Wait, we've till the very last of memories? Welp, that was a long ride. Let us start this chapter with a quote from our own Henry Fitzwilliam Knightley:

Your perception is your choice. That's all the advice I can give. ;)

I have always known another's life isn't only golden and red.

After the show, the actor either gets roses thrown at him or tomatoes. Nevertheless, both of the actor types' mechanical smiles fall as soon as they exit the stage as the dampness of their own demons settles in.

I wish I was wrong.

Unlike the greyish yellow day of East of Eden, this garden is littered by darkening clouds and dank bluebells.

It doesn't take me long to realise that I am within Edenfield's gardens.

My hand caresses itself against the damp window in front of me. Tiny water droplets still remain on it.
This is the window to Mum and Dad's room.

The light thunder drifts me away into the room with closed eyes-- just as the iron-wrought gates close with a thud.

Shifting my gaze throughout the room, I find it to be almost the same. A bookshelf with picture frames and books is on my left with a dressing table and wardrobe.
The bed is in the far centre-- pressed against the wall, with two side tables at its sides.

On my right, I expect there be the same old sofas and one grand chair, but I'm wrong.

"Dad..."
My feet crawl towards him. He has that single cushioned armchair pushed forward, and his feet propped on the bed's end.

He doesn't notice me-- with his elbows on the armrest and his drooped head focused on something in his hand. He looks younger, though. Almost in his late twenties.

This is why you were away, weren't you, Kathy?

...Yeah.

I don't jolt him by his shoulder or anything like that-- I let him stay like he is.

One side of his gravity-stricken dark brown hair is screwed upward, while the other isn't. Dad's socks are missing, too. He never took off his socks-- except before bed, of course.

He scratches his cheek and I see what he's been playing with in his hands: It's a shining platinum ring with a minuscule bluebell carved on it.

It's Mum's wedding ring.

Why are you looking so gloomily at it...

Just as the thought plagues my mind, a knock on the door resounds-- followed by an entry.

Dad encases the ring in one of his hands and descends his legs to the floor. His eyes settle on somebody with greying through light brown hair and a thin moustache.
It's Alfred. Our driver.

Alfred places her white gloved hands behind his black coat, and he speaks in a low monotone.

"Master," Dad shakes his head at choice of vocabulary, but Alfred ignores, "Ms Rosen is outside. Should I send her in?"

"Jenn?" Dad puts his feet down and waves his back to the side. The storm saunters about and snickers outside. He frowns,while his brows fall.
"Of course send her in. She won't listen even if I say otherwise, anyway."

Alfred nods his head, just as an exclamation blares from the other side of the door:
"I don't need permission to see him!"

The effect of the voice makes Dad hastily immure the ring in his pocket-- clapping his hands on the armrests and standing up.

Meanwhile, Alfred ducks out of the way just as a girl with bright blonde hair and the same ocean blue eyes as mine, marches in.

Her hands are clenched against the sides of her red skirt, while the green jacket she's wearing does little against the weather. She looks like she just came back from the ballet studio. Mum, herself, seems younger to what I'm used to.

I... I've never seen her this mad.

"I think I'll go now." Alfred slips away through the door-- leaving Mum and Dad alone to counter their own storm.

Mum turns around at closing door and looks back at Dad again. Her lips move-- but they momentarily stop as she gazes at him up and down. She raises a brow, as if she's noticed the same differences I had earlier and her tone softens.
"Why did you do that if you're not ready yourself?"

"Do you think I can ever be ready for it?"
Dad's hand at his side glides in a small-side wave-- gesturing something only the both of them can understand.

My brows furrow.

Mum stares at Dad's stretched hand for a moment till it falls to his side. She folds her arms across her chest.

"No. No, I don't-- and that's why I'm finding all this outrageous!"

"Because I know that you'll someday regret us!" Dad ruffles the side of his already tangled hair and Mum looks taken aback.

"I can never regret you, Charlie..."

Dad stops ruffling his hair and glances at her with the side of his eyes.

Mum holds up both hands at him and places her knuckles on her hips.
"Besides, what makes you think that?"

"Jenn..."

"I know my parents are adamant on us not being together-- but they'll understand-"

"That's the problem: They're not understanding. Their sending you that thankless child quote from King Lear is proof of that...

