The world appeared to her in shutters and glimpses—the smoke and the clear, the shadows and the colors, stillness and motion, the song and the noise—each a flicker of a vague image.
There was a pull into the void, and a fall out into reality, and her mind danced from one to the other.
Lyn found herself stumbling out the double doors, down a few steps, onto the grounds of Ravenwood Academy. How she had managed to escape the confines of the auditorium, through the hallways, and out into the open—that she didn't know, and that she had absolutely no care. She must have drifted with the current, as waves of students rushed out the doors, into a sea of people under the overcast sky.
She walked on, her steps dissonant of the concrete walkways. She could hear them talk around her, students and friends gathered together in groups and cliques of their own, eyes glued to the stone-gray and smoke-blue facade. She could hear them sing in whispers, voices in the dark. Everyone smelled of smoke, or at least a trace lingered on their clothes; everyone was damp to the touch.
There was fear, she could sense that, one that arose from the flame and the fumes. Yet she had a creeping fear of her own, and—as far as she knew—it had very little to do with the incident.
Her feet took one step after another, past people, past the anxious looks on their faces, past the snippets of conversations. She was walking in the shadows, and they stalked her with each step, still singing, still whispering. She had to get out of here, she thought to herself, walking past a huge statue of a raven on the verge of taking flight. Something felt very wrong. They still sang to her in the dark. She had to go away, far away.
An ambulance van was parked by the curb. A couple school medics were assisting someone, a girl sitting on the ground, breathing in and out of a paper bag. Her friends were watching nearby, worry clouding their features.
In the shadows, the cold air was smothering her, and the choir wouldn't leave her alone.
Then sirens rang through the air, red and blue lights coming to view. Another ambulance, a larger one, screeched to a halt by the curb, parking behind the other, and the doors behind were pushed open, disgorging out two people in white, a stretcher on wheels, followed by two other medics.
Lyn witnessed them run head on into the sea of students, the woman at the front yelling to make way as they navigated through the crowd.
Yet the raven-haired girl seemed unperturbed physically, unable to express any concern or emotion whatsoever. But she was afraid, she was very afraid. Her face was blank and unreadable as she slipped away from the crowd unnoticed, a step out of the grass, onto the concrete pavement, and she walked on, away from the chaos. Yet no matter how far and fast she ran in the dark, they wouldn't leave her. They were the smoke that filled her lungs; they were the shadows that painted the depths.
Lyn slid a hand into her bag, grabbing a pack of tissues inside. She pulled a sheet out, and wiped the moist off the skin of her right hand, and slid the hand back into the bag. She needed something. Her fingers felt for the items, pulling out a mobile phone and a pair of earbuds. Something to drown the song out. She placed an earbud into her right ear, the dangling piece into her left. Something to mute the voices that echoed in her headspace. Music. Songs. Shuffle.
Beats pounded into her ears, melodies—electric guitars—joining in after the fifth second. She could still hear them. Her finger pressed a button at the side of her phone, once, twice—louder, waves crashing into her brain.
And she walked on, headed—where? She didn't know. She'll find out when the time comes. That's just the way it works: move—first without purpose, without destination—till the motions tire and the idea of an actual destination comes to mind. Right now, all she needed was to go far away, from the chaos, from the voices, from everyone.
She closed her eyes a moment, feeling wave upon wave of sound flooding her headspace, drowning the whispers out . . .
Then there was an anomaly in her step, a sudden depression underfoot.
Lyn's eyes flew open as she stumbled forward, her phone slipping out of her hold, a pop and a silence in her ears at the sudden disconnect between wire and device. And she felt a hand grasp her shoulder, pulling her back upright to balance.
A moment's silence. "Told you to be careful," said a voice behind her.
Lyn glanced back and up, at the boy who stood about six feet tall, his hair brown and damp and messy. She pulled her earbuds out, her fingers quickly forming a tangle of wires in her right hand, and she stepped forward, out of the boy's touch, towards her mobile phone that lay facedown on the concrete pavement. She picked up the phone, and ran a finger through a smooth crack in the upper corner of the protective glass, onto the edge of it where a minuscule fragment had chipped off.
