The Four

By T.C. Ashing

West Chambers, Georgia, was not a large town, but it held close to its own. The town had become somewhat isolated from the outside world. In keeping with that disconnection, conformity was mainstream. If you stood out in appearance or mind-set, you were looked down upon. With this public viewpoint, no one was more out of place than Nathan Kole.

As the son of a hero cop, there were many high expectations on his shoulders, but he didn't seem to be living up to any of them in the eyes of the townspeople. He had enough trouble already after a tragedy hit his home, triggering a series of nightmares that he has been unable to escape.

The only person he ever confides in is the new girl at his college. Samantha was also a bit of an outcast, not following the popular feminine trends. She, like many others in town, had her own secrets.

Erick was born within a dark, secret society led by his wealthy father. Recently discharged from the army, he returns home to the wife chosen for him. Erick's father still holds a tight grip on him even after his imprisonment.

When they found the young witch named Jessica holding a book written in a dark language that only Erick could understand, it became apparent that the four of them were connected in some mysterious way.

Their journey to discover what ties them together will lead them down a path soaked in blood and paved with the bodies of the unfortunate caught in the crossfire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503561250

T.C. Ashing

Thomas Charles (T. C.) Ashing was born in 1985 in Monroe, Louisiana. He started writing at a young age. He has always been fascinated with darker themed stories. The concept of The Four was first conceived in 2004, but it wasn't until much later that he started putting his ideas down. In 2009, he joined the National Guard, and in 2011, he was deployed to Afghanistan, where he wrote the rough draft of The Four. He currently lives in North Louisiana with his wife and daughter.

Book preview

Copyright © 2015 by T.C. Ashing.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015905590

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5035-6123-6

                 Softcover        978-1-5035-6124-3

                 eBook              978-1-5035-6125-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 04/09/2015

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1    War

Chapter 2    Death

Chapter 3    Conviction

Chapter 4    Famine

Chapter 5    Secrets

Chapter 6    Betrayal

Chapter 7    Lament

Chapter 8    Plague

Chapter 9    Detainment

Chapter 10    Sacrifice

Chapter 11    Awakening

Chapter 12    Fate

Chapter 13    Advent

Chapter 14    Resolution

Chapter 1

War

Erick wakes up bright and early at 3:30 a.m. He looks around his room, scratching his head of dark-brown crew-cut hair. His brown eyes look almost solid black in the darkness. He exits his bed without hesitation, which takes some time due to its absurd size. His room is almost the size of a small house, giving him plenty of room to do as he pleased in the comfort of his vacant walls. Being born into money has its benefits, as well as its drawbacks. The benefit was, of course, money. He never had to make any detrimental decisions financially. Most of those decisions were taken care of by accountants and bankers all too happy to take money and place it where they thought it needed to go. A reclusive trust-fund child had little desire to look into those matters anyway.

One of the drawbacks is his family. His father, Damien, was sent into prison for a large manner of reasons, resulting in no chance of bail or parole. Erick never did dwell on the subject. He found it difficult to care about much of anything, contrary to his father, who was very passionate. Damien was the leader of a fanatic cult that worshipped the words of the Necronomicon. For the longest time, his father had searched for the true Necronomicon, but his search ended when he learned of Erick’s conception. His mother died in childbirth, leaving Damien to bring the child up alone, or at least as alone as his followers would allow. Dark as their faith was, this didn’t stop them from nurturing little Erick to health. Indeed, it does take a village to raise a child or, in this case, a zealous cult of demon worshippers. Erick never heard too much from his parents’ predecessors. Nothing at all from his father’s side, and he was only given cold, hateful remarks from his mother’s parents. It didn’t help that his grandfather condemned Erick of murdering his daughter. All he had for the longest time was Damien and his followers.

Erick was brought up around dark means including a study of a demonic manuscript, multiple methods of death and torture, and a baptism in blood at nine months old. When he was fourteen, he was branded with a demonic rune on his back. The rune translated to dominion, a symbol marking him to have power over others. His father never carried such a mark, so the purpose behind the brand has been left unclear to him.

