The Wicked Ones Chapter One

Chapter One
I woke abruptly and grasped for a hand, but only air slipped between my fingers. As my breath slowed, I began to regain my sanity. I dreamt of fire, the heat clawing at my skin and the smoke sucking the fresh breaths from my lungs as quickly as I gasped for them.
I shook off the daze and remembered my surroundings, feet recoiling as I swung them from beneath my heavy, grey comforter and placed them against the cool wood, which laid uneven across my bedroom floor. Stumbling, I made my way to the bathroom and turned the shower head. The water was icy and I let it wash away the lasting heat and ash from my body. Even in its cool embrace, the flames still seemed to crawl their way slowly up my spine, sending shivers that made my muscles contract, as though I had been stabbed in the back.
It wasn’t the first time I’d had that dream. Every few days, when it seemed to have disappeared, it would find me again. It always did. I was gripped by those vivid images of black and red. I knew exactly how it began, the scene played out in my head as though it were a movie.
It began with me; sitting in a solitary chair in an otherwise empty room. There were no windows, no doors, just me and a chair. Screams would suddenly pierce the silence; sharp, shrill, agonizing screams. They were of my family; my brother, my sister, my parents. Their miserable screeches would torture me even in my waking hours.
I jerked my torso forward, but I was forced back into the chair; my muscles imprisoned. The chord around my wrists bound me to the chair. The sharp smell of smoke filled the room. It swirled around me, burning my eyes and clawing at my throat with its acidic talons. I struggled to move once more. An intense heat surged from behind me, slithering its way around my left side. My bindings fell to the floor, and I jumped from the chair. I searched the walls, hunting for some kind of an exit. I checked every wall, and nothing.
The flames burned high, and I began to panic. I dropped to the ground, trying to evade the clutch of the smoke. Instead of relief, I found searing heat. Quickly rising, I felt the fire crawl up my back, boiling my skin. I tried to cry out, but the smoke invaded my lungs and I gasped for a fresh breath. Ash burned my taste buds. Falling to my knees, the fire wrapped around my body. My singed and shaking arm reached out in hope that someone, something might save me from the pain, but there was nothing there. This is when I would wake.
I snapped out of my daze and found myself sitting at a table. Five chairs surrounded it and a sweet melody came from the kitchen. The room was warm and filled with the comforting presence of my mother. She brought me a bowl and a spoon. Gentle curls of steam rose from the offering as she handed both to me with a wide smile.
“Good morning sweetie! I made you some breakfast!” Her sweet voice chimed. I smiled and accepted the food. “Are you ok? You came down those stairs like a zombie. Still shaking off those Monday blues?” She laughed.
My mother was nearly picturesque. Her face was lightly speckled with small freckles and her cheeks made her appear as though she wore a small smile all the time; the only thing she had passed on to me. She was so gentle and cheerful in every way. I would have done anything to be exactly like her, but I knew that I never could be.
My father, her exact opposite, sat in the living room. The way he carried himself looked almost out of place in the bright light. Short and concise; very professional. My dad was always forced to be the stern one; Mom was far too gentle to be the bad guy. I had always appreciated him for that. I couldn’t say the same for my brother, as he was never really grateful for anything.
People’s faces were always a passage for me. By examining the way others looked and carried themselves, I could read them like an open book. It comforted me, in a way. When you can know everything about a person without even having to speak to them, the world becomes uniform. I would sometimes examine even those I saw every day, searching for any sign of incoming change.
I looked over to my father, who sat in his deep leather chair. His head rested on laced fingers. The air around him had a weight that, by simply looking at him, could cause you to deflate. I turned back to my mother. She examined him with her eyebrows turned down slightly. Her face cleared abruptly when she saw my notice, eyes darting up to the old wooden clock that hung from our wall.
I was taken aback by her sudden change in attitude. Her eyes shifted between me and my father.
“Mom, are you ok?” I asked.
When she finally spoke, her voice was uneven and rough, a drastic change to moments before.
“You’re going to be late!” She blurted out, pretending she had just realized the time. “I’ll grab Zach and Kate and take them with me, then. You just head off on your own. I think you’ll make it in time if you skip the detour to their school.” She kissed me gently on the forehead and I grabbed my bag from her hand; pushing me lightly on the back towards the door.
