That night, Martin met the woman for the first time in three months. Perhaps because he had been so busy with his affairs for a while, he had not met her in his dreams for the past three months. As soon as he returned home and collapsed on his bed, he would fall asleep until the rooster outside woke him up with a loud noise.
And as of yesterday, the urgent investigation was over. Perhaps it was because he had a few days off and was able to enjoy the luxury of sleeping in for once. Angie appeared again in the back of his subconscious.
In a dream that was like thick fog, she was lying on the bed covered with a blanket. It was blurry and he couldn't see the surroundings well, but it felt like she was sleeping in her own room.
"Hey! Miss! No... Angie!"
After calling for a long time, the woman opened her eyes. Two pairs of green eyes met each other in the fog. The woman named Angie was looking straight at him. And she was asking with her eyes.
Fate. It was ridiculous to say such a grandiose expression, but what can I do?
"Angie. You have to wake up. You have to get off that... that island!"
Martin spoke urgently. He didn't feel the force that had been pushing him away, but he was still in a dream. Dreams were bound to break suddenly at any moment.
"On that island, on Cullinan, as soon as possible..."
His vision blurred and flashes of light flashed in his head. The dream was suddenly shattered. Martin gasped and sat up from the sofa.
Oh, something hot and wet licked his cheek and chin. It was Rudy, the shepherd that his fellow officer had left in his care for a while. His friend's loyal dog was panting and jumping up on his temporary owner, whimpering.
“Shh, Rudy. It’s okay. It’s okay...”
He tried to calm Rudy down by stroking his black fur. He was really okay. The one who wasn't okay was Angie in his dreams. A woman with pure and clear eyes like a deer.
In reality, she was no different from a deer. She was completely defenseless against the blood and pain that was approaching her every moment, not even knowing that her heart was being targeted. It was like the fate of a deer.
The next afternoon, Angie stood at John Michel's desk in the small library inside the chapel. The librarian and custodian of the residents' records were tugging at his mustache, looking embarrassed.
“Uncle Michel. Are you sure there isn’t a name like that? Or a similar name? Could you please review it again...”
“Well, there’s no such name as Martin Silva. Look, this register is a meticulously written list of names of every villager in alphabetical order for the past twenty years. I’ve checked both the S and M categories three times, but there’s no such name.”
The middle-aged man twitched his mustache and spoke in a frustrated tone. He pushed the ledger toward her as if telling her to check it with her own eyes. Angie pulled the list in front of her and looked over it several times before looking up. Her expression finally gave way to resignation.
“Yes... I’m sorry for bothering you, Sir.”
“No, it’s annoying. But who is that person? He can’t be an outsider... I’ve lived in this town since I was born, and there’s not a single person missing from the list.”
John Michel tilted his head as if he found it odd. He didn't know all the inhabitants of the island, but there wasn't a single person who wasn't recorded on the list.
“Sir, have there been any islanders like Elliot who dragged their boat out of the wind before...?”
Elliot. The name of a young man who was torn to pieces by something after crossing the boundary of the waves that should never be crossed, a large wind like a lighthouse. She got goosebumps when she thought of the horrific corpse that washed up on the beach last year, a few pieces of red flesh.
Could it be that the ghost of someone who died so miserably appeared in my dream? What if the expression escape actually means death?
“As far as I know, there aren’t any. There are separate registers of deaths, just like births, but there were no deaths like that.”
“Ahh... Yes.”
At least it means he's not dead. So what on earth is this man's identity? Why does he keep appearing in her dreams, saying strange things, and confusing her? And he knew her name. She never said it herself.
At that moment, there was a knock on the library door. Angie, who had been sitting there blankly, turned her head in surprise.
“Angie- Are you still here? We were supposed to get together today and knit guipur!”
It was Emma, Mrs. Sue's daughter. Come to think of it, Angie had completely forgotten that starting today, every Wednesday, Emma, Letitia, Marissa, and the four of them were going to knit guipure (thread lace) handkerchiefs in the chapel embroidery room.
Angie bowed politely to Uncle Michel and stood up, her thoughts still focused on the man in her dreams as she followed Emma out.
“What did you talk about with Uncle Michel?”
“Oh, no. I was asking about the contents of the book...”
“Angie is a real bookworm. My mom said you would be a perfect fit to take over as the librarian.”
The girls who had gathered early in the embroidery room greeted each other with laughter. They all smiled innocently at Angie. But one was different. Leticia, with her light blond hair and blue eyes, had a smile that was somehow unnatural.
She was always like that. Leticia Dervan's haughtiness, which had been arrogant since childhood, was more evident in front of Angie. Angie spoke to her gently first.
“Hello, Leticia. How are your parents?”
The girl with the doll-like face only gave a short answer and returned her gaze to the lace in her hand. Leticia's father, Harold Dervan, was in charge of accounting and administration for the Blackwell family. Under the name Blackwell, everyone on the island was equal, regardless of social status or the nobility of their duties. At least, that was the value of the community.
