Blinding Night Page 3

  I leaned against the side of a building, relieved by the cool stone, as the map loaded. Unlike the beach, there were actually some younger people walking about which made me feel a little more at ease. Some of them were laughing, taking selfies, and drinking from what looked to be soda bottles. At first, they seemed like normal people having a good time. But as they wandered closer, their faces appeared to be dark – twisted. Something wasn’t right. A cold chill ran up my spine and the hairs on my arms stood tall. I tried to squeeze my eyes shut, in hopes that the images would disappear. But as I peered at the passersby again, I was met with their empty gazes.

  A warning light went off inside my head. If I didn’t move, I might be in more danger than having a cut on the bottom of my foot.

  “It’s not real,” I whispered under my breath. “It’s not real.” Thankfully, the map finished loading and I pushed myself off the building towards a new route, somewhere far out of the way–somewhere that would lead me away this place.

  “Your destination is on the left.” the voice said finally. Google maps heard my prayers. On my left, just around a sharp corner turn, was the apartment complex where I had begun. I had found my way back. Hallelujah!

  The door was still unlocked–which meant my parents still hadn’t returned. As I ran up to the apartment door, I shoved my sneakers off and hopped back to my room. Taking another shower wouldn’t be the end of the world. I discarded my clothes on the floor and slid back underneath the hot water. The blood and sand from the beach ran down the drain, finally leaving my foot clean but throbbing.

  In the morning I would find a bandage. For now, I’d wrap it up with toilet paper and hope for the best.

  I ventured out to the kitchen and searched the cabinets for my dad's secret stash. He always had a bottle of scotch handy. Mom never cared for alcohol in the house, but dad was a scholar and like every man with a PhD., he needed what he called his ‘thinking juice.’

  I found it tucked safely behind a stack of sardine cans, which was his way of diverting my mother's attention from the real treasure. She hated sardines, as did he, but she didn't know that.

  The bottle was only a third of the way gone, so I popped it open and maneuvered my foot over the sink. This was going to burn, but I had watched enough movies to know alcohol would disinfect my cut. The second the lukewarm liquid raced over the red skin, I gasped and nearly dropped the bottle. The instant I caught it, I brought it close to my chest and cradled it like a child. My experience with alcohol was limited, but just the smell of the stuff was enough to get me drunk.

  I’m sure if it had shattered, the entire street would be able to smell it – and with mom being like a bloodhound, she would have turned heel hard towards home. I brought it closer to my nose and inhaled deeply. It didn’t smell remotely close to the sweet aroma of my roommate’s wine coolers. The strange tang left me wondering what it would taste like. With that thought hard on my mind, I tipped it back and took a swig.

  Worst. Idea. Ever.

  “Oh my god!” I gagged, after twisting the cap back on. “That’s awful. Why in the world would dad drink this stuff?”

  I pushed the scotch bottle back into it’s secret hiding place with a hard thump. That was enough “adventuring” for me tonight. After limping back to my room, I changed into my pajamas for the second time, and finally felt tired enough to sleep. The blankets were cool and inviting as I pulled them around me. As I laid there in the dark quiet, I could still hear the strange ringing in my ears from before. I prayed it would be gone by the morning.

  Chapter 3

  There was darkness. It was thick like icing, rippling along my skin like waves in the Aegean Sea. It was cool and slightly refreshing.

  Where was I?

  I lifted myself from a bed that felt like plush goose feathers. One by one, candles seemed to appear out of nowhere, as if lighting themselves. A soft, sorrowful melody began to fill the darkness. It was distant, streaming in softly from a curtained door just beyond the bed. I pushed myself to my feet, a chime resounding beneath me as I walked the stone floor of the bedchamber.

  As I pushed the curtain away, it dissolved into smoke, reappearing neatly behind me seconds later. It sent a chill up my spine. Still, I followed the music down a set of small steps. A pool of black water with white fog opened up before me. The surface seemed to move according to the tune. I don't know how, but the water seemed to be telling me to go right.

  So, I went right.

  There, in the shadows of a murky room, sat a figure. I couldn't make out a face, but as I drew closer, the figure followed me. He held out his hands and I took them, though I shouldn't have.

  Yet there was something in his eyes.

  Black and brooding, but somehow all-knowing. The power in his gaze was tangible, as if it were a completely physical thing all on its own. I knew he wouldn't hurt me. His touch was gentle and the kind look on his face was sincere.

  He reached for something beside him and in the darkness, the golden pink sheen of small seeds captured my attention.

  "Take," a voice offered softly. "Eat."

  I trusted that voice. I knew that voice. I was enticed to accept the invitation. I knew if I did, I would never be parted from the warm darkness. With a trembling hand, I took one of the seeds and slipped it onto my tongue. As I closed my lips, I saw the shadow of the face belonging to a man. His dark, black eyes met my gaze as his lips curled into a small, amused grin. He appeared to be kind, but seemingly–all knowing. As if he had a sort of power over the room...over me. As the seed burst its flavor in my mouth, I couldn’t breathe. My tongue suddenly felt large and I slid my fingers to my neck, grasping at an invisible vice.

