Magnetic Minds: Chapter 1

         I touch my throbbing forehead. Blood. There's blood on my face. How did it get there? And that suffocating iron smell....
         The world spins. A mix of gray and white watercolors paint my vision. No, there’s red. There’s red everywhere!
         I sit up so fast it makes my head pound. I sway off balance, my hand reaching for anything sturdy to hold onto. It connects with damp fabric. An arm. My brother Marco’s arm. He’s still in the seat next to me, but now his sweatshirt is soaked with blood.
         I scream until my throat is sore, but no amount of screaming can drive away this nightmare. Marco is choked by the seat belt. His chin is pressed against his chest. With unsteady hands, I try to shake Marco awake. His body slumps against the door, limp, and my heart beats faster than the rain pelting the minivan.
         I pull my hands away, redder than before. Rapid breaths shake my core as I sneak a glance at the driver’s seat. Only the slumped form of my dad is visible from back here, but he’s not moving. I wish he would move—just a little bit. I’m paralyzed unless I know he’s alive. They can't be gone. That's what I tell myself.
         Don’t leave me.
          “Olivia.”
         I jolt to attention. “Dad?” Burning pain springs to life in my forehead, but I ignore it to lean between the seats ahead of me. It takes all my self-control not to vomit on the dashboard. Dad's entire face is streaked with blood. His left arm is twisted so the yellowed bone juts out of his flesh. He lays limp against the seat, with his chest barely rising and falling.
         His glasses are missing.
         I make a quick sweep of the minivan. No airbags block my path. No shattered glass cuts my hands. Even the doors are locked shut. Without the blood staining the seats and floor, everything looks normal. Our suitcases are stacked neatly in the back, and even my Starbucks coffee is in its cup holder.
         But no glasses.
         There’s no separation between us when our eyes meet. It makes me want to hug him and cry. So I do both.
         "Dad," I say through the sobs, burying my head in his shoulder. "Dad get up. Marco is...."
         Unable to control my nausea anymore, I turn around and throw up. Good thing I missed Marco. Oh, that's sick.
         "Olivia." Dad's hoarse whisper reaches my ears. "Run."
         I spit the bitter acid taste out of my mouth along with blood. "No, Daddy." I grab his good hand. "We need to get you to a hospital. You and Marco." If he's still alive.
         I jump as Dad rips his hand from my grip. "Run. Now!"
         My head aches, morphing into a frantic pounding as my dad keels over in a seizure of blood-gushing coughs. He collapses onto the wheel, his breath wheezing in his chest and his face marred with pain. There are multiple cuts on the back of his neck, but they look intentional. The gashes form a rough “IV.” From inside the wound, bits of something metallic reflect the morning light. It's almost beautiful. I push this disgusting thought to the back of my mind and take my dad by the shoulders to help him up. He waves me away for a second time.
         "If you don't leave now," Dad struggles to say, "he’ll come back."
         "Who?"
         He looks past me to the road with glazed eyes. "The marked man."
         His tone sends pinpricks down my spine. "The what?"
         “The man, I could hear him.” Dad’s eyebrows furrow as he speaks. “I don’t know how… but I could hear him. He’s coming back for our bodies.”
         Why would this guy leave and come back later? Especially if— “We’re not dead.”
         Dad looks up at me, gritting his teeth. “Not yet.”
         A wet trickle runs between my eyes, so I rub it away, hissing as my sleeve scrapes against raw flesh and comes away crimson. My bruises are forgotten as Dad tries to turn to the back of the van. I hold him down as carefully as possible without hurting his arm.
         "What do you need?" I ask with a shaking voice. "You can't go back there. Marco's—"
         "Dead. I know." He thinks for a moment, frowning, his gray eyes clouded over. "I need you to get his body for me."
         My breath catches, and I consider slapping him. He’s not thinking clearly, and to be honest, neither am I. "You just told me to run. Now you want me to go back there and—" Bile rises in my throat and I cover my mouth.
         His eyes soften. "I love you, Ollie. I love you so much. But I need to see my son."
         "Your daughter's right here!" I yell, sobs taking over my voice. "I'm right here."
         Something slowly crumbles inside me as I slump into my father's shoulder. I’m not jealous, I swear, but Dad shouldn’t have to see Marco like that. Silent. Broken. Nothing like my brother. He must be delusional to want to see that.
         Or maybe he wants to see both of us before he dies. That’s a scary thought.
         Dad grimaces as he lifts his good hand to cradle my face.
         "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Those words become his mantra as he rocks me gently at his side.
