Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Akin explodes out of the double doors, standing at the top of the staircase, thoughts in turmoil, breathing jagged, insides overwrought.

He fists the strap across his chest, looking out at the tree line of the forest, like a boundary between nature and man, right opposite the campus. The entire town is encrusted with bough and leaf.

An eerie calm stills the storm inside of him.

A chorus of whispers emanates from the woods despite the distance between them. An unseen force like the impulse of instinct guides him by spirit.

Akin’s feet move on a whim, his body leading him down the steps of its own volition. Entranced, he crosses the almost-vacant parking lot absentmindedly, his eyes unblinking, his gait like the walking dead.

The closer he gets, the more the pull strengthens; a want that becomes a desperate need.

His shoes meet with the asphalt, soon reaching the middle of the road. A car honk jolts him awake. He gawks at the silver Range Rover, blinking fast. Brett is in the driver’s seat, hollering at him to get inside.

“Hey, Ballo,” he calls out again. “Been lookin’ for you, man, c’mon.”

Akin’s eyes are drawn back to the woods, once again silent. The memory of him arriving in the middle of the road had been blotted out of his memory. A black empty space.

No recollection of him nearly transgressing one of the two laws.

Puzzled, Ethan climbs out of the passenger side, wearing his green and white varsity jacket proudly.

He hurries over to a dumbstruck Akin before other cars arrive and clasps a hand on his friend’s shoulder to get his attention.

Akin’s eyes follow hollowly.

“Hey, you okay?”

Akin banishes the experience, nodding brokenly. “Yeah, man.”

Akin makes his way to the backseat. Ethan returns to his place beside Brett.

The car shoots forward without warning, speeding down the road. Brett steers with one hand on the wheel, his other elbow resting on the sill of the window, checking on Akin in the rear-view mirror.

“Hey, uh, is it cool if you drop me home instead?”

Ethan whisks around in his seat. “You’re literally the champion of the day. Party can’t start without you, literally.”

“Besides, it’s a chance to put Alister in his place.”

Ethan flicks Brett an annoyed look.

“What?”

“Seriously, man, you need to let this thing with him go. It’s unhealthy.”

“Yo,” Akin speaks up, “I’m not feeling well, okay? I’m not in the mood to party.”

“C’mon—”

Ethan silences Brett with a heavy clasp on the shoulder.

“You know what, rest well, you’ve earned it.” He looks at Brett pointedly. “We’ll take you home.”

Brett complies and takes the detour to the Ballo residence eastward.

Ethan glances back at him. “So what’s that thing you had with that girl? What’s her name? Seen her a lot, but I don’t know her.”

“It’s nothing,” Akin mumbles, staring out the window.

“Didn’t look like nothing,” Brett laughs, adding, “The champion making bigger scores than we thought.”

“Watch your mouth, man,” Akin warns, stares rebounding in the mirror. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Shortly, they arrive at his house. The Rover glides to the curb, engine still running.

“Thanks, I’ll see you both tomorrow. Stay sober. You know coach likes to run circuit drills after matches.”

“Aight,” Brett says with a head bop.

“Safe, man.”

Ethan extends his hand behind him, and they do a bro shake. Akin exits the car and closes the door with a double tap. Brett honks a last farewell and speeds off.

Akin trudges to the entrance framed with pristine Roman pillars. He opens the unlocked door, dusting his shoes off, scuffling the mat before he enters, and shoves the door closed behind him.

“Akin?”

He heaves out a sigh, fighting frustration, wanting nothing more than to sleep and forget the day’s events.

He lugs his weight to the kitchen integrated into perimeter cabinetry in natural light oak wood, equipped with sophisticated fittings, finished in white Neolith and natural wood.

His mother leans against the counter with a glass of water in hand. Her skin is copper-brown, like a windfall autumn leaf. Light-skinned compared to her husband and son.

“How was your game?”

“You would know if you were there.”

Jada frowns. “I always attend your games; God forbid if I miss even one.”

He shakes the haze from his mind, trying to clear a path for good sense to prevail. “I know.”

“Oh, is your acrimony reserved for me or your father? You know he wanted to be there.”

Akin spits out a bitter snort. “You’ve been using that line for ten years and I’m just about sick of it.”

Jada’s frown explodes into bafflement. “Boy, you better watch your mouth.” Unaccustomed to this defiance.

Akin looks back to the archway, almost desperately.

“Can I go? It’s been a long day.”

Jada remains silent for a moment. Several more ensue before she waves her hand.

Akin shoots out of the kitchen, ascending the staircase to the second landing of the three-story house. He goes to the first door on his left and slogs inside his bedroom, dumping his bag on the ground.

He creeps to his desk, positioned in front of an expansive window, exhibiting a view of the garden.

He settles in his chair, ruminating on his encounter with Mia, dredging up unwanted memories and feelings. The good, the bad, and the unspeakable.

The last time they spoke was to discuss the two laws, implicitly implying that it would be the last time they’d be together. It was unanimous. It wasn’t even a concrete decision, it just happened.

After that night, they had been bombarded by adults, police, reporters, and therapists. People either wanted to understand the psyche behind their collective trauma or unearth the truth of that night.

His thoughts shove him to the brink of tears. He wards them off with solemnity.

They got off easy because everyone believed their distress marred their delicate minds. But it couldn’t be further from the truth, only the opposite.

The vivid visions from that ordeal inspired Akin’s nightmares for months. All of them suffered silently. They couldn’t breathe a word of the truth, not to anyone, not even to each other—too dangerous. ~He~ would know.

To mention ~his~ name would only fuel his power, giving flesh to a myth.

***

Akin had ignored his mother’s summons for dinner hours ago.

But now, his hunger demands his attention. He swivels around on the office chair and sprouts up to walk out of his room. The corridors are drenched in darkness.

