Grazing the Sky

Chapter One
Dreams & Reality

Lance didn’t realize he was through the doorway until he had already stepped into the darkness. Part of him knew he was dreaming—that loose, airy feeling was clouding the top of his head, where his thoughts used to be. And part of him was lost in the current moment, taking this reality as absolute truth. Because who wouldn’t be at least a little bit scared stepping into a room with no visible walls or flooring, slowly moving towards a spotlight in the center of this flat void?

His fear only lasted for a few moments, quickly overtaken by the fact that he had to keep moving. There was something in the center of that spotlight, wrapped in a bundle of sky blue cloth. Shaped like a baby, almost. Lance knew he needed to move towards it, keep moving no matter what. An existence—not just his own, but another’s as well—depended on it. So, he moved.

It was slow progress—at times, incredibly painful. His feet felt like they’d been placed inside cement blocks, forcing a massive pain to both legs as he continued dragging himself forward. Getting closer to whatever that object wrapped in blue was.

The weights left him as he neared the spotlight, causing a stumble he quickly recovered from. His shoe rested at the edge of the light, never breaking the perfect circle it cast. Lance kept staring at the bundle of cloth, and at the same moment the desire to step forward came to mind, he was suddenly in the center of the circle, the object gone.

He looked up, not blinded by the light shining down on him. He felt something against his skin—not air, but an energy. Orange-red; that’s the color that came to mind. This energy moved around him, gently traveling down his neck before parting to swirl around his shoulders, down his arms. With this warmth curling around the tips of his fingers, Lance closed his eyes, listening to the energy, feeling it pulse with the beat of his own blood. The brightness above him increased, heating up his skin.

Pressure came to his tailbone; a tingling feeling that felt like he had an itch. But then his spine moved, the small tail poking against the inside of his skin. The point suddenly broke through, taking the rest of his spine with it. Lance dropped to all fours, his back deflating as his tail-spine thrashed about, flinging blood out into the open air. What was happening? What in the fuck was happening?

Welcome to the new you, a voice said, speaking in both his mind and beside his ear.

He stayed on the floor, struggling for composure as the light above him heated until his skin burnt. That energy came forth, caressing his face as his eyes shut tighter, trying to block everything out.

Just escape, he told himself. Just don’t let anything in.

The light shattered and his body jerked upright, the springs of his bed echoing below him. The silence of his room grew a little clearer, a little louder but Lance could still hear the fading sound of the spotlight exploding.

Another nightmare.

He fell back, head hitting the pillow once again. Sweat had soaked through, and he could feel more on the mattress below him, the sheets above. He kept breathing, currently not caring about the hygiene. He just focused on moving his lungs, calming the rapid pace of his heart.

He thought of a beat—four-four. Slow enough. The counts repeated in his mind, foot unconsciously tapping along.

He breathed again, letting the air out of his mouth.

Keep repeating, he told himself. Just keep counting.

One, two, three, four...

His heart was slowing down, matching the pace his mind was setting. He pulled in another breath, forcing himself to hold it for a measure before letting it out. When he did, his heart had slowed enough to match every other count. He kept breathing, foot keeping the pace as he thought back.

This nightmare had been haunting him for the past two weeks, and still he didn’t understand any of it. It wasn’t the average dream, either. In the beginning, part of him felt lucid in the beginning and then, suddenly, things would shift as though all of him was completely taken by that world. Like it was perfectly normal to be headed across an endless void, walking towards a fucking spotlight where some bundle of cloth was waiting for him to not pick it up.

He ran his fingers through his hair, palm pressing against his forehead. He opened his eyes, his palm covering half of his vision, blocking out the view of his ceiling. The spotlight part he could understand, being a musician. But the blue cloth, that weird energy, the tail? He didn’t have a clue.

Lance sat up, feeling his arms ache at the movement. He moved his legs, trying to slide the sheets off with minimal effort. It didn't work, forcing him to move his hands and pick the sheets off. Even that hurt to do; he could feel the soreness in the bones of his fingers this time.

