The Gateway Through Which They Came

by Heather Marie

  “You’re Aiden, aren’t you?” she asks while I collect myself.

  I’m taken aback. “How do you—?”

  “Know your name?” She leans into me through the darkness of the cab, hesitating near the center console. “Who doesn’t?”

  As her words meet my ears, her voice is no longer that of a girl seeking help. The taunting sound of it makes her proximity to me even more troubling, the way her tone hints at her intentions. Whatever they are, they can’t be in my best interest.

  Without another word, she places her pale hand on the bare skin of my knee. The contact is instantly unwelcome. It feels foreign and cold. Wrong, even.

  Before I can remove myself from her reach, an intense energy from her hand absorbs into my skin, raising the hair of my legs on end. Her touch alone summons a rush of adrenaline through my veins, like the kind you get at the peak of a roller coaster before the initial drop. It’s a high of sorts. Something altogether thrilling and terrifying.

  With this comes strange flashes of shadows and memories that can’t possibly be mine. Could they be hers? I don’t care to find out, but what I want, or don’t want, doesn’t seem to matter. My body is overtaken by the power she possesses, and I find myself closing my eyes. A voice in my head demands that I snap out of her trance, but I’m unable to fight the energy pulsing through me. It’s like a morphine injection, consuming every thought. Every worry.

  “There’s something I need to show you,” I hear her say.

  Her voice is distant as I tumble through the emptiness of my mind. I consider how any of this could be happening, but even that thought escapes me. All sense of caution I had before this moment is long gone. With her touch, she’s taken away my will; and it’s this that makes me surrender, allowing her in.

  She shows me a man in a ceremonial cloak rising from the ground. His welcome arms are outstretched as if expecting our arrival. The black cloak with golden stitching down its center sags around him, allowing the tip of his nose and lips to show in the moonlight. At least I think it’s the moon. I’m not exactly sure where I am. The detail surrounding me is blurred, making it impossible to determine the location.

  When my focus snaps back to him, the man reaches out to me, beckoning me forward. It’s unsettling how confident he is. The way he seems to believe I’ll do what he wants. It’s almost laughable. But the joke’s on me, because somewhere deep inside of me, an unexpected hunger rumbles in my gut. I can no longer ignore the power emanating off of him. It’s too tempting. The urge for a taste of it becomes too much, and I find myself obeying.

  A strange sense overcomes my real body in that moment. An annoying hum urging me to wake. I remember that I’m not in this place. Not really. I’m in a car somewhere. Parked in the middle of the road. I need to get away from here. To go home. This realization nudges me a little, my real body beginning to shift in the driver’s seat.

  The man must sense my distraction because he calls out to me.

  “It’s time, Aiden,” he says.

  With this, I lose what little hold I have on myself and return my attention to him. The way he says my name with meaning makes me swell with pride. Something inside me comes alive in that moment. Something I never knew existed. The man turns to walk away, leaving me with a hint of the power he’s offering. I can taste it on my tongue, sweet and inviting. I want to breathe it in. Consume it. Become it.

  With Redhead’s hand on my leg, and my heart thrashing against my chest, a part of her enters me. I can’t explain it. It’s like she’s me, and I’m her. We are one, following this figure into the dark.

  The blare of a car horn jolts me from my stupor. I open my eyes in time to see a muscle truck swerve around me, and someone’s middle finger sticking out the window. My body shudders under Redhead’s touch, wanting to get as far away from her as possible. Whatever happened between us has successfully weirded me the hell out. I jerk my knee from her hand and lean away, putting some distance between us. It’s exactly what I should have done the minute she blinked herself into my car.

  As her hand falls away, a slight grin plays on Redhead’s lips; smiling like she’s proud of herself.

  I have no idea how she manipulated me the way she did, but if what she showed me is only the beginning, I want nothing to do with the end.

