Chapter Two

Chapter Two

“I see something.” The voice belonged to an unfamiliar man. He wore a tight blue shirt with “Detective” written above the breast pocket. I watched as he pointed into the dark night, brows furrowed, as he continued, “Over there, under the Old Oak.”

Several torches splayed light in the direction of his finger. A clothed lump lay under the tree, features and details obscured from sight. Each of the detective’s faces were stern but hopeful as they hurried that way, their instructing voices echoing around the graveyard.

They surrounded the lump, eyes peering and studying. It wasn’t until they rolled it over that the realisation struck me. It was a corpse. It was...it was her body, ripped clothes dripping with mud, face splattered with red. The sight was just revolting, twisted, horrific. Her eyes lolled open as they lifted her head, placing the corpse in the arms of the first detective. He held her out, away from his body.

“Let’s get her to the hospital!” he shouted, eyes averted into the distance. “There could still be time.” Despite his optimistic words, the thick layer of dismay was clear, the atmosphere pessimistic. They were running to their vans anyway, perhaps urged by a small spark of hope. However, as they moved into the light, all became known. Her skin was as white as snow and a deep gash ran across her wrist"right through a vital vein.

It was too late to save Bethany Morgan.

 

~~

 

I don’t blame my parents.

If I was in their position, listening to my teenage daughter ramble about strange sightings and unimaginable pains, I’d be just as worried and disbelieving. I probably wouldn’t take her to the hospital though"in case they think weird runs in the family"only to be told there was nothing wrong.

Nothing. Zilch. Not a sausage.

Apparently I’m fine, though hearing this isn’t as reassuring as I hope. What if it’s something incurable, something so unordinary they can’t even diagnose it? Okay, perhaps I’m overreacting, but I know better than to brush it off, especially after two horrific scenes. It isn’t a coincidence. It can’t be. Something is happening to me and I have nowhere to go, no one to turn to without being classed insane.

Sitting in the school quad, surrounded by a light warm breeze and an undercurrent of student chatter, I think back to yesterday’s date. My cheeks flush red. How can something so perfect end up so bad, so embarrassing? Sure, Corbin had comforted me, been kind and sweet on the journey home, but I know I scared him away. Who wants to listen to a freak who babbles about death and invisible murderers? Not my parents, not the doctor, and certainly not a popular guy with plenty of other date options.

“Two days!” I’m broken out of my train of thought by Regan, who runs at me like we’ve been apart for years. She wears a wide grin on her pink lips, repeating those words that now fail to excite me. “I can’t wait! Just two days ’til the dance, Mads!” she squeals, plopping down on the other side of the bench.

Just yesterday morning I would’ve joined in, breaking into that same jig and chanting the day count too. But that was before the nightmare, and most importantly, before I humiliated myself. Ugh. I shouldn’t think about it, but images of Corbin with another girl in Ailes Noire keep flashing into my head. That ugly, green part of me with a flaring, angry core"often named “jealousy”"pushes towards my surface, fighting against my calmer side. I take a deep breath.

“The date was just perfect,” Regan continues, putting her small feet up on the seat with a reminiscent look in her eyes. “How’d yours go? And how come you disappeared? I thought we were meeting up?” She pouts.

I slouch back with a sigh. “Corbin took me home because I...I didn’t feel so good.” Both my brain and my gut tell me to shut up about the nightmare if I want to keep my friends, and they make absolute sense. Acting normal will result in being treated normal. “I take it you’re going with Josh then? To the dance?” I’m determined to take the focus off me, or anything that may lead to the nightmares or Corbin. It shouldn’t be difficult with Regan.

“Yes!” she squeals, head bobbing. “He asked while we walked through the flower garden. You know, the one with the mini-pond. Oh, and he also told me about Beth Morgan. Apparently she’s still creepy into him, but can’t take a hint...”

My friend continues speaking, but I no longer hear. There’s a prickle on the nape of my neck. It’s moving, expanding, setting me on edge. The feeling is recognisable, familiar, but certainly not welcome. I focus on the distant trees lining the school grounds, thick branches swaying in the light breeze, and hold my breath, awaiting the frenzy, the mind-tempest. The only comprehensible sound is my heart drumming against my ribcage.

