I Am A Monster

I Am A Monster : Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Well, hi!"

A girl is standing right outside the door. She has long, curly red hair, large blue eyes, and a pale face. She smiles at me. Her teeth are very white, and she has dimples. She's definitely younger than me--twelve or thirteen, bouncing with an energy only a kid would have.

"Hey," I say, a little surprised someone so young would be assigned to a seventeen-year-old.

"What classes d'you have?"

"Uh--raiding. Raiding and guarding."

"Both?" she asks. "That hasn't happened since...." Her expression darkens.

"Since...?" I prompt.

"Never mind," she says, her expression still dark.

"But why can't I--?"

"Whatever. Now, what's your timing?"

"My what?" I ask, confused.

"Your timing," she repeats. Her look is serious. "Surely--?" Then she sees my expression. "No. Well, your timing is, like, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, you're--"

"I get it. I'm a raider Monday through Wednesday, and a guarder for the rest of the time."

"I see," she says. "Now, I'll lead you to your room. You'll be with several other guarders, and since you're a guard for a longer amount of time, that's where you'll be."

"Will they be experienced?"

"Most," she replies. "A few will be from your old pack. But we're trying to group you guys together by ages, so they should be somewhere around...eighteen?"

"Seventeen," I reply, a little smug that she thought I was older.

"Right," she says, waving her hand at me like, Follow, dog. That makes me mad, but I don't show it. Instead I walk after her. She leads me through a bunch of halls until we finally get to a room with a huge oak wood door with the number 37 hammered on in gold print. "Your room," says the girl, and she opens the door.

There are three bunk beds lined up against the left wall, a few dressers, and four night tables. A suitcase lies on the floor, clothes scattered around it. It's about twenty feet by twenty feet, nice, large, and open. There is a large, circular, fuzzy, multicolored rug in the middle with a few bean bags scattered around it. A girl is sitting on the rug, poring over a large, thick, leather book with yellow pages. Her dark hair is done in a complicated-looking braid that I have no name for. She is wearing a tight T-shirt and skinny jeans. Her skin is tan.

When she hears the door open, she turns around; she sees me and grins.

Her eyes are icy blue. Her smile is warm, though.

"Hi," she says cheerily, closing the book and laying it carefully on the floor before standing up. "My name's Kathy. Kathy Jones."

She extends her hand, and I dump my books on the floor and shake hers. Her grip is weak and her hand is a little sweaty. Her face, I now realize, is a little pale, too, not to mention sweaty like her hand.

"Are you sick?" I ask, taking an automatic step back. She just laughs weakly.

"Yes," she admits, and then adds, "But don't worry. It's not contagious."

"Sorry," I say.

"It's fine," she says, waving her hand like it's nothing. "But you haven't introduced yourself."

"My name is Bree," I say. "Bree..." I struggle to remember my last name. Then, as if on cue, I feel myself go weak. "Uh--I--" I gasp.

"Bree!" cries Kathy. "Bree!"

But her voice fades. A vision appears.

I'm standing in the forest, alone. Remains of a recent vampire attack are scattered around: smears of blood, vampire carcasses strewn across the ground. My bare heels dig into the soft soil; I dig in my toes before letting it sprinkle on my feet. I love the feel of it on my toes, but when I look around, it saddens me to know that I'm fighting a war that's already lost. There is a nasty cut on my arm and some of my hair is cut off, looking as though a blade has slashed through it.

"Bree," says a feminine voice.

I swivel around, but I can't find the source. "Who are you?" I demand, a shake in my voice.

"Ah, but we both want that answered, Bree Jones."

Jones, I think. My last name was Jones.

"What do you mean?" I ask. "What d'you mean, we both want that answered?"

I'm scared out of my wits. What is this voice? Is it my conscience?

"I cannot tell you that."

"What do you mean?" I demand again. I realize I'm not in a vision. It's some sort of weird dream. I have control over my words and actions. In the visions, I was reliving things that had already happened. I wonder if this is all happening inside of my head. "What d'you mean, you can't tell me that?"

"Ah, werewolves...or humans. So...spirited. And so demanding! Yes, that's the word."

"I'm not looking for words," I snarl. "I'm looking for answers."

But the voice just laughs, and it sounds like crackling paper being stepped on repeatedly.

"Kathy!" I scream. "Kathy!"

"She can't hear you here," says the voice, laughing coldly.

"Kathy!" I scream, ignoring the voice.

"Bree!" It sounds far off, and like it's through a phone with bad reception, but it's definitely Kathy's voice. "Are you okay? Bree!"

"Help," I gasp. Something hits my arm--hard. I go tumbling into the dirt head over heels and utter a small, quick scream before shooting to my feet, looking around wildly.

"Bree!" Kathy sobs, but she's not there. She's outside the vision. I'm vaguely aware of hands gripping me roughly around the shoulders and shaking me.

A girl appears ten yards away. She has dark chocolate curls falling gracefully around her shoulders, dark, cruel eyes, and an evil smile. She looks about nine. Nine, but truly scary.

In a flash, she appears right next to me, knocks right into me, and runs back and stands where she was before. A second hasn't even gone by. I double over, clutching my stomach, and feel a small, hard fist pound my back once before I hear the rustle of leaves ten yards away. I look up.

The girl is standing exactly where she was before, an amused half-smile on her face as she watches me struggle through the pain.

"Bree?" Kathy asks. "Bree, should I get someone?"

"Vision!" I scream. "It's a vision!"

The girl lunges forward. This time, though I have no idea where she got it, there is a gleaming silver dagger in her right hand. She pierces the blade into my arm and I scream as a wave of agony washes over me. My arm is on fire. I fall to the ground in a circle of my own blood, gasping and clutching my forearm.

The girl laughs cruelly, and then the vision fades.

* * *

I wake up gasping and sweating with a bed sheet wrapped around my left arm.

"Bree!" Kathy cries, shaking me. "Bree."

"Kathy," I moan. "Kathy, what--?"

"Your arm," she says, her face pale. "And--Bree, you're covered in bruises. You were muttering to someone, and I couldn't see who it was, and..." her voice trails off. She puts her head in her hands. I can tell she must have felt so helpless, watching bruises spread across my skin and my arm suddenly start bleeding with no visible sign of it starting.

I look at the bed sheet tied around my arm, blood seeping through.

Whatever was in that vision can hurt me in my visions, and possibly kill me.

And I can't touch her.