Part : 3
Tittle : Another member?
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The moment Hazel burst through Sarah's bedroom door, the lingering peace of the afternoon shattered. Hazel, her eyes wide and bright with her usual infectious energy, rushed straight to Sarah, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her gently but insistently. It was their familiar after-college ritual, a whirlwind of Hazel's latest thoughts and discoveries.
Hazel perched on the edge of the other chair in the room, leaning close to Sarah, her gaze immediately drawn to the laptop screen. "What are you working on?" she asked, peering at the words displayed. "Anothernovel?" Her eyes scanned the manuscript, and then they froze. "Marcus?" she said, her voice a mix of curiosity and a strange sort of recognition. "You have a character named Marcus?"
Sarah, who had been about to close the laptop, hesitated. She avoided Hazel's direct gaze for a few fleeting seconds, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Finally, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Yeah," she whispered, her voice low. "I... I heard the name somewhere."
Hazel's eyes widened, a spark of shock and excitement igniting within them. "You did?" she exclaimed, leaning forward. "You've heard that name too?" She grabbed Sarah's arm, her grip tightening slightly in her eagerness. "See! I told you! It's not just me! You remember something too!"
A wave of realization washed over Hazel. "You were there too, weren't you?" she said, her voice filled with a quiet conviction. "Years ago. We all were, oh my gaaawd."
A sense of wonder and bewilderment washed over Hazel. "Why?" she murmured, more to herself than to Sarah. "Why did God send us all here, near each other? Was it on purpose? Did He want us to find each other again? To be together... again?" The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken memories and the weight of a past they were only just beginning to glimpse.
"Hazel, calm down a little!" Sarah said, trying to gently pry her sister's hand from her arm. Just then, their mother appeared in the doorway, shaking her head slowly, a look of amused exasperation on her face. "Nothing can fix you both," she muttered to herself before turning and walking away, leaving them to their own peculiar brand of chaos.
Hazel and Sarah looked at each other for a moment, the lingering tension dissolving into a shared understanding of their mother's reaction. Then, as if on cue, they both burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the room. Their own excitement, coupled with their mother's disbelief, struck them as hilariously absurd.
Once their laughter subsided, Hazel's eyes sparkled with a newfound determination. "Sarah," she said, her voice brimming with excitement, "you have to tell your friends! And your followers online! Tell them about your dreams, about the things you've seen! Maybe... maybe someone else out there is having the same experiences! Maybe we can find others from our past life!"
Sarah stared at her, a mixture of disbelief and hesitant curiosity swirling within her. "Hazel, that's... that's crazy, right? Telling everyone I'm having weird dreams about a past life?"
"I know, I know!" Hazel exclaimed, bouncing slightly in her seat. "It sounds totally insane! But think about it! What if it works? What if someone else recognizes the things you describe? The man on the throne, Marcus... maybe someone else has seen them too! It's a long shot, I know, but isn't it exciting? We could find others! We could figure out why we're all here!" The thrill of the unknown, the possibility of uncovering a hidden history, shone brightly in Hazel's eyes.
As Hazel's enthusiastic words hung in the air, a sense of purpose settled over Sarah. The idea of finding others, however outlandish, sparked a flicker of determination within her. While Hazel excitedly began scribbling notes and pacing the room, Sarah turned back to her laptop.
Driven by a newfound urgency, she started digging deeper. The name "Cosa Nostra" echoed in her mind, a chillingly familiar phrase from the fragmented memories that had surfaced. She cautiously navigated to some of the darker corners of the internet, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she searched for information on mafia gangs, specifically those that might align with the timeframes hinted at in her visions.
Then, she found it. A website, its design stark and unsettling, detailed the history of various organized crime syndicates. And there it was: "Cosa Nostra," a notorious mafia gang that had held significant power in Chicago, with its reign peaking between 1957 and 1966. The dates sent a shiver down her spine; it was the same name she had heard in her recent flashbacks.
Her heart pounded as she delved further into the website's archives. Lists of names, aliases, and known associates appeared on the screen. With trembling hands, Sarah began to transcribe them, each name feeling like another piece of a bizarre and terrifying puzzle. Marcus Weinberg Watson... Luke Weinberg Watson... Abraham Weinberg Watson... Anastasia Grey (with a Korean name in parenthesis: Choi Hyu-ri)... Samuel Levine Gregnard... Sidharth Naagar... Smith (another name in parenthesis: Lee Chan-hyung)... Joey... Alexander.
"What the actual hell is going on?" Sarah whispered to herself, her head swimming with the sheer impossibility of it all. The pressure behind her eyes intensified, a dull throb building as her brain struggled to process the influx of information. It felt like her skull was too small to contain the chaos of these newfound connections.
Across the room, Hazel was a whirlwind of frantic energy. She had grabbed a stack of sticky notes and was plastering them onto the wall, scribbling down names, dates, and fragmented images from their shared dreams. She moved between the notes, drawing lines with a marker, desperately trying to connect the dots, to make sense of the bizarre tapestry of their potential past. The air in their small room crackled with a strange mix of fear and exhilaration as they both grappled with the unbelievable reality that their strange dreams might be more than just dreams.
Sarah squeezed her eyes shut, willing her mind to delve into the deepest recesses of her memory, searching for any stray fragments connected to the names she had just unearthed. The effort was akin to sifting through sand for a few specific grains, her brain aching with the strain.
Later that day, as Aman, her cousin, was dropping her home on his bike, their conversation meandered through the usual college gossip. They chuckled about their physics lecturer's recent dressing-down by the director and the dramatic resignation of their class monitor, overwhelmed by the unruly students. Sarah mentioned her new novel, explaining that she was currently developing her characters, with a particular focus on someone named Marcus. Aman, ever the pragmatist, advised her not to get too attached to a character who likely existed only in her imagination.
As they neared her house and Aman slowed the bike to a stop, a thought struck Sarah. "You know," she said, almost casually as she swung her leg over to dismount, "I was thinking... there might be some connection between Luke, Marcus, and Abraham. They all have the same last name."
To her utter astonishment, Aman replied instantly, his tone matter-of-fact. "Luke and Marcus were brothers. They died in a shootout back in 1966. And Abraham was their father. He died much earlier, in 1935."
Sarah froze, still on the ground, her mind reeling. "Wait... how do you know that?" she stammered, her eyes wide with disbelief. Before Aman could offer any explanation, a mysterious smile played on his lips. He simply winked, revved the engine of his bike, and rode away, leaving Sarah standing on the curb, her head spinning with more questions than ever. The pieces of her strange dreams and visions were starting to connect in ways she couldn't have imagined, and her own cousin seemed to hold a key to a past she didn't even know she had.