"Nicolas, why aren't you having breakfast like everyone else?" I asked as I knelt beside him.
The small boy yawned and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I had a bad dweam and Miss Lowi said I could sleep more if I wanted.”
Miss Lori was the caretaker assigned to the toddlers at the orphanage. She was young and new to the home. It would only be a matter of time before she would get tired of having to clean up after the little ones and quit. The younger employees always left, and I would fill in until Mrs. Whitaker found a replacement. I had spent some time watching over Nicolas and the other toddlers before Mrs. Whitaker hired Lori Hart.
“What kind of bad dream?” I glanced at the clock on the wall. I figured I had about five, ten minutes tops, to spare.
“The bad man was chasing you.” Nicolas lifted his arms to me, and I scooped him up.
“It was just a dream. See. I’m fine,” I said holding him tight and as I did, I realized I was going to miss him too.
Nicolas shook his head. “No, the bad man was always chasing you. Forwever.” He put his head down on my shoulder and held on tight. “He had black hair and wed eyes,” Nicolas whispered, lifting his head and surveying the empty hallway.
“Nicolas, get back to your room. Analey will miss her ride if you make her late,” Miss Lori scolded him as she came around the corner and made her way towards us. Her auburn hair was pulled up in a tight bun and she wore the usual employee uniform, drawstring pants with matching top that resembled nursing scrubs. Miss Lori’s were blue, indicating she worked with the younger males.
“There is no bad man after me. Okay?” I put Nicolas down and looked into his eyes. “I promise.”
“Okay,” Nicolas said as he let Miss Lori take him back to bed.
“Dr. Ramoni will be here later and you can tell her about your bad dream.” Miss Lori told Nicolas.
Dr. Jamie Ramoni and Dr. Carl Lenard were the child psychiatrists we were required to see during our time at the orphanage. Nicolas and I were fortunate to have been assigned to Dr. Ramoni. In my very biased opinion, she was the more caring and kinder of the two. Dr. Lenard had witnessed one of my breakdowns and didn't care for me much afterward. He said I was being dramatic and acting out to get attention, but attention was the last thing I ever wanted. Dr. Ramoni knew my history and she still had the patience to sit through my silent treatments and self-pity parties until I was ready to talk. She didn't agree with my self-perceived notion that I wasn't meant to be born. Dr. Ramoni had tried to convince me that my mother did want me but that she couldn't keep me. I didn't know how that was possible and I accused her of lying to me. She didn't let my tantrums bother her and instead, she guided me to focus on the more positive areas of my life, which I had told her was hogwash (I had gotten in trouble for using a more colorful phrase with Dr. Lenard). I knew I wasn't loved or wanted the way I imagined a child should be. I learned at an early age that the rejection of being unwanted was an integral but painful part in the lives of orphaned children. I also believed the countless lonely nights spent foolishly wishing my parents would regret their decision and reappear in my life, could be offset by the unforgettable friendships only the lost souls of innocent children could provide. I thought of Erica as my sister and Nicolas was like a little brother to me. I hoped I had made a positive influence on them by being a part of their lives too.
I had to admit it. There had been some good people in my life and Dr. Ramoni was one of them. I would miss her, but I was glad I didn’t have to say my farewells to her in person. Erica had offered to do it for me.
My chest tightened when I thought about having to separate myself from the only family I had ever known. The only family I would ever know. I tried not to focus on the negativity of my life, but I couldn't help but think about some of the other children. Some of my housemates had moved into the homes of seemingly loving families only to suffer at the hands of molesters, abusers, and drunks. I was one of the lucky ones. I had never been chosen, had never lived anywhere besides Havencrest Orphanage, and because of it, I had never had to experience those horrors.
I shivered as I hurried down the hall and out of the church that had been my home for 18 years. I felt sad having to leave my home and friends, but better things waited for me in Shadowmist.
I endured the cold February morning as I sat on the steps and waited for my ride to the bus station. It had only been a nightmare, but as I sat on the cold concrete steps, I wondered about the bad man in Nicolas’ dream.
TWO
The old brown Ford pulled up to the driveway and parked as I reached the curved pavement. I stood, pulling the strap of my bag over my shoulder, and glanced back to the pointed roof tops of the cathedral for one final look.
“Let me get those for you,” the driver said in a raspy voice and extended his pudgy hand towards me. The strong smell of the cigar he had just put out still lingered on his breath. He took my bag from me and tossed it in the back seat. I pushed it aside and slid in next to it. Inside the car, the air was thick with the smell of stale cigars mixed with the pine scented air freshener that hung from the rear-view mirror. I rolled down the window and inhaled the cold fresh air as strands of my black hair blew in the frigid breeze. I rolled the window back up and ran my hand through my windblown hair.
The half hour drive to the nearest bus station gave me time to think about the one thing I had been desperately trying to forget. Without trying, Nicolas had innocently reminded me of my own nightmares. Nightmares that felt too real to be accepted as just bad dreams. I rested my head on the back of the tan seat and brought back every terrifying detail of the latest one. I found it odd how I could replay it as if my mind had recorded it like an old movie playing over and over in black and white. Behind closed eyelids, my eyes darted side to side as the scenes came to life once again. Instantly, I was back in the dark and rainy night of my nightmare.
