Sparks Fly
Chapter 14
No. Magic is one thing but walking statues is another.
The reptilian creature in front of me is in fact a gargoyle. A gargoyle. A gargoyle. A gargoyle.
I don’t believe what I see in front of me.
No one moves.
It starts to pour.
Lorcan pouts from behind me, putting a shaky hand on my shoulder. I flinch at his sudden touch. Idiot, I think. Don’t move, it’ll take our contact as an advantage and probably lunge when we’re least prepared.
I never imagined, or even tried to imagine how a gargoyle would look if it was real and alive. The skin of the creature looks rusty and cracked, like blood can come surging out at any second. The tongue sticking out of its big mouth is grey and full of gravel. I cringe at the thought of having a tongue in that condition.
The paws of the gargoyle are relaxing and tensing, like a cat’s paw does. Its eyes are almost yellow and glowing.
As it takes slow step towards us, I notice it makes no noise. Its mouth opens in a growl but also makes no noise.
There must be others. Three more.
Should I cry out for help? Would Cliff hear me? No. Crying out is never the right thing to do. I should stall until Cliff somehow finds us. Has Cliff found out about the gargoyles yet? Should I yell a warning to him? No. Any animal would be frightened if I yelled and most likely attack out of fear. But this isn’t an animal.
It opens its mouth wickedly.
Gargoyles are mythical creatures. I haven’t exactly studied them and their actions. I never knew one would be there sitting in front of me, staring me down.
What a hideous thing.
For a second, I forget that Lorcan is standing behind me. Lorcan can’t possibly be such a coward in this situation. It seems I’ve overestimated him.
Just when my respect for Lorcan hits rock bottom, he grabs me, throws me behind him and stares at the gargoyle intensely. What is he doing?
Then I remember.
Lorcan has the power to freeze people or things. In this case, I don’t know if the creature’s either, but it’s always better to try.
The gargoyle lowers its thick head, getting in level with Lorcan who is crouching down. Their staring contest lasts for about thirty seconds until Lorcan looks to me.
I pray. And pray. And pray.
I give him a warning glare. What if the gargoyle attacks him when he’s turned looking at me? I signal for him to turn back around. He gives me a worried look saying, “It doesn’t work”. Of course it wouldn’t work.
“Run,” I say suddenly, flying through the fog, not hearing Lorcan’s reply.
I don’t hear anything as I run into the mist, and my mind is set on Cliff. Cliff has to be around. He said he would come to our gargoyle. But he must’ve realized by now that they’re alive. Cliff’s smart enough. I have to get into his mentality.
He’s probably hiding behind some tall gravestone, listening silently.
A scream rises from my left. Jordan.
Cliff will surely go to get her, if he isn’t with her already, being the protector he is. The other gargoyles, if they had human mentality, will probably go towards the noise, expecting us there. Hoping the gargoyles are smart, I stay put, my feet sinking into the earth.
Why haven’t I used my powers yet? Does electricity even work against rock? There’s only one way to find out in the end.
Not even sure if how to control my powers, I tighten my backpack so that the straps are basically digging into my skin under my thin jacket.
I make noise while I run. No, not noise. I make a racket, attracting attention easily.
My plan works as a gargoyle places itself in front of me. I shut out my mental screaming. Its defined mouth curves into something that almost looks like hunger for violence. I ready my palms, closing my eyes.
Electricity. Electricity. Come on. Electricity.
Excited, I feel something flowing through me. All the way from my arms to my palms. I open my eyes. A bright light flashes. A bright light flashes from my open hands. At first, I’m blinded. I examine my damage nervously.
The gargoyle staggers back, shaking its head like something’s bothering it. Did I hurt it? Is it hurt? Did I do nothing at all?
“Oh my God,” I whisper to myself as it stops shaking its head. Now it’s angry.
Jumping to my side quickly, I feel the gargoyle’s horn lick my skin, ripping my jeans. Hissing in pain, I bite my lip. There’s no way I can punch this thing. I would break my hand instead. When I hit it with my electricity before, it looked bothering and didn’t fight back until after a few seconds. Maybe if I zap it enough, I could stall it, and run to where Jordan is. There’s no possible way I can beat this thing, I think as I throw my backpack to the side.
The wretched thing is only a few feet away from me. I force bolts and bolts of electricity from my shaking hands. Prepared for the light, I close my eyes and pray I’m doing the right thing. And I shoot. I don’t feel as if I hit anything.
