The Marked

I was walking down the street, hands shoved in my pockets. I'd been following the girl with strawberry hair for almost fifteen minutes now. I had my cell on me and that was all. My bag stayed behind at Castles, along with Jenna.

I thought about running up to the girl. But what would I say? Hi, I saw the tattooed word on your wrist and was wondering what the hell it means? Why? Well, I keep whispering it every time I lose control of my body or some shit. Nope, did not see that going over alright…

I frowned. The girl had been walking non-stop. Never changing pace or hesitating where to go. Now, she'd stopped. I blinked—for a second—and when I looked again, she was gone. My eyes widened. No…

"If you're following someone you should make sure to keep your eyes open—at all times." My blood chilled. The girl with shoulder length strawberry hair was standing right behind me. She flashed me a smile, unlike those at the café. It was sultry. "It's a case of now you see and now you don't."

"What?" I asked, dazed.

The girl tilted her head before pressing a hand into my back. Right in the center of my tattoo. Even with layers of clothes between her palm and my skin, I felt the tattoo come alive, undulating under the touch. She knew—this was too coincidental. And I really didn't believe those existed.

"Do you have one?"

"One what?"

"A tattoo." She lifted her right arm, exposing the underside of her wrist where the word burned her skin. "That's not what I'm talking about. What does it mean, anyway?"

"Wow. You really don't have a clue? You could've googled it." I would've, only I hadn't remembered it until I saw it spelled out on her skin. "Venator is Latin for hunter." Hunter. Exactly how I'd been feeling and acting since the tattoo came in. A predator.

"What are you?"

I swear she had the audacity to glare down at herself, then look up at me. "I'm a girl?" I hoped she could see my grinding teeth because I was about to lose my shit in the middle of a packed street in Washington. "We're the same, Chloe."

I stumbled a step, "How do you know my name?"

"That's an unoriginal question, isn't it? I know you're name because I've been researching you. On my own time, they don't know. You don't need to worry about getting recruited. Your identity remains a secret."

"My… They? What the fuck are you talking about?" I was freaking out a little. But she was glaring down at her phone.

"It's getting late. I have an appointment to get to." Her startling blue eyes lifted to my brown ones. "I hadn't planned on us talking today. I was just observing at the café. I'm guessing you spotted this," she tapped her wrist ink. "People do say I'm too impulsive."

She started to walk around me—I grabbed her arm, tugging her back into place. She glared down where I was gripping her.

"You really are strong." Stunned, I released her. "I'll find you when I'm ready. Until then… Maybe keep your hunter instincts at bay." And then, I kid you not, her body shimmered out. Right before my eyes. It was like she became air. There one second, gone the next.

***

I called Jenna back after she dialed me five times.

"Where the hell are you?" I winced against her worried and slightly killer tone. "Did you have another… you know?"

"No." Worse. "Pack my stuff and meet me outside Castles, I'm almost there." Then I hung up. I couldn't be questioned by Jenna on the phone. Not about this. Castles was a block away. As I made my way there, I let myself wonder about the mysterious stranger. She was like me. She had to be. Right? She'd been watching me—for how long? She would find me when she was ready? What did she need to be ready for? I was the one suffering through a shitty metamorphosis. I needed answers and she'd given me none. Still, with almost no information a lot of question arose.

I told all of that to Jenna once we met up. She was bewildered.

"Who are they?" Exactly. New question.

"No idea. She just said she's been investigating me on her own—without them knowing and that I shouldn't be afraid to get recruited."

"And then she made like the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland and left because of the hour." A smile pushed itself onto my face somehow.

"She vanished."

"People don't just vanish, Chloe."

"Well, she did."

Jenna paused, "You think she's like you?"

"She said as much: we're the same, Chloe." I quoted, doing my best to mimic the girl's ominous tone while wriggling my fingers. "The same what? She didn't say."

"Shit."

"I know."

"So… Venator?" She whispered after we climbed on the bus. I nodded slowly. "It means hunter? It seems to apply to your recent… behavior." So, Jenna agreed. "What now?"

"Who knows? I have no way of finding her. She didn't even give me her name. Do you think Caleb asked her..." Caleb! "What excuse did you feed him?"

"Caleb?" I nodded. "I told him I wanted to know where the girl got her boots... and you ran after her because she was leaving before I got to ask?" with every word her shoulders had hiked higher and her face scrunched in a wince.

"Seriously?"

She released a massive breath and she got herself together.

"Yes. What was I supposed to do?" Jenna groaned with palpable exasperation. "I think asking Caleb for the girl's name would—at this point—raise suspicion. There's only so much stalking you can do for a pair of boots. He wouldn't buy it again."

I wasn't chuckling now. No, as the day faded to darkness I felt something tick inside me. I felt restless. The feeling didn't vanish once I got home. Jenna had gone to her own place because her parents wouldn't let her spend two school nights out. I dragged my ass to bed after flicking on the ceiling light. I sunk on my bed and glared at the pin-board hanging above my desk. Still missing a photograph. Awesome.

