Unveiled: The Chronicles of Luxor Everstone

by Jacklyn Daher

  The radiant light orb of Luxor’s soul fractured and split in half. Black projected from her soul, emanating a darkness, and it joined the white.

  Purple lightening flashed outside, and a thunderstorm accumulated in the night sky promising greater danger to come.

  Luxor’s eyes glowed aqua, her platinum hair flying around her face.

  “I will survive.” She spread her arms out wide and welcomed her burial.

  Run. Don’t look back. This is your last chance.

  A humid gust of wind smacked Luxor in the face as she bolted out of the glazed doors of the beach house and across the road. A slew of horns beeped as she dodged oncoming traffic, her footsteps heavy and frantic.

  The sun had barely set, as the beauty of the salmon sky mixed with pastel pink masked the ugliness of her situation. It was now or never. Escape the hell her life had become or sprint to freedom. It was her last day in Hampton Cove and the unknown had become more than a fleeting idea. Luxor shuddered to think if she didn’t escape and fade into a nobody in society, she would be forced to live out rest of her adolescence with her mother.

  “Correction, Meredith. My mother is dead and my aunt is a poor substitute,” she mumbled bitterly, searching for a spot to gather her thoughts.

  Lies. Her entire life was a lie.

  A backpack hung low on her shoulders containing mismatched clothing, a couple of apples, a stash of gluten-free, dairy-free snacks and eleven dollars and sixty-five cents in coins.

  Would that get her far? Probably not.

  Did she care? Definitely not.

  Who would miss her anyway? Not a single person, that’s who. Everybody she had ever loved turned their back on her when she needed them the most.

  With those three questions probing at the back of her mind and the measly funds, she figured it was better to live on the edge than to move to a small town in the middle of nowhere. If only she prepared herself.

  Where’s a shooting star when I need one?

  Luxor tightened the belt of her ripped jeans to prevent them from falling down. Due to her continued weight loss, they hung loosely on her hips. She teamed them with a hooded jumper and stretched it right down to her wrists. Her arms. A curse within themselves. It was her staple wardrobe these days, a far cry from the designer labelled outfits and sandals she used to wear. Despite the darkness, the muggy heat continued to linger, but her body constantly felt chilled on ice and it reflected in her clothes.

  But it was necessary. Ever since the suspicious accident at her school, everything changed.

  The blue markings which appeared after her scuffle with Verity scarred her arms and rendered her a freak.

  Before fleeing, Luxor surveyed her almost bare room, everything had been given to charity or sold. Soon, the repossession men with their chunky white van would be there to take her bed and dresser, the last of the items. It was no coincidence Meredith wanted to be long gone and on their way by the time they arrived. God forbid the neighbours watched and gossiped.

  Didn’t Meredith realise they had been doing that anyway?

  For the last six months Luxor had been housebound, banned from any outside association in case she harmed anybody, and all internet access had been barred.

  The van arrived early, much to the chagrin of Meredith, who unleashed a slew of profanities. As they carried Luxor’s possessions out, the reality of the situation sunk in. And she lost it. The consequences of leaving didn’t factor into her decision, her only care was to go to a place which she didn’t own, and therefore could never lose.

  Luxor had gathered a few items in her bag, snapped up her real birth certificate that laid on the dresser and rolled it up securing it with a rubber band. She gently shoved it into the pocket of her hoodie, careful not to squash it.

  A litany of bodies crammed the beach, just as they did every day and night. Luxor jogged away down the interminable stretch to put as much distance as she could from home. The pier seemed like a safe bet, but as she neared, she noticed it was as bad as the beach. It was a hot spot for fishing and jumping off the end into the unknown depth. She let out a loud groan and slumped down on the sand. Things would be easier if she knew how to catch public transport, or knew where to find a bus stop, but with her privileged lifestyle, it was never needed.

  Maybe for tonight, I could sleep here.

