What a Year Brings

         There were years that brought uncertain questions, and there were years that brought wavering answers. Sometimes those answers, sustained by time and hope, would be right there in front of our eyes but only could hope for us humans to reach them in the midst of our troubling thoughts and desires.

      I scouted for my bags amongst the array of carriers. Bags that were pleasantly pleasing to a plethora of people but could only matter dearly to only one’s eye. Leisurely, my bag came through on the baggage carousal. I quickly threw my scarf back over my neck, grabbed my bag, and left. Simply, not smiling to those around me because whether they knew it or not, there had been a murder: a murder of a young girl.

      The rain pounded around me as I searched for the cab that would transport me to the parent’s house. Without realizing it, I was feeling numinous that a thirteen-year-old girl had died so suddenly and so vaguely. It made my blood boil.

      I then saw my cab driver waving to me with a sign that read my name. When I made my way towards the van, the driver smiled at me ridiculously, glanced at the sign, and then barely managed to hiccup, “Belladonna Thrall?”

      “Good day,” I answered, carefully handing him my bags and then retreating into the car. I realized how I didn’t say the safety of the car because really, there is no safe place on this Earth. Everyday you get close to your abominable and inevitable death. The raindrops around fogged the windows enclosing the car even more- the exact raindrops that have been there since the beginning of time. The raindrops that fall are the raindrops that may know the answers of the many questions that the years bring. The raindrops that know that there could be hope or know that there is no way out; that our hopeful human minds have no capacity to know the truth. That maybe we aren’t to be trusted with the truth.

      I didn’t realize that the car had been moving when he spoke loudly interrupting my thoughts. “What brings you here, detective?”

      I got caught off guard but quickly caught myself, “A little girl has disappeared. They suspect it’s a murder since they found her body in a river off their land.”

      His jaw drops open but he quickly replies with, “Uhm, where do you need to be going?”

      “Marge County, Francis Road 9366,” I muttered, glancing out the window. Just outside the fog of the south, I noticed small children and people hiding them frantically from the rain. As the driver rambled on about how we should try to save ourselves while we could, I watched the grim people of this southern valley. It was very difficult to come here due to some airlines not supplying tickets to this location. Why was that the case?

      “Hey, why are those children acting strange?”

      He looked around awkwardly but when he saw the children, he grimaced, “We’re getting deeper into the county, and around this road especially, these children don’t like water touching their skin or swimming in general.”

      I raised my eyebrow while still watching the children struggling. Before I realized it, I was drowned in their image and had my lips parted trying to grasp the secrets of their ways.  “Weird bunch of kids, they are,” he muttered, whilst shaking his head. I tried to ease my assumptions by putting my head back against the seat and then closed my eyes. Just when I thought he was done, he blurted out, “I’m a really big fan of your reports! I just think it is so cool that you manage to find out the answer to every mysterious case! It’s more like a power because not a lot of people are able to do that.”

      I muttered thanks while thinking back to how he referred to my job as. A power? Was how I was able to find out the answers to the questions that time brought really a power?

      Before I knew it, the driver stated that we were there; I got out but nearly fell. The grim ambience was reflected in three people’s faces. They were wearing dark cloaks of black while they stood in front of a large, nearly broken, house. The large lawn was dead and had a plethora of weeds growing out of the gray soil.

      As the driver took my bags out, he whispered in my ear, “Those two are the girl’s parents. Try not to get on their bad side. And that other man over there, that’s the guard; He’s a strange fellow, so I wouldn’t trust him if I were you. If anything, he gives off archnemesis vibes.”

      I was about to look at him like he was stupid, but quickly said my thanks and paid him. When I turned around to the less cheerful setting, the woman came up to me rather swiftly and quickly. “Belladonna, welcome.”

      I nodded while clasping my hands in front of myself. There was not much talking apart from details on how the girl, Ophelia, died. The parents explained that it was a dark night and that they had all gone to sleep. They woke up the next morning to see that she was gone. They searched for her, and then the guard was the first one to find her. Off the course of their land near the detrimental river that no one dared go to. They claim it was a murder.

      “Franklin,” the father stated blankly, acknowledging the man who was marked as the guard, “Can and will guide you to the river.” And with that statement, his wife and him took my bags and went back into their dark and secluded house.

