Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 28.
Abra

That night, shortly after speaking with Matilda, Cole, and Cody, Eleven contacted Monica. She was officially the Chief of TI in a reputable consulting firm in Des Moines. And unofficially, a cyber activist that was not afraid to cross the legal lines for a good cause. Also, she was one of Eleven Foundation's trackers with the most extensive experience and years in that work. In fact, many considered her as the unnamed leader of that small group of collaborators, since more than once, she had had to coordinate them. That was something she was very good at, it should be mentioned. But Monica not only shines and can see and hear someone from miles away as if she were sitting to one side. She very well complemented these extrasensory abilities with her somewhat more mundane and technological skills, to obtain any type of information when it was required. That combination of abilities in the wrong hands would surely be quite dangerous weapons. Fortunately, Monica's were quite correct.

However, the request that Eleven made to her that night was quite unusual, since within it was included the indication to avoid as far as possible precisely the use of her clairvoyance. That was derivate for the imminent risk that this could represent in this specific case. She hoped, therefore, that Monica would use more her contacts and conventional ways of obtaining information (if hacking, getting into non-entirely public databases, email accounts, and other social networks could be considered conventional). Maybe it wouldn't be a big deal if it weren't for the fact that Eleven was only given her one word as a clue to work on: Abra.

After leaving Monica with that little problem to solve, Eleven finally went to rest. Although technically she hadn't moved from her house all day (at least to the common eye), that had also been a tiring day for her. Still, she couldn't really sleep much. What had happened worried her far more than she was allowing herself to accept, even more than she had relayed to Cole, or to Mike when they two reviewed everything that had happened before turning off the lights.

It had been a long time since she had felt this fearful and helpless, feeling that at any moment, in the darkness of her own room, something would materialize, something would come out of the corners and rush to her bed, devouring her before allowing her to even scream. This made her realize how comfortable and perhaps patronizing, she had become over the years. Without realizing it, she had put herself, her family, friends, and collaborators in a status quo where they always felt safe and untouchable from any evil force that wanted to put one finger on them. And that really wasn't a bad thing; it was something they had gained after all they had lived and lost along the way. But the problem came when something like this happened. It came out of nowhere to burst his bubble and show her that, in reality, they were not as safe and secure as she thought, much less invincible or untouchable. They had always been exposed and with the back door open, at the mercy of any wild wolf that roamed the yard... and the wolf had finally appeared.

The next morning, after having breakfast with her husband and daughter, she went to her office and locked herself alone to speak with Monica. She did not expect any real news to come, for it had practically only been a few hours.

"You're tying my hands, Eleven," Monica's voice murmured gravely, ringing through the speaker on her desk phone. Eleven was sitting in her chair, legs crossed, and wrapped in her blue nightgown.

"I didn't expect that kind of complaint from you, Monica. Not from the best Tracker of the Foundation."

"I thought that was you."

"Don't start with that." Eleven leaned fully against her chair and rested her elbows on the armrests, also crossing her fingers over her legs. "I know it is a difficult task, but seriously you must get as much of this person as possible from me as soon as possible."

"I would do it with pleasure, if only you gave me something to work with," Monica exclaimed in protest. "You only gave me a name. I don't know if it is a first name, surname, nickname, diminutive, name of a woman or a man… You are asking me to look for a needle in a haystack, without even telling me which haystack it is where I should search. You don't even know if this person also exists. That person, maybe he just wanted to confuse you."

"No, he really was expecting that other person," Eleven pointed out with absolute conviction. "He sounded… even excited about the idea. Abra is a real person, I've no doubt about it. And it is our only clue at the moment or at least the only one that we can follow."

"I disagree with that. This would be much easier if you let us use our perception with Lily Sullivan or Leena Klammer, and so perhaps..."

"I already said no," Jane interrupted sharply, almost violently. She leaned forward unconsciously, virtually placing herself on the phone. "No one should use their skills to track down any of those girls... or women, or whatever, or the other individual."

Eleven was aware of how almost inconsistent her request was, and it would surely be impossible for Monica to understand her position, even if she explained it. But now that she knew they were vulnerable, that they had the back door open for the wolf to enter, they couldn't over-expose themselves. If that guy was watching any of those girls, and any of them were trying to track them down, it would be like going out naked in the courtyard covered in blood, and inviting the wolf to come in to devour them. Exaggerated? Maybe. But she couldn't allow her volunteers to expose themselves to that...

"It is very risky," Eleven concluded bluntly. "Abra, whoever she is, is our only clue, and I need you to find her to the old school."

Monica sighed, tired, and resigned at the same time.

"Old school requires more initial information, too."

Eleven sat up straighter, laced her fingers in front of her face, and looked thoughtfully at the sliding glass doors that led to her large courtyard, and the forest beyond. The bad thing about shining was that you could never be entirely sure if an idea that was implanted in your head was just an idea or the usual intuition that all people naturally possessed, or perhaps something else. That happened to her in those moments with that unknown person.

Is that you, Abra?

Eleven had no idea who Abra was, but for some reason, she had the feeling that they should find that person in any way possible. But, how do you do it with just a name, that they didn't even know if it really was that?

