Desmond #3

Issex, Nottstrait 6. August 20th. 07.32 p.m.

Gulped as i rang the bell and stood in front of the number 6 house of Nottstrait Road. Rufus was waiting in the car just around the corner. Forbid him to come closer. Told him to find a place to stay. Would call him if I need his help and that was it. Other than that, i was on my own. Even shook slightly. Rather embarrassing to be acknowledged. For a person like Desmond Holzman-Lyon to shake. An embarrassment indeed.

Heard voices shouting behind the door. Something like "Tim, can you get the door? I still have to find my tie." A grunting noise and the usual protest followed before being ended with an "okay". Heart was beating like mad the moment the door swung open.

At that time I knew that I couldn't be wrong. It was so obvious. Yes it did and at the same time it was marvelous to finally found my so-called biological father. Got too excited that I laughed and yelled a "I knew it". The man wasn't even looking at me. Significantly taller, he didn't notice me at first. Only when I made a voice then he looked down with a distinguished confusion smeared on his face.

Pretty much and unequivocally my twin. Uncanny indeed, to see the perfect replica of yourself - but much older in age - standing in front of you. The only difference is - as predicted - my eye that resembled those of Mother's. The same disheveled coiffure in the same hue, few curling at some places. So much alike.

"What do you want, kid?" remembered him uttering such words.

I answered with, "You are Tim Fischer, correct?" Just to be sure. Well, it was genuine truth. The hell with DNA test. Even the most asinine of all could tell that I am indeed his son.

"Yes," he answered with left eyebrow raised.

Know that I have to come up with an excuses. Who I am, what is my purpose. Too awestruck to do the aforementioned things. End up standing there looking at Tim Fischer with mouth half-opened.

A "Who's that Tim?" fortunately broke the ice, followed by another man, walking towards the door. Younger than Tim Fischer. Blonde hair and significantly taller. Didn't know anything about the other man. Looked surprise to see me, I could tell. Turned to look towards Tim Fischer who did nothing but look back to me, waiting for an answer.

"My name is-."

Hesitated. Thoughts swarmed through my head. Came here with two choices. Telling the truth or made up some story. Wanted to know whether this biological father of mine knew about my existence. Judging from his reaction, he didn't. For he would look surprise whereas he just stood there as if I am a conventional child, asking for a trick or treat at a wrong time. Thought that maybe Tim Fischer knew the name Desmond. Mother had probably mentioned my existence as the son of Janina Holzman. Not the son of Janina Holzman and Tim Fischer. That part was simply discarded.

So faking my history it is. After all, will be waiting for Tim Fischer's expression the moment he acknowledge the existence of a son. Revert to Plan-B.

"Damian."

And why am I here? Being the genius I am, I had come up with excuses, rational enough to be accepted by grown-man. Here it is. Something that I come up with this ingenious mind of Desmond Holzman.

"I am a relative of Janina Holzman. She sent you an e-mail before (of course it was a forgery made by me) pertaining my arrival. As for the intricate matter, I am here to spend the summer, learning from the proficient in term of Quantum Physic. Didn't look like much but I assured you that I-,"

At that point Tim Fischer had closed the door on me. Felt like a slap on the face. Clearly didn't know a thing about manner. Knocked on the door again, harder this time. Heard an ongoing argument at the other side. The other blonde man was proving his point how rude it was to slam the door in front of my face. Tim Fischer just gave a series of grunting noises.

It was something like, "He's just a kid. Maybe he needs your help."

It was followed by Tim Fischer with a, "He gets the wrongs place. I don't even know that bloody kid. Besides, we already had that reservation in Quatre Saisons."

Then there was this long-spoken "Please", resembling that of a little child, asking for a cup of ice-cream to his parents. A 3 second pause a similar "okay" was heard before having the door, once again, being opened.

So, that was pretty much how I managed to enter the number 6 house of Nottstrait under the name 'Damian'. Believed that spending the whole summer in this house would be magnificent yet cumbersome. Got to know my biological father. Pretty rude at first, but knew that this was going to be brilliant. Definitely feeling the aster.

Wish me luck.

-Des

Desmond #2

Issex. August 20th. 07.13 p.m.

Thought that Mother would have old letters like those ridiculous movie. Turned out she didn't. Foolish of me to think of the conventional since this wouldn't be something considered simple. Would be bemused it if was. 

Long story short, instead of letters, had hacked into her e-mail account and any electronic traces. Trying to find a breadcrumb of clues. Of course i'm capable of doing such things. Was called a 'genius' for an apparent reason. Polymath in almost everything, have to say. Except music, ruefully had to be acknowledged. Another prove, since both Mother and Father weren't such bright-minded individuals.

Prove number four, have to say.

