Chapter 19: The Return

I don't remember the day my grandfather died. I remembered the days leading up to his funeral, the grey skies, the mournful atmosphere in the house, the way my mother kept rearranging the furniture, my father didn't talk much. Christine and Adam wore black for a week straight, they turned down playdates and sleepovers and refused to eat anything except for dino-shaped mac-n-cheese. I was the only Macintyre who seemed to be dubious to the shift in mood. I continued to run around the house, playing with my toys and begging my mother schedule playdates for Nic and me. I guess that's why she eventually shipped me off to my grandmother's house for the remainder of the week.

Grams reaction was no more sympathetic than mine. She seemed almost delighted by the unfortunate death of her ex-husband as she entertained me with nights out at the theatre and brand new toys. Of course, when the occasional neighbor stopped by to drop off a casserole and her condolences, Grams played the part. She'd looked down at the ground, her face drooping with mock sadness but that look only lasted as long as the neighbor's stay.

My grandfather's death reminded me of the celebrity deaths listed in tabloids, people who I vaguely knew but hardly made an impact on my life. So when I found myself sitting in Ms. Kandel's office at the tender age of fourteen, faced with the question of past experiences with death I did not bother to mention my grandfather. I sat in Ms. Kandel's dull office everyday at four, after school, for six months. My mother had insisted on my participation in those sessions to help me and I quote, "move on like the rest of us" after Grams passed. The rest of my family followed a similar pattern of mourning as they did for my grandfather. Christine and Adam wore black and canceled their plans with friends for a week, my mother rearranged the furniture and my father retreated to his study, refusing to speak.

I spent most of those days in Grams attic. My body folded into the fetal position as I rocked myself to sleep on her favorite wooden rocking chair, the one with floral decals. I didn't go to school and my mother didn't make me, rather she seemed relieved to not have me in her immediate presence. It was only after weeks turned to months and rumors of depression began to circulate her prayer circle did I find myself sitting in front Ms. Kandel.

Ms. Kandel was a recent graduate of Montana State University, she kept her golden locks twisted back in a ballerina-type bun and her nails painted a charming blush color. It was rumored she spent her lunch breaks beneath the desk of Mr. Arnold, our principle, and that special arrangement had something to do with her sudden employment at the school. It made sense to me, seeing how little experience she had with teenagers or psychology.

"You know Ms. Macintyre, as humans we often look at death as this horrible concept." She lounged back in her leather chair with a cigarette hanging from her limp hand. "Something special has been taken from us. Something we can never get back. We focus on the loss, death, and eventually we forget to remember their life and the joy it once brought us."

I wondered if the administration knew that she was trying to patch up traumatic experiences by plagiarizing chinese fortune cookies and I wondered if they would even care if they did know. The teachers, principals, superintendents and moms of the PTO didn't actually care about the wellbeing of the students but they did a damn good job making it look as if they did. The cracks in their facade only showed when a student was confronted with a real issue. Like when Asher Foxx disappeared to the nearest OSCF, leaving his little sister Eileen to suffer the consequences. The haunted whispers and incessant bullying which followed her through the halls, made many question her health. Teachers often found her skipping classes, eating lunch in the bathroom and crying in between block periods. They offered her their condolences and tried to be lenient with their late policies but when it came to confronting the real issue, the issue of her sudden loss, no one seemed willing to step up.

"It hurts to much to remember now," I said.

In those months, I couldn't bring myself to recall any fond memories with Grams, knowing I'd ultimately be confronted with the damaging memory of her cold, unmoving face. I was the one who found her. Lying haphazardly across the floor of her attic, her crocheted shaw rested several inches away from the body. When I entered the room her rocking chair was still swaying back and forth. Looking back on that day, I could only wish that I had arrived a minute or two sooner. Maybe then I could have helped or held her in my arms as she passed. But at that moment I was only able to scream.

"Maybe we can do another exercise." Ms. Kandel was always trying to get me do these stupid journels or puzzels which ended up causing more frustration than needed.

"No." I shook my head in protest, glancing at the clock. "I want to leave."

"Ms. Macintyre listen," I hated that patronizing tone.

Knocking a metal folding chair to the ground as I stood, I jabbed an accusatory finger in her direction.

"No. Listen to me, for once, this isn't going to get better. This isn't something a stupid puzzle can fix, she's gone and it's all my fault." My throat grew thick as tears welled in my eyes.

"Ms. Macintyre," she sighed, "you can't blame yourself for your Grandmother's death. We've talked about this. The Lord has plans for us beyond our control."

I looked past Ms. Kandel, staring at the beaded rosary and the framed picture of Jesus situated in the middle of her desk. She liked to talk about him often, the Lord and Jesus Christ, as if the simple mention of their name was enough to ease my pain. It wasn't.

"It wasn't her time to go yet." I wrapped my arms around my waist.

She looked down her manicure, picking at her chipped nails. "Is there ever a good time for someone to go?"

