Holy

Chp. 1: Being Mortal

15 Years Later

   The clock on the wall ticked mockingly as if knowing that I was counting down the seconds until class was over. As much as I enjoyed learning, I would have much rather been at home, either painting or playing the piano that we had in the library.
   East Dale High School, the only high school within a thirty-mile radius of our small town west of Olympia, Washington. Quiet, peaceful, and safe, our town wasn't well known and everyone liked it that way. It seemed like no one in our town wanted to be noticed, found, or remembered. But, like every small town, everyone knew your business, from birthdays to family history. My parents had stressed to me and my brother that we were to never tell anyone more information than was necessary, to not let anyone get too close. It always felt like an odd request, considering no one paid any special attention to us or cared to familiarize themselves with us.
   The bell rang a shrill cry that made me jump in my seat. Classrooms that were full of antsy students suddenly emptied, the hallways now alive with energy from the students chatting and moving to lockers and different classrooms. I packed my notebooks and pencils back into my bag and shrugged it onto my shoulders. I called out a goodbye to my teacher and made my way out into the bustling hallway. It was always a bittersweet walk to my locker. Groups of friends who had known each other for years laughed and joked beside their lockers, hanging out as normal teenagers did. That was something my brother and I had never done, hanging out with other people our age. There was never a real reason to because we always had each other. From our first day of kindergarten up to our teenage years, we always stuck together. We did the same things together and never fought, we always knew what the other was thinking or feeling without ever having to ask, and we never wanted anything more. It was a simple and chaos-free way of living and we preferred it that way. We enjoyed our quiet life for what it was worth and never had a complaint. But I couldn't explain the twang of jealousy I felt when I watched the girls my age giggle about boys and make plans for shopping trips and watch groups of students leave together in one big crowd to have after-school adventures.
   Ignoring my mixed emotions, I found my way to my locker through the crowd of students and turned the dial. Once the metal clicked I swung the door open and dumped my books inside. Unlike my classmates, I didn't have things decorating the inside of my locker. I'd seen the inside of my classmates' lockers over the years and it was always the same: group pictures, celebrity photos, and decorations that made things much more personal for students. I had nothing like that and no reason for it, much like all the other decisions I made in my life. Mulling over my thoughts, I almost missed the sudden presence beside me. Almost.
   I smiled at my brother as I closed my locker. "How was your day?" I asked, leaning against the cool metal as my brother smiled down at me.
   My identical twin, Michael, was my best friend and only sibling. Aside from our parents, he was the only family member I had. He was special in every form to me, my other half. He had the same wavy brown hair and blue eyes that I did, but he was still well over half a foot taller than me. How our genetics managed to miss me with the height gene, I didn't know. It was sometimes strange to see my own face looking back at me when I spoke to him, but I never gave it a second thought most of the time. It was just how things were.
   "The same as usual," he answered with a shrug. "You know that, Lucy."
   People stared at us as we passed by them on our way to the student parking lot, exchanging whispers of us back and forth. Many people found it so strange that we were so close. They didn't understand, and I guess I couldn't blame them. I had overheard horror stories from other students who found unwelcome surprises in their rooms when they returned home from being gone, left behind by their younger sibling, filthy shared bathrooms, and simple arguments that turned into brutal brawls in the living room. Michael and I only had each other growing up, so for us, it was only natural to get along so well. We only had each other. It wasn't that we couldn't make friends, it was just that we didn't want to. We were comfortable with just each other, so why would we need more?
   It always seemed more crowded in the student lot on Friday afternoons when school was dismissed for the weekend, but that just meant more eyes on us as we made our way to our sedan parked in the furthest corner. Trees hung over our car, but it somehow remained spotless, not a single bug, bird dropping, or leaf marring the graphite-colored paint. Climbing in, finally away from the questioning eyes and hushed whispers of our classmates, we started for home. Although the silence was comfortable, the drive seemed to drag on longer the closer that we got to graduation. Six months. Only six months until we would walk across the stage assembled on the football field to receive our diplomas and start our new lives as adults. On top of that, our birthday would be only a week after that during the summer solstice. The school counselors were constantly asking students what their future plans were and if they'd be going to college. While Michael and I hadn't thought much about it, I always found myself gazing at the horizon, hoping for something new. It had become such a nagging feeling, wanting something new. It seemed like every day of my life was the same and it had started to become monotonous. Although my ambitions were similar, I still couldn't relate to my classmates. Many of them were antsy to get away from their parents, and their numerous siblings, and have a space of their own so that they could develop as their own person. One specific counselor who held a lecture in our class said that sometimes in order to grow you have to move yourself in the direction of the light, to find new roots and grow where the soil is more nurturing. She was a big user of metaphors, and I'd heard several students snickering during her lesson. I couldn't tell if it was due to her speech or if it was her appearance. I could admit, she seemed a little hard to listen to with such a loud appearance. She had hair twists and wore a linen dress with sunflowers embroidered on it, her dark skin causing the white cloth to glow bright as it hung off of her shoulders. The wispy sleeves swung around elegantly from her hand movements as she spoke. She was a character, for sure, but someone who had a peaceful energy around her. She made me want to follow my longing feelings even more.
   Our drive was always the same, but I could never get enough of the view from the side road along a cliff that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. Some days, when the sun made a rare appearance, the water sparkled as the rays touched the waves, creating beautiful lights that would shine on the rocky cliffside. Today was not one of those days. Thick, dark clouds blocked out the sun, threatening rain and storms that hadn't come yet. It became even darker once we made it into the overhang of the trees. They curved in around the road, creating a comforting feeling of being wrapped in a blanket of green leaves and branches. The curve in the road was sharp, but it meant that home wouldn't be much farther. This part of the trip always made me itch. It was at this point that I'd get antsy to get out of the car and into the house, ready to get inside and into my room, my safe space.
