RoseBlood

He Did This

I'd never call myself a romantic, not at all, but I've watched a few romcoms that were on TV before, and seen enough relationships around. I've also heard people awkwardly saying, "I think you've got the wrong idea," and I'm almost praying that the same thing applies to Clarissa.

My Dad was a decent person, as far as I'm concerned. He didn't fight with people when there was a misunderstanding or something annoying going on, he thought it out logically and approached the situation calmly. He didn't badmouth people and was an easy person to talk to and get along with. And maybe, just maybe, was attractive to people like... well, Clarissa.

This case is becoming more and more twisted and uncomfortable, but it was never going to be a walk in the park. So far, I know that the Roseblood Killer could well have been Clarissa, though she doesn't seem the type to murder a couple so ruthlessly in their own house at all. It could have been the woman she was talking to, though I don't have any idea who that could have been. The next time I talk to her, I need to carry on with my questions, because I'm thinking of more and more.

That's another thing. I need to check how long the actual song that was playing is, and what line and time it was at the exact moment I was out in the hall and heard it. This murder was personal - they knew his name, knew where he lived, and chose to do it on my birthday. Whoever it was knew him and knew him well, possibly even better than I do. There wasn't much to know when he was around, anyway, since his life consisted of work and bland, adult things like that. If anything out of the ordinary was going on, like the time he thought he was being followed, he would have voiced or hinted at it.

But no. Nothing. And it's the most frustrating thing ever.

I walk back home from Elysium with a frown, thinking through what I need to do next. Time the song and find the moment, which might help me remember anything else that was happening at that moment. I hardly want to re-enact my parents' death, but needs must.

I unlock the door of my house and go upstairs to my room. I know that now I need to focus on working things out alone, where it all happened, taking a break from questioning until the funeral. I've got pretty much everything I need here anyway. I want to know as much as I can before Brunsley comes back, and I doubt it'll be as easy to get information out of him as it was with Clarissa and her workmates.

I push open my bedroom door and pull my laptop out from under my bed, setting it down on the duvet with a soft thump...

And then I freeze, jaw clenched, eyes a fraction wider and staring at what's in front of me, placed neatly on my pillow.

Another note. Another rose.

I stare at it for a long moment, then look up, wondering if I should call Lizzie, Brunsley, someone.

No, you idiot! They could still be in the house! Lizzie said she'd be going out to get a few things. Get up and catch them before they leave!

I stand up abruptly, going over to my chest as quickly and quietly as I can, lifting the lid a little with one hand and pulling out a small baseball bat I've got stored away. It's the closest thing I have to a weapon right now, and it'll work.

It better work.

I sneak out of my room, listening intently for any sound, looking for any changes. I'm wearing Converse, and as I ease my way down the upstairs landing I'm almost silent. I pad into Mum and Dad's room, scanning it with awareness, but nothing stands out. I go over to their walk-in wardrobe, count to three and yank it open... but all that's there are clothes, swinging limply from the rail, abandoned by their purchasers.

I leave and check the upstairs bathroom. Nothing.

I bite my lip and make my way downstairs now, looking around me as I clutch the bat so tightly it makes my palms sting and fingers ache. There's no one hiding in the living room, waiting in the kitchen, lurking in the back garden or crouching in a corner in the downstairs bathroom. That only leaves one more place.