The truck came to an abrupt, jerky stop, halfway over the lip of Luke's driveway. The back end jutted out onto the road in a haphazard manner, reflecting the burden of my thoughts. As I stared through the front windscreen, my eyes fixed on the gate at the end of the driveway, a vivid and haunting image surged into my mind. Joel, lying lifeless in a pool of his own blood in the back of the truck, a vision that seemed to etch itself permanently into my memory.
My grip on the steering wheel tightened reflexively as my hands began to tremble with increased intensity. Beatrix had insisted that I drop her off at her home after our trip to the hardware store for shelving. I had thought, perhaps naively, that parting ways with her, even temporarily, might bring some relief. Instead, all I felt was the profound loneliness of my solitude, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy of the day's earlier events.
Brody's death wasn't an accident. The words, once spoken by Jamie on the plastic water bottle, now echoed endlessly in my mind. Each repetition of the phrase felt like a hammer striking a nail, driving home the reality of our situation. I chewed over the implications, trying to decipher what they could possibly mean. I knew with a grim certainty that Joel’s death couldn't have been an accident either. But what more does Beatrix really know? Are the two deaths somehow related? The mere thought sent a shudder coursing through my body, from head to toe.
With a heavy, resigned sigh, I drove the truck further into the driveway, pulling it up to a gentle stop. I sat there, motionless, staring at the house. It loomed before me, eerily quiet, its stillness mirroring the growing sense of dread that settled in my chest.
As I stepped out of the truck, my movements felt automatic, guided more by habit than conscious thought. My foot swung out gently to open the slightly ajar front door, a motion I had perfected over the years to prevent Duke from making a hasty escape. But today, the action was pointless. The eerie silence that enveloped the house served as a stark reminder that Duke and Henri would never again greet me with their enthusiastic barks and wagging tails. That realisation tugged painfully at my heart, the loss feeling unexpectedly personal.
The thought of Duke and Henri shifted my mind to my own two precious fur babies, the very thought of them like a lifeline in a sea of turmoil. The idea of life without their presence, their affection, and their endless shenanigans was unthinkable, unbearable. It filled me with a deep, aching sense of dread. How could I possibly navigate this increasingly dangerous world and keep them safe?
"You home, Luke?" My voice echoed slightly as I called out from the entryway, stepping cautiously through the front door. The house felt unusually still, the absence of familiar sounds making the atmosphere feel more hollow.
A brief pause followed, then, "Yeah," came Luke's yelled reply from somewhere inside. "I'll be right there."
As I stepped further into the living room, my heart sank with a heavy sense of loss. The room was devoid of its usual lively mess. No dog toys were strewn about the floor – a stark reminder of Duke and Henri's absence. No tell-tale lines marked the carpet from a hasty vacuuming session in preparation for my visits. The air was missing the comforting aroma of cooking that usually wafted from the kitchen, where Jamie could reliably be found.
"How did you guys go?" Luke's voice pulled me from my thoughts as he walked down the hallway towards me.
"Well," I replied, forcing my mind back to the task at hand, away from the poignant emptiness of the house.
"Oh, where's Beatrix?" Luke interrupted, stepping into the living room, his presence momentarily filling the void.
"She had other things to do," I answered. "I dropped her off home."
"But you've finished all the deliveries?" Luke inquired, his tone casual.
"Yes," I said, a grimace involuntarily flickering across my face as I recalled the day's events – the unease, the danger, the vomit-covered parcel.
"Great, thanks," Luke responded, seemingly oblivious to the turmoil behind my simple affirmation.
Or not so great, I thought wryly, remembering the less savoury aspects of our deliveries. "And I've brought you the truck back with the shelving you asked for," I added, trying to shift the focus to something more practical.
"Thanks. I had completely forgotten about that," Luke admitted with an offhand comment.
I cringed internally at his casual forgetfulness. How could he have forgotten already? It was only a little over an hour ago that he had called and asked for it. The thought made me feel even more disconnected, as if the events of the day were already being swept under the rug, their significance diminishing in the face of Luke's nonchalance.
"Oh. And here's a few pages on how to pour concrete," I said, extracting the papers from my handbag. Despite their crumpled state, I noted with a hint of pride, "They've even got small diagrams."
"I'm sure these will be very helpful," he commented.
With a sense of relief, I handed over the keys to the truck, eager to distance myself from the whole debacle and return to the sanctuary of my home and cats. I felt drained, both emotionally and physically, and the thought of home was like a beacon in the storm.
"I see the other truck is gone," I remarked to Luke, nodding towards the now-empty portion of the driveway. The absence of the truck was a small comfort, a sign that at least one part of this mess was being handled.