Apart from downstairs, Akin can see the light glowing from around the corner. He rounds the bend and trots down the steps, slowing his pace when he hears voices speaking in hushed tones.

Akin slithers to the side of the archway, undetected.

“You should’ve seen him, just in those few seconds. I could see something was off with him.”

Akin’s father remains unconvinced on the matter. “I think you might be overreaching, love. Once upon a time, I was his age, and I went through the same stuff. It’s called life.”

Jada slides him a glass of red wine on the granite counter. “I’m not talking about raging teenage hormones. I’m talking about something a lot more harrowing.”

His face turns avid, straightening on the stool behind the island.

“I met up with the other moms today.”

He instantly knows who she is referring to. “Angie and them?”

Jada nods grimly.

“They raised some valid concerns, you know, surrounding Keila’s disappearance—connecting it to Erin. It begs me to think about what Dr. Parker said about old traumas manifesting themselves years later in different ways.”

He pushes out a lackluster chuckle.

“Come now, the boy snaps once and you think he has lost his mind? The boy is probably just tired. You’re making a big deal from nothing.”

“Our son’s mental health is not nothing,” she says sternly.

He takes his glass and drains it halfway. “He was in therapy for ~months ~and even the children’s psychiatrist cleared him years ago.

“Akin is so extroverted, socializes well with others and is well-liked, doing good academically. What more proof do you need that he is over that?”

Jada falls silent, stunted by the facts.

“You know how Angie likes to inflame matters.”

Jada finds her voice. “Her kid has gone missing. The same way Erin did, she left the house in the middle of the night, discarding everything just like Erin did. Are you really telling me you don’t see the nexus?”

Akin backs away. Hearing enough, he spins around and jogs back upstairs.

He returns to his room in a more volatile state than he was before. The panic awakens once more.

He seats himself in his chair, turning to face the garden. Everything is nothing, only silhouettes and shadows. A gust of wind lashes the trees, causing them to flail under a lather of black clouds.

He glances down, looking at the drawer like it’s the barred gate caging a beast within its wooden frame. Akin slides it open and moves aside the neatly written study notes to the faded picture at the bottom.

He picks it up, looking at the group shot they took a decade ago. His face caught between a smile and a wince.

His eyes totter to the siren-eyed Keila, only to be drawn to the raven-haired beauty.

He is enthralled by Opal. Though he has only seen her from afar; even the glimpses of her throughout the years have been rare sightings, like spotting shooting stars.

He looks away to gather his wits, becoming more sober-minded.

Mia is right. They can’t hide or pretend forever.

~He~ won’t let them.

***

The next day at school, Akin walks through the hallways with a plan formulating in his mind, bearing the semblance of an outright ambush. Mia emerges into view—crashing his thoughts. He makes a beeline for her.

“Hey, Mia.”

She looks up to deliver a death glare.

Thompson from his soccer team derails him, arm around his shoulders, steering him onwards. Akin stares after her for as long as his neck will permit until the strain forces him to look forward.

“Bro, where were you last night?”

“Busy.”

“Missed out. The boys got smashed, man.”

Akin replies with a reproachful glare.

“I was as sober as a nun, dude. So was Alister, because he never comes to victory parties.” He drops his arm from him. “Brett and Ethan were the instigators.”

“Typical.”

“Aight, I have AP History.” He lifts a fist. “See you on the field.”

They fist-bump each other and split off in different directions.

Akin hurries to his next class, entering eagerly, looking for one person in particular.

He rushes to the center where Dana sits at her desk, two friends dawdling around her. One is seated on the desk, legs fluttering as she speaks.

Dana catches him staring, eyebrows creasing with tantalizing curiosity, a glimmer of interest in her eyes.

Her friends follow her line of sight, noticing her distraction.

“Akin.”

The seated one hops off, tucking a curly lock behind her ear timidly.

The other’s eyes widen, star-struck, like a celebrity has just waltzed into the room.

“Hey,” he greets them both. His eyes focus on Dana. “Mind if I ask you something?”

Two of her friends scuttle off, squealing and giggling as they go to take their seats.

Dana looks up at him with comical eyes, like an anime character. “Ask.”

“You’re friends with Opal, right?”

“Yep,” she chirps.

“I’ve seen you both come out of the music room at times. You play?”

“Violin like Adalia, but not even close to being as good as her.” Dana looks him up and down knowingly, aware of where this line of inquiry is heading to. “Why?”

“Do you know her schedule, like when she’s going to be free? I need to speak to her.”

Dana gives a considering nod. “No, but I can find out. Sometimes she does private practices during her free periods. I just don’t know when that is because we have different timetables.”

She reels out her phone from her pocket, texting rapidly. “I’ll tell you when she responds,” she relays without looking up.

Akin thanks her and moves to his seat at the back.

Shortly, the math class starts to fill to the brim.

Other comrades join his flanks, dabbing him up before they take their seats around him.

Fifteen minutes into the lesson, his friend in front of him turns to deliver a folded-up hand-written note. He frowns and looks up to see Dana, a few rows ahead, look over her shoulder to send him an “it’s done” look.

He flashes a smile and flips the note open to learn of his next destination. It interferes with his schedule; he will be forced to skip biology to exploit this chance.

He puts the note down, adjusting his attention to the interactive board riddled with math problems.

The moment the bell rings, Akin is already out of the class and on his way to the music room, outside the main building at the interior annex, designated for the arts.

He rushes up to the first door like what awaits behind it is everything he has ever yearned for in this life.

He knocks, pounding with his heartbeat.

A sweet-toned voice grants him entry.

He enters, eyes enchanted by her black pearls, their gaze clashing.

“Akin,” she says breathlessly.