Chapter Five

Chapter Five

I’m like a deer in headlights.

Clueless, out of my depth, and unprepared. The only difference is that a deer has no choice; otherwise, they’d avoid the headlights, stick to the dark forest sidelining the road. Safe. I guess I’m that one insane deer with the drunken stumble, knowing where she’s headed. And not turning back.

My thoughts are one jumble of contradictions as I press forward. The graveyard is in sight, and the image of Carly in there is the only thing that keeps me going. My “vision”�"should I call it that?�"portrayed me as fearless, in control and knowing, yet right now I feel anything but.

Deep down, I know my main concern. That the drama I experienced earlier, so close yet so far, will occur. That I do have some power to foresee the unimaginable. That I am abnormal.

I’m not going to lie. As a kid, obtaining the ability to fly was an ambition. For six consecutive years I blew the candles out on my birthday cake and wished for that ability: to grow wings and be the first human aircraft. Seven years later, sixteen years old, and nothing. Until now, until this.

Psychic.

The word whistles around my head, unwelcome. It seems to taunt me, as does “...you are not odd or cursed”�"yet another contradicting set of thoughts. My mind splits into two: one half hushing away the nonsense, and the other half almost comforted by it, as if it makes sense. Which it doesn’t. As harsh or pessimistic as it may sound, this mythical bullshit was created to build hope; to give the desperate that extra reason to hold on. I don’t need it. I’m fine, happy even.

“I’m normal.”

It feels necessary to say this aloud, in case the invisible attackers, or whatever they may be, are listening in. Then again, the fact I consider them kind of takes away from the statement. Shaking my head clear of stupidity, I pull away the tree branches lining the back entrance to the graveyard and pass through.

My gaze flits around, consuming all sights. It looks slightly more intimidating under the dull glow of moonlight, but still the same familiar graveyard. Relief. I finger the tie in my pocket and strain my ears for any signs; that’s when I hear it. The radio, just audible over the wind. The sound of kissing, giggles.

With the vision still fiercely burned into my mind, I know what I’m listening out for. I know when my cue to dart into action is if everything plays out. I know what to do, to say. I’m prepared for all of this. And it’s funny: the only thing I’m not ready for is to discover nothing. To leave as I entered. Without answers, closure, confirmation. Something.

“Ray!” The giggles cut off, and moving closer to the music, I hear exasperation as Carly says, “How did you do that?”

Even though a tree obscures my sight, it’s easy to picture them. I remember the exact second Carly’s hair flaps as the wind picks up. I remember the confusion on Ray’s face that sends chills down my spine. The attackers are controlling this, luring me close. Whatever their grand reason is, they won’t drag my friends down, too. I won’t allow it. This is the moment I came for.

“Huh? Do what?”

“Seriously, Ray, cut it out! It’s not funny!”

I edge further round the perimeter in order to see better. The torch feeds just enough light to make their figures visible, but I’m too far to read their expressions. My memory fills these in as Carly jerks back suddenly, stumbling. Her yell muffles with the desperate cry: “Ray!”

On cue, the harsh gale picks up. The music switches. Goosebumps appear on my arm like a Mexican wave. It was all exactly as I saw, right down to the agonising strain in Raymond’s voice.

“It wasn’t me, Carly, I swear!” He crouches beside her, gaze sweeping the darkness. “What happened? What’s going on?” I can almost hear their heartbeats thundering.

“Stop, please! Stop, you’re�"”

My heart broke during the vision, when I heard the choke, the cry, the silence. Now it’s even worse: the sound of Carly, in complete reality, overwhelmed and out of control. It doesn’t just tear me up, it leaves me shattered. I pledge to never do this again, to never allow a loved one to be hurt this way. Not when it’s stoppable.

I begin to step closer. It’s almost time. Ray’s smelling the blood, questioning it. He fumbles for the torch, splaying light over Carly. He drops it just as quickly. “What was that?” Like before, his tone is fierce, defensive. Whoever touched him, whoever caused this, will pay. Until he realises there’s no one around, that is�"and involuntarily, the guard drops. “Who’s there? Please don’t…don’t hurt us. We’ll leave! Just…please!”

His plea is weak, hopeless. He’s giving up on himself, on his unconscious girlfriend, on everything. His thoughts are clear: Whatever this is, it’s bigger than me. It’s over. For a second I wonder if all humans are this fragile. If put in a scenario so impossible, would everyone give up? There’s no time to consider this further. Instead, I race over to fulfil my role.

My role as the heroic friend.

With speed and control I could’ve really done with during my primary school’s Egg and Spoon races, I crouch beside Carly and locate the gash in her wrist. Blood pours out as if it’s an exaggerated parody. Somehow, this doesn’t faze me: I tighten the tie around her upper arm to slow the bloodstream to her wrist. Less will escape this way. My body continues working while my mind sends silent appreciation.

I’m eternally grateful to whoever taught me this.

The tactic keeps Carly alive stronger for longer, buying me enough time to confer with the attackers. Their presences are still very apparent within me. They feel more alluring in reality; warmer, stronger.  Yet still out of place, incomplete. Like a warning.

