Beyond the Screams ✔

Chapter Thirteen

It amazed me just how quickly Bryce could get things done. He was unreasonably social, and probably already knew every single person in this building before he was even assigned to look after me. It was no real surprise when he returned to me, less than ten minutes later, assuring me that he had successfully met with Peter, Ben and Tim. And that they had agreed to come to talk to us. Bryce hadn't let slip what we wanted to talk to them about, thankfully. 

"They really didn't have any problem with it," Bryce admitted shrugging. "They needed a break anyway, plus they never say no to a friendly talk with a friend."

I let a small smile take over my face, "Sounds like them, were they acting differently? Like they were guilty or had something to hide?" I asked quietly, hoping for a specific answer.

Bryce shooked his head, "No, they acted completely normal, not even suspicious about us wanting to talk. They didn't even push for a reason why, but they seemed.... distraught. Unreasonably upset but they don't want people to know. Almost like one had spent the night crying and the others were desperately trying to comfort them."

I leaned back, twirling the pen in my fingers as the scribbled-on piece of paper threatened to fall off my lap. "Distraught with guilt for the sin they just committed?"

"I thought you didn't think they were the murderer's, or at least, didn't want them to be?" Bryce muttered under his breath, sighing deeply.

"I don't, I really, really don't. But if they did, and we missed the simple giveaways of how they're acting? Then maybe we shouldn't be doing this case at all," I said coldly, "Now, was it distraught with guilt?"

Bryce shook his head, his face tired, "No, just distraught."

I sighed, "Alright then, thanks. I'm sorry for snapping. I was just.... annoyed I suppose."

"Don't worry about it," He smiled softly, "I get it, you're stressed and you want to find this person. Just remember, we're a team." His voice was quiet, barely a whisper,

I looked down, A team. Something I had to get used to. Sometimes, being in a team was too much a foreign concept then I would have liked. My paper had only four questions. Half of me wanted to treat this normally, treat that as a suspect. But I couldn't, I couldn't treat them like just another suspect when they had been some of the only people who had treated me like just another musician, not just a woman desperate to escape a life stuck in a house. A real musician.

That was why I only had four questions, my mind refuses to frame them.

"I know you don't think that they did this, but they're on the list. You said it yourself, If you want, we can go with the questions you have, and if we don't get any solid answers that determine whether or not they're guilty. We can wing it, come up with questions on the spot, have questions tailored to whats going on in the room." Bryce said kindly, taking the pen out of my hand and sticking it in his pocket, "And if you lose your train of thought, if you feel like you can't conduct this interview, give me a look and I'll take over for you, sound good?"

I nodded calmly, not making any effort to take back my pen. I handed over the paper, "Yeah, sounds good."

Bryce said, "How about we head over to the meeting room now? I would take a guess and say that they are probably already there..." He trailed off and I nodded, He stood up and I followed suit. It seemed everyone had calmed down, the artists working, diligently writing lyrics or notes for a new song. The strumming of instruments and heated arguments between agents and musicians took over the atmosphere, I ignored it, like everyone else, and kept walking forwards, Bryce standing tall behind me.

The more people that were killed, the more I realised just how useful Bryce was. And why Mr MacPherson had been so adamant about having a bodyguard for me. At this point, it made me feel safer when the glances lingered too long, or when I could no longer feel anything, especially after the news that once again, my lack of detective skills had resulted in someone's death. He had proven... useful I suppose. He made me calm, helped me breathe. He was a friend, one I had come to like quite quickly.