Cultured

Chapter 21.2 | A Rose For Azalea

Hannah Ivory Mun:

A few lights were still on when Hunter and I made it to my house, but I couldn't tell if anyone was inside.

"Hello?" I called right as I walked through the front door. "Azalea?"

No response.

Hunter and I wandered toward the living room, trudging inside the open doorway.

"Azalea?" I called again.

Hunter sighed. "It's no use," he mumbled. "If Azalea were here, she'd've said something by now." He bowed his head. "I'm such an idiot."

"That isn't true," I tried. "You're one of the smartest people I've ever met." I placed a hand on his shoulder. "We just...we have to keep looking."

"Looking for what, Hannah!?" he practically screamed, fists suddenly balling with rage. "If White Robe really did kidnap Azalea, then just what do you think we're going to find!?"

I took a step back, pulled my eyes away from the rage in Hunter's.

He hesitated, unballed his fists. "Hannah," he trembled, "I didn't mean to yell..."

"It's fine," I sighed. "Look, I know this is hard. But try not to freak out, okay?"

Hunter hung his head. "I just...I really don't want to lose her."

I reached out slowly, grasped his hand. "You won't lose her, Hunter," I tried. "We're going to get her back."

He half-smiled as he stared back at me. "Thanks, Hannah."

After a few more moments, we returned to the kitchen to have another look around. I'm not sure what we expected to find, but everything looked just as clean and undisturbed as it had before—cupboards shut tight, refrigerator humming, stovetop clear of pots and devoid of flames. All was quiet and tidy, but—Huh!?

"Hunter, look!" I squeaked aloud, pointing with my index finger the moment I caught a glimpse of a neatly folded square of white paper.

Hunter turned. "What the heck?" He sprang to the floor, unfolding the paper in under a second, his eyes immediately sweeping the contents.

"W-what is it?" I hesitated.

Hunter's eyebrows furrowed. "It's...a note."

"Oh, no." My heart leapt. "Is that—?"

"No." He shook his head. "It's not from White Robe. Handwriting's different."

As Hunter finished scanning the letter, he gasped. "Oh my gosh. Hannah, listen to this: 'I'm writing to let you know that I'll be back in town next weekend and that I can't wait to see you again! I went ahead and booked our old room at San Var. Would you believe Amos still remembers us, dear? It's been months, well and truly such an unbearably long time since we first bathed together on that glorious beach! Oh, and while I'm thinking about it, you needn't worry about G—he's so stupid, he'll never suspect a thing.'"

"Who is that?" I asked. "Is she writing about an affair? And who's she writing to?"

"Lyn," Hunter responded. "The note's addressed to someone named Lyn."

"Wait," I breathed. "Hunter, what if Lyn is short for Lyndon?"

"As in...Lyndon Evanston?"

I nodded my head.

"You think whoever wrote this was writing to Dale's dad?"

I hesitated. "I wonder if Dale knew about this."

Hunter examined the bottom of the note. "E.L.V.," he read aloud. "It's signed E.L.V."

I froze.

"I don't get it. Who's E.L.V.?"

"Well," I answered, my voice growing grave, "your guess is as good as mine as far as the L goes...but I only know one person with the initials E.V."

Shock bounded onto his face. "Earnestine."

I nodded. "And based on her history with Alex's family, I'm willing to bet the G she's talking about is Alex's uncle Gil."

"Wait, so Earnestine was cheating on Gil with Lyndon? But Ashley made it sound like Earnestine and Gil were so in love."

"Maybe they were. But the last time I checked, Gil Gonzales isn't worth a hundred million dollars. Earnestine probably wanted cash. For all we know, she and Gil might have agreed that she'd keep leading Lyndon on until she got his credit card number."

Hunter shook his head. "It still doesn't add up."

"Wait, what doesn't add up? It sounds pretty cut and dry to me."

"Not the affair—the note. Why's it just now turning up? And why was it here, in your house, of all places?"

"What if White Robe dropped it by accident when he kidnapped Azalea?"

"But why would White Robe have it in the first place? Why should some torrid affair mean anything to him? I mean, he obviously doesn't care about Earnestine—he let Ashley burn her to death and chop her skin off."

"Maybe he's trying to blackmail Lyndon."

"But why? White Robe's already well connected. I doubt he's hurting for cash."

"I don't know, Hunter. He's a psychopath. Maybe he just likes wrecking people's lives for the heck of it."

"No, Hannah. There's something more. There's gotta be."

"Something more?" I puzzled. "Like what? You think this note has some kind of sentimental value?"

Hunter stared back at me for a second.

I gasped. "Hunter, you don't mean—!"

ZZING! ZZING! ZZING! My phone buzzed in my pocket, just as the terror of a newborn revelation bouncing at the tip of my tongue prepared to take flight.

I jolted, grabbed for my cell—and the moment I opened the new message glowing from behind the phone's glassed exterior, I screamed.

"Hunter! Hunter, look at this!"

He leaned over my shoulder as I tapped the image on my screen twice, enlarging the horror before us. "Oh my gosh," he breathed. "Is that...Azalea?"

I nodded slowly, the skin on my arms and legs bunching instantly into goosebumps.

"No," Hunter breathed. "We're too late."

My hand was shaking as I held up my phone for the two of us to stare wide-eyed at the picture that seemed to quiver in real time. Splayed out against the backdrop of a hardwood floor, Azalea's body lay encircled by a crescent of white roses—her eyes tightly shut, her cheeks and mouth covered in blood. The roses surrounding her were stained a dark and liquid red, their curvaceous stems like the jagged edges of a malachite dagger.

Beneath the photo, a message:

A dozen bloody roses for Azalea Rose.

May the sins of the mother rest at last with the one she bore.