Yeah, I wasn't really sure how to summarize this chapter, so the description is not the best. My apologies.

To read the previous chapters, please go here (Ch. 5 has links to the previous chapters): https://www.vizzed.com/boards/thread.php?id=75388

In summary, Ellie's father has erased his memories of her, and she decided she can track them down and return them. She met a Pawnbroker who promised her records in one week.

This is the most slice-of-life chapter so far, but it's rather important to the plot.

Enough of me blathering, though. Enjoy! If you're reading this, you have my eternal thanks.

P.S. Please comment. Thank you in advance.



Heartbeats follow a certain rhythm,
Set by the time ticking forward.
Tick, tick, tock, tock,
Time is relative on the clock.

AS TIME PLODS ALONG… (A VERY EARLY INTERMISSION OF SORTS)

There were four days left until Ellie could check on the records. She’d finished the Epic, and Damien was on a business trip to East Lake City. The house felt empty and lonely, so Ellie decided to get out of it and help the gardener, Jannston. Apparently, there is plenty of mulching and weeding to do, even as winter’s frostbitten fingers descended upon Gett City.

“Helping?” Jannston asked as Ellie sheepishly asked for a pair of gloves to borrow, since all of hers were the more fashionable, leather kind unsuited for work.

“Yup,” she replied. Jannston handed her a pair, and she pulled them on without complaint. They were scratchy and itchy, but comfortably warm. “What do you want me to do?”

“Mainly mulching,” Jannston said, “if it’s all right with you, madam.” Ellie told him that of course it was all right, and she fell into a soft rhythm of scooping out mulch and spreading it out. He didn’t say so aloud, but Ellie understood the thankfulness Jannston gave. He was not a young man, and his hands were not as nimble as they’d been in his youth. Perhaps he’d like an assistant. She made a mental note to bring it up with Damien when he returned.




There were two days left, and Ellie was getting antsy. The tutor would be along in half an hour, and Ellie hadn’t memorized the Declaration of the Creation of the Roulinn Nation-State’s closing amendments yet. Cramming was never advised, and Ellie found it nearly impossible to concentrate. All she could think about was how time was so freakishly slow as it got closer and closer to being a full week, like some sort of sadistic asymptote drawn on the graph of her life.

The half-hour passed too agonizingly slowly (because the Declaration was boring and full of ‘legalese’), and yet far too aggravatingly quickly (because by the time the doorbell heralded the arrival of the tutor, Ellie had only two out of the three closing statements memorized).
Ellie opened the door with a sigh that died faster than ice cream on a hot summer day when she saw who it was.

“I’m not late for the session, am I?” chirped Miss Highwater.

“Uh… no.” Ellie’s mind went blank, as if her old headmistress had just wiped it clean with that chalkboard eraser she loved almost as much as chocolate. Why was Miss Highwater here instead of Mr. Sentin? “Um, come in. It’s cold out.”

“Not quite,” Miss Highwater said cheerily, “but a bit of a chill, I suppose. Mr. Sentin sends his apologies; he was taken ill. So I came instead.”

Something’s going on, Ellie thought. Why would the headmistress come here herself? Gett City is far from the Academy… “I have the books out on the table,” Ellie said. “Have a seat, please.”

“Thanks,” Miss Highwater said, pulling a chair closer to the table. “Mr. Sentin gave me a list of things to cover. Do we start with the Epic of Romulus and Remus or the Declaration?”

“The Epic,” Ellie said. How she hated that Declaration. Why was it so long-winded? It surely didn’t take that many words to say ‘We’re our own country now, you can’t do anything about it, if you have a problem go die in a hole,’ even if it was written two hundred years before she was born?

“Someone didn’t memorize the Declaration,” Miss Highwater said.

Ellie nodded, cheeks burning.

“Aw, you’re blushing. You always did that when you forgot your homework. No need to be embarrassed. I put it off too when I was your age.” Miss Highwater tapped the Epic. “Before we begin the discussion, I’d prefer it if you’d read some of it aloud. It’s been so long since I’ve heard you read.”

“Sure.” Ellie flipped to her favorite passage and began to read. “This is my heart. Take me and rip me and destroy me, but still I will love you. You are Venus, sparkling, beautiful love, and I am Jupiter, power and strength. What is love if not powerful, and what is strength without gentle caress?”

“Interesting choice,” Miss Highwater said. “Your favorite passage is the Promise? Personally, I prefer the Argument.”