Damien was confident that his son would take up his lifelong mission of finding the Necronomicon. It was because of this mind-set his child was trained for the task. To Damien’s repugnance, Erick chose a career more suited for a warrior of his time rather than a researcher and religious leader. He spent many years in the service of his country and was well decorated regardless of his youth. Damien never favored his son’s choice on the matter, but his decision would not be swayed. Therefore, Damien chose silence over opposition, not condoning or condemning. Damien was already imprisoned by the time Erick had returned home for good. Twelve counts of aiding and abetting, accessory to murder, and one count of second-degree murder of a police officer. The police officer’s partner caught Damien moments after he killed the first intruder. Details on what conspired are a bit convoluted, but what was certain is that Damien Locke would be left to rot behind cell doors for a long time. With his father imprisoned and his father’s disciples dead, Erick was left almost completely alone upon his return. Needless to say, regardless of his wealth, Erick’s life has been anything but easy.

The Locke Manor was a three-story house made in the style of Romanian medieval architecture. The entrance was made of wooden arched double doors that led into the grand entrance, left wide open for his father’s disciples to gather for his sermons. A chandelier of a dark brass hung in the middle of the room with a combined look of beauty and horror as it almost looked like a serrated claw looming over the grand entrance. Balconies loomed overhead from the second and third floors. The railing of these balconies looked to be made of a higher brass than the chandelier. The floor was a solid sheet of dark marble, and the walls looked of a darker stone. The three floors were connected by an elevator in the center of the balconies. The second floor mainly composed of doors leading to half a dozen guest bedrooms. These were areas reserved for his disciples, but they have been long vacant after the incident. The third floor held the rooms given to permanent residents of the house, four in total. All the rooms on their respective floors looked similar. The third-floor rooms were very large, not to say the second-floor rooms were small. Damien felt it necessary to treat his guests well. The top floor was reserved for only a few people, and in the middle of the room, at the end of the balcony, Erick stood.

He walks into his personal bathroom and gets his morning hygiene routine out of the way. In this time, he decides on whether he wants to wear his uniform or his civilian clothes to his first day of college, back from his deployment. He takes out a red T-shirt, a pair of black jeans, and a black short-sleeved overshirt from his closet.

Before he gets dressed, he grabs a remote and pushes a series of buttons on it, causing his computer to play his music on repeat as loud as it can go. With the customized sound system he had installed, it caused the third floor to vibrate. Screams of rage and hatred blasted his ears as he finished getting dressed. He hit another button on the remote to cause his volume to slowly fade out as he exited the room. He walks down the hallway to the elevator. Upon entering, Erick presses the button marked 1. This causes the elevator to descend to the first floor.

As the elevator opens, he is met by a woman with platinum-blonde hair at chin length and perfect blue eyes. She wore a black nightgown that only made her look even paler than normal, almost ghost white, and a body of remarkable design. You would think she was constructed to be the perfect woman, cell by cell. Every curve in her body was well placed to make her more appealing to anyone who glanced her way and more so to those who would be left to stare. She looked upon him with an adoring smile.

You’re up early, my lord, she says pleasantly.

Erick shuts his eyes in disdain. Please, don’t call me that.

Well, you won’t allow me to call you the things I would prefer, so it’ll have to do.

Annibelle Locke was the result of an arranged marriage by Erick’s father when he turned eighteen. She was chosen from one of his many followers’ daughters. The parents considered it an honor to have their daughter chosen. Annibelle was trained at birth to be Erick’s perfect match, a design of her father’s construction. Watching Erick grow, he attempted to develop her to his tastes and preferences, and he was successful. Damien looked upon her like a well-thought-out equation rather than a suitable consort.

She wasn’t so much his wife as she was his servant, willing to serve him body, mind, and soul by any means he desired. He believed she would kill herself had he only spoken of her to do it. He knew that he had absolute control over her, and he both loved and hated it. Although he refuses to admit it, he does desire and care for her as she does him.

Erick walks out of the elevator. I guess that will have to suffice.

She looks longingly at him. Are you having trouble sleeping? I was about to come and lie with you.

He smirks. I believe my mind is still set on the schedule of my post’s time.

You have only been back for a few days.

She walks up to him and brushes her hand through what hair he had, gazing into his chocolate-colored eyes. She then rests her hand on his cheek. He reaches up and clutches her hand gently.

She whispers softly, It’s been over a year since I was last able to lie with you, and I still have yet to get that chance.

