Chapter One, Greetings from Hell
Red stains the backs of my eyelids. The terrified beat of the
man’s heart floods my ears. His screams have run through my mind enough I’m
sure they are burned into my blood.
It was only a dream, I tell myself for what feels like the
hundredth time. I am not that person. I will never be that person.
I still don’t believe it.
Footsteps strike against the pavement behind me, the click of
stiletto heels echo the fall of my boots. My skin crawls and a haunting fear
rests in my stomach.
I
glance behind me. The street is empty except for thick shadows clinging to the
buildings that trap me between them. Snow rides the waves of wind, and shadows
dance around like children, but no one is there.
I
take a breath and tell myself I imagined it—I have barely even finished the
thought when the tapping begins again. Closer.
I
turn around, half expecting to find the same scene I did before. Instead, a
woman stands behind me, cloaked in the darkness. The only thing I can truly
make out is the almost white color of her hair and the flash of something
sharp.
I
don’t know what it is about her, maybe it’s simply instinct; all I know is the
moment I see her, panic sparks in me and my feet start moving faster without my
command.
A
shriek of laughter rings out, and I can’t resist looking over my shoulder to
see her progress.
The
woman is almost completely visible in the light. The sight of her is unnerving;
the white-blonde hair she has is accompanied by crimson skin that is raised
with bumps and ridges. Her eyes are almost purely red, with flecks of white,
and protruding from her blood-red lips are at least a dozen, too big, pointed
teeth.
She
is right behind me.
I
lose my footing and crash to the ground. My hands scrape against the pebbled
street. I’ve just started to scramble up, when a set of black shoes walk into
my line of sight. I know when I look up I will see the unnatural, horrifying
face of the woman who was following me. In place of the dreadful blood-red
skin, ruby eyes and sharpened teeth, is a man.
He
offers me his hand and after a moment of hesitation I take it, letting him pull
me to my feet. “Are you all right?” he asks.
I
spin around; searching up and down the street until I’m sure the woman is
nowhere to be seen. Vanished. As if she was never there.
“There
was a woman. She was chasing me,” I say, breathing heavily. I don’t mention the
way she looked because I know how insane it would sound. “Didn’t you see her?”
He
shakes his head. He’s quite handsome, I realize, despite my fear. He has hair
that looks as if it was dipped in dark chocolate and eyes that seem to be made
of sunlight—that vibrant yellow of a cat’s eyes. And he’s tall; I have to tilt
my head back to look at him. “I only saw you, flying down the street as if your
life depended on it.”
My
life did depend on it. That much I know. “Thank you.”
He nods.
“I’m Lochan. Baines.”
“Felicity
Carmine,” I blurt. I can’t help continuing to glance around, wondering where
the woman could have gone. “I should go.”
Lochan
nods again. “Let me walk you. It’s a dangerous time of night.” He smiles, “Wouldn’t
want you to get eaten.”
I
consider which I prefer: the boy I just met, or the woman with red eyes. I
decide the former is my best bet. “Okay,” I say. “My house isn’t far.”
We
walk, silence stretched like miles between us.
“So…”
he begins hesitantly. “What’re you doing wandering around at five in the
morning?”
I
respond vaguely, some excuse about not being able to sleep. I don’t dare tell
him of my dream; no need to scare him away.
“What
about you?” I ask, glancing at him sideways as I step up onto the sidewalk.
“Work,”
he says in a clipped tone. He continues with a smirk, “That’s what she said.”
I
stop mid-step to frown at him, “Are you ten?”
We’re
standing in my front yard before I even notice. The bright blue house stands
out harshly among its peers, but somehow I never notice it until I’m almost
past it.
Lochan
smiles at me. “Maybe I’ll see you again, Felicity.”
I
nod, hoping that is the truth. For some unprecedented reason he intrigues me.
It isn’t simply because he’s stunning—though he definitely is—it’s the foreign
light in his eyes that I’ve never seen before and the way he seems… good. There
is really no other word to describe it.
Shaking
my head free of the absurd thoughts, I walk up the driveway to my house.
I
open the door to find my uncle, Evan, sitting on the couch, a book in his
hands. He frowns, “Where have you been?”
I
shake my head. I love my uncle but I’m not about to tell him about the woman. I
would rather steer clear of having him commit me to a mental hospital. “I
couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.”
He
looks slightly confused, but nods anyway. Evan is far from intrusive.
