Dad cleared his throat.
"You're going to be late," he said taking a sip from his coffee cup before burying his face on the morning paper.
"I'm done," I mumbled, poking the cereal with my spoon.
My eyes hurt from the lack of sleep. Honestly, I didn't feel like going to school. But I would rather be anywhere else than stay cooped up with Dad in this creepy house.
As I picked up my backpack, the obituaries on Dad's newspaper caught my attention. I sneaked behind Dad while he was still reading. My thoughts were racing as I scanned the names there.
What if Lindsay was right? If those were really bad guys who kidnap and kill people while they were sleeping?
Luckily, there was no Thomas who died today. A sigh of relief left my lips.
Dad threw me an impassive glance before he headed to his truck. Without a word, I grabbed my backpack and followed him. I let myself into the shotgun seat and kept my eyes on the road as he drove. The Jack Skellington bobble-head figure on the dashboard made me drowsy. Soon my lids drooped in exhaustion.
Suddenly, I found myself standing in front of the Thomas' house again. I was dreaming. I knew because everything seemed fuzzy and a red sort of mist wafted from the ground.
My mouth moved against my will. I spoke with a voice that wasn't mine, mechanically chanting in an alien language I had never even heard of. I recognized the owner of that voice—the silver-eyed boy from last night.
Looking down at myself, I saw a small, skinny body clad in a black suit. When I tried to move, a pair of pale, frail hands moved at my sides. I realized that I wasn't just speaking with the boy's voice. In this dream, I was the boy.
The door in front of me creaked open on its own. This time, it wasn't empty.
A little girl emerged from the hallway. She wore a purple frilly dress that stretched to her ankles. Only, she didn't have feet. She was floating.
An old lamppost flickered to life. The light passed through the girl's translucent form. Right then, I figured out that she was a ghost.
I wasn't afraid for some reason. Maybe it was because I knew this was a dream. Or perhaps, because this boy I was in had been so used to seeing ghosts that it didn't affect him anymore.
I stopped the chanting and faced the girl.
"Leave their spirits be or face eternal damnation." The alien words came out my mouth easily as if I had said them a million times before.
The girl fidgeted with her auburn locks and giggled mischievously. In a split second she shot up to the roof and hovered over my head. The girl's face contorted into a lopsided grin, the wind howling around us as she shrieked malevolently.
She pirouetted in midair, the wind spiraling around her. It swayed the trees around and sent the dead leaves in the air.
"Amyr," I called calmly at the brown-skinned man behind me.
Amyr's round eyes narrowed as he nodded knowingly and positioned himself to protect me. The incomprehensible chanting flowed from my lips once more, this time more forcefully.
"Embrace death, depart from the Living! See the light to the Gates!"
I could feel warmth, a powerful force surging through my body. The invisible force seeped out from my fingertips rushing to the hovering girl, binding her like invisible ropes.
The wind hollered furiously, whirling around us like a vortex. In the middle of the vortex, patches of light slowly materialized until it formed a rectangle that looked like a door. I didn't know how, but I knew it was time for the girl to go.
"You are bound, crossover, REST IN PEACE!"
The boy's voice resounded painfully inside my head, I felt like it was going to explode.
SCREEECH!
I woke up at the angry noise of tires against the pavement.
Dad looked as shocked as I was. He rubbed his tired eyes. It looked like he dozed off while driving. Again.
He turned the wheel as fast as he could before hitting the brakes so hard that my brain almost got scrambled inside my skull.
"Dad! Look out!" I cried, pointing at a fast-approaching vehicle—a 4WD Land Cruiser that looked very much like a military vehicle.
Dad cursed and steered the wheel to the opposite direction.
We veered sharply out of the Cruiser's way. But the truck kept skidding across the road, doing a three-sixty degree spin. We swerved to the edge of the street and almost hit a tree before the engines finally stopped dead.
The seatbelt was choking me.
Coughing, I fumbled for the buckle and freed myself. I took a puff out of my inhaler and looked around.
By some weird miracle, Dad and I were still alive.
The yellow Cruiser swerved smoothly to the roadside and parked in front of us. A tall man came out of the driver's seat. He didn't look too old but his hair was silvery-gray.
With a worried look, he knocked on Marcel's window. As it turned out, my dad was too busy gawping and checking if his body parts were still intact.
The truck's hood was smoking like crazy. Before I started to suffocate, I got out of the cab and gulped another dose from my inhaler.
"Are you okay?" the man asked me.
"I... I'm fine." I stooped over the car window. "Dad, are you okay?"
He appeared to be in a daze. "I didn't mean to... I think I..." he stammered mostly to himself.
