Resurgam.
Yes, the dead have a way of returning. Sometimes as memories, good or bad, and nothing more than that. Sometimes, as they have for me since my earliest childhood, however, they return as something much more real and much more frightening. Some ask for help; others are simply lonely, lingering here unsure whether to go on or stay, and just come to play for a bit. My first friend when I was three was the spirit of a little girl murdered few months ago down in Olympia – not exactly something you can share with kids over popcorn in cinema. It doesn't do much for sanity, either.
I wavered for a moment whether to search out Bree's grave; whether to try to strike up a direct contact. I both shoved the thought away and gathered the courage for giving it a go; the world of the spirits was something I had pushed away many years ago and I did not want it to enter my life again. With Bree's insistence, though, I wasn't sure I have a choice.
But I didn't feel well enough for it.
Not today, I apologised to her internally. Just let me have a bit of rest.
With the foolish baking, with the walking around, I've exhausted myself; and truth be told, the nightmares, incessant since the mysterious Garrett's absence, the lost, frightened, desperate eyes of Bree, didn't let me get much of sleep. Not to mention the headaches, or the various pains or troubles one gets after a heart attack.
Though truth be told, those were much lesser and I felt much stronger and was able to do much, much more things than I had thought. Garrett, the strange healer, made me function semi-normally; to the point I was nursing a timid, secret hope. If that gift in him could make me able to walk the distance from home to the police station and the cemetery, bake, cook so quickly after my surgery, could he, perhaps, give me more time?

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At home, after slogging through lots of Trig and a bit of Wise Children for an essay, a throbbing headache that made me feel like my head's made of glass and that it will burst into shards in any moment, the ribs chiming in and letting me know with a forceful kick that they are still far from healed, told me it's time to call it quits and rest till Angela comes. I debated whether to try to take some Tramal, or whether to wait with it for later, for the night so I could sleep. I didn't like taking much of the stuff, though it worked well. Back at twelve, during the chemos and radiotherapies, it was so indispensable I almost got addicted to it. I didn't want to risk it again.
Outside, the clouds were gathering on the sky and passing each other like busy people on the street, restless and blown towards their respective destinations. The air though smelled sweet; there was not a hint of a-coming storm in it. The nature, for once here, had perfect gentleness about it. I laid down on the couch and just watched them. There was such peace in the sight. A cricket had landed on the bottom left corner of the window, ochre and coffee brown against the soft white and pale blue clouds, his body shivering as it gave out the chirping that strangely soothed me, even as it pricked my head.
And of a sudden, I had a strange desire for Edward to be there with me, laid down with his head to my head, hold my hand and watch it with me – would that sight not calm down for a moment even that angry puzzle of ever-battling paradoxes that was him?
It was odd, but I had the feeling that he of all people would understand it, what's so special about one cricket and the clustering of clouds; what's in these moments that make you stop, breathe and just wonder.
Why did he beat up that teacher?
The doorbell announced Angela's arrival. We had agreed to split up the reading between us to get it done faster. Wise Children just were not something that we enjoyed, no matter how hard we tried. We huddled up on the couch in the kitchen and buried our noses in the books.
"Did you hear it?" she asked suddenly, peering at me. "About Edward? About what he's done to Mr. Banner?"
I nodded, biting my lip without looking at her, burying my nose deeper in the book.
"Mr. Banner's all bloody and black and blue, broken nose and all. He's got sutures on his head. But your dad let Edward go."
"You got any idea what it was about?" I tried to persuade myself to look at her, but instead hid behind my hair. "Why Edward did it?"
"No. I mean, I was there, in the library, it was just out of the blue."
"Jesus. You didn't get hurt, did you?"
"Nah, nobody did, except for Mr. Banner. Still, if you saw it... it was horrible. I thought Edward will kill him."
With a disconcerting feeling in my stomach, that was something I couldn't rule out as a possibility. He could have. Easily. And if it's something specifically about this Biology teacher that sets him off, I had a horrible hunch he might snap one day so bad the teacher does end up dead.
"Bella... what if he really is crazy?" she asked me timidly. "One moment nice, maybe, maaaybe, then a 180 degree turn and he smashes everything around into pieces? Does that sound like normal and safe to you, girl? It deffo doesn't to me."
"Well, safe he's not," I muttered, turning a page. "Never that."
"But still you care about him," she said sadly.
I didn't reply that.

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After Angela left, in the evening, a message beeped. It was from dad.

Eat. I'll come late.

That made me lose whatever appetite I might have had left. That house, it felt like a prison cell once again; I had to get out, or else my head would have exploded.
I wandered through the forest for some time, I don't know how long. I didn't check. Twilight was coming in and with it, a soft, fresh drizzle. I walked on, letting it drench me. The air was quite warm, unusually so for March, and I didn't feel like going back to the empty house. I felt much better there, amidst trees. Though I was getting more and more tired by the minute, at least the headache was lessening. Some owls flew over my head, squabbling over something.
