Chapter One: This Time, It’s Final
Munro
Sigh. Although I’ve ventured through these streets a million times for the past century, I still have problems distinguishing the apartment building that I always look for on this certain night, Halloween.
“Trick-or-treat!” exclaims an abundance of little kids as they greet the owner of a certain apartment, holding their bags out expectedly for candy.
Out of habit, I glance in their direction, and once I notice an eye-catching, pink ball gown, I return my attention to my primary mission: finding Chesire’s apartment building. Sadly, my ears refuse to stop their job of listening; I hear several items falling into the bags of greedy little kids. And as if on cue, I find myself muttering the kids’ conversation – one that I involuntarily memorized due to repetition.
“Munro, do you see yourself? You’re exhibiting a sign of a time-traveler. Quit reciting their conversation and fix yourself before people around us think you’re a creep, AGAIN.” Luther, my partner, scowls as he walks alongside me.
“Hush, don’t say the T word out loud like that. You remember how sensitive people of this area are about such things. Last time someone found out what we were, they tried to drown us – she ended up drowning first, remember?” I whisper, shuddering slightly as the memory plays behind closed eyelids.
“Don’t remind me, I almost got my book wet.” says the albino as he clenches his black, leather book a little closer.
“Our book. I still carry a burden because of it.”
"Because you acted out of impulse, that’s why. I’m now responsible.”
“Well, I still have power over it, meaning: we share it.”
“Who holds it, who writes in it, who does all the work with it – oh yeah, I do.” Luther smiles devilishly, knowing that I’m at a disadvantage in this debate because everything said is true: Luther does all the work, but that’s because I can’t have all of that power for a second time – I’d make bad decisions all over again. To make sure I won’t try any funny business, Luther secures the book within his black trenchcoat. Once it touches the fabric of the coat, it dissolves and won’t appear until it is needed.
“Let’s play out everything that’s supposed to happen today.” I say as I round a familiar corner – I know this road like the back of my hand (I’ve walked her home several times), but we retreat into an alley near her apartment.
“Do you want all the scenarios – because from what we’ve recorded, there are 17.” The albino manages to grab a book from thin air (my private notebook to be exact!). He flips through the pages labeled for this day. “Let’s see, she’s killed her parents,” Luther looks up, flashing his innocent, brown eyes and then waves his hands in warning. “On accident, of course. She’s burned most of Salem to the ground, and she -”
Before he can continue, I yank my notebook away. “I want what’s expected to happen today, so we can prevent it. Okay?” Using one of my many pencils from my pocket, I scribble on the surface of my tiny book.
I write:
Tell me what she is up to.
“Yes, sir.” Luther whispers, not sounding too happy.
Once I remove my pencil, the lead glows gold for a split second and then the writing disappears. When it does, the notebook flies open to a blank page and provides me a full description of the subject and what she’s thinking and doing at this very moment (or will do). The lead continues to flood the pages, but a medium speed as if someone invisible is writing it, only the person isn’t invisible.
YOU ARE READING
Danger Days
Ficção Adolescente"Draw a monster. Why is it a monster?" - [Daughter by Janice Lee] Fourteen-and-a-half year old Chesire Summit has always been put down and looked at as a troubled child, and she's sick and tired of it, so to prove her tormentors wrong, she conjures...
