Edited 10th May 2020.
There was an undeniable naivety to my hopefulness that he would return; a paralysing irony to my dread when he did. I believed the indigo-eyed boy to be devilishly cunning but as dangerous as the other boy I had encountered with abnormal eyes? Well, that was yet to be seen.
My first encounter with Indigo Eyes had been three weeks prior. It hadn't crossed my mind to consider the coincidence of the date, its significance and what he might have to do with it. It was an otherwise mundane Monday afternoon, fifth-period history class. Mr. Gregory, a man who was utterly content in his ordinariness, was preoccupied with introducing the Cuban Missile Crisis to students who were indisposed attempting to stay conscious. I sat back and centre, regretting the choice I had made months before to be subjected and introduced to anything of the historical kind.
You smelt him first. The putrid air of adolescence became subtly perfumed with the colourful scent of winter and its spices. Nostalgic memories of fresh gingerbread, crackling fires and pine stirred and with them my attention, once wallowing in a post-lunch weariness, peaked in curiosity.
I twisted in my chair and searched for the source of the scent, unfamiliar to the Spring outside and the untameable armpit stench inside. Anyone watching me would have declared my inquisitiveness crazy; a fair assumption considering the personal significance of this Monday whether we were choosing to acknowledge that significance or not. No one else seemed to care for or have noticed the change in the air. It was perfectly possible I had imagined it - a conclusion I was an expert at coming to for the sake of my sanity and my therapists'.
Unsatisfied, I slouched back into my chair and focused on Mr. Gregory, anchoring my senses to his monotonous charm. It did not take long to lull myself into a false sense of security deep enough not to notice when he first entered the room.
It was only when I looked up to study the beginnings of rainfall that I realised the boy was there at all. His stride was calculated and considered as he sized up the class, found something to his liking and welcomed himself to the empty chair two seats down from my own.
The fact that nobody had noticed his entrance or presence would have intrigued me first and foremost, if not for the strangeness of the boy himself. The plastic chair didn't creak, as was customary, when the boy bent over to retrieve a bound notebook from his satchel. He was graceful and quick and reeked of an enviable self-confidence. His willowy frame placed itself in a careless fashion over the chair and he began scribbling away with a fascinating intent. Every so often his hand would pause and would consider a detail in earnest, creating deep crinkles in his brow. Then, after due speculation, he erased something. His lip curled in satisfaction and in that fraction of a moment he became even more remarkable, nothing more so than those bewitching indigo eyes.
I was afraid to admit to myself that I enjoyed taking him in. My infatuations were shallow and should have been deterred by the self-congratulating smugness of his grin. Artlessly, I untied my hair and let it fall to mask the faint glow in my cheeks.
I was warm, that was all.
Despite my caution, the boy's hand paused and his head turned so that his stare met mine. There was a sudden familiarity that I could not mistake and it was terrifying.
As inadvertently as possible I looked down at the blank paper in front of me.
His stare chilled my veins and forcibly shook fortifications around my fragile mind. My instinct was overcome by the need to search for something that was missing. Peeking through a few parted strands of hair, I could see him eyeing me, a confused look distracting his mouth from his smirk. For a brief moment we beheld one another with curiosity and an urgency to understand one another.
"Christine?" I jumped. My attentions were seized from the peculiar boy and held ransom by Mr. Gregory's and his inpatient glower. "Do you care to share with the class the meaning behind your disinterest in my lesson but your fascination in an empty chair?" Mr. Gregory inclined his sights to the subject of his grievance and its apparent lack of an occupant.
Empty chair?
My brow furrowed and I licked my lips. An uncomfortable dryness threatened to sabotage any hopes of a retort.
"Empty chair?" I clarified, staring at the chair in question. The indigo boy sat upright, an electric energy in his demeanour and a question in his gaze - a gaze on a boy I might have imagined?
Mr. Gregory eyed the class while he decided whether concern or composing a clever comeback was the appropriate course to take. A stray giggle from Sarah Davies in the second row did nothing in the favour of the history teacher's willingness to be empathic.
