Lights | A Forever Fanfiction

Chapter Ten: Revitalisation

As I walked down the hallway to the stairs, I carelessly stormed right into Dr. Morgan in my rage. He grabbed my shoulders and steadied me as I stumbled forwards.

"You look ready to kill someone," he said, frowning uncertainly. I stepped backwards and glared up at him.

"I want to kill someone," I retorted. "But I can't. It's illegal. And don't give me that look."

He shrugged. "I have news," he offered, raising a folder to eye level. I reached for it, but he pulled it out of range, and my eager hands grasped only at air.

"News?" I demanded. "Spill. Spill! Now!" He chuckled as I jumped up to try and grab the folder.

"Only if you promise to go to school." I stopped and stared at him, seriousness overthrowing my little happiness hype.

"What? How-?"

"Jo told me you might try and skip out to help," he said.

I kept staring at him, my mouth slightly open and a sudden frown creasing my face.

"Okay, what happened?"

"No, um, nothing. I just remembered something very important," I said smugly. "Something very important. I- I have to go. I- Yeah, I have to go." I grinned evilly and speed-walked past him.

"Are you hiding something?" he demanded, wheeling around to face me.

"Bye!" I yelled, glancing over my shoulder and waving. I pressed the down button by the elevator, and the doors slid open. I hopped inside, slamming the first floor button. Dr. Morgan ran into the waiting room and spotted me. He just barely made it into the elevator.

"Tell me!" he ordered. I looked upwards, grinning to myself. He glared at me demeaningly. I gave him a sideways glance.

"Information for information, and teamwork?" I asked with sickly sweet politeness.

He sighed loudly. The elevator dinged, and I got out, striding into the lobby of the hospital and confidently out into the cold morning air. I checked the time on my watch. Seven fifteen. I had plenty of time to get to school. I began walking towards my school, Dr. Morgan in pursuit, stuttering and grumbling.

"Fine!" he bellowed about halfway into the journey. I ignored him and kept walking, smiling sarcastically. "Did you not just hear me? I agreed!"

"I'm raising my price since you made me walk all this way," I announced. "I'll give you my info if you give me your info, plus a get out of school free card, plus teamwork." I whirled around and faced him.

"Fine! But if Jo finds out about this, it's your fault, not mine," he retorted.

"Okay, this is the info. My mum was not mentally unstable before she joined that little cult or whatever, right? So she might have been tortured. Anyways, if my dad was forced to consort with those same people, he would have left clues. He wasn't an idiot," I explained. "He was smart. He has a business degree from Harvard. Beat that!" I glanced both ways and crossed the road quickly, heading towards my apartment building. Dr. Morgan followed me, protesting under his breath.

"The police found nothing at the apartment, because they didn't search the entire place. They searched the basement, but only found the decoy bomb and a few unidentifiable wires," Dr. Morgan revealed as we got to the apartment. "They did find some interesting documents in the living room, but it was all legal stuff."

When we arrived, the police were all gone, along with all of the tape. The cleanup crew had done a good job. Aside from the faint red stains on the ceiling of my father's room, I could barely tell he had been murdered in there.

"What am I looking for?" Dr. Morgan mused.

"We," I corrected. "We are looking for clues. Weird notes, documents, information."

"Lights, I don't think there's anything that the forensics crew didn't find, I-" He caught the desperation in my eyes, and fell silent. "Alright. I'll start in the living room. Call if you find something."

"Likewise." I turned to the room. The familiar scent of freshly cut wood and bow rosin filled my nose. I knelt by the bedside table, opening the drawer.

I flinched as I stared at the paraphernalia in the drawer. His old reading glasses. A pouch full of cello strings. His wedding ring. A bunch of little cards I had made for him every year since my mother had 'died.' Nostalgia and pain washed over me, drowning me in its nuances and endless sorrow. I gasped for breath as tears sprung forth, searing their way down my face. I wiped them away furiously and slammed the drawer shut. I searched through the towering bookshelf, flipping through book after book. A few romance novels, dozens of music books, and five mystery books on the top shelf. Nothing useful. Suddenly, rage consumed me. I grasped at the books, hurling them at the walls, at the floor.

"Why would you do this?!" I screamed. "Why the hell would you leave me here, all alone, with no idea of who killed you, or why?!" I hurled more books as Dr. Morgan hurried in, ducking to avoid the torrent of falling paperback novels. He bounded forwards and grabbed both of my wrists before I could throw anything else, and I started crying. "Why would he do that? Why? Why couldn't I find out and save him?" I slowly sank to the floor, surrounded by a disarray of music theory textbooks and a distraught medical examiner.

"He was shot," Dr. Morgan said soothingly. "He didn't have a lot of time, and based on the vector of the shot, the bullet killed him on impact. The forensics team found no slug or anything. Clearly, these people don't want to be found." He sighed as I was reduced to a little sobbing heap of rage and fear and hate. "You couldn't have known. They were probably threatening him. He had to have left a clue somewhere. Come on."

It took a while to recover from my breakdown. I had to stop crying, remember how to breathe, and try not to throw up everywhere. We got there, though. Dr. Morgan talked me through it, rambling desperately about everyday life, which made me feel better than any psychological encouragement, or a mental breakdown of my feelings. As I wandered into the living room from the bathroom, I saw the pamphlet for our apartment sitting on the coffee table, and sudden realisation poured over me, as shocking and surprising as a dose of cold water dripping onto your head.

"Dr. Morgan," I said urgently. "He did leave us a clue."