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

"And I'm here to tell you everything. From A to Z."

Dylan's eyes lower, till they reach my questioning ones. He presses his lips in a straight line-- still keeping his hands in pockets.

He takes a few steps forward-- almost near the tree. A bird rustles in her nest above, as if advising her chicks to hold on to a lullaby-- even without the music.

Dylan turns around and sits down on the grass, while my gaze stays on the birds. As soon as his back meet the tree's bark, the mother bird decides to leave.

Arms press fiercely against my chest--loosening them, I breathe out.

I sit down, as well. Hands lying in my lap, while my legs are crossed into two triangles in front of me.

Dylan, however, has his legs straight-- without one over the other and his palms intertwined in my lap.

He almost reminds me of Dad-- sitting like that.

"I should've known you'd be here."

Shrugging, my mouth moves,
"To be fair, I've been really unpredictable these days. And I'm glad...glad that you're back."

He whips his head at me; though, he ends up nodding. Albeit, his lips scrunch for a few seconds, before removing the stains themselves.

The little nestlings above us chirp They quiet down after a few moments.

I sigh and gesture at his blue suit with my irises,
"Did you come directly from the airport?"

He flicks his shoulders.
"Ireland isn't that far off-- just an hour away by air."

Nodding, my right thumb presses with my index-- creating a loud crack.

Meanwhile, Dylan stares at the swaying daffodil a few feet ahead of us.
"You know, she liked daffodils... liked them a lot."

Glancing at him from the side, I see him loosening the knot of his tie-- as if to lessen the suffocation of old memories.

I don't interrupt him.

"Aren't you going to ask me about whom am I talking about?" he questions.

I shake my head.
"I've had my fair share of questions in the past night. Not saying that I won't question-- questioning is a part of me. But I want to hear."

He furrows his brows, but chooses silence instead of questions.
"We were friends-- best friends. Like I was with Alice and Noah."

Only one person comes into my mind at that mention. I remember a girl-- the same girl that Kathy showed me in that classroom
"Melody."

He nods and a fond smile caresses his face.
"We weren't always friends, though. More like rivals. We competed at almost everything: academics, projects, sports... you name it. It wasn't like we hated one another or anything. We-- I guess my competitiveness is why the company didn't crash and burn." He shakes his head.

"Then one fine day Mr Henley grouped us together for a project. To say we were furious would be an understatement.

"Long story short: We actually became friends, and Alice and Noah liked her too and vice versa, so we all just made a group."

Dylan stops talking, looking at my face to find a trace of anything. He doesn't; he somehow takes this as a hint to stay silent.

Great, Lindsey. You've got that neutral face up again. Spectacular.

Shaking my head, I try to break the silence by asking:
"Didn't she have her own friends?"

Dylan shrugs.
"She never kept any friends-- always had been secretive-- except for us, of course.
Her dad... the nicest thing I can say about him is that he never deserved Melody, Mrs Montague and Cecily. Cecily was-- is her younger sister."

I shift in my seat-- suddenly realising the growing pressure after hearing what Dylan just said.

He notices.
"He didn't hit them or anything; he was just really unreasonable."

"Mel, come with us."

"You know my dad--"

"I... I get it." My saying so relaxes him.
"But what happened next? I remember her, but then she just..."

"Disappeared? Yeah, I know.
She was there-- at that birthday party Alan and Noah threw for me before... you know.

"She even attended the funeral, but then... I got busy with all that was going on. I was just pushing everyone away at that time.
One day, I decided to go check on her. Quite contradictory, I know," he makes a low scoff, "I went to her home, and no one was there. Only her dad.

"I never talked to him, and I wasn't going to start doing that then. So, I asked the neighbours and they said Melanie and the rest just took off. Like that. Gone."
He clips his index finger with her thumb.

"Wait, you never knew she'd be leaving in Bedfordshire?"
My mind clicks to the address given in those letters.

"I didn't know then, and-- frankly-- I was mad at her for not telling me anything..."

But that... how can that be right?

I fling my arms in front of me.
"What about cell phones? They were common seven years ago, too. You're a  millennials, for God's sake!
And what about Alice and Noah? Didn't they knock some sense into you?"

A smile comes on Dylan's face-- but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Alice and Noah had their gap years-- and they planned on going to Madrid for that.
They weren't going because of me. So, I gave them the push they needed.

