Mark of the Seer (8 page)

Halting my rant, I gazed at them in extreme wonder and despair. What was their problem? Why were they ignoring me? I knew they could hear me—my screaming was at maximum capacity!

This had to be a joke, some kind of sick game that everyone was playing, but why me? What had I done to make them act as if I were invisible?

Relief flooded me when Kora came into view. Pushing through kids, I made my way to her, finally having enough strength and motivation to move the zombified kids.

She was dancing in front of the door I'd spotted. Funny how she wasn't there a second ago. I hugged her, greeting her, waiting for her to open her eyes and greet me back. My relief quickly vanished. Her eyes remained closed, seemingly unaware of my presence.

No. Not Kora. She wouldn't dare play a prank this nasty on me! Grabbing her shoulders I shook her, screaming at her to open her eyes and look at me. But all my trying was for nothing, my attempts failing miserably to get her attention.

I spotted Janey and Casey dancing together closely. Yelling and shaking them I also failed to get their attention. Then I spotted Brenton in the corner of the room. I was in tears, crying with frustration. Putting my arms around him, sobbing his name, kissing him on the lips—he didn't wake up.

That was when I decided this wasn't a prank. Something very peculiar was afoot. Nothing I tried had worked to wake my friends from whatever spell they were under. I could not break the trance they were in.

Feeling dejected, I glanced around the room. I could feel the wrongness in the air. The way they were swaying to the music, eyes closed—something had them so immersed that they were detached from reality. It was like aliens had taken over their bodies; Aliens who were into techno music.

For a brief moment I envied them. Wanted to be like them. Needed to be like them. I wanted to belong so badly, and dance like nothing else mattered in the world. I wanted that numbness they were experiencing, because from where I was standing I could tell that they were out of it, so much so that if a meteorite smashed into the room, no one would even notice.

But the door was calling me, not by name but by force. I knew that whatever was behind that door held answers to questions I had yet to ask.

Standing adjacent to the door, examining it, I saw that it didn't look different than any other door I'd seen. There wasn't anything spectacular about it or anything. It was just...a door.

Warmth sped quickly up my arm, spreading through the rest of my body as I grabbed the knob. Twisting it slowly, cracking it open, I realized immediately that what I'd been searching for all my life was just in reach. That hollow feeling I'd had since the death of my parents might possibly get filled. I couldn't tell you how I knew. I. Just. Did.

Joy, happiness, contentment, belonging—those four very human feelings were a huge commodity in a chaotic life.

The light was so bright I shielded my eyes, knowing that if this didn't wake up my friends, nothing would. A high-pitched, inhuman scream erupted behind me, piercing the air. Chill bumps ran up and down my arms. That was when I noticed that the music was no longer blaring, and the freaky-colored lights had stopped their irritating flashing. The only sounds I could hear was my heavy breathing and the erratic beating of my heart, like a ball bouncing around in my chest.

Slowly I turned to face my peers, my friends, to see if they were now awake...and to find who let out that horrible scream.

Fear ran rapidly through my body, sending icy shudders down my spine. Terror clutched its ugly paws into my heart. No longer dancing, they stood side-by-side with wooden expressions harboring their faces. Kora and Brenton
were in front of the mass of unblinking kids. But there was something different about their eyes, something terribly wrong.

The eyes that stared at me were black. Not Brenton's chocolate-colored eyes, or Kora's green eyes. No. Black eyes, black as the night sky. Not just Brenton and Kora, but all of them.

“What's wrong with you guys?” I asked shakily.

Kora narrowed her newly blackened pupils at me.

“Do NOT open that door.”

Whoa. Kora had just spoken, I saw her mouth moving, but that was not her voice. The voice was too deep and manly compared to her usual high and peppy voice.

I was mystified. “Kora,” I whispered cautiously, “what's wrong with your voice?” My question was answered with mean, hate-filled laughter, laughter that bounced off the walls, shaking the room.

“Clarity.” A voice called.

My heart stopped. I'd heard someone calling my name from behind the door. I faced the door, turning my back on my friends.

“Open the door, Clarity.”

Abruptly the harsh laughter stopped, followed by a cacophony of evil voices, roaring urgently:

“DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR!”

Without giving it a second thought, I swung the door open, the blinding light penetrating the dark room. Screams of agony and pain sounded. I didn't look back—couldn't see anyway. The light was just too brilliant. The screaming started to die down. And then...

Silence.

While the screaming and light had invaded everywhere, I'd squatted down to my knees, hands on my ears, eyes squeezed tightly shut. I didn't want to move. Too afraid. Until a gentle hand touched my shoulder, that familiar sense of calmness hitting me in the chest.

Opening my eyes I was overcome with joy to see Sam kneeling next to me. He took my elbow, helping me to my feet. My eyes searched the room—at least I thought it was a room. White floors, white walls, white ceiling, white everything. Looking one way and then the other I couldn't tell where anything began and ended.

Sam's face shouted relief, his smile vibrant. “You did it, Clarity. You opened the door.”

“What is this place, Sam?” I asked, awestruck.

“A safe place,” was all he said back.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Yeah, I guess it's safer than what's on the other side of the door. And what about my friends? They looked so evil, so...possessed.” I shuddered just thinking about their laughter and black eyes.

