IV. Nothing But Freaks Among Freaks

I stared directly at the teal-colored door, the paint peeling on the corners. B12, read the numbers on the rusted-metal plate. In a slow motion, I gazed to the right, seeing the rows of doors and the blank, indescribable white walls; then, my eyes trailed to the left. More white; more doors, each sheathed with the same teal paint, all chipped. The entire entity of the apartment building smelt of paint fumes—although nothing as ever been repainted—and methane, probably from the gas station across the street. From the distance, a bullet whistled through the air, booming.

Opening the front door, the room smelt like a Hospital—the medicines all assaulting your body, nauseating. I trudged onward, ignoring the depressing state of the tiny, shabby apartment. A single, beaten couch placed in front of a small television, no cable. The carpet still hadn't evolved since the fifties: the same orange and pine-green patterned design that felt shaggy and thick (underneath would probably be paneled-wood).

I halted in my tracks, fully facing the door I dreaded the most; the door that resided at the end of the tiny hallway. Photos of my grandmother, Lucinda, and my mother as a young girl, were placed on the end table diagonal to the door. My older brother remained absent from the photos—not because of awful memories—because he hadn't crossed the border. Instead, he remained behind, with father, in Mexico. It wasn't the luxurious area of Mexico that Americans traveled to on their expensive cruises on the glistening ocean.

This part of Mexico held the sight of a vast desert, a small town ridden with poverty and garbage. I remembered the house we lived in, a far worse shelter than this apartment. Finding enough money for food and trade was almost impossible. It was Lucinda's amazing cooking skills that saved us from starvation… Leaving the country, sneaking across the border (which hadn't been as heavily guarded as now) saved us from an even worse death.

"Jimena," her aged and withered voice croaked from the opposite side, "I can see your shadow. Please, come in."

I twisted the doorknob and stepped inside, the darkness stunning. Deep green curtains shrouded the room with shadows, stopping the sun from streaming through the single glass window. Lucinda rested on the bed, grey sheets covering her chilled body. There was only a bed. No other furniture; the boxes stacked in the corner didn't matter.

"I'll make you dinner," I supplied, smiling kindly, not surprised when she saw it through the dark. Her eyes, although lacking in perfect sight, managed to meld with her dark environment over time. Years in the same bed, in the same shady room, helped.

"You're such a sweet child."

The cold from the depression of the room was almost unbearable. "I'll go and make some—"

"I'm surprised you haven't found me a burden yet," she whispered solemnly in her papery thin voice, "I've stripped you of freedom and innocence. You've completely skipped your years as a child and a teenager. I'm old, anyway. I'll die soon. This progressive illness was only to further push me toward the comforting hands of Mother Mary." She smiled at me, tender and frail. "She'll guide me. Don't worry."

"Grandma—"

"Go… go make your dinner—"

"Our dinner," I intervened in a hushed voice before quietly shutting the door, concealing her dying form. Minutes later and I was hovering over the stove, preparing to make rice and beans. The chicken was saved for Fridays. It was Sunday; Sunday evening. School tomorrow, that meant. I hated everyone there. They meant nothing, held nothing that could help.

"Damn," I cursed, as the kitchen vanished, and my sight crashed through a chaotic tornado of electrifying colors; a tangled web of tremendous power that overwhelmed me. Slamming into another world, I watched the picture-in-motion scene occurring: Lucinda, toppling off the bed, blood spilling from her mouth as she coughed and hacked. I teetered, swallowing the massive lump of sorrow, and concentrated on the clock on the wall, the numbers blurred. 12… something… Terror splintered through me, ice-cold, as the image tore away, and I was in reverse, spiraling backwards in the tunnel.

With a start, I stood in front of the counter, my power of precognition vanishing; locking itself back inside the depths of my mind. The sorrow engulfed me. My grim fingers trembled. Numbness clutched my knees, forcing them to bend. I collapsed onto the hard tile, overcome, and wound my arms around my stomach. The stench of vomit wavered on my tongue, rumbled deep within my stomach.

"No," I whispered.

Lucinda was the woman—my guardian—that always saved me from everything. Mother died, having overdosed purposely. Father was most probably dead, and living back in Mexico would be the worst. As if my older brother could ever provide what we would need. With Lucinda buried six feet under, I'd be lost, with no where to go, no road to follow. Already, the loneliness took hold.

