Hi guys! This is an original story based off an idea that I've been thinking about for a while now. It turned out to be a little different from what I first planned - plot, POV, characters - but the basic premise is still the same. I haven't written much lately (maybe a poem a couple months ago) and my writing's pretty rusty, so if this is terrible... don't say I didn't warn you. Anyways, CC is always appreciated, and enjoy!

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Prologue


Emilia Brown is by no means an emotional person.

One of the earliest memories I have of her takes place at her apartment. She had been clambering all over the furniture, a self-declared mountain climber destined to reach the peak of Mount Everest – a wooden cabinet located next to the sofa. She was attempting the daring feat without any protection, a mound of pillows being the only means for safety if she fell.

“Just in case. I’m a pro- prof- I’m the best! I can’t actually fall,” she assured me as she carefully maneuvered through the slippery cushions, each move as exact as possible for a four year old. One hand shot out, a few inches short of reaching the top cabinet handle. She grabbed a small, circular pillow for height and steadied herself on top, leaning one arm against the wall to regain balance. Emilia glanced back at me and grinned. Victory was imminent.

Before she could continue, the pillow began to slide downwards, incapable of supporting her weight for more than a few moments. She could only give an astonished little gasp before she collapsed onto the heap of pillows with a muffled thump, hitting her knee against the coffee table in the process. I witnessed the fall in a trance-like state, mouth agape, a silent scream stuck in my throat as I heard the sickening sound of skin meeting wood. The ruckus was loud enough for both our mothers to come running in from the kitchen, each one tending to her own child.

My mother enveloped me in a hug and whispered soothing words of comfort, despite the fact I’d taken no part in the ludicrous mountaineering game. I vaguely heard Emilia’s mother questioning her on her well being with similar care, and Emilia’s nonchalant responses – “Yes, I’m fine. No, no doctor! He smells funny. Yeah, of course we want ice cream!” Then, in a more serious tone, she inquired about the game she was playing and exactly how she came to obtain such a formidable looking bruise on her knee.

I glanced over at the pair and instantly wished I hadn’t been so curious. An ugly bluish black bump was forming on her right knee, stained by a thin stream of crimson where the corner of the table had broke through her skin.  
  
Well, that got the waterworks started, and in the end I was the one crying over my ice cream, while Emilia chided me for being so weak-hearted and laughed over the salty dairy treat I’d created, dubbing it Thousand Tears Vanilla.

No, Emilia definitely isn’t the sensitive type, but the expression she wore on her face when I told her about the move could have convinced me otherwise.

My parents had finalized the decision a few months prior to moving day, claiming they wanted a change in their life. It was a choice I had no say in, and when I voiced my desire to stay with Emilia, they shrugged it off, claiming that I’d form new friendships. The chances of that were slim at best, but I knew any argument I made against them would be in vain.

They had spoken about the move with Emilia’s parents, but the job of telling Emilia herself was left to me. Being the timid person I am, I held it off at each opportunity, convincing myself that there would be other chances where I’d have more time to work up the nerve and tell her.

In the end, I wasn’t even able to do that properly. Emilia figured it out herself once the moving van rolled into the parking lot on departure day, and the workers came knocking at our door to transfer our belongings. By that point, I had no choice but to explain everything to her.  

~

[i]“Today? You really mean today?”

I winced at the fragility of her voice, unnaturally quiet in the still, humid summer air.  Her guise of detachment only served to further convey the betrayal she felt; it seeped into the surroundings, creating a suffocating atmosphere that wrecked havoc on my breathing. I forced myself to meet her eye, but could not maintain contact after the first second. The pain painted on her face was a foreign sight; such an emotion did not belong on the face of the courageous Emilia Brown.

But there she was, revealing all the emotions I never thought she was capable of having, and it was all because of me. An indecent sense of pride settled over me – me, Lane Hudson, the boy who scarcely spoke, only raising his voice past the threshold of hearing when the situation demanded it. Lane Hudson, the boy who shed tears during the happy parts of movies and made no attempt to cover up the lapse in maturity.

Lane Hudson, the boy who exposed Emilia’s softer side, proving that she could be just as feeble as him.

And for some reason, that thought scared me.

When I looked up again, she had reverted back to her usual self, staunch determination defining her features. “Are you leaving now?” Her hard gaze pierced through my very being, and I was suddenly overcome with a bout of guilt. Pushing down the sense of shame, I checked my new digital watch, bought only a week prior for my birthday.

“We’re leaving in exactly ten minutes and forty-five sec-”

“That’s just enough time,” she murmured with a curt nod, speaking more to herself than to me.

“Enough time for what?”

“Just follow me.”

