Final Life: Book One in the Transhuman Chronicles

by Rose Garcia

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I was beginning to think dying was better than living. At least, my kind of living—always on edge, afraid of shadows in the night, guilt ridden over the death of two people, responsible for the capture of my parents. My surrender couldn’t come fast enough.

  Farrell and I had stayed at the Rice library until morning but didn’t find anything to help us. We figured the answers were in Julian Huxley’s journal, but my parents had it and Tavion had them. Even though Farrell remained optimistic, I couldn’t. I couldn’t even fake it. And when Christmas Eve arrived, my despair only multiplied. Christmas Eve was a time for celebration—a religious holiday of birth. For me it was just one step closer to death.

  Farrell stayed in his room most of the day while I stayed in mine, scribbling notes of everything that had happened to me since moving here. So many things crammed my mind—the image of my parents in that cave. The deaths of Veronica and Jan. The confrontation with Tavion and how my blood had burned his face. Ms. Ryken with her white staff in my living room who had now gone off to try and help my parents. The way Trent and his grandmother could see auras but couldn’t see mine because my parents shielded it from Tavion. The image of Abigail holding Julian Huxley’s journal. But the thing that replayed over and over in my mind, more than anything else, was Farrell’s words at Rice.

  "The only way we die is to get relocated, or absorbed by another energy source."

  Those words echoed in my head until I thought I might go crazy. And then, I got it! I sat up. Tavion wanted to absorb my energy, but what if I absorbed his first? I flung off my blanket, raced down the hall, and burst into Farrell’s room. He knelt on the floor by his bed, head down. His hands covered his heart while his body radiating a bright yellow and white glow that filled the room like a sun. I shielded my eyes. When the glow faded, I brought my hands down but couldn’t see anything. Everything was black.

  Farrell’s warm and tingly hands cupped my face. "Dominique, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were coming in. Are you okay?"

  A vibration spread through my cheeks and filtered throughout my body. Warmth filled me, and dizziness, and a longing for him. My sight littered with splotches of darkness that eventually started to fade. He led me to his bed. I didn’t want to lie down, but he forced me.

  "Farrell, I’m fine, really." I sat up. "What were you doing?"

  "In two days you’re supposed to surrender to Tavion," he said. "But I’m not gonna let him have you, Dominique. I’ll die first before that happens."

  My stomach tightened. "Farrell, that’s what happened in each lifetime before, isn’t it? You died trying to protect me."

  He studied my eyes. "Yes," he said. "We all died."

  Dizziness overcame me and I forced myself to breathe deep. I needed to focus on solutions. "Farrell, you said that Tavion was going to absorb my energy, right? Well, what if I absorb his first?"

  He tilted his head to the side and considered my words. "That’s not possible, you’re not a Transhuman."

  My hopes sank. Maybe there was no way out of my death. Maybe it was inevitable.

  "But I can absorb Tavion’s energy," he added. "If I can get close enough, that is."

  I swallowed hard. It seemed like both of us were destined to die. "If you absorb Tavion’s energy, what will happen? Will you be okay?"

  He rubbed his hands on his jeans. "I’m not sure. A Pure has never absorbed the energy of a Tainted. It’s one thing that separates us from them."

  Before I could say anything else, he walked to the door. "It’s almost eight. You better get ready."

  Farrell and I had argued about me going with Trent and his grandmother to midnight mass. He didn’t want me to go because my parents had ordered me to stay with him. But because Jan had said I should go, he reluctantly agreed. We couldn’t pass up an opportunity for clues.

  I had never been to church before, and I had no idea what to wear. I scanned the dresses in my closet—all two of them. One was a tight fitting black sleeveless dress that hung just above my knees. The other was dark purple with thick straps and a low neckline. It gathered in the middle at my waist. It too was short, but not as short as the black dress. I laid both out on my bed, slipped on my black heels, and held each in front of the mirror.

  The black one looked too sexy, the purple more conservative, more churchy. And so I picked the purple, even though I really wanted to wear the black one for Trent.

  For all I knew, this could be my last night out. I wanted to look my best. Not just for Trent, but for me. After spending about thirty minutes curling my long hair, I spent another twenty on makeup. When I finished, I stepped back and studied my face. Not bad for someone who hadn’t slept well in a weeks. I just hoped Trent would like it—and Farrell, too.

  I draped my black pashmina wrap around my shoulders since it was cool outside, around sixty degrees. The doorbell rang. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths before I grabbed my purse and the small gift I had for Trent.