A loud bell drills. It sets the rage alight, churning my thoughts and feelings, leaving me both disorientated and gasping for air. The figures on the school playing field twist into unusual formations; while Regan’s loud words in my ear barely make sense. It’s worse than before"a blaze of agony, wild and chaotic. I see blurred bodies walking towards the school building, and I stagger upwards to do the same, holding onto that final thin thread of sanity. My friend grabs my hand.

“Steady on,” she laughs, releasing me outside the entrance doors. What’s normally the exterior of your typical English private school, with tall white walls and a dark grey roof, now just looks like a merge of dull colours in my fragmented sight. I blink. Nothing changes. The interior, however, is as deceiving as always with identical yellow"vomit-coloured"corridors and nondescript flooring. It comes as a surprise, but the plain decor almost helps sooth the mind-tempest. Almost.

I turn through to the left, desperate to sit down and relax. The pain is excruciating, causing my limbs to shake and my stomach to clench. I’m only a few feet from the classroom door when Regan yanks me back, saying, “Where are you going, Mads? We’ve got art, not science! What’s up with you today?”

“Headache,” I manage, teeth chattering. There’s an icy sensation of frissons racing down my spine, the internal battle returning. I know what’s coming next. A nightmare. Those horrific scenes that can’t be controlled. I need to sit down before this minute slither of orientation is taken from me, before I humiliate myself again. With tears threatening to fall and the weight of terror on my shoulders, I begin to run, determined to find a calm place where the stress can dissolve. My pounding heart sounds louder than my footsteps.

And then it stops.

The pain, I mean. It vanishes, diminishes; not a trace or a tear. I rub my eyes and pinch myself, frozen with puzzlement. What happened? Perhaps it’s stupid, but for a moment I consider my death. Why else, when the agony is reaching a point of despair and destruction, would it suddenly disappear? My heart is still beating out of control, but the atmosphere is no longer heavy. It’s seems almost...light, happy? I look up from under my eyelashes, still on edge.

“Are you okay, Mads?” Corbin’s tone is warm and inviting, but a flicker of worry passes over his dark blue eyes. I freeze all over again, inhaling that sweet and mysterious scent: he refuses to share his deodorant brand with anyone. My throat blocks up just when I need it. How can I convince him yesterday was a weird one-off if no words will come? Besides, am I even convinced it’s a weird one-off anymore? “Aren’t you going to class?”

“Yep,” I say, stomach churning, fists clenched.

His jaw loosens, an easy smile breaking out on his lips. I realise I was holding my breath, and let out a relieved sigh. My fears didn’t occur"he’s still standing before me, friendly and handsome. I get the feeling that it’s all an act of politeness, but that’s wiped away the instant Corbin slips his hand in mine, the warmth sending my heart into excited flutters. It takes all I have to contain my yips of glee.

“How are you feeling today?” he asks, leading me round a corner that’s known for prolonging your trip to class. Just that simple action sends my spirits through the roof, and I ponder his reasoning. Does he want to spend more time with me? Has he forgotten about yesterday? Meeting his smiling gaze, my chest squeezes, and I know I should focus on the now. With Corbin. Alone.

My nod is slow. “A lot better actually. The headache vanished literally right when you appeared.” My comment isn’t intended to be flirtatious or complimentary, but from his soft chuckle, it’s clear he’s taken it that way. I shrug, focusing on the spark between as he slides his arm around my waist, guiding me into the silent classroom. All eyes are on us now and although I’m not one for spotlights, I love this. Every girl can see me hand-in-hand with Corbin"mine. It’s pathetic; the result of that ugly jealous side, but it doesn’t matter. Now all I have to do is build the confidence and ask him to the dance.

“You’re late,” Mr. Marley grumbles, stating the obvious. He glares at Corbin. “What’s your excuse this time?”

