Chapter eighteen. (Part two.)

The long awaited… Chapter 18 (part two)! Okay, I shan’t say anything to prolong the wait.
Okay, so I just did. Never mind.

 

“It was Mike, I know.”

“What?” Chris’s eyes riveted on bro. “How did you…”

“You had a dream,” I stated, leaning back into my chair. Why was I so certain he’d had a dream?

It was three days after the whole supposed dream, which, as it turned out, wasn’t a dream after all. So what was the actual dream about? And the voice in my head? The voice which sounded vaguely like bro’s voice? What was that about?

Bro seemed surprised. “Yes.”

“It was about me,” I hesitated for a while, “and Chris.” You’re saying that bro “saw” you the way you did him? Without any evidence? But what evidence would there have been?

My brother gawped at me.

Chris stared at both of us. “Am I missing something here?”

My mind loathed to set out on the path before me, but unfortunately there was only one path. And that path was going to be illogical, confusing, and above all, a complete mystery. Something I loved to solve, but hated to be in.

I began walking down the pathway anyway.

Let’s see. I had a dream about my brother that supposedly came true. And my brother had a dream about me which seemed to be true. Logically speaking, the dreams we had must be complete coincidences. Either that, or… or what? I could not begin to think what else it might have been. That it was real? That I was somehow connected telepathically to my brother? I discounted that possibility immediately. If I was indeed connected to my brother’s thoughts and senses in any way, why hadn’t I experienced this before? It just didn’t make sense; the whole idea was just absurd.

But what was I to make of the voice? A figment of my imagination? Or was my whole life just a dream I was still caught in? If that were the case, who was I?

And how did my brother know that it was Mike?

“Did you hear yourself say anything?” I questioned.

Chris became even more confused. “What?”

My brother looked at me sharply. “No. I mean yes, I suppose.”

“I am missing a lot,” Chris muttered. He leaned back on the chair beside my brother’s bed.

“Chris, could you… get out of the room for a while?” My brother muttered.

“Um, okay.”

He waited till the door snapped shut. The room was really empty, the other beds were all unoccupied.

“What’s happening?” His voice was sharp.

“I don’t know.”

“I had a dream about you talking to Chris. Complete with your thoughts.”

My blood chilled. With my thoughts? What had I been thinking then? But more importantly, what significance did this hold?

“You were me?”

“No. I mean, yes, but I was still myself,” Bro murmured

“You mean you were me, but could still think for yourself.”

“Exactly. You had a dream too?”

I hesitated. This was not going the way it should have gone. This was completely irrational. “Tell me, did Mike do this to you?”

He frowned. “You had a dream too.”

I bit my lip. There might be a way to get evidence after all.

“You were thinking about David Attenborough, weren’t you?” My face was dead serious. Please say no.

“Yes.”

Another coincidence? It was highly unlikely, but still in the realm of possibility.

“Madagascar?”

He frowned. “Yes. And you were cursing.” A hint of a smile lifted his lips slightly. “Hey, could you say eejit for me please?”

I glared at him. “No, you eejit.”

He laughed. Then his laugh transformed into a muffled hiss.

“You are an eejit.” I hovered at his bedside, watching him finger his rib.

“And so are you,” he managed to gasp. “You’re really hopeless, sis. Why don’t you just kiss Chris?”

My face took on a guarded expression. Heck. What had I been thinking then? “What do you mean…”

“Don’t try to deny anything, sis. I know what you’ve been thinking. And I know you really like Chris. But I don’t understand why you’re not responding.”

“Responding? To what?”

“Oh, you’re hopeless.”

I blinked.”I know I am.”

He looked at me incredulously. “I didn’t really mean that. But… oh, forget it.”

I arched my eyebrow. “Okay then. Back to the topic. The dreams. Or premonitions, if they were really real. Though it’s too much of a coincidence for it not to be real. Well, I suppose there might be instances like this every thousand years or so, but the probability of such a coincidence being real is rather high. Actually, we have two such coincidences here, so taking into account the peculiar timing of the dreams, the probability of this happening…”

He blinked. “Wait. Stop. Will you please speak English?”

“I was speaking English.”

“And I actually understood what you were saying.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Well then…” Bro’s sarcasm and my lengthy lecture on probability? On news hour tonight: creature feature! A new species of a cross between Sus scrofa domestica and Deomidea exulans has been discovered! Right. “The dreams are too much of a coincidence for them not to be real.”

“Define reality.”

“Existing, a fact, not imaginary, genuine. In mathematical terms, a real number…”

“English, please,” my brother reiterated.

“Right. I don’t think the dreams are figments of our imagination.”

Bro laughed weakly. “My imagination’s not that good.”

“Well, I was hoping that it was.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, then.”

We were silent for a while.

“What do you think…” Bro began.

A light knock on the door interrupted him.

A nurse poked her head into the room. “Visitor hours are over, young lady.”

I suppressed the overwhelming urge to react impolitely to her unfortunate word usage.

“Just for another moment, please. He’s my twin.”

“Twin? You don’t look alike.” Smiling, the nurse went into the room. I took a closer look at her.

“Ms Summers?” I blurted.

“How… Oh, you were the one in Ward… what’s the number again?”

“23.”

“Ah yes. That’s right. I’m glad to see you well again. How are both of you?”

“We’re both fine, thank you.” Bro replied with a reassuring smile.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. But don’t take long, your boyfriend’s waiting for you outside.”

“He’s not…” I began, but Ms Summers had already pranced out of the room.

