Capitulum II

T he only indication the school year was about to start was the sound of Lindy moving back into her dorm. The summer had upended my world so thoroughly the experience of being pushed through time was enough to render me seasick.

Reading my history had split me in two, one person moving forward and one remaining frozen in place, the soul's equivalent of getting a sleeve caught in an elevator. It was the first time Revenant Academy truly felt like purgatory.

Arlie had tried her hand at luring me out of my lair a few times, assuming my rapid change in demeanor was a product of what had happened with the beast at the end of the previous year. She had spent the first half of the summer trying to heal me with a dab of social salve, but the wound ran much deeper than she knew. It hadn't been her fault. When she stopped inviting me out, I was unsure if it was for my benefit or hers.

Even Rigel, the only person who knew the truth, was being kept at arm's length. I'd avoided him since he gave me the book and said those somber, maudlin words.

Agnes, I don't think you want to know.

Even the sting of his pity hadn't been enough to put me off reading the thing. I'd gone straight to my room, any thought of Professor Faun or the ordeal I'd just gone through forgotten.

After the initial shock wore off, I regretted not taking the opportunity to talk to Professor Faun one last time. My final memory of him was seeing my own misery reflected in his eyes as I told him Ephraim suspected us. That was the first time that piecemeal sensation sliced into me, dividing the person who loved him in the present and the person who loved him in the past.

On a level, the idea of seeing him at the sorting ceremony the next day made me sick. Being barred from loving him was as earth-shattering as it was inconsequential. He was still my teacher. I was still a student. Regardless of how painful it was, I would likely encounter him almost every day.

Instead of pondering that, I pressed my ear to Lindy's wall to eavesdrop before thinking better of it.

He'd had the opportunity to give her the history before she left but chickened out, afraid to hand her a bomb and watch her walk off campus. Though I wasn't sure if he was concerned about her well-being or just the likelihood of her dumping him.

The last time we'd spoken, he'd promised to tell her the night she returned. Before learning the truth, I'd never imagined I would become an advocate for his somber, cruel girlfriend. Little did I know, my neighbor wasn't just some apathetic stranger whose sexual appetite rivaled that of a rutting bull but also my cousin and lifelong friend.

It had seemed impossible at first. We didn't look anything alike. Lindy was severe and willowy, with wide-set eyes and intense black hair, while I was of average height with a soft build and a monochromatic tawny hue. But once I read my history, our features shifted into alignment like mirrored constellations.

I don't know if it was the distance or the awareness that she was once precious to me, but I couldn't bear the sound of her finding out the bitter truth through the wall.

I pushed myself out of bed and reset my foot. I'd been lazy, letting it hang limply off the side of the mattress like a pendulum. Even after nearly a year, I had difficulty remembering that the limb was no longer attached.

The sun was setting outside, and I usually waited for night to fall, but I couldn't linger anymore. Stacy, the gruff groundskeeper, patrolled campus, but honestly, no one expected me to make any escape attempts after what happened the year prior.

Slipping out of campus was relatively easy during the summer, even if you didn't technically have permission to leave, especially while everyone was returning from their summer lodging. I'd managed it a handful of times while patrols were low, but it would get about a thousand times harder come the academic year.

Logically speaking, it wasn't a good idea. Every time I visited Last Hope, its burden mounted, festering inside me until I felt bloated and heavy with it.

Sometimes, I would catch myself searching the mirror for the girl with greasy hair, jean cutoffs, and a baby propped on her hip who'd been hibernating inside of me.

What if, now that she'd been stirred, she unfurled and peered out through my eyes? Could other people see her? I envied Professor Faun's ability to shed his emotions like an itchy layer of skin.

Deep in the woods, I followed the pull of the familiar. Be it intuition or memory, I found that throughline the same way a Compass points north.

The place felt so different from the first time I'd visited after my death. Then the familiarity had been an odd, creeping thing, but the history unlocked the mental images, tearing away the flimsy veil that had hidden my own memories from me.

Had they intentionally placed Lindy's room next to mine to explain away the recognition preemptively? Had it really been so easy to change my cousin into a name I recognized from a door?

Once she finished reading the history, would the record show that I'd had the choice to go with her, to protect her, but hadn't? Would I return to find her stalking the grounds, itching for retaliation?

I wouldn't necessarily blame her.

Walking through the field, I watched the fireflies dance, whipping through the spot where my chest was meant to be. It must have been summertime, the same as purgatory.

Makeshift buildings huddled around the small town square. I could usually find at least one person meandering around. Sometimes, they'd haul baskets of damp clothing to the drying line before bed or catch a drink of eye-searing liquor outside what qualified as a bar in town.

That night, it was quiet as I approached the skinny trailer I used to call home. The building was nestled next to the tree line, which I'd always found cozy, like we were being cradled in the crook of nature's arm. Posthumously, I found it claustrophobic.

I strolled around back and peeked in the window to find Betty sleeping peacefully as ever. I held my breath and concentrated, slipping through the wall and stepping up onto her bedroom floor.

Even in the dark, her room glowed a bright Canary yellow, outlined with peeling teddy bear trim. The floor was covered in a thick layer of plastic animals and headless dolls spilling from an overturned plastic bin.

The only comfort was how much of myself I still saw in the room. How she slept under the blanket I'd crocheted while I was pregnant, surrounded by the happy yellow walls I'd painted, desperately carving out a tiny ray of light in a situation growing darker by the day.

I became corporeal enough to lean against the wall as I watched her sleep. Usually, I'd sit in the tiny pink folding chair adorned with the faded face of a cartoon princess, but the chair was upturned, much like the rest of the room.

He must have been struggling to keep up with her by himself. I wondered who picked up the slack, if anyone. For a community touting unity and closeness, it was clear they were letting him struggle alone. But maybe he insisted on it. Perhaps he thought he didn't deserve help.

I resisted the urge to right the chair and scoop the toys back into their box. The action felt so natural, transcending my physical body and wearing its way into my soul. The need to care for her was nearly impossible to suppress.

But I had to stop myself. My presence couldn't be detected. All I could do was watch how her delicate corkscrews of hair clung to her cherubic cheeks and how her chubby fingers wound protectively around her thumbs.

She scowled in her sleep way too much for a toddler, always halfway poised for battle, fists balled and wispy eyebrows tucked close together.

As she shifted, her face scrunching up as if in pain, I stepped forward without thinking. Suddenly, my foot, which I'd accidentally left corporeal, kicked a toy that immediately glowed to life.

"The cow goes mooooooo !" the device shrieked, making me freeze.

I forced myself back into being invisible just as my daughter stirred, blinking her big eyes in confusion. But it wasn't her I was worried about.

Someone in the next room shifted, followed by angry muttering as the door squealed open, pouring hallway light into the tiny room.

A familiar shape filled the doorway, clumsy and shirtless, and my heart leaped into my throat.

"I told you to go to bed," Cass croaked, wiping at his face as he treaded on a plastic farm animal.

He howled, startling the little girl.

"No, don't get out of bed," he commanded, fighting to keep his voice neutral as he pushed the words through his teeth. "No toys after bedtime."

"I didn't do it," she insisted, eyes welling with tears.

"So, it just sprang to life on its own, then?"

"I was sleeping."

If I could have, I would have hugged her and told him to stop being such an asshole. He didn't deserve to be the one to care for her, as he was clearly doing a shit job of it. How was it fair? Why did he get to be the one she remembered?

He was such a coward he hadn't even considered trying to save me. It had been easier for him to kill me, dooming us all to our own versions of purgatory.

The toy was still glowing beneath me, so I picked it up and chucked it at his face.