"Yeah," Luke replied simply, "It's all been taken care of."
His vague response left me unsettled. I assumed the truck had been taken to Clivilius, and I shuddered inwardly at the thought of what they might have done with Joel's body. It was a grim thought that I tried desperately to push from my mind.
"We really should give him a proper burial," I found myself saying as I climbed into the front seat of my car. The words felt necessary, a small gesture of humanity in an otherwise inhumane situation.
"Burial?" Luke asked curiously. "We don't have a body to bury."
"You know what I mean," I sneered, frustration boiling up inside me. His apparent lack of empathy was infuriating. "Like a memorial service."
"A memorial service?" Luke repeated, seemingly perplexed.
"Yeah," I affirmed, feeling a lump forming in my throat.
"But you didn't even know him," Luke pointed out, his logic feeling cold in the face of my emotional plea.
I felt a burning sensation swell in my eyes as I fought back tears. "It's what Jamie would want," I said defiantly, clinging to the idea as a way to honour the young man's life, however briefly it intersected with ours.
"Okay," Luke agreed with a heavy sigh, perhaps recognising the need for some semblance of closure. "Let's meet back here at eleven tonight."
Accepting his concession, I turned the key in the ignition, ready to leave this place behind, if only for a few hours.
"But let's just keep it really short and simple," Luke added, his voice trailing off as he turned to leave.
I nodded, my agreement muffled by the closed car door. As Luke walked away, closing the front door of the house behind him, I felt a strange mixture of relief and sadness.
Before pulling away, I grabbed my phone and quickly typed out a message to Beatrix: Holding a memorial service for Joel at Luke's house 11pm tonight. I'll pick you up.
The reply was almost instant; No, I'll come get you at 10:50.
Gladys,
So very sorry for scaring you last night. I panicked. I want to make it up to you. Let me buy you a new Shiraz.
Cody
The note from Cody, a simple apology scrawled on a piece of paper, elicited another flickering smile from me. I let it fall gently from my fingers, watching as it floated back down onto the kitchen bench. The message was clear without needing a second read. Cody's attempt at making amends with a new Shiraz was both thoughtful and slightly amusing, given the circumstances.
With a slight creak, I opened the pantry door, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet kitchen. Flicking on the small light, I poked my head inside, my gaze immediately drawn to the third shelf. There it was, the gift from Cody, standing out among its older peers. The other bottles seemed to form a semi-circle behind it, almost as if they were urging me to accept Cody’s peace offering.
As I moved closer, something caught my eye on the bottle's label – ten digits, hastily scribbled. Confusion momentarily clouded my thoughts, quickly giving way to curiosity. Could these be Cody's digits? My heart started thumping at the prospect. Had he finally gotten a phone?
An unexpected rush of exhilaration swept through me. Pulling out my phone, I created a new contact record, carefully entering the ten-digit number. For a moment, I considered calling him, the idea tempting yet intimidating, especially after last night’s scare. And why had he been at Luke's today? The realisation hit me suddenly – I hadn't told him where I’d be.
But a more troubling question nagged at my mind: How did Cody know where Luke lived?
I stared at my red-stained fingers, the urge to unscrew the lid and indulge in the wine almost overwhelming. But with a deep breath, I forced myself to place the bottle back on the shelf. I needed to be clear-headed. There were too many unanswered questions, too many puzzling pieces of this convoluted puzzle. Wine and Cody would have to wait. For now, I needed to focus on untangling the web of mysteries that seemed to be tightening around us. With a soft click, I closed the pantry door, sealing away the bottle and, for the moment, the thoughts of Cody and the confusing signals he was sending.
Momentarily refreshed from a long, hot shower that washed away some of the day's grime and tension, I settled myself on the couch. With my legs tucked up behind me, I found a comfortable spot, my eyes fixating intently on the new contact in my phone. It was a small action, adding Cody's number, but it felt significant, a tangible connection to someone who had become an unexpected part of my life.
"What do you think?" I asked Snowflake, who had, in her typical fashion, been quick to jump up and claim her spot in my lap. Her warm weight was a comforting presence. "Do we still like him?" I questioned, half-expecting the wise old cat to provide some sort of insight.
Snowflake responded with a loud, persistent purr, her vibrations almost therapeutic. "I hope you're right about that," I told her, my fingers gently stroking her soft fur. There was a certain solace in talking to Snowflake, a non-judgmental listener.
Her head rose sharply the moment my hand stopped petting her. "It'll only take a second," I reassured her, as I scrambled to send Cody my first ever message: Memorial for Joel at Luke's @11pm tonight.
