Nobody likes to wait. Yet people dedicate whole rooms to the activity. It may not be an uncomfortable chair at the doctor's office, but a stolen car with a dead body in the backbeats the chair by a mile. One second can feel like an eternity. Warren is well acquainted with the phenomenon. His night went beyond the gates of hell, to space, where nothing stretches into an endless void.
Warren desires one thing: to open the floodgates of his emotional dam and let every go at once. He wanted to scream about Melanie's death, brag about his victory over the terrors at the rest stop, and astonish people with his exploits at the gas station. He looked at the time on his mother's smartphone. Two minutes passed since the last time he looked at it.
He busied his mind with the events of the rest stop. Warren accepted his mother died, three hours in the car with a dead body kept reality in the foreground. Something was off in the sequence of events. The dwarves stopped when he entered the bathroom, why? It didn’t make sense. Why kill his mother and not him?
Light burst into the cab of the panel van, Warren raised his hand to shield his eyes. Stars and blotches blocked his vision and receded a few moments later. A figure veiled in silhouette stepp from a vehicle and slowly walked toward the van.
Warren frantically searched the van for anything he could use as a weapon. The glove box flopped down and revealed a forty-five revolver. It brought the previous owners' activities into question but fell into the who cares bin of Warren's mind. He had a gun.
The primal presence in his mind caressed the cold metal and rubber grip. A twinge of excitement rippled across his body. He held the power of life and death in his hands. With a click of the lock and the clunk of the door, Warren stepped out to the frigid night air, gun fixed on the silhouette.
“That’s far enough, whoever you are. I have had a horrible night, don’t give me an excuse to bring the heat down on you,” Contrary to popular belief, a gun is much heavier when it’s pointed at another person.
“Warren, where did you get the gun?” Nerea’s voice shouted across space between them. “It’s me, your mother's friend, Nerea Vasquez.
“I want to believe it’s you, but I don’t know who to trust.” The gun trembled and a crack appeared in the emotional dam. A single tear escaped the duct, and then another. His hold on the gun loosened, and Warren lowered it only to raise it again.
Nerea' soccer ball hat and matching gloves slowly stepped toward him, “Warren, it’s okay. It’s me Nerea.”
“What was my mom’s favorite food?” Warren demanded as he thumbed the hammer back. The click drove the primal presence crazy. It screamed for him to pull the trigger, to protect himself from the potential threat.
“Name one food your mom didn’t love? I will say she loved Italian food the best, as long as biscotti and Vinum were for dessert,” Nerea held out her hand, “Warren give me the gun and we’ll figure out where to go from here.”
Her answer was correct, and the hammer clicked back into position. Warren made sure the safety was on before he dropped it to the ground. Nerea scooped Warren up in her arms and pressed her close to her body. The smell of vanilla and cocoa beans relaxed him.
Warren cried, he didn’t care who saw, or what they’d think. He tried to talk, but Nerea smooshed him against her goose-down coat and stroked his hair, “Where is Melanie?”
The words refused to leave Warren’s mouth. His hand shook and pointed to the van. He lowered it. Nerea tried to step away from Warren but he held her tight. “Please, just a few more minutes,” Warren wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
Nerea rocked him back and forth in her arms and slowly moved them to the black Dodge Charger with pink lightning bolts on it. “You are going to wait in the car and I will check on Melanie okay?” her words warbled.
From the passenger's seat, Warren saw nerea open the rear doors and pull the blanket back. Her hands flew to her face. She did the Catholic cross and put the blanket back over Melanie’s pallid corpse. She clenched her hands into tight fists, her face a mask of anguish and grief. She pounded on the van doors until she slid down them to the ground.
When the emotional breakdown ended she entered the Charger and sniffled. Her eyes were puffed up, red streaks from the tears stained her cheeks. “We’ll deal with her tomorrow. You look exhausted, we both should try to sleep.”
“Can we stay at your place? I don’t think I can handle going home.”
