9. The Journal
The Journal
“Here, put on another shirt,” Davy said, tossing Noec an unfolded bundle of ‘clean’ clothes. “One that doesn’t say ‘I kill people’.” Davy shooed Noec off toward the bathroom.
Flora gulped. “How am I going to explain this one to Mom and Dad?”
Davy shrugged, “Snake-eyes already gave them the elevator pitch.”
“Snake-eyes?” Flora repeated. “You can call him by his name.”
“Shame, I thought ‘snake-eyes’ really caught the essence of his pretty green eyes. ‘Beefcake’ it is.”
“No.”
“Peter Pan?” he suggested.
“Funny, but no.”
“Well, I guess he did save my sister.” Davy let out a dramatic sigh. “I guess you can name him.”
“I’m naming him Noec. His name is Noec.”
“Whatever you want, sweetie,” he replied. “But if you name him, we’ll have to keep him.” Davy beamed at the comical sight of Noec in sweatpants and a T-shirt. “He’s a real boy!”
The front door opened, and Flora’s parents were home. Flora’s father looked Noec up and down as he entered, his expression unreadable.
“Much better, Noec,” Flora’s mother said approvingly. “Now, Flora, I’m sure you’re still dead tired. Go get some rest, and in an hour or so I’ll get started on dinner.”
“I’d love to help cook,” Noec offered, earning an uncertain smile from Mrs. Fray.
“Florabelle,” Mr. Fray said as his daughter stepped foot on the stairs. Tiredly, she glanced back and caught the threat in her father’s eyes. “If I were you,” he said, speaking low and slow, “I’d emotionally prepare for the most thorough interrogation of your life.”
“Sure,” she muttered, but there were worse things on her mind. Flora crept up to her room with a pounding in her head, her mind still just a bit fuzzy.
She peered at the overflowing journal on the bedside table.
How could she have known that this journal would be all she had left of her?
She brushed her hand along the cover, still hoping Sona would be there to take it back in the morning.
Just touching the book was painful, an ache her heart wasn’t prepared for.
“258,” she whispered to herself.
Noec stood at an overly respectful distance as though Mrs. Fray might hex him with a single look.
“So,” Mrs. Fray began tentatively. “You and my daughter are pretty close, huh?”
“Oh, um—” Noec stammered. He stepped forward and reached out, then stopped. Mrs. Fray paused her chopping and looked back. “Nevermind,” he said, sliding back and folding his hands behind his back.
“No, go on,” she insisted, setting down the knife. “Speak your mind.”
“It’s just… “ Noec blinked. “Flora doesn’t like oregano.”
She looked down at the chopped herbs on the chopping board.
“Says it tastes like dish soap,” he added, visibly regretting each word the moment it was spoken.
Mrs. Fray picked the knife back up, then continued chopping. “Guess I should add more then,” she said. Deadpan, she looked back at Noec, then smirked. “You like to cook then, I’m guessing?”
He nodded. “Very much, ma’am.”
“Ma’am,” she repeated with a scoff. “You don’t have to be so tense. I’ve met enough of the bad guys to tell that you’re not one of them.” A little louder, she added, “My husband will get there.”
He sighed loudly from the living room.
“He says he thinks so, too!” Davy’s voice translated. “Really good vibes in here!”
Mrs. Fray sighed, lobbing a handful of oregano into the pasta sauce. “I don’t know what’s true,” she said. “But I know you showed up dressed like a renaissance fair dork, so I’m not particularly intimidated. Plus,” she added, “Davy would’ve whooped your ass by now if there was a problem.”
“Yes, ma’m!” he called from the living room. “Would’ve drop kicked him all the way back to Narnia.”
Mrs. Fray looked Noec up and down. “You look whooped anyway,” she commented.
“Running on adrenaline, still,” Noec admitted. He looked down at his hand and clenched it in and out. “I don’t like fighting.”
Mrs. Fray rinsed her hands in the sink. “The guy was a friend of yours, you said?”
“A good friend, yes,” he said quietly, though the past day had left him uncertain.
“Hm,” she murmured as she dried her hands. “Maybe need to reassess how you choose your friends.”
Noec swallowed, furrowing his brow as he looked away.
Mrs. Fray started stirring, then paused. “Sorry,” she said with a sigh. “Flora says I could be better at the way I say things.”
“You haven’t said anything wrong,” he said after a moment, relaxing just barely enough to lean against the counter. “You care very much about her safety. I do too.”
“I can see that.” She sighed again, more dramatically. “If you recall, she woke up demanding a McChicken and a hug from you.”
He grinned slightly, a subtle blush on his cheeks as he looked down.
Mrs. Fray studied his expression for a moment. No wonder Flora hadn’t been bringing any guys home. “Oh, boy,” she murmured.
There was a thunk and a groan upstairs, presumably Flora falling out of bed.
Noec and Mrs. Fray looked up at the ceiling.
