Nexus

NEXUS

By Zachary Smith

Text copyright © 2016 Zachary Smith

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

For the underdogs; overlooked and unheard.

Find your light, your weirdness; those odd perks that make you who you are. And never give any of it up to fit in.

Dig deep, harness your inner power and hold on; your best days are yet to come.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

After-Author Scene

Chapter 1

In the past, my dreams have always terrified me – I guess that’s why they’re called night terrors. But things change, they evolve with time and constantly grow. And that’s exactly what’s happened to me. I’ve grown. Now, my dreams take me to a place where I can gain knowledge and learn of future events, but not limited to, as I can also view the past and present.

Sounds simple enough, when I think about it like that. Only it’s not that simple, never has been. Dreams are symbolic, they have a hidden meaning. Just because I see myself torch a whole town and enslave its inhabitants, does not mean I’m going to torch a whole town and enslave its inhabitants.

I should know, as that dream played out a few months ago, yet here I stand on a rooftop of some building, overlooking the town I could have destroyed. By choice? No. I was merely a weapon positioned into place by my wielder, a young boy named Callum, with the power to alter the thoughts of others. But it doesn’t stop there, no, the queue moves along once more, as he too was positioned into place by another weapon wielder; a Nexus-Being – a being chosen at birth with the abilities to control Earth’s energies and perform rituals – her name was Talia, the one who started it all.

That’s all in the past now. A future that didn’t come to fruition. But still it lingers within my mind, a memory begging for answers. Answers my dreams have decided not to tell, or they themselves do not know. So I question them now, talk aloud, and ask why I’m here of all places, on this rooftop tonight.

Legs dangling, I sit hunched on a fire escape, spanning my eyes from the town centre to the college, through the gardens and finally to part of the ocean stretching out to the horizon as it meets the black of night. That’s when it grabs my attention; a beacon of golden light, flicking out to the distance like a sparkler. To follow it would be pointless as it would seem the person of light is coming my way, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

Matthew? I question, as my brother jumps to the roof I reside upon, wearing a bottle green coloured costume, complete with a cape. "What are you doing?" I ask, trying my hardest not to laugh at the crazy getup he’s styled in.

To wear such an outfit would be fitting for Matthew, rather than myself. He’s always considered himself somewhat of a hero, whereas I choose to live my life under the radar and out of sight from the glare of others.

With his chest out and his hands placed on his waist, Matthew remains silent, standing on the ledge, overlooking the whole town with pride. It’s as if he can’t hear nor see me, or chooses to ignore the fact that I’m right behind him. So I say his name again, Matthew!? I demand, this time adding more power to my voice.

Still he doesn’t talk, instead, he simply points at me, then back to the town before us. Captivated, like me, it’s as if he sees a beacon of light out to the distance. Unlike me, his eyes don’t follow a course, they continue to pan back and forth, scanning our home as if to keep watch.

Pushing my dark fluffy bed-hair from my tired eyes, I join him on the ledge. "This’ll be so much easier if you just told me what you want me to see." I scoff.

Once again, my dreams have brought me to a place I’d never come, thrown in an eccentrically-over-the-top twist and expected results. As if to think I’ll simply connect the dots, have a light-bulb idea and cry, eureka! But once again, I’m lost. Will Matthew become a superhero? Will he stand on rooftops overlooking our small town for trouble? Surely not – or at least, I hope not.

He then slowly turns – a classic, cliché superhero slow-mo moment – and with a hollow face, he stares right through me; his different colour eyes focused on my face, scanning it, yet I feel he looks beyond what he can see. For me to be here is irrelevant, for it would seem apparent as he doesn’t care to take notice – something I’ve become accustomed to in my everyday life, but normally not of him.

Next, it’s hard to say what happened. As I now fall, pulling the ground closer and closer, tumbling through the air in twists and turns. Above me, my brother stands offensively, having just thrown a ball of light that struck my gut, forcing all air from my lungs, winding me. His power, like mine, can be used destructively. A gift bestowed upon him through our joint heritage. For he gained an ability used by an ancient otherworldly tribe called the Celestials – the right term used for what we’ve perceived as angels; glorious beings of strength and honour.

Moving ever closer to my doom, what should have been a hard cold ground, strong enough to shatter my bones, turns to the softness of my mattress, of which I fall into, shaking the bed it lies on.

Eyelids shoot open and I stare up at the white ceiling that has now appeared – although, has always been there since I entered the world of slumber. It’s a happy reminder and confirmation that I’ve now found myself safe in my bedroom. If it could talk, it would tell me it was all just a dream. But I know this, always have since I found myself on that rooftop.