Bro laughed. “Heck, even a nurse knows…” he trailed away under my withering glare. “All right, all right. I’ll just say I think you should go home now.”

“Right. Get well soon, then.”

“You too.”

 

Well. The rubbish I originally intended to include at the beginning officially starts here. (I don’t know why it has to be official myself. That’s probably included to waste energy typing. To what end? I have absolutely no idea.)

Enough rubbish. Now you know why I’ve been putting off this chapter. Hmm, I seem to like putting off chapters. Hope the later chapters will be more appealing to me.

Anyway, I have decided not to crap too much, pardon my language. Well, if you really insist, I have decided not elaborate too much on trivial details and instead focus on the larger picture, the plot. So the next few chapters might be less crappy, though it still depends on my mood. I have been known to crap excessively when under stress.

Just wondering.

I realise that I am putting off writing the story. If you didn’t realise, the past few chapters (in fact, a lot of the chapters) can be deleted and it wouldn’t affect the storyline one bit. Well, maybe you couldn’t realise that because you still don’t know what the story’s about.
So it would help if you could just provide your opinion:
Should I crap a bit more (good for me) or just proceed on with the story?
(I think this is the shortest post ever.)

Chapter eighteen. (Part one.)

Sorry, Nooboet. I’ll stick to posting part-chapters for now, since… Oh god, I haven’t finished the Sicko assignment. It’s really making me sick. (That was a lousy attempt at making yongboon cringe. Did I succeed, I wonder?)

 

Chapter 18 –Realisation

 

“It was Mike.”

What?

I haven’t felt so much rage in a while. It was like a river bursting through a dam, flooding its banks with a ruthless ferocity. The merciless frothing waters destroyed everything in its way.

That included me.

Chris curses. Wow. I haven’t heard Chris curse much. Or sis either.

“I’m going to kill him,” he states vehemently.

I raise my eyebrow and stare at him.

He closes his eyes. “That was just an expression.” His voice was calm, though he was still seething.

If Chris doesn’t kill Mike, then I will.

I close my eyes, searching for the guilt lurking somewhere inside me. Guilt? What for?

“You’re regretting your decision,” Chris states. I feel a fleeting touch on my hand. Somehow it feels hot, in a really pleasant way. Oh no. I try to suppress the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. You’re trying to do what? I feel the heat going into my cheeks. Damn it, no. Wow, you actually cursed! Well, not out loud, I suppose. But what the hell are you cursing for? No, no, no!

“No.” My voice holds no emotion. Good. Control yourself. What for? Why are you controlling your emotions? To what end?

“Are you not?” The touch travels up my forearm slowly. Ah, the tingle feels good. No, please, no. Why the sudden iron wall? Damn dopamine. Damn? You’re really vulgar today, aren’t you? Dopamine… Some neurotransmitter or something? Why are you condemning something from one of your favourite classes? What does it do, anyway?

“No, I’m not. Really. As long as no harm befalls him.”

“Tell me, why are you defending him, of all things?”

He won’t understand. Neither do I, sis. For a sensible person, you’re talking absolute nonsense. Hey, that contradicts. I’m the one talking nonsense. But then I should say that’s less harsh for me, I’ve never been as wrought in reason as you.

“Katherine? You there?”

I take a deep breath. “Apparently.”

Chris chuckles drily. His chair creaks slightly. I open my eyelids slightly, and see him leaning on the bedrail with his forehead on his arm. A frown creases his forehead, and he bites his lower lip in deep thought. And that is all that makes me want to reply him. Weak. Pathetic. Nul! Sis? That’s not weak, that’s… Oh, don’t you know that you like Chris? A lot?

“I told you that I don’t want to get anybody in trouble.”

“But he hurt you.” His eyes flash as he regards me.

“I know.” Yeah, we know that too, sis. But why? Why don’t you want to get somebody who hurt you into trouble?

Chris frowns. “He hurt you and you don’t want to get him in trouble? That’s like somebody steals from you and you want to give him more money.”

I shrug.”Not exactly give him more money. I won’t probably report him, even if I caught him.”

Chris stared at me incredulously. I salute you, Chris. Sis, you’re hopeless! Do you even understand what you’re saying? Are you sure you didn’t suffer any brain damage?

“How much anaesthetic did they give you?”

I look deep into his eyes. Blue, troubled, confused. Warm. “I am sane, Chris, sane and conscious.” I closed my eyes. Are you? Are you sane, rational? Sis. You are such an idiot! You’re hopeless! Why don’t you not submit to your rationality or that stupid iron wall or whatever and just… just KISS HIM?

What?

My eyes snapped open.

“You okay?” Chris leaned forwards in his chair.

“Yes,” I replied. “What the hell just happened?” I muttered under my breath.

“What?” Chris stared at me. “Hey, you actually cursed.”

“I did,” I mused.

He continued to stare at me. “I think you should sleep off the anaesthetic.”

“I am not…” Wait. Was this a dream after all? Did Mike bash me up so bad that I’m still unconscious?

It made more sense that way, that’s for sure.

 

Now you know why I was putting off this chapter. Makes me want to puke just reading it. Bleargh…

Now I should be off to the assignment, shouldn’t I?

The amount of destruction I can wreak in a second

Most people who know me would say that I’m a not a destructive person. (That’s what I think. I suppose I’ll know what you think soon enough.)

