Original Souls (A World Apart #1) (19 page)

"Ow!" Criston yelled as Sena. Hendrix unsympathetically ripped the IV from a vein in his right, handless, arm. "Take my whole arm off while yo
u’
re at it," he said, through clenched teeth. Then he immediately reached down to his right hand with the left. Had it all been a tragic dream? His heart told him, perhaps? His mind screamed, no! -There was no hand there as he felt around, surveying his current state. He did
n’
t expect it to be there. But the simple hope itself seemed like the most despairing thing to him once he realized the truth. He sighed with a blank stare, allowing the shadows of doubt to overtake his hopeless, blind faith. His reluctant caretaker took note and decided he was too far gone from reality. S
o…
she intended to checkmate his self-pity party with her own abstract form of consoling a loved one.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Señor Gambit. Is my touch too rough for you? Perhaps, you should have 'dropped' in another time. Perhaps, a time when there were more staff on that could help welcome you back into the fold, ever so politely." Whoa! A bit of overkill. Her tone was nearly as cynical as Sebastian's, but fewer crazy flags went up when the vibrations of her sharp tongue pierced the eardrum.

"No, I should apologize. I'm a guest and you've been so kind to take care of me without question." Criston went into damage control mode. Momentarily forgetting himself, opting to focus his thoughts on his son. He needed Sena. Hendrix to tolerate him, for Corinth's sake. "Thank you from the depths of my heart, and if I ever have the opportunity to repay this debt, I wo
n’
t hesitate," he tried to slap as much gloss as he could on those words.

But -Sena. Hendrix was an old bird, and she didn't fly her coop for just anyone. "Please, allow me, if you will Señor Gambit, to cut out the pleasantries. I have been instructed to put aside my enduring hatred for your sniveling, puckish ways. A high figure has taken an interest in you. A rather ill-placed interest, I might ad
d—
but nevertheless, I will not question someone of
her
caliber. This is why you are here and nowhere else in all the Worlds. S
o—
do shut up and let me get on with it."

Criston was only half-awake, so while he heard her, he didn't completely understand what she was saying. Had she named this ominous figure, and he simply hadn't heard? Or was Sena. Hendrix being her old mysterious self again.

Se
e
… Criston and she have history. Before Sena. Hendrix was Grand Ministrant here at Aurora Boreal, she was just one of many premonitions teachers. She taught Criston, or rather attempted to teach him, back in the day. That is, until they kicked him out. Cris had a knack for rallying the masses to do his bidding. Luckily, for the masses, his bidding usually involved crisis support for fellow students. If the price of chocolate milk went up even a cent, and any one student couldn't afford it, you bet Criston would gather all his classmates for a protest on the Olympus Grounds.

The grounds are the entryway into the Main hall that can direct a person to any, and all the classrooms in the Olympia building. Surrounding the grounds are large pine, oak, spruce, fruit bearing, in fact, every type of tree. Likewise, lining every pathway are small shrubs that are sprinkled with silver pixie dust. This keeps them fresh and healthy for nearly an eternity. Everything is sprinkled with that silly dust. Especially, the expansive hills, and grassy knolls that harbor the large white marble pillars. These tall pillars are plated with motion sensor silver stripes that shine with dazzling luminosity in the night. They're spread out across the entire school grounds, for light, among other things. So many useful functions are associated with each individual column. All these features and more make the Olympus grounds the most beautiful place on the school's land.

In addition, the marble benches and vending machine stocked gazebos make the grounds a social gathering place that few rarely want to leave. Having the rallies there made them the first thing any and everyone saw if they wanted to enter the Olympia building. This gave Criston the opportunity to solicit and persuade students and teachers alike into supporting whatever cause he was touting that particular day.

A few times too many it seemed. Criston's last rally was to save a program that he actually hated. But he knew how many others loved it. So, he decided to use all his powers of persuasion to help influence, or rather force, the hand of the Ministrant Committee. The school decided to halt funding for the trading card and battling game known as, Deaves. Effectively putting a stop to it being played on school grounds. Suffice is to say that he didn't succeed, and he was immediately expelled for inciting a riot. Who knew geeks would get so worked up over a little card game, Criston thought seventeen years ago. He was half the age he is today when he was kicked out the year before graduation. That's more than enough time to have matured a bit. But Sena. Hendrix wasn't pleased to be waiting on such an insolent fool, as she believed Cris to be, even after all this time had passed.

Corinth simply watched on, as Sena. Hendrix dismantled the entire set up of equipment surrounding his father. A tube here, a wire there, and monitor everywhere. There was a lot that happened over the past two days that his father loudly slept through. He came in and out of dreams, saying odd things that frightened his son. During that time, Corinth got to know Sena. Hendrix somewhat, and he wasn't sure yet whether he liked her, or completely hated her guts. He seemed confident that he'd get the answer to that question soon enough, but decided to stay as respectful as Sena. Hendrix had instructed him to be. He didn't open his mouth once during the entire ordeal.

Criston got to thinking during the silence between the three of them. He decided that silence was a cold way, even for disjointed family members, to behave around one another. He broke the ice with a simple enough question. "So," he started, "who exactly is this ominous figure you were referring to?" he tried to sound upbeat and friendly.

"You'll know that soon enough. We will discuss it at my office here in the Watchtower," her tone was oddly flat as she annunciated the 'tow' in tower.

