He descended from Elijah's room with the parents of the aforementioned. Upon receiving a call from Rebekah, Fox promptly contacted his good friend's parents, and they all returned home with their siblings.
Josh contacted one of his doctor friends, who arrived within minutes and examined their son. The doctor informed them that their son had experienced an alteration, causing him to lose consciousness.
Karla and the twins were all concerned, but the 18-year-olds tried to soothe their mother. Josh couldn't comprehend how his son had suffered such an episode in the short time they had been gone.
"He'll be fine," Steban, the doctor and friend of everyone, reassured Josh. "His blood pressure has dropped, and he'll sleep for a few hours."
"But..." Sam interjected. "What caused it?"
"I don't know," Steban replied truthfully. "But whatever he saw, it wasn't good," he sighed, pulling on his black jacket. "I'll come back later," he told Josh as they exited the room.
Meanwhile, Karla was somewhat calmer, but she still couldn't shake off her worry. She looked at Rebekah and Fox.
"You don't know why he acted like that," she inquired.
"When I arrived," Rebekah recounted, "he was in the corner of the room with his hands over his face. I tried to approach him, and he was frightened," she informed them, and the twins urged her to continue. "He told me he saw..."
"He saw whom?" Josh reentered the room and asked.
"Melia," Fox responded this time.
"Again with the same thing," Robert interjected. He was just like the others, bored with his brother's obsession with that woman and her diary.
They had debated the topic many times.
Josh let out a deep sigh of frustration, regret etched on his face.
"I shouldn't have let him go on about it," he muttered. "Just look at the damage it's done to her," he gestured towards the victim of the situation. He sank into the couch, his expression heavy with guilt. "It's just not right."
Karla, his ever-supportive wife, placed a comforting hand on his back and spoke up.
"It's not your fault, Josh. Or anyone else's for that matter," she reassured him, looking at him with tender eyes. "When he wakes up, we'll have a talk with him."
Sam, tired of the subject, interjected.
"What's the point? He should just sleep all day and rest."
Josh's stern look silenced his son's comment, and then Fox and Rebekah spoke up in unison.
"We'll go upstairs and check on him," they said, offering to take on the responsibility.
Karla shook her head at them, her voice soft and gentle.
"Let him sleep a little longer," she suggested, and both Fox and Rebekah nodded their understanding.
Even though they were well aware of what had caused his outburst - although it was still uncertain - they were determined to help Elijah banish those thoughts from his mind. He simply couldn't afford to become so upset again, as it only made him physically ill and worried everyone else around him.
Elijah's bedroom was spacious, with walls painted a crisp, sky-white color and adorned with posters ranging from Queen to the King of Pop, Michael Jackson. His bed was surrounded by books, including works by renowned authors like Shakespeare and messages of reflection and harmony from Gandhi. His room was a veritable sanctuary for his many curiosities and deep thinking, resembling the lair of Stiles from a distance.
A large window faced his bed, letting in the sun's gentle rays and allowing the evening breeze to permeate the room. But now, only rain droplets could be seen splattering against the glass, as the storm had arrived.
Lying on his bed, Elijah furrowed his brow as he shifted slightly, causing some of his books to tumble to the ground. He brought his right hand up to his forehead, while resting his other arm on the mattress. After rubbing his eyes, he stretched and reached for his wristwatch on the rough wooden table.
"Six o'clock in the evening," he muttered to himself, before returning the watch to its place on the table.
His head throbbed, a persistent ache that wouldn't go away. How did he end up in his room? The memory was blurry, all he could recall was the darkness and the sensation of falling. The cause of his fainting spell was something he couldn't forget, and the fear it brought with it began to creep in again. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he lay back on his pillow. The sound of heavy raindrops against the windowpane provided some comfort. He tried to think of something else, anything else. He conjured up an image of Helena Chantai, the girl in his class whom he had been infatuated with for some time. She had beautiful brown eyes and hair, and a stunning face, but her attitude towards him was often contradictory to her beauty. Still, he couldn't help but like her. As he lay there lost in thought, he began to hum one of his favorite songs, "Thriller" by Michael Jackson. He admired the legendary musician more than anything else. Michael Jackson had turned the world upside down with his music, and he often wondered what it would have been like to meet him, to talk to him, to express his admiration.....
