Dark Calling (6 page)

She moves across the floor.  Stops at the vanity.  Runs a hand ac
ross the silver handled brush.  T
here is a matching mirror that
look
s
very old
.  She continues on to the door.  It’s
thick, a detailed design engraved
into the frame.  Keely is taken aback by the artistic beauty.  Everything in this room is elegant and alluring.  She reaches for the dark handle.  Hesitates for only a second.  Turns the knob.  T
he door creaks as old doors
do.  Keely holds her breath and i
s
blinded by the brightness of
white light.
  She blinks several times.  Sees spots before her
as if someone took her picture with the flash on.  She blinks several more times.  Something moves beyond the green circles blocking her vision.  She turns her head, but the rings follow.  She takes a ste
p back.  Blinks again
.  Her vision begins to clear.  Someone stands before her.  Squinting, she can see it’s a man.  She
takes another step back.  H
its something hard, solid.  Whirls around.  There was a door.  Now there is only wall.  A brightly colored mural of a wall.  She has no time to admire it.  She pivots on her heel in an about face. 

The man is moving.  Coming
slowly toward her.  She puts
her hands
up
, palms out.  “Stop.”  Her voice is not
as
strong as she
hoped it wou
ld be.  However, it’s enough to stop the man
.  She uses one hand to shield
her eyes.  It’s like he’s standing in front of the headlights of a car.  She can’t distinguish his features.  “Who are you?  Where am I?”

“There are no words in the human language to name me.”  His voice is the absolute most enchanting sound she has ever heard.  It leaves her feeling satisfied in a disconcerting way. 

“I don’t understand.  Everyone has a name.”  She clears her throat nervously.  He laughs.  It’s enticing.  Keely almost wants to move closer.  Almost.

“I am named, but it is not in words.  It’s much like y
our name, Keely, means
beautiful.
”

His voice rings in the air between them.  She shivers at the magnificence of the pure sound.
  Her heart pounds fiercely.  There’s a whisper in her memory. 
My Keely.  My beautiful.

“My name means so much
…
more.  I h
ope someday it is
vocable.  I would much enjoy
hearing
it spoken from your lips.”

Tears spill from Keely’s eyes.  She is trembling uncontrollably.  Her teeth even chatter, though she is not cold.  She is frozen by her fear.  Nick’s voice taunts her. 
I find it intriguing that a girl who doesn’t seem to be afraid of anything…

She is scared of
everything.

She is terrified of the man in front of her.

“
You must learn not to fear me, Keely.  I will give you whatever you want.  I will be whoever you want.  My Keely.  My child.”

My Keely.  My beautiful.

“Stay away from me.  I want to leave.  I want to go home.”  She feels the panic taking over.  She can’t seem to get enough air.

“
This
is your home, Keely.”  He takes a step.  Keely listens for the distinct sound of his footsteps.  She hears nothing.  His movements are silent.

“Please, don’t come any closer.  I just want to go.  Please.”

“Why put off the inevitable
my dear?”
  He is close enough to touch her.  He smells sweet.  Like mint and flowers.  He extends his arm.

Keely turns her face away.  “Let me go.”  Her voice is demanding.  “That’s what I want.  You said you’d give me whatever I wanted.  Let me go home.  Now.”

His hand strokes her cheek, feather light.  His skin is smooth, soft, and icy cold.  “Of course.”  He moves his lips close to her ear.  Even his breath is frigid as it blows against her hair.  “Understand that I can bring you back here anytime I wish.” 
His hand moves over her hair, pushes it
off her shoulder.  Slides down her arm.  “I will not be kept waiting.”

Keely squeezes her eyes until they hurt.  The only sound is
of her breathing.  Deep and stea
dy.  She o
pens her eyes to darkness.  J
umps, startled.  Blurry eyes focus on a class room.  She peers around, confused. 
A room full of sleeping students.  All but one.  Nick Wallace glances in her direction.  Looks surprised to see her looking back at him.  Features morph to ones of concern.  Keely looks away.  She doesn’t want his concern.  Must he be in all of her classes?  Now that she thinks of it, he was in pretty much all of her classes last year too.  She doesn’t recall him stalking her though.  Maybe she just wasn’t as aware of him as she is now.  The only reason she noticed him at all was because Farah made fun of him.  Farah.  Ugh.  Her stomach churns at the thought of her.  A
t the recollection of what she said.  Maybe sa
id.  Maybe that was a dream too.

Keely pulls a
notebook and pencil from her back pack.  B
egins sketching
the room in her dream from her angle on the bed.
 
With each smooth stroke of her pencil, the stress of the day melts away.
  Each flick of her wrist holds
the fear a
t b
ay.
Her hand moves effortlessly with such speed it blurs.  Most of her etching is slightly out of focus and heavily shadowed because that’s how she remembers it.
She sharpens her pencil fiercely.  T
ears another page, pencils the profile of the ma
n.  Shadows in his face, smudges it with her finger tip.  Rips out another sheet of paper.  Draws the
room from another perspective
.  She’s careful to include the detail of the bedding.  Her hand works savagely.  Something pushing her forward.  An undeniable urge to get the images from her head to the paper.  She yanks
out
another piece of paper. 
Sharpens her pencil again. 
Etches the door. 
The door that led to the man.  The man that frightens her. 
She concentrates.  She doesn’t want to muddle the
elaborate design that had been carved into the dark wooden frame.  She could never have dreamt that detail.