"Then they got accepted into universities out of London. Again, I had to force them to go there-- because of the scholarships.
We all eventually grew apart-- only calling each other time by time.

"As for cell phones, kids having them at that time was completely the parent's decision. And a lot didn't think it was necessary. Mrs Montague was like that.
Unlike nowadays-- when even toddlers are given tablets instead of dummies. Not judging, though." He holds up his hands to make light of the situation.

He look at me, lowers his hands till they reach his lap-- folded.
"I know I was being unreasonable, but it made sense at that time.

"And then her letters just disappearing... she said in one of them that she tried our landline, but it always got disconnected," his voice drops and so my my brows,
"I wanted to contact her after I found the letters, but how am I going to explain how I miraculously found them after six years?"

He stops and lets the daffodil distract him with its soft whispers in the wind.
I straighten my crossed legs.

It's weird how a small flower can mean new beginnings and...

Something erupts in my mind again. An old memory.

Henry rubs his temples as Matthew holds out the daffodil,
"That's why the journal is red: Her hair colour is auburn and this daffodil..."

"That's why your journal's off-white.
Melody had platinum blonde hair."

Dylan becomes rigid. He blows out a breath.
"We're... we're often imprisoned by something, Linds. Whether it's greed, pride, or even by a supposed definition of love."

He takes a deep breath.
"And sometimes... that imprisonement can be in luxury..."

I nod without thinking, the words dancing around in my mind.

You don't know how it feels to when voices hunt you down at the night.

"Dylan..."

"I'm fine. Fine."

"You're putting that barrier up again," my voice comes out softer than the actual words.

As if suddenly shaken, his hand stops rubbing his trousers.
"I... I know. I've been doing that for the past seven years..."

I brush away those seven years from my mind-- the same way I patted Gem when she passed away.

"I never wanted to ignore you, Lindsey. Never. But seeing you grow up-- it was like seeing a female version of Dad from his old photographs. And you have Mum and Kathy's eyes..."

"I know it's irrational, but seeing you made me think that somehow all of this could never have happened. There might have been a way I could've..."

"This is all your fault! You're the reason they're dead!"

Mirror shatters; reddened eyes; tremoring body.

That's why you never met me...
Does he know that Mum and Dad wanted to go buy a surprise gift at the night of the accident?

I hope not.

"Accidents are never anybody's fault. Neither you or me. That's why they're accidents..." my nails gnaw at my own jeans-- pulling at the non-existent stray thread.

He waves a me-- dismissing a thought.
"No... that's not what I'm talking about.
I thought that the voices I heard..."

My fingers jolt into their palms, as brows crease my forehead.
"Voices? You mean, like how Henry used to contact me..."

"No, no. It wasn't him.

"I was about seventeen when I first heard them. Mum and Dad used to take turns at staying at home-- because of the type of work they both had. That day, Mum had some show in another country-- sorry, I don't remember which one. Anyhow, Dad and Ms Bragge took you and Kathy to the park. I stayed back, reading a Stephen King book.

"Then I heard them for the first time. They were soft. Enchanting even. I somehow found myself at the rooftop.
I only got out of that trance after Luke and Jared-- the guards-- called me from the gates. Got down and told them to not tell anyone." He stops to caress his fingertips on his face-- thoughtfully.

I try to keep my face neutral, but I can't help but wonder if my pupils are dilating. Embarrassingly, may I add.

This is one of those times when I wish I'd brown irises-- instead of blue ones.

"They kept happening, and I always found myself in weird spots-- places where I'd never even thought of going.
Then I noticed something else-- other than the tone.

"Those voices were feminine, and I tried remembering where I'd heard them. But that was as hard as finding a pearl in some shell."

At this, another memory comes to me. It's of when we first arrived at the 1890 Edenfield. When Dylan seemed so shocked at hearing--
"Like that time at the cemetery? Late at night?"

His brow goes up at my guess, but he shakes it off.

Should I tell him about that other dream or shouldn't I?

"Let me say it, Als! When have you told Als and me anything? We didn't even know about your parents till your brother let it slip."

If I'd been more open, then maybe I'd have my friends with me now...

I clarify,
"I saw you-- in a dream. More like I was you-- but I couldn't hear your thoughts or what you and Gellert Palmer were saying."