"And you can't blame them after what happened to your aunt. You told me about her yourself."

Mum blinks at Dad's furrowed brows.

If you two are having this argument, then how was I even born.

She sighs and spreads her palm on the side of her cheek.
"Enough of this King Lear business. 
You've talked to my dad, haven't you?
That's why you left my flat earlier that day."

Dad doesn't look at her. Mum reaches out to touch his arm, but he takes a step back.

His voice comes out soft- coarsely even,
"Richard just has two objections. Of course, he's never said them out loud, but why he's concerned is pretty obvious."

He pauses, looks directly at her while proclaiming,
"I can tear apart Edenfield from its roots-- just to show everyone that I love you.
I can convert for you-- if that'll change reality-"

Mum interrupts him with a cringe,
"I know, but my love will never let you destroy yourself.
And I'll support every decision you make. But for God's sake, religion conversion and abolishing and building a family legacy is not something one should do under another's influence."

Dad stares at her and smiles-- as if he expected an answer like that from Mum.

The smile quickly falls and a sigh escapes from Dad as a hand presses on on his chin-- worryingly.
"I know how it feels like to lose your parents. Mine are dead. I don't want you to lose yours, while they're alive.

"Love isn't supposed to be like some cult that separates you from family."

Now, Mum speaks in a tone that matches Dad's, "Have you thought about what I want?" She tilts her head to the side.

Dad blinks and then holds his hands out.
"Fuck, Jenn. I didn't mean that--"

Mum steps away and his hands fall to his sides.
"I only want you, Charlie.
And cults force you to do stuff like that.
You've never even implied to that."

Mum sighs and turns her head at the wall-length window ahead of her. A strand of hair falls on her face at doing so.

Dad reaches out and fondles it behind her ear. His hand stays there till she meets his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Jenn..."

Mum feet paddle backwards. She unzips her jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Dad tilts his head this time, as she takes one of his hands and lays the paper on it.

"Even if we're ending things, I want you to know what's written on that paper."
She wraps an arm across her waist and the other bended arm points at it.

Dad keeps his eyes on her, while his hands fondle open the paper. Only on opening does he tear his gaze from her.

His brows ricochet and his lips part; his raised arms drop, while the paper merely hangs from his right hand.
"We're... we're expecting."

My jaw drops. Again.

Sorry, expecting? You mean Mum's...

Pregnant with Dylan? Yep.

"I found out a few days later we ended all ties when I came back from my Manchester show.

"Whether you decide to uphold that stance, or to care for your own child..."

Thunders crackles from outside, just as Mum turns on her heel to the door.

The sudden noise sets Dad into motion, as he runs towards the door-- placing the paper on the bed. He blocks Mum's way. Mum grunts and rubs the back of her neck; Dad and blurts.

"At least let me or Alfred drive you back to your flat. Or you can take the car if you want."

Mum heaves another sigh and bends towards the bedside table. Her hand grabs the car keys on it and she opens her palm to it
"Come on, then."

The mist skates in again with its flamboyant colours. These colours remind me of the faint rainbow in oil slick pictures in primary science books.

Gleaming white light strikes my eyes-- making me shield them with my lids. The familiar scent of jasmine mixed with disinfectants forces me to open my eyes in slow flicks.

This time, though, the scent seems more... bearable.

A man has a plastic-blue chair pulled next to a white bed with its back pulled up-- holding on to the woman slouching with a large pillow. Both of them smile as the middle-aged woman on their right rocks a tiny baby wrapped in white cloth, while another-- akin to the former-- smiles down.

A couple is also there, and they say something that make the seated one laugh. The couple is Uncle Gary and... and his wife, Sa... Sara.

It's Mum and Dad. With Ms Bragge and Dianne Willow-- Ms Bragge's sister. The former two look about the same age as in the earlier scene. Even Ms Bragge's hair is light-brown here-- instead of grey.

Though, Mum certainly looks like she's had better days with her hair knotted and her skin a bit paler than usual. A tube is taped to the top of her right hand, connected to a drip machine at her side. The table on her left has a vase of flowers. Daisies. Azaleas. And primroses.

She's wearing a tunic like gown that covers only till her elbows, and a blanket is placed on her legs.
Nevertheless, the smile on her face is the same one I remember.

