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TIMESTAMP: Right after Risky Business
@BrutalBx & @LovelyComplex
TRIGGER WARNING -
Sexual harassment, Invasion of privacy

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It had become a ritual;

To watch her.

Theo hadn’t realised it until recently but it was a ritual that he had been doing all his life. As far back as he could remember he would wake up in the morning for the rise of the sun, ready for the intense physical training with his father, legendary basketball player, “KVC” himself Kip Van Cise. He would wake up, go immediately for a run and then lift weights in the garage until it was time to get ready for school. Then, as he ascended the outside stairs that led to the upper floor, Theo would look to the raised window behind him and she would be there.

Trixie would be in that room, across the small patch of perfectly manicured emerald grass and the white picket fence that separated their homes and she would be there standing like a vision of the goddess. And he would watch. He would see her flick her hair back; choose her armour for the day's coming battle, apply her warpaint and get into the character of Trixie Kingsley. Bea, as he knew her.

It was a ritual.

The drive to Beverly Hills High in his classic 1969 Chevy Stingray felt longer than it normally did. Maybe it was the air of trepidation acting like a fog around him that Theo couldn’t cut through. His breakup pre-summer was big news, of course it was, he was the Franchise. Yet it didn’t feel like it was that. No, something else was weighing on his broad shoulders. It could’ve been that Bronwyn had gotten more annoying and was so excited for her junior year. Theo loved his little sister dearly but she just could not stop talking; that might be part of it. The reality was that he had deemed his senior year, his year. Theo was going to take what he wanted and give nothing back and there was something that he had had his eye on, something he had been wanting for a while and absolutely nothing was gonna stop him.

“Love you! Have a great day!”

Bronwyn was an angel on Earth, a pearly white smile and eyes like diamonds which she stole from their father the day she was born. Theo looked like his Mom. She was naive to the world in which they grew up, protected by a light that their mother shone onto her. He was not, he saw everything for what it was; an opportunity, an army of the damned souls who didn’t know that they were already dead.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Theo waved back with a smile for his sister before he climbed out of the driver's seat and locked up his vehicle. He had kept the same parking spot since he got his car. It was a prime location, perfect to people watch, to learn and soak in all the new information and gossip that he would no doubt use to continue his reign over the deluded Nepo babies that he was surrounded with. In the distance, he could see the unmistakable flaming red hair of his cousin Tallulah and her twin Alexandria; the Strattons. No doubt the two were up to some mischief. Unlike him, they wore what they did on their sleeves. One day it would bite them in their asses and as much as he enjoyed their company, he couldn’t wait to see it happen.

As he entered the school and walked the hallways of his empire, Theo’s dark eyes caught sight of Trixie rushing into a disabled bathroom with a drawstring bag that she had pulled from her nearby locker. Now that was interesting. She was moving very fast, in a rush into a room she had no business being in. What pray tell was she doing? Well now he had to know, time was there to be killed after all? Theo stepped through the crowd, shaking the hands and patting the shoulders of his adoring public until enough of their time was wasted on him and their focus redirected onto the next athlete or popular kid that followed behind. With their glares elsewhere, the redhead slipped down the side hall and followed Trixie into the bathroom.

He made a point of slamming the door behind him, a smirk curling across his round face as he locked eyes with a bare chested Trixie. “Well well, what do we have here? My Bea caught doing something she shouldn’t be?”

Involuntarily, goosebumps made their presence known on her skin. Trixie would curse under her breath for rushing to change and forgetting to lock the door but she was caught off guard. She didn’t even think she’d be here long since all she was going to do was put a black halter top on and a comfortable sweater. Instead she held her shirt close to her chest and turned to face away from her ex. The anxiety that was now residing in the pit of her stomach caused her heart to race. She couldn’t think straight but the last thing she should do was show a sign of weakness.

Woefully unprepared, Trixie tried to steady her breathing. They hadn’t been this close in years. The only time they were in close proximity was when they had to be because of class or walking past one another in the halls. She had no idea what motivated him to do this and quite frankly, she was not going to stand for it. This was not proper for a gentleman, a boy, or a person in general. Get it together, Trix. Don’t let him have the upperhand. Rushing to put her top on, she hissed, “What the fuck are you doing in here, Teddy?” Once her chest was covered she turned to face him, harshly. “Did your mom not teach you common sense?”

