C4 Chapter 4

"Enrik, are you okay?" asked Carol.

Enrique Ortega, dark circles under his eyes, rested his chin on his crossed arms, slumping over his desk. He stared straight ahead with a blank expression on his face. He had paid absolutely no attention throughout the class, staring blankly at the same spot on the wall since the class had started. He turned toward Carol, who was standing by his side.

"Yeah, I’m fine."

Carol gave him an incredulous look. She had no way of knowing that last night he had witnessed a battle between a hooded figure and some kind of clawed, tentacled being, barely escaping his own death.

"So, try adding something to your page besides just your name."

Her gently mocking tone caught his attention. It reminded him of his rival throughout his first years of high school. There had been a girl who had sworn to do everything she could to beat him. She saw Enrique as someone who was good at everything, which angered her as she wanted to be the only one at the top. However, those days were over and that girl was now far, far away. Carol, who had just been trying to lighten the mood, now looked at him a little anxiously. He was seemingly lost in thought and she started to worry that her joke had offended him. To Carol’s relief, Enrique shook his head to clear his mind and looked down to see that indeed, his notebook was blank. He grinned, full of nerves, both from reliving a scene from his past, and because he had not paid any attention at all in class.

"Emma didn’t come to class today. I don’t know what happened to her," Carol said as she counted the notebooks in her bag. The other students left the classroom quickly, like a small stampede. "Anyway, I took notes during all the morning classes. Hopefully she gets here by lunchtime. I don’t want her to fall behind . . . but hey, she surprised me a little, you know?"

"Emma?" Enrique stood up and began to stack his notebooks on top of his desk.

"Yeah. She’s from another country . . . it must be difficult to feel at home here, not to mention the fact that her family is so far away."

Enrique put his belongings into his backpack, which he slung over his shoulder while standing up from his desk. Carol continued speaking. He started toward the door with Carol following behind.

"Well, um . . . it’s sort of the same for you, isn’t it? But Emma . . . well sometimes she seems pretty stressed out, and it’s not like she has a job, does she?"

"I don’t think so."

Jeff had already left to run some errands. Carol and Enrique continued talking as they walked through the hall, headed toward the campus’ central road.

"Are you doing anything after class?" Carol asked.

"Um, no," Enrique answered. "I don’t do anything except homework really," he laughed.

"Me neither. Jeff even less so. I think he probably heads straight to bed when he gets home. Well at least that’s what he used to do back in high school."

"That’s right, you guys have been classmates since—"

"Since elementary school." Carol looked at Enrique and held up three fingers. "Since third year to be exact. He changed schools because his family had a problem with one of the teachers at his other school. According to what he told me, he made a rude joke to a friend and the teacher heard and hit him with a ruler. That kind of thing stopped happening long ago. I don’t know how that could have happened. Anyway, that’s how we met, when he changed to my school." Carol sighed, gazing forward with an affectionate air about her. "And he is still the same Jeff, still making jokes and as clueless as ever."

They walked in silence for a few yards.

"You met Lindsey here, right?" asked Enrique Ortega.

"Uh, yeah. I bet she keeps busy at home after classes, rehearsing or reading. I like drawing myself, sometimes I also draw in my free time. I think Lindsey has a younger brother. You don’t have any brothers or sisters, do you?"

The question made Ortega feel sad; he looked down, melancholy.

"No. I don’t," he answered.

"Ah, okay." Carol felt like she had asked the wrong question. "Hey! Being an only child isn’t so bad. The opposite in fact. All the more for you! Right?"

"I don’t think so."

Carol had hoped to change the mood with her last comment. She could see it had just made things worse, and decided to drop the topic. Carol, who was an only child, had no way of knowing that Enrique’s sister had died in a plane crash five years earlier.

As they left the building, they bumped into Jeff, and the three of them discussed the idea of going to Emma’s house to give her the notes from the day’s classes. A few hours later, they headed off together. As they crossed the city and got closer to their destination, the buildings began to look more modern and more expensive. When they arrived at the entrance to the building where Emma Kantor lived, Jeff and Enrique stopped, looking around in surprise.

The two of them admired the beautifully finished entrance and walls and the compact garden on either side of the walkway that lead to the main door. The neighborhood itself boasted elegantly designed lantern posts, fine gravel roads and well-kept sidewalks. Various upscale stores could be seen the next block up, across from an avenue where carriages with important looking insignias passed by, led by robust looking horses.

"Let me see, I have her exact address here somewhere," Carol said, rummaging through her bag.

"I could never afford to live in this neighborhood," said Jeff, gazing at the surroundings.

"Me neither," said Enrique.

"If you study hard and get a good job, you could live here one day," Carol commented.

"Hey! Is that you?" Above the noise of the people and carriages, they heard a shout.

The three turned around in unison. Emma, carrying some folders under her arm, was standing just a few yards behind them. Emma Kantor and Enrique Ortega’s eyes met. He noted an unusual and surprised look in her gaze.

Minutes later they were standing in the fourth floor passage way, outside Emma’s door. She opened the door and showed the way in with her hand. No explanation was necessary from Emma; it was obvious that the Kiltish government had been quite generous in accommodating their exchange students. There was a carpeted floor, silver lanterns, a tea table surrounded by armchairs made of a kind of wood that reminded Enrique of wood from his world. Jeff and Ortega looked curiously at the fine Kiltish porcelain and velvet curtains.

