The tragedy had occurred, exactly a week to Thanksgiving, eight years ago. Lyons could remember that day, as clear a ball of crystal. He could still remember how it was for him and his family. That morning, everyone was downstairs getting ready to have breakfast. Everyone except Peggy. Initially, no one thought much of it. Sometimes, she would ditch breakfast, mostly because she was at the studio, sketching one drawing or the other. But a couple of hours later and still no sign of her, everyone became concerned.
And so, the servants were instructed to get her. They knocked all they could but she wouldn’t answer. Eventually, the door was broken down and lying face down on the floor just beside the bed was Peggy.
Lyons could remember how different she looked. Scary, if he was being honest. Peggy's naturally cherry lips had darkened. It'd become the frightening shade of purple. Her strawberry blonde hair was stringy, and there at the corners of her lips was what appeared to be metallic froth. Silvery in appearance. Lyons could recall how her death had affected each and every member of the family. His mother wailed her eyes out. Cher stayed stayed in her room all day, consequently missing the big football match hosted by her school, which was what she lived for. On one occasion, she talked about quitting altogether.
Lyons, on his part, took the death as a joke. As something unreal. No, there couldn’t be anyway in the world that Peggy would die. For fuckssake, she was only 14. Just fourteen. And belonged to one of the strongest clan of wolves. So, that didn’t make sense. Therefore, Lyons lived with this denial, and it did tell on him. He had several bouts of depression, there were the nightmares, the feeling of emptiness and complete faithlessness in humanity. His mother, despite herself, set him up with a shrink. And while that had been of help at the long run, it was a battle.
Lyons lived with only one regret. His inability to protect his younger sister. He'd failed her when she needed him most. Now, if that didn’t describe the situation at hand, he wasn’t sure of what else would. He'd been so blind, so damn blind he didn’t realise Peggy was dying in silence. Was battling with something deep.
His mind went back to how it had been. Peggy had actually been closer to him than Cher. One major reason being that they shared a common interest in drawing. They would stay together in the studio their mother had built for them and compete with each other. Those were the happiest of Lyons’ life. He had so many drawings of him made by her, and vice versa. But it had been a long time since he saw them. They all were locked up in a box and dumped some place in the basement. After the long intense visit to the psychologists, he was advised to let go. So, as a way of following through with what the therapists had said, he'd done that. He'd boxed up all of Peggy's drawings, all of them. He'd wanted to heal. Wanted to break out of the wimpy, sulking person he had become. But now, after all these years, after all these years of hurt, of sorrow of despair, the very genesis of the problem had showed up.