Dare: Chapter 1 - 2

Dare
By: Remy Adler
Because I could not stop for Death --
He kindly stopped for me --
The Carriage held but just ourselves --
And Immortality.
-Emily Dickinson

Chapter 1
Existentialism

I was mostly sure that I was dreaming. The light around me was much too bright for reality. It was almost blinding. But I could still see. I was standing in the middle of a busy street; cars rushed by in a blur of rainbow colors that whipped my hair around me and pulled my skin tight against my cheek bones. Then it happened so quickly that if I had blinked, I would have missed it. The cars disappeared and I was standing in front of a mirror. There was no room to hold the mirror and I. We just floated in a white mass of nothingness. I reached my hand out, watching my reflection do the same, and touched the cool glass. As my fingers pressed against the glass, the skin on my on my reflection’s face began to melt away. I wasn’t scared, more curious as I traced the line of my face in the mirror. My skin continued to melt, and I was finally frightened.

I dropped my hand and screamed.

I woke up with the intensity of someone who’d had a gun fired in close proximity to their head. My hands flew mechanically to my face, and I found to my relief that all tissues that had dissolved in my dream were stuck securely to my bones. My forehead was drenched in sweat; I’d obviously been more terrified than my dream-self acted. My hair was also damp and my pillow held the evidence of my late night terror.
          The illuminated numbers on my digital alarm clock read one-thirty in the morning. I had only been sleeping for a few hours, but I was still too staggered to go back to sleep. I flung my comforter off of me and swung my legs over the edge of my bed. My feet touched the soft texture of the carpet in my bedroom. My shaking hands felt along the wall until my fingers stubbed the light switched, which I flipped on. The sudden light seemed almost as bright as the light in my dream, but my eyes were soon able to adjust and the familiar sight of my tiny bedroom comforted me somewhat.
          I paced my room several times over, examining the warm yellow walls, and the welcoming white carpet and the small window next to my bed. The squishy pale blue armchair in the far corner called my name softly and invited me in. I could almost hear it’s soft voice calling to me, ‘Remy, Remy’ and I couldn’t help but reply. I strode quickly to the armchair and fell lazily into it. The chair comforted me so that my eyelids drooped. I attempted a slight war with my droopy lids, but lost miserably.
          My next dream was less terrifying, but still disturbing. It wasn’t a form of fear that disturbed me; it was the pure and utter beauty of my companion. I didn’t know who he was; I’d never seen him before in my existence. The man’s beauty disturbed me to the point where I was shaking myself mentally to wake up. The man smiled then; he obviously noticed my efforts. And it was a smile so lovely that I staggered backwards and found myself breathless.

