Hiding behind the couch and out of view of her
potential murderer, Genevieve expected the first sensation she felt would
be the bullet striking her. She sat there, tensed, waiting for it to hit,
wondering if it might be quick and hit her somewhere vital, or if it would
take a few shots in her arms and legs before she finally bled out and
died. She waited for the pain and fire to tell her it was over.
Instead, she felt Sage shaking her arm.
Gen opened her
eyes to see Sage looking at her.
Sage pressed her fingers to her
lips, motioning for her to be quiet.
Great, and what the hell else
did she expect her to do? Start shouting?
Swiftly, Sage started
mouthing words, and it took all of Gen's focus to figure out what she was
saying. At last she understood, and immediately wished she didn't.
Distract him. Distract him?!
Sage was mad. She had to be. Why would she ask her to do that?
What was she supposed to do? Melt his icy heart with a warm island song?
Gen shrugged, horrified that this task was being left up to her,
but Sage waved at her impatiently, then pulled herself into a crouch and
faced the broken punching bag.
Distraction, distraction... Not
even being able to magically blow out a candle with her mind would come in
handy right now.
Hanging over her shoulder, Gen caught sight of
her long blonde braid and, more importantly, the hair band that held the
bottom. If years of shooting elastics back and forth in class with Levi
when their teacher's back was turned had taught her anything, it was that
they could be pretty damn distracting.
She tore the elastic from
her hair just as she heard the gunman draw closer, then she yanked it
between her index finger and thumb, and sent the thing flying over the
couch and towards the right wall. The elastic struck the brick, and she
heard feet shuffle as the noise startled their assailant.
At that
moment, Sage took her cue and leapt toward the punching bag. With a speed
and grace Gen wouldn't have believed had she not see it firsthand, Sage
took a handful of sand from the floor and flung it at the gunman. Gen
snuck a glance over the couch to see the man reach for his eyes and
stumble backward, the sand having temporarily blinded him. His next few
bullets missed Sage entirely as she hopped over the couch to face him.
Unable to see much of the action from her vantage point, Gen slid
across the floor and around the side of the couch to watch the fight
unfold.
Though Sage managed to kick his gun from his hand, the
assailant recovered quickly. Regaining his sight, the man threw a series
of punching combos at her, which she could do little to block or avoid.
She pivoted out his reach, but ended up backed against the couch, and in
seconds his hands were around her throat, squeezing. She kicked at him and
tore at his arms, but his face showed no sign of pain—only annoyance. He
kept one hand on her throat, tightening his grip to the point she gasped
and her eyes nearly popped from her skull, then grabbed her wrist with his
other hand and wrenched it in a twist.
Sage might have screamed if
any sound could breach the stop on her windpipe.
Gen looked around
wildly, hoping to find something that might help—something to hit the guy
with or throw at him in distraction, but this time a hair elastic
definitely wouldn't be doing it...
The sound of gunfire ceased her
search, and she turned to see what had happened.
Please don't let there be any more of those
guys... But no, they were still alone, only now
blood was splattered across Sage's face and upper body, and the assassin
slumped to the floor in front of her. There were two bloody holes in his
head.
Both Gen and Sage stared transfixed on the image of Merri
standing in the middle of the staircase that lead up the loft, a gun held
expertly in her two hands and pointed at the unmoving corpse.
"Shit," Gen muttered. She looked from Merri to the dead guy, then
to Merri again. "You killed him."
Meredith walked down the stairs
without a word, her face emotionless as she stopped next to the body of
their former attacker, and emptied three more bullets into him. She
flicked on the gun's safety and rested it on the back of the couch, then
regarded Gen with a steady, cold gaze.
"Yeah, and we should
probably move him before much more blood stains the floor."
It was
about then that Genevieve's nerves finally snapped.
"I don't...I
just can't...this is insane—we were just shot at, then you killed a guy
and there's blood everywhere and Michael's dead. I just can't—"
"Michael's not dead," Merri cut in.
