Chapter Twenty-Eight

    The electricity was still off in Maple Hill High school; somewhere, most likely, someone was at work trying to get it back on.

            No need. The Truthbringer, Timmy Stoker, Artist of the Yellow, was about to light up the hallways with the hot light of truth, showing the sins of all for what they were.

            Students nattered moronically in the classrooms that he passed by, laughing, enjoying the unscheduled event of darkness in their classes. He recalled the moment the lights had gone out (which seemed like providence to him, as fortunate as it was; was it possible that he’d caused it with his mere presence?); students had yelled and screamed theatrically, playfully, pretending to be afraid.

            Soon they would need not pretend. Like the killing of a rabid dog, or the lancing of a carbuncle, doing what must be done was sometimes painful. They would be in much pain, unquestionably. He experienced such fear and pain for years at their injustice; now they would receive tenfold, poured from the vial of Justice.

            No one stopped the Truthbringer, Timmy Stoker, Artist of the Yellow as he walked the hallways, pouring gasoline on lockers, across the floor, in the janitor’s closet, across the stairs; with class in session, electricity or no, the halls were entirely empty of students. More providence? Probably. In fact, incontestably.

            His mind went often to Nicolle. What did she say to Reid’s offer? Not that it mattered; she would be in that getaway car regardless. Timmy grew excited thinking about how things would be after this. Nicolle by his side… the Unseen Society and the Truthbringer, empowering one another at the genesis of the new world… and the death of the Chess Club. That one tasted the sweetest, believe it or not; he couldn’t wait to see Elijah Beaumont experience Justice. Could. Not. Wait.

            Timmy giggled at the thought.

            At last all of the gasoline (Justice) had been poured out on the hallways. Timmy extracted a match from his pocket; he’d always been scared to death of these things, worried that the flame would sink down and burn him; his mother had always struck the matches as he watched. Even now, admittedly, Timmy the Truthbringer wished he’d brought something a little safer… a candle lighter, maybe, one of those things with the long neck. But oh well.

            He struck the match and stared at the flame.

           

            Vee had never realized just how much she appreciated Elyse working in the school office. With that arrangement they could come and go as they pleased and she would check them out, no problem; if anyone in the Chess Club had a tardy or an unexcused absence, Elyse would simply delete it. Now, with the Artist of the Yellow missing, Vee found herself in the unlit office, attempting to sign she and Dominic and Elijah out the normal way and having no luck.

            Of all days to give me a hard time, Vee thought, the day of the lights is the worst one to choose, Ms. Gentry.

            Ms. Gentry was the secretary and, for the past five minutes, she’d denied Vee the right to sign out, first happily, then more sternly, and lastly impatiently.

            “Listen to me, Ms. van Valen,” Ms. Gentry said, making a steeple with her hands as she rested her elbows on the desk. “There is a storm coming"”

            “I know that, I can see that"”

            “"and I’m not going to permit any student, no matter who they are, no matter what club they belong to, to check out and drive the roads when a storm is coming.”

            “Well, you listen to me, Ms. Gentry,” Vee fired up, about ready to simply knock the lady out and leave. “Dominic Beaumont is sick, sick as a dog, and he’s not staying here. End of story"”

            “Ms. van Valen, it’s time you calmed yourself.”

            “"you calm yourself! You’re telling me he just has to sit around and be sick in this ever-loving darkness?”

            “We have a nurse on campus,” she said, her unblinking eyes throwing darts at Vee’s head. In her mind Vee heard: “Stupid little miss priss, thinks because she’s in the Chess Club she can do whatever she wants, I hope I get to report this and she gets in trouble for back talking a superior...”

            “That nurse doesn’t know crap,” Vee said, grabbing her keys off the desk with a tone of finality. “We’re leaving now. Expel me please.”

            Ms. Gentry opened her mouth to say something " perhaps words more along the lines of what she was thinking " when something outside the doorway made them both forget about the dispute entirely.

            The flames first appeared on the left side of the window, traveling at a great speed to the right; the previously dark hallways illuminated with a bright red glow, the lights flashing through the window and onto Vee’s astonished face.

            The lights, Vee thought.

            And then… there were screams.

 

            Dominic would never have expected something like this.

            Apart from the thunder overhead and the lights being out " in other words, a rather ominous atmosphere in the place " things were calm. Quiet, even. The lights had arrived, meaning that what he’d foreseen was happening right that very second, but what was going on? Was it elsewhere? Was it back home? Had they misunderstood something?

            Eli stood at the window, looking out as if surveying the world for some kind of problem; a plane dropping from the sky, or a tank rolling down the street, a mushroom cloud pluming on the horizon. Or perhaps he wasn’t looking for any of that stuff; maybe he was simply looking for Nicolle.

            Dom knew the feeling. He cursed himself for letting Vee go check them out; she assured him that she would be gone for five minutes, maximum, yet already ten minutes had passed and she was still gone.

            “I’m going for Vee,” Dom finally said.

            “I’m going to find Nicolle,” Eli responded.

            That was that, then. They both made for the door; as soon as Dominic threw it open the smell collided with him. In fact, it was so intense he wondered how they’d missed it before, even with the door closed.

            “Gas,” Eli said.

            Dominic had no words. He could see it now, down below: a ruby light licking the dark walls.

            “Fire,” he whispered.

            They ran.

 

            Justice.

