by David James
As the wolf howled again, my heart beat so quickly it screamed. My pulse raced toward my heart and crashed into it in an explosion of rampant fury.
I squeezed my eyes shut, tighter and tighter, until I couldn’t see anything but a world spotted black and white with darkness. Against my swiftly beating heart, I watched the spots dance in my mind. I tried to forget the crimson forest, forget the mist and nightmares and blood.
I tried to remember the stars.
The mist ran a finger down my back, reminding me what was beyond. Solid waves of it tickled leaves, shaking to the rhythm of the wolf’s lament, that sorrowful lullaby calling to my heart.
Lost in a chaotic symphony, I could not forget the sounds.
My stomach burned. I wanted to scream. I had to.
No. No! My throat exploded in silent pain. My mind screamed at me from somewhere deep within, a place hidden from the dark.
Wake up! I could feel blisters pop; blood and sadness oozed down my throat.
The entire forest screamed, but I was choking. I clung desperately to the wolf’s cry and felt my face burn red with tears. No breath, no hope, no sound. I had nothing but the wolf to help me scream.
Hope was lost to red, all blood and mist.
I threw my hands to the ground, coughing as the wind shoved me forward.
I couldn’t breathe.
I tried to inhale, to suck in the cold air around me, but it was no use. With every half breath I sputtered and coughed, spitting red onto the ground. The mist twined gray; shadowed fingers around my lungs, my heart.
No! Wake up! My fingers clawed at the dirt as the mist and leaves erupted in a storm of red. The wind punched the trees until they were bruised and broken, their branches hung in the light of the blood sky, dead and disfigured. Leaves shot to the ground, crashing madly like bombs. I could hear the sound of them ripping through the wind, wailing in pain, until finally they hit the ground and burst into flames.
Tears flew down my face. I grabbed my throat, but it was too slippery to hold.
And then, the forest was suddenly silent.
Silent, but not still.
The dead trees were dark and wilted. The wind attacked them with such force that branches flew into me, cutting my arms and face. The world tilted, and in that war I saw my fate. Somehow I knew this was a twisted version of my future.
This was how I was going to die.
I watched the chaos. The world of amber and red grew hazy. The mist turned black at the edges of my mind, and soon covered my vision, killing the swift speed of time.
Then, slowly, the blackness turned into a very faint white light. It was beautiful, comforting; all around me was blinding. The forest was gone.
I closed my eyes and let hope linger.
Whispers seemed to surround me, haunting melodies of quiet voices. Though I couldn’t make out what was being said, the song lingered in me until even the tips of my fingers tingled.
My veins pumped hotter, the blood flowed faster. A heat started to fill my body and soul, and I felt myself lift off the ground and into the warm white. The air was thick, wrapping itself around me and pushing into my lungs
I opened my eyes and, for a moment, thought I saw a flash of purple. A face in the mist.
Save me, I thought.
At once the sky erupted in a storm of lightning, so bright and blinding I held a hand up to my face to shield my eyes, turning my face to blink.
I gasped. In the divine light my skin looked almost black, tiny dots of light flickering within it.
A voice in the night, cracked with desperation, filled the world around me until it was everything: “Awake, Caeles. Awake! The time has come for you to embrace your destiny. You must join us again, brother. Look in your heart and see the past as it was and will be.
“Awake, Caeles...
“Look to the stars for guidance...”
~
Heart crashing against my ribs, I awoke with sweat rolling down my face.
Breathing rapidly. Eyes searching. Mouth open.
Cold. Freezing. Shivers crawling like snakes on my skin.
I grabbed at the sheets around me.
It was over. I was really awake.
I lay back against my pillow. My heart slowed, and I breathed easier. I let the sheets go, closed my eyes, and tried to find myself.
Rain tapped against my window. Soft pings against glass sang slowly, and then faster and louder until I knew I could not fall back asleep. Like the rain, confusion pounded at my mind.
I ground my teeth together. Who was Caeles? Would I ever wake to a peaceful morning? Or be plagued forever by wuthering dreams.
Outside, dawn was breaking. I could see the dim, hesitant colors of it trying to cut through the storm.
“Calum!” I heard Mom yell from down the hall. “I hope you’re awake. You’ll be late for school and I am not waiting an hour to drive you like last time.”
A burst of air escaped my mouth. I ran a hand through my hair and said, “Yeah, Mom. Just waking up.” My voice tasted like gravel, as though the mist had been real.
I threw the covers back but stayed in bed. My hand moved over the clustered birthmark on my upper arm. I had hardly any freckles on my body, but the ones I did have were brown, normal. This birthmark, though, had always been a dirty black, as if midnight had kissed each spot.
Since I was small, I’d wondered what the mark meant, and for a while I thought it meant I was special. Sometimes still, when morning or night came too early and I was alone, I would wish on each of the twenty-five dots and pretend they were wishing stars.
I closed my eyes and pressed into the mark.
A wish. Just one.
That’s all I needed.
I let go and let my heart race against everything my mind said shouldn’t be.
A wish. Love. Just one.