“They're using your friends to weaken you. They will use anything important in your life against you for their own gain. They want to make sure you never find out what you are supposed to become.” The clear-blue color of his eyes kept me enthralled, their shine breathtaking.

I shook my head. “Who are “they”?” I inquired after a few seconds of dumb staring.

“The bad guys.”

Okay. “Why do “they” not want me to know what I'm supposed to become?” Wow, that was a mouthful. What the crud were we talking about anyway?

He frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Because they are afraid of you. You, Clarity, are part of something big that could hinder their plans for all of mankind.”

Yeah, uh-huh. Still not making sense. “Sam. Just what exactly am I?” I really wasn't expecting an answer.

He sighed. “Give me your hands, Clarity.” Hesitantly I did what I was told. “Do you trust me?” he whispered.

Did I? “Yes.” O-kay, guess so.

He smiled. “We don't have much time. So when I tell you to take a breath, do it. You got that?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.”

“On three,” he whispered. “One...”

Suddenly my hands burned, right in the palms. “Um...Sam?”

“Two...”

The heat intensified. “Sam, wait...what's happ...”

“Three.”

Quickly I took a breath and...

Chapter Six

“OWWW!”

I woke from my restless slumber with my palms on fire. Not literally “on fire”, but feeling like I'd stuck them in hot lava. I searched the room. Desk, closet, nightstand, window, ugly yellow walls—yep, I was back in my room. But what's up with my hands? And why were my clothes sticking to my skin?

Jumping from my bed, kicking my sweat-covered sheets to the floor, I fled to my bathroom. After throwing the light switch on, I went straight to the sink, turning the cold water on to full blast. Sticking my still-burning hands under the flow of freezing bliss, I let out a loud sigh. Instantly the water cooled them, releasing them from their scorching sensations. Steam rose from the sink because they were so hot. What the heck was wrong with me? I'd never had a dream...no wait, a
nightmare
like that. Ever. The scariest part was that it all had felt real, like I had been fully awake.

Turning the water off, I looked down at my hands nervously. Horror and fascination slapped me in the face. Right smack dab in the middle of my palms were etchings—or maybe they were closer to being called tattoos.

On each hand appeared a cross with white feathery wings surrounding it. The top of the crosses held golden crowns—in fact the tattoos were outlined in gold. Golden tattoos, with white wings around them.

How the heck did they get there?

I turned my shower on, needing one badly since I'd sweated ten pounds off while dreaming. Laying down (way too tired to stand) I let the steaming water rain down on me, covering me with comforting heat. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths, hoping to calm the beating of my heart before it exploded out of my chest.

The dream. It had been real—well, some of it, anyway. The part where Sam had taken my hands, counted to three, and...

Rage ignited me from the inside out.

Sam. The new guy in town. The stranger. The stranger who had a huge secret. All sorts of weird stuff had been happening to me ever since I'd met him, and that had only been a day ago!

What had he done to me? I looked at my hands, and tears cascaded down my cheeks, mixing in with shower water.

The way he looked, the way he smelled, the way he spoke—all of his refined ways had caught me, keeping me mesmerized to the point that I'd trusted him. After one friggin' day!

The way he was there one minute and gone the next. No one was that fast. Also the way he made Nick forget he was mad just by ordering him to go home. Just by talking, like he had some kind of unnatural power in his voice. No human could accomplish such a feat.

All my thoughts began to get jumbled as the incoherent chatter in my brain started to run together. I tried to put everything in its place, tried to focus on the reality of everything that was happening.

Little human.
That's what Sam had called Nick. Like Sam was above him in some way. Which left me to question just what Sam was.

Was he human? And if he wasn't, what was he?

Hugging myself, letting the water enclose me completely, I cried. I cried like I'd never cried before. All of this, everything in just one day, was reminding me of a mixed-up, chaotic horror movie. Things I'd experienced in one day don’t happen in real life. Getting tattoos on your palms while sleeping certainly didn't happen in real life, unless you were drunk or passed out. I had been neither.

“I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy,” I repeated over and over again, attempting to make myself believe the words.

The proof was in the palms of my hands, no pun intended. I lifted them to my face, gazing at them through the falling water. They were still there—crosses, wings, crowns—gazing right back down at me, taunting me.

“I'm not crazy,” I whispered defiantly. “I'm not.”

* * * *

School started like it had the day before, all sunny and clear. Walking to my locker I opened it, catching my reflection in the magnetic mirror Kora had given me. I looked as pale as a ghost with swollen, dark circles resting under my eyes. I had slept but had stayed busy in my dream, sweating like I had been in the middle of running a marathon. It had been four thirty AM when I'd awakened, screaming in agony. Luckily A.C. had still been at work, so I didn't have to answer questions she most likely would've asked, for which I probably wouldn't have been able to answer anyway.

Plus the whole “tattooed hands” would not have gone over well, especially since I had no idea of how they had gotten there. She would've thought I'd gotten them during a night of hard partying and drinking. Man, if only I could go back to how it was in the summer, when the only problems I'd faced was being way too tired from work and suffering from a hangover.

Looking down at my gloved hands, I felt like a major geek. This morning I'd gone on a rampage, throwing clothes and other nameless crap from my closet in search of the only pair of gloves I owned, which were black. All that had been running through my overwrought mind was that I had to cover up the etchings, or whatever they were called. And whatever they were, they were not going anywhere. There were on for good—maybe forever.