My lips slake themselves-- as if to get rid of that memory

"Yes, it was her. Meredith. That's why I was surprised at hearing her voice in 1890 Edenfield.
Then they suddenly stopped after the accident. Just vanished."

"You already how what happened at my twentieth birthday-- with the mirror breaking and all. I just... just said that because of the guilt. Guilt at actually feeling relieved that they stopped-- when I should've been grieving..."

"It wasn't your fault... it was just a reaction-- an impulse even--"

He cuts me off with a shake again.
"I know. I know. That's something Doctor Hopkins would've said, to be honest.
He was my therapist."

This time, though, Dylan doesn't try to grin off his fallen facade.
Meanwhile, my teeth gnaw at the flesh within my mouth. They don't make it bleed-- just revolve around it.

A Doctor Hopkins was Henry's physician too.

"Was?" my voice ends off-tune.

"I don't need therapy anymore, Lindsey. Even the meds are less... numbing than the ones needed before.

"I did have a relapse about two years back, but it's better now. The meds are helping."

He adjusts and readjusts himself on the ground.
Reaching out, my hand touches his shoulder. After a few more currents, he steadies himself.

"You can stop, if you want--"

Dylan's voice drowns in its own waterspout.
"I'm not done, yet. I need to tell you more, before..."

My eyelids stagger. "Before what?"

He makes eye contact with me.
"Can't you feel the silence before the storm? It's prowling-- waiting to prance."

Only one Knightley survived in 1890, not two.

"Look, listen. You'll have to believe me here.
Five people died in Meredith's family. Don't ask me how I know," I quickly amend at seeing his raised brows before continuing, "And seven people died in ours-- in front of our eyes, I mean.

"Percival, Estelle, Isabelle, Henry, Mum, Dad and Kathy. That's seven."
My voice becomes barely audible at the seven part.

"Convincing doesn't work out when you don't believe in the statement yourself, Lindsey." He takes the hand of mine on his shoulder and puts it back in my lap.
"I don't know all this talk about numbers, but you know where it's becoming doubtful..." he says.

The hand that has fallen back to my lap now scratches the other one.
"Percival and Estelle died at the same time. At once. Even Mum, Dad and Kathy passed away in... intervals.

"I had a dream about their deaths and heard the people at the ambulance saying that," I answer his questioning look.

This time, he blinks.

"You know more than I thought you did," waving his head, he continues,
"Even if you didn't hear any of my conversation in my dreams, then I presume that the policemen at the accident must have said something note while."

Tilting my head, another phrase comes-- unwillingly.

The second officer nods her head and says,
"The car was entirely blown to smithereens but I think something was wrong with the tyres.
One of them had a hole but I'm not sure if the hole was there before the crash or not..."

"I've got a hunch."

He actually seems relieved at not having to explain that.
"Well, you know about the car-- and what MPD thought about it.
They thought that this may be some sort of a plan-- by some rival company or whatever."

My brows furrow at the last sentence.

Dylan notices.
"Some people can be very... competitive. Especially, when it revolves around huge sums of money.

"The way Dad handled Knightley Industries-- it was like everything he touched turned to gold. That's why they were suspicious that maybe someone...

"And I just realised that I used a rather old idiom..."

The nestlings above whimper chirps-- as if to call their mother. I rub my chin.

"You've noted something. Say it now, Linds."

"It'll disrupt the flow, Dylan."

"The flow's already been disrupted, Lindsey."

Looking up at Dylan, he sighs.
"I've learnt to trust my hunches more, these days..."

"I... It's just that... that if Dad was so good at his work, then how did the board of governors agree to have an eighteen year old at the head seat? From what Gran's, Ms Bragge I mean, told me, Dad worked under Granddad for years, before he died. He'd have more experience than you."

He perks a brow and says,
"They didn't. I was-- kind of-- on probation for a year. They said if my work wasn't satisfactory, then I couldn't be the head. I and you-- after you turn eighteen-- would have been owners of the company, and yet we wouldn't be. We'd only receive an allowance, but it would be more like beggar's money.

"I couldn't let that happen... If it hadn't been for Mrs Addington -- she's Dad's friend and the vice-president-- then I don't know..."
His raised brow falls down.

The wind sweeps by-- creating shifting patches of sunlight under the tree we're sitting.

Somebody's phone buzzes, and my hands tread across my own jeans.

It's not mine.

