Chapter Fifteen

Death.

            Nicolle placed her hand on the sycamore tree in front of her. It was strong and old… not an easy tree to bring down. If she proved unable to do it she could always find something smaller, but this particular morning she wasn’t prepared to accept failure.

            Oh how she hated death; why couldn’t she have awoken that morning with White Eyes instead? But already one Chess Clubber had fallen due to not being well acquainted with their abilities; if Nicolle was to avoid joining Maria she would have to better understand the Black Artistry she carried. She would have to confront death.

            The surface was rough beneath her hand; she closed her eyes and

            Death

            felt the change in her fingertips, the power of her Artistry moving from herself to the tree. She didn’t yet possess enough strength to do much " it felt like she were trying to kill a tyrannosaurus rex with a pocket knife " but after a few minutes an area of about five feet had discolored around where her hand was placed. She pulled away and saw, with amazement, a hand shaped indention in the tree. Sweat had formed on her brow despite the chilly morning air.

            Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She fished it out with a shaking hand.

           

            Is that you out back thinking the word DEATH over and over? Lol

 

            Nicolle replied in thought, expecting her Blue Eyed friend to hear her:

 

            Sorry… I’m kind of training.

 

            Her phone rumbled a reply:

 

            Prolly shouldn’t be out there alone. Anyhow, mum says breakfast in five. Scurry on back in here.

 

            Nicolle turned away from the tree and began for the house in the distance. She looked back at the tree once it was almost out of view; some people carved their names into trees… she left a centimeter deep hand print. She thought that was cool for a moment

            Would that happen to a person if I touched them…?

            before deciding it wasn’t that cool anymore.

 

            “Out for a Saturday morning walk, Nicolle?”

            Cora asked the question as she placed a bowl of scrambled eggs on the table; Vee rubbed her hands together rather greedily and dramatically licked her lips.

            “Yeah, sort of,” Nicolle replied with a smile.

            “More like a morning jog, I think, sweating like that,” Edward said, already sitting at the table, tucking a napkin into his collar.

            “That bib looks hardcore stupid, dad,” Vee said, shoveling food onto her plate.

            “Your face looks hardcore stupid,” he replied, sticking out his tongue at her.

            “Children, children… we have company, play sweet with one another,” Cora said; Nicolle took her seat at the table and realized, holy cow, she was hungry. Killing sycamore trees induced quite an appetite. Cora continued: “And more’s coming.”

            “More what?” Edward asked.

            “More company,” she said. “Sweet Dominic’s gonna be here in a bit.”

            “Dominic,” Edward said, pronouncing the name Domoneek and nudging Vee’s foot with his own. Nicolle caught the unsaid suggestion in it all… that Vee had a crush.

            “Do that one more time,” Vee said, “and I’m kicking you back.”

            “Cora, how did our daughter become so violent?”

            “Dunno,” she replied. She sat down to join everyone at last and said, “Eat up!”

            They did. The elephant in the room was the funeral; perhaps the larger elephant was how little anyone wished to discuss it. Plates clinked, glasses rattled, people spoke… whatever could make noise did make noise.

            Nicolle didn’t yet have the confidence to speak loudly at the van Valen’s table; her question was rather soft spoken. “Vee, why’s Dominic coming over?”

            Vee was too busy feeding her face. “What is it?... Dom? Oh, he’s coming over to show me the bracket for the upcoming chess tourney we’ll be competing in.”

             Well, that’s a bald faced lie, Nicolle thought; Vee grinned at her from across the table.

            “I remember my chess club in high school,” Edward said, chewing a piece of bacon. “Think my club could’ve beaten your club?”

            Nicolle and Vee exchanged withheld-giggle glances over the table. Vee said: “Um. No.”

            After eating " and thanking Cora for a wonderful meal, thank you so much " Nicolle and Vee returned outside. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky; crisp cool air made it easier to breathe.

            “Any success this morning?” Vee asked.

