Jessa’s eyes were heavy with three days of disturbed sleep, and her mind lagged with the knowledge that Annora was still in a critical condition in hospital. Next to her, her desk was littered with un-started homework assignments and exam schedules. She lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, unblinking.
“Jessa, love? Mr Fletcher is on the phone for you.”
“I’ll take it on the netpad,” she called quickly, hoping he was calling with good news.
The screen glimmered into life, alerting her with a call waiting signal. She waited for the icon to disable that signified her mother hanging up the other line, then pulled on a set of headphones.
“Hello?”
“Jessa? It’s Hugo Fletcher.”
“Hi.”
“I just got back from the hospital.”
“Is she okay?”
There was a long pause before he spoke. “She’s been coming in and out of consciousness.”
“But she’s going to be all right.” Jessa meant it as a question, but it came out more like a statement. One that she’d been trying to convince herself of for the past three days.
“I don’t know, Jess,” he sounded tired. “She’s in really bad shape.”
“I don’t understand. Why can’t they make her better? That’s what healers are for! That’s what medicine is for!”
“I know. Right now she’s in what you could call a vegetative state. She’s technically alive, and has some basic physical functions, but she has severe brain damage. Whatever he did to her… I don’t know if she can come back from that.”
“So you’re saying Annora might die? You’re calling me to tell me my friend might be dying right now?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”
“Why?”
“…”
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“Hugo?”
“I feel so terrible. I feel like I let the Agency down. I let you down. All of you. My responsibility at Winsbury was to protect people and to figure out what was happening. To help find out who was taking all those kids away.”
“…”
“And then I developed this relationship with you and your friends, and you were so annoying but I knew I could trust you. I knew you were worth it to the investigation.”
“…”
“And still, this happened. He got her. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I should have stopped it. But instead, I had no idea it was even happening.”
“Of course you didn’t. Nobody saw this coming.”
“Except you.”
“…”
“You saw it. You told me you saw it and I didn’t believe you.”
“Not really. I told you I thought I read the future. You were right not to believe I could do that.”
“Sure, you didn’t exactly read the future, but your intuition was right all along. You knew something was going on with Annora. You knew it was Lynch. You came to me and trusted me and I let you down.”
“…”
“…”
“I don’t know what to say now.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t help, and I’m sorry about Annora. I’m sorry for all of it. But I hope you know I’m on your side.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I should go to bed.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
Jessa only slept when the sheer exhaustion took over her body and forced her into a slumber. Whenever she managed to drift into rest, she was swiftly awoken by nightmares or the uncomfortable soaking of night sweats.
The sunlight of dawn slowly crept in through her window, teasing her, mocking her. She gave up; sleep was too elusive. She opened her curtains and mindlessly watched the sky turning from dark through sunrise shades and finally into a springtime blue. She found herself asking questions upon questions. Questions that mumbled into her mind and hovered there, becoming dull and incomprehensible as even more questions forced their way in. But there was one that she kept coming back to, and still couldn’t answer.
How does he do it?
Mr Fletcher said something about a philosopher who knew advanced parapsychism.
What was his name?
Aulious? Something like that. Autreous? Francis Au… something. No. Felix?
Jessa grabbed the netpad and opened a new page. She typed “Felix Autreous.”
Did you mean ‘Felix Aurelius?’
That’s it.
She skimmed the results, but they were less than detailed, mostly giving the same information that Mr Fletcher and Rachel had already mentioned. She clicked a link to find out more about his Hundred Quatrains.
She whispered aloud as she read from the screen.
“It is believed that Aurelius originally hand-wrote three copies of Hundred Quatrains. None of the originals have survived to this day. The only remaining copy is a second-edition which is estimated to be over 1200 years old. It is kept in a high-protection environment in the Special Collections department of London’s Humboldt Library, along with original copies of Aurelius’ Manuals I, II and III, his infamous compendia of advanced parapsychism.”
Manuals.
I need to go there.
I need to see what he saw.
I need to know what he knows.