            Timmy walked the halls, trench coat billowing, like a god among men, pistol in hand. It wasn’t all justice… it was also a little revenge. But as the Truthbringer, the judge, the Light, was he not allowed this small luxury?

            Devour on.

            He saw their outlines through the walls with the aid of his Yellow Artistry and he hunted them. Students ran around without order; he killed at random, though there were a few on his list that he didn’t want to miss. He watched closely for them; he would be ill at the day’s end if they got away.

            “Ahhhh!” Someone screamed. “HELP ME!!”

            Timmy turned and looked. He knew the girl, he thought… who was she? Megan something? He had no recollection of her ever picking on him or laughing at him. A flame danced up her leg, burning the skin beneath it, creating a smell he’d never before experienced. Since he could remember no crime that she had committed, he chose to have mercy.

            He lifted the gun, pointed it at her wildly moving form, and fired two shot. Megan Something collapsed to the tile and her lifeless body cooked, the fire spreading from her leg to her torso. He didn’t wait around for the rest; others were burning and choking up and down the hall. With his radar Artistry he saw, through the walls, the outlines of students attempting to escape through an open window…

            The Truthbringer burst into the room and scattered several shots; he saw bodies drop but he didn’t know who they were. Satisfied, he turned and walked out.

            A boy was carrying an unconscious girl over his shoulder, racing down the hallway toward an unseen exit. Timmy shot him twice, causing them both to tumble into the flames.

            A girl he knew from History class, shy and always carrying books in her arms, frantically searched for someone, yelling out a name he couldn’t hear over the din. She didn’t even seem to realize what he was doing as he raised his weapon and pointed it at her, putting a bullet directly into her head.

            Mr. Meister ran through the halls, screaming directions to students, trying to get them to adhere to the schools fire safety plan. He saw Timmy, then saw the gun in his hand, and ran at him, perhaps wanting to play the “hero”. The Mathmeister took the shot right in the chest; his eyes went all wide and shocked as he plummeted to the tile, his weak hand searching for the new hole in his body; Timmy took an extra second to watch his teacher die, to watch his unblinking eyes stare at the smoke filled ceiling, to watch his leg go jerk-jerk-jerk…

            Amidst the chaos he saw a down syndrome girl, confused and lost. Again, he had mercy; she felt no pain as he separated her life from her body. She’d likely been oppressed as he had been; he muttered a few words " peace be upon you in death, sister " before moving on.

            And then at last he found them. They were in the process of trying to toss a desk through the window to make an escape route. He didn’t hinder them at first but merely watched them, recalling their words from so long ago.

            “What’s up Stroker, been stroking lately?!”
            “Yo Stroker! Hope me and your mom didn’t wake you last night!

She’s a real screamer!”

            They’d punched him, humiliated him. Now… Justice…

            “ANTHONY! CLAY!”

            They were just about to climb through the window when they turned and saw him, confusion filling their faces at his attire, at the gun in his hand, at the Yellow Eyes glowing orange in the light of the fire.

            “Wha…?” Anthony said, his eyes locked on the gun.

            “Come here to me, both of you,” Timmy said, making the first use of Yellow Mark: Commandment since the flames had begun. They obeyed, of course, jumping into areas free of fire, making their way over to the Truthbringer with looks of shock and fear. They were obeying him but they retained their personhood; they could still think for themselves, just not act for themselves. That made this entire thing so much more fun.

            Timmy stepped into the middle of the hallway.

            “Kneel,” Timmy commanded. Both bullies bent their knees to the floor before Timmy; Clay’s knee settled into someone else’s blood.

            “What the…?!” Anthony breathed.

            “Dude?? What are you doing to us?!” Clay asked. “Please don’t kill us!”

            “Call me your master,” Timmy commanded.

            “You’re my master,” Anthony said fearfully.    

            “Y-you’re my m-master,” Clay agreed. He was shaking. Shaking.

            Timmy let out a laugh of such high pitch that he scared even himself. How amusing… how satisfying! He could sense it: they had been telling the truth.

            “CALL ME THE TRUTHBRINGER!” Timmy screamed triumphantly among the flames; in the distance there was a loud crash, perhaps something breaking down in the fire…

            “You’re the truth bringer!”

            “You are the truth bringer!” Clay screamed. “Dude, seriously! What the hell is this?!”

            “NOW BEG FOR YOUR LIVES!”

            “Please don’t kill me!” Anthony shrieked, and gloriously, he began to cry, his bottom lip curling out and everything. “PLEASE!”

            “I beg you, I BEG YOU!” Clay screamed. “Don’t shoot me!!”

            Timmy popped the used clip from the gun he carried, pulled a new one from his trench coat, and slid it into place. He took his time doing this, letting the infidels sit in limbo; around them students burned to death, students choked, yet they were holding onto a delirious hope that they may walk free despite their many, many crimes…

            “Stand up,” Timmy commanded. They did as he said, the light of the flame reflecting in the wetness on their faces. “Throw yourselves into the fire.”

            “NO! NO!” Anthony yelled.

            “AHHH!” Clay screeched, and yet… they were walking to the nearest bon fire, the largest in the hallway. Timmy forced himself to watch it in its entirety, drinking in the glory of it.

            Justice tasted like liquid Heaven. Their screams were to him: poetry.

 

            Vee peeked around the corner, one Blue Eye looking down the length of the hallway.

