by Tony C. Skye
“We, however, are very aware of the human's complete makeup. While they waste their short-lived lives arguing over and over again, we interact with them each and every day. We speak to them, but they believe it to be their own ideas. We influence them, but they call it a hidden desire – a feeling. The more they deny our existence, the easier it is for us to affect them. It is quite entertaining when I truly think about the irony.”
“While I, myself, enjoy the challenges of subtlety, there are some of us that do not. I believe the label the humans use today is haters.” The man pauses. He turns and looks at Caroline.
“Haters?”, he questions, “Is this correct?”
Caroline looks up and smiles with a single nod of acceptance. The man ignores her amused facial expression and turns back around.
He continues, “Those who are haters wish to torment the humans. They enjoy such things tremendously. They will scratch them, burn them, and make objects move in the human realm in order to heighten their fear. The haters will manipulate dream cycles. Nightmares, I believe they are referred to.”
“Needless to say, we are far superior to humans. We interact with them persistently. But they deny their own existence to the point they cannot see the truth within our existence. To our benefit, I assure you. This denial is our strength. It gives us the ultimate advantage. And we aim to keep it this way. The more they deny – the more we can play.”
beep. beep. beep.
Caroline faintly hears what seems to be a noise made by some type of electronic device. It is familiar, but is too muffled to distinguish its true nature.
beep. beep. beep.
The seventeen-year-old feels the presence of the tall being in front of her. She looks up to meet his inviting gaze. The girl imagines falling into those brown dove’s eyes. She could lose herself in him without any care left in the world. Her hands sweat in anticipation as the mystical being offers her his own large hands for the taking. He smiles his boyish grin while he helps her stand.
beep. beep. beep.
Caroline's eyes drift toward the thickening sounds of repetitious electronic pulses coming from her left. Her attention focuses back onto the being when he places one of his hands upon her chest. His warmth covers her heart. The sudden surge of power causes Caroline's legs to turn weak. She has a strong desire to faint. The girl fights to stand upright, but the option is not there. She collapses into his strong arms. He gently lays her on the cool marble floor.
Before Caroline's eyelids force themselves shut, the gorgeous man nears his lips close to her right ear. As her eyes close, she embraces his words,
“You are mine, earthly-one. I feel your desire. I know your heart. And you have intrigued me, Recorder.”
beep. Beep. Beep.
Caroline sits up.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
She looks to her left. On her nightstand sits an alarm clock. Turning it off, Caroline's legs swing to the right side of the bed – her feet auto-finds her pink rabbit house shoes. She glances back at her bed. The sweat soaked silky bed sheets are a testament to the beads of water glistening upon her face.
The teen heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth and take a much needed shower. While looking in the mirror with a toothbrush in her mouth, she notices three scratches on her right cheek.
Not again.
She immediately examines her chest and sees an imprint of a hand.
That's new. Keep this up and they'll have me in a straitjacket in no time.
Caroline rolls her eyes within her doubt and returns to her morning ritualistic onslaught of beauty time. With a last check in the mirror, she heads downstairs to the early morning smells of breakfast at the Reynold's household.
Sizzle. Pop. Sizzle.
“Ew!” Caroline's mouth puckers in response to the disgusting smell of frying bacon forcing its way into her nose, “I don't know how you can shove that nasty stuff into your mouth.”
Caroline's mom turns with bagel in hand. She kisses her daughter on the forehead as the girl swipes the cream cheese covered delight.
“Good morning to you, too,” Victoria responds.
“I'm starving,” the girl with brown pinned-back hair says, “Where's the..? Never mind.”
Caroline shoves the bagel between her teeth to free up her hands for the inviting orange juice sitting on the table. She pours a glass, takes a bite of her bagel, and washes it down with her drink.
“One of these days that bagel's going to choke you,” the woman of her late thirties boasts with a slight touch of motherly concern.
“Not before that pig fat gets you.”