She closed her eyes for a few moments. If that feeling really was something else, then she hoped it could give it a little more direction if she concentrated enough. The first ideas that would come to mind, that was what it would take. It was not the most scientific or coherent path at all, but it was the only one she had.

I thought it was a boy, young, seventeen or eighteen, with blue eyes and black hair. He was handsome, but... overwhelmingly terrifying. That was how Matilda described the attacker. Why did she remember just that?

"Eleven? Are you still there?" Monica's voice spoke suddenly, causing her to react and open her eyes again. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but enough for Monica to worry about her silence.

"Okay, narrow the search range," Eleven said abruptly, not taking the time to explain herself first. "I think he was expecting a girl, maybe his age. Matilda said he didn't look older than eighteen. He hoped it was she who had pulled him into that space, so it must be someone who shines, and maybe hard, to be the first person he thought of. Look for girls with that profile, by their first name, and who are directly or indirectly related to an inexplicable case that could be due to the presence of the Shining.

"Well, that's something," Monica mumbled, not entirely happy yet. "You just cut me from a thousand haystacks to a hundred."

"It's enough if you put it that way," Eleven commented, a bit mocking. "Give me a list of possible candidates as soon as you have it, please."

"It won't be soon."

Monica ended up hanging up right then and there, without even saying goodbye. Eleven thought of a couple of things she would have liked to say, but she would have to keep them to herself. She also had to put herself in her place a little and understand that it was not an easy task that she was asking for.

Eleven cut the line once the sound signaling the end of the call exasperated her. She sat in her chair for a while, not looking or thinking about anything specific. She was just staring at the blank sheet of one of her notebooks, open on the desk. The sheet had nothing written on it, or at least not for anyone who had stood by her to see the same thing as her. For Eleven, it was as if four letters materialized on their own, making their way through the white material of the paper like an animal digging itself out of the sand, and then they danced from side to side, bouncing nonstop. The four letters were obviously A, B, R, and another A.

She took a pen, and she wrote the name in large diagonally across the sheet, hoping that the mere act of writing it would help get that intrusive thought out of her head. It failed. Now seeing the great ABRA in black ink caused her even more fascination.

"Who are you?" She whispered slowly. "What relationship do you have with that kid?"

She was silent right after that as if she expected the paper to answer in some way, but it was not so. It was absolutely silent too.

Eleven looked once more towards the courtyard and thought for a few seconds. She said she did not want to expose anyone else to being attacked by this new... Would it be appropriate to use the word "enemy" when thinking of him? However, she said that she did not want to expose anyone to him, but had not decided whether that included herself. It had to be that way. Otherwise, she might have tried to track down Lily Sullivan or Leena Klammer, as Cody had proposed the night before, and Monica just moments ago. Or she could try looking for Abra… But even if she wanted to, how would she do it? She had neither a photo nor a piece of who she was or how she was like. She had managed to track people in that way before, but at least she had an idea of the person and the place. Now she had nearly nothing. Just a name and a hunch, nothing more.

But it was still a pretty strong feeling, quite appealing and one that made her have all of her focus on it, something neither Monica nor any other Tracker had shared. But would it be enough? And even more important: was it worth the risk?

Her conscious and objective part said no.

Her most rooted, most emotional part, and for some reason stronger, said yes.

What was the worst she could hope for? That her husband and daughter find her with her head resting against the desk, and a third of her brain slipping down her ear and staining the papers on it? Because, in the face of the ignorance that all this situation caused her, anything was really possible.

She stood up and walked to the patio doors, secured them, and then closed the curtains all the way to cover any traces of sight from outside. Then she went to the entrance of the study and also locked it. Then she reached out to switch the lights in the room and turned them off. In doing this, the room was almost entirely in darkness. Using the memories she had in her mind of the layout of the room, she made her way to the desk without a problem and sat down in the chair. She reached her hand towards a drawer and took out an object that he was not able to see but felt perfectly between her fingers. A pair of headphones, but very special ones, to keep almost any sound trace isolated. She put them on, and as soon as she did, practically complete silence enveloped her. She also closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly.

That study wasn't precisely a sensory deprivation tank, but it worked in most cases. Depriving herself of light and sound was not something she usually did. Still, sometimes it was the only thing that made that other part of her, that other sense that only she could develop, intensify and focus only on one thing. She had no idea if that was going to work somehow, and most likely, it wouldn't. But still, she had to make an attempt, even once.

"Abra..." Eleven whispered very slowly, or maybe she just thought about it. Her fingers rested on the piece of paper on which she had written ABRA in ink.

And there she stayed, wrapped in shadows and in the total absence of sound. With nothing and no one else, just her and her thoughts. And so things went on for a long, long time...

Damien Thorn was somewhat ignorant of all the shock, confusion, and fear he had caused in the new people he had just met the day before. He did not know that an entire organization, small but with significant weight, was upside down looking for ways to find him, at the same time that they were trembling in fear at the idea of succeeding.

