The Void

[srsizzy]

Post 01

Okay, I'm going to post the first two chapters of the first book I'm writing. I'm not sure if I should post anymore, because I've read that some publishing companies don't like it when the book/manuscript has already been open to the public or whatever. I'm not sure. I'm looking for any kind of input that you may have, especially on things I can improve on. This is the first part in a series, and of course since I only have 2 and a half chapters written, it is a work in progress. I do have the entire back-story and most of what will be happening planned out, so some of it may seem confusing. It builds up on how much you know as it goes along. Also, there will be a change in the first chapter (a whole section of intro) and then half of the first chapter will go into the second chapter. That's not really important now.

 

This is Chapters 1, 2 and 3 of The Void: Fog Guard.

 

Intro:

Yes, I'm 15, and I'm very ambitious. Aside from this, I have 3 other series of books planned out. I might post up what I have on those so far as well. I am almost as interested in pursuing art as much as pursuing writing and I practice both often. I'm the layout manager and co-editor of my school magazine, and I attend a small charter school (70-80 students) which is offering the International Bacheloriate (a pretty tough "AP" course). Right now I'm hoping to go to NYU and get my degree in film, focusing on screenplay writing and directing. This could change at any time, since I'm also really interested in science, and it is my strongest subject in school. Right now I'm just trying to expand all my horizons, but one thing I will inevitably be doing is being an author and writing probably dozens of books. Other than that, who knows?

 

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Post 02

So, last night I spent a few hours going over all of chapter one, and I don't know how many people have read all of this, but I tried to make some significant changes to descriptions and wording of sentences to make everything flow and sound better. I just entered the edited version in.

 

As it stand now, I'm going to be adding more of an introduction to chapter one, which will encompass half the chapter, and then the part that is in chapter one now, where Jackson is at the party, is going to become the first half of chapter two. So there's going to be a lot of big changes, I might go over chapter one a few times, and a lot of changes will be made on chapter two. I'm finding that now, when I read a book, I gain some kind of knowledge of how to express things better (I just read American Gods by Neil Gaiman again last week), so I'll probably revamp entire chapters every once in a while.

 

I've almost finished chapter three, but again, I'm unsure of how much I should post if I want it published. I'll research it, because I would like input on my writing from as many sources as possible. Just so you know, I'd like to know anything that you think about my writing. I always want to know what's wrong, and what I can fix, especially so that I don't make the same mistakes over and over. If there's anything that seems too confusing, then just tell me, and I'll try to make it make more sense. I'm going to go back to fixing up and finishing chapter three, and let me reiterate that input is much appreciated.

 

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Post 03

So, I just spent some time editing again. I added the new introduction, and chopped off the part of the first chapter when Jackson is at the party, putting it at the beginning of the second chapter. I added some new subject matter that wasn't there (for instance, for anyone whose read all of this, it now explains that David has seen things all his life, there's an important dream sequence in chapter one, better character introduction in the first chapter, and the introduction of Vincent as "Joel" for a few minutes). I suggest at least reading the new intro if you've read all of it already. Tommorrow I'll try to finish chapter three, and I think I will end up posting it. I'll try to edit it as much as possible before posting it, to avoid all these changes and fixes. Interesting, in the book format I have it (5"x8" pages) Ch. 1 is ten pages, Ch. 2 is 20, and so far, Ch. 3 is 15, but it's going to be longer.

 

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Post 04

Sorry for posting so much in my same thread, if that's a problem. Not trying to constantly bump it or anything. I added more dialogue between Jackson and Joel/Vincent in the first chapter, and I had a reason because there was something I was going to put in chapter 3, but now I've forgotten the reason. Oh well, the longer dialogue makes the encounter a bit more realistic, and not so pointless.

 

I'll be posting Chapter 3 soon, maybe in the next few minutes, or maybe tommorrow. I think I might need some sleep before finishing it up and adding the final touches. I might have something to say about it, if I do I'll just edit this post, so if you see Chapter 3, look at this post just in case.

 

I've also been thinking about adding some information or something, since you won't get to read it all until it hopefully (crosses fingers) gets published. If I do add information, that will be in the first post.

 

[EDIT] So, below is the third chapter as it stands. I'm also editing the second one even more. I added a conversation Gena has with Jackson's mom before he calls her (it's right at the end of the chapter). I'm happy cause so far I have 23,000 words, about a fifth of an "average novel," though I plan on making 21 chapters so it's about a seventh. I hope I can write the fourth chapter in the next week or two. Thanks for reading (if you are)!

 

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Post 05

I've recently had the fear that I probably shouldn't post more, and am anxious at how much I did post. I didn't think that there's the chance someone could come across it and take the ideas. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not freaking out or going crazy over it, I'm just a bit anxious. So I printed it all out and mailed it to myself, because that's the closest method I've heard of showing that the work actually belongs to you. It's because of the official postage stamp thing that the post office puts on it. You just do that and then leave it unopened. I'm just letting anyone who may exist know that this happened, so if you (not any of the awesome people around here, I know all of you are good enough writers not to steal my stuff) ever think of taking my ideas, I'll know and you'll be screwed.

 

Anyways, I'm wondering if there will be any feedback. If anyone really cares a lot about reading this story, then I could probably email them updates and such, but right now I'm not getting much response, so I think I'll just let this thread sit as it is. I hope that my writing isn't so bad that people think I'm dumb to be wanting to publish it, and I don't think it's that bad, but getting some feedback would be helpful.

 

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Post 07

So, I'm putting all other posts that aren't story or replies up here. I'll mention it in the last post I made. FYI: I recently discovered that Chapters 2 and 3 were cut off at the end, I didn't realize there was a character limit. So I put the ending in a post directly afterwards. I'm not sure how important this is, but if any of you have read all of this (and I know it's a little much to read in one sitting) then I would appreciate any advice you may have. Otherwise, nevermind I guess. So, if I do continue posting stuff on this then just expect something to be written up here instead of down there, you know?

 

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Post 08

Well, I decided to put the terms, characters, and background that I hope to have at the beginning or ending of each book. It's a rough draft of course, I still need to edit the introduction, and those aren't all the characters or terms. I don't have any information on the characters, just names, but I put all of this information in the copy I mailed for the copywriting purposes, so please, don't take it.

 

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Post 09, August 2nd

Well, hello again. I think I've finished chapter 4, and since I'm more confident that this won't all be published by someone else, and I have trust that no one will steal my ideas, I'm willing to post up this next chapter. I'm not sure how many people have actually read all of it, but I know at least one has. Of course, no chapter is absolutely done, since I always go back and add/change things. As always, any and all advice is welcome. I haven't had a chance to go back and correct the things that Wyv told me about, I'll do that soon though. Also, I removed the "background story" because it's so rough, and I'm actually going to rewrite it. If you didn't end up reading it, and want to know the history behind the story, just PM me and I'll let you read the old version.

 

Also, I edited every post because now there is a "timeline" type thing, each segment shows how many days (or years) it was from the night of the party. I'm going to try to make that night more pivotal in relation to all the characters, making it the center point for when everything happens. For instance, ch 3 technically comes before the second half of ch 2, and ch 4 comes way before them all. Also, I don't know if the character limit was changed after I said something, but now all of my stuff is fitting in a single post, so I changed all the ones that were in two seperate posts.

 

 

Everything (stories, characters, concepts) on this page pertaining to A Series of the Void, Dark, Light, and Evil and all books in that series are ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper

Edited August 2, 2006 by srsizzy

[srsizzy]

I. Them and Their Dark Town

The day of the party

Jeremy slipped off his bed, and onto the shaggy dorm-room carpet. The clock on his bedside table said it was eight, which meant it was eight thirty since the thing had broken when he started going to college. David was already awake, sitting at a very small, blue table and eating multicolored cereal. The two of them shared the dorm room, and were both comfortable since they had been friends through high school.

Their home was a place called Dark Town, set in the north of Massachusetts. They also had two other good friends there. Jackson and Genevieve had lived in Dark Town since they were toddlers, and both came from somewhere in Oregon. They had met David later in elementary school. Jeremy had moved into Dark Town last. His family was hoping to settle down as he entered junior high, so his dad started working as a repairman and his mom continued working in real estate. The three of them had helped Jeremy get over his estrangement, so he quickly became a part of their tight-knit group of friends.

Somehow, they had all decided to go to the same college. Maybe it was because they were friends, or maybe it was just the convenience of Dark Town College being a few miles out of the city. Either way, they were all undergraduates, and still had the choice of going to another college for their graduate degree. Jeremy, a year younger than the rest of them and still in the same grade, always felt like the small guy. David and Jackson were taller than him, and Genevieve was just a few inches shorter

"Hey," David said after a while. "Are we going to the game tonight?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Jeremy said, taking both of their bowls and tossing them in the small sink. "I'm pretty sure Jackson's coming with us. You know, Jack is on the team." David nodded.

David was the quietest of the four, and he went into the bathroom without another word. When he was younger his parents had put him through a lot of weird therapy because he kept a journal of strange things he saw. At first, the journal seemed perfectly normal and imaginative, until they found an entry that was somewhat disturbing. There had been a little girl who had recently gone missing, and the city had sent a few search parties into the park where she seemed to have gotten lost. David wrote in his journal that he had been in the park alone, and saw the little girl behind a tree, carving weird markings into the bark. Then he wrote that two men in grey robes had come out of nowhere and smashed the girls head against the tree, leaving her for dead. No one had ever found the body, and David said he had forgotten where the tree was.

"Is Gena coming?" David shouted from the bathroom. Jeremy could hear him getting changed, and it sounded like he was brushing his teeth at the same time.

"I'm not sure," Jeremy said, getting dressed as well. It was pretty much a two room dorm; one room with two beds, and a living room/dining room/kitchen, with one bathroom. "I was going to call her soon, or maybe I'll go over and see how she's doing. She said her nose was stuffy yesterday, so I told her to eat an orange."

"An orange?" David came out with his shirt over his head, and hastily pulled it down to cover the large scar across his chest. Jeremy didn't even know what it was from, but he had seen it many times and decided not to ask. There were a lot of things David kept private, and the rest of them respected that. "Well, I'm going to head to the library for a while. Tell Gen to come, it should be fun."

Jeremy nodded as David unlocked, and walked out the door. Genevieve was Jeremy's girlfriend currently. People mostly called her Gena, or Gen, and it was people that didn't know her that called her Genevieve. He had asked her out at the end of their junior year of college, which was somewhat awkward since they were best friends. Somehow they worked it out for the next six months, staying friends through their relationship. All three of the guys had liked her at some point, but Jeremy decided to make a move after Jackson moved on and David became uninterested.

Searching for the pair of pants which held his cell phone, he decided to call Genevieve before showing up. The phone ended up being in a pair of khakis. Her number was in the contacts menu, and the press of a button had the phone ringing. They had a short conversation, in which Genevieve told him that she was studying for winter finals. She said he could come over for a while before the game, though, and he took her up on the offer.

When he said goodbye, he said that he loved her, and she said it back, and it made him smile. He didn't remember how many times they'd both said it, but it wasn't many. Walking outside, deciding to take the bus into town, he thought about him and her, and all the thoughts were happy.

~

Jackson bought a croissant that was full of some type of preserves. He hadn't looked at what flavor it was, but as he sat down at a small table in the Atrium, taking a large bite out of it, he figured that maybe it was strawberry—either that, or cherry, because chunks of red dribbled out of the pastry like the innards of some sweet tasting animal. The orange juice that accompanied it was too pulpy for his taste, but he drank it anyways because of the price. He felt that maybe three-fifty was a little bit much for a cup of orange juice in a disposable cup.

When he was done with this small brunch, he pulled his homework out of his bag and started reading a chapter in a philosophy book. His mind was drifting when it started talking about the importance of analyzing a thought process, and instead found himself analyzing a few smudged words scribbled on the table with a ballpoint pen. It looked like it said "I love Mandy White," but instead of love it had a little heart. Jackson pushed the philosophy book back in his bag and took out the one on Native American history. This is what he found more interesting. He had often thought of being an anthropologist, but dismissed the thought just as often when he felt that everything to be discovered had been discovered.

Jackson was reading and answering questions about a skirmish over a special hill which was thought to be a spiritual landmark, when someone sat across from him. The person wore too many layers of jackets and sweaters for the mildly cold weather. A few chains dangled around his neck, and his shoes sounded heavy on the linoleum. Jackson hadn't ever seen him around before, but the guy looked at him like they knew each other.

"Hello," he said, reaching out and pushing up the brim of the book to see what Jackson was reading. "Ah, the Native Americans, a very unfortunate people. Do you have any relation to them?"

Jackson was confused by the stranger's conversational tones. "Not that I know of."

"You know, most Americans probably have some Native American blood in them. I mean, you never know. Some people think they come from a long line of this or that, but it always turns out that some great, great grandmother has slept with someone who isn't white. It's just the way things tend to go, you know?"

Jackson didn't know. He didn't know if he came from any long line of anything, nor did he care if he did. Jackson noticed that the stranger wore scarves under his chains, which covered up his neck, and part of his chin. His skin looked a little blue, even though the day was relatively warm. "Yeah, well, there are lots of things we don't know. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Probably, but I can't think of a thing at the moment." The man's smile was full of teeth that seemed too sharp to be human. "My name's Joel, I'm new to the college."

"Hello Joel," Jackson said politely, trying not to imply that he wanted Joel to bugger off. "I'm Jackson, I'm a senior right now." Jackson thought that Joel seemed a little old to start going to college now, even though he couldn't discern what age he actually was.

"Ah, so you're getting close to making all the big decisions, or have you made them already?" Joel seemed genuinely curious about this, and didn't look as if he was going anywhere, so Jackson marked his page and closed the book.

"Somewhat," Jackson said hesitantly, realizing that he might be entering a long conversation with a stranger if he did not choose his words wisely. "I'm really interested in anthropological studies, but I'm not sure if I want to devote my life to it."

"Well, you know brother, you have your whole life to devote to whatever you want, so I'd say go for what most interests you. You see, the Native Americans right there, with all the different tribes, they are a very interesting people. You know, I myself am interested in religious studies. It's so fascinating to think of all the different ideas different cultures came up with, and then to realize all the striking similarities between them." Joel had a quality about him that made it seem that when he began talking, he would never stop.

"Yes, the Native American's had an interesting spirituality," Jackson responded, keeping to a subject he knew.

"Oh, don't even get me started brother." Jackson wished he hadn't. "The way they got in contact with nature, the world, and themselves was so profound. And they were all so peaceful. When there was a feud between tribes, many times there wouldn't be a single casualty." Joel spoke as if he lived back then, and though Jackson still couldn't tell what age he was, Joel's eyes looked very old, and yet he retained the demeanor and body of a person in his early thirties. "Since the tribes believed so many different things, it is difficult to figure what kind of religion ruled over this world before Christianity was boated over. What may have happened if it didn't happen the way it did?" Joel's voice began to take on a stranger accent that sounded somewhat European.

"I don't know," Jackson said, trying to keep up with the subjects that the man tossed out. "But what happened, well, it happened. Not much is going to change that, eh?"

"Nope, not much at all…" Joel seemed to reflect on this. "Not much ever changes." He continued to silently focus at a point right above Jackson's head. Jackson hadn't meant that nothing ever changes, but that you couldn't change the past. Joel was obviously on his own thought process, which Jackson did not attempt to analyze.

"Well, I really ought to get going," Jackson said, scooting his chair back as if he was about to leave right there and then.

"Ah yes, it's always go, go, go. Everyone's a busy bee, no more going with the flow; it's all about rapid expansion." Joel stood up, and scooted his chair in with an audible sliding noise.

"It was nice meeting you Joel."

"You as well Jackson. And good luck with deciding what to do," Joel said this as if he'd never see Jackson on campus, and Jackson expected he wouldn't. He held out a hand with black fingerless gloves.

He took the man's hand and shook it. Joel took his second hand, and put it on top of Jackson's, shaking it and squeezing it like he would die if he didn't. "Maybe I'll see you again some time," Jackson said stupidly.

"Maybe," Joel said, and drew his hands away. Jackson was suddenly preoccupied with his hand. It was tingling, and sending a strange feeling up his arm. Joel's skin had been extremely cold, and Jackson wasn't sure if the coldness was causing the feeling, or something else. When Jackson looked up from his hand Joel was gone as fast as if he had never been there.

It was an odd encounter, and Jackson found himself shoving all his stuff back in his bag and going to his dorm room to finish up on the homework. The feeling in his arm was growing to be a problem. The tingling turned into sharp tacks in his skin, and it was creeping up to his shoulder. He thought that maybe this Joel was a serial killer, and there was some kind of poison on his gloves. A simple handshake and the victim was dead. Jackson wondered if he should call 911, then figured that it would be fine. He was overreacting, in fact, the more he thought about it, the less his arm hurt. When he arrived at the door of his dorm room the sensation was gone; he would be able to get his homework done without a problem.

Jackson started working on his Native American studies book again, and was able to get the work done in an hour. When he finished, he was feeling pretty tired. He decided to turn on the radio and just rest his eyes a bit. The description of the warfare over the hill still lingered in his mind as he drifted off.

Jackson was in the world of his childhood. David sat beside him on a high brick wall overlooking school. It was summer time, but he couldn't tell because the sky didn't seem to actually be there. They were talking about something, but Jackson didn't really understand what it was. In front of them, instead of there being a school, there was the battle that Jackson had just been reading about. There were hundreds of soldiers, most with skin made redder by the blood of the enemy. This land, this hill, was sacred, it was important. When there was a feud between tribes, many times there wouldn't be a single casualty. These words drifted somewhere in the lower levels of his consciousness.

