Natalie Rayne

2. Intervention

That morning could not have gone any worse. Conversely, I knew that if a single of my incidents had not occurred, or were the tiniest bit different, the day would not have been any more right. For simply I would not have met him; and my life would not have been drastically changed. I would have gone on living out my mind-numbingly boring life.

Now I cherished all of those unlucky, unpleasant accidents, because now I understood—it had all been part of this greater plan, somehow involving me. And why me, I would never exactly understand, but if I had the chance to go back and do it all over, I simply wouldn’t, because I wouldn’t have it any other way. I was willing to do anything for him, my fate and his un-fated existence irrevocably intertwined.

And this I had come to a full awareness of, and accepted. I left the certain to danger the uncertain, from the dark into the darker.

But I wasn’t alone. I would never be alone.



“Natalie, you’re going to be late for your first day!” I vaguely heard my mother shout up the stairs. “Get up!”

My exhausted groan barely made it through my cavern of covers; I had purposefully pulled them over me, in attempt to perhaps escape the reality of another school year. At least it was my junior year, one more year closer to graduation.

Lethargically, I rolled back over, and my heavy eyes shut without my doing; I was lost within a comforting sleep again.

“NATALIE! You’re really going to be late now!” I heard a scream, and I bolted upright, blinking; the pale morning sunlight shafted through the facing window and into my eyes. I shook my head out of it, and checked the alarm clock—6:50! I was supposed to be there at 7:30! Great, just great. Bleary-eyed, I rubbed my reddened, tingling face and I turned, glimpsing the wild-looking thing that had died on my head overnight and my hazel eyes purple-ringed, due to my strange inability to sleep with waking up erratically. And it wasn’t like I had anxiety for the first day of my junior year, which was, well, a part of it, but I had continued to have the same bizarre dream.

In this dream I was chasing someone through a dark, dense forest at night; I didn’t know who, all I knew was that I needed this person. When I at last believed I had reached them holding out my hand to grab their shoulder and pull them around, I found myself with a moonlit meadow, alone—and then I just woke up. And it was that same dream, repeatedly. I just couldn’t make any sense of it, whatsoever.

And now I would be late for school, even better. Maybe if I hurried…Maybe…

I threw off the covers, and flipped my legs over the pink and teal comforter. As I took a step down, my right heel collided hard against something prickly and I let out a cuss, seeing my leg fly out in front of me. I stumbled and fell flat onto my back; there was a loud, panicked meow as the tawny, fat shape of my cat darted from beneath me.

I sighed in defeated, blowing the stray bangs of my honey blonde hair from fallen onto my face. “Sorry Ginger!” I called, realizing I must have scared her half-to-death by waking her up. The vaulted, white ceiling hung over me, tauntingly. I certainly had inherited my dangerous clumsiness from my Mom, Belinda. Quickly, I reached out and grabbed the culprit of my tumble, raising it to my eyes. My blue hairbrush? I rolled my eyes; I had been looking for that one for awhile now.

Grumbling, I stood up and made my way ever so gracefully to the bathroom. I hurriedly took a shower, and in a frenetic frenzy ran back to my room and flung open my closet doors to decide what in the world I was going to wear, with less than five minutes to do so in. In a whirlwind of clothes, accessories, and hangers I came out wearing jean khaki shorts and a blue plaid shirt. I sprinted back into the bathroom, which the door had been locked and occupied! I banged on the door furiously.

“Nathan!” I cried, outraged. “Get out! Now!”

“I’m using the rest-room!” he sang in his annoyingly ten-year-old-sing-song-voice.

“I don’t care get out!” I shrieked, ramming my fist onto the door.

“It’s not my fault you’re going to be late!”

I released an infuriated seething, and shouted for Mom to tell him to get out. “Nathan! Hurry up! And let your sister in the bathroom, she has to do go! Now!” she demanded from downstairs.

“Alright,” he sighed from the inside, with a flush of the toilet. After the tedious sounds of him slowly washing and drying his hands, the door knob squeaked and he opened the door.