“Of course we can, guapito. Melanie would’ve been proud of the way you handled yourself.” She tousled Warren’s sandy blond hair and produced a weak smile.
Warren loved the attention, it reminded him of his mom. “I couldn’t save her. There were too many. I took three of them out. Mom lost too much blood. She died on the way back to the station wagon.”
Nereus' eyes opened wide and her mouth dropped to the floor, “Someone did this to Melanie?”
“Not exactly. I don’t know what they were, but they attacked her on the way to the bathroom.”
“When did this happen?”
“Shortly after the pulse hit, and I passed out.”
“Why did you pass out?” Nerea sat on the edge of her seat, desperate to get a handle on the situation.
“I’ll tell you the whole story once we get back to your place,” Warren remained sad, but now shared it with his mother's girlfriend.
“Sounds like a plan, guapito.”
“What does that mean?” Warren asked out of curiosity.
“It means handsome in Spanish. It’s Specifically used to describe someone your age.” Nerea turned the key and the engine purred to life. “I know this is the last question you want to answer, but how are you dealing with everything?”
“I don’t know right now. I know it feels good to be in the presence of a live human being,” Warren let out a big yawn.
Nereus' eyes projected her concern for the teen, “Let’s get you home.”
****
Nerea owned a modern house next to a man-made lake in a gated neighborhood. The inside was technologically advanced, and the decor animal-themed. A black marble panther held up a glass coffee table and carved monkey shelves with DVDs.
“How did you two come together? Mom hated technology with a passion. She only used it when she had to,” Warren said with a half-smile.
Nerea laughed out loud. “She suggested we plant a garden. She bought me a plant to see how I did with it.” She held up a withered brown stick in the soil, “She decided to do it herself after this happened.”
Warren guffawed, “It must have driven her crazy. She grew up on a farm, and always dreamed of having her tch in the backyard. A little touch of home, to keep me grounded.”
“It’s why I loved her so much. A woman so down to earth, she lived next to the molten core,” Nerea let out a mournful sigh, “Enough talk, we have a busy week ahead of us. There’s a funeral to plan, and we have to figure out custody. Off to bed with you.”
***
Warren awoke to the same darkness, he did in the arena and groaned. He knew the creature hid among the tendrils of thought and emotions. Warren could make out the outline of the creature who attacked him previously.
“Who are you?” Warren demanded.
The clutch of talons gently gripped him. Warren felt his feet lift off the ground. His journey ended at a familiar pair of predator yellow eyes. A soft deadly voice whispered, “I’m you.”
Secrets are horrible things. People have to keep them. In the end, they serve little purpose unless you are throwing a surprise birthday party. The words of the creature haunted Warren, “I’m you.” The raptor yellow eyes invaded his thoughts and distracted him at all hours of the day. He chose not to tell Nerea. The day started at the breakfast table. Fresh coffee dropped steadily into the decanter, Warren stared at it with sleep-deprived eyes. Since the last dream, he developed a fear of falling asleep. The sizzle of the frying pan promised bacon would arrive at the table. “How are you doing this morning, guapito?” Nerea asked. Warren enjoyed her accent, but it did not replace his mother's cheerful whistling as she prepared for the day. On some days, Warren swore t
Secrets are horrible things. People have to keep them. In the end, they serve little purpose, unless you are throwing a surprise birthday party. The words of the creature haunted Warren, “I’m you.” The raptor yellow eyes invaded his thoughts and distracted him at all hours of the day. He chose not to tell Nerea. The day started at the breakfast table. Fresh coffee dropped steadily into the decanter, Warren stared at it with sleep-deprived eyes. Since the last dream, he developed a fear of falling asleep. The sizzle of the frying pan promised bacon would arrive at the table. “How are you doing this morning, guapito?” Nerea asked. Warren enjoyed her accent, but it did not replace his mother's cheerful whistling as she prepared for the day. On some days, Warren swore the birds would sit by the window to croon along with the music. “I’m still having
