Fall of Hope (Book 1): Real Heroes Don't Wear Capes (34 page)

Is
this guy the same one who emailed me?

As
his face rises in an awkward smile, Bobby can see dimples forming
above his cheeks. Then, they shift higher and his hair changes from
shaved sides to raven locks. The hair drops over his pointy ears, and
the face transforms into softer features.

A
detailed scar runs down the right cheek from the forehead, under the
slight blush. Despite this blemish, the woman looks mystical and
important, but he can find nothing in his memory to put a name to
this face.

“
Rithica
comes from a different world to yours.”

Rithica?

Over
the arch of both shoulders are delicate wings that rise above her
head and past her slender frame. They spread past the curve of her
hips and buttocks and curl with seduction at the ends, and Bobby
finds a heated blush rushing over his complexion.

The
next figure to appear is a girl around the same age as him, perhaps a
year above or below. She is the most beautiful thing Bobby believes
he has ever witnessed—far more enchanting than any girl from
the school down the road from his own.

More
than Stacy Stockman.

Beneath
the ocean blue orbs, she has a pointy, petite nose that crinkles
slightly as she locks eyes with him. Hers are as intense as troubled
waves within a storm. The idea that touching her could leave him
drowning chokes him in the seconds before she changes. A deep
fluctuation claims his heart and the air seems to suck out from the
lungs he no longer possesses. Yet, that makes her all the more
enticing. He cannot explain the sensation because he has experienced
nothing to compare these feelings to. If love feels half the way this
does, then he will endure it.

For
her.

“
Aiofe
Wakefield, a troubled teen like yourself.” The emotionless
whisper breaks into a dry laugh.

“
Aiofe?”
Bobby tastes the name in his mouth and cannot help feeling a
connection to her, despite having never met.

The
long blonde waves shorten into a cropped mound above a face that
looks like the beauty before. Perhaps these two siblings, he thinks.

Brother
and sister.

The
feeling isn't accompanied by the harsh dismissal he felt with the
artist and the green eyed man, but it's strong.

“
Logan.
You may be wise to watch out for him,” the voice mutters again.
Only, Bobby suspects there is a hint of humour laced within it this
time.

His
long legs bend at the knees like the girl before, but they are more
muscular and covered in thin, brown wisps. His eyes match hers, but
there is something more distilling about them he cannot stand looking
at. A soft beating settles over his floating spirit as he wants to
understand this, but is not allowed.

The
next is a man that would fit into a superhero comic, or perhaps a
game Danny owns. His face distorts, covered in a strange, science
fiction style mask. The mask continues into a full body suit that
clings tight to his skin. The material defines each muscle in his
chest and abdominal area, clings to the undeniable bulge and travels
down to meaty thighs and calves.

“
Redfuss
Bailey.”

Bobby
has seen similar mask in ninja films, but it varies at the face. The
mask protrudes at the mouth area where there's a breathing apparatus.
Rubber stretches across the neck which tubes hang from, curled over
the muscular shoulders. As the man's chest heaves, the coloured
patterns on the black pulsate and move.

A
lime green talisman, or occult symbol is on his chest. The green and
yellow stripes run down each arm and leg and disappear under thick
laced boots. His gloves cover any skin that might otherwise expose at
the wrists, or hands.

The
silver eyes are the only visible glimpse of the human lurking behind
the disguise. Spirals of the same colours form inside the shimmering
metal eyes which spin rapidly in vomit inducing movements.

Then,
a face he recognises replaces the guy. Bobby cannot fathom how it can
be, so his mind only offers confused reasoning for the occurrence.

I
controlled him.

Without
graphics, the new, inky-haired male is lifelike.

Forrest
Gunner.

“
But
he's a character.” Despite having no lips, Bobby's words
encompass the surrounding air.

The
figure rips open and constructs a new shape altogether. Blood and
bone rearranges and skin peels back. It wraps back around a different
form much the way he would imagine a human
Transformer
to
change. Material collects from thin air to create a hood over a
chiselled face with crimson eyes poking out from the darkness.

Red
liquid pours over the bottom lids and drips from the curved chin.
When the moisture sucks back up into the tears ducts, it leaves
trails where it was.

The
eyes he is seeing now has no pupils, or irises but a pearl sheen. The
blood is no longer anywhere in sight which doesn't surpise Bobby in
the slightest.

Gage.

“
How?”

The
vacant expression only appears to have emotion when the corners of
his mouth curl, then he fades. His body doesn't crumble, but becomes
tiny particles in a silent explosion that the breeze sweeps away.

Then
he is falling. His bare ass slams against ground, causing a mild
pain, but he has no time to make anything of it as the lonely place
he left roars back into life.

The
scent of fire and smouldering flesh travels up his nostrils, creating
a fierce burn. The harsh metal and sweat stench mingles with the
other hideous smells and intrudes into his mouth. The bitter tang has
him jumping to his feet without registering his movements.

