Jeremy Chikalto and Leviathan Island (Book II of The Hazy Souls)

by T.S. DeBrosse

  Chapter 5

  Night Vision

  The rest of the day aboard the ship passed by in a blur. Jeremy avoided Maren and Maren avoided Jeremy. Night fell and dark clouds swept through the sky, bringing rain, thunder, and lightening. The ship tossed about on the open seas, while Jeremy tossed and turned in his bed, his mind swirling with memories of past adventures and present worries, his struggle with Maren flashing in bolts across the storm. He eventually succumbed to a vivid dream. Jeremy was flying, weaving in and out of the Haze and Earth's atmosphere―a rapid cycle of falling, floating, falling, floating that gave him control over his descent to Earth's surface. He landed softly on concrete. It was so effortless, Jeremy had to smile. When had he become so skilled at being an angel?

  There was a deep groaning sound, and behind him, the atmosphere tore open, a vortex at its center. Every dark feeling hibernating in his mind was awakened, beating against his skull for an escape. Jeremy shouted something indecipherable, some foreign tongue, and his rage exploded. Time sped up. Now Jeremy's muscles tensed and swelled until his clothes ripped. The veins on his arms throbbed painfully. Jeremy screamed a horrible scream, low, hoarse; not that of a victim, but of a predator. In front of him, there was a key. He reached for it; he had to have it, or else.... Everything warped around him, and then there was blood―all over him was dark, clotted blood. He heard a buzzing in the distance.

  Jeremy sat up in his bed. His hands were shaking and he could feel the hot, sticky sensation creeping down his palms and on the backs of his hands. He jumped from his bed, turning his palms over and shaking his hands furiously. Nothing. He lifted his shirt up and examined his chest; nothing out of the ordinary. What was this dark transformation lurking in his psyche?

  Jeremy knew he had to consult Lyrna, but was too afraid of what he might find out. He tore his clothes off and paced around his room, slapping at his body occasionally whenever the fresh memory of blood played on his skin. Jeremy ran his fingers through his hair. He needed a distraction. Clothes!

  Though his voyage aboard the Willow was only to be a couple of days, Jeremy had had his servants pack an extensive wardrobe. The Cajjez flung open his closet doors and pushed himself through until he was in the thick of his clothes. He closed his eyes and brushed his hand across his wardrobe, deciding what to wear based on touch alone. His fingertips rested on something soft and fragile: a thinly woven cashmere sweater. He put on a silk collared shirt, and pulled the sweater over top. It comforted him immediately.

  After slipping into a handsome pair of trousers, Jeremy turned himself about in front of his full length mirror. He knocked around in his jewelry box until four fingers were adorned with silver. At last Jeremy slumped in his chair. Maren. Maren could make him feel better. Why had he avoided her? He knew he’d have to apologize.

  Some part of him was afraid she'd hurl insults at him, each an arrow tip dipped in poison. He wanted to preserve her in his memory as the blushing, clumsy girl he’d danced with as a child. Their friendship was as fragile as his cashmere sweater.

  The next morning Jeremy rose early. He hadn't been able to sleep much after his dream anyway and was supposed to meet with his father once more before breakfast. He rapped on Maren's bedroom door clutching a bouquet of flowers he'd pilfered from the yacht's dining room table.

  "Maren? It's me, Jeremy." Jeremy inwardly cringed at the desperation in his voice and had half a mind to bolt. His heart raced. "Maren, can I come in?"

  The bolt lock slid on its track and Maren opened the door. She looked first at his face and then at his hand, pathetically limp and holding petunias.

  "Jeremy, what are you doing?" She took a step back and looked behind her. Maren was in the process of laying out her outfit for the day and her bed was covered in all sorts of embarrassing personal effects.

  "I just wanted to say hello," he managed coolly.

  "Hello."

  "I need your help," he began, stepping past her into her room.

  "Okay?" Maren grabbed the flowers from his hand and stalked away from him. "These need water," she called back. "And please don't look at my chair."

  "Maren, I am so sorry for hurting you the other day. I’ve always taken your opinions very seriously. Be forthright with me: Do you think I’m a good person? Do you think I’m evil?”

  Maren slid the flowers into a crystal vase. "You are not the Anti-Christ, Jeremy," she said, a hint of frustration rising in her voice. “Apollyon is not the Anti-Christ.”

  "I might be."

  "Why do you say that?" Maren spun around. "You're a nice guy; you have your... special struggles, but you have good intentions."

  Jeremy pushed past her to her bed and sat down on top of her bra and underwear. "I had a dream. It felt so real. I killed someone. I had blood all over my hands. I was a terrible, vicious predator."

  Maren, flustered, crossed the room and snatched up her clothes. "And it was a dream. The only thing it means is that you're worried about being evil, but we already know that."

  Jeremy turned his face from her, remembering the death grin that was spread across his Earth brother Jason's face. He'd killed, and not just monsters in Mantel’s Maze, but a boy. And then there was the exorcism that he hadn’t told her about. The pastor claimed he had a demon inside him. What if the pastor was right? What was he, Apollyon? Was a fallen angel a demon? "I just have to figure some things out."

  "Okay," said Maren quietly, tucking her clothes back into her drawers. "Well I’m here to help."

  "I need you to be honest with me. Tell me when I'm being bad."

  Maren felt slightly aroused by the subtext―Jeremy always exuded sensuality. "You want me to tell you when you're being a jerk? I do that already, all the time, in fact."

  Jeremy inhaled sharply. "I'm serious. Yes, only―more than a jerk: Tell me when I’m evil or scheming or mischievous."

  Maren laughed out loud. “Well, for starters you can get off my bed. It's not even made. Barging into a guest’s room and sitting on her bed when she's in the process of getting dressed is no way to make someone feel comfortable. You’ll need to work on respecting others’ personal space.” Maren playfully lifted her hands in the air, indicating for him to rise.

  Jeremy, slightly embarrassed, shuffled to the door. “Don’t irritate me,” he muttered. “I recall a certain somebody lying in my bed two nights ago.” Jeremy exited.