I feared her reckless nature, certain that she would try to keep me hidden somewhere long enough for my parents to cancel the move. Before I could protest, however, she secured my wrist in a tight grip and broke into a run, causing me to stumble forward and nearly trip over a large rock. “Hey! Slow down!” My pleading yells were lost on her, and she continued at a rapid pace, taking a familiar route towards her target – the local park.

At the entrance she released my wrist, which had taken on a pale hue of pink where her fingers had dug into my skin. I frowned and continued at my own leisurely pace, absorbing as much of the park as I could in the short time span I had. Though Emilia had abandoned me, I knew she could only have one destination in mind. Sure enough, I found her perched atop a branch of her favorite tree, legs dangling above my head.

“What took you so long? You said we only have ten minutes!”

“Actually, now we have-hey!” I cut off mid sentence and peered up at Emilia to find my watch clutched tightly in one of her fists. “You took my watch!”

Emilia smiled cheekily and extended her arm over the creek adjacent to the tree. “Yeah. And you have to come up here and get it, or I’ll drop it in the water.”

“That’s not fair!” Emilia was well aware of my physical ability or rather the lack thereof. Climbing the tree may be effortless for her, but for me it would be nothing short of a miracle. “I can’t do it!”

“You haven’t even tried,” she pointed out, shaking the watch for encouragement. “Come on! I’ll even help you.”

I briefly entertained the idea of simply running away and leaving her there, but I knew that course of action would cost me my new watch, and I wasn’t about to give it up, especially not to Emilia. “Fine,” I grumbled, and proceeded to wrap one hand around the lowest branch I could find. Then I realized I didn’t exactly know how this whole tree climbing thing worked.

“What do I do now?”

“Pull yourself up. Use both your arms!”

I tried to follow her instruction and wound up on the ground, staring up at the oscillating soles of her shoes. With a small grunt of effort, I stood up and resumed my tree climbing adventure. I firmly locked my arms around the branch and hauled myself upward, wincing as the coarse bark scraped against my skin.

“Good, now bring one leg up onto the branch and you’ll be sitting.”

This part wasn’t too difficult, but it was uncomfortable to carry out, and I got the distinct feeling that Emilia was forcing me to go through this ordeal strictly for her entertainment. “I’m not going any further,” I warned her, despite the fact she was only one branch away.

“Fine, fine,” she consented, dismissing the matter with a wave of her hand. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”  

I was about to answer when a stream of pain shot through my left calf. The area had become a deep, rosy pink where the bark made contact with my skin. It took all the willpower I possessed to keep from crying out and embarrassing myself, but there was no need for such precautions for Emilia seemed to notice the injury on her own.

“You’re not going to cry are you?” she questioned, head tilted just enough so she wouldn’t meet my gaze. A hint of what may have been concern crept into her voice, but I assured myself it was probably just my imagination. Past experiences proved that small wounds like this never stirred her sympathies.

“Nah,” I answered, already growing accustomed to the pain. I didn’t want our last time together to be ruined because of a scratch. “Now tell me why we’re here, and give me back my watch!”

Turns out that was the wrong thing to say, since my answer seemed to have shocked Emilia into releasing the timepiece. It plopped into the water with a small splash and descended into the remote depths of the creek. As Emilia struggled to form an apology, I felt the burning sensation of water in my eyes, warning of tears. “Whatever, it was just a watch,” I murmured, swiping away any stray tears in one quick motion. “Just… what did you want?”

She hesitated, suddenly uncertain of her plan. It occurred to me again that she was showing another face of herself today, adopting a helpless attitude which I found unsettling. I prompted her to go on as gently as I could, and that bit of kindness seemed to restore her spirits.

“Right, then. Since you’re moving away, and we probably won’t see each other any time soon – don’t make that face, you’re moving to the other side of the country! That’s like… five million miles away!”

I wanted to point out that five million was more than a little exaggeration, but held my tongue in fear of starting an argument.

“Anyway, we need to meet up again someday, and you’ve gotta promise to do it.”

Meet again? The thought had never occurred to me. Moving to me meant leaving everything behind, leaving everyone behind. To face it all again would be-

“Wait a sec. If that’s what you wanted, why’d we have to come up here?”

“You know what they say about promises. Promises in the sky… um, promises in the sky will never die!” she declared with a small smile, immensely pleased with her linguistic ability. “So there.”

I rolled my eyes in faux exasperation, concealing a smile with my hand. “And when will this reunion take place?”

“In twenty years.”

“Twenty years?” I repeated, stunned by how long a gap she’d chosen. “We’ll be twenty-seven by then!”

“Well, we’ll have a lot to talk about.” She shrugged casually, evidently convinced that twenty years was a suitable choice, and then turned the focus on me.

