X. Of Matches and Memories
There was the sound of soft laughing that filled the empty white hallways. The two of them, Jake and Amy, were settled on two hard-seated waiting chairs located just outside the room where Ian was confined, talking to each other. Amy had wanted to go right into the room to check on her distant Kabra cousin ever since she had gotten here, but the nurse, a young brunette, had informed them that Dr Jinjing Liu wanted to personally see Ian alone, forcing Amy to wait. To pass the time, she just decided to take a seat and elaborately explain to Jake the earlier events of the day that he had so unpleasantly misinterpreted.
Of course, she had purposefully left out the more objectionable parts of her encounter with the…well, for the lack of a better word, the delirious Ian. There was no need for Jake to know anything about him possessing a gun by his side. For safety purposes, and to also quell her own paranoia, she had confiscated all the dangerous things that she discovered Ian to have in his possession—it seemed as if he still kept his dart gun, and a mini-collection of poisons at that. It made her shudder. Once again she'd seen a glimpse of who Ian might have become if he'd followed the footsteps of his mother.
But Amy knew Ian didn't want that. He and his sister didn't want to be anything like their parents. That was why they had chosen to be on the Cahill side in the first place, abandoning the darkness for the light.
But by having joined the Cahills…
Had they really?
Was it really the darkness which they had abandoned? Had light really shone upon their lives once they had joined the side where Amy and Dan belonged? Was joining them really the decision that would have made their lives better? After all, if the Kabras didn't join the Cahills and decided to stay by their mother's side back at the Gauntlet…
They might have won the Clue Hunt. If they'd stayed by Isabel's side, their little family might have been the most powerful people in the world. Isabel wouldn't have had shot her own daughter in the foot and caused her to live in trauma the rest of her short life. Ian wouldn't have been left alone with his sister when both—both—of their parents had them practically disowned. If they remained by Isabel, they wouldn't have lost their titles, their legacy, their names as heirs, their riches and luxury, their potential for a powerful future. They had too much to sacrifice, yet too little to gain. Or maybe none at all.
It was when the Kabras had decided to join the 'light', that they'd lost everything. Choosing to fight alongside Amy and Dan…
It was what destroyed their family.
It made Amy wonder…
Was it…possible that Ian thought of it this way?
Of course, she immediately told herself. Of course it was. Of course he thought of it this way. He must have. It was him, after all, who saw every angle of this terrible web of lies and deception by standing in the middle of it all.
It made her feel terrible that Ian might have had these thoughts every day. It made her feel terrible that Ian might've had felt like he made the wrong decision in joining them. It made her feel terrible that her friend's every waking moment was marked with questions of what he might have done, so all the terrible things that had befallen upon him didn't have to happen at all. Well, she knew that everything was Isabel's fault to begin with, her greediness and lust for power, but…it made her feel terrible that she might've been part of the host of people who caused him this sorrow. It made Amy feel terrible, just by thinking about it. But she thought that this was all probably nothing.
Because Ian most likely felt this terrible feeling all the time.
Amy…she worried about him. What with the delusions he's apparently been having with his sister and all, she knew that he was reaching his breaking point. She knew that he was strong and that he can brave these thing over, but her initial belief had weathered off when she witnessed, first-hand, how Ian could become, once he…let it all go. She worried that he might lose control again. And she didn't want him hurting himself.
Or worse.
These were the thoughts that ran in her mind as she recounted the story behind her and Ian to Jake's listening ears. After several minutes of talking to each other, the two eventually became on civil terms, until, finally, that normal comfort settled over Jake and Amy once the two realized their own separate mistakes in the matter. At the way they were now laughing at some immature joke that Jake had just made, one would think that the events of the past fifty minutes hadn't even happened at all.
Eventually, the laughing quieted down and a silence settled over them. But it was not awkward. It was actually the most pleasant sound that Jake had ever heard. So comfortable and peaceful it was, that the release of tension from his shoulders was clearly visible as he snuggled deeper onto the hard-seated chair, almost forgetting how the hard plastic was making his back ache a little.
"So, in the end," Jake said quietly, looking over at Amy. "That was just all a big misunderstanding."
"Yes," the girl murmured, nodding absentmindedly as she stared through space with a smile on her face that looked…contemplative. "It was all just a big misunderstanding. On both our parts."
Jake felt all his anger toward his girlfriend dissipate as he thought about the version of the story that Amy had just told him. The story was almost hilarious—of course, hadn't Ian's condition been so…alarming. He'd never thought that that Kabra was even capable of harbouring such strong feelings inside himself. All Ian was to Jake's eyes was a heartless snake who had ruthlessly tried to kill his girlfriend in the past. Until now. It surprised him that almost everything he knew about the Kabra was actually wrong. Losing his sister, Natalie, might have felt like losing an entire family for Ian. It was strange, but, even if Jake knew nothing about the two of them, he'd almost started to pity Ian right then and there.
Jake had felt utterly embarrassed as Amy recounted her story, though. It mortified him that while someone was practically going through something bad, still, all he'd cared about was himself. He'd been selfishly jealous, only thinking about himself when someone was worse off. All the jealousy he felt at seeing the two of them together was something he was growing to be disgusted of. Despite that, though, at least he was starting to learn that listening to all sides first before jumping to conclusions would save him from a lot of negative thinking.
He learned his lesson now.
"I…" The Rosenbloom looked down at his fingers, almost guiltily. "I promise to listen before I go assuming things."
"Um, I won't promise," said Amy as she turned her head to face him, a look of mild mischief written all over her face, "but I'll try not to lash out on you again."
Jake frowned as he recalled Amy's dark mood towards him back at the manor, when she thought that he was the one wrestling Ian, when, in fact, Jake was only actually trying to help. To be honest, Jake had been a bit insulted that his girlfriend would even think of him as such a barbaric barbarian; but in the end, he guessed he shouldn't blame her for thinking of him that way. Given what had just happened between the both of them, well…it was only fair.
"Well," Jake replied with a lopsided smile, "I guess it's better if you're going to at least try."
The redheaded girl laughed lightly at his pouting response. Jake flashed a look of disbelief her way—he couldn't believe it was so easy for this girl to laugh at such shallow things. But he guessed that was just one of the qualities that completely made him fall for her.
Much too soon, though, her laugh ended, eyes widening. Then she suddenly bolted up from her chair to approach the person who had just come out of Ian's room, who closed the door as quietly as he could.
"Dr Liu!" she exclaimed, rushing over to the doctor whom she had heard so much about.
"Good evening, Doctor," said Jake, who had approached from behind Amy.