“I love you.” I said hesitantly.
“I love you too, Allison.” She said almost solemnly, and the door closed behind me.
I felt like I had swallowed a stone and it sat heavy in the pit of my stomach. Each day my younger siblings —Zach and Kate— and I would walk to school together. It was like that since Zach started school, long before Kate was even born. The feeling lingered until I arrived at the front door of my school. Sighing, I pushed open one of the steel double-doors.
I strolled through the crowded hallways of my school. I seldom had a face recognize my presence; I was just another body in their way. My mind wandered back to home. My skin pulsated again with heat and I longed for the cold touch of the water.
I swerved and walked into the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the dirty mirror and stared at it, letting my hands cool under the running faucet. The girl frowned back at me. As a child I grew up uncertain of every step I took, every word I said, every look I gave. I still worried that I would ever shake the bindings of my childhood. I was short, scrawny, I even somewhat resembled a child. I wish I were more like mom I thought once more as I dashed from the mirror, escaping the bathroom, escaping what I examined in myself.
A firm hand clasped to my shoulder awoke me from my thoughts and I spun around. A smile stretched across my face as I turned to find my friend’s shining face staring back at me.
“Dammit Scott! Don’t do that, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
I had to tilt my head back slightly just to look at him as he spoke to me; thin lips grinned pridefully. His eyes had always mesmerized me. They would constantly scan the hallways and rooms we passed through. They were like a canvas that was covered in a soft, calm, green paint, a painting yet to be completed, with patches of the tan canvas peeking through along the edges. He always looked at me expectantly, although I never knew what to say in reply.
“What’s with the gloom and doom, kid? Your goldfish die or something? Wait, did your dad yell at you for getting more ear piercings? I mean, I told you he’d be pissed, but you never really have listened to me, have you? Did you dye your hair again? It looks darker than usual, kinda chocolaty.” He said. I tuned this out as we walked.
When I finally looked up at him, he watched me expectantly. He laughed again, but worry filled his eyes as he peered down at me.
“It’s nothing, Scott. Just some weird stuff happened at home this morning.”
“Anything worth noting?” He asked.
“I’d prefer just to let it go. I’m probably just reading too much into it.” I said and turned down the hallway as he stumbled to catch up to me. I’m really being too concerned, I thought. We walked in silence to class. I caught him casting more concerned glimpses down to me as we went.
Arriving at the door to my classroom, I turned to finally face Scott. We exchanged our usual small talk, but when he stared down at me I saw his olive eyes squint and they searched me deeply, as they always had. I felt sorry for him. He was inherently fatherly, wishing the best for everyone he cared about. He knew me too well to ignore my signs.
“I can’t wait to graduate.” He said, trying to get my mind of home. “This place sucks.”
“Only a few more months and we will both be out of here for good.”
“Got any idea what you’ll do after?”
“Oh, I have no clue.”
“You’ve always been super nosy and curious, why not be a cop?”
“Too dangerous.” I said bluntly. “You’ve always been super protective, why don't you be a cop?” I laughed.
“I don’t know. I only care about, like, four people. I don't know if I could put my life on the line for someone I didn’t even know.”
We shared a laugh. The warning bell for class rang through the halls and we both rolled our eyes. We parted with a wave and I watched him go down the hall. His golden curls bounced when he walked, it brought a grin to my face.
I took off my bag and let it slam on the floor as I slid into my seat. The window to my right was cold to the touch and the faint sound of rain pattering against the glass filled my ears. Strange, it was supposed to be sunny today, I thought. My mother quickly took over my mind. She just rushed me out the door. What the hell? My head fell to folded hands on my desk, brain scattered with thought. The second bell’s screeching pulled my mind from the rain, and the remaining students flooded the room.
As the lesson began, my focus slowly slipped away to a place of my parent’s faces and towering flames; leaving a tingle on my skin and a cloud in my mind.
My hands quivered. An out-of-place dread washed over my body. A sickening rot in my stomach crept over me and I became lightheaded. Something felt wrong, a stronger feeling than when I left home. I laid my head right on my desk, praying for the sickness to leave my body. The clock ticking and the drone of the teacher’s voice assaulted my ears. A headache began pulsing through my head, ticking with the clock. My mind faded out to the sound of the rain on the window.