The clock on the wall ticked past 2 AM. Julius lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that red toy car. It was sitting on his nightstand now, a small, dusty piece of a past he couldn't reach.
The mystery was eating at him. He felt like a stranger in his own house, a man with a hole in his head where a decade of history should be.
He couldn't stay in bed anymore. The air in his room felt too thin, still carrying that ghostly scent of Harrison that refused to wash away.
Julius stood up and pulled on a sweatshirt. He opened his door quietly.
The hallway was dark and silent.
He made his way down the stairs, avoiding the steps he knew would creak.
He wasn't heading for the kitchen.
He was heading for the east wing.
His mother's private study was off-limits. She kept it locked, and the staff were told never to clean it unless she was present.
Julius reached the door and tried the handle.
Locked.
He didn't want to break it, but he was desperate.
