Son of Lazarus

Chapter 3: It Begins

October 13th, 2038
1:30 p.m.

   The sound of the engine roaring in my ears is what woke me. I sat up in the passenger seat of my father's car and twisted my head to stare out the window. The scenery that passed us by took me by surprise.   I had not been expecting to see trees in place of houses and I certainly wasn't expecting to see a large building resting in the center of a vast, asphalt parking lot. I didn't know where we were, but Dad said that he was taking me to see a specialist; someone who could help with my nightmares.   I could feel the car jostle to a halt as Dad maneuvered it into an empty parking space. I craned my head against the window to see how big the place was. It reached high into the air with about five or six floors, maybe even seven from what I could see. It had been crafted from hard, black metal that looked to be titanium. Windows lined the walls up to the final floor, a metal canopy running in between a few of the windows in the center of the building.   A set of glass doors sat in the front with cold, gray stone steps leading to them. It felt welcoming and unwelcoming at the same time, sending a shiver up my spine.

   "Come on, Sport." Mark's voice brought Tristan out of his thoughts. He looked away from the building for just a moment to stare at his dad. "Let's go."   Turning back to his door, Tristan rested his palm against the side, watching as it popped open. Fresh air struck his face, blowing through his hair. The air he was now breathing smelt heavily of wood and pinesap thanks to the trees that surrounded them.   Taking a deep breath into his lungs, Tristan stepped out of the car. Once he was standing on the asphalt, he raised his arms above his head and gave his body a much-needed stretch, feeling every muscle tremble.   He listened as his dad stepped out of the car and the doors shut. The sound of the car locking itself sounded eerie in the space, bouncing off of the trees. Tristan watched his dad walk toward the doors and after he finished his stretch, Tristan followed.   Together, they ascended the stone steps to the glass doors. Now that he was closer, Tristan noticed that the glass was frosted, distorting the interior. Tristan almost jumped when the glass doors slid open for them, revealing the interior. They stepped into the lobby and while Mark made his way further inside, Tristan stopped to take it all in. The lobby in which they had arrived was large and spacious. The floor was carved from marble with thin black veins running throughout.

   The walls were tiled and black to accompany the floor and a large chandelier formed a circle that was twisting in on itself with a singular large sphere in the center hung from the ceiling. Chairs lined the wall to his far left and against the right wall, catty-cornered, was a large, marble-top counter with frosted windows lining each side. Directly across from him, just a few steps from the counter was a set of vanilla-colored double doors with small, circular frosted windows set in their center. These doors looked like they belonged in a hospital.   Tristan turned his eyes to the counter where his father was standing, speaking to a woman that was sitting behind its surface. She was quite the sight to look at with bright blond hair that appeared golden in the fluorescent light.   Set on her circular face was a pair of frameless glasses, her eyes hidden by the glow of a holographic computer screen that sat in front of her, its light illuminating her face. Without a word, Tristan made his way to the chairs lining the wall and took a seat in one of them. The cushion was so soft that he felt like he was floating on a cloud but the illusion was broken by the cold metal arms on either side of the seat.   "I'm Marcus Cummings," he heard his father say to the woman behind the counter. "I called about an appointment for my son, Tristan Cummings."   From where he was seated, Tristan watched as the woman looked at the holographic screen in front of her. After a while, she rose from her chair and walked around the counter. She wore a white button-down whose hem was tucked neatly into the top of a black pencil skirt that ended just above her knees.