The Angel in Hell

S I L V E R . T R A Y

A Burning Hill by Mitski<3

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The world felt as if it had stopped. An ambulance arrived about an hour after they found Oliver, they bagged him up as if they were some sort of waste, and strapped him to a stretcher. They wheeled him through the maze like the procession behind a hearse as it drove the coffin to its final resting place. Everyone followed behind paramedics and Oliver, sir James leading them out, arm in arm with Elsbeth who had mentally checked out of the whole situation. When they reached the ambulance there were police leaning against the bonnet of their car, two men dressed in perfectly pressed uniforms, tattoos covering any bear skin apart from their face. They came towards the family and stopped at the body. The paramedics unzipped the bag enough to reveal Oliver's head. The men looked at eachother, then back to Oliver, then to the family.

'We deem this an ongoing murder investigation.' One of them said,

'We'll need to question you all.' The other said.

The word 'murder' struck the whole family in the chest. Saltburn had always had a dark side, a side that nobody except the family could truly understand, but this was so different. This was darkness all over, this was hell on earth.

Once Oliver had been sent to the morgue for a post-mortem, the police officers got to work with the interviews. Elsbeth, forever wanting to impress as a hostess, shakily carried in a silver tray adorned with a china tea set equipped with to cups and saucers, a pot of sugar, a large teapot filled with english breakfast leaves, and a plate with two blueberry cheesecake bites. The set was matching of course, clean white china peppered with handpainted roses and tulips. Detail was important to Elsbeth, 'even if everything else is falling apart, we cannot let the details go' she once said to Delilah when she was 15. Delilah was going through a hard time, boys picking on her for her weight, her congested skin, her thin hair, and naturally she began to cover up more, only wearing hoodies and joggers, always having her curls straightened or in a bun. When she got to Saltburn that summer, her new look simply wasn't going to cut it.

The policemen happily tucked into their tea and cake, relaxing back into the comfy armchairs of the 'informal' office as Sir James called it. This was where any important matters that weren't to do with his business occurred. His business was only dealt with in his office. After some vapid, informal small talk between the policemen and Elsbeth, she left them and went to find Farleigh who was the first one up to be questioned.

One by one the family went in, everyone leaving that room white as a ghost, a sour taste in their mouths. No matter how much they disliked Olly and his strange ways, everyone felt bereaved. Everyone mourned as if he was one of them, and Delilah did too. She hated Oliver but she never wanted him dead and although he was gone, Delilah felt guilty. She felt guilty because she was more concerned about Felix, where he was, if he was okay. If he did this to Oliver. Before she could dwell any further Venetia emerged from the office, her face blotchy and red, eye's glazed and zoned out.

'You're go' V said to Delilah, sort of airily and high pitched as she walked pin-straight, body tense, out of the room and quietly up the stairs to her room.

Delilah took a nervous breath, she realised she hadn't thought about what she was going to say at all. What could she say? She walked into the office and took a seat opposite the two men who had their noses in their notebooks, rapidly scribbly away some notes. Delilah cleared her throat slightly, trying to centre herself, clear her mind enough to speak to them.

Finally, they looked up at her with hard but not cold expressions on their faces. Delilah tried to read their minds, their eyes, their body langue, anything to help her figure out who they thought had done it. And only one name remained on her mind.