Truth

Part Eleven

After that day, a whole year passed with surprising speed. There was a celebratory day marking the anniversary of the riot. There was a big parade and Tilly, Tyler and I were invited. Instead, we hung out at Wheeler’s, eating pizza and reminiscing. We’d all changed since that day.

Tilly was now a lawyer, and a good one too. She’d had to defer her studies in order to devote all her time to the Three Ts, and had only had a year left. She restarted her studies as soon as she could. Since graduating, she’d already represented clients in some of the toughest cases, and had won too! She admits to questioning whether or not she should have won one of those though, her client admitting to her after the case was finished that she was defending a con artist, and that he did steal millions of dollars from the billionaire family suing him.

Tyler was as much of a whore as ever. He’d been rather successful as well, though. He had gone into fashion, both modelling and designing, and now not only had his own range of clothing (the male line he modelled himself), but also his own, dedicated stores, a makeup line and a series of healthy snacks. And he bought over a chain of gyms. I had never thought of him as an entrepreneur, and yet he’d accomplished so much in just over a year.

Myself? I’d taken to a few careers actually. I was Human Resources manager for Tyler’s company, having previously made myself a name in that area with a gigantic chain which sold everything from apples to zombie games everywhere in the world. On the side, though, I did private investigations and a bit of investigative journalism, and in my spare time I read as much as I could in every subject, taking a special interest in politics and history.

I found myself thinking about everything that had happened, in those rare spare moments I had alone. The more I relived those crucial months, the better everything slotted into place, especially about Two or Yvetzse. I wasn’t sure which to call her. But she’d rarely lied to me, I found. She simply omitted parts of the truth, often vital in order to keep her cover.

But I still wondered at her and her brother’s intentions. Yet I accepted whatever would happen would happen and there was not much I could do.

The discrepancy between her mother ‘being killed’ and ‘committing suicide’ had been something I’d noted early on in my thoughts. She’d said them both quite near each other, and I had never picked up on it until long after the actual words were said. I guessed my mind assumed that she was simply distraught reliving those memories, as one would be. I knew I’d been.

The photos and holograms of her mother was the second thing I’d figured out. Her father, apparently, couldn’t stand being told she’d committed suicide because of his longer work hours. But he had killed her. I knew that now. He had probably needed to be guilt free, and seeing photos of his dead wife wouldn’t have aided him in achieving that.

My thoughts then jumped to the explosion. We’d taken the long way home that day, otherwise we would have all died in the inferno. Two had been the reason we’d taken the long way home. Had she planned it? Surely not. She had plenty of opportunities to kill us. But had she known about it? That was likely.

And what of the Officers at the riot? Had they been planned? Actually, it didn’t matter. They’d been there, and would have eventually been there no matter what. Chris had been stunned, so I assumed it wasn’t planned. Then again, he could easily have been faking it.

So many questions remained, but most were useless, and pondering them a waste of time.

Two and I talked, although not as regularly as I would have liked. Every time we met up, we were like two old friends. I didn’t ask questions about everything that had happened, having accepted that it was done and no longer really mattered. There were minimal awkward silences between us during our time together.