Anyway, a personal anecdote from Haikou, Hainan:

Well, you know that my brother loves orchids, that he’s obsessed with them. He even talks to them sometimes, calling them “my darlings” or something equivalent to that. Naturally, when we got there, he went looking for the 花市. He found it on the third last day of the trip, near 解放西路, if I’m not mistaken, and bought a few orchid plants. (Incidentally, 新华书局 is along 解放西路. BOOKS! All of them Chinese though. DO YOU KNOW THAT I GOT A SET OF THREE FRENCH TEXTBOOKS FOR UNDER $11?! Sorry for that outburst, but it’s SUPER CHEAP! We bought SGD200 worth of books, that’s about 1K yuan. I got the Russian textbooks too, my mother bought Jap and Korean ones. Okay, enough of books.)

Besides buying orchids, he also bought a water pump/spray, those compact, handheld gizmos plant-lovers use for spraying fertiliser on their plants. It was about a metre long, maybe slightly shorter, made of a light metal, probably atomic number 13 (aluminium. No, it was stainless steel.), with a plastic nozzle at the end. All in all, it looked like an elongated balloon pump made of metal.

I discovered what was inside the primary metal casing.

So how did I exactly discover that? Let’s see. I was in the hotel’s lobby of sorts. The hotel had three main buildings, and we lived in the second block. So there wasn’t anyone on duty at the counter.The lobby had a set of sofas and a coffee table.

It also had a grandfather clock cum glass cabinet.

So I was toying around with the spray. One second everything was fine. The next?

All hell broke loose.

For some odd reason even I am unable to fathom, the spray just… broke into its separate components. BANG. Just like that. The outer metal casing went hurtling through the air. It banged against the glass door of the grandfather clock and rebounded, crashing down to the ground. I was left staring at the inner metal tubing. And the glass door…

Didn’t smash. Thank goodness.

A porter walked into the lobby at the moment. He was dumbstruck. But then he assessed the situation and found nothing to say, so he kept his mouth shut and walked back into the main building. I think he was too shocked to respond.

The nozzle, however, was shattered beyond repair. That’s what my brother thought. In actual fact, it shattered into a grand total of only two pieces, and could be repaired using duct tape fairly easily. Though of course that’s what he’d think. He didn’t scold me though. Not quite.

“你回去要换爸爸3元.” was all he said.

He bought another spray the next day.

Chapter 17

 This might be repetitive to some people…

 

Chapter 17 — Collateral damage

 

I’ll cut to the chase; there are too many things to write about these days.

Why didn’t they ever say we were from Dover?

Why did they lie?

Why… Oh, never mind. But why… Oh, shut up. Jeez.

Anyway, I checked my passport, after getting it from Mother. And, voila, it says right there that I’m born in the UK. I feel so stupid, so downright stupid. It’s been under my nose for all these years and I’ve never noticed it. No wonder Mother keeps it under lock and key, and never lets me have it unless we’re going on vacation. Come to think of it, we’ve never really gone out of the country before, except to France when I was five.

-

I walk along the road. The winds swirl like eddies around my feet. It is getting too cold for my liking. Wait, I love the cold. Too cold for the plants’ liking too. ’tis good that somebody invented greenhouses to warm the lovely plants. I look at the trees around me. Bare branches are silhouetted against the weak sunset. Autumn is drawing to a close, it’s going to be winter soon. Why must there be winter? What do you mean, why must there be winter? Winter’s the most interesting season of all! The snow, the cold…

I walk past the great big pond in the park. It’s starting to freeze at the surface. Wait. Isn’t that Nelumbo lutea? What in the world is that? The American lotus? Oh, so that’s it? Why, it is! But what’s it doing so far north? In Autumn? Well, let me get a sample of it… I lean over the pond to pluck the seed head. Come on, a little farther. Got it! Hmm, is my reach this long? I take a plastic bag out of my jeans pocket and carefully ease the seed head in. Perfect. Now I just need to head home and place it in water. Hope it grows, though. Might be a bit too cold now.

-

Anyway, I visited Katherine today, at the hospital, in the morning. Well, it was closer to dawn, actually. It’s a horror trying to flag a taxi at that time. Why won’t Father allow me to get a driver license?

I don’t know why I went there that early. Maybe it’s because I couldn’t sleep. It’s a common occurrence these few days, that’s for sure, I’m still quite angry at both of them, Father in particular. And I know he’s angry too, furious even. But he’s the one who started this, it’s his problem.

So I gave Katherine her homework - I don’t envy her, three calculus assignments in a row, Mr Thompson’s really evil - and we talked. I’m glad she’s better now. Mother was saying that the attack might have caused internal damage, that there might have been internal bleeding. Thank god there weren’t any complications. Else… There’d be a whole lot more assignments, I can say that for sure.

I just realised that Katherine still hasn’t told me who exactly chased her into the trees. The same group of muggers, a different group, or someone else altogether? Maybe I can wrest the information from her tomorrow. She might be a bit more forthcoming then… I don’t get her reluctance; somebody hurt her really bad, and telling on that person’s the fairest and most instinctive thing to do. You don’t try to shield the person who hurt you from punishment. If I were her, I’d be condemning the person by now. But then again, she has her reasons, I suppose. If anything, Katherine deals with her head more than her heart. She reasons things out, weighs every decision in her mind. I still remember the time when she stood outside the queue agonising over whether to buy a milkshake which cost $1:50 or just stick to the water cooler. In the end I think she stuck to the water cooler. I suppose it’s cheaper.