  The look of horror etched on the man’s face was too much to bear as I was gasping for air.

  He looked...helpless.

  Suddenly, I sat up in bed, choking. I heaved for air that I couldn’t grasp. I lifted my hand to my neck and tried to cough up whatever it was that was blocking my airway. As I continued to cough, a small red seed spilled from my lips and into the palm of my hand.

  A single, red seed.

  My eyes grew wide as I tried to catch my breath. It was really a seed. The same seed that had been offered to me in my dream. Was I dreaming now? I pinched my arm hard to be sure this was all real. But nothing happened. Kicking the blankets away, I swung both feet over the side of my bed and hissed at the pressure against my injured foot. Maybe getting up wasn’t the best idea. Instead, I grabbed my phone and touched the screen. 4:52 a.m. At least my parents would be getting up soon, and maybe I could get dad to go to a local store to pick up some bandages.

  Rolling back into bed, I decided to cocoon myself with the company of my various social media apps to keep me occupied. As I opened my Instagram, I saw a few of my friends had already posted beautiful photos of beaches and street side cafes. Feeling the twist of envy, I closed out of it and settled on a movie in my library. At least a thoughtless movie would distract me until one of my parents woke up.

  It was nearly seven o’clock when I finally heard stirrings in the apartment. My dad’s voice hummed through the wall, which was a good sign. I could get to him before mom could see the damage I had done. Limping carefully, I crossed the room and opened the door to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Dad was already dressed; a pair of khakis and an off-white short-sleeved shirt. It was apparent he was going back to his site today, but not before he had his first cup of caffeine.

  “Dad,” I murmured softly. He turned and grinned.

  “Sunny, good morning. Did you sleep well?”

  “Dad, can you do me a huge favor?”

  His brow creased curiously as he walked towards me. “What’s up, Sunny?”

  I hobbled, bracing my weight against the doorframe as I lifted my injured foot for him to see.

  “What did you do?”

  “I went for a jog last night. I just couldn’t sleep. And... I cut my foot in the process.”

  “Maybe you should wear shoes w
hen you go jogging.” He teased, a small grin rising on his lips.

  “Ha-Ha,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I stopped at the beach and stuck my feet in the water. That’s when I cut it on something. I have no idea what though, it was too dark to see anything.”

  “I have some stuff in our bathroom. Hold on a sec.”

  “Don’t tell mom,” I hissed after him as he turned. I was pretty sure he didn’t hear me, because as soon as he disappeared into their room, I could hear my mom’s voice rising.

  “Summer!”

  I groaned, bracing myself for another one of her lectures about being careful. She came out into the hallway in a grand display of fury. She was the portrait of interrupted morning rituals, with both hands on her hips and half of her makeup done. I felt myself cringing.

  “I told you to be careful,” she demanded, shaking her head.

  “It was an accident,” I argued, glaring at her. “It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

  “You can’t be so careless, Summer. You could get a serious infection. Then what?”

  “Well, I’m sure my choices would be that I treat it with meds or amputation.”

  “That’s not a joking matter,” she warned. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  Dad’s head popped out from the hallway and I could tell he was laughing the whole time. His cheeks were a hue of pink, and his eyes were glistening. Mom didn’t notice him even as he walked by her with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and cotton swabs.

  “Think of what the stories will say!” I continued to tease her. “National Geographic team discovers missing teen’s limb. Mother of teen is outraged by daughter’s irresponsibility.”

  Dad’s boisterous laughter followed, much to my mom’s dismay. She looked between the two of us like a wild animal, outraged by our immaturity.

  “Summer, your father may think you’re funny, but I don’t.”

  “I know. You remind me almost every day.” I muttered.

  “Alright, that’s enough,” he said calmly. “Demi, go on and finish up. I’ve got Sunny.”

  Mom huffed, obviously put off, but didn’t argue. She turned on her heel and sauntered down the hall, back to the bedroom. After she slammed the door shut behind her, I heard the sound of a hairdryer going at full blast.

  “Only you, Summer, would start your vacation with an injured foot in a foreign country,” he chuckled. “I expected nothing short of clumsy from my klutzy kid.”

  “Not my fault,” I muttered again.

  Dad just smiled as he lifted my leg up onto the sofa. He inspected it carefully, then reached into his back pocket for a roll of bandages and set it beside the peroxide.

  “It definitely doesn’t look too bad.” He set my foot down and picked up the cotton balls. “Could be worse, but it looks clean.”

  As he cleaned the wound, I found myself confessing, “I can’t believe you still use sardines to hide your scotch. I found it in record time, dad. You need a better hiding spot.”

  “That would explain it!” he laughed. He was careful with the peroxide as he pressed it against the cut, cleaning it thoroughly, and then wrapping the long bandage around my ankle to keep the dressing in place. He might not have been a doctor, but he had a way of making even the worst bruises look better after some attention.

  “Well, what’s the diagnosis? Will I live?” I wriggled my toes at him.

  “You’ll live,” he said. “I think if you walk on it a bit, it won’t hurt as much. Then again, I’m no doctor.”

  “Really? I think you’ve outdone yourself.” I teased. “Should I be calling you doctor dad?”