Victoria laughs. She takes another bite of her bacon strip while in full eye's view of her daughter. Caroline responds with a look of disgust. Her mother grins with a playful triumph before noticing the faint lines upon her daughter's cheek.
“Scratch yourself in your sleep again?”, Victoria stares at the marks.
“Is it bad?”, Caroline answers, “I tried to cover them. But they're deep.”
“You need to salve them,” Victoria responds, “Not infect them with makeup.”
“After school. I promise,” Caroline informs her mother of her decision.
“See that you do,” Victoria accepts her daughter's decision, “And you might consider wearing mittens when you go to bed.”
“Ha. Funny.”
Honk. Honk.
Caroline scarfs down her bagel, slams her o.j. back, and heads for the front door after grabbing her backpack.
“Hey,” the girl's mother exclaims, “Aren't you forgetting something?”
Caroline partially turns her head back while marching for the door, “Love ya!”
Victoria responds even louder as her daughter opens the door, “Love you, too!”
The front door slams shut. Victoria shakes her head slowly while grinning. She polishes off the bacon strip before attending to her morning duties of dishes, laundry, and the ever so lovely gift of motherly house cleaning.
* * *
Caroline opens the passenger side door of the deep blue custom metallic Ford Mustang 5.0. The latest model, this car is fully loaded with all available options. For Rebecca's parents, money is a non-issue. Caroline has often thought they just might swim in the stuff when no one is looking. She opens the door, seats herself inside, and pulls the door closed.
Click.
“Hey girl, you ready to conquer the day?”, Rebecca Hindsworth asks with no response expected. The blond hair blue-eyed girl fits the a-typical stereotype of the Californian buxom beauty to a tee. She, expertly, throws her stick shift into the first position. The rear tires chirp as her right foot overeagerly presses down on the gas pedal.
Rebecca commands the voice auto-feature of her radio to play her favs with the volume set to a comfortable conversational level. The curly blond keeps her eyes on the road while questioning her bff.
“What happened to you last night? I tried texting and calling. You know how I hate to actually make a phone call.”
“I've not been sleeping well lately,” Caroline answers.
“Dreams again?”
“Yeah. Something like that.” Caroline stares out of the passenger side window. A world which seems to be increasingly more distant each day is passing by.
“What about the marks?”, Rebecca quickly denotes, “And don't tell me you did it to yourself.”
Caroline defensively responds, “They're from me, Becca. Freddy Kruegar is not real. Fictional character, remember?”
Rebecca softens her probing, “Sorry, Caroline. I know Freddy's dead. I watched them kill him…over and over and over and..” She pauses momentarily before finishing, “Over and over and over again.”
Caroline looks at Rebecca. Her frustration gives way to a small smile. Rebecca winks with her right eye. She commands her radio to maximize its volume.
* * *
Screech!
“Hey skank! Watch where you're going!”, Rebecca yells after locking the tires up on the parki
ng lot of West Hills High School. She narrowly escapes a head on collision with an older model Chevy pickup truck. Pulling into one of the reserved student stalls, Rebecca continues to vent her irritation,
“I hate poor people.”
Caroline cocks her left brow, “Say what you want, Rebecca. But that poor girl over there has something to drive. I don't even have that.”
Rebecca rolls her eyes, “Gawd, you're full of all kinds of depressing. You need some serious sleep.” Rebecca turns off her ignition, gets out of her car, and shuts the door. Caroline follows her team captain’s example and makes her way around to the driver's side of the car. Rebecca Hindsworth activates her car's alarm with her keychain,
“Come on, Ms. Sadness. Let's get into some trouble.”
“It’s just a dream, Becca,” Caroline counters while walking towards the street that divides the student parking lot from the school.
