". . .women today have been misunderstood, but I think working hard and pushing for more we can achieve more than beyond our dreams." I finished. The whole crowd, of 30 people, roared in cheers for me. I am engulfed in their claps; a small smile graces my lips. In the far back I could see my teacher, Mr. Jefferson, clapping the loudest out of the small, but loud, crowd.
On the left, Mrs. Clydesdale, the woman in charge of the event, came up on stage next to me. The reflection of the bright, yellow sun reflected off her Ray-Ban glasses. She was a beautiful woman, with perfect teeth that would make you want to kill her for them, she's wearing a black dress with sunflowers on them and some small black pumps that look kind of uncomfortable with the shoes being pointed in the front.
I hand her the microphone, as I stand next to her in an awkward position. My speech, I roll up in my hands and stick it in my jacket pocket. "And that was Quinneth Worthingshire with her speech on Stacey Abrams. It was well written and articulate, very good job Quinneth." She gives me a delicate smack on the back. "Now, we'll introduce our last speaker of the day, Kelly Jackson." I usher myself off the stage as Kelly takes my place.
As I walk down the side aisle a few people tell me good job, I respond with a delicate smile and a small 'thank you very much.' Moving past the red seats, I find Mr. Jefferson standing over to the side by the concession stand. An off-brand Coney island hot dog cradled in his hand, tons of different condiments and vegetables sit on top of it adding that beautiful flavor that a Coney hot dog offers. Once he sees me coming near him, his eyes light up with happiness.
"Quinneth, that was beautiful." He says positively.
I nod, "Thank you, Mr. Jefferson, I was nervous up there. I thought that I would run off and throw up on the stairs." He laughs at my crazy response.
"Oh no Quinn, not you. The speech was amazing, and you hit all the major points, I wouldn't change a single thing." We speak for a few more minutes, he hints at the other students and how they lacked a few ideas and points. Honestly, he wasn't lying at all. One student, I believed to be named Emily White, talked about Greta Thunberg, and didn't mention some big projects that she did. But, what do you expect? We are high school kids after all.
After he left in a hurry, telling me the poser Coney island hot dog was crushing his abdomen, I went over to the concession stand. Thank God for no line, I was able to order quickly.
"What can I get you?" asked the cashier lady.
"Just a pretzel and water, please." I handed her a 5-dollar bill and stood over to the side as she got my food ready. As I wait, my thoughts go to my phone.
No messages, it read.
Damn it, I was hoping my grandpa would send me a message, but nothing has come through. Maybe it's the signal in this building, or he just didn't feel like talking to me. I wouldn't blame him though, not after everything that happened.
From Irene being killed, to me practically sacrificing myself to Yount and bringing down everybody that I loved and cared for. It's. . .hard to think about, to recognize as true. I sometimes lay up at night, thinking about every moment that happened. What if I didn't go to Insofar, then what would have happened? Would I still be here, would Irene still be here?
I know if she was, she would have beat out Mr. Jefferson for being the loudest person in the crowd. Her smile would have gleamed across the room and she would have told me how great I did, and maybe took me out for ice cream, or whatever grandmother's do. With losing mine so young, I thought having Irene would give me a woman figure in my life.
"Ma'am, your order." I snap out of my trance of the past and grab my pretzel and water. Waves of smoke dance in the air, it smells so good I can't wait to devour it. I would try to bolt out of here, but everyone must stay to the end, and it would be rude to leave in the middle of someone's speech. I know I would hate if someone left in the middle of mine.
"Quinn! Hey Quinn." By the large paintings on the wall by the bathroom, I see Mary waving for me to come over. Standing by her are some random students, maybe from our school, who knows. She can make friends with literally anyone, it's the charm of Mary-Anne Digby. She looks beautiful, that long, black hair flows down her back in waves. Also, she's wearing that cherry dress that's all over Instagram, it's like she created it the way she's wearing it. Owning it more like it.
I let out a sigh and walk over to her, "Hey Mary, nice speech." They asked if anyone wanted to go first, and of course, she volunteered.
"Oh stop! You were amazing, the quotes you used to back up your information were smart and the conclusion was strong." She is right, I did think it was a badass speech, as far as speeches go. "So, where's Lyra at?" She cranes her swan-like neck over my head, trying to find the red-headed girl.
"She- she wasn't able to make it." That was all I said, from the tone of my voice she could tell I didn't want to talk about it.
"Oh, alright. Well, I got to go, my parents may be looking for me. See you on the first day of school." She gives me a quick hug and rushes past me. Turning around I see her walking over to an older man and woman. Her mother looked just like her, that same wavy hair and the light blush on her cheeks reminded me of Mary. On the other hand, her father had a strong nose with light freckles, all Mary had was his nose, which was her signature facial feature she gets comments on a lot. Some say she looks like a young Troian Bellisario, minus the acting skills of course.
After five more speeches, and hearing Mrs. Clydesdale talk some more, mostly about herself, we were finally all let out. I say goodbye to Mary and Mr. Jefferson and head for my car.
