Unnatural Circumstances

“I think we are afraid of ourselves. . . .of seeing ourselves clearly and without disguise.”

- Shirley Jackson

Queens, New York

September 2nd, 1996

11:30 a.m.

If you want a book with a strong female character, a young boy becoming the “Chosen One,” or endless love triangles, please close this novel and pretend you never saw its contents.

In this twisted tale of unforeseen events, humans dig their nails into the supernatural world, magic schools value tradition more than their pupils, and chivalry is a luxury no one can afford. So before you read this novel, you must understand that in 1996, an unforgivable tragedy was unleashed upon the lives of three outsiders.

Take Soleil Barlowe, for instance. She will write everything she sees in her journal and turn it into a best-selling novel someday. She has been a witch for nineteen years, yet she saw things that would make you shudder every time you turn the page.

But then again, Soleil is no Toni Morrison. She doubts her story would get published in The New Yorker, let alone be recognized by her peers. Besides, even if people read Soleil’s book, she can imagine the skepticism on their faces when they read the part about her tumultuous fall semester at the Hollingsworth Institute.

Suppose you’ve never been to New York. In that case, Hollingsworth Institute is an exceptional college dedicated to young witches, warlocks, or people with supernatural talents trained to defend the world from predatory threats.

Every student is accepted here, regardless of race, gender, disability, class, or sexual orientation.

Though the school has courses ranging from Dark Arts to AP Greek Mythology, the kids could watch shows like Hey Arnold! in the breakroom, eat meals, and sign up for activities as long as they finish their assignments at the end of the day. However, if you’re a college dropout who has bills and student loans to pay, you’re forced to do things you hate.

At around six-thirty p.m., Soleil Barlowe rolls her car window down and peer through the transparent glass of Sweet Mae’s Diner. Inside, Soleil notices all the booths are coated in this blood-red color.

Ceiling fans spin, but they rarely perform a perfect 360°. Cynical culinarians operate in the kitchen while depressed patrons abandon their red cushioned chairs and head outside.

Soleil’s ears heighten as the luminous red jukebox plays songs by Janis Joplin, Emerson Brothers, and Patti Smith. As she sits in her green Volkswagen Beetle, savoring the creamy taste of her vanilla milkshake, Soleil can’t help but notice a handsome college student making his way into the diner.

The dark-haired boy stands out in his indigo-blue letterman’s jacket, paired with a dark green flannel and an eye-catching orange Ringer tee. His Anchor Blue and his Converse sneakers are drenched in mud and water.

The guy is Jake Nesser, son of future District Attorney Eli Nesser. On the other hand, his mom wanted no involvement in Jake or her husband’s life. So, every once a week, she’d fly to Costa Rica to sunbathe, drink Piña Coladas, and flirt with every guy she saw.

At least, that is what Soleil heard from her college roommate.

Gazing out through the windshield, Soleil observes the slender, blonde server placing two slices of pie in front of a young couple. Jake catches her gaze and playfully winks, flashing a charming grin.

Soleil’s deep brown eyes widen with interest as she unbuckles her seatbelt and inspects the boy closely.

He is no older than twenty-four. His green eyes can easily gyrate you into his orbit. Even though he has acne scars here and there, they are a bit tamer than Soleil’s.

Brushing her greasy hands against her torn, black pants, Soleil grabs her backpack from the floor, opens the car door, and heads to the retro diner, where Soleil sees Jake happily scrape his dessert off his plate with a fork.

An elderly server attempts to take his dish away, but when Jake washes his dessert with a glass of milk, he politely asks her if he could have another slice of pie.

The kind waitress smiles. She goes into the kitchen again to request cherry pie à la mode. Soleil watches Jake’s green eyes brighten. His fingers tap to the beat of the drums as the happy boy waits for his cherry pie to return. But to Soleil, it will be the last meal he will ever eat.

Removing her olive-green trench coat, Soleil ties it around her waist, walks over to Jake’s table, and sits before him.

A cool breeze plays with Soleil’s zebra-striped camisole top. Her Afro covers half of her face until Soleil tucks her dark curls behind her left ear.

Upon looking at Soleil, Jake’s lips lift into a stunning smile. He relaxes himself in his seat and then asks her name.

“My name’s Cassidy,” Soleil lies, scratching behind her left ear.

“What a pretty name for a cute girl like you,” Jake remarks. “Do you attend Harvard?”

“Yeah,” Soleil answers softly, still lying through her teeth. “But I got bored and decided to come here and surprise some folks.”

Jake pushes his chestnut brown hair back with his hand. His green eyes gleam with interest.

“So, you’re the Eli Nesser’s kid, right?” Soleil inquires suddenly.

“Yeah.” Jake laughs awkwardly. “What the hell gave it away?”

“I guess it’s your chin.”

“My chin?”