            “Some,” Nicolle said.

            “You shouldn’t have been out here training alone,” Vee said, her voice serious. “And you know why, too. No one really thinks of the Purple Artistry being too dangerous, but the Black Artistry… everybody knows that one’s dangerous.”

            “I don’t think I can afflict myself with my death touch,” Nicolle said. “I’ve tried.”

            “Makes sense. You’re immune to poison, according to Roland’s old notes he left Dom and Eli.”

            Immune to poison. Good to know.

            “No more training without me though, okay? Please? You could… I don’t know… kill a tree and then have it fall over on you or something.”

            “And a meteor could fall down and hit me, too,” Nicolle said. “We have to take some risks.”

            Vee sighed, nodding. “Yeah. It’s just hard now, you know?”

            Training resumed; Nicolle tackled much smaller trees this time, trying to kill a nearby fringetree. After some thirty seconds or so the entire tree was a dead, brownish hue.

            “You’re stronger than when we were using leaves,” Vee said. “There may come a day when you can drop a tree like that as fast as you drop leaves now. Oh… my phone’s vibrating…” Vee pulled out her phone. “Dom’s nearly here. Let’s go meet him at the door.”

            “You go,” Nicolle said. “I’m almost done here.”

            Vee was hesitant but after a moment she walked away. For safety reasons Nicolle would have preferred she stay, but she didn’t think Vee would allow Nicolle’s experiment to take place if she were present.

            Nicolle walked back to the sycamore tree she had been working on earlier. No one had ever told her that such an Artistry would be possible; she wasn’t optimistic about her chances of creating it. But she had to try. Placing her hand back in the same spot it had been before, Nicolle closed her eyes and concentrated…

            It was like trying different keys for a lock, trying to sort out how such an Artistry worked: that key doesn’t work, try another one… no, another dud… I’ll try another. Each technique, each small change she tried, only tired her out further with no results. After several minutes of trying without success, Nicolle saw it: the dead circle she’d created on the surface of the tree earlier receded by a hair’s breadth. The result of this was Nicolle became incredibly fatigued; she leaned against the tree and breathed heavily.

            I did it, she thought with amazement. I’m not very good at it… it’s my hardest Artistry by far… but I did it…

             “… are you okay?”

            Nicolle’s eyes flew open and she turned to look; standing a few yards away, hands casually in his pockets, his shades hanging on his belt loop, was Elijah. He looked nearly angelic in the morning glow; she looked ridiculous by comparison, she expected, leaning against a tree gasping for breath with sweat on her forehead.

            Nicolle straightened up and forced herself to quit breathing so hard. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

            “Dom needed to come and speak with Vee about something,” he said. “Presley and I tagged along.”

            Presley. “Where is she?”

            “Inside. Vee told me to come out and get you… what were you doing just then?”

            Nicolle shrugged; she was paranoid about her every movement in his presence. “Oh, nothing… … training.”

            His stare was penetrating; Nicolle had to look away. “You were healing the tree. How did you do that?”

            Nicolle shrugged and smiled, still eyeing the leafy forest floor. “It was just something I wanted to try out… it’s not a big deal. I just… didn’t like the idea of killing so much as the idea of curing…”

            “Don’t ever use that Artistry again,” he said. Nicolle never would have expected that reaction; perhaps a little hurt, she looked up at him.

            “Why?”

            “It’s sacrificial,” he said, walking closer; his grey-silver eye color was more beautiful in the light of the day. “I could sense it… Artists of the White can do that, detect the life force of something. That tree was not in full health but I could sense it growing slightly. Your health was beginning to lower.”

            Nicolle wasn’t aware of that initially, but now that he mentioned it… it was true. She wasn’t simply exhausted from the effort… she was sore.

            “I… I didn’t know.”

            “It’s been a theory for some time… it made sense, but I’ve never seen it in action,” he said. “The Sacrificial Salving Artistry… heals other living things in exchange for your own health. Theoretically other forms could exist… Sacrificial Sanity Artistry. Sacrificial Soothing Artistry. All of them hurting you in order to work.”

