The End & The Beginning

“What do I have to do?”

                The question burned in the air, hovering like a deadly flame that could, at a moment’s notice destroy one life, or a million. Master Leorahn’s aura was dull, a grayish-cement color that hung over him like a fleece blanket. It was almost smothering to watch, as if the aura were to descend and cover him completely with such magnitude as to never let him reappear.

                He watched me with blank eyes that held no pity for his command; “You must kill him.”

                I shouldn’t have been surprised, but the calm and un-moving tone of his voice sent shock waves through my body, shaking me to the very core. The fact that he didn’t care about Master Barrick’s life frightened me far more than if he had given the command in hatred. I looked at my master, his bindings cutting into his flesh with every passing moment. It was either kill him quickly or lose both he and the girl I loved.

                I couldn’t stop Leorahn on my own. I knew that without Master Barrick, all would be lost; it wouldn’t matter if anyone else survived this, because Leorahn would make that discretion. But my heart was breaking at the thought of somehow losing her. Just being apart as we were was physical and emotional agony that I was barely holding at bay.

                Master Barrick’s shoulders slumped in defeat suddenly, as though my aura had betrayed my thoughts on this dilemma. His own aura was detached, as though he had come to grips with his fate, as well as the worlds. I glanced at Leorahn’s face, searching for any kind of sympathy, but found none.

                It is one thing to destroy the one you love, and another to be responsible for the destruction of all mankind. I was the switch to be flipped; the weight that would tip the balance. Only I knew what had to be done to accomplish the task I’d been created for. My path had been set before me: with an Aura as black as night, I made my choice.

 

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                I was eleven when I slept on the stoop of 286 North Ford Avenue. It was an old brownstone with withered flowers in shabby iron window boxes and half-cleaned graffiti covering the door; a sign that someone who lived there was more than slightly better off than I was. I had been homeless for almost a year at that time, and I had found that stoops offered safety and a little more protection from the elements. In the poorer side of town in which the house stood, no one really cared if people slept out front. It was the richer side that you had to be careful of. They had doormen and attack dogs.

                My parents had abandoned me at birth. It’s a rough world with no one to look after you. The shelter that I grew up in had done their best to get me educated and raise me right, but there’s just so much that can be done when you know you’re not wanted.

                I was adopted by a pair of new parents, who had recently had a baby but wanted to help a ‘poor soul’ find the joys of family. I had lived with them for six months; it didn’t exactly work out. I was conveniently ignored in favor of the youngest member of the ‘loving family’, and I finally had enough. I left the house one spring night and headed into the city. I had been running ever since, ignoring the missing posters that dotted gas station walls with my face and the concerned Amber Alert subscribers who dogged me. I suppose it was nice of my adoptive parents to look for me, but about two months after my departure, the posters dwindled, and then disappeared, and cops stopped asking me what my name was.  

                At the time when I slipped off to sleep on the brownstone’s stoop, it was early spring once again. It was bitterly cold that night, and I had gathered a couple of holey blankets from a nearby mission to wrap up in. I snuggled into the thin warmth and tried to catch a few Z’s before the owner of the building got tired of me being there. My eleven-year-old body was skinny and had hardly any fat or muscle on it to keep warm in, so it was about twice as cold as I would have been if I had been well fed.

                It was about midnight when I heard a car pull up in front of the building, and my half-asleep mind told me to get up and run for it; I was too cold to move. I tried to shift my legs around, but they were numb from the chill air. A car door opened and shut with a bang, and footsteps started up the cement steps with a strange clicking noise that denoted dress shoes. I opened my eyes a fraction and watched a man with a thick overcoat, pinstripe pants, and expensive-looking oxford shoes walk up to the door of the building and take out a set of keys.

                I studied him for a moment, watching the thick mist around him glow with the reflection of the street lamps. He stuck his key in the door and then paused. His eyes crawled over to my shivering form. We looked at one another for a moment, and I hoped that I looked pitiful enough to warrant being there. His eyes slightly widened as he looked me over, before he turned the doorknob and disappeared into the house. I sighed in relief; glad that he was letting me stay on his property. He could be calling the police, but I wasn’t opposed to spending the night in jail. Jails were warm.

                I had just closed my eyes again when the door creaked open again. I felt a heavy blanket covering my body, and I opened my eyes again in surprise. The man had returned with a large flannel throw and was wrapping me up in it. Dazed, I tried to sit up and shake him off, but I was too frozen to protest much. After he had made sure I was completely covered, he crouched down and picked me up. He was a small man, but strong enough to heft my little body into his arms.

                With amazing dexterity, he opened the door with one foot and slipped inside with me still in his arms. I wasn’t able to see the interior of the brownstone, but I felt the warmth of the room and smelled the spicy aroma of cinnamon. He laid me on a soft couch, and without any words, he reached out and touched my temples with his fingertips. I was too tired and cold to bother asking him what he was doing, or who he was.

