Chasms: Remission

Chasms

Remission

Book One of the Chasms Series

Jacob Seykans

Viccara Press 2015

Published by Viccara Press

Copyright © 2015 by Jacob Seykans

Distributed by Smashwords

Cover design © 2015 by Vila Design

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

Worlds Apart

Trenton was a quiet and tranquil city, somewhat typical when compared to other suburbs of similar size. A vast number of parks, filled with trees of oak and elm, blanketed the town in a calming shade of green while pristine lakes dotted the landscape, shimmering as the sun's rays reflected off their mirror-like waves.

These waterways were a favorite retreat for the local folk during the few warm months, a short reprieve between brutally harsh winters. Some of the more leisurely visitors brought only their fishing poles, while the more daring wore colorful bathing suits and traversed the lakes on an assortment of watercraft that agitated the otherwise calm surface of the water. On any given summer day, boats were lined up for miles, arranging themselves like chess pieces on a checkered board.

Trenton had everything you would expect to find in a quaint suburban town. There were the local malls and grocery stores, conveniently placed near buzzing intersections to entice potential shoppers to spend their hard-earned money. One area of town in particular was reserved for trendy restaurants, which offered a variety of tasty cuisines. The city's residents charmingly referred to this section of Trenton as Bistro Block, and the unmistakable aroma of food lingered for miles beyond its restaurants. A lone post office, inconspicuously tucked away at the end of an avenue, tirelessly sorted envelopes and packages for prompt delivery to thousands of mailboxes throughout the city.

Of course, Trenton also had schools filled with students of all ages who were struggling to discover where they fit in the great enigma of social hierarchies. There were four elementary schools for students through the fifth grade—and one high school for students enrolled in grades ten through twelve.

A single middle school, Trenton Middle School, provided education for students in grades six through nine. It served as an intermediary stop, bridging the gap between the carefree youthfulness of grade school and the mature expectations of the high school.

The middle school, built some twenty years ago, was only recently upgraded to give it a more modern decor. The lockers lining the hallways on either side in parallel symmetry wore fresh coats of white and blue paint, though their smooth sheen failed to conceal the multitude of small dents that had accumulated after years of trenchant mishandling.

A year ago, the new gym had been constructed to replace the older one, which instead of being torn down and discarded had been converted into the school's cafeteria. Once thick with the pungent odor of sweaty socks, the outdated gym was now saturated by the fragrance of food.

The school's exterior had received several upgrades of its own, including the addition of new tennis courts, their white lines glistening against an unblemished green surface, and a newly constructed running track that looped once around the old soccer field.

The crowning prize of Trenton Middle School was a pair of unseasoned baseball fields. The dirt of each infield was flawlessly smooth, the grass in the outfield lush and neat, and the wall beyond the dirt track of the outfield clearly stated the school's pride in bold blue paint: Trenton Thunder. All of this had been made possible by a generous donation from the local hospital, Pratt Regional Medical Center.

In stark contrast to the newly renovated areas of the school, the outdoor basketball courts were languishing with torn nets while rust blemished the goal posts of the tattered football field. Neither of these areas had been improved upon, and both looked neglected—as if they'd been abandoned for decades.

It was a warm sunny day in April, and Vince Tripp had just finished eating lunch with the rest of the eighth grade class assigned to his meal block. This was the first warm week in months, and he was thrilled to be outside breathing in the fresh air. The other eighth graders around him were busy expending their pent-up energy, which had accumulated to the point of bursting during the unusually long frost that had gripped Trenton that winter.

Though he was sitting alone, unable to run about with the rest of his classmates, the warmth of the golden sunbeams shining down on Vince made him feel alive and full of energy. Vince had just closed his eyes to listen to the stirring sounds of spring when he felt a person sit down beside him.

Her name was Allison Hartley, and she always had a peculiar way of finding Vince when he was sitting by himself. After sprouting upwards over the last couple of years, Allison was now about the same height as Vince. She had long blonde hair and hazel eyes. Although she always seemed to find Vince when he was perfectly content in his own company, he never minded the intrusion since she never said much. In fact, she couldn't say much.

He still remembered the first day that Allison appeared in one of his classrooms. It was the fifth grade, a time when he thought girls were rivals instead of friends. She was much shorter back then. His teacher at the time, Ms. Pickert, tactfully explained to everyone in class that Allison could neither hear nor speak. Ms. Pickert proceeded to communicate with Allison through a series of hand gestures that only Allison seemed to understand.

Although Vince occasionally sought seclusion, he made it a point to reach out to other kids, who by no choice of their own, found themselves isolated from others. While his peers shunned newcomers in fear of tarnishing their own reputation, Vince usually made an extra effort to introduce himself to newer students, since their shyness and vulnerability instantly branded them as outsiders at the school. But it hadn't taken much effort from him at all to become acquainted with Allison. In fact, she had taken the brazen initiative to come and introduce herself to him.

She'd noticed Vince sitting alone on the courtyard steps of their old school one afternoon, and she'd walked up to him with the very same smile that even today told him that they were the best of friends. She'd grabbed his hand and gently shook it.

His heart pounding, he'd shyly muttered, Hi, my name is Vince. He hadn't even realized that she couldn't hear him. Her smile never wavered. She'd found the meaning of his words just from the look in his eyes. She boldly sat down next to him. After bending over to retrieve a tiny, round seed that had slipped between Vince's fingers and dropped onto the ground, she buried it inside the small, dirt-filled pot he'd kept tightly clutched in his lap as part of a class project to grow peanut plants.

