Master of the Lights

Chapter One pt. 2

DEKKA

I've just sat down in the comfy chair beside my dresser when someone knocks on my bedroom door.

"What do you want?" I answer.

"Can I come in?" Asa asks.

"What do you think?" Asa ignores me and walks in closing the door behind him.

"Your thinking is off," I grumble, picking up a comb to deal with my long tangled hair. He grabs a tissue from the box on my nightstand. Tilting my head back, he presses it to my nose. I didn't realize it had started dripping thick blood again. Sighing softly, Asa crouches down in front of me and rests his free hand on my knee. I'm still mad at him enough that I would rather he not be in the same house as me, much less touch me, so I move his hand. Asa puts it right back on my knee.

"I'm sorry," he whispers looking down. I move both his hands away from me.

"Are you serious Asa? You yell at Amity for absolutely no reason, punch me in the face for absolutely no reason, the only thing you have to say is 'I'm sorry', and you can't even look at me while you say it? Sorry doesn't cut it!" With every word my voice gets louder.

"I know," he says, still looking down. "I know," again, but quieter this time, as if he is saying it to himself. "I know that you are mad at me, and rightly so. But you need to understand that I was trying to keep you inside to protect you. I just got really frustrated because you were being so stubborn and then I snapped, needed to let my anger out but you happened to be the one I let loose on. I did it without thinking." He fiddles with the tissue box. I'm mad, but also relieved that Asa is back to his kind and caring self. This is the real Asa, I think. This is the overly protective brother that beats up any guy who looks my way. Kneeling in front of me, eyebrows drawn together, lips pressed into a solid line, icy blue eyes on anything but my face, I see that he is sincerely guilty.

"Fine, I forgive you," my voice is edged with annoyance. I'm mostly saying that so he will go away. Asa runs his hand through his dark brown hair.

"Thank you" he breathes. This must have been heavier on his shoulders than I thought. Heavy enough to make him barge in on my pre-hair-combing party.

"You're welcome. Now can I please get ready for bed in peace?" I say. Asa quickly stands up. I watch him as he drops the bloody tissues into the trash bin then leaves me. I stay on the edge of my chair for a moment thinking. I told him he was forgiven, but is that true? After a moment I resume the long process of taming my nightmare commonly referred to as hair.

It doesn't feel late, but it is. The battery powered clock on my dresser says 2:54 AM. About three and a half hours ago I decided that staying up to read "one last chapter" of a book was more important than being socially acceptable tomorrow. I have many regrets, yet this is not one of them. Just as I'm about to actually stop reading the doorknob rattles. Asa walks in holding a finger to his mouth. He keeps it in place as he climbs into my super high bed (Asa is pretty tall, 6'2 to be exact, but he still has to do some sort of jump/push up/climbing thing to get on my bed. I like it extra high.) Once he's up he leans over to whisper in my ear. "This is all real," I have no idea what he is talking about.

"What?" I ask, still lost in my book mode.

"This is not a drill. The sirens that went off earlier? Real. Not a 'Hey-you-guys-should-go-inside-because-we're-going-to-turn-the-power-off-to-freak-everyone-out' siren, it was a 'GET-INSIDE-THE-BOMB-SHELTER-YOU-COULD-DIE' kind of siren. There is a Shadow Light outside our house this exact moment," Asa looks thoroughly freaked out as he tells me this. I feel thoroughly freaked out as he tells me this. We'd been having drills all week so I never thought twice about the possibility that hey, this might be real. You should listen to Asa and stay indoors unless you want your head ripped to ribbons. The last real attack was three years ago. And Mom and Dad where home that time. But of course they insisted on going to get supplies one day earlier than usual.