by K. G. Reuss
Terror filled Dylan’s features as he was held against his will to the wall, his body flailing, his hands clawing at his invisible attacker. Shadow leaned forward and whispered something to Dylan causing him to still. A tear leaked out of his eye and he nodded, gasping. Shadow tightened his grip on Dylan’s neck some more, and Dylan reached out to push against the force that was holding him but came up empty. He still couldn’t see Shadow. My heart sank as Dylan’s eyes met mine, fear flashing in them.
“I-I understand,” Dylan choked out as another tear leaked from his eye. Shadow seemed satisfied with his answer because he released his grip, and Dylan slid to the floor with a loud thud.
“Dylan!” I rushed to him and reached out, but he scooted away from me, shaking his head.
“Go away, Ever,” he rasped out, shrinking back from me.
“Wh-why? Let me help you!” I tried again, but he batted my hands away.
“You need to go. Now. Leave, Ever! I don’t want you here,” Dylan’s voice was firm, scared, insistent.
“I-I’m sorry,” I whispered, backing away from him. Grabbing my jacket from the floor, I tugged it on and glared at Shadow who still stood in the center of the room, daring me, challenging me, to go back to Dylan. I knew it was in Dylan’s best interest that I leave. I cast his frightened body one final look before stumbling down the stairs and out his front door.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I didn’t go home. I couldn’t. My mind was plagued with the night’s events. My dad’s voice telling me to just end it, ran circles in my head. He was beginning to sound like the voice of reason.
What just happened? In the past Shadow always seemed to protect me, to watch over me. Why did he feel the need to hurt Dylan? It was wrong!
I could handle myself with Dylan. I didn’t need him to intervene. The thought of him keeping tabs on me like that, made me sick. What else had he watched me do?
If he could lift someone like Dylan and toss him like a ragdoll across a room, there was no telling what else he was capable of. I was sick of trying to sort through all the madness happening in my world. I needed an escape, a bigger one than I’d been using.
I wandered to Gleeman’s Liquor, a store in the middle of town. There were voices all around me, whispering and clawing at my mind. My buzz was starting to wear off. I needed more. The adrenaline rush from what went down at Dylan’s no doubt had a sobering effect.
I went to the hard liquor aisle and chuckled darkly as I stared at the selection. I’d just witnessed my boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—get flung across the room and choked by some supernatural being. I was hearing voices. I was seeing creatures and humans that had once existed but had left this world long ago—or had never existed, but wanted to. I couldn’t take it. I was done.
So. Done.
I grabbed a bottle of amber liquid off the shelf and popped the lid off.
“Bottoms up,” I muttered morosely. I tipped the bottle back and downed half of it before moving on to another bottle. Then another.
“Hey,” a clerk shouted ten minutes later. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Whas it look-hic-like?” I slurred, stumbling back and knocking over a shelf of loose tobacco. It landed with a clatter and a crash.
“I’m calling the cops,” he yelled, his face red with anger.
“Call the ghos’ busers while you’re at it,” I shouted after him as he ran back to the front to phone the police.
I continued to drink, the voices finally gone. I smiled in satisfaction as I finished another bottle. My vision went wonky then, causing me to stumble forward and then back before I crumpled to the ground with vomit coming out of my mouth. My vision blurred. Maybe I’d finally finished the job of killing myself—a process that had started months ago when the car hit me. Maybe I’d make my dad proud. I breathed out a ragged breath, hoping beyond anything that there would finally be silence. And darkness. And peace.
I craved them more than my next breath as my eyes closed and I faded away.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I woke up with a tremendous headache. The sun streamed in, bathing me in light and warmth. The familiar beep of the monitors filled my ears, making my head throb.
“You’re awake,” my mom murmured. I snapped my head in the direction of her voice and winced at how bright the sun was coming through the window.
“Then I guess that means I failed,” I muttered with a sigh, burrowing deeper in my bed.
