William’s death, at the beginning of July, was far worse for
moral. He had not only proven himself an invaluable asset – saving us from the
lake house, providing me with my medication and setting up our negotiations
with the Nightmare People – but his determination and hunger for the truth had
given us all hope that we might be able to get out of all of this alive. Gloria
had lost a husband, Emily had lost a brother and I had lost a true friend. We
talk about him daily.
Dicky’s arrival last week brought with it a small amount of
hope. His finding in Ireland –specifically the contents of the two crates he
found in the field adjacent to Joyce’s Bar
– have given us some idea of what the DPIR stands to lose if we can somehow
make our findings public and, hopefully, we’ll be able to use the threat of
exposure to keep them from trying to take Emily again.
All of that hope,
however, was dashed on Friday when, during her transformation, Emily badly
wounded Gloria and created a means of escape for Frankie.
Dicky and I were forced to drop Gloria off outside of A&E
at Salisbury District Hospital, knowing full well that by doing so we wouldn’t
be able to have any contact with her from then on.
So, now, it’s just the three of us – Emily, Dicky and myself.
And, since we no longer have our bargaining chip, and since Atherton seems
willing and able to pass by the symbols that line the perimeter of the house,
we’ve had to go on the road.
Me, my best-friend and my half-sister, roaming the country –
a never-ending road trip. If Harrison were with us, if we weren’t being hunted
and, most importantly, if we didn’t have the next full moon to worry about,
this is how I’d have wanted my life to play out.
The tree house four – now the tree house three – together
forever.
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