Michael Griffo - Unnatural

And then he saw the girl trying to run out the door.

Or am I dead? The piece of wood in Alistair’s hand shook so violently he had to press it against his leg to steady it. He had never conceived of taking his own life, but he had no choice. If today was an example of what his life had become, it was no longer worth living.

He only prayed that God would understand.

No prayers filled Jeremiah’s heart when he grabbed Imogene and pulled her toward him, only the desire to kill. Screaming and kicking, Imogene was able to wrench herself free and push Jeremiah back, his foot slipping on the bedsheet that had fallen to the floor. When he fell, it took him a second to realize that he had been impaled through the heart by the wooden stake that was used to keep the roses in place. But it took only another second for his body to be consumed by flames.

Imogene covered her face in horror and disbelief as she watched Jeremiah disappear in the fire.

Alistair didn’t see the same fiery image in the mirror because he had shut his eyes before ramming the stake through his own heart.

Closing Ronan’s journal, Michael pressed it to his chest and for the first time in days felt complete.

He had no idea death was hovering so nearby. He could only feel himself being reborn.

It was dark when Michael woke up. He had thought he would just close his eyes for a few moments, think of the perfect way to tell Ronan that he was ready to share eternity with him, imagine how happy he would look, how relieved and ecstatic, but his body had given in to the exhaustion.

Now, his eyes fluttering to adjust to the absence of light, he remained still; he needed to wait a while longer before he would be strong enough to move. Until then he hugged Ronan’s journal tighter to his chest, wishing it were the boy himself, and called out his name. There was no answer; he was alone. Michael wasn’t afraid, but he knew intuitively that he had to find Ronan soon. His time was running out.

When he finally felt his energy return he slowly rose, fully aware of the pains that traversed throughout his body. There was the throbbing in his head, sharp twinges of heat pulsating in his hands and feet, his throat was rough and incredibly dry, his eyes were sore, and the stabbing pains that had plagued his stomach for the past few days had melded together to become one agonizing ache. He felt as if his entire body were being mangled, crushed from the inside, and he knew the only way to end the pain was to find Ronan. But where was he?

Outside St. Florian’s, he was vaguely aware of the chill. It didn’t cause him to shiver. On the contrary, it roused him, the cold bringing down his temperature by a few degrees, the wind pushing him forward. Then he smelled something. He inhaled what he thought was a familiar scent; could just be the earth, but it could also be Ronan, so without a clear path to pursue he followed its trail. He walked east past St. Joshua’s, past the white roses that were still in full bloom despite the late month and the inhospitable weather, past St. Martha’s, where the pungent aroma of beef stew and boiled potatoes seasoned in rosemary infiltrated the air. Michael paused only for a second when he realized the smell no longer made him hungry; in fact, it no longer had any connection to his new world. He took it as yet another sign that such basic human needs were part of his past and that he needed to move toward his fate, toward Ronan.

Breathing in deeply once more, he didn’t know who the smell belonged to, but he was certain it was human. Ever since becoming a vampire, even when he refused to believe the possibility truly existed, Michael had noticed a change in his senses. They were gradually becoming heightened just as Ronan and even Nakano had said they would. His vision, his hearing, his sense of smell, were all vastly improved. And when he touched things, simple things like a coffee cup, fabric, his own skin, the sensations were intense. He couldn’t wait to be alone with Ronan again to find out how much more intense those sensations could become. But for now he needed to focus on the sounds he heard in the distance.

Just beyond the entrance to The Forest he heard a twig break, then a few seconds later, he heard someone stumble on a rock. There were two people out here along with him even though all of Double A was under curfew. Michael walked toward the sounds and reminded himself that a student could be out after dark if accompanied by an adult so perhaps that accounted for the separate noises. But when he saw who was making them, he realized he was wrong.

Imogene was running blindly, and several yards behind her was Fritz. Even this far away, Michael could hear the girl’s panting, her quick breathing, and he knew she was frightened. When she turned her head around for a quick look behind her, he saw that her face was pale, her bangs wet with sweat, her eyes wide. Why in the world would she be so afraid of Fritz?

Unless he was trying to hurt her.

“Imogene, wait up!” Fritz cried out, his voice thick and commanding. Imogene’s vision was so blurred by her sweat and tears, her ears still ringing with Jeremiah’s screams behind the crackling of flames, that she didn’t recognize Fritz’s voice; she didn’t know it was her friend running behind her. She only knew that she was being chased. She thought she would be able to hide in The Forest, lose this stalker, but it was a stupid decision; she was alone now in the woods, and whoever was behind her was gaining speed. Every time she opened her mouth to scream, to call for help, she felt her throat constrict, her lungs battle to find air. Fear was suffocating her, making her limbs feel like heavy steel. She had witnessed such unexplainable horror today, she knew that if she didn’t move faster, if she didn’t get help soon, something unspeakable was going to happen to her too. She was sure of it.

“Imogene!” Fritz called out. “Where are you going?!” Why the hell is she running away from me? Fritz had lost track of time and left St. Sebastian’s just after the sun set. He went there to swim some laps alone to try and clear his mind of all the crazy things that had been happening. First Penry gets killed, then Michael’s missing in action for a couple of days, and Phaedra, no matter how many times he tried to comfort her, just kept saying she wanted to be alone. “That bloody well suits me just fine,” Fritz had told her, not that he meant it. He wanted to hold her, feel her soft shoulders relax under his arms, and say all the words to her that were jumbled inside his head. Make a bit of sense out of the confusion he was feeling.

That’s why he sought refuge in the pool. He needed life for a few moments to be just about him and the invigorating water. Swimming in the narrow lane of the pool, he could make sense of things, he understood what he needed to do. Put his right arm over his head, then his left, then lift his head to breathe. It was a simple rhythm, a known routine, nothing at all like life outside the pool. Everything outside the water was royally screwed up and getting worse by the second.

Why won’t she just stop so I can help her back to St. Anne’s? Fritz thought. She couldn’t walk all the way over there by herself, not with the curfew, not with whatever or whoever killed Penry still on the loose. He stopped abruptly when he heard the growl. It was low and deliberate. “Who’s there?” Stupid question, Fritz, like an animal’s going to respond. But it did. With an even louder growl, this time with a cracking sound at the end of it like a jaw breaking or expanding. Fritz looked in front of him and saw Imogene just as she disappeared into the woods. When he turned back around, all he saw was fog.

“What the …?” he muttered. He couldn’t see anything in front of him except a thick gray mist hovering a few feet away. He held his breath, his ears searching the grounds for a sound, any sound that would indicate the beast was getting closer, but he didn’t hear a thing. Then he noticed something odd: He wasn’t afraid. He should be; there was something out there, something very close by, but he felt, no, he knew that somehow he would be unharmed. But just to be safe, he turned and began to sprint and didn’t stop running until he heard the front door to St. Peter’s Dormitory lock behind him.