The fresh scent of Mom’s ginger perfume wafts into my nostrils as she puts her arms around me. She may not approve of Koren, but she also doesn’t like seeing my heart break. It’s what I call The Mom Radar kicking in, wanting to take it all away. As much as I try to play it tough, I admit it feels good to be held.
I hang my head low as she pulls me in tight. “It’s probably for the best, Aiden,” she says.
The words are like a dagger to the heart. And maybe she’s right, but I sure hope she’s wrong.
The mention of Koren puts a damper on my already complicated evening. Mom is kind enough to rewrap my dinner and store it away until I find myself hungry again. Whenever that’ll be. Right now, food is the last thing on my mind.
It’s been a challenge hiding what I am from her. From everyone, for that matter. Well, apart from my best friend, Trevor, and my mentor, Father Martin. Being a Gateway isn’t the kind of thing you can tell people about. Hell, even I didn’t understand it at first. It’s safe to say I was a little freaked out being the ripe age of ten and passing over my first Bleeder. But even before that, I’d always seen them. Ever present lost souls. I convinced myself it was my imagination. Imaginary friends and whatnot. Even Mom explained it as such. Of course I told her. What kid wouldn’t? When you’re seeing strange people no one else can, you can’t help but think there’s something very wrong there. But Mom made it seem like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“I had my fair share of imaginary friends at your age,” she’d said. “Don’t worry, sweetie. They’re harmless.”
Right. Harmless.
Maybe if I’d been more open about what they looked like, she would have had a different reaction. I’m sure of it. But I didn’t want to scare her. I’d seen enough movies and TV shows where kids witnessed strange things and their parents sent them away. I didn’t want that. Being away from my mother would only make what I was dealing with even worse. I needed her to remain clueless. It was the only way to keep everything as normal as it could be, considering.
Bleeders never asked much of me then. I was only a kid. A kid who could see them. Sometimes they were a little bloody, but they were conscious of this, trying their best to hide their wounds. I wasn’t blind. Even though I knew I should be frightened, I wasn’t. It’s like another part of me knew it was gonna be okay. An energy, or third party of sorts, that comforted me. Calmed my fears. But around my tenth birthday, that’s when they really started showing up. That’s when the hum, my Bleeder Bat Signal, came to play—beckoning them from God knows how far.
I’ll never forget my first Bleeder. Selena. A mother of two. A nurse. Happily married. She had it all, until a car crash left her bleeding internally. You’d think as a nurse who’d saved so many lives that someone would’ve done the same for her. They didn’t. Or rather, they couldn’t. The damage had already been done.
When she found me, a child, and told me her story—how the hum led her to me—I cried so hard. I’d never cried like that before. And as she sat on the tire swing outside our old house, crying along with me, all I could think to do was hug her. To take her in and wipe it all away. All her pain. All her fear. I can still remember her cold arms wrapped around my shoulders, her cheek resting along the top of my head, her tears soaking into my hair. And just like that, the Gateway took her in. Absorbed her into me like a towel soaking up water. My arms still reached for her, my blood running cold. It wasn’t until I woke up hours later in my bed, my mother frantic, that I knew. I’d sent her somewhere. Far away. A part of her still lingered with me. They all do in some way. But I felt her peace. Her happiness. She was free.
Since then, being a Gateway is all I’ve ever known. I live and breathe it. Until tonight. Tonight for the first time in my life, the Gateway is foreign to me. An unknown entity that has become a stranger. Like an old friend that has grown and changed, leaving you behind.
When did it grow apart from me? When did it become something I didn’t understand?
After what happened tonight with Redhead, nothing makes sense. My brain feels like it’s been filled with enough helium to make my head spin, and popped by the overwhelming pressure. So much has happened at once, and I’m left laying on my bed, throwing a plush basketball in the air, hoping for some kind of magical answer to my problem. One thing I know for sure is no one can know what happened tonight with Redhead. Not Trevor. Not even Father Martin.
