The Gateway Through Which They Came (9 page)

“I should go.” I push myself up.

“Aiden.” Father Martin presses his face closer to the screen, desperation in his voice. “You will come to me if something is wrong, won’t you?”

The screen between us casts a dark net of shadows across his face, his eyes seeing through the barrier into me.

“Yes, Father, of course.”

“Good, son. The Lord will always be here for you. Remember that.”

I stare back at him and nod, preparing to leave, but not before I catch Father Martin’s eyes widen just then, and in that moment, it’s as if he sees something that frightens him. With a flicker of light, he’s back to the same caring man he’s always been. As I turn away, I can sense something different about him. It’s almost like I can smell his fear, though it can’t be. How could I?

My mind is somewhere else as I exit the booth, kicking myself for not telling Father Martin the truth. I killed a Dark One. At least I think I did. It’s a bit of an oxymoron when I think about it. I want to go back and explain, but I stop myself. If the fear I saw in his eyes was real, and not a trick of the light, what would he think of me after? He’s like a father to me. The only one I’ve ever known. And if I’ve already lost one, I can’t risk losing another.

I’m completely distracted as I walk down the aisle, stumbling head-on into a man wearing a dark suit. The broadness of his body rocks me back a step, and I look up to find Justin Chase’s dad, Vincent, glaring down at me.

“Sorry, Mr. Chase,” I say, taking another step back.

It’s an accident, clearly, but his displeased expression is far from understanding. A snarl of disgust slips from the thin line of his mouth. Grabbing the lapels of his black coat, he adjusts it as if I’d made a mess of his finely pressed attire.

“Perhaps you should be more mindful of where you’re going.” The words are thick and unkind, a threat wrapped in a breath of distaste.

His dark blue eyes pierce through me, startling me back another step until I’m sure he’s out of reach.

Vincent Chase is a mirror image of his son, in that way any father would be. If you don’t count the roughness of his skin, the slight appearance of wrinkles taking shape along his face and the way his dark blond hair thins with gleams of gray.

“Yes, sir,” I say, adding a slight apologetic nod as I step aside. For someone who attends church every Sunday like me, he’s not exactly the most personable. Guess I know where Justin gets it.

As I make my way around him, he turns slowly, following my movement without another word.

I’m thankful when the breeze hits my face outside the church doors. It was beginning to feel too crowded in there. I shake off my run-in with Vincent Chase and head toward the car where my mother’s waiting for me. This is the first time I’ve left church feeling unclean. My skin, my hair, my heart. All of it. Even though I’ve battled my faith for so long (because how can a higher power expect a kid like me to do what I do?), I still felt a sense of comfort inside a house of God. Like even though He knew my doubts, He never judged; granting me a peace within myself that kept me at ease. But today, nothing.

By the time I pull into the school parking lot on Monday, several people are running with their umbrellas held high toward the main hall, and the rain is pelting the windshield like a force to be reckoned with. The radio announcer mentions something about an ice storm, but knowing Portland, they’re just exaggerating.

Evan and Trevor jump out of Evan’s black Honda Accord, waiting outside Izzie as I throw the gear into park. I can hear Evan bitch about something regarding the rain and a recent car wash. He cares more about that damn car than anything else. It was given to him on his birthday to make up for all those times his parents neglected him. Some kind of peace offering. His parents went right back to coddling his younger brothers after the fact. He acts like it doesn’t bother him, but… well, you know.

“Dude, why didn’t you pick up your phone all weekend?” Evan asks, pressing the lock button on his key.

Trevor opens his umbrella, carefully holding it over us as I lock up Izzie. I don’t have a special key that does the work for me. Pressing the lock down the old fashioned way, I give the door a hard push.

“Why do you think? I spent the weekend hovering over a toilet.” I give them the
just drop it
look, and throw my backpack onto my shoulder.

In return, Trevor gives me his
I told you so
face.

“Don’t, Trevor. Seriously. I feel shitty enough as it is.” It’s true. My stomach is barely back to normal. I can’t even recall the last real meal I had. The thought of food and whiskey makes the spit build up in my mouth, and I’m not too far from hoofing it again.

I leave the perimeter of Trevor’s umbrella and walk at a quick pace up the sidewalk toward school. Getting to class and away from this conversation is suddenly my only focus. I’m more irritable now than ever. Just thinking about what happened this last week with Koren, Redhead, and though unrelated to the Gateway thing, the run-in with Vincent, has me seriously on edge. I’m sick of not knowing what’s happening with my life. I hate losing control. It makes me feel weak, hopeless. And that’s the last thing I am.

Evan falls into rhythm beside me, forcing Trevor to hurry his pace to keep his umbrella over himself and Evan.

“What’s your deal man?” Evan calls me out. “You’re acting like an ass.”

“Evan, don’t,” Trevor warns.

“No, seriously,” Evan continues.

I really wish he’d stop. The more he keeps talking the more something inside of me threatens to react. I’m like a dam about to break. A dam filled to the brim—with uncertainty, frustration, and everything in between.

My legs pick up speed, desperate to stretch the space between us. Something inside is telling me to go, to hurry. A warning blaring in my head to get the hell away from them. I can feel it tightening in my chest; a string of a guitar wound so tight, one more churn and
snap
!

“Hey!” Evan catches up to me and grabs my arm tight.

It’s at this exact moment I know I’ve lost control of everything.

My body ignites with an unbearable heat. The rush of it surges through me like a forest fire, devastating and powerful. It’s the same urge that came alive that night with Redhead. The one that destroyed her, and the same one that made me feel more alive than ever.

I turn on Evan before I can force myself to stop, and dig my fingers into his jacket, wrenching him forward. “Don’t you ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?”