Corbin gives a nonchalant shrug. “It’s the first day back after the holidays. What can I say?” He leads me to the back, my designated place, and sits in my absent partner’s seat. Almost everyone is shooting him disbelieving looks, translating to, “What? That’s not an excuse! We all managed to be on time!” but they know Corbin well enough to let it slide. Even our teacher gives a simple flick of his wrist, defeated.

“Today, class,” Mr. Marley proceeds, “we’re going to have a fairly relaxing lesson. As Mr. Evans has already pointed out, it is the first day back, and I figured you’d all be restless. For that reason, we’ll be painting with only one aim. To capture our feelings.” He clears his throat, stroking the few grey wisps of hair on his chin as if they class as a beard. He points to the old stereo. “I’ll put some music on. With your eyes closed, you’ll use the equipment on your tables to draw and paint shapes that represent your feelings. Don’t hold back. Let your mind run free, okay?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but one girl raises her hand. As soon as my gaze falls on her, guilt courses through me. Bethany Morgan. The victim of my nightmares. I look away, chewing my nails as a nervous habit.

“Yes, Bethany?”

“How can we express our feelings on paper with our eyes closed, sir?” she asks, using a tone that stereotypically backs up her long, bleach blonde hair. “Surely that’s impossible.” My gaze flickers to her for just one second. She’s staring at Josh so intensely that even he"a guy who receives girls’ attention twenty-four/seven"looks uncomfortable. I remember Regan’s words: Apparently she’s still creepy into him, but can’t take a hint....

Mr. Marley sighs. “You don’t think about it. Like I said, let your mind run free. The beauty of this exercise is that even the artist is clueless.” He spreads his arms wide. “Everyone start now. You’ve got ten minutes. I want masterpieces at the end!”

I don’t begin painting right away. My thoughts are focused entirely on the hand resting to my right, so close I can feel the warmth radiating from it. Every few seconds, Corbin’s fingers flick out, as if he wants to touch me but is holding back. Or perhaps it’s my wishful imagination again. I look at him from the corner of my eye, feeling an urge to run my fingers through his wavy locks of black hair. They curl just a little at the end, cropping around his forehead. It gives me a clear view of his eyes, those dark and alluring pools of blue.

With a jolt, an electric spark, I realise he’s staring back at me.

“What are you going to paint?” he asks, once I’ve turned to face the front. The smile is clear in his voice. He caught me staring, but has chosen not to comment on it. That surprises me: Corbin’s a professional when it comes to teasing. Just two months ago, I slipped and almost plunged to the wet pavement outside. He’d saved me. It would’ve been heroic, too, had he not pressed on about it for weeks after, pronouncing me “his ungraceful little ballerina”. I smile, remembering my secret fondness for the name. “Mads?”

“Oh, uh...yeah?” I snap back to the art classroom. He points to my blank sheet of paper and repeats his previous question. “Corbin, we’re not supposed to know what we’re painting yet. That’s the point of this exercise.” I touch his hand, light and friendly, only to feel shimmers of heat bolting up my arm. He scrunches his eyes shut as if he felt them, too. But then I realise he’s just following Mr. Marley’s instructions.

I close my eyes as well, setting to work on my painting. The lullaby playing is very relaxing, repeating itself every eight bars. It reminds me of beautiful flowers drifting in the wind as it whispers secrets and truths. I let my mind run free and my hands take control, just as requested of us. It really is weird not knowing, being clueless to your own creation, but I like the weightless feeling"an escape from my horrific yesterday. It’s even better with Corbin beside me.

While his eyes are still closed, I sneak a peek at him. His face is down, towards his work. This profile view shows the slight bump in his nose, an endearing flaw. He seems to sense my watching him and his gaze flashes up to meet mine. We’re locked there for a few seconds before I break and look away, flushing a deep tomato red. We continue painting in silence.

“Okay, class, put your brushes and pencils down!” Mr. Marley switches off the lullaby. “Now, with your partner, for five minutes on each, discuss your work and try to decipher its meaning.” The music starts up again, the soft and sweet hum filling my ears. I hear the teacher utter, “Oh, and, Bethany, you can open your eyes!” in the background, and it makes me smile. I look over at Corbin, my partner, and expect him to be grinning or concocting a joke about my work.