            She was in Hell. Bodies surrounded her; fire climbed the walls and scorched the ceiling. People shrieked in terror and pain. There was no mercy in this chaos.

            The unheard words were the worst, the thoughts of those scared, dying, or afire; they prayed for someone to save them, absolve them of the torment, for someone to appear amidst the flames and carry them safely home. Vee wished she’d awakened a Red Artistry more than ever so she could lift these poor souls into her arms and run them from the building.

            She’d heard gunshots, she was sure of it. These fires weren’t accidental… this was arson, and someone was chasing the fleeing students around and shooting them like cattle. She doubted that Dom and Eli had remained in Room 44; no, she knew they would be risking their lives to find her and get her to safety, which made her sick to think about. She wanted to call out for them but didn’t; she didn’t want to alert the gunman to her presence and bring him down on her.

            She left her corner and sprinted down the hallway, avoiding the fire as best as she could, forcing herself not to look down at the charred and murdered bodies. Was anyone helping from the outside…? Were firemen coming, or the police, or a SWAT team? Surely help was on the way, surely…she was just thankful that Nicolle was not in the building.

            She remembered a conversation she had with Dominic a long time ago, shortly after Maria’s death:

            “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.”

            Ah, the price of bravery. Was it bravery? No, she thought, turning a corner and running, it was love"

            “Vivian van Valen, Artist of the Blue!”

            Vee stopped in her tracks. The voice was coming from behind her, possibly exiting a classroom she’d run by. Slowly she turned, breathing large, frightened breaths of hot air. She knew what was happening before she even turned around.

            It was Timmy Stoker, a gun in his hand. Pointing straight at her.

            “You,” she whispered. He was the cause of all this… all along they spoke about the upcoming danger that Dom had foreseen, and that danger had been following Nicolle around like a lost puppy. All along.

            “I,” he responded, his concocted Shakespearean tone crackling like the fire around them. “And you… you’re the one that tried to usurp my position as Nicolle’s best friend. The one who doesn’t know how to stay out of other’s heads.”

            Vee didn’t say anything to this. He was pointing a gun at her… what does anyone say when there’s a gun pointing at them?!

            Vee settled for: “I hope you rot in hell, you pimple faced piece of vomit.”

            Timmy smiled, an expression just as concocted as his regal voice. “Hm. I find your behavior interesting. Most today have groveled, yet you curse on. Is it that you have accepted that you are going to die?”

            Vee’s stomach knotted, hard.

            “You won’t kill me,” she whispered, grasping at straws. “I’m… I’m Nicolle’s friend. She’ll hate you if you hurt me.”

            Still smiling, he said, “Perhaps you have a point. But you have committed the unpardonable… the inexcusable… the reprehensible crime of being a member of the Chess Club. Today, friend of Nicolle… you receive a dog’s death.”

            He raised the gun and fired.

            Space and time twisted around Vee like a whirlpool; when everything straightened back up, strong arms were wrapped around her. She was looking at Timmy’s back; he slowly turned, still smiling, and analyzed the situation.

            “Dominic and Elijah Beaumont… at last.”

           

            Elijah curled his fist tight as a rock.

            Timmy Stoker was a psychopath, and all along he’d been chasing Nicolle around, pretending to be normal, to be sane. He could have hurt her… if he hadn’t already.

            At his feet was a dying boy, not even probably fourteen years old. He spoke no words " he probably wasn’t able " but he whimpered and cried. Elijah had never before dealt with a bullet wound, but the pressure was on: he knelt down, ignoring the fact that Timmy Stoker’s gun was following him, and pressed his hands to the boy’s torso.

            “It’s gonna be alright, son,” Elijah said in the most soothing voice he knew how, probably sounding like his mother. “Look at my eyes… keep breathing… it’s gonna be okay…”

            “Trying to reverse justice, Beaumont?” Timmy asked. “Don’t bother. He’s dead, it's incontrovertible.”

            The boy’s hand reached out and touched Eli’s face. Then, leaving no room for doubt, it fell back to the floor with a pop on the tile. He was dead. His family was out in the world somewhere, perhaps just catching word that Maple Hill High School was going up in flames, praying that their son was safe. 

            Elijah breathed in the heated air like it was anger, letting it fill him up.

            “Justice,” Elijah said, first looking at the boy, then turning his eyes on Timmy. “You call this justice…?! Pray to whatever demented gods you worship, Timmy Stoker… I’m about to snap every bone you have.”

            “Gods do not pray to gods, fool,” Timmy said. Turning to Dominic he said: “Do not use your teleport Artistry. Let’s continue this in your Chess Club room.”

            “Don’t listen to him, Dom, get us out of here, let him roast!” Vee said, clinging to Dominic’s chest. But Dom had a stunned look about him, as if he’d been jabbed in the gut.

            “I… I can’t.”

            “My word is law,” Timmy said. “Yellow Mark: Commandment… whatever I say, goes. Now walk, all three of you. Your executions will be public.”

            Elijah would obey for now… he would walk at gunpoint back to Room 44 (if the building held up much longer). But Timmy would make a mistake, and that Artistry of his wasn’t absolute. He would wait. Then he would act. And then Timmy Stoker would pay.

