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The letter ‘A’ never seemed so offensive and insulting before. It was there, in the middle of the black wood, shining and glittering right at Oscar’s face, in its elegant golden style.
The last time he had crossed this door, he directed himself to the end of his good life. Perhaps that was why he came here once again after ten years; to create new reminder for the sake of his fond memories of this place.
Staring at the door didn’t help anyone, so he knocked. Three hard and loud knocks, left with nothing but an odd noise as an answer.
Oscar twisted a handle, out of curiosity. The handle turned obediently, opening the door with a quiet click.
The apartment was quiet, too quiet as he could still hear the music and laughs of that Next Year’s Eve party. It took him a while to notice Tim. He was leaning on the chair, his arm straightened at its backrest, but something seemed odd.
Oscar hesitated, his hand stopped halfway toward Tim.
“Hi again,” he said, trying to figure out Tim’s behavior. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
Tim turned toward him, knocking over the lamp and losing his balance.
“What the—”
The fire alarm cut him off, his foot stopped before Oscar took a step. Tim opened his mouth, but Oscar could hardly understand the words he was saying, and with fear he realized that the loud siren was not the only reason.
The red light flooded the room, and Oscar didn’t know who was more shocked, between him and the old woman that entered the apartment.
Then everything happened fast, and Oscar was not sure about the chronology of events.
Everything he knew was that he had gained a new cut wound thanks to this strange woman who had pulled a knife out of nowhere with a desire to reach Tim.
Then there was the ambulance and the hospital that he left as soon as possible.
As far as he was aware, Tim had been poisoned, but he would be fine soon enough. Good for him. For Oscar, not so much. Because obviously he became the suspect number two. He should be happy that this time he wasn’t the number one, he guessed.
The police officer, who questioned him, said that he didn’t have any reason to worry, and he would get only the basic questions. As if he believed it. The last time he had also heard the same song, and he ended up locked up and forgotten for ten years for something he hadn’t done.
The woman actually kept her words and didn't come back.
His wound got better, it didn’t hurt so much if he didn’t make any sudden movements.
His dad kept a place for him in his apartment, but Oscar felt like he had enough Arconia for the rest of his life. He paid for the cheapest hostel room he could find, and was happy having a roof over his head. It wasn’t much and left a lot to desire, but it was not a prison and it was enough for now.
Days kept passing, and Oscar didn’t think about the last visit in Arconia. No person died that day, but surely his curiosity did.
Oscar remembered the feeling of relief he felt when Mabel told him that Tim had seen the real Zoe’s killer and could prove his innocence. But it was during the first years, when Mabel was still visiting him. Later her visits turned into letters, and then into silence. And Oscar was still left behind with nothing what would suggest any change.
Whatever the reason it was, Tim made up his mind and said no word about the events of Next Year’s Eve party. Tim didn’t owe anything to Oscar, neither did Oscar to Tim. He thought they were friends, but apparently they weren’t so close as it seemed. Tim and Mabel had themselves, at least. The quartet became a duo once again, as if Zoe and Oscar had never been there.
Oscar was not Mabel in the first place. He didn’t need to know every answer to why. But he tried to ask anyway, and even if he failed, he saved Tim’s life instead.
That what he wanted, what he needed to do, was to move on and start his life from the beginning. And the yoga instructor didn’t sound bad.
One day, when he came back from the morning shift, he found the list addressed to him sent by the police.
To his surprise, the list wasn’t about Tim. He was asked to be present at the police station next Monday. Apparently, they found new evidence in the Zoe Cassidy case. They were ten years late.
He left the station with the knowledge that someone found and delivered the evidence to them, and that apparently he didn’t kill Zoe so he would get a high compensation; as if money would fix everything what happened, what he lost.
The evidence was relevant in another case, the one he was also familiar with. And the person, who had done police's work better than the police itself, was none other than Tim Kono.