But I see the complete opposite.

His jaw is dropped, eyes wide, face paling. It scares me. I’ve never seen him like this before, just staring in pure, frozen shock. I reach out and touch his hand. He draws away, blinking, studying my face briefly before he whispers, “Maddi, you’ve...you’ve painted"” I follow his gaze to my work.

“Wings. I’ve painted wings.”

The surprise is thick in my tone, but it soon changes to pleasure. There are several sets of red-rimmed wings across the page; some white and others black. No matter the shape, colour, or size, each and every pair looks magnificent. This is coming from a girl who can hardly master the art of stickmen. “What do you think they mean?” I’m still curious about his strange reaction.

“I have no idea.” His frown fades, lips turning up at the corners. “I mean, come on, what sane person thinks about wings?”

For a moment, I freeze. What sane person thinks about wings? Isn’t that the question here? Can I even be considered sane anymore? Then, when I realise he’s joking, I manage a soft chuckle, itching to find out what he’s painted. My eyes fall on his work. It’s my turn to be shocked.

“Do you like it?” Corbin asks.

I don’t answer, unable to find words. His painting is absolutely beautiful. It’s filled with realistic detail and vivid colour, combined to form a human face. I stare at it for a long time; admiring the pale, blemish-free skin and big green eyes. He’s drawn the eyelashes thick and black, the wavy hair a deep maroon, and even placed a few freckles in their correct place. My heart stutters, and I just want to wrap my arms around him and plant a huge kiss on those bow-shaped lips. It’s not any of these small, separate aspects that have me floored. It’s the piece as a whole.

It’s the fact that Corbin Evan’s has painted me.

Well, no, it’s not me exactly. He’s missed out the spots on my forehead, the baby fat on my cheeks, and heightened all of my features to make them flawless. But he must view me this way; he must think I’ve got a bright, compelling smile and glimmering eyes to have captured it in the painting. Now, when I look at him, he’s gazing down at his work, eyes creased with pride. My heart skips another beat. I gulp, composing myself.

“I never knew you were so artistic,” I say, smiling at him. He’s a mystery sometimes. “You had your eyes closed! And it still almost looks like me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Almost? It’s perfect"it looks exactly like you, Maddi.” His words give me butterflies deep inside. “So do you like it?”

I nod, still not understanding how he did it, but not surprised at his new talent. He seems to have quite a lot of them. My work, on the other hand, doesn’t even have the excuse of skill. I can’t draw or paint, yet the repeated wings look three dimensional and absolutely incredible. It makes no sense, but perhaps since my brain wasn’t in control, there was less chance it would fail. That’s the nearest to a logical explanation that I can think of.

Corbin takes my mind off the paintings. “Do you want to come over after school today?” His question catches me off guard, but I find myself agreeing, excited by the idea of being alone with him. It’ll be a chance to earn my sanity back, to show him I’m worth his time and affection.

My heart squeezes once again.

 

~~*~~

 

“Sure, she’ll be back home by seven at the latest.”

Corbin smiles, winking at me. He nods one final time before uttering a goodbye and ending the call. “You can come in,” he says, “but only until seven.”

“I believe it was seven latest.” My cheeks are still flushed red, but I begin to get over the embarrassment. My mother’s had it in for me ever since I ran all around our house unravelling toilet roll behind me at the age of five. Her guests weren’t impressed. “I’m going to kill her when she gets back from work.”

Corbin chuckles. “Why? We had a nice chat.”

“Chat? She interrogated you.” It was true. My mother had thrown questions at him like he was a criminal being questioned by the police. Both she and I knew that, even if she hadn’t allowed me to go with Corbin, I would’ve anyway. She isn’t home for another few hours. “Let’s go inside.”

We push open his front gate and head towards the door. I’m very aware of his close proximity, never more than a step away. He pauses before knocking, tilting his head with that adorable, infamous smile. “I didn’t mind the interrogation, by the way, Mads. If I get your parents on my side, you’ll just have to be mine.” His eyes gleam, and while my head knows he’s just mucking around, flirting, my heart doesn’t. It somersaults and thumps against my ribcage, almost ruining my light, casual facade. I don’t want him to think I take everything seriously.

