It's fate that they found each other. Indigos are naturally drawn to one another through the threads of destiny. And for Hemlock Godfree, that's exactly what he is... an Indigo. Even if he doesn't know it yet. As a part time ghost hunter and full ti...
"Sorry, but we're really not interested." the girl snapped, she had her arm interlinked with her friend's, holding her cellphone like a cross. "What a freak..." she whispered under her breath.
"Jacoby said he'd be a little odd, but I had no idea he'd be a psycho... I'm so sorry Em-" the other girl's voice faded as they quickly walked out of the bar to their parked cars, the clicks from their stilettos echoing on the slick wet pavement, leaving Hemlock Godfree crowded with his thoughts. He rubbed his temples, his nerve endings on fire, and lit a cigarette trying to calm his shaky breath; thunder brewed on the distant horizon. His best friend, Jacoby Hawthorne, stared at him exasperated before calling after the girls, offering to call them a cab so they didn't need to drive. By the looks of it, they accepted and waited on the curb, their puffs of breath drifting off into the chilly night air. Hemlock turned his back and started walking home, not bothering to see if Jacoby noticed.
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The sky was aglow with a fluorescent shade of peach from the city's luminous street lights. Scatters of cabin lights flickered in the darkness upon the ominous slopes that cradled the small town of Half Moon, Wyoming. The town, nestled in an alpine valley in the middle of the Wind River Range, was the only civilization within a 30-mile radius. Not far from town was a large lake- popular with kayakers and fishers alike, also called Half Moon because of its crescent-like shape.
Suddenly, indigo ethereal lights glittered and hummed along the skyline, shimmering from inside the clouds that descended from the heavens and came to settle above the city; in the distance, snow fell on the peaks above. Usually, only lights such as these would appear in the early hours before dawn, and many of the locals would discuss it over their morning pie and coffee, usually spiked with whiskey. But now, close to 2:00am, it was as if the gods had woven a blanket of cumulus to strangle the city, isolating it from the moon that was most likely now high in the sky. These unidentified lights were watching Half Moon with eyes that seemed to hush the town in fear. Then, like the crack of a whip, a single ear-piercing thunder roll shook the town, startling Hemlock from his trance. The swirling fog poured its guts out onto the sidewalks, rooftops, and on the heads of the wandering folks who had been walking home late that night.
His breath ceased as the azure glimmers passed overhead, caught in awe. Hemlock was still trying to clear his head from the night at the bars with Jacoby and his friends from college. He resumed his walk towards his apartment. No one else seemed to be noticing them; a woman working late at her small shop accidentally shoved her way past him fumbling with her umbrella and a large, overcompensating truck raced down the street rolling coal. Hemlock stared in a daze at the flickering lights that soon disappeared behind the clouds. He flicked his now-soaked cigarette into the gutter and glanced back once, just in case he would catch another glimpse of the lights. Cursing under his breath, he slugged on his coat. Hemlock's shaggy charcoal hair was soon dripping, giving off the look of slick raven feathers; his bangs fell in front of his face. Scowling, he swore he saw a snowflake or two mixed with the freezing rain.