It was strange. Normally he wasn't this sore, but maybe all these nights were starting to catch up with him. The performance his band gave tonight was probably beginning to take its toll, too.
He leaned forward, moving his arms just enough to pull the shirt off his back. The damp fabric momentarily clung to his skin, protesting for a moment. Then the cloth gave way, allowing him to weakly slip the shirt over his head, slide his arms out one by one.

He dragged the shirt to the edge of his bed, letting the wet fabric slip from his fingertips and onto the floor. Lance yawned a little, stretching his eyes wider for a moment. It felt like he’d barely gotten any sleep—what time was it?

Leaning back to retrieve his phone from the small nightstand, he squinted past the brightness of his screen—3:33am. He’d only been home and asleep for about two hours.

Lance looked down, seeing a few notifications displayed below the time. A few late-night texts and a calendar notification—440 days until “Move Out”.

He sighed. 440 days was way too long of a wait.

Lance shut the screen off and set his phone back down, habit drawing his gaze to the wall opposite. He froze for a second when he saw his guitar was no longer there, but then he remembered; he’d set the guitar by the door of his room when he stumbled in, too exhausted to put it in the usual spot. Safely in the gig bag. Everything was fine.

The colors created by the brightness of his phone began to finally fade away, and when one of them remained, Lance looked to the red dot shining across the room. The light of his practice amp was still on, which was strange. He had played for a bit the night before, after he couldn’t fall back asleep, but it was practically a reflex for him to turn the amp off after he was done. He stared at the light.
Why are you still on?

His mind dismissed the question after a moment’s thought, palm rising to rub the corner of his eye as he stood up, feeling his legs protest. The aches from the dreams weren’t anything new, but the pain from the show they’d finished playing a handful of hours ago was definitely beginning to settle in. He’d have trouble walking tomorrow morning, he was sure of it.

He leaned down, switching off the amp. The click of his speakers reverberated into the silence, something about the sound calming Lance a bit more. He straightened, suddenly feeling fatigued. More so than usual. He turned around, dragging his feet back to bed.

“Wait.”

Lance froze, hand still positioned at his hair. That wasn’t someone’s voice he’d just heard, was it?

“I know this is gonna sound crazy but you need to get out of there.”

Frantically, he turned around, searching for the voice. But the walls were way too dark; he couldn’t see anything.

“There’s someone very dangerous coming for you, and if they find you, it’s not going to be good—for either of us.”

He clicked on his lamp. Light flooded into the room, and quickly his eyes began sweeping the walls, the floor, the ceiling. No recorder, no wires trying to hide anywhere. Nothing. And as he looked around, he couldn’t pin-point the location of the voice, either.

It spoke again, seeming to be coming from every direction at once.

“Sorry for freaking you out like this. I wish I could help in some other way, but this is all I can do for now. I’m pretty short on time, too..."”

Lance waited, trying hard to think passed all the panic. Counting was out of the question to calm himself down.

“If you see this face, run."

His vision was overtaken by an image. A face. Narrow, oval-shaped, with yellow eyes and blue hair. The ears were pointed as well—severely sharp.

The sight faded, flashing for a few moments as Lance stared at his bright room again. The time he had spent calming himself before was totally wasted; he felt like he'd had that nightmare all over again.

"This isn't real," he said to himself. His head moved, shaking from side to side and feeling the muscles in his neck ache. "This isn't real..."

"Remember what I said about getting out."

Lance looked up. The voice had faded, but the strange presence it had created still lingered. He tried to breathe, focusing on moving his lungs. He brought his hands to the back of his neck, interlocking his fingers as he looked down, focusing on the pressure. He wasn’t crazy... There had to be a viable reason for this; voices just don’t come out of nowhere.

Unless you’re fucking crazy.

He ignored the thought, looking around again. But he could easily see everything in his room—there wasn’t any place for anything or anyone to be hiding.

A chill shot down his back at the thought of someone watching him sleep. He fought back the idea, shaking his head again. This was just some kind of prank. Someone set up a recorder and broke into his house—

God dammit. He needed to focus. This was just getting way too weird...

