A Bittersweet Life (1st draft)

Chapter 8

The Clarke's house was a smaller version of Ellis's. Still extremely grand and sitting right on the beach. I pulled up their driveway. A couple of men stood in their yard trimming large bushes so they were perfect spheres. Other men mowed the fluorescent green grass. I parked my truck behind the white Jaguar that was sitting in the driveway. I knocked on the large red door in front of me. As I waited for someone to answer, I fidgeted with the check-in my back pocket. A familiar figure answered the door.

"Hello, Love," Clarissa said with a smile. Her white teeth shining brightly against her obviously self tanned skin. "Please come in." She stepped aside as I walked into the foyer. I glanced around her house, much more cozy and colorful than Elli's. A blue couch sat in the middle of the living room and yellow curtains hung on the windows. Luckily Clarissa is a stylist instead of an interior designer.

"I'm actually here to drop off a check from Ellis. It's for Mr. Clarke."

"Ah, I see. You can put it on his desk in his office. She motioned toward the room right next to us. "I'm making fresh lemonade. Would you like some?"

"Sure."

Clarissa scurried off to the kitchen. I opened the grand double doors to Charles's office. I closed them behind me, only slightly. The red carpet and dark wooden bookshelves gave me an eerie feeling. The black desk sat in the corner of the room. I pulled the check out of my pocket and placed it in the middle of the desk, but not before taking a peek at its contents.

A dainty picture frame with Charles and other men on a golf course sat on the corner. A glass jar with only red pens was next to it. A large stack of papers sat next to a black computer. I glanced behind me at the door. A shuffling from the kitchen told me Clarissa was still preparing her lemonade. My attention was put back onto the desk.

Don't do it!

Shaking the voice out of my head, I moved the mouse of the computer, hoping something would pop up on its screen, but nothing. Why are you doing this? I glanced behind me once more before moving to the other side of the desk. Something about the look in Charles's eyes when he talked to Ellis and his outburst that night at the charity ball just didn't sit well with me. The man was hiding something. And that damn scar on Clarissa's arm kept popping back into my head. He did that to her I'm sure of it. A manila folder poked out from underneath the large stack of papers.

Just stop!

I tugged on it carefully, revealing its contents. The name on the front read C. Clarke. I opened it up. I piece of paper fell to the floor. I shuffled to get it, now kneeling behind the desk. Plastered on the front in bold font:

LENOX PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL

I shoved the paper back into the thick folder.

What the hell do you think you're doing?

I shoved the folder underneath my oversized red hoodie, holding it close to my stomach. There was a knock on the front door, but it completely unfazed me. I was so focused on finding more. A locked drawer in front of me made my heart race. I tugged on it. It opened. More papers filled the front of it. Squinting my eyes, I tugged it out more, backing up against the wall in my crouched position. A deep purple velvet cloth sat in the back of the drawer. I reached my hand in, the cloth sent tingles through my fingers, and caused sweat to form on my brow. I picked up the cloth. More. More. A shiny silver handle appeared from under it. A gun? I pulled it more.

"What the fuck are you doing?"