The San Francisco air flows through my black locks, it's nice being here, in the city. The people moving from place to place to where ever they have to go, and the smell of food vendors on the street is nice to see. The one pain is the drive back to St. Helena, it always has traffic and you could say I have a bit of road rage, and when I say a bit, I mean a lot.
Starting up my car, I take my foot off the gas once I see a message from my grandpa. My hands grab up the phone, eager to see his text.
It reads, 'I saw your speech, you did a fantastic job. I'm so proud of you, wish I could be there.' It's later followed up with a heart and smiley face emoji. My heart warms up from the message, it has been a couple of hours since the last time he texted me. It's been hard without my grandpa, but I understand why he went away. Thank God they recorded the conference live. I thought he wouldn't be able to figure it out since he isn't good at technology, but he surprises me.
Driving on the highway, on my way to St. Helena, I focus on the road. People here drive crazy as hell; it makes me nervous when someone swerves a little. In St. Helena, the driving is mild, and since it's such a small town everyone knows each other and understands the driving there. As I drive, I see something reflecting off my mirrors, looking to what is causing it, I see it's my necklace. Well, not my necklace, it belongs to the First Power.
All the memories flood back, the flashes of blood overcome my memory. The sharp hunter's knife I used to slice the necks of those innocent virgins. The last girl's face burns in my mind, I remember like it happened yesterday. Those eyes pierce my soul bringing up the guilt that I've been trying to bury since that day. The way she silently pleaded with me not to kill her, but I did anyway. I'm a murderer, I killed those girls just like I did with Irene.
I'm brought back to reality from a horn honking on the side of me. Damn, I just mentioned how others swerved and here I am, almost creating a wreck. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, I take the exit off the highway and pull into the parking lot of a Kohl's department store. My head rests against the steering wheel, my head hits the horn and I jump in fright.
That night in Insofar makes me nauseous and scared. Seeing Alexander like that- I can't even finish that thought because it makes me so sad and angry at the same time. As I close my eyes, my mind, without my permission, drifts off to that night. To when I was dragged away and brought back to The Great Summit Pack.
🌺🌺🌺🌺
Hum, Hum, Hum.
It's all I hear around me. A loud ringing follows after all the humming. All I see is darkness, bands of color pass in the darkness, it's like colorful clouds, they pass by with striking glows to them. Then, the sound starts to form around me, it scares me to my core.
A feminine voice is close to my ear, she smells of scented dove soap and fruity perfume. From the way she sounds I could tell she was panicking, frantically panicking. Big male hands squeeze on my forearm, then two of those same fingers, I'm assuming, feel on the crease of my neck.
"She's still alive?" asked the feminine voice, a strain comes through with the question. I try to move, really, I try, my legs and arms feel heavy. Like someone tied me down with 1,000-pound weights.
A male voice answers the strained feminine voice, "Yes, barely, but there's a light pulse. We must move her to the packhouse, she might not last." I then feel my body rise off the ground, that's cold to the touch, into warm arms. My head hangs back, swaying in the unknown air.
Where am I? What is going on? Am I here, or am I. . .dead?
I try to take in my body, my lips feel dry and chapped like someone wiped me clean of saliva. My head hurts slightly and medium pains hit me from my neck to feet. My lips attempt to form words, but nothing comes out but moans and whimpers, the pain is starting to take over.
My eyes peer open, and I see a girl looming over me as she walks next to my limp body. Her hair is maniacal as streaks of bruises descend the sides of her soft-skinned face. "Harlequinn, don't try to talk, ok. I know you're in pain, and scared, but we're getting you back to the packhouse to help you. Just. . .sit, or in your case, lay tight." Her hand fans over my forehead, her cool touch is nice.
It's Lyra, my Lyra. And looking up I see who's the one carrying me, it's Mr. Germani. He has a stoic look on his face, and some pain seeps in.
Around me is nothing but chaos. The once beautiful, medieval walls are now blown into. Those creative art pieces from the renaissance and the Tudor era are now in shreds. And the quietness and stealth aroma that the castle once held is now been stripped apart.
"How far are we from the pack?" asked Lyra.
Mr. Germani answers her, "Only an hour, but with our speed, I can get her there in under 20 minutes."
Panic rises from Lyra's bones; I don't think I have ever seen her in a panic state. She's the most confident person I know. "I- I need to be with her when she arrives at the house, how am I going t-"? She's cut off by a deep voice behind her.
"I can run you there." The voice is unfamiliar to me, it's rugged and a bit sexy.
"Oh. . .no you don't have to. You've done enough, just coming here-." He cuts her off.
"You want to be with your friend, and I can get you there the same time she does. Take the offer." His voice was demanding, but also held a sense of longing, for her.
"Alright." That was all she said.
In my peripheral vision, I can see people running by and into the woods. Red and orange flames rise on our left, and I see the once ethereal castle now being downed by the devils' flames. People run out screaming, clutching people to their side, trying to save themselves.