“Where Romulus and Remus fight to the death?”

Miss Highwater shrugged. “It captured the brutality that coexisted with Rome’s beauty. Plus, as a teenager, I liked blood and guts and gore.”

Ellie laughed.

“What? Don’t deny it; teenagers like that sort of thing!” Miss Highwater exclaimed. “Though maybe not you. You always seemed more sensitive.”

“I guess…”

This time, Miss Highwater laughed. “Definitely, dear.”

Ellie sneezed.

“Bless you!” said Miss Highwater. “Did you catch a cold?”

Ellie nodded. “For the past couple of days.”

“I see.” Miss Highwater frowned. “No nausea, though? Discoloration of the appendages?”

“It’s a cold, Miss! Not frostbite.”

“Of course. Silly me.” Her frown deepened, but Ellie could tell it wasn’t directed at her. She was acting strangely indeed, but Ellie didn’t want to ask. “In any case, if anything… peculiar… were to happen, please let me know.”

Ellie nodded, and the rest of the evening passed with dissecting the Epic. “I want you to write an essay on the main themes of the Epic and their application in modern society,” Miss Highwater said.

“Easy.”

“I didn’t finish. I want it written in Latin. Really, your Latin is superb, Ellie. It’s definitely strong enough to begin lyrical and prose work.”

“Okay. When’s it due?”

“By next week,” Miss Highwater answered, and winked.

Ellie had to admit it was nice seeing her old headmistress, even if it was beyond incredibly odd. Throughout the night, Miss Highwater seemed troubled when she looked at Ellie- or, not quite at her, but beyond her, like her shadow held monsters waiting to jump out and attack the light. Still, Ellie enjoyed speaking with her. Miss Highwater ended up staying for dinner. She didn’t want to, but Ellie insisted. In fact, she offered to let her stay the night, considering the late hour, but Miss Highwater would not be persuaded.

“Be sure you stay in touch,” Miss Highwater said as she left. “You’re an exceptionally bright student, Ellie. If you wish, let me know, and I’m sure we can figure out some way of getting you a high school equivalency.” She smiled knowingly and left Ellie dumbstruck, before she could say that of course she wished it and she was glad Miss Highwater had brought it up, before Ellie could thank her for the tutoring session and seeing a familiar face once more.




There was just one day left, and twenty-four hours seemed like the most impassable eternity ever. She’d die before tomorrow. She wouldn’t be able to handle the wait and she’d fade out, a lonely old crone stuck with a lonely life. Waiting, Ellie decided, was the worst torture.

The radio news blared headlines about a train crash, and twenty minutes later, Damien called to tell her the wreck had obstructed the line he needed to take home.

“I’m going to spend the night in a hotel, but if you need me, I’ll get in a taxi and come home right now,” he promised.

“Don’t worry about me,” Ellie said, secretly glad of her marvelous luck. She thought she’d have to make some excuse to leave for the Pawnbroker’s, but if Damien wasn’t going to be home… Besides, his presence was never quite… well…

“You sure you’ll be fine, all alone?”

“I’ll be all right, Damien.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely sure?” he pressed.

“Yes?”

“Like, positively, completely, absolutely sure?”

Now Ellie was irritated. “I’m not made of china, Damien. I’ll be positively, completely, absolutely fine. Really, don’t trouble yourself on my account. Enjoy your night in the hotel. Get a wine and soak in the hot tub; you always complain about how I don’t let you do both at the same time.”

“Actually, that sounds pretty good…”

It was after the conversation that Ellie realized Damien had wanted an excuse to get in that taxi and come right home to her. She had no idea how people could say she was so bright when she was so stupid with people. She felt a bit mean-spirited when she realized she didn’t quite care whether he was upset or not about the hotel, and found that the only reason she would have really wanted him around was to take her mind off the despicable waiting.

It was hard to concentrate on any one task, whether it was working on the Latin assignment or finishing up the taxes (they were nearly done, and all she had to do left was fill out the various mailing forms). She’d have to drop them off at the post office soon, though the place she really wanted to drop them was down a hole.

She went to bed early, thinking it’d bring morning faster.

It didn’t.

So, as she lay in bed, awake and anxious, Ellie wondered if she’d lengthened the night, like so many others trying to hasten the sunrise, but she hadn’t done that either. She managed to bloat time in her dreams, though, and prolong her stay in the dark world of her fantasies.