She ran through the rain and down the dark streets yelling for someone, anyone to help her. It was late into the night and no one was around to hear her cries. The rain hit hard against her face, smearing her makeup and leaving black smudges around her eyes and down her cheeks. She pulled the lapels of her brown jacket closer together as she ran.
Jack was dead.
The big man with the ugly scar on his face had killed Jack and now he was after her. She was running not just for her life, but her baby's as well. She didn't fear for her life as much as she feared for that of her unborn child. That was all she could think of, her sweet, innocent baby, (she didn't know its gender yet, but her mother's intuition said it was a girl) so she kept running. Her rain-soaked shoes splashed through the puddles as the shadows danced around her as she ran in and out of the dim light streaming down from the street lamps. She could hear his footsteps hitting the pavement close behind her. She urged herself to run faster, but she was moving as fast as she possibly could. The pregnant woman knew he was mocking her. He could have caught her when he had killed her husband, but he was enjoying the chase of the hunt. She ran for what seemed like miles but didn't stop.
Then suddenly, the night fell deadly silent. The rain was no longer pouring down, and the panting of her rapid breathing was the only sound in the still night. The woman couldn't hear anyone following behind her and she forced her tired legs to slow down, but her heart was beating forcefully in her chest. Through the droplets of rain clinging to her eyelashes, she looked around through the darkness of the night. The street was empty and the rain had slowed to a light sprinkle. Afraid to linger alone in the dark, she took off again but in a sluggish jog. The little apartment she shared with Jack was just around the corner on the next block. She was almost there and she kept going until she was home.
She stopped in front of the apartment building and wrapped her fingers around the cold metal railing to hold herself up. She raised her foot to climb the first step, but it slipped on the wet concrete and she fell to her knees. Her knee burned as the edge of the step tore through her leggings and slas
hed her skin. Blood seeped out through the open wound as she pulled herself up, using the rail for support.
She was almost to her feet again when someone grabbed her by the back of her coat. She expected to be thrown across the street and tensed in anticipation, her scream caught in her throat. The man lifted her up like she weighed ten pounds instead of the healthy 140 she had reached now near the end of her third trimester, and he forcefully placed her on the sidewalk. The woman looked up, expecting to see the man with the scar, but his face was void of such. This man was somewhat less malicious than the one who had been chasing her, yet he still had the same rage glowing in his eyes.
"I'm sorry but I have to do this to ensure the survival of my family." The stranger almost sounded as if he was sorry he was about to kill the woman and her unborn baby. He spoke again, this time looking down at her belly swollen with life. "She is a danger to our kind. It has to end now." The rain started to come down again, and water was dripping from the ends of the man's hair.
"No. Please don't," the woman sobbed, begging him to have mercy on her baby, but the man paid no attention to her pleas.
The woman felt a painful stab in her neck and she tried to fight back, but her attacker was too powerful. He held her still and watched with great pleasure as the light in her eyes flickered out. He drained her life with one single bite.
She blacked out just as the sirens began to wail in the distance. Someone had heard her screams and had called for help, but it was too late as her lifeless body crumpled to the ground.
I was pulled out of my nightmare as the car rolled to a stop.
“Time to go Miss,” the driver announced in a grating voice, followed by a hoarse cough.
“Thank you.” I looked out the window, expecting to see the man from my nightmares, but he wasn’t there and once I was satisfied, I was safe, I stepped out of the old sedan, pulling my bag out behind me.
I surveyed the surroundings before making my way into the bus station to trade my voucher for a ticket. The snow had stopped falling but the ground was covered in a light dust of the white powder. I hurried into the building, hoping it was warmer inside the bus station. The white brick building was small and claustrophobic and in the middle of the room was a row of metal chairs with faded blue vinyl cushions. A young man laid across two of the chairs. He had his eyes closed, and he clutched his black bag to his chest. An older woman occupied one of the other seats; the last two chairs remained empty.
I stepped in line behind about a dozen other customers waiting to buy tickets. Among them were a group of young people, two guys and two girls dressed in leather pants and jackets with piercings and tattoos on every visible piece of skin. The tall guy with messy blonde hair had one arm around a petite brunette girl. She had the similar leather attire, but I noticed she had no tattoos and only her ear lobes were pierced. The girl shifted her weight from her right foot to her left as the guy turned his head and looked over his shoulder at me. He raked his eyes over me from head to toe and smiled. I gathered my black hair over my shoulder and averted my gaze around the room taking in the dingy white walls and scuffed tile flooring. The people moved forward, and the guy turned his attention to his girlfriend. I let out the breath I was holding in but didn’t move up with the line.
“Ahem,” I heard someone behind me clear their throat.
I took a step forward, not bothering to look back to acknowledge the impatient person.
The bus was due soon and I hoped I would get through the line before it arrived. I was relieved when the line began moving faster than I’d expected, and I was soon among the crowd of passengers waiting on the charter that would transport us to various destinations.