He raps on the door, and it swings open a few seconds later. It hadn’t occurred to me before now that his parents might be in. I’ve never met them; I’ve never even seen them out and about. They’re the anti-social type apparently, which is strange when you compare them to their vibrant son. Yet standing before me, tall and ice-queen beautiful, is his mother. Her gaze travels over me as she says, “Hello, Corbin, and, oh, who’s this? I wasn’t aware we were having guests.” She stretches out every syllable as she speaks, seeming to stare right through me.

“Mum, this is Maddi. Maddi, this is Mum.”

I can feel his gaze on my face as I study his mother. You can tell from their dark eyes and hair that they’re related, though her pupils are bigger and blacker. She blinks suddenly and a pair of wings unfurl by her sides. My gasp is loud. Wings? I think, stunned by how similar they look to my painting. Only the red rim is missing.

“Uh, Mum, you should get back to work"now,” Corbin snaps, shooting her an angry glare. When his mother wanders off into a different room, he turns to me with a cautious look on his face. “I’m sorry about her. She works from home as a costume designer. I tell her not to try on her costumes, but you know how parents are. And you thought your Mum was embarrassing.”

My laughter is faint, verging on nervous hysteria. I know it’s nothing, just a mere coincidence that I painted wings earlier and that his mother is dressed in an almost identical costume now, but still.... We step inside and as Corbin shuts the door, I admire the family photos displayed on the white walls. It’s impossible to ignore the warm closeness in the pictures. Their faces are alight, glowing, whereas now his mother wears a distant expression, blank of emotion. I notice that their eyes aren’t as distinguished. Corbin mentioned before that she’d only been a year or two older than us when she’d had him. His face still has the childlike roundness that’s shown in the photos, and the contagious smile lives on too.

“I was three months old in that picture.” He points to a framed photo with a grinning baby inside. The baby is lying on its back, eyes closed but its hands waving in the air. He looks so adorable. I sigh when I look at him now, wishing I could just ask him to the dance already and not worry about rejection and other girls. “Anyway, let’s go upstairs.”

I nod, following him up the huge, grand staircase. The house’s exterior looks like every other one down the street, mine included, but inside it’s like a whole different world. Everything screams “wealthy!” to the point that it’s almost intimidating. His mother must be one successful costume designer. As we reach the top landing, we’re greeted by a whole different collage of Evan’s family photos. I deliberately speak in present tense when I say, “You know, Corbin, you’re very cute.” It wins me a smile.

Someone told me a long time ago that a bedroom tells a lot about a person. I want to know everything about this guy, and that’s why I couldn’t push his door open fast enough. Inside, a blue carpet is scattered with books"with bookmarks in the first few pages"and clothes and DVDs. His navy duvet is in a scrunched mess on his bed, and the mirror just above has “Josh was ‘ere” scrawled across the top corner in black marker. Lining the furthest wall are football posters and his trophies sit on a small set of drawers. I’ve established only one thing from visiting his room: Corbin isn’t the cleanest of people.

“Welcome to the Evan’s pad,” he says, his fingers lacing through mine. He pulls me further inside and stops in front of the mirror. Our uniformed figures stare back at us in the reflection and I’m reminded of just how lucky I am to be here. It could be any other girl. If I didn’t ask him to the dance soon, it would be any other girl. For some reason, though, I just can’t form the words. “I’d apologise for the mess, but it’s always...”

He trails off, and when I look up to find out why, he’s watching me. There’s something in his eyes that intrigue me, lure me in, but I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t think at all, in fact; not with him moving nearer, body only centimetres from mine, hands still together. My gaze falls to his lips; those lovely, kissable lips, and I just want to close the gap, to feel his arm around me and his hand in my hair, to inhale that delicious but mysterious scent and"

“Maddi?” he whispers, soft and intimate. The room has faded. It’s just us, together, alone. I see his eyes flicker to my mouth too and I know he’s feeling a similar urge. Corbin shuffles, nervous, before continuing, “Will...will you go the dance with me?” There’s a fire dancing in his gaze, a heat between us that gives me sudden confidence.