Chapter Two
Beautiful Monster
-Calum-
September was a lingering black in Colorado, and the sleepy city of Lakewood Hollow was forever wet this month; not even the mountains could keep the storms away. Clouds rolled in, bringing thunder and lightning, and rain dropped from the sky as if it never would again. The air was sweet. Every breath I took was filled with a shaking crash, every exhale a boom.
“Any big plans today after school?” Mom asked as we stopped at the light on the corner of Misery and Joy, about a block away from school. The swish, squeak, swish of wiper blades against glass made her voice a trill of quavering notes.
“No, not really,” I said. I could still taste the mist.
She was putting on lipstick, Desperately Red, and smacked her lips just as we jolted forward on Misery.
Smack. “Well, let me know if anything changes.”
Like an old habit, she touched the space below her right eye that, up until this past year, had been continuously black and blue.
“I will.”
Blood red nails brushed through her tawny hair, twisting the ends and letting the pieces fall around her shoulders.
Smack. “You know you’ll never meet anyone if you just sit at home all weekend writing those silly songs no one sings. I think you need to really put yourself out there. It’s on all the television shows. You can’t expect to be happy if you just...”
I sighed. She wasn’t talking to me anymore.
Take your own advice, Mom, I used to say. Now nothing and no one can touch her. My silence says more than anything.
So many things I used to do with her: Laugh, smile, love. When things were colored black and blue, I knew how to live. Now, in a world as gray as the sky outside, I was just as lost as the sunlight.
I touched a finger to the window. I could almost feel the rain if not for the glass, almost feel the wind push back against me. I pressed harder, harder until I heard the window scream no. I felt it move. My finger turned red, the nail white, and so, so cold.
I pulled away, and a shiver ran up my arm and crashed into my heart.
The day Dad
left was the day Mom stopped loving me. I remember the door slamming, screams breaking glass. I remember looking out my window to see him driving away. Mom broken and bleeding on the floor, all tears and pain. I remember reaching down to brush glass from her face, and the look in her eyes that said she would never love me, never see me, again.
Mom looked at me from the side, her right eyebrow arched. “You okay?” I could smell the whiskey on her breath. “You look a little pale. Those disappearances on the news last night didn’t scare you did they? All that blood... The police will figure it out. They know what to do.” She reached a hand across the console to brush a crop of my dark hair back behind my ear, but stopped before she got too close. “You really need to do something about that hair. I don’t know what you kids see in looking like you live on the streets these days.”
“I’m fine, Mom,” I whispered, shrugging away, ignoring the way she wouldn’t touch me. I tugged the sleeves of my charcoal hoodie down to cover my hands. “Fine.”
She smiled and said, “I know.”
Mom smiled a lot more since that day. She moved as if dancing, as if each day broke and set in song. Every morning I would hear her singing in the shower, every night laughing herself to sleep. People said they saw a sparkle in her eyes, one that hadn’t been there before.
If not for the whiskey I might have believed them, but I hadn’t seen her eyes directly in almost a year. Every now and then, however, when she thought I couldn’t see, I would catch her looking up at the sky in memory of something that made her eyes wet. It was then that I remembered her eyes were gray, light and dark like rain at dusk.
I’m fine, I thought as I breathed in and out.
I’m fine, but-
I am my father’s son.
I moved my hand to my birthmark. My skin was always warm, as if my blood burned fire; even through my hoodie I could feel the heat of it against my palm. In that, I found a small comfort.
All around me the world was changing. The leaves committed graceful suicide one by one with each gust of wind, dancing to the ground in piles. One day soon I would look up and see that every tree was barren, alone and dead.
I couldn’t help but think: Am I dying? Is she?
“Calum? Hello, Calum? Hello?”
I jumped. “Sorry, Mom. What?”
She sighed, and the scent of oak and old raisins filled the car. I wondered if she would ever stop now that he was gone, but I knew she wouldn’t; he was easier to forget at the bottom of a bottle. “Remember I’ll be at the office a little later than normal tonight. You’re on your own for dinner. That’ll be okay, right?”
“Yeah. I think I’ll probably end up going to Tyler’s after school, anyway. I’ll see what he says.”
“I’m just so overwhelmed with this new account. I swear, if we don’t get a new business plan together soon they’ll move on to another marketing firm.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
She smiled. Smack. “I know. Just nerves.”
Her eyes focused on the road for a while, but every now and then I saw them glance at me, lingering on a subject she found better left unsaid. Until, “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
I am dead to her.
“Yeah, Mom. I’ll be okay, really.” I rolled my head to the right so I could watch the scenery roll by. Rays of sun tried to push through the barrier of dark clouds with little hope. My breath made foggy circles on the window. My hands brushed my jeans. “I was just thinking about Dad.”
“Well, as long as you’re okay.”
In the window, I could see her reflection, see the way her skin paled white and her lips thinned. I saw the way her eyes screamed: Smile like a mother should. Pretend. Smile and he’ll stop talking.
Everything would be okay if we just forgot him.
I wanted to but I couldn’t. Every day I grew more angry; each was a dark tunnel and I couldn’t see a light at the end. Even though I never went over the edge, my toes hung over and I was afraid hope had already fallen off the cliff.
