Chapter forty-four – Those Were The Days

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-November 21, 1987-

After the romantic evening with Michael last week, things have actually seemed to improve a little. Overall we've worried less about Marco; we've realised that whether we worry or not, he'll either return or he won't. We can't stop anything from happening just by worrying.

We've still heard nothing from the police, of course. Perhaps they've been talking to Reiss rather than Michael or myself – but then, they would tell us, as well. They've told us everything so far, in all fairness.

Reiss mentioned something about himself and Clover going grocery shopping today – meaning father will be alone. I'm thinking of going to pay him a visit later on, so that he doesn't feel so lonely. It's been a few days since I saw him, anyway.

Michael has gone out grocery shopping too; perhaps he'll find Reiss and Clover along the way. He offered to go for us because I spoke about going to see father. I would have suggested for Michael to come with me, but we're almost out of food in the house – and we kind of need to eat, after all.

With nothing to do, I decide to call father, to give him a warning that I'm coming over. Heading into the hallway, I take the phone from its hook, before dialling dad's number. It rings a few times, before I hear him pick up the phone.

"Hello?" his adorable voice greets uncertainly.

"Daddy, it's Citria," I inform him, so he doesn't panic about it being a stranger.

"Oh, hello darling," he answers; and just by the tone of his voice, I know he's smiling. "How are you?"

"I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm good too. What's the reason for calling?" His question isn't intimidating, but the choice of wording makes it seem like it is.

"I just wanted to tell you I'm coming over later to see you," I grin, sitting down on the first step of the staircase. "Would you like that, daddy?"

"Of course I would honey," he assures me. "What time?"

"I don't know ... perhaps about 2:00pm? It depends on when Michael gets back from grocery shopping. I don't want to lock him out of the house by going out." A chuckle accompanies my words.

"Reiss and Clover went grocery shopping too," he reminds me. "Maybe they'll see each other."

"Maybe," I breathe, leaning my head back against the wall by the stairs. It takes a couple moments for me to think of a new conversation topic, but eventually I do. "So, have you been doing much lately? Well, as much as you can do."

"Not really, to be honest, Citria. My mind is mostly stuck on Marco."

"He's in England right now, dad. You're safe for now. And if he ever did come, I'd make sure you're safe. That's a promise from me, to you. I won't let him hurt you. I can promise that."

"I don't trust him," he says nervously. "He's not a nice man."

"I know he isn't. That's why I'm going to keep you safe. We're all going to keep each other safe."

"Why can't he be a nice person?" father asks sadly, his voice muffled a little because of the line.

"I don't know ... He's just a strange, sick, twisted man. The police will find him soon. They just have to check England thoroughly. They know he's there, so they just have to track his passport. It's ... that simple."

It's not that simple at all; I'm just sugarcoating all of this to stop him from worrying as much. In reality, it's the exact opposite – it's more difficult than anything I've experienced in my entire life.

"I hope they find him," he responds. "Because then he'll be safe, and we won't die."

Hearing him say these words with such innocence causes my heart to break. The juxtaposition between the morbid subject, and the childlike manner in which he says the words is just ... chilling; dare I say, haunting.

"That's right, dad ... " I murmur. "We won't die ... "

"I've got to go, Citria. There's someone knocking on the door, and I think it's Reiss and Clover."

"Okay, dad. I'll see you in a little while, okay?"

"Okay. Bye, darling."

He hangs up the phone, causing the beep sound to come from his side of the line. Setting the phone back on its hook, I force myself up from the bottom step, before walking into the living room.

Now that he knows I'm coming, I can just take my time getting ready. Perhaps I'll wait for Michael to get home, rather than leaving whilst he's out. That way, he can just enter the house; if I was at father's when he got back, he would be locked out.

What should I do, now? Perhaps I could draw something. Or maybe, I could read a book. I could also hear music on my WalkMan whilst I wait.

