Murder Out By Caster Bridge

Chapter two

"Hurry up and take a seat!" yelled the grumpy bus driver.

For the first time, I looked at him confused. This bus driver wasn't the same one as usual. Mr. Bloomsdale was the one assigned to this bus and usually was a lot nicer. Who was this new driver?

This driver was different. Short and stocky with white hair that looked to be balding behind his ears.

"What are you standing there for?" the driver yelled again.

I..."

"Quit your yapping and go take a seat!"

What a jerk, I thought.

Now I wished more than ever that I stayed at home. Even though my mother radiated hatred and anger, this man was top-notch. It was worse because his emotions didn't seem to have a defined reason. Or if he did, it was a reason I couldn't detect. Then again, my empathy couldn't always delve deep into a person's psyche and reveal why or what made them feel that way. However, something inside me told me that I wasn't the cause of this man's rudeness.

Miserably and awkwardly, I pulled out some change from my pocket and put the money in the machine before I strode down the aisle and over to the side with fewer people. I nearly broke out into a sweat as they kept their gaze on me.

I took a breath as I took a seat and turned my head away to look out the window. I didn't know what was wrong with me today. I promised Hayden to try and have a good day, and I intended to try, but I didn't think I would be able to do it.

With an exasperated sigh, I glanced at my wristwatch--the same wristwatch that belonged to my dad. It was just a normal analog watch--and according to my watch, it was fifteen minutes past seven.

Great. If this bus didn't go any faster, I was going to be late because this stupid and crazy slow traffic jam, which was abnormal for a small population of ten to fifteen thousand people, was quite unusual. Traffic like this only existed in the big cities. What could be going on?

And if that wasn't bad enough, my head felt like it had a metal rock band drummer beating away at my skull. What's worse, the girl who decided to take a seat beside me wasn't helping matters either. Her long strawberry blonde hair blew from the wind coming in through the window which she had put down and kept whacking me in the face. Every time I went to put the window back up, the girl would glare at me and insist that I leave it alone. It was pretty stupid considering there were other places where she could sit with a window down.

I wanted to yell at her because the drizzling rain was getting me wet and the coldness was causing my body to tremble. This was indeed unusual weather.

With my headache now jacked up to nearly a full-blown migraine, my concentration and thoughts were severely difficult to get together. It was hard deciphering my emotions from the emotions of everyone around me. Sure, I constructed the mental shields I'd learned from a few years ago when I did an online search, but no one had told me how to perfect them. All the advice told me was to visualize a wall between me and everyone else.

Well, it worked, kind of, but my shields weren't helping my problems right now. It was like I was in the dead center of a chaotic tornado. Only instead of debris, it was a whirlwind of emotions. I wasn't sure if I wanted to snicker at one of the stupidest, corniest, and dirtiest jokes that some of the athletic jocks were chuckling at on their phone or if I wanted to bite at my nails like how the anxious young female in the seat next to me was doing with her binder spread out on her lap as mumbled things under her breath or I didn't know if I wanted to scream out in annoyance like the girl behind me wanted to do to the older gentlemen who was trying to hit on her while she was busy painting her fingernails. Who even painted their fingernails on a bus in the first place?

Let's just say that once this bus pulled up to the curve, I was one of the first people to get off. And just keeping a customary pace with the crowd of people became a struggle. I faltered quite a few times whenever someone's arm brushed against me. In those moments, I cringed as I got an overstimulating flash of their emotions. It felt like an atomic bomb going off in my head.

It's official, I thought. This headache was going to be the death of me for sure.

An odd sense of vertigo assaulted me, disconnecting me from reality even more. I wanted...

No, I needed to sit down and take a moment to get my heavy breathing under control and get myself together. But I couldn't yet. I first needed to make it to the magic shop without fainting like a total loser in front of strangers.

Frustrated, I willed myself to stagger and squeeze through the enormous crowd of encumbered bodies, ignoring both their protesting shouts and overwhelming emotions.

However, something stopped me in my tracks.

And this time it wasn't emotions, sickness, or my headache.

This time it was just a regular feeling.

A deep bone-chilling coldness rattled my bones.

That's when a sound hit my ears.

A weird sputtering noise had me turning around.

My eyes widened.

A black pickup truck was heading straight towards me with windows too dark to see anyone inside.

Panicked, I darted into the nearest building.

And wished I hadn't.

The second I was inside was the exact second I collided with someone. Hard.

Distasteful infuriation filled my lungs.

