Chapter One: April
Tuesday, 8:30 pm
My ponytail whips from side to side, reflecting in the glass of the iron-barred window. I raise my eyes, taking in the iron cages on every window of my ten-story dorm. “Do you think these bars were meant to keep people in or out?”
“In,” Sarah says confidently as her thick-heeled boots clack against the pebbled walkway. “Rumor has it this campus used to be owned by the government and this building served as the chemical lab.”
Is what my roommate heard true? Still. “What kind of experiments would justify bars on the upper floors?”
Sarah shrugs. “Could be anything. Aliens. Drug testing. Torture treatments.”
Despite how nonchalant Sarah sounds, goosebumps form on my arm. “Aren’t you curious?”
“Of course.” She gives me a sideways glance. “But whatever it was, we’ll never know the truth.”
She reminds me of my mom, a skeptic but with a heart full of kindness.
Sarah and I scan our badges to get inside, her oversized pocketbook bumping into the door. “Interesting class tonight.”
I had been too busy rehashing my nightmare to pay attention in our Biblical Theology class. A chill runs up my leg recalling the waves rushing overhead as I struggled to stay above the water, gasping for air, all the while trying to swim to shore.
Sarah hits the elevator button while inspecting her nails. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. A guy strides out, rocking worn jeans and a navy Polo shirt, with a book tucked under his arm.
I half-smile, my automatic response to strangers. After all, this is my freshman year, an opportunity to start clean, where nobody knows my past.
He runs a hand through his sandy blond hair. My eyes connect with his. They’re a deep ocean blue, with a splash of violet mixed in. Cool, reserved, intimidating.
Heat floods my body. I can’t help but stare, my sneakers cemented to the floor.
Tommy.
This guy looks just like Tommy. He can’t be, though.
Tommy doesn’t exist.
The guy pauses, now only an arm’s length away, his gaze locked with mine.
White walls close in. Blue invades my vision.
“Earth to April,” Sarah whispers. She grasps my arm and pulls me around him into the elevator. Everything is hazy except the guy in the hallway, his features etching into my brain: the dark, mysterious eyes; strong jawline; sharp, sculptured cheekbones; and thick, messy hair.
The doors close. The Tommy look-alike is gone.
“Holy hotness,” Sarah whisper-exclaims. “Now that’s a dime.”
Air swishes out from my lungs. Four steel walls suffocate me. I wrap my fingers around the handrail, steadying myself.
He isn’t real; he can’t be. It’s only someone who looks like an adult version of my imaginary childhood friend. Dr. Nero warned me something like this could happen. I never should have stopped taking Paxil. I clutch the backpack to my chest.
Sarah pulls her mahogany-colored hair into a bun and tilts her head at me. “You feeling all right?”
A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face. I wipe it away with a clammy wrist. I take deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.
“What is it?” Sarah reaches out. I step away.
“Nothing.” My heart pounds.
The elevator opens. I stumble out. “I’ll be back.”
My legs carry me down the hall to the communal bathroom. Heart thundering, I lean over the sink and splash cold water on my face.
Memories flood over the dam that took years to build. The past was supposed to stay buried so deep not even a backhoe could dig it out.
“Who are these people?” Dr. Nero asked.
“My friends. We have a mission.” I pointed a black crayon to the stick figures I drew. “This is Olivia, Bobby, and that’s Tommy.”
Dr. Nero rested his hand on his chin. “What’s the mission?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay. How do you know them?”
I filled in Tommy’s hair with the yellow crayon. It was the closest color to capture his blond locks. “We used to play together.”
Dr. Nero slid his glasses to the tip of his nose. “When?”
“Before I was born.”
It’s not possible. There is no Tommy. I push away the recollection. I’m seventeen and can’t go through this again. All I need is for someone to revive my childhood nickname, “Crazy.”
From my bag, I pull out the emergency medicine stash. There are only two pills in the case, the rest tucked away at home. Thank goodness I had the foresight to keep these with me. Still, I dither before popping the tablets into my mouth. It’s been eight months since I last needed these: a benzo and my antipsychotic.
Eight months.
It feels like a lifetime.
I cup water into my palms, swallow, and swipe at my eyes, rubbing away a tear.
Pull yourself together, April.
In the mirror above the sink, I look myself in the eyes. Just a minor setback, nothing I can’t handle. I take a deep breath, rubbing my temples.
When I get to my room, Sarah’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, painting her nails. She’s already got her pink-rose fluffy pajama sweats on and her iPad is propped up on pillows.
She puts the brush in the bottle. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I try to smile, the effects of the pills already setting in.
She straightens, likely waiting for an explanation that I’ll never give. My past is sealed.
“April, wh—”
“Please. I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”
She meets my gaze and hesitates. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
I nod and kick off my sneakers, hoping I appear normal. It’s something I work hard at.
