Gilded Cage

Chapter Twelve

Just as Paola had predicted, the police arrived at St. Joshua's College two days into January. It was Clara who, alarmed by her friend's mysterious disappearance, had been trying to involve the authorities since before New Year's Eve. At first, she was dismissed and appointed as hysterical; two times she called them, but all they had told her was a series of "Maybe she went back home" or "She may have travelled somewhere for the holidays". When she insisted, the constable had replied with an annoyed "We're understaffed at the moment, we can't send anyone", which I found hilarious, really. It was the end of December after all and even policemen were on holiday. No matter how much she whined, no one took her seriously. When Clara went to Edinburgh to speak to someone in person, though, an Inspector listened to her concerns and decided to come to have a look himself. She didn't tell me any of this, of course, but she was loud enough as she told her friends at lunch one day. That was how I came to know that the police were coming.

"So? What do we do now?" I asked.

Paola crossed her arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. We were at the flat in the west wing. The day before, Alexi had been able to stand on his feet enough to leave the cabin and get back to the castle. He was still on bed rest, but the wound was healing nicely and he was looking much healthier. Now, against anyone's advice, he was sitting at the table, with Christian next to him. Thomas was lying on the sofa — a spliff in one hand and a glass of bourbon in the other — and I was standing in front of Paola.

"We don't do anything," she replied.

"Why?"

"Think, for once. We've already attracted too much attention by mysteriously falling sick one by one, or faking it anyway; first me and Alexi, then you..."

"I really was sick."

"I was literally dying," Alexi said.

"Don't care. My point is, people noticed we weren't there like I said they would."

"Yeah, good job. You were right. Big clap for you," Thomas mocked her, raising his glass.

Paola shot him an annoyed look. "Just drink yourself into a coma, would you?"

Thomas showed her the middle finger. She was about to shout some other insult when Alexi cut her off.

"I agree with Paola."

"Of course you do."

"Tom!" he groaned. He didn't sound as intimidating as usual, his injury keeping his menacing voice at bay, but the warning still shut Thomas up.

"We just keep on living then, is that it?" Christian asked. He looked even worse than when I saw him after waking up in his bed. Those drawings he had in his room concerned me, but no more than the haunted look he had in his eyes. I wondered if he was sleeping. I knew I wasn't, because every time I closed my eyes I was troubled by images of dead bodies and blonde hair soaked in blood. Once, I had actually dreamt I was being arrested and Alexi was the one closing the cuffs on my wrists. I had woken up confused and drenched in sweat. When I realised I was in Alexi's bed, I relaxed, but couldn't bring myself to fall asleep again. My face must have shown how tired I was, just as Christian's showed his torments.

"Be normal. That's all you have to do," Paola said.

Thomas snickered. "You're asking a lot from us, Farnese."

"In your case, just fuck everything that moves and get pissed. It can't be too hard, right?"

"Fuck you." Thomas got up on unsteady legs and walked out of the flat, leaving a trail of smoke behind.

Paola sighed. "Let's hope he won't run his big mouth when he's too drunk or too high to think straight."

"The last thing we want is the police to suspect something," Alexi argued.