Daimon by DANIELLE BOLGER (my miracle luna book free read txt) 📕

actually crumpled in a ball on the coarse carpet.

“You,” I addressed the wall, “you're not Zach, you can't be. You're not allowed to be.”

“Jane...” that voice cooed.

“Leave me!” I roared with enough force that the do-gooder edged back.

“Zach, that's not you,” I whispered.

It couldn't be. I just saw Zach no less than forty-eight hours earlier. He was joking around with me, play flirting and comforting me warmly, reminding me that I was not alone. I had him as a friend. He was not the person I saw in front of me. He couldn't be, because this poor person was raised on the wall, stripped to his underwear and nailed through the wrists and ankles; dried blood oozed from each lesion; green eyes wide open, otherwise white skin mottled blue and purple, and a crass, disrespectful gouge in his chest—heart missing.

The writing on the wall, in red thick claggy ink, read: He died for her sins.

“It's not him,” I whispered softly. “There's no geek T-shirt. That's the proof, it's the proof.”

Then memory came flooding back of a teenage girl who looked upon a dead woman, wondering why this stranger looked so much like her mother. Of course, it couldn't be her; her mother was not allowed to be dead.

“It's not him, he's not allowed to be—”

“Jane.” Again, that soft voice cooed. “Jane, let me take you out of here.”

“It can't be. It's not Zach. It's not him. There's no shirt, you see? No shirt!” I pleaded to this stranger as I felt my body fall limp again. “It's not, it's not...”

“That's it, Jane, sit down. I'll take you from here.”

“Zach...” I looked up, into the face of my caregiver. “Of course, you're okay. You're the one who's always protecting me, like a big brother. My big brother...”

****

“Just look away, Jane.” I heard my brother, Jack, trying to soothe as a gentle hand pushed my head away, but I would not allow him to redirect my sight. I couldn't look away; the horror of it had me too transfixed.

“Don't look, Jane, just close your eyes.”

“Don't look away. You both must see this,” our father commanded.

Jack reluctantly removed his hands from my face, giving me no wall to hide behind anymore. I could see it clearly then; the horror of it inescapable. Even having my eyes closed wouldn't have shielded me from the events transpiring. The sound and smell were the worst of all.

I saw the origin of all the screams, and of the strange smoky cooked meat smell. The whole apartment block was crumbling down, tall black smoke rising from the inferno. It still stood, but only barely. We were told to stay back here, so as not fall victim to any collapsing rubble, but there were others further in than us, who never crossed to our side of the threshold alive.

There were many vans: some spilling water from hoses onto the building, others transporting blackened victims into them on stretchers. The number of injured paled in comparison with the number of long black bags that were lined up on the asphalt ground.

I saw a woman screaming and pulling onto the cloak of a firefighter, children clutching their dolls and a dog, coated in blood, lying limply on the curb. There was a young boy next to the dog who kept prodding it, tears streaming down his eyes.

“Dad, Jane really shouldn't be seeing this. She's only ten,” Jack pleaded.

“Does the fact that you're fifteen make you think that you're a man?” our father refuted. “No, you kids need to learn the kind of world you've been born into. I wish I could hide you from this, but I can't. Our city is not safe, and staying at home under your bed covers will not protect you from this corrupt society. You need to learn how to deal with this—it's the only way you'll survive.”

There was a great gust of smoke as part of one of the levels collapsed. There were cries from a couple wearing blankets, who held their arms out to it, desperately.

“What happened here, Dad?” I inquired, my voice squeaky and meek.

“A bomb was placed by one of the gangs,” he replied evenly. “The police received a tip and an evacuation was sent out, but that occurred barely a minute before the building exploded. It looks like some people have made it out alive, but many of the residents would have been killed either by the blast itself, or by the fires, or smoke that ensued.”

I placed a hand on my mouth in an attempt to stifle my whimpers, but my father's ears were far too keen. Without even turning to look at me he reprimanded, “Don't you dare cry. Crying is for the weak. You do not know these people; therefore, you should not feel sorry for them. Instead, you can take comfort from the fact that your mother, brother and I are all safe and untouched by this.”

I tried to do as he commanded but my eyes only dripped heavier as my body began to shake. I covered my mouth with my hand, but the wails could be easily heard now. I shut my eyes in a desperate attempt to block out the scenery, and I tried so hard to think about something else, anything else: my mother's cupcakes. Then, when I thought of the flavor, all I could taste was sickly sweet burnt flesh.

My father pulled my hand away roughly. “Do not shield yourself, Jane. This is the truth of the life ahead of you. Harden up, or you will find yourself in the same position as these pathetic grieving bystanders.” He motioned around us to where others were wailing; women with mascara running down their cheeks, and men gripping at their hair as if about to tear it from their skulls.

He leaned down to me and spoke in a soft, but firm voice. “These people are rendered weak by their fear. They are transfixed by what they see and they can do nothing to act, so, they merely watch as people die. You need to have control of your emotions and your fears. You must be strong if you have any chance to survive. It's always a fight for survival, never forget that.”

“Dad, why don't we just leave? Go to another city?” Jack offered, desperately.