“What?” she asked, frowning. “Were you actually trying to kill yourself, Ever?” Her large dark eyes were glossy with tears, her lower lip trembling.
“Doesn’t matter,” I rolled over and pulled the blanket up tighter around me. “When are they letting me out of here?”
“Ever, we need to tal—” she started, but I silenced her by sitting up suddenly and shouting. My long hair was wild and messy as it clung to my damp, sweaty skin in chunks.
“No! No talking. All I freaking hear are voices. Voices all the damn time. I don’t want to hear anything but silence.”
I paused and turned my head in the direction of a small, dark creature with large black eyes, tiny black horns, and charcoal-colored matted fur as it lurked by the doorway to the hospital room. “Get out of here,” I bellowed louder, throwing my pillow at the creature. It dodged the pillow and glared at me, its eyes narrowing. It let out a low growl and started pacing the doorway again. I lunged out of the bed causing the IV in my arm to rip out. My arm started bleeding, and the wires attached to me gave way, as I rushed forward at the creature.
“Ever,” my mom shouted frantically, trying to get to me. She must have hit the call button because a couple nurses and a doctor rushed in and grabbed me as I tried to chase the creature around the room. It was quick and let out a low growl as I kicked at it. Its mouth opened to reveal a row of razor-sharp teeth. My arms were restrained by the nurses, but that didn’t stop the fight in me as I tried to go back at the creature, kicking out ferociously at it.
“I hate you,” I shouted, gnashing my teeth at it. “I hate you! Leave! Get out of here!”
There was a sudden pinprick pain in my butt diverting my attention to the person beside me.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dr. Brighton said softly as my vision blurred. He capped the syringe. My mother sobbed in the distance.
A smile touched my lips.
The silence. It was coming.
Thank God.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When I woke up, I wasn’t in the same room. This room was small. Too small. Not much was in it. It had the hard bed I lay in, a dresser, and a heavy metal door with a tiny window in it. The walls were an ugly shade of mint, a color that made me feel cold.
My head felt fuzzy and my mouth felt thick and dry. I stumbled forward and tried to open the door, but it was locked. My fists banged loudly on it. My heart hammered a matching rhythm in my chest as the anxiety started to build. I was locked inside this room—this cell.
“Help,” I screamed. “Help! Let me out! Please!”
I screamed and screamed until my voice barely worked. I slid to the floor, my hands bruised from pounding on the door for so long and so hard. I wept big, fat, ugly tears. My body trembled violently as I hugged my knees to my chest.
Moments later, the door opened and two large men entered the small area. Fear made me scoot on my butt away from them. The hasty motion made my hospital gown slip off my shoulder. I was terrified of what was happening. One held a jacket with buckles on it that looked like something they put crazy people in. I pressed my body against the wall as their large hands reached forward and tugged me to my feet.
“No,” I screamed, my voice hoarse. “NO!”
My words fell on deaf ears. I struggled against them as they forced my arms into the jacket and secured the straps so I was a prisoner in the rough fabric. I cried out, wanting to wipe the tears away, but I was unable. Panic crept up my throat. The straps were so tight that it was hard to breathe. My sweat-dampened hair was ma
tted to my tear-soaked face. The metallic ting of blood filled my taste buds where I’d bitten my tongue during my futile struggles.
They wordlessly took me by my arms and tugged me from the room. I tried putting the brakes on, dragging my feet in fear of what was happening and where I was being taken.
“Who are you?” I croaked out, fighting against them. “Please! Where are you taking me?”
They didn’t answer no matter how I kicked and screamed. I was lifted easily and hauled to an elevator where we descended swiftly. When the doors opened, I was pulled out and taken down a long hallway with flickering, buzzing fluorescent lights that made my head throb. The dull glow from them was the only indicator that the place was even inhabited.
One of the men rapped once on a heavy metal door, and it swung open. Without a word, I was pulled through and left to just stand there as the men left. The sound of the door closing firmly behind them was a resounding thud.
“You’re afraid,” a deep familiar voice stated from behind me.
