The Source (The Mindbender Series Book 1)

by C. S Luis

  Their presence made me uncomfortable, but I could only think of the stranger who had come to my rescue. How had I gotten here? What had I really seen? And if it had been real, where was he now?

  Doubts stirred in me; could it have all been a dream? I didn't want that to be the truth. In fact, I wanted to run back to the pool and see for myself, but as soon as I tried to move, Mr. McClellan stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  “Lie still,” he said.

  I wanted to argue but, still dizzy, I dropped back onto the uncomfortable cot. My stomach swirled like I'd eaten bad fish. “What happened?” I asked. “How did I get here?”

  “You don't remember?” Mr. McClellan asked. I barely blinked up at any of them. “The students in your P.E. class found you passed out in the locker room.”

  I immediately sat up again, remembering the stranger's eyes looking at me from that pale face, the struggle with the menacing shadow that had been the man in the black suit all along, emerging from the depths of the pool before my rescuer had come between us.

  He had saved me from something horrible—that much I knew—but what puzzled me was how I knew this to be completely true. Somehow, I realized, I knew because he knew. Because my rescuer understood these things, and that puzzled me even more. I had been drawn to him without thinking, without any understanding of my need for him, urging me to go to him—like a hunger I couldn't satisfy.

  I looked back at all three men and realized my grandfather hadn't come. It made sense that he would be explaining my actions to the P.E. teacher right now, giving her the grieving news of my loss and using it as an excuse for how I acted. If he wanted to talk, I was prepared; I couldn't avoid it any longer. And I only had more questions for him now.

  “Passed out?” I asked, still unable to grasp the timeline they'd presented. “That's not right. I was in the pool area. I know I shouldn't have, but…” I hesitated, debating whether or not I actually wanted to tell them what I'd seen. “Where's my grandfather? I need to speak to him.”

  Mr. McClellan slowly lowered his head.

  “Claudia, honey,” Mr. Claypool whispered, stepping toward the side of the cot. Mr. McClellan put a hand out to stop him.

  “What?” I glared at them. “What? Tell me!” They didn't have to say anything for me to read the pain behind their dark frowns, the wariness of saying it out loud that made them look anywhere but at me. I didn't want to believe it, but I felt it. And when I peeked into their minds, I saw it there, too.

  “I'm so sorry, Claudia,” Mr. McClellan said. “Your grandfather has… passed away.”

  My stomach lurched. “What?”

  “He suffered a heart attack four hours ago. The paramedics tried to revive him, but he was already gone. There was nothing they could do. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

  I scrambled from the cot and raced out the door. I heard them rush behind me as I ran out into the hallway, finding it quite empty. Unnerved by the silence, I rushed through the gym and straight into the girl's locker room, stumbling through the maze of lockers and writing-covered walls. The assistant principals clumsily stumbled behind me, calling my name, but their voices made me more determined to prove to myself what I'd seen.

  I froze at the back of the locker room, trembling and fearing what I would find on the other side. But instead of the swinging door I'd entered the last time, only a solid wall greeted me now. I must have taken a wrong turn, so I doubled back but found lockers instead and no door to the pool area. I stopped only when the three men were standing right in front of me, catching their breaths.

  “Where is it?” I asked. They glanced at one another. “The pool! Where is it? That's where I saw him.”

  I couldn't make sense of anything else, because I couldn't remember what had happened after my rescuer had kissed me.

  The administrators stared at me as if I had gone mad. “Claudia, what are you talking about?” Mr. McClellan replied.

  “The pool in the girl's locker room. That's where I saw him. A man in a black suit and red tie. It has to be him! He did this. He's responsible. He's… he's Death!”

  They exchanged glances again, warily eying me as if something had crawled from my ears.

  “You don't believe me?” I snapped. “I'm not crazy! Where is it? It was here. I saw it!” I yelled so loudly, the lights flickered overhead.

  “Claudia, honey, there is no pool. Milton has never had a pool,” Mr. McClellan calmly said.