A dream? Matthew eagerly awaits, clasping the doorway with his large arms as he leans into an overly dramatic stretch.

As always, he’s overheard sleep talking, knowing I’m the culprit, and as always, he’s come to check up on his daemonically powered twin brother. And although we share a heritage, I, impossibly so, gained an ability associated with a tribe known as the Daemons – the correct term for demons, a race that shares their world with the Celestials, they, being the smart cunning alternative. Evil? Apparently not. As these tribes once lived in harmony with each other, a perfect match for a perfect world, called Mundarium. A sibling world to Earth. The main difference, humans inhabit our world, or so we were lead to believe. As through the ages, beings of Mundarium have crossed over and born offspring, resulting in what has now come to be known as a new race – a sub-race – self-proclaimed as the Half-Breeds. Children born of Earth, with heritage from both worlds, allowing them access to powers beyond their wildest dreams.

Unable to take the suspense – probably hoping for some impending disasters, of which he can demonstrate his vast knowledge of all things supernatural and showcase his immense power – Matthew urges a reply. What did you see?

To grow, mean to learn from one’s mistakes. Of which, I have made many. I now know I have to divulge my dreams, share them out, so they can be dissected, broken down, analysed and rebuilt to some understanding of what the future could bring. So I lift my thought filled head from the soft pillow and hold his gaze for a brief moment. You. I simply answer. A reply he was apparently hoping for, as his face lights up, stretching a non-dimpled grin from ear to ear. Killing me…

The morning came at a cost of some much-deserved sleep, streaming a shining light through my window that dragged me from the warmth of my bed. And although it’s the weekend, I no longer have the luxury of a lie in, having obtained a part-time job at one of the many coffee shops throughout Shellbourne.

Having awoken late, I barely had time to eat before leaving. Much to the disappointment of my brother, who wanted to go over the dream, as I wouldn’t let him last night, in fear I would sleep through my alarm – which I did. But I can understand his worry, it’s not every day you’re told you’ll kill your own flesh and blood. Although he should be happy it’s only one person, for I was shown an entire town in ruins, bowing down to me as their sadistic leader. Shaking my head free of those thoughts, I power through the door to The Coffee Shell – my place of work – and clock in, making sure my manager has seen me arrive one minute before my shift started. That was a close one. Sniggers Ruby. The moody girl who’d once served me on my first visit as a customer.

Throwing me my apron and towing me to the coffee machine, she begins reeling off a stack of orders she’d held back in anticipation I’d show up, knowing I won’t argue with who waits and serves, over who makes the drinks. Although my job is customer facing, I still prefer to hide behind the scenes, covered in a cloud of white steam the machine throws out in a hiss. Weird to think only weeks ago I was afraid to even touch a single button or turn a knob on the simple kitchen-like appliance, fearing it would lose control and burn something. The same fret my power gives me. Only to have learnt and now demonstrate my skills as a pro – kind of.

Now time for the hard part, pouring the hot milk into an oversized spotted mug with a coffee shot already waiting for its perfect match. Easy enough. If it weren’t for the expected pretty patterned needed on top, created from the foam. What a lovely… cat? questions a bemused Ruby, dangling her newly dyed blonde hair over my shoulder as she leans in for a better look. Dog?… Fish?... I want to say some kind of animal.

It’s a leaf. I shoot back with a playful glare.

She sniggers, nudging me with a friendly shove just as I’m about to attempt my final leaf. Hey! I groan, having to recompose myself for the delicate task ahead.

It’s hard to believe we ended up friends, especially after our first meeting. Although she doesn’t remember it, which is probably a good thing, considering how rude she was. She only remembers – and constantly reminds me – how quiet I was on my first day. Having taken a chance at an interview, I theorised they’d probably employ one of the other candidates over me, and purely turned up for the experience itself, thinking I had many more to come before landing a job. And although I’ve always wondered why they choose me, I’ve never questioned it, in fear the other interviewee’s turned down the role and I was actually their last – and only – choice.

Table 3, I tell Ruby, handing her a tray filled with mugs.

Twirling on one foot, she sways between tables in perfect balance, holding up the tray as she serves each mug to its rightful owner, making small talk as she does. Obviously, she’s having a good day, otherwise, they’d have met the preoccupied, uninterested Ruby. The alter ego of hers, I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting.

"Well, that was busier than normal!" A red-faced Ruby gasps.

She’s right. Normally Saturday’s are much kinder to us, allowing for more downtime to talk and chill out, while the odd customer strolls in looking for their caffeine fix. And this would have been the case, had it not been for the food festival in the town square. An event we’d both forgotten about.

