by Thomas Grave
Sara was fine. She had to be.
He sat up and spotted his phone, but an icy chill knifed through his veins all the way to his fingers and toes. The phone sat directly on top of the book. The book. It seemed to be murmuring, as though it were trying to tell him something, something horrible, something he couldn’t face. The glowing light through the key hole.
Cautiously, he reached for his phone, then paused and retracted his hand. Don’t be stupid, he scolded himself. It’s just a book. He took a deep breath and, once again, reached over to grab the phone.
The book’s lock opened with a click.
Sebastian leapt from his bed in one swift movement. A noise, reminiscent of a baby sheep, escaped his mouth. If he hadn’t been completely awake three minutes ago, the click of the lock had definitely done it. If the book wanted his stupid phone, it could keep it.
Monday, 7:50 am
At school, Sebastian walked through a crowded hallway. Several students sat on the floor, waiting for their classroom doors to open, eager to pour in. A variety of worksheets and text books were scattered around as they scurried to finish last minute homework.
Other students buzzed around, talking behind his back. Whispers seemed to come from every direction, but he ignored them. Sara could not be dead. Saturday night was one weird dream, nothing more. He pushed forward, avoiding eye contact with the other students, staring at the floor. He wondered where Sara was, but no matter. She often didn’t call or text in the mornings. It was one of the things he liked about her, the fact that she wasn’t clingy.
Sebastian reached his locker. Next to the small metal latch was an old Ninja Turtles Band-Aid someone had stuck there in a previous year. When Sebastian first saw it, he considered peeling it off. Staring at it reminded him of Sara. She thought it was cute. He regretted not bringing his phone. It was silly to have left it on the book. He’d been so stupid, thinking the book was somehow talking to him. She’d probably texted by now. She had to have.
He twisted the combination lock until the final number was in place, lifted the latch, and opened it. He grabbed his first period science book and closed the locker door harder than he’d intended. The metallic sound echoed throughout the hallway like a prison door being slammed shut.
“Oops,” he said.
He hurried down the hall toward his science class, but a few seconds later a grumbling came from the bottom of his stomach telling him what he already knew: he was starving. Off in the distance, past all the students, the double doors that led to the cafeteria stared back at him. Above the doors, the hands on small clock read 7:51.
This meant he had roughly fifteen minutes until class.
He decided to head to the cafeteria.
Monday, 7:54 am
Two of the four walls of the cafeteria were composed primarily of windows. The sun was buried behind heavy clouds, and the lack of light cast the large expanse of the room in a dull gray, giving everything a murky feel.
This did not help his mood.
Sebastian took his place in the short cafeteria line and grabbed a package of Cap’n Crunch’s Chocolatey Crunch and a small carton of milk. He paid for his items and made his way to his usual table, thankful it was empty. The last thing he felt like doing was talking to anyone. He sat down, peeled back the cover on the cereal container, and then poured the milk. It amazed him how the flavor of the milk could change so quickly, from nothingness into a perfect chocolate. He plunged his white plastic spoon into the container and had just grabbed an ample amount of cereal when someone intruded on his solitude.
“Oh, my God! What are you doing here?” Hope said, planting herself in the chair across from him.
The spoon was mere inches from his face, his mouth stood wide open for at least seven seconds. With a low sigh, Sebastian retracted the spoon, placed it back into the cereal container, and then looked up at her.
For a second, he saw a similarity to Sara, something in the eyes, a determination maybe, though Sara’s of course were deep blue and Hope’s were green, kind of like Jared’s but darker. Perhaps they saw more than Jared’s. Hope’s face was soft, heart-shaped, with a perfectly clear complexion. Her features were smoother, not model strong like Sara’s. Her short blonde hair framed her face. Not everyone was lucky enough to be a beautiful brunette like Sara.
“Hey,” he mumbled, turning back to his cereal, stirring it about.
“Sebastian, I am so sorry for your loss,” Hope said gently.
Wait, what? No, it couldn’t be true. What about the vortex of fire? That part couldn’t have happened. He must have his facts all jumbled.
Was she really gone? His throat felt tight. Impossible.
No, facts first, then freak out. Relax. Calm and collected. He took a deep breath.
“Where’s Jared?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.
“I don’t know. He didn’t come home last night,” Hope said, placing an elbow on the table and propping her chin in her hand. “I think he’s really upset about Sara. I always thought he had a secret crush on her. I guess I was right.”
Sebastian blinked. “He did?”
“She was the most beautiful girl in the school, Sebastian. I think every guy here had a crush on her.”
He retreated to his cereal, once again stirring it. Other guys, possibly. But Jared? The thought had never occurred to him. Why hadn’t Jared ever said anything about her?
“I’m here for you if you need me,” Hope said, almost in a whisper.
“Thanks,” he said timidly.
“You should be at home, Sebastian. Something awful happened and it’s okay to be upset.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he muttered. He scarfed down spoonfuls of cereal.
Hope put her hand on his face. “You know I’m here for you if you want to talk.”
With her warm hand on his face, he saw the concern in her glistening eyes. Her sad expression slowly melted his resolve.
