Trying To Heal

Chapter Fourty-One

April

I had to research in the Tate Manor library. The entire Everston history, any other relevant things I should know. It is simply too interesting. With the lack of sleep, I expected to be incredibly exhausted. No, I was as fresh as a baby, wide awake and alarmed like a hawk. The recent revelations had made it difficult to be at peace and to coherently ponder of the possibilities. I am buzzing with conspiracies and ideas, and the conscious visions of men and women, boys and girls being tortured by the elites has me teeming in rampage. Derek said they are not sure how long this sex ring has been alive for. If Grant is truly to the creator of it, then it would be the 1960s, though they are digging before jumping to conclusions.

Meanwhile, I investigated his biological grandfather. The outlets only spoke 'Samuel and Alexandra Matthews's close relatives dies in Islamic terrorism.' Of course they had to typically blame it on Islam. But the evidence to their claims in these reports are very firm to make someone assume it's a scapegoat. At least, to someone who is unaware of the full story.

I found a picture of Grae Kenny Everston, and almost gasped. Grae has blue eyes, much like Grant, therefore no one would doubt that Grant isn't Derek's grandfather. Although, in different lightings, Grae's blue eyes are lighter — so pale, it looks like Derek's from afar. Alexandra, Marlene and Thomas has Grae's sharp cheekbones.

Derek and Luke never visited Grant in their childhood. Alexandra and Samuel refused it, but they allowed Grae to visit the Tate Manor. Is it possible that the First Matthews knew who Grae was?

***

I step onto the nourished grounds of the official residence of the Azrael. A bronzed man in a recognisable uniform is positioned not so far ahead. I realise where I have seen him before. I want to do a career that tackles crime; Mi5 was the first website I looked into. "Director General Akamai," I greet.

The head of the Secret Service blinks in surprise. I am surprised, too. I suppose I should be cautious of my assumptions. Perhaps not everyone on top of the ladder are untrustworthy.

"A pleasure to meet you. It has been a long journey here. Get some rest."

I feel Derek halting behind me, his footsteps crunching the rocks of the concrete ground. I observe the island. War craft. A colossal, curved edifice in the centre of this mass of nature, created in a domed, tinted glass. Soldiers in white uniforms — Mediators, is what Derek called them. Several stop their business, nosily staring at me in skepticism and distrust.

"Is there a church here?"

"We have a chapel," replies the General. "We have buildings for each religion."

Without looking at Derek, I follow a woman to the chapel, which is inside the spherical building. We elapse young-looking Mediators having fun, mimicking some kind of fighting game that has their crowd cheering.

The chapel is formidable. A cottony and smooth, red-carpeted floor. Bricked enclosures embodied of artistic mosaics. A basic, limestone cross inscribed into the facing wall. The alabaster rows crescents a chalcedony altar concealed in a copious-white, laced linens.

In the first row, is a white man in a simple wifebeater shirt and faded trousers, a cardigan entangling his slim neck and shrouding his back like a cape. His style is old-fashioned, something out of the late 1990s and early 2000s. His tattooed elbows are pointed to his knees, his head descended and sight closed in prayer. At the gentle close, he looks over his shoulder and straightens his postured into a heart-warming, pleased radiance. "April."

I see life in black and white — an absolutist thinking. For the first time in forever, Luke Matthews is the greatest anomaly. In fact, for what is worth, the Matthews Brothers are ambiguous to each in their own. Are any of the Matthews Brothers righteous, or are they evil — are they the true villains of this age?