 

            Lightning hopped from one dark cloud to the next, illuminating the dark Savannah skyline. Nicolle saw the embers rising into air, saw the fire eating away at the building she’d spent countless hours in. People cried and screamed, forced out into the thunderstorm to keep from catching fire; rescue crews had not yet arrived but they were close; in the distance sirens wailed and horns blew frantically, telling anyone and everyone to get out of the way.

            Nicolle alone knew the full extent of the scene before her. The images recorded into her memory, impossible to forget, the kind of images that she knew would reappear to her in silent moments for the rest of her life… that was, if she lived beyond the day of the lights.

            The glowing bodies of spirits covered the green, most of them moaning and crying, some of them staring at themselves and the school in utter disbelief, perhaps for the first time recognizing how unbelievably fragile they’d been all along. The school was haunted by those that had just died within it; she wondered how many of them would move on and how many would stay, never having gotten to say goodbye to their loved ones, never having confessed their love to another.

            Amidst all of the spirits, one stood out to Nicolle. The clothes were different - the same super-white as Adam’s - and the glow was new, but the face was familiar. The spirit of Elyse stood alone on the other side of the grass, looking up at the distant Room 44 window. Nicolle’s heart ached to see her friend this way - now confirmed dead -yet she shoved this feeling of shock away for now… mourning could come later.

            “Elyse! Elyse!” Nicolle yelled, jogging across the rain-heavy green. At first she doubted if Elyse had heard her over the force of the rain and the roar of the storm. Then she turned, seeing Nicolle approaching, and her entire demeanor shifted from silently watchful to lively and scared, her amber eyes wide.

            “Nicolle! I’ve been searching everywhere for you!... listen to me, stay away from Hugo Reid, he killed me, Nicolle, he shot me!”

            “I know, Elyse, we’ve taken care of him,” Nicolle said. She wondered if she should offer words of grief to Elyse - I’m sorry you’re dead - but couldn’t think of how to form them. In any case, other things took priority. “Elyse, do you know what happened here? What’s going on?!”

            “Timmy,” Elyse said, looking solemnly out at the haunted schoolground.

            “What about him?” Nicolle asked.

            “It’s Timmy… he’s come to school to seek revenge. He’s burning the place and shooting as he goes…”

            Nicolle froze. Her heart even seemed to stop.

            Timmy Stoker.

            Timmy Stoker, “Pathetic Nerd That Clings To My Leg”. Or, as he believed: “Best Friend”, “Bodyguard”, “Nicolle Darling’s All Time Favorite Pal”, and “Possible Future Boyfriend.”

            And now: “Murderer.”

            How had it come to this…?

            “Have you seen the others?!” Nicolle yelled, now fearing the worst.

            “They’re inside the school,” she said. “I tried to call out to them, but I’m useless now… they were separated, and Dominic and Elijah were looking for Vee.”

            “No!” Nicolle screamed. This was exactly what they’d been afraid of, being scattered on this day. And she knew that Timmy despised them, hated them even… if she was in there with a gun…

            “I have to get inside,” Nicolle said.

            “You can’t go in!” Elyse screamed, placing herself in front of Nicolle. “Do you realize how dangerous it is in there!”

            But Nicolle was no longer listening; her feet were already moving her at a sprint through the grass again and towards the front doors. The rescue squad was just pulling up; she would reach the entrance before they could bar her entry.

            And after that…

            … what came next? What could she do in there to help?

            She was entering a burning building, and Timmy was inside, killing. What were her odds of surviving…?

            She paused for a moment at the doorway, feeling the heat rolling out as if it were the mouth of a dragon.

            Let’s go back, she’d said to Adam so long ago.

            Don’t be afraid, he told her.

            Let’s go, she tried again.

            Don’t be afraid, he said again.

            Nicolle ran on.

 

Once inside the school she straightened up and looked around at a place she vaguely recognized… but it was much different.

            There were screams, and moans; a spirit, perhaps of a newly deceased person, appeared for a moment in the distance, their face horrified, before growing dim and vanishing again. There were bodies on the floor, some charred, some with bullet wounds, all of them dead.

            Nicolle hated death.

            Her hands shook.

            Her breath came with difficulty.

            She pressed on, head down, avoiding the fire and smoke, stepping over the body of a down syndrome girl that she had seen around school before. She had a bullet wound where her heart was; the girl’s face was peaceful, though. She had always been so sweet and willing to smile in life.

            She didn’t die from asphyxiation or fire, Nicolle thought. She died from a gunshot wound. Timmy killed this girl.

            How could Timmy have fallen so far…? He once had a smile like that girl, also, easy and wide. What had become of the boy she’d once known…?

            “Help me,” a voice called out. “Help me, please.”

            Nicolle turned to her left and gasped. She had forced herself to become numb to the carnage - she had to, otherwise she would never reach Room 44 - but she hadn’t expected to come face to face with someone she knew in the throes of dying.

            How beautiful Blue Hawaii had always been, her hair golden, her eyes twinkling with life. Now a line of blood oozed from her mouth, dripping from her chin to her chest; a large hole had appeared in her side from a gunshot. Presley Llewellyn, that kind soul, Eli’s ex, was slumped onto her bottom in the hallway. Her hair was smoking and singed… at some point she’d been burned.

            “Presley,” Nicolle moaned, running over to her; in the background and out of sight there was a loud crash as something fell apart. Perhaps part of the ceiling. “Can you walk…?”

