Fated Loss Read online

  Her brown eyes bore into me. Skylar is pretty intimidating for a ten year old. With her bow and arrow on her back, her hair pulled into a ponytail, and those intense milk-chocolate-brown eyes, she looked a lot older than her age.

  She was also confident as well. She didn't get scared easily. Most ten-year-olds will run away and cry if they met a Griffgon, (Hopefully, they will never have to encounter a Griffgon.) but Skylar kept her cool and charged in to fight like she did this every day. Bottom line—I don't want to get on her bad side.

  “I need to get some fresh air,” I replied.

  “The air is not fresh,” Skylar said.

  “Just watch over Rose, and if I don't come back, don't come looking for me.” I bolted out of the cave before they could ask any more questions.

  Actually, I shouldn't have said that last part. Now they'll be really suspicious, but what else could I do? I can't tell them that I am the only person ever who can see flashes of the future.

  Being a seer should've been cool, but it turned out to be more of a curse. I can still hear the sound of my feet pounding down the stairs—pounding on their way to kill my mother.

  

  I had just gotten out of the school bus, but I was already drenched. Torrents of cold rain had sent chills down my back and made my clothes stick to my skin. Wonderful, I'd thought. I feel sick and now this. But complaining wasn't going to make the slog back home shorter, so I'd ducked my head and trudged on.

  Halfway through the walk, a headache erupted. And by the time I stumbled through my front door, I didn't know what was worse—the storm outside or the storm inside my head. I staggered like a drunk, and my hip rammed into the dining table as I made my way to the stairs.

  I lurched past Mom at the bottom of the steps, and she grabbed my shoulders to steady me. “What's wrong, honey?”

  I shrugged off her hands and clomped upstairs. Being rude definitely wasn't my aim, but I didn't want to talk right now. I don't even know if I could.

  My waterlogged boots squelched with every step to my room. I dropped my backpack on the floor and flopped onto the bed, not caring I was soaking my sheets and blankets through.

  The sandwich I had for lunch crawled its way up my throat over the next few minutes, and the ripping, tearing pain escalated until I thought my head would explode. As the migraine and nausea reached a pitch, I rolled over to the side of the bed. The wooden floor seemed to be tilting.

  Suddenly, the red mahogany floorboards disappeared, and images flooded my mind. I saw myself staring at a B- on a paper that wasn't even assigned yet. And then what my aunt was going to give me for my tenth birthday in a few weeks. The vision changed again, but unlike the previous brief flashes, this image lasted longer. Mom lay crumpled on the floor—her eyes still open. But they were dull, lifeless, empty.

  The headache ceased, images stopped, and my vision cleared. I didn't know what I just saw, but whatever it was, it couldn't be true.

  Who would be there to cheer me up when I am down? Who would be there to provide support when I needed it? Who would be the one to love me unconditionally no matter what? Dad wasn't likely to provide these things. Only Mom could, and she couldn't be gone. She couldn't abandon me like that.

  I flung open my bedroom door. Loud thumping echoed through the house as I pounded down the stairs, my feet landing hard and quick on each step. I hurtled into the kitchen, expecting to find my mother lying on the floor. But instead, she was standing at the kitchen island calmly cutting vegetables for dinner. Everything was so normal it made me feel like an idiot for charging down the steps and making so much noise.

  For a few seconds, I stared at her. After I saw that she was steady on her feet, my hands stopped shaking. I turned around to go back upstairs and sleep off the afternoon, but Mom called me back.

  “You must be really hungry for dinner or something is very wrong,” she said.

  “It's nothing,” I replied. Now that I think about it, everything that happened in my room probably was nothing.

  But Mom knew when I was lying. “Logan, you can tell me anything, remember?”

  I took a seat on the stool across from her. “Promise you won't laugh?”

  She leaned over the counter and kissed the top of my head. “I promise.”

  I still didn't want to, but I told her every single detail of the vision, keeping my head down the entire time I talked. I didn't want to see Mom's expression of disbelief. She kept her promise like with any other promise she made, but claiming I could see the future even made me want to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness.

  As I neared the end of my story, the rhythmic sound of chopping slowed. When I finished it had stopped altogether. A few silent minutes passed.

  “See? It was a waste of time. I shouldn't have mentioned anything,” I said without looking at her.

  When Mom still didn't respond, I finally glanced up. For a second I thought I was seeing the vision again.

  Her eyes were dull, lifeless, empty.

  Mom stayed on her feet for a few seconds. But then as if she was a puppet whose string got cut, she collapsed to the floor with a dull thump.

  The same panic I felt in my room returned. I jumped off the stool and rushed to my mother's side. I flipped her on her back and pressed two fingers to the pulse on her neck. Except there wasn't one. My legs were unsteady as I stood and grabbed the phone.

  Once the ambulance was on its way, I sat on the floor beside my mother. I gently nudged her shoulder and arm, hoping at any moment she would wake up. But she didn't. Guilt swelled like a balloon in my chest. Somehow, someway this was my fault. I didn't know how, but I just knew it was my doing. Mom was a healthy and strong woman. She couldn't just collapse without explanation. I said or did something that triggered this.

  A loud siren cut through the oppressive silence in the kitchen. I rushed to the hall and yanked open the front door. A white and red ambulance with flashing lights raced through the streets of our neighborhood, stopping in front of our house. Carrying a stretcher, two faeries flew out of the back of the ambulance, and another climbed out of the front. They stormed into the kitchen and went to work.

  The next few minutes was a blur. Two paramedics checked Mom's vitals while the third asked me questions about how this had happened.

  Is your mom at high risk for heart attacks?

  I don't know.

  What's her medical history?

  I don't know.

  Has this happened before?

  I don't know.

  The paramedic gave up and asked for my dad's phone number instead. I gave it to him. Then before I knew it, she was lifted into the back of the ambulance. The siren started again, and the truck drove away with my mom inside.

  A few days later.

  Clouds loomed low and dark overhead, and the cold air nipped the tip of my nose. But I pretended that I wasn't freezing. Just like I pretended that my mother wasn't in a coffin a few feet in front of me, that my extended family wasn't dressed in swaths of black clothing, and that I wasn't standing here in a graveyard. Yet no matter how hard I tried to forget everyone and everything, I couldn't ignore the heavy stones in my chest.

  That fateful day in the kitchen kept replaying over and over in my head. What if I didn't have that weird vision? What if I hadn't told her about it? Maybe, just maybe she would be alive right now.

  My aunt pressed something cold into my palm. At first I thought I was holding a handful of water. However, the object caught the slightest sliver of sunlight, and the row of glass teardrop-shaped beads glinted brightly. I ran my thumb over the largest glass teardrop in the center of the necklace. I remembered giving this to Mom for her Mother's Day gift last year, and it had been her favorite piece of jewelry ever since. It was so precious to her that she asked to be buried with it when her time came. I thought she would have many more years to live, but I guess not.

  “Logan, please bring forth the necklace,” the minister said.<
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  People parted around me. One foot in front of the other, I told myself and forced my feet to move. But all too soon I arrived at the coffin. I haven't seen Mom's face since that day in the kitchen, and it was probably best if I didn't see it now. Instead of a healthy glow, her skin was ashen. And once her hair was the color of woven gold, but now it was the color of old hay.

  I had shed all the tears I could possibly shed in the last few days, so I thought I couldn't cry anymore. I was wrong. Slowly I tucked the clasp behind my mother's neck. As I righted myself, a tear carved its way down my face and slipped off my chin, landing on the teardrop centerpiece of the necklace.

  “I'm sorry,” I whispered. Though I knew nothing could make up for what I done. Not even a million apologies or penances.

  I half walked and half ran back to the crowd. I found my aunt and mumbled something about going home. Before she could stop me, I barreled past people and ran down the street. No one followed me since our home wasn't very far. I didn't want anyone to anyway. What I wanted was to flee from the guilt. But I knew for the rest of my life I would be carrying it with me.

