Black-Eyed Kids: The Complete Series

by Miranda Hardy

  3

  ASTID

  HE HEARD ME. He turned when I sent my name to his mind. I’m not sure why I even tried to reach out to him in the first place, since I was told that the human brain wasn’t normally receptive to our communications. He was just so...afraid, I wanted to comfort him.

  It makes me think that I can communicate with humans in this way, which gives me hope.

  Maverick. His name sounds wonderful and exotic in my mind.

  His muddy brown shirt disappears as he turns toward the road. Even though the craving to follow him beckons me, the risk is too high. Staying here is no longer an option either. Kren will be back soon, and I don’t want to be subjected to his fury. He will know what I have done, and he won’t understand why I let Maverick go.

  My instincts nearly took over when Maverick first opened his eyes, and it took all of my strength not to take him. Despite what the others say, it is possible to suppress the hunger. It is possible to send thoughts to their minds.

  Kren’s anger and insistence will not sway me to take another life. This time, he will deal with my decisions.

  Kren will have no choice.

  Maverick’s feelings upset me deeply. The waves of horror and sadness radiated from his aura, and the magnitude of such emotions astounded me. Touching Maverick’s mind almost hurt me. Flashes of his inner essence produced fleeting pieces of a range of emotions. Joy, fear, happiness, anger, friendship, and finally…mourning for the loss of his companion. His life felt both terrifying and magnificent.

  Such a full and rich existence, yet he longed…

  What have you done? Kren interrupts my peaceful thoughts. He stands at the edge of the cement shelter, dripping wet from the rain. He stares at the ropes still dangling from the metal.

  I did what I needed to do. I gather my strength as I approach my angry brother, placing my hand on his shoulder. You knew I would refuse. You knew this would happen.

  Kren turns to look out into the darkness.

  It’s too late. My hand grips his shoulder tighter. He’s gone.

  How could you? What were you thinking? Kren’s eyes narrow. He’ll bring others.

  Then we shouldn’t be here when they come.

  Kren shrugs my hand away. Why do you have to be so stubborn? I was trying to save you. His anger gives way to compassion. You’ll die because of this.

  I know.

  Kren’s hands roll up into fists, and he paces back and forth. He finally stops and glares at me as if he’s decided on something. You stay here. We will find you more. The one outside is no longer a viable option. I’ll dispose of him myself.

  There’s a new look in his eyes, something beyond anger. It’s desperation. Kren loves me, yet a part of him despises me. He cares so much, he’s willing to do anything to keep me alive. But he won’t let me make my own decisions.

  My tense shoulders loosen, and my head bows low. I understand, but we must move from this place. I’ll meet you two miles south in the open field.

  Kren throws me one final accusing look over his shoulder before he leaves with the body. He lifts the limp body of Maverick’s friend with ease, a feat that would be difficult for me now. My mind’s defenses shut out Kren’s attempt to touch it.

  My deepest desires stay hidden.

  A chill from the cold air makes me shiver. The thick raindrops continue to fall. When Kren comes back, he will not find me waiting in that field. He is sure to hunt for me, but I will stay hidden long enough for him to have to abandon his search.

  Soon, the others will be coming, and it won’t be safe for any of us.

  4

  MAVERICK

  TARICK’S GONE.

  The muddy spot where his body lay just an hour ago looks as if nothing was there. I’m careful to retrace my steps from the barn, and I’m sure this was the spot. “He was here. I swear he was here.”

  The cops comb the entire area. A police dog sniffs all around, but pulls his handler in too many directions. The officer attached to the leash looks frustrated and shakes his head.

  “You’re sure this is where your friend was?” The bulky, bald officer presses his lips tightly.

  “That’s what I told you.” I don’t like how the cop looks at me with a suspicious eye. My irritation is on the verge of becoming a full blown meltdown. “He was laying right there. They must have taken him somewhere.”