The
darkness has lifted, but it doesn't help to brighten the place. No
one is here over the abandoned beach, but he can see the silhouette
of the fairground still in the distance.

What
is a fairground doing here, anyway?

No
castles are upon the ground now. Instead, the breeze laps the sand
into life, blowing miniature storms around him.

The
sky growls in contempt as light tosses itself through the clouds in
irritated bursts. The sound echoes around him and intensifies,
spreading over the land until Bobby has no choice but to use his
hands as a shield against his ears.

The
ground giggles and pulses under his wrinkled toes as he glances
around him, expecting something larger than himself to be treading
the land. Yet, he can spot no one.

“
Hello,
is there anybody here?”

Behind
the chaos of noise and scents violating his senses, he can hear
something else. Bobby closes his eyes and strains to hear over the
world's voices.

This
is not my world, but i
t's
real. It's no place any human being has gone before. This is
something else—a place I no longer wish to be.

Thousands
of voices overlap in screams, heavy breathing, gasps and grunts.
Metal connects with metal, guns fire in the distance and explosions
ravage somewhere unseen within the darkness.

He
hears bodies crumbling to the ground. Thier suffering strikes his
heart, and he jolts back from each blow. Implements embed guts and
tear away flesh to leave a gruesome sight within his mind. Entrails
spill along the shore, followed swiftly by cries and groans as though
he is really witnessing the destruction. Blood pisses from gaping
holes with brain particles and stained teeth falling over bloodied
limbs. Sweat riddled hair and fluids matte together as the pleading
and begging continues. Open, glazed eyes stare into the sky above
heads that no longer have bodies.

Bobby
removes his hands, then pleads for this terrible encounter to stop.

With
the ground trembling, he tries to escape over the thick mounds, but
falls to his knees. The grains dig through his flesh like miniature
spearheads, causing him to grit his teeth and growl. Waves crash, not
from the side, but from all angles now. Yet, he can see none of it as
he turns and looks.

The
clouds grumble and flashes of light shine down in places, but from
where he cannot be sure. When he climbed the cliffs while holding
Benji's hand on holiday, they watched the sun poke through the clouds
to reflect on the liquid surface below. This reminds him of that,
only it's more like somebody is shining a torch in his eyes while his
conscious self is in the throes of a dream world.

Or
perhaps a coma, or memory sequence.

Feathered
wings flutter inside his head. Many beaks break into noisy
conversation above the warm rays like any other day at the beach. For
a second, he can feel the sand particles spreading across his eyelids
as he blinks in lazy creases. As soft air shifts past him, he can
almost believe he is back in childhood until the sensation is cruelly
ripped away.

In
its place, the dull despair returns in the form of another dream.
Wooden crosses poke up from the ground with trails of blood lacing
the surface between them. Bobby glimpses the swatch of cloth attached
to one cross as the breeze tugs it into the air.

When
he glances over his body, he sees the gaping holes within his flesh
where blood oozes from, but he has no recollection of receiving the
wounds. His fingers dart toward the first at his gut, and when he
withdraws, liquid coats his tips. As he trembles, a weak squeal
escapes his mouth and black spores form within his vision.

The
march of hooves slap along the ground somewhere behind him, followed
by venomous screams.

As
he stares back up, his curls fall forward over his worried eyes. He
tries to walk, but can only stumble a little way before he falls
forward into the darkness that lies behind everything else in
existence.

•

A
loud thud shakes Bobby from the dream and has him on his feet in an
instant. The modest blanket spills to the floor as he glares into the
darkness, confused to why he is in the front room.

As
he listens to the house, he believes his mother has tumbled from his
bed because the sound came from above the dining table. Even as he
stands still, the ceiling lamp trembles.

Yet,
as the sound comes again with ragged and restrained cries, he leaps
past the coffee table and speeds out the door where the glass is
still missing.

The
front door sits ajar, but he doesn't notice as he takes the stairs
two at a time. As he bounds through his bedroom door, he is not
prepared for the sight that greets him.

“
Mum?”

He
grimaces and shields his eyes from the harsh light that casts a dull
yellow shade within the modest space. As he pulls his hands down, he
notices the little things first because the most difficult sights are
too much to handle.

His
bedding has spilled over the mattress and sprawls along the carpet
and rug. The lamp dangles from the wire and the dusty shade has come
loose and fallen on its side on the carpet. Wet mud footprints smudge
into the green and travel all the way to his bed cover. The shape is
the partial outline of a boot heel which reminds him of an umbrella,
although it doesn't resemble one in the slightest.

His
desk chair now faces the far wall where it sits aside, tugging the
curtain closed in a haphazard manner. The keyboard reveals a thin
layer of dust where it was stationary for a while, but has now moved.
The papers within his notebooks lie scattered over the floor where
his books have taken a tumble.