Ace of Minds

The Birthday

On one Sunday, the usually peaceful and quiet house on Pine Street, Beverly Hills was full of people. They came with flashy cars and carried big boxes, wrapped in all sorts of fancy giftwraps. They wore tailored dresses and suits, looking as if they were aiming for Best Dress of 2016. In the large front yard, people chatted, danced, and exchanged business cards. In their hands they held small glasses of colorful liquids. They drank it every once in awhile as they talked to other guests.

At the grand mahogany front door stood a brunette girl, looking like a princess with a golden crown atop her head. A long, sparkly light pink dress hugged her tiny figure. The tulle bottom hung just above her knees. With two and a half inch stilettos, she succeeded in masking her lack in height. She went by the name Irene Clarington. Yes, she was the one and only daughter of the Hollywood star, Amanda Clarington.

It was her birthday, yet she was the least happy person in the party. Her mom had made her welcome every guest. Not only that, she didn’t know most of the guests.

“Happy birthday,” the guests would say to her.

“Thank you,” she’d reply with the same smile she had given for hours. Her cheeks ached from all the fake smiling.

She assumed her mom, Ms. Clarington—as she insisted on being called—was inside the house, making sure everything was perfect as she had been doing for the past two hours.

Her mom kept on checking the band in the living room—in case they started playing emo songs—and making sure the servants were serving the right beverages. That made Irene wondered what had gotten into her. Her mom wasn’t usually that restless.

It amazed Irene how her perfectly styled brunette hair remained untouched. It was like even the wind wouldn’t dare to do so. Once, Irene had watched her mom in an interview and the woman said that her hair was her crown, her pride. If anyone dared to mess it up, she’d throw a fit nobody would want to see.

Irene doubted that. Her mom was a very petite woman. Sometimes she wondered how her mom was able to pull all those stunts in her movies.

Irene heaved a tired sigh. No more guests, she thought, noticing no more cars were stopping outside her house. Just as she was telling the guards to close the gates, however, she noticed a man walking up to her house. He came with no other transportation aside from his legs. Even his suit looked exceptionally different. It looked rather wrinkled and old, the checkered dark green and brown pattern outdated. His black hair was all over the place. He was the kind of man her mom told her to stay away from.

Was he from the media? Paparazzi? Those people were blacklisted.

The guards stopped him for a procedural body and invitation check. He showed them the invitation hastily.

Irene nodded at the guards. “Just close the gate and enjoy the party.” So I can enjoy it too instead of greeting guests. She gave the guards a dismissive wave to go inside.

Grateful of what she did, they came running in.

The man walked toward her and smiled. Minding her manners, Irene returned the gesture.

“Good evening, Sir,” she greeted, hesitantly moving aside to let him enter the house. Was he one of her mom’s friends? He didn’t look like one.

Instead of greeting her back, he kept on smiling, and it creeped her out. She was about to call her mom when he suddenly grabbed her hand.

Their eyes met—and it wasn’t a telenovela ‘their eyes met.’ There was a sense of familiarity in his blue irises. They looked very much like hers, just a bit more sparkly.

“Sir?”

He broke the eye contact and shook her hand. “Nice meeting you … after so long.” He whispered the last three words that she could barely hear it. He talked with a weird accent. Not British, but not Scottish either. It was somewhere in between. His smiled widened as he introduced himself as Julius Elswood.

“Happy birthday,” he said. The man dove his hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a rectangular green box the size of a ring box.

What, he’s proposing me? The not-so-rational side of her brain thought.

“I can’t stay long, but I hope you like the present,” said the man as he handed her the box.

“Oh, thank you, Sir. Of course, I’ll like—”

“Julius!” Amanda Clarington’s voice boomed from the living room. Irene jumped at the loudness. Her mom’s brows furrowed as she headed toward the two, fuming. “I knew you’re coming. I knew it,” she hissed. “What are you doing here, Julius?” She stood between the man and Irene, separating them desperately. “How did you even get an invitation?”

“Well, you know—”

“Oh, great! You stole it!”

Irene tried to explain, but her mom wouldn’t stop cutting her off.

The man tried the same. “Look—”

“I told you, Julius, I’m not giving her to you!”

Her loud voice attracted the attention of the guests. Music stopped playing. People stopped dancing. Some guests started to creep into the front door, whispering about the man whose fashion didn’t meet their taste.

“Mom! Please stop shouting!” pleaded Irene from behind her, but her mom shrugged her off. She was glaring at the man whose face was as calm as the pond.

“We’ve gone through this, Amanda—”

“Don’t call me Amanda.”

The man sigh. “Alright, Ms. Clarington. We made an agreement about thirteen years ago, didn’t we? She must go.”

