The Marked

I hadn't gone back to sleep after snuggling against Wade. When he woke up, I'd pretended to wake up too. I'd still be shaking.

"Cold?" he'd asked me, rubbing his eyes.

"No," I'd managed to whisper. "Just… I had a bad dream." I'd mustered a smile. Even I knew it had looked sad. Wade tried persuading me to talk about it—I'd vehemently shaken my head. After a few minutes, he'd let it go. "Can you drive me home? Jenna's sleeping over tonight." I'd hurried to say before he invited me to stay for dinner. I hadn't been in any state to sit down and eat with his family. I didn't know if I could eat.

He had seemed happy to know I wouldn't be home alone. Ha, poor Wade. If only he knew… If this happened again tonight, Jenna wouldn't be able to help. And I shared all of this with my best friend once she arrived at my place, about an hour after Wade dropped me off.

Jenna was still staring. Aghast.

Then, "We'll stay awake."

"It's a school night, Jenna." I deadpanned feeling afraid. "Besides, we both know you can't stay awake after one a.m. without coffee."

"I'll drink some fucking coffee." She said dead serious. "You look scared shitless—no offense. I don't know what I can do to help you aside from staying awake and stop you from taking a stroll."

A thought made me sick then.

"What if you try to stop me and I hurt you?"

"How can you say that with a straight face?" Because I'm scared of myself, I realized sadly. Jenna must have read it on my face because her confidence dropped—and that wasn't easy to make happen. "Okay. Okay." She said over and over. Thinking. She moved from her spot on my bed, reaching for the bag she'd brought over. I saw her take out a notebook and a polka dotted pen. "Let's retrace your steps. Let's write down everything that's happened so far and, hopefully, draw some conclusions." She paused. "And maybe look some symptoms online? Maybe something creepy-crawly will come up."

"Thanks for that." I knew she was trying to lighten me up, but I really worried I would get scales at some point. "Alright," I agreed. Her idea was logical and God knew I could use some logical right about now.

"Tell me how it started, Chlo."

So, I did. I went as far as possible, as far in the past as I remembered something abnormal happening. The headaches. The dizzy spells. They'd started days before I turned seventeen. The flu—had it even been the flu?—on my birthday. How I had seizure—or what felt like one—and the strange dream. It was faint now, like memories from childhood. I could only remember or describe bits and pieces. Then I told her about the most recent ones. Vomit was threatening to scale the walls of my esophagus like it was a living, breathing thing when I confessed about the killing.

Jenna's shoulder length hair shadowed the half of her face I could see from my seat on the bed. I watched her closely, maybe a little too much, because time seemed like it was slowing to a stop again. Finally, she tossed her hair back. She faced me and licked her lips.

"This killing business?" I waited for her to go on. "It only happened in a dream—you're sure?"

"Yes," I said it too quickly. My eyes shut in frustration. "I mean—I never woke up with blood on my hands. The blood from the nightmares stayed there."

"And you only went out once?" I nodded conveying more conviction than I was actually feeling. "Why did you feel the need to… kill someone?" Good question, Jen.

"I don't know why I want to do it, it's almost like I feel obligated to. Like it's my… duty."

"Right."

"I know how it sounds." Twisted. Immoral. Crazy. "Do you think I'm losing my mind?"

"No, I can see your freaky tattoo, remember? So, unless we've been doing magic mushrooms without knowing it, I think you're sane."

She didn't get it. "No—yes. The tattoo is in fact real. I can hear other peoples' thoughts—also true." Jenna's hold on her little notebook slacked as she listened closely. "But what if this thing is making me insane?"

Jenna's mouth closed. She tried to remain indifferent to my theory, but her fingers released the notebook and her polka dotted pen rolled out of her grasp, both landing on my comforter. Without a sound. Outside, I could hear someone, in a close backyard mowing the lawn. Cars honking, motorcycles roaring along my street.

