“Guses.”
Auden, wrapped in a blanket, stood in my bedroom doorway, face pale and hair sticking up in all different directions. His glasses had fogged up, blurring his watery blue eyes.
"Are you still feeling sick?" I asked.
He nodded, feet shuffling toward the bed to sit beside me. I raised a hand to his head. Ice cold. No fever.
“Maybe we should go see a doctor,” I said.
"Why do you always makemego to the doctor when you don't even go for yourself?" he complained, shaking his head.
"What are you talking about?"
"You don't take care of yourself."
"I'm fine, Auden," I said. "I'm not sick. Just tired."
You're always lying to him.
"Can we do something today, then?" he asked. "I never get to spend time with you anymore."
He’s begging for your affection. Just like you used to beg for your mother’s. You're more and more like her every day.
“Of course,” I breathed out, massaging my forehead to silence the Devil’s cruel truth. “What would you like to do?"
“Can we…go home?”
“Wearehome,” I frowned, feeling his forehead again in case a fever had formed in the last minute or so.
“Not here,” he said, gently smacking my hand away. “Home.North Lane.”
The House on North Lane.
“Why…why would you want to go there?”
“I want to see,” he said.
“See what?”
He didn’t answer, his eyelids falling shut as a bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Frown deepening, I carried him to his bedroom and tucked him in, stroking the hair out of his eyes as my mind wandered to the House on North Lane. It couldn't be a coincidence that the House was at the centre of all my dreams, that Joe suggested my mother was there, that Auden wanted to return. The House on North Lane held answers—answers I intended to uncover.
You can’t go back there,the Devil warned.Do not return to that House.
***
Dawnridge library was practically empty, vacant seats stretching in all different directions. There were students scattered, heads bent in unison as they flipped through their summer textbooks, whispers echoing along the walls.
I lowered myself down onto the cushioned booth by the entry, the same one Nathaniel had claimed the night we unintentionally trapped ourselves in the library. Although I wasn't enrolled in any summer classes, I intended to use the library's resources to research schizophrenia. In particular, cases of hearing or seeing the Devil. I needed to understand what was real and what was in my head before I committed to venturing back to the House on North Lane.
An email notification brought my research to a halt. The final grade forPsychological Manipulationhad been released, and my finger hovered over the mouse, heart thundering wildly inside my chest. Everything else in my life had crashed and burned. I just needed one thing to go right.
Clicking on 'view my results', my eyes locked on the loading wheel until my grade appeared on screen, the 'High Distinction' sending a wave of relief through my body. I did it. I secured a second-year scholarship.
A cacophony of laughter flooded the entryway, my gaze drifting from my grade toward Professor Haywood. She held a takeaway coffee cup in one hand while the other carried her laptop and books, her glasses sliding down her nose as she laughed at something the student beside her said.
My body stiffened as Nathaniel moved his hands expressively while he spoke, his lips spread into a smile and his head thrown back with laughter.
Look at him. Already much happier without you.
