Sinister: A Paranormal Fantasy (Sinisters Book 1) (3 page)

“What burden?”

“The burden associated with being one of my chosen few.”

Matt suppressed a grunt of frustration, but he couldn’t stop himself from sarcastically replying, “Oh, of course, that makes perfect sense. Thanks for clearing everything up.”

Luke blinked owlishly, seeming not to know if the boy was joking. “You have heard, perhaps, the old cliché that left-handed people are the only ones in the right side of their mind?”

Matt nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. Luke continued, “This refers to the fact that the left side of the body is controlled by the right side of the brain, so left handers tend to use that hemisphere more often. Just as your left arm is stronger because you use it more, so does your right brain get stronger with use, making it the dominant side for left handers.”

Luke paused, scanning Matt’s face to see if he understood. Matt nodded again, impatiently. “Aside from controlling different halves of the body, the left and right sides of your brain control different types of thinking. The left side is used primarily for analytical thinking and sequential logic; it will process one thing at a time as it becomes aware of it. The right side of the brain controls creative thinking, and more importantly, it is the ‘big picture’ side. When you view a scene with many stimuli, the right side of your brain kicks on to process everything at once.”

He waved a hand in an ‘et cetera’ gesture, as though to indicate Matt should understand the implications. He didn't. They turned into another hallway, this one filled with the overpowering smell of perfume. Matt inhaled some and choked. Perfume didn’t taste nearly as good as it smelled.

Luke drummed on his thigh, each finger making a slight rustling sound as he tapped. Correctly interpreting the boy's silence as incomprehension, he said, “Take driving, for example. When you are traveling down a road at seventy miles per hour, your brain needs to be aware of multiple things at the same time—the oncoming traffic, the car in the lane next to you, the deer running along the shoulder. Your right brain can monitor all of these at once and ensure that, should anything change, you can react instantly. Your left brain would still be focused on the oncoming traffic and miss the deer, or vice versa.”

They’d reached the staircase at the end of the hallway by this point. Matt could feel the tension building in him as the stranger spoke. It was as though some long-dormant part of him had awoken and was screaming at him that something big was coming. He grasped the wooden railing, feeling the wood worn smooth by decades of students’ hands slide through his grip. It had a calming effect, and he was able to respond to the man next to him, “Ok, I get what you’re saying. I’m good at multitasking. But what does that have to do with the things I’ve been seeing?”

As he finished the sentence, the overhead light flickered. It was subtle, and he likely wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been on high alert caused by the primordial part of his brain still screaming
run!
He looked up and saw a giant lizard clinging to the fixture. It flicked its tongue at Matt as though trying to taste him, and its eyes glinted red. Matt shuddered.

“The enhanced strength of simultaneous processing in left handers means that they often can pick up on visual cues that right handers cannot.” He gave Matt a small smile. “Such as small creatures that hang from lights and stare at you with demon eyes.”

Matt's feet froze as he gaped at the stranger. “You—you—” He choked on the words, shock numbing his tongue. “You can see it too?”

The man nodded, the corners of his mouth still turning slightly up. “Of course.”

He wasn't crazy! Relief flooded him. Even though Dean had been able to hear the creature in class, the fact that no one could see what he could had made him nervous. Now there was someone else who could see what he could, and even had an explanation for it. Matt tugged at his lower lip as he considered the man's story. It had sounded like something his dad would say when he got caught up trying to interest his children in neuroscience. It was all very logical, but it was the first time he'd heard that there was a real difference between lefties and righties beyond which hand they wrote with. It was like saying since pigs are real and there are animals that can fly, then pigs can sometimes fly.

His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out of there was a real way to explain such a difference. It made sense that there would be a difference, he began; some people are born with the ability to sing well and some weren’t, some can write math formulas that others can’t even comprehend, and some people are left-handed and can see creatures no one else could.

He snorted. His argument had a few holes in it. Like, for instance, the fact that genetics gave you the capacity to do things that some people couldn’t, not to see things some people couldn’t. That defied the laws of physics.

Luke was still watching him for a reaction. His expression reminded Matt of the way his dad stared at a piece of data from his research that he didn’t yet understand but was determined to figure out.

“Sooo,” Matt said slowly. “Because I’m left handed, I can see things other people can’t?” Luke nodded. Matt eyes him waiting for the man to start laughing and claim it was some elaborate, and not particularly funny, practical joke. He didn't.

Ok then. He'd pretend for a second he believed the stranger. “Why didn’t my dad warn me then?”

His dad, too, wrote with his left hand—he, of all people, should have warned Matt about this change, if it were real. He had already given him an embarrassing lecture on puberty when Matt turned twelve, most of which Matt had already learned from other guys at school. While he was lecturing on the science of the male body during “the change,” Matt thought he should have at least mentioned, “Oh, by the way, when you turn sixteen you’ll start seeing things no one else can, and some crazy dude is going to drop by your school to tell you about it. Now back to the hormone changes you’ll experience…”

Luke's expression shifted to amusement, and Matt could have sworn the man knew what he was thinking. “Not every left hander can see the way you now do. We only select certain people to help; those who will be in the best position either from knowledge, abilities, or location, to make a difference. You, for instance, we chose because of your unique genetic makeup that allows for some additional skills beyond the norm. We did not require your father’s assistance.”

“But…” He started to protest before he even knew what he was going to say. On the one hand, it made no logical sense. On the other, hallucinating wasn't exactly normal either. And how could Luke possibly have known that he was hallucinating a lizard-thing on the ceiling? Questions raced through Matt’s mind, each one tumbling over the others in its haste to get out. And then he realized what Luke had just said, and all of the questions narrowed into one. “What do you mean, help?”

