RoseBlood

A Eulogy

I'm restless at night when I try to sleep, my mind full of leads and facts and missing parts to this mess of a case. What should I wear? I haven't been to a funeral in ages, not since I was a toddler, and I don't remember much about that. Everyone's going to expect me to be in floods of tears, hardly saying a word, but I can't make myself cry like that. Even when I found my mum and dad's bodies, I felt numb when tears slid down my face, barely registering them.

Grief works in different ways, though, just like Emerson brought out before. I'm not unfeeling. There's so much to do and keep up with that I don't have time to feel as much as I could, but maybe, when I've looked the RoseBlood Killer in the eye and solved the case, the fog in my head will clear. Then again, I can't say I'm looking forward to that.

I end up wearing what I usually wear every day, except a little more formal; a thin black jumper with 'In Libris Libertas' written in gold font around a Greek statue head at its centre, with a brown plaid skirt that hangs just above my knees. Tights, Dr. Martens, a gold penny necklace I've had for years. That'll work, won't it?

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror for a few minutes, eyes lingering on my hair. My fingers reach for the faded bruise around my neck, and I bite the inside of my lip in thought. I'm not drawing any attention to that. I tug the top half of my hair back into a half-up half-down situation, and sigh impatiently. I'm not the type of person who spends ages debating on what to wear every morning, like mum did. I'm not great at this. I didn't think I'd need to be.

By the time I open the bedroom door to go downstairs, Elias is making his way down too, and turns his head to look over at me. He gives me a nod, his usual indifferent smirk weakened this morning.

"Alright?"

I shrug and nod. "Think so."

"I hate funerals," he confesses, as we walk down the stairs together. "Oh- no offence or anything. I just... I don't like 'em."

"Not offensive," I dismiss, "I get it. I won't have a clue about what to do. Apparently, I can give a eulogy or something. But I don't know what to say."

Elias nods, scoffing under his breath. "Yeah. What can you say in a few sentences? You miss them, they were great parents, and always have a place in our hearts. Sometimes you bring out a memory that's nice and all, but... well. When they die like this, there's a lot more you could say. But they'll never get it."

I pause mid-way downstairs, meeting his eye. "What'd you say? Did you cry?"

"No," Elias says smally, fidgeting with his hands. "Couldn't, you know? Tell you the truth, Holly..."

He cranes his neck to look over the stairs' handrails and at the main room, where Emerson and Edith are talking amongst themselves, not noticing us yet, just out of earshot. Then Elias continues.

"I wouldn't say a word. Didn't look at anyone directly. Edith did nothing but cry. Emerson managed to get up there, said the stuff I mentioned, great parent, really missed. That was it. That day was almost as bad as..."

His voice trails off, and I nod understandingly. "As when you found your Dad."

Elias looks up in surprise, then to his brother in the kitchen. He rolls his eyes in annoyance.

"Loudmouth," he comments with a glare, Emerson carrying on with Edith obliviously, and I smile slightly, shaking my head.

"He didn't say much," I tell him. "And, in a way, it's kind of nice to know that I'm not the only person who's had to see the sights. I suppose I'll see more of them if I end up being a detective anyway, but you know what I mean. This is closer to home."

Elias nods, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

Edith and Emerson finally notice us when we get downstairs fully and enter the room, Edith giving me one of her naturally warm smiles.

"Hey, Holly. How're you doing?"

"Fine, thanks."

"I figured out where those words came from," she goes on excitedly. "They're from one of the most famous sonnets ever! By Elizabeth Barret Browning?"

I shake my head, and she unlocks her phone, showing me a screenshot of a poetry page online, with 'How Do I Love Thee? - Sonnet 43' in bold letters at the top.

"How Do I Love Thee?" I read, raising my brows. "Really?"

"Pretty sure. You said that 'count the' was on one line, right? Look, the first sentence says, 'Let me count the ways.' And 'breadth and height,' that's on the second. 'Feeling out of sight,' on the third, then 'Being and ideal Grace.' They're all in the first lines of the sonnet, which means that the killer probably owns some old printed version. They ripped a part out of the book, and wrote their letter on the other side."

"It makes sense," Emerson agrees from the counter, Elias grabbing a breakfast bar from a cupboard, then tossing two at me and Edith, us clumsily catching them. "The murderer probably didn't mean for the printed words on the back to be noticed, but using a book of sonnets has the same tone as the one that's being carried through this whole case. Everything's symbolic."

I nod slowly, Edith putting her phone away and turning her attention back to me.

"You look nice," she tells me with a smile, and I return it.

"Thanks. We should probably go soon."

"Yeah, we've got the address. Falmer Court, I think? There's a venue where events can be held, and that's what Mrs Hutton picked out. It looks nice," Edith replies.

I smile lightly at the mention of Lizzie. If it wasn't for her, I'd probably be doing most of this alone. I know that I'm going to need to sort out the house and everything in it if I inherit everything, which is another thing I'll need to get to. But I want to solve the murders first.

There's a slim, glossy black car in the driveway, where Elias jumps in the driver's seat, Emerson sitting beside him. Me and Edith sit in the back, Edith looking past Elias' shoulder wistfully before glancing at me.

"He won't let me drive yet," she says with a roll of her eyes.

"Yeah, well, you're seventeen," Elias points out smugly, "and I'm the oldest."

"It doesn't matter," Emerson says calmly, as the engine starts, "what matters is that you two know what to look for and to keep an eye on the cameras. Brunsley will be placing them when we get there."

I let their conversations wash past me, looking down at my phone in my hands. Clarissa. She'll be there too. I've got to know what she does.

But, as Elias' car drives down the main roads that lead back to Falmer, familiar shops and buildings rolling past me outside the windows, I almost feel nauseous, a little more vulnerable. I hate being vulnerable.

And here, outside the great, thatched barn at Falmer Court, I see Brunsley easily among the small crowd of old clients and friends of my parents. Mia's red hair and curious eyes, her parents standing on either side of her. Lizzie fiddling with her bag straps in thought. No sight of Clarissa yet, but I'll see her today.

Evil will pass by us today. Evil will pass by very close. Remember?