-

I walk along the road, fingering the seed head in my pocket. Maybe I’ll wait till next spring before I start planting the lotus. It may have a better chance of surviving then. I inhale the bitterly cold air. No, it will have a better chance then. Definitely. I’ll just have to wait for this horrible weather to begin and then pass. Horrible weather? Since when did I… Oh. I’m not me. American Lotus… I’m… my brother? What?

Of course, there is beauty in almost everything, every season. Cold is nice once in a while too, especially during summer. I love ice cubes in drinks in summer. Oh yeah! Definitely my brother. Funny why sis doesn’t really like ice cubes  when she loves winter so much. Talking about sis, who sent her into hospital, both times? I’ve talked to her about it, but she wouldn’t tell me. She didn’t tell Chris either. Interesting. I’d have told Sharron everything if she asked me anything. I wonder how close they are… What? Ugh. What is my brother thinking? They haven’t gone out much. According to Erica, they kissed at the party, but Sharron says they haven’t. Thank you, Sharron. I don’t know who to believe, but I’ll just hope for the best. Meaning?

Hey, isn’t that an orchid? Hmm, I suppose it’s quite near to the forest. Let’s see… I bend down to get a closer look. The orchid isn’t flowering as of now - it is late autumn, after all - but its leaves may be a form of identification. Hmm. I wonder if it’s Calypso Bulbosa? The fairy slipper orchid? It just may be, I suppose. I carefully place the diminutive orchid into another plastic bag. Good thing I remembered to get some more plastic bags this morning; I used up quite a lot of them yesterday. There are lots of interesting orchid specimens in the nearby forest. Lots of interesting plants too. It’s not as terrific as Madagascar, but it’s still better than Antarctica. Pity, though. Else my greenhouse would have been full to the bursting. I sincerely hope that that day will come soon. Madagascar? Jeez.

I stand up, stowing the orchid to a warm place. I sigh. Why must winter come so soon?

“Feeling dejected?”

I turn around instinctively.

“Oh, hello, sorry I didn’t see you here. You’re Mike Aston, I believe?” I remember seeing him in school. Isn’t he the one whom sis supposedly trashed?

“You believe correctly.” He looks at me steadily.

“Uh, that’s good. Are you here for the orchids too? Many of them here, you’re in luck.” I smile at him.

His look turns into a glare. “I am not here for orchids, you sissy.”

“I am not a sissy.” Wow, I’ve never heard you so enraged before. Liking plants has nothing to do with being a sissy! Call Sir David Attenborough a sissy then, why don’t you?

“Prove it.”

I suddenly find myself lying on the ground on my right side, gasping for breath. Oh, my poor plants! I hope I didn’t squash them. I finger the contents of my pocket. Everything seems intact, good. Everything, how about you? Forget the plants, you idiot!

“You’re not proving anything.”

His kick left me on the ground again.

“Neither are you, actually. Why are you doing this?” I stand up slightly unsteadily. Try to remain reasonable, keep a cool head. Try to use violence only when necessary. Excuse me? It’s almost a-life and-death situation here!

“Because of who you are!”

I duck under the blow.

“What do you mean, who I am?”

“Are you stupid?”

“I think you are.”

I aim a kick at him, then stagger backwards. Aim properly, bro. Focus. Heck, he’s good. Maybe too good.

“You dare to insult me?”

“It’s not an insult.” I bring my hand up to my nose. Something warm trickles onto my hand. Surprisingly, it hurts quite a lot.

He seems quite adept at glaring.

“It’s a proven fact.”

I find myself lying on the ground again. It hurts considerably more now. Well, obviously, you dimwit. When someone punches you, it hurts. I groan. I gasp for air. Funny, how there seems to be so little air around me. Bro, you there? Bro? Searing pain again. Is this what Katherine has been experiencing these few days? Don’t be an idiot, bro. Focus on Mike, not me. Fight him!

“… Katherine never … the message, did she? I didn’t think she would… I’ll be kind… for your information… your hands off my girls!”

I hear a thump through the loud whooshing sound.

All becomes silent.

Bro?

Bro!

“Bro!” I managed to lift my torso further than usual before somebody pushed me back onto the bed brusquely.

I gasped. The painkillers they were feeding me apparently did not work.

“What are you doing?” A low voice demanded.

“Where is bro? What’s happened to him?” I demanded incoherently.

“Katherine, what are you doing?”

I realised that in my panic, I was straining against the hands pushing me onto the bed. I relaxed slightly, leaning back into the bed. The hands stayed on my shoulders.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I stared up at the deep blue eyes. Deep blue? I looked at the clock on the bedside table. It read 19:03. I closed my eyes. I’d slept for a whole day, the pig my brother always claimed I was. Wait. My brother?

“Where is my brother?”

“He’s at home.”

“No he’s not.” I stared up at Chris.

“Yes, he is. Now rest.” His voice was a tad too reassuring.

“He’s in hospital, isn’t he?” I whispered.

“No. It’s just a bad dream, Katherine. Now get some rest,” he intoned. He stared into my eyes with a steely resolve.

I frowned, then closed my eyes. “He is in hospital.”

“Just rest, Katherine.” Chris murmured.

“I am resting. Now answer me. He is in hospital, isn’t he?” My voice remained quite steady, devoid of emotion. Looks like I was regaining my old composure.

“I didn’t know you could actually demand.”

“Just answer me.”

“How do you know whether he’s in the hospital?”

“Is he?” I peered up at him. He was frowning slightly. Then he caught me looking at him.

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am. And you’re supposed to be answering my question.”

We stared at each other.