Leafs rustle from behind me.
Suddenly, an enormous pain etches up my back as I wail like a dying deer. Fighting to keep my eyes open, the pain worsens in my back. The gargoyle’s carving its horns into my back. I twist eagerly in pain and rip myself free from the horns of the devil.
Blood stains the gargoyles horns. If only I kept my backpack protecting my back. But I know there’s no time to regret.
Minimal blood seeps from my back before the bleeding ultimately stops. The gargoyle didn’t actually go too deep into my back. But just deep enough to have me falling to my knees, brushing my fingers over my wounds.
The gargoyle stares at me as if saying it’s ready for round two.
Impulsively, I grab my backpack viciously and fling it onto the damned creature’s head. Not waiting to see if I hit it or not, I dash.
I’m basically limping while running. My back seizes in pain. Keep on running. Just keep on going.
A huge crash on my stomach. The fog is so thick I actually bumped into a gravestone. Straight line, Tristen. Remain running in a straight line.
Panting, I manage to reach a human figure. I make out the features of the person then pout in relief.
Puddles are formed underneath my soaked shoes.
“Cliff, it may be following me,” I warn him, my nostrils flaring, my hair covered in sweat, rain, and mud. He first looks solemn then orders me to stand beside him.
“What the hell happened to your back?”
“Nothing, just watch out. Where’s Jordan?”
“Your back!”
“Where’s Jordan?” I yell, pulling my hair behind my ears. I lick my upper lip in anticipation. Cliff points to his right. Behind the thickness of the fog, I can make out two figures. One crouched over the other. Jordan’s injured. “What happened to her?”
“Forgive me,” Cliff whispers to himself then stares at a gravestone. The thick, bright gravestone rises from the dirt, and floats two feet in the air.
Cliff’s persistent eyes are peered.
One of the loudest noises I’ve ever heard fills my eardrums. I never thought I’d hear a gravestone crashing against something so hard. Something such as a gargoyle.
The sick creature’s head cracks, and its left leg tears off. It lies there, motionless. Cliff leaves me no time to examine all of the damage and levitates the detached leg before flinging it onto the gargoyle’s head.
The gargoyle’s head breaks in half.
I manage a sigh between pants and loosen up a bit. For some reason, Cliff doesn’t seem convinced he’s destroyed the monster. He must’ve already taken at least one out before this one because by the look on his face, he knows what happens to a gargoyle once it’s decapitated. It goes into a rabid frenzy.
Taking no aim, the gargoyle body swings around so quickly and silently I don’t see. The same second I turn my head around to my right, the body of a gargoyle jams into my side. In less than a second, I’m falling and wet mud stuffs my face as I spit it out, breathing out dirt.
“Tristen!”
Cliff falls onto me, taking a hit.
“Cliff,” I shriek, as I hear Lorcan yelling in pain. There has to be a way to get through this. There’s always a solution to every problem, no matter how big or painful.
Feeling shredded to the core, I manage to move towards Cliff. I slap his cheeks. He doesn’t respond. Not wasting any time, I see two very alive and very healthy gargoyles standing in a massive puddle at least four feet away.
How did this even happen in the first place?
The body of the rabid gargoyle runs to the healthy remaining two and sits down obediently next to them. Cliff’s knocked out, Lorcan’s roughed up, and Jordan’s wounded.
“Oh God,” I roar, throwing a fist towards the wet ground. My hand lands in a full puddle. Mind blank, I look to the gargoyles. Rain beats down even heavier than before. Hoping for a thunder-less storm, I wipe rain from my eyes.
The gargoyles stand in place, intimidating me with their two pairs of yellow eyes. Their paws rest in the pits of a puddle that virtually reaches their ankles.
Water.
“Water,” I whisper.
Looking to my hands, a thought hits me.
Electricity.
“Electricity,” I whisper, getting to my knees.
Water. Electricity. They react. Water conducts electricity.
The gargoyles obviously don’t have human mentalities, because they would’ve remember my power I used on them, and that the fact that they’re standing in inches of water. My theory is officially wrong, and now I’ll admit I’ve never been happier about being wrong ever in my life.
Water drums on the creatures’ bodies.
“Stupid things.” I rub my back in pain.
