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The Denver stars gleamed from his vista on the roof of the Four Seasons Hotel. The mile high city was as close as he’d gotten to home after his 18th birthday and the prophecy. It seemed so long ago that he found himself questioning whether he’d truly seen it, but the memory of his terror had not faded. The image of his mother, tears streaming down her face, as the car was loaded with all of his possessions, still left a knot in his stomach. When normal children left for college it did not usually mean that their parents would never see them again.
Trent took a swig from his bottle of Johnny Walker and began to walk along the edge of the roof. The sounds of traffic were drifting up and echoing off of the giant compressors as he turned the corner and froze. There was a young man waiting for him, leaning against the door to the stairwell, blocking his exit.
“Um, hi there,” he said, “Can I help you?”
“Not really, but I think that I can help you, Trent,” the young man said with a thick British accent. The moon came out from behind a cloud and the young man’s bleach blond hair and emo-punk attire glinted in its light.
“Look, I’m really just trying to deflate right now, so I’d appreciate it if you could give me some space. Just leave me your information, I can send you a signed CD or something,” Trent said, still hoping that this was an overzealous fan.
“I’m going to vote for other,” the young man said and began to move closer. Trent tensed, realizing that he was trapped between a 40 plus story drop and this kid.
“Wait, what’s your name, man?” Trent said.
“Jarvis and you are Trent Edwards, actor-singer-songwriter from Louisiana via Tearmann Springs Colorado. How is Amelia these days?” he asked with a crooked grin.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” his heart began to pound. How had he not seen this coming?
“Really- you’re a very bad liar. Imagine my surprise when I showed up to a gig your band played in Hammersmith last month and found myself with an incredible case of déjà vu. You are not so subtle, are you?” Jarvis had now taken a small knife from one pocket and was opening and closing the blade as he spoke, “We have some very good seers looking into this situation with your people, but even they are having trouble getting through the towns warding, but you- oh just brilliant. We should have thought of this ages ago! Get our intelligence right from a, what do you call yourself here, townie.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but my songs are just songs. The Iraq war was my inspiration and nothing more. If you’ll excuse me,” Trent made a move toward the stairwell door and Jarvis blocked his way, “Look guy, you need to know that people are waiting on me and if I don’t show up in 10 minutes they will be sending security to find me.”
“I highly doubt that, Trent, seeing as I’ve seen to it that they won’t be waking up any time soon. I think that I may actually have been a bit heavy handed with the belladonna, your guitarist may actually need an ambulance,” Jarvis was now using the knife, fully extended, to pick at his finger nails.
“What do you want,” he asked.
“You know what I want, Trent,” he’d stopped cleaning his nails and was looking directly at Trent with his cold grey eyes, “The only question is whether you will accept your fate and come with me or are you going to make this fun?” He wanted to take the bottle of whiskey and slam it into the cocky boys head, but Trent knew that he could not predict what Jarvis was capable of and even that limited amount of contact could be his undoing.
“And if I make this easy- what then?”
“Well, aside from being a boring sod, you would get to take a nice ride in a town car to meet my boss. I’m afraid that you’ll need to make sure your people don’t schedule any more shows as you will most likely be indisposed for quite a while,” the knife was now ready to strike should he try to make a break for the door. Trent had only one hope- Shawn. He had continued his meditative and centering practices over the years, but he’d never tried to extend himself far enough to reach Shawn or any of the council members in Tearmann Springs. Trent knew well enough that Amelia had been killed nearly 2 years before so Shawn was the only chance that he had of being rescued before Riordan McCluskey and Sam Hain would have a chance to sacrifice him to The Source as his vision had foretold.
“Shawn! Shawn!” Trent screamed silently into the ether, “Sam Hain has found me- I need you to send help right away! Please come for me!” Jarvis saw the glaze of trance go over Trent’s eyes and smirked as he drew back a fist to knock the consciousness out of his prey. The man fell to the ground as dead weight, still calling out to Shawn as the skyline of Denver went black before his eyes.
Celeste and Rose were humming as they pulled weeds from the garden behind their home in Tearmann Springs- Rose with the delicate little fingers of a 5 year old and Celeste watching with a mother’s eye as she deftly plucked at the dead leaves of her tomato vines. The day was hot and she thought at first that she was about to feint from dehydration until a man’s voice rang inside of her ears.
“Sam Hain has found me- I need you to send help-,” the voice faded and she swayed, “Shawn!” Celeste was lying in the dirt, nearly unconscious, as the last part of the message flowed into her head, when she felt Roses small hands grip her finger tightly.
“Mommy? Mommy, are you tired?” she asked.
“Yes baby, I just need to lay down for a minute,” Celeste croaked through her parched throat.
“OK Mommy, but that man needs Uncle Shawn and he sounded like it was important,” Celeste gasped as she realized that her 5 year old had heard the same SOS that had nearly incapacitated her moments earlier, without breaking a sweat. “Yes, baby, you’re right. Could you go and get me my phone so that I can call him?” Rose nodded and skipped toward the back door to complete her mission as Celeste tried to gather her composure, her forehead resting against the cool dirt of the garden.