"Er…" The Asian doctor regarded them with mild confusion. Apparently he didn't think that the two Americans had any resemblance to his new patient, whom he'd easily assumed to be British. "Are you relatives of Mr Ian Kabra?"
"Yes," the girl answered, firmly enough to leave him no space for more questions. She held out her hand. "My name is Amy Cahill, and this is—"
"Jake Rosenbloom."
"Jinjing Liu, pleased to meet you." The Asian doctor shook both of their hands, that little bit of stiffness in his muscles making him seem a tad uptight. It made Amy wonder briefly exactly what had happened in that room. Amy braced herself for the news to come—she could already tell it wasn't going to be good. So the doctor immediately went on with it, with a practiced tone of formality.
"Your speculations about the young lad Ian were correct." He was awfully blunt about it as he stated it matter-of-factly. "He has the Mystery Syndrome."
The doctor took his audience's silence as permission to continue.
"As you know, we still don't know the cause of the syndrome. Much less a cure. My colleagues back in London are working on it, as well as the W.H.O., but to no avail as of late. I think I should ready you for the consequences. All the earlier victims of this mental illness had died precisely three days after the symptoms had started to appear."
"Th…three days…?" Amy's voice squeaked with dread.
The doctor closed his eyes. He'd probably seen that same expression on Amy's face several times now in consecutive days, and he felt terrible for seeing it again. He sighed, steeled himself, and opened his eyes once again to give her a prepared response.
"I'm sorry. But without medicine, statistics is the only thing backing us up now. And to tell you…the statistics behind this syndrome is being very frighteningly accurate. I'm really sorry, but I needed to warn you of how this might…end." He paused to let his audience sink that in. Then he continued, gently.
"May I know when Mr Ian's symptoms had started to appear?"
Amy recalled what she and Nellie had been talking about earlier, and she clenched her fists, just at the thought of it.
"Yesterday," she whispered, in a voice so barely audible that even Jake had to strain his ears just to hear it. But apparently the doctor had heard it clearly, even looking as if he had expected this answer.
"Well then, Miss Cahill. If yesterday had been the onslaught of his disease, just as you say, that means today is the second day." He paused, and looked over Amy, who had her eyes pinned down at the ground as if she wanted to avoid whatever he was going to say next. He'd originally planned to imply her that tomorrow is the third day, but the kindly doctor decided to rephrase his next words.
"Well, all I have to tell you is that we are going to do our best. To tend to him properly, we would need to transfer Mr Kabra to London so that the other experts might look after him, but first I am going to make a few calls to arrange it. I'll let you know when it's confirmed. Immediately after, we'll leave for London, as early as tomorrow morning."
oO0Oo
Atticus could hear the thudding of his own steps as he dashed past the hospital's white hallways, knowing that the set of footfalls that followed just behind him belonged to Ned. He ignored the confused looks of the nurses as the two of them dashed by, with Ned throwing out apologies from behind him for all the running and confusion that they were causing. At long last, when Atticus turned to the right in a sharp twist in the hallway, he stopped, having finally found the person he was looking for all this time.
"Oh, Jake!" he said, a little too loudly, bending down his knees to breathe in air, before he straightened himself up again, running towards his older brother. Ned caught up from behind him, and, at the sight of Jake, he said, "Hey! We've been looking all over for—"
Amy cleared her throat to interrupt him, awkwardly turning her head to point with her chin at the person standing in front of her. It was only then that Atticus and Ned finally acknowledged the presence of a doctor. The two newcomers immediately looked embarrassed, but thankfully Atticus still had a functioning mouth to at least blurt out, albeit awkwardly, "Oh, uh, h-hi, good evening, mister doctor."
"He is Dr Jinjing Liu, the doctor attending to Ian," Amy helpfully introduced.
"Oh." Atticus scratched the back of his neck, a trait he mostly got from Jake. "Heh-heh. Right, mister…Doctor Liu, a pleasure."
The doctor chuckled warmly at the eleven-year-old boy's obviously uncomfortable stammering. "It's a pleasure as well," he responded good-naturedly.
Then he turned to Amy and Jake, reaching into his suit to pull out a business card each for both of them. "Well then, here's my emergency line; call if you need anything. Oh, and if you can, Mister Rosenbloom, Miss Cahill, please bring young Ian's parent or guardian to me so I can talk to them, okay? I'm available, even if I have to meet up with them in the middle of the night."
Jake and Amy exchanged meaningful glances at that. Ian didn't have any parents, or any guardians, at least none that they could immediately call, but the generous doctor didn't even seem to acknowledge their little exchange as he simply continued to talk.
"I'll be waiting for his parent or guardian tonight. And yes, even if it's past visiting hours," he repeated, as if to emphasize the urgent undertones in his gentle, professional voice. "Just tell the security guards that I gave you permission; show them the business cards I gave you. I'd make sure that they'd know what to do." Then he turned to the rest of them, nodding to Ned and Atticus. "If you excuse me."
The foursome waited in silence until the doctor disappeared into another hallway. And then, awkwardly, Jake started, "So…" He looked at Ned and Atticus. "What's up?"
Ned stepped forward. "Your little brother here insists that you come with us."
A sceptical eyebrow was immediately arched. "What? Why?"
"Just come with us," said Atticus, coming up to his older brother. "Please?"
Jake uncertainly looked behind him to stare at Amy. "But…"
"Go on," the girl said, already reaching for the knob of Ian's room door. "I'll…I'll stay here with Ian. Tell Uncle Fiske to go here, too, to talk to the doctor. And while you're at it, tell him to bring me some clothes and food, okay? I'm…going to stay here for the night."
Jake gave his girlfriend a dumfounded look. Unwanted jealousy was already creeping up his spine—and the feeling was certainly not something that he anticipated to feel. They had just made up and Jake didn't want to put up a fight, but he was still left uncomfortable at the thought that his Amy, his Amy, was going to stay here and spend the night with Cobra. Cobra, of all people!
But he felt all his anger diminish as Amy stared at him with eyes that was clearly trying to get one message across—just one.
Please.
"Well then," he said, the surprisingly sincere words tumbling out of his mouth before he could even process what he was doing, before his jealous inner self could rant on about how utterly unacceptable this was, before he started to hesitate about even saying these words at all.
"Take good care of…" Cobra. Should I say Cobra? "…Ian, okay?"
Amy beamed up, her eyes lighting up like the sun. She nodded at him. "I will. Thanks for understanding, Jake."
oO0Oo
Once upon a time, Ned had gotten his license but he wasn't very diligent in attending to his driving school.
