SEVENTEEN: CHARLES?

"Raymond is innocent!" I blurted out panting.

All eyes turned to me, stunned, surprised by the sudden shift in tone and sides.

Their confusion was written across their faces, questions already forming on their lips. And I had none of the answers they were looking for.

Before the interrogation could begin, the dismissal bell shrilled through the air like a mercy. I grabbed my bag and slipped out, not looking back.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

The vision I'd seen at the clinic still haunted me, flickering behind my eyelids every time I shut them.

...

The next day at school, after the first class, we were in the locker room, planning what to do after school, when the bells in the hallways rang and Mrs. Adams' voice echoed in.

"Students, assemble in the orientation hall for a brief announcement."

They all sighed.

"What now?"

At one corner, I spotted Rejoice. Her facial expression darkened after the announcement was made; she must have had a clue as to what was about to happen.

"Oh no!"

...

At the hall, we were all seated quietly. Everyone was present, including the teachers and the janitor. I could see Raymond standing in a corner, wearing an expression that said 'I'm tossed!'

Mrs. Adams came out to address everyone. The murmuring of students slowly died down as she cleared her throat, preparing to speak.

Immediately, as she picked up the mic, the heavy double doors at the back of the hall groaned open with a sharp, echoing creak.

All heads turned.

In walked Charles.

Alive. Walking like nothing was wrong as if he hadn't been declared dead just weeks ago.

For a moment, no one moved. It was like time itself had stopped.

His clothe was crisp, his shoes clean. His face held no signs of injury or illness. His skin was a little pale, yes, but not in a sickly way. More like moonlight kissed, soft and untouched. His hazel eyes swept across the room, calm, almost amused by our shock.

Gasps filled the hall.

A girl near the front dropped her water bottle. It clattered to the floor, loud and awkward in the silence.

Even Raymond, who usually wore a mask of indifference, looked completely thrown. His eyes widened like he'd seen a ghost.

My stomach dropped.

I stared, unblinking, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. My thoughts ran wild.

This can't be happening. Charles is dead. He was pronounced dead. The hospital confirmed it. Although we were yet to celebrate his funeral but this, this is absurd.

I scanned the crowd around me, searching for reactions. They were all shocked and swept in disbelief. I looked further and I saw Rejoice.

She stood near the back, arms crossed over her chest. For a fleeting second, I swear i saw her smile. A small, barely-there curl of the lips but just as quickly as it appeared, the smile vanished, replaced by a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. She looked just as confused as the rest of us now. Or maybe she wanted us to think that.

Something about her shift unsettled me.

I turned my gaze back to Charles.

He paused at the entrance, letting the stunned silence settle deeper. Then he lifted his hand in a casual wave, his lips curling into a pale, almost ghostly smile.

"Hello, everyone," he said, his voice steady, eerily calm. "Sorry I'm late."

...

They say, Believe less of what you hear and half of what you see. Apparently, the story just got a little more interesting.

Seeing the confusion around us, Mrs. Adams dismissed everyone.

...

In the principal's office, Charles sat down on the chair opposite the desk, and Raymond stood behind him. Mrs. Adams paced back and forth, panting in confusion.

"How is he alive?" she muttered to herself, racking her brain for an answer.

Charles cleared his throat, signaling his presence. Mrs. Adams calmed down and sat down facing them.

"Charles Coleman, we are indeed delighted to see you back at school, healthy and very much alive. But permit me to ask, how?"

Charles looked stunned by the question, he looked at Mrs. Adams with his sharp hazel eyes "I'm afraid I don't quite understand where you're heading with this, ma'am."

Mrs. Adams sighed, thinking of how to explain the situation to him.

"Well, there was an incident during the games, and you... died. The hospital confirmed it. That's why we were all startled when we saw you."

"Well, Mrs. Adams, there must have been a misunderstanding. I agree I did pass out, but perhaps they might have mistaken a coma for death."

She stared at Raymond for a while, then back at Charles.

"Permit us to run a few tests on you to confirm our disbelief."

Charles nodded.

"Sure, why not?"

Then she stood up, so they did too.

"Mr. Raymond, I trust you to do your job well."

"Y-yes, ma'am," he sputtered, urging Charles to stand as they both turned to leave.

They reached the door and twisted the knob to open it.

We almost fell in when it opened. Apparently, we'd been outside eavesdropping.

They were surprised to see us. Mrs. Adams placed her hands on her hips, her eyebrows furrowed, and she asked, looking cross:

"Girls? What's wrong?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Adams, but we got curious," Summer spoke on behalf of everyone.

She sighed and took her seat.

"This isn't a matter to involve the public."

Pink came out boldly and objected.

"Well, it does! We deserve to know the truth!"

Not knowing what to do or think at that moment, Mrs. Adams let out a frustrating shriek.

"Fine, Mr. Ray will fill you in."

With that, we left with Raymond and Charles to the clinic.

