THE COLD RAIN HAD dwindled to a soft patter, its gentle rhythm tapping against my skin. The sky hung low over the forest canopy, obscuring the tops of the towering trees. I was nestled against the gnarled roots of an ancient tree, its bark rough against my tear-stained cheeks. It offered me a meager shelter as I found myself lost. To be honest, never have I felt so guilty. Scared. Alone.
My heart pounded in my chest due to the haunting memory that had made its unwelcome return. The man in black. A shudder raced through me as the image of Elliot's death crept in the corners of my mind, the sight resembling a chilling resonance of my pain that I wished desperately to forget. Although he was not the same person who took Elliot's life—due to the distinct scar on the eye of the person who killed Elliot—the sight of the man wearing a black trench coat caused me to snap. His power over me, the control he held over my very shadow, sent a fresh wave of terror coursing through my veins. It was as if the very essence of me became his marionette, dancing on a string of darkness at his sinister command.
My heart ached—a gnawing, raw pain that seemed to consume me from the inside out. I missed Elliot. I wanted to say the three-letter words to him. To say how much I missed him. But, you know, that seems impossible now. He's gone, his light snuffed out too soon, and all that was left was the chill of his absence and the memory of his lifeless body on cold, unforgiving ground.
Tears streamed down my face, pooling at the base of my throat and soaking the collar of my damp dress. I could taste the saltiness on my lips as I cried, as I screamed, and then as I whimpered.
"I miss you," I cried through the air, as if it would transport my words to Elliot.
Through the blur of my tears, I saw a shadowy figure inch closer. Ophelia's black, sleek fur moved with a little grace. Her green eyes bore into mine, a silent comfort in my moment of despair. She nestled against me, her soft purrs resonating with my stuttering heartbeat. I reached out with a shaky hand, burying my fingers in her plush fur. Ophelia leaned into my touch, a purr rumbling in her throat. In her silent companionship, I found a flicker of solace. At least.
Slowly, the forest around us seemed to hold its breath, the drone of the rain and the rustle of the leaves fading into a distant murmur. As I sat there, nestled against the ancient tree, with Ophelia by my side, I let the tears flow, letting the forest bear witness to my pain. I could feel the edges of my sanity fraying, like an old, discarded tapestry left to the mercy of time and neglect. The sight of the man dressed in a black coat, even though he wasn't the one who killed Elliot, plunged a dagger of remembered horror straight into the heart of my being.
Seriously, I thought I was already fine, but it looks like I'm still not. The ghost of his last gasp, the life fading from his eyes—it was a memory I carried like an albatross around my neck. And what makes it worse is that grief is like an insidious creature. It creeps up on you, even when you think you're safe, and it swallows you whole. It's the silent consort that joins you when you're alone, the dark cloak that wraps around you when the world is too much. It's the constant whisper in your ear, reminding you of what you've lost and of the void that can never be filled.
My heart felt heavy in my chest, like a stone sinking in the ocean, pulling me under. I was drowning. It was a struggle every day to keep my head above the surface and not let the waves of grief sweep me away. I was not sure I was winning.
As if nature itself were reflecting my mood, the rain began to lighten, the drumming on the leaves above reducing to a soft patter. The man in black was gone; he disappeared into the forest as quickly as he had appeared. I was alone again, alone with my thoughts, my memories, and my pain. I pushed myself to my feet, my body feeling heavy and numb. My clothes were soaked through, clinging to my skin like a second layer.
I couldn't remember how far I had strayed from the orphanage, though. Had I been walking for hours? Minutes? The forest had a way of distorting time and making you feel like you'd been wandering for an eternity. I had no idea which way was home; the trees all looked the same, and the path I had taken was washed away by the rain.
My fingers curled instinctively around Ophelia, her body nearly disappearing within my grasp. Her fur, a patchwork of black fur, felt like a comforting weave of warmth and familiarity against the chill of the evening air. I felt a sharp pang of thirst clawing at my throat, a relentless reminder of the endless hours spent wandering in the wilderness. I gently drew Ophelia closer to my chest, feeling her heart pulsating rapidly, matching my own. The soft purring sound seemed like a lullaby, trying to soothe my parched throat and my restless mind. My senses, heightened by desperation, caught the faintest sound that promised salvation—tthe distant murmur of a brook. It was a sound as sweet as a symphony to my ears, seeming to whisper, "Come, drink, live."
