《The Scarlet Jane Files》
Prologue
I still can¡¯t comprehend what happened.
Everything feels like a blur. Is a blur, now that she¡¯s¡ª
Gone, I think and flex my hand, which is still stained with blood. Her blood. My mother¡¯s blood.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
But it didn¡¯t start like that.
No.
Tonight¡ªtonight was supposed to be perfect. Was perfect¡
Until it happened.
But the story doesn¡¯t start here. Not in this place. Not in this hospital room. And definitely not at this moment. It started three hours ago, at a basketball game at Hembrooke High, when my life was completely, and utterly, mundane.
It all started like this¡
Chapter 1: The Beginning
Less than one minute remains in the game that will change our lives forever.
I cannot afford to falter.
Heart pounding, legs pumping, I allow the adrenaline coursing through my veins to spur me across the court as my teammates rush to counter our opposition.
¡°Scarlet!¡± a fellow Bluejay cries. ¡°Look out!¡±
A Cardinal from the opposing team lunges to grab the ball and nearly collides with me in the process. Somehow, though¡ªwhether it be through dumb luck or extraordinary skill¡ªI manage to avoid the girl¡¯s greedy hands and burst across the court once more.
¡°Get her!¡± someone shouts.
¡°Don¡¯t let her take the shot!¡± the opposing team¡¯s coach yells.
¡°Go, Scarlet!¡± our coach cries. ¡°Take the shot!¡±
My eyes instinctively scan my surroundings for any potential threat. The situation is desperate, and the stakes are growing higher with each passing second. On one hand, I could pass the ball to someone¡ªmaybe Emily, the tallest on our team, or Rachel, undoubtedly the fastest¡ªand hope to God that they¡¯d make the shot. On another, I know that one false move could spell the end of our championship title, and everything that rides along with it.
Our scholarships.
Our futures.
Our potentials for success.
A quick glance at the clock proves that there are only seconds left.
This is it, I think as I draw near the hoop. This is your chance now.
¡°Now or never,¡± I whisper.
A moment is all it takes for me to do the unthinkable.
I take the shot.
Gut wrenching, heart racing, I watch the ball soar through the air toward the hoop.
For a moment, it is so quiet someone could have heard a pin dropping. My chest is tight, the auditorium silent.
I think, Is it¡ª
Then the ball whips through the hoop, and it is over in seconds.
The crowd roars.
The timer runs out.
The referee shouts.
My teammates rush me¡ªa crowd of girls and sweat, screams and tears.
In moments, I am being lifted from the ground by my teammates.
It takes only a moment for the reality to hit me.
We¡¯ve just won the 2003 regional championships.
I can hardly believe it.
¡°Jays! Jays! Jays!¡± the crowd chants.
¡°Scarlet! Scarlet!¡± my teammates scream.
Coach Vasquez rushes across the basketball court, bright teeth on full display, eyes beaming, nearly stumbling before he slides into place beside us. ¡°Scarlet!¡± he cries. ¡°You did it! You did it!¡±
¡°I did it,¡± I say, breathless as I reach out to take hold of Vasquez¡¯s hand. ¡°I won the championship game.¡±
The roar of the crowd continues to assault me as the reality of the situation sinks in.
With this win, I will undoubtedly be scouted by the top colleges in the state.
I almost cannot believe it. So consumed am I by happiness, by adrenaline, that I can barely make sense of what had happened, of what will soon occur.
Shortly thereafter, a thought occurs to me as my eyes instinctively settle upon the stands.
My mother should have been here to see my winning play.
If only she hadn¡¯t have been called in to the hospital, I think.
A defeated sigh escapes me, but thankfully, the frown that crosses my features isn¡¯t examined too closely. My teammates¡¯ exclamations and tears of joy are enough to distract everyone from my morose expression as I am lowered back to the floor¡ªas I, with humility and grace, offer forced smiles and careful hugs to my teammates.
If only I could revel in this joy like they are. Maybe then I would find true peace.
And yet, even as we line up in parallel lines to slap each other¡¯s hands in good sportsmanship¡ªBluejays on one side and Cardinals on the other¡ªI find that my heart aches for what my mother could have seen, how proud she would have been.
She¡¯ll still be proud, I tell myself. Don¡¯t forget that.
Regardless, the thought of my only parent missing a pivotal moment in my life haunts me, to the point where, as we are dismissed to make our way to the locker room, I find myself avoiding the gazes from my fellow teammates.
In the locker room, I lift my eyes to consider myself in the nearby mirror and watch as the light dances across my dark skin, whispering off beads of sweat that still cling to my forehead. The sight¡ªborn from a culmination of a year¡¯s worth of practice and effort in the gym¡ªinspires a smile to part my full lips and brightens my demeanor as I undress and step under the hot shower.
¡°Good game, girls!¡± Coach Vasquez shouts from outside the locker room. ¡°And good shot, Scarlet!¡±
Once again: my teammates applaud me, showering me with praises and smiles and thumbs-up. A part of me still can¡¯t believe it.
But the proof is in your bones, I tell myself, in your tired muscles.
I twist the faucet into the off position, wrap a towel around myself, and make my way back to my locker to dress.
I have just slipped into my tennis shoes when my best friend and fellow Bluejays player steps forward.
¡°You did great tonight,¡± Ariana, who¡¯d played rear defense, says. ¡°I still can¡¯t believe you were ballsy enough to take that shot.¡±
¡°I can¡¯t, either,¡± I say and laugh not long after. ¡°I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d make it.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
¡°I don¡¯t think any of us did.¡±
I laugh. Nudge her arm with a fist. Smile as she considers me, then look past her at the other girls as they begin to file out of the locker room.
¡°Guess it¡¯s time to go,¡± Ariana says.
¡°Yeah,¡± I say. ¡°I guess it is.¡±
Within moments, the two of us are stepping out of the locker room and filing toward the gymnasium¡¯s exit.
¡°Scarlet!¡± Coach Vasquez calls. ¡°Wait up!¡±
I spin to face my basketball coach. ¡°Yeah, Coach?¡±
¡°I just wanted to congratulate you for winning the regionals,¡± he says. ¡°You did great out there, Scarlet. All your hard work has paid off.¡±
¡°Thank you, Coach.¡±
¡°I¡¯ll see you Monday. We have Nationals to think about.¡±
¡°That we do,¡± Ariana says before turning and pressing a hand to the gymnasium¡¯s back door. ¡°You ready, Scarlet?¡±
¡°Yeah. I¡¯m ready.¡±
Ariana pushes the door open and ushers us out into the humid Louisianan air.
We cross the back lot toward the parking lot in shared silence, careful to avoid loitering students or the parents who have come to pick them up. Heads high, backs straight, we cross the rear parking lot with smiles on our faces¡ªand, I know, determination in our hearts.
We have just reached the edge of the curb, and are approaching Ariana¡¯s mother¡¯s car, when my best friend turns and asks, ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want a ride home?¡±
¡°It¡¯s not far,¡± I reply, turning my head to look down the road. ¡°Besides¡ªI don¡¯t think I can bear to sit still.¡±
¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± Ariana asks. ¡°It¡¯s really no trouble. It¡¯s on the way, you know.¡±
¡°I know. Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±
With a nod, Ariana steps forward, wraps me in a brief hug, then takes a step back. ¡°Call me so we can make plans,¡± she then says. ¡°We need to celebrate!¡±
¡°We definitely will,¡± I say.
With that said, I turn and begin to make my way down the street.
It isn¡¯t long before the sounds of idling cars and chattering people are replaced by the drone of cicadas in the nearby trees and bushes.
In this area of town, there are few, if any, streetlamps to guide me; and given the lack of cars, I cannot depend upon headlights to illuminate my path. Because of this, I am forced to tread lightly by moonlight and continue onward, only occasionally pausing to consider how far down the path I am.
In all, it will take maybe ten or so minutes for me to make it home.
She¡¯s gonna be so proud, I think. She won¡¯t believe it.
The sound of something shifting in the bushes brings me to a halt.
¡°Hello?¡± I ask. ¡°Is someone there?¡±
Nothing responds.
It¡¯s just a cat, I tell myself. You know it is.
Still, the fact that I am a girl of only five-four, wandering alone in the later hours of the night, is not lost upon me. My mother has always gotten after me for walking the streets at night, telling me it¡¯s not safe and that I was going to get my ass robbed one of these nights. I¡¯d always cautioned her that I could run faster than any dumbass who¡¯d tried to mess with me, but on a night like this¡ªwhen the streets are dark, and the moon is the only light around¡ªI find myself wishing that I¡¯d taken Ariana¡¯s offer up on a ride home.
With a shake of my head, I continue to make my way down the road, all the while forcing myself to fear the feeling of dread, of panic.
Of doom.
Nervous, now, more than ever, and spooked beyond compare, I quicken my pace and half-walk, half-jog down the road to my house.
The wind picks up.
The cicadas fall silent.
The moon disappears behind the clouds, thrusting the world into silence.
Run, something tells me.
I bolt¡ªnot bothering to look behind me to see if anyone or anything is pursuing me. My footsteps slap against the concrete like gunshots, and the resulting noise causes a dog to bark, which in turn disturbs a flock of grackles, which takes flight from the trees over my head like murder in the dead of night. My legs scream despite the fact that I am conditioned to running, but my mind, it races with possibilities.
Who is following me?
What is following me?
I have no sooner dodged around the neighbors¡¯ trash cans and am approaching the edge of my mother¡¯s property when I lift my eyes¡ª
Only to find that the porch light is on, and the door is slightly ajar.
No, I think.
My mother wouldn¡¯t have left the door open¡ especially not this late at night.
Stepping forward, I reach into my pocket and finger for my keys with a trembling hand.
Cool metal slips across my fingers.
I withdraw the keys and align my fingers through the rings as I tentatively approach our home.
The scent of something bitter strikes me almost instantly. Something that smells like¡ª
Blood.
The thought occurs in but an instant. It is irrational beyond compare, but at this late at night, and with the door agape, I can¡¯t help but tremble.
My mother should have been on the couch, dozing while waiting for me to return.
I mount the porch, clear my throat, and ask, ¡°Mom?¡±
I almost instantly curse myself. If someone has broken in, I¡¯ve just announced my presence plain as day. And if there is anyone in the house, surely they would¡ª
I take hold of the handle. Feel somewhat wet on my hand.
¡°Gross,¡± I mumble and reach down to wipe my hand on my pants.
A shuffle of movement sounds inside the house.
With a sigh of relief, I step onto the porch. ¡°Mom,¡± I say, a hint of laughter in my voice. ¡°Why did you leave the door open? You about scared the hell out of¡ª¡±
Me, I want to finish.
But I cannot.
The moment my eyes fall upon the darkened space of my home is the moment I feel all sense of self leave me.
For a moment, I cannot comprehend what I am seeing.
Then, a second later, I am jarred into focus.
Hovering above a puddle of blood is a person¡ªor, at least, what should be a person.
Except it isn¡¯t a person.
No.
It hisses as it looks at me¡ªas it rises from the pool of blood to face me at its full height. Flesh dangles from its mouth. Blood runs down its lips. Vicious and calculating eyes look upon me with the intent of a predator sizing up its prey.
Dwarfed beneath its height is my mother¡¯s form, sprawled within the pool of blood, a silent scream upon her face.
No.
No.
¡°No,¡± I whisper.
The creature hisses as it starts toward me.
¡°No!¡± I cry. ¡°No, no, no! Mama! Mama! No!¡±
The creature bares it fangs.
I scream. Turn. Run.
My shrill cry echoes through the neighborhood as across the street several porch lights burst to life.
For a moment, I am blinded by their radiance, which are like stars winking into existence in a desolate universe.
A second later, I spin¡ª
Only to find that the creature is gone.
But my mother¡ª
My mother¡ª
She is still there. Still lying on the ground. Still in the pool of her own blood.
Dead.
¡°Dead,¡± I whisper, almost unable to believe the word as it leaves my lips.
Then it hits me¡ªlike a freight train colliding with a poor, unfortunate soul in the dead of night.
The scream that follows seems to rip my soul from my body.
¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± a man asks as a nearby door opens.
¡°My mother!¡± I wail. ¡°It killed my mother!¡±
¡°What?¡± the man asks.
¡°I¡ it¡ she¡ª¡±
I fall to my knees on the asphalt and wail.
The man¡ªwho has since approached, and is trembling himself¡ªreaches down to take hold of my arms. ¡°Come here,¡± he says. ¡°You can¡¯t stay here. It¡¯s not safe.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t want to leave,¡± I sob, pushing him away with a hand I now realize has blood on it. Her blood. My mother¡¯s blood. ¡°I can¡¯t leave her. I can¡¯t leave my mother. I can¡¯t! I can¡¯t!¡±
The sound of wailing sirens enters my ears moments before a police vehicle rolls along the curb.
¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I hear a policewoman asks.
¡°There was a break-in,¡± the man replies. ¡°She¡¯s saying her mother was killed.¡±
¡°What?¡± the policewoman asks once more.
Her partner draws his weapon and edges toward the house. ¡°We have a break-in,¡± the policeman says, ¡°suspect possibly still in the house. Send backup. Over.¡±
¡°Is anyone still in the house?¡± the policewoman asks as she approaches me. ¡°Honey¡ is anyone still in the house?¡±
¡°I¡ª¡± I start to say. ¡°I don¡¯t¡ they aren¡¯t¡¡±
My vision begins to blacken at the edges.
¡°Get an EMT over here STAT,¡± the policewoman replies. ¡°She¡¯s losing consciousness.¡±
¡°Stay with me,¡± the man who¡¯d approached me says. ¡°You¡¯re going to be okay. You¡¯re safe.¡±
¡°My mother¡ª¡± I start to say.
But a moment later, my vision blackens completely.
I fall back.
Hit the ground.
Then I lose consciousness.
Chapter 2: The Hospital
I still can¡¯t believe it.
It all feels like a dream.
But it isn¡¯t a dream, I tell myself. It¡¯s a nightmare.
A cruel, living nightmare¡ªone that has descended upon my life with dark wings.
Unfortunately for me, sleep does not come easily, nor does it linger when I begin to slip into semi-consciousness. Even with all the drugs in my system¡ªeven with the IV in my arm¡ªI keep thinking back to the horrible thing I had witnessed.
Her torn neck¡ª
Her bloodied corpse¡ª
The monster, prone over her body¡ª
The selfless act of brutality had been monstrous beyond compare. No one, or no thing, should ever have to experience that.
But my mother, I think and close my eyes.
The sound of the heart monitor beeping at my side indicates that I am still alive, even though I feel dead inside.
My only solace is that no one can see me cry.
The room is dark, the monitors dimmed, the LED lights from them the only thing offering light in this cold and forsaken room. A passing shadow dances in the hallway, and for a moment, I feel someone will stop to come check on me.
But no one comes.
No one at all.
I am completely, and undeniably, alone. Even the social worker I¡¯d spoken with before they¡¯d given me the calming agents is nowhere to be seen.
Tears stream down my face. The heartbeat monitor quickens as newfound panic assaults me. It rises and falls with each dreadful thought, each pained emotion, and leaves me with feelings I cannot even being to describe.
Where will I go, I wonder, now that my mother is gone?
My father is long dead¡ªkilled in a car accident when I was just three years old¡ªand my extended family might not have the means to take me in. My aunt Susannah on the other side would take me in in an instant, but even then, I didn¡¯t particularly get along with my cousins. And my uncle Matthew¡ªhe and his wife lived all the way in California. Would they, a newly married couple, be willing to take me in?
She¡¯s almost eighteen, I know they might say. Let her get a job. Go to college. Live off student loans.
But the truth of the matter is that, even if am capable of doing those things, I need someone to do something. Anything.
I need someone to help me.
I want to scream. To cry. To rage against everything life has just thrown at me. But deep down, I know nothing will bring my mother back.
Mama, I think as the monitor goes blip, blip, blip.
I lift my hand to try and brush away my tears but find that the IV is still jabbed into my wrist.
Is the drip still pumping drugs into me? I wonder. A quick glance to my left doesn¡¯t reveal anything, as it is too dark to determine. But even so: that would explain my dizziness. Why my head feels swimmy. Why I am calmer than I might otherwise be.
Did I tell them? I think a short moment later. Did I tell them what I saw?
But what had I seen, though? A monster? A murderer? A¡ª
Vampire?
No. That isn¡¯t possible. Vampires aren¡¯t real. They are products of fantasy, and nothing more. But if it wasn¡¯t a vampire who had brutalized my mother¡¯s body, that had drank her blood right in front of me, what had it been? An escaped felon? A psychotic murderer?
Prone, over her body, with teeth bared and fangs extended¡ª
This time, I cry out¡ªa long, hard sob that causes my heart-rate monitor to spike.
Though I expect someone¡ªanyone¡ªto come rushing to my aid, no one does. Instead, a two-way radio at my side clicks, and a voice says, ¡°Miss Brown? Are you all right?¡±
¡°I¡ª¡± I start to say. ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±
The door opens.
I look up.
A dark figure in a black coat and hat stands in the doorway, blocking out all light from the hallway.
¡°Miss¡ Brown?¡± the nurse asks, her voice clouded with static. ¡°Miss Brown¡ are you¡ all¡ do you need¡ someone¡ to¡ª¡±
The remote device crackles with static before going dead.
The figure in black steps forward. ¡°You have borne witness,¡± he says, his voice deep and pleasant even despite his intruding presence.
¡°Who are you?¡± I ask, drawing the blankets around me as he advances into the space. ¡°And what are you doing in my room?¡±
¡°You are to forget. Now. What you saw. What you believe.¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
His voice washes over me like waves from the ocean¡ªdulling my emotions, causing my panic to fade. My heart-rate monitor slows as the initial dread leaves my body, and my breathing, once erratic, softens. ¡°What¡ what did I see?¡± I ask. ¡°A¡ a vampire?¡±
The man pauses. ¡°Did you say¡ vampire?¡±
¡°Is that what it was?¡± I somehow manage to ask. ¡°Is that what killed my mother? A vampire?¡±
¡°Who have you spoken these words to?¡± the man asks. ¡°The police? The social workers? Your doctors?¡± He steps forward and extends a hand over my face, as if ready to bear down to smother me with his smooth palm. ¡°It does not matter. You are to forget what you saw, now and forever.¡±
¡°No!¡± I cry. ¡°I don¡¯t want to forget! I want that thing dead!¡±
The man hesitates. Though I cannot see his features beneath his hat, I can determine the frown on his face as he reaches out to wrap his hands around the guards surrounding the bed. His motions are slow, deliberate; and when he lifts his head, I can see he is east Asian, with thick eyebrows, a slim nose, a jawline that appears to be cut from marble. He leans forward, then, to study me with eyes black as night, before saying, ¡°You are¡ agreeing to witness?¡±
¡°I want that thing dead,¡± I reply, ¡°and I¡¯ll do anything¡ªanything¡ªto stop it.¡±
Instead of responding, the stranger straightens his posture and tilts his head back to consider me. ¡°You understand,¡± he says, ¡°that once you have witnessed, you can never go back.¡±
¡°There¡¯s no going back anyway,¡± I say. ¡°My mother is dead.¡±
To this, he has no reply.
In the ensuing silence, I listen to the sound of the diminishing heartbeat monitor and the slow, steady sound of my breathing. The whole while I try not to tremble, for in the presence of this strange man, I feel small, insignificant, and worst of all, strange.
But why? I ask myself. Why do I feel this way? Is¡ is he making me feel like this?
The stranger continues to watch me with his dark, unmoving, unblinking eyes.
Why is he just staring? I think. And why isn¡¯t he blinking?
A thought occurs to me not long after.
You are to forget, he¡¯d said. Forget.
¡°Forget,¡± I whisper and watch as he offers a slow, knowing nod.
Is this man¡ªthis man in black¡ªunlike anyone I have met before? Is it possible that he is a thief of thoughts, of memories, of moments in time during which horrible things have happened? Is he¡ª
Not human? I question.
Knowing that I will never get a clear answer unless I ask, I clear my throat and say, ¡°Are you¡¡±
¡°Am I¡ what?¡± the man asks.
¡°Different?¡±
¡°I am part of a world you could have never possibly imagine,¡± he replies. ¡°I am a shadow in the night¡ªalways lingering, forever persisting. I can make your nightmares disappear, your darkest thoughts expire. But here you are¡ wishing to face them¡ as if you wish to fight back. Tell me¡±¡ªhe leans forward to consider me once more¡ª¡± is this the path you wish to take?¡±
¡°I¡¯d do anything to avenge my mother,¡± Scarlet says. ¡°Anything.¡±
¡°Then come. Let us go.¡±
The man steps around the hospital bed, reaches down and, with a simple press and tug, frees the IV from my wrist.
I grimace as the pain flares along my hand¡ªas fire seems to shoot up the vein¡ªbut nod as I slide out of bed. I look up at the strange Asian man before me and frown as he stares at me unblinkingly. ¡°Do you¡ have a name?¡± I ask. ¡°I assume you already know mine.¡±
¡°I do,¡± the man says. ¡°You may call me Shadow.¡±
¡°All right, Shadow. What do we do now?¡±
¡°You come with me. We must leave. Now.¡±
¡°I can¡¯t just walk out of here,¡± I say. ¡°They¡¯ll stop me.¡±
¡°No, they won¡¯t,¡± the strange man says.
Again: I frown, but only because he seems so confident, so determined that nothing will go wrong.
¡°Are you ready?¡± the stranger asks.
¡°I¡ª¡± I start to say, then swallow and say, ¡°Yes. I¡ªI¡¯m ready.¡±
¡°Good.¡± The man turns and enters the hall. ¡°Please, follow me.¡±
I step forward, wait until the man named Shadow turns to face me, and begin to follow.
An approaching nurse is upon me immediately. ¡°Miss¡ Brown,¡± she says, raising her hands to stop me. ¡°You can¡¯t leave yet. You need to get back in¡ª¡±
I know she wants to say the room.
But she stops, suddenly, as is struck by something impossible, something that makes her forget everything. Her expression softens. Her eyes glaze over. Her mouth purses into a silent frown. She stares at Shadow for one more moment, then turns and walks away.
¡°Did you do that?¡± I ask, grimacing as what sounds like static begins to sound from a nearby radio, as the lights above flicker as if caught in an electrical malfunction.
The man nods and waves me forward.
And so we continue through the hospital at a leisurely pace, not stopping when anyone approaches and ignoring everyone who seems to ignore us. Security cameras embedded into ceilings spark with light, and the florescent lighting flickers whenever we pass under it¡ªshielding, it seems, our trek through the hospital.
I expect to face some kind of resistance when we enter the lobby. But, unsurprisingly, we stroll through without issue. Even as we walk out the front double doors.
¡°What are you?¡± I ask as we step into the humid night air.
¡°I am what you would call a Wiper,¡± the strange man replies. ¡°I can make people forget memories, cause electronics to malfunction.¡±
¡°What does that mean for me?¡± I ask. ¡°It¡¯s not like you can just erase my presence from their records.¡± I pause. ¡°Can you?¡±
¡°They will never know you were here.¡±
A screeching noise enters my ears.
I turn just in time to find the entire lobby darken, then watch as what must be a backup generator comes to life, illuminating the inside in red light.
¡°Go,¡± the man named Shadow says, signaling me forward. ¡°My car is that way.¡±
¡°Where are you taking me?¡±
¡°The United States Agency for Supernatural Affiliations, where the process of assimilation will begin.¡±
Assimilation? I think. What does that¡ª
Then it hits me.
Am I joining something?
I glance over at the Wiper¡ªand for a moment debate whether or not I should run.
¡°Do not run,¡± he says, as if reading my thoughts. ¡°You will simply forget.¡±
¡°Forget¡ you?¡± I ask.
¡°Everything,¡± he replies. ¡°Your mother¡¯s death. Her attack. The thing that killed her. Most of all: you¡¯ll forget your life.¡±
But what does that mean? That he will wipe my memories? Make me a husk of a person? Allow me to forget every memory that had occurred from the time that I was born?
With the knowledge that I cannot escape more than clear in my mind, I nod and continue to follow the man across the parking lot. When we come to stand beside a black Camaro, he unlocks it with a key fob, then rounds the vehicle and opens the passenger side door.
¡°You will want to rest now,¡± he says. ¡°This will be a long and arduous journey.¡±
¡°Can you¡¡± I swallow. ¡°Make me sleep?¡±
¡°I can only make you forget. Now please, rest, Scarlet. We are in for a very long drive.¡±
Rather than question him further, I reach up, pull the seatbelt across my chest, and buckle myself into place.
He pulls out of the parking lot. Aligns himself onto the road. Starts toward the red traffic light.
¡°Aren¡¯t you going to¡ª¡± I start to say.
But before I can finish, the traffic lights blink, the other cars come to a halt, and a passing policeman¡¯s lights flicker off.
In moments, we are making our way toward the west side of Shreveport, Louisiana.
All I can tell, as we continue to make our way through the city, is that something is wrong.
Chapter 3: Destination Unknown
Warm air filters through the Asian man¡¯s car as we make our way down Interstate 20. Bound for the unknown, I can do little more than stare as the vehicle shoots through the darkness like a bullet, its headlights illuminating the night, casting wicked shadows across the road and into the woodlands flanking either side.
I think, What did I get myself into?
Then I think, How do you know he¡¯s even who he claims to be?
But that¡¯s the thing. This man, this person who claimed to be a Wiper, had shown that he was capable of fantastical things. From making the nurse forget, to causing the electricity to malfunction, to making the street lamps change color, he¡¯d done things that were nothing short of miraculous.
And now I¡¯m here, I think, in his car.
Heading to who knew where.
Knowing that I will not get answers if I do not press for them, I clear my throat and force myself to ask the question that¡¯s been lingering inside me for what seems like hours. I ask: ¡°Where are you taking me?¡±
¡°Dallas,¡± the man says, without missing a beat.
¡°What¡¯s in Dallas?¡± I reply.
¡°The United States Agency for Supernatural Affiliations.¡±
¡°And you¡¯re taking me there because¡¡±
¡°You have agreed to undergo the process of assimilation.¡±
There it was again¡ªthat phrase, spoken so casually, so normally, as if it meant nothing at all. He¡¯d said it as if it would have little bearing at all on my life; and yet, I know, deep down, in the fiber of my being, that it will change everything.
My past.
My present.
My future.
Rather than wait for the man to speak further, I ball my hands into a fist, expel a pent-up breath, and say, ¡°Tell me more.¡±
¡°The process is undergone when a mute individual declares their intentions to make themselves aware of the Supernatural. Normally, mundanes¡ªor, people with no knowledge of the Supernatural world¡ªsimply have their memories erased by Wipers to prevent complications.¡±
¡°Then why haven¡¯t you erased my mind?¡±
¡°Because you declared your intentions,¡± Shadow says, ¡°and because I could sense an inner strength within you.¡±
I can¡¯t help but laugh.
¡°I¡ do not understand,¡± Shadow then says, turning his head briefly to face me. ¡°Why are you laughing?¡±
¡°You think I¡¯m strong? In this state?¡±
¡°Most ordinary people would have succumbed to insanity upon seeing what you had.¡±
I find, not long after he has spoken, that I can say nothing. This is not because I have lost my voice, or because I have no words. Rather, it is because of the truth of the matter, which is far more grim than I could¡¯ve ever imagined.
The truth is that I almost had gone insane. Standing there on that porch and seeing my mother, and her killer, drenched in blood had almost driven me to the brink. It¡¯d been too much to process, too much to even believe. No one could ever imagine someone, even their mother, being killed, let alone by nothing less than a vampire.
The thoughts¡ªwhich bombard me with the intensity of mortars on the field of my personal battle¡ªthreaten to send me over the edge.
Tears burn at my eyes. My chest tightens with newfound anxiety. My stomach twists, and I almost immediately begin to hyperventilate.
A hand falls upon my shoulder.
Shadow says, ¡°Stop.¡±
And I, surprisingly, do. Gone is the terror in my mind, the grief in my lungs. In their places emerges an eerie calm that would have otherwise left me unsettled.
¡°Did you¡ª¡± I start.
¡°Wipe your memory?¡± he asks. ¡°No. I didn¡¯t.¡±
I stare at him, trying my hardest to determine his reasoning, his motive. His eyes shift from me to the road, then back again. His lips curl into a frown as he returns his hand to the steering wheel.
What was that? I ask myself. Why did he do it?
Was it because Shadow simply wanted me calm? That he didn¡¯t want me to have an episode? Because he didn¡¯t want me to freak the hell out? Or was it for another reason¡ªanother reason that I couldn¡¯t have anticipated? Is it because he¡ª
Cares? I think.
The thought strikes me instantly, leaving me breathless.
Could it be that this man¡ªthis person from the Supernatural world¡ªreally wants to help me?
¡°Shadow,¡± I say as the thought flutters about my mind.
¡°Yes?¡± he asks.
¡°Why are you taking me to the Agency?¡±
¡°You said you wished to avenge your mother¡¯s death.¡±
¡°Yes, but¡ª¡±
¡°What?¡±
¡°What exactly does that mean?¡±
¡°You tell me,¡± he says.
But that¡¯s the thing¡ªI don¡¯t know what it means, not enough to give him a concrete answer. Rage had blinded me¡ªhad made me silly, made me weak¡ªbut it had also compelled me in the moments when Shadow had entered my room, when he¡¯d promised to take my memories away and make my past all but disappear.
To think that I, Scarlet Jane, can actually do something, let alone kill the monster that had murdered my mother, fills me with so much emotion, so much dread, that I cannot even begin to fathom it.
