Evelyn’s Corridor of Time

Chapter 9: Letting Go and Rising Again

The courtyard sprawled before me like a battlefield after the cannons fell silent, its cracked cobblestones slick with dew and streaked with shadows that twisted under a moonless sky. Gnarled oaks loomed at the edges, their branches clawing upward like the hands of the damned, rustling in a wind that carried the damp, earthy scent of rot and the copper sting of blood dripping from my nose. My deep red gown was a tattered shroud, the slit ripped to my hip, exposing a leg trembling from exhaustion, the fabric sodden with sweat and punch, clinging to my skin like a lover who wouldn’t let go. My hair hung in wet, knotted ropes, plastered to my neck, and my sneakers—scuffed and soaked—squelched against the stones as I staggered upright, the broken talisman’s shards biting into my palm like tiny teeth. I’d just torched Maya and Liam’s kingdom in the gym, turned their slimy conspiracy into my coronation, but the victory was a jagged blade—every pulse of the pin in my pocket stabbed deeper, a bitter needle threading through my soul, stealing pieces I couldn’t reclaim. Mom’s smile, gone. Rusty’s bark, erased. Me, fraying at the edges.

My phone buzzed in my hand, t****k still screaming—“Evelyn’s a god!” “She’s unhinged!”—but that last text from the unknown number clawed at me: Look behind you. I spun, heart slamming, the gown’s straps slipping as my chest heaved, my eyes scouring the dark. The courtyard was a void—empty, silent, save for the wind’s low moan—but it felt alive, watching, waiting. The talisman’s shards pulsed faintly, a dying ember against my skin, and I gripped them tighter, my breath ragged, my grin shaky but defiant. They thought they’d shattered me? I was still here, still fighting, even if every step felt like wading through quicksand.

Footsteps cut through the silence—sharp, heavy, like a judge’s gavel—and Ms. Bennett emerged from the gloom, her purple robe flowing like a tidal wave, silver hair glowing like a beacon of wrath under the faint starlight. Her eyes burned into me, fierce and unyielding, and she stopped close enough that I caught the faint whiff of lavender over the blood and sweat. “You’re falling apart, Evelyn,” she said, her voice a low growl that sliced through the haze. “That pin’s got its hooks in you, and it’s not letting go.”

I laughed—a cracked, desperate sound—wiping blood from my chin, the smear hot against my knuckles. “Hooks? It’s my lifeline! I just turned their dance into a slaughterhouse—Maya’s a cupcake-smeared wreck, Liam’s a punch-soaked joke. That pin’s why I’m still standing!”

She didn’t flinch. Her hand darted out, seizing my wrist, her grip iron as she yanked me straight, the talisman’s shards glinting between us like shards of a broken promise. “Standing? You’re bleeding out—memories, pieces of your soul. It’s not a lifeline, it’s a parasite. You keep clinging, and there’ll be nothing left to stand for.” She shoved a leather pouch into my hands, its weight rough and cold. “Burn it. The pin, the book—all of it. Cut the cord, or it’ll strangle you.”

My chest tightened, the pin’s hum in my pocket swelling into a piercing wail—a needle jabbing, twisting, begging me to hold on. I could feel it, sharp and cruel, sinking into my ribs with every beat, whispering you need me, I’m your power, your revenge. My fingers brushed it through the fabric, and a flood hit—Mom’s voice, soft over breakfast, “Pancakes, Ev?”—then gone, a black hole where her warmth used to live. My knees buckled, the gown pooling around me, and I clutched my head, a sob clawing up my throat. “I can’t,” I choked, tears burning tracks through the blood and dirt on my face. “It’s all I’ve got—without it, I’m nothing. They win.”

“You’re wrong,” Ms. Bennett snapped, kneeling beside me, her robe brushing the stones. “It’s not your strength—it’s your cage. You’re more than this, Evelyn, but you’ve got to let it go.” Her voice softened, just a fraction, and she pressed the pouch harder into my hands. “Burn it. Be free.”

The pin’s whine turned frantic, a thousand needles prickling under my skin, and I dug it out, its silver surface glinting like a traitor’s eye in the dim light. My hand shook, the metal cold and slick with my blood, and I stared at it—my crutch, my curse. Every rewind had cost me—Rusty’s wagging tail, Mom’s laugh, chunks of me carved away—and still, it begged, one more, fix this, win. But what was winning if I lost myself? My breath hitched, a helpless whimper escaping as I clutched it tighter, the edges cutting into my palm, blood welling up hot and red. I didn’t want to let go—it was my shield, my sword, the only thing that made me somebody. Without it, who was I?

Ms. Bennett’s hand landed on my shoulder, firm but warm. “You’re enough, Evelyn. You always were.”

Enough. The word cracked something open, and I staggered to my feet, the gown dragging like a dead weight. The fire pit loomed ahead—a rusted iron scar from some forgotten rally, its blackened rim crusted with moss and ash, a gaping maw waiting to swallow my past. I stumbled toward it, the pin’s wail a dagger in my skull, and yanked the ancient book from my clutch—the relic that had sparked this nightmare, its whispers of power now a taunt. I hurled it in, the thud a gunshot in the stillness, and fumbled the lighter from the pouch, its scratched plastic trembling in my grip.