I took off in the direction of the sound, my feet lightly brushing against the forest floor. My heart pounded in sync with the rhythm of my strides, each thump echoing loudly. I then burst through a curtain of weeping willows, their long tendrils swaying like ghostly apparitions. Before me, a brook—not so much a crashing torrent, but a gentle, meandering stream—had its waters dappled in the distance. The sight was breathtaking, like a painter's masterpiece come alive, every detail vivid and vibrant, from the shimmering water to the moss-ridden stones lining its banks.
I kneeled by the water's edge, my hand trembling as I reached out to the brook. The cool liquid felt like silk against my skin, the chill seeping into my parched veins, providing a momentary respite from the dryness. I cupped my hands and brought them to my lips. The water tasted like nothing I'd ever known before. I drank until my thirst was quenched, until the rawness in my throat was replaced by the sweet, cool sensation of hydration.
***
The water had replenished my body, but my mind remained parched. The serene beauty of the brook, the tranquil lapping of the water against the rocks—it all seemed unreal, a distinct contrast to the chaos within me. I mean, it's been a while since I sat here. I felt like a fading watercolor in a world that was becoming increasingly sharp and defined. The light reflected in the water, fragmented by the ripples, seemed to mirror my state of mind. I closed my eyes as I listened to the sound of the brook, a soothing lullaby that slowly lifted me.
The moment hung in the air like a water droplet poised to fall. I sat by the frothing brook, my senses heightened by the symphony of nature. The gurgling of the water, the rustling of the leaves, and the chirping of the birds all intertwined into a nice sound. From somewhere in the distance, a rustling noise pricked my ears. It was an oddity, a clear break in the natural rhythm I had grown accustomed to. I found myself caught between curiosity and caution, my mind a battleground of thoughts.
"What was that?" I whispered.
I felt a tightening knot in my stomach, the feeling of foreboding washing over me like a tidal wave. But my legs seemed to have a mind of their own. They moved forward, unperturbed by the turmoil within me, guided by a primal instinct that curiosity often trumps fear.
As I moved closer, the foliage grew thicker, and the sunlight struggled to pierce through the dense canopy. An enormous tree stood before me, its bark gnarled and scarred with age. Deep, furrowed lines served as a testament to the countless seasons it had weathered. Underneath this massive sentinel was a guy. His hat, the color of mossy undergrowth, sat low on his forehead, shadowing his face. He was studying the tree with an intensity that could only be matched by an ardent lover gazing into the eyes of their beloved. His fingers traced over the bark, each groove and notch committing to his study. The fisherman's hat he wore gave him a rustic appeal, but the glint of intelligence in his eyes suggested otherwise. My immediate thought was that he might be a dendrologist, someone with an academic passion for trees. I mean, he could be.
His fingers grazed the surface of the bark with a gentle reverence, as though he were reading an ancient script written there. Every gesture and every touch was a silent conversation between him and the tree, a dialogue that only they could understand. The air around him seemed to hum with a quiet energy, and I just observed him.
I was entranced for a second before I realized I was staring at him for a few minutes. He's currently taking different shots from different angles of the tree. I mean, even as I watched, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I had somehow intruded into a private moment. But I felt a strange sense of peace, as if the universe had steered me towards this encounter for a reason.
Well, life has always been a series of puzzles and mysteries, and here's another one, standing right in front of me under the massive tree. Who is this guy, anyway? Why's he here? Questions began to flood my mind once more, but this time, as I continued to study the dendrologist, he took his notebook and scribbled something. He was a mysterious guy, tall, with a mane of dark-black hair that shimmered against the dappled forest light. His lips were framed by short bristles of hair, etched by time and the elements, punctuated by a pair of brilliant dark eyes that held a depth of knowledge about trees.
But as I was about to leave him, I stepped on a twig, a loud crunch slicing through the silence of the air. Those deep sets of eyes darted towards me, widening in surprise when they locked onto my own. He, too, was surprised that he suddenly snapped his camera, which was originally aimed at the tree, at me. The silence of the forest was shattered as he cleared his throat, breaking the sylvan spell that had held me captivated.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to," he said. I didn't respond, though. Then, probably, maybe, he noticed me, a young girl standing in the middle of the forest invading his space. It would be odd if I were in his position, and I couldn't blame the look etched into his face.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" His voice was a deep baritone. I shifted under his intense gaze, my lips tightening into a line. I didn't respond; I merely continued to look at him, my own curiosity mirrored in his eyes.
