27. Shine on You Crazy Diamond

27

SHINE ON YOU CRAZY DIAMOND

DAISY

I'm on my way to Dr. Beaumont's practice, driving my gorgeous, shiny cherry red Chevrolet Monte Carlo. I love this car. Dad gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday, and every day I get to drive in it is a privilege.

Wind filters in through the open side window, and I let it blow through my hair with a smile on my face.

Only one more day…

Lester and I kissed last night, and it was incredible. It was unlike anything I have ever felt before. It was overwhelming, and each time I think about his lips on mine, the butterflies start flying around again inside my belly.

When I reach the parking lot, I park next to Dr. Beaumont's car and get inside the building. Usually, I see him later in the day, but due to one of my teachers being absent at school I rescheduled my appointment to this morning. Lester's class starts at eleven, so I have two hours until then.

My heels clack as I walk through the hallway on the freshly polished floors, and when I reach the waiting room, I notice that his door is slightly open. Slowly pushing it wider, I call out for him. "Dr. Beaumont?"

I get no answer, so I push it open even further before I step inside.

My voice shrieks before my mind has time to process what I'm seeing. It filters loudly through the air, echoing through the empty room. My hand moves over my mouth to suppress my panic and I feel my heart pounding in my throat.

There, on the desk… is Dr. Beaumont. Lifeless, with blood all around him. Glancing at the white wall beside him, I notice that his brain is splattered all over it like a macabre painting.

When I get closer, I notice a suicide note next to his head on the desk, scribbled full of shaky words. But there is no way, absolutely no way that Dr. Beaumont would ever kill himself.

I don't even have to think too hard. I know who did this.

And he did it for me .

Oh, fuck. Holy shit …

My lip curls up into a smile, and I have to bite my bottom one to suppress it. My hand moves over my heart to try to stop it from beating so fast.

A feeling of indescribable love overwhelms me. Maybe a bit of arousal, too.

Lester killed him for me. Because I let it slip that he fucked me.

A declaration of love if I've ever seen one. He cares about me enough to kill for me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sad that Dr. Beaumont is dead. Despite our odd arrangement, he did help me. He was a good therapist, but he was just a man, too.

And now he's dead.

A large pool of blood has formed on the floor and more drips of the bright red substance add to it every few seconds. I put my finger against his neck to feel his body temperature, and he's still a little warm. I don't think he's been dead for long.

Cupid's arrow has been stuck inside my heart since the first time I laid eyes on Mr. Gilbert, and I didn't think it could feel more overwhelming than it already did.

Turns out I was wrong.

Oh, Professor Gilbert… you have lost your mind over me.

Just like I planned.

"Just got a few new ones in that you might like," Bobbie, the record store owner, says as he hands me a box of new albums.

I love Bobbie. He's like a fun uncle to me.

"Thanks!" I squeak, already excited to sort through these. "How are you, Bobbie? Still having trouble with your lady?"

Grinning, he shakes his head, his brown, curly hair swaying from the movement. He rolls up the sleeves of his colorful blouse, the pointy collar resting on his shoulders reminding me of a gangster wannabe. It makes me smile. He's always been silly-looking, with his too-happy face, chubby cheeks and all. "That's life, honey. Only happens when she's off her meds. But I gotta be honest―I like her best that way. We work best when she's crazy."

"Didn't she stab you once when she was off them?" I arch an eyebrow and tilt my head.

He waves a hand. "Ain't nothing the doctor can't fix. She never hits me in any lethal places."

I chuckle and the bell rings when another customer comes in. I take that as my cue to disappear into the back.

This store is one of my favorite places in the entire world. I always come here to unwind, and Bobbie always lets me sit in the backroom for hours, listening to records with headphones on. It's off-limits for anyone but me and his staff.

After I called the police upon finding Dr. Beaumont's dead body, my parents were notified and refused to let me go back to school. I unfortunately had to miss Lester's class. Mom was hysterical and babied me until I could barely breathe. Dad had one of his famous heart-to-hearts with me about death, and when they finally left me alone, I escaped out of my bedroom window and came here on my roller-skates.

