#hellwillfollow

  The South Dakota spring was coming to an end, and the summer heat rolled in. Despite being the crack of dawn, everything was already baking in the heat. The stained glass windows cast the room in a golden hue. But even the light couldn't disguise the run-down, decaying building. Paint chipped off the cream-faded walls, water leaks stained the ceiling, and brown dust built up in the corners of the window seal. The carpet reeked of mildew and burnt incense, making the air thick and more suffocating than it already was. Pools of sweat formed at the top of Syrena’s head, strands of her dark brown hair sticking to her skin. Her olive skin was sun-kissed, her cheeks burning red. The golden cross pendant offered a cool relief as she dragged the chain along her dampened neck. 

Church was more than going to Sunday mass; it was Syrena’s way of life. Not by choice, but obligation. Her aunt Agnes had not only been a longtime member of the church, but was one of its most loyal staff members. As long as Syren lived under her aunt's roof, there was no protest. 

Outside the confession room, Syrena heard her Aunt Agnes mumbling. She could make out the familiar voices; she was talking to the priest, Father David. Aunt Agnes kept her word that Syrena would attend confession first thing in the morning before heading off to school. She knew there was no avoiding it, especially after yesterday.  Despite the thick wooden door separating them, Syrena could hear the wrath in her aunt's voice. 

“She did it again. I saw it with my own eyes! She’s getting stronger,” her aunt hissed.

Syrena fidgeted with the chain, twiddling the crucifix between her thumb and index finger. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and the humidity in the room made her feel faint. Sweat dripped down her temple and onto her cheek. Syrena hissed under her breath when the droplet of sweat seeped into the fresh red cut along her cheek. The salt burned into her skin. As she wiped it away, Father David entered the room. Syrena sat up straight, adjusting the gold necklace so it stayed centered on her chest. 

“Good morning, Father," Syrena mumbled timidly. 

Father David was an older man with leathery, wrinkled skin. The lines weighed down his face, the bags under his eyes purple and droopy. His head was mostly bald, with stubble of white hair along the sides. While he may have looked like an innocent old man, his slow, unsettling demeanor made Syrena feel on edge every time she spoke to him. Father David would take long pauses and stare deep into your eyes, like he knew what you were going to say before you did. 

A small, grim smile rippled through his thin, cracked lips.

“Good Morning, Syrena,” Father David replied gruffly. 

He looked down at Syrena, his gaze lingering longer than a moment. Syrena gently touched the cut on her face, wondering if that was what the priest was looking at. 

“The sunlight brings out the gold in your eyes.” He chuckled in quiet amusement. “Well, one of them, at least.”

Syrena flinched away from the glistening sunlight, pulling back a strand of hair behind her ear.  What made Syrena look so unique was her eyes. They were two opposite colors since birth. One was golden-amber, the other a dark chestnut brown. Though it didn't change much about her, it often warranted nosy stares and double glances from kids and adults. 

The priest slowly waddled to the chair opposite her, where the crucifix hung above him like a halo. His withered, leathery hands holding a worn bible. Syrena took a deep inhale, knowing what was going to follow. 

“Tell me what happened yesterday, child,” Father asked calmly, his hands clasped together on his lap.  

Syrena swallowed the lump in her throat, recalling yesterday's events. 

“I was walking home,.” 

Yesterday was just like any other weekend. After church, Syrena walked into town and spent the day at the library to study, at least thats what she told her aunt. It wasn't fully a lie, so she told herself. Most times she’d walk to the local cinema and catch a matinee screening. She liked the quiet, intimate experience of the movie theatre. She'd watch anything and everything. In the movies, she could live with someone else for a while. Forget about the outside world. She’d take her time walking back home, daydreaming about the movie she just saw. But on this particular day, something happened. 

“I saw a nest in one of the trees near my house. There were baby birds, chirping ”

The priest studies Syrena carefully, watching her nails dig into the palm of her hand, and her lip starts to quiver. He nods for Syrena to continue. 

Syrena’s jaw tightened when her nail dug too deep into her flesh. “But I saw a squirrel. It ran to the nest, and it started…eating them.” 

The memory replayed in her mind. The sound of the nest ruffling and small, distressed chirps cried from inside the nest. The squirrel poked its head out, holding one of the baby birds in its mouth. The squirrel's teeth were dripping bright red blood as it held the decapitated bird in its grasp.  

“And then what?” The priest urged her to go on. 

“I scared the squirrel away,” Syrena replied, her voice trembling. 

“But that’s not all that happened, is it, Syrena?” Father David asked slowly, with a sharp glare that felt like he could burn her with the heat he was putting on. 

Syrena shook her head, “No, Father.” 

“What did you do, Syrena?” His voice crept under her skin. 

Syrena explained how she shoo’d the squirrel away; that much was true. But when the small rodent scurried away, it knocked over the nest in its escape. The surviving baby bird was thrown from its nest.

“When the squirrel ran away, one of the babies was still alive. But then…it fell out of the nest. I ran to catch it, but I was too far. It was going to die,”

Syrena sat up in her seat. 

“I’m sorry, Father, I didn't mean to! I was only trying to help-” 

“What did you do, Syrena?” The priest fired back in a cold demand. 

Tears already threatened to spill from Syrena’s eyes. Her scrunched face made the lashing on her face sting more. 

“I saved it…the baby bird.” 

“How?” The priest demanded. 

“I-I reached my hand out to catch it and I…” 

“But you said you were too far. How could you have caught it when you were feet away?” The priest interrogated.

It was true. Syrena didn't catch the bird in her hands. Instead, she reached out, and the bird froze, mid-air, hovering over the grass that probably would have crushed it upon impact. 

“I don’t know how! I just did it,” Syrena stuttered.

“Lies! You do know!” The priest's voice roared in the tiny confined room. The crucifix shook on the wall.

Syrena shivered at his outburst, her head ducked in shame. By the time Syrena approached the floating bird and held it in her hands, it was too late; Aunt Agnes had seen everything. And hell followed soon after.

“You haven't had an incident in a long time. Have you been praying like your aunt and I have told you?”

“Yes! Yes, of course, Father, every night-”

“Lies! If you had prayed for forgiveness, you would finally be free of these abominations! God only forgives those who seek repentance!”

Syrena couldn't look up and face the priest's fury. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Look at me, child,” Father David commanded.

Syrena slowly looked up, with the sunbeams on one side of her face.

“We're all born with sin, Syrena. It’s our duty to scrub it clean. But you, child… You were born different. You have to work harder to seek forgiveness and salvation, do you understand? God is testing you.”

Syrena didn't know why she had these abilities or where they came from. But it felt like it was a part of her. Aunt Agnes said it was an abomination, something unnatural, a mark of evil.

“Your aunt tried to warn your mother about what happens to those who turn away from God. And look where that led her… that’s why you’re here and not with her.”

The priest's words made Syrena's stomach turn. And in truth, Syrena didn't know what had become of her mother; her aunt never spoke of her. Though every time her aunt looked at Syrena, she was reminded of her estranged sister, Syrena’s mother. A look filled with anger and resentment. Syrena thought her abilities were a punishment for her mother's sins. That it manifested into her somehow. Either way, it was out of Syrena's control. All her life, she asked God to take them away, and yet every year she felt her unique abilities growing stronger, as if they were threatening to spill over, like water breaking through a dam.

“God saves those who want to be saved. Do you want to be saved, Syrena?”

“Yes. Yes, of course I do, Father,” Syrena begged through her coarse voice.

“Then let us pray, Syrena.”

Syrena’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy. Though she couldn’t show her tears to her aunt, she would not pity her. Syrena slung her backpack over her shoulder. Upon her exit from the confession room, Aunt Agnes sat on the wooden bench. Her aunt reminded her of those old paintings in the museums. Her face was pale, stiff, expressionless. Her dark, silver-streaked hair was pulled back in a tight updo. Despite the hot summer, she was always draped in a dark shawl and a modest button-up dress. Fine lines outlined her strained face and sunken-in cheekbones.

Aunt Agnes slowly rose from her seat, in slow, measured steps. She examined Syrena before snatching up her jaw with her weathered hands. She tilted Syrena’s face up. Syrena didn’t protest or pull away, but diverted her eyes in shame.

“Quit your moping,” her aunt muttered coldly.

Aunt Agnes tilted Syrena's head to look at the red-streaked scratch along her face. The sharp edge of her nail glided over the red scabs.

“You told Father David what you’ve done?” she asked firmly.

“Yes, ma’am,” Syrena trembled.

Aunt Agnes dug her nail between the cuts. “All of it,” she demanded coldly.

“Yes,” Syrena’s voice cracked, holding back the hot tears forming in the corner of her eyes. But a pit formed in her stomach. She had often wondered if her aunt knew of her white lie about sneaking off to the movies. It didn't cause any harm, but she felt guilty for not being completely honest. Though her time in the movies was the only time she got a break. So she stayed silent.

“You should be so lucky Father David offers you so much grace. Any other church would have you cast out for your abominable acts, you understand that, child?” Aunt Agnes dug the nail of her thumb against the cracks of her broken skin.

“Yes, ma’am.” Syrena nodded.