“We both know that neither of us are common.” Theo could see the residual bumps on her arms from when he entered. This was Beverly Hills, the cold didn’t exist here. Those goosebumps were for him, they always were. No matter what they would always be connected to one another, they had been all their lives. “We’re Elite. We’re superior stock.” His dark hazelnut eyes softly looked over her body, he couldn’t help but think of the image that she had just hidden from him. “We’re thoroughbreds.” Taking a step deeper into the room, Theo allowed his bag to fall to the floor before placing his hands into the front pockets of his dark jeans. “Which begs the question, why you, Trixie Kingsley, would allow for something like that to happen?” He pointed with his gaze to the dirty top she had dropped onto the floor. “How could you even let them get that close?”

Theo leaned back against the door, his broad muscular frame blocking it almost in its entirety. Some would consider him pound for pound the strong boy at BHHS, there was a reason TVC was the highest touted linebacker in the country. He was built like an army tank with a Ferrari engine. “I say this because I love you Bea but I think you might be losing your touch. They’re not scared of you anymore.”

Her lips pursed and her eyebrows furrowed the more he talked and invited himself in her space, like he was entitled to it. Standing her ground, not stepping back, even if she wanted to, Trixie coldly stared at her boy next door, getting increasingly angrier by the second. The more he talked, the more annoyed she got. Yet, behind that icy gaze, behind those beautiful, brown eyes of comforting childhood memories, there was hurt and fear of being vulnerable. There was confusion and bewilderment. There was love. Staying levelled, trying her best to not show her conflicted emotions, she admitted, “I don’t want them to be scared of me. That was never my intention, and you know that.”

Her mission was and always will be to continue her parents’ legacy and make sure Beverly Hills High had an environment that not only challenged herself and her peers but catered to everyone’s potential. She simply added her own twist to it. Be informed. Stay informed. Information was power. She wanted to be inspirational, not scary. Relatable, not out of touch. Resourceful, not vindictive. The only reason why she dived deep into journalism was because she liked knowing things, which avoided backdoor conversations, and she liked to keep her peers in the know so those like The Elite and the Hive Five couldn’t use information against them. Gossip and news go hand in hand. Today's gossip is tomorrow’s headline and she wanted to be the one with the story. Trixie swore to do her due diligence to not misinform her classmates and if she could, she’d be a shield, in her own way.

Jamie, however, was a bit more underhanded and perhaps she did let him get away with more than she probably should. The podcast didn’t help. It was their place to dive into their articles or share things they didn’t write about and she wasn’t going to lie… when she was with Jamie, she couldn’t help but be a little catty. That’s just how they’ve always been together but when she wrote, she came from a genuine and authentic place. She wasn’t here to ruin anyone. Her articles made her look good on paper and ultimately reached someone that would be grateful for the intel. Gossip was a tool to distract people from themselves, nothing more nothing less, and she wanted to be the one in the driving seat, steering that asset in the right direction.

Truth be told, Trixie didn’t know why she was even entertaining a conversation with her ex in the handicap bathroom but he cornered her like a predator corners his prey. The only way out was forward and right now he was barricading the door with his muscular physique. “Is this all you wanted? To tease me and say I’ve lost my touch?” She began to worry. Not because of the close proximity she was with Teddy but because of the rumours that could spiral if they were caught exiting the bathroom together. She thought she made herself clear. They both were not right for each other and they were kids when they decided to date. They should focus on themselves, getting themselves right and leaving any feelings they had for one another in the past. They had their careers to worry about. Not each other. As she hugged herself, she tightened her hold. She wanted to ask him: what do you want? But instead, she mumbled under her breath, “I love you too, Teddy…” Breaking eye contact with Theo, she waited for all this to be over so she could get to homeroom and forget how awful her morning was and continues to be.

“Come now, Bea…” Theo took another step into the room, his hands leaving his pockets as he did and placing them firmly onto Trixie’s shuddering arms. “You’re not scared of me, are you?” He asked rhetorically, knowing full well the answer. Everyone was scared of him, as they had every right to be. We’re told as children that monsters don’t exist and that much is true but what we’re not told is that people can be far worse than the things that go bump in the night. “You know teasing is my love language.” His fingers danced tenderly over the skin, feeling her warmth enter through their tips and directly into his body like a concentrated hit of a strong narcotic immediately into his bloodstream.

