The Cult of Romeo

XIII. Good Night, Good Night!

"Wait, so you're not the only Monet to get these visions? It's been going on for literally years and...well, that's crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy!" 

I grimaced. "As the years have gone by, the number of Monet children being born with the visions have become fewer and far between. My grandad had the curse, though it was faint, but none of his sons did. I think my dad and his brothers must have been desperate and they panicked. That's why I have so many cousins. My uncles are all a lot older than my dad and began having children as soon as they could in hopes that at least one would have the power. The business was hanging on a thread and they didn't want to be the ones to mess it up. They'd never run the business without someone who had the visions and they feared that everything every Monet had worked for, for about a hundred years, would go away in one night.

"Then, my brother, Henri was born. They knew he had it instantly and were so relieved. However, he seemed to only show the future. My uncles continued to have children but none of them had the past and so they encouraged my father to try for another child. My mum loves me to death, I know she does, but she only ever wanted one child. She was perfectly content with just Henri and didn't want to overwhelm herself with another. But, my father insisted, practically begged, that they try once more. That maybe he carried those genes, perfect for the curse. He was right of course because when I was finally born, I could see the past." 

I paused as my stomach flipped around and around. This story was long and boring but I felt like I was baring my soul to Khaleel. My entire life story, these visions were everything I was. And, my brother was half of those visions, half of me. 

"That's why I'm the baby of the family," I shrugged. "The only reason any of them decided to have children was to find this curse and once they found Henri and me, they stopped. It's fucked up, right?" 

I supposed Khaleel was at a loss for words because he didn't respond. He ran his hands through the soft curls in his hair and shook his eyes. I swore that I saw the flicker of anger in them but he didn't respond. 

"So, here's the whole point of my story. Why is Charlotte Monet the way she is? Why am I sort of cold or untrusting or...whatever? Why am I like this and my cousin isn't? Well...I didn't have the most conventional childhood. My father and uncles taught us to be observative because our visions don't last long and in order for the company to be ready for anything, we had to see and remember every single detail in our heads. We had to be curious, but our curiosity had boundaries which was always a bitch for me because I used to be such an explorer. I was taught to be disciplined with my wonder and only apply it when needed. For example, during a vision, I have to make sure my eyes see every single detail of the whole thing. However, solving a murder at my boarding school does not count as a necessity to my father and so should not be messed with. And you know, I was completely fine with these rules until you. Now, I can't stop thinking about the murders and the clues and the threats. I have an addicting personality. I have to know, you know?" 

I'd talked so much that my throat was dry and my head singing. I felt that Khaleel understood though. He hadn't told me to leave yet which was good and his shoulders had lost their tension. I wasn't a psychologist and so my theory might have been wrong, but it felt right. It felt suitable to whatever was happening to me right now and it was nice to finally let it out. 

"Thank you for telling me," Khaleel smiled and his eyes were wide with appreciation. "I think I needed to hear that big pep talk, too. So, thank you for that." 

"That's okay, Khaleel," I relaxed. "Now that you're not ignoring me, we have to talk about the party. What the actual fuck was that all about? Seriously, a dummy?! A dummy with my bloody face, no less! There was no note, it had nothing to do with Shakespear or mythology! I don't get it." 

He stretched out his legs. "I like this side of you." 

I propped my eyebrow in question. 

"Well, you're actually showing passion and it's weird. You're getting worked up and swearing and it's great. Swear away, little duckling. But, we have to agree on something." Khaleel ran a hand through his hair and pulled his blazer tighter around him. "If we don't find anything before the Christmas half term, then we have to give up."

"But-" 

"You told me that you have an addictive personality and I believe you. I won't be dragged around with you for the whole year to solve this. I want to discover something just as much as the next person but it gets old after some time. If we don't find anything within the week, we don't carry on." 

Reluctantly, I agreed. "I'll take you to the town tomorrow and we can visit the cafe I always go to. That way we can talk about how we'll go forward with this." 

Khaleel stood up tall in front of me. "Let's go, I'm cold." 

We walked side by side along the stone path and surprisingly, it felt normal. I liked hearing Khaleel hum slightly under his breath, the rocks under my shoes and the wind nipping at my legs. The whole campus seemed abandoned, too early for even a single student or teacher except for us to be roaming.

We stayed close to the stone wall of the school, under the shelter, and up ahead was the theatre where Elijah's memorial plaque stood proudly. D'Angelo had told Headmistress Hawthorne to place it in front of the theatre because that's what the dead boy would have wanted. 

The plaque was a shimmering gold with words carefully engraved in his memory. 

Elijah Lawson. 

Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

It was a bit too on the nose for my liking but Hawthorne approved of it and when his family came to take his body away a few days ago, his father nodded at the plaque grimly. 

Bouquets of flowers surrounded the whole area with short notes attached to them addressed to Elijah. It was a beautiful sight but something about it made me want to turn my head and hide each time. It didn't feel right to read those words for Elijah when he wasn't here anymore. Almost like I didn't deserve it. Elijah, ever so sweet, would disagree of course. 

Except today my eyes locked onto the plaque and Khaleel did the same. There was somebody in front of the golden memorial. With his hands clasped behind his back, he stared with narrowed eyes at the flowers in front of him as his black hair dripped from the rain. 

Then, the man turned to his left quickly as his eyes found ours and I recognised him instantly. 

Mr Donahue.