Or maybe I could go outside and do some gardening; I've not done that in forever and a half, it seems. Ah, mine and Michael's phrase ... we've not spoken those words in so long. The phrase is so powerful to me; it sums up how long our relationship will last. Forever and a day isn't long enough, so forever and a half is the way to go. It sounds like a longer time.

Finally deciding to work on the flowers outside, I head out the back door, to the garden. Since Fall started, a lot of leaves have fallen, and the grass is now more orange and brown, than green because of it. The flowers need a little love, too; they're wilting a little.

"What do we have here?" I ask myself, heading over to the shed to grab my watering can. After filling it with water, I sprinkle some of the contents over my flowers, in attempt to liven them up a little.

Then, I catch sight of something I forgot I had: a stone statue of an angel, holding a wooden box. I filled the box with various items when I was only fifteen – ten years ago. It's almost like a time capsule. I've had to resist opening it for so long. Maybe I could open it today?

Slowly approaching the statue, I carefully pull the box from its grasp, blowing the dust away from the top. Sitting down on the brick wall, I ease the box open, finding an array of different things which have withstood the test of time – a decade, to be precise.

The first thing I find is a picture of myself, my father, my mother, and my brother Andre. It's been years since I saw his face; I almost forgot what he looked like. It's so strange knowing that only half of the people in the picture are still alive.

That thought lingers in my mind, as I set the photo down by my side, and look at the next object. This time, it's a teddy bear – and I know the story behind it. When my brother Andre was facing cancer, the hospital he stayed at were selling things to raise money for research. I bought this teddy, and paid double the price it had on the tag, because I was so desperate for Andre to beat the disease. Turns out that didn't work ...

A sad smile tugs at my lips as I set the teddy alongside the photo. My eyes scan the box, finding an envelope. The envelope has the words "To the future Citria" written on the front. Curious as to what fifteen-year-old me wrote all those years ago, I unseal the envelope, before unfolding the paper.

Dear future Citria,

I don't know what life will be like in five years time, or ten years time. I don't know what it'll even be like tomorrow. But I hope it's a good future.

When you read this, you'll probably laugh at me because of how silly I sound, but right now it all makes sense to me. I'll write a prediction of what I think will happen when I'm 25.

First, I think I'm going to have a boyfriend. He's going to be very attractive, and very romantic. He's going to buy me things and make me feel special. He might live far away, or he might live right here in the countryside.

I might have children by then. If I have a boy, I want to call him Andre, after my brother. If it's a girl, I want to call her Tiannah, after my mom.

Maybe I'll be coping okay with Andre's death. I miss him a lot but I know he's happier and safer in Heaven. I wish he would come back....

I'm going to be done with college, and I'll have a job working in Joe's Pottery Place not far from here. I'm going to take pottery classes in college so I can be real good at it.

Maybe I'll be prettier and thinner, too. I don't like how big and ugly I am right now. I want to lose weight, and maybe I'll start wearing makeup to hide my face a little.

That's my guess anyway. See you in ten years!!

Love,

Fifteen year old Citria :)

Reading the letter, I can't help but find amusement in what I've written. I was so naïve for my age, and so childish. Mature in some ways, but immature in others. I obviously didn't realise that life isn't fair by this point. Well, at least I do, now ...

There's not many items left in the box, now. The next thing I lift out is a snow globe, with the Eiffel Tower inside. I remember at age thirteen, we went to Paris, France. Back in 1972, I believe. It was one of the best vacations I ever went on. 1972 was actually the year Andre died, too; he was only aged seven. It breaks my heart knowing how much potential his life had ... and he never got to embrace it.

Sighing softly to myself, I shake the snow globe, watching the snow flutter around the Eiffel Tower. I'd give anything to go back to the days when we were all here together ...

The next item is a pair of laces; I know exactly what they're from. They're from the roller skates I used when we went to the roller discos when we were younger. Those were the days, I must say. Nothing but happy memories came from the roller disco days.