“Here you go my queen,” he mocked in a medieval exaggeration. “The highness’s royal flushing room is all hers!”

“Get out of my way, you little—”

His small frame flew around me, only a glimpse of his dark brown hair rushing by. I burst into the pale blue-painted bathroom, and manically rushed to do something with this awful hair. I looked into the mirror, after I brushed my hair with much difficulty.

My reflection hadn’t changed much over the past two years in high school. I was still the same, short height; but hey, I was fun-sized! I had always grown my golden blonde hair long in its ringlets that had minds of their own, each of them, some too curly, others barely twisting against my unsatisfied face. I had never considered myself pretty, despite my glowing skin, and thinness (despite my ravenous eating habits…let’s just say my family had learned their lesson in taking me along to the all you could eat buffets); I guessed I blamed my awkward disposition on that. Mom always said I was beautiful, and Dad too, but that didn’t count. I wanted a guy to tell me that—a cute, and descent one—not all the sleazy, creepers or the overly-helpful, even-more-awkward-than-me type that I somehow inadvertently attracted.

Why couldn’t a guy like Brent Landers, not a perfect guy in looks, but I didn’t need or want that. He was unbelievably kind, smart, sarcastic, hilarious—and yeah, my best friend. Go figure. We had known each other since kindergarten. He had stolen one of my crayons, and so I madly broke one of his; I remembered, contrary to his skeptic belief, that he cried. I told him I was sorry, begrudgingly and the relationship began from there. And it was only a year ago, I had developed these small, but fluttering feelings for him; I had told him nothing of this, for obvious reasons.

Numero uno, I just knew he wasn’t interested in me at all.

Numero dos, I didn’t desire to suddenly make things awkward between us.

And numero tres, well—I didn’t want to lose what an incredible relationship we had between each other. Sometimes it was scary even, when we could finish each other’s sentences, or look at each other and not even have to say anything. And then sometimes, I realized that I knew him way too much. Ew.

I starred haplessly, smirking at my reflection still, as I worked the hair straightened to no avail. Suddenly, I began to smell something odd, a singed, burning stench. I gasped when I realized it was my hair, and instantly dropped the straightened as tips of my hair caught onto fire. My horrified scream echoed through the bathroom, and lunged for the tub, throwing my head into and frantically turning on the faucet. Cold, rushing water soaked my hair and extinguished the small flames with a sizzling sound.

Sprawled sadly across the tan, tiled bathroom floor and over the tub, my body began to shake as I sobbed uncontrollably, holding my ruined tuft of hair, water streaming, and dripping into the tub. The tears blurred my vision and I blinked them back, as I unsteadily stood to my feet. I grabbed the towel, giving up on further fixing my hair, and simply dried it throwing it back. Who the hell cared what it looked like now. I went back to the mirror to inspect the damage. I sighed in relief, seeing it wasn’t that noticeable. I wiped my face with an arm, and ambled out of the bathroom, disheartened and stinking with singed hair. Typical.

I ran down the stairs, nearly tripping—again—before I made it to the bottom. As I past my little brother slouched onto the sofa in the living room, cackled an evil laugh. I shrieked a shut-up, before storming into the kitchen. The kitchen was small with light green walls, dark mahogany cabinets, a bar and an overlooking cut-out window into the living room. I threw open the kitchen door grabbed a packet of Pop-tarts, and a soda from the fridge.

“What happened to you?” I heard my Dad, Arnold, asked. I turned around to him, fuming. He was tall and lanky, and fair-skinned with dark brown hair; he was already dressed in his polo, and khakis, the manger of the local grocery store, Arny’s Market. A pair of hazel eyes, my eyes, gazed at me wonderingly.

“Don’t ask!” I reaffirmed, wild-eyed.

He held up his hands, seeing that the subject was touchy, as it most definitely was. “Sorry honey; just want to wish you a good first day. Hope it all goes well.”

“Thanks Dad,” I muttered. “Me too…a lot better…than this morning,” I said the last bit so soft he couldn’t here.

“I think you have to be going.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” I agreed, looking at the time.