Something stirred within his chest.
His eyes began to water.
“You’ve been through something traumatic,” she told him gently. “It’s okay to cry.”
He took a stuttered breath.
Was Sara really gone?
No. No. No.
He stood up with such force that his chair lifted off the ground and crashed onto the floor behind him. It slammed so loud, the students in the cafeteria jumped from the unexpected noise. The room fell into a hushed silence as everyone turned to stare.
He didn’t care.
His attention was completely focused on Hope.
His eyes narrowed as he stared at her with such shock and anger that his hands shook.
Anger.
He was angry. Yes, he was angry.
Hope stared back at him with sadness.
After putting his shaking hands in his pockets, he turned around and left the cafeteria.
Monday, 8:07 am
As Sebastian sat in class listening to the teacher drone on, the more confused he became about what Hope’s intentions were. The memory kept running over and over in his head. How could she do that to him, try and make him cry in front of everyone? Did she have that much of a pull over him? Of course she did—she was Hope. She was his childhood friend who was like a sister to him. They used to play dol— action figures together.
“Sebastian!” he heard and snapped back to reality. He thought it could have come from the front of the class but wasn’t sure.
“Yes?” he answered. He blinked his eyes, turning his attention to the front of the classroom.
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense, Mr. Scott. Go for it,” his teacher said, his British accent more clipped and formal-sounding than usual.
“The answer is . . . yes?” Sebastian replied while shaking his head ‘no’. He was so lost in his thoughts he wasn’t sure what planet he was on let alone what the topic of discussion was.
“The answer is ‘Yes,’” Mr. Thompson repeated with a nod. “Got it. I asked if you could explai
n Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle and you told us ‘yes’. So, we are so dearly waiting for your answer. Go.”
Sebastian looked at Mr. Thompson as his haze on the situation began to clear. Mr. Thompson should have been on a cover of a GQ magazine.
His charcoal dress slacks had ridiculously perfect creases down the front, matching his fancy salmon-pink button-down that was custom made for his trim figure. His dark hair was coiffed and held in place with what had to be a mixture of every hair product on the market. There was even a rumor among the students that GQ Magazine asked him for advice. It was a known fact that he would occasionally write articles for them for the extra money. His latest article was titled How to properly lighten your hair with lemon juice.
In fact, the pants and shirt, as was the case for his entire wardrobe, were custom tailored. Sebastian remembered that Hope always went on and on about how “gorgeous” he was or “how sexy his British accent is.” Sara would always roll her eyes and say the occasional “whatever” when someone went on and on about how handsome Mr. Thompson was. Sebastian noticed that Mr. Thompson tried to identify with his students, but he also made it a rule to never push that too far. Of course that never stopped other students from flirting with him. And they never seem discouraged by the picture on his desk of his beautiful wife and daughter.
Unlike most of the students in his class, Sebastian did not like Mr. Thompson. Before Mr. Thompson got married, he’d dated Sebastian’s mom. Of course, this was several years ago, and Sebastian hadn’t witnessed any part of their relationship because his mom kept her private life precisely that, even from him.
But he found some pictures of them while snooping. When he asked his mom about it, she got defensive and gave him her well-used speech about respecting her privacy. She gave him his privacy and she very well demanded the same from him.
“Uhhh . . .” Sebastian started.
“While as riveting as your answer has started out, it is not instilling much faith in me that you did the homework, Mr. Scott. Is this true?”
“Uhhh . . .” Sebastian repeated.
“If ignorance is bliss, you must be overjoyed! Let’s try again. Did you do the assigned reading?”
Sebastian stared at the desk as he spoke. “I did—”
Mr. Thompson cut him off, his tone sharp as a razor. “You look me in the eyes when you talk to me . . .”
. . . It was only slightly out of character for Mr. Thompson, reprimanding a student like that, but it was Sebastian, and he had been acting rather flighty lately. “Look me in the eyes,” he’d said.
And Sebastian did so. Only it was not the timid, nervous look Mr. Thompson had been expecting. The expression in Sebastian’s eye was dangerous, his smile dark and twisted, challenging. The gleam in his eye was that of a predator stalking his prey.
Oh, No . . . It can’t be.
Mr. Thompson gulped and took a step back. His breath came short. This was a look he had not seen in years. . .
. . . Another student, Grayson, came to Sebastian’s defense. “Mr. Thompson, relax. Something happened this past weekend. Chill out.”
Sebastian turned back and shot Grayson a curious look. What just happened? Did Grayson actually stick up for him?
In return, Grayson looked back with a small nod.
While Mr. Thompson was at the top of the chart as the most attractive male in the school, Grayson was probably in second place. Grayson’s black hair was always neat and flowing like he was ready to shoot a TV pilot. Hope had said, at one time, that Grayson had scorching, molten-blue eyes, whatever that meant. Apparently he was pure muscle and didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. On top of that, he was captain of the football team. He even wore skinny jeans. Starched and pressed. Jared once called him out on it, asking him why. Grayson simply replied, after several beats of silence to build up suspense, “I don’t wear skinny jeans. These are bootcut. My legs are just so muscular that all pants look like this on me.” And, of course, there was his favorite pick up line. It started with, “Hey, pretty face. Do you know the name of a good vet?” When asked why, his reply would be, “Because these pythons are sick!,” followed by him kissing his biceps.