      Franklin started walking, and I had to jog to keep up. I took caution around him, for he did seem suspicious like the driver had said. I noticed the yard stretching out until there were only dark broken trees.

      “This is where our property ends.”

      I nod as I try to examine the land.

      “The river is just a bit off from here.”

      “Did Ophelia like to swim?”

      “I don’t think anyone liked to swim around here.”

      “Did you know her personally?”

      “I helped her with her homework and I protected the family. They didn’t pay me to play games with them.”

      I instantly felt uncomfortable. “So, you know this place really well don’t you?”

      “I do.”

      “You know their weaknesses and what not, right?”

      “Of course, I do. I know a lot of people’s business since I’m supposed to protect these people.”

      I nodded. “I’m guessing you live here.”

      “Yes, they allow me to stay in one of the rooms downstairs. I don’t really go to sleep though, since I’m watching the surveillance cameras.”

      “You don’t sleep?”

      “No, coffee does the trick.”

      I laughed just a bit trying to tell myself that I was being delusional. I looked at his eyes, and there were indeed deep dark eye bags. Eye bags that were dark as oblivion. Usually eyes would mesmerize you with their secrets. Secrets that they know of and yearn to set free. But instead, Franklin had deep eyebags that warned others of his secrets. Warned them that they know and choose to continue to know secrets instead of knowing of the dreams that embrace you when you fall into a deep slumber.

      “How did you not catch her and the presumed murderer on the camera?”

      “I wasn’t there.”

      “You weren’t there?” I choked. Could he be the murderer?

      “Did I stutter?”

      “Gah, where were you? Why weren’t you there?”

      “I fell asleep. We ran out of coffee, and the power just so happened to cut off that night as well.”

      “You’ve got to be joking.”

      “I wish I was. You know, she was a smart girl.”

      “Ophelia? How do you know?”

      “Because I helped her with her homework. Oh, so I thought. She had a lot of common sense for a 13-year-old.”

      I nodded. We were now at the river. The river was very dark indeed. It was as if someone had taken the souls of the darkest creatures and transported the fluorescent hatred into the water. The exact water that knew of the loss of Ophelia.

      Could Franklin be the murderer? Based on all the things that I’ve gathered, it all went back to him so far.

      I then realized that it was probably irresponsible to label him as a villain so early on. That’s not what potential heroes do. After all, the driver said so himself, it was a power that I could find the truth. Why demolish that power when a young girl needed justice?

      I examined the river for a good while before I noticed… There was something in the water. A glistening golden object was in there among the black gloomy waves. “Franklin, do you see that?”

      I pointed to an area near the side of the river. “I see that,” Franklin muttered, coldly. “Do you want me to get it?”

      I wanted to exclaim, “Well, what else would I want you to do?” but then I stopped myself quickly, and stated instead, a little more calmly, “Sure, if you can. Please get it.”

      And sure enough, with enough twigs, and some careful steps towards the object, he made it knee-deep in murky dark water.

      “What is it?”

      “It’s some chest. I don’t want to open it right now, for I don’t want to get it wet. I’ll throw it up.”

      “No!” I shouted, hopping down closer to him. “Give it to me. It might break. I’m not a good catcher.”

      “Oh please, but you can catch clues and find things easily?”

      “It’s not like you can do that just out of the kindness of your heart,” I whispered to myself, mimicking his way of talking.

      He sighed and we made our way back to the house. The kind of house that I never thought I would go towards so voluntarily.

      When we got inside, before I got a chance to slip somewhere to examine the box, the mother greeted us at the door solemnly.

      “I see you went for a little swim.”

      “It wasn’t like that, ma’am. We were… ehm, I was trying to gather some clues and what not.”

      “Oh, well, dinner is in a hour.” She turned away swiftly but very carefully. Like she was broken.

      I was about to go after her when Franklin advised, “Go upstairs and your room is the third one on the left.”

      “Thank-“

      But that is when the lights all turned off. I heard a sniffle come from a now dark corridor which I reckoned was the mother.

      “The power must have shut off,” he looked around uneasily, while rubbing his head. He looked at me awkwardly for a second before looking away again, continuing with, “They lost their jobs a couple of months ago, and things have been tight.- Try not to use too much water.”

      I nodded, but then I had another question, “Then why are you here?”

      “Pardon?”

      “Don’t you have to pay your staff? Why are you here if they can’t pay you?”