         It's not his fault, but he apologizes anyway. I want to fall asleep right here and never wake up. Dad should go to sleep, too. We could all disappear from this world in peace. No more financial problems. No more awkward school transitions. We'd even get to see Mom again.
         My eyes flicker open, staring at the windshield splattered in blood. Dad's blood. He's done so much for me and Marco. He left everything behind so we could go on this road trip to Disney that we never could when we were younger. Marco and I complained about driving all the way from New Jersey to Orlando. We never appreciated what he was doing. So stupid.
         A tear slips down my face. There's no way I'm dying today. Neither of us are. Not without making up for how I treated him.
         I lift my head from Dad's shoulder and move to the backseat.
         "Olivia?"
         I shrug off the worried call as I unbuckle Marco's body from the seat. His orange sweatshirt is stained with red patches. I try not to focus on one specific injury as I lift him by the arms. He’s always been smaller and leaner than me, but he’s still too heavy, and the best I can do is place him between the front seats so Dad can see his face. The leftover warmth could fool someone into thinking Marco's still alive, but the light is long gone from his stubborn blue eyes.
         We were twins—sixteen going on seventeen. I wish we could’ve reached that birthday together.
         I climb ahead of Marco into the passenger’s seat so I can pull him forward. Staring at Marco's ghostly face makes me queasy, so I look to Dad for reassurance. His eyes are bleaker than before, with dark circles hanging under them from the night-long drive. The stench of blood and vomit is overwhelming, but he doesn't seem to mind as he inches closer to Marco.
         "Flip him over," Dad orders, his voice cracking.
         I should be angry at how he's treating him, us, but I’ve given up on being angry. It takes some effort to adjust Marco so his back is facing us, but I eventually get his body to cooperate. Dad reaches out to brush away the dark hair covering his neck. Something clicks in my brain as I see the same type of cut on Marco's tan skin. Just like Dad's, only, there sits a “V” without it’s “I.” My brain didn’t connect it before, but these are roman numerals. Someone was counting us off. Marco was number five.
         “Who did this?” My voice rises. “What psycho would do this? What the—”
         Dad touches my arm to calm my temper. "The man, he had a knife." His tone drops to a whisper. "I'm sorry I couldn’t stop him."
         I want to tell him to stop apologizing, but I’m afraid something worse will come out. There was nothing he could do to stop any of this. Just like there was nothing he could do to stop Mom from dying. It was bad enough before without her, but now, with Dad injured like this and Marco....
         I bite my lip and the gut-wrenching waterworks begin again.
         "Olivia," he says with faltering authority. "My wallet's in the cup holder.” His gaze shifts to my forehead. “Your brother's cap is on the dashboard. Take them and start heading to the nearest gas station. There should be one just a few miles up the road."
         I sniff and wipe my face with my hoodie sleeve, staring at Dad in shock. "What? I'm not leaving you! And what about Marco?"
         He ignores my protests and continues, "Do you have your phone with you?"
         "No, it's in the back with my—"
         Dad’s eyes roll to the back of his head and his body begins to convulse violently. Blood flows out of his mouth in strangled gags and all I can do is watch helplessly. The mark on his neck starts to sizzle, and there’s barely enough time to be concerned before my forehead flares in overwhelming pain. I yell in agony, lurching forward with my hands clutching my face. The air buzzes with a suffocating pressure from all directions. My vision blotches with black and red as my body falls limp. Numbness takes over, and the last thing I see is Marco's neck sizzling with the mark.

V^V^V^V

         My eyes open to a blinding white sky. Memories flood to my brain. I shouldn't be outside. I should be in the car with Dad and Marco.
         So why am I on the side of the road?
         I sit up in wet grass, staring silently at the black New York Yankees snapback held in one hand and Dad's leather wallet in the other. My knuckles pale from their usual color as I clench the items tight. I managed to make it from the car with both of these... unconscious?
         It’s quiet. The kind of quiet just after rainfall. Fog hangs in the air—tickling the back of my throat. The road is a few feet from me, and there sits our minivan. It's strange, because it doesn't look damaged like a vehicle should after a crash. Actually, it doesn't look like it crashed at all. It just sits in the road with the driver's side door ajar.
         The red splatter on the windshield causes panic to rise in my stomach. Dad's still in there. I scramble to my feet, only to fall back to the grass in horror at what leaks out of the open van door. Blood. It drips from inside the vehicle onto the road. I cover my mouth in fear and disgust as it pools around the front tire in a deep red stain. Some of it strays from the puddle and crawls towards me.
         I do what any sane person would do: run.