Whispers Of The Damned

Chapter 2: Memories

I regretted walking in so quickly, because, unfortunately for me, Brandt had left his jacks in the middle of the floor.

Without glancing down, I stepped solidly on the solid steel object, injecting my skin with its pointed ends. I toppled face first into the linoleum, my books and other miscellaneous objects spilled everywhere, homework and assignments flying free to God knows where.

After recovering, a laid there, face down, for a good solid minute, thinking how I even have the patience for him.

My pale arms, sore from the mounding school week hoisted me up, making a mental note in my head on how many times I'd already fallen today. Dusting of the plaid print sweater I so handsomely wore, I bellowed, "BRANDT!" Before painstakingly reaching down and pulling the small steel object out of my heel and tossing it in the trash.

I swore as I pressed down on it, as it left light blood streaks in the hard floor. The gash in my foot was the size of an eye.

"Damnit," I cursed.

My profanity diminished when out of my peripheral vision I traced a small, fuzzy beam of light creeping around my mothers prized dining room, towards my location.

It giggled softly, "Sorry," it scratched, unable to control its irritable laughter.

Sometimes I wanted to sock him in the face.

"Brandt!" I slaughtered, "This isn't funny! Knock of the giggling!" I growled deeply.

Now, Brandt was all whooping and uncontrollable. I gave up after a half hour of lecturing Brandt, and made my way up the creaky staircase, up to my loft, ignoring the searing pain in my foot.

Moonlight spilled into the foyer, casting an unnatural glow on the rafters. I heard Brandt bellow from below,

"I SAID I WAS SORRY!"

In a slight annoyance I realized I left my schoolwork downstairs. I turned haphazardly and unexpectedly went straight through Brandt, who I hadn't noticed because of the bright moonlight.

He possessed my books and work in a neatly stacked pile, with a perfect arrangement of pencils on top. He looked down in shame and whispered,

"I couldn't pick them up, but I did the best I could. So I scooted them up the stairs, because you know I'm--"

He paused rapidly, sadness and reality set in his black orbed eyes. I nodded slowly. We both knew all too well what he was going to say.... he was a ghost. He was dead. He was gone.

He died in an train accident when I was 7 and he was 2. We were headed to our destination, and little did the conductor know that the left sides of the tracks were unstable, shaking. He lost control, and our train smashed into the Earth, ending nearly everyone's lives, including Brandt.

It left him dead, my mom traumatized, and me with my powers. Those who survived bare scratches, marks, broken bones, and suffered severe injuries, while I was left without a dent.

"Hey, Carlyle, you there?" I heard a tiny voice call out.

"Earth to Carlyle, Earth to Carlyle, do you read me?"

I broke out of my dark haze and focused on Brandts glowing features. Smooth brown hair, emerald colored eyes, a bright, bubbly personality. He had small legs, and a soft spoken voice, just speaking enough to understand. He wore a blue and red striped long sleeve shirt, and a blue shirt with a green space rocket on it, shooting for the stars. He blubbered to me, called my name, and held my hand.

I opened my eyes and focused on the 'now' Brandt. Dull hair, charcoal eyes, the same personality. Stitched, faded clothing, ragged features.

Dead.

My eyes adjusted and I scratched my face where the slap remained. Brandt watched me bend over to grab my books, not noticing the small tear trickling from my soft eyes.

"Thanks, Brandt," I mumbled.

I turned slowly and trodded to my room.

"And Brandt?" I said, "I love you,"

I looked over at him and saw him, but he had on the same rocket tshirt. Tears once again found its way on my cheeks. Brandt looked surprised. He floated over and softly looked into my eyes. His black orbs were a bit unsettling, but still welcoming.

"What's up? Carlyle? Are you okay?" He prodded.

"Oh nothing, just thinking about today at school."

"Oh, the blow up?" He questioned.

"Yeah," I painfully lied, "The blowup."