Sequel: Twisted Returns ›
Status: Complete - 71,220 words
Shattering Crystals
just a little too late
I freeze.
My body goes numb as my mind shouts out frantic instructions. Run! But I can't. My feet are stuck to the rumbling ground; the signal to move lost somewhere else in my body.
"Get her out of here!" Lorraine shouts, her voice thick with desperation and possibly even tears as she points to the girl, who has slipped back into unconsciousness.
Then I know that this isn't really happening. Lorraine does not panic.
But the floor beneath us starts to crack, and rocks from the ceiling fall, smashing the edge of our ledge to bits.
And I'm certain it's a dream when I see Aaron fall.
"Go!" Someone shoves me from behind, jerking me back to my senses. Unfortunately, they also launch me into a pile of rocks. I wince as the sharp rocks pierce my skin, causing pain to shoot up my arm.
I press my arm into my shirt, causing it to sting like hell, but hopefully staunch the blood flow. I can feel the fabric soaking up the warm liquid, and I almost throw up right then and there. I allow myself to take three seconds to pull myself together, and luckily I am able to keep my food down.
"Someone get Elise!" Wessley shouts, the still unnamed girl slung carelessly over his shoulder. He disappears with her into the black tunnel. I turn. Elise just stands there, looking down at the lava, the abyss. Her whole form trembles, but that could just be the ground shaking. It won't be long before she falls in herself.
I turn away from Elise and start running into the steep tunnel. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dean coming to Elise's rescue - like we all knew he would.
I don't turn back to see their fate.
----
There is no sound.
Maybe there is, maybe there isn't. But silence is all I hear. The sounds of no one breathing, though we're all here, of no one's heart beating, though we're all alive.
What sickens me is that it doesn't feel real. As the whole group sits on the floor, nibbling on their gourmet dishes in silence, something feels off, fake. Yet at the same time, the reality of it all threatens to suffocate me.
And a warmth is missing. A warmth that stuck to Elise like a heavy perfume. Elise does not cry. She simply sits there.
We can't accept it. Because Aaron is not here - he is merely out on the beach, taking a walk alone.
The unnamed girl still sleeps. Wessley had gently set her down on Lynda's bed. And five hours later, no one had seen those orange-red eyes open. We fear what happens when they do.
This should have been expected. We should have known that someone would be lost, that something would go wrong.
But we expected a fairytale. We set our eyes on the prize and paid for it. Now we know the consequences. We have learned just a little too late, and there's no going back.
We don't know if we should fear the girl lying on Lynda's bed. A magic force surrounds her, stronger than anyone else's, which I would usually find to be a good sign. But her beautiful eyes had killed Aaron.
She's not one of us. That fact is very clear to us, the moment we saw her lying on the giant pillar. Or maybe even before that, when we stepped into the lava tube.
We sit there for what seems like an eternity of silence, just picking at our food. The silence is overwhelming, and it almost physically hurts.
Time ticks on, and I don't know how long it's been. Hours, minutes, days? I can't tell which is more reasonable anymore. It's not possible, and I don’t know what to think or how to feel anymore.
Lorraine - as expected - is the first one to break the silence.
"What do we do now?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. But everyone hears her just fine. We all shrug our shoulders lifelessly, leaving Lorraine to make the decision... as usual.
"We should... we should just continue," she says, her voice uncertain like I had never heard it before. "There's nothing left to do."
"I would give anything for him back," Elise says suddenly. Her face is pointed towards the group, but she doesn't seem to see us. "Or even for him to be like Chelsea. She was better off..."
As soon as she says these words, all of the thoughts I had been suppressing for so long flood back into my mind.
----
"Chelsea? Chelsea!" Lynda shrieks, choking on tears. She runs over to her sister, who still appears to be in a deep sleep. "Wake up!"
"Let me - let me try again," Lorraine says, giving herself a little shake and reciting her poem again. Nothing happens.
"What did you do?" Lynda screams, her voice ripping through an octave. Her expression is one of panic and Wessley runs over to comfort her.
"Wait eight hours," Lorraine says. Her voice is shaking and her face is pale, but she still knows what to do. "She might wake up then."
"And if she doesn't?"
Nobody speaks a word.
----
We all stay up to midnight, waiting for Chelsea to awaken. This task, however, is quite boring.
"Relax, Lynda," Lorraine says, putting a hand on her shoulder. It’s been nearly eight hours. "She's gonna be okay."
Lynda just sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at her famous sister. "I hope so."
----
The rest is too terrifying to think about. I involuntarily shiver.
"We could always make new memories..." Elise says. "They could be replaced... but his life can't."
What had happened to Chelsea was terrible - we all knew that. We'd all seen it happen in movies and TV shows, and considering it from our cozy homes, it didn't seem so bad.
But then, in Lynda's luxurious, comfortable house, it was horrible. That unrealistic problem turned up, and we were the cause of it.
When Chelsea woke up, she asked the expected question. She asked why Lynda looked different, which we didn’t think anything of. We thought she probably didn’t see much of Lynda after she started wearing makeup, so that was reasonable. But when we gave her the planned explanation, she cringed away from us.
"I would never drink, that’s nasty! And makeup makes you ugly!" she had yelled, her tone immature. This was the first sign of trouble. We continued to question her, asking her name, her birth date, her age. She answered them normally - except for the last one.
"I'm twelve," she insisted, when we told her she was nineteen. But Lynda sadly shook her head and told her to look in the mirror.
When we gave her a small hand held mirror, we watched her expression change. First pleasure - her gorgeous face was really something to be proud of. But then fear. Why couldn't she remember anything?
