The Secrets Within Pages

Enough

Love, what a terribly wonderful disaster. For most of my life I hid under the guise of a cynic, but truthfully, I'm the farthest thing from one. I'm so deeply entangled with love that I cannot bear the thought of not experiencing it in a way that consumes me, body and soul. And yet, I know if I were given a love like that, I'd run. I'd deny it, I'd deny him. For there is a poison in my mind, one that intoxicates everything beautiful, coercing me to believe that I do not deserve it. Plunging me into an abyss of anguish and doubts, maddening and ceaseless. Love is a violin tugging at my heartstrings, summoning it's melancholic song. All too powerful, all too dangerous, love is the most criminal act. To steal one's heart, to have such control... it brings even the most mighty villians to their knees. 

And it did. Vincent loved Vivienne to the extent of murder. 

Was that beautiful or was that wrong?

~~~

Sealing the last of my bags, I heaved them all the way downstairs as Silas prepared the car. 

"Madam, you should've asked for help with your bags." Lilith complained, hurrying to assist me.

"Thank you, but there's really no need." I reply with a smile.

"Really, Miss. I still think its best you wait for Mr. Fraser before you leave, he will be most offended without a goodbye." She pleads.

I look at her, unsure of how to explain my discovery and equally worried to leave her in the same house as him. I can't rest without letting Hart know who the killer is, I can't rest until this is over. "I'm sorry, Lilith. I'd love to stay." I lied. I was sorry, just not for leaving. "But, I'm afraid I have work to do back home and it can't wait another day. Thank you for everything and take care of yourself." I say, a little too ominously.

Hastily, I exit the front door and walk to the car. Silas takes the luggage from my hand, packing the car. Just as we were departing, a black, sophisticated car drives toward us before parking in front of the manor. 

Tall and refined, Vincent exits the car with a cane in hand. "Eleanor! Please, do not tell me you are leaving so soon." He asks, walking towards me and I feel Silas' presence all too close behind me. 

Mustering every ounce of deception I can, I say with a smile, "Hello, Vincent. I'm afraid so. Please, do forgive us but there's loads to do at home. Thank you for extending this invitation to your splendid residence." 

"Ah but I'm yet to show you my astronomy room." He said, sending my heart into a thunderous beat. "But, you've been there already haven't you? Snooped through my private thoughts, stolen them as well." 

My palms begin to sweat as I stand there paralysed. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"I invite you in my home, give you comfort and the privelege of information and this is how you repay me?" He grits his teeth, raising his cane to emphasise his anger. 

Silas walks forward, an arm extended in front of me. I push it away, moving toward Vincent. "There is no need for this. We will be on our way, never to bother you again." I assure him, discreetly gesturing at Silas behind my back to start the car.  

"No, no I think not." He yells, wielding his cane like a sword to strike us. Instinctly, I grab the cane and twist him away from the car, he resists, propelling me on the ground. I'm met with dirt and rock. Rising, I run to the car Silas has started. 

"Eleanor!" I hear Vincent's wrathful growl. 

Clawing at the door, I force myself into the car. "Drive!" I yell, breathlessly.

Silas hits the pedal, shooting us forward onto the road. Panic enveloping my stomach, I twist my body to look behind us and see a helpless Vincent getting smaller and smaller with the distance.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Silas spits, hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. 

Splayed on the car seat, I ignore him trying to calm my rapid breathing. 

"Answer me." He repeats, with a tense slowness.

"Did you see the way he held that cane? Like a sword." I vocalise my thoughts. 

"Enough." He demands. "This isn't your job. It's the police who have to solve this."

I turn to look at him. "Scared, Golding?" 

"Hardly, Burroughs." He scoffs. "But I'm not an idiot either. This isn't some film, you can't be a hero."

"I'm not trying to be a hero. I want the truth. For us, for Osbourne's family and Quill's. I want that sick psychopath of the streets." 

He threw me a look then. Stared into my eyes, telling me something yet nothing at all. 

"What?" I questioned.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

~~~

Arriving at Oxford Station, we burst through the doors, beckoning Officer Hart. Sounds of printers, phones ringing, people filing reports and criminals yelling, with the smell of stale coffee fills the atmosphere. Charging onwards I ask anyone who will listen, "Where is Officer. Hart?!" 

"Miss. Burroughs?" A familiar voice calls. I look up to Hart's grey-blue eyes, framed by confused brows.

"We need to speak with you immediately." I say, earnestly. 

He looks both ways, before escorting Silas and I into an empty room. "What is it?" 

"It's Vincent. He killed Osbourne. He killed him because he's in love with Vivienne. I have proof." I explain, holding the letters I found in his room. "He attacked us as we tried to leave."

Confuddled, he reads the papers. "What did he tell you? Did he confess explicitly?" 

"No, but why does that matter? He tried attacking us, clearly he's hiding something." I reply, eyes urging him to stop talking and arrest him. 

I turn to Silas, "Tell him." 

"It's true." He says, looking at Hart.

"I'll alert London police station. Myself and my team will leave now, as well." He says, rushing out the door.

I exhale a sigh of relief. Spotting a water dispenser, I am suddenly aware of the dry, parched feeling in my mouth. I fill myself a cup and gulp it down. "Now, we can relax." I tell Silas, whose shoulders release some tension.

Opening the door to leave, I see the police station, unmoving and static. I look at Hart, who seems to have not left, rather on a phone call. Slowly, he puts the phone down and turns to face us. A befuddled almost scared expression pulls on his face. "What's wrong?" I ask.

His eyes catch mine. 

"Vincent is dead."