“Impasse,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I looked away. His intense expression, coupled with his proximity, was making me flush. “You do know that satisfying my curiosity would aid in my recovery, don’t you?”

He glanced at me and sighed. “Your brother is in the hospital.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Why?” Please, no.

He hesitated.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

Then he relented, releasing my shoulders and slumping onto the chair beside the bed.

“He’s got a broken rib, maybe two. I don’t know, couldn’t see much just now.”

“When did he…”

“About five minutes ago. Your mother’s with him, I presume.”

I closed my eyes. Was my dream true after all?

Could dreams ever be true?

“How did you know…”

“I had a dream.” My voice was saturated with disbelief.

“About?”

“My brother.”

“Okay.” He nodded slightly. “What was he doing?”

I snorted slightly. “He was, as usual, collecting specimens of plants.”

“Collecting specimens?”

“That roughly translates to stealing from the environment.”

“I see. But what has that…”

“He got mauled,” I interrupted uncharacteristically.

Chris blinked. “By who?”

I dithered slightly. “Mike.”

His expression darkened. A frown creased his well-defined features. “He was responsible for landing you in hospital both times, wasn’t he?”

I looked away. “No.” It was true; he didn’t exactly do that.

Chris merely stared at me with an arched eyebrow. He didn’t buy my reply one bit.

I closed my eyes. No. You’d get Mike into trouble.

“Tell me,” he whispered beside my ear.

I stayed silent.

“Come on.”

Silence reigned.

“Why won’t you say who beat you up?”

“I suppose I don’t want to get anybody who was or were involved into trouble,” I said carefully.

He was silent for a while.

“What if I promise not to let trouble befall the person or persons in question?”

“You promise?”

“Yes. With my whole heart and soul.” He gazed into my eyes sincerely.

I hesitated slightly. Heck, I just couldn’t bear to see disappointment in those deep soulful eyes.

“It was Mike.”

Murder Mystery (Part three.)

Sorry for not updating earlier… Was trying to obtain some sources for the humanities assignment earlier. The opereative word being “trying”.

-

The first house on the next street proved to be the very address on the back of Salle’s card. And the shoeprints led to the front door too. Chris dismissed the notion that the old lady had been laying a false trail. Unless Salle was in league with the old lady? Possible, but unlikely.

The door opened, and Salle regarded him with a puzzled frown.

“Yes?”

Chris decided that he should play the part of the good citizen.

“I believe that this is yours?”

“My wallet! Where’d you get this?” She took the wallet from Chris and immediately began rummaging through the contents.

Apparently satisfied, she looked up and smiled for the first time. “Thank you so much. But where did you find this?”

“Oh, near the forest. Did you drop it?”

“The forest?” She was faintly puzzled. If she was indeed the murderer, she would do much better in the movie industry.

“Yes. I just happened to go for a stroll along Rowan Lane. Do you go there often?”

“Why, yes, I usually pass Rowan Lane to get to the bus stop, but I don’t usually go into the forest. Or the park, either.”

Chris decided to drop his pretence. This was going nowhere. Maybe the direct approach would work better. He put some steel in his voice. “Then why would you drop this along Rowan Lane, near the forest?”

Alisa Salle seemed genuinely confused. “I don’t know.”

“May I see your shoes please?”

“Is this an investigation?”

“Yes, Ms Salle.”

Alisa Salle stood to one side to let Chris in, wearing an impenetrable mask of puzzlement.

“My shoes are all here.” She gestured to the shoe rack beside the door.

Chris didn’t need long to figure out if she had been in the forest.

“This belongs to you?” He pointed at a pair of shoes with some amounts of mud on it. And a dark stain that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

Salle looked bewildered. “I… I don’t know why… “

“I’m afraid you will have to come with me.”

-

That’s all for now, I regret to say. Some minor adjustments needed for the next part.

Oh, and for the non-apes, please be informed that there will be an ape camp till wednesday, so don’t bother checking till 4/6.

Chapter sixteen. (Part three.)

Okay, okay, I’m posting something.

And…

Muahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

This post won’t answer most of your questions. On the contrary… Never mind. Chia2 should be bristling by now. Surprise, surprise. (Yes, I know I’m getting really evil nowadays.)

Anyway…

-

 

For once, I woke up to see the sunrise. The first rays of the sun shone through the considerable gap in between the curtains, painting the walls a pale shade of pink, then orange, and finally, yellow. Somehow, I didn’t seem to mind the pink as much as I would have normally; I thought that it was beautiful, interestingly. Perhaps it was the sedatives they’d put into me for the stitching. I watched the patients snooze peacefully around me. There were six beds in total, of which two were unoccupied. I watched as the light touched the face of the girl who was nearest to the window. Her hair lit up lit up immediately, turning pure white. It was almost as if her hair was made from pure sunlight. She flinched as the light intensified, and tried to turn her face away unsuccessfully; she was wearing a neck brace. I frowned.

Then a sharp intake of air shattered the silence.

I bit my lip. She didn’t stir. I relaxed once again. How could I forget I was injured? Gingerly, I touched the bandages on my wound. I groaned internally. How was I going to draw the curtains shut in my current condition?

The answer came a few seconds later. It resolved the problem, in a twisted sense of the word, however.

“Good morning!” piped up a cheery voice. “Awake, are you?”

A nurse strode into the room cheerily. The girl with the neck brace woke up instantly.

“What?” She mumbled, clearly disoriented.

“Good morning!” the nurse repeated.

“Um, good morning…” she stared at the nurse. “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” she replied kindly. “How’s your neck?”