"He was shot three
times—"
"He's not dead."
"No," Michael called from where
he still sat against the wall. "But thanks to all of you for checking on
me after dispatching of the threat."
Sage looked just as shook up
as Gen felt, but she regained herself quickly and ran over to Michael's
side, along with Meredith, to help him stand.
Gen was too busy
staring at the dead guy on the floor to think to help. He was dead.
Granted, he was trying to kill them, so it wasn't like she would be
mourning him, but...but still, a strange sickness overcame her, and as she
wrapped her arms across her chest, she realized she was shaking.
The others brought Michael over to sit on the couch while Gen
paced back and forth across the floor, the speed of her stride increasing
as she went. She was nearly frantic by the time Sage grabbed her arm and
pulled her to a halt.
"Jesus, Genevieve, would you calm down—"
"No!" Gen yanked her arm from Sage's grasp and spun to face her.
"I won't calm down!" Under normal circumstances, she would hate to cry in
front of any of these people, but she was too upset to think to be
embarrassed, and the tears flowed freely from her eyes. "I shouldn't be
calm right now! Am I the only sane one around here?"
"Look," Sage
said, her hand shaking a little as she ran it through her dark braids.
"We'll get him to the hospital and we'll figure this out—"
"I'm
not going to a hospital," Michael said.
Gen took a moment to look
over where he'd been shot. One bullet clipped him in the upper arm, the
other in the shoulder, while the third was the only one to actually hit
him in the chest. Still, there was a hell of a lot of blood there, and
with his pained expression, it wasn't hard to assume he was hurting.
"You look like you need to go to the hospital," Sage said.
"Someone show's up shot, they immediately call the police," Merri
said. "No hospital."
"And you don't think the dead guy on the
floor won't attract the cops too?" Gen shouted.
"Not with a
silencer on the gun, but your yelling might," Michael barked. "So shut up
already."
"Shut up?! Fuck, we just got shot at and you're almost
dead but still as unpleasant as ever and Merri killed a guy and Sage was
almost strangled and—"
"First, we need to get the body out of
here," Michael said to the others, ignoring Gen for the time being.
"Merri, get something to wrap him in and bring my car around to the front
door."
Meredith nodded and disappeared into a back room without
argument.
"Wait, we're disposing of a body now?" Gen said.
Michael shot her a look. "You're not doing anything, nor are you
leaving this place until you calm the fuck down."
"You can't go
anywhere all shot up," Sage said.
"I won't be—you and Merri can
take care of moving the body."
As Meredith returned with a box of
garbage bags, Michael wasted no time dispersing more directions to her.
"Get me the first aid kit as well, and then I want you and Sage to wrap up
the body and get rid of it." While Merri went to get the first aid kit
from the bathroom, Michael turned to Sage with surprising gentleness to
his voice. "Are you all right?"
Sage absently reached for her
neck. "I'm okay."
"You did well."
She looked doubtful of
his compliment. "But he would have killed me if Merri hadn't—"
"You didn't panic. You did well."
She gave a short nod.
"Thank you, Sensei."
"Merri will know what to do with the body;
follow her instructions."
"Can I please go home now?" Gen said,
her voice close to breaking as tears threatened to start once more.
"No—go to the kitchen, get some cloths and a fill a large bowl
with water."
Merri returned then to hand Michael the first aid
kit, then as she and Sage set to wrapping up the corpse, Gen turned her
back on the group and went to the kitchen. She hunted through the
cupboards for the items he requested, happy at least that she had
something to distract her now.
She heard the front door open and
the others grunt and mutter over moving the heavy dead body, so she turned
on the tap and let the water run on full. She really didn't need to hear
that and be reminded of the dead guy.
"Boil the water first,"
Michael growled from behind her.
Gen jumped and swung around to
see him leaning against the kitchen table. Sweat poured down his forehead
and he was noticeably pale.
