A sharp knock shot me awake from my not-so-enjoyable sleep.
I rubbed my eyes and sat up on my bed, slightly irritated but relieved that I'd actually wanted to sit on my bed for a change. I stared at the door, waiting expectantly for the voice behind it to try and convince me to leave my room.
"Hey," the voice cooed, "it's Uncle Chris."
I shook my head. Who else could it have been?
"Today I'm not going to tell you to come out. Just have a few things to tell you."
He paused, waiting for a reply when I would've said,
"You need to finish up your high school application process. You're not even decided. I'm still leaving you with the choice: Chrome's or Hilton?"
"Fine, I'll pick for you then," he said. "Also, about your dad…"
A surge of hope struck my heart. I opened my ears wide.
"I'm sorry, dear. It's just—the police. They got no leads. It's like he just… disappeared."
I fell back on my bed and clutched my pillow, willing myself not to cry.
Don't cry—he's fine. Dad's fine.
It seemed my uncle could sense the state I was in, and he decided to keep quiet for a while.
This silence went on for minutes till I assumed he'd left.
Then the voice came again.
"Amaryllis… I got a call. Tommorow's the—"
He exhaled.
"Tommorow's your friend's funeral," he spat out.
He quietly said, "If you want, you could skip it. You don't have to—"
"I'm going," I interrupted.
"So I'll call them and say you can't make it—wait, you wanna go?"
I could see him smiling in my mind.
"I'll make the necessary preparations. I'm on it, Amary."
Nostalgia hit me like a log.
I'm on it.
Dad used to say that a lot.
Then I just couldn't hold it anymore.
I dove into my pillow and cried my eyes out.
Why? Why was this happening to me?!
I lost Sanchi in the worst way possible; he'd been killed right in front of me.
More tears flowed as I remembered when I woke up in the police station—cops all in my face, surrounding me with questions.
One had the audacity to claim that Sanchi had killed himself.
I shouted at him in anger and told them what really happened as I cried.
Then came the shattering scene of a female officer showing me a laptop with video footage at the Teru House.
I watched intently as it displayed Sanchi stabbing himself with a kitchen knife.
I lunged at her, demanding the real footage.
I was pushed back immediately, and she had the guts to tell me,
"Maybe you were just imagining things, sweetie."
That was when I snapped.
I threw all the insults and curse words I'd heard from Dad all over her, and she looked at me in shock.
"It was not easy seeing your friend die in front of you. I understand…"
"You don't understand anything, bitch! I TOLD YOU! A monster killed him!"
Before my wrath could escalate, I was immediately put in a police car and driven straight home.
I'd cried the whole journey; my cheeks swelled with tears.
But I knew something was wrong immediately when I saw my front door opened ajar.
Before the car door was fully opened, I had already squirmed my way out and rushed to the door.
"Dad!" I screamed once I entered the house.
I heard the buzz of the TV. It was still on.
I ran upstairs and searched everywhere: the bathroom, his room, his study.
He was nowhere to be found.
I ran down the stairs and saw the grim looks on the policemen downstairs.
"Miss Ochika," one of them said, "we found a note on the dining table. It says—'Trust Cooper. I'm in trouble.'"
"Miss Ochika," he continued. "We think your father's gone missing."
Few days later I was on the next train to the countryside. My uncle Chris lived there. He had immediately called for me once he got wind that his older brother had gone missing.
I had seen him only twice in my life; once at his wedding and the other at a certain family gathering where he'd gotten into a heated argument with my dad.
I hadn't heard from him in more than seven years, and now he was going to be my legal guardian.
His smiling face was waiting for me once I got down from the train. I was surprised I still remembered how he looked; tall, with tanned skin.
Dad always complained about how his younger brother looked more mature than he did.
Christopher Ochika was a lecturer in a popular university and had a nice, simple life.
I remembered his wife, a beautiful young lady with dimples.
I had never met his daughter.
Apparently, from what Dad told me, they'd gotten divorced and she had moved upstate with their daughter.
He didn't say a word in the car on our way to his house and I was relieved.
I was in no mood to speak to anyone.
Once we got to his home the smell of freshly-cut grass and dog fur welcomed me.
He showed me my room and I sent my luggage inside and slumped on my bed. I couldn't bring myself to pack my stuff in his daughter's room.
That was when the memories came flooding back.
Sanchi's death.
The police report.
Dad missing.
"Why is all this happening to me?" I whimpered, hiding my face in the mattress.
My intrusive thoughts kept me awake through the night, slowly missing my calls with Sanchi.
I never mustered the strength to leave the room, and I stayed there for months; from August through September and October, and only got down from my bed to go to the bathroom, which was in my room.
Uncle Chris dropped me food at my door and always spoke to me through the door, trying to get me to come out, but soon he gave up; advising me to lock my door when he left for work.
I killed time reading and sleeping and occasionally trying to figure out what the hell happened on August 27th, my last birthday, but all my thoughts converged to one statement:
"Trust Cooper. I'm in trouble."
It took me days to realise that he'd actually written Cooper, not Copper.
I knew it meant something serious as it was the best handwriting I could get from him.
I was forced to ask my uncle about it one day; that was in September.
He claimed he didn't know anyone with that name, and assured it was one of Dad's many friends.
I immediately checked them out; Dad secretly despised his friends, and I don't think my dad would've wanted me to trust any of them.
It sometimes crossed my mind that he was a friend of my mom. (Cooper's a guy's name, right?) and that left me nowhere.
I didn't know anything about my mother; not her family or her hobbies.
I didn't even know how she looked like.
Dad was always been up his game in hiding her pictures.
I was only left with some of her books, and her name; Grace Seton.
I soon cleared thoughts of my mother and focused on Dad.
I still had hope to see him again.
Unfortunately, my hope couldn't still get me out of my room.
But I'd decided.
I was going for the funeral.
Dad would've made me go, and I could use this as an opportunity to go out and see how the Halloween preparations were coming up.
"Yeah, that would be nice," I mumbled and grabbed the book which was under my bed.
I would have to face everything tomorrow, and wondered what it had to offer.