  “What the hell just happened?” I blurt out, my breath rapidly trying to keep up. Not gonna lie, I’m damn near close to having a panic attack. There’s a part of her still writhing inside of me, and I can feel her enjoyment at my reaction.

  For a moment, only the sound of the idling engine keeps the silence from engulfing us as she watches me. Having a beautiful girl in my car would typically be ideal, but since I’m more worried about that part where she invaded my mind, it’s safe to say I’m getting impatient with each passing second. Not to mention, it’s only a matter of time before another car makes its way down the dark street.

  “Listen,” I say, finally breaking the tension. “I don’t have a whole lot of time. Do you want to tell me what you just did to me? Or do you want to get this over with and let me send you wherever it is you guys go.”

  I’d rather she pick the first choice, because, seriously, what the shit did she just do? But the other side of it is, I want to get this chick away from me pronto!

  Redhead inches herself forward yet again, and hisses, “Who says I want to go where you’ll take me?”

  She’s getting on my last nerve.

  “Fine!” I hoist myself behind the wheel, gearing up to get back on course. She’s wasting my time, and I’m clearly not going to get a straight answer. “Well, can you please get the hell out of my car?” I point toward the door in case she didn’t get it the first time. This would be more intimidating if my hand wasn’t trembling, and my forehead wasn’t sweating profusely.

  I’m freaking out, bad.

  Redhead leans back in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest. She humors me by looking toward the door as if she’s considering this option.

  Instead, she looks back at me and says, “You have no idea what you’re messing with, kid.”

  Kid?

  That’s it. Hot or not, I’m over it.

  “Get. Out.”

  A maniacal laugh bursts from her lips. “This is a joke, right? It can’t possibly be you.” She leans back farther to observe me, an annoying half-grin lifting at one corner of her mouth. “What is it about you that’s so special?”

  My jaw locks up, teeth pressing together tight.

  Redhead senses she’s hit a nerve and adds, “He can’t possibly think you’re the one.”

  He? I hate to admit it, but she has my attention. Not that she didn’t already have it after that mind-invading thing. But how much more of her bullshit do I have to endure?

  I consider surrendering to her pettiness and giving her what she wants. But to be honest, I don’t even know what that is.

  At any rate, Redhead dissolves what’s left of my patience when she says, “Maybe he’s wrong about fearing you. Maybe you’re just a punk ass kid with a yellow bug who has everyone fooled. Because I, for one…”

  She leans forward, her head tilted obnoxiously.

  “… think you’re pathetic.”

  The ‘p’ is pronounced with a pucker of disgust, and it takes everything in me not to break. I wrap my shaking hands along the wheel. Each finger curled tight to prevent me attacking this girl. But despite how hard I fight the urge to snap, a snarl slips its way from my lips. It’s an animalistic response to this girl whose purpose, it seems, is to get under my skin. It’s working, clearly, and she knows it. She throws back her head and laughs. The sound gnaws at my nerves. Who the hell is she to sit here and act like what I do means absolutely nothing? And what the hell kind of Dark One is she to creep into my head the way she did?

  I match her approach and lean in to meet her. My gift means nothing to her, and I’m done with her shit. She stares at me mockingly, unafraid of the little space between us.

  I
lock my eyes on her and steady my voice when I say, “Or maybe I’m exactly what you should fear.”

  And when I say it, it’s as if the words themselves are a key unlocking something wicked in my soul. A power similar to the man she showed me minutes before. The same man, I assume, that she speaks of now. Who is he? And why tempt me with something as dark as this?

  “It’s time,” he’d said.

  For what, I wonder?

  But as this thing inside me rages to life, I fear I have my answer. The feeling of it is wrong, but I can’t stop what’s already begun. Heat ignites within my veins as the energy soars through me. My skin glistens with droplets of sweat. If something about my physical presence has changed, I can’t tell, except for the way Redhead stares back at me, her eyes wide with fear.

  And then I touch her.

