My breath stutters, as if a wave has washed me onto the shore. The same greyish yellow light from Meredith's last memory streams, while my body feel like it's still submerged in water.
Pulling my legs downward, the blanket cascades to the floor. I wipe myself of the sweat.

Sight comes in intervals, and everythings seems... normal. Me breathing my lungs out on the bed near the window. The study table on the left. The orangish brown bathroom door and dressing table in front of me.

My shirt seems battered by sweat and wrinkles-- by the view the dressing table mirror is giving me.

Am I back?

The grandfather clocks strikes seven times.

I went to bed at seven... and now I've awoken on seven again.

I've been out for quite some time...

Not having Kathy or Henry answer any of my thoughts is proof I'm back.
Strangely, my back feels like it's been paddled on-- despite sleeping on royal-like sheets.

Something flutters from my right and it makes my head jerk towards it. The journal is spiraling its pages again.

If I've 'tolled through East of Eden', then do I still have to find the fifth memory?

With question plaguing my mind, I stagger towards the journal.

Only a few words glint upon its pages.

"Maybe, we can talk after you take a shower, Lindsey. You look... pummeled to say the least."

I palm my forehead so hard, that I'm sure even the birds sitting in the gardens may have heard me.

"So... so just that? I've seen East of Eden. What about the fifth memory?"

"The hint for the fifth memory is not ours to give, Lindsey. The hint will reveal itself to you."

A hand wraps around my waist, while the other scratches my forehead.
Mum's ballet shoes are still where I left them last night. Near the table and at my feet.

I push the talcum-powder pink shoes away with a soft swish of my foot. Its silk caresses my skin, before pulling away.

The hand that was on my forehead now abrades my lower lips-- their dried up skin withers within my grasp.

Giving a slight shake, I turn my back at the journal and sit on the table-- near it. My feet use the handles of the drawers to support them.

Let my family live-- even under the cruelty of the cold ground.

A constricting feeling plummets in my chest-- remembering Meredith sitting next to four graves. Then an images slices through-- of Arsenio being shattered into a million shards before turning into dead leaves.
My thumb scratches my lip again, before plummeting down.

Dannoso, Marietta, Cruento, Dannato and Arsenio.

The chain of five deaths start with the devil and end with it.

I am not the only devil.

Meredith voice blares in my ears.

Blinking my eyes, I count my own family passings through my eyes.

Percival, Estelle, Isabelle, Henry, Dad, Mum, Kathy.

A ray of hope pierces through me. It's sharp, but gentle like a twirling ballerina.

Five people of East of Eden died, while there are seven of those of Edenfield.

That means that there won't be any more deaths!

Elation courses through me instead of blood. I almost jump in my seat, while my mouth moves. But then I remember a sudden plot hole. My face drops at the thought of it.

"For immortality, Dannoso humiliated his own wife and twins and placed them in between..."

"In between the sigil of Lucifer."

Should've known that...

"Sigil of Lucifer.
But Meredith's methods were different.

"She didn't do any of that. Not that she could-- considering that all her family's gone. On top of that, I don't think she'd do the same thing Dannoso did.

"Then how... why the rituals so different from each other?"

The elbow lying on my bent knees claw into open fists.
I imagine Henry sighing at my words. But not in annoyance.

"The immortality ritual can be performed in two manners. The first one is far more gruesome-- the one Dannoso endeavoured. Meredith, however, chose the second method.

"Though, the second requires much more sacrifice on the part of the caster, than in the first.

"In the second, she chose to cause three deaths and entrap one's soul into an inanimate object. Mine.

"This method takes a toll on the caster's soul."

My eyebrows shoot up.
"You mean..."

"Yes, that's why it took Meredith so long to regain her power. She still isn't wholly strong, but she's getting there."

Kathy's writing disappears before the knots in my stomach can untie themselves. I let a few strands fall to my face and ask,
"Is she immortal now or not?"

"Her soul remains in between mortality and immortality-- between corporeal and incorporeal.

She is not a ghost, either.
Only a 'Gifted' within her own art.

"I admit I was surprised at your parents' accident. I was not expecting it.

"But the weather almost simultaneously changing as they left, entangled me in questions.

"I wanted to stop it, but I couldn't beguile death."

Though, my hair doesn't bother me this time, as I pull it my ears. I put my palms under their opposite elbows.