          I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock telling me that it was time to get up and start the day. I groaned loudly and stretched before standing up slowly.
          My morning went by as it usually did. First, I made the bed which had not been slept in for most of the night. My shower went by fast, and I got dressed and brushed my teeth just as quickly. I was eager to get out of the house. I pulled my long red curls back into a ponytail, smoothed my pale yellow blouse and straightened my long denim skirt before bounding down the stairs into the living room. My godfather, Andre, sat waiting for me on the couch. Andre works at a law firm. He’s not a lawyer, more of a secretary, but he takes great pride in his work and I support him.
          “In a hurry?” He asked, raising his eyebrows in plain amusement at my eagerness. Andre took me in after my parents died a year go in a car crash. They were hit by a drunk driver on their way home from their anniversary dinner.
          “Yeah, I want to get to school early.” I replied hurriedly, throwing on my sweater and grabbing my bag. I live in a small town called Charlevoix. It’s in northern Michigan, and it’s beautiful all year-round. It’s so small that everyone knows everyone, so if you get in trouble, your parents or guardians are sure to find out about it within five minutes of your bad deed. The school I go to is Charlevoix High School. I live just down the road from it, a few miles out of town. It makes social gatherings pretty inconvenient.
          “Well, I’ll give you a ride.” He said and stood up, walking toward me. I smiled as best I could, and hoped he didn’t notice the faint hint of hysteria in the action.
          “I can walk, it’s all right.” I said, shrugging lightly. Andre shook his head and opened the door.
          “I insist. It looks like rain anyway.” I sighed and followed him to his rusting Grand Prix. When we were both inside, he turned to face me. I smiled weakly while he deliberated.
          “Remy, I told myself that I wasn’t going to bring this up. I don’t like to see you upset.” My stomach lurched uncomfortably, and I quickly looked away. Remy isn't actually my name. My name is Remenyke, but that's a mouthful, so Remy has become my dignified nickname. “Tomorrow will have been a year since the accident, and I’ve noticed a slight change in your attitude over the last few days.”
          “What?” I asked blankly, turning my attention back to his face. He gouged my expression for a moment, examined me as though he were trying to find something that wasn’t there.
          “You’re empty, Remy. There hasn’t been any light in your eyes for the longest time.” I realized from the expression he gave me that I was glaring at him. “I’m not sure what to do.” He added.
          “My parents are dead, Andre.” I replied and my voice was colder than what I intended. “There’s nothing you can do.” I sighed and shook my head.
          “Take me to school now, please.” Andre looked like he was going to say something more, but changed his mind. He started the car, and as it roared to life, the sounds of a very loud metal band protruded from the radio speakers. I immediately reached forward and slammed down the ‘off’ button. Andre scowled.
          “I forgot you didn’t like that music.” I shook my head and remained silent. The rest of the ride to school was completely quiet other than the dull roar of the Grand Prix. Andre glanced wearily at me out of the corner of his eye several times within the two minute trip. I tried not to notice.
          When his car rolled to a stop in front of my school, which seemed bigger than it had yesterday in my currently exhausted state, I reached into the back seat, grabbed my bag and, opening the door, prepared to run for it if the subject on my parents came up again.
          “Just a moment, Rems,” Andre said quickly, clenching his hands on the wheel. I cringed.
          “I’m going to be late.” I grumbled. It was his turn to glare at me this time.
          “Watch yourself. “ He said sternly. I sighed and shut the door again.
          “I know this is difficult for you, because it’s difficult for me, too. I knew them for a very long time. You know that.” I snorted.
          “They weren’t your parents.” I mumbled.
          “They were like family to me, none the less and I still understand what you’re going through.” It was seriously hard to believe that. They weren’t his parents, and he’s not me. No where close. He couldn’t possibly understand.
          “Is that everything?” I mumbled with my hand still resting on the door handle. Andre nodded a jerky nod and I opened my door again and rushed out before he could say another word. I had a feeling that this was going to be a very long day.
          I entered the school, my shoulders squared, and my face blank and steady. It wasn’t hard to avoid eye contact with my friends and teachers mostly because I just felt so dead, but also because my mind was back in my fluffy chair where my dream was left. It wasn’t as though I didn’t notice the careful glances shot at me, because I did. I just didn’t care much.
          English is my first class, and that’s where I do my best. I like English, even if the instructor is a little off most of the time. She’s a thin, petit woman with short, greasy hair and thick glasses that make her look very much like a mosquito. She’s also very dramatic and a firm believer that the school is out to get her. But she’s also a nice person and tries to make everything as fun as possible for us.
          “Good morning, Remy.” Ms. Anderson said in her baby voice when I came through the door. I grunted and dropped my books onto my desk wordlessly.
          “Bad day?” she asked.  I blinked at her.

          In Anatomy and Physiology, my next class, one of my friends decided it would be safe to talk to me. I’m not sure what changed about me. I hadn’t felt any different than I had only an hour ago.
          “Hey,” My best friend, Erin whispered. “Are you okay? You seem really down.” I looked at her as though she’d asked the stupidest question ever. She had, actually. Erin wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.
          “What is tomorrow, Erin?” I asked blankly. She drifted for a moment in thought and then she shrugged.
          “April 4th? Oh!” I nodded and was almost proud of her. Almost, “Has it really been a year?”
          “No, it’s been a week.” I retorted. “Yeah, it’s been a year.”
          “Remy, I’m sorry. I should have known. I-“
I waved her off.
          “Never mind,” I mumbled. “I didn’t really expect you to remember.” Erin looked hurt.
          “That’s not fair, Remy.”
          “What is fair? Ever?” She didn’t have an answer for me, and simply turned back to face the front of the room again. We didn’t look at each other for the rest of the hour.
         