I get that they're worried, but they acted like I had never seen a dead body before. It was like they totally forgot about the night I stared death straight in the face with a bloodied knife in my hand.

Swallowing, I force those thoughts away. I'm not in the mood to bring up old memories.

Aside from finding the corpse of the man I've seen twice a week for over three years now, it seems to be my lucky day when I hold the new Pink Floyd album in my hands― Wish You Were Here. My fingers trail over the cover of the two men shaking hands, and I smile when I put the record down on the turntable. Placing the needle in the crack, then putting the headphones on, I lean back in the special chair Bobbie put here just for me and let the music take me away.

He even got me a fluffy blanket and a pink pillow. He's the best.

Aside from Lester and art, music is also one of my true loves. I would not be able to breathe without it.

The first sequence of Shine on You Crazy Diamond plays, and I close my eyes as I let it overtake me. Everything going on in my life disappears as I fall into the abyss the song creates.

Good music will do that to you.

I stay that way until the entire album finishes, then return to reality. Looking at the clock, I see it's time to go. Dad went to the city for work after our talk, and I told Mom that I wanted to take a nap. She probably has already noticed that I left, but I'd rather skip the argument in case she didn't.

Besides, I'm eighteen now, and living in a dorm room at the university. They can't really tell me where I can and can't go anymore. I only humored them because they were so freaked out. Mom was already stressed before the whole thing with Dr. Beaumont happened anyway. There's an award show tomorrow, and she's been nominated for Book of the Year. We're attending the gala, all three of us along with Uncle Abe.

She's a nervous wreck, because we keep telling her that she's going to win and she's terrified of going up on the stage to give a speech. She's being dramatic. She has won multiple awards over the years for her novels, so you'd think she'd be used to it by now.

By the time I've climbed back into my window with a large bag full of new albums in hand, she's sitting on my bed, watching me.

"Sorry." I sigh defeatedly. "I was going crazy sitting in this room. I'm not like you, Mom. I need to go outside in order to deal with things."

She doesn't reply to that, instead patting the mattress for me to join her. "Show me the new albums you got."

I smile, then plop down beside her and show her everything.

"Little brute, we need to go. We're going to be late," Dad calls out into the hallway upstairs.

"Ugh! Bloody hell!" Mom yells. "I can't get this fucking eyelash to stay on! We can't go yet! I look like a mess!"

I meet eyes with Dad, and the corner of his lip curls up before he goes to the bedroom to find Mom. He's dressed in a fine black suit and tie, with a white blouse underneath. His dark brown hair is combed into style, and he's freshly shaven.

I watch my parents through the crack of the door as I lean against the banisters of the stairs. I've been ready to go for over fifteen minutes now.

He holds up his hand. "Give them to me. I'll put them on for you."

She lets her shoulders slump, then does as he says. "I swear there is something wrong with this glue. I'm going back to the store tomorrow and tell them they need to stock better products!"

"No, you won't, mo chreach bheag. Haven't we been through this a million times before? You just get a little cranky on nights like these. Before you know it, we'll be back in bed, and you'll have one more trophy to display in the living room. Just sit back and hand me the tweezers."

She growls irritatedly and crosses her arms. "I hate it when you're so calm. You fucking know-it-all."

"I know, I know," he coaxes, putting some glue on the fake lashes and blowing to let them dry. He puts his hand on her forehead to tip it backward and she closes her eyes. He sticks them on with precision, using the tweezers as if he's a pro at the beauty salon. I guess he kind of is a pro after dealing with my mom for over twenty years.

"See? Nothing to worry about," he says calmly, squeezing her shoulder.

"Ah!" she squeaks, admiring herself in the mirror with a smile. "Thank you, Dubhie." She stands up, then twirls around in her champagne-colored silk dress, the fabric draped over her body with beautiful pleats. "How do I look?"

Dad takes a step back, looking her over from head to toe. "As beautiful as the first time I saw you."

We make it to the venue in time, and we're seated at a round table with a few other guests. The award show is inside a classic theatre, with high ceilings with beautiful paintings. The place is filled with people in rich and fancy attire, and it's loud with all the conversations between guests mixed with music blaring through the room. Until the host eventually enters on the stage and tells everyone to quiet down because the show is about to start.

