Beta - Chapter One: Brandon

Beta C. Baker

THERE WAS NOTHING PARTICULARLY REMARKABLE ABOUT ROWENA DEKKER. She was the youngest child of Richard and Ellis Dekker, an accountant and a housewife, respectively, who had mostly given up on her. She grew up in a regular house, on a regular suburban street, in a regular-sized town. She consistently held a position of neutrality on most topics. Halfway through her junior year of high school, she dropped out with mediocre grades. She wasn’t stupid, but she had no drive, no special talents, and no dreams. In her opinion, there just wasn’t anything particularly remarkable about the world. This is why she was chosen.

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Beta C. Baker *****

The temperature was in triple digits, even in the shade. Rowena was stuck to the leather couch, staring at the television with mild interest. Her movements were slow and few, and mainly consisted of the transfer of potato chips from their crinkly bag to her mouth. She was also pretty sure her butt was completely numb, but had no desire to assess the situation. The overly dramatic and mostly boring characters of daytime television paraded their ludicrous dramas for her entertainment, then were shortly replaced by an advertisement for laundry detergent. Rowena was nodding faintly in agreement with the actress’s amazement by the product’s stain fighting abilities, when Ellis entered the room. "Oh, honestly, Rowena," she bemoaned. "Is this all you do?" With much difficulty, Rowena pulled her gaze over to her mother. Today she was wearing her short, sandy hair down, neatly styled but practical. Her make up was carefully applied and her dress was fashionable and summery. Very Martha Stewart. Few would guess that she was likely to spend the entire day at home. Rowena’s wavy brown hair, in contrast, was pulled into a tangle of a pony tail, and she was wearing boxer shorts and a sports bra. Very...Wal-Mart. "No," she answered slowly. "Sometimes I read." Tutting disappointedly, Ellis bent around her daughter to gather a few dishes and snack wrappers that had cluttered on the couch and spilled onto the floor. Rowena accommodatingly picked up her feet, watching quietly. "If you’re not going to go to school, then you need to get a job," Ellis said sternly. "I’m not going to have you living off of me and you father the rest of your life, I’ll tell you that." She straightened, and Rowena blinked up at her. "It’s time to cut the apron strings, Rowena."

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Beta C. Baker "No one would hire me," Rowena said flatly. "No diploma." The dry statement echoed a warning her mother had given her when she’d said she was planning to quit school. Obviously she remembered this, as Rowena was met with a fierce look, which quickly dissolved to exasperation. "Well, you need to figure something out, because this just isn’t working," Ellis insisted. "Really, Rowena… What are you going to do with your life?" "I don’t know." She stared at her mother for a long time, deliberating. "I was thinking about maybe ending it." Very briefly, she spied a concern in her mother’s eyes. But it lasted less than a moment, and was replaced by frustration as she turned and stormed towards the kitchen. "For Christ’s sake!" The dishes clattered loudly as they were dropped into the sink. "Don’t even joke about things like that!" She returned and switched off the TV, before heading off again. "And clean the dishes!" The silence was pressing. Rowena took a deep breath, staring at the black television. "…I wasn’t joking."

Despite the heat, Rowena changed her clothes and went for a walk after finishing the dishes. The sun beat down relentlessly, reflecting harshly off the white concrete. She adjusted her sunglasses and scowled against a headache from the brightness. It wasn’t often that she went for walks, but she felt the need to get away from her mother for a few hours. Her feet carried her to the park. There was no one around. Rowena checked her watch. Apparently it was early afternoon, Tuesday, which meant everyone was either at school or at work. Even new mothers with tots too young to be in school were absent from the playground. Too hot. But that was fine with her.

