A-Minor

Early Monday morning was greeted with fellow children and teens of the wealthy community, ready for school. They were all dressed fantastically, in the private schools' uniform with an added flair of style. Their designer boots, heels, and sneakers crunched against the snow that had suddenly sprouted from the clear skies.

Paddy watched a group of girls, wearing matching knit hats link their arms together and saunter towards their school. The taller girl leaned towards the middle, grinning, and the whole group through their heads back in laughter. Paddy bit into her lower lip and turned away from the window of the Paddalin's Bentley.

She slid a bit lower into the soft leather of the back seat and ran her finger along the end of her hair. She took a short breath, and busied herself with a novel she'd failed to read from her private novel collection. Immediately after reading the first few pages, she became bored. Paddy closed the book with a low sigh, and tossed it carelessly on the ground of the car.

The book lacked what Paddy desperately abhorred; reality. The tale was a horribly written piece, about a budding relationship between two best friends. As if that would happen in real life. Though she wouldn't admit it, Paddy wanted to read a book that spoke of similar ways to her life. She longed to have someone other than herself feel what it was like to live in an everyday hell.

But, she'd never admit that to anyone. Hell, she barely wanted to admit it to herself.

The car jerked over a speed bump, and Paddy's head smacked against the window. She whimpered, and the family's driver looked into the rear view mirror startled. He apologized profusely, and Paddy nodded stiffly.

Fantasy would be nice right now.

Paddy pulled out her cellphone, tapping at the screen aimlessly. Unlike so many 15 year olds she'd heard of, she never had anyone to text. No one to call up, and speak idiotically with. No one to text in the earliest hours of the morning to say that she'd broken a nail. Paddy rolled her eyes defiantly. As if she would lower herself to that level of fatuity.

Paddy had been so overwhelmed with her thoughts she'd failed to notice the door being opened. The mild sunlight beamed in her eyes, and she slipped on her large sunglasses before gracefully exiting the car. Paddy walked slowly up the steps to her home, finding herself thinking once again, how she would rather be back at Dr. Moise's office, instead of where she was. She was absolutely dreading the loneliness held inside the lavish walls.

Her meeting with Dr. Moise that morning had been filled with awkward silences, and frequent pauses. Paddy spoke just about 4 words, including her greeting. Dr. Moise had been less than thrilled with the progress, and Paddy could tell her father would need to find a new top-notch therapist within the week. The corners of her lips lifted a bit at the thought.

Once inside the house, Paddy quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a dark long sleeved shirt. She had been reminded frequently by her parents of the image the family had to keep up, so to avoid excess conversations, Paddy obliged. In the comfort–and she used the term loosely–of her home, her outfits were of no ones concern but her own.

Paddy slugged into the world famous, 73,000-book Paddalin family library, and sat down on her favorite couch. The red material, was silky and smooth against her fingers. The couch always reminded her of the scent of lavender and chocolate, which Paddy thought went fabulous together. Plus, the couch was the only cheap looking furniture piece in the large room. And for that alone, it called to Paddy.

Paddy looked around the room with mild interest, hoping to spot a book spine she had not yet uncovered. Ever since Paddy had learned to read at 3 years, she'd immediately devoted her childhood to reading every book in the house. And she had, or so she'd thought. Because snuggled safely between the French translation of Wuthering Heights, and Moby Dick, sat a thin, gold book spine.

Immediately Paddy walked over to the shelf, and bent to get a closer look. The spine was gold, just as she had seen it, but covered lightly with dust. There were no words on it, only odd symbols. Paddy ran her index finger softly down the spine, before curiously wiggling it out of it's spot. She turned it over in her hand, until she could see the cover which was as blank as her thoughts.

Whose book was this? How had she never seen it before? And most importantly, what was it doing in the 'classic' section of the library? Obviously someone had been careless with their placements, and the very thought made Paddy fume slightly.

No one, was to be in the library, besides Paddy.

Nonetheless, book in hand, Paddy shuffled back to her couch, and sat, before opening the book. It was light, and she wondered what it could possibly be about. Maybe it was a foreign book. Or possibly the original copy of a historical figures diary. The library was filled with those.

It was apparently neither, as the first page made Paddy shift uncomfortably in her seat.

In an obviously feminine, wavy cursive, someone had written 'Helena S'. Paddy wracked her brain for any recognition of any Helena, and came up short. She knew of a Helen, but never a Helena. Cautiously, she turned the next page, noticing how old the paper felt. It was loose, and thin, as though it would rip with the slightest pressure. The next page was an amazing sketch of a sunset. Paddy ran her fingers over the page lightly, as not to smear the pencil.

Now interested, she turned to the next page and sucked in a low breath. Helena had drawn a picture of a tree. It was nothing special, but the detail she'd put into it, took Paddy's breath away. The tree was just about bare, with skinny branches and very few leaves. On the leaves however were amazingly drawn pink Japanese blossoms. There were so many, that the tree looked full, but you could clearly see that the tree was bare.

The picture called to Paddy. It was raw, and she felt as though she understood the meaning. Paddy ran her fingers over the tips of her hair, and pulled it back to clip it up. Then she dipped her head lower and studied the picture.

She really looked at it.

And gasped–loudly.

What looked like an innocent, yet casual marking, actually held four initials. HS and HP. Of course it could've been a complete coincidence, but what were the odds that this random woman's art journal end up in the Paddalin library, with absolutely no trace of where or who it came from.

Because Paddy was smarter than that, she knew. Knew deep within her bones, that something was going on. There was no book in this library she'd failed to read, at least once. There was no one who was brave enough to risk their job–and possibly life–to venture into the Paddalin library. There was no way in hell there could be another HP who this was meant for. Paddy knew it as well as she knew of the Paddalin blood in her veins.

HP stood for Henry Paddalin.

The real question was who exactly was Helena S, and why her possession was here, and why she'd drawn such a symbolic picture with her father's initials carved into the tree. Was this a memento of her father's past girlfriends? Was her father having an affair with this Helena person? Paddy wouldn't put it beneath him, but it was still extremely shady to have the woman's art book in the family library.

Obviously that was out. But it was then. As Rose's voice echoed loudly through the intercom near Paddy startling her. It was as she screamed, shocked, and stood up quickly that it happened. The journal fell to the ground and hastily, Paddy bent down to pick it up when she saw it.

The wrinkled, black and white photo.