Isla was able to get up in the morning. Her night was filled with nightmares and her morning thoughts haunted by Parker's death. She was not looking forward to today but she had a duty to be there at school.
Her body was set in a motion when she took a shower and dressed for school. She was brushing her hair in front of the mirror, applying some makeup striving for a natural look when her mind did a rewind of the events last night.
It was a sight for inducing nightmares for her entire lifetime. It was a mystery why some detectives and police weren't scarred for life.
Isla stared boringly into her eyes at her reflection. As if, somehow she was waiting for the mirror to move and talk some sense into her. She grabbed her makeup to hide the ugly marks that marred her pale visage.
After a long car ride, her memory of how she arrived at the academy was a hazy blur. All she knew was that her chauffeur was driving away.
"Our condolences Isla!" everyone immediately greeted her. Not knowing how their faces light up at the sight of her or even send a high-pitched voice to her ears actually reminded her that today was not a pleasant morning, but a reminder that Parker Hurley died last night.
Isla wasn't surprised at all when she learned that Amani had written another incriminating article about Parker Hurley's untimely death and how the cops could not help a preventable murder from happening.
When she saw a friendly face in the crowd, Isla wanted to surround herself with that familiarity. Evonnie; however, was not alone. Seeing another face that haunted her dreams overwhelmed Isla with a sudden need to bask herself in shame. Though she was certain when Miss Adams glanced at her, she noticed the flabbergasted expression plastered to the Filipino's face.
Despite the inane fear that developed, Isla still headed out to Evonnie.
"Something wicked came this way," Alessandra murmured to herself, her playful eyes gazing at Isla. She looked like she was expecting to see a pair of red horns on Isla's head or something.
Isla paid no attention, striking a little conversation. Isla longed for something uplifting today and she was hoping that Evonnie's sincerity and childish behavior could somehow infect her.
However, with Miss Adams beside the jolly brunette, it seemed impossible. Isla could feel the anger and disbelief 10 feet away so she quickly left their company.
She refused to linger in.
Today wasn't her day at all. As hundreds of students, staff, and even professors stopped her on her tracks to continue giving their condolences.
After fleeing the scornful and sympathetic gazes of everyone who have heard of the news, Isla swore under her breath and took off for her first period. On the way there she was hindered by gossipy girls and mocking boys twice and while she was normally good at dodging them, her scattered state of mind was a hindrance to her reflexes, and it cost her.
Thus, Isla was thoroughly irritated and harassed as she entered the Linguistics classroom five minutes late. The professor was also the Deputy Headmistress, a Scottish woman named Rhona Cormag, paused in the midst of her lecture and after scanning Isla's disheveled appearance just shook her head sadly.
"Quickly take a seat, Miss Cecil." Professor Cormag was kind but unmercifully biased when it comes to her.
Isla went up the rows. Her stomach sunk when she saw that the only available spot was, of course, at the back of the class, besides Henri.
They gave each other a nod in acknowledgment, unlikely to discuss how they are after their mutual friend just died hours ago. Isla sat in silence for the next couple of hours of class and refused to look at Henri but caught peripheral glimpses of him eyeing her peculiarly. Henri didn't push through while Isla just took her usual meticulous notes and answered a few of the questions the Deputy Headmistress put to the class.
Isla eventually began to relax, cautiously optimistic that Henri would do as asked and just leave her alone.
She should have known better.
Eventually, the chimes of the clock tower echoed through the castle at nine o'clock.
Deputy Headmistress hastily instructed, "Alright, don't forget your two-page essays about the evolution of English to submit next meeting; dismissed." Then bee-lined out of the classroom, muttering. "Ah, I have an appointment with the Headmistress. Another investigation is about to happen in this school."
As Isla hastily cleaned off her desk and began to re-pack her bag, eventually, it seemed, Henri couldn't abide the suffocating quiet. He finally spoke up.
"So, Isla, what's gotten into you?"
Isla's jaw clenched. She opened her mouth to spit out some half-formed rebuke, but Henri cut her off.
"Don't try to deny it." Henri glanced around and then lowered his voice from a murmur to a hiss. "I know you're restless as I. Wiltshire Police couldn't even figure out how Parker got poisoned! A murder happened right under their noses!"
"I unquestionably don't fix the mistakes of every incompetent adult out there."
Henri said. "Come on, Isla. What's got you in a pit? Unless the broody nature could only mean one thing... you got scared."
Isla scoffed at that, but even she knew that it wasn't very convincing. All of her things collected, she got up from her seat and stalked out of the classroom with Henri hot on her heels.