With a sharp gasp, I crashed to the ground on my bottom and placed my hands on my chest as I forced myself to breathe deeply. When the pain faded, my cheeks heated from embarrassment. With quick, jittery hands, I seized my bag and stammered, "I-I'm so sorry. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

The person cleared their throat which caused me to look up. If I had been embarrassed before, it was nothing compared to the mortification. Why of all people did I have to bump into Mr. Newman? This man hated me. Okay, maybe that was a little overly dramatic. I mean, he didn't hate just me. He loathed and hated almost everyone in this town.

His salt and pepper hair was scraggly. He also never dressed like a normal museum curator. He always had on a nice brown jacket but his tan shirt today was even more wrinkled than usual and his jeans were extra faded as though he's worn them one too many times. And his silver eyes, hidden behind a small pair of glasses too small for his face, narrowed slightly and seemed even darker.

"Ah, Mr. Brooks," he said in a thick Russian accent. "I do not appreciate you colliding with me."

"I know, sir."

"Glad you know it," he sneered. "Want to tell me why you barged into my museum?"

"It was a total accident, sir."

"In that case, I suggest you hurry along to whatever place you are late to."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Newman then dusted off his clothes before he paused and gazed at me over his shoulder with those creepy silver eyes of his. "Word of advice, Mr. Brooks," he said. "Beware of things that lurk in the shadows." And with one pivot left turn, he was gone from sight.

Several moments after he left, I stood there gaping like a total idiot. What did he even mean by that?

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I rubbed my face and then turned back to the front door only to see Zelda Goodman standing in front of it with her curly brunette hair put up in a bun, her tanned skin seemed even tanner and her devilish brown eyes that made every guy swoon and fall head over heels for her. It was like they worshiped her like she was some kind of queen, but she was only the mayor's daughter. She hated me partially because I didn't fall for her looks or personality.

Blocking my exit route, she crossed her arms over her large busted chest and then admired her nails not even looking at me as she said, "Well, well, where do you think you are going, freaky witch boy?"

I rolled my eyes. Her supposed originality antics weren't so original. I'd heard that insult too many times. It wasn't like I was even a witch or wizard or sorcerer or whatever the hell. I was only called that because of my family's weirdness. Sometimes I hated it.

Out of everyone in town, Zelda was the one I despised the most. Her murky and oily emotions of hate fueling through her like a burning furnace was worse than the rest of the tangy emotions underneath her anger. I never understood why out of everyone she picked on me the most to bully. I did nothing to her. I never talked to her. Even back in high school, we never had a single class together. And yet, one day, as soon as I started work at the magic shop, she singled me out. I just couldn't understand why. Sure, I was different, but it wasn't like I went around advertising it. And it wasn't like she knew, did she? Even if she did, that was no reason for her to outright target me.

All I ever did was blend in with the background. And if at all costs: avoid the crowds. That's why I always wore dark-colored clothing. Today, I had on a black tee shirt and that seemed to make some of the girls stare weirdly at my eyes like lovesick princesses or something. It made my skin crawl uncomfortably. My eyes couldn't stand out that much, could they? Also, I had on an extra pair of dark blue jeans that my grandmother bought me last year for Christmas that I hadn't even worn until now. And I had on my normal white and blue striped sneakers. Oh, and I had on my favorite navy blue hoodie.

With Zelda's eyes on me, I wanted the ground to swallow me up so I could disappear. And after my unpleasant interaction with Mr. Newman, I wanted more than anything to avoid any more unnecessary confrontations.

Sometimes I wished with all the magic that I possessed that I could magically transport myself to another location.

Unfortunately, I didnt have that kind of power.

I held my satchel's strap tightly and smirked as I tapped into Zelda's confidence and used it as my own. "Zelda, this is most certainly a surprise to see you inside the museum. I thought you hated this place with a passion."

"I do hate this place," she said, smiling. "It's such a drag being here. And I didn't have much of a choice. My father made me come."

"Oh, but you brought your crew along," I said unintimidated. I had sensed her friends trying to sneak up on me.

Hannah Noblemen was the first to approach. She had blonde hair that she must have gotten professionally curled and put back in a ponytail. "God, Zelda, he is so strange."

Brianna Bloomsdale was the next person to approach. She stood beside Hannah and placed her hand on her friend's shoulder. "You are right about that, Hannah. By the way, haven't you heard the rumor?" she asked with a wicked smirk.

"Who cares about rumors," replied Hannah. "It's just stupid gossip, but you can't deny he's a total weirdo."

Zelda smiled evilly. "Indeed he is. But the rumor is no rumor, is it, Weston?" she asked, sneering.

