Affliction.

Chapter 4:

Confrontation.

Watching the credits scroll down at the end of The Notebook, I made up my mind. Half a tub of icecream, a dozen Nutella wafers and two donuts were enough procrastination for one day. Why was I procrastinating, anyway?

Because you're scared. My brain whispered.

Of what? But I exactly knew the answer. Revealing the truth about the man and my dreams would be equivalent to plunging my head in Arctic waters, where you're roughly brough to consciousness. And since I was delicately hanging from the string of sanity, questioning how long did I have until the string broke was idiocity. Homicidal.

It was two in the afternoon. Deaf to all my protests, Van Hoef had made sure I stayed in bed for the morning to recover at a formidable speed, leaving me to spend my quarantine watching chick flicks and stuffing my mouth with many pounds worth of sugar.

Dressing into denim capris and a flowy white shirt, I checked my phone one last time before hopping into my freshly repaired car. The familiar scent of leather embraced me like a a dog deprived of his affectionate master for too long. Heaven. 

Waking up, I found hours worth of missed calls flashing at my phone screen. The funny part, all of them belonged to Zach. Mum was attending the annual conference for IStyle in Florida, the leading elite fashion magazine of the country. Van Hoef informed that she couldn't be reached since the conference was supposed to be highly classified and exceedingly confidential. Dad, on the other hand, was always unreachable. Only a miracle would steer him away from his business meetings, or maybe a closed one's death. Considering the fact that he came three days late at my uncle's demise last year, the latter could  easily be omitted.

Escalating out from my swirling thoughts, I realized I'd parked my car at the end of the bridge, a safe distance away from the site of my accident. Looking around, I spotted two tuc shops on the left and the usual hussle bussle of traffic. For once, my mind and heart were in complete agreement that this sleuthing would prove fruitless. Because one, I was never the Sherlock fan and two, it wouldn't be this unchallenging to catch the person you wanted so desperately to get hold of. It wasn't in the movies, anyway.

I stepped inside the cheery environment of the first shop and spotted a blonde female behind the cash register. She looked up at the chime of the bell as I stepped inside and flaunted a professional smile my way.

I returned the gesture. "Hi, do you know about the accident yesterday? Over the bridge?" I pointed in the direction of the bridge.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Jack told me about it. He's the owner here."

"Can you please tell me about the details?"

At this, her face fell and I wondered what had I said to conjure such a reaction. "Are you a cop?"

"What? No, no. Not at all." I rushed out. "The thing is, I'm a friend of the girl that had the accident, and I came to know that someone called from her home right after the crash, informing her family. So I wanted to know about the man who called."

Assured, she relaxed. "Sorry, but I didn't do my shift yesterday. If it helps, you can ask at the other store."

Nodding, I replied a thanks and made my way out.

The other questioning was as vain as the first, only this time I'd to dodge my way out of buying the fresh homemade cookies on sale rather than explain my position of not being a cop.

Frustrated at the lack of progress, I put the car in ignition and turned to the route back home with the questions swirling in my head swelling at every passing second.