XII - Leaving (1 of 2)

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--XIII--

Lindsay did not seem to be convinced when I said I was going to be fine. Carter wasn't talking to me either. Most of all, Vincent and Miss Cruz—the two people I expected to be my knights in shining armor turned out to be the villains. They wouldn't talk to me either. They wouldn't even look at me.

Some cult people they were. If they were so short on recruitment, they could've at least made my life a wee bit easier. I might've even considered joining them.

Not.

For the last hour, I had done nothing but stare at the piece of paper Vincent left me when I was in the hospital. I crumpled it and shoved it inside my jacket pocket with a sigh.

There was no way, I would come with them. Dad was finally getting better. He was writing again and he didn't go out on his nightly expeditions anymore. The most promising thing was that he would occasionally make little efforts to talk to me, which was an all-time high. Maybe he was starting to believe the rumors in school that I was trying to kill myself. And because of that, he felt sorry for me.

After my latest attempt to jump from the top floor of the school building, who could blame him?

However, the lapses in my memory were getting out of control. Most of the time, I would find myself in school when I didn't remember getting up from bed. Sometimes, I would open my eyes just to find that I was standing on the rooftop of the school building without any memory of getting there. Once, there was a night when I woke up walking aimlessly and barefooted in the dark empty road.

Something in me wanted to go someplace. I just didn't know where.

Then it happened.

It was supposed to be a calm night with the star-studded night sky being dimly lit by the waning moon. Cricket noises filled the air, the tea kettle hissing on the stove as the water boiled. Dad was in front of his laptop, his fingers tapping hastily on the keyboard.

I stared at the oven, folded an arm on the table and rested my chin on it. My eyes felt so heavy. These days, I always felt sleepy, drained. I decided to rest my eyes for a couple of minutes. It would take half an hour more and the chicken will be done...

My eyes flew open.

Did I burn the chicken? How long did I doze off?

I was already in my room, feeling faint.

My forehead crumpled. I was totally clueless as to how I got there.

I tried to listen around me. It was eerily quiet and it felt like my lids wouldn't stay open no matter how I willed myself to stay awake. All I could make out was the clock on the wall. It read 12:01.

My eyes drooped against my will, letting me get lost in a deep sleep.

Next thing I knew, I was standing in the afternoon rain. The white frilly dress I was wearing clung to my body, the cold making me shiver. I looked around. I was alone in a vast garden full of red roses and white lilies.

As I stepped forward, my bare feet sloshed against the sodden ground underneath the sheet of carefully trimmed grass. That was when I heard someone call my name. When I lifted my gaze, I saw familiar faces—Carter, Lindsay, a few of my classmates and teachers. Dad was there too. And all of them wore black.

"It's time," a familiar voice said from behind me.

My head whipped to the source of the voice and saw Vincent Sinclair standing in front of me with his hand outstretched. He looked exceptionally dashing in a black tux with crimson accents. That had me wondering what the occasion was.

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