Father Martin’s been my mentor, if that’s what you want to call it, since the day he found me splayed out on the ground—skin iced over, heart beating unnaturally—after Christmas Mass about seven years ago. I don’t know if it’s because he thought I was a gift from God, or he found what I could do fascinating, but I’m damn thankful he found me when he did. I was a mess. It’s not every day a local priest approaches you, dropping knowledge about Gateways and such. So you can imagine how quickly I took to him when he broached the subject. He’s taught me everything I need to know about controlling my gift, but despite everything he’s told me, he never covered this.
If there’s one person who can explain to me what the hell is going on, it’s him. The man Redhead showed me before I… whatever I did. Whatever she did to me, he’s the answer to all of this. It has to be him who told her my name, told her I was nothing to fear. But why fear me?
Well, besides that whole flaming-touch-of-doom thing.
All the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve never actually hurt anyone. Tonight is the first time I’ve inflicted that kind of pain on a Bleeder. If anything, I was the only one who experienced discomfort each time they walked through me. And I’ve passed enough Bleeders to know the difference. No Bleeder has ever reacted the way Redhead did when I’ve touched them. So, why now? Why can I suddenly disintegrate a Bleeder with nothing but a touch? Unless her being a Dark One is the answer. Not that that is any closer to making sense.
The plush ball I’ve been absently throwing in the air smacks against my nose, snapping me from my thoughts. Chills trickle down my arms as the image of the cloaked man and the echo of Redhead’s screams invade my mind. It’s a sound I hope to never hear again. Knowing that I was the source makes me sick. I have to find this guy before I harm anyone else, before that surge of energy rips through me again.
The monster—or whatever it is—inside of me that fed upon the energy of a Dark One is too strong to contain. I’m not positive it’s something I can fight myself. For those few seconds, the power of it was more intense than anything I’d ever felt before. And knowing now what lay dormant in my blood frightens me. I fear what would happen if that thing found its way out.
Despite how much I refuse to believe the truth—that something harmful could come from my gift—the thing inside of me has to go.
Because no matter what I keep telling myself, I can’t help but admit that a small part of me liked it.
id you say Grace before eating that bagel?” Evan mocks with his best impersonation of our principal, Father Williams. He even scowls like him, which makes it more disturbing. He’s getting too good at this.
Trevor bursts into laughter at Evan’s spot-on performance. They both lean on opposite sides of me against Izzie in the school parking lot. They helped me name the Bug when I got it. Something about the name Izzie said: I may look old and useless, but my engine still purrs like a college girl. Not that any of us know anything about college girls.
I ignore Evan as he continues to embarrass himself, if only for the sake of making Trevor laugh. Once you get him going, there’s no stopping. Annoyed, I take another bite and feel the first drop of rain hit my wrist. I’d been so lost in my thoughts on the way to school, I hadn’t bothered to acknowledge the dark clouds looming over Portland. The moody atmosphere isn’t anything new, especially during December.
“Hey,” Evan says to no one but the drop of rain that landed in his disheveled blond hair. The length is at that point where he either needs a cut or to wear a hat to keep it in place.
I run my hands through the length of my dark ha
ir, estimating whether I’m due for a trim. The wavy texture is exactly like my father’s, or how it used to be. He had hair so thick, it’s a guarantee I’ll never go bald. I only know this from the few pictures Mom has shown me on occasion. I’ve studied them long enough to know I possess the same hard jawline, not too squared like a superhero, but strong and defined. Where my dad’s face matured with the scruffiness of his five o’ clock shadow, my face can hardly grow a mustache without looking like a pedophile. In addition, we have the same narrow nose and matching eyes, which are a strange grayish blue, similar to the gray catbirds that frequent the trees outside our house. I kind of like that I resemble him as much as I do. And with how often my mother says I remind her of him, I know she likes it, too.