Ellie was falling.

She often had dreams of plunges from dizzying heights, wind-milling her arms and screaming so loudly such volume wasn’t even possible in the real world. All of her dreams of falling had a set formula, and she’d hit the water. The liquid would move in, swarming around her, and still she’d cry out, reaching for the voice calling her name as Adam’s ale poured into her ears, nose, and mouth. The voice was always different from the last time- Gracie, Father, Damien, her deceased best friend Julie Luaria, her mother, the one boy she had a crush on in the fifth grade, the bully that used to take her lunch money when she couldn’t even tie her shoes. It didn’t matter what she thought of the person in real life. In her dreams, they were her lifeline, her hope, and she’d swim for them, hand out, reaching and choking and dying. They’d reach back, and their fingers would brush as their lips moved in watery reassurances.

She would always drown before they could take her hand and pull her up.

This current fabrication, however, was different. Ellie was falling, but not towards the ground. She wasn’t even sure she was moving, because all she saw was a sight-stealing whiteness, a void in which she was suspended in (motionless?) eternity.

The pure, colored nihilism suddenly winked out, and though Ellie still couldn’t see anything, she was now certain she falling because of the nausea that was beginning to weave complex webs throughout her stomach, and her ears popped at one point. Nothing seemed to change, however, and perhaps she’d gone blind, when she slammed into something very, very solid.

It hurt, which wasn’t exactly normal, but not unheard of in dreams. Ellie rolled to her side and tried to breathe, because it seemed the impact had broken several of her ribs. To thank her for this rude action, her ribs decided to puncture her lungs. Ellie couldn’t get a breath and almost stopped trying, for if she died here, she’d surely just wake up in bed (as Ellie usually had awareness when she was dreaming, though panic would grip her just the same), but the pain vanished within the span of a minute, and she was struggling to her feet, coughing.

She was on a thin, crumbling rock path barely wide enough to accommodate walking, sloping into oblivion on either side. The darkness was punctuated by pinpricks of light, golden orbs floating and hovering in intervals.

Ellie looked behind her and saw the exact same thing. Not sure which direction counted as ‘forward,’ she simply walked in the direction she was facing. She didn’t know for how long she traveled, but soon she came upon one of those orbs, an orange gas flame cradled by the iron of an old-fashioned lamp post.

At length, she reached a wide, rectangular plot of land that split into three directions, still lit by the lamp posts separated by a regular, patterned distance, though the darkness pounded against everything, leaving large bruises everywhere in the form of shadows. One of the forks led to what seemed like a town in the distance, either very far away or very dimly-lit, for it did not shine any brighter than the nearest post to Ellie. Another fork turned towards a graveyard that was, ironically, the most glittering place she’d seen so far, but as to where its brilliance, came from, she could only guess, for it didn’t seem like there were many lamp posts there. The last fork plunged straight into pitch darkness, an arrow of earth ripping into the abysmal vacuum ahead.

Ellie took less than a second to make her choice. Graveyards gave her the heebie-jeebies, no matter how comforting the light, and she would not enter deep darkness, either. In truth, Ellie had every human’s much-denied and natural fear of the dark- not what might be in the dark, or not being able to see, but a fear of the dark itself, an oppressive, roiling source of malevolence.

She set off towards the town, and the second she stepped on the fork, a strong wind swirled, nearly knocking her off the path, and laughter resonated in the gust. Ellie looked behind her and saw the crossroads had vanished- she now had to go to the town, second thoughts or no.
At length, she climbed over a rusted iron gate that came up to her shoulders and dropped into the city proper. At least, she thought it was the city, though its outskirts seemed to be little better than a junk yard. Buildings fell into crumbling neglect, and scraps of metal succumbed to the elements, carelessly tossed astray. The place seemed deserted, and Ellie instantly felt a stab of foreboding. She thought she heard the laughter again.

Cautiously, Ellie picked her way through piles of rubble, tripping on a jagged length of glass that sliced a long, rugged gash down her calf. Ellie cried out, crumpling down at the pain and pressing a hand to her injured calf. Already, crimson flowed between her fingers and ran down her leg in rather profuse amounts. Ellie had to ask herself if this was natural in dreams, or if her dream-self had suddenly developed hemophilia. Gritting her teeth, she ripped off one of her shirt’s sleeves and tied it around the injury clumsily, trying to make a makeshift tourniquet to the best of her ability. When she had finished, she wiped her hands on her skirt, but found the blood had somehow stained. Now that was not normal, for certain.
Once the pain had subsided from agony to an irregular throb, Ellie stood up, avoiding placing too much weight on her injured leg. It hurt to walk, but Ellie stumbled along anyway, a strange premonition running through her mind and warning her not to stay in one place with blood and an open wound, but she had no idea why she should be worried.

