World Eater

41

SARIEL COULDN'T HELP BUT FEEL APPREHENSIVE. Pulling into the driveway of the school, his stomach started to churn. The last time he had been here, there was a massacre.

Police tape blocked off the back part of the school, where the gymnasium and all its horrors sat. Sariel shook his head, clenching his eyes shut. He didn’t want to think about it.

Sariel pushed open the glass door, dingy white tile showing him a distorted reflection of himself. Picture frames depicting the graduating class of each year hung on each of the walls.

Sariel paused in front of one frame, the class of ‘96. His mind was muddled, and he couldn't even remember his high school days. Sariel could barely even remember what he did last week.

He wondered what it was like before he got sick.

“Sir, are you here for grief counseling?”

Sariel blinked, turning on his heels to face a young boy. He appeared to be only a year or so younger than Alzar had been, but his stern expression made him look far older.

But Sariel couldn't draw himself away from the boy’s eyes. They were striking, a brilliant green that sat stark against his olive skin and dark hair. It almost felt...familiar.

“Sir,” the boy said again, sounding impatient.

Sariel shook his head, snapping himself out of his trance. “Ah, yes, uh, I'm here for counseling. Are you here too?”

“Yes. I was helping out with prom last night,” his voice was flat, nonchalant. Sariel had no idea how he was keeping it together. What did he see? Who did he lose? He wanted answers, but he knew this wasn't the time or place.

“Follow me. The grief counselor’s in the library,” the boy murmured, sliding past Sariel, his shoulder brushing across him.

Sariel’s eyes ventured down, the boy’s sweatshirt catching his attention. There was a tear in the shoulder, a scrap of fabric missing from the shirt. His blood ran cold when he realized why it was bothering him.

That was the very same fabric he had found on his window.

Sariel’s heart started to pound. This was the kid that had vandalized his house? What was this even suppose to mean?

“My name is Judas, by the way,” he said, watching Sariel out of the corner of his eye, “I suppose we'll be seeing each other more often.” His gaze had turned almost predatory. Sariel felt himself shrink, falling further behind Judas as they traveled down the hall.

“What?” Was Judas trying to reference what he did to his house?

“The principal probably wants to keep the victims of last night together. Like a support group.”

“Oh.” He was getting too jittery.

Judas stopped at a door, letting his fingers rest on the handle. “We're here. The meeting’s about to start, so I guess we have to part ways. I assume you will want to sit with the other parents, right,"  Judas raised his eyebrows, a dull look of amusement, "Sariel?”