JULIET'S QUILL

CHAPTER 3: The DIARY

"PAINTING IS POETRY

Which is seen and not heard.

POETRY IS A PAINTING

Which is heard but not seen"

-LEONARDO DA VINCI

                            

Finishing my business quickly at the Library, I rushed back to the hospital. I saw Ethan talking to the doctors. I joined them.

"He's perfectly fine. The hit on his head wasn't deep; we'll keep him under observation for a night. Then you can take him home tomorrow"

"Are you sure, Doctor?"

"Yes, I am."  He replied grimly.

Ethan looked at me; I could see the anxiety sparkling in his eyes. He was waiting for the doctor to leave soon, so that he could ask me about the library business.

As soon as the doctor left, he spoke.

"You have done it?"

I nodded," Yes. But I was wondering...."

"No need. Just forget whatever Richard said to you. This never happened. I don't want to get you involved in any of this."

"What do you mean?"

"Please, Marcus..."

A soft melodious voice made me turn around.

"Excuse me?"

"Anything you want,Elsa?"  Ethan spoke gently.

Elsa was tiny, a little above my waist with honey brown hair and chocolate eyes. She was like a cute little teddy bear.

She nodded," I want to stay here with Nicholas tonight. Will that be okay?"

Her eyes moved from Ethan's face to mine.

"You must be Marcus, nice to meet you."

She offered me her dainty hand, which was literally smaller than half of my palm.

"You too! I heard a lot about you from Nicholas"

She wasn't like what I imagined her to be.

Ethan shook his head," I'm sorry. Marcus would stay here with Nicholas tonight. You should go home now, kid"

"But... Nicholas... If he woke up..."

"Don't worry, I'll tell him that we sent you home."

She took another look at Nicholas through the window and nodded," Okay then, I'll come tomorrow."

As she turned around, Ethan hugged me.

"What the hell are you doing, old man? Get off."

He whispered, "Shut up. And don't take it out"

"What?"

He placed his hand in my coat's pocket, and then pushed me away.

Without saying a word, he started walking.

I placed my hand impulsively in my pocket, and I felt my soul draining through my feet.

Why would Ethan give me a gun? I had no idea what to do with this thing. May be, he was worried that those people might attack Nicholas again. I sat on a chair next to his bed. My both pockets felt equally heavy, which made me recall about the black "orphan" diary I stole from the library without even thinking why.

I opened it, and saw the neatly scrawled name again. My hand writing was the ugliest thing anyone can do with a pen. It was something between circles, lines and dashes with occasional resemblance to alphabets.