Chapter 1: Get Out of My Head!

“Greetings Asher”, said the person sitting on a metal table opposite me, his legs crossed casually as he tapped a pen against the table. “What!? Where am I? Who are you? What happened?” I asked all at once, panic rising in my throat. This was wrong - awfully wrong. The last thing I remember was falling asleep the morning before my birthday, excited for whatever the day might hold, and now here I was, handcuffed to a chair in what appeared to be an interrogation room with a strange man looking at me.

I tightened my fist waiting for him to give me an answer, but he remained silent. Worst of all, I had no idea what kind of expression he was wearing, since his face was completely covered. I suddenly realized why I could never remember these people’s faces - they had always worn the same shiny smooth black masks that hid their features.

He observed me for some more time, or at least that’s what I think he was doing; for all I knew, he could have fallen asleep on the table. Finally, he sighed, seeming to come to a decision, and approached me, his footsteps making a tremendous amount of noise in the otherwise absolutely quiet room.

I tried to recoil from him but it was impossible as I was very much tied to a chair. But this itself was strange - why couldn’t I break the cuffs? Normally this would be no problem for me. He seemed to read my thoughts because he got right up in my face, his shiny mask reflecting my terrified face, my own grey eyes staring back at me. “This is not the real world boy”, he said from behind the mask; “This is a dream created by me - my world, my rules. Here, you are helpless”.

He dialed back his tone, switching back to something that could be remotely considered friendly. “So Asher, how are your markings doing?”. I looked at him in bewilderment. How did he know about my markings? Oh... that's right. He probably saw them when I was still small. The real question was what made him think I would answer any of his questions?

I was beginning to suspect that he could actually read my mind because he sighed again. “We have an attitude I see...”, he said, adjusting his suit sleeves, “Your father has taught you well; unfortunately, that’s not a good thing to try with me boy, I’m a handler after all”.

I tried to wipe the scared expression from my face. “I don’t know what that is and I’m not telling you anything”. He crossed his arms, again regarding me with whatever expression he had underneath that mask. “I figured as much”, he finally said. “Unfortunately for you, and fortunately for me, I control everything in here”. He extended his arm toward me and in seconds I was no longer wearing clothes, stripped down to my underwear.

I made a strangled sound, a mixture of both surprise and sudden embarrassment at being half-naked in front of a stranger. “What the… What’s your problem, you pervert?” I shouted, pulling at my cuffs in angry frustration.

He tilted his head slightly, almost like he found my reaction amusing, “Relax kid - I mean you no harm”, he said getting closer putting on black leather gloves, “All I need is to examine your markings”. I pulled so hard at my bonds the chair rattled. “Get away from me!” I shouted at him.

He, of course, ignored me, gently touching the beginning of one of my marks. I growled at him in anger before doing the only thing I could while being tied up: I bit him.

He jumped backward, cursing and shaking his injured hand, anger clearly visible on his frame, “You little… So that’s how you want it? Fine. I tried to be nice, to do it the gentle way…”, he waved his hand and a muzzle appear around my mouth, several of the straps pushing my head back at an uncomfortable angle, leaving my neck, and the markings on it, fully exposed. “Let’s continue, shall we Asher? And no more horsing around or next time I will paralyze you and I can guarantee you that that will not be… pleasant”.

Reluctantly I let him get near me again. not that I had much of a choice, but this time he didn’t touch me, not directly at least; instead he brought out his metal pen that I realized was not a simple pen at all as it had initially appeared. He clicked something and one end began to sparkle with blue electricity. “Now I would tell you not to move…”, he said leaning over me, “But you won’t be going anywhere anyway”.

The moment the pen touched my markings I screamed in pain as pure agony rolled down my spine like greek fire, spreading down through my body to the very tip of my fingers. “Hmmm… interesting reaction”, he commented, stopping for a few seconds as I tried to catch my breath, my mouth opened in a silent scream, saliva dribbling down my face as I tried to remember how to breathe normally.