Splattered stars of scarlet fell behind her, Ellie’s bandage already soaked through. She should fix it, but she didn’t want to linger, especially as she was leaving a trail behind her. After what felt like hours, the junk yard faded behind her, curtained by a thick fog. Ellie’s leg hurt too badly to move on, and she sat down in an alley, her back against the wall, leg stuck out in front of her. She felt sick to her stomach and tore off her other sleeve, changing the bandage with trembling fingers. The wound looked puffy, which Ellie thought was probably not a good sign.

She froze as she heard a strange snuffling, and her heartbeat, which was slow, pained, and out of breath, switched to erratic and get-me-out-of-here-we’re-going-to-die-idiot mode. A shadow appeared at the mouth of the alley, and a sharp growl ripped the air apart, renting it in two.

I know you’re here. Why did you come back?

Back? Ellie’d never come here in her life! She held her breath. Whatever was there, she didn’t want to meet it, even if it was a dream and she had a terrible feeling of d?j? vu, the kind when one meets a relative half-forgotten.

Except this was no happy eccentric great-uncle or smiling second cousin thrice removed.

Why do you keep running? This is your crime. You destroyed this city, yet you cannot face it. Still, you come back. Are you a coward or incredibly, bravely stupid?

Ellie closed her eyes as the figure moved into the light. She didn’t want to see it. She didn’t know why, but somehow she understood. She did not want to look at it.

Fool. So you remember some, at least.

There was pain.

More of that dratted laughter.

Then nothing.




Ellie awoke screaming, but she couldn’t remember why. Maybe she’d had a bad dream. Sunlight barged past the curtains meant to shut it out, a clear uninvited guest making sure that there was no mistake in knowing the new day had finally shown up. A mist of cloudy, Monday-morning-like syndrome hung about, and it took her a moment for her to recall the significance of today.

Today, she could check on the records.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, leaping out of bed, then cried, “Whoa!” as she fell over. Ellie scrambled to her feet. Her left leg felt odd, weakened, and she rolled her pant legs up. The skin was smooth and unblemished. “Maybe I pulled something, or I strained it in my sleepm,” she murmured. It sounded stupid even in her head, much less aloud- because no one ever pulled anything in their sleep- but there was no other explanation she could think of. She limped to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of milk and have a quick toast for breakfast.

As soon as she’d scarfed that down, she was out the door and nearly running, though the strange limp persisted. She ignored the bell’s greetings (“Customer!”) and stopped, panting, in front of the counter. The Pawnbroker was nowhere to be seen, but a bell was on his desk. Ellie rang it gingerly, and this bell also spoke in human tongue.

“GET YOUR LAZY BUTT OVER HERE! SOMEONE AT THE COUNTER, FOOL!”

Ellie immediately put the bell down, a bit surprised by its frank rudeness.

A door behind the counter opened. “Sorry!” apologized the figure running out and skidding to the counter.

“Derek?” Ellie raised an eyebrow. Three times in one week… almost like a stalker.

He shrugged. “My uncle Elohi’s taken me as apprentice, so I quit that lousy job at the grocery store. Anything I can help you with?”

Elohi. So that was the Pawnbroker’s name.

“Um… Mr. Elohi was gathering records for me.”

“Oh, yeah.” Derek ducked down below the desk, then reappeared with a huge stack of papers tied together with string, like a parcel. “These are for you.”

“So, what’s the rate?” Ellie asked.

Derek held up his index finger. “Guess.”

“A thousand.”

Derek laughed. “We’re Pawnbrokers, not robbers. Lower.”

“Really? A hundred.”

“Nope. One.” Derek sang the word. “Oooonne!”

“One?” Ellie shook her head. “No way. You’re messing with me.”

“I kid you not. It’s not even one gold piece. Apparently, it’s not legal to charge people for matters of records- Elohi was researching all last night to suck you dry.”

“Swell,” Ellie muttered.

