Chaos (The Realmwalker Chronicles Book 1) (21 page)

“Is that unusual?” I ask.

“A little.” Crank answers. “But it happens sometimes, I guess. The population of Shades is always fluctuating.”

The others nod in agreement. “Crank, are you ready to go back out?” Ember asks with some reluctance. “Boss is restocking the bikes, but I know he’s eager to leave as soon as you’re well enough.”

“I’m good as new thanks to these two here,” he says as he pulls Angel and I into simultaneous side hugs. We both laugh and squirm to try and get away from his horrible odor.

“Go on, get out of here!” With a crinkled-up nose, Angel pushes Crank toward the door.

Once the others leave, Angel turns to me. “We got a lot done today, Addy. You should be proud.”

“Thanks, Angel. I kind of am,” I say cheerfully. The good mood doesn’t last long, however.

“Well, Simone’s probably waiting for you. We went a little over again today on time. You’ll have to give her my apologies.”

“Oh, right,” I say evasively. “I’ll head that way now. Thanks again!” I leave as quickly as I can, hoping to avoid questions about how last night’s session with Frenchie—no, Simone—went. I can’t let Angel down. I can’t bear to disappoint her. It’s her trust in me that drives me through the halls until I’m standing in front of Simone’s closed bedroom door.

I knock quietly, half hoping that if she’s inside, she won’t hear me.

“WHAT?”

She heard me.

“Simone, it’s me,” I say.

No answer.

How do I get her to let me help? I can’t force her.

“Simone,” I call again.

Silence.

Then, “WHAT?”

I drop my forehead against her door.
For the greater good. For the greater good.

“Come on, Simone,” I call plaintively. “You know this is what Angel wants. Let’s just get through it. For her.”

Silence.

I almost think she’s done talking and am about to leave when I’m startled by the door opening.

“What the—” I nearly shout with surprise. I’m looking at a total stranger.

“Who—” Is all I manage to say as I stare with confusion into the face of a shockingly beautiful, though unrecognizable, face.

The five-foot-three, dark-skinned, exotic-looking young woman sneers back at me. What did I ever do to her? And when did we get a new Realmwalker? I thought that kind of thing was a big deal. I’m starting to think that there’s something disturbingly familiar about that smirk when it dawns on me.

This IS Simone.

The cocoa-haired beauty from last night is gone, replaced by this different, though equally breathtaking persona.

“You’re not that bright, are you?” she says, looking up at me with mock sympathy.

I sigh and find I’m gritting my teeth again—a bad habit I seem to exhibit often in her presence. I’ll soon grind all my teeth away if I can’t manage to control the frustration this woman causes me.

“Are you going to let me evaluate you?” I ask her bluntly, choosing to ignore her previous insult.

She stares at me for a long time, viscously, hungrily, like a wolf about to devour its prey.

I force myself to maintain eye contact, not wishing to give her the satisfaction of thinking she can frighten me.

Finally she responds. With an overly dramatic sigh she says, “I guess we could work together.”

“Wonderfu—”

“IF!” she interrupts loudly. Holding a bossy finger in the air, she continues, “And ONLY if you apologize first.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Apologize? For what?” I search my memory trying to find some instance that would warrant an apology from me.

“For your behavior last night,” she says matter-of-factly.

I can’t believe I’m hearing this.

“MY behavior?!” I nearly shout, trying hard to rein in my anger. I slowly turn my head from side to side.

“Unbelievable,” I say to no one in particular. I turn around and walk back down the hall.

“Fine!” she raises her voice. “Have fun explaining to Angel why you’re blowing off our sessions.”

I’m so upset at this moment that even the threat of letting down Angel isn’t enough to entice me to waste any of my time in that hag’s company. Whatever the consequences.

Chapter 29

I awake Tuesday
morning as tired and achy as I did the day before. I get out of bed stiffly and spend the next ten minutes stretching, hoping I’ll even be able to walk today.

After my failed attempt to help Simone last night, my rigorous training session with Kira was cathartic. I’d like to say that it wasn’t Simone’s face I pictured on the head of the practice dummies I pummeled for the rest of the night, but I’m not that altruistic.

My fighting skills continued to improve as Kira taught me how to spot and exploit weaknesses in my enemy. My confidence grew with each properly placed strike. While I realize my level of lethality is nowhere near Kira’s, I feel as though I’m shaping up to be a fairly competent combatant.

School’s monotonous and crawls by at a painfully slow pace. Again my thoughts continuously drift back to Chaos and my training. I begin to realize that while I exist in this realm, I’m becoming a creature of Chaos.

I belong to it. It consumes my mind so entirely that there’s no escaping it, which makes me sad in a way. Realizing how completely different I am from the students around me makes me feel alone here. Alienated.

I look around the halls as I walk from class to class. I search the faces of people I know, friends and acquaintances. Can they sense it too? Can they feel how I’ve changed, down to my very core? I suddenly long to be in California at the L.A. base, surrounded by my people. MY people. I hold on to that comforting thought, and it helps get me through the rest of the day.

When I arrive home, I intend to shower off the day’s worth of sweat I’ve collected from the hot Arizona sun. On my way to the back on the house, however, I’m stopped by a truly upsetting sight.

Mom’s sitting at the kitchen table. Her face is in her hands, and her body’s shaking, racked with uncontrollable sobs.

“Mom!” I drop my bag and run to her side. Dread overwhelms me. This is how I remember her after Dad died.
Jana’s dead
. I’m certain of it. Or Gram. Gram or Jana is dead.

“Mom, what happened?” I ask desperately, not wanting to hear her answer.

“Oh Addy,” she chokes out and looks up from tear-soaked hands. I’m surprised and confused to see her smiling. No, grinning. And now laughing.

She picks up a stack of papers from the table in front of her and hands it to me. Under a speckling of tear droplets, I read the following:

To Mrs. Margaret Shepherd,

On behalf of the Gregory Walker Foundation, I present you with this donation in honor of your late husband, Officer Henry Shepherd. Subsequent to a thorough review of Officer Shepherd’s career and achievements contributing to the good of his community, the Walker Foundation is granting you and your family a contribution in the amount of $3 million. We thank you for your sacrifice and sincerely wish you the very best.

Regards,

Gregory Walker IV

I look up at my mother and stare at her in stunned silence. THREE MILLION DOLLARS? I read the letter again. THREE MILLION DOLLARS. I read the letter a third time. I did not misread it.

“Look,” she says as she takes the papers from me and shuffles them until she finds the one she’s looking for. In front of me now is what appears to be a printed record of a transaction. It's a copy of a bank deposit for three million dollars, posted with yesterday's date.

“It’s real, Addy.” She sniffs as she wipes more tears from her face. “I’ve been on the phone with the bank for the last hour. It’s real.”

Tears spring from my eyes as I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. I knew money was coming. I never expected it would be so much.

“Good, Mom,” I manage to say, emotions making my words thick. “You deserve it.” She stands and we hug tightly for a long time.

She spends the next hour on the phone with Jana. As I try to concentrate on finishing my homework, I overhear bits of the conversation.

“No. I’ve researched it. There’s a website for the foundation but there’s so little information about it. All it really says is that it’s an organization that awards donations and grants.” She pauses as Jana says something.

“I can’t find one. There isn’t a phone number or address or e-mail address. I can’t even find a picture of the man who signed the letter.”

I hide a smile while thinking of the elusive “Mr. Walker”.

Later that evening while clearing off the table for dinner, I find a stack of letters and bills. It’s the rest of the day’s mail. Absently going through it, I spot a business envelope with my name on it. Inside is a shiny plastic credit card bearing my name and a single, hand-written note. On it are four numbers and one word.

“1348

ENJOY”

In the excitement of the donation, this envelope must have been overlooked or forgotten. I’m grateful for the distraction since I would have been at a loss as to how to explain the card.

For the rest of the night, my mother sits at the kitchen table with a stack of bills and a checkbook, paying off debts one by one. Occasionally, she starts crying again only to end up laughing out loud like before. Watching her from the living room, a deep peace settles over me. She’ll never have to scrimp and scrape for money again. No more holding her breath, praying we make it through to the next paycheck.

Now I’ll be more comfortable moving away from home. I can live in California and go to school there without worrying about how she’s getting by. Knowing she’s taken care of is the best gift anyone could have given me, and I’m all the more eager to prove my worth to the Walkers. Determined to train extra hard tonight, I kiss my happy mother good night and go to bed.

The next two nights make the previous two look like a carefree stroll in the park. I push myself harder than I ever have before, mentally and physically. With Angel’s guidance, I’m able to master a dozen new vital mental abilities. I learn to detect weak spots in the fabric of Chaos and mend them before they can attract the attention of the Greater Shades. In a practice room, Angel repeatedly tears gaping holes in the essence of Chaos. I repair them, each time improving upon previous mistakes until Angel is satisfied with my work.

