My Guardian Angel//Lams//Post Laurens Death

Chapter Eight

John Laurens
Philip is going to boarding school in a week. I found a way to switch between places, even without Philip. I stand in Philip's bedroom, watching him pack.

"It's so stupid!" he tells me, maybe for the twentieth time since Alexander announced that Philip is attending a school in Charleston.

"I know," I say.

"He's not even listening to what I have to say!" Philip continues.

"I understand that."

"I mean, does my dad even have a heart?"

I respond firmly and quickly, "Yes. Don't suggest he doesn't."

Philip twists around to look at me. "I thought you were supposed to help me."

"Your father wants what's best for you," I tell him. "You know that."

"I don't want to go to school in South Carolina!" Philip insists.

I tense. Memories hit me hard, swallowing my mind whole.

"Son," my father, Henry, gestured to the woman in a purple dress, "this is Martha." He was looking at me with such an expression, that I realized what he wanted me to do.

"How did you even—?" "Lafayette told me! You know why? Because he was your best man!" "Alex, please, calm down..."

"Hamilton, this is my wife, Martha." I introduced them and then felt as if I'd lit a fuse on a bomb.

"Are you Alex?" my daughter, Frances, asked Hamilton. "Daddy always talks about you."

"It's really peaceful." "I know."

"...Laurens!" Philip's loud shout wakes me up.

"Sh!" I say quickly and then regret it; pain throbs in my stomach and blood starts flowing from my mouth.

"John?" Philip says as I fall. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." I lie.

This happens occasionally, the ones that caused my death nine years ago. It happens either after memories overwhelm me, or when Alex throws a letter to me in the fire.

"You sure?" Philip continues.

I hug my stomach. "Yeah.

The wounds close eventually, letting me breathe normally. Philip has stopped ranting about going to boarding school, and is peering at me with concern.

"Don't look at me like that," I say.

"Like what?" he asks.

Like your father, I think.

"Like you feel bad for me," I reply instead. "There's nothing to feel bad for. I'm dead."

Philip doesn't stop gazing at me with pity, though. I roll my eyes.

"You should keep packing. I'll be back."

"Tell my dad I still don't wanna do!" Philip calls as I leave.

I smile a little and go into Hamilton's study. He has something in his hands. A letter. I go to read it over his shoulder, like I promised I would in my note to him.

My dearest Alexander,
You must get through to Jefferson. Sit down with him and compromise, don't stop til you agree. You're favorite older sister, Angelica, reminds you: there's someone in your corner all the way across the sea.

In a letter I received from you two weeks ago I, noticed a comma in the middle of a phrase. You changed the meaning. Did you intend this? One stroke and you've consumed my waking days, it says: My Dearest, Angelica.