Turquoise Puppet

Chapter 17

Nothing left to write about,

Nobody left to sing for,

No room left to doubt.

All of it is your fault. It has been from the very beginning.

After reading all of it, you take a break and eat with your mother while gathering your thoughts. What action is best? Aside from Esmae's diary, where would other evidence be? Her phone, most definitely, but she'd had it on her at the time of the incident, and it isn't likely that you can get your hands on it now.

And if anything, you have learned that it will be no use to report to the police.

Your mother gathers the dishes and puts them into the sink. Just as she is about to wash them, you stop her.

"I'll do the dishes," you say to her, "Mom, there's something else I need to do—alone. Do you mind?"

"Alright," she says, "Give me a call when you can, okay?"

"I will."

☆☆☆

The first thing you do is finish the song. It isn't the first time you've added lyrics to your own melody, but this time, you might just sing it too—if all goes well. It doesn't take long to complete the work. Half an hour later, your phone rings.

"Zander? I was just about to call you."

"Wow, really? I was just checking up on y—"

"Does your offer still stand?" Not wanting to waste a single minute, you cut to the chase. You don't need to specify for Zander to know what you are referring to—he has, after all, only made one offer of any importance.

"Wha—?" He sounds stunned. "Wait wait wait wait. Koen! Do you mean—do you have a song already? I heard you just came out of the hospital today and went straight to the police afterwards!"

"I do," you answer. If anything, the shorter your answer, the more on-point it will be.

"Oh goodness," he exclaims. "Alright. So, I have a show like—tomorrow, right here in this city. You know where."

"Is that convenient for you?" you ask, "No extra arrangements or anything?"

"I...Koen, you know, I always leave a spot for you just in case you someday, somehow, decide to change your mind." While speaking, Zander does not hide his excitement, although he is also audibly wildly confused. "The greater the artist, the weirder they are."

"Thanks, Zander. How much time will I have tomorrow?"

"Fifteen minutes, an additional five minutes leeway. I would give you more, since I'm pretty sure you have a lot to say too after suddenly making a choice like that, but I didn't have time to announce it."

"Fifteen is enough. Thank you."

☆☆☆

You have the song, you've secured a chance to perform in front of...Zander's fans, but Alec's supporters are everywhere and among every cohort, so it should suffice. You feel almost as if you are on a suicide mission, now going against everything you have strived so hard for before: anonymity, normalcy. Now, you stare at Esmae's notebook again, wondering what to do with it.

The second time you read over it, you are a little calmer, a little more focused. If your deductions are right, towards the end of her life, Esmae began to grow feelings for Alec instead—you became a prize to obtain, and he was the one she liked interacting with, however sickening her definition of "love" was.

If not the police, who should you hand this to?

The answer comes to you as quickly as the question does.

You call the biggest gossip magazine in the nation.

"Hello, I'm Koen Bauder. I have material that you might be interested in."