Chapter 69

Downtown Abbey was famous for its tall gothic street lamps and slippery sidewalks. It was the oldest part of town in the city, and they were a few minutes walk away from the city hall. This, and for more personal reasons, was why Lana was adamant about getting an apartment at Downtown Abbey. I recalled almost vividly how she overturned the air and serenity of my room because she had discovered earlier that morning the apartment was being given to a fancy, spoilt, daddy’s-money Italian kid. He was 28. “Filth”, she would mumble and grin as she rolled her eyes fiercely. Her pupils made perfect round turns and back.

I looked at her as I stood in the sitting room, watching her grab her keys and a navy blue puffer jacket for the cold. They were the same jackets she had worn when we arrived at the apartment the day after her drama at my place. “I thought it was your Catalina’s?” I asked; she turned a side eye immediately and then relaxed her focus into the ample space. “well, good, red ants,” she rel[lied, still focusing on everything inside the room apart from me.

“snap out of it, let’s go! You always forget yourself”. Lana called as she snapped her finger on my face, sarcastically bringing me back to the same living room but this time, much in the present day.

“No. I don’t…” I paused a little and mumbled defensively, “…always forget myself”. I always forget myself. My property sometimes, if not myself.

“grab an extra jacket now or a cold later, your choice,” Lana said, again snapping me back to reality.

We took a swift and fast turn out of the driveway and then rode into the streets. In a few minutes, we were in the express. I had kept quiet in the car for a while now, and Lana hadn’t bothered to turn the music on or ask if we were getting a treat for the road. The trip was getting awkward, and I was already feeling unedge. Taing the highway had already informed me we were leaving town, which translates to a long ride, and I had no plans to keep silent in the car for that long. I had many questions that ate my spirit and needed my answers and hopefully would be the answers I wanted. Although I had these questions for the woman we were going to see. I had a few for Lana. Particularly concerning what she was on and about when I entered her apartment earlier this morning.

Feeling like I had been pushed to the wall and lost the game of silence to Lana, I tried to start a conversation, but how? It was too awkward to create an awkward conversation thirty minutes into the trip and ask the questions in my head about where to go forward. But then, I could care less.

“Lana,” I paused, trying to gather the right words…

“I had a dream.” She caught in. “it was dark, and it was cold,” she paused, “You were cold”. I watched her mouth vibrate as she tightened her lips against each other, holding her tears from rolling down. I stared at her as she struggled with the pain of what I was yet to understand. She hesitated a little and didn’t utter a word anymore. Of course, this was not enough, but I no longer asked. I didn’t understand what she was going, and I desperately wanted to understand. I didn’t need a lecture to understand that while I was going to figure out this prophecy, Lana had bigger fish to fry.

We arrived two hours later at a dead town. The winds were hollow, the fields were dry, and the houses were deserted. The area was thick with dark magic, and the weather was completely different. The clouds were grey like burnt ash, and the sun was blinded against these dense clouds. It was cold, but they were no snow. The town had life in itself, and the life which I sensed was the kind that you wished remained dead.

“What is this place, Lana”. I asked as I stepped out of the car in disgust. The wind brushed my hair brashly in my face.

“Eloise”. Lana called out as she struggled to pull her hair out of her mouth. “let’s get to the house”.

“who’s place is this” I mumbled as I followed Lana as she took the lead. She had hardly knocked twice against the cranky old door before it creaked open. “what is this place” I whispered into Lana’s back. Melting as the floor creaked hungrily with every step. Faint mumbles were heard in the room. Murmurs with tunes… were like music. Its tune struck terror and darkness into the house. The fragile threads holding me against imminent panic weakened with every vibration. The mumbles became louder and then turned into faint but audible songs, and audible vocals into chants and chants into war cries. The echoes of the war cries began to double like there was another in the room, it didn’t take a second to realise there was a squadron of sirens in the house, but they were invisible; objects clattered against one another, and the old glass and ceramics wares tripped against each other in the room, causing hell let loose cascades of warring demons.

The music stops immediately, and so as the chaos in the room. The air ceased, and the world was held in spot. I turned to see Lana on the floor with her against her crown. I rushed down to help her up and see if the cut was deep. “I’m okay”, she sucks her teeth sharply. “it’s just some bruise, nothing much”. Although they were no bruises, they were no deep cuts either. As we made it to our feet. We heard this old cranky voice, almost out of breath.

“y’all ‘re a bunch of nitwits!”. I was startled, but Lana wasn’t. She walked up to Lana and looked her straight in the eye like they were nemesis from some time ago. “you will be needing stitches,” she said as she waved her hands over Lana’s head. Lana grinds hard and winces loudly.

“healing is not meant to be painful, I thought.

“Now, where’s the fun in that” she replied casually and chuckled towards the three-legged counter at the far end of the living room. “have a seat,” she said. I hesitated momentarily, but Lana was on the couch already. “so what brings you here?” she asked.

“you know what brings us here, Agnes”. Lana replied like she had had enough before. She chuckled wryly and unevenly as she stirred the concoction she had made.

She was done a few minutes, then sat opposite us in a rocking chair. “where do we begin”.