January 12, 1936.
Jeffrey and I didn't know this was going to be her fate.
You don't wake up one morning and realize summer is turning into winter. It happens and you don't notice, leaving you wondering where the times have gone each Christmas.
It wasn't long ago since I last saw Lizzy and I still vividly remember how healthy she looked.
Truthfully speaking, you can never judge a book by its cover. But knowing her, something about it just feels strange, it doesn't sit right with me.
I mean, Lizzy... passing away? She's one of the most vigorous cousins I have, always so energetic. That can't be right, can it?
In the letter, Jeffrey had stated that it was caused due to an undiscovered illness that caused her to vomit blood, loss of appetite and other symptoms that made my head spin from reading.
My migraines have been getting a lot worse lately and knowing about this wasn't helping it at all. It's too difficult to concentrate as more memories of Lizzy kept rushing through me, going down memory lane.
But due to my very helpless personality, I want to tend to it.
I thought about taking two weekdays off to visit Jeffrey and attend Lizzy's funeral. But detective paperwork doesn't sign itself after all. So I had asked my assistant Jonah, who had been working intelligently alongside me to take over my work whilst I was absent.
Although she sometimes acts like a crackhead—by that I mean most of the time, she's very caring.
It sometimes irritates me on how caring she gets because really, I'm afraid someone might take advantage of her.
She agreed to it but told me to take care of myself, in her words she described me as a "very fragile man." It hurt my pride a lot more than I anticipated, but I couldn't argue because, well, I agree. But still, ouch.
Later that night I came back home and packed all the necessities I'd be needing for this trip. And sleep? It never existed that night, because insomnia and migraines make a great couple together.
Instead, her death haunted me till dawn.