He looked up and searched his room once more, walking around this time. Nothing under the bed, as childish as it was too even look... And nothing in the closet, either. He rested his head against the closet’s entrance, one hand still on the mirror door. He pushed the door away, hearing it slide and gently bang against the other wall. At least he knew the source of that noise...

His eyes opened. For a long time, he stared at the darkness of the closet’s wall, thinking. Hearing that voice repeat inside his head, playing the memory again.

“You’ve got someone coming for you.”

“Sorry for freaking you out like this.”

Lance closed his eyes, a headache forming. So, what, in addition to possibly being a figment of his imagination, this thing had a conscience too?

He didn’t understand any of this. He didn't know if he would ever be able to figure it out.

Going crazy was beginning to look very much like a possibility.

_________________________

Of all days he didn’t want to deal with her, this was definitely one of them.

It had already been hard enough getting downstairs with the pain in his muscles making it feel like his legs were going to fall off. Add that to being hit with the stench of coffee and expensive perfume and he could already tell it was going to be a really wonderful morning.

She sat with her back to him, hair dyed a deeper shade of red than the last time he’d seen it and tied back into a bun. Professional, always professional. He didn’t want to deal with any of it today.

He moved, walking past the stair banister and into the entrance room. Her voice drifted to him as he bent down to pick up his backpack.

“You should have something to eat before you leave.”

“Not hungry,” he responded.

Lisa remained quiet; the only sound she made was turning another page in the business section of the newspaper. It was always the business section. He heard the sound of a mug being set onto the table.

“I made you a cup,” his mother said. “You seemed tired when you came home last night.”

“I didn’t know you were up,” Lance said, speaking the truth.

“I always wait up for you.”

That made him feel a little guilty. He looked down, thinking for a moment as he swung his backpack over his shoulder, holding it by the small loop on top. With the other hand, he wiped at his eyes, trying to rid himself of the fatigue before slipping his hand into the pocket of his jeans. Lance cleared his throat.

“Thanks,” he said.

He saw Lisa nod, another page of the newspaper turning. His stare went to the coffee she had set down beside her, watching the steam curl as it floated away from the top of the cup. He did need something to wake him up; he couldn’t run on empty. Not with last night’s memories threatening to resurface.

Lance moved to take the cup off the table, gripping its hot handle.

“Sit down.” The words were kind; she was trying to be friendly. “You have a while before you have to leave, don’t you?”

Lance looked up to the clock on the wall, watching its sophisticated, thin hands continue to tick. She was right; he had more than a few minutes to spare. But he was more than a little hesitant, especially standing next to her like this. Was this the “pretend like nothing happened” part of their cycle?

He took the long way around to the other side of the table, alternating his stare between the hot coffee and seeing his mother's face for the first time in a few days. She looked tired. He probably didn’t look any better.

Lance took the seat across from her, not bothering to scoot closer to the table. For a moment, he watched her, trying to figure out why she kept this cycle going. She glanced up, meeting his eyes briefly before he looked away, taking a sip of coffee. He held the liquid on his tongue, fighting the urge to spit it out from both the heat and taste. Did she put anything in this besides water and beans?

He swallowed it down, morphing a sound of disgust behind a series of coughs.

“Hope you’re not sick,” Lisa commented.

“No.” This coffee’s rancid.

Lisa only glanced at him again, tired eyes turning back to the newspaper as she flipped to another page. He almost made small talk, almost actually wanted to ask how the stocks were. But he shook the urge back, taking another swallow of coffee. How did she drink this stuff?

“How’s school going?”

“Fine.”

Her lips curved into the slightest of smiles. “Another year-and-a-half and you’ll be graduating. I can’t believe it.”

Lance looked down at his coffee. “Yeah...”

“You’ve been doing okay? It’s been a while since I’ve even seen you...”

Wonder whose fault that is. The words were on his tongue; he almost said them. But then his mother had to speak again.

“With the hours you’ve been coming home lately, you might as well be dating someone. You’re not seeing any girls, are you?”

A face flashed into his mind. Lance stood, placing the mug on the table. He grabbed his backpack from the floor.

“I gotta go.”

“Alright.” Lisa’s voice was soft.

He started around the kitchen island, taking the long way again as she continued speaking.

