To Be Obscure

| CH. 29

I couldn't understand why.

I pulled free from the hands that held me and cupped the face of my daughter. I wasn't sure how many times I apologized before my consciousness slipped into a darkness, one I should have become familiar with. I didn't welcome it, and inside, I screamed to be free.

But I couldn't wake up.

No matter the amount of times Charlotte called my name, I didn't respond. Whether it be John or Lamont, my mind was gone, drifting into the world of long, forgotten memories. It was strange to reminisce against my will—victim to an injury over two hundred years old.

That's what it was. I knew it the second I touched Rosie's face and Abigail stood behind her, like a daunting aunt. I only meant to blink but my eyes wouldn't open. Instead, I fell into waves of water that followed my every step. My screams blended with the agonizing yells that haunted my dreams. Submerged into a cool stream, I felt hands around my skull and feet in my ribs. I was drowning, drowning in my own blood.

I nearly died from a blow to the head and lack of oxygen to the brain. Even if I couldn't recall the moment with images or hear the voices that cursed me until my very end, I knew. It was part of me that started the disconnect from who I was and who I became. The screams were the reminder within my nightmares that John was dead, and the blood in my mouth when I awoke was the realization that Lamont was alive.

That was how I felt when I managed to blink my eyes awake and see a room. I found myself seated at a table, a plate in front of me. I wasn't alone, and the night had far gone. The sun blasted its rays through the dining hall windows. Chatter filled the air.

Half of my mind panicked, thoughts darting left and right as they tried to sum up how much time I'd lost. A gentle hand wrapped around one of mine, and fingers intertwined with the other; another hand did the same to the other. I looked down at eggs and sausage before looking up at the owners of the hands—Rosie and Charlotte sat at either side of me. Panic subsided as I gripped their hands back.

"Welcome back," Charlotte told me, just as she'd always done. "I wasn't sure how long you'd be gone."

I wasn't sure what to say. Even after fifteen years, my blackouts were still so normal for her. I should be thankful.

Looking at Rosie, my fingers found their way out from hers and up to her face. I touched her cheek softly as she closed her eyes. "You called me dad, you know," I whispered to her.

She shrugged. "Now's not the time to get mushy, Monts."

Shuddering, I turned my gaze over to Charlotte. "Might I ask, whose idea was it for the nicknames? I'd preferred to be called John if that was the case."

Charlotte half smiled, her thumb brushing over my hand as her eyes searched mine. "You weren't around for her to call 'Dad,' so she settled with what she felt comfortable with. Now, don't you know teenagers?"

I didn't. I looked back at Rosie and her hair, which was pulled up into the mouse ears, and teased her for it; when she smiled, I smiled. I sat in between the two women that were my family, and they looked at me as the man they needed. Quickly, my hands found theirs again. "I'm willing to learn," I said, my eyes searching Rosie's. "Tantrums and all."

"I don't throw tantrums," she hissed into a giggle. "Believe me, there's girls a lot worse."

I scoffed, closing my eyes. "Really? Like who?"

"Me."

Nathan's voice drew my attention. I hadn't noticed he sat beside Charlotte; he held a cup of juice against his lips. I was ready to comment, laugh—tease him, even—but I realized it wasn't just us at the table. The chatter reached both ends and we sat in the middle. There were plates at every seat, and people sat within them. Looking at them, some hit my mind as people I thought I knew, while others were a complete mystery. Victor sat at the end, nursing a beer in his hands as Abigail chatted away beside him. He eyed me with a side glance, and I bit the inside of my cheek.

"She hasn't noticed," Charlotte whispered beside me, tugging at my hand to grab my attention. "To her, you've been a very close listener."

"What?" I furrowed my brow in confusion. "A listener?"

Nathan wiped the juice from his top lip and nodded. He looked thinner, darker. Beneath his eyes were more purple than tan. "You've been walking around in a daze. She kind of thought you were a sad puppy. When really, I mean—"

"Zombie," Rosie muttered, releasing my hand to play with her eggs, "you've been a freaking zombie."

"It isn't his fault," Charlotte said to the both of them. "We know this."

Nathan closed his eyes. His fingers gripped his glass, causing his skin to squeak with friction. "We do," he whispered, "but she doesn't, and he has no fucking idea what he just agreed to."

Without trying to cause a scene, I pushed Charlotte back into her chair and leaned across to my long-time roommate. We locked eyes, and he placed his glass back on the table. "What did I agree to?" I hissed. "Explain."

Abigail's laugh filled the room and twice, she slapped the table. Both Nathan and I looked at her out of the corner of our eyes. "She baited you," he said, "made you believe in all this shit."

"What?"

"I'm not saying you did, but when you get—you know—you tend to nod and agree. She swallowed it all up."

I took the glass from the table before he could lift it up again. In my ear, Charlotte hissed my name.

"You're doing it again. Speaking without clarification."

He looked at me—at my face, my neck, my shoulders. He took me in with his eyes before closing them, allowing himself the time to take in the deepest of breaths. Meanwhile, my hand gripped his glass so hard I thought it'd crack.

"You're a part of her team now. Dancing with the devil—" he stood, the back of his legs pushing his chair far from the table and this alone drew attention to us, "—we can't get you out of this."

Out of what? He still hadn't told me a damn thing.

"Just don't kill anyone. Please."

"Kill anyone?" Abigail chimed in, bringing a groan from Victor and Rosie beside me. She'd leaned over her plate, her hands on either side of it. Though her hair was pulled away from her face in a bun, there were dark shadows around her eyes. "Who would kill someone?"

"You're excused, Nathan," Victor said with a motion of his hand. "We'll see you tonight."

"Tonight?" I looked back at Nathan as he turned to leave. He was so upset I could almost see the steam from his ears. His heart slammed in his chest, that I heard for sure. I reached to grab him, but missed, and caught Charlotte's hand instead.

"Lamont," she squeezed my fingers, "sit back."

I listened.

"Why is no one answering me?" Abigail leaned back in her seat. "Am I missing something?"

I chewed on my lip. There was only one way I'd get my answers. "Why, Nathan thinks I'm supposed to kill someone."

"Kill?" she cackled, loud and obnoxious. "Darling, you aren't going to kill anyone. Do you need me to explain this to your friend? He is welcome to join us if he likes."

"Join?" I looked around at the group that sat around the table. Some smiled while driving forks into their plates. Others lifted their glasses at me. They were all aware of what I had agreed to.

"Why, the Cleansing, of course!" Abigail lifted her glass in her hands, toasting to me. "Everyone is dying for that blood of yours."