——————-

As I trudged through the forest I was only capable of remembering two things.

First, Joan was dead.

And second, I was the one to kill her.

Tears blurred my vision, turning the forest into a kaleidoscope made of opal and smoky quartz. I tripped more than once over exaggerated cedar roots, leaving my kneecaps a bloodied mess. Snake holes littered the forest floor like landmines. One wrong step left my foot tangled in mud and vines. I wanted the hole to be bigger, so it could swallow my whole body rather than just my foot. Like Alice in Wonderland I could disappear into a world far below the ground where talking rabbits drink tea and celebrate a lifetime of eternity and where no one, especially children, do not die.

I stopped walking when it began to snow. Snow drifted from the sky like bits of cotton, melting on my bare scalp. Slumbing against the trunk of a tree, I wrapped my arms around my legs and bowed my head to my knees. Dry sobs racked my body as my tears froze on the planes of my cheeks. As the sun awoke from its slumber the sky above turned a dusty rose color, meaning my time to escape the first Aptitude Trial was running out. In less than an hour, the Commander would release his hellhounds upon this forest, sniffing out any straggling survivors and I would quickly find myself staring at a horde of angry bullets.

It's not exactly an ideal death, if there even was such a thing, but as the minutes ticked by I began to make amends with the inevitable. At least then, the pit of unease which grew in my stomach would finally dissipate.

"P-Phe..." a broken cry called for me in the distance.

Maddened by my grief, I began to sob harder believing that I was hearing a ghost. The voice of my past friend.

"Joan?" I called back.

My heart tugged painfully at the thought of her potential survival. Maybe I didn't kill her, maybe her sudden change had simply knocked her unconscious. That seemed plausible. And maybe she followed my anguished sobs through the woods, in hopes of finding me. Before I could further delude myself an image appeared in the corner of my eye- a young girl standing a couple inches smaller than Joan with a bloodied arm cradled to her chest. The snow pelted her face, washing the blood and mud away, revealing her features. She had a strong nose with a wide, bulbous tip, overshadowing a bruised lip and a jaw sharp enough to slice butter. The features were unique and unsettling on the youthful face which bore them. The young girl approaching me looked like a wild animal, bruised, beaten, and seeking shelter. Her emerald eyes shimmered in the pale moonlight, revealing her true identity to me.

"Ana," I breathed, barely making a sound. Then louder, "Ana. You're alive?"

She stumbled forward before landing on my lap.

"What happened? Why are you still here?" She searched my body for any visible injuries but quickly realized that except for a few scrapes and bumps, I managed to escape unharmed.

"That thing," I began, unwilling to speak its name. "It attacked us shortly after Esther and J-Joan escaped."

"We had to split up. To keep everyone safe."

She shook her head. "So where is everyone else? Did they escape? Or did you guys just run in different direction and hope for the best?"

Ana didn't exactly seem particularly impressed by our attempt at heroism.

"We split up into pairs," I explained, "Paxton took Esther and Joan and I stayed to distract the demon."

"Demon?" Ana lifted a brow.

"The Daruma San." A shiver ran down my spine as Iwas confronted with memory of its ghastly figure.

"It's a ghost not a demon." Said Ana in a tone that sounded far too similar to her cousin's.

"But Paxton said-"

"That was your first mistake," She groaned, "Don't listen to Paxton. He's an idiot."

"You left me to depend on him," I reminded her.

I wouldn't really call Paxton Cortez an idiot but I would call him a guy trying to be confident in the worst of circumstances. Which allowed for him to fall into bouts of idiocy as he attempted to maintain his wits. I was freaking out over a monster chasing us in the woods and he supplied me with a perfectly good explanation for its existence. A demon, straight from the bible and hell, two things I had become familiar with. I was less familiar with ghosts.

"But we killed it." That thing died at the hands of Joan. I watched as she ripped out its jugular. Can ghosts be killed?

"That's not possible," Ana began to frantically search the forest. And then she asked the question I had been avoiding. "Where's Joan?"

My tongue grew heavy in my mouth. I looked away from her oppressive stare. "She uh-"

When it became clear that I was not going to her answer her question Ana slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cry. For a second, it almost looked like a tear escaped from her eye but if it did, she wiped it away as quickly as it fell. And then she stood to her feet.

"We need to move. We don't have much time and that thing is still out there."

A snarl sounded from the shadows as she lifted me off of the ground. We stared at one another the terror evident in our eyes. The Daruma San had returned.

**Ok so this is a bit of a filler chapter because I am on vacation and I have lost my ability to properly edit. Sorry for another cliff hanger again if I had more time to edit I would have changed the ending of this chapter a little but that, unfortunately, did not happen. Thank you so much for all of your support. I read all of your comments on the last chapter and I am try to saddened and apologetic by the pain it caused some. Joan was such a fun character and she will be missed.

On the flip side... Ana's alive?

Yeah. Ok. I get that, that doesn't make things better but I tried.

Thank you again!

XOXO,

Ro.**