Marked

Chapter Eight: Scarlett

It took three days to move into Chase and me in a small apartment. One bed, one bath, a small kitchen and a small living room. I have a fireplace though...

I was sitting on the couch on Sunday night, just after unpacking the last box from moving. All the lights were off, the only light coming from the fading day outside the bay window and a few candles. Chase was sitting on the cushion next to me. I sighed. "I hate moving."

"And I hate the world."

"Who's the one to decide what tattoo we get? I mean, they can't possibly expect us to believe that babies are born with tattoos. And who started the "our tattoos Mark who we belong with" thing? It's ridiculous."

"True... I wonder why independence is so... shunned."

I rolled my eyes. "They're all brainwashed."

Chase smiled. "They're not independent enough not to be," His voice was practically a whisper.

I watched the flames flicker on the wick of the candles. The sky had darkened to the point of black now. "Something new is coming," I whispered. "I can feel it. A change."

Chase nodded. "I can too." I felt him drape his arm around my shoulder. I turned my body into his. "I will protect you Scar, don't forget that."

I didn't say anything else until I fell asleep. I think I murmured a few undecipherable words.

I was back in my house, in my room. I was laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I didn't remember falling asleep, but I had the feeling of waking up. I sat up in my bed, my sheets falling off of my body.

My bed had always faced the door to my room. As I sleep the door is to remain closed, a rule from all of my childhood.

It was opening, slowly, like it was coming to life after it had been dead for so long. I watched with curiosity as it croaked open.

"Scarlett..." My name floated through the air like a light mist. Her voice sounded like a ghost's, but it was still hers. My mother's. "Scarlett..." Louder, more persistent.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and let them dangle. Something felt... off... "Mom...?"

"Scarlett..." A ghostly whisper—almost a croak—echoed in my head.

I stood up and walked to my door, the floor boards creaking under my weight. "Mom?" My voice was strangely stiff.

"Scarlett... Help me Scarlett..."

Help?

I peered around the corner, through my door, not daring to take a step outside of my room. "Mommy?" I felt transported back to when I was five, peeking around this corner when I couldn't sleep, seeing if my mother was still awake.

"Scarlett," The voice I recognized sounded impatient, but still a whisper.

I took one step out of my room, stepping into my living room, across a part of the floor that always creaked but made no sound now. I slowly wondered through my living room, everything deadly silent.

I was to my back door when I paused, something vaguely off.

"Scarlett." Her voice was a harsh whisper. It made me jump.

I slowly turned around, my heart pounding out of my chest.

"Why did you do this to me?!" She wailed. Under her eyes was blood, running down her cheeks like tears. Her arms were scarred, blood coming out of the fresh wounds. "WHY?!" She bellowed, her voice shrieking in my mind.