I
walk through the kitchen, narrowly missing an unpacked box sitting in the
middle of the room, and continue my journey up the stairs to my room.
My
room is behind a plain white door and I haven’t bothered with anything to
personalize it. I haven’t even finished unpacking. I don’t see a point.
I
shut the door and get ready for the first day at my newest school this year.
After much deliberation, I pull on a crisply ironed white blouse, a black
pencil skirt, and a blazer to match. I wrap my straight, chocolate hair in a
ponytail and add a subtle layer of eyeliner to my reddish-brown eyes. Eyes
that, at times, I swear are more of an eerie maroon than a true mixture of
brown and red.
I
bound down the staircase and into the kitchen where Evan sits at the recently
assembled kitchen table; his book still in one hand, as oatmeal drips into his
lap from a spoon, his mouth hunting through the air for what is now an empty
spoon. Evan is not good at multitasking.
I
smother a laugh from the hall, and he glances at me, biting down on the metal,
oblivious to the fact that the spoon is now empty.
Evan,
like me, is tall and lanky, skinny enough that people often assume we don’t
eat. He, however, has light brown eyes—genuine brown, not a brown possessed by
red—dark blond hair and deeply tanned skin—a stark opposite from my colorless
parlor.
I
sit down across from him and pass the time until I need to leave with a book of
my own.
After
a chapter, I stand up and look at my uncle, “I’m heading out.”
His
eyes flick toward me. “Breakfast,” he says with his nose back in the book.
I
grab a whole-wheat donut from the counter on my way out the front door. I call
out, “Bye,” just before the door shuts. My seventeenth birthday present sits in
the driveway: a practical little silver Honda Accord that still shines like it
did on the lot.
Remedy
is a little town in Washington that feels no shame showing its wealth. The
roads are all perfect—not a bump dare disturb them. The buildings are equally
faultless, without chips or imperfection, mostly comprised of brick and stone.
Everything in the town practically screams quality and care down to every dark
corner of every store. I am quite certain that if I ever had the desire to
check, even the sewers would smell fresh and clean.
A
sheet of snow covers the town. At the end of January—my favorite time of
year—nothing, not even the perfect pavement, is left untouched by the cold’s
icy fingers.
This
town feels like home in a way that no other city in which I have ever lived
could compare. The city we just left, in California, was a perfect example. We
stayed there for less than a month. It was one of the few times I was ever
grateful when Evan announced we were moving again. The excess of people, all
the people and the yearlong heat made southern California unbearable.
I
park my car in the Remedy High School parking lot, one of only a few cars
present because there is still half an hour until the first bell rings. Every
car looks new and expensive despite that they are all property of high school
students no older than eighteen, despite the fact that they are all too young
to afford them on their own.
I
sit in my car for a few minutes, enjoying to the classical music flowing from
my speakers, trying to avoid walking in too ridiculously early. When I do get
out of the car, the parking lot is full of stereotypical rich kids’ cars:
Mustangs, BMWs, and a few Ferraris and Lamborghinis here and there.
The
school building is made of polished marble, equally as nice as any other
building in this town. The hundreds of kids that frequent the building somehow
don’t affect its appearance. The inside still surprises me as I walk in: the
walls are an unpolluted golden color, as if they were just painted.
Honey-colored stone tile stretches in every direction beneath my feet. The
lockers are an unblemished ash shade that look as though they were installed
just yesterday. The ceilings stretch well above twenty feet curving to an arch
at the top with brilliant chandelier fixtures hanging delicately. It looks more
like a mansion than a high school.
Evan
and I came here two days ago to register, so I already have my class schedule
and everything I might require for the day to go perfectly. I walk over to my
newest locker and have hardly begun twisting the dial, when I feel a light tap
of fingers on my shoulder. I turn around swiftly, half expecting to find the
woman with red skin again.
My
eyes slowly scan downward to find the eyes of the girl before me. She is short;
I stand almost a full foot taller than her regardless of the shiny red go-go
boots she’s sporting. The boots seemed to be some far-fetched attempt to match
the rainbow-striped dress she has on, which does actually have one tiny red
stripe hidden among the other blinding colors. One of which is teal, another
reach to match the teal jacket she wears.
Her
light brown hair is pinned up in a disarrayed bun, hair sticking out at all
sides as though she woke up this morning and didn’t even bother with a brush
before tying it into its chaotic knot. Fuchsia and cobalt streaks run through,
causing the rest of the jumble of colors to match even less.