  When I got downstairs, I found Trent and Farrell by the door—silent. Farrell had shoved his hands in his jean pockets, his face serious. Trent had polished away his messy exterior. He wore a black suit with a white shirt and a slender black tie. The only trace of messiness was his hair.

  "Wow," he said. "Dominique, you look…amazing."

  Heat filtered through my cheeks. "Thanks. You, too," I said, avoiding Farrell’s gaze, which I could tell, had landed on me.

  Trent took my hand. "You ready?’

  "Yeah, sure," I said.

  "What time will you be home?" Farrell asked.

  I let Trent answer since I had no idea how long midnight mass would take. "I’ll have her home at around two." Then Trent looked at me. "So is he in charge or something?"

  Farrell crossed his arms. Before he could say anything to Trent, I offered a quick explanation. "No, it’s not like that. But my parents are out of town on business, and he just…doesn’t want to worry." I fidgeted. "Right, Farrell?"

  Farrell clenched his jaw before answering. "Yeah, right."

  Trent wrapped his arm around my waist. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of her."

  It was the worst thing he could've said to Farrell, and it made me feel horrible inside. Farrell didn't deserve to be jabbed like that.

  The ride to Trent’s was short and quiet. My stomach twisted tight. My mind kept replaying my conversation with Jan, or at least, the ghost of Jan back at the trail on the lake. She had said that I needed to go to midnight mass with Trent, but why?

  Trent parked his Camaro in the driveway. His house sparkled with Christmas lights. They reminded me of hope, of life. Unlike mine which had no light. No hope. He stopped me before I got out of the car. "Hey, you okay? You seem a little out of it."

  Out of it? If only he knew. "Sorry, I’m fine. Just a little nervous, I guess. I’m not really into church, that’s all."

  He touched my shoulder. "Don’t worry. I’ll be right beside you the whole time."

  When he said that, I immediately thought of Farrell and how he had been protecting me for nine lifetimes. "I know you will. Thanks, Trent." I took a deep breath. "Come on. Let’s not keep your grandmother waiting."

  When we walked into his house, my nerves had settled. The tree twinkled with tiny white lights. Spanish Christmas music played softly in the background. The aroma of something savory and delicious wafted my way. My mouth watered.

  "Mmmm, what’s on the menu?" I asked.

  "Ah, it’s my grandmother’s chili and tamales. It’s our traditional Christmas Eve dinner," he said.

  We walked into the kitchen and found his grandmother cleaning up. She wore a blue dress with a big pink flower pinned to her lapel. Her hair twisted up in a tight little bun, and she wore the same silver rosary that I had seen before.

  "Abuela, Dominique is here."

  She smiled. "Hello, Mija. Thank you for coming. Please, sit."

  I sat at the little wooden kitchen table while Trent’s grandmother worke
d her way around the kitchen with ease. She served us each a bowl of chili and a plate of tamales. Trent gathered the silverware, napkins, and drinks.

  "This looks wonderful," I said as they sat down.

  "Thank you, Mija. Now let’s bless our food," she said.

  She and Trent held out their hands. Nervous to take theirs because of my bandaged wounds and because I had never prayed before, I hesitated. Trent opened one eye, took my hand, and nodded for me to take his grandmother’s. "It’s okay," he mouthed.

  I slowly reached out for her. When our hands touched, his grandmother shuddered, squeezed tight, and started praying fast, as if her life depended on it. "Dear Lord, please bless us on this the eve of the birth of your son. Bless your daughter, Dominique, and be with her as she walks into a dark place, a place that dear Lord only you can help her get through. Let her be brave and strong for her outcome affects us all. In the name of your son Jesus Christ. Amen."

  She drew her hand away fast and stared straight ahead at nothing. I wanted to get up, leave, go home, but then his grandmother spoke. "Dominique, you need to be here with us right now. Please, let us enjoy this time." She smiled, picked up her spoon, and started eating. "Come," she said. "I didn’t cook all day for nothing!"

  Her humor relaxed me a little, so I picked up my spoon, too, as did Trent. When the chili hit my mouth, an explosion of flavors filled my taste buds. The broth had chunks of meat and tomatoes with little bits of onion and celery. It was spicy, but not too spicy. Trent got a spoonful of chili and poured it over his tamales. "Here, try this." I did the same and took a bite. The tamales were amazing, and I ate every last bite. I even thought of asking for seconds when it dawned on me that I hadn’t eaten that much in a long time.

  After a while, Trent’s grandmother excused herself. "Save room for my tres leches, both of you," she said with a laugh.

  "There’s always room for tres leches," Trent said, scooting his chair closer to mine, our knees touching.

