"Another cup of tea, dear?" Johnathan's mother asked.
"No thanks mum, I'm fine."
"Thank you so much for taking me home, son. Without your father around anymore, well, I'm not sure I could bare to be alone in this house."
"Oh you know James, always too busy to hang out with with his boring old mother."
"Don't coddle me Johnathan, I know young boys have better things to do."
"Mum, I'm thirty-five."
She chuckled. "Well, you'll also be my little Johnathan."
He smiled. "Is that cup of tea still on offer?"
While his mother set about brewing some more tea in the kitchen, Johnathan sat, trying to think about what to do. That letter, it was insane. He'd daren't mention it to his mother, the last thing she needed was to know that Dad had been going crazy before the end. But something didn't feel right, something about that letter, the things his father had said. There was a sincerity there, a lucidity that gave doubt to Johnathans suspicions of madness. He had to know more.
Presently, his mother returned to the room with two cups of tea and set one down with a rattle before Johnathan. He sipped at it slowly, looking at his mother over the brim of the cup and worrying about what he was going to say.
"Come on Johnathan, out with it. It's rude to stare, I thought I'd taught you better than that." She grinned.
"Mum, do you think I could look in Dad's study?"
"Why? You know he didn't like anyone to go in there."
"I just want to get to know him better. To find an... explanation."
"Because of the will? Oh Johnathan, you know he loved you. I don't know why he didn't leave you anything."
"But maybe there are some answers in that room."
His mother pursed her lips, then let out a long sigh. "Well, I don't suppose there is any harm in it now is there. You know where it is."
"Don't you want to come?"
"No, I'll be fine down here. Some things are best left between a father and son."
Johnathan crossed the room, kissed his mother gently on the forehead and then headed up to the study.
Stood before the door, Johnathan felt like he was a child again, waiting outside for his father to come out. The door was always locked when his father was inside and he'd always knock, hoping his father would come out to play with him.Tears came to Johnathans eyes at the memories but determined to put things to rest, he knocked on the door once and then turned the tarnished brass handle.
Inside, the room was cold and dark. It was approaching late afternoon and the sunlight only barely pierced through the blinds on the windows. The room was simple, in one corner a batter old metal filing cabinet stood, pictures drawn long ago by Johnathan's and James' childish hands pins against it with magnets. The opposing wall was taken up by a large bookcase filled with books and varying items of questionable value and origin. A small model car, an ornate clock, an animal skull which Johnathan couldn't identify. Everything had a thin layer of dust, belying the fact that ever since his death, mother had kept true to her husbands wishes and had never entered the study. At the back of the room, by the window was a large, mahogany desk. It was topped with green leather and a brass trim and looked very old and majestic. On it sat a computer, a notepad and a small black book. Everything seemed perfectly ordered and meticulously positioned, it looked almost artificial, like a posed photograph rather than the study of scatter-brain father he knew.
Johnathan strolled around the desk and sat down the the simple office desk chair behind it. He took a deep breath, then coughed on the dusty air. He idly looked through the drawers of the desk, finding only rubber bands, a compass, some more pads of paper, two black pens and a rewritable DVD marked '40th anniversay photos'.
He let out a sigh and leaned back in the chair, looking up at the the ceiling.
Tell me who you are Dad. Tell me whats happening. Why did you write that letter?