            Nicolle shrugged. “I thought maybe I could help… maybe if I’d had this before I could have saved her.”

            Elijah’s reply was soft. “Not even I could have saved Maria… there’s no point in you using your Black Artistry in that way if it’s just going to hurt you. You could have seriously hurt yourself just then, emptying out your health into a stupid tree.”

            He sounded angry, but Nicolle was actually flattered… he was angry that she had endangered herself. Right? Must mean he cares for her… … right?

            “Sorry,” she said.

            He shook his head and sighed. “No, it’s okay. Just don’t use that Artistry anymore. It’s not worth dying for. Still… that’s pretty impressive.”

            “Really?” Her heart was aflutter. Maybe he would kiss her next.

            “I’ve never seen the Black Artistry used for such a thing… my father saw a place for compassion in the Blue Artistry, or the White, or the Yellow… but never the Black. For him, the Black was a weapon. Perhaps that’s not the right word… he wasn’t attacking people, or anything like that… but he saw no place for kindness in the Black Artistry. It’s interesting to see someone try to use it for such a thing.”

            Nicolle looked up at him and " her heart now really aflutter " he was sort of smiling back at her. She opened her mouth to say thank you but:

            “What’s a Black Artistry?”

            Nicolle’s stomach dropped; walking just into sight was Presley, her arms hugging herself for warmth. Panic seized Nicolle… her sunglasses were left inside. She pretended to tie her shoe, her eyes locked on the ground…

            Elijah turned to look at the girl that had just joined them. “I’m sorry… what?”

            “What’s a Black Artistry?” She didn’t look angry, as usual… but she looked impatient. And perhaps a little uncomfortable. “I’ve never heard of that before, and you just said your dad had one, and it’s a weapon… why haven’t I heard this before?”

            “Oh,” Elijah smiled, shaking his head in dismissal. “It’s nothing… I just figured you wouldn’t want to hear.”

            But Presley was still not quite smiling. “What is it, Elijah?”

            Elijah coughed, perhaps to stall a little. If Presley was bright " and she was " she’d probably pick up on that. “Well, I’ll tell you later…”

            “Is it a secret?”

            After a moment: “Sort of… yes.”

            “And… you were talking about it openly a second ago… until I walked up.”

            Another moment of silence. “I’ll tell you about it later. Why do you sound like you don’t trust me…?”

            “I do, Elijah, you know that. But I get the feeling sometimes that something’s being hidden from me. Something other than top secret chess moves.”

            Nicolle tied and retied and retied her shoes, always looking down; it was as if they’d forgotten she was there. Her heart was somewhere in her throat.

            “Let’s head back to the house,” Elijah said, beginning to walk and placing a hand on Presley’s back. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

            Presley said no more and was apparently appeased. Nicolle wondered what he was going to say to her but did not follow; for the time being she was left alone. She would wait until they were far ahead before going to the house as well.

           

            Dominic knew Mr. and Mrs. van Valen well; they’d been introduced when Vee joined the Chess Club over three years ago. They not only liked him, they trusted him. The evidence: they allowed him and their daughter alone in her room together unsupervised. Even Presley’s mom and pop didn’t allow her and Eli to be alone in her room together, and John and Amelia liked Eli. Somehow he had managed to gain Edward and Cora’s trust not only that he wouldn’t take advantage of her but that he wouldn’t hurt her in any way, no matter what.

            They were not aware that he was including their daughter in a group he co-founded for superhumans. He often felt as if he were betraying their trust, but always assuaged the guilt by saying that those of the Chess Club were using their Artistries responsibly, that he was governing them safely. Maria was now dead, and such guilt could not be assuaged.

            Vee closed the door, turned around, and looked at him.

            “You’re shielding your thoughts from me,” she said. With a smile: “What are you hiding?”