  Luxor pulled out a Ziplock bag out of her pocket containing a few glow-in-the-dark stickers and emptied them into her palm. She had spent over an hour peeling at least one hundred of the tiny stars off her bedroom ceiling. Removing her shoes and socks, she sat as close to the shore as she could without getting wet and fluttered her eyes closed. The sounds of waves called out to her, and she moved in closer, curling her toes into the wet sand.

  Luxor stretched out flat on her back, her platinum hair splayed against the sand as if she was a part of the beach. She thrust her arms upwards. “Stars. Bright and shiny. Falling from above to crash and burn,” she sang, wiggling her fingers, as the handful of glow-in-the dark stickers plummeted.

  The beach had always been home; the sensation of the rays of the sun dancing on her skin, the serenity of crashing waves and the aroma of salt in the air which always woke her up in the morning. It was the one thing she would miss the most. It was all she had ever known. And now it was being taken away.

  Time ticked on as she contemplated her next move, the tide inching closer and closer to the shore. The cool water tickled her toes, and sent a shock of scorching agony coiling around her ankles.

  “What the hell!” She let out an agonised shriek and scattered backwards, her limbs making quick work of fleeing. Gathering her socks, she wiped off the moisture and applied pressure to minimise the throbbing. But it had transferred upwards.

  A murder of crows cawed and floated above her head, the swift movement of their wings circling like an evil halo.

  “Are you okay?” A sweet child’s voice asked above the cawing.

  Luxor raised her head and gazed up to find a young girl tilting her head to the side, her near black eyes staring inquisitively. “Yes,” she croaked.

  Luxor winced and let out ragged breaths, holding onto her side. Fire blazed at her birthmark, and tears accumulated at the corner of her eyes. She let out ragged breaths, trying to compose herself.

  “You don’t look it,” the girl said, and rocked on her heels with her hands tucked at the back of her cotton shorts. The crows flew over and perched themselves on her shoulders, their heads swinging from side to side.

  Luxor howled and writhed in agony, curling herself into a ball. She lay her head flat against the sand while she furiously scratched her side. Fire. Every fibre was ablaze as if she was being burnt alive, swallowing her words. She was sure she was creating a scene and any moment now somebody—anybody—would help her.

  The girl kneeled down close, her strawberry locks skimming the side of Luxors’ face. “My daddy is over there, he will help you,” she whispered, a smoky stench emanating from her breath. She swung her head over her shoulder to a lanky man who was in dire need of a shower and sun.

  Luxor flinched as the searing pain struck again. She subtly attempted to further herself away, but the keen eyes of the girl pinned her to the spot. “I’m fine,” she straggled out and held her breath.

  “Oh, you are anything but fine, but don’t worry you will get used to it.” Crimson pupils flashed as the girl patted Luxor’s head and giggled, exposing a set of rotted sharpened teeth.

  Luxor retracted back, bile rising from her stomach at the touch. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms to stave off the continued agony. Pulling out a bottle of water from her backpack, she quickly unscrewed it with shaky fingers and downed half the bottle. It eased the ache from her stomach, but not by much.

  Not real, not real, not real.

  Minutes passed by which seemed to extend, and the joyful voices of the patrons on the beach along with the sound of crashing waves returned. It took all of her power to open up her
eyes and for the fire within to subside. The girl had disappeared, leaving no trace of her appearance.

  “There you are,” Meredith shrieked from afar, her dark brown hair flayed around her gaunt face. Grains of sand flicking upwards as she rushed over. “What stunt do you think you’re pulling now? Running away? Seriously? Has stupidity become another side effect of the accident?” She hovered her fingers and pinched her slender hips.

  Luxor rose on her knees and staggered to stand. She bit back a retort, her energy all but depleted. Besides, she was all too used to Meredith’s insults by now.

  “Silence. Typical. Just hurry and get back.” Meredith swung around and waited, tapping her feet.

  “A girl, sh-he had red eyes a-and sharp yellow teeth.” Luxor pointed. “She sk-kipped that way. She wasn’t normal.”

  “Maybe she was channelling you. For goodness sake, stop your lying. Haven’t you put me through enough?”