“I... Guess I’ll see you later then.”

Don’t even try to keep guilt-tripping me! He almost said this, the words behind clenched teeth. But the memories from a week ago, a morning similar to this one played in his head. How she had yelled at him for “throwing his life away” on some “wishful thinking.” That musicians were really just at the bottom of the career food chain, and most of them were starving artists.

She’d broken the dish she was cleaning, just to accentuate her point.

The original spiel was loud and clear, Mom, he thought. It has been for years.

“Lance?”

Thinking back had gotten his blood pumping again. He relaxed the hand that had clenched itself into a fist, reminding himself what that fight had taught him. He wasn’t going to be like her. He was so tired of getting angry.

“Yeah, Mom?” he asked, turning around to see the back of her head again.

She set her own mug on the table, near the newspaper.

“Take a jacket, will you? It’ll be cold outside.”

He looked to his left, seeing the coat rack stare back at him. The same jacket he’d worn yesterday was hung, and he hadn’t even remembered taking it off. He barely remembered wearing it before their gig started.

He almost reached forward. If he took it... Was he accepting some kind of unspoken peace treaty? Was the slate clean, or was it just starting yet another cycle for them?

His hand reached out, hooking underneath the thick fabric of the hood. He pulled the hoodie towards him, resolving that even if he was starting a new cycle, maybe this time would be the last.

“Yeah,” he said, finally responding to her.

440 days. He could do this.

____________

Over the past week, he’d drowned himself in music.

He had booked more gigs than usual for them, reaching out to other surrounding cities. Ones they didn’t normally play at. But his friends understood, both the drive for the band’s sake and his deteriorating relationship with his mom. During the times his friends weren’t playing with him—paid performances or not—Lance had occupied himself with acoustic shows. Playing in coffee shops, playing outside, but never for money, of course. The back of his mind told him his mother would have a field day if she ever found out about him playing for money on the street.

Still, some guy tried to tip him once, and when Lance had stepped back, shaking his head as he kept singing, the man returned his smile. The stranger stepped forward, threading a twenty-dollar bill in the strings of the acoustic’s headboard, and Lance could only respond with a kind nod.

Lance closed his eyes, listening to the heavy speed of guitars and an explosion of a triple bass pedal over the hum of his car’s engine. This thing was so old; it was amazing it was still running. Someone honked behind him, bringing his eyes ahead. Still stuck at the same traffic light. He glanced to the rear-view mirror, not seeing anything of interest. Just some mom yelling at her kids. He turned away, bowing his head and running a hand through his hair. He looked to the left, watching people begin to filter onto the street’s crosswalk. Another thirty seconds of waiting, at least.

The song playing from his speakers ended, the light harmonics of an acoustic taking its place. This was a song he’d covered before... He suddenly remembered the day of the week, and the anger instantly gave way to disappointment. He had an acoustic gig at one and he’d forgot his guitar at home. Fuck. His forehead met the steering wheel, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. Second one today.

He blocked out the memories of last night. A horn honked behind him. Lance looked up, seeing the space between him and the cars ahead. He started driving again, elbow on the edge of the passenger seat as the car behind him honked again, slamming on the horn this time. Lance tightened his fist, resisting the urge to flip off the driver.

440 days.

When he finally reached the school’s parking lot, he shut the door a bit harder than he should’ve. He instantly turned, leaning against the door and pressing his palms to his forehead. Just a few hours, and he could leave for lunch and the acoustic gig. Skip his useless last period. He could do this.

“Um, Lance?”

He looked to his left, seeing an unfortunately familiar face. She smiled at him, golden hair swooping over one eye. With a terribly fake giggle, she pushed the strands behind her ear.

“Sorry for popping up like this. I know you’re probably busy writing music... I just saw you drive up and wanted to give you this.” She extended the letter in her hand, holding it out for him.

Not another one. He wondered exactly how long she had waited for him to pull up.

“Yeah, thanks.”

He took the letter between two fingers, stomach twisting at the fact that she had sealed the back with an actual wax stamp. Getting official with it, this time.