“I can't leave, Jack. Unlike these others, I'm not letting my fear control me. People get hurt here too often for a physician to run and hide from it, but even if I were a schoolteacher, council worker, accountant or factory worker, I would not abandon this city. There are things that need to be done in the Blue Coast. I may not be able to achieve them, but I will not escape my duty. I know you're only kids, but I expect to see the same determination from you two. We're in the middle of a war, and wars cannot be won without soldiers.”

“Why, Dad?” I croaked. “Why do people do this to each other?”

“Some people are made evil. Others, develop that way, and all evil wants to do is kill and harm others weaker than it. You two must be strong; you must destroy this evil before it does you. I don't see this city being saved any time soon, not by my generation. That's why it will be up to you—the next generation—to take back the Blue Coast.” Despite the horrific scenery, his voice softened. “It really was a beautiful city once.”

Then I was back home. Everything was dark, and I had to use my hands to feel where I was going. I found the handle and the door creaked as it opened. I blindly walked forward, arms outstretched, until I found the cushioned mattress. I eased onto it, and under the covers I felt my brother's warmth flow into me.

Jack had placed an arm around me. “Just forget everything you saw today, Jane. You're too young, so just forget it.”

“I can't, Jack. I keep seeing them. I keep seeing all the black bags and people carried off on stretchers.”

“Try to forget. You don't need to know that stuff, not now, not ever. I'll always be around to protect you, I promise. So, you can forget, and I'll do all the fighting for the both of us.”

I nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see me in the darkness, and closed my eyes, but even next to my brother the images would not dissipate. The smell clung to my skin as if my own odor were the source of that dreadful scent. With a cold shiver, I realized how true that thought was.

I reached out to feel Jack's warmth again, but just found an empty bed. “Jack? Where are you? You're meant to protect me.”

There was no answer. Jack had left, flown to the other side of the country.

“You promised,” I whispered. “You promised that you would always be around to protect me. Why, Jack? Why did you leave me?”

Then a creature appeared before me, shining impossibly bright, like a beacon. The light distorted her image so that all that could be discerned was her porcelain white skin, long dark brown hair, and intense ebony eyes. This creature smiled at me as she answered, “Because he knows what you did.”

I shook my head violently, fighting against the image before me, but my movements were sluggish as if my body was fighting paralysis.

“No,” I cried desperately. “I didn't do anything wrong.”

Her smile increased as the intensity of her eyes dimmed, so that her features could finally be discerned. I gasped as I recognized the black-eyed woman.

“You're not me,” I whimpered. “You can't be.”

Her features morphed again, into someone who was taller, stronger and emptier. It was my brother Jack, but his eyes were different, too; white cornea and black engorged pupils. They were just like mine.

“Why, Jane? Why did you do this?” His question echoed through the darkness.

“What do you mean? Jack, I don't understand,” I said in a small voice.

He moved hauntingly forward. I could feel the power rippling off his body, and realized it was rage directed towards me.

“Your eyes...” I whispered as dread seared into me. “Not you, too. I'm sorry.”

He moved closer, and somehow the light shone on him in just a way to expose every line of hate etched on his face with transfixing clarity. “How could you do that, Jane? How could you be so...monstrous?” As he said this, he took a heavy swing towards me. It was so powerful that I felt the darkness shudder. It reached toward me slowly, and yet quickly, until finally I saw a hand as large as a giant's no more than an inch from my face.

“Jack, no!” I screamed as I braced myself, but then that black world was wiped away and I was left sitting alone in a new kind of darkness.

****

I was in a familiar bed that was not mine, drenched in a silence that made my nightmare scream.

I was panting heavily and became dimly aware of the cold sweat that blanketed my body. Sheets were tossed turbulently to the floor so that window curtains were shifted apart giving way to a streak of twilight.

The door was rushed open and a man's silhouette stood in the passage. Light flooded into the room from around his frame.

“Jane, is everything alright? I heard you screaming.” When my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I could make the man out. It was Ryan.

“What? I'm...at your place? How did I get here?” I muttered as I struggled to unscramble my thoughts.

He came and sat on the bed then, surprisingly, embraced me in his arms. “I'm so sorry, Jane. I know he was a friend of yours.”

I hugged back, too exhausted to push him away. I felt his heart beating, and the comforting warmth of his body. The comforting warmth.

“Zach.” I uttered.

“It's okay, Jane, I've got you. You're not alone.”

That was what Zach said. That was what Jack said.

You're wrong, I will always be alone, my thoughts answered him despondently.

“Why am I here?” I asked meekly.

“Because, Jane, I couldn't leave you after that. I know...you've witnessed too many people you care about die.”

“Yes,” I agreed vacantly. “Everyone around me dies. Everyone I love and care about, except Jack. He left. He saved himself from me. You should leave, too.”

“Jane...”

I brought a finger to his rough skin and grazed it against his stubble. “I do care for you, Ryan. That is why I want you to stop trying to protect me. I am not worth dying for.”

“Jane, stop speaking like this.” He held me out from him and stared his deep-ocean eyes into mine. He shook his head and murmured softly, “You are.”

My hand dropped as I turned my head away, suddenly afraid that through our locked gaze he would be able to see inside me; see inside to the hungry monster. So kind were his words and so wrong. I did not deserve them, but I was unwilling to correct him. One friend's life was a heavier burden than I had realized. I needed to be in control of my emotions—that was the only way one may control their actions. Objectivity; that was the only way I could control the wild beast, but that tenure was stretched to a frail thread. Any more strain and I was