Chapter Eighty-Three
Fiona’s Point of View:
“I don’t know what you think, but I don’t think Mary would have wanted you to just waste away like this; you’re the one we can look up to for direction here. It wouldn’t do us or the people we have to help any good if you’re not in the right state.”
The scarf is slipping, so I adjust it and move the plate closer to her, trying to give her space. She grabs my hand and with eyes full of tears she says, “I’m very sorry for everything, Kira; I would give everything to wish this didn’t go this way.”
I considered this for a while. “Is there anything else I should know? I don’t want to go into this war blindsided,” Veronica said, shaking her head.
“There’s something else you should know, but it’s not my place to tell, darling.”
She picks up the plate to signal the end of the discussion. “Tastes nice, Fiona,” she says.
“Well, Tristan did it. And about being sorry, it’s okay. We’re all prone to making mistakes, yours just got out of hand,” Her hand pauses over the meal she’s spooning into her mouth slowly, but I don’t wait for her reaction before walking back in.
Eleanor’s Point of View:
I’ve tried to go to bed, but I just can’t sleep. I feel so active and restless. I don’t want Mum to know anything, but she’ll probably guess something is up if I start doing the dishes at 2 am.
James hasn’t called back, as promised, and I don’t want to call Fiona, for fear of disrupting what little sleep she might be getting.
I’ve picked up my phone and begun to text James many times but stop every single time. I’ve learned to always try to keep my cool and maintain the aura of mystery, but this business is making me frayed around the edges.
I almost yelled at Mum last night for no good reason and I had just apologized and gone straight up to avoid questions.
Just as I’m about to start on another funny cat video that has lost its humor to me, my phone beeps with the custom notification I set for our group chat.
I quickly exited and clicked on the message. It’s from James. “Could I crash at your place? They locked me out”.
Oh, I quickly went down and opened the back door as quietly as possible. I don’t want to wake Mum up even though James is welcome here whenever. He walks in, shoving off his jacket as he walks through the door.
“What’s up?”, I asked, worried that he was out at such a time.
Dylan, he says shortly, cutting off all my questions at once. All the breath goes out of me in a whoosh. Of course.
Dylan is James’ bipolar older brother. Not bipolar in the medical sense of it, but I’m pretty sure that guy has mental issues that should be diagnosed.
One time he got angry for no reason and threw a rake at James while they were weeding the neighbor’s garden for spare change.
It had missed the poor guy narrowly, and we had advised him, when he told us, to always leave his presence whenever he was in his moods.
“Have you eaten?” I asked, heading to the kitchen to grab him some bread and jam. I’m not interested in making warm food at midnight.
“I’m not very hungry, I should probably just sleep,” Ignoring this, I grabbed the food and a bottle of water, and then I heard him towards the couch.
“Are you okay?” I asked, unnecessarily, as I put jam on the bread. It’s hard to see James, who is always full of energy looking like this, with bags bigger than my favorite bag under his eyes.
He shakes his head at me and starts to eat the slice I already left on the table.
We continue like this in silence, he is eating and me buttering, buttering me until he stops me on the fourth slice. “That’s good, Eleanor, thanks.”
I get him the duvet and clothes he usually uses when he comes around to crash and reading from his appearance that he doesn’t want to talk, I wish him a good night, giving him a quick hug and switching off the lights on my way out. Maybe I’ll finally be able to sleep now.
Fiona’s Point of View:
Veronica wasn’t kidding when she said the dreams would be more vicious and consistent. They come in various forms; some make me scream, taking Tristan running from the living room, while some are premonitions of disaster.
I even once saw the event of the fire; it seems like my brain has unlocked the seal on my memory, and they’re all here with a vengeance.
After the dream about the fire, I simply sit up in bed and start scrolling through Instagram.
My eyes see the pictures and videos without actually seeing; an avenue to just keep my brain awake even though the images I’ve seen prior are stuck to my brain, behind my eyelids with every blink.
Around dawn, I fall asleep against my good sense. Big mistake. This time I don’t see Dark, I don’t see dragons, I don’t even see demons.
I see my two best friends in pain, being hunted down. I don’t even scream this time; I just walk down the stairs. I need to get Tristan; I need him to help.
I gasp for breath as I bump into Tristan at the foot of the stairs. “Amber…they… danger… help,” I say incoherently, holding on to his t-shirt.
He looks at me through weary eyes and I feel slightly guilty since I’m the one who put that weariness there.
He’s been woken up almost the same number of times as I have this night and the amount of sleep, he has gotten depends on how quickly he falls asleep since he has run up the stairs no less than five times in the course of that midnight.
“Are you okay? You had another nightmare?” he asks, holding the hand gripping his shirt in his.
His shirt straightens out from the crease I put there by my touch.
“Yeah,” I nodded, then shook my head when he started to talk and attempt to steer me towards the kitchen.