            Presley slowly shook her head, apparently void of strength. “Please don’t let me die here,” she said, tears forming at the base of her eyes. “I’m so scared, Nicolle.”

            “Me too,” Nicolle said, and strangely, at this time and this place, Nicolle felt a moment of shock that Presley remembered her name. What was she going to do…? She didn’t have much time left, she had to hurry… but she couldn’t leave Presley to bleed or burn to death…

            “Nicky! Nicky!”

            Nicolle turned; to her astonishment she saw yet another wolf, different colored but a wolf the same, running through the hallways towards her, avoiding flames with lithe hops.

            “Adam?” She yelled. “Is that you?”

            “Yes,” he said, the wolf’s eyes looking at her with a human's intelligence. “What are you doing in here! I barely have the strength to remain in this world much longer! You have to get out, now!”

            “My friends are in here, I can’t leave them!” Nicolle yelled. The flames were multiplying; the heat was unbearable. Presley said nothing in regards to Nicolle speaking with the wolf that suddenly appeared; she didn’t seem to even realize what was going on anymore. “Can you get her out?”

            “Yes, but you have to follow! Do you understand me?!” The wolf barked angrily. “No excuses! Help her onto my back, and give me a bit of her clothing to put in my mouth.”

            Nicolle forced Presley to her feet, ignoring her screams of pain, and laid her down across Adam’s wolf back. Instead of clothing she took Presley’s soft left arm and placed it inside the wolf’s mouth.

            “Is that the secret of the Chess Club, Nicolle?” Presley whispered weakly, like a child stirring from a dream. “Can you all speak with wolves…?”

            Nicolle didn’t reply.

            “Now come! You’d better be right behind me!” Adam yelled, trotting at a slow enough pace to keep Presley on board but quickly enough to not be trapped in the burning building long.

            “I’m sorry, Adam!” Nicolle yelled. “I have to find them!”

            And ignoring her brother’s frantic yells, she ran for the stairs and the climbing smoke.

 

            Timmy Stoker was standing by Room 44’s largest window, giving him a fairly good view of the world beyond. What was he seeing? Based on the sounds Elijah was hearing, sirens and yells and rumbling thunder, he imagined the Artist of the Yellow was seeing police arrive on the scene, and firemen; perhaps he saw crowds of people below, the fortunate ones that escaped his “Justice”, huddling together for support in these trying times. Did he feel remorse for what he’d done? Elijah didn’t think so. He didn’t think he ever would.

            Elijah, Vee, and Dom were all made to sit on one of the couches in the room, waiting for something they didn’t know. Elijah had given thought a few times to rushing at Timmy, tackling him, sending them both out the window, but the odds of success weren’t fantastic; Timmy was keeping a good distance between them, a good enough distance that he could aim his gun and fire before anyone touched him. The guy had succumbed to madness, true, but that didn’t mean he was an idiot.

            “All those people,” Timmy said softly, as if giving a dramatic line on stage. “They’ve come to see what I’ve done. The precursor of what I intend to keep doing.”

            “Murder?” Elijah asked, giving a furious sidelong glance in Timmy’s direction. Timmy turned and offered an artificial smile, an expression meant to make him look in control.

            “Lesser minds call it murder. Those like myself call it justice, Elijah Beaumont. I only did what had to be done.”

            “You’re a psychopath,” Elijah said, gritting his teeth. The moment he got his hands on Timmy…

            “Don’t provoke him, Eli,” Vee whispered.

            “No worries, friend of Nicolle,” Timmy said. “I’m beyond provocation now. I know my place in this world, and I know all of your places, too. Today I will ride away from this city and into a future where justice is always served… where no one will ever think they can walk over me again. You three will die.”

            “Why not just kill us now?” Dominic asked. “What are you waiting for?”

            Timmy took a long, deep breath. His entire body language was concocted and fake, just like that British accent of his. His self-esteem was feeble and his confidence was weak, but he acted and spoke like both of those things were unlimited, his back almost militarily straight, his chin high and proud. For someone who calls himself the Truthbringer, he’s lying to himself about everything, Eli thought.

            It was Vee who answered for him.

            “He’s going to put us on display,” she said, exhausted. “He’s going to demonstrate his superiority by killing us on camera.”

            Timmy chuckled. “Did I not tell you to stay out of my head? It doesn’t matter much, though… you’ll all be dead here shortly. Yes… I’m waiting on the news crews to arrive, to aim their cameras at me. To see the Truthbringer, and the truth and justice he wields. To see your frailty and my strength. And another reason… Nicolle is not here to witness this display. But if it’s on TV, she will. Tomorrow, when we’re away from here, together… she’ll see… and perhaps then she’ll understand. She’ll understand, losing all of you, what it’s like to be me… and she’ll learn why I am who I am, and she’ll become likewise… and walk beside me all the days of our life.”

            “Nicolle hates you,” Eli said.

            “And yet she loves you,” Timmy agreed, not meeting Elijah’s eyes, staring out into the storm. “Life has been quite unfair… but that’s all going to change now, now that I’ve become who I’ve always been meant to become. Who’s to say that she won’t love me tomorrow? When I am known to the entire world as the Truthbringer, as their future leader? People will run behind me, behind the shining example I lay forth… they’ll call out to me, they’ll sing my name! Nicolle will see me for who I really am! Then! Then she will come to love me!”