But still you care about him. Indeed.
Dad had thrown out all the flowers from Edward I've kept, much as I tried to hide them – and he told me Edward was a no-go zone for me.
Since the discharge from hospital, there came no new flowers, no notes, no contact. As if he had stopped to exist, as if I had, too.
Care about him. It seemed absurd – I didn't know him. We barely started to circle around each other, with defences up like two scorpions. But it was true. I did care.
I took my trainers and socks off to feel the moss beneath my feet, moist and soft, and listened to the forest talk, until I stepped out on a tall cliff into which shorebreaks were crashing with dark roar. What struck me as odd was the sudden silence, save for the forceful thudding of the water. Not a seagull, not a cricket. And then I saw him.
He was sitting on a rocky cliff, knees drawn to his chest, chin laid on them, and stared ahead at the horizon. At first it was a shock and I froze in place in fear. And yet, as I calmed down, watching him thus, I felt a wave of sadness grip me and twist my heart into knots. He looked like somebody who has lost something immeasurably precious and could never ever retrieve it.
He slowly turned his head to me and looked at me, arms around his knees tense – he looked at me with tired eyes and drops were streaming down his cheeks. Perhaps it was rain. Perhaps it was tears. On my own cheeks, was it tears or was it rain?
And I thought of Emily Dickinson, crying out her anger at God for beggaring her – was the same anger in him, as it was in me?
Slowly, carefully, I approached him. "Hi."
"Hi."
"You okay?"
"Sure."
"You know," I craned my neck to glance down at the sea, "the water looks quite freezing, I wouldn't like having to jump there for you," I flashed him a smile and he gave me an amused smile back.
"You would?"
I shrugged. "I guess."
"Why?"
I shrugged again, quirking my eyebrow. "You're a human being."
He looked at me, something in his eyes strangely vulnerable and weary. "Thanks," he murmured and averted his gaze.
"Mind if I sit here?"
He shrugged and lit a cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke.
I sat down beside him, pulling my knees to my chest and the socks and trainers back on. He put the cigarette down and suddenly knelt to me as I was tying the laces on one shoe, and tied the laces on the other one. I blinked as he looked up into my eyes. He stroked my cheek with his fingertips.
"How was staying at the Clearwaters'?"
"Ummm..." I glanced away, tucking my hair behind my ear. He sat back down and picked up his cigarette. "Well, it was kinda awkward, considering the Clearwaters are mourning. I mean, Sue is a great woman, but... the last thing she needs right now is to have a sick teen she doesn't even know dumped at her place every day. In the end I just had to put my feet down. How have you been?"
He smoked and didn't reply.
I took the courage and asked him: "Edward, what happened with that teacher today?"
He frowned, clenched his teeth and averted his face and I could see that was a question I would not get an answer for tonight. He threw the cigarette away and snubbed it, rubbing his forehead. He hugged his shins, clasping his hands on them and frowning.
"I don't wanna talk about it, Bella."
"You look like Hell," I told him, trying to smile at him. "Did you get any sleep?"
He gave me a self-mocking, bitter smirk, large purple bruises under his eyes, hair a total mess, eyes harrowed and nearly empty. "Not in a while."
"Mother?"
He looked away, lighting up another cigarette and taking few drags on it. Then he just tightened his jaw and nodded, extinguishing the cigarette against the rock.
"What happened?"
He frowned, clenched his teeth and averted his face and I could see that was another question I wouldn't get an answer for. It stopped to rain and the clouds scattered, leaving the sky an enormous, open stretch of stars and indigo blue for once. It was breathtaking. I reached over for his hand and gripped it; he didn't grip mine back. I withdrew it and stared away at the forest, pressing my jaws together.
"What are you doing here?" I asked after a while. "Just trying to clear your head?"
He shrugged. "Waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
He looked up at the sky and then nodded to it. "This."
Then there started a light show; a faint green glow, flickering and taking turns with a yellow and lilac one, swift, like the frantic fluttering of hummingbird's wings, light was dancing all over the dark sky, making me burst into a wide smile.
"Oh my God," I shifted closer to him without breaking my gaze away from the sky. "Northern Lights."
"You've never seen them before?"
I shook my head, still watching the light show. "Never. You?"
"It's like this here often, around this time. This cliff gets the best view."
I smiled in wonder. "It's weird, I used to go here often when I was small, but I never caught this."
"I guess they never let you out this late."
I laughed while the lights turned the sky into a spectacle, as if they were going through pieces of glass in a kaleidoscope. "You bet. How long will it last?"
"Couple of minutes more maybe, maybe the whole night."
"You see it every time?"
"I try." His voice changed. Soft. A little vulnerable. Caring. "Here," he slid out of his jeans jacket, putting it around my shoulders. "You're soaked."