“Dude!”

“Don’t.” The word is nearly a growl. His face is only centimeters from mine.

The first bell rings, leaving us stranded in the plaza as the other students hurry to their classes. A sliver of heat trickles down my neck, pushing through my veins. It travels to my spine, spilling into my arms. I curl my other hand into a tight fist, holding it securely in place. I’m trying so hard to fight back the blood that’s threatening to boil over, afraid of what that might mean for me, or what I might do. My gift has never had any effect on the living, but nothing is certain anymore.

I feel a disconnection from myself. Suddenly there are two parts of me. One is screaming at me, telling me to stop. But the other is demanding it, begging for me to make the move. Make Evan bleed. It’s so twisted and frightening, so exhilarating and vigorous. This is so wrong. So wrong.

I release my grip from his jacket, allowing Evan to cower back. He watches me intently as one arm protectively stretches across Trevor’s chest. Trevor’s round eyes set with concern, and Evan’s scowl staring back at me, say everything I need to know. They’re afraid of me.

I reach a hand to my face, feeling for something I can’t see—a change. Something reflecting the monster inside me. My fingers brush against my skin, and I half expect to feel someone else’s face under them. But it’s only me. For now.

The rain pelting down cools my burning skin. My limbs are cold under my drenched clothes, triggering a calmness that courses through me. I can feel the heat disperse, settling itself deep into my subconscious where it waits to be of use.

Somehow I know it will come back, because like the Bleeders, this thing has left a part of itself with me. It’s become me.

I’m unable to meet my friends’ eyes, too ashamed of nearly losing control. All the strength I had two seconds ago is gone, and I’m me again. Weak and hopeless after all.

“I’m sorry.” I turn away and walk into the main hall, not bothering to look back. I know they’re not following. Wouldn’t expect them to.

At this point, I’m starting to think it would be better, safer, if they didn’t.

As I walk away from Trevor and Evan, I find myself overcome with emotion. Guilt and fear are becoming all too familiar to me. They eat at me like rabid wolves, gnawing and ripping me apart from the inside out. I’m uncomfortable in my own skin, as if it has somehow tightened and reformed. Whatever this thing is, it’s not me.

I’m troubled by how little I know about myself these days. I’ve become a stranger to myself and everyone I know. The only thing keeping me together is the thought that Koren is out there somewhere, waiting for me to find her. It’s all I have to hold on to. Without that, I’m left to face what’s becoming of me, and I’m not ready to dig that deep yet.

The squeak of my sloshing shoes echoes down the hall. I’m trembling so bad, it would be ridiculous for me to stay in these clothes. Evan and Trevor’s expressions are forever trapped in my mind. I wonder if I turn around right now, if they would still be there. Maybe I could apologize again. A real one this time. I could fix this. I
need
to fix this.

A screech from the last bell pierces my ears, leaving me standing in an empty hall, facing the door of trigonometry. It’s too late to turn back now. I can hear Mrs. Kingsley bringing the class to attention, beginning the Morning Prayer. It’s looked down upon to miss it, but more so to barge in late and interrupt. As much as it kills me to stay in place doing nothing—nothing to fix what I’d done—I stand there and wait.

After the class says together:
amen
, I turn the knob and enter.

It must be written on my face, because the look Mrs. Kingsley gives me is more out of worry than frustration. I don’t know how I look to her, but I know I feel like utter shit. How will I make this up to Evan after lashing out on him like that?

I open my mouth to apologize, but she dismisses me before I have a chance.

“Have a seat, Aiden.” Mrs. Kingsley gestures toward my desk, and I’m thankful.

With a gentle nod, I keep my head down and pass the front of the class toward the back corner. She continues introducing her lecture as I slide into my seat, my cold clothes pressing uncomfortably against my skin. Looks like I’ll have to wear my gym clothes the rest of the day.

I can still feel eyes on me as I reach into my backpack and remove my folder, trying to avoid their stares. A shiver prickles my neck, but I ignore it. It’s only my skin reacting to the drastic temperature and it doesn’t help that the vent above me is blasting cold air in my direction. Hasn’t this school ever heard of heat?

I rub my palms together, hoping the friction will bring me some sense of relief.

“You look like hell,” a voice says beside me.

My ears perk at the sound.

I can’t do this. Not now. Not here.

I force myself in place, keeping my head in the direction of Mrs. Kingsley. If I give myself away, I’ll be called a freak all over again. This was a constant test, being confronted by a Bleeder in class in front of so many people. Even though the urge to acknowledge her is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.

My fingers claw into my legs, digging deep in hopes that the pain will wake me from this nightmare. I have to be asleep somewhere, because the voice behind me can’t be real. It can’t be that easy.

“Did you miss me?” she whispers. I can almost feel her cold breath against my neck, tingling the hair along my nape.

More than you know
, I want to tell her.

Just the thought of her words carries so much emotion.
Did you miss me,
she used to say, throwing her arms around my waist from behind. She did this every morning during middle school. Blessing me with the warmth of her skin. The touch of her body against mine making my heart do funny things in my chest. It’s as if the night before was too long without each other, and she felt the same emptiness I did when she was away. Those days, I used to wish her arms would make a permanent home there, wrapped tightly around me. Her embrace was everything I needed and wanted in one.

Mrs. Kingsley jots an equation on the board, pointing to
x
and then to
y
. Her words are nothing but dead air, as if someone has placed her and the entire class on mute. I can’t hear anything but the voice directly beside me.

“Aiden,” she says, begging for my attention.

I should tell her to meet me, to wait outside until class is over. But I worry that if I turn her away now, I’ll never be able to see her again. This could be my only chance.

I turn to her, but I barely get a chance to look before the room comes to a halt.