Rebels of Reflection

Chapter 11

The shop was crowded, people pressing in all around me. I could barely find John Hancock as I pushed through the horde of shoppers. Glass boxes filled with jewelry were all around me, trinkets lying on drawers, tags marked on their sides. I ran over to a golden trinket shaped like a dragon lying on a countertop, words scrawled on the tag: 'Cursed to give you the ability to speak to ghosts'.

"Better be worth it," I chuckled, grabbing the trinket and shoving it in my overcoat pocket.

There were more trinkets all around. A bag of 'fairy dust' was supposed to make you able to fly. A cheap glittering orange gemstone was supposed to hatch a dragon for you. There was even a stone necklace shaped like a whale that supposedly gave you the ability to breathe underwater. Somehow, the trinket that made you able to talk to ghosts was the most attractive to me.

When we were done with O.J. Simpson's shop, I met up with John on the outside sidewalk. I had spent all 10 pounds on the trinket, hoping it would be worth it. John himself had bought a pearl necklace, saying that it was for himself. The straight look on his face made me know better. He didn't plan to keep the pearl necklace, that was for sure.

After O.J. Simpson's, we headed towards Thomas Shipley's Boots. A pair of woolen black boots was the most attractive for me, while John bought the cheapest item he could find--a torn pair of combat boots. Still confused by his choices for purchases, we left Thomas Shipley's with my new black boots. The store was less crowded than O.J. Simpson's, it seemed.

After Thomas Shipley's, we entered a simple shop on the side of the road. I purchased a gray cardigan and a small ring, while John Hancock purchased an expensive pen. As we purchased the items, John Hancock looked panicked, as if the pen would be too much money for him to pay. We got out of the shop just fine, John looking relieved now that he was out. Even if it was that he did have enough money, the shop had stressed me out too. It had more people than O.J. Simpson's.

Our trip was almost over as we entered a bar for our final trip. A small sip of wine was enough for me, but John Hancock ordered a full bottle. We discussed--about the events of the day, what we wanted to do tomorrow, the Sons of Liberty, and about the drink itself. After downing the entire glass bottle, John offered we stay in the bar for a little longer until we head home.

As I finished my first wine glass, John ordered another bottle, looking calm and collected all of a sudden. Just 10 minutes ago, he had been terrified when buying the pen. What had happened to him? The wine seemed to be a magical cure.

As we were drinking, John pointed out a beautiful woman on the side of the bar. "I fancy her," John chuckled, punching me playfully in the shoulder. "You should ask her for a dance."

I scoffed. Was that a joke? "I don't fancy anyone, John."

"Oh, Brandon." John stood up from his seat and pushed me over to the woman. "It's nearing night in Boston. How many fine ladies can you say you've danced with that night?"

I chuckled. Perhaps it wouldn't be hurtful to ask her for a dance.

The dance was a jollyful jig. Moving with embellished steps, I was shocked at how simple the action seemed to come to me. I hadn't danced with anyone since my school days. The woman was about my height, with a blue dress on. John Hancock was yelling in the background as we danced across the pub, though I could hardly hear him. The dance was special, a single happy moment in the madness of my life so far.

The sun had long since set when we rode our carriage home, shared with a handful of other drunkards from the pub. John had drank three bottles of wine, yet he seemed sober, which was unusual. Perhaps he was used to drinking so much. I had only drank two wine glasses, yet I felt exhausted after the dance.

While in the carriage, I showed my trinket to John. He grinned and looked me in the eyes, clapping me on the shoulder. "Ah, those items never work, Brandon." John gazed out the window of the carriage at the dark. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if you were able to communicate with Joshua Nygren just a few days after buying the trinket."

I ignored John's words. Joshua Nygren was dead, gone. There was no talking to him anymore. As the carriage drove up to the Hancock Manor, we were greeted by a line of people drinking and dancing on the way out. I stumbled inside the house, up the stairs, and to my room, with a "Good night" to John.

It was late at night. The sun had long since set. I placed the trinket on my nightstand, curled up under the covers of my comfortable bed, and slipped into a long and tired sleep.