  The rain stopped a few minutes ago, but the musty air is thick with humidity. Cops exit the barn and one of them tells another officer that they didn’t even find the ropes that had allegedly bound my hands to the pipe.

  Am I still dreaming? Maybe if we go back to Tarick’s house, we’ll find him safe and sound in his room. But this is all real. This is really happening. Tarick is dead, and now we can’t find his body.

  Mom squeezes my hand and pulls me to her. She uses her other hand to rub my back. “They’ll find him.”

  Tarick’s dad, Mr. Lester, stands on the other side of the officer, but his wife waits in the car with Cally. He’s motionless and just stares at me without uttering a word. I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking that this is all my fault.

  Loud sirens replace the normal night sounds, and an ambulance pulls onto the dirt driveway.

  “Let’s get you to the hospital,” the officer says, holding up his arm and trying to guide me toward the ambulance.

  “I don’t need to go to the hospital.” I reach out to my mom. “I’m fine. I need to help look for Tarick.”

  Her grasp tightens. “Maverick, please let them look at you.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “We just need to make sure, honey.” She wipes my face and holds it between her hands. “Please do this for me.”

  Everyone stares at me. Not one facial expression offers any kind of sympathy. I already abandoned Tarick once, I’m not ready to do it again.

  “Why is no one listening to me? Tarick is out there.” I point toward the dense woods. “We need to find him, damnit!”

  I jerk myself free from my Mom’s grasp, and she almost loses her balance as I make a run for it. The officer springs on me before I can get too far. Another cop joins him, and then the paramedic joins in. My adrenaline kicks in, and my reflexes take over before my mind comprehends what’s happening. All three men hold me down, and my strength leaves me. They drag me towards the ambulance as my struggles prove useless.

  “Kid, what did you take tonight?” the male paramedic asks.

  They think I’m on drugs? “Nothing, you asshole.”

  Despite my kicking and protests, they strap me down to the gurney and push me into the open emergency vehicle. They direct Mom to the front passenger seat. She cries but struggles to keep it together.

  “Is he on any medication?” the female paramedic asks my mom.

  She nods and lists off the depression medicine I’m supposed to be taking. Are they going to run blood tests and find out that I’ve been skipping out on my meds? This just gets better and better.

  “You’ve got a nasty cut,” the lady says as she tends to the wound on my forehead. “Might need a few stitches.”

  The double doors close, and the lady wraps my arm with one of those blood pressure things. She puts the stethoscope into her ears and puts some clip-thingy on my finger. The cuff tightens against my bicep while she inflates the wrap with the rubber ball in her hand.

  “Does he have a history of hypertension or rapid heartbeat?” the short haired, butch lady asks Mom.

  “No,” she replies. “Why?”

  The vehicle bounces around and veers to the right before it hits smooth pavement.

  The paramedic removes the stethoscope and unwraps my arm. “His blood pressure is high, and his pulse is racing. But then again, considering the circumstances, that’s to be expected.”

  I don’t like how they’re talking about me as if I’m not here.

  She bends over me to shine a light in my right eye.

  “That thing’s bright,” I protes
t.

  She pulls up the lid to my left eye and blinds me with her flashlight. When she’s done, all I can see are these big purple dots floating around, and it takes a while for them to disappear. When my vision returns, the paramedic’s facial expression indicates she has found something wrong with me.

  “What is it?” If my blood pressure was taken now, it’d shoot through the roof.

  “You have some blood vessels ruptured in both eyes. Were you struck in the eye or anything?”

  Bees buzzed in my head and the black-eyed kids tried to kill me, but that’s all. I don’t remember actually being hit in the eyes. “No.”

  “It’s no big deal, usually,” she says. “You can burst an eye vessel by just sneezing or coughing really hard. Even stress can cause a vessel to hemorrhage.”

  The driver talks about me into his radio. He gives my physical description, something about me being stable, and that I’m coming in with Mom. We’re just a few minutes or miles away.