In that moment, he'd realized that although she never spoke a word, Allison always stood out as if she were the loudest person in the room.

Vince was accustomed to spending time alone, and although he occasionally felt lonely, he found that isolation provided a calming, peaceful quietness. With Allison, he had the best of both worlds. He had a friend to ease his loneliness, and because Allison was both deaf and mute, he didn't need to sacrifice the blissful silence he cherished so much. Not surprisingly, they soon found themselves the best of friends.

Today, after giving him the same smile she'd shared with him the very first day they'd met, Allison sat down next to Vince, removing from her backpack a collage book she'd constructed using stickers and pictures borrowed from various magazines. She sorted through a stack of photos she'd cut and collected from an assortment of periodicals before neatly arranging them on a blank page in her book. They were both perfectly content, with Vince resigned to the role of passive observer, not actually helping to construct the collage itself.

Although words were never spoken between them, Vince and Allison never had much trouble understanding each other. At first, he had to admit it was difficult to communicate with her—but over the years, he'd learned to recognize that a smile meant she was in a friendly mood, a pout meant she was upset about something, and a simple shrug of her shoulders indicated she felt indifferent.

He'd even taken it upon himself to learn a few hand gestures that he would use to talk to her in sign language. He wasn't very good yet, but he tried anyways. Sometimes, he did so just to coax a laugh out of her. He assured Allison that he'd practice and get better. It was a promise he fully intended to keep.

Allison began by arranging three pictures that overlapped each other in a carefully constructed pattern of non-conforming edges. She'd secured two of the images to the page with glue when a gust of spring wind blew the last clip from beneath her fingertips. The photo of a butterfly, a blue morpho butterfly with iridescent wings unfolding as it sat perched atop a lily, fluttered across the courtyard. To the plain eye, it could easily have been mistaken for the real thing. Vince saw the panic in Allison's face as she quickly placed the collage book into his hands and ran after the picture—as if it meant the entire world to her.

About twenty feet away, Allison finally caught up with her prized photo. Vince saw her smile return. Carefully scooping it up with her hand, she diligently inspected it to make sure there weren't any wrinkles or tears.

Her smile didn't last long, dissipating as quickly as it had appeared. Two other boys noticed the commotion and inauspiciously approached her. Their names were Jake Harper and Tim Nelson. Like Vince and Allison, Jake and Tim were also from the eighth grade class, and they walked around together as if they were permanently joined at the hip.

Jake would take the lead, picking on anyone he considered different from himself, which in his mind was everyone. He had orange-brownish hair trimmed close to the scalp. His face was peppered with freckles, one for each student he tormented at school. His shoulders and thighs were thick, more rotund than stocky. He strutted around, boasting an aura of arrogance and intimidation to compensate for his shabby clothes. He was fully convinced that he was the coolest kid at school.

In reality, the only other person who thought Jake's antics were even remotely cool was Tim. Gaunt in comparison to his idol, Tim quickly copied Jake's misguided actions. He even dressed like Jake, though his clothes were a few sizes smaller. As long as he remained an accomplice, Tim could avoid becoming a victim himself.

Like piranhas, they quickly swarmed around Allison and encircled her.

What do you got there, Allison? Let me see it. I promise I'll give it back, demanded Jake as he reached for the photo she kept securely tucked against her body.

When it became apparent that she wasn't going to let Jake have it, they both began to tease her.

What's the matter? Aren't you going to say anything? Tim taunted. His eyes stared wickedly while his head bobbed provokingly between his shoulders.

She couldn't hear a single word of what they were saying. She didn't need to. She could tell from their angry eyes and ridiculous facial expressions that they were poking fun at her. She wanted to cry but managed to restrain herself. She was determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing tears. Her face remained expressionless. She searched for an opening to get away, to flee her persecutors, but the two bullies continued to surround her, making it impossible for Allison to take more than a few steps in any single direction.

Vince couldn't hear what was being said over the ruckus of the other kids around him, but he could tell, even from afar, that Jake and Tim's actions toward Allison were hateful and cruel. Vince wasn't feeling all that well himself, but he still struggled to his feet to help her. After using his arms to hoist himself from his seat, he saw something that made him instantly forget about his own bothersome health issues.

He saw a new expression on Allison's face. Her eyes widened. He saw for the very first time how terrified she really was. He felt nothing but rage now. Mustering his strength and seething with anger, Vince raced over to where Allison was being held captive. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had the energy to run that fast.

Hey, jerks! Leave her alone! he shouted protectively. But as he wedged himself firmly in between Jake and Allison, his elbow incidentally jabbed into the meat of Jake's arm.

It had been a noble gesture on Vince's part to intervene, but his actions only provoked Jake, who was now prepared to refocus his cruel intentions on Vince. Like a mimic, Tim dropped his torment of Allison and also began to harass Vince.

Vince had learned years ago to zone out into his thoughts, to stop listening when other kids made fun of him. But nothing got blocked out completely. The occasional insult still found a way to slip across his mental filter. They were the same demeaning words he'd heard his whole life. Hateful words: stupid, gimp, lame, weak, loser, spoken with the purpose of making their target feel inferior while creating a false sense of superiority for their cruel architects.

Vince saw a look of delight in Jake's eyes, followed by a sinister smile. It wasn't long before he discovered the reason for Jake's gleeful expression.

As Jake was taunting him, Tim