Possession < Spider-Man • Book 1 >

- 6 -

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Caelum woke back up hours later ― he knew because the light streaming through the window was softer now, not bright like it usually was early in the morning. His mother was gone, but his father stayed beside the bed, his arms cross and head lolling back. Caelum grunted, raising a hand tangled in wires to his face and rubbed at the sleep in his eyes.

He heard the door open, and turned. A young woman stepped through the threshold, holding a clipboard. She rose an eyebrow, noticing that he was awake. “Hello, Mr. Forest.” Caelum tried to sit up, but the room seemed to spin and he had to lay back down again. He muttered a swear, rubbing his skull. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Water,” he croaked, and that was enough for her. She picked up a bottle of water from a nightstand and handed it to him. Caelum resented water bottles, but took it anyway, his dehydrated throat overtaking his displeasure.

The woman had opened it for him, and he twisted it easily, pouring it into his mouth. It spilt over the sides of his mouth and he had a hard time swallowing, but managed to do so anyway.

Caelum finally looked back at the woman, clearing his throat, “Thank you.” He felt a tingling in the back of his spine, and he frowned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Is everything alright?” She asked and he gave a small nod, looking back at her.

“Yes, everything is―” He looked in her eyes and the tingling sensation pricked on the back of his neck. He winced, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them back up, he felt disorientated, like the room had tilted on a axis.

Caelum felt short, and. . . weird. Also, his teeth, for some reason, tasted different ― tasted wrong. He looked at his hands, his crisp, brown skin was now tanned white. And his nails were painted. In his left hand, was a pen, his right a clipboard. Caelum wasn’t left-handed.

He stared forward, seeing the familiar brown-skinned boy tied to wires, his hazel eyes dazed, staring into nothing. He was so confused. He turned quickly to the heart rate monitor on the side of the boy’s bed. He saw strands of blonde hair twist over his face as he rushed over ― blonde hair! Caelum wasn’t blonde!

He stared at the reflection. Blue eyes, a flushed, heart-shaped face, stared back at him. Caelum was confused ― and scared, very scared.

And all the while the back of his neck prickled and burned.

“What the. . . what the hell!?” He screeched, moving back. Even his voice was wrong, high pitched and feminine. He wasn’t feminine! He wasn’t blonde! What the hell was going on!?

Caelum looked back at the boy in the bed. Was that him? That looked a lot like him! How?! How was this possible!?

Caelum suddenly the pain in the back of his neck was burning ― paralyzing. He stared at the dazed, brown eyes, and squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing the back of his neck.

When he opened them again, he saw a mass of blonde and pale skin falling to the ground with a heavy thud. This woke his father and he shot up, dazed, and still half-asleep. “Wha―? What’s going on?”

Caelum stared at the woman on the ground, who was moaning now, but coming to. His father stepped over to her, “What the hell? Is she alright? What happened?” Caelum didn’t answer, he didn’t respond. He couldn’t speak, he didn’t trust himself to. He stared at his hands, crisp brown. No blonde hair or blue eyes or pale skin or painted nails. Crisp brown.