Devin Greigh: Testimony

Saturday went by fast after the game’s predictable conclusion; our team completely decimated our rivals with the score of sixty to zero. Barry racked up thirty solo tackles, fifteen of them being quarterback sacks. He had easily become the star of the show during dinner. “I thought the kid’s head was still in the helmet when it flew off!” Beatrice said.

“Mom, please!” I whined. “It’s bad enough every hit sound like Barry was leveling people with a shotgun!” Barry laughed, shoving a large chunk of steak into his mouth.

“Oh please, you know you were closing your eyes every time, Evvy, don’t you dare try to deny that!” Beatrice knew me too well.

“Yeah, and during halftime, you just disappeared!” Ben added.

“I opened my eyes for just a second, saw Barry hit someone, and I got sick,” I quickly diffused any future questions as to why I disappeared for so long. “And I had to vomit,” I added with a wink and a smile before taking in a smaller portion of steak with my mouth. Beatrice looked like she was going to respond to my comment about being sick, which would have opened up the can of worms for sure, so I quickly changed the subject. “Oh, by the way, good call with bringing the ponchos, mom,” I gave her a thumbs up.

“Told ya we were gonna need it!” She said with a proud smile stretched across her face.

“Oh, you guys!” Barry started. “The coaches, from UCLA were scouting the team. They were there for the kid Chris Novacek, but—,”

“The quarterback?” Ben interrupted.

“Yeah. But since I flat lined him in the third quarter, they pulled me aside and told me they were looking to see me in action when we have our fifth game!”

“That’s awesome!!” We all cheered in unison.

Barry had apologized to me later on that night; about the night he had yelled at me about having to look out for me.

“Barry, I love you,” I told him. “You’re a pain in the butt, but you mean well. You’re definitely my brother through and through, and everything you’re working for will pay off. Now stop being so mushy!”

My arm was still throbbing after he’d punched me for the mushy wisecrack. I sprawled out in my bed, nursing the small welt that he had apologized for as well, and thought about tomorrow—the day I would meet Devin Greigh’s father. I had wondered what his father would be like, what he would look like, and if he had the same powers as Devin—or even greater. I began thinking about those cartoons and comic books about having super powers, and how they ranked each character in strength. I easily allowed my mind to drift from reality, falling asleep from the thought of Devin having healing powers; my Superman, although he wasn’t mine. Deep down, I wanted him to be, but he was right; with so much going on, how could there be time for such teenage adolescent luxuries? He was beautiful though, despite his need to insult my intelligence every time I’d make any form of comment. Perhaps there was just a ‘little’ time for harmless romance.

The Sunday morning sun was the perfect alarm clock; not awakening me abruptly with obnoxious buzzer sounds or being hoisted over Barry’s shoulder feeling my ribs bend to the point they might just snap, but soothing me awake by its glowing rays peering through the slits of my window blinds. I sat up and stretched. Today I had to make an unexpected trip to the school.

I forgot to grab my notebook from my locker Friday,” I had told Ben and Beatrice. “Plus, I’m going to meet up with Casrial there so we could do some studying. Her father’s going to drop me off home.”

They were easy to convince, despite their overabundant need to look out for my well-being. I remembered to pack Scarlett up to take with me, plus my Giant Book Bag o’ When Will The Hurting Stop to further convince my family, and decided to look…nice; I did my hair and made it wavy, and I wore a cute, white, buttoned collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and I wore form-fitting black pants with my white sneakers—I looked like a business – casual secretary. I liked it. Even Barry thought I had a date today. “Who’s the guy?” he said in a serious tone and arms crossed. I tried to come up with a good excuse—Barry was not that easy to convince than Ben and Beatrice were. “Chill out, midget, I’m just bustin’ your chops!” he laughed after he saw my pale face gradually fill with a blushing red.

I had Ben drive me to the school around eleven—Devin didn’t really give me a distinct time as to when I should be there, so I took the liberty of deciding for him.

“Take care,” Ben told me.

“Okay dad,” I told him, and then kissed his cheek before shutting the car door. As he pulled off, I could already feel his presence—it has become more eccentric than the typical wraith. Something was different, and I couldn’t put my finger on it until his presence felt heavier. I could hear his aura, like grand church bells chiming to a slow, but soothing rhythm. It was only a split second after I heard his aura did he appear right beside me. “You know this isn’t a date, right?” he said without even looking at me.

“So are you noticing that I look good today?” I teased.