My body goes numb as my mind shouts out frantic instructions. Run! But I can't. My feet are stuck to the rumbling ground; the signal to move lost somewhere else in my body.
"Get her out of here!" Lorraine shouts, her voice thick with desperation and possibly even tears as she points to the girl, who has slipped back into unconsciousness.
Then I know that this isn't really happening. Lorraine does not panic.
But the floor beneath us starts to crack, and rocks from the ceiling fall, smashing the edge of our ledge to bits.
And I'm certain it's a dream when I see Aaron fall.
"Go!" Someone shoves me from behind, jerking me back to my senses. Unfortunately, they also launch me into a pile of rocks. I wince as the sharp rocks pierce my skin, causing pain to shoot up my arm.
I press my arm into my shirt, causing it to sting like hell, but hopefully staunch the blood flow. I can feel the fabric soaking up the warm liquid, and I almost throw up right then and there. I allow myself to take three seconds to pull myself together, and luckily I am able to keep my food down.
"Someone get Elise!" Wessley shouts, the still unnamed girl slung carelessly over his shoulder. He disappears with her into the black tunnel. I turn. Elise just stands there, looking down at the lava, the abyss. Her whole form trembles, but that could just be the ground shaking. It won't be long before she falls in herself.
I turn away from Elise and start running into the steep tunnel. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dean coming to Elise's rescue - like we all knew he would.
I don't turn back to see their fate.
----
There is no sound.
Maybe there is, maybe there isn't. But silence is all I hear. The sounds of no one breathing, though we're all here, of no one's heart beating, though we're all alive.
What sickens me is that it doesn't feel real. As the whole group sits on the floor, nibbling on their gourmet dishes in silence, something feels off, fake. Yet at the same time, the reality of it all threatens to suffocate me.
And a warmth is missing. A warmth that stuck to Elise like a heavy perfume. Elise does not cry. She simply sits there.
We can't accept it. Because Aaron is not here - he is merely out on the beach, taking a walk alone.
The unnamed girl still sleeps. Wessley had gently set her down on Lynda's bed. And five hours later, no one had seen those orange-red eyes open. We fear what happens when they do.
This should have been expected. We should have known that someone would be lost, that something would go wrong.
But we expected a fairytale. We set our eyes on the prize and paid for it. Now we know the consequences. We have learned just a little too late, and there's no going back.
We don't know if we should fear the girl lying on Lynda's bed. A magic force surrounds her, stronger than anyone else's, which I would usually find to be a good sign. But her beautiful eyes had killed Aaron.
She's not one of us. That fact is very clear to us, the moment we saw her lying on the giant pillar. Or maybe even before that, when we stepped into the lava tube.
We sit there for what seems like an eternity of silence, just picking at our food. The silence is overwhelming, and it almost physically hurts.
Time ticks on, and I don't know how long it's been. Hours, minutes, days? I can't tell which is more reasonable anymore. It's not possible, and I don’t know what to think or how to feel anymore.
Lorraine - as expected - is the first one to break the silence.
"What do we do now?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. But everyone hears her just fine. We all shrug our shoulders lifelessly, leaving Lorraine to make the decision... as usual.
"We should... we should just continue," she says, her voice uncertain like I had never heard it before. "There's nothing left to do."
"I would give anything for him back," Elise says suddenly. Her face is pointed towards the group, but she doesn't seem to see us. "Or even for him to be like Chelsea. She was better off..."
As soon as she says these words, all of the thoughts I had been suppressing for so long flood back into my mind.
----
"Chelsea? Chelsea!" Lynda shrieks, choking on tears. She runs over to her sister, who still appears to be in a deep sleep. "Wake up!"
"Let me - let me try again," Lorraine says, giving herself a little shake and reciting her poem again. Nothing happens.
"What did you do?" Lynda screams, her voice ripping through an octave. Her expression is one of panic and Wessley runs over to comfort her.
"Wait eight hours," Lorraine says. Her voice is shaking and her face is pale, but she still knows what to do. "She might wake up then."
"And if she doesn't?"
Nobody speaks a word.
----
We all stay up to midnight, waiting for Chelsea to awaken. This task, however, is quite boring.
"Relax, Lynda," Lorraine says, putting a hand on her shoulder. It’s been nearly eight hours. "She's gonna be okay."
Lynda just sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at her famous sister. "I hope so."
----
The rest is too terrifying to think about. I involuntarily shiver.
"We could always make new memories..." Elise says. "They could be replaced... but his life can't."
What had happened to Chelsea was terrible - we all knew that. We'd all seen it happen in movies and TV shows, and considering it from our cozy homes, it didn't seem so bad.
But then, in Lynda's luxurious, comfortable house, it was horrible. That unrealistic problem turned up, and we were the cause of it.
When Chelsea woke up, she asked the expected question. She asked why Lynda looked different, which we didn’t think anything of. We thought she probably didn’t see much of Lynda after she started wearing makeup, so that was reasonable. But when we gave her the planned explanation, she cringed away from us.
"I would never drink, that’s nasty! And makeup makes you ugly!" she had yelled, her tone immature. This was the first sign of trouble. We continued to question her, asking her name, her birth date, her age. She answered them normally - except for the last one.
"I'm twelve," she insisted, when we told her she was nineteen. But Lynda sadly shook her head and told her to look in the mirror.
When we gave her a small hand held mirror, we watched her expression change. First pleasure - her gorgeous face was really something to be proud of. But then fear. Why couldn't she remember anything?