  “That's not true. You're lying. I saw it here. It was right there! There was a door and a glass window. And right behind it was a pool, a large dark pool, and that's where he went. I saw him!”

  “Saw who?” Mr. McClellan asked. The wrinkles on his face softened. He was tall but also gentle, a soft-spoken man with widened, droopy, clear blue eyes. His hair was completely white, yet his eyebrows remained dark.

  “A man in a black suit and red tie,” I replied, fighting to calm myself again. “I saw him going into the locker room. I saw him before in the girl's restroom, too. He's after me. I know it. He's the one who did this!” The panic in my voice was real; I hadn't realized until I heard my own terror just how crazy it all sounded.

  In that moment, I recalled the image of the hooded skull that had appeared on the restroom mirror the first time I saw the man in the black suit. That vision alone startled me so much, I couldn't speak until my rescuer's face resurfaced in my mind.

  Mr. McClellan remained silent, glancing again at Mr. Claypool and Mr. Vasquez as if asking for their support. I knew they thought I was crazy. But the more I thought about it and tried to remember, the more I knew I hadn't dreamed it.

  I moved to leave. “My grandfather would know what to do. He'd believe me!” I yelled.

  Mr. McClellan grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. “Claudia, did you not hear me? He's gone. Neil is gone.” He spoke gently enough, but I could only glare into his deep blue eyes in disbelief.

  Then I dropped to my knees without meaning to; Mr. McClellan caught me eased gently to the floor with me in his arms.

  I couldn't make sense of it, and when I cried, I wasn't sure who the tears were for. But something inside me had broken free, something I couldn't control. I sobbed, recalling my rescuer's beautiful face, his sweet scent, and the masculine warmth and protective arms holding me in those few moments. I longed for them now.

  We were connected in some strange, beautiful way I couldn't understand. I loved the idea. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to know him. And the more I wanted to understand it, the more I cried.

  I wrapped my arms around Mr. McClellan, weeping, ashamed of the weakness I was showing. I hadn't been given the chance to cry for my parents. Now, I just couldn't stop. Everything I had felt after hearing of their deaths exploded from within me. I wanted to believe I was strong. But the honest truth was I felt helpless, a victim of my own endless emotions.

  Mr. Claypool and Mr. Vasquez huddled around us. Somehow, I knew in that moment that it would always be like this.

  Chapter 12:

  Michael McClellan

  Michael arrived at the office building early; the secretary wasn't at her desk when he entered the attorney's office, but he noticed Mr. West's door ajar. He heard the man's voice coming from inside the office, so he approached, knocked, and entered, catching Mr. West by surprise.

  The attorney was on a phone call, and as quickly as he caught sight of Michael, he dismissed the other party on the line and immediately hung up. Michael considered it a sign of respect, feeling warmth and assurance when Mr. West rose from behind his desk and stepped around it to greet him. Then he walked Michael toward one of the chair's meant for clients and visitors.

  “Ah, Michael McClellan. Very nice to finally meet you in person.” He shook Michael's hand firmly.

  “I'm sorry. I hope that wasn't an important call. I got here early, and I didn't see your secretary,” Michael politely said.

  “No, no. Come right in. Have a seat. I have the paperwork all
ready for you.”

  Michael took a seat in front of the attorney's desk as Mr. West made his way back to his own comfortable office chair.

  “It's unfortunate we have to meet under such dreadful circumstances,” Mr. West said, “but it's best we get this out of the way. Neil would have wanted it this way.”

  Michael agreed, though Mr. West's words sounded slightly arrogant and almost rehearsed, like an adult talking to a little boy who had just fallen off of his bike, reassuring him everything was for his own good. He recalled it had been Mr. West who had delivered the horrible news to Claudia about her parents' deaths and her going to live with Dr. Edwards.

  “By the way, how is Claudia?” Mr. West asked, leaning forward.

