The Necronomicon

Chapter Twenty Eight

"You're back — but... is something wrong?" A woman asked, her eyes finding Frederick's, as he threw himself, tears in his eyes, through the doorway.

He said it quickly, his mouth quirking. "She..." He paused.

"Where is Meredith? Wasn't she with you?" The woman interjected.

"She — Meredith is dead."

———

Meredith had stumbled out of the eerie landscape: the marshlands. She'd made it — she'd wondered whether she would be able to. The sun stung her skin — she threw up, but there was nothing to give.

What about the hill they were going to go up together? Her and Frederick — her soulmate, her other half. He loved her. He couldn't hurt her. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

He had.

He must have been the one who'd hurt her — nearly killed her. Logically. But she wasn't going to believe that without sufficient evidence. They had been in love — he couldn't hurt her. She repeated that, trying to convince herself it was true. Had he loved her? Deeply and truly? Or lied to her, day after day...

It could not have been Frederick. It just — it couldn't be.

Every aching footstep she forced herself to take rattled her to the core, pained her beyond belief. She was trembling — fatigue, hunger, thirst — but she had to power on. Meredith's breath came out thick and fast; her knees buckled and she cried out.

She didn't have the physical capabilities, let alone the mental ones — but she had to continue. She had to focus on every single quivering footfall. It tested her strength, her mindset. Could she make it? There was a monster here — the person who had hit her, even the sunburn that marred her once ivory coloured skin. But that person, that devil... they were nothing compared to the beast inside Meredith's head.

Whoever had stolen The Necronomicon had torn her skin, made her bleed — but the howling, the grievance, the yells inside her head were a far more treacherous enemy.

The wind was changing — it was pulling her back rather than lightly tracing her hair. Meredith fought against it, gasping. Walking alone. As always, she supposed — she had started this journey alone, and now she just had to end it. She could hardly make it anywhere without Frederick. How could she do it by herself?

Her mind screamed questions at her. Where was she going? She did not know the paths. She did not know which direction to take. She did not know which way was safe.

She didn't really know, well, anything.

She had seen the way the world could have been — her and Frederick, living together, forever. His hand eternally pressed into hers. His smile always aimed at her. Their children, running around, playing together. But now it was different, like she should've known it'd be, a world without him: it was all that Meredith could see. She did not see the path ahead, nor the sky's dampening blue, she saw what she had lost, what she had never had — a future alongside the love of her life.

Why was she all alone? Trudging along, tears spilling from her eyes and painting her cheeks, blinking through the sudden, bitter wind. Her mouth opening, exhaling, with every questioning step.

Was this a trap? Was she playing right into the hands of someone far more sinister than she? Was this a trick? She looked up, at the burning sunlight, pulling her dress, stained with mud, closer to her chest.

Keep going.

———

"Dead? How?" The woman continued, her eyes narrowing.

From the shadows another man stepped out — he turned to look Frederick in the eyes.

In response, Frederick glanced at the man unfeelingly, unconsciously drawing his bag towards him.

Alfred Floodwhistle inhaled sharply. "She being Meredith?"

Frederick nodded solemnly. "She's gone. I did everything I could."

"Which was what?" Alfred cut in, his eyes holding the woman's. She didn't look away from him, instead nodding.

Frederick glanced at them both, trying to refrain from making a comment. He sighed. "I called all the leaders of the new revolution here — so all the leaders bar Audrey and Eleanor. Last time I checked that was me, Dmitri and Pippa: not you, Alfred."

Alfred sighed. "Sorry, Frederick — I was just leaving; I came to speak to my fiancée briefly. Then you showed up, and I was about to go: but then... I heard the news."

Frederick shot the woman — Pippa — a glare. "You shouldn't be letting your fiancé in."

She shrugged. "You're not the only one who makes the rules — we're a team of leaders. Besides, I was taking a break."

Frederick nodded at her. "That's not the issue. The thing is — I'm just —" He looked away. "I just — I think I might be heartbroken. Meredith is — is —"

"Dead." Alfred said it gently.

"I might withdraw from my duties for a few days, and work through it. If anyone needs to see me, tell them to see me next week."

"Frederick —" Pippa began, but he had already walked off.

———

Meanwhile, Meredith took another unsteady step. One after the other, over and over again. Still there were questions exploding in her mind, thousands of them, all at once — a never ending storm of them.

Who could she trust? She had trusted The Elders — and their incantation had collapsed. She had trusted the revolution — it was thanks to them that she was here. Meredith knew that was unfair. It wasn't the revolution's fault: it was largely her own. And The Elders'. They had sent her on this whole, meaningless debacle. A stupid book and a stupid incantation.

Who was she? Perhaps Meredith simply knew nothing. Maybe she was destined to die here, her stomach growling, her throat parched, her once beautiful body decaying like a dying tree.

She tried to throw up again — yet there was still nothing that could exit her mouth. Without warning, she stumbled — but caught her balance against a nearby tree.

Wherever she was, alone here, her feet ploughed into the Earth, she was going to survive. Meredith echoed it to herself, praying it was true.

Eleanor had wanted to tell her something before she'd left — Meredith had seen it in her eyes — what had it been? It might have been about Frederick —

How had she been so stupid?

It was Frederick who had hit her. It must have been. She was idiotic to believe that his supposed love would have stopped him from hurting her. If he had loved her... he didn't anymore.

Greed had taken him, body and soul. But maybe — underneath all that — maybe he still loved her.

If he ever had.

———

"What do you think about Frederick's story?" Pippa asked Alfred, her eyes boring into his.

"I don't buy it. I think..." Alfred tailed off — but she nodded, listening.

"I think she might still be alive."