When was the last time I had looked at it? My mind was racing, throwing images upon images of the past days at me, bleeding together into one confusing swirl of color and motion. Panic pulled me under, clamped down painfully on my chest, and made it impossible for me to breathe.
Calm down ― Oh God! ― Breathe! Breathe! I silently screamed at myself, otherwise unmoving, trying to get a grip on myself.
It’s just my imagination! Nothing else! I’m in the real world, remember? Right?
I blinked a couple of times, desperately trying to get my blurry vision back into focus. I took a deep controlled breath and let my eyes move once more in the direction of my left upper chest, utterly convinced of having hallucinated.
A shiver ran down my spine.
Impossible! , my mind screamed over and over again, the word seemingly echoing around my thoughts as if bouncing off imaginary walls; the word as clear and distinguishable as if I had spoken it aloud.
Or had I actually screamed out loud, I wondered, listening into the silence for panicked sounds coming from my parents’ bedroom, which would have indicated that my screams had been heard.
Nothing. No sounds at all.
Of course, my dad was already at work as it was already later in the morning. My mother, though normally also at work by now, was sick in bed this morning with a mild case of the flu that had started up last night, and would have heard me if I had screamed out loud.
Gasping for air, I rushed to my bedroom window, clawing at the window latch with fumbling fingers, my hands shaking violently. After several moments, I finally managed to open the window. I flung my head and upper body through the window frame and greedily sucked in the cool crisp morning air.
It was September, and the usual chill that set in this time of year was intensified by the aftermath of a stormy night. The air had a fresh cleansing feel to it that soothed the burning pain in my lungs and immediately started to clear my thoughts.
Sitting on my window seat, cool air caressing my face, I tried to reason with the small part of me that actually believed in the paranormal, or in magic.
Or in whatever inexplicable experiences are called, I thought wryly.
The image I had seen had already irrevocably burned itself into my consciousness. It wasn’t the image itself that had made me panic. The image was harmless.
A beautiful rose.
As innocent an image as ever was; and as common as any rose tattooed to anyone’s body.
Tattooed, I thought. Tattooed being the operative word! I was definitely not tattooed. Never had been and never had wanted to be. Well, maybe I had thought about it once or twice…
So unless I had somehow managed to get really drunk at some party I didn’t even remember going to, had woken up tattooed the next morning like many before me, and had then successfully managed to repress every second of it, I definitely had a problem! There just wasn’t a reasonable explanation for a shapeless birthmark suddenly turning into a rose.
I thought back hard. Two nights ago, I had been standing in front of the bathroom mirror after stepping out of the shower. After clearing a little round space on the mirror with the aid of my hair-dryer like I usually did in order to have a clear view of myself, I had shot a glance at my birthmark.
I only remembered so well, because at the time I’d thought that eighteen years of hiding were enough and that I ought to be more grown up about it.
That had been on the evening leading up to my birthday, and it had looked like it always had: shapeless! I had gone to bed early that night, before eleven o’clock ― my actual birthday ― and hadn’t really looked at my birthmark since.
Now the shapeless mark had changed. Seemingly out of the blue, colored lines had sprung up to form outlines of petals. They danced fluidly around the once drab birthmark, forming a beautifully contoured rose in various shades: a darker red outlined the petals and filled in the areas that were supposed to be shaded. The petals themselves were of a lighter reddish-pink. Cream-colored hues depicted the sections where the light softened their color.
The petals remained tightly shut around the bud. There was no stem, nor leaves or thorns, just the rose.
A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to work its way up my throat.
Changed … into a beautiful rose the moment I turned eighteen! Right … isn’t that what every girl wants: to blossom?
The wave of hysteria worked its way through my throat and came out in a choked laugh that turned to horrible coughing.
Admit it: you’ve finally lost your marbles! I thought. Yep, one of the first signs of losing one’s marbles: talking to yourself!!!
The laughter that had finally clawed its way out of my throat filled the bedroom. Hysterical giggles bounced off the walls and out through the open window. The sound of my laughter finally made me snap out of the madness that had held me in its grip.
I needed to calm down. Reasonable explanation or not, I would have to stay calm and deal with whatever it was that needed to be dealt with. I would feel better if I actually knew what that was, though.
How was I supposed to cope with … this, I wondered. If I really wasn’t going insane, then the altered birthmark must mean something. How on earth, was I supposed to find out what it meant?
Aren’t there people who deal with supernatural stuff? But for something like this, who are you going to call? Okay, yeah, Ghostbusters! Or Sam and Dean?
A thought suddenly occurred to me. I recalled something I had stumbled upon earlier, but hadn’t looked at thoroughly. I jumped up from the window seat and ran to pick my bag off the floor by the mirror. Not even having noticed, I’d dropped it there during the shock off seeing my new ‘tattoo’.
I opened the latch on my bag and dug my hand in looking for something I’d only cursorily glanced at before. Pulling out the brochure of my college, I plumped myself down on the wooden floor ― legs folded under ― and swiftly opened it up to the first page, running my forefinger slowly down the index.
