The Fire In My Eyes Read online

  The Fire In My Eyes

  Christopher Nelson

  Amazon Edition

  ©2014 Christopher Nelson

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locals is strictly coincidental.

  Chapter One

  I gripped the sides of the sink and stared into the mirror. It wasn’t me staring back. This wasn’t how college was supposed to start.

  My checklist of what I was supposed to see in the mirror: Brown hair, check. A day’s worth of stubble, check. Slightly crooked nose, check. Brown eyes, well, that was the problem. I was sure they were still brown, but it was hard to tell when the whites of my eyes were glowing bright green.

  I pinched the back of my hand. It hurt. “Kevin, you’re not dreaming,” I said to myself. I had been, a dream that ended with a surge of pain centered right between my eyes, agonizing enough that it snapped me out of a sound sleep. I couldn’t remember much of it, but I remembered frustration, anger, a voice I didn’t recognize, and a word.

  Awaken.

  I was certainly awake now, thank you, mysterious dream voice. Another surge of pain nearly flattened me. I fumbled for my drawer, looking for something to dull the pain and let me get back to sleep. I found the drawer was already open. I didn’t remember opening it. I pulled my gaze away from the mirror and looked down into the drawer. My bottle of aspirin quivered, then slowly rose into the air and hovered.

  “I hope this is just a lucid dream,” I said to the bottle. Luckily, it didn’t answer me. “While you’re just hanging out there, why don’t you open for me too?” The bottle didn’t open upon request. I giggled and struck a pose and reached out toward the bottle, palm up. “Open!” I commanded.

  The cap popped off. I lunged forward to catch it. I managed to catch the cap, but my forehead hit the bottle itself. Pills scattered all over and I lurched backwards in surprise. My head hit the wall behind me and I let out a yelp of pain. For one long moment, I couldn’t see anything but green. The pain was indescribable. I screwed my eyes closed and covered them with my hands.

  “Kev? You ok, man?” I opened my eyes and squinted as someone turned the bathroom light on. My roommates stood in the doorway. Drew took up most of the space, tall and muscular and looking very confused. Max stuck his head around the corner, his long hair hanging loose. “What are you doing, man? It’s three in the morning.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re trying to overdose on your first day here,” Max said. “You’ll give me a complex.”

  “That’s your fault,” Drew told him. “After that human sacrifice joke you made when he showed up? Yeah, I’m going to pin that on you.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. My vision was slightly blurred. “Just woke up with a headache. Dropped the bottle and lost my balance.”

  “Klutz,” Max said.

  Drew bumped into him with his shoulder. “You’re one to talk,” he said as Max lurched sideways with a mumbled curse. “Kev, you need a hand?”

  I shook my head and immediately regretted it. “No, my bad, I’ll clean up and get back to bed. Sorry for waking you guys up.”

  “All right.” Drew hesitated for a moment, but then backed up and closed the door. I leaned back against the wall and sighed. Pills were scattered all over the floor, my headache was even worse, and now I had freaked out my new roommates. My new life at Ripley University was off to a flying start. At least they hadn’t seen my eyes glowing. That would have been a difficult explanation.

  The bathroom door cracked open. I looked over and saw Max peer around the corner. “Don’t give me a complex.” He closed the door. I closed my eyes and laughed in spite of myself. My roommates were good people. Maybe a little weird, in Max’s case, but I wasn’t in any place to judge.

  I cleaned up the bathroom, swallowing a couple of aspirin that had managed to stay in the bottle, and tossing the rest. I put the bottle back in the drawer and turned to go. My hand on the doorknob, I turned to look in the mirror. The checklist passed this time. Brown eyes stared back at me without a hint of green. I nodded at myself. It could have just been a strange hallucination brought on by the headache. An elaborate hallucination.

  Awaken.

  I shivered and went back to bed.

  My alarm went off early the next morning. I was already awake and was unsure whether I had actually slept. I hadn’t gotten to bed until well after midnight, then the dream had woken me up after three, and now I had to head to campus for orientation at eight sharp. “I can’t believe I’m awake right now.”

  “I can,” Max mumbled. I looked up toward his loft. He lifted his head just enough to glare at me with one eye. “If your alarm goes off again, I swear I will use your shoes as ashtrays.”

  “I’m going, I’m going.” I lurched out of bed and into the bathroom. I paused as I passed the mirror, made sure my checklist passed, and then took a quick shower. I tried to wake myself up by turning the water cold, then hot, but all I managed to do was piss myself off.

  I showered quickly, dressed, and headed back into the bathroom for a quick shave. Dark circles loomed under my eyes and I sighed. I looked either strung out or hung over. I rubbed at my eyes, closing them for a moment, then looking back in the mirror. Something flickered in the depths of my eyes. My heart started to pound again. I could feel someone watching me. I closed my eyes and shook my head. There was no way someone could be in the bathroom with me.

  I checked the shower. There wasn’t.

