Broken Seether
+1+
Andover ,South England
It snowed all night. New York traffic was at a stand still and I left my cab halfway to the airport entrance knowing it would be faster to walk.
My flight to Heathrow was almost delayed but fortunately
the pilots powered through. I was nervous about using my sister’s passport
but the agent at the front age gave me a sympathetic glance when she saw my scars. shew as more concerned about the lotion in my bag than my face anyway
After all Clarice and I had looked very similar before.
The plane was full but I kept to myself, constantly tapping
my fingers against the arm rest. Iknew I was being reckless but I needed answers. I was tempted to drink a bottle of scotch but I
would need my senses for the long drive ahead and whatever came after that.
Once the flight arrived into London I didn't hesitate to get on the road before the snow got worse.I rented a snow equipped Range Rover and it was as if the same snow storm that hit New York had continued its torment in England. Everywhere I looked there was nothing but white beautiful snow.
The ground was nearly covered and several people warned me not to drive to far in this weather in the dark, but I didn’t have time to wait.
I’d waited long enough.
I blasted classical music and the heat the entire way, following the neatly written directions as closely as I could with only an old country map to help me along.. I had never seen this side of England before, not that I could see much of anything through the snow.
I drove for hours until I saw nothing and knew I was in the right
place.
After several more miles of nothing there was a side road enclosed by an iron gate. It was eeire being so far out, not another house or person insight.
I put the car in neutral and stepped out into the frigid winter air to manually open the gate. Once it was open I began to drive through, after a while the road became thin and there was a small unsteady footbridge bridge ahead.
I'd have to walk the rest of the way.
There may have been another way but I left the car at the bridge and began trudging through the 3 inches of snow, the wind whipping snow and ice into my face.
I could see what appeared to be a handsome light pink house with a tiered gray roof in the distance, once I was half way there standing the the midst of the large walkway I began to get the strange sense of d éjà vu. I was only a few steps away from the large house suddenly realizing I’d left my luggage in the car. I turned back to see the car almost covered in snow,
I carried on. .. for all I knew I was in the wrong place.
Considering the distant locale it was highly unlikely.
With strong perseverance I reached the front steps of the house.I reached for the knocker and only the wind howled back.
I tried the door
bell and nothing.
As a last resort I turned the brass doorknob and it clicked open
The warmth hit me instantly and I stepped inside just to be out of the cold. The heavy door closed behind me leaving me in pitch blackness. I slipped off my hat and gloves reaching out but feeling nothing.
“Hello”, I called into the darkness
I stepped forward hitting my ankle on something.
I felt the walls for a light switch and suddenly I couldn’t find the door anymore, I started to panic. My eyes refused to adjust to the blackness. My only comfort was the click of my boots against the wood floor.
Then something quickly caught my eye.
The smallest flare of
amber appeared out of the pitch black and disappeared. I
heard a soft click and the amber glow of a small flame, for the briefest second ,highlighted
an angled face in the darkness. I tried walking towards where I had seen the light but I couldn't bring myself to move.
The amber glow appeared again this time his eyes met mine before giving into the darkness. I started coughing as the smoke wafted over to me.
“I really don’t like the dark”, I said frustrated
I tripped over something else and bright lights blinded
me as the chandelier, and hall lights clicked on. I steadied myself on the doorway realizing I was standing in a hallway with a set of spiral stairs behind me in front of me was a carpeted room with dark wood furniture, a large glass coffee table and ornate rug.
“I’ve been waiting for you”, he said putting out the cigarette. His other hand lingering on the light switch by his chair. Ankles crossed perfectly over his knee and fully dressed as if he had been sitting there all night.
“Hello”, I said nervously.
"Hello", he said out of propriety,
"I'm sure you would like an explanation"
“Yes”
“I-“
Before I began I heard the sound of small footsteps coming down the stairs behind me, l walked over to the creaky staircase. My eyes almost filled with tears and I was eternally distraught at the same time.
Suddenly the girl in the drawing Rainer had given me was real.
It took a moment for me to realize that her long beautiful black curls had been completely cut off and cropped short in an unflattering style.
I soon was distracted because on the other side holding my daughter's hand was a unfamiliar blonde woman she was carefully helping Rosalie down the steep wooden stairs. The blonde woman smiled while watching her and carefully let Rosalie ‘s hand go returning upstairs herself.
“Mommy”, said Rose
I let the thoughts of the strange blonde woman leave me as I took Rosalie into my arms . I finally realized what I was missing.
“It’ s late", I said, "you should be in bed'
“I knew it was you”, she said, “I missed you. I waited for you to comeback.”
“I missed you to, Rose”
I looked over her, inspecting her hideous hair cut and the expression in her eyes. She looked. . . distant. She hugged me again this time whispering to me.
"Did you get the flowers we sent ?", her voice was tinged with something I didn't quite recognize
"Every last one." , I replied
"I picked them all out myself"
"They were beautiful", I said thinking of the blue and white vase where I kept the flowers she had sent me.