“Given the events that occurred yesterday, I’m surprised you’re still in your usual idiotic mood,” he said spitefully.

“Well, you’re here, right? I should have all the reason to be in my usual happy mood!”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know, really,” I admitted. “I mean, you’re actually a jerk, from normal standards. But you give off a stronger feeling than the waywards do; it makes me feel safe, and…good…about things.”

“For a girl, you really suck at delivering a good pickup line,” he teased.

“Well, we’re going to see your family—I didn’t want to look like a bum or anything.”

“So you want my dad to be hitting on you the entire night?”

“A HAH!” I shouted. “So you DO think I look good today!”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Devin denied. But I had him right where I wanted him at this point.

“Admit it,” I crooned. “You think I look cute!”

“It depends on your definition of cute,” he said. “I think basset hounds are cute, although they’re smelly and droopy in the face. But they have a kind of pitiful look that anyone can’t help but to love.”

He had shot me down again. I never knew how he always managed to do that—when I thought I had him where I wanted him, he would slip right away, quicker than he would disappear in a flurry of smoke. I sighed, and my heart felt like it was broken again. Then, shockingly, he placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Bassett hounds are my favorite type of dogs though,” he said. “They’re loyal, never leave your side. Extremely smart, too.”

“Then why do you always call me an idiot?”

“Who said I was comparing you to a basset hound?”

I growled, and uncontrollably struck him on the shoulder.

“What?” he shrugged. “You’re saying you look like a basset hound?”

“No,” I pouted. “You did…without saying it!”

“There’s a level of ugliness that a person must have in order for others to feel so much pity for that person to find some form of cuteness in them, and though you’re an idiot, you’re way too cute and smell too much like strawberries to be that type of ugly.”

“Oh,” I half whispered.

I blushed, and then he smirked.

“Okay, don’t fall in love with me for saying that, that would just be pitiful, and then I would have to compare you to a basset hound.”

“It’s too late, Devin. You’re stuck with me.” I teased.

“Don’t make me gag,” he teased.

“Devin,” I sang. “Don’t hide your true feelings!”

I hugged him playfully, and he pretended to fight me off.

“For someone whose arm was recently broken, you have way too many arm strength in that grip.” He joked.

I giggled, and loosened my grip.

“So there is a fun side to you!” I smiled.

“I despise fun,” he replied, “now hold on tight, this is where it gets fun.”

I felt a cooling sensation radiating from his body, and I tightened my grip. I buried my head into his chest as he wrapped his right arm around me, and everything began to turn to a thick, smoke-distorted blue tint. I then felt as if every organ within my body was being furiously pureed in a blender, and the heavy sound of wind traveling against us was as if we were traveling at the speed of light. Moments after, my innards stopped imitating a laundry spin-cycle in my ribcage long enough for me to take a deep breath to prevent vomiting breakfast. Soon the smoke-distorted blue tint began to fade, and I realized we were no longer at the high school.

The neighborhood was dark, as if it was the evening already. I looked up at the sky and saw nothing but dark-gray clouds so thick it had forced the old-fashioned street lamps down each block to be lit. Every house in the neighborhood looked dark and gloomy, the trees were bare and hollow; it felt like the neighborhood was one industrial-sized cemetery. I tried to take a step, but was still a bit disoriented from whatever it was Devin had done to get us to this gloomy place, so I stayed still and continued to look around. I saw Devin standing in front of a large, smoke-gray house; it looked to be three floors high, and several acres in length and width; it was definitely a massively-sized house. I continued to glance, noticing that there were lights on in the massive, haunted-looking house.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“My house, duh!” He said, and then waved me over.

I took another deep breath, and then walked close behind him as he opened the rickety black gates. There were naked bushes and hollowed out trees. A brown, speckled owl rested on the dead branch of one of the trees, staring at us with wide-opened eyes, as we walked along the multi red-shaded cobblestoned walkway. As we reached the door, Devin simply pushed it open with his shoulder.

“Come on in,” he said.

I hesitated for a bit; the house, and the neighborhood spooked me quite a bit. But I was safe with Devin, I knew this. I smiled, and then walked through the door and into the golden-lit interior of Devin’s home.