Sailing through the rest of the afternoon on the second wave of customers, Ruby and I move like clockwork to fulfil their orders, until we’re finally relieved of duty, allowing for a short break to rest our tired feet on the stools outback. Building a wall with sugar sachets, I half-listen to Ruby’s dilemmas about a boy named Sam. A new squeeze of hers, who she’s fallen madly in love with after meeting him a couple of times. Apparently, he hasn’t texted her back since lunchtime and now she’s worried he’s no longer interested. He’s probably just busy at work, I assure her.

Tapping at her mobile screen with her long fake nails, Ruby shakes her head. But it says he was last seen at 2:36pm. Her worried eyes look to me for an answer.

So? I simply reply.

"So! I sent my message at 1:06pm!"

How I wish, I too could worry over a simple text message. Unfortunately, my worries normally consist of the prospect my powers bring. If control is lost, who’s to say I wouldn’t wipe out an entire town; my home, friends, and family. I have foreseen it once, and although I’d never attempt such an act of my own free will, the power is still there, more than capable of such damage.

He’ll text you later. I half-smile, trying my hardest to sound genuine, but with my mind on the outside, overthinking the past I so desperately want to hide from, it sounds flat and monotone.

He better! she fumes, pushing her mobile across the table in a huff.

Back to the counter and it feels like mere moments before we’re stacking the chairs, wiping the tables and mopping the floor. Good work today, guys. Our manager Roger smiles, holding open the door as Ruby and I dash for our freedom, feet tapping the floor in rhythm to the beeps of the setting alarm.

Plans for the evening? Ruby asks, scavenging through her crowded brand named bag. Probably trying to find her mobile, having refused to look at it since our break. And I find myself hoping Sam has replied, otherwise, the alter ego will make an appearance.

"I’m meant to be meeting Riley, who should be here by now." I huff, scanning her face as she glances at the screen.

She smirks. Obviously, he’s replied. The late one? she asks.

That’s him.

Waving goodbye to a now happy Ruby, I watch as she narrowly misses a lamppost, having been too engrossed in her mobile and snigger. Then, in wait, I perch myself on the sturdy wall just outside the coffee shop, pondering which Riley will show up. Late, as usual, he’s a typical friend that’ll arrange a time to meet, only to lose track of time, and show up red-faced and panting. That’s the Riley I’ve come to know since childhood, grow with and now expect. Only recently, he’s coupled with another. Aimee Day, a fellow Half-Breed with the power of levitation, and his new girlfriend - having saved her life on that fateful night up in the college clock tower. Like him, she's flaky in her own special way, making them the perfect couple and owner of the new name I've come to call them, Raimee. Whereas Riley I can tolerate, Raimee can unintentionally grate on me. For it changes his excuse, no longer does he lose track of time, but they do, on one of their many dates.

From an outsiders point of view, it would seem as if I'm jealous. But that couldn't be further from the truth. For I do like Raimee; they're suited and Riley hasn't been this happy since I've known him. I just wish he'd take the time to think ahead a little. Granted, I don't have anywhere else to be, but I shouldn't have to wait, especially as we hardly see each that much anymore.

Red-faced and panting, Riley tears down the path towards me and nearly runs straight into the wall in his haste. Sorry I’m late, he chokes through breaths. We lost track of time.

Differently styled from how I know him, Riley sports a new hair-do – gelled up – and dons a smart-ish outfit. This confirms, one piece of the Raimee duo will be my company for the evening. Great!

Wasting no further time on an answer, I leap from the wall to begin our trek to the beach, powering down the stretch of road before me while a sheepish Riley trails behind. Are you mad? he wonders.

No.

Unconvinced by my answer – and rightly so – Riley hurries his pace, matching mine. Are you sure? he hesitates, with a slight hint of guilt to his voice. "Because I really didn’t mean to be late. He holds out for a reply, but I give him none. Like, I know I’m normally late, but I really didn’t mean to. Not tonight."

Refusing to let him off that easy, I continue forward without giving him a single glance, even hurrying my pace so his little legs will struggle to keep up. I said no. I’m fine.

The silence I force us into makes it all the way to the zigzag paths leading from the cliff tops, down to the beach below. I try to hold out longer, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and I do want to know how he is, even if that does mean having to listen to the tales of Raimee. So… I casually shrug, leaving an opening for him to start.

So? he throws back at me with a gormless smile, obviously missing my point.

How’s life?

Like a floodgate that hasn’t been opened for months, he gushes a torrent of words at me, filling me in on everything that involves his new relationship. Forgetting to take breaths as he does so. He even goes as far as to show me the