When Jackson looked over at David, he was the same lonely little boy he had always been, but at the same time he was the man Jackson saw him as now. And over both of those images there was something more, something darker. He saw a thirst for blood, and every moment David looked at him it was as if he wanted to kill him. But Jackson wasn't scared—he just continued to talk with David in terms that he did not understand.

On the brick wall, overlooking the hill that was not his school, he saw something new. Above and amongst the soldiers fought men and women who weren't human. Some of them were like animals, and some of them weren't like anything Jackson had ever seen. Many of them didn't seem to have faces, and most of them fought with the soldiers and inside the soldiers. A few of them glided overhead, watching the battle as if it were nothing more than a late night television show. Jackson thought he saw the man he knew as Joel join the fray, but realized this man was wearing furs and not jackets or sweaters, and bone necklaces, not chains.

No one was winning, but no one was losing. When Jackson looked closer, he saw that under the layers of dirt and blood, the soldiers of each side had different colored skin and clothing. One side was dark, and one side was light, and some soldiers who did not have a side were somewhere in between. In the middle there were many children with grey skin that everyone ignored. They looked like the children Jackson knew from school, but they had eyes that were closed in a way that made them look like they had never awoken.

"Sad, isn't it?" Jackson finally understood what David was muttering. "I think maybe we should make it stop." The world flickered, and became even more insubstantial than a dream. An enormous lightning bolt struck the ground, and shattered stone and bone. Everyone stood still for a moment, but then the battle went on, unending, just as it had for many years.

~

Jackson had accidentally fallen asleep, but woke up in time to meet his friends at the game. Now he walked into Tailor's bar, Jeremy trailing behind him leafing through his wallet to see how much cash he had left, and David coming in last, looking down at the ground absorbed in thought.

The bar was full that Saturday night. It was a few blocks off campus, making it a profitable business. Other students were returning from the basket ball game, laughing and drinking. Few people would come to Tailor's without a group of friends. It was usually closed on weekdays, and they opened on weekends for after-game or before-party drinks. Being the closest pub to the college with few competitors, most college students would choose Tailor's as their hang-out on weekends.

"Did you see that last shot? Right from the three point line, swoosh!" Jackson mimed shooting a ball up into a hoop, shouting over the din of clinking glasses and gossiping students.

"That was so awesome. I can't freaking believe that we have finals in a week. We need to chill out tonight, you know? Papers can wait till tomorrow," Jeremy said, and Jackson nodded as they all sat down at a table. The trio expected to make the most of their time before they had to endure long days of answering calculus equations and writing extensive essays on the economical situation following World War II. The three of them fell into a shallow conversation about the game and upcoming winter break. "I'm going to grab some drinks," Jeremy said after a few minutes of casual chatter.

"Jeremy, you're not twenty-one for a few months, remember? No ID." Jackson got up and pulled out his wallet. "You guys just pitch in a bit and I'll get it. Tailor shouldn't mind as long as he doesn't know." Jackson took a few bills from the both of them. He went to the bar and ordered three beers. When he got back, they fell into a slower conversation, enjoying the beer. After a while, Jackson ordered another round.

"See that girl over there, she's totally checking you out," Jackson said, nudging Jeremy. He knew Jeremy had a girlfriend, but it was their night out, they were allowed to joke around.

"Jackson, shut up. That's Mandy White. Some say that she's the biggest slut on campus," Jeremy said it like he was about to tell some campfire story, but he discontinued and took a long swig of beer, cringing at the thought of leaving Gena for Mandy White. The idea of flirting with another girl was somewhat tempting, when Gena had decided not to hang out with them tonight because she wanted to study. "Mandy's probably screwed at least ten different guys in the last two weeks," Jeremy muttered sarcastically.

"If you're going to leave Gena, might as well go for Mandy. You know, I'm surprised Gena said yes last year. Mandy's probably your best bet, what, with a shorty like you," Jackson said, chuckling and almost coughing up everything he had just swallowed. Jeremy grunted and punched Jackson on the shoulder. Jackson remembered the message he had seen scribbled on the table in the Atrium. He felt bad for anyone who thought they were in love with Mandy White. At the subject of Mandy, David seemed looked at the both of them quizzically. "David, do you listen to any rumors or gossip anymore? You're always stuck in a book. I'm surprised you go out with us as often as you do. If Mandy started flirting with you, you'd probably go out with her in minutes. That's what you'd get for being so quiet and not talking to anyone." Jackson sighed, and David just smiled, looking down at the table. "I need something stronger than beer. I don't want to wake up until five PM tomorrow," he said as a joke.

"I'll get it." David got up quickly and walked to the bar with a very troubled expression. Jeremy just shrugged his shoulders, and looked off into space. From the table they could both see David brush past Mandy, squeezing between two chairs and smiling at her awkwardly. She winked at him, possibly having had heard the end of their conversation. He got to the bar and ordered a bottle with a few empty glasses. Jackson could tell by the bottle that it was much stronger than beer. On his way past Mandy again, she scooted her chair back further making it take longer for him to get through. When he got out, she squeezed his rear end, and giggled with the girls who sat by her. David sat down again, blushing slightly.

"As if it means anything," Jackson said aside to Jeremy. He poured the alcohol into one of the glasses, and drank the amber substance. It went down burning, but it was a somewhat pleasant burn that seemed peppery. "Mandy isn't the right kind of girl for you David. You need someone that can understand—that can stand your weirdness. Mandy would just take you out for casual sex, and leave you out on the curb." They knew, or at least Jeremy and Jackson did, that Mandy wasn't the enormous slut they played her out to be. She was just more of a free girl, who wouldn't be held down by just one man.

"Sounds like you talk from experience," David said. Jackson stuck his finger in his mouth and gagged. "Besides, I don't really think about that stuff. I don't get why everyone gets caught up in this relationship thing, always turns up badly."

"Damn it shut up. First I have to talk about Mandy, and then you have to go all dark and sad on us. Why don't we talk about something else? Maybe something a little more 'Saturday night'." Jeremy emptied his shallowly filled glass of the liquid Jackson finally recognized as scotch. David and Jeremy started talking about a recent movie, and Jackson looked off into space, focusing on one of the corner booths.

Jackson almost looked away from the corner after awhile, until he noticed that the booth wasn't empty. At first glance, it looked as if there had been no one there, but the second time he swore that he saw a man with violet, almost black, skin. The lights around the man dimmed faintly, and the lines in the wood paneling behind him squirmed. Jackson's stomach suddenly felt empty, but it all ended as quickly as it had started. He blinked, and rubbed his eyes, and saw that there wasn't anyone or anything there after all. "Weird," he muttered hoarsely. It must have been the alcohol finally getting to him.

"Hey, Jackson! I'm talking to you!" Jeremy smacked him across the cheek. He looked at the two of them for a second, and then jerked his gaze back to the corner. Still, no one was there. When he squinted his eyes he saw a sparkle of reflected light off of something like a silver chain, but then it was gone again. "Earth to Jackson: Do you read?" Jackson kept staring intently at the corner booth. Something was there, he had seen it twice.

"Mayday, Mayday. Houston, we're sending in a probe." David picked up an old straw and tried inserted it into Jackson's nose. Jeremy started cracking up, rocking back and forth in his chair and shaking the table.

"What the fuck!" Jackson shouted, snatching the straw away and tossing it onto the floor.

Jeremy's laughing slowed down, and died off. "Um, Jackson, what's up?" Jeremy said, finishing his drink again, and quickly pouring a little more out of the bottle, into his glass.

"I don't know," Jackson said, sighing. "I thought I saw something." Jackson rubbed his eyes again. Suddenly his arms were thrust upwards, as if pulled by strings, and his body followed. He stretched, and flexed his arms, and then he sat down just as suddenly as he had gotten up. A second later it felt like it hadn't even been him who had stood up, like he was pulled by puppet strings. "Yea, I'm fine."

"Man, have you been smoking something? Don't hold out on us," Jeremy smiled at Jackson jokingly. "Hey, I just heard Steven over there say something about a party at his house." As Jeremy muttered on about Steven not having to live in a dorm, Jackson called Steven over. He didn't know why, he hadn't planned on partying, and he was actually going to start studying a bit on Sunday, but suddenly he felt that he needed to get out of the bar, and he didn't want to go home.

Steven walked up. Jackson grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him close to talk to him. The din in the bar disappeared as Steven got close to him. "Hey Steven, there's a party at your place? Everyone's invited, right?" he almost whispered. The sound around him faded away, and he had to whisper to not break the seeming silence.

"Yeah, anyone can go. It's going to be the shit, totally 'pre-finals' party going on." Jackson was quiet for a moment, and he nodded.

Stephen drew away, and walked off. Jackson suddenly had a random flash of thought, like the wrong synapses firing off in his brain. He imagined some kind of intimate situation with Steven. He coughed, and tried to forget it quickly. Squirming in his seat a bit, Jackson realized that he needed to use the restroom. "I'm going to piss, and then we should ditch this place with Steven and them." He patted Jeremy's shoulder. The both of them nodded.

As he walked to the bathroom, he realized that the door was right by the corner booth where he had seen whoever that strange man was. As he walked past, he stared intently at the booth, almost deciding reach out to feel around, but he drew his hand back and reasoned that he wasn't that drunk. A wisp of smoke was clinging to the edge of an unmoving ceiling fan, and it seemed to make the area smell of gingerbread cookies frosted in melted plastic. It stung his lungs, and made the top of his head tingle.

He went into the white-tiled men's room as quickly as he could. There was peculiar emptiness in his stomach that he didn't fully notice. As he unzipped, and let the pain ease in his bladder, he imagined that weird thought he had of Steven being poured out with his urine. Out of nowhere he felt like someone was watching him. Looking around, the bathroom was clearly empty. The hairs at the base of his neck stood on end as the feeling grew stronger. The bathroom door hadn't opened, and he leaned back to see all the stall doors open and all the stalls empty. The smell of the burnt plastic cookies drifted past his nose again. When he finished off and zipped his pants back up he felt someone come up behind him. Jackson looked back, but no one was there. He stood still for a moment, unable to move. Suddenly a cold hand ran up his arm. It happened slowly, and when it was over all the places that he had felt the person that wasn't there touch him became cold and flushed with goose bumps.

Jackson went to wash his hands at the off-white, porcelain sinks. As the water flowed over his palms, he could feel someone standing behind him, their chest pressed against his back again. Cold hands ran up his bare arms. The water became ice-cold over his hands, and after a moment his breath became foggy. He looked intensely into the mirror, his hands shaking under the stream of water. Their presence made the florescent lights buzz and flicker. Each time the lights went off he saw a strange distortion in the mirror. Right where the person's head would be, a blob of darkness began to appear. As he felt all of this, the first word that had come to his mind was "ghost." The lights stopped flickering, and dimmed until they were almost off. The ghost's hands rested softly on his forearms. The dark mass that was its face curved and turned slightly purple, with a rough skin texture stretching out and filling the empty space. An ivory grin, full of strangely shaped teeth faded into existence, like the Cheshire cat in Wonderland. The face and the man disappeared as the lights grew brighter and someone walked in, passing him without a word and going into one of the stalls. He was left feeling incredibly sick and cold. Jackson stood in shock for a moment, then turned the sink off and stumbled out of the men's room, water dripping from his hands.

The atmospheric change from cold and white fear to the orange and red hubbub of the bar left his mind reeling. He shook his head for a moment, quickly put on an uncomfortable smile and wiped the water off his hands on his brown chords. He awkwardly strolled back to his friends without looking back again at the men's room or the corner booth. The plastic ginger bread was still caught in his nose hairs, and the world blurred at the edges of his vision. "Hey, there's Jackson," Jeremy said, getting up, and putting on his sports jacket.

Story and characters ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper Edited August 2, 2006 by srsizzy

[srsizzy]

II. Disappearance

The Day of the Party

Everyone that was headed to the party by Steven's house had already begun filtering out the door before Jackson had come out. When they were all out on the dark rain-slicked street, they congregated into their cliques, though they were all headed in the same direction.

Jackson started off walking alone, shivering, almost uncontrollably. He still felt really sick, and completely sober, which wasn't the greatest thing when you're trying to have a good night. Steven drew closer, a blue wind blazer flapping in the night air, and Jeremy and David were right behind him. Jackson couldn't help but edge away from Steven when he remembered what he had imagined. "Dude, are you okay?" Steven asked.

"I don't know." Jackson sighed. He wanted to be left alone, but at the same time Jeremy and David were his best friends. He felt he should tell them the truth of what he though had just happened, even though Steven was there. "I think there's some kind of ghost in Tailor's…" his voice felt bare as he talked, like he was sharing something that shouldn't be shared. "It grabbed me…when I was washing my hands. I saw it in the mirror." He regretted it instantly. They were all silent for a moment, waiting for him to imply it was a joke, before Steven and Jeremy burst out laughing of their own accord. He smiled weakly.

"Dude, you need to chill," Steven said laxly. "I'm going to stop at the Seven Eleven over there and pick something up, want to wait outside or come in?" Jackson shrugged. "It's your choice." Steven walked through the glass door, pushing instead of pulling the first time he tried to get through, and Jeremy trailed behind him with a smile. David and Jackson waited outside, watching as everyone else kept moving on towards the party, not noticing the group that had stayed behind.

David started rubbing his hands up and down his arms to keep warm. "You know, if something's bugging you, you can tell us. Before we left you seemed really edgy." David yawned, expelling a cloud of steamy breath. "If you're serious about this 'ghost' that you saw…I'm sure it's nothing. Weirder things have happened."

"I wasn't imagining it. It was there. God damn it. I saw it, and I felt it…" he spoke slowly and jerkily. Despite his certainty, he was starting to doubt his sanity.

"I find it hard to believe, man, that there's a ghost that grabs people in Tailor's," David said, looking away at the cloudy sky.

"Fuck, I can't make you believe it. I just know what I saw." Jackson glanced around. It was dark. That didn't help to sooth his mood. He tried to focus on the things that were lighting the road: a few street lamps dispersed at every block, and the small flood lights that rimmed the Seven Eleven rooftop. There were a few crickets chirping in someone's yard across the street. Despite himself, he kept replaying in his mind what had happened in the bathroom, until, once again, he felt someone watching him. Their gaze was on no one else. Some of the street lamps began to flicker, and one went completely out. Jackson was conscious of something off in the darkness, something darker than the night.

A fog had rolled in. Under the black lamppost he was certain that he saw the mist moving and gathering up into a thick cloud. His eyes were peeled wide, but David didn't seem to notice any of it. The fog shaped into a silhouette of a man, black against black. More accurately: deep purple against black. Whoever it was appeared to pull out a cigarette. They lit it, and the orange tip burned in the darkness. It glowed like a star as they took a lengthy drag from it, lighting up their misty face eerily. Jackson tried to speak, but only incoherent mumbles blubbered out. After he came to his senses he was finally able rip his eyes away from the purple man dressed in black. "Sh-shit man, look!" Jackson jabbed his finger in the direction of the ghost.

When David looked at the dark lamppost, the light flickered back on. No one or thing was there, just a small cloud of mist floating in the air. Before he could say anything, Jeremy and Steven burst out of the Seven Eleven carrying a bag and some drinks. "Jackson, I grabbed you an energy drink to snap you out of it, what ever it is," Steven said, tossing a can to Jackson, and grabbing David by the shoulder and pulling him in the direction of the party. While the rest of them walked on, Jackson slowly popped the can open and downed the whole thing in a few seconds. The liquid's flavor resembled maple syrup mixed corn syrup and a cup of cough syrup.

He tried to catch up with them, but then stopped. The caffeine and other energy drink ingredients were doing some sort of swing dance with the alcohol in his veins. His head started shaking, and he coughed, and the cough turned into hacking. The rest of them kept walking; too absorbed in their own drunkenness to notice. His head started buzzing, and the world vibrated for a moment. He felt sick again, but started walking anyways. There was a taste like burnt something in his mouth. "Hey, Jackson!" The rest of them were a block away.

"I'll catch up," he shouted back, taking it slowly as he made his way to the party. Something really strange was happening, and as he thought about it, it all felt out of his control. Despite this, he didn't feel very afraid. He felt like the purple ghost was supposed to be there. Something that he knew was coming, but didn't know when. It was almost comforting.

It was only a few minutes before he stood in front of a house. It was so full of people that the walls shook. There were people on the lawn, dancing, kissing, anything that fit the mood of the moment. This party hadn't been planned, but who cared? It was their time, their time to do what ever with who ever wanted to do it. He stood alone for awhile, despite the blast of sound and energy that cascaded from the building. He looked back; a streetlamp behind him dimmed, and he could see the silhouette of his stalker. He didn't care anymore. It wouldn't bother him once he entered such a crowded area. Taking a step up the walkway, he hesitated. As the plastic-cookie smell which he had found disgusting before crawled deeper into his system, he realized that he didn't want to go in. He wanted to turn around and embrace the specter that awaited him. It was already in him, he could hear it thinking in his head. It told him to come back, to embrace it as a brother. Only a small voice in the vast expanse of his dilapidated consciousness told him that this was all his imagination. Ghosts weren't real, were they?

Before he could even make a decision, Jeremy crawled out of the mass and grabbed Jackson by the arm and dragged him in. "Come on big boy, time to chill out." Jeremy was like the nose of a ship, breaking a wave of drunk and drugged college students, to whom the "college" part didn't matter anymore, and the "drugged" and "drunk" were worth ten fold. Somehow the small guy was able to push everyone out of the way.