I swiftly departed from the kitchen and into the beige laundry room, connected to the garage. I threw my hasty breakfast and beverage into my giant, harlequin-quilted bag, bursting with bright teals, blues, greens, and whites. I slung the bag that also held my notebooks, extra random articles of clothes, somehow those fuzzy pink socks Gramma Georgina had given me last Christmas, which have yet to be worn, sunglasses, and my other crap.

“Got everything?” I heard my mother’s voice pipe up behind me.

“Uh…I think,” I spoke, summarily checking everything, feeling my pockets, and I gasped. “My wallet!”

I whipped around to retrieve it from my room, but my Mom stopped me. She was my height, had the same long, wavy honey-colored hair, frail frame, tanned-complexion, but with more wrinkles and visible laugh lines. She was a charismatic, caring, if crazy and forgetful sometimes—but I loved her. She held out my glittering wallet with arm, jangling of bracelets. My Mom was dressed in her attorney, business suit, and ready for work as usual.

I attempted a smile, and told her thanks. Now for my shoes. I looked around, and moaned in absolute irritation, seeing the nowhere, not where I last remembered putting them. My Mom said she hadn’t seen them, since last I bought them, and then I thought Nathan most likely had done something with them, but I didn’t have time to go on a wild-goose—or shoe chase with him; I would just have to do without my new, purple Converses. This greatly saddened me. So I just hastily put on my worn, white flip-flops.

My Mom wished me well, kissing me on the cheek, and I was out the door, speedily walking through the opened garage.

Outside the sun set the clouded sky afire, reddening the trees, and grass—everything with a blazing light. A damp mist still clung within the August, morning air, and I breathed it in, refreshing and cooling my frazzled hair. I walked to the end of my driveway on Dawes Street, near 16th Street’s intersection, just in time to see my bus drive away, without me. I cried aloud in rage, pitching my damn bag onto the ground. Not know what else to do, my knees gave way, and I crumpled onto the ground feeling my eyes become watery.

I cursed so loudly in my head, more times than I ever had in my entire life. It was only morning, and it had been the worst day of my life. Just my luck! Anything that could have went wrong—did! My hair catching on fire? How bizarre. Everything! Just everything…only thing that didn’t, well, I hadn’t died. Which was good…I guessed.

I wanted to bust out in manic laughter, but I just couldn’t…I couldn’t go back into the house and ask for my parents to drive me to school…that was even more embarrassing than riding the damn Twinkie to school; and plus, they had their jobs to go, and take Nathan to the elementary school. I buried my face into my hands and just bawled like an idiot.

I heard a car roll only feet away, its monstrous engine, rumbling—and it stopped. Had I not been crying like I had lost my mind, I would have heard a window being rolled down.

“Hey, are you going to the high school here?”

I continued to cry, choosing to ignore the voice.

“Hello!—”

Were they talking to me? Of course, you moron! Who else was here? I lifted my head, and saw blurrily before the shape of a dark car, and a pale, shadowed face staring at me. I blinked away the tears, and stupidly said, “Huh?”

I thought I heard their voice—it was a guy, now that I could see more clearly—chuckle lightheartedly. Did he take pleasure in my ruined state? “I asked, are you supposed to be going to the high school?”

“Well…um, yes,” I replied, confused why he had even stopped at all.

“I’m going there too, you want a ride?”

My brow furrowed, and I stood up awkwardly, grabbing my bag and putting it back over my shoulder. I thumbed away the rest of the tears, and saw how mystifying his face truly was, a face I never seen in all of Ashland, Nebraska. From a distance, I could only see his face as unbelievably chiseled, with deep, lurid eyes—eyes that invited me, and the longer I stared at them, the more entranced I became. My heart I swore skipped a few beats, my mind turning to mush. No! He was a stranger. I didn’t know him; it was only natural, but the curiosity I couldn’t ignore, spreading through me like a passionate poison.

“Who are you?” I asked, more rudely than intended.

He seemed to take no notice, his godly statue-like face remaining stoic; however, beneath it I could tell there was some interest, something in the glint of his mysterious eyes.