“This is your final warning, child. Another incident and you will suffer great consequences, do you understand!” Aunt Agnes barked. Syrena shook her head up and down. 

“Maybe this time you’ll listen. Because if you had before, God would have saved you by now.” Aunt Agnes ripped her hand away from Syrena’s jaw.

“You’ll walk directly to the bus stop with Mr. Conner. He’s waiting for you outside,” Aunt Agnes said.

Syrena nodded and made her way to the building's entrance. She didn’t have to turn around to know Aunt Agnes was watching her like a hawk. Syrena disappeared into the dimly lit hallway, and her fingers skimmed over the indents on her skin. And when Syrena was finally alone, she wiped the tears across her face.

A cool breeze swept through the cracks of the church doors as Syrena stepped outside. A breath of fresh summer air was a refreshing relief from the stuffy old building. The bright sunlight blinded Syrena momentarily before she heard some voices murmuring in the distance.

“What did I tell you about playing in the mud?” a voice shouted.

Mrs. Conner, one of the church's fellow staff members, snatched her son, James Conner, by the ear. Aunt Agnes and Mrs. Conner worked together early in the morning, so Syrena and James would often walk to the bus stop together before school. James was a quiet, awkward boy with round glasses and golden blonde hair cut with rounded bangs. Despite knowing each other for years, Syrena found it difficult to befriend James. He was just as naggy and uptight as his mother. And bossy. He didn't see Syrena as a friend, but someone to order around. If his mother bossed him around, he did the same to Syrena. Like it was the only power he had in his young life. Mrs. Conner reminded Syrena a lot of her aunt. They had the same strenuous look on their face. Mrs. Conner had perfectly styled curry blonde hai, and a permanent indent on the bridge of her nose, probably from always scolding James. Appearance was very important to her. So whether James wore the wrong button-up, scuffed up his new dress shoes, or even sneezed too loudly during mass, there was always something for her to get onto him about.

Syrena looked down and saw that James had stained the ankles of his tan khaki pants dark green, the trim soggy and muddy. James' face scrunched in pain as Mrs. Conner pinched his earlobe until it turned red.

“Ow, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he sputtered, hissing in pain.

Mrs. Conner made him beg for a couple of moments longer before noticing Syrena was watching from a distance.

She snatched her hand away. “Get to school, now.”

James soothed his throbbing earlobe and slung his crumpled backpack over his shoulder. But when he saw Syrena standing at the entrance of the church, he whispered to his mother,

“I don't want to walk with her. She’s a freak.”

“Quiet!” She shushed him before whispering to him, “Just get to the bus on time. Don’t you dare be late again!”

Mrs. Conner flattened her floral dress, composing herself as she walked towards the church. She looked down at Syrena with a cold glare, offering no apology for her son's words or the scene she had made before disappearing into the church.

“Come on,” James called impatiently to Syrena.

The cicadas buzzed in the row of endless trees that surrounded the road. The church stood at the top of a small hill a little outside of town, so it was a little walk to the nearby bus stop. The air was humid and dewy from last night's rain. The sun beat down on Syrena's forehead until pools of sweat drizzled down her neck, where her two messy braids sat on her shoulders.

James walked a good six feet ahead of Syrena. James walked urgently, while Syrena took in the peaceful surroundings. Nature had always calmed Syrena. The sounds of birds chirping in the morning, the warm sunlight. Sometimes she’d stare out at the woods, get lost in the trees, dreaming of running into them and never emerging. 

Syrena looked down at the golden cross necklace between her fingertips, tracing her fingers over the engravings. She thought about was what Father David and her aunt had said, wondering if she wasn’t praying hard enough, and that’s why God didn’t heal her. 

There weren’t many houses far outside of town. A couple of small rundown farmhouses here and there, though there was one house that stood out amongst the rest. A giant blue home surrounded by overgrown weeds, beat-up cars, and spare parts. A sign hung over the driveway in giant faded letters, “Singer Auto Salvage.”

Though James never said it, something about the house frightened him. He always picked up his pace as they crossed by the big blue house. But Syrena would look with curiosity. Dead, leafless trees loomed over the scraps of metal. The blue paint chipping away, and weeds grew up the walls as if they were being swallowed whole. Some of the windows were boarded up from the outside. She had often wondered what this house once looked like, before it succumbed to time and faded away. 

James loudly dragged his feet across the gravel, kicking the tiny rocks with his heel. His jaw clenched, making loud kicks on purpose. 

“What happened to your pants?” Syrena asked.

“Why do you care?” he grumbled.

“Why was your mom angry?” Syrena looked down at his soaked pants.

“She’s always angry,” James said. “I was bored, so I went down to the pond. I slipped in the mud.”

“Oh,” Syrena said solemnly, “She shouldn’t have yelled at you like that, if it was an accident.”

James kicked one of the rocks, this time causing dust to fly and sprinkle the tan dust along his shoes.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have been so bored if I hadn’t been waiting around for you all morning. Then she wouldn’t have been angry at me.” James' tiny hand balled into a fist until his knuckles turned white.

Syrena clenched the gold chain in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said softly..

James came to a jolting stop and whipped his head around, “You realize we almost missed the bus last week because of you? What are you doing in there anyway?”

Syrena's mouth hung open, but no words could form. How could she explain all that had gone on in the early mornings in the confession room? Her aunt made her swear to keep her abilities a secret. That was the golden rule.

“It’s nothing,” she said.

“Yeah, right! I know you go into the confession room with Father David. So what did you confess? Come on, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Syrena persisted, her throat going dry as James approached her.

“You know everyone at church thinks it’s because you're a bad kid. You just don’t look like it because you're a girl, and you're quiet,”

“I didn't do anything,” Syrena huffed.

“You're such a liar! Does your aunt know where you go on Sundays?” James said with a threatening edge.

Syrena’s eyes widen, “What?”

“Yeah, after service, I went into town to pick up milk.. I saw you leaving the movies. But I know you tell your Aunt you go to study. ” 

Syrena felt all the blood leave her face, her throat dry. 

“I-” she stuttered.

“So what else do you lie about?” James quipped. 

“Nothing!” Syrena whined.

“Is that why you got that scratch on your face? Your aunt got you this time? Or should I tell her where you really go after church?” James said cruelly.

“It was just a movie, I didn't do anything bad!” Syrena yelled.

“Yeah, I'm right! You always act so innocent. But your the reason we're late, and get in trouble. Everyone thinks you're a freak!” 

“I don’t get you in trouble, you get yourself in trouble and blame it on me!” Syrena yelled back.

James kicked his heel, dust flying onto her legs. “Two-eyed freak!” he yelled, like a burn to the flesh. All of the school bullies gave Syrena that nickname. That's all she was known as—a freak.

“Stop!” Syrena stepped back, trying to dodge the clouds of dust. This time, she kicked back, and dust coated his pants. But James kicked again, harder, and a wave of dust and rocks slashed across her eyes, and she fell to the ground.

Catching herself with her hands, she skidded against the rough gravel. Her knees were coated in dirt, and her pants ripped. Her hands stung from the open, bloody cuts. Through the cloud of dust, James started to walk away.

“Wait!” Syrena cried out, coughing among the mini dust storm.

“I’m not waiting around for you anymore! Walk yourself,” James stormed off into the distance, leaving Syrena alone.

Sitting on the dirt, Syrena dusted off her pants, and blood dribbled on the fabric. She looked down at the now-tethered skin of her palms and clenched her fist. She watched James walk away, and her breath turned heavy. She wanted to slash dirt across his smug face, push him down just as hard. Make him pay. And she knew she had the power to do so. Syrena lifted her hand in fury. For a moment, she let the anger build up inside. She looked right at the back of James golden head of hair. But she stopped herself, realizing what she was doing. She dropped her hand, and tears bubbled up in her eyes.

Meanwhile, inside the seemingly lonely house, Syrena heard voices. Wiping her tears, she sat hidding herself behind one of the garbage cans. But over her shoulder, she noticed something different about the blue house. There was a car in the driveway. A black car with silver trim, a 1967 Chevy Impala. Syrena instantly recognized this car; she had just seen it in town the day before. Right after the movie ended, Syrena walked through town, passing one of the local bars. Syrena had seen plenty of drunk locals stumbling out of the bar in the middle of the day. This time there was a tall man with dark hair, walking with a sway in his step, being held up by a younger man. He was tall like the older man, but with dirty blonde hair. The pair looked similar. She assumed they were father and son. The son tried to help the father in the car. But the older one was so drunk he grew frustrated and snapped at the son. He started yelling at him to get away. A couple of passersby, including Syrena, watched the scene. Eventually, the man willingly got into the car and sped off. 

As Syrena recalled the memory, yelling came from inside. Followed by a loud thud that made her jump. The yelling sounded the same as yesterday—angry voices fighting to talk over each other. 

“You wanna go to school? Go to fuckin school then, but I’m not driving ya!” A voice yelled from inside.

Syrena slowly stood up, cautiously watching the house. The front screen door swung open, smacking against the wall. A young boy, around Syrena’s age, with chestnut brown hair and a worn backpack slung over his slim shoulders, emerged. He pushed past the door, jaw clenched, and his shoulders stiffened up to his neck. Before the screen door closed, someone else swung it open. An older boy stepped out. Syrena reccoginzed him, he was the boy from the bar. Dirty-blonde hair and wearing a tight, dark T-shirt that outlined his broad shoulders. A stark difference from the younger boy. 