There's only one item left, now ... and it's perhaps the most valuable to me. It's a photo album containing pictures from my birth, to the age of fifteen. Some photos are lovely, whereas others bring back the haunting memories of Andre's disease, and his death. I miss that little guy like crazy ...

A couple tears spill over my lashes as I place everything back in the box. Maybe I can re-open this box in ten years, or perhaps I could create a new one with Michael tomorrow or something. One with a new letter, and new items ... just a whole new box. And then I can open it when I'm thirty-five, and laugh at how naïve I am now.

Just as I'm setting the box back on the statue, I see Michael enter the back garden. He furrows his brows, using his thumb to point behind him. "Cit, you realise someone's calling?"

Drying my tears quickly, I dash towards the house, entering the kitchen. "Sorry, Michael. I'll get it." Arriving at the phone, I take it off the hook, placing it to my ear. "Hello?"

"I've tried calling you, darling." It's father's voice on the other side.

"Daddy, why are you calling me again? I'm coming to see you soon; Michael just got back from the grocery store."

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm not worrying about Marco any more," he assures me, almost sounding happy.

"Well ... that's great. But how come you've changed your mind about that so quickly?"

His breathing seems slower and more relaxed than I'm used to hearing. "Because he's changed, Citria. He's changed, and he's a nice man again ... "

Confusion takes over me, as Michael comes into the hallway. He mouths, "What's happening?", but I dismiss him momentarily by swatting the air in front of me, and smiling politely so he doesn't get mad.

"He's a nice man? He's changed? Dad, I think you're getting confused. What are you talking about?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows lightly. As I look up at Michael, I realise his expression matches mine.

"He just came over and apologised for everything ... He was the person at the door, not Reiss and Clover ... He did barge his way in, but he apologised for that, as well ... "

My eyes widen as I hear these words. "Daddy, I thought Marco was in England! He's in England, right? Of course he's in England!"

"No ... He's in America, and he came to my house. He was very nice to me ... and he apologised to me ... and he told me how much he regretted everything he's ever done ... "

"Dad, you don't trust him, do you? You can't honestly say you trust him after everything he's done to us?" A strange feeling starts to tense my stomach up; Michael watches with a concerned eye as I converse further with father.

"But he hugged me, Citria ... He said he missed the days when we were younger ... and he made me coffee before he left ... "

"He made you coffee," I repeat monotonously, more for my benefit than his. "Dad, has he gone, now? Do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, he left sweetheart. He went about five minutes ago ... After he gave me my medication ... So, so helpful."

"Medication?" I repeat, a little more worried than before. "Dad, how much medication did he give you?"

"Well, he gave me quite a few pills, and some medicine in a bottle. The pills looked different to my normal ones, though."

My breathing shallows as he answers; I know exactly what Marco has done. I knew this would happen; I feel like the worst daughter to ever exist.

"Daddy, I'm coming to see you now. Don't move, and don't do anything. Just drink as much water as you can. Just ... I don't know. I'm coming over!" Panic consumes me as I hang up the phone, tears forming in my eyes. I grab Michael's arm as I rush out the door, not even caring about locking it behind me.

"What's going on?" Michael asks anxiously, trying to catch up with me. I'm running faster than I've ever ran in the fields.

"Marco has given dad some kind of pills; I need to get there and make sure he's okay!" I call over my shoulder, running even faster than before.

Nothing can describe the fear I'm feeling right now. If Marco has overdosed my father, he's going to die. My father is the only immediate family I have left; if I lose him, I have almost nothing more to live for.

It takes a few minutes, but I eventually arrive at father's house. Tears sting my eyes as I rush to unlock the door, and I barge into the house, and open the door.

"Daddy!" is all I cry, running over to him, and sitting by his side.

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Cliffhanger! Will Citria's father be alright? Has Marco done something terrible, or has he done this out of love?
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)