That day started like any other day. It came wrapped beneath a veil of normality; more than willing to hide the truth from me. It would take half an hour for me to realize that something was slightly different, and a few more hours to understand why.  

Standing by the window wrapped up in my blanket, I brushed the thin white curtain aside. The bottom half of the windowpane was foggy and a few tiny waterdrops ran down the glass. I traced the patterns with my finger, enjoying the moment of peace. Outside, the morning air was heavy with wispy layers of mist that crawled along the ground, reaching for the blood red leaves in the trees above. 

It was beautiful.

With a reluctant sigh, I let the fabric drop back into place again. It didn't matter that I hated school, or that school hated me; I still had to go. I turned on my heels and made my way to the dresser. It always started like that. Every day. I would get ready on my own, sneak out of the house and catch the bus at the last second. I had a routine, and I had to keep to it in order to stay out of sight.

I might not like school, but it was better than staying home with my wasted dad who liked to use me as a punching bag if he was in a good mood.

Twenty minutes later, I noticed that this day wasn't like every other day. There was something about the bus driver's eyes: they weren't friendly like they used to be. They flitted back and forth as I entered the bus with some of the younger kids, never looking straight at me. He held the door open for a little while longer than necessary before driving off. I couldn't help but wonder what was going on.

That sign may have been subtle, but as the bus closed in on the school grounds, I couldn't get rid of the eerie sensation creeping along my skin. Brent hadn't talked to me once. He usually spat out insults that he didn't even bother chewing on first. They were crude comments without much elegance or thought, but they hurt all the same. I was almost tempted to pat his shoulder--just so that he would acknowledge me--but I wasn't that stupid. Likely, he would reward me with a black eye.

As I exited the bus, I hovered by the driver for a second, waiting for him to give me his usual greeting. He was nice like that: always giving me a reassuring smile and a 'Good luck, son', even if I wasn't his son. Sometimes I wish I were.

Terry, the bus driver, looked out the window on his left, ignoring the students that filed out of the bus one by one. I got caught in the throng, pulling me out of the bus and towards the red brick building.

Passing through the gate, I spotted a few people I hadn't seen before lounging on a bench; oddly enough they looked at me, punching each other's shoulders one by one so that they all ended up staring at me. I lengthened my step, rushing past other kids on my way to the door.

The brightly lit corridor was crowded and students talked louder and louder to be heard in the ruckus. It gave me some sort of relief. At least this was normal. I hurried to my locker, placed my bag and jacket inside and took out the textbook for my Biology class. Mrs. Daniels was a nice teacher, so I liked Biology.

Sitting down in my usual spot, I opened the book and found the chapter we would work on for the day. Mrs. Daniels was busy writing something on the board, but as the bell rang the final time she turned towards the class.

"Right then, everyone. Open-" She stopped mid-sentence, staring directly at me. Her expression didn't change as I attempted a smile, but after a few seconds she shook her head and started anew. "Open page 75. We're going to study phenotypes today."

The lesson went on, and despite my raised hand, I never got the question. Usually I didn't bother raising my hand, because I didn't want to attract unnecessary attention to myself, but for some reason it felt important today.

I lowered my hand and began to chew on my sore cuticle, brushing my blond hair out of my eyes. Perhaps it was time to brave a visit to the showers at school, the lengths were getting oily. There was always some soap that I could snatch, and I had a towel stored in my locker.

Mrs. Daniels left the room in a flurry as soon as the lesson ended. She was out before the students, and that had never happened before. I stayed in place until the other students left the room. I didn't need more time in the corridor more than necessary. Or perhaps I was scared that no one would do anything, I wasn't sure which held me back.

The next lesson was much the same, with one major difference. One of the guys that I saw outside as I entered the school grounds, sat on a chair by the window; sometimes gazing out, looking at the board or staring at me. I had this feeling in my gut that I somehow recognized him, but I couldn't tell from where, and I couldn't remember a name. It was just something in his eyes, or perhaps his severe expression that never wavered even for a second.

When our History teacher began to wrap up, I was ready to bolt. This time I would be the first one out of the classroom. Those stares put me on edge, and I didn't want to get caught alone in the room with him. I knew I was silly, but there was just something about that day that rubbed me the wrong way. My thoughts were swirling too much, my knees were wobbly and my heart seemed to beat a little faster than normal.

I was scared.

I knew fear, I had known it since I was little; however, this was a different kind of fear. It was the fear of the unknown. I could take threats, harsh words and even a beating now and then; but this was something I couldn't put my finger on. It was stares and then the lack of stares. It didn't make sense at all.

The bell startled me as it let out its shrill ring. I grabbed my stuff and hurried out, letting the panic inside of me play the tune for a moment. It didn't matter that I tried to brush it off, or that I tried to tell myself that nothing was wrong. I knew something was wrong.

"He's not here today. Mrs. Daniels called the social services. I hope they'll listen to her and get to that awful house right away. Such a sad business. Can't believe someone hasn't stepped in yet."

I couldn't help but overhear the short conversation between two of my teachers. It was Mr. Freedling and Mrs. Q, or Quainton to be correct. I didn't know what they were talking about, but whenever social services came up, I felt another kind of fear. One that held both terror and hope. I knew that if the social services ever paid a visit, Dad would tell them what a good father he was, and then he would beat me for attracting attention to us. Lucky for me, they never had.

