Well, well, here we are – another chapter! Who would have thought? As attentive readers might have noticed, the posting schedule of this book has so far been, erm, sporadic. Thanks to those who are still sticking around, I greatly appreciate it! I write for my own pleasure, above all (or should I say sanity?), but I do hope to lead this story to an end. The next chapter is finished too. So, without further ado:
Honeybee
Taking the steps in one fluid leap, Joe knocked on the lawyer's door. He stepped back, then, looking at his visibly trembling hands, stuck them in his pockets. Realizing how crude that must look he folded them behind his back instead – but they didn't stay there long. Soon they were running through his hair, trying to tame the blond locks the rain had ravaged.
Inside, he could hear footsteps quickly descending a staircase. His breath hitched in his throat as the door swung open revealing…
"Frank!" Joe breathed out. Frozen to the spot, he watched the colour drain from his brother's face. Just as it reached a pallor so ghastly Joe was sure he would faint, an arm stretched out and glided across his face, tracing the lines there. The next moment, Joe found himself enveloped in a crushing embrace. If he had remembered to breath the last couple of minutes, which, judging by his dizziness he hadn't, all air was definitely out of his lungs by now.
"Oh my god Joe", Frank rasped into his shoulder, "is it really you?"
"I believe it is, big brother, I believe it is."
"Please, just make yourself feel at home. There are more pillows over there if you need, you see them? Just give me a second, I'll get us something."
Joe sat in the sofa, watching a flustered-looking Frank rummage the kitchen. Placing a plate of cookies on the table, he asked whether his guest wanted coffee or tea. Joe was about to answer, when suddenly Frank blushed, a small smile playing across his lips. "No, excuse me. You want soda, of course." A moment later he was back, carrying two cans.
Finally settling down into an armchair opposite his brother, Frank cleared his throat. "So," he said, "how can this be? Am I dreaming?" The question was asked in earnest.
"I just couldn't make myself believe you were dead," Joe said as way of answering.
Frank threw up his hands. "That doesn't explain anything! You were on the suspected-dead- lists! And believe me, I looked for you everywhere. Everywhere, Joe. Spent two months doing nothing else at all than looking…" He trailed off.
"Well. First of all, it clearly takes more time than that to find someone. Look at me! Took me nothing short of seven years to get my ass into your expensive-looking leather-sofa, and I am quite the bloodhound, if I may say so myself." Joe studied the furniture, grinning. Sobering up, he continued, "the first two months I wasn't really… alert, I guess. Had a pretty bad head injury and couldn't remember anything. Not enough, in any case, to understand I was missing.
After the terrorist attack, the hospitals were overcrowded. Some merciful souls took me into their home, but they lived too far off to hear about the order to evacuate all tourists… and besides, they didn't know a word of English. So then, I stayed. Until things came back to me." Joe paused, his eyes taking on a far-away look. "When I did come back, I couldn't find you on the list of casualties. But as it turned out, I couldn't find you anywhere else either. Frank Hardy seemed to have slipped off the face of earth, and I knew there was nothing else for me to do than come to terms with your", he faltered, "your death. But I couldn't, Frank. I simply couldn't. And here you are – I do believe. Franklin Johnson, huh? British lawyer? You have a few details to enlighten me on too, you know."
Frank ran a hand across his face. He was looking unnaturally pale still. There were dark smudges beneath the mild-looking brown eyes Joe had missed so terribly the last seven years. There were lines in his face that hadn't been there before, too. Frank looked more like… like what, exactly? Then it hit him. He looked more like their father. More like Fenton. A familiar lump formed in the back of Joe's throat.
"They told me you were all dead." Frank's monotone voice snapped Joe out of his train of thoughts. "They bought me home and I stayed with Chet for a couple of months, looking for you, hoping…" he cut himself off. "But there was clearly nothing whatsoever to hope for and so I moved."
Frank's mouth snapped shut. His eyes, now cold, was firmly fixed on the spotless carpet. "Take a cookie if you want," he added in the same clipped voice.
Joe instinctively stretched out his hand to obey, but retreated it again when he realized he wasn't at all hungry. The sudden change in Frank's demeanour scared him. "I understand that," he said softly. "Not being able to stay in Bayport. I couldn't bear to go there myself either. Not without you. To meet all those people again, but having the most important pieces missing – a constant reminder of what is lost. And people everywhere to see you, pity you, try to understand the unfathomable…"
The brown gaze raised itself from the carpet, softening. A mist seemed to suddenly cloud them, but it only made them sparkle all the brighter. "You understand it, then. Oh Joe, how could I not have known you were alive?" The older brother paused, shaking his head sadly. "No, it's not that I didn't feel it. I just couldn't bear to hope, it would have killed me. I don't think I've been alive these past seven years."
"Splittery splatt, one dead cat. Drop, drop rain, one is hit by a train. Drizzly, dribbly, drobbely, drap, and in the heart a stab!"
Lucia walked slowly down the street, humming to herself. She had learned that rhyme from her nanny, before she could even read. Oh yes, old nanny Eve. Such a wrinkled little sour thing, hundred years old at least. Certainly stone dead by now! Lucia laughed out loud at that, throwing her head back. The rain whipped wildly across her face.
She was cold, she had to admit that. But after the thing with Dan, she hadn't wanted to go back, even just to fetch her jacket. To bloody hell with it all! Dan had been so smitten with her before, was she not pretty anymore? Lucia turned to look at her reflection in an unlit window. Only a bleak shadow looked back. She noted the white skin against a dress coloured blood-red by the falling rain, but any remaining details was whisked out. Maybe there was nothing else to see.
"Little Laura, look at me, little Laura honeybee. Did you perform the obsequy? Little Laura honeybee. For who, for who? Turn and flee, little Laura honeybee. Find the linden tree, little Laura honeybee, fly to the locust tree, there you'll find the killer bee! Little Laura honeybee."
There it was, their house. Lucia noted with just a hint of satisfaction the faint streak of light floating from their bedroom window. He had waited up for her, then. Not that Frank ever went to sleep without her – he wouldn't dare! – but she was still relieved, somehow. He would take care of her. "Little Laura, look at me, little Laura honeybee."
She walked up the staircase and rang the bell. Not that the door was locked, but it was better this way. Frank would see how wet she was and help her upstairs. How tired she was. He would feel sorry for her. "Little Laura honeybee, did you perform the obsequy?"
There was a shuffling sound from within. No footsteps down the staircase. Hadn't Frank been in their bedroom waiting, as per usual? Already, she felt anger rise. Why could he never do what she wanted him to! Never once in their life!
The door swung open, revealing her fiancé's pale face. He looked sick, she realised. Quickly, he gave her the onceover, taking in the soaking dress and missing jacket. "Why didn't you take a cab?" he asked simply.
"Oh Frank, my legs hurt," she whimpered, putting her arms over his neck. She tried to steal a kiss, but he turned his head away. "What Frank? Don't you love me?" He didn't even meet her gaze!
"I have a visitor I'd like you to meet," Frank replied softly, removing her hands. The surge of anger deep in her stomach caught Lucia by surprise – almost. "A visitor? Franklin Johnson, you do remember what we talked about, don't you? I do not want visitors flooding my house when I am not home! And I certainly do not wish to meet any of your pathetic friends at two o'clock in the middle of the damn night!"
"Shh, darling," Frank put his hands around her, stroking her hair lightly. "I know, and I truly am sorry. I didn't plan for this. He just came, out of the blue." She wasn't sure if she was talking to her anymore when he continued in the softest of whispers, "After seven years, he finally came. And you know what? I think… I think he's still my brother."