...

At the clinic, Charles sat on the edge of the sick bay bed, hands folded in his lap, legs swinging slightly like a kid waiting for a check-up. He looked calm, his pale skin almost glowed under the fluorescent lights, and there was a faint, faraway look in his eyes. Like he wasn't entirely… there.

Across the room, we huddled in a corner, whispering in tight, hurried voices. Our faces were tense, equal parts fear and fascination. I caught snippets: "It has to be a trick," "But he's breathing," "No one just comes back like that."

I quietly slipped away from them and made my way over to Raymond, who stood at the counter, unzipping a worn black case and laying out tools with surgical precision.

"Mr. Ray," I said softly.

He didn't look up at first, just kept working. But when he finally did, his weary brown eyes met mine.

"Do you believe what you see?" I asked in a whisper.

There was a pause. Then he muttered under his breath:

"Not in the slightest. But he looks real."

He pulled on a pair of latex gloves, the snap echoing a little too loud in the quiet room. Just then, Rejoice walked over, her arms crossed tight across her chest.

"You sure he's not a doppelgänger?" she asked, her voice low, flat, but something in her tone hinted at concern.

Raymond didn't answer right away. He opened a small silver kit, inside were a few vials, a sharp-tipped wand, and what looked like a silver medallion etched with runes. He turned to face Charles.

Charles watched silently, head tilted, almost curious. He didn't flinch, didn't ask questions. His eyes were fixed on Raymond, as if he already knew what was coming.

Raymond approached, kit in hand.

"Let's find out," he said.

...

A few hours later, the test results came in.

Charles was perfectly fine. The results painted a picture of normalcy, completely contradicting the hospital's prior declaration of death.

Raymond handed the report to Mrs. Adams, who stood stiffly near the clinic doorway. She took one glance at the slip, frowned, then looked up at him.

"This can't be right," she said coldly. "Run it again. I want to be here for the second test."

Raymond hesitated, but nodded. "Alright."

Charles didn't object. He sat patiently as Raymond ran the same tests, this time under Mrs. Adams' watchful gaze. Once again, the results showed nothing out of the ordinary.

Mrs. Adams snatched the paper from Raymond's hand and stared at it as if sheer disbelief could change the ink on the page.

"This is not possible," she muttered.

She looked up at Charles, who stared back blankly, expression unreadable. It was clear now, paper slips wouldn't be enough. Not for her. Not for any of us.

Without a word, Mrs. Adams slammed the results onto the closed lid of the sick bay supply box and squared her shoulders, her sharp eyes locking onto Charles's.

"Alright, Charles," she said, her voice firm, "tell us what you remember."

Charles exhaled slowly. For a split second, he closed his eyes, too deliberately. Like he was preparing for a line. Then, in a steady tone, he answered:

"Well... I remember waking up in the morgue. Surrounded by dead bodies."

A chill went through the room.

This sounded strange to my ears. It was as though the lines had been rehearsed, Could this be related to my vision?

Mrs. Adams let out a slow, skeptical sigh. She straightened up, folding her hands behind her back with the calm of someone preparing for war.

"I see. But if it's alright with you, Mr. Coleman, I'd like to request the official hospital report. Just to be sure, and I'd like to see your parents too."

Charles shrugged. "Sure. Do as you please."

Without another word, Mrs. Adams turned on her heels and exited the clinic.

Charles watched her go, then pushed himself off the bed and adjusted his collar.

"If we're done here, I'd like to leave. Got a lot of catching up to do."

"Go ahead," Raymond replied.

Charles gave one last glance around the room almost like he was scanning us then walked out.

The moment the door closed behind him, Raymond turned to his files and slid all the test results into Charles's folder. But his hand hovered longer than necessary on the first slip. His eyes were fixed on it, expression tight with disbelief.

Rejoice noticed too. She walked over silently and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Ray?" she asked softly. "Is everything alright?"

We all turned toward him. He didn't answer at first. He simply shook his head, eyes still glued to the slip.

"No," he said finally. "Something's wrong. This shouldn't be possible. A man doesn't rise from the dead and walk around like nothing happened. Not without..."

He trailed off.

We leaned forward, tense.

"Not without what?"

He looked up, his eyes more serious than I'd ever seen them.

"Magic," he said. "Dark magic."

Gasps filled the room. The air grew colder, heavier.

"But Mr. Ray..." Summer asked, slowly easing onto a nearby stool, "how could that be possible?"

"What kind of magic raises the dead?" Pink asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

We all turned our eyes to Raymond, waiting.

He exhaled, finally sliding the result slip into the folder and snapping it shut. Then he sat down at the desk, folding his hands in front of him.

"There is a magic that can bring the dead back. But it's rare, ancient, and banned in every known coven or order. It twists the rules of life and death and only one person I've ever known who could perform such a spell."

We leaned in closer.

"Donald Pathaway."