Relief runs through me when Sarah gets back to her manicure, her gaze alternating between her fingertips and the screen. A reporter is standing on a beach, holding a microphone, a dozen people behind her.
“What’re you watching?” I ask, leaning over her shoulder.
“Something’s in the water. This news clip is all over the university’s home page.”
On Sarah’s iPad, a reporter’s long hair lashes across her face. “…where what appears to be a large mass underwater. Harry Linden is one of the eyewitnesses who contacted authorities.”
I sit next to Sarah and she tilts her tablet toward me so I get a better view. Harry, an old guy with a beer gut and tanned, weathered skin, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The reporter shoves a microphone in his face. “Can you tell me what you saw, Mr. Linden?”
“Over there in the ocean,” the guys points to the sea a few hundred feet away, “this gigantic, scaly green head popped out. It had a really long neck, at least four feet long.” He stretches his arms wide.
“Four feet long?” the reporter asks, brushing flyaway strands out of her eyes.
Sarah chuckles. “Yeah, what kind of drugs are you on, Boomer?”
My gaze is locked on the iPad, where Harry stands on a paved walkway. “This thing was staring that way.”
The camera pans the rows of homes, one of them bright pink with green shutters and an American flag billowing from the porch. Next to it is a white Victorian with a wraparound porch, marmalade pillows—Mom spent hours searching for just the right color—decorating the wicker chairs. My brother’s neon yellow surfboard is propped up next to the door.
My breath catches, and I latch onto Sarah’s comforter and squeeze. Is what I’m seeing really happening?
Beside me, Sarah spreads her fingers apart, blowing on the blush-red tips.
“That must have been frightening,” the reporter says.
Harry nods. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve never seen anything like it. It, well, it looked like some sort of serpent.”
“A sea serpent?” the reporter asks.
“It all happened fast, but yeah, like the Loch Ness monster.”
“Seriously?” Sarah says with a chuckle. “We’re not in Scotland, folks.”
The wind howls, and my parents’ neighbor’s flag flaps in the background. The reporter turns to face the camera. “We know the mass was first spotted on Riddle Beach in Manasquan. There have been several other sightings in the last few hours. Authorities are not confirming or denying anything at this point. We’ll be covering this story throughout the hour, so stay tuned. I’m Becky Peters, reporting live for Ocean News in Manasquan, New Jersey.”
First the Tommy doppelganger, and now a creature appears outside my parents’ house. Is my sanity slipping again?
My ponytail whips from side to side, reflecting in the glass of the iron-barred window. I raise my eyes, taking in the iron cages on every window of my ten-story dorm. “Do you think these bars were meant to keep people in or out?”
“In,” Sarah says confidently as her thick-heeled boots clack against the pebbled walkway. “Rumor has it this campus used to be owned by the government and this building served as the chemical lab.”
Is what my roommate heard true? Still. “What kind of experiments would justify bars on the upper floors?”
Sarah shrugs. “Could be anything. Aliens. Drug testing. Torture treatments.”
Despite how nonchalant Sarah sounds, goosebumps form on my arm. “Aren’t you curious?”
“Of course.” She gives me a sideways glance. “But whatever it was, we’ll never know the truth.”
She reminds me of my mom, a skeptic but with a heart full of kindness.
Sarah and I scan our badges to get inside, her oversized pocketbook bumping into the door. “Interesting class tonight.”
I had been too busy rehashing my nightmare to pay attention in our Biblical Theology class. A chill runs up my leg recalling the waves rushing overhead as I struggled to stay above the water, gasping for air, all the while trying to swim to shore.
Sarah hits the elevator button while inspecting her nails. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. A guy strides out, rocking worn jeans and a navy Polo shirt, with a book tucked under his arm.
I half-smile, my automatic response to strangers. After all, this is my freshman year, an opportunity to start clean, where nobody knows my past.
He runs a hand through his sandy blond hair. My eyes connect with his. They’re a deep ocean blue, with a splash of violet mixed in. Cool, reserved, intimidating.
Heat floods my body. I can’t help but stare, my sneakers cemented to the floor.
Tommy.
This guy looks just like Tommy. He can’t be, though.
Tommy doesn’t exist.
The guy pauses, now only an arm’s length away, his gaze locked with mine.
White walls close in. Blue invades my vision.
“Earth to April,” Sarah whispers. She grasps my arm and pulls me around him into the elevator. Everything is hazy except the guy in the hallway, his features etching into my brain: the dark, mysterious eyes; strong jawline; sharp, sculptured cheekbones; and thick, messy hair.
The doors close. The Tommy look-alike is gone.
“Holy hotness,” Sarah whisper-exclaims. “Now that’s a dime.”
Air swishes out from my lungs. Four steel walls suffocate me. I wrap my fingers around the handrail, steadying myself.