I apologize for that, he utters softly.

She moves her hand from his, onto his chest, her breasts now pressing against him.

She whispers into his ear seductively, Would you allow me that honor tonight, my lord?

His hands tighten at his sides. Annibelle was far from being able to control him as he does her. However, she was very adept at planting suggestions into Erick’s head.

He turns his head toward her as she retracts from his ear.

I think I may be able to oblige you tonight.

Annibelle’s eyes lit up with anticipation as she took his hand, guiding him to the elevator.

He lay back down in his bed after removing the clothes he had only put on less than five minutes ago. He turned to her, where she stood in the middle of his room, facing away from him. Without hesitation, she dropped the gown from her body to reveal her perfect figure. She turns to him with a smile, her body littered with scars on her collar, chest, and stomach—a curious side effect of her upbringing. She had become somewhat addicted to self-infliction, and it only got worse when Erick was not around. He noticed a few fresh scars that rested on her hips and below her stomach.

I notice there are more scars than what you had on our wedding night.

She placed her hand across a few of the newer scars. Well … I have missed you, my lord.

Don’t worry, he assured her firmly as he lay on his back, facing the ceiling, I don’t intend to leave you here alone again.

She crawls onto the bed and lies on top of him. It has been so lonely without you. I so missed feeling you inside me, my lord.

He looks back down at Annibelle. I have a feeling you mean the scars.

She smiled sweetly. Those too.

He faced the ceiling again. I think I would just have you lie with me tonight.

Annibelle laid her head upon his chest. As you wish, my lord.

It was comforting, feeling her warmth on his skin. Something he had missed for a long time. He had slept in a small distorted bed for so long he had forgotten what it felt like to actually have a woman in bed with him. Soldiers slept in small private rooms in their bunkers. Many of his fellow soldiers would try to sneak female soldiers into their bunks for quick flings.

Erick, however, had no desire for such things. His mind was very set on the war itself. The enemy he would fight. How many would attack him that next day and how many he would have to kill.

Erick was far from being hesitant to kill unlike the mind-sets of his fellow soldiers. He would use his rifle when it was necessary. However, Erick preferred the close-quarters kill. Taking his knife and tearing into his opponent’s throat. He considered coming back to his bunk with his uniform stained in blood—signs of a good day.

Even his superiors were a bit frightened of him due to his effectiveness. He was given an honorable discharge at the end of his second deployment, a year before his contract was finished. Erick was a combination of disappointed and relieved that he was headed home for good. Now he gets to lie in his own bed with a woman who has been longing for him every moment he was gone. Erick closed his eyes again and attempted to sleep. Strangely enough, he found himself drifting more soundly than he had earlier.

1:2

When he opened his eyes again, it was almost 6:00 a.m. He looked down to see Annibelle staring up at him, almost as if she never slept. He always had those eyes staring at him as he went to sleep and as he woke up. At times, he wondered if she ever slept at all.

Is it time for you to get up, my lord? she speaks sweetly to him.

Yes, I believe it is, he says as he rises up.

Annibelle moves off him and wraps herself in the warmth of the blanket as he leaves the bed. He picks his clothes off the floor and puts them back on.

I assume you’ll still want to sleep, he says to her.

Do you need me to waken? she responds, lifting herself up.

No, that’s all right, he says, raising his hand to her. By all means, rest.

He turned away from her and left the room, heading onto the balcony toward the elevator. He enters as the doors open again and moves his hand toward the button marked 1 on the pad.

He hesitates to press it. After a moment, he decides to press the red button below it labeled Emergency Stop. This was a ruse set in place by Erick’s father. The truth behind it was that it led the elevator below the first floor into a secret chamber within the manor.

The doors open, revealing an almost-cathedral-like scene. A floor that stretched out as far as the manor was wide. The roof of this chamber was about fifty feet from the floor, littered with designs and artworks that replicated a perversion of the Renaissance Era. What should have been angels were demons, killing and raping throughout the artistry.

On the eastern wall was a display of weapons from all eras, from the Spartan spear, to the Roman gladius, the English sabers, the French rapiers, and the naval cutlasses of the 1700s. Eastern naginatas and katanas, German Zweihanders, and Scottish claymores—they were all here. Collected from all over the world. And Erick could wield all of them, some more effectively than others.