"Tell me about the details you remember."

I grunted, "Jenna…"

She shook her head, making a quick grab for her detective gear.

"You're not going insane." Jenna flipped the notebook back to the page she'd been writing in—her blue eyes sparked. "Tell me everything. I don't care if it's gory and gross. Go on."

Revamped by Jenna's burning determination, I spilled every detail. She thought the smell was the biggest lead, especially since it connected to my little incident with Leonard from Econ. A nagging thought grew inside me. There had been something else besides the smell—a more recurring element…

Jenna jolted back. Nearly falling over after my outburst.

"The what?" she stammered.

"The flower—a pink Lotus!"

My best friend blinked, "A flower?" I nodded proudly. Jenna wrote it down. "I think they're pretty and all, but I don't understand why a flower would show up in dreams where you think of murdering people who smell funny."

I ignored her, "There's a word too. I can't… remember what it is. I've said at least once, though."

"Hmm," she pondered, poking under her chin with her mighty pen. "When people are hypnotized, magicians have a safe word to break them out of their trance. Maybe that's it—a safe word."

It could be. I didn't remember when I uttered the word. I didn't bother telling Jenna hypnotizing wasn't real. At this point, who knew, maybe it was. I felt in a trance when I caught a whiff of that smell. Jenna read her notes out loud: headaches (beginning of hearing thoughts?), stabbing pain and flu symptoms (disappeared when tattoo showed up), weird scent sets off loss of control (sleepwalking), strange nightmares, pink Lotus and safe word (?).

A small grimace crippled my face. If someone saw this, they would think we were creating a main character with sketchy sanity for some young adult, paranormal book. I grabbed my computer off my desk, settling on a crossed-legged pose with Jenna's breath hitting the side of my face. I jerked back a bit, sending her a look.

"A little space?"

"Sorry," she mumbled with a little wry smile, tilting away. "I was checking if your pupils were… huh… vertical."

"I don't know how to make it happen." I rather it didn't. I typed in pink Lotus. Jenna thought there was no big correlation. I thought it was too coincidental. It showed up when the tattoo came in and in following dreams. I got over ten thousand results, no surprise there. I scrolled down some sites, clicking one when Jenna shifted closer—again. My eyes started skimming the website for the pink lotus meaning—because it was a thing—when Jenna stole my computer onto her lap. "You have hyperactivity issues."

She ignored me, reading, "Bla, bla, bla... Ah. Here we go," Jenna muttered. "The pink lotus is often linked with Buddhism, being thought of as sacred and pure." Her eyes lifted, meeting mine halfway. So far, so good. "It's used to make tea. Yes, great, interesting." I snorted watching her scroll on the tactile mouse rapidly. "Wait. Up. There are more colors—"

"It's pink," I stressed. My nerves were itching to steal my laptop back. "Focus on that one. Please."

"Fine. Let's see," her eyes searched the information and I felt myself tilt into my best friend's space. She spared me an amused look that I chose to chalk out of the equation. "It says that it's considered the supreme lotus. You said the flower was open?"

I almost nodded—but thought back a little harder.

"No, in my first dream—the one on my birthday—it was opening."

"Okay, well, it says that a lotus bud can be representative of someone's lack of spiritual enlightenment. If the flower is blooming or it has bloomed, it might mean that someone is achieving Nirvana. Whatever that is." It would be the next thing to check out. Jenna clicked more sites. We found other associations like the words "devotion", "spiritual power", etcetera. Jenna punched in Nirvana and information on the band showed up first—shocker. Several religions, but mostly Indian ones, popped up with their explanations. "I don't think this is connected to you. I mean, from what I can gather with my limited understanding is that Nirvana is a state and you don't feel passion, ignorance or aversion. I'm positive you're feeling ignorant—we're searching for answers about a magical tattoo on google—you can't keep your adorable paws of Wade and that smell makes you go into a blind rage of hate."