   Our driveway was long but evenly paved. Under the cover of trees, it would be impossible for anyone else to notice it except those of us in residence on the plot of land. The long driveway had a wooden fence on either side, a sort of runway up to our large house. The house was made of a mixture of brick and wood, with white brick surrounding the bottom of the house as the foundation. The covered front porch was accented by two large stone columns, the dark oak doors a stark contrast against the bright white of the house. On either side were windows that looked into the sunroom on the left and the library on the right. The second floor was where the bedrooms started, and right above the porch was a terrace with a railing that was the same color as the front door. The top of the house was, technically, the attic, but it also had a terrace with a dark wood rail. That was my room, my safe haven. A space that was solely mine. I knew of many classmates who didn't have the same luxury, who had to share a bedroom with one or multiple siblings. The dark shingles of the house against the white trim created a depth that was beautiful beyond many homes I'd seen in my years. There were gardenia bushes that my mother tended to in the front flower beds, and an oak tree on the right in front of the library, creating shade and intricate light to filter through the leaves. The wisteria vines that Michael and our father had planted when we were six were starting to turn green again as they hung over the covered porch, the patio furniture still pristine after all these years.
   Today it wasn't the magnificent house in which we lived that caught my attention, but the silver car that was parked in front. If there was one thing that we knew about our parents, it was that they didn't have friends. At least, none that visited our home. Michael and I shared a glance before he parked the car under the port and we exited the vehicle, staring at the silver car before we cautiously walked past and up the steps of our home. Gently taking hold of the golden doorknob, we entered the main entryway, attempting to keep our footsteps quiet against the hardwood floors as we peeked our heads into the sunroom where we could hear the voices of our parents and someone new.
   "I can't wait to get them started," said the new voice, belonging to a beautiful woman sitting across from our parents. She was thin and willowy, but that didn't detract from her smooth, porcelain skin that didn't have a single freckle, mole, scratch, or scar. Her black hair was cut into a smooth, straight bob that moved in one unit as she spoke. She took notice of our presence quickly and when she turned her gray eyes to us, a shiver went down my spine.
   Our parents followed her eyes to find us peeking around the corner, the two of us caught red-handed in our snooping. We entered the sunroom, setting our bags on the wicker chair closest to us.
   "Hello, kids," our mom said in greeting. "How was school?"
   "It was fine," Michael answered with a hint of hesitation in his voice. "What's going on here? Who is this?"
   "This is Athena Hart, an old friend of ours," our dad answered. "We were discussing the potential of enrolling the two of you in some extracurricular activities."
   "Nice to meet you," I said to Ms. Hart, extending my hand.
   She smiled as she shook it, and I was shocked at how cold it felt against my skin. The cold seemed to crawl up my arm and take root against my chest, right above my heart, and it sent a shiver through me. I withdrew my hand and crossed my arms over my chest.
   "What kind of activities?" Michael asked. Always the inquisitor, he never liked being left to guess things. He asked questions and wanted straight answers.
   "Well, that's ultimately for you guys to decide," Mom said, her voice filled with encouragement.    "Of course, we have some ideas of things that would be a good outlet for your individual capabilities and talents. So while those have been taken into consideration, we will always take into account what you'd like to try."
   They motioned to the coffee table where papers were laid out and we sat at opposite ends of the table, rifling through the papers that listed several training exercises, lessons, and more that we could fill our time with. I didn't know where to start looking, everything looked so great; there was archery, fencing, rock climbing, weight training, and kickboxing under the category of physical training. Next were the classical arts, including many instrument classes, calligraphy, and fine arts. The last section consisted of a variety of studies in different cultures, languages, and liberal arts. While our parents and Ms. Hart sat quietly while we made our decisions, we kept glancing up at one another, as if trying to telepathically make the decisions together.
It took a couple of hours before we made any decisions, and Ms. Hart smiled brightly when we handed her our papers. She shuffled through them, reading what we'd written down and the boxes we had checked off.
   "Great!" she blurted. "So, Lucinda, it looks like you've signed up for fencing, kickboxing, watercolor basic classes, Latin studies, and astronomy. Quite a unique combination you have going on there."
   I gave her a small smile as I looked down at my hands, fiddling with the ring on my thumb. Vines intertwined with each other, and little green gems sat at each intersection. Michael and I received matching rings when we started elementary school, our parents telling us that they were special because they were from our family history. It seemed odd, but I cherished the ring more than most of the other items I owned because it was from family. We'd never met any family members, and Ms. Hart was the only person we'd met who could've been remotely close to family. It felt like the ring connected me to them, despite never having known them.
   "Now, let's look at Michael's choices," Ms. Hart continued. "Oh! It seems like you guys are going down some different paths, hmm? He's chosen archery, weight training, architecture, and world history."
   Our parents smiled, but it didn't quite meet their eyes.
   "This is quite a unique collection of extracurriculars you guys have chosen!" Ms. Hart said with a beaming smile. It didn't seem to match her demeanor, though. It looked unnatural. It made me nervous.
   "So what day would you like them to come to the facility to get started?" Mom asked.
   "How about next weekend?" Ms. Hart proposed. "It will give them time to build a schedule and make sure they are providing the correct amount of time to classes."
   "That sounds excellent," Mom said, reaching across the coffee table to shake Ms. Hart's hand. They exchanged a smile and our parents led her to the front door, waving goodbye to her as she drove away from our home.
   Our parents joined us again in the sunroom and silence fell over us. It felt very uncomfortable and deep in my mind I could hear a small voice in my mind saying that something was wrong, unnatural, not normal. I ignored it, and, instead, I pulled my legs into the seat with me and hugged them close. We've never had visitors at our home before, let alone a friend of our parents. I didn't even know they had friends.
   "This is pretty sudden," I said quietly, giving my parents a questioning look.
   "Yeah," Michael agreed. "I love the idea but this is pretty random. What's this all about?"
   "We wanted you guys to get some regulated activity in your lives," Mom stated, holding Dad's arm. Her wedding ring sparkled in the light of the setting sun that glowed in the room, the white tear-shaped diamond a stark contrast against her sun-tanned skin. It's all the time she spent in the gardens.
   "Why?" I asked. "You've never had us take lessons or classes like these before."
   "You know how your mom is with those parenting books," Dad joked, pointing a thumb toward the library across the hall. "Apparently once kids reach a certain point in their lives, they start to get antsy-"
   "It's not just that!" Mom hissed, cutting Dad off. She snatched up a book off the side table nearest her and flipped to a bookmarked page. "'Teenagers begin looking for new outlets for their pent-up energy and restlessness, turning to poor decisions that lead to drugs, alcohol, gambling'-"

