Red Rain: Lightning Strikes: Red Rain Series #2 (15 page)

J
ohn opened his eyes
, immediately feeling pain in his neck and an awful dull thumping in his head. He looked around, blinking, seeing the light burning above him and the sun lazily streaking in through the blinds.

John lay on the floor, his head uncomfortably craned against the door to his room.

It didn’t happen
, his mind thought, spitting out thoughts almost faster than John could keep up.
What you thought you saw last night, you didn’t
.

Except another, deeper part of him decided to talk back.

You can lie to other people, John. Your mom, dad, and psychologist. You can’t lie to yourself, though. Not about this. You know what you saw.

IT WAS A GODDAMN DREAM!
the first voice shouted, trying to break down whatever resistance existed to the structure it needed to put around reality.

No, John. It wasn’t
, came the second voice, quietly, but speaking more truth.

He pulled himself up from the floor, rotating his neck and trying to massage out the stiffness. The clock said it was nearly nine in the morning, which meant he had fifteen minutes to change and dash across campus to his classroom.

He didn’t know what happened last night, nothing solid that he could speak of, but he did know that if he didn’t make it to the second day’s class, someone would call his parents in the next few hours, which would be
awful
. On day two, no less. Not on day two.

John dressed as if someone held a gun to his head and a timer in their hand. He flew across campus, seeing nothing except the path he needed to make it to class.

And he did, one minute before the bells chimed across the school.

“Have a tough time waking up?”

John looked to his left, his breath coming in huge gulps, and saw the blonde girl from yesterday sitting next to him.

Cindy
, he thought.

“I was up all night fighting the redcoats,” he said, smiling, despite his inability to get enough air. “They wanted to tax me without letting me vote.”

The girl smiled and turned her face to the front of the class as the teacher began speaking.

John sat in class, halfway paying attention. The other half of his mind struggled with last night, with what he saw and heard.

That couldn’t have been Harry. A dream, or nightmare, yes. But why had it taken so many years for it to happen? Harry died when John was thirteen; he was turning seventeen now. The kid he saw last night wasn’t a thirteen year old version of Harry, either. He looked like Harry
would
have, if he lived. At least, if Harry had somehow lived after being scraped on the bottom of the ocean for sixteen hours.

And yet, the voice had been real.

Not a dream.

John had backed up and rammed into the door, turned the light switch on, and looked at his dead friend. Smiling.

Harry’s smile.

Yet different, too. Because Harry’s smile was always kind. Even when making fun of the kids that picked on him, John never detected true malice from him. Last night, though, that smile held nothing
but
malice. Maybe not toward, John—he didn’t get the feeling that Harry wanted to hurt
him—
but certainly toward someone.

“Hey,” Cindy said. “You going to stay for the next class?”

John realized the girl stood next to his desk; he looked up at her, his eyes hazy from thought. “Huh?”

“Well, class is over, so I wasn’t sure if you would like to leave or if you needed a refresher on the lesson.”

John looked to the front of the class and saw that the teacher sitting at her desk, doing something on a computer. Most of the kids were gone, with a few stragglers still putting books in their bags. He turned his head back to Cindy, shaking it as if trying to clear cobwebs. “I don’t know what I was thinking about.”

“Come on, let’s go or we’re going to be late,” Cindy said.

John grabbed his bag—all his books still inside—and stood, exiting the classroom with Cindy.

“What are you doing tonight?” she said. “You look like you need some company.”

Harry’s image hadn’t completely left his mind, yet he knew he had to focus here. She was talking to him, asking him something, and all he could see was Harry’s huge pupil, looking like the size of a black ocean.

“Huh?” he said.

“Do you know any other words?”

“H—,” he paused, almost saying it again. Finally a smile spread across his face. “Maybe, I don’t.”

“There you go. You’re getting a hold of the English language now. I was concerned for a bit; I mean, I know you Americans have butchered our beautiful language, but I didn’t think it was this bad.”

John laughed. “Hush. What did you ask me? Sorry, was kind of lost in my head for a minute.”

“I said what are you doing tonight?”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Well, now you do. Let’s go get some food, and not at the dining hall.”

* * *

C
indy didn’t know
what to think about The American, as she was coming to think of him.

He was cute, no doubt about that. She liked his smile when he decided to show it, and maybe that was part of the issue. He didn’t smile a lot. Cindy almost felt like an idiot in front of him, with all her smiling and joking, given the stark seriousness in him.

And yet, he had a playful side when she could bring it out.

She looked at her hair and face in the mirror. She thought she looked pretty, perhaps not beautiful, but pizza on a Tuesday didn’t call for beautiful. Cindy nodded, confirming what was in her head with the outside world.

She threw her keys in her purse and walked to her roommate’s bedroom.

“I’m heading out for dinner.”

“Cafeteria?”

“No, going to Gumby’s.”

“Ohhh, this a date?” Raquel said.

“I’m not sure. You know The American?”

“Him? He’s cute.”

“Yes, I kind of forced him into it, I think. But, either way, we’re going. I’ll probably be home in a couple of hours.”