The bell rings.  Keely
is tired of bells.  The school day is almost over.  Only a couple more bells until she can go home.  She grips the sketches in her hand as she heads to the door.  Drops them over the trash.  Wa
tches them float slowly down.  She moves into the hallway and n
early walks into Bryon.

“Hey.  Where you at last period?”

Keely can’t remember for a moment.  For a moment, her head is full of the beautiful room.  “Art,” she says quietly.  She clears her throat.  “Art,” she says again.  This time she is
excited.  She r
emembers her
love
for
art.  Smiles.

“I’m in the opposite direction.  I’ll talk to you later.  Wait for me after though.”

“I’ll meet you by the front doors.”

“O.k
.  See ya later.”

Keely
waves.  She is gliding, moving quickly
down the hallway.  Feels h
appy for the first time today.

She finds an empty table in the back of
the art room and takes a seat.  Before she ca
n drop her bag, the chair across from
her grinds across the floor.  She looks up to a set of dark eyes.
  Deep brown eyes. 
The same eyes from earlier. 
Eyes so dark, it’s
difficult to distinguish
the pupil from the iris.  Unable to look away, Keely is mesmerized with the frightening beauty.  The closer she looks, the mo
re she sees.  The halo of brown that is
the color
of coff
ee grounds.  The thick black las
hes framing the eyes.  The
creas
e in the surrounding barely sun-kissed
skin. 

Keely’s eyes follow the bridge of his finely shaped nose, down to the smooth inviting lips.  Hover there.  Reluctantly
move on.  Trail down the strong
smooth chin
.  Rest on the thick and lengthy neck.  The lump of his
Adam’s apple.  She takes in the broad shoulders that are obviously well sculpted, even covered
by the soft black tee-shirt.  Her gaze m
o
ves on, gliding down the chiseled
chest.  Stops.  Glares at the table in her way.  Begins the trip back up.  Ends back where she started.  His eyes. 

“I want to draw you.”  She says it before she can stop herself.  Feels her cheeks burn.

“Excuse me?”  His voice is
rhythmic.  Deeper than she expected.

“Nothing,” she chirps.  She waves her hand more times than is necessary.

He laughs quietly.  “Did you ask to draw me?”
  He runs his finge
rs thoughtlessly through a
mane
of
silky
hair
the color of honey. 

Her back pack slips from her fingers.  Thumps to the floor.  She plays with her nails.  They have chipped black polish on them.  “I said I want to.  You have a nice bone structure.”
  She tries to play it off as if she were merely looking at him with an artist’s enthusiasm.  It is art class, after all.  Right?

His eyebrows crinkle.

“I don’t know what we’re doing.  I doubt we’
re starting a project today, but I mean, when we do.
”  He looks at her as if he is missing a piece to a puzzle. 
Like she has somehow confused his senses. 
Keely loses herself in his eyes again.  Her head tilting slightly to the right.

The slap of a binder hitting the table beside her causes her to jump.  S
he glowers
at the intruder.  Her eyes shrinking to slits as she sees Nick sit down.
  She shakes her head in exasperation.

“O.k.  This is just getting
weird.  Are you really in every single one of my classes?”

Nick ignores her.  He is staring at dark eyes.  No.  He is scowling.
  Keely looks back and forth between them.  She can almost hear the whistling music from the showdown scene in an old western movie
.  She is about to ask what’s going on
when the crawling begins beneath her skin.  It cuts her off before she c
an make a sound.  Her hands clamp down on
the table.  Squeeze it tightly.  A squeak escap
es between her lips as
the flesh on her arms bubble with movement.  Something rolls under her skin.  Pushes through her veins.  It burns.  Her eyes bulge in disbelief. 
Nick’s hand finds her
s
.  Pries her grasp from the art table.  Tugs.  She gazes up at him.  Doesn’t understand what he wants.

Dark eyes is beside her.  Takes her other hand.  Pulls her the other way.  Her head swings in his direction.

“Let.  Her.  Go.”  Nick’s voice comes out fierce.  It scares Keely.  Da
rk eyes smiles wickedly.

He lowers his face so that it is directly in front of hers.  She forgets the slither
ing in her blood.  Forgets she’
s scared.  Forgets everything. 

“Keely, you need to come with me,” Nick says from somewhere far away.  She blinks.  Turns her head slowly. 

“Nick?”

Dark eyes
clinches her wrist.  Pain radiates through her arm.  That arm is not in the best shape.  Scar tissue.  The scar feels icy.  The scar remembers. 
He allows Keely to pull free, but
puts his lips right to her ear.  Cool air whispers against the skin there.  “You c
an’t fight it forever.
”

Nick yanks her to her feet.  Shoves her book bag at her.  Propels her through the door.  All Keely can think is that she is missing the only class she looked forward to all day.

Nick doesn’t stop pushing her until they are outside of the school.  She trips on the concrete step.  Falls forward.  Catches herself with her palms.  They are bleeding.  Nick tugs her by the arm.  Stands her up and sta
rts with the shoving
again.  The creeping in her veins is gone.  She whirls.  Hits him with
her back p
ack, surprising
him
.  She lifts the b
ag to hit him again.  He
takes it from her
easily
.

“Stop it, Keely.”

She turns to run, but he has her arm.  “I said stop.”

“Let go of me.”  Her voice has no emotion.  She knows with certainty she is dreaming again.  This just cannot possibly be happening.  Not to her.  Not in real life.  Her eyes bore into Nick’s.  There are flecks of so many different colors.  They’re pretty.  She hates them.