He wrote something on a notepad that appeared out of nowhere. “Seems you are doing remarkably good Asher - you’re way ahead of the others, which means…”, he leaned in close to me again, his tone taking on a dangerous note, “I can push you a little bit more”.

The next time his pen touched my skin, the pain was so bad I blacked out in between screaming sessions, my body slipping in and out of consciousness for what seemed to me like hours, but which was probably less than a minute. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it any longer he was gone as quickly as he came.

I felt relief beyond measure as I, through my blurred vision, looked around the room trying to figure out what happened. It wasn’t long until I spotted him slumped against a wall that had fractured with the force of the blow, dark tendrils of matter filtering in between the cracks. For a second I dared to hope that he was dead - hope that was very short-lived as he came to and got up shakily, rubbing the back of his head. “It seems that your father thinks we had carried it too far, a pity really”. Furtively, I tried to struggle out of my bonds as he placed a hand on my forehead, his thumb in between my eyes. “Time to go back” he said… before everything went dark again.

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I woke up drenched in sweat, my long black hair sticking to my forehead like a wet mop. I sat up, looking around in alarm and half expecting to see his dark frame beside my bed, to see his mask reflecting my pale face as he got his pen ready; but there was nothing out of the ordinary, my room looked like it usually did - dark blue walls with some posters here and there, white curtains pulled shut, only partially blocking out the early morning sun.

A plastic chair stood in another corner with some clothes thrown haphazardly over the backrest; close by stood my small desk that barely had enough space for my laptop, a lamp, and a few notebooks. In another corner, some boxes still remain unpacked, an ever-present reminder that it wouldn’t be long until we got our bags and headed towards the next city, the next house. Stability was a word foreign to both my mental and verbal vocabulary.

I put my feet on the soft carpet and rubbed the markings on my neck. Everything seemed so tranquil, so familiar and peaceful, and yet I could not get rid of the feeling of dread that pervaded my entire being as the remembrance of the dream played itself in my mind over and over again. “More like a nightmare”, I muttered to myself as I slowly got up, wondering whether it had just been that. It had seemed so real - so gut-wrenchingly real.

My markings seemed to ache in agreement as I opened the bathroom door, my bare feet feeling the cold of the bright white tiles as I opened the faucet. I washed my face vigorously, trying to clear my head, while above me the defective light bulb flickered occasionally as I took my shirt off to examine the markings that spread all across my body.

They might have looked like normal birthmarks if it weren't for their unique shape - similar to the scales of a snake, but bigger. The edges of my markings in particular were more spiked - like rows of shark's teeth. From these markings on my neck, other markings extended out over my body. These looked vastly different - some shaped like ferns, or as some medical students may call them, "Lichtenberg scars" - not that I had ever gotten struck by lightning… so far as I knew. (note to self: go ask dad - maybe getting struck by lightning would explain a lot of things). I was simply born like this.

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I slipped out of my underwear and stepped into the shower, where I continued to closely inspect the markings that extended to my arms. All the markings began in the back of my neck, curled around my torso, and branched out into my limbs, coiling around my arms and legs. Each branch had its own ending in the back of my hands and feet. Even in the dim light of my defective light bulb, I could tell they had darkened overnight - something that they had been doing over the past years, but that had been especially noticeable these past few weeks.

I was born without them, or so my father tells me. They started to emerge before I reached my first birthday, and at the time they were barely visible - just a little pinkish streak on the back of my neck. Over the years they have gotten more and more noticeable; On my fifteenth birthday, they were a distinct reddish-brown color that was impossible to miss. I didn’t know what they were or what they meant; I didn't even know why I had them - dad had never cared to give me a real explanation.

My father just brushed me off whenever I asked about my markings, but I had formed what I thought to be a pretty good theory. I figured that they were probably the same reason we moved around so much, why my father is so distrustful of everybody, why I could hardly ever leave the house. He went to great lengths to make sure of this, even opting to homeschool me from the moment I was old enough to begin kindergarten.

