Inheritance

The finger on the trigger

Sometimes horror announces itself in the smallest of ways. On this day it was a single police car, racing along the wide, empty road that twisted down to Saint-Pierre. Maisha, Elias, and I were sitting at the back of a 2021 Rolls Royce wraith. We were looking at a herd of cows grazing on one of the fields when the police car- blue and white with a light flashing on the roof- overtook us and tore off into the distance. I still had Kayson and Adam on my mind and the sight of it tightened the knot in the pit of my stomach. But it was only a police car. It did not have to mean anything. But then there was a helicopter, taking off from somewhere not so far away and arcing into the brilliant sky. Maisha saw it and pointed up above. Had the helicopter come from town? I was not so sure. We watched it sweep over us and disappear in the direction of Aigues-Mortes, and all my breaths were getting shorter. I had felt the heavy weight of some nameless dread.

I knew that my worst fears had come true but in a way I could never have foreseen. Rubble, jagged brickwork, and twisted steel. Thick black smoke curling into the sky. The house had been blown apart. Just one wall had remained intact, giving the cruel illusion that not too much damage had been done. But the rest of it was gone. I saw a brass bed hanging at a crazy angle, somehow suspended midair. A pair of grey shutters lay in the grass about fifty meters away, the swimming pool was brown and scummy. The blast must have been immense. A fleet of cars and vans were parked outside of the building. They belonged to the police, the fire department and anti-terrorist squad. They did not look real to me, they appeared as brightly colored toy cars. In a foreign country, nothing looks more foreign than its emergency services. "Andrea! Iris!" I heard Maisha shout the words and saw her leap out of the vehicle before we had even stopped moving. Then she was running across the gravel drive, forcing her way between the officials in their different uniforms. The car stopped and I had climbed out, unsure whether my feet would meet the ground, or if I would simply go on, right through it. My head began to spin I felt as though I was going to faint. Nobody spoke to me as I continued forward. It was if I was not there at all. Ahead of me I saw mother appear from nowhere, her face was streaked with ashes and tears, and I thought to myself if she was all right. She had been outside of the house when the explosion happened, then maybe Iris had escaped too. But then I saw Maisha begin to shake and fall into Elias's arms, and I knew the worst. I drew nearer to mother to console her. I then clutched hold of Maisha wiping the tears off her face. "We still didn't know what happened. Iris been taken by helicopter to Canada. She is alive but severely injured. We are going to her now. You know she is a fighter, but the doctors are not sure if she is going to make it or not. We just don't know..." The smell of burning reached out to me and had engulfed me. The smoke blotted out the sun. My eyes began to water, as I fought for breath. This was my fault. I did not know why it had happened, but I was utterly certain that it linked back to John's death. None of my business. That was my earlier thought. This became the result.

The police officer facing me was young, inexperienced, and struggling to find the right words. It was not just that he was having a difficulty with the English language, I had realized. Down here in this odd, quiet corner of France, the worst he would usually have to deal with would be the occasional drunk driver or a tourist losing his wallet on the beach. This was clearly a new situation, and he was completely out of his depth. The police officer smiled at me encouragingly. Informing me of the current situation. I booked a flight for mother and Josie. Maisha had gone with Iris in the helicopter. She was utterly devastated upon seeing her sister in such conditions. I decided to spend a few days back here in Saint-Pierre to resolve my issues. I was sitting on a folding chair in the shadow of a tree. It was just after five o'clock, but the sun was still hot. The river flowed past a few meters away. Mother and Elias had left about ten minutes ago and now I was on my own with Iris and the young police officer. I had offered Malia a chair in the shade and a bottle of water, but I tried to change the subject to make the situation slightly less traumatizing. More officials turned up: senior police officers, senior firefighters. They were moving slowly through the wreckage, occasionally turning over a plank of wood or moving a piece of broken furniture as if they might uncover the one simple clue that would tell them why this had taken place. I walked towards the remains of the house. There was an evening breeze, but the smell of burnt wood still hung heavily all around. A scrap of paper, scorched and blackened, blew across the gravel. On an impulse. I reached down to pick it up. It was a piece of lyrics from Maisha's book. It was one she wrote to my father. That was all there was. The paper turned black, and the words disappeared. This was certainly a coincidence. "Excusez-moi, juene homme..." I looked up and saw the young police officers who had returned with a second man, this one a few years older, with a downturned mouth and a small moustache. My heart sank. I recognized the type before the man had even spoken. Oily and self-important and wearing a uniform which was too neat, there was disbelief etched all over his face. He claimed to know my father. "Mr. Jonathan Reynolds was a great man of companionship his services are very much appreciated we are so sorry for your loss may his soul rest in peace amen." I thanked him for his hospitality. Then the two police officers spoke briefly together, then turned back to me. I knew what was coming. The senior police officer had rearranged his features so that he now looked down at me with a mixture of kindness and concern. "You have had a terrible shock," the police officers had said. "The explosion ... we already know that it was caused by a leak in the gas pipe." I shook my head and thanked him for updating me. I took a few moments to process this all in. Then I went to accompany Alia and Malia they both looked concerned. I had told them of the gas leak. Then I turned and walked away. I tried to avoid meeting the policeman's eyes and they doubtless thought that I was strong. That was all right. I did not want them to see my broken fury, the black anger that coursed through me like an artic river.