  “She's doing better. She had a nasty gash on the back of the head. Must have been from the fall,” Michael softly said, recalling the events of that day. They had only noticed it after they'd returned to the nurse's office. The pillow she had been lying on was spotted with blood. It hadn't been bad, but it was bad enough to concern him.

  After the news of Neil's death had spread to reach the staff earlier that day, the school had let out early; it had been so quiet. The silence sometimes frightened him when he was working alone, and that day had been no different. The building was especially eerie after what had happened and even more disturbing now that Claudia had insisted she'd seen something.

  But how was she supposed to act after such news of her grandfather's death? She seemed to have anticipated it already. He hadn't known himself until the paramedics were called, and he'd never had a need for a radio before, but Neil had handed him one that very morning.

  Could Neil Edwards have perhaps sensed the imminent danger? His friend's gift had a knack for providing insights into certain otherwise unknowable things. Michael wondered if Claudia possessed the same power. Perhaps that would explain how she'd been aware of her grandfather's death before he'd told her, even if her mind had created an alternative reality to explain it all.

  “It's no surprise she fainted when she heard the news. I can't imagine anything else.”

  “Perhaps,” Michael said; a long sigh left his lips.

  “And the man she claims she saw?” Mr. West asked.

  “The nurse said she bumped her head pretty hard on the floor. She must have thought she saw somebody,” Michael answered, scooting forward on his chair.

  “Do you believe her?” Mr. West appeared foolishly concerned.

  Michael found it hardly convincing. “I don't know what to believe. I just know I have a very young girl who's lost her grandfather, and I'm not sure where to begin.”

  “The mind can play tricks on oneself, especially after a dramatic episode.” The attorney chuckled softly. “But I'm no expert on the ways of the human mind. What I can help you with is the legal part of this whole dilemma.” Mr. West pulled a few documents from a folder, turned them around, and set them on the desk so Michael could read them. “Before he died, Neil asked me to revise his will, leaving you with custody of his granddaughter guardianship of his assets to be distributed for her care until she turns eighteen.”

  “What do you need from me?” Michael asked.

  “Nothing. The paperwork has been drawn up already. All I need is a signature proving you received it,” Mr. West said, handing Michael a pen and pointing to the areas where Michael's signature was required.

  Michael signed a few spots and initialed the rest. When he was finished, Mr. West grabbed the pen from his hand.

  “Great. I'll have my secretary get you a copy and send it via email. There is one more thing,” he said as he gathered the documents from the table and placed them back into the folder.

  “What's that?” Michael asked.

  “It's nothing major. Just a side note.”

  Michael glared at him. He hadn't known Mr. West for very long; he had been Neil's attorney for many years, and Michael had no reason not to trust him. But Mr. West's arrogance sometimes disturbed him.

  “In the event that a next of kin is found, there may be reasons to contest the will.”

  “What? She doesn't have any next of kin. Her parents are dead. As far as I know, Neil was her only living relative.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about. It was just a minor note that had to be mentioned,” the attorney said with a smile as he returned the folder to his briefcase.

  “Regarding Neil's property…” Michael began.

  “It's all in the paperwork my secretary will email you. Read through it carefully, and if you have questions then, call me. Now, if there's nothing else, I have another appointment.”

  Michael nodded, stood, and stumbled toward the door. He figured he could move into Neil's house—a much better space than his tiny, one-bedroom apartment, which was no place for a growing teenage girl.

  The attorney's words echoed in his mind. He couldn't understand why Neil would have added such a note to his will. Had he already had his doubts about being Claudia's only remaining living relative? Perhaps his friend had simply neglected to warn Michael of such a possibility.

  The more he thought about it, the more he doubted his longtime friend would have believed anyone related to Claudia was still alive. But it was in the will, so the doubt lingered. After all, Neil had revised the will. And just what would anyone contest in her present living conditions? Who would Claudia live with? Wouldn't that be her choice? She was seventeen, and he thought that quite old enough to make this kind of decision for herself. Forcing her to wait another year really wouldn't do anything.