Raising my palms, I feel the sensation once again. Zaps of electricity bolt within my pulsing veins and through my whole body. My hairs rise. Rain falls into my eyes.
With full power and the last of my strength, I grunt and flash beauty and horror from my palms. The water under the devils catches the electricity and burns the gargoyles. The flashing of everything catches my breath. The gargoyles will with no doubt fall inanimate and dead after this.
For a first time in a long time, I’m correct.
The massive, heavy creatures flop to the ground lifelessly.
I let out a breath I don’t even notice I was holding in. The rain pelts my pale, sick face as I fall next to Cliff.
Victory.
I can barely even mentally celebrate as I clench my empty stomach.
It’s done. I finished them.
The taste of vomit still lingers in my scratchy throat. My backpack’s probably fully soaked right now. My clothes are goners. I don’t care about the cemetery sexton anymore. Hell, let him find us.
No one makes a noise for the new two minutes, and I come to the conclusion that everyone’s either unconscious or too weak to speak.
Too weak and hungry to think, I close my eyes and fall out of consciousness as I writher in pain of the two holes stinging my back.
The rain is light. It patters on my face. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.
I stir, sitting up. Where am I? The memory of the fight with the gargoyles rushes back into my memory. Maybe it was just a nightmare. As I look to the massive puddle holding the bodies of the gargoyles, I’m proved false.
Cliff’s up with a bruise covering his jaw.
“Cliff.” My voice comes out hoarse. “Cliff,” I repeat myself, getting his attention. His dark eyes widen at my sight. I must look horrifying.
“Tristen,” he sighs, crouching down next to me. His lips quiver as he fights with himself whether he wants to say the next eight words that come out of his mouth. “I don’t think we’re going to make it.”
Cliff? Giving up?
I must’ve heard him wrong.
“Excuse me?”
“Jordan—” He stands up, leaving me on the muddy earth. He looks down then back at me somberly. “Jordan, she . . . she’s hurt, like really bad.”
I feel myself attempting to stand. “Where?”
“Her ribcage. She’s really weak. I think she’s going to . . .”
We’re silent for the longest time. It’s like the silence I had for the most time after my father’s death. A silence that was so extended that it ended when I met these teenagers.
No she can’t. Jordan can’t die. There’s no way she can die just like that. Lives can’t be taken away so easily and so mercilessly, especially by worthless, murderous creatures. How dare those things.
My back burns for a few seconds. I seize in pain and clutch my back into my hands, bowing my head helplessly. Between short breaths, I watch lazily as the tips of my hair dip into murky water.
This feeling. I’ve never felt so helpless before. This plight is by far the worst I’ve been. Probably even worse than having my father die suddenly before my eyes.
What are we supposed to do now? There’s nothing we can possibly do anymore. We can wait. But that would only bring Jordan’s death.
Barely even weak to move, I rest in front of a gravestone, only a few meters above the bodies buried in the ground. Someone has to come help us. It can’t just end like this. It never has before.
But I’m too weak for all the hero talk. You can’t be a hero without power.
Humming the hymn Dad used to hum, I close my eyes, almost mistaking my voice for Dad’s. Dad. Don. Don.
Don.
Don.
Don.
His name replays on my head as I blink slowly. Would Don care if he found out about all this? Would Don cry for me? Of course he would. He cares for me. That’s why he organized a set of posters in my behalf.
“Tristen.” I look at him as he rubs his jaw. “I’m going to get help somehow. You guys stay here. Don’t follow—”
“—don’t leave, Cliff,” I say suddenly, holding back a cry. Cliff can’t leave. He’s the only support we’ve got. “Don’t leave, Cliff.”
Cliff is shaken by the intensity and desperation of my voice and so am I.
“If I don’t get the ambulance to take care of Jordan—”
“—Cliff, what’re you thinking?” I stuff my face into my filthy hands. “What would the police say if they saw broken gargoyles out of place and kids beat up and parent-less. How would you explain the gravestones out of place? Cliff, you can’t. We have to stay here. Someone will come. I have faith.”
“Tristen . . .”
All color has been washed from his face. He looks defeated and sits down next to me. He slouches down so that his chest is in level with my head. I accept his offer and rest my head silently onto his chest. No body heat emanates from Cliff.
At least an hour passes by, and just when I think I’m about to fall asleep again, I hear something. Someone. Footsteps. Footsteps coming toward me. Footsteps coming toward us.
