The Secrets Within Pages

Anger and Heat

By the time I reached the doors of the aged care home, hesitance and regret were winning over determination and I began seriously considering turning back. Stepping inside, I meet the receptionist, a podgy woman with a cloud of blonde curls atop her head.

"Can you please direct me to Waylen Chamberlain?" I ask.

"And who might you be to Mr.Chamberlain?" She inquires with a throaty voice.

Searching for a lie, I blurt, "I'm his niece."

"He's been here for a long time and now you visit him? Piss poor niece aren't ya?" She insults with pursed lips and judgemental eyes. "What's your name, darlin'?"

"Eleanor Burroughs." I say, praying this interaction hastens.

Clanking on the keyboard, she hands me a visitor label that reads 'Emily Bubbles'. I throw her an unamused look, "Really?" I say, flatly.

"Room 20, Miss Bubbles. Can I help with anything else?" She replies with a smirk.

I return the smirk before I move towards room 20. It was a large, luxurious building. Only those of wealth could afford it here. High ceilings and large windows that filter in warm sunlight, lavish furniture in all rooms including main lounges and bedrooms. Clusters of elders sat and played cards or bingo, some in pairs drinking tea or reading, spending their time together.

Until, I reached room 20. Lightly, I knock on the door. "I've been fed, Clarissa. Leave." A gruff voice orders.

"It's Eleanor, Mr.Chamberlain. Eleanor Burroughs." I reply.

Silence. One I take as a sign to enter. Hesitantly, I twist the handle to see a dark, dusty room. Only a bed in the middle, a door near it, no doubt a bathroom. In the corner, atop a vanity with a shattered mirror, is a tray of untouched food. "What do you want, girl?" A low voice grumbles, there in front of a large window sits Chamberlain in his wheelchair, staring outside through the little slit the heavy curtains offer.

"Dalal is dead." I tell him, expecting he knows.

"What do I care of that fool?" He says, monotone. Still staring ahead.

"You may not care about him but perhaps for yourself. Dalal's death means that the killer is still out there, roaming somewhere and you match his victim MO." I explain, trying to advance his stubbornness.

"Death would be a mercy." He divulges in a quiet voice.

"An enlightened man like yourself wouldn't be living like this, wouldn't let his life completely pass him by because of a tragedy." I respond, slowly walking up to him but keeping a respectable distance. His privacy and space are clearly very important to him.

"When the tragedy is attached to you, a constant reminder of everything you've lost. Even the most enlightened individual would fall." He proclaimed, his words laced with nothingness.

"Doing this to yourself must be the biggest tragedy of all and the biggest loss for those who can benefit from your knowledge, from the things you could do." I profess.

He doesn't say anything for a moment.

"I know your type, Miss.Burroughs. Overachiever, hates to lose, competitive, ambitious, but if I've learnt anything in my years of solitude and dismay is that as much as it is your asset, it will be your demise. You will search far and wide, high and low, go to such lengths but everywhere you look it will never be enough, you will never find your answer because life is cruel and barbaric and you'll endure it until death comes and takes you. Now, leave me be you incessant girl!" He bellows, the sound rumbling through the walls and the ground, immobilising me.