  "I guess…if I knew what is was," I said with a smile.

  "So no tres leches up North, huh?"

  A chuckle slipped out of my mouth. "Not that I’m aware of."

  He played with my fingers while we talked. "It’s a Mexican cake made with three different types of milk. Tres means three, leches means milk. You’ll love it!"

  I found myself playing with his fingers, too. "If your grandmother made it, then I’m sure I will."

  His blue eyes studied mine for a while. He leaned close. For a second there I thought he might kiss me, but he didn’t. "Hey, I want to show you something," he said.

  He led me to the Christmas tree. He knelt down to retrieve a silver perfectly wrapped medium-sized box with a large blue ribbon. He handed it to me. "It’s just a little something."

  I unwrapped the gift to find a snow globe. Inside was a tiny village. I shook the globe gently. Tiny snowflakes fell on the town. It was beautiful—and I was speechless.

  "I’ve never been to Elk Rapids," he said. "But somehow this snow globe reminded me of it."

  He was right. It was just like Elk Rapids—small, peaceful, serene. How I missed it there. My eyes started to water as I gazed at the globe. It reminded me of everything I was about to lose.

  "Hey, I’m sorry." He wrapped his arm around me. "I didn’t mean to upset you."

  I shook my head. "Don’t be sorry, Trent. I love it. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much."

  He pulled me close for a tender embrace. I held him tight, almost afraid to let go. He whispered in my ear. "You sure you’re okay?"

  I held him to me before I answered. "Yeah, I’m fine."

  After a moment, I let go and regained my composure. "Now it’s your turn." I took my purse from the couch, reached in, and pulled out a small box I had wrapped in brown paper.

  Trent opened it and pulled out a Petoskey Stone I had found and polished when I was little. He eyed it admiringly. "Dominique, this is amazing. What kind of stone is it?"

  My mind took me back to the afternoons I spent with my dad at Deep Water Point just south of Elk Rapids. We would comb the shallow part of the bay looking for Petoskey Stones. We used to come home with handfuls of treasures. For months, we polished the stones until they transformed from ordinary rocks to shiny treasures.

  "It’s a Petoskey Stone, the state stone of Michigan. The stones were once living coral that existed millions of years ago. Over time, the coral fossilized and glaciers scattered the stones along Lake Michigan. When found, they're gray and rough, but when polished, like this one, the beautiful rich coral pattern emerges."

  Trent ran his fingers over the stone, admiring its shape and the imprints on the surface. I knew he would like it. It was so him, somewhat rugged at first glance, yet so amazing when its true qualities were exposed.

  "Dominique, it’s perfect. I’ll think of you every time I look at it." He pulled me closer and was about to give me a kiss when we heard his grandmother’s footsteps coming down the hallway. We separated slowly.

  "Are you two ready for dessert?" she asked.

  "We’re ready if you are," he said, still holding my fingers.

  "Good, we don’t want to be late for mass," she said. "But first, I have something for you, Dominique."

  My eyes went wide. "Me?"

  "Yes," she said, handing me a small white jewelry box. "This has been in my family for generations, and I want you to have it."

  I looked at Trent, wondering if he knew about the gift. He raised his shoulders and shook his head, as surprised as me. "Abuela, you shouldn’t have," I said.

  When I opened it, I found a silver necklace with a cross made of dark stone and shaped like a sword with a pointy tip. A familiar vibration filled my fingertips when I touched it. I brought it closer. It was black with red and green flecks—a bloodstone. The stone that called to me at Jan’s. A stone that soldiers took to battle. Is this why Jan had wanted me to go to mass with Trent and his grandmother? So Trent’s grandmother could give me this necklace?

  "It’s beautiful," I said. "Thank you so much."

  "The cross will remind you to have faith. The sword will remind you to be strong," she explained.

  I took the cross out of the box and handed it to Trent so he could put it on me. The silver chain felt cool on my skin, while the stone felt warm. "It looks great on you," Trent said.

  "Good, I knew it would," his grandmother said. "Now let’s have dessert and then we’ll go."

  The white tres leches cake was scrumptious—spongy but not soggy, with a light fluffy frosting. But my stomach had twisted tight again, and I could only have a few bites. Trent’s grandmother's gift meant something, but what? That I needed faith and strength? That I would win? And did Jan know that Trent’s grandmother would give it to me?

  There were too many unknowns in my life, and thinking about them made me crazy. But this was my path; this was where I needed to be. Maybe I would find a clue at church. After all, that’s where people pray for answers.