Safe Place

Background color
Font
Font size
Line height

"Mia found it, under the needle of the record player in the basement. The other one came today, a few hours before you got here. I keep leaving the house at the worst times."

Brunsley's gloved hand picks up the first note, holding it up to the light and examining the paper, his eyes reading the words twice over.

"It was just there?"

I shrug, nodding. "Just there, waiting for me."

He puts it down, picking up the second with a frown. "And this was today?"

I nod, a nagging annoyance building up inside me at giving away most of the clues and leads that I'd found myself, while all he'd done was look through my notes. Which I'd done ages ago, so that just proves I'm spending my time wisely.

"And these roses came with them?"

I nod again. "Yeah... look, do you have to take them? I'd prefer to hold on to them until I don't need them anymore. I was the one who found them, after all, and, technically, they're mine."

Brunsley huffs out an amused laugh, shaking his head. "I will have to take them off you, Holly. Sorry."

"You're not sorry," I mutter with a roll of my eyes, taking out my phone and taking photos of them at several angles. "So, have you noticed anything odd about them?"

"Same writing, same person," he says, stating the obvious, and I try not to roll my eyes again. "The paper's yellowing a little..."

"Yes, but the second note," I prompt impatiently, taking it from his hand, turning it around and giving it back. "You see that?"

Brunsley looks closer, his brows raising a little in interest. "Ah, I see. Writing from a book."

"No, writing from a poetry book," I clarify. "The words are random, but that 'readth' is Shakespearean or something, right? And since what the killer wrote is a twisted love poem, and you mentioned their interest in poetry, it fits in perfectly."

"It does indeed," Brunsley agrees with a half-smile. "However, 'readth' isn't necessarily Shakespearean. I think the full word was 'breadth'. That doesn't mean the writing doesn't belong to a poem."

"Of course it belongs to a poem," I respond, folding my arms. "I've studied Shakespeare in English class, and I'm pretty sure I've seen that word before."

"Well, I'll keep an eye out for anything that might have connections with this," he tells me with a nod. "Still, Holly, you need to understand how incredibly dangerous it is for you now that this murderer has you in their sights. They know where you live. They delivered these notes inside your house, didn't they?"

"The second one was in my room," I say, nodding.

"Exactly. Which means they have access to this house. You're a brave girl, a very educated, clever young lady, but that doesn't change the fact that you're being targeted here."

"I know that," I tell him, "but I'm fine."

"Yes, for now. At this moment, you're unharmed. But the longer you stay here, the more dangerous it is. See, officially, this case is my responsibility, which includes your safety. I know your home is supposed to be a safe place, but that's been compromised, hasn't it? I wish you'd shown me these before, realistically as soon as you received them. But that's not the way you work, I see."

I frown at that, not sure if what he's saying is a compliment and actual understanding, or adult condescension.

"You see? The way I work?" I repeat. "Are you just mocking me now?"

"Not in the slightest," Brunsley answers, shaking his head. "You might be used to people treating you like a child, underestimation and the like, but you aren't a child, Holly. You're eighteen now, and I know that you are very capable and independent. You haven't panicked, you've collected information and evidence, and investigated yourself, methodically. Really, I admire you."

I open my mouth to speak, then close it when I can't find the words.

"I have let you do your own research and detection. All I knew then was that your parents were murdered, and I thought that if this killer was the same one who caused the death of Daniel, who I was speaking about earlier, they might not go after you. They didn't go after his children, anyway, and this happened four years ago. But things are different now, which has been made apparent. I can't let you stay here when this murderer knows exactly where you are and how to get to you. What will you do against a gun, Holly, if that's what it comes to?"

I think of the fresh bullet wounds that punctured my parents' skulls, and remember how tightly I was gripping the bat when I was sweeping the house, heart pounding, detective or not. Everyone has their limitations, which is fine.

Well, it's not fine. It's incredibly annoying.

"What are you suggesting?" I ask him, dodging the question.

"I'm working closely with a kind of Trust," Brunsley says. "They're a bit like... like private investigators, but they work with us on complex crimes and odd murders, like this one. I know that they can do a better job of keeping you safe than I can at the moment. Right now, I need to understand who it was that your parents managed to antagonise, and all the how's, where's, when's and why's. I also need to follow up on Clarissa Newman and check these notes and flowers for any fingerprints, though I doubt they left any. A lot more has come to light now, thanks to you."

"I did work most of it out, yeah," I say with a raised brow. "If I make it out of this alive, I deserve a medal or something."

Brunsley laughs, nodding. "I'll see what I can do. But seriously, Holly. Tomorrow, I'm going to make sure you meet them and can arrange something properly."

"Wait," I speak up, an edge to my voice as realisation dawns. "You're going to make me leave my house until the murderer's caught, aren't you?"

Brunsley doesn't respond, looking for words, and my jaw clenches in anger.

"You're kidding me, right? After everything I've done, you're putting me out of harm's way so there's no chance I can keep figuring this out? And I will figure this out. I'm going to be left out of everything because of my safety?"

"Not at all," Brunsley says, shaking his head. "Listen, what if I tell them that you need to be included in this case? You knew your parents better than anyone. You were their daughter. And after everything you've done, it wouldn't be right to use it and force you to stop working. But safely, Holly Cassia. Not here. Please try to understand, okay? It's simply too dangerous. I thank god the murderer didn't choose to strike before I got here, or you ran into them when they left the note today."

I sigh heavily, shaking my head and shrugging. "It's not like I have a choice, is it?"

"It could be a lot worse, though, couldn't it? I know that if others were in my place, they'd make sure you were as far away from all this as possible."

"Fine," I say begrudgingly, watching as he carefully wraps the roses back in tissue and puts them and the notes into plastic zip locks.

"Anything else I should know of?"

I dither, then nod. "Don't make it any weirder than it is, but I'm aware that some people, specifically ones like Clarissa, found my dad... I don't know, attractive? Before you ask again, no, I don't know anything about past relationships he had, and I'm could have been certain there was no one on the scene all the time I've been around. But it explains the red rose and the bad romance, I suppose. I just don't see how I missed it."

Brunsley nods slowly. "Right then. Thank you, Holly, for telling me. This really helps."

I shrug and nod. "Yeah..."

"You remind me of someone, come to think of it," he adds with a small smile. "He's only a year older than you, and, quite frankly, one of the best young detectives I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. You'll meet him tomorrow, actually."

"I'm guessing he's part of this Trust too, then?"

Brunsley nods, wandering around my parents' room with searching eyes. "Emerson. You'd get along well, I think."

"Either really well, or absolutely awfully," I say with a light scoff, and Brunsley smiles.

"What do you think about all this, then? Again, you know your parents better than I do."

I scoff again, shaking my head. "Not really."

Brunsley's brows twitch, his attention shifting to me as his eyes stop wandering. "Not really?"

"Well, they were hard workers," I respond. "And hard workers aren't always around to..."

I stop speaking, quickly closing my mouth, trying my best to stay unbothered and neutral. Brunsley nods, smiling lightly and giving my shoulder a small squeeze.

"I think you're just as hard a worker, Holly. Well done."


You are reading the story above: TeenFic.Net