When Annalise Mitchell is struck with the reality of losing someone that means a lot to her, everything comes crashing down. West Darryls had always been there, and knowing that she'd never see him again kills her.
There's nothing she can do about...
"because you don't get lucky twice and that's the truth."
***
A rush of adrenaline races through my veins by the time Ocean and Xander stand by the doorway. I'm way over my head that I can't even remember who called them. Was it Dylan or me? Wait, what even are we talking about?
"What's with the mess?" Xander asks. Yes, the confetti-like mess on the floor. The envelopes. That's what this is about. Everything is coming back to me now.
Dylan looks at me. We both say nothing, the shuffles of our shoes being the only sound filling the air. What are you supposed to say after finding out a bunch of very mysterious envelopes with your birthdays on its corners, wrapped inside some old t-shirt and hidden at the back of an amplifier that you thought was thrown out until like 5 minutes ago? Do you start with an opening liner to ease the tension? Or do you drop everything all at once?
When Ocean walks closer, I find my voice. "No, wait!"
All eyes are on me.
"Okay," I sigh, getting up and picking up the envelopes from Dylan. "I don't really know how else to say this but, we found these inside the amp."
"That one?" Ocean asks. "But didn't he throw it out?"
"Exactly," Dylan says. He stands next to me and the tension is thicker than ever in the room. "They were inside that old shirt," he points at it, "and the little papers fell out when I unwrapped it. There's nothing on them. But these envelopes were in the middle."
"Four of them," I state, as a matter of fact, gesturing for Ocean to come closer. She gasps when noticing the numbers, recognising them immediately. I give her one with her date on it. The hesitation is visible in her eyes, but she takes it eventually. If she'd been the one carrying the envelopes, I wonder if that same look would be in my eyes. After getting better, or attempting to, it feels risky to take something that can potentially ruin it. I'm pretty sure whatever's inside these envelopes holds that ability. Bittersweet, bittersweet.
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Xander is still standing by the door. He hasn't moved at all or said anything. I think of our little reminiscing moment earlier today downstairs and my worry about him comes back.
"What else were in that amp?" he finally speaks up, voice clear and determined. Then, he makes his way toward us. We're now in a circle—three of the envelopes still in my hands, right on the centre. Xander sees the numbers, too.
"Just a wire for the guitar," Dylan answers. "Look, obviously these are for us. But," he pauses, "Why?"
"Let's not overthink it," I say. "West was West. He was unpredictable, creative and all the things in between. I mean, he was always talking about wanting to be remembered, right?"
