RoseBlood

A Few Words

Iris doesn't have a clue what she's talking about.

"The Cassias were known by friends, once only workmates and clients, as an approachable, youthful couple with a passion for what they did and who they were. But what they were most proud of was their daughter, Holly, an intelligent young lady with a bright future ahead of her. Everyone who had the pleasure of knowing Judith and Bobby Cassia misses them deeply, and they will never be forgotten."

Lorraine and Paul go up a few minutes after Iris says her bit, talking about how dedicated and lovely they were, and how I'm just like them. I don't know how to react or respond to that, so I don't.

Then, all of a sudden, Iris' eyes are on me.

What do I say?

I think that some people tell stories of their best memories with them, and others like keeping some to themselves. But I can't remember any perfect time we had that wasn't years ago. Whatever I say has to be from the heart; they are my parents. I do miss them. But I haven't cried yet, and I can't force myself. I don't want to, either. I won't be vulnerable in front of this small crowd, especially when any one of them could be the RoseBlood Killer. I'm not allowed to be sad here when the killer could be watching, not even at my parents' funeral, and it's such a weird concept that I don't let myself think about it.

Everyone goes respectfully quiet when I slowly lift myself from the seat, Iris stepping aside as I stand in her place. My eyes wander over the workmates and close clients and friends who stare patiently back at me, some with their eyes glazed with emotion. Brunsley stands at the end of the back row to the left, his hands clasped loosely together at his front, a small smile on his face as he nods at me.

I look away, and open my mouth.

"It's... it's odd when the two people you've known and been with your whole life are suddenly gone. They didn't deserve their deaths. And even though they're gone now, I'll never forget them. We had some great times together, before..."

Before there was no time.

"It's lovely to see so many faces that cared and miss them as much as I do," I quickly change the subject, forcing a small smile onto my face, but my fingernails are digging into the palms of my hands with the effort, and that horrid thought of the thorns cutting into flesh makes me pull them apart quickly. "And thank you for the support."

Clapping echoes through the hall, and I sit back down, a small wave of relief coming over me when I'm back next to Emerson. He nods at me in a mutual kind of respect, and I nod back at him, my head clouded with so many thoughts and feelings I'm numb all over again.

Are we unfeeling?

Another serene tune is played through the speakers, and for a split second, my heart jumps. Did the track skip and crackle? Who's controlling the music, anyway?

Get a damn grip.

Guests start trickling their way to me after the funeral's done, just like that, with another condolence from Iris Illey and best wishes for the future. I'll never see her again. Today meant nothing to her. It won't be much more than a sad little event to anyone after the gossip of murder leaves the air, and a good few months have passed. They'll all go back to their lives sooner or later, back to normal, and find someone else to do the jobs that Mum and Dad did. No one really cares, except Lizzie and Mia, maybe Paul and Lorrain.

But I care.

"I haven't spoken to you properly in a while," Mia's mum, Jessica, says with a smile. "Are you coping okay? You know, if you ever do need something, you've got my number. And Mia, well, she's off to school soon, but I know you'll stay in touch."

I nod. "Of course I will." I pause for a moment, stopping myself from glancing at the hidden camera that's watching and listening to everything. "It's so shocking to me. I was in the main room the whole time when it happened... I couldn't have seen it coming."

Jessica nods her head in agreement, eyes wide. "I know, Holly. No one could. God, and on your birthday too..."

"I could never think someone would hate my mum and dad that much."

She sighs. "Best not to think about it too much. They were great people, as far as I'm concerned. I never saw or heard anything suspicious to do with your parents, in or out of the party."

I study her expression for less than a second. She's telling the truth.

"Yeah. Thanks for coming anyway."

"Of course. Take care of yourself, understand? I'll give you a text in a few days."

I glance over my shoulder as she walks off, spotting Emerson talking to a couple by their seats, vaguely familiar. They're probably from my party, colleagues of Mum or Dad's. The man's talking in a rush, hands waving and everything, his wife's expression matching his wild concern.

Emerson got them to spill? Just like that? Interesting.

"How are you two getting along?" Brunsley's voice says from behind me, following my gaze to Emerson, and I shrug, my eyes moving to watch everyone else here.

"Not sure yet," I say, as he comes to stand next to me. "He's a hard read, and so am I. We'll see."

I see Brunsley smile knowingly from the corner of my eye. "Hm. Today must be an odd day."

"Odd is one word for it," I mutter, spotting someone else catch my eye and make their way towards me. "Hang on."

"You're Judith's daughter, aren't you?" A man in his thirties with an affected look on his face and pristine clothes shakes my hand weakly, with an awkward, sympathetic smile. "I- I'm sorry. I knew your parents from work. Your mother, she was so inviting. Helped me make something of myself. It makes my stomach turn, thinking about going the way they did... I'm sorry, Holly."

"Thanks," I reply with a half-smile. "And you're...?"

"Marcus," he says, "Marcus Sire. It's nice to meet you properly."

"You too." I curve the conversation back to their deaths as smoothly as I can. "It was an awful shock."

"An awful shock," he echoes. "It's so strange, actually. Who'd ever want to hurt Bobby or Judith? They were never involved in anything suspicious or friends with a bad type, and I'd known them for a good few years."

Apart from looking naturally breathless and a bit vain, Marcus doesn't seem interesting or anything like a suspect. He apologises yet again before hurrying off into the small crowd, and I'm left watching them all with a frown I can't hide.

"Frustrating, isn't it?"

Emerson's beside me now, and I meet his gaze, arms folded across my chest.

"As far as I'm concerned," he continues, "not one person has any ounce of motive, the strength, and the motivated, obscure mind to pull off their deaths. They're all the same."

"I can usually always tell if people are a bit off," I agree, "no one here is giving me that. No one's hiding anything, either. They're just as stunned and annoyingly normal as the other."

"Then we're missing something, Holly," Emerson answers, and I properly face him, his expression just as confused as my own. "Or someone. Where is Clarissa?"

I blink at that, my hair slapping my cheek as I look around the hall, not a trace of her worried face and fidgeting posture around. Nothing.

"Brunsley," I go up to him quickly, Emerson behind me, "have you seen Clarissa? Clarissa Newman? She was supposed to come."

Brunsley's face tightens as his brows furrow, and he looks to Charlie Doyle, who shakes his head, puzzled.

You better find her, Holly Cassia.