The Sixth Sense

Prologue

Prologue

“It really hurt didn’t it?” she said, with sadness in her voice as she watched me took my shirt off. Her eyes wondered on the scar on my chest. I don’t know why but her eyes reflected the pain and I felt understood. “How long has it been?” she asked me, not taking her eyes off of it.

“Just eleven years ago,” I answered, feeling uneasy as she continued to stare at my bare chest. “It’s no problem though, I don’t actually remember the pain,” I said trying to clear the mood up. I looked at her as she made her way to me, her fluid, black hair flowing behind her and her warm glowing skin reflected the sunset outside the window. It gave me the spasm to get her closer to me, to touch her, to feel her skin, to see if she is real.

She stopped, an inch between us, now her eyes wondering all over my body. Though she’s not doing anything, I could feel that she’s seeing right through me. She understood my pain, as though she had gone through it with me.  

“Amazing,” she whispered, her voice coming to a hum. “Scars do give the distinction that you’re different from anyone else.” I really didn’t get what she meant, but the words were so beautiful coming out of her mouth. I looked at her eyes waiting to meet her gaze. “Do you still remember how it felt?” 

“Yes,” I breathed. “Cold hands were touching me, and cutting me,” she winced at the thought. “Though I couldn’t feel the pain, it bothered me because I could still feel the ice-cold hands over my chest. There was no pain at all. Just the feeling of ice.” I sighed in remembering. “That was the most terrifying thing that’s ever happened to me.”

For a moment or so, she just looked at me, thinking of something I was dying to know about. I stared at her waiting for her response. She laughed softly.

“Believe me, I’ve been through a lot,” she said, with a smile on her face. Her smile lasted only about seconds, and then it changed to a thin line of her lips. “I don’t want to remember them,” she took her eyes off of me and unconsciously traced my scar, along side my chest. Her fingers were small and long; they were soft and smooth, gentle and caring. She traced my scar slowly downwards and it burned inside me. Then in a fraction of second, I just couldn’t hold on any longer, I grabbed her hand and held it against my chest. She looked up at me.

“Then don’t remember them,” I told her, my voice pleading. I met her hurt gaze and I merged my eyes to her to let her know that I care. “God has given me another chance to live, and I’m not going to waste that chance, because it’s one in a million.” I said my voice full of confidence. “I don’t know who you are, I don’t know what happened to you, and I don’t care what other people think, because I see you like no else does, because something you know affects me most, and I don’t why,” I waited once more for her reaction, but she gave a confused, hurt look. I brought her hand up to my chest and she gasped as she felt my heart pounding. I laughed. “Now you see what great effect you have on me? Even my new heart can’t take it.” I smiled, trying to loosen up the mood. I could feel the uneasiness fade away.

She lingered her hand on my chest, as I let my grip loosened hers. She looked at my hands for a moment or so, my heart still pounding. Her eyes gave a shimmer of violet under the sunset, then she slowly withdrew her hand away from me.

“I just couldn’t,” she whispered, her voice undeceiving. I waited for more but nothing next came out of her mouth. I threw my shirt aside and grabbed a clean one in my closet, my gestures were rigid. I placed the shirt on raggedly and bolted out my door. I could feel her eyes on my back, but my frustration was far more painful. “I’m sorry,” she called when I sat down at our couch. She went to follow then stood  in front of me.

I ignored her lame apology and ran my fingers through my hair, the usual thing I do when I get frustrated. I leaned onto my knees, pretending that she’s not there, and grabbed the remote of the television on the coffee table then clicked it on.

“I can’t tell you what it is because,” she started, her voice pleading as she fidgeted her shirt. “Well, because it might be something you can’t understand,” I still ignored her. “It’s beyond the human intellect, but it is human intellect, I just can’t say it right” I shifted my head onto her side so I could see the TV, still ignoring her. “Would you look at me?” she said, but I pretended not to hear her. I raised the remote to change the channel.

“Look at me!” she yelled as the remote was thrown away from my hands and the TV went black. What just happened? I looked at her, practically catching my attention. She was now catching her breath as though she had run a mile. I stood up to meet her, her height just reaching my chin.

“Then tell me” I said hoarsely, ignoring what just happened.

“You wouldn’t understand” she whispered, still catching her breath.

“I will if I want to.”

She gave a sigh then walked back a little. I’m sure she’ll tell me now, because I need to know it, I’ve been dying to know ever since we’ve met 11 years ago. She closed her eyes and held her hands out. It was a second or so, then the lights in our house flickered, then the ground shook underneath us. It was the same phenomenon that happened in the hospital, though this time; it was a little less aggressive. I looked if it was just me, or the whole house, or it was just in my head. Then only one force seemed to be the root.

It was Isa, she was making the ground shake. I don’t know how but when she opened her eyes it revealed a crimson color, and I know it wasn’t Isa’s own eyes, it was a demon’s.