I Didn't Know I Was A Supernatural!

Chapter Eight: How could i do all that?

I screamed.

I covered my whole face. I'm not ready to see this. I don't know if I'll ever be ready. I slump to the floor. I cried for what seemed like forever.

After what seemed like ages, I stood up. Greg is still in the room with me. I went around to stand next to his bed. He's lying there, not moving, only one machine attached to him. It beeped every second. His arms are over the blanket. They are burnt, skin peeled and red is showing. It's so traumatizing. I looked away.

"How is he alive?" I asked Greg. This is very bad. Even his chest is burn. How did he survive this?

"I gave him something to ease the burn. It didn't do much."

"So, there's nothing you can do anymore? You are only going to watch him suffer?" It was devastating that I couldn't save him.

"For the past two days I've been trying. Nothing works. I'm not strong enough to heal his wounds."

"What do you mean, for the past two days? It has only been a day, Greg?" I'm confused. Really confused.

"Emily, you were unconscious for two days. This is the third day. You were burning up."

I looked at Dante. He's got a bruise next to his left arm and a mouth split. Other than that, his face is fine. Looking at him, I want to cry. Again. What happened to me is nothing compared to what happened to him. I almost killed a soul.

"Is he gonna be okay?" I'm not sure I can't handle the answer, but I think I know it. And I want to hear it anyway.

He looks through the window. "I can't tell. He's not responding. Physically or mentally. I tried using my healing power, but I'm not strong enough. I can't do it on my own."

"Well, can't you contact someone to come and help you? I mean, you know these people." I don't even know what I'm talking about, but either I accept it or I go crazy. I don't even have a name for these people. Life is so unpredictable.

"That's not it works. They can't just help. He doesn't have what he needs to heal. Your fire burnt it. It was the last one" He looks at me.

"What is that?" I have to push away the torturing thoughts that are fighting for my attention.

"The Emerald stone."

"What does it do? "

"Anything to protect a Sup-" he stops and look at me, hesitant to carry on, "a person like him."

"Do you have it?"

"No."

"Then how do you survive?"

"I'm not like him." He says, matter of factly.

"But Greg, you can talk to him mentally."

"Yes, I'm telepathic. But I'm not like him."

We are going in circles here. He's not gonna tell me. "So, who has the stone? Anyone else you can think of?"

He's quiet. And he's not looking me.

"Greg? Who is it?" I feel it dragging me. No matter how much I think I'm normal, deep down, I'm not. I look at him.

He closes his eyes and says, "It's you."

                     * * * * * *

For the past few days, I've been having weird, horror nightmares. I could not make out what they meant. I've been hearing voices in my heads. All this time, no one was talking to me. I was stealing their thoughts. I can't say I'm telepathic. It can't be. Dante was giving me the benefits of my doubts. I'm not normal.