  Michael glanced back. He meant to ask such a question, but Mr. West was already on another call, and as their eyes met again and Michael opened his mouth to speak, Mr. West motioned him out the door.

  With that, Michael walked out.

  Outside the office door, he took a deep breath and made his way through the lobby, out of the building, and towards the parking lot. The only remaining issue to resolve was the question of who they would place as Milton's new principal. He'd been appointed the acting principal—a dream he'd hoped one day would become a reality—but he'd already gotten word from the district that a more suitable replacement was on his way.

  Michael wondered who had taken the difficult task of replacing such a great man. Whoever it was could not hold a candle to Dr. Edwards. The entire staff and faculty waited on pins and needles, literally worried sick as they wondered who would be brought in to manage a school that was already coming apart wall by wall—and now one faculty member at a time. Who could possibly meet that responsibility?

  Chapter 13:

  Goodbye

  The funeral fell on a weekend, held at a church in the Museum District. He was buried on a bright and sunny Saturday in the last week of March. I couldn't help but wonder why it had to be such a beautiful day for something like this.

  Everyone was there—faculty, school staff, friends, students, and a lot of people I didn't know. Then Mr. McClellan took the podium. I watched him from my place between Mr. Vasquez and Mr. Claypool. He cleared his throat; it was already difficult for him, and he hadn't even opened his mouth yet. The paper he held shook in his hands. He looked down, then back up at the large, silent, crowded church and the many faces staring back at him and the podium. He then found me, met my gaze, and smiled. I hoped my presence gave him the strength to begin.

  “What can I say about Neil that hasn't already been said?” Michael began with a shaking voice. He stopped and took a deep breath. “Neil was a man who loved life. He was a man who put everyone else's needs before his own. He was a kind and good friend. Those of you who knew him knew of his kindness, his warmth, his generosity, and his great devotion to help those less fortunate. He gave and never asked for anything in return, even though he was hurting inside and hiding a great amount of his own pain. But he never let that change him, never let it stop him from being who he was to all of us. We shared in his happiness and kindness. Even in his wondrous joy when his granddaughter came to live with him. I don't thin
k I have ever seen him as happy as he was the day he heard that news. It had always given him purpose to know that, out there, there was still a part of him in the world. Claudia,” he said, glancing at me once again, “you were the best part of his life, even though he only knew you for a short portion of it. You were his everything.” A few murmurs filled the church.

  The eulogy was beautiful, emotionally overwhelming, and draining as I sat there. I couldn't help but weep, filled with guilt as his words echoed around us. Why had I turned my grandfather away? Why hadn't I listened to him when he tried to talk to me? Why did I have to be so stubborn? Again, I blame my father for that trait.

  The ceremony ended with a drive to the burial at the cemetery. A few more now joined those from the church; close friends and family lingered around the casket surrounded by flowers and funeral wreaths.

  I sat by Mr. McClellan as the priest read from a black book and said a few words. Tears were shed. I wanted it to end.

  Mr. McClellan put a hand on my shoulder when the casket was lowered into the ground, and then I lost myself. I grabbed a hold of Mr. McClellan and held onto him as if he were the only thing keeping me alive too. I was alone again, left my first my parents and now my grandfather.

  Mr. McClellan returned me to my grandfather's house afterward. The ride home was quiet, even as we walked up the steps to my grandfather's humble porch. Even when we stood in front of the open front door and I thought Mr. McClellan would say something, I didn't give him a chance. Instead, rushed up the stairs, partly expecting him to come after me. He didn't. I caught a glance of him rooted at the bottom of the staircase, looking up after me, before I slammed the bedroom door.

  I collapsed on the bed and looked around at the antique furniture. How I'd hated the style when I'd first come to live with him. And now, I couldn't help but remember everything I'd ever said or thought about him and his home. I didn't want anything to change. Anger made me stand again and grab at the posters I'd hung on my wall to rip them down. I took the jewelry box from the dresser, then shoved it into the drawer of the nightstand. Somehow, that just didn't feel right, so I pulled it out again and placed it on the table where it belonged.