"He was charming. You would have fallen in love with him the moment you laid eyes on him," she said. Elijah's humming came to a halt. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling before turning his head to the small opaque coloured sofa by the window. It held several records he had bought weeks ago, and he stared at them, reading the songs on the back. The same sensation ran through his body, preventing him from even uttering a word. "Scream, Beat it, Billie Jean... oh," she exclaimed. "And my favorite," she smiled, "Black or White," he told her with a smile from ear to ear.
Orleans' face reflected fear, that woman was back again. She got up from the couch, and Elijah, in turn, jumped out of bed and went to the door. He grabbed the doorknob and before he could even open it, he felt the woman's breath on his neck. He stood still, with his forehead against the door.
"Are you leaving now?" she asked him from behind.
"Please do not harm me," he pleaded, his fingers tightly gripping the doorknob while his eyes remained shut.
A laugh from the woman echoed through the room. He did not argue with her, and as he was about to speak again, she silenced him with her eerie silence. She could sense his fear, his urge to flee from that room. The scream that wanted to escape him but was trapped inside.
"I will not harm you," she whispered into his ear, her breath sending shivers down his spine. "Do you know why Black or White is my favourite song?" she asked, and Elijah, too frightened to speak, shook his head. "Because white is the only bit of heaven that one can see in hell."
Elijah's eyes widened, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow as the woman took his left arm and turned him around to face her. He closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to look at her again.
Her cold fingers brushed against his cheeks, sending a chill through his body. She was utterly cold, without warmth or heat.
She placed the tip of her nose near his collarbone, and he could feel her touch him. "Open your eyes," she whispered, but he refused. "Open your eyes. Now." She spoke in a harsher tone, and Elijah reluctantly obeyed.
When he opened his eyes, the woman was directly in front of him, her face so close to his. Her eyes were not the black colour he had thought, but a sparkling yet vacant brown. Her face was not as twisted with veins as before, and her mouth looked like that of a normal human being. Her movements were neutral.
"You are afraid of me, aren't you?" she mocked. "But there is nothing to fear. I do not intend to kill you. I only want to know..."
"The diary is what I want," Elijah interrupted, clearing his throat. She withdrew her hand from his cheek when he spoke. "I have been searching for it for longer than you think."
"I seek something that is rightfully mine," she said with conviction in every word. "Something that no one else will ever possess. My diary."
"I only want to read it," Elijah said, mustering the courage to put his fear aside. The woman frowned at him. "Believe me, your story has reached me in a unique way."
"My story?" she asked, seeming not to understand. "No one knows my story. No one knows anything about me."
" That's what you think," he said, passing her by without stopping to look at her. He didn't want any surprises or sudden moves. "Look," he said. After searching through her books for a moment, she found the one she needed. Now she was standing in front of the footboard of the bed, and he didn't notice when she had arrived there.
She took the book in her hands and admired the cover - a beautiful combination of colors and figures with striking white letters. Her fingers touched the title with a certain slowness, and she looked at it with a frown. It seemed to be her book, the book of her life.
THE STORY OF MELIA CONKINOVA: A WHOLE LIFE BEFORE THE GOODBYE
BY LORD HOKONICK
Elijah watched her closely. Her hair was brown, and her skin was the same color that Professor Logan had described - bathed in the same sun and tanned. Her face was symmetrical, with brown eyes, lips perfectly lined in a shade of crimson, long eyelashes, and features that were more than perfect. She was a beautiful woman, and there was little else to describe her - too much beauty in one being.
She was dressed in black - a long coat with the same collar that covered a great part of her body. Elijah noticed that under it, she wore a long-sleeve blouse in a slightly lighter black color that covered her neck and wrists. Everything was black, without a hint of white or brightness. She began to walk around the room with the book in her hand, and Elijah could see her confusion and humor as she read.
"A story of a life that will make you want to know more about her. Of that uniquely beautiful girl who, after so much misfortune, felt her world take a flash turn. You will love it and at the same time hate it more than anything else, like me, that you will never be able to have her sitting in front of you," she read, turning the pages, laughing, and looking at Elijah, who was standing by the door."German poet, philosopher, and writer," she said in an astonished tone that was miles away from cynical. "The guy's got quite an imagination, eh?" She chuckled, turning the pages until she stopped at one and read, "Melia was a girl that the whole town of Rome loved like a daughter. A girl with an angelic appearance that whoever saw her was enchanted. They said her smile was so beautiful they called it The Divine Glow." She laughed energetically, showing that part of her from afar. "This is so...stupid. It's amazing how such an un-abstract mind can come up with so many things. Really, it is."