But you¡¯re going to do it, I tell myself as I look down at my balled fists. You¡¯re going to kill the monster. You¡¯re going to avenge your mother.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
It is the one thing I can do to reclaim my power, the one thing I can work toward in order to reclaim what has wrongfully taken from me. But how can I explain that?
Rather than question myself further, I clear my throat, then say, ¡°Avenging my mother¡ means killing the thing that killed her.¡±
¡°Then that it what you will do,¡± Shadow says. ¡°You will undergo your initiation, then begin the process of assimilation.¡±
¡°Into what?¡±
¡°The Supernatural world.¡±
¡°There¡¯s more to this than you¡¯re letting on, isn¡¯t there?¡±
¡°You are too overwhelmed to even begin to comprehend everything there is to know. Surely you must understand that.¡±
¡°I¡ I do,¡± I say.
¡°Then there is little more than needs to be said.¡± The man reaches forward to adjust the air conditioner. ¡°You should sleep now, Scarlet. We still have several hours until we reach Dallas.¡±
¡°All right.¡±
After taking several moments to consider the options laid out before me, I lean back, twist myself onto my side, and gaze out the window.
No matter how hard I try to fight them back, I cannot help but think of all the horrible things I¡¯ve seen tonight.
My mother¡ª
That monster¡ª
This strange and unusual world¡ª
It was almost too much to bear.
As I close my eyes¡ªand as the nightmares once more rush forward to greet me¡ªI find that I can do nothing more than face them head on.
So I do the only thing I can think to do:
I try my hardest to rest.
* * *
I succumb to sleep not long after I have curled onto my side, but I do not dream ordinary dreams. Instead, I suffer nightmares¡ªcruel, malicious nightmares, during which I was at my greatest high, only to succumb to my deepest low.
Walking home¡ª
Seeing the front door open¡ª
Stepping onto the porch¡ª
Seeing it.
It.
That horrible thing, that malevolent monster.
It lifts its head to face me¡ªto look at me with its cruel red eyes and its long, knife-like teeth¡ª
And that is when I burst from dream, anxious, sweating, and chest tight.
Nestled in the passenger seat, and with a blanket cast over my shoulders, I open my eyes to find that I am alone in the car.
Where¡ where am I? I think. And where is Shadow?
I blink in an effort to clear my vision¡ªto drive back the nightmares that still dance at the corners of my eyes¡ªand lift my head to consider my surroundings.
The car idles next to a gas station pump, beneath which a flickering florescent light offers a view of the clean concrete below.
Where is he? I wonder before casting my gaze to the gas station.
A quick glance at the frosted glass on the western side of the building offers no indication as to who could be inside the establishment. Even the gauge displaying how much gas might have been pumped into the vehicle isn¡¯t enough to determine when or where he might have gone.
Surely he wouldn¡¯t have left me alone, I think.
Right?
I swallow a lump in my throat as I push myself upright and reach up to wipe sweat-streaked hair away from my eyes¡ª
Just in time for the door to the gas station to open and my mysterious savior to exit. He carries a plastic bag in one hand and nods as we exchange gazes before glancing back and lifting a hand.
The lights in the gas station flicker.
The pump resets at my side.
Within moments, Shadow is stepping forward and opening the driver¡¯s side door. ¡°I apologize if I frightened you,¡± he says. ¡°I needed to pay for gas and thought you might be hungry.¡±
¡°Where are we?¡± I ask.
¡°About two hours from Dallas, near a small town called Kilgore.¡±
¡°How long was I asleep?¡±
¡°Long enough,¡± Shadow says. He passes the plastic bag over the center console. ¡°For you.¡±
I reach in and withdraw a bottle of water, as well as a sandwich made with turkey, lettuce, and cheddar between white bread. The sight of the food is instantly enough to make my stomach rumble.
¡°Go ahead and eat,¡± Shadow says as I rip the plastic packaging apart. ¡°I figured you might be hungry.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± I say before lowering my eyes to consider the sandwich. ¡°Do you¡ do you want some of this?¡±
¡°I do not require sustenance,¡± he says.
¡°You don¡¯t?¡± I ask, to which the man responds with a nod. ¡°How is that possible?¡±
¡°I am technically not a corporeal form. I am merely the illusion of one.¡±
¡°Corporeal,¡± I say and frown not long after. ¡°You mean¡ you¡¯re not physical?¡±
¡°I am, yes.¡±
¡°I guess that would explain how you¡¯re driving,¡± I say, then follow that up by asking, ¡°So¡ you can change shapes?¡±
¡°I can, yes.¡±
¡°Why Asian, then? Why not be a white man? Wouldn¡¯t it be easier on you?¡±
¡°My homeland of Japan resonates with me,¡± Shadow says as he twists the key in the ignition. ¡°That¡¯s all I can say on the matter.¡±
With the understanding that it might be best to keep my questions to a minimum, I begin to eat the sandwich¡ªand try, with little success, to keep my stomach from doing acrobats. Between my rising anxiety and my desperate hunger, I find that eating is almost impossible, a chore if ever there was one.
You have to eat, I tell myself. Force yourself to, even if it¡¯s just to be polite.
Every bite is laborious. Every drink of water a reminder that I am still alive.
Unlike my mother.
My mother.
Who is probably lying in a morgue somewhere, waiting for whatever to happen to happen.
Tears burn at the corners of my eyes.
¡°You do not have to hide your emotions from me,¡± Shadow says. ¡°I will not judge you.¡±
¡°I know you won¡¯t,¡± I reply, even though I truly don¡¯t. ¡°It¡¯s just¡ I don¡¯t know why I should be crying when I should be concentrating on what I can be doing. You know?¡±
¡°Grief is a powerful emotion. It can cloud your mind, your thoughts, your judgment. Do not allow it to overwhelm you, but allow yourself to feel it all the same. That is how all living creatures must survive.¡±
¡°Thank you.¡± I draw the blanket around my shoulders and turn my head to consider the traffic cutting through the night like pale hands through fog. ¡°Do you¡ do you mind if I ask you some questions?¡±
¡°You are free to ask anything you like.¡±
¡°What is your purpose in taking me to the Agency?¡±
¡°You bore witness to the Supernatural world and declared yourself willing to become a part of it. This is known as an initiation, which precipitates the process of assimilation.¡±
¡°You keep saying that. What exactly does that mean?¡±
¡°The process of assimilation is undertaken when someone who bears witness is deemed fit to integrate into the Supernatural world. Once it begins, a Wiper¡ªsuch as myself¡ªwill begin the process of removing any physical or emotional record of your existence from the world, be it from an electronic document, or even a memory from a person you have come into contact with.¡±
¡°Is that why you¡¯re called Wipers? Because you have the ability to make people forget things?¡±
¡°We are able to erase human memories,¡± Shadow replies. ¡°We have also, in the modern age, adapted our abilities to interfere with electronic equipment.¡±
¡°But what about physical copies of my existence? Like papers or pictures?¡±
¡°Those are generally more difficult to track down. I assure you, however, that a Wiper stops at nothing to remove traces of a witness¡¯ identity once the process has begun.¡±
¡°So when we get to the Agency,¡± I say, ¡°you¡ªor someone like you¡ªwill start making it look like I¡ what? Never existed?¡±
¡°Precisely.¡±
¡°So you¡¯ll meet my family, my friends, my teachers and just¡ make them all forget?¡±
¡°Yes, Scarlet. This is what the process entails.¡±
I can¡¯t even begin to comprehend the amount of work that would take, the manpower it would entail. In the modern age, documents are everywhere¡ªon paper, on computers, in hearts, minds, and souls. The more I consider it, the more frightened I become.
What does it mean for everyone and everything who knew you existed to simply forget? Is it like snuffing a flame and seeing the smoke ebb freely, or does it compare to a breath of air, taken and known once but never truly seen?
Unable to know, I lean back in my seat and say, ¡°Shadow.¡±
¡°Yes?¡±
¡°Can you¡ can you promise me something?¡±
¡°I can¡¯t say I can.¡±
¡°If you can,¡± I say, ¡°and¡ and if you¡¯re able, I need someone¡ anyone¡ that can help me get through this.¡±
¡°There are people here who will assist you through the recovery process and transitional period,¡± he says.
¡°I know. But you¡ you¡¯re the one who found me. Who saved me. Who¡ who gave me this choice. I¡ I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do if it weren¡¯t for you.¡±
¡°You would move on and do whatever was necessary to ensure your life had meaning.¡±
¡°Still¡ it means a lot to know you think I have what it takes to become a part of your world.¡±
¡°It will soon be your world too, Scarlet.¡±
The thought, troubling as it happens to be, is also inspiring.
Though I may not know what will happen next, I do know one thing for certain:
I know I will avenge my mother¡¯s death.
Chapter 4: The Agency
We arrive in Dallas, Texas, in the early hours of the morning, during which time the moon is still shining, the towering buildings glimmering. Tired beyond compare, but captivated by the city¡¯s grandeur, I push myself into a sitting position and gaze out the window, at which point the reality of the situation begins to settle in.
It¡¯s here, I think, where everything begins.
And here, I want to surmise, where everything else ends. My old life. My former purpose. My connections to everyone and everything in the world as I knew it.
Slowly, and with trepidation I know comes from the understanding that my world is about to change, I turn my head to face Shadow and ask, ¡°What¡¯s going to happen next?¡±
We have just passed under the sign declaring the Dallas/Fort-Worth Metropolitan, at which point Shadow is taking extra care to maneuver among the commuters that happen to be up at this early hour of the morning. He glances in his rearview mirror, then to his right, before shifting lanes to align us on the right highway. It is here that he says: ¡°I am not sure.¡±
¡°You¡¯re not sure?¡± I ask, almost too dumbfounded to speak. ¡°But you said¡ª¡±
¡°I stated that you have borne witness to the Supernatural world. Whether or not you will be accepted into it I cannot know.¡±
¡°You mean you¡¯re telling me that I could have come all this way for nothing?¡±
¡°Not for nothing,¡± Shadow says. ¡°You will be granted an audience. A member of the executive board will see you. But it is their choice as to whether or not you will be allowed to undergo the assimilation and then begin integrating into the Supernatural world.¡±
So, I think. My fate isn¡¯t set in stone.
From what he was saying, I could still have my memories erased, my experiences banished. To think that I could have come all this way¡ªand have experienced all this agony, all this chaos¡ªonly for it to be washed away as if it was nothing?
Don¡¯t panic, I tell myself as Shadow continues to guide us onward. You¡¯re still here, in the present, in the now, safe.
Yet, even with that knowledge plainly at hand, the panic I experience is still the same. My chest is tight, my throat dry, my hands trembling as my fingers drum along my thighs. The fact that I¡¯ve yet to break down is enough for me to reconsider my earlier habit, my previous dream¡ª
When Mama¡ª
I shake my head.
No. I cannot afford to think about that. Not when there is so much at stake.
Shadow, seemingly indifferent, continues to navigate through the city with a calm precision. Long fingers locked around the steering wheel, dark eyes set on the road, he continues to guide the vehicle along the interstate until he finally exits onto a frontage road. It is here that he begins to maneuver through the edge of Dallas, here where he turns down one road, guides us down another, leads us down a third road, and a fourth. The further we drive, the deeper into the city we go, which leaves me with a stunning thought.
¡°Is the Agency in the city?¡± I ask.
¡°It is,¡± Shadow replies. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. We¡¯re almost there.¡±
¡°I¡¯m not worried for me,¡± I say. ¡°At least¡ not¡ not really.¡±
¡°No?¡± he asks.
I shake my head. ¡°No. I¡¯m not worried. I¡ I trust you.¡±
¡°I¡¯m glad to hear that,¡± Shadow says. ¡°Not many would in your circumstance.¡±
¡°I imagine most don¡¯t have a choice when they¡¯ve had something like this happen.¡±
¡°No. I imagine they don¡¯t.¡±
I lift my eyes to consider the buildings around us¡ªat the towering skyscrapers, at the massive, block-shaped buildings beneath them. At this hour of the morning, the moon makes the many windows on the buildings glimmer like eyes in the twilight of the new morning. It makes me consider just what the Agency might look like and where it could possibly be.
I have no sooner turned my head to regard Shadow when he turns onto a road¡ª
And it
appears.
Rising, from the ground, like a testament to a lost civilization, is a building that appears to have been carved from the blackest of onyx, that glimmers like diamond in the light from the moon. Towering above all else, this place¡ªthis pyramid,
if ever there was one¡ªappears iconic among its surroundings. It is almost enough to give me pause.
¡°Is that¡ª¡± I start to say.
¡°The Agency?¡± Shadow asks. ¡°Yes. It is.¡±
¡°But, how¡ª¡±
¡°Is a building such as that remaining in plain sight?¡± Shadow smiles as he lifts his eyes to consider it. ¡°You will learn, in time, that not everything you lay eyes upon can or will be seen by other people.¡±
¡°So your people¡ the Agency¡ make those who see it¡ what? Forget?¡±
¡°In a way, yes.¡±
¡°How?¡±
¡°There are cameras positioned around the entire building, each at various heights and angles. Behind them is a Wiper. When a plane passes, the passengers and people are Wiped; when a car drives by, its passengers are made to forget; and so on, and so forth.¡±
¡°So there¡¯s constant surveillance outside the building? Twenty-four-seven?¡±
¡°Yes, Scarlet. There is.¡±
¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± I say as we continue to approach the massive structure. ¡°Surely that can¡¯t be true.¡±
¡°Our magic is what keeps our part of the world safe. You would be surprised at how far our influence extends.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
I open my mouth to speak but stop as we pass under the building¡¯s shadow. It is here that I feel a tug of sensation¡ªa blanket of feeling wash over me. It is almost like becoming lightheaded, in that I feel dizzy at first, then grow more aware of the feeling a moment later.
¡°Now you see what I mean,¡± Shadow says.
¡°But how can I still¡ª¡±
He falls silent as we turn into an underground parking garage. It is here, during which the vehicle advances down a narrow hall made of chrome metal, that I realize we have entered the bowels of the building.
As we arrive at a security checkpoint, within which an oddly nondescript man sits, Shadow reaches into his pocket, then lifts his wallet before revealing a metal star with a red ruby in the center of it.
¡°Shadow,¡± he says. ¡°Agent of the United States Agency for Supernatural Affiliations.¡±
The unremarkable man lifts his spectacled eyes to view the beautifully shaped badge before him. ¡°You can go,¡± he says.
The blockade guarding our path rises; and soon, the car is rolling forward, into the darkened space.
¡°I will forewarn you,¡± Shadow says as we turn into a vacant parking spot, ¡°that you may see things that are upsetting. You should know that no one here should mean you harm.¡±
¡°Should?¡± I ask and can¡¯t help but frown.
Shadow offers no reply. Rather, he kills the engine, pops the driver¡¯s side door open, then turns to face me. ¡°Come.¡±
That one word is enough to beckon a world of anxieties.
You have to get out of the car, I tell myself. You have to go, Scarlet.
I know that. I know that more than well. But the fact is: I am terrified beyond belief over what might happen, over what will
happen, over the reality that I might not be accepted, over the fact that I might be Wiped.
What will happen, I ask myself, if I lose all my memories?
Would I still technically be me? Or would I, Scarlet Jane, be a version different of myself? I suppose in theory that it wouldn¡¯t matter, because I wouldn¡¯t remember any of this, but where would the Agency put me if they were to make me forget everything?
Shadow leans into the car. Asks, ¡°Are you all right?¡±
¡°I¡ª¡± I manage to blurt out. ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±
He narrows his eyes at me.
Sighing, I allow my brain to relinquish its tight hold on my body and wait until my muscles loosen before pushing the passenger side door open. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be scared.¡±
¡°Why shouldn¡¯t you be?¡± Shadow asks.
¡°Because I¡¯m here. With you. Safe. Or, at least, as safe as I can be, considering¡ well¡ what happened.¡±
I close the door behind me¡ª
And almost instantly feel the sensation of eyes wandering across my person.
The sound of footsteps enters my ears.
A hand touches my shoulder.
I grimace and recoil instantly.
¡°Do you¡ª¡± Shadow starts.
¡°Not want to be touched?¡± I ask. ¡°Yeah. I mean, no. I don¡¯t.¡±
I can¡¯t explain it¡ªat least, not in a way I can audibly express. For some reason, my brain is telling me that this man¡ªthis supreme being of Supernatural power¡ªis not to touch me.
I cross my arms over my chest and say, ¡°We¡¯re being watched,¡± to divert the attention away from myself.
¡°Yes,¡± Shadow says. ¡°How did you know?¡±
¡°I can feel it. It¡¯s raising the hairs on the back of my neck.¡±
¡°You are very intuitive, Miss Brown. Please, follow me.¡±
I do so, slowly, cautiously, and with trepidation I know is warranted considering the circumstance. He leads me down a block of parked cars, all of various shades and colors, and approaches a console that stands beside two awaiting elevators. Here, he pauses; and here, he considers the security camera embedded between the elevators before he begins to inserts a series of numbers into the console. At first, I try to keep up, thinking they might be important later on, but soon find myself too overwhelmed by his moving hands to memorize the combination.
When Shadow finally finishes, a click sounds, the elevator door opens, and he says, ¡°After you.¡±
I step in with the grief of a girl who has lost everything and turn to face the parking garage with the weight of the world upon my shoulders.
¡°I will warn you again,¡± Shadow says as the elevator doors close behind us, ¡°that you may be afraid of things you may or may not see. Do not be.¡±
¡°I won¡¯t,¡± I say.
Whether or not that will actually be the case I cannot be sure. Regardless, I straighten my posture, suck in a deep breath, and exhale it accordingly.
You¡¯re strong, I tell myself. You¡¯re determined. You¡¯re bold. You¡¯re brave. You can withstand anything the world throws against you.
Even despite those affirmations, which should have allowed me to stand evenly on two feet, there is the reality that I am still fractured. Like a porcelain doll at the edge of a shelf I am ready to break. One false move will send me to the floor.
Shattering, I think, into a million pieces.
I want to tell myself that I can be brave. That I can be strong. That I can be stalwart in my approach. I am incredibly bullheaded¡ªand that, above all, has helped keep me going for all these years as a daughter to a single mother.
Moments pass as the elevator begins to rise. As voices begin to echo into the space. As Shadow idly watches the watch as his wrist.
¡°How high are we going?¡± I ask.
¡°High enough,¡± he says.
The elevator comes to a halt. Dings.
Then the door opens, and Shadow says, ¡°Follow me.¡±
He leads me down a long, narrow hallway, within which are many doors. Resembling a motel in that its exterior appears incredibly professional, but cold and remote as if there are not many people here, the walls boast blue wallpaper with white accents, and black-and-white tile decorates the floor. Halfway up the hall, the wall to our right ends and opens up to reveal a long, panoramic window that looks out at downtown Dallas.
It is here, at the pinnacle of what I feel might be in this place, that Shadow comes to a halt. That he reaches into his pocket. That he withdraws, then inserts a simple keycard into the door before pushing it open for me to see.
¡°This is where you will stay for the time being,¡± the man says.
¡°Alone?¡± I ask.
Shadow nods.
Stepping forward, I enter the room¡ªand look first to my left, at the kitchenette that features a small refrigerator and microwave, then peer deeper into the room, to take note of a bed near an attached bathroom. This place, though small, is comforting and, while bland, will allow me at least some privacy in a place that, so far, appears far too alien to comprehend.
¡°I will fetch you in a few hours,¡± Shadow says from his place near the doorway. ¡°There¡¯s food in the refrigerator, towels in the washroom, a fresh change of clothes at the end of the bed.¡±
¡°They knew I was coming,¡± I say, ¡°didn¡¯t they?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Shadow says. ¡°I informed them that I was traveling with a young woman and that she would need provisions.¡±
¡°So¡ you¡¯re not sure I¡¯ll be staying?¡± I ask. ¡°Whether I¡¯ll be¡¡± I swallow. ¡°Accepted?¡±
¡°As I said before: that will be up to the executive board of directors to decide.¡± Shadow begins to close the door. ¡°Good night, Miss Brown.¡±
¡°Good night,¡± I say and sigh as the door shuts.
I approach the entryway and listen to the sound of his footsteps until they fade down the hall.
Then I turn and collapse against the door.
I cannot contain the tears that follow.
Cold, alone, and desperate for answers, it doesn¡¯t take much to realize how much the strange man had been helping me hold it together. With Shadow gone, there is no way to stop the floodgates from opening, the waters rushing in, the current as it comes crashing down. The only thing preventing me from screaming is the fact that I fear it will bring the Agency down upon me and bring with them who, or even God, knows what.
My mother¡ª
That monster¡ª
That strange man¡ª
It is all too much.
Still, there is the fact, and the knowledge, that I can do nothing in this moment; and as a result, I make my way down the hall, then into the bathroom.
I disrobe, then climb into the shower, all with the knowledge that no one can see my tears.
Not even me.
Chapter 5: The Executive Board
I doze fitfully on this cold and unfortunate night. Garbed in an T-shirt two sizes too big and a pair of sweats that appear to have seen better days, I toss and turn for most of the early hours of the morning, during which time I think of my mother, the monster that had slain her. Each time I close my eyes, I see her torn body, its grisly visage; and though try as I might to block it out, I cannot.
When dawn begins to creep through the window behind me¡ªand when bright, orange sunlight draws me from the depths of a defeated slumber a few hours later¡ªI open my eyes.
I¡¯ve barely slept a wink.
Yet it doesn¡¯t matter. The bedside clock shows that it¡¯s almost eight thirty in the morning, and though I have no idea when Shadow will arrive, the knowledge that he will soon come is enough to spur me from bed and into the shower in record time.
The moment I step out, and the second I turn to look at my reflection in the mirror, is the moment I wish I hadn¡¯t.
My bloodshot eyes, the bags beneath them, and my tired features and weary expression all confirm what I wish it hadn¡¯t.
I needed to rest.
Yet I cannot¡ªbecause within a matter of an hour, maybe less, a man named Shadow will come to deliver me to a group of people known as the executive board, who will then decide my fate.
My fate, I think, struggling to hold it together as tears once again bud in my eyes.
I can¡¯t help but think of everything that could have happened last night, everything that did. I shouldn¡¯t have gone to the basketball game. I should¡¯ve played sick. I should¡¯ve, when I¡¯d told my mother that I was nervous, copped out of the game altogether. But she¡¯d told me that it was important¡ªthat it could potentially benefit my future¡ªand I¡¯d gone ahead with it, all because I knew she was right.
I was destined for greatness. I¡¯ve known that for a while¡ªat least, I have for the past few years. As a straight-A student, and an athletic one on top of it, my teachers had reasserted the claim time and time again that I was bound for success. College, they¡¯d told me, would take me far. I¡¯d have a good job, a dazzling career, potentially even a full ride through school. I could¡¯ve done absolutely anything I wanted.
But here, though, and now, I realize that I was in the presence of something disastrous¡ªsomething that could easily change my life eternally.
Wiped memories¡ª
An altered past¡ª
A future not set in stone¡ª
My life, my love for my mother, and her savage, brutal killing, could all be erased in a moment.
I have to convince them that I can do this, I tell myself, balling my hands into fists as I gaze at my reflection. I have to convince them that I can kill the monster that killed my mother.
I know nothing of what this place is, what their procedures dictate, or how they operate, especially with people like me. All I know, as I stand here, before this bathroom mirror, is that I want only one thing:
Revenge.
And by God, I will do anything for it.
¡°Even if I die trying,¡± I whisper and close my eyes.
A knock comes at the door.
¡°Miss Brown?¡± Shadow¡¯s familiar voice asks. ¡°Are you awake?¡±
¡°I¡¯m coming!¡± I call.
I scramble into clothes, press my feet into shoes, and prepare myself for what is to come by taking a long, deep breath. Then I start toward the doorway and open it for the man who had taken me from Louisiana and delivered me all this way to Dallas.
¡°Hello,¡± Shadow says.
¡°Hello,¡± I reply.
¡°I expect you¡¯ve slept?¡±
I don¡¯t reply. Rather, I force a nod and hope he doesn¡¯t press me for more answers before stepping out of the room. ¡°Are they ready for me?¡± I ask.
¡°They are ready,¡± Shadow replies as I pull the door shut behind me. ¡°Be forewarned, however, that they may instruct me to wipe your consciousness at any moment.¡±
¡°And make me forget this forever,¡± I say and nod not long after. ¡°I understand.¡±
¡°Good. Follow me, please.¡±
He turns and begins to lead me down the hall¡ªtoward the elevators we had used earlier this morning. Nervous, now, more than ever, over what I could possibly face, I ball my hands into fists in an effort to still my trembling hands but find that does little to abate my anxiety.
Remain calm, I tell myself before sliding my hands into my pockets. You have to act normal¡ªor at least as normal as you can, considering the circumstance.
But the truth of the matter is that I can¡¯t act normal¡ªcan never be normal again, now that this tragedy has unfolded, now that circumstance has placed me into the custody of a stranger¡ªa stranger who, with a wave of his hand, had led me into the world of the impossible, a world that dwells just below the surface of society, hidden away from view, where any and everything could happen.
Regardless, I understand that I must at least try to present an air of calm. For that reason, I take a deep breath as we approach the elevators and pray to God that Shadow has not taken notice of my insecurity.
¡°Shadow,¡± I say as we step into the elevator.
¡°Yes?¡± the man replies.
¡°Is there anything I should know before¡ well¡ we get there.¡±
¡°Do not be afraid,¡± he says. ¡°They will see your fear and use it to their advantage.¡±
But how? I wonder. How would they use my fear to my advantage? Would they prey on the reality of a life without my mother? Of my twisted fantasies of how this place, this Agency, might reset my life? The thought that I might be placed in foster care away from my family enters my mind. Then I consider the idea that they might leave me somewhere¡ªon these strange streets in a random city with nothing but the clothes on my back¡ªand begin to tremble.
Unable to know what I might face until I address it head-on, I steel myself for what is to come and watch as Shadow leans forward to press a button near the top of the elevator¡¯s dashboard¡ªa button that simply says The Operating Room.
We begin to rise not long after, at which point I begin to ponder how long of a ride we will have and what emotions I will endure as a result.
Thankfully, I do not have long to consider the circumstance. Soon, the elevator lets out a ding, and the door opens¡ªStolen novel; please report.
Revealing the most opulent room I have ever seen.
Chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Crystalline fixtures upon them reflect the light streaming through the distant, panoramic windows. White furniture with gold accents sits atop white marble floors. Even a white piano rests in the far corner of the room, granting the impression that this place¡ªthis operating room¡ªmay in fact be reserved for the Agency¡¯s most elite members.
I have just begun to take in everything when a gargantuan metal groan echoes from the depths of the room.
¡°What is¡ª¡± I start to say.
But then I see it: the fixture of armor that rounds the corner. Standing at least six feet in height, the armor appears to have been taken straight from the medieval ages. It is surprisingly perfect, in that it bears no damage, in that it appears to have never been used in combat.
¡°Halt,¡± the mechanical voice within says. ¡°Please: state your intentions.¡±
¡°Special Agent Shadow,¡± the Wiper says, lifting his head to regard the suit¡¯s intimidating helm. ¡°I seek an audience and guidance from the executive board for a Miss Scarlet Jane Brown.¡±
I shiver as the air chills, as that horrible sensation of being watched returns anew, and wrap my arms around myself in response.
The figure in the suit of armor adjusts its hold on the halberd in its grasp and lowers their head to look at me.
¡°Access has been granted,¡± the figure says, then disappears around the corner.
I wait for the sound of its monumental footsteps to disappear before asking, ¡°What was that?¡±
¡°You would be better off asking what that was,¡± Shadow replies. ¡°That, Miss Brown, is what you would call an automaton.¡±
¡°A what?¡±
¡°An entity that bears no flesh body.¡±
¡°So¡ you¡¯re saying that the suit¡ª¡±
¡°Is alive? Yes. I am. The automatons guard the executive board from any threat. Had it deemed you unwelcome, it would have killed you instantly.¡±
¡°That¡¯s comforting,¡± I mumble before hesitantly following Shadow around the corner.
I lift my eyes to find the automaton, and an identical companion, standing before an impressive stone door.
¡°Is that¡¡± I start to say.
However, I am stunned into silence a moment later.
The stone door¡ªif it can even be called that, for it resembles a work of art¡ªfeatures a myriad of depictions upon its surface. What appear to be Christian angels, Biblical demons, and creatures from myth and legend are emblazoned within the stone, doing battle upon what most would consider their grandest precipice. The sight alone is enough to freeze me in place, but the reality that someone might be waiting on the other side for me?
¡°They¡¯re waiting for you,¡± Shadow says.
¡°You¡¯re not coming with me?¡± I ask, turning my head to face him.
¡°No.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°You are to face the board alone and suffer whatever reward or consequence is offered.¡±
Swallowing, I offer the Wiper a short, hesitant nod, then step between the automatons flanking the stone doorway.
As I reach forward¡ªand as I wrap a hand around one of the door¡¯s intricately carved handles¡ªI feel, for the briefest moment, an unholy sense of fear.
Remember, I tell myself. Remain calm.
When the fear in my veins is replaced by determination and anger, I pull the door open and peer inside.
Inside sits a single person¡ªa woman, who, with long blond hair and fair white skin, appears to be as normal as possible.
¡°Come in,¡± the woman says, lifting her cold, black eyes to face me.
I enter hesitantly¡ªand am just about to reach back to pull the door shut when it closes, then clicks behind me.