“I’m new here; it’s my first day.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, thinking I’m must have sounded like a retard. I had realized I had lost complete feeling in my legs, and momentarily forgotten where I was—standing here in front of his black, sports car? It was unbelievable; well, I supposed that was suiting.

“So would you like the ride?” he asked, more hopeful this time.

A dreamy smile spread up my lips, as I felt an unnatural rebellious force swell within me.

“Sure,” I said without thinking, and telling my common sense to shut the hell up. I mean things like this didn’t happen every day, a mysteriously beautiful guy in an expensive, black car showing up at your driveway just in the nick of time—wait that could never happen any day…but…it was? It was!

Instantaneously, filled with a bubbling excitement, I began to head to the passenger-side door, but he told me to wait. When I saw his tall, muscular figure dressed in a thin, dark green shirt and jeans, come around the car, I could have fell out onto the road dead. He smiled, and I blushed as he extended an arm opening the door for me. What a gentleman! Maybe…I hadn’t woken up. Okay, I decided, I would milk this dream for all it was worth, before I would wake up and be dissatisfied with reality once more.

As I got into the vehicle, I took in its new smell of leather, rarely had been sat in, if ever the way the seat crackled with my movement as I buckled the seat belt. I looked around, gawking at the grandeur of the car, wondering how in the world he paid for this…maybe his parents were really rich or something; well, it was a possibility. But why would they move here?

While I was lost within my own inquisitive world, I didn’t notice him get back into the car, which engine still hummed idle. He changed gears, and pressed lightly on the accelerator, driving away from my house. Thankfully, my parents had paid no attention to me getting into the car of a stranger, busy with their own riotous morning. I noticed he didn’t do something he should have.

“Shouldn’t you buckle your seat belt?”

A crooked grin broke out from his perfectly full lips, and he laughed, a beautiful melody to it, infectious. “You humor me,” he simpered, and I felt offended. Well, fine then, if we happened to get in a wreck, I wouldn’t be the one to go flying through the windshield. No sir!

My eyes wandered out of the window at the scenery at I seen over and over for all of my seventeen years. Suddenly, it began to blur, as I realized we were going faster than we should be.

“Shouldn’t we slow down?”

He laughed again—what was with this guy? Did he have a death wish or something? “We’re running a tad late,” he said in his smooth, intimate voice that sounded almost like water falling.

“I realize that,” I said with a nervous deadpan. “But I want to get there—alive, if at all possible.”

“We will, well, at least one of us,” he said strangely.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he spoke softly. I was about to ask something more, but as I turned to look at him, I lost brain function all together. His face, now only a touch away, was incredibly flawless, his white skin, seeming so soft, so clear. Tasseled, dark hair the color of autumn bordered his angled, airbrushed face. A strong neck his shirt rounded, where I saw something gold glimmer in the sunlight near his bulging, defined chest. His build was more than athletic, but out of this word perfect, everything about him sent my mind reeling, revaluating all that I knew. Maybe he was a European model, and had somehow got lost in here in Nebraska, of all places.

As I my eyes were just upon the beginnings of mind-undressing, his pale, green eyes focused upon me intensely. His mouth fell agape and he stared blankly at me with a notion of absurd disbelief. What was wrong with me? Did I have something in my teeth? Oh god! It was my hair, wasn’t it?—then I realized.

“The road!” I shrieked.

“Huh?” he spoke, perplexed.

“The road!” I shouted again. “Watch the road!”

“Oh!” he cried, snapping out of it, and whisked his vision back upon the road, only narrowly swerving around a mailman truck that happened to be blocking outside of the road, halted a mailbox. I clutched at my chest, gasping, thinking over and over, we were not dead, nothing wrong had happened; we were okay.

“Sorry about that,” he spoke with a genuine hurt. What had I done? What had I said?

“No, its okay…but you drive like a madman,” I endeavored at some humor to liven things up—well, maybe not humor; it was the undeniable truth.

