Chapter: 2

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My melancholy returned as I climbed the stairs to my room. Self-doubt began to pull me down. Was it me? Did they dislike me and the rule break was their excuse for my dismissal? Confidence wasn't something I had in abundance and fact is, the Milton's firing me had dented it.

Feeling lonely and vulnerable, I entered my room, trying to pull myself from descending down into a dark hole of depression.

My spirit lifted a little when I saw a glass of Port and envelope on the bedside table.

Taking a sip of the Port, I opened the envelope. It was a Thank You card which read: So sorry it didn't work out, Billy. Best wishes in all your future endeavors. Hopefully the enclosed extract of Elliots' autopsy report will go someway to explain Mrs Milton's extreme sensitivity. Signed: Mr Henry Milton.

My second sip of Port was accompanied by a warm glow. I pulled out the old piece of paper.

Sadness enveloped me as I read:

Sadness enveloped me as I read:

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The report gave me some understanding of Mrs Milton's grief and mental state; and it corroborated what the locals in the bar told me. I guess my covering his face had painful associations for her. And it did go someway to explain my dismissal, making me feel better about myself.

Taking another sip of Port, I felt woozy and suddenly wondered how they knew I'd covered his face: what triggered the alarm?

That question swam round my head while packing my paltry belongings back into my backpack ready for my morning trip back to London.

But despite my few belongings, I couldn't finish the task as a combination of the port and worry conspired to compel me toward the bed.

I lay down and felt myself drift towards a deep and heavy sleep.

......

I woke wearily, my head buried deep in the pillow. Still too groggy and sleepy to open my eyes. I listened to muffled voices emanating from some place above me.

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