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Beta C. Baker She found an old wooden bench and sat down, staring at the trees with her music player on shuffle. One of her favorite things about music was that it blocked out the world in every way. It even distracted her thoughts from real life, letting her imagine herself somewhere else. Somewhere better. Somewhere magical. A shadow fell across her face. Startled, she looked over to see a tall, lanky blonde kid wearing sunglasses sitting down next to her. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at her, tilting his head back to stare up at the cloudless blue sky. But he was wearing a dark, three-piece suit minus the jacket, and that was really weird. Pulling her headphones off, she glanced him over. "Aren’t you sweltering in that?" He turned his head to look at her with a mildly surprised expression, as though he were noticing her presence for the first time. He shrugged. "It was cooler when I left." His eyebrows stitched. "Shouldn’t you be in school or something?" Rowena scowled. She’d always looked young for her age, but she still resented anytime someone assumed she was younger than she was. "Shouldn’t you?" The boy smiled crookedly. "I guess." He looked away again, studying the playground structures. Just as she was about to put her headphones back in, he spoke up. "My name’s Brandon." She paused, then replied, "People call me Ro." He raised an eyebrow. "Ro? As in, row a boat?" "As in Rowena," she corrected, then recalled the spelling of her name and shrugged. "Yeah, like row a boat." He smirked and nodded slowly, looking around the park and falling silent once more. Rowena replaced one ear bud, leaning back and trying to space out whilst keeping an eye on him. There was something weird about him, aside from the suit. She couldn’t decide if it was good weird or bad weird. They sat in silence for a while, but Brandon seemed to be thinking very hard. A song and a half later, she heard his voice inquire, "So…why aren’t you in school, then?"

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Beta C. Baker She paused her music and looked at him for a long time. Normally she might have danced around the subject with sarcasm and vague redirections. But something was pressing her to be truthful with this new person, a voice in the back of her head whispering, Talk to him. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, to confide in a stranger. Something about it felt safe, like there was less of a chance he would judge her; he didn’t know her, after all, couldn’t tell anyone what she might’ve gone through in her life or why she might’ve made the choices she did. And it wasn’t like she had anyone else to talk to. Despite these self-assurances, her throat was tight when she said, "I dropped out last year." She half-expected him to look at her in disgust or to poorly disguise a judgmental glare. But instead, he only removed his sunglasses, his interest apparently piqued. His eyes were remarkably bright, a ring of electric blue around his large, dilated pupils. "Oh? Why’s that?" he wanted to know. The untroubled tone of his voice threw her off a bit. Her friends, family, teachers—just about everyone, really—had treated her decision almost as if it were a cancer. But the grave concern and disdain so often peppered in their voices were missing from this conversation. "I just didn’t see much sense in it anymore," she admitted, relaxing slightly. "It’s not as if I was gonna go to college after." He blinked. "Why not?" "It would be pointless. Nothing interests me." She leaned back and shrugged. "What am I going to do, spend four years wandering around a campus, wasting my parents' money?" "Aren't you wasting even more of it living off of them for the rest of your life?" While Brandon's tone was still casual, there was a cold, irritated undercurrent and his voice had lowered half an octave. Rowena lifted her eyes, and the accusatory look

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Beta C. Baker in his eyes made her stiffen. It was brief, however, and quickly replaced by an emotionless wall. That was somehow more unnerving, and she quickly tore her gaze away. "Who said I was living off my parents?" she defended, crossing her arms. He snorted. "It's a little obvious. You don't strike me as the independent type. You must be living off of someone." A flush of indignance warmed her cheeks. She glared at him. "I resent that." "But you don't deny it." There were no words to defend herself. What was she going to do, lie? There was no point in that. And it wasn't as though she really cared what he thought. Exactly, she told herself. You don't care. "I don't have to justify myself to you," she retorted, although her shoulders hunched uncomfortably. She forced herself to glare at him again, despite her worry of those guarded eyes. But he held a consistency of making her feel worse with each change of his gaze; his eyes were now glittering with triumph. He smirked at her almost predatorily, and she instinctively shrank back, feeling her face betray her bewilderment. "No. I suppose you don't," he agreed with an air of irony, of knowing something she didn't. He stood and smiled. "I'll see you around, Rowena Dekker." As Brandon drew further and further away from the bench, she slowly calmed, reflecting on the encounter with a puzzled frown. What a strange person. And then, realization and horror sank and twisted into a tight knot in her stomach. She’d never told him her last name. When she finally made it home, her lungs were on fire and her legs were shaking. She ignored her mother’s complaints about her shoddy dish cleaning work and dragged herself upstairs.