“Bit stiff.”

“Oh, it’ll be right as rain in a few days, don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

The nurse began adjusting the covers of the two sleeping girls. I stared at her and the snoozing patients. It was a wonder that they hadn’t woken up when she’d practically burst into the room with so much enthusiasm.

“Hi.”

I turned to the girl beside the window. “Hello,” I began uncertainly.

“My name’s Rebecca. What’s yours?”

“I’m Katherine.”

“Katherine! Ooh, that’s a nice name.”

“Um, thank you.” I was getting a trifle embarrassed. “Your name has a nice ring to it as well.”

“Thanks!” Her smile lit up the entire room. “So why are you…”

“Breakfast, girls?” The nurse chirped brightly.

I frowned. Why did she have to use the term ‘girls’?

“Okay then,” Rebecca replied cheerily.

I merely nodded.

The nurse skipped out of the room.

I stared at her, ridicule on my face.

“So, why are you here? Some idiot bashed my neck pretty well when I was walking along the road.”

“Just like that?”

“Yep. I didn’t even see his face.”

“What did he do to you then?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yep. Except next to dislocating my neck.”

I grimaced. “Oh, right.”

“Yep… How about you? You’ve got bruises on your neck.”

“Yes…”

“Someone strangled you?”

“Partly.”

“Have you got a neck injury as well?”

“Not exactly… I’ve got a cut.”

“A cut?”

She got off her bed quite easily and crossed the aisle between the beds.

“Yes, a cut.”

She arched her eyebrows. “A teeny one?”

“No.” I pulled off the covers and showed her the bandages.

“Oh, you poor thing!” She gushed, hand hovering above my wound. I realised that the bandages were a bit bloody.

“It’s quite alright now…”

The door opened again as the nurse came in with two trays of food.

“Here you go! Breakfast! Today’s menu is… egg sandwich!” Her perkiness didn’t affect me one bit.

She placed the trays on the tables at the end of our beds.

“Come on, eat up!”

I tried to rise, but stopped as I felt the pain. How was I to get up?

“I’ll be back in five minutes!” The jolly nurse went out of the room.

Rebecca devoured her sandwich with gusto. “Come on, Kath, eat up!”

“I can’t get up.” I closed my eyes. Even my voice felt hollow to me.

“Oh.” She sat at the edge of her bed for a while, thinking. Then she pranced over and pressed a button outside the bed.

“How’s this?”

I stifled a moan of pain as I clenched my abdomen muscles instinctively. The bed folded up slowly.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She pushed the table nearer to me and I began eating.

Then I realised that the bed hadn’t stopped moving. I was getting pressed into the table.

“Uh.” I looked at the controls wildly and pressed a likely button. Thankfully, it stopped. But I was still stuck in an awkward position, and the pain was coming back.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t know… Ah, that’s better, yes?” Rebecca tweaked the controls skilfully.

“Thank you.” I gratefully began eating again.

The door opened again and the nurse came up to us.

“Finished?”

She took Rebecca’s tray and waited for me to finish. I looked at her name tag.

“Um, Ms Summers, how long have I been in here?”

“Oh, a day or so. And another day in the… what’s it called again? Oh, my memory’s failing.  Getting old. Anyway, it’s something to do with cuts and bruises. Hmm. Need to ask the higher-ups.” She beamed at me with great zeal.

“Oh, okay…”

“Well, I’ll be off now. I’m supposed to be stationed at the ICU.”

I watched her walk breezily out of the room. I closed my eyes. My mind had more or less reverted to its usual state by then; the drugs had finally worn off.

“So how did you get the cut?”

“Got cut by a knife or something,” I replied.

“You cut yourself?”

“No. Somebody tried to stab me, supposedly.” I made the bed flat again, stretching my arms above my head and yawning. Hmm, what time was it? I looked at the clock beside the bed. 4:30 in the morning? Wow, that had to be a first. Then I saw the date on the clock and gasped.

November 22?

“Something wrong, Kath?”

“Today’s the 22rd?”

“Yep.”

I closed my eyes again. How many days had passed? I heard the door open, and opened my eyes to regard the nurse.

Only to see Chris walking purposefully albeit nervously towards me.

“Katherine, you’re awake, good.”

My brow furrowed. “Chris? Why are you here?”

“What does it seem like?” He arched his eyebrow, handing me a folder.

I rifled through it and grimaced.

“An essay on the influence on Cezanne and his influence on other… Three whole assignments for Calculus?” My voice was tinged with horror.

“You did miss a grand total of three days of school…”

I groaned miserably.

“My sympathies to you, Kath,” Rebecca muttered. “Calculus at your age? Wait, how old are you? And who’s the new arrival?”

“Sixteen,” I replied. “Seventeen next March.”

“I’m Chris.” They shook hands.

“Rebecca. Pleased to meet you.”

“Same here.”

“So,” Rebecca began, “Anything going on?”

“Um, I suppose there’s Thanksgiving today,” I muttered as I placed the folder on the table beside the bed. I saw Rebecca smack her forehead out of the corner of my eye.  What was she up to? Then I frowned. “Chris, why are you here so early in the morning?”

“Like you said, it’s Thanksgiving today.”

“So?”

“There’s no school.”

“Okay. So?”

“Well, I just thought…” He pulled a chair beside me and plopped down.

“Um, I think I’ll go brush my teeth… Egg sandwich…” Rebecca went into the toilet.

Chris snorted lightly. “Such subtlety.”

“Subtlety?”