"What are you, tourists?" quipped Carol, sounding annoyed. Emma let out a soft laugh.

"It’s the first time they’ve been here, Carol. You were exactly the same. Don’t you remember?" asked Emma.

"Ah. Well . . ."

"Ah! Sorry!" said Jeff, turning toward Emma. "We can wait outside and . . ."

Enrique remained silent, continuing to admire the objects around the room.

"Stay," said Emma, something about her tone catching everyone’s attention. They noticed she sounded unusually serious, standing with the folders held tightly under one arm. Only Enrique noted a kind of sadness in her eyes. Emma started to speak again, this time with a softer tone. "You can’t leave without me offering you something to eat or drink."

"True, true. Emma, how about we make something to drink like last time?" said Carol, walking toward her. Her friend smiled and relaxed her arm.

Emma went first to her room, closing the door behind her. When she came back out, the folders were no longer with her.

"What were those? Documents from the embassy?" asked Carol, as they stood over the kitchen table peeling fruit.

"Uh . . . yeah. Just some forms they make me fill out every once in a while. The ambassador is . . . well, I mean, the one in charge is a bit of drag."

In the lounge, which was visible through the kitchen door, Enrique and Jeff were seated on the longest of the armchairs. A few minutes passed before Emma and Carol came back into the lounge carrying a tray with four glasses of juice. They handed the drinks out as they chatted and laughed. Emma took a glass of juice over to Enrique and looked down at him, notably concerned. She really wanted to explain some things to him, to try and put him at ease, but she knew it was impossible. Enrique could sense her strange mood in her gaze.

"You’re going to drop it!" Carol exclaimed, annoyed, seeing Jeff balancing his glass in the palm of his hand. Her voice drew the attention of the other two, who turned immediately toward her. Emma went over to Jeff and Carol to reassure them, drawing Carol aside amid humorous comments about Jeff. Enrique would have laughed, but having glimpsed Emma’s true emotional state, he did not feel like there was anything to laugh about.

Enrique could not stop thinking about the piece of cloth that he had found – the proof that his dreams were real. His dreams became more frequent, and so too did the murders. Soon the killings were the only thing that the students could talk about. Even Emma was clearly affected; the warmth of her gaze had dimmed as the weeks went by. But she would not give up. She could not fail to complete her mission at that place, even if it meant keeping secrets from herself. She also could not abandon Enrique, with whom she felt a special connection.

* * *

"Emma, is something wrong?" asked Enrique. It was afternoon and they walked slowly together down their school’s ground floor hallway. Students came and went, streaming passed on either side. Emma, holding her bag with both hands, remained silent for a few moments.

"Like what?"

"Like . . . is something bothering you, or is there something you’re not happy about?"

Emma Kantor looked into his eyes without responding.

"We all . . . well . . . some of us think that you’re not doing alright."

Emma continued walking, silent. Ortega kept talking.

"If something is bothering you, I want you to be able to tell me, or Jeff, or Carol. I really feel like something is—"

"I don’t like people dying, that’s all," Emma said flatly.

Everyone in the city was talking about the murders. The Blue Hawks had done their best to keep the population calm but it had not been enough. Even memories of last year’s attack on the House of Parliament– the reason for its renovations – were coming to life again. Enrique watched Emma for a few seconds, sensing that she was hiding something.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Very."

"Really?" Enrique asked again after a pause, in a gentle and more intimate tone.

"Really!"

This caught Ortega by surprise, and he stopped walking.

"Sorry, I’m feeling stressed."

"I’m sorry," said Enrique, after a few seconds of silence.

"Don’t worry about it," Emma replied, and they both started to walk again.

Emma glanced at him sideways; it looked like he felt he had said something wrong. If he only knew how much time she spent thinking about him, maybe he would not be asking so many questions.

"Have you been sleeping well?" asked Emma.

He stopped and did not answer her. Last night he had had another one of his nightmares. He had forgotten about it for a moment in his concern for Emma. He also remembered a new detail that had him very worried: since he first came face-to-face with the hooded figure, in all the subsequent nightmares, after beating the monster, the warrior would look around desperately with an object shining from within his grasp. And since their meeting, the masked figure usually ended up looking in direction from which Enrique was watching, as if aware of his presence.

Emma was one of the few people that typically used his full name. "It sounds nice," she had told him a couple of times, smiling. That day, on the contrary, in Emma’s eyes he sensed a kind of worry he had never seen in her before. It reminded him what it felt like to be important to someone. It was not just a simple ’hello’ or ’goodbye’ anymore; her eyes sought out the truth with more than mere curiosity.

"Me too," he said, catching her glance. "I’ve also been feeling a bit stressed . . . I mean . . . I am stressed."

Emma felt a knot in her throat. Enrique continued speaking.

"I’ve been having nightmares. Nightmares that are hard to make sense of . . . but . . . it’s nothing to worry about," he laughed.

Emma found Enrique’s false laughter to be very worrying, but she suppressed her reaction and Enrique did not notice. She could not reveal to him that she knew all about what was happening, as much as she wanted to help him and despite the fact that his life was in danger.

"They’re just dreams though, right?" he said, forcing a smile on his tired face. "They aren’t real."

Emma lowered her head and half-closed her eyes as she gripped her bag tightly with both hands.

"Exactly," said Emma. "Dreams are just dreams. They aren’t real."