It’s missing. How can this be?

The journal I thought was in a safe place; an almost secured place, yet somehow the journal vanished without a trace. It does not have legs. It is an inanimate object. How can it just be there early in the morning; guessing it has been twelve hours since then and now it’s lost.

            Where is it?

            Where is the journal? The desk drawer was the only place I put it in. It holds the information I need to do to complete the trials. I can remember them in my mind, but continuing touching inside the cold-barren drawer nothing. What happened to it?

            Either this was a blunder on my part from not thinking of a more secured place or someone knew where I put it. Wondering who could of have seen it and possibly take it. I told Liana early today, yet I never told her where I put it. And there is Mal, Karina, and Aris. They all saw the journal, but did they really steal it.

            The only other person I could think of is the only person I trust the most; mother. Feeling optimistic she might have it, I walk out of my room with one goal in my mind. Making sure the journal is still safe and that she has it.

            As I walk in the hallway, I start to hear chatter from the living room. Like my mom is talking to someone else.

Could it be Mal or someone else?

            Trying to fathom what just happened to the journal and wonder who mom is talking to; I approach the interior of the living room. I see mom having a curious conversation with a man I cannot identify. I notice mom laughing at something he is saying. Observing him, he is African-American with a fade cut and a double chin among his most distinguishable features. It looks like they are drinking tea mom fixed.

            I step closer to spy, but the guy caught me. Mom turns to see me as well. Guess being James Bond is out of the question. I walk closer once more as mom try to put me in their talk.

            “Hey son.” She says as she glances at her guest, “Nick, this is my son, Caden.”

            “Hey Caden, my name’s Nick.” He says with an African accent. So he is not a local around here or the Acadiana area.  I try to be hesitant to respond. I see mom not being patient for me. Presumes I might be rude to her guest. Wanting to make my mom happy, I finally speak.

            “So Nick, are you from here?”

            “No. I live in Katy, Texas. It is right near Houston.”

            “Oh, that’s interesting.”

            Mom just sitting near Nick and watching us boys talk. I really do not want to be part of the discussion. I actually came for a purpose.

            “Hey mom…” Before I even have a chance to continue, Nick being rude interrupts me.

            “I’m sorry Caden, but I just need to ask Anne something.” He states.

            I wonder how my mom met Nick; she never mentions anything about him to me. They are definitely first name basis to each other. But the real question, who Nick really is.

            “Sorry sweetie, but I need to continue this talk.” She says.

            “Mom, I need you.” I say.

            “Not right now.” She says.

            “No mom, now!” I shout to get her attention. Viewing her, she is obviously upset because I yell; I did not meant to, but I had to.

            “What is it son?” She asks.

            “Have you seen the journal?” I ask.

            “I don’t know.” She replies.

            Looking at Nick with those brown eyes, he notices me as well. “And you put the journal somewhere safe.” Mom says.

            “Yeah. I thought I did. Now it’s gone.” I respond back.

            “I wish I could help you sweetie, but I honestly don’t know where it is.” She says like a mother does. “Sorry.”

            “It’s alright mom, thanks anyway. I’ll find it.” Giving that line, I’m uncertain the journal will be found by the end of the day. That is just great.

            When I start retreating to my room, or about to, Nick sort of stops me. I see him coming my way.

            “Listen, Caden. I don’t want to be a stranger between us.”

            “Um, if you’re a friend of my mom’s, I guess you’re a friend of mines.”

            “I like that.”

            Showing off a fake smile, I let mom know about dinner. As for Nick, I do not know what his intentions being here and in fact hanging out with my mother. I always like my mom being single. In that case the only things she take care of is her work, the house, and of course her son. Men have not been a prominent role in her life, not the past four years. Because actually, the last time she had a man in the house was those four years. It was a long time ago, but in short he was a decent guy, yet was not my mother’s type. Nick on the other hand, remains to be seen. Is he really a friend of my mom’s or want to be more than friends. I want to protect my mom for this, but it is her life. She ultimately has to decide what is best for her life and as well mines.

            Walking back to the room, I glance back to my room. I sit on the edge of the bed’s end just feeling truly frustrated. Not just for the journal being missing, but as well for not really unraveling the truth behind those black marks spreading around my eyes, the trials, those creatures, and that daydream. This sudden emotion of anger I never felt before is growing more.

            My frustration over the unfortunate events that have happened to me makes me mad. As I sense the anger in me, in an enigmatic way, I’m feeling something different inside my mind; mostly within my thoughts. It is like my subconscious is like a person living inside me and what makes it weird is that is rearranging my anger towards something.

            I sense something is wrong within me, but I cannot quite get the gist of it. The anger I’m feeling is seemingly not in my control. It seems my mind is not taking control of my anger. I’m sensing something else is taking control of my anger. And then I notice the result.

