Beneath The Orange Sunset ✔️

Twenty Nine

The fountain is clearest at its source

~29~

Two wobbly legs hurried from the silhouette hallway into the room at the other end. He must have looked like a ghost, Maxime thought. Perhaps that's what he was.

Shutting the door silently, he took a good look around the room. The scent of midnight daisies hung in the air. He swallowed back the urge to regurgitate as the odour made his insides feel nauseous. 

The white walls illuminated by the bright yellow lights seemed to be closing up on him. It wouldn't be mistaken to say that he was suddenly developing a phobia for walls.

White walls? White bedsheets? White car?

If only your heart was half as white as your room, Emile. Such a hypocrite.

Maxime' head was seething with questions, and he had the feeling that he would get most of the answers here, in this room. What is the whole truth about Emile Lacroix? Why was she bent on taking his life?

Been on her death list was never his choice. There must be some reasons.

Maxime searched the wooden white racks in stunned silence. He wished this nightmarish adventure would end. Why isn't he even dead? Why him?

He had a bad feeling about this, a terrible bad feeling. The voice of his father crossed his mind once more.

Take care of your mom, she might not be perfect but love her the same.

Indeed. This was not the time to wallow over some over done sentimental nonsense.

To his left was the door leading to the closet. He took a few steps and pushed it with his strength. He twisted the knob but it was locked.

His eyes caught a set of files resting on a small white stool beside the white dressing table.

He traipsed past the neatly made bed and reached the table. It was full of all sort of toiletries - from hand cream to neck perfumes, makeup accessories, hair combs, pieces of papers, business cards and old diaries. He knew Emile was very meticulous in all her doings. She abhorred mistakes. Keeping delicate evidences carelessly was far from her character.

With one quick movement, Maxime brought himself to squat beside the dressing table. A pang of headache swept over his head and he felt a little dizzy.

He massaged the back of his neck and rubbed his temples gently. He hoped this dizziness had nothing to do with his eyesight. At least, if he was going to faint or loose his sight again, let it be outside the walls of this house.

He picked up the first file and flipped through. It contained recent company documents. He placed it on the bed and picked the second file. Green in colour and thicker in width. Opening It, the first printed document containing the bold coloured photo of Rochelle stared back at him.

Maxime felt numb and unreal. For some seconds his mind went completely blank as he stared at the photo.

It's been more than a month since he tried to forget but Lost memories of Rochelle came flooding through his mind

His breaths quickened. His hands trembled. Swallowing hard he skimmed through the words written below the photo. It was more like a resumé of Rochelle Phillipe. It contained vital information of her home address, phone number, work experiences and identification number.