You¡¯re locked inside, I think. You¡¯re locked inside. With her.
Her.
This woman, who I can undoubtedly tell is something supernatural.
Frozen, like a deer in the headlights, over the realization that this woman can do anything she wants to me, I draw in a breath and wait for her to speak.
¡°Sit,¡± the woman says, gesturing to the chair opposite the slab of oak between us.
I seat myself in the chair, all the while trying my hardest to keep from succumbing to the eerie calm in the room.
¡°Scarlet Jane Brown,¡± the woman says, flipping open a folder that displays my most recent yearbook photo, as well as lines of text that I cannot read below it. ¡°My name is Doctor Amelia Vanderoof. I am a resident Archivist and one of the chairing members of the executive board of directors. I am here to determine whether or not Agent Shadow¡¯s recommendation of integration through the process of assimilation is appropriate.¡±
¡°All right,¡± I say.
¡°First: give me your full name, your age, and date of birth.¡±
¡°Scarlet Jane Brown. I¡¯m seventeen. I was born on December 7th, 1986.¡±
¡°Where were you when you first bore witness to the Supernatural world?¡±
¡°I¡ª¡± I start, then stop as fear begins to grip me.
Don¡¯t show it,
I tell myself. Don¡¯t show how afraid you are.
¡°Come, Miss Brown. I am a very busy woman.¡±
¡°Shouldn¡¯t it be in the report?¡± I ask.
Amelia Vanderoof raises her eyes to face me. ¡°Yes, Miss Brown. It is. I would like to hear what you have to say, however.¡±
¡°I saw my mother dead,¡± I say, ¡°in my home. After I walked home from a basketball game.¡±
¡°What did you see?¡±
¡°A monster.¡±
¡°What kind of monster, Miss Brown?¡±
¡°This is going to sound ridiculous,¡± I say, ¡°but¡ I think it was a vampire.¡±
¡°The Sanguine are known to prey upon unsuspecting victims, especially if they believe that can attain access to a stable source of blood.¡±
¡°Sanguine?¡± I ask.
¡°Vampires,¡± Amelia replies. ¡°Alien creatures who have been on the planet since the dawn of human civilization. They take host within the corpses of human beings and reanimate the body through a series of chemical reactions upon the host¡¯s brain and body.¡±
¡°You¡¯re saying my mother was killed by an alien.¡±
¡°I¡¯m saying your mother was an unfortunate victim in a plague we cannot curb.¡±
¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± I ask. ¡°I mean, if you¡¯re going to erase my memory¡ª¡±
¡°Then there¡¯s no harm in telling you something you will only know temporarily.¡±
¡°I¡ª¡± I start. ¡°I¡¯m¡ª¡±
The woman narrows her eyes at me.
Swallowing, I try to find a reason to speak. Unfortunately, words do not come.
¡°Special Agent Shadow has informed me that you refused his attempts at erasure. Why was this?¡±
¡°I want revenge on the thing that killed my mother.¡±
¡°And to what lengths would you go to exact this revenge?¡±
¡°Death,¡± I say.
It feels so strange to say it out loud¡ªto speak it in words that are physically tangible. However, there is also a strength in those words; and as a result, I find that I am able to keep myself from trembling as the woman rises from her seat.
¡°Stand, Miss Brown,¡± she says.
I do as asked and firmly settle my weight upon my feet as the archivist circles the table, considering my with a hawkish gaze that immediately makes me feel small. Compared to this woman¡¯s six-foot frame, my five foot four body seems minuscule. The idea that I am standing next to a godly figure in the grand scheme of things is not lost on me, especially as Amelia Vanderoof begins to circle me.
This needs to go right, I tell myself. I need her to know that I want this.
Of course, saying that outright is not likely to work; and as a result, I remain silent as Amelia Vanderoof lifts my arm, tests the firmness of my muscle, gestures me to turn, all the way around, until we stand face-to-face. The woman tilts my chin up with a long finger and considers me with a gaze that is beyond anything I could have ever imagined.
¡°You are arrogant,¡± the woman says. ¡°Headstrong. Determined. Extremely intelligent, maybe even more than is good for you. You do things your way and refuse the assistance of others if you believe yourself capable of doing them yourself. You are strong in heart and pure in mind¡ªnaive beyond compare, and innocent beyond all comprehension. You are, without a doubt, human.¡±
¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡± I ask.
¡°It means I will test you, Scarlet Jane, in ways you have never thought possible, until I can determine if you are capable of what you believe you are. I will rend your body, tear your flesh, and shatter every preconceived notion about the world and your purpose in it. Only through these trials will we be able to determine if you are fit to become a Hunter.¡±
A Hunter? I think. What does that¡ª
Amelia relinquishes her hold on my chin. ¡°Go,¡± she says, jutting her head toward the door. ¡°Return to the one who calls himself Shadow. You are dismissed.¡±
¡°What are you¡ª¡±
Amelia Vanderoof shakes her head. ¡°I will call upon you when you are needed,¡± she says. ¡°For now: rest, contemplate, and consider everything that you have thought. You walk a dangerous path, Scarlet Jane. Decide now whether or not you wish to embark upon it, for once you start, you can never leave.¡±
¡°I understand,¡± I say.
¡°Then go.¡±
I turn and, with a weight upon my shoulders I never thought imaginable, push the door open.
When I come face-to-face with Shadow, I step forward and say, ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±
¡°Very well,¡± Shadow says. ¡°Come with me.¡±
Chapter 6: Lessons Learned
I leave the Operating Room with a sense of dread I could have never anticipated. Still reeling from the fact that the meeting had gone so well, and dwelling within the emotions that come as a result of it, I struggle to keep my anxiety contained as we enter the elevator and begin to descend.
¡°Are you all right?¡± Shadow asks at my side.
¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I lie. ¡°Why?¡±
¡°You show signs of discomfort.¡±
¡°My stomach¡¯s in knots. I feel like my whole existence has just been picked apart.¡±
¡°Such is the job of a Wiper, especially one employed upon the board.¡± Shadow straightens as the doors open to reveal a new floor, one with red rugs and orange wallpaper that resemble a sickly candle whose wax has melted. ¡°Follow me.¡±
¡°Where are you taking me?¡±
¡°You need to eat, for one. And for two, I need to speak with human resources now that the board has agreed to allow you to undergo the process of assimilation.¡±
¡°You mean¡ you mean I¡¯m not going to get wiped?¡± I ask.
Shadow turns to face me. ¡°If you were going to be wiped,¡± he says, ¡°Miss Vanderoof would have done it on the spot. You would already be outside the Agency and en route to another location.¡±
I can¡¯t believe it, I think.
A part of me wants to refute Shadow¡¯s claim¡ªto say that he is lying, that he cannot possibly be telling the truth, that this is all a charade to lead me into a false sense of security. The other part can¡¯t do that.
Because you believe him, I think as I take a tentative step out of the elevator. Because you know he¡¯s telling the truth.
He nods as he settles his gaze upon me, as he turns and begins to lead me down the hallway, which feels strange and labyrinthine, considering how huge this sprawling complex is.
Eventually, the smell of food enters my nose and causes my stomach to grumble.
¡°I will warn you,¡± Shadow says, ¡°that you will see things that may frighten or awe you.¡±
¡°I understand,¡± I say.
¡°Do you?¡± he asks.
I force a nod, more out of stubbornness than acceptance, and wait for Shadow to step toward a set of double doors. ¡°After you,¡± he says.
He opens the door.
Light spills out.
And I lift my eyes, only to find a world of wonder awaiting me.
I¡¯m not sure what I expected at this hour of the morning. A part of me had anticipated it being empty at this lonely hour¡ªfor the cooks inside to simply be preparing lunch for the masses within the building. However, the reality is even more daunting, the implications even more disastrous.
At one end of a long line stands a woman who, though beautiful, possesses only half a human body¡ªand that, from the waist down, bears an equine form that marks her out of something from Greek legend. I can distantly see green men with brutish features, cute girls with fox tails and ears. A number of other humanoid people stand in line, but their variations are different¡ªfrom horns curling about their heads, to fingers with talons upon them, eyes with usual colors.
¡°Are those¡ª¡± I start.
¡°Other Supernaturals?¡± Shadow asks. ¡°Yes. They are.¡±
¡°The horse woman¡ª¡±
¡°Is a Centauress.¡±
¡°And the fox girls¡ª¡±
¡°Are Kitsune.¡±
¡°What about the green men? Are they¡ª¡±
¡°Goblins? Yes. They are.¡±
I tremble in the shadows of creatures that are undeniably more powerful than me, as I consider just what I might do upon facing them. Thankfully¡ªor, unfortunately, depending on how one were to look at it¡ªShadow presses a hand against my upper back and guides me past the Centauress and toward a long insert in the wall. It reminds me of my high school serving bay, within which are people I assume are human men and women, waiting to serve me and those who may shuffle in behind me.
¡°Hello, hon,¡± an elderly woman with aging skin and gray hair says. ¡°How are you today?¡±
¡°Would it be wrong to say scared?¡± I reply.
¡°Oh.¡± The lady laughs. ¡°I take it you¡¯re new here?¡±
I nod.
¡°You¡¯ll get used to it, dear,¡± the old woman than says. ¡°Most of these people don¡¯t want anything more than to live their lives as you do. Fetch yourself a tray and I¡¯ll serve you. We have ¡¯taters, breakfast biscuits, and orange juice.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± I say.
I allow myself to be served by the older woman in silence and let Shadow ferry me down the line as I accept tater tots and orange juice from a young man with black, cat-like slits across his eyes. The smile he offers appears genuine, and though I instinctively respond with a smile of my own, I can¡¯t help but tremble as Shadow turns me about to lead me toward a single table at the far edge of the room.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
Shadow seats himself with his back to the wall, gestures me to sit across from him.
¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡± I start.
¡°Want your back to them,¡± Shadow says, ¡°but you don¡¯t want to look at them, either.¡±
¡°How do you¡ª¡±
¡°Know?¡± he asks and smiles as I nod. ¡°You are not the first person I¡¯ve helped undergo the process, Scarlet Jane, and you will likely not be the last. I understand your concern and confusion, your fear and anxiety. You are at the precipice of a new world. It¡¯s going to take a while to comprehend everything within it.¡±
¡°I¡. I understand,¡± I say.
With that said, I settle into the seat across from Shadow, unwrap the cellophane from around the biscuit, then take a bite out of the cheese and sausage within it, even though I don¡¯t necessarily want to eat.
You need to stay strong, I tell myself. For me. For Shadow.
For Mama.
I sniffle and force myself to fight back the tears that threaten to come as I continue to eat.
Shadow clears his throat.
I lift my head. ¡°What?¡± I ask, perhaps a bit too defensively.
¡°You will learn to accept others around you in time,¡± he says. ¡°For now, consider this your official transitionary period. However, you must remember that, if you wish to become a Hunter, you must learn to suppress your fears.¡±
¡°What exactly is a Hunter anyway?¡± I ask.
¡°A Hunter is someone the Agency employs to deal with renegade or dangerous Supernaturals. Normally, these are creatures who have gone rogue¡ªwho threaten the anonymity of our world.¡±
¡°Like the vampire?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Shadow says. ¡°Like the vampire.¡± He waits a moment for me to say something more before continuing. ¡°Normally, the Sanguine are within their right minds and only feed upon those whose deaths would not be noticed within their communities. The homeless are prime targets for such creatures.¡±
¡°That¡¯s horrible,¡± I say.
¡°Sadly, it is. But such is the cycle of nature.¡±
¡°Why did the one go after my mother?¡± I ask. ¡°If it wasn¡¯t of sound mind, then that could only mean¡ª¡±
¡°That its host was degenerating.¡±
I pale. ¡°Wait,¡± I say. ¡°Amelia said that they take control of dead corpses.¡±
¡°That is correct.¡±
¡°But doesn¡¯t that mean they can rot?¡±
¡°Yes. They can, and do.¡±
¡°Then how am I supposed to kill the creature who killed my mother?¡±
¡°The Sanguine are opportunistic parasites. They only inhabit corpses that are fresh at the time of possession. Once implanted within a host body, they are capable of slowing the process of decomposition. What would take hours to occur in the wild could take days, weeks, months, even years at times. It all depends on if they have an adequate food supply.¡±
¡°Food supply?¡± I growl. ¡°Is that what you thought my mother was? That she was just food for some psychopathic creature?¡±
¡°No. I don¡¯t think that.¡± Shadow sighs. He runs a hand across his clean-shaven face and only clears his throat a moment later. ¡°Please, do not think I wished to belittle your mother or her memory. I merely spoke clinically, and wrongfully at that.¡±
¡°Yeah,¡± I retort, ¡°you did.¡±
¡°She is an unfortunate victim in a crime that should not have occurred.¡±
¡°She was the only person I had.¡± I ball my hands into fists. ¡°The only person I could turn to when things got tough.¡±
¡°Things are only going to get more difficult from here on out, Scarlet.¡±
¡°What¡¯s going to happen to me?¡± I ask, lifting my eyes to face the Wiper. ¡°I mean¡ what am I going to have to do to become a Hunter?¡±
¡°You will face a number of rigorous tests and the required training that accompanies them. They¡ªthe Guild of Hunters¡ªwill study every aspect of your person. Your mind, your body, and your soul will be laid bare to determine whether or not you are capable of joining their ranks.¡±
¡°And when I become one of them? What then?¡±
¡°Then you will become a Hunter,¡± Shadow replies, ¡°and slay the creature who murdered your mother.¡±
Despite all my pain, my suffering, my heartbreak and my rage, I can¡¯t help but smile.
I can do this. I know I can.
I¡¯m going to avenge her death, I tell myself. I¡¯m going to kill the thing that killed my mother.
And if, for some reason, I cannot, then, well¡
I will go down trying.
* * *
Shadow leads me out of the cafeteria and back to the elevators after I am finished eating, wherein he selects our floor and waits in silence for it to rise.
¡°Are we going back to my room?¡± I ask.
¡°We are,¡± Shadow says and turns his head to look at me a moment later. ¡°I neglected to inform you last night that you might encounter¡ issues on that floor, however.¡±
¡°Issues?¡± I ask.
Shadow nods. ¡°Yes. Issues.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°You are being housed in the floor that hosts refugees and victims of violent crimes.¡±
Violent crimes, I think.
¡°Just like me,¡± I mutter before exhaling a long, pent-up breath.
The knowledge, combined with Shadow¡¯s earlier lack of foresight, is enough to make me simmer.
You¡¯re doing okay, I am quick to tell myself. Just stay calm. Keep a level head. You¡¯ll get to where you want to be, in time.
I¡¯d already been told that they¡¯d test my body, my mind, and my soul. But given that a metaphorical¡ªand, in all actuality, legitimate¡ªPandora¡¯s Box had already been opened in my life, what else could I face? What, truly, would they have me endure to prepare for what was to come next?
Will they condition my body? I think.
I am already physical fit, with legs toned from years of basketball and the rest of my body conditioned from careful training in the gym. As a result, I can run and maintain my endurance like the best of them. My mind has already been made a victim of this cruel and unfortunate world, so to think that I will be tested further seems inappropriate.
That only leaves¡ª
My soul, I muse and frown a short moment later.
Just how do they condition a soul to be prepared for this world? Do they put me through heartbreak? Run me to desperation? Make me pray for salvation?
You can¡¯t know, I tell myself. Not until you meet the Guild.
But with that thought in mind: Who are they? Are they a group of wise men and women who have gone through this training but no longer fight? Or are they young, like me¡ªpeople who have dedicated their lives to fighting the forces of darkness?
Without the ability to know, I step forward as the elevator grinds to a halt and follow Shadow down the hallway until we arrive at my room. Once there, he withdraws a keycard and opens it for me to step inside.
¡°Are you¡ leaving?¡± I ask as I enter the room.
¡°For now,¡± the Wiper says. ¡°Come tomorrow, you will be summoned by the Guild and brought to the training chambers beneath the facility.¡±
¡°Oh¡ Okay,¡± I say.
¡°Rest well, Scarlet Jane. Your time is about to come.¡±
He offers me one last nod before pulling the door shut.
While standing here, waiting for a revelation unlike any other to strike me, I take in a breath, then turn my head to consider the window that looks out at the city.
My world, and my place within it, is continuing to grow. But me?
I feel like I¡¯m shrinking with each passing second.
Chapter 7: Harsh Introductions
The rest of my first ¡°official¡± day in the Agency is spent in quiet contemplation, in silent dread. Within the room I have been told is presently my own, and alone with my thoughts and everything in them, I try my hardest to distract myself¡ªfirst by pacing, then by musing.
I think first of my mother, whose life was ended by a monstrous being.
Next I think of myself, and what purpose I will serve once I begin my training.
And, finally: I think of what the future may hold after I complete my vow of revenge.
If I complete it, I tell myself and sigh as I collapse into a chair at a small table in the kitchenette.
The idea that I might not accomplish my goal has not been lost upon me. For much of the morning, and even into the afternoon, I have been quick to consider any potential shortcomings and what might happen if I falter for even a moment.
Would I end up like my mother, I wonder, dead and ravaged on a bloody floor? Or would I be victorious come time I faced the monster and forever allow my mother peace?
The thought, and the reality that comes with it, leaves me with a feeling of hesitation, of dread.
Dread.
Over what could happen. Over what might.
That¡¯s what you¡¯re here for, I tell myself. To learn how to fight. To learn how to combat these monstrous things from another world.
Thankfully, that knowledge, and my determination, carries me through the rest of the afternoon.
When evening rolls around, I rise from where I have sat in bed watching court TV, then wander into the kitchen to warm up pizza bites in the small microwave. Then I eat, all the while feeling my world close in with each passing moment.
You can do this, I tell myself after I shower and climb into bed. You know you can.
¡°I know I can,¡± I whisper, ¡°because I¡¯m Scarlet Jane.¡±
And I can do anything if I put my mind to it.
I allow that thought, and that affirmation, to carry me into sleep.
* * *
I awaken the following morning to a sharp series of knocks on the door and the knowledge that I am officially being summoned by the Agency¡¯s Guild of Hunters. Tired, more than ever, and burdened by a growing knot of dread within my chest, I roll out of bed and dress in the simple black clothes that I had arranged on the back of a sitting chair the night before.
Well, I think as I make my way toward the door. This is it.
¡°The beginning of my new life,¡± I tell myself, then reach down to unlock the door.
Outside stands a white woman. Unfortunately, the shock of seeing her blood-red hair fades when she turns her head and reveals eyes the exact same color.
¡°Scarlet Jane,¡± the woman says, shifting her hands away from the leather armor that adorns her torso.
¡°Yes?¡± I ask.
¡°My name is Emily Bane, senior officer of the Agency¡¯s Guild of Hunters. I¡¯m here to escort you to the Induction Chamber.¡±
The Induction Chamber? I think and frown as I consider the gun at the woman¡¯s waist. Just what does that¡ª
Mean, I want to finish.
But Emily Bane¡¯s tapping boot on the ground stops me from thinking further. ¡°We don¡¯t have all day, Miss Jane.¡±
¡°Call me Scarlet.¡± I palm the key to my room and step into the hallway. ¡°And sorry. I¡¯m ready.¡±
¡°Good. It¡¯s imperative that we begin early.¡±
Why that is I cannot be sure. However, I follow the woman down the hallway with haste, careful to keep pace beside her as to not appear inadequate.
After stepping into the elevator, the woman turns, pushes a button labeled Sub-level,
and waits for the doors to close.
¡°How long have you been here?¡± I ask, deciding it might be best to make casual conversation.
¡°That¡¯s none of your concern,¡± the woman replies.
Or it might not be for the best, I then think and frown shortly thereafter.
¡°What you need to be concerned about is your training,¡± the woman named Emily Bane says, her full lips pursing as she turns to consider me. ¡°Have you eaten?¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°Slept?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± I say.
Barely, I then think but decide not to add that I¡¯d been up half the night tossing and turning.
¡°What is the Induction Chamber?¡± I decide to ask¡ªand hope to God that she will respond without malice.
¡°The Induction Chamber is where you will forfeit your rights to your ordinary life and where you will dedicate yourself to the Agency.¡±
¡°I take it I¡¯ll be interviewed by a Wiper in the chamber?¡±
¡°Yes. You will.¡±
¡°And after that?¡±
¡°You¡¯ll begin training.¡±
Okay, I think and nod as the elevator door yawns open. You can do this, Scarlet. You know you can.
Outside the elevator¡¯s brightly lit interior lies a dark and sullen chamber, within the center of which stands only two metal chairs and a table between them. Seated on the side opposite the elevator is a man who appears to be of Indian descent, his dark skin reminiscent of the hazel fay flower my mother used to grow outside their home in Shreveport. He lifts his gaze as my weight comes down a little too hard on my foot and watches me in silence.
Emily steps out of the elevator and seats herself in a chair in front of it. ¡°Go,¡± she then says. ¡°I¡¯ll wait for you here.¡±
With that said, I hesitantly step forward.
Beneath only a single light bulb, the room and its sole occupant remind me of an interrogation room.
¡°Miss Brown,¡± the Indian man¡ªwho I can now tell is a Wiper¡ªsays. ¡°My name is Himmat Kiaan. I will be the agent interviewing you for your initiation into the Agency.¡±
¡°All right,¡± I say.
¡°Sit.¡±
I obey, careful to angle the chair so my legs properly rest beneath the table.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
¡°This interview will document every facet of your life, including who your parents are or were, where you were born, and other information we may deem necessary to know. Are you ready?¡±
¡°As ready as I¡¯ll ever be,¡± I reply and lean back to try to make myself comfortable in the stiff metal chair.
¡°Good.¡± The Wiper presses a red RECORD button on a small device and lifts his eyes to face her. ¡°Please state your full name.¡±
¡°Scarlet Jane Brown.¡±
¡°Your birthdate.¡±
¡°December 7th, 1986.¡±
¡°Your current age.¡±
¡°Seventeen.¡±
¡°At which hospital were you born?¡±
¡°Trinity Springs in Shreveport, Louisiana.¡±
¡°Who were your parents?¡±
¡°Serena Jane Dawson and Michael Douglas Brown.¡±
¡°Are either still living?¡±
¡°My mother was killed by a vampire,¡± I reply and bite into my lower lip to keep the tears from flowing, ¡°and my father died in a car accident when I was young.¡±
¡°Do you have any siblings?¡±
¡°No.¡±
¡°Any extended family?¡±
¡°An aunt, Susannah, who lives in New Orleans with her three children, and an uncle Matthew, who lives in California with his wife. I also have a grandmother alive on my father¡¯s side. Grandma Anna Kristina. She lives in Shreveport also.¡±
¡°Are you able to provide their exact addresses?¡±
¡°They would be in my family home,¡± I say. ¡°In my mother¡¯s documents.¡±
The Wiper takes note of my once-physical home address and nods as he lifts his head to consider me again.
¡°Whom were you closest to in your life in high school?¡±
¡°My best friend Ariana, my friend Cindy, my friends Carrie and Donna, my basketball team, my coach, Vasquez, my teachers, and the principal at my high school.¡±
¡°Do you have a regular family physician?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°A regular dentist?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°Can you name them for me?¡±
I do as instructed.
¡°Did you speak with the police regarding what you saw on the night of April 22nd, 2003?¡±
¡°Yes. I did.¡±
¡°What did you tell them?¡±
¡°That my mother was killed by a monster.¡±
¡°Did they believe you?¡±
¡°I can¡¯t say,¡± I reply. ¡°I think they thought I was crazy. Shock was the word the doctors used when they were examining me at the hospital. I¡I was diagnosed with PTSD.¡±
¡°The actual diagnosis is irrelevant to the documentation we will have to seek and acquire to properly dispose of.¡± The Wiper lifts his head to face me once more. Here, he studies me; and here, he considers me for several long moments. He then says: ¡°Miss Brown.¡±
¡°Yes?¡± I ask.
¡°By agreeing to this audit of your personal life, you are hereby giving permission to the United States Agency of Supernatural Affiliations to officially begin your process of assimilation into the Supernatural world. This process begins with a Wiper¡ªor a series of Wipers¡ªmeeting with those you¡¯d previously had contact with and removing their memories of your presence, then the destruction or falsification of documents that related to your previous existence. You will be able to keep your name if you so desire, but your place, and any physical record of it, within the world will be destroyed. Do you understand what I¡¯m saying?¡±
¡°I understand,¡± I reply.
¡°Good.¡± The man nods and presses STOP on the recorder. ¡°This ends our interview. You may now proceed with Miss Emily Bane into the next chamber.¡±
Though nervous beyond compare, I rise carefully and nod my thanks to the Wiper who¡¯d so carefully taken my information, before I turn to follow Emily to a door across the room.
¡°You did well,¡± the woman says.
¡°Thanks,¡± I say, somewhat sheepishly at that.
Emily Bane lifts her hand to take hold of the golden bar hanging from her neck. She then extends it toward a single, triangular feature above the door.
¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡± I ask.
But a moment later, the triangle pulses to life and shoots a single, green beam of light toward the golden bar that Emily is holding.
A click sounds.
The door before us slides open to reveal a darkened room.
Emily steps forward.
I follow suit.
The woman reaches out and flips what I assume are several row of light switches and nods as the lights above clang to life, one after the other¡ª
Revealing a training ring fit for a king.
Plastic dummies line the plush cushions along the floor. Weight benches and treadmills stand against the opposite wall. A series of parallel bars, likely for balance training, run the length of the other side. But it isn¡¯t these things that startle me.
No.
It¡¯s the array of weapons situated along a metal wall.
From guns of varying sizes, to swords and bows and arrows, shields, staves, beanbags likely meant to act in place of bombs, and even crosses with wicked blades line the wall, from one end to the other. Literally nothing has been left to the imagination.
Is this it? I ask myself. Is this where I¡¯m meant to train? Where I¡¯m to learn how to survive the Supernatural world?
¡°Now,¡± Emily Bane says, turning her head to face her. ¡°We are going to test your endurance.¡±
¡°Should I change?¡± I ask. I hadn¡¯t thought to dress in more than sweats and a black tank.
¡°A Hunter needs to learn how to fight in any situation. This includes in whatever clothes they happen to wear at the time of their investigation.¡± Emily gestures toward a treadmill. ¡°Go. Now.¡±
I approach the treadmill with trepidation I never thought possible. With butterflies fluttering my ribcage. With knots festering in my stomach. I hadn¡¯t anticipated having to prove myself like this, especially not one little bit at a time, but I suppose it makes sense.
You have to crawl before you walk, I tell myself, and walk before you run.
For that reason, I climb the treadmill, set it on the medium setting, and wait for the treads to start moving before breaking into an even jog.
Beside me, Emily Bane watches casually, almost indifferently, as she observes my movements. This goes on for at least ten minutes before she says, ¡°Faster.¡±
I punch the nodules meant to increase the speed and jog for another ten more minutes before the woman says, ¡°Faster,¡± once more.
I¡¯m on the seventh setting, I think. How much faster is she going to make me run?
It turns out I will run a lot faster. I am soon on setting eight, then nine, and, eventually, ten. Regardless, I continue to run, even though the physical exertion is beginning to wear on me, causing my lungs to flare, my legs to burn.
I fight it for as long as I can.
¡°Push yourself,¡± Emily says. ¡°Push yourself to your limits.¡±
¡°I¡ª¡± I mange. ¡°I can¡¯t¡ª¡±
My knee buckles, and that¡¯s all it takes to fall to the treads and shoot off the treadmill.
Thankfully, the emergency cord disengages the machine as I land, hard, on the cushioned floor. The treadmill grinds to a halt not long after.
Emily Bane smirks as I push myself into a sitting position. ¡°Very good,¡± she says. ¡°You did much better than I expected.¡±
¡°I¡ played¡ basketball,¡± I manage as I struggle to catch my breath. ¡°I¡¯m used to running.¡±
¡°Take a moment to breathe. Then we start the real training.¡±
¡°Real training?¡±
Emily turns her head and gestures to the weaponry on the walls.
¡°You really don¡¯t mean to have me fight you with weapons,¡± I say. ¡°Do you?¡±
¡°We¡¯ll start with staves and work our way up,¡± Emily says and nods to a water dispenser at the other edge of the room. ¡°Get yourself a drink, recover some, and prepare for what¡¯s to come. I¡¯m going to give you the workout of your life.¡±
* * *
I hold the staff readily in hand as Emily Bane circles like a shark. Red eyes like daggers, lips pulled into a smirk, she eyes me up and down, appearing to size everything up¡ªfrom my footing, my hold on the staff, all the way down to my breathing techniques.
¡°All right,¡± Emily Bane says, lifting her staff and shifting her fingers so they are a far distance from one another. ¡°I¡¯m going to give you the opportunity to make the opening strike. Normally you want to wait for your opponent to reveal their weakness, but since I¡¯m teaching you, I¡¯m going to let you strike first. Understand?¡±
I nod.
¡°All right,¡± the woman says. ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready.¡±
After taking a long, deep breath, I angle the staff in my grasp and step forward, careful to test its weight, rigidity, length, and comfort within my hands. When I sling a slow strike at Emily, the woman parries it. She then smacks a second, harder strike I throw her way aside and returns with a blow that only barely misses my fingers.
¡°Fight me like you mean it!¡± the woman snaps as she hurls another strike at me.
¡°What if we get hurt?¡±
¡°Don¡¯t worry. We have white witches here to heal us if we get hurt. Now¡ªfight me!¡±
I duck an overhead swing and raise my hands to block another attack.
She¡¯s going to hit me, I tell myself as I suck in a gasp of air. She¡¯s going to break my fingers.
