The previous morning, Adalia had been the recipient of what the locals called an “Auspice.” Every month or so, somewhere in town, a giant white balloon appeared in the air, making its way down to someone in Madina Lake almost as if it had a will of its own. Each balloon carries a message for its recipient, the source of the message remaining unidentified. Though enigmatic and inexplicable, the people of Madina Lake envy those who receive an Auspice.

On Friday mornings, Adalia regularly strolled through the park, along the riverbed, and through the trees. This Friday, as she emerged from the umbrella of branches, the Auspice made its descent directly into her welcoming arms. Adalia raced back to her flat where she breathlessly burst open the balloon to read her note.

“They have no hope, they have no soul, if you let them, they’ll take yours.” was inked on a thick piece of stationary using a calligraphy pen.

Later that evening the rain started, and by 3 AM Jonathan had been unable to fall asleep because of the blasting thunder and pouring rain. He enjoyed storms as a child, but living on his own for the first time he noticed how unsettling they could be. His radio was tuned softly to a southern jazz station to help him get to sleep, but the blinding light of the lightning wasn’t stopped by his curtains. Each bolt flashed fire in his eyes. He was pulled out of his drifting thoughts when an explosive flash struck a nearby transformer. The old stone building rumbled and the lights flickered for a few seconds before the entire block turned black.

Sleep would be far off for Jonathan now. As the storm surged on, he continued to lie in bed. The rain had put him in a hypnotic state, but the inconsistency of thunder strikes prevented him from drifting off. Against the raging tempest outside, something else, something new, was vying for his attention from inside the house. The sound at first seemed entirely imagined, but it became undeniable. It was static from his radio. The radio from which he’d been cut off when the transformer blew. Gathering its power from a source Jonathan couldn’t fathom and didn’t dare to, the radio beckoned, desperately searching for a frequency. Heart pounding, he climbed out of bed and made his way to it, guided by the green glow of the illuminated the dial. His skin grew cold as he fearfully closed in on the radio and it suddenly locked on a frequency.

"Jonathan," a soft ghostlike voice crackled through the speakers.

Jonathan woke up promptly at 8am as he routinely did, greeted by a beautiful summer morning after the previous night’s storm. Fresh and alert, he picked up the phone and called into work.

"It's Jonathan, I won’t be coming in today. I have a personal matter to attend to."

Jonathan was a teacher. He mostly flew under the radar with adults, but was well respected by his students. His classes were always the first to fill up, his teaching style was edgy and progressive, and his students valued what he had to say. He connected with them in ways that most of the adults in their lives failed to. It was a significant factor in determining his career choice, as the fact that the secure, loving and family-centered environment in which he was raised had become something of a rarity. He didn’t know why, but of this he was sure: values had shifted and adults were preoccupied with other interests, leaving the kids to raise and fend for themselves.

He spent his day preparing for a meeting that evening. He knew that he was chosen for a reason, and the idea behind it was something that he believed in. When it was time he threw on his denim blue jeans and a black, hooded sweatshirt, dug out his old hiking boots and headed out towards the town’s center, Sapphire Square. As he expected two others were waiting for him.

Nothing distinguished the three. They were similar in physical makeup and their nondescript clothing drew no attention. They knew nothing about each other, except for the fact that they were all to meet at precisely 7 PM in Sapphire Square. They were instructed to not speak a word to anyone about their mission, including each other. Immediately following Jonathan’s arrival, the three briskly scurried along the riverside towards the edge of town.

Dusk descended as the city faded behind them and they approached the edge of town. Inside the silence, the trees came alive. The fear was taunting Jonathan. Despite its desolation, this place felt eerily inhabited. They followed a vague winding dirt path that whisked them further into the unknown with every step.

This was the point where a normal Madina Lake citizen would heed the folklore and turn around. These three shared an unyielding assuredness. The forest quickly thickened and swallowed whatever daylight was left. The river would be their only guide from now on. There was still no talking among them.

A break in the density of the forest revealed their destination. About fifty yards down slope from the path was the mouth of a cave. Just ahead of them, the river forked. One branch wended its way to the left, feeding the cave. To the right, the river raged on in its journey.

The cave was softly illuminated by one small torch to signify that it was, indeed, the right location. A small canoe awaited their arrival with a letter perched in the front seat. It was sealed with a wax brand that bared the initials, "TFB."

Its contents read: "Dear citizens of Madina Lake, We thank you for your commitment to this mission. It was not only our words, but your blind faith that carried you this far and for that we are grateful. From here, use the canoe to guide you to us."

As the last member planted his foot in the boat he pushed off with his other leg and the canoe began to shuttle downstream. For the first two hundred yards or so, it was pitch black. The rapids carried the three through the twisting rock enclosure into what seemed to be the depths of the earth. The canoe seemed to be guided by something more rational than the current, more rational and more determined.

It felt like the cave, the canoe and the water were all part of a unified force working together to ensure the delivery of the passengers. Their hearts pounded and the blood coursed through their veins at an alarming rate. Now, the vessel was surging through the water like a bullet. Streaks of white light shot across the walls like arrows slung from ahead. The sounds of the raging waters intensified and mutated into a loud stream of white noise. By now, they had lost all sense of stability and clutched at the sides of the canoe, desperately hoping to regain it. Instead, a sense of absolute weightlessness completely overcame the group.

The next day Adalia sat in front of her vanity nervously putting a letter into an envelope. She communicated with people in town whom she had yet to meet in person and perhaps never would. She blew out a candle and dripped wax onto the paper before sealing the message shut with her monogrammed wax seal.

Adalia was preparing for the Arlene Ball. Her stunning beauty was relentless, even behind closed doors. In a place with no real access to the outside world, Adalia had become a star, the towns most delectable sex symbol and their most admired confection. She had an inimitable charm about her which complimented her mystery. Adalia’s status was almost mythological. Her enigmatic past offering no answer, her life had been snatched up by the flash bulbs and cast into the public feeding frenzy since her first public appearance at the Arlene Ball a year ago. Before that, few knew she even existed.

In a few hours a car would arrive for her, proceeding on to pick up her boyfriend Sheldon before heading for the Ball. She wore a breath taking white satin ball gown trimmed in black and red French lace, the ravishing curves of her body draped delicately. Her eyes were deep, brown, and seductive; her lips full and lusciously outlined in red lipstick; and her skin had the complexion of an angel, setting off the soft brown color of her hair. Her elegance was unrivaled. _________________