The inside of Devin’s home was the exact opposite as it had looked on the outside; golden, warmly-lit lights emanated from lights off of chandeliers like rays from the morning sun, and the walls were beautifully dressed with tapestries as if it was the inside of a royal castle—This was just the hallway. Devin led me to the family room, and I was in awe at its massive size. I spun around in the large circular room, taking in all of the large paintings which hung from the walls, and the crimson-red drapes which hung parallel with the paintings. The house reminded me of a fabled castle, and I loved it.

“Wow,” I sighed.

“Hey if you don’t like it, you can leave,” Devin teased.

But I ignored his comment, running my hand lightly over the soft, silk-textured furniture, the walls, and then stopped to stare at the paintings. There was one painting that looked like the shores just off of Montauk during sunset. The dark-violet water washed up on shore, and the foam from the salt water was brilliantly spattered. Bonfire pits buried in the sands burned brightly as the light emanating from the flames illuminated the vicinity of each pit; the detail of it looked so true to life, and if it weren’t for the tiny bristle strokes embedded in the detail of the picture, I wouldn’t have known the difference. There was another picture with the same exact detail as the shore painting; a big, white and red lighthouse in an early morning fog with its spotlight overlooking the surface of the ocean. There was so much detail and attention paid to the spotlight—dust and other particles shining through the bright, yellow beam of light, and the way it bounced and distorted against the ripples of the ocean. There were so many paintings hanging on the wall with the same extraordinary detail and beauty; it wasn’t difficult at all to notice that the paintings were created by the same artist.

“They look like actual photos!” I said enthusiastically.

“Thanks,” Devin said, “I ruined plenty of brushes on them.”

“You made them!?” I gasped.

“Through the course of time,” Devin said. “They take a pretty long time to do.

“But the patience is worth it I bet,” I said admiringly—another amazing quality of Devin’s I had fallen for. “They’re so beautiful!”

“You’re not one of those art-museum geeks, are you?” he asked.

“A little bit…I must admit that I have a strong affinity for aesthetic quality,” I spoke softly.

“And a strong affinity for dead people,” Devin smirked as he removed his hood.

His dark, shaggy hair fell just at the base of his neck, and clumps of hair spiked at the tips as the wavy tendrils swayed when he shook his head lightly—I wanted to run my fingers through it. His eyes were an ocean color blue as usual, and I could not help but to become lost inside each iris. My slight trance was then abrupt by the obnoxious sound of Devin yelling for his dad, “Honey, I’m home!”

Devin motioned for me to follow him, and I did. We stepped out of the family room, into another open room—possibly the den. It was just as brilliant looking as the family room; there was an area in the center of the large den area where two circular sofas resided, and a fireplace that was unlit, but still added to the décor of the room. Devin and I took the short steps down to the center of the room, and then both sat down on one of the sofas together. “You think he heard you?” I asked.

“He did,” Devin nodded. “He just likes to take his time.”

“I see,” I said. I realized that I was so close to him; our legs had touched, and just that alone gave me goose bumps. “You can relax, you know,” Devin finally said. He leaned back and propped his cane against the sofa. “You look like you’re going to vomit on yourself.”

“It was, whatever it was you did to get us here,” I lied—I was already over that experience.

“I call it my Divine Intervention,” Devin said with a smirk. “I’m able to mold my spirit, which allows me to take what is called an ‘astral form.’ Unlike other agents, by taking an astral form, I can travel spiritually, and by holding on to another’s spirit, I can carry them as I travel. It takes some getting used to, but you never have to worry about falling.”

“Why is that?” I asked, looking up at him. I secretly scooted over slightly, making sure he had not noticed—otherwise he would have just rejected me again.

“Because,” Devin started, “by using divine intervention with another person there needs to be a spiritual connection. Once there is a connection, the two spirits hold together like chain links. Even though that in my astral form I can’t hold onto your body physically, I’m able to connect with your soul as if I was holding your hand.”

“Well that’s a shame,” I teased.

“You would say that,” he replied.

“Well let’s see,” I began to list. “You can turn into smoke, you can fly, travel at the speed of light despite walking with a cane--,”

“Told you I wasn’t crippled,” He interrupted, but I continued listing.

“You can heal people’s injuries, even if they’re as severe as a broken bone,” I placed my hand—of the arm that had been broken—on top of Devin’s hand as it rested just centimeters from my thigh. “You can protect me, and you make me feel--,”

“Safe, I know,” he interrupted again.

I smiled.

“You—you make me feel important.”

He glanced into my eyes for a brief moment, something he’s never really done since I’d met him. Then he turned away for a second, and then snickered.