After Atticus had sandwiched Jake into the car's cramped seats (much to the older Rosenbloom's chagrin, because he couldn't even sit his rear properly), Ned stepped onto the pedal and the car suddenly sped so fast that Jake had to release a rather embarrassing scream when they barely even survived crossing through the intersection and nearly got smashed by a giant, million-megaton truck of cement. One could just imagine Jake's utter relief when Ned was forced to stop because of a red light. That was the only time Jake had the breath to even speak a word.
"What's the big rush!" Jake blew it out more of as a statement than a question. Wild-eyed, he outrageously pointed from behind him, referring to the intersection where the threesome had almost died. "We nearly got mauled by that truck, you know!"
Ned just shrugged. "I don't know. I'm just taking orders."
"From?"
"Your brother over there."
Jake took one look at his brother. And lost it too.
"Will someone just explain to me what's going on?" he demanded, his tone obviously exhausted. He wanted to get some answers before Ned once again stepped onto the pedal and Jake would be too frozen in his seat to speak again. Thirty-nine seconds to go before the green light—they better explain this fast. Oh, great. 39. A bad omen. "Like, hello, I'm completely oblivious here!"
"Don't ask me." Ned flashed him an equally oblivious look that surprised Jake. "I don't even know. That little fella refuses to speak. The only reason I drove for him is because he's annoyingly persistent." He gave the younger a sideways glance. "No offense, Atticus."
"Me? Annoyingly persistent?" Atticus chuckled, reminiscently. "In actuality, I'm more flattered than offended."
Jake ran a hand down his face and looked beside his brother. Sometimes even he could be so stubborn it almost rivalled Jake's own unbeatable level of stubbornness.
"Atticus…"
"But if I tell you now, you won't help me!"
Jake controlled his patience. "How are we supposed to help you if we don't even know what you want us to do in the first place? You're not making any sense!"
"I'll just tell you later when we get there!"
"Oh, boy." Jake sighed, clearly deadbeat of all this ridiculous squabbling around. "I'm going to get off this car, jump into the road, and let that truck flatten me like a pancake if you don't tell me what really is going on, like, right. Now."
The menace in Jake's voice was enough to make Atticus surrender.
"Okay, okay, alright!" Atticus suddenly looked so stressed that he just might break like a rubber band. He rubbed his face with his hands so exhaustedly that he suddenly looked like he had aged for eighty years. Atticus thought that it would be so much easier if only he didn't have to explain himself, but unfortunately, he had to do it if he wanted Ned and Jake's help. He had to explain it and lose his dignity for the sake of the person who he wanted to save.
Jake braced himself. He felt from Atticus' tense muscles that whatever was going to come out of his younger brother's mouth would certainly not be the most pleasant words he would ever hear.
"So I found this ancient Norse magic spell written in The Ancient Folktales of Norse Mythology and it showed instructions on how to call upon on spirits," began Atticus. "And, right now, we really need to call upon the spirit of the late Glinda Godfrey, because she might just know what kind of cure Ian would need for the Mystery Syndrome, which, in actuality, was the curse of the mirror that was given to Glinda by her mother, Esmeralda, and that sort of like circles around an ancient forgotten legend that we really don't have the time for me to explain all over again, because I am tired of talking and explaining all too-heavily detailed stuff. So, it would really help if you just stop asking questions and follow my lead on doing this magic spell, because I really need to talk to Glinda about cures if we want Ian to survive this deadly syndrome, and, as you know, tomorrow might just be his last day—we really need Glinda's help because she's one of the Seven Sisters who were behind the actual curse, and they might just have an idea on how to cure it; and I am not going to explain it all over again to you, Jake, in case you are confused!"
Atticus took a breath. Jake and Ned—and a random motorist from outside the car—were staring at Atticus.
Even though the mountainous heaps of words were still trying to jam themselves into Jake's throbbing brain, he was able to get the main idea of what his younger brother was trying to say here.
And the concept of subtlety was chucked out of the window.
"WHAT?!" he blurted out, ready to tear out Atticus' noggin to check if his brain was still there. Okay, had he lost it, too? Did his history-loving little brother's rationality suddenly took a, what, a vacation somewhere out in the Bahamas? What did this nutty little nut of a necromantic maniac do to his beloved genius brother? Like, really? Did he just suggest that they talk to a dead person to ask for a cure to the Mystery Syndrome? Call upon a spirit? By using a, what, a magic spell?! Next thing they'd do was that they'd kidnap a fairy to get ransom for their fairy gold. Was that the best, most rational solution that the great Atticus Rosenbloom can ever think of for the dilemma in their hands now?
Or…was he joking? Jake stared deep into Atticus' eyes, searching for the possibility that his little brother might only be playing a prank on him. But he saw the seriousness there.
And the desperateness.
No. No. Atticus wasn't joking. Jake knew that expression of desperateness all too well, and he knew that the feeling was terrible. Atticus was seriously implying that they ask whoever this Glinda was for a cure.
What was going on?
Ned seemed to be picking up Jake's same thoughts as he simply stared at Atticus like he'd just sprouted nine dragon heads. Atticus, on the other hand, looked like he'd been expecting these kinds of reactions from both of them. These faces in front of him were just the exact duplicate faces of the shocked expressions of Dan and Phoenix earlier when he had told them of his plan. The young Rosenbloom covered his face with his hands, not wanting to see those faces of disbelief and scepticism all over again, wishing that the red light would just blink itself away into green so all they just had to do now was speed away and to get actual things done. What was taking those bloody thirty-nine seconds so long?
Atticus was well aware that the plan he had in mind was ridiculous, but, really, with the syndrome having no other known cure, he had no other leads to lean onto. Because he just couldn't stand doing here nothing—he had to do anything, something. He had no choice but to talk to at least one of the Seven Sisters—because they were the ones who created this curse in the first place. He understood that the Seven Sisters must only be a fragment of a long-forgotten legend, but really, with the time running out, what other options did he have left on his table? He was desperate, and desperate needs call for desperate measures. If Ian was going to die tomorrow on his third day, then Atticus would need to act fast—and this was the only solution with the fastest method, so he was going to have to cling to it.
And desperately he will.
It crossed his mind earlier that maybe, just maybe, the Seven Sisters had an idea on how to, well, break the spell. This second day was close to being over, what with the night plunging them deeper into its depths by the ticking second, and tomorrow was the dreaded third day. Most probably Ian's last. But if he wanted to prevent any deaths from happening again, he really had no other choice. Calling upon Glinda Godfrey was really the only solution he could ever think of…and no matter how nutty anyone else thought of this plan, he was not going to back away from doing this magic spell. Not without trying it first. He wouldn't be able to bear it if Ian died because he didn't try doing what could be done—even if it involved asking questions to dead spirits.