Because we had barely any money, we wouldn't be able to pay for Lucinda's health: the right medicines needed. Because in this country, you had to pay to survive, your right to live stripped away. In this country, having a baby had its price: you must pay for that baby. You must pay… money… money… We desperately needed it.

I dug into my pockets, pulling out some dimes and five wrinkled dollars.

Damn everyone to hell.

OOO

The mindless ticking of the clock was becoming excruciating, stabbing at my patience. Not even the Algebra II teacher's croaking, cigarette-induced voice could staunch the insufferable noise. Each tick brought upon the vision. And each tock, I could see the cruel image of Lucinda, my grandmother, rolling on the floor, clutching her neck; a tear of salty-smelling blood slithering down the wrinkled of her jaw. Tuberculosis, the blood, the coughing.

"You may now have the last five minutes to yourselves. Please, keep the noise level down." The teacher slumped down on her chair, nose pressed into the pages of her raunchy, romantic novel, probably about some sexy highlander or ravishing pirate, both of whom would discover an enthralling, sex-driven babe to fuck now and again, so the novel wouldn't lag.

By my side, the new girl, Serena Killingsworth, chuckled deeply under her breath. I ignored it. She had previously introduced herself to me, and yet, I pushed her away. I doubted she was different from the inane, moronic students of this high school, each reduced to drugs, alcohol, and, of course, unadulterated stupidity. I've never once tasted the bitterness of alcohol. I've never inhaled the end of a cigarette, or even stroked some illegal pill with my tongue. I didn't under stand addiction, nor did I under how many kids of this generation could be so pathetically stupid.

"Stupid," Serena whispered beside me, scoffing.

I tensed, my eyes cautiously glimpsing her way. She was reading a novel, a frown engraved onto her face. High cheekbones were painted red, either a natural blush or pinkish-crimson, make-up blush. Her emerald eyes stared deeply into her novel, which, as I glanced under briefly, could make out the title of Pride and Prejudice. "Stupid" would make sense for that novel, right? The lover's quarrels and drama was what, perhaps, she was finding ridiculous?

Or are you just trying to convince yourself? I questioned. I had the capability of seeing into the future. Telepathy wouldn't be as strange compared to mine, right? Nothing out of the—

"The hell?" Serena hissed.

I turned, now truly startled. She gazed at me for several moments, our eyeing strangely tangling to meet some common knowledge—as if there was something we already knew, but at the same time, didn't. Her eyes flicked back to the book, fingers digging into the paperback. I, too, looked away, a thick barrier of raven-black tresses covering her image.

What the hell is happening?

Several minutes later and the class bustled out of the classroom, speaking boisterously amongst one another. I exited last, messenger bag on my shoulder. A cool breeze caressed my thin cheeks, long ebony strands temporarily blinding me. The second I reached up to brush them away, a hand clamped on my arm, forcing me around a corner. Instinct surged through me, an untamed one buried deep within—suppressed fury and anguish exploding into unnatural strength.

"Bitch," I whispered, grasping the wrist belonging to the person and twisting it around. The person, obviously female, gave a short "ouch" before I slammed her torso into the wall, cheek pressed against the cold concrete as my fingers raked through brick-red curls. A dangerous glare sent several onlookers scurrying away, the need to gossip already swirling in their eyes.

"Please let me go."

I pulled away, realizing the voice and person. Serena rolled her shoulder, expression scrunched in pain. Her face was flushed red. I took a simple step backward, my messenger bag thrown onto the ground.

"What the hell do you want?" I demanded.

"I wanted to talk," she responded, eyeing me pointedly. "I didn't expect you to assault me."

"It would have been smarter to just ask—"

"It's about you powers…"

I blinked, dread lacing through my expression. Serena watched me closely, hers tongue smoothing across a cut on her lips. "You were in my mind," I said bluntly, pointing an accusing finger at her, "you read my thoughts. You read my thought about my power."

"It was also that," she whispered, indicating to my arm. I peeked down. Of course: the darkened patch of skin that resembled a crescent moon. The coloring was of purple and blue, a bruise-like image. I stared at her arm, and in the exact spot, she possessed the odd marking of the semi-circle moon. I couldn't help but identify it as the moon—the moon, my greatest strength, the light during the dark.

"Do you think this means anything?" Serena asked, voice heavy with anxiety.