* * *
“Rebecca! Caroline!”, a brunette with brown eyes and shoulder-length hair yells out from further down the hallway. An eighteen-year-old by the name of Jennifer Hammond quickly walks up to meet the two girls standing by their lockers. She holds up her smartphone for easy view, “You have got to see this.” She activates the play feature on the video. The video portrays a woman in her mid-twenties kissing an older gentleman wearing a suit. He looks to be in his forties.
“Oh, gross,” Caroline responds.
Jennifer laughs, “I know, right?”
Rebecca makes a gagging sound then asks, “Is that Ms. Davis and Mr. Donovan?”
“Yep,” Jennifer triumphantly answers.
Caroline's brows narrow, “I thought Mr. Donovan was married. Don't they have kids?”
Rebecca considers Caroline's situation with her mom and dad. She decides to tread carefully, “Yeah. I think you're right, Caroline.” Rebecca gives Jennifer a scornful look, “Is he married, Jenny?”
Jennifer returns a confused look back to Rebecca. The taller six-foot two-inch girl answers compliantly, “Yes. He's married.”
“Sick bastard,” Rebecca dramatizes. The captain of the varsity cheerleader squad pretends to have a sudden moment of inspiration, “Caroline. Isn't Mr. Cheater head of the senior activities this year?”
Caroline gives her best friend a look of sly recognition, “Why, Becca, I believe he is.”
Rebecca centers herself to face both Jennifer and Caroline, “You guys thinking what I'm thinking?”
Jennifer and Caroline grin devilishly.
“What are you guys thinking?”, a skinny six-foot three-inch Tamara Stilliard imposes. The other three girls turn to face the brown-eyed bleach blond closing in on their area. Looking at her bff, Jennifer raises up her phone.
“Oh,” Tamara speaks with a tone of recognition, “So you showed it to them already.”
Jennifer raises one of her eyebrows slightly, “It's not my fault you just got here. You should have texted. I could have sent it to you.”
“My card’s full – need to get another one. I’m not losing the music I have for a cheat video. And I told you I was going to be running a little late, Jen.”
“And I told you the sisterhood always comes before your boyfriend's body parts,” Jennifer counters.
Caroline drops her purse in frustration. The tiny, five-foot five-inch girl lunges forward. She grabs a fistful of Tamara's shirt with her right hand and her left grabs Jennifer. Marching forward, Caroline walks the girls back first into a set of lockers. The sound of the impact causes nearby onlookers to stop and stare.
“You stupid piggies need to stop acting like little preschool girls before someone decides to rip out your little pigglet throats!”, Caroline yells.
“Geezus, Caroline. Take it easy,” a shocked Rebecca pleas.
Caroline lets go of the two girls, backs away a couple of steps with tears filling her eyes, and attempts to reconcile, “I - I...What did I just do?”
The gathering crowd is sure to clear a path while Caroline quickly turns to find her purse. No one tries to say anything as she heads for the girl's bathroom. After the door closes behind Caroline, Rebecca glares at Jennifer and Tamara,
“Nice going you two. You both know about her dad.” Rebecca shakes her head as she walks off to find Caroline. Jennifer and Tamara watch as the bathroom door closes behind Rebecca.
“Show's over freaks,” Tamara threatens the staring crowd, “Get to steppin'.” Tamara sees a few stragglers still lingering. “Now!”, she reiterates her threat. The lower socialites follow the cheerleader's command and disperse with unrecognizable mutterings.
When Jennifer and Tamara feel as though they can speak in private once more, Jennifer rubs her chest, “That little thing must be on some kind of roids or something.”
Tamara shakes her head, “I don't know what that was. But it didn't feel like any muscle thing to me.”
“Oh, I forgot. You're the expert. You just got off a muscle thing about twenty minutes ago.”
“You know what I mean, Jenny.”
Jennifer looks towards the girl’s restroom, “Let's just try to forget about it and go see if she's alright.”
* * *
knock. knock.
“Occupied by S.V.C. Get lost,” Rebecca snaps at the unseen faces behind the girl's bathroom door.
