The Reaping (The Fahllen #1)(4)
Author: M. Leighton

I hobbled past the living room and through my room into my bathroom and shut the door behind me. I stripped and grabbed a washcloth with the intention of a sponge bath-type cleaning. When I saw that I’d have to clean most of me anyway, I decided to run a hot bath and soak my sore spots while I cleaned. Dinner could wait.

I poured some shampoo under the running water (the poor man’s bubble bath) and sat on the edge of the tub to await the result. When the tub was half full, I stepped in and slid down beneath the thin froth that had covered the water’s surface.

The instant water touched my skin my entire right side began to burn. I held my breath and waited for the stinging to stop. Finally it did and I relaxed onto the cool ceramic at my back.

I slid down to wet my hair, the sloshing suds just barely covering my ears. I never went completely under; I’d always had a fear of water. Since I was a child, I felt as if I weren’t alone, like someone or something was in the water with me, waiting to drag me into oblivion. There had even been a few times when I’d gone under accidentally that I thought I saw a face in the water, hovering, watching. Waiting.

“Carson? You alright?”

Dad startled me, though I was far from displeased that his concern had interrupted my disturbing thoughts.

“Yeah,” I answered.

I heard his footsteps fade as he walked away and I relaxed once more against the tub. Clearing my head of all thought, I soaked for a while. When the water that lapped at my chest became decidedly cool, I lifted my hand and noted the distinct pruning of my fingertips, a clear indication it was time to get to work cleaning all my various scraped and soiled body parts then get out.

I wet my washcloth and lifted my right leg out of the water. The outer side was covered in road rash, from calf to hip. I gently scrubbed away the dried blood and black smudges. I picked off bits of skin and dug out small pieces of gravel. As I rinsed the grime away, a speck of something shiny on my calf near my knee caught the light.

“How’d I get glass under my skin?” I asked no one in particular.

I rubbed at the fragment with my washcloth, but it didn’t budge. The location made it hard to get an up-close look, but I was positive it was glass; it’s the only thing it could be. I decided that time would work it out or my skin would heal up around it.

I moved on to clean my hip and ribs as best I could, working my way up toward my arms and face. As I was picking skin and gravel from a particularly nasty scrape on my forearm, I encountered another shiny spot halfway between my wrist and elbow. I brought my arm up for a closer inspection.

What I’d thought was glass was actually a pencil eraser-sized spot of something that reminded me of mother of pearl, creamy and slightly iridescent. I rubbed at it with my washcloth, but it wouldn’t come off. I pinched the area between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed, but nothing came out. Finally, I scraped at it with my fingernail, hoping to pick up the edge so I could dig it out. Instead, my skin rolled back the tiniest bit, revealing more of the creamy material just beneath the surface.

I sat up in the tub, an uneasy sense of foreboding swelling in my chest. I tugged at my skin, pulling and stretching it around the scrape. It slid this way and that, baring more shiny stuff, like I had another skin beneath my skin. I dug my fingernail in and pushed, rolling up a long piece of flesh. It bled a little, but I felt no pain; it would take more than that to intrude on my rising panic.

I dabbed at the blood, my heart pounding in my ears, my breath coming more quickly. As I feared, with the blood cleared, a long streak of shimmering dermis was visible along the length of my arm.

There was no keeping my panic at bay now; waves of it flooded my mind.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God!” I chanted. I thought of the scratches on my face and nausea rolled through my stomach.

I hopped out of the tub and made my way to the sink. I leaned in to look at my right cheek in the mirror. I turned my face this way and that and caught the light as it shone on more of the glistening sub-layer.

Though there were many other concerns and considerations that should’ve been a priority in my mind, the one that surfaced first was what a pariah I’d be in school if I had developed some sort of freaky skin condition. My life was far from normal already; I didn’t need anything else to set me apart from my peers.

I thought of what a cruel cosmic joke that would be, wanting to be special and ending up a circus freak.

Yeah, that’s special alright, I thought bitterly. Sounds like the type of higher power my dad would get a kick out of serving.

I thought of showing my father, asking him what he thought it might be, but considering his propensity toward overreaction when it came to all things Carson, I decided that would be a bad idea.

I moved to the commode and sat down on the lid. I closed my eyes and took several deep, shaky breaths.

“Calm down, Carson. Calm down,” I whispered into the stillness.

I sat there for several minutes waiting for rational thought to return. I knew better than to make an emotional decision. Dad had drummed that into me from a very young age.

You can’t trust your feelings, butterfly, he’d say. Or, Feelings are fickle, Carson. Don’t rely on ‘em.

I leaned on that advice now, finally deciding to wait and see what the morning brought. That was another nugget of wisdom Dad had always poured in. Everything looks different after a good night’s sleep. And usually he was right, much as I hated to admit it.

I pulled myself up by my proverbial bootstraps and went to the cabinet for some concealer. It was another of the few concessions Dad made to my being a girl. I was particularly thankful for that tonight.

I dabbed some of the flesh colored liquid on the scrapes on my face to hide the pale layer underneath then I went and picked out some winter pajamas that had full pants and long sleeves. When I was dressed, I surveyed my reflection and decided I’d pass casual inspection.

Dad and I spent a relaxing night eating Chinese food, ice cream and watching a movie. I tried to still my nerves, but I was jumpy and couldn’t wait until bed time. I used the excuse of a traumatic day to turn in early.

As I stood in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth, I let my mind run elsewhere. I rehashed the events of the day. When I came to the most disturbing part, it brought me back to reality and brought my eyes back to my cheek.

I leaned in closer and rubbed my fingertips over the smooth skin of my cheek. My mouth fell open in astonishment. All that was visible was a few dots of concealer—with nothing to conceal. The scrapes were completely healed.