Shade of Human

Twelve - SoH

Twelve:

Driving back from downtown Philly in the dead of night, with no license and an unconscious best friend was a nightmare!

The entire trip I fumed in frustration at the insufferably stuck up and strange detective chick. She was about as odd as she was beautiful. Her wording kept me replaying our abbreviated exchange repeatedly.

Her syntax and word choices bespoke how alien modern speech was to her. She claimed to be old-as-sin, and for some crazy reason, I believed her. Instead of her being a co-ed aged sword toting blonde bombshell, it was a hell of a lot more believable for her to be an immortal. Maybe it was a mistake to grow up tracking The Vampire Diaries? I mean, it possibly corrupted my ability to distinguish reality from fantasy.

On second thought, Elaina, Bonnie, and Caroline were all essential to my developing female persona. I still believed the perfect balance of girl lied somewhere between the three of them in a mesh.

Carrying a limp boy back through his window. Not as easy as the shows make it appear—even when you are stronger than the average girl. The truest meaning of the term “dead weight” was made absolute to me. It’s fascinating when words become fact in my life—except for me being forced to drag Clarke’s big butt through a window without alerting his rents.

I tucked him into his bed. I crashed on his small gaming sofa, as per-usual with us. His mom knew I was gay as hell, but that did not make her more comfortable with a post-puberty Hannah in her son’s bed. Personally, I didn’t think so either, considering the state of boys when they wake up in the mornings. I never wished to discover certain realities about Clarke for myself, thanks!

I had yet to form an entire conversation with that woman. I had yet to really learn a single thing about her—such as her name. She was as much a ghost to me as the haunts that attacked us the night prior. When I woke, it was to the startling look of my bestie, studying me as if I were on display at the zoo. I tumbled out of the couch and hit the floor with no grace left to stick the landing.

“Owie!”

I exclaimed. I looked up at the youthful offender with an accusation etched into my expression.

“Dude did ya have to creep like a creeper?! The hell man, totes invasion of space, yo!”

I exclaimed, and Clarke just shrugged at me unapologetically.

“I was just trying to figure out if ya grew wings or summin’ cause I can’t figure out how your tiny little ass carried my big black ass all the way into this window.”

Clarke stated factually. I rolled over and sat up properly while I rubbed my sore right shoulder.

“Trust me, was not my idea of an ideal end to the evening.”

I complained irritably to him. He knew better than to interrogate a girl before he gave her caffeine.

“What happened last night?”

He asked. I bit my lip and considered doctoring the truth, but Clarke and I had this thing about not lying to each other, so I lead with the facts.

“Let’s just say you missed a hell of a pyrotechnical performance duet after you passed out.”

I over-simplified the statement, and Clarke studied me as if seeking the truth.

“Can you just tell me everything that happened, so I won’t have to arduously drag the truth from you over the day?”

I smirked at him and tipped my head.

“Bonus points for use of the word ‘arduously.’ Sure, I’ll just give you the full deets.”

My mind whizzed as I processed and compile a thorough account of the prior night. It took me about an hour to break down the events of that fifteen-ish minute interaction and dialog with the detective. Clarke had many questions, but he seemed to absorb as much of the info I was giving him as possible. That, and explaining power like I used and felt, was still strange to me. Not to mention, it was difficult to inform him that he seemed to be haunt bait now. He took that news better than most guys being informed they were basically the damsel in distress.

“Expressed power, that is the words she used while talking about whatever it was she did?”

Clarke asked me for clarity. I nodded.

“Yep, those are the exact words she used. It sounded like it implied the same meaning as ‘cast spell’ to humans in the Hollywood pop culture.”

Clarke seemed to think for a long moment, then he turned to his desktop PC and typed in the words and searched on google. What popped up was a variety of different random searches. However, he also found repetitive uses of the word express on forums.

“Knowing what wording filter to look for, I can sift the truth from the fantasy. It will help us discover the truth behind the magic we are seeing.”

Clarke said. I shook my head with vehemence.

“It’s not magic. It is something fundamentally different from the concept of magic.”