            He nodded. It wasn’t particularly easy to do " especially since Vee was getting better with each passing year " but his father had left behind hints of how to block telepathy some. He didn’t make a habit of shielding his thoughts from her, like Eli, but at the moment " standing in her bedroom with her, alone, him looking at her, her looking at him " he thought it was justified.

            “Nothing,” he said. “But I did want to discuss something with you.”

            “Very well, Mr. President,” she said, a soft, quiet smile. “Hit me.”

            Dominic took a deep breath,

            God those eyes...

            hid his thoughts, and said what he’d rehearsed. “I want you to resign from the Chess Club.”

            Her Blue Eyes widened. “What?”

            “Not done yet,” he said, closing his eyes to avoid looking at her. “I don’t want us to be friends anymore.”

            Her mouth fell open and her shoulders fell; she was hurt. What an uncommon sight: Vivian van Valen looking defeated. To only a few would she appear vulnerable; he was among those few and it upset him to inflict such pain.

            But it’s necessary.

            “Why?” She asked. “Why’s it necessary?”

            “It just is,” he said. “That’s effective right now. As founder of the Chess Club I’m kicking you out.”

            “Dominic, I’m not leaving the Chess Club, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Tell me why you’re saying all this crap.”

            Dominic said nothing, but their eyes met

            not you too. Maria, yes, but not you

            and Vee knew.

            “I’m staying,” she said.

            “No you’re not.”

            “Yes I am.”

            “No. You’re not.”

            “I’m not gonna die, Dom.”

            “How in the hell do you know?! Maria would have said the same thing minutes before she died.”

            “I’m not gonna die, Dom.”

            “My Up-and-Coming Artistry alerts me of the upcoming danger"”

            “"we don’t know if it has to be a bad thing"”

            “"every single second, it’s coming and it’s big. I don’t want you within one hundred miles of me when it gets here, do you understand me?”

            “Screw you, I’m staying,” Vee said.

            No one said anything for a few seconds; Dominic’s heavy breathing filled the room. Somehow in the exchange the several feet that separated them had vanished; she was close now, looking right up into his face with

            those eyes, those Blue Eyes

            vulnerability, frustration, understanding.

            “I’m staying,” she said. And for a moment he imagined Chess Club life (or simply everyday life) without her. He didn’t like what he saw; in his instant of weakness he nodded… okay. It’s okay. You can stay.

            He burned the moment in his mind " the cool of the air, the soft color styles of the room, the distant sound of some electrical humming, the scent of strawberry shampoo in Vee’s hair " and wondered if he would someday remember it vividly, regretting it with all his heart.

 

            Hurry up. Hurry up. Hurry up.

            Nicolle doubted Vee would hear her mental plea, being alone in her room with Dominic, but she had to hope. Vee and Dominic’s sudden arrival would be all too welcome, a little something to melt the ice in the room. Elijah, Presley, and Nicolle sat alone in the living room and Nicolle was about three seconds from succumbing to explosion-of-the-head syndrome.

             Nicolle sat to herself on a seat across the room; Elijah and Presley shared a love seat, though they were not displaying much affection. No one said a word or even so much as looked at anyone else.

            She wasn’t sure what Elijah had told Presley on the way into the house " surely it wasn’t the truth " but whatever he’d told her had induced an odd cease-talk between them. It wasn’t quite a standoff, per say… that would imply that there was anger involved, or perhaps a conflict, which there didn’t seem to be. It looked more to Nicolle that they were unsure of what exactly to say, maybe for the first time ever.

            Another feeling Nicolle had: that Presley wanted to ask her something. Rather respectfully she hadn’t brought Nicolle into it (and Nicolle doubted she would), but the fact still stood that she knew Elijah was openly speaking of something to Nicolle that he would not speak of openly in front of her. Nicolle felt a little excited about that, which shamed her.

