Hiya, I wrote this ages ago and I don't know? It much darker than the rubbish I usually write, but somehow it appeals to me? I don't know, I'm a bit nervous about this story, but anyway have a read and let me know what you think xo

He had of course read all about it in the newspapers. What he didn't know however was that Isla Curlin was a very dear friend to Miss Fisher. Perhaps dearer than she would ever care to admit. When she had found out what had happened she had chocked on her morning coffee and disappeared for the rest of the day. She had returned that night without explanation of where she had been that day. She went to a dinner party that night, pretending she was fine. She was not fine, not at all. She felt as though there was a hole in the pit of her stomach which would never be filled.

Mac had called her that evening. She had been calling all day to no avail.

"Phryne"

"I know Mac" her voice caught " I don't…" she shook her head, not that anyone could see, tears welled in her eyes and Mac's voice floated down the telephone "Phryne" she cut her off, "No, its fine, really it is." Mac knew that she was not in fact fine at all. She knew how Isla had died and she was not impressed at all. She had a niggling feeling that no matter what the papers had published, Phryne would know that this was not in fact true. One visit from her Inspector would settle that. After Phryne's assurances that she was fine, and was going to bed which she did not believe she hung up the telephone and went to sit in a rather worn armchair with a bottle of very cheap alcohol.

Somehow he found himself addicted to her. Everything about her was addictive. Her personality, her lifestyle, her outlook. Once he knew her, there was no way he wanted to stop knowing her. So now, five days after he had last seen her he decided it was about time that he found out why. Something told him that it was serious which was why he had taken so long to call on her. He drove to her house after work that Wednesday afternoon and was let in by a very drawn looking Dot.

"Good evening Miss Williams" he was shocked when the young woman hugged him before remembering herself and blushing furiously. "Inspector, thank goodness you're here." She took his coat and hat and led him into the kitchen before he had a chance to speak "Is Miss Fisher in?"

She looked troubled as she poured him a cup of tea and offered him the biscuit tin from which he took two. The companion's tone of voice left him feeling slightly sick with worry. "She's upstairs"

He didn't speak but sipped his tea continuing to look at Dot as though drawing information from her. Her tone was shaky when she finally spoke "Inspector did you read about the death of that woman, Isla Curlin in the newspapers?"

He had indeed, there had been an uproar at the police station over her death, but it had quickly been determined that it was all accidental. He wasn't so sure, but he had gathered that the officers who found her body suspected domestic violence which had been quickly and furiously brushed away by the victim's husband. Sometimes Jack wondered about some of his fellow officers and their ability to be swayed by money and corruption. He nodded at Dot as he began on his second biscuit, deciding it was better not to voice these opinions to Miss Williams.

"Well we think that Miss Fisher may have known her."

Of course she had, how he had not picked up on that he did not know. She was the same age as Phryne and of the same social class, although it was difficult to know who she was friends with as she was so hot and cold with people. "The thing is, she isn't taking it so well." Jack nodded, unsure as to what he should say. The funeral had been today (closed casket he had read in the papers, adding to his suspicions of violence) he supposed she had gone. Dot interrupted this thoughts, "She has been acting like nothing has happened, but she is…" Dot struggled to find a word and instead pulled a face, "she's not herself" her hands pulled at each other nervously, "When she came home she went straight to her room and hasn't come down. She hasn't spoken to any of us since it happened."

He nodded and bit his lip wondering just what he was getting into by coming here tonight. He was sure that Dot would expect him to go and comfort her, see her at least, which was what he had planned to do, but now it was different. "There is one thing Inspector" he looked into Dots face which was pulled with worry and dark circles cased her eyes, "She won't eat." Dot bit her lