Uncanny Day (21 page)

“If you will not accept us, we will destroy you.”

Dean came running at me. I put up a thick black wall, just I'd done before inside Dad's mind, but this time the collective didn't break through. The wall held strong.

I had to focus to keep the layer up, and it wasn't for long because the pain in my side raged with agony, making me drop the defense.

Dean was waiting, pointed teeth together, breathing heavily.

“We are done with this bargaining. This being and all the beings we possess will perish, and we will feed on their deaths.”

I prepared myself for more fireballs or whatever else this thing was going to throw at me, but they never came. Instead, Dean lurched forward and dropped to one knee.

“Nooo!” it howled.

I watched his eyes blur from stark gold to steely blue.

“Nolan!” It was Dean's true voice.

“Dean!” I rushed over to him and helped him on to the bed.

“It won't stop, Nolan. You have to destroy it.”

Dean cried out in pain, almost going into convulsions.

“Trap it, Nolan. It's the only way.”

I didn't understand what he was saying.

“In here. Trap it in here.”

Dean wanted me to imprison the collective inside his head.

“Dean, I have no idea what will happen. I don't even know if I can do that.”

I thought about it further and said, “I won't.” I could feel tears soaking my eyes.

“No,” he shot back at me. “I deserve it.”

His body tightened.

“What are you talking about?”

His hands took me by the collar of my shirt and pulled me close. His blue eyes glowed, spellbound with sincerity. “It was me. I did it. I burned down our house. I was the one who had been smoking the cigarette. Trent was trying to stop me!”

Squeezing his eyes as pain coursed through his body, he began to whimper. Was Dean telling me the truth, or was he lying to protect me?

“Do it!” he yelled, but then the blue faded as black oil totally engulfed his pupils.

The collective had returned, and with a gesture of its head, it flung me across the room a second time.

“He won't bother us again,” it said.

I barely made out the words, my ears ringing, and a new pain throbbed in the back of my skull.

Again, Dean—the dimensional being having taken total control—grabbed my body from afar with its mental willpower. It felt like someone had reached in my chest and grabbed my heart. Blood spilled from my nose and out of my mouth.

I yelled in pain as my insides burned.

“Soon it will be over.”

My entire body shook and I started to seize uncontrollably in midair. My body wouldn't respond to anything, and I felt the last bit of my strength sucked from my very being.

From above, pieces of ceiling fell around me like snow as my body dragged along the floor toward where Dean stood. Was I even still alive?

I arrived at the feet of the collective helpless, broken. Using Dean's face, it smiled down at me, but I didn't see the evil. I chose to see the good, to remember Dean how I had known him.

I whispered a final goodbye to my brother.

Forming a thick, dark stake in my hand, I drove it upward, deep into Dean's chest. The look of shock washed over his face, erasing the sharp-toothed smile.

I righted myself, and holding my left arm to my broken ribs for support, I reached out with my right hand and created a clear, walled box around Dean, imprisoning him.

The wordless chatter ceased.

Keeping hard focus, I watched as Dean began to pound against the walls. He screamed at the top of his lungs, black oil pumping from his chest wound. All I could hear was the crackle and pop of the fire inside the room around me, which had also begun to die out to a low burn.

Slowly—oh, so very slowly—I started to close my fingers together as if wadding up an invisible piece of paper in my hand.

Tears dropped freely from my eyes. I had no idea what would happen, but I knew this was the way Dean had decided it. Caving in on him now, the walls had forced him to a sitting position, further still into a fetal position. He fought wildly, but I held firm.

I knew it was humanly impossible to be in the position Dean was in now and not have your bones rubbing against one another and snapping. I didn't want Dean's face of detailed terror to be the last thing I remembered him by, so instead I watched my hands as they closed together into a tight, powerful fist.

The fires around me sizzled out and cast everything into cold darkness. I exited Dean's mind and returned to my own.

It was over.

Chapter Fifty

THE POLICE WERE DIRECTED to 1403 Maple Street, where they found a shaken-up and handcuffed Rick and Tracy Mitchell after a neighbor had called about “something funny going on at the Jacob Day house.” I imagined that same neighbor was the one who had called social services on my behalf the night of the Event, too.

My dad, Jacob Day, had taken the full brunt of the collective, devoured and used as a human host over the course of fourteen or so months while under psychiatric care, something only I knew. Scans revealed he had brain scars that were believed to be just that old, although it was said he'd suffered an aneurysm that night and was pronounced dead at the scene. I knew he had died a long time ago.

Dean didn't die that night, but something worse happened. His mind slipped into a severe coma, what doctors called a level one coma—the worst kind. I was determined to see him through it or wherever it may lead. I owed him that much. I'd put him there, a new burden I would now have to carry.

As for me, with Dad gone, the Mitchells filed paperwork for my adoption, and I started calling them Mom and Dad. I slept well most nights, save for a nightmare once in a while of an oily, yellow-eyed substance that wanted to devour my thoughts. But other than that, the voices and nosebleeds—which I figured were a representation of me mentally holding open doors to people's minds—ceased. I would never take sleep for granted again.

***

IT HAD BEEN ALMOST two weeks since that night, and Mondays being Mondays, I began a new week. That meant going back to school.

