The Shattered Door

Prologue

Blood swirled in feathery tendrils as the drain devoured the water. The grimy sink somehow made the blood appear sinister. Of course, seeing how I came to be covered in blood could account for the baleful countenance.

For the first time, I caught sight of the reflection in the mirror above the sink.

My skin was so drained of color that the freckles beamed like stars in the sky.

Leaning closer, I realized blood was streaked across my right eye.

Had I wiped my arm over my eyes and not realized it, or had some of the blood squirted in my face?

I hoped it was mine. What if it got in my eye?

Who knew what diseases that kid had? Another torrent of anger washed over me as his face flitted through my mind.

Filling my hands with water, I plunged my face into them, washing away as much of the blood as I could with my eyes squeezed shut.

After another inspection in the mirror, I was satisfied there was little likelihood of blood actually getting in my eye.

Glancing down, I took in the rest of me.

The bottom half of my shirt and the lap of my jeans had soaked up most of the blood.

As much as I wanted to tear them off my body and throw them away, burn them, I’d have to wait.

Bloody clothes were better than no clothes at all.

Looking back to the slices across my right forearm, a tingle of dread clawed at my gut.

There was no way some of the boy’s blood didn’t mingle with mine.

It had to have. Gingerly, I placed a thumb and forefinger on either side of the wounds and spread them apart.

They weren’t overly deep. Deep enough for stitches, and probably deep enough for scars, but shallow enough to avoid any significant injury.

Returning to the mirror, I gazed at the man staring back at me.

His eyes, bluer than normal, peered from his nearly translucent skin.

His lips were chapped and splitting. He looked somewhat crazed, ready to self-destruct.

Worse than the wounds, worse than the blood, even worse than holding the boy down, was the dread beginning to take control.

Something was different this time. Something was coming, something that was going to strip away the life I had carved out for myself. Something I couldn’t fight.