The next five minutes stretched out interminably as I watched my phone, waiting for a reply. The anticipation was palpable, each passing second amplifying my anxiety. Even Snowflake seemed to sense my restlessness, growing tired of waiting for my attention to return to her. Eventually, she left in search of more consistent entertainment, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the unresponsive phone.
Stretching out my legs, I lay on my side, settling in for a nap but finding rest elusive. My eyes remained fixated on the black screen of the phone lying in front of my face, a silent sentinel in the quiet room.
Emerging from the bathroom after a quick, yet equally refreshing shower, the abrupt sound of a car horn honking jolted me. I quickly glanced across at the small alarm clock perched on my bedside table. "Ten-fifty," I read out loud, a note of surprise in my voice. "How is Beatrix always on time?" It was almost uncanny how punctual she could be, especially given the chaos that seemed to perpetually swirl around us.
In a flurry of frantic activity, I dashed around my bedroom. One leg was already in my jeans, while the other fumbled haphazardly, dragging behind me as I scoured the room. I was searching for the small bag of candles I had put together earlier. It was a motley assortment of various shapes, sizes, and scents that I had gathered from dusty cupboards and hidden nooks throughout the house – a collection as eclectic as my thoughts at that moment.
"I'm coming!" I yelled, more to myself than anyone else, as the car horn sounded impatiently again. Finally, with my jeans on and the bag of candles securely in my grasp, I grabbed my jacket and handbag from where they lay on the kitchen bench.
"I've left the heat on for you," I said to Snowflake, who looked up at me with her wise, understanding eyes. It was a small gesture, but I liked to think she appreciated the warmth, especially in my absence.
With one last glance around, ensuring everything was in order, I flicked on the front porch light. The action cast a warm, inviting glow that seemed in stark contrast to the night's sombre purpose. Pulling the front door closed behind me, it shut with a loud bang that echoed through the quiet house. Snowflake's comfortable domain was now locked away, and I was stepping back into the cold, uncertain night.
The crisp air hit me as I stepped outside, a reminder of the reality awaiting me. The night felt heavy with unspoken promises and unmet expectations. As I made my way to Beatrix's car, my mind was a whirl of thoughts and emotions, each step taking me closer to a memorial that felt both necessary and overwhelmingly surreal.
"You're all dressed up," I commented, a hint of surprise in my voice, as I opened the car door and climbed into the passenger side. Beatrix sat there, looking unexpectedly elegant in a sheer-black lace dress. The fabric clung to her in a way that was both graceful and serious. I was almost certain it was the same dress she had worn to Brody's funeral, but the question lingered unasked on my tongue, too delicate to voice.
"And you're not," Beatrix snapped back, her eyes darting over to me with a glare, sitting comfortably in neat jeans.
Her comment stung a little, and my own irritation flared up in response. "Do you want me to get changed?" I retorted sharply, my hand already on her car door, ready to step back out.
"Don't worry about it," Beatrix huffed dismissively. "No time for that now."
"You're in a mood," I observed dryly, pulling the car door closed with a soft thud. I settled the bags of candles around my feet, trying to make myself comfortable in the limited space.
Beatrix offered no reply to my comment. Instead, she focused on starting the car, the engine rumbling to life. She carefully reversed down the steep incline of my driveway, her movements precise and calculated, then pulled smoothly into the street.
In a rare moment of tranquility within the car, my eyes darted around, searching for any clues that might explain Beatrix's tense demeanour. The interior of the car gave nothing away; it was just as it always was.
"Did you get anything for the memorial?" I asked, attempting to break the heavy silence that hung between us.
"No," Beatrix replied, her response terse and to the point.
I frowned, sensing the depth of her mood. It wasn’t uncommon for us to be moody or disagreeable with each other, but there was something different about Beatrix's vibe tonight. A pang of pity struck me. The day's events, so closely mirroring the loss of Brody, must have been stirring up painful memories for her, just as they had for me.
"I got some scented candles," I offered, opening my large handbag to pull out several small candles. I held them up for her to see. "We can say they're from both of us, if you like?"
Beatrix simply shrugged in response, her noncommittal gesture sending us back into a realm of uncomfortable silence.
Well, I tried, I thought to myself, resigning to watch the dull glow of the streetlights pass by the window.
"Did you bring any spirits?" Beatrix suddenly asked, her question catching me off guard.
"Cody is bringing the whiskey," I replied, thinking back to the brief reply he had sent to my message earlier in the evening. The memory of it brought a small smile to my lips, a reminder of the school-girl-like giddiness I had felt at receiving my first-ever text message from him.
