A Pocket Full of Posies (Book 2)

Chapter Thirteen (Part 1)

The first thing I do the next morning is ask Carmen to keep what I saw to herself. Well, that's a bit of a lie. The very first thing I did was wonder why the hell my cheek felt like it was burning, then inspected it in the bathroom mirror to see a bruise splattered onto it. What was that guy's problem last night? Carmen is hesitant to agree to saying nothing about my vision because she thinks we should tell Annabel and Ava about it as soon as possible, but I just need time to figure this out.

The Murrays could be the key to unlocking all this. If their recollection of events matches what I saw in my vision, or sheds no more light on things, then I'll tell Annabel and Ava everything. Hell, even if what they say completely sidelines what I saw last night, I'll still tell them. I guess I just want to hear what the Murrays have to say first. I need at least a shot at a better understanding of what the hell last night means before I can even try to vocalise it.

No one gets out of bed much earlier than ten, and Jamie doesn't emerge until midday. Ava must have been the first awake because she was already sitting downstairs when Carmen and I walked into the hotel reception. Despite having drunk more than enough to curse myself with a hangover today, I actually feel okay. A bit tired, but not ill.

Tom is as loud as ever, and Jamie is his usual post-drinking gloomy self. I'm not even sure why the guy drinks; he always has a cracking hangover, and he's barely much different when he is drunk anyway. He just complains slightly less. Very slightly.

Annabel and Lucy show up, as normal as ever, and I try my best not to act like something is amiss. I'm finding it really damn difficult to even look at Annabel though. She's pretty distracted with Lucy, so I don't think she notices. Lucy's practically forgotten about solving her own murder now, which seems a bit bizarre to me, but I don't have the mental capacity to even think about that right now.

We decide to aim to get to the Murrays for around three in the afternoon. We're all pretty tired, and we figure they'll have just gotten back from holiday, so won't likely appreciate a load of teenagers knocking on their door at the crack of dawn. Wait, I'm not a teenager anymore, am I? How messed up is that?

As we pull up outside the Murrays' house for the second time, this time without all seven of us, it feels like my brain is melting. I don't know why I'm so anxious. They probably won't even know anything. They're not even spirit talkers. I think I'm just so desperate for answers at this point, especially after last night's vision.

The more I think about it, the less it makes sense. Annabel's my spirit guide. Surely part of that job description isn't turning evil, and aiding in the rest of your family's violent deaths? I guess she did technically still save my life by sacrificing hers though, albeit with bad intention. Does intention matter with this kind of thing?

It's just Ava, Carmen, Annabel and me this time. Ava because she's the only one with the slightest clue about all this stuff, and Annabel because it's just as much her business as it is mine. Carmen's just here because I'm needy. Hopefully something the Murrays say will trigger a memory of Annabel's that aligns with the shitstorm I've been seeing in my recent visions. We leave the taxi, and head up the Murray's driveway, which now has a car parked on it. I guess they're home, then.

The girls wait a few feet behind me as I knock the front door, and after ten seconds or so, I hear movement from inside. A figure appears behind the glass panel in the door, and it swings open. Standing there is a rather plain looking middle-aged man with a tan that's a little too much on the red side. He pauses when he sees me, and stares with wide eyes for what feels like at least five minutes, but I'm probably exaggerating.

"Felix?"

Before I can even answer him, he pulls me into what I can only describe as the most intense, sincere hug I've ever experienced in my life. I don't recognise the guy for shit, and my arms are hanging limply by my side as he cuts off their blood circulation, and it's all just a bit awkward, really. I take it he recognises me then. Ava, Carmen and Annabel are all silent behind me until I hear the faintest whisper.

"John..." Annabel.

When the guy finally releases me, honest to God, I swear he's got tears in his eyes. I'm not even kidding. He starts talking at a million miles an hour, and I don't know if it's the accent or the speed at which he's talking, but I don't understand a word. He continues speaking as he leads me into his house, and waves for Ava and Carmen to follow.

"Maeve!" he yells midway through an unintelligible sentence. "Maeve!" He looks back at me, and pauses. "Is your face okay?"

I lift my hand to my face, and flinch when I brush it across my cheek. Ah, yeah, that. I brush it off to who I've assumed is John, but he's already started rambling again, so I'm not sure he notices.

John leads us into the family living room, and whereas the Gruffudds' house was cluttered and chaotic, this one is clean and simple. There are framed photos of kids dotted around the walls, and a pile of colourful toys lie in a heap on the cream carpet. It's nothing exciting in the slightest. It just looks like your run of the mill family home, and I don't know if it's because of the matter at hand, but I feel a pang of jealousy.

John is asking us if we'd like anything to drink when Maeve bursts through the door, and she fits the Irish stereotype much better than her husband does. Her hair is red and curled, and it's cropped short on her head. There are white specks near its roots though, so I don't think the auburn colour is as natural as it used to be in some of the photos of her dotted around the living room. When Maeve sees me, she replicates the welcome John gave me, much to my uncomfort. At least she doesn't cry.

"Sorry, hon, you probably don't even remember us, do you?" Maeve speaks much more slowly than John, thank God. "You were, what, six last time we saw you? I doubt you can think that far back about two boring adults. Oh, it was your birthday yesterday, wasn't it? Gosh, how old are you now? Eighteen? No, wait, twenty?"

Even these guys knew it was my birthday yesterday when I didn't. Fair play.

"Yeah, yeah, twenty," I reply with a clumsy smile.

"Well, happy belated birthday!"

John returns with our teas and coffees, and sits down on the sofa beside Maeve. I was too self-conscious to ask for a hot chocolate. He asks me if I want some frozen peas for my cheek, and it takes me longer than it should to realise he's not suggesting I grab a handful of loose peas and press them against my face. I thank him, and tell him it's fine.

"Gosh, it's been so long," Maeve continues. "We were so worried something awful had happened."

"Funny you should say that," I awkwardly, arguably inappropriately, joke before proceeding to explain the whole car accident, memory loss situation.

"Your parents? Are they..?" is the first thing John says once I've finished speaking, and it takes me a moment to realise I never actually clarified that they'd snuffed it.

I shake my head. "No, they--the crash," I reply, and it requires no elaboration. "Annabel didn't either, but--"

"What about Connor?"

I gaze back at Maeve. Who the hell is Connor? Then it hits me. The man. The stranger. That must be him. They know who he is? Holy crap, they know who he is.

"Who's Connor?" I ask hurriedly, not even trying to mask my desperation.

Maeve and John glance at each other, and say nothing for a few seconds. John goes to speak, but he stammers slightly. It's not something bad, is it?

"You don't know?" Maeve says, to which I shake my head. She glances at her husband again. "Connor? Your brother?"