Nine

Blank: Chapter Eight: Swings & Swings

             I wake once more. Two dreams in one night. Well, morning now. There is some tapping and slamming noises coming from the kitchen, so I guess Annie’s up, making coffee or pouring cereal. I stretch, yawn, shiver, and pull only one sheet off my body. No wonder I’m cold, I’ve kicked all the other blankets down the edge of the bed while I was asleep. Great. Tucking the blankets back into their original place, I think about all my dreams.

            Sam is in them. It’s not so surprising considering the episode we had yesterday. First his ghoulish, red eyes, beating down Cotter, me almost getting hit by Cotter’s car but miraculously practically unscathed save for a couple bruises. But I left finger dents on the top… the second time I saw Sam’s red eyes in the woods where I found out I’m supposed to possess some kind of telekinesis power. Sam going wacko. Teleporting for the first time. His dad is so sweet, and I loved the lasagna, but…

            Is this life meant for me? My dreams say it is. I mean, Sam’s still in them, right? We teleported in my dream, and we left Annie behind…

            I bring a hand up to my head, sweating a little. I should stop thinking about this. Shaking my head, I pull on a thick, fluffy blue robe printed with moons and stars on it to sheath my skin from the chill and walk clumsily into the kitchen.

            “Gooooooo-oooooooooood Morning!” Annie chirps, flipping a pancake in the skillet. Her hair is already washed and pulled up in a high ponytail to air-dry. She wears a loose band t-shirt and sweatpants. Her feet are replaced with her normal bunny slippers. I meant to say “Good Morning, Ann! What the hell are you making pancakes for, we never have pancakes!” but it came out sounding like: “Mer, mowning. Mer mumph panka-mumph.”

            Suddenly I stop mid-yawn and stare at the kitchen table. My Cap’n Crunch is chilling on the table top, long dead and awfully soggy. I scowl and dump the entire contents into the sink and watch the garbage disposal munch on it before Annie finally decides to speak.

            “Not in the mood for cereal, today?” She says with her back turned to me. “That’s good, ’cause I’m making enough pancakes for a three-day trip.”

            “What? We’re leaving?” I say, panicked, my eyes bulging out of their sockets. 

            Listen to your sister... Dumbass.

            “We’re not leaving, you noob, it was just an expression…” Annie smiles, concerned, but turns to flip a pancake. Mumbling her satisfaction, Annie slides the last pancake from the huge jug of batter into a steaming bowl that’s brimming over with the lot.

            “Yah, yah, I was kidding… ” I murmur, covering up my idiotic outburst. Coughing awkwardly I take a pancake, nibbling on it plain-Jane and sipping on the orange juice Annie laid out. “So… what’s with all the Betty Crocker?”

            Annie glares at me. “You’re saying I can’t cook a nice Saturday breakfast for my little sister?”

            “No, no, it’s nice; really, it’s just that… er, cereal would’ve sufficed.” I say, hiding behind my glass of orange juice and hiking my robe up higher. “This is good though.”

            “Awesome!” Ann exclaims, throwing her hands in the air animatedly. Then, she runs into her room for a few minutes and comes back fully dressed in jeans and a shirt with all her makeup on. “I have to go to class, now.” She grabs her purse and coat and lays her hand on the door knob to go outside.

            “It’s seven in the morning!”

            “I need to talk to my professor about a project…”

“That one hot professor that would give you an A, even if you never showed up to class? That professor? Why would you need to talk with him?”

 She answers by slamming the door. Giggling, I slump in my chair, chuck the half-eaten pancake back into the bowl and put the oversized container in the fridge.

            “I never even wanted pancakes. Ah, well, I’ll say I ate about twenty. That wouldn’t even leave a dent in it anyway, so she won’t notice.”

            Why are you talking to yourself?

            You were being quiet. I needed someone to talk to, even if it was me.

            Pathetic.

            I know.

            Why don’t you go out?

            Out?

            You know, outside? Get some fresh air, run around. You’re getting fat.

            No… I look down… No I’m not.

            It was worth a try.

            Maybe. But I see your point. There’s nothing for me to do inside with Annie gone and all. Fresh air could be nice.

            Go.

            After shaking my head a little over the mediocrity of my most recent conversation with myself, I pull my hair up in a messy bun, grab a sweater and head out the door into the chilly morning air. I'm grateful for the sane people that sleep in on Saturdays, there’s no one to bother me on the streets or sidewalks. Wandering aimlessly usually gives me an opportunity to think, but I figure I’ve done plenty of that lately. A break is in order. I let my mind go blank, focusing on nothing but the pit-pat of my slippers on the sidewalk and the swish swash of the wind cutting through my sweater. I almost let my eyes close.

            That would be most foolish. My conscious kicks in.