She sighed. So much for a smooth, effective distraction.
"Thanks," she muttered. Then the raven-haired girl simply walked on, without even a backward glance.
"Hey," he called behind her. "Hey!"
Max caught up with her in a few strides. The girl had begun to untangle the mess of wires in her hand.
"Are you all right?" he said.
Silence.
His eyes travelled down to her hands, to the thin white wires between her fingers, to the crack on the screen.
"Hey. Look, I'm sorry," Max said. "I didn't mean to—I was only just—I saw you walk off, and—"
"It's fine," she whispered, without looking up, her thin pale fingers straightening the wires.
A moment's silence. "We better head back," Max continued. "They'll be looking for us."
The girl breathed out a quiet sigh. "You go on ahead."
"And where are you going?"
The raven-haired girl finally looked up from her hands, her eyes now fixed on the path before her, then she shrugged. "Somewhere."
"Somewhere?" said Max, giving her a perplexed look.
"Somewhere." She walked on. "I just need some air."
Max nodded, more to himself. He understood. "All right, then," he said. "See you around." And with that, he took a step back, turned on his heel, and began his walk back up the pavement, heading to the academic building.
For a while, Lyn pretended that someone had not just spoken to her, that someone had not just left her alone, just as she wanted. But now, as she felt this guilt building within, she paused in her steps, and glanced back at the boy's retreating figure. Then her eyes flitted down to the phone and pair of earbuds in hand, to the concrete floor under her black Converse shoes. She sighed, praying in silence that whatever she was about to do would be the right decision.
"Hey!" she called after him, her feet pounding on the sidewalk. "Hey!"
The tall boy halted in his tracks, a bewildered expression on his face.
The girl managed to stop a foot before him, taking in a breath momentarily, before she squeaked, "You listen to Pvris?"
Max's face now looked more puzzled than ever. "You mean the city in France, or that fancy, blonde hotel heiress chick?"
Lyn, despite herself, chuckled. "Neither."
"They're not bad," Max said, his head nodding in time with the music. "Not bad at all."
He and Lyn were sitting on the curb, each with a little white thing in one ear. And within this span of a few minutes spent with him, Lyn wasn't quite sure if this conversation was going to go well: he was her opposite—nice and optimistic and sociable. He was a walking embodiment of sunshine, probably one of the popular kids in school, the cool likable dude the audience would admire onscreen. She doubted if he even listened to her sort of music, deep dark lyrics that swam into her ears in waves of alternative rock melodies. In her eyes, he was the kind who seemed to listen to upbeat pop-punk, the likes of All Time Low and Simple Plan and State Champs.
But he was a good distraction, something else to focus on than the voices that persisted to whisper. And so far, he seemed genuinely nice. And if that was true, that would be a good thing, right?
"Hey." A pair of fingers snapped right before Lyn's eyes. "Hey!" They snapped again.
"Huh?" Lyn blinked, waking from her thoughts, and turned her sights over to Max.
"Didn't hear me, did you?" he said, giving her a playful grin.
"Sorry," she muttered, embarrassed. "Just—"
"Zoned out?" said Max, as the next song began to play. "You do that a lot?"
Lyn shrugged. "Don't know. Maybe."
Another moment's silence, save the music spilling out minuscule speakers.
Then Max asked, serious this time, "You okay?"
Lyn gave him a glance, the look in her eyes unreadable, before she turned her sights away again. "I guess," she said, fumbling with a wire. A quiet sigh escaped her lips. "Why'd you follow me out here in the first place?"
"Thought I should," said Max. "I saw you walk off the grounds, and you didn't look so good—a bit paler than usual, that weird, tired look on your face. And I thought that since I got to know Damien today, and we're technically friends now, I better look out for his friend. You know what I mean?"
"But it's not your responsibility," said Lyn, solemnly.
"Just wanted to make sure you're okay."
"I won't do anything stupid," Lyn chuckled, tugging at her left sleeve, adjusting her wristwatch and bracelets.
Max smiled what he intended to be a friendly, harmless smile, then said, "Can't I do something nice for someone?"