"Yes, empty chair." Mr. Gregory decided not to humour my foolish notions and instead favoured his reputation over my own. "And if it isn't empty, well I hope the occupier isn't as quick to make a fool of me as you are Miss Evans. For your lack of regard and, come to think of it, the vast majority of you who have presumed to think I can't see you on your phones beneath your tables. I shall be bringing the deadline for your essays on the Berlin Crisis forward to Friday. Anyone who has a problem with that, speak to Miss Evans. Perhaps her imaginary friend will be obliging and complete the assignment for you." Mr. Gregory nonchalantly noted the new deadline down while my classmates groaned. As for me, I appeared to have more important things than my social standing to worry about.
Two seats down, the indigo-eyed boy continued to scrutinise me. I refused to believe, in spite of myself, that the intensity of one, invisible boy's gaze could cause my nerves to prickle with such a chill. Figments of the imagination had no physical power over me. I had been given no choice but to believe that along with antipsychotics to reinforce it.
Turning away and righting my thinking, I decided it was best to ignore my invisible friend. He was alluring though and there was no doubt I was drawn to him but for the remainder of the lesson I took unnecessarily meticulous notes, needing to distract myself from those penetrating eyes and believe that my medication might erase him from my existence.
Eventually Mr. Gregory signalled for the class to take note of the new essay deadlines and gather their belongings before the bell. I didn't need telling twice. I shoved my books and papers into my satchel and slung it over my shoulder. Before I could restrain myself, I sought foolhardy evidence that my imagination had simply betrayed me and conjured an indigo-eyed boy for sport. Expectedly, if only to my mind, the boy still seemed unspeakably real.
This was an unwanted and unexpected relapse.
The bell was still ringing as I fled from the history classroom and into the flooding corridors. I barged into the crowd, not even thinking to look back for his indigo eyes. In the scramble of bags and the crush of sixth-years coming out of modern studies, I tripped over my own feet and into an unsuspecting passer-by.
"Sorry," I mumbled to the dazed first year as I stooped to reclaim my satchel. While apologetic, I was far too aware of swift footsteps behind me to sound sincere.
"Hey, Chris wait up! Excuse me, pardon me. Oh come on, out of the way!"
I pressed myself to the railing of the brown brick staircase as flurries of uniformed students passed and hoped I wasn't about to come face to face with Indigo Boy. Fortunately, it was only a gangly, red-faced Beth that was in pursuit of me. As ever, she was a ludicrous sight but a far more settling one than that of the indigo-eyed boy.
"Those sixth-year rugby oafs don't half knock you about and not in a good way," Beth said, straightening her shoulders and tossing her hair. I smiled, almost conceding a snigger. "I don't see what's so funny," she continued as she righted her blazer and brushed down her skirt. I rolled my eyes and, despite the urge to flee from school grounds, attempted to lead the way to our English class. There was safety in numbers and sanity to be found in humouring Beth's dramatics.
"Come of it Chris,You're one to laugh. What exactly is going on with you today? You were totally fine at lunch and now you're all psycho?" Beth said, oblivious to the date and characteristically the trait of thinking before speaking.
"You know me, any excuse to wind up Mr. Gregory. It worked didn't it?" I lied, peering over my shoulder. Beth studied me, considering my lie and measuring out her distaste for it before responding.
"Sure it worked, so well you got our deadline brought forward the week Mum's asked me to watch Cheryl every night. Not that I'm not already watching her from now until Kingdom come as it is," Beth muttered resentfully. "Don't even think about asking me how I'm going to be ready for exams next month. Thank God I'm naturally brillant."
Though I was braced for a further lecture, Beth simply shook her head and offered me a forgiving, flirtatious wink before heading off into English. I tried to repress a snort as she plonked herself down and cursed as the contents of her bag fell across the floor. Perhaps I had been wrong to assume Beth was unaware of what day it was. Even if without filter and fully fluent in her illusion of being dumber and more helpless than she looked, Beth was still the most genuine person I knew.