            I ignore it… Pit pat. Pit pat… My slippers scale all of the most insidious cracks, I barrel through some brush of my neighbor’s yards and wonder into a park. I’ve been here a couple times before with Ann, when we went for “bonding” picnics on the weekends. Trees are scattered everywhere, with a small slide in the middle of a clearing, complete with a couple pairs of swings, a sandbox, and a small tree house some kids made a few months ago. Without thinking, I break out into a run and clamber up the ladder of the tree to get to the fort on top. From the ground, the tree house seemed very small, but it’s surprisingly spacious and cozy all the way up here. I catch my breath and look down. The fort is situated about twenty feet up, nestled amid all the main branches. Neat. I feel like a kid again. Leaning my palms down on the rough wood, I let my legs dangle from the entrance before I decide to pull them in and inspect the small house. The boys that built it most likely got help from their big brothers, or something, it’s well-made. Sturdy-looking, and commodious. My eyebrows rise in disbelief to find a stair way at the end of the tree house, leading up.

            “Hm.” I murmur to myself, and crawl over to the stairs. I unfold from the ground and climb my second ladder of the day.

Right foot, left foot, right foot…

            When I finally reach the top, I gasp. I’m at the top of the tree house, where they even thought to put a fence around the top so you wouldn’t accidently slip and fall off. There’s a swinging rope bridge that branches up and out to another tree ten feet away.

            “They really went all out on this thing…”

            I step over the fence and place my foot on the rope bridge. After a few careful minutes, I’m across. The rope bridge led to a platform, with no fence around it. This surprises me because this tree is taller than the last one I was on.

            Maybe they never finished?

            Possibly. I test the sturdiness of the platform. Feels fine to me. But what if you fall off? Timidly, I gulp and look down. About thirty feet. Is that enough to kill you?

Probably.

 My feet start shaking, so I sit down, cross-legged on the small wooden platform.

Stupid, stupid, stupid… why are you even up here?

I don’t know.

You’re scared. I smell it on you.

Stop talking tough. Besides, I didn’t even know you had a nose.

Don’t get personal. There’s someone coming.

What? There are crunching noises coming from below. The sound of crunching leaves under heavy boots. I stare down below me, searching for the leaf-attacker. My eyes find a boy about my age, probably fifteen or sixteen years old, dressed in all black. Boots, skinny pants, baggy sweatshirt, and all. His dark brown hair catches in his brown eyes as he stares back up at me.

“Phoenix?!” I shout from my perch, almost squealing with delight. Phoenix is here! My childhood friend is here in Boston. A pressure builds somewhere behind my eyes as I gape at him before I get my bearings and scramble up from my sitting position. Phoenix smiles at me but says nothing as I clamber across the creaky rope bridge and down a team of ladders to get to solid ground.  “Phoenix!”

“I told you I’d visit,” He finally speaks, opening his arms as I rush into them and give him a big we’ve-known-each-other-for-a-long-time-and-we-know-it hug. My mind races back to our conversation via text, a few nights back. Was that really only four or five days ago? I embrace him for a long moment before pulling away; hardly believing that Phoenix is really here with me, in Boston, not in Juneau. I laugh and give him another quick hug before stepping back to get a good look at him.

“You look good, Phiphi,” I tell him, using the nickname that set his teeth on edge when we were kids. “How you been?”

“Okay, I guess. Miss you...” He glance down at my feet. "Slippers?" 

“Nothing new," I exclaim. “Common, let’s go back to the house.”

Phoenix nods and follows my lead out of the park. After a few moments of companionable silence, I turn my face towards him. “So did you just… up and leave Alaska? Buy a plane ticket and go cross-country to see me?”

“Well… yah,” Phoenix blushes, I laugh and punch him in the arm playfully. “You shouldn’t have done that, plane tickets are expensive.”

“Dad paid for the round-trip, said I needed to see you. I’ve been feeling a bit down.”

“I’m sorry,” I frown.

“Naw, naw, I’m good now. I’m staying in a motel up town, my plane came in late and I know you would’ve been sleeping or something so I didn’t bother you.”

“Er, yah…” I mumble, keeping my head down. I feel kind of bad. Phoenix could’ve stayed at my house last night instead of some smelly motel. I had been awake…

“Actually I was pretty worried that you would be out of town so it all would’ve been for nothing.”

“You know no one would invite me out of town in this place,” I joke playfully, smirking up at him.

“I guess you’re right. It’s because you’re so horrible, you know.”

“Hey!” I smack his arm. We’re at the front door to the house now, and I open it, holding it for Phoenix as he steps inside.

“Didn’t lock the door…?” Phoenix scolds me but shrugs it off. He takes off his black sweatshirt and throws it across one of the dining room chairs like it belongs there. Maybe it does. “I’ve never seen your place...it’s nice.”

“Thanks,” I pour him some orange juice, not even having to ask what he likes to drink in the mornings. He’s the opposite of a coffee person. “So why were you out wondering in the park?” I yell, hoping he can hear me since he's made his way to the living room.

“Same reason you were!” Phoenix bellows. I can hear the static back round of the T.V. turning on from the living room. I don’t even have to think to imagine him rummaging through the entertainment center for video games.  Annie and I don’t even have a X-Box, or PlayStation, but he’ll look nonetheless.  

