Feel Again Read online

  The police had ruled the event of their deaths as a break in gone bad. However, there had appeared to be nothing stolen from the Davidsons’ quaint little house. Ever since, he had been bounced back and forth from foster home to foster home, never finding a real family in any of them. In fact, many of these surrogate families only tortured and abused, or, in the very best cases, neglected Lionel.

  Of course, he did not find solace at his school, Sam White High, as he was treated as a senseless freak by the other students, despite his handsome appearance, which sported a muscular build, tall stature, and blue eyes that contrasted nicely with his thick black hair. Lionel trudged along the gravel parking lot in his ill-fitting sneakers, with the bottoms of his worn-out jeans all frayed and dirty. A few feet away, the most popular of all senior girls, Marcy Hellman, walked over to him, her high heels clicking as she walked, and her ruffled miniskirt swaying in the wind.

  “What are you looking at, Freako?” she asked, her mouth turning into a snarl at the corners as she spoke.

  “Leave me alone, Marcy. I’m not bothering you. I never try to bother anybody.” Lionel was quite tired of such bullies pestering him when he was just minding his own business, trying to “chill” as the popular kids would call it, and be left to the slight comfort of his own thoughts.

  “Yeah,” said Marcy’s stocky blonde boyfriend, Scott, who everyone called ‘Scotch’ after his favorite beverage, which he drank in excess. “Maybe somebody should have left your parents alone, too,” he continued, taking a swig from a bottle of scotch that kept on swinging dangerously from his reddened hand.

  Within seconds, Lionel’s fist pinned Scotch down to the floor, and, as he punched the boy repeatedly, he could see how Marcy’s blood boiled.

  “That’s for what you said, and for being such a tool,” he said to the bleeding and bruised Scotch. Marcy helped Scotch up and they walked away, whispering about Lionel just as everyone else at Sam White High always did.

  Angry, Lionel jumped into his beat-up black pickup and drove to the rundown apartment building on the corner of a bad neighborhood, where his current foster mother, Carla, lived with her cats, a few assorted babies of her own, and, of course, Lionel. He knew for sure that she did not love him like a son, but only kept him until his release from the system as a way to supplement her measly welfare check and take care of her own children and pets. Lionel barged through the hollow apartment door, going straight to his tiny six-by-eight bedroom, without even acknowledging Carla, who happened to be nursing one of her babies at the time.

  Once inside, he glanced at the peeling flowered wallpaper, hideous orange carpets, and the pale ceiling which could cave in at any time. He threw his green backpack onto the unmade bed, and started on his history homework, but, as usual, gave up after a few minutes. What was the point? There were only a few more days of high school left, and he had been accepted into quite a few colleges, but he had planned to major in science, not history. Besides, he had later declined his acceptances to all of them because he was not able to find the means to pay the high tuition rates, and Carla certainly could not help him out, as she had very little of her own money, and would not be willing to share any of it. Instead, he fired up his mp3 player, jamming to the heavy metal that blasted from his headphones.

  Lionel had always perferred the trance-like variety, as he often felt as if he were from another world altogether. When he listened to music, even if it was only for a few minutes, he felt as if, in the moment, all of his troubles had simply melted away. Surely, though, once the last note of a song fell from his ears and scattered into the darkness of his broken mind, all of the misery that he had attempted to avoid came hurling back at him, only it had multiplied at least three-fold.

  People were always making fun of him for having dead parents, and he always defended them, yet he never knew who they had been. Just then, Lionel realized that even music could not keep his mind off of things at this point. Frustrated, he grabbed his light spring jacket, which, like his hair, was a deep ebony, from a green moon chair that sat in the mostly empty corner, appearing just as lonely ad Lionel was.

  Lionel was done with this life. He had decided to leave this place for good. He did not care about school. He did not care about Carla, or about Marcy, or about Scotch. He did not care about anyone else in the entire universe. For the first time in Lionel's life, the only one he really cared about was himself. He then craftily wormed himself past his bedroon, and, after getting through the grimy one-car garage, he snuck out of the decrepit apartment, walking away from the unpromising ghetto for what he thought would be forever, and towards Grand Central Station.