In my reflection I saw what Mom did; my father’s nose and jaw, his lips and hair. His scowl. His anger. Only my eyes were my own.
When had I become this monster?
When had I truly become the son of Luke Wade?
My hands balled together, turning red and white.
This, I thought. This is because of him, this madness I feel day after day, like I can’t trust anyone. This constant shiver of regret is his fault.
My teeth were clenched, eyebrows bent. With every breath I took I felt my heart race a little faster, every second my reflection more my father’s.
Would I ever be myself again?
“And you know you can call me whenever, even during school. I’m here for you whenever you need me,” she said, her voice hovering over a single, dark note much too high. Her eyes glued to the road, never blinking.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said to my reflection.
I saw her eyes flicker at me, then down, and then back up to the visor mirror; what she was about to say would be easier with me as a shadow of myself.
I knew what was coming; I felt the familiar feeling run toward me, hurtling itself at me just as fiercely as the rain against the car.
The past. Him. Memories.
Mom’s voice was numb and fearful, a lament of graceless agony, and I could feel the mist rising like waves in my throat.
She spoke quickly, her words almost slurring together. “You look so much like him, Calum. But your eyes... I remember the first time I saw your eyes I thought to myself that someone had found a way to trap moonlight reflected on the bluest sea in each of them. So bright they seemed to glow. I thought for sure I could see my soul inside your eyes, like mirrors looking deep inside me. Every time you look at me...”
Her voice grew quiet. “I can’t look anymore. I just... I sometimes wonder if you would have... If you’ll end up like...”
Her knuckles were white, shaking against the steering wheel. She whispered, “I just want to be happy.”
I am nothing.
My eyes found a water mark on the windshield. In seconds I would vomit.
You look so much like him.
Her words cut deep.
I felt sick; a fever of hot and cold touching me all over.
All I could think was this: I am my father’s son.
I felt screaming fury build inside me. If I could destroy my reflection, I could kill what was left of my father. I could get rid of these monsters forever: Anger, sorrow, guilt. My hands balled themselves into tight fists, turning white.
I stopped breathing until all I heard was my heart, and thought, Don’t give in. Don’t become him.
Mom and I fell into silence, and I let my mind drift hopelessly away. The sounds of the radio filled my voids. The bittersweet symphony of autumn, the season of life and death, drummed against my conscience.
When we pulled into the school’s parking lot, Mom leaned back in her seat and the clean smell of lemongrass filled the car. I wondered what she smelled like before perfume covered her, but I couldn’t recall a memory without it. I loved the sharp, sweet smell, so comforting and homelike. Somehow, it made me feel better even though she didn’t.
Suddenly, like a wave being pulled back by an unforgiving tide, Mom said, “I know he still loves me.”
I couldn’t stop the anger from crashing against me then; I felt myself being pulled down, down until I couldn’t breathe and the world became dark and cold. This was a quiet kind of rage. The kind that made no noise before it pounced. Before it ate your heart and left you shaking, all dust and bone and nothing.
“Don’t say that, Mom,” I whispered.
I turned away from my shadow and closed my eyes but Dad was everywhere.
I wondered if I still loved him, or her.
I thought about those things always; I had never seen love, true love. I wasn’t even sure it existed, or if I believed.
“He still loves me. Us. I can feel it right before I
fall asleep at night...”
You feel the whiskey in your blood.
“...and I see him in the shadows of my candles...”
You see him in the glare of an empty bottle.
“... When I sit by the fire, I can feel him and I know he still loves me. Us.”
He will never love us. You will never be the same.
I looked hard at the windshield, noticing a bug the color of rust crawling across the surface, fighting against raindrops. It was something to focus on, but all I could think of was Dad, Dad, Dad.
Am I so like him that she won’t look at me for more than a second?
“And I -”
I am nothing!
“All right, Mom! I’m late so I’ll see you later.”
“Oh,” she breathed. She ran both hands down the front of her black blazer and shook her head slightly. “Right. Do you need a note or anything?” Her hand flew to her purse, and I could see the scraps of paper filling the inside, waiting: To be taken, to be touched, to hold an excuse. She had so many the papers spilled onto her lap.
“I’ll be okay,” I said. And then, thinking of the missing people I’d heard of on the news and the Bloodletter, “Be safe, Mom.”
I shot her a quick smile and started to get out of the car, the door squeaking as I opened it.
“Bye!” she called already pulling away.
I felt light, a shiver of relief.
A smile slowly grabbed my lips and curved them up as I walked toward the school. I let the rain fall on me, let the cool droplets burst hard against my skin. In those few moments alone, I began to feel something I lost and found each morning; purpose was in the air around me, and I breathed as deeply as I could.
I looked up at the two story brick building, its gleaming blue-black windows glaring down and catching rare flickers of sunlight. The ominous Lakewood Hollow High School name plate was fixed above the main doors, its iron letters flanked by tall trees the color of autumn. Leaves cluttered the school’s lawn, the reds, yellows, and oranges making the grass carpet look dusted with dead fireflies.