“Well,” Mrs. Fray said, “here she comes.”
“Mmm, something smells delicious,” Flora’s father said as her mom stirred dinner in the kitchen. As Flora walked down the stairs with a book under her arm, he stepped into the dining room and asked, “How are you feeling?”
“Okay. I’ll be healed up in the morning.”
Mr. Fray tried to hide his panic as he asked, “So you really have no choice whether or not you go back? Seems like a dangerous place.”
“Haven’t had a choice since I was seven,” Flora replied dryly.
Noec pulled out plates from the oak cabinets, watching Flora out of the corner of his eye. He peeked curiously at Sona’s journal under her arm.
“Five plates,” Flora’s father said to him. “I don’t love it, but you’re here. We might as well feed you.”
“Yes sir.”
Dinner started with a predictable air of tension. Mr. Fray poked sharply at his food, but didn’t seem particularly interested in eating it, and Flora’s mother tapped her nail rapidly against the rim of her glass.
“So. Flora,” Mr. Fray started, still poking as though the spaghetti wasn’t dead enough. “Your friend here told us an interesting story about how you got that concussion.”
Flora closed her eyes and sighed. Here we go.
“Like we said,” Davy began with shrug. “She got jumped, but Lila, myself, and snake-eyes came to the rescue.”
“Yes, and this was after teleporting to the rainbow waterfall with the magical glowing flowers?”
“Yup.” Davy raised a brow and added, “I’m not getting what you’re not getting.”
Flora’s mother groaned and put her hand on her forehead. “Davy, I’d rather not have to keep drug tests on hand when you come home.”
“I’m not—” Davy started. “Hey, I’m a good kid. And Lila says she didn’t even roofie me.”
“For god’s sake,” Mr. Fray’s voice thundered, slamming his fork down for effect. “You really expect us to believe that this stranger, who I found standing over my daughter in blood-stained clothing, has nothing to do with her injuries?”
“Dad, come on—” Flora started.
“It’s just a goddamn coincidence,” Mr. Fray seethed, “that he comes into existence when something bad happens?”
Noec coughed and dropped his cup of water, soaking his fresh set of clothes. Red-faced, he dove to catch the glass before it rolled away, but his eyes failed him, and he only swatted the glass onto the floor, where it shattered before Mr. Fray’s feet.
There was no horror in the world greater than the look in Noec’s eyes as he looked up.
“Please forgive me,” Noec said quickly, crouching down and picking up shards of glass with his wet napkin as Flora’s mother rushed to the kitchen to grab a towel.
Davy awed at the fumbling specimen before them. “Like a human banana peel,” he said quietly.
Mr. Fray looked down at Noec with raised brows, taken off guard.
“Arrest him, officer!” Davy commanded, pointing. Breaking into laughter, he barely managed, “Clearly, he’s a menace to society.”
Flora was frozen, torn between the urge to laugh and cry.
Mr. Fray scoffed, his glare flicking to Flora. “Oh, and I’m just supposed to accept that you’ve been sneaking out every night for years to see… this kid?”
Cry. She wanted to cry.
“And—”
“Enough.” Mrs. Fray threw a towel on the floor, then glared up at her husband. “Maybe Flora’s dealt with enough attacks today, Alan.” She gestured for Noec to return to his seat and took away the remnants of glass.
“I’m just…” Mr. Fray rubbed his brows after a moment. “I’m trying to understand what the hell is going on.” His glare flicked between his daughter and Noec, and he sighed heavily. “I need to know if I ought to believe this kid or shoot him.”
“Shoot him,” Davy goaded obnoxiously under his breath. Noec breathed a quiet, uneasy sound.
“Believe him,” Flora grumbled. “Noec couldn’t tell a lie to save his life.
” She clenched a fist under the table as her mother returned to her seat.
“Everyone just… give me a second to think,” she said, rubbing around the painful bruise on her head.
Overwhelmed and underprepared, Flora took a deep breath and let go.
“Every night when I fall asleep here, I wake up in another world.”
Mrs. Fray raised her brows and Mr. Fray sighed.
“Flora,” her father said. “You need to take this seriously, you?—”
“I am taking this seriously, Dad. Padding my bed with pillows. Never doing sleepovers. Always locking my bedroom door. I’ve been taking this seriously for twelve years.”
Flora sighed and rubbed her forehead with both hands. “It doesn’t matter if you believe me. This is my life.”
Mrs. Fray cleared her throat loudly, and after catching her glance, Mr. Fray sighed and prompted Flora to continue.
So, Flora told a story that started twelve years ago. In a blur of words, she tried to provide more than a decade of context as her parents stared at her with puzzled expressions. Finally, the words stopped flowing, and a long silence followed.
Still, there was a look of encouragement in Noec’s eyes, and a weight Flora hadn’t realized was there suddenly felt lighter on her shoulders.