“I changed my mind, so what can you do now?” Ms. Clarington put her hands on her hips.

The guests continued to watch. They had never seen the Hollywood actress looking so furious before.

Ignoring the woman’s glare, the man turned to Irene. “Irene, open the box.”

Irene’s eyes widened. She looked at the box in her hand. “Who are you? How does my mom know you?” she asked.

Her mom turned to face her, holding out her hand demandingly. “Give me the box!” she cried out.

Usually, Irene would’ve obeyed her mom, but today was different. Holding onto the box tightly, she inched herself away from her mom.

“Tell me who he is!” She didn’t know why she yelled, but she highly suspected it was because her mom’s non-stop ‘Give it to me!’ was frustrating her.

“I’m your father.”

She really hoped someone was playing Star Wars on the TV.

Ms. Clarington went wilder. “No!” she screamed at top of her lungs, becoming hysterical. She drew even more attention to the point that people started taking pictures and videos of her. “You are not her father! Go away! Go away! Go—”

A blinding green light sparked from behind her. With horrified, crazed eyes, she slowly turned her head to her daughter, who had opened the box.

Inside the box was … nothing. There was nothing but a bright, green light emerging out of it. It was so blinding that she fell back. It was such a relief there was a wooden chair on the front porch, or else she would have fallen flat onto the floor. “What—”

Before she could finish her sentence, her vision blurred. The last thing she heard before blacking out were three taps on the floor.

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Irene woke up to the sun peeking through the window. It was the main reason why she always closed her dark colored curtains when she was about to sleep. Did she forget to shut it last night? Wait … what had happened last night? She only remembered an old-fashioned man, her mother, a lot of shouting, a blinding light, and tapping.

Oh my gosh, she thought.

She got up and found herself … in some room. Wherever it was, it was not her room. Her pink walls were now white and cracked. Her walk-in closet had changed into a rickety, wooden cupboard. There was a night lamp beside her. The bed creaked as she got up.

That was when she remembered. A man called Julius Elswood had come to her birthday party. Her mom had yelled at him to get out. Then … he’d said that he was her father.

For as long as she remembered, she had never seen her father. Not a single picture of him was in her house. She had always believed what her mom told her, that her father had left them when she was a baby. She grew up thinking she didn’t have a father. But the man, Julius Elswood, had called himself her father.

Another memory tackled in, she remembered opening his present.

She jumped off the bed and walked out of the room. The wooden floor creeped her out as it made creaking sounds with every step she took. Honestly, she didn’t know where to go, or where on earth she was. So she just went by instinct. She took a right turn, hoping it would take her to her mom, or the old-fashioned-looking man. She could use some time to talk about this ‘father’ thing. Like, where had he been for sixteen years, or why did he choose to come back? Or maybe she would just slap him for being a bad father.

Just a few feet away from her was the living room, or so she assumed. It had a small, tattered couch and an old television. Next to the room was an opened door, which she supposed was her way out. She opened the door wider, only to find two figures talking to each other. It didn't take long for them to notice her presence.

“You're awake,” stated Julius Elswood, smiling. He was still wearing the same suit, but he had changed his shoes into a pair of black boots.

Hard to believe, but Irene didn’t think the man was a bad man. Bad father? Yes, but not a bad person. There was something about his smile that told her he was trustworthy.

But what could she say? Sometimes, her head got it all wrong. Like, she thought her mom was not as badass as she looked in the movies—turned out she was more than badass. She was crazy.

“You think?” she retorted, not wanting to sound nice. He had kidnapped her, after all.

Julius Elswood turned to the woman beside him. She was old, probably around sixty, but her figure was steady, just like Elswood. Her white hair was tied into a small bun. That was all Irene could see, since the granny hid behind a long robe. On her feet were the same black boots Elswood wore.

“This is Madam Corneille. This is her house. She let us stayed overnight,” Elswood introduced the granny.

Irene smiled half-heartedly. She really didn’t know what was going on. And why was she with Julius Elswood instead of her mom? “I’m Ire—”

“Irene Elswood, I know.” The granny eagerly shook Irene’s hand.

She grimaced at the sound of her name. Irene … Elswood. So it was true. Elswood was her father. She didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. This was a man she had just met the previous night and (ta-dah!) a granny just called her by the man’s surname.

“I hear you will be enrolling into Z soon, right?”

“Zee?” she asked. What on earth is Z? What does she mean enroll? Last time she checked, she was a student at Hawthorne High, a private school which certainly didn’t kidnap their students prior to their first day.

“Elizabeth, she hasn’t recovered, we must let her rest—”

“No,” Irene found herself saying. “Tell me everything. Where am I? Why am I here? How on earth did I get here? Where’s Mom? I mean, I know we’re not in Beverly Hills.” She was definitely far, far away from home.

