Silva

Chapter Twenty-Four

• Silva •

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This is a short list, but the ties disconnected at the most inconvenient timing.

I have Irisa's past memorized. Her time at school is as plain as it can get with a spotless record. The vacant years from her birth to the day she is in Sunflower Home is gone, but I expected it when I started to read.

Once a human trafficked child is removed from their home or the guardian voluntarily gave the child to Sunflower Home, their birth identity is wiped. A new name is given, and that's the name the child will go with until they're 'adopted' by the buyer.

The buyer often requests specifics in the child or a particular child.

Money provides leeway.

Whatever happens to the child after they leave Sunflower Home is beyond anyone's control.

Irisa was adopted by a wealthy couple, given elite educations and limitless hobbies, and decent allowances. On paper, it seems like she was lucky to get a new and better life opportunity that many would want.

A happy botanist couple with a well-behaved child, living life to their fullest and traveling around the world for experience.

Then, they were found inside a sterilizing glass on her eighteenth's birthday.

The police ruled it an accidental death caused by starvation, dehydration, and asphyxiation. They assumed the system malfunctioned during scheduled cleaning.

It's probable, but I've always been a skeptical man.

I know more things about Irisa now compared to when we first met, and I know she has something to do with it. Perhaps not directly, but that indirect tie is not going anywhere.

I believe her when she said she never killed anyone. I'm not ruling out Irisa crafting a convoluted plan to get her parents to their predicament.

She's the sole benefactor to their abundant wealth, but she never cashed their life insurances or touched the money that is legally hers from the will.

Money motivation is not plausible.

Then, her history is blank during the year when she was nineteen.

"Boss," Ivo addresses when he steps into the room after a resounding knock.

I set the glass of rum down, the indentations distorting the amber with ribbons of white. Placing the file to the side, I lean back on the cushioned chair as I observe the anxious man.

"Sit, Doctor Avery." I gesture to the seat across me, a glass of rum waiting for him to calm his nerves.

Alcohol loosens tongues, in case his Hippocratic Oath is stronger than his will to live.

I prefer a clean method of information extraction, but sometimes I just want to kill.

Nothing can compare the chilled adrenaline and fiery thrill of blood running down my hands, netting my fingers and dipping besides the grotesque body.

"Um," the man peeps with his hands clamping his thighs tightly.

"There was a girl who used to work under you. Her name was Irisa," I lead as his eyes dart endlessly.

Recollection brightens his confused gaze as his head snaps up; he gasps with an excited breath. Ivo snaps his hand on the doctor's shoulder, halting the jittery man as the hands rubbing his thighs lock stiffly.

"Yeah," Avery musters, "Yeah, uh, Miss Irisa."

"Tell me about her," I order sharply, signaling Ivor for privacy.