Turning a corner, I stopped dead. My thoughts quieted, and I just stared at the scene in front of me. All the students whom I saw outside earlier sat around a table, talking excitedly with each other. All except the guy who sat next to the window in class.

A hand touched my shoulder from behind, and I almost screamed out loud--that's how tense I was. As I saw who it was, I felt the blood drain from my face. I stared into his large grey eyes before attempting to run away.

His hand grabbed around my wrist, holding it tight. "Hey, don't run. The other's want to meet you."

He had a nice voice. It was calm and steady, much deeper than I would have expected.

His grip around me loosened slightly, and I braved to look into his eyes once more. "Who are you?" I asked, wincing when I heard my voice tremble in fear.

A sad smile appeared on his pale lips. "I thought maybe you would remember me." He let go of my wrist entirely and allowed his shoulders to fall. Hearing the scrambling of chairs behind me, I craned my neck and saw the others rise from the table. The group of ten or so individuals made an imposing sight, and all I could think of was to get away as fast as I could. They didn't look scary, but something was off. I could feel it. I was certain.

As I dashed, I saw one a few other students ignoring those guys completely, and that's when it hit me. No one else could see them. My skin began to prickle, and fear crept up my spine and neck.

I ran.

I ran through the corridors, past students and teachers; I ran outside into the damp air not knowing where to go. I didn't dare to look behind me, instead I kept on pushing forward even though my lungs were on fire and my legs burned with strain. Each footstep echoed in the silent air, until I heard the same sound but from many behind me. 

They were after me, I was sure. 

My thoughts ran with me, wondering who they were, and why no one could see them; but most of all I wondered why I could see them. Nothing made sense. 

Those thoughts kept spinning until I ran along my street and heared the siren of a police car rushing by. I stole a quick look over my shoulder to see if the others were still behind me. My eyes caught one sole figure. The thick wool sweater with a striped pattern gave him away: it was the guy who talked to me before I fled. Even if he was alone, I didn't dare to stop, so against my better judgement I continued to run even if I was running towards another kind of danger. 

I saw the police car stop outside my house; two police men and one woman without a uniform got out and strode up the lawn. Getting close, I knew I didn't have many options. It felt like I would faint if I ran much longer, and I couldn't get into the house while those people were in there. 

Despite the numbing terror that clenched around my heart as I saw the other guy get closer, I gave up. I gave up because I couldn't run anymore. I gave up because I knew that wherever I ran, he would catch up to me. 

As those somehow familiar eyes got closer, I backed up against a low wall encircling one of the lawns. It wouldn't do me any good, but at least I had to show some kind of resistance. 

A few seconds later he was in my space--too close--placing his hand on the wall next to my head; he leaned closer, trying to catch his breath just like I did.

"You're awfully fast for being so scrawny," he said between pants.

I was breathing too hard to be able to answer, so I just stood there while my skin crawled with fear.

"Come on, I think you better hear this." He tugged at my arm, pulling me towards my house.

"No, I can't go there." I tried to struggle out of his hold, but it was no use. He seemed twice as large as me, and he pulled me along with ease. 

"You have to see this, Elias."

It was something about the way he said my name that made me look up. His voice was warm and comforting, and that stern face opened up in a small smile once I met his eyes. 

"Stephan," I whispered, a fleeting word that instantly got lost in the wind. The memory was fragile. It was a tender thing that I carried so close to my heart that I never let it out in the open because I was afraid I would lose it. 

The smile became wider. "Yes, but we'll have to talk about it later, you have to listen to what the police says to your dad."

Not entirely convinced, I let him walk me to a spot beneath the open kitchen window. I didn't know where to keep all my feelings, so I swallowed them down and just tried to listen. That's what Stephan had asked me to do. 

Stephan. It was unbelievable. 

"Mr. Coven, your son was absent from school today, and a teacher called in and asked us to come over. Is your son at home?" The soft voice had to belong to the woman who entered with the two police men. I started to puzzle the pieces together. Those teachers must have talked about me earlier. 

"He isn't here I'm afraid. I'm sure he's hanging out with some friends, I'll make sure he attends tomorrow. Kids these days, think they rule the world." It was a terrible lie, straight out of my dad's mouth as if he hadn't sinned once in his life. He sounded like an angel praying in church.  

The four people inside let out a small chuckle, making them sound like a group of friends. "Well then, just call us when he get's back." I could almost hear the smile on her lips as she spoke. My father was an attractive man, and at first glance you would never guess what a brutal man he could be. He made women swoon, and apparently this lady was no different. She fell for his false smile and reassuring voice. 

Tears fell down from my eyes, wetting my cheeks on their way to the ground. 

"They're not going to save me, are they?" I looked up at Stephan, painfully aware that this was what he wanted me to hear. To these men and women I was just a faceless name. I was no one while my dad charmed his way out of harms way. My teachers cared, but perhaps they would react the same to Dad's compelling aura. 

"No, they're not going to save you. But in one way they gave you another gift. He'll never hurt you again." I considered his word for a moment, dreading to hear the truth. I hadn't seen Stephan in years; he had vanished one summer day before our junior year. In a twisted way, things started to fall into place. 

All the events that day; the bus driver not seeing me, Brent being quiet during the ride, the odd expression on Mrs. Daniel's face. 

"Am I dead?" I wiped a tear from my cheek with my sweater, hoping desperately that I was wrong.

"No, Elias, you're not dead. You're invisible."