Prom Queen ｡ Michael Langdon

5 - GOD ALMIGHTY

     The sun had died and dusk crawled across the sky in blues and purples. Carrie and Michael's laughter followed them home from Westfield High, and the blonde's thumping heart had yet to cease. Raw adrenaline still powered through her veins and it didn't allow her to process the bizarre events of the afternoon spent with Michael Langdon. She forgot about everything except the strange boy from across the road, who's extremely hot body warmth reached for her with invisible fingers. Carrie even forgot about her mother, who had in fact, spat blood when she returned home from work to a silent house. 

     Margaret Moore hadn't yelled but went straight for the utensils draw in the kitchen and had picked out a blunt fork. The woman then gathered up the material of her long skirt and scrapped the fork down her thigh. She had to press hard to break the skin, but she did. She always did. 

     Blood dribbled down her broken flesh and the silence of the house was only disturbed by chanting prayers and a verse from Matthew. "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near." Margaret Moore hurt herself by the front windows, watching the street for any sign of her misguided daughter. But her grey eyes would always find the house across the road and a sickening feeling would twist her stomach into knots. Margaret Moore had a bad feeling about that house, about that family. They weren't right, weren't committed to the Holy Father, the God Almighty. She knew they were different, wickedly different, in the marrow of her bones, even if she didn't have any tangible evidence yet, just terrible whispers. 

     A light breeze danced on the air as the two teenagers strolled down the one-way street, not in any rush to depart from the other. The street lights were just starting to blink awake to chase away the growing shadows. Michael casually and rather absent-mindedly swung Carrie's backpack to and fro from his fingers; he had offered to take her backpack earlier and Carrie had blushed. No one, and certainly no boy, had ever asked to carry her things before. They were nearing their houses and the sight of her driveway sunk Carrie's heart. She didn't want this afternoon to end, no matter how strange it had been. 

     "Thank you for taking me to Westfield High," Michael said calmly but there was a sharpness to his voice, a darkness. That darkness hadn't left him since provoking the damned ghosts made by Tate Langdon's hand. But Michael was used to the darkness now, it was his second nature, his birthright. He had once fought so hard against it, but that had only brought him heartbreak. "It was kind of you to take me." 

     "You're welcome," Carrie replied warmly. "It was a nice afternoon, even if it was a little strange." Some of the strangeness that had occurred that afternoon hadn't been all that strange to Carrie, but the roaring wind that sounded so much like screaming and how Michael had thrown his head back in howling and triumphing laughter, those had been too strange for her. A part of Carrie didn't want to unpack the strangeness, just wanted to bask in the company of Michael Langdon. Her new friend! She didn't care how strange he was and she wasn't in a place to judge him when she could move objects with her mind.

     "I've always wanted to visit that place," he admitted, like it was a secret he kept close to his heart. 

     "You make it sound like it's hallowed ground or something," she mused out. 

     "It is for me. Just made holy by a different Lord than the one you know." His eyes dropped to the golden cross that sat against the base of her throat. Michael's words made Carrie pause and confusion knitted her eyebrows together. She wanted to ask which Lord he was referring to but never got the chance. 

     "CARRIE!" a voice screamed out in incredible anger. Carrie didn't have to guess who the voice belonged to, for there was only one voice that could turn her blood to ice. Her stomach curled and toiled and her shoulders bowed as she peeked over her shoulder at Margaret Moore storming down the driveway. "How dare you to disobey me. Disobey your Holy Father!" Carrie's skin was flushing crimson as she reached out and snagged her backpack from Michael, who was looking over her head at Margaret Moore with great interest, an interest that lingered on perplexion and anger. But none of that showed on his handsome face; he was learning to school his features into marble and nonchalant.