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, c’mon Lane! I’m your best friend. How could you not want to see me?” There was a multitude of ways I could have answered that question, many of which would cast her in an unfavorable light, but I chose to remain silent instead. “And,” she added in a more playful tone, “I won’t help you get down if you don’t agree. So what do you say? Do you promise?”

She thrust out her pinkie and looked at me with expectant, resolute eyes, somehow conveying the depth of her emotions with a single gaze. At once I felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of the promise she was urging me to make, frightened by what it may connote about our friendship – that it was more than just a brief companionship we’d form during childhood, more than an old memory that would fade away with time and eventually flicker out of existence. Though I’d never given it much though, Emilia was steadfast and tenacious, willing to stay my friend despite the threat of distance and time. I couldn’t possibly deny her request.

And there was no way I was going to be left stuck in a tree.

I turned my attention to reality, and chanced one more glance up at Emilia’s smiling face before curving my pinkie around hers and binding our fates.

“I promise.”  

Flover! My gosh it's been ages. Did you know Compy's comp started up again? Maybe you should give it a shot!

Hey liv! :[/i]D It's great to see you again! And yeah, I know. I'm planning to get my entry in sometime soon.

Chapter 1


I shifted in my seat, readjusting my position for the fifth time since the train rolled out of the station. Sighing heavily, I crossed and uncrossed my legs, one hand tightly gripping the arm rest, and the other clutching a crumpled piece of paper. The urge to venture out of my compartment and roam around resurfaced once more, but I quickly dismissed it, knowing it would only increase my anxiety. Instead, I resorted to drumming my fingers against the windowpane and staring out at the blurry landscape, the speed of the train making it impossible to distinguish any individual features.

I glanced at my watch – an action that was becoming far too frequent for my liking – and noted that one minute and thirty-eight seconds had passed since the last check. It honestly seemed like time was creeping along slowly on the train, as if its sole purpose was to drive me insane with each drawn out minute. I had long since gave up the struggle to find some sort of activity to keep my mind occupied, for it inevitably wandered back to the main purpose of my trip - Emilia.

Nineteen years after our parting, recalling the exact events of our last day was a difficult task, and that was why her letter came as a shock. The envelope, bearing only a mundane stamp and my apartment address, contained an unsigned paper with a mere five words written in deliberate, bright blue strokes.

Did you forget our promise?

Though the note lacked a signature, I was able to deduce its writer by the distinct style. Two prominent features were the tail of the ‘g,’ which curled up to flow into the ‘f’ in forgot, and the bizarre ‘i’ dots, which resembled stars. Another key point was the unusual, almost illegible choice of ink color, a shade that a certain friend of mine was particularly fond of.

Then, of course, there was the actual message.

Throughout the years, the promise Emilia and I made gradually lost significance. It receded to the back of my mind and continued to shrink until finally surrendering to the passage of time. I’d thought little of it in the first place, but apparently Emilia had others ideas when she sent the letter a year prior to our planned reunion. Since then, I was plagued by an incurable case of doubt, weighing both options in my head over and over again and finding them equally alluring.

Luckily, I didn’t have to make the decision. When my boss informed me of my unused vacation days, set to expire at the end of my twenty-seventh year, my course of action became clear. From there, it was easy to arrange a summer vacation to my hometown. In late June, I found myself seated on the train heading for Linwood, the destination only two stops away.

After a moment or two, the train began to lose speed and the wheels came to a creaking halt at 5th Station. Just one more stop after this. Another sigh escaped my lip, the third in less than five minutes, and I watched with detached interest as passengers filed in and out of the train.

Suddenly the door to my compartment flew open to reveal a woman who seemed to be a few years older than me. She was dragging along a large, floral printed duffel bag, its weight requiring the strength of both hands. My gaze flickered to her briefly before returning to the activity outside. I vaguely heard her remark upon the weather, but paid no mind to her casual chatter. It was only when her voice invaded my ear drum when I tore my eyes away from the window and reemerged from my isolated state of observation.

“Could you please put my bag up?” The hint of annoyance in her voice suggested that she had posed the question numerous times before receiving a response.

“Of course,” I replied in a monotone, obliging her request by hoisting up the bag and haphazardly shoving it onto the rack.

“Thank you. I greatly appreciate it.” Her sarcasm went undetected, for I was still in an introspective mood, too lost in thought to notice her tone. A mix of emotions swirled around inside me, each one vying for my attention and condensing in my stomach to form a sickening knot. The inner turmoil I felt must have migrated outwards and caught the woman’s attention; her squinted eyes were peering at me critically through her glasses as she scrutinized my expression. “What’s wrong?” she questioned, emotionless. Her stubborn nature refused to relay concern for someone so sorely lacking in manners.

Though we were the sole occupants of the compartment, it took me a moment to realize I was the recipient of the question. “N-nothing!” I stammered out, slightly disconcerted by how fast she’d detected my less than bright mood.