          When class was over, Mrs. Bennett called me up to her desk. I cringed and dragged my feet to go as slowly as possible. Her eyes never left my face and that made me uncomfortable.
          “Remy, it’s been a year, hasn’t it?”
If one more person asks me that, I swear to God, I will hurt them.
          “Yes.” I muttered. I didn’t dare look at her. “It will have been a year tomorrow.” Mrs. Bennett nodded slowly.
          “You’ve been doing so well. It’s only another day, after all.”
          “Okay,” I said, “let’s go kill your parents and see how you feel, yeah?”
          “Remy, that’s not-“
          “Do you expect me to go out and get drunk? Celebrate their death and act like it’s just such a happy affair?”
          “Now, Remy, I don’t think that’s appropriate.” I hesitated, biting my lip slightly.
          “I have to go to class.” And I made a mad dash for the door. My other best friend, Aaron, (It does, in fact, get confusing sometimes) was waiting for me just outside. I nearly collided with him. He caught me by the elbows to keep my upright.
          “Sorry.” I mumbled and looked everywhere but at him. He shrugged and let go of my arms.
          “I hear you let Erin have it in class today.” He said. My shoulders jerked in what was supposed to be a shrug. It was more like a spasm. Aaron smirked.
          “What happened?” He asked. I shot him a pleading look.
          “I really don’t want to talk about it, if you don’t mind.” My tone was more sharp that what I intended it to be. Aaron stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.
          “I won’t make you talk about it, Rems.” He promised and I believed him. He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze then moved his hand to mine. I forced a smile for him. He returned the gesture.
         
          Not even Art class, my second best class, went well for me. I broke my sculpture clean in half and not even super glue could put it back together. Just because I like the class doesn’t mean I like the teacher. In fact, I can’t stand him, but in his mind, I’m his biggest fan.
          “Failing again, Miss Adler?”
          “Only for you, Mr. Stanley.” I assured him. He glared at me and moved on to the next victim, who flinched involuntarily and carved a large chunk out of their sculpture when their Stanley Senses kicked in. I gave up on my project, threw it angrily into the trash bin and instead drew a picture of it to turn in to my vengeful teacher. He shot me another angry glanced which I promptly returned with a grin.
          Aaron sighed when we left Art class and bumped me lightly in the arm with his elbow.
          “You know that every time you do that, we all suffer, right?” He asked. I smirked.
          “Do what?” My voice was innocent, but I know he could hear the mischief behind it.
          “Show up Stanley like that. You get us all shot in the face.”
          “You’ll heal.” I mumbled through clenched teeth. My good mood was fading as we walked. Aaron scowled at me.
         
          No one spoke to me at lunch, not that I blamed them. I didn’t have the friendliest look on my face. That was my intention. I didn’t want to be spoken to or looked at.
          I didn’t touch the food on my tray. There wasn’t much there to be touched, anyway; a bruised apple and a partially cooked slice of pizza. Cafeteria food sucks. My lack of appetite didn’t help matters, either.
         