“Come on... I can give you a ride, it's fine!” the older boy shouted, watching from the porch.

The younger boy trotted down the porch steps. “I’ll take the bus,” he yelled, never looking back.

The older one propped himself up on the edge of the porch railing. His broad shoulders slumped over, defeated.

“Sammy,” the older boy called out, tired and desperate.

“I’m fine! Just leave me alone,” the younger one yelled, his words meant to sting. The older boy stormed off and walked back inside, the screen door slamming behind him. Meanwhile, the young boy, presumably named Sammy, walked down the porch and turned the corner until he found Syrena. Both of them froze, awkwardly staring at one another in silence.

Syrena could see his features better up close. He was tall, but lanky. Not built like the older boy from the porch. But what captured her was his eyes. They were a green hazel, just like one of her own. The sunlight cast a glow that brought out the yellow in his eyes, shining like gold. But the shadow under his glistening eyes painted a different picture. His eye bags were swollen and puffy, probably from lack of sleep. His knuckles were covered in faint scratches, some fresh and others faded in time. But despite these blemishes, Syrena admired his gentle features. 

The boy looked down to meet Syrena’s eyes. But something changed in his curious expression. He stared deeply into her eyes, entranced, like he was seeing something familiar. His gaze was magnetic. But it all felt too invasive to Syrena. Her stomach started twisting into knots. She assumed it was her eyes that caught his attention. Other kids would ogle at distinct eye colors, mostly out of curiosity. But when they stared too long, it made her feel uneasy. 

“Y-you…” he stuttered.

Syrena's brows furrowed. “What?” she said defensively.

The boy blinked, realizing he was staring. His eyes drifted down to her scraped-up pants and bloodied hands.

“You're hurt,” he said softly, like he was coaxing a hurt puppy.

“No,” Syrena muttered, wiping her hands along her sides, “I-I fell. Tripped actually. Over the uh,” Syrena looked around, “Trash cans,”

Though the trash cans were on the opposite side of her, and standing right side up. The boy looked around and saw no one in sight, just this girl all alone in the middle of nowhere. But he didn’t seem to question her story. 

“Here.” The boy reached into the side of his flimsy backpack and pulled out a water bottle. But Syrena flinched as he approached, like a scared animal.

“You should wash it off so it doesn't get infected. Trust me, it’s not fun,” the boy half smiled, carefully holding out the water bottle.

Syrena cautiously approached. She held out her hands, and the boy poured the cool water over them. She hissed as the water washed through her fresh cuts, but the boy quietly comforted her, and it soothed her pain. Syrena washed her hands until the brown water ran clear. The boy looked up and saw the other cut along her cheek. Before he could say anything, Syrena wiped the water across her cheek.

“It’s from when I fell,” she lied.

“You took a hard fall. Are you lost?” the boy asked, meeting her eyes again.

Syrena shook her head, “No. I’m walking to the bus stop.”

“Yeah, me too,” the boy said, securing the water back into his bag. “I’m Sam.”

“Syrena.”

Another loud crash came from inside, a gruff voice yelling something Syrena couldn't make out. Sam’s jaw clenched, and he shook his head.

“Let’s get out of here,” he mumbled, and Syrena followed.

The pair slowly walked along the road, Syrena nervously clenching the straps of her backpack. 

“I like your necklace,” Sam stuttered, his hand anxiously rubbing the back of his neck.

Syrena looked down at her golden cross, “Oh. Thank you.”

The pair walked in silence. Syrena hadn't recognized Sam from school, though she didn't have many friends to know everyone. But school was almost out for the summer, so why would someone join so late in the semester? While Syrena was deep in thought, Sam was trying to find the courage to start a conversation. He opened his mouth to speak, but caught himself before he did. Despite how tough he may have looked, he was nervous. 

 “So do you live out here?” he asked shyly.

Syrena shook her head, “No, I walk from the church,” she pointed back up the hill.

“By yourself?”

“No, I usually walk with other kids from church,” she said plainly.

Sam tilted his head, looking along the empty road—no one in sight. 

“But your alone?” he asked sincerely.

A wave of heat flushed over Syrena’s face, remembering why James had left her behind. She looked back over her shoulder and pulled up her backpack.

“Have you always lived in that house?” Syrena asked directly.

Sam shifted his focus to her question. He cleared his throat, “No. It’s my dad's friend Bobby’s place. We’re crashing with him while my dad's on a job.”

“We?” She asked despite already guessing his answer.

“My older brother Dean and I,”

“Oh. He doesn't go to school?”

“Nah, he already graduated, barely,” Sam rolled his eyes, “Now he works with my dad,”

The gravel crunched under their sneakers, and the cicadas' buzzing grew louder, rattling in the branches of the trees. Small pools of sweat were forming at their temples. 

“What does your dad and brother do for work?” Syrena asked. 

Sam’s mouth fell open again. He hesitated, “It’s complicated. We kinda have a family business. But we travel a lot. Never staying in one place for long,”

Syrena looked up at Sam, the sunlight making her eyes squint, “Really? That sounds like fun, traveling,”

Sam shook his head, “Nah. Gets kinda boring after a while. Always on the road, staying in crappy motels. Seeing every lame tourist attraction in America. I think I’ve seen the biggest ball of twine over a thousand times.”

Syrena laughed innocently, “The what?”

“The biggest ball of twine. You really never heard of it?” Sam grinned in shock.

Syrena shook her head, “No. I’ve never been anywhere cool. My aunt doesn’t really like to go anywhere that isn’t church or home. This town is so boring. Well, except for one thing,”

“And what’s that?” Sam asked intrigued.

Syrena shrugged, “The movie theatre isn't so bad,”

Sam’s face brightened, “So you're a movie nerd.” 

“I guess so,” Syrena awkwardly grinned. 

“What do you watch?”

“Anything. Old, new. Action, drama, comedy. I try to see everything. But I only go on the weekends when my Aunt has work and is away for a couple of hours,” 

“I see. So you live with your aunt?” Sam asked curiously. Syrena nodded her head.

“Yeah, she works at the church. She’s pretty strict. I’m pretty sure she’s convinced TV sends evil subliminal messages or something,” she chuckled, Sam did too. 

Syrena looked down at her golden cross, rubbing it between her fingers.

“I wish I could travel.That's why I like the movies, you get to go somewhere else for a while,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?” he asked, smiling with his teeth.

“I don't know,” Syrena tilted her head, trying to imagine a place outside her town, “Somewhere in the mountains maybe. With trees that are like a hundred feet tall, and water that's so blue you can see your reflection in it.”

“Sounds like you’d like camping,” Sam teased.

“I’ve never been. It sounds like fun, but also seems kinda scary, being all alone out there,”

“Not really. One time, back in Arizona, I found this abandoned house out in the woods. I stayed out there for a couple of weeks.”

Syrena's eyes widened in shock, “In the woods all by yourself?!”

Sam chuckled, “Yeah, it was fun. I wasn't entirely alone. I found a dog, named him Bones. Just me and Bones camping out in the woods, living off chips and soda.”

Syrena’s jaw slackened like it was the most outrageous thing she had ever heard. “But your dad and brother, weren't they angry?”

“Oh yeah, my brother found me eventually. My dad was so mad that he—” Sam paused before he could finish. Though Syrena had an idea of the consequences, one she was also familiar with. “Yeah, he was pissed. But I finally could be on my own. And do whatever I want for once.”

“You're brave,” Syrena said genuinely. 

Sam shrugged, “Nah. I just wanted to get away for a while,”

She looked to her side and out at the woods that surrounded them. While she always imagined running away, she never dared to act on it. She envied Sam’s bravery, but was also in awe of it.

Sam looked over and saw a gap between the trees, and his eyes lit up.

“Follow me.”

Sam walked off the side of the road and headed towards the trees.

“Where are you going?”

“There's a trail we can take,” Sam waved her over.

Syrena planted her feet on the gravel. She had never strayed off the roadside before.

“I-I can’t be late for the bus.”

“It’s a shortcut. Trust me, I’ve walked through these woods dozens of times by myself. Besides, it beats walking in the heat.”

The cool shade did sound nice to Syrena. Sam stood before the small opening. She looked between the straight, narrow path she followed every day, and the mysterious boy who stood between her and the woods. She sighed. Screw it. Syrena slowly approached him, and Sam led the way.

The buzzing of the cicadas and birds fizzled away the farther they got from the roadside. Inside the woods was much quieter, more intimate. Syrena carefully watched her feet. Stepping over the broken twigs and navigating the jagged, uneven path. Her heart pounded in her ears. What would James or her aunt say about this? She was already on thin ice. There was no more room for mistakes. Dried-up leaves fell into her hair, and she swatted them away.

“I-I don’t know, I should go back,” Syrena said shakily.

Sam turned around, his voice soft and soothing, “Hey, it’s ok, we’re not far, I promise.”

The pair walked down a jagged slope when Sam held out his long arm protectively over Syrena, “Whoa, hang on a sec.”