“You’re so welcome!” She clasped her hands together, swinging a little. “It’s always really great to talk with you like this.”

He gave the most minimal sound of agreement, not even listening as he searched above her head, looking around the parking lot.

“You see Cal anywhere?”

She soured, turning behind her shoulder to look. “Yeah, he’s doing some stupid spectacle in front of the school. Probably gonna break his leg again.”

He slipped past her, muttering a half-conscious word of thanks. She called after him with an overly excited reply. Something about calling her later, too.

440 more days...

Cal was definitely at the front of the school; Lance would’ve recognize that spiky dumb head of blonde hair anywhere. Even if it was balancing on a skateboard on top of the stairway’s cement banister. As Lance approached the back of the small crowd that had gathered, he saw a flash of bright green fly towards Cal. With a quick sweep of the arm, Cal blocked the tennis ball and immediately raised his hand to point.

“Hey! Don’t you be tryin’ to interrupt this! I see you back there, Jennifer!”

Lance barely held back a laugh as he stopped at the back of the crowd. He only had to reach out and tap one person on the shoulder in order to get the attention of those around him. They parted as he moved forward, slipping past people and soon breaking through to the circle they’d created. A very hard cushion of cement, in case Cal fell.

Cal noticed him as he approached, throwing his arms out to the side. Despite the large gesture, Cal remained relatively balanced.

“Yo, Lance! What is up, man?”

“Hey.” Lance stopped a few feet away, looking down to the skateboard as it continued teetering. “Been a while since you’ve ridden, huh?”

“Damn straight.” Cal leaned back further, and Lance felt the muscles in his shoulders tense. “Still got the moves, though.”

Lance grinned. Cal glanced down again, and Lance heard the grin his voice as he spoke.

“Nice bedhead. Didn’t know you liked me enough to copy my style.”

Lance shuffled a hand through his hair, slightly embarrassed at how messed up it was.

“Ah, thanks. Thinking we should go for more of a punk sound from now on. Change things up a bit.”

Cal laughed. “Been there, done that.” He leaned back even more. “That’s where we got our roots!”

The crowd cheered—whether it was from whatever Cal was saying or the fact that he was probably going to fall over at any second, Lance didn’t know. He watched his friend look up, raising his arms to the crowd like a minister giving a church sermon.

“My people! Are you not entertained?”

They cheered more. Lance briefly wondered where the hell any sort of faculty staff member was. He noticed Cal look down at him again, lowering his arms to his sides.

“Alright, grand finale,” Cal said. “Hold the board, will ya? I’m gonna see if I can balance on top.”

Lance ignored the rising fear that came with complete recklessness and slipped the backpack off his shoulder, letting it drop to the ground beside him as he stepped closer. He rested one hand on the back of the board, preparing to ground it to the surface it was on. He put his other hand to the front wheels that were balancing in the air.

“This isn’t going to work,” Lance said. “If you fall on me, I’ll fucking kill you.” He ignored the cheers this brought from the crowd.

“Ah, words from our childhood,” Cal sighed. “Brings back memories.”

“Broken bones and ‘I told you so’s.”

“Write that down when we’re done,” Cal said, snapping a finger at him. “New song title.”

Lance rolled his eyes. His attention snapped back as he felt Cal’s foot move away from the front of the skateboard, most of his weight on the back.

“You got it?”

Lance tightened his hold, balancing the skateboard as Cal momentarily set his foot back on it. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Alright, good.”

Cal’s foot left the board again, and suddenly a voice from the crowd rang out.

“Hey, man! You better not be breakin’ my board!”

“Ah, calm your tits, Tyler,” Cal replied with a wave of the hand. “I’m not breakin’ your board.” He grinned, briefly glancing to Lance. “If anything happens, Lance’ll cover the cost, right, bud?”

“Yeah, right,” Lance replied, faking the annoyance. “If anything happens, it’s coming out of your cut from the next show.”

“Well, we’ll see how great you losers are without a drummer!”

Lance grinned, knowing he was just joking. He saw Cal’s upper foot shift again, preparing to step. Cal spoke again, addressing the entire crowd this time.