Without having even enough energy to guess what the noise can possibly be, I give up right away. We’re done for. All hope is washed from my system.
The mysterious person bends down next to me, keeping a distance. But I’m too tired to connect gazes with whoever it may be. Fingers suddenly press on my back, and I cringe.
My voice doesn’t come out as I attempt to croak in surprise. I let the fingers poke my back.
The fingers are off of my back, and I fall dead asleep.
I flinch awake. Cliff’s eyes join mine. Without losing any energy or feeling any pain at all, I rise. An unfamiliar woman with green eyes and wrinkled hands looks at me with a simper. Am I dying? I have to be. This is too odd.
“Tristen,” Cliff looks nervous and uneasy. “This is . . . Kathy.”
The woman grins warmly, not showing any sign of threat. Lorcan and Jordan walk towards me and rest against gravestones.
“Jordan? Jordan!” I say alarmed. “Jordan,” I sigh. Her creamy dark skin looks healthier than ever. Her eyes are wide and awake. And most importantly, her ribs look normal. “You’re—you’re okay!” Jordan nods. Have I been dreaming this all up, and this Kathy lady is a new character?
Cliff takes my hand and leads me closer to Kathy. I stare at her in confusion. She must’ve been the person who was pressing on my back.
“You’re a healer,” I realize, rubbing my back, feeling no holes at all. My heart skips a beat. “Cliff, do you know her?”
He presses his lips together. “N-no, but we’re going to stay with her for a while.”
What did he just say? Staying with a woman we don’t know?
“Please,” Kathy says with a dry voice. “I know who you are, and I’d like to very much help you.” She doesn’t seem too daunting. How can Cliff trust her? She must also have mind-controlling powers, too. I pull back from Cliff and take steps back.
Kathy realizes my uneasiness and gives us space. She walks into the thin layer of fog. Once she’s out of hearing range, I open my mouth.
“Cliff,” I say immediately. “We can’t trust her.”
“Tristen, just this one time, don’t be so stubborn. We don’t exactly have a choice right now. She can’t be that bad, and she healed us. Why would she heal us if she’s so bad? If she is as evil as you think she is, she would’ve let us die slowly. Well at least Jordan.” He shakes his head in-between words. “But that’s not the point. The point is that she helped us.”
“And suddenly she’s trusted?” I hiss. Cliff looks annoyed.
“If she tries anything on us, we can easily take her out—”
“What if she’s with the enemy, and there’s an ambush at her house? How else would she know we were around?”
“Give the woman the chance to explain, and then judge, Tristen.”
“Do you hear yourself, Cliff?”
“She knows your dad.”
My breath is caught in my throat. What did he just say?
“The one killed by the lightning,” Cliff continued. No one knows how Dad died besides family.
“How would she know that?”
“She claims she’s your dad’s sister.”
Kathy. Aunt Kathy. I haven’t seen her in years, even before Dad’s death. How could I not recognize her? I didn’t know her too well, though. Every time she used to start small talk with me when we had family reunions, I would brush her off and hang out with Don.
“I-I still don’t trust her . . .” I think about it more. I actually do trust her more now because she’s my father’s sister, but I don’t want to admit to Cliff that I trust her so suddenly. “Let’s go, we can’t keep her waiting.”
Kathy stands at the end of the evil cemetery, holding my backpack on her shoulder. She gives me a smile, but I don’t return it.
The last step on the dirt of the cemetery, and relief and life seeps into me. Thankful is how I feel. I knew there was a way we could get out of this. Even if it was by getting picked up by my distant, forgotten aunt.
It seems like a dream, how I see trees again. How I see a car again. Her car is a big Jeep covered in dirt and rain.
Without even discussing it, Lorcan jumps into shotgun while the rest of us pile up in the back. I can’t believe we’re all just sitting in a random car with a random woman. As strong as the urge is to jump out of the car, I have to resist it.
The bumpy road literally breaks my back. When the road is clear and systemized again, we’re taking a left on the intersection. Jordan is sitting at my right, looking as plain and bored as ever.
“Tristen,” Kathy speaks up suddenly, as if she’s been planning to speak up for the past five minutes. “Tristen, dear.”
“Don’t call me that.”
After running away from home, I’m not in the mood to see more family. The only family acceptable to me is Don.
