by C. S Luis
“You're not.” I appreciated all the attention he gave me—the concern in great abundance—but it was also a little too much. I couldn't blame the kindhearted man with only the best intentions, so I just tried to reassure him instead.
“I'll have a radio on me, just in case,” he said, looking both tired and overwhelmed. He shifted uneasily, holding his shaking hands, at one point forgetting to turn off the car and grab his keys. His nerves had gotten to him, but I didn't know if it was from taking over as principal or from caring for me—or both. Michael had earned the right to assist as replacement until the new principal showed up in the next few days. He'd done a great job so far, but I was still a little tender about anything regarding my grandfather; I didn't know if I could even enter his office without breaking down. I didn't want to find out.
We got out of the car and made our way across the gravel parking lot and into the building. Michael held the door for me, and once we stepped into the hall, the place seemed like a totally different building—darker and colder, like the life had been sucked right out of it. I liked to think my grandfather's absence had a bit part to play in that.
At the end of the hall was the main office on the left and the library on the right. Through the windows in the library doors, I felt the abundance of literature calling to me despite the darkness there and the locked doors.
Michael unlocked the office, then turned to me before he opened the door. “I know we're here really early. I just have a lot of work to do.” He frowned and tried to smile, but it only made him look a little nauseous.
“I know,” I said. “Don't worry about me.”
“It's kind of my job now,” he said. “To worry. I know you don't want to wait in here,” he said, nodding toward the main office and where my grandfather used to spend his days. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a pair of keys. “Ms. Witherson won't be in for another few minutes,” he said, handing me the keyring, “but I'm sure she won't mind if you sit in the classroom and wait for her. It's a master key.” I took the keys and nodded. “Room 205. Do you need help finding it?”
“Nope,” I said. Apparently, I didn't hide my irritation as well as I'd hoped.
Michael rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Sorry. I know. You'll be fine. I'll just be in here.”
I nodded and walked away before he opened the door and I accidentally glanced inside the main office. Across from the library was the dark stairwell in the corner leading up to the second floor. As I climbed it, the sun was just beginning to come up now, filling the empty hallways with new life. I moved down the eerily empty hall toward 205, then saw the door propped wide open and the light on inside.
Apparently, she was already here.
For a minute, I thought about going back downstairs and telling Michael she'd gotten to school before us, but I didn't want to bother right away; he needed some time alone. If Ms. Witherson let me stay, I might as well use the extra time here this morning to make up all the work I'd missed before and after my grandfather's funeral.
When I stopped in front of the open door, I found her writing an assignment on the chalkboard. She stopped, glanced at me, and an instant blast of dislike shot from her mind straight into mine.
She was a slender, brown-haired woman, probably in her thirties, dressed in a tacky pastel-pink blouse and black slacks. She'd never been married and was still slightly bitter because of it, having watched all her other friends get married while she stayed a bridesmaid.
God, I hated being able to see all that inside her head just from a glance, but she was apparently one of those people who were so easy to read. It was more of a challenge not to look at what was there.
She stopped writing and directed her attention toward me, her mind nearly screaming that she wanted to make the best first impression with me for the sole reason of getting ahead among the faculty.
“Ms. Witherson?” I called anyways, stepping into the class.
“Yes.” She forced a smile, the tossed her head back and spoke in a musically lilting voice. “You must be Claudia Belle. Michael has told me so much about you.”
I knew instantly she was lying. The vibrations of a person's voice and how much their tone varied in range always revealed a lot to me about what they really meant. More than anything, though, her innermost thoughts were as clear as day.
'Spoiled little rich girl.'
Why did she hate me? It really was this simple for her; I was a child of privilege and had inherited everything from my parents when they died. And then from my grandfather. The fact that I'd only gained such a fortune by losing the only people I loved had never even crossed her mind.
“Michael said it would be all right if I waited in here until class starts,” I said. “I honestly didn't think anyone was here yet. I don't think he did, either.”
Her eyes grew wide and incredibly round, then she laughed softly—a very fake, childless laugh, phony as the smile she flashed me. “Of course, there would be someone here. I take my work very seriously. You make sure you tell him that.”
“Sure. Since you're here, though, I don't want to bother you.” Really, I didn't want to have to listen to her think about all the reasons she hated me. “Would it be all right if I spend some time making up my work?” I asked.
“Of course!” she answered immediately with a blinding smile.
“In the library?”
Her thoughts bombarded me like she'd shot them out of a gun. 'What's wrong with my classroom? Is it not up to your expectations, rich girl? Why is everyone so worried about you? At least I don't have to keep looking at that perfect little face.'
“Oh,” she said sweetly, but her nostrils flared. “Sure.”
I nodded and turned to leave, feeling the hair on my arms rise under her mental assault.
“Miss Belle,” she called. I stopped halfway out the door and turned around slowly. She stepped around her desk to approach me. “I'm so sorry to hear about your parents and your grandfather. Dr. Edwards was the kindest and most generous man I've ever known. I can't imagine what you're going through. If you ever need a friend or just someone to talk to, I'd like you to consider coming to me. Remember that, okay?”
