Chapter 4



"You really think this will work?"

"Totally."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then we feel stupid for a couple of minutes and watch a vid. What's the big deal? Come on, Amelle."

Amelle followed after Cynthia, her best friend, as they made their way downstairs. Cynthia's family had an enormous home, even by the luxurious standards of the elite of Sector 7, nicknamed the uninspired 'Seventh Heaven'. The basement had been converted into something of an extensive lounge and party room and guest suite for the many friends of Cynthia's parents. Tonight, however, it was going to be something else.

As the two girls descended, they were greeted by an eerie sight. Three more of their classmates sat around a circle of candles, the smell of incense filling the air as they illuminated a pentagram sitting in the circle. Each teen was wearing a hooded robe, the pressed fabric making it clear that they had been bought no more than six hours ago. Chel, another of Cynthia's friends, offered two more of the robes to the newcomers, smiling mysteriously with her face half-obscured.

"This is totally spooky, right? We thought about putting some music on, but the only scary thing Cynthia has down here is recordings of her violin recitals. No point driving the demons deaf as soon as we summon them."

There was a dull thump as Cynthia punched Chel in the shoulder. Amelle was already moving past them post, awkwardly shrugging her robe on over her narrow shoulders. Tall and lanky, Amelle was at least two sizes too large for the outfit. She was already struggling to take this whole thing seriously, and the fact she could see her ankles only really made it even worse. Still, she needed to play along. Living in (the rather nice, but still comparatively modest) Sector 5, simply known as Midtown, meant that she had never really had a chance with the popular, richer kids despite going to school with them. Exceptional grades and neural testing had landed her at the prestigious Markham Academy, but it wasn't until Cynthia had taken an interest in her that she had really started to fit in. What was one ridiculous little wannabe cult meeting if it got her into Cynthia's inner circle?

"Come on, Amelle," Cynthia said, tugging her around the pentagram. "Don't let your hems get singed on the candles."

"Who cares? We only even invited her because we need five for the ritual," a third girl - was it Miranda? She couldn't remember, but she was kind of awful - chirped.

"That isn't true," Cynthia shot back. "I like Amelle. You know, even though she's poor, or whatever."

Amelle frowned at that, but said nothing. She was used to talk like this, despite her family being distinctly middle-class and in no way impoverished. The people in 'Seventh Heaven' were a little detached from reality, as far as she was concerned.

"Yeah okay let's just get this over with," Chel said, the most disinterested of the bunch by far. Amelle got the sense that she, too, was just following along with what Cynthia wanted here, and for a moment, empathized with that.

"Hey, patience," Cynthia chided, opening a dusty, enormous old book that she'd taken off the shelf on the wall. It was exceedingly rare to even see books anymore, let alone ones of this size. A shortage of paper meant that most had been recalled, recorded digitally, and then recycled. Holding it up to the group, she smirked knowingly, eyes bright with mischief.

"So let's summon us a demon."

Sitting down with the rest of the group, Cynthia opened the enormous old tome across her lap. The pages were in a language that Amelle only vaguely recognized as latin, with old drawings of monstrous figures splayed across each. Tracing her finger down the path of one of the entries, Cynthia commanded, "Alright. Repeat after me."

"Sure," Amelle replied.

"Whatever," muttered Chel.

Glaring daggers at the latter, Cynthia proclaimed, "Venite ad hoc planum, daemonium!"

"Venite ad hoc planum, daemonium!" Intoned the rest.

"Um...Arcum voluntatem meam!"

""Um...Arcum voluntatem meam!"

"Very funny."

A chorus of giggling followed that.

Cynthia led them through repeating these chants a few more times, staring expectantly down into the circle. At one point, Chel gasped, pointing at a flickering candle - only to yelp and jump as Cynthia's cat, Paco, darted past and through the circle.

"Oh my god, this is so stupid," Miranda complained. "It's obviously not going to work. There's no such thing as demons, and if there were, they'd have better things to do than this, wouldn't they?"

Amelle silently agreed, but said nothing in response, simply turning to regard Cynthia. The short blonde had filled in rather early, which accounted for as much of her popularity as her wealth did. For awhile, Amelle had been deeply jealous, but these days she just thought about how much of an inconvenience it had to be.

Planting her hands on her wide hips, Cynthia just shrugged. "Whatever. It was kind of cool to try, wasn't it?"

"Sure," Chel and Amelle replied.

"No," replied Miranda.