It
takes substantial effort to keep myself from sneering at her, but seeing the
warmth in her smile erases the desire.
“You’re
the new girl, right?” she asks in an animated voice that is a hair’s breadth
away from being annoyingly high-pitched.
I
frown, “Yeah.” I wonder how small this school must be if she already picked me
out of the crowded hall as the “new girl”.
She
nods, though clearly she already knew, “I’m Liberty.”
“Felicity,”
I say. I expect her to leave then. She doesn’t, instead opting to invade my
personal space.
“This
is my locker,” she says pointing to the metal box nearby. I nod, unsure of what
it should mean to me.
“If
you want, I can help you find your way around today,” and when I don’t
immediately accept, she hurriedly adds, “only if you want, of course.”
I’m
not sure how to decline without sounding rude and, although I’m sure I can
manage without a guide, it won’t hurt. I agree and offer my appreciation.
She
grins and finally retreats to her own locker, which is so messy I am surprised
half of the contents aren’t vomited onto the floor. I grab the few things I’ll
need for my first class from my bag, and make sure that the rest of my locker
is organized perfectly. I turn around to find Liberty has resumed her spot
behind me. My heart jumps; I expected she would take longer finding her things
in that chaos.
“Sorry,”
she says. I start walking down the hall and she skips into step with me. “You
just moved to Remedy, right?”
“Yeah.
My uncle and I got in a couple days ago,” I say, bored. Everyone asks that same
question, no matter where I go.
“Yeah?
Where from?”
“California,”
I say, leaving out the other fourteen states I could mention: Georgia,
Michigan, New York, and so on.
“California?
Really? You meet any celebrities?” she asks, eagerly.
I
shake my head, “I wasn’t really looking.”
Liberty
looks at me with confusion, as if wondering ‘who wouldn’t look for celebrities
in California’. Instead, she says, “That’s too bad. Anyhow, what class do you
have first?”
I
consult my schedule. “English with Mrs. Johnson.”
“Lucky!
She’s a pushover and you can get away with almost anything.”
I’m
at a loss for words; this girl is far too enthusiastic and cheerful. I honestly
don’t know what to say to her. So I say nothing.
She
doesn’t seem to mind; she apparently, is an advocate of questions. “So, what’s
with the business wear?” she asks, waving a hand at me to encompass my clothes.
I glare but she continues, “Yeah, I know, I’m one to talk about clothing
choice. But you dress like you’re thirty.”
I
bristle and turn on her with annoyance. “I look respectable in them. Most
people won’t treat you like you’re some immature child if you don’t make the
impression you are one. If you didn’t wear clothes that look like they
were picked out by a three year old who likes pretty colors, people may
treat you with respect.”
She
raises her hands in surrender, as if there was a gun pointed at her. “Personally,
I don’t care what people think of me. And I didn’t mean to offend; I just
thought it was odd.”
“Yeah,
well, you don’t hear me mentioning your rainbows.”
I
figure that with that she’d storm away and leave me alone, instead she laughs, “Touché.
Anyhow, this is your class. What do you have for second?”
I
turn back to my schedule. “Physics, with Mr. Wright.”
“Awesome,
me too. I can swing by after my class, so you don’t get lost.”
I
shake my head. “No. I’m sure I can find my way around. Thanks anyway.” When she
still doesn’t leave, I say, “I’ll see you in Physics.”
“Yeah,
great.” She smiles and turns away, practically skipping down the hall.
“Great,”
I say to myself. She seems too nice, and I have a hard time believing the
sincerity isn’t a ruse. I’ve met my share of fake, insincere girls throughout
the many different high schools I’ve been to, but Liberty doesn’t fit in that
category with them. She’s just strange.
I
head into my book-filled English classroom. An older looking woman with
glasses—who I assume is Mrs. Johnson—sits on a stool in the front of the room. “You
must be Felicity,” she says.
I
try not to look at the room full of students, knowing they are all judging and
making assumptions of me. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Take
a seat anywhere you’d like.”
I do
as she says, finding a seat at the front of the room next to a tiny girl who
manages not to stare at me like I’m a dead frog under a microscope. Five
minutes later, I’ve managed to immerse myself in my favorite distraction:
school. It’s always a guaranteed way to shut off the part of your brain that
likes to obsess over the problems you can’t find an answer to.
