Though I woke up at 6 am, I was still in bed when the clock struck 8.
In the last two hours, I have read a lot of his chats, related to his personal life and career. And I may know who the murderer is, but it doesn't matter, because I don't have any proof except the phone that I got by illegal ways.
I read a couple of his chats and many poems. One that caught my eye was:
Card by card, One by one,
Disappeared the sun
It was night. Had we a fight?
Cards after cards I threw, So fast the time flew
Queens and Ace, Sweat and blood's trace
He trapped me in. Playing was my sin
I was now a king, Hiding behind his ring
Just in a flick I was part of his magic trick
Darkness all I see. At least there are people other than me
If I didn't know Tristan, I would have thought that it was about a magician who played a game with random people and trapped them in his cards, but I know better.
It was now 8:30, and my head was pounding; it felt heavy, as if gravity was exerting all its force on it. I tried to get up; my vision was blurry, and I could practically feel the Earth spinning. I held myself upright using the support of the wooden chair right next to my bed.
After a few minutes, I felt better, so I proceeded to go to the shop to buy medicine. On my way back from the shop, near my apartment, someone bumped into me, and I dropped Tristan's phone.
'I accidentally brought his phone,' I thought to myself. I bent to pick up the phone, but the man was faster. "How do you have this?" he bit out. "It's mine," I said, grabbing it from his hands. "And when you bump into someone, you apologize," I continued. "I'm sorry," he said gently; the tone was completely different from before. He was well-dressed, in a white shirt with a grey coat, and a black watch on his wrist.
"Are you free right now? I have an important matter to discuss," he asked in a professional tone. I sighed. I don't have anything better to do. "Sure," I replied, hoping that the conversation would be nothing like the one I had in the elevator with the mysterious boy.
We sat in the cafeteria near my apartment. I placed my purse on the brown wooden table, cleaned so well that it was shining. "I don't feel well, so don't beat around the bush and come directly to the point," after 2 seconds I continued, "Please."
"Great," he said in an energetic tone. "That phone," he said, tapping on my purse, "isn't yours." His eyes were fixed on mine. I remained silent, refusing to give him any information. "It's Tristan's," he continued. "And how... are you so sure?" I asked him, raising both of my eyebrows. He gave a little laugh that lasted only a few seconds. "You are the one beating around the bush, now," he said, his voice dead serious. I nodded once. "Yeah," I agreed. "What do you need?" I asked.
"The phone," he replied almost immediately. "Why?" "It doesn't belong to you," he said.
"It doesn't belong to you either," I countered. "Aurora... listen." when he said my name, goosebumps went down my spine "Tristan was like my brother... he has been killed. That phone belongs to him and will be an important piece of evidence. Give it to me, or the police will take it," he said without even stuttering once.
"But—" I began speaking, but he cut me off.
"I recorded our conversation; I have enough proof." I felt uncomfortable; my hands clenched into a fist. My one foot was behind the other. I swallowed.
"I want to," I said in a low voice with a slow tone. My eyes were fixed on the wooden tiles below my feet. "Keep it, please." I let out a long sigh. "I have gone through enough, and looking at it helps," I said helplessly, my voice barely audible. I hate it. "
'Being vulnerable.'
"Okay," he said, "Let's make a deal."