Wiccan Act One: Occult

11 | Solitude

Cyrus

XI

They didn't have much of a plan, but what they had was better than nothing.

It started off in the homeroom, when Michael walked through the door instead of their usual teacher. He had on a jacket perfectly tailored for him, its navy blue sleeves hanging at his wrists. On a normal day, Cyrus would have scoffed, but Michael had been oddly compliant regarding giving him his space, going as far as to leave before he did. That added to Cyrus being preoccupied with thinking about what he and Christian were about to do after school put Michael on his good list.

"Morning class," Michael started "Mr Finch cannot make it today, so he asked me to sit in his absence."

"I saw him with the police," Christian said beside him. He was looking straight ahead, trying his best to act natural so Michael wouldn't pick up on their secret conversation. From the outside he looked put together, even his voice came out silky smooth. Glancing closer, Cyrus noticed they were both barely staying upright.

Christian's golden blonde hair laid on his head frizzy and tangled, his eyes fought to stay open, deep bags clinging to them. Cyrus' own vision blurred from sleep deprivation, turning Christian in order to a mess of colours.

"I saw Mr. Finch walk into the principal's office with a police officer. I think they're taking statements from Hazel's teachers. They might question us next."

"How many hours of sleep did you get?" Cyrus asked, stifling a yawn.

"None. After you left, the smell of vomit kept me up all night, so I used the time to read up on some stuff. But it looks like you didn't sleep much either."

"I managed to crawl back into my room without my aunt waking up, that's a plus." Cyrus saved Christian from hearing about his nightmares.

He turned to his right for the first time all morning, landing on an empty chair and desk. There was an absence of strawberry scented hair along with no giggles or a pen being passed his way whenever he needed it. Hazel should have been there. It was her seat, after all.

Cyrus rubbed his shoulder, able to sense a hand still there clinging to him. The mark had disappeared the same time as his cuts, but the presence lingered on, never truly letting go. If his powers did what he wanted, then why can't they lead him to Hazel?

His eyelids grew heavy, being pulled down by an invisible force. Maybe if he closed them, he could picture her there. Her long hair, olive skin, peachy lips. Her bright smile, cheerleading uniform and the way she doodled on pieces of paper in her spare time.

Almost dozing off, Cyrus came back to reality, reopening his eyes. The once free space was no longer unoccupied. He stared at her dripping brown hair, watching it flood her black cheerleading uniform. Moss crawled under her shoes and wrapped around chunks of her locks. Her skin was a lifeless blue, skin peeling in places and her hands missing all their nails.

Cyrus' throat clenched, unable to utter a word, his eyes glued to the girl sitting in Hazel's seat. It looked exactly like her. They had the same hair, uniform and height, but everything else was off. This girl looked washed up, literally, as if someone had fished her out of the depth of the ocean. Her once strawberry smell was replaced with the stench of dead fish.

Tap* Tap*

Hazel's finger tapped against the wooden desk - no, it wasn't Hazel. He was sure of that. Her head turned, snapping towards Cyrus, to peer at him with her empty sockets. Watching her mouth open, Cyrus waited for her to speak, unable to do anything else. Words didn't reach his ears however instead, water poured out. An unimaginable amount of muddy, moss ridden water that rushed out of her open mouth. It crashed onto the floor, pooling around her feet. More came from her eyes, then her nose, all of it making an increasingly large radius. The water passed his shoes, getting higher and higher until it soaked his socks along with everyone else's in the class.