The Secrets Within Pages

A New Acquaintance

Time is a proud, ancient villain who loves to mock us humans. Eons pass and he stays the same. Taking whenever he pleases, never adhering to others agendas. Giving us the impression that he'll spare us, give us more time- before ripping it out of our embrace, leaving us bloody and alone. Oh and how he's grown a fondness to Death. Unexpectedly and suddenly, that's how he operates. With the chiming of a clock, he signals his counterpart to complete the deed, some with wrath, some with ease. Yet we as humans never understand, can never truly grasp the notion that we will die someday until the day has come and we're laying on our deathbed, memories our only companions, praying that our legacy will live on- That we will be remembered.

And that's what we all desire, right? To be loved enough that we're remembered.

Time is your enemy, don't be it's fool.

~~~

There is an odd, twisted feeling that creeps up, claws at your heart and drags it down to the deepest parts of your stomach when faced with such problematic and perturbing news.

"What?!" Silas speaks first, voice low and grim but shock lingers there.

If Hart answered, I wouldn't know. For everything faded into a blur, voices and sounds becoming mere mumbles as a ringing took over and I'm stood there forced to retrack my steps. If Vincent is dead... that means he's not the killer and whoever it is didn't like him helping us.

"That can't be." I finally speak, denial accompanying my tone.

Hart stares at me, unsure of what to say, of what to do. He holds his head in frustration looking at the ground.

"He was poisoned... Damn it!" He shouts, kicking a box near him, catapulting it to the wall.

"Hart, we need to go now!" A woman, whom I recognise as Officer Noelle Sonders, demands before rushing to the door, Hart behind her.

I stare at the now empty spot where they were standing, longing to melt into the ground.

"None of this makes sense." I whisper.

"And yet, here we are." Silas replies, walking in front of me.

"He's killed three people now, that makes him a serial killer. Two of his victims were murdered in London. None of it meshes together." I say, interlocking my fingers. "He's all over the place. He doesn't kill with the same weapon, doesn't kill in the same area. The only thing that has any connection, is that they all knew each other from Oxford."

"So, if he kills again, it'll be someone from the class of 88'."

One step forward, three steps back.

"Waylen Chamberlain and Kavish Dalal. That's where we start." I say, grabbing my coat. "Look into Kavish. I'll find out about Waylen Chamberlain."

Raising his brows, eyes churning with questions, he finally nods in agreement.

~~~

Sleep was a distant desire, a sweetness I hadn't tasted in what felt like an eternity. Ever since Osbourne died and that lunatic unleashed himself on the streets, I don't remember having a decent night's sleep except when-

No. I don't dare finish that thought.

Squinting and groaning, I lift my head from my desk. Without a second thought, I rush out the door to Oxford, to Vivienne.

Approaching our class, I hear sobbing escaping the crack in the door.

"Oh Vivienne." A voice comforts the weeping woman.

Peering through the crack, I see Vivienne melted on the floor next to a man in a wheelchair, her head in his lap as he caresses her softly. No words, just loud sobs muffled by her hand.

"I loved him, Waylen. I loved him and Gael and now they're both dead." Her voice cracked.

Waylen.

I attempt to get a better view by slightly moving the door. An older man, whose dark hair is painted with streaks of grey and spectacles shield his eyes. He looked oddly familiar.

"I know, I know. None of this is your fault. They loved you too and I'm here with you." He spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Waylen. I'm sorry we lost touch. That I never made the effort to visit you or reach out to Margaret." She let out, grasping his waist in an embrace, his legs unmoving.

"We all make mistakes." He whispers.

I spin around to leave, before I hear, "You can come in now." I freeze in my spot. "Don't dawdle. Clearly you want something and there's nothing worse than a coward." Ashamed, I slowly push the door open to see the man staring at me, examining me as Vivienne's head lifts in confusion.

"Hasn't anyone told you it's not polite to eavesdrop?" He questions, chin raised.

"I'm so sorry, Sir. I was just coming to visit Mrs. Osbourne and didn't want to interrupt." I defend, looking at Vivienne's tired face.

"Thank you, Eleanor." She says, wiping her tears, eyes rimmed in red.

"Eleanor, is it?" Chamberlain asks, to which I nod.

"Who might you be?"

"Osbourne was my professer."

He looks at me intently.

"I sense something else. Is there something you would like to ask?"

Taken aback at his eerily accurate assumption, I say, "I- I just cannot fathom what is happening, Sir. Currently, I'm working with the police to figure out whose doing this. I came back last night from visiting Mr.Fraser. When I reached the police station, I was notified of his passing."

Vivienne's head rises at mention of Vincent's name.

Chamberlain nudges his head, a push for me to continue. "Truthfully sir, I came here seeking to know your whereabouts because the killer has a pattern. His victims are all from the class of 88' here in Oxford. Your year group. Considering, yourself, Osbourne and Fraser were of great renown-"

"You think I'm next." He finished.

Breathing in, I nod grimly.

"And what is it you want from me?" He probed.

"I want answers. I want information." I say, walking closer.

"The first person any of you should've suspected is Karvish Dalal."

That name strikes me sharply. I didn't expect him to give anything so easily. "Mr Fraser already gave us that name and we're looking into him."

"Well then, Mr Fraser did the right thing. Tell me, how was your visit?"

His frighteningly confident, unwavering composure threw me off, but I figure that's what he wants. Fraser did say he was the most perceptive of the three, but I suppose with age came further clarity and wisdom.

"It was... enlightening." I say, hiding the fact that I stole his private belongings, that he attacked us before we left, and that we accused him of murder. I knew he'd pick up on my deception as his wary eyes scanned me and yet, he didn't say anything.

"We'll be in touch, Eleanor." He says, cueing me to leave.