I rubbed my hands along my neck, defusing pent-up tension. I turned my head sideways as I kept massaging. With a hellish cry, I fell back, arms outstretched and openly glaring at the ceiling. The large crescent moon and stars looked down on me. I was feeling hot; my ink was stinging. I craned my neck to get rid of a horrible kink—but it wouldn't go anywhere. Deep down, I knew only one thing would make this bothersome sensation quiet down.

Venator. Hunter. Hunter of what? People who smelled different? I took a minute to think. Why did certain people have that smell? Leonard seemed normal. Though, I didn't know him. Just from class. But for them to smell differently... didn't it mean there had to be a reason? I wasn't kidding myself: I wasn't human—not a hundred percent. Following that logic, it made sense there were others who weren't human, either, right? Others who were different from me—and that girl—as well? The more I thought about it, the less I liked where it led me. My eyes slid towards the curtains. I imagined myself going out again, this time in control. I pictured following my instincts and my nose as I ran and leapt onto rooftops without fear of falling, completely sure of my reflexes.

I stopped myself. Without meaning to, I'd gotten up and ambulated towards the French doors. I... I... I craved it so much. My muscles strained as I retraced my steps. I never felt myself fight so hard. With a frustrating sound, I whirled around, smacking my hands into the wall.

White powder coated my hands, face and sweater. I sneezed. I backed up, horrified at the sizable hole I had punched into the wall. It cracked under my hands like nothing. I stared at it, stunned. How was I going to explain that to mom? I marched into my bathroom, able to squash the need to give into my instincts because I had a problem to solve. I washed my powdery hands and face. Walking back in, the first thing I saw was the board. I didn't have any paintings in my room. The only thing on the wall was that.

"I guess we're renovating." We. Was I talking to my tattoo now? "If you are alive and can hear me, how about tuning down the mass-murder feels?" I chatted at it while heading for the 'junk room' as I called it. It was just a door away from mom's bedroom. The junk room was where we kept things we rarely used. Including power tools, hammers, nails and tons of stuff that used to be mine from when I was little. Mom had a problem with parting with things. I walked in, turned on the lights and still managed to knock into a cabinet when I turned around. Something toppled off a shelf and came tumbling down, smacking into my shoulder. With reflexes my tattoo provided, I caught the rectangular object before it went splat on the floor. It was a music box.

I didn't remember it. It was wood, all its sides were sculptured to the smallest detail, little forest animals—birds, foxes, rabbits—along with tree limbs. The lid was smooth, no carvings. I opened it, curious to know what song it played. I remembered mom singing Hush Little Baby to me when I was young, maybe it was... My mouth dried. I half expected a ballerina to pop out. Instead, inside the small space—where you could keep small jewelry—was a perfect painted Lotus. I stared transfixed. I grabbed the small handle on the bottom, winding up the box. Four twisting motions later, I listened to the melody.

It wasn't Hush Little Baby. The notes were slow coming, repeating themselves with a sad tone. It suggested abandoned playgrounds, foggy days, broken dreams and... overwhelming sadness. I gripped the thing harder—then pushed the lid closed. The room went silent. The melody leaving me in an eerie ambiance. Me, the person who thrived on horror movies, shows and books. I was unsettled because of some strung notes. Suddenly, a tickle ran across my back—in all directions, like a web. It was... oddly comforting.

I set down the box.

"Maybe you're not only a serial killing tattoo." I mumbled, shaking myself. I'd come here for a hammer and nails. I walked over to the stack of boxes, opening the one with TOOLS written in big, red letters. I found what I was looking for and walked out. The Lotus painted on that box couldn't be a coincidence. Still, mom wouldn't keep something so life changing from me. She didn't have a clue what was going on. I should ask her about that music box—about how we got it.

Please don't let me hammer the wall in, I prayed to my ink as I readied to hit the nail head for the first time. I watched as the nail sunk in with that one hit. I gulped. Ah, I had future as a carpenter? I took the pin-board and moved it across the room, hanging it slightly to the left of my headboard, over the hole. It was a perfect fit.

I moved around the house some more, cooking some pasta for dinner, doing homework as best as I could. Little by little, the strange feeling the music box left within me faded and the need to go out subsided to an irritating itch in my veins. After I was sure I wouldn't get indigestion, I shimmied off my clothes and jumped into the small shower for a quick one. The itch was still there, I kept thinking of normal things—anything—to distract me from the consuming feeling in my gut.

It was almost eleven when I crawled under the covers. I found my eyes planted on the ceiling, where the moon and stars were now glowing. Sighing, I shifted onto my side. I reached for my phone to check if I'd missed anything. There was a text from mom saying she wouldn't be home until late afternoon tomorrow. Meaning I wouldn't see her tomorrow because once I got home she would be sleeping. I didn't have anything from Wade or Jenna.