Their love, if you could even call it that, was barely a flash in the pan. Nine months of what Theo considered bliss. Then again he didn’t have much to compare it to at the time. All he had ever truly known was pressure, so much pressure. Trixie was meant to be the escape from that, she was supposed to be his emergency exit from the hell from which he was birthed and lived in every day. He remembered when his mother would smile and giggle when she would watch the two of them play house as children. The expectation that they would be together was not lost on him but that didn’t bother Theo too much because as far as he was concerned his feelings for Bea were real. At least until she tore out his heart and shredded it with her heel.

He smiled softly, sweetly even. Theo Van Cise’s blood ran colder than the snows of an Alaskan tundra but his face disarmed all that bore witness to him. He was pretty, round cheeked and did not possess a harsh face that would reflect the beast that had grown inside the pit of his stomach. “I just wanted to tell you that you looked beautiful today.” He took a piece of her dark hair between his fingertips and held it aloft between their faces. “I mean you always do, you know that, I don’t have to tell you.”

A gesture like this used to cloud her senses and make her melt. A gesture like this, and his gentle, musky scent, used to bring her to attention. A gesture like this used to get her to giggle in embarrassment and turn into a blushing bride. Things were different now and the somersaults happening inside of her was not because of innocent butterflies but out of anxiety and concern. Her dad taught her about the 333, to pull her out of this state. She was a lover, yes, but she was also a fighter. The 333. Name three things you see, three things you hear, and three parts of your body.

What did she see?

Theodore’s eyes. His hand that played with her hair. His smirk. That malicious smirk that pretended to be soft and kind. Theodore was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

What did she hear?

His breathing. Her breathing. The muttered noises outside the bathroom of their peers rushing to homeroom. She wasn’t alone with him, not really. Just out that door, there were people and if she wanted to, she could scream. She could make her location known. She could get away.

And three parts of her body?

Her hands.

Beatrix found herself letting go, no longer crossing her arms, and gently grabbing his hand, placing it on her cheek. She looked at him with empathy and regret. She still cared about him. That would never change.

Her chest.

Flirtatiously, she fluttered her eyelashes and made prolonged eye contact. Inching closer, Trixie gave him a nice view of her petite form. A body he used to embrace often. A body he wished he tasted. A body that wasn’t his. He had an even better view of her cleavage. She wanted him to. With her new top, there was plenty for him to see. With her face inches away from his, he could see her lips. Those lips he used to kiss.

“I like when you tell me things like that,” she whispered, using her femininity to her advantage. She might be a good girl but if she really wanted to, she could be bad… She was Beatrix Kingsley. She knew her worth.

Her knee.

In quick fashion, Trixie forcibly brought her knee to his groin, making sure she aimed right for the balls. With the fight response activated, she shoved her ex out of the way and decided her backpack and her dirty clothes were not as important as her safety. Operating under the impression that if she allowed their time together to last any longer, he would hurt her, she cursed, “Next time you do this shit, I’m getting a restraining order, asshole!” And she left the bathroom, leaving Theo to think about his actions. She didn’t stop until she found herself under the stairs by the back entrance, a place where kids smoked. When she noticed no one there, she dropped to the floor and observed her shaking hands. She wanted to cry. What the fuck is wrong with him? The Theo she knew would never do something like that, but that was the thing, wasn’t it?

He wasn’t the Theo she knew.

Teddy was dead. He was the Franchise. And that was entirely her fault.

“Fuck me…” she muttered, finding stability against the wall. She hugged her knees and buried her face, letting the fear pass her by. She needed to get her shit together. The last thing she wanted was someone to spread fake news or worse, tell people she was weak. Trixie wasn’t weak. She was a bad bitch and she was going to keep it that way. But first, she needed to compose herself so she can smile and act like what just happened, didn’t. Everything was going to be okay. She was okay.

She was okay.

Theo knelt on the floor in agony but he was smiling, by God he was smiling. This was her chance, he wanted to give it to her out of the goodness of his heart. She could’ve saved it all if she had just let herself feel what she wanted to feel but typical Bea, stubborn to the last. Now everything was going to burn and it was all her fault. Pulling himself back up to his feet using the nearby sink, Theo’s eyes shifted to the pile of clothes and the bag she had left behind. They were the perfect representation of what had occurred to his Bea. She had shed her skin and transformed, though through her chrysalis she had not become a butterfly. No, she had become something else entirely.

She was one of them.