Jennifer cracks the door enough to peer her head inside, “What if it's a couple of really stupid Sister Varsity Cheerleaders?”
Rebecca looks at Caroline. When she receives the okay within her friend's eyes, Rebecca gives Jennifer and Tamara permission with a nod. Caroline turns to face the other girls as they enter. Her messy face is a direct result of tears mixing with makeup.
“We're sorry, Caroline. Can you forgive two stupid piggies?”, Jennifer pleas.
“Yeah. We're really sorry,” Tamara confirms.
Caroline pouts and holds out both arms, “Me, too.”
Rebecca joins her three friends in a group hug. It is Caroline, however, who is sandwiched in the middle of the tight squeeze. When they release one another, Rebecca notices something wrong.
“Oh, gawd. You're face.”
Panic reverberates in Caroline's green eyes. She runs over to the wide mirror placed above the row of sinks. Looking back at her friends, her silent begging motivates the other three to action.
“Turn around,” Tamara directs.
“We got this, girl,” Jennifer says while opening her purse.
“Here,” Rebecca hands Caroline an anti-bacterial wipe. She lingers for a second while staring at Caroline's face. She arches her right blond brow, reaches back into her purse, and pulls out a handful of the wipes.
“Pfft,” Jennifer enjoys watching Rebecca's response to the disaster at hand.
“What?”, Rebecca's question is more of a warning than anything else.
“Nothing,” Jennifer plays off Rebecca's empty threat. After Tamara helps Caroline to wash up, Jennifer hands her bff a face towel from her purse. Tamara dabs the cloth on Caroline's face.
“Ready,” Tamara steps back.
In just under ten minutes, the S.V.C. walks out of the girl's restroom ready to own their day.
Ring. Ring. The West Hills High School bell announces the five-minute warning to get to class.
“Jennifer, send me a copy of that video,” Rebecca orders, “We're going to make sure we have full control of our senior activities this year. Let's all meet up at lunch and discuss the details.”
Jennifer swipes on her smartphone and grins, “Done.”
Rebecca checks her phone. “Gotcha creep,” she addresses the man on the screen.
“Property of the S.V.C.,” Caroline adds with contentment.
“That's right,” Rebecca acknowledges her approval.
“Gotta go, ladies,” Rebecca responds. The friends hug once more and part ways to start their morning. Captain Rebecca Hindsworth of the S.V.C. calls back to her squad,
“Remember, lunch. And no boys, Tamara.”
“Aye-aye, Captain,” Tamara
confirms playfully, “No boys.”
* * *
Tamara turns the handle to her classroom door. She steps inside and shuts it.
“Ms. Stilliard, so glad you could grace us all with your presence,” a voice greets from behind the teacher's desk.
“Sorry. Bathroom,” the eighteen-year-old responds.
“Uh-huh,” Mrs. Dreiser of classroom 314 Calculus II utters, “Take your seat, Ms. Stilliard. You just might learn something today.”
Tamara looks to her left. She spots her open seat next to her boyfriend Jason. The position forward on the boys’ varsity basketball team, Jason Deveraux is a good fit for Tamara. His six-foot three-inch handsomely built frame doesn't make her feel like a giant when she is near. She grins slightly while making eye contact with her early morning boy ride.
“Hello beautiful,” Jason quietly speaks.
Tamara settles into her seat. Making sure the Calculus Nazi isn't watching, Tamara lip syncs the word, 'hello'.
“Books out. Phones off and put up,” Mrs. Dreiser ritualistically states.
Tamara reaches into her backpack. Placing the thick text upon her desk, the light freckled nose girl notices a folded piece of paper. She covers the paper with her right hand and pulls until the paper drops into her lap. The girl waits for Mrs. Dreiser to face the white marker board. Whenever Mrs. Dreiser begins writing both a partial-derivatives and a double-integral formula, the dark tan girl unfolds the note.
