Paradox - Progeny Of Innocence (bk2) (Paradox series) (12 page)

"Hey, man, this is my party. You go find ya own," the old man slurred as he kicked his worn, boot-clad foot out at Caleb.

Long yellow talons began to protrude from their fingernails. Caleb’s first, then Lyssa’s and Theria’s.

"What the hell is goin on here, man?" he asked, struggling to push himself up off the ground with one hand, the other still clutching the bourbon bottle firmly around the neck. Amber fluid spilled out of the bottle and onto the sand. "Now look what ya made me do, ya little shit!"

Theria grabbed the man around his throat and lifted him effortlessly up off the ground. Her talons ripped deep into his wrinkled flesh. His blood-curdling cry was quickly extinguished as she squeezed his throat tighter. His eyes rolled back grotesquely into unseeing sockets, exposing just the whites of his eyes. He struggled and shook violently in an effort to break free. His free hand scraped at Theria’s hand in a vain attempt to loosen her stronghold grip. He let go of his grasp on the bottle, letting it fall to the ground below his dangling feet. The glass bottle crashed on the rocks and exploded into shards of razor sharp pieces of glass. Urine ran down his dirty trouser leg, over his boot and mixed with the bourbon seeping quickly into the dry sand.

A shimmering bright arc of electricity crackled up through Theria’s talons, making the blood vessels in her arms and throat glow black as she drained the living soul out of this man’s body. His legs jerked spasmodically and fell still. She bit into him then, and drank from his veins. The warm blood and raw flesh were pungent and sweet on her tongue. She had missed this, she thought, as she satisfied her hunger.

Lyssa and Caleb joined in. Their talons tore through his clothing and sliced into him, draining him of the last of his soul. Then they, too, bit into him and drained him of his remaining blood. Then fed on him like hungry beasts, tearing the flesh from his bones. A trickle of blood oozed from his torn, lifeless limbs, pooling with the urine and alcohol that were swiftly being absorbed by the sand.

This man’s life, for better or for worse, was over. Every living experience learnt during this soul’s lifetimes, good and bad, would now be forever lost.

A son working in a remote Queensland medical clinic would never know what had become of his father. His father had been a hero, saving the lives of soldiers during a war fought in the dense jungles of Vietnam.

He had been equipped to fight those enemies, the Vietcong, before a bullet tore through his chest and sent him home on a stretcher in 71. However, these enemies were spawned by a being so evil that they were impossible to comprehend or defeat. No human was prepared for this enemy, no matter how strong.

Caleb wiped the man’s blood off his mouth and picked up a brown leather wallet that lay on the ground beside one of the man’s dirty old boots. He flipped the wallet open. Lyssa peered over Caleb’s shoulder and read the name on the expired driver's license. "James Holiday. Born January the first, 1945."

"Get rid of it. Toss it in the ocean, Caleb," Theria said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her overdue appetite satisfactorily quenched.

Caleb flicked the wallet out of his hand and watched as it skipped across the surface of the water before falling open. A dog-eared photograph of a boy and his father blew out of the wallet and floated on the gentle rise and fall of the ocean waves. Rays of the morning sunlight reflected off the water, illuminating the old photograph for one last time before father and son began their final descent into the dark watery abyss below.

A swarm of fanatical ants, along with an artillery of leisurely moving hermit crabs, maneuvered their way over the remains of James Holiday's torn and broken body. Too slow, Theria mused. "Caleb," she said. "Call in your beasts to clean up this mess."

"Of course," Caleb said as he let a blood-curdling howl escape from his lips. Further down the tree-lined beach sounded a howling reply as two, and then five beasts began pounding their way along the beach toward them. A blast of powdery white sand erupted from the impact of their massive paws as they ran.

By the time the beasts arrived at their destination to destroy any remaining evidence of the brutal massacre, Theria, Lyssa and Caleb had spirited along the beach in the opposite direction, and had all but vanished.

A small group of friends dressed in blue nurse's uniforms sat around a long patio table, laughing.

A man stood. "Well, that was a hell of a shift, and I for one am glad it’s over. Anybody else need a refill while I’m up?" he asked, as he pushed himself up from the table.

Various requests were made, but the man did not respond, did not move.

"Mike, you okay? A woman asked, touching his arm softly. She frowned, "Mike?" she asked again. But he didn't hear her voice. It was a man’s voice that he heard, urgent and demanding.

"Run, run, run Mikey!" a man’s voice called out.

