The Secrets Within Pages

Periculum Prope est

Adrenaline surged in my veins as we prowled the streets. 

"Where are we going exactly?" I ask, pulling my coat in tighter to bask in its warmth from the harshly cold weather. "We're not going to the police." 

"Of course we're not going to the police, Burroughs." He answers, his pace quickening. 

"Then where? It's not like we know where we're going." 

"I do, because while you were freaking out and ripping pages out of books, I kept on reading that article." 

I halted. "And?" 

"Quill's funeral was a day ago. Meaning, the grief stricken family will visit him for days on end after that."

"That's where we'll find one of them. That's where will find the letter." I vocalised the same thought. 

He smirked at me, one that I reciprocated. "You're not completely useless, Golding." 

"Touche, Burroughs." 

~~~

I'd been in a graveyard more times in the last two weeks than I'd ever been in my entire life. I didn't know if that was foreshadowing of more ominous events in my life or if I just had piss-poor luck. 

Our pace slows down as we walk in through the gates and began looking for nothing and no one in particular. Only a few people were present, an older woman sat on the ground not far from us and a younger woman farther away. We pass the older woman to see the gravestone. Not Quill.  Under the name was a quote,

'Periculum prope est'.

Latin. Though I did not know what it meant. 

Being around death as the living was... humbling, daunting. It was a harsh reality that truly showcased how valuable life is and how foolish it is to live proudly and arrogantly because we all have the same ending. We are all buried in the same soil.

We approach the other woman slowly, carefully. The name- it was Quill. 

"Hello Miss" I spoke. The woman turned around, she looked about 19 years old. Tear stained blue eyes and long, blonde hair styled in a plait. "Our condolences. We're very sorry for your loss." I continued.

"Thank you." She sniffled, shifting in her spot.

"My name is Eleanor. We're students of Gael Osbourne. He was-" 

"A student of my grandfather's, I know. I've met Professor. Osbourne." 

I survey her, she's young. She must've had a close connection with her grandfather. "Yes, and were here because we are inclined to think that the same psychopath that killed Osbourne, killed your grandfather. But before he did, he left him a letter, threatening him in the form of a poem."

She looked up at that, eyes widening as though she knew exactly what we were talking about. 

"I don't know what you're talking about and even if I did, I'd tell the police not some random students." She snapped, rising from the ground.

"But you haven't. And you won't, because you're scared and worried and don't know who to trust." Golding spoke, his voice soft and simultaneously assertive. "What's your name, Miss?"

"Jane." She choked. I rubbed her shoulder and as she accepted the gesture, I held her hand. 

"Jane, if you give us the information we need. We can help you and your family get closure for what has happened and catch the sick bastard who did this." He assured her, a gentle smile tugging on his lips.

She looked at me with a solemn, melancholic expression. "I went to visit him the night he died. He wasn't at home, so I went into his office to sit down and read, like I always did. This time, I went in and sat at his desk for fun but when I started snooping around his drawers, I found a letter." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a piece of paper. 

"I read it. I... that night we found out he was stabbed to death under the Radcliffe camera. I didn't know what to do. I-" She confessed, head hanging down in shame and guilt. 

"None of this was your fault, Jane." I comforted. Handing me the letter, she cried, "Take it. Take it and find out who did this. Find out who killed my grandfather and make him pay for it." 

I took the piece of paper and embraced her as Silas waited, watching us.

We left Jane and exited the graveyard. The tension following us.

Sitting at a nearby park, I open the paper and flatten it down on the table.

So many words, so little time. You should've known what you did would come back to haunt you. 

What a ghost you made of me. 

Has no one taught you that lying isn't an honourable act? Or did you choose to live your life as an ignorant, perfidious fool. 

I'll paint all the places you loved with your blood, crimson and warm. 

You deserve the end you'll get. You deserve it and more.

Silas' eyes slowly lift from the paper to meet mine. We allow the silence to coddle us, for there is nothing we can say. As if in response to what we've just read, a shower of rain pours. Briskly, we run away from the bench we were sitting in. Golding takes off his coat and holds it atop our heads with an arm around my shoulders, welding us together. I grab his waist to keep from slipping on the wet ground as we run back to my dorm.