The specter would have to wait; a new being had grabbed hold of him. Jackson was moving into something beyond even his own control. It was a twisted pleasure that humans had, relying on destroying their minds to enjoy their time. It happened either way, whether they were drugged or not, their own bodies would send them into a mindless euphoria while amongst these masses. The ghost would have to stand at bay while Jackson became the innocent victim of the experience.

Jackson's stalker didn't appreciate being swept under the rug, though. The mysterious shade would not relent in its attempts, whatever it was that they were. No one noticed a man in a dark leather jacket seat himself at the table beside Jackson, and put his arm over Jackson's shoulder. "Hello brother," he said, taking the glass out of Jackson's hand and dropping it on the ground. "I think that maybe Jackson has had quite enough."

"What? Who're you?" Jackson blurted out. Suddenly everybody around him was distracted by someone or something else. "Why'd you do that?"

"Brother, I said you have had enough." The man spoke with a strange accent, nothing Jackson had ever heard. When Jackson looked at him it was as if he was looking through a fog. It was like trying to look at the dream image of someone; all the man's discernable features were out of focus. "Of drink, that is. I think that maybe you should try this." The man twiddled his fingers before Jackson's face, and a blue-green tube rolled out of nowhere. The man stuck it between Jackson's lips, before Jackson could even manage a "what's that?" It wasn't as if he really cared what it was, not in the state he was in. The man flipped out a lighter, which sent up a thin column of smoke, or fire. Jackson couldn't decide what it was, but decided it didn't matter. The man placed his hand on Jackson's chest, and whispered in his ear. "Breathe."

Jackson inhaled, and kept inhaling. The smoke was like what he had smelled at Tailor's, but this time it tasted good. The gas continued filling his lungs for the longest time, until he felt that he needed some oxygen. His eyes were closed, and the cigarette was removed from his lips. A cloud of smoke billowed forth from his mouth as he exhaled. Looking aside at the man, Jackson realized that specter was gone. Jackson wasn't even sure if he had really just smoked the phantom cigarette, but the taste in his mouth assured him that something must have been there. After a few seconds, he could feel something working in his veins. It moved into his nerves and skin, and then flowed up into his brain, making him twitch in the chair.

Then everything collapsed into nothing. It was all black, and when Jackson returned, he wasn't himself. He was something else, something that he could have been but never tried to be. His blood began flowing with fire, and he could hear the world changing. Each step of a stranger thudded deep in his ears, sounds that were minuscule became drastically important. He could see and hear everything. Regardless of the music, he could even hear the clinking of dishes in the kitchen. It was like putting on glasses, and realizing you had been half blind your whole life. Colors and feelings drifted off of each person that surrounded him. Then it was gone, gone again, as quickly as it had come: a drop of truth, washed away by the rivers of so-called reality.

Jackson wanted more. He wanted more of what he knew was the real real-world; and the phantom had it. Whatever was in that cigarette must have been some kind of fast acting drug; a few seconds of ecstasy that blows away like dust in the wind. The people around stopped ignoring him, and began interacting with him as if they had never stopped. He had been practically invisible a minute before, but it didn't seem to matter. "Hey buddy, I just saw this girl. She seemed to be into you like crazy." Jeremy sat down by Jackson, drinking yet another beer. That didn't really matter too much; Jackson just sat and silently observed the party, feeling like a hawk on a tall tree. "I think she's in our philosophy class. You should go talk to her."

"I need to get outside." Jackson got up and walked away. Jeremy's verbal curiosity died off, and he left Jackson alone.

After a few swift steps and opened doors, he stood on the back porch in the midnight breeze. At first the cold was unbearable, but Jackson decided that it was better than the stuffy, humid air in the house. There were whispers somewhere out there. Jackson glanced to the side to see two unknown lovers in the grasp of physical romance, hidden in the shadows against a fence. He wanted the feeling back, he wanted the specter back. Someone was standing behind him. "Who are you?" he inquired, his voice floating on misty breath into the night.

In response, the girl in the shadows giggled, and the guy grunted a few obscenities while he led her away to somewhere more private. They must have thought Jackson was talking to them. The person behind him chuckled. When he jerked his head around no one was there. He swung his head back to look out over the yard, but his view was cut of by the head of the phantom, more real now than before. Jackson recognized the many chains around his neck, and the many jackets and sweaters being replaced by one leather jacket. His complexion was less purple, and more of a dark indigo, far darker than it had been when he hade last seen him. "Joel?"

"No, you should probably call me Vincent, but you may call me Joel if you prefer, brother."

"I'm not your brother," Jackson said, stepping away from the man.

"Just a formality," Vincent/Joel said, sitting down on the bench by the back door. "I hope that you don't mind terribly. Something my people grow used to."

"Who…what the hell are you?" Jack said, surprised at the man's flippant attitude. "You're not a new student at all, are you?"

"Saying 'who' will suffice, and no, I'm not an enrolling student at your college." Jack knew that he had been too old to be a student, and Joel was probably a fake name. The man snapped his fingers, and another already-lit cigarette cracked out of thin air. Vincent took a puff, and soon after smoke spewed from his nose like a fire hydrant. "And I said you can call me Vincent, though earlier it was easier to spin a different tale." He patted the bench seat. "Sit here, yes?"

Jackson hesitated, and decided that there was nothing to lose. There was no running from this thing. Jackson had obviously gone insane, or was dreaming. He sat down by Vincent on the small bench. "It's rather warm, yes?" the being said, and in the blink of an eye his jacket was gone, and he was wearing a black tee-shirt. His bare arm rubbed up against Jackson's. Vincent's skin was as cold as metal, but still retained the softness of skin. The sensation sent a chill up Jackson's back.

"But what are you?" Jackson said. It…Vincent was obviously not human. No one else could see him, he could disappear on a whim, and he could conjure blue cigarettes out of nowhere. "Some kind of…demon?" To top it off, after Jackson said this Vincent sprouted a pair of ivory-blue horns from just below his blackish-blue hairline and a forked tail slithered up Jackson's arm.

"Ha, Demon? No, I'm no Demon, not at all." Vincent shook his head slightly, and despite his hair being of such a short length, it seemed to move around like water. The tail and horns shrank away into nothing. He took another drag of the cigarette. "I've killed many demons in fact," he said while blowing the smoke up to the awning above them, which pooled against the ceiling before dissipating. "If you wonder exactly what I am, I guess I could tell you in a way that would be safe to your sensitive ears." Jackson just stared at him blankly, not really understanding him. "Yes, well I'm…" Vincent paused a second, thinking. "Vincent superio arvantis, undt Qladj Radjer of the Fog Guard." When Vincent said the foreign-sounding words, his voice fluctuated in pitch, sometime fading out into tones so low or high that Jackson couldn't hear them. "Basically it means that I am a superior of dusk and I worked for the Fog Guard before my forced resignation." Vincent's accent was very strange. It was like a mix of Russian and some other European language.

These words didn't really mean anything to Jackson, so he chose to ignore them. "That's what you are, is it? I'd say you're insane, but I'm the one seeing a blue guy that speaks…Russian?"

"Russian? Making celestial words comfortable for humans makes them sound different than they should, but if I said them in mine own tongue, you would experience extreme pain, and maybe go deaf." He pondered on this for a moment, and Jackson was left with the strange feeling of Vincent's icy skin press against his arm. After looking up at the moon, Vincent spoke again. "Some have thought of my kind as gods, though many of us hardly are. I have been called Warrior of the Mists, and others have names of their faction. Would 'faction' be the word you would use for Dark and Light?" Jackson decided this man was not real, but a dream or a hallucination. That's why it was talking such complete nonsense. "Despite, I am neither of those. I am Void."

Before Vincent could continue with what Jackson thought was psychotic babbling, something in the night whispered. The voice was inaudible, yet it filled all the space around them. Vincent superio, s'chestzium miozen chtoac. Though Jackson didn't understand the words, he somehow felt what they meant. He turned to Vincent, expecting an explanation, but he was gone.

"Well…fuck. That was weird." Jackson sat on the empty bench for a while. When he realized that he was so cold that he was shivering, he got up. Walking back inside, into the throng of noise and warmth, Jackson was somewhat fazed. Though he was accepted, and jostled to the beat of the music, he felt too indifferent to the strangers to be comfortable being so near to them. Random people, whose names he could not remember for the life of him, were rubbing up against him and trying to dance with him. After his run-in with Vincent, everything around him felt off. He walked over to the stairs, and sat down alone.

Jackson once again found himself mindlessly watching the dancers. The illness in his stomach had somewhat dissipated, and he was contemplating finding something to eat when someone dropped themselves beside him. "I want to see something." Before he could react, someone stuck a cigarette in his mouth again. He inhaled the smoke and realized that his phantom had somehow returned from his sudden departure. Anyone that might have been around him became immediately pushed in another direction. Maybe it was just Vincent pushing them away like they were the same poles of a magnet, or maybe it was just coincidence.

After a second the smoke penetrated his consciousness, and all things in existence bombarded his senses once more. He looked at Vincent, and noticed that the man had an aura of grey surrounding him, squirming around, like floating worms of smoke changing subtly in shade and color. He inhaled from the cigarette again, to keep the experience going. Everyone seemed to have an aura about them, though theirs were different than Vincent's. The clouds of emotion faded in and out, each person's thoughts were projected before them; passion, fun, raucous energy, all floating in a medley of shapes and colors. Every object in the room shook and vibrated, changing in hue and shade. It was like the world was about to explode.

While he was in this trance, someone sat by him. They were surrounded by a pulsing heat. The emotion was so bright that he couldn't focus on its center to see whose it was. They began to speak, but he heard no words. All that came out was raw emotion and reaction, physical and energetic speech. He couldn't understand, but it didn't matter. In moments he was talking with the person in ways he had never spoken before.

Almost everyone in the party had left. No one noticed as him and this unknown person walked upstairs. For all he knew, this was the girl that Jeremy was going on about. Jackson didn't realize it, but he and this person were kissing all the way up the stairs. Jackson held the cigarette behind his ear, but Vincent was trying to take the cigarette away. For a second it became annoying, and Jackson pushed Vincent away. Though it seemed that he was desperately trying to say something, Jackson didn't hear any of it as he and the stranger laid themselves in a bed. Jackson was completely unaware that it was Steven that whispered words of passion in his ear. Jackson neither heard nor saw anything that was real. He imagined, and dreamt. In these dreams he could see himself in a field covered in tall dark pillars, he could see himself hanging from a tower by only one hand, he could see so much blood spilled on his hands, and he could see this man's death outback behind Tailor's.

~

9 days after the party

~

"Genevieve?" Prof. Dawson droned out. European history class was Genevieve's first period class on Mondays. Prof. Dawson called role before the exams started. Winter finals were rough, but Gena knew she would make it through with a decent grade.

"Here," she said in a monotone voice, silently looking up at an air vent in the ceiling and absent mindedly flicked her short red bangs out of her face. It had been a week since Jackson had disappeared. He had come to school on Monday after the party, but there had been some sort of drama between him and Steven. Genevieve only heard rumors, but she couldn't believe them. It was a well known fact that Steven was gay, but no one had heard of Jackson being with a guy, let alone sleeping with one. She hadn't been there when they had argued in the Atrium, an on-campus "cafeteria" full of local food businesses. She had heard that Steven insisted that Jackson had been with him on Saturday night. Jackson denied it all, and said he had woken up at home and remembered leaving the party early.

Genevieve wasn't sure what she could believe. She'd known Jackson for a long time, longer than David, and Jeremy. They were a close group of friends, but she and he were even closer. Jackson would have told her, or all of them, about this if it were true. Then again, he had disappeared the same day, his dorm room left as if he all he had done is woken up. His car was missing as well, and it was obvious that he had driven somewhere. No one knew where he went, and he hadn't contacted anyone for a week.

"…Everyone understand?" Prof. Dawson had just finished talking about something, and Genevieve had been too focused on Jackson to listen. "Gena? Got it?" Genevieve lied with a nod. She would be able to get what ever was on the test.

The exam was fairly easy and Genevieve got to leave class early because she was one of the first done. She decided to go lay out on the lawn while she waited for her next class. There were twenty minutes until her next class. She couldn't help but think about her three friends. Between the four of them Jackson was the only one who would seem like the leader of the group. Over the weekend the remaining three hadn't really spoken to each other. As friends, they felt distant without him.

Genevieve laid herself in the grass by a tall oak tree. The sky was a pale gray, mist staying just above head level and clinging to the leaves. The air was crisp, but her purple sweater (something Jeremy had given her as a gift) kept her warm enough. The ground was somewhat moist, but she didn't mind as she put her backpack against a root and used it as a pillow. She wished Jeremy was there, or that they had done something the weekend before. The fear she felt for Jackson was making her feel very alone. All this, and the pressure to not mess up on her other finals was causing her a lot of stress. It was hard to focus on school work with all this drama. It wasn't just Jackson leaving, but the day after the party she and Jeremy had had a big fight, mostly over nothing, as usual. He didn't seem to think it was a big deal, but something he had said had hurt her feelings and he didn't seem to care at all. It was typical of men to be insensitive, especially Jeremy. Despite that, she still loved being around him, and spending time with him. She hadn't talked to him very much since then. There's always a downside to everything. As long as she loved him, she could accept his faults.

Thinking about of all these things over and over was giving Genevieve a headache. She had some time to relax before the first half of her biology final. She let her thoughts wander in exhaustion. Her test was one Greek mythology, and she had decided to write her essay on the legend of Pandora's Box. There was something there that interested her, because many religions had a similar tale of how sin came into the world, harbored on in a box, or vase, something that opened and loosed its evil on the world. What she loved about it most was that the last thing that left the box was hope. Soon her mind wandered wildly, away from school and studies, and into dreamland, where supposedly nothing went wrong.

Genevieve was walking through the halls of her college, searching for a room. She didn't know why, or what was in the room, but she was sure she would know these things once she found it. And she found it quickly, as things often happened in dreams, and soon she stood in a chamber. It was well decorated with marble floors and pillars. Shining drapes hung from the walls, giving the room a red hue. Everything at the edge of her vision began to blur, to only be thought of as mystery.

Further down the room there was a chest of drawers against a stone wall, with a golden object sitting atop it. Voices whispered in her ears, filling the world with sound. A snake was wrapped around a pillar near her. It whispered as well, insisting that she go towards that golden object, that it was hers. But Genevieve was unsure, and afraid. The voice urged her on all the more, and her feet started moving despite her mind crying out that she had to stop. As she walked closer the whole world began to blur and fade away. All that mattered was the golden reflection shining in her eyes. When she reached out, her hand was no longer hers, but someone else's. Genevieve was simply an observer now, though the girl, who was desperately reaching for the box and very close to touching it, was very much like her. Soon they both heard one of the whispers in the air turn into a shout. The girl looked back at someone who Genevieve thought looked like Jackson, but whose face was shrouded in mist. Karacht, Pandora! Karacht! His voice was inaudible, being heard only as a thought. Despite this protest, the girl's hands kept reaching out. Then the world started collapsing around Genevieve, and she fell and fell until all she could see was green.

Genevieve moaned for a moment, expecting to be smashed against the ground. Instead her mouth was full of grass. She rolled over, and the sun hit her in the eyes, making her shudder as she spit out bitter leaves. Someone was saying her name, and nudging her. Her eyes cracked open a bit, and looked up at a silhouette against the blue sky above her. The world went red to blue a few times as she blinked her eyes. Many voices converged around her, until she realized it was just people going to class. "OhshitIfell," her words all blended into one. The sun stood straight above her. All the clouds had dissipated, and the warm sun made the air a pleasantly cool temperature. It was turning out to be a warm winter. "What time is it?" she said deliriously to no one.

The silhouette turned into Jeremy, his curly brown hair disheveled, and the sun making his tan skin shine. "It is lunchtime, hon." It was annoying when he talked to her like that, but it still made her happy at the same time. "I heard you missed your second period class. Have you been sleeping out here the whole time?" She sat up and looked around quickly. She vividly remembered lying under a tree, but now she was in the middle of a lawn on what appeared to be the other side of the school.

"I…I think so," Genevieve said, her words slurring a bit. She couldn't concentrate. It felt like the world was shuddering beneath her. "I was just lying down. I got out of class early. I went in this room and there was this golden…something…and this girl. Jackson didn't want her to…" She suddenly realized that it had all been a dream. "I'm…not quite awake yet."

"Did you get any sleep last night? I've never seen someone so tired in the middle of the day. It must be finals getting to you," Jeremy said, sitting behind her to let her lean against him while he rubbed her shoulders with his strong hands. It felt relaxing.

"No…yes, well, I'm fine. I'm okay, I just need to…crap. I need to go talk to my biology teacher." Genevieve rolled onto her feet, leaving Jeremy on the ground, and stood up while looking around for her bag. "It was…I was under a tree. My bag was right there." She pointed at the spot it had been sitting.

"Hey," David said, sauntering towards them from a building. His thin black hair was blowing around his pale face. He was wearing the normal sweatshirt and jeans that he wore all the time, even when it was warm. Genevieve let out a sigh of relief when she saw her bag tucked under his arm. "I found this on the other side of campus. I figured you lost it or something." Handing her the bag, he glanced at Jeremy and saw that he was looking at Genevieve with a crazy expression. "Something wrong here?"

"No," Genevieve said bluntly, and started walking to her biology class. When she saw the two of them following her, each with a concerned look on his face, she continued. "I just fell asleep and had a weird dream, I'm fine."

"Gena, you said you just said that you were under a tree when you fell asleep, and David probably found your bag there." Genevieve didn't turn to see David nod. "I think that means maybe something is wrong." She kept walking, ignoring her boyfriend. Jeremy looked at David with his face squished into a baffled expression, and David shrugged. "Okay then, ignore me." He waited for a second, and she still didn't respond. "Well…we'll meet you at the Atrium, okay?" She just grunted, and kept walking. Jeremy and David turned around and headed for the cafeteria.