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Beta C. Baker *****

For the next three days, she made a point to leave her room as little as possible. Her shades were drawn tightly and she refused to answer the phone. Although, realistically, the calls were rarely for her. There were only really two or three people she could call her friends, and they were all too busy with their lives to bother with the drop-out. Normally, she didn’t mind, but she would’ve loved a distraction now. Anything to keep herself from thinking about the incident at the park. She shuddered at the memory, trying and failing to push it out of her mind. It drove up questions she’d been wondering since she’d gotten home that day. Who was this Brandon kid, if that was even his real name? She didn’t think she knew him. For the millionth time she wracked her brain for some clue that she’d met him before, seen him. But there was nothing. Actually, he hadn’t seemed like he was from around here. It wasn’t incredibly obvious, like he was wearing outrageously strange clothing (aside from the suit) or talking funny. He just felt like he was out of place. Like he didn’t belong. A chill ran down her spine. How did he know her name? The only logical answer she had come up with was that he was stalking her. But why? Why stalk her, slacker loser and plainest of the Janes? And what was his motive? And how long had it been going on? All the times she’d quickly changed her shirt without bothering to close the shades flashed through her mind. Her window didn’t face the street directly, but there were bushes and a thick tree at an angle that allowed at least a partial view into her room. She cringed. Oh, gross. She flopped back on her bed and closed her eyes, remembering his face as clearly as she could. Was she absolutely certain she hadn’t seen him before? Maybe…

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Beta C. Baker maybe from school, or maybe one of her mother’s friend’s sons. Ellis was always trying to set her up on dates, but not lately. It was likely her mother didn’t feel she’d be considered desirable by the handsome, respectable boys she always dreamed her only daughter would marry. Rowena thanked her lucky stars for this with little sympathy for her mother’s lost hopes. Still, no. She’d never met him before in her life, she was sure of it. She didn’t know him. But he knew her. And that raised another question: how well? Better than you’d like. Fear surged through her and she opened her eyes. The thought rang through her mind in his voice, loud, and as clear as if he’d been standing right next to her. Frantically, she scrambled into an upright position and scanned the room, searching. But she was alone. It was only her and her thoughts, her overactive imagination surely running rampant under the stress. Just as her heart had begun to slow its wild pounding, a sharp knock on the door made it jump into her throat again. She gasped and clutched at her chest, eyes wide. "Rowena, honey?" a voice called tentatively. It was her father, Richard. She took a few deep breaths. "Y-yeah?" she choked out. "Come in!" The door slowly opened and her father timidly poked his head in. Almost as soon as his daughter had hit puberty, Richard had become mostly uncomfortable around her, flustered and nervous. Frankly, Rowena didn’t get it. It wasn’t as though she dated much or talked about boys or brought up her period or anything. Even her chest hadn’t gone through any impressively large changes. Maybe she’d gotten a bit more cynical, but that was all she was aware of. "Hey, pumpkin," he said, stepping in and carefully closing the door behind him. "How’s everything going?" The urge to tell him everything, to confide in her dad and be scared and cling to him was quickly squelched, just as it had when she’d felt it around her mother. Part of it

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Beta C. Baker was her natural tendency to keep her feelings and anxieties to herself, but there was also a quiet, familiar voice in the back of her mind urging her not to tell, to keep it a secret just a little longer. She forced a small smile. "Fine, I guess. Why?" "Oh, well, you know…" he muttered, running a hand through his thinning, dark hair. "Your mother’s worried… Says you’ve been spending a lot of time holed up in here." Rowena pursed her lips in thought, then shrugged. "Well, I do a lot of that anyway, don’t I?" she pointed out. "I’ve just been reading a lot, is all." Richard seemed to relax slightly, allowing a relieved smile. It was always so easy to satisfy the questions Ellis sent him in to ask, likely because he was uncomfortable or just wasn’t worried in the first place. From what Rowena had seen, her mother had a knack for persuading people to do what she wanted, but not necessarily to agree with or understand her side of the story. Good for getting things done, bad for sympathy. There was a long, drawn out silence, after which Richard cleared his throat nervously. "Well…I suppose I’ll, er…see you at dinner." "You bet," Rowena nodded as he quickly retreated. The door closed behind him with a gentle click and left her alone with her thoughts once more. She wished she’d asked him about his day or complimented him about his new glasses or done something to keep him around. But it was too late for that and she would just have to deal with her fear and paranoia on her own. A shiver ran through her and the hissing sound of wind passing across a hairline opening in the window came to her ears. She sighed and turned to close it. Terror gripped her and stole her voice. Brandon sat in her window, wincing and making that hissing noise between his teeth. "That was awfully awkward," he commented, sliding in. "Mind if I come in?"