I don’t answer him right away. At least, not with words. I can’t resist any longer. I lean forward, my mouth slightly parted, ready, his warm breath on my cheek. “Yes,” I whisper, taken over by anticipation, the anticipation of feeling his soft, sweet lips against mine. It makes my heart pound hard and fast. He slides his arm firmly around my waist, as if he’ll never let go, as if"

Just before my lips meet his, the darkness swallows me. That familiar, unwelcome blackness appears. Grounding me to insanity. I let out a yelp of protest, unable to control myself as I slump against his strong chest. Corbin holds me up. My sight returns, a blurry picture of confusion. There are random lights everywhere; blaring red, yellow, green, blue. I cry out again.

Completely against my will, I’m taken from him, no longer able to feel the building heat and electric sparks. Instead, I endure shudders and goose bumps. No, I think, I want this perfect kiss! but instead, Corbin and his embrace completely vanish....

Reviews

[Rae Elizabeth]

Another amazing chapter. Everything looks fine, except for "Will...will you go the dance with me?" - You forgot 'to'. Also, I see some quotation marks where there shouldn't be, but other than that, an excellent read. (: Keep it up.

[xx]

You have a genuine talent for character development. You've given no explicit description of anyone's personality in this chapter, as far as I can see (though I may be wrong, since I'm usually oblivious), and yet I can see Corbin's and Maddi's personalities unfolding and becoming clearer with every paragraph. I'm not sure how you did it, but in the famous words of Wally Amos (I think?) - "if you keep doing what you're doing, you'll keep getting what you're getting."

And that's a good thing, in your case. :3

I'll say another thing: With each successive vision Maddi experiences, there are more ants in my pants and I absolutely hate being in the dark about it all - I simply can't connect the visions to what could possibly be responsible for them, and I'm guessing that this was your aim - so bravo!

Just a few minor things, though, that you're probably already aware of - when pasting material to WC, the little dashes get converted to quotation marks for some odd reason, so keep an eye out for that. And there are a couple instances where there's a misplaced apostrophe in "Evans" - but quick editing will take care of those.

Also, I was a tad confused when I read Corbin's reaction to the picture Maddi produced - it was a distinctly horrified or terrified reaction, not merely surprised - in all honesty, I'm not sure that my reaction to seeing someone paint wings (blind) would be so dramatically negative. Admiring, yes, eyes wide and ogling the thing, but I probably wouldn't pale and stammer...but that's just me commenting on the realism of that particular instance. If you feel that it ought to stay the way it is, then by no means should you change it! I'm not very good with emotions and whatnot anyway, so take anything I say with a pinch of salt. :)

There's also the bit with the "frissons" - I've only ever rarely seen this word, but when I see it, it's often used in this way: "frissons of excitement/terror/fear" - but I'm definitely not as familiar with this word as I should be, so I can't really be sure whether it's being used correctly or not; I just wanted to bring it to your attention in case you wanted to modify the sentence a bit.

Bethany - I stumbled a bit over the bit about the tone that "stereotypically backs up her long, bleach blond hair." Maybe you could elaborate? Did she sound highfalutin? Vain? Ditzy?

But again - wonderful production! The plot development is rife with suspense and romance, though I'm just more naturally attached to the former than to the latter. You should know that if you have even someone like me following the romance in a story, then you've done extremely remarkably. :) So keep writing!

On to chapter three now~

-Mina

i love the introduction to chapter 2. This chapter is really deceiving, it had me going crazy. I love it, it surprises me so therefore it allures me even more about reading your story. I will read chapter 3 tomorrow and leave a comment as well

[Daydreamer54]

I like how you have everything going perfect and BOOM! Chaos! I hated that her vision came at a romantic moment like this! This chapter reminded me of the Touch series by thsi author called Laurie Stolarz. I love the cliffhangers because they make me want to read more.

“Will...will you go the dance with me?” -you forgot the word '"to".