I ducked my head, my bangs falling into my eyes. Anxiously, I grabbed tightly on my right bicep and rubbed it to comfort myself. I fought to ignore their emotions booming into my head. Why were they talking about me like I wasn't standing in front of them? God, girls were so complicated.

I swallowed the sudden lump that seemed to get lodged in the back of my throat. It took everything in my willpower to keep the sudden wave of churning nausea from rising as I took deep breaths. This proved it. They all knew.

Okay, I had to get a grip on myself. All I had to do was get past them and get to work and then pretend for the rest of the day that everything was fine like always.

"No response, freak?" asked Zelda. I could sense the disgusting hint of amusement in her emotions.

"Why don't you cool it, Zelda Goodman," I snickered. "Goodman shouldn't even be your last name. You aren't a good person. And so what if the rumor isn't just a rumor? It's not like I'm hiding who I am."

"Aren't you, though?" asked Hannah.

Zelda put a hand up. "I got this, Hannah. Stand down." Her brown eyes locked onto mine. "You surprise me, Weston. You've got some spark inside you." She flashed her infamous million-dollar grin. "It seems you've gotten more courageous since our last quarrel."

I crossed my arms over my chest and fought the urge to wince at the achiness in my head as I fought to get my labored breathing under control. The deep belly breathing helped calm the racing of my pulse but didn't stop the pain in my head. And again, I was close to breaking out in a sweat.

I hate being the center of attention, I thought.

Not wanting to say anything more, I started to hastily walk past them. Only Zelda stuck out her foot.

Unfortunately, I didn't see it fast enough to move out of the way.

I tripped and fell to the ground. Hard enough that I was sure I bruised my knees. But I didn't let it get to me. I simply lifted my head and glared at her as I picked myself up off the floor.

Unluckily, Zelda continued her tormenting.

I should've known.

Zelda snatched my bag and ripped it open. "Ooh, what's this?" she asked as she pulled out my notebook and opened it. "Writing girlish poems?"

"No!" I shouted, fighting to grab my notebook. Hannah and Brianna, unfortunately, pinned my arms behind my back. Stupid reflexes for not making me react faster. Stupid headache for not making me respond faster.

With her deviled grin still plastered on her face, Zelda began flipping through the pages of my notebook. As her brown eyes scanned over it, I fought against the hold on me as embarrassment and anger rose in me. They were stronger than they looked. I could have gotten out of their grasp, but being a gentleman, I didn't want to hurt them even if they were hurting me.

"Holy, guano!" yelled Zelda, laughing creepily. "I always knew you had girlish tendencies but to write romantic poems..."

"It... It's not romantic! And they aren't poems!" I argued.

The pounding in my head worsened, and the amused spicy from Zelda's girlfriends' restraining wasn't doing anything to help. Gushing water roared in my ears, and a burning sensation started behind my eye sockets as the hurricane of emotions swirled inside my head.

Something overhead clattered. I could vaguely hear it over the roaring in my ears as I continued to stare down at Zelda.

I just wanted my notebook back!

Just then, the sprinkler busted and water gushed.

Zelda shrieked and dropped my notebook.

Quickly, while Zelda's friends shrieked and released their hold on me, I tapped into my magic. Feeling its warm rush course through me, I stared at my notebook. It stopped mid-air. I then grabbed my satchel and held it open and my notebook fluttered inside.

After zipping it up, I glared at Zelda and her stupid friends, wishing that they would get soaked even more. It was like the water responded to my wish because it gushed harder and dispensed like flooding rain in a thunderstorm. But the strangest part, as my senses adjusted, was how the water was drenching everything except for me and the spot under my feet. I was somehow completely dry.

"What is going on over here?" inquired Mr. Newman, who walked over to us after hearing the commotion no doubt.

Zelda wrung her hands, sending water droplets everywhere as she and her friends stood there soaked. Zelda's drenched sparkly pink cocktail party dress with a white bow had water dripping heavily from the ends. The water even ruined her sparkly white heels. Her friends weren't much better. They were in the same dresses only Hannah's was light blue and Brianna's was gold.

I fought the urge to laugh as I watched their ruined mascara run down their faces.

Zelda then pointed a long pink-painted fingernail at me. "Weston did this!"

I stepped back. "What? No, I... I didn't!"

"You did!" she shouted. "You so did! Your wicked magic powers rigged the sprinkler system to go off and ruin my new beautiful expensive dress and shoes!"

"And don't forget about us!" shouted Hannah.

"Yeah, he ruined ours, too!" Brianna agreed.

"I didn't do this!"

"That's enough, Mr. Brooks!" demanded Mr. Newman. "The police and your mother will be hearing about this!"