A woman's screams erupt in the air, "My son! Where is my son?" I see a few people rush to her aid, trying to help locate her son. My eyes turn back to Mr. Germani, he then looks down at me. His eyes look just like Alexander's, grey with black specs, wandering around my face trying to read my expressions.
"Hold on Quinneth." That is all he says, the most general thing someone says to you when you're about to die, or in my case MAY die. "Let's go!"
In a rush, we're running at light speed in the woods. Gushes of air hit me, while big large trees loom over us as we rush under them. Mr. Germani was right, we got there in under 20 minutes.
As soon as we walk into the house, an eruption of voices looms around me. Male and female voices surround my ears and my vision.
"Out the way!" Screams Mr. Germani, and with the thick command in his voice, a path is cleared just for him. The smell of Clorox wipes and hand sanitizer fills my nose. Light feet patter behind us, I'm assuming it's Lyra.
"Thank you, Nyx, I appreciate it!" She yells at him as she tries to keep up with Mr. Germani's long strides.
"Milo!" My grandfather turns around, the most haunting face ghosts him. He doesn't let the emotions I know he's feeling stop him, he's now in full doctor mode. "Where do you want her?"
"Room Four." A white door pushes open and my body is now laying on the hospital bed. It feels like clouds, soft white clouds that engulf me. It's so much better than the ground.
My grandfather runs over to me, some nurses loom behind him, unsure of what to do. "Who's the patient?" asked one of the nurses as she has her pen and paper out.
"Quinneth Worthingshire, my granddaughter." Small murmurs erupt around us.
"Granddaughter?"
"This is her?"
"Yes! She's my granddaughter, it's not that exciting. Now, get me some cold towels so we can cool her down. Karen, run and get me some water, she's obviously dehydrated." Both women run out of the room, collecting what they need for me. My grandfather flashes a bright light in my eyes, I follow it.
"Good Job, Quinn. Now, what hurts? Can you tell me what hurts?"
The words I need to tell him won't leave my throat. Instead, I just whimper out in pain. "So, everything then? Elain, run and get me 10 ccs of morphine." The nurse runs out. "You'll be just fine, ok? What the hell were you thinking going down there trying to be the freaking hero." Even in a cold state, he still tries to lecture me.
Then, without me knowing, a couple of words come out of me. "I- I had to." My voice is raspy and dry. The words cut my throat.
"No, you didn't Quinn. You didn't have to. You never have to do anything you don't want to." Coming through the door is Lyra, she clutches onto my arm. Behind her is Mr. Germani, he looks worried.
"He threatened- I had no choice." My voice comes out so faint that he doesn't pick up on it.
"Will she be alright Milo?" asked Mr. Germani.
"Yes, she will. She's obviously in a lot of pain, but the bigger problem is internal."
"What do you mean Mr. Worthingshire?" asked a shaken-up Lyra. I could feel the grip she has on my arm tighten.
"She resurrected four powerful witches, on her own, that takes a lot out of a person. Usually, most people only do one person, but she did four and it's taken a toll on her body. I can give her pain medicine to take away the superficial bruises, but the ones internally are going to heal on their own. All I can do is. . .make her comfortable." He says as he takes the morphine drip from the nurse and puts it in the crease of my arm.
A cold towel sits on my forehead, while the others lay all over my body, legs, arms, and even stomach. I didn't know that my body was so hot and sweaty, now I'm starting to cool down.
"Can I stay with her?" Lyra asked my grandpa. He gives her a nod.
"Where's Alexander?" Grandpa walks over to Mr. Germani. They start talking quietly, and I swear, from what I could see, his face changed colors.
Alexander.
Alexander.
Tall Alexander. . .curly hair. . .black eyes with beautiful grey specks. . .Alexander with the perfect kisses and the touch that would make you think you're dreaming.
My Alexander.
From hearing that name, everything floods back in. How could I forget? I remember standing in front of the podium, that surge of power that ran through me. The cutting, the blood that ran in the cracks of the floor.
Alexander!
Yount stabbed him, his groans and pleas for me not to do the spell ring in my ears.
"Don't do it, Quinn, don't do it".
Those words will haunt me until I take my last breath.
They died, I killed them. I killed those girls, I remember seeing their wide-open eyes, the shining vibrancy I'm sure they had are now gone, because of me. Yount pushing me to do the spell, anger roars through him.
I start to move my fingers, remembering the liquidation of blood flowing through them. Lots of blood, lots of it pouring out of Alexander, my love, my mate. He looked me in the eyes asking me, "What did you do Quinn." What did I do? I saved him; I saved his life. But that feeling leaves me as I remember that he collapsed in my arms, gone from me in a matter of 30 seconds. Then. . .to the present.
Here.
My body rises off the bed like I've been resurrected from the dead, I feel like I've resurrected from the dead.
"Where is he?" Everyone looks at me with a clueless look. "WHERE'S ALEXANDER!"
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