Funerals the farewell party for people unable to enjoy them. Although with the return of magic, maybe the dead did creep up on the graveyards to get one last look at their loved ones before they moved on to the next adventure. Warren believes the previous statement to be true. He and Nerea were the only two present at the somber affair. The return of magic wrought great changes in society. Warren did not like any of them. The latest change came on the way home after the service. “In other news, the government of Canada has passed a law requiring any peoples with magical gifts to be registered and tested. When asked if the law infringed on human rights, Prime Minister Helios responded with, “We have laws to govern firearms, people with magic are walking firearms waiting to go off by accident. We in Ottawa must consider what is good for the whole.” Nerea turned the radio off and let sile
Time is a cruel mistress. It uses things and leaves them behind in the sea of what once was. Eidola, (plural for eidolon) fits into this category. The phenomenon comes from a singular area of the world, the ancient city of Troy. Warren doesn’t know it yet, but he is a descendant of the first eidolon wielder, Helen of Troy. Nerea covered her mouth and whispered a prayer. Plume continued to watch the bestial energy as Warren walked out of the circle. “Warren how are you feeling?” Plume shouted. While the eidolon provided Warren with enhanced attributes. It came at a terrible price. The eidolon, starved for life, grappled with his mind and he fell to his knees thick beads of sweat dripped down the pale forehead, “This thing wants to wear me like a suit. How do I turn it off?” his hands clapped the side of his head, and he grimaced. Nerea shook Plume in panic
The Dodge Charger rolled through the Caribou Interior, of British Columbia. Nerea decided to take Highway Sixteen. Once upon a time logging trucks and heavy machinery ruled the area. Government legislation changed all that. The logging industry took a nasty downturn in the ’90s and many towns suffered the consequences. The highway itself was a curiosity. Among the hills and valleys, ghostly figures floated on the shoulder of the lonely stretch of road. Their incorporeal bodies mimicked their death state. The visceral display added a heaviness to the interior. The engine revved into high gear and Nerea sped up. Plume gripped the handle on the roof. His knuckles were white, “Why did you have to take Highway Sixteen?” The Seelie spent much of t
The roads made Plume queasy. Warren and Nerea teased him a little about it before he passed out. “Wake me up when we reach Houston,” He curled up in the backseat and passed out. The trip took longer thanks to dense fog. The headlights barely penetrated the thick wall of mist, and Nerea grew more frustrated with the lack of vision. “What is with this fog? When will it end?” her teeth were clenched, and her head practically rested on the steering wheel. Warren placed a hand on Nerea’s arm, “What is with you? Ever since we left the gas station you’ve been different.” He hated seeing her like this. It reminded him of his mom lounging around in her sweatpants. “I hate this whole trip. I used to tease Melanie that she bra
Day came to the small town of Houston the only thing good about it was the world's largest fly fishing rod. At one time people came from all over just to fight a steelhead trout. With the economy on the decline and the town with boarded-up shops and dirty streets, no one wanted to come anymore. The motel diner was not the cleanest, and not a single employee wore a uniform, just black pants, and a black T-shirt. On the wall pictures of semi-famous people who passed through the town. Above the bathroom doors a small sign read, “We have run out of toilet paper, please use the spotted owl beak side down.” Today Warren and his two companions would board the ferry to New Avalon in hopes Warren could gain better control of the eidolon. Plume trusted the spiritual be
The wind whipped Warren's hair around as the massive boat carried them onward toward a group of islands off the coast of Vancouver. White shoals crashed into the boat, a pod of killer whales put a show for the handful of people watching from the deck above. They oohed and ahhed as the black and white mammals played in the waves. “Are you Warren Vandal? I can barely tell you, humans, apart, you all look the same to me.” A female voice asked. “There’s no need to make that face, it’s just a question.” Nerea and plume were off talking in the passenger area. She had questions for Plume about New Avalon. At this point, Warren welcomed someone else to talk to, “I’m Warren Vandal,” he said as he raised his hand. &