  Chapter Four

  By the time he arrived, it was getting dark. At this point, Lionel had no idea what he'd been thinking when he left home. He had failed to think that, as would be the case, there would be no subway at that time. Lionel found a place to sit on the ashy ground of the empty station. He had never been so confused in his life. Just as he was beginning to lose every bit of hope that he had left, a strange looking girl of about twenty or so came seemingly out of nowhere. She was dressed normally, in grey skinny jeans and a black T-shirt. She had a lot of piercings, though, and her hair was dyed a weird shade of purple. Her skin was covered in so much makeup that it looked orange and she was wearing dark sunglasses. Yet, oddly, Lionel felt drawn to her. He was at a loss for words.

  "I have been waiting many years for you to come here, Lionel," she said suddenly.

  "Who are you?" He asked, frightened. "How do you know my name? What is yours?"

  "My name is Sama-ntha," She struggled with the end of her name as if it brought piercing flames to her tongue. "We have met long ago, but you do not remember."

  Lionel did not know what to say. "Are you high?" He finally supplicated.

  "I am not authorized to tell you how far up my location is, Lionel. "

  "Whatever. Just get me out of here,” Lionel replied, not knowing this strange girl at all, yet feeling comfortable enough in her presence to go anywhere with her that she might want to go, even though he knew that could be a very dangerous thing to do.

  The girl simply walked out of the subway station, beckoning for him to follow. He was hesitant, but he went anyway, tredging his feet along the cement lining the streets of New York City . They walked along for what seemed like forever. As they walked, they remained completely silent, and Lionel just took in the sights, sounds, and smells around him.

  He could smell the tomato sauce drifting from his favorite Italian restaurant, and his mouth began to water so much that he could nearly taste his favorite pasta dish. He just had to have it that very second, or else he feared he would starve.

  “Hey, Samantha,” he began, once again hesitant about what to do that would not upset or anger this strange girl. “Can we go in there? I’m kind of hungry. I haven’t really eaten all day, actually.”

  “Fine,” the girl replied matter-of-factly. “But, we must not take more than a specific time which I have previously calculated and alloted for this purpose.” Man, she was one weird chick.

  “And,” Lionel began. “How long might that be, pray tell?” He was just curious as to whether or not the girl would be at least somewhat reasonable in the amount of time that she had supposedly “alloted” for him to eat based on her “previous calculaltions.”

  “I believe it is the equivalent of ten minutes here,” she said.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” He said to her. “How am I supposed to eat in ten minutes? Huh?”

  “Eight point seventy-three minutes,” she answered him with exact precision.

  “Okay, then,” he replied coolly, “Let’s get to that.” Lionel was not going to add any more commentary, lest it destroy his chances of eating at the restaurant.

  They sat at the checkered table of the restaurant, with Lionel hoping that the waitress would bring them their food very soon. After a minute or two, his wishes were granted.

  “Here you go,”
the pretty and charming young woman who had red hair and soft blue eyes, said to Lionel, smiling with a mouth of pearly white teeth as she placed a platter of spaghetti and meatballs in front of his seat at the cramped table. He dug in greedily and ate the majority of his food with much haste. Then, just before he was able to finish, the girl said, “Let us go now. Immediately, please.”

  Damn, Lionel thought. She’s one tough cookie if I’ve ever seen one. He was not so sure that he understood this girl’s logic. To top it all off, or, to put the icing on the cake, as some people would say, the girl dragged him into the eeriest house that he had ever seen in his life. It had to have been abandoned for years, but it seemed strangely familiar. The girl did not speak, only made automated hand gestures. As Lionel walked through the peeling red door, he tripped and fell over a knocked-down Christmas tree, which seemed odd for the time of year.

