One Direction: Second Sight

Find out what happens when you mix terrorists, One Direction, a Horan family reunion , a suicidal young man and mysterious lights around the world. It's a spooky thrill ride. Featuring Louis and Liam plus an original charcter ( don't worry, Zayn, Harry and Niall are there too, plus Simon Cowell). Rated a strong PG 13 for language, violence and limited sexual situations. Not slash per say but strongly bromantic.


1. Leaving Home

Second Sight


A One Direction Fan Fiction








No one knew what caused the lights on the sky to appear, that much was apparent from the first.

Their origin would not become clear until much later. Their effects were as wildly varied as the theories for their existance. For some, they were simply a rather pretty phenomenon. Others felt they had sinister motives , some felt the opposite. And for others, they were a sign that something other than man just might be in the cosmos; that man might not be the center of the universe.

Whatever their source, the lights had one irrevocable effect.

The world changed forever.


Chapter One






I hate my dad .

A lot sometimes.

Especially right now.

Mind you, I love him most of the time. Seriously. As far as dads go, he"s a good one. He doesn't insist on knowing every move I make or asking what's on my mind every time I turn around. He certainly doesn't beat or abuse me in any way; if you met him for even ten minutes you'd realize that with Allan Mullins , violence just isn't his thing.

Of course with me, Mark Mullins...well, I don't like violence but it can be useful and even damn fun at times.

I sigh to myself as I look down as the half packed suitcase sitting on top of the red and white comfortor on my bed. A half dozen mismatched crew socks are sprawled across the bed, sort of looking like maybe a dryer threw them up. I hate washing and drying clothes. I swear to God, I think our washer and dryer eat some of my clothes, especially my socks, every time I put them in the flaming things. I reach down and wad the socks up and amd thinking seriously about just chucking the lot when my dad calls up at me from downstairs for the fourteenth time in the last half hour.

" Mark, will your please get a move on?" comes his all too familiar, somewhat nasal baritone voice, " It's a good two hours until we get to Memphis International and then almost that long to get through security and to finally get on the plane. It can't be that difficult to get your carryon packed." I head the thud of his already packed suitcase hitting the floor at the foot of the steps. Lucky for me, I hear his steps fade off instead coming up the steps.

I throw the socks back on the bed and walk across the hardwood floor to my beat up dresser and open up my sock drawer to get a handful more out. Considering we're about to get on a plane to move to my dad's new job as a associate professor of history at University College at Dublin , I don't see why he's so insistant that I bring all my worn out clothes with me. I mean it's not as if we can't afford to buy clothes once we get there. Or even a whole clothes store for that matter . For crying out loud, my dad is worth nearly twenty million dollars. And all it cost him was every single close relative he had other than me and my mom. She passed away for cancer when I was only fourteen and a half, three years ago. And in a sad way, she was indirectly responsible for us losing them.

Four months ago, we were deinitely in financial desparate straights. Both of my parents were teachers. my mom taught art and music at our local high school and my dad taught history at a nearby community college in Jackson , Tennessee. Mom got cancer and fought a year long losing battle with it. Dad was able to keep up with the house payments , just barely, but then he was in a bad wreck. it mangled his left hand and the extra bills tore the whole house of cards down. My aunt and granddad got together and arrainged a joint family get together of both sides of my dad's family at a big park on the edge of Jackson. Dad was the baby of his generation and everyone was willing to help him out. There were over a hundred people at the pavillion there when a gas truck, driven by a fool who was cranked up on amphetamines and having to detour through because of roadwork hit the kiss your ass curve right in front and sent the truck on its side. It went off like a fuel air bomb.

I lost two aunts, two uncles, my granddad, all seven of my cousins, all three of my cousins kids and twelve great aunts and uncles . Of the 103 Mullins and Lankster family members there, there were exactly four survivors not including me and my dad. Two were third cousins and the other two were so distant even my dad isn't certain how they were related to us. Me and dad had ridden to the Kroger down the road for ice, We were less than a third of a mile from the blast and it sent us into the duck pond when the light blinded my dad. He went running right into the flames. I didn't- I had managed to concuss myself when we went off the road. That's all that kept me from having that particular holocaust from constantly replaying itself in my head the rest of my life like every other thing I've ever seen.

That's my curse in life. I have an eidetic memory.