"Tell me," Henri demanded, speeding up. Isla refused to answer. "What are you afraid of?"
Isla made it halfway down the hall before fingers circled her wrist and jerked her back. She turned to glare at him, Henri mirrored it, and his cheeks flushed red with frustration at Isla's silence and worry as clear in her eyes as her anger.
Confronted with Henri's impatience and feeling her own frustration mounting, Isla suddenly felt very weary. She didn't know where Henri got his strength to be able to function like this. His best mate just died and here he was, standing, confronting her, raving at her for not taking any action.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping a bit with the motion. She glanced around furtively, and, seeing that no one was about the corridor to witness her actions or their conversation and in one frantic move, she seized Henri's elbow and yanked him into a nearby empty classroom.
"Fine, Henri," she spat, "I will tell you what I figured out. But never speak ill of me as I tried to keep you out of it. Parker's dead because of my recklessness. And I'm convinced it's her all along. Alessandra Adams will be difficult. I believe she was trying to poison me instead of Parker and somehow she has miscalculated."
"Pardon?"
"He died because of me!" she bellowed. "What are you talking about, Isla?"
She took a deep breath as he waited for her to start. Isla grew even more distressed as she slowly, "I have foreseen this event. You did too, you wanted me to disengage before something happens, but I didn't. I thought I was ready, yet I let my bleeding guard down like an idiot. I should have f—" she wanted to curse out loud but she couldn't, "known better. I should have known that I was too bloody optimistic. I should have remained all the clearer by staying away."
"His death has left us bereft, but I'm ready to pick up after his bones."
"I'm not."
"You shouldn't be moping right now, and I'll be damned if you won't help me bring him justice."
"I'm reflecting on my actions." Isla shrugged at him. "I want no part of the harm, to come to me or my friends—no matter how annoying the lot of you."
Henri frowned but he was persistent. "It's your duty, isn't it? To help others?"
"I help those who are not dead, Ferrer." She said, calling him by his surname.
"You should definitely extend your Hippocratic oath to the murdered, Cecil." He retorted back.
"Henri, I can't be a Cecil and a consultant detective at the same time. It was foolish of me to ever dream—"
"But your dear late mother was a Cecil and an author all the same. She has time for her hobby."
Isla ticked her tongue. A flicker of amusement played across Henri's face, almost as though he had heard Isla's thoughts and was agreeing with him.
Henri gave a half-hearted laugh. "I'm hitting all the right nerves over here. Do I need to spell it out for you? Perhaps a career in solving crime beckons, Isla. You have a theory, I suppose, or at least a lead?"
"At least my mother's hobby won't get her killed. Remember what I said about before, Henri?" she said, showing him a perfect grin. "Sergeant Kinsley could be ruled out as murder because we saw him take his own life."
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Everything," she scoffed. "You see, Henri. Witnessing Parker's murder had me believing it was possible to kill someone out of the blue just like that." She snapped her finger.
Henri gestured for his forefinger and thumb to nearly touch. "I am this close to thinking you've lost your mind. Seeing a person die by suicide and seeing a person die of poisoning are entirely different categories."
"I am that close to believing that possibility too." Isla sighed. "But it is time to stop the assumptions. While I can't prove that Sergeant Kinsley was killed, I can prove that Parker's death made it possible to lace him with poison without associating with him."
"What?"
"I don't think we'll be allowed to tamper the crime scenes." Isla mused, ignoring him.
"Can we at least look at files?" Henri asked.
"We've been in the crime scene. There's nothing we can discover there that the police already haven't. It's a clean job. No DNA, no fingerprints, no witnesses." Isla said. "What we can do instead, is to investigate our killer and..." she gulped, pained to even say it. "Find her pattern."
Isla smirked, becoming herself once more. A girl who needed a sense of purpose and a purpose that came not just with inheriting the family business, but to feel like a hero.
"Oh, that would be a good motive, but the absence of incriminating evidence will leave us hanging."
"The search will be exceedingly tedious; but one must from time to time, outwork criminals and outthink them," Isla said, quoting a line before rubbing her hands on her skirt. "If you were working this case... What would your next step be?"
"Umm... inquire the whereabouts of potential victims?"
"Wrong, guess again."
"Ask the detectives working the case?"
Isla's impatience cracked through her cool demeanor. "We visit him. Let's head out to the morgue ourselves."
Henri seemed like he was about to lose his lunch. "Why?"
"Dead bodies have secrets and tell stories," Isla said.
Henri gave her his most sarcastic pleasant smile. "Why hello Parker, how are you mate? Would you mind telling us how you died? Because you know, you were too busy gagging as you die."