I blinked under his stare again. "I..." I cleared my throat and inched away from him, "I should probably get going. Thanks, I... enjoy it."
"No," he wrapped it around me again. "You'll catch a cold. Keep it." We stared at each other in silence.
I shot a glance at the depths below, the rocks sharp and the waves thundering as they crashed into the cliffs. If he jumps there, what chances does he have?
"Would you... would you like to walk me home, Edward?"
"Yeah." He paused. "Yeah, I guess I would."
He took my hand and helped me get back to the house. The tiredness caught up with me and frankly, I was grateful to have him to lean on, rescue mission or not.
By the door he stopped as if grown to the ground. I looked up into his eyes, biting my lip. "Would you – would you like to come in?"
He hesitated. "Are you inviting me?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess."
He made a wary step forward. In front of the threshold he hesitated.
"Well – come in."
He entered then, following me into the kitchen, where I put his jacket on the heater to dry.
"I'll get you a towel, okay?"
"Might be better if you sit down and tell me where to find them," he replied me. "You must be pretty wiped out by now."
"Well... yeah. Fine, it's that cabinet over there. Thanks, Edward."
"No problem."
He waited for me to sit on the couch first before he went for the towels. Handing me mine, he asked: "Want me to make you some tea? Something hot might do you good."
"Thanks, but – geez, I can make the tea myself, you know."
"Sure. But you don't have to, right? I think I still remember how to do it."
"You know, babying ain't really a very attractive thing."
"I'm not babying you. I'm just trying to be a functional boyfriend, whatever functional means." He quickly dried his hair and folded the towel on the commode. "Now, is there any herbal tea that you can actually drink?"
"Okay. Well, yeah. It's in the jar by the cooker."
He went over to it with a nod, poured water into a kettle, put it on the cooker and opened the jar. "Raspberry leaves?"
"Yeah. It's for sore throat."
"I know."
He went about it with routine calm and I chuckled, drying my hair and drawing my knees to my chin. "You know, I've got a feeling that's something I'm gonna hear often in this relationship."
He grinned at me a crooked grin. "I'll try to limit it to ten times a day."
I laughed and shook my head, grabbing my forehead. "Oh, okay."
He looked away, taking out a mug. "Have you been around the school yet?"
"Nope. Why?"
"When are you going to try out coming back?"
"Tomorrow, I guess. Why, Edward?"
He gave an one-shoulder shrug. "Just to prepare yourself – want to eat anything, by the way?"
"There're some apples in the fridge, can you wash one for me?"
"Sure." He took two out, washed them and started cutting them into neat, thin slices.
"Would you like to eat anything, too?"
"No, not really," he shook his head, cutting on. "Thanks."
"Okay, prepare myself for what?"
"The candles and the photos. Of that girl Ginny and her mum. It's kind of ironic, don't you think? While she was alive nobody moved a finger to help her, now they all light candles for her. Strange, I think it was seeing this irony that made Ginny's mother do it."
His voice was detached, while I froze. "Made her do what?"
"They didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"About Ginny's mum."
My guts twisted in me. "What about Ginny's mum?" I asked slowly.
"She's gone, too. They found her in the garage. She couldn't take it. She had just Ginny."
I closed my eyes tight.
Few seconds. Few seconds and the woman I didn't know, Ginny's mother, had nothing. Just like Ginny, maybe, had nothing. No hope. No safety. No way out that she would see, except for the one she's taken. Was it the same with Julia? The reason she jumped out of that window? No way out?
Just few seconds and there is nothing left.
I tried to push mum's image away.
"No, no one told me," I murmured. "I guess they wanted to spare me. But... thanks. It's much better to know."
The water came to a gentle boil and he poured it over the raspberry leaves, washing the pot and cleaning it away at an unhurried pace. As he was steeping the leaves, he remarked: "You're from England, right?"
I shrugged and nodded.
"You didn't like it there anymore?"
I looked down on the ground and shook my head. "No, I love England very much," I murmured. "Its rivers. Its greenery. Its old bridges and vicarages. Its biting winds." I stopped myself there, nearly tearing – I've said much more than I had wanted and I clenched my jaws.
He was warming his hands up on the cup as he watched me over his shoulder. "Why come here then?"
I shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go. So I figured it would be nice to try to salvage whatever bond's still there between me and dad while I still can."
He slowly nodded and strained the tea. "I guess it's not going as well as you'd hoped."
I glanced back at him. "Yeah," I admitted.
He looked at me and put the tea on the table in front of me before going back to the cabinets to lean against them. "Why did you have to leave England in the first place?"
I hung my head and hugged myself, squeezing my arms. I frowned at him, but he was polite, his tone conversational. I bit my lip and looked down again. Eventually I said: "My mum died."
He was silent for a long while. Then he softly asked: "How?"
