Legacy // H.S

Epilogue

'And those dizzy stargazers who dreamed of the black

Kept their heads in the clouds, and they never looked back'

*

One year later

New York is too loud for me. Too busy. Too messy. No one looks where they're going, and everyone seems to lack any understanding of inside voices. The sirens from emergency services sound like that of an air raid, and the air is thick with pollution and soot. It's been six months since I arrived here, and I still haven't found myself settled. But I have a job to do, and that's far more important than whether I can call this place home.

It's different to London – the people demand more conversations than those back home and there's no order to things. At the house in England, there was at least somewhere that was quiet and peaceful and remained entirely detached from the city. Over here, it's hard to find the distinction between the place where I rest and the streets that I walk. The chaos of it follows you round every corner, almost like a shadow that clings to you.

Every day, I find myself resenting it more. At first, there was the inevitable wonder that came with the place, seeing it plastered over every piece of media my whole life until I finally arrived and got to experience it for myself. The taxis, the shows, the lights, the food. It's only exciting for the first few days. Reality sinks in and you realise it's not as romantic as the books would have you believe. You realise that no, New York is not the same as London.

We're here on some practice runs, though. Something to quench our thirst while we prepare for the next big thing.

It took some convincing, of course. Most of us were so exhausted that we felt we'd served our time in a prison we weren't aware we'd even been in. There were things that needed to be processed, and it isn't possible to put a timeline on those sorts of things. People had been lost, too many of them, and somehow, we had survived. But surviving felt like a crime when we remembered what it cost and how much agony it left us with.

Then, one day, something started to shift. Conversations moved onto other topics. Our emotions turned into hope once more, and not the terrible longing that we had been carrying with us all those months. The world had been crashing down around us, but we'd climbed through the rubble and found a space to see the sun.

We didn't need to hide anymore, and for the first time, we were truly and undeniably safe.

In the days after the theft of the Crown Jewels, news swiftly broke of the deeds of Hugo Charles, including his desire to steal them. Alongside this, others were implicated, something I hadn't anticipated but was gifted with.

My stepfather, Peter, had links to the crimes. Ties precariously sewn together by the team to grant me one lasting piece of satisfaction. He was immediately taken into custody by police, faced endless days of questioning, and despite his fervent denial of even knowing Hugo Charles, the evidence outweighed his innocence. He faced trial a few months ago and was found guilty by a jury for various acts of conspiracy, theft, attempted murder. The list seemed to never end. I suspect that most of the police that had worked under Hugo were eager to put it behind them and remove any connection they had to the man, so they were happy to put someone else inside. Especially someone as cruel as Peter.

In the investigation, the old police report I had filed with my father came to light once more, and I had to endure more questions and speculation on a time in my life that felt like the worst I would ever experience. Yet, it gave me a community of people that believed me. A group that understood what had happened and didn't want to see me silenced any longer.