          The rest of my day went by in a daze. I spoke very little and made no eye-contact what-so-ever. I was anxious to go home to an empty house where not even the walls could talk to me. When the bell rang, I stuffed as much as I possibly could fit in my bag and hurried out of the school.
          At first, I thought the parking lot was empty, but then my vision kicked in on hyper speed. I saw Erin drop her bag accidentally in the middle of the school parking lot. Then I saw a rusting Volkswagen Golf, with its driver paying attention to everything he wasn’t suppose to be, coming straight at her. She didn’t look up. I don’t know why I didn’t move, say something. Anything. But I didn’t…or couldn’t. My heart pounded painfully inside of my chest. I was frozen. There was a squealing of tires and Erin hadn’t even had time to scream before she was struck.
          I hadn’t noticed that almost the entire school had gathered. Aaron was at my side, holding tight to my elbow as though I had tried to make a run for Erin. And I looked down at my feet; it appeared that I had been prepared to run. And then every adult I had ever seen in the school was racing forward. Two new pairs of hands were on each of my arms, hauling me away and I looked up in surprise. Mrs. Bennett and Mr. Stanley were taking me away. I was vaguely aware of the many voices in the parking lot, but there was a much louder sound in my ears. Gasping, choking. I was shocked when I noticed it was me making the sounds and I couldn’t stop it.
          My teachers were dragging me into a small conference room and they pushed me into a chair. But I didn’t want to sit and before I knew what I was doing, before I could stop myself, I was on my feet again, making toward the door. Mr. Stanley’s hands locked around my arms again and forced me back into the chair. I closed my eyes to stop the flow of tears that were threatening me. Mrs. Bennett pressed her hand to my forehead. I flinched away mechanically. I heard sirens.
          “Remy?” Mrs. Bennett’s voice was soft against the sound of my own gasping breaths in my ears. I opened my eyes to see her kneel down to my level.
          “What?” I asked, and half expected Mr. Stanley to tell me to watch my tone. He didn’t. The door to the conference room opened and I looked up. Mr. Anthony, the school principal, shot me a weary glance and shuffled to Mr. Stanley’s side. They whispered for no longer than thirty seconds, Mr. Stanley nodded and Mr. Anthony left.
          “Ms. Thompson didn’t make it.” Mr. Stanley said aloud. Mrs. Bennett sighed and looked me in the eyes. I turned away from her.
          “Did you hear that, Remy?” I clenched my eyes shut and said nothing.
          “Ms. Adler, we’re going to need an answer.”
          “Yes.” I mumbled.
          “Pardon?”
          “I said yes!” I snapped, and then ducked my head again. “I heard you.”
          “Then you understand what that means?” Mrs. Bennett’s voice this time. I wish Mr. Stanley was the only one speaking. It’s easier to control myself and keep from crying when I’m being scolded. I nodded.
          “Erin’s dead.” My voice broke and I felt a few tears slip down my cheeks.

Chapter 2
A Million Pieces

Andre picked me up a half an hour later. He hurried out of the car and caught me in a crushing hug before I could even make it all the way to the vehicle. I stood there, limp and numb until he finally let me go and opened the passenger’s side door for me. I got in wordlessly.
Andre didn’t say much until we got back to the house. When we were safely inside, he sat me down at the kitchen table and began shooting questions at me, which I returned with short answers.
          “Did you see what happened?”
          “Yes.”
          “Who was it?”
          “Erin.”
          “No. Who hit her?”
          “I didn’t see.”
          “You just said you did.
          “No, I saw what happened.”
          “Oh.” He paused, and then put his hand over mine on the table. “Are you all right?” I slid my hand back.
          “Fabulous,” I mumbled and turned toward the stairs. “I’m going to bed.” Andre stood as well and hugged me again. I returned the embrace. I felt like I was falling apart and I need him to hold me together. My replacement father. After a moment, I flinched involuntarily and Andre let go of me. I spun and ran up the stairs. When I was safely in my room, I was able to undress, crawl under my blankets and cry myself to sleep in peace.
I had the same dream as the night before. At least, I thought it was the same at first. The same man was there, smiling the same smile. Except, instead of standing in nothing, we were in the middle of a busy street again. He walked forward, the smile broadening. I wanted to step backward, to move away, but I found myself incapable. I was frozen again. He was only a foot away from me when I finally regained my mobility. But I hadn’t moved back as I’d wanted to. I stepped forward until we were three inches apart. Our eyes locked and he reached out with his hand. Had this been real life, I’d have flinched away from his fingers, but I didn’t move. His fingers dusted me cheek, brushed my loose hair back from my shoulder and rested there. I shivered slightly, but I wasn’t cold. His smile broadened again. My brain was telling me something, but I couldn’t tune into what it was. Something that I definitely didn’t want to hear about this perfect man.
          I looked up into his face. His eyes were a light blue in complete contrast to his hair, black as pitch. He had skin so pale it almost looked like snow and his hands were ice, freezing through my shirt sleeves. His eyes held something I’d recognized all too easily. Sympathy. I glared at him and his hand moved from my shoulder, down to my wrist, and brought my hand up to rest on the side of his face. He felt completely real.
          'He’s bad! Bad, bad, bad!' My mind screamed at me. I flinched slightly. The smile faded from his beautiful face and his hand slipped from my wrist. I hesitantly let my hand fall from his perfection. He frowned and stroked my cheek once more. Then he was gone and I was awake. My alarm clock was buzzing next to me.
          I sat up slowly with my eyes still closed and opened them one at a time. I reached over and pressed the ‘off’ button on my alarm and swung my legs over the side of my bed. My head was pounding and I felt as though I’d gotten little to no sleep last night. Just as I was standing up, my bedroom door flung open and Andre stepped in, looking annoyed.
          “Oh, you’re up. Your alarm clock has been going off for minutes and I was just coming to turn it off. You look like hell.” I forced a smile and looked up at him.
          “Good morning, Andre.” He smiled at me.
          “Maybe you should stay home today.” He suggested. I shook my head and stretched.
          “No. I want to go.” Andre looked at me in disbelief, as though I’d told him I wanted to be a cowboy when I grew up.
          “What?” I asked. He shook his head at me and rested a hand on my shoulder.
          “Are you sure? I mean, yesterday—“ I cute him off.
          “—Is gone. Erin’s not going to be there whether I go to school today or not.” My last words to her kept running over and over through my head. Andre frowned, but nodded.
          “I suppose there’s no stopping you, hmm?” I shook my head and he shrugged before leaving me to get dressed.
         