I learn how to make my own tears. I learn how to protect and guard them with wards. I’m continually surprised by each new ability I learn, and how the shroud of mystery and magic is removed from my perception of them. Each ability has a logical, almost scientific process behind it.

Before, the ability to sense my fellow Walkers’ level of well-being, even down to their moods, seemed like voodoo. Now I understand that everyone transmits a subliminal signal, unique to them, at all times. I only have to broaden my sensitivity to the signals. The more I spread out my own awareness, the easier it is to pick up their “frequencies.”

In relation to this skill, I learn how to recognize when a new or unfamiliar frequency is approaching. This is how Angel knew that I would soon come to Chaos. She felt me each night, getting closer to the barrier surrounding this realm. This capability is essential. Angel tells me she suspects that some of the Greater Shades may have this ability as well, which makes it all the more important to be prepared to reach new and defenseless Walkers the minute they cross over from Earth Realm.

An interesting and unexpected aspect of learning these mental abilities in Chaos is that instead of my mind becoming fatigued and used up, I seem to get stronger with each new accomplishment. It’s as though my mind is a well, but it doesn’t fill up and threaten to overflow. It gets deeper and wider, allowing for an even greater capacity.

One of the most personally benefiting abilities I learn over the next few nights is how to manipulate my own body. Each morning when I awaken with sore and aching muscles, I heal them. I encourage them along their process of growing, thickening, and becoming stronger.

Kira still continues to push me to my extreme physical limits, but I continue to push back. During workouts and combat training, I’m able to use my mind simultaneously with my body, maximizing my accuracy, strength, and endurance. It’s refreshing and encouraging to find that each night I’m a little less tired, a little less sweat-drenched, and a little more prepared to defend myself and cause some Shades some serious damage.

My “sessions” with Simone, however, are much less progressive. Each night I show up at her door at our designated time. Each time I knock, she answers. Each time she demands an apology, and I always walk away, unable to comply.

I realize I’m being prideful and stubborn. I know if I just submit and apologize (even pretend to!), this stalemate could end and I could help her. But every time I open my mouth, intending to say the words “I’m sorry,” I envision myself as a helpless creature on my back exposing my belly to a many-fanged beast hovering over me.

The image is always enough to make me walk away. I refuse to lose any of my dignity or self-respect to Simone. I won’t cower and placate her infantile behavior. I simply cannot.

Instead, I spend the hour in between training sessions in my new art room. After finding a wealth of high-quality supplies in a craft section of the warehouse, I waste no time stocking up on all my favorite products.

I quickly come to understand what Angel was trying to explain to me about other talents improving because of Chaos. As I sketch, charcoal, and paint various scenes and subjects, I find myself delighted by the improved quality of the work I’m creating. It’s uncanny. It’s as if by altering my mind, Chaos has also altered my perception of color and composition and enhanced my ability to recreate it.

On the few occasions I run into other Realmwalkers, it’s always the same experience. We exchange a brief greeting as they rush from one task to another, anxious to get back out into Chaos to continue hunting the increasing numbers of Lesser Shades. They always look tired and overworked and are always covered in the oily black blood of Shades. My concern for them is a constant incentive to put everything I have into my training.

School continues to be a necessary evil—an obstacle in my Chaos-consumed life. During classes, time drags on with cruel indifference to my desperation. Tori and I continue to grow further apart as I spend all of my free time with my nose in my novel. The book Mikhail gave me has become my only way to escape the torturous minutes of spare time, and I’m dreading the end of it.

On Thursday as I walk to my truck after school, the feeling that I’m being watched returns. I stop mid-step and quickly glance around me. I search the parking lot, in between parked cars, in the shadows of the few trees dotting the pavement.

I turn a complete circle, unable to find the source of my unease, yet the feeling persists. While unnerved, I don’t really feel threatened. I’m more curious than afraid, which may be due to my growing sense of confidence in myself and that, thanks to my training, I no longer feel completely helpless.

I try to shake off my apprehension as I climb into my truck. The feeling fades as I travel, and by the time I pull into my driveway, I’m almost convinced the whole thing was my imagination. The entire ordeal, however, is completely forgotten the second I walk through my door. In front of me, standing stiffly, arms crossed, is my very angry mother.