  Before I can pull away, or ask myself why I felt the need to reach for her, I watch as my hand blackens the skin of her pretty face. Her screams ring out and her body glows red as flames. Cracks form and stretch across her face, like a porcelain doll on the verge of shattering.

  I cringe at the sound of her cries, but my hand refuses to detach. Her pain tears me from the dark haze, and I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. My attempts to pull away are futile, as if my body is no longer mine, but someone else’s. I use my other hand for strength, the steering wheel under it as my leverage, and I urge myself to release her. When I’m able to dislodge myself enough to break free, it’s too late. She bursts into nothingness.

  With my hand outstretched, I gape in awe at what I’ve done.

  And all I’m left with is this thought: I no longer know what I am.

  ’m drenched in a cold sweat by the time I walk through the front door. My mind is reeling with questions, and for the first time in my life, I’m afraid. Not of the Bleeders, but of myself, and what I’m capable of.

  What did I do to that girl?

  I can’t stop the tremors from taking over my body. My thoughts and nerves are so out of control, it’s nearly impossible to straighten myself out before confronting my mother. Not that I have much of a choice. I have to face her eventually. As expected, Mom sits with her arms crossed over her chest in my grandmother’s old rocking chair. It’s been in our family since my mother was born, and the cracked wood gives an unbearable squeak with each push of her foot, as if the chair itself tires of the back and forth rhythm.

  Based on the jumbo-sized rollers in her freshly dyed black hair (I know this from the lack of a gray streak) and the slippers on her feet that match her fluffy white robe, she’s been home and waiting longer than I initially thought. The worry in her gaze widens her brown eyes, and a deep furrow forms along the center of her forehead where her brows pinch together. Without her makeup, the hollowness of her blotchy cheeks is more defined, and the wrinkles around her eyes give away her age.

  I say the only word I can think of. “Hi.”

  Mom doesn’t speak. She’s good at that whole “suffer in silence” thing. All that’s breaking the awkward silence is the theme song to Bewitched streaming from the TV. This doesn’t surprise me, since Mom refuses to watch anything current.

  My mind fights for coherent thoughts as I attempt to set aside the events of the night. I close the door behind me, hoping to shut out the memory of Redhead along with it. Fixing my face into a convincing expression, I focus on steadying my breaths before facing her. My fingers fidget with the keys grasped in my right hand, and I have to make a conscious effort to leave them alone. Play it cool, Aiden. Act normal.

  With one last deep breath, I turn around to see she’s standing, the small golden cross hanging from her necklace gripped firmly in her hand.

  “May I ask where you’ve been?” she says. Her demeanor is calm with that underlying tension any parent would have when a kid walks through the front door unreasonably late.

  I let out a loud sigh and answer. “I meant to call. I got caught up on the field.”

  I pull at the material of my Joseph High jersey that’s still damp with sweat from my mile run after school, hoping that’s evidence enough. Even though it’s sleeveless, I’m still burning up from the haunting image of Redhead screaming in agony. I wince at the thought.

  Mom purses her lips together, unconvinced.

  “Come on, Mom,” I say under my breath. The last thing I want to do is upset her. “You act like I haven’t been running track since eighth grade.” I shrug my backpack to the floor, leaving it to rest beside the couch like I always do until I need it.

  My exertion with this night is enough to distract me. I’m emotionally incapable of processing anything other than what happened with Redhead. But I have to suck it up and convince her that I’m just a careless teenager who forgot to check in. To her credit, I should have called. It’s my own fault, but considering all I ever do is hang out with my best friend, Trevor Atkins, and our buddy, Evan Reigle, it’s exhausting having to defend myself as often as I do. It’s not as if she doesn’t know who I spend my time with. But I’m her son after all, and her concern is to be expected when your mom doesn’t know you’re a Gateway. What’s really me being stuck at late hours of the night sending Bleeders away, is her thinking I’m causing trouble somewhere. Not that I’ve ever given her a reason to think that. Well, maybe that one time when Evan talked us into TP-ing some girl’s house, or that time we drove an hour to see an independent horror movie. Okay. Yes, I should have told her upfront, but it was the only place they were showing it and I knew she’d say no. Give me a break.