Gena talked to her professor about retaking the biology test the next day. Mrs. Bolas assumed it was because of Jackson's disappearance that Gena had missed class, and Gena lied once more as she agreed. Ever since he had gone, she had tried to make it seem like she had stopped caring about school and life. All morals were gone with her responsibilities when it came to what everyone else thought. She knew she could never truly become so irresponsible. It was an act she was putting on to make others pay more or less attention to her. At least this sounded enough like psychological response for her to justify it.

Earlier that day she had heard two teachers talking about the disappearance as if Jackson had been kidnapped or murdered. Something like this didn't really cross Genevieve's mind. When he first didn't show up, no one thought anything of it. The next day when he didn't answer the phone, they all figured he wanted some alone time. Jeremy ended up "breaking" into the room with a spare key, and finding the answering machine full of unheard messages, and the room empty. It was then that they all finally realized that he was gone. He had a cell phone, but he wasn't picking that up either. Genevieve just didn't think kidnapping or murder was the case here. They had a fairly safe college campus, and his car had been taken. It seemed more likely that he ran away, but when the missing persons report was filed every possibility had to be taken into account.

Genevieve headed to the cafeteria after she had checked in with her biology teacher. On the way she ran into a friend, Hannah. She was in her junior year, but was still a month older than Jeremy. They strolled through the corridors, side by side as Hannah struck up a conversation. "Hey, how's it going Gena?"

"Not so good," Gena said as she opened her wallet to see how much money she had left for the week.

"I heard you missed your biology final." Genevieve scoffed silently to herself, making it sound more humorous and less condescending. Gossip traveled here faster than it did in high school. If it wasn't for cell phone text messages and constant communication, things might not get around so much. "I'm sure you'll be able to make it up." Genevieve glanced up and smiled at Hannah quickly. It was nice to have a little support, when her boyfriend only cared about her when it seemed like she was acting crazy. "I knew Jackson too, but it must be affecting you guys a lot more. That's like losing your brother."

"I haven't lost anyone," Genevieve snapped back quickly. She softened her tone a bit. "It's only been a week." It was getting redundant to hear everyone acting like Jackson was never coming back.

"I know, but it's hard not to worry that something really bad did happen, isn't it?" Hannah said. Genevieve didn't know what was hard anymore. She tried not to care about school and she tried not to worry about Jackson, when truthfully it was all boiling inside her like some poison that was going to drive her mad.

"Yeah…I don't know." They strode into the cafeteria. Hannah waved good-bye as she skipped to a table of her other friends, having immediately forgotten their depressing topic. Genevieve looked around, and settled on getting some food before locating David and Jeremy. She picked up a chicken wrap and a bottle of iced tea, and instead of finding her friends she decided to sit alone. As she ate her lunch, she went over the subjects that would be on the art history exam she had next. The Atrium was looking lively when something caught her eye. Someone dressed completely in white was walking around the room looking at everyone. They seemed to be wearing some kind of odd suit that was strangely cut and shaped, with a weird collar and cuffs. Genevieve assumed it was a man at first, and then realized it was a woman with short white hair. She swung a silver medallion in her hand, and wore glasses that were tinted gold. No one seemed to notice her. When Genevieve had looked at her for a long time it began to strain her eyes, like looking too long at the sun. Genevieve had to look away, and when she looked back the woman was gone.

Genevieve swung her head around and looked at her own reflection in a window nearby. It didn't seem too concerning that she had just seen a woman dressed in white swinging a medallion around the cafeteria. Whether it was a ghost or her imagination, Gena somehow felt that it meant Jackson was okay. For a few moments she daydreamed that Jackson would be safe, that this strange spectral woman would protect him. Seconds later she was filled with an immense amount of dread, with no reason as to why. She pulled out her cell phone and called Jackson's. It rang a few moments in her ear and soon went to his voicemail, just as it had the dozens of other times she had called. "Hey, you've reached Jackson's cell, leave a message and I'll get back to you when I wake up."

She was silent for a moment before she pressed 'one' to leave a message. "Hey Jackson, it's Gena again. I know you've gotten a lot of messages asking where you are, but I just realized something." She was hesitant at first. Then, suddenly, words sprung forth from Genevieve's mouth before she thought of them. Something inside of her knew something that the rest of her didn't. "Jackson, I trust you. I know you're safe. I know you're okay. You didn't leave here hurt, and I hope you return okay." Her voice became a little less warm. "I'm calling to warn you. I don't know where you are, or why you left, but please Jackson, be careful. And whatever you do Jackson, the people who act like angels, don't trust them. They will lie to you and try to kill you."

~

Jeremy strolled over to Genevieve, and David followed a few feet behind. They both saw her talking on her cell phone, and watched her slip it into her pocket as they approached. Her expression was agitated, and she started eating.

"Hey hon," Jeremy said. He sat down, and before David could as well, Jeremy shook his head. David mouthed a silent "oh" and walked off. "I'm sorry I didn't call you this weekend, and you know I was just making sure everything was okay today. Why were you giving me the silent treatment?"

"You were making it seem like I was crazy." Jeremy looked at her, and she recognized that he had never implied that. "Well…okay, you didn't say that, I just felt like you did. Not just that but…"

That is all David paid attention to before he was out of hearing range. He walked off and went to the library. He hadn't told Jeremy, but he had seen a weird woman dressed in white through the cafeteria windows walk into the library. He had been seeing a lot of strange things since the party a week before, most of which he hadn't seen since he was a child. On the night of the party he had seen Jackson talking to a man with purple skin, but dismissed it as some kind of hallucination. He had even seen the thing before the party, but couldn't bring himself to admit it to Jackson. This was just like the things he had trained himself to ignore as a teenager.

This was dismissed that as one of the least weird things he had seen in the past week. On Monday night he had a dream of Genevieve and Jackson sleeping together intimately beside him on his bed. On Tuesday there a man in his mirror, a man he had not seen since he was ten. The man was in the mirror, but the room remained empty. On Wednesday he saw a giant translucent machine, the likes of which he had only imagined, with someone hanging in the center. It walked into one of the walls of the college and disappeared. On Thursday, he saw a student walk into and through a tree before disappearing completely, and that night he dreamt of the same person in New York City drinking the blood of a homeless person, which he was used to from the many dreams he had of people that were like vampire. On Friday he had seen this woman in white in front of Jackson's dorm room. She wasn't someone he had seen in the past. When he went knocked on the door, no one answered, and prompted Jeremy to break into the dorm the next day.

Saturday was when it got the strangest. He was trying to study, and his vision began to blur and refocus, another thing he had only experienced a few times when he was younger, and was said to be attributed to his "illness" When he went into the bathroom to take a little more of his medication, he saw the man in the mirror again for many minutes. They both stood in complete silence. This lasted until David had the courage to run out of the bathroom and lie on his couch, silently shaking, while watching television.

Now he was going to the library to chase down this woman in white. The last time he had chased down a vision, it hadn't ended happily. But David thought that perhaps that if he confronted it this time, it might all just go away again. Therapy wasn't something he was willing to go through again. As a child, the constant reminder that he wasn't normal because he saw things that weren't there kept him distant from other kids, and in college he was finally finding himself being accepted. That couldn't be taken away from him.

David strode through the glass double-doors. Something new that accompanied these apparitions was a strange feeling. His back muscles would squirm, and his jaw would feel as if it was under pressure. He used these feelings as a way to track down the woman when he lost sight of her. As he walked through the aisles of books, the feelings grew more and more intense. He knew that she was right in front of him, he just couldn't see her. A few people gave him strange looks as he meandered his way through the shelves, but he persisted, blocking out the rest of the world.

David found her when he arrived at a corner of the library. She stood on top of a table, swinging a medallion back and forth, and looking at the ceiling. Everyone else read their books, as if no one was standing on the table in front of them. David grabbed a novel, and sat at the table, pretending to be one of these people. A few teens that were using the library for research were studying, and gave him agitated glances. The woman in white didn't notice him, even though he kept jabbing quick glances up at her.

She hopped down on to an empty chair, and walked off. After a moment, David followed her. The pain in his jaw was increasing, and by the time he had followed her to the lab complex on campus, he felt like he was getting all his teeth pulled. David felt a strange euphoria, considering that maybe he was finally right, maybe all these things he saw were real. Or maybe his brain was about to hemorrhage, and his insanity would kill him or turn him into a vegetable.

David tried to take different paths, keeping out of her eyesight. She stopped in a few rooms, and David would walk on, past the door, and wait around the corner. She always came back out, and seemed so preoccupied that she didn't notice that he was following her everywhere. When lunch was almost over, she happened to stop under the tree where David had found Genevieve's backpack. After a second, she spoke for the first time that day. "Strange." After swinging her medallion around a bit more, she knelt in the grass and said it again. "Strange…"

David bit his tongue for a moment, and made himself stop walking. He thought about the little girl who head he had seen bashed against a tree by two people who were very similar to this woman. When the pain made it so that he couldn't keep his jaw shut any longer, he spoke. "What's strange?" At first she didn't seemed to hear him. His legs and feet shifted uneasily. After she looked at him and looked away, it seemed like she was deliberately ignoring him. "Hey," David said. "What's so strange?" She cocked her head towards him, but continued to ignore him and started feeling the grass and the side of the tree, making strange humming noises. "Maybe that I can see you and no one else can?"

"What do you want, fallen one?" she snapped, and whipped her head around to look at him coldly through her golden spectacles. She took them off, and looked him in the eye. After staring at her, his back started to spasm, and he had to throw off his backpack and scratch it. It wasn't an itch, but more like his muscles were twisting and pushing, like his bones were about to rip out of his back. "Your kind is so naïve. I almost feel pity for your more painful rebirth process." After she said this, his head started pounding. Strange pictures flashed before his eyes, things that he had never seen, but had always known. "You knew the victim, didn't you?"

David looked at her, his vision blurring again. "Who…who? Jackson?"

"Yes, of course." She put her shades back on, and ran her finger along the rim. The glass turned black. "Tell me what happened to your Jackson? Where did Vincent take him?"

"Who is Vincent?" David managed to get out, before dropping to his knees. To any casual observer it would not only look as if he was talking to himself, but also was in immense pain. "Who are you?" David's voice was strained, as he tried to ignore the mounting discomfort.

"You know, technically by Celestial Law," she said, standing up and looking down at his shaking body. "I'm supposed to bring you up as a witness. Seeing you in this state, I can tell you're in no position to do anyone harm. When you become a threat, feeling the hunger deep in your heart, we'll catch you. We catch all of you." She put her hand in her pocket, and took out something on a silver chain. David was now shaking too fiercely to pay attention to anything she did. His aching teeth were gnashing and his back trembled violently. "You're not awake yet, but your friend's disappearance may shake you free. Some of your kind won't ever wake up. If you keep exploring your fantastical curiosities, they will get the better of you." She dropped the silver cross from her pocket on the ground. "Learn to fear this symbol..." The pain got the best of David, and he slipped into unconsciousness before hearing the rest.

~

"Hon, I don't understand why we're still fighting," Jeremy said, exasperated. They had talked for awhile, and then she continued to ignore him. "Do you think there's something wrong? Are you sad, tired, angry…come on Gena, talk to me!"

"All of the above Jeremy!" she raised her voice a bit, and slammed the cap to her bottle of iced tea on the table. The soft fair skin on her face and the above her collarbone was flushed with red, matching the color of her red-orange hair.

"What?"

"All of the above! I'm sad, confused, angry, scared…no, not just scared, Jeremy. I'm terrified. Something terrible could happen to Jackson, everyone thinks something has happened to him already!"

When Genevieve looked away from him, Jeremy almost stood up and left. Being her friend, he thought he understood Genevieve. Being her boyfriend, he thought he understood her more. He realized, that no matter whom it was, every girl would be confusing. It was so frustrating to not just give up. "What are you angry at Gena? I understand all of that, but are you angry at me?"

"I'm angry at the situation. I'm mad at everything going on." She looked down at the table for a moment, and tried to keep her voice down. "And of course I'm angry at you! You ignored our argument all of last week, we never resolved anything, and now you act like nothing is wrong."

"I don't see what we need to resolve," Genevieve sighed at him as he continued to defend himself. "We had a little fight, and I thought you needed time to cool off. You always want these things, but you never tell me what they are. How am I supposed to know?"

"That's exactly what I mean. You don't know what I want. You never seem to know what I want. You know what Jackson and David want. You know how to take Jackson out to a party where something happens that's so bad that he runs away. If you had just stayed home, with me, like I asked before the game, he would still –"

"Are you trying to say that –" he cut her off, but before he could finish Genevieve's cell phone rang.

She slid it out of her pocket. She didn't recognize the number, but answered it anyways. "Hello?" Jeremy could hear the other voice on the line well enough.

"Hello Gena." They both quickly recognized the voice of Jackson's mother. They all knew Jackson's parents well, having been to his house many times when they were kids. Her and her husband had recently moved back to their hometown in Oregon since Jackson was in college. They had always wanted to move, but stayed so that he could remain with his friends.

"Hello Mrs. Reed, how are you?" Jeremy thought that was a pretty stupid question, and by her expression, so did Genevieve.

"Well, I can't say I'm happy, but we have received some relatively good news." Michelle Reed's voice didn't seem to show a hint of sadness. She was one of those women who found it improper to give away one's dark feelings in casual conversation. "Sorry that I called you on your cell phone, but your dorm phone didn't pick up, and I figured you were in lunch. I was going to call in three hours from now but Frank reminded me of the time difference. Do you have time to talk?"

"Yeah, of course; I'm just sitting here and eating," she said, acting as if Jeremy wasn't there. "How are you and Mr. Reed doing?"

"Oh, you know that you don't have to call us Mr. and Mrs. Reed anymore. I've been telling you kids that since you started college." Genevieve smiled, and looked away from Jeremy's inquisitive glance. "Anyways, Frank and I are doing just fine. We're finally getting used to being away from our boys, and you of course…Is it proving to be a nice winter back east?"

"Oh, it's somewhat sunny over here. Still pretty chilly though." Neither asked if the other had heard from Jackson, because both of them knew they would call each other immediately if they did.

"Ah, well it's a positive mess over here. Always raining, but I suppose that's how it was when we left."

"Yeah, I guess so." Genevieve had lived in the same city as an infant, but Jeremy knew that sh had very few memories since before she moved to Dark Town. "Well, what was the good news?"

"Oh, the police called again. They said that they had a lead, and they believe that maybe he has in fact been kidnapped." Genevieve found the aspect of them finding a lead to be somewhat uplifting, but she could hardly see how finding proof of him being abducted was good news. "They said that there was evidence of him being in a hotel in eastern New York. They looked into it because he had been pulled over by a cop just few miles away from there. I didn't really catch it all, but it sounded like a cop pulled Jackson over for speeding, and then a man attacked him."

"Attacked Jackson or the cop?" Genevieve asked, gripping the edge of the table. Jeremy reached his hand over the table to hold hers, but she ignored it.

"Oh, the cop. Then the man got in the car with Jackson and they drove away. The officer says that he couldn't remember a thing besides the name Jackson Reed and being attacked, he couldn't even remember the attacker's face. Frank supposes that he might have been hit over the head. Anyways, when they finally found him, the cop that is, he was handcuffed to the steering wheel or something along those lines. Well, of course this didn't seem like much of a lead to them, until we told them that bank called and said someone had withdrawn all the money from every one of Jackson's bank accounts, including his savings. This was in Cleveland, so the police there are going to start searching around Ohio."

"Oh," was all Genevieve said, releasing her grip on the table. Jeremy thought that maybe she had expected more. "That's good, I guess," although she sounded like it wasn't much good at all.

"And you won't believe this; well, this is what Frank told me anyways, he talked the most with the police. He said that this all happened on Friday. They didn't notify us until just last night! Really makes you wonder how hard they really try when things like this happen. They sounded excited when I told them about the bank calling, that's when they thought that they might have a trail. He seems to be heading west, however helpful that is."

"Yes, well, I'm sure they are trying, maybe something happened and it slipped their mind to call," Genevieve trailed off when there was a beeping in her ear. "Can you hold on a moment Michelle, there's someone on the other line." Jeremy could hardly hear the sound of acknowledgement before Genevieve appeased the call-waiting sound by flipping to the other line.

"Hello?" There was a short response, not entirely a word, but she appeared to recognize the voice. "Jackson, is that you?" At hearing this, Jeremy edged forwards in anticipation.

The volume on the cell phone was up loud enough for Jeremy to hear the long silence, followed by Jackson's last words to them for a long time. "Don't call me anymore. I'm gone, and I'm not coming back. Don't worry about me."

"But Jackson!" Genevieve shouted in desperation.

"Quiet. I'm gone, and that's the way it is." The line went dead. Tears welled from Genevieve's eyes, and she hung up the phone, forgetting that Michelle was on the other line. Jeremy walked around the table and put his arm over her shoulder, holding her close.

Story and characters ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper Edited August 2, 2006 by srsizzy

[srsizzy]

III. On the Road

4 days after the party

"Human, stay awake," Vincent said, rolling the window down. He and Jackson had been driving for almost eight hours straight, keeping slow, but on schedule. It was just about nine o'clock, and he could tell that Jackson wouldn't make it for much longer. It pained him to see Jackson's exhaustion, and he felt it somewhere in himself. In the past few days Vincent had tried to begin the process of possessing Jackson's body a few times, and the small attempts he had made had left him feeling some of what Jackson felt. Each time he had tried, the overwhelming guilt stopped him in his attempts. There were demons that Vincent had caught and arrested for possessing a human's mind and body. He didn't want to be a runaway criminal. Every action came with even more consequences, but he had to find a way to prove his innocence, and Jackson was the best person he could find to help him.