I don’t bother asking about him anymore, because the pain in my mother’s eyes at the mention of him is torture enough. Whether he’s dead or alive, no one knows. He left shortly after I was born, an explanation seemingly lost. Maybe Mom knows something I don’t; in any case, she’ll take it to the grave. She’s avoided my questions enough times to know it’s best to let it go. But he was a good man, at least from what she tells me. My mom isn’t one to speak ill of people, and most certainly not of him. That’s a rare thing to hear, considering, most women wouldn’t speak highly of a husband that abandoned them. Abandoned their child.
I miss him in weird ways. The memory of him, however faint. He’s left an emotional mark on me, the way any father would on their child. Part of me believes he’s out there somewhere, and soon enough, he’ll come back to us. He has to.
“So how much trouble were you in last night?” Trevor asks after he collects himself.
His question has two meanings to me, since the amount of trouble Redhead has caused me is still unknown. The burning-her-until-she-dissolves-into-nothing part isn’t exactly working in my favor.
But knowing that he’s talking about my mom, I say, “Not as much as I thought I’d be.”
Trevor nods, adjusting the collar of his white shirt. He’s the only one who wears a dress shirt and neck tie over slacks every day, though the neck tie is haphazardly knotted around his neck for a more sloppy appeal. We don’t have a dress code, but Trevor has this way about him; he feels the need to appear more “together” than most. Whereas Evan is more into the plaid and jeans look. I’m convinced his closet is nothing but plaid shirts in all combination of colors and every brand of black jeans he can find.
“We probably shouldn’t have worked as hard as we did,” Trevor says.
“We?” I scoff, pushing myself off Izzie to face them. “I was the one running my ass off last night. You just sat in the bleachers with the stop watch telling me to run faster! Pfft! We.”
I can still feel the ache in my quads from my poor stretching last night. Trevor’s been helping me with my running time in preparation for tryouts in the spring. Everyone makes the team, but not everyone gets a college scholarship. I have to keep my eye on the prize.
Evan perks up. “Why didn’t I know about this hangout?” He looks accusingly at Trevor, whose cheeks redden.
I’m not sure if Evan notices. Frankly, I don’t think Evan ever notices the way Trevor acts around him. Either he’s chosen to ignore it to keep their friendship from getting weird, or he really has no idea how Trevor feels about him. I’m gonna have to go with the latter. Evan’s never been the sharpest tool in the box when it comes to people and their feelings. Hell, last year Gabby Bishop sent clear signals to Evan in hopes that he’d ask her out, including a note that said: We should see a movie sometime, and he still didn’t catch on. “I thought she was being nice,” he said, once I pointed it out.
“Evan, we spared you from freezing to death while I ran the track a dozen times. You didn’t miss much,” I say, chucking what’s left of my bagel into the trash can along the sidewalk. I turn back in time to catch Trevor giving him an apologetic shrug.
As Evan pouts and glares at us, cars begin filling up the lot. Some are way too expensive to be a first car for any teenager, but most are reasonable enough for kids whose parents are paying copious amounts for them to attend private school. None of these cars look anything like Izzie. She’s one of a kind. Each dent and scratch represents battle scars, and I’m proud knowing that I bought her myself with the money I made over the summer delivering newspapers. Mom preferred that I donate my time helping Father Martin refurbish the church. So what did I do? I worked all day polishing and cleaning the pews and anything else Father Martin asked of me, and still woke up at three in the morning to catch my delivery run. Let’s just say last summer wasn’t my favorite.
“We better get going,” Evan says, almost a grumble. He’s clearly bothered that we didn’t invite him along last night. Evan hates being left out of anything. I guess that’s what happens when you have three younger brothers who take up all of your parents’ time.
“Hey, man.” I give him a jab to the shoulder. “Chin up, buttercup. We still love ya.”
Evan nudges me back as the three of us walk through Hails Plaza toward Xander Hall. “It’s cool, dude,” he says, giving me a light grin to prove he’s over it.