She killed your parents and sister, Lindsey. You remember that, don't you?

My subconscious quipes in agitation.

I can tear Edenfield from its roots-- to show everyone I love you.
I can convert for you-- if that'll change reality.

I know, but my love will never let you destroy yourself.

Shaking my head, I concede,
"I'm not denying what's happened to me, but... I'm glad that Mum and Dad passed away together. And... and I know you couldn't have controlled it."

I look away from the journal and notice that the rays of light coming in have murky dust particles floating in them. They remain suspended, before a gust of wind disrupts their silent symphony.

"Daddy, look! Look at the air!" little seven year old exclaims with an air of discovery.

Dad squints his eyes, but finds nothing.

"The little floaty things. Can't you see them?"

Dad's eyes relax as he finally understands. Smiling, he shakes his head.
"Those are dust particles, Phoenix."

"Oh..."

"Phoenix."

"Yeah?"

"Never forget that silver lining you have."

Remembering the sudden burst of elation from before, I wonder if that silver lining has any loopholes with it.

Don't worry. This one was different. It just caught me off guard.

"Do you what my dad dreamt of that night? Before I said wake up?"

This time, Kathy replies:

"All we know is from journal entries.

"Dannoso and Meredith both wrote daily journals. And we were able to show you those memories of Mum and Dad, because they were after Henry's death.

"Both Mum and Dad never wrote journals or have ever spoken out loud of those dreams. At least, not in Edenfield."

My eyebrows knit together.

"How did you two get Meredith and Dannoso's journals?"

"Your sister and I are not the only ghosts in the mortal world, Lindsey.

"I made quite a few acquaintances, over the years."

Blinking, I nod at the journal.
The digital alarm clock on my bedside table reminds me that it's almost eight in the morning now. Only ten minutes left till the next hour.

My thumbnail gnaws at my lip again-- remembering Meredith's last memory.
"Henry, what did you think of Meredith when you first met her? I know you loved Evanna. And that you only found out about her feelings after she gave you that arbutus, but..." my voices dies down.

About seven minutes pass and no reply comes. From both my sister and uncle.

You always have to bring up undesired topics, don't you...

But at the last minutes, Henry's writing appears again:

"Not loved. Love, Lindsey

"There was a time when I actually enjoyed her company. She always had an air of intelligence and grace about her.

"But I did not appreciate the type of comments she left of Isabelle. I always found her dislike for my sister to be quite irrational.

"Though, now, I think Isabelle may have reminded her of Ms Cruento Maleece in a way, with her dark-brown brown hair and blue eyes.
She ran from that memory.
Along with that, Isabelle's affections for Timothy were reciprocated, whereas, hers was not.

"Whatever transpired between us, I regret that something as simple as my reciprocation could have stopped all of this."

I fiddle with the hands in my lap.

My being like Isabelle may be why she dislikes me, too.

"But it wasn't your fault, Henry. Everyone has a say in whom they love and whom they don't."

Without replying, the journal flutters and closes its pages at me. Without even its aftermath wearing off, my bedroom's handle clicks open. It's careful-- as if the clicking doesn't want to wake the absent person in bed.

Ms Bragge enters with a silver tray in her hands. Probably with breakfast. But it's been covered by metallic cover. Her steps stop-- searching for me before turning at the table.

She shakes her head before placing the tray at my bedside table. A picture of her in light brown hair and without wrinkles comes-- before being replaced by grey.

The clock from outside strikes eight times.

"I thought I'd wake you up with some breakfast in bed. You've been out for quite some time."

My eyes look into her hazel ones, as I climb down from the table.
Ms Bragge's own irises notice my current state, but she chooses to remain silent. She wraps her arms against her beige knee-length dress, moving towards the door.

A fleeting sense envelops me, as my mouth voices out my asleep thoughts:
"I sorry for... for never appreciating what you do for me, M... Gran.

Without consent, my hands go behind, and I look down at my toes like a seven year apologising for stealing her brother's shoelaces again.

She stops in her tracks and strides towards me. Ms Bragge places a hand on my shoulder.
"Are you all right, love?"

"Of course, I am. Perfectly, I just thought..."
My chin is up, but my gaze isn't.

Before I say anything else, she shakes her head and takes me in her eyes.
I stay rigid within them-- but eventually relax.
"I know you're not, love. No need to pretend in front of Gran."