Instead, Dylan picks out his own phone and muffles a grunt at it. His eyebrows relax at seeing Yousuf on his phone-- relieved that it's not from work.
He replies to the text with calculated fingers and puts the phone back in his trousers.

"You're really good friends with Mr Alam," I observe.

"We shared some classes at uni, and somehow always ended up together. So, we became friends."

Something unsettling limps around in my stomach. A bright, burning sensation.
As if my insides have been drenched in acid-- not at Dylan being friends with Mr Alam. But with what was happening before the talk.

Dylan reads my expression and says,
"Oh, you're thinking about what I said before all this business talk...

"In short, the MPD advised me to arrange for... precautionary methods. We didn't know-- at the time-- all this pandemonium was because of a centuries old curse.

"Ms Bragge almost always stays at home, and I'm always near people in a guarded office. The only problem was you... I mean, you had to go to school and also ballet classes. I didn't want to have you home-schooled. I thought it would be too much of a change... You were perfectly safe at school and the studio, but still. So..."

"So?" my hands keep trashing themselves on the grass beneath now.

He screws half an eye shut.
"So, Ms Bragge and I agreed to get you a bodyguard..."

My hands stops terrorising the grass.
"I had a bodyguard..."

"Have actually..."

I lean back into the tree so hard that a few leaves tumble down, with my mouth hanging.

"Well..." he says.

"Well what? Don't tell me that my bodyguard is hiding in between those bushes." I point a limp finger to the right.

"Well, not now. But he was here a while ago..." Dylan's voice shrinks.

"You mean... It can't be Mr Alam..."

He doesn't deny it.

My jaw drops.
"But he teaches me history! And he's substituting Mr Jennings, because he broke a leg..."

"Oh, that was a lie we all agreed on.
Your school administration knew, of course. Yousuf minored in history in uni-- and he was a P. E. major. I still don't know how he managed it all. Anyways, sometimes I wish I had his acting abilities too-- he played that history teacher role much better than I could have ever hoped for.

"I knew he worked at a security company, so I requested to have him. It was much better than trusting my little sister to a stranger, in my opinion..."

"But... but I never saw him. How then..." I flails my elbows again.

"That's why he said: 'Then that means I did my job well'. You were only a kid then-- I know you had to grow up faster than others-- but... I just didn't want you to feel awkward about having a bodyguard. So, Yousuf..."

"Stayed in the background..." my chin moves in slight currents.

"Then-- after all that happened with Meredith-- I got worried and the MPD advised me that... that maybe Yousuf should be more on the front. Of course, I never told them about Meredith.
They just said that it was better to be safe than sorry... so, that's how Yousuf became your history teacher."

My back's still curved against the tree bark, and legs in upward triangles. Arms lying limp at the sides.

Of all things, this surprised me the most... Fantastic.

"So... so Mr Alam... what did he do? It's not like he had much... I don't do anything worth stalking," I disclose.

Dylan grimaces.
"I actually searched on that bit, you know.
Stalking would've been when somebody obsessively checks even your social accounts-- either for malice or to hide a weak spot to strike on later.

"And Yousuf only told me stuff that was important. Like when you wanted go all Ms Marvel and chase after that car with the broken brakes. I think I had a cardiac arrest when Yousuf told me that.

"Though, casting you as Ms Marvel would be whitewashing. We don't need that kind of stuff, now do we."

I remain static-- like a seven year old being busted by her elder brother. For stealing the chocolate box on the high counter.

"Plus, I never hacked or stalked into your Facebook, Instagram-- whatever, or installed any spy cameras into your room. That's just creepy."

Now my eyes roll.
"I know, I know. Learnt all about the dangers of hacking and stalkers in school," a mock frown comes on my face as I fold my arms, "Besides, I only have a Google account and an unused Tumblr one for Harry Potter related stuff."

He turns to regard me.
"Really? I thought-- oh whom am I kidding. Of course, you don't. Hell, even I'm the same."

For some reason, both of us break into grins-- actual smiles. After a long time.
Meanwhile, the mother bird from earlier flies back to her nest-- making her nestlings chirp woth joy.

Both Dylan and I revolve to look at the nest-- directly-- my wrists on bended knees. A direct patch of sunlight is tossed at out faces, the moment we do that.

"I don't know about the bodyguard business, but it was a nice thought."
My head stays upwards, while Dylan passes a sideway-- albeit sheepish-- smile.