            “Who you really are?!” Eli screamed. “You’re everything she stands against! You’re wicked, and you hurt others! She’ll never love you!”

            “WRONG!” Timmy shrieked, his voice high and woman-like, pointing the gun at Eli. “I will have everything I deserve!”

            “Don’t hurt them, Timmy.”

            Elijah looked to the doorway. Nicolle stood there timidly, unaware that her presence was sending waves of dread through his body. He’d had consolation knowing she was safe; now, she was here with them, here with the madman.

            “Nicolle,” he whispered.

            “Wha…? Nicolle?!” Timmy said; the surprise in his voice was almost comical. This wasn’t part of the plan. “What are you doing here?”

           

            Nicolle saw the boy that used to be Timmy, his face a mask of insanity, and she saw her friends, sitting together on the couch in front of her. She saw the lightning, and the room she’d made memories in, the room where her new life had begun; she saw the gun in Timmy’s hand, pointing at the couch where Eli, Vee, and Dom sat, and knew with dire certainty that at least one of the five people present would not live beyond the next ten minutes.

            “Timmy,” she spoke, her voice a sad whisper. “What’s happened to you…?”

            Timmy stared at her; he looked like a man who might’ve just seen a UFO, the astonished look on his face from her arrival not yet gone.

            “Why are you here?” He repeated. “What about Hugo Reid, and…?”

            “Reid is dead,” Nicolle said. “It’s over, Timmy. All this about the Unseen Society, and…” she gestured to the carnage that used to be their high school. “… all this. It’s over, Timmy. Put down the gun. Let’s walk out of here.”

            Timmy continued to stare, saying nothing; everyone watched him, holding their breath, hoping. Then lightning flashed, and thunder rattled the burning building; Timmy regained his composure with this, as if shaken from a daydream, his look of shock turning to an expression of control.

            “Why walk out on this…?” Timmy asked. “Why walk out on what I’ve accomplished?!”

            “Accomplished? Timmy, you’ve murdered people… is this the path you want to walk?”

            “Yes! Yes, Nicolle, it is… the path of power! The path of triumph! I… I tried to be kind! I tried to be sweet, and… and quiet, and helpful Timmy! I tried to be righteous, and the world ate me alive, Nicolle! I never got anything!” He was pacing now, and his face was twitching with the surge of his emotions sloshing over. His control was slipping; tears were sliding down his cheeks. “For three years I followed you, and opened doors for you, and loved you with all of my heart, and was a nice guy, and you know what?! HE GOT YOUR LOVE, NOT ME!” Timmy pointed the gun right at Elijah; Nicolle covered her ears, terrified of what was about to happen; no shot fired and Timmy went on. “You think you’re in the right and I’m the crazy one, but you’ve not walked in my shoes, Nicolle! NONE of you have! You’re the CHESS CLUB, everybody wants to be you! If you understood what it was to be me, THEN you’d know why I’ve chosen this path! Then… then you’d want to walk it with me.”

            No one said anything after Timmy finished his speech. He gasped for breath, overexcited by his words, and walked back and forth angrily.

            “And you’re about to know exactly what that feels like,” he said, nodding. “To understand… what it’s like to be me.”

            He pointed the gun at Elijah carelessly, as if he wouldn’t mind if it went off by accident in his face; he gestured with the barrel, making an up, up, up motion.

            “Rise up, Elijah Beaumont,” Timmy said, his voice still shaking. “Go over to her. Now!”

            “Don’t do anything rash, Timmy,” Dominic said, his eyes watching that gun so closely, the gun directed at his brother’s back as he rose from the couch and began walking to Nicolle.

            Elijah’s eyes connected with Nicolle’s as they approached one another; she tried to impart something to him merely by way of stare -verbal conversation at this point was too dangerous - to convey courage, or comfort. Or was she seeking those things in his eyes? When he was near enough to her he took her by the hand and squeezed -

            “Let go of her! Let go!” Timmy yelled. “On your knees! Now!”

            “What are you planning to do, Timmy?” Nicolle asked; desiring the other’s safety, Eli sank to his knees in front of Nicolle, his brave eyes never leaving hers. “Don’t kill my friends, do you hear me?!”

            “I don’t intend to,” he said. “I don’t think my killing anyone would ever allow you to understand, to grow to love me. No… you’re going to kill them yourself.”

            For a second Nicolle didn’t understand him. She struggled to work out his plan, to grasp what was going on in his maniacal mind; Vee reached the conclusion first.

            “Don’t make her do it, Timmy! Don’t!”

            He swung the gun around on her. “There are two of you there, Vivian van Valen. I only need one. Silence yourself.”

            “Timmy, there’s got to be another way, let’s talk this over,” Dominic said as calmly as he could manage.

            Timmy ignored them and took a few steps in Nicolle and Eli’s direction. His Yellow Eyes bored into her; it hit her that she was about to have Yellow Mark: Commandment used on her and suddenly she knew; tears welled in her eyes; Eli reached out and caressed her hand.

            “Don’t make me do this, Timmy,” she said. “Please.”

            “Fill your hands with the power of your Artistry,” he commanded. “Prepare to kill.”

            “No!” Nicolle yelled; and suddenly it was as if she were on strings; her voice and will denied Timmy’s control… but her body was at his command. Like a balloon filling with water her hands pulsated with the energy of death.

            “Timmy, no!” Dominic said, rising from the couch. Timmy pointed the gun at them.