Kathy sighs before saying, “I’m going to help you.” I can feel her holding back the word “dear” that would’ve been at the end of the sentence.
“We don’t need help.”
“Yes, dear, you do.”
“Enough with the ‘dear’. I don’t know who you are,” I snap, creasing my brow. How can she casually call me that? It sickens me. She’s no one to me. No one at all.
Everyone is silent.
When we reach a court, Kathy parks smoothly beside a one-story house. This place is so public. We’re like prey in a clearing of a forest. The enemy can easily get to us here.
We shuffle out of the car and into the day. Cliff narrows his eyes at the house, but there’s nothing negative in his gaze.
Reluctantly, I follow everyone into the house which smells of cinnamon and reminisce. The way Cliff was acting from before ticked me off. Why was Cliff acting that way?
It’s sunset, the end of our second day of leaving the apartment. We’ve lost Isabel.
“Tristen, come in,” Kathy says, urging me forward with her big eyes. “You kids must be hungry.”
“I don’t want to be poisoned, thank you,” I say, walking past Jordan, Lorcan and the angry Cliff. Naturally, I don’t like the idea. Ditching them, I walk slowly and cautiously into a hallway. I recall being here years ago. All I remember is the hallway that I always used to get scared of walking in. It was always so dark and threatening. It always will be.
If my memory is correct, there’s a room to the left that Don and I used to sleep in. There is one bed there. Perhaps Kathy will make me and Jordan sleep in there.
“Come eat, Tristen.” It’s Cliff. I don’t want him getting angrier than he already is at me.
“Coming,” I say.
The kitchen has three stools and a counter sitting in the middle. Across from the kitchen is a homey living room with a costly TV. To the living room’s left is a screen door leading to a pool and a large, green, grassy field.
“Here,” Cliff says, handing me a tuna sandwich, looking away.
“Cliff,” I say just before he walks off back to Jordan and Lorcan who seems to be going along with everything. “I’m sorry,” I say, craning my neck so that we’re eye to eye.
“For what?” he winks, pushing me by the arm playfully.
I step onto my tiptoes and wrap my arms around Cliff, stuffing my face into his shoulder. His arms tighten around me, and I feel his lips on my shoulder pressing gently. The hair on the nape of my neck rise.
I need something like this. Something so perfect and soothing. Something that makes me feel secure and not needing to check behind me twice before walking on. Something like Cliff.
“You’re warm,” I murmur into his shoulder.
“Yes, I am,” he replies, backing away. “Careful, your sandwich almost got in my hair.”
“Oops,” I say, almost smiling. “I’m really tired. Do you think after this we can go to sleep? I’m sure Kathy won’t object to that.”
“Yeah, sleeping is probably the best thing I could catch right now,” I admit, taking a bite of the sandwich. My taste buds explode. It feels good to munch on something. My stomach rumbles as I take more bites. The desperation in every bite almost kills me.
After my meal, I return to the kitchen where everyone’s sipping on water and conversing. Nothing about Kathy’s body language is suspicious. Can we actually trust her?
“Tristen.” Kathy grins after saying my name. She looks to the ground beside her then looks back up at me. She flashes a smile. “I have a cat. You used to love him. Remember Grey?”
“Grey?”
A fat, grey cat pops up in my memory.
Feeling something brush around my ankles, I look down to see Grey. His fluffy fur slides against where my jeans are ripped and onto my skin. The cat’s eyes glow as he blinks.
“Hey there, Grey,” I say flatly, pushing it away with my muddy shoe. Grey acts perfunctorily to my action. This cat is emotionless.
I fall down to his level and scratch him behind the ears. He purrs loudly. So loudly that the whole world can probably feel the vibration of his purr.
Falling onto the floor, I pick Grey up, nuzzle him gently with my nose, then stand up.
“I’ll be taking the room on the left,” I say, trying not to make too much conversation, carrying Grey against my chest.
Walking in the dark hallway, I hold my breath and jump into the room on the left, memories sinking in my spongy brain.
Letting Grey go, I slowly look at the bed Don and I used to sleep on. I don’t remember the exact painting behind the bed, but it seems familiar. Everything seems so familiar. Like this is or was almost a second home.
Grey lightly jumps on the bed I used to sleep on, and he gets me wondering how a cat with that weight can so easily pounce upward.
A second home.
A home.
“Everyone deserves one,” I whisper, following Grey on the bed.