“And now, with the help of my lovely assistant, I will attempt to balance on the very top of this completely unbreakable skateboard! Watch, and be amazed!”

Cal leaned all his weight back, Lance helping to guide the board until it was almost completely straight. All at once, Cal stepped up onto the edge as Lance tilted it.

“What is going on here? You two!”

Cal’s foot slipped, and Lance only saw a flash of movement before gravity slammed him against the ground. His hands tried to brace the impact of Cal landing on him, but this really only resulted in him getting a mouthful of his friend’s sweatshirt.

He was already sore before this happened; this wasn’t helping.

Familiar, mad laughter came from on top of him. He felt the weight begin to leave, easing some of the pressure on his body.

“Lance, how could you?” Cal was scolding, picking himself off of Lance. “You have absolutely no respect for authority or the safety rules they’ve emplaced! I’m utterly disappointed!”

Lance could only grin, grabbing the hand as it was offered to him. You’re a fuckin’ nutbag.

His foot shifted back, helping him regain balance as he stood up and let go of Cal. His stare turned to the teacher who was barking at them. Something about heading to the principal’s office.

Lance sighed. At least they’d probably miss their first period. Good timing, too; he hadn’t even gotten the answers for the test they were supposed to be taking. Cal walked with him as they trailed behind the staff member; some teacher he didn’t recognize. The crowd was dispersing quickly, the kids that were probably carrying drugs on them walking away the fastest.

He looked away, a single part of his mind focusing on the cluster of voices. Trying to decipher them all, see if any sounded familiar. If any sounded like that voice that was in his room...

“Hey.”

Lance pulled his focus away, looking towards Cal. He kept the fear off his face, noticing Cal was poking him with a folded piece of paper. The answers to today’s history test, in case they got back in time.

With his stare on the back of the teacher’s head, Lance took the paper between two fingers, refolding it before slipping it into the pocket of his jacket.

They reached the principal’s office fairly quickly; only about a minute of Lance's brain being on autopilot. They were led into a waiting room, and Lance’s mind began to come back to him as he sat down in one of the black chairs, a crunch of paper accompanying him.

He leaned over, pulling a narrow envelope out of his back pocket.

Ah, shit.

“No way!” The letter was snatched out of his hand, torn open instantly. “I can’t believe she gave you another one!”

Lance put his hands to his face, pushing them up and through his hair. Cal flicked the paper open a bit more before putting a fist to his mouth and clearing his throat, erasing the grin from his face. He began reading in a high-pitched voice.

“‘My dearest Lance...’”

Lance pulled out his phone, opting to distract himself from listening as much as possible. As the letter continued on, he heard a change in their background noise; he looked up, seeing the secretary stop typing to give a worried look to both of them. Oh, God... Did she think Cal was confessing to him?

Lance bowed his head enough for his hand to slip over his eyes, waiting for the letter to be over with. Why... Why would she write another one? The first was bad enough.

“‘And remember that time you looked at me from across the cafeteria? I thought I was going to die, I was so nervous.’“ This line was accompanied by open-handed taps on his arm from Cal.

Never mind; this letter was even worse.

Finally, Cal stopped reading. Lance looked back to his phone, listening as Cal spoke again.

“She even signed it, too! Jesus, what the fuck!” He flipped the document over, not seeing anything more. Shaking his head, he turned it back over. “On such official paper, too. Who even has shit like this lyin’ around?”

“Her Dad’s probably a lawyer or something,” Lance replied. He was scrolling through the band’s social media page, stopping to check comments and type out friendly replies.

“Yeah?” Cal asked. “Your mom got paper like this?”

“Probably.” He typed a little faster, trying to block out thoughts of her.

“You should write a rejection letter on it. Say, ‘No, bitch. Sorry. Already got a girlfriend that lives way too far away.’”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” The reply was automatic by now.

He heard the grin in Cal’s voice. “Cassie’s kind of your girlfriend.”

“Stop.”

“Sorry. Sore spot,” Cal sighed, resting his elbow on Lance’s shoulder. “It’s a tough world out there, bud’. Don’t worry; she’ll come back soon. She visits when she can.”