Isla's lips curved slightly upwards with the joke but rather distasteful when it was about a dead person they knew. She wondered how Henri could control his grief. Seeing how he mourned an awful lot. "Nevertheless, let's have experts tell us what they found that we might have overlooked with our inexperienced eyes."
There was a knock on the door. Isla and Henri craned their heads towards the person. A girl who has shoulder-length black hair and thin-shaped eyes of the dark brown color, with long eyelashes was leaning on the doorframe. She was never without her red hairband that has quite become her trademark.
"You know, since you two looked startled seeing a seemingly innocent passerby, it could mean you two don't know you're easily spied on."
Isla huffed. She didn't have time for this. "What do you want, Abigail? Poppy's not here."
"I came in here after seeing you two suspiciously get inside here," Abigail smirked, enjoying being at the upper hand. "And to think I actually thought you two took off in here snogging I was actually surprised when I overheard your topic."
Isla raised an eyebrow, assessing the Canadian. One thing she learned from Abigail was that she hated tourists, she was prone to gossip, but she loved giving people prepositions and in return, she needs something. Also that she has a YouTube channel for her cover songs.
"You sound like you have an offer," she crossed her arms. "I'm listening, Abigail."
"You seem super troubled that you couldn't get inside information about the Filipino transferee. Do you know what you need, Isla?" Abigail asked.
"What do you suggest?"
"Baker Street Irregulars," Abigail shoved her hands in her pockets. "Hire me and I will do your dirty work in uncovering the secrets of her character not easily accessed on paper."
"My apologies," Isla scoffed. "I refuse to indulge in your childish Sherlock Holmes fantasies."
"Says the girl playing a detective," Abigail rolled her eyes.
Isla cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed. "Whatever. If you want to act as street boys who are employed by me as intelligence agents then you may."
"So we do get paid!" Abigail beamed. "Oh, I can't wait to share my check with BFFs. I told them we can get money by being gossipers but they won't believe me."
"Not unless you lovelies need shillings per day."
"As the future Marchioness of Salisbury, you can be so uncharitable, Isla Cecil. Just promise me I have extra cash from you."
"As long as the information you share is valuable."
"Sweet!" Abigail did a little dance.
A sudden light bulb flickered above her head. "Abigail, you don't happen to have Miss Lu's number, do you?"
"No, I don't as of now. But give me an hour and I'll send her number to your phone."
"Much appreciated."
Abigail knew that was her cue to leave. She was about to but looked back at them. "You already bought my silence. So don't worry about me spilling the beans to anyone else."
"I have complete faith in you, Abigail."
"She won't be in any sort of danger, will she, Isla?" Henri asked as soon as the Canadian retreated.
"She's on a fact-finding mission through gossip—a pure reconnaissance," Isla said. "I am certain Abigail is smart enough not to take unnecessary risks. Now on a much-pressing matter, how do I get close to Alessandra Adams?"
Henri clapping his hands together, "As I had mentioned before, she does not see you as a peer, so force her to."
Isla licked her dried lips and ignored the latter topic. "How am I going to do that?—force my company?"
"Fester her for days, it will be resolved," Henri said.
"You're not serious." Isla crossed her arms. She then reached for her phone and realized it had not even been more than 10 minutes and Abigail managed to get Evonnie's number.
Henri hunched, looking over her shoulder. "Abigail needs her paycheck now."
"She probably needed to buy a new microphone for her vlog." Isla rolled her eyes before a huge grin plastered on her face. "Wish me luck; I'm inviting Miss Lu to hang out with me on Saturday for lunch."
Henri shook his head. "You mean you'll leave Parker's funeral early for her? What do you want from her, Isla? She seems to lack intelligence in pretty much everything."
"She's the only bridge I have to Miss Adams, and I thought I already expressed my sentiment in knowing the Filipino doesn't like me. So I doubt she'll let me in. I have to go through Evonnie to get to her."
"Well, you are trying to get some evidence that she is a serial killer. Even if she is or isn't, she will definitely guard herself."
"True, but I'm quite accustomed to people not liking me," Isla said. "All I need to do is to prove my worth."
Henri chuckled, remembering their early childhood where everyone never wanted to go near Isla. It was such an upgrade now. "That sounds like internalized misogyny's a pain."
"Oh, you have no idea."
"Well then, I have a reason to believe that Isla Cecil would be amenable to the idea of fighting it like a bitch."
A/N
Dear readers, I'm so happy about the support you are giving me. All the likes and hits are so appreciated! Feel free to leave comments or send me messages on this site, Twitter, or Tumblr!