“D-Dr. Brighton?” I asked, my voice hoarse and shaking as I squinted at him through the tangled mess of hair hanging in my face. The dim flickering, fluorescent lights made it difficult to see him clearly. He was shrouded in shadow as he sat in his chair behind a metal table. “Where am I? What’s happening?”
“You’re at a facility in Traverse City,” he answered, gesturing to a chair across from him for me to sit in.
“Why am I here? Why am I wearing this?” I demanded, my throat aching from screaming so much. “Where’s my mom?”
“Calm down, Ever. I’ll undo your restraints if you promise to be good. If you aren’t, I’ll sedate you. OK?”
“O-Ok,” I breathed out, scared. Dr. Brighton came over and quickly undid the straps on the jacket and removed it from me.
“This was a necessary evil, unfortunately,” he explained, holding up the strait jacket. “We didn’t want you to lash out, especially with all your training.” He tossed the jacket onto the table.
How did he know about my self-defense classes? I narrowed my eyes at him. I’d never told him about my training with Dylan or my other martial arts classes.
“Please. Sit,” he gestured to the chair again. I hesitated a moment before moving forward to sit as he indicated. My eyes roved around the stark, cold room. There was nothing but a small table and two chairs in there along with a camera in the corner.
“How did you know about my fighting?” I demanded, staring him down.
“I know a lot about you, Ever. I’ve been studying you for a very long time.” Dr. Brighton looked down at me, his face expressionless.
“What?” I frowned.
“You’ve been on the Order’s radar since you were a child. I’ve followed you closely since you were young. We actually got lucky with that accident.”
“I’d hardly call me getting hit by a car and nearly dying, lucky,” I scoffed.
“It’s all a matter of perspective. It brought you directly to me, which is a good thing. You see, I’m really the only one who’ll be able to help you now.”
“Why am I here?” I whispered, trembling. His words scared me and didn’t make any sense. “I don’t understand.”
“Because you need help, Ever. Wouldn’t you agree?”
I didn’t say anything. Of course, I needed help, but I doubted that he’d be the one to help me. Unless he had a knife. Or pills. Or alcohol. Or drugs. Or a gun. I wasn’t picky. Whatever I could get my hands on to get the hell out of this miserable life. He and his pad of yellow legal paper weren’t cutting it anymore.
“You can’t help me, Dr. Brighton,” I said softly, hoarsely. “No one can. I want to die.”
“Ah, and that’s where the problem lies, I’m afraid,” Dr. Brighton commented, coming to sit in front of me at the metal table. “We cannot let you leave because you’re a danger to yourself, Everly.”
“No, I’m not,” I muttered, denying the words I’d just told him.
“You’re lying. We both know it. So, let’s cut to the chase.” Dr. Brighton folded his hands on the table and surveyed me with his gray eyes. “How long have you really been hearing the voices? You told me in our last session that everything was back to normal.”
“What voices?” I played dumb. “I’m not hearing voices.” If I told him the truth, he’d keep me locked up in a padded room, or worse, back in that damn jacket.
“The ones whispering to you right now.” A small smile touched his thin lips as he watched me. I fidgeted uncomfortably, wincing at the voices in the distance.
“They’re going to take you away,” a sing-song voice taunted.
“She’s already doomed,” another voice wailed.
“It’s too late. She’ll become one of them.”
“Should’ve finished her off in that closet all those years ago. Now we’re all screwed,” a gruff voice lamented.
“Mm,” I whimpered, shaking my head, my jaw quivering.
“I really can help you with them.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice, “Tell me what they’re saying, Ever. I know they’re speaking to you. Remember the candy in my office?”
“Yes,” I answered softly.
“Butter mint. That was my test. It’s only tolerable by Specials. The Naturals, or humans, can’t handle the bitter flavor. I know you can hear the voices. I know I can help you. Tell me, Ever. Tell me what are they saying to you?”
