Feather: Book One Page 10

  TRUTH

  When I woke in the morning I was surprised that I felt rested and calm, finding I had slept rather well considering the events of yesterday. After I left Sarah and Scott, things had become considerably less dramatic as I read my book and managed to relax. It was strange to be able to focus on reading. I was so used to the screaming of foster brothers and sisters and the crashing of cars, always pulling my attention away during a climactic scene.

  Falling asleep had been easier than expected and my dreams had been blank, nothing like the night before. There were no strange visits from Edgar, or anything else for that matter, which was a welcomed relief. The incident by the waterfall began to feel like a hallucination, my mind’s way of coping with all the change.

  I sat up with a burst of excitement, remembering that today Edgar was due back at the college and I was eager to find him and continue the questioning.

  I had decided as I fell asleep last night that I’d keep the incident in the woods a secret. It was stupid to compromise our somewhat interesting and budding relationship by showing Edgar he couldn’t trust me. I was sure that in time, the answers I wanted would also find their way to the surface.

  To my regret, I hadn’t been able to dig up any dirt on him yesterday as I’d planned. The grey figure in the woods had stolen my attention away from Edgar, bringing me a whole new set of things to ponder over with relentless distraction. Today however, I had a plan. It had occurred to me that the nurse was English, not that being English gave her much insight on ravens, but the raven that had been in the meadow had agreeably been from the same ethnic region. She had also seemed like a veteran here, and her comment about having other students visit her infirmary after bad encounters with Edgar had me curious.

  It was a perfect coincidence that it was time my stitches were removed from my arm. I had peeked under the bandages the day after the incident, only to find that it was already nearly healed, another strange thing about my existence. Ever since I can remember, I’ve healed very fast. I had broken my arm in the first grade when a kid named Andrew had teased and pushed me when the sandbox I was playing in turned to a flower box. A week later, my arm was already healed. But naturally, the doctors made me keep the cast on for another three weeks despite my whining. They were simply dumbfounded by the phenomenon and to my dismay, they wrote me into some stupid medical mystery journal.

  I jumped from bed with speed and went to the bathroom to wash my face. As I looked out the small window, I noticed it was a rather dreary day. The windows had fogged and I could feel a noticeable chill seeping through them as small drops of rain ran like tears down the glass. The wind from yesterday seemed to have brought the bad weather with it.

  I got dressed at a quick pace in anticipation for Scott’s arrival but as the morning drew on, I was surprised that he never came. I sighed with a hint of relief but also sadness at the fact that he and Sarah had probably hit it off playing Monopoly and I’d likely lost him as a constant friend and sidekick. Regardless, I now had a lot of free time to figure out my now complex life.

  After wasting half the morning with thinking, I finally emerged from the cabin, driven by hunger and an eagerness to gather my info. I strode down the path with a strong veracity toward the cafeteria. Most of the students had already come and gone so I walked straight to the counter and grabbed two apples, figuring I’d save one for later.

  As I chomped through the fresh crisp skin I walked back outside, chewing my apple in sync with my footsteps on the crunching gravel. It was somewhat disturbing that I was familiar with the location of the infirmary, especially since I’d never arrived there fully conscious.

  As I walked through the door, Nurse Dee looked up with the same happy smile as always, “Well hello there Miss.”

  “Hello Miss Dee.” I was trying to be as pleasing as possible so that she would allow me to pick her brain.

  “All healed already?” She gave me a perplexed and doubtful look.

  I tried to adopt Scott’s same cheery demeanor. “I think I am,” I tried to sing in a harmonized tone. All she had to do was look me up on the internet. The extensive medical paperwork on me would explain it all.

  “My,” she paused as she wheeled her chair toward me, grabbing my arm with a delicate touch and taking a peak below the white bandage, “You are!” She sounded surprised and I wasn’t exactly shocked to hear it.

  I laughed, pushing my acting abilities to their limits.

  She slowly began to unroll the bandages as she hummed under her breath. I worked to gain my confidence, thinking of what I could use to break the ice.

  “Miss Dee,” I began, “You remember when I came in here the first time don’t you?”

  She chuckled like you’d imagine Santa Claus would, “Oh dear I don’t think I could forget.”

  I thought about the severity of her response, “Was I the first to be in such bad shape?”

  She chuckled again, “Oh dear, you weren’t the first, but definitely the worst off.”

  I took my first fact to heart. There was something different about how I’d reacted that day. The shortness of breath and the choking feeling in my chest was not an anxiety attack, I knew that, but then if I were the first to be that bad it was likely the other students had just hyperventilated. Wimps.

  I nodded as my mind continued to roll the thoughts in my head, hoping to find something as I continued to dig deeper, “So how long has the professor been here?”

  She kept her gaze locked on my arm as she now worked to remove the opaque tape that was covering the black stitches, “Oh, since the college opened, about four years ago.”

  I was a little shocked. “Wow, so then, was he just a student? He must have been rather young.”

  She tilted her head in thought, “No.” She slowly pulled back the tape but the scar no longer hurt. “He was a professor then too,” she laughed a little to herself, “I always tell him he’ll never look forty, he loves it when I say that, always gives him a laugh.” She smiled with a hint of adoration.