Blinking, I stare at her smiling face. Her wrinkles seem more like marks of warmth.
She leaves without saying another word.

On the other hand, I rush towards the bathroom and graze my nails into the sink as the result of last night's adventures spill out of my system.

Circling my right hand around the tap, I wipe my mouth with same now drenched hand.

Breaths thrash in my chest, as I look at the mirror to see my paled skin. The same corpse-like pale Meredith has.

"You. Are. A. Bloody. Hypocrite. Lindsey Agnes Knightley..."

I pace around the tree-- the same tree where my dad used to bring me. This hill is still the same. With sapphire, ruby, and amethyst and opal-like flower dotting the emerald green grass. The sun in high in the sky, but its heat does not avail me. The tree keeps giving me only patches of it.

Aftering vomiting my intestines out in the bathroom, I tried eating the breakfast Ms Bragge-- Gran left me. But I was only able to eat the apple, which she conveniently left.
She's always known what I want or need-- without my saying so.

You know, I'm supposed to be the one having nightmares.

That's why you don't.

My finger keep wanting to pull at my roots-- every time I hear Meredith's screams in my ears. The screams seem so real-- as if I'm hearing them for the first time.

Something rustles from the side of the hill, and I turn towards it.
"There she is, mate."

The familiar man with beige skin and raven hair comes into view-- he's looks behind him-- talking, before meeting my gaze.

It's Mr Alam. He's dressed casually. In a black shirt with rolled up sleeves and grey trousers. His arms are crossed in front of him.

"Thanks, Yousuf."
The person to whom Mr Alam was speaking, comes into my view.

This time: it's Dylan. Trying to keep his gaze at my history teacher.
He, however, looks totally different. Still in a night blue formal suit. His hands are still in his pockets, while his eyes look a little tired.

Then my mind travels through centuries of memories:

A day before Dylan's birthday.

Gran phoning Dylan's office. No appointments, no meetings. We're there. Ten year old me.

I drift away and play with somebody. A man. Around Dylan's age-- who's exited his office.

"You're... I remember who you are now."
My raised finger tries to fight the tremor of realisation.

Mr Alam blinks.
"Well, I've been teaching history for the past few weeks. It's a pretty ironic subject too, in my opinion--"

My head moves sideways like a pendulumn.
"No. Not from school. I saw you at his office," my finger now points to Dylan, who's still static, "Five years ago. I even played with you for a bit."

Certain memories have been locked away, Lindsey; and they will only unveil themselves in their proper timing.

Mr Alam's face breaks into a grin.
"Hm, I was wondering if you'd remember that. Though, you remembering only that means I did my job well."

He gestures towards Dylan, who also gives a grin, but it's more... sheepish.
"The rest will be explained by your brother and my friend."

He pulls an arm away from his chest and pats Dylan's shoulder.
"Break a leg, mate."

"Who says that anymore?" Dylan gives him a sideway glance and Mr Alam laughs,
"The history teacher, mate. I like old stuff."

Mr Alam gives Dylan's shoulder another playful jolt, before pulling away and taking a step to descend the hill.

"Say hi to Mahira and Annie for me!"
Dylan calls to Mr Alam's now descending figure. The latter only gives a wave with the back of his hand.

I raise a brow, as soon as Dylan turns towards me. He answers instead,
"Mahira and Annie are his wife and daughter."

I shake my head.
"That's not why I raised a brow."

He sighs and glances at the sun still high in the sky.
"I know."

Hi everyone! I hope you all are good. :)

Now that we're in the very last quarter of the novel, it's starting to dawn on me how much we've been through together.
I just want to say that I love every single one of you and that your support will 'always' awe me.

So, this chapter was more of an aftermath-y one. I hope there wasn't anything that felt like info-dumpy.

And where the hell did Dylan and Yousuf come from!?!
Why don't you think about that, while I sip on a cup of tea.

Nothing beats a cup of tea in the evening, no? ;D

Anyways, do leave a vote if you liked the chapter.
*tells self-advertiser to calm down*

Oh and the way Lindsey calls the bedsheets 'royal' is purely sarcasm(hence the italics).

Here's this week's question:

How is Yousuf related to all of this? What's that talk about Lindsey seeing him in Dylan's office?

Have a great week!

Love you to the moon and back,
MS Zame ♡