“They said I’m doomed. That I’ll become one of them. I don’t even know what that means. I-I can’t do this.” My fingers dug into the palms of my hands as I struggled to find a way out of my despair. “Dr. Brighton, if there’s a compassionate bone in your body, please. Please, kill me or give me the means to do it myself,” I burst out, begging him, tears streaming down my face. “I want to die. I didn’t before. But I do now. Let me go.” I sniffled and wiped at my tears, feeling defeated.
I had no idea what a Special or a Natural was. I didn’t even care. All I cared about was getting rid of the dead and their insistent voices. I wanted everything gone.
“And therein lies the problem, you poor child,” he leaned back in his chair and rubbed the stubble on his face. “You’re clearly a very gifted girl, possibly the strongest of your kind in years. Tell me, what would death do for you that it’s not doing already? You wish to walk among the dead? You already are. You wish to be dead so you won’t feel? You already are dead inside. Tell me, Ever, because I want to understand where your mind is right now.”
“What?” I shook my head, wiping at my eyes. “I-I don’t understand.”
“If you only take one thing away from our meeting today, let it be this—You will never die. You could set yourself on fire, take all the pills in your mother’s medicine cabinet, drink every lick of alcohol your rotten father has in his mobile home, and yet, you will live if he comes. I believe that you, my poor child, are meant to exist. Forever.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“No one lives forever,” I said softly, narrowing my burning eyes at him. My throat was tight and aching. I was exhausted. And the voices. They were getting louder. “Why would they even want to?”
“True,” Dr. Brighton agreed. “And false. Mortals—Naturals—don’t live forever. You, however, are a bit above the cut.”
“Dr. Brighton, I don’t mean to be rude, but get to your point. You’re beginning to sound crazier than me, and I’m going to be honest, that’s not something you should strive to be considering you’re sitting in the doctor seat over there. I really just want to go back to my room and hang myself with my bedsheets. You’re holding me up. No pun intended.”
“You are a feisty one.” He tilted his chin up in disdain. “You’re special, Ever. A Special, to be more exact. That means you’ve been gifted with a certain amount of abilities—abilities many would run from. You’re not crazy. The voices are real. The shadows are real. The creatures—all real.”
“And me in this loony bin?” I bit out, snorting at him. Great! Even my doc was
a nut job.
“Real,” he smiled again. “Only this isn’t the place for you. It’s more of a halfway house until we get you to where you need to be.”
“And where would that be?” I asked dryly, shaking my head as the voices grew louder.
“She’d be better off drunk in an alley somewhere than at Dementon.”
“That’s where he is. You know what it means,” a voice warbled with worry.
“He’s lying, Ever. You are crazy. Insane. This isn’t even real. It’s all an elaborate setup. You’re unconscious in a hospital bed. You were hit by a car. This is part of your coma. Wake up, Ever! WAKE UP!” a voice shouted.
“ARGH!” I screamed, leaping to my feet, swinging my arms. Something had hit me hard across my back, making it burn and sting. The pain was agonizing. I continued to swing madly, allowing my anger taking over. The doors to the room burst open and the two large orderlies barged in, took my arms hard, and pulled them behind my back, restraining me.
I cried out, not sure which was worse—the pain from the invisible blow or the pain from their massive hands holding me hostage.
“Let me go,” I screamed, bucking and fighting as best I could against them. Finally, I managed to break free, and when one of the large men reached for me, I kicked him square in the chest, my kickboxing classes flooding back to me. The man stumbled backward and fell into the wall. The other man advanced on me and lunged. With a punch to the face, I knocked him back. He let out a ferocious growl and grabbed me by the arms. I wrestled and twisted in his grasp, unable to break free. Dr. Brighton jumped to his feet and jabbed me with a needle. I whimpered and gnashed my teeth, as the other orderly recovered and helped restrain me. Dropping my head, I caught him in the arm with my teeth and drew blood. Jerking back, he struck me across the face, causing my body to go limp. Blood pooled in my mouth. My head rung from the blow. And my eyes and senses dulled from whatever had been in the needle.