The fifth girl, who had said nothing this entire time, remained silent. Amelle didn't recognize her at all, and didn't think much of it. She was sure Cynthia had all kinds of friends she'd never met.

Amelle had been a little bit anxious that upon the failure of the "ritual", she'd be kicked right out to head home, but to her pleasure and surprise, she was invited to stay the night with the rest of the group. Cynthia, Miranda, and Chel spent most of the time viciously mocking each other. Amelle, not wanting to overstep her boundaries, simply listened in, made light-hearted jokes that didn't target anyone in particular, and occasionally stared over at the fifth girl, all fluffy brown hair and thick glasses - an archaic choice of style, considering how easy it was to get a simple laser job on the eyes these days.

That was when it happened. A surging pain in her temple, nearly causing her to buckle against the couch that they were sitting on and around while watching some bad horror movie. Staggering to her feet, Amelle excused herself to the bathroom, thankful that the rest of the group seemed too absorbed in the film to pay her much mind.

She had barely gotten to the bathroom mirror when she felt it again, a pain so sharp and severe that it felt as if her head was tearing itself in two, teeth first. The worst thing was that she was used to this by now, knew that she had to place a strip of cloth from her robe into her mouth to stop herself from biting her tongue. When the voice finally came, she nearly screamed in relief.

--Wow, it's getting a little easier.--

"Speak for yourself," she grumbled in the mirror, sweat beading off her brow. Her typically dark brown eyes glowed a dangerous yellow, acidic and sulfurous in color.

--Trust me, it'll be less of a strain as your body adapts.--

"Adapts...that doesn't sound like something I want to happen."

--Trust me, you do. You'll be stronger, faster, tougher.--

She'd heard this before. The voice had been nothing if not persuasive, ever since she'd woken up with it inside of her. She hadn't seen much proof yet, which was a large part of why she suspected she was just going insane. Did that happen? Did voices just start out of nowhere? She'd perused a lot of mental health websites to no avail. Too afraid to tell her parents, she just coped with it for now, even when it hurt - like now.

--I can't believe them, though. Latin, seriously? Latin is THEIR language, not ours. Disgusting. You should punish them for it.--

"Punish...no. They're my friends," Amelle breathed, scratching at her temples hard enough to nearly make them bleed. The worst of the pain had faded, but the residual itching was almost as bad, a deep tingling through the entirety of her brain.

--Fine, your call. I can't make you do anything. I'm on your side here. That's why I'm...calling, as you humans call it. The quiet one. She's a threat. I smell their stink on her.--

"Whose...whose stink?" She murmured, still not understanding the sudden flare of hostility from the thing she was hosting in her head.

--Theirs. You wouldn't understand. I'm just giving you a warning. Stay away from the silent one. If she spends too much time around you, she'll find me, and that's bad for both of us. Got it?--

Amelle contemplated this for a moment. She couldn't really afford to do that, could she? To totally ignore someone in Cynthia's social circle, and hope to have no one notice?

--Forget about your stupid high school problems, child. This is a literal matter of life and death.--

"Uh yeah says the voice in my head," Amelle grunted. "Look, you can't expect me to help you if you don't give me more information. That's just common sense."

There was a pause then, almost hesitant from the voice inside of her. The spirit, or demon, or whatever it was, perhaps just a figment of her imagination, must have taken what she said seriously, because it finally replied:

--Fine. Listen and listen well, girl, because I'll only say this once. You are not the only one who is sharing a mind right now. There are others like us, those who should be working towards a common goal but instead pursue their own greed and ambition. They draw the attention of...Hunters, whose influence reaches further than you can imagine. They call themselves Redeemers, ironically, but all they do is slaughter.--

A cold shock of fear flooded down Amelle's spine. "What...and they're going to come after me?" What the hell had she done to deserve this? She'd never even chosen to have this guest in her head, and now she was being told that it might get her killed?

--No! No. Stop panicking and listen to me. As long as you avoid the people I tell you to avoid, you'll be completely fine, child. Those who are hunted are found only because they lack subtlety and patience. Fortunately for you, I have both.--

"You just told me to punish my classmates."

--...A momentary lapse in judgment. It's been a long time since I smelled their stink.--

The response didn't exactly fill Amelle with confidence. Washing her face to give the bulging veins in her neck time to fade, she returned to finish the movie with the rest of her friends. She couldn't help but spare a glance to the quiet girl in the far corner every now and then, though. Unfortunately, the warning she'd received had damn near had the opposite effect as intended; she couldn't get her mind off the other now, wondering just what kind of 'stink' that her semi-unwelcome guest sensed on her. She seemed normal enough, if quiet. So what was the deal?

