Behind these walls

Answers

Ryland P.O.V

She was a question I wanted to spend my whole life answering. Asher was driving with us in the back, heading towards Spencer Street hospital and Clara had the most determined look on her face than anybody I've ever seen. Her eyebrows were drawn together to form sharp angles and her eyes were drawn tight across her face. Her thin mouth was pouted together in an aggressive form. She was on the edge of her seat, her seatbelt tight across her chest and stomach and I wonder how it wasn't depriving her of air. The car lurches forward, bringing us to a halt at the traffic lights. Her breathing quickens as her fingers constantly thread the silver ring on her finger.

"Hey, you okay?" I ask her.

"Yeah, fine." She says nervously

"I've been told with women that 'fine' doesn't actually mean 'fine'."

"You got that right, little brother. Walk away as soon as you hear 'I'm fine'." Asher calls out from the front seat.

"No wonder you're single," Beau challenges his twin from the passenger seat.

"Says the single one," Asher mumbles.

"I haven't found the right girl yet."

"'Right girl'," Asher mimics, "What the hell kind of Zen crap is that?"

"How is that Zen?" Beau questions.

Asher sets his jaw and continues driving. I look back at Clara and find a small smile on her lips. She catches my staring eyes and turns her head away, to look out the window.

"I want to tell you something. As soon as we get back to my place, okay?" I whisper to her as I take her hand leaning on the seat next to me. She looks back at me, her face a mixture of confusion and curiosity as she nods at me. Her soft hand tightens in my grasp, and suddenly, I feel as if I never want to let her go. Asher parks the car outside Spencer Street Hospital, and as soon as Clara focuses on it, all colour drains from her face, her hand tightens in mine with as much force as she could possibly muster and her breathing becomes shallow.

With a defiant look in her aqua eyes, she drops her hand from mine and exits the car.

Clara P.O.V

"I'm sorry, miss, but Mr. Ray is unable to have any visitors at this time." The nurse at the counter says for the third time, and with every time, more annoyance laces her voice.

"Please, just tell him I knew the girl he found. Please." Her eyebrows knit together and then, finally, she heaves a stressed sigh and nods. Picking up the phone, she talks in hushed whispers and then directs me, hand in hand with Ryland to room 341. In the white hospital room, surrounded by flowers of all colours and get well soon cards of all sizes, sits Mr. Ray, nestled in neutral sheets. Aging skin from years in the sun is pulled tightly across his face along with greying stubble on his chin.

Taking my hand out of Ryland's, I gently knock on the doorframe and almost instantly, his attention averts to me.

"Mr. Ray? My name is Clara Hayes, I came to speak with you about the girl whose body you found." He ushers us in with a flick of his head and we sit on chairs nearby to his bed.

"What can I help you with?" His voice is kind but tired, the stress of what he saw weighing him down, though he tries hard to hide it.

"The girl- Holland- was a close friend of mine. I'm the reason she was in town," I say slowly, "I was just wondering what you could tell me when you found her. How you found her."

"I'll tell you exactly what I told the police. I found her stuffed in a cleaning closet, a stab wound in her stomach and her throat slit." His eyes turn haunted as he recounts the memory to me, it obviously scarring him.