Mum straightens herself and Dad adjusts the pillow behind her.
Ms Bragge bends down and gives her baby Dylan.

Dad reaches out and touches the baby's cheeks with a finger, who soundly sleeps.

Mum looks at him and he turns to her-- leaving a peck on her lips.

Dianne claps her hands-- making everyone look at her. She fold a brown curl behind her ear as she says,
"Shouldn't we all name him, now?" Her hazel eyes travel to the infant.

"Yeah, we probably shouldn't forget that." Uncle Gary and his wife smile.

Dad nods and looks at Mum.
"You were going to pick the first name and I the middle one."

"Hm... what about Dylan? It's not too common like our names and not too rare that everybody will mispronounce it."

"Now isn't that a name a nymph would've given," Dad jokes, making Mum shake her head.

Huh?

Dad continues, "I like Dylan. A lot, actually.
As for the middle name... I think it's better to not have the same one as a cartoon."

Mum giggles, while swaying the baby with gentle and slow arms.
"I'm sure Amelia and Christopher didn't know of The Looney Tunes when they middle named you Sylvester, Charlie."

A laugh actually leaves my throat. It's short-lived-- as compared to the others'-- but it falls under the laugh category.

I think.

Dad shakes his head.
"That's what they wanted me to think," he pauses and looks at Dylan again,
"Nathaniel. I think it fits with the first and surnames."

"Nathaniel's great." Mum looks at the wall clock on her left. It's about two in the evening. Her eyes stay there, till Dad takes the baby from her arms. Probably, so that the drip tube doesn't get displaced and because he wants to do it, too.

He stands on his heels and tries to not awake any reaction from baby Dylan.
His gaze travels to where Mum was looking, just as she shakes her head.

Dianne amd Ms Bragge look at each other.

Ms Bragge anounces,
"I think we should give these loves some private time."
Nodding, everyone leaves the room without a secomd thought-- all saying their soft byes before leaving.

After everyone's departure, Dad waits. And then breaks the silence.
"Their line was busy. They may call back."

"The line's been busy for three hours?" Mum raises a brow. Dad doesn't say anything.

The only sound that echoes is the clock's ticking.

There will be shadows in July,
But also twilight in February

Mum and Dad got married on 25 July, 1989.
Dylan was born on 10 February, 1990.
Kathleen on 10 July, 1995.
And mine is on 15 February, 2000.

That's too much of a coincidence...

A clicking sound comes from the left. And a woman with a turquoise-coloured shirt and trousers strides in with a clipboard in her arms.

"Sorry sir, but you'll have to leave the room. It's time for both the mother and child to rest without any disturbance."

She sets her board down on the side table and analyzes the drip machine with a steely gaze.

"Of course." Dad gives baby Dylan one last rock and walks over to the cradle next to the bed, placing him in it.

The nurse turns the screw of Mum's bed, while she's looking at Dad and Dylan.
Her eyes eyes give a jolt, as she realises that the bed's upside is being lowered to a lying position.

Dad moves away and sneaks away to Mum's right side. He helps adjust her pillow again, while the nurse gives one last reassurance of the machine and the way Dad's tucked away Dylan. She nods.

He gives Mum one last kiss and whispers,
"I have some work to check on. Be back in an hour and two."

Mum folds her right hand on her stomach and whispers back,
"Not like I'm going anywhere with this." She gestures with her eyes at the tube.

Dad gives her a grin, Dylan one last glance and exits the room. The nurse shuts the curtains with a soft jerk. She walks over to her clipboard and says,
"Sorry for the cold intrusion, but I had to do that."

"Hey, your job's hard. Intrusions are better than holding your urine for sixteen hours straight."

The nurse looks up from the board.
"You... know somebody who's a nurse."

"My mother is one."

The nurse grins and nods. Her brows furrow a bit-- as if noticing a missing person from a family portrait-- but makes no comment. She shrugs and leaves almost immediately.

Pursing my lips to the inside, I have a sudden inclination to take a few steps forward.

Before I can reason, I am already standing the cradle.

If I hadn't seen my parents here, I'd never have recognised him to be Dylan.