For a minute, I thought I might have been wrong about her. But then whatever wall she'd put up around her thoughts to make such a convincingly genuine offer burst like a damn. 'Your grandfather was nothing but a crazy old man. I say good riddance.'
I angrily rushed through the doorway and into the hall, where the lights flickered in response. Furious, I pictured her large metal bookcase and swiped my hand across the open air in front of me. From inside Ms. Witherson's classroom came a loud crash, a scream, then muttered cursing. I smirked. Maybe she needed a better shelf; then she wouldn't have so many books to pick up when it fell.
My enjoyment didn't last very long, though, when I realized I'd never destroyed someone's things on purpose like that before. Why now? As I walked down the stairs and came up on the library entrance, the guilt just grew even stronger. Sure, it was just a stupid shelf, but I'd sent it to the ground out of anger. Hell, I couldn't even control myself most of the time, but I'd executed my intention with that bookshelf perfectly. I couldn't help but think it had more to do with how angry I'd been at her than anything else.
Daddy would be so pleased.
No he wouldn't; he'd be scolding me right now, just like the countless other times he'd reprimanded me for losing control.
'Claudia, you know better,' he would have told me. 'What were you thinking?'
Great. I'd been spending so much time alone, now I was hallucinating my father dealing out punishment in the middle of the school hallway.
He wagged a finger at me. 'Claudia, you know better.'
After using Michael's master key to unlock the library, I turned on the lights, grabbed a chair, and buried myself in a textbook.
I nearly dozed off a few times, bored by the schoolwork until I couldn't keep my eyes open. My mind wandered into another realm just t
o keep me from thinking about what I'd done. But who was I kidding? This would never be something I could just lock away and forget.
Being back in this school was harder than I'd expected, and I found myself thinking about the first time I saw the man in the black suit in the bathroom. I'd never know if it was real, but it had been real enough that day to seriously scare me. What if he was the same creature that had taken my grandfather?
As if to keep me from reliving the horrors of that day and the dark, abandoned pool that didn't actually exist, the strong, confident face of handsome rescuer flashed into my mind. I tried to ignore it; he probably didn't exist, either. But the memory of him looking at me with so much relief and the feeling of his arms wrapped around me kept popping up in my head like someone was trying to send me a message. But how ridiculous was that? Did I really want to believe in him so badly?
Still, I couldn't forget what I'd felt when he appeared by my side—some deeper, intriguing thing that made me feel more connected to him than to anyone else. Maybe I was going crazy, but the feeling of having known him from somewhere was as real as the book in my hands.
I closed the book and gave up on the report I had to submit in two days. Just one of the perks of having an assistant principal as my guardian—I never got to skip homework assignments.
When I looked up through the library windows, the door to the main office was propped wide open. Men I'd never seen before carried out boxes and furniture. One of them set a box down in the hallway, its contents nearly overflowing from the open top, and turned to help another mover with a heavy-looking desk. His foot knocked against the box when they passed, and a picture toppled from the top of the pile and to the floor. The glass frame shattered, but the movers didn't stop with the cumbersome desk between them.
I couldn't help myself; I stood and left the library, watching the box like something might jump out of it. When I got close enough, I bent over and picked up the shattered picture frame, overwhelmed by anger and sadness.
Then my mind filled with images all at once, each of them fighting to be seen; I had no control. I saw my grandfather drop his crystal—the same Crystal Michael had showed me. The man in the black suit bent down to pluck the crystal from the floor. Then he smiled, his eyes flashing a bright gold before they filled with darkness.
'I've come so far… and now I've found you. My source.'
The light in his eyes grew, then cleared to reveal a world falling apart, the skies on fire, and all around, the earth collapsed beneath its people trying to flee. The man in the black suit was there too, but he looked different—normal.
The destroyed world fell away, replaced by a glass tank. The man in the black suit was imprisoned inside, fighting to escape. A group of men in lab coats examined him from every angle, studying his struggles as he submerged in a thick liquid. Another black, tar-like mixture poured into the tank, entered his lungs as he fought for one last breath, and then the man in the black suit stopped moving.
Then his eyes shot open, and it smile back at me—not him but a darkness that pooled in his eyes and consumed him.
I blinked and gasped, my heartbeat pounding in my head. Then I dropped the frame back onto the pile in the box and headed into the main office.
Those images hadn't come from the man in the black suit; I knew it in my bones. This was a warning from my grandfather, meant to be shown when I touched the picture frame—about the man and the darkness.
Mr. Claypool and Mr. Vasquez disappeared into my grandfather's office at the back of the main office. I stood there and stared at that open door, wondering what my grandfather had actually tried to tell me. Or was this another premonition—something like the awful shadowed figure I'd seen beside him in his kitchen? Father had told me once that the gift of seeing future events was also mine, just like I saw things that had already happened—if I chose to use that gift. The difficulty now was in telling them apart.
When Mrs. Wallace saw me, she frowned and leaned forward in her chair. “Claudia. Is everything okay?”
“He was trying to warn me,” I muttered.
“I'm sorry?”
I blinked, realizing I was staring right at her and had actually said that out loud. “I'm fine,” I whispered. She smiled politely, but she had to think I was mad.
