I tried to ignore that podcast every time I got a notification about new episodes, just focus on the present. Laura was a wreck, sometimes breaking down at nothing. I escaped to the library for longer hours. I tried to be there for her, I really did, but it just sapped all of my energy for assignments and even regular life stuff.
They removed the tree and another large one like it. Laura spent her time barely passing her classes but pouring all of her effort into raising money for a plaque.
I promised that I would meet her after my study session at the library so that we could grab a coffee. Coffee was something I desperately needed.
This textbook was awful. It was like the words were refusing to stick. I highlighted line after line, writing mindlessly pretty notes, running to the photocopier to duplicate them in colour. The only thing keeping me going, was that I'd give the notes to Laura. Once I dragged her out for coffee, so that she could actually drink something in a day. Though, last time I tried that, it didn't end well.
'You took me here!?' she had screamed at me. I tried not make her feel stupid, she was in pain and grief. This was the only coffee shop close by.
'Did you want anything?' I had whispered quietly as she was close to towering over me. Laura exhaled, turning on her heel and walking out of the store. The sympathetic snivelling from the barista was too much and I ran after my sister.
A text sounded, making me forget that my phone wasn't on silent. I mumbled an apology to the three students who all looked up at me with frowns. I opened it happily, thinking it would be Laura or one of my friends. It wasn't.
'You haven't been listening. After coffee, pick up a book. You will be surprised who gives it to you. Answers are needed'.
I saw that it was from that strange guy, The Host. His cryptic messages hardly made sense. Another text, this one from Laura and I sighed in relief.
I met her at the on campus coffee shop. As we sipped our lattes, I debated showing her the texts. The only thing she had heard about this strange man was when I had to explain finding him in an alleyway. There was too much on her plate, though it was on the tip of my tongue, I just couldn't do it. I explained in a daze that I had to head to the bookshop to see if they had what I was looking for.
We parted ways, she went to another class and I walked off campus to the closest bespoke bookshop. I doubted that The Host would try to lure me into a chain bookshop. I perused the dimly lit classics section before the solitary worker called me over.
'Hey! Are you Evan Morgan?'
'Yes? I am?' It sounded more like a question than I intended.
'This came in for you.' She held out a green covered book. It was an observationalist poetry book, by Anon. How was this even in print?
I thumbed through the yellowish pages, skim reading descriptions of rainy days, a cabin in the woods and a character called Matthew.
I thanked her, going to hand it back when she refused, her attention drawn to the ringing of the bell in the corner.
The man who entered looked both out of place and perfectly fitting in his surroundings. He had a faded yellow shirt, suspenders and dress pants on, which meant he fit the climate of the shop, however his moustache tinged what looked like a shade of pink certainly stood out. He looked around, locking eyes on me and began babbling as if we were old friends. He handed some money to the cashier and I, still holding the book, headed back out into the street.
I needed a cup of coffee and a long bath.