So Mikey ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. His chest heaved as he dragged in breaths between clenched teeth. His heart pounded loudly in his ears. He looked around to see someone close behind him. Too close, he thought, so he ran even faster. He ran so fast the muscles in his legs burned. Further back he saw more closing in.

"Come on, Mikey, run!"

He put his head down and ran, only ten meters to go, he could do it. He turned around again; the gap between them was getting smaller. He ran harder, faster. He could see the line drawing closer. He threw his arms up in the air as he crossed the line. He had done it! The crowd cheered and clapped. He stopped still for a moment as they put a ribbon around his neck. His chest heaved as he pulled air into his lungs. Then he ran over to a man wearing an Australian army uniform. He was smiling and clapping the loudest.

"I won, Dad!" the boy whooped, grinning up at his father.

"That’s my boy," the uniformed man said kneeling down to his son. "I knew you could do it, Mikey, you’re my little champion!"

"Can I take your picture for five dollars, Mr Holiday?" a young girl asked. "We’re raising money for new sports equipment."

"Sure thing," the man replied standing up and putting his arm around his son, his face awash with pride.

A bright flash as the instamatic camera lens captured the picture of a man and his son. The camera whirred, and seconds later a square piece of hard paper rolled out into her hand.

She fanned the white cardboard square in the air. "Won’t be long, Mr Holiday, it’ll just take a second," she said, fanning it some more until colors, then faces began to appear. "That’s a great picture, Mr Holiday. You look very handsome in your uniform," she said, handing him the photograph.

"That’s a beauty," he said, showing the photograph to his son. He took a five-dollar note out of his wallet and handed the money to the girl.

"Thanks, Mr Holiday," the girl said pocketing the money before wandering off toward other parents with their children.

The man slipped the photograph into his wallet and returned it to his breast pocket. "I will keep it with me always," he said to Mikey. "Right here." He patted his breast pocket. "You will be close to my heart, always. Come on, let's go grab something to eat, the sausage sizzle smells great, you hungry, Son?"

"Mike?" The woman’s voice was more urgent now. "What is it? Are you okay?"

Mike shook his head. "Yeah, sure, I’m fine. I was just remembering a time with my Dad, years ago, a school sports day, just before Dad left for the war in Nam. I have no idea why that just popped into my head. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since I was a kid. When he got back from the war he was kind of messed up. He took to the bottle, wouldn’t talk to anyone. Mom said he was never the same after that. It was as if he just flicked a switch, turned himself off, shutting us and the rest of the world out. About a year later he took off, and I never saw him again." He shook his head. "Sorry about that. Now, who said they needed a refill?"

Grace woke with a jolt. She rolled over and looked at the glowing face on her clock. She sighed. It was three-thirty in the morning. She had been dreaming, a running dream with lots of screaming voices... More of a nightmare, she decided. But as soon as her eyes sprung open, the images in her mind vaporized, leaving her with little memory of what the nightmare had been about. She hated that. As much as she hated her nightmares, she still preferred to remember them. Just in case they held a clue to the question that had been bugging her the most lately. Who is Juliette?

She had tried to go back to sleep, tried to pick up the dream where she had left off, but it wasn’t to be. Not this morning. All she had accomplished was twisting herself up in her bed sheets. At five-thirty, she eventually gave up all hope of sleep, and dragged herself out of her crumpled bed and into the kitchen to boil the kettle. A few minutes later she heard a tapping on the kitchen window. For a few seconds, she stood frozen to the spot, listening. Then she heard the tapping again and edged forward, pushing the curtains slowly apart and peering out hesitantly into the dark. She jumped back when she saw a face staring back at her.

"It’s just me!” Angela said, with her face pressed up against the window.

Grace let out her breath. "Don’t do that, you scared the hell out of me," she whispered, making sure not to wake Kate or Zach. "Go around the front and I’ll let you in."

"Morning," Angela whispered cheerfully as Grace unlocked the door to let her in. "I saw the kitchen light come on... you couldn’t sleep either, I take it?"

Grace shook her head and shoved strands of her disheveled hair behind her ear. "I’ve been awake since three-thirty. What about you?"

"More nightmares?" Angela asked.

Grace nodded. "I can’t remember much of this one, though. All I can really remember doing is running like hell, lots of screaming. And fires, fires all around me, burning everything in sight."

Angela dragged over a small plastic stool and stepped up onto it. She reached up and retrieved two coffee mugs from the kitchen cupboard. She then busied herself fetching milk and adding coffee granules to the mugs. "I’ve been up since three-thirty, too. No nightmares, though," she added.

"Did you check it?" Grace asked as she watched Angela pour the milk to the mugs.