With another brief glance over my shoulder, I continued onwards to my seat and sat down. Miss Johnson ushered in the straggling and closed the classroom door to latecomers and, hopefully, unwelcome indigo-eyed apparitions. An unskillfully photocopied quote was placed before me and an exercise presented by Miss Johson to be completed before the end of class that I didn't have the notion to listen to. I couldn't get those invasive indigo eyes out of my head for long enough to deconstruct anything metaphorical and give credence to it's meaning.
Indigo Boy's cunning face dominated my mind, blurring in and out of memories I couldn't place. Was my amnesia and psychosis playing tricks on me by layering memory or fiction upon the present?
The mounting intensity of Indigo Boy's pervasion of my mind may have been due to the fact I could smell it; the essence of winter. However, now another potent fragrance filled the air and the desire to investigate consumed me. I was rudely beguiled with an itch only abated by scratching.
I rose from my seat with an urgency that was anything but subtle. Miss Johnson inspected above the monitor of her computer, hand poised mid-scroll.
"Do you need something Chris?" I glanced at her, not mistaking the displeased twist in her lips.
"The bathroom, I have...bad cramps?" For the second time that day my dignity took a foul blow as my classmates fought the temptation to laugh. Miss Johnson, however, considered me shortly with a bored expression and resumed scanning her screen and scrolling.
"If you must," she relented.
The class watched me go with far more interest than our teacher, many mindful of and witness to the debacle in history class. I was being strange and it was providing sufficient entertainment to the unmotivated masses even if painful to my pride.
I hurried out of the door and into a colourful explosion of fragrance. Though startled by the intensity of the aromas, I steeled myself to be vigilant. I was disobeying all reasonable rationale that warned me to avoid my pursuer. Instead, I was seeking him. After all, curiosity was an unfeeling temptress and answers to ridiculous questions were never given freely.
As I cautiously stole up the corridor, the voices of students muffled behind closed doors, the scents grew stronger. Though I felt foolish, I gathered myself to the shadows and held close to the corners as new corridors and pathways unfolded. I edged along the wall and further into an unpredictable jeopardy. Adrenaline pulsated through me, silencing the objections of common sense.
Had I forgotten to take my meds, today of all days?
There was a slap of hurried footsteps on the linoleum floor from somewhere up ahead. Hands sweating and my sudden panic disorientating, I reeled backwards a dozen paces into a janitor's cupboard. Wet mop and disinfectant distracted from winter and the new perfumes of something subtly floral and earthy, like Highland heather in the rain. I had been fast, but not fast enough to bring the door to a close. I edged as close as I dared to the beam of light that shattered the darkness. Squinting, I watched as two figures stepped into view. I forgot what it was to breathe, my heart in my mouth.
"Are yae sure?" Indigo Boy's companion asked. The stranger was built like a mountain and his accent broader than he was tall. He had pulled the indigo-eyed boy to a stop where the changing rooms for gym class and corridor to the communication and design department came to ahead.
"Yes, course I'm sure," Indigo Boy replied, trying to break free from the bearish man's grip and follow the route I'd only just taken to find them.
"And no tae be disrespectful but yae aren't just imagining 'hings?" The older man showed genuine concern for Indigo Eyes, even though he spoke to him as if Indigo Boy were his superior.
They could not be the manifestations of a broken mind or shapes of my imagination. Surely.
"I'm telling you Mack, she saw me, no doubt about it. Ask any of her little school friends, they all saw her scrabble just as I did." Indigo Eyes argued, scouring the corridor. The sinister fiend was tracking me and this man was the chosen reinforcement - but for what means? And why had I thoughtlessly chosen to disregard my logic in safety in numbers?
I leaned against the wall, processing the madness but never looking away from his familiar face. Bringing my hands to my waist, I accepted that if my heart were to thud any louder the indigo-boy would have his prize. I was growing more convinced this was much greater than a psychopath's imagination at work. I was not seeing things but that did little to calm me.