“Come on,” she prodded eagerly, “You’ll feel better if you tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Really, there’s nothing going on,” I repeated, hoping she wouldn’t notice the uncertainty lacing my voice. I had no desire to confide in the woman, but my pleas went unheard, and she took it upon herself to pester me until I submitted to her will. “Ok, ok. See, there’s this childhood friend of mine that I haven’t seen in a long time, and-”

“How long?”

“Twenty years. I’m traveling to meet this friend today, but I haven’t told her that I’m coming. I mean, when we were kids, she – we – said that we’d meet up sometime in the future, but we never actually chose a day.” Her eyebrows perked up in surprise and she urged me to continue, enraptured by the story.  “Anyway, it’s been so long since I saw her, and I’m just a little nervous.”

“A little nervous?” She snorted in disbelief. “You look like a little kid about to pee your pants!”

“Yes… thank you for that analogy.” I already resented the woman for forcing me to divulge my story, and her comments only worsened her image. I was seriously beginning to think her listening skills were flawed, as well. She seemed to be oblivious to my indifferent attitude and vague answers, and continued to pry for even more information.

“Where are you two meeting?”

“Linwood.”

“Really? That’s where I’m headed, too!”  

“How lovely.” The statement slipped out before I could think, but instead of responding with a sarcastic reply, like I’d expected, she adopted a coy smile and leaned forward as if disclosing a secret.

“Do you like her?” she questioned in a low tone. The corners of her mouth curled upwards as she took in my stunned expression.

“Wha – what? I mean… you see … I don’t really…” Halfway through my sputtering, the woman had begun to laugh, her raucous chuckles filling the train car. A light blush formed on my cheeks as I attempted to deny any affection towards Emilia, but my voice was drowned out by the woman’s chortles. Thoroughly embarrassed, I quickly turned the spotlight to her. “What about you? What business do you have in Linwood?”

Almost immediately the air was silent, devoid of the mirth previously occupying it. A cold atmosphere hung around us, and it seemed to be emanating from the woman, who wore an equally frigid countenance. Her eyes narrowed into small slits, observing me with unsettling intensity.

“I don’t believe that concerns you,” she responded icily, before shutting her eyes and emitting a less than convincing snore. In retrospect, I should have left the matter at that, but my anger still lingered and her last comment caused it to flare up again.

“That’s not exactly fair, is it?” I struggled to keep my voice even, though the harsh undertone was impossible to mask. “You forced me to tell you my story, so now let’s hear yours!” The woman remained silent for few moments, her eyes still closed in faux slumber even though the rest of her body was far too rigid to pass for sleeping. At last she cracked open one eye and gave a satisfied little nod, as if pleased with my outburst.

“I was starting to wonder if you had any mettle in you,” she remarked, decidedly more good-natured than a few moments ago. “If you really are that interested, I’ll tell you. I’m going because of a matter regarding a deceased relative of mine.”

A minute passed by, maybe two, before I found my voice and choked out a feeble apology, to which she responded with a wary sigh. It was then when I realized her demeanor didn’t exactly correspond with her story. In the wake of a family member’s death, a relative’s grief would usually be evident in their mannerisms and speech, but the woman had been fairly lively up until now. Perhaps she kept her sorrow concealed as a way to cope with the loss, but when I voiced the thought, she simply shook her head.

“That’s not really the case. I barely knew her, and we weren’t exactly on the best terms. It took quite a bit of persuasion on my husband’s part to get me to come here. Besides,” she added in a softer voice, “thinking about it too much would only lead to suffering.” Though she refused to admit it, her answer was enough to convince me that the death affected her more than she let on. “None of this should really concern you anyhow,” she suddenly piped up, echoing her previous sentiment with an unmistakable tone of finality.

Taking the hint, I once again directed my attention to the scenery outside. Neither of us spoke after that, and the remainder of the trip was spent in silence. As the announcement for Linwood crackled through the speakers, we both collected our belongings and prepared to disembark. The woman turned to me as we stepped onto the platform, an unreadable expression adorning her face. She seemed to be struggling with something, and it took a good two minutes for her to compose herself before she finally spoke.

“Good luck with your friend.” Before I could respond, she turned and walked away in the opposite direction without as much as a glance back. I stared after her in a daze, puzzled by her odd behavior but unable to form any plausible explanation for it. Besides, there were more important things to worry about.  

All throughout the trip, I was certain that I’d break down upon arriving in Linwood, but for some strange reason, I was completely at ease. It might have been the lack of crowds and commotion which settled my nerves, or the fresh summer air, tingled with the poignant scents of lilies and lilacs. Whatever the cause, I was grateful for the relief it provided. As I began the walk into town, a sense of familiarity settled over me, acting as a comforting welcome to a past that I’d so desperately tried to avoid.

