Page 9 of Our Last Echoes


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But I already believed in impossible things.

Because I was one of them.

EXHIBIT C

Video recording posted to Facebook by Angela Esau

POSTED OCTOBER 18, 2013, 9:43 AM

Caption reads: what a FREAK

The video is from a high angle, a phone lifted above the heads of a crowd of middle school students. They’re shouting, some of them laughing, most of it unintelligible or profane. They’ve formed a tight ring in a hallway lined with blue-gray lockers, and in the center of the ring, a girl is on her knees. She hunches, screaming and tearing at her wheat-colored hair, pulling it free of the braid that hangs to the middle of her back.

STUDENT 1: What’s wrong with her?

STUDENT 2: Someone get help!

STUDENT 3: Holy shit! She’s going crazy!

The girl turns her face toward the camera. It is Sophia Novak, age thirteen. Her face is raked with red lines where her nailshave dug into her cheeks. Her lips are skinned back in a rictus of fear and rage, and the whites of her eyes show as her gaze roves blindly over the students. And then she lunges. Not at the students, though they lurch back in a wave to get away, but straight into the bank of lockers.

She rams her head against them, and then her fists, pounding the metal.

TEACHER: Move! Get out of the way!

The male teacher pulls her away from the lockers. The locker doors are dented, smeared with blood. She wrenches away from him and then stops.

She freezes, the rage falling from her face like a mask cast to the floor. She blinks, looking dazed. She spreads her hands and looks down at them.

TEACHER: Sophia?

She turns and walks calmly away from him. The crowd of students parts hastily to give her room.

The video ends.

3

I MUST HAVEdozed off, because then I was dreaming. The dreams were always the same, a tangled knot of memory and nightmare—the sea, the cold, the shore. A sky empty of stars. And lastly, always, the dark angel.

The dark angel was a hole in the world in the shape of a man. Six wings grew from its shoulders, and it hung above me, its outline surrounded by streaks of light like fractured glass. It pointed at me—

And I woke. I sat panting in bed, sweat sticking my shirt to my skin. The light in the hall was off, and I glanced at the alarm clock beside the bed. Just after two a.m. It was dim outside, though not quite night. There was no true night in the summer here.

Something clicked softly against the window.

My head whipped up. For a moment all I could see was my startled reflection. Outside there was only the sound of waves andwind, of rock tumbled against rock, scrape and hush, and of the terns calling.

Or was it more? The scrape of rocks became a footstep; the tern’s scream became the wail of someone crying. Then back again. I crept from the bed and turned off the light. When I turned to the window, my twinned self in the reflection had vanished. In its place was the mist.

And in the mist, a shadow. Someone was outside.

I bolted to the window, but the shadow had receded into the gloom.

I bit my lip, my mouth dry and sour with adrenaline. Everyone I’d met so far had told me this place was dangerous. Mr. Nguyen, refusing to set foot on the shore. Mikhail, with his parting warning. Mrs. Popova, locking the doors against an empty island. I should stay put. Any sensible person would stay put.

But I wouldn’t find out anything by staying safely indoors. And it wasn’t like I had anything to lose, except my life. And it wasn’t a life worth fretting over.

I grabbed my phone for its flashlight and hurried for the back door, doing my best to move quietly. The house was old and creaked with every step, but no one stirred. I twisted the deadbolt on the back door and yanked it open. Frigid air blasted me immediately, but at least there was only fog. The storm had stayed out east after all.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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