            BAM!

            I look up to the white ceiling fan as it continues to circulate clockwise with the four fan blades, but the noise came from the three hanging lights. The lights spontaneously explode out of sparks and the shards of glass from what looks like the bulb and the cover protecting the bulb.

            When I hear the noises and possibly seeing those pieces of shards coming down, I quickly get out of my bed and stand near the wall nearby the two doors. The shards soon come crashing down on the bed and other pieces on the floor.

            The noises were that loud it can scare a homeless cat from a block from here. I soon hear my mom’s voice.

            “Is everything okay in there?!” She yells.

            “Everything is fine, mom! Nothing to worry about.” I reply back. Nonetheless, I was just downplaying because I want to make her calm. Unlike me, I have no clue what in the world just happened. How did the lights explode like that?  

            Two very similar events and the bizarre part about this; it happened right after I went through some mental or physical pain. When my eyes hurt, the plant combust; when I get frustrated just now, the ceiling fan lights explode. Is it really because of me. Did I really start that fire? Did I cause the lights up here to explode?

            What is going on with me?

            Am I like a living destroyer? The journal is gone and now my lights are broken. The only lights I have are my desk lamp right on top of my desk and somewhere in my room is a mini flashlight. If there is a way to fix all of this, I would love to hear about it. It would be great right about now. Seeing this day is going to end soon, I need to take a rest because I do not know what is going to happen next. I hastily pick each shard of glass from the bed plus painstakingly picking up those pieces on the floor. I throw them away in the red trash bin. I lay on top of my bed not wanting the covers on me. I view what was left of the ceiling fan lights while fans was shaking after that blast, but continues to spin around and around.

            Curious, I wonder what will happen tomorrow. Will it be like yesterday or like today? As for the journal, if mom did not see it; someone did. And I promise myself I will find out whom and get that journal back. It holds the answers I need. I will not rest until it comes back to my hands.

Next day, I head to soccer practice. Once there at the field, Coach Hansen was too keen to make sure practice will be perfect because the first game against the Ruston Mountaineers is in three days. Throughout the hour, the practice consisted of the four sessions of 5-yard line dashes, passing sessions, and defensive sessions.

While practice was still going on, I continue to think about the journal and where it could be. Who could have it and why. Eric soon comes my way trying to see if I was concentrating and focusing on the drills, yet I will not tell him accurately I’m focusing on the journal. While I still have time left for practice, I regain my poise and continue the drills until practice ends.

            When classes begin, I start thinking about my grades. I know how hard Coach Hansen wants his athletes to have solid grades by the time we face Ruston and forward. I still would not admit it to myself that I want to play. I’m struggling if I need to play. I want to tell the coach, but knowing Riley is injured. I’m jeopardizing the team’s chances because the next striker after me is a red shirt freshman. I barely started a game as a starter, so I get the second string’s mindset. As I walk in the hallways bypassing the administration office, I hear my name.

            “Caden!”

            I turn around to see Principal Chassion, with his wide body, circular specs, and his mop head he calls hair coming out of the office. For sure he wants to talk about me.

            “Principal Chassion, you want me?”

            “Come in. We need to talk for a bit.”

            “I have my history class to go to.”

            “I’ll make sure Mr. Parker knows you were with me.”

            Not wanting to disappoint the principal, I follow him inside his office. Entering his space, I see a bunch of Principal’s List awards seeing many student names sketched on the players hanging all around three of the four walls; I also see pictures of him and other people in the education world I believe. I sit down on one of the two mahogany chairs. The principal sits down in his big mahogany chair scooting up to his prestige desk.

            “So Mr. Abele, do you know why I called you here?”

            “No sir.”

            “Well, I just want to know like I did with all the students in Mr. Cross’s third period Biology class. Did you see what happened to the cactus, and what caused it to erupt in a small fire?”

            “I don’t know, Mr. Chassion.”

            “Are you sure; from what I hear from a couple of students you were sitting right near it?”

            “Positive. I do not know.”

            “Okay, Mr. Abele.”

            “Do you think sir, cactus combusts spontaneously?”

            “I’m really not an expert in that. You can ask Mr. Cross when you see him.”

            “Alright; if that’s it.”

            “For now.”

            Standing up from the chair, thinking it is over. I feel it may not after I notice Mr. Chassion acting funny.

            “Mr. Abele, one more thing.”

            “Yes sir?”

            “Do well.”

            “I’m sorry sir?”

            “I mean being the new starting striker has been a burden on you. Just be good to yourself, your teammates, coaches, and as well keep those grades up. Are you?”

            “I’m making sure, sir.”

            “Fantastic!”