Angela nodded. "Of course, I have been around you and this house long enough now to know to check the milk."

As soon as the kettle hinted at squealing, Grace plucked it off the element and poured the boiling water into the mugs. She inhaled a long, slow smell of the rising steam from the mug. "God, that smells good." She looked at Angela and frowned. "You’re dressed early."

"Yes," Angela replied. "I didn’t see any point going home, only to come back again. Zach is still taking us to school, isn’t he?"

"Yep, sure is. What about your parents?"

"I left a note on the fridge for them," Angela replied, following Grace over to the kitchen table.

"You two are awfully quiet this morning. Bad night’s sleep?" Zach asked as he turned his four-wheel drive into the school parking lot. "Normally I can’t shut the two of you up long enough to get a word in edgeways. Boys, hair, shoes, Lady GaGa…" Then he let out a chuckle. "Correction," he said, glancing at Grace who was sitting in the front passenger’s seat, playing with her mobile phone. "I can’t normally shut you up, Grace. Angela, on the other hand…"

There was a loud crashing noise on the hood of Zach’s car. He whipped his head around and slammed his foot hard on the brakes.

The sudden halt forced Grace to reach out and brace herself on the dashboard with her free hand.

Angela’s head snapped up out of the book she was reading in the back seat. Her violet eyes, as wide as saucers, darted around until she found the culprit.

Theria stood in front of the car and stared at Zach through the windscreen. "You really should watch where you are going, Zach. Don’t want any accidents on school grounds, do you?"

Zach just shook his head at her as she smirked at him and sashayed away to join Caleb and Lyssa, who were leaning against the brick wall of the school building, waiting for her.

"What is her problem?" Zach asked, pulling the car into a parking space.

Grace just looked at him with astonishment. "Really?" she asked. "You really don’t know what her problem is?"

Zach pulled the keys from the ignition. "No idea, other than the fact that she’s-" he hesitated and glanced at Angela in the rear view mirror.

"What is she?" Grace asked.

Zach shoved the door open and stepped out of the car. "She’s a … crazy," he said, avoiding Grace’s curious stare.

"Well I don’t doubt that," Grace said, shaking her head. But that isn’t the only thing…"

Zach looked at her and frowned. "Grace, what do you know about Theria?" he asked, opening the back door for Angela, then proceeded to help her down with her bag, heavy with books.

"She’s totally into you, stupid; she’s crazy about you, Zach. She watches you all the time, how could you not notice?" Grace got out of the car, dragging her backpack after her and shutting the car door. "God, you guys are thick sometimes. Hey look, there’s Joshua. Josh, over here," she called out, waving her hand above her head to attract his attention. "Josh burned me a Pink CD last night…" Grace started toward him. "Thanks for the ride, Zach. Meet you back here after school, okay? Come on, Angela. Josh’s got one for you, too."

"Oh, how delightful," Angela replied in mock enthusiasm, then: "You know there is a law against that, don’t you? It’s called pirating, and there are fines up to-"

"Yes Angela, I know… I saw the leaflet you printed out and left on my bed."

"Well, little good that did," Angela replied, following Grace.

When the first bell sounded, Grace and Angela were being jostled down the hallway and into the math classroom with a flurry of other students. Everyone was chatting noisily, narrating various stories from the weekend. Grace followed behind Angela and tried unsuccessfully to block out the babble of noisy gossip that normally would have held her attention. Usually, she would have been only too happy to listen with interest, but not today. The jumbled voices only agitated her fraying nerves, and the pounding headache brought on by the sudden jolt in Zach’s car to avoid hitting Theria in the car park.

Two new girls had just moved in next door to Sonndra Kalee, they were from a private girls’ school in North Sydney. They came from a filthy rich family, and both their parents drove matching black Porsches. Then there was Clair Aldridge, who had gotten drunk on liquor that she had stolen from her father’s secret stash of alcohol in the garage. An hour later she had promptly thrown up all over her boyfriend, Jackson Green, during a party on Saturday night. He had dumped her the next day by text, and was already going out with his new girlfriend, Amber Maddison. The story being spread around the classroom like an out of control flu virus was that there was going to be a fight between Clair and Amber after school, behind the gym.

Grace barely listened; she was starting to become disconcerted by her headache and a tingling sensation at the base of her neck. The tiny hairs on her neck stood up and crackled with electric energy as she ran her fingers across her skin. She moved her head from side to side, trying to dissipate the buildup of nervous tension between her shoulder blades, until something in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and she turned her face slowly toward it. However, it wasn’t a something that had piqued her attention; but someone who had her so mesmerized that her feet had become riveted to the floor.