Dad looked horrible. He looked like he didn't sleep all night. And worse, I didn't think he brought his driver's license with him.
"I think he's in shock," the gray-haired guy said as he leaned over to check on my dad.
"Arch— Err... Dad?" called someone from behind us.
My jaw almost dropped. Getting out of the Cruiser was no other than Vincent Sinclair. Great. Just the person I most wanted to meet first thing in the morning.
Not.
He stepped towards us tweaking the fringe of his effortlessly disheveled dark hair away from his eyes, though I couldn't really see them through his light-adaptive glasses. The lenses constantly changed colors with the subtle rays of the sun.
"You okay?" he asked with a hint of disinterest—like he just said that because it seemed like the polite thing to do.
I was too distracted to answer.
"What's the holdup?" Vincent asked the gray-haired man, looking annoyed. "We're going to be late... Dad."
The guy who happened to be Vincent Sinclair's dad turned to me.
"I think we have to take your father to the hospital." Mr. Sinclair looked a little flustered, eyeing worriedly at his son like he was afraid he might get scolded for talking to me.
Vincent, as always, appeared unconcerned. But for a moment, I thought I saw him staring intently at me as though he was trying to recall something.
My eyes shifted between Vincent and his Dad.
They didn't even look alike. His dad had these dark droopy eyes that seemed too big for his slim face. He had that "I already gave up on life" stare on. His pointy nose was slightly crooked to the left looking like he had broken it once or twice. He wore a dress shirt under a black formal jacket with matching slacks. Stick a bowtie on him and he would look like a waiter from a fine-dining restaurant.
I gaped at them for a while until I saw Vincent put his fingers under his chin, gesturing me to shut my mouth. With that, I shuffled backward and dropped my gaze, managing a casual facade. I must have turned very red because I saw the corners of Vincent's lips pull up into a sneer which disappeared almost as soon as it had materialized.
"I... I'll take him to the hospital. I can drive," I stammered, keeping my gaze down.
With something close to a smile, Mr. Sinclair helped Dad transfer to the front seat. Dad kept muttering under his breath. Something about evil spirits and voices. Mostly, things that didn't make any sense.
"Not in that state you won't," Mr. Sinclair said to me.
He was right.
My whole body was trembling in shock. I could hardly breathe. It just dawned on me that I nearly died.
"Have we met somewhere before?" Vincent crossed his arms in front of him and leaned on the truck's door.
"Err... we have two classes together," I answered, still a bit dumbfounded.
"Thought you look familiar," he mumbled with a shrug, sounding somewhat irritated. "Err... Dad? How about you take..."—he threw an irritated look at me—"What's your name again?"
I did my best to avoid staring into his eyes. "A-Aramis."
He paused, shaking his head to curb a smirk. "How about you take Aramis' Dad to the hospital and I'll drive the Cruiser to school?"
"But—" Mr. Sinclair began to object. Then, suddenly changing his mind, he cleared his throat and nodded obediently. "Yes. Good idea, Vincent."
Vincent waved his father away. "Well then, you can go."
There was an unreadable expression on Mr. Sinclair's face as he started the engines of Dad's truck. Strange. It seemed to me like Vincent was the one in charge and not his dad.
I watched the pickup truck slowly disappear. I didn't even get a chance to stop Mr. Sinclair. My brain must have been hemorrhaging right now. What was I thinking just letting some stranger take my disoriented father and his precious truck?
My train of thought was interrupted by the raucous revving of the Cruiser's engine. Vincent's head protruded from the driver's seat window.
"Do take your time staring at nothing, Aramis. Don't worry about us getting late and all."
"Oh... C-coming!" I slung my backpack over my shoulder and ran to the Cruiser.
Vincent reached over, pushing the door open.
I stumbled into the front seat, accidentally hitting his arm with my bag. I mumbled my apologies while trying to ignore the glares he threw me.
The stereo was on with the volume turned down, playing Canon in D. To the left of it, an antique clock read 12:59 and it wasn't moving.
"Your clock's broken," I blurted out.
He stared at it for five seconds, then at me.
"Do you... know why the clock only ever goes up to twelve?" His voice was barely a whisper, his face a mask of nostalgia.
"I... I don't know."
"Forget I said that." Gently, he shook his head and sighed, falling in deep thought.
I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw a slumped figure in the backseat.
"That's my brother, Vladimir," Vincent said when he saw me looking.
Blankly, I nodded at him. I couldn't help but stare at the sleeping boy.
Vladimir must be around twelve and had perfectly straight features, dark hair that waved slightly over his brows and pale skin that blushed faintly, perhaps due to the strange cold weather. He was just like a twelve year-old version of his older brother, only without the somewhat rugged, arrogant air Vincent always seem to give off.