"Cody is coming?" Beatrix asked, her voice tinged with surprise.
"Yeah," I confirmed, pulling myself back to the present. "He said he'll meet us there."
I waited, hoping Beatrix would continue the conversation, but she returned to her silent, focused stare out the front windscreen.
Several minutes later, the car pulled into Luke's driveway. Jamie's car, the only other vehicle nearby, sat silently in front of us.
"Let's wait for Cody," I suggested, reaching out to grab Beatrix's arm firmly as she began to open her car door.
"I'm not waiting," Beatrix said tersely, her voice carrying a note of finality. She yanked her arm free from my grasp and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her with a force of determination.
I grimaced, torn between the desire to wait for Cody and the discomfort of sitting alone in a dark car, especially with the unnerving thought that a potential murderer could still be out there. The fear was a cold, gnawing presence in the back of my mind.
Reluctantly, I followed Beatrix quickly, not wanting to be left behind. As I reached the front porch, where Beatrix stood, a surge of anxiety washed over me. Visions of fresh blood, a stark reminder of recent horrors, flashed through my mind, urging me to action. With a surge of resolve, I pushed past Beatrix and opened the front door without knocking. I could feel the brush of Beatrix's arm beside me as she followed closely.
"Hey Luke," we called out in unplanned unison as we stepped inside. The words tumbled out of our mouths together, a rare moment of synchrony in our otherwise discordant interactions.
A shot glass clattered loudly on the stone benchtop, drawing my attention to Cody, who let out a hearty laugh.
"You two couldn't even wait for us!?" I exclaimed, my voice tinged with confusion and a hint of irritation. The sudden closeness between Luke and Cody, who seemed almost like old friends, was disconcerting.
"How rude…" Beatrix chimed in, unimpressed.
"I was just cheering Luke up," Cody defended, his eyes searching for mine. I deliberately avoided his gaze, letting my eyes wander aimlessly around the room. I was conflicted, struggling with the feelings I thought I was developing for him, but something felt off. Their camaraderie was unexpected and raised more questions in my mind about Cody's involvement in all this.
"I'm sure," I snarked, my voice dripping with skepticism. I still couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. My gut instinct was telling me to be cautious, to keep my guard up around him.
Luke collected his shot glass and lined it up with three others on the benchtop. Cody wasted no time in filling them.
"So how..." Beatrix began, but Luke cut her off abruptly.
"I really don't want to talk about it," he interrupted, his voice heavy. "I'm really tired."
"Or drunk," I added, dropping my full bag onto the bench with a thud.
"Not yet," Luke replied, rubbing his brow with a hand, as if questioning the accuracy of his own response.
"Well, we've brought the candles," Beatrix said, seizing the opportunity to change the subject. She began pulling out an assortment of candles in various colours and sizes from the large bag I had just placed on the bench.
I scoffed inwardly at Beatrix’s eagerness to claim credit for my idea.
Luke rifled through the kitchen drawers until he found a gas lighter. Beatrix took it from him without a word and began lighting every candle we had brought.
"Are you sure you have enough candles there?" Cody joked, his chuckle breaking the tension slightly.
I moved closer to Beatrix, standing beside her as we surrounded the island bench. I was still trying to avoid Cody's gaze, focusing instead on the candles.
"Turn the lights off," Beatrix instructed Luke.
Within moments, the house was plunged into darkness, the only illumination coming from the flickering candlelight. It cast dancing shadows around the kitchen and living room, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere. As I stood there, the glow of the candles reflecting softly in my eyes, I couldn't help but feel a mix of solemnity and unease. The memorial for Joel, though improvised, was beginning to take on a life of its own, each flickering flame a silent testament to the young life lost and the murky circumstances we found ourselves in.
The four of us stood solemnly around the island bench in Luke's kitchen, the flickering candlelight casting long, wavering shadows across our faces. The sombre mood was palpable as Cody began to hand each of us the first shot glass of whiskey, the amber liquid reflecting the dim light.
"Do you have a picture of him?" Beatrix asked, her voice soft but carrying a weight of unspoken emotions.
Luke shook his head, his expression tinged with regret. "No. We only learnt about him a few months ago." His words were heavy with the sadness of a missed opportunity, of connections never made.
My face fell solemn as I processed this. "Does... does Jamie know he's dead yet?" I asked delicately, aware of the sensitivity of the topic.
"No," Luke replied, his head shaking again in a gesture of resignation. "And he won't ever find out. Cody took care of it," he said, his gaze briefly lifting to Cody.
My eyes involuntarily followed Luke's gaze, and for the first time that night, I allowed myself to meet Cody's eyes, studying him carefully. There was a heaviness in his demeanour that hadn't seen before.