Maybe being desperate wasn't so bad after all, if it pushed him to do absolutely anything to find a way out.
A dramatic silence had settled in the car.
"You," Ned said, pointing at his direction a finger of indictment, "are absolutely bonkers."
Atticus only buried his face deeper into his palms, helpless. "Don't remind me."
"Yeah," Jake dryly agreed, "because that's my job."
oO0Oo
Back in the Cahill mansion, specifically in the attic, Nellie, Phoenix, and Dan were waiting for the arrival of their other comrades. Nellie was busy drawing something on the floor, and Phoenix was rummaging through the attic's dusty crates, trying to look for a candle.
And Dan was doing nothing. He was sitting on a rocking chair, hands crossed over his chest, his eyes unusually contemplative as his mind travelled back through time—a time where all was perfect, a time where all was peaceful, and all was bright and sunny as it could ever be on a regular Cahill reunion. It was a flashback Dan would never forget. He didn't know why, but for some reason, whenever he felt sad, he would simply conjure up this memory to make him feel even just a tad happy. He couldn't even understand why.
That peaceful day started like this…
o
"WHAT?!"
Amy and Ian cringed at the shrillness of his voice. The Kabra had to put his hand onto his face to swipe away some spit that had so unfortunately landed themselves onto the surface of his handsome yet utterly disgusted face.
"How American of you, Daniel," Ian remarked, all too unhappily wiping his now-contaminated hand with an alcohol-induced kerchief. "Perhaps you're forgetting that the reason Natalie hasn't come out of her room for precisely eight days and seventeen hours is because of you. As his brother, I would really appreciate it if you even made some small effort to apologize, and, for once, took matters with a serious face."
"No, no way." Dan made an 'X' with his arms as if he was about to get attacked by a zombie. "There is no way I'm going to apologize. It's not my fault she took that prank too personally!"
"How many times do I have to tell you, you dweeb? It is personal, Dan," Amy pointed out, exasperation showing in her features as she tried to explain it all over again. "That dress was a gift from her mother, and you just destroyed it. And just in case you're forgetting your attitude, even without the dress involved, you still have to apologize for throwing grease-filled balloons at her."
"How many times do I have to tell you," he lashed back, "that grease balloon was meant for Hamilton! Ugh!" Dan had jammed himself onto the plush sofa and sulkily turned on the TV with a flick of the remote. "It's not my fault she got in the way."
Hamilton happened to be passing by the living room with a can of Pringles in one hand, and took one look at Dan. "Not cool, man," he said, shaking his head. "Not cool." Then he walked off.
Ian marched over to the television and stood in front of it so Dan would be looking at him. He ignored the boy's protests of "Hey, out of the way, you TV-blocking Squidward! Can't you see I'm watching SpongeBob here?" Ian exchanged a look of disbelief with Amy and the girl just shrugged. The British boy turned back to Dan with a look that told the younger that he was going to say something serious here, so he better listen up.
"Daniel, I—"
"What?"
Unfortunately, listening to all things serious wasn't exactly Dan's forte.
Ian bristled. "It would actually be polite to let me finish."
"It would actually be polite to let me finish."
Twitch. Twitch. Ian was twitching at the horrid imitation, and Dan grinned at how awesome he was in doing these kinds of things. Glad to know he wasn't getting old. Dan had mimicked Ian's voice with a little more than overdone British accent. Seeing Ian's face contort so much like that made a deep satisfaction rise up from Dan's stomach. Ah. 'You want serious, eh, snake boy? Then you get serious.' One of the perks of having Cobras in the mansion was that Dan actually had some serious fun around here. Amy was getting boring to be around with these days, really.
Ian clenched his fists and seethed out with gritted teeth. "Honestly, if you just listen first—"
"Honestly, if you just listen first!"
"Daniel, please, you're being very immature."
"Daniel, please, you're being very awesome."
"Stop it."
"Stop it."
"I mean it."
"I mean it."
"Seriously, it's getting on my—!"
"Seriously, it's getting on my—"
But Dan stopped when Ian suddenly brandished a dart gun from his sleeve and pointed it threateningly at Dan, who now stared at the shiny little point aimed directly at him.
"If you don't stop this nonsense," whispered the Lucian in his deadliest voice, dropping from its usual tenor to the surprising baritone that even made Amy turn her head at him, "I am personally going to kill you and make sure your body is unfound while you are feasted upon by rats and flies."
Dan flinched, awkwardly moving his head a little backwards so that his face wouldn't be so near to that tiny little point almost touching his nose. He shuddered. That would be horrible, being sentenced to death because of grease-filled balloons and all. He preferred having a more…heroic death, you know? Like maybe after having dramatically saved the world with a cape billowing out from behind him. At least let him do his ninja pose before he died.
"Alright, alright, the two of you, stop it." Amy stepped in between the two of them, pushing Ian away from her brother while she chuckled nervously at how close the Kabra was at exploding right now. From his tense muscles, even Amy could tell that Ian was dead serious about the threat he had just made. Amy sighed, and turned to Dan. She made a mental note to lecture him about seriousness later.
"Just do what Ian tells you and he wouldn't bother you anymore. All he wants is that you apologize to Natalie. Okay?"
"Apologize to that annoying, bratty little gnat?" Dan huffed, refusing to get his pride wounded. "Not in a million years."
Ian stepped forward, going for the kill. But Amy stopped him, calmly told him she got this situation, and heaved in a breath, forcing herself to even say these words aloud. She turned to Dan, who had his eyebrow arched and arms crossed, trying to look sceptical instead of curious of what his sister was about to say here now.
And then that's when she went for the bait.
"Not even if you do it for a GSX2?"
o
He inwardly smirked at the memory. Ah, his sister just knew his weakness, didn't she? But suddenly, Dan snapped out of his trance as Nellie's voice interrupted through his little meditation.
"I can't believe I'm really participating in this," said Nellie as she finished drawing a, quote-unquote, a 'magic circle' on the wooden floor with a chalk. She sat back to admire her handiwork. It was a circle with a seven-pointed star drawn inside it, its points touching the circumference of the circle. She did pretty well on following the right dimensions and the correct angles, all of which came from the very detailed account on Atticus' book. The Ancient Folktales of Norse Mythology had nothing but seriously infected that young Rosenbloom's skull with magic fairy dust. And now she, Dan, and Phoenix were forced to cooperate with this crazy ancient spell of his to talk to a spirit.
