Chapter II: Sentinel

Zane walked into the living room, stepping over the empty wine bottles that littered the floor and switched the television on. He crashed onto the leather couch, lifting his feet onto the wooden coffee table as white light slowly washed the room. As he punched the numbers on the remote, the room was cast into darkness momentarily before it was rekindled by a turquoise blue.

“Tonight on Nightline, it was an ordinary morning at Ashville College until the first shot was fired at ten to nine in the morning, killing the school’s Principal, Mr. Mike Saunders. We bring you details of the Ashville Massacre and personal accounts of students and staff as they endured the six hour ordeal.”

Zane cranked up the volume.

“Forty eight people were murdered in cold blood by a gang of gunmen, forty three of which were students.”

The names of Rochelle’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Cooper were mentioned by the news reporter. Zane buried his face into the palms of his hands; fingers interlocked to form the bars of a cage, masking his face. He couldn't bear to see the colourless images of Rochelle's parents, for it was nothing but a mockery. The shame coarsed stronger through his veins.

It was only last summer but she had remembered it well. Mrs Cooper had held him by the arms and drew him close. With shimmering, moist lips, he was kissed on his smooth cheeks. The kiss of the youthful.

“Students were given the command to escape through the fire exit in the cafeteria as the Coopers held the gunmen back. Their quick thinking and bravery saved the lives of many.”

Zane breathed in deeply, inhaling the smell of chips that wafted his hands.

“We were hiding under the desks and they told us to get up for they were going to blow up the place.” The student's face was a red and blotchy white, damp with tears.

“I had wanted to get up. Maybe he would let us go if we just followed what he said, but I looked around and nobody did so I stayed put.” She lifted her arm, concealing her puffy eyes.

“Then they started shooting, saying how useless we were and to stop our whining.”

The phone started ringing. Zane rose to his feet and headed into the kitchen. He pulled the phone from the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Zane, oh my god, is that you?

Zane moved away from the wall and sat on a chair.

“Yea, sup.” Over the phone, murmurs of Lindsay’s friends sounded in the background.

“Yes, it’s him,” Lindsay whispered back.

“What? Wait, who is this?”

“It’s me, Lindsay. God Zane, Rochelle was right about you being a dreamer.”

Zane brushed the silver hairs of his fringe away from his eyes.

“Anyways, is Rochelle with you?”

“Yea,” Zane mumbled.

“Is she alright?”

“She’d seen better days.”

Zane tucked the phone between his shoulders and head. He fetched a glass from the cupboard and uncorked the cap of a wine bottle that was sitting on the bench. A stream of red flowed gashed from the opening as Zane poured. He clutched it from the neck, took a sip and walked back into the lounge room. As the minute hand of the clock spun a full cycle, Zane and Lindsay became reacquainted.

“I’ll talk to you later Zane, they want to use the phone.”

“I could tell. I could hear them talking in the background.”

“Well at least you’re not deaf. Try to cheer her up alright? If you don’t, we will be coming to get you.”

“Don’t worry Lindsay; I’ve already got girl problems as it is. The last thing I need now is to be swept away by an epidemic of girls,” teased Zane.

Lindsay snickered, “Poetic as always Zane. Bye now.”

“Whatever,” replied Zane and hung up. He tossed the phone aside and reached for the remote once more.

“In the morning, Ashville will encounter a slight shower with a chance of developing into rain as the day progresses, followed with a minimum of fourteen degrees.”

Zane shook his head in disbelief; another day of abysmal weather. He had expected that the forecaster would bring news of the clouds clearing. The start of this year’s summer had not gone the way he had hoped. The surfing board that was in the garage had been collecting dust for the last two years.

“Stay tuned for extended one hour coverage of the Ashville Massacre as John Campbell and a panel of experts discuss on what happened, the motives of the gunmen and the issues and aftermath that have surfaced regarding this incident. This is Amy Graham, good night.”

Zane changed the channel. He didn’t need to see more coverage on the massacre. The thought of letting Rochelle’s parents die was enough. He lay on the couch, his arm dangling off the edge.

__________________________________________________________________

Dream Lagoon Swimming Pool

“Alright, I want students lined into their Whanau houses now!” Ms. Devan’s voice blasted through the car park and echoed the area.

Megan followed Rochelle as she wandered away from the assembly area.

“The Endeavour line is over here, Rochelle.”

Rochelle was on the watch for Zane. Another bus emerged from behind the trees and drove down the channel between the cars. The creases in Rochelle’s PE shirt rippled and waved as it squeaked to a halt behind the first bus.

“Rochelle, come on.”

“I’ll be there in a second,” said Rochelle with her back turned on Megan, tilting her shades back till they were sitting on her head. The door folded open and students flowed out of the bus. One by one, they darted off to their lines, accompanied by their form teachers. The excitement that was stored in her heart exploded in disappointment and struck her ribs.

Back at the assembly area, Rochelle snuck herself at to back of the line behind Megan.

“Princess, welcome back.”

Rochelle mustered a smile as the teacher escorted them into the reception area. As she stepped through the automatic doors, the smell of the fresh pine trees became overpowered by the ammonia that lingered the brick walled corridors.

After making a turn around the corner, Rochelle and her classmates were standing on the blue tiled pathway that surrounded the pools. She stepped back as a girl scooted past and returned behind the diving blocks.

“Next!”

The girl obeyed her command and clambered up the stairs. Her toes hanged over the edge of the diving platform as she straightened her stance; arms soared above her head till her hands met. The instructor waddled her way to the girl and lowered her head. She shot out of the platform and smacked head first into deep blue waters. Rings of waves soon formed and surged for the cobblestone ledge, moldy and cracked from the years of erosion.