"But the world's not a nice place," said Lyn, without much thought. And only then, when the words had spilt out, did she realize the weight of what she just said. It was a bit too much of a confession. "Sorry," she blurted. "Sorry about that. Just—never mind."
"A bit too world-weary for your age, don't you think?" he said, with a small smile. "Those are some heavy words from a fifteen-year-old."
"Sixteen," corrected Lyn.
Max chuckled. "You don't look older than me, though."
"I'm just a bit shorter than average," Lyn explained. "Or you're just really tall for a freshman."
"Sophomore," corrected Max.
"Sorry. Sophomore." Lyn shut her eyes, shook her head.
She could still hear them, but their voices had become faint amid the haze. For she no longer found herself in a suffocating darkness: what surrounded her now was a cold, tolerable fog.
"You okay?" asked Max.
"Yeah, just—" Lyn shrugged, and breathed out a sigh. She opened her eyes, looking down at the floor. "Just out of my comfort zone." Then she took a breath in. "Something happened there," she confided.
"Where?"
"In the auditorium. Something quick but potent. Like—"
"A snap," said Max, snapping his fingers once again.
"Possibly. A snap. A spark . . . And that's when I started to"—hear the whispers—"feel sick."
Max nodded in understanding. "And I thought I was the only one."
Lyn transferred her gaze from the asphalt underfoot to the boy who sat beside her, bewilderment clouding her features. "You felt it, too?"
Max nodded. "Felt like a bad memory."
Lyn sighed. "True that."
"Max!" someone yelled from a distance.
Both Max and Lyn pulled the earbuds away, and looked up, their eyes fixed on the figure that came jogging towards them.
"Been looking for you, bruh," said Jack, his steps halting before their seated forms.
Just then something buzzed in Max's pocket. Max stood, dug his hand into his pocket, produced a mobile phone. The caller ID on screen read "Dad". In one fluid motion, he slid his thumb across the screen, pressed his phone against his ear.
"Hello? Dad?"
"Max, where are you? Are you all right? I can't find—"
"Dad, Dad, I'm okay. I'm safe. I made it out."
His father exhaled a sigh of relief. "Good, good. But where are you? I've been looking for you—"
"Dad, I'm not on the grounds."
His dad drew in a breath, deep and audible. "Max," he said, sternly, "where did you go? You know that after an incident like this, the school will have to check on all students. You can't just wander off like nothing hap—"
"Dad, Dad, calm down," Max said, in quick response. "I'm okay. Relax. I'm just a short walk away from the school. I'm—"
"Max, I told you, you're not supposed to go off wandering—"
"Dad, Dad, I just helped someone. She wasn't feeling well."
For a moment, Mr. Gascarth said nothing. Then, "Well," he said, quieter this time, "how is she?"
"She seems fine now," said Max, glancing back at Lyn seated on the curb, fumbling with the long thin wires of her earbuds.
"Maybe she needs medical attention," suggested Mr. Gascarth. "There are medics right now, out here on the front grounds."
"It doesn't seem serious now, though," said Max, looking back at her a second time. "I mean, the injury. It isn't physical. More like psychological, emotional, I guess. What happened scared her badly, probably as much as it did everyone else."
His father drew in another breath. Then he said, the tone in his voice calm, "Just make it back here." A short pause. "You and her. Make it back here to the school grounds. They're checking on everyone right now. The school has to know you both are okay."
"Will do, Dad," said Max, nodding. "We'll be there in a bit."
And with that, his dad hung up.
Max pocketed his phone. "We've got to go back," he announced. Then he looked over at Lyn. "All of us," he added.
Lyn breathed out a sigh, and gave him a rather incredulous expression. She dropped her phone and earbuds into her bag, and stood, brushing the dust off her dark wash jeans.
Jack's right hand patted Max's shoulder. "Let's get a move on before your dad makes another call." And he began to take his steps back to the academic building, leading the way. Max and Lyn trailed close behind.
"Sorry," muttered Lyn, walking beside Max. She managed to keep up with his pace, taking longer, faster strides than usual.
Max looked confused for a moment. "For what?" he asked.
"I wasn't really nice to you a while back," she said, her face screwing up into an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry." Because in all honesty, I wanted you to just leave, she thought. And there's no need for you to know that, explicitly.