“Please,” I whispered—to the pin, to myself—tears streaming as I flicked the flame alive, its tiny dance flickering against the wind. The pin glinted one last time, a bitter, piercing plea—don’t leave me—and I dropped it, watching it fall like a star crashing to earth. The fire roared to life, a blast of heat slamming my face, the book’s pages curling black as the pin melted, its silver pooling into a puddle that screamed and died. Flames clawed upward, orange tongues licking the night, and I sank to my knees, the gown splaying around me, a sob ripping free—raw, helpless, shattering.

It hurt—God, it hurt—like a needle yanked from my heart, leaving a gaping, bloody hole. I clawed at the stones, nails scraping, tears splashing onto the ground, mixing with the blood trickling from my nose. “I didn’t want this,” I gasped, voice breaking. “I didn’t want to lose you.” The fire crackled, devouring the pin’s last hum, and I ripped a strip from my gown, hurling it in—a piece of me, burning with it, the fabric curling into ash as the heat seared my skin.

But then—the shift came, slow and seismic. The pain ebbed, the weight lifting, and I sucked in a breath, sharp and clean, the air tasting of freedom. The fire’s glow bathed me, warm against my shivering frame, and I stood, shaky but alive, the gown a shredded banner fluttering in the wind. My head cleared, the throbbing gone, and I laughed—a raw, triumphant sound that echoed off the oaks. “You’re done,” I growled at the flames, at the ghosts of Maya and Liam. “I don’t need you anymore—I’m the storm now.”

Ms. Bennett stepped closer, her smirk sharp as a blade. “That’s it, girl. But heads-up—your encore’s here.”

The gym doors crashed open, and they stormed out—Maya and Liam, a ragged royal guard with their posse trailing like whipped dogs. Maya’s silver dress was a cupcake-smeared disaster, her hair a tangled wreck, and Liam’s suit dripped punch, SpongeBob boxers flashing like a neon sign of defeat. The crowd behind them buzzed, phones blazing, live-streaming the final act.

“You’re finished, freak!” Maya shrieked, voice a glass-shattering wail, charging me with claws out, her posse cheering like vultures. “You think burning your little toy changes anything? We’ll ruin you!”

Liam limped forward, sneering, blood crusting his lip. “She’s right. We’ve got dirt—tapes, backups. You’re a nobody without that trick!”

I laughed—wild, fierce, stepping toward the fire pit, the heat licking my legs. “Dirt? You mean the trash I already aired out? The whole school saw you plotting, screwing, crashing—your reign’s a punchline now!” Maya lunged, but I dodged, my sneakers skidding, and grabbed her arm, twisting her toward the flames. She stumbled, shrieking, her dress catching a spark that fizzled out, and I shoved her back, grinning like a wolf.

Liam roared, swinging a fist, but I ducked, snatching a charred stick from the pit—its end glowing red—and jabbed it at his chest. He yelped, staggering, and I swung, cracking it across his shin. He crumpled, howling, and I loomed over him, stick raised, gown billowing like a conqueror’s flag. “Stay down, loser,” I snarled, voice a blade. “Or I’ll carve SpongeBob into your tombstone.”

The crowd exploded—cheers crashing like thunder, “Evelyn! Evelyn!” shaking the stones—and I spun to Maya, her posse shrinking back. “You too, princess,” I said, tossing the stick into the fire, sparks bursting like a victory salute. “Your crown’s melted. Choke on it.”

She glared, tears streaking her face, but her fight shattered. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice breaking, and I froze, the fire’s roar fading. Sorry? After everything? My fists clenched, but the pin was gone—no rewind, no revenge—and I exhaled, letting it slide. Justice was this: her on her knees, me towering above.

“Too late,” I said, turning away. “Live with it.”

Liam groaned, clutching his leg, and the crowd surged—some snapping pics, others roaring my name like I’d slain a dragon. Ms. Bennett nodded, her robe a dark tide, her eyes glinting pride. “You’ve won, Evelyn. Not just them—you.”

Won. The word hit like a tidal wave, and I stumbled, tears spilling—hot, victorious, unstoppable. The gown pooled as I sank to the stones, laughing through the sobs, the fire’s warmth cradling me. My phone buzzed—“You’re a badass now. Love it.”—and I grinned, blood and tears streaking my face, fierce and free.

Then—the twist stabbed in, sharp and wild. The fire flared, a sudden, unnatural blaze, and the melted pin’s puddle twitched, bubbling, reforming into a jagged shard glowing crimson. My breath caught, heart pounding, as it rose, spinning, and lunged—embedding in the ground an inch from my knee with a hiss that screamed through the night. The crowd gasped, Ms. Bennett cursed, and I stared, the shard pulsing, whispering in a voice like nails on glass: “I’m still here.”

I laughed—maniacal, unshaken—yanking it free, its heat scorching my palm, and hurled it back into the flames. “Not today, you bastard!” I roared, leaping up, gown flapping, blood dripping like war paint. “I’m Evelyn Parker—legend, queen, unstoppable—and I don’t need your chains to rule!”

The fire devoured it, a final, earth-shaking roar, and the crowd lost it—screaming, chanting, a tsunami of sound that rocked the courtyard. I raised my fists, victorious, the gown a tattered throne, and Ms. Bennett smirked, muttering, “That’s my warrior.” Liam whimpered, Maya collapsed, and I strode past, head high, sneakers pounding like a victor’s march.

The night stretched wide, mine to claim, but my phone buzzed—unknown number: “A new book waits. Your name’s in gold.” I paused, heart racing, the fire’s glow dancing in my eyes. The battle was mine, but the story wasn’t over. I grinned, fearless and fierce. Let it come—I was ready to reign.