I scowled. "I doubt it can simply be considered coincidence. I can see the future and you can read minds. I mean, I've heard of people with powers like these but—"

"Not on such a high level," she finished. "Not even close to as far as our powers can go."

After a few silent seconds passed, I spoke up, asking quietly, "We can try to figure out this connection. I know a place to go." It surprised me on how I easily I managed to accept everything within seconds. Serena seemed to be a part of me, almost. As if that small area of my soul had been found. And even as we exited the school, an ominous sensation grasped my shoulders and guided me.

It felt like hands from an invisible force.

OOO

We headed down the street, both uncomfortable by the odd situation. Her voice reminded me of wind, soft yet deep—either a calm breeze or a violent storm. Her voice was husky, especially for someone so young. She hadn't even asked where we were going—simply trailing beside me, falling step with me, never once showing concern as to where we were heading. I doubted it could be because of stupidity, seeing as she would have been able to hear any plans of murder or anything from me by now.

"Darma Bookstore," Serena suddenly said. "I know where we're going."

I scowled, not at all enjoying someone rummaging through my thoughts (as weird as that sounded). I'd been in the Darma Bookstore once before, eventually leaving after discovering it to be incredibly freaky (and that is coming from someone who can glance into the future).

We reached the end of the street where it was located amongst abandoned buildings, some having large signs printing FOR SALE. We then entered the small shop. A sweet, misty array of incense and candle-smell overpowered me. The calming sound of water pouring into a fountain came from the corner. Rows of pinewood, white-painted bookshelves formed in front of us. Serena examined the room with appraising eyes. "I bet the owner is using the harmless bookstore-appearance as a ploy to disguise the fact that's there's probably a load of weed and crack in the backroom."

I continued onward, weaving through the shelves; staring at book sections.

"How about here?" Serena gestured to a sign labeled: ASTROLOGY/MAGIC. She fumbled through the books, observing the titles, and I soon did the same, not at all sure what to search for. When I turned back around, I gawked at the stack of books in her arms, almost overwhelming to her slender limbs. She smiled tenderly at me from behind them, before kicking a small stool in front of her and one-by-one, setting them down, explaining their—perhaps—value in our absentminded search.

"Here's one on the moon—here's one on the moon and mythology—here's one on magical powers—here's on special powers—here's one on obtaining powers from the moon—here's another on the moon—and another on 'moon magic', whatever that means."

"… I have five dollars and 65 cents."

"No need to buy them," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "Just flip through them, I suppose."

After handing me one entitled The Mystical Powers of the Moon, she leafed carelessly through her own choice; patience never once dwindling. Minutes later, I tossed it aside, finding the information useless and, quite frankly, absurd. Drinking water that has been reflected the moon's image helps you better connect with "Mother Moon"? So, if I saw a puddle created from rain and piss, I should drink from it merely because I can see the image of the moon in it? What a load of crackpot.

"Selene is the Goddess of the Moon," Serena explained, staring at me, book in hand. "She bore fifty daughters under her human lover, Endymion." She cocked her head, contemplative it seemed. "Maybe we're one of her Daughters. I have always felt a deep connection to the moon, and I know you have, too, Jimena. Our scars are also in the shape of a crescent moon."

"That would make us Goddesses," I scoffed.

She sighed. "I'm just being bizarre. All of this is magnificent to me."

"Mythology?" I arched an eyebrow.

"No." She sighed once more. "I've always considered myself the biggest of all freaks. I never understood my place in the world. Was it to take care of my family? Then what was the reason for my telepathic powers?" Her shockingly emerald eyes trailed to the books scattered across the turquoise-colored floor. "Perhaps I do have a purpose."

"Stop brooding," I warned. "We need to—"

"Need any help…?"

I jumped back when Catty Turner, one of the—slutty—idiots of La Brea High popped up, brown tresses tied into a high ponytail. Her face fell once seeing Serena, who continued skimming through another book, completely unaware of our intruder.

"No thank…"

My words cut short, color draining from my face. Catty remained unresponsive, her eyes cautious and wide: dead set on Serena. However, my eyes were completely glued to her arm, the spot where my scar lied. A black tattoo of the crescent moon was inked onto Catty's arm.

"When did you get that?" I asked shakily, pointing at the tattoo.