  “Hm,” I considered the fact, it was as though she was telling me he’d never aged, but that was impossible. “So do you know him well?” I pushed deeper.

  “Oh yeah, the whole staff knows everyone pretty well. We’re all rather discreet and independent though, he usually likes to be alone in the lab a lot, and he lives in the adjoining apartment he had built.” She began to snip at each stitch with a skilled hand, “Wow miss, you really did heal fast. I just can’t get over it.”

  I respectfully ignored her comment. “So is he always so…” I paused, “Mysterious?”

  She stared me in the eyes, a knowing look crossing her face. “Oh,” she was struggling to comprehend, “He’s different, yes. But I figure, everyone has their private things, I try to avoid asking and he never seems to volunteer anyways. So, even if I did ask, I doubt he’d really give me an answer.”

  Her response was vague but not suggestive that she was hiding anything, more disturbed that she didn’t know. She did strike me as the type to gossip, always eager to know everything. I moved on from Edgar, now further curious why he was here in the woods.

  “So,” my voice was inquiring I wanted to figure out more about the area, things not necessarily typed into a scientific journal or ranger map, “Things are so beautiful here aren’t they?”

  “Mmmm,” she cooed, “Isn’t it magnificent?”

  “Yeah,” she was making this too easy, “almost magical. I wonder why there are no legends written about these mountains.” I paused, watching her face as I waited for her to take my bait. My breath measured as it passed my anxious lips.

  She looked up to me, a surprised and excited appearance on her face, “Oh Miss,” she cried, “But there are tons!” She smiled and looked back to my arm.

  “Really?” I asked with loaded interest, acting far too intrigued, “Like what? I’d love to hear one.”

  She smiled with glee. “Well,” she snipped another stitch, “my favorite is the story a
bout the lakes.”

  I tilted my head and pressed my brows into a curious mask, acting like the perfect listener.

  “As the legend goes, the lakes here were created by magic,” she gave me a dramatic glance, “That is why the lake is named Diablo Lake, or Devil Lake.”

  My brow furled in intense concentration and interest.

  “They say that hundreds of years ago there was a fight here, a fight between two powerful beings. They say that these two being were devils, though some refer to them as angels.” She yanked out the last stitch, reaching in her drawer and pulling out a scar cream I knew I’d never need, my skin would be flawless in just days.

  I continued to stare at her and she smiled, proud of her power over me at that moment.

  “Some say they were fighting over gold, some say power, and other skeptics claim they fought over souls.”

  Her words hung in my head, mystifying my imagination. I touched my chest, finding it an eerie coincidence that mine was left soulless.

  “They fought so hard that each place one threw the other down it indented the ground, creating the tall peaks and deep lakes you see now, and of course the color,” the way she said it told me that was the most important part, “They say the color was that of their most prized possession.”

  I narrowed my eyes in anticipation but her story had stopped. I sat back, allowing that last sentence to roll in my mind. “Then what was their most prized possession?” I asked perplexed.

  She shrugged, her chuckle shaking the collection of bottles on her desk, “That’s the mystery, what’s a good legend without unanswered questions?” Nonchalance laced her voice.

  I stayed silent, unsure of what to say.

  Miss Dee looked at me in a mothering way, “Oh but don’t you fret and lose sleep over it dear, no one has ever figured it out, not in hundreds of years.” She patted me on the leg as she rolled her chair back toward her desk.

  I pulled my shirt back over the faint scar and stood, “Well thanks Miss Dee, for the wonderful story.”

  “Oh my pleasure Miss,” her chubby cheeks curling into a glorious smile, “Come back soon!”

  I smiled one last agonizing time before closing the door behind me, releasing a pained breath of relief as my mouth resumed its melancholy pose. I hadn’t expected to gain so much information so soon and I struggled to file it away for further reflection.

  I found myself now compelled to go back to the lab. Something was there, something tugging at my mind as though it had belonged to me. I walked down the corridor and into the courtyard where I stared at it for a long while from across the path, contemplating what to do. I pursed my lips and clenched my hands at my side, at last stepping forward as I eyed the handle of the lab like prey. As I reached the main doors I tugged at them as though I knew what I was doing but there was no give.

  Only mildly discouraged, I rounded the building, determined to find an entrance. For the most part, the lab was rectangular, but the small jot of architecture suggested that his office resided behind those particular walls.

  I rushed toward the first window, disappointed by the blinds that blocked my inquiring view. I tested the latch and found it refused to release as it shook against the locked clasp. Becoming frantic, I moved around the corner, looking for the next window. My mind blurred as I lost all composure. I grabbed the handle in selfish desire, but it too refused to allow me entrance.

  I leaned against the wall, sinking myself to the ground in surrender as I felt my heart pounding inside my chest like a lunatic. My breathing was fast but shallow, adrenaline pulsing through my veins like a drug. I urged myself to recuperate and gain my composure. What was I doing?