I love it! Your vocabulary is great and so diverse. I feel like you could make this into a full sized novel, actually. I can't wait until the next update!

*Flagging!* You HAVE to keep writing this story, it's absolutely amazing! It's a lot different writing style than I've ever seen on ACC and I love that! Please keep writing this story!

This is so good, I can't wait to read more!

Thanks for reading, you guys!

Chapter 2


As I navigated through the streets of Linwood, I realized that the little town had developed some sort of immunity to growth. Many of the stores that I visited as a child were still in business, and only a handful of new ones cropped up during my absence. The only indications of age were the abandoned, decrepit houses I occasionally came across, identifiable by their shabby exteriors. Near the end of one street, I slowed my pace and came to a stop in front of the last abode.

Holding the presence of a majestic castle, the Victorian house may have once been a source of envy for the neighbors, but time had taken its toll. Most of the windows were broken and the remaining ones had thin cracks running through the grimy glass. The yard was rampant with overgrown weeds, and the once bright paint was peeling and dull, its color muted. It resembled the sort of haunted house you’d find in horror movies, complete with creaky stairs and the occasional ghostly moans and blood-curling shrieks in the dead of night. The house hadn’t harbored families for quite some time, empty even in my youth. It was deemed to be beyond repair, yet it was not torn down because of a curse surrounding the dwelling. It was also the site of a dare Emilia and I had tackled – without my consent, of course.

The thought of Emilia tugged me back to the present, and I continued on my way to the apartment complex where we once lived. After I dropped off my belongings at the hotel, I realized Emilia’s letter had no return address. My best bet was to check in with the owner and obtain the location of her current home. I doubted the possibility of her still living in her old apartment. She was the type who’d prefer a liberated lifestyle, and Linwood was ill-suited for a person like that, being far too plain a town to harbor such excitement. Then it dawned on me. Emilia could have moved. Surely she’d favor a place livelier than Linwood. Even as a child it seemed like her surroundings were holding her back, that it was only a matter of time before she would be able to break free of the mundane and discover the thrilling life she deserved to live. And if that was the case, what worth would a childhood promise retain? Wouldn’t this entire trip be meaningless?    

Of course not! I mentally chided myself for allowing such a thought to worry me. Even if she had abandoned the town, it would be the only logical place for the two of us to meet. Besides, her message was just vague enough to assure her residence in Linwood; otherwise, she would’ve provided a meeting place and date. Then again, Emilia was never one to think ahead…  

I continued my internal debate, but reached no conclusion, leaving me only half-assured when I arrived at the apartment complex. Like many of the older establishments in town, Linwood Heights failed to undergo any radical changes. Several of the windows were patched with what seemed to be duct tape, and I internally cringed, wondering how damaging that was to business. I pulled open the front door and peered inside cautiously, spying an elderly woman dozing off at the front desk, an open home improvement magazine resting on her shirt. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was Mrs. Moore. A small smile sprang up and I instantly relaxed.

Mrs. Moore ran Linwood Heights alongside her husband. Despite her age, she was an efficient worker whose seemingly infinite supply of energy and charisma garnered respect from everyone who met her acquaintance. She and Emilia were kindred souls; one was too young to appreciate the world and its complexities, while the other was experienced enough to move beyond them and focus on simpler matters.

Mrs. Moore, like Emilia, could coax me out of my shell and pry out conversations, though they were usually one-sided. They shared a subtle power, the sort that appeared not through attitude or tone, but through a presence which commanded attention and engaged the receiving end. It was entertaining to watch them interact, both so completely unaware of their likeness that it only emphasized it to the viewer. The two were similar to the point where I was certain Mrs. Moore had acted like Emilia when she was a child, and Emilia’s behavior would be akin to Mrs. Moore’s in her golden years. But what came between childhood and old age was a mystery, and I was ready to solve it.

With a bit of reluctance, I approached the front desk and gently tugged on the sleeve of Mrs. Moore’s shirt. My efforts went in vain, for her only response was a sudden, loud snore and a jerk of the head. “Mrs. Moore, wake up. Mrs. Moore,” I repeated, raising my voice. She mumbled something incoherent under her breath and turned away. “Mrs. Moore!”

“Wha- what? Who’s there!” The abrupt wake-up call left her dazed and more than a little irritated. She donned an angry scowl and fiery eyes, forewarning a hefty scolding for the culprit. It was then when I noticed the number of wrinkles creasing her face. Her once brown hair was white and thinning, growing no further than her ears. She was skinny, too, frail and weak. Her clothes hung limply over her skeletal body, as if they had outgrown her.

