Furuno
Actually, I don’t want to die alone. No one does. But, I’ve just got to pretend to be brave for the boys that may beco future victims... and the people that care about .
I walk away, stone-faced.
My shoulders are rigid, my posture stern - screaming that I should be avoided.
"You think you can handle , don’t you? No one has been so cocky and determined before. I’m curious as to where this would lead".
I ignore him - or whatever it is.
All the emotions that had eluded earlier co swirling in - the fear, anxiety, guilt, sorrow, everything I couldn’t feel earlier.
I hadn’t co around to apologizing to Safari for trying to end her life so brutally.
How are they supposed to trust if I can’t even predict my next action?
The voice laughs, loud and mocking.
"They’re not. That’s the point."
Point of what? Madness? Insanity? Solitude?
The voice goes silent.
My feet take to the library. I have to find out whatever I can about Lord Sinclaire. Was he even an actual Lord? All I know about him is that he was once a student here and he is recognised as a hero - an outstanding personality.
If all that is true, then why does he haunt students, pushing them to the edge of sanity and force them to embrace suicide as a ans of escape?
Why would a hero in every sense of the word do that?
Sothing doesn’t add up about the whole story.
I navigate to the school’s history section. It’s dusk, so the library is completely deserted. The librarian is asleep on her desk, snoring quietly.
The flourescent bulbs have been dimd, casting a soft glow over the rows of ageless books stacked with admirable precision.
The history section wasn’t hard to find - it expanded through four aisles. The problem now would be to find the exact book I need.
"Curious? The last person that wanted to sniff around died before he actually could. Funny thing is, I had no hand in his death. They took him out cold".
I freeze, my hand gripping the spine of a hard cover history book.
"They?" I ask.
"Don’t ask . The boy actually showed promise". He says, his voice edged with superficial remorse.
I drop the book and it slides back into its original position.
Took him out? Who would want to take him out? The cult?
The sound of accelerated breathing draws my attention. Soone else is here - I’m not alone.
I listen quietly, timing my response carefully.
When I reach out, my hand clutches a handful of fabric.
There’s only one person I know with such powers, but it might not be her.
When I pull on the invisible fabric, there’s no one wearing it.
The fabric gradually becos visible - a black hoodie.
I sniff the hoodie, falling back on skills I thought I would never have to use again.
The scent is strong. It belongs to a woman.
The perfu is familiar, but too faint for to be totally certain.
"Angela. Show yourself". I call out, hoping I’m right.
I hold my breath as I wait for the girl to appear.
Slowly, stockinged legs materialize. I almost sigh in relief when I see the familiar black short skirt.
"How do you always know?" She asks as soon as her face becos visible.
I shrug.
"I just do. Better question, why are you always sneaking up on ?" I ask, stalking toward her intimidatingly.
The urge to inflict harm resides just underneath the surface of my skin.
She can feel the tension in the air, the threat in my posture, that’s why she backs away. Unfortunately for her, she runs into a shelf.
Her eyes widen with alarm.
She tries to vanish again, but I hold her in place just in ti.
She turns her face away, presenting with her now-red cheeks.
"Why don’t I believe you? I don’t believe a single word you say, Angela. Not even about your brother". I whisper in her ear.
Tears pool in her eyes. Her breath catches as she lets out a fearful sob. Even her lips are trembling.
I release her.
"Get the hell out of here before I rip your hair off your scalp!" I yell at her.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t even attempt to et my gaze. She just remains there, breathing so hard that I fear she may be suffering an asthma attack.
"Leave already!"
Still doesn’t move. Her face remains averted.
"What the hell do you want from ? If you’re still spying on , haven’t you already figured out that I’ve got nothing to hide".
Another sob escapes her.
I back away, deciding to forget about the entire plan and co back so other day.
"I can help you". She whispers, afraid.
I halt in my tracks, wheeling around to pin her with my coldest stare.
"With what?" I ask, my tone discouraging if not outright insulting.
She gulps, gesturing for to hand her back her hoodie.
I toss the cloth to her, wondering what she wants to show .
She rummages through the pockets and erges with a key.
I arch an eyebrow.
"How is that supposed to help ?"
"School archives".
It takes a while before I fully grasp the aning of her words. School archives - that’s probably where I’d find Sinclaire’s student records.
I stretch out my hand hesitantly to retrieve the keys from her.
She holds it back.
I know exactly what she’s asking - she wants to co with .
"You haven’t looked in it yourself?" I ask.
She shakes her head.
"I just stole them this morning from the Dean’s office". She whispers, as if the walls are listening.
With a sigh, I withdraw my hand.
"You can co".
Her eyes brighten.
"Where exactly is the school’s archives?" I ask.
She walks up to , beckoning for to lean down.
I tilt my head hesitantly.
"It’s not the school archives. There’s nothing important in there. The files are in the catacombs".
I raise an eyebrow.
"Where are the catacombs?"
"Beneath the Dungeons". She whispers.
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