RoseBlood

Too Much

Edith gets ready to go back out to Falmer, bringing her phone with her and glancing at the screen before nodding at Emerson.

"Brunsley's emailed. I think he wants to talk to us all or something, so you look at that while I'm out. Holly, I'll call one of my brothers so you can tell me what to pack, okay? Your phone's at home too, right?"

I nod with a small smile. "Okay, thanks."

Emerson pulls out his iPad again and goes into his emails, scanning Brunsley's message thoughtfully. "Yes, he does want to speak to us all. And he's interviewed Clarissa," he adds, still looking at the email, "and looked around her house. No sign of anything that links to the case yet."

"Oh, alright. Well, I'll go say hi to her while I'm there, like you said," Edith tells him. "Elias will be hanging around somewhere outside, too..."

"I'll follow you, then," I say, "to help find him?"

Edith nods with a smile, walking by my side as we leave the room, and Emerson watches us as we go before his dark eyes drift back to the iPad.

The Tyrels' house really is impressive. Down the winding wood stairs, the large main room at the back is full of light, the windows long and grand, and to the right is the kitchen, with a bar that curls in one large corner and the appliances in another area, the dining table at the end. The door in there probably leads to a bathroom, and back in the hallway, a twinkling golden chandelier hangs from the ceiling, twice the size of the one in the bedroom from before. The main, solid wood double doors open to matching wall lamps at either side, and tall plant pots stand beneath them, a door mat with a fancy 'T' initial in its middle.

All this from solving a few cases? Who are these people? Do I want them looking into my parents' murder with me? Cracking their lives open like an egg and drinking in their private information and whatever secrets they kept?

Sure enough, Elias is wandering around outside, their neat garden leading to their driveway, the vast woodland growing as I go round the back of the house. He looks up at us when we go outside, and nods before his attention is lost, Edith smiling at him with raised brows as she closes the doors behind us.

"You alright?" she calls, and Elias nods again. "I'm gonna go back into Falmer. You could show Holly around or something?"

"Yeah, sure," Elias agrees, and Edith gives me a quick smile.

"I'll be back before the evening," she says, "so I'll FaceTime you when I'm at yours. See you guys later."

And then she's off, going down the driveway and to the road beyond the house. Elias leans against a tree and watches her before looking at me uneasily.

"Didn't mean to run off, or anything," he says, staring at the ground, "it's just... well, this stuff can be a bit too much sometimes."

"Too much?" I repeat with a small frown.

"Yeah, you know. Sure, we're detectives and whatever, but all the death and twisted stuff those sick people pull, it's too much to think about now and again. Especially this one. I really feel for you, Holly," he adds, before looking up at me and scrunching his nose at the way he said it. "I mean, not trying to be all sympathetic and annoying, but... well, this case isn't nice."

"No, it's not," I agree with him, going over to the trees as well as we start to walk into the woodlands, "but murders never really are. Anyway, it's best not to think about it. You've got to see it more like a puzzle that you've got to figure out instead of letting it get to you."

Elias scoffs lightly. "Yeah, you sound like my brother," he comments. "Still, you can't help it getting to you sometimes. I don't know, maybe it's just me. Not that I'm soft or anything stupid like that."

I smile slightly, shaking my head. "Of course not. It's not too much for me, when I break it down."

"Fair enough," Elias responds, "you do whatever works for you. Don't tell those two, but when we get emails from Brunsley and everything... yeah, I don't read it. But they probably know that anyway."

"You're not interested?"

"It's not that," Elias replies, frowning as he tries to find the words. "Don't get me wrong, we're good at what we do. I like it, or I wouldn't be doing it. But... I don't know, I just don't want it consuming me. Bad experience, I guess. Don't like reliving it. It makes me wanna help people and solve cases on one hand, but then there's just the stress of finding it all out before it's too late, people counting on you. You're responsible for some missing kid or a victim's life. Whoever they are, they're someone's family, you know? It seems thrilling and interesting when you first start out, but not everything's an storybook crime."

"No, that sounds about right," I consider. "Reality is different from fiction. But this is what I'm best at, I think. I want to take it in college."

"Do you?" Elias asks in interest. "What, criminology?"

"Yep. I do psychology already."

"Well, if it's what you like, then go for it. If you're good at it, even better. I mean, you seem like you know what you're doing with this one, before we came into the picture too. Brunsley talked you up, rightly."

I smile at that, shrugging. "Brunsley's... well, he might be good at what he does too."

"He is," Elias confirms, his hand brushing against the rough tree trunks surrounding us. "He was my dad's friend."

I nod slowly, deciding not to ask about him, picking up on the past tense and remembering Brunsley's story about the similar case. "I'm pretty sure I'll be good at this when I take it up properly," I tell him instead, "I study expressions."

"Expressions?" he repeats with a smirk, raising his brows. "Like, judging people by the way they look at you and everything?"

"I suppose so," I answer, "expressions can give a lot away on unguarded people, a lot more than their words can. You can say anything you want, but your face can betray you if you're not careful."

"Spooky," Elias grins, and I smile and roll my eyes. "Hope to god you can't see right through me. Don't think you'd want that."

I hesitate, thinking about Emerson's set gaze and blank, studious expression, before bringing it up as subtly as I can.

"Your brother's not an easy read."

Elias snorts with laughter, shaking his head. "No, he is not. But Emerson's different. Smartass, but a good brother. You two-"

"If someone else tells me we're alike..."

"Kind of are," Elias says with a half-smile, "but Emerson is a good brother. He sticks to logical thinking rather than emotional almost all the time, though. Like you, maybe? Not a bad thing, again, if that works for you."

I take in Elias' words thoughtfully. He does have a point, whether he realises it or not. It has sunk in, I think, that my mum and dad have been murdered, murdered in my own basement while an oblivious party was going on just a floor above.

They felt the pain, didn't they? Do guns hurt before they kill? Did the thorns pierce their skin before the bullet shot through their brains? They didn't deserve it, did they, even if they loved worked more than you?

I clench my jaw and look in a different direction, ignoring my thoughts, and at the same time remembering exactly why I don't let my emotions get involved.

It gets too much, and they ruin everything.