                After a moment, the man removed his hands and nodded. He tucked the blanket around me even more snugly and then left. The warmth of the room and the blankets enveloped me, and I had slipped into sleep without any further problems. I had been awakened the next day at around noon only by a bustling in the room. The man, as I could see him in the light, was only about five foot six with apricot skin and auburn hair that was thinning on top. He was excited about something.

                I was afraid to move, at first. He might have thrown me out if I made it known that I was finally awake. But I didn’t need to announce my consciousness; the man simply glanced over at me and asked, “Did you sleep well?”

                I had been taken aback by his question. I opened my eyes fully and slowly sat up. I felt better than I had in months, as though I had never really rested before. The blankets around me were still wonderfully warm, so I tugged them closer around me. I nodded to his question, wondering within why he had been so kind to me. It made me wonder what he wanted in return.

                “Don’t be afraid,” He had told me, “I won’t harm you.”

                I supposed I had looked frightened, and in my own right I had been. No one I had ever met had given me anything for free, and I doubted this man was any exception. So, I asked him, “Why did you let me sleep here?”

                He smiled warmly. “Young man, I am not in the habit of allowing boys to freeze to death on my doorstep.”

                I nodded in thanks, and then glanced at my surroundings. I wondered why he lived in this part of the city; the house seemed to be richly decorated, with big chair and couches, dark wood shelves filled with old books, and a roll top desk within my immediate view. The carpet on the floor was actually a giant Persian rug that would have fetched a price that might have fed me for three years. The man himself was dressed in a white shirt and trousers, his sleeves rolled up three-quarters on his forearms.

                “What is your name?” He asked.

                I figured it didn’t matter if I told him my real name; my adopted parents had given up the trail long ago, and I doubted he’d give the name to the police if he hadn’t already called them. “Flynn Pearce.”

                He raised his eyebrows and his mouth quirked up on one side. “I am glad to meet you, Flynn. My name is Marcus Barrick.”

                “Hi.” I had said in a small voice. I really didn’t know what to say after that. I didn’t have to. He began to ask me questions about where I was from, who my parents were, and if I had anywhere to go. I was wary of telling him anything too in-depth, but he seemed to understand. With each small and abstract answer, his face glowed even brighter.

                Finally he asked, “Do you see anything out of the ordinary, Flynn; a presence or…a glow around people?”

                This is what made my mouth clamp shut: the reason I was sure that no one wanted me. I had been very young when I had pointed out the strange glowing mist around my friends that would change colors with their respective moods. I had been called everything short of insane. The fact that this man, Barrick, was asking me a question that I could most definitely answer and wanted to desperately unnerved me.

                His arms fell to his sides and his eyes widened in utter amazement, “You can, can’t you?”

                I shuddered and shook my head from side to side so hard I was surprised my head didn’t pop off. I tugged the blankets up to my chin and then buried my head in them. I didn’t want him to know about my problem. He was little more than a stranger, and asking things that should never be asked. He would take me to a hospital or something, I was sure of it.

                “No, no.” He said in a comforting tone, “Don’t be afraid. It’s all right if you can.”

                I looked up from my little haven with what I would guess was utter confusion at his statement. Of course it wasn’t all right to do something so unnatural! Everyone had told me so. But something in his face told me he was telling the truth.

                He stepped up to the side of the couch and knelt down until we were eye level with one another. He ran his hand through his auburn hair before saying, “You are very special, Flynn Pearce. Very special. What you can do…, there are a million people in this world who wish they had your gift.”

                I squinted at him and noted the sparking yellow mist that had settled over his shoulders and ran down his arms. He was excited. About me? Without much thought, I reached out and touched the mist with my forefinger and watched as it dissipated around the area of my touch. It was replaced with a light dusting of purple. I looked up into his eyes, expecting him to recoil from the touch, but instead he looked upon me with a warmth that I had seldom ever experienced. And that was my first encounter with Marcus Barrick.

Reviews

[Summer D.]

Interesting so far! Definitely hooked me. I'll shelve this and get back to this later.

[Rose of Gondor]

OHMIGOSH need to read more!!!!!!

[Time's The Bond]

NEXT chapter is turning without a command

YES! Another person who understands structure and formatting is everything in stories ^_^ You wouldn't believe how many people do not tab their stuff nor attempt to properly make their stuff easy for the audience to read.
Anywho, I liked the "in medias res" beginning.. very talented way to begin a storyline. One of my favorite writers uses this technique, Chuck Palahnuik, or might be better known as the writer of "Fight Club".
Anways, the actual beginning is very "Benjamen Button"-esque with the whole abandonment thing and new parents, though with a rather unique twist about it. The tone of the storyline has more of a Simon Birch kinda thing about it though... I kinda actually enjoyed the story
One thing though to say is that paragraphs consists of 4 or more sentences, no less... there are few exceptions though like in dialog structure but that's about it.
Overall, I gotta give it a 94/100, it was pretty good... I'm looking forward to reading more of your work.

[Wandering Violet]

Interesting! I like it so far.

[Jasmine Thousand]

EEEEEPP!!! *reads next chapter*
~JT~