I blinked at her feeling an urge to tear out hair. My hair. She was totally right. I might be experiencing something spiritual or magical, but I was not—in any possible way—in a state of Nirvana. My jaw fell open when I saw what she was typing: Cat eyes on humans.

Jenna poked her finger against the screen. "Hey, look. There's something called Cat Eye Syndrome."

"Jenna," I gritted. "That's not my affliction." Her lips puckered. I was about to tell her to give up the search when a thought hit me like a baseball bat. "My mom talked about sleep paralysis once. I think she said it's not verified among the scientific community, though."

"Okay, but neither are live tattoos. So, start explaining."

"I guess it can be experienced when you're just about to fall asleep or when you wake up suddenly and there's a part of your body that is still—programmed to be unmoving so you won't carry out your dreams while sleeping."

"To prevent sleepwalking then?"

"In a way?" I shrugged. I was far from being an expert on anything psychologically related. If I knew medical stuff, it was because mom brought it home. "But anyway, when sleep paralysis occurs the person may experience hallucinations of all sorts." Or some claimed. "You're trapped, though. People who claim to have lived through them say they're horrible. Living nightmares. I know what's been happening to me isn't a hallucination, I'm awake when I lose control. But the concept is similar, being trapped inside my body. Feeling like a spectator about to see horrible things unfold and being powerless to stop it—to stop myself."

Jenna silently set my computer beside us.

"I honestly have no idea what to say to any of that."

"That makes two of us." I sighed flopping back on the mattress. "Do you think I should tell my mom?"

"No," she said, but it sounded more like a question. "Look, we still have Caleb to turn to. Maybe he'll point us in the right direction—or in any direction." Maybe. "Let's have dinner, Chlo, I'm starving." I was too.

We hopped off my bed, Jenna heading at extreme speed for the door and me following with a moody, sullen glare—my whole body stiffened. The hairs on my neck reacted, growing erect. My blood pumped harder and I felt my pupils lose their round shape—slipping into vertical mode. My head snapped to my balcony. The curtains were drawn tightly. Still… My eyes were working under my paranoia, enlarging the image—the small trace of a silhouetted figure being projected onto the white cloth. I stared intently for another micro second before my legs started carrying me towards the balcony doors. I was cautious in my approach, graceful like a ballerina, yet deadly like a lioness. My hands were steady—steadier than my booming heart—as I grabbed a fistful of curtain and drew it back, lurching for the French door handle immediately with the other. I jumped into the outside and deep down I gasped even as I leapt to the thick branch and followed the person dressed in black. I heard someone calling me—that voice got far, though, as I slid down the tree at speeds I never imagined were possible, not without getting hit in the face by a branch, impaled or by breaking necks.

If I was good, the person running away was better. The chase is on, something whispered in the back of my mind, pressuring me to follow. I barely recognized myself as I charged up my fence and gave a great impulse, then it was like I walked two steps on the vertical boards and grabbed the top with my hand, propelling myself over it. I wanted to be amazed but my eyes were still in cat-mode. My surroundings started to slow down, the person I was tracking was already racing across the street, I saw him or her dive for an upcoming alley on their left. I saw it all happen in excruciatingly slow movement. I was moving all the while, rushing across a busy street. I danced around incoming cars easily. They were slow in my eyes too. I didn't have time to notice peoples' faces as I ran around them or shouldered past them. I reached the alley's mouth.

I stopped. I was getting a sense of déjà vu. Because I grabbed the person trying to pull down fire escape stairs and threw said person against a brick wall. I didn't see a face. Whoever this was, he—the body gave off a male vibe—was wearing a thick black mask over his head. No holes in it. nothing to breathe through. I wasn't derailed by the shock, already landing a punch where the design of his nose was. I felt radiating pain in my knuckles but smirked at the resounding crack. My fist slammed into his face again. I watched as the guy slammed into the wall. Little cracks appeared around his body, like spiderwebs. Scarcely, I remembered a lesson from basic physics. Because forces always occurred in pairs: when one body pushes against another, the second body pushes back just as hard. The force with which the guy hit the wall was monstrous—it cracked bricks. And he was still standing. Like he'd absorbed the impact like it was nothing. And… I was the one who punched him into the wall with that much power.