Tilting my head to the side, I lower a hand to caress his now puffy cheeks. Dylan, now, has barely visible cheeks. All you can see is his prominent jaw line and green eyes. Like Dad's.

Expecting my finger to pass through, just like before, it doesn't.
My finger actually caresses baby Dylan's cheek.

A smile spreads on my face.
How...

There are always exceptions.

I turn over to Mum, and she has the same expression as mine as her lids droop.

My upper body moves slightly forward by the inertia.

Rotating my head around, I find myself in a spotless car.
Beside me, Dad pulls at the handbrakes and takes out the keys. He looks about the same age as in the hospital.

The windows are covered with droplets as I try to squint over where we are.
It's a small neighbourhood with lawns outside each house. They're smaller than Edenfield, but they reflect a warm atmosphere, despite the weather. A few kids are playing in their gardens too, with the bushes along side providing a sort of safe haven from the world.

Dad sighs from beside me. His palms circle around the steering wheel, till he decides to release himself from the seat belt.
"Now or never."

He opens the door and glides out of the car. I just float out of it.

Dad has parked his car exactly on the street side adjacent to a particular two-storey house. It has red bricks plated on the outsides, while the thin line of white paint and cement in between the windows.

I revolve around the car's bonnet, and step onto the stone pathway in between the garden and the house. I'm only halfway through, when knocks on the door with the tip of his knuckle.
My eyes go over to the windows.

The curtains are drawn.

Dad knocks a few more times before stepping back. His irises fall on the closed curtains too.

Sighing, he places his knuckles on his hips and rotates around the house.
My shoes become even more soaked by the drenched ground.

Dad stops suddenly. Looks up at a window with a small-red flower pot, on the first-floor. Smiling again. As if some fond memories have strolled in.

I'm guessing this is...

My thought is interrupted by a cough on my right-- making both Dad and me turn.

"Sorry, I haven't seen you here before," a woman with a child of about five questions. The child nags at her skirt, and she ushers him.

"I... I'm a relative of the Rosens. I thought they'd be here, but..." he gestures to the closed house.

"Oh, they left a few days ago. Said they were going to visit Mary's sister in the north. I could tell them about you when they arrive."

"How convenient...

"Can you ring them? It's a tad bit better if they're informed earlier."

The woman raises a brow.
"You're a relative. Shouldn't you have their number?"

Dad mutters under his breath,
"I do, but they never pick up. Even tried other numbers, but they hang up at my voice."

"I actually lost it some time ago. I don't think they have mine either. Rather unfortunate, I agree," he quickly gives an alternative answer. The woman's shoulders seem to relax a bit.
"Name then?"

"Just tell them it's Charles.
And say that I've got somebody new at home. They'll understand.
Thanks for your time."

Dad gives a nod and the woman tilts her head to the head.

She says a strident You're welcome at Dad's retreating figure.

Revolving around the perimetre and skipping the stone pathway, Dad strides to his car before any more questions.

The woman shrugs, takes her son's hand and enter her own home.

I have to run up to keep my pace with him.

He jerks open the car door and seats himself. Skipping a few steps myself, I near the car too. The handle slips from my grasp a few times, before I just shove myself in again. Sitting on the seat alongside.

Dad's fingers wrap around seat belt-- but they stop-- as if on second thought.

Dad's hands use hold on to the steering wheel, as he lets his forehead press against its top half.
"I'm sorry for being a Protestant... and an arrogant-spoilt-rich man."

Dad...

A sense of disgust makes me grimace.
For mistrusting my own father.

Mary's words blare to my ears and I think,
Everything really is a matter of perspective.

The fog engulfs me again, and I just keep staring at my dad's position. My fingers keep fidgeting.

I don't even have to adjust myself to the room this time. It's dark and almost silent-- like before everything is before a storm. My ears ring, even with the soft pitter patter of rain outside.

The curtains on my right are ajar and even the faint yellow light coming from them seems to be from the streetlights.

I clench and unclench my hands and whip around as a sudden gasp comes from ahead of me.
Fixing my arms at the side, I try to hear it once again.

There's slow breathing and then something clicks on. It's a bedside lamp.

The orange light gives enough illumination for me to figure out what's going on. Though, only the bed can the viewed. The rest is still pitch black.

