RoseBlood

What's Expected

I wake up again mid-morning, my phone screen hot from being on call for so long. But I'm still here, the camera footage displaying the lazy sun and quiet street outside my house. I've gotten through the first night back home. That's a small success. I still don't feel comfortable sleeping properly, though, not when it could be the perfect time for the killer to catch me when I least expect it.

"I think I'm going to be pestered about the house and money and my parents' will and everything today," I guess, Emerson still on the phone, waking up just before I did. "It'll probably be simpler than usual, because my parents always did things ahead of time. Even their wills. I bet they did it when they first had me or something."

"Well, no one plans on dying," Emerson's voice says. "But our dad did the same thing, actually. He didn't want us to worry about anything."

"I'm not in the mood for it, though," I huff, getting out of bed and pulling out some clothes from my wardrobe. "I bet it'll all be signing things and talking about money and dozens of phone calls... I mean, Lizzie said she'd help, and Brunsley said it wouldn't be too bad..."

"Just get it over with," Emerson tells me. "We went through it all too. It's just money and property and any belongings they wanted distributing elsewhere, things like that."

"Property," I pick out amongst the words, and sit down on the end of my bed with a small frown, glancing up at the ceiling, my eyes trailing over my room and the landing outside my bedroom door. "This place."

Emerson's quiet for a moment, then asks me, "Do you like your house?"

"Enough to want to keep it?" I respond, shrugging. "I don't know. It's just a house. I mean, I've lived here for ages, but it's a big house. It's a family house. I'm my own family now, aren't I?"

"I wouldn't put it like that. You've still got a lot of people who care about you, Holly."

I hum, looking down at my dark reflection in the phone screen. "Even if I did give it up, what would I do then? Get some shabby apartment in the city? I kind of like the peace and quiet of my neighbourhood, and my parents bought this house, but... well, it's not sentimental or anything to me."

"If you decided that you didn't want to stay at your parents' house anymore," Emerson says slowly, "well, there's always the spare room at ours, you know that."

I nod. "To visit?"

"To stay."

I'm silent for a moment, taken aback, and stare at the phone as if I'm trying to stare Emerson down through the screen. "What, to live?"

"Edith likes having you around," he clarifies, "and Elias has someone who understands more what he's seen and gone through... and I'm inviting you. Anyway. Just something to think about," he adds, and I wonder for a while if he's flushing like I am as he carries on, "don't give me an answer yet, don't feel pressured. But the offer is there if you feel like you want to let the past go a bit, if you know what I mean. It wouldn't be a bother."

"Well... thanks, Emerson. I'll think about it," I reply thoughtfully, touched, "so... yeah, thanks. I should, uh, get ready in case people decide to give me an early visit or something."

"Oh, sure. Speak to you later, Holly."

And, of course, I do get calls about my parent's will, about coming to office buildings to sign things, or they could come to me. Sorry for your loss, sorry for your loss, sorry for your loss. I'm getting sick of hearing that from people I barely know. Practically everything is left to me, except things like the company cars going back to the company and some jewellery going to family members I've probably only met once or twice in my life. There are some cards that come through the letterbox with sappy cartoon hearts and notes and phone numbers written on the inside from some people who live nearby. Each time I pick them up, I read them with squinting eyes, trying to see if any of the writing is has the same dainty flicks and swirls the RoseBlood Killer pens.

I don't want to be pitied and smothered and supported. I want to see their faces, right now, faces of shock when the RoseBlood Killer is cuffed and dragged out of my house, and they'll know that I won, I closed the cold case of Daniel Tyrel and the Cassias' sickening murders.

Not yet.

I'm hesitant to leave my house to sign papers and talk about some more confusing financial things in other places, so I call and ask Elias, who thinks I should.

"Think about it. You'll take any opportunity to leave the house. Like, it's haunted, in a way."

I groan in annoyance. "Yeah, that's what's expected, isn't it? I've just got to play this thing out until the killer decides it's time up."

"Pretty much," he agrees. "I know, it's stupid, but it'll be worth it. Just go, okay? I've got eyes on the house. Plus, if you leave, they might make a stop and check out the house again to double-check everything's how they want it for when they strike or something."

He's right. I've got to do what's expected, no matter how stupid it is. The whole day is a bore, but Lizzie insists on coming with me, which makes it somewhat more bearable. She talks me through some bills and says she'll come and help me sort through their things if it's too painful, but she knows that I'm coping in my own way, and not breaking down with tears every minute.

Am I still grieving? Is this how I grieve? I haven't even cried yet. Not really.

Maybe, maybe when the killer's caught, and all is said and done, I'll start feeling things like I probably should be. But I've always been different. Holly Cassia is not normal. Nothing about this is.

So it's infuriating when the cameras tell me that all as it should be when the evening rolls by again, then the night, then the early beams of light of the next morning. No change, normal people, normal day, everything's fine, when I and a handful of people know that it most certainly is not.