Syrena gasped when she looked down and saw she was about to walk off a ledge; if she had stepped any further, she would have fallen. Sam looked down and saw it wasn't too far of a jump. He carefully leaped down and stretched out his hand to her.

“Come on, I got you,” he said calmly.

Syrena hesitated before reaching for his hand. Despite being so young, the palms of his hands were already starting to blister and callus. But it was his gentleness that calmed her. She slowly stepped down, and it was farther down than she expected. She jumped down, but Sam carefully planted her on the ground. Syrena took a deep sigh of relief, while Sam looked at her with a fond smile.

“See, that wasn't so bad. You're almost ready to be a Girl Scout,” he teased.

Syrena rolled her eyes, “Yeah, right.”

The two kids laughed. Throwing he head back, Syrena looked up at the trees, fascinated by the light that peeped through the cracks of the treetops. The beauty took her: the greenery, the trees, and the wind's whistles. The tree rattled as a natural wind chime. Sam watched her, admiring her true smile. Syrena stepped into the light and felt the warmth on her cheeks. She felt free.

“It’s so beautiful,” she said, awestruck.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” Sam said softly. Before turning his head, he pulled down on Syrena's shoulder, “Shh, shh, get down,” he hushed.

“What, what is it?” Syrena ducked with him, her head swinging back and forth, looking for what he was talking about. 

Cracks of a twig echoed in the distance. Sam held his finger to his lips.

“Shhhh, look,” he mouthed, pointing ahead.

And under the light, a deer with large antlers gracefully walked among the grass. Syrena had never been so close, only watching the deer from the window of her room. Syrena watched the majestic deer. It took a step toward them. One crack, and the deer looked over and saw them. It froze. Syrena and Sam remained very still, holding their breath. The deer's large black eyes stared back at them. But it was not afraid. In an instant, the deer leaped away and into the wilderness.

“Wow,” Syrena whispered with a wide smile.

The pair rose from their hiding spot when Sam looked down at Syrena. His hand hesitantly reached towards her face.

“You got a leaf in your hair.” Sam carefully reached forward and politely brushed the dry, crumbled leaves from the strands of her hair. This time, Syrena didn't flinch. But she did notice something new. Sam’s sleeve fell from his arm, exposing a fresh red welt. 

“Your arm.” Without thinking, she reached forward and pushed the fabric of the sleeve away.

Sam yanked back, pulling the sleeve back up to conceal his injury.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over the sleeve. He averted his gaze with shame, his dark hair falling over his face. Syrena's heart felt like it shattered into a million pieces. Turning away, Sam looked up the trail.

“It’s uh, this way,” Sam said quietly, pointing in the direction. He began to walk, but Syrena stayed.

“I lied earlier,” Syrena blurted out. Sam looked up from his arm, his hand still shielding it from her view.

“I did fall. But not from the trash cans, obviously,” Syrena embarrassingly admitted.

A small smile perked from the corner of Sam’s mouth, “I figured,” 

“Me and this other church kid, James, we got into a stupid fight, and I fell. Then he left me.”

Sam stepped forward in disbelief, “What were you all fighting about?”

Two-eyed freak! Ecoed in the back of Serena's mind.

“He was going to tell my Aunt I sneak off to the movies. But if she knew, she’d get angry again,” Syrena’s finger grazed over the scratch on her face. It was then Sam made the connection. Syrena sighed, “And she’d probably make me go to confession,”

Sam tilted his head, “Confession?”

Syrena nodded, “My Aunt Agnes always said I was born with sin. Praying and confessing are the only ways for God to save you. I try to be good, really I do. But I can tell in the way she looks at me, it's like there's something wrong with me. I think that’s why she makes me go to confession all the time. I think I’ve spent more time in that little room more than I’ve spent anywhere else.” Syrena srub her eye, “I know I look different. Two-eyed monster is what they call me at school. I’ve always felt different. Even when I try really hard not to be,”

Sam stood before her, hung on her every word. His eyes grew heavy.

“The movies, walking home, it’s the only time I ever get away.” Syrena admited.

A long moment passed before Sam broke the silence. 

“I hate being on the road. Never staying in one place for more than two weeks. No place to call home. If I talk about school, or college, life. But my dad says I’m being selfish,” 

“Selfish?” Syrena asked, puzzled. 

“All my dad cares about is the family business. He says I’m not committed enough. But not my brother Dean. He follows orders with no complaints. He’s perfect,”

Syrena shook her head in disappointment. But she remained quiet, allowing Sam to feel and say all the things he kept buried inside.

Sam rolled up his sleeve, unclenching his white-knuckled fist.

“So this morning when my dad told me I’m not starting high school in the fall cause we moved around all year and they have no records of my grades or tests...I was so mad. And we got into it. We always do. Especially when he drinks,” Sam clenched his fist, revealing the red welt that trailed up his arm. Scorn filled his tired eyes.

Syrena swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She remembered the yelling, and how he stumbled out of the bar with Dean carrying him back to the car. How could a father blame his son for going to school and wanting a home? Syrena recalled the look on Dean's face watching Sam walk away from him. How defeated he looked, trying to hold it all together. 

“My dad never gave me a choice for what I’m supposed to be. My brother did it, now I have to. I never had a choice.” Sam pushed the sleeve back down his arm. 

Syrena shook her head, speechless.  

Sam tilted his head back and looked up at the trees, “That’s why I like to spend time out here. It’s… quiet.”

A long gust of wind blew past them. But the silence wasn't eerie; it was peaceful, like they were the only two people in the world—the only ones who understood each other. 

“I like it out here, too, Syrena said.

Sam and Syrena stepped out from their secret little world and back into reality. The trail ended and opened onto the road again, where the other schoolchildren waited at the corner. Syrena recognized the usual group. The popular kids, Tyler Barnes and his best friend, Kyle Donaldson. Kyle was tall, with dirty blonde hair, and a star football player in the making. His friend Tyler was smaller, with jet-black hair, always by Kyle’s side like his henchman. Together, Kyle and Tyler rallied with the other boys to pick on easy targets like James and Syrena, who were natural outcasts from the other middle schoolers. James was too scrawny and defenseless to fight back. Syrena just stayed quiet. 

As Syrena and Sam approached, the bullies saw them in the distance.

“Looks like the two-eyed monster emerges from her cave!” Kyle yelled out.

Sam's eyes squinted, watching the bullies with disgust.

“Jerks,” Sam muttered.

“Yeah, they are,” Syrena groaned, unfazed by Kyle’s insults. It was a routine at this point.

Before they approached, Sam tugged lightly on Syrena's backpack, “Hey, don’t let them get to you, alright. You gotta stand up for yourself,”

Syrena shrugged her shoulders, “I just ignore them. They don’t listen to anyone,”  

“They will if you make them,” Sam said firmly, watching how Kyle and Tyler were already making a move on their first victim, James. The bullies taunted him, pushing him around and ruffling his hair.

Syrena sighed, “Come on, let's go.”

Sam shook his head and followed her. As they got closer, James shot Syrena a scornful glare. Then his attention turned to Sam, and his eyes widened. Syrena knew this would be an eventful conversation for later.

Meanwhile, Tyler and Kyle continued to taunt James, who looked down cowardly, with his round glasses threatening to fall off his face.

“You walk through a pile of shit, Conners?” Tyler laughed, pointing down to James’s muddied khaki pants.

James continued to stare down at the concrete, letting the bullies' insults sink in.

“Can’t see where you're going, huh?” Kyle snatched the glasses off James' face and held them high in the air where James couldn’t reach.

“Hey!” James yelled, reaching up to grab them back. But Kyle towered over him, tauntingly waving his glasses above his head.

Syrena's lips tightened into a thin line watching their relentless bullying. She never stood up for herself or him, just watching from the sidelines. The same way she watched the squirrel eat away at the baby bird. She wanted so desperately to knock the glasses from Kyle’s fingers. But she knew she couldn't take that kind of risk. She couldn’t have people questioning. Her aunt would be beyond furious. But anger rose inside her, threatening to burst. She couldn’t take it anymore, so he finally spoke up,

“Leave him be, Kyle,” Syrena said trying to sound tough and confident. Instead, she felt like a squeaking mouse. 

Kyle ripped his attention away from James and to Syrena. His thin lips crept into an amused smile.

He laughed, “So the two-eyed freak finally speaks.”

Syrena's face grew pale, and her palms were sweaty. She felt like a dog with a tail between her legs. Her fighting words caught in her throat. The bullies laughed until Sam stepped forward and squared them up.

“Yeah, leave him alone,” Sam said sternly.

Kyle's eyes widened in amusement, “Oh, and she’s got a boyfriend too. Looks like you’ve been replaced, Jamey boy.” Kyle roughly nudged James's shoulder.

“Aw, how cute,” Tyler laughed sarcastically.

“Give him back the glasses,” Sam ordered, his voice no longer soft or gentle. 

“Yeah? And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” Kyle asked, looking him over.

Sam was nearly as tall as Kyle, and he wasn’t backing down. 

“Doesn't matter, give 'em back,” Sam said with more grit in his voice. He didn't look afraid, and everyone was scared of Kyle. No one ever challenged him, until now. Everyone at the bus stop watched. But something did change in Kyle’s expression. 