            Seeing that our conversation was over, I receive an excuse pass for my history class after realizing the time. Waving bye at Mr. Chassion, it seems he is trying to prep me up and put me on notice. Taking his heed, I take hold of the excuse pass and walk out of his office heading straight to History.

            A few minutes later, I reach to my History class. Seeing Mr. Parker, a skinny male with a pompous attitude. I sit sort of to the back as Eric is by my right side in the next row. Nearby my row, three seats up is Megan. Unfortunately, Liana does not take this class in this period. As Mr. Parker reading the key stuff about the War of 1812, I glance at my textbook seeing where is he reading. I look to Eric and ask him something that has been bothering me.

            “Hey Eric, I need to ask you something.” Trying to whisper, but making sure the words can be heard without distracting the class.

            “Anything man.”

            “I don’t know if I’m capable of playing soccer right now.” 

            “What you mean?”

            “I mean I don’t know if I have the stomach to play. Something inside me is like battling with me. Do you catch what I’m saying?”

            “I’m trying to man.”  

            “What’s your opinion?”

            “My opinion, do what you half to do. Don’t force yourself to do something you’re not capable of doing.”

            “Be myself.”

            “Exactly.”

            “Thanks…I think.”

            “It will work out.”

            As we finish talking about one thing, I notice Megan slightly watching me and then back forward. I look back at Eric again and we talk about Megan.

            “I think Megan is falling for me?”

            “Are you?”

            “I...I...maybe.” Being as blunt as I can be; if only it works out like that.

            “That’s Megan. She uses her powers of seduction on poor unfortunate souls like us.”

            I giggle after I heard that pity remark. But when he did ask me if I’m falling for her, I try to look the other way, but her looks is so hard to ignore.

            “What about Liana?” He asks.

            “What about her?” I reply.

            “Do you have feelings for her; and I mean like real feelings.” He asks.

            “She’s just a friend.” I respond back. If these real feelings for Liana are another dilemma I wish not to talk about. Liana and I are great as friends, but truthfully, I do see some spark between us. If it grows further like us being together, I could see us hanging out more than friends. But right now, we are just friends.

            Almost ten minutes go by and the class is reaching to its end. The bell above the clock and chalkboard begins to ring signifying the end of the period. Mr. Parker stops talking about the war and tells us to continue reading until tomorrow. He then glances over my direction.

            “Mr. Abele, I will like to speak to you alone please.” He says in a deep voice. 

             I just stand there unaware of what to do. I have no idea what Mr. Parker wants to talk to me about. Is it about my grades or why my lateness was excused from the principal if that is an example? I check back to Eric who gives a good luck sign. I might need it wherever this conversation is going to go. As every classmate departs from the room, it only leaves me with Mr. Parker. I see him standing away from his desk, in which he been there the entire time of the class, and shuts the door.

            Now my nerves are starting to get uneven. I feel my stomach is tying into tight knots. I already had a strange, delightful talk with the principal and now this. I straighten out my hands out on the hard wooden desk table and holding back; by doing this, I know for a fact my nerves are growing unsteady.

            “So Mr. Abele, I call you here because I want to talk about your quiz you took yesterday.” Mr. Parker says.

            My memory joggled back to yesterday after what went down, and I do remember the history pop quiz on the aftermath of the Civil War.

            “Did I pass?” I ask confusedly.

            “Yes.” He replies.

            “So that is what you need to tell me, I passed the quiz.” I say while I’m getting up from the seat.

            “Actually, there is one more thing.” He says. “It is about your father.”

            “My father?!” Why would my History teacher care about my father so suddenly? He should know by all the forms, my mother is the sole person who has taken care of me. She has been in most of the school functions as a single parent. I’m perplexed why he needs to mention anything about my father.

            “I’m sorry Mr. Parker, but I don’t understand why you mentioned my father.”

            “Well Caden, can I call you Caden.”

            “O…Okay?!”

            “You see your father has something my boss wants.”

            “Principal Chassion?”

            “No.”

            Being totally confuse right now, I’m entering into a predicament only made for the twilight zone. Who is this so-called boss if is not the principal; is he someone I have to worry about?

            “Who is your boss?”

            “I won’t tell you his name, but my boss wants what your father has. And he intends to get it back whatever it takes!” And then his voice got a little bit darker. Ominous.

            “I’m sorry Mr. Parker, but I should head out.”

            I immediately start bolting to the door. However, before I even have the chance to touch the silver curve-shaped handle, from out of my backside, I glance at a medium sized, ball of fire blasting the handle. The blast just melted the handle into a mess.

            Remembering Aris sort did that, I turn my head back around to check to see where that fireball came from. I soon notice Mr. Parker, and what I see is not normal.

            His eyes from being blue are now black, pitch black.

            And that is not all; he is holding a fireball literally in the palm of his hands.