          I didn’t have time to shower, so my hair stayed long and lank next to my face. The curls were less than their usual perkiness. I didn’t bother with my makeup, and my jeans-and-a-T-shirt ensemble fit my mood perfectly.

          I managed to stay awake in my first two classes, but I chose Art to finally drift in, which, as I’m sure you could guess, was a bad choice.
          He was there again: The beautiful one, the perfect one. This time we were in the school parking lot. It was the same scene as yesterday. I panicked. Why was I watching this again? I saw Erin and the car coming toward her, but this time I didn’t stay in one spot. I lurched forward, but something prevented me from moving. I looked down and saw a pair of snow-white hands gripping my waist. When I struggled, it only made him tighten his grasp until I cried out in pain and frustration. Why wasn’t he letting me save her? His arms were around me, cold, iron bonds that pinned my own arms to my sides.
          “Please!” I begged. “Let me help her! I have to…” I tried to break free, to wrench myself from his grip, but it did no use.
          “I’m sorry, Remenyke.”

          I woke up with a strangled sob that was subsiding from a scream. Mr. Stanley was standing over me, an angry scowl fixed on his sour features. He gripped my upper arm and hauled me to my feet then nearly dragged me out of the classroom. I stumbled blindly after him; my vision was blurred by the hyper production of tears. I had no idea where he was taking me, but I was suddenly shoved into a small room and forced into a chair. Mr. Stanley left for a moment and returned with Mrs. Bennett at his heels. I buried my face in my hands and within seconds they were dripping.
          “Your godfather’s on his way, Ms. Adler.”  Mr. Stanley said in the gentlest tone I’d ever heard him use. My head shot up from my hands.
          “You called Andre?” I asked, flabbergasted. Mr. Stanley glared at me and I glared back.
          “Now, don’t tell me you intended to keep this from your godfather, Ms. Adler. That’s not very honorable.”
          “You don’t understand.” I ground out. I clenched my hands in my lap and let my hair fall forward to conceal my face. “You don’t know my godfather.”  Mr. Stanley didn’t have a chance to answer because the door opened and Andre stormed in, his face mangled with worry. I shrank back into my chair as he advanced on me.
          “You should have stayed home.” He said. His voice sounded forced. I gritted my teeth.
          “I’m fine. I just fell asleep and had a bad dream.” The euphemistic translation from nightmare to dream was almost comical but I caught myself mid-smile and hid behind my hair again.
          “If you’re sleeping during class, it probably means you don’t belong there. What were you thinking? What was I thinking? Come on, I’m taking you home.”
          “No.” I said. I tried to make my voice sound strong, but my throat tightened slightly. Andre stared at me blankly.
          “What did you say?”
          “No.” I stood up and walked toward him on gelatin legs. “I know what you’re trying to do, and you can’t protect me from everything. What will you do in a couple months when I’m eighteen and ready to move out?” I asked softly Andre’s face turned quite red and he flustered for a moment.
          “But—I—you--! If your father knew--!”
          “He doesn’t. And he won’t.” I said. I suddenly remembered the other two bodies in the room and retreated slightly. Mrs. Bennett was pressed against the wall with her blond hair in her face. She looked as though she was trying not to cry. Mr. Stanley, whose face was an indifferent mask, still acted uncomfortable. I turned back to Andre.
          “I’ll come home, but you can’t lock me away because you’re afraid I’ll see bad things.” He looked slightly embarrassed, but nodded and pressed his hand to my back, ready to steer me out of the room. I paused and turned toward my teachers.