I turned off the hot water and dried myself, quickly opening the door back into my room and rummaging through my still half-packed clothes. I usually ended up picking whatever looked comfortable - it wasn't like I was gonna leave the house anyway. I considered putting some effort into taming my hair into something remotely resembling neatness, but I gave up on that after three failed attempts.

While I descended the wooden stairs that squeaked softly under my weight, the pleasant smell of breakfast wafted up to me along with my father’s usual scent, and something unfamiliar… I stopped dead in my tracks. There was someone else down there - a person I didn’t know.

My father seemed to have heard my indecision because he called out, “It's okay Asher, you can come down”. Reluctantly, I obeyed, feeling exposed with my marking so clearly visible.

It took me only a second to recognize the person sitting at our kitchen table, and it took even less time for the fear to settle in. I jumped back instinctively as the man from my dream turned to look at me - or at least so I could gather since I couldn't see his eyes. “Well well well aren't we jumpy today?”, he said, addressing me with a coolness that was absolutely aggravating - as if he hadn’t just tortured me in a dream. Or had he really? Had it all been a dream? Reality? A vision? Things were getting real confusing, real quick.

He must have read my confused expression because he chuckled under his mask. “Confused aren't we, Asher?”, he said as the pen from my dream suddenly appeared in his hand, its gleaming metal making me recoil even more. “Well I can assure you, dear boy, that it was all true - I was in your dream. “Unfortunately, your father here stopped me”. He shook his head, his frame slumped as his posture clearly conveyed the sorrow his face couldn’t.

“Dad?”, my alarmed voice quavered embarrassingly. He looked up from where he was serving two cups of steaming coffee, light brown hair falling messily over his eyes much like my own hair often did. He looked at me like I was being overly dramatic; “It’s okay Asher, if he was a treat I wouldn’t be hanging out with him in our kitchen”. As usual, dad came out sounding perfectly reasonable and logical, a quality of his that I didn't appreciate at the moment.

“But he hurt me”, I said, sounding an awful lot like a little kid pouting over the fact that Johnny from across the street whacked him across the head with a Jenga block.

Dad's expression softened a little; “It wasn’t intentional Asher, it was just a side effect of him testing your abilities - it had to be done..”, he placed the cups down on the table, “Believe me I didn’t enjoy it either; I could hear you screaming from here, and I stopped him when I couldn't take it any longer”.

“A true pity”, the man said, accepting the cup of coffee and moving his mask slightly to the side, exposing his mouth, “On that same topic, quite a remarkable boy you have here Dion - we always knew your genes would amount to something”.

If dad cared for the compliment, he didn’t show it as he began to load his dish with food. I followed suit, all the while eyeing the stranger suspiciously, fear still lingering in my chest.

Breakfast was often a silent business with dad. He had this rule about not eating over your food, quite old school I know, but I had picked it up from him; no conversation arose from anybody.

The man unlike us didn’t take any of the food and contented himself with sipping his coffee. Not that I had any complaints, sharing food with him was somewhere near the bottom of my priority list. It also didn't help that even as I finished my food, I was still awfully hungry and that my stomach was making painful somersaults inside of me. Dad, as always, noticed and ignoring my protests gave me the rest of his practically untouched food, almost like he had somehow been expecting this.

“I’m making you pay for our groceries next time, Lionel '', he said to the man as I devoured what was probably three kilos of food a little too quickly.

Lionel only shrugged; “What can I say? Those abilities of his can really build an appetite”.

Dad sighed, no doubt still hungry after giving me his food. “Anyway Asher, hurry up and change into your going out clothes - you don't want to be late for school”. I choked and spat out the rest of my coffee, coughing vigorously in an attempt to dislodge the piece of bacon that had evidently flown down the wrong side of my throat and gotten stuck somewhere in the vicinity of my vocal cords - if that’s even possible. “The what now?” I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly.

