Between The Lies

Chapter 2

They sat about the fireplace in the study, their conspiratorial whispers barely audible over the crackle of lively flames. But Delilah knew what they spoke of. What they had done could not be undone. They all got blood on their hands. The guilt was like a stain on her, an ugly scar and she had to carry it to her grave. She ran her fingers on the spine of each book on the shelf and looked their way when she heard her name.

"Delilah, did you talk to Cora at the funeral today?" Felix asked as Francisco eagerly waited for her answer.

"No, I didn't get the chance." She sat on one of the armchairs as they exchanged glances.

"I know this is hard for you-" But before Francisco could continue, Delilah interrupted.

"No, you don't." She snapped at him. No one did, except Amelia. He wanted to protest, but held back as Alistair entered the room.

Watching Alistair move about the room, she wondered if he was ever remorseful for everything he had done. She knew he wasn't, he would do anything to get his way. She was not afraid of him, not anymore. He needed her. But she needed him too. She noticed he was holding four goblets in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. The bottle was the customary green, yet deeper where the red wine sat within. The corners of the label curled and yellowed with time. They watched as he poured his soul into each of their glasses.

"I hope you know what to do now." He watched them, cupping the glass in his hand as one might drink water from a clear river. Felix and Francisco nodded slowly. He looked at Delilah and continued. "It is the best for everyone."

She held his gaze. She was not going to look away, not this time. Felix cleared his throat.

"To live." He raised his glass.

"To live forever." Alistair corrected him. A smile worked its way across his face and into his eyes, almost sinister.

* * *

Cora was cold. That tweed blazer and plaid skirt didn't do her justice. But uniforms were a matter of significance in Arlington High and she had to follow. The day was illuminated with a pale light only winter's sun could give. The rain from the night before made everything glow and slippery. With the revitalizing cold and the soft breeze, it was the perfect day for staying home. She wanted to reverse her steps back inside, but she had to face what she had been dreading for days. Nick was waiting on the driveway.

"Morning, Nick." She called out to him, stepping into the car.

"Morning." He mumbled. He looked grim. She didn't ask him about it. It was the first school morning that they didn't turn onto Ashbourne Street. Amelia rode with her ever since she joined Arlington High. It was a routine. But with Amelia gone, things had to be changed.

The wind howled as she entered through the hardwood doors. Milling students, dressed in navy and grey, hustled and bustled down the corridors. The chaos was so perfect, like a movie. The sounds of lockers slamming and teenagers chatting were louder than usual. She had to keep moving, standing still for too long was never a good idea anyway. Being Amelia's best friend, she had became immune to the toxic stares while strutting down the hallways of Arlington High. But this time was different. People came up to her giving their condolences, like they had even care. She nodded, giving occasional rueful smiles. Her locker was the last one on the hallway. She always hated that. The corridors were dimly lit with sconces on the stone walls. They often bantered about how the school must had been designed by a melancholic maniac or someone who was just infatuated with goth. The teachers had done their part, hanging paintings and tapestries in rich, primary colours. As she opened her locker, her eyes rested on the carefully placed picture of her and Amelia. She had told Patrick that she was going to find the truth, but she didn't know where to start. Deep in her thoughts, she didn't realize someone stood beside her until he called her name.

"Cora." Patrick looked at her with furrowed brows. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She faced him. "What do you want, Patrick?"

She was almost apologetic for her harsh tone. Almost. He took a look around and ran his hand through his hair. He had made it a habit. "Look, I should have given it to you the other day. I'm sorry."

She pursed her lips, confused. He handed her a white, wax sealed envelope emblazoned with her name. The handwriting was awfully familiar.

"What is this?" Her voice shook, weak and nervous.

They had exchanged only a few words in the years they had known each other. But staring into those eyes always gave her a thrill. It was hard to get another way and she didn't want to either. It was something he never noticed. "Read." With that, he left her hanging.

Her hands longed to open the seal, but it wasn't a place to read it. Someone was watching her. She turned, clutching the envelope close to her. 

Delilah Renee Berkeley stood at the other end of the hallway, her eyes widened and the colour drained from her face.