Recently, Annibelle had become his sparring partner. Her style was a bit different from his own. Where he used brute force and powerful blows, she used agility, evasion, and quick strikes. He has beaten her a few times, but he believes that she more or less gave the victories to him.

He was not here to contemplate on a passing thought, however. Instead, his mind was focused on the altar at the northern end of the chamber, opposite of the elevator. As he approached it, he walked past many stone slabs that his father’s disciples once prayed upon. Now they lay bare, a result of a mass martyring Damien had commanded of his followers. They took their own lives in this very chamber in preparation of some fanatical event his father called the advent. From these stone slabs, depressions were carved as a way to lead their blood down the chamber. The depressions came together in a large stream that led into the altar itself as if to feed something that lurked within it. Upon the altar were two reliefs made in the shape of handprints. Below the relief was an inscription, written in the demonic text he learned at a young age. The inscription translated thusly:

Banding war and death upon the eve of the advent will break the seal to madness incarnate.

For as long as he could remember, Erick has wanted to know the truth behind the riddle and how to break the seal. Erick was never given an explanation as to what the advent was, and he did not care to find out. All he knew was that whatever was inside had to do with his father’s so-called advent. The first time he tried to open the altar, he was only a child. His father laughed and told him he was not yet ready. His tone was mocking as if he were talking to one beneath him. Erick resented such remarks from Damien but held his tongue only because, to his knowledge, his father has never steered him wrong. His second attempt was after graduating high school. He told his father he knew how to break the seal and would fulfill the riddle in his own way, should the altar not open. Sure enough, the seal remained intact.

He joined the army soon after in an attempt to break the seal. Volunteering for deployments, immersing himself in war and death—his own attempt at bringing the riddle what it desired. All these attempts were in vain, for when he placed his hands into the reliefs on the altar a third time, nothing happened. He was a bit infuriated by this. What am I missing? he thought to himself. He tried many times to convince himself that it didn’t matter, that his father’s words were merely the ramblings of a lunatic. Much as he tried, he still felt there was some truth in it … somewhere.

He decided not to think about it for the moment. It was time to live in the now. He was free from his father’s grasp. Fresh from war, the stench of death and gunpowder still in the back of his mind. None of it mattered now. Now, it was time to try for a normal life … at least as normal as he could have.

He rode the elevator back to the first floor and exited out of the front. He didn’t feel like driving any of the cars in the garage. He was in the mood to feel the wind on his back, so the choice was obvious. He would ride his bike: a 1987 Harley-Davidson. Erick’s father bought it to celebrate him being born. Once he was old enough, he gave it to him, and he’s enjoyed riding it ever since.

The engine started as smooth as ever, regardless of the cold January air. It had been a long time since he got the chance to ride his bike again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of shades, slipping them on his face. This was all the protection he needed from the wind in his face. He revved the engine and sped off. He hit the road with speed, passing as many cars as he could approach.

At one point, he runs into another bike. Even from far off, he could tell it wasn’t a Harley, so it wasn’t really a bike, in his opinion. He sped up to ride next to him. He couldn’t see the guy’s face due to the helmet he was wearing. One thing that did manage to stick out was the motif of the Grim Reaper, painted on the gas tank. With that, this kid earned himself a small amount of respect. Sadly, it was time to leave him in the dust. He gave the kid a smirk, shifted gears, and sped off, leaving the other bike long behind.

He reached the bridge that led to his college-to-be, with plenty of time to spare. It was his first time actually coming to the college. He had applied online while he was on post a while back. He wondered if he was still registered for his classes, but there was really only one way to find out. He parked his bike in the parking lot and headed to Student Services.

It took a little while for him to get seen, but since he didn’t have much else to do, it was of little consequence.

A stocky middle-aged woman stands up to greet him, Welcome back to the States, Erick.

He pasted a smile to his face. Thank you for seeing me.

It’s not a problem, at all. She sits back down in her chair before continuing, So what can I do for you today?

Erick sits down in the chair available. Well, I was just wanting to check on my classes. I wanted to find out when I started and everything. I only got back a few days ago and was trying to spend some time relaxing.

That’s perfectly understandable, for your situation. Let’s see here.