As his grip on the sink tightened, Theo could feel it begin to peel away from the wall. If he wanted to he could rip it straight out and throw it around as if it was nothing, it was within his power to do so. Yet he chose not to. Appearances, as they say, were everything and he was the Franchise. It was time to put his game face on. Gathering himself with a deep breath, Theo picked up his own bag and slung it back over his shoulder before grabbing Trixie’s things and bundling them up together. He exited the bathroom and grabbed a freshman by the shoulder. “Hey, get these cleaned up and make sure they get to Trixie Kingsley, ok?” He pushed the items into the pizza faced lads hand and pulled him an inch closer. “If you don’t, I’m gonna break your jaw. Run along, get out of here. Shooo.”

Pushing the child away, Theo surveyed the chaos around him. He gave her a chance; now someone else would have to deal with it, with him. And he had the perfect person in mind.

He couldn’t wait for Homeroom.














The day had all gone by in the blur.

Moments strung together my threads that didn’t seem like they belonged but that Beau had no reason to question.

He had been ushered from his home by his children, swifter than the fastest race car burning its rubber against the hottest tarmac. No one made mention of any destination, only a journey, a journey which took the literature teacher to the furthest corners of his adopted home, Edenridge and deep into its tragic heart. Ferried at different intervals by Desmond, Delphine, Genevieve, Evangeline and Zara; Antoine was taken to see faces from his past.

It began with a sit down with Big Rey Gonzales, who played with his grandchildren in a spritely manner that did not give way to his advancing age. The Serpent Patriarch was followed by a trip through the cracked streets of the Southside, beyond the train tracks where the line between the haves and have-nots was as thin as pink tie adorning his thick neck.

Soon he ended up at Faith’s Fish House for a sit down lunch with Colleen that reminded him of his childhood in the French Quarter. The spicy smell of crabs, shrimp and crawfish took him back to simpler times. Lance had really out done himself with this new venture. Plus it was always nice for Beau to brush up on his ASL when communicating with Lance’s youngest daughter Eden. You’re never too old to learn something new.

The final stop after a long day was Edenridge High, decorated in black and gold instead of its usual green, the school was to hide Beau’s retirement party. When Antoine entered the room he was taken aback by the sheer number of people there. Former students, old friends and even some family from back south. Seeing his girls on stage, beckoning him into the room with the songs of Sam Cooke, his heart filled with light and joy. Everything felt right in the world.

“Look at them all.”

A deep, resonant voice to rival his own bellowed behind Beau before he soon felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Turning his head ever so slightly, he noticed that the large mitten belonged to one of his own, a boy in blue to the end, Windham Broadus, the Chief of Police. Antoine did not envy Windham’s position as head of a force that was more corrupt than pure. Back in his days in NOLA, Mr Beau too had to deal with an amazing level of dirty police and southern white politics. And yet there was always a clear line, a definite black and white and good versus evil. In today's world, that line was more blurred than ever. Some more even hazard to say, that the line no longer existed. “Mr Broadus, are you about to get all whimsical and nostalgic on me?”

“You bet your black ass, so sit down, shut up, grab yourself a scotch and listen.” The two men began to laugh together, hearty, strong laughs that were infectious to those around them. Immediately the room lightened even more as the old coppers took their seats at the edge of the room to survey the younger generation that mingled before them.

Windham was not known to be an emotional man; some might even hazard to say the man was cold but Antoine knew that to be a falsity. Like him, Broadus grew up on the streets, fighting tooth and nail for all he had, supporting a family and doing right by the code of the corner. He was known amongst various police forces for his skills at interrogation and getting confessions from his perps. It was awe inspiring really. He closed himself off to protect himself, to hide away from the horrors of the game so that he could not thrust those same nightmares onto his children, Alonzo, Bianca and Quinton as well as his niece Maya. Antoine knew that beneath the shield, Windham was a devoted father and uncle and a man behest to walk a path of righteousness lest God smite him with fury and anger. He was a good man, a good cop and someone that Beau had the utmost respect for.

“You know, twenty years ago, a lot of the faces in this room weren’t even born? Some were about to be, others weren’t even swimming in their daddy’s sacks yet. Me and you? We were working them corners. Banging up on hard boys, flexing on em to stop slinging their product. Shit never worked but it’s what we did. I remember, I remember that moment. When I heard the first bang and the screams.” Windham’s voice turned darker and more sombre. “I was running through an ash cloud thicker than anything I’d ever seen before. Hell I couldn’t see shit. Then I got to where the towers used to be and….”