What's and eidetic memory you say? Well, most people have heard of a photograpic memory, right? Well, some people call that and eidetic memory but it's really not. Oh, I can remember everything I've ever seen or heard, same as with a photographic memory, but there's more to it . I can remember every smell, every taste and every touch . It's like having a flashback instead of a memory. And sometimes, if I'm sick, really tired or even dreaming hard, I get lost in the memories. My best friend Nate used to love telling people about seeing me sitting in a deer stand , petting the air and talking to my dead beagle George ( I used to put my dog in the tree with me , yeah, I'm weird like that sometimes) after I fell asleep watching deer play.

I remember everything good or bad that ever happened to me . I memember every ach and pain, every sunny day, every thought or emotion I ever had like it just happened. Schoolwise, it's a wonderful thing. Give me a map and I never get lost. Just don't ever try telling me you said something different from what you first told me . I hate that. Badly.

My wandering mind screached to a halt as a series of raps on my bedroom door jars me back to reality. Uh oh, it's the old man and he sounds pissy now.

" Son, for the last time, we're running late, " he says as he pushes the door open and walks in. I turn and semi-glare at him as he stands there, hands on his hips. As almost always, I almost flinch at how much we look alike in most ways. He's 6'1 , same as me. Kind of dark skinned, legacy of generations of "Black Irish" with several crossings of Cherokee and Commanche thrown into the mix a few generations back- when Dad's on the warpath it's not exactly a joke. Hazel eyes look back steadily at me through his glasses (thank God I didn't inherit his eyesight!) as he raises a hand to run it nervously through his back and silver hair . " Mark, would you please get it in gear ? You know I hate driving through Memphis as it is, " he says as he lowers his arm, glancing at his watch. Yep, most people use their phonnes to tell time now, not him. "We're going to hit all the traffic now." He crosses his arms across his chest and looks at me . I have to force back an urge to grin as I take in his outfit.

All green. It's like a leprechaun puked on him on St. Patricks Day. The hunter green pants and polo I can deal with, but his shoes are green, unfortunately not the same shade as his clothes . And his jacket is almost lime. Come to think of it, his watch band is yet another shade of green, closer to aquamarine.

" Just shut it, " he says, holding up his right hand in a warding off sort of gesture, " I don't need to hear fashion comments from my son who routinely looks as if he dumpster dives behind down on your luck Goodwill stores," he informes me, pointing at me.

" I look fine!" I dont' know what his problem is. I'm wearing a perfectly normal outfit, pants from AE, a plain blue Old Navy tee and some Nikes that've seen better days. " I hardly look like a bum, " I tell him, admittedly somewhat shortly. I huff , just a bit as I wait for the inevitable reply.

" Mark, you know I have people from the university coming to the airport at Dublin to meet us when we arrive, " he informs me, a definitely patient tone in his voice, " First impressions mean a great deal and you're dressed way to casual for meeting people I will be working with. Couldn't you have found better clothes to wear on this trip?' he asks, although the tone of voice makes it plain that in his opinion, I can't be trusted to pick out clean socks, much less possibly be up to the task of actually dressing myself.

I feel irritation surging as I start to argue, but then I realize that , just this once, time is literally on my side.

" I can change if you give me fifteeen or twenty minutes, " I tell him, best poker face firmly in place. I mentally cross my fingers, hoping he stays true to his usual type A personality. To him, it's darn near a hanging offense to be late. We're already behind schedule and his usual response is...

" Hell no! " he rasps, face coloring slightly as his left hand tenses into a loose fist for just a moment. " You've wasted enough time as it is. You'll just have to board the plane as is and maybe if there's a layover along the line we can get you something decent before other people have your taste in clothes forced on them, " he says. " Just grab your bag and lets get going. I'll meet you at the car." He spins on a hell and takes a step towards the door. " Just one more thing, " he tells me, looking over his shoulder, " I know when I'm being played for a sucker Marko. And you WILL be changing clothes before we get there, even if you have to put on some of mine, " he chuckes at me, a decidely evil grin on his face.

I can't help it, I bust up at the idea of me and him wearing matching outfits. " NEVER! " I tell him , " Besides, you're too fat for me to wear your clothes, you color blind old fart,".

Five minutes later, we're in the car, heading towards Memphis International .






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