Nellie thought that, fine, that mirror was one heck of a supernatural mirror. Atticus had proved that when, just a little earlier, he allowed her to touch the mirror for one second, and, in that split second, she thought her head had also just split in two. The unwanted memories that suddenly arose, all tragic and crazy sad, had overflowed in her mind that she couldn't literally take it. It was a horrible experience that she had all too happily agreed that she was never to touch that mirror again for the rest of her life, period.
But even as she was finally convinced of the legitimacy of that mirror's curse and the legend of the Seven Sisters, she still thought that attempting to call upon spirits was going a little overboard. Okay, sure, the Mystery Syndrome's real, primary root is the golden mirror that neither of them all ever had the desire to touch, but even Nellie cannot just go and all too happily agree on calling upon a spirit. The only real reason she agreed to do this was because Atticus was a pretty persistent young fella.
"Yeah, me too," agreed Phoenix, shaking his head as he started putting candles onto the points of the newly-drawn star. "This is nuts."
"I don't know what suddenly happened to Att," Dan added, who was sitting on a dusty rocking chair with his hands nonchalantly put behind his head. "I just want to get this over with."
"Yes, and we wouldn't get over with this if you don't actually help in setting up this crazy magic circle thingy," Nellie pointed out, walking over to him with hands onto her hips. "Get the matches downstairs. We don't have anything here to light these candles up."
Dan's initial response was a groan. "Aw, why me?"
"Because you're the only one who's not doing anything. Phoenix and I are hard at work here, mister. Now march."
Dan sighed, and got up from his rocking chair. He climbed downstairs the attic, walked some more steps down toward the kitchen to search for the required matches. After a few fumbling and shuffling, he finally found the matchbox, with a few good matches left inside. He casually tossed it in the air and caught it in his hand. It would be enough.
He took his time walking back upstairs and through the hallway. As he did, he threw a few ninja punches here and there to entertain himself, dancing in the air as if he was in a real, actual battlefront with a light sabre of his own. He threw a few punch lines here and there as he did his rather clumsy ninja moves (but despite anyone else's opinions, he was still pretty convinced that his moves were not clumsy, that in fact they were actually cool.) He was saying, "Take that, you evil villain!" or "You are no match for Dan the Awesome Ninja! Hyaaa!" and he thrust his imaginary sword forward with a dramatic pose. But as dramatic as it was, he accidentally released the puny little matchbox from his hand and it skidded across the floor, and there it went into a slightly-opened room at the end of the hall.
Oh man, that was embarrassing. Dan warily looked left and right, making sure he was all alone. If anyone had seen him do that, they would really call his ninja moves as clumsy.
Relieved that he was all alone, (phew,) he ran over to the slightly-opened room as quickly as he could and switched on the lights. The floor was dusty—it looked like it hadn't been touched for years. It probably was. He searched and searched and searched the open floor, but his thrown matchbox wasn't there. Great. Nellie was going to kill him if he didn't come back up there in the attic quick; he started to regret even doing those ninja moves because now it caused him nothing but trouble. It looks like he was left with no choice but to search under the bed. It's not like he didn't like his shirt getting dusty when he crouched down onto the floor, but this was his only good SpongeBob t-shirt left. Nevertheless, he still bent over, hunkering down so he could take a look-see on the unders of the bed, but…sigh.
Nope. No sign of it there. Dan straightened himself up from the floor and grouchily scratched his head. How come a matchbox could hide so expertly that even Dan couldn't find it anywhere? Dan was practically the finest sensei when it came to playing hide-and-seek. He scanned the room, which was empty of all appliances or anything of the sort—there was just the bed, an empty wardrobe, and the small wooden drawer by the side of the bed.
He decided to search under the said drawer, doing the same crouch as he did when he had looked under the bed. And as inserted his head under the said drawer and took a glance, whoa—there it is! His matchbox, finally. Dan swiped his hand over it and easily took it, but getting his head out from under the drawer wasn't as easy a job. He had hit his head against the underside of the drawer and he released an 'Ow!' when something fell onto his head with a loud thunk.
He abruptly stood up, reeling from his expedition from under the said drawer as he scratched the sore spot onto this head. But it was a good thing he had his matchbox now, right? He was just about to leave the room, now that he had his job here done and over with, but when he took one final glance at the room, he felt himself stiffen as he let his mind go off to…
Somewhere else.
o
The GameStationX2 offer was simply irresistible. So, in the end, Dan had agreed to apologize.
But as he stopped walking and froze in front of a pink-coloured store in the mall, he immediately regretted it.
"Hello, hello, welcome, sir!" Dan hadn't even taken one single step inside the store but the saleswoman had already assumed he was going to. So she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him across the pink-tiled floor despite his many protests, and eventually the two of them stood at the centre of the pink room which was draped over with pink decorations. "Good afternoon!" said the saleswoman with a nametag that read Yvette. "It's a warm day to be here in the mall, don't you think? What brings you to our humble little store?"
You dragged me here, lady, Dan wanted to shout. But he didn't want to offend the saleswoman's feelings—her smile was so strained it looked like she just might crack, and it must have been so boring for her to sit around here and wait for customers all day long. Well, come to think of it, was he the only customer here? Huh. Then that explains why this Yvette dudette seemed a little too desperate when she had almost dragged him across the room.
"Well?" Yvette seemed to have started losing hope that her only customer was actually going to buy something. "Is there something here that tickles your fancy?"
Dan took his time to survey the room. There were necklaces, bracelets, hair clips, all sorts of pink and gold and silver accessories that he didn't even know what they were, and fancy, overdone dresses that hung by hangers in each aisle. Yuck. It was so girly in this store that he was so going to puke, right then and there. And it was no wonder no one ever came in here—when Dan's eyes landed on a price tag, he thought he just heard his wallet say 'Ouch'.
"What are you looking for, sir?" said Yvette, who followed him from behind like a puppy, desperate to get a word out of her only customer, not wanting to lose him. "Could you tell me in particular? A birthday gift? Or perhaps a present for a girlfriend?"
Dan released a brutal gag as a cough erupted from his stomach, most probably from disgust. No, scratch that, it's definitely from disgust. He pounded his chest with a fist, desperately trying to stop his choking as the saleslady profusely tried to apologize and immediately hurried to get him a bottle of water and made him drink it. All the while, Dan was practically screaming and/or puking.
