Something in my expression seems to piss her off.
“Did you never notice how they were always late to any family plans? Merle was always quiet and Phoenix would constantly be flustered till they left early? He told me once that they always had little arguments before going anywhere, and it would completely mess up their plans. We wouldn’t see them for a while after those times, he wanted him all to himself.”
“Is there something wrong with time to themselves?”
“You think our social butterfly of a boy is meant to stay in, be a good little house-husband and settle in his early twenties?” She throws her hand up, “I was shocked when they decided on opening a hotel, but it was never Phoenix’s dream. It’s something to make his boyfriend happy, as always.”
I sit up straighter, Wren shifting beside me too, clearly unhappy I’m not resting as I need to. “I’m sure he wouldn’t go along with it just for Merle. He’s never mentioned being unhappy.” he interjects, receiving a flippant glare.
“Oh, so relapsing and hiding things from his family is the behavior of a happy man, is it? You both have to agree that whilst being with Merle, he pulled away from us all.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Wren speaks through gritted teeth, like it’s taking everything in him to not kick her out of the room. “We’re his best friends, his family. He would have said something if he wasn’t happy.”
Lily slips off the bed. “No, I’m his family. His blood relative and apparently the only one not delusional. Their breakup is for the best.”
I’m a little hurt as I sit there in silence, fully aware I’m not blood, but I’d always regarded them both as my family. As she’s going to storm out, Wren starts to protest something with her, but a knock sounds and Lily wastes no time opening it, slipping past the tall figure.
Detective Starling stands with his fist raised to continue knocking, watching her over his shoulder as she leaves, before snapping back around to give us his full attention. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Pulling the covers further up my body, I’m very aware that I have no clue what I look like, but my body hurts and I think my hair is at least clean. It’s no doubt a wild nest, but giving myself a little grace right now is all I can do.
“Miss Osbourne, I wanted to check in and see how you were feeling. If you’d be up to answering some questions.” He says, ending his lingering and shutting the door behind him.
“Sure, but I don’t remember anything.”
Pulling a small notepad from his pocket, he flicks through it and rests his pen on a fresh page. “Nothing at all?”
“I remember leaving Wren’s room and then just, nothing.”
“Do you remember why you left the hotel room?”
I pause, deciding on whether to tell the truth. Lying had caused such a mess between us, so despite my better judgment that screamed for me to skirt what had happened, I sigh and tell a partial truth that he should know for the investigation.
“I left his room because we had a misunderstanding and I wanted some space. We’ve found that some of the secrets haven’t been part of the game. Some are handwritten and some guests have found two relating to themselves.”
He perks up at this, pen scribbling against paper, and I think we’ve managed to dismiss the details on why I left the hotel room. “Two secrets? Did Mr. Claythorne write those?”
“No, he had really messy handwriting and these are cursive, maybe a woman’s handwriting.”
He raises an eyebrow, his lip twitching. “You’re a handwriting expert?”
“Well, no,” My cheeks flare red.
“It’s clearly not his writing,” Wren snaps. “You can check his paperwork. Hell, call a team and get it confirmed.”
“Ok, so someone else wrote more secrets. Can you think of any reason a guest would have done that?”
I’m unsure whether he believes us. “To cause problems amongst us? Reveal worse secrets about ourselves? This entire weekend was some sick game he made up to put us in our place. Someone else is just making sure it really hits home.” I’m finallyangry, so fucking angry that I’m still in this house when I’d give anything to never return.
“We don’t know if any of the secrets have been leaked either. All our phones have been taken from us. He could have shared everything online and we’re sat here none the wiser.”
“Mr. Hastings, I can assure you nothing on any of the guests has appeared online. We’ve contacted your places of work, the right people have the appropriate numbers to contact if any urgent information needs relaying.”
“So you’re telling me you get a signal out here? With no wi-fi, in a storm?” I ask, because I really doubt he’s been able to contact anyone since the rain started.
“Let’s get back to the questions I have, Miss Osbourne—”
“What did my band manager Tiffany say when you told her I wouldn’t be available this week?” Wren asks, cutting him off, which earns him an annoyed sigh.