"You look like you've lost a lot of
blood..."
"Just boil the damn water."
Gen rolled her
eyes—she didn't know why she bothered feeling bad for him.
She
found a kettle and filled it with water, then set it to boil on the stove.
Reluctantly, she went back to Michael to see how he was doing, and hoped
he didn't have any more tasks for her.
"Scissors," he said.
"What about them?"
"Get them!"
"Stop shouting at
me!"
"Excuse me, but I was just shot three times, and you're
bitching about me yelling at you?"
Without a word, Gen hunted down
the scissors, and handed them to him.
He cut through his shirt,
which seemed awkward with only the use of one hand, but Gen abstained from
offering to help because he'd probably just growl at her some more. Once
he had sliced down the middle of his t-shirt, he cast the scissors aside
and peeled the bloody material back.
"Did any of the bullets go
through?" he asked.
"I would know that how?"
His
impatience was growing, but if Gen was lucky, he just might pass out
before he could yell at her anymore.
"You'll know if there are any
holes in my back."
Oh, right. How could he be bleeding to death,
and still swifter than her?
She counted two bullet holes in his
back, and while she'd never thought of herself as all that squeamish
before at the mere sight of blood, the fresh wounds were making her
shiver.
"There's one there and there."
"Where and where?
You know I can't see my back, right?"
"Well, I'm not going to like
touch them or something!"
"Are you capable of telling which hole
in my back corresponds with which one on my chest?"
That she
managed to do, and if she never had to see another bullet wound after it,
she'd be happy.
"How are you going to get the bullet out?" she
asked, almost afraid to know.
"The way one usually does," he
replied as he opened the first aid kit and pulled out a strange looking
pair of tweezers. "Pull it out."
Gen's eyes got wide. "You don't
mean for—"
"Fuck no, I wouldn't trust you. The water's done
boiling—pour it in the bowl and bring it to the table to cool."
She did as he instructed, thankful she wouldn't have to be doing
any emergency bullet surgery herself.
"There's a removable mirror
on the bathroom wall—go get it."
She did that as well without
complaint.
"Hold the mirror," he said as she returned. "And
please...keep it steady."
Gen averted her eyes the entire
painstaking time Michael was pulling the bullet out of his chest.
Surprisingly, it didn't seem to take that long. She couldn't be certain
because she hadn't looked at her watch since before all the gunfire, but
it didn't feel like much time had passed before he said, "Okay, you can
put the mirror down now."
She set it on the table and hoped that
would be all he required of her for now, but the tasks weren't complete
yet.
Michael emptied out the first aid kid onto the table and
picked out several packages of bandages and sterile cloths.
"Watch
what I do here—I need you to do the same on my back. Got it?"
Gen
nodded.
It didn't seem terribly complicated; hold something there
to stop the bleeding, clean of the blood afterward, disinfect the area,
and dress the wound, though she still wasn't eager about it.
"Have
you done this a lot?" she asked.
"What?"
"Removed bullets
and patched up yourself?"
"More times than I'd like to have," he
said with a roll of his eyes.
"Can I ask you something?"
"I don't imagine I can stop you, though I'd prefer you talk and
work."
She went to work on his back, following the same steps he
had demonstrated.
"Do you get it yet?" she asked as she cleaned
the blood from his back. "I'm...I'm not this person you think I am. I
can't do this. I mean, I froze back there—completely froze."
"You
helped."
"Oh, right, yeah. I flung a hair elastic at the guy
because Sage told me to."
"Sage told you to throw a hair elastic?"
"No, she told me to distract him."
"And you did. That was
quick thinking on your part, and demonstrated competent problem solving
skills."
"Gee, that almost kinda sounds like a compliment."
"Don't let it go to your head—I still think you're pretty
useless."
She soaked a cloth in the hot water and pressed it to
his back with little care. He flinched from the contact and sent a glare
over his shoulder.