  Yes, I’m crazy. I have to be. That girl wasn’t real.

  Luxor spilled the remaining contents of the bottle of water in the sand and created a puddle. Crouching down, she scooped a handful of dry sand into a tight fist and released until it had been filled to capacity, and screwed the cap on tight. At least now she had a reminder.

  “When I say hurry, it means now!” Meredith screeched, similar to the crows. “Anybody would think you were deaf.”

  Ten minutes later Luxor cradled the cardboard box under one arm and squeezed it into the boot of the beat-up yellow Cortina, a downgrade from their sleek, black Mercedes Benz. Meredith had dumped all her possessions in one heap—boxes upon boxes, a couple of suitcases and one of her prized possession, her telescope—at the front door, like it was junk.

  She drank in her balcony one last time, a place where she spent countless nights cuddled on a sofa drinking in the sea and salt of the beach, the crashing waves music to her ears.

  Once she was in the passenger seat, she leant forward and pulled the lever back to make more room for her legs. The torn seat jolted backwards, and she clicked her seat belt.

  “Are you ready?” Meredith asked, preparing for the drive.

  “No,” she mumbled, slouching down and clutched at her chest.

  Her heart was hollowed, an emotionally dead organ. But for now, her soul remained intact. It wasn’t the house she would miss, it was the moments, big and small, which accumulated to make her life unique.

  Memories not contained in photos.

  Memories that would become threads of fragments intertwined in history, eventually fading over time that no one can share with her. Except now they were tainted.

  “Well, we can’t do anything about that now,” Meredith replied flatly.

  Virtually overnight, Luxor’s whole life turned upside down with everything stripped away, until all that remained was a blank canvas. She loved her picture-perfect life. Now she was a nobody. Her name wasn’t her name, and her life was merely a carefully constructed facade. The only thing she was sure of was the gymnasium of her former school, Marsol College, had transformed to rubble, dirt, and ashes.

  And Luxor was the culprit.

  Maybe it was a sign nobody could attain a perfect life, and she was about to find that out.

  The Cortina rattled and backed out of the driveway, a stream of black smoke pluming from the exhaust. In the review mirror Luxor mouthed a silent goodbye, and they officially began the journey to a place Luxor had never heard of. Meredith drove further away from their tight-knit community and everything they knew.

  Golden Mile beach was a community strip with identical houses on the edge of Hampton Cove. With their high-gated fences, manicured lawns and double gated carports, every house had their secrets. Some were minor—bored housewives on pills, others more serious like infidelity—but Luxor had the biggest secret of all.

  She was insane.

  A criminal.

  A juvenile delinquent who almost killed her best friend.

  Or that was what the judge ruled. Her punishment? Eviction from Hampton Cove which meant a new life in the country: new school, new everything, as well as to attend The Renaissance Centre, a facility for the “misguided.” If she refused, she would have been formally charged, prosecuted and locked up. It was a no brainer.

  There was no evidence which pointed to Luxor being responsible or even playing a part in the accident. CCTV grainy footage had her in a heated argument with Verity where words and minor pushing and shoving occurred within the gymnasium before being cut out to a hazy grey image.

  Flashbacks seeped into Luxor’s dreams of the incident. Visuals where she had to hold on to the bleachers for support as the spider-like fractures formed and cracks rapidly spread up the walls and throughout the middle of the wood-panelled floors. The light fixtures tumbled as shards of glass fell like rain. It was more like an earthquake, except Hampton Cove had never had one.

  Luxor placed her hand on her head, the cluster of migraines tormenting her mind, and settled behind her eyes. Why couldn’t I remember anything?

  A month had passed when Luxor awoke from her coma, Christmas had come and gone and a new year had begun. She’d missed out on the festivities of her favourite celebrations.

  “You’ll really love Brighton Falls, it’s small but a great place,” Meredith’s voice took on a falsified cheery tone, but then dropped off to a whisper. “To get away.”