Another mover stepped out of my grandfather's office, wheeling a dolly stacked with several boxes. My eyes danced back toward the open door, and Mrs. Wallace asked, “What can I help you with?”
“What's going on?” I moved forward, and when she moved as if she were about to stand, I stopped.
“They're clearing a few things out of the office for the new principal,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
When I turned slowly to look at her, her eyes met with nothing but distress and genuine concern. “New principal?” I knew this was coming, that someone had to take my grandfather's place at the school, but I still felt dazed—like I wasn't even here. The images kept flashing in my head. I had to see more, to find the answers my grandfather had tried to give me before he … was taken from me.
I could see Mr. Claypool and Mr. Vasquez from where I stood, their backs turned toward me.
“Yes,” Mrs. Wallace replied and gave a slow, gentle nod.
The suited administrators emptied the bookshelves and packed my grandfather's books into a box, then gathered the last pictures from his desk and stuck them in another box beside the door.
An image of large space filled with glass tanks invaded my thoughts—the same as the glass container holding the man in black in that first unwanted image. Where were these visions coming from? I felt some other presence strengthen—some force invaded me, and I connected with it whether I wanted to or not. But I had no idea what it was or where it came from.
“Where are they taking my grandfather's things?”
It hit me that I'd find an answer there, among the items that had surrounded him for so many years.
My face burned as an inexplicable rage and urgency gathered inside me, like I'd been set on fire. I wanted to find out before I lost the connection. My grandfather would have wanted that from me, at least. If these messages were coming from him, there had to be an answer in his things.
The pens and pencils on Mrs. Wallace's desk rattled where they lay, then the desk itself trembled. A few pens rolled on their own and hit the floor before I could stop it.
Mrs. Wallace grabbed at the desk, unable to stop it from dancing. “We're not getting rid of anything. It's all going to your grandfather's house,” she said.
Her desk settled as I moved away toward my grandfather's office, and I took a deep breath. What did he want to show me?
As soon as I stepped inside, Mr. Claypool and Mr. Vasquez turned and smiled in greeting until they realized something was bothering me. I went straight to the boxes and picked up another framed photograph—of me. My grandfather had framed an old picture of me a week before the accident.
I recognized the picture, but I had no idea how he'd gotten it. Still, the fact that he'd taken the time to frame it and put it in his office made my heart ache.
Above us, the lights flickered repeatedly, and I heard Mrs. Wallace's desk rattling again. The poor woman was apparently doing a good job of keeping it steady; no one else in the office seemed to notice.
“Claudia?” Mr. Claypool called, slowly looking up at the lights.
“Something's coming…” I whispered. The words sounded far away, and it took me a second to realize I had no idea why I'd said it.
“Something?” Mr. Claypool asked. I turned to look at them, feeling my eyes grow wide. “Claudia, my dear, are you all right?”
Then I felt it, like a white-hot knife poking into my head, and the words tumbled out of me again. “Something's here.”
A few of the lights blinked out; one or two others flickered. Mr. Vasquez pointed, but Mr. Claypool didn't seem to notice. My grandfather's old desk almost jumped, echoed by the thump of Mrs. Wallace's outside; she was now sitting
on top of it, looking slightly ridiculous.
“Mr. Claypool!” she squeaked.
But Mr. Claypool only stared at me, and I found myself opening up to the thing trying to reach me.
Hello?
'It's you again,' came a man's voice. 'Where are you?'
How can I hear you?
'I don't know. This shouldn't be…' The voice grew distorted, then disappeared entirely. Who was he?
“Claudia?” Mr. Claypool grabbed my shoulder. “Claudia, wake up!” He looked up at the lights above us, then the quivering desks. Did he know? Had he always known these things happened because of me and that I couldn't control it?
He shook me a little, and I blinked to see him staring straight into my eyes. His mouth opened, but nothing came out, and I felt it rolling off him in waves that he didn't know what to do. “What did you see?” he finally asked. “What's here?”
I frowned at him, too confused myself to answer. Then he released me, and when I took another deep breath, the lights blinked on and the desks fell still. I stepped back, absently lifting a framed picture of my grandfather from the nearest box. “I miss him,” I said, though I knew that wasn't really an answer.
Mr. Claypool nodded, looking shaken and confused. Then he lowered his voice. “What happened Claudia?”
“I… don't know.” I stared at the picture of my grandfather, and then the voice hit me again full-force.
'Hello?' It came with an echo, and then a pair of eyes flashed at me from the face of a tall, brawny young man with golden-blond locks. He stood a fair distance away, dressed in faded jeans, a silk patterned shirt of pastel blue with the sleeves rolled up, and a gray vest. He tilted his head, examining me with those eyes, and he felt so… close.
“Hello?” I couldn't help but ask it; now we were the only ones in an empty hallway. He frowned in confusion, and when he stepped toward me, a powerful surge of energy vibrated between our bodies. I felt it coursing through him, too, the electrifying current racing through me. Then I realized it was coming from him, and he gasped. The energy surrounded both of us, drawing us toward each other like to magnets; the closer he came, the more powerful it grew, and his eyes flashed a bright, brilliant gold.