He said nothing to this, and only looked at me again, this time less of disbelief but more of interest. They gave me something new to quietly explore. I probed my curious stare into his, deep into his eyes that seemed to almost glow—and then in that moment he turned them back upon the road, and I quietly sighed looking elsewhere.

“Your car is very…nice,” I complimented, attempting to find the exact word to not make things too awkward.

He smiled smugly. “Thanks.”

“How did you get it?—well, I mean…did your—parents?” Here we go…I braced myself for the worst.

And he chuckled, again! “Well, let’s just say I saved up awhile for it.”

“Must have taken forever,” I said, tracing a finger along the fine upholstery.

“Well not that long,” he reassured.

Questions that needed to be answered began to populate my brain space. “So…um…how did you know I needed a ride? I mean the bus just left me and you showed up. And I thought I wouldn’t be able to get to school, and be late for my first day, which I didn’t want to, because you know be embarrassed and all, and suddenly you arrived, and it all just seemed so perfect, and—am I making any sense?”

I didn’t give him any time to answer. “If not, I’m sorry for rambling, because I tend to ramble, and if I am you just tell me that I—”

“You’re rambling,” he interjected sympathetically.

My face turned tomato red, and I said, “Sorry…didn’t mean to do that…”

“It’s okay,” he said, his body becoming less tense, more relaxed. “I just happened to be driving by, and I saw the bus leaving, and you there crying…and so I decided why not?”

“You are too kind,” I said, exaggerating purposefully.

“There needs to be more kindness in this world; it lacks it greatly.”

This guy was unbelievable. I propped my head up with a closed fist, elbow against the armrest. Once I saw the brick of school, I told him to turn, and he did; we followed the long line of traffic onto the school campus, directed by a policeman. He told me he needed to go to the front office to get his schedule, so I directed him there. He parked into one of the empty spaces, and killed the engine.

As I unbuckled, I looked to him, and said, “Thanks for the ride. It was very sweet of you.”

A mirroring grin lit up his face, and did he—blush? I was almost certain he did, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it. “You are most welcome,” he said affectionately.

My mouth fell open, as I just remembered. “Oh, I forgot to ask you, your name…?”

“It’s Kaelan…Kaelan Eschol.”

I blinked. Kaelan Eschol? Was he serious? Odd. But interesting, nonetheless…everything about him was just fascinating.

“And may I enquire of yours?”

I nearly giggled; what in the world was wrong with me? “It’s Natalie…Natalie Rayne.”

He smiled, his unblemished face glowing, eyes beaming. “It was nice to meet you Natalie Rayne.”

“Same to me—I mean you,” I said stammering; he only smiled that wonderful, dreamy smile again. Thank god, he hadn’t taken any notice to my idiocy. I whipped around and my head conked against the glass of window, as I first attempted to get out.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

I waved, hand, trying to hide my crimson face as best as possible. “Yes,” I piped.

“See you around…maybe?”

“Most likely,” I said. “It’s a very small school.”

“Alright then, be safe,” he said cautiously, overlooking me with baffled bewilderment.

“You too,” I said, and I opened the door, stumbling my way out. We said goodbye to each other, and I made my way along the tree and shrubbery lined, cement path to the front doors. I couldn’t control it any longer, and I had to look back to see if he was still there—but he wasn’t, he had already gone. I sighed, and my eyes drifted back to school, and I wondered what else bizarre could happen today, and maybe that the day began to seem promising after all.

After I had walked into the fluorescently lit, noisy school’s inside, I happened to see the unmistakable messy brown, bed-head hair flopping ahead of me.

“Brent!” I cried, and he turned around, grinning.

“Hey Nat!” he said, giving me an arm hug, happy to see me. He was wearing a dark red shirt with jeans and his old sneakers. When he took a better look at me, his green-blue eyes widened, and blurted, “What happened to you, Nat!? I mean…”
I groaned. “Yeah, I know…my hair…it caught on fire, that’s why I’m a little late getting here.”

“Caught on fire?” he questioned, astounded.

“Yeah,” I said passing it off with a building impatience. “But you’ll never guess what just happened to me!”