In the distance, she could sense that her father stood on the horizon. As she ran, she felt she was getting closer to him. She saw him coming into focus. He stood with a large smile, and arms spread wide.
She ached to see him again. She ran for all she was worth. But as she got closer, he got further away.
Suddenly, she was falling.
A huge, medieval door opened, and she entered a church. She walked down a dimly-lit aisle, torches burning on either side of her. Before a pulpit, a man stood with his back to her, kneeling. As she got closer, he stood and turned.
It was a priest. He looked at her, and his face filled with fear. She felt the blood coursing through her veins, and she watched herself as she approached him, unable to stop herself. He raised a cross to her face, afraid.
She pounced on him. She felt her teeth grow long, too long, and watched as they plunged into the priest’s neck.
He shrieked, but she didn’t care. She felt his blood course through her teeth and into her veins, and it was the greatest feeling of her life.
Caitlin sat straight up in bed, breathing hard. She looked all around her, disoriented. Harsh morning sunlight streamed in.
Finally, she realized she had been dreaming. She wiped the cool sweat from her temples and sat on the edge of her bed.
Silence. Judging from the light, Sam and her Mom must have already left. She looked at the clock and saw that it was indeed late: 8:15. She’d be late for her second day of school.
Perfect.
She was surprised that Sam hadn’t woken her up. In all their years, he’d never let her oversleep – he’d always wake her if he was leaving first.
He must still be mad about last night.
She glanced at her celclass="underline" dead. She had forgot to charge it. It was just as well. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone.
She threw on some clothes from the floor and ran her hands through her hair. She normally would just leave without eating, but this morning she felt thirsty. Unusually thirsty. She went to the fridge and grabbed a half gallon of red grapefruit juice. In a sudden frenzy, she tore off the top and gulped it right from the container. She didn’t stop gulping until she’d downed the entire half gallon.
She looked at the empty container. Had she just drank all of that? In her life, she’d never drank more than a half a glass. She watched herself reach up and crush the cardboard container in a single hand, down to a tiny ball. She couldn’t understand what this newfound strength was that coursed through her veins. It was exciting. And scary.
She was still thirsty. And hungry. But not for food. Her veins screamed for something more, but she couldn’t understand what.
It was strange to see the hallways of her school so empty, the complete opposite of the day before. With class in session, there wasn’t a soul in site. She glanced at her watch: 8:40. There were 15 minutes left to her third class of the day. She wondered whether it was worth it to even go at all, but then again, she didn’t know where else to go. So she followed the hallway numbers towards the room.
She stopped outside the classroom door, and could hear the teacher’s voice. She hesitated. She hated to interrupt, to be so conspicuous. But she didn’t see what other choice she had.
She took a deep breath and turned the metal knob.
She entered, and the entire class stopped and looked up at her. Including the teacher.
Silence.
“Ms….” the teacher, forgetting her name, walked to her desk and picked up a piece of paper, scanning it, “….Paine. The new girl. You are 25 minutes late.”
A stern, older woman, the teacher glared down at Caitlin.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
Caitlin hesitated.
“Sorry?”
“That’s not good enough. It may be acceptable to be late to class wherever you are from, but it’s certainly not acceptable here.”
“Unacceptable,” Caitlin said, and immediately regretted it.
An awkward silence covered the room.
“Excuse me?” the teacher asked, slowly.
“You said ‘not acceptable.’ You meant ‘unacceptable.’”
“OH – SHIT!” exclaimed a noisy boy from the back of the room, and the entire class erupted into laughter.
The teacher’s face turned bright red.
“You little brat. Report to the Principal’s office right now!”
The teacher marched over and opened the door beside Caitlin. She stood inches away, close enough so that Caitlin could smell her cheap perfume. “Out of my classroom!”
Normally Caitlin would have slinked quietly out of the room – in fact, she would have never corrected a teacher to begin with. But something had shifted within her, something she didn’t entirely understand, and she felt a defiance rising. She didn’t feel that she had to show respect to anyone. And she no longer felt afraid.
Instead, Caitlin stood where she was, ignoring the teacher, and slowly scanned the classroom, looking for Jonah. The room was packed, and she looked row to row. No sign of him.
“Ms. Paine! Did you not hear what I said!?”
Caitlin looked defiantly back. Then she turned and slowly walked out of the room.
She could feel the door slam behind her, and then heard the muffled clamor in the room, followed by, “Quiet down, class!”
Caitlin continued down the empty hallway, wandering, not really sure where she was going.
She heard footsteps. In the distance, a security guard appeared. He walked right for her.
“Pass!” he barked at her, still a good twenty feet away.
“What?” she answered.
He got closer.
“Where’s your hall pass? You’re supposed to hold it out visibly at all times.”
“What pass?”
He stopped and examined her. He was an ugly, mean-looking man, with a huge mole on his forehead.
“You can’t walk the halls without a signed pass. You know that. Where is it?”
“I didn’t know – ”
He picked up his CB radio, and said into it, “Hall pass violation in wing 14. I’m bringing her to detention now.”
“Detention?” Caitlin asked, confused. “What are you – ”
He grabbed her roughly by the arm and yanked her down the hall.
“Not another word out of you!” he snapped.
Caitlin didn’t like the feel of his fingers digging into her arm, leading her as if she were a child. She could feel the heat rising through her body. She felt the Rage coming on. She didn’t quite know how, or why, but she knew. And she knew that, in moments, she wouldn’t be able to control her anger – or her use of force.
She had to stop it before it was too late. She used every ounce of her will to make it stop. But as long as his fingers were on her, it would just not go away.
She flung her arm quickly, before the full power took over her, and watched as his hand went flying off of her, and as he stumbled several feet back.
He stared back at her, shocked that a girl her size could throw him several feet across the hall with just a slight jerk of her arm. He wavered between outrage and fear. She could see him debating whether to attack her or back off. He lowered his hand to his belt, on which hung a large can of pepper spray.
“Lay your hands on me again, young lady,” he said in a cold rage, “and I will mace you.”
“Then don’t put your hands on me,” she answered defiantly. She was shocked at the sound of her own voice. It had changed. It was deeper, more primal.
He slowly removed his hand from the spray. He gave in.
“Walk in front of me,” he said. “Down the hall and up those stairs.”
The security guard left her at the crowded entrance to the Principal’s office, and as he did, his radio went off, and he hurried off to another location. Before he did, he turned to her.