  “Does he have a history of drug use? Alcohol consumption?” the woman asks Mom.

  Mom swivels around and glances at me as she wipes a fresh tear from her face. “No. Not at all.”

  The paramedic rubs my left arm with an alcohol pad. She peels open a small package to reveal something that looks like a big ass needle.

  “What are you doing?” My arms tighten, but the straps keep me immobile.

  Her fingers press against my arm. “I need to start an IV. You are severely dehydrated.”

  “I don’t want anything that’s going to knock me out or anything.”

  She drops her chin and looks me straight in the eyes. “I’m only going to give you some fluids. We need to keep you hydrated. This is just a small catheter, so you’ll feel just a little pinch, that’s all.”

  She punctures my vein, and it only burns for a second. After taping the little plastic thing to my arm, she connects a tube to a bag containing clear fluid and then attaches it to my IV. An icy chill creeps up my arm.

  My eyes close, and I take deep breaths and try my best to relax. The trip to the hospital seems like it takes hours, but we arrive maybe twenty minutes later. The doors open and they roll me out. The sky remains dark. A warm wind caresses my body, gives me goose bumps, and brings the scent of wet earth to my nostrils.

  They wheel my gurney into the emergency room lobby where a nurse gets all the information from the pair of paramedics. The nurse takes Mom aside. I can’t hear what they’re saying, and every now and then Mom glances over at me.

  I’m still angry about having to leave the search for Tarick. Mr. and Mrs. Lester probably think the worst of me. I keep waiting for the police to show up at the hospital, but it’s a good sign that they’re not around. When they find Tarick’s body, all fingers will point to me.

  The urge to throw up seizes my stomach again, but I swallow the acid and struggle to keep it down.

  The term ‘subconjunctival hemorrhage’ comes from the lady paramedic that talks to Mom, and she repeats that it’s, “No big deal.”

  “Will his eyes get better? Will it affect his eyesight?” Mom asks.

  “No, they will clear up within ten to fourteen days on their own. There’s no signs of head trauma or concussion.”

  They continue their talk, but the words don’t make sense to me.

  The male EMT leaves the nurse and looks down at me. “We’re going to transfer you to a regular hospital bed. You’re going to cooperate, right? We don’t want to strap you down any more than you want us to.”

  “I promise to be good,” I reply.

  It’s yet another good sign that they don’t intend to handcuff me to a bed.

  “Maverick?” Mom calls to me as she approaches my stretcher. “They will probably just keep you overnight to keep an eye on you.” She wraps her arms around me. “There’s no need to worry. We’ll figure all of this out together.”

  They undo the straps around my arms and legs. I try to keep it together, but I just lose it. My body convulses and I can’t stop from sobbing into Mom’s arms.

  THE NIGHT in the hospital felt like an evening in Hell. The only thing missing was the fire, pitchforks, and drunk dancing demons. Who could possibly sleep with the constant interruptions and beeps? Mom, however, was able to pass out and sleep through most of the night. In fact, she’s still out in the uncomfortable fake leather, brown chair.

  But for me, there was no way to get more than a couple hours of sleep. The night nurse made an appearance every three hours, took blood from me a few times, always for one test or another. It’s ridiculous the amount of useless tests they run in the hospital. They think my system will test positive for drugs, but they will be disappointed.

  Every time the door to my room opened, I half-expected it to be a cop to give us an update about Tarick. Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m here. I don’t think I could handle seeing his dead body like that again.

  The morning sunrise peeks through the window blinds. Directly across from me is the empty bed. Mom refused to sleep in it even though the nurse offered.

  Being in the hospital is nothing like it is on TV or in the movies. I never thought that you had to have a freaking roommate in the hospital. That’s gross. The one place you don’t want a roommate is in the hospital. The other person could snore, fart up a storm, or even talk in their sleep.

  Tarick would crack a joke about old people who fart all the time, if he were here.

