The Necronomicon

Chapter Twenty

Eleanor's tight bun framed her petite, open face. Meredith could hardly believe she was here — it felt too much like a dream. Her eyes grazed her stepmother's shrewd eyes and traced her yellow and green leggings. She was here. She was finally here.

"Frederick?" Meredith called, disbelieving. She couldn't bring herself to say Eleanor's name. He swivelled around quickly and looked at her, but she focused on her stepmother instead. Eleanor met her eyes, and her mouth moved quickly — she mouthed something, something for only Meredith to read, but she didn't catch it.

"I must go to my hut," Eleanor said cordially, and then she left Frederick behind, as if she already knew the way. Maybe she did.

Frederick laid an arm across Meredith's shoulders, and she turned to him questioningly. "Why was my stepmother here?" She paused for a moment, before continuing. "She's safe!"

He pulled her closer, and she grinned at him. "She is. We're keeping her here for tonight, but she said she has to leave tomorrow," Frederick buried his head into the crook of her neck, and she sighed softly. "I'm sorry she can't stay longer — if I could make her, I would, so you could spend more time with her. You must miss her."

She nodded vacantly, feeling something swelling up within her, and squeezed his hand. "Thank you."

The bright light of day kept thoughts of Eleanor at bay — instead Meredith found herself focusing on what would happen when the darkness of evening crept into the sky. Alfred.

She didn't see Eleanor again for the rest of the day, and she barely saw Frederick either. He'd told her he'd be busy with revolution plans for most of the day, and she was bored without him beside her. The day was passed making cheap, uninteresting conversation with Olivia Middlesbrough — she was nice, but not particularly exciting. Meredith craved talking to Frederick as much as she needed food to eat and water to drink. She hadn't known him for long. He seemed to perfect her, to be the part of her she hadn't noticed was missing.

All day long, she thought of Frederick. Just like she'd known it would — and too quickly, night had fallen. The moonlight streaming into the hut found Meredith lying on her futon, scared witless. There was something within her that was screaming, screeching at her to run, to let Alfred come to an empty hut. Why hadn't she told Frederick? Why hadn't she told Alfred not to come?

There was a rap on the door — a distinct, almost heavy, knock. Meredith knew it must be Alfred; who else could it be? She pulled on the futon in fear, drawing it closer to herself, and the knock sounded again.

She stood reluctantly, and walked over to the door. Her hand tentatively reached for the hut's doorknob, and she pushed it open.

Alfred stood before her, in a blue tunic — different to the usual green that seemed to clothe all the rebels from head to toe. Meredith stared at him mutely, and he dropped into a quick bow. She gaped at him, as if she hadn't expected him, and he looked quickly behind him before stepping past her, into the hut. "Come in," she said faintly, though he already had, and shut the door behind him rapidly.

Meredith paused for a second before turning around and meeting his eyes. "Why are you here?" She asked in a low tone, her hands still on the door of the hut. Alfred strode to the single window of the hut and pulled a piece of wood from the floor and blocked it up.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion; but I believe that, despite your faults... you could actually be — and are! — quite intelligent." Alfred told Meredith plainly, and she was stunned by the compliment. She didn't think that anyone had ever called her intelligent before.

"I..." She started, but didn't know how to continue.

Alfred drew away from the window, a little closer to her, but not close enough that Meredith's heart jumped into her throat. "There are things you must know about the revolution, Meredith," He began, and she focused on his face as his eyes swivelled from hers down to his lined hands. They were tangled together — he seemed nervous, like he didn't seem to know how to continue. "Things — I don't know — Frederick might have told you them, or he might not have. There are definitely things he hasn't told you that you should know. Maybe he plans on telling you, soon, and I'm ruining it. But it's better to know. It's better to know." He repeated it to himself once more, as if convincing himself of this fact, then raised his eyes back up to her. As they landed on hers, she felt something tighten in her stomach — fear, she supposed.