Girlfriend? Natalie, a girlfriend?! Now why would this crazy lady think of THAT? YUCK! I choose the GRAVE! Dying would be MERCY!
His coughs eventually subsided as he gulped down the water, completely ignoring the worried look of Yvette as she watched him finally calm down. Dan swiped the back of his hand to his wet lips as he held out the bottle of water to Yvette, thanking her for her help. Yvette immediately started firing questions.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, sir, did I say something offensive? Would you like to tell me first exactly what you need, so I may just be the one to search it for you? So you could just sit here and I'll do all the browsing? It would definitely save you the work and the time."
Unbelievable. This Yvette was really desperate. "Nah, don't worry, I got it." Dan gave her a nonchalant wave, shoving his other hand in his pocket as he started walking through the jewellery aisle, examining each and every accessory that was laid out beautifully in elegant arrangements. The saleslady followed from behind, saying things that were so incredibly boring that he chose to just shut up and not listen. He just focused himself on the browsing instead.
First there were the earrings—each and every one of them are exaggeratedly big and laden with different sorts of gems that Dan had to wonder why anyone would even want to wear them in the first place. They looked so heavy they might just rip off an earhole; he wondered why girls even wanted to have this extra weight in their ears, wouldn't that be uncomfortable?
Second was the aisle of hats. There were hats made of imported abaca leaves, and some were made of fancy leather that one could use for like absolutely nothing—the leather was so heavy on the head that practically NO ONE would want to wear it! The hats were vividly coloured and designed, with fancy laces tracing the rims and feathers and whatnot. One of them was so ridiculously full of feathers that whoever wore it would look like a peacock. He had cackled rather loudly at the thought of Natalie squawking around like a peacock (what with her fancy posture and all her other schmancies) with those feathers sitting right on her head, but then Yvette's worried tone reminded him that there was a spectator. So he stopped laughing and cleared his throat as he turned to the right. Okay. That had probably looked creepy.
Third, the necklace aisle. The description of these thingamajigs is the same—exaggerated and heavily decorated by dramatic series of sparklers. He thought that these things came just right out of a fashion magazine. Unlike what he did to the first and second aisle, this time he actually turned serious at trying to find the perfect jewellery. Although he didn't really know which one of these Natalie would like, and besides he had no fashion sense in the first place, he still thought that some of the jewels looked pretty good. He even went so far as to pick up one necklace which was laden with gold-rimmed rubies cascading down in a spectacular chain of vivid red gemstones that even he thought would be breath-taking if Natalie wore it—if anyone else wore it. Also, red seemed to be the perfect Lucian colour for her.
"Oh, good! So that necklace it is!" the saleslady had all too enthusiastically clapped her hands when Dan had told her this was it. They both went to the counter and Yvette told him, "That would be five hundred dollars."
Dan was silent for a second. Or two.
"You could buy a horse for that."
Yvette looked confused at the sudden inclusion of the smelly quadruped mammal in the conversation. "What?"
"Uh, I was just thinking, can I just browse again for a minute?"
Because, really? Five hundred dollars?! What in the name of Gideon! Did that money even exist? Yeah well, he was rich and all, but he'd lived all his life with barely even a dollar a week to survive school (that was how Beatrice made the impression of a selfish mothball-smelling hag in front of everyone). But today he had learned his lesson. When he and the saleslady went back to the jewellery aisles, Dan made sure to look at the price tags first.
The aisle of rings. This time he actually started paying attention to what he had to pay attention to—the Price Tags of Death. But because of doing that, each and every single little thing was immediately crossed out—no, no, no way was he going to buy anything that cost $239.75, or $124.15, or even a $99.99. (Seriously, he couldn't understand why they had to be so shy of that extra point-oh-one cent. Idiots.) Ditto the headband aisle, and the hair clip aisle, and the anklet aisle, and the bracelet aisle. Ugh. He had scoured all the ends of the jewellery aisles and nothing caught up to Dan's (cheap) practical standards, and, worst of all, he was getting tired. Seriously, how long has he been walking around in circles over here now? Is this why girls were so time-consuming whenever they go to one—one—fuh-reaking store?
This was a total waste of time. Why in the world was he even here in the first place? He was about to give up, surrender to the hands of exhaustion that had so cruelly grabbed him by the throat. He was just about to leave the he-didn't-care-what-kind-of-jewellery-it-was aisle when…
He stopped walking. He picked up the bracelet that had caught his eye, never minding the price. In no time, he decided this was it, all other thoughts steering clear of the only one that had gripped his mind: this was the bracelet for Natalie. It was the one that would just fit her personality, her looks, and everything else. He knew that this was just the right, most beautiful accessory that would perfectly compliment everything that was her.
"I think I'll take this."
It was perfect.
(And cheap, as an added bonus.)
o
Dan gulped. That day. That day, it happened in this very room.
Because the room he was currently standing on was Natalie's room.
And he had to take a step back at the frightening coincidences. When he took a look at the thing that had hit him on the head, it was the same jewellery box that he gave her that day. He bent down to open the lid, and found a piece of tiny paper in it, letters written in Natalie's handwriting.
Today is June 24th. The day Dan did the sweetest thing he'd ever done his whole life.
o
He heaved a breath, steeled his nerves, and spilled his guts.
Knock, knock.
"Go away."
He sighed, having expected this kind of reaction. She hadn't gone out of her room, for, like, ages, well only actually eight days, but was it really that big of a deal that she had to mourn for her stupid dress? Sure, he was the one who greased it in the first place, ahem, accidentally greased it in the first place, but she really didn't have to go so far as to skulk in her room like an old crone.
"Seriously?" Dan pressed his ear against Natalie's door. "I thought you were going to say 'Who's there'."
But the British girl was persistent in not letting anyone else get her out of her room. Not ever. And Dan heard that in her next words.
"I am personally going to kill you and feed you to the crocodiles and laugh while you beg for your petty little life, Daniel, if you don't. Go. Away."
He sighed. Well, that's a Cobra for you.
"Alright, alright, I know you don't want me here." He almost laughed at the way she'd sounded so much like her older Cobra brother; but this time, he restrained that laugh, trampling it down his gut until it was nothing but a figment of his imagination. He took to heart Ian's words—to take matters with a serious face, for once. So he tried again, cleared his throat, and forced himself to actually sound sincere. "But look, I'm not here to fight. I just came to tell you it's time for lunch." It was a lie. It was barely even ten am. "There's that fancy food you Brits like so much downstairs—it has that fancy white sauce…what's it called? Viernes? Yeah, something like that."