His jaw tightened before tossing the glasses back to James, who scurried to pick them up from the floor. 

The bus roared from down the street, breaking up the tension, for now. Syrena sighed in relief, happy nothing escalated. But Kyle and Sam committed to their standoff. When the bus pulled over, the other kids scurried off. Syrena tugged on Sam’s bag urgently.

“Come on, Sam, let’s go,” she whispered.

Sam gave Kyle one more long, cold stare before backing up. Kyle wickedly grinned, chuckling to himself. 

“I’ll see you around, Sam,” Kyle spat at Sam’s feet before shoulder-checking him on the way to the bus. Tyler followed behind, giving Sam a similar cold stare. But Sam stayed firm as a statue, unbothered. Syrena saw the two sides of Sam: one that was calm and gentle, and one tough, cold, and even a little scary. 

Sam and Syrena sat in the back of the bus and talked the entire ride. She learned that Sam was a year older and not only liked school; he was good at it. Sam also enjoyed reading, he played soccer growing up, and couldn't wait to get a new laptop. His dad had promised he’d get him one before starting high school, but now that would have to wait. Sam also talked about the many places he traveled to in the last year, how his dad would leave Dean and Sam back at motels while he worked for days at a time. Sam recalled the last 4th of July, when he and Dean snuck out to light fireworks. They nearly burned down a whole field in the process. All of his stories fascinated her. 

Sam and Syrena agreed to meet up after school. All day, Syrena couldn't be bothered to pay attention in class; all she could think about was meet up with Sam after school. She had been so distracted that her teachers even called her out for daydreaming. The day dragged on. Syrena’s foot jumped up and down as she watched the hands of the clock during final period. When the final bell rang, Syrena shot up from her desk and nearly sprinted to the front of the school. Syrena squeezed through the cramped halls until she reached the front courtyard. She skimmed the crowds to look for Sam until she was forcefully yanked backward by her backpack. When she turned around, James stood there with his teeth gritting.

“Where were you this morning? And why were you with that guy?”

“I walked, like you said. And he’s a friend,” Syrena quipped, unbothered by his annoyance. 

“No, you came out of the woods with that weird kid. You know we’re not supposed to walk off the path and talk to strangers.”

Syrena grew flustered, her eyes continuing to scan the crowd, “He’s not a stranger, or weird, he’s my friend. And his name is Sam.”

“What were you doing in the woods?” James asked suspiciously.

“Nothing! Sam knew a shortcut. Besides, I thought you didn’t care?”

Syrena turned to leave when James grabbed her wrist in a tight grip.

“Hey!—” Syrena attempted to pull away.

James leaned forward, his tone serious, “I’ve been hearing things about that guy, and his family. Everyones talking about it. They are sketchy. Why do you think they just showed up one day out of the blue, and live in that ugly old house in the middle of nowhere?”

“Well, you’re wrong,” Syrena shot back, yanking her arm forcefully back. “Besides, he defended you from Kyle! You should be glad someone stands up for us.”

“Doesn't matter! The guy is a freak, and you shouldn't hang around him.”

Syrena scoffed, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

James' face turned red, but Syrena didn't care. She turned to leave until someone yanked her by the straps of her backpack again. This time, Kyle had his grip on her and dug his thumb into the indent of her shoulders.

“Where is your little boyfriend, huh?” 

Tyler stood behind Syrena, blocking her in. She was cornered with nowhere to go.

“Let go, Kyle!” Syrena smacked his hand away.

A couple of kids noticed the rising tensions, and a small crowd began to form around them. Kyle rallied up his audience.

“Hey! I saw two eyes sneaking around the woods with that creep,” Kyle circled her like a shark about to attack. 

“Looks like she ditched Jamey boy finally.” Tyler laughed, pointing over to James, who was already trying to hide in the crowd. Syrena rolled her eyes, but the gullible crowd hung on Kyle’s every word.

“So what kinda freaky stuff did y'all do all alone in the woods? We all know what the innocent church girls are really like.”

The crowd erupts into laughter. Syrena could blow from her ears with pent-up rage. Kyle and Tyler held each other, laughing hysterically until Sam emerged from the crowd and shoved Kyle back.

“There he is! Winchester!” Kyle laughed sarcastically before Sam shoved Kyle backward again, this time stumbling backward

“I told you to leave her alone,” Sam said.

Kyle regained his balance before shoving Sam backward onto the pavement. The crowd chants.

Fight! Fight! Fight!

“No!” Syrena yelled, but Tyler pushed her back into the crowds until she was knocked to the ground.

Meanwhile, Sam picked himself up, dusting off his hands.

“The new kid here might actually be a bigger loser than the Jesus freak twins,” Kyle taunted with an evil grin.

Sam cocked his head to the side, “You think picking on people makes you tough, but you're just some ass who puts down other people to feel better about yourself. You're not tough, or cool, you're just a coward.” 

Sam straightened himself up and turned to the crowd to walk away. But Kyle wasn't finished. 

“Yeah, walk away! Too bad you can’t fight like your big brother, huh?” Kyle mocked.

Sam stopped in his tracks, and he slowly turned back at the mention of his brother.

“Your brother has a reputation. Seems like he gets around. Think he’s a tough guy,”

Sam angled his shoulder back, ready to throw a right hook at Kyle's face. But something was holding him back, trying to resist. But Kyle kept edging him on.

“Sam wishes he could be just like his big brother when he grows up. But he’s a little bitch.” Kyle cooed mischievously. 

Tyler stood beside Kyle, laughing like his little sidekick. 

“But your dad on the other hand,” Kyle said smoothly.

Sam froze, and the crowd quieted down. Syrena's heart pounded inside her chest. The rumors at this school flew around fast, and Kyle was using them all for one final blow.

Kyle let out an evil rumble of a laugh, “Yeah, daddy is just a mean old drunk since mommy died—”

Sam finally broke. He threw his bag off his shoulder and lunged at Kyle. But Kyle threw his best punch. A loud crack against Sam’s face, and blood sprayed from his nose. Syrena yelped in horror.

“Stop! Leave him alone!” Syrena pushed through the crowd more forcefully. 

Sam didn't bother whipping the blood from his nose. He throws a right hook that nearly spins Kyle's head around. Sam went to punch Kyle again, but this time upper cutting him in the stomach. Sam fought hard, calculated, like he was trained to fight. Kyle was messy and rough. Just throwing swings until he lost stamina. Just when everyone thought the fight ended, Sam backed away. Blood smeared across his face. But Kyle wasn't having it; he grabbed Sam and shoved him to the ground again. This time, he gets the upper hand and kicks Sam in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“That’s all you got, Winchester!” Kyle taunted.

Syrena watched helplessly from the back of the crowd, her head feeling light and dizzy. Sam was losing this fight, and it just got more violent and bloody. All the blood dripping from Sam’s nose made her stomach coil. Images of that squirrel eating the bird, its blood-soaked teeth, flashed in her mind. The surviving bird floating in the air with her hand. She saved that bird. It was alive because of her. And she had the power to save her friend now.

Outside the circle, Syrena stepped away and closed her eyes. She wasn't sure how, but if she thought hard enough and if she was angry enough, she could channel her mind to do what she wanted. With a deep breath, she held her hand up, her focus on Kyle's fist, which was ready to hawk it back and lay one more punch on Sam. Her ears rang, her heart thundering in her chest.

Stop.

And in an instant, Kyle's arm froze mid-air. His cocky expression whipped from his face.

“Huh?” Kyle grunted, looking up at his seemingly frozen arm. His body jolted as he tried to move. The other kids looked around, confused as well.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Tyler muttered.

“I don’t know! It’s not me,” Kyle grunted, trying to unstuck himself.

Panic started to settle in, and Kyle couldn't unlock his arm. Syrena blinked her eyes in disbelief, her mouth falling open into a shocked smile. The other kids started to laugh at Kyle. Sam slowly stood up, his expression just as bewildered.

Syrena hadn't used her abilities on a person before, so what was supposed to happen next, she wasn't sure. But with a wave of her hand, Kyle went flying backward. Almost too far to look purposeful. The crowd gasped when Kyle flew back a couple of feet and skidded across the ground.

“W-what the fuck!?!” Kyle yelped, looking around. His face flushed, and he was embarrassed. But then, after a long silence, all the kids started to laugh at the bully. Even Tyler started to chuckle. No one could explain what the hell had happened, other than that Kyle Donaldson had finally been put in his place.

Syrena started to panic mildly, but it looked like no one cared to suspect the young, seemingly innocent girl. Syrena looked down at her hands, realizing this ability was stronger than she imagined. She quietly laughed at herself until she looked up to see that James was watching from the side. His jaw was slack, his face pale as a ghost. The smirk on Syrena’s face fell immediately. He saw. He knows.

Without thinking, Syrena ran towards Sam and grabbed hold of his hand.

“We need to go, now!” Syrena yanked him back, and they made a break for the street. Together they ran hand in hand and disappeared.

Though Syrena may have made a series of bold choices for one day, the riskiest was bringing Sam home. Her aunt didn't allow visitors, especially boys. And a boy alone in her room, Aunt Agnes would have a field day with this. But Syrena didn't hesitate for a moment when she asked Sam to come back with her.