His face had softer angles and he looked as innocent as an angel as he breathed slowly through his slightly open mouth.
I stared harder.
All of a sudden, the image of the silver-eyed boy flashed in my mind like a blurred old film. I couldn't really be sure since everything that happened last night became extremely hazy.
The more I tried to remember, the more the details got fuzzy. Like a computer virus had invaded my system and was deleting everything that had to do with my strange experience last night.
Something in my gut told me that I wasn't supposed to be remembering all those things. All that happened was meant to be forgotten. Believe it or not, I wanted to give in and erase all those bad memories mainly because they terrified me. But for some reason, a small part of me kept resisting.
Vincent's brother looked a lot like the boy I saw last night.
I tried to get a closer look at Vladimir. But then I saw Vincent staring intently at me. He looked like he was checking if he had seen me in some most-wanted criminal list.
"W-what are you looking at?" I choked on the words, my gaze shifting uneasily from him to his sleeping younger brother.
What if Vladimir was really that kid I saw in front of the Thomases' house last night?
I stared at my trembling hands.
Did he know I was there? Was he connected to the people in black Lindsay was talking about?
"You just... look familiar." Vincent immediately withdrew his gaze and concentrated on the road.
I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't notice that we were almost there until the Cruiser slowed down and crossed the school parking lot. I wanted so much to ask Vincent about his brother but I could quite think of a way to do it without possibly offending him.
Maybe I could just say, "Hey, Vincent. Is your brother by any chance, a member of some evil cult that abducts people and leaves them dead the night after?"
Like that would work.
"Vlad," Vincent called softly, glancing up at his brother in the rearview mirror. "Wake up."
I held my breath for a moment there, waiting for Vladimir's eyes to open. I probably should have run away the moment the Cruiser stopped. Unfortunately, my feet had already turned into jelly.
Rubbing his eyes, Vladimir stirred and yawned.
Vincent was already outside my door, staring at me. He placed his elbows on the open window and leaned closer to me until his face was just a few inches from mine. His forehead wrinkled as he examined my face.
I cringed in my seat, holding my breath.
He rapped the door twice, adjusting his glasses as he did. "Do you plan on getting out or not?"
"Uh... Y-yeah, sorry." I practically hurled myself out of the Cruiser, hitting Vincent's arm (again).
After throwing me a dangerous scowl, he rubbed his forearm. He was wearing a red sports armband which slipped down a little bit, revealing a black tattoo which looked like barcode stripes, no bigger than my thumb.
XIII
In Roman numerals, it would mean thirteen. It was too late when I realized that he noticed me staring at his arm. Instantly, I averted my eyes from Vincent and looked at my wristwatch.
"Where's Arch—" Vladimir eyed suspiciously at me as he snatched his backpack from Vincent's hand. "...err, Dad?"
Surprisingly, his eyes weren't silver as I had imagined. They were clear blue, much like the color of the sky when you would assume zero chance of rain.
Maybe I had been getting too worked up for nothing. Maybe I was paranoid.
Vincent's shoulders stiffened a little, his eyes shifting between me and his brother. He was so tense I half-expected him to make a salute. "He had something important to attend to."
"I see," Vladimir muttered pensively.
"Good morning!" A girl greeted us, bowing a little towards the Sinclairs.
She must be younger than me. Her skin was ivory-white and as flawless as porcelain; a complete contrast to the long raven hair that flowed down to her small waist and the dark-brown feline eyes that radiated of constant curiosity.
There was a short pause as the three of them exchanged meaningful looks. It seemed like my presence was making them uneasy. The girl leaned closer to Vladimir and whispered on his ear. The boy just nodded, quickly glancing at his silver wristwatch.
"Shall we go now?" she said without making eye contact with the other two.
Vladimir waved his hand as if to dismiss his older brother and me like we were his servants.
With a nod, Vincent yanked me by my backpack to the building entrance. We nearly stumbled while going up the stairs. And people were starting to look at us.
"Hey! I can walk." I shook his hold off me. "I know I should thank you for giving me a ride and all but what is your problem?"
His eyes narrowed and fixed intently on me for about four seconds.
"Nothing," he finally said, seemingly amused like he just solved an intricate puzzle.
"W-what?" I demanded, feeling the rush of blood to my cheeks. "I-is there something wrong with my face?"
"Nothing."
"Don't you have anything else to say other than nothing?" I rebuked.
"Nothing." His lips pulled up into a smirk.
"If this is, by any chance, your way of making friends, it's not working."
I stomped my way through the corridor before I could make a bigger fool of myself. As I made my way to my first class, I thought I heard him laughing.