            The room seemed to yawn. Elijah turned on his phone’s screen, turned it off, and said, “Eleven o’clock…”

            “Yeah,” Nicolle said, nodding more than necessary. “I should, uh… … probably be going soon…” No one appeared to have noticed her speaking.

            Silence followed for a few minutes. Nicolle increased the volume of her thoughts: HURRY UP. HURRY UP. HURRY UP.

            Footsteps alerted everyone to a newcomer: Edward walked into the room with his cool-dad grin in place, prepared to shoot the breeze with the young folks.

            “Hey, guys,” he said. “What’s up, Eli, Presley.”

            They both said hello, attempting to fake enthusiasm. Wasn’t much of a success.

            “You guys psyched out about the chess tournament coming up?!” He slapped his hands together and rubbed them greedily. “Going for, what… win one-thousand? Ha ha!”

            “Something like that,” Eli said.

            “Know who’ll be competing? Vee said she did it last time so someone else would get to go this time around… will it be you, Nicolle?”

            He was including her, is all; she seemed detached from the conversation. She wished he hadn’t, though.

            “Maybe,” she shrugged, trying to smile.

            “You pretty good at chess?”

            For some reason Nicolle answered: “A little.”

            “Vee said it’s pretty tough to get into the Chess Club, that Dominic only allows people who are really, really good. You must be pretty impressive, then.”

            Nicolle nodded. “Mmhm.”

            “Something I always told my chess club " I was chess club president in high school too, you know " something I always told my club was that your opening was one of the most important things you could do, that it laid the way the wind would blow for the rest of the game.”

            Nicolle nodded, as if to say sage advice… sage advice…

            Crossing his arms and furrowing his brow, prepared to be totally absorbed in Nicolle’s answer, he asked, “How do you usually start the game?”

            Instinctually Nicolle’s eyes shot to Elijah; it tingled her insides to see him do the same with her, though he didn’t look near as panicked as she. Beside him Presley held her composure but her puzzled eyes wondered why her boyfriend and his apparently new secret-keeper were swapping stares.

            “I, um…” Nicolle started. “Well, I take my, um… … I take my king piece and I, um… move forward three spaces.”

            No one spoke for a moment.

            “I’m pretty sure you can’t do that as an opening move,” Edward chuckled. Presley was looking at Nicolle with barely hidden curiosity. “And moving the king so early, you know, that’s not totally advisable…”

            “And the king can only move one space at a time,” Presley suddenly said. She was still looking at Nicolle. Not angrily. Curiously.

            HURRY HURRY HURRY HURRY HURRY.

            “Oh, ho!” Edward cheered. “Maybe a new member of the Chess Club in the making, eh…?”

            “No,” Presley said. Then, pointedly, softly: “Elijah won’t let me.”

            HURRY HURRY HURRY HURRY HURRY!

            “I’m pretty sure what she meant,” Vee said, walking into the room, Dominic beside her, “was that she takes the king and then tells you to quit nosing around in her strategies, Dad-o.”

            “Is that it?” Edward laughed, turning to face Vee. He returned to Nicolle and bowed. “In that case, my apologies Miss Darling.”

            “All forgiven,” Nicolle said with a tremulous smile. Thanks Vee.

            “Ready?” Dominic asked Elijah. Elijah nodded and he and Presley stood. “Thanks for the visit, Ed.”

            “No problem, visit more often,” he said. The three of them, rather stiffly, walked to the front door and left without a backwards glance. Edward also left the room, leaving Vee and Nicolle alone together. Vee plopped down in the spot Elijah and Presley had just vacated and tiredly rolled her head over to look at Nicolle.

            “You look…” Vee searched for a word. “… stressed.”

            Nicolle checked her friend out as well.

            “Ditto,” she said.

 

            Nicolle hadn’t seen him since her Black Artistry had awakened. She wondered what his reaction would be; when Timmy had seen her Black Eyes for the first time (are you sick?) he took a step back; when her mother had seen her eyes for the first time (so what?) she asked Nicolle to go into town and pick up some milk. This time would be different, though.