          “Thank you, and I’m sorry.” Mrs. Bennett nodded vigorously and Mr. Stanley merely grunted in response. I smiled toward him anyway. Andre put his other hand on my shoulder and guided me through the door. We didn’t bother to get my books.
          Andre ranted at me the entire two-minute trip home, but the only thing I heard was the voice from my dream saying that he was sorry. It nearly drowned out my own voice scolding Erin. I flinched visibly. Andre automatically turned on me.
          “What’s wrong?”
          “Nothing.”
          “I don’t believe you.”
          “Fine. Watch the road.” He glared at me and pulled into the driveway. I opened my door and hurried out of the car and into the house. Andre wasn’t far behind. He grabbed my arm and forced me to face him.
          “I think we need to talk, Remy. What happened earlier…well, I just think you need someone to talk to.”
          “It was no big deal, Andre, really. I had a bad dream. Everyone has them.”
          “But most people don’t wake up screaming and sobbing from them, Remenyke!” He thundered. “I think it would be a good idea for you to see a counselor.” I shook my head.
          “Absolutely not.”
          “Why?”
          “Because they’re nosy and they ask you things that aren’t their business and they’re creepy. I’m not going.”
          “Remy, you don’t have a choice.” The betrayal was written across my face and I spun away from my godfather.
          “It’s not that bad.” Andre tried to assure me. “I’ve seen counselors.”
          “Well, gee. That makes it so cool, Andre. Thank you.” I mumbled; sarcasm dripped from my voice. Andre put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged him off.
          “I don’t want to talk.” I ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and shut myself in my room. Andre didn’t follow me.

          I had trouble sleeping that night, but every time I did drift off for only a couple of minutes, he was there.
          “Why did you do it?” I asked angrily. I was the one walking toward him this time. He didn’t answer right away. When I was close enough, he cupped my cheek in his hand. His skin was warm against mine now.
          “Do you know what I am, Remenyke?” He asked softly.   
          “I don’t even know who you are.” I countered.
“My name is Gabriel.” He replied. I blinked.
          “All right, Gabriel. What are you then?” He sighed in disappointment.
          “I was hoping you’d have figured it out by now.” I shook my head wordlessly. He sighed again.
          “Think, Remy. You’ve witnessed death…the same one twice. How do you think that happened?”
          I was dreaming.” I replied immediately. “It was a dream.” Gabriel looked pained for a moment, then pressed his lips together and wiped his face of any easily determined emotion.
          “I was dreaming, wasn’t I?” I squeaked. Gabriel frowned and dropped his hand. He shook his head slowly. “Am I dreaming now?” He shook his head again.
          “No, you’re not. You’re asleep, but you’re not dreaming.” I frowned in confusion. What he was saying made no sense.
          “I don’t understand.” I confided. Gabriel nodded.
          “It is quite complicated.” He paused. “What do you know about Angels?” I scoffed slightly.
          “Not much. I’m not really a church go-er.”
          “Do you know what kinds of Angels there are?” He asked. I shrugged jerkily.
          “Guardian Angels?” Gabriel smiled as though I’d said something amusing.
          “There are Lighters, which are similar to Guardian Angels, but they’re not as sweet as one might imagine them.” We both sat down in the nothing, staring intently at each other.
          “After the Lighters, come the Morgaines, which are Warrior Angels. Then, the Angels of Death.” He looked at me significantly and I cringed