But if we had to categorize, the Dervan family was a little different. Among the girls in the embroidery room, no, even outside the embroidery room, Leticia acted as if she was the most superior among them.
'Humans and animals originally lived in groups and could not escape the instinct to judge each other's superiority. The very act of emphasizing and promoting the value of equality is proof of the reality that is dominated by fateful and inevitable inequality.'
Angie listened to the girls' chatter as she expertly embroidered the lace, but her mind was full of other thoughts. She was busy trying to figure out who Martin Silva was and what he meant in her dream. So she didn't even notice Leticia's sharp gaze directed at her.
Angie looked up just as she finished a handkerchief. The girls were busy with their needles in their hands and their lips chattering about something or other. Suddenly Angie stopped.
And as of yesterday, the urgent investigation was over. Perhaps it was because he had a few days off and was able to enjoy the luxury of sleeping in for once. Angie appeared again in the back of his subconscious.
In a dream that was like thick fog, she was lying on the bed covered with a blanket. It was blurry and he couldn't see the surroundings well, but it felt like she was sleeping in her own room.
"Hey! Miss! No... Angie!"
After calling for a long time, the woman opened her eyes. Two pairs of green eyes met each other in the fog. The woman named Angie was looking straight at him. And she was asking with her eyes.
It was you. Why did you come back?
Surprisingly, the question was coming out from between her red lips like cherries.
"You are...Martin Silva...?"
She remembered his name. Moreover, the two of them were communicating properly for the first time. The exchange in the dream was progressing slowly but surely, like a game of dominoes that gradually rushed toward the final goal.
"That's right, Angie."
Martin's tone was once again filled with emotion.
"You are...Martin Silva...?"
She remembered his name. Moreover, the two of them were communicating properly for the first time. The exchange in the dream was progressing slowly but surely, like a game of dominoes that gradually rushed toward the final goal.
"That's right, Angie."
Martin's tone was once again filled with emotion.
Strange. Why does my heart tremble and feel so overwhelmed every time I see this woman?
No matter how much he thinks about it, the exchange between the two through dreams was not a coincidence. It felt like fate.
Fate. It was ridiculous to say such a grandiose expression, but what can I do?
It was a strange thrill, completely different from his love for Brynman as if he had found his lost sister.
There must be a reason for their meeting in their consciousness. Martin realized it anew. There was no turning back now. Even if the peace he had barely managed to achieve over the past eight years was shaken by her, there was nothing he could do.
"Angie. I too lived on Cullinan Island. Like you, eight years ago, I lived there without knowing anything, until I escaped by chance."
"Yes...? What are you talking about..."
The woman sat up on the bed. She too must have been awake, as she was in a virtual reality dream. But her eyes were still thick with wariness toward him.
"Angie. Tell me. Is the descendant of the Blackwell Dukes... Is Kyle Lordan Blackwell currently unconscious? Unable to meet with you?"
Martin spoke urgently. It was certainly different now than when he had been pushed out of his dream by a powerful, invisible force. There was no sense of a threatening energy anywhere in the fog. It meant the absence of an energy that wanted to dominate Angie.
"Do you know Master...Kai?"
Angie's eyes widened. She asked again and again without waiting for his answer.
"Wait a minute. You said you lived on this island too? Eight years ago here..."
Angie trailed off. Her ears were listening clearly. Eight years ago, a man named Martin had been living on this island, just like her, without knowing anything, and had escaped. But why did he use the word escape? This is the safest place in the world.
"But how did you get out of the island? The world outside the island is terrible and dangerous..."
There must be a reason for their meeting in their consciousness. Martin realized it anew. There was no turning back now. Even if the peace he had barely managed to achieve over the past eight years was shaken by her, there was nothing he could do.
"Angie. I too lived on Cullinan Island. Like you, eight years ago, I lived there without knowing anything, until I escaped by chance."
"Yes...? What are you talking about..."
The woman sat up on the bed. She too must have been awake, as she was in a virtual reality dream. But her eyes were still thick with wariness toward him.
"Angie. Tell me. Is the descendant of the Blackwell Dukes... Is Kyle Lordan Blackwell currently unconscious? Unable to meet with you?"
Martin spoke urgently. It was certainly different now than when he had been pushed out of his dream by a powerful, invisible force. There was no sense of a threatening energy anywhere in the fog. It meant the absence of an energy that wanted to dominate Angie.
"Do you know Master...Kai?"
Angie's eyes widened. She asked again and again without waiting for his answer.
"Wait a minute. You said you lived on this island too? Eight years ago here..."
Angie trailed off. Her ears were listening clearly. Eight years ago, a man named Martin had been living on this island, just like her, without knowing anything, and had escaped. But why did he use the word escape? This is the safest place in the world.
"But how did you get out of the island? The world outside the island is terrible and dangerous..."