Max shrugged. "Meh. Come on, you weren't that bad." He paused, thinking of a better way to phrase his thoughts. "Just a bit weird, but you're all right," he said, giving her another one of his warm, friendly smiles.
Lyn smirked. "That's a way to sugarcoat it."
"If we're going to be friends," said Max, smiling his playful grin, "you better get used to someone being nice to you."
In a second, the look on Lyn's face turned grave. "Don't get your hopes up, dude," she said, her voice a solemn whisper. And with that, she picked up her pace and jogged past him, past Jack, leaving Max to wonder if he had said anything to touch a nerve.
Green eyes stared up at the ceiling, exhausted yet deep in thought. Sander lay on his bed, alone in the nocturne silence of his dorm room.
His mother had called that evening, after hearing about the incident, and just a few minutes ago, he had finally managed to convince her that he was all right and safe and unharmed. Although, after the events of that day, this was not quite the entire truth: he had been chased down and dragged into a shower, had witnessed one of his schoolmates catch fire, had found himself in a smoke-filled auditorium, and swore that the pale men in black clothing he saw earlier would be haunting his thoughts for quite some time. So, yes, he was not okay.
All he wanted to do now was get some rest, something his thoughts wouldn't permit. But then he'd prefer to take his time, to allow this growing feeling of fatigue to take over naturally: the least he wanted tonight was to dream about those creepy pale men.
His eyes shifted over to the bed on the other side—empty, the sheets left creased and out of place after Jack's intrusion that afternoon. He hasn't heard from Damien since his sudden disappearance, and now, as the digital clock on the table blinked ten o'clock, his mind began to formulate several possibilities of the events that followed since and his probable whereabouts—all of which unfortunate and incoherent.
He felt his eyelids begin to droop, the feeling of falling gently into a dark, serene place. Then he heard faint beats in the distance—drums that welcomed him into dreamland, he thought—before the door swung open, its collision with a desk nearby resounding loud and clear, pulling Sander back to consciousness.
Damien stepped into the dorm room, slamming the door behind him. He trudged to his bed, more exhausted than anyone Sander had ever seen that day. A strange concoction of smoke and sweat and iodoform wafted through the air.
Sander sat upright. Damien dropped onto his bed with a loud thud, and moved no more.
The blond boy stared at his roommate's limp form for a while, hesitating to ask. But Damien already knew, seeing from the corner of his eye the mingle of curiosity and fear on Sander's face. "Schmidt's expelled," he began. "He's still in the hospital, and they're going to tell him when he's awake, when he's sort of recovered."
Sander nodded. "And what about you and your other friends?"
"Detention and in-school suspension," replied Damien. "And it's two months this time." He groaned to himself, drained, no longer able to rein in all the frustration and guilt and fear. "This day sucks, man!" he confessed, losing his cool. "We didn't even know. He showed us the flare, but we didn't think he'd actually do it. Stupid Schmidt!" He rubbed a hand down his face. "Mr. Grisham said it himself, all it takes is one more shenanigan, one more stupid thing to happen, for me and Brendan and Rian to be expelled."
Sander stared at him in silence, unable to say anything. Damien took a deep breath, in an attempt to calm himself down.
"Sorry, man," said Damien. "Just tired." He kicked off his shoes, dragged himself up the bed till his head touched the pillow. "I'm going to sleep."
"Aren't you going to change?"
"No. Too tired."
Sander shook his head. Neither of them had the time and energy for a lecture. He pushed himself off the bed, walked over to the light switch next to the door. There was a click, and the room turned dark.
Footsteps made their way back to bed, and Sander laid down, pulling the sheets over himself. Yet there was still this one thought that bounced around in the confines of his brain, demanding an answer.
"Damien?"
"Mm?"
"Why'd you help me back there, in the bathroom?"
Damien simply grunted, a dismissive groggy sound, and Sander knew nothing more would come after that. The blond boy shut his eyes, then, ready to fall back into dreamland or into momentary nothingness. But, in the dark, before either of them drifted off . . .
"Because I know what it's like to have a messed up family."