Page 6 of Emerald

Reluctantly, I close my laptop and make my way to her room. The smell of alcohol is overpowering, a constant reminder of her condition. She lies on the bed, her once vibrant eyes now dull and unfocused. She mutters to herself, nonsensical gibberish that echoes around the room.

"Mum?" I say softly, stepping closer. Her eyes flicker, finally focusing on me.

"Ariki," she whispers. Her voice is a mere breath, but the name is like a lightning bolt, "His name was Ariki."

There's a moment of cluelessness as I blink stupidly before my heart begins to race.

Ariki. Is this my father's name?

"Mom, who is Ariki?" I ask, my voice trembling with excitement. "Is he my father?”

She doesn’t respond. “Tell me more. Please.” I draw out the last word like a petulant child, desperate to know.

But she only mutters incoherently, slipping back into her half-mad state. Frustration and desperation well up inside me. Just as I'm about to press her for more, the door bursts open, and my older siblings storm in.

"What are you doing in here?" my brother Timothy demands, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the bed.

My brain fizzles with the contact, but I’m too distracted by what my mum just said to lash out.

"I was just—" I begin, but he cuts me off with another yank.

"She needs rest. You're upsetting her," my sister Bethany snaps. "Get out."

"But she said—" I try to explain, but they're not listening. My brother pushes me out of the room and slams the door in my face.

I stand there, heart pounding, the name Ariki echoing in my mind. It's the first real clue I've had about my father, and they've shut me out. Anger and frustration boil over, but I know there's nothing I can do. Not now, at least.

The corridor feels colder than usual, the dim light casting eerie shadows on the walls, electricity from the light buzzing even louder than usual, overloading my senses.

Shut door or not, I can still hear my mother's raspy breaths and incoherent mumbling through the shut door, each one a stark reminder that her time is running out. She's slipping away, and with her, the answers I so desperately need about my father.

I shut my eyes and lean against the door only for her frail form to flash in my eyes.

Like it or not, I am torn between a sense of familial loyalty and the bitterness that she's taking her secrets with her as she shuts us out. It’ll only make it worse that she’ll still be here in body for who knows how many years.

Suddenly, raised voices break the stillness. My siblings are fighting again, their voices clearly heard through the door. I begin to beat a slow-paced retreat once I realize where their conversation is going, disgust curling in my stomach as I hear them bickering over the will. Don't they realize she can still hear them?

"What about the house? It should be mine; I've done the most for her!" My brother’s voice is sharp, filled with entitlement.

My sister's voice cuts through his, equally venomous. "You? Don't make me laugh. I've been the one taking care of her every day!"

She hasn’t. It’s been me.

I can't stand to hear anymore. Picking up the pace, I head to my room, their voices growing faint behind me. I need to distract myself, to find some sense of clarity. I lock the door before taking in the familiar, comforting sights and smells. The soft light filtering through the thin curtains, the desk with drawings scattered across it, and the distinct scent of old coffee that has long since gone cold.

Dune, a well-worn copy I fell asleep reading the night before, is on the floor. It's one of my favorites. Along with my shows, it's one of the many ways I escape while staying right here where it's safe. Although even that safety is an illusion, judging by what my siblings are yelling now.

I ignore the screeching of my siblings—vultures circling a carcass, both of them.

Sitting at my desk, I typeArikiinto the search engine. The name my mother whispered clings to my thoughts like a lifeline.

Ariki. The results flood my screen, but they're next to useless. It’s a common name, meaning “chief” or “leader” in Maori. It's impossible. Frustration gnaws at me. I was hoping for something more, some clue that would lead me to him, but it seems fate is playing a cruel joke.

I try for hours, but nothing changes. I start to calculate the percentage of success, but it is negligible. Far too many decimals. It’s pointless.

I listen to make sure the vultures are done, then stop ignoring the protesting of my bladder. When was the last time I drank something? Ate? I don't remember. It doesn't matter, the best thing to do now is to go to sleep so this day can be over.

My limbs move mechanically as I shuffle toward the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my reflection hazy. My dark hair is tousled and my skin pale.

---