Ingrid Seymour - Ignite the Shadows

Since that day, we’ve done countless things together and know everything about each other. I sat with him when he got his first tattoo and the first time a girl dumped him—even if I never said a word, he still let me hold his hand. I’ve even memorized the exact shade of his hazel eyes for his every mood. I wish I knew why lately I’ve seen plenty of that dark, threatening hue when in the past, I’ve only seen it directed at others, especially those who mess with me.

“Why would you let them infect my rig like that? All my hard work’s probably messed up for good. Why?” I really want to understand.

“Oh, it was a harmless message, Marci. They said it wouldn’t hurt anything.” Uncertainty crosses his eyes for a second, then he asks, “Everything still works, right?” But it’s not a caring question. It’s a challenge. He doesn’t want to believe they would play him.

I could tell him that I don’t know, that I didn’t have a chance to check, but I choose to let doubt settle on him. I hope it’s heavy. His eyes waver. Good.

“Well Xave, I’d say we’re even now. So maybe now you can stop being so mad at me.”

If anything, my comment only makes him angrier. Ha! And they say women don’t make any sense.

“What do they want with me, anyway? I already told them. I. Do. Not. Join,” I say.

At the question, he looks as puzzled as I feel. Then it hits me: he doesn’t know what’s going on any more than I do. They didn’t tell him jack. I chuckle at the irony. The newest member of IgNiTe knows nothing. It’s probably part of their cult philosophy.

“It beats me,” Xave admits. And there’s bitterness in his tone and something else, too. Jealousy?

Oh, man. That’s it! He’s jealous. I should have seen it before. For months, all he’s talked about is discovering what his brother’s up to. Ever since they were little, Xave has looked up to Clark, emulating him in every respect. And now that he’s finally within his brother’s circle, he hates to see the attention shift to me.

The question remains. Why are they interested in me?

I know what you are.

IgNiTe’s message flashes in front of my eyes. I try to pretend the words mean nothing, that it was only a stupid prank, meant to get my attention. I hate to admit it worked.

“What do these people do, Xave? What did they tell you? Why are they interested in recruiting … high school kids?”

“If you’re so interested in the details, I guess you’ll have to join, won’t ya?” he says, then walks away rubbing his chin, making a raspy sound.

“Cut the bull-crap. It’s obvious they didn’t tell you anything. Don’t act as if you’re with the in crowd , now. Tell James and IgNiTe or whoever that I’m not interested.”

He lays a hand on the door knob, ready to get back inside. “Whatever you say, Marci.” He speaks over his shoulder.

“Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll stay out of your way, so you can play Bad Boys with your brother without me cramping your style.”

Something like regret takes shape in Xave’s eyes. He looks as if he wants to say something. His lips part, but as I see he’s at the verge of letting the words out, I spin on my heels and walk away.

I’m too mad to even look at him anymore. If I stay, there’ll be no hope of ever keeping this friendship or controlling the shadows. It’s the latter that scares me the most.

When I get home, the house is quiet. Mom’s not back from work yet. I go straight to my room, fall on my knees under the desk and pull out one of the CPUs. I unplug all the cables and carry the metal box to the opposite end of the room, where there’s another electric plug. I go back and forth, snatching a monitor, mouse, keyboard, and cables out of my stockpile.

I boot the machine by itself, isolated from the other computers to avoid cross-contamination. When it comes up with no problems, I still don’t trust it. With quick keystrokes and mouse clicks, I fly from one scanning routine to another. After one hour of scouring, using programs written by me and others, I come up empty. There is no trace of any malicious code.

Exhausted, I sit cross-legged on the floor in the deep silence, my back curved, my chin touching my chest. I feel beaten and vulnerable. My eyes lock on an old Cheerio that lies on the floor. For a hair’s breadth, my mind goes blank.

Sensing the wasteland of my thoughtless mind, shadows lurk, stalk—like lions crouched amid tall, golden grass. I’ve become a sitting duck. As a trained response, adrenaline explodes inside me and gets my heart hammering. I smell the threat, sense the hunger, and my own fear threatening to paralyze me.

Stand up .

Breathe.

Bugs Bunny.

Get to work .

I become a moving target—my instincts razor sharp, the product of a lifetime fending off countless assaults. In a frenzy, I check the rest of the computers in the same fashion. When I finish, my frustration is even greater than before. I still have no idea how IgNiTe managed to bombard me with those messages.

I know what you are. I know what you are.

The words resonate with me and I get hung up on a particular one. “What.” Not “who you are” but “what you are.”

What did they mean? Is it possible that I’m not …? No! I shake my head, unwilling to take any guesses, desperate to find out what exactly IgNiTe is talking about. Could they be aware of the secret I’ve so carefully guarded all these years? Or is this just some big coincidence? Because it seems unthinkable that they would have an answer to the one question that has obscured my entire life.

But what if they do? Am I foolish enough to hope they can expel the shadows living inside my brain? What if there’s a cure? There’s nothing I want more than to be free of them, than to live without fear.

My head hangs low again, aware that these conjectures are all part of my madness. Because what else could I be but barking mad? The puzzle never ends. How much of my life is real? How much is a product of insanity? Because the truth is: demons don’t exist and possession and exorcism only happen in the movies.

Psychosis on the other hand … they have medication for that.

Not caring anymore whether my system blows up or gets hijacked again, I connect everything the way it’s supposed to be and get back online. I don’t dare go on the H-Loop today. I’m not in the mood, anyhow, so I decide to check my email instead. I open the inbox. A solitary message awaits.

My heart freezes.

From: IgNiTe

Subject: You are NOT the only one

The mouse pointer hovers over the message. There are no attachments that could contain dangerous files, so I open it. In the body of the message, one simple sentence stares at me in bold and italic letters.

Watch the State of the Union Address.

9:21, 25:58, 43:07…

What the … ?

This game isn’t funny. If Xave is behind this new messed-up prank, I’ll kick him so hard he won’t live to spread his seed. My fingers pound the search words into the web browser. When I hit enter, the first listing is a video of the most recent State of the Union Address by President J.P. Helms.

I click on it. It’s one hour and fifteen minutes long.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

I haven’t slept in thirty-five hours. If I play along with this ridiculous game, I’ll be drooling over my keyboard in two minutes flat. Forget it. If I’m gonna sleep, I’ll do it in the comfort of my bed. I’ll get lost in my dreams, where the shadows can’t reach me.

The fact that I’m safe when the sandman whisks me away is proof that I am, indeed, off my rocker, because if there was something living in my brain, wouldn’t nap time be the perfect time for it to attack me? But what do I know? Maybe dreams are too fluid for the shadows to get a hold of them. Besides, I’ve trained myself to fall asleep in five seconds flat with music playing in the background to help my mind maintain a base level of activity.