Dawn of Fog and Glass

Chapter Five: Dawn of Fog And Glass

I press my back against the door, heart thumping. A lump rises in my throat. I press the palms of my hands to my eyes, willing angry tears away. My dry, dyed ends scratch my shoulders, so I fish for an elastic and tie my hair in a knot to help me process things.

            "You'd better hurry up with that packing. We're planning to leave in roughly fifty minutes."

            I scream and twirl around. My nerves seem to fizz through my body Another man clad in a black suit sits on Hera's empty bed, black case beside him. This one isn't like the suitcase that Head Officer Adams' goonies had, but a larger one with a black leather binding—a suitcase. As in, for packing belongings. Much smaller than what I've seen in movies, but I guess they use what they get.

            Something else about his words strikes me. "Wait, fifty minutes? Adams said I had 'plenty of time'."

            The officer shrugs. "I suppose Head Officer Adams exaggerated." He passes me the briefcase. "We ask that you please pack your toiletries and either three small personal belongings or two large ones."

            I take the case and peer inside. "What, no clothes or anything?"

            "We provide special clothes for all patients."

            I frown. Patients. Not students. As if I was being sent to a hospital or maybe even a psychiatric ward.

            I stare blankly around the room, wondering what I can take. I move to grab my favourite hoodie of Orion's, a deep burgundy one with frayed strings and a cozy hood but shy away. No clothes. Maybe a paintbrush of his? No, he'd need that.

            My eyes land on the photograph framed by my bedside table. Last year at the annual school dance. Darcy had somehow pulled together a photo booth, but students were only allowed one picture per person. I stand in my two-piece navy dress, with sharp eyeliner and fishnets that have only one hole. I'm in the front and center, being the smallest, with Orion to my right and Hera to my left. Her lips are painted as silver as her dress, and Orion's hair had been dyed freshly green. We all have the cheesiest grins on our faces.

            I grab the photo and stuff it in the suitcase first.

            The man grunts. "I've had strict instructions not to let you bring glass. Forgot to mention it earlier."

            I simply roll my eyes at him before removing the picture from my frame and putting it back in the case.

            Padding over to the bathroom, I tuck in my toiletries. I feel the watchful eyes of the man on my back. Making sure I don't hide anything. Making sure I'm trustworthy. As if I'm some sort of criminal.

            Lastly, I crawl under my bed and pull out a small, dusty painting of Orion's, one that I stole after he painted it a few years ago. He pretended not to notice, but I know he knows. He always knows.

            I give a last glance to the careful strokes outlining the curious, round faces of three small children in a cellar. The smallest, with dark brown hair and adorable freckles, gazes at the flames licking up his fingertips. It lights up the smile on his face. The other two, a girl with hooded eyes, a small nose, and straight black hair, and a boy with brown curls and paint stains on his fingers, crowd around the boy in awe.

            Him, Draco, and me. I wish I could remember more of Draco than a few brief memories. That and the stories I've gathered from Orion.

            I carefully set it into the case as well as the book that Hera got me for my birthday and close it shut. I try to breathe deeply. I fail.