  I finished cleaning up and left, locking the door quietly to avoid waking my roommates. By the time I reached the main campus, I realized I had some time to kill, so I headed for the Cafeteria to grab some coffee. Ripley University’s strange trimester system started their academic year in January as opposed to the fall, so I had arrived in the midst of a New York winter. I was not prepared.

  The warehouse-like building that held the Cafeteria was unimpressive. There were a couple of doors with signs advertising food services available within. Inside, the decor ranged from mold green to dirt brown. Other colors were either worn or eaten. The food wasn’t anything to write home about, but it beat my own cooking.

  I walked up to the counter, stifling a yawn. The lady at the register stifled one too and gave me a small smile. I gave her my ID card, let her swipe it, and waited for the transaction to clear. I glanced toward the dining hall proper. There were maybe a dozen people sitting in there, each sitting alone and clutching a cup of coffee. I felt very much at home.

  That feeling didn’t last long. As my eyes tracked back, I caught a glimpse of someone standing in the middle of the dining hall. He was tall and dark skinned, wearing a trench coat and sunglasses. I couldn’t see his eyes, but he was facing me, and I knew that he was watching me, and I knew that I knew him. The sense of sudden familiarity was overpowering. I had never seen him before, but something in the back of my head insisted that I knew him.

  There was no way I could have missed seeing him before. He was standing in the middle of the room. Had I looked right past him before? I rubbed at my eyes, and when I looked back, he was gone. Completely gone.

  “Sir?” I glanced back. The lady was holding my card out to m
e.

  “Sorry. Thanks.” I took it and looked back into the dining hall. “Who was that guy in the trench coat?”

  “What guy?”

  I looked back at her. She looked confused. The hair on the back of my neck started to rise. “You didn’t notice him? Big, tall, dark? Sunglasses and a trench coat?”

  She shook her head. “No one like that’s come through. I’ve been here since we opened.”

  I opened my mouth to argue the point, but before I could say a word, pain rippled through my temples. I dropped my ID as I clutched at my head. Flashes of color rippled across my vision and I squeezed my eyes closed to try to make it stop. It didn’t. It got worse. Just like in the bathroom at the dorm, I felt a presence. My stomach twisted and I felt myself break out in a cold sweat. I forced the fear away and rubbed my temples, trying to massage the pain away.

  After one more throb that threatened to split my skull from the inside, the pain vanished. Only the memory remained. I cautiously opened my eyes to find the lady at the register staring at me, her face creased with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, just a headache.”

  “You’re as white as a sheet. Do you need to go to the infirmary? I can call someone to help you there.” Her hand strayed toward the phone on the counter.

  I waved her off and picked up my ID. “No, I’ll be fine. Need some coffee and food. Don’t worry, this sort of thing happens.” Before she could protest, I walked away and headed directly for the breakfast counter.

  Coffee. I poured myself a cup, found myself a seat, and sipped. The guy in the trench coat had vanished in literally the blink of an eye. Had I been imagining him? More hallucinations? Sleep deprivation? I rubbed my face. That was bullshit and I knew it. The pain in my head was oddly similar to what I had felt after the dream.

  I finished my coffee and headed out. Mission accomplished; I was far more awake than I had been ten minutes ago. I forced thoughts of the weirdo out of my head and headed to orientation, making it with minutes to spare. I took a seat. The coffee was ineffective. I fell asleep.

  “We’re just about done with this part of the new student orientation presentation,” the main speaker said. I blinked awake and didn’t even remember who he was. “Just a few more minutes and we’ll let you go. Just as a reminder, orientation continues all day today and up to two in the afternoon tomorrow. Check your packet for specific sessions that might interest you. We recommend that everyone attend the sessions on student life and course registration. Now, let me introduce our final speaker who will be giving the traditional address to our incoming students. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to give you the founder and president of our school, Alistair Ripley.”

  Another scattering of applause started, but cut off quickly as a man approached the podium. To me, he looked like the archetypical distinguished old man. He wore a sharp suit and tie, and his white hair and beard were neatly trimmed and groomed. He carried a cane, but it was obviously an affectation, since he walked quickly without any trace of a limp.

  I only knew a little about Alistair Ripley. He was a philanthropist and educator, someone who had hit it big and decided to give back to the world. He had founded Ripley University back in 1989, choosing to place it just outside of the city of Troy in upstate New York, deliberately competing with other long-established schools. From what I had read on Wikipedia, the media had slammed him, predicting doom and failure at every turn. Now, the same media that had laughed at him were completely on his side. His school was an example of how higher education should be. When he cleared his throat, the entire hall went silent.

  He let the silence drag out for a moment, then grinned, looking for all the world like a white-haired teenager in pinstripes. “This year is a special year for me, a very significant year. I’ll ask you to indulge this old man for a few minutes. I’m sure none of you will mind.” A few people chuckled. I smiled. His voice carried effortlessly through the hall without assistance from a microphone.