"Sorry," she mumbled, only half meaning it.
"Besides the fact that you froze, what makes you think you can't
do this?"
"Because...because Merri shot a guy. I can't shoot guys.
Or girls. Or anyone. I'm like a pacifist."
"
Like a pacifist, or are a
pacifist?"
"I don't know. It doesn't matter. The point is I'm
passive and I don't want to be shooting anyone."
"Well, you don't
have to worry about that."
"No?"
"No. I'm certainly not
going to be giving you a gun."
"That's really a comfort." After
cleaning around the wound and disinfecting it, she set to taping bandages
in place. "There. Can I go home now?"
"Sit down."
With a
sigh, she sat on the table about a foot away from him and waited while he
downed a few aspirins. He tied his shirt into a temporary sling and
slipped it on.
"You want to know why you can't put the candle
out?" he asked her.
"I already know—it's because I don't have any
supernatural powers."
"You're half right; there's nothing 'super'
about your powers..."
She was about to mutter something about him
being an asshole when he continued.
"They're completely natural
for you. Your failure to put out the candle is not a lack of ability, it's
a psychological block. You haven't been able to do it because you're
afraid."
"Well, duh. Freud, you're definitely not—you haven't even
reached Dr. Phil status. I've said how many times already this terrifies
me? That isn't news."
The loss of blood was either doing something
to his patience, or he was just having a delayed reaction to everything,
since Genevieve observed he wasn't as quick to throw out berating comments
as usual. With some luck, he might pass out at any moment.
"You're
afraid about what it'll mean if you can put out that candle," he said,
ignoring her insults. "Right now, it doesn't matter what happens—you don't
have to believe it. By believing it, and accepting it as real, will mean
admitting the responsibility this brings, and that scares you."
She pondered this for a few moments. He wasn't wrong, though she
loathed to admit it.
"But I...I'm not going to be able to do this.
I can't kill people—I know myself well enough to say that for sure. I
still can't wrap my head around what Merri did..."
"You're going
to have to learn—they
will kill you."
"Sage couldn't even stop them,
though! And if she can't—"
"What's the difference between you and
the man that came to kill you tonight?"
"Uh, let's see..." She
started listing things on her fingers, one by one. "First, he had a gun.
And he's got mad fighting skills. And he's stronger than me. And he's
experienced, presumably. And—"
"And none of that matters."
"Really? 'Cause it looked like it did to me, and probably to Sage
too."
"The only difference that matters is he wouldn't hesitate to
kill you. You can have a gun, and fighting skills, and strength, and it
wouldn't level the playing field with him. Sage could have ended all this
a week ago if she'd taken care of them after she knocked them out, but she
didn't for the same reason you can't—when it comes down to making the
killing blow, you'd hesitate, whereas he wouldn't."
"Yeah, well
that sounds like a good thing to me; I don't want to kill anyone."
"For a lot of people, it's perhaps an admirable quality," he
agreed. "But you don't have that luxury. Your life is more important than
that."
"But so is his!" she insisted. Tears started forming in her
eyes again as she grew more and more upset. "And don't give me this B.S.
about him just being a killing machine—it's still a
person. It's still a life—a life
that's not better or worse than mine."
"And that's where you're
wrong. You, Sage, and Meredith—your lives are infinitely more important.
More than his, more than mine, more than anyone else you know. You three
matter."
She buried her face in her hands for a moment, too
overwhelmed to listen anymore. Everything he said…it hurt. More than any
physical pain, more than anything else she could think of. The weight, the
pressure—it was all too much to handle.
At last, she wiped some of
the tears from her eyes and looked up at him. "I don't want this."
"It's not about what you want, Genevieve," he said evenly, as if
impervious to caring how upset she was. "This is what you are."
"I
don't want to be this..."
"And I'm telling you, there isn't a
decision to be made about this. It's done. Either you survive it, or you
fuck over the whole world because you're scared."
