The warehouse stood at the edge of an abandoned street. A feeling, not unlike the one experienced seconds before a scare in a horror movie, began to creep its way into my bones. The brick walls were covered in grime and what looked like soot, most of the windows were shattered and the ones that weren't, were covered with wooden boards. The ground pulsed as hypnotic beats poured out from the building. My own heart, matched the beat of the song as it desperately tried to escape my chest.

Was I going to a party or to a funeral? My emotions couldn't decide.

The door had been completely torn off of its hinges but a burly, senior linebacker named- Camden- stood guard behind a velvet rope. He wore a tight black t-shirt stretched across his broad chest and held a glass tablet between his meaty paws- just like a bouncer. Peering behind his massive shoulder, I managed to catch a glimpse of the madness that awaited me on the other side. Somehow, a rainbow of strobe lights had been mounted on the wall above a series of large speakers and an intricate dashboard. A young man with caramelized skin and black dreaded hair, stood behind the dashboard, pumping his fist in the air while shouting into a microphone. The crowd responded to his chants with enthusiasm before once again, becoming lost in rhythm of their partners.

"Name," Camden barked once we reached the front of the line.

I jumped. "Um, O-Ophelia Macintyre."

He had a mean looking face, with perpetually angry eyebrows and a frown carved onto his mouth. The frown only deepened as he checked the list for my name. Something wasn't right.

"You're not on the list." Those who stood behind us, craned their necks forward, anxiously awaiting for the drama to unfold.

Like a deer caught in the headlights, I stared at my accuser with wide and unblinking eyes. Whispers erupted from my peers, as I stood frozen. Nicole threaded her fingers through mine and gave my hand a tight squeeze. Stepping forward she offered Camden a toothy grin and fluttered her lashes. He grunted, not at all impressed by her amateur advances.

"Try Nicole Addison."

I squeezed her hand, "Plus one."

Camden checked the tablet once more and then unclasped the velvet rope. We were in. Nicole shouted her gratitude to the bouncer but her words were lost in the sound of the music. She seemed unnecessarily happy, grinning from ear to ear, as if this one party had made all of her worldly dreams come true. And perhaps, it did. I had known Nicole long enough to know that she had some pretty strange dreams. As we elbowed our way through the gyrating crowd, she occasionally balanced on her tiptoes as if trying to catch a glimpse of something. I too, was trying to catch something- my breath.

Like a vacuum sealed pack of salty snacks everyone was clinging close together. A pungent aroma of sweat and perfume wafted through the air and clogged my lungs. My peers seemed unaffected by the crowded dance floor and the noxious smell, if anything, they seemed to thrive in such a toxic atmosphere. The music had transported them to a different dimension in which responsibilities and realities no longer existed. Envy burned within me. I wanted to be like them, unaware of my surroundings and completely ignorant to the troubles that awaited for me but no matter how hard, I tried, I couldn't forget. Gritting my teeth, I clung desperately to Nicole's hand and trudged through the crowd.

"What are you looking for?" I asked once we had broken free from the cesspool of teenagers.

"No one just...Barry!" Nicole dropped my hand and raced over to a group of kids standing beside barrels of beer.

Barry Schniber, who stood in the middle of his little posè, offered Nicole a quick glance before shoving a plastic cup into her hand and returning his attention to the pretty blond on his arm. Nicole seemed unaffected by his behavior. She smiled to herself, as if somehow she had won and took a sip of the drink. The smile disappeared when the warm liquid hit her tongue but she remained dutifully by his side, like a lovesick puppy.

I was, once again, forgotten.

Completely lost, I looked around, hoping to find at least one familiar face. There were many people who I recognized from class but after a series of drinks, they had become debauched creatures of the night, completely unfamiliar to the straight-laced students I grew up with. There was one girl I noticed, however, who seemed particularly unimpressed with the party. She stood in a vacated corner, her eyes were trained on the red plastic cup in between her hands but she made no move to drink from it. I didn't know her personally but everyone in Darwin knew of Asher Foxx's little sister, Eileen. She was a senior, I remembered. Asher never made it that far.

Eileen was beautiful in the traditional sort of way. Her skin was smooth and flawless with dark pigmentation. Her ebony curls were cut short but framed her wide face nicely. She was pleasant to look at with her soft and graceful features and the boys of Darwin High didn't seem to disagree. Though she was tall with a lithe body fit for a catwalk, she had an unfortunate habit of hunching her shoulders as if the weight of world rested upon her. Being a Foxx wasn't easy in a Post-Asher world. There were expectations people held for the Foxx family, people expected them to be weird and different because of what happened to Asher. And they were rather disappointed two years ago when Eileen's judgement day approached and she was found to be a perfectly normal human being.

Gravitating to the corner the corner, where she stood, I clasped my hands behind my back and rocked on my heels. She didn't look up from her cup. Her eyes were glazed over as if they weren't really eyes at all but painted marbles. There was no reason for me to stand with Eileen Foxx. We weren't friends, not even close, but there was an air of loneliness that clung to her which I was familiar with. It was comforting.

