The Gateway Through Which They Came (3 page)

She shows me a man in a ceremonial cloak rising from the ground. His welcome arms are outstretched as if expecting our arrival. The black cloak with golden stitching down its center sags around him, allowing the tip of his nose and lips to show in the moonlight. At least I think it’s the moon. I’m not exactly sure where I am. The detail surrounding me is blurred, making it impossible to determine the location.

When my focus snaps back to him, the man reaches out to me, beckoning me forward. It’s unsettling how confident he is. The way he seems to believe I’ll do what he wants. It’s almost laughable. But the joke’s on me, because somewhere deep inside of me, an unexpected hunger rumbles in my gut. I can no longer ignore the power emanating off of him. It’s too tempting. The urge for a taste of it becomes too much, and I find myself obeying.

A strange sense overcomes my real body in that moment. An annoying hum urging me to wake. I remember that I’m not in this place. Not really. I’m in a car somewhere. Parked in the middle of the road. I need to get away from here. To go home. This realization nudges me a little, my real body beginning to shift in the driver’s seat.

The man must sense my distraction because he calls out to me.

“It’s time, Aiden,” he says.

With this, I lose what little hold I have on myself and return my attention to him. The way he says my name with meaning makes me swell with pride. Something inside me comes alive in that moment. Something I never knew existed. The man turns to walk away, leaving me with a hint of the power he’s offering. I can taste it on my tongue, sweet and inviting. I want to breathe it in. Consume it. Become it.

With Redhead’s hand on my leg, and my heart thrashing against my chest, a part of her enters me. I can’t explain it. It’s like she’s me, and I’m her. We are one, following this figure into the dark.

The blare of a car horn jolts me from my stupor. I open my eyes in time to see a muscle truck swerve around me, and someone’s middle finger sticking out the window. My body shudders under Redhead’s touch, wanting to get as far away from her as possible. Whatever happened between us has successfully weirded me the hell out. I jerk my knee from her hand and lean away, putting some distance between us. It’s exactly what I should have done the minute she blinked herself into my car.

As her hand falls away, a slight grin plays on Redhead’s lips; smiling like she’s proud of herself.

I have no idea how she manipulated me the way she did, but if what she showed me is only the beginning, I want nothing to do with the end.

“What the hell just happened?” I blurt out, my breath rapidly trying to keep up. Not gonna lie, I’m damn near close to having a panic attack. There’s a part of her still writhing inside of me, and I can feel her enjoyment at my reaction.

For a moment, only the sound of the idling engine keeps the silence from engulfing us as she watches me. Having a beautiful girl in my car would typically be ideal, but since I’m more worried about that part where she invaded my mind, it’s safe to say I’m getting impatient with each passing second. Not to mention, it’s only a matter of time before another car makes its way down the dark street.

“Listen,” I say, finally breaking the tension. “I don’t have a whole lot of time. Do you want to tell me what you just did to me? Or do you want to get this over with and let me send you wherever it is you guys go.”

I’d rather she pick the first choice, because, seriously, what the shit did she just do? But the other side of it is, I want to get this chick away from me pronto!

Redhead inches herself forward yet again, and hisses, “Who says I want to go where you’ll take me?”

She’s getting on my last nerve.

“Fine!” I hoist myself behind the wheel, gearing up to get back on course. She’s wasting my time, and I’m clearly not going to get a straight answer. “Well, can you please get the hell out of my car?” I point toward the door in case she didn’t get it the first time. This would be more intimidating if my hand wasn’t trembling, and my forehead wasn’t sweating profusely.

I’m freaking out, bad.

Redhead leans back in her seat and crosses her arms over her chest. She humors me by looking toward the door as if she’s considering this option.

Instead, she looks back at me and says, “You have no idea what you’re messing with, kid.”

Kid?

That’s it. Hot or not, I’m over it.

“Get. Out.”

A maniacal laugh bursts from her lips. “This is a joke, right? It can’t possibly be you.” She leans back farther to observe me, an annoying half-grin lifting at one corner of her mouth. “What is it about you that’s so special?”

My jaw locks up, teeth pressing together tight.

Redhead senses she’s hit a nerve and adds, “He can’t possibly think you’re the one.”

He? I hate to admit it, but she has my attention. Not that she didn’t already have it after that mind-invading thing. But how much more of her bullshit do I have to endure?

I consider surrendering to her pettiness and giving her what she wants. But to be honest, I don’t even know what that is.

At any rate, Redhead dissolves what’s left of my patience when she says, “Maybe he’s wrong about fearing you. Maybe you’re just a punk ass kid with a yellow bug who has everyone fooled. Because I, for one…”

She leans forward, her head tilted obnoxiously.

“… think you’re pathetic.”

The ‘p’ is pronounced with a pucker of disgust, and it takes everything in me not to break. I wrap my shaking hands along the wheel. Each finger curled tight to prevent me attacking this girl. But despite how hard I fight the urge to snap, a snarl slips its way from my lips. It’s an animalistic response to this girl whose purpose, it seems, is to get under my skin. It’s working, clearly, and she knows it. She throws back her head and laughs. The sound gnaws at my nerves. Who the hell is she to sit here and act like what I do means absolutely nothing? And what the hell kind of Dark One is she to creep into my head the way she did?