The woman begins typing on her computer, searching through names and dates.

Ah, here we are! she says, pleased. Erick Locke, you are scheduled to start classes next week on Tuesday.

All right, that’s all I needed to know.

That’s it, then? You don’t need anything else from us?

Not at all, thanks.

All right then, take care.

You too.

Erick stands up and leaves the room. As he leaves, he hears something that piques his interest a bit. The woman let out a heavy sigh. Oh, thank god.

Erick turned back to the door after hearing those words. The door was still cracked, so he decided to look inward. The woman pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number while he waited to listen in.

Hey, Jake, can I talk to Dee for a minute? Thanks. Dee, you are not going to believe who just walked in my office. No, even worse. Erick Locke! You know that guy whose father was, like, a cult leader and made all his followers kill themselves? It was on the news a while ago. I know! And my husband—you know, he’s in the army and all—says he was over him in Iraq. Said he liked to butcher people. I tell ya, Dee, I was terrified.

I like to butcher people, huh? he thought to himself. I guess my reputation precedes me.

With a quiet smirk, he opens the door to her office. When he peers in, the woman turns to him and yelps, dropping the phone.

I’m sorry, he apologizes. Did I scare you?

N-no! she says shakily. It’s all right. Did you need something?

I was just wanting to ask if I could take a tour of the campus. Is that all right? he says with a gentle smile in his face.

Oh, of course. Go right ahead, she says hastily as she scrambles to find the phone she dropped.

Okay, thanks. I won’t bother you anymore, promise.

Okay, bye! she says from under the table.

He shuts the door and quietly walks out of the building. Once he reaches the outside, he looks back and laughs quietly to himself.

Looks like I’m going to have an interesting time here just from my reputation alone, he said to himself.

1:3

He spends a few hours wandering the campus, seeing what the place had to offer. The college was a lot smaller than most others that he had seen. There were a few buildings for each branch of study, from art to the sciences to computer technologies. The main hall was the largest building, of course. The windowed entryway gave a revealing display of the small accomplishments of the college. It would seem they were more focused on religious study more than anything else. The news board was filled with events involving sermons and theological research. Overall, the school wasn’t very grand when compared to many others, but he believed it would suffice.

West Chambers University, he said to himself, not too bad, I guess.

He looked down at his watch, noting that it was about lunchtime. Looking around the immediate vicinity of the campus yielded nothing directing him to a place to eat, and he was beginning to get hungry. The only thing he is able to find is a young girl sitting at a picnic table. She was a thin blonde-headed girl who had her hair tied in pigtails. The long-sleeved shirt she wore was light blue, and her cream skirt reached past her knees. She seemed to be very interested in the theology book she was reading. He quietly approached the picnic table, standing across from her.

Excuse me, he says, interrupting her reading.

Yes? she wonders, looking up from her book.

Erick was slightly taken aback when she looked up at him, and he was met with the unusual color of her eyes. One was dark forest green while the other gleamed a deep sapphire blue. He had never seen someone with eyes so vibrantly colored.

Uh … your eyes, he says, stammering a bit, they’re—

She rolls her eyes, clearly used to such a reaction. Yes, I know, I’m a freak of nature. She glances at him apathetically. Anything else?

N-no, I didn’t mean it like that, he says hastily. I’ve just never actually seen it before. It’s fascinating, really.

She raises an eyebrow, looking slightly suspicious of Erick. His words were not doing him any favor in his attempt to recover the situation, and it was clear to her that he was getting flustered. She places her book down on the table and looks up at him with a calm expression.

Okay, just chill. I was teasing. Now go ahead and say what you actually meant to say.

Erick didn’t know what to think. This was the first time that he felt himself at a loss for words. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and took a deep breath.

I’m sorry, he began again, I just enrolled, and I don’t quite know everything about this place. Are there any good places to eat around here?

She tilts her head to the side. That’s a strange way to ask a girl to lunch.

Erick was struck silent. This was becoming more awkward by the moment, almost to the point of frustration. It would seem the young woman caught wind of Erick’s frustration as the smile on her face widened with every moment.

The girl laughs. I’m sorry, this is just really entertaining.

Erick sighs, shoulders slumping in defeat. For you, perhaps.