"Vincent, it feels like we have been driving everyday for a week, where are we even going?" Jackson asked for the hundredth time. The effects of the phalogen hadn't worn off yet. The drug Vincent had given to Jackson was no cigarette, or any drug that a human could find, make or buy. It was a drug from Vincent's world, used to induce premonitions of the past or future, and it was the past Vincent was looking for. It was used with humans in a time when Vincent's people were on Earth for more peaceable reasons. Its aftereffects had left Jackson extremely disoriented. They had only driven for a day and a half, and Jackson seemed to think it had been much longer. They had also stopped outside of Jackson's town for two days so that Vincent could figure out what to do. All together it had been four days of them being gone. "You know, you haven't told me much of anything. Where we're going, what we're doing…" his voice trailed off as he stared blankly at the road ahead.

"I know. I will tell you of it all when there is a more fitting time to do so." One side-effect of the phalogen was that the victim would be completely docile. They would listen to anything anyone told them without protest. Vincent had tried to stop Jackson from taking in so much of the drug, but he was unable to do much when he was focused on keeping himself invisible to the other humans at the party.

Jackson had responded strangely to the drug. It seemed to put him in more of a dazed trance than a spiritual one. Vincent was sure that Jackson was seeing onto the ethereal plain when he began acting oddly towards everyone around him at the party. It may have been the fact that so many other chemicals were in his system. Vincent would have to try again when the human was not so intoxicated. "You can stop at the next motel, a little further up. I will let you sleep there. I don't want you to have to sleep in the car again." His attempts to make his hostage comfortable might not have been as successful as he had hoped, but he was trying his hardest. It was not Vincent's intention to act in an evil manner; he only wished to do what he knew he had to.

Vincent looked out the window, and pulled a small clump of dried-out, black plants from his pocket. He set the mass in the palm of one hand, and took out his lighter with the other. Pointing it at the plants, the metal flip-top lighter spewed out dark flames that danced on the air like mist. The flames gathered around the plant, clinging to it, but not burning it. Vincent cringed as coldness began to spread across his hand. He squeezed the plant as hard as he could, shutting his eyes tightly. The coldness crept down his arms and edged deep into his body, chilling his insides. Soon his whole body was cold to the touch.

Jackson glanced over at him, and blinked a few times. "Where the hell did he go this time?" He tried to keep his eyes on the road as he felt around to touch what he thought was an empty seat, but Vincent grabbed his hand before it hit the upholstery. Jackson jumped, and the car swerved a few feet. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed. As Vincent wondered why a human would assume shit to be holy, Jackson pulled his hand away in reaction to Vincent's now-frigid skin. "Why do you do that?" Jackson slammed the steering wheel with his palm, oddly focusing his eyes on the road and showing his anger at the same time.

"I've told you, brother," Vincent said, touching the window and watching fog spread over the glass.

"No you haven't." Jackson turned the car into a motel parking lot.

"When in populated areas, I have to be visible to only you. I use this," Vincent held out the crumbled remnants of the plant, "to do that. It makes me visually apparent to only those who I want to be seen by." Another unfortunate after-effect of the phalogen was short-term memory loss for a while. Vincent was postponing Jackson's questions until he would be able to remember the answers, which Vincent hoped would be soon. He had never heard of any life-lasting effects of the drug, and he hoped this wasn't the first case. No one had really taken it in such a large dose while already intoxicated. "I'll follow you in, and you get the room for just one night." Vincent had to spell everything out for Jackson. The human didn't seem to be able to think for himself lately.

They parked in front of the small motel, which was in a relatively miniscule town at the western edge of New York, far west of Jackson's college. Vincent was aiming for Chicago, but Jackson's strange behavior and Vincent's lame attempts at possession had made them wait two days before starting the voyage west. Jackson exited the car and Vincent crawled out of the already-open driver's side door. His power had allowed him to divert people's attention away from his actions before, but now he was severely drained. It might be odd for someone to notice a door apparently open and close on its own.

Jackson stood in front of the motel entrance, staring through the stained-glass window set in the middle. "Jackson, go in," Vincent whispered in his ear, grabbing the human's hand and placing it on the doorknob. Jackson shivered at the touch of Vincent's hand, and opened the door. A bell jingled on the doorframe, and a middle-aged woman sitting behind a wooden desk looked up from a book titled "Young Passion." Jackson stared at her blankly for a moment as she stood up, and absent-mindedly tapped the bell on her desk. "How may I help you?" she asked quickly, taking the bell ring as some kind of sarcastic joke.

Jackson hesitated before responding. "One room please, just for a night."

She looked at him, unsure of his attitude, then went to a cabinet and withdrew a key. "It will be forty-five dollars."

"Um," Jackson said. He reached into his pocket, and looked in his wallet. As Jackson riffled through its pouches desperately, Vincent realized that Jackson didn't have any money left.

"Do you have the money or not, sir?" The woman started to put the key away.

"Hold on," Vincent said. The woman looked at where he stood, confused. She probably heard him, but her expression assured Vincent that she couldn't see him. He put his hands together and slammed his palms down counter on the craggily desk, shouting aloud something that sounded like "halt." Everything exploded outwards from his hands, and time slowed down. Jackson and the woman stood still, unable to move. He went to walk behind the counter, a bug smacking against his face and drifting off. It was stuck in time as well. Vincent's ability to slow down time was not something all others like him could do.

He stood behind the woman, reaching around her and placing one finger on her neck and one on her temple. Burying each forefinger deep into her skin, he hummed aloud. After a moment of concentration, he spoke, his voice transcending into three different tones which overlapped each other. This was a voice that most of his kind could, and often, did use. It worked on humans mostly, making them listen to and believe anything that was said; but when his kind used it against each other, it was not so easy. "Human woman, this man has paid you the money for his room. You will give him the key and let him sleep for the night." Vincent glanced at Jackson, and realized how hungry he must be. "He has paid in advance for breakfast to be brought to his room in the morning." He wasn't sure if this would work. His command would have to last over night, but the human seemed weak enough to accept it.

He walked back to Jackson, clapping his hands twice. The experience of coming back to real time made him stumble in mid-step. He was usually able to handle the sensation, but his fatigue was catching up to him. Vincent knelt on the ground, panting, as the woman opened and closed the register and handed Jackson a receipt. "Your breakfast will be brought around nine thirty a.m., and your room number is twenty-seven." She held the key out, and Jackson looked at it for a few seconds, as if it was something completely new to him, before pocketing it.

Vincent stood up and led Jackson, by the shoulder, to his room. As they walked down a hallway, he realized that he wouldn't be able to do something like that again. His prolonged run from the Law was draining him of all his stamina. It took strength to do things like slow time and control people's minds, strength which Vincent did not have a bountiful supply of. He would be able to rest as soon as he was sure they were no longer being followed so strictly.

When they found the room, Vincent had to unlock and open the door. Jackson seemed dumbfounded by everything around him when he was tired. Extreme exhaustion must have been setting in, because he had certainly been able to drive less than an hour earlier, and the Monday after the party he had even been able to handle going school without being perplexed over doorknobs and keys. It seemed that the longer it was in his system, the more the phalogen messed with his brain. Vincent would have to fix that soon. Jackson walked straight to the bed, and fell face-first onto the pillows. Vincent chuckled softly. The way human bodies responded to a lack of energy was quite entertaining sometimes. Celestials like Vincent didn't require "sleep" per se, but a different kind of rest.

Vincent stood by the door silently for many minutes, unconscious of the Earth time passing. Days go along differently when you lived more than a hundred years. When an hour passed, Vincent was snapped out of thought by Jackson's steady snoring. He figured that he should do something until the human woke up, and decided to try to fix their problem. Jackson was acting weird because the phalogen was stuck in his body. Vincent somewhat knew how the System of Science that governed the human world worked. He had healed a few physical wounds, and thought it was worth a try to attempt to expel the phalogen from the human's body.

Vincent grabbed Jackson's arm, and easily flipped him over onto his back. He rubbed his own forehead coarsely, vaguely noticing a throbbing pain there, and wondering how to go about manipulating the physical system that governed the human's body. Vincent himself was an ethereal being in his own world, and wasn't controlled by complex systems and structures, but was held together mostly by his own consciousness. That was what celestials were. These humans, on the other hand were much more delicate beings; their substance could be torn apart by the merest action. Vincent took the first step by unbuttoning Jackson's shirt, and putting his blue-skinned hand on the human's chest. When Jackson shook, Vincent took his hand away, and remembered that the visibility effects he used to hide from humans were still making his flesh cold.

To quickly get rid of the effect, Vincent bit his own wrist, drawing blood. The violet liquid floated aimlessly from the wound, hovering and twisting around in the air. Grabbing his arm, he concentrated on the effects of the plant, expelling them from his body. The blood stopped slowly meandering from his skin, and a green gas spewed out of the bite holes. He dropped to his knees, groaning. Things like this also required stamina, which Vincent kept forgetting. Pushing the last few bubbles of gas out of his veins, Vincent stood up and felt a burden lifting from his shoulders. Using the invisibility effects wore him out just as much as anything else, and now he might have the little power he needed to heal Jackson.

He stood by the bed again, brushing up against the sheets whose color was hard to tell in the dim light, and set his hand back on Jackson's chest. He left the cut on his wrist open, knowing the bleeding would stop itself before any damage was done. Vincent rested his other hand on Jackson's face, his fingers sprawled over Jackson's eyes. What he was about to attempt was deeply related to possession. Vincent slowly edged his own mind into Jackson's, careful not to fully encompass the human's awareness. Vincent located the phalogen in him, and focused on it. He put his own face over Jackson's, and pressed on Jackson's chest, pushing the drug out of him. Jackson exhaled deeply, and Vincent breathed in all the smoky gas that drifted out of the human's mouth. He had tried to use the phalogen himself, but it effected humans a lot more, and was relatively harmless to him, just leaving him with a heightened awareness.

After Jackson started to breath normally, Vincent lurched onto the floor and stayed there for the remainder of the night. He would wait until Jackson awoke to see how successful his attempt had been.

~

5 days after the party

~

Jackson slept, and Jackson dreamt. In his dreams, he was sitting in the grass by a small fire. The grass was yellowing, but thrived with the small life that grass would often thrive with. The skies were darkening, and Sun was naught but a semicircle on the plains he watched over. There were a few buffalo a ways away, grazing silently by a small pool of water. Jackson was half naked, wearing only some kind of cloth around his waist and wooden beads around his neck. There were figures on the other sides of the fire, and they muttered in a language that he could not understand. A draft of wind blew through the flames, tossing smoke and ash into his face. In the breeze, he could almost discern a shape that was barely human. It had the antlers of an elk sprouting from its back, the wings of an eagle gliding from its head, and the scales of a snake slithering down its legs. It was gone quickly, though, blown away with the wind, like the sparks from the fire and the fluttering grasshoppers.

The flames of the fire began to change, turning whitish-blue. They danced on the air like smoke, and Jackson found trouble in trying to decide whether the fire was smoldering with smoke, or the smoke was becoming fire. The smoky fire or fiery smoke began to fill his chest. Suddenly, as if they had always been standing there, a dozen men and women appeared around the fire. Each one of them had the mismatched body parts of animals. One woman had ears that were the fins of large river salmon, and feet that were the paws of a cougar. Another man had the shell of a desert tortoise, and the beak of a vulture. They all began to speak, telling Jackson of the sorrows and blessings to come. They spoke in that dream language, where when you wake up you only remember the concept of the words, but not the words themselves. Before they were done conveying the messages, he was asleep.

Jackson woke up, head buzzing and chest aching. He sat up quickly, aware that he was in a motel room, but not knowing why. His shirt was unbuttoned, and he was laying over the yellow sheets of a double bed. It hurt his brain to try to remember anything; the only reminiscence that came easily was him being at Tailor's Bar. Doing the first thing that came to mind, Jackson walked into the small bathroom, took off his clothes, and drew a cold shower. The shockingly cold water did not knock him into complete awareness, but the sensation of water against his skin reminded him of something else: freezing cold hands touching his chest and arms. The water ran through his hair, and flowed over his face. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't figure out why he was here. Three or four days had passed since his last coherent memory. Had his dorm burned down and he was staying in a motel? No, he would be staying at Jeremy and David's place. Did theirs burn down too? He felt like he had a hangover, but he hadn't been drinking. He wasn't disoriented, or sick, he just couldn't remember a God damned thing.

Jackson twisted the shower knob, turning it off. It made guttural noises in the pipes. Grabbing a white towel that matched the rest of the bathroom, he started drying himself off, and put on his clothes. Jackson stepped up to the mirror and smudged the fog off with his hand. What he saw made him jump. A man with violet-blue skin stood behind him. He twisted around, and followed his gut instinct, throwing a punch at the man's chest. His fist connected, but nothing happened. The man didn't resist, or act as if he had felt a thing. He just looked at Jackson with a blank expression. Jackson mindlessly threw out his fist again, aiming for the guy's stomach. The man grabbed Jackson's hand before it hit anything, squeezing his knuckles until they cracked, and twisting his whole arm and body around until he held Jackson in a headlock. "I can understand your anger, brother, but that won't solve a thing."

At hearing the man's voice, Jackson slouched in his grip. Memories started flooding into his head. The party was the first thing; he had smoked some drug that threw him completely out of whack. He could recall driving for a long time after running away from home. Besides that, he didn't remember doing much of anything except driving this man somewhere. "Who are you?" The man didn't seem to be holding him very hard, but it was difficult for him to speak. Two of his fingers hurt, and he though maybe the guy had sprained them. His memories answered his own question. "Vincent…"

"Oh," Vincent said, letting go of Jackson's neck and arm. "You just didn't remember. I thought you were mad at me." Jackson thought about this for a second, and realized that he was mad. He almost thought about punching Vincent again, but that was already proven ineffective, and his joints still hurt from being in the grip of Vincent's hand.

The questions and thoughts suddenly flooded into his head like a dam had broken in his brain. They had been in his mind for days, but he had gotten no answers. "You've been telling me what to do for…for days," Jackson shouted. "Why…why have I been listening to you? Wait, wait, more importantly: who are you? Yeah, I know your name, but seriously, who that hell are you?" Jackson backed away, running into the sink behind him.

"Okay, I know, I owe you some answers. First, you've been listening to me under the influence of a drug, it's called phalogen," Vincent said somewhat matter-of-factly.

"What is that, some kind of date-rape drug?" Jackson said somewhat humorously. That seemed to be the only way to handle the situation. When he first woke up, he felt perfectly fine, but this Vincent snapped him out of his complacency. He had been kidnapped and was just starting to realize it.

"Date…what? No, no," Vincent put his hands up in the air, the universal symbol that meant he didn't mean any harm. At the moment Jackson had quite a different opinion. "It is a drug that…well, this is going to sound odd, Jackson. Jackson, do you know what an angel is?"

Jackson was thrown off by the seemingly random question. "Umm…old guys with wings come down and say things, guard the gates of heaven or some shit. I wasn't much of a church kid, and I fail to see how this relates to anything." He wasn't so sure if he should dart for the door. He remembered that the first time he saw this guy he thought that he was hallucinating. Why hadn't anyone warned him that he was talking to a purple-skinned psychopath? The idea that no one else but him could see Vincent was only slightly discomforting. "Are you saying that you're an angel?"

"No, angels are like humans, but with the blood of gods...or is it the other way around? I'm not sure. The point is..." he trailed off, obviously forgetting the point, and Jackson gave up all hope. This guy was completely delusional, making up fantasies, dying his skin purple, and acting like he was some being from above. Vincent seemed to sense Jackson's attitude. "The point is, right now, someone's chasing us, and it would be best if they didn't find us."

"Good! I hope it's the cops. Maybe they'll save me from this shit." Jackson stormed out of the bathroom.

"Stop, human," Vincent said. His voice changed, like it was many voices speaking at once. Jackson couldn't help but do exactly as Vincent commanded. He stood, his legs and feet were rigid on the ugly, brown-grey, motel carpet. "Who is pursuing us is far more diligent and dangerous than mere humans with guns. This may mean nothing to you, but I fear Kadz himself may be coming for us. Jackson, I'll tell you everything when we're safe and driving on the road again."

"No," Jackson stated bluntly. "Vincent, who ever you are, who ever the hell you're running from, I don't care. None of this is my concern. Maybe you don't know this, but here in the real world, outside of your padded room, it's not okay to drug and kidnap people." Jackson figured he was being pretty cocky with a psychopath, but the man seemed to be tame…for now.

There was a knock at the room door. "That's your breakfast," Vincent said, locking himself in the bathroom.

"Coming," Jackson hesitated, looked at the bathroom door once, and unlocked the front door. A young, Native-American looking man stood with a cart that had a plate of food and a mug of coffee on it.

"Good morning sir. I hope you're okay with scrambled eggs. We don't usually provide room service, but the manger told me I had to bring this." Jackson nodded, and the servicemen rolled the cart into the room, and set the food on the bedside table.

"Thank you, it's very much appreciated." Jackson spoke sounding as if he was short for breath. Thoughts ran around in his head looking for a way to tell this guy that there was a psychotic kidnapper in his bathroom. Before he could say anything, the young man started walking out. "Wait…"

"Yes?" the man responded. Jackson looked at the floor nervously. Vincent seemed intent on keeping Jackson with him. He was impervious to pain, probably due to his insanity. Who knew what lengths Vincent would go through to stop Jackson from leaving. When he looked up, there was something strange in the man's eyes. A black shadow seemed to glide over his gaze. Jackson barely noticed it, but when he did, he stopped full in his tracks. The apparition left Jackson with a queasy feeling in his stomach.