“Yup. But since it’s not easy getting all those records, he still thought you owed him something. So he wants one service. He wants to cure you of Nightmares.”

“I don’t have nightmares,” Ellie said.

“Elohi begs to differ. He says he can see them radiating off of you like alcohol off of drunks.” Derek frowned. “He doesn’t usually give two-for-one deals. I wonder what’s up with him.” Derek rolled his shoulders. “Blown away by your charm, I’m sure.”

“Doubtful,” Ellie said, “but thank you for the compliment.”

“Anyway, Elohi’s free tomorrow.”

“I can’t come tomorrow.”

“I see. Thursday, then?” Derek asked her with a wide-eyed expression and pouted lip, the classic pleading face no one could say no to.

“It’s okay, I think.”

“Great.” Derek tossed his hair happily. It was an infuriatingly flirtatious move. “All right, then. It’s a date.”

“Not quite. I’m married.”

Derek laughed. “Yeah, me and the whole region’s aware, Madam Morvant. So, about this marriage of yours… it’s unhappy, I can tell. Nothing to sell?”

“No. And quit making references to my marriage.”

“Good. I’d hate to see you be all puppy-dog-eyes after Damien.” Derek sighed. “You’re standing weird. Something up with your leg?”

“No, I’ve just… I don’t know, I woke up with it.

“Let me see.” Derek pulled up a chair and motioned for her to sit. Ellie set down the papers and complied. “Which one is it?”

“Left.” She rolled the pants leg up to her knee, and Derek tut-tutted at the sight of it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing physical, if that’s what you’re asking, but when we look at the Intangible side of things… plenty. What’d you dream about last night?”

“I don’t know! What’s that got to do with anything?” Ellie replied.

“The average person has three to five dreams a night, but often forgets them,” Derek explained. “Though the conscious has let them go, the subconscious holds on, often in stupid and irritating ways.” He closed his eyes, tracing the contour of her leg in the air and making complex motions with his fingers, weaving magic as he continued speaking. “There’re traces of a Nightmare here. You must’ve dreamt of an injury, and it remained deep in your brain. It’s sort of like those psychosomatic limps veterans get.”

“Oh, I see.” She felt like an idiot for not realizing it earlier.

“This might sting,” Derek warned, and jerked his hand back. Ellie screamed at the sharp, glistening pain, and an image of glass flashed across her mind, but both the vision and the pain disappeared quickly, a passing flash. Derek made a motion as if stitching a wound shut, then wiped his clean hands on his pants, as if getting blood or filth off of them. He stood. “The limp should be gone now.” He extended a hand to help her up, which Ellie accepted. His grip was firm and strong, yet soothingly gentle, and he steadied her as she gingerly put weight on her left leg. “Good as new?”

“Yes, maybe even better.” Ellie took several steps, amazed. Had Derek just started his apprenticeship? He was quite skilled, and obviously had the gift.

“Did you catch part of the dream?” Derek asked. “That happens sometimes.”

“Just a bit,” Ellie said, then jumped as she noticed the time. “Oh, jeez. I need to be heading back.”

“Do you need help carrying those?” Derek said as she picked up the bundle of papers again. “I could escort you home, you know. Elohi wouldn’t mind; we don’t get many customers anyway.”

She smiled back. “No, thank you.” She knew he was flirting, but she didn’t entirely mind.

“Well, then,” Derek said, with a play hurt tone. “I see how it is.” He laughed. “Goodbye, favorite customer.” He bowed jokingly. Ellie laughed and waved as she left, her limp gone and her steps bouncing with an uncharacteristic lightness.

Hahaha, great chapter. I'll be using the term 'legalese' more often now. I like your well timed switches from standard writing, and hilariously blunt. xD

A user of this : Switches between standard and hilarious blunt? I don't know what you mean... but thank you. And legalese is actually an academic word. I used it in several debates. The nuances of language. 

Dragonlord Stephi : Oh, it is? I never knew. xD

And by switching to blunt, it's best shown in this bit. "Miss Highwater shrugged. 'It captured the brutality that coexisted with Rome’s beauty. Plus, as a teenager, I liked blood and guts and gore.” It goes on like any educated person, or novel. And then it takes a sharp turn, and it's enjoyable to read as well.

Good work with this one. I can feel the plot twist starting. And I smell a hint of deception in Elie's future. This makes for a good risingaction which itself makes for a good Climax. Can't wait for that to come. Seems interesting.