“I think the drugs haven’t fully worn off.”

“What?”

“Not fully awake, are you?” He smiled slightly. “No matter. How’s your wound?” He placed his fingers lightly on my abdomen.

I frowned. “It’s quite alright… You haven’t answered my question. So what if there’s no school?”

“Well, I’m free to go as I please.”

“But it’s 4:30am,” I pointed out, yawning.

“All the better to visit you.”

“But how’d you get in here? Visitor hours are…”

“I said I was looking for my father.”

“Your father?”

“He’s a neurosurgeon.”

I goggled at him.

“I’ve never told you that?”

“No.”

“Anyway, talking about my father…” His voice was tight. His expression darkened, and he looked away.

I hesitated for a while. “So you’re from Dover?”

“Apparently so,” he muttered, face devoid of emotion.

“Which part of Dover?” I ventured.

“We haven’t got to that part yet. Father’s been avoiding me these past few days. Mother’s been filling me in on my life back there, like the fact that the whole family came here when I was three.” His voice was emotionless yet again. I sensed that he was holding back a whole lot of emotions.

I stayed silent.

He sighed. “But why? Why did they keep this from me all these years?”

“Maybe they wanted you to settle in better?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

 

 

-
Don’t expect too much over the next few days.

Murder Mystery. (Part two.)

The second installment… I really hope you won’t get stuck up a hundred-metre tree.

“You really didn’t hear any gunshots on Sunday?”

“No.”

The door slammed right into Chris’ bewildered face. He sighed, and started walking to the house next door. The case, as it turned out, was not as easy as it had seemed before. After reading the report on Thompson’s death, he had come straight to the crime scene to look for further forensic evidence. The result was the same as when he had first been called to the scene. He could still recall the image of the woman sprawled on the icy ground, with her hands at her side. Her blood had formed a pool around her before it had congealed, with an icy like consistency. But wait – that didn’t seem to be right. Chris paused on the doorsteps leading to the next house, lost in his contemplations.

The door opened, startling him.

“May I help you?” A kind-looking old woman asked him.

“I presume that you didn’t hear a gunshot yesterday?”

“No, I didn’t. But I did hear someone in the trees when I was in the garden.”

“When would that be?”

“In the evening, around six or so.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And if my eyes weren’t wrong – and they very well might be – I saw a figure going out of the trees afterwards. She went that way.” The lady pointed further down the road.

“She?”

“Yes. She was quite young, not an old dodder like me. Slim, average height, fair hair.”

“How did you know she was young?”

“Oh, easy, she wasn’t stooping like me, and she ran like the wind.”

“Was she carrying anything?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I see. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Chris strode off in the pointed direction, partly to please the old lady, partly to check if there were any footprints left in the snow. He was sure that the lady meant well, and was genuinely trying to help him, but still…

He trudged on, scrutinising the snow near the forest. It was a good thing that there hadn’t been a snowfall since yesterday.

Then his sharp eyes picked out some impressions on the soft snow. Slightly bloody shoeprints. It fit what the old lady had said. He took some photographs, going over the possibilities in his head. He supposed that the old lady herself could have created the shoeprints, but he’d checked her shoe size when he’d been talking to her. Her feet were absolutely huge. These shoeprints were very small. And besides, they were the sort that belonged to someone who was running, and Chris couldn’t imagine the old lady doing anything except ambling. Unless she asked someone to lay the trail for her?

Then his eyes picked out something else in the snow: a leather wallet.

With growing excitement, Chris stepped off the road, and carefully trod onto the snow. It probably belonged to a woman, he thought, as he strapped on his examination gloves and proceeded to lift any fingerprints off the wallet and inside it as well. He would send the results back to his department for further analysis later. Then with great care, he flipped it open and went through its contents. A stack of notes… Some receipts… Coupons…

An identity card.

He peered at the slightly intimidating woman with piercing blue eyes staring up at him. Fair hair? Check. Slim? Looked like it. Well, at least she wasn’t plump in the photograph. He flipped it over to find a piece of paper attached to the card. It conveniently provided the cardholder’s address. If this was a setup, it was an extremely elaborate one. It seemed that he was going to pay Alison Salle a visit.

 

 

Well then, I’m still at Chapter 16 for twins. (I don’t really like that name… Hmm, I won’t provide what I really like now, for the sole evil purpose of seeing you dangle high up in the air. Heh.)

 

Chapter sixteen. (Part two.)

 Part two… Actually, I wanted it to be part two and part three, but I figured that you’d all like a long post. Well, most of you.
Besides, it is the June holidays! (I wonder if that’s grammatically wrong. Someone enlighten me.)

 

Mr Kendrew motioned for him to stop. “How did you get in here? Get out.”

“What?”

“I said get out.”

“But… we were from Dover? Isn’t that in England”

“Get out. Now!”

Chris stood there, staring.

“This is why you’ve never let me in here?” His voice was strangely flat.

Silence prevailed.

The whiteness cleared, and I saw the room clearly for the first time.

The ceiling was pure white. So were the walls. Cabinets were pushed to the sides of the room, with a desk groaning under the weight of thick volumes beside the door. There was an enormous microscope on a worktable at the other end of the room, and some expensive-looking equipment that belonged solely to research laboratories or hospitals. There was an examination bed.

I was on it.

A sudden, irrational fear sent me trying to get out of the room. I almost managed to lift my torso off the bed, but gasped as the pain lanced through me again.

“Katherine!”

Mr Kendrew hissed as Chris strode urgently towards me.

