RoseBlood

You

It's amazing how much stuff she has to cram into a suitcase for a family trip a few hours out of town. All I had went I went to the Tyrels' was a bag with a few outfits, my casebook and phone, and that's all I needed. But everyone's different, I guess.

I know I shouldn't be rooting around someone's private belongings, but I can't help letting my curiosity get the better of me, as usual, as I pry open the case by pulling back its zip little by little, so there's hardly any noise as it reveals its contents. I'm careful not to open it too far, though I have no idea what I'm looking for. Clothes, clothes, clothes. A camera, that reminds me of the brand new one I was gifted for my fateful eighteenth and haven't had the chance to use yet.

My hand digs in deeper, and I hold my breath, straining my ears to hear Hayley still in the kitchen, her phone dinging with a notification and stalling her a bit for me.

Soft, folded fabric rubs over my fingers, and I roll my eyes at myself, tugging my hand out of the suitcase. Stupid. Am I this bored? Not that I haven't looked through bags before, but if I'm not careful, I'll get careless, and that-

I blink, then frown in interest as the hard, smooth surface of a book glides over the palm of my hand, and I dare to pull it out of the box space it's in, carefully pushing the neatly tidied clothes back in. I mutter the words under my breath as I study the front cover, an old painting decorating it, and look down at the blurb in thought.

English Romantic Verses

English Romantic poetry from its beginnings and its flowering to the first signs of its decadence. Nearly all the famous piéces de résistance will be found here

Wait.

My blood is suddenly warmer with the rush of shock waves, and my hands tremble slightly as I flip through page after page, poem after poem... until I see it.

A ripped page.

Wait, wait, wait.

How do I love thee? Let m

ways

I love the to the depth and b

height

My soul can reach, when feel

sight

For the ends of Being and ideal

The missing words. They're from the death threat. It matches up perfectly.

No.

No, it can't be her. She's never been a suspect. She had no opportunity. She was away in Manchester.

Unless she wasn't.

No.

I can't breathe. I can't think. It wasn't Clarissa. I knew it wasn't. I can't think, I need to think...

A slender figure's shadow casts over the wooden flooring in front of me, nearly merging with my own, and I almost shiver in dread, adrenaline pulsing as my eyes slowly lift to meet Hayley's.

She looks straight back at me. Looks at the book in my hands. At her open suitcase. All of this happens in a moment, and her expression is easy to read.

Confusion morphs into realisation, and as she looks up at me again, her innocent hazel eyes are spiked with something deadly. We're both thinking the same thing, in that silent half-second, and the RoseBlood Killer smiles that sick, subtle smile, like a cat that's about to pounce on its mouse.

Got you.

Got you.

My head spins as I bolt to the locked front door, but Hayley's quicker, and she throws herself in front of it, grabbing at my wrists and hissing in my ear.

"Don't you dare."

Her surprisingly strong, fierce grip digs into my skin as I try yanking my hands away, and I do, stumbling backwards with force. I scramble up to my feet, and look wildly around to the kitchen, the garden connecting to it, and the gate that is just about climbable.

A soft, deadly click makes me freeze, and I shiver for real, my mouth agape and eyes staring at nothing.

"Don't make me ruin my soliloquy, Holly. We've both waited so long, haven't we?"

It's surreal. It's all happening too quickly, in a way that was completely unforeseeable, and I'm not ready. This is happening. This is happening.

Her usually sweet and oblivious tone has twisted into something that sounds the same, but carries its now unhidden lethal centre. I slowly, slowly turn around, and eye the silencer in Hayley's hand, pointed straight at my head, the trigger grazed by one elegant finger.

"Y-you won't kill me here, like this," I say, trying and failing to keep my voice steady, without the desperate stutter. "I know you won't."

"What about Clarissa? I killed her there, like that."

"Because..." I swallow, then swallow again, though I can't focus enough on myself to be furious at how I've lost my confidence, my preparation, all for her. "Because she found out too much."

"Of course. She caught on. I didn't let her ruin it for me, though. And I won't let you. So, calmly, quietly," Hayley orders softly, a dark glimmer in her gaze, "let's go to the basement. Okay?"

The basement.

The hidden camera.

The basement.

"Okay," I breathe, and take a deep breath in through my nose, finally making my face as unreadable and observant as it usually is. I step slowly back into the hallway, in the direction of the basement, and Hayley follows a close step behind me, watching my every move. I can feel those eyes I was sure I could feel before burning into my head, to my neck, and my fading bruise stings subtly as I glance back.

I open the door, and go downstairs, inching as close to the hidden camera as I can get. Hayley closes the door behind us, leaving the lights off, and approaches me, lowering the gun gradually.

"There," she says in satisfaction, and I glare at her, the feeling of dread and shock switching into raw hatred.

The recorder. She's going to tell you. Turn the freaking recorder on, right now.

I stare at the door, shifting in my spot, and Hayley looks back at it in awareness. As quick as lightning, I shove my hand into my pocket, turning on Brunsley's device and hitting the record button. I snatch my hand out of my pocket just as she turns around, an eerily calm look on her face.

"Not going to happen. You can't run either, Holly. You've chosen the same path as your father did."

I grit my teeth, glaring daggers at the spiteful girl's comment. "My father did nothing. You did, Hayley. You killed him."

Hayley lets out a sharp exhale at my words, stepping closer to me, closer, stray blonde strands tickling my face. An expression of anger and hurt and resoluteness contrasts with mine, when she whispers.

"I'll kill you too."

And as my back presses to the cold, hard concrete walling behind me, and I'm forced to stare into her poisonous eyes, I know she's telling the truth.