I faltered a step.

The guy launched at me—no. I sidestepped to the right but he dove left, going for the fire escape again. I blinked after him. My body stiffened when those familiar words pricked me: Go. Chase after. Hunt. You must. For a small moment I thought I would go after him. I didn't know if it was because I was falling into a trance or because I genuinely wanted to. My knees buckled under me as I felt another shift. My eyes zoomed everything in, but time flowed normally now and then came the hundreds or thousands of whispers, like a beehive. The disorienting visual effects, the chattering white noise… I covered my ears.

Go away, I yelled at the random strangers inside my mind, go away. Leave me alone. My eyes were shut in hopes to get the vertigo to settle—it seemed to work. But there was no quieting the voices. Then, out of a sea of loud murmurs, I heard one pushing past others. It was familiar. I clung to it, zooming in on it. I grappled with everything I had.

"Chloe!" I ended up hearing her call me. Not inside my brain, but verbally. Like normal people hear others. "Shit. What's wrong? Hey, open your eyes."

Jenna had a hold on my shoulders, tipping me back. I tried my eyelids—they moved. Good. I opened them more and saw her face was hazy. Like I'd spent time underwater with my eyes open.

"Jesus," she breathed. "They're just like cat eyes." Oh. They were still vertical? Maybe that's why I was seeing her form with smudged edges. I wanted to calm down for our sakes. Jenna was doing her best not to call an ambulance. "What's wrong with your head?"

"What?" I managed in the foggy weather that was I.

"You said it was hurting." I had?

"Voices… too many." I breathed squeezing my eyes again, willing them to normal. Round pupils, please. I whispered in a prayer. I stayed like that for who knows how long. "What about now?" I asked slipping my eyes open.

Jenna wasn't fuzzy anymore. She looked normal—well, disgruntled and out of breath, but I could see her with a defined shape. Her shoulders sagged as a large breath left her.

"They're back to common folk eyes." Thank God. "Chloe," she urged, tightening her grip on me. "What the fuck just happened? Was this—was this an episode?"

Was that what we were calling my random onslaughts of paranormal? I went over the sentence I'd just put together. Yeah, okay, calling them episodes didn't sound too bad.

"Yes," but it felt different than the other times, different from my dreams or even what little details I could remember from last night and today at Wade's place. "And no." Jenna's eyebrows drew together. "This isn't the best place to talk."

She nodded fervently, remembering we were in an alley and that the late afternoon had slipped into nightly colors. Jenna helped me up, halfway towards the exit I shook my head, mumbling that I was fine to stand on my own. My head and eyes hurt a ton. The rest of me? Screamed that I was fit to participate in the Amazing Race. I was glad Jenna had the good sense of grabbing my house keys off my bag before chasing out the door to find me. Jenna locked up once we were inside.

"I'm going to wash my face." I marched on up to my bedroom, rubbing my head all the while. I headed straight for my cubicle of a bathroom, glancing once at the open balcony door. I swallowed. I splashed water on my face. Glared at myself in the mirror. I repeated the process. But no matter how many times I did it, I didn't feel less hot.

It was coming from my tattoo. The familiar heat that sparked every time I was near that salty-sweet smell. But this time… There hadn't been any smell. Did anything set me off now? Would I be going after Jenna next? Mom? Wade? No, I reasoned, whoever that person was… He'd been spying on me. Shit. Shit… I came to a stop as I walked out into my bedroom, I was going to close the French door to the wretched balcony. But my eye caught something dire—the photos on my pin-board. I scanned the board again.

Nothing changed.

The photo of me and Wade was gone.