Well, actually, "ignorant" was not the correct word to describe him. He was aware of the devastating impact that his presence could have on people. Still, he didn't really care at all, at least not in those moments, and in this particular case. Although he was curious to know more about that woman who had stopped Esther in her flight, and especially the other woman who had intervened to save her, they were not really her number one priority. He supposed that if it was his fate to come across some of the two again in the process of that little operation he had started, it would happen even if he didn't look for it. If it wasn't like that and he never really saw them again (to put it in some way), well, that really wouldn't take away his sleep.

That morning, one more in Los Angeles, the handsome seventeen-year-old had got up early and got dressed. Nothing extraordinary, just a red shirt, pretty casual blue pants, and sneakers. He asked to have only a cup of coffee, with little cream and sugar, and he took it to the Pent-house's study. He spent the next hour in front of his laptop, reviewing some various topics, more of a personal nature. At the same time, he waited for the real topic that had made him get up at that time.

Around ten o'clock, the study door opened. Damien looked up just a little, from his computer screen to the woman approaching from the door, dragging behind her a large black travel suitcase, and with a hard look on her face.

Ann Thorn moved silently toward the desk and stopping just in front of it.

"Good morning, darling," said the woman, eloquently. "I see you woke up early."

Damien watched her for a while with disinterest, before turning his attention back to the computer and continued typing.

"I have an appointment with someone," he informed her in a neutral tone, "who will be here any minute. I wanted to receive it presentable."

Ann's right eyebrow arched, intriguing.

"An appointment? Like... a date? Here?"

"Not that type, it's more a business issue. And it was here or at the local offices of Thorn Industries, but I decided that here would feel more comfortable."

Ann breathed slowly, standing upright and steady.

"Are those little…?" she didn't finish that question, but Damien knew precisely what she was trying to ask him.

"No, not yet."

"I get it."

The woman looked for a few seconds at the suitcase beside her. Her fingers moved restlessly on the handle.

"I just wanted to let you know that I need to..."

"Go, I know," Damien interrupted. "And I understand it; you are a busy woman after all. Go with God…" A small ironic giggle escaped for him at that moment, realizing the curious choice of words. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Actually, I was hoping to convince you to come with me," Ann commented, in a tone that didn't exactly sound like a request.

"Didn't you hear the part where I mentioned I have an appointment?"

"And I bet it must be a very important one. But you've already neglected your classes too much, don't you think?"

"Absolutely not," the boy answered immediately with complete certainty. "Don't underestimate me, Ann. I already anticipated that. I signed up for a tennis tournament next week, so I can justify my stay in Los Angeles for longer. I spoke with my teachers, and I'll take a couple of exams that I had pending online. Also, I'll send some reports between one and the other, nothing complicated or ostentatious. I'm already working on it right now while I wait."

Ann had the urge to lean forward a little and try to glance at the computer screen and see exactly what he was typing. However, a small wave of movement from the boy put her on alert, and she quickly straightened up again as if nothing had happened. Damien, however, had only reached out for his cup of coffee but realized at that moment that the cup was already empty. Then he prepared to operate one of the buttons on the intercom mounted on the desk.

"Yes, Mr. Thorn?" The voice of one of his security men was heard through the built-in horn.

"Bring me another coffee," said the boy, "like the first one, please."

He released the button before receiving any confirmation response and continued what he was doing on his laptop.

"With that, I will have everything calm for a while," he concluded as a final point.

Ann breathed again slowly without losing her composure.

"So, I understand with this that you are planning to stay here for a long time then... Even if I'm not here."

An ironic giggle came from the boy's lips, and at last, he gave her the privilege of being his center of attention again, stopping writing and also raising his eyes to her again.

"And why do you think I need you to be here, or not?" He slammed her down, almost like a direct blow to the face, or at least Ann felt it like that. "It'll be only for a few weeks, in which the other people I hope to arrive."

"The three children?" The black-haired woman blurted out, or instead almost spat, abruptly. This being the same thing that would actually have completed that question she had cut short a few seconds ago.

Damien smirked at her reaction.

"Yes, the three children... although one of them is not exactly a child." Then he turned back to the computer, glancing at the time in the lower right corner of the screen. "You should go now to catch your flight, right?"

She felt almost defeated, overwhelmed by the nature of the conversation. Ann took the suitcase from its handle, tipped it a little so that it sways on its rear wheels, and spun it toward the door.

"I'll take care of some business, and then I'll be back," she said quickly as she started toward the door.

"No need, but do what you want," she heard him say in a rather condescending tone but didn't give him the satisfaction of turning to see him. She continued on his way straight to the door, until just a couple of meters from it, the boy released something else. "Say hi to Lyons for me."

Ann couldn't help but stop dead on hearing such a comment, which sounded more like a threat. She would have stayed that way for perhaps several minutes if she hadn't forced herself to continue. She said nothing, nor did she turn to see him again. She just closed the missing distance, opened the door, and went out, leaving the young man alone again.

Damien kept typing a few more seconds after Ann's departure, but then stopped abruptly, leaning against his chair with his hands behind his head. Tennis tournament, online exams, reports... all of that was a piece of cake for him. He could miss classes the entire semester, and still manage to finish it with a perfect score. Thus Damien Thorn was born with everything in his favor: appearance, physical condition, charisma, intelligence... There was nothing he couldn't do, and no one he couldn't dominate... except them. These individuals, these people who had been right there under his nose all that time, and who he had never been able to see.

