Edyn (The Essence Project Book 1) Read online

  She peeled the sterile backing off of the bandages and went to work. In no time it was expertly done.

  "Where did you learn that?" I asked.

  "I used to have to fix my brother up when he would come home from the Pits," she replied.

  "The Pits?"

  "Yes, well, this looks like it should heal just fine. I need to get back to the auditorium. You’re free to go home now. Don't forget to sign the volunteer sheet for the Essence Project before you go if you're wanting to. " She gave me a meek smile and turned on her heel, leaving me in silence before I could ask about the Pits again.

  I followed her footsteps down the hall and headed towards the main doors. The sun was blinding when I opened them. Some of my fellow classmates were sitting on the grass under a nearby tree laughing. Clearly they had been given good jobs. I stood watching them for a moment when someone slammed into my shoulder.

  "Hey watch it!" I hollered after them.

  Whoever it was, she had her head down and was bolting. When she turned onto the sidewalk, I saw tears streaming down her face.

  That was a face I’d seen many times in my dreams since that day, or, maybe I should call them nightmares. That was much more accurate, but that didn’t even seem to cover it most nights. I never found out who she was or what had happened to her that day, so I had no idea why she still haunted me.

  I tried to shake those memories off as I glanced back up at the weather beaten house in front of me, my mother already inside. It had been eight years since that day, and immediately my mind went to the chip, hidden in a small box in my night stand. I climbed the three wooden steps and felt the familiar creak of the hinges on the door as I opened it.

  My mother was in the kitchen already pulling out pots and pans to make lunch. Since it was Sunday, we were each given an extra ration of ground beef. Sundays were holy days so the government gave out just a little more than usual for them. Any other day and they limited us to less. We were never starving though. We received enough to get by, but not enough to be full. They didn’t want to promote gluttony after all.

  "I’ll be right back," I said and headed for the stairs.

  I climbed upward toward my room, taking the steps two at a time. My room was rather plain. I had a full size bed with a faded blue comforter, a dresser, and a nightstand. The wooden furniture was chipped and scratched from years and years of use. There was nothing on the walls, and my closet door was made out of a mirror. I had very few possessions, as did most people, but it was still my room, and I felt safe in here. A few books were stacked on the dresser next to my hair brush.

  My paranoia led me straight to my night stand. The drawer pull felt cold in my hand as I slid it open. I pulled out a stack of pictures and set them on top, followed by a bundle of papers, and a little plastic horse that had marker on the side. My father had given it to me when I was little, and it always reminded me of him. A small smile crept across my face before I forced the memories of him out of my head. I didn’t want to think about him right now.

  My hand found what it was searching for at the back of the drawer. The small, black velvet box. The box originally contained a pair of silver earrings my father had given me for my sixth birthday, but now safely held the chip.

  Leaning forward, I clicked the lamp brighter and stared at the box. This thing, this chip, scared me, but I knew it shouldn’t have. At least that was what I always told myself. I didn’t know what all information was stored on it, but I also knew it was important that I not lose it. Even though it wasn’t in my arm anymore, I still felt like I should keep it. The government could track me through it, but I figured it would be pretty odd for my chip to track me to a landfill or somewhere else instead of our house in case they came looking for me.

  When I first got it, I knew nothing about it. No one ever prepared us for getting chipped. Exhaling, I opened the lid of the box. The little metal bead was sitting right where it always was. It bothered me that I didn’t know more specifics about it, but I had found out some information over the years. I figured it had my basic information: name, birthday, and job selection as well as listing my parents. Containing the same information that the computer had listed at my job selection made sense, but part of me thought there was something more on the chip than just that.

  "Well, it’s still here, and it’s still safe," I mumbled and snapped the lid shut.

  I put the box back in the drawer and reached for the toy horse. I turned it over and over in my hands, shaking my head at the pink marker scribbled on the side. I remember Mother had been angry at me as a child over that, telling me I needed to learn to take care of my things. My father had told her it wasn’t a big deal, but she still pursed her lips like she wasn’t sold on that.

  The light reflected off the scar on my arm as I turned the horse over. It was a jagged white line about four inches long. My mother had told me it was a permanent reminder to do what I was told, since not doing so was what resulted in it, and I had a really good habit of doing that. I remember arguing with her when I got home after my job selection, telling her it was a reflex and I hadn’t done it intentionally, but she insisted that if I was truly obedient, then it was just an issue of mind over matter, and I wouldn’t have jerked away.

  I picked up the stack of pictures I’d pulled out of the drawer to put them back, and the first one caught my eye. In it, my four year old self had my arms around the neck of a boy just a couple years older than me. He had been my best friend at that young age before one day he and his family were just gone. My mother told me his father had been relocated so they had to leave. She had never approved of me being friends with a boy, but my father saw Ryker Evans as the son he never had. My father, I knew, wasn’t fond of Ryker’s father, but he treated that kid as his own for the few years they were here.

  His father was always away working, so I don’t recall ever even meeting him. Ryker and I would go and play by the creek until my mother would call us for dinner. One time I slipped on a mossy rock and fell in. Ryker jumped right in after me and pulled me out, concern all over his seven year old face. I just pushed him back into the water yelling that I was fine and didn’t need a boy’s help. I still smile sometimes when I think about that.