Not so fun when you’re the target of an awkward situation, is it? she asks in a smug tone.

I guess not, Erick agrees. I apologize.

The young woman gives him a satisfied smile.

Now that I’ve had my fun with you, I guess I can help you out. She points to the right, following the path of the sidewalk. You’ll come across a place called Little John’s Diner. It’s a local place, but there’s no food better on campus.

It was interesting how quickly her tone changed to being helpful right after a small amount of embarrassment on his part. Something told him this wouldn’t be the last time they crossed paths.

All right, thanks, he says and holds out his hand. I’m Erick, by the way. Erick Locke.

She looks at his hand for a moment and then takes it. Jessica Saffron. Nice to meet you.

Nice to meet you too. Thanks again for the info.

Thanks for the entertainment, Jessica says happily.

She delves back into her theology book as Erick walks off. At least some people aren’t afraid of me, he thought to himself. Well … not yet, at least.

He reaches a small building after about a five-minute walk. A sign over the entryway declared that this was Little John’s Diner. As he walks in, the delicious aroma of a variety of foods hit his nostrils. This only further amplifies his already-gnawing hunger. He looks around and finds a spot at the bar and sits down. A waitress comes by and puts a menu in front of him.

Anything you’d like to drink before you order, honey?

I’ll have a glass of sweet tea, if that’s all right.

That’s just fine. she hums pleasantly. I’ll get it for you in just a sec.

Thank you, he says as he looks through the menu.

From the looks of it, you could literally order anything from here. Their selections were so vast that the print was a bit smaller than normal. As he looked over the menu, he occasionally glanced around the area. Only a few people occupied the booths around the restaurant. In a corner of the diner was a TV, currently playing a news report of a rather grim nature. A little girl gone missing. Another tragic story waiting to unfold, it would seem.

The waitress returns with his beverage, placing it in front of him.

Thanks, he says absently, still looking over the menu.

You about ready to order yet, or you still need some time?

His thought was suddenly interrupted by a woman’s voice from the booths.

Nathan? Nathan!

He turns his attention to the booth, where a young woman is underneath it, attempting to revive a half-conscious young man. He gets up from the floor and begins to stagger toward the door.

I … I have to go. I’m sorry, the young man said shakily.

Hey, wait a minute! the girl says as she followed him.

Erick turns back to the waitress, who looks slightly shocked.

"So … is the food here that bad or that good?" he wonders, trying to alleviate the strange atmosphere given off by the couple leaving.

They hadn’t ordered anything yet, she responded, eyeing the door.

Well, anyway, he says, clearing his throat, I think I’m ready to order.

The subject changed easily enough back to the menu. It didn’t take long for his nachos to get to him, and they were a lot better than he was expecting from such a small diner. At the very least, he felt as though he got his money’s worth. He paid the check and walked out of the diner satisfied.

He made the walk to his bike, thinking back on the diner. For some reason, the event involving those two seemed to stick out to him. What exactly happened? he wondered. He quickly disregarded the incident entirely. Whatever happened, it has nothing to do with him. The only thing he needed to worry about was what he was going to do with all the free time that has been allotted to him. He made it back to his bike and sat upon the seat. He started it up and revved the engine one good time. Many of the people walking past jumped at the roar from his tailpipe. Satisfied with this reaction, he sped off onto the road. As he rode down the highway, he was anticipating the welcome he would receive from his wife. He thought of the debt he had to pay to her and wondered how much pent-up frustration they would unleash upon each other. Annibelle’s tastes were a bit on the dark side when it came to intimacy. Judging from Erick’s life up to now, that suited him just fine.

Chapter 2

Death

Nathan wakes in a cold sweat again; his long black hair stuck to his face from the moisture, hiding his hazel eyes from sight. His heart raced from the memory of yet another dream just as horrible as the last one. This time it was a little girl, eight or nine at the most, beaten to death with an aluminum bat. His stomach turns as he remembers watching her face getting smashed in. He remembers the feel of holding the bat. The impact he felt when he swung. The sight of the blood on her face, leaking into her red-haired curls. The sound she made after she stopped screaming. Weakened moans behind broken teeth. Standing over her, he recalls waiting for the life to leave those innocent green eyes of hers. Nathan could recall dragging her body in a black trash bag through the sand and burying her around a curious circle of cacti: a strange sort of burial site.