"You're the last Macintyre?" Her eyes didn't move from the cup as she spoke.

"I'm the youngest?" I offered, hoping she was referring to age.

"No," she looked up from the cup for the first time. Her eyes were so cold and dispassionate. So very different from the eyes of the boy whose picture hung in the halls Darwin High. "You're the last one. The last one to take the test."

She spoke in hushed tone but I could hear every word she said. It was as if in our little corner, we were somehow separated from the chaos. I wanted to respond but my tongue became heavy in my mouth as if to lift it would be like lifting a truck. So, I nodded instead.

"You're scared." It wasn't a question, merely an observation.

"Good." I blinked once and then blinked again. Good. She said it was good to be scared.

There was nothing good about being scared. Nicole wasn't completely wrong when she said I didn't eat or sleep much. I was like a living doll. Sure, I looked real but I had stopped being an animate person with thoughts and emotions. Somewhere in the midst of all of my anxiety I had stopped living.

"Monsters aren't afraid of anything," She shrugged. "Asher wasn't."

If that were true, I should have been sure about my test. But fear was not a deciding factor and it wasn't even taken into consideration. They only cared about the blood and the truth which lied within it.

"There's no way to know," My brows furrowed, "The scientists say-"

"The scientists say a lot of stuff," She spat her words
through gritted teeth. "They lie. People who are different, who feel as if they don't belong, know the truth without even taking the test."

My nerves ignited like a match being struck against the brittle bridge of a its box. In that moment, I remembered my own oddities which set me apart from the group. It was nothing spectacular, like Asher. I couldn't throw a touchdown from the fifteenth yard line, on the other side of the field, and I couldn't plow through six, three hundred pound linebackers like a pile of leaves. But I always had a sneaking suspicion that something wasn't quite right. It was hard to explain.

But there were moments in my memory that seemed to be completely erased as if I blacked out. And in each time I awoke from one of these 'blacked out' moments, something would be in disarray. It was nothing too serious, just a lost phone or a misplaced sock but it frightened me. Surely, the items didn't move on their own and I couldn't remember touching them. Nicole chalked it up to paranoia. She said I wasn't different just eccentric and that I shouldn't worry because a lot of famous dead artists were eccentric too.

So, I was either possessed by a dead artist or maybe, possibly-

Nope. That was the only possible answer, I was possessed.

"I need a refill," Eileen shoved past me, her knees wobbling as she tried to escape in her six inch, louboutin knock-offs. 

Her cup was full, I realized later that night.

—————

I left without Nicole.

There was an ugly yellow-brown stain on Nicole's shimmering blouse, it was an unfortunate consequence after standing too close to a shaking Brock Lewis- the notorious keg master. Borrowed heels were clutched to my chest, my hair was damp with sweat and clung to my neck. I must have looked crazy, disheveled and not unfamiliar to an apocalypse survivor. Camden didn't offer me a second glance. He must have seen worse or perhaps he experienced worse himself. Because this, the drinking and the drugs and incurable interactions were all normal. Was I the freak to not see the appeal?

Cheers sounded from the warehouse.

Apparently.

The cool autumn air nipped at my cheeks as I stumbled down the abandoned street. Montana wasn't like the rest of the country which had adapted fancy skyscrapers and dazzling lights. Most of the state was quiet and relatively sparsely populated with fields and forests stretching on for miles at end. It was nice for some people but not for me- especially as I tried to find my way back home using only the stars above to light my path. The road was filled with raw, unpaved gravel and it cut into the heels of my feet.

After fifteen minutes, I was ready to turn around and wait for Nicole. She was the one with a car and a license. Darwin's Chief of Police, Ed Murlock was pushing into his late seventies and he was practically immobilized with his metal hip and knees. Unless someone was murdered, Ed remained locked away in the barracks, hidden behind stacks of police reports. It made life easy for kids like Barry and Nicole who seemed attracted to chaos and annoying for the rest of us who were forced to clean up their messes.

It made me wonder, how they managed to pass their tests. Nicole I came to undersand and maybe that was because I had known her for so long. Ever since she was kid Nicole just wanted to fit in. She tried to be the depressed teenage poet with purple streaks in her hair and sharpie tattoos on her skin. Then, there was the beloved band geek phase in which she wore argyle sweater vests and obsessively listened to beethoven. Her short lived season on the cheerleading squad followed soon after but ended tragically when she broke her ankle. And in each version of herself, she tried to perfect the formula for Nicole Addison as if she were merely a prototype and the true version had yet to be created. In many ways, I felt the same but re-invention took a lot of time and resources which I didn't have.

So, I remained the same boring, small-town girl who was struggling to see the purpose of it all.

Swallowing the bile that rose to the tip of my tongue, I wrapped my arms and my torso and blinked the tears out of my eyes. Pulling my phone out from it's convenient hiding place within my cleavage, I held it up to the sky and searched for a signal. With one bar, I managed to call the first person listed in my contacts.

Adam.