            “You want to kill your friends?! Stay where you are!”

            “D****t, Timmy! Don’t kill my brother!"”
            “Please,” Vee said, still sitting, her lip quivering.

            “Timmy, if you make me do this I will kill you… I swear on my life I will kill you if you make me do this,” Nicolle choked on, tears pouring off her face. A streak of lightning bit the sky, and rain poured even harder against the windows.

            “You’re wrong, Nicolle,” Timmy said; his voice, when directed at her, was filled with love and longing, possessing a tender quality intended to pacify. “Every morning for the next few years you will wake up and realize that the one person you love most is forever beyond your grasp… like I have… and in time, you will choose my path. Tell me: is your Artistry in your hands?”

            Nicolle gave a wretched gasp and sob. “Yes…”

            “Good,” Timmy whispered. “Place your hands on his face, now, Nicolle… he won’t move, don’t worry… if he does I’ll shoot these other two. Touch him… and kill him.”

            “Don’t, don’t, don’t, Timmy,” she cried. And yet… all she could do was watch.

            Watch as her hands, filled with death, move up in front of her.

            “I will carry you if you let me,” Nicolle said.

            Watch as she lowered them toward Elijah’s face.

            His face out of her sight, he spoke, his voice nearly breaking: “Okay.”

            Her hands were an inch away from him…

            She held him, and he held her back, and the future was changed forever.

            … and she stopped.

            The room held its breath. She looked at her hands in shock, as did Elijah, and Dom, and Vee. And Timmy, most of all, those Yellow Eyes growing comical in their size and disbelief.

            “I said kill him!”

            Her hands quivered, the strings trying with all of their strength to pull her hands down onto the face of the boy she loved… but they never touched his skin.

            “KILL HIM, KILL HIM, KILL HIM!!” Timmy commanded.

            Her hands were shaking violently now, fighting his command with all of her strength; a liquid feeling warmed her upper lip and she realized that her nose was bleeding. She gritted her teeth and screamed through them.

            “I… won’t!”

            “Leave her alone!” Vee yelled.

            The Artist of the Blue sprang from the couch and ran at Timmy.

            He turned, mouth agape in shock, and aimed the gun at her. He fired once.

            Vee took the bullet somewhere near the collar bone; her blood sprayed the air.

            “VEE” Nicolle screamed; Elijah turned around just in time to see Vee, eyes wide and afraid, collapse to the floor.

            Dominic, lost somewhere between inconsolable grief and intense denial, fell to the floor at Vee’s body, noises escaping from him that Nicolle wasn’t even sure a human could make. He was squeezing Vee’s arm and the veins were bulging in his neck… despite Timmy’s lock on his Artistry he was trying to fight it, to take Vee and teleport away, to get her to a hospital, maybe…

            Timmy shot him, the bullet entering him over the shoulder. He made no noise of pain; his body twitched and locked up before losing its strength and falling to the floor beside Vee.

            Elijah rolled.

            Timmy shot at him too.

            The bullet struck the floor, not five inches from where Elijah had been the moment before.

            The Artist of the White sprang upward in an uppercut, taking Elijah full force in the chin with his fist. Timmy grunted like a pig, trying to turn his gun arm toward Elijah to shoot him; Elijah grabbed his arm and took control of it, the strength of his muscles overpowering.

            Nicolle looked at Vee and Dom’s bodies on the floor, their blood leaking around them.

            Eli’s going to stop him, she heard herself think numbly, and then he can heal them… it’s going to be okay…

            She looked back up to the fight in time to see Timmy - his nose leaning more to the left than it should have - falling to the floor. Elijah stood over him with the gun in his hands, pointed right him.

            “DROP THE GUN! DROP IT!”

            Elijah struggled and his hand shook… and then his fingers stretched out like a starfish, letting the gun fall to the ground.       

            “No! NO!” Nicolle screamed.

            Timmy snatched it up, took a hundredth of a second to aim, and pulled the trigger. She didn’t see where the bullet struck him; she only saw the blood. Elijah went down with a crash.

            All of this… in less than twenty seconds.

            Thunder rumbled overhead.

            Timmy looked around at the scene, gasping, the gun wobbling in his hands.

            Nicolle stared at death. She hated death.

            She could hear her heartbeat like a bass drum in her head.

            “You know my full name? It’s a darned mouthful… Vee is shorter and cuter. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

            “I’m Dom. Dominic, really, but you’re not my mother, so it’s Dom. I’m the co-founder of the Chess Club. Nice to meet ya.”

            “I hereby pledge to start living, if you will too,” he said with a smile, speaking as he wrote on the napkin, “Elijah Beaumont”.

            She had tunnel vision. First on her beloved friends, their life blood soaking the floor. Then, turning, her focus was on Timmy. Was this her fault? Instead of taking pity on this boy and letting him follow her around… should she have just told him to go away from the very beginning…? Would Vee still be alive…? Dom? Elijah?

            “…Vee is shorter and cuter…

            “I’m Dom. Dominic, really…”

“… if you will too,” he said with a smile. “Elijah Beaumont”.

            Timmy turned and looked at her. She had no ability to hear beyond the thunderous sound of her heartbeat, but she read his lips. I love you, Nicolle.