“Please, don’t leave me again”, it was so quiet I barely heard it
“ I won't. . .I’ll be here in the morning.”, I said “ I promise I won't go away for that long again. Why don't you go back to sleep”
“Okay. . .good night”,
I watched as she ascended the stairs giving me a final glance and disappeared down the hall.
“Who is the blonde ?”, I asked as the woman dissappred down the hall after Rose.
“The nanny”, he said simply
“Oh, does she live here ?”
He simply nodded this time, lighting another cigarette. I shifted my weight a little trying not to appeared bothered
“You knew I was coming ? But
I didn’t tell anyone--”
“Rosalie told me.”
“How could she have known ?”
“Occasionally she appears to know things”, he answered. I was
slightly unnerved that only his hands had moved since I arrived. I noticed a shiny silver band with diamonds wrapped around his pointer finger.
“ I’m sure you know about my father”, I said my attention going back to his face.
“My condolences”, he said though I think it was mostly because he felt he had to.
“The police think I murdered him”, I said matter-of-factly
“Did you ?”
“I’d rather not talk about it”, I said carefully
Finally he stood up and walked over to me, I backed a way.
“You look tired We can talk more about this tomorrow. You can take the last room on the left.”
He began to straighten up the furniture and disappeared in the back of the house. I stood there frozen for a while hearing the distant sound of keys. I didn’t want to linger and I was tired. It wasn’t until I began climbing the stairs that I realized how much my entire body hurt from exhaustion.
The top floor was circular and spacious everything about the hall circular hall was oddly symmetrical. I paused by the room in the center of the circular hall, a soft blue light was coming from it.
The double doors were slightly separated, I could see what must have been Rosalie’s room. The walls were light blue and white with gold accents.Everything matched and she had a bookshelf filled, overflowed really, with books and stuffed animals. Her bed was in the center of it all, she was sleeping peacefully. . . like an angel.
After several minutes of watching her sleep I went to the guest
room. It was as I expected; overly decorated in deep reds and dark mahogany furnishings. Every thing was strategically placed nothing friviouls or out of order.
I shrugged off my wet winter coat and wrinkled suite jacket. I almost fell asleep the minute I fell back into the bed.
Then I remembered that I had buried my
father that morning.
All I could do was stare up at the twinkling chandelier and think about Father, that was what I was supposed to do.
The door opened suddenly, no knock or warning.
Mr. Fierro walked around me loosening his tie and removing
it. He opened one of the closets and placed on a color coordinated tie rack,
the jacket and vest were tossed into
individual baskets. I heard the soft tone of keys rattling against the dresser. I watched as a small gold key slipped loose and fell to the floor.
Suddenly I noticed the old photo on top of the dresser, the perfect line of men's shoes peeking out from the closet and the 4 large arrangements of roses surrounding the space.
“Is this your room ?”, I asked suddenly feeling uncomfortable
“Yes”, he said watching the snow fall from the window, “the guest room should be done by tomorrow. I will be downstairs if you need me. . . though I rather you didn't.”
I laid back against the pillows, playing with the pearl buttons on my blouse.
I realized he had turned from the window towards me, watching me.
“Maybe now would be a good time for me to explain why I've kept my distance ”, I offered.
“I’ll listen”, he agreed.
I didn’t really know where to start, what I would have to say to make him understand.
“I was so full of anger and self righteousness when I went
back home. I knew what I would say to my father I wanted to call him out on how he treated me, my family, my daughter.
My sister’s were having lunch with my parents in the solarium when I arrived back in New York. I think he knew what I was going to say the minute I walked in.
“Bastard” was the first thing I called him my own father.
My mother scolded me
and my sisters were in shock and they became so protective of father. I
told him how I knew he had hurt Rosalie. You should have seen the way he took the
truth. My mother broke into tears, because she kept his secrets
I have never had the urge to physical harm my own father, even thinking about it right now causes me to have to restrain myself.
Anyway, father sat me down and talked to me in that tone of his, making me feel like a stupid child.
“Look at your mother, Clara”, Father said and I watched my mother crying hysterically,”look what you did”
“You did that”, I said not really believing it. It was like I became a child again under his gaze. Under his sharp tone, cold eyes, expensive suits. . .
I kept my eyes on my mother while he continued to talk to me.
“Why are you trying to ruin this family?”, Father asked, “What will our friends think of such lies.you know we are struggling financially as it is. Do you want me to go to jail. . . who will take care of your mother and Clarence ? How can you be so selfish Clara, tearing your own family apart over something that is not even here.”
Yes, he called her a something.
Mother started clinging to father, begging him not to leave. She had been dependent on him since she was eighteen years old. Her adult life meant nothing without him.
Father got up he held the phone in his hand and extended it to me.