He paused, solemnly letting his words hang in there. “I just started digging with my bare hands. People were pulling me from left to right, screaming for help whilst the smell of burnt flesh and oil just suffocated me. I thought of Lonzo and Bee, who I didn’t get to see because she was living here with her mother and I just…I knew that I had to save as many people as I could and then I had to get out. It was because of that day, then and there I decided to leave New York and come here.” Windham looked across the dance floor of the gym, his three babies were all together, talking with their respective spouses. “Memories; fade. People die. But what we do, what we leave behind, that’s what lives forever, I served these people and the streets but what I leave behind are those three.”

Beau could not agree more. He was an old man, there wasn’t long left for him on this planet but that was ok because he knew he was leaving behind something much more than himself, his kids. Not just the ones that his Colleen birthed but the ones he taught, the ones he dug from the rubble that he found in Edenridge and pulled out of the life that would’ve surely ended theirs. It was here where he understood the point that his compatriot was trying to make: Antoine was leaving behind everyone that stood before him and many more beyond, that would be his legacy. As he gazed upon those happy faces he smiled. The line was blurring over time but it was his hope that with his lessons, his children could repaint it and it could live on for the next generation.

“You’re a sentimental old bitch, ain’t ya Windham?” Beau’s soft southern drawl could make even the most insulting comment sound almost endearing. Though his fellow officers recounting his reasoning for moving to Eden also reminded Antoine of his own story. “Colleen had been desperate to move back here for years. She really missed her family, especially Cynthia; ain’t nobody closer to a girl than her sister. My parents were long gone and my brother was off doing his thing but NOLA was home you know? But then I started working this case…” Beau’s mind drifted back. “Triple. Mom, two daughters. Husband missing, presumed the murderer and no weapon. I thought it was gonna be big, you know? Constantly in the papers. Especially cos it was a white family too, you know how the media is. But then nothing; not a word. Didn’t even get a paragraph. I spent months working that thing, ran every lead. Not a word.”

Beau finally brought his glass to his lips for the first drink of the day. “Then we found the husband's body; sunken in a refrigerator in the bayou. He was a victim too.” He took a long held sip. “Then the media got interested. Didn’t matter that these baby girls were gone, nor the wife, nor the husband. No victim mattered but the mystery? Oh they loved the mystery. That’s when I realised that the line didn’t exist no more. I realised it was never gonna be like it was. I told Collie that night to start looking at houses.”

Windham shook his head at the very thought. He had heard Beau say for years “Nobody no victim that don’t matter.” And he was now beginning to see the origins of Antoine’s motto. It was something he carried with him always. They were of similar ages but just like everybody else in that room, in that town, the Chief of Police had learned a lot from Antoine Beauregard. “Did you ever solve it?”

Beau’s lips widened into his famous bright white grin. “Of course I did. It was the last case I ever worked. Turns out the husband’s business partner was in love with him but was denied affection. So he murdered the family, kidnapped the husband, then killed him, sank the body and then hid the murder weapon in the foundation of a new building. One month later, I was teaching at Edenridge High.” As the two men smiled pridefully at one another, Beau noticed Windham’s son Alzono beckoning his father over. “Looks like your attention has been requested, Win. Goddamn though, what did you feed that boy? Motherfucker is huge.”

The younger man stood up to his feet and placed his hand once again on Beau’s shoulder. “He gets it from his Momma rest her soul.” He polished off his drink and placed it onto the nearby snack table. “People like you and me, we gonna go to our graves, forever knowing what corner Soulman got shot on or where the fastest routes around town are. We gonna know forever, where that line is and how to keep people on their sides of it. That’s the curse we bare, the burden we have undertaken. Ain’t nobody though, can do it better than you Antoine. Bet that. Enjoy your evening, you deserve it.”

As Windham departed to allow Beau time with his thoughts, the old man once again gazed out across the party and the faces amongst the number. In each, he could see a lesson learned and a lesson taught, a heart beating with purpose beyond living.

This was what he was leaving behind.









The gift of memory.

Some might call it a curse.

Antoine remembered most every little thing about his sixty years on this planet. Some memories were stronger than others, clearer, like the crystal clear reflections of Eden lake. Others, not so much, dredged and submerged in the bayou bog water of his Louisiana Creole kin. Yet all were still there, all came back to him in waves of nostalgia, tinged with pride or penance. As his days in retirement rolled onwards like a young soldier, Beau found himself deeply lost in the waters of his mind, wading through the good and the bad as he wistfully looked beyond the horizon to truly find what made him the man he was and to search for the exact lessons he learned so that he could pass that knowledge on to those that he would eventually leave behind. It would always be Antoine’s mission to leave the world a better place than when he first entered it.