He isn’t real; he can’t be. It’s only someone who looks like an adult version of my imaginary childhood friend. Dr. Nero warned me something like this could happen. I never should have stopped taking Paxil. I clutch the backpack to my chest.
Sarah pulls her mahogany-colored hair into a bun and tilts her head at me. “You feeling all right?”
A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face. I wipe it away with a clammy wrist. I take deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth.
“What is it?” Sarah reaches out. I step away.
“Nothing.” My heart pounds.
The elevator opens. I stumble out. “I’ll be back.”
My legs carry me down the hall to the communal bathroom. Heart thundering, I lean over the sink and splash cold water on my face.
Memories flood over the dam that took years to build. The past was supposed to stay buried so deep not even a backhoe could dig it out.
“Who are these people?” Dr. Nero asked.
“My friends. We have a mission.” I pointed a black crayon to the stick figures I drew. “This is Olivia, Bobby, and that’s Tommy.”
Dr. Nero rested his hand on his chin. “What’s the mission?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay. How do you know them?”
I filled in Tommy’s hair with the yellow crayon. It was the closest color to capture his blond locks. “We used to play together.”
Dr. Nero slid his glasses to the tip of his nose. “When?”
“Before I was born.”
It’s not possible. There is no Tommy. I push away the recollection. I’m seventeen and can’t go through this again. All I need is for someone to revive my childhood nickname, “Crazy.”
From my bag, I pull out the emergency medicine stash. There are only two pills in the case, the rest tucked away at home. Thank goodness I had the foresight to keep these with me. Still, I dither before popping the tablets into my mouth. It’s been eight months since I last needed these: a benzo and my antipsychotic.
Eight months.
It feels like a lifetime.
I cup water into my palms, swallow, and swipe at my eyes, rubbing away a tear.
Pull yourself together, April.
In the mirror above the sink, I look myself in the eyes. Just a minor setback, nothing I can’t handle. I take a deep breath, rubbing my temples.
When I get to my room, Sarah’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, painting her nails. She’s already got her pink-rose fluffy pajama sweats on and her iPad is propped up on pillows.
She puts the brush in the bottle. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I try to smile, the effects of the pills already setting in.
She straightens, likely waiting for an explanation that I’ll never give. My past is sealed.
“April, wh—”
“Please. I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”
She meets my gaze and hesitates. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
I nod and kick off my sneakers, hoping I appear normal. It’s something I work hard at.
Relief runs through me when Sarah gets back to her manicure, her gaze alternating between her fingertips and the screen. A reporter is standing on a beach, holding a microphone, a dozen people behind her.
“What’re you watching?” I ask, leaning over her shoulder.
“Something’s in the water. This news clip is all over the university’s home page.”
On Sarah’s iPad, a reporter’s long hair lashes across her face. “…where what appears to be a large mass underwater. Harry Linden is one of the eyewitnesses who contacted authorities.”
I sit next to Sarah and she tilts her tablet toward me so I get a better view. Harry, an old guy with a beer gut and tanned, weathered skin, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The reporter shoves a microphone in his face. “Can you tell me what you saw, Mr. Linden?”
“Over there in the ocean,” the guys points to the sea a few hundred feet away, “this gigantic, scaly green head popped out. It had a really long neck, at least four feet long.” He stretches his arms wide.
“Four feet long?” the reporter asks, brushing flyaway strands out of her eyes.
Sarah chuckles. “Yeah, what kind of drugs are you on, Boomer?”
My gaze is locked on the iPad, where Harry stands on a paved walkway. “This thing was staring that way.”
The camera pans the rows of homes, one of them bright pink with green shutters and an American flag billowing from the porch. Next to it is a white Victorian with a wraparound porch, marmalade pillows—Mom spent hours searching for just the right color—decorating the wicker chairs. My brother’s neon yellow surfboard is propped up next to the door.
My breath catches, and I latch onto Sarah’s comforter and squeeze. Is what I’m seeing really happening?
Beside me, Sarah spreads her fingers apart, blowing on the blush-red tips.
“That must have been frightening,” the reporter says.
Harry nods. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve never seen anything like it. It, well, it looked like some sort of serpent.”
“A sea serpent?” the reporter asks.
“It all happened fast, but yeah, like the Loch Ness monster.”
“Seriously?” Sarah says with a chuckle. “We’re not in Scotland, folks.”
The wind howls, and my parents’ neighbor’s flag flaps in the background. The reporter turns to face the camera. “We know the mass was first spotted on Riddle Beach in Manasquan. There have been several other sightings in the last few hours. Authorities are not confirming or denying anything at this point. We’ll be covering this story throughout the hour, so stay tuned. I’m Becky Peters, reporting live for Ocean News in Manasquan, New Jersey.”
First the Tommy doppelganger, and now a creature appears outside my parents’ house. Is my sanity slipping again?