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Beta C. Baker She scrambled backwards, eyes wide as his feet quietly touched down onto the carpet. Her back hit her desk, stopping her from moving any farther from him. He raised an eyebrow and put his hands in his coat pockets, looking around the room with mild interest. Her hands fumbled across her desk and found a pair of scissors, which she brandished like a weapon, shaking terribly. "What are you doing here? What do you want?" she demanded, meaning to yell with a sense of dominance, but managing only to squeak the words out. He looked over, brow quirked, then rolled his eyes and strode towards her. "Now, don’t be ridiculous," he chided, seizing her hands with a firm but gentle grip. "I’m not here to hurt you and you know that." "I know that?" she repeated angrily. "How do I know that? You’re some creep that knows my last name and where I live and can get to my second-story window without making any noise like you’ve practiced or something and for all I know you could be here to—to rape me, or kill me!" Brandon only blinked, looking somewhat curious. Then he smiled and took the scissors from her. "You know," he insisted, and tapped her softly on the head. "If you really thought anything else, you’d have screamed for mommy and daddy already." As he pulled away and moved toward her bookcase to peruse her collection, she leaned back against her desk, a little stunned. Because, when she thought about it, she really did know. There was a knowledge that just sat in her brain, assuring her that he had no intentions of harming her. It was unsettling, the feeling that she hadn’t learned or decided this under any logical conditions. It was just there, a solid chunk of knowing and trust. Her heart pounded in her chest. She tightly gripped the edge of the desk. "You’re in my head," she whispered, a little worried that if she said the words too loud it would make them truer.

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Beta C. Baker Brandon laughed lightly, pulling a book off of the shelf and reading its back cover. "You catch on quick," he commended. Her stomach clenched and she gasped quietly, shocked. She felt like her legs were about ready to give out. "Oh my god…" she murmured, covering her mouth with one hand. "I’ve completely lost my mind. I’m so lonely I’m making up friends for myself." Sighing deeply, he tilted his head back and slid the book back into its place. "Or maybe not," he muttered. A sudden sharp rapping on the door made them both jump. Brandon looked towards the door with mild surprise and concern across his features. He moved towards the window again. "Rowena, dinner’s ready!" Ellis called. "I’ll be back," Brandon said quietly, swinging one leg over the window sill. Angrily, Rowena stormed towards him, hissing, "You will not! Get out of my head!" "Who are you talking to?" She whirled around as Ellis threw the door open, stepping inside and scanning the room with a frown. Rowena panicked. "I--I can explain!" she said urgently, trying to think of a reasonable explanation for the boy in her room that hadn't come in through the front door. But Ellis only sighed, shaking her head. "I don't want to know, Rowena. I really don't," she insisted. "Come and wash up for dinner." Rowena stared at her. She knew her mother expected the worst from her these days, but this was way too lax for her personality. Still, she wasn't about to ruin a good thing by provoking a long-winded lecture or an argument of that degree. So she followed Ellis, glancing back to see that Brandon had left as quickly and as quietly as he'd arrived.

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Beta C. Baker Oh, that’s right, she remembered. Only I can see my own hallucinations, I guess. For a long moment she tried and failed to decide if it was better or worse to be caught talking to herself than to be caught with some random boy, and instead settled for going to wash up, and dwelling over Brandon's parting words for the duration of dinner. But halfway through, as Rowena was quietly making a volcano with her mashed potatoes and gravy, her mother cleared her throat. "Well, Rowena," she began. "I have some good news." Uh-oh. Rowena slowly set down her spoon and looked up. Good news to her mother was usually bad news to her. "Oh?" she prompted cautiously. "I've gotten you a job interview!" Ellis beamed proudly. "It doesn't pay very high and it may not be the most...glamorous job...but they don't require a high school diploma and it'll get you out of the house five days a week!" Rowena blinked, her neck feeling hot. She slowly turned her gaze on Richard, whose head was bowed deeply to avoid getting involved. It must've been really bad. She didn't like this. Taking a deep, slow breath, she set her fork down. "Really?" she inquired, looking at her mother again. "What is it?" ***** They had her scrubbing toilets on her first day. The hotel wasn't exactly fivestar, and the previous occupants of Room 15 had not been kind to the restroom. Rowena kneeled in front of the porcelain in her drab grey uniform, hair neatly tied and pinned back, yellow rubber gloves reaching up to her elbows. The sharp smell of bleach cut through the stench of bodily fluids, making her momentarily dizzy. Adjusting her mask, she bent over and tried not to vomit--repeating over and over in her mind, I

