Darla Isn't Dead?

DANIEL'S POINT OF VIEW

"I'm off to work," I announced to my mother and Amaya in the living room.

My mother raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you taking your bodyguards with you?"

I hesitated, trying to sound convincing. "I'm not in the mood for company. Besides, they slow me down, and I have a high-stakes client meeting. It's a big deal, and they value privacy."

My mother and Amaya exchanged skeptical glances. I could tell they didn't believe me - I never left the house without my guards. But I had to keep up the charade.

My mother's expression softened, swayed by the promise of wealth. "Okay, have a great day at work, son."

Amaya's farewell was sweet, but I couldn't shake the feeling she was humoring me. I hated to admit it, but money was the ultimate motivator for my family. Now, I just hoped they wouldn't discover my true intentions.

I diverted from my route, heading towards Darla's apartment with a sense of urgency. I needed to uncover what had happened there. Within minutes, I arrived at her house, only to be met with a police 'Do Not Enter' banner. I hesitated, scanning the area from the safety of my car, searching for any police vehicles. I knew I was about to break the rules, but this was a matter of life and death.

After ensuring the coast was clear, I stepped out of my car and approached the door, ducking under the banner. The broken lock hinted at a forced entry, sending a shiver down my spine. I tried to imagine the events that had unfolded, but my mind couldn't prepare me for the reality that awaited me behind the door.

As I stepped inside, the creaking wood beneath my feet echoed through the desolate space. I was met with a scene of utter chaos. Running my hand through my hair, I struggled to process the carnage before me. My blue eyes scanned the room, taking in the removed rug, the markings of a body, and the pool of blood.

The shattered pictures, broken vase, and disorganized furniture told the tale of a fierce struggle. Blood trails on the walls hinted at a desperate attempt to escape. The air was heavy with the metallic scent of blood, and the once-welcoming house now felt eerily ominous.

My heart was racing, I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. The pain was excruciating, as if my heart was being ripped out and shot repeatedly. I could almost hear the sound of bullets firing in my mind as I imagined the events that had transpired.

My breathing grew ragged, and I crouched on the floor, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. The pain overwhelmed me, my grip on my shirt tightening, my face pale and contorted in anguish.

"Dar… la..." I stuttered, my voice barely audible as my body weakened with each labored breath.

I could hear her desperate pleas for help echoing in my mind. I envisioned her fighting for her life, throwing objects at her attacker, and creating blood trails on the wall as she searched for an escape.

The sound of the bullet piercing her flesh still lingered, followed by the haunting image of her lovely gray eyes slowly closing. I wasn't there to save her, and the guilt consumed me. I knew she must have called out my name in her final moment.

Tears streamed down my face as my brain refused to stop replaying the scene. My chest tightened with each painful image.

"Stop!" I yelled, my voice breaking as I ran my hand through my hair.

Then, I saw the bracelet in my hands, and memories came flooding back. I remember how we met at the mansion, how I approached her claiming to be her senior, and how she didn't recognize me until I showed her the bracelet we made together at the craft carnival. I had kept it all these years, a memento of our connection, and a symbol of my unrequited love.

Now, gazing at the bracelet, I wonder if I should have left her alone. Maybe none of this would have happened. But as I held the bracelet, the pain in my heart began to subside, replaced by a sense of calm. Even in death, she still brought me peace. Within minutes, my breathing slowed, and I felt a sense of acceptance wash over me.

I wiped away the tears on my lips, sitting on the floor amidst the chaos. My imagination continued to torment me with visions and echoes of her desperate cries and pleas.

Suddenly, my body convulsed with sobs, my head bent in anguish as I uncontrollably wept. I ran my hands through my hair, struggling to accept the unbearable truth: the only woman I loved was gone.

But how could I acknowledge this painful reality and still expect myself to believe it? It took every last ounce of strength for me to calm down, my tears exhausted, my eyes red and puffy, my throat parched, and my head throbbing.

With a final surge of energy, I stood up and headed out, driven by a newfound determination. I needed to find Darla's body and hold a secret funeral, one that my family would never know about. And I still had to uncover what had happened to Mrs. Matthew. The search for answers and closure had just begun.

Outside the door, I met an elderly lady coming out of her house, which was directly opposite Darla's house. Maybe she might be able to give me a clearer explanation of what happened.

I jumped on the thought and approached her. "Can you tell me what happened there?" I asked, pointing at the house.

The lady looked around nervously before whispering, "There was a gunshot two days ago. Mrs. Matthew was shot in the heart, but she's alive. Her daughter Darla is missing, and the police think she might have been kidnapped."

I felt a surge of hope. "So, Darla isn't dead?"

The lady shook her head. "No, but no one knows where she is. It's as good as being dead."

I asked a few more questions. "Was it a robbery or personal attack?"

The lady replied, "No one knows. The police aren't releasing information unless you're family."

I thanked her for her help and asked where Mrs. Matthew was taken. "New Hope Clinic," she replied.

As I turned to leave, the lady asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm Darla's husband," I replied with a small smirk before heading to my car and driving off to the clinic.

I sped to New Hope Clinic, my heart racing with urgency. If I could find Mrs. Matthew, I might finally uncover the truth and locate Darla. I arrived in minutes and rushed to the reception area.

"I'm looking for Mrs. Matthew," I told the nurse, my voice firm.

"Full name, please?" she asked, her eyes fixed on the computer screen.

I hesitated, struggling to recall Mrs. Matthew's first name. Darla had mentioned it once... I closed my eyes, forcing my memory to resurface. "Ana. Ana Matthew," I replied, relief washing over me.

The nurse's expression turned skeptical. "And your relationship with her?"

I hesitated, then lied, "I'm her son, Daniel." Technically, I was her son-in-law, or soon to be.

The nurse's eyes widened in frustration and fear. "Where have you been? We've been searching for her family for so long!"

I apologized, feeling a pang of guilt. "I've been out of the country."

The nurse's voice turned grave. "Mrs. Matthew needs a heart surgery. The bullet is close to her heart, and we can't operate without a deposit. We've kept her stable, but if you'd arrived any later, she would have been gone."

I felt a surge of determination, knowing I had to act fast to save Mrs. Matthew's life and uncover the truth.

I couldn't lose her, not when I had just discovered that Darla might still be alive. I needed Mrs. Matthew to survive, to tell me what had happened to her daughter. I needed her to live, for Darla's sake and for mine.

I steeled myself, taking a deep breath. "I'll make the deposit," I said, my voice firm and resolute. "I'll do whatever it takes to save her."