Ch. 1

CHAPTER ONE:

~Avery:

I was thirteen the first time I realized the power of my own voice. It was at my fifth foster home, and I had finally snapped, yelling at my foster ‘father’ when he tried to beat up his son, a helpless six year old. I screamed at him to stop and when he struck him the first time with the spiked whip he and his wife liked to use - I told him to die. And he did. In the chaos that ensued after he started hanging himself, I was able to get this son out of the basement, along with my two other foster brothers who had been locked in the punishment closet upstairs. We ran, as the psycho’s wife screamed down below, wailing because she found her husband, hanging from a beam by the neck.

I had developed rules for myself over the years. Some rules I made that same night, others I made after things went badly over time. Live and learn. Most importantly, I can’t get emotionally attached. I’ve learned that my emotions trigger my ability, and I can’t afford to murder anyone ever again. One might have been too many, even if he had deserved it, but twenty-five was just too much. Twenty-five people. The last one didn't deserve it. Her death was what kept me focused on my rules for the past 5 years, after 2 years of reckless magic use. I could still hear her scream as she plummeted over the edge of the bridge.

I was on my way home from the grocery store. Working from home in customer service was my latest career choice. I was the person you wrote to over ‘chat’ if you had a problem with my company’s delivery. It didn’t pay much, but it was a relief not to have to do much speaking, to not always be on my guard. I walked the two flights up to my studio apartment, unlocked the door, and set my bags on the counter after closing the door with my hip. I quickly went back to the door to lock all the locks. Yes, there were seven. Living in this part of town was a little dangerous for someone small on her own, but even more dangerous for any potential intruder. 

I spent the evening humming to myself and cooking. The hiss from the skillet, as I added the sliced onion, filled the quiet in my studio. I looked around and tidied up a bit while I waited for everything to cook. There was this feeling of dread, or anticipation, sitting in my chest as I picked up a pillow that had fallen on the floor. It made me stop, and I rubbed my necklace, trying to get the feeling to pass. A nervous tick. My adoptive parents didn’t know where I had come from when I was left on their doorstep in a picnic basket as an infant, all I had was this necklace and a blanket. They gave it to me on my ninth birthday, my last birthday with them before the fire.

I heard yelling next door and it made me flinch. Walking back to the stove, I turned off the burner and started to plate my dinner. I moved my plates to the sink and turned on the water.

“STOP! DON’T!” I heard again from next door, pushing my instincts into overdrive.

I ran toward the door and frantically began unlocking all my locks, for once regretting having so many. Finally, I flung open the door just as something crashed loudly, maybe glass. I could hear an infant crying, muffled angry voices, another loud thump - something had been thrown at the wall by their front door.

I banged on the door as loudly as I could, fueled by rage. 

“GET THE FU** AWAY FROM HIM!” I heard a woman’s voice screaming near the door.

I banged, and banged and banged furiously on the door.

Finally it flew open and I came face to face with a big, bruly monster. Amelia, the single mom who lived next to me, shook in the corner of my vision, seated on her couch. There were things thrown all over, and her elaborate little salt water tank had shattered.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” the burly, greaseball snarled in my face, spittle hitting my cheek, “THIS IS A PRIVATE FAMILY MATTER!”

He tried closing the door when I put my hand up to stop him and simply said, “Freeze.”

He stopped dead in his place, completely frozen like a wax statue. Only his strained breathing and rapid blinking indicated he was still alive. The baby kept screaming.

I felt my power come alive, an addictive power that gave me an incredibly strong sense of pleasure as I used it. I knew my eyes were glowing silver. Like an addict taking a hit of cocaine I breathed in trying to steady myself.

“Step aside. Let me in,” I ordered this waste of human space. 

He stepped backward stiffly, widening the door. Pleasure grew, I felt wicked and full of limitless strength. I grabbed the hall table and squeezed it, trying to ground myself. I stepped further into the apartment and over to Amelia. She was red faced, blood on her lip, hair all over the place like she had survived a tornado. I crouched down to her and she flinched.

“Amelia, it’s okay. It’s me,” I told her.