My attention is stolen by Raymond as his hyperventilating crescendos. His gaze flit between Carly and I, and while I know he’s still on the verge of a heart attack, a tinge of colour has returned to his cheeks, his tight grip loosening on Carly’s hand. I shoot him what I hope suffices as a comforting look. But it’s soon wiped off my face.

The hand appears.

Or, the weight of one upon my shoulder, anyway. It doesn’t catch me by surprise; nor does the fact there’s no one standing there, visible. What does come as a shock, however, is the vibe the contact creates. Belonging, acceptance, normality. It’s something I’ve been craving since these visions commenced, I realise. Something they didn’t allow me to feel. And here it is, at the touch of an invisible man’s hand.

Possibly the last place I’d think to look.

“Madison Sullivan,” the deep voice says, unfamiliar yet somehow strengthening the acceptance. He removes his hand as he continues, “You aren’t going insane. Do not worry.” Each syllable booms from the empty space behind me, echoing in my mind. I don’t feel reassured by his words, just curious.

Clearly my throat, I ask, “Who�"who are you? What...where are you?” These questions seem most appropriate, for now. My voice wobbles with anticipation and desperation, even though I know his unsatisfying response. I say the words in my head as he answers, my gaze never leaving Carly.

“You’ll find out soon enough who we are, what we are. And also where we are. But for now, please know you are not odd or cursed.” This time, I pay less attention to the speaker, and focus on the second man. The deep, authoritative speaker makes this difficult, however: “You are gifted. But tell no one about that. You must be careful with whom�"”

“Not yet.” It’s him, the second one. As I remember, his voice is laced with far less wisdom than the first man, but it’s much friendlier, even whilst barking an order. “We can’t say too much, Madison. But all will become clear in the near future.”

If I concentrate, I can separate their two presences. There is a significant difference in the intensities. One, the first man, holds a strong buzz, touching my core. It’s far more alluring than the second; a soft tickle, noticeable but not nearly as enticing. It sparks the question: why am I drawn to these people...things in the first place?

Whilst fighting the instinct that these invisible men are good, my head spinning, my eyes squeezed shut, I barely hear their soft farewell: “Until then.”

I shout, “What do...?” but they’re gone before I can finish my question. For a moment, nothing happens. The place where their presences were seems empty. The graveyard feels deserted, silent. The ground stands still. There’s no wind, no blood tinted scents. Nothing happens.

Bu then the realisation sinks in. Everything has happened. For once and for all, with nothing left to deny: those scenes that haunt me, trap me, they’re real, they’re futuristic visions.

I really am Psychic.

No, step back.

Psychics actually exist.

And something tells me this is only the start.

My thoughts, which were a jumbled mess of black knots, suddenly become clear and there’s a snap inside, a comforting one. It’s as if my silent acceptance of these supernatural visions, their existence, has broken a barrier in my mind. I’m no longer on the edge; there is time, choices. An irresistible journey ahead.

It’s no use worrying, hiding. It’s no use demanding immediate answers to questions. How is this possible? Why have I been chosen? Sure, I’m still determined to find out, and now this acceptance has shown me how. I must work with the visions. I must embrace this discovery, this journey, this impossibly different life. I must�"

Carly.

For a moment I panic, remembering that before everything came together for me, things were very much apart for her. Then I become angry for being so selfish, for forgetting. But as my mind settles back into reality, my environment comes into focus: the romantic music, the soft torch light, the light breeze. I don’t need to look to find my friends. I know they’re safe, happy.

Just an oblivious couple kissing under the oak tree.

My gaze sweeps over their entwined figures anyway, and a rush of warmth passes through me. She’s got perfection back: a loving boyfriend, peace and naivety. These aspects always seemed ideal, the full package. I wait for a prick of jealousy, that ugly flicker of negativity which always spoils a mood�"but it doesn’t come. I continue waiting, watching Ray as he folds back Carly’s hair and kisses her neck, anticipating the envious flare. Yet still it’s a no show. I’m only left with a smile.

Perhaps that stupid side is gone for good. Well, now that it knows I’ll never receive peace or naivety, it must feel happy to scamper off. Chances of a loving boyfriend in the near future have been ruined too, I think, remembering how Corbin and I left off. The gash, the fear, leaving school. The text�"oh! His text.

In the midst of drama, I’d forgotten he ever sent one. And now my hands automatically grapple for the mobile in my pocket, a foreboding arising in my gut. He could say anything; that he’s leaving school, moving, that he thinks I’m insane, that he’s willing to forget the past, that he’ll ignore me. This could go in any direction.

I flip it open, hands shaking.

It reads, “Maddi, I’m sorry about today. Weird things have been going on recently and now everything freaks me out. You said stuff has happened to you, too, and I think we should talk about it. And about us. Could we meet up before the dance tomorrow? If not, well, I’m sorry. Really.”

He’s reaching out, apologising.

I just discover I’m Psychic, but I never saw that coming.

Reviews

[Rae Elizabeth]

Very intriguing... Enticing so to say. I have no critiques for this chapter, so bravo to you :3

[Nima M]

Wow! it's amazing. I was hooked from the moment I started. But, for some reason, this whole...theme...sounds familiar.Like I've read it somewhere else. Whatever it is, I think its really interesting. If there are any other chapters, I cant wait to read them.