Still, I understand the need to defend myself, to prove that I am worthwhile, especially in the face of a senior Hunter.
With that in mind, I swing the weapon like a baseball bat.
The tip of Emily¡¯s smacks against the ground¡ª
Leaving her open for attack.
I lunge.
Emily parries.
I duck and raise my staff to shield my face¡ª
Just in time to take a blunt strike on three of my fingers.
¡°STOP!¡± I scream. ¡°STOP!¡±
Emily smacks my ankles and sends me sailing onto my back with a loud, breath-rending thud.
Tears flowing, mouth agape, I struggle to take in a breath of air as Emily Bane presses the end of her staff against my neck.
¡°Dead,¡± the woman says.
And I sob, more from the grief of having lost than the actual pain.
¡°Come on,¡± Emily says, reaching down to take hold of my uninjured hand. ¡°Let¡¯s get you to our healer.¡±
Chapter 8: Tests
I audibly whimper as the healer, who Emily Bane has called a white witch, tends to my wounds. Still crying like the baby I feel I am, and reeling from the aftermath of our mock battle, I watch as the witch with a shock of curly red hair extends her fingertips, and as a white light flows from her hands like water. Warmth instantly weaves across my fingers and causes them to go numb.
¡°Why¡ª¡± I start to say.
¡°Are you numb?¡± the witch asks. ¡°Because I must realign your bones.¡±
¡°What¡¯re you¡ª¡±
Before I can finish, I feel a sensation akin to something moving under my skin. The sound of popping, cracking, and then the sickly crawl of my bones moving back into place envelops my senses, nearly causing me to vomit.
¡°There,¡± the witch says as she pulls her hand back, then lifts her eyes to meet my gaze. ¡°How does that feel?¡±
My fingers are still numb. However, a quick flex of them shows that they are very much operational; and as a result, I say, ¡°Better,¡± then reach up to wipe snot from my upper lip. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m such a big baby.¡±
¡°I know it hurts, honey, but this isn¡¯t the last injury you¡¯ll suffer from training. Don¡¯t worry, though¡ªI¡¯ll be here to fix you up.¡±
¡°What is your name? I¡ªI didn¡¯t even think to ask when I came in.¡±
¡°You had three broken fingers, dear. I doubt you had much else on your mind.¡± The witch laughs and takes hold of my mended hand. ¡°My name is Belinda.¡±
¡°Belinda?¡± I ask.
The woman nods. ¡°Yes. Belinda.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± I say.
¡°You may go now, dear. Miss Bane will probably want you to resume your training now that you¡¯re back to normal.¡±
I push my legs over the side of the examination table, wait a moment for the dizzy feeling to pass, then drop to the floor. ¡°Thank you again, ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°It¡¯s no trouble, Scarlet.¡±
With one last nod, I make my way out into the hall.
¡°Scarlet,¡± Emily says.
I am nearly startled out of my skin. ¡°Yes?¡± I ask.
¡°I expect Belinda took proper care of you.¡±
¡°She did,¡± I say.
¡°Good.¡± The woman pushes away from the wall she was leaning against. ¡°I want to continue your training, but not physically.¡±
¡°Not¡ physically?¡± I ask. ¡°Then what do you¡ª¡±
They will test your body, your mind, your soul.
Could this be what Shadow had mentioned? Was this meant to be my next trial?
¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Emily says as she gestures me to follow her down the hall. ¡°Your physical training will continue. It has to in order for you to be the best you can be. What I would like to do now is expose you to elements of the Supernatural world that you will soon be facing. I won¡¯t guarantee this will be an easy process, but it is one that you must undergo in order to become the Hunter you wish to be.¡±
¡°All right,¡± I say. ¡°Where are we going?¡±
¡°Back to the chambers.¡±
I follow without another word, but with the slightest bit of hesitation.
I can do this, I am quick to remind myself as we enter the elevator. I know I can.
Still, the thought of what I might be witness to, as we begin to travel into the depths of the building, unsettles me. I wonder, first and foremost, if I will be exposed to monsters, or mayhem, perhaps even their destruction. Death,
I have quickly determined, is a cruel aspect of this world¡ªand though I understand that I need to be exposed to it, potentially even graphically, the idea of what I might see haunts me.
Much like my mother¡ª
Who, lying dead on the floor, neck ravaged, blood pooling around her, had gazed toward the doorway with one hand extended, as if in plea.
A shiver travels down my spine as I consider the idea¡ªas I, with fear in my heart and muscles and bones, stare down at my hand, which, though no longer hurting tremendously, still bears the memory of pain. Even despite that, I know what I must do.
I must complete this training. I have to. Because if I don¡¯t complete it, and if I don¡¯t pass with flying colors, I have no idea what they will do with me.
Reduced to sorting papers, I surmise, or scrubbing toilets?This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
The thought crosses my mind only briefly as the elevator door opens¡ªas into the Induction Chamber we cross, then into the training quarters we enter. Here, we stop; and here, Emily Bane lifts the golden bar around her neck to open a door.
¡°Before we continue,¡± Emily says as the door slides open to reveal a blindingly white corridor, ¡°I want you to be aware that you will see some truly horrific things¡ªmonsters that you could only begin to imagine and things you would only see in the worst of your nightmares.¡±
¡°I understand,¡± I say but grimace as the sound of rattling chains and the howl of something fearsome sounds further down the hall.
¡°Good. Then follow me. We will view each creature as it is presented to us. Do note that most of them are kept in complete darkness and are masked behind one-way windows. They cannot see us, but you will be able to see them.¡±
After steeling myself with a deep breath and exhale, I nod and follow Emily toward the first darkened prison.
"The first,¡± Emily says, ¡°is known as a Howler¡ªotherwise called a Lycanthrope.¡±
Inside, a bestial, half-wolf-like creature whose features are covered in blood from a fresh, recently devoured kill lifts its head to examine the one-way mirror. Its glowing eyes are utterly haunting in that they pierce my soul, in that they make me feel small; and though it cannot possibly see us, it turns its head to view the overhead light, bays like a dying lamb, and reveals its sharp teeth.
Then it launches itself at the window.
I stumble back.
My elbow bumps a switch.
The resulting concussion against the glass causes a second creature to launch itself at the window and slam its decaying fists against it.
¡°Zombies?¡± I gasp.
¡°They are just as real as any other creature,¡± Emily replies. ¡°Many are the result of dark magic, some the genetic experimentation of viruses. This is one of the latter.¡±
I stare into the prison in awe. This creature¡ªwho was undoubtedly once human¡ªbarely resembles its living self, in that clumps of matted hair hang loosely from a decaying scalp, and that its hands, bloodied from pounding against its prison, are merely lumps of bone. Teeth show through gaps in its torn cheeks, and glazed eyes focus blindly at the window.
¡°Come,¡± Emily says as she switches these lights off. ¡°Let us go. There are more that need to be seen.¡±
And so over the course of the next few moments, I am exposed to the horrors of the Supernatural world. One is a monster whose writhing form is composed of nothing of tendrils, whose tentacles reach for the light as it is turned on. Another is a spirit with no physical body, who screeches at the light ignites above its head. A third is a child who, when he opens his mouth, reveals a rotating maw of teeth, while a fourth is a man with red skin, black horns and wings, and cloven hooves.
The fifth, however, stuns me into submission.
Standing, in the center of the fifth chamber, is what appears to be a man¡ªwho, with sullen skin and dark red eyes, appears to be watching me.
¡°It¡¯s¡ª¡± I start.
But a flash-bang of memories impacts me.
My mother, dead¡ª
Her blood, pooling¡ª
The creature, hovering¡ª
The monster inside the chamber opens its mouth to reveal sharp, elongated teeth, which gnash together as it eats the inside of its mouth. It¡¯s as naked as can be, and I watch blood slide from the creature¡¯s mouth all the way to its feet and grimace as it opens its mouth to laugh and gouge holes through its cheeks.
So stunned am I by the sight that I can do little but stare.
Stare.
Over the creature as it laughs. As it screams. As it commits to its body acts of self-mutilation that I could only begin to imagine or even fathom.
¡°This is one of the Sanguine,¡± Emily Bane says in a low and somber tone. ¡°Though from what I¡¯ve gathered, you¡¯ve already seen one firsthand.¡±
¡°It killed my mother.¡± My hands instinctively ball into fists. ¡°I saw it with my own eyes.¡±
¡°Channel your anger into your training,¡± Emily says. ¡°Allow it to fester. Germinate. To make right the wrongs that have been committed against you. Use it to make your world a better place. But Scarlet,¡± she then adds, ¡°do not, for one moment, let it control you. Anger is an emotion that will tear you apart far quicker than any Sanguine could.¡±
I nod as I lift my eyes to face the creature mutilating itself opposite me.
I¡¯ll kill you, I think. Even if it¡¯s the last thing I do.
* * *
Emily is the one to escort me from the trial and tribulation chambers to the floor that houses the refugees. During our time in the elevator, I think of everything the woman had said¡ªand how anger, as great a fuel as it can be, could ultimately destroy me.
It is an ugly emotion, I think.
I know this to be true¡ªhad experienced and expressed it throughout my childhood time and time again, especially toward my mother, who was just trying to do her best by me as a single parent.
You should have been kinder, I tell myself as we continue to rise. You should have been better, and not as angry.
I know, however, that the anger I¡¯d experienced early on in my teenage years had been the result of an unbalanced upbringing.
My mother, always at work¡ª
My father, dead and buried six feet under¡ª
My life at school, fulfilling but often empty¡ª
All had contributed to a silent frustration that, at times, would build to a fever pitch.
I hate to think what my mother might have thought of me¡ªwhat she might have considered when I, like an impetuous child, had frowned when she said she couldn¡¯t come.
Did she know, I beckon to ask myself as we step out of the elevator, that I loved her?
I stop mid-stride as I am struck, suddenly, by grief I am unable to control. I bow my head. Try my hardest not to cry. To hold it together. To be the strongest person I can be. But the tears come anyway, and with them, the declaration that I am not as strong as I thought I was.
Emily¡¯s hand on my shoulder is enough to make me lift my hand.
¡°Scarlet,¡± the woman says, her red eyes kinder, gentler, than they¡¯ve been all day. ¡°I did not test you to cause you grief.¡±
¡°I know,¡± I say.
¡°I tested you to show what this world is capable of¡ªthat this world, cruel as it happens to be, often spits out the people it thinks is unworthy. What happened to your mother is unfathomable. I¡ I wish I could say more, other than that I am sorry.¡±
¡°It means a lot,¡± I say. ¡°To hear you say that, I mean. Especially after today.¡±
¡°I know it does,¡± Emily replies. ¡°Just remember that, through your training, you¡¯re working to avenge your mother and help save people like her. You understand that, don¡¯t you?¡±
¡°I do,¡± I say.
¡°Good.¡± Emily lifts her eyes to face the door to my quarters. ¡°You should rest, now and prepare for what is to come. Your greatest challenge has yet to begin.¡±
With that said, Emily turns and walks away¡ª
Leaving me to my own devices just outside my room.
Chapter 9: The Isolation Chamber
I am not called in for training the following morning, or even during the afternoon. Left alone to do nothing but sulk or sleep, I prepare what I consider to be a meal of champions by microwaving two instant sandwiches, and contemplate what might come next as I eat in silence.
Will they crush me, I wonder, with visions of the past, with prophecies of the future?
Will they look into my heart and see if I am truly ready?
A part of me is terrified that I will fail this final quest¡ªthat, somehow, someway, a part of me might not want this. A small segment of my mind longs for normalcy¡ªfor walks in the park, for shopping with friends, to threading my fingers through outlet racks as I dream of a future that does not involve killing monsters.
I know, however, that is not meant to be.
Knowing that I cannot dwell on the matter any further, I carry my plate of food to the window and sit on the broad sill while I eat.
From my place within the Agency¡¯s pyramid, which seems so dystopian that I could only begin to imagine it, I watch the world go by as it normally does¡ªsafe in the ignorance and knowledge that nothing horrible could happen. The people below are like ants, making their way from one building to another, across one street and then the other. Upon their backs they carry the weights of their worlds¡ªpersonal sorrows, their trials and tribulations. They will eventually return to their nests, where they will eat their food, live their lives, sleep in their beds.
Unlike me.
Me.
Scarlet Jane¡ªwho, homeless now that my mother is gone, now exists in a fortress of solitude, in the United States Agency for Supernatural Affiliations.
Where I train to fight monsters, I tell myself, and make right things that are wrong.
I have just finished my two sandwiches and have risen to return my plate to the kitchenette sink when a knock comes at the door, startling me. I only just mange to catch the plate before it falls to the floor.
¡°Hello?¡± I ask, almost convinced that I imagined the sound. ¡°Is someone there?¡±
¡°Miss Brown?¡± a familiar voice asks.
Amelia Vanderoof? I think. What could she want?
With a troubled yet nervous sigh, I set the plate beside the microwave and approach the door and open it to reveal the strange, black-eyed woman dressed entirely in white.
¡°Miss Brown,¡± Amelia says. ¡°I¡¯m glad you answered. We have much discuss.¡±
¡°About what?¡± I ask, unsure whether to invite the woman in or step into the hall and follow her.
¡°About your situation as a whole.¡± Amelia steps forward. ¡°Do you have a moment?¡±
I nod and step aside so Amelia can enter.
The woman spins to face me as I close the door and says, ¡°The board has reviewed your request for initiation.¡±
My request? I think. What does she¡ª
Then it hits me.
¡°What?¡± I ask. ¡°You mean, you¡¯ve¡ª¡±
¡°Reviewed your case. Yes. We have.¡± The woman examines me for several long moments, likely gauging a potential response. She then says: ¡°We have decided, based on your deceased parents and the socioeconomic factors that lie within your extended family, to allow you to remain within the Agency for the time being.¡±
I gasp and inhale a deep breath of air.
¡°However,¡± the woman continues, ¡°there is a caveat that I must address. In order to remain integrated within our program, you will be required, by Agency law, to dedicate yourself to a nondisclosure agreement that states you will never speak of anything you see within these walls or anything you may have seen outside of them.¡±
¡°I¡¯ve already said that I saw what I thought was a monster. The police¡ª¡±
¡°Are being dealt with as we speak.¡± Amelia pauses. ¡°Now¡ªthere comes the matter of your initiation as a Hunter. Have you decided what you want to do?¡±
¡°I want to do it,¡± I say. ¡°I want to avenge my mother.¡±
¡°You do understand that the life of a Hunter is very lonely? You will have few friends and even fewer liberties, but the allies you will align yourself with will guarantee your survival for the rest of your life.¡±
¡°I understand, Miss Vanderoof.¡±
¡°Good.¡± Amelia withdraws a single folder from the lining of her jacket, within which is a single parchment of paper. She then pulls an object that resembles a pen with many ridges from her breast pocket and extends it to me. ¡°You will feel a prick once you touch this scribing tool. This will draw blood from a small incision within your palm and transfer it into the device. You will then sign your name upon this sheet of paper.¡±
¡°You¡¯re making me sign in blood?¡± I ask.
Amelia nods.
¡°Does this mean I get to be a Hunter then?¡±
Amelia laughs. ¡°Child. You will only be deemed capable of joining the Hunters when you have proven yourself to the Guild.¡±
I try to refrain from showing emotion, if only so I don¡¯t be seen as weak or crass, maybe even foolish. I am, however, unable to suppress my frown.
Just do as she asks, I tell myself. This is the only way you¡¯re going to get what you want.
With a nod, I reach for the scribing pen, swallow a lump in my throat, and prepare myself for the worst.
I tighten my hand around the pen. Grimace as something pricks my finger. Gasp as blood runs freely down my palm and into the pen.
Amelia, parchment in hand, unfurls it and gestures to a single line.
This is it, I think. Now or never.
I could turn back now and be Wiped forever, forgetting my mother, my friends, my hopes and dreams and aspirations¡ª
Or I could sign this sheet of paper and dedicate myself to it all.
Knowing that I cannot turn back, I reach forward, take hold of the parchment with my unbloodied hand, then scrawl my name as neatly as possible with the pen.
A moment later, the signature disappears, melting into the parchment as if it had never existed.
¡°What¡ª¡± I start.
¡°It is done,¡± Amelia says. ¡°By signing this sacred pact, you have agreed to forever protect the Supernatural world and all its secrets¡ªto defend its honor, to uphold its good, and to combat any evils you may come across. Failure to abide by these terms will result in your immediate execution.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
Amelia tucks the parchment into the folder, then slides it into her white coat. She retrieves the blood pen from her grasp not long after and turns toward the doorway. ¡°If you would please come with me.¡±
¡°Where are we going?¡± I ask.
¡°You will see soon enough.¡±
* * *
The secrecy surrounding our destination is enough to raise the flesh on my arms. Unable to refrain from shivering, I try my hardest to keep from showing any emotion but find myself unable to do so.
Where is she taking me? I think.
We are obviously descending deeper into the Agency, though where we are going I cannot be sure. So far, I¡¯ve only seen three chambers, and none of them appear to hold anything relevant to someone such as Amelia Vanderoof.
The elevator comes to a stop at the bottom of the chute. The doors open, and we make our way through the Induction Chamber until we stand in the training quarters.
I believe, mistakenly, that we are going to head to the viewing chamber. However, Amelia takes a slight set of stairs that runs alongside the weaponry on the wall and steps toward a door that I had assumed might be inconsequential in nature.
¡°Are you coming?¡± Amelia asks.
¡°Yes,¡± I reply and take the stairs.
The Archivist begins to key in a complex strand of numbers into the pad before the doorway.
Where is she taking me? I ask myself. And why is it locked behind a keypad?
Is this where I will face my destiny? Or my spirit? My unfathomable soul? If so: what tests will they perform to deem me suitable?
Trembling, now, more than ever, I step up alongside Amelia just as the keypad turns green, and a lock audibly disengages. ¡°You are about to enter the Isolation Chamber,¡± the woman says.
¡°Isolation Chamber?¡± I ask.
¡°Within is a sensory deprivation tank. You will strip down to your underwear, insert yourself into it, and place a respirator over your mouth and nose so you will be able to breathe. You will then face whatever your subconscious commands you to.¡±
¡°I¡ª¡± I start to say. ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡±
Amelia narrows her eyes at me.
You knew you were going to be uncomfortable going into this, I tell myself.
Still, the idea of being in a sensory deprivation tank doesn¡¯t exactly appeal to me. I¡¯ve never liked tight spaces¡ªnever have, probably never will.
Despite the blossoming discomfort, I force a nod and wait for Amelia to open the door before stepping in behind her.
Within is a single, white, seed-shaped pod, which glows with blue light. Hovering from its open ceiling is a respirator.
¡°Please undress,¡± Amelia says.
I do as asked¡ªfirst stripping out of my jacket, then my shirt, socks, and shoes. When I finally stand in my underwear, shivering as though I stand in the frigid arctic of the North Pole, I turn to face Amelia, who gestures to the pod.
¡°I¡¯m not sure I can do this,¡± I say and cannot help the nervous laughter that follows. ¡°I¡¯m scared of tight spaces.¡±
¡°You can¡¯t be scared of anything when you¡¯re a Hunter,¡± Amelia says. ¡°Now, go. Into the pod.¡±
At the entrance to the pod, I reach in, brush my hand across the water¡¯s warm surface, then lift my head and step inside.
See? I tell myself. This isn¡¯t so bad. It¡¯s just like a bath.
Still, the idea of being trapped within it, as comfortable as the water happens to be, does not sit well with me. As a result, I hesitate as I consider the oxygen respirator above me.
¡°Take the respirator,¡± Amelia says, ¡°and lace it over your head.¡±
I do as asked¡ª
Only for the finality to hit me.
Stay calm, I tell myself, taking slow, deep breaths through the respirator fastened over my mouth and nose. Everything¡¯s going to be just fine.
I sink deeper into the water upon Amelia¡¯s instruction.
¡°Wait!¡± I cry, pushing forward as she starts to close the pod. ¡°Don¡¯t¡ª¡±
But she does it anyway.
Darkness consumes me.
Panic tightens my muscles, my being.
Desperation fuels my hyperventilated breathing as I struggle to adapt to the darkness. Warm within the water, but frigid with fear, I try, with little success, to acclimate to the sensations assaulting my brain.
Everything is so dark, so quiet. The only thing I can hear is the water entering my ears¡ªand soon, even that is gone.
Sensory deprivation, I think.
Was this what I am meant to face? This soul-crushing insanity, in the darkest and quietest parts of my mind?
But how is that a test of my spirit? I wonder. How is that¡ª
An image begins to materialize on the surface of my eyelids, silencing me before I can think further.
At first, I believe I will see my mother¡¯s death, and as a result, I try to shake the vision away. But when a portrait of my family appears that includes me, my mother, and my father sitting together, I stop to consider.
Three years old, I think. I was three years old the year he died.
It¡¯d been on Christmas Eve¡ªa night which should have been joyous but instead had turned into a nightmare. Though too young to physically remember the events of that night in 1989, I can still hear the distinct sound of my mother¡¯s wails as the police announced my father¡¯s untimely death.
¡°Not Michael!¡± she cries. ¡°Not Michael James!¡±
Her cries are harsh, stark, and filled with emotion that slices through my being, causing the darkest of thoughts to arise.
As a child, my mother¡¯s despair had caused me to cry.
Now, in the present, her lamentations cut through my consciousness like knives in virgin flesh and threaten to drive me mad with grief.
I see, briefly, my father¡ªhandsome, happy, and driving home in the early evening on December 24th¡ªbefore everything goes to hell.
It happens too quickly for him to comprehend.
One moment, he¡¯s passing through an intersection.
The next, a car runs a red light, T-boning him on the driver¡¯s side.
The screeching metal and squealing tires rend the night.
As the vehicles come to a halt, my father thinks of only one thing before he dies.
Scarlet.
Scarlet.
¡°Scarlet.¡±
I jolt, stunned from the vision by the sound of his voice, and see an image of my father before me.
Duh¡ Daddy? I think.
My baby girl, my father says. You¡¯ve grown up so much.
Are you¡ Are you real? I ask.
I cannot comprehend what I am seeing.
He can¡¯t be real, I want to keep telling myself. He can¡¯t be.
Yet, here he hovers before me, in the quiet of my subconscious, in the space before my eyelids, looking on at me as if he is my greatest fantasy, my ultimate salvation.
My father smiles, revealing the dimples my mother said she¡¯d loved so much.
I want to smile as well¡ªto reach out and hug him¡ªand try to do just that. Struggling to wade through the dark waters, I find myself unable to do so¡ªbecause trapped against the respirator, I am unable to move, unable to make my way toward the man I loved more than anyone else in the world.
Scarlet, my father says.
Daddy? I reply.
He reaches for me, as if ready to take my hand.
I, foolishly, reach back¡ª
Only to see him vanish into the dark.
I want to scream. To cry. To rage, foolishly, against this disastrous concept of a dream.
But I can¡¯t, because my father was never truly there at all.
While trying my hardest not to sob into the respirator, I am assaulted by another vision.
My mother is standing in the living room with the front door open to allow the fresh breeze into her home. She is humming a tune, and the crash of the garden gnome being knocked off the porch causes her to lift her head. It is here that she peers into the darkness, and here that the creature launches itself from the shadows.
There was little my mother could do.
It ripped her hands across her blouse. Sunk its claws into her shoulders. Dragged her to the floor, and struggled to keep her down. My mother¡ªwho I knew by heart would have done anything to fight back¡ªsmacked and slapped and kicked and tried to holler¡ªbut there was nothing she could do. She, Serena Jane Brown, was thinking only of survival: of a daughter who would soon come home to the sight that she could never unsee.
Even in death¡¯s embrace her love for me is astronomical. I feel it in the way the Heavens flow over the Earth, in the way the waters are intrinsically moved by the moon.
As the creature tears into my mother¡¯s throat, she thinks only one word.
Scarlet.
Mama! I try to cry. Mama! Mama!
Again, I struggle against the respirator; and again, I do not succeed.
The image shifts to show me on the front porch¡ªto reveal the moment I saw the creature as it savaged my mother¡¯s body, all teeth and fangs and clawed hands.
Then I watch as I turned.
And ran.
And came to fall in the middle of the street, where I screamed, whereupon lights erupted from nearby houses like supernovas in distant galaxies.
What¡¯s going on? my kindly neighbor had asked.
My mother! I screamed. It killed my mother!
There was the sound of sirens, of a police cruiser rising, of voices as they discussed what happened.
Then there is darkness.
Darkness.
True, everlasting darkness¡ªdarkness that does nothing to describe the emptiness in my soul.
As the pod above me opens¡ªand as I open my eyes to view the world outside my consciousness¡ªI take in everything that is wrong with my surroundings and begin to cry.
¡°You survived sane of mind,¡± Amelia Vanderoof says. ¡°Congratulations, Scarlet Jane. You have passed your second test.¡±
I cannot prevent the scream that follows.
Chapter 10: Aftermath
A doctor by the name of James Mitchell comes to my aid following my exit from the sensory deprivation chamber. Tall, handsome, with freckles peeking out from his ginger beard, he lifts me from the pod and allows me to fall into his arms as I am reduced to hysterics.
Later¡ªin a small medical clinic on the same floor, and away from Amelia Vanderoof¡¯s judgmental eyes¡ªthe doctor lowers his clipboard and says, ¡°You suffer from PTSD, don¡¯t you?¡±
I swallow the lump in my throat and say, ¡°Yes. At least¡ that¡¯s what the doctors at Trinity Springs told me.¡±
¡°Trinity Springs was the hospital you were at before you declared your intent to assimilate?¡± Doctor Mitchell asks and frowns as I nod. ¡°Who did you see at the hospital?¡±
¡°A physician to check my head from when I fell.¡±
¡°You fell?¡±
¡°A psychiatrist to judge my mental state,¡± I continue, ignoring his previous question, ¡°a social worker to determine what could be done for my situation.¡±
¡°And that was when Shadow was dispatched to wipe you,¡± Doctor Mitchell says.
¡°Before I refused to be wiped,¡± I reply.
The doctor scribbles something on his clipboard and sets it on the table at his side before stepping forward to tilt my chin up. ¡°Your pupils are normal,¡± he says, ¡°your reaction times average, your blood pressure a bit high, your temperature warm¡ªbut that isn¡¯t surprisingly considering you were in the tank for nearly an hour.¡±
¡°An hour?¡± I ask.
¡°You should be proud. Many don¡¯t make it ten minutes.¡±
¡°What¡ what was that?¡± I say. ¡°I mean¡ I¡ I saw things. Things I couldn¡¯t have possibly seen.¡±
¡°Like?¡±
¡°My father¡¯s car accident. I was only three years old when he died, and at home with my mother while he was returning from running an errand on Christmas Eve.¡±
¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that,¡± the doctor says. ¡°I imagine that made holidays hard for you.¡±
¡°He¡ spoke to me. Tried to reach out for me. Touch me. Hug
me.¡±
¡°It¡¯s not uncommon for the sensory deprivation tank to assault people with things it feels might weaken them.¡±
¡°It?¡± I ask. ¡°What do you mean it?¡±
¡°You didn¡¯t know?¡± the doctor asks and waits for me to say something further. When I don¡¯t, he sighs, reaches up to tilt his glasses up and rub his eyes, then settles them back on his nose before saying, ¡°Amelia never was one for being direct with the newbies.¡±
¡°What¡¯re you talking about? I don¡¯t understand.¡±
¡°The sensory deprivation tank,¡± the doctor begins, ¡°or Consi, as we call her, is an artificial intelligence the Agency developed to help test Hunters¡¯ spirits. Now, before you ask: there¡¯s no real way to test your spirit. It can¡¯t be pulled out of your body, molded into a precise creation, shaped into whatever form the individual desires. What Consi does test, however, is one¡¯s willpower and strength of heart¡ªwhich, if you think about it, cannot be tested when viewing monstrosities in the Viewing Chamber. That merely determines whether or not you are afraid.¡±
¡°And the tank doesn¡¯t determine that?¡± I ask.
¡°The tank is meant to assault a potential Hunter with their greatest fears, their truest losses, their worst moments. Having courage is not similar to experiencing fear. They are two completely separate emotions.¡±
¡°Can I go?¡± I ask, pushing myself off the table and shivering as I wrap my arms around myself. ¡°I¡¯m cold, and I¡¯d like to try and rest.¡±
¡°You¡¯re free to go if you wish,¡± the doctor replies. ¡°But before you do, Scarlet, I¡¯d like to ask¡¡±
I turn my head to face him.
¡°Would you like some medication?¡±
¡°Medication?¡± I ask and blink. ¡°For what?¡±
¡°Your anxiety. It¡¯s obvious you experience panic attacks. I don¡¯t want you to suffer unwillingly.¡±
Suffer? I think. Unwillingly?
I could have laughed. Somehow, though, I don¡¯t.
My expression must betray my true emotions, as the doctor frowns when I start to make my way out of the room.
¡°Scarlet,¡± he says but doesn¡¯t reach out to touch me or block my way out. ¡°I can prescribe you something for sleep, if you¡¯d like, or medication for your anxiety.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t need pills,¡± I say. ¡°I need to stay level-headed.¡±
¡°These medications aren¡¯t going to be a permanent thing. They¡¯re only supposed to be used if you need them.¡±
I shake my head. ¡°No. No¡ No, thank you.¡±
That¡¯s the thing. Even if I am suffering the results of untreated post-traumatic stress, and even if I am battling my body because of incomplete sleep, I don¡¯t need medication to treat those symptoms, regardless of whatever Doctor Mitchell thinks. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
You need to stay focused, I tell myself, and keep yourself engaged.