"It's béarnaise, you stupid twit. Viernes is Spanish for Friday." Her voice was as snappy and snippy and smarty-pants as ever. "Now go away."
Once again, Dan released a loud, audible sigh. He realized she wasn't going to open her door no matter what he tried to say. Ian was right—Natalie was impossible to coax out of her room, and if her own brother didn't even stand a chance, what else was left for Dan? He had tried this reason to talk to Ian and Amy, but both of them still believed that an apology would be the one to cure this moping around that Natalie was so fond of doing these days. So he still had to try.
"Okay then," he said in a loud voice, wanting Natalie from the other side of the door to hear him perfectly loud and clear. "I guess I'm just gonna go and play videogames while you are bored to death in there!" He purposefully made his footsteps loud enough for her to hear as he traipsed down the hall until he stopped at a distance. He wanted to make Natalie believe that he really had gone away. Then he removed his shoes, gently set them on the ground, and silently tip-toed back down the hall to Natalie's door, waiting for her to open it.
But when she did, presumably to go down and get her lunch, and saw Dan's grinning face, she lost all hold on patience.
"You?! UGH!"
She attempted to immediately shut the door on his face, utterly mortified. But Dan had his foot blocking the door from locking herself in again, like the slick and cunning ninja he was.
There was a pause in the air.
Then Dan started jumping up and down like a pathetic headless chicken, holding his throbbing, shoeless foot and blowing it with puffs of air as if that could ease the sudden pain. He immediately regretted even sticking his foot there in the first place. When Natalie had banged that door, she'd banged the door hard. His foot was now practically begging for the ninja lords' mercy.
"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!" he was screaming. Then he looked accusingly at Natalie. "What is the big idea?!"
Natalie was stark raving mad. "Do you really want me to answer that?"
"Uh, yeah, you moron, I think that's why people ask questions in the first place!"
"Well then, let me tell you, you idiot," Natalie had banged her door open wide, so now Dan could see a full glimpse of her for the first time in days. "You destroyed my most expensive dress with grease beyond repair. Beyond repair! I perfectly understand if you have no idea what you have just destroyed, for I am a hundred per cent sure that those disgusting little head lice of yours had already extracted the brain out of your skull, so I am going to so helpfully point this out for you—you and your savage prank had destroyed the most valuable remembrance I have of my mother." Her voice cracked at the mention of that same woman whom she loved but had disowned her, and Dan saw her struggling with the conflicting emotions that had just risen out of her—was she to be angry at her mother, or was she to just forget all the bad memories and stick onto the good ones, love her mum like she had so normally done before?
As Natalie stood there, fists clenched and body stiff, Dan could see…what? Tears on her eyes?
She turned around in her heel and crossed her arms. Her head slowly bowed down to face the ground as she said, in the quietest voice he had ever heard from her, "I hope you are satisfied with what you just destroyed."
Dan was sent in shocked silence, honestly not knowing what else to say. He didn't know she was still this attached to her mother—ahem, to that woman. He didn't even know why she still hadn't let go of Isabel, that snake, even after all she'd done. Isabel just had to be the one person in the world not fit to earn the title of a mother—she had shot Natalie in the foot with a real live actual gun, for crying out loud. He just didn't understand why Natalie had to care so much about the Most Evil Villain in the World.
And what did people actually say in this kind of situation? The silence that had befallen upon them was so painfully awkward that he felt like he just had to say something, and with Natalie's faint sniffling in the background which she tried so hard to smother away, Dan felt like he had to be the one who had to say something. But what? He felt like he had to reach out and console her, tell her everything will be alright, pat her on the shoulder or something, but ew. He'd pass. Dan was the awesome type of person who didn't really do sappy drama.
So he just said the words that he knew Dan Cahill would say in a situation like this.
"Nat. I didn't come here to get lashed at." He said this, stepping forward—then suddenly paused. "Huh. Funny that rhymes."
"If you want me to listen to whatever garbage you are about to say," Natalie snapped, that normal haughtiness that he hadn't even realized he'd missed hearing seeping back into her tone, "you would have to address me properly, Daniel."
An annoyed vein throbbed in Dan's forehead.
"Okay, alright—Natalie, I didn't come here to get lashed at." He rolled his eyes, and then produced a small pink box from his pocket, and awkwardly held it out to her. "I came to, you know, maybe-sorta-kinda give you this."
Natalie's eyes landed onto the small, flower-engraved box that was sitting right at Dan's hand, her expression that full of shock, clearly not expecting the events to turn out like this. But as the gears in her mind actually began to gain power and started turning rapidly—
She looked up at him with a knowing smirk. "Did Ian tell you to bribe me so I would forgive you?"
Dan's mouth gaped.
Busted.
"Wha—no, no, no!" He shook his hands in front of him all too exaggeratedly. "That's not the case! Forgive me? As if I'd ask for forgiveness from a Cobra in the first place! Ha! You must be OUT of your mind!" He laughed so hard that he had to slap his knee like he really meant it. Natalie raised an eyebrow; he knew that she totally saw right through him, and it made him feel like a pathetic klutz for lying in front of a Lucian. "No, no, you got it all wrong, I didn't come here to say sorry! Me? Sorry for my pranks? Pfft. Like where did that even come from? Puh-leez!"
Natalie crossed her arms over her chest, that superior look plastered all over her face like a flag of glory. "That confirms it. You want an apology."
Argh. No point in arguing. So he just gave up and held the box out to her. "Right, right, sorry, okay? I didn't know that that dress meant so much for you. Yeah, I know I was the reason why your dress was destroyed and all, and I'm sorry. Really sorry 'bout that. I promise that I'm not going to do it again. Maybe. Ugh, I hate this sappy drama. Just take the stupid box of pink abomination already."
The girl let herself smile as she took the box from Dan's hand. It had been a while since she'd gone shopping for fancy jewellery considering she didn't have that much money as she had in the past, so she was very happy that she actually had something new to wear, even if it came from Dan. Her eyes lovingly rested on the jewellery box first, before focusing her grateful eyes back to Dan, sincere and unsnappish for once.
"Apology accepted."
He was shocked for a moment, frozen in the middle of him scratching the back of his neck. Then he stared at her, not believing his ears.
"What?"
"Are you deaf, you blithering fool? I said I forgive you."
Dan gulped. Once again he found it unsure of what proper words to speak. How was someone to react in this kind of situation? Ugh, he never thought he'd admit this, but he regretted not watching those drama movies Amy had so annoyingly insisted him to watch with her. If he did, then he'd know just what to say.