The French Quarter. 1st October 1961

Marcellus Beauregard had broken his back trying to do what a man must, provide.

In no uncertain terms, he had been slaving away, building homes and hearths for the white man that spat on him every time he walked by the very walls he had crafted skillfully with his bare hands. Their words, whilst guided like poison tipped arrows aimed directly at his heart, could not stop him from his path. Held together with honey and duct tape, Marcellus was on a mission through the crowded streets of the Quarter. Despite the jagged feeling of pain he was enduring, he would not slow down his march as he made his way to his wife, his beloved, Monique, as she was about to give birth to their first child. No amount of pain in his body or thinly veiled racism in the midst of what would soon be a full scale riot would stop him from being there to bear witness to that miracle.

It all began the week before; Jacob Ellis was thirteen years old and was walking home from school. As with most boys of colour, his walk home was one always littered with words of hate, the bile of his contemporaries but Jacob ignored them. He had learned to wrap himself in a cloak of toughness, like the wizards and warlocks in the fantasy books he loved so much. No cloak or shield would be enough to starve off what happened next. In absent-mindedness, his head buried in JRR Tolkien's magnum opus, the young boy didn’t pay any attention to his surroundings and accidentally knocked over ten year old Alice Menard. Alice, a small girl even for her age, cracked her head on the pavement. Although she stood up and proclaimed her health, the onlookers immediately accused Jacob of assault.

When he never returned home from school that night, Jacobs' parents went out looking for him. After an exhaustive search, he was soon found strung between two low hanging trees, hands and feet bound together and his head fully submerged in the dirty swamp water of the bayou. Nobody would ever be charged for the crime but for the ensuing riots, a small army of black and non whites would be charged for their protesting. Violence would soon erupt amongst the residents and police if the Quarter which would only end upon the further seven deaths of four rioters and three servicemen. The event would be lost to time for all but those that were there.

Attempting to navigate the sea of bodies with a shattered vertebrae was by no means an easy feat but Marcellus could not allow himself to feel the fragmented bones that were piercing his muscles further with every laboured step. He had worked too long and too hard to miss the best day of his life despite being surrounded by those experiencing the worst of theirs. His entire family, from himself and his twelve siblings, fighting to survive on the streets with nothing but each other to rely on. He thought of his father, hacking rocks on the chain gang, locked away for the colour of his skin. Marcellus remembered the stories of his grandmother, who toiled away on the tobacco fields of Monticello, unable to speak any language beyond her native Haitian tongue.

A Beauregard fought through pain. Giving up wasn’t a thing.

As the uprising around him swelled to a crescendo, Marcellus could feel the claustrophobia closing in. The crowd was getting denser, the combative words between his brothers and the white man that stood on their balconies worsened only to be followed by tossed homemade bombs of cleaning fluid and a lit cloth. Amongst all this, their arms linked together in unbreakable links, silently bowing to not disperse and never let go, to never give up. Beauregard’s one and all. Marcellus dove away from the flaming automobiles and the shattered glass of broken shop windows and into a side street. On any other given day, he would stand with his brothers in solidarity for a boy who did not deserve that which the fates bestowed on him but on this day, they would understand that he had to unshackle his chain to get where he needed to be.

The stairs up to the apartment he and his wife shared with three other families might as well have been Everest and he might as well have been Edmund Hillary, without Tenzing to guide him to the summit. Clutching the railing with a trembling grip, whether from nerves or deteriorating energy, Marcellus began his perilous ascent. With every new step, the man made of oak pushed through what felt like a wall of sand. As he climbed further away from the raucous noise from the riot, another sound began to whisper into Marcel’s ear. A melodic tease of something more, something new. Then there was something else, a cry, a shrill shriek from unfinished lungs. It was enough to strengthen his resolve, to feel the hands of those that came before him push Marcellus to the top of the stairs and through the front door.

With the dulcet sounds of Sam Cooke singing his latest track Chain Gang as a backing track, Marcellus, drenched in the sweat of his ancestors, dragged his almost lifeless body to the bed where his wife lay, in her arms a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Pulling his huge frame onto the bed, he all but collapsed next to Monique with a hefty sigh. With roasted coffee colored eyes he gazed upon the baby boy that matched his stare intently.