“I told you to get out!”

Chris stood beside the bed with his back facing his father and stared woodenly at the far wall. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed slightly.

“Not unless you tell me about being from Dover,” he said impassively.

“Chris.” Mr Kendrew’s tone became icy. He glared at his son. I could feel the tension crackling in the air.

“Go on.” Chris spoke through his teeth. He glared at the wall opposite him. Then he relaxed slightly. He put his arm under my back, lifting me up so that Mrs Kendrew could bandage the wound. He pointedly ignored his father; his piercing blue eyes scorched a hole through the far wall. Then he looked down at my wound. His eyes narrowed again.

“What happened?”

I closed my eyes. Should I tell him the truth? But then Mike would get into a lot of trouble.

“Was it the muggers again?”

I didn’t respond.

His aquamarine eyes were locked on mine when I opened them. His expression softened, and he leaned over me.

“Or was it someone else?”

I sighed. To tell or not to tell, that was the question.

He peered expectantly at me through a lock of hair falling over his eye. Then it was his turn to sigh.

“I suppose you wouldn’t want to put the blame on anyone specifically.”

I frowned. How had he known that?

His lips curled up slightly at the corners. Then Mrs Kendrew finished with the bandaging and he eased his arm out from under my back.

There was an uncomfortable silence again. Chris stared at me, still paying his father no heed.

“So, was it someone from…” he began.

He was interrupted by a loud meow.

I turned in the direction of the sound. A ball of white fur stood in the doorway. I wouldn’t have thought it a cat if not for its meow. It sauntered over to Chris.

“Get that out. Now!” Mr Kendrew spat.

Chris stiffened. He didn’t respond.

“Chris, get that thing out.” He was bristling.

“Tell me about Dover then.”

“I… All right. We - that is, your mother and I - studied there. That’s all there is to it. Now get that thing out!”

Chris finally turned in his father’s direction. He crossed his arms, glaring at the floor. “I don’t think so.”

“I told you, that’s all there is to…”

“No.” Mrs Kendrew butted in.

“What?” Her husband spluttered.

“I think we should tell Chris everything, Parker.”

Mr Kendrew took a deep breath, his expression livid. Then he let it all whoosh out. “You tell him, then.”

He strode out of the room. Waves of anger emanated from him. There was something else too. Fear?

All eyes fell onto Mrs Kendrew.

She sighed.

“I’ve been wanting to say this for so long, Chris.”

“That you were from Dover?” His voice became milder.

“Yes, and that…” She looked out of the room, sighing. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now, since you already know half of it. The thing is, we, and when I say “we” I mean all of us, including you, were from Dover.”

That explained a lot.

Chris stared at his mother in silence. “I’m an American citizen. It’s on my passport.”

“Ah, that. But you were born in England.”

“You told me that I was born in America.”

“I did.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“That…”

The doorbell rang.

“What’s happened this time, Mr Kendrew?” My mother’s voice sounded from somewhere… above me? Was I in the basement?

“I’m afraid the wound opened up again, Mrs Brown.”

I closed my eyes in trepidation. Should I explain everything to Mother? Or should I just pretend to be asleep?

I decided to try the latter.

I heard my mother’s voice again in a matter of ten seconds. “Katherine!”

I stayed silent.

I felt her presence by my side.

“Oh Kath, what did you do again?” She must have bent over me at that point, the harsh ceiling light was partly obscured.

“What happened?” She demanded again.

“According to Mr Spallanzani, some muggers chased Katherine into the trees.”

“The same ones who attempted to stab her?” My mother interrupted.

“I’m not sure…”

My mother suddenly straightened. “Well, where are they then?”

“Um, they …”

“Where are they? I’m going to…”

“Calm down, Mrs Brown,” Mr Kendrew spoke in a soothing tone.

“The… the … they…” My mother spluttered.

“We can’t do anything, and we don’t know where they are, Mrs Brown,” Mrs Kendrew asserted. “Just keep calm, the ambulance’s coming.”

 

I shan’t disclose much more… I think.
I realise that the post’s not exactly as long as it would have been had I been generous and posted a whole chapter. Not that I’ve finished Chapter sixteen.

Indecisive. As usual.

This is a response to Yongboon’s comment that I’m extremely interested in foreign languages.

-

Let’s see.

I obviously know English.

And Chinese, though to a certain limited extent, I might add.

Some Malay, enough to get by.

A teeny bit of French.

Oh, and I’m trying to learn Russian.

Not to mention Gaelic.

-

Now do you understand why the post’s entitled “Indecisive”, of all things in the world? Why in the world am I trying to learn six languages at the same time? (Though I haven’t really touched on French for a very long time, so make that around five or four.) But still… What with Yongie and my PRC friend-cum-classmate (name censored due to privacy issues) teaching me Japanese… Oh no. Am I thinking of learning seven languages? Oh no oh no oh no.

Don’t worry. I probably won’t learn Japanese in the near future. Have to get my Chinese up to scratch first. Hmm, after that maybe I’ll dabble with French… Or Russian or Gaelic or Malay. Spanish… Italian… Oh. At the rate I’m going I’ll be listing every single language here. Some Urdu… Welsh? Finnish?

I was just joking.

And since I can’t really learn Russian and Gaelic (see the BBC website for Gaelic if you want to, they have an excellent coverage of words, etc.), my brain probably wouldn’t burst, so don’t fear for your life if you’re going to sit next to me during ape class.

Well, at least you don’t have to fear for anything right now.