Well, when he put it like that...
"So what are we supposed to do now?" she
asked.
"Exactly what we have been. You need to stop fucking around
and do what you're supposed to, and I have to hope to hell Sage gets her
act together too."
"But you said—"
"She did do well, for
where she is, but that's far from where she should be right now. And the
three of you need to be more careful. Stay with one another at all times,
and never go anywhere alone. Before today, they haven't come to anyone's
home, though, so things could be stepping up a bit..."
"My home?
You mean, like, with my mom and dad and my dog? But—"
"Honestly, I
don't know what they'll do now. But one is gone. This might draw out the
others, then there's just three to take care of."
"And whoever
sent them."
"Right."
"That's still a lot of dangerous
people."
"Then you'd better get working."
Once Merri and Sage returned, Michael went to his
room to slip on a fresh shirt and an actual sling for his arm. Just as the
group was getting in the car to leave, the delivery boy arrived with their
ordered food, though no one felt much like eating. Merri stowed it in
Michael's fridge for another day.
They dropped Sage off first then
drove to the Weist residence. Gen had never been so glad to get home,
though she had been thinking that every time she came home for the last
week. Though ready to bolt from Michael's car as he pulled up in front of
her house, she froze as he called, "Wait."
She met his eyes in the
rear-view mirror. God, what the hell could he want now?
He sent a
glance to Merri, who seemed to understand what he wanted without him
uttering a word. She leaned forward, popped open the glove compartment,
and handed him the book she found inside.
Michael looked at the
slim, hardcover book for a moment, then met Gen's gaze again in the
mirror, and thrust the book over his shoulder.
At least he's not throwing it at
me, she
thought as she tentatively took the book.
"What's this?" she asked
as she flipped open the cover and leafed through the pages. Some sheets
were blank, while others contained several paragraphs of writing here and
there, though she couldn't read anything in the dim light. The format
itself seemed annoyingly familiar, however. "It looks like a workbook."
"It's a journal, so to speak," he said. "Something for you to
record things in, be it your progress, dreams, weird
occurrences—anything."
"Should I be expecting any weird
occurrences?"
"You might find it helpful, Gen," Meredith said.
"Just every time you practice something, or try a spell or whatever, write
stuff down. Keep a record."
"You do this too?" Gen asked.
Merri nodded. "I have for awhile."
"And all the other
writing and things?"
"It's something you shouldn't be trying for
awhile yet," Michael said.
"Is it magic?"
"They are
exercises," he corrected her.
"Fireballs?"
"No."
"Damn."
"I don't think I need to remind you to keep this
private," Michael said.
"No, but you probably will anyway."
"Don't leave it somewhere for people to find, and don't be waving
it around."
"I won't." Jesus, how old did he think she was?
"Uh...thanks."
Penny was eagerly waiting for Genevieve when she
opened the front door. And the dog wasn't the only one.
"Where the
hell have you been?" Rebecca Weist said, pouncing on her daughter the
moment she stepped in the door.
"Studying at Merri's house."
"Who?"
Gen rolled her eyes. "Meredith McCreary, the girl
from my Geography class. I told you that this morning. You're losing
it—it's probably 'cause you're old."
"Don't you take that tone
with me today, young lady—you and I need to have a talk."
As her
mother started for the kitchen, Gen slipped the journal Michael gave her
into her bag then followed.
"Sit down," Rebecca said, and as Gen
complied, her father entered the room as well.
Uh oh... God, it
was bad enough Genevieve felt like crying into her pillow with the weight
of everything on her already, and now her mother was going to lecture her
about something stupid?
"Do you want to explain to me why I came
home to a dozen messages on the machine from your school?" Her mother
crossed her arms over her chest and waited, one blonde brow arched in
expectation. "Hmm?"
