The Sebastian Smythe Story

Chapter One

The plane ride itself was uneventful, all I did was sleep. Walking around the Ohio airport was a mess, people were shoving others every which way. And I was trying hard to find my family in the mess of chaotic travelers. I soon found them waiting by the airport giftshop. My grandparents were there with my cousin, Stephanie. There was a lot of hugging, and my grandmother's tears. They told me that Adrien was working on a case that had just come up out of town and Katherine had a family emergency that needed her attention, my cousin Sidney accompanied her. On the drive to my grandparents' house, Stephanie started telling me how excited she was to start high school. She was going to an all-girls high school near 'Smythe Manor' called Crawford.

"And you want to go there," I gave her a blank look.

"Yes, it's a great school," she nodded. "It's the sister school to Dalton."

"And why is Dalton relevant to this conversation?" I asked and my grandfather stifled a laugh.

"Well, it's your school," Stephanie looked at me with surprise. "Did Mr. West not tell you anything?"

"Joe might've said something," I said slowly. "But I probably wasn't paying attention."

"You must start paying attention, Bartholomew," my grandmother looked at me from the passenger seat.

"Right," I cringed at my name. "And please grandmother, it's Barry."

"Of course, my dear," she winked.

•••

I just put suitcases in the corner of my room at my grandparents' house. I've been here a few times when I was younger. Stephanie's room used to be my mother's and mine was my uncle's. I walk out of my room and head to Stephanie's, when I find out she isn't in there, I walk in and lay on the bed for a few moments. And then a knock. Stephanie peaks her head in through a crack.

"You okay?" She asks.

"Yeah," I answer simply.

"Well Grams and Gramps are having a get together with friends tomorrow," she enters her room and sits in her vanity chair. "Apparently there's going to be a couple of guys from Dalton in attendance."

"I'm ecstatic," I say with evident boredom.

"You need to cheer up," Stephanie crossed her arms. "This gloating act is doing nobody any good, Barry. We're trying to help you and we can't if you won't accept it."

"I was perfectly fine in Central City, Steph," I sighed. "I had Iris and Joe, and my father is there."

"God, Barry," she said with disgust. "Stop talking to him, he started all of this when he murdered your mother."

"You weren't there, you don't even know what happened, Stephanie," I stood up and walked to the door. "My father is a good man who was wrongfully convicted. And I'll prove his innocence."

"Good luck with that, Barry," she says with a defense. "My father looks at the case every night, all the evidence against him is solid."

I run out of Stephanie's room with tears, not even my cousin believes my father is innocent.

•••

There's a tire swing the front yard of the house and the tree that the swing is connected to is a big oak tree. I had my mother's journal in my hand, it was my favorite piece of literature. The way she poured her heart out on the pages of the book is the same way she spoke, openly. My favorite entry in the journal is the one where she talks about my dad. I sit in the tire swing and open the journal, I start to read:

17 July 1980

Dear Diary,
I met someone today. A very handsome man. His eyes sparkled with blue and silver when the sunlight struck them just right. He told me I was beautiful, he must have lied. My hair was tied back and I was cleaning a stable, I was elbows deep in horse manure! You must have been there, it was such a sight. He told me he was visiting with his family from Missouri and he has to leave for home next week. And listen to this! He said he wanted to see me again! We are going to dine tomorrow; I'm so excited! Wish me luck!

Nora

I smiled at the elegant swirls of the cursive french. My grandparents were immigrants from France, my uncle was a toddler when they came, my mother and her sister were American born. She grew up with the language and she taught me as well. She used it all the time that my father had to pick up some of the words. And now I use it whenever I'm with my grandparents.

The front door of the house opened and my grandmother yelled softly. "Bartholomew dinner!"

I got up from the swing and headed inside, the smells of my grandma's Coq Au Vin filled the old house. I smiled sincerely at her and ran to the table, the chicken dish was one my mother always made for me as a kid and it happened to be my favorite.

"Awesome," I looked at my grandma and grinned. "Thank you, grandmother!"

"You're welcome, Bartholomew," she smiled sweetly and dished the food.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Thank you for reading! Suggestions are so welcomed.