Unfortunately or fortunately, at the moment, the food seems more interesting than the body of my footman, so I don’t even bother to look at the sticks for the sushi. I take a piece directly with my fingers and into my mouth.
Oh my God! I almost moan at how good it is.
I then remember that I’m on a terrace and anyone can hear me, so I try to keep the moans to myself for the other pieces. I also attempt to savour what I am eating, but I am too hungry to even think about that.
?
I kept staring at the small piece of paper for a few good minutes while trying to figure out what the hell is up with it. Besides what I scribbled on it yesterday, there is absolutely nothing else written. I don’t know why I’m so interested in finding out its deal,but something tells me that it’s of utter importance.
I search my big suitcase for something useful, but aside from some clothes similar to what I wore, and a couple of different kinds of condoms, I find nothing else interesting in it. I think I had some kind of sexual fantasies when I packed if there were these types of objects in my luggage. Who knows? Maybe I thought I was just gonna have a couple of hot dates.
Setting aside my thoughts that want to grow more perverse, I close the suitcase and put the backpack up on the bed. Maybe I can at least find something handy in here.
I start with every pocket separately, getting out all kinds of stupid shit: napkins, five pairs of sunglasses with lenses of different colours, for an unknown reason. Aside from those, there is also a hair plate, a hairdryer, some scented candles,and a lot of bath products, which seem to have been thrown in a hurry. Same with a small, but miserable makeup bag that appears to have been dragged through the mud before being put back into the bag.
Other than that, I also find an empty notebook, a bag full of coloured pencils and pens, an empty drawing block, and a lot of small stuff that seems useless at the moment. Oh, yes, and a penknife. At least this can come in handy.
I put aside everything I found and search all the remaining compartments of the backpack.
Just a big waste of my time.
There is nothing helpful in there. No phone, no ID card, not even money, absolutely fucking nothing that can help me figure out what I am doing here. I bring the backpack upside down, and something else really does fall: a lantern. The only thing from this bag that can be useful for camping, aside from the pocketknife, which also seems out of place.
I dismiss that thought when I turn it on and notice that it isn’t a normal lantern, but a UV one.
A light bulb goes off in my mind as well, and I hurry to gather that piece of paper that got a little lost under all that stuff on the bed. I manage to spot it, and I put the UV light on it, finally finding what I was looking for: a clue.
Wedding off. Mystery on.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean, mysterious young lady? I think I was already in love with clues, and I am seriously wondering if I wasn’t working as a detective. I don’t even know who is supposed to get married until I look at my left hand.
Shit.
That ring with an enormous diamond sends cold shivers down my spine.
I think someone upset me so much that I ran away from my own wedding. Or I just got out at the last moment and disappeared into the world.
Moreover, I may have even drugged myself not to remember the stupid shit I’ve done. That would explain the amnesia.
What makes me believe it’s not really about the wedding is the cursed paper in my hand. If I let out this kind of note, the situation is even worse than it seems, and I need to solve a fucked-up mystery that I only have a bad feeling about. The thoughts in my mind are not nice at all, but full of blood and darkness.
Until I come up with more conspirative theories, I open the notebook that seemed empty. I’m not even surprised when I realise I was wrong. There are a lot of names scribbled on the front page, but only one attracts me: Blake Canbert. It is also the only one surrounded by a multitude of red circles and arrows.
This shit starts to scare me more than I could have ever imagined.
I go through all its pages, which appear to be empty, except for the last one, on which I find a different and hurried calligraphy. I think that’s mine. It looks the same as what I noted on the surprise paper.
Trust him. Don’t trust anybody else.
Flowers.
Wine.
Crime.
Drugs.
Tamwine.