But once again, he just let his mouth say what Dan Cahill would want to say.
"Well, before we get all mushy-mushy and corny and stuff," he waved his fingers over at the direction of the small pink box in her hand, "open the thing first."
Natalie did so, all too happily. But when she lifted the lid, and saw what was inside…
"Is this supposed to be an insult?!" She held out the cheap-looking silver bracelet (uh, no, it wasn't silver, per se, it's actually just stainless steel) with a small, heart-shaped locker dangling from it, and thrust the thin thing over to his face. To tell the truth, she was seriously insulted. The way how simple it was, how undecorated and just plain, it hurt her pride. Natalie Kabra didn't wear peasant accessories like this, she just didn't. But now that Dan had bought her something so dull like this, so cheap, she was just reminded of what she was supposed to be now—a poor, penniless peasant sitting in the grass roots of society who didn't deserve the pearls and the diamonds and the gold and rubies she had been so accustomed to wearing all her life.
"What? You don't like it?" Dan said, looking a little hurt that his gift was unappreciated, but trying to smother it over with an incredulous face. No, no, he was NOT hurt that Natalie didn't like it, he was happy that she was insulted. At least, that's what he'd been telling himself. There was no reason for him to be hurt, right? Right? Right.
"No, I don't like it!" she was hollering. "It looks cheap! And is this stainless steel? You could've at least gotten me authentic silver!"
Well, he expected this reaction from her, but out of all those exaggerated and overpriced jewelleries back at the store, this was the only one that he really found perfect for Natalie. The reason he bought it was not because it was the cheapest of the bunch (well, partly) but because its simplicity balanced Natalie's sophisticated character. He liked the necklace. Didn't she?
"Cheap?!" he fired back, outrageous. "That cost me like thirty-nine cents, you cranky ungrateful gnat! And that is not stainless steel! That's stainless-steel-with-a-smidge-of-silver kind of steel! And I got that from a jewellery store, to tell you!" he added, proudly.
Natalie didn't know if she had to be impressed by that. "Thirty-nine cents? Now I know you are just making that up! This couldn't have been worth more than one bleeding cent!" she screamed. "Daniel!"
Dan saw it coming. He ducked, just in time to see the pink jewellery box hit the wall where Dan's head previously was. Natalie was angry that she missed the bull's-eye, so she screamed, kind-of-sort-of as a battle cry, a warning for Dan to get up, like, right now, or else he'd die. And then he ran, Natalie running after him, shouting death threats and all those fancy-schmancy British insult words that he didn't have the brainpower at the moment to comprehend—because right now, he was having too much fun, something he hadn't felt for ages (well, only eight days, but really), and he laughed, because his mind was too delighted of thinking of one fact and one fact only:
The mighty ninja was the only one whohad successfully gotten her out of her room.
o
Dan smiled at the flashback. He cradled the small, delicate jewellery box on his hand and, with his other free one, he fished out the one thing he had been keeping guilty of these days—
The heart-shaped locker bracelet with the letters NK in it.
Sure, he had stolen it from Cobra the other day, and he was perfectly aware that he ought to return what wasn't his, but he just…didn't want to return it. Maybe it was the fact that he was still a little overwhelmed that Natalie had actually not thrown the bracelet away, even if she thought that it was cheap, even if she said she didn't like it—she actually kept it, she actually wore it, that day when the Cahills came to the Kabra mansion to have a Halloween party. And the fact that Ian had actually kept that little bracelet in the first place made Dan feel so…touched. Because Ian wouldn't even keep it with him in the first place if he didn't think that it was something that Natalie had valued. And the thought of Natalie actually valuing something that he of all people gave her…
Well, he wasn't really sure on how he felt about that.
Dan had felt that he had the right to keep this bracelet; that is, for the time being. It was a good thing that Ian didn't even suspect something missing from his luggage, but Dan agreed with himself that on the first sign of suspicion that would rise from Ian, he would immediately return him this bracelet. It was, after all, his sister's possession.
It was funny how now Dan valued Natalie's possessions, when, back in the days, he enjoyed burning every single one of hers, her Prada and each and every one of her disgusting girly accessories. He smiled at the thought. Those pranking wars were the best. Those were the same days when he'd demand videogame rematches because she clearly cheated, those same days when she'd annoy him with that ugly British voice of hers that she called 'sophisticated', the days when she called him Daniel and he called her Nat, and that one day when they both agreed on an alliance to initiate a Cahill version of World War III against their older siblings and other cousins. Now, that particular one had been so much fun. All those days were so much fun. Those were the days that his life was filled with happiness that he'd taken for granted, happiness that he never knew even existed.
So he couldn't believe it. He just couldn't. He didn't know how it even happened, but it just…did.
Those days were all suddenly gone.
When he realized what he had just been thinking, he laughed at himself, releasing the grip he had been so tightly forcing on his knee, the jewellery box still in his hand. He found it as such a farce. All those days, he'd been so annoyed at her that he just wanted her gone; but now that she was, he found himself wanting for her to actually be here.
Come to think of it, he said to himself, she still keeps on annoying me even if she's gone. And he knew that she knew that he hated mushy-mushy moments, but, right now, she was making him feel all so mushy even if she's not here. Ugh. This is all her fault. This is all her fault. He grouchily wiped at the tears that had stubbornly gotten out of his eyes, ugh, it was her fault he was crying now. Why did she have to go? Why did she have to keep on being so annoying? Why did she have to make him a pathetic old mush? Why did she have to leave? They still haven't had enough fun yet, he still had a million pranks planned out for her, and they still haven't planned out World War IV! And she was so good on forming strategies too—if only she knew that she'd make an awesome sidekick!
It was so totally unfair that she had to leave him alone to all the planning of their prank wars now. It was unfair that all she had to do was sit back and watch the entire show while he worked out on the war details all alone. It was unfair that she didn't have to attend any more of their Cahill reunions, and it was unfair that she wasn't there to be annoyed at, it was unfair that she isn't there anymore to play pranks on. She was being so unfair. All of it was just so totally unfair.
Unfair, unfair, unfair!
He let himself fall to the floor, his knees not able to anymore stand it anymore. He held the jewellery box close to him as if it was the smidgeon of life left in him that he himself would die if he let it go. He was perfectly aware of how mushy he was acting, and he blamed all of it on her. He was full on crying now, all the while screaming at the one person who would never be able to hear it anyway. The gall of that woman—she dared just leave like that and make him feel like…this at the same time? Ugh! How the hell dare she! She's just—
—so—
—annoying!
This is all your fault, blast it, Natalie!