  “Can’t say I don’t like the sound of that. Do you think they’ll put that on my business card if I ask?”

  “Maybe, if you say pretty please,” I laughed. He grinned and patted my ankle.

  “Just take it easy today, kiddo. We can explore the city tomorrow.”

  I felt sort of disappointed by the sound of that. But at the same time, I was still pretty tired. As he stood, I reached for his hand and grasped it tightly. Dad was my rock. I had always been able to tell him anything, no matter what it was, even if it was something as silly as how much I hated vinegar on french fries.

  “Dad?” I said, my smile slowly disappearing.

  “Yeah, Sunny?”

  “I saw them again,” I murmured softly, lifting my hand to my shoulder. A shiver ran down my spine as I darted my brown gaze down to my wrapped foot. The images of the faces I had passed in the streets made goose bumps crawl along my skin.

  “The shadows?” Dad asked, raising a brow.

  “Yeah,” I replied. Ever since I was four, I had been haunted by strange dreams of dark shadows. Sometimes I’d dream of a cavern, with a glistening river and black figures with no faces. I spent an entire year sleeping in my parent’s room because of how terrified I was. At thirteen, my mom sent me to a psychiatrist in hopes I’d find some peace of mind in talking about what I was seeing. I had been diagnosed with ‘depression’ and placed on a light dose of medication. The diagnosis only made mom more protective of me. At times, when I’d wake in the middle of the night screaming, she would be the one to my bed with a warm cup of tea. The aroma of the mint tea would seemingly soothe me back to sleep.

  Dad scratched the back of his neck as he stared at me.

  “Maybe it’s the jet lag,” he offered. “Your brain can do funny things to you when you’re tired.”

  He was right. Maybe it was just because I was tired. And the pain from my foot probably didn’t help in the matters. But then I remembered my dream... the seed.

  “I woke up choking on a seed,” I explained. “It’s on my night stand by the bed.”

  Dad darted his gaze down the hallway and then slowly back to me.

  “A seed?”

  I nodded silently.

  “Maybe it’s from whatever you ate on the plane?”

  His replies were full of maybes. I wrinkled my nose and shook my head.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He raised a brow and stared at me as if I had two heads instead of just one. I guess I’d look at me the same way too.

  “You sure you didn’t hit your head?”

  “Dad, I’m serious,” I insisted. “Go look for yourself.”

  Before my dad could turn on his heel towards the hallway, my mom emerged again, glancing at the two of us concerned.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Sunny just had a dream about the shadow-men again,” Dad replied. Shadow-men. That’s what he called them. Mom’s eyes grew wide with alarm as she paused mid-step.

  “How about I make you some tea?” She offered. “I brought a box in my suitcase.”

  Leave it to mom to bring the tea with her. It’s not like Greece didn’t have stores where we could pick some up in the eventuality I was craving a cup of hot mint water.

  “No,” I murmured, shaking my head. “No, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure, honey?” Mom asked as she turned towards the kitchen. “It might help…”

  Her entire persona had changed from being deliberately upset with me over my injured foot to nurturing and caring over my nightmares. She could make my head feel dizzy. I didn’t know how dad could keep up with her ever-changing personality.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” I could see my mom dart a glance in my dad’s direction, as she if wanted him to insist upon her tea-making. Instead, he shrugged.

  “Just take it easy, Sunny,” my dad said with a reassuring smile. “It’s a new place. After some sleep, I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

  I nodded in return. I hoped for the best too.

  “Your mom and I are going to head over to the site today. So the apartment will be extra quiet. It’ll be a great time for you to rest up. I brought you back some food last night. It’s in the fridge… For when you feel like eating.”

  “Thanks,” I replied. Food didn’t sound appealing to me—at least at the moment.

  “Take your medicine,�
�� my mom insisted, darting a glare at me. “I’m serious.”

  I rolled my eyes. Dad helped me back to my bedroom, which was much easier to do with an extra pair of feet to move me along. He got me into my bed and propped my foot up onto some extra pillows, then he reached for the white comforter and tucked it around me.

  “By the way, thanks for the blanket,” I said. “After gushing over this thing for so long, it’s finally mine.”

  “I thought of you when I saw it. Figured it would give me a few extra brownie points,” he said with a wink.

  “You know me so well.”

  “Boy, don’t I,” he laughed and leaned down to press a kiss on my forehead.

  I was always so grateful for him. He truly did know me well–he knew all of my secrets. Out of the two of my parents, dad was my favorite. Sometimes, when I looked at my mom, I didn’t understand why he chose her–why he had fallen in love with her. And maybe that was cruel. But they were so drastically different. Where dad was carefree, mom worried about everything. While dad was kind and generous, mom was cold and calculating–selfish even. I watched as he crossed the room and waved just before closing my door.

  I waved back with a smile.

  From the other side of the wall, I could suddenly hear my parent’s muffled voices. By the sound of it, mom was furious and worried, and no doubt flustered by my earlier jokes. But knowing my dad, he would remain calm and collected. It was just a scratch after all. I was sure by the afternoon—after a few good hours of sleep–I’d feel much better. Sleep was the answer to everything, right?

  Chapter 4