She looked at me, and back at the garbage sack still standing at the front door. Clearly scared and confused. She was shaking.

Shaking uncontrollably, she implored me in a whisper, “Leave - get out of here, he’s going to kill you!”

“Mom?” her young son’s voice called from the hallway, he was peeking through the door right at us. It seemed to help Amelia unfreeze and she rushed over to him, brushing the hair out of his face and running him back further into the room. She took a second to settle him on his bed. She turned to pick up her infant son, rocking and bouncing him. I stood in the doorway to the bedroom. Everything in here looked like what I had assumed the rest of the apartment had looked like before that piece of sh** ruined it all. My anger flared and I reached for the doorframe. I was barely holding on. So much of what was happening in front me reminded me of my own childhood.

“Emma?” Amelia asked in concern, voice raw as she continued to try to soothe her baby. 

Currently, I go by Emma. 

I kept my eyes closed, feeling them start to glow again. I pushed more strength into the doorframe and it cracked a little under my grip. I breathed out.

“I’m okay,” I told her, and opened my eyes as I felt my magic sink back down. I felt like a pot of water right at the boiling point.

“Do you have somewhere you can go? Someone who can help?” I asked her, trying to focus on action. I needed to get them out of here before I dealt with the scum-sucker.

Her baby stopped crying as she thought, she looked absolutely exhausted. I wondered when she had last gotten any sleep.

“Umm, yeah. My brother’s, he’s - he’s been trying to talk me into leaving since Mitch was getting out,” she thought, eyes on the wall - choking down a sob, “God I should’ve listened.”

I couldn’t let her get lost now, I felt my magic rising and it needed to be unleashed.

“Grab a bag, one favorite toy each, and any documents. I’ll grab the diaper bag,” I ordered her. “Does Dillon have his pull-ups in here too?” I asked, holding up the bag by the changing table.

Amelia nodded in confirmation and grabbed their favorite toys, stuffing them in the same bag. I walked with her and took Dillon’s little hand in mine as we walked back to the hall. I think he was about two years old. 

“Mommy?” he asked Amelia, as we walked to her bedroom. 

She headed to the closet, to a fireproof little box on a shelf. She walked back to us and leaned over to touch Dillon’s cheek.

“It’s okay, Dill. Everything is going to be okay. We’re going on a trip to visit Uncle David, okay?” she told him to reassure him.

Suddenly Amelia’s eyes got huge, she remembered trash-guy Mitch was still in the apartment, “Wait, Emma, where i-?”

“It’s taken care of,” I cut her off.

Her eyes showed so much: fear, gratitude, uncertainty. I let go of Dillion and put his hand in his mother’s.

“I’ll go first, just wait 60 seconds and go walk out the front door. Do you have enough gas?” I said, urgency in my voice.

She nodded. It was all I needed. 

“Take this just in case,” I put about $100 in cash in her hand, pushing it back in her fist when she resisted. 

I walked back to the front door. Mitch, the living piece of human garbage was still right where I left him. He was choking slightly, not getting enough air. The thing about ‘freezing’ someone is they didn’t get to change the rate of their breathing. His body was angry, trying to breathe heavily, while his lungs were pretty much stuck in an exhale. I started to let go of my control, feeling the magic creep back up my chest, and up into my throat. My eyes shifted and I made my next command.

“Walk towards the balcony. Stop at the door.” He did as I said, his body now faced away from the exit. I walked towards my prey slowly, feeling my anger rising back up. I heard Amelia and the boys turn the corner, and I didn’t look back, knowing what I looked like right now. Once the apartment was empty, my magic reached a high point. Wisps of my own hair floated, my throat vibrated with the need to speak. 

“Follow me,” I ordered again. He followed me like a stiffly moving claymation character out the door, down the flights of stairs and towards the wooded area behind our building. I lifted my hood to disguise my hair in case anyone came out. We continued to walk until we reached the river. It was freezing this time of year. The moon had risen. A wolf howled somewhere far away.

“Get in and drown yourself,” I ordered him, my words laced with delight.