While Sebastian found all that extremely humorous, that wasn’t the worst part. Grayson had tried to hook up with Sara when she first showed up at the school this year, but Sara had already, amazingly, set her sights on Sebastian. It was known that Sara had turned him down gently. Since then, Grayson had ignored both of them. This did not particularly sit well with Sebastian. It came across as, well, douchey.
Mr. Thompson, seemingly lost in a daze, turned to Grayson. “What is it Grayson?”
Grayson shifted in his seat. “Sara died Saturday night.”
“Oh,” Mr. Thompson said, lost in thought. “How did it happen?” He asked nobody in particular, but from his tone, he expected an answer.
“I heard on the news this morning it was some sort of gas explosion,” a female voice behind Sebastian said.
A gas explosion.
Oh, God. Sara . . . she’s . . . He zoned out other questions and answers as the realization gradually inched its way in, the dawning of what had happened . . . actually happened.
Sara was dead.
His eyes went wide as he took a deep breath to calm himself. Slowly, without drawing attention to himself, he took several more deep breaths.
In and out, he forced himself.
Now was not the time to freak out. He would do that later in the privacy of his own room. You’re okay, he told himself. Just breathe. He needed to know what happened. His facts were too jumbled.
“I see,” Mr. Thompson replied, his tone neutral. “Take out your books and read Chapter Eight.”
Typical moans and groans erupted from the class. Some students made it a point to place their textbooks a little harder on their desks than usual.
Sebastian grabbed the book from his bag with a shaky hand, gently placed his book on his desk, and turned to the proper chapter.
Mr. Thompson shifted his eyes to the floor and as he walked back to his desk, his fingers rubbed his chiseled chin. This doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t have happened yet. It’s too soon. It wasn’t supposed to happen until he was twenty-one! Sebastian was only seventeen years old. But, that look . . .
His hands were shaking. Is he back? Could the death of the girl have triggered it? No, that’s impossible. Wasn’t it?
He opened his desk drawer and pulled out what appeared to be a small bell inscribed with strange characters, not of any human language. He carefully placed it on his desk hidden behind a book. If he was overreacting, he’d rather not put it out there just yet. But, again, he had to know.
He touched one of the characters and pulled away. The spot his finger had touched radiated. It glowed softly at first, then brighter until the light spread to the other symbols.
Also inside the drawer was a small iron rod inscribed with similar symbols. He picked it up discreetly, trying not to draw attention. All of his students seemed to be focused on their reading assignment. Relieved, he eyed the bell once more. All the symbols were lit. It was time for the test.
He tapped the bell once and waited.
Did he see it?
He tapped it again.
Sebastian turned the page of the science book, anything to occupy his mind with something other than . . .
He began reading about propulsion: Jet propulsion is thrust produced by passing a jet of matter (typically air or water) in the opposite direction to the direction of motion—
The memory of a conversation he’d had with Sara one time occurred to him as he read. She’d been doing the homework assignment for Mr. Thompson’s class and had come across it. Sebastian grinned as he flipped the book to the page they’d been talking about. He found the first fact:
A roadrunner’s top speed is about 20 mph.
Uncontrollably, he flipped the pages searching for the next fact. Once on the correct page, he scanned with his finger until he fou
nd it:
A coyote’s top speed is about 43 mph.
Who knew?
He and Sara had laughed about that, and he grinned, remembering.
Then his smile faded. A sound of rushing water hit his ears. It remained for a moment, then faded into nothing. He immediately scanned the room. At first, he didn’t see anything. Mr. Thompson was looking over the students, making sure they were reading. Nothing out of the ordinary was going on.
He heard it again, louder this time. Something came toward him. It seemed like water. No. Not water. Air. The air rippled toward him. The air around him, from floor to ceiling became something it wasn’t, something like a haze of shimmering energy. From the center of the disturbance a white glow emerged, crackling with energy held by the light blue liquid shell.
Moving at a wild pace, it crashed into him. No, through him, and continued its journey across the room. The hairs on his arms stood as chills swept throughout his body. He whipped around as it continued its course. The wave dissipated as it went through the back wall.
The students remained slumped in their seats, reading about jet propulsion, but everything else had changed. The wave, somehow, had washed away the old classroom and replaced it with a twisted, haunted version. Everything was darker, yet brighter in some places. Sparks shot out from one of the lights in the ceiling. The shorting continued every few seconds, yet the light stayed on. The walls, which had been light green before, changed to a dull grey, and the stone walls were crumbling in places. Paint was peeling off the walls, revealing jagged openings that led to the hallway. Cracks spread over every surface as if an artistic spider had gone mad with its web. The desk he sat in turned into a metal skeleton of what it had been, the wooden desktop broken and crooked. The ruined floor was torn up in some places and in others, there were holes that seemed to lead into pure darkness.