Catty broke away from her trance and looked down, a tiny grin playing across her face. "When I was thirteen, I got tired of people constantly staring at this scar on my arm. I mean, it was shaped exactly like this. Weird, huh—?"

"Yes!" I cried, grasping her arm and jerking her forward. "I have one, too."

"That's weird." She waved her hand dismissively, a tinge of confusion in her eyes triggered toward my somewhat panicked frenzy. Once Serena caught her eyes, she whirled back around and ambled away. I shifted on my feet, sharing a knowing look with Serena.

She doesn't see it as out of the ordinary…

I swayed, taken off guard by the telepathic message, but easily continued, "Does she have a—"

"Looking now."

I stared at her for the vast amount of moments that flew by. Her eyes were shut, creases on her forehead, and there seemed to be a tremendous proportion of concentration being exerted onto Catty's mind. I bit my bottom lip in nervousness once seeing the paling of her complexion, the slight trembling of her arms and legs. The agonizing minutes finally surpassed; her eyes opening to reveal shimmering jade orbs.

"She has the power of… time traveling." I gaped. "It was a difficult task because I needed to search through memories and past thoughts, but even after finding the right one… I became tangled in her mind. It…"

Serena fell to her knees, palm covering her forehead. I kneeled down, snaked my arm around her waist, and easily towed her to her feet. Her flesh felt extremely ice-cold. "You rest," I instructed as she leaned against the bookshelf, breathing shallow, "I'll go speak with Catty."

OOO

I pushed through the beads leading into the backroom. Catty, who had been leaving over the stove in the miniature kitchen, stumbled back, bewildered by my sudden appearance. She smiled kindly at me, smoothed her hands down her low-cut jeans, and stalked forward. "Do you need any help?"

"I wanted to ask a question."

Her expression fell slightly. "Okay…"

"That scar that you used to have. I have one, too. Serena does also. And…" I couldn't just say I know about your power. She seemed the type of person to overreact and throw things when in a panicked fit. I didn't want a steaming pot of boiling water heaved at my face.

"It's probably just a coincidence."

"Do you feel connected to the moon?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, but… that's not uncommon."

"… Do you have any… special talents?"

Catty crossed her arms and shifted on her feet, scowling furiously. "Okay, what's going on…?" She paused hesitantly. "What do you mean about special talents? Like… being able to draw very well?" she supplied. I narrowed my eyes, detecting her tone of voice: a mockery of dumbness. She was playing dumb and innocent, the little liar.

"I know about your power."

"What… power… I don't…" Again with the playing dumb.

"I have one, too." I motioned with my head outside of the backroom. "Serena has a power. And we all have these odd markings—"

"Serena!" Catty shrieked, backing away and cowering against the counter. "I knew it, I knew it…! I knew that freak"—she spat the term—"had some weird powers. She's probably a witch, isn't she? She probably cast a spell on me or—"

"Freak?" I snorted. "She can read minds, that's all. That's not as freaky as your ability to travel back and forth in time!"

She gasped. "Read minds…? Wait, how do you—?"

"I knew you'd be an overreacting bitch," I snarled, hoping the insult would sting enough for her to concentrate on something other than the word "freak". Indeed it did. She gritted her teeth and marched forward (backing away in the process once realizing my 5 feet, 9 inches). Still, she maintained her determined stance and clenched fists.

Drama queen.

"I can't help but wig out because all of this! I've just learned now that there are four teenagers in this world, in the same city, that have unbelievable powers and we just happen to have the same markings on our arms… And one of them has been going through my mind—"

"Four?" I intervened, perplexed.

She heaved a long sigh, saying, "My friend, Vanessa Cleveland, has powers, too."

"Vanessa?" I blanched.

"You know what," Catty interrupted, clasping one of my hands and glancing around, "let's just have this conversation elsewhere—not in the back of a bookstore. All this incense and shit is giving me a headache. Not at my house, though—we can go to the park."

"In public?"

"You think anyone's going to report us to the FBI or the Bureau-Of-Teenage-Freaks?" She rolled her eyes. "Be reasonable."

I sighed.

She's weird…

OOO

AN: I've always hated how the girls whisper all the time when talking about Followers or the Atrox. What do they expect is going to happen? Someone's going to arrest them for being crazy (I mean, I would think their crazy if I heard what they were saying). Anyway, no amulets. The markings are a bit more interesting (to me at least).