Sometimes, you remind me a lot of that seventeen year old-- despite being twenty-five now...

That sheepish smile, though, quickly turns into a steady one.
"I know my reasons don't excuse my absence. If I was teenager learning to be an adult, then you were just a kid," he sighs.

"And I made a promise-- seven years ago, Linds. A promise that I won't be so powerless the next time anything happens to my family..."

Vows shall be tested...

I shake away the thought-- for now.

After a while, the both of us lower our chin as we can't take the light splashing on our faces more.

As I blink away the light, Dylan asks,
"Where are Allison and Ethan? Haven't seen them with you-- and you haven't mentioned them either."

My lips curve downwards-- only for a few seconds-- before becoming straight. Their usual position. First a clump of red comes-- accompanied by black framed glasses-- and then a wave of golden.

Dylan doesn't question what I'm thing-- rather waits for anything tumbling out.

"We... we had a fight. Ethan and I. He wouldn't tell me about something and I did the same. End result." My palms gesture a big explosion.

Dylan droops his head in almost a forty-five degree angle.

Math and Physics are getting to me...

He suggests,
"Have any if you talked afterwards?" his voice is steady-- in a single tune.

"No... We sort of avoided each other. Allison's been like the passenger of two boats at the same time-- in between us."

"Have you thought about taking the first step?" he folds his palms against each other.

I pick on the grass-- tearing its tips.

"Taking the first step may be hard, but it doesn't mean you're weak-- it just means that you value your friendship more than petty egos.

"This is your first fight with him, I'm guessing. Give your friends a chance and if they don't respond-- it's their fault, not yours."

I give him a look-- one that's more surprised at his words. He shrugs.
"I don't have the friends I grew up anymore, Linds. Cherish that while you can."

The nest above stays silent. Probably content too.
And here, my palms are sweating.

Something unexpected happens-- Dylan actually pats the back of my head.

He has never been one for hugs or anything like that. The only time he did that was when I-- unexpectedly-- tackled him on my fifteenth birthday.
"You don't have to do it right now..."

"No... I'm tired of running from my problems," my heart still thumping against my ribcage, "I'll call them... but with the speaker on."

Dylan sighs in relief as I reach into my phone. My heartbeat increases more-- sweaty hands clamping against a phone.

A tune erupts from it-- as soon as I enter the password. A ringtone.

My eyes bulge out at looking at the name on the screen.

Hullo everyone! Again, I hope y'all are well(I'm repeating that a lot, damn it). XD

So yeah... SURPRISE ABOUT YOUSUF!
Now all things can't be magically connected, even in fantasy/paranormal, y'know ;)

I don't know about you, but I sure had fun hiding that secret xD

And this pic... this reminded me of Allison and Lindsey XD

Don't worry, I'm not mocking any ENFPs. I'm one myself.

As for the chapter, hm... quite a few questions have been answered.
Along with a party pooper(as usual).

Let's us what 'destiny' shall these folk choose...

On to the pic in the media box:
I know it isn't a daffodil, but it kind of gave me the vibe I wanted for the chapter.
On the side note, I tried to 'show' Dylan feeling guilty here. The way he keeps explaining himself(even when it isn't needed) is a sign of that. I hope that was clear enough.

Music above is 'Yeniden Doğuş'('Rebirth') by Aytekin Ataş. ♡

AND WE HAVE A NEW COVER! MADE MY THE LOVELY kimtaehvungs. I CAN'T EXPRESS HOW MUCH I LOVE IT!!! ♡♡♡

LIKE LOOK AT THE MANIPULATED CLOCK. OMG I NEVER EVEN ASKED FOR IT BUT YOU'RE A TRUE GENIUS, I TELL YOU, A GENIUS

THE CLOCK IS LIKE FORESHADOWING IN A COVER!!!

*tells self to calm down before she spills any more beans*

Now that we've got my fangirling aside, I hope you have a great week and here's the weekly question:

Whose name did Lindsey see on that screen?

*is runnjng out of creative questions, so will ask the simple ones now*

I hope you enjoyed the chapter as much as I enjoyed writing.
As always, do vote to let me know you did.
(Theoretically, I can't know you like reading this if you don't.
If you don't want to, then that's your choice which I'll respect).

Love,
MS Zame ♡