"Nothing, never mind," Jackson said. The man nodded and Jackson led him out of the room, locking the door behind him. He waited until he heard the cart rolling away down the hallway, and knocked on the bathroom door. "Vincent, he's gone."

The door opened quickly. "I'm afraid that we are in much more danger than I first anticipated." Jackson looked at Vincent, and then glanced off to the side. Vincent nearly glided up to Jackson, grabbing him by the chin and looking him in the eye. "Hmm, you saw it too. Yes, brother, Kadz is here." Letting Jackson fall onto the bed, Vincent strode away quickly, and peeked through the cheap, beige curtains. "We need to get to the car. I'm afraid I cannot take the front entrance, not if he is already in their eyes." Jackson sat on the yellow sheets again, observing the obvious stains. Thinking about what they were from wasn't pleasant. He remembered the man's eyes; there had been someone else there, someone else looking at him. Jackson was regrettably finding truth in Vincent's words. "Damn, the food. You…you eat, you haven't eaten in a while," Vincent said, and Jackson looked at the food absent mindedly. "Not to rush you or anything, but the pitiless, murdering assistant to the lord of all darkness is looking for the both of us."

Jackson took the plate and started eating the eggs. They tasted too peppery and too bland at the same time. Vincent leaned against the wall, and accidentally knocked a lamp over. Instead of picking it up, he just stuck his hand out as if he expected the lamp to fly into his hands. "I keep forgetting I can't do that anymore…" he said, leaning over, picking up the lamp, and setting it back on its base. Jackson continued to eat, and realized just how hungry he was. He felt like he hadn't eaten a day, and considering he couldn't remember the past few days due to this drug that Vincent had given him, that just may have been the case. He gulped the coffee down, and quickly devoured the toast, despite the fact that the coffee was too bitter and the toast tasted like cardboard. "Okay, you go out the front, I'll meet you at the car."

"And how are you getting out?" Jackson knew the answer before Vincent pointed to the window. Looking around the room, he wondered if he had brought any possessions. "Don't I have a bag or something?" Vincent shrugged, pulling the curtains apart, opening the window, and slipping out. Jackson heard somewhat of a commotion as Vincent scrambled out of a bush and crept off. Looking at the clock for the first time, Jackson noticed that it was already ten. Quickly checking his pocket for the key, he left the room and locked the door behind him.

Jackson passed the numbered, white doors, which looked just bland as the eggs had tasted. Walking hurriedly through the hall, he ignored everyone he passed, and made his way as quickly as he could. He tried to avoid eye contact, imagining that every gaze would hold that feeling of being looked at by someone else. Too many questions passed through his mind; who or what was this Vincent? Why was he transporting Jackson so far from home, and where was he taking him? Jackson could only hope that these and any other questions he had would be answered when he was in the car and driving away from that dark mist that seemed to cover everyone's eyes.

When he made it to the lobby, he dropped the key on the front desk with a soft clink. "Thanks for the room,"
he said, without as much as glancing at the clerk. Turning the brass door knob and shoving the door open with his shoulder, Jackson walked out into a cold midmorning which had a breeze that was brisker than his stride, and into a small town with grey skies like the case of an old computer. When he got to his blue Accord, given to him by an uncle, he noticed Vincent crouching in the passenger seat, "hiding" from any passerby. "Stay on Erie Road, heading southwest, and we keep going until we find the I-90 again."

Jackson got in the car, buckling his seatbelt, starting the engine, and letting it warm up to defrost the partially-fogged windshield. "So, Vincent, first question: where are we going?" He moved the automatic gearshift out of park, and drove out of the small town parking lot, belonged to by the small town motel.

Vincent sat up, ignoring the seatbelt, and leaning the seat upwards a bit. "Chicago, Illinois," he said plainly, taking a strangely welded piece of metal out of his pocket and waving it around.

"And what's in Chicago that you had to kidnap me to drive you there?" Jackson asked. They passed a few small houses and businesses while driving down Erie road and Jackson noticed a sign that said: Angola, pop. 2266. He vaguely remembered the name of the town from the sign for the motel.

"Well, firstly, I'm not kidnapping you. You had the choice to stay home, and you chose not to." Jackson sighed, choosing to ignore this. "You really don't remember anything from the past few days, do you?" Vincent pocketed the metal object, and looked at Jackson.

"I remember Steven telling me I slept with him, and then going to my dorm and seeing you. Then I remember you telling me we had to leave for some reason, and somehow you got me to listen to you. I don't really remember Tuesday, and Wednesday is a blur. Then yesterday we were driving, we left late in the afternoon, and then got to the motel."

"Yes well, it's the Tuesday and Wednesday that's important, as well as everything I've told you in the span of time since we first met, most of which I am quite sure you have forgotten." Jackson nodded at this; he could remember Vincent's voice, but he couldn't recall what he had been saying all that time. "Well, I'll just go through it from where it began. On Sunday, you slept a lot of the day, and stayed in that dorm room of yours. Then on Monday, you were doing fine at school, until Steven tried to talk to you. Then you got really mad—I saw this because I was watching you—and then you went to your dorm, where I was waiting. I talked to you, told you the danger I was in, and if you needed to get away that I could help you."

The memories flickered beneath Jackson's eyes; he could see Vincent sitting casually on his bed in the messy, grayish dorm room. He had talked about taking Jackson for a while, he said he needed him. "Then we drove out of town, and you slept in the car on the side of the road. On Tuesday you were mostly delirious…"

"Why?" Jackson asked. Vincent was silent, acting as though he hadn't heard the question. "Why was I fine for two days and suddenly I was delusional?"

"You have to understand Jackson…"

"Understand what?" Jackson shouted, swerving the car a bit too much to the left.

"I didn't want to do what I did…I had to. I thought it was the only way at the time–" he was cut off by blue and red flashing lights, accompanied by the siren of a cop car.

"That's not on us, is it?" The police car kept trailing them down the road, denying Jackson's hopes. "Oh God, I was speeding." He'd probably hit the gas too hard with his irritation at Vincent. Jackson slowed the car down and pulled over at a dirt turn-off. The cop pulled up behind him, and Jackson squirmed in the seat nervously as the short, middle-aged, mustached man strode up to the driver-side window.

Jackson rolled the window down, and glanced to the passenger seat to see that Vincent wasn't there. "Hello sir." The police officer spoke with a typical, gruff, highway-patrolman voice, holding his belt with one hand and letting the other hang limp at his side. "I just noticed you were swerving and speeding back there. Can I see your license and registration?"

Jackson smiled nervously, and tried to not look too nervous as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. "Sorry officer, of course," was all he side as he slipped the license out and handed it to the man, and then moved to pull the registration out of the glove compartment.

"Jackson Reed, that sounds familiar," the officer muttered to himself. He looked at the card and papers once, and then again. "Would you wait here for one moment sir?" He walked back to the black and white car. The red and blue lights still pulsed on the roof of the vehicle.

"Vincent?" Jackson whispered anxiously. "Vincent?" he whispered again, louder, leaning towards the open passenger window. The seat was empty to Jackson's probing arms, as well as the back. Maybe he had finally gone. Jackson wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing. He turned to see the cop talking on the radio, and look Jackson in the eye. It was a relief to notice that the cop's eyes didn't have the fogged-over look that the people at the motel had.

The cop started approaching his car again, and Jackson sat face-forward and nervously tapped the steering wheel. Where had Vincent gone? For one thing, this cop could be his salvation, but at the same time, Jackson found himself beginning to believe the things Vincent was saying. He didn't know how or why, but he suddenly felt more trust in him.

When the cop got to the window he had an oddly blank expression. "Jackson Reed," he said, as if pondering on the name. "There's a missing persons report on a Jackson Reed from Massachusetts." Jackson had no idea how this New York highway patrolman got that information, but he felt like it was a very bad thing. "Wait, wasn't there a guy in the passenger's seat?" Before the cop could continue, Vincent slid out of nowhere and put his arm around the cop's neck, slid the gun out of its holster, and threw the cop to his knees, all in three seconds. No one said a word, and no cars drove by. The silence lasted a minute, but to Jackson in the car it felt much longer.

"Get up," Vincent said, tapping the cop on the side of the head with the gun. The policeman ignored him for a second. "Get up now." Vincent used the strange multi-voice again this time, and the cop flew to his feet. Vincent marched him to the cop car. Jackson leaned out the window to watch what happened next, thinking that he could just hit the gas and leave this kidnapping lunatic behind, but doing nothing. Keeping the muzzle of the gun on the cop's neck, Vincent pushed him against the cop car. "Open the door," he said in the same multileveled voice, "and give me the handcuffs and any pairs of keys belonging to them." The cop hesitated, but from the car Jackson could see Vincent press the gun into the cop's neck even harder.

Vincent slowly opened the car door, and the cop reached in, dug around in some stuff, and came out with a pair of handcuffs and two sets of keys. Vincent took them silently, and cuffed the cop's hands around the steering wheel, taking the keys out of the ignition and tossing them in the back with the keys to the handcuffs. He let the cop sit in the driver's seat, rolled down the window, and shut the door. Vincent said something then, but it sounded like a whisper and Jackson couldn't hear it. He imagined it was something like: "someone will stop and help you, but not until we're far away from here," but he was probably wrong. Vincent stood, leaning on the open window in silence, and then reached in the car and grabbed the radio, insisting with that voice that the cop say something. The cop obeyed, and Vincent patted him on the head, walking away from the cop car without another word.

Vincent got back into the car, and Jackson started the engine up wordlessly. "He won't remember the license plate, and neither will whoever was on the radio." Vincent sounded confident in this, but Jackson had no idea how it was possible. They started driving again, this time keeping sure to not go over the speed limit. "It would do you best to just forget that that happened." Jackson noticed in his voice and poise that Vincent looked exhausted. His eyes were dim, his skin seemed paler, and even his hair looked more wispy than liquid-like.

Jackson suddenly realized that his own heart was racing. He had just had an opportunity to run away, to go back home and he hadn't taken it. This Vincent person—with his purple skin, weird drugs, strange stories, and disappearing all the time—had given Jackson some sort of sense of adventure. Maybe it was his voice that commanded people to do things, or maybe he trusted him, but Jackson decided that he was fine staying where he was. "So, what happened on Tuesday?" he said after a bit of driving.

"Well," Vincent started, "You see, brother, I wasn't sure if you would drive me all the way back to Illinois. I had a lot of trouble finding someone like you, and so I was far from home."

"Wait, what do you mean, 'someone like me?'" Jackson asked as they finally reached the I-90 highway, and took the ramp onto it.

"Jackson, you are asking so many questions, it is difficult to answer every one of them at once."

"Okay, okay, then let's just start with what happened on Tuesday." Jackson's heart was still beating madly in his chest. What guarantee was there that this cop would forget the license plate number just because Vincent could do weird things with his voice? Of course, Jackson remembered, he himself had been unable to refuse to do what Vincent told him to do.

"As I was saying, brother, in order to ensure that you would…listen…I was going to…um, well…possess you." Vincent was very nervous when he said this, and was pressing himself against the car door as if he expected Jackson to strike him.

"Possess me? You mean, like, demonic possession? What is this now, Satanism?" There never seemed to be a point when Jackson would understand what was going on. First there's a strange man offering him drugs and kidnapping him, now there were satanic rituals involved? It definitely matched up with the violet-blue skin and weird chains. Jackson noticed for the first time that there appeared to be strange charms on the links of some of these chains, most of which he didn't recognize, but there was one he could definitely tell was a crow.

"Yes, similar to demonic possessions…well, the same thing, except I'd make it less painful. Though whether it's a demon or one of my own kind, it is a very terrible thing to do." Vincent looked reproachful, trying to avoid Jackson's gaze. "You know, those are the people I caught. It was my job to stop demons, to stop vampires," Jackson expected him to say werewolves next, but he didn't. "I tried to possess you, but I didn't have the willpower to. That, mixed with the aftereffects of the drug I gave you, caused you to seriously lose your senses. You sat in bed most of the day, muttering things, so I left you alone."

It wasn't as bad as Jackson had imagined, though he didn't really know what he had imagined. "Either you're insane, or you're saying that quote-on-quote 'magic' is real, and you're some kind of supernatural being."

"Somewhat, I mean, the essence of that is true. The world views us more as myth now than ever before." This seemed to make him sad, and as he watched the highway scenery flutter by, Jackson imagined that Vincent was thinking back to some sort of "glory days" when he was happier.

They were quiet for awhile, and Jackson decided that he didn't need any more answers for now. Granted he still didn't know why Vincent needed him, or what they were running from or to, but right now Vincent looked very tired, and Jackson found a strange sense of pity for the man. The first time he had seen him, he had been a strange man in the campus cafeteria rambling about religions across the world. Then he was struck with a thought.

He asked another question before he remembered that he wasn't asking any more questions. "So why did you first approach me as 'Joel,' and how did you make yourself look more human?" It was recently dawning upon Jackson that Vincent didn't just look like any old normal human with strangely colored skin. Something about his bone and muscle structures was fundamentally different from a human's physiology.

"I noticed you on the street," Vincent began after opening the window and taking a deep breath of the winter air. "You had an aura that I recognized; it was something I was looking for. So I approached you, oh, and so you know, I was wearing all the extra clothing because the…well, you might call it 'magic'…I use makes my body very cold. It's a…well, the equivalent of a plant I guess, some kind of moss, and it grows in the Clear, mostly in places where there has been rituals dedicated to the full moon." To Jackson, it sounded like Vincent just said it grew in the "clear," but he pronounced the "a" after the "e," which made the word sound kind of French.

He decided this probably wasn't important. "You know, you get sidetracked too easily. I didn't ask about your invisibility moss."

"Right, well, you had the aura of a seer, and I needed to get closer to see if I was right. When I sensed the dreams in you, I figured that it was worth a shot to try the phalogen." He grimaced when he got to the subject of the mystery drug Jackson had taken. "I was naïve, and not for the first time. I shouldn't have let you take so much, I should have stopped you. That 'drug,' as you would call it, has been the source of our plight for the past few days. I finally managed to get it out of your system last night, but at the cost of not being able to interact with ethereality or the quartox until I find rest."

"The quarters?" Jackson said, trying to maneuver around an asshole in an SUV that had somehow found a way to fill all three lanes.

"Quartox, like quarter except with an 'oh ex' instead of an 'ee ar'." Vincent sneered at the SUV as they finally found a way past it. The driver was oblivious, talking into thin air even though the car was empty. Vincent didn't seem to know that there was a hands-free device attached to the man's cell phone.

"Right, and might I ask what the 'quar-toes' are, and why you would want to 'interact' with them?" Jackson tried once more to find humor in the situation. At least this conversation had allowed him to forget the fact that he was still technically being kidnapped. He wondered if Stockholm syndrome was still possible after only a few days.

"Firstly: it's a singular word; and secondly: you may ask, but I will not provide you with answers, brother." Jackson had figured that this would happen, or whatever Vincent told him would make no sense anyways. "It would be a long conversation, best saved for another time."

Jackson wondered when this "other time" would be, when the car was quiet once again. He absentmindedly turned on the radio, and searched through the tuner to find a decent station. The station played alternative music, from back when alternative music was actually alternative. Vincent enjoyed it enough, although he didn't actually acknowledge that it was there. A few times he looked around at the cars on the road, as if he expected the boogeyman to jump out of any one of them. He looked awfully scared for someone who could turn invisible and take down a cop in the blink of an eye. What could make someone like Vincent so scared? Thinking of this, Jackson wondered if he ought to be scared. Vincent had told him that whoever was after them was after them both, but perhaps that was because he was holding Jackson hostage. It was hardly conceivable that Vincent had kidnapped him to protect him from someone. There was no one that Jackson knew he needed protection from.

On that subject, Vincent had just said he was looking for the aura of a "seer." Did that mean Jackson was a seer? He had definitely never been able to tell the future, and he wondered what this drug had to do with it. Did the drug make him see the future?

Jackson definitely wanted answers, but they continued to drive in silence for almost an hour. The scenery was enjoyable, and Jackson had to find a new radio station a few times. When he could find nothing but static, country, and news, he remembered that he had recently had a CD player installed; he popped in a CD that Jeremy had burned for him. It was mostly composed of recent rock music, and a few jazz songs that were played by a local band. After they passed a sign declaring that they were in the area of Erie, Pennsylvania, pop. 103717, Vincent broke the silence. "We're stopping in Cleveland for the night. I figure that we can both rest a bit there, and the large city should keep us decently hidden from view." They had also driven by a sign that declared they were around 100 miles from Cleveland before Vincent said this.

"Um," Jackson muttered awkwardly. "Why do you keep calling me brother?"

"It's a way we respect your humanity, we do the same to each other, it is a title. If you were a woman I would call you sister; just as some call Him father." This last phrase he muttered under his breath, with a hint of contempt.

"You call everyone you know brother and sister?" Jackson found this piece of information intriguing.

"No, just humans. People call me superio, as well as others. They are titles of rank, human obviously being the lowest, and magnifio the highest…well, besides unirio which is the title the creator holds. Of course, she is gone." This time there was sorrow behind his voice, as if speaking of a dead companion.

"I'm sorry," Jackson found himself saying unexpectedly. The lingering sound of Vincent's power voice hovered in the air, as if he had mistakenly used it.

"No need, her disappearance was not of human cause. It was your loss really, not so much ours." Though Jackson had no idea what Vincent was talking about, he felt a lingering sense of pity. Something troubled this man deeply, and not just what he was talking about.

