Was Cordelia Myers hallucinating?
No, she couldn't be. What she witnessed that night at the abandoned scrapyard was real—the most horrific thing she had seen in all sixteen years of her life.
Men and women screamed in agony, torn apart like shredded paper, incinerated by eerie flames—red with a touch of blue. And though it lasted less than a minute, she had glimpsed the culprit before he vanished into thin air like magic, if there is even such a thing as magic.
The perpetrator appeared to be a sixteen-year-old Caucasian male, his skin glistening like diamonds under the moonlight. His hair was as dark as the night itself. A face of utter perfection and the most captivating fiery-red eyes she had ever seen.
He felt like a dream. A figment of her imagination.
A ghost, perhaps?
Nope. There is no such thing as a ghost. At least she hopes not.
OK. Maybe she was hallucinating after all—losing her damn mind. Yes, that must be it. Because there was no way on earth a person's hands could conjure flames or vanish without a trace.
… Could they? She's not so sure anymore.
Cordelia had thought about telling someone what she saw—or rather, what she thought she saw. Call the police and let them investigate the matter. But let's be real for a moment here. Who would believe her? There was no proof. Not even she was fully convinced.
"Excuse me."
A stern, masculine voice snapped her out of her thoughts, disrupting the classroom's lesson.
Everyone turned their attention to the doorway—where a lean adolescent male stood, stuffed in tight-fitting black jeans, a brown suede biker jacket, and a white T-shirt. He posed casually, his striking features drawing the longing gazes of half the girls in the room.
Cordelia, however, felt a different reaction—a creeping sense of familiarity.
"Is this Class A?" the boy asked, completely unfazed by the attention.
"Yes, it is." The teacher sounded disgruntled. He hates being disrupted in the middle of a lecture. "How may I help you?"
"My name is Caleb Black. I'm the new student."
The teacher flipped through a folder on his desk. "Ah, yes—Caleb Black. You may be seated."
Cordelia tracks Caleb as he moves toward an empty desk at the back, flashing a heartwarming smile at his female admirers.
There was no mistake. Though his compelling eyes were now bright brown and his skin no longer sparkled, she was ninety-five percent sure—it was him. The perpetrator from the scrapyard.
While savoring her homemade meal in the school cafeteria, Cordelia secretly observed Caleb from three rows away. He sits alone, reading a thick, timeworn novel with vague golden lettering on its cover.
She has decided to keep an eye on him. To ensure he didn't cause trouble. To prove, once and for all, that what she saw that night hadn't been a hallucination and that he's indeed a culprit. And if her suspicions turn out to be true, she would turn him in to the police.
It sounds like a good enough plan to her.
Approaching him directly would probably be quicker than playing detective, but she dismissed the thought immediately. That would be dangerous.
Caleb closes his novel and sighs, annoyed by the gorgeous young woman with enchanting brown eyes who had been watching him since the moment he arrived.
Her long, dark braids drape over her shoulder. Her full lips holds a rosy hue, reminiscent of ripe honeycomb. Mmm. He could kiss them for a lifetime.
She is slender and curvy in all the right places—just the way he liked his women. And that figure… her parents must have been gifted sculptors.
After some time passes, Caleb stands and leaves the cafeteria, baiting Cordelia to follow. And she did.
This should be fun. A smirk plays at his lips.
Unnoticed, Cordelia tails him in the hallways. Or so she thought. She wanted to know Caleb's whereabouts at all times and what he's up to for her plan to succeed.
Caleb bends the first right corner and takes a left turn, heading straight for the boy's bathroom down the passageway.
She hesitated. Should she go in? The thought was ridiculous—but if she didn't, he might disappear.
Once she confirmed the hallway was clear, she rushed inside, pressing herself against the wall, peeking cautiously at Caleb as he studied his reflection in the mirror above one of the sinks.
He lifts his gaze in her direction.
Cordelia quickly ducks back, pulse racing. Had he seen her?
She hopes not.
It would be really weird and embarrassing for her to explain what she was doing in the boy's bathroom and why.
Several seconds pass before she dared to look again—only to find that Caleb was gone.
Gone!
She sprints to where he had been standing, scanning the area. She checks the showers, the toilets, and even the lockers.
Nothing.
Panicked, she runs out into the hallway. Still no sign of him.
Damn it. She lost him.
Where had he gone?
Poor Cordelia fails to notice Caleb, who materialized in the passageway behind her, watching her frantic search unfold.
Laughing at her naivety.