Luke leaned forward, and Matt caught a whiff of wood smoke. “This new ability you have is not without purpose. It is a call to arms. We need your help in the campaign against evil.” His voice was lower and faster as he said this, as though the intensity in his voice could alone convince Matt of his sincerity.

Matt turned the statement over in his mind. A nearby radiator kicked on, its drone loud in the silent hallways. A wave of heat brushed over his skin, protection against the chill that seemed to be creeping from within him, and for the first time since meeting Luke, he relaxed. Letting out a bark of laughter, he asked, “That sounds…dramatic, don’t you think?”

The black hair that fell across Luke’s brow highlighted his frosty blue eyes. His cheekbones stood out sharply beneath his eyes, casting shadows on the hollows below. The overall effect made him look terrifying. “Perhaps, but it is no less true for that. There are evil people carrying out evil acts across the world, and the only ones who can stop them are other humans. In spite of this, so many people simply turn a blind eye to the need for justice. Your new abilities are intended to aid you in the fight.” Luke let out what sounded remarkably like a frustrated sigh. “Your world will crumble around you if you do not fight back.”

Matt gave him a skeptical look. “Sure, bad things happen, but what do you expect me to do? Go hunt down robbers and hand them over to the police like Batman?”

Luke stared blankly. “I do not know who Batman is.”

“Seriously?” Without waiting for a reply, Matt explained, “He’s a superhero. You know, from comic books. They made a bunch of movies?”

Comprehension dawned on Luke’s face. “Ah, he is fictional. No, I do not expect you to hunt down thieves. We choose our battles to stop the worst atrocities from occurring.”

“Like in
Early Edition
!” Matt said excitedly. He’d loved that show when he was a kid, watching as Gary Hobson had patrolled the Chicago streets to prevent murders, arson, and an entire slew of tragic newspaper headlines from occurring the next day.

“I assume that is from the movies as well? Why do you continually compare life to television? Should it not be the other way around?” Luke asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Matt shrugged. He hadn’t realized he was doing it, but now that Luke brought it up, he didn’t have a real answer. “I dunno. I guess…you can see a lot about the world through TV. Or something.”

Luke’s icy blue eyes bore into him, his expression unreadable. Finally, he slowly said, “Interesting. When do you intend to start living your own life?”

Matt felt indignation rise in him. “I do live my life!” he said. “I play soccer and go to school, and I want to be a diplomat and help people when I'm older."

Luke gave him a piercing look. "Why when you are older? Why not help people now?"

Matt squirmed under his gaze. "Well, I need to graduate and get a job and...I'm sixteen! There's not much I can do."

The silence stretched long enough for Matt to feel uncomfortable. He began to get irritated. Luke didn’t understand that he didn’t have any power. He had to answer to his parents until he left for college, and probably still after that.

“So what do you expect me to do?” he asked, unable to bear the silence any longer. After all, asking didn't commit him to anything.

Luke straightened. “Have you heard of Peter Caracalla?”

“Sure, everyone in Madison has.” Peter Caracalla was a celebrity in his hometown. Ten years earlier he had developed software that completely revolutionized electronic voting systems—or so Matt had heard. He didn’t understand the technical details, but VoTech, Caracalla’s company, had outstripped the competition and was rapidly replacing nearly every other system. His latest success had occurred when his software was selected to be used for the state election taking place in just four days.

“He is a person of interest right now,” Luke stated. “I have...limitations on how much I can tell you, but I will try to give you as much information as I am permitted. Peter Caracalla is attempting something that will have far-reaching consequences should he succeed. I need you to stop him.”

A protracted silence fell.

“That’s it?” Matt finally asked, disbelief causing his voice to rise sharply. “‘He’s doing something wrong, I can’t tell you what, but you need to stop him?’ How am I supposed to do that? How am I even supposed to figure out what he’s doing? Why can’t you tell me anything else? And who is the ‘we’ who needs me to stop him?”

Matt paused to draw a breath, and another question sprang to mind. “Who are you? Really, I mean; not just your name.”

“I had wondered when you would ask me that,” Luke said, oddly gleeful. “Most people ask that first.”

"So who—"

“As for your other questions, I cannot directly interfere with human affairs, other than to make other humans aware of them. I may guide, but if I tell you exactly what to do that is considered interference. You must discover it on your own. As I said, I will lead you as I may.”

This guy had to be joking.

“Humans?” he asked. “As in, you’re not human?”

Luke shrugged. “No, but that is hardly important. You have the capacity to discover his misdeeds and the course to rectify them yourself, but you must use your own resources. Your newly discovered abilities will aid you in this. And ‘we’ is myself, and God.”

"God?" Matt spluttered. The scale was definitely tipping toward ‘crazy’ for this man.

Luke nodded calmly.

“Ok, dude. Did God tell you this in a dream, or did you just hear his voice one day? Oh wait, let me guess. An angel came to you!" Matt took a step back, only realizing how close he was to the edge of the staircase when his left heel hit air. This man was nuts. He was probably one of those people who held posters outside of Camp Randall stadium on game days, telling people the end was near and they needed to repent. This thought was followed by disappointment. He'd been hoping to get some real answers to his sudden hallucinations, and instead he'd gotten a crazy Goth.

Luke watched him impassively. “I know it is a lot to take in at once, but you will adjust to the idea. I suggest you talk to one of the other left handers who have met me—sinisters, we call them. I will visit you again once you have had some time to adjust.”

Matt gripped the windowsill and stared out over the football field. A part of him wanted to believe this weirdo, but it was too ridiculous. And yet...how else could he explain the visions? This man's explanation wasn't logical, but neither were hallucinations.