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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Trisha bent her head over her knees and let her hair fall over her face as she sighed in relief. The peace that washed over her and soothed her every atom as the shadows began to sink deeper into the cavern was short lived when she thought of Harold—and what had become of him.
She stood up with all the strength she could muster when she was convinced that they had all gone, pushed her wand into her cardigan, flicked on her almost useless flashlight and jogged to where Harold's numb body was. As she dropped down on her knees while shining the flashlight's beam on his thigh which was way too white—almost silvery, Wilkes appeared beside her but she didn't flinch. Her eyes were fixed on the blood-drenched trouser he had on.
“We need to get out of here,” he whispered, not wanting to attract the shadows again as he knelt on Harold's other side. “I have a feeling they'll be back soon.”
“H
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The students of Golden Lake University began trooping into the university's largest hall with frowns on their faces, murmurs and grumbles escaping their lips, and ear-itching scrapes and shuffles emerging from their feet as though they were literally being dragged along.So far, all the days spent in the University were in one word, ‘perfect’ and the students just didn't seem to have gotten enough of it. That Saturday, too, wasn't an exception and had there been pastels—or crayons, drawing boards, and an utterly silent environ with the wind hissing and blowing green grass while birds chirruped from the top of trees, too, an artist was sure to limn a first-rate and world class drawing thanks to the unfiltered and spotless inspiration that'll diffuse through his skin's pores and deeper—to his core as he held pencil firmly in the flap of his ear.It was such a fine day with the glorious sun positioned in the very middle among the soft, feat
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“Why will he write that to us—to me?” Harold said, looking at the dark smears that crisscrossed the poorly torn sheet of paper that was clutched in Trisha's fingers. It stunk of engine oil; the kind that had seen better days in the engines of vehicles.Their gazes fell ahead of them as though they hadn't heard Harold and onto the asphalt which was beginning to darken as a chunk of white cloud slid beneath the sun for seconds before coming out on the other side, as radiant and hot as before.None of them had a theory to answer what Harold had asked hence, they had shifted their attention to two snowy gulls that flew after the other with occasional hoots into the bluish clouds.“Do you think Chloe knows about this?” Wilkes said suddenly. “She might tell us something.”“I doubt it. Wasn't she asking us what poem we were talking about half an hour —”“Guys!” Trisha said loudly, breaking off Harold and Girard
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