It was dusk by the time they made it home. Luckily, Aunt Agnes’s car was still missing from the driveway. Syrena told Sam her aunt would be home from church later in the evening. So they were in the clear, for now. The pair quietly hurried inside. Sam’s nose was still bruised, and dark red blood dried and scabbed along his nose and upper lip. Syrena’s hair stuck out in all directions from her loosely braided hair, and her pants were ripped and stained with dirt. Thick clouds started to form over the pale blue sky, and the sun had already disappeared. The room lit up in an amber glow from the old lamp on the bedside table.

Sam sat patiently on the edge of her bed. His foot tapped anxiously up and down, looking around Syrena’s bedroom. The room was covered with brown wood paneling. Her cream-colored ruffled comforter was carefully made and tucked neatly on each side of the bed. The only decoration was the small wooden cross hung above the wrought-iron bed frame. Sam rubbed the back of his neck, and his ears turned beet red. While Sam seemed to enjoy being in the company of his new friend, he didn't anticipate being alone with her in her bedroom.

Syrena emerged from the bathroom with some wet cloths and bandages.

“You sure you don’t need to go to a doctor?” Syrena asked, her hands shaking as she carefully tended to his face, carefully patting away the dried blood under his nostrils.

“Nah, my dad would have told me to walk it off.” 

Syrena grimaced, seeing the harsh bruising already forming around his nose and top lip. How could any father be okay with what had happened to their son's face, she thought.

“I’ve never seen someone fight like that. Do you take karate or something?” Syrena wrung out the dirtied cloth over a bowl of water. While she’d seen many fights Kyle and Tyler started, they just threw around some quick, rough, and fast punches. But Sam fought tactically; every punch was accurate and hard, like he had done it dozens of times before.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat, “My brother and I just roughhouse and watch a lot of TV,”

Syrena squinted her eyes questionably at his answer. Maybe his older brother taught him how to fight. His brother, Dean, looked tough. He must have gotten into a couple of fights back at Sam’s age. She shivered, thinking about how scarily strong you can get after just growing up a couple of years.

“Yeah, well, you gotta be careful next time! Kyle really had you for a minute,” Syrena scolded.

Sam grinned in the corner of his mouth, “Yeah, well, the guy was a real jerk. He had it coming to him.”

“Hmm, I’d call you a hero if you weren’t sitting here bleeding all over my sheets,” Syrena teased.

Sam just laughed, “Hey, but the way he flew back at the end, that was crazy. How the hell did that happened.”

Syrena’s eyes briefly flickered with panic, but she just went along with it, “Yeah, I don’t know,” 

She continued to clean the blood off his nose. Sam’s cheeks flushed, and he looked down, watching Syrena nursing his wounds. His shoulders relaxed, and he notice the pain. Instead, he observed her every move. How much care and attention she gave him. How gentle she was with every touch, like he was fragile.

She leaned in, enough to make Sam do a double-take. But she had just missed a dried blood speck on the corner of his lip.

Sam slowly moved her hand away, and guilt washed across his face.

“Listen. All that stuff Kyle said about me, some of it might be true. My family is complicated, messy. And I understand if you don’t want to be around me—”

Syrena flicked the tip of his nose.

“Ow, hey—!” He flinched.

“That kid James, when he got picked on by those bullies, you stood up for him. And me! No one's ever stood up for us! But you did,” Syrena said triumphantly.

Sam’s face softened, and his cheeks turned pink. And Syrena’s face beamed with admiration.

“You stood up to a bully today when no one else would. So I don’t care what the hell Kyle Donaldson, or James Conner, or anyone has to say. And if they think you’re a freak, then so am I,” Syrena said confidently. For the first time, the word didn't bring her shame or guilt, 

“You know, you gotta give yourself credit to—that kid who left you behind, James. You didn't have to defend him after what he did. But you did, because you care. You're a good friend too.”

Syrena twiddled the blood rag between her fingers. She remembered how angry she was at James. But defending him, it was the right thing to do. But now that James had gotten a glimpse of Syrena's secret, friendship was no longer on the table.

Syrena continued to wring out the damp cloth over the water. She thought back to the movie theatre, when she saw Sam’s dad stumble out of the bar.

“What Kyle had said earlier about…”

“About my dad,” Sam’s voice lowered.

“No… your mom,” Syrena said softly, bringing the bloody cloth down to her lap.

Sam looked down,“ She died in a house fire when I was a baby. My dad never got over it. So we’ve been on the road ever since.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok…” Sam rubbed the back of his neck before softly saying, “Can I ask you something?”

Syrena nodded yes. Sam looked back at the cross behind her bed.

“I know you said you live with your aunt. But your parents… did they—?” Sam went quiet, but like she could read his mind, she knew what he meant.

“Die? I don’t know.” Syrena set down the bowl of water and the bloodied cloth. “I know nothing about my dad. But my mom, her name is Evelyn, she’s my aunt's younger sister. According to my aunt, my mom wasn’t fit to take care of me, so now she got stuck raising me.”

“She doesn't like to talk about your mom?”

“Nope. Never. I just have so many questions. Why couldn't she take care of me? What was she like? She could have run away, started a new life. Or went to prison. She could be dead. And I wouldn't know. But whatever happened between her and my aunt must’ve been pretty bad.”

“You think something happened between them?” Sam asked.

“Honestly, my theory is that my mom had me out of wedlock. Something super scandalous that my aunt didn't approve of. Because of, well… the obvious reasons,” Syrena pointed obviously up to the cross above the bed.

“Right,” Sam chuckled. 

Syrena and Sam sat side by side on the bed—the mattress dipping from their weight. 

 “Can I ask you something else?” Sam was nervously fidgeting with the fabric of the sheets.

“When you pray, do you feel like it works?” Sam said, stumbling through the question, the vulnerability pouring out of him.

Syrena tried to force a convincing smile. She pondered the answer for a moment. She had never been asked something like that. “I do. But, I think god has a funny way of answering you…” Syrena dryly laughed. Her answer was honest, but why did it feel like a lie? She prays every night. And she does believe someone out there, above the skies, is looking down and listening. But maybe that’s the part that scared her. Someone was listening, but there was no answer.

“Do you pray?” Syrena asked in return.

Sam shrugged, “I do. But it’s not something my family and I talk about. Sometimes, I feel like I’m doing it wrong?” Sam admitted.

Syrena laughed, “Doing it wrong? I don’t think there's a wrong way to pray!”

Syrena fell back in a fit of laughter. Sam’s cheeks burned redder than ever. He fell back with her.

“Sorry, I wasn't exactly taught how!”

Syrena cooled down her fits of laughter, “No, no, it’s ok, I understand. But no, there's no wrong way to do it. You just say what you feel,” she rolled to her back, staring up at the ceiling. Sam followed suit. They stared up at the cracks of the wooden panels, imagining they were stars. A long moment passed, with nothing but the rumbling of the old AC. 

“What do you pray about?” Syrena asked quietly.

“For my dad. He’s always been so… angry at the world,” Sam's chest rose up and down, “And for Dean. I know he blames himself when Dad gets mad. But I just wish he didn't beat himself up over it.” 

Syrena stayed quiet, her hands resting over her stomach. Sam went on. 

 “And maybe one day, a place to call home.” Sam sighed, then turned his head, “What do you pray for?” he whispered back.

Syrena double blinked, trying to make the sting in her eyes go away, “I pray for my mom and dad, wherever they are. For my aunt. After every time I get in trouble, or make her angry,” Her hands clenched over her stomach, “Sometimes I just have this deep feeling that I’m a bad person.”

Sam turned his head over to her, his voice soft, “Hey, that’s not true.”

“How would you know?” Syrena asked genuinely, the hot tears threatening to spill.

“Because I—I just know,” Sam pressed his lips together with a huff, “Listen, this is gonna sound weird but…”

“But?” Syrena sat up, intrigued.

“I know this sounds crazy, but I get these… dreams.”

“Dreams?” Syrena tilted her head.

“Yeah. But sometimes they feel familiar, like I’ve seen this before. Kinda like—”

“Déjà vu?” Syrena finished his sentence.

“Exactly! But when I get these dreams, I always have a feeling. Like if it’s something bad, or something I should be afraid of. But when I saw you at the house this morning, I just felt like… I had seen you before. Like I already knew you. I wasnt afraid,”

Syrena stared at him, completely fascinated.  

“I’ve seen some pretty bad people who have done pretty bad things before. But you…” Sam looked down at her, “You're not one of those people Syrena. I just know it,” Sam said, genuinely.

Syrena and Sam’s hands brushed against each other on the soft sheets. Her fingers gently touched his, flipping his palm up. She felt the warmth of his hand, and she clasped her fingers around his. When she looked up, Sam was already staring back at her. He met her eyes again, and he stared into them unafraid, filled with a look she couldnt make out.

“What are you staring at…” Syrena asked quietly, her voice soft and light.

“Your eyes…” Sam whispered.

Syrena's eyes burned again. She wanted to get defensive, just as she had when they first met, because the feeling was all too much. But before she could speak—

“I think they're beautiful,” Sam said honestly, his breath hitched in his throat.

