Chapter 8
Next morning,

I steadily place myself up on my bed, my eyes half open. I mean that literary and non literary. The daylight ogles through the gauzy plain-looking white curtains that I insisted I have when we first moved into this place. I check the time which reads 9:45 A.M.
Oh, my god.
I was supposed to be up by 7 to follow my mom to work. It's three days away from Christmas, my one thing I want is for this mystery to be solved, along with all the others. All I wanna know is what my mom is hiding from me. And why.
I force myself out of bed and look vacantly at myself,
I look horrible.
I think I'm gonna shower this morning, I haven't yesterday. I guess it's an effect from being exhausted from all these questions that hang above my head every second of the day. As I make myself out the door and into the hallway, I can't help but notice Andrew sitting in an deviant position. He's sitting at the edge of his bed, he's folded his upper half part of his body to his knees. His back bare, little equivocal words written, or carved on his back. My eyes distend, and now I can feel the pounding my heart is making on my rib cage. Cautiously, I inch over to his door to get a closer look, Andrew snaps up, and he, at breakneck speed, turns his head at me, his eyes vast and chafe. He keeps a firm and fervent lock with my eyes until, finally, he shifts back into reality.
"Bailey?" He asks confused by his own odd behavior.
"You were just high." I respond, and I sit myself on his bed. Andrew looks around as if he's never been in this room before, or if he even knows what he's doing, or what he is.
"What are those letters on your back, Andrew?" I say with utmost hesitance.
"What are you talking about?" Andrew responds looking over his bored shoulder.
"Oh, nothing important. It's something Eduardo gave me while were..." Andrew cuts himself off,
"Were.... what?" I ask, which I honestly don't know why considering I can already infer it deals with something sexual. I nod and leave his room walking to the only bathroom in this house, which me and mom and brother share. I turn the nob all the way to hot, which then spritz water out the shower head making an annoying buckle sound for around twenty seconds until smooth water lumps out the shower head. I strip myself of my clothes, looking at my body in the mirror, I see a skinny scared girl. I don't eat anymore. I'm noticing my bones sticking out more than usual, my fake more sick looking. My dark brown hair thin and shiny. Steam starts to cover my reflection on the mirror; which I'm actually happy for, I couldn't look at myself any longer knowing the drastic changes that's happened. I step into the shower, the first splash of water sizzles in my skin, it sounded like it burnt any dead skin cells that were on my skin. Extending my arm through the rushing, scolding hot water, my skin feels like it was torn apart and my arm feels numb to the hot water. Standing there; I see the water bounce off my skin leaving an array of red in my arm, it gets to the point where it feels like a million tiny little needled are rushing through my arm, quickly, I remove my arm and see the damage. A bright pink spot on my arm. I cringe. I breath heavily and I turn the water to cold, I set myself directly under the water. The cold feels good on my skin, it feels like I've been baptized. The water doesn't hurt or burn my skin, it just rolls off. I close my eyes and roll my head back around my neck, letting the water splash on my face. Cold air starts filling my lungs, and I feel safe and happy. I open my eyes. I stand here, staring at the blank white plastic that is my shower.
Why me?

After lathering myself with soap, and drenching my hair in shampoo and conditioner I step out to shower, relived. I don't know why I'm relieved, but I am. I cover my breasts with a white bra, and over that, a bright blood orange sweater. I put on baggy blue jeans and tuck my sweater in and stretch out, I grab the blow drier and start damaging my hair. The heat against my neck feels good after a cold shower, I feel refreshed. After I'm done blow drying, my hair is a poof, I grab my bruh and it easily goes through my hair, I add mascara and lipgloss, and a little blush. This is the first time I feel like myself again. I reach into the cabinet that hold all the drugs and reach for my favorite perfume, I wear this perfume a lot, not only because Ian likes it, but also because this is the last thing my dad bought for me.
Ian.
His name has been a burden in my head these past few days. Ian is all I really think about. He's kind, sympathetic, funny. This might sound weird, but insanely attractive. He dresses nice, he smells good all the time. What is it that I feel weird around him, is it that maybe I moved and changed? Changed how though? I mean, I've always been a incredulous person when it comes to things I believe in.
Maybe it's my feelings.
I think... or I know, I might have feelings for Ian...
Does he think of me the same way I think of him? We've been friends since kindergarten and I would hate to ruin our friendship because of something I feel. Whatever, I think. I head out the bathroom and walk down stairs to see Andrew sitting on the floor, his hands on his head, his breath shaky. He mumbles incoherent sentences and words, it almost sounds like he isn't speaking English.
"Andrew!" I scream at him, he jolts up and looks at me without saying anything. Not even a word.
"I'm gonna head out, I'll try and find a telephone booth and check up on you while at town." I finish. Nothing. Andrew looks at me and says nothing. I awkwardly smile and I rush out the house. What the hell is he doing, I feel like he's trying to scare me. It's whatever anyways, the only thing I should be focused on is solving this case. All these things don't add up to me, but I feel like they all have a connection. Driving to moms so called "work" at her brothel. I see a family walking down the street holding bags with red and green stripes. A family of four. A seem to be happy family. A father, a mother, a daughter, and a son. All dressed nice, all have a smile, all talking. Everyone is happy.

November 16, 1987
"Stop. I'm not having this discussion with you again, I have helped you enough with your illicit business, you have enemy's, Charles, you've disconnected a lot of family's, and people want a retribution. So, if one of your mafia foes are looking to take you down, I can't help you."

"I swear- I help you with all your business problems! Amelia. Please. I could die."