  I hear the sound of feet scampering outside my room. Two voices whisper right by my closed door. They don’t whisper too softly, so I can make out everything they’re saying.

  “Did you test for various drugs?” a deep voice asks.

  “Yes, that’s protocol, but you’ll need a warrant in order to get the results,” another male voice answers.

  The loudspeaker crackles on, and the static makes it impossible to decipher what they’re saying. I lean over in my weak attempt to eavesdrop, but it’s still no use. Are they doctors or cops out there talking about me?

  I’m starting to freak out, and I’m so aggravated, I want to jump out of bed and tell them to talk about me to my face. The stupid intercom finally shuts off, and I can hear their conversation again.

  The deep voice continues, “The other teen hasn’t been found, and we’re expecting the worst. That kid is now our prime suspect.”

  5

  MAVERICK

  THE FOG ON the bathroom mirror evaporates when I push open the door. The alien reflection stares back at me. Jagged stitches on my head remind me of Frankenstein. My hair feels greasy since the doctor strictly forbade me—under penalty of what I’m not sure—from washing it properly. I’m not one to check myself out in the mirror a lot, but I feel like I’m looking at somebody else as I stare at my jacked up face.

  My eyes look like they are something out of a horror movie…the demon bad guy who gets ready to devour the town of innocent victims. Red streaks surround my brown irises. Purple bruises frame my ears, which are still very sore. No wonder that cop called me the prime suspect. The deranged monster that stares back at me looks capable of luring children into its lair and eating them.

  Although it’s wonderful to be out of the hospital, my own room feels foreign to me. At least there are no cops here bugging me. Back in the hospital, Mom wouldn’t let me answer any of the cop’s questions, although I have nothing to hide. Her rudeness to the cop shocked me. Mom’s usually a mellow person. A worrier. She refused to allow me to go to the station and told him to send out an investigator to the house so I’d have time to heal.

  The walls of my room close in on me. I’m not in jail, or even at the police station, but I’ve exchanged one prison for another. Mom made it clear I’m not allowed to leave the house until school starts, and even then, only to go to school and come right back home.

  At first I’m pissed about being punished, but then I think about Tarick. His parents must be going out of their minds, and I’m stuck in here…helpless. Mom won’t let me reach out to them, w
hich is probably for the best. Since I’m the unofficial prime suspect, I’m sure that Tarick’s mom and dad don’t want me around anyway.

  The phone on my nightstand buzzes again. Even people that aren’t really my friends have been calling. Most of the messages were from concerned classmates offering their prayers or best wishes. A handful are from those who think I killed my best friend. They’re the ones that tell me that I will burn in Hell or rot in jail. Or both.

  This time, it’s a text message from Cadence:

  Mav, seriously, call me ASAP. Worried about Tarick.

  Followed by:

  His parents aren’t talking to me. WTF is going on Mav?

  What am I supposed to say to her? Obviously, word has gotten around. Big mouth Marcus spreads news faster than the reporters could get the story out. Eventually, I’ll have to reply to Cadence. She’s Tarick’s girlfriend after all. But for now, I just want the covers to swallow me. The nightstand drawer continues to buzz next to my bed.

  The heat from the bathroom spreads into my room, and the open window helps circulate the air. It’s not much hotter outside, but Mom will come in soon and tell me to shut the window since we can’t afford to air condition the entire world.

  My mattress bounces from my weight, and my head sinks into the pillow. Mom’s voice carries from down the hall. Sounds like she’s on the phone. I crane my neck to catch what she’s saying.

  “No, they haven’t. They put out an Amber Alert on him this morning, so his picture is up all over the news channels.”

  That’s why she’s not letting me watch television.

  “What should I do? Call and hire a lawyer?” she asks. “No, they are sending over a detective to ask questions at about two o’clock.”

  The clock on the nightstand reads 1:50. Crap. That’s all I need.

  “Charles, you have no idea how this is affecting me. I’m in the dark and I don’t know what to do.”