"I understand, you're wary," he said, taking a step towards me. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Giusseppi, a dendrologist around the area. You are?"
He extended a hand towards me, roughened by years of working with bark and branches. I looked at it, then up into his curious eyes. His hand hung in the air for a moment before he dropped it, a hint of understanding softening his gaze.
"Prim," I simply said.
"Prim? Is that short for...?"
"Primrose," I said.
"Primrose, okay. Nice to meet you, Prim," he said, retreating back to the tree he had been studying, his fingers brushing over the bark with loving familiarity.
Giusseppi paused, his hands stilling on the tree as he turned to look at me. "Do you need help? You seemed to be lost." His question stirred the silence, rustling through the underbrush like a delicate breeze.
"No," I replied, the word a whispered secret between me and the forest. I could see the confusion in his eyes, but I was cautious. A stranger was still a stranger, no matter how knowledgeable they were about trees.
Suddenly, Ophelia, my sweet, normally docile cat, began to hiss from her perch in my arms. Giusseppi watched us, his eyes flicking between Ophelia and me. I stroked her fur, my fingers brushing over her soft coat, in an attempt to soothe her.
"Easy, Ophelia," I murmured, my voice a soft lullaby threading through the tense air. Giusseppi remained silent, merely watching as I comforted my cat. I looked at him, our gazes meeting once more. His expression was unreadable.
As the last golden rays of the setting sun danced on the emerald leaves above, I turned my gaze towards Giusseppi. His tall, well-built frame stood out against the towering redwoods, his eyes reflecting the deep knowledge of centuries-old trees.
"Are you familiar with the forest's routes?" I asked him, my voice barely above a whisper, swallowed by the dense foliage. He looked at me, his deep-set eyes hiding a universe of wisdom behind his spectacles. A soft smile played on his lips as he adjusted his weather-beaten hat.
"I am," he responded, his voice a comforting baritone that echoed through the woods. But then his smile faltered. "However, I wouldn't say I am familiar enough to know the entire way out."
There was an odd comfort in his admission—a certain humility that was rare. I watched him warily, my heart thumping rhythmically against my ribs, as if playing a silent symphony of unease. He was, after all, a stranger in here.
"Where do you live, by the way?" he asked, his tone casual, yet the question seemed to hang in the air between us, pregnant with unsaid words and unvoiced suspicions.
"I..." I began, then stopped, my gaze never leaving his. Instead of answering, I simply said, "Near the fields of primroses. I just need the directions."
"I see," he replied. He then proceeded to snap more shots of the tree in front of him. "I think I know where that is."
I sighed. As Giusseppi nodded, his fingers tracing the bark of a nearby coast redwood, his eyes lost in deep thought. "Anyway, I am studying these magnificent trees if you're wondering why I'm here," he said.
I followed his gaze upwards, where the mighty redwoods reached for the heavens. Their bark was a patchwork quilt of deep reds and browns, each crevice a sign of their age.
With a thoughtful hum, Giusseppi began to explain the route. His fingers danced in the air, painting an invisible map. "Follow the stream until you reach a trio of redwoods, twisted together as if in a loving embrace. Turn east there, always keeping the setting sun to your right. Keep going until you find a meadow filled with blue lupines. From there, the path leads straight north, and you'll soon find your way out."
As he spoke, his voice was melodic, turning the mundane directions into a beautiful sonnet. Each word was a brushstroke, painting a vivid picture of the path in my mind. The twisted redwoods, the blue lupines, and the setting sun were no longer just landmarks; they were a complete map.
I looked at Giusseppi, his face now lit by the fading sunlight. His glasses were perched on his nose, and his eyes shimmered. His directions were clear, yet their execution would be anything but simple. But then again, the forest was a living, breathing entity. It was wild, unpredictable, yet hauntingly beautiful.
Giusseppi's guidance was a starting point, though. As the forest hummed its afternoon song, I realized my journey was just beginning.