Hacking into her account, I prepared myself for the upcoming obstacles. Ten years gap between whoever she had had contact with during my lifetime to the possible candidate of my biological father to-be. Believed that the situation wasn't as dismal as it seemed as that ten years gap had proven to be a bundle of 1000 individual e-mail. Could finish 1000 in one day. Once again, wasn't called a genius without a prominent prove that I am one. 

This act of debauchery had led me to a series of names. Taking notes and pattern of Mother's social life from the moment I was born until today, I had found something rather interesting. Had come across dozens of names, but one had surely caught my attention. Their contact began since Mother was in university and kept on going until around 6 months before I was born. Followed by nothing for almost a year before their chains of e-mails started popping again. 

To make it even more suspicious, that particular person was indeed Mother's boyfriend (spotted a few 'miss you and XOXO' written by Mother followed by some innuendos, teasing and other inappropriate things at other times. What I meant by inappropriate things were that of a sex tape. Found a few of them, apparently as a request from Mother as she herself was the one who asked her so-called boyfriend to tape it. Couldn't and didn't want to know more about them. Would definitely puke. Feeling like doing so even now).

Reading their conversation, I could make out a thing or two about the aforementioned individual. Not that kind that you would call amicable. Meticulous and unhumorous. Stiff. Short-written message and formal words notwithstanding you would find a few long-written one, filled with nothing but profanity (consisting that of the lowest and most repugnant kind of words that was uttered in a brothel to that that I doubted exist in this world but proven to be wrong after checking the Oxford Dictionary twice) about being groped or having an experiment met their failure. Didn't really understand it. At some point their e-mails was consisted of technical, names and terms that even I could not understand.

Stalking their conversation, I had found out that Mother had been apart from the individual for almost two years until their reconciled about a year before I was born. Mother moved to the individual's home. The full address was written in the e-mail. Apparently he resided in England as well. A professor at a local university despite his early age. 

Didn't want to be premature in decision but my instinct told me that i had found my answer. Googled him and found tons of articles. Unfortunately very few photos. None, even. Didn't want to find out how the individual look like from the sex tape either. Met him, maybe? Yes, of course meeting him. Just had to arrange an excuse. Summer vacation, so no school. Rufus could take me there. 24-hours drive. Wouldn't matter, really. 

So, packed my bag and just went without telling Mother. Got Rufus so everything would be all right. Seemed that this mystery of mine had come to an end. A pretty short story. Unchallenging in many ways. Too easy. Still this was just a threshold of everything that might come. Bracing myself to meet my biological father. A fifteen minutes drive away from the house numbered 6 at Nottstrait Road, Issex.

Wish me luck.

- Des

Desmond #1

Home. August 18th. 02.48 a.m.

Never really know how my father looked like. Well, will be told stupid for saying that since the figure of such person called 'father' did exist in my world. But then again saying that he is my father would prove how much of a dimwit I am. Every living person would know that he's not mine to be called father. Nor that I want. The man had done nothing in my world and I am glad that he did since giving me nothing had proved to be a simplicity. Less people to talk to, less people to tell how my lovely day like. Simply put I wasn't quite fond of him nor that I hate him. He didn't matter much.

This dismal life of mine had proved to be such a bother. Why you asked? This ingenious mind seemed to be gasping for problem. Not that I'm a ludicrous, childish boy who spent my time daydreaming like the ordinary conventional. Far better than them. Sublimely better.

And since my mind abhors a vacancy of this monotonous life, I couldn't help but to wonder the simple thing that proved to be efficient in its own way in granting the only thing that my mind sought. The answer is my parentage, which is the cardinal topic here. My guess surely isn't based on some random proves. It was the promiscuity of intelligence and perfect conjecture.

Mother is gorgeous. Looking younger than people her age. A loving mother? Supposedly. There the most time when needed. Father's a billionaire, doesn't work much. Whereas Father spent times across the sea god-knows-where doing something called 'work'. If it's really true. Who knows he'll spend times cheating with other girls? Mother said that their marriage was arranged.

Prove number one, it wasn't based on love.

Didn't look like Father. Didn't really look like mother either. Look like someone else entirely different. Thought that I'm an adoptive son at first. That was maybe true. Switched me by the time I was born, taken from my biological parent or such. Likely to be the truth. The only thing that resembled Mother in me is my eyes. Brown like her. Have trace of her in me somewhere though. Not really physical but lots say that I am truly her son. With Father? Likely no and I think so too.

Prove number two, didn't look like Father. At all.

Prove number three is just a hunch and series of event. Remember seeing Mother cried early in my childhood. Didn't know why. Maybe it was unrelated but a hunch was still a hunch. And I was right. Usually.

Been checking on photos. Mother in high-school, university in German, until she moved back to England. Tried to find her friends. Was famous in high-school, had a bunch of boyfriends. University was rather hard to find but managed to get a hold of a piece of crucial information. Mother had a boyfriend in university. Gone out for years but never been heard. Had to do some research in each of those boyfriends of hers.

Wish me luck.

- Des