“You seriously do suck with the pickup lines,” he teased.

“I don’t care,” I said quickly. “Devin, I…I—,” I wanted to tell him that I liked him, a lot—beyond the power of words, and far stronger than a high school crush. I used to make fun of the girls in my school, and how they would banter about how they were in love with a cute boy, and how they would die for him or die if they couldn’t have him, and now I felt this way about Devin. I didn’t know what it was about Devin that drew me in so easily; He was an utter jerk to me half of the time. But behind all of that, he had saved me twice, healed my wounds, took the time to find me and acknowledge me. There had to be something more to him; he had to feel some way about me. At this point, nothing else really mattered; only Devin mattered. My heart was thumping so strongly in my chest; it had felt like it was trying to tear itself out. I shifted closer to him, and my hand squeezed Devin’s slightly. I didn’t know what to do next, but my body did. I leaned forward, tilting my head back slowly and then parted my lips. My eyes began to close as soon as I saw the reaction that I’d been waiting for—Devin’s eyes giving me a sincere expression, and his head tilting in closer to meet mine, and then to the side, ready to catch my lips into his.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry about taking my time!!” I jumped at the sudden voice that was not Devin’s; my heart nearly jumped out from the abrupt bellows of an explosive voice. Devin straightened himself back up, and I sighed as he did so—my chance was thwarted.

“Dad,” Devin said, grabbing his cane, and slowly standing up.

I finally turn to the direction of the person who had single-handedly denied me of my chance to make Devin mine, and then shrieked when I suddenly realized who it was. “Shut up!” I screamed.

“Sorry, next time I’ll whisper when I say ‘dad’ okay?” Devin said sarcastically.

I didn’t bother to respond to Devin. Instead, I leapt from the sofa, and sprinted towards the familiar tall and lanky person whom which I’ve known since I was a child; the person who had promised that when I’d least expect it, I will see him once again. “Mr. Goldstein!” I cried as I collided into his body like a train hitting a stalled car in the middle of the tracks.

“Whoa!” Mr. Goldstein laughed. “You’re not a kid anymore! Your hugs are quite the vice grip!”

“Mr. Goldstein!” I repeated over and over, again and again.

“Mr. Goldstein!?” Devin asked as his voice cracked.

“Your dad is my old next door neighbor!?” I finally snapped from my cult-like chants and released my hold on Mr. Goldstein, after which asking, “But how is that possible!

“Well Devin isn’t my biological son, you see,” Mr. Goldstein explained, “he was orphaned, just like you.”

My eyes widened, completely understanding the situation. But I couldn’t help but wonder why I had never seen Devin, or anyone else other than his dog Ari for that matter, when I’d still lived with my biological family.

“But that is another story that will be told when the time is right,” Mr. Goldstein could tell from my face exactly what I was about to ask him.

“I take it that since you are here now, it means it’s finally the time that you knew,” Mr. Goldstein announced.

“Knew what?” I asked with half-crossed eyes.

“What you need to know as of now,” Devin answered. My heart raced again. I was excited to know exactly what Devin Greigh was, despite the fact that I had to wait a little while longer to know who Devin Greigh was. I could not shake the fact that Devin was an orphan just like I was—it made us more compatible with each other more than anything.

The three of us sat in the middle of the den—Devin and I sat together on the same sofa as before, while Mr. Goldstein started up the fireplace before sitting on the sofa opposite from us. I had not noticed until now that Mr. Goldstein had been decked out in fisherman attire; the hat with fish hooks dangling from it, and the vest which sported the same type of hooks hanging from each of its utility pockets. I didn’t question his outfit, however; I just waited patiently to hear exactly what I needed to hear, what I needed to understand.

“Let me start off by saying, that you have grown into a beautiful young girl, Evenfleu,” Mr. Goldstein started, “and it’s time that you knew, that my real name is Alexander Griffin Van Helmsman. You can call me anything you’d like, however. But the time for concealing my identity from you has ended.”

“Good,” I replied—“Because I grew up calling you Mr. Goldstein, ergo I have grown fond of calling you that,” I smiled proudly.

“Mr. Goldstein’s fine by me,” Mr. Goldstein smiled back.

Devin cleared his throat and crossly replied, “You definitely don’t look cool enough to be a Goldstein, but ’to each his own.”

I shot Devin a death glare, and he just shrugged; he could have easily removed my soul from my body before I had the chance to blink if he desired, so I was sure he wasn’t put-off by my stare.