  As the world returned around me, a sudden deep and throaty laugh erupted from the woods and I felt a lump rise in my stomach as I looked toward the direction of the sound. My heart rate did not quicken as I had projected, but rather beat steadily at the familiar pitch it always had. A tall figure walked from the dark trees and I hurried to stand, now feeling my cheeks blush a vibrant red, my notions affirmed.

  “Do you think I’d make it that easy?” Edgar’s malicious laugh echoed across the lake as the light of day fell upon his face.

  I began to blush horribly.

  “Don’t be ashamed Elle,” he walked toward me, his stride confident. “I can understand your hunger, your desperation to know who I am. I’m afraid I haven’t let you know too much about me yet, but I promise that when we get the time, I will.”

  I stared at him, terrified he’d be angry with me for trying to break in, but instead finding him understanding of my desperate position.

  “You think I should be angry with you don’t you? But I’m not.” I looked at him in shock. He was reading my facial expressions too well. “Like I said,” his eyes were glowing, “I understand.”

  He approached me, bringing his face close to mine, his breath hitting my cheeks and tickling my skin.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?” A smile curled across his face.

  Disgust flashed past my eyes as I brushed away from him, cautious to still honor his space.

  “No,” I spat, walking toward the courtyard at a brisk and determined pace.

  I heard his heavy steps behind me, gaining ground until he overtook my stride and stepped in front of me, halting me in my path.

  “Look,” his voice was soft and eloquent, mesmerizing me like a sort of gas. “I’m not here to hurt you, I told you that.” He smirked as though he found humor in everything he said, “I really do miss your fiery attitude though.”

  “What do you know about my fiery attitude?” A gruff snort escaped my lips as I walked around him, again disgusted and confused by his oblique remark.

  He laughed, “I know you’ll never do what I ask, that’s for sure.” His voice was trailing behind me, “How was your weekend?” he teased.

  My heart sank and my pace slowed. He must have known I’d gone into the forest.

  He caught up to me again and halted me, “Ok, so I messed up,” he kept his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders raised, “I keep forgetting that you don’t know me at all, just…” his voice trailed off.

  My eyes blazed at him and I noticed something give behind his marbled stare. A breeze blew off the lake and I shivered, a bit of rain riding on its tail.

  “Listen,” he pleaded, “Let me start over. Let’s just get to know each other. Ok?”

  We stood there, our bodies locked in some sort of staring match but I continued my stubborn silence. The look on his face fell solemn and I felt the deepness of his gaze grab at my attention.

  “Please?” His face became torn and I wondered how it was that I could make such a powerful man falter.

  I sighed, giving in. “Fine,” my voice was curt and void of emotion but the position of authority was a welcomed relief, I finally had the upper hand.

  A smile curled across his face, leaving my heart in painful longing.

  Something inside me fought to remain rational, to stay away from Edgar and leave. I had never been full of this type of emotion, and I didn’t understand what to do. It was almost as though he had a way to invoke things I never thought possible, as though he saw right through me like an old friend. I shook my head, my battling mind unable to accept the situation.

  “Then what is all this about?” I spat, relishing my stubbornness.

  He shrugged. Falling back to my side as I slowly began to walk forward.

  I rolled my eyes and tried again, “What is your deal?” My voice was shrill.

  He looked at me, raising one eyebrow at my surprising attitude. “Well I’m not that easy,” he chuckled, “Why don’t we just start with names. I’m Edgar, Edgar Poe.”

  A sharp breath escaped my lips, “Yeah, very funny, you think I’m really going to believe that? What, you’re related to the famous nineteenth century poet?”

  His eyebrows shot up in defiance. “No really! That’s my name,” he shrugged, “Than what’s yours?” His face seemed to say, �
�check mate.’

  I rolled my eyes, shrugging him off, “Whatever.”

  I had never really had a last name. I was an orphan after all. I knew my first name had been Estella because of the letter my mother left when she had abandoned me, but leaving me without a last name had felt cruel, as though I’d never find where home was, or who my parents were.

  He gave me a sarcastic grunt as though finding my pain of interest.

  I pressed my brows together in irritation, “Well at any rate, as you know, I’m Estella,” I paused. “Estella Smith,” I cringed at my lack of originality.

  He laughed, “Well then Estella Smith, nice to meet you.”

  The way he said Smith suggested he knew I was making it up. I took note of the fact that he made no effort to shake hands. Figuring this had something to do with the fact he couldn’t get too close, though I still didn’t understand how or why that made sense.

  We were now halfway up the hill toward my cabin and I became aware of the fact that our chat was almost over, but I was still eager to learn more.

  “So,” he paused, and I could see the mischief returning to his eyes. “Are you happy to meet me?”

  I gave him a wary glare, “What kind of question is that?” I saw his face sink and I suddenly felt bad. I took a deep breath and regrouped, now attempting to be civil, “I guess it depends on what you classify as happy. That’s not really a feeling I have a whole lot of experience with.”

  He snorted, “Yeah.” He rustled his hands in his pockets, “I suppose you’re right, so then are you…” I watched him as he tried to find the right words, “at least relieved I’m here?”

  He had found the right emotion, and I gave him a timid nod in response.