  "Get up," the girl demanded coldly. "Why are you just lying around like that? Have you gone insane?" Her voice seemed almost robotic with its blunt, monotonous sound. Lionel, beginning to fear the girl, obeyed.

  "We need to eat now. It is the proper time."

  "Alrighty, then," Lionel mumbled. He did not even bother to remind her that they had just eaten roughly an hour prior to entering this strange house. The girl went into a kitchen, apparently the only functional room in the house, as the others were so dusty and ridden with rodents that they were completely unmanageable. Not that the occasional rat did not scurry along the kitchen floor as well, because it did.

  She got a cheap frying pan out of the dusty oak cabinet and poured instant pancake mix from a yellow jug into it, then proceeded to turn on a hot plate. At least it looked like a hot plate anyway. This thing worked so fast that she only had to flip the single large pancake once before it was entirely cooked.

  Lionel reluctantly took his place at the old table, sitting in a chair so rickety that he felt as though his legs were swinging. Silently, the girl used a knife to cut the pancake into two half-circles, placing each on a paper plate. To his surprise--and delight--she filled two styrofoam cups with chocolate milk. They ate silently, and also rather quickly, as there was not exactly very much to eat in the first place.

  "Now we must sleep. You must sleep there," she said, pointing to the floor. She did not even care that Lionel might be uncomfortable sleeping in such a place.

  "Gee, thanks," he muttered under his breath. This chick really was crazy, that is, if he had ever seen a crazy chick before. She was even more nuts than Marcy Hellman and, that said a lot.

  "Pardon?"

  "Nothing," replied Lionel, wondering if Samantha had a cat's hearing.

  He dramatically threw himself down onto the floor and pretended to fall asleep instantly, although he knew it was not likely that he would sleep at all. Yet, strangely enough, he did. He beagn to dream of many people who were just as strange as the girl, and they hovered over his bloody body, holding weapons onminously above him as he screamed in pain. Even in his slumber, he could feel himself sweating.However, sometime mid-night, he heard the girl stirring in her own sleep, even from some distance away, in a small and partially caved-in bedroom, though it was not too far from the main entrance of the home

  He snuck in and stood over the bed where she slept, watching her toss and turn aimlessly. She muttered in a strange language that was unintelligible to him, her mop of purple hair and its adjoining head thrusting against the faded blue pillow. With the light of a bedlamp shining on her face, he could see that she had washed off her makeup. Her skin was so white that it was somewhat electric, like the color of freshly fallen snow. All of a sudden, her eyes opened. She was awake. He gasped, seeing that they were bright yellow and staring right back at him.

  Chapter Five

  It seemed like forever that they were staring into each others eyes. Lionel wondered if the girl was dangerous; if she would kill him. Those eyes--they were not even remotely human. She was not human. He then began to wonder: Was he? Why did he even think that. Of course Lionel was human. But one thing was certain. The girl was not, and she could be dangerous. In that moment, he was afraid for his life. What was going to happen? And, then, the girl's eyes were shut and she was asleep once more.

  Lionel crept back to his corner of the living room floor, sleepily dragging his feet along the faded green carpet. Within seconds, it seemed, he had fallen back into a deep slumber. Before he knew it, morning had arrived. He awoke to the smell of another pancake. It was only the second time and he was already growing tired of them. Of course, he would not ever say that to the girl. He walked into the kitchen, but the girl did not notice him. Then, something caught his eye. On the upper part of her left arm, was a tattoo of the word Samakri. It then occured to him that that was probably her real name; the reason why she had stuttered over the one she had given him.

  Seeing that Lionel was staring at her tattoo, Samakri quickly covered it up with her hand, pretending as if she were scratching an itch.

  "Why do you wear sunglasses all the time?" Lionel inquired, wondering why she would do such a thing. It did not make sense to him at all.

  "I am from a place where we are not so accustomed to sunlight." Gee, that makes even more sense to me, Lionel thought.

