The Man In The Midnight Blue Suit

Chapter Sixteen

Two lovers stand entwined at the foot of a tree. They hold each other tight, not willing to let go. The tree stands sturdy and strong before them, an impenetrable barrier. Its branches reach high into the sky, straining to scratch the surface of the white clouds. The fresh buds of new leaves decorate the tree with tiny spots of green, but most branches remain bare against the elements.
The lovers hold each other, content with being close. Slowly, ever so slowly, the boy grows weaker. More of his weight rests on the girl, eventually forcing her to hold him up completely. His muscles shrink and disappear. His arms grow skinny. Soon his weight is too much for the girl, and she lies him on the ground. The girl sits beside him, holding his hand. He struggles to draw air into his lungs. The girl rests one hand on his chest. His breath comes easier.
A tall man appears, standing just only near enough to be seen. He raises his head. The boy is violently tugged away from the girl. She gasps and struggles to reach for him. But he is pulled away by some invisible force. His body rushes across the ground, coming to a jerking stop at the tall man's feet. The girl huddles herself against the strong trunk of the tree, clutching the hand that had touched the boy only moments earlier. She doesn't watch as they disappear from her sight. Her eyes are scrunched closed in concentration. Calmly, the tree begins to creak and ache. Its branches sway and its roots pick themselves up off the ground. So gently that it would be difficult to notice from afar, the bark of the trunk begins to grow over the girl, covering her dark skin bit by bit. Its roots tangle around her, pulling her towards the strong trunk. She doesn't push them away.
By the time the sun begins to set, the girl is nowhere to be found. The tree stands strong and still, it's buds grown into vivid green leaves, swaying with the wind.

"Casey... Come on, wake up. I've found what I needed to show you."
Jonathan's words drift in and out of my brain like a haggling breeze. Slowly I'm pulled out of my dreamlike state. Eyes scrunching at the brightness of the library, I glance at Jonathan, sitting beside me. He holds a piece of paper in his hands, crumpled and yellowed from use. I sit up and try to rub my face into consciousness.
"Here," Jonathan says, pushing the paper toward me, "Look at this."
The paper is old, an edge torn, as if it was a blank page torn from a book. Written on it, in many different kinds of handwriting, is a list of names. Only first names, and no dates.
"I found it sitting in the back of a book written by this long-dead Elite author. The page wasn't torn from that book, though. I spent a while looking, and I couldn't find a book with a back page torn out like this one was. And then I remembered – The shag book. It had one page missing, from the back. This page is the same shape and size. Whoever started this list somehow got the page from there."
I stare at the list. "Lucian has trained others before, hasn't he?" I say.
"Yes," Jonathan confirms solemnly. "This is a list. It's all we've got of our predecessors."
"But we don't know who or where they are now."
"Also right."
Slowly I put the list down and hold my head in my hands. This is big. It was big from the moment I realised my mind was more powerful than anyone thought, but suddenly it's taken another step. Jonathan wasn't the first. I should have realised before – Lucian's referred to others before, albeit indirectly. This changes everything I'd planned.
Where are his students now? Did they ever get out of this place? And if they did, how did they live, knowing the extent of their abilities?
I'll worry about that later. For now, I'll be content with knowing that others got through this before me. I can do it too.

"Have you got a pencil?" I ask, looking up from the list. Jonathan nods, silent understanding in his eyes. He stands, walks over to a cabinet, pulls a pencil from its drawers. "You first," I say.
He doesn't move. "I'm not sure I should. I can't do what you do, or what no doubt they did –"
"Jonathan, you've been here the longest." I interrupt, "If there's anyone who needs to put their name on that list, it's you."
He hesitates a moment longer before taking the list from me. He carefully writes his name on the old paper, his letters orderly and straight. He stares at his name on the list a moment before handing it to me. I write my name, letters sloping, careful. Now there is a record of our presence. We place the list at the back of another book. Once again it is hidden.