I attempted to explain to him. Clarke seemed confused. I ran my fingers through my brown and blonde mixed locks. Expressing power, was a tangible manifestation of the energy I could feel inside my body and the power I felt in many degrees all around me in nature. It was as natural as science. It seemed to be tied deeply to my skill at drawing out and formulating the power. I was hardly an expert, but this did not sound like magic to me. It was part of science in how it seemed to be executed. The rest was merely a different act, neither physical nor psychic. Since I also had telepathy, I could compare how the gift set worked with the flow of expressed energy. They were not alike in any manner. I used no power to read thoughts. It was merely some brain function as best I could posset. Clarke was more human than me, so he wanted to slap that M word on this.

“Part of me feels like you just told me there is no Santa, but the rest of me just learned that it might be possible for a brotha to learn himself some expressions.”

Clarke grinned stupidly and waggled his eyebrows at me rapidly. The effect would almost be comical, if not for the serious nature of everything I had felt and experienced involving these extra powers.

“Look, I don’t think we should start experimenting with random abilities right now. Something about us is drawing these haunts. We need to figure out what the hell is happening, and how to stop it. Also, I get the sense that the one that killed Ariel is somehow wrapped up in this. I mean, it is just too much of a coincidence, the timing on everything.”

I stated calmly, but something was urging in my expression. I was worried for Clarke because these things were stronger than him when they ganged up like that. In fact, I am not sure if they are stronger than me, because the detective cut in too soon to really know.

Everything about the previous night repeated in my mind on a loop. I realized I was just throwing flaming fists around, whereas she was surgically attacking and shooting. I realized I had some karate training, but no actual level of control of my abilities. I was merely athletic and exceptionally capable. I had no special training, and no advanced combat knowledge or tactical experience. I had been in some juvie fights and scrapes, but even they were nothing too crazy, not compared to some I witnessed.

Excepting your frailties and your failings was a natural part of life. Learning what one needed to do to become better able, was how we grew into adults—or so I believed.

“We both need to learn how to defend ourselves properly. Loathed as I am to admit this, I think we need to have a chat with our good detective.”

Clarke scratched his head and sniggered.

“Yeah, too bad we don’t know how to reach her. We could always wait for her to play Batwoman again and pop up at the next attack?!”

Clarke suggested. I gave him a look that all but screamed, “Are you stupid?!” He had the good sense to flush and look down and away, despite his obvious realization at the irrationality of his idea. Besides, he was hardly being profoundly serious, to begin with.

“Or, I can just use the number on the card she gave me?”

I suggested in a breezy tone. I resisted the urge to grin widely at him. Clarke gave me a very dead-pan look, and monotonously asked, “You are telling me you had her number since yesterday and you never used it?!”

I narrowed my eyes and flung out a defensive hand at his face, palm up.

“Hey, I had just come back from juvie, you think I have any desire to order bacon?!”

Clarke gave me a perplexed look and said, “You know I am the person of darker color here, so I should be the one sounding that anti-cop, right?!”

I gave him another look, again not asking loudly, “are you stupid?!”

“She has some business with us because she admitted to reading the same files we stole last night. If she is right, these files are not the Hail Mary we had been hoping for.”

Clarke waved that off and said, “Since when are you taking everything, she says at face value? Also, when you talk to her milk her for info on this expression business.”

His eyes were imploring me, which I could safely assume was because I’d rather walk on hot coals than to have another infuriating convo with the stuck-up detective! She was cocky, and she was mouthy. I preferred to be the only mouthy person in the convo. There was something about her that just drove me crazy like she was taunting me with those smiles of hers!

I sighed. I almost forgot I was with Clarke and should not allow even a momentary wistful look to cross my features. He will misread that, and things would get blown way out of proportion!

“Fine, I’ll call her, but I am not going into some damn police station.”

I told him firmly. Clarke shrugged.

“Well, I don’t think she’s that cop, Hannah. I think she is more the lone warrior with some freaky undercover mission.”

I blinked rapidly at his detailed and awfully specific impression of the detective. A woman who I still did not have a name for, BTW!

“Well, I hope not, because I am not interested in seeing the inside of another copshop.”

I grumbled. Clarke gave me a reassuring smile.

“It’s ok, I’ll be with you the whole time!”

I cut him a worried look and murmured out, “Is that supposed to reassure me or something? Because that just means I have two asses to save. Not just one if things go sideways and it all kicks off.”

Clarke was probably one of the few American teens who could comprehend the slight Irish, Dublin-based slang I sometimes slipped into. Habit after a lifetime of being raised with a very mouthy Irish woman.

I stared at my phone and I held the card up as I expelled a cleansing breath. I dialed her number.