  "Where are you from, Samakri?" Lionel asked rather inquisitively, fiddling with a fake diamond stud that he wore on his right ear.

  "Do not ever call me that!" She said, throwing him a dangerous glare.

  "I need to know who you are,” he replied, beginning to sense that something was terribly wrong with the girl, who he now knew as Samakri.

  "You are much less prepared for the truth than what you might imagine, Lionel. Trust me now, and you will thank me later." If anything that Samakri had said or done before had freaked Lionel out, this was definitely the topper.

  There was quite a long pause following the conversation. Samakri seemed to be staring out into the sky through the grimy window of the old kitchen. Lionel looked down at the red and white checkerboard tablecloth until the squares began to move and melt into one blob of fuzzy pink nothingness. An ant was crawling towards his clenched fists. He wished he could just crawl along like the ant, without a care. Then, he became angry. The ant did not deserve to be happier than he was; it was only a stupid little bug. And, so, he crushed it with his fist, much in the same way that society had crushed his will to live and succeed.

  "Never hurt a creature of simple mind, for they hold truths which many of us only hope to understand," she said, breaking the silence at last.

  "Please," Lionel begged. "Tell me about yourself. You seem to know so much about me."

  "I can not tell you anything about myself or my past experiences," she replied, and walked away. "Besides, I have somewhere to go." Lionel wondered where Samakri could possibly be going that could be of any importance at such an inconvenient time.

  Samakri went into the room where she was staying and locked the door. She had to report to her father now that she had Lionel with her. She marphed to her home planet, Zebda in an instant. The earthlings, she supposed, would call it teleportation, but that, like many things known to humans, was an inaccuracy. Within a billionth of a second, she was standing in the center of the haklar, facing the throne of chief armpha, Blekrin. Her father. The haklar was made completely of the element Yalmax, a transparent and highly flexible material with metallic properties. It may look like clear jam and feel like silicone, but when launched at high velocity, it could puncture any organ in the body, going straight through skin, muscle, and bone.

  "Is our mission secure, daughter?" Blekrin asked.

  "Yes, father. The young man, Lionel, is in my possession. When I have gained his trust, I will experiment on him so that I may analyze the effects of the drug Umblof on his ability to express emotion. Then I will calculate probable outcomes of use on our species based on the differences in our genetic composure. After that, I will destroy him so that our secrets will not be exposed to the earthlings."

  "Excellent, Sa
makri. But, whatever you do, you must not fall prey to the vices of humans, least of all those of corporeal significance."

  "You may cease any distress in relation to that matter. My sole loyalty is to Zebda and the success of our experiment. I must return to New York. Good Day."

  Within a mere matter of seconds, Samakri had marphed back to her room in the abandoned house, wondering if Lionel had any knowledge of her dark secrets. After all, she did not use the art of Jumvod to disguise herself as a human the way her father had instructed. Instead, she had gotten all caught up in using makeup and the body art of earthlings to make herself blend in. It seemed much more practical, as Jumvod would have required her to kill whomever she wished to impersonate and sacrifice their soul to the Zebdian experimentors. Samakri was lost in such thoughts when she heard Lionel knock on the door.

  “Are you, okay, Sam?” he asked. “Is it okay for me to call you that?”

  “I’m fine, and, yes, I suppose that ‘Sam’ is an acceptable term of address for me.”

  “Good. What do you like to do for fun, Sam?”

  “What is fun?”

  “It’s sorta when someone does something that has nothing to do with their job or anything and they like it a lot, but sometimes, later, they wish they hadn’t gone through with it.”

  “That sounds completely and utterly pointless,” she replied, looking rather confused as to why anyone would want to do anything of the sort. “Why on Earth, pardon the pun as your kind would say, would I wish to do such a thing?”

  “Actually, it usually is, but I don’t really care until after it’s all over. Put on some nice clothes and a pair of high heels or something, because I am going to take you to a smashing club and let you feel the music,” Lionel responded with quite a bit of enthusiam.