As much as I want to ignore the feelings that haunt me, I know for a fact that I can use them to my advantage.
It is just like Emily Bane had told me:
Channel your anger into your training.
Use it to make your world a better place.
With one last shake of my head, I make my way out of the clinic.
* * *
I struggle to rest in the hours after returning to my room. Haunted by visions of my parents¡¯ pasts, I toss and turn within my bed, trying my hardest to keep from seeing images of my father¡¯s crash, my mother¡¯s brutal murder.
The man in the car¡ª
The crash as it took my father away¡ª
The woman in the house¡ª
The screech before my mother¡¯s life was robbed forever¡ª
And me, the girl witness to it all, within the pod¡ªwatching, waiting, expecting
a revelation to come from it all.
I¡¯d passed the test of spirit.
Now, all I had to do was wait and see what would come next.
Your training, something tells me, will continue.
This much is already obvious. Because as much as I want to believe I am ready to face the world and all its monstrosities, I am not even physically ready to combat a human, let alone a creature of darkness. However, the fact that I¡¯ve overcome two of the tests¡ªand relatively unscathed in spite of them¡ªis enough to reassure me that I can, in fact, do this.
I can be a Hunter, I tell myself. I can do it.
If I cannot do it for me, and if not for my mother, then I would do it for any other unfortunate soul whose paths happen to cross the wicked creatures of darkness.
A knock comes at the door, startling me from thought.
¡°Hello?¡± a familiar voice asks. ¡°Are you there, Scarlet?¡±
Shadow? I think.
What could he be doing here? Could he have heard of my trial and have come to offer me moral support?
Rather than continue to question myself, I roll out of bed and open the door.
The Wiper stands in the hall, his head up, his gaze set toward me. ¡°I¡ brought you some provisions,¡± the man says, shifting a paper bag in his hand.
I step aside so he can enter.
As I close the door behind him, Shadow turns and extends the bag toward me. ¡°It isn¡¯t much,¡± he says. ¡°Just some essentials. Razors. Pads. Tampons. Painkillers.¡±
¡°You think I¡¯m on my period?¡± I laugh, then say, ¡°Wait. Can you tell that sort of thing?¡±
¡°No.¡± The man shakes his head. ¡°I simply thought that they might make you more comfortable is all.¡±
He was right. They would make me feel more comfortable¡ªand do, especially considering that I hadn¡¯t been able to procure any of the necessary items I would need come the end of the month.
As I look into the bag, acknowledging the items that have been so graciously gifted by someone I didn¡¯t yet consider a frown, I glance up at the man and offer a smile I know is genuine, considering all the dark thoughts that plague my conscience. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°It means a lot.¡±
¡°I worry,¡± the man says, ¡°that you are not properly taking care of your mental health.¡±
¡°I¡¯m trying,¡± I say, though in reality, I have shrugged off more assistance than I could have ever imagined. ¡°I mean¡ I¡¯m doing what I can to keep myself going.¡±
¡°You are aware that there is a commissary here for people like you.¡±
¡°People like me?¡±
¡°People who have been adversely affected by the Supernatural world.¡±
¡°I didn¡¯t know,¡± I say, ¡°but thank you for telling me.¡±
¡°I could take you, if you like.¡± He pauses and shifts his eyes away from me. ¡°I¡ am sorry I¡¯ve been distant. I¡¯ve had¡ errands to attend to.¡±
¡°Have you been visiting my family?¡± I ask.
Shadow blinks, as if waiting a moment to answer. ¡°How did you¡ª¡±
¡°There was something in your eyes,¡± I say. ¡°Something that betrayed your true emotions.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t mean to be dishonest. I merely mean for you to be comfortable.¡±
¡°I understand.¡± I seat myself upon the bed and reach back to grab a pillow, which I wrap my arms protectively. ¡°¡±How do you do it?¡±
¡°Wipe a family, you mean?¡± Shadow settles into the chair opposite the bed, then leans forward and presses a hand to his chin. ¡°It really isn¡¯t that difficult. You present yourself to the individual who answers the door, wipe said individual, then enter their house and begin to take anything that may have relation to the person in question.¡±
¡°How do you do that?¡±
¡°Find the items?¡± He waits for me to nod before continuing. ¡°There¡¯s a¡ residual energy that can be felt from a person: an aura, technically, that can be seen on anything that might identify with that person. You can¡¯t see it¡ªfew truly can¡ªbut Wipers have the innate ability to detect these auras. This is how we find paperwork, documents, even files on computers. When we trigger electromagnetic interference, we¡¯re not actually erasing everything in a computerized device. Just the files that identify that person.¡±
¡°So you wipe a person by will,¡± I say, ¡°and find and destroy everything else through auras only you can see.¡±
¡°Exactly.¡±
¡°And you do this for every person an initiate might have been in contact with?¡±
¡°Correct. Your aura touched many people, Scarlet. I¡¯ve been quite busy ensuring your existence has been erased.¡±
¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯ve been all these days, isn¡¯t it? Back in Shreveport.¡±
¡°And the surrounding towns, making sure everyone has forgotten.¡±
I tighten my hold on the pillow, almost uncomfortable so.
Shadow frowns and asks, ¡°It¡¯s finally starting to settle in¡ isn¡¯t it?¡±
¡°That my old life is gone?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes. It is.¡±
¡°Does it bother you?¡±
It does¡ªthough not badly. Nothing has compared to the knowledge that my mother is gone, that she has been viciously murdered. I miss my friends, but it isn¡¯t as if I need them. Ariana wouldn¡¯t have been able to tell me what to do. Cindy couldn¡¯t have held my hand. Coach Vasquez did not, nor ever would have, any advice for me, especially not regarding this. The truth is that I am completely, utterly, and undeniably alone.
But at least you have people you can depend on, I think, lifting my eyes to consider Shadow. People who won¡¯t leave you not now, or maybe ever. Not when I need them the most.
¡°Thank you,¡± I say.
¡°For what?¡± Shadow asks.
¡°For being there for me. For helping me. For¡ offering me this chance.¡±
¡°The Sanguine will be dealt with, Scarlet. In time.¡±
With a nod, I relinquish my hold on the pillow and spread out along the bed. ¡°I think I¡¯m going to try and sleep now,¡± I say, watching carefully as Shadow rises and makes his way toward the door. ¡°Thank you for bringing what you did, Shadow. It means a lot.¡±
¡°If you need me to take you to the commissary later, please, don¡¯t hesitate to have someone contact me. That phone¡±¡ªhe gestures to the one lying on the bedside table¡ª¡°will direct you to a Keeper in the front office, who will then direct someone to find me.¡±
¡°Thank you, again.¡±
Shadow turns and departs the room.
As he closes the door behind him, leaving me in a place that I am only just now beginning to associate with home, I take a moment to compose myself.
Then I reach out, tap the bedside lamp, and usher my world into darkness.
I can only hope that nightmares will not follow.
Chapter 11: The Doctors Orders
I am told, in the early hours of the following morning, that I am to meet with a psychiatrist to ensure my mental wellbeing.
¡°My mental wellbeing?¡± I ask, careful to level my eyes on the Wiper before me. ¡°Does the Agency think I¡¯m¡ what? Crazy?¡±
¡°They don¡¯t think you¡¯re crazy,¡± Shadow replies. ¡°However, after your experience in the deprivation tank, Amelia Vanderoof thought it would be best that you speak to someone.¡±
¡°About what?¡±
¡°Everything,¡± Shadow says.
Everything, I think.
The word is so calm, so collected, so fragile, yet it bears so much gravity that at first, I cannot believe what I have just heard. As the implications begin to sink in, however, I feel the intensity of yesterday¡¯s emotions come surging forth and find myself reeling in the process.
My father¡¯s accident¡ª
My mother¡¯s murder¡ª
My untimely confession¡ª
I feel, for one single moment, like I am back at the hospital¡ªthat I am staring into the darkness, at a man who may or may not know what is best for me¡ªand for a single moment, I feel that I will crumble.
But I won¡¯t, I tell myself. I won¡¯t crumble. I can¡¯t.
No. To crumble here, and now, in aftermath of my second test, would prove that I am
weak, that I am foolish, and that I am not cooperative.
So, with a sigh, I return my fixed gaze to Shadow and say, ¡°When will I see them?¡±
¡°Adam McKnight said he could see you this afternoon.¡±
¡°A man?¡± I ask.
¡°Would you prefer we send a woman?¡±
¡°No, no,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s just¡ª¡± I pause. ¡°I just don¡¯t know what to expect anymore.¡±
¡°We can arrange for a female psychiatrist if that would make you more comfortable. It would just take some time.¡±
¡°No. Really. It¡¯s fine.¡±
Besides, I then tell myself, I¡¯d rather not sit around and drive myself to insanity by over-thinking everything.
With a nod, Shadow turns to face the doorway. ¡°I will relay your permission to Mister McKnight. He should be arriving between the hours of twelve thirty to one.¡±
¡°Okay. Thanks¡ I guess.¡±
Though Shadow slips into the hall without a word in response, his silence is indicative of the nature of this upcoming visit.
I am to meet with a man who may know more about me, and my circumstance, than even I do.
How can that not be unsettling?
* * *
I have just finished taking a late shower, and have emerged from the bathroom in fresh clothes, when a knock comes at the door.
¡°Miss Brown?¡± a man¡¯s voice asks. ¡°Are you there?¡±
¡°I¡¯m coming!¡± I call but grimace all the same.
I approach the door cautiously. Slip my fingers around the handle carefully. Allow myself a moment to consider what is about to happen, then twist and pull the door inward.
Outside stands a well-dressed Black man in a black-and-gray suit.
¡°Are you Mister McKnight?¡± I ask.
¡°I am,¡± the man replies. ¡°May I come in?¡±
I step aside to allow him passage and wait until he is standing within the kitchenette before closing the door behind him.
¡°Normally I would have you come to an office,¡± Mister McKnight says, ¡°but given your circumstance, I feel you might be more comfortable speaking in your own room.¡±
My circumstance, I think.
The frown that tugs at my features instantly inspires Mister McKnight¡¯s eyes to settle upon me.
¡°Would you like to sit here?¡± I ask, turning to consider the small table.
¡°I¡¯d like you to make yourself comfortable,¡± the man replies.
¡°Let¡¯s sit in the bedroom, then.¡±
I turn¡ªand though the few steps into the bedroom shouldn¡¯t feel like much, each footfall brings with it the idea that Mister McKnight will analyze me and everything I am worth.
My past trauma.
My present circumstance.
My impending future.
I settle atop the bed with a sigh and turn my head to regard the man as he seats himself in the chair that rests against the wall dividing the bedroom from the kitchenette. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
¡°Now then,¡± Mister McKnight says. ¡°What would you like to talk about?¡±
¡°What would I like to talk about?¡± I ask. ¡°I thought you were the one who was supposed to talk?¡±
¡°I¡¯m here to counsel you, Miss Brown.¡±
¡°Call me Scarlet,¡± I say. ¡°It¡ it feels more natural.¡±
¡°All right, Scarlet.¡± The man leans forward and laces his hands together. ¡°If you¡¯re unsure where to begin¡ we can always start at the beginning.¡±
¡°You mean¡ with her death?¡±
¡°With your father¡¯s accident,¡± he says.
I blink.
Mister McKnight sighs as he leans back in his seat, offering me the distance I feel I need, given the personal turn the conversation has taken. ¡°I read your file,¡± the man says, ¡°and am aware that your father was taken from this world by a car accident that happened almost fifteen years ago.¡±
¡°I was just three,¡± I confess. ¡°I¡ I didn¡¯t really know much of anything about it, because I never wanted to ask for fear of upsetting my mom. But yesterday¡ in the isolation chamber¡¡±
¡°Go on.¡±
¡°I saw what happened. Everything that happened. Everything. From his accident, to my mother¡¯s murder, to me fuh¡ finding her.¡±
¡°I imagine all of this was a lot to take in.¡±
¡°It was more than a lot,¡± I reply. ¡°It was horrible.¡±
¡°Are you upset with the process?¡±
¡°In a way, I¡¯m mad as hell. On the other hand¡ I feel like I was supposed to see what I did.¡±
¡°The accident? The murder?¡±
¡°Both.¡±
Mister McKnight nods and says, ¡°You have likely been compartmentalizing your grief in order to survive the traumas you have endured. I¡¯ve worked with many patients over the years, and many Hunters, and know that, when we see something so horrible, so tragic, our brains force themselves to do things to protect you. It¡¯s a natural state we enter to keep us safe.¡±
¡°Are you saying I¡¯m blocking stuff out?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re blocking anything out,¡± Mister McKnight says. ¡°What I do sense, however, is a great distrust for the world around you¡ªwhich, again, is not uncommon, considering what happened.¡±
¡°I just find it hard to believe that all of this¡±¡ªI wave my hand¡ª¡°exists without most of the population knowing it does.¡±
¡°Tell me something, Scarlet.¡±
¡°What?¡±
¡°Do you think the real world, as some might call it, could function if it held knowledge of the Supernatural?¡±
¡°I honestly don¡¯t know,¡± I say.
¡°The Agency has worked tirelessly for hundreds of years to ensure that the public¡¯s perception of reality is as mundane as it can possibly be. Even before we became a coalition, there were people before us who strived to ensure that the ordinary mundane world remained as peaceful as it could possibly be.
¡°But like all things,¡± the man continues, ¡°there are cracks in the system¡ªplaces where monsters can slip in, where tragedies can occur. What happened to you is no exception.¡±
I can¡¯t help but sniffle.
¡°What I want you to understand is that you are not alone in this,¡± Mister McKnight says, ¡°and that, with the right amount of counseling, you can overcome the grief that you feel.¡±
¡°Grief never ends,¡± I say. ¡°It just gets easier to deal with.¡±
¡°Those are wise words indeed.¡± Mister McKnight lowers his hand to consider a watch at his wrist. ¡°Now¡ I¡¯d like to ask how you¡¯re feeling.¡±
¡°Right now?¡± I ask. ¡°Or¡ in general?¡±
¡°Both,¡± he says.
I reach up to brush the tears that are forming at the corners of my eyes, then let out a long exhale¡ªmuch like I¡¯d imagine a dragon would exhale fire from its insides¡ªbefore turning my gaze away from Mister McKnight. ¡°I¡¯m scared,¡± I say.
¡°Of what?¡±
¡°Everything. Of what has happened. Of what is happening. Of what will.¡±
¡°It¡¯s natural to be afraid of change, and definitely natural to be afraid of the unknown.¡±
¡°It¡¯s just¡ª¡± I pause. ¡°A part of me is afraid that I¡¯ll fail.¡±
¡°I imagine all Hunters feel that,¡± Mister McKnight says.
¡°But on another,¡± I then go on to say, ¡°a part of me is so determined that I feel I can¡¯t fail. I¡¯m trying to figure out if that¡¯s confidence, or arrogance, or maybe a bit of both?¡±
Mister McKnight watches me in silence.
¡°I just¡ I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going to happen, or how it¡¯s going to happen, or when. Emily¡¯s kicking my ass in training. Amelia has made me see the unthinkable. And I¡¯m¡ I¡¯m¡¡±
¡°What?¡± the psychiatrist asks.
¡°I¡¯m just worried. That all of this will be for nothing.¡±
¡°Do you feel that all of this will be for nothing, Scarlet?¡±
¡°No,¡± I say and shake my head. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±
¡°Why do you feel that way?¡±
¡°Because I¡¯ve been working too damn hard to fail. Besides¡ªit¡¯s not just me I¡¯m failing if I can¡¯t do this. It¡¯s everyone around me. My old friends. My neighbors. My¡ my mother.¡±
The thought of her lying there, in that pool of blood, hand outstretched, mouth open in a silent scream, is an impression I know I will never be able to shake¡ªa scar upon my mind that I understand will always remain.
But that¡¯s the way the mind works, I tell myself. It makes you remember. Forces you to remember. All so you can survive.
I let out another long exhale and lift my eyes to face Mister McKnight once more. ¡°Am I doing anything wrong?¡±
¡°What do you mean, Scarlet?¡±
¡°Is there anything I can do to make sure I¡¯m at my best?¡±
¡°I heard from Doctor Mitchell that you refused his offer of medication,¡± he says. ¡°It could¡ª¡±
¡°No.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I want to stay level-headed.¡±
¡°It could,¡± Mister McKnight continues, ¡°allow you some room to breathe.¡±
¡°I can¡¯t breathe,¡± I tell him. ¡°I need to drown in these feelings.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°Because I feel like, if I don¡¯t, I¡¯ll get tired. Sloppy. That I won¡¯t be able to do what I need to do.¡±
¡°We all have our ways of going through the world,¡± the psychiatrist offers. ¡°However¡ I feel that it¡¯s important to note that taking medication does not make you weak or inept in any way. A good treatment plan is meant to offer you relief. So you can live.¡±
Live, I think.
¡°Live,¡± I then whisper.
Mister McKnight nods and lowers his eyes to look at his watch. ¡°Our time here is almost over,¡± he says. ¡°However, I want you to be aware that I can be at your service at any time. You need simply reach out to the appropriate authority to find me.¡±
¡°Mister McKnight,¡± I say as he rises from his seat.
¡°Yes, Scarlet?¡±
¡°Have any other Hunters ever truly acclimated to this world?¡±
¡°There is no way to acclimate to everything within the Supernatural landscape,¡± Mister McKnight then says. ¡°What I like to tell my patients is that we need only consider what we must face in the present, and work to expose ourselves to other potential fears and realities in the meantime.¡±
So, I think. It doesn¡¯t get any easier.
I should have known that. I really should have. Yet, the more I think about it, the more Mister McKnight¡¯s words make a cruel, honest sense.
¡°I will clear your file and approve you for further training sessions,¡± the man says. ¡°But Scarlet¡ª¡±
I lift my eyes to face him.
¡°This is a hard world we live in. If at any point you feel lost, or hopeless, or want things to simply end, please, don¡¯t hesitate to reach out to me. The last thing I want you to do is believe that there is no hope.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± I say.
The truth is that hope, for me, is like a glimmering beacon on the horizon¡ªa lighthouse in the darkest of night¡ªand that the Agency is merely the vessel I will use to get what I want, in the end.
Revenge for my mother.
Chapter 12: Training
It is with fresh blood, sweat, and tears that I continue to train with Emily Bane over the following days. Desperate to prove my worth not only to the older Hunter, but myself, I dedicate myself to overcoming the physical obstacles that my body has placed in my way. From running on the treadmill, to throwing punches at a boxing dummy, to doing sit-ups, push-ups, quick sprints, and more, I push myself as hard and as fast as I can to become a stronger, more dependable person.
I push myself to become the Hunter I know I can be.
On the tenth day after entering the Agency, and the first week after I have officially begun my training, Emily Bane pulls me from the treadmill and says, ¡°Take this.¡±
It is a simple handgun: a black police-issue that I had grown accustomed to seeing in the police procedurals my mother would watch, dark and glistening. Emily wields it so casually that it causes me to shiver.
¡°What?¡± Emily asks. ¡°Have you never held a gun before?¡±
¡°No,¡± I say and grimace as Emily pushes the cold metal into my hand. ¡°I haven¡¯t.¡±
¡°You need to learn.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°Because for one: you¡¯re not going to want to get up close and personal with every Supernatural creature you face. And for two¡±¡ªEmily draws her own handgun from its place on the wall¡ª¡°it¡¯s easier to kill a creature with a gun sometimes than it is a sword or knife.¡±
We still hadn¡¯t addressed that type of training yet. To jump to marksmanship seems a bit of a stretch.
You have to do this, I think before tightening my grip on the weapon. How else are you going to kill the monster that killed Mama?
A part of me hadn¡¯t considered using a gun to kill the vampire. The part of me that had entertained the fantasy of killing it had done so with my bare hands¡ªwith the brute strength I¡¯ve slowly been developing over the past ten days. There¡¯d been no shortage of ways I¡¯d imagined killing the vampire.
But with a gun, I think, you won¡¯t have to worry about getting close. You won¡¯t have to worry about getting your neck¡ª
I blink, stunned.
¡°Have you ever held a gun before?¡± Emily asks.
¡°No,¡± I say.
¡°Keep it pointed toward the ground,¡± she says, ¡°and your finger away from the trigger.¡±
¡°I¡¯ve only ever seen them used on TV,¡± I confess.
¡°TV is good,¡± Emily says before stepping toward a bare wall and flicking a switch, thereby raising a metal wall separating us from a built-in shooting range. ¡°Now, watch this.¡±
Emily adjusts her footing, trains her gaze on a paper cutout at the end of one channel, and shoots three shots in quick succession¡ª
All without warning me.
I nearly jump from shock.
¡°You could¡¯ve warned me,¡± I say, though I can barely hear myself through the ringing in my ears.
¡°I did,¡± Emily replies. ¡°I said watch.¡±
I shake my head and adjust my hold on the weapon in my hand.
¡°Turn the safety off,¡± Emily says, ¡°like this. Now: aim your weapon and shoot. Try to hit the target. Definitely make sure you¡¯ve got a good hold on it. You don¡¯t want it to kick back and hit you in the face.¡±
After approaching the tunnel and adjusting my footing, I lock eyes on the paper dummy and fire one shot.
It misses completely.
¡°Again,¡± Emily instructs.
I fire two more times. Both miss their marks.
¡°Try and relax, Scarlet.¡±
¡°Relax?¡± I laugh. ¡°How?¡±
¡°You¡¯re not going to be able to stand still in the field. You¡¯ll be moving. A lot. So get used to the idea of raising your weapon, shooting, moving. A stiff posture is only going to make you an easy target for anything you come up against.¡±
With a short nod, I will my muscles to relax and force my wrists to work in a way that feels more natural, more organic.
When I fire a fourth shot, I don¡¯t expect to hit anything. I surprise myself when the bullet tears through the paper at the edge of the human outline.
¡°Wow,¡± I say.
¡°Everyone can shoot,¡± Emily replies with an encouraging nod. ¡°It¡¯s all a matter of learning how to do it. Now¡¡± She gestures toward the tunnel. ¡°Try again.¡±
This next time, I manage to hit the target dead on.
A killing shot, I think as I take note of the hole in the outline¡¯s chest.
¡°Good,¡± Emily says. ¡°Now¡ªtry to hit them while they¡¯re moving.¡±
Emily flicks a switch.
The paper cutouts start moving left to right.
Relax, I think as I struggle to fight the anxiety surging through me. You can do this.
I inhale a deep breath through my nose, then exhale out my mouth before aiming at my target.
The first shot I take blows a hole in the outline¡¯s head.
The second shot leaves a hole in another¡¯s chest.
And so I continue firing, hitting some targets and missing others, until I cannot shoot any more.
¡°You¡¯ll be able to practice whenever you want,¡± Emily says. ¡°I¡¯ll continue to teach you how to properly use the weapon, how to load it, how to unload it, that sort of thing. For now, though, let¡¯s give guns a break and get back to something else.¡±
¡°Like?¡± I ask, careful to safely pass the gun back to Emily.
¡°Swords.¡±
Emily crosses the room within a moment of moments, during which time she secures the pistol on the rack upon the wall and withdraws a three-and-a-half-foot wooden practice sword.
¡°Short¡ swords?¡± I ask.
Emily gestures for me to pass the gun to her and replaces it with a dummy sword.
¡°We¡¯re going to duel again?¡± I ask.
¡°It¡¯s the only way you¡¯re going to learn how to fight.¡±
¡°I broke my fingers the last time we dueled.¡±
¡°And Belinda healed you, didn¡¯t she?¡±
I reluctantly nod.
¡°Good,¡± Emily says. ¡°Acquaint yourself with the sword. I¡¯ll let you attack first.¡±
¡°Lucky me,¡± I mumble.
I balance the sword in my right hand, then go to work raising and lowering, then swinging it about. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
¡°Ready?¡± Emily asks.
¡°Ready,¡± I say.
I lunge.
Emily spins, grabs my arm, and strikes my lower back, all within a matter of moments.
¡°Ow!¡± I cry and spin, lifting my sword just in time to block an incoming attack.
¡°Good!¡± Emily calls. ¡°Again!¡±
I block another blow, then a third, a fourth, all the while refusing to bow to Emily Bane¡¯s relentless assault. The woman is too fast, however, and far too strong for me to physically overpower her.
But I can win, I tell myself. I want to win.
Emily never said not to fight dirty.
Raising my sword, I block a strike, then lash out and strike Emily in the chest with a fist.
The woman¡¯s grunt, and momentary pause, gives me just enough time to bring my sword about and strike her shoulder.
Emily lunges.
I duck.
Emily¡¯s hand snags my hair and drags me to the ground.
A wild punch is enough to dislodge her hand from my hair, but not enough to throw the woman off my hips.
She¡¯s too heavy, I think. How do I¡ª
I bring my sword up before Emily can strike my face.
¡°No!¡± I cry and buck wildly.
The sudden momentum is enough to throw Emily from my hips.
The woman jumps up.
I, struggling to stand, kick out.
Our feet connect.
Emily goes down.
But the moment she hits the ground, she grabs my ankle and pulls me back with her.
¡°Quite the scrapper!¡± Emily calls before launching an attack that misses me by mere inches. ¡°You fight often?¡±
¡°No!¡± I cry, kicking at Emily¡¯s hand.
A slight cry rises from Emily¡¯s throat as our appendages connect.
¡°You got me,¡± Emily replies, cradling her hand close to her chest. ¡°But this isn¡¯t over. Not by a longshot.¡±
What is she¡ª I start to think.
But Emily screams, then charges.
I bring my sword up.
Emily spins.
I follow suit.
Our practice swords collide and skim each other¡¯s lengths.
Breathless, I apply pressure against Emily¡¯s blade, only for Emily to rear her hand back, punch me in the shoulder, then kick my ankles out from under me.
I land hard enough to knock the breath from me.
¡°Good,¡± Emily says, reaching up to wipe blood from a split lip. ¡°Very good. You could¡¯ve killed me had we been using real weapons.¡±
¡°I¡ª¡± I somehow manage. ¡°I thought¡ª¡±
¡°You had me?¡± Emily laughs. ¡°No, Scarlet. You didn¡¯t. But to be fair¡ I do have an advantage over you.¡±
¡°What¡ are you¡¡±
Emily crouches down and wipes the stray hairs from my eyes before saying, ¡°We Hunters have an edge over humanity. Do you know why?¡±
I shake my head, given I am still too breathless to speak.
¡°It¡¯s because of the Trinity Serum.¡±
¡°What¡ is that?¡± I ask.
¡°It¡¯s hard to explain,¡± Emily replies, first taking hold of my hand, then pulling me upright. ¡°You want the long version, or the dumbed-down one?¡±
¡°Dumbed down, please.¡±
¡°The Trinity Serum is a fusion of DNA taken from the most dominant Supernatural creatures within the United States: Howler. Sanguine. Svell Kaldr.¡±
¡°Wait,¡± I say, inhaling a deep breath. ¡°You said this is a serum.¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°So it¡¯s like an injection?¡±
¡°Precisely.¡±
¡°So you¡¯re saying you inject their blood into you?¡±
¡°Their DNA,¡± Emily corrects. ¡°It isn¡¯t exactly their blood. No. That would be bad¡ªvery, very
bad. The Howler blood would turn you into a beast, the Sanguine blood would kill you. I doubt the Kaldr blood would do much damage, but even then, they have a third type of blood cell, so it¡¯d probably screw with your system. No. The DNA is spliced from the blood of the original creatures and made into a mixture that is brewed in our labs, then administered to an initiate once the Guild finds them worthy of the title of Hunter. Don¡¯t go getting any ideas though. It¡¯s kept under lock and key and can kill you if it¡¯s not done correctly.¡±
¡°I wasn¡¯t planning on doing anything,¡± I say before lifting my head to face her. ¡°Why¡ why did you say that?¡±
¡°I can see the determination in your eyes,¡± the woman answers. ¡°The way you move, the way you speak, the way you fight¡ªall speaks of a young woman who¡¯s desperate to obtain something that¡¯s just within her reach.¡±
¡°So what does this mean?¡± I ask. ¡°I mean¡ now that I¡¯ve come so close to beating you?¡±
Emily laughs. ¡°Close?¡± she asks. ¡°I said you could¡¯ve killed me had we been using real weapons. Just because I¡¯m offering you praise doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯m giving you any accolades.¡±
¡°But¡ª¡± I start.
¡°You need work,¡± Emily says. ¡°Your movements are too reserved, your judgment too clouded by what might happen to the opposing party. When fighting, you¡¯re supposed to see your opponent as the enemy regardless of how you feel about them as a person. So this¡±¡ªshe wags her fingers between us¡ª¡°has to stop.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you.¡±
¡°I have the Trinity running through me, Scarlet. I¡¯ll heal within the day. You, though¡ you¡¯re going to need some time to recover.¡± Emily turns to look toward the locker room off to the side. ¡°I¡¯d highly recommend you start practicing more on your own. You¡¯ve been doing well so far, but you need to learn more about your body and the way it works. Getting knocked down a few times will help, but let me warn you about something. You listening?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°You can¡¯t be sloppy during your review, whenever that may come. The Guild will want to know you¡¯re competent enough to succeed out in the wild. Understand?¡±
I nod.
¡°Good,¡± Emily says. ¡°Now go. Shower. Get something to eat. I¡¯ll expect you here at seven a.m. sharp tomorrow morning to continue your training.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± I say, then turn and make my way out of the room.