From the outside, it isn’t noticeable how ridiculously
complex the school actually is, maybe that was why Liberty was so adamant about
helping me find my way around today. I
regret turning down her offer. I have barely been at Remedy High for an
hour and I’m already lost. I have only three minutes left to get to a class
that—for all I know—could be on the opposite side of the school. Reading the
room numbers is like trying to read Greek, and I’m on the verge of ripping my
hair out. I’m trying to find room 108 and I found 152, 34 and then 90—not in a
pattern that makes a sliver of sense. I feel helpless and I hate the feeling
more than anything.
I
turn around to trace my steps back to the front office to get directions, only
to come face-to-face with a boy. He’s tall and a little on the skinny side, but
cute. He has short brown hair in a spiked mess and kind yet dark eyes.
He
frowns at me, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Are you new?”
“Yeah.
Actually, I’m kind of lost,” I admit, trying to hide my embarrassment. “You
wouldn’t know where Mr. Wright’s Physics class is, would you?”
“Yeah,
sure. It’s this way,” he says, starting down the hall, without glancing back to
ensure I’m following.
“That’s
okay,” I say, though I have no problem with him walking me there, if for no
other reason than so I don’t get lost again. Dignity, be damned. “I don’t want
to make you late for class. I’d be eternally grateful if you’d just give me
directions.”
He
turns to face me but doesn’t stop moving, walking backwards through the mostly
empty hall. “No worries, my class is across the hall from it.”
“Okay,
thank you. You’re a life saver.”
“Anytime.
You said you’re new?” he asks.
I’m
tempted to tell him no, just to see the bumbling idiot he’d turn into. But no,
I won’t tease my savior. “Yeah. I’m Felicity.”
“Nick.
Ward.” He arrives at the doorway labeled 108, holding his hand out as if he
were showcasing the room, “And this would be your class.”
“Thank
you so much,” I say with a sigh of relief. I push open the classroom door
just as the bell rings. Guilt spreads through me knowing Nick is late because
he helped me.
“You
must be Felicity. Have a seat,” the teacher says, without looking up from what
he is writing on the whiteboard.
The
room is filled with rows of desks occupied by students that I would never think
of going to this fashion-minded school. Liberty stands out among these students
surprisingly more than the rest of the school. She enthusiastically waves me
over. I take the seat beside her, offering her a wan smile.
“Hey!”
she says over the cacophony of the other students. “I must have missed you at
the lockers. You get lost?” she asks sympathetically, as if she knows the
truth.
“No,”
I lie.
She
nods but her eyes hold doubt. Before she can say anything else—which even with
the little amount of time that I’ve known her, I know she will—Mr. Wright calls
attention to himself and begins his lecture.
I
made it through three classes without killing anyone, but history pushes me a
little too far. As soon as the bell rings, I’m out of my seat and out the door.
History has never been able to hold my interest. But being that it is my last
class before lunch, time seems to crawl by slower than a turtle.
The
cafeteria is easy to find, I just have to follow the horde of students. I still
feel like an idiot for not being able to find my Physics class, but Liberty
told me that with all the expansions the school has done, the room numbers aren’t
in any order. That, in addition to the fact that the school is gigantic because
it is very well funded, makes the school like a maze.
The
cafeteria is a nice surprise; the room is large, with plenty of students, but
not filled to the brim with them. What shocks me most is the furniture. The
tables are real wooden tables, and the chairs are plush and cushioned leather.
To the right of the doors is a line of people getting lunch and the food served
is real, not the same crappy cafeteria food that I’ve become accustomed to.
Remedy High is more like a private school than a public school, except without
the uniforms and tuition.
After
I grab my lunch from the line, I scan the tables for Liberty. I figure that
sitting with her would be better than being labeled a freak for sitting alone.
I’ve stopped in the middle of the room to search for her, but before my eyes
can find the rainbow colored girl, I feel the unmistakable presence of someone
standing directly behind me.
“No
one told me the new girl was hot,” a voice says into my ear, his hot breath on
my neck.
I
turn around with a start, backing up a step in the process. The guy’s voice is
deep and seductive, but his voice has nothing on his looks. He’s taller than me
by quite a few inches and he has an athlete’s build—that lean kind of muscle
that is defined but not in a body-builder sort of way. His straight ash-blond
hair is a stark contrast to the black tee and gray jeans he’s wearing. His hair
falls just short of his eyes, and oh, those eyes. They’re hypnotizing—a dark,
metallic silver that peer at me in a way that makes me feel exposed. A devilish
smirk on his lips makes me question the statement about me being hot.