Classes at River West resumed, assignments were handed out, and life went on, although the halls lacked that certain charisma Dean had filled them with. He wasn't forgotten, and just like Stephanie, he echoed a legacy amongst the students and staff. Something good we could all strive to be. Something I knew I wanted to be, starting with that first day back. It was a decision Dean had made with his life after realizing what he had truly done by placing the blame on Trent—the last memory Dean had passed to me before his room went dark.

I flopped a thick stack of pages on the desk in front of Kate. “There you go.”

She was nose deep into her laptop. A bluish glow tinted her face, and her hands scribbled notes in her black notebook. She didn't inch from her focus, but offered one word. “Thanks.”

I waited a few seconds, looking around the messy newspaper staff room as other members worked away, preparing articles and performing other duties.

I turned back to Kate, who moved her pen with ease and loyalty across the page.

“What, you're not even going to look at it?”

I watched Kate's eyes scan the screen then jump to the notebook.

“It's all there,” I teased.

Finally she set down her pen and picked up the stack of papers with frustration.

“This is way too long.” Her fingers fanned the pages. “I said an article, not a manuscript.”

She flashed a fake smile at me and then she was back at her computer.

I sighed, knowing too well that she was pissed at me. Things between us were still uneasy after the events of that Saturday night. I'd come to the realization that I couldn't get close to people without putting them in jeopardy. Something Kate quoted as, “With great power comes great responsibility.”

I had backed out of our relationship and we decided to stay friends. Kate was the only person who knew my secret, and—using that to my advantage—I had gotten her to agree to allow me to write the story for the
Weekly Beak
, the one she had just rejected as too long.

I went for the stack of papers, and as quick as a ninja, Kate slammed her hand down on them. “Listen, I need to tell you something.”

I raised my eyebrows, ready.

“I've known about Dean and Trent for a long time. I knew Dean was the one who started the fire. I'd dug around and even toyed with writing an article on it, but I abandoned the idea because I wanted to protect you.” Kate blinked hesitantly.

I nodded in true Mitchell fashion.

“Trent wanted me to expose Dean.” She curled a strand of hair around her ear.

“Why didn't you?” I asked.

“Well, even though I knew Dean's secret, deep down he was trying to make up for it. At times it was hard, but I kept my mouth shut for the sake of the good he was doing.”

Kate let a small smile escape that told me she was sorry for not telling me.

“Sooner or later, we all have to face our demons,” she said.

A moment passed between us, and I knew that even though we were just friends, I still felt something more for Kate.

She went back to work on her computer but kept talking. “Instead of this, why don't you write an article on Dean, but I still get to keep this for a possible future issue. I'll have to edit it and change the title anyway.”

“Change the title? Why?”

“You titled it ‘Uncanny, Inc.'” That gives your business way too much exposure in the
Weekly Beak
.”

I replied back with enthusiasm, “Oh, but I've changed direction. I'm no longer in the business of secrets.”

This caught more of Kate's attention, and she looked back up at me.

“Now I'm in a new business. Call it a community service.”

Kate rolled her eyes in her typical Muddy Huddy way. “That is so lame. It needs to be called something else. How about—” She thought a moment, and I stared deep into her eyes.

At exactly the same time, we both said, “Detective service.”

We laughed.

“I told you not to read my mind,” she said, flipping her wrist to check the time on her watch. “Well, you'd better get going. You've only got so much high school left, and you're late for class.”

ACKNOWLEDEGMENTS

I'VE NEVER WRITTEN AN acknowledgements page before. I've read some and been included in a few. Upon writing my own, never could I have imagined all the friends and family who encouraged, inspired, and loved me as I wrote this story. It's strange, but just listing a simple thanks doesn't seem like enough, so I'll add a little extra.

A kiss to my wife, Hollie. You've always been a cheerleader of anything I've set out to do, yet building a life and family together with you tops everything I have done or will ever do. A wink to my kids: Wesley, Noah, Keaton, and Ashlynn. You've kept me young in mind and heart and forced me to write when most quiet—the deep of night. A salute to my editors: Pam Johnson, Steve Rzasa, and Audra Marvin for finding my errors, holding me accountable for them, and helping me tell the best story possible. A handshake to my fellow authors/mentors: Travis Thrasher, Eric Wilson, Steven James, Bob Liparulo, and Kevin Kaiser in thanks for your honesty and showing me the true path of a writer in the real world. A high-five to my beta readers, reviewers, and endorsers who championed the story in the early, middle, and end stages.

Also, a round of applause to my publisher, Aaron Patterson, and the StoneHouse Ink team for giving me the chance to share my story with the world.

A fist bump in special thanks to my friend Paul Jackson, who endured many of my repetitive, crazy ideas and helped this one to stick with his clever insights, jokes, and friendship.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CORY CLUBB WORKS AS a graphic designer and runs his own book cover company. This is his first YA novel. He resides in central Illinois with his wife and four children. He is currently writing his next book.

Connect with the author online:

www.coryclubb.com

www.facebook.com/coryclubb

Twitter:
@coryclubb

Cory Clubb © copyright 2013

All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

StoneHouse Ink 2013

Boise ID 83713

http://www.stonehouseink.net

First eBook Edition: 2013

First Paperback Edition: 2013