For a half an hour the only sound to be heard was the stereo and the cars around them. Vincent rested his head against the window with his eyes half open, obviously unable to sleep. Jackson constantly thought about this Vincent character. There were so many aspects to this world he was a part of, whether it was real or not. He spoke of these things with no hesitation, acting as if everything he said was a part of everyday life. There was no doubt he believed what he said, but Jackson was still unsure. The only proof he had seen was that this man was able to disappear on a whim and remain unnoticed by any onlookers.

"You look hungry," Vincent said when Jackson supposed they were halfway there. Jackson wasn't aware that he had expressed hunger in any way, though Vincent was right, he was very hungry. "But I don't think you have any money left. I had to convince the hotel clerk to let you sleep there for free."

"What?" Jackson exclaimed. "My credit card has over a thousand dollars on it! How did you –"

"You're what?" Vincent interrupted. "Oh…oh yes, I forgot about all your human digitizing. Ah, the powers science has brought you. We could have never expected as much." Vincent smiled dazedly. "Well…if I remember correctly, they can track charges made with credit cards."

"Oh yeah," Jackson said, dumbfounded.

"Hmm," Vincent drew his face into an expression of deep contemplation, and Jackson wasn't sure if he wanted a way around this. It kept coming as a surprise to him when he remembered he was being kidnapped, for whatever reason. He chuckled when he realized that not many grown men were kidnapped out of their own house without as much as a fight. "There are little slotty machines that spit out currency paper for you, correct?" Vincent spoke as if he thought the concept of money was absurd.

"Um, yes, ATMs, they are used to withdraw money."

"And something like a gas station may have one?" Vincent asked curiously, adding, "I'm sorry I have forgotten so many things, but my body is almost devoid of energy, and I'm finding it hard to remember trivial facts."

"Well," Jackson said, once more trying to ignore the last half of what Vincent said. "Gas stations have them sometimes, and big chain stores. There are tons of them in the city, but no matter where we used it, it could be tracked."

"Yes, but if we leave the area quickly, they will probably not find us. We can grab some food and be out of there quickly."

"We? So you'll be going in too? I guess they won't notice a purple-skinned…" Jackson stopped himself before he said maniac. "You'll just be invisible."

"Um, no; I suppose you haven't understood what I've said. I can't do much of anything anymore. I'll stay in the car while you get yourself nourishment."

"Don't you eat?" Jackson asked sarcastically.

"No, not the same types of things you would," what ever that meant. Jackson hoped this didn't mean that Vincent only ate live animals, or worse…humans. He didn't look much like a cannibal, but Jackson had never met a cannibal so he wasn't very sure.

"So, I'll just find an ATM somewhere, and then…what about tonight. Where can we both stay?" Jackson couldn't use his name at a hotel, nor his credit card, nor could Vincent come up to the room with him.

"We'll face that problem when it comes to us," Vincent said in a way that signified the conversation was over.

They drove the rest of the way to Cleveland in an uncomfortable silence. Jackson could tell that Vincent had no idea what to do next. He wondered if there would soon be an occasion when Vincent told him why they were going to Chicago. If he didn't get a good enough answer soon, it may be high time Jackson figured out how to get away from his kidnapper.

Story and characters ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper Edited August 2, 2006 by srsizzy

[Quincunx]

A self-addressed postmark DOES establish common-law copyright*, and provides a useful printed backup of computer files. Attaching a small "copyright 2006" to the bottom of each post should head off any claims that person X did not know the work was under copyright. However, this does not stop people from taking your work, and it would still take legal action to get a Cease and Desist order, which few struggling authors can afford. If you absolutely mistrust the readers on the Internet, get this moved to a private forum A.S.A.P.

 

 

 

*within the U.S. of A., information valid in 2004.

[srsizzy]

A self-addressed postmark DOES establish common-law copyright*, and provides a useful printed backup of computer files. Attaching a small "copyright 2006" to the bottom of each post should head off any claims that person X did not know the work was under copyright. However, this does not stop people from taking your work, and it would still take legal action to get a Cease and Desist order, which few struggling authors can afford. If you absolutely mistrust the readers on the Internet, get this moved to a private forum A.S.A.P.

 

 

 

*within the U.S. of A., information valid in 2004.

Well, I'm not that worried, because I'm looking for advice, but if I don't get much response to the actual story, I might as well just take it down. Thanks for that information though, it's helpful.

 

[EDIT]

So I've deleted all posts that weren't story, and added them to the post at the top of that page. Post 07 describes what I'll be doing and such, so just check the first post for any more information.

Edited July 6, 2006 by srsizzy

[srsizzy]

Update at top of page

 

 

Terms belonging to A Series of the Void, Dark, Light and Evil

~

Celestials- The second intelligent beings to come into existence. They take the form of Light, Dark or Void, and all that turn against this turn to Evil. They live in the Celestial world, Purgatory, or Hell, and only come to Earth for entertainment reasons, to protect humans, or to stop unauthorized demons from going against the Law.

 

Demons- All Celestials who turned to the Evil and went to Hell.

 

The Void- All Celestials who aren't fully decided between Dark and Light, they exist as a buffer zone between the two (a metaphor for what they are is the space between light and shadow).

 

The Dark- All the Celestials who associate themselves with the concept and rulings of "Dark". Not to be confused with "dark/evil/vile/horrible" all things humans associate with darkness now. The Dark believe in the opposite of the Light, and it goes no further than that.

 

The Light- The opposite of Dark, though the two do not necessarily always disagree or hate each other.

 

The Evil- The Celestials who looked out only for greed, power, and causing harm to others. They were eventually classified as Demons and banished to Hell.

 

Ethereal- A term often used to describe the state in which Celestials exist. The Celestial world is ethereal while the Human world is physical. The two existences often overlap in both worlds, for there is a small physical property to the Celestial world, and the same goes for the Human world.

 

Celestial World- The original universe that held the Celestials. This world is not governed by science Humans know, but by a completely different set of rules centered on etherealism. The world isn't a globe, but several domains interspersed in an endless three-dimensional plain.

 

Purgatory- The "dimension" per se that exists between the Celestial world and the Earth world. This is the home to the Void Celestials and is a completely neutral and barren ground.

 

Hell- The world under the "dimension" of Earth. It is completely occupied by all manner of Evil things, and is ruled over by Ardent Satan. There is a small entrance by which Demons can get out of Hell and onto Earth.

 

Quortox (kwor-tos)- Four ethereal "worlds" that overlap Earth, allowing all manner of Celestials to walk on Earth. When entering a segment of the quortox one does not enter a new world, but merely the world around them becomes different. Certain actions on Earth draw energy to certain segments of the quortox, mostly to do with "worship" or any amount of mind power concentrated solely on a certain thing.

 

- The Reave (reev)- the realm that exists for the Dark. Everything becomes dark and melancholy. All energies of sadness or darkness are drawn here. Vampires mostly associate themselves with the Reave, and it can be occupied by the forces of Dark or Void. The Light may have trouble seeing and existing in this realm, and is more susceptible to the adverse effects. These effects include: pain in the blood (or life force), nausea, headaches, depression, loss of skin tone (paleness), and the sudden and unexplained loss of memories or objects.

 

- The Clear (klee-ar)- the realm that exists for the Light. Many things can be hidden in the Clear, all of which will not be seen in any other realm. Most energy that has to do with religious worship, ceremony, or sacrifice comes here. Plants and similar entities/objects grow in places that have certain energy, and some may be transported out of the Clear. The Dark and The Evil are both subject to adverse effects that the Clear may cause them. These effects include: chest pain, elation to the point of impaired judgment, burning of the flesh, delusion, hallucinations, and insanity.

 

- The Fog- the realm that exists for the Void. As its name suggests, everything becomes foggy/misty. The Fog holds very few properties and, like Purgatory, is much of a "neutral" zone that exists for transportation. The Void can use it for more than the other factions.

 

- The Inferno- the realm that exists for the Evil. Its creation was a mistake, but now that it is there it can't be destroyed. It makes the world full of anger and hatred, makes everything appear as if it is on fire. All energy of oppression, hatred, anger, and all evil worship goes there in the form of "brimstone." Only the Evil can go there without experiencing its adverse effects. These effects include: burning of the flesh, vocal burning, brimstone effects, increased strength mixed with rage, insanity.

 

The Unirio Galaxia- A book about the history of the creator of all things and said creation, written on accounts of memories and any evidence found.

 

The Book of Pandora- A book about the history of Pandora and all the events leading up to her imprisonment and the release of Evil into the world, written on accounts of memory and any evidence found.

 

The Law- the system set up to classify all Celestials and the rules that control them.

 

Unirio- The title of she who created all things.

 

Magnifio- The title of the Leader of Light and the Leader of Dark.

 

Phoenexio- The title of all Celestials who hold governing power over etherealism, but who live lives separate from other Celestials.

 

Laederio- Those who stand under and serve the Magnifio.

 

Superio- Those who are of lesser power to all ranks above, and either live private lives or work

under the Laedario.

 

Gancho- All Celestials who have no other rank in the Celestial world.

 

Angels- Light Celestials who were granted bodies to walk amongst Humans without any trouble.

 

Devils- Rebellious or non-rebellious demonic leaders in hell. They used to all stand below Satan,

but now many are against him.

 

Vampires- Angels who betrayed the Celestial world and were classified as "fallen".

 

Reave Walker- An ethereal machine that is used by Dark Celestials to protect them from the harmful effects of the realms of Earth if they are unused to being there.

The Golden Gates- A passage that allows Celestial to travel from Purgatory to Earth, and connects many portals around Earth all together.

 

Convergence/Possession- When a Celestial binds him or herself to a human body.

 

Brimstone- An evil energy that is utilized by Demons and fills the Inferno. Its effects are incredibly harmful to Angels, and Brimstone effects are the side effects it has on those who are near it.

 

Fire Mask- Angels and others who enter the Inferno require fire masks, a type of ethereal "respirator," in order to breath or else they suffer the brimstone effect called "vocal burning".

 

Phalogen- A drug/plant used to induce premonitions of the future, present, and/or past. It only works on humans, and has been used throughout time by them in many religious ceremonies.

 

 

 

 

Important Characters from A Series of the Void, Dark, Light and Evil

~

Light

God / Allah / Zeus / Jupiter / Odin

Rift / Apollo / Gabriel

Diana / Artemis / Michael

 

Dark

Phadz / Shiva-Vishnu-Brahma / Teacher of Buddha / Hades / Pluto

Kadz / Azrael

The Physcian

Hel

 

Jörmungandr / Leviathan

 

 

 

Void

The Prodigo

The Void Council

Vincent / Joel / Epimetheus

Montague / Atlas

Fenrir / Falstaff / Middle head of Cerberus

Prometheus

Hephaestus / Vulcan

 

Evil

Ardent / Satan / Shatan / Loki

Ares / Mars

Humans

Genevieve Hammond

Jackson Reed

Jeremy Duncan

David Fraser

Peter Reed

Alice Reed

Isabelle Reed

Charles Reed

 

Story, characters, and concepts ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper

Edited August 2, 2006 by srsizzy

[srsizzy]

Check top of page for Post 09

The Reed Family

Aproximately 250 years before the party

In a small village in England there lived a very happy community. They prospered in planting grain and many other autumn crops. Every year there would be a harvest festival where the entire town would gather and celebrate the seasons. The people of the village worshipped many things at dusk, though the word "worship" is used lightly here. The evening, when the sun was setting, was the time this village belonged to. At every event, every dinner table, every night, all would sit silently for a few moments as the sun set behind the treetops. There was hardly any strife, and life there went on without any trouble.

The village was far from perfect, but got on well enough. Every so often there would be crop failure, and sometimes the winters would be harsh, but the people of the village persisted without complaint. Everyone knew it was normal for these things to happen, but many would fancy the thought that these things happened when they weren't doing things right, or someone did a misdeed. In this way, everyone was able to remain responsible for his or herself, for fear that if they did wrong the whole village would pay. It was an odd belief, and there were many other odd beliefs, but these were what made the community function.

One day, a man named Peter Reed appeared. He claimed that he had been on a long voyage, and needed a new home to settle down in, and so he settled there. Peter unpacked the few possessions he had, and moved into a house that nobody remembered existing. It was imagined that the building must have been there the all along without anyone noticing it, because it was hardly new. All these thoughts passed over their heads with very little scrutiny, and things went back to the way they were.

Though no one really noticed it, when Peter moved in, the whole village began to change. The farms were more prosperous, the weather was gentler, and the families were happier. Soon enough, everyone accepted Peter as if he had lived amongst them for a very long time. No one knew how old Peter Reed was, but it didn't seem to matter. Sometimes he looked very young, and sometimes he looked very old. All that mattered was that he was everyone's friend.

After a year of living in the village, Peter met Alice Lancaster. Alice didn't know of the Reed family, but soon took a fancy to the man. One marvelous afternoon, three months after they met, they were out on a picnic together. As dusk approached, Peter took Alice down to the creek, and they watched as the stars faded into view. Under the moonlight, Peter asked Alice to marry him.

Half a year later, the wedding ceremony took place. Peter said he had a very small family, and only a dozen of his family members came, most of them looking as if they were of no relation to him. The only one that returned frequently after the wedding was Peter's brother, Montague. They didn't look alike, but everyone could tell by the way they spoke to each other that Peter and Montague were very close.

The ceremony passed over wonderfully. Alice had family travel in from very far, and most of the townsfolk were invited to the wedding. One of Peter's relations, a man who only called himself Falstaff the Wanderer, was the life of the party. He was an odd man with grey skin who claimed he was from across the channel, though he didn't specify any more than that. During the wedding, Falstaff told fantastical legends, and did many tricks, most of which the children thought was magic and set the adults with curious shivers.

Some of the guests stayed the night, sleeping on the floors and outside in tents, including Peter's brother. When the time was approaching midnight, Alice could here the two brothers arguing on the porch, and when she went out to see what was going on Montague was leaving. He turned and waved to her, walking off into the night and leaving her with a severely annoyed Peter.

A year later, they conceived their first daughter, Isabelle. She was a very sweet girl, and her parents loved her more than anything in the world. As a toddler, she was the life of their home. Her intelligent, beautiful eyes shed light on the small family, bringing happiness to her mother and father, even when Peter returned from a tiring day of working at the mill. He would come in and pick her up, and all she would do is smile and laugh, making Peter's heart warm with happiness.

When she grew older, beginning to walk and speak and do the things that aging children tend to do, Alice and Peter had a son. They named him Charles. When he grew older, he was an energetic toddler, and Isabelle sometimes found herself ignored as Charles took the attention of any guests. They both learned to read and write at a small schoolhouse in the center of town. Alice taught her children manners, and their father taught them to work hard, and both of the children grew up sharp and polite.

No one in the neighborhood harbored bad feelings to the Reed family. They helped out in the community as much as, if not more than, many of the other families in the village. Soon after Charles turned five, everyone began to learn that Peter was a wonderful storyteller. He seemed to keep it private at first, but soon he was telling tales of adventure that many had never heard, over a fire in the forest or dinner when the town would gather to feast during a festival.

Peter told tales of satyrs, nymphs and pixies; fairies, dwarves and magicians; and even sometimes he told of witches, monsters, ghouls and ghosts. Once or twice he told stories of lands far away, where there were god-like beings that socialized with humans and lived amongst them as kings. Charles enjoyed listening to his father's tales more than anyone. His favorites were those of fairies, wisps, wolves, and all other manner of beings in the forest. His sister told him with a condescending tone that none of it was true, and that their father was only telling stories. Whenever Charles asked his father, the only reply would be, "You never know." This kept his spirits up. Charles would always dawdle at the forest's edge before entering, whispering a silent plea for any creatures to let him pass unharmed.

Over the years, Montague Reed visited many more times. A lot of the time he tried to coincide his visit with a festival that was taking place. Sometimes Falstaff the Wanderer would accompany him, keeping the crowd entertained with his parlor tricks and stories that weren't much unlike the ones Peter told.

The Reed family would always greet Montague with open arms, welcoming him into their home for a week or a day, as long as he was able to stay. Montague said he often had business trips to make (though he never said what kind of business) and he could only stay as long as his schedule permitted. His niece and nephew were both very fond of their uncle, and would often go on excursions into the forest with them. When they came back, they often wouldn't remember what had taken place, but only that they must have had a wonderful time because they were feeling as cheerful as ever.

Every year the family would expect a visit from Montague, sometimes two or three times a year. Alice's family would also visit, but it wasn't the same. It was very rare to have a Sir or Miss Lancaster grace the family with their presence. The family was sometimes expected to visit Alice's parents for holidays, but the children never looked forward to this. No one in the family seemed particularly fond of Alice's family except Alice herself. It was curious, but the only relative the children much cared for was their uncle Montague.

As Isabelle bloomed into her years of becoming a woman, and Charles fought against becoming a young man, the family continued to prosper in its mediocre fashion. Peter started managing the mill and every so often Charles would come along to help.

It was on one of these days that Charles decided to accompany his father that something very peculiar happened. Peter had stepped outside to look at the clouds approaching on the horizon, and when he returned, instead of carrying the bags of grain Charles had somehow conjured them into the air and was carting them across the room with nothing but the wave of a hand. When Charles noticed his father return he became flustered and the bags fell to the ground, spilling grain all over the floor.

Peter stared at his son intensely for a very long time. When Charles seemed to be on the verge of tears, his father finally spoke. The first thing he said was that he was not angry with his son, but that under no circumstance could Charles do things like that in the eyes of anyone but his father. Peter then commenced to wave his own hands, muttering under his breath and causing all the grain to gather back in the sacks.

