Chapter Eleven : Party And Songs

Lynn Vandestine 

He wraps a towel around his lower naked body, stepping out from the shower, then looks at the mirror ummindfully. 

"What kind of a freak showers at noon?" He suddenly hears a low voice behind him. Lynn turns, then notices his brother lying on his bed, holding a wine bottle in his hand.

"Only your brother does," he chuckles, lightly shaking his wet hair, then pulls out a blue shirt from the wardrobe. "Are you drunk?"

"Of course not," Mahone sits up idly, looking with sleepy eyes. "Wait."

Lynn turns to him, "What?"

Mahone puts the bottle down, then walks to him, feeling horrified. "Lynn, the scars in your back look....more. What happened to you?"

Lynn turns away from him, buttoning his shirt quickly. No, he didn't want to remember the three months when he was starving in a basement, being tortured and beaten up, waiting for to die, wanting to die.

"What happened to you?" he asks again.

"Stop it, Mahone."

"I asked you a question!" He shouts.

Lynn inhales sharply, glaring at his younger brother. "What do you want to know, eh? You want to know how I got the scars, right? But what about the old, blunt scars, huh?" his nerves are running wild. "That our father was a two-faced monster and used to beat us up? Why don't you want to know that how I was covering your body, begging him to stop, taking the hits of whip, shivering in pain?"

Mahone clenches his fist hard, nails digging in, he exhales shakily. "Don't."

How quickly subjects change.

"See?" Lynn laughs. "You don't want to know that, yet you ask questions two effing years later. Fine, I'm telling you. I wanted to end all of this, so I escaped from the assignment The Conditorem gave me, but a few months later, they found me and tortured me."

"You escaped from them by getting on a boat in the sea and swallowing pills?" he grimaces. 

Lynn blinks, "So you knew."

"Yeah, Samuel told me about your suicide mission," Mahone says harshly. "What are you doing, Lynn? Wanting to die? Abandoning your only living family and working for a company with which our father worked, but who don't give a crap about you? It's so not you."

Lynn steps forward, gripping his shoulders sternly, then looks into his gray eyes.

"I was protecting you, Mahone."

In reply, he scoffs, forcefully moving the hands from his shoulders.

"Maybe I didn't want to be protected."

 ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Samlin Greenham 

"Party at Maria's beach house," Emilia whispers beside me, while we're waiting for the end of the seventh period, the chattering of world history by Mr.Tanner.

"I'm not going," I whisper back, scribbling with a pencil lazily at my book.

"You're. Everyone is going."

"Maria didn't even invite me," I protest.

"Does it matter? Please, come on."

I watch at her stubbornness.

"I've not been a party for so long. We're going to have fun, Sam."

"Have fun? Okay, I might be a little late, but I will be there before nine." I agree.

Maybe it's time to have fun.

"Ms.Greenham and Ms.Ericson," shrieks our teacher, glaring at us. "I would like to remind you two that we're in history class, providing ourselves with knowledge about Egyptian history! So, be quiet!"

"Yeah, now we're in Osiris's pyramid." I mutter.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

I park my car in front of the gate of a beautiful, calm, two-storey house, in the middle of the Pacific Heights.

A few days ago, I found a crumpled piece of paper in my father's room, in a corner. I didn't tell anyone about it, as I don't believe any of polices or federal agents or FBI. The phone number of Martha Stewart was written on it and also marked with a word, 'Help'. I don't know for sure, whether she's a friend or foe, but I need to find out.

I pass the stairs and knock at the door.

A red-haired, stylish woman, wearing a pink housecoat, opens the door. I instantly understand she's a clever person judging by her look.

"Are you Mrs. Stewart?" I ask politely.

"Not anymore," she smiles softly, then steps aside. "You're pretty than your picture. Come on in, Samlin."

I hesitantly enter in, a little amused.

I follow her inside in the living room, that is enlightened by the fireplace, yet dark.

"Sit. It's a little cold outside, isn't it?" Martha points at the sofa beside the fire, sitting on a one. I put off my jacket, then sit beside her.

"How do you know me?" I want to know.

She tilts her head to me, then says in a reassuring voice, "Oh, don't be suspicious. Garret showed your picture to me, also told me how interesting you are."

"So, I guess you're Dad's friend?" I fold my arms across the chest. "Why haven't I ever heard of you, then? I don't mean to be rude, but you'd visit us, if you were his friend."

She sighs, looking down at her manicured nails awkwardly. "We had our reasons, Samlin. I always wanted to meet you in person, but I didn't think your mother would be happy about that."

