Chapter 17 - The Chapter #2
Proja Dryb’He, the Donatore, famous for his impeccable art of allocating new souls to their new bodies whilst leaving no memories of their past lives, runs a hand through his dark hair, slumping back in his chair.
His purple pupils shrink, almost swallowed by the total black of his eyes, when he comments, annoyed, “Can you two take your former not-so-former lovers’ arguments somewhere else?
Don’t forget there’s a young mind in the room—”
“Debatable. When did you become such a prude, Projjy?” Nikrah stands up, squares his large shoulders and broad chest, picks up his chair, and moves to sit between Amelia and Tydell, whose face shows all his unspoken discomfort when Nikrah pushes him aside to make space.
Nikrah offers Tydell a smirk, then continues, “Besides, Evelyn said it—Miss Crimson’s mind is still sleeping in whatever lavender field Roden sent her to.
And,” he inflates his chest, tapping a finger on his right bicep, “Don’t act annoyed when you, and lovely Amelia here, would have also loved to share a piece of this. ”
“Pompous buffoons,” I hear Amelia muttering while lifting a cup of coffee to her overly plumped lips.
This is not normal… These are my teachers… this… “Wait..” I voice my train of thought without realising it, surprised when I’m finally allowed to grasp my own words and memories—myself.
But Roden has other plans. “Enough,” he hits the floor twice with the end of his walking stick.
I jump, and so does Alphonse Tydell, as his pink eyes widen and fall on me while the other teachers only clear their throats or hum in agreement.
“Thank you,” Roden continues with a quick bow. “Evelyn, please, an open heart is all I ask. July needed a bit more time; her mind was too agitated when I met her.”
“But we don’t have time—” Popplewish replies from behind me.
“Well, we’ll have to make it then… After all, you only brought her here last night. A sudden change of plans requires quick thinking.”
“What about safety?” Popplewish disputes.
“Do you think it would’ve been better to let her snoop around and ask questions of the wrong people? What I asked you to do was probably the only thing that saved the Chapter and July. Let’s not forget about your pretty protégé…”
Popplewish lets out a loud sigh of exasperation. “And I’m starting to regret it, Roden. She seems to fight harder every time her memory gets reset.”
I can’t ignore her fists clenching when she walks past me. Her dark blue velvet nightgown sweeps the floor, but everything around her remains silent, unmovable, as if her feet don’t even touch the ground.
Would she remember me?
My head spins slightly, but I know I must stay alert. I listen to their dialogue as if watching from behind a glass wall.
Roden observes Popplewish from behind his steaming cup of coffee, his icy, grey eyes narrow on her back as if searching for something she left unspoken.
Then he takes a quick sip and says, “We can’t let him escape again, and July is our only weapon at the moment.
What would you like to do? Waiting, who knows for how many years, hoping we find someone else with her power? Unless you want me to—”
“As you wish,” Popplewish snaps at him, spinning towards me.
I’ve never seen her drop her guard like this. Defeated, she stares at me, the need to tell me something flashing behind her pastel eyes. But I’m soon left staring at her back again as she walks to the table and sits next to Lily Drestall, acknowledging her with a nod and half a smile.
Roden summons the attention he deserves by tapping the top of his cane against the wooden edge of the table. “Good, now we can all sit comfortably, and—” he stops, focusing on the door, still open, behind me.
Theresa sways in, like a feather across the floor, as she glides up to me, holding an extra chair. When she puts the chair down, Roden snaps his fingers—and I collapse on it like a rag doll.
The flimsy veil that has covered my true sight up until now shreds, and I begin to connect each face in the room to a specific memory.
Nikrah Skell’s intense blue eyes, with a little sunshine explosion in the centre, his lists of dates, and comparison of the various ages of Horigos to a giant pile of pancakes.
Proja Dryb’He and his lessons on handling a still-pumping soul and placing it back in its new vessel without damaging it.
When I look at Popplewish, the image flashing in my mind almost stops my heart. For a split second, I’m in the back of her car, fearing for my life and doubting Galen—my best friend.
Would she remember…me
…some.
“No!” I take my head in my hands, terrified all my memories will fall through the cracks again. “I want to remember it all.”
Roden, unfazed as if I didn’t just shout in front of everyone, walks towards me, holding one hand up, “Breathe, July—”
I push my chair back, shaking my head, “Don’t come near me…Where is Galen?” I search around the room, hoping to see his face.
I stand up too abruptly, and my legs don’t respond when I try to run away. My eyes dart from face to face so quickly it hurts. I shut them tight, feeling a hand hovering over my shoulder like static electricity.
“July, calm down…” Popplewish’s voice is like a wake-up call from a nightmare.
I press my fists onto my eyes, and my ribcage inflates nearly to its breaking point. When I exhale, a needle pricks the bubble of emotions stuck in my belly and memories begin to bleed out.
Immaterial, hot blades slice through my chest when all the memories climb back out, digging their claws into my mind.
Of me throwing up outside a restaurant and a car taking me somewhere while I’m half-conscious.
The screens, the voices—the light. It has to be real; I’m not imagining it because what I taste on my tongue is blood, not just the bitter flavour of lies.
“Quick, give her a tissue…” A quivering voice speaks from someplace far.
“She’s bleeding,” another voice adds, worried.
“It’s just a scratch, leave her alone…” Popplewish—Evelyn Popplewish. She’s trapped me in this never-ending nightmare.
“Galen…” I find my voice again.
I open my eyes in shock, panting. My hands are sweaty, and something warm is trickling down from the corner of my mouth. I double over, spitting blood on the marble floor.
With my head between my hands, I pray for my brain to stop igniting memories like fireworks—the lift, the infinite hall, Roden tapping that damn walking stick. Memories play behind my eyes, like the scenes from Nistarei’s everyday life I witnessed on the screens.
Witnessed to their end.
All those faces. Who are we to decide?
Someone puts a hand on my back while I whisper Galen repeatedly—my anchor. When I finally look up, I don’t see Galen’s eyes, but the swirling galaxies in Miss P’s irises. And for a moment, she’s again the sweet, wise creature I have loved and respected my whole life.
“It’s all right. The reset process can be confusing if done too many times, but you’ll be okay.
” Popplewish brushes the top of my head, and as much as I want to forget about everything and leave it all behind, a terrible presentiment weighs me down, gurgling from my guts now that she stands so close to me.
I wriggle free of her touch and put some space between us. My feet are unsteady, and my knees shake, but I can’t stand her presence. My stomach churns.
I need to open my mouth, whether to throw up or to spit accusations, and I don’t care who is watching me, about their role, or if they can harm me—too late for that anyway. “Too many times?” I blurt out. “How many times did you fuck with my brain?”
Fuck! I clench my stomach and jerk my head back up to look Evelyn straight in the eyes, digging my teeth in where my cheek split to stay alert and focused, “You are the recycling squad.”