* * *
The revelation of Emily¡¯s supernatural strength is enough to spur me to seek alternative methods of recovery. Knowing that I will not be able to train through the bruises on my ribcage or my feet, I shower the sweat from my body, grease a piece of toast with butter, then pull my hair back into a ponytail and make my way out of my room, all so I can go in search of the white witch, Belinda.
It takes a bit of thinking and a lot of memory to redetermine her location, but eventually, I come to approach the door to the witch¡¯s apartment and knock.
I have just finished the last bite of my toast when the door opens.
¡°Scarlet?¡± Belinda asks. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±
I lift my shirt just enough to reveal the developing bruises along my check.
¡°Oh,¡± Belinda says. ¡°I see.¡±
¡°Can you help me?¡±
¡°Come in,¡± the witch says.
I step into the woman¡¯s spacious apartment and instantly seek out the metal examination chair.
¡°I take it Miss Bane has been hard on you?¡± Belinda asks as she closes the door.
¡°Not unnecessarily,¡± I reply.
Belinda steps forward and gestures me to climb atop the metal table. ¡°I wish she would be more careful,¡± the witch says. ¡°You¡¯re young, yes, but bodily injury is not good regardless of how well I can heal it.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t think anything is broken,¡± I reply. ¡°At least, I hope nothing¡¯s broken.¡±
¡°Let¡¯s see.¡±
I strip the T-shirt over my head and seat myself atop the table.
¡°I¡¯m going to press my fingers along your ribcage and try to gauge the depth of the bruising,¡± Belinda says. ¡°Is there anywhere else that hurts?¡±
¡°My ankles.¡±
Belinda gestures me to remove my shoes¡ªonly to frown when my swollen ankles are revealed. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re walking.¡±
¡°It hurts,¡± I say, ¡°but it¡¯s bearable.¡±
¡°I take it Emily wants you back in for training as soon as possible?¡±
¡°Tomorrow morning, if it¡¯s doable.¡±
¡°It¡¯s doable, but you¡¯re still going to be sore. Lie down, dear, and put your feet up on the table.¡±
I swing my feet up, spread out along the table lengthwise, and grimace as the cold metal bites into my skin. It is only when Belinda begins to use her healing magic upon me that I am able to feel any relief.
¡°Are you all right?¡± Belinda asks as I let out a slight cry.
¡°I¡¯m great,¡± I reply, though I cannot tell if it¡¯s a sarcastic or an honest answer.
Belinda, however, doesn¡¯t bother to question me and instead continues to massage the magic into my body. She starts first on my ankles, then trails her hands along my calves and knees. When she reaches my hips, I tremble¡ªnot only because the magic is starting to hit my nervous system, but because the tendrils of unease are causing me to feel pain as well.
Just relax, I think. Think of it as a day at the spa.
¡°There now,¡± the witch says as she pushes more magic into my body. ¡°Everything¡¯s going to be just fine.¡±
¡°What¡ª¡± I start and feel a flutter of hesitation strike me. ¡°What did you do?¡±
¡°A little soothing spell to help you relax.¡±
The woman¡¯s fingers begin to dance over my ribcage anew, imparting healing magic into the mountains and valleys of my torso. My ribcage burns with energy¡ªsings with pain and screams from pleasure¡ªbut the more Belinda works, the more the pain dissipates.
It is over almost as soon as it¡¯s begun.
What feels like a half-hour later, I open my eyes to find the witch standing above me, a small smile on her lips. ¡°Take a look,¡± she says before lifting a mirror.
The majority of my bruising is gone. All that remains is a slight smattering of purple along the curve of my hip and ribcage.
¡°Bruising is hard to treat,¡± the witch says, ¡°especially since I can only channel magic so far into the body without causing extreme discomfort. The surface pain should be gone, however.¡±
¡°It feels like it is,¡± I say, pushing myself upright and reaching for my shirt. ¡°Thank you. I¡¯m sorry I don¡¯t have any way to pay you right now.¡±
¡°You¡¯ve no need to pay me, Scarlet. After what happened to the last trainee¡¡± Belinda sighs. ¡°Well, let¡¯s just say that I¡¯m thrilled you¡¯re all right.¡±
I open my mouth to speak but stop before I can do so.
What is she not telling me? I wonder as I pull my shirt over my head.
Had the last trainee under Emily Bane¡¯s watch been seriously hurt? Disabled? Or maybe¡ª
Killed? I think.
Knowing that the question is too inappropriate to ask, I push myself off the table and say, ¡°Thank you,¡± once again.
¡°Come again if you need help,¡± Belinda says. ¡°My door is always open for you, Scarlet.¡±
With one last nod, I slip out of the room and make my way toward the elevators¡ª
The whole while wondering just what it is I¡¯m not being told.
Chapter 13: Normal Life
I lie between the realms of unconsciousness in the afternoon. Dreaming, fitfully, of shadow battles with Emily Bane, I toss and turn for much of my waking period¡ªand even, at one point, jerk awake when what sounds like a fist hits the wall.
¡°Scarlet?¡± a voice calls into the room. ¡°Are you there?¡±
¡°I¡¯m here!¡± I call, heart still pounding, lungs continuing to flare. ¡°Give me a second to dress!¡±
The person doesn¡¯t respond, presumably giving me enough time to crawl out of bed, shimmy into a pair of sweatpants, and make my way toward the door.
When I open it, I find none other than Shadow standing in the threshold. He is dressed casually in a white, button-up shirt and a pair of jeans¡ªa complete contras to the pure-black uniform he had worn during previous visits. ¡°Hello,¡± he says.
¡°Hello,¡± I reply. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±
¡°I thought I would come see how you were.¡± Shadow smiles. ¡°May I come in?¡±
I nod and step aside so he can enter.
¡°I heard Miss Bane roughed you up,¡± he says.
¡°How¡ª¡± I start.
¡°There¡¯s not much that gets past a Wiper,¡± the man interrupts, offering a painfully white smile that immediately makes me envious. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±
¡°Like hell,¡± I reply, ¡°but I¡¯m okay. I asked Belinda to heal me.¡±
¡°Did she?¡±
¡°She did. At least, she did as well as she could, considering the extent of my bruising.¡±
¡°Are you well?¡± Shadow asks.
¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I reply. ¡°I¡¯m just¡ a bit shaken up,
I guess. From fighting, I mean. I was boxing in my sleep.¡±
¡°I imagine working so hard will do that to a person,¡± Shadow replies. He straightens his posture and turns his head to face me. ¡°Pardon my intrusion, Miss Brown. I am not here merely to make small talk.¡±
¡°No?¡±
¡°I¡¯ve come to ask if you¡¯d like to get out of the Agency for a while.¡±
¡°And do¡ what, exactly?¡±
¡°Whatever you¡¯d like. Eat at a restaurant. Watch a movie at the theater. Shop for clothes or makeup or whatever necessities you may need.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t have any money,¡± I say. ¡°I can¡¯t afford to pay for anything.¡±
¡°I would not be offering if I was expecting you to pay for it.¡±
¡°Why are you being so nice to me?¡± I suddenly ask.
Shadow blinks. ¡°Kindness is a virtue that should be extended to everyone, should it not?¡±
¡°I suppose,¡± I say but frown not long after. ¡°Are you doing this because you¡¯ve been assigned to me? Or¡ what, exactly?¡±
¡°I¡¯ve taken an interest in you because you are the only witness to have ever defied me,¡± he replies. ¡°So, yes¡ªI suppose you could say it¡¯s because I¡¯m assigned to you, but also because I¡¯d like you to be something more than an acquaintance.¡±
¡°Like what?¡±
¡°A friend, perhaps?¡±
¡°I¡ª¡± I start to say, then pause a short moment later. ¡°I can do friends.¡±
¡°So,¡± Shadow says. ¡°Would you like to take me up on my offer?¡±
¡°If you¡¯re willing,¡± I say.
¡°I¡¯m more than willing.¡± The Wiper turns and starts for the doorway. ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting for you outside. Please, don¡¯t hesitate to take your time. I want this to be about you.¡±
I wait until Shadow leaves before closing my eyes.
A friend, I think.
Though I try my hardest not to, I find a single tear slipping from my eye.
¡°Well,¡± I whisper to myself, ¡°I guess I better get ready.¡±
* * *
We leave the convenience of the Agency and make our way into downtown Dallas with no goal or destination in mind. Longing to eat, shop, and see a movie all at once, I struggle to decide what to do first as Shadow drives aimlessly, passing by attractive clubs that are starting to fill with people, business swamped on this Saturday evening, and restaurants with delicious smells blowing from them.
¡°So,¡± Shadow says as we come to sit at a red light. ¡°What would you like to do first?¡±
¡°Honestly?¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m kind of overwhelmed. Being out here, in the real world and all, after, well¡ you know.¡±
¡°I know,¡± Shadow replies. ¡°There¡¯s no need to speak on this.¡±
Even the thought of my mother is enough to stir tears to my eyes. However, given that I don¡¯t want to ruin the moment by crying, I reach up, pinch the bridge of my nose, then nod as I lift my head to face the windshield. ¡°Why don¡¯t we go see a movie?¡± I ask. ¡°Then we can eat and go shopping.¡±
¡°That sounds like a plan.¡±
¡°I mean¡ if that¡¯s okay with you, anyway.¡±
¡°Tonight is all about you, Scarlet Jane.¡±
¡°Thank you, Shadow.¡± I pause, struggling not to be overcome with emotion. ¡°It means a lot to know you¡¯re willing to be so kind to me.¡±
¡°There¡¯s no need to thank me, my friend. I¡¯m doing this for you¡ªand because this might be the last time in a long time that you might get a chance at normalcy.¡±
Normalcy, I think, and frown not long after.
It¡¯s hard not to be taken aback by the statement, let alone allow it to settle in.
Is this it? I ask myself. Is this the last chance of a normal life before everything happens? Before it happens?
Before the trial, my review, my initiation into the Guild of Hunters?
Bombarded with newfound anxieties, I draw in a deep breath, then expel it.
I don¡¯t need to focus on the future¡ªat least not now.
I have the present to enjoy.
* * *
After everything I¡¯ve gone through over the past two weeks, I decide to lean into something comfortable and, as such, lighthearted. As a result of that, I choose an animated film that just so happens to be about a fish who journeys to find his lost son after he is captured by an exotic wildlife fisherman.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
¡°That¡ was a dark film,¡± Shadow says as we walk out of the theater.
¡°Dark?¡± I laugh. ¡°What do you mean dark? It was a kid¡¯s movie!¡±
¡°Well, for one,¡± Shadow says, ¡°the fish¡¯s wife dies in the beginning. Then his son is captured and he¡¯s swept away on this grand journey. Then there were the sharks¡ª¡±
¡°¡ªwhich I hate,¡± I offer.
¡°¡ªand the journey to Australia¡ª¡±
¡°¡ªwhich was exciting,¡± I declare.
¡°I know,¡± Shadow concludes. ¡°It just seemed a bit bleak.¡±
¡°But it had a happy ending,¡± I say and slide my hand into my pockets to watch the people as they approach, couples as they leave, families as they pile into trucks and minivans.
They have no idea, I think after several moments of watching them. They have no idea about what¡¯s going on, and I¡¯m one of the few who know. One of the few who understand.
One of the few who suffered.
I ball my hand into a fist as I contemplate just how many people have been victim to the Supernatural world? Ten? Twenty? Maybe a hundred or more? The idea is staggering and instantly causes me to reconsider how safe we truly are out here in the open as we walk back to Shadow¡¯s car, as the Wiper follows close behind.
When we reach his Camaro, Shadow opens the passenger¡¯s side door for me before rounding the vehicle and sliding in behind the wheel.
¡°So,¡± Shadow says, ¡°where would you like to eat?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I reply.
¡°Do you have a preference?¡±
¡°Something light, maybe?¡±
¡°What did you use to love to eat when you went out with your friends back home?¡±
My friends, I think.
Shadow falters. ¡°I apologize,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s hard to forget at times that you¡¯re still acclimating.¡±
¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± I reply, straightening myself out in my seat. ¡°I used to like going out for sushi,¡± I then say, ¡°but I don¡¯t know. What do you think?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t require sustenance. Remember?¡±
¡°I know, but¡ can¡¯t you eat for pleasure?¡±
¡°I can if I¡¯d like to.¡±
¡°Then let¡¯s go eat. Besides¡ªI¡¯d like to know a little more about you.¡±
* * *
¡°So,¡± I say. ¡°Now that we¡¯re here and have ordered and all¡ why don¡¯t you tell me a little more about yourself?¡±
¡°About myself?¡± Shadow says and laughs as a waiter appears with egg and salmon rolls. ¡°What could you possibly find interesting about me?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I reply. ¡°It¡¯s just, we¡¯ve known each other for nearly two weeks now, and I barely know anything about you.¡±
¡°All right. What would you like to know?¡±
¡°More about you, for one,¡± I say and wait for the waiter to leave before leaning toward and adding, ¡°and about what you are.¡±
¡°Ah,¡± Shadow says, a smile curving his handsome features. ¡°That¡¯s why you wanted a corner near the back of the restaurant.¡±
¡°Precisely,¡± I say. I¡¯d specifically chosen this location due to its proximity to the kitchen. While not overly loud, what sound does manage to escape the kitchen is enough to mask our voices.
¡°All right.¡± Shadow smiles. ¡°We¡¯ll play it your way, then.¡±
I wait in eager anticipation for him to begin while talking hold of an egg roll from its place along my platter.
¡°I came to consciousness after the Hiroshima bombing in 1945.¡±
¡°You came to consciousness?¡± I frown. ¡°What¡¯re you talking about?¡±
¡°Though it is unclear where people such as I come from, it is believed that Wipers are born out of the immense sadness of humanity and the longing to forget the destruction that follows. I was¡ born, I suppose you could say¡ from the wreckage of the atomic bombing.¡±
¡°That¡¯s impossible,¡± I say. ¡°The radiation would have killed you.¡±
¡°Remember,¡± he says, ¡°I am not human, nor was I ever designed to be. I merely awakened in this form.¡±
¡°That¡¯s kind of hard to believe,¡± I say but nod as I continue to eat. ¡°What happened next?¡±
¡°I made my way from the devastation to a neighboring village called Hatsukaichi.¡±
¡°And what did they think when you arrived?¡±
¡°They couldn¡¯t believe it,¡± Shadow says, keeping his eyes set upon me as he regales me with the story of his awakening. ¡°They said¡ that it looked like the sun had swallowed the world. Most were confused about what had happened. They couldn¡¯t believe a retaliation of such intensity could actually happen, let alone that someone¡ªanyone¡ªcould have survived it.¡±
¡°How did you explain it?¡±
¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± he replies. ¡°There was something inside me that compelled me to make them forget. So¡ I did.¡±
¡°Just like that?¡±
¡°Just like that.¡±
¡°When did you make your way to America?¡±
¡°In the years after the war. I¡ was lost for purpose. I did not require sustenance, nor sleep, so I wandered, traveling the island and seeing what there was to see. Something¡ªand to this day I do not know what it was¡ªcompelled me to travel west. I smuggled myself onboard a ship and made the perilous journey across the Pacific Ocean until I landed in San Francisco, California.¡±
¡°And from there?¡±
¡°I was drawn¡ªinstinctively, as if by a memory I did not have¡ªtoward the south. When I arrived in Dallas, I discovered the Agency, and it was there that I realized my purpose in life.¡±
¡°I see,¡± I say. ¡°So¡ let me get this straight. You don¡¯t age. You don¡¯t need to eat¡ªeven though you seem to want to eat the food you ordered¡ªand you don¡¯t need to sleep.¡±
¡°No. I don¡¯t.¡±
¡°Is that the life of a Wiper? To watch, observe, and make people forget what needs to be forgotten?¡±
¡°I learned that there were others like me upon reaching the Agency, when I met with the Executive Board of Directors. Amelia Vanderoof was the one who opened my eyes to the possibilities in the world. I was just as naive as you, once.¡±
¡°And you¡¯ve been working for the Agency ever since?¡±
¡°Since the 1950s,¡± Shadow says before nodding to lean forward and examine me. ¡°What about you, Miss Scarlet? What would you like to tell me about yourself?¡±
¡°Gee,¡± I say, reaching up to brush a stray hair behind my ear. ¡°I really don¡¯t know where to start.¡±
¡°Then start anywhere.¡±
¡°You already know my father died when I was three years old,¡± I say, ¡°so, naturally, I was the only child. My mother never remarried. She was devastated by my father¡¯s loss, to the point where I¡¯ve been told¡ªby relatives, no less¡ªthat she might be unfit to care for me. But she persevered. She went to therapy. Got stronger. Went back to school, became a nurse. We lived with my grandmother on my mom¡¯s side for the longest time.¡±
¡°And how did you enjoy that?¡±
¡°It was hard. I¡ barely remembered my father¡ªat least until recently. I couldn¡¯t even remember what his voice sounded like until I saw and heard him in the pod.¡±
¡°That had to have been a surreal experience,¡± Shadow says.
¡°It was,¡± I agree, ¡°but after we moved out of my grandmother¡¯s home and into the suburbs of Shreveport, I started going to middle school. That¡¯s where I found my love of sports¡ªparticularly basketball¡ªand all the friends that I could¡¯ve ever asked for in life.¡±
¡°You¡¯ve mentioned them before. Ariana. Cindy. Carrie. Donna.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t forget much, do you?¡±
¡°Anyway, I joined the basketball team in high school and immediately took to the sport. I was so good that Coach Vasquez was convinced I would get a scholarship at the end of my senior year.¡±
¡°Were you active in the church?¡±
¡°We were Catholic. My mother used to sing in the church choir.¡±
¡°Do you still believe?¡±
¡°Should I?¡± I ask. ¡°Because honestly, I¡¯ve been struggling with the idea that any good can exist when there seems to be so much bad in the world.¡±
¡°There is always good in the world, Scarlet. You just have to consider where to find it.¡±
¡°Can you answer a question for me, Shadow?¡±
¡°Possibly,¡± he says.
¡°Are Angels are real?¡±
¡°Yes. You could say that.¡±
¡°And Demons? I saw¡ Something that looked like the traditional depiction of the Devil in the Viewing Chamber, when Emily Bane took me there.¡±
¡°There are wretched creatures who dwell within both our realm and others.¡±
¡°So there has to be a God. And if Demons exist¡ then there has to be a Devil.¡±
¡°I¡¯m not permitted to speak on those matters,¡± Shadow replies. ¡°And even if I could, I would not know what to say. These beings¡ªthis dichotomy¡ªare beyond anything you could ever imagine, always combating, always brewing in the madness of good and evil, right and wrong, justice and injustice.¡±
¡°I see,¡± I say and sigh not long after.
It is something I have struggled with since my mother¡¯s death¡ªthe reality, and possibility, that she might have just vanished forever. My faith has taught me that there is a Heaven and that people go there if they are good, but with everything that¡¯s happened, and everything I¡¯ve seen¡ª
It¡¯s hard to imagine if anything I¡¯ve ever learned was right.
Are you really gone? I ask myself. Are you really, truly gone forever?
Struggling to keep it together, I lower my eyes and take a long, deep breath.
¡°I¡¯m sorry I brought this up,¡± Shadow says, suddenly, and with care I know is meant to soothe me. ¡°I should have deferred the conversation to something else.¡±
¡°It¡¯s all right,¡± I reply. I can¡¯t help but sniffle. ¡°Can we¡ can we just get our check and go, please? I¡¯m suddenly not in the mood to go shopping anymore.¡±
¡°Do you wish to return to the Agency?¡±
I nod.
At least at the Agency I have purpose. Desire. Something to work toward.
Out here, in the real world, I feel like a stranger, lost and alone and unable to comprehend everything around me.
I realize, not long after the waiter returns and Shadow requests the check, that this is a feeling I know I will never get over, regardless of how long I am in this new world or how much I learn about it.
This is the new normal, I think.
What a terrible thing to know.
Chapter 14: A Test of Fate
My outing with Shadow had stirred so many emotions within me.
Doubt.
Fear. Self-worth.
Grief for the past, and uncertainty for the future.
It¡¯s hard to determine what is affecting me the most after the Wiper drops me off at my room. Though I¡¯d longed for my life to be normal, if only for a moment, the aftermath of our outing leaves me reeling with questions.
Is this really what I want? I ask myself. To be a Hunter? To discover the world? To know each and every dirty little secret it holds?
I sigh as I pull my hair free of my ponytail and approach the bathroom mirror in question.
While staring at my reflection¡ªtaking in everything from my worn gaze and frowning mouth¡ªI wonder what would happen if, after avenging my mother¡¯s death, I decided to return to the world as it once was.
Would I still be me, I wonder, after I¡¯m wiped? Or would I be something else?
The idea that I could return to some sense of normalcy¡ªthat I could be placed in a home, with my family, or in a shelter, and could grow up, get a job, someday get married, possibly have children¡ªis haunting, in that it completely discounts my past, in that is completely diminishes the brutal horror that I had endured, the slaughter that had happened.
Could I really, in the end, give up everything I have worked toward to live a normal life?
No, I think, tightening my hands around the granite counter top before me. I couldn¡¯t. I can¡¯t.
The more I think about it¡ªand the more I honestly, truly consider it¡ªI do not want a life of anonymity, of ignorance, or even naivety. I want my old life back. My old friends. My old school.
My mother.
I struggle to maintain my composure¡ªtry to keep the tears from flowing.
You can¡¯t cry, I tell myself. You told yourself you would be strong.
But who can be strong when their whole world has fallen apart?
The tears come regardless; and as they fall into the sink and down the drain, into the bowels of the Agency¡¯s plumbing system, I imagine that they are heading into the dark depths of the underworld, where nothing but death and decay awaits them.
A small sob escapes me¡ª
And the floodwaters come rushing out.
I stand here, before the bathroom mirror, within which I can see my every flaw, every vulnerability, for several minutes, allowing my body and mind and soul to react to the trauma of the past two weeks. I wrap my arms around myself. I lean back against the wall. I bow my head, and slowly but surely sink down to the floor, whereupon the cold hard tile I sob uncontrollably.
This can¡¯t be my life, I tell myself. This can¡¯t be the future that was meant for me.
But, deep down, I know that it is.
Fate is an ugly creature. It holds no compassion, no mercy, no kindness. It often judges indiscriminately, so when people live, or people die, there really in no pattern to it. In its wicked hand it can either lift people up so they can prosper.
Or tear them down, I think, so they can perish.
I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Expel it not long after.
I realize, not long after, that Emily Bane will be expecting me first thing in the morning.
With that in mind, I rise, palm for the light switch with a careful hand, and wait until the bulb above goes dark before making my way into the bedroom.
I fall into bed in the clothes I¡¯ve worn all day. Then I close my eyes and pray I won¡¯t be tormented by nightmares.
* * *
I am up at seven the following morning. Showered, changed, and ready to face the day, I consider my reflection in the mirror and try my hardest to inspire newfound confidence within myself.
Today will be good, I think. It¡¯ll be better than good.
¡°It¡¯ll be great,¡± I tell myself.
After checking to ensure that I have my keycard in my pocket, I make my way out of the bedroom and toward the elevator that will take me to the training chamber.
Almost five minutes later, I step into the brightly lit space to find Emily twirling a bo staff in her hand as if it is nothing more than a pencil.
¡°Scarlet,¡± the woman says. ¡°Good morning.¡±
¡°Good morning,¡± I reply, my throat tightening as I consider the staves.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
¡°Are you ready to start?¡±
With a hesitant nod, I approach the wall and select a staff of my own, then step into the center practice ring.
¡°You seem nervous,¡± Emily says.
¡°You broke my fingers the last time we did this.¡±
¡°I¡¯m only going to be harder on you this time around. You know that, right?¡±
Do I ever, I think but force myself to nod in response.
I prepare myself as I always do during our practice sessions: by stretching my limbs, acquainting myself with the weapon, then by circling Emily like the woman is apt to do to me. It is at this time, which I know is crucial during the first few moments of battle, that I size the woman up, attempting to determine her potential faults, her obvious strengths. Given that the serum runs through her, it seems that Emily is an impossible foe to beat.
But you¡¯re growing stronger, I think. You have to believe in yourself.
With a nod, I wait for Emily to strike.
The woman feigns an attack.
I do the same.
Emily smacks my staff up.
I bring it around in a swift arc that strikes Emily and causes her to stumble.
¡°I¡¯m not going to be easy on you either,¡± I say.
¡°Good.¡± Emily growls. ¡°Then let¡¯s begin.¡±
The woman lets out a battle cry and lunges.
I swing my staff toward her ankles.
Emily blocks the strike and counterattacks.
The blow nearly glances with my head.
Shit, I think. She could¡¯ve taken off my head.
I block an overhead strike and counter with one of my own, guiding the staff through the air and driving the woman out of the practice sphere. The act is enough to give me pause, because this is the first time I¡¯ve ever broken the so-called ring of battle. Regardless, Emily continues to circle me; and I, with bravado I feel is born out of cockiness than anything, throw several blows at Emily until the staff strikes her.
The woman grunts.
I grab her hair.
I push the woman against the wall and slam her body against it.
¡°Bitch,¡± Emily says with a laugh. ¡°You think you¡¯re tough shit.¡±
¡°I¡¯m tougher than I look,¡± I say, driving my knee into Emily¡¯s stomach.
Emily grunts and falls to her knees¡ª
Only to grab my Achilles tendon and squeeze.
I cry out.
Emily tugs.
I sail onto my back and nearly have the wind knocked out of me.
But I breathe, kick away from Emily¡¯s grasp, and jump to my feet, all the while spinning the staff and slamming it into Emily¡¯s side.
The woman grunts. Is about to lift her staff to counter¡ª
When I bring the weapon down on her head.
The blow fells Emily instantly. The woman drops to the ground in silence.
Breathless, chest heaving, and blood burning with adrenaline, I approach Emily carefully, both surprised and not that she is still conscious, and kick the bo staff out of her hands. I then take my own and lower it to Emily¡¯s neck. ¡°Dead,¡± I say.
Eyelids fluttering, mouth agape, Emily opens her eyes to look up at me and offers a smile through the blood running down her nose and into her mouth.
A second later, a chorus of applause sounds from somewhere in the room.
¡°Congratulations,¡± a voice says.
Startled, I lift my head.
I see, in the entryway, an old man with a long salt-and-pepper beard. Around him are several other individuals, all of whom are garbed in black robes that cover them from head to toe.
¡°Who are you?¡± I ask, careful to guide my staff away from Emily¡¯s neck.
¡°My name is Victor Delacroix,¡± the man replies, removing his hood to reveal stark blue eyes. ¡°I am the acting leader of the Guild of Hunters.¡±
I pale.
No, I think.
It couldn¡¯t be. Where would he and all these other people have stood? How could they have watched the whole fight? And above all: how would I not have noticed them?
Emily groans from the ground as she struggles to right herself.
¡°Shit,¡± I say and drop my staff. ¡°Emily.¡±
¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± the woman says but accepts the hand I extend to help her. ¡°Thank you, Scarlet. Or should I say: screw you, Scarlet?¡±
I laugh but am immediately sobered by the realization that the man named Victor Delacroix and his companions are still watching me. It is almost impossible not to feel small beneath his gaze.
¡°I see Miss Bane has taught you violence is the answer when it comes to dueling,¡± he says before reaching forward to shake my hand. ¡°I¡¯ve been watching you, Scarlet Jane.¡±
¡°How?¡± I ask.
Delacroix turns and points toward a single eye above the entryway. ¡°Our cameras allowed us to watch the entire proceeding.¡±
¡°But how¡ª¡±
¡°Did we arrive unnoticed?¡± the man interrupts. His smile is enough to inspire both confidence and dread. ¡°We merely stepped out from our observation deck here¡±¡ªhe gestures to a door at the far side of the room¡ª¡°and continued to watch the battle as it played out. After Miss Bane¡¯s previous progress report, we were interested in seeing how you would fare during your last battle.¡±
¡°My last battle?¡± I ask. ¡°What¡ what are you¡ª¡±
¡°You have successfully defeated a senior officer of the Guild,¡± Victor Delacroix replies. ¡°As per our traditions, this officially deems you worthy of entering the Guild of Hunters.¡±
¡°Does that mean¡ª¡± I start.
¡°That you will receive the Trinity Serum?¡± the man replies. ¡°Yes, Scarlet. It means exactly that.¡±
I cannot stop the feelings of relief, fear, and worst of all guilt from following.
After all this time¡ªafter all this work, all this blood, this sweat, and these tears¡ªI could finally do what I had set out to do. I can kill the monster that killed my mother.
I cannot prevent the tears that follow.
¡°Congratulations, Scarlet Jane,¡± Victor Delacroix says. ¡°Not many trainees make it as far as you have, nor so quickly. Miss Bane is known for her ferocity.¡±
¡°She¡¯s a fighter,¡± Emily says. ¡°I¡¯ll give her that.¡±
¡°I¡¯m sorry I hurt you,¡± I reply. ¡°I¡ I don¡¯t know what came over me.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t be sorry,¡± the woman replies. ¡°That warrior spirit will keep you alive in the field.¡±
I turn my head to offer the salt-and-pepper-haired Victor Delacroix my full attention. ¡°What do I have to do?¡±
¡°We figured today might be the day,¡± the man said, turning and gesturing me toward the Viewing Chambers. ¡°A doctor is standing by to administer the serum. Please, follow me.¡±
¡°What about Emily?¡± I ask.
¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± Emily says, pressing a hand against my shoulder and nudging me in the right direction. ¡°Go, Scarlet, and do what you¡¯ve been working so hard to do.¡±
With that said, I turn and follow the leader of the Guild of Hunters¡ªheart pumping, mind racing, blood hot in my veins.
This is it, I tell myself. This is finally it.
After all the hard work I¡¯ve done, I am finally about to enter the fold.
What awaits me I cannot possibly know. Regardless, I tell myself that what comes next is for one person, and one person only:
My mother.
Chapter 15: The Trinity Serum
The room is dark. Sterile. Lit only by orange LED lights that line the walls. As we enter, I take note of a man in a white lab coat, only to find it to be none other than Doctor Mitchell¡ªwho, with Amelia Vanderoof at his side, stand awaiting us with calm expressions on their faces.
¡°Scarlet,¡± Amelia says. ¡°Congratulations on being accepted into the Guild of Hunters.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± I say and bow my head in response.
¡°I assume you know why you are here?¡±
I nod in response.
¡°You have been given the prestigious honor of being allowed to join the Guild of Hunters,¡± Amelia continues, rounding a simple metal chair with leather straps affixed around its surfaces to face me directly. ¡°As such, you will now be administered the Trinity Serum and become one with the Supernatural world. I will warn you though, Scarlet, that this is not a choice to be made lightly. You will face many trials after this serum is injected. Never again will you simply be just human. You will be a force to be reckoned with¡ªa living construct designed to destroy those Supernatural creatures who pose a risk to humanity and the anonymity of the Supernatural world¡ªand will never again be able to return to your previous state. Now is the last chance you have to back out of this. Do you understand?¡±
¡°I understand,¡± I reply, balling my hands into fists.
¡°So what will it be, Miss Brown? Will you consent to be administered the Trinity Serum, thereby becoming one of the Agency¡¯s Hunters, or will you choose to be wiped and forget everything you have seen in the past twelve days?¡±
This is it, I think. My final chance to back down.
My life. My love. My hopes, goals, ambitions, my dreams for the future and regrets for the past, my father¡¯s death and my mother¡¯s murder¡ªI stand here, on the precipice of it all, ready to jump and never return from the rabbit hole. I am Alice lost in Wonderland, Dorothy trapped in Oz, the Pevensie children forever bound to Narnia. Like me, each had faced their trials, their fears, their greatest hopes, and their worst nightmares. But unlike me, they had always been given the chance to go back¡ªto return to the worlds from which they came and forever be what they truly were: human.
But therein lies my problem:
I cannot
go back. I cannot return to a normal world. My mother is gone, my future destroyed, the past rewritten to refuse my existence. Anything that happens from this point forward is on me.
With a slow, confident nod, I step toward the much-taller woman, lift my head to look her in the eyes, and say, ¡°I¡¯m ready, Miss Vanderoof.¡±
¡°Please, seat yourself in the chair. You will be administered the serum shortly.¡±
It is with great trepidation that I settle into the metal chair¡ªthat I allow myself to be strapped in as though waiting a death sentence. It is also with fear that I watch Doctor James Mitchell step forward with a single syringe, within which dance a miasma of colors.
Blood red, royal gold, aqua blue¡ªthey swim effortlessly within a stream of amber liquid, coalescing one another¡¯s beings while awaiting to be injected into the next great Hunter.
This is the choice you made, I tell myself. For you. For Mama. For everyone who¡¯s ever been robbed by the Supernatural world.
Countless lives have suffered over the course of history. Countless others will even now, and even in the future. But I know that, with my strength, my tenacity, and my willingness to change the world, I can prevent future tragedies from happening.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
¡°Scarlet Jane,¡± Victor Delacroix says as Doctor Mitchell wraps a band around my arm to draw the vein from beneath my skin. ¡°We will now recite the Hunter¡¯s prayer, and through it, dedicate your body, mind, and soul to the Agency. Are you ready?¡±
¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± I say.
Every Hunter within the room¡ªincluding Emily Bane, who still has yet to tend to her injuries¡ªclasps their hands together and bows their heads.
¡°For Honor and Grace.
¡°For Love and Hate.
¡°For Justice and Pride.
¡°With this we state:
¡°I am a Hunter: in body, mind, and soul.
¡°And this I swear:
¡°I swear to drive back the forces of darkness.
¡°I swear to uphold the good and virtuous.
¡°I swear to bring forth justice to those who have none.
¡°And above all else, I swear to protect the innocent.
¡°With this prayer¡ªthis holy rite¡ªI dedicate myself to the Guild, the Agency, and the World as we know, now and forevermore.¡±
¡°Amen,¡± I say.
Victor Delacroix and the rest of the Hunters lift their heads to examine me. ¡°Doctor Mitchell,¡± he says. ¡°You may now administer the Trinity Serum to Scarlet Jane Brown.¡±
¡°I will warn you,¡± the doctor says, ¡°that this will be painful.¡±
¡°Nothing could be as painful as losing my mother,¡± I say.
The doctor considers me for a moment, prepares and aligns the syringe at the vein protruding from my skin, and slides it into my arm.
I begin to scream the moment the serum hits my veins.
It is a pain unlike any I have ever felt before¡ªcomparable to fire being laced through my veins and daggers piercing every inch of my soul.
As the Trinity Serum is administered, slowly guided into my system by the machinations of man and the hand of a lone doctor, I receive a vision of the world as it was, the world as it currently happened to be, and the world as it would be in the future.
Eons pass before my eyes, during which time I see it all: the beginning, the middle, the untimely end. I see supernovas in space, the birth of suns, the destruction of spaceborn debris and then the creation of planets. I see life as it emerges within the ocean, as it develops legs and walks upon land. I see the dinosaurs as they look to the sky and witness, with their pale eyes, the meteor as it comes to Earth. I see men as they rise, as they evolve, as they fall beneath the brutality of a strange god, and I see the Supernatural as it comes to be¡ªcrowned in blood, raised in words, forged in legend.
So great are the images assaulting my mind that I cannot not make sense of them all. They are like rocks being thrown at glass windows. With each pane that shatters, another spike of pain lights my body, my mind, my spirit.
I thrash, trying, without success, to free myself from the chair and its endless torment, but bound by restraints I cannot escape. So I do the only thing I can do:
I scream.
Its pitch rises and falls, sharp and at times nearly inaudible, and around me empty vials begin to quiver as my trembling body causes the metal clamps holding the chair in place to shake. I scream. I cry. At one point I even vomit. The process seems to last forever, though it has to be less than a minute; and during that time I see my mother¡¯s ghost standing behind Amelia Vanderoof, beckoning to me with one extended hand. Come to me, Scarlet Jane, she says.
Come to me and forever be lost from this world.
I can¡¯t, I try to say but can only mouth the words due to the scream tearing its way from my throat. I can¡¯t, Mama. I can¡¯t.
My mother¡¯s ghost laughs.
In its place appears the vampire, face scarred by a radiant crescent tattoo that extends from its hairline, over one eye, all the way down to its chin. I see it laughing¡ªbaring its teeth, extending its claws¡ªand I want nothing more than to rip her free of the restraints and launch myself at the phantom that so desperately wishes to drive me insane.
But I can¡¯t.
Bound as I am, I can do little but sit, and cry, and scream.
By the time Doctor James Mitchell pulls the syringe from my arm, only a minute has passed on the clock above the door.
Breathless, trembling, and crying from the sheer magnitude of pain coursing through my body, I collapse against the chair and weakly stare at Victor Delacroix and Amelia Vanderoof as they approach.
¡°Welcome to the fold,¡± the leader of the Guild says.
I black out before I can reply.
Chapter 16: Newly Born
I come to consciousness in a bed that is not my own. Lying on a stretcher, an IV drip attached to my hand, I open my eyes and try to move, only to have my vision swim with vertigo.
¡°Whoa, whoa, whoa,¡± Doctor Mitchell says, pressing his hands to my arms to hold me in place. ¡°Don¡¯t try to move, Scarlet. You¡¯re very sick.¡±
¡°Is this supposed to happen?¡± I ask in a voice that is barely a whisper.
¡°It isn¡¯t uncommon,¡± the man replies, only releasing hold of my arms when I refuse to move. ¡°How are you feeling?¡±
¡°Like hell.¡± I manage a laugh that burns my parched throat. ¡°Can I have water?¡±
¡°Of course. Give me one moment.¡±
I close my eyes and try to fight back the waves of nausea rolling across me.
Just breathe through it, I tell myself.
¡°Just like Mama taught you,¡± I mumble.
When I open my eyes next, I find Doctor Mitchell standing beside me, holding what appears to be a juice box, complete with a bendable straw that will allow me to drink without lifting my head.
¡°Juice?¡± I ask.
¡°Electrolytes,¡± the doctor says. ¡°To rehydrate you and give you vitamins.¡±
I part my lips and allow him to slide the straw between them, then suck down at least half the carton before drawing back.
¡°Do you need anything else?¡± the doctor asks.
¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± I reply before closing my eyes and sighing. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the mess I made.¡±
¡°The Trinity Chamber has seen its fair share of vomit.¡± Doctor Mitchell laughs. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Scarlet. Just try and get some rest. You need to build your strength.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± I say.
I close my eyes and listen to the sound of his footsteps as he exits the room¡ªas a keypad is clicked and as a mechanical door sips open. When it closes behind me, a heating unit kicks on, and warm air cascades over my body, offering me comfort I couldn¡¯t have asked for otherwise.
Just relax, he¡¯d said. You need to build your strength.
Thankfully, I can already feel the effects of the nutrients coursing through me and the nausea dissipating. But as I continue to fall into sleep, I find that it isn¡¯t the nausea or the idea of my world spinning that troubles me.
No.
It is the images flashing before my eyes.
Of men covered in ice. Of creatures howling at the moon. Of monsters, half-rotten, drinking the blood of the innocent. These bizarre landscapes shower me with untold prophecies, with newfound dread, and threaten to drive me insane as I watch the plights of others, their struggles.
I see one man lift his hand and conjure a shard of ice from thin air.
I watch a bestial creature launch itself atop a deer.
I witness the vampire that had haunted me during my initiation in the viewing chamber, holding a ragged doll I¡¯d possessed since I was a baby.
No, I think. No.
I want to scream. To cry out. To launch myself from the bed and rip the monster¡¯s head from my body.
But I can¡¯t.
This thing¡ªthis phantom creature¡ªis merely a product of my imagination, one I imagine is born from both the nightmarish aspects of my mother¡¯s murder and the injection of the Trinity Serum rushing through my veins.
The moment after the creature¡¯s face vanishes from sight, I feel an immense pressure lift from my person.
I am, above all, tired. My limbs hurt. My body aches. My internal organs struggle to keep up with my changing body. Even my mind, which I thought would be unaffected, continues to swim, revealing supernovas in the sky, animals as they crawl up from the deep.
I need to sleep.
Yes, I think.
That¡¯s all I need. Just a little bit of sleep. Before I wake up to face whatever happens next.
Before¡ª
* * *
When I open my eyes next, I feel as though an enormous amount of time has passed¡ªnot only because I feel far more rested than I had previously, but because my bladder feels close to bursting.
With discomfort radiating through my midsection, I ease myself into an upright position.
I am just about to beckon Doctor Mitchell from where he sits behind a glass panel when I sense movement in the room with me.
¡°Hello,¡± Shadow¡¯s familiar voice says.
¡°Holy shit,¡± I reply. ¡°I think I just peed a little.¡±
¡°How are you feeling?¡±
¡°In desperate need to use the bathroom. Can you get the doctor to unhook me?¡±
¡°Give me a moment.¡±
Shadow stands, exits the room, approaches Doctor Mitchell, whose eyes are intent on papers spread out before him. It doesn¡¯t take long for both men to reappear¡ªand once I am disengaged from the IV drip, I dart into the bathroom as if my life depends on it.
Upon finishing, I step out of the space to find both men staring.
¡°What?¡± I ask, almost dumbfounded by their expressions. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Have I grown a second head?¡±If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
¡°How are you feeling?¡± Doctor Mitchell asks. ¡°Have you experienced any further nausea? Any discomfort? Seen any hallucinations?¡±
¡°Hallucinations?¡± I ask. ¡°How did you¡ª¡±
¡°You were thrashing in your sleep. I had to administer a sedative to make sure you wouldn¡¯t hurt yourself.¡±
That explains why I slept so soundly, I think.
I nod and say, ¡°I¡¯m feeling all right.¡± Then, after a moment¡¯s hesitation, I add: ¡°I feel better than ever, actually.¡±
¡°Good,¡± Shadow then says. ¡°Mister Delacroix would like to see you as soon as you are ready?¡±
¡°For what?¡±
¡°Your next test.¡±
My next test? I think.
What is he talking about?
I¡¯d assumed I¡¯d be done with them after being injected with the Trinity Serum¡ªand that, after all I¡¯d been through for the past few weeks, I¡¯d be allowed to venture into the field to search for the monster that murdered my mother.
But this makes sense, I tell myself.
Now that I am imbued with Supernatural power, I will have to learn to control it.
So, with a nod, I clear my throat and say, ¡°I¡¯m ready whenever you are.¡±
¡°Then let us go. The Guild is awaiting you as we speak.¡±
* * *
We arrive at the Training Chamber to find that it is filled with a contingency of men and women. Armed to the tooth and nail with swords, pistols, daggers, staves, and other weaponry, they lift their eyes only when I enter the room¡ªand only when Victor Delacroix, dressed in metal armor and holding a wicked trident in his hand, steps forward to approach.
¡°Scarlet,¡± the leader of the Guild says as he comes to stand before me. ¡°I expect you¡¯re feeling better now that you¡¯ve had a chance to recover?¡±
¡°Yes sir,¡± I say, instinctively aware that I should address him with respect. ¡°I feel much better now.¡±
¡°Good,¡± Delacroix says. ¡°Because we¡¯re not ready to test the serum¡¯s effectiveness on your body.¡±
¡°What?¡± I ask. ¡°What¡¯re you¡ª¡±
I don¡¯t have time to finish.
A moment later, the door to the viewing Chamber opens, and two men step out¡ª
But they¡¯re not alone.
No.
The creature they lead by a noose and rod is one I am already familiar with. Tall, gray, with tears in its cheeks from where it had previously mutilated itself, the Sanguine laughs as it centers its gaze on me and attempts to lash out. The combined strength of the two Hunters is too much for it, however, and it merely jars its neck as it tries to reach me.
¡°What are you doing?¡± I ask, my voice cold, devoid of emotion.
¡°You¡¯re to fight this creature to the death,¡± Victor Delacroix says, ¡°and prove your newfound abilities to the guild.¡±
¡°You expect me to fight the vampire?¡± I ask, only to receive a wicked laugh from the creature in response. ¡°Oh, fu¡ª¡±
The creature¡ªwhose vocal cords have since decayed¡ªattempts to speak, but only garbled nonsense comes out. Its ensuing laugh is enough to raise the hairs on the back of my neck, however.
¡°This Sanguine has been starved and is consumed by bloodlust,¡± Delacroix says. ¡°It is much weaker in its current state but should prove to be a formidable foe for a new Hunter.¡±
How? I think.
Or better yet: why? Why throw me to the wolves now, after I have just come out of recovery? And why have me face the thing that has filled my waking thoughts, my sleeping nightmares, for the past three weeks?
It¡¯s a trial, I tell myself. A test to ensure you can kill the monster in the field.
Unable to refuse myself any longer, I turn and make my way to the fall wall, where I pull a short sword whose length is inscribed with silver runes.
It¡¯s a pure metal, I think. It should be weak against it.
But would the old Hollywood stereotypes be enough to combat a creature like this? An alien not of this world?
I don¡¯t know, but I don¡¯t have time to dwell on it for long. The Guild is waiting.
As is Amelia Vanderoof, apparently. She stands on the second level that leads to the sensory deprivation chamber and watches me with indifferent eyes. ¡°You will combat this creature until either you or it dies,¡± the woman says. ¡°To effectively kill a Sanguine, one must remove its head and then destroy the parasitic creature housed within its brain. Do you understand?¡±
¡°I understand,¡± I say.
¡°Good.¡± Amelia gestures to the Hunters. ¡°Stand ready, and prepare to release the creature. Be ready for anything.¡±
The men restraining the Sanguine edge it toward the center of the room, dangerously close to where I stand. As it nears, I take note of its rotting face, its gray skin, its teeth that I can see gnashing away at the gaps in its cheeks. The tips of its fingers have been stripped to bone and are sharpened to points that could easily eviscerate me should they reach my body.
Just like Mama,
is the thought that runs through my head.
That alone is enough to fuel the rage in my heart, the fire in my being.
Nearby, the Hunters holding semi-automatic rifles train their weapons on the creature as I step forward.
¡°Now!¡± Amelia cries. ¡°Release the creature!¡±
The collar is disengaged.
The creature springs forward.
I barely have time to dodge before the vampire is upon me.
Spinning, and holding the sword steady, I turn to face it as it hisses and bares its elongated teeth at me.
¡°Come at me, you dead bitch,¡± I say.
The creature screeches and bolts toward me.
I sidestep its advance and slam my elbow into the creature¡¯s chest with enough force to crack its ribs. It screeches¡ªmore out of rage than pain, I imagine¡ªand claws at me, attempting to sink its teeth into any visible flesh it can. It doesn¡¯t have the chance to do so, however; for when I pull away, I tear a chunk of its thinning hair from its head and slam the sword into its gut, twisting it about until I disembowel it.
The creature laughs as its guts spill onto the floor.
I pale and nearly retch as the stench hits me.
The creature retaliates by swiping at my face.
I, somehow, am able to dodge aside with Supernatural speed.
What the hell? I think.
Is this what Emily Bane had meant when she said the serum would provide me with powers to fight the creature?
I can¡¯t stop to think.
Within moments, the creature is freeing itself and jumping toward me once more.
I spin, kick it in the head, and send it sailing across the room. I can¡¯t help but smile as it impacts the wall with a grizzly snap.
¡°Come at me!¡± I scream. ¡°Come at me!¡±
The creature turns, screeches, bolts toward me.
It¡¯s stupid, I tell myself as I watch it slip on its distended intestines. It¡¯s not smart enough to gauge my reactions.
However, what it lacks in foresight it makes up for in blind abandon, which I know can be even more dangerous than a sense of self-preservation.
As it draws nearer¡ªand when a breath is all that remains between us¡ªI raise my sword and slam it into the creature¡¯s neck.
Its spinal cord is severed, the neck freed from its body.
As the creature¡¯s head lands with an audible slap of wet and bloody flesh, I flip the weapon in my grasp, throw myself to my knees, and slam the sword into its skull.
Bone parts beneath blade.
Brain parts under pressure.
The parasite inside¡ªwhich I can barely see writhing in a sickly attempt to escape¡ªis destroyed.
I pull the blade from the vampire¡¯s skull. Stab once, then twice. Then I stand and slam my foot into the pulpy matter that remains.
Then I turn to face those who silently look on.
¡°Congratulations, Miss Brown,¡± Amelia says, clapping three times before lowering her hands to grasp the railing before her. ¡°You have officially proven yourself competent enough to join the Guild of Hunters.¡±
Shouts and applause follow.
The Hunters standing by surge toward me.
I did it, I think as they clasp my hands, my arms, press their palms to my back. I¡¯ve become a Hunter in record time.
But it doesn¡¯t take long for the happiness surging through me to turn to rage.
As the men and women around me continue to praise and congratulate me, I think of my mother and how the creature is still out there¡ªlikely still hunting, stalking, and killing more people.
My hand tightens around the sword.
No.
This isn¡¯t over. Not by a longshot.
Now that I am a Hunter¡
It is time to hunt the creature that killed my mother.
Chapter 17: Inauguration Day
My inauguration into the Guild of Hunters is set to take place at noon exactly. After the necessary preparations are made, and after the required paperwork is filled out, I am told I will present myself to the Executive Board of Directors and declare my intent of service to the men and women who hail over America¡¯s most prestigious organization for Supernatural affairs.
Terrified out of my mind, but exhilarated all the same, I pace my small apartment, all the while trying to avoid Shadow¡¯s lingering gaze.
¡°Can you stop staring at me?¡± I ask as I spin to face him.
¡°I¡¯m trying to understand why you¡¯re nervous,¡± he replies.
¡°I¡¯m not nervous. I¡¯m antsy.¡±
¡°To what?¡±
¡°Go after the monster that killed my mother.¡±
¡°You are aware that there are certain procedures that need to be performed before a mark can be declared to a Hunter?¡±
¡°Fuck procedure,¡± I reply. ¡°I can kill this thing now. I¡¯m going to do it now.¡±
Shadow says nothing. Instead, he crosses his arms and watches me with his normal, calm stare.
I let out a defeated sigh and collapse onto the bed.
¡°I understand your concern,¡± the Wiper says, ¡°but there needs to be necessary precautions taken before a Hunter can go after a mark.¡±
¡°Like what?¡±
¡°Transportation, for one. Adequate lodging, for two. Then there¡¯s the matter of weapons, food, sending the proper Agent out to help investigate the claim. The bureaucracy demands things be done a certain way and in a certain order.¡±
¡°But they want the vampire eliminated? Right?¡±
¡°Naturally.¡±
¡°And no one¡¯s gone after this particular one?¡±
¡°No one¡¯s been assigned to the Central Texas and Louisianan territories yet.¡±
¡°So you¡¯re saying I could be?¡±
¡°It¡¯s certainly possible. The previous Hunter¡ unfortunately¡ died.¡±
¡°From what?¡± I ask.
¡°Cancer, of all things.¡±
¡°How is that possible? I mean, you have the technology¡ª¡±
¡°The Agency does not have cures for stage-four malignant tumors, Scarlet.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± I say and offer a frown of my own.
I hadn¡¯t considered the fact that, with my initiation into the Guild, there would come a passing of the torch, per se, a change of the guard. Except in this case, my future will be spent in the shadow of a Hunter whose passing was caused not by something of the Supernatural world, but by the physical.
With a sigh, I expel a breath and push myself to my feet to look at the clock. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m going to be able to wait an hour and a half.¡±
¡°I can understand your frustration, Scarlet. You must be feeling so many different things.¡±
Excitement. Dread. Exhilaration. Complete, undeniable fear. These things, and more, fuel my conscience, threaten to overwhelm me, to drag me down, beneath the dark blue waters. It is as if I am standing on an iceberg¡ªa seal helplessly waiting on its surface¡ªwhile beneath the waters a hunter circles. I can do only two things at this moment: wait or dive.
Am I ready to do this? I ask myself. Am I really?
Of course I am ready to do this. It is in my brain, my matter, my blood, the very fabric of my being. Everything within me is compelling me to go now¡ªto flee the Agency and travel back to Louisiana to investigate the reason for my mother¡¯s death and to destroy the creature that killed her.
But you have no authority, I tell myself, to do it.
Add on the fact that I have no money to get us there and I am left at the mercy of the Agency.
Who may or may not even assign me to that territory, I tell myself.
With a sigh, I cross my arms and settle back down at the edge of the bed, not wanting, or willing, to face my conscience.
I know my time will come.
I just wish it would come sooner.
* * *
We leave ten minutes to twelve and make our way toward the elevator, during which time my nerves begin to get the best of me. Though imbued with Supernatural strength, and emboldened by my newfound powers, I feel mortally weak in this moment¡ªand as such begin to resort to anxious tics.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
I bite my nail. Pace the elevator floor. Stop breathing for moments at a time, only to suck back in huge lungfuls of air.
¡°Are you all right?¡± Shadow asks.
And I respond with a nod, but even then, it does little to sate the untamable beast within my heart, my lungs, my brain.
When we finally reach the floor labeled The Operating Room, I brace myself for what is to come, then wait until the door opens to reveal the pristine white lounge.
White floors. White walls. White furniture.
In the span of a second, I see an image of them splashed with blood.
Then I am knocked from the vision by the rumbling steps of the living suit of armor stepping around the corner.
¡°Special Agent Shadow,¡± the Wiper says, ¡°here to accompany Hunter Scarlet Jane into the fold.¡±
¡°Access granted,¡± the suit says.
Shadow is the one to lead me forward¡ªto compel me around the corner and toward the strange room within which dwells the board of directors.
They wish to decide my fate, I tell myself.
These enigmatic men and women¡ªwho, with bold looks and dark eyes, know everything and nothing at all. Here they are kings and queens within a glass castle, combating stones from afar before they can reach their thrones, while we¡ªtheir mighty warriors, their great Hunters¡ªare meant to defend them, all by laying our lives on the line, potentially sacrificing our functions, our futures.
The beast of self-doubt takes hold out of nowhere. I have to pause to regain my composure.
¡°Are you all right?¡± Shadow asks, turning to face me.
¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I say. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me.¡±
But it¡¯s a lie. I know it is, and so does he. His frown is indicative enough.
Thankfully, Shadow says nothing and turns and approaches the black stone doorway.
Angels. Demons. Monsters. Saviors.
All wait for me on this stone facade, tempting me toward the greatest salvation.
Or my untimely destruction, I muse.
Stepping forward, Shadow knocks.
I straighten my posture and take hold of the handles.
When I pull the door open with strength and ease I find nearly impossible given that I am only a young woman of five foot four, I take a moment to settle my gaze on those within.
There are seven in total, all wearing dark clothing and resembling something like wraiths pulled from the darkest corners of the world. Among them is Amelia Vanderoof¡ªwho, with her white coat and white pants, is the only one who sticks out. Alongside her stands Victor Delacroix and beside him Doctor James Mitchell. Several other Hunters are also present, though they wait along the far walls and watched me with indifferent eyes.
¡°Scarlet Jane,¡± Amelia Vanderoof says.
¡°Miss Vanderoof,¡± I reply.
¡°You are here today to officially be inaugurated into the Agency¡¯s Guild of Hunters, and to be assigned a territory over which you will domain. Do you understand the declaration made to you?¡±
¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡±
¡°Good.¡± She turns to Victor. ¡°Mister Delacroix¡ªthe sword, please.¡±
The man draws a long, golden blade from a scabbard at his side. Upon its cross-guard there lies a pair of angels, as if lost from Heaven and tormented in their desire to reach its sacred heights, while along its hilt slithers a snake, and at the bulbous end of the hilt is a golden apple.
But it is not these things that capture my attention. Not as much as what runs along the blade¡¯s length¡ªa string of lettering I instinctively know is Latin. Though I cannot read the writing, I understand it to be important. This is only proven when the blade, exposed to light, begins to glow¡ªa radiant white that causes me to blink.
¡°Scarlet Jane,¡± Victor Delacroix says, rounding the table to stand directly before me. ¡°It is the opinion of the Guild, and of the executive board of directors, that you¡ªa young, courageous, and noble-hearted woman from Shreveport, Louisiana¡ªbe inaugurated into the Agency¡¯s Guild of Hunters. I ask you this: do you have any reservations?¡±
¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°I have no reservations.¡±
¡°Then bow before me to meet the sword of justice.¡±
Justice, I think.
That is what is written on the sword.
Justice.
I know this to be the truth, if only in my heart. However, when I lift my head, I swear I see the word scrawled along the blade in plain English.
It is at this moment that I fall to a knee, that I bow my head, that I await the sword to grace my shoulder; and it is with more honor than I could have ever felt possible that I allow the blade to touch my bare skin, which is shielded only by the tank top that covers my upper body. Delacroix touches first my left shoulder, then my right, then left again before sheathing the blade within its scabbard.
Reaching down, Victor Delacroix takes hold of my shoulders, then lifts me gently, like a father would his infant child, and looks directly into my eyes. ¡°Welcome to the Guild, Scarlet Jane. You are now officially a Hunter.¡±
Applause meets me from the other Hunters¡ªfrom the men and women who, once before me, had undergone these same trials, these same tribulations.
But the joy is not meant to last.
With a wave of her hand, Amelia Vanderoof silences the room, then turns her eyes on me. ¡°Now,¡± she says, ¡°comes the matter of your assignment.¡±
I swallow a breath of air and hold it tight inside my chest.
¡°Given the loss of Gregory Basteele,¡± Amelia Vanderoof says, ¡°there is no one left to reign over the Central Texas and Louisianan territories. We, as the Agency, have decided you are to be assigned to these areas, Scarlet Jane, and that you are to protect and uphold the ancient laws the Agency upholds.¡±
¡°Your first mark, Special Agent 136, will be the vampire that slew your mother in cold blood, thereby violating the act that prohibits Supernaturals from recklessly killing humans in places they might be sighted or where evidence might be left to be found by mortal-kind. You will receive exactly one month¡¯s worth of provisions and will be accompanied by none other than Special Agent Shadow.¡±
I turn to face Shadow.
¡°Do you accept?¡± Amelia Vanderoof asks.
¡°I accept,¡± I say.
¡°Good. Then prepare yourself, Scarlet Jane, for the foe you seek is not one that can be allowed to escape¡ªif not for humanity¡¯s sake, then for your own.¡±
Before I can turn to exit the room, Victor Delacroix steps forward. In his hand he carries a single golden chain, upon which dangles a vertical bar made of solid gold.
¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I ask as he reaches up to secure it around my neck.
¡°Your Hunter¡¯s mark,¡± the man replies. ¡°Never lose it. Never forget it. Always remember it.¡±
I reach up to wrap my hand around the single golden bar, which is no longer than one-and-a-half or two inches in length. Along its cold edges I feel unbridled power¡ªand purpose, beyond anything else, that will allow me to make right what has been wronged.
With a nod, and with pride I have never felt in my life, I exit the room, Shadow close behind.