  Bbboooommm.

  I arrived at the house just as a fat drop of rain plopped onto my head followed by a loud clap of thunder. I didn't have a key to the door, so I sat in the tool shack at the back of our yard.

  Soon the rain came in icy sheets, and I watched it pour down the edge of the roof, creating a mini waterfall. Wind blew into the shack and sprayed me with cold water. But even if I could, I didn't want to go into the house. It would only remind me of my mother and all of the good times we shared together. I still remembered the first time we put on socks and skated across the wooden floors of our foyer. There were a lot of minor falls that day but also a ton of laughter. After that we played the game frequently and even had designated socks for floor skating. Mine was a frosty blue shade, and hers was her favorite color—the golden light of sunset.

  The sound of footsteps jolted me from my thoughts. I lifted my head and saw Dad making his way toward me. The funeral must be over. My mother is now in a box in the ground. I dug my nails into my arms to drive away the prickling behind my eyes. Dad tipped his chin in the direction of the house. Once we were inside, I made a beeline for the stairs and started to head up to my room.

  “Wait,” Dad said.

  I turned around, but I already knew what he was going to ask.

  “Logan, what happened that night? The doctors said she didn't die of a heart attack or stroke. The only way they could explain her sudden death was an undetectable poison.”

  “You don't trust me,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. Even my own father turned on me. I didn't blame him, though. I didn't trust myself either.

  “I didn't say that,” he said, but he had paused for a moment before answering. “However, you were the only one in the house at the time. So what did you do?”

  “Nothing,” I replied. But even I knew that was a lie. I did do something. I did tell Mom about my vision.

  The inkling suspicion I had for the last few days solidified, and it made me want to run to my room to avoid speaking before another accident happens.

  Dad took a step toward me. “Logan Hart, how dare you lie to me. Start talking.”

  I climbed up a step. “I can't tell you.”

  “Find a way to spit it out!”

  There was real menace in his voice, and it made my blood run cold. My father and I were never really close. It was Mom who I ran to when I had a problem. So I didn't know if he was above physically punishing me for not listening.

  “I told her something I shouldn't have,” I replied. “But I can't tell you to protect you.”

  “I don't need protection from you. I need answers.” He took another step and closed the distance between us.

  Dad loomed over me, and his glare made me want to cower. But my mother's pale face was still fresh in my mind, and desperation made me brave. I mustered all the courage I had and stood up as tall as possible.

  “No,” I said firmly.

  His palm cracked across my face, and stars burst into my vision. I scrambled up a few steps, but he seized my leg, and I fell on to my back.

  Dad raised his hand again. “Tell me this instant!”

  I had no choice now. I had to tell him. Besides, maybe there was a chance that what I thought caused Mom's death wasn't the real reason. Maybe my words hadn't killed.

  “I told her about a vision I had,” I said, forcing each word out of my mouth.

  Dad stared at me the whole time as I described the vision and the details of Mom's death. After I finished, silence followed. I felt sick to my stomach. This was so similar to the situation in the kitchen that I was afraid to look up. But after a minute, I couldn't stand the quiet anymore.

  I looked up and saw the anger drain out of my father's expression. Instead, his face went dead blank.

  He started falling forward. And I didn't, just couldn't acknowledge it. He toppled on top of me and knocked me flat against the stairs. His weight crushed my chest, making it almost impossible to breathe, and claustrophobia pressed in on all sides. Though I am not usually claustrophobic. I struggled to worm out from beneath him. After a few minutes, I finally got free.

  It all felt like a reoccurring nightmare as I ran to the phone to call another ambulance. Even the dispatcher was the same. When they arrived and asked me questions, I still answered I don't know to everything. Except this time I did know. I knew that I was an extreme danger to others, I knew that I had to consider everything I said carefully from now on, and I knew what killed my parents. It was me and my words. As ridiculous as it seems, telling someone about how I could see the future would make them drop dead in the next minute.