“Same reason? You mean you were on an epic adventure through perilous lands to find the true meaning of your existence?” I shout back at him, smiling and tossing ice cubes in his juice, then I pour myself some. Gripping the glasses, I turn and head for the living room. I can’t hear Phoenix’s scuffling anymore, which probably means he’s stretched out on the couch, watching some melodrama. I reach the living room and hand Phoenix the glass. He gulps it until it's about half-empty-

Or half-full.

I realize I haven't been in contact with Sam all morning. Shit. Should I call him? Why hasn't he called me? My eyes instantly go to my robe pocket. No phone.

 "I'm gonna go the the bathroom, quick..." I mumble as Phoniex adjusts the volume on the T.V, almost to full blast. I swear he's as deaf as and eighty-plus, sweater vest-loving man. I scamper out of the living room and head down the wall, passing the bathroom door and slip into my room. My phone lights up on the bedside table. Sam is on the I.D.

Call me. I need to know you're okay.

I've gotten three texts and two calls since 6 a.m. this morning. Shit!

I'm about to dial Sam's number when I hear a loud thump over the loud volume of the T.V. I flinch and the phone drops, clattering against the phone and vibrating with another text.

I have a weird feeling. Call me, or I'm coming over.

I ignore the phone and sprint to the living room. Phoenix isn’t anywhere. In my mind I see his long frame lounging on the tan couch, watching T.V., but there’s only a DVD remote, resting in his place. 

“This isn't funny." I growl to no one in particluar. "Where are you, Phoenix?" No answer.

Okay. Look around you. What do you see.

I see Phoenix’s sweatshirt laying on the couch with no Phoenix inside it. I see both of our glasses on the table. Mine's empty, his isn't.

What can you perceive from that?  

That he was here and now he’s not and I can’t find him.

Now, what do you hear?

A couple birds. But silence, mostly.

Listen harder.

I do. All of a sudden I can hear more thumps coming from the sliding glass door leading to the back yard. Now there are some muffled cries. I cross the living room quickly and pull back the sliding glass door with as much force as you could without breaking it. There is a huge mass huddled over a now-whimpering Phoenix. I breathe a sigh of relief for finding him before I realize that he isn't in the best situation. The attacker's face is hidden, but Phoenix is in plain sight. He has a cut on his cheekbone that’s dripping blood, and my face takes on a sickly pallor. There’s more red streaming out of his nose and filling his mouth. I can only stand still. My legs won’t work. My arms won’t reach out to protect him. I’m completely helpless. I can’t save my best friend.

“Help!” Phoenix whimpers, taking a swift kick to the gut, blood spurting out of his mouth. The sight petrifies me. The hulking figure brings back his elbow, almost connecting to my face, and punches Phoenix in the jaw. The sick cracking sound seems to vibrate against the walls of the house. I would have gone completely insane from seeing this, but it didn’t matter now. I can feel my limbs again. My head is clear and I move.

“Fuck…” I manage to curse, and kick the stone figure in the side. The figure doesn’t even flinch, but my face scrunches in pain and the yard fills with a scream. I just broke my foot.

Phoenix tries to get up off the ground, some part of him still fighting the pain to come and protect me, but the figure pummels him to the ground before finally turning to my direction. I can’t see his face. It’s covered by a thick hood, it's color the deepest midnight black that matches the cloak covering his entire body. I search for some kind of feature, some kind of body part that would give me recognition of who this is: a pair of eyes, or a nose, maybe, just something to prove that it’s human. But I get nothing. What I do get is a growl, coming from deep within the figure. The sound causes the hairs on my neck to rise and wave at the figure, saying: “look at me! I’m about to piss my pants!”

A voice rises from deep within it, sounding like the devil himself. If only I were an exorcist. It speaks.

“You’ve been warned. He is not one to be toyed with, so take this seriously. The reason you are not dead is because I’ve been asked not to taint you, he likes his prey fresh, be grateful. Accept his letter.”

A dark, forest green hand covered in shiny, almost metallic-looking scales with pointed finger nails holds out a plain envelope with no name or return address. My body is frozen in fear save for my right hand, which mechanically reaches out to grasp the envelope, creasing the paper. A faint moan comes from Phoenix, who is covered in his own blood, and coughing up some too. My ears pick up a faint gargling sound coming from his mouth. Holy shit, is he choking?

Pay attention to the thing in front of you.

 “Read it alone. Burn it when you’re done, and comply with his wishes. You will be tracked down and killed at his convenience if you do not.” Its hand fades back into the folds of his cloak and it walks to the end of the street. I never take my eyes off the midnight mass until it opens the door to a black, unlicensed car, and lithely glides into the passenger seat. The door closes with a slam and my nostrils flare at the reek of rubber against the pavement as the car slides out of my sight. I release the breath I was holding. Then I remember Phoenix. Shit, shit, shit. My knees bend to the ground so I can have better look at him. Oh god, he’s choking on his own blood. He doesn’t have the strength to sit up.

I slip my hands under his back and force him into a sitting position, and pound his back. He’s able to spit out the blood that dominated his mouth and I hear shallow, but quick breathing. He's alive. That's all that matters.

“I need to take you to a hospital.”



End of Chapter Eight.