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Beta C. Baker don't want to put my face any farther into this toilet--as she scrubbed out foul-looking stains. It didn't help her any that she was dog-tired. Over the past couple of nights she'd found it nearly impossible to sleep. Thoughts of Brandon watching her, though the shades were always drawn, or climbing in, though she'd all but nailed the window shut, kept her awake for hours on end. She tried to remind herself that he wasn't, couldn't, be real. He was a figment of her overactive imagination and nothing more than that. Right? There was a part of her that still wondered, and while she'd like to call it paranoia, it really wasn't. She knew paranoia well enough to distinguish it from rational thoughts. Well, as rational as thoughts could be in this situation. What she knew and what she desperately wondered, but almost feared to know, turned over in her brain as she finished cleaning the toilet and the floor. When she finally got to her feet, her knees ached in protest, and she wondered how Cinderella had ever been so graceful. Sighing, she discarded her rubber gloves into the cleaning cart, removed her mask, and shuffled into the main room to change the sheets. She was startled to see Brandon leaning casually against the frame of the doorway, sunlight softening the sharp angles of his face and making him glow. There was something beautiful about him in that moment, and she stopped, unable to do more than stare. He grinned and she shook her head, forcing herself to look away. With a defiant 'humph', she ignored him and began tugging the blankets and sheets off the bed. He didn't say anything, but she could feel him watching her. It wasn't until she went to get the fresh sheets that she even noticed he'd moved closer. The sudden change in his position startled her, and she leapt back, staring wideeyed at him. Brandon showed no reaction, but was looking at her expectantly. "What?" she snapped, snatching up a fitted sheet and stomping over to the left bed. "It's okay to talk to me, you know," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm not a hallucination."

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Beta C. Baker Jerkily opening the sheet and fitting it over the corners, she growled, "Of course you would say that. So I listen to you when you eventually tell me what a great idea it would be to take a rifle on my next trip to McDonald's." "It's not like this is so much better," he pointed out, gesturing to the room. "I mean, honestly, where's your sense of adventure?" "Adventure?" She whirled on him. “What sort of adventure are you supposed to be offering me here? An inside look at a mental hospital? No, thank you!" She turned to go back to work when his hand seized her wrist and pulled her back to him. Panic rose in her chest, and she tried to pull away, struggling against a sort of superiority and anger entering his eyes. But she was small and he was stronger than he looked, stilling her with his hands firmly gripping her shoulders. "Would you let go of your paranoid delusions and just listen to me?" he growled. "I'm trying to give you something better than this and you won't listen." Forcing herself to stay as calm as she could, Rowena scowled up at him. "My so-called paranoid delusion is that you're not real," she said slowly. "Anything else just means you're a Type-A creep, and that really doesn't help your case at all." Disappointment and a hint of sadness filled his eyes as his expression softened to mere annoyance. Rowena tensed in anticipation of his next move, but they were interrupted. "Excuse me." They both turned to see Anna, a tall auburn-haired co-worker of Rowena's standing in the doorway. She glared at Brandon, her arms crossed. "You're not supposed to be in here." Brandon took a deep breath and smiled at her. "I was just leaving," he assured her, then turned to Rowena. The smile was the same, but his gaze burned with fresh intensity. "I'll see you later, Ro."

