Black Blood. Dyvina Sollena
between us.
They loved me and I loved them, I had never questioned this, but those small shortcomings had an effect on me, making me grow quickly and alone.
«What are we precisely searching for?» Hanna asked me right entering the house's door.
I hurried to open a few windows, letting in some light and having the air circulating. I stopped to smell a white orchid, gently caressing its white petals.
It was my favorite flower.
«Do you remember my old casket where I was hiding my diary?» I retorted, asking her to follow me upstairs.
She obeyed.
We walked through the large entrance, completely white from floor to ceiling. To break that glow, a black carpet on the right traced the way to the stairs.
We walked along it until we reached the forty-three steps that would have led us to the sleeping area of the house.
My room was the only part being a little more human and less alien.
I was hoping that everything was unchanged. I perfectly remembered hiding the clippings of old newspapers in what as a child was a magical casket for me, where I kept a few objects inside, linked to some precious memories.
I had kept the articles about those disappearances from high school for no particular reason, I never thought they would come in handy ten years later.
We went into my room and turned on the light.
Everything was unchanged, as if time had stopped six years ago, when I had moved to live with Hanna.
I observed the environment: the bed was placed on the right wall facing the sun while the wardrobe and the dresser occupied the side wall. On the opposite side where my bookcase and desk.
I dived in the past, seeing myself bending over it, absorbed in writing my first articles for the school's journal.
They were good memories, the beginning of everything.
Every piece of furniture was smeared with sentences of mine. I had covered the surfaces with simple blue ink pens, a job that lasted years.
Thoughts, fleeting moments that crossed my mind, sometimes simple words without any sense, only the moment I grabbed and then wrote clearly in the wood.
I went near the desk and touched those tangled marks with my fingertips. A puzzle for anyone but it all seemed perfectly clear to me.
My attention was captured by one particular sentence, I had written it in italics along the right edge of the desk.
Violet like her blood.
I remembered the day I wrote it; my thirteenth birthday was a few days away and I had heard my father saying those words. I passed by his studio on the way to the bathroom, those were the only words that reached my ear and stayed in my head for days.
«You used to keep it under your bed», Hanna declared going straight to my bed.
Her voice woke me from my childhood memories.
I saw her kneeling on the ground, almost sticking her head under the bed frame.
«There's a lot of dust here. But I can't see the casket», she said standing up.
She sneezed while cleaning her clothes.
«It has to be there», I objected.
I kept it exactly aligned with my pillow, if it wasn't there, then where else could had been?
I checked myself by using my smartphone flashlight. There was nothing under my bed, just a desert of grains covered with mites.
«Damn it!» I swore furiously, the one thing I was hoping to find in its place, however, was gone.
Hanna gently placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled softly at me.
«They might have moved it, let's check better!» she kindly said.
I agreed.
We searched every corner, every possible place. There was only the wardrobe left, if it wasn't there, I wouldn't know where else to look.
We were about to open the last door. It was divided into shelves and on the penultimate one at the top I was finally able to see an edge of the casket.
«Pass me the chair, please», I asked my best friend. I climbed into the chair until I grabbed it with both hands, then tossed it onto the bed.
Hanna reached it before I did and began to handle it.
«It is open!»
I was having a heart attack.
It had always been closed with a large padlock and I had the only key. I still guarded it with jealousy and no one had ever had a copy.
I examined the closure as it appeared to have been forced. I opened the lid to make sure all the contents were there.
There was my secret diary which I immediately passed on to Hanna. I started writing it at the age of seven and continued throughout adolescence. I found a horse plush; I had called it Lucky, it was a present from Josh and Hanna for my ninth birthday. I saw the letter my grandfather had written me for my eighteen years, it was precious, it said to chase my dreams and never give up even when life would have presented me its bills. Everything seemed to be there. I recognized a clear plastic folder with dates on it:
15th February 2008
21st June 2008
09th October 2008
I had found them.
Those were the articles about the three missing girls during 2008.
Exactly ten years ago.
The fact that the casket was open, however, was clearly not something I missed.
Had my parents done that?
And why without asking me?
It was not typical of them and I wouldn't have ignored the fact.
I took out the yellowed pieces of newspaper and handled one carefully.
«Look at this...» I suggested to my friend, leaning towards her:
«Katherine Holden. Twenty-two years. Missing», I turned the pages discovering other titles,
«Rachel Brant. Nineteen. Missing», I went on browsing.
«Julie Sullivan. Twenty-five. Missing», I concluded by showing Hanna the similarity with those facts that were affecting Hazycreek during those recent weeks.
She looked at those clippings with perplexity then looked me in the eyes.
«Sullivan, as your boss. Was she the daughter?»
«Yes. I remembered that later her disappearance was denied. They claimed that Julie had moved to London, but she has never been seen in town again», I explained, recalling the events little by little.
«Are you assuming that this is happening again?» she mumbled.
«I am not sure, this might be a coincidence», I replied studying those articles.
I thought of Sebastian and his family.
None of those writings mentioned it, or rather, not in an explicit way, they often went around it and talked about destiny, as if it was a justification for everything.
I needed more information.
Could the Winterbourne family be responsible for those crimes?
I didn't want to believe it; I couldn't bear the idea that Sebastian was involved. Handsome, rich and divinely asshole, but I couldn't think of him as a killer.
Suddenly I remembered what he had said at the editorial insinuating that Hazycreek's rumors were true.
I took them for simple provocations while he kept me stuck to the elevator wall.
Our