Black Iris

The letter.

Rose

I took a shaky breath, heading towards the entrance to the police station, not bothering to wait for my mother to follow me.

I heard her car door slam and her muttering under her breath, but still didn't turn. She'd annoyed me in the car, asking pointed questions about camp, about my friends, and studies and, then, out of the blue, she'd asked if I met any cute boys.

And it hadn't been just the homophobic insinuations that had annoyed me. More than that, I was annoyed at the idea that after all I had been through in the past few months, she had the gall to think I would be casually looking at 'cute boys'.

I hated it.

In retrospect, I was probably more touchy than I would have been normally because of what had happened with Charlie, but it still stung.

As I was walking up to the station, though, I was distracted. At the base of the stairs up to the door was a crisp white envelope. This was already an odd occurrence, but what made it even more bizarre was what I noticed as I got closer to it.

It had my name on it.

I stopped to pick it up. As I was turning it over to inspect it, I heard my mother's bag rattling behind me, so I quickly stowed the envelope in my pocket, hoping she didn't see me pick it up. I spun to look at her.

"Is everything alright pumpkin?" She asked, though there was an edge in her voice. She was still annoyed at me over what happened in the car. I rolled my eyes and continued walking up the steps.

"I'm sorry too," I said sarcastically, before entering into the station. The reception was relatively quiet, at least in comparison to the other times I had been in. I walked across to the front desk and gave the woman behind it a smile. I'd spoken to her a handful of times, so I recognised her face and she mine.

"Ah, Miss Alto, Officer Jameson said you would be coming in. He was in a meeting, but that should be just about done. I'll let him know you're here."

I nodded and smiled at her. "Thank you Melody, do you mind if I use the restroom while I wait?"

"Of course," she said, then handed me a key. "Just down the hall on your right."

I smiled. "Thanks."

At that point my mother entered the station. I threw her a glare and staggered off down the hall, leaving her behind. I heard her huff, teenagers and tried not to scowl.

Once I was safely locked in the enclosed bathroom, I let out a small breath and drew the envelope from my pocket.

I turned the paper over in my hand, eyeing the handwriting. It wasn't Blake's, I knew that much. The slant was too straight, the lettering too tidy. I'd seen Blake's writing when I had been in his office, so long ago, and it has seemed messy and rushed. Nothing like the small neat letters marked on here.

I hesitated for a moment. A small part of me wondering if I should hand it straight into the police. I mean, it was suspicious, right?

But a much larger part of me was too curious for my own good. I wanted to know what it said. And shouldn't I read it first, just to make sure it was suspicious? I mean, what if it was just some kind of letter from Jordan? Or what if it was a letter to a different Ophelia, and someone just accidentally dropped it?

So I turned it over and carefully started to open it.

It was a handwritten note on crisp, clean stationary. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Blake's logo in the corner, but then I noticed that it was written in the same handwriting as that on the outside, so I paused. And I read.

Dear Ophelia,

Please, don't show this to the police. I know how that sounds, but trust me. I'm sure you've already witnessed the extent of Blake's connections. If you give this to them, he will know, and we'll both be screwed.

I paused, remembering the incident with the governor just weeks before. I read on.

I know how hard these past few months have been on you. For what it's worth, I am so sorry for the part I played in your hurt. I was blinded by him.

Now, I finally see clearly, and I need you to help me take him down, before he hurts anyone else.

I know it's hard for you to trust me. But I have reason to believe that you might.

If I'm right, meet me at the coffee shop at 29 Jackburn lane, Cresswell, 2pm tomorrow.

With love,
Your Red Herring

And, beneath the signature was a small drawing of a fish.

I stared at it a few moments, my head spinning. It was a message, a sign. Harkening back to shared moments in Blake's house.

As I was processing, I heard heavy footfall outside, and the voice of Officer Jameson down the hall, in the reception.

Pulling myself together, I folded the letter back up and tucked it into my pocket. I took a shaky breath, washed my hands out of habit, and stepped back out into the hallway.

"Officer, good to see you," I said, as I walked back towards the reception and put the bathroom key back on the desk.

He gave me a tight smile. "Ophelia, good to see you too. I won't take too much of your time, we just need to run over a few small pieces of evidence that were sent in anonymously. Could you just come back this way?"

This is your chance, I thought. Give him the letter.

Yet, when I reached into my pocket, I couldn't bring myself to draw it out.

Because the writer was right.

She did have reason to believe I might trust her.

See, I haven't been entirely truthful with you, and Gwen might not be entirely who you think she is.

So, against my better judgement, I drew my hand from my pocket, leaving the letter tucked amongst the fabric. I nodded at the officer, glanced at my mother one last time, then followed him out the back.

My head churning with the secrets I'd kept.