Mrs. Moore leaned forward to examine me before she snatched a pair of glasses off the counter – Did she have those before? I’m ninety-nine percent sure she didn’t wear glasses – and slid them on. Recognition dawned once she had clear vision, and I witnessed the first of many surprises.

Tears. Honest to God tears glided down her cheeks, the salty droplets of water marring the unwavering strength she always possessed. “Oh, Lane!” she murmured, and in such a way that I knew my return was not the small feat I once thought it was. “Let me come and see you.”

Mrs. Moore lowered her arms and gripped the wheels attached to her seat. I hadn’t seen those before. My throat went dry and my body temperature steadily rose as she moved towards me. A wheelchair shouldn’t bother me. I knew it was only natural to have one at her age, but a stubborn part of me refused to consider Mrs. Moore as a regular human, one who had to succumb to time eventually. I knew it was foolish, but I wanted her to be above that, a superhuman who could function as a twenty year old at the age of eighty. The shock left me speechless, and instead of delivering a suitable greeting, like I practiced in my head, all I managed was a squeak of disbelief.

“I’m not that old!” she snapped, apparently capable of deciphering the strange sound I emitted. All previous joy vanished as she reverted to her old self, beginning a tirade on the importance of respect and how one should properly act when meeting an old friend. I endured the diatribe with a placid face, though I was secretly glad her vigor was intact after all these years. In the end, she didn’t have the heart to admonish me for more than a minute or two, and was more interested in throwing a barrage of questions my way.

“Mrs. Moore,” I finally interrupted, anxious to complete my initial task, “I’d love to stay and catch up with you, but I’m actually here to ask about Emilia’s new address. Do you have it?”

An unreadable expression passed across her face, and she wordlessly wheeled over to a cabinet adjacent to the counter. She pulled open the top drawer and fished out an envelope, before returning and handing it over to me. I carefully tore it open and removed the paper inside. The message was written in Emilia’s style and my eyebrows quirked up in confusion as I read it.

We take root not where we are born, but where we choose to grow.

I looked to Mrs. Moore for an explanation, but she shook her head and picked up her magazine. “That’s for your eyes only, Lane,” she told me while flipping through the pages absentmindedly. “I have strict orders not to tell you any more than that.”

“You could at least tell me where Emilia is, right?” The question came out with more force than I intended, but the lack of aid I was receiving was getting to be irritating.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she replied, eyes still glued to the magazine. Before I could pry further, she broke down in a sudden coughing fit. The magazine slid to the ground as she gripped the counter with one hand and covered her mouth with the other in a failing attempt to restrain the coughs. I sidestepped the wheelchair and sprinted into the office behind the counter, heading straight for the water dispenser inside. Once the paper cup was filled with cold water, I brought it to Mrs. Moore, who drank with small sips.

“Thank you, Lane.” The fragility in her voice was alarming, but she resumed speaking before I could ask about her wellbeing. “My throat has been irritating me for a few days now,” she started casually, “and I’m running low on cough drops. Could you get some more for me, dear?”      

It was clear that her coughing episode was more serious than she made it out to be, but I didn’t want to dig for information she wasn’t willing to give. Besides, I was still shaken up by the whole thing. Once panic seized my brain, it took time for it to fade away, and a walk in the fresh air would help me calm down. Begrudgingly, I accepted her request and headed outside after a quick goodbye. As I expected, being outside helped settle my nerves, and I was completely calm by the time I reached the drug store.

It was an effortless task to find the lozenges, and soon I was in line, positioned behind a young lady. Neither she nor the cashier was a familiar face, so I feigned interest in the nutrition panel of the bag in order to avoid drawing attention. This endeavor ultimately failed when I got sucked into their conversation. Apparently the girl worked at the local nursing home and was picking up medicine for one of the inhabitants, but what really interested me was the cashier’s question.

“What happened to that other girl?” he inquired while picking out change from the register. “You know, the energetic one who usually comes for the medicine.”

The girl gave a helpless shrug and tucked her wallet into her purse before picking up the medicine. “I only got this job last week, so I don’t know everyone yet. Do you know her name? I could ask around.”

The cashier face’s creased with concentration as he attempted to recall the name. “Em something…It’s on the tip of my tongue. Em…Emily, maybe?”

“Emilia!” I supplied, stepping forward eagerly in hopes of getting a new lead.

The cashier stared for a moment before nodding vigorously. “Yeah, that’s it!”

“Emilia,” the girl repeated thoughtfully. She was quiet for a few moments, apparently in thought, but the blank expression on her face made it clear that the display was purely out of polite respect. “Sorry. I’ve never met someone called Emilia.” Disappointment flooded my body as I nodded in reluctant acceptance. “But,” the girl continued, noting my discontent, “I could take you to Mr. Allen. She was probably working with him before me.”