Here it is! I thought, a peculiar sensation stirring in my gut; a mixture of excitement and fear. I stared down at the title of one of the many college classes up for selection:
‘Paranormal Phenomena in Today’s Society’
In a nutshell, I thought, absent-mindedly twirling my hair around my fore- and middle finger. My gaze shifted to the right and came to rest upon the name of the professor who would teach this class:
Aaron Chambers
A chill ran down my spine at the exact same moment that my heart skipped several beats.
What is wrong with me today? I asked myself not for the first time this morning, clawing at my hair in frustration, a habit I had unfortunately picked up sometime during my childhood and had never been able to throw off since. With all the frustration I’d gone through in my teens up until this day, it was a wonder I still had hair.
Letting out a long sigh, I closed my eyes and tried to relax a bit. I was so freaked out about the mysterious transformation of my birthmark that I couldn’t think straight anymore. I gathered my balance must be so off that my body reacted to every little thing I focused on and sent completely scrambled signals to my brain.
I concentrated on breathing, pulling the air slowly into my lungs and letting it linger there for a few measured moments before slowly and evenly pushing it back out.
Aaah … that felt good, I sighed internally, letting go of the tension that had taken hold of my entire body as well as my mind. I was determined not to let my thoughts linger on my birthmark and to completely ignore any reactions my body might hold in store for me today. I just couldn’t trust myself at the moment!
After carefully getting to my feet and making sure my legs had stopped shaking, I crossed the length of my room and grabbed the suitcase I had deposited next to my bed after having packed it haphazardly the night before, having left it to nearly the last minute as I always did whenever I went on a trip.
Although I had at first felt some trepidation at the thought of l
iving on campus, I’d gradually warmed to the idea of ‘broadening my horizon’ and ‘making new experiences’, as my mother and father would put it, and now actually felt almost excited about this new development in my to date rather uneventful life.
Still, I felt unsure about my ability to be a good roommate. I loved my privacy, my own personal space where I could roll up into a ball and lie for hours immersed in my reading or just thinking about things that occupied my mind.
Number one, I thought, work on your people skills, and at least try to keep up a semblance of social behavior! Number two, the thought immediately followed the first, don’t try too hard or you’ll look like an idiot!!!
Hmmm, some things might be better left alone, I sighed, thinking of my chances of actually making friends at college. I tended to always say the wrong things and in general never knew what pleased other people. And since I hadn’t changed in the least since finishing school, I didn’t know why that should suddenly change.
Heading for the door, suitcase in hand, bag slung over my shoulder and my coat hanging over my arm, I took a last intense look around my room, my gaze slowly roaming over everything I had known and loved my entire life, trying to determine whether I’d forgotten to pack something of vital importance.
The morning sunlight slanted into the room through the window above my favorite perch, revealing a line of swirling dust motes, lending a soft white glow to the white see-through curtains, highlighting the radiant colors and soft pastel hues of my throw pillows, and throwing multi-colored reflections from a stained-glass pendant against the bare wooden planks of my bedroom floor.
My beautiful bronze-colored wrought-iron bed with its delicately interlacing design stood in the middle between the door and the window with its headpiece against the right wall. It was neatly made up and covered with my favorite quilt.
My stuffed animals ― remnants of my childhood ― sat cuddled together on the center of the bed, looking in my direction as if to bid me farewell. On the left side of the wall opposite the bed and next to the door leading to my own small bathroom, stood my tall silver mirror.
Most of my belongings were neatly stashed away inside the walk-in closet that lined the wall next to the entryway, or in pastel-colored vintage style boxes of different shapes and sizes spaced throughout the room.
But some of my clothing was draped over the back of my chair; my desk ― which stood to the right on the wall opposite my bed ― had a rather cluttered air about it, and two bits of crumpled paper were strewn across the floor next to the garbage bin, all together giving the room a lived-in feel.
Satisfied that I had everything I needed, but with the usual odd feeling of having forgotten something of vital importance, I stepped into the hallway, turning my back and closing the door on my bedroom. Little did I know that I had just glimpsed it for the last time…
It hadn’t been more than a few hours’ drive, but my body felt as if I had sat on the bus for days rather than hours. The bus had been full of young people riding to college that morning, and the uncomfortable cramped seats did little to keep my body from aching all over due to the inability to stretch my legs.
There would be no classes on the first day, giving the students a whole day of orientation in which they were presented with class schedules, the layout of the campus, received information about their dorms and room-numbers and last, but not least, got to meet their roommates.
I got off the bus, picked up my suitcase from the luggage compartment on the side of the vehicle and walked toward the registration office to get the information I needed. I joined the long line of waiting students outside the office and took a good look around, wondering if my new roommate was among them.
Thirty minutes later, I was standing outside the door to my appointed dorm room on the third floor, wondering whether to use my key or knock politely, in case my roommate was already there. Staring at the number on the door ― 311 ― I raised my fisted hand and rapped lightly. There was no answer, so I took out my key and unlocked the door.