“There are two realms,” Mr. Goldstein began, “the living realm, which is the realm we reside in right now. Earth: the realm where we, humans, exist. There’s not too much to say about it as you already know just by sitting here how this realm truly is.

And then there’s the Spirit Realm; The other side, the after life, or simply, the astral plane in which beings known as wraiths exist. When a human dies, the astral projection of their former image—their wraith—are guided back to the spirit realm. It is the realm in which they originated from. This realm is known as Stycx.

Wraiths are constantly returning to the living world, reliving as a different human than last, as it is a means of keeping the balance between both realms known as the Order of Life and Afterlife, or OLA. Without this balance, both realms are lost, devoured by the abysmal bowels of Hell.

In the past, dying was natural; you were born, you grew old, and then you outlived your body’s extent, and passed away. Even slight accidental deaths and terminal illnesses were considered natural. With natural death, a wraith was simply guided back to the spirit realm where they were given another life to live in the living realm. However, as time passed, Dying became more compulsory, cruel and unnaturally sadistic. These deaths changed the wraiths, removing what seemed to be an automatic routine. These wraiths were not complete, unaware that they were no longer living flesh. They still had the memories and the humanity that was usually lost after dying. However, when a person is killed, or has died due to certain consequences, it disrupts the order; everyone is fated to die, but if it isn’t the death you’re supposed to experience, then you were wrongfully taken from this world.

The wraiths forced from their lives as humans as such are known as waywards. A wayward is split into two categories: Passive and humane and Aggressive and hostile. A Passive wayward is easily noticeable by their aura; if you feel soothed, and relaxed, then you know that a passive wayward is currently presented. Clairvoyant or paranormal beings, or beings with paranormal potential, have the ability to see or hear their presence; their astral projection presented in a white and pale blue-tinted radiance, followed by the subtle chiming of the Hymn of Stycx.”

“What is the Hymn of Stycx?” I asked. Mr. Goldstein began using his hands to illustrate the description that his words would have otherwise confused me.

“The Hymn of Stycx is the ambience of the spirit realm; if they hear it, it means that a wraith is being summoned back to the spirit realm. Wraiths do not hear anything else but the Hymn, and therefore follow it obediently back to the spirit realm. A wayward hears everything else but the Hymn, and therefore becomes a remaining product of the living realm until it is classified. Passive and Humane waywards are easy to classify. Since normal humans cannot see them, they will begin to drift—or lose track of humanity—until a being with paranormal potential communicates with them.”

Mr. Goldstein adjusted the rim of his fisherman hat, and the multi-colored set of hooks jangled like miniature wind chimes. “And then there are the Aggressive and Hostile waywards…waywards that have either drifted too far or sought vengeance upon someone preceding their death. There are other means as to why a wayward grows aggressive and hostile; it has proven that they can even be hostile immediately following the end of their human life. You, Evenfleu, have been much unfortunate to have witnessed them first hand; the blistering-cold wisps, the endless black and midnight-blue fading apparitions…they are unfocused berserkers causing destruction wherever they go. The only way to stop them is to weaken them enough to have that one window of opportunity to classify them.”

“What do you mean by classifying them?” I asked.

“Classification is a term we use to define the act of converting a wayward back into a wraith.” After a moment, Mr. Goldstein stood up, and walked over to the faux fireplace. “Your father,” he started, “he knew, from the moment you were born, that you were going to be the one.”

I shook my head, mainly to get the cobwebs out. I was still thinking about the entire idea of classification. Although it sounded pretty simple, the idea of classification confused me. I was certain that an act must be performed in order to classify a wayward, but I wasn’t entirely sure what. What I did know was that wraiths were the astral projection of our physical selves, or dare say, wraiths were actually the embodiment of every living thing, including us. Without wraiths, we would have no soul, and without a soul, we would have no life; without life, we humans were but an empty vessel, hollowed out by the blackness of non-existence. And then the last comment Mr. Goldstein made finally hit home. “The one to what?” I finally asked.

“The one to hold the burden,” he answered. I then winced. I felt like the fate of the world was being dropped on my petite shoulders; in my mind I felt my collarbones crack and splinter from the weight of everyone and everything becoming a traveler’s knapsack on my back. “You are a medium, Evenfleu,” he continued, “one who has the ability to communicate between the living realm and the spirit realm. Your spirit is a powerful one, and your father knew that; he was a medium as well. He possessed the ability of Premonition; he saw the day they would arrive, and had prepared for it accordingly. You were to be protected, at all cost.”