Syrena leaned in, and Sam met her there. Their foreheads touched, Sam looking down at her lips. Syrena flinched for a moment. She hesitated, but Sam didn't rush. His hand carefully held hers, and Syrena squeezed back. She leaned closer and captured his lips in a soft kiss. It was soft, innocent. They pulled away, both shyly grinning.

“I—” They both spoke until there was a loud slam of the door.

“Syrena Grace!”

“Oh no.” Syrena shot up from the bed, but it was too late. Aunt Agnes swung open the door with a loud bang.

“What on God’s green earth—” Aunt Agnes' eyes looked over her room and pointed over to Sam.

“You. Who the hell are you?! Get out of my house!”

“He’s my friend, we were just—”

“Enough with you, girl! Don’t think I haven't heard about what you've done today. And you, get out of my house before I call the cops!” Agnes yelled.

Sam bent down and reached for his backpack, but he hesitated to leave. Instead, he kept looking back at Syrena, afraid of what was going to happen if he left.

“I-I’m sorry, ma’am,” Sam began to say, but Agnes’s screams overpowered his apologies.

“Out!” Aunt Agnes grabbed Sam by the shoulders and yanked him out of the room. Syrena ran after them, screaming and pleading with her aunt until she practically threw Sam out the front door. 

“A boy in your room. You filthy little whore!” her aunt screamed.

“I promise it’s not like that, we didn't do anything—”Aunt Agnes slapped her across the face, hard enough that Syrena hit the floor.

“Tell me what happened at school today,” her aunt asked coldly as she walked around Syrena to the closet by the kitchen.

“W-what?” Syrena asked, rubbing her cheek, trying to catch her breath. Then a sharp pain and a crack echoed around the room.  Syrena cried out in pain. Aunt Agnes hit her with the wooden paddle. The same one she used on her face the day before.

“I-I,” Syrena trembled.

“Mr. Conner informed his mother and me that you snuck off into the woods with some boy.”

“James left me alone!” Syrena tried to stand up.

“And what you did at school!” Aunt Agnes beat down on Syrena’s legs again. She hissed out in pain as she tried to crawl away.

“He said that you used magic to hurt a boy at school! Didn’t I warn you about what would happen if you got caught? You're lucky they haven't burned you at the stake for the witch you are! ”Agnes slammed the paddle down, but this time, Syrena successfully dodged it. Aunt Agnes stumbled over herself.

“They were hurting my friend. I had to save him!” Syrena pleaded before Aunt Agnes yanked her up by the collar of her shirt.

“Save him?” Aunt Agnes bitterly laughed. “This evil in you, child, you’ll save no one!” She threw Syrena against the ground. “We have tried to warn you, child, to contain this evil growing inside you. But it’s too late. God will send you to hell!” Aunt Agnes grabbed the paddle with both hands, holding it high above her head as she took her aim.

Syrena held up her hand and yelled, “No!”

The lights around the house flicked rapidly, and with the wave of her hand, Aunt Agnes went flying back into one of the bookshelves with a loud crash. The bookshelves fell apart, books tumbling to the ground.

Syrena caught her breath and ran over to her aunt's limp body against the bookshelves.

“I'm sorry, I’m sorry!” Syrena cried, bending down to help. But Aunt Agnes' eyes tore open, and she grabbed Syrena by the throat.

“Y-Your mother was right about you,” she said viciously.

The air started to leave Syrena's lungs. Her eyes bulged, and her vision started fading in and out. Syrena's free hand reached for the paddle, but she was too far. Aunt Agnes squeezed with everything she had. Syrena looked in the corner of her eye and used the last bit of strength. The paddle flew into her hands. Syrena smacked down the paddle onto her aunt's wrist until she let go, and she made a run for it.

Syrena ran down the hallway and into her room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her. She could hear her aunt’s curses and wails. Syrena choked on her breath until she whipped her head around to the window. She ran over and opened the curtains to see that Sam was tapping on the glass. Syrena yanked up the window.

“Syrena! Are you ok? What happened?” Sam looked down and saw the bruising along her neck.

Then loud pounding thundered on the locked bedroom door. It was so loud she thought the door would fly off its hinges.

“YOU’RE GOING TO BURN IN HELL, SYRENA GRACE!” Aunt Agnes yelled over and over again.

“Come on!” Sam reached out for her and pulled her through the window. She grabbed hold of Sam’s hands, and they ran around the house and into the darkness. Syrena didn't look back once.

Syrena and Sam reached a lone gas station after running for what felt like hours. They walked with a drag in their step, huffing for air. Sam guided Syrena to sit on one of the bus benches underneath a street lamp. Syrena sat, frozen, with a blank stare. Her hands trembled in her lap. Sam bent down to her level.

“Hey, just breathe. It’s gonna be ok,” Sam said calmly, his hand stroking the top of her head.

“I can’t go back,” Syrena broke down in sobs. Her shoulders hitched to her ears. Sam soothingly rubbed her back. He had been roughed up by his dad and brother before, but the marks on Syrena’s neck were something completely different. It frightened even him. Sam looked around the gas station, uncertain. They were on the complete other side of town from his house. It would take all night to walk. And the darker it got, the colder it got.

“Stay here, ok, I’ll be right back,” Sam said gently before standing up and walking to the gas station.

Syrena watched from outside as Sam disappeared into the gas station. She held herself close, wondering what Sam was doing.

After a minute or so, he came outside with a couple of quarters and put them into the pay phone beside the bench. Sam held himself up against the glass with his forearm, anxiously waiting for whoever he was calling to pick up.

“Dean. It’s me, Sam. I’m okay, but I need help. And don’t tell Dad. Please,” he begged.

Sam turned and spoke to his brother quietly on the phone before returning to Syrena, who was already trembling from the cold.

“W-what did you say?”

“I told my brother to come pick us up. I think my dad’s out, so he doesn't have to know. But Dean’s gonna figure something out, he always does,” Sam said hopefully as he joined her on the bench. They huddled for warmth, his hand sprawled over her back. Syrena rested her head on Sam's shoulder. Through heavy breaths, she wondered what Sam’s brother could do. She knew for certain she could never go back to that house. She could’nt forget he sound of Aunt Agnes’s screams, and the yelp she made when she hit the bookshelf. Syrena had never hurt someone like that, and the thought made her dizzy. Syrena silently vowed never to do it again. If that meant suppressing these abilities for the rest of her life, so be it.

Moths swarmed around the fluorescent lights of the street lamp above them. Sam perked up at every car that entered the parking lot, hoping Dean was on his way. Meanwhile, a thought came to Syrena like the flick of a switch. Syrena slowly lifted her head.

“Let’s run away,”

Sam looked at her like he saw a ghost, “What?”

“We can get out of here. Take a bus and go. I mean, you’ve been on your own before. We don’t have to be what our families want us to be. We can go anywhere. Do anything. Just get far away from here,” Syrena said, practically begging. She knew deep down that it wasn't possible. But her eyes twinkled with hope—a future where she could finally escape this place with the one person who understood.

“I-I can’t,” Sam said brokenly. He swallowed the lump in his throat, “But you’re going to be ok, I promise.” Sam gripped her sides protectively, holding her like a lifeline, knowing he was chained to his inevitable destiny. His life path already set, but maybe he could help someone else escape theirs.

A sharp, high-pitched squeal rang throughout the parking lot. A black Chevy Impala zipped into the lot and pulled up to the bench. Sam shot up from his seat, a wide smile spread across his face as he waited for his brother to jump out. But his smile disappeared in a second when the man who got out of his car was not his brother, but his dad.

“Sam, what the fuck—” The man stammered as he marched over to the bench. The passenger window rolled down. Dean poked his head out.

“I’m sorry I tried to sneak out, but Dad—”

“Stay out of it, Dean!” The dad barked at the oldest. Dean dropped his arm out the window in defeat. His jaw clenched as he muttered curses to himself.

Sam’s dad lunged over to the bench.

“Dad, I can explain,” Sam began, his voice deliberately deepened in an effort to be taken seriously as he confronted his dad.

“Oh, you better. Where the hell have you been? And what the fuck happened to your face?”

Sam’s dad barely noticed Syrena sitting back on the bench. But Syrena looked over at his dad, and she remembered him from the day before. But now she could see exactly how they were all related. The dad was tall like his boys, with the same dark hair and battle-ready, stoic expression. Unlike Sam, there was nothing soft or gentle in his features or expression. He had the tough, stoic look like Dean. But where Dean held frustration and sadness, their dad was stone cold. He looked tough as hell, but nothing felt comforting about him.

Syrena shivered and tried to cough quietly into her sweater. But the dad’s head snapped over to her.

“Who is that?” he asked Sam.