“Go ahead Clara, do what you must. I’ll imagine you may need a lawyer which I doubt you can afford seeing as you don’t have a job. You’ll also need the child so she can be questioned, proded by lawyers, judges, the police forced to relive what ever lies you put in her head over and over again. It won’t be my responsibility to explain why you kept her a secret for so long.. . speaking of which where is she ?”
I didn’t say anything and I realized how fragile my entire family
was. How could I do this over a girl who wasn’t even there. All I saw was my mother crying and my father holding out that phone.
I left the house and walked for hours. . . thinking. I knew
Rosalie was safer than she had ever been with me. Father would always say the DeLune name used to mean something and I was constantly running it through the dirt.
I slept in my car (that my father had bought me) that night and I finally braved going back to the house the next morning while he was at work. My mother and Clarence were there going about their day as if nothing had changed. Mother tried so hard to make it seem like everything was okay.
She even made me breakfast, I couldn't remember the last time she cooked.
We were silent for so long till she finally said something
“Is she really okay”
“Yes”
“Isn’t it better this way ? Um, she never really belonged in the family anyway”. That was my mother’s strict Catholic upbringing coming out.
I had decided the hell with all of them. I was going to leave. . . I was, but you see my
sister’s are married and I realized I
needed to protect my mother and Clarence from my father. With most of of the DeLune money tied up in inheritance and the money the company was losing daily, I knew I had to be there for her.
Father promised if I put the last four years behind us, we could be the family we used to be.
It was tempting but I still moved in with my sister Clarice, I know my letters to you and Rosalie
made my move seem less permanent but you know how I can be with my family.
I
kept giving myself deadlines to leave New York and come back to be with Rose
After I finish my dissertation turned into after graduation
turned in after I found a job turned into after I quit my job…
Oh and before Thanks giving but that's another story entirely.
But all that matters is that I’m here now. . six months to late, though I wish it were over better circumstances.”
For some reason even talking about it made me feel oddly emotional. I waited for him to say something but he never did. I walked over to where he was standing.
“Why exactly are you here”, he asked turning towards me.
“That’s easy. . because you are the reason my father is dead”
“Are you asking or telling me, Ms. DeLune
“How about you tell me”
“I refuse to take the fall for your crime, Clara”
“You mean the crime you committed, Addison”
There were nine versions of the truth,Nine different lies
Nine suspects.
One murder
I wonder how fast Rainer can put the puzzle together.
+++
“I thought you said there were nine”
Olive Rainer felt terrible being so cross with a girl as
young as Juliet, but at the same time she was tired of chasing loose ends. It was the middle of the afternoon she had spent all day waiting for the high school to get out so she could speak with Juliet.
Rainer turned her attentions back to the drawings Juliet had produced. Each one the perfect sketch portrait of who may have killed Martin Napoleon DeLune.
He was found dead in his New York City office five days ago, Rainer had heard the call on dispatch she recognized the address as the DeLune Academy NYC campus and the description matched Martin perfectly. She wasn't one for religion but on the way there she prayed it wasn't him.God wasn't with her.
She had walked in to see Martin spiraled on the floor of his executive office. It was a gruesome scene that was belived to be onset by a heart attack . He had been alone and the hard wood floor of his office did very little to help his fall An empty bottle of imported scotch had been resting on his desk.
Despite the gap in their class Roger DeLune had always been kind to Rainer's father, he even helped put Olive through school. They hadn't been particulary close as the years went on, something she suddenly regretted.
The thought of working with a psychic was laughable to Olive but the girl had insight. She refused to say the dead talked to her but she could read them. It was a gift that supposedly plagued Juliet since she started puberty.
The thoughts came to her as images. Sometimes Juliet saw the dead's final images before death claimed them but more often she saw the one thing that ran through their mind over and over again and that was the circumstances that lead to their death.
Usually it was easy. A man would see himself looking both ways before crossing the street instead of absently keeping his eyes on his cell phone and stepping in front of the van.
Martin was different however.
His death wasn’t that simple because he could rearrange things however he wanted but even he didn’t know who killed him, the suspects were clear as day though. Juliet would find out though, it was what she did.
“Eight”, Rainer counted the drawings again, “There are only eight pictures”
Rainer recognized the six of the eight figures Juliet had drawn.
The first being Clara DeLune
The second, Clair DeLune
The third, fourth ,fifth and sixth featured the remaining DeLune sisters and their husbands
The seventh and eighth, a man and a woman, were unrecognizable
And the ninth
The ninth one was missing.
“You said there were nine”, Rainer told the girl again
“There are”, Juliet said sounding like a typical bored teenager.
“Where is the ninth one ?”
“You gave it to her”, Juliet said continuing her sketch of the over-worked under slept detective.
“What-what do you mean ?”
“The picture.You slipped it into Professor DeLune’s bag the other day. I have to re sketch it from memory”
Rainer turned to the other wise indifferent teenage girl, studying every inch of her down to her light green eyeshadow.
“T-that drawing was of a child.”
“I know, she’s the ninth suspect”