Celtic Memoire

Chapter 4 - Deja Vu

Chapter 4 - Deja Vu

I woke with a voiceless scream caught in my throat, my sheet cleaving to my chest as sweat clung to my forehead. With silent gasps and trembling lips I relived the horrible dream that had gripped me, had seemed so real. I could taste the iron on my lips and in fear I pressed my fingers to my bottom lip and felt a warm liquid soak my fingertip. In a panicked frenzy I got up from my bed and hurried to the inside of my mattress secret compartment, grabbing my dream journal from it as quick as I could. Since I had no quill to write, as it was with my actual journal for the asylum, I smeared the liquid on my fingertips on the page near my bookmark. I waited a few minutes, blowing on the journal page for the liquid to dry. Then I hid my journal again and climbed back into bed, hoping that when I woke in the morning that what I dreamed wasn't real... I would wake and NOT see that blood on my dream journal page. I wouldn't.

...

"Breakfast time!" Carmen's voice woke me up loud and clear.

We went through the same routine, only this time she was a few minutes faster. We headed to the bathroom and washed our hands, faces, and she talked monotonously about her laundry chores and what she would do to make sure her breakfast was neatly laid out. That was when I noticed, staring back at me in the mirror, was a girl with a bruised lower lip, swollen eyelid, and dried blood crusted on my chin. Why hadn't Carmen said anything? Why is she acting like nothing was wrong with me?! SHE'S THE NEAT FREAK and I look like a mess!

We headed to the cafeteria like any 'normal' day. Normal being loony. I looked around for Solomon's familiar face and saw him at his usual table. He was in another foul mood, I could tell by the way he greeted me, with a frown and worried look in his eyes. I sat beside him and clicked my tongue, earning his attention, and asking him with my eyes 'what is wrong'. Usually he would be singing his sorrows, but he wasn't singing today. Instead his eyes widened in shock at me and his fingers instantly reached up to my lip and he whispered, "Are you alright?"

My heart stilled when his fingers touched my lip, a shock of pain running through me. He can see my wound and Carmen can't? What's going on?! As if he read my thoughts he whispered to me, "I have something to show you tonight, come 15 minutes after light out."

Those words are so familiar... as if I've heard them before, but I can't place the when, how, or where. Instead I nod and give him a brief smile before he lowers his hand and we have breakfast.

The day continued like the previous day, boring and uneventful, meaning more fights and merits, and more fairy tales told by Solomon. I had much time to think and observe today with the extra time off due to the fights. I noticed one thing though, Y'vonne was missing and I wondered why. When I paper-asked Ms. Keenman where she was, she'd replied that Y'vonne was sick with the fever and wouldn't be attending for a few days to a week. Dissatisfied I left the matter alone and thought only of seeing Solomon tonight.

...

It was thirty minutes before lights out, Carmen was already asleep. I had written in my daily asylum journal about my deja vu experience and was now writing an entry in my dream journal. I wrote down how I had dreamed of flowers, castles, rivers, and dancing and singing with Solomon in freedom. I smiled in memory of that dream and relished at the beautiful bold black ink bleeding into the pale paper. When I turned the next page in my journal for the end of my entry I dropped my book onto the floor with a silent gasp, horror in my eyes. There, written in dried crimson was the word 'KILLER' in bold capital letters.

I whimpered and shoved my dream journal back into my mattress and tried to steady my breathing before Ms. Keenman came to collect my asylum journal and quill. I acted as calm and monotone as possible, giving her a nod goodnight before rushing back to my room. Then, I waited, deep in thought for the next half hour until it was fifteen minutes past lights out. Those fifteen minutes were torture as I sat in the almost pitch blackness, wondering who got a hold of my journal and wrote that word... in blood, I feared.