Cypress Alley

Chapter 38

I made my way to the head of Eliza's bed. She had been staring at the wall for hours. Only once I arrived did she lift her head.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi."

"So, they're letting you walk around now?"

"Yeah."

"Lucky you. I'm still not allowed."

Eliza's injuries had been far worse than mine but were still not fatal. We were both allowed to go home in about a week.

"Well, they told me what happened," I said. "About how it was the police who came. And how you called them."

"Yeah."

"Thanks for that, Eliza."

"I was just scared... I didn't know what else to do."

"Well, if you hadn't, we'd both probably be dead by now."

"I guess."

"So, thank you."

She shrugged. We still had a way to go.

The court hearing would be held in a week - right after we'd be released from the hospital. Unfortunately, that meant we'd have no choice but to go.

As you can imagine, Ms Hartley was infuriated. Not only did she now have hefty hospital fees on her hands (she didn't pay for insurance, of course), but she had to deal with the drama of fostering two almost-murder-victims. And all the legal stuff.

Watching her face shrivel by the foot of my bed as she struggled to contain her fury was possibly the best feeling in the world.

"So," I said, sitting down beside Eliza. "Did you ever get that English assignment done?"

"No," she scowled. "Do you really think I had time for that?"

I chuckled. "Well, I'm sure your teacher will give you an extension after what happened."

"Try telling her that. She doesn't believe in extensions."

"Oh well. It doesn't really matter, anyway."

"No, it doesn't."

A couple of minutes of suffocating silence ensued. I decided I needed a drink of water.

"Well, I'm going to go, now. I'll see you... soon."

"Yeah, OK."

"Bye, Lize."

"Bye."

We'd glued together the pieces of the case, hand-in-hand; yet, somehow, a huge void had given way between us.

---

We were out of the hospital and in the most formal attire we could find; although, I thought we still looked a bit like mice. We were standing in front of a jury to let them hear our case. And Jane was standing before us: small, cold and scared, her mother, snake-eyed and red, beside her. They wrapped their arms around each other as Jane cried and plead and fell to her knees. The poor child, her mother begged. She's suffering. Just leave her alone.

But their endeavours were destined for failure. Not since the police had caught them that day. Not since they'd found the blood-stained jumpers at their home, and knife bouquet. Not since they'd been caught red-handed - quite literally.

I almost felt sorry for her. Not because she was arrested - she deserved that, after all. I pitied the look she'd given me upon my mentioning her dead brother. An expression of horror soon morphed into one of pain and regret. Of grief and longing for a home which no longer existed - one which would never be revived. More than anything, a look of hurt. I'd hurt her.

Perhaps, I thought, it had been the same look North had worn the day Jane killed her.

The court proceedings were over: guilty as charged. I watched Jane and Ms Davis march out of the courtroom that night and into prison. Jane was sent elsewhere - a juvenile centre, I thought - while her mother was shoved into your everyday, run-of-the-mill prison. I hoped she'd rot inside.

Taking my first breath of fresh air since the incident, I felt as if my lungs, which had thus far accumulated nothing but grime and dust, were cleansed. Locks unlatched, keys strewn to the side, I felt as though I'd be able to lift my feet and take off into the air.

But the chains still weighed my feet to the ground, as Ms Hartley dragged as home, grunting and shoving and kicking all the way.

I glanced at Eliza. She showed no signs of pain. This was normal, of course, it was.

No, we were still trapped.

---

There was a reward for our discovery. A large sum of money.

Ms Hartley eyed the check greedily.

Eliza and I had unanimously decided to refuse. We had something else in mind.