The Secret Circle:

Out of the Darkness

The Secret Circle and its characters aren't mine – they belong to L. J. Smith and HarperCollins Publishers.

Chapter Four

In his dream, Sean was standing in the meeting place in front of the school, looking around for … something. For some reason, he couldn't remember what. He felt strange, as if something – some presence that had insinuated itself inside his mind – was preventing him from formulating a clear thought. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but his mind still felt foggy.

"Hi, Sean!"

He looked up. Kori was walking toward him, grinning.

It was her birthday, he remembered, the fog lifting slightly from his mind. And it was the day she would be initiated into the Circle. He smiled at her. "Hey, Kori. Happy birthday – and congratulations!"

"Thank you! I can't believe it's today! I've been waiting forever. And now I'm finally fifteen! I can hardly wait until tonight!"

Kori kept talking, but Sean no longer heard her. The presence he'd vaguely sensed before was getting stronger, and he couldn't focus on anything else. And he couldn't make it go away.

Push her. He couldn't tell if the voice in his head was his own or that of the presence inside his mind. But the compulsion was irresistible. His hand reached out.

He tried to stop his hand and back away from Kori, but he couldn't move. He couldn't yell at her to run away; he couldn't make a sound. He could only stare in horror as his own hand shoved her; as she swayed, caught her balance – and looked at him. She looked confused, as if she couldn't figure out what on Earth he was doing – or why.

Push her! The voice said again, even more insistently than before. Sean's hand reached out and shoved harder, with more force than his own body should have generated.

This time, she fell.

Sean tried to reach out, to catch her, but he still couldn't move. He couldn't help her. And he couldn't look away. He watched for an eternity as she fell. She landed, headfirst, at the bottom of the hill – and then there was silence. He hadn't noticed that she was screaming until she stopped. She didn't move. And the way she was lying …

He tried to scream, but his throat was still frozen. And he couldn't look away. It was a dream – he knew it was a dream – but he couldn't wake up. He could only stare, until the fog that had seemed to fill his mind crept over his eyes and everything went grey. He sank to the ground.

Get up. Get away from here. He found himself standing and walking toward the road. His gait was odd – a stiff, slow, robotic gait not at all like his usual quick stride. He reached the main road, and broke into a run. He ran for a mile … two … three … at last he reached the bridge. He stopped, looking out over the bay. A peculiar notion crept into his mind – that he'd awakened that morning and gone for a run, jogging down the trail, onto the road, and to the bridge – and that he hadn't been anywhere near the school. He shook his head to clear it – and looked around in confusion. He was standing at the side of the road near the bridge to the mainland. The sun was low over the eastern horizon. He turned and ran home.

Sean opened his eyes. He was in his own room. It was dark. Not even moonlight lit the room. He sat up shakily.

It was only a dream, he told himself. But he wasn't sure he believed that, this time. It had been too real, too vivid. And it fit with what he knew about Kori's death – and with what Adam and Laurel had told him about what he had done.

No! It was a dream!" he told himself fiercely. He jumped up and raced down the hallway to the stairs. The second step creaked loudly, and he flinched.

"Sean? Is that you?"

Sean froze. His father's bedroom door opened, lamp-light illuminating the stairs.

"I-I-I … uh, yeah. I … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.

"You didn't." His father stepped into the hallway. "You all right?"

Sean looked up. His father was watching him, his dark eyes steady and sober. "I … I'm fine," he said.

Mr. Dulany nodded. "Good."

"I, uh, I was just going downstairs … to the gym …"

"That's fine." Mr. Dulany turned back to his room, and stopped. "Actually, I want to talk to you for a minute, first." He walked over to the top step and sat down. "Have a seat."

"Okay." Sean sat, watching his father nervously.

"I just wanted to tell you – I know what you did, you and your … Circle. On the night of the hurricane…" Mr. Dulany's voice trailed off and he jumped up and started to pace, back and forth, his heavy boots pounding steadily and loudly against the pine-board floor of the hallway.

