I hear papers shuffling before he speaks again. “Ruella Griffith. 23 Years old. Mother Stacey Griffith Housewife. Father Edmund Griffith, Head of surgery at Hope Hospital, long line of Surgical fathers. From Kensington and attended Thornton Primary then St Mary’s Secondary,definitely not an over achiever, no criminal record, but she does have a repeat prescription for anti-depressants and anxiety pills,”
My brows furrow at the mention of her mental health. I want to know more and everything Bishop has told me makes me believe I won’t get any of the answers I want without prying it out of her face to face.
“Thanks Bishop. Get those other files unsealed and send them to me. If anything, I want to know what Mr. Carmichaels is hiding so I can use it to my own advantage later,”
“You got it,”
I hang up and decide against going to my room. I turn in the opposite direction and head for the one place I can stop my mind from working. I’m not a huge drinker thanks to my mother and having to deal with her aftermath for the past ten years, but tonight I need to unwind. I take the stairs up to the second floor, the staircase spindles depicting faces and bodies like the iron gates that surround the property. I used to think it weird, but now the gothic feel of this place is home. I feel more home here than with my family. It’s like it speaks out loud what I feel like within. Dark, quiet and completely isolated from real life.
FIFTEEN
RUELLA
Istare at the text as I sit on the end of my bed. I need to try and mentally prepare for the conversation ahead, but there’s no preparing when it comes to Archibald Astor, he knows exactly how to cut you deep and keep you bleeding out for days.
I swallow the lump away in my throat and grip my phone as my mind replays the scene from the dining room earlier this afternoon. I don’t know where it all went wrong. I had planned on spending the evening with Max, we were going to have dinner then go to the study hall for an hour to work on our English paper together. All the while I was going to make him tell me everything about Marlowe and the other missing girls.
While we ate, he did open up in regard to my sister, how she was studying English literature like us and sat next to him in the first class of the year where they hit it off right away. They sometimes ate dinner together and studied for exams in the hall where we were going to go tonight. He never understood why she always refused to spend any time together outside of that, but she was always too busy. He finally got her to agree to a date in the summer break, but… then she disappeared. He tried to text and call but he got no reply. He asked the teachers and they responded with the same crap they usually do, that she dropped out. I know that’s a lie, Marlowe would never leave a steady flow of cash to slum it alone.
He looked saddened as he spoke. “It just really sucked that she didn’t tell me she was leaving, and that she didn’t even say goodbye before she left,”
I nodded and said I was sorry he went through all of that, all the while banking all the information to stress over later.
Asher Vander turning up and standing before me, irritation burning off him, was not what I expected. It completely derailed my night of pushing for more information about the other girls. Max had mentioned Marlowe, and now Bronwyn, being one of many girls to drop out. The same line Lilia gave me, he repeated like a mantra, almost like they are trying to convince themselves rather than others.
It’s getting really frustrating. Like I am walking a maze, getting excited by finding a new route and then finding myself at the exact same place. I think that’s why I blurted out about it to Asher, I wanted to be as blunt as I could without giving too much away. I didn’t expect the suspicion and anger that came along with it.
He did look ridiculously tired though, and empty. Really empty. It reminded me of… well me.
My phone buzzes in my hand and I groan at the sight of my father’s name flashing across the screen. I take a deep breath before accepting the call.
“Hello,”
“You better have something for me or so help me god I will kill you myself,”
I bite my tongue until I can taste a metallic tang.
“I broke into the records room and Marlowe’s folder had been moved into a drawer with some other girls. Girls that have also disappeared from the Academy. One going missing as recent as this term,”
“Wha…”
“Before you go any further, let me finish please,” I demand and for once my father listens. “The faculty are sticking by the story of people dropping out due to the pressure. Apparently, the ones who have gone missing all have unstable homes. Even the students don’t question it anymore,” That information came from Mrs Owens, the woman from the head of admissions. I stopped her the other morning when I noticed her standing at Bronwyn’s room, a box of the missing girls’ things by the staff members feet, as the cleaners cleared out the rest.
The sound of glass shattering on the other end of the line is the only sign he’s still there.
So, I keep going.
“There is one girl,” I say, my voice barely steady. Guilt coils in my stomach. Even speaking her name into this space feels like betrayal, but I have to think of myself. My own freedom. My own survival.
“Her file was in the drawer along with the others, but she isn’t missing,”
There’s a pause.
Then, “What’s her name?”
Something in his tone pulls the breath straight from my lungs.
I change my mind. Immediately.
