"I'm afraid we're still cleaning up the mess, but you can crash in the spare room until you find better accommodation." Arlo said as he unlocked the door to his apartment. Eden followed him with a small suitcase full of new clothes and other accessories that Azi had insisted on paying for. He was in the intensive care unit, still healing after the event with Hyde. Kyle disappeared into his room to survey the damage; having only escaped with artificial injuries, he was up and walking a few days after the escape.
Eden thanked Arlo and walked down the hallway, slowly pushing the door open to reveal the room she and Tryston had shared not four days ago. She put her suitcase on the bed, clicking it open. In robotic motions, Eden set everything up, putting the suitcase into the wardrobe under her trainers. Arlo had pushed the two single beds together to create a queen-sized bed, and Eden quietly sat on it, gingerly sinking into the plush mattress. It felt empty without Tryston.
Walking back into the lounge, Eden heard Arlo cleaning up broken cutlery in the kitchen, and went to help, but something caught her eye. Sinking onto the slashed couch, Eden picked up the two separate pieces of paper, feeling her heart clench at the familiarity of the writing. When Tryston had first given her Martin's note, Eden had known straight away where the address led, but Tryston had seemed so hopeful and eager, that she had not the heart to tell him the truth. Now, she felt like she had a duty to fulfill, considering Tryston could not.
Arlo heard the door slam shut as Eden left, and sighed. Pausing in his labor, he got up and walked into the lounge, searching for Ayla's pictures. He had lost them in the fight, and in his haste to escape, hadn't the time to grab them. But now, as Arlo surveyed the wreckage, he found nothing but the smashed picture frames. A single tear ran down his cheek, but he didn't bother to wipe it away as he remembered his twin, and the two-year-old boy he had lost forever.
Eden pulled up outside the Trinity Church Cemetery, and turned Arlo's car off. She locked across the road, and felt the paper crinkle under her fisted hand. Locking the Audi, she crossed the road and looked through the black steel gates. The thick chain and padlock rattled in protest as she scaled the gate and landed on the grass with nothing more than a soft thud. Following the pathway, Eden scanned each and every one of the headstones, before she came to a quiet place right at the back, under a large oak tree that had long ago shed its coat of green.
The roughly carved angel was weathered and covered in autumn leaves, which Eden quickly brushed away. The angel clasped its hands over its heart, holding a dead daffodil that someone had placed there long ago. On its dress, someone had crudely engraved a small memorial for Ayla Hallisay.
Here lies Ayla Thorne,
Loving mother to Tryston Rubin Thorne, twin sister to Arlo Hallisay, and wife to Martin Thorne,
Rest in peace my love, and wait for me where the Angels sing.
You are one of them now, my Angel, now and forever in our hearts.
Eden felt a tear run down her cheek, and hurriedly wiped it away as she pulled two folded pictures from her back pocket. Unfolding them, Eden took one last look at the ultrasound and Ayla's grinning face, before she tucked them into the angel's arms.
"Tryston's safe now, Ayla. I promise." She whispered.
A girl once told me that we all die alone. At first, I agreed with her. But now, I've come to realize that so long as you have someone in your life, whether it be one person or a hundred, you will never be truly forgotten. Your memory will live on in the hearts of those who remember the legend of your life. Who we are related to by blood does not define our family. My family are those who are just like me, because no matter what, no matter where we are, the most important people in my life are those who stood beside me in the end. They'll always be with me, and I'll always be with them, because I'm telling you, I'll see you again.
And in the barren ruins of Base 51, under the hidden sun, greying ashes stirred in the gentle wind with the coming of a new season.
A rebirth.
YOU ARE READING
Project Frostbite
Teen Fiction"No one knows where the Potentials are taken. If the prisoners resist, they turn up dead the very next day. They call it Project Frostbite." "They?" "Are all dead." ****** For over 6 months now, bodies have been turning up on the streets of New York...