Dad's legs are dangling over the bed's side and his breaths are coming in short-raspy intervals. He isn't wearing a shirt and his chest is dank with sweat-- his hands gripping on the bed's edges.

"Charlie... Are you all right?" Mum's questioning and yet soft voice welcomingly comes.

The lamp is on her side-- which she probably turned on herself. Adjusting the strap of her purple night-dress, she sits up and places a hand on Dad's shoulder. The wedding ring with a bluebell on her gives a lambent glow.
The sheets fall to her lap to reveal a bulging stomach.

She's pregnant again.

They do look older than the past two scenes. Just a tad bit.

Is that you or me, Kathy?

Henry and I can't tell you that...

His right hand brushes her hand.
"I'm fine, Jenn. Just had a dream."

"Dreams don't wake you up like that."

"It was a tad bit unusual. That's all."

"Charlie... you've had these before."

Him too?

He turns and places his legs back on the mattress-- making Mum pull her hand back. He takes the same hand and fondles it.
"Don't worry. This one was different. It just caught me off guard."

Mum doesn't look convinced.

"Let's try going to sleep again, shall we? You need it." Dad points to the clock sitting on his table. It's almost five in the morning.

"You know, I'm the one who's supposed to have nightmares because of this." Mum tries to make light of the mood, and gestures to her stomach with the free hand.

"That's why you don't have them," he teases.
Dad reaches over and clicks the lamp off.

I rub the back of my neck, just as something slithers outside the open window. Jogging towards it, I poke my head and find nothing. It's as if nothing was here. Like a shadow.
Two words tumble out of my mouth,
"Wake up."

Gellert: What're yeh doin', lassie?

Me: Just shaking my head at OCs having unprotected sex. You?

Gellert: No, me means... So yer tellin' me tha' Dylan's been a bastard all this time?

Me: Well, yes. A bastard is just a kid whose parents are out of wedlock. Even if you don't agree with what the parents did, you can't shame the child for that.

Gellert: Me ain't sayin' tha'. Me saying that Mary called tha' Gow fellar bastard too. Reminded me of tha'.

Me: Unintentional foreshadowing at its finest. B-)
Besides, my boy's way better than that guy.

Gellert: Yeh do know yeh revealed ter secret by sayin' un'tentional.

Me: ... Sugar Honey Iced Tea

___________________

Hi everybody! I hope y'all are well. :)

I've been a bit bittersweet with this chapter, you know. XD

The music above is 'Fall of a Dynasty' from Magnificent Century.

So after five cut parts, a few deleted scenes(which'll come after the book's completed) and 16K words... we are done with Chapter 55.

I had a lot of fun writing these. Let myself go total psycho here xD

Oh and the island I mentioned where Meredith lives is a real place. It's a 'ghost island that's been sealed off from the public' for quite some years.

... then how does the mail man get there? I'll leave that bit to your own interpretation ;)

The island's called 'Poveglia Islands' and it's in the Venetian Lagoon. You can look it up if you want.

I didn't include the name, because modern spirits would rather mess up with my finals answer sheet, rather than haunt me. XD

I hope that Jenn and Charlie's relationship has been cleared up now.

Just remember: Meredith seeing that 'person' wasn't 'love at first sight. It was 'lust at first sight'. I feel like thay's often misinterpretated in cliché fiction.

Also... I find it pretty damn weird that 27 appears in the story link(like https://www.wattpad.com/439953651-the-ghost%27s-diary-55-part-v-matter-of-perspective).

If you minus 7 and 2... I think you know where I'm going is pretty paranormal. ;)

Also, THANK YOU FOR THE NEW HIGHEST RANKING OF #444 IN PARANORMAL! LOVE Y'ALL <33333

The girl on the right seems angry, Tay Tay. Just sayin'. XD

And Henry's glaring at me because of the emoji I added to the story title...

Oh and the full King Lear quote:
'How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child.'

Anyways, I hope you liked the chapter. If so, do drop down a vote. :)

Here's this week's question:

Thoughts on Charlie's dream? Or Jenn and Charlie's relationship now?

Have a great week!
Love,
MS Zame

P. S.
Shameless Plug: The quote above is from my Pinterest @mszame0. Be sure to check it out for story snippets and all sorts of madness. ;D