      “You ask too many questions. Get ready for dinner.”

      I walked away, pursing my lips, and trying not to run into any walls. He probably stayed here just to kill the girl and cause more problems.

___

      Days and days passed with me trying to solve the case by finding more clues, but I just couldn’t lead back to who murdered Ophelia. I couldn’t open the box, for it needed the key. Franklin and I went back to the river to try to find if it were there, but we just couldn’t.

      I was observing the box and trying to crack it open a week into my investigation. The candle light was wavering, and it only provided a minuscule amount of heat. I shivered trying to remember what and who I was fighting for. I got out my microscope and held the chest underneath it. Placing my eye cautiously against the glass, I made out some faded out initials. ODM. “Ophelia Day Morris,” I whispered, my eyes widening.

      I then heard a thud at the door. I quickly scooped everything out of the way, but when I saw that Ophelia’s mother was there, I let out a relieved chuckle. When I saw that she was still solemn, I stopped smiling.

      “This used to be Ophelia’s room.”

      And there went my thoughts. I was living in their daughter’s room. Deceased daughter’s room. When I could be living in any of the other fifteen rooms. With that knowledge, I just chuckled awkwardly.

      She left, with a disappointed and disgusted face, and then I realized how stupidly I’d been smiling. “Great job, Belladonna.” But then I realized that maybe I could find something going back to her disappearance in this room. And, so, I spent the whole night searching and searching.

      When my body started aching, I decided to give up. What was the point in searching at this time? When you can’t even see anything? The world was dark. Oh, so dark. How could the world allow for a girl to die without justice? How could it let their children feel pain? The world was dark. Oh, so dark.

      And then I saw something. Something glistening out to me. Out to my eyes. I picked it up, and suddenly the whole world became brighter. There in my hands was a small, shiny key.

      Quickly, I raced over to the chest as quietly as I could, and put the key into the keyhole. “It fits!” I exclaimed. Putting my hands over my mouth, I quickly unlocked it. Out came a piece of paper. I fumbled with it until I could read those words. Even if there was only one word, that was enough.

      My eager eyes read fast. Only one word. And that word was enough. I felt anger. Fury. My heart burned. My brain hurt. My soul shouted at my eyes for what they had revealed. I raced over to Franklin’s room. Quickly. Oh, so quickly.

      “You killed her!”

      He looked at me, astonished, and with a cup of coffee to his lips. “What are you talking about?”

      “You killed Ophelia didn’t you?”

      “Are you mad? Are you supposed to be a detective or a madman?”

      “Are you supposed to be a murderer or a guard?”

      He sighed and put his fingers up on his temple. “What makes you think of that?” His voice was shaking.

      “A lot of reasons. But, I found the key to the chest we found in the river. Where she died.”

      “What’s in there?”

      “A piece of paper. With your name on it.”

      “How did that happen?”

      “You idiot, this chest belonged to her! She hid the key in her room! She was smart like you said! She probably noticed what you were about to do to her, and in case she did happen to leave the world, we would have this clue!”

      “No, Belladonna, no,” he whispered, trying to sooth me. “Can I see that paper?”

      I had a headache now, so I just gave in. He read the paper and flipped it to the back. “It says computer on the back.”

      Franklin and I locked eyes and looked at the computer. The computer he used to guard people. We went to the video a couple of hours before the night where she died. “The power cut off that night. Not during the first few hours of the day, however,” he explained, looking at me innocently. Ophelia was now at the computer, and we managed to see that she was typing something.

      “Franklin, go to Word.”       

      And so we did, and we managed to find a file that Franklin never made. We opened it, and we found a document. The life insurance for Ophelia. Their Ophelia. My Ophelia.

      Underneath the value, there was one line typed out in Comic Sans MS. “Now, you should be able to live a happy life and pay off all your bills. I love you all.”

      And that was when we realized our mistakes. Franklin wasn’t the archnemesis, and I wasn’t the protagonist. After all, we are all heroes. Our own hero. The only villain or archnemesis is ourselves. I remember the thing that the driver said. If the only person you can save is yourself, then that is enough.

      It’s so perilous that a hero had died and turned into her own enemy. Questions and answers come and go with the years, but what is irreplaceable is a hero. And it is right. Sometimes humans can’t comprehend or stand the answers to the questions that the years bring. 

...Yet, we still try. And it is a power.