"No." Responds Amelia. Charles hands rise with anger, a black and blue mark left on Amelias eye. Hit after hit.

"Please!" Amelia pleads, she begs and cries.

"Stop."

December 23

For some odd reason, I can't stop thinking about what Andrew wrote in his diary. Mom and dad fight? That can't be true; they never fought. I arrive at the address that she wrote on her checklist. Red lights beam out the window. Oh, great. With hesitance, I walk out to the front door and open it to see a desk, nothing on it but a lamp.
"Hello?" I ask, nobody responds. I hear music playing upstairs, rock music. I follow the music up a twisted staircase that leads me into a room with a bunch of drunks, music playing, red retro lights, and dance. One person stands out to me the most though. A girl with shoulder length, fluffy blonde hair. A skin tight, rubber red dress on.
Cornelia.
What the hell is she doing here.
I squeeze past the sweaty bodies until I'm inch close to her face, I grab her hand and walk her into the nearest bathroom I can find.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, my grip on her wrist.
"Please don't tell anyone." Her eyes welling.
Wait.
I know, blackmail isn't the most virtuous way to get what you want but it's the most efficient.
"I won't tell anyone. Unless, you tell me what those millions of checks that are all written to my dad are about." Cornelia stares at me, she shifts her shiny hair to her left shoulder.
"I don't know." She responds.
"Okay, well than I guess I have to tell your mom about these impious things you're doing here. Drinking underage, pleasuring men when you're not married." I count off the things with my fingers, I look up, Cornelia visibly frustrated. She licks her lips. I smile.
"Fine." She says. She opens the door and leads me out the brothel house.
"It's right around this corner." She says as I walk behind her, she's walking fast. She's scared. I follow her to a gray, dilapidated house. The weeds not cut in years, the widows cracked and dusty. The doors pain shed. I look at her weird.
"What, you clodhopper. Follow me in." The shrill of her voice shocks me out of gaze at the house. What could possibly be in this ramshackle house. She leads me into the house. The smell of cigarettes fill my nostrils. I hate that smell.
"What is this?" I ask.
"You'll see." She says and she walks over the cardboard, hoping to not ruin her red heels. I follow her to the kitchens. A green LED light stretches over the ceiling. What I look at next, makes me want to gag. Some type of unlawful drug machines, drug products. I walk forward to the tiny bags of green and red dust. I examine it.
"It's a reproduction of cocaine, since you're amateurish and incompetent of figuring it out yourself." Cornelias voice echoes behind me.
"I don't get it." I say.
"You can figure it out yourself." Says Cornelia as she starts to walk away.
"Get back here, you nymphomaniac. Or I swear, I will tell your mom about what you've been doing to ease your carnality." She looks back at me.
"You don't think my mom knows?" She says,
"This is your, well was, your dads business, we were slaves to your father, Bailey. Ask your dearest mother when she gets back from getting ones oats." Cornelia says as she walks away. I stand there without a word to say.

As I park in my driveway I see my mom standing in the doorway. I roll me eyes and jot out of my car.
"What they hell, Mom." I say, walking past her.
"Don't ask me what the hell I'm doing, you came to my work today."
"Your work? You mean your bagnio." I say
"Interestingly enough. I went to visit you and fathers copycat nose candy business as well." I finish. Her eyes widen.
"I need answers mom. Now."
She gestures me over to the kitchen.
"Bailey. Your dad was a business man, he did very well when it came to that. Our family and the Daltons go back very far. I won't get into any specifics, but they did business for us, and they were thousands of dollars in debt to us, and so when your father went missing I kept the checks and gave them back to them."
"Mom, what? That still doesn't explain your drug company."
"Okay, I'm getting to that. Well, yes. We both, mainly your father worked with his drug company, the daltons helped advertise it, they stole a lot of the products and ingredients and used it as their own, of course we couldn't go to court, it was illegal. So your father put a huge amount of money on the table to be payed. I mean millions, and they're still in debt. That's why some of the checks are still recent. Once your father went missing, I sold the company to them but they still haven't payed off their debt, so they have been paying me monthly in checks." I take a deep breath, this is so much to process.
"Wait, so, Dad had an illegal drug company, the Daltons stole from us so Dad made them pay money, they're still in debt to you and dad?" I ask.
"If you wanna simplify things, than yes." Mother responds.
"Okay but why do they have so many checks still and it's all crossed out and some of them are recent?" My voice shivers.
"Because I still put them under your fathers bank account, and some of those checks haven't been deposited because I gave them back once your father went missing." I try to make sense of what she's saying. Why did she give them back.
"Why did you give them back?"
"Well, your father protected me. We had enemy's and the Daltons were one of them, I was afraid they would go after me, so I gave all the checks back that haven't been deposited yet and gave them back. They must've crossed the names off to protect themselves. The recent checks that you had was one they payed me that month but I told them to keep it, they haven't sent me money since than since I let it go. Now they own the business." Everything is starting to fall together, like a missing puzzle piece. We still have that. Maybe it was one of fathers enemy's.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course." My mom responds.
"In one of Andrews diaries I went snooping through it said that Father hit you, and you guys fought. Is that true?" My mom licks her lips, and her eyes start to well up.
"I tried making our family look good on the outside, but really, it's just a dysfunctional family at its roots. Yes. Yes, he did. He got very angry sometimes and would take it out on me, but I never, I repeat, would never do anything to him like that. Ever." My mom says, tears streaming out her eye.
"I believe you, Mom."

I run upstairs and get my notepad out. I cross off missing checks and the mom and dad fighting.
The only and last thing I need to figure out it is my fathers murderer.