Charles was only slightly surprised, and as they worked his father explained to him why the mill had been working better under his management. Charles admitted to Peter that he had learned to move things like that when he was alone in the forest. Now that he felt he had the acceptance of his father, Charles began to use this magic he had learned, but only when he was alone or with his father.

Aside from cooking and tending to the needs of the house, Alice could be found mending and sewing dresses and gowns for women in the village. She had taken an interest to sewing when Isabelle and Charles had needed new clothing, and the family couldn't afford much. Now she found the hours of peaceful stitching to be almost ceremonious.

Montague visited a few months after Peter found out Charles's secret. When Charles had a moment alone with his uncle, he accidentally let it slip that he could do something that his sister couldn't, but he didn't say what it was. When Montague inquired on what Charles was talking about, the boy told Montague (or "Monty" as the family called him) that his father said he couldn't let anyone know what it was. Montague simply stated that maybe Charles ought not to tell him if his father asked him not to, and dropped the subject entirely.

Isabelle began to feel just as unnoticed as she did as a toddler, and could often be found silently cooking in the small room that counted as a dining room and a kitchen. Though she had encountered magical occurrences, she never attributed them to herself, and often thought they were the product of a dizzy spell. It wasn't until she was almost into womanhood when she realized that she could often glimpse into the near future. The fear of being thought a witch and cast out from the village kept her from telling anyone about it; and at night, when she heard sounds that no one else complained of, she was sure to keep her mouth closed on the matter.

While her brother grew into this newfound magic, Isabelle turned away from it and found herself neglected by their father more and more, though she never really knew why. Charles never worried of what others may think, because he knew his father was just like him, and as long as his father wasn't frightened then Charles felt no reason to be frightened either.

It was a breezy day in August when Montague Reed visited once more. The wind tossed dust and leaves across the road as he strode up to the little house, carrying a leather bag at his side. In Montague's wake ambled a recognized man with grayish skin and scraggly hair. He stood stiffly on the porch behind Montague as the uncle's gloved hand approached the door. Two knocks and Isabelle ran to open the door. "Montague!" A voice cried out from a rocking chair. Alice sprung up, putting her sewing aside and rushing to her brother-in-law, while trying to keep her pace as mannerly as possible. "You must be starving! Oh, Isabelle, could you start up the stove for supper. Peter and your brother should be home soon enough. I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow! Come in, come in!"

Montague tipped his hat to Alice with a familial smile, and stepped through the wooden doorframe. He could hardly manage saying, "How do you do Alice?" before she had run over to clean off a chair for him to sit in. His right hand hovered where he had stretched it out for a handshake. "Isabelle is growing to be a charming young woman," he said, trying to ignore Alice's hyperactive attitude. Isabelle blushed as she set up a pot over the wood stove.

Montague's follower hovered at the door for a moment. "Oh, you know you can come in for supper as well Falstaff," Alice said, rushing to the door and holding it open.

"Oh, that's very kind, but I think I'm going to hop to the pub for a spot of drink." Falstaff bowed his head and began to turn away.

"Are you sure? You certainly look as if you could do with a wee bit more than just a drink," Alice said, trying to impress upon the thin man that he needed a good meal.

"Let the man be Alice," Montague said, his expression becoming weary. "My assistant is shy around company…just like little Isabelle here," he said with a wink to his niece. Isabelle blushed again and left the house to fill a pot with water at the spout.

"Oh, Falstaff, you're like family, there's not a reason to be shy," Alice implored.

"Let it be Alice," Montague said, taking on a demanding tone.

"Suit yourself then." Alice silently straightened the table up as Falstaff stepped off the porch and let the door swing shut behind him. "The both of you really don't look like you've eaten in ages," she muttered, violently polishing off a candle holder and setting it on the table a little too hard. "All right then, where has that girl run off to? Isabelle?" she shouted. When her daughter ran in and pointed at the pot of water, Alice grimaced and began fussing about the stove. When Isabelle politely asked her to move so that she could prepare the food, Alice busied herself with cleaning some dishes.

"Now, now, Alice," Montague cried, short laughs cutting into his speech, "settle down woman! The dishes aren't going to dash off on their own accord. Come, come, and tell me how the year has treated the Reed family!"

"Oh, you know Montague, the usual. We missed you on the solstice, but it was a pleasant night nonetheless. Now where are those boys? They should've been back by now, the sun's just setting…" The orange and red hues of dusk were dancing through the front window and Alice shut her eyes as the sun disappeared behind the line of trees.

Just then the door opened and in bustled father and son, laughing gaily as they noticed that Montague was sitting before them. Charles ran to embrace Montague, and oddly they both seemed to life one another off the ground. When they released each other Montague looked as his nephew with an odd twinkle in his eye and surprised expression that only Alice seemed to notice. "Charlie my boy, look at you! You're really becoming a man."

"That he his," Peter pronounced, stepping forward possessively. For a half of a moment he grimaced at his brother, but then his expression became jovial once more. Again, this change in demeanor was only observed by Alice. "I thought Falstaff was coming, is he here?"

"He hopped over to the pub, you know how he is. Should keep the people entertained." The smile slipped from Montague's face, and each man stared the other in the eye a tension grew between them. It was gone though, as soon as Alice noticed it, and the children remained completely ignorant.

"Yes, well, we'll have to save him a bit of supper for when he returns," Peter said. Alice smiled as Peter planted a warm kiss on her forehead. He took a seat by his brother and Montague's meaty arm stretched over Peter's shoulder. Peter began to talk about the success of the mill, occasionally stealing glances at his son, and Montague cut in with a small tidbit about his latest business venture.

Whenever Alice heard these conversations it seemed to her that they said more than they were actually saying. It was as if they spoke in a secret language, so hidden that no one could notice what the true subject of the conversation was. It was none of her business though, and she kept her nose out of it as her and her daughter prepared dinner for the family.

Dinner went by pleasantly, and the family caught Montague up with the current affairs of the village. When Alice had cleared away the dishes and sent the children to bed, Peter and Montague went out to smoke their pipes behind the house. Alice could barely hear the two voices muttering over the sound of the breeze through the window as she lay in bed reading a book. It was never her intent to intrude on the two brothers, and had always allowed them their privacy, but this time she couldn't help pricking up her ears when their conversation became intriguing.

"You're going to have to accept that this won't last forever," Montague's voice sounded louder and deeper than normal, though he was almost whispering.

"Why must you always change the conversation to this? I know what I'm doing. Have you sensed it in Charles? He's special, and I like to think that perhaps I could raise him to be someone extraordinary, the last of his kind." Peter's tone was full of excitement.

"Not the last," Montague exhaled deeply, and continued, "just the last that is allowed. There will certainly be others, and if he has children! I've noticed that he is looking peculiar. Have there been any signs that he knows?"

"Yes, yes, amazing development. Recently I've learned that he inherently knows how to interact with…" Peter's voice died out into a whisper and Alice couldn't hear the rest. "…but his sister on the other hand."

"I could tell. She doesn't have any of the signs about her that she should. Very pretty, but not a speck of evidence that she's…well…" Montague trailed off and puffed at his pipe. Alice held her breath in anticipation, wondering what exactly he had meant. What was it that Charles had and Isabelle didn't? "It is quite peculiar, really, she's older than him, and such things have always been more apparent in females. I hate to ask it, but are you positive that she is…err…yours?" Alice gasped, and threw her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Montague grunted, but neither noticed that she was listening through the window.

"Of course, positively, come brother, you have to at least be able to tell your own kin." Alice let out a silent sigh of relief. She knew that her husband would never doubt her dedication to him, and it was insulting that Montague, her own brother-in-law, would even insinuate such a thing. "There is a possibility that she just isn't the same…or she gets her traits from her mother's side of the family."

"Yes, well, you never know. Maybe it will develop later." The sound of them smoking their pipes was the only thing Alice heard for some time. The smell of the smoke crept through the window, and Alice thought it smelt less like tobacco, and more like something sweeter. "So this is what you're going to do for now…what about when they're gone? Many have tried to lead this life, and it always ends in pain. We aren't meant to live amongst them, we aren't meant to be them. We are merely meant to protect them; and ourselves when it comes down to it."

"Montague, I could never imagine leaving this…my family behind. Charles will need my guidance as he grows older, and maybe some day I will be able to take him to…" But Alice dozed off here, and the rest of their conversation played itself out in her dreams, leaving her doubtful that what she had witnessed had even been real. She didn't quite understand it, and in the end dismissed it as something her mind concocted to confuse her, as many people do when confronted with such strange things.

The night wasn't over when Alice went to sleep. Though Peter and Montague conversed and smoked until Peter decided to join his wife in bed, something else took place. Late past midnight, halfway between when night becomes dawn and dawn becomes morning, Falstaff the wanderer returned to the Reed family's home. He stepped inside for a moment, and observed Montague not sleeping in the bedding they provided him, but sitting and contemplating in Alice's old rocking chair. Neither of them said a word, and Falstaff turned around and went right back outside.

The soft sound of the door closing was such a foreign one in the middle of the night that Isabelle found herself fully awake upon hearing it. The room she shared with her brother was silent, and all that could be heard was the soft breeze outside, yet she found herself unable to concentrate on sleeping. Her eyes felt heavy and her thoughts were sluggish, but there was something in the air that insisted that she leave bed at that instant; the fresh air of the so early morning desired to be inhaled.

Isabelle decided that it was no use, and gave in to the peculiar sense. For all she knew she had fallen back to sleep and all of this was a simple dream. A comb was lying on the chest that held all of her best dresses and gowns, and she snatched it up, beginning to comb her long red hair. As she quietly tiptoed into the next room she found her small feet already nuzzled in her slippers, though she had no recollection of putting the slippers on. This added more to the impression that it was all a dream, and she was surely meant to step out the front door and into the unknown world of the deep night.

No one was sitting in her mother's rocking chair, and Isabelle hardly noted that Montague was not anywhere to be seen. His spiritual presence was apparent though, and so Isabelle took no notice of his physical absence. While the girl's small hand carefully stretched out to the doorknob, her skin looking paler than normal in the moonlight, nothing crossed her mind. Not her parents' response to her being out so late, not the curious sensations that were running through her mind, not what might be awaiting her outside the door. Nothing that could happen mattered, only what was happening.

Without her hand ever touching it, the door slowly opened. Perhaps it had been left open just a little crack, so little that it appeared to be closed. What Isabelle found before her was as unsurprising as the sky being blue during the day, for she had expected it just as much when she awoke.

Falstaff was stretched out below an old elm tree that Isabelle didn't entirely remember being before her house. His black eyes shone in the silver moonlight, and his grey fur sparkled under the stars. She approached him slowly, and he eyed her from the short distance without an ounce of the wariness in his eyes that would normally be given to someone advancing towards him late in the night. When she was close, Isabelle knelt at his side, drawing her hand from his chest to his chin, running her fingers through his thick silver coat.

When she began to rub her fingers behind his ears, his eyes stared into hers with such a cold intelligence that she almost thought he was telling her to discontinue, but when she lifted her hand he whined softly. She patted his soft head and continued what she had started. Falstaff stood up for a moment, stretching and scratching the earth with his paws. Isabelle leaned her back against the tree in her white nightgown, and allowed him to lay his head on her lap. She continued stroking his fur as she spoke.

"Fenrir," the name escaped her lips before she really knew where it was from. "The night is so dark and cold, yet I find it so much more comforting than the soft bed that would welcome me into its covers like a mother hen to her eggs."

"These things tend to happen on nights such as this," he growled softly. "The moon is full, perhaps the planets are aligned, and the stars are striving to be as bright as the sun that they emulate. Who knows why such times are of importance. It is the way the world has turned since it was born, as it turns now where we lay, and as it may turn until it ceases to turn any longer."

"Will a day such as that ever come?" Isabelle inquired, not daring to guess or hope at what the answer might be.

"Only time will tell," Fenrir Falstaff said, licking his muzzle. This response comforted Isabelle in some strange way. The unknown was more pleasing than what the answer may have been. "I do know that many have believed that it would come, and others still believe that it may come, and when it does come none will expect it. They have all told stories of it, but all the stories are so different, and the world can only end in one way and not a thousand."

The grey and white hairs on his back stood on end as he said this, and Isabelle smoothed them out with her hands. His breathing was soft and in rhythm with the wind. "It's so displeasing to think of, who would even wish to make stories about it." She didn't emphasize it as a question, but the statement was more rhetorical. No one could have an answer for why one does what one does, or one thinks what one thinks, only speculation, and speculation leads to more questions and builds anticipation for an answer that may never come. This thought passed between the both of them, and they left the statement as it was. "Do you know any of these stories? You seem to know so many, it is like you know everything in the world."

"Yes, I know a few, and I know who began them, and I think I know why, but that's left to be thought and unsaid." The deep growl died down, and Isabelle waited respectfully to see if the storyteller could begin to tell a story. The night continued on around them, and all who slept remained blissfully unaware of the girl and the man who were sitting under an elm that had never been. Birds perched silently in their trees, cattle slept soundlessly in their barns, and horses rested patiently in their stables. "Do you see the thin gold chain around my neck?"

Isabelle had hardly noticed the collar under the thick fur. It appeared to be thin, as Fenrir said, but perhaps that was because his neck was so thick. The band was less like a chain and more like a ribbon. It was smoother than silk, and was like a collar the richest man alive would have for his servant. The only problem was that it was so tight around his neck. The golden band was digging into his flesh, which kept it hidden under his fur. "Can you not loosen this thing?" Isabelle cried, trying to fit her fingers under it.

"No," Fenrir stated simply. "This is where I shall begin my story, with the chain that binds my flesh. It is a story that was told many years ago, by a people that are mostly forgotten." Isabelle shivered in anticipation, and was flushed with goose skin. She quickly flattened out the ruffled fur around the collar, attempting to forget that it was there.

"Long ago," Fenrir Falstaff began, "there was a great wolf who was the son of Loki, a trickster amongst all the gods. His name was Ferisulfr. When he was born all the other gods became fearful. Every day he grew more and more, and soon the gods worried that Fenrisulfr could be a great threat to them. There was no way they could kill the wolf, so they decided instead to trap him. If he was chained, or imprisoned, there was no way he could harm them with his great teeth or sharp claws.

"And so they set out to build a chain to hold him. From iron the first chain that was made they called Lœthingr, and once it was bound around his body Fenrisulfr was able to break it with one kick of his great leg. The gods were bewildered by his strength, and forged another chain, also of iron, but this one was twice as strong as the first. It was named Drómi. Though it took some effort this time, Fenrisulfr was able to break this chain as well.

"Now the leader of the gods, Odin, was severely puzzled. They had made two iron chains, but both had failed to contain the beast that soon would clearly mean harm to the gods. So Odin went to the dwarfs, and requested that they make something strong enough to bind the great wolf, and prevent him from ever doing any harm. They, the dwarfs, took six key ingredients to make this new chain: the sound of the cat's footfall, the hairs of the woman's beard, the sinews of the bear's mind, the breath of the fish's lungs, the saliva of the bird's beak, and the roots of the mountains. These things they brought together, and out of them they made Gleipnir, a chain that was as soft and thin as a silken ribbon, but stronger than any iron.

"Now Fenrisulfr had begun to take this whole chain situation as a game, and arrogantly believed that he could break any chain that the gods would attempt to bind him with. But when the gods showed him Gleipnir, and he noticed how meek the 'chain' seemed to be, he suspected some kind of magic intervention. The gods promised that they would free him if he could not break Gleipnir, but he didn't trust them. In order to assure that the gods were telling the truth, Fenrisulfr demanded that one god leave his arm in the wolf's mouth, and if they did not free him Fenrisulfr would bite the arm off.

"No one volunteered at first, for they all knew that they could not undo his bonds, until a god named Týr sacrificed himself, holding his arm in Fenrisulfr's gaping maw. They bound the wolf with Gleipnir, tying it around his legs and ankles and body. Fenrisulfr fought and fought to undo the chain, but the more he fought the tighter it held to his flesh. Fenrisulfr immediately demanded that they free him when he realized that he could not break the mystic chain. The gods did nothing but laugh, and it was apparent that they had no intention of doing as they promised, so Fenrisulfr fulfilled his promise. His jaws clamped down and ripped off Týr's arm, devouring it madly as he still struggled to get free.

"But there was no way the Fenrisulfr would be able to free himself, and the gods quickly moved to make a permanent prison for him. They took another chain, Gelgja, tying it to Gleipnir, and then tying it to a great rock, Gjöll. Then they took a greater stone, Thviti, and used it to hold Gjöll deep down in the earth. As Fenriulfr cried out in protest they took a sword and lodged it in the roof of his monstrous mouth, holding it open. And this is how they kept him, chained to the earth on an island in a river.

"Now, you may wonder how this story relates to the end of the world. You see, legend also told that Fenrisulfr would continue to grow. It was said that when Ragnarök comes, Fenrisulfr will have grown so large that his bottom jaw will touch the earth and his top jaw will scrape the sky."

Fenrir Falstaff was quiet now. His deep voice echoed into the twilight, leaving images in the mind of the listener that were as real as dreams. "But that's just a story, right?" Isabelle asked curiously.

"The things that are most believed in are merely stories, yet they are continually thought of as truth, aren't they?" Isabelle didn't entirely agree with this, and was about to protest that she didn't believe in imaginative stories more than anything else. "Religions," Fenrir quickly explained. "Religions are believed in by all, yet the only proof that we have is the belief we put in them."

Story and characters ©2006 Isaiah Everin Cooper Edited August 2, 2006 by srsizzy