Page 9 of The Chosen Two

“I’m good. I’m just glad I’m not crazy.”

“Yeah, well, you have plenty of other reasons you’re crazy. This would just be a bonus. Okay, love you!” She wraps her left arm around my neck for a hug while keeping her other hand tightly on Tabitha’s stroller. I bend down and give the baby one more kiss, this time on her forehead.

Then I head to my car. I’m practically strutting. I’m not crazy! This weird shit is for real. Still, I’m no closer to finding an answer than I was yesterday, and with this sobering thought, I slump my shoulders. But I now have a friend who will find anything she possibly can to help me. And she knows I’m not imagining it. That’s the best I’ve got, and I have to be okay with it. For now.

Chapter 4

Miranda

OnceI’minmycar, I pull my phone out to check my to-do list. I’d rather go home and take a nap, but instead I’m off to the pharmacy to pick up my anxiety medication. Yawning, I walk to the back counter and get in the line that is strangely long, considering it’s 10:30 am on a weekday. I’m absentmindedly scrolling through my social media feeds when I hear a whisper. But this whisper doesn’t sound like a person. This voice rumbles like the whispers I heard yesterday, but I can understand the high-pitched and cutting words.

Is this a great warrior or a weak fraud? This Chosen One is a joke. The Chosen One…

The words dissolve into a dry cackle. Is there a witch somewhere? I whirl in a circle, examining the room and expecting to find some strange-looking creature nearby. But I just see people. Normal people. Normal people looking at me like I’m not normal because of the way I’m looking at them. And I can’t blame them. If I were them, I would think I’m crazy too. I mean, I think I’m crazy too, and I’m me, so…yeah.

The blond guy, about college age, standing three people behind me in line continues to scrutinize the label on the vitamins in his hand. Then he glances up, and his blue eyes focus on me. His brow is wrinkled but I’m not sure if that is from reading the tiny print or my crazed expression. “You okay, ma’am?”

I nod, hopefully reassuringly. His calm presence is reminding me to slow my breathing and I feel my blood pressure lower in response. “Yup. I’m good. Sorry, just…thought I heard something.”

I turn back to face the pharmacy counter, and the small, older man in front of me finishes his transaction. A little hunched over, he turns to leave, and his smile makes me jump. It’s the same wrong smile as the guy at the grocery store. The same glowing green eyes. They make his weathered face look barely human. And he looks right at me.

The pharmacy assistant impatiently declares, “Um, next?” while giving me the stink eye.

But I am rooted to my spot in line. Neither the old man nor me move. Then I hear the young man’s voice in my ear, telling me, “You can do this. It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you.” I turn around to tell this college kid that he can go in front of me, only he’s still in his same spot, three people back. He watches me intently though, encouragingly, unlike the rest of the people in line who huff and puff, tap their feet, and roll their eyes at me. So I move forward, slowly. One step at a time.

The smiling old man keeps his face toward me as he backs away from the counter. Putting on imaginary blinders, I focus on the pharmacy worker and ask for my medication. I go through the motions of normal human interaction until I can get the hell out of here. I’m barely able to stay contained in my skin. Once I’ve paid, I use my peripheral vision to glance at the college kid. He’s still watching me, now with a surprised smile on his face. He nods proudly at me as I pass by.

When I get in my car and lock my doors, I take a deep shaky breath. “What. The. Actual. Fuck!” To my credit, the first two words were calm. But then I sob. I shake. I wipe ugly tears from my eyes and snot from my nose. I send a quick text to Eliza.

Oh. My. God. I am so losing it! We need to chat later. I can’t even explain what just happen in a text…

I sit in my car, waiting for my shaking to subside, when small shadows flitter over my dashboard. I don’t see anything casting them when I look up, and I don’t know if that makes me feel safer or in more danger. I no longer try to talk myself out of what I think I’m seeing, because I clearly am.

The college student walks out and looks around as though he forgot where he parked. When he sees me looking at him, he gives a nod of acknowledgement as we lock eyes from a distance. For a moment, I think he may come to my window, but he doesn’t, thank god. I don’t need to explain my situation to him, although I’m not really sure I could if I wanted to. But part of me wants to know what he saw standing at that pharmacy counter. When Eliza witnessed the bird-men-dragon things, I felt reassured that I’m not insane. Maybe if someone else confirmed that old man wasn’t quite human, I’d be able to calm down. But the blond is at his own silver hatchback now.

Finally, I stop shaking enough to drive. On my way home, I think about the last few minutes, the eerie whispers and shrill words, the blond, the old man, the chosen one, the cackle. The chosen one? What the fuck was that about?

Once back inside my home, I take a scalding hot shower and wrap my hair in a towel, before pulling on my comfiest sweats and passing out for an hour. I wake up only because my doorbell is ringing. A lot.

At first, I drag my pillow over my head and try to go back to sleep, but then my phone keeps buzzing with alerts that someone is at my front door. Stupid video doorbells. My eyes aren’t even focusing yet when I open the app, but they focus damn fast when I see the college kid from the pharmacy looking around nervously and pressing and pressing and pressing the doorbell.

Grateful I napped in my sweats instead of my underwear, I bolt out of bed and down the stairs, not knowing what I’m going to say to this kid beyond asking who the hell is he, why the hell is he here, and how the hell does he know where here is.

Instead, when I pull the door open, I find myself unable to speak as I continue panting from my run down the stairs. I’m lucky I didn’t miss a step and somersault down the rest of the flight. Having made it to the bottom relatively unscathed, I stretch my shoulders to try to get the spasming in my back to subside.

While I struggle to catch my breath, the college kid holds himself very still, very tense. Standing so close now, I see he’s a little older than I originally guessed, and in spite of his frantic arrival, not a strand of his long, platinum blond hair is out of place. Loosely combed over, his hair falls to the corner of his right eye and ends just under his prominent cheek bone. Thankfully, his brilliant blue eyes are normal, everyday human eyes. Although he’s not smiling, his mouth looks perfectly proportioned to the rest of his face. He’s rather handsome, if you like that clean-cut, all-American kind of look.

He quickly scans my entire body, as if inspecting it for any obvious damage. When he is satisfied I’m unharmed, his tension visibly eases.

“Hi, Miranda. I’m George Keating. Can I come in?” Though young, he speaks confidently. He looks over his shoulder quickly, the longer hair behind his ear gently swinging.

Although all I see behind him are shadows dancing in the grass, I can’t help but sympathize with the poor guy’s anxiety. Still, I’m not okay that he knows me, but I don’t know him. “Why do you know my name? Or where I live? Who the—?”

He pulls out a folder that he’s been holding behind his back until now and taps it against his hand. The edges are battered. He’s obviously been carrying it around for a long time. Every couple of seconds, he looks around us nervously. “I can explain. But can we please have this conversation inside? I do not like being out here. Not right now.”

It is my turn to look him up and down, and I decide he can’t be more than a hundred and twenty pounds. I can knock him out if I need to, especially given that my adrenaline has been consistently pumping for the last day. So, I move back a step and let him in. He nods gratefully as he practically runs past me. I give the door a shove so it swings closed, and then I lock the deadbolt, looking out the window on the side while I do so. Just in case.

I lead George into my kitchen. I need a cup of coffee. Right the hell now. “Can I get you anything? George, was it?”

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