13. Zola
Chapter 13
Zola
I t took a while for my heart to calm down after I had shut the door. My father’s housekeeper had sensibly cleared out the fridge and pantry so I had no choice but to order a takeout.
I leaned against the solid wooden door, hoping that a bullet wouldn’t pass through. But the windows on the other walls in the entrance were a constant source of worry to me.
In short, at this point, I was convinced the escape space underneath my father’s desk was where would be best for me to hide, but it had already been discovered. Plus, there was the fact that the shattered window on the day of the murder remained unrepaired and simply covered up with some temporary material.
I was still trembling from fear as I moved towards the kitchen, but then changed my mind and darted up the stairs leaving all the lights on. I went straight to my father’s room as his windows faced the front of the house and I could have a better view of the house entrance. I switched on the bathroom light and left the door open to illuminate the room. I didn’t need any attackers knowing exactly what room I was in.
I thought I would be too terrified to stay in my father’s room, but being in my own room was for some reason even more terrifying. Through all of my years of growing up, I’d always run here to Papa’s room even when he was at work and physically unavailable.
I settled down on the floor with my extra cheese, extra pepperoni pizza, and my father’s familiar smells surrounding me. His scent somewhat calmed me and I opened the box and began to eat, but I realized everything tasted of nothing. I stood and darted over to the study on the top floor.
There was a little wine rack there. I could still remember evenings full of laughter with my father and mother as they shared a bottle. The memory was heartbreaking.
I found a bottle of my father’s favorite wine and returned to his room. Locking the door behind me once again, I uncorked the bottle and filled my glass all the way to the top.
“This is for you, Papa,” I whispered, raising the glass.
The first sip brought tears to my eyes. I bit my lip to stop myself from crying then I downed half the glass in one go. I took a bite of pizza and watched the news with the volume turned all the way down. I must have been on my third glass when breaking news on my father’s case was suddenly announced.
The news stated the informant who had not turned up for his meeting with my father had been found dead in a motel room a few miles away from the city.
“How horribly cruel the world is,” I murmured, but my words were slurred.
I drained my glass once again, knocked it aside, and grabbed the bottle instead.
I knew I shouldn’t get drunk since I had to remain alert, and I didn’t think I was yet, but all the strength did seem to have seeped out of my body. I could no longer sit upright so I laid down on the floor and continued to drink. But the wine spilled down my face and at first, I cursed, but then I began to laugh.
I laughed so hard that I began to cry. The more I laughed, the more I cried.
“What’s so funny?” a rich, deep voice asked from the doorway, causing my heart to almost leap out of my body.