Well, the police are no help. I told them all about the burglar being in one of the Jericho houseboats. They just told me they’ll ‘add it to their list of potential locations’. I don’t get it.
Okay, burglary isn’t a big deal when they’ve taken nothing massively valuable. But burglary after a murder? But no. No connection, that’s what they believe.
Jackie’s a nice lady. She takes good care of me. But she hasn’t got broadband Internet access. It was one thing to find a second hand book, but for the full-on Mayan investigation, I really need that. So I’ve ended up at the library after all. Ha, ha, TopShopPrincess. You can come by if you fancy. Or not. Whatever.
Mum asked me to come and spend the night in her hospital room, which has a little extra bed. I was a bit nervous but it seems pretty cool. The doctors don’t wear white coats. You can’t tell who’s sick and who isn’t.
I didn’t tell her about the burglary, of course not. I don’t tell her that I tried – and failed - to replace one of the few possessions she might really care about.
There was a full moon. Its light filled the room with a soft glow. I woke up to find Mum awake, standing by the window.
I said, “Please Mum, please get better.What am I supposed to do if you fall apart?”
She only shook her head. “You don’t know how this feels Josh. I hope you never do. It’s all gone for me - vanished, like mist.”
“They’re wrong about Dad,” I told her. I wanted to tell her about the emails I’ve found, but I couldn’t – not until there’s a bit more to go on. “I’m going to prove it. You wait and see.”
I didn’t know what else to say, so I turned onto my stomach and slept. I’ve noticed that my dreams are more vivid when I sleep on my front. But last night’s dream was really weird – one of those where you could actually believe you’re there.
In the dream, I’m dizzy, floundering, caught in the middle of a leaf storm. The leaves surround and enclose me. I close my eyes. In the heart of that storm, I’m suddenly calm. When I open my eyes again, the leaves are gone. I’m standing in a small room with a thatched roof. There are candles everywhere, and the smell of autumn smoke mixed with something acrid, like linseed oil. My eyes sting a little and I blink hard. The room is filled with a thin film of smoke. There’s a man lying on the straw-covered floor. I don’t recognise him – in fact, I have no clue who he could be. He’s oldish – late forties maybe, grey hair. And he’s coughing, choking, shaking. His eyes almost pop out of his head. He turns purple. This guy is in bad shape, no doubt about it. I don’t move though, I don’t help. I just look on and I feel nothing, not a shred of pity. It feels like the incense is making me dizzy. Looks like the guy on the floor is breathing his last. In fact – I’m sure of it. I don’t take a closer look, but I light a candle I’m holding. I hear myself mumble a string of strange words. I could swear he’s done for. But then, without warning his eyes snap open. And he looks me dead in the eye, says something that sounds like “Summon the Bakabix”.
The rest of the dream was just flashes; a small statue of a Buddha-like figure, water lapping around a decrepit old boat, a pier with two matching straw huts, a mist hanging low over water.
Artist Spotlight – Canadian Alt. Folk Artist Dawson Rutledge - Nineteen-year-old Dawson Rutledge is an award-winning alt. folk and Americana musician and songwriter from Cranbrook, British Columbia who has earned himse...