  The day before he disappeared we were down by the creek like we always were. I was picking wildflowers that were growing along the bank when something caught my eye moving in the grass. As I turned to look at it, I remember the snake striking at my hand. It seemed that Ryker was by my side before I had even screamed. He ripped me away and grabbed a big rock from the bank. The snake was watching him, poised to strike again with its mouth wide open. Ryker took the rock and smashed its head in.

  "My hand!" I sobbed.

  He turned and looked at it, already swelling as it seeped blood. "We’ve got to get your mom. That one was poisonous, and you need to go to the hospital."

  He half dragged me back up to the house. I had tears and snot all over my face, and my hand throbbed. My mother dropped the plate she was holding when she saw me.

  "There was a snake..." Ryker began but my mother cut him off.

  "This is all your fault! You get out of my house!"

  He looked at me as my mother wrapped my hand in a dish towel, his mouth slightly open. Hurt filled his eyes. "I’m so sorry, Edyn."

  "Out!" shouted my mother.

  I’ll never forget that look on his face, that grave look like he believed that it was his fault. That was the last time I ever saw him. By the time I was home from the hospital a week later, his family had packed up and moved. I rarely ever thought of him anymore. It was usually just coming across the picture that awoke old memories of the creek behind my house.

  Alongside the pictures in the drawer was a pile of love letters between my father and mother. He had died a few months after the snake bite, and his death had destroyed me. When I was twelve I’d found the letters in a dusty shoe box at the back of my mother's closet. They painted a picture of a woman I didn't know. My parents had b
een so giddy and in love, my mother soft and caring towards my father. She had never been that way towards me, and I didn't know why. Their love though was inspiring. Based on those letters, it wholly consumed them. I’d prayed for years that I would find a love like that one day, but so far I hadn’t come anywhere close.

  Something heavy crashed to the floor downstairs and my head jerked upwards.

  "Edyn!" my mother called.

  I threw the pictures back in the drawer and shoved it closed before rushing out of the room.

  "Edyn!"

  I flew down the stairs and ran into the kitchen. My mother was on the floor in front of the stove. The skillet on the linoleum, ground beef and onions scattered next to her.

  "What happened?"

  "I just got dizzy is all, help me up and to the table."

  I grabbed underneath her arms and hoisted her to her feet. She wobbled, but I stabled her. I guided her over to the table and helped her sit in a chair, bracing for the punishment I knew would come.

  "Are you alright?" I asked.

  She slapped me across the face in response. It wasn’t a hard slap as she didn’t have the strength to do that anymore, but it still stung, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

  "If you had been down here helping me like you were supposed to this never would’ve happened. Now look. That was all of our food for today."

  I bit down on the response forming on my tongue as I turned to clean up the mess. There was still a little meat left in the skillet so I put that back on the stove.

  "There’s a little left in here, mother. Let me get it for you."

  "Yes you do that, and while you’re hungry, think about your selfishness in not taking care of your responsibilities."

  I ignored her words with the roll of my eyes and scraped the contents of the pan onto a plate. After setting it in front of her, I turned back to the mess.

  She grabbed my wrist though, and said, "Mark my words, girl. You may have a soul but that doesn’t give you a pass on being disobedient. God commands obedience over everything else. ‘Thou shalt honor thy father and mother’, not ‘Thou shalt honor thy father and mother unless they have souls.’"

  I ignored her and pulled my hand away. I could feel her eyes on me as I walked to the sink.

  "Is that how you honor your mother? By not saying a word?"

  I hung my head and through gritted teeth, mumbled, "I’m sorry, Mother."

  "That’s better." She turned, and I could hear her fork scraping against the plate.

  I grabbed a dish towel and bent down to clean up the mess. She ate in silence, but I could feel her searing gaze on the back of my neck. After dumping the towel in the sink and rinsing it out, I got on my hands and knees to wipe the floor down. The linoleum was hard under my knees, and scuffed all over. It was hard to tell if it was ever clean by all the marks.

  Standing, I tossed the towel into the sink. "I’m going to go for a walk, Mother. I need to pray." I knew those were the only words I could say that would get her to leave me alone without complaint.

  "Good," she replied, her mouth full of food.

  I walked out of the kitchen and headed for the front door. I paused for a moment, thinking about Ryker again and his expression the last time I saw him. I hoped he was happy wherever he ended up. Who knows, he could already be married and have a couple of kids somewhere. He was always watching out for me when he'd lived here, so I knew that he would be the kind of guy that would make a great dad.

  I slipped my feet into my flip flops and opened the door. The door creaked in protest, and I thought for the seven-hundred-forty-third time that I should have greased the hinges.

  Slowly, I closed it behind me so it wouldn’t slam. I had already pissed my mother off enough today; I didn’t need to add to the list. My footsteps thudded down the steps as I took a deep breath through my nose to clear my head. It was hot and muggy. Sweat was already beginning to form in the small of my back and across my forehead. Not exactly ideal weather to go for a walk in, but I needed to get out of the house and away from my mother. Sometimes I wondered if she actually loved me since she sure didn’t show it.