"Actually ... I'm feeling a bit nauseous. Do you think it'd be possible to do it here?" Criston tried to sound strong, but the focus of his eyes kept drifting in and out, which made him very dizzy though he was just lying propped up in bed.

"No, we will not!" said the witch dressed all in black. "You will make your lazy way toward my office before eight pm or I bid you good luck with that maimed excuse for a hand you have there. Moreover, with the events that will reveal themselves in the coming days, you won't stand a chance without my counsel. Rest assured that they will be very trying, with...or -without my assistance!" She drilled that last point in as she turned to walk out of the room. She considered her job her
e
… finished!

"I just thought that maybe ... since -the office is a far ways,
I—
"

Sena. Hendrix needn't to bother to listen to the rest of his sentence. Her mind was firmly settled while standing under the archway of the large wooden door. "My office, at eight o'clock, or there will be hell to pay. For you, and you alone," she said with a disdainfully cocky attitude.

"What about Corinth! Will he pay the price of hell too, because you're too stubborn to be sensitive to my situation. For goodness sake I can barely breathe, better yet walk! I thought you had a high level of respect for that unnamed idol of yours!" Criston's emotions began to bubble over as he nervously fidgeted in the bed.

Sena. Hendrix walked on, then willfully stopped herself just outside the doorway, but didn't bother to turn back. She just stood there for a second in thought. She was affected by those words. The expression on her face noticeably changed to something more compassionate, but also fearful. Though her surface hard shell was cracked momentarily, she quickly regained control. She blocked out her affections for Corinth, and dug her claws deep into his father.

"You'd play your own son as a card in this ill witted game. You're a disgraceful father." Cris' head dropped low in defeat. "And, for the record, I'm not disrespecting my 'idol
'
—
I’
m disrespecting you!" And with that, she disappeared into the dank halls of the tower. While her black high heels clopped away on the cobblestone ground, you could hear a faint echo of her saying... "Eight o'clock, Sen. Gambit, eight o'cloc
k…
"

Now,Corinth and Criston were finally alone, and safe all at once. I
t’
s remarkable considering wha
t’
s transpired over the last two years. Though you'd expect a lengthy conversation to ensue, neither of them had much to say. Corinth now knew it was indeed his father who stole him away from the comforts of his bedroom that fateful night. Before then, Cory had no recognition of me, the Nexus. I was awakened, in a sense, by the jarring psychologically toll it took on him when he was kidnapped. Any child would have been scared out of their mind, but in a way, Corinth was scared deep within his own. For almost two years the boy's been in a hyperbolic coma. He didn't know much of anything about how the Worlds were steadily changing around him. He slept free of that, and now he needs a refresher course. But it seems his father is stunned into a new wave of silence. And this one he can't break as easily as he did with Sena. Hendrix. He knew how fragile their relationship was at the moment.

He decided to start slow and work his way toward a more fatherly position. "Corinth, I want you to know tha
t
—”

He was cut off by a simple action. There was no need for all that chatter, Corinth decided. Instead of waiting to hear what his father had to say, he jumped down from the rocky windowsill and ran into him head on. His disregard for his own safety bit him on the butt when he slammed into the metal railings on the hospital bed, but he didn't care about the pain. He just wanted to be with his dad. Cris used what little strength he had to help Cory into the bed with his one stable hand. They hugged with teary eyes and no words for quite some time.

<*>

It was about seven-thirty pm when Corinth finally broke the loving silence. He was lying in his father lap, atop the hospital bed, like a little kid, when he asked. "Yo
u’
re going to leave me here, aren't you?"

Criston replied stealthily. "I'm not sure yet if that's even possible."

Corinth was relieved. He didn't want to be separated from his parents ever again. But he was curiously concerned about his mom, and what Sena. Hendrix had said. And for that matter, he still didn't completely understand how we all made it out the Chancellor's office. So, I whispered in his mind, "the spell," and he unnecessarily nodded his head in conformation.

"What's up, kid?" Cris chirped at his boy while he was wrapped up in his arms.

"Huh?" Corinth said with a sly bit of surprise.

"Why are you nodding?" His dad pressed on willfully. He was genuinely interested in what was going on inside his son's brain.

"I
t’
s nothing, I'm just thinking," Corinth evasively informed him. He didn't want to put any more weight on his father's mind. Though Corinth felt like he had a lot of heavy lifting to do in his own head. He simply didn't want to remind his dad that he was psychic and the many great deal of responsibilities that all entails. But somehow, I'm certain that Criston hasn't forgotten that "minor" detail.

"Who taught you that spell, Dad?" Corinth sort of shouted as he jumped up and turned around. He looked his dad dead in the eyes with a priceless innocence.

"An old friend from my childhood."

"What frien
d
… was it granddad?"

"Granddad's my father, not a friend," Cris said with a slight smile that hurt his jaw just to make. His pain was still as effervescent as when his ash hand drifted away with the winds.

"That's a stupid thing to say," Corinth replied boldly. "Are you saying that just because granddad was your dad that you guys weren't friends. So you do
n’
t think of me and mom as friends?"

Criston was perplexed. Corinth seemed like he was just being honest, but his choice of words didn't suit Cris' style of parenting. He's a police officer after all. Always trying to keep a lid on everything and everyone, except himself in most cases. He wanted to scold Corinth, but those big turquoise eyes always made him flow as easy as water. He didn't bother with it.