All the people in that boring world (including Ann, Lyons, Adrian, and all their beloved Brotherhood) were nothing but flat wandering pieces of meat with nothing remotely exciting about them. But these others, these that had that special glow, that "shining," fascinated him, perhaps more than he should. It was not something he could control, not even something he had sought. It had just come to him suddenly and unexpectedly, a few months ago, at that Economics Convention in New Hampshire.

The event lasted three days, but the Thorn's made an appearance until the last one, in which Ann Thorn would give a conference along with three other high-level female directors like her. The theme was the current role of women entrepreneurs in International Business. The event was of considerable size, at least enough for Ann to finally decide to accept the iterated invitation.

In a short and quick interview weeks before, Ann said she had accepted mainly for the idea of pushing and motivating young students to aspire to the top of their careers, and not let themselves be bowed down or humiliated by anyone along the way. A nice massage. However, from the perspective of some people, it lost weight if it was taken into account that she had practically inherited her current position after the death of her husband Richard and stepson Mark, passing all the actions that were in the name of both automatically to her. An without any other blood relative alive, she also became the legal guardian of Damien Thorn, who also had several actions in his name after the death of his parents, and therefore they also came under the supervision and administration of Ann until he is of legal age. So all of this gave her control of more than half of a multinational empire that generated several billions of dollars a year, even more than people believed. So became in the next Director was not in dispute.

However, despite the somewhat questionable way in which Ann had acquired the position, she had managed to earn her place in recent years. She had been arranging things from the main stage and also behind the scenes so that everything was ready the moment when Damien claimed his legitimate position at the head of this empire, which was, in fact, just one more step towards a much bigger destination. That was her role, and Ann knew it and was glad to do it, though that warranted making those annoying public appearances from time to time and smiling at the lambs like she didn't give a damn.

They arrived at the spacious and elegant convention center in Manchester in the afternoon and entered through the main doors capturing everyone's attention as real movie stars. Ann could actually easily pass for one, as her natural beauty was simply enhanced by her bright red lipstick, her curly and perfectly groomed hair, and that purple business suit with a tube skirt that perfectly shaped her figure. It was easy for anyone to see why Richard Thorn had married her not long after he was widowed by his first wife. Ann was a true monument of women when they met, and she was still so in those moments.

Ann's entourage was composed in the first instance by her nephew Damien. He was elegantly dressed in a black suit and jacket, blue shirt and striped tie to match it, in addition to a black vest. A rather mature outfit, considering it was worn by a seventeen-year-old boy. His most striking accessory, however, was not the elegant wristwatch, or his well-polished loafers, or the diamond pin he wore on his tie. It was the professional camera around his neck, which he held with one hand like an officer entering the crime scene with his gun drawn and ready to shoot. He was, as always, impeccably groomed, without any arrogance, speck of dust, or blemishes on his clothing or overall appearance. He also immediately caught everyone's attention upon entering, something he was fully aware of.

In addition to the four members of their security, tall men dressed in black and badly face who walked around them creating a wall between themselves and the crowd, they were also accompanied by Veronica, the young fellow who Ann had taken as her protégé and personal assistant. She was a lanky girl with blond hair, a simple face with a slightly prominent nose, but pretty blue eyes. She didn't speak much, or at least Damien didn't remember hearing her talk much in his presence. She was almost always behind Ann's back at a safe distance, her head down and waiting for her boss to speak to her before deigning to do anything. She was wearing a light blue suit and jacket, a white blouse underneath, and no makeup except a little blush on her cheeks to hide a bit of the almost sickly paleness of her face.

Damien had come to think that Veronica was actually something like Ann's personal pet. Or her secret sex slave. Or maybe she had kidnapped her and slept in the basement of one of her houses, chained to some pipe. Or she was simply a bored university student, insecure and shielded by the name and position of the kind woman who had deigned to set her eyes on her. He felt a little sorry for her sometimes, but it didn't come with his interest. Like any other employee of the Thorn Industries, or any other member of the Brotherhood who protected him so much from a very young age, Veronica was totally indifferent to him and often did not even remember that she was there. In fact, months later, it would take a couple of days for him to realize that she wasn't going with them on the trip to Los Angeles, nor did he deign to ask why.

As soon as they entered the convention center, Damien tried to look around for something worthy of his attention to be photographed. It was not a very fruitful task; after all, what could be interesting to shoot in a boring Economic Congress? Only old people in suits, greeting each other and exchanging cards, or young high school or university students, who were surely forced to attend due to school duty or as a simple excuse to spend the weekend in Manchester away from their parents and go out to party during the nights. He could feel a lot of this last thought, floating in the air, almost suffocating.

As they advanced towards the VIP area for guests, where they would be attended in theory as they should be given their category, halfway, the young man stopped for a second. He fixed his attention on a group of three people, two men, and a woman, the three of them older and dressed in very fine suits. One of the men already had completely white hair, and the other possibly had it freshly painted to hide his, but he had managed to make it look very natural. The woman was just a couple of years younger than them, and she had red hair as intense as her lipstick. She was the wife of the gray-haired man; Damien sensed it immediately. Also, both used their wedding rings with pride.