Stepping inside, I was surprised to see how nice the room looked. Empty and bare as it was, due to the absence of personal items, it, nevertheless, had an invitingly open and light air to it. In the center of the opposite wall, right between the two beds, was a white, high arched window with a broad ledge on the inside that served as a seat.
The double doors of the floor-to-ceiling window led to a small balcony ― enclosed by a black wrought-iron railing ― that could be reached by climbing over the window seat. Opposite the beds were a desk and chair for each student, and to the right of the entrance was a small refrigerator used to stash away snacks that had to be kept cold.
I walked over to the right bed and plunked my suitcase down on top of the bare mattress. In about thirty minutes, I’d finished depositing all my clothing as well as my empty suitcase in the built-in closet next to my bed, and was about to go looking for the girls’ bathroom down the hall, when there was a sharp rap on the door.
Anticipating the arrival of my roommate, I swiftly smoothed out my blouse and took a deep calming breath before answering.
“Come in,” I croaked, my voice displaying the awkwardness I always felt when meeting strangers.
I wasn’t prepared for the person who opened the door. One short glimpse of the woman was enough for me to see that this could not be my roommate.
A woman of fifty years or older was standing in the open door, looking just as awkward as I felt. Her hair was pulled back tightly into a bun, its brilliant bronze color turning grey in some areas. She was wearing a conservative looking ensemble and, all in all, looked like a very stern woman.
The clearly discernible look of distaste she wore suggested that she had more important things to do than whatever had brought her to my door and that she didn’t appreciate it in the least having to perform such a menial task.
“I’m here to inform you, Miss Jones, that you will not be sharing your room. The student who was to be your roommate evidently had grander plans than attending college. Seeing as all the other students already have their rooms appointed to them, you will, therefore, have the room to yourself, at least for this semester.
Now, if you will kindly excuse me, I have more important things to get on with. Good day to you, Miss Jones,” she added in a cold and superior tone, clearly turning her nose up at me.
Sour grapes, I thought. I understood that the woman might have pressing matters that occupied her time, but for the life of me, I would never understand how some people could be so terribly rude and unfriendly without cause!
Not even one comforting line of ‘Welcome to College, I hope you will feel at home here soon’. Come to think of it, I didn’t even hear a ‘hello’. The woman couldn’t care less; students come and go, why should she care? I’d thought adults, at least, were grown-up enough to be capable of civil behavior. I’d undoubtedly been wrong!
So, my roommate had run away screaming before she even met me!
Well, that was a first, I pondered, not really depressed by the thought of not having to share my own personal space with a stranger. This development suited me just fine!
I opened the double doors of the window to let in some fresh air, and immediately decided that I just had to take in the view from the balcony. I climbed carefully over the ledge and got to my feet. The balcony was so small that there was just room enough for two people standing side by side. Pressed up against the railing, I gazed around.
My room was on the third and uppermost floor, high enough to give me a little anxiety about the railing not being secure enough. The dorm buildings stretched out to both sides.
There were three dorm buildings altogether, situated about half a mile from the college. The three buildings came together creating a U-shape, the balcony I stood on being at the center of the U’s shortest line.
Ahead of me, and between the other two buildings, there was a little park, in which the students could go for strolls; the park was probably also a popular
area for social gatherings such as parties or barbeques.
There were a number of benches set around it, and a couple of trees stood on the lawn. Most of them were small and insignificant. Yet one of them caught my eye.
It was an enormous oak that stood tall and proud in the center of the park. Judging by its height and the size of its trunk, it was a very old oak, probably hundreds of years old. Its leaves stood out against the clear blue sky in a rainbow of colors.
Every now and then, a leaf would sail downward to its temporary resting place among its already fallen brothers and sisters, covering the ground at the oak’s feet with shades of red, orange, brown, and yellow, and waiting to be carried away with the next gust of air.
A figure was leaning against the trunk of the oak, apparently oblivious to the slightly wet grass or the light chill in the air. From the balcony, I couldn’t make out any features or even the gender with the branches obscuring my view. Yet somehow I rather felt the person to be masculine.
Suddenly my vision started to blur, the colorful leaves swimming before my eyes. My fingers gripped the railing and dug themselves into the iron as an overwhelming wrenching sensation seized my whole body, making my knees buckle and nearly sending me off the edge of the balcony.
As suddenly as it had occurred, the uncontrollable feeling evaporated, leaving me breathless and shocked out of my senses, adrenaline rushing through every fiber of my being.
As the adrenaline subsided, my weak knees could no longer support my trembling body, and I slumped down to the floor of my balcony, unable to move for several heartbeats.
Chapter 2 * Desire
The following morning I got up at seven o’clock and spent the next thirty minutes standing under the scalding hot stream of water pouring down from the showerhead in the girls’ communal bathroom.
Letting the water flow over my tired body, the heat slowly seeping into my bones and making my body’s tensed muscles relax a bit, I almost felt human again ― almost.
Souls of Fire Page 2