I pushed open the glass door and decided to risk frostbite as I waited outside for the bus. One boy around my age, caught my attention. He was sitting on the single bench out front of the bus station with a skate board in his lap. He wore a black jacket with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking down at his phone scrolling through the touch screen with his thumb. A pair of white ear buds hung around his neck.
He lifted his gaze, glancing in my direction, then moved it back down to his phone. His tousled hair and hazel eyes reminded me of my friend, Heath Gibbs. I met Heath at the orphanage. He too had been there since birth and we had other things in common. We both liked music (we didn’t have a preference), and we loved to read. Heath had an impressive collection of books that I both admired and envied. I found it easy to talk to him; he shared my opinions on almost every topic.
Heath was serious and quiet most of the time. He tended to keep to himself and seemed to enjoy his solitude. He was the type of person to just sit back and observe. He was private and rarely talked to anyone, but he trusted me enough to let his guard down when we were together. Heath believed everyone was born with a purpose. It was one of the few ideas I disagreed with, but I never voiced my opinion on the subject.
Heath was one of those children who had it worse than others. When he was 15 years old, the orphanage placed him with a couple who wanted to adopt him. Heath couldn’t understand why they wanted a child of his age, especially being in their mid-thirties themselves. I imagined they must have abused him or worse because he had tried to serve justice on his own when no one believed his accusations. I remembered that cold December night in vivid detail.
“They are trying to kill me. I found out what they really are, and they want to kill me,” Heath had rambled on, his voice shaking as he struggled with each word. Recalling the fear in his voice caused a chill to run down my spine. He had told the judge that his foster parents were monsters and he had to kill them before they killed him. He waited until they were asleep, then poured gasoline in every room and set fire to the house. Heath ran from the burning house, but the police found him freezing in a corner of a nearby alley. The fire had caused major damage to the house but fortunately no one had been hurt. The judge had sentenced Heath to three years in juvenile detention for his crime and granted him his freedom when he turned 18. The people he had feared didn’t want to press any charges and they convinced the judge to drop all charges of arson and attempted murder. Heath didn’t return to Havencrest, but he had tried to stay in contact with me. He wrote me letters and called a few times, but I had to put some distance between us when the insanity set in because I could feel the intensity of his fears.
Heath talked about the people who looked like ordinary humans to everyone else, but only he could see the ghastly features that proved them to be something else.
Something not human.
I couldn’t imagine what else they could be, if not human. Heath referred to them as red-eyed demons and he was convinced his sole purpose for being created was to hunt them. He tried to explain to me how to see them and wanted me to help him. While he tried to untangle all the chaos that inhabited his fragile mentality, I blocked it out of mine. I was afraid the insanity would seep out and infiltrate my mind. I feared I too would start seeing monsters.
I tried to let the images of the nightmare, as well as the memories of Heath, go as I prepared to board the bus. The large blue and white charter pulled into the station and the line of passengers moved forward at the speed of a stampede of turtles, as they climbed onto the bus.
I hauled my bag, which carried everything I owned, onto the bus and searched for an empty seat. The leather clad group took the seats in the rear of the bus and the skater boy sat in the first seat behind the driver. I chose a spot near the middle not wanting my uneasiness to appear obvious to the group at the back. I sat down and fixed my gaze at the seat in front of me as I waited for the bus to fill. Long, narrow cracks ran down the vinyl back, and fibers of frayed cotton protruded out from the thin slits. I lifted my hand to stuff the white strands back in, but then dropped my hand to my lap instead and pulled on a loose thread on my worn blue jeans.
It didn’t take long for all the passengers to board. As the last stragglers piled in, a large man entered the bus minutes before it rolled out. He
had muddy brown hair that fell over his forehead and a large scar on the right side of his face. The old laceration started just under his hairline and ran down in a slight angle to his right eyebrow. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something familiar about this man. He glared at me as he took his seat. I averted my gaze away from him and looked out the window as the bus began to pull out of the station. I looked past the building to the mountains behind it. The blue sky was the perfect backdrop for the landscape of evergreen trees and snowcapped peaks. I wished I had the talent of painting or at least a camera, so I could capture the beauty of the scene. I committed it to memory and focused on it as the bus moved down the road.
Unable to quell the unrelenting sensation of being watched, I glanced towards the man. An older lady and a young boy sat where the man should have been. My heart raced as I searched the crowded bus for him. My gaze was met by the leather-wearing guy in the back, and I saw the skater boy with the headphones still in his ears, but no man with a scar. I didn’t want to think more about the appearance and sudden disappearance of the man. I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and closed my eyes as the unwelcomed images returned.
She ran but it was never fast enough. He was always there right behind her, ready to attack at any moment. She turned the corner and headed north down the bending road.
The rain was coming down hard, blurring her vision and making each step more perilous as she made her way down the dark street. Her slow movements were no match for his. He was unbelievably fast, and her condition slowed her down drastically, but he was playing cat and mouse with her. Her side burned, and her throat ached from the cold wind, but she kept going. She couldn't stop.
Edge of Forever: The Death and Life of Analey Rose (The Immortal Souls Book 1) Page 2