I was busy being nearly killed by some guy with a
gun, my friend murdered him, another guy got shot, and so I couldn't be
home to erase the messages before you saw them? That didn't seem like
the kind of answer her mother was looking for, however.
"Presumably because I skipped class today to go to the library to
study with Sage?" Gen said instead.
"I thought you were with
Meredith."
"Yeah, I met up with her at her place tonight."
"Genny, you've never studied a day in your life," her father said.
"Well, I thought it was a good time to, uh, start?" Gen's gaze
went from her mother's to her father's. Neither seemed to believe her.
"If you're doing all this studying, why didn't you hand in your
English essay?"
What the hell? "Um, what?"
"Your English teacher called me this evening to inform me if you
didn't hand in your last essay."
"Jesus, I can't believe that—I
was in her stupid class today and rather than say something to me then,
she called you about it? What a bitch."
"That doesn't matter—the
point is you should have had it done."
Christ, who was her mother
kidding? Since when did she get anything done on time for class?
"And what happened to your arm?"
Genevieve glanced down at
her bruised wrist and recalled Sage's "training session" earlier that
paired her with an overly-strong Michael. His grip coupled with the fact
she easily bruised produced some questionable marks on her wrist and
forearm.
"Phys Ed. They had us out there playing rugby, co-ed and
everything. It was way rough—I'll probably skip it next time."
"You won't be skipping anything," her mother warned. "Not anymore.
You are to come straight home tomorrow, you're staying home all weekend,
and you're going to get that damn essay handed in."
Gen was going
to argue more, but truth be told, she felt safer in her house anyway, so
she wouldn't put up a fight about missing out on being at Michael's
tomorrow. With any luck, crazy killer people would just harass the others,
then Merri could shoot them all, and Gen wouldn't have to deal with it.
Problem solved.
"Do you hear me—"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll do
that. In fact, after I take Penny out, I'll run upstairs and work on it
right away, okay?"
Though she wasn't sure that satisfied her
mother, Rebecca didn't complain further, so Gen tossed her bag by the
stairs, grabbed Penny, and hurried out the door.
After a quick
walk with Penny, Gen slipped back inside the house and tried to be as
quiet as possible.
Apparently she was more than quiet, because as
she crept up the stairs to her room, her parents didn't notice her and
continued their discussion about her in their bedroom.
Normally,
Gen didn't eavesdrop on her parents' conversation. She almost did once,
and hearing them say one sentence about their sex life was enough to
traumatize her for life. Just as she passed their partially open door on
the way to her own room, however, she paused as she heard her name.
"She hasn't been acting right for the past week," Rebecca
insisted.
Leo sighed. "What do you think, then? Drugs?"
"I
don't know—I can't see that. But have you met any of these new people
she's been with?"
"No, and it is odd," Leo agreed. "She's not
exactly sociable. I don't think she's gone anywhere with anyone for the
past three years other than Levi and Stephany."
Gen rolled her
eyes at this. God, her parents didn't have many friends either—what the
hell were they complaining about?
"I know she said she was in an
accident on the weekend, but then her arms today... I don't like it."
"You don't think that..." His voice trailed off before Gen could
learn exactly what he meant by that.
"I don't know. I hope not.
I'm sure Levi would tell us if she was with anyone hurting her..."
Why the hell? They thought she was in an abusive relationship?
"Dammit, I was so relieved she wouldn't ever be dating boys for
this very reason—and the pregnancy thing—that I didn’t even think she
could get knocked around by a girl too."
"I probably should have
made more of an effort to talk about this with her," Rebecca said. "I know
girls can be just as violent as boys are these days."
No kidding, Mom; you should meet Sage.
Having had enough of the conversation, Gen
crept the rest of the way to her room, and after Penny was inside, she
shut the door, flung her messenger bag on the bed, and sank down against
the wall to sit with her head buried in her knees. How could it be that in
merely a week her life had gone from happily uneventful to one where her
parents were arguing over her supposedly abusive girlfriend while she hid
from them the fact that she was almost killed a couple of times?