Mom is nervously sipping her champagne and Dad holds her hand, his fingers brushing over her skin to soothe her. We watch as multiple awards are presented to different authors until it's time for the last and most important category―Book of the Year.

"It is a privilege and an honor to announce this year's winner, Mrs. Lucille Burton. For her novel The Mephistopheles in White ."

As soon as Mom's name is called into the microphone, everyone rises and claps with enthusiasm. Each of us gives Mom a hug before she walks to the stage. The host hands her a shiny golden trophy and she shakes his hand happily as she thanks him.

Dad, Uncle Abe and I are all chanting loudly, which puts an even wider smile on her red-painted lips. Once the crowd and we settle down, she speaks into the mic. "Oh my goodness," she chokes out nervously.

It's always fifty-fifty for her―on the one side, she absolutely loves it when she wins and gets appreciation for her books, and on the other side, she would rather sink into the ground than talk on a stage while hundreds of people watch her.

My mother is not shy by any means, but that's the problem. There have been quite a few times where she shocked the crowd by saying something inappropriate. So her nervousness is mostly from trying to overthink ever single word that comes out of her mouth.

"Writing a book can be a pain in the ass," she starts. The three of us burst out into laughter as soon as the sentence leaves her mouth, then cough loudly to mask it. "Writing used to be an escape for me," she continues. "But it hasn't been that way for a very long time. I write because I simply just adore it and I think some stories deserve to be told. When I was a young woman, I could never envision a life for myself outside of doing what a woman is supposedly made for. Cook, do the dishes, and shit out a couple of kids."

She clears her throat. "It was how it was, and how it still is for a lot of us. So when a woman wins an award like this―in this case, me―the impact is great. I believe it has the ability to change lives."

Dad slips his arm around my shoulder and pulls me close to him, watching her with pride.

"I would like to use this opportunity to thank the people closest to me, so I can get off this damn stage and celebrate." The crowd laughs and she continues. "Starting with my incredible husband, my Dubhie. I will never forget the words he spoke to me when I told him about the idea I had for my second novel, Killing Freedom. He told me, ‘You have changed the world once with your words, Lucille. You've changed my world. You could do it again.' And every time there's even a sliver of doubt in my mind if what I do is good enough, I hear his voice."

She pauses, locking eyes with Dad. When I look up at him, his eyes are shiny.

Awh. He's just a big old softie at heart.

"I couldn't have done it without you. You have given me everything. You're the only one who has ever made me feel the butterflies like in the movies and the novels. There has not been a single day that I haven't felt lucky." She sighs, then tears her eyes away. "Anyway, before I get all sappy and make you all jealous, I'm moving on."

She looks at me then. "I want to thank my beautiful, artistic daughter. You're going to do great things in this world, and I hope by being on this stage right now I can show you that you can do anything you put your mind to, even as a woman. You're a lady now, but you'll always be my baby. I love you."

I mouth the words I love you, too and blow her an air kiss.

"I want to thank my dear friend and manager, Abel Abernathy. You are the best friend I have ever had and I adore you. Without you to manage me, I could have never released over twenty-five books and counting. You have been my rock, a true friend that I can always lean on and have the best of fun with. I couldn't live without our tea parties."

I look beside me, seeing Uncle Abe chuckle at the last sentence. He squeezes his eyes with a nod, showing her his appreciation.

"Thank you for being in my life." She smiles. "And finally, I have to thank the person who started it all, who took a chance on me when I came to him with my tail between my legs and a manuscript full of spelling errors, almost twenty-five years ago. Edward Jameson from Jameson Publishing. It hurts me greatly to say that he is no longer with us." She gives a curt nod. "Thank you all."

When all is said and done, we stay until the afterparty simmers out and they drop me off at my dorm. My parents asked me to stay at the house, but I told them I'm meeting up with a friend from school tomorrow morning, so it's better to stay there. They luckily didn't insist, and I think that part of them was maybe even happy that I'm not going home with them, because they're surely going to be at it like animals all night.

Ugh. Gross.

I'm not staying at the dorm, though. It's Friday, and that means only one thing.

Lester Gilbert is going to rock my world tonight.