Mystery of Thomas and Daisy Unveiled
A reclusive man’s daily walks with his beagle hide a heartbreaking secret—until a curious neighbor uncovers the truth.
Mara used to remark that her sister’s problems made her feel as if she was stuck with a hundred splinters. No one was convinced by what she said, whether it was their mother, the school counsellor or the busboys. “No” was her reply. “Only hers.”
Actually, much of that was also false. Mara could not judge what Ava was going through. That wasn’t the case. She was able to tell whenever something tragic took place. She was able to notice it. Sharp. Unavoidable.
She hadn’t experienced that feeling for years, ever since Ava went to college and then the city. There was total silence. The silence seemed to go on forever.
Until Thursday.
That morning, Mara felt like she was being shoved underwater, and her lungs were burning inside her. Her hands felt very cold. A heartbeat missed one moment. Then twice.
She let the bowl of dishes she was drying fall.
Everyone in the kitchen heard a loud shatter.
Ava.
I didn’t hear from her on the phone. She didn’t write a text message. Therefore, Ava packed her things, wrote a note for their mother in the refrigerator, and drove toward the ocean. Her memory of 48 Aster Way was so strong in her mind that it acted like a stubborn tick. The apartment Ava started living in last spring.
Thick fog and a steady flow of her own thoughts accompanied her on the way to the city. What happens if what I said is incorrect? What happens if I reach the conclusion too late? I wonder if she doesn’t want to spend time with me.
As soon as she exited the car, her stomach started churning. She was surprised at how old the building was. Spotted brick and ivy choking the gutters as if it could barely hold on. Off to the side of the entrance stood a police car, not running its lights.
Her feet stepped on the floor without her realizing it. Go up the stairs. We play three people at one time. Apartment 3B.
There was a gap at the top of the door.
The door came open slowly as she pushed it.
The living room was brightly lit, which cast long shadows all over the floor. There was a shoe turned upside down near the window. A lamp that is smashed into pieces. Mara knew from the metallic smell in the air that she was in a hospital where anything could happen.
She reached into her pocket and called for Ava.
A shuffle.
From the bedroom, you can open one of your kitchen doors.
Hearing the sounds, her heart thumped quickly. Every decision she made caught her in a tangle she couldn’t escape.
Ava was lying in the corner with her hands in her lap, a blood trail on her cheek and a distant look in her eyes.
She fell down to the ground.
She whispered, “I could feel it.” I identified with what you went through.
There were no words from Ava that night. Still, she could not help but look at her sister’s watch.
Ava saw Mara reaching out her hand and jumped with fright.
“I’m the one sending this,” Mara said while holding back her tears. “I’m here to help protect you.”
A siren could be heard from the outside world, but the din of the city made it hard to hear clearly.
🜋
Ava opened up three days after her son’s death.
They were inside a hospital room that was scented with bleach and oranges. A therapist stopped by and then left behind several pamphlets for me, much like slick party favours. There was still yellow around Ava’s bruises.
“He was the one,” Ava said. The monotone in her voice was easy to notice. “The man you heard about before.” He made a journey back to us.
Mara did not question her beliefs. She merely bobbed her head in agreement.
She just found it too hard to accept what was happening. I assumed that time in my life was over. I made the move to a different city. I got a new phone number. He found a way to me.
Her fingers found their way into her blanket.
I was unable to act afterwards. I experienced what it would feel like to be underwater. I assumed no one could hear me if I started screaming. Still, I found myself specially sensing you.
Mara blinked. “You did?”
Ava nodded. “Reaching through and touching the country...”
The events were followed by a heavy silence. Holy.
She lived in the city for the rest of January. She stayed on Ava’s sofa, made the tea, filled the fridge with groceries and kept her questions to a minimum. Ava wasn’t able to remember some things as clearly as she wished. The experience of trauma softened the lines. But according to the police, she struggled with her attacker. Hard.
“Deep down, Mara once said, “You’ve always been stronger than I am.”
Ava looked at Gavin as if to say something. That statement is wrong.
They closed the subject there.
🜋
As her time in the apartment ended, Mara stood near the window and looked down at the street. The raindrops hurriedly ran down the windows. The city hummed almost like a mother singing her child to sleep.
While packing a small bag, Ava stood behind him. She told me she was simply returning to her house for some time. Just as long as it took for things to become normal once more. Mara didn’t claim that “normal” was no longer present.
Suddenly, Ava stopped what she was doing.
“Do you still experience that?” she added. When I say I, I’m referring to myself, of course.
Mara turned. “Sometimes. It doesn’t happen all the time. However, that night, it felt as though I couldn’t breathe.
Ava drifted the hand of her chin slowly. It could be more than the pain itself.
Mara frowned. “What do you want to say?”
Ava’s eyes were brighter and clearer than they had seemed to her in weeks. “It could be a way humans protect themselves.” A tether. One of us always recognizes when the other needs to be ‘pulled out.’
The following morning, they made the journey home in the same car.
🜋
Months passed. Seasons turned.
Sleep brought nightmares, but Ava was able to cope better now. She went for many walks every day. She made another painting. She also picked up the phone to have conversations with her old friends.
One day, Mara was working through boxes in the attic when she suddenly gasped and released a snow globe that had been in her hands since childhood.
It fell apart on the wooden floor.
Her respirations grew faster.
Ava.
She ran toward the stairs and went downstairs.