Elswood glanced at Madam Corneille. His eyes filled with worry. “Let’s take a seat. We’ll tell you everything.”

“You will,” the old woman pointed at Elswood.

“What?”

“You tell her the story. I’m not feeling like storytelling now. You know how melancholy I can get.”

The man rolled his eyes and ushered the two women to the small couch. They sat down, squeezing one another.

“Start,” demanded Irene.

“Okay.” Elswood took a deep breath before he began. “You were never meant to live with your mom. Uh, I kind of won your custody when Amanda and I divorced—”

“Kind of?” Irene raised her brow.

“I did win the custody. You were three years old then. After the court judgement came, you mother cried, wailed, and started hyperventilating.” He paused. “She seems to still possesses that dolphin voice, I see. Anyway, we eventually came to an agreement. I would let you stay with her until you turned sixteen. Why? Because you’re different.” There was a pause, where he just looked at Irene, waiting for a reaction.

“I’m different, Corneille’s different, but I promise you it’s a good different. It would be against nature if you continue to live with Amanda and know nothing about your true self. That … difference would forever be hidden. You would never feel complete for the rest of your life.” He paused. “I’ve seen some people who continued living in oblivion. As they aged, they felt like they didn’t belong anywhere they went. When their time came, some died still feeling that way. Some went mad.”

Elswood cleared his throat and shifted his position. Well, as much as he could since the couch was cramped.

“We call our kind Ace. We bear special talents. You asked how you got away from your mother’s house. It’s my talent. I, um, created a portal for both of us—”

Irene's gasp was clear. Her breath hitched. “Did you just say you … made a portal? What kind of nonsense is this?” What had she done in her past lives that she got a mad man as a father?

The man looked troubled. “Please understand when I say that we’re different. That is what makes us different. And it’s not nonsense, since I actually brought you here.”

He has a point, thought Irene, but he’s still crazy.

“What about the light from that box?”

He cracked a guilty grin. “Well … I had to get you out of that house without screaming or asking questions. So I kind of knocked you out with the light. Well, not exactly a light; it’s a stone that can radiate light. It’s called Lumin. Since that one was green, it makes you unconscious at the sight of it.”

Irene squinted her eyes. “So you kidnapped me,” she said.

Calmly, Elswood said, “I’m your father, Irene. I wouldn’t call it kidnapping as you were supposed to live with me from the very beginning.” Hearing no response from his daughter (she only pursed her lips, upset that he was right), he continued. “Anyway, don’t worry about your guests. They have forgotten what happened last night because Madam Corneille here has wiped that memory from their minds. There won’t be any funny videos about Amanda going mad on the net. I know how crazy famous she is.

“Oh, and if you’re wondering about our talents, it’s something that is both gifted and genetic. It’s not exactly describable. But you’ll get the hang of it when you study at Z. Are you following?”

“What makes you so sure that I’ll go to that school?” she asked. “You said when not if.”

“Because you have no choice?” Again, Elswood grinned.

Irene scowled. “Go on, tell me about that Z thing.”

The look on Elswood's face brightened. “That's your new school. Not exactly a school where you learn algebra and calculus because, believe me, they're pretty much useless in our world. You will train and develop your talents at Z. It's so exciting to be there! I still remember my first Tournament. I knocked Heath down in less than three minutes. I was so thin and scrawny back then. Everyone was surprised with the result.”

Irene had no idea who Heath was and she didn't want to find out either. It seemed like Elswood really liked this Z thing. Maybe he was wishing she'd be the same. “I don't have talents or whatsoever. I'm just an ordinary girl, see?” She pointed at herself, wearing an oversized white sweater and a pair of baggy brown trousers. Wait … “Whose clothes are these?” she cried out.

Madam Corneille cackled. “They’re mine. I changed your clothes when we got here,” said the granny, showing her crooked teeth through her smile. “And honey, you are the daughter of Julius Elswood. You, having no talents, now that’s nonsense.”

“So, what now?” Irene turned to Elswood. “I don’t have my own clothes. I can’t go home. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what talent I have. I don’t know where on earth this Z school is. See? I’m useless.”

“Of course I’ll take you to Z. I miss that place already,” beamed Elswood. “Let’s go!” He got up from the couch, unbalancing it.

“You know you’re kind of forcing me into this magic thing, right?”

“It’s for your own good, I promise.”

Irene took a deep breath. She couldn’t go home anyway. “So, how are we going to get there?”

Just after Irene asked, Elswood grinned and tapped the floor three times. Tap, tap, tap. Something that looked like a mirror popped out of nowhere. It floated mid-air. Instead of glass, inside the oval mirror was a circulating green, sparkly swirl of light.

“By this, of course!” said the man excitedly.    

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