The three of them chatted and laughed like old friends, and in fact, they were. The gray-haired man and the painted-haired man had been college mates and hadn't seen each other for over half a year. On the contrary, his wife had just seen this old friend two weeks ago, in a luxury suite in Concord, where she did not care in to wear her ring or any other garment or accessory on her body.

And they already had a plan to repeat the experience.

The gray-haired man would be entering one of the conferences in twenty minutes. However, his wife would casually start to feel bad, and her good friend would offer to take her to their hotel. That would give them around two hours to get on with what they had started in Concord, and again put aside the ring around that time. Their thoughts and desires were so evident and clear to the young man that it was almost offensive to him... but a little interesting. There were lots of adulterous people in that world, but the impudence and naturalness with which many decided to behave despite the dirty thoughts that flooded their heads at those times, was always fascinating. Not too much, but enough to motivate him to raise his camera, focus on the woman and her lover in a perfect frame, and take five pictures in a row. On reviewing them, the third was excellent: she turned to see him, and the eyes of both overflowed lust and gluttony alike.

If he judged them only by that one image, it would seem that they were about to tear off their clothes in that same place without the slightest shame, and without caring that the gray-haired man had a front-row seat for the absolute desecration of his wife. But the next instant, they went on quite naturally, still laughing, still chatting, with the same impudence, as if that little moment had not happened.

Then he heard Ann's voice calling him, and he was aware at that moment that the entire Thorn party had stopped a few steps in front of where he had done so.

"When I suggested that you join me, I hoped you would take advantage of the moment to enlighten yourself a little, or perhaps make some relationships." Her tone was gentle and calm, but it had a little scolding hidden. "Don't sneak photos of people like a simple paparazzi."

Damien smiled, somewhat impassive at her comment. He continued to review his latest photos, but really only the third was worth even a little of his interest; the others he erased without much thought.

"You say you suggested it, but it didn't sound like that to me," he said in a mocking tone. "I just came to make an appearance and put on my best face, as always. Also, it is not like here must be something exciting to photograph around."

Ann laughed amused.

"In a couple of hours, it'll be my conference. That may seem more entertaining to you."

Damien didn't answer anything in words, but his small grimace was enough to imply that the idea didn't excite him much more. Ann approached her, alone, standing next to him so she could speak more slowly.

"You still have to be there, dear nephew. To make an appearance, as you said well. Little by little, people have to recognize your face and your name." At that moment, she ran her fingers through the boy's silky black hair, adjusting it a little so that it was perfectly combed. "And you look so handsome right now that you're sure to overshadow anyone in that auditorium, including me."

"I see it a little difficult," he replied simply. And just after that, he started to walk away from her with a calm step, but not in the direction they were supposed to be before stopping. "I'll walk around for a while on my own if you agree."

"Do you seriously think that is a good idea?" Ann commented unsurely.

"Hey, people have to see my face, right?" Then he stopped a few meters away and turned to her, pointing his camera lens straight to frame her mid-chest up. "Come on, smile for me."

A little reluctantly, Ann allowed her red lips to curl into a small but steady smile. Damien released the trigger, capturing that short moment. Soon after, he took a more careful look at the camera's digital display to review the photo.

"It's not your best smile," he pointed out mockingly. "You better practice a little before your conference."

Without waiting for an answer, Damien spun on his feet and kept walking away from the group, while Ann watched in silence. Yes, back then, he was somewhat impertinent, but no more so than an average teenager. Even among his sarcastic comments and insolence, his respect for her was noticeable in the background, or there could also be some affection. Ann was not exactly happy with such behavior, but she came to tolerate it. Months later, she would long for him to treat her again at least as back then.

She adjusted her jacket and prepared to go back to her security men, who were already quite nervous about how exposed she had been, even for a few moments. Veronica, for her part, watched everything from afar, her eyes wide as those of a frightened puppy.

"Will you let him go alone?" The blonde girl asked slowly, somewhat surprised.

Ann shrugged her shoulders.

"Let him have a little fun for a change," she replied with apparent naturalness, unaware of how much she would regret after that decision.

Damien wasn't really looking for anything special in this whole boring event. He was there only by what Ann had mentioned: public relations. From the age of twelve, they had had him from top to bottom in events of this type, in which he could show off his appearance, his intelligence, his charisma, or perhaps all three at the same time if possible. It wasn't something that seemed amusing to him in the least, but he understood the purpose. Just as Ann understood her role in all of that, Damien did the same. He followed that since they had practically been repeating it to him every day for the last five years, with enough insistence. But, although he understood it did not mean that he fully accepted it, or even believed it.

Damien already knew how the sects worked, and he knew that the Brotherhood was undoubtedly one, and one that expected a lot from him. But unlike others, and despite practically being the center of all this, there was a part of him that was reluctant to accept all as well and give in to the idea.

Perhaps it was because of the same adolescent impertinence inherent in him, and probably in a year or two, it would be removed.

Maybe it was how overwhelming it had become to always have all those people surrounding him and watching everything he did and said all the time, hoping that he would be perfect and impeccable in every possible way.