Soleil bobs her head slowly, replying, “Yeah. You and your dad have the same squarish chin.”

“Uh, okay?” Jake snickers. “I thought my brown hair and green eyes were a dead giveaway.”

Confused, Soleil leans toward Jake’s acne-ridden face and observes his features.

“Is that what people say?” she asks. “Because I don’t see it.”

“My dad used to have dark blond hair, but then he dyed it brown.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I never asked.”

Smiling, Soleil was about to ask him questions when she and Jake spotted a black SUV entering the parking lot.

Heavy metal pours through the cracked window. The windshield is so foggy Soleil can barely see the driver until the passenger door bursts open. Jeers, laughter, and howling screams escaped the vehicle as four young men downed their fizzy beers and tumbled out of their seats.

The startling scene scares an elderly couple exiting a closing movie theater. They hold their popcorn buckets together, grab their hands, and stride into their brown Volvo. As the elderly couple drives off, Jake looks at the rowdy boys until Soleil gently taps him on the shoulder.

“Huh?” he asks, confused. “What did you say?”

“I said, ’Don’t worry,’” Soleil reassures. “Everything’s going to be alright. I’m sure they’re taking the bus.”

Jake looks at the window again, but the four men ignore the passing citizens this time and set their ominous gazes on him.

The jock clears his throat. He moves away from the window and asks Soleil what brought her to the diner.

“Well, since this is my first time meeting you,” Soleil confesses. “I wanted to get your autograph.”

“Oh, okay,” Jake remarks. “Where do you want me to sign?”

Reaching into her bag, Soleil shows him yesterday’s news article. Jake’s expression shifts from flirtatious to scared as he stares at the wrinkled newspaper. The black-and-white photograph depicts a badly beaten girl lying uncomfortably on her gurney. Underneath the picture are gruesome declarations talking about Jenny O’Neil’s sexual assault.

“Did you see the news lately?” Soleil questions.

“Seen it?” Jake scoffs. “CNN and Fox wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Maybe it’s because you attacked her,” Soleil tells him.

As the energetic tune ends, a lively waiter quickly rushes to the jukebox to resolve the issue.

With satisfied diners leaving generous tips or heading out to catch a movie, the bustling diner is starting to quiet down. Meanwhile, the seasoned server gracefully places a second slice of pie and a glass of cold milk before Jake.

“Enjoy your dessert,” the old waitress beams, winking at Jake.

After she leaves, Soleil watches Jake’s hands slide off the soft red table onto his shaky lap.

“What?” he snarls. “They’re saying I assaulted some girl? They caught the guy who did it. It was all over the school-”

“I’m not interested in him,” Soleil implies, raising her finger at him. “I’m interested in the ex-boyfriend who let it happen to her.”

“She wasn’t my girlfriend,” Jake argues. “She was just some stupid girl I met in AP Literature.”

Soleil rests her elbow on the table and places her head against her hand, looking directly at Jake.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she retorts. “Jenny O’Neil wasn’t some stupid girl. She was going to graduate Summa Cum Laude until you took her to one of your older brother’s frat parties.”

Pushing the plate towards Jake, Soleil gives him a look.

“Eat your pie,” she insists. “We’ll talk after you’re finished.”

Sighing, Jake shakes his head and pushes the dish towards me. “Have at it.”

“Are you sure?” Soleil starts to ask.

Jake gets up from his chair, reaches into his varsity jacket pocket, and tosses a ten-dollar bill on the table, stating that he is not hungry. However, just as he was about to leave, Soleil grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close to her face.

“I don’t think you should leave just yet,” she replies calmly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jake scoffs.

“No, stupid,” Soleil answers in a severe tone. “Sit back down and listen to what I have to say.”

Jake yanks her hand away from his arm and glares at Soleil.

“What, you think I’m scared of you?” he sneers. “Well, you must have a death wish if-”

An invisible force interrupts Jake’s threat as Soleil guides him back to his chair with her left hand. His eyes are as big as marbles. He shuffles to the corner of his chair, then curls himself in a weird ball.

“Holy shit,” Jake stutters.

Tasting the sweetness of her vanilla ice cream, Soleil ignores his remark and then explains, “Jake, you’re a spineless leech with abandonment issues; the woman who’s supposed to protect you is fucking a Cabana boy and your father’s in court for tax evasion. So, please respect the fact that I don’t give a single flying fuck about what you just said.”

Jake is rendered speechless, stuttering in shock.

“What?” he manages to utter. “Just who the fuck are you?”

“Does it fucking matter?” Soleil inquires distastefully.

“Yes, it fucking matters.” Jake snaps. “Now, give me a straight fucking answer.”

Licking the ice cream off her fork, Soleil looks at Jake and relents a sigh.

“Do you mind keeping your voice down, man?” she inquires. “You’re going to piss off my clients.”