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"We have a history, your father and I," she continues to speak in a low voice. "We grew up together, started dating in high school. But we broke up after graduation, I'm not going to tell you why and after that, we remained friends__I assume." She chuckles lightly, looking up at me.

I don't say anything.

"I just said some things to you, it might sound some simple words, but my relationship with him wasn't simple, he meant more than anything to me. I didn't care what he thought, I just wanted be with him." I watch her looking nostalgic, fighting the tears.

The sadness in her eyes. It is real.

I wonder why I never heard of her from my father before. What happened to them?

"Did you two go to the same college?"

"No," Martha shakes her head, brushing the corner of her eyes. "Oh, look at me, I didn't offer you anything, being talkative!" She hurriedly stands up. "What would like to drink? Coffee, tea or juice?"

"No, no, it's okay." I say quickly, then look up at her. "Actually, Martha__I didn't mention to you why I came here."

She turns to me, "Why?"

"Do you have any idea where my father is? You obviously heard that he's missing." I directly ask her.

She smiles briefly, then sits beside me again. "I was waiting when you'd ask this question."

I inhale deeply. "So you know?"

She puts her hand on mine, staring into my eyes. "Samlin, you shouldn't be asking questions, you shouldn't be here. You don't know what kind of monster is coming after your father. But I'm trusting you, okay? You both have suffered enough, but I don't him to suffer anymore. I don't know where exactly he is, but I'm telling you what I know."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

I found Maria in the balcony, talking with a boy. I thought of saying hello to her, but then cancel the idea. I'll tell her later. 

I ignore the party music buzzing in my ears, because I'm feeling tired. I thought Martha would actually know something, but it came out she didn't know much. How could she be a 'Help' to my father, when she knew nothing about being an agent of The Conditorem? Am I going to the wrong direction? 

Or she was lying. Again, why would she lie? She was my father's childhood sweetheart, her first love, epic love that my parents never mentioned.

"Oh, God!" I groan. I need a drink. I reach to the keg, then bump into a drunken, dancing boy.

"Watch out, dickhead," I mutter, taking a cup to fill it in with vodka.

"Sam, you came!" I hear my best friend cheer behind me. "I thought you wouldn't come."

I fill the cup with colorless vodka, then turn to her. She's wearing a sexy red collarless dress, also applied light makeup on her face, shaking slightly.

"Wait, are you drunk?" I shout over the music. 

"A little. You need to be, too!" She replies, then scowls angrily. "What kind of dick is playing 'Don't let me down'? I should smash the sound box, it's annoying!"

I take a long sip of vodka, drinking slowly. "I kind of need to hear a song like 'Beat it' by Michael Jackson."

"Let's go to the beach," she grabs my hand, dragging me out. "A new hottie with a guitar is here. I heard he has a beautiful voice."

"I bet he's a player." I shiver at the cold wind after coming out from the house, though I'm wearing a jacket.

"Indeed he is," laughs Emilia.

There's is a fire in middle of the beach, circled by people, flickering often because of the wind. I go closer to the fire, my hair is quite flying in the wind, I take another sip of my drink.

Then I notice the singer with a guitar.

Oh, no. Not him.

"I've played some happy, exciting songs about love," Mahone smiles at everyone. "But now I'm going to play a song, which is a little sad, more moody. Well, I wrote this song and it's called 'Words from my mind'."

"Woo-hoo!" They clap hands together, some guys whistle. Looks like he has already been popular, but how? He even doesn't go to our school. Little liar.

He has a beautiful voice? I giggle to myself. I remember it felt good to push him off the mountain, to watch his face. The vodka has made me sloppy, but you should know I'm not a light head.

Or maybe I am.

Mahone slowly plays the chords.

"I have somethin' to say, but you're not here 

So, I'm gazing at the moonlit sky and say these words,

You appeared in my life, like a comet

You showed me all the stars, all the shiniest

You touched me with your heart 

(Vocalizing) with your heart 

Then you disappeared 

Like fallen star, lonely 

You've hurt me enough, 

Yet I can't forget you 

You left me alone,

Yet I couldn't forget you

(Vocalizing) couldn't forget you

Now, I'm letting the moonlight shine me, like I let you, I'm letting the spring breeze touch me, like I let you, I'm letting the soft sand and the sea cover me, like I let you,

You've hurt me enough,

(Vocalizing) hurt me enough 

Yet I can't forget about you 

So, I'm saying this,

Can I ever forget you?

(Vocalizing) can I ever...."

The song ends, but leaves the resh of the melody in my mind.