“That would be great!” I replied, fully rejuvenated by the prospect of gaining more information on Emilia. Finally, I’d get some answers. I didn’t expect to receive them in this manner, but it was more than Mrs. Moore could provide. “Mrs. Moore,” I murmured, glancing down at the pack of cough drops. In my excitement, I’d forgotten my reason for coming to the store in the first place. After a bit of deliberation, I decided to deliver them to her after meeting with Mr. Allen, and the two of us set off.

The girl, Sarah, attempted conversation a couple of times, but she gave up when all she received were vague, half-hearted responses. My mind was too preoccupied with imagining possible scenarios that could occur when Emilia and I were finally reunited. Besides, I was never the most skilled conversationalist, so we would have reached the same state of semi-awkward silence even if I had tried.

Luckily, our journey was short, and ten minutes later we were passing through the threshold of Linwood Nursing Center, where we were met with a blast of chilly air. I hadn’t realized how warm the weather was, but there was no time to enjoy the cool atmosphere, for Sarah was already pulling me ahead. She led me to a small room dedicated to leisure activities. A flat screen TV in the back blared the news at its peak volume. Next to it stood a large fish tank, and nearby was a wooden bookshelf stuffed with various pieces of literature. A computer was set up in one corner, alongside a table designed to accommodate various board games. This was where we paused.

Two men were engaged in an intense chess match, the suspense almost palpable in the air. They were wearing slacks and heavy, knitted sweaters, despite the heat. Each one leaned forward in his chair, paying close attention to every piece stationed on the playing field. Their concentration was contagious, and soon I was enthralled as well, wondering what the next move would be. The mood shattered as Sarah set the bag of medicine down on the board, sending the white king flying to the ground. The competitors wasted no time in crying out in protest, but Sarah simply sighed in exasperation and shook her head.

“Wait a minute,” one man began, retrieving the fallen chess piece, “Your king’s dead! I win!”

“What are you talking about? She hit my king off the board, so it doesn’t count!” the other man retorted, slamming his fist down on the table. This action caused even more pieces to cascade onto the ground, and Sarah stepped in before the argument could escalate.

“Alright, you two, that’s enough. You can start another game once Mr. Allen here takes his medicine,” she said, gesturing to the man whose king had fallen. Her soothing tone had a negative effect, only serving to further irritate the men.

“We’ve been playing for nearly an hour now!” Mr. Allen exclaimed angrily, waving his arms around for emphasis. “It’ll be dinner time soon, and then we’ll have to go back to our rooms. There won’t be any time to play.”

“You can play tomorrow then,” Sarah responded curtly, receiving two glares in return. “What? It’s only chess.” Mr. Allen and his friend regarded her with a mix of pity and disgust, baffled by how she was unable to grasp the importance of the chess match. Sensing the hostility, Sarah quickly changed the subject to me. “Anyway, this man is Lane. He came to ask about his friend Emilia.”

Mr. Allen’s face darkened at the mention of the name, and an unsettling churning began in my stomach. He gestured for Sarah to come closer and began whispering furtively into her ear, his words inaudible. I studied her face carefully, noting the subtle changes in her features until they blatantly conveyed horror. The sense of dread grew acute and unforgiving. Something wasn’t right.

At last, Sarah straightened up, face pale, eyes firmly averted from mine. Mr. Allen turned his focus to me, staring at me with such intensity that I almost flinched. Then he picked up his cane and pointed to a nearby chair, his steely, resolute eyes still fixed on mine.

It was one of those moments where you know, you just know, and suddenly everything is clear, every little detail is etched into your memory. The portion of the carpet that’s slightly darker than the rest, stained by coffee or tea, and the bright fluorescent lights which obscure your vision and practically blind you. The ticking of the clock becomes a prominent sound - the only sound - marking every second spent in suspense; the sleek wooden stick pointing to the chair where bad news is inevitably delivered.

There was a slim possibility, though, practically zero, where he might just be telling me about its significance because people well into their years do like to tell stories, or maybe he was pointing to the bookshelf behind the chair and wanted to share his favorite book; Mr. Allen didn’t seem like that type to do either, but there was always a chance, and there wasn’t anything else he could tell me - if it was something else I wouldn’t listen, because anything else would mean-  

“Have a seat, son.”

My heart dropped.    

---

Sorry for the long wait, guys. This chapter turned out to be pretty long, since I ended up combing two parts, but we're getting to the good parts now. Also, this story is in the Top 24 of Computerfan's Fanfic Competition! Voting has not opened yet, but you can follow the comp here.

The suspense is killin' meh! I can't wait to hear Mr. Allen's story!