"You stood up to … to him. The Man in Black; John Blake; Black John – whatever name he was using this time. Something I should have done sixteen – almost seventeen years ago. I wanted to tell you … I'm sorry. For not fighting him, for leaving Eve and Nicholas and Mary and Liz and all the others to fight him alone. And I'm sorry that I've never told you what happened that night – the night your mother … died. But you deserve to know.

"I knew John Blake couldn't be trusted. I knew he was planning something … bad. I knew we had to stop him. But I wanted to wait. To find out what exactly he was planning; to find out how to stop him. They didn't think we could afford to wait. Eve – your mother – she told me to stay and take care of you. She told me that they were just going to talk to him ..." his voice trailed off.

Sean watched him pace across the floor. He didn't say anything. He didn't tell his father why he'd assumed he had stayed behind when his mother went to face Black John.

His father stared at him – and laughed. There was no humor in the sound.

Sean shivered involuntarily.

"I might as well have been drunk," his father said harshly. "I wasn't. But I let her go, alone, to her death.

"I couldn't have saved her. I couldn't have stopped him. I know that. And I didn't know he was going to hurt anyone. But I knew he was planning something bad, and I should have been there when the others confronted him. I knew he wasn't … right. I should never have let her go alone."

Sean looked away, staring at a knot on the wooden step.

"But I did," his father said. "It was wrong, and your mother died before you could get to know her. She was ten times – a hundred times – the parent I am. She … she was always holding you, smiling at you – she always knew what you needed before you even started to cry. She understood you. And I … I have … well, I'm sorry."

"But what I did … you didn't … you never … you never killed anyone. And … and I …" Sean couldn't continue.

Mr. Dulany sighed. "You're right. I didn't kill anyone – but I should have. Black John killed Eve. He killed them all. And that's something I've had to live with for almost seventeen years. I should have gone with them when they killed him. He was … he wasn't a man. Not anymore. I don't even know if he ever really was a man. He was … evil. You – and your … Circle – you did the right thing in killing him. I'm proud of you."

Sean stared at his father in silence. Now his father had decided to be proud of him? And to accept the Circle?

"You … you're right," Sean said at last. "The Circle did the right thing." And that was true. But his father didn't know about what the Circle believed he had done before they went to face Black John. And he couldn't tell him. He didn't even know, not for sure, whether or not they were right. He didn't remember killing anybody. But his dreams were awfully vivid. They seemed too real to be dreams.

"It's got to be nearly 5:00," Mr. Dulany said suddenly. "I'd better go get ready for work."

"Okay."

"I'll see you later."

"Okay."

Sean waited until his father's door was shut. He walked back to his room, grabbed a sweatshirt and his sneakers, and hurried back downstairs. He could use the gym later. Now, he just wanted to get away.

He quietly walked outside and put on his sneakers.

* * *

He ran hard, leaning into the icy bite of the December wind. He tried to focus on the trail beneath his feet, on the plants growing alongside: burgundy-leafed bayberry; beach plum and sumac and oak – skeletal in the pre-dawn dimness – interspersed with the dark green of sheep laurel, holly, red cedar, pitch pine and white pine. He focused on the cliffs nearby and the sea below, its surface choppy in the wind. He focused on his breathing, his running.

He slowed as the road steepened, and looked up. He was at the point of the headland – and the blood-red house was there, standing solidly before him on the vacant lot at Number Thirteen. A presence was creeping into his mind, the same presence he'd felt in his dreams.

He was inside the house. The Circle members were saying something to the tall man standing in front of them. Cassie was telling them all to think with her, and she pushed with her mind, filling Sean's mind momentarily with power and the images of all of the elements of Nature, and taking his power.

The skull exploded. A scream pierced the air, and stopped. The floor disappeared from under him, and he fell.

The blood-red house vanished. Sean was back at the high school, standing on the hill out front, talking with Kori, wishing her a happy birthday.

Push her.

His hand reached out – he couldn't stop it. He tried to tell her to run, but he couldn't make a sound. His hand pushed her; she swayed, and caught her balance. Her expression was bewildered as she stared at him.

Push her!