            She stepped out of her car and began walking toward the house, the descending hillside to her left, leading down to the forest she and Adam had talked in. Merely approaching the house of Granddaddy Longlegs was like stepping into a force field of peace, like maybe something Elyse could do with her Yellow Artistry. Recent events called for a visit to Granddaddy Longlegs; she was tired and in need of a hug. Vee seemed too absorbed in whatever she and Dominic had discussed to truly give Nicolle her all at the moment

            on top of the fact that she’s stressed and tired, too

            and Adam was still absent, which was beginning to legitimately frighten her. He had said it would take him two days to return to her; it had been six. Had he returned and she just missed it? Could he only return to her in the home area and had done so while she was away? That couldn’t be it, he’d followed her to school that first day…

            Nicolle had pondered over her new Artistry " the Sacrificial Salving Artistry -- as she drove home,

            in the old days I thought about my bad school day or how to get to my room unseen… now I think about my Black Artistry

            pondered over what Elijah had told her. ‘Impressive’, was one word he used to describe it. ‘Interesting’ was another. She had to admit that she was a little proud of herself, having invented her first Artistry. But he was right; it was much too dangerous. ‘It’s not worth dying for’, he’d told her. If Dr. Beaumont said no, then by golly, it was it was no for her, too. She wished she’d invented something a little cooler, though, not something that he’d command her to never use again.

            “What are you doing, Nicolle, my love? What Artistry is that? The Suddenly Appearing Money Artistry?! How AMAZING, how INCREDIBLE! I’m awestruck! I’m finding it utterly impossible to resist you; I beg, please, let me kiss you from your fingertips to your shoulders. Wait, no… let’s go get MARRIED instead! I’ll just use my Suddenly Married Artistry! I love you, Nicolle Beaumont! I love you I love you I love you I love you…”

            In the end her only option for fighting stress was Granddaddy Longlegs, but she was wanting to visit him regardless; she’d seen him less than usual since becoming a member of the most popular group in high school, something she felt a little guilty about.

            She knocked on the door and waited, listening to the wind, breathing in the cool air of the day. No one answered; she knocked again a little harder. A full minute passed with no answer, prompting Nicolle to look and see if his truck was there; it was, so he was home… was he sleeping…?

            “Granddaddy?” She knocked a little harder. There was no stir or sound on the other side. Nicolle reached inside the book that was sitting by the door, pulled out the spare house keym and unlocked the door. She carefully stepped inside and looked around.

            A single lamp was on inside, most of the inner light coming from the windows. She could hear a ticking clock… nothing else. She tiptoed to the open door of his sitting room, the place where she had rested by his feet for years and years, and looked inside, for some reason very slowly, easing herself into seeing whatever was there, and had no reason why.

            She saw a booted foot; her eyes followed upward and saw the shadowed image of a body. She could only stare. The body did not move. Nothing did.

            “In case you’re wondering,” Granddaddy Longlegs said quietly, a chuckle to his voice, “I’m not dead.”

            Nicolle jumped a little when he spoke and then sighed in relief. “Were you sleeping? Did you not hear me knock?”

            “Nah, I wasn’t asleep,” he said, beginning to rock the recliner back and forth, “I just don’t hear much these days. I didn’t even hear you walk in… thought you might have been a cannibal or something when you came nosing around the corner like that.”

            Nicolle removed her jacket and -- with extra reverence " her sunglasses. “No man eaters today,” Nicolle said. “Just me.”

            “I haven’t seen you in a bit,” he said. “It’s another old man you’ve been seeing, isn’t it? Someone younger and fresher, I betcha. Traded me off.”

            “Don’t even joke like that,” Nicolle said, smiling. “No one else gives hugs like you.”

            She bent down and hugged him tight; it didn’t escape her that he didn’t return her hug with the strength she was used to. She reminded herself that he was pretty darn old and then told herself to shut up.

            Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket.

            “What was that?” he asked, looking puzzled.

            “Just my cell phone,” she said. “Someone texted me.”

            “Texted. Pffff. Back when me and your Grandmama were your age we would use carrier pigeons, and, and, and we would write in hieroglyphics, and travel around on dinosaurs.”

            Nicolle chortled as she pulled her phone from her pocket; she assumed it was Vee. It wasn’t. It was Timmy.

 

            Call me ASAP.

 

            Nicolle pocketed the phone and returned to Granddaddy Longlegs.

            “Let’s let some light in here, people’ll think you’re a vampire, sitting around in the dark,” she said, walking over to the blinds.

            “Not such a bad thing,” he said from behind her. “These days, from what I read, kids like vampires. And girls too, for some reason.”

            Nicolle turned and looked at him in the new light. Nothing had changed since she had seen him last, not really, but she had simply forced herself to ignore it; acknowledging it took strength she didn’t at that time possess. He was old. Not in the joking riding on dinosaurs old. Old as in will he last another two years.

            She wasn’t the only one viewing things in the new light. Granddaddy Longlegs was looking at her with furrowed eyebrows.

            “Your eyes, dearheart,” he said, nodding at them. “Why are they doing that?”

            “Doing what, Granddaddy?”

            He didn’t say anything for a second. Then he smiled, the kind of smile a man wears when he suspects he’s having his leg pulled and doesn’t want to look totally fooled. “They’re a different color. They’re blackish. A dark gray color.”

            “Huh? Oh… right,” she said, nodding and looking down. She nearly said do you like them? They’re contacts. Color contacts. Just something I’m trying. She quelled the lie and nervously said: “Turns out this is the real me. Whatcha think?”

            His smile became a little more genuine; he shrugged, apparently confused, and then said, “I think they’re lovely. Goes well with your hair.”

            Her heart swelled with happiness; it was like breathing actual relief, a drug like no other. “So, what were you saying, before I turned the blinds…?”

            “Hm? Oh, yeah… books and movies all over the place nowadays about vampires, and, and how good looking they are, and girls like’em. You know, your grandmother liked that I was good with my hands, that I could make little sculptures out of wood. I guess girls today like guys who bite people and drink their blood.”

            “I know… if you just pass by the young adults section…”

            Her cell phone vibrated again. She withdrew it from her pocket.

            “… at the bookstore all you see are books like Fangs and Love and My Teen Vampire and Midnight Blood Hunters.”

            Her grandfather watched her as she flipped open her phone:

 

            Nicolle I’m serious. If you are my friend please call me.

 

            “You seem to have become a little more popular since we last talked,” he said.

            Nicolle sighed. “Just with one person.” She typed out a quick response:

 

            I’m sorry Timmy, I will in a bit. I’m busy right now, seriously.

 

            She put her phone back in her pocket.

            “To be honest, you seem much different than last time we talked,” he said, looking at Nicolle pensively.

            Nicolle tilted her head. “How so?”

            Granddaddy Longlegs thought for a moment, looking right at her, as if examining her, before replying, “You don’t seem as lost. I see more vitality to you. More life in your eyes.”

            Life in my eyes? Nicolle found it ironic. My eyes are weapons of death. But I get what you’re saying. I feel it too.

            “Thanks,” she said, smiling. “I’ve made a few more friends… people like me. They like me.”

            “Well, I’m glad,” he said. “You have so much to look forward to in life. I hope you can always do it with loved ones.”

            “Like our trip to Tybee Lighthouse when I graduate,” she said.

            He nodded and repeated: “You have much to look forward to.”

            Her cell phone vibrated again; beginning to get annoyed she flipped it open, prepared to turn in off, when she opened and read the text.

 

            My eyes have changed colors like yours did.

Reviews

[Melody]

OH MY GOD!!! SO MANY EMOTIONS!! I LOnfwfocwifjwefiwhfijfiwjfw~!!!!