Or perhaps it was the face full of suffering and pain of his cousin Mark that occasionally came to mind when he closed his eyes and made him nervous... very nervous.

Little by little, the latter began to happen less, and he hoped that in the end, it would simply disappear completely.

Being logical and pragmatic, as he always used to be, there was no reason why this should remain so vivid in his memory. Mark was dead, so what? Everyone around him died in one way or another. He knew that even Ann's turn would come, although he didn't know what precisely would be her horrifying and vomiting ending; or what would be his own.

Anyway, at the time, he didn't want to think about it much. He just wanted to clear his mind a little, take a picture if he found something more interesting than a couple of old adulterers, and perhaps eat some boring and typical junk food. His version of a recreational afternoon.

He began taking several photos as he made his way through the smaller stands of different companies and making his way through the crowd, which really wasn't that many. He thought for sure that place was more crowded when some comic convention happened. All the photos he reviewed on his camera screen looked like generic photos taken by any of the reporters that were hanging around doing the same thing. Nothing flashy, no hidden sin, pain, or concern that overflowed by the thin features of the people, or at least not one that stood out to him.

Then he stood leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets and his camera hanging, and he just watched silently the people walking in front of him. At first, he did it one by one, trying to see or perceive something entertaining in them, and he did manage to perceive enough, but nothing close to it. After a while, all the faces and thoughts began to intermingle as if they were one, and the only thing he was able to perceive was static noise, a deafening static noise.

And suddenly, a laugh, a loud and harmonious laugh, that overshadowed all the other sound. In fact, for a few moments, it seemed to him that really everything around him had become silent, except for that laugh, joyous and playful.

Damien shuddered and looked discreetly around. That laugh... there was something strange about it. He did not seem to have heard it directly with his ears, but it was also not like when a foreign thought came to his head. That had been much stronger and clearer. But where had it come from, or rather, from whom?

He ran his eyes, trying to find the source among all that tumult of equal faces. For a while longer, everything was static again, murmurs overlapping each other. And back, the same laughter echoed, but now even louder than before. His head whipped around to where he was sure it had come. A few meters from him, among all the people, he distinguished a group of five girls, all young, possibly his age. Three of them carried backpacks on their shoulders, two had small notepads in their hands to write down, and the other three used their hands better to see their cell phones.

The five of them chatted menacingly, loudly, but not really enough so that Damien could even hear a little of what they were saying from that distance. However, the more he focused on that group, the more he concentrated his senses on that specific point, the noise around him gradually faded away like a radio that lowered the volume. After a few seconds, even the sound of the mysterious girls' voices also faded away… except for one.

(Of course not. You are a chatty, Emma. You weren't even there)

It was a soft, delicate voice, floating to him like a lost radio signal, and he was able to hear it as clearly as if it had stopped right in front of him a few inches away.

Little by little, without being fully aware of the change, the people around him disappeared. But it was not only the people but really all the space he was in was blurred until only leaving a wide and infinite black area, in which only a bright point stood out in front. Four of the girls had also disappeared, but the fifth one stayed there, turning her back to him, moving and turning to the sides and the front as if her group of friends was still there with her, and perhaps in fact they were.

It was from her that voice came.

She was a tall girl with curly blond hair, pinned with a tail that fell over her back. She wore a pink sweater that covered his entire torso and arms, blue jeans, and white with red converse shoes. From his right shoulder hung a red-to-white backpack, which almost matched his shoes.

(Jennifer was not there either. Who are you going to believe?)

There was a pause, in which she seemed to wait for one of her friends, who had become invisible to Damien, to reply.

(Exactly! See? That's a reasonable answer)

And there followed a small mocking laugh, which surely in the real world was reciprocated by the rest of the group. What were they talking about? He didn't know, and he wasn't really paying much attention to the words she was saying, but to her herself. To that strange girl that caused him a peculiar sensation, that had somehow dragged him into that trance that he wasn't sure if he wanted to or not go out. Those blond curls, that slim but athletic figure, that cute butt that fit her pants, followed by her long legs...

(Who are you?)

Damien thought, with such intensity that for a moment he thought that perhaps he hadn't thought about it, but instead shouted it out loud. And this feeling was encouraged because at that moment, the mysterious girl seemed to shiver a little, as if someone had touched her back to get her attention, taking her by surprise.

Slowly, she turned confused to her right and stayed in that position for a few moments before doing the same when turning left. Finally, she rolled over her shoulder, and her small but deep blue eyes locked right on him. And that moment he really perceived her as if she were really a short distance from him, and could capture all the features of her face. Not only her blue eyes but her rosy cheeks, her small nose, her thin lips, her natural but pretty blond eyebrows, her ears also small... In general, her face had a curious air of childlike innocence, despite being clearly an already big girl, but she was actually very pretty. She was not even the prettiest girl he had ever seen, and he knew very well that he had had to meet stunning girls in more than one of those social events, but she was still very good to see. And she smelled sweet and pleasant… He didn't stop to think how he might have known how she smelled, because, in reality, he was not close to hearing her, less to smell her.

