Bright Eyes

28. God Save Us All

Jack closed the book, slid it across the table towards Lyn. "Freaky," he said.

After their meeting that day with Mr. Brighteyes, Damien, Jack, Sander, Max, and Lyn decided to eat at Taguchi, a small Japanese restaurant a short distance away from the Ravenwood Academy campus. It was Damien's suggestion.

"They've got good food," Damien had said, and he swore they had to try their cuisine, even it was just this once. Once they scanned the menu, however, they realized Damien should've warned them of the prices before they even stepped in. Eating there (because there wasn't another restaurant or café close by to where they already were, and it was too late by that time to walk any farther) was painful, in a financial kind of way. Inward groans as they pulled out their bills and coins, spending a bit more of their allowances than it was necessary for a meal—save Damien, of course, who didn't mind at all, and ate his bowl of ramen with joy, without an ounce of guilt in his system.

    At around half past eight in the evening, the bowls of ramen sat empty on the wooden table. The food was good, they couldn't deny that. But, when Damien had gone to the restroom ("Must've took a twenty-minute-long piss," Jack joked as Damien's absence persisted longer than expected), the four of them came to the unanimous decision that they weren't going to eat here another time, and they voiced this out to Damien when he returned. The food was good, yes, but there were other places with good food at cheaper, more reasonable prices.

    And with that settled, they proceeded to the real conversation at hand.

    Lyn presented them the copy of The Folktales of Waltervere and Other Tales Unknown she had borrowed from the school library, turned to the designated page of M. Burton's case, and gave them the gist of Arthur Shelley's account. The book was passed from one boy to the next to peruse. And after Jack's comment, they sat in momentary silence, until Sander said:

    "So that proves it." He leaned back in his seat, polished his glasses with the fabric of his hoodie. "There is a pathway from Crystalline to here and back."

    "Beats me where this Black Bird Lake is, though," said Jack, with a chuckle. "Haven't heard of it in all my years in Ravenwood."

    "Wherever it is, it's apparently guarded by these light people," Max said. "That is if you're thinking of looking for it and going on a little adventure, because that's what I'm thinking. Seems fun, but I wouldn't want to risk being chased down by those, um, beings."

    "Same here," Jack said, raising his glass in a mock toast before taking a sip of water.

    Lyn was drumming her fingers against the old book, worn out with age than use, and the inadvertent rhythm she played upon the cracked front cover drew Sander's attention to her. He watched her fingers, thin and pale, dance upon the surface, the mess of bracelets that adorned her wrist. Then he remembered what Talya had told him that afternoon.

    "It's beneath all the bracelets," Talya had said. "She takes them off when she goes to sleep. There were a few times the sleeve of her pajama shirt rode up her arm, so her wrist was exposed. And I saw it, Sander. Cuts, more than ten of them, red and raw, etched into her skin. I didn't say anything, I couldn't—the subject's too fragile to just tell her off. But what Lyn's doing to herself, it worries me, and it scares me. Yet I still couldn't bring myself to talk to her about it, and I don't know if that makes me a coward . . ."

    To his own disappointment and frustration, Sander realized he couldn't confront Lyn about this either: he couldn't bring himself to ask her if he could take a look at her wrist (the long sleeve of her oversized black hoodie and the mess of bracelets concealed the possibly gruesome sight pretty well), couldn't ask why she was doing this to herself. And he realized this restraint wasn't cowardice at all—not on Talya's part and not on his. He understood then that both he and Talya weren't very close with Lyn to pry in the first place, to talk to her about something so deeply personal.