"Whatever y'ae say," The man, Mack sighed. The Highland giant inspected the corridor and then once more fixed his eyes of gentle indigo on the boy before him.
"If I could just find her, then I could prove to you that she can see me," Indigo Boy murmured. "I didn't think to check her schedule beyond what was convenient and I don't have Vince's means at my disposal to figure it out fast enough."
What the hell did that mean?
"Dinnie get yaer knickers in a twist, we'll keep looking; though I still cannie see what the big deal is if she can see yae," Mack tried. This attempt to belittle Indigo Boy's intent did nothing to calm him. If anything those deep indigo eyes only darkened further with fury.
"She isn't meant to see us. This is...this doesn't and shouldn't happen and I'll be damned if I don't get to the bottom of it." Indigo Boy flecked his fingers, rolled his head and sighed. "Now could we please proceed."
I pressed my back further into the wall, my hand curling into a fist above my heart. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. What did he mean? Did I even want to know?
"Whit is so special aboot this human anyways?" Mack bellowed as Indigo Boy charged onwards.
I didn't want to know.
"I-I don't...Just leave it, OK?" Indigo Boy snapped over his shoulder. Mack lingered a moment, muttering curses to himself before starting after Indigo Boy and leaving me in the company of incomprehensible questions.
I waited in the silence and darkness cut sharply by the single seam of light. My hands pressed into the cool, painted cinder-block behind me. I surrendered my brain to the monotony of a nondescript battery as it charged; a white noise you go in search for to be heard and to focus on to drown out everything else. If I did that for long enough would my manifestations and fear subside? How many numbers did I have to count to, breaths to hold and breaths to exhale before this might make sense.
It was sense that surpassed the need for silence and answers. Sense made me realise I was still in a compromising position. Imaginary or not, two indigo-eyed strangers were intent on finding me and I was easy prey. With the minutes of the school day dwindling, it was safer to return to my classroom where twenty other people stood in the way of me being the prize of Indigo Boy and his reluctant companion.
I nudged open the closet door and assessed the corridor. The coast seemed clear, scents long gone but I would have been foolish to assume I was safe. I left the drone of the charging battery behind and focused on getting back to class. The perfume of spice and winter grew fainter, the fear within me didn't.
Embarrassment and relief painted my expression red as I scurried into the English class and slumped into my chair. Though the majority of the class had grown tired of my antics for the afternoon, Beth was persistent in her worried glances. What could I possibly have offered her as an explanation?
Forty, un-indigo tainted minutes later and the final bell cued my exit. I leapt from my seat, shoved my books into my bag and hauled a less than compliant Beth from the room. The corridors filled with restless and rejuvenated pupils amongst whom Beth and I were usually lost. Today though, I needed to get out. My paranoia was suffocating and I needed fresh air. We received angry looks as I shoved people out the way, one step closer to evading Indigo. I wouldn't let him find me, not now. Several teachers protested with little effect as Beth and I hurled unceremoniously past them.
The sight of the exit and the absence of Indigo Boy's signature scent made me smirk: no invisible, indigo-eyed monsters were going to get me. Relieved, I let go of Beth, who instantly doubled over panting.
"You- are- a- psycho, you know that?" she gasped between wheezes. I righted my satchel on my shoulder, panting a little myself. "I mean I know you know that but you know that right?"
"I know," I admitted, glad of the warmth in my veins instead of his chill.
Beth glared at me and carried on grumbling at my insanity while I embraced the validity of her point.
Finally composed, Beth and I made our way out of the school building and towards the gate. Beth soothed herself by forgetting my strangeness and careening into conversation about nothing of immediate relevance or importances while I basked in the afternoon rain shower and the victory of outsmarting the indigo-eyed boy.
But of course that was when I saw them, leaning casually against the gate. My revelry fled and I was left empty.
Indigo Boy only had eyes for me.