The girl narrowed her eyes for a few moments, looking at him, or perhaps something at his back, inquisitively. She even lowered and raised her gaze as if examining him curiously. He didn't know why, but that made him a little nervous. A slightly amused smile spread across her pink lips, and almost immediately afterward, she turned back to the front, perhaps back to her group of friends he didn't see.

(What kind of boy this age wears a suit like that at such an event?)

Damien raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Had she said or thought that? It didn't really matter, because it still confirmed that whoever was watching was indeed him. And apparently, she didn't like his three-piece Dormeuil suit tailored for him.

She was cute, but she didn't have good taste.

(Only one who knows about style, honey)

He thought, and again quite intensely.

Just then, the mysterious blonde girl shuddered again, but with more force than before, and she immediately turned back to him, but now she stared at him with great amazement and disbelief reflected in her eyes. And again, he began to feel nervous about being looked at like that... and also very confused.

Had she... heard him?

No, that could not be. He had only thought about it, this time he was sure he had. There was no way she would listen to him to react abruptly like that... unless...

And at that moment, everything around him returned to normal, but not gradually but suddenly. The sound, the people, space, the colors all came back so abruptly that it felt like a direct blow to the face. In fact, he wobbled back a bit from the print and just clutched his camera as if that was going to hold him up. Looking back ahead, the people passing from one side to the other hid the group of girls a little, but he managed to notice how they all began to move together.

He took his camera and, using the zoom functionality, tried to see the group before losing sight of them, mainly trying to focus on the girl in the pink sweater. He managed to see her, at least her profile, managed to focus on her, but as soon as the trigger went off, a man in a cheap brown suit came through, completely covering her. And an instant later, he simply lost it in the crowd.

Damien released a silent curse.

What had all that been?

Half an hour passed, perhaps a little more, in which young Thorn was wandering around the event aimlessly. He had even been in for a couple of minutes at some of the conferences and then left. Damien said to himself that he was just touring the site looking for something interesting to photograph, but deep down, he knew that was not true. In all that time, he did not take a single photo; he had not even deigned to raise his camera. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he was looking for that girl. He expected to see her face in the crowd at any moment or to hear her laughter echoing right through his head again. Or again to be trapped in that strange space where only the two of them existed. But he was not lucky. For a change, something didn't work well with Damien Thorn.

What was his interest in that stranger? As it was said, she was not precisely the most beautiful girl he had come across. Definitely in that place he could find two or three much better if he wanted to have a good time in some solitary corner of that convention center. But what had happened, this strange event totally new to him… had she caused it in some way? Was she aware of what had happened? Why had she turned to see him not only once but twice? He was intrigued, as he had not been… perhaps never.

He had to talk to her, know who she is, even if it turned out that it was all a misunderstanding, a trick that had played his head. If it was, at least the doubt would be removed.

But that moment came, it was not long before Ann's conference began, and as she had said, he had to appear. Surely his aunt was nowhere to dial his phone to ask politely to hurry up or to send people from her security to look for him; it surprised him that she hadn't yet.

Before heading to the VIP room where Ann surely expected him, he stopped for a few moments in front of a coffee table to have a drink and to calm down. He took one of the small white disposable cups, poured the steaming coffee straight from the large office coffee pot, placed two full envelopes of stevia in it, and stirred it with a small plastic stick. Nothing appetizing looked, but it was what he had. He brought it to his lips to take a small sip and...

"Hey, boy with style," he suddenly heard someone's voice enthusiastically pronounce at his side; a familiar voice...

Damien was startled, and small drops of the coffee leaped from the glass, but none touched his expensive suit or camera. He turned carefully to his left and… there she was, with her blonde curls, puerile face, blue eyes, pink sweater, and matching backpack with her shoes. She had appeared out of nowhere, materialized beside him without him even feeling her closeness. She had another of the disposable cups at the moment, and just like he was pouring herself a coffee. She was tall, practically her own height; a few inches shorter, but with the right heels, they might look the same.

The boy was stunned for a few seconds, forcing himself to react. This was unusual for him; he was always supposed to cause these reactions in people, not the other way. He took a deep breath through his nose, stood straight and confident, and replied:

"You're talking to me?" He murmured indifferently, perhaps too much. The girl looked at him askance and smiled mischievously at him.

"Who else?" She replied, amused.

Then she returned to her own as if the presence of the boy equally did not matter. She poured the coffee and took it between her fingers, blowing a little before taking the first drink, which did not seem to like at all.

Damien questioned himself what to do now. She had gone straight to him and said, boy with style. That was what he had thought at that time; was it a coincidence or a hint?

(Can you pass me the cream?)

He heard it suddenly loud and clear in his head, making the boy shudder again. He looked at her back. She kept holding the coffee in front of her face and kept blowing on him. She looked at him askance when she felt he was seeing her, and smiled at her in the same way.

(Don't worry, nobody is going to notice it. You can hear me, right?)

Hearing her wasn't the word Damien would have used to describe that, but yes… he was.

Her right hand moved practically alone, taking the bottle of cream and placing it in front of her. The girl took it in haste and poured a generous amount of cream into her coffee.

Damien was watching her closely. Was she consciously pouring her thoughts directly at him? No one had ever done it before, and he had never perceived a person's thoughts as clearly as if they were words of conversation. But then, could she hear his too? Was that why she had reacted like that at that earlier moment?