I match her approach and lean in to meet her. My gift means nothing to her, and I’m done with her shit. She stares at me mockingly, unafraid of the little space between us.

I lock my eyes on her and steady my voice when I say, “Or maybe I’m exactly what you should fear.”

And when I say it, it’s as if the words themselves are a key unlocking something wicked in my soul. A power similar to the man she showed me minutes before. The same man, I assume, that she speaks of now. Who is he? And why tempt me with something as dark as this?

“It’s time,” he’d said.

For what, I wonder?

But as this thing inside me rages to life, I fear I have my answer. The feeling of it is wrong, but I can’t stop what’s already begun. Heat ignites within my veins as the energy soars through me. My skin glistens with droplets of sweat. If something about my physical presence has changed, I can’t tell, except for the way Redhead stares back at me, her eyes wide with fear.

And then I touch her.

Before I can pull away, or ask myself why I felt the need to reach for her, I watch as my hand blackens the skin of her pretty face. Her screams ring out and her body glows red as flames. Cracks form and stretch across her face, like a porcelain doll on the verge of shattering.

I cringe at the sound of her cries, but my hand refuses to detach. Her pain tears me from the dark haze, and I’m fully aware of what I’m doing. My attempts to pull away are futile, as if my body is no longer mine, but someone else’s. I use my other hand for strength, the steering wheel under it as my leverage, and I urge myself to release her. When I’m able to dislodge myself enough to break free, it’s too late. She bursts into nothingness.

With my hand outstretched, I gape in awe at what I’ve done.

And all I’m left with is this thought: I no longer know what I am.

’m drenched in a cold sweat by the time I walk through the front door. My mind is reeling with questions, and for the first time in my life, I’m afraid. Not of the Bleeders, but of myself, and what I’m capable of.

What did I do to that girl?

I can’t stop the tremors from taking over my body. My thoughts and nerves are so out of control, it’s nearly impossible to straighten myself out before confronting my mother. Not that I have much of a choice. I have to face her eventually. As expected, Mom sits with her arms crossed over her chest in my grandmother’s old rocking chair. It’s been in our family since my mother was born, and the cracked wood gives an unbearable squeak with each push of her foot, as if the chair itself tires of the back and forth rhythm.

Based on the jumbo-sized rollers in her freshly dyed black hair (I know this from the lack of a gray streak) and the slippers on her feet that match her fluffy white robe, she’s been home and waiting longer than I initially thought. The worry in her gaze widens her brown eyes, and a deep furrow forms along the center of her forehead where her brows pinch together. Without her makeup, the hollowness of her blotchy cheeks is more defined, and the wrinkles around her eyes give away her age.

I say the only word I can think of. “Hi.”

Mom doesn’t speak. She’s good at that whole “suffer in silence” thing. All that’s breaking the awkward silence is the theme song to
Bewitched
streaming from the TV. This doesn’t surprise me, since Mom refuses to watch anything current.

My mind fights for coherent thoughts as I attempt to set aside the events of the night. I close the door behind me, hoping to shut out the memory of Redhead along with it. Fixing my face into a convincing expression, I focus on steadying my breaths before facing her. My fingers fidget with the keys grasped in my right hand, and I have to make a conscious effort to leave them alone.
Play it cool, Aiden. Act normal.

With one last deep breath, I turn around to see she’s standing, the small golden cross hanging from her necklace gripped firmly in her hand.

“May I ask where you’ve been?” she says. Her demeanor is calm with that underlying tension any parent would have when a kid walks through the front door unreasonably late.

I let out a loud sigh and answer. “I meant to call. I got caught up on the field.”

I pull at the material of my Joseph High jersey that’s still damp with sweat from my mile run after school, hoping that’s evidence enough. Even though it’s sleeveless, I’m still burning up from the haunting image of Redhead screaming in agony. I wince at the thought.

Mom purses her lips together, unconvinced.

“Come on, Mom,” I say under my breath. The last thing I want to do is upset her. “You act like I haven’t been running track since eighth grade.” I shrug my backpack to the floor, leaving it to rest beside the couch like I always do until I need it.

My exertion with this night is enough to distract me. I’m emotionally incapable of processing anything other than what happened with Redhead. But I have to suck it up and convince her that I’m just a careless teenager who forgot to check in. To her credit, I should have called. It’s my own fault, but considering all I ever do is hang out with my best friend, Trevor Atkins, and our buddy, Evan Reigle, it’s exhausting having to defend myself as often as I do. It’s not as if she doesn’t know who I spend my time with. But I’m her son after all, and her concern is to be expected when your mom doesn’t know you’re a Gateway. What’s really me being stuck at late hours of the night sending Bleeders away, is her thinking I’m causing trouble somewhere. Not that I’ve ever given her a reason to think that. Well, maybe that one time when Evan talked us into TP-ing some girl’s house, or that time we drove an hour to see an independent horror movie. Okay. Yes, I should have told her upfront, but it was the only place they were showing it and I knew she’d say no. Give me a break.