Nathan couldn’t hold it in much longer; he made a break to the bathroom. After a few minutes of heaving his supper into the toilet, he lay down on the cold tile floor, shaking violently from the things he had seen. Last night, he dreamed of cutting the throat of a soldier in rocky terrain. The skin on his hands was much darker than his actual skin tone, and everywhere else, he was covered in white cloth. Each night, he was a different person, murdering someone or watching from the sidelines, a witness to the horrors of human cruelty. He was hoping that after a while he would get used to the nightmares, or they would finally go away. Neither of these outcomes seemed to be likely.

Watching people getting murdered was not something he wanted to dream about. He’d much rather be dreaming about Samantha, the new girl in his math class. Staying up for days at a time was getting tiring—literally. But it was the only way to escape the dreams, if only for a short time. The medicine that was supposed to help him sleep wasn’t working; the images were as vivid as ever.

This was a fate he had been trying to escape for over two years now. He was having enough trouble trying to get through his sophomore year at his university. The scholarship wasn’t going to keep itself there; his grades were. Unfortunately, they’ve been slipping after his latest attempts to stay awake. Dozing off in class wasn’t granting him any merits. But what could he do? So far, any attempt he has made to avoid these dreams has failed.

He hears his alarm go off in his room: 6:00 a.m. Time to get ready for math class. Maybe he’ll get lucky and doze off to Samantha’s smile, hopefully without his more frequent interruptions.

A knock on the bathroom door snaps him back out of his thought.

Nate, honey, are you okay? a soft female voice asks.

I’m fine, Mom. It was just another nightmare.

The door opens, and a woman in a bathrobe walks in. She was a slender dirty blonde. The age lines were barely visible in her face. Her hazel eyes were soft, like Nathan’s, though he kept his father’s black hair. His hair was straight like his mom’s, though, instead of the raggedy curls his father possessed.

It was just Nathan and Audrie in a home too large for only two people; Daniel had died about two years ago. It stood two floors high, with an attic and a basement. There were two extra rooms for guests on the second floor. Only Nathan’s room and the bathroom were out of sight from the living room. The most noteworthy thing about the house was the roof: it was layered entirely with solar panels, used to reduce the electric bill of the house. Nathan’s father, Daniel, installed them when they first moved in. He was on duty when he had been murdered during an investigation. Normally, street cops didn’t do much investigating, but Daniel was one to follow his instincts. His instincts were rarely wrong. At his funeral, he only expected to see his family there, but the majority of the people there were not family but police officers and people he had never seen before. It was around that time he realized his father was something much more than he had initially realized. Curiously, it was only after his father’s death that the nightmares began. Audrie did what she could with what money she was making at the hospital. As it stood, they were only barely scraping by.

Audrie kneels down beside Nathan. The medicine isn’t working, is it?

It doesn’t seem to be.

She gives a long sigh as she places her hand on his shoulder. Not sleeping at all isn’t going to help either. It’s unhealthy.

Nathan sits up. I know. I just don’t know any other way to stop it.

Was it about your father? she asks.

No, he answers.

After a moment, she speaks again, You want to talk about the dream?

Nathan has yet to tell anyone about what exactly he dreams about. He doesn’t intend on telling anyone either. The last thing he needed was to be sent to some shrink wanting to converse with a closet serial killer. Nathan at least believes this would end up being the case.

You know I don’t like to talk about it, he said quietly.

Audrie rolls her eyes. It was worth a try. Besides, it’s not like anything you’ve told me hasn’t confused the hell out of me before. You’re too smart for your own good, you know.

Too smart for my own good? he mused.

He was actually starting to believe that was the case. He once heard that there was a fine line between genius and insanity, a line he seemed to be flirting with more and more often. Even as a child, he was almost abnormally intelligent. Doing middle school algebra in third grade was something his family was proud of. His peers were about as understanding as one would expect. The freak of the class stood out more than he desired. It was a trait that followed him into high school. He managed to use that trait to instill fear into the majority of the school’s populace. Those who weren’t afraid of him clung to him as though that fear would protect them. He enjoyed his entourage of outcasts. After his father’s death, however, a lot of things changed. He became more scatter-brained and