Black Iris

Finding her.

Rose

In the months after I published my book, a great deal of people had called me dumb. They wrote on message boards, in tweets, in comments on articles, saying things like, Why would she provoke him so much? Or, why did she trust Gwen, even though she knew she was up to something?

Again and again, they criticised every move I detailed in my book. The worst one I'd read was from a micro influencer on Twitter, that wrote, I'm not victim blaming, but honestly, Ophelia was kind of asking for it.

And every single comment hurt. But honestly, a part of me wondered if they were right.

Because this might have been the dumbest thing I'd done in a long time.

The building was big and old, with a faded and peeling yellow exterior, concrete walls, and a wrought iron gate at the front.

The Finch Suite Apartments

I took a deep breath, and looked at the row of call buttons beside the gate. Each had a little plastic sign with the name of its residents. All except one, which remained blank.

"She's in number 6," the man on the phone had told me. "I'll let her know you're coming, but you're going to have to go up at meet her yourself once she buzzes you in. She's terrified of... anyone finding where she is."

Which I understood, obviously. It was why she'd gone to such big lengths to make sure no one else knew she reached out. The letter at the police station. The cafe.

When I'd gone to Jackburn lane, it had been shut. Of course it was, it was one of the biggest public holidays of the year.

But there, stuck to the door, was a post- it note, with the same writing from the letter.

In case you change your mind.

Then, a phone number.

When I called it, the man had picked up, and told me her address. He also told me to go alone, and to be careful, because Blake was always watching. That last comment had made my skin crawl, and I'd looked around to make sure I was alone. No one was following me. Though I would be paying a lot more attention from then on.

And that led me to that apartment block, standing by the wrought iron gates. I leant across and pressed the call button for the blank apartment. It rang out twice, then the speaker clicked off, and the gate let out a buzz. I pushed it open, and hesitantly walked inside and up the stairs, following the arrows towards number 6.

Outside her door, I hesitated.

This is idiotic, a voice whispered in my head. You shouldn't be doing this.

And it seemed that the voice was right. Reasonable. So I turned to leave. But before I'd even made a step, the door behind me creaked open and a panicked voice echoed out into the hall.

"Please don't go."

I paused and slowly turned around, letting out a shaky breath as I took her in.

She'd lost weight since I'd seen her last, which was saying a lot, because she'd never been particularly big to begin with. But standing before me, I could see what the past few months had done to her. Hollowed her out, as though Blake had whittled her until she was little more than skin and bones. Purple streaks draped beneath her tired eyes, and her skin was pale and grey. Despite the heat, she wore a long-sleeved turtleneck top, and loose long pants, and I wondered what bruises and marks those layers of clothes were hiding. My eyes found their way back to her face, and she bit her lip, giving me a pleading look.