𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌
❝like a moth to a flame, she always returns to me❞
Dakota Elkins is no stranger to the supernatural with her being a telepath and vampires out of the coffin, but when one winds his way into her cousins...
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DAKOTA SAT IN THE KITCHEN, STARING AT THE EMPTY SEAT IN FRONT OF HER. Her fingers brushed over the fading bruises on her neck absentmindedly. Her breakfast was barely finished but she had lost her appetite. The weight of having to go through her grandmothers things was heavy on her shoulders, but she felt that it was time to do so.
With a sigh, she got up from her chair and made her way upstairs. Dakota hadn't stepped foot inside Adele's room since she was murdered and everything was just as she left it.
Dakota pushed the door open, stepping inside with a heavy heart. Her bedsheets weren't made, her glasses laid on her bedside table and a fresh pair of clothes had been neatly stacked on a chair for the following day. The blonde was going to wait for Sookie to get home to start actually labelling stuff, but for now she could just take everything in on her own and put stuff away they were definitely going to keep.
Most of Adele's perfume's and jewellery ended up in the 'keep' box, stuff she couldn't part with. Dakota went through her nan's books and also put them in the box, along with journals, her glasses and sweaters.
The blonde was about to open a new box when the doorbell rang and she uncrossed her legs to get up from the floor. Her bare feet pattered down the stairs and she stepped onto the rug, opening the door. It was Mr. Lancaster, the man from the bank and she frowned.
"Good morning," he greeted. "May I come in?"
"Of course," Dakota nodded. "Have a seat, Mr. Lancaster."
"Thank you," he smiled, taking a seat in one of the living room chairs as she sat down onto the couch, resting her hands on her lap. He had a briefcase with him and she wondered if everything was alright with the house.
"Is there a problem with my grandmothers papers?" Dakota asked. "I know you asked for a copy of the deed to the house."
Mr. Lancaster shook his head. "Oh, no, no. It is all in order." he said, and then let out a sigh, giving her a sympathetic look. "I do have some terrible news, i'm afraid. Your great-uncle Bartlett has passed on." Dakota hadn't expected that and raised her brows. "I know it's so soon after your grandmother. This must be quite the shock."
"What happened?" she managed to ask.
"Well," Mr. Lancaster began. "the Lincoln Parish Fire Department found him a few miles south of Simsboro. He'd washed up on the shore."
"How did he go all the way down there?" Dakota frowned, though not because she was sad. Frankly, she wasn't at all and it felt as if a weight had lifted off her shoulders with the news of his passing. Dakota truly hated the man.
"The walnut creek runs behind his house." he said. "Sheriff's guessing he got too close and fell in. They're calling it an accident officially. There's no sign of burglary or forced entry in the house ... he was such a sweet old man. There'd be no reason to hurt him at all."