Michael burst out laughing, doubling over in his chair. "Mom, have you ever taken a look at Lucy? She wouldn't drink an alcoholic beverage even if someone paid her to." 

I scowled at my brother, watching as he wiped the corners of his eyes. 

   "Still," Mom continued, "We thought it would be a good idea for the two of you to have some new additions to your lives. They're productive, creative, and fun!"
   I looked at my brother, trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed to have mixed emotions, but I was more than excited about this opportunity. I was starting to notice that our lives had become monotonous or had been for some time now.
   "I like it," I admitted. "It'll be nice to do some new, fun stuff. We don't get out much."
Michael sighed. "You're right," he agreed, scratching the back of his neck. "I guess it would be a pretty good opportunity."
   Our mom smiled at us and rose to her feet, ruffling Michael's hair as she walked by with a playful glint in her brown eyes.
   "Dinner's in the oven, it should be done soon," she said as she headed down the hall, her blonde hair swaying as she walked. "Come set the table!"
   Dad, Michael, and I exchanged quick looks before touching our noses to determine who would set the table tonight. As always, Dad lost. He scoffed and followed our mom down the hall, nudging my shoulder as he rose to his feet. After he had retreated down the hall and we could hear the clattering of dishes, I sat my feet on the floor and sat my elbows on my knees.
   "Do you really think they're telling the truth?" Michael asked under his breath.
   I was shocked at the question. In all of our years, we'd never questioned our parents. Even when we begged for birthday parties and our parents denied us the child-like joy of it, we didn't question their decisions. It's not like we'd get in trouble if we did, we just let things happen as they did.
   "We have no reason not to trust what they say," I said in equal quiet.
   Michael sighed through his nose and turned to look out of the window at the setting sun that was covered by dark clouds. His eyes were swimming with emotion, but I couldn't figure out what. I forced a smile on my face and jumped up, grabbing his arm to pull him down the hallway with me.
   "Cheer up," I said as we passed by the many pictures hanging on the walls. "We're starting an exciting new journey!"
   Michael smiled down at me as we entered the dining room, the table set and ready for Mom to come in with dinner. The glass double doors that led to the patio gave us the perfect view into the backyard which was alight with the strings of bulbs hanging from the wooden posts holding the roof over the floorboards. I let go of Michael's arm and we took up our seats, giving our parents soft smiles as they entered the room with dinner.
   Later that night, after the empty dishes had been cleared away and we'd all retreated to our rooms, I looked around my attic room from my bed, the soft light from the decorative string lights strung around my room creating a relaxing glow. I pulled a knit blanket over my body, snuggling into bed for the night. I had much anticipation for the following week and I couldn't wait to begin this next journey.