Students passed through the glass doors and stepped into the entrance of the out door pools. Rochelle followed Megan, but stopped as her name was bellowed above the jumble of gossip.

“Rochelle!” repeated the voice.

Rochelle turned to see Mr. Graham beckoning her with his hands. His arms crossed, his face tightened as she was in speaking distance.

“As a rep of last year’s Eastern Zone swimming champs, I’m expecting your best efforts as always, Rochelle.”

Rochelle stood to attention. She rose her right hand, held flat, to her eyebrow.

“Sir, you worry too much. If we managed to own them last year, then I'm sure we can do the same this year.”

Mr. Graham saluted back, his hand slight cantered forward, shading his eyes.

“Heh. Anyways, I think you might need this.”

He uncrossed his arms and presented to Rochelle to what appeared to be a scroll tied with red ribbon. Rochelle held it by the edge, turning it around until she saw where the knot was tied. As she was about to loosen the strings, Mr. Graham whipped into action, ceasing Rochelle by the arm.

“What do you think you were doing?” His voice had grown stern.

“…What? I…”

“Don’t even think about it! Not here at least.”

His brown pupils were still as he channeled his glare. Knowing Mr. Graham, Rochelle feared that she’ll be damned to detention by the declaration of his thundering voice.

“Yes sir, I’ll open it later.”

“Good, way you go.”

Rochelle turned away from him, catching the last glimpse of Mr. Graham’s grey sideburns from the rear of her vision.

A soothing breeze swept from across the lake and into the vicinity; brushing past the dust stained windows of the water tower and raced north.

“What did Mr. Graham say?” asked Megan.

Rochelle found her spot beside her on the poker dot blanket.

“Oh na. He just gave me this.”

From behind her back, she drew out the scroll and laid it on Megan’s lap.

“A scroll?” said Megan with a wide grin.

“Yea, never knew he was such a treasure hunt…”

In a flash, Megan got up and sprinted for the Iron Gate; bare feet narrowly missed the spikes and met solid mud as she landed on the other side.

Rochelle followed, deluded that her friend had just leapt three meters into the air. If Megan had opened the scroll out of curiosity, Rochelle would be taking the full wrath of Mr. Graham, but as she ran across the bank, a sweet, cherry voice sounded in her head.

“Now Rochelle, what catastrophe would be liberated by the hand of Megan?”

The words “Liberated” and “Megan” were enough for her to picture her friend untying the scroll.

Another voice began to echo.

“What if the scroll was a bomb?”

Rochelle was on the other side of the pool. As a teacher on monitoring duty made his way around the bend, Rochelle quickly retreated behind the covers of the life guard’s chair, moments before he had caught sight of a student disobeying school rules. Rochelle focused her thoughts and energy into the wooden clinks of his sandal over the top of the gurgling noise being made in the pool’s drain.

The sound faded and she ran for the metal gate, acting as a threshold between the pools and the water tower. Rochelle tried to push the gate open but it hardly budged. It was locked.

“Here.”

A chime was emitted nearby. Rochelle felt a slight heat licking her bare arm. A flaming key was inserted into the lock and the gate swung open.

It was Zane.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the individual medley?”

“Now why would I do that?” The gate slammed into the fence after Zane shoved it to the side. He barged through the door which was the entrance to the glasshouse, connected to the water tower.

Rochelle wondered whether she should follow. The thought soon became distant as the voice of the dream world diminished her hate for Zane, guiding her back to the task at hand. She pushed the door open.

“Rochelle. Heads up.” The chill in the tone of his voice was no longer present, which Rochelle soon discovered why.

From the depths of the murky indoor pool of the glasshouse, the creatures that had attacked Zane spurted out of hiding. They hovered closer to Rochelle, their watery bodies bloating and flopping. At first impressions, she believed that they were just some jellyfish floating in midair. The leader of the jellyfish raised its tentacles in unison, allowing the magic to course through its veins. In an act of prayer, the tentacles clasped together, forming an aqua blue light which shot forwards.

Rochelle dashed for the stairs, zigzagging to avoid their array of attacks. Ice crawled its way up the window plane to where the shot had narrowly missed its mark. Within seconds, the door was incased in a thick sheet of ice.

Light droplets of water rained down on her from the next flight of stairs. Two rhythms of footsteps had vibrated the void of the water tower. Rochelle could tell Zane was already at the next flight of stairs.

She continued up the stairs, hoping that the sound of Zane’s steps grew louder. Instead, it became fainter. A slight fear of her being doomed to run up the same flight of stairs for all eternity had blocked the passageway, hindering the ease of her breathing. As the seconds began to draw out, she saw a small window panel in the wall of the tower. The swimming pool where the individual medley heat was taking place appeared smaller than usual. They were meters above ground.

The last flights of stairs were heralded by two statues of angel maidens, peacefully playing their harp. Zane was waiting at the top.

Rochelle caught her breath, but stopped at the seriousness shown on his face. Standing on the hydro slide, water gushing past her feet, Megan held the scroll in one hand, readying to discard and send it on a thrilling ride that it will ever experience.

“Meg, what are you doing?” Rochelle asked in sincerity, for Megan’s friendship and the scroll were at stake.

With her back still turned on Rochelle, she responded in a grave manner, “Rochelle, are you Christian?”

Zane’s eyes switched from Megan to the silver cross dangling around Rochelle’s neck.

“Enough games Megan.”

“You should be more acquainted with your friends, especially those that are well informed in the massacre that had recently occurred. Now I ask again, foolish girl, are you Christian?”