Dad rubbed his upper left arm, the place where he had the same markings as me - his familiar nervous gesture. “I guess I forgot to tell you kiddo, but we have decided it would be a good idea to send you to school. We have detected some… rather unsavory individuals who may be on our trail, and we figured the best way to hide your scent is among a couple hundred teenagers”.

“Are you kidding me!” I exploded, slamming my hand into the table and smashing it in half in the process. “You forgot to tell me I’m going to school for the first time in my life when I have zero social skills and have exchanged exactly three words with somebody my own age? And you expect me to just get up on my birthday and be cool with this?”.

My father looked taken aback by my sudden outburst. He looked so shaken that he wasn’t even mad at the ruined table; “Um… Yes?” he said uncertainly, evidently at a loss for words.

Lionel laughed from behind his mask. Clearly, the entire situation was amusing to him. “Ah… the teenage hormones acting up I see”; I came this close to launching myself at him, but my father stopped me with one stern look. “Look Asher, I'm sorry things turned out like this, but there is just no way around it”. I considered pleading with him, promising to behave and do all my chores and not complain about math homework, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that I had lost the war before it had even started.

“Fine”. I did nothing to conceal the anger in my voice as I stormed up the stairs and slammed my bedroom door, cracking the wall and ruining the handle in the process.

I threw my clothes this way and that as I got dressed again, purposely making a royal mess to piss my dad off. Maybe if I made him mad enough he would ground me, or whatever it was that parents did in the movies I had seen of high school students and their interactions with their parents. To be honest, the grounding thing had never been applied to me because, well, I hardly left the house anyway. Hard to ground a kid who never leaves the house, is it?

I looked at myself in the mirror to make sure none of my markings were visible under the layers of clothing I wore. I had picked a black turtleneck sweater that took care of most of my arms and neck. My hands were a little more tricky; fortunately, it was late fall, and nobody would see it as unusual if I wore fingerless gloves outside, explaining why I wore them indoors would be more complicated. Maybe I could pass it off as the latest fashion? That seemed a bit of a stretch since I had no idea what the last fashion actually was, but yeah. Could you have come up with a better excuse in my place?

I look at my pale face in the mirror, suddenly terrified of what I was about to be forced into. I had no idea how I would manage to do this; all my life I had been kept hidden, had not even been allowed to play with kids my age, or of any age for that matter. Dad seldomly let me go out and if he did, it was more often than not when we moved houses and he never allowed me to get more than three feet away from him on those occasions.

I tried to think of all the movies I had seen about high school. Each genre depicted it differently. Some depicted it as all fun and games, with parties all week long and apparently not having a care in the world. Others described it as the worst place imaginable, where all your doubts, fears, and insecurities are exposed for the whole world to see.

Unfortunately, there had been one consistency - bullies. Their existence was the one all films and shows agreed on, and so I was guessing that that was the only thing I could count on, apart from the fact that I was at a complete loss on how to talk, how to act, or even how to get from class to class. Heck, how did you put your password in a locker? I felt so lost, so scared… so lonely.

My markings began tingling, as they often did when I got too stressed. Dad appeared in my doorway, his arms crossed, a sympathetic look on his face. “I know this is a lot to take in Asher, but…” his voice trailed off for a bit before he resumed with forced composure. “... but I need to keep you safe, more than anything. If something happens to you…”, his voice caught, unusually heavy with emotion, “I don’t think I could go on living”.

His sudden loss of composure surprised me; and for the first time, I began to consider what he was probably feeling right now. All my life I had known there was something strange about me; this feeling was only strengthened by the fact that from my earliest memories my father had always looked worried like there was something behind every corner ready to snatch me. I believe he took comfort in the fact that at least he was close to protect me at a moment's notice, but now, due to circumstances that were beyond my comprehension, he had to let me go, if only for a few hours. I could tell that it was killing him.

“It’s okay dad”. All my anger dissipated as I looked into his face, lined with years and years of worry and care. “I'm sure it won’t be that bad”.

He smiled half-heartedly at me.

“I really hope so Asher... I really do”