¡°Are you ready?¡± Shadow asks.
¡°Yeah,¡± I reply. ¡°There¡¯s just one thing I have to do first.¡±
Chapter 18: Facing Fears
I know it won¡¯t be easy. I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that it will be one of the hardest things I¡¯ve ever done in my life.
But I know I have to do it.
With the scissors held in one hand, and my eyes set on the simple mirror in my apartment¡¯s bathroom, I look upon my beautiful black hair and try to determine if I am making the right decision.
¡°You know,¡± Shadow says as he helps secure my hair into place, ¡°that you don¡¯t have to do this.¡±
¡°I know,¡± I reply, reaching back to ensure the ponytail has been tied securely. ¡°But I have to.¡±
¡°I don¡¯t understand. Why?¡±
¡°I told myself I would start fresh when I became a Hunter. Besides,¡± I then say, and laugh not long after, ¡°it¡¯s not like it won¡¯t grow back.¡±
¡°I know, but still.¡±
Still.
That one simple word holds so much reservation and speaks of contempt for the thing I am about to do.
It is odd, I understand, for a woman like me to cut her hair¡ªfor a girl to shed her beautiful black locks and discard them as if they are nothing more than old baggage. I have spent years growing my hair. Countless hours in salons. Who knows how much money on supplies to maintain it. But the more I peer at my reflection, the more I realize that I look like an older version of myself.
I am no longer the person I used to be.
With the Trinity Serum in my bloodstream, I have been officially reborn.
With a nod, I pass the scissors over my shoulder and wait for Shadow to take them. ¡°Do it,¡± I then say.
The simple act of letting go is empowering. Like conquering the highest mountain in the world, or diving to the deepest depths of the ocean, I feel, as I cut my hair, a catharsis I could have never imagined. I imagine the act is much like an ascent to Heaven through fire, born anew from the ashes of my life like a phoenix. But even with seven inches of hair from my ponytail gone, it isn¡¯t over. I still have the hair on the top of my head to consider.
With the knowledge that this is all part of my rebirth, I reach forward, take the hair clippers Shadow had brought in hand, then set the number 1 guard on atop it. ¡°Will you?¡± I ask, looking up to face the man I have quickly come to consider as a friend.
¡°I will,¡± he says.
With a simple flick of his thumb, he brings the clippers to life. Then he begins to buzz my hair.
This is for Mama, I think, who was robbed of her life.
For Ariana, I think, who was robbed of my friendship.
For Coach Vasquez and the Bluejays, I think, who will go to nationals without me.
And this is for me, I finally conclude, who will make everything that has been made wrong right.
Soon, it is over.
My locks have been shed, and the hair gathered at my feet are the ashes of my old life.
As I look upon my reflection¡ªtaking note of my strong cheekbones, my full lips, and the soft skin upon my temple¡ªI find a determination in my eyes that I could¡¯ve never imagined seeing before.
There is fire there, I now see¡ªburning strong, bright, with the intensity of a thousand suns. In those flames I see myself running. See myself fighting. See myself screaming.
It is in those flames that I see myself slaying my mother¡¯s killer.
After all is said and done¡ªafter the hair is removed, the trash taken out, and room service called¡ªwe will leave the apartment and prepare for what is to come.
I know, deep down, that there is only one thing left to do:
It¡¯s time to end it all.
* * *
The weapons I choose to end the creature¡¯s miserable existence will have to be discreet. As a result, I pilfer, from the depths of the armory only accessible by members of the Guild of Hunters, several daggers imbued with silver, as well as a cross that, when engaged via a button at its center, emits a blindingly white light.
¡°Do crosses really work on vampires?¡± I ask. ¡°I mean, considering they¡¯re aliens and not, well¡ damned?¡±
¡°Yes,¡± Shadow replies. ¡°Sanguine are repelled by crosses.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°No one knows for sure. The Sanguine are extremely hard to communicate with at times, particularly when their state of being is inhibited by the rot that controls their mortal hosts. We cannot speak with the parasites directly, so we must speak with the body they inhabit. You as well as I know that the rot of a corpse can also affect their comprehension.¡±
¡°But they follow the Agency¡¯s laws?¡± I then say. ¡°They¡¯d have to. Otherwise, everyone would know about them.¡±
¡°Some do, to a degree. Others are reckless and do not take the proper procedure to reintegrate themselves into a proper host, hence why some go mad.¡±
¡°Like the one that killed my mother,¡± I say and sigh. I affix the cross into a leather satchel that can be rolled out and slide the daggers into place alongside it. Then I take hold of one of the police-issue pistols and slide it into a holster at my side. ¡°So how are we going to do this?¡±
¡°You mean investigate your mother¡¯s murder?¡± Shadow crosses his arms over his chest and considers the weaponry I have selected for our mission. ¡°I assumed we would go back to your family home and see if we could detect any trace auras the creature may have left behind.¡±
¡°You can do that?¡± I ask.
¡°Depending on the state of the home, yes, I can.¡±
¡°What do you mean by the state of the home?¡±
¡°How well it¡¯s been cleaned.¡±
¡°Oh,¡± I say, then sigh and shake my head. ¡°Let¡¯s just get going. I don¡¯t want to think about this.¡±
¡°We have to pick up our supplies from the acquisitions department first.¡±
¡°I take it this is where we get our cash?¡±
¡°Precisely,¡± Shadow says. ¡°As well as any other supplies we might need before we take off.¡± He pauses. ¡°Did you inventory everything you¡¯ve chosen to take.¡±
¡°Do I have to?¡± I groan.
¡°Yes, Scarlet. It¡¯s part of the procedure.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
¡°It¡¯s not like I planned on keeping anything,¡± I say but turn to look at the whiteboard that details the various weaponry in the armory. ¡°Wait a minute. There are rocket launchers and grenades in here?¡±
¡°There are some Supernatural creatures that require a¡ would you say¡ special approach.¡±
¡°Special enough to merit a rocket launcher?¡±
Shadow smirks.
I, however, frown but take hold of the red marker and mark, then sign my initials next to the number of items I have taken, including the amount of pistol rounds in my possession. ¡°All right,¡± I say and nod as I consider the board. ¡°Does this look good?¡±
¡°It looks perfect,¡± the Wiper replies.
¡°Then let¡¯s get the hell out of here,¡± I say.
We make our way from the armory and into the Training Chamber, then through the Induction Chamber, and finally into the elevator. We rise, swiftly, toward a floor I have never visited and exit onto a level that is swarming with people behind desks.
¡°You weren¡¯t kidding when you said some of you have desk jobs,¡± I offer as we make our way up the aisle.
¡°I was not,¡± Shadow replies with a smile.
Most of the people appear to be human. Some are freakishly Supernatural. The creature that appears from behind the mesh wiring separating us from the acquisitions department, however, is undoubtedly the most outlandish I have seen. It resembles a bright green praying mantis, one that frightens me to even look at.
¡°Acquisitionssss,¡± it hisses, flexing its mandibles to imitate human speech.
¡°Special Agent Shadow and Hunter number 136,¡± Shadow replies, flashing his badge and gesturing me to hold up the simple gold bar that hangs from around my neck. ¡°We¡¯re here to pick up the supplies afforded to us for our mission in Shreveport, Louisiana.¡±
¡°One moment pleasssssse,¡± the creature says. It turns and stalks into the darker parts of the room, leaving the two of us alone.
¡°What is that?¡± I ask.
¡°A Manti,¡± he replies.
¡°I know what it is. I just don¡¯t know what it is.¡±
¡°Ah, Scarlet,¡± Shadow says with a laugh. ¡°You have so much to learn. But to answer your question: it¡¯s an indigenous species to Asia. Its scientific name would be giganticus Hierodula membranacea.¡±
¡°And they¡¯re intelligent?¡±
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°Where are they found?¡±
¡°Generally, the Malay peninsula in Myanmar.¡±
¡°How have they avoided detection for all this time?¡±
¡°Their natural ability to camouflage themselves.¡±
The creature returns before I can question Shadow further, carrying a box filled with supplies in its pincers. ¡°Provissssionssss,¡± the creature says, ¡°for one month.¡±
¡°Thank you,¡± Shadow says, reaching out to take hold of the box. ¡°We¡¯ll be on our way now.¡±
The creature utters several clicking sounds that seem to be some kind of language, but Shadow doesn¡¯t stay to study them. Rather, he turns, makes his way to a vacant table, and begins to sort through the contents of the box¡ªwhich include, but are not limited to:
Keys to an explicitly numbered vehicle. Two fake IDs with nondescript names such as Nicole Brown and James Lee. A black credit card I imagine is only for the rich, and a set of clothes suited for both of us. Where they¡¯d managed to get the information for my clothing size, let alone a picture of me that resembles something that would be taken at a DMV for my license, I am not sure. Regardless, I do not dwell on it. I simply take the wallet offered, slide the fake ID inside, then wait for Shadow to make final preparations before we finally walk to the elevator.
As we had when I¡¯d first arrived, we descend into the parking garage and make our way through it until we came to a number of vehicles on numbered parking spaces. Shadow appraises the keys, looks to the Lincoln in question, and gestures Scarlet to wait while he pops the trunk.
¡°We¡¯ll get more clothes if they¡¯re necessary,¡± he says. ¡°You¡¯re probably getting hungry as well.¡±
¡°I haven¡¯t eaten at all this morning,¡± I reply.
¡°Nerves?¡±
I nod.
The Wiper forces a smile before closing the trunk. ¡°Very well,¡± he says. ¡°Let¡¯s get you some food and be on our way.¡±
* * *
I gorge myself on a cheeseburger and fries as we make our way out of the Dallas/Fort Worth metropolis. Hungrier than I¡¯ve ever been, I struggle not to devour the burger in three bites as Shadow drives without so much as looking at me.
¡°I take it the meal is satisfactory?¡± he asks.
¡°It¡¯s duh-licious,¡± I say through a mouthful of food. I swallow before adding, ¡°Sorry.¡±
¡°You¡¯ve no need to apologize to me. You¡¯ve had a lot happen within the past few hours. You deserve to relax while you can.¡±
While I can, I think and sigh.
I lower the hamburger in its foil wrapping and take hold of the plastic cup of soda before leaning forward and downing it.
It¡¯ll be a few hours, I think, before you¡¯re back home.
The idea leaves me in a state that borders on dread. Fixed, suddenly, by the notion that I will soon be hunting down the creature that killed my mother, I straighten my posture, suddenly not hungry.
The truth of the matter is that I know nothing of how we will discover the vampire¡¯s origins or how we will track it down. Beyond what Shadow had said about the house, I have little idea on how we will track the creature, let alone force it into a position where it can be cornered and exterminated.
Soon, I will be home¡ªa place where my heart was shattered, where my life was ruined, where my existence was, without any compassion, made null.
Try as I might to push past the feelings, I cannot prevent the tears that come.
¡°Are you all right?¡± Shadow asks after allowing me a moment to compose myself.
¡°I¡¯m just having a hard time. That¡¯s all.¡±
¡°You shouldn¡¯t be ashamed of your emotions, Scarlet. Your mother died a horrible and tragic death, and you¡¯ve been tasked with righting the wrong. That¡¯s a lot to deal with, especially at your age.¡±
¡°I know. But I have to do it. I have no choice.¡±
¡°We can always turn around, tell the board you¡¯re unfit for¡ª¡±
¡°No!¡± I cry, wide-eyed, mouth agape. I take another moment to compose myself before saying, ¡°I mean¡ªno. I have to do this. It¡¯s my job. It¡¯s my responsibility.¡±
¡°I understand,¡± he says. ¡°Please don¡¯t think I consider you weak. In all actuality, you¡¯re one of the strongest people I¡¯ve ever known.¡±
¡°Thank you, Shadow.¡±
¡°There¡¯s no need to thank me.¡± The Wiper tightens his hold on the steering wheel. ¡°Relax, Scarlet. There¡¯s nothing you can do right now. Eat your food, enjoy your meal, and if possible, try to sleep. We have four hours of road ahead of us.¡±
¡°All right,¡± I say.
I lift the hamburger and continue to eat, all the while dreading my arrival back to my hometown.
* * *
Returning home is unlike anything I could have ever imagined.
A town, haunted by a past.
A place, cursed by death.
A land, besieged by evil.
As we pass beneath the green signs that indicate our proximity to Shreveport, I begin to feel a sense of betrayal in my gut.
For everything I¡¯ve lost, I think, for all I¡¯ve endured.
For everything I no longer have, and everything that will never come to pass.
I stew, almost violently, in anger¡ªand at one point feel as though I will scream.
But I don¡¯t.
No.
I cannot show weakness¡ªnot here, not now, and especially not when I begin to hunt the monster that killed my mother.
I¡¯ll find you, I think, balling my hand into a fist, and when I do, I swear I¡¯ll¡ª
¡°Which exit do I turn onto?¡± Shadow asks.
¡°The next one,¡± I reply, allowing my hand to relax until my fingers uncurl from around my jeans.
¡°How are you holding up?¡±
¡°I¡¯m doing all right,¡± I say.
¡°There¡¯s no need to keep things from me, Scarlet. I know you¡¯re struggling.¡±
Does he, though? Does he really? Even despite all our time together, I have yet to determine whether Shadow possesses emotion or if he can even decipher or relate to it. I understood that he can at least understand it, but whether or not he can feel as I do is another thing entirely.
¡°All right,¡± I say and sigh. ¡°I¡¯m struggling.¡±
¡°We¡¯re going to leave this place only after the vampire¡¯s been killed. It¡¯s a public menace and too dangerous to be allowed to run loose.¡±
¡°How are we going to find it though? I mean¡ we¡¯re just two people.¡±
¡°You mean two Supernatural people,¡± he replies, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. ¡°Besides¡ªit¡¯s likely that the creature has not gone far. They normally do not.¡±
¡°Then how would it have evaded detection by the locals? The police? The people with all their guns?¡±
¡°Vampires are elusive creatures. They don¡¯t have to feed all the time, just once in a while, after their blood supply has depleted within their bodies. It¡¯s likely that your mother, as unfortunate a victim as she was, would have sustained it¡ª¡±
I slam my fist against the window. ¡°Dammit!¡± I cry, tears streaming down my face. ¡°Dammit!¡±
¡°Scarlet,¡± Shadow says. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I upset you.¡±
¡°It¡¯s not you,¡± I say and pull my hand away from the window, surprised that I hadn¡¯t cracked, or even put my fist through, the glass. ¡°It¡¯s¡ it¡¯s the situation.¡±
¡°I understand. Try not to let your anger blind you, however. Your rage will only inhibit you.¡±
¡°All right.¡±
As Shadow merges off the highway and begins to make his way into the heart of Shreveport, I feel a dark seed begin to grow.
It spreads its roots. Sows its seeds. Begin to grow into a dark and twisted tree.
Soon, it will all be over.
And maybe my suffering can finally end.
Chapter 19: Going Home
The home is lonely. Abandoned. Sectioned off by do not cross tape. Even three weeks later, it is still considered a crime scene and is still being monitored by a policeman who appears unwilling to leave the property.
¡°Why is it still considered a crime scene?¡± I ask. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t it have been closed off by now?¡±
¡°I¡¯m unsure,¡± Shadow replies, though he frowns not long after. ¡°Perhaps local Wipers have maintained the facade that there was a more recent crime¡ªto ensure that we would be able to come back and properly investigate.¡±
¡°I guess that make sense,¡± I say as Shadow pulls up alongside the curb. ¡°But how are we going to get past him?¡±
¡°I¡¯ll wipe him,¡± Shadow replies as the policeman lifts his head from his sandwich to consider us. ¡°It isn¡¯t that difficult a procedure.¡±
¡°What if someone else sees us? You know¡ like a neighbor?¡±
¡°Then I¡¯ll wipe them as well.¡± He opens the door, steps out of the car, then says, ¡°Please. Follow me.¡±
I exit the car slowly, cautiously, and with hesitation I know is born out of the innate fear of being discovered. I am unsure if the policeman will wait until we start toward my home to approach, and as such, I step forward nervously. Shadow, on the other hand, advances up the driveway without so much as an ounce of reservation.
¡°Sir!¡± the policeman calls as he exits his vehicle. ¡°This residence is an active crime scene. Please stop before I have to¡ª¡±
Shadow extends a hand.
I watch the man¡¯s face go blank.
¡°You never saw me,¡± the Wiper says, ¡°nor my companion.¡±
¡°I never saw you,¡± the policeman replies. ¡°Neither of you.¡±
¡°Good.¡± Shadow nods. ¡°Return to your business now, please.¡±
I watch the policeman crawl back inside his cruiser and pick up his sandwich, all the while struggling to breathe.
¡°Holy shit,¡± I finally manage to gasp. ¡°I thought we were done for.¡±
¡°You have that little faith in me?¡± Shadow counters.
¡°Well, no. It¡¯s just, they¡¯re cops, and, well¡ª¡± I stumble to a stop. ¡°Sorry. You just get to hearing certain stories, and you think¡ª¡±
¡°I understand,¡± Shadow says before gesturing me up the drive.
We step around the rock garden my mother had spent hours meticulously perfecting earlier in the year and approach the porch in silence.
¡°You¡¯re free to go inside and get anything you¡¯d like,¡± Shadow says in as calm and gentle a voice as possible.
¡°There¡¯s nothing inside I want,¡± I reply.
And it¡¯s true. My mother is gone, and my old life along with her. My new position in life has no desperate need of anything that happens to remain in the house, memories or otherwise.
Shadow, in response, climbs the few old and rickety steps onto the porch and approaches the yellow do not cross tape. But rather than attempt to enter, he merely crouches down and reaches out to touch the edge of the doorframe. ¡°It was here,¡± he says. ¡°Watching her. Before it attacked.¡±
¡°How do you know?¡± I ask.
¡°There is hateful energy here¡ªa malevolence that has burned itself into the wood.¡± He runs his hand along the panels beneath his palm. ¡°It is¡ deeply disturbing. Many Sanguine are of quite sound mind. This one¡ resembled an animal.¡±
¡°I saw its face,¡± I say. ¡°In the vision I received when I was administered the serum. It¡ it looked human, but so did the one they made me fight in the training chamber after I recovered.¡±
¡°A human face does not always mean a human spirit,¡± Shadow says. ¡°Never forget that.¡±
With a nod, I look into the kitchen window and imagine my mother standing somewhere inside, cooking lunch on a Sunday afternoon while waiting for me to rise after sleeping in. She¡¯d call Scarlet! as the bacon spit, as the eggs fried, as the pancakes sizzled to crisp perfection; and I, still asleep, would yell, Five more minutes! only to have my mother counter, No! Get down here!
The thought, as simple as it happens to be, is enough to burn rage throughout my sternum¡ªand as I turn to view the scenery around me, of the houses occupied by churchgoing people and the police cruiser inhabited of the man being repeatedly Wiped, I wonder: Did they know? Did they know they somehow believe something more sinister had happened here, at the Brown household? And if so: how could they go on living their daily lives knowing that one of their neighbors had died?
And not just died, I think. Was murdered.
Brutally murdered at that.
I shake my head to dispel the questions in my head and with a burning sadness blossoming in my ribcage turn to look at Shadow. ¡°Do you know where it is?¡±
¡°No,¡± the Wiper says. ¡°I don¡¯t.¡±
¡°You mean you don¡¯t have any idea?¡±
¡°The energy is residual and marked only on these grounds. If I had more of a trail to go upon, then maybe I could find it. But as of now, I have nothing.¡±
Nothing.
The word is a darkness in my mind, an anathema to my heart.
I sigh. Close my eyes. Expel a breath. I then wait, without success, for some kind of clarity to come.
I¡¯m a Hunter, I think. I should know these things.
Then again: they¡¯d never handed me a training manual.
Despite that, I try to attune my senses to the world around me¡ªto listen to the wind whispering in the humid air, in the impressions it stirs in the grass on the hard ground, in the creaking of the home that once belonged to me and my mother.
I step toward the yellow do not cross tape and am just about to touch it when something strikes me.
That smell¡ªthat horrible, wretched smell.
Blood.
¡°Death,¡± I whisper.
¡°Do you sense something?¡± Shadow asks, rising to his full height.
¡°I smell blood,¡± I reply, inhaling a deep breath of the bitter scent. ¡°Faintly, though. It¡¯s masked by cleaner, but it¡¯s there, just like you said it would be.¡±
¡°Does it compel you to go anywhere?¡±
¡°Is it supposed to?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Shadow frowns as he steps up beside her. ¡°Some Hunters report developing a psychic sense after taking the Trinity Serum,¡± he says. ¡°Now, whether or not that¡¯s true I cannot say.¡±
¡°What about the blood I¡¯m smelling now, though?¡±
¡°You¡¯ve the DNA of a Howler within you, Scarlet. Your senses have been amplified. That¡¯s why you¡¯re able to smell the blood.¡±
So I have powers I don¡¯t even know about, I think, balling my hand into a fist.
¡°You¡¯re going to have to explain what all the serum did to me,¡± I say after a moment¡¯s consideration.
¡°I will,¡± he replies. ¡°But now is not the time or place. We must concentrate on finding this creature before it does even more damage.¡±
¡°Where do we start?¡± I ask.
¡°First, we need to secure lodging. Then we wait until night falls and begin our hunt.¡±
* * *
The hotel room is old. Dingy. Smells of cigarette smoke and possesses only one bed.
¡°I will rest in the chair,¡± Shadow says as he considers our meager surroundings.
¡°Are you sure?¡± I ask. ¡°I mean, I know you said you didn¡¯t need to sleep, but just because you don¡¯t have to sleep doesn¡¯t mean¡ª¡±
¡°My comfort is irrelevant, Scarlet. Besides¡ªyou are the one who¡¯s going to be fighting this creature.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t remind me.¡± I sigh and seat myself on the old bed. I look past my companion and out the window, toward the parking lot and the car. ¡°So¡ªnow that we¡¯re here, what do we do?¡±
¡°I suppose we could begin our reconnaissance by returning to your neighborhood and walking the streets.¡±
¡°Why?¡±
¡°To look for clues¡ªand mainly to see if any pets have been reported missing.¡±
¡°You think the vampire would really go after someone¡¯s pets?¡± I ask and frown not long after. I can¡¯t help but think of the animals that might have fallen victim¡ªlike little Buffy or Scooby biting the dust at the hands of some grizzly vampire.
¡°It¡¯s quite possible. Vampires are opportunistic feeders, and if people leave their pets outside, they run the risk of them being preyed upon by greater hunters.¡±
¡°I guess you¡¯re right,¡± I say and sigh. ¡°That still doesn¡¯t make me feel any better.¡±
¡°I know.¡±
¡°This thing¡¯s already ruined my life. I don¡¯t want it to take away from anyone else¡¯s.¡±
¡°I understand, Scarlet. But we can¡¯t let the possibilities blind us. If there are, in fact, missing pets, it may only confirm that the creature might be hunting in the area.¡±
¡°I know.¡±
¡°Good.¡± Shadow extends a hand. ¡°Let¡¯s return to your old neighborhood and see what we can find.¡±
¡°All right,¡± I say and stand.
I take a moment to compose myself¡ªto prepare for what could be a scene of haunting proportions¡ªbefore nodding and following Shadow out the door.
* * *
The community billboard is covered with missing pet signs, along with a newspaper article that reads: Missing pets in Shreveport neighborhood on the rise.
¡°This can¡¯t be a coincidence,¡± I say, crossing my arms as I consider, with sadness and hatred, the list of cats and small dogs that are nowhere to be found. ¡°There¡¯s just too many of them.¡±
¡°No,¡± Shadow says. ¡°It can¡¯t be a coincidence.¡±
¡°So our vampire is probably still here, in this neighborhood¡ªwatching and waiting for whatever easy prey comes next.¡±
¡°It¡¯s only a matter of time before another person is attacked,¡± he replies.
¡°I¡¯m not going to let that happen,¡± I say.
I turn to consider the neighborhood around me¡ªthe small children playing on bikes, and the nervous neighbors watching them from stoops and porches¡ªbefore nodding. ¡°We have to find it and soon.¡±
¡°I agree,¡± Shadow says.
¡°So where do we start? Here? After night falls?¡±
¡°We can¡¯t fight it out in the open. We have to draw the creature into an isolated area and ensure we can properly dispose of the body once you slay it.¡±
¡°All right. Where do you suggest?¡±
¡°I was just going to ask you that, Scarlet. You¡¯re the one who grew up in this area. You¡¯d know more than I would.¡±
I would, I think, and nod as I try my hardest to think of somewhere¡ªanywhere¡ªwe can draw the creature to avoid a public spectacle or digital thumbprint.
It seems impossible that I can do battle with a creature of darkness anywhere
in the city without there being some kind of witness or record. For that reason, I begin to wonder:
Is there a place we can do this? And if so: where exactly is it?
I am just about to give up when a thought strikes me.
The cemetery.
We can draw the monster into the cemetery.
¡°I think I know a place,¡± I say, turning and starting toward the car. ¡°Follow me.¡±
* * *
The cemetery is lonely. Sectioned off by dilapidated fencing, and open to the public on several sides, its breathtaking expanse is large enough to offer privacy. At the same time, it holds just the right number of crypts to shroud most of its heart from view.
¡°This is it,¡± I say as Shadow pulls up the cemetery¡¯s gravel drive. ¡°The Ashville Cemetery.¡±
¡°It¡¯s quite beautiful,¡± he replies.
¡°And old,¡± I say. ¡°Hardly anyone ever comes around here because of the rumor that this place is haunted.¡±
¡°Is it?¡±
¡°Why are you asking me?¡± I laugh. ¡°I was a good girl. I never went ghost hunting. Or touring. Or whatever you¡¯d want to call it.¡±
¡°There may come a time when you have to,¡± he offered.
¡°Don¡¯t tell me ghosts are real too.¡±
Shadow doesn¡¯t reply. He merely views the landscape before us and studies it for several long moments before pointing to an old crypt with a doorway that sits partially open. ¡°Has that always been like that?¡±
¡°I¡¯m¡ not sure.¡± I lean forward to view the mausoleum before us. ¡°I mean¡ yeah¡ I passed this place on the way to and from school, but I never noticed if it was open. Probably some stupid kids trying to find a place to neck or something.¡±
¡°I see.¡± Shadow leans back in his seat and offers an affirming nod. ¡°I believe this will be the appropriate place to draw the creature into the open. It¡¯s quiet, it¡¯s secluded, it¡¯s shrouded from the road and all these trees.¡± He gestures to the junipers beside them. ¡°I guess my only question would be: are you ready to do this?¡±
Am I ready? I think.
How could Shadow even think to ask such a question?
Rather than mull over the possibilities, or even my doubts and fears, I simply nod and say, ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m ready.¡±
* * *
It is the early hours of the afternoon by the time we arrive back at our hotel. Antsy, now more than ever, over the possibilities that could occur tonight, I pace the small room with abandon and try my hardest to piece together a plan.
¡°What am I supposed to do for five hours?¡± I ask, spinning to face Shadow as I sense him approaching me.
¡°You should sleep,¡± the Wiper replies.
¡°Sleep?¡± I laugh. ¡°You expect me to sleep?¡±
¡°It would be best to go into this with as great a strength as possible.¡± Shadow sets a gentle hand on my shoulder. ¡°Lie down, Scarlet. Even if you cannot sleep, rest will do you good.¡±
¡°I suppose so,¡± I say and sigh not long after.
I turn to consider the bed¡ªat the small, queen-size spread that has seen better days, and say, ¡°You¡¯ll make sure I¡¯m up in time to get ready?¡±
¡°I wouldn¡¯t do anything else,¡± he says.
With a nod, I step forward, sit down atop the bed, then swing my legs onto the mattress and press my head onto the pillow.
I close my eyes as Shadow approaches the window, as he draws the blinds to thrust us into darkness.
For a moment, I do not think I will succumb to sleep.
Then I slip into dream¡ª
* * *
¡ªonly to emerge to a landscape unfamiliar to me.
In a world that is lost to shadow, and a place where I am standing in waist-high fog, I lift my eyes to consider the world around me and try my hardest not to panic.
I think, Where am I?
Then I think, Am I still in Shreveport?
The answer would seem to be no, that I am not in Shreveport, and maybe not even the physical world. But the longer I stand here, the colder I feel; and the colder I feel, the more I begin to shiver.
Teeth chattering, I lift my hands to rub my arms and call, ¡°Hello? Is anyone there?¡±
I am here, a familiar voice says.
I pale. ¡°Mama?¡± I ask. ¡°Was¡ was that you?¡±
A flicker of movement moves out my peripheral.
I spin¡ª
Just in time to see the figure of my mother, her form transparent but shrouded in gold light.
¡°Mama,¡± I say.
I am here for you, Scarlet. I will always be here for you.
¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whisper. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I couldn¡¯t save you.¡±
Not everyone can be saved, Scarlet.
The words are enough to reduce me to tears. Heart pounding, mouth agape, I struggle to string together a reply¡ª
But my mother speaks before I do. You face a dangerous foe in the battle ahead. Please¡ consider what this means to you.
¡°It means everything,¡± I say and sniffle as I lift my eyes to face her once more. ¡°I¡¯ve¡ I¡¯ve realized something when I came here, Mama. When I was looking at the community bulletin board, and seeing all those lost pets.¡±
My mother waits in silence.
¡°I realized that I¡¯m not just doing this for you, or even just for me,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m doing this for everyone who has ever been robbed of their lives. Of their loved ones. Who has had things taken from them by things from the Supernatural world.¡±
Then go into the night, my mother says, and know that I will watch over you, always.