When the movie ended and Cynthia started up the stairs to deliver their empty soda cans and popcorn bowls to the kitchen, Amelle followed, deciding to do some recon. The twinge in her temple told her that her guest didn't like this idea, but then, she wasn't going to worry about that. As far as she was concerned, this would be a valuable lesson about trying to order around a teenager.

Reaching out to take some of the trash from Cynthia, Amelle asked, as politely as possible, "Is everything okay with that quiet girl? I haven't heard her say a word all night."

Laughing, Cynthia leads her to the kitchen, waving her hand. "Oh, yeah, that's just Maya. She's, uh, mute. You know, like, medically. She can't talk."

"Huh. How'd you meet her?"

"Oh, her parents are the richest people in the city, just about. Like, their house is twice the size of mine." She dumps some cans into the recycling bin, pressing the 'hold' button for now. Having the machine turn them into multi-purpose scrap at this time of night would be obnoxiously loud. "Her dad invented the radiation shield."

Amelle whistled. No wonder they were so wealthy - and why she'd been invited over. It seemed like she wasn't the only one angling for a social come-up. Deciding to pursue the line of questioning that had led her here in the first place, Amelle placed a bowl in the dishwasher, pulling it out a few seconds later, pristine. "So, besides the whole mute thing - has anything ever seemed off about her to you?"

"How would I know?" Cynthia replies sarcastically. "It's not like she gives me much to work with. Besides, I barely know her, too. My parents made me invite her over because they're trying to get a business deal with her dad or something. I'm just playing nice." Amelle frowned slightly at that. It was not only callous, but a reminder of why -she- was here with Cynthia in the first place. Was she really acting any better right now? Putting that little crisis aside for later, she huffed and tried a new tactic. "Oh, okay...I just thought I recognized her from somewhere, that's all. A...friend of mine told me she'd seen Maya doing some weird stuff once."

"Like what?"

This was getting awkward. This was getting so awkward. Regretting having ever gotten curious about this, torn between blaming herself and the strange voice in her head, Amelle just raised a hand. "Nevermind. Stupid question, sorry."

Cynthia shrugged it off, and the two finished cleaning up together.

By the time they got back downstairs, the other girls were all asleep, and that suited Amelle just fine. Immensely exhausted by her meeting with her guest, she drifted right off to sleep on a pallet made on the ground.

She slept fitfully, dreams of familiar and unwelcome voices ordering her around, telling her to flee her family and her life. The silent girl, her spectacles obscuring her eyes, occupied much of her mind's eye, an ominous yet vague spectre on the periphery of her vision.

In the morning, she put her things together and left fairly early. The other girls planned to go to lunch, but many things about the night before had left her unsettled, and a little bit ashamed. Did she really care about Cynthia, want to be friends with her? Or was she acting as callously as Cynthia was towards the Maya? Her walk from Cynthia's home to the local magrail stop was one distracted by this question - so much so that she didn't even notice Maya approach her, standing silently at the stop beside her.

"Oh, uh, hey," Amelle greeted, realizing she could no longer avoid conversation with the other girl. She was short, so much so that Amelle towered nearly two heads on her. The height difference was such that she barely even noticed Maya reaching into her pocket, and didn't see the pistol that the other girl drew until it was resting out in front of her.

"Whoa!" Amelle yelped, stepping back from her. She halted immediately, however, when Maya opened her mouth, murmuring out a single word.

"Stop."

Paralyzed by some unseen force, Amelle stared in horror at the girl - the one who was supposed to be mute, and yet commanded her with a single word.

"Take this gun. When you can no longer see me, put it in your mouth and pull the trigger," Maya said, holding the weapon out in her gloved hands.

Fingers shaking, Amelle took the pistol. It was much lighter than she expected, the plasteel frame nothing like the old, heavy metal designs of ballistic guns. She wanted to scream, to call for help, but she could not. There was no one else around, and she couldn't even make a sound. Before her eyes, Maya turned and started back down the street the way she'd come. Looking back one last time at Amelle, the girl came to a stop at the crosswalk, then turned and disappeared around the corner.

No sooner was she gone than Amelle lifted the gun, placing the barrel in her mouth. Tears pouring from her eyes, her breath catching in the throat, she pulled the trigger.

As the report of the weapon filled the air, she flew back to land hard on the sidewalk. As the sky above grew dark, blackness encroaching on the edges of her vision, her last thought was that she should have listened to the voice in her head.