Lance stared at the screen of his phone, not seeing anything of interest anymore. He raised his hand, wiping the fatigue from his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

The waiting room was quiet, the only sound the slow typing of the secretary’s fingers hitting the keyboard too hard. To his right, behind the door that led to the hallway, he heard students begin to filter past. Voices mingling together as they walked by.

One of them almost sounded like—

He stood, heart speeding up. His eyes searched passed faces, seeing no one that could fit the voice he had heard last night. The memory repeated, pieces of it playing again.

“You’ve got someone coming for you.”

The door to his left opened and Lance jumped. Only the principal walking out of his office, stopping to wait for them. Lance noticed Cal staring, concern written on his face.

“Jesus, man, what the fuck’s wrong with you?”

Lance immediately shook his head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

The principal sighed loudly, turning to his secretary. “This isn’t a drug thing, is it?”

His assistant shook her head, almost looking as tired as Lance felt. “No, sir... Just some reckless behavior at the front of the school.”

“Oh.” The principal turned back. “Okay. Not that that makes it any better, of course. Still very dangerous violations—that you both should be very ashamed of.”

Cal leaned back, throwing his head to the ceiling. “Can we go now?”

Lance nearly smiled, but the emotion was quickly extinguished by the fatigue beginning to wear him down. He blocked out the thoughts his mind was trying to cycle through. He couldn’t do anything now, not here. Not when he was this exhausted and this freaked out; his heart was still trying to calm down.

Some question the principal had asked was hanging in the silence around them. Lance looked to the secretary, seeing her sigh and place the side of her head into one open hand.

“Whoever started it, go in first.”

Lance returned to his seat, giving a sigh of relief. He waited, and when Cal didn’t move, Lance turned to see his friend staring at him.

“What?” Cal asked. “I didn’t start it.”

For the first time that day, Lance laughed. The side of his head found the wall, eyes closing. “Cal,” he said, still laughing, “just get in the room.”

“Why should I?” Cal turned to the principal, who wore a face of someone who had completely given up. “He told me to do it. Threatened to hurt my dog, even. Horrible person, really.”

“You don’t even have a dog,” Lance commented.

“And a liar, too! Sir, this is an outrage, and I would never associate myself with such a—”

The principal curled a finger, motioning to Lance. “You. I’ll take you first. It’s too early in the morning to deal with him.”

“Yeah, good choice.” Lance stood up, walking past Cal before immediately stumbling over a foot.

“Fuckin’ suck up,” Cal muttered through a grin.

“Language!” the secretary barked.

As Lance walked through the doorway of the principal’s office with a grin, Cal’s reply followed him, voice both alarmed and flustered.

“You were like half-asleep two seconds ago! How are you so alert, is that like some kind of trigger word for you?”

The door swung shut, and Lance turned to see the principal standing beside him. He was a big man with horrible posture. Definitely ape-like. Lance watched him turn, ambling towards his desk. Something faintly smelled like stale Cheetos, and Lance wasn't totally sure how he knew what that smelled like.

“Take a seat.”

Lance sat down as the principal thumbed through a short file.

“Fairly clean record,” the man was saying. “Nothing recent, except for this.” He briefly glanced up, like that was supposed to be intimating. “You had some issues in middle school, though.”

Lance cleared his throat. “Yeah.” That’s when everything started. With Mom.

“A few outbursts, few class disruptions with your friend out there.”

Lance nodded along. He remembered.

“Got caught trying to skip class.”

Lance nodded again. He still had the scars from it.

The principal stared at him for a moment, almost like he wanted to chastise how casual Lance was acting. He let out a small breath instead, turning back to the folder and continuing on.

“Nothing real big until this. Someone really could’ve gotten hurt out there, you know that?”

Lance shrugged, figuring he’d just bullshit his way out of this one. “Yeah, but they didn’t.”

“Really?” He raised a thick finger to the side of his face, below his eye. “That little mark on your face tells me differently.”

“That’s from something else.”

“You do this kind of stuff a lot?”

“No.” Unless you count crowd-surfing off of balconies and landing on another, bigger crowd... His mouth twitched into a grin at the memory of last night’s show.