He did. This time she fell, all the way to the bottom of the hill. She lay there, nearly hidden by the thicket of sumac and juniper and willow. She didn't move. Her face was pale, half shrouded by a cloak of golden hair; the position of her body – of her neck – was … wrong.

He couldn't look away.

* * *

"You okay? Sean?"

A hand touched his shoulder. Sean gasped and flinched away. He tried to run, but he couldn't move. His eyes wouldn't focus; the world around him seemed to be a senseless blur of dull colors.

Hands grasped his shoulders. He tried to pull away.

"Steady there. Sean, take it easy," the voice said. "Come on, sit down. Breathe slowly. Calm down. You're all right."

The voice kept talking. It was familiar – and it wasn't the horrible voice that had spoken in his head.

Nick. It was Nick's voice.

"What's wrong?" a different voice; a girl's voice.

He recognized that voice. Cassie.

Sean blinked. He looked up. Nick was kneeling in front of him, speaking slowly and soothingly – as if he were talking to a skittish horse. Cassie stood beside him. They were on the wide granite ledge near the shoulder of Crowhaven Road, in front of the vacant lot at Number Thirteen – and it was vacant, now – miles from the school and the hill in front, the hill where he'd … no! Don't think about that! It was just a dream – a nightmare. You didn't do it!

Sean forced himself to look away from the place where the house had been that night. He looked down, focusing on the granite. He closed his eyes and put both hands on the rock. He felt a strong, steady, peaceful thrum of energy; a sensation of immense patience and tolerance.

After a long moment, he opened his eyes and glanced at Nick and Cassie. Cassie was sitting beside him, watching him. She looked worried. Or guilty – as if she blamed herself for what he'd done, or for not stopping him in time. Nick was kneeling in front of Sean, staring out at the sea.

"I'm sorry," Sean whispered.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Nick said, turning back to Sean.

Cassie nodded. "Sean, you're safe now. We're all safe. He's not coming back again."

"I know." Sean looked away, biting his lip – hard enough to taste blood. Black John might be gone, but the memories, or whatever they were, weren't. Sean's eyes burned, but he wouldn't cry in front of Cassie. She wasn't crying – and look what she'd been through. She'd lost her grandma, nearly lost her mother, found out that Black John was her father – and she was not only holding herself together, she was drawing the Circle together. And now she was trying to comfort him.

It was too much.

"I ... I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking. He jumped up and bolted, running as fast and hard as he could.

"Let him go," he heard Nick tell Cassie.

Sean passed Cassie's house. He vaulted over the stone wall dividing her yard from his and ran through the garden. He slowed to a jog and carefully followed the path through the thicket of gooseberry, beach plum, hazelnut, and wild rose, avoiding the prickly branches that were starting to grow into the path. He pulled open the door of the old playhouse and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He picked up the old guitar that stood in the corner next to a shelf filled with old comic books. He sank down onto the worn pine-board floor, leaning wearily against the wall. He was too tired to run any further, too tired to ride. He sat there, holding the polished wood of the old guitar until his hands stopped trembling, and his breathing steadied, and his heart quieted and slowed.

Finally he played, his chin resting on the guitar. He focused on the movement of his fingers up and down the fretboard, the fingering of the arpeggios, the mellow tone of the old instrument. The morning sun peeked tentatively through the ivy-covered lattice windows, shining inside, but still he played.

A loud roar filled the air. Sean started. Then he recognized the sound – the motor of his father's truck. The roar grew louder as Mr. Dulany pulled out of the garage; it quieted a bit when he stopped the truck and left it idling while he shut and locked the garage door. It grew louder again when he pulled forward and turned onto the road; it receded as he drove away.

Sean took a shaky breath, and started playing again.

Another motor sounded; a quieter one. It, too, grew louder, and then receded into the distance – Cassie, driving her white Volkswagen to school. Or maybe it was Mrs. Blake driving somewhere.

Still he played.

Finally his fingers, no longer accustomed to long hours of practice, rebelled. He sighed. He stood the guitar carefully in the corner and walked slowly to the house to get ready for school.