The Guadeloupe Squadeloupe

Chapter XXXXVI: Guad

We're quickly drenched in the torrent of rain once we get outside. Panicking, we sprint to Perry's small Toyota Corolla.

The drive there, we're quiet as I fiddle with the small tube Ashton gave to me just before he left.

"What's that?" Perry finally asks, several minutes into our drive.

I examine the silver tube. It's longer than a pen, but only about 7 inches in total. Small inscriptions and runes cover it, but nothing in either Spanish or English.

"Not sure. Ashton gave it to me before he left," I explain. "He told me it was a weapon, but not how to use it."

Giving me an interested expression, Perry's emerald eyes light up. "Do you think he's given it to us for a reason?"

Furrowing my brow, I think, He didn't give it to us. He gave it to me. But maybe I'm supposed to integrate myself. Maybe things that happen to me happen to us now.

"Who knows why Ashton does anything?" I reply.

Perry nods and the car returns to silence. The only sound is the rain pattering on the roof. Stuffing my hands and the weapon into my coat, I look out the window. We're passing buildings and parks where Diana must have gone so often. Why does she have to be gone? I ask for the hundredth time. Why can't I see her anymore?

"We're here," remarks Perry. He pulls over to the curb and stares at me expectantly.

I only wish I could read his expression as well as I do those old dusty books.

"Thank you," I tell him, opening my door and stepping into the cloud that is Sacramento today.

Probably looking stupid, I jog to the front door of the Naked Lounge and slip inside.

It looks about as I thought it would. Several people sit in booths and chairs, drinking coffee that steams even though it's inside. Many of the people are students studying on laptops for what Janis calls "mid-terms."

The lounge is however a bit darker than I'd guess. Small ornaments hang from the ceiling and soft jazz plays on the speakers.

The counter isn't far from the door, so I go and order a hot chocolate. I would get coffee, but it's always reminded me of my father, who used to drink it and always gave me a little. I don't think I can take thinking about him again, even if he did apologize in that packet of letters.

Before long (after looking puzzled over the Chilean accent) they've given me my mug, a dark brown one with lighter brown design.

Muttering a "thank you," I look around for a place to sit. A booth would be nice, or an armchair.

What are you even doing here, Guad? Are you just going to sit around like an idiot, huh?

"Guad!"

For a second I think it's the baristas calling me back to the counter.

Then I see Angelina Fisher sitting at a table for two by the rain-streaked window.

I almost drop my mug in surprise.

"H-hey," I say intelligently.

She motions for me to sit with her, and only a little nervously, I climb into the tall metal chair.

Her red hair's pulled up into a messy bun and she wears a deep maroon parka. The cold outside's stung her cheeks a little bit, matching the rest of her color scheme.

But what's really strange is that when I look at her I hate her less. We've both lost Diana now. At least for a while, how can we resent each other?