"Thank you," I said, my words hanging in the air.
"No worries!" he replied, smiling.
I was about to turn back, my shoes sinking in the moist soil, when Giusseppi's voice reached out again, echoing against the sound of crickets. "One thing!" My heart skipped a beat, and I turned back, my braided hair whipping around with the sudden movement.
"Yes?" I questioned, my voice quivering on the edge of curiosity and unease.
"Prim, one thing," he began, his voice a low rumble. He catches his breath, laughing at his own shenanigan. I noticed how calm his face was. He seemed nice, but you know, why would I conclude a person is nice just because of our first interaction?
"What's that? "I asked him. Giusseppi hesitated, scratching his head and all, but I forced him. At first, he stammered, telling me all these rubbish things. But then he cleared his throat before finally saying, "I'll cut to the chase." I mean, sure. Why not?
"What is it?" I asked.
"I mean, by any chance, have you seen anything weird around the island?"
His question was a bolt from the blue, catching me off-guard. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat like a drum against my ribs. "Weird?" I asked.
As if reading my mind, he shook his head. "I know I might sound nonsense, but... I mean, have you seen a massive orphanage nearby? "
I scratched my ears. Am I hearing that right?
I stiffened, my fingers curling tightly around the hem of my clothing.
"N-No," I said, my voice almost a whisper against the wind. "Why?" I probed, my curiosity piqued.
Giusseppi didn't answer immediately. He stared out at the horizon, his gaze lost in nature. Then he turned back towards me, the corners of his mouth turning downward in a grimace.
"I mean, I know it sounds nonsensical, but just be wary of it," he cautioned, his voice barely above a whisper, "especially the headmistress."
Miss Alice? Could he be talking about Miss Alice?
"What do you mean?" My question was a breath, just a flicker of sound snatched by the wind.
"Let's just say that she's a mystery." His words were heavy, like stones sinking into the sea. "Stay away from the orphanage. Stay away, and be safe from them."
Does he know Miss Alice? Does he know about the academy? About Augustus? About the orphans?
"What are you talking about? "
"You know, I was—"
Before I could press for more details, my ears pricked up at the distant call of familiar voices that caused Giusseppi to stop talking. We both stared in the direction of the noise and saw two figures from afar. The wind carried them to me, a lifeline of normality in the midst of this cryptic encounter. I turned and saw Bryce and Mamori from a distance, their silhouettes backlit by the setting sun. I happened to walk in their direction due to surprise, and as I approached them, I remembered Giusseppi. When I turned back, he was gone. The spot where he stood was empty, save for the ghost of our conversation. My heartbeat drummed in my ears, each thump echoing the words of his warning.
Who was that man? I asked myself in my head.
Confusion swirled within me like a tempest. Questions bubbled up, popping on the surface of my consciousness. Why was Giusseppi asking about the orphanage? What did he know about Miss Alice? And how did he disappear so swiftly?
My thoughts were as turbulent as the sea before a storm, and I was adrift in them. The soil under my shoes then echoed through the gloomy-hued land as Mamori and a weakened Bryce stumbled into view. Mamori's face, usually an image of enthusiasm and bubbliness, was now a mix of relief and worry. Her eyes, reflecting the dying embers of the sunset, were wide as she spotted me. Bryce was a different story. His normal aura was dimmed, like a candle flickering in the wind, fighting to stay alight. I also noticed a trail of blood dropping from his nose.
"Thank goodness," Mamori panted, her voice a mere whisper in the cool evening breeze. "We've been looking for you."
My heart pounded in my chest at her words. Ophelia then brushed against my leg, her soft fur providing a comforting presence.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I helped Bryce sit on the nearby bench. His face was paler than usual, and his breathing was labored and tired.
"Sebastian and Augustus managed to defeat the intruder, but another two arrived. Bryce and I left before Miss Alice could even notice. However, we weren't so lucky to get here unscathed." Mamori managed to get out, her eyes darting around nervously. "Another man in black appeared. We barely got away, but Bryce...he got hurt."
The way she said it, the fear in her voice—it was all too real, too immediate. I reached out, my fingertips brushing against Bryce's skin. His once fiery eyes now held a dull luster. I forced a reassuring smile onto my face, pressing my hand against his wound, the fabric of his shirt sticky with blood. "Hang in there," I worrily whispered, my voice steady despite the fear coiling within me.