She watched him as the flow of students continued past her with their animated gestures and stories. She was the silent rock; they were the babbling stream flowing quickly around her.

He was tall and very good-looking, with brown hair, and he oozed charm from every one of his perfect pores. Grace could feel an overwhelming presence about him as he came closer toward her, like the electrified energy she felt just before a thunderstorm. He carried his backpack casually over one shoulder, his head lowered. Was he deep in thought, watching where he was going, or was he just trying to avoid direct eye contact with everyone? Grace wondered. Then his face started to lift. She held her breath. Was he about to look at her? She felt her lips slowly turning upward to form a smile. His eyes were an unusual yellowish color, almost gold. She had never noticed that before. But then again, she had never been this close to him before, either. Then he looked straight at her, through her, as though she had been sculpted out of crystal clear glass and was completely invisible to him. Grace rubbed her arms, making sure she was real. To make sure that this was not another one of her visions - or a dream. No, this was not a dream or a vision. This was real. She was real.

She thought about throwing herself right in front of his path and shouting. It’s me. Look at me. He continued past her without a word. His step faltered though, for just a second, as his shoulder, heavily tattooed with a fiery dragon, brushed her arm and made her gasp. She panicked for a second, and had to stop herself from fleeing breathlessly from the classroom to escape him. What have you done? A voice screamed from somewhere deep down inside her. A vision quickly flashed before her eyes. A raging fire; a boy, his face obscured by thick grey smoke, kneeling and pulling a blade from a dead body lying on the floor before him. Then he stood, spun around, and shouted over the hiss of a raging fire. "No! It isn’t what you think. Stop! Please don’t go…Juliette!"

Angela quickly looked up from behind her book and frowned. "Grace, are you okay? You look like you have just seen a ghost!" Angela followed Grace’s line of vision and saw the boy. She had her answer: Damon Draco. She sighed, walked over to Grace, and gave her a quick nudge with her elbow. "Grace, come on!"

With a jolt, Grace was pulled back from her haunting vision, and followed Angela quickly to their seats toward the front of the class.

"Oh no, yes, I mean… yes, I’m fine," Grace mumbled, tipping her books out of her bag and onto the desk.

"Are you sure?" Angela asked, anxious that she had not perceived Grace’s obvious discomfort.

Grace nodded, "Yes, Angela. I’m fine, really." A sheaf of papers spilled out of her folder and onto the floor by her feet. She swiveled around in her seat to pick them up, but they were already in Damon’s outstretched hand and being offered to her.

The boy was kneeling beside her. "You dropped these," he said, slowly standing.

"Yes. I did. Thank you," Grace said, taking the pages from his hand. She fought the urge to reach out and touch him.

"My name is Damon," he said, shoving his hands quickly into his pockets.

"Yes, I know who you are," Grace replied all too quickly.

Damon looked down at her and tilted his head to the side. "Oh, I seriously doubt that," he said solemnly, as he turned away to take the seat directly behind her.

The classroom door slammed shut, causing Grace to jump in her seat, and silencing the rest of the noisy classroom of students.

"Everyone sit down, now," Mr Valdez said to those still standing. "Open your math books to page 142. I want all your answers from chapters two through to five on my desk by the end of the lesson. You have forty-five minutes. Any questions, means you haven’t read the text correctly, so read it again."

The room fell completely silent except for the sound of pages being turned to Chapter Two.

"Good, now get on with it," Mr Valdez instructed, as he sat down in the chair behind the timber desk. He opened a leather briefcase and removed a paperback novel with a broken, illegible spine. Then he removed his bookmark and began to read.

Grace moaned, shrank down into her seat and opened her textbook to Chapter Two. "God, I hate math," she mumbled under her breath. She rummaged in her bag, found a pen and began to write down answers and tick boxes. But she was not thinking about math as she wrote the answers down the edges of the pages; her mind was completely absorbed with the boy sitting right behind her. If she listened very carefully, she could hear the soft sound of his breathing, almost feel it on the back of her neck.

She glanced around slowly and saw his hand moving his pen effortlessly down the page of his textbook. She imagined what it would be like to hold his hand, feel those perfect fingers entwined in hers. She allowed her mind to wander further still. Her fingers were now combing through his burnt honey hair. She closed her eyes and imagined him leaning across to kiss her on the mouth. The kiss would be perfect, and so tender that she would wonder if she had imagined it. Only his soft breath would remain, lingering on her open lips.