He’s
absolutely stunning and there’s this arrogant glint in his eyes that leaves no
doubt in my mind that he knows it too.
Instead
of sputtering out something ridiculous, as I’m sure he expects me to—I have a
feeling that’s what a lot of girls would have done if they were in my position—I
ask deadpan, “You hit on all the new girls, or is it my lucky day?”
He
smiles, his smile is as brilliant as his looks, and surprise flashes in his
eyes. Brief, but there. “I hit on all the girls, babe, not just the new ones.
You have a name, beautiful?”
“Not
one I’ll be sharing with you,” I say. A spark of joy fills me upon seeing the
look of outward shock on his face. I’m sure he’s never been denied what he’s
asked for in the past, but I’m not dumb and it’s obvious he’s not a serious guy
with good intentions.
“Ouch,”
he says, his hand to his heart, clearly not actually hurt. He probably thinks I’m
playing hard to get. “It’s just a name, darling. I can always get it elsewhere,
you know. I doubt it’s a very well kept secret.” His tone challenges me.
“Felicity,”
I say, a sharpness to my own name. I’m not sure what about him angers me so
much, but the arrogance, to start, is infuriating.
“Felicity,”
he repeats, rolling it around on his tongue, testing it out in a way that makes
me wish I hadn’t told him. “I’m Kellan. Come sit with me today.”
“No,”
I say, without even a pause to consider it. There is no need.
He
raises his eyebrows and I want nothing more than to slap the smirk off his
lips. “You’ve only just met me. What could I have done to make you hate me
already?”
“You
haven’t done a thing and I’m going to make sure it stays that way.” I turn my
back on him and walk away, resuming my search for Liberty.
She
sits, gawking at me a few tables from where I stand. I take the empty seat
beside her. There’s only one other person at the table—a small girl with short
brown hair, dark eyes and tan skin.
Liberty
says nothing when I sit down; she just stares at me.
“What?”
I ask, annoyance reflecting in my voice.
“That
was Kellan Croix, and he was talking to you. It’s every girls dream to talk to
him, just so they can gaze into those beautiful silver eyes without seeming
stalker-like. And you... you blew him off,” Liberty says, and it looks as if
her jaw is ready to snap it’s hinge.
I
roll my eyes. “He’s an arrogant jerk. I thought blowing him off might deflate
his ego, which is already the size of this school.”
Liberty
blinks rapidly. “You are truly one of a kind,” she says, not in a good way.
This is coming from the girl who probably spent five hundred dollars on a dress
so original not even a homeless person would be thankful to wear it.
“Thank
you. I wouldn’t want to be just another brainless fool, falling for some random
guy I don’t know simply because he’s a little good-looking.”
Liberty
stares at me for a few moments as if she was trying to see if I was actually
brain-dead or even blind. “He is not a little good-looking.” She glances at the
table Kellan invited me to. There are more than a dozen people squeezed into
the table that should have sat no more than six. He says something and every
girl at the table giggles. Really high pitched, pathetic giggles that makes me
wonder if they have even an ounce of brain matter left in their heads. Not one
of them acts as if they know he’s playing them all, at the exact same time. “He
is model gorgeous. Godly, even. And it doesn’t hurt that his dad has more money
than anyone else in Remedy, and that’s saying something,” she says in a dreamy
voice, which makes me wonder if she is any different than the giggling
airheads.
I
scoff, “So it’s about the money then. I understand now. No. No, I don’t.
Liberty, listen to me, he’s not a good guy, it’s obvious he just uses girls. It’s
an insult to your species to act so smitten.”
She
looks at me oddly for a moment. “Oh my god, you’re so lying! You do like him!”
I
frown, wondering how the hell she got to that conclusion. Was she mistaking my
disgust for something like attraction? How could those two even be mistaken? “Look
I’ve seen many guys like him. They’re all the same—they think that because they’re
hot and have girls fawning over them, they can be complete jackasses. No one
can be that beautiful on the outside without hiding something hideous on the
inside. And he’s too striking to be even halfway decent,” I say, growing tired
of the conversation. I glance at his table again, but instead of talking to the
other girls like he was before; he’s looking at me. When I meet his eyes, he
winks, a knowing smile on his lips.
I
send him a glare before turning back around, sure that my cheeks are flaming
red.
Also Available on iTunes under "The Torment of Shadows"
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