The Necronomicon

Chapter Thirty

A blurred face — like a twisting kaleidoscope. Even if she knew the features, she wouldn't have been able to tell who it was. Someone — another person — was holding onto her hand, tightly. They called her name, once, twice, pulling her into reality like a fish on a hook.

Meredith blinked.

"You're awake." It was a woman — high cheekbones, with brown hair falling like a curtain across her face. She had large, startling eyes. Meredith thought about her own: hers were prettier. The slant of this woman's eyelashes were not as perfectly curved as her own, and she had quite a few hairs in her left eyebrow that needed plucking. She looked at Meredith. "Are you alright?"

"I — " Meredith managed to croak, her voice catching.

The woman looked worried, bending closer to her — a mistake. Meredith dry heaved all over her leggings. The woman didn't seem fazed by this — instead her hand went to the back of Meredith's neck to support her as she coughed it all up. Whoever was holding her hand tightened their grip. Once she had finished, Meredith spoke, her voice cracked, her throat aching. "Who — who are you? Are you... angels?"

Turning her neck hurt; Meredith looked at the man squeezing her hand — the woman let her fingers slip off of Meredith's neck and into her own lap. "Meredith, do you recognise me?" The man asked, his eyes trained on hers. She looked him full in the face, his thumb on her hypothenar eminence.

Another word she'd learnt from palmistry with Eleanor.

"Alfred?" She breathed, hardly daring to believe it was him. "How — how am I alive?"

"We came to get you." He answered, indicating the woman kneeling before her. "Pippa and I."

Meredith nodded. "Alfred, I'm —"

"Hungry?" He questioned. "We brought food."

The woman — Pippa — nodded. "Here, Alfred — you get it. I'll just quickly change." As she spoke, she stood and peeled off her leggings. Meredith looked away, shocked, as Pippa dug through her bag and fished out new ones. "Public decency..." She muttered, cheeks flaming, but either Pippa didn't hear or she simply didn't care.

Alfred handed Meredith something — food. She took it in mud-stained hands, and shovelled it into her mouth with fast fingers. "This is really good." She said, her words tumbling over each other.

Alfred nodded gently. "Eat up." His tone was caring, and he smiled at her. She didn't respond, and he looked back at Pippa.

"Meredith, I know you don't know me well, but we need you to tell us everything." Pippa began, leaning a little closer to Meredith. "About you and Frederick, about you, everything. I know you might not be ready now, but —"

She swallowed. "Is Frederick alive?"

Pippa glanced away, shifting slightly. "Alive and well."

Meredith put a hand to the back of her head, caressing the wound there delicately. "Oh."

It had been him. This confirmed it. Healthy — without a scratch upon him. What had brought him to hit her? What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking? He must have been thinking of doing it — no one randomly hits someone on the head with a stick and leaves, leaves with all their belongings.

Leaves with their sanity. With their health.

Leaves them to die.

He'd left her... to die.

She loved him.

Still.

"He — he tried to kill me," She whispered. "Frederick."