If I sent a text this late to any of them they would think I feared being alone. I'd never been afraid of being home alone. Home had always been a safe place for me. Now… I gave a glare at the balcony. My fist curled on the comforter. I wouldn't be afraid—I couldn't. Yet, that dreadful melody played in my head as I fell into an uneasy sleep.

The night air was cold. Snow crunched underneath me as I shifted—a stinging made me stop. I winced. I used my elbows to lift myself from the sprawled position on the floor. I made a face as I sought my reason for wincing. I saw my left leg had a patchy stain—my jeans were darker because I was bleeding. I touched my fingers to the wound. It was round, too large to be a bullet wound. It looked like I'd been stabbed with something. The snow underneath my leg was reddish. Taking stalk of my surroundings, I froze. There was snow but I wasn't outside. There were no windows, but I knew it was night and could feel cold wind. I was somewhere enclosed—a mouse trapped in a box. Four walls around me, the floor and ceiling. No lights. I shouldn't have been able to see but…

My eyes, I realized. I could see in the dark. Just like a cat. I would've smirked if a haunting tune didn't start playing, echoing from the walls, as a form began shaping in the snow a couple of feet away. My chest tightened. The spot where my tattoo was heated up, boiling my blood. There was no strange smell.

A series of bone cracking noises joined the music box melody as the shape rose from beneath the snow—a body. White fell away revealing a dark suited man. The latex clad man who I'd chased? It reminded me of season one of American Horror Story. Except there were no holes for the guy to breathe or for him to see. The tune kept playing and the man took graceful, measured steps to where I was—injured. I wanted to back away but was rooted on stop. Mystified by how someone could be alive inside that suit and how he could move like that. I watched the guy stop, reaching behind his head. The sound of a zipper reached my ears. He tugged the latex head-mask forward. It hung there, part of the rest of the suit.

I glared at the person. I didn't know who he was. I'd never seen him before. His hair was dark blond, straight, framing his cheeks. His features were hazy, the only other detail I made out clearly were his eyes. They were a steely blue, growing darker from the pupil to the iris' edge. The look in them reminded me of a killer hawk.

It sent a massive shiver along my body.

He didn't move closer. The man lifted an arm, pointing at something off to the side of where we were standing. I chanced a side-way glance. Wade was there and… I was there too? I frowned at the sight. That couldn't be… We were kissing—more than kissing. Clothes were being shed. My heart was galloping. He touched my tattoo, he saw it and said nothing. We were naked and making out heavily. I… Suddenly I wasn't injured. I was the Chloe in Wade's arms and I was moaning into his mouth—into his kiss. My legs were around his hips—I closed them harder, feeling myself building to a peak. Wade kissed between my breasts, my head fell back, mouth opening for a cry to escape. The music was dying away, I noticed stupidly.

My eyes slipped open among waves of pleasure. I saw the man behind us was gone.

I gripped Wade's neck harder, pulling my head up to watch him… Wade's wavy hair was gone, replaced by straight hair. Dark blond hair. My tattoo was burning again and I was struggling now. I was strong but so was the mysterious man. A look crossed his eyes, his hazy lips formed a wolfish smirk and something… shimmered there. Inside his mouth. I let out a loud scream as the man's mouth came down on the slope between my neck and shoulder. My tattoo was growing haywire. My fingers dug below the man's chin, gripping it hard. I pulled up—ripping his mouth off me. A gush of blood hit me—my face, my naked body.

The body buckled to the red covered snow.

Triumphantly, I stared at the ripped head in my hands.

This time, my mouth fell open in a scream of horror. I wasn't holding the man's head—I shook and watched the head roll to the ground like a soccer ball. Wade's face was paralyzed in a silent scream.

I woke up screaming. Sweating. Panting. I screamed again because I couldn't get the image out of my mind. I grabbed at my head—touched my face, my chest… I was dressed. I wasn't bloody. But I didn't care. I got up—my foot got stuck in the covers so I slipped and hit the floor. My chest sung with hurt. I didn't care. I scrambled to my feet, dragging myself to the bathroom. I washed my face. My hands. I still couldn't stop seeing the blood—Wade's blood on me. I was still making strange sounds—like I was about to sob. No, no, no. This wasn't me. I didn't cry like this—it was a dream. A bad dream. Calm down, Chloe. I repeated this mantra staring myself down in the mirror, catching my breath.

I closed my eyes, counted to ten, then slowly opened them. My skin was clean. Ashen and pale, but clean. A horrible nightmare. Still, heading back to my bedroom took some willpower. Especially when I caught something outside my window. Glued on the outside of the French doors. Shit, Chloe, are you dumb enough to check that out now? Yes, turned out I was. I felt my tattoo cool off. It had been hot until now. Feeling more confident by this factoid—for some reason—I followed the way to the doors. I flung the curtains aside. I twisted the key, forced down the handle and groped for the paper. It had been stuck there with scotch tape. I shut the door and drew the curtains into place before unfolding it and reading what someone left for me in neat cursive.

Soon.