  Dad died, and the guilt swelled to twice its original size. I caused the death of another parent. Even though I didn't know him very well, I mourned for him just as I had for my mother. My extended family gathered for another funeral, and it was like reliving my mother's burial.

  Now that I was an orphan, my grandparents and aunts offered to take me in. But I wouldn't let them. I ran away when I got the chance. Eventually, they gave up and left me alone. I couldn't cause their deaths too. All it takes is one slip up, one mistake.

  Instead, I lived on the streets and in foster homes until I was fourteen and old enough to go to Ether. During those long years alone, I figured out why I couldn't tell anybody about being a seer. It was to protect me from being used by others, but it is a very stupid form of protection. So if I wanted to stop murdering people, I had to learn. I learned how to hide the headaches the best I could, shut my mouth, and lock myself away from the world. I absolutely couldn't hurt anybody else. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.

  But despite all my precautionary measures, everything changed the day I caught her.

  

  I flew higher to take a look around. Mountains stretched to the horizon in every direction, and that was it. I thought back to the visions: volcano, the spring of Healing Elixir, but there was something else… I was walking through a familiar forest. The forest we came across today is where I should start, but that is miles away.

  I glanced back at the cave, which was now a glowing speck in the far distance. Ariel and Skylar must've got a fire going. I was tempted to go back and get out of this cold, but Rose is more important than comfort.

  I traveled for an hour at my top speed and landed in the same forest clearing where Ariel got abducted. I took a step and grabbed a tree limb to steady myself. My lungs screamed at me to rest. But the setting sun reminded me of how much time had passed, so I pushed on. I stepped into the forest, and my eyes were no longer useful. It was so dark I ran into branches every second. I didn't know where I was going or how there is a volcano somewhere in here that I can't see from above. But if there is even the slightest chance to save Rose, I have to take it.

  Rose… As I trekked through the forest, my mind drifted off. I hadn't meant to becom
e friends with Rose. I only sat with her at lunch that day because I wanted to make sure her arm wasn't ripped out of its socket. But then we started talking, and the hour flew by faster than ever before. After that I just absolutely could not stay away even though I managed to avoid others for years. Rose opened me up like no one else had.

  Her beauty wasn't why I liked her, but she was truly gorgeous and definitely not in a stuck-up or vain way. Her long midnight-black hair cascaded down her shoulders. Her brown eyes were darker than Skylar's, so her eyes looked like dark chocolate instead of milk chocolate. And man, her smile! I have never seen anything like it. But don't get me wrong. She is much more than just a pretty face.

  She is smart, thoughtful, and not afraid of hard work like facing a dangerous faery and saving the world. She radiated determination and courage. When she gives me a smile, I feel like the luckiest guy in the world for having to meet her.

  Rose really is hope in the darkness—a single red rose in black ashes.

  But Rose was wilting. Especially during these last few days, I could see that she was overwhelmed and stressed. And that is why I am here to help her. When you got friends, no one should ever have to be alone… Though alone is how I've been until the day that letter brought Rose to me.

  My visions usually happened frequently and showed mundane, everyday things. But they stopped a couple of weeks before I met Rose. However, just when I thought I was in the clear, I had a special vision on March twenty-fifth. I saw myself in my Ether dorm room writing a letter asking for help in the kingdom. In the vision, I threw it over the edge of Astella when I was done.

  At first I didn't know why I would do that. But I wanted to see what would happen, so I did what the vision showed me. I have no idea how it ended up in the hands of Rose's grandparents, but somehow it got there.

  When Rose showed up at Ether two days later, I suspected it had something to do with the letter since no one could get in and out of Astella, and the one who did had to be special. But I kept cool and pretended that I didn't notice anything unusual. But the more I got to know her, the more I liked her. After my parents died, I was afraid I would hurt anybody else, so I shut myself off from the world. Rose changed that.