“But why me!?” I asked loudly. “Why did I have to be the one to live, having to watch the people I loved—my family—all die before my eyes, when I was only four years old!?” Mr. Goldstein sighed. I was on the brink of tears, and my already-high-pitched voice had cracked an octane higher than usual as I’d pushed the question further.

“You weren’t the only one,” Devin muttered before he got up slowly, and shuffled himself towards the other side of the room; there was a door up ahead.

“I gotta pee,” he announced—“plus, I don’t wanna be here for what he has to tell you next.” He opened the door, and disappeared inside of it.

Mr. Goldstein waited until the door was shut and the light had turned on in the bathroom before he continued. “Your father had predicted a war. One day, a few years from now, the threat of the spirit realm and living realm becoming unstable will rise. The reason is unknown, as I am still trying to figure that one out.”

“So, when you said you were investigating my father’s death,” I blurted out.

“Precisely,” he answered. “You come from a long line of clairvoyants, those with paranormal powers, and the ability to communicate with others like themselves as well as wraiths. There are plenty of clairvoyants, but not like you. Your father said that only you and you alone hold the key to stopping the destruction of both worlds.”

“So, the will, the house, the—,” I started before Mr. Goldstein had interjected.

“All in due time, dear. What’s more important now, is that as long as you know the truth, you should know now that you are not safe alone. Gheists have been acting more and more irregular and aggressive. It’s only a matter of time until they come after you more frequently than this past week.”

“What does this mean?” I asked.

“I’m not certain,” Mr. Goldstein answered—“But until I find the reason why, we need to safeguard you…This is where Devin comes along.”

I heard the muffled sound of a toilet flushing suddenly, and then Mr. Goldstein continued.

“I cannot lie to you, Evenfleu. Running into Devin was definitely not coincidence; he is here to protect you, and he was raised knowing that he will one day meet you, and that he will be your guardian. He could be…a bit direct. But given his situation, you can’t blame him for being as such.”

I smiled a bit, although I didn’t know exactly why. Perhaps it was the fact that I had known then that Devin was meant to protect me. It sounded selfish, but I felt like Devin was on this planet to be my soul mate; the only one for me. I had never even thought about being with another boy, let alone even finding one cute or worth the trouble of becoming flustered and baffled with so much anxiety that it would quite possibly rupture my main artery. The first time I had met Devin, I had felt like we belonged together, like leaves in the wind. He was like a wraith, needed to keep a human body animate, alive.

I thought about how hard it must have been to grow up knowing he had to protect the life of a stranger. I wondered what he must have been feeling, and how pressured he must have felt to have such a burden placed upon him. And then I’d realized why he had left the room; the idea of having to put his life aside for somebody he had barely known must have seemed pretty ridiculous and unnecessary to him. He could barely walk on both legs, and here he is—my obligated guardian—born and raised only to live and die protecting me because a predicted war expected to happen a few years from now. No wonder I’d never yelled at him for calling me an idiot half the time; deep down I felt like he had the right to.

“That’s too much to put on one person, Mr. Goldstein,” I murmured—“it’s bad enough that I feel sick to my stomach right now, knowing that in a few years I will hold the fate of two worlds in the palm of my hand.”

“You won’t go it alone, Evenfleu,” Mr. Goldstein ensured me—“like I said, your father made it so that by the time you are ready, you will have and know everything you need to, to prepare. For the time being, know these rules…”

Mr. Goldstein started pacing around the den, waiting for the second toilet flush to end before he ran down the lists of things to do and not do.

“Stay away from abandoned places; they are usually constant inhabited sites for aggressive waywards.

You may know this by default, but never tell anyone about who you are, and what you can do; it tends to have negative results.”

Devin finally emerged from the bathroom as I agreed to Mr. Goldstein’s rules of paranormal security, “And don’t forget the number one rule—don’t do anything stupid, like getting yourself killed.”

I had dinner over Devin’s house—Mr. Goldstein had ordered pizza. He also called my foster family and told them that he ran into me at my school, that I was with him, and that I was safe; they had absolutely no qualms with Mr. Goldstein looking after me. Devin was quiet for the rest of the night until it was time for me to return home.

“You have an awesome home!” I’d finally broken the awkward silence after regaining composure from the instant teleportation a few blocks away from my house.