Just a quick note: Voting for Computerfan's competition has started! I'd appreciate it if you could send a vote or two in for me, and make sure you check out the other stories, too. Here are the rules:

[bq]1. Absolutely no telling anyone who you voted for.  Especially not the person themselves. The only people who should know your vote is yourself and me. And any randomers you decide you want to tell that are unrelated to ACC.  You're welcome to say you're going to support/vote for them, that can't be stopped, but as long as you don't actually say you voted for them then it's okay.  

2. You can't vote for yourself. Ever.  If you even try to, you'll have a vote deducted from you.

3. Please note the amount of times you can vote will vary throughout the competition.  For now, you can only vote once a day.

4. Every vote (for now) is consisted of 3 possibilities.

Type 1:  You give 1 vote to 1 story.

    "eg. I vote for Shella"

Type 2: You give 2 votes to 1 story, and 1 vote to another

    "eg. 2 votes for TTACWW, 1 vote for bunkbeds"

Type 3: You give 1 vote to 3 different people

    "eg. 1 vote for DarkMuffin, 1 vote for accflover101, 1 vote for Cutiepiepie"

This means that if you want to only vote for your favourite, you can only award one vote.  But if you want to give them more, then you have to vote for another. It also allows you to spread votes out between three.  This stops people spamming me with 3 votes for one person, and also reduces the chance of getting bottom ties of more than 2/3 at the start of the competition. Let's not have another bottom 7 like in 2009.

5. You must send your votes in a PT to JUST me.  No judges, only you and I.  Just calling it 'Competition Vote' or even just 'Vote' is fine.  But please do not put something like 'Vote for ElizabethPrower' or 'Competition'.  No contestant names, and make it obvious it's a voting PT, please.

6. Please note that I do have a busy life. If I don't reply to your PT, even after a few days, make sure you've actually added me.  If you have, then hover over my name at the top where it shows everyone in the PT.  If it says I have read it, then you're welcome to post again and remind me. As soon as I read a PT and count a vote, I post to say thanks, or I forget whether I've counted or not. If I've not replied but read it, it means I forgot to count it.  The only other time you're allowed to post to remind me is that if I've started announcing results, but not viewed your PT.  Your vote could make a difference to a result, so if it gets to that stage, I'm actually asking you to please post again.  When I'm not posting results and I see an unread vote PT, I may not check until before I start results. I'm lazy. But I will get there.

7. Contestants and judges are allowed to AND encouraged to vote. Although it may surprise you, the bulk of votes in past years have been from people involved in the competition.  Yes, voting for others could well affect your own position... But I rely on nice and supportive contestants to keep the thing running.  Especially in the early stages, where I need all the votes I can get to avoid a massive bottom tie.   Judges are also allowed to vote for their own groups of course.

8. Please feel free to advertise in your own threads, and ask for votes.  Please do not post in anyone else's threads (this includes NOT saying stuff like 'Great story! Please check out mine and vote!' or whatever) or other people's PTs without permission.  Also, when advertising, ensure you either tell them the voting rules yourselves or refer them to this thread first.

9. The only person on all of ACC not allowed to vote is me.  Poor me.

10. Voting is ALWAYS open.  What happens, is that at the end of the week... There's a seal-off point for that week.  Any votes after that will then carry on to the week after.  If the person you voted for past that cut-off is then eliminated the next day, then I'm afraid your vote is forefeit.  

eg. Deadline for week 3 is Friday at 11.59pm ACC time.  You vote for... Hammer_Kirby at 12.01am Saturday.  Your vote is carried on to week 4.

Hammer_Kirby is then eliminated week 3. You lose your vote.

I should specify every week when the cut-off point is, and it should stay the same time and day of the week each time. It's your responsibility to get your votes in before that time, but I do still encourage you to keep voting after the cut-off and get votes in for the week later.

11. Finally, everyone's vote count will keep going up and up throughout the competition.  So, if xMuffinx has 4 votes week 1 and gets through, she starts week 2 with those 4 votes. Then if she gets 3 votes week 2, she'll have 7 votes.  This'll continue throughout the competition, so contestants that are in the bottom tie have to really fight to get out there.  Everyone else will keep rising, and it's down to the contestants to improve their writing and fight for their place.[bq]  

Holy Crab Apple Trees, Batman!  You stopped it where!!!!!!!!?

Ack! Cliffhanger! D=

Anyway, this story is awesome so far! I wish you the best of luck in the competition, you're going to be one of the contestants I root for this year, accflover! ;D

Thank you guys for reading! 8D

I'm really sorry about the long update times, but the next chapter is still in the works. Things are really busy right now with college visits, applications, etc. I also have half my summer assignments left to do (the harder half) and school starts up again September 9th. Hopefully I'll be able to get the next chapter up before then. Thank you for understanding!