The rain hasn’t picked up yet, leaving sparse drops of water staining the walkway as we follow. Crowds of students linger within the circle of the plaza, which is made up of two long, burnt orange marble planters on each side of the sphere, with the Statue of Mary at the top. She faces outward as if Mary herself is welcoming us as we enter campus. At her feet, purple October Sky flowers along with white jasmine shrubs blossom vibrantly in the soil in which she stands. Each flower seems to fight against the biting cold, simply for the pleasure of proving its devotion to the Lady above them. I assume the janitor replants them when necessary to keep the display from being anything less than perfect. School standards and all.
A group of girls stand beside the statue, each one testing the limits with the length of their skirts, which are just barely past the point of being unfit for school. No hemlines more than three inches above the knees, no flashy patterns or colors, and no cleavage, to name a few of the guidelines. I might be a little disappointed about that last one.
“I’m surprised they let them get away with that,” Trevor says beside me, following my gaze.
I’m still staring at the girls swarming around one of their friends, probably gossiping about some boy she’s currently crushing on.
“I’m not complaining,” I say.
Evan jumps in, gawking. “We take what we can get around here. This school is wound up so tight, I think a little leg is the least this campus could do.”
I don’t have to see Trevor to know he’s taking that last comment way too personal. Trevor doesn’t know that I know, but when you’ve been friends with someone since eighth grade, you kind of notice when said person hasn’t made any attempt toward the opposite sex. It wasn’t until Evan came around freshman year that I knew for sure. Trevor changed. He’d become more reserved and concerned about his looks, instead of the carefree, outgoing guy he’d always been until that point. At first I thought it was just age, but then I noticed how he looked at Evan, which was nothing like how he looked at anyone else.
“Yes, I’m sure the campus allows it just for you, Evan.” I laugh and shake my head at how ridiculous he can be. Catching the eye of Gabby Bishop, I lift my head in a quick snap of acknowledgement. She glares back, unimpressed. I guess she’s still bitter over that whole Evan-dissing-her-without-knowing-it thing.
In an attempt to change the subject, Trevor says, “Does today feel kind of off for anyone else?”
“Off?” Evan asks.
I turn my attention back to them as we reach the door to Xander Hall.
“Maybe it’s the weather,” I suggest.
In a way, I know what he means, though what he feels and how I’m feeling can’t possibly be the same thing. I’m still unsure of what exactly happened last night, and I can still feel remnants of that thing inside of me. It’s like an intruder making a place for himself in someo
ne else’s home. I hate it.
Trevor shakes his head as he reaches for the door, his face set with that look that says he can’t find the words. “I don’t know. It’s just something about today.” He opens the door and adds, “It’s probably nothing.”
Evan squeezes past him. “You think too much.”
Trevor’s features smooth a little when he says, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He follows Evan through, leaving me to block the door from hitting my face.
A tingle against my skin gives away that I’m being watched. The same sensation that occurs when a Bleeder is near. I stop at the entrance and turn back toward the plaza. The patter of raindrops picks up speed, and the smell of a storm brewing sets in. Students run in all directions, backpacks held over their heads as they fight to keep the rain from ruining their hair, disregarding the books that’ll be damaged instead.
The rain comes down hard as I search for whatever it is. More students rush past me through the open door, forcing me aside. I give in without a fight, my mind somewhere else. I only have seconds before the bell rings. If it’s a Bleeder, I’ll have to deal with this quick. I squint toward a shape in the plaza, looking over the top of heads as more students pass. It only takes a moment to realize I’m staring at the Statue of Mary, until a movement flickers, and it’s then that I see her. At first it seems as if the statue is moving, turning in my direction. I blink back, and I swear with each blink the statue is moving closer.
It’s not until I step into the rain that I see it’s not Mary at all. With the rain and my senses already in overdrive, my eyes seem to be playing tricks on me. Hoping to get a better look, my vision blurs when the rain lands on the edges of my lashes. I can just make out her face, which is pale, not uncommon for a Bleeder. She’s wrapped in a drenched, hooded peacoat, looking out of place among the others dispersing around her.
Where Gabby and her friends had crowded only minutes before, Koren Banks stands staring back at me.
The Gateway Through Which They Came Page 3
