Walking With The Outcast

Chapter 4 - Lucilia

Setting the book I was reading aside, I pick up my phone from its location on the table. It has been almost two hours since Ace went to wherever he goes after school. He should be here soon. I smile, place the book back on the shelf, and exit the library.

Out in the school's hall, I sit down with my backpack between my legs. My head rests against the wall, and my eyes close on their own, sleep weighing on them. I'll only close them for a second. That is my last thought before consciousness departs me.

The darkness cloaks me, as I walk down the cracked sidewalk. It appears that I'm alone. No one is in sight. No sound can be heard except the barking of dogs in the distance. The air is thick and humid. Warmth clings to my skin in a suffocating hold, but there are foreboding chills crawling along my arms and neck.

My head is bent down, eyes never straying from the path that leads back to my house. I rarely walk home; normally, one of my parents pick me up. Tonight, however, both are busy with their jobs and won't be home until late. So, I walk. I don't bother to run. In this small town, the worst crime we've seen in years was when a student vandalized the wall of the school with some graffiti.

I had spent most of my day with my friends, Alicia and Nicole. We've been friends since Kindergarten and had spent the day at the mall and movie theater. They had to go home, though, around 4:30, so I went to our town's library. It is the summer, after all. I didn't want to go home, yet.

However, being out alone in the dark now makes me regret not walking when it was lighter out, but I can't change the decision I made. I hum a tune that is stuck in my head, clapping my hands to my thighs as I do. It fills the silence of the night air, calming my imaginative mind. No one is out here, I think to myself. You're just being paranoid.

My nerves relax the closer I get to my home, recognition of the area and its proximity to my house filtering into my mind. The buildings on this side of town are mostly vacant, rundown shells from a past life. They used to be filled, each and every one. Now, the majority have "For Sale" signs in the windows. The outskirts of our town all look like this; it's how you know you're about to cross into farm and woodland. A lot of people think it's an unsightly welcome to the town. I love it's abandoned feel, though.

I'm still humming and clapping to the tune, the sounds echoing back from the alleys. The noise that it makes travels through the fresh, night air to me. I see up ahead to where the buildings start to thin out and the road changes from asphalt to gravel.

As I'm about to fully pass the second to last alleyway, a hand materializes out of the shadows and grasps my arm. My mind registers the danger immediately and responds with a scream, but the high-pitched sound is cut off as another hand covers my mouth tightly.

I struggle as the hands drag me further into the darkness. The light from the only street lamp that still functions starts to fade from view, and shadows overtake the spot on my face where the light once illuminated my horror-struck expression. I feel pain reverberate through my spine, as I'm slammed to - I wake up to see Ace shaking me from my nightmare.

As my chest heaves for air, I feel adrenaline coursing through my veins. It was a dream. Breathe, Lucilia. Breathe. Ace's mouth is turned down in a concerned frown, a rare expression for him. His misty green eyes sweep over my shivering form, and his lips sink even more. There's curiosity intwined with the concern in his eyes when he stares at my face, but I don't want him to worry further, so I shakily choke out, "I'm okay, Ace. It was just a bad dream." The words I want to say never leave the expanse of my mind, instead taking residence in the crevices created by the pain.

He is not convinced by my words. Perceptive boy.

Despite the disbelief, concern, and distrust emanating from him, Ace doesn't pressure me to speak. Grabbing my hands, he lifts me to my feet, picks my backpack up, and swings it over his shoulder. Then, the raven-haired man before me gently grasps my right hand in his left, with long fingers proceeding to spin the ring on my middle finger. The rhythmic motion is distracting.