Persimmon

The morning felt dark as Owen picked up on a distant, but familiar heartbeat. Tall trees surrounded the house his family occupied on the college campus. Something spooked her. Her heartbeat increased and he could smell her fear. But combined with her fear was her fascination. He stood by the large bay windows looking out into their backyard. The sky was darkening with storm clouds. They would break soon. The rain would drive her into his house. It happened at the beginning of each school year. It was both annoying and depressing that he could not stop it. The wind picked up. The rain came pouring down. And three, two, one. She wrenched the door open and came inside. Lightning flashed and though Owen knew she was there, he didn't turn to her. Not just yet.

"Hello?" she called as she slowly approached.

But Owen didn't speak until she was next to him. "New to campus, huh?" he asked. His voice was soft and gentle, yet held the undertone of a rebuke.

"Yes. I'm..."

"I know who you are, Persimmon."

She had extended her hand, but started to drop it. He grabbed it and shook it.

"I'm Owen," he said.

"Nice to meet you, Owen."

Persimmon relaxed her grip to let go, but Owen held on. Her hand was cold. Was it because of fear and how cold the rain tended to be this time of year? Or was it something else? He grabbed her other hand, he massaged them to warm them up. The warmth faded quickly.

"That's odd," he said, more to himself than to her.

Dropping her hands, he turned back to the window. Their cold hands were the same, too. How could so many female freshman have the same rhythm to their heartbeat; the same coldness to their hands? The rain slowed and Persimmon turned to leave. Owen turned to stop her. Her inexplicable tears made her turn too far and run into his brother Bruce. He tried to stop her before she took another step, but he was too slow. She bumped into him. It was light, so he hoped it didn't wake him. They had always woken him.

Persimmon opened her mouth to apologize, but Owen covered her mouth before she could make a peep.

"Here, let me show you the door," Owen said.

Once they got to the door, he turned away as if to return to where he had been standing by the window. Instead, he ran down the hall and out the kitchen door. He followed her running steps. He wanted to understand. He wanted to know why these freshman always came to his house. Why he felt a painful desire to know them. She was halfway across campus when Owen cried in his head for her to stop. She did. Had she heard him? If so, how? She was Human.

Persimmon looked around, but did not see him crouched in the tree. She took and released a deep cleansing breath. Then she calmly twisted her wet hair and tied it into a bun. Owen didn't take his gaze off her, but he could hear and smell Bruce. She had woken him up. She pulled up her hood and started to walk away.

'Stop! You're in danger!'

She stopped. "In danger of whom?" she asked quietly.

Bruce threw a knife.

Persimmon side stepped. The knife whizzed past her and she turned to face Bruce.

"That was good, but not good enough," he sneered.

'Run! You won't live if you fight!' Owen pleaded, shifting in the tree a little.

But her focus remained on her attacker. Bruce threw several knives and she dodged all but one. That one buried itself in her left arm. Persimmon pulled it out, stumbled a few steps, before falling to her knees. All of the blades were poisoned. But Owen could do nothing to stop Bruce. Nothing to get himself to move from the tree. He watched as Persimmon reached for her bag and pulled out a black tar-like substance and smeared it over the wound. Then she fell over, her eyes staring.

Bruce laughed and turned to return to the house, leaving Owen to take care of her body.

Owen dropped from the tree. His steps slow as he stepped away from the trees. 'Stupid Persimmon, you should have run.'

His hope had burned a little brighter when the first knife missed her, but she was hit by the blade with the fastest spreading poison. It was almost as if she knew that, because she covered the wound with something. It still hadn't been enough. He was close when Persimmon rolled forward slightly. Owen stopped and waited. Had he imagined it?

After a minute or so, when she didn't move, he stepped towards her once more. Then she startled him by sitting up. She scraped off the black stuff, she pulled her sleeve up all the way and pulled an ointment container from a small pouch hanging from her hip. Persimmon applied a yellowish-green salve to the knife wound. Owen watched a small boil form then fall away. Then she pulled out a liquid and shook it gently. Using a dropper, she put several drops on the wound and it healed over, not even a scar remained. The only sign there was that she had been stabbed was the blood and small hole in the sleeve of her tunic.

Persimmon got to her feet and walked unsteadily to the nearest tree before sitting against its base. Owen stood a few feet from where she had lain. Only the ball with the poison in it remained. He wanted to crush it, but it popped and spread out like water. He hadn't thought it possible, but the grass looked a little more vibrant. Owen looked at Persimmon, her head was down, but he couldn't see her chest rise and fall.

"Persimmon?" He reached for her face, but she caught his wrist before he touched her.

"I'm fine, Owen. Just tired."

Then she released his wrist and curled up in a tight ball. She intrigued Owen because she was different from all of the other freshman he had met. Yes, she had been the first to survive, but there was something about her that set her apart from all the others. What was it that made her different? He contemplated this as he watched her sleep. It was a few hours before she woke up. She stretched and did a few acrobatics before finding a sunny spot to lie in. Owen thought she had fallen asleep again. Then she rolled back into a handstand and stood. Her eyes were closed. Turning to the bag that hung by her side, she pulled out a pair of sunglasses.

"Come, come now, Owen. You look like you've seen a banshee."

His look of astonishment changed to one void of emotion. "How can you still be alive?"

"Ask me again sometime." Then she ran off, disappearing into the distance.

Owen had just lost the sound of her heartbeat when Bruce came back to gather his knives. "Done crying, pretty boy?" he taunted.

"Yes," he replied in his usual flat tone.

Turning away, he ran back to the house to take up his place by the window. He saw or heard nothing of Persimmon after that. Classes started and for that first week he couldn't keep Persimmon from his thoughts. All the students looked the same in their hooded cloaks and brown or black tunics. By the end of the first month of the semester he was able to bury her name with the other twenty. The twenty that didn't survive Bruce's poison knives.

Over the course of twenty-one years, he had taken a variety of biology and chemistry classes. Some he had repeated, taking the class from a different professor and learning one or two new things. Others in his family took other classes, except for Bruce. He would use the information they learned and find ways to use it in order to protect his brothers and sisters from the things they feared. For Owen, it was using the botanical information he learned each year to make new poison covered blades, many becoming more deadly and quicker spreading than the plants would be by themselves. Then Bruce would employ the knives to keep his fear at bay.

Knowing what he did of Bruce's knives, Persimmon should not have lived that day, but she had. Where was she? He had found all the freshman records, but she wasn't listed, nor had he found her name in the other student listings. Had she not been a student at this college at all? He became aware of his surroundings again when his lab partner—Ivory—brought more supplies over. She constantly kept her face hidden with the hood of her cloak and her hands in tight black gloves. Her heartbeat was similar to Persimmon, but different. Ivory was very observant. She seemed to be able to help everyone and still get her coursework done.