Chp.21

I wake up next morning, my thoughts only pulling me to my phone. I stretch out my arms, my body feeling stiff. I yawn, blindly reaching out for my phone on the side-table. My eyes pop open when I see a response from Sophie. I rub my eyes, scrolling to look for her text.

It only says one thing.

Sophie: Alright.

Does that mean, alright she'll help me or alright she'll meet me in the library? Maybe it means both? Then again, maybe it means nothing at all.

"You stupid idiot," I mutter to myself, "Of course it bloody means something."

I swing my legs to the floor, standing up.

I run down, past the kitchen. Where…Where Mom's cooking, Dad standing next to her. And… they don't have those grim looks on their faces. The creases are gone. And they're talking, normally. Happily, in a way.

"Good morning, Luke." Dad smiles, leaning against the counter.Actually smiles at me. And I remember how good one felt when he used to smile.

I raise my eyebrows, baffled, feeling drawn towards the room.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Mom asks, her voice suspiciously cheery, "I'm making pancakes."

I don't reply to that. I'm too shocked to say anything. Until finally,

"What's going on?"

My voice isn't really happy. It's just skeptical. And I hate that I'm ruining the only glad moment they'll have for a long time, but I can't help it. I hate myself for doing this to them.

For all I know, they're only acting happy so I can bring a little smile in my life. I'm sorry but I don't have time for that now. If I'm going back to how I was, then I better be quick. And I'm not even sure if I want to do that now. I've changed in many ways. I'm hesitant. I'm still bloody hesitant. So I decide that I'll just help. I won't act on it. I'll just give a little insider information. The rest is up to her. She seems more ambitious about it then I am.

I enter the kitchen, sitting on a chair. I feel uncomfortable, them acting like this. This used to happen before everything. Before what happened. Those memories are long faded in my mind. It's hard to believe it ever happened. So, watching them be happy… is unbelievable. I may sound like a jerk right now, but I'm just being honest.

"What's going on, I said?" I repeat my question, frowning.

Dad smiles, sipping from his cup of coffee.

And I still don't like this. What is making them so happy? I didn't do anything to make them act like this.

Mom turns around, a plate of pancakes in her hand. She gestures me to sit. And for some reason, I do. She places the plate in front of me, and then grabs two more of the plates. Both of them sit down, Dad already holding out his newspaper. But he's not reading it.

Which only makes me more uneasy.

"Is it something I did?" I ask, fidgeting my hands on my lap. Then again, why would they happy with something I'd do?

"No, not at all." Mom's still smiling.

And I'm getting sick of it.

I really am.

"Then why…" My voice trails off. Because I don't know how to say it.Why are you guys so happy? Why are you two smiling? Why is this house getting brighter all of a sudden?

That will sound ridiculous. Even for me.

I can't ask this. Because that will show that I don't want them to be happy. That's wrong. I want them to, actually. I really want them to be. But this is a different type of 'happy'. With every second passing, it's getting weirder and weirder in here.

"We have some good news." Dad grins, putting down his paper.

I hold my breath, "What kind of good news?"

"It took a while, I know, but we found it." Dad explains, brightly.

"Found what?" I'm scowling so deep it's starting to hurt.

"The house, of course!" Mom exclaims, barely containing her excitement.

My mouth opens wide. With shock. But is this a contented shock? Or a sad one? I can't tell.

"It's not a house, Brenda," Dad shakes his head, correcting her, ��It's an apartment. But it's something."

Mom nods, waving it off, "Yes, yes. The best part is that it's far from here, Luke. It'll be a place where we can move on, a place where you can restart your life."

Dad agrees, "You can improve your grades there, and everything will be how it used to be."

I look down at the floor, muttering "How?"

"What?" Mom says.

I look at them, anger welling inside me.

So they found a new house. They want to start a new life in a new city. They want to forget what happened. Which is ridiculous. We all know that we'll never be able to forget what happened. No matter what happens, everyone will always know that night. No one will be able to forget Jesse. And with the voices still inside my head, it'll be harder especially for me to forget her.

Their idea of moving on is running away.

And I won't blame them. I can't even if I want to.

They suffered so much. They are in so much pressure. They're trying hard to end this. All for me. Me. A worthless boy and an even worthless son. They want me to be happy. And even though I hate going far from my memories, I'll do it. For them. They deserve it.

The boiling rage sinks in, as I sigh, mustering a weak smile,

"That's…good." I say.

"Good?" Mom beams, "This is amazing news, Luke."

I nod, a tight expression on my face as I stare at Dad, "When are we going, exactly?"

"As soon as your camp's over." He replies but his expression had hardened a little. Like he knows what I'm doing. What I'm thinking.

"Isn't that great?" Mom says.

"Yes, son, isn't that great?" Dad repeats Mom's question but I could feel how cold it is. "Do you think it's great?'"

I look at him, beads of cold sweat already forming on the sides of my forehead. I rub my face, a bit vigorously. I shift in my seat, not meeting anyone's eyes anymore, staring at the pancakes. Those stupid pancakes. I'm thinking more than just eating them.

"Why wouldn't I think it's great?" I give a lopsided grin, angry blood chasing me.

"And you're happy, right?" Dad tests me.

I nod again, taking every ounce of my energy to control the urge to scream. Suddenly, I jab my fork at the pancakes, immediately feeling calmer.

"Are you alright?" Mom's eyes widen.

I look at her, "Of course I am." I say forcefully. I let go off the fork but it still sticks there. Reminding me of how I can't fight this one.

She reaches for my hand, "You do realize we're doing this for you, Lukas?" Her voice so soft, it makes my eyes wet for some reason.