“She’s my friend, and she needs help—”

“What did you tell her?!” He hissed, lowering his voice, pulling Sam by the collar of his shirt. Syrena gasped, panicked, and shot up from her seat. She froze, afraid of seeing him get hurt again. But Sam whispered to his dad. Syrena slowly tilted her head, trying to get a better look at what they were saying. But his dad’s cold, dark eyes flickered over to her. Something clicked for him because whatever Sam was stammering about, the dad tuned it all out. He whispered something quietly to Sam. But whatever Sam’s answer was, his dad was upset. He blew out a heavy exhale and cursed under his breath. He finally composed himself before muttering with his teeth gritting,

“Sam, go wait in the car.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, “B-but, Dad—”

“I said, wait in the car! Dean, do a lap,” he tossed Dean the keys, “Give me five minutes, then swing back around.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said more to himself, but he didn't leave room to argue. He unlocked the car and waved for Sam to get in. Sam looked back and forth between the car and his friend. Syrena met his worried look and calmly nodded, signaling that it was okay. She didn't want his dad to get even more upset with him than he already was. Sam made his way to the back seat and slammed the door shut. Dean zipped out of the parking lot. The air was cold and dense, the only sounds were Syrena's quiet breaths and the hum of the amber streetlight. The man carefully approached Syrena, his hands in his pockets as he looked down at her.

“I’m John. My son says your name is Syrena. What’s your last name?” He asked more calmly, the opposite of the way he talked to his sons.

Syrena swallowed, “Grace. I’m Syrena Grace.”

“Damn it,” John said quietly to himself, his hands running over his eyes. But Syrena watched with a confused look.

“Your mom’s name is Evelyn Grace, right?” He asked, looking at her for confirmation.

Syrena’s eyes widened, “Yes. Wait, how did you know—” Syrena went breathless, her heart thundering in her chest. The idea dawned on her.

“Are you my… dad?” she asked quietly.

The man scoffed, “No. No, definitely not.”

“Oh,” Syrena said, slightly relieved.

“But… I did know your mom,” he said hesitantly, staring down at the concrete, his heel digging into the cracks, pondering. Remembering.

“They never told you about your mom?” He asked cautiously, like he was hesitant to reveal something. Syrena shook her head no. But she wanted real answers, the truth.

“No. Please, tell me. My aunt won’t, she never—”

“Did she do that to you, your aunt?” John asked, pointing down to her neck.

Syrena looked down and traced her hands carefully over the bruises. Her neck was sore and tight, and it made her voice crack the more she talked.

“Does she hurt you often?” he asked.

Syrena nodded yes.

“What happened?” John asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. Syrena blinked her eyes blankly. Though she knew she had to be careful how she worded everything. Syrena explained that her aunt was strict. She had been really tough on her her whole life. Enough to leave bruises and scratches. And on this day, Syrena brought back Sam to study at her house — leaving out Sam and Kyle’s fight, and how Sam got away without being knocked unconscious. But when her aunt found Sam in her room, she finally snapped, got her hands around her neck, and squeezed as hard as she could.

“How did you get away?” John asked, looking over the bruise along her neck.

Syrena pressed her lips together, “I uh…” John took a step closer, watching her carefully. “I just pushed her away, and she let go,” Syrena shuttered.

“You must be pretty strong,” John said, unconvinced, tilting his head to get a better look at the bruise.

Syrena felt all the blood escape her face. Did he not believe her? Did he know she was hiding something? No. How could he assume something so bizarre and be right? A girl with the power to move things with her mind. But Syrena realized why John felt so unsettling. He studied her the same way Father David would listen to her confessions, like he could see right through her.

“What did she say when you left with Sam?” John asked.

“Uh,” she gulped.

You're gonna burn in hell, Syrena Grace.

The pounding of the wood rattled in the back of her mind. Syrena hesitated to tell the truth, but if it helped ensure she would never have to see her aunt again, she told him.

“I’m going to burn in hell,” she whispered.

John maintained his stoic gaze, but something flickered across his face. He tilted his head and slowly reached into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Drink this,” he ordered.

John held out a silver flask with a cross engraved on the front. Syrena’s eyebrows knit together — kind of an unusual decoration for a flask, she thought to herself.

“It’s water,” John insisted. At first, Syrena didn't feel like eating or drinking anything. But when John presented her the flask, he had thatlook that wasn't going to take no for an answer. Syrena reached forward to take the silver bottle from his thick-skinned hands. But she noticed something that unsettled her; his hands were trembling. John's hands white-knuckled the cool metal. Syrena carefully took the bottle from him and sniffed the rim. It smelled like water. She slowly drank until her face winced. The bruising and strain on her neck made it difficult to swallow.

John’s face twitched, his body going stiff. In the corner of Syrena’s eye, John had a hand behind his back, reaching for something, as if he were preparing for something to happen.

Syrena lowered the flask to her lap, her hand soothing over the purple skin.

“Sorry, it hurts to swallow,” her voice raspy.

John relaxed, his shoulders slumped, as if he were relieved. Syrena couldn't pinpoint exactly why; she had just drunk the water as he asked. She wiped her lips.

“What happened to my mom? Is she alive?” her voice small and her eyes heavy, pleading for an answer.

“Listen,” John’s lips pressed firmly together.

“Please…” Syrena asked desperately.

“Your mom… it was a tough deal, kid,” John shook his head, “You're too young to understand, but your mom was sick.”

“Sick?”

“She had been through a lot. She had a lot of issues and needed help.”

But it wasn't enough. Syrena needed to know more. What kind of sickness? 

Then she remembered what Aunt Agnes had said back at the house. 

“Your mother was right about you.” 

Did she know something was wrong with her? Did she also have unique abilities? Is that why she gave her up? Syrena could think of a thousand more questions.

“But you helped her, right? Didn't she get better?”

John began to shake his head no, his jaw twitching like he wanted to say the answer, but he couldn't.

Syrena slumped into the bench. The world was falling apart around her. Even her past didn't hold any of the answers she needed. All she felt now was empty.

Syrena slumped forward, “That’s what you do? Do you help people who are sick?” Syrena asked genuinely. She had assumed that's what Sam meant when he said they were in a ‘family business.’ However, it didn't make sense. John didn't seem like a doctor or world-class surgeon. He definitely wasn't the police. But what threw her off was that her mother was ‘sick.’ How does he help sick people?

A long moment passed before John instructed her to keep drinking some water while he made a phone call on the payphone. John rubbed the back of his neck. Syrena could tell he was quietly muttering something to himself until someone answered.

“Yes, I have a young girl here who needs help,” was all Syrena managed to hear. John spoke on the phone for a couple of minutes. When he hung up, he paused, tilted his head back, and stared up at the stars. He shook his head and shut his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he snapped back to reality. John walked back into the light.

“The police are on their way. They’ll take care of this mess and put you somewhere safe for the night. But we can’t be here for that. I don’t do cops.”

John pulled a receipt from his back pocket and a black pen. He scribbled something along the thin paper.

“I’m only gonna explain this once, so listen,” John said like a commander giving orders. “I made a promise to your mom and some friends of mine to make sure you were safe. So that's what I’m doing. And the work I do, we don't stick around. We help who we can, but we don't plant roots, and we don’t leave any trace. So, as far as you know, we were never here. And hopefully you’ll never have to see us again.”

Syrena's eyes grew heavy. They were ditching town tonight, all because Sam helped her.

“I’m sorry you got dealt a bad hand, kid. I know your mother would’ve wanted to raise you, if things had been different, but…” John's voice trailed off, like the vulnerability was clawing at him from the inside. “I’m going to leave this with you, on one condition.” John held out the scribbled paper. “This is my number. However, you're not allowed to call unless you're in danger or in some serious trouble. So don’t call for money, I don't have any. Don’t ask about your mom. I don’t have any more information. And as for Sam,.” Syrena looked up doe eyed. 

“Sam… he seems like he cares about you. But he’s got a different life than most kids. He and his brother have other responsibilities. He can’t have distractions. So you won’t be seeing him again. Trust me, it’s better off this way.”

Syrena stared down at the thin paper. She read the number over and over, memorizing it. The wind whistled through the cold night air. Syrena's eyes went blurry, and a single tear dripped onto the paper. That hurt her the most. 

The Impala slowly turned back into the parking lot. John sighed, “Listen, kid. Don’t spend your life trying to find answers to the past. It'll just tear you apart… trust me.”

John shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back into the car. He didn't look back either. But through the tinted backseat window, Syrena could see the faint outline of a hand.

“Sam,” she called before the car zipped out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell, never to be seen again. The sound of the car’s rumbling faded away, leaving her in the still silence of the parking lot.

Minutes later, red and blue lights flashed from the dark. A Sioux Falls police car pulled up beside the bench. Syrena shoved the little receipt into her back pocket. A dark figure stepped out of the car—a woman in her mid-30s with dark brown hair — carefully approached her.

“Hey, sweetheart, you alright?” the woman said warmly. She knelt carefully by Syrena. 

“I’m Sheriff Jody Mills. What's your name?”

The sheriff carefully looked over Syrena’s neck. Syrena felt safe enough to explain how she was hurt. Jody wrapped her up in a blanket and told her they were going to take a trip to the hospital, and everything was going to be ok. Just like Sam had said. Syrena sat in the back of the police car while Jody made a couple of calls. The moonlight shone through the dim window. Syrena carefully pulled out the now-wrinkled paper — JOHN, scribbled on top with the phone number. Part of her wanted to step out and call the number on the payphone outside, just to say goodbye to Sam, her first true friend. But instead, she tucked the paper back into her pocket. Jody stepped back into the car.

“Alright, sweetie, let’s get you out of here.”