"You're a respected writer, miss," he said, a tinge of anger in his voice as he felt mocked. He held Mr. Lord's works in high esteem, just like thousands of others. "Mr. Lord has penned numerous astonishing and distinctive pieces."
"What makes them so remarkable?" she queried as she flipped through the pages. "Because, to be honest, all I see here are falsehoods meant to deceive the reader into thinking it's real. And where did you get the poison for the arrow?" She snickered.
"Mr. Lord didn't write lies. In fact, he based his writing on various stories, connecting the dots together," he explained, trying to defend his favorite author.
She spoke with a cold, hard edge to her voice as she slammed the book shut and flung it onto the bed.
"People tell themselves what they wish to believe, constructing falsehoods to fit their own desires, when in reality...' Her voice trailed off, and he finished the sentence for her:
"it simply isn't true."
Doubt and disappointment crept into her expression, and she seemed lost in thought for a moment. Was it possible that all of Lord's writers were fakes? Could Lord himself be a fraud? It couldn't be true. Lord was a critically acclaimed writer, an icon in his field.
Elijah watched her, unsure of what to make of her sudden change in demeanor. What if she wasn't who she claimed to be?
"Are you her?" he asked, finally breaking the silence.
'"Her"?' she repeated, turning to face him. "Do you mean to ask if I am Melia Conkinova?"She raised an eyebrow in surprise, then glanced at his Cartier watch. "It's been exactly...60 minutes, if not more. I'm surprised you would question my identity after all this time.
Doubt still lingered in Elijah's mind, and he couldn't help but sense something strange about her aura.
"Doubt is creeping in. And your aura..." Elijah hesitated, his words faltering.
"And my aura?" Melia pressed him to continue, stepping closer to him.
"It frightens me. You frighten me," he finally confessed as she approached him. She was now standing right in front of him, with her back against the door. "I need to know if..."
"Yes, yes I am," she interrupted him, cutting off his doubts. "I am the woman for whom you have been searching for my precious diary."
"I want it more than anything else," he admitted, momentarily lost in her gaze. "This is crazy," he chuckled. "I swear to God...you're still..."
"Yes, I'm still alive," she said with a vague gesture, turning away from him. "I'm still alive, the woman whom everyone invents a life for." She picked up the book again, shaking it slightly.
"Anyway... he's my favorite writer."
Melia laughed.
"You're silly, really."
"I've been told that," he replied, stroking her right arm as she looked around the room at a few books. "Can I call you Melia?" he asked after a few seconds.
"I don't know," she shrugged. "What do they call me in the books, 'the girl from Fifth Avenue' or something?"
He understood the reason for her question and the reason for her sarcasm. He had admitted at a certain point that perhaps his favorite writer wrote untrue situations.
"Listen, you must understand that..."
"You're too easily entangled and convinced by falsehoods," she interrupted him, pointing her finger at him. "You're fascinated with my diary, but now that you see me..." She approached him again, "You're amazed," she smiled, taking the audacity to play with his hair, with its small snow white curls. "I should kill you," she said, changing her countenance, and Elijah felt the fear rise in him again. "But I won't," she stopped touching his hair, and Elijah let out the breath he had been holding. "For now," she added, looking at him. "No one will have my diary. You'll die waiting..."
"What's the point of a diary if I have something that others think is just dust," he interrupted, referring to the amazing fact of having Melia Conkinova herself in front of him. He was excited, astonished, and more than euphoric. "Miss Melia..."
He was cut off as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and heading towards his room. The doorknob turned, and he held it.
"Son..." It was his mother's voice. "Are you awake?"
"No, I'm asleep," Melia whispered sarcastically. Elijah looked at her, and she rolled her eyes, throwing herself on the bed, causing several books to fall.
"No, mother, I am not asleep. I just don't want to see anyone right now."
"Steban needs to see you," his mother said, trying to open the door. "Let me... What was that?" she asked as she heard a clattering sound from inside her son's room.
Elijah turned to see the cause of the sound; Melia had knocked over the small chest of drawers when she stretched out her foot. She made an apologetic gesture, but for some reason, Orleans didn't believe her.
"I'm going in," his mother declared, finally managing to open the door. "What the...? This can't be right."Surprise! Apparently, everything tends to change.