And let's not forget that pesky apocalypse thing
that's supposed to be coming up, she thought. Michael hadn't said another word
about that, which she was thankful for because any more pressure might
just make her head explode.
To top it off, she had an essay on
Macbeth due that she'd neglected to hand in—or even finish—days earlier.
That wouldn't have been her top priority even before all this happened,
and it certainly wouldn't be getting done now, despite what she told her
mother.
Instead, she opted for a different sort of homework.
After rummaging through her free-for-all dresser drawer for a few
minutes, Genevieve came across an untouched scented candle and some
matches. She flicked off the lights then walked across the dark room until
she came to her low windowsill, where she set the candle. She knelt in
front of it, then lit a match and touched the fire to the candle wick.
Yellow light spread across her face, casting shadows in the dark room.
Michael was right, though she'd never breathe that aloud, and
certainly not to him. There was no more being scared of this. No more
denying what was actually happening to her. Either face this now or...
Or she may not live to have another chance.
Letting her
mind relax, she regarded the candle flame with distance this time rather
than the single-minded focus she had tried before.
Extinguish. She couldn't be sure,
but she swore the flame flickered ever so slightly. Thinking it could be
all in her mind, she checked to see if there were any drafts sneaking past
the closed window—and there weren't—then sat back a bit to ensure she
didn’t accidentally breathe on the candle.
Extinguish.
That time it definitely flickered. And the
next few tries produced the same results.
Something still wasn't
right...and she couldn't entirely place her finger on it.
You're afraid. That was what Michael said.
Sure enough, even now, with the comfortable temperature of her room, Gen
felt a chill overcome her. Michael chalked it up to fear of accepting what
was to come, but what if there was more to it than that?
Maybe she
shouldn't bother with anything more tonight...
Gen pulled her bag
off her bed and took out the journal Michael gave her, as well as a pen,
and went to the first blank page.
Tried putting out the
candle,
she wrote.
Didn't work. Still not sure about this. Also,
Michael is a douche bag. Well, that seemed a little brief now that
she looked at it. What else could she write about? The strangest
occurrence so far had been the guy trying to kill her, and she wasn't
ready to put that to the page yet. What else was there...
Dreams.
And she'd had plenty of those. All at once she recalled the eerie
dream/nightmare from nearly a week ago—the dream of the girl who looked
like her, but at the same time was so different. She had no sooner put the
pen to the page when it hit her what she really feared...
If I can do this, what will I become?
Would she still be herself? Lazy, full of
self-doubt, and passive, sure, but that was all she'd ever been. She
didn't want to be someone else. But somewhere in the darkness of her room,
Gen felt that other girl standing there, all proud and confident,
beckoning to her—calling her out of her shell, to face what she couldn't
escape, no matter how she avoided it.
Genevieve felt the warmth
overcome her—no chill, no cold could touch her now. Her blue eyes went to
the candle flame, only another's gaze seemed to be with her own, both
familiar and foreign at the same time...
Extinguish.
The sight of the flame dying suddenly took
her aback, and she blinked a few times, fully herself once more.
Oh my God... She did it. It was out.
She put the stupid candle out!
Unable to control her grin, Gen
hopped to her feet, flipped on a bedside lamp, and grabbed the journal to
start writing.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
*~*~*
Michael saw the candle flame snuffed out from the
driver's seat of his dark sedan across the street of Genevieve's house.
Seconds later, her room filled with light.
Her face had been
barely visible in the dim glow of the candle, and she appeared to be
really trying this time. He didn't doubt that she was.
And so it begins. His hand on the key in
the ignition, he was about to turn the car on, when he paused to take one
last glance at the window. Was there relief now that she could finally do
it? Or dread?
Michael pushed his worries from his mind and started
the engine. Relief or dread—did it even matter anymore?
They'd all
know which it was soon enough.