I shot a look at him. He was calm, studying me, but it wasn't unfriendly.
I clasped my hands and looked at them, rubbing my thumbs against one another. "Her new shrink overdosed her. I found her on the kitchen floor unconscious when I came home from school. She died in the ambulance on the way to hospital. Of anaphylactic shock."
He came over to me and very lightly, he covered my hands with his palm and squeezed them. I stiffened at his touch. He withdrew it.
"Sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have."
"No," I shook my head and wiped away a tear that was welling up in my eye. "It's... nice of you. I appreciate it. Thanks."
"Was that shrink jailed for it?"
I shrugged and looked down, picking up the cup. "He's still on trial. Manslaughter by gross negligence. But I think he'll get out of it." I took a deep breath, put the cup down and pulled myself up. "I'll finish the apples."
He reached for my hand once more – and this time, he squeezed it with tenderness I wouldn't have searched for in him, even after the hospital. "Let me," he said as I quirked up my eyebrows at him in question. "You're tired. Just sit down and drink your herbs. It will get cold."
I extricated my hand, blinking, and nodded and sat back down. "Thanks. But I really could do it myself, you know, and probably faster than you. It's just freaking apples for a quick snack, Edward. The way you go about it it looks as if you were making a fancy dish for some posh restaurant," I tilted my head with a smirk and he smiled wide, glancing back at me with amused sparks in his eyes and shook his head, cutting on.
"Well, taking my sweet time with this is a nice excuse to stay over longer, you know."
I grinned at him. When he was smiling like that, he was beyond lovely, in a surprisingly masculine, adult way for a boy his age.
"You do this often?" he asked after a while, clearing away the cores and arranging the apple slices around a plate. "Worry about broken strays and let them into your home?"
I looked at him from the side. "Are you? Broken?"
He glanced at me with a suddenly serious expression. "More broken and more messed up than you can imagine."
I shrugged and pulled my leg to my chest, hugging it. "I don't mind." For a second I was surprised at the truth in it.
"Really?"
I shook my head and grinned. "So long you don't intend to chop me up instead of those apples, broken and messed up is fine by me. I never had a single friend that would be normal, except maybe for Angela now. I don't see why my boyfriend should be any different."
He laughed and then smiled back at me. His eyes were sparkling again. "Alright. No chopping you up. Promise." He served me the plate and returned to his place by the cabinets. He gripped their edges, knitting his brows and growing dead serious. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened on the ferry," he said, looking me in the eyes. "And all the other stuff. I scared you to death. I wish I could take it back, but I can't."
I leant forward to him, clasping my leg closer. "I'd really like to say, 'it's okay'. But I dunno what exactly happened. What's wrong with blood? It – makes you sick or what?"
He gripped the edges tighter and then turned around to wash the knife and gave a shrug. "I'm just really messed up, that's all. The sight of blood triggers me, like Pavlov's reflex. I got it under control most of the time, but sometimes, I just blow up and overreact. It's PTSD, I guess?" he glanced back at me, puckering his brows, and I gave a nod. He looked back at the sink, putting the knife away to dry. "It's hard to think rationally, you know, the whole adrenaline rush, fight or flight deal. My head just goes all... blank and all I can think about is, get rid of it, get the hell rid of it, now."
I watched his tense shoulders and nape, his cast down head and tight jaw for a while. Then I said softly: "I'm sorry. That must suck. I mean, with your need for transfusions and such."
"Yeah," he muttered, a bit through his teeth.
I wavered and then said: "I saw you at the cemetery."
He stiffened a bit, but then just nodded and picked up a towel to wipe some dishes that were left there over from the baking.
"Whom did you lose?"
"A cousin."
"How are you coping with it?"
He half-turned around and slowly shrugged one shoulder, his jaw tight. "Just like you." He made a brief pause, watching me solemnly, his eyes dark and deep down, full of anger and pain. "Day by day."
He listened for a few seconds and then glued himself off the cabinet, put the towel down and picked up his jacket. "I think your father's coming in. I should go."
"Yeah," I cleared my throat. "Go. And thanks. For the tea and all – you know."
He nodded and I could see in his eyes he did know what I mean. For a moment, he just looked me in the eyes, that mixture of pain, sadness and barely restrained anger back in his. Then he squeezed my shoulder. "You take care, Bella," he murmured.
"You too."

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Author's note: Thanks everybody, everybody for the thoughtful reviews - Silversimon, Kochabilka, kmfulkerson, you really made my day(s) and the thought of you guys kept propelling me forward to finish this. Thanks also to everybody who favourited, subscribed and read this fic, I really appreciate it. I'm profoundly sorry for the long, long wait, RL was being so tough writing this needs must had to go on the backburner. Now it's getting stabilised, kind of, so I hope it won't take another forever to bring out the next chapter. Read, subscribe, review, love you all! Hope you enjoy.