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Beta C. Baker As he left, Rowena stood there, gaping. He was real. He was real. She couldn't move, thoughts racing through her mind. If he was real, honest to God flesh and blood, then how had he gotten into her head? Forget "who was he". What was he? Anna's voice brought her back to herself, stern and disapproving. "You should've already had this room done," she scolded her. Although they technically had the same job title, Anna's experience automatically put her a rank above Rowena. She wasn't sure she minded that so much; Anna had worked at the same motel for three years and had never gotten a promotion or a raise. To make things worse, she was the single mother of a four year old, and sometimes Rowena watched the way she carried herself and wondered if she might not have another one on the way. Sheepishly, she scratched the back of her neck, still dazed by this new Brandonrelated revelation. "Sorry," she muttered. "Had some trouble with the bathroom, and then..." She stared past Anna, as though she could still see him, eyes mysteriously determined and compassionate. Anna's expression softened and she moved forward to help. "Abusive boyfriend, huh? I had a boy like that. Trust me, the best thing you can do is just get out now." "What?" Rowena said, stunned. "No, no, he's...he's definitely not my boyfriend." She laughed nervously. "Right. An ex, then?" Anna gave her a knowing, wry smirk. "No," Rowena insisted. "I barely know him." "Yeah..." Looking past her with a wistful sadness in her eyes, Anna sighed, "I guess we don't really know anyone, do we?" Rowena gave up, shrugging and mumbling an agreement. Anna was a hopeless romantic who saw love, or twisted versions of it, everywhere. She was going to see what she wanted to and Rowena wasn't in the mood to try and convince her otherwise. So she

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Beta C. Baker half-listened to Anna's oddball relationship advice while she helped her catch up on the next two rooms, figuring it was only polite, though she sort of wished she could be alone with her thoughts. She didn't dislike Anna; she was just a little distracted today. Later, as she was preparing to go home, she was surprised to be stopped by Anna at the door. "Hey, Ro," she said, touching her shoulder lightly. "If you ever need anything, someone to talk to, you know." She smiled and handed her a folded piece of paper. "Let me know, 'kay sweetie?" She flitted off to the back room. Rowena unfolded the paper. It was a phone number, signed in Anna's neat, curvy handwriting. She wasn't sure what to make of the gesture, so she shoved the paper into her pocket and headed out. The walk to the bus stop was not unpleasant, but a part of her resented her mother for keeping the car from her. Apparently she had to "earn the privilege", and apparently going to the crappy job Ellis had volunteered her for didn't count. But what she really didn't like was how much danger it put her in. Brandon was leaning against the street lamp next to the bus stop, waiting for her. Frustrated and upset, Rowena clenched her teeth against rising tears and stormed over to him. "What?" she screamed. "What do you want? What is so damn important that you can't just leave me alone?" He raised his eyebrows, straightening. "You believe I'm real now, then?" "I don't care. Just get out of my head and out of my life." He laughed, short and bitter. "What life?" The words stung her. She stepped back as he moved closer. "You don't have one. You're doing nothing here," he said calmly. "My presence is the most interesting thing that's happened to you in years. The only reason you're fighting me is because you've gotten comfortable being no one."

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Beta C. Baker Rowena was speechless. She wished she could yell and scream and kick him. She wished she could tell him he didn't know what he was talking about, that it was a lie and she was someone, but her words had been stolen from her by a stronger, more important girl. And Brandon showed no mercy. "You won't ever change this world, Rowena," he continued. "For the rest of your life you'll live with your parents and clean up after junkies. You won't affect anything! There's nothing you'll do here that will ever matter." Rowena swallowed. Her mouth was dry and her vision was blurred by tears. She knew all this, everyone knew this, but it had always been easier for everyone to hide from it, to pretend she could turn things around some day. Breathing hard, she looked up at him fiercely. She hated crying, even more than she hated where her life had gone, more than she hated him for knowing so much and making her see it. "Then why are you here?" she snarled, tightly gripping the straps of the knapsack holding her uniform, even though it made her feel like a schoolchild. "If I matter so little then what is it you could possibly want from me?" "I'm here to change all that," he insisted evenly. "This is a wake-up call. Don't you get it? You're wasting yourself away. But I'm your ticket out of this tedious, boring, completely pointless life you're leading. I'm your chance to do something great." She frowned suspiciously. "I hope you don't mean yourself." Brandon grinned crookedly at her, chuckling. "No, but I'm flattered you think so." Rowena felt her cheeks warm. She shook her head and opened her mouth to protest, but he cut over her. "I'm talking Buffy the Vampire Slayer great. Greater! What do you say? Last chance." The bus rolled to a stop next to them and the doors hissed open. Rowena searched Brandon's eyes for honesty or deceit. She saw only excitement. "Oi! Lady! You gettin' on or what?"

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Beta C. Baker She glanced at the bus driver impatiently, then turned back to Brandon, who held his hand out to her. "How do I know I can trust you?" "You know," he teased. And she did.

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