It seemed implausible to him. No one in this world could do such a thing, only he and no one else... or so he believed, up to that point. He wanted to do a test. He concentrated, as he had before, on equally thinking hard enough as before.

(How do you do this? Who are you?)

The curly girl shuddered, hunched over herself a little, and placed the fingers of her right hand against her temple, as if it hurt.

(Hey, slow down, buddy. Not so intense, ok?)

She took a sip of her coffee with plenty of cream, and that calmed her down a bit.

(Don't panic)

"Is this the first time you've done this?" She said right after, already in her own voice.

"Do what?"

"Well, this, talking to someone else like this. Have you never met someone else who could?"

Damien was speechless, both in his mind and in his words. The girl drank her coffee again but kept looking at him.

(I guess that's a no. If it's of any use, it's the first time I've met someone my own age with the Shining)

Damien frowned slightly, intrigued.

"Shining?"

The row for the coffee table behind them was lengthening, so the girl gently nudged him by the arm to signal him to move forward. Damien obeyed her, almost without thinking, and they stood a little way from the table.

"That's how my uncle Dan calls it," the girl explained between a sip of coffee and another. "To this, what we do; our little gift. When did you start to do it?"

Damien abruptly took her by the arm, almost spilling her coffee on her. He didn't really hold her very tight, but just enough to face her head-on.

"Who the hell are you?!" He questioned something upset. The girl, however, did not seem intimidated in the least.

"Easy, friend," she replied in a hard, even slightly aggressive tone, and immediately withdrew his hand. "Lower your mood a little. That doesn't make you look more attractive, do you know? My name is Abra Stone, I'm from Anniston. And you?"

Damien had reacted almost by instinct to take it that way. Why? He was always cool and calm about everything, but that situation where he was not at all in control, just unbalanced him too much. He took another deep breath through his nose and tried to regain serenity as much as possible.

"Damien Thorn," he replied calmly. The girl's eyes widened in amazement.

"Thorn?" She exclaimed slowly. "Thorn as Ann Thorn of... Thorn Industries?"

"Yes, she is my aunt."

The young woman, presented as Abra Stone, let out a small scream as if she had been blown out of the air.

"Well, well, stop there," she murmured, raising her free hand to the front. "Do you mean you are a Thorn?"

(Of the wealthiest and most powerful families in the country?)

(We are only in the national Top 5)

That last Damien had thought of as an answer, almost without realizing it, now much more naturally, just as she did.

Abra laughed sarcastically.

(Oh, sorry, my mistake. You're only one of the five richest)

Damien smirked at her attitude, without really intending to.

(Can you really do this?)

(No, it's a magic trick, Abracadabra...)

Even if it were only thoughts, he could feel her riot of sarcasm completely.

(Of course, I do. Sincerely, you wouldn't have believed you were the only one in the world who could do it, had you?)

Damien did not respond by either of the two available channels, but the correct answer would, in fact, be "yes."

(There are several, although I don't know many. Only my uncle and... a group of quite despicable buddies, but they are no longer around. And now you, Damien Thorn)

"But don't worry, it'll be our secret," she added in her own voice now, and just then winked at him knowingly. "Well, I have to go. Your aunt's conference is about to begin. You come?"

Damien supposed that he should indeed, but now he wanted the idea less than before.

"I've heard it before," he replied simply, and Abra simply shrugged.

"As you like. See you later."

Then she turned in the direction of where her friends were waiting for her in the distance, with her coffee in her hands. It would have been very easy to let her go, to let her walk away and forget her as if that had never happened. But, how could he possibly do something like that after everything that had just happened?

"Hey!" He exclaimed a little loudly to get her attention as he quickly caught up with her. Abra stopped and turned to him, a little confused. Damien stood in front of her, apparently a bit doubtful of what to say.

(Do you want to go and talk somewhere? I have a lot of questions)

Abra looked at him, unsure. She glanced over her shoulder at her friends, who were staring at her from a distance, but surely they were not looking at her, but at the handsome boy in the suit she was talking to.

"I'm supposed to do a report of the conference..." she started to say uncertainly but fell abruptly silent. She smiled more confidently and turned back to him.

(Well, what difference does it make?)

END OF CHAPTER 28

Author's Notes:

— Abra Stone is based entirely on the respective character in the novel Doctor Sleep, written by Stephen King and published in 2013. Originally Abra is 12 years old for much of the novel and 15 at the end of it. This story is located around two years after the end of the novel, so she would be between 16 and 17 years old, having a physical appearance consistent with that age.

— Originally this chapter was written so time before the 2019 film adaptation of Doctor Sleep was even announced. So Abra's physical appearance and personality are entirely based on the novel's version. In later chapters, I took some aspects or details from the movie, but the main base continues to be the novel.

— Veronica is based on the character of Veronica Selvaggio from A&E series Damien of 2016 in terms of her role and appearance (although here she is eighteen-nineteen years old). Still, some freedoms may take with her personality and background. More details about her will be given later.

— Monica is an original character of my creation that is not based directly or indirectly on any other known character from a novel, movie, or series.