The principal leaned forward, squinting at him through the lens of his glasses. Lance instantly wiped the smile off his face.

“Somethin’ funny, Lance?”

“No. No, sir. There’s nothing funny about this.”

The big man across from him leaned back, chair sounding at the shift of his weight.

“Good,” he said. “Now let’s talk about this incident.”

From then on, the principal’s voice became background noise. Lance’s focus drew inwards, thoughts coming to him as if they were traveling through quicksand. His eyes drooped closed, feeling the quicksand in his mind begin to pull his conscious down.

“What are you still doing there?”

He jolted awake.

“I told you to go! I thought my initial warning would be enough.”

The principal was speaking to him, words beginning as the voice’s ended.

“You okay, kid? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lance was breathing heavily, pulling the air in through his mouth. He closed his eyes, focusing on trying to calm himself down. He thought of a rhythm; three-three. But the voice was still here.

A short sigh came, like the life was being drained out of someone. “Bad way. Really bad way to go about this. I can’t reach you any other way, though...”

“You hear that?” Lance asked, voice rising. “Tell me you’re hearing that!”

The principal stared at him.

“You sure you’re not on drugs, kid?”

“The voice!” Lance was screaming now, still gripping the arms of the chair. “You don’t hear that voice?”

He was met with another moment of silence before the principal’s beefy finger pressed a button on his desk phone.

“Get a school medic in here, please.”

“Right away, sir. I can hear him screaming from here.”

The finger was released, the principal speaking a moment later. “We got someone comin’. Hang tight, kid. Try not to break anything.”

Memories flashed again. There’s someone coming for you.

His legs kicked out, pushing against the front of the desk and sending his chair over. Lance scrambled backwards, hearing that voice again. Ringing loud and clear from every direction.

“Dammit. I shouldn’t have done this. Hold on; let me think for a moment.”

“Since when can voices think?” Lance yelled back.

“Okay.” The voice was quieter now. More centered... Like it was inside his mind. “I’m in your head now but don’t—” Lance felt his limbs scrambling again, trying to force himself up. He suddenly stopped, relaxing and splaying out onto the floor. “Don’t freak out. We can do this. I’m not the enemy here. I’m trying to help.”

“Trying to help with what?” Lance yelled again, unable to calm himself down.

He couldn’t move his body, and despite the pace of his heart, his breathing was relatively calm.

“It’s a long story, and hopefully I can explain it to you later. I just need to get you out of here for a while, alright?”

“No!” Lance responded. “Not alright! What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m going to release my influence on your muscles. I need you to start moving when I do, okay?”
Lance felt the tension binding him suddenly release. He picked himself off the floor, feet slipping out from the speed. He turned around, suddenly seeing Cal holding the door open, standing there with wide eyes. He looked like he was terrified.

“Get moving. Don’t worry about your friend; he’ll be alright.”

And yet, something was rooting Lance still. He couldn’t move; he was still trying to figure out why he needed to. Why he was even hearing this voice in the first place...

“We don’t have time to stand around like this! Get moving or I’m doing it for you!”

“Lance...” Cal said. “You alright, man?”

Lance couldn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, a space deep within his chest was pushed forward then pulled back, as though his own energy was being pushed a few inches away from his own body. He still saw the same things; his vision was the same. But he felt further away from himself. He heard the voice speak again, much quieter.

“That’s what it feels like...”

What’re you doing? Lance thought, fear shaking his words. What’re you...

The pain was like his head had cracked open, splitting right down the middle. Images took over his sight, flashing too fast for him to really see. He caught glimpses—people, faces he didn’t recognize. Markings, weapons, more people. Inhuman ones, distorted features of body parts. More symbols. Drawings. And then a face, shown long enough for him to take in.

She was beautiful. The pain in his head faded away, a glowing light in his chest replacing it. Green eyes. Something about them seemed incredibly familiar, like he was staring at a part of himself he didn’t remember having. An extension of who he was.

Distantly, he felt his body curl inwards as he hit the floor. His vision was nothing but black, and then he felt a pressure zipping through his head, the memory of the last few seconds erasing themselves.