"I know." I take away my hand from her grasp, rubbing the blur with my arm.

I don't want them to do anything for me. How many times do I have to tell them that?

I stand up. "I'll be on my way now."

Dad's got a firm look on his face. As if he's trying to study me. Trying to unlock those doors of emotions I'm controlling. But those doors got more locks then he thinks.

"But-" Mom begins.

"I'll come in an hour." I interrupt, heading for the door, quickly.

They're doing this for me.

Doing this for me.

Why?

*********

I take a deep breath, pushing the door with my hands, entering the complete silence of a library. The shelves reaching the maximum height of the huge hall like room. Books stacked neatly in each section. Tables with kids everywhere, mostly studying together. Only rare people come here willingly. To read. I remember I used to be one of them. But now…

Things are just a bit different now.

But a library is where the outside world fades. Where another world, a world you can make, exists. And everyone's silent. No one talks. That means no one taunts. Which, for me, is a good thing. A few glares, sure, but I can take that. Because no one can talk in a library now can they?

I should really come here often.

I give the librarian – a chubby yet kind woman – a quick nod, before scanning the huge room. With shelves after shelves, I search. For her.

My heart thudding slightly.The palms of my hands sweating, nervously. I wipe them with my pants, my eyes darting here and there. Because she may not come. She may have ignored me. She may have thought this whole idea is ridiculous. She probably thinks that I'm ridiculous. But if that was the case, then why would she reply back to me?

Despite the whispering starting when I entered, everything is calm. Peaceful almost.

I see her. Sitting in a corner, a book in her hands. She's alone in the table, but I don't think she knows that. It's like she's cut off from the reality. Focusing hard.It's almost like she isn't there. Just invisible.And the surprising part is that she looks like she doesn't care. All that matters is what the book is telling her. All that matters is the words running in her mind.

But that's her alright. I take a huge breath, again. Walking towards her and all the things she's about to reveal to me. But as I'm walking, she doesn't even look up. It's almost like I'm invisible to her right now. But I still keep on moving. She doesn't look. Still doesn't look. Not until I sit on a chair, across from her. That's when she closes her book.

"I thought you wouldn't come." Sophie says, not even a hello.

"Why wouldn't I come after sending you all those texts?" I ask.

She shrugs, "I had a feeling."

I notice how quiet she is. How…dull. No, no. Not dull. She looks serious. What's up with this world? It's like everything's switched today. My parents, contented. Sophie Sallow, who always has a toothy smile on her face, is now nothing but grim. I almost laugh at the irony. Almost.

She doesn't put the book on the table, she's holding it. And I'm sitting a bit further away from her to read the little details.

She doesn't say anything, so I take it as a sign that she wants me to start. And I do.

It just doesn���t matter to me anymore.

"I saw the note." I say.

"Obviously you did." She nods, knowingly. "That's why we're here."

I frown, "And?"

She raises her eyebrows, "You called me. Shouldn't you be the one to start?"

"Yes," I reply, matter-of-factly, "But you wrote the note. Clearly you should explain first."

She sighs, "Fine."

Then, she looks around, like someone will hear her. That makes me even more skeptical. A minute of searching and she finally turns back to me. Her face scrunches a little, like she just had a thought. But she shakes it away, pushing the book away from her towards me. Only then do I realize it's a book I've read. It's the book Jesse had read. It's a book that she was reading. And those memories – oh, those unwanted memories – come flooding back to me, approaching me with such strength that I freak out, standing with a jolt of lightening running through my veins, the chair falling on the floor, the clattering noise echoing like explosions in the quiet hall. Every face glaring at me, swearing and cursing at the interruption.

But I don't care.

Because the book.

That damn book.

Why is it here? How is it here?

The voice.The voice that should have spoken.Is gone.Like it disappeared. I feel like a part of my mind has been ripped away. I should feel relief about that. But now, I'm wishing for it to say something. Some stupidly wise. That'll calm me. To console me.To give a smart-aleck response. But it left me. As soon as this book was placed in front of me.

"So it's familiar to you?" Sophie's blue eyes widen as she whispers.

I'm still standing, backing away from the book, the book without an author's name. A book that contains history.Dark history.

"How-?"

I get interrupted by a sharp 'shh' from almost everyone sitting close to us.

I take a deep breath, trying again, with a composed note in my voice,

"How is it here?" I whisper.

"What do you mean?" She frowns, "It's a library book. It's supposed to be here."

I shake my head, a nervous and hysterical laugh already finding its way in my throat, "But…But it can't be here. I never returned it."

"It has other copies, apparently." She rolls her eyes, words dripping in sarcasm.

Not something she'd do.

So even "smiley" people can get a bit impatient. That's a first.

But I think otherwise. I really think otherwise. I don't have any proof but there's a surge of panic that tells me it's the same book. But how can I prove this to the rest?

I slowly sit down, swallowing a lump in my throat. I extend my hands, hating how they're trembling. Hating how all this is coming back.

I pick it up, gulping. I open it, running my fingers through the pages. What if…? Sophie watches me. She doesn't say anything as I gasp. Folded pages.The pages that are folded. They're still there. All of them. How can this be?

I see the small section. The small sections with murders.The small sections that started everything. And it scares me so much. Because the sticky notes, the ones in which Jesse wrote. They're note there. The warnings are not there. But the folded pages are. That means whoever did this wants them to know. Wants them to get in danger.Who is this "them" the culprit wants to show this to?

I look up at Sophie, who's staring back at me. If she had this book, she read the sections, no doubt. And if she knows this much.

She knows about the list too.

The list with her name on it.

The list with my name on it.