RoseBlood

Family Business

I'm led down a corridor of the Tyrels' house, the floors padded with thick carpeting, complicated curly patterns in golds and browns and whites decorating it. There are four dark wood doors that mirror each other down the stretch of the upstairs hallway, and the landing leads to a double-doored room, big framed paintings hung up on the walls around it. Then there are large twirling stairs, padded with the same carpet over the dark wooden flooring, with a banistered, balconied area beside it. It goes down to the ground floor, light spilling out onto the downstairs hallway from the main room. The house has quite an old-fashioned, dark academia look to it, almost as if I've walked into a grand Victorian home.

"I'm gonna go and get you some water and painkillers," Edith says, dithering near the stairs before rolling her eyes at herself. "Hold on, let me just show you where my brothers are first."

She pushes open the double doors, and a massive, round library is revealed. It's breathtaking, with hundreds of old and new books stacked and shelved neatly on the walls, right up to the ceiling, and a sliding wooden ladder at the side to reach the ones nearer the top. Unlit candles and notebooks lie on the mantel of a long, classic fireplace, the vibrant flames dancing and crackling as they tug on the large chunks of wood as if they're trying to escape. The window at the end of the room casts a natural, afternoon light over the round wooden table that stands in the centre of the library. Sitting opposite each other around it, talking quietly amongst themselves, are two boys around my age, their dark, wavy hair almost the same shade as Edith's.

These are the Tyrel brothers.

They both look up as we walk in, the young man to the left gazing at me with soft brown eyes, his hair raked back from his face. He has a look of unhidden curiosity and boldness that matches his sister's in his own way. The young man to the right, though, makes me falter in my tracks, my stare lingering as I recognise him.

Emerson.

His eyes are a deeper brown than his brother's, and he looks straight back at me, his dark hair feathered around his forehead and cut neatly around his ears. And, for once in a very long time, I can't properly study his expression.

But I always can. I'm good at it, it's what I do.

What's so different about him?

"Okay, so, these are my brothers," Edith introduces them with a smile. "The one on the left's Elias, and that's Emerson. Elias was the one who tried to catch the attacker from earlier, but-"

"But they got away," Elias finishes with a huff of annoyance. "I tried, really, but the freaking psychopath got away somehow. Might've hidden, I don't know." He looks down, almost in an ashamed manner, before meeting my eyes again. "Sorry, Holly."

I shake my head, shrugging. "Not your fault. Thanks for trying, anyway. I mean, I could've been killed."

"I wish we had come earlier," Edith says with a sigh. "Shouldn't have left you there overnight, but we didn't want to rush things or cause any more stress. But Emerson made sure you got here okay." She smiles at him after that, nodding at him. "See, I told you she'd be alright."

Emerson gives Edith a look, one brow raised slightly, before moving his attention to me. "Hi, Holly. How are you feeling?"

I shrug again, unsure of how to respond. "Fine, I guess."

"Yeah, I'm gonna go grab the painkillers and water now," Edith remembers. "Her neck's a little bruised, but it should heal with time. You guys go ahead without me, I'll be right back."

So she hurries off out of the room and downstairs, while I stay near the door, still slightly sceptical. Emerson seems to pick up on this immediately.

"I'm sorry that things happened the way they did," he says, "we are partly to blame for this. We should've acted sooner, as my sister said. But we're here to help you, and to put an end to all of this."

"It's not your fault," I repeat, coming a bit closer but choosing to stay standing. I'm already starting to grow defensive, knowing that they're going to start investigating in their own ways, taking it on like it's their case. But this is my case.

You need to get the casebook from back at home.

I'll get it back, and I'll make sure Lizzie's okay, as soon as I'm done figuring out exactly who these people are and how they're planning on doing things.

"It's nothing to do with you, to be completely honest," I continue, "I don't know if Brunsley's mentioned this or not, but I was doing perfectly investigating this myself."

"I'm sure you were," Emerson agrees, and again, I can't tell if he's being serious or just agreeing to shut me up. "But we've been assigned to solve this case too. Brunsley did tell us about you, and the significant facts you've figured out and brought to light. We aren't going to stop you from continuing to investigate this murder."

"Sure," Elias nods. "I mean, they were your parents, weren't they? You know 'em better than we do."

I'm still not convinced, but that's pretty natural for me. I don't trust a lot of people, maybe anyone, except Lizzie and Mia. And even now, I know I'm not supposed to.

"Okay, I understand that you probably know what you're doing," I acknowledge, "you've solved murders and whatnot before. But this is different. I know what I'm doing. And I'm not particularly fond of the idea of opening up all about my life and parents to a family that I've never met before. Investigators or not."

Emerson leans back in his chair silently, his eyes scanning my face. For a moment, his brows twitch, giving away what looks like confused interest.

"I get it," Elias responds. "I'm not gonna ask you to trust us yet, because that's a pretty impossible ask right now. But believe me when I say that we want whoever this sicko killer is to be found just as much as you do."

I don't try to stop the scoff that leaves me. "You're detectives. This Trust you're running is a bit like a family business, isn't it? You've been assigned to uncover the murderer. But it was my parents who were the victims. It's personal to me, so it only makes sense to me that I get the truth."

"However this may seem to you, Holly, it is more important to us than you think," Emerson speaks up. "Work with us on this one. We won't keep anything from you. Detective Brunsley speaks highly of you, and I'm sure that you know what you're doing just as well as we do. So, why don't we start from the beginning?"

I consider his words for a few drawn-out moments. I can't help staring at Emerson, desperately trying to get something out of him by the way he looks back at me, calm and composed. And, as I nod with a small roll of my eyes and go to sit with them, the same thought pops up. We're either going to get on really well... or he's going to drive me round the bend.

Especially if he's as smart as he looks. Because, up until now, that's been my thing. I've had it for eighteen years. That's the way I like it, my natural advantage over whatever situation I'm in.

It's a good thing you don't believe in meeting your match, then, right?