Come Away

Chapter 1 - Fruition

I leap down the steps and land on the street before the bus door can open fully. An old lady is watching me from the bench at the stop so I turn my back to her as I scan over the bus route plastered on the side of the bench overhang.

According to the map, I'm right where I need to be.

Before my feet start down my new path, I catch a glimpse of my reflection on the overhang wall. My gray eyes are wide, darting from one feature to the next in quick, calculated movements.

Black jacket, check. Cargo pants, check. Sandy, chest-length hair pulled off my face where I can't be bothered with it, check. A backpack with everything left to my name stored inside, check.

Pulling my hood over my head, I duck inside the shelter as sirens blare past. They aren't searching for me now, but I know they will be soon enough.

When the police car disappears around the bend, my sneakers meet the dampened cement at a steady pace. Although I've never been here before, I know exactly where to go. Thanks to hours of online research at the library, my plan has been imprinted on my mind for weeks. The anticipation building up to this moment frays every nerve in my body. I feel like a dangerous, open ended wiring system, my muscles charged with anxious adrenaline.

I won't mess this up again.

Judging by the distant gray clouds and soggy lawns, the storm already came and went. Meaning that a night under the stars won't leave me sleeping in a downpour. I've had those nights too, but avoid them when I can.

I slow to a walk as I enter his neighborhood: a cozy cluster of homes sitting between a quiet university campus and a small lake. It appears to the naked eye as the perfect place to live. The perfect place to raise a family.

The Roberts' house looks like the rest. Classic brick walls, dark roof, and light shutters hugging every window. Dusk settles as I blend into the shrubs that line the yard. I know from pictures he sent that his bedroom faces the back of the house. A bubbling fountain, encircled with plants and a small walkway, is probably Julianne's garden. I've seen pictures of it too.

I kneel behind a leafy bush bursting with purple flowers. One blossom cluster brushes my face and I knock it aside. It wafts a strong perfume into the chill air along with a cloud of pollen. Freaking plants.

Glancing over the backside of the house, I focus on the only two windows that are lit. My eyes shift between them, watching for any movement. A shadow crosses the upper window and I force myself to hold still when every fiber of my being longs to move closer.

Darren.

His distinctive mess of hair sticks up around his head as he walks from one side of the room to the other. I even catch a glimpse of his nose—the signature button nose proving more than anything that we're siblings—marked along his profile as he turns off the light and leaves the room.

My knees scream in protest and my bent spine aches before I finally push myself to my feet and tear my eyes from the now blackened window. Part of me wishes I could sleep right here tonight to be closer to him, but I can't risk being found by Julianne or her husband Howard tomorrow morning. That would be the fastest way to ruin everything I've been working for.

So instead I sneak back onto the street and keep to the darkness until reaching a sign that reads, "Evergreen Cemetery." An open gate and seemingly empty reception building act as the only sentinels to guard the dead. And better yet, as I step inside the small graveyard I notice that I am the only living being inside.

The headstones engraved with faceless names appear like a ragtag group of children gathered together for the night. Some stones squat low near the earth while others stretch to the sky, their arms forming a cross above them.

After I choose a tree to sleep under, I shrug off my backpack and dig through its contents while my memories take me away to a similar place on a different night.

"You aren't even a little bit scared to be here?" My friend, Karen had asked me as she glued her wide eyes onto the surrounding graves.

I handed her a granola bar. "The dead can't do anything to you."

Her shaking fingers grasped at the food, but she didn't eat it. "But what about demons and ghosts? Olivia told me they're called the undead. She's heard stories of what they can do."

Then she added with a quiver in her voice. "And I think I believe her."

My eyes rolled dramatically to mock her, but Karen's focus remained on the white headstones standing against night's inky backdrop.

"I don't believe in anything until I've seen it myself." I said.

Karen had been a pansy at times, but I miss her all the same. She is one of the only people who understands what it feels like to never truly belong. But after we got caught on our first run, she would never try and run with me again. Part of me wishes I could be so easily dissuaded. That I could settle in some foster home for more than a few months at a time without being overwhelmed with the desire to escape.

I pull a lightweight sleeping bag—permanently borrowed from my previous foster "dad"—over my feet and up to my chest as I settle against the tree. It's heavy branches curl down toward me, and the warmth of the sleeping bag cocoons my body as my mind returns to the window on that great brick house.

Just wait till tomorrow, Darren. Then I promise we'll be together.

My memories transform into strange dreams that send me wandering through Julianne's garden. The plants start to grow before my eyes, and their bright, vivacious colors remind me of picture books I loved as a child. One stem sprouts from the ground and the bud opens to reveal rose petals the size of my face. I have to stand on my toes to peer inside it. That's when I notice someone standing in the trees at the edge of the garden.

He steps into the moonlight, but his shadowed features continue to elude me—as if his body is only half tangible, and the other half belongs to something as volatile as mist. Ignoring the warning signals telling me to run, I watch as he seems to glide toward me through the air. The closer he gets, the more I'm captivated and immobilized.

How can anything so beautiful...be real?

But then I stumble back as large raindrops start pelting the scene to shreds. Everything blurs together like watercolor on canvas. The gray sky melts into the grass and the rose drips like thick blood onto my skin.

Fear pulses hot in my veins as the man flies forward, his mouth open in rage, his hand outstretched to grab me.

<<------------------->>

It's good to be back! This chapter is the beginning of a new paranormal Halloween romance that I've been saving in the catacombs of my mind until now. And because I have no self-control, I'm posting chapter two tomorrow so you won't have to wait till next week to know how this dream ends (if it's actually a dream...)

Speaking of which (Witch? okay, that's enough), what do you think of this dream? Real or not real?

Until tomorrow!

X Logan