"Yeah," Cody said, his voice low. He avoided my gaze, looking down at his shot glass instead. "I took care of it."
I bit my lower lip, sensing the underlying tension in his words. Something had gone wrong, I could see it etched on his face, in the way he held himself. My eyes began to sting with the onset of tears, the emotional weight of the evening finally catching up to me.
"It's so sad," Beatrix murmured, her voice a whisper of empathy. "He looked so young."
"He was," Luke confirmed softly. "He was only nineteen."
"So tragic," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper as I wiped away a tear with my finger.
Luke's action of raising his shot glass in the air was a silent signal, one we all instinctively understood and followed. The four of us stood there, each with a glass in hand, united in this moment of reflection and sorrow.
"What do we say?" I found myself asking, my voice tinged with uncertainty. "We never really knew him." It felt strange, toasting to someone who was a stranger to us in life, yet whose death had inexplicably intertwined with ours.
"You say whatever is in your heart to say," Cody replied, his voice gentle and encouraging. As our eyes met, I saw a reassuring smile on his face, a small comfort amidst the heavy atmosphere.
"I'll go first," Beatrix declared, her voice steady as she held her glass out in front of her.
As Beatrix paused, seemingly gathering her thoughts, I couldn't help but find my gaze drifting back to Cody. His eyes, warm and glistening in the candlelight, held an unspoken depth that drew me in, despite the swirling doubts and questions in my mind.
"Joel," Beatrix began firmly, breaking the brief silence. "We never had the chance to know you. But we love Jamie. And you are his blood." Her voice wavered slightly, the emotion behind her words palpable.
Bile caught in my throat as I listened to my sister's quivering voice. "And so, we love you too," Beatrix finished, her voice strengthening. "To Jamie's son," she announced, holding her shot glass high.
"To Jamie's son," we echoed in unison, a chorus of solemn voices.
I felt the warm liquid burn its way down my throat as I took the shot in one gulp. The sharpness of the whiskey contrasted with the lump of emotion that had formed in my throat. I placed the empty glass back on the bench, feeling a mix of sadness and solidarity.
I reached for the glass almost as soon as Cody had filled it, a sense of urgency propelling my actions. The words had formed in my mind with surprising swiftness, and I felt an intense need to speak them before the fleeting moment escaped me. Standing there, surrounded by the dim candlelight and the solemn faces of my companions, I felt a strange mix of sorrow and duty.
"Joel, may your soul one day know your father's, and know the good man that he is," I said, my voice steady but tinged with emotion. I paused briefly, feeling a tear well up in my eye, and I quickly dabbed at it with a finger. There was a certain heaviness in my heart as I thought about the lost opportunity for Joel to know Jamie, to understand the kind of person his father was.
"To Joel," I said, raising my glass of whiskey in a toast that felt both melancholic and respectful.
"To Joel," they echoed, their voices uniting in a sombre chorus.
As we each took another shot of whiskey, the warm liquid burned its way down my throat, mirroring the burning sensation of tears that threatened to fall.
Cody held his empty glass before him, his gaze fixed on it with an intensity that seemed to draw everyone's attention. His eyes continued to glisten, reflecting the flickering candlelight as he prepared to speak.
"Joel," he started, his voice carrying a solemn weight, "You met unfortunate circumstances, but…" His words trailed off as his voice choked with emotion. "But..." he repeated, struggling to regain his composure.
I leaned forward, my own emotions welling up as I sniffled loudly. I was hanging on every word, eager and anxious for Cody to finish his thought.
"Death is merely a process, and when we learn to master that process, we will master death itself," Cody finally said, his eyes locking onto Luke's. His words were heavy with meaning, laden with a depth that seemed beyond the ordinary.
The room fell into a profound silence, the weight of his statement hanging in the air. A soft tingle swept over my body as I contemplated the depth of Cody's words. Was it really possible to master death? The concept was both intriguing and unsettling, leaving me with more questions than answers.
"To Joel," Cody said again, raising his empty glass in a gesture that felt more like a salute than a toast.
"To Joel," we all repeated, our voices a unified echo.
I pressed my empty glass to my lips and closed my eyes as invisible liquid cascaded down my throat. I knew it wasn’t there, but its tendrilled fumes still snaked up my nose, its strong bite still burnt my throat and warmed the cavern of my empty belly. Rumbling, gurgling with innocent blood, as darkness swallowed my thoughts. My eyes opened and tears streamed mercilessly down my cheeks. In that moment, I knew. I knew that Brody and Joel were really gone.