  “I founded this school for many reasons, but my main intent was to create a place where those with the drive to learn and succeed would find the support they need. It’s no secret that education proceeds at the pace of the slowest student. I’ve spoken with many bright young students over the years. Almost as a rule, it’s something they cite as an example of what held them back or frustrated them. How many of you have blazed through your work, just to find that you have to listen to your teachers repeat the material? How many of you have gotten angry because of someone asking an obvious question just because they weren’t paying attention? How many of you have given up because other students created an environment where you simply could not learn?”

  I nodded. I wasn’t the only one. It had happened to me all throughout high school and community college. Some joker or jackass would ask basic, stupid questions, and we’d have to sit there and listen to the teacher explain. Educators had more patience than I ever would.

  “I took up that challenge and founded this university. Ripley is based on a trimester system and operates on accelerated principles. You are free to take four years to complete your undergraduate degree, but you are also free to accelerate at your own pace and finish in three years. Some have done it in less. Some have completed a graduate degree in four years.

  “Our professors, one and all, are dedicated to helping you learn. They will not slow down their classes for the benefit of a handful. If you cannot keep up with a class, they will help guide you to tutors or extra work that can help you catch up, but you are young adults now, and this is your responsibility.

  “Every freshman class is held to a strict limit of six hundred students. Never more, often less. Why? Quite simply, there are only so many professors capable of teaching to our school’s standards, and we cannot and will not overload our classes.”

  He took a breath and folded his hands on top of his cane. “This year’s freshman class is quite impressive, perhaps our most impressive to date. Over half of the incoming class ranked in the top ten percent of their high school class. Sixty-seven of you earned a perfect score on either the SAT verbal or math, and eleven of those scored perfect on both. Fifty-one scored perfect on their ACT. An even dozen are accredited National Merit Scholars.”

  Ripley banged his cane on the floor. I jumped. “Your accomplishments mean nothing. This is not to demean what you have done to this point, but contrary to what your guidance counselors, teachers, and parents may have told you, high school is meaningless. We simply don’t care about your transcripts, or what sports you played, or your extra-curricular activities. We care about one aspect of your high school career, my young friends, and that is your potential. You were chosen for your potential, your ability to learn, your special talents.” He looked up into the audience. I blinked as his gaze seemed to meet mine.

  “Your talents,” he repeated quietly. “Your drive and your passion. Not all of you have realized your talents yet, but I assure you, every person in this room can bring something magnificent to this university. Each and every one of you has tremendous potential. Our staff is here to help you awaken that potential. It is our goal, our job, our sole and overriding ethic as educators, to assist you in recognizing and making use of your unique talents and abilities.”

  He paused again for a long moment. He had emphasized the word “awaken”. I shivered. It had to be a coincidence. It was a common turn of phrase. Wasn’t it?

  “I will not lie to you,” he continued. “It is difficult. It is meant to be difficult. Some of you will fail to realize your abilities. Some of you will be unable to keep up. Some of you will simply not reach your full potential. I regret to say that some of you will not graduate from this university. Perhaps as few as a tenth of the class. Perhaps as many as a third. Ripley University does not have a reputation as an easy school, and it never shall as long as I live. Even so, you will have learned something in your time here, maybe something about this world, maybe something about yourself. Your time will not be wast
ed.”

  He smiled up at everyone. “As I said before, this year is special. Twenty years ago, the first class enrolled at this university, a freshman class of just over two hundred students. Four years later, we enrolled four hundred freshmen, reaching our capacity. Ten years after foundation, I authorized the capacity limit to increase to six hundred freshmen, where it has stayed since. This year, we have enrolled the full six hundred, our twentieth freshman class. Twenty years ago, they told me that Ripley University would not stand, that we would fail, that we could never fill the niche that we aimed for. Students were less interested in learning than we thought. Parents wouldn’t send their children to a school where they could fail. Every year, we hear similar complaints. Every year, we enroll hundreds of new students. Now, twenty years later, I stand vindicated!”

  The room burst into applause. I joined in. “Thank you,” he said sharply, cutting across the applause. “I stand vindicated, as Ripley University continues to grow and thrive with each and every student that enters. It is my most sincere hope that each and every one of you will awaken the potential within you. Your dreams are what will make our future a reality.”

  As he spoke those final words, he gazed across the audience again. His eyes locked onto mine and all of a sudden, as if I was looking through a pair of binoculars, I could see him up close. I could see the laugh lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes and mouth, but his expression was stern and cold. His ice-blue eyes bored into me. I felt a presence again, not like the hostile presence in my mind last night, but curious and pensive.

  The world around me seemed to fade. All I could see was the face of Alistair Ripley as he took my measure. I could feel his uncertainty and concern. His head tilted and then he frowned, ever so slightly. He was reserving judgment. It was like reading someone’s intentions through their body language, but these weren’t cues that I should have been picking up. He nodded.