I turned to Mamori, her face painted with worry. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I'm just glad that you're safe," she said.
But as I worked on helping Bryce, a haunting memory gnawed at the back of my mind. That warning, those cryptic words from the dendrologist I had spoken to just moments ago. A man with eyes as deep as the trees he studied and a voice that held a chilling note of sincerity. Giusseppi.
Why warn me about the orphanage? I thought, my mind racing to connect the dots. And why warn me about Miss Alice? The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, but the picture they formed was still obscured, like a foggy morning scene.
Miss Alice, the seemingly loving headmistress, with her soft smiles and gentle words. But behind that facade, could it be that there is something more? I could still hear the dendrologist's words echoing in my ears as though he were still standing next to me, his voice filled with an urgency I couldn't ignore.
The cool air was a stark contrast to the warmth of my racing thoughts. Ophelia, sensing my unease, jumped onto my lap, purring a soothing rhythm in the nerve-wracking silence. I stroked her fur absently, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and fears.
But for now, I pushed the questions aside, focusing on the matter at hand. Bryce needed my help.
A sliver of moonlight pierced through the dense forest canopy. Mamori tried healing Bryce, but she, too, was stressed enough that her body couldn't mend Bryce's state. As a compromise, we helped him stand up. His body was heavy against my side; each step Mamori and I took felt like trudging through a quagmire. A sense of anxiety wound itself around my heart as I looked at Bryce. His eyes were closed, and his breath labored. We had to find help, and we had to find it soon.
The forest stretched endlessly around us, a verdant labyrinth shrouded in the mystery of the night. The trees stood tall, their gnarled branches intertwining above us. The symphony of the night was punctuated by the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustle of unseen woodland creatures in the underbrush. Just as despair was about to sink its cruel teeth into my hope, we stumbled upon a sight that made my heart hopeful. There, nestled in a small clearing, was a small cabin, its timeworn timbers bathed in the ghostly pallor of the moonlight. It was an odd sight—a human construct so isolated amidst nature's existence. But at that moment, it was the closest thing we could find help from.
Mamori released Bryce from her grasp and moved towards the cabin. I tightened my grip around him, trying to offer what little comfort I could as I watched Mamori approach the cabin. The wooden planks of the porch creaked under her weight as she knocked on the door, a muffled echo that seemed to be swallowed by the silence of the forest.
The door opened a crack, and an old woman peered out. Her eyes, bright and sharp, scanned us with a mixture of curiosity and caution. The lines on her face were etched deeply, each one a testament to a story untold. Her silver hair was pulled back into a loose bun, and she wore a simple dress. There was a peculiar familiarity about her, and an unsettling sense of déjà vu washed over me. But for some reason, I can't point it out.
Mamori quickly explained our situation to the old lady, her voice blending both desperation and hope. The woman's gaze flitted from Mamori to Bryce and then settled on me. And after a moment that felt like an eternity, she unlocked the chain and swung the door open. The interior of the cabin was bathed in the warm glow of a hearth's fire, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh world outside.
"Come," she said, ushering us in, her movements slow and deliberate.
As we stepped into the cabin, I couldn't help but study the old woman. There was a strange sense of recognition that gnawed at the edges of my mind. Her features and her face felt strangely familiar, and yet I couldn't put my finger on them.
The cabin was a reflection of the woman herself—simple and unpretentious. A worn-out rug spread across the wooden floor, a small wooden table stood in one corner, and an old rocking chair was by the fireplace. The air smelled of pine and a hint of lavender, a comforting aroma that seemed to wrap around us like a warm blanket.
As Mamori and I eased Bryce onto the couch, I stole another glance at the woman. And when I laid my eyes on a photo framed on top of one of her tables in her living room, an image popped into my mind.
The lady with the twins.
"Sorry for interrupting," Mamori said.
"It's totally fine. You're not causing any problems," the lady said.
"My name is Mamori Tanakuchi, by the way. And these are my friends, Primrose," Mamori gestured, "and Bryce Wilford."
"Nice to meet you kids," the lady said. And just as I waited, she threw a bomb into my memory, and a sudden jolt came through my body.
"My name is Lucinda Vaughn, but you can call me Lucy."