  Luxor rolled her eyes. She didn’t understand Meredith at all. A place to get away? The way Meredith continued to rave with a high-pitched infliction in her tone had her acting like a sale assistant working on commission as if they were going on a holiday instead of the life-altering move.

  Maybe she needed to become a real estate agent instead of the socialite she was.

  Meredith wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, her hair now a dull shade of brown with a few grey hairs sprouting from the sides. It was a change from her usual sophisticated coiffed appearance where a hair was never out of place.

  It was clear to Luxor she no longer cared about her appearance, or more importantly had no one to impress. Her high society life had been eradicated.

  “I cannot wait for you to see the house. It is called The Chalet, it’s spacious, secluded and no neighbours for kilometres.”

  Translation: So, you can’t hurt anybody.

  Luxor craned her neck. “How do you know all this?”

  “Funny story really. A business card appeared in the letterbox while you were still in hospital. I called the number and the lovely real estate agent told me a house had appeared on the market.”

  “So what? A random card appears and voila hello new house.”

  “I was dubious too, but she told me she was cold canvassing with all the houses in the area. How lucky is that?”

  “Luck?” Luxor inadvertently snorted.

  The house can’t be that good if it was bought for less than nothing, because that was all we have.

  “God knows we need some.”

  Meredith veered onto the freeway past Marsol Grammar, an imposing bluestone building on the edge of the suburb. It once had the façade of superiority, and with four levels, it towered over the wrought-iron gates. Luxor had attended there from grade one, the elite and wealthy were educated there. It was also where her friends were, the ones she had known since she was a young child, including Verity.

  The roof of the gym remained collapsed with tiles and debris littered across the immaculate grounds, a yellow and black safety tape signalling “Danger” wrapped around it.

  The sign might as well have been made for Luxor. A poster child for destruction, as everything she touched seemingly turned to dirt.

  An hour into the trip, the car slowly passed from sea and sand to a long stretch of road painted with an endless stream of greenery, where the trees and lush vegetation melded together.

  Luxor gripped the handle and had to restrain herself from doing something stupid. Jumping out of the car and escaping crossed her mind more times than she liked to admit. Another
failed attempt of escaping and Meredith would no doubt leave her stranded or left for dead like roadkill. Instead, she wound up the window and cranked up the dial of the air conditioner on full blast. She pulled the hood of her jumper right over her head so it covered her like a mask.

  The realisation was not only not only did she have nowhere to go, but she would get lost in a heartbeat. There were no landmarks to remember. She was used to buildings, traffic and noise, but what surrounded her was a deathly silence.

  She tried to suppress a tear, but it was useless as one managed to escape, trailing down her cheek. To hide the evidence, she wiped it away with the back of her wrist. She needed to stay strong. Her past would have to be a distant memory as if it never happened, and the pain and torment she endured was her punishment. Now the future was the way to redeem herself, like a phoenix risen from the ashes, a person reborn.

  A chill slithered through her bones and she shivered, a hollowness setting in like an unwelcome visitor. A stitch of pain rushed through the right side of her abdomen and she winced, placing a protective hand over the scar.

  Sometimes she wished she died.

  Being saved by the doctors was bittersweet.

  Four months ago, Luxor was in the middle of her track training session when an excruciating pain struck her lower left side of her abdomen. Her eyes glazed over as she stumbled and kneeled over and emptied the contacts of her stomach. She collapsed and the next thing she knew she was in hospital. Her appendix had ruptured, and she had needed emergency surgery to remove it and a blood transfusion otherwise she would have died.

  The recovery from the surgery was painless compared to the truth.

  Her parents weren’t hers.

  No matter what, the scar would always be the reminder of Meredith’s, and her so-called father, Steven’s betrayal. In the pocket of her hoodie, Luxor grasped onto her real birth certificate, the evidence which proved it all. Her real name. And the name of her real mother.

  Luxor gripped her wrist and scratched furiously at her skin, claw marks from her nails scraped back and forth until she had to stop. The physical wounds she kept covered were the only way to remove how dead she had become.