“It’s alright,” he murmured—“until you step outside and realize how everything looks like a Tim Burton movie.”

“I love his movies,” I smiled—“They’re dark, but there’s always a glimmer of light which radiates from the interesting characters.”

“Well that’s because you’ve got some serious issues,” he teased.

“Yeah,” I sighed—“But I think you would make a perfect therapist,” I said sarcastically.

Devin suddenly stopped and shook his head. “Don’t you ever get tired of saying such idiotic statements like that?” He snapped.

I was shocked. I didn’t even know what I said that was so wrong. “Don’t you ever grow tired of calling me an idiot?” I retaliated.

“I only call you an idiot because of what you’re trying to do,” he murmured.

“What am I trying to do!?” I asked.

I did not know where he was going with his comment at all. He turned his head away from me.

“Trying to get involved with someone like me,” he muttered. “You’re only going to get hurt, but you insist, and you push. I feel your spirit, and I know how you feel. But trust me; you don’t want to take it there.”

“How do you know?” I asked, “Maybe I do want to take it there.”

I took a few steps back, towards the direction of my house.

“Maybe, you were the first boy I’ve ever felt attracted to. Maybe, before I found out you were being forced to protect me…before I found out that you had all of these crazy powers…that I had found you intriguing. Maybe it’s me that would do anything for you, to protect you, to die for you, because what I thought was just a simple girly crush actually evolved into something more over the course of a few days. Your very presence starts these feelings, your voice amplifies it, and your touch detonates it. I can’t help it half the time; sometimes I think back and ask myself why I say half the things I say.”

I felt myself about to erupt with emotion; just the slightest word, the slightest motion from Devin would start me up, amplify my feelings, and detonate the feelings into words. I wanted to walk away; something told me he would follow me, or say something to make me stop—and that something was absolutely right.

“Why do you say half the things you say?” he said loudly. “I mean, I don’t even know why you like me; just that you do. I have nothing going on for myself; I have no goals, no ambitions in life. I was never raised to have any either…I was raised to protect a complete stranger…I was raised to protect you. Everything I’ve been doing was to prepare for the day I would run into you, and once I had, I was to see just how well I would protect you. There were no feelings involved, only procedures. My future doesn’t involve falling in love—it involves protecting an asset; the key to stopping a cataclysm that would ultimately end the existence of everything. There’s no room to fit ‘love’ in my busy schedule.”

That was it; the thing that would set me off.

“Why!?!?” I bellowed. “Why isn’t there any room for love!? I mean…ugh! I can’t even believe I’m even having this conversation with you!”

I flailed my arms in the air, as if I was defeated. But I continued to air out my feelings as best as I could. “You can practically read how I feel about you. I don’t even have to worry about how to say how much I like you, how I’m falling for you faster than a…than a bird being shot out from the sky! I’ve had a horrible childhood too; I watched my entire family being slaughtered at the age of four, and being spooked out of my gourd by ghosts, wraiths, whatever, throughout the rest of my childhood. Ironically it was wraiths that seemed to like me more than actual human beings; people thought I either talked to myself, or was too old to have imaginary friends. And then you came along, and changed everything. You gave me a reason to feel normal, to feel like I could have at least a little bit of normality in my life. I would understand if you didn’t feel the same way about me, but you know that’s not true. You’re afraid, you’re afraid of making that commitment, because although wraiths and gheists probably don’t scare you, maybe the thought of you falling for me—the fact that you could possibly fall in love with me, and not be able to—,”

“Protect you?” He finished. “Yeah, imagine having one more person you’ve loved, die, and there was nothing you could do to prevent it from happening—it’d spook the hell out of you too.”

“It does scare me!” I shouted as tears welled up in my eyes. “Who wouldn’t be!? It doesn’t mean that fear should get us killed…it should make us stronger! I know you would not let me die as I would not let you die!”

“And see, right there,” Devin pointed at the left side of my chest, where my heart was beating a mile a second, “is why I call you an idiot.”

He turned around, and then shuffled away.

“Devin, Wait!” I shouted, but he was already gone; the bluish-white smoke was the only remnants of the person that I had just poured my heart out to. One thing was certain, however: I knew Devin felt the same way about me. It was only a matter of time until he had shed himself of the layer of fear binding him. It was only a matter of time until he had declared his feelings for me. I thought about it to myself as I walked—not too far—to my house to continue thinking about everything I’d learned before I’d retired for the night.