Trying To Endure

Chapter Thirty-Six

SONG: Curtis Waters - Stunnin' ft. Harm Franklin

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Derek

The homely building fell into lamented tranquility at ten. The Doberman are in their massive dog bed, Atlas's head resting on his brother's back. Another snore of Jackson sent Theo, sending me into wheezing laughter, muffled in pillows. Jackson murmurs something about unicorns in his sleep, blond hair white in the darkness.

Above me, Tanner whispers, "I'm surprised the windows aren't broken."

Eventually, we became accustomed to the stertors. Encasements sealed, the muffled whistles, muffled bristles of stems and petals, and the subdued groans of branches.

On my left, I withdrew the polaroid from my pocket, reading the date.

It's Mum's writing.

If I were blind, I can still effortlessly recognise it.

Mum, what is this? What is the mockery? Why was this hidden? Due to the dust that erupted out of the fillet's interior, it must have been secreted for years.

There was another polaroid in the vase. Smaller. Fulgurated of a celebration. Three women: one dark-skinned, the second East Asian, the third fair. Their arms swathed around each other, in stunning dresses, beside Mum and Dad, both sophisticated, a king and queen.

Towards the end of the left, is a face I never thought I'd see again.

'Grae?' said Tanner in French, in case someone came in and heard us. 'Comme dans le frère de Grant?' As in Grant's brother.

Great-Uncle Grae.

'Oui. Il est mort.' Yes. He's dead.

Below is a year: 1856.

What else is hidden in this ancient abode? Shall I show it to Luke?

Tanner analysed the photo. 'I think I know what this is,' he proceeds in French. 'It's the La—' That was the moment April entered, and we haven't discussed since.

Silently, I explore the other vases in the lake house, Atlas following. I stash my hand into the final vase. Nothing. Nothing for the other twenty antiques either.

My meds won't work. Whatever Alexandra Matthews did, whatever Alexandra Matthews knew, haunted me damn too much to sleep.

In the kitchen, the endless abyss indistinguishable outside: the trees, the flowers, the grass, a mere scintillation of the crescent moonglow on Florence Lake.

Bodie was murdered by a police officer.

It is a step by step process, one block at a time.

The polaroid in my hand gets heavy as Bodie's name whispers louder and louder in my head, my left ear suddenly ringing in warning, the right joining in harmony. A high-pitched melody, rumbling chatter.

I open my laptop and investigate whatever I could find on Bodie Banks. Theo assumes Bodie never assaulted Camila De La Cruz. It was the opposite. He assumes Camila De La Cruz or someone else related to her murdered Bodie.

It is possible that the Families could have manipulated or fancied the De La Cruzes, but what would they gain in return?

Each article: a white prison guard, Jack Daniels, confessed to murdering Bodie Banks on the night watch. No further information such as how, who helped him, why. The enlightenment is vague. If what Luke said is true, I suppose someone in my family bribed Jack Daniels.