            Gone was her sense of hearing, she sense of smell, her sense of touch; she couldn’t feel the weight of her legs moving forward, but they were. All she knew was Timmy in her sights, the sound of blood in her ears, and the pulsating power of death in her hands.

            Like a cat she set on him, laying her hand across the full length of his face; his expression contorted into pain and he struggled, and fought; Nicolle pressed on, clawing at his neck, pressing against him as best she could. At last he fell away from her, eyes wide with terror, and she saw: her handprint, a signature of death, was like a tattoo across his neck and jaw.

            “NOO!” He screamed, touching his face, feeling the tingling, the pain. His knees began to buckle as his nervous system failed; he staggered to the door, made it just beyond the threshold, and collapsed. He tried to crawl, his legs sliding pitifully from her view. He wouldn’t make it far. Whether by fire or her touch… Timmy Stoker was dead to her.

 

            I’m the Truthbringer, he thought as his face rotted. I can’t die… I can’t die…

            And yet it was happening. He could no longer even lift his head. His vomit was splashed over the stairs, and below, the fire rose and rose. Which would claim him first? His own flame of judgment or Nicolle’s touch of death?

            He hoped the touch of death took him first. He wanted the last thing he ever felt to be her hands on him.

            Then the air shifted in front of him, as if space and time were warping. Dominic Beaumont? No, it couldn’t be… he killed Dominic Beaumont… but who…?

            Two figures landed lightly beside him; all he could see was their boots.

            “That’s him,” one of them said.

            “What’s wrong with his face?” Another voice.

            “That’s a Black Mark… he’s dying.”

            “The First wants this one alive… let’s move, quickly…”

            And like a dream Timmy was moving, moving, moving, like a bug flushed down the drain; when he reopened his eyes there were three Artist before him, Artists of the Green, Yellow, and White. They wore large billowing gowns, as if part of some cult.

            “I’ll see what I can do,” the Artist of the White said.

            He felt grass beneath him, and rain on his face. His vision swam, but as the power of this Unseen Society Artist’s healing energy coursed through him, it slowly corrected, and he saw a car parked beside the road, three familiar faces looking out at him. Jackson, Brooklyn, and Darius. They were looking at him differently than they ever had before.

            “He’ll live, but he’ll wear that hand shaped scar for the rest of his life,” the White said.

            “Get him in the car, we’re already late,” someone barked. “We’re leaving.”

            He thought, longingly, hatefully, lovingly, Nicolle, and then Savannah was behind him forever.

 

            Vee didn’t move. Dominic didn’t move.

            Elijah, at her feet, lightly, tenderly reached out and touched her ankle.

            He tried to speak. He smiled. His eyes smiled. He tried to say words, but only blood bubbled from his lips.

            He then closed his eyes.

           

            Nicolle remembered, some time ago, laying her hand on a tree. First she tried to kill it with her death touch, causing a ring of death to appear on the bark. Then, hand still in place, she tried to reverse it. What had Elijah called it? The Sacrificial Salving Artistry…?

            “Heals other living things in exchange for your own health,” he’d said, so long ago. He commanded her to never use it again. If she did, he warned… she might die.

 

            “So what will you be risking everything for?” He asked.

            “What will you be risking everything for?” She asked with a playful grin.

            “Ladies first,” he said, and his smile, in this place, at this time, was paradise.

            Nicolle looked for just the right words, and, for a miracle, in this place, at this time, she found them. “I’m looking for something worth dying for.”

            She could only choose one; the wound she would take from using that forbidden Artistry would be all she could handle. Such a choice was the most painful thing she’d ever had to do, choosing between loved ones, choosing who lived and who died.

            She loved all three, enough to die for any of them. But only one of them completed her. He would be the sole survivor of the day. Her heart twisted in pain at the thought of never seeing Vee smile at her the way she always had.

            “Glad you like my smile, by the way. Some have compared it with the moon and the stars, if I’m lying I’m dying…”

            Tybee Lighthouse was now beyond her reach. Deep down, in her heart, she knew she would never reach it. She hated death… but now, at last… she accepted it.

            She’d found something worth dying for.

           

            “BREATH! Elijah, please breath, please, please, please don’t die, please,” she cried, tears washing his face. “Please, God, save him, please, please, please…”

            Her hands were under his shirt, pressed against the firm muscles of his abdomen. She wasn’t even positive she remembered how to do this Artistry… she’d given up on it after Elijah had told her to stop…

            “Ugh,” she grunted. Blood poured from her mouth, but she kept going; she could feel a hole opening up in her chest, and the intense pain that came with it.

            It was working.

            “Please… please… ughhhh!.... p-please…”

            More blood came from her mouth, this time liberally. His eyes weren’t opening, but hers were closing.

            “Open your eyes, Eli,” she whispered and she cried softly.

            The heartbeat she heard in her ears was slowing… slowing… slowing…

            And gone… like floating across the clouds on the backs of eagles…

            … or the arms of angels…

            … was this dying…?

            … Nicolle had always hated death, but if this was it… it wasn’t so bad…

            … and she’d turned out all right, hadn’t she…? She’d made real friends… she’d been part of the Chess Club… they laughed together sometimes, and she kissed Elijah, and Vee dressed her up to look pretty, and the bon fire was so warm that night…

            …

            …

Reviews

[Lost in Wonderland]

Oh my gosh......

[Melody]

I'm totally...breaking down...This is the saddest thing I've ever read- no joke.