Chapter 8

Emmalee

The weeks after my father returned from prison were difficult. Our lives had changed so much in the short time he’d been incarcerated.

Everything was gone, taken away. Our home, our friends, our whole way of life.

That’s when I first began to understand how unjust our world had become.

THE NEXT DAY

My father didn’t return by morning, nor did any of his crew. Angie sat with Jam and I while Stevron let Donahue drain a pint of his blood.

I wasn’t happy. Angie vehemently refused to take Carter with them instead of Stevron.

The control booth where I was now sitting, surrounded by hard objects which I was told were machines and computer equipment, plus a tiny fyre egg generator, was hot. Steamy actually, so the sun must have risen by now.

How long I’d been perched on my listening stool I can’t say. The whole left side of my body burned with pain. I ignored it. I pressed the headphones tighter against my ears.

I wanted to listen. To hear something, anything to distract me. I didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to hurt.

The pain of Carter’s betrayal was even worse than the lingering effects of Stevron’s blood as it prickled around the healing gashes throughout my wounded body.

The ache in my gut was enormous. So big I thought that it would swallow me whole. For a brief moment, I hoped it would. Then I remembered what Carter had said to me. That I should ask my father about Jake.

The hatred I’d buried years ago quickly rose up within me.

The last imagines I saw before I went blind played over and over in my mind like the reel of film we’d gathered to watch at the theatre. I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t slow it down.

The day the canisters fell I was with my father and Jake. It was my birthday and my father had taken Jake and me to see a movie at the local theatre. When the canisters fell we’d been trapped in the collapsed lobby, close to the entrance. I remember the blast that had come from the vicinity of the parking lot and of being thrown to the carpeted floor. Of the noise and confusion. And then the eerie silence.

For some reason the force of the blast pushed me up against a metal structure. Probably some display case or a counter of some sort. Whatever it was, it had saved my life, for it had given me a couple of feet of protection from the concrete slabs that had come crashing down onto most of those around me.

Through the concrete dust I saw the haze of red light and sparks from severed electrical wires. Heard the groans of both my father and brother who I could tell were not too far from me.

I remember crawling to them. Over shattered glass and chunks of debris. Over severed limbs, blood, and…oh, yes, dead bodies.

Both Jake and my father had been pinned under a twisted metal beam. The beam was across my father’s chest and across Jake’s legs. Both of them were bleeding. The gash on Jake’s head was only a trickle compared to the wound on my father’s upper shoulder close to his neck. He was losing blood and fast.

I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to pull Dad out from under the metal beam and rip up my t-shirt to try and stop the bleeding. And that was when I saw the boy.

At first I didn’t recognize him. He was covered in a thick layer of concrete dust and so much blood that he looked like a crawling corpse streaked in grey and red.

He didn’t say anything to me. He crawled straight to my father. My father gave him a brief smile and said a few words. The boy shook his head. My father frowned. I could see the regret in his eyes.

I don’t remember the explosion.

The next thing I remember was opening my eyes to see the same boy bending over my brother Jake. My father was no where in sight.

I remember the kid looking over at me. It was then that I figured out who he was. No other people I’d ever seen had eyes so green, like emerald gems. The kid was a member of the Shipley family. Bartholomew to be exact.

A shot of relief had echoed through me. I knew his family had hated mine and had been instrumental in having my father incarcerated. It was obvious though that the son had helped my father.

I was sure he’d help Jake and me. That is, until I saw him deliberately stuff my torn up shirt into Jake’s mouth while he held a hand over Jake’s nose.

I screamed. I couldn’t believe what was happening.

Bartholomew Shipley was- I moved closer. I reached for Jake in an attempt to stop Bartholomew from-

Bartholomew turned to face me and his hand came up. When it collided with my chest to halt my forward motion a searing firestorm erupted through my body. I saw his eyes widen and a swirl of silver streaked through the brilliant green. Pain exploded in my head. I blacked out.

When I woke a week later in a makeshift hospital my sight was gone and so was my brother Jake.

I shook the memory away and exhaled a harsh growl then pressed the headphones against my ears again. My stomach rolled with the anger of remembering that fateful day. Of remembering everything that the canisters and Bartholomew Shipley had taken from me.

My heart started to pound fiercely because the monster that had taken my brother’s life, was there in the booth with me. Seven years later. Seven years older.

Bartholomew Shipley. Barty’s-a-shit for short.

He was right next to me. I could hear his even breathing. Hear the light tap, tap, tapping of his fingers against the computer keyboard.

Why he’d picked the name of Carter Bain was beyond me. I guess it had a nice ring to it. It didn’t matter. Carter was gone. Banished from my mind and my heart forever. Barty’s-a-shit had instead moved in, taking up permanent residence. As was my hatred for him.

Despite my vengeful demand that he leave me alone, Barty’s-a-shit hadn’t strayed very far from me since Angie, Stevron, and Donahue had departed.

He hadn’t spoken either and I was glad for that.

A slight static buzz in my right ear alerted me. I pressed the headphones closer and held my breath. The buzz lengthened, then shortened. It faded and then came back at me. A definite signal. Faint and distant. A satisfied grin spread across my lips.

I quickly began to jot down the pattern of the signal in my notebook that was resting on my thighs. The signal was irregular, broken, definitely not that of a radio transmission. No, someone was trying to make contact. Telegraphing some kind of code.

My pulse picked up. I wet my lips in excitement and was about to speak when a loud crash sounded outside the booth.

I jumped to my feet. Banged my head on something and felt the headphones rip from my ears. The notebook slipped from my grip and I made a snatching action as my knees started to buckle.

Carter, no Barty’s-a-shit grabbed my arm to steady me. I cringed as revolution and a foreign energy surged through me. I pulled away. My foot caught on something, probably the leg of my listening stool. My left shoulder smashed into the steel wall of the booth. I cried out.

I felt Barty’s-a-shit’s arm come around me and I recoiled in disgust as another rush pulsed from him. I turned my head and snarled. “Get away from me.”

I felt Barty’s-a-shit stiffen. He immediately released me. I swayed. I reached out and thankfully connected with the seat of the stool. I took a deep breath.

Noise was erupting outside the booth.

“Get me out of here!” I shouted. “Open the door!”

A few moments later, I felt a wave of cool air wash over my face. I headed in that direction. I reached out and felt my way along the inside wall of the small booth until my hand caught the edge of the door frame. I grabbed the familiar handle next to the opening and stepped down to the ground.

Voices, loud and panicked shouted from all directions. Angie’s. Stevron’s. Donahue and Verena’s.

I turned in the direction of Verena Vance’s voice. Hope and dread mixing together. Verena was Dirk’s older cousin, a scientist and part of the crew that had headed out with my father five days ago. Hearing her shouting commands to Donahue wasn’t comforting.

Before I could even think to move, a hand firmly gripped mine. I now knew the feel of the pulsing emitting from that hand. It was Carter’s, no Barty’s-a-shit’s. I tried to pull my hand out of his.

His voice was hard and very different. “Not now!” He growled at me and jerked me into motion.

©Legend of the Sapphyre Wings by Janet Merritt