“Hey hey, no tears for me”

The gathered neighbours cooed and cried at the sight of the newborn, Marcellus reached out with a calloused finger tip and the child reached back, wrapping his tiny hands around his fathers digit.

“Antoine. I think we should call him Antoine.”










For the recently anointed Dr Trevor Moreau, throwing himself into danger was part of his job description. Yet he had never felt fear in the same way he did in that moment as his bike approached the marina.

Trevor had done much to forget his time at the elite Kings Academy. In his mind, the sad memories far outweighed the positive ones. From day one, things proved difficult. Trev arrived in Florida with his writer mother when he was fifteen and took up residence in a small, quaint house overlooking the beach. They had left his father behind in New York so that his mother Martina could consult on a new TV show that would be based around one of her best selling novels, Death Rider. To begin with, Trevor believed that going to school with the world's elite, in a new city, a new state would be an awfully big adventure. Swiftly, the would-be explorer realised that it was an undertaking that he had not prepared for and was definitely not ready for.

Foremostly, he missed his father. Trevor loved his Dad, they shared everything from an interest in history and hiking to fierce eyebrows and a tall frame that towered over most of their compatriots. When Simon Moreau decided to stay in New York to continue to teach at Columbia, it broke his son's heart. The only blessing was that his parents did not separate and still deeply loved each other, they just did it from afar. The trips back to the big apple to spend time with his father and following him on archeological digs were the highlight of Trevor’s summers.

He didn’t really much care for Florida or the people in it. Most did not treat him well for various reasons that only they could really justify or begin to explain because Trev never really understood it. If he wasn’t being picked on for his interests and academic mind, it would be for his height or his looks or a perceived lack of God knows what. It also didn’t help that he arrived into Kings later than most. Friendships and relationships had already been formed and he was the latecomer encroaching.

Kids could be so horrible.

When graduation came around, Trevor ran out of those big doors and never looked back. He was on the first plane to New York, left his cell phone in the house and then immediately he and his father were off on an expedition to Africa. The Moreau men spent months out there before the younger man then began his education at the illustrious Eton. England treated Trev much better than Florida ever did. These higher education types were much more his kind of people. Though strangely, the future archaeologist did long for some of the sun-kissed days at the Academy, it wasn’t all bad, after all. He found friends in the likes of Matty, Ziggy, the Swimmer twins and Kai. Although in the intervening years he tried to keep up with them as much as he could, Trevor also developed a tendency to fall off the edge of the map, a trait that only got worse as he progressed deeper into his dream career. It soon became commonplace for him to spend less than two months out of a year actually in the US.

Pulling his bike off to the side of the road, Trevor parked up for a respite and to manage the pounding in his chest. He has climbed mountains, dived into crushing, unfathomable depths, he has traversed deserts and faced death herself on too many occasions to count. Yet what sat moored around the next bend of the road, a yacht brimming with ghosts of his own buried past, was the greatest challenge he had ever undertaken. He began to use the breathing techniques his mother had taught him, tightening his grip on the straps of the lone rucksack he brought with him.

“It is in our nature to explore, to reach out into the unknown. The only true failure would be not to explore at all.”

Ernest Shackleton was one of Britain’s greatest explorers and he held a place on the Trevor’s Mount Rushmore of adventurers. In times of desired guidance, he would turn to the words of those that paved the way for him to continue to fill the uncharted waters of the never ending map. In this instance, Shackelton’s words would push Trevor onwards. He didn’t want to really go forward to this reunion at the gates of Atlantis but he knew that if he didn’t, he might regret it. And by the grace of God he did not want to live with any regrets. With a final sigh, Trev started the engine again and made the final push towards the port and to the Thousand Sunny.

After a few more minutes of riding, the archeologist and his bike arrived in time to see that a group had already begun to form at the boat. Some faces he knew instantly, like Ziggy and Kai. Others he had to do a double take and search through the history books of his brain to match a name. Luckily he was good at that. Trevor handed his keys to a valet and had a stranglehold on his bag straps once again as he began to step closer towards the crowd. Would they even recognise him now? He had changed so much. He had gotten in good shape, his hair had lightened due to time spent in the scorching sun and his clothes were much more rugged than that which he wore in high school. Did he even leave a legacy in their minds? Or was he a footnote in all of their far more interesting stories? Time would tell.

“Hey everyone.”
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