Let’s fast-forward nearly eight years, shall we, Angel?
Emerson loyally stood by Gatlin’s side since the day he came. His loyalty never wavered, even when three-year-old Gatlin started paraded around in my high heels or dragged him into a tea party on the patio, unlike Barney. Whenever Emerson heard even a whisper against Gatlin, he would step in and start a quarrel, even a fistfight, in Gatlin's honor. Even when Barney left, Emerson stayed by us both through thick and thin. Trouble would arise soon, though, my son, and it will all start with a dream.
I saw a little boy with tight black curls and eyes like a beautiful sunset. He looked barely seven, yet his eyes seemed wiser than his years. A dark figure passed over the chubby boy's sleeping form. The boy let out a girlish shriek as the figure beat him until his blood was scattered on the walls.
"Sammy!" I yelled every time I awoke.
I was breathing heavily as the sound of crickets replaced the child's screams. I was in my familiar bedroom with the same brush-stroke flower wallpaper and white, aged vanity. I was laying on the same plush, clear white comforter. The pictures of Gatlin and I hadn't moved an inch.
"What happened?" Emerson exclaimed, waving a baseball bat.
"Calm down, Emmy!" I soothed, "It was just the nightmare again."
"Again?!" he asked.
"I can't control my dreams!" I exclaimed quietly, "Besides, it should come true in a matter of weeks!"
"What's that dream about anyway?" Emerson asked.
"Mommy?" Gatlin's high, euphonic voice said anxiously, "Are you okay? I heard screaming."
Gatlin, with his china doll, Anne, in tow, stood in my doorway. His autumn-leaf-colored locks were messy and tangled, and his plump cheeks were flushed like Anne's. His blue-grey eyes were glazed with concern and fear. His lips, pale rose in color, were carved into a thin pout.
"I'm alright, my singer." I lulled, "It was just a bad dream."
"Do you want me to sing to you, Mommy?" Gatlin asked sweetly, "You always sing to me when I have nightmares."
"I would love that, Gatlin." I responded, "I love nothing more than hearing you sing."
Gatlin sat on the edge of my plush white bed and smiled up at me as he sang the song I sang to him every night.
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree.
Merry, merry king of the bush is he.
Laugh, kookaburra, laugh,
Kookaburra gay your life must be.
I fell asleep by the third line. Gatlin's voice was so serene and ethereal, even as a child. His voice had gotten more and more euphoric as he grew older. Gatlin's angelic aria soon faded into the rustling hallway of a school.
Like many of the places I had lived, I hardly remember the name of the school Gatlin was enrolled in, so I'm just going to call it the School of Idiots. Most of the people at that school were idiots, so it wasn't all that mean. I swear, I'm surprised they don't wear buckets on their heads.
Anyway, as the students continued their idiotic banter, Gatlin, a handsome, sophisticated young man now, is walking down a spiral staircase, sticking out like a sore thumb among the idiots in a black collared shirt, red tie, black jeans, and white sneakers. He tapped on the shoulder of a younger student with dark, gelled curls and sunset eyes.
"Excuse me." Gatlin said, "I'm new here."
From the moment his sunset eyes met Gatlin's enchanting blue-grey eyes, that curly-haired boy was as smitten as the leading man in a romance novel. He smiled at Gatlin as he raised his eyebrows; Gatlin was just as smitten, though. I should know; I have a knack for that kind of thing.
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The Nightingale Code (Monsters Series #2) (COMPLETE)
Romance"The Nightingale Code, the rules for every Guardian to follow, and the list of important people in a Guardian’s life. There are many minor rules, such as never cross a threshold with a crucifix above it; it’s an omen of discovery. The one major rule...
