Clandestine

twenty one

-diane-

I've taken stock of all the food inside my home. If I ration myself and don't snack too much, there's enough to last about three weeks.

If I'm careful and not picky.

After that, I'll have to go grocery shopping. Without my father. I'll have to find someway to pay for it. I've never kept much of my own cash around. There was no need. I just needed to find my father and ask for money, and he would hand it over to me without asking.

I know there are a few bank accounts in my name, but I don't know where to find them. That's just another thing I never considered important to learn and something he didn't think was important to teach me. We both felt no need as we didn't think he would die anytime soon.

We both thought he was immortal. Perhaps that's the thing that will kill me now.

I know I need to search his room and office. I could find information about the bank accounts, bills, taxes, credit cards, everything I need to know to keep myself out of debt.

But I can't go in there.

My father was very particular about privacy. Not just about his. Everyone's. He wouldn't go in my room unless I specifically invited him in. I wouldn't go into his room or bedroom unless he invited me in.

Because of this, I rarely saw his bedroom. I've been in his office a few times, when he thought we needed to have an important talk, most of the time those that negatively affected me.

Breaking his privacy feels like betraying him. Like I'm disrespecting him now that he as passed.

But I need to know about our finances. I need to. Or else people will start questioning things. If my father doesn't pay his taxes, as he is very careful to do, the government will send someone to look for the problem. If my father doesn't pay off his loans, the bank will send someone to demand for my money.

And they'll discover that my father is dead.

That I've been living at home alone.

I just need to survive until I'm eighteen, that's all. I need to disappear for a year and then I can live my own life. I can open my own loans, buy my own things.

Until then...I'll have to find someway to make my father's death disappear.

Unless Marcia Quintana has already told everyone that my father is dead. It wouldn't surprise me. After all, she absolutely hated him. Wouldn't she be overjoyed that her greatest enemy is dead? Surely the Assembly is having a celebratory party right now.

I begin putting all the groceries away, planning to shovel a few bites of cold cereal down my throat as supper. There's nothing I want to do less than eat, but I know I need to. I can't let myself get weak or sick. Sickness means going to the hospital. Hospital means a lot of bills and even more questions.

I pour myself cereal and milk. I eat it even though it tastes like ashes and dust. Then I remember that my father is exactly that, ashes and dust.

Vomit starts to rise up my throat again. I lie down and force myseflf to take slow deep breaths. I won't have my father's friend to clean it up for me this time.

I need to stop being so weak. My father would be annoyed with my tears and drama. He'd just shake his head and say, "Diane, if you want something to change, make it." Then he'd give me a smile, pat me on the back, and leave the room.

I pull myself up from the floor and push the food down my throat. I force my mind to go blank as I'm eating so that I don't get any more horrible pictures that pop into my brain.

After I'm done with my supper, I clean up the kitchen and start to write out a plan for survival.

I'll go to bed now. I need my sleep and energy. First thing tomorrow morning, I'm going to call Marcia Quintana. I need as much information as possible surrounding my father's death. Will I get his body for a proper funeral? Does she know who the criminal was that killed him? I will ask all the questions and answer none of hers.

I'll tell her that I'm at a friend's house now so there is no reason to send any authorities to check out my safety. She probably won't care. I'm the daughter of her enemy, after all. She probably wouldn't mind too much if I died just like my father.

After I finish the phone call, I'll use that information to make my next decision. Am I going to find the man that killed my father? My father certainly liked justice. Unless, of course, the government has already taken care of that man. After all, he is a criminal for killing my father.

Maybe they freed the killer from jail and consider him a hero.

Then I'll look through my father's office. That's better than his room, after all. I'll try to find information on all the finances. I'm going to have to come up with a way to pay for everything. My father's gambling isn't going to be paying the bills anymore. I don't know how much he's saved up. For all I know, there's less than a hundred dollars sitting in his bank account. Maybe he used up all his money for his last party and planned on scrimping it until he made more money with his gambling.

If he did, I'm screwed.

My work experience is next to none. Who would hire me, after all?

My father is rather famous, or infamous, depending on who you are talking to. He is known for his gambling, which is considered barely legal by most, but he also gains a lot of pride over his wild parties. Some people respect him as an intelligent gambler and others dismiss him as a useless partier.

Let them think what they think.

Except, they can't think what they think. Not if I need a job from them. No one is going to hire a Tinsley.

Unless I file under a different name. I've been careful to stay out of the media's scrutinizing glare. Most people wouldn't recognize me like they would my father.

I'm going to need to find a job somehow.

I'm going to have to find a way to escape my identity.