"Angie. You have to wake up. You have to get off that... that island!"
Martin spoke urgently. He didn't feel the force that had been pushing him away, but he was still in a dream. Dreams were bound to break suddenly at any moment.
"On that island, on Cullinan, as soon as possible..."
His vision blurred and flashes of light flashed in his head. The dream was suddenly shattered. Martin gasped and sat up from the sofa.
Oh, something hot and wet licked his cheek and chin. It was Rudy, the shepherd that his fellow officer had left in his care for a while. His friend's loyal dog was panting and jumping up on his temporary owner, whimpering.
“Shh, Rudy. It’s okay. It’s okay...”
He tried to calm Rudy down by stroking his black fur. He was really okay. The one who wasn't okay was Angie in his dreams. A woman with pure and clear eyes like a deer.
In reality, she was no different from a deer. She was completely defenseless against the blood and pain that was approaching her every moment, not even knowing that her heart was being targeted. It was like the fate of a deer.
***
The next afternoon, Angie stood at John Michel's desk in the small library inside the chapel. The librarian and custodian of the residents' records were tugging at his mustache, looking embarrassed.
“Uncle Michel. Are you sure there isn’t a name like that? Or a similar name? Could you please review it again...”
“Well, there’s no such name as Martin Silva. Look, this register is a meticulously written list of names of every villager in alphabetical order for the past twenty years. I’ve checked both the S and M categories three times, but there’s no such name.”
The middle-aged man twitched his mustache and spoke in a frustrated tone. He pushed the ledger toward her as if telling her to check it with her own eyes. Angie pulled the list in front of her and looked over it several times before looking up. Her expression finally gave way to resignation.
“Yes... I’m sorry for bothering you, Sir.”
“No, it’s annoying. But who is that person? He can’t be an outsider... I’ve lived in this town since I was born, and there’s not a single person missing from the list.”
John Michel tilted his head as if he found it odd. He didn't know all the inhabitants of the island, but there wasn't a single person who wasn't recorded on the list.
“Sir, have there been any islanders like Elliot who dragged their boat out of the wind before...?”
Elliot. The name of a young man who was torn to pieces by something after crossing the boundary of the waves that should never be crossed, a large wind like a lighthouse. She got goosebumps when she thought of the horrific corpse that washed up on the beach last year, a few pieces of red flesh.
Could it be that the ghost of someone who died so miserably appeared in my dream? What if the expression escape actually means death?
“As far as I know, there aren’t any. There are separate registers of deaths, just like births, but there were no deaths like that.”
“Ahh... Yes.”
At least it means he's not dead. So what on earth is this man's identity? Why does he keep appearing in her dreams, saying strange things, and confusing her? And he knew her name. She never said it herself.
At that moment, there was a knock on the library door. Angie, who had been sitting there blankly, turned her head in surprise.
“Angie- Are you still here? We were supposed to get together today and knit guipur!”
It was Emma, Mrs. Sue's daughter. Come to think of it, Angie had completely forgotten that starting today, every Wednesday, Emma, Letitia, Marissa, and the four of them were going to knit guipure (thread lace) handkerchiefs in the chapel embroidery room.
Angie bowed politely to Uncle Michel and stood up, her thoughts still focused on the man in her dreams as she followed Emma out.
“What did you talk about with Uncle Michel?”
“Oh, no. I was asking about the contents of the book...”
“Angie is a real bookworm. My mom said you would be a perfect fit to take over as the librarian.”
The girls who had gathered early in the embroidery room greeted each other with laughter. They all smiled innocently at Angie. But one was different. Leticia, with her light blond hair and blue eyes, had a smile that was somehow unnatural.
She was always like that. Leticia Dervan's haughtiness, which had been arrogant since childhood, was more evident in front of Angie. Angie spoke to her gently first.
“Hello, Leticia. How are your parents?”
The girl with the doll-like face only gave a short answer and returned her gaze to the lace in her hand. Leticia's father, Harold Dervan, was in charge of accounting and administration for the Blackwell family. Under the name Blackwell, everyone on the island was equal, regardless of social status or the nobility of their duties. At least, that was the value of the community.
But if we had to categorize, the Dervan family was a little different. Among the girls in the embroidery room, no, even outside the embroidery room, Leticia acted as if she was the most superior among them.
'Humans and animals originally lived in groups and could not escape the instinct to judge each other's superiority. The very act of emphasizing and promoting the value of equality is proof of the reality that is dominated by fateful and inevitable inequality.'
A passage Angie read in a book suddenly came to mind.
Angie listened to the girls' chatter as she expertly embroidered the lace, but her mind was full of other thoughts. She was busy trying to figure out who Martin Silva was and what he meant in her dream. So she didn't even notice Leticia's sharp gaze directed at her.
Angie looked up just as she finished a handkerchief. The girls were busy with their needles in their hands and their lips chattering about something or other. Suddenly Angie stopped.
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