  I stride past her to the kitchen, leaving her standing in the living room as I pick my way through the fridge. I’m not by any means hungry, but I force myself to act normal, despite how abnormal I feel at the moment. On the bottom shelf rests a plate of chicken and rice with a side of broccoli, wrapped with plastic. It’s little things like this that I love about my mother. No matter how upset she is, she’ll never send me to bed without dinner, or leave me to fend for myself.

  I close the fridge and find her watching me from the entryway, her expression not so much angry as sad. I never stop to think what it’s like for her to see me become so independent. Sometimes I wonder if she realizes she’s holding on too tight.

  “Thanks,” I say, raising the plate slightly in the air. My cheeks burn with shame for disappointing her, and my skin is still clammy from my confrontation with Redhead. I don’t think I’ll ever get that image she showed me out of my head. “I’m sorry for disrespecting you. I promise to call next time, okay?”

  Mom eyes me for a minute, her tense shoulders beginning to ease. I can tell she’s contemplating how far she wants to take this argument, weighing her options. Knowing her, she won’t let it ruin her night.

  She proves me right when she takes a deep breath and says, “Okay.”

  A gentle smile softens her features as her fingers continue to pinch tight around her trusty cross. It’s an annoying habit of hers. I imagine she prays each time she holds it, especially at times when she finds herself under stress. Being that she’s a single mom, she’s practically rubbed the gold plating off at this rate.

  I smile back, and hope to myself she’ll let this go.

  Before I remove the plastic from the plate, she asks in that concerned tone I know so well: “So, you weren’t with her?”

  The plate slips from my grasp, and slams hard against the counter before I could stop it. I’m amazed it didn’t crack in half by the impact.

  I can’t bring myself to look her in the eyes, afraid of saying something I’ll regret. With my back to her, and my heart sinking into my stomach, I say, “I told you, Mom, she’s gone. I haven’t talked to her since she left.” The thought of Koren is still raw after what Linda told me earlier today.

  Mom doesn’t respond right away, as if absorbing my words.

  She knows how much it hurts when she mentions Koren. She doesn’t mean anything by it, but it’s more her worried-mother-concerned-about-her-son-hanging-out-with-a-troublesome-girl kind of a thing. Kor
en Banks and her parents picked up and left without a word before the end of the previous school year. One day she was there, chewing on her pencil in the desk beside me like she always did when she was lost in thought. Her bright blue eyes focused on the calculation on the white board, the heel of her foot tapping silently under the table, each tap like a number in her head.

  These were little things not many would notice when it came to Koren, but me, I noticed everything. Every nervous tic, every perfect flaw, every expression. If you grew up with her the way I did, you’d notice these things, too. But before I knew it, she was gone. No warning, no explanation. Just an empty desk that kept with it the small engraving of her initials in the upper right hand corner. K.M.B. Those three initials were the only thing left of the girl I couldn’t possibly forget.

  I can sense my mother hovering behind me. Her fragile hand grips my shoulder, which sags under her touch. It takes everything in me not to pull away, or to let her see the pained expression on my face.

  Mom doesn’t approve of Koren. The truth is: Mom used to be close friends with her parents. They’d all known each other since they were in high school. Our moms were pregnant at the same time. Damn near gave birth together. It was like they’d planned it out perfectly. That’s how close they were, but one day that all changed. Koren’s dad changed. He distanced himself from everyone, forcing his wife and daughter to do the same. One day they were the family we spent every Saturday with for fifteen years. The next, they’d become shadows. Lifeless. Resistant to human interaction.

  Koren was the last of her family to let go. And when she did, they left town completely. It only made my mom believe nothing good could result from my affection for a girl whose life had become a mystery. There were too many secrets forming when before there were none. Something strange happened with Koren’s family, I just don’t know what.