  She took the idea of "Spare the rod, spoil the child," very seriously.

  At twenty-four she still treated me like a child most of the time. I never did anything that met her standards. I’ve had more than my fair share of welts and bruises from her when I’ve made mistakes. I couldn’t say that she enjoyed punishing me, and I truly believe that she thought she was doing it for my own good, but it didn’t change my resentment towards her. She just couldn’t handle my Essence. She just couldn’t handle the thought that one day when she died, she would cease to exist, and I wouldn’t. I supposed if I was in her position, I might have some less than wonderful feelings on the subject, but I would’ve hoped that I would still be loving towards my daughter and at peace knowing that at least she would be alright when she died one day.

  My big mouth sure didn't help the situation either.

  I decided to take a well-worn path through the edge of the woods that met the creek further down. I didn’t feel like pavement today. My outstretched hand reached for the leaves above my head as I made my way down the path, the sun leaving a mosaic of shadows at my feet. The shade offered some relief from the heat, but not much. We liked to call it Diet Sun here in the south.

  I loved the fragrance out here. It smelled of wet earth, and this time of year you could smell the heat. The air was so heavy and thick with humidity that it would fill your nose the way the steam from a hot shower would, but you could scent the dirt mixed in. It would fill your lungs and fill your mind with thoughts about how peaceful it was. Was it this peaceful before the Rapture? The woods to me seemed like a perfect time capsule, unchanged in their natural beauty.

  My feet carried me a few minutes farther until I reached the crossing at the creek. At the crossing was a huge rock about thirty feet high. A smile played on my lips as I approached my spot. I liked laying on top of the rock. It was relatively flat and not unreasonably uncomfortable for a rock, and from there I was hidden from sight. I rarely saw anyone else on the path, but on occasion someone would walk by. Walking around to the back side, I gazed up at the top before beginning to climb. My muscles knew all of the hand and foot holds by memory. At the top, I brushed a few fallen leaves from my spot and sprawled out.

  I hadn’t totally been lying to my mother when I said I wanted to pray. I did, just not about what she was hoping for. Often when I came up here I prayed, but it was more just talking to God in hopes that He would hear me more than anything else.

  My thoughts found their familiar rhythm, and I began talking to Him.

  Why me? What is so special about me that I was born with a soul and not someone else? What purpose do You have for my life, and what kind of difference could I really make in this world anyway?

  As my questions for God filled my mind, I listened to the sound of the creek flowing beneath me. There was a light breeze blowing across my face, and despite the heat, it was actually quite pleasant. I breathed in the heavy air, letting it fill every inch of my lungs before I let it out. I tried not to think of anything except that moment in time, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

  2

  I felt a hot breath on the side of my neck. My body tingling in fear, I bolted upright. Low laughter came from my right, and I whipped my head around.

  "Now, didn’t I tell you to be careful, little girl?" His smile was wide like a dog’s, the skin stretching on either side of the ring through his bottom lip.

  I blinked a few times, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The rock was rough under my hands, and my back was stiff. I must’ve been here for hours. Crawling backwards on my hands and knees, I felt around for the edge of the rock.

  He laughed again. "Now, now we don’t want you to fall and break your pretty little neck, do we?" He inched closer.

  "Get away from me!" I spat at him.

  His smile only grew wider. "There’s still somethi
ng about you, and I think I may have figured out what it is." He squatted down so he was face to face with me. "You have an Essence, and you’re not very good at hiding it." He ran his fingers through his messy hair. "I wonder who would give a higher price for you right now." He grinned. "On the one hand, you’re a hot commodity in the Circle as always, but on the other, I heard a rumor that the government is paying top dollar these days for souls for the Essence Project."

  That floored me. Growing up, my mother had told me to keep my Essence quiet because people would be jealous, and that jealousy could cause them to do dangerous things. All she would tell me though was that some of them would do anything to steal it. I never really took those words to heart until now when I was staring that jealousy and desperation in the face.

  And why the Circle? I knew very little about it, other than it was where people hiding out from the government lived.

  "I'm not anyone’s hot commodity," I said, fear surging through every inch of me. "Just leave me the Hell alone."

  He smirked, and I looked back over my shoulder at the drop. It was far too high to jump. He reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. I jolted backwards as much as I could without falling, my eyes burning.

  "You know, I don’t think the government would let you survive though, and I know buyers in the Circle most definitely wouldn’t. Either way it seems you’re pretty much screwed, but at least you know you’re going to Heaven right?" He laughed again, the sound practically guttural. Grimy fingers touched my face again, and this time I stiffened. He bit his lip and narrowed his eyes. "I’ve always wondered what it would be like to take a Quintessent for a ride. How about I show you a good time on one of your last nights?"

  "You're not really my type," I shot at him.

  He slid his hand behind my neck, and I slammed my palm up into his nose. Grabbing at his face with a yell, he recoiled, and I sprang to my feet. I hurried to the edge of the rock and started climbing my way down. It wasn't long before he recovered and began climbing down after me.