“Clients?” Jake repeats. “What clients?”

SoleiI aimlessly points her finger at the dirt-smeared window, where the four boys, wearing menacing black clothes, stand outside their black car. Coarse hands wield brass knuckle rings and wooden bats as the four rowdy boys goad Jake to come outside.

A terrified Jake reclines back down on his chair and mutters, “What the hell?” in a quivering voice.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you did.” Soleil sighed, digging her fork into Jake’s dessert. “But Vinny claims that you and your friends attacked his half-sister in some college basement.”

Jake’s face begins to sweat. “Vinny? Wait, you work for the Russo family?”

The Russos are a prominent crime family in New York.

They run every illegal trade from the slums of Harlem to the suburbs of Louisiana. No one can touch them - not the judge, the police officers, or even Jake’s political father. All they can do is kneel and kiss Vincent’s polished shoes.

“Technically, I don’t work for them,” Soleil explains nonchalantly. “I just help’em out with shit so they can take care of my student debt.”

“Why are they coming after me? I’m a changed person!” Jake whimpers. “I stopped drinking and cut ties with those clowns!”

Setting down the fork near the half-eaten pie, Soleil slips her hand into her backpack again.

However, the girl retrieves a file with Jake’s name on it, places it on the table, and opens the brown manilla folder to reveal newspaper clippings, notes, photos, and receipts documenting the hefty quantities of drugs he bought for the frat party.

“Tell that to Jenny, stupid,” Soleil retorts coldly. “I’m sure she’d love to hear your story.”

As Jake scans the empty diner, hoping for a helping hand, his search becomes fruitless. The waitstaff is still preoccupied with the jukebox, and the cooks would light up a cigarette rather than help a wealthy kid escape from a mobster’s vengeful son.

In one last desperate attempt to save his life, Jake grabs Soleil by the arm and then promises to pay her twice the amount Vinny’s father spent in exchange for his safety.

Feeling the tension radiating off him, Soleil yanks her arm away and rises from her seat to grab her backpack.

“I’m sorry, Cassie!” Jake yells, tears streaking down his pale face. “I’m sorry I called you a bitch and-”

“And I’m real sorry that I called you stupid,” Soleil responds sarcastically. “I seriously thought you knew.”

“Come on, Cass,” Jake pleads, ignoring her insult. “Just let me call my dad! I swear he’ll give you all the money you want. Name your price.”

“No.”

“Listen, those guys made me do it. I didn’t mean to drug her, Cassie.”

“Still,” Soleil shrugs. “You could’ve told the police.”

Jake’s disbelief is evident in his cracking voice.

“And throw away my scholarship?” he shrieks. “Ruin my father’s career? Are you fucking crazy?”

Sighing, Soleil glances at the chaotic scene of servers and staff frantically gathering their belongings and paychecks.

Once they have everything they need, the employees take one last look at the neon-red establishment and rush past the boys, who taunt Jake through the diner’s glass exterior.

Startled by the revelation, Jake cries, “Please, don’t let them do this to me! I’ll give you anything!”

Soleil doesn’t respond. She pulls out her Walkman from her bag, slings the strap over her left shoulder, walks towards the glass door, dons her black headphones, hits the PLAY button, and listens to “Venus in Furs” by The Velvet Underground as the witch leaves the diner.

Before she heads to her car, Soleil gives the boys an approving nod and then increases the volume. The rapid guitar strings dampen the angry threats. Lou Reed’s voice drowns out Jake’s uneasy crying as the teenage boys barge through the doors and forcibly drag Jake out of his chair and outside the diner.

Closing her backpack, Soleil walks across the empty parking lot. The frigid air stabs her deep brown hands as Soleil tucks her loose bangs behind her ears. Her Doc Martens clicks against the filthy concrete floor until Soleil unlocks her car door with her keys, then crawls back inside her Volkswagen Beetle.

Adjusting the rearview mirror, Soleil witnesses the boys throw Jake’s broken body into the dumpster behind the diner. With deliberate malice, they douse Jake’s clothing in gasoline, smug grins plastered across their hardened faces. Fueled by their cruel intentions, the boys pass around the jug until it runs out.

Once the syrupy brown liquid takes its course, an older boy with strawberry blonde hair steps up to play. He whips a lighter from his pocket, presses the lever with his bandaged thumb, and tosses it into the dumpster.

Flames emerge from the gasoline. Smoke ascends into the night sky. The blaze takes its time to eat everything in its sight until all the boys can see nothing but ash and burnt fabric from the coward’s blue varsity jacket.

A cacophony of whoops and slapping backs erupt from the boys as they revel in their chaos.

In the meantime, Soleil watches it all unfold without a word. She doesn’t call the cops or beg the aggressive boys to stop. Instead, Soleil takes the Polaroid camera from her bag and takes pictures of Jake’s killers before driving off into the starless night.