“Probably?” Raquel asked, smiling.

“I’ll definitely be home,” Cindy said, a bold grin on her own face.

She left the apartment, beginning the half mile across campus to the pizzeria. She felt a few butterflies zooming around in her stomach, but for the most part, was calm. Despite the almost
oddness
The American portrayed, she felt comfortable around him. She felt at ease. Like he had a maturity to him that most boys in their class lacked. Perhaps that was only his seriousness, but either way … it felt comforting.

She made it to the pizza shop in about ten minutes. Gumby’s was always dark, no matter what time of the day you went, as if they wouldn’t buy brighter lightbulbs or turn them all on because they needed to save money. She stood just inside the door for a second, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. She heard pool balls clacking together from her right, though she focused on the tables in front of her.

Cindy saw him.

Three tables deep and to the right. A pinball machine sat about ten feet behind him.

John stood up when he saw her and offered a goofy little wave.

Cindy smiled and walked across the restaurant. “Sit down!” she said, with a smile. “We all know you Americans don’t have manners.”

He sat, smiling too, which she was glad for. He didn’t take her little jabs as insults, and they weren’t meant to be.

“Was it hard to find?” Cindy asked.

“No, easy peasy. I went ahead and ordered you a water; I don’t know what you drink.”

Cindy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have an ID?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, God bless the Queen,” she said and then lowered her voice some. “A fake ID, John. You don’t have one?”

“No? You do?”

“Of course. I’m not a child.”

He laughed which made her smile grow larger.

“It’s only Tuesday,” he said. “You’re going to drink tonight?”

“This is why you started the war. You can’t handle your alcohol. We English can have a few drinks and not try to overthrow our gracious rulers.” Cindy started laughing, unable to help herself.

The waitress arrived with two waters. “Anything else?”

“I’ll take a Bass please,” Cindy said, reaching into her purse. She pulled out her ID.

The waitress glanced at the ID. “Alright,” she said and left.

“Are they always that rude?" John asked.

“Especially when Americans are around.” Cindy glanced to his glass. “Enjoy your water.”

“You’re out of your mind, you know that?”

“I’m just thirsty, that’s all.”

“Mmm-hmm,” John said. He looked down at his menu and the first awkward silence of the night began.

Cindy looked at her own menu, hating these little moments when she first went out with someone—almost dreaded them. The questions always started rising in her mind like missiles shot into space.
Does he notice it? Is he bored? Does he want to leave?
And on and on, for no reason except he quit speaking for just a second.

“What do you think about when these silences start?” she said.

He looked up, his face a question in itself.

“I mean, when you’re with someone and neither of you are talking. Do you start worrying?”

A slight, half grin. “Are you worrying?”

“No, I think you are,” she said, matching his grin.

“Oh yeah? That why you’re asking?”

“That’s the only reason I have to ask. I’m concerned about your well being.”

John looked at her, that same grin on his face, but she couldn’t read it. His eyes were lit, showing an energy that she hadn’t seen in class today, an excitement maybe. And so what if she couldn’t read what the smile said?

Excitement was enough for now.

* * *

J
ohn slept
without any apparitions arriving to call his name.

It took him a while to find sleep, though, and not because he was thinking about Harry. He thought about Cindy, instead, and even when his mind tried to interject with images of Harry, he shoved them down.

He woke up the next morning, somewhat groggy, but still feeling light.

Because last night was the first date he’d been on—even if it wasn’t technically a date. Last night was the first time any girl had taken an interest in him; it’d taken so long John wondered if it would ever happen. Like he would live his whole life with only murders playing out in his mind, separating him from ever being able to connect with someone.

Yet last night, he did.

They laughed. They joked. They ribbed each other, and it all felt as natural as a sip of water.

Brushing his teeth, he almost felt elated. This was a part of life that he saw between his parents, and even a little bit with Alicia’s boyfriends, but saw it the way an orphan sees a family eating dinner at a restaurant. It looked great, but it also hurt—crushing the soul, some. He always walked away from it, forgetting it as life took over, but yet …

It never really left; he just grew numb to it.

The lightness in his mind carried into his step as he crossed the campus heading to his Wednesday classes. The school was different here, more like college than high school. He wouldn’t see Cindy all day, though she had given him her number—he planned on calling when classes finished.

John sat at his desk, this class having assigned seats. He pulled out his notebook and looked to the front where the teacher sat at his desk. He was maybe three minutes early, and people were walking in one after another.

John didn’t see the person sit down to his right, once again lost in his thoughts.

“What class is this?”

A chill started at the top of John’s neck and ran down his spine like a rat scurrying across a hardwood floor. He could almost hear it scraping over his back as goosebumps broke out across his skin.

John didn’t turn to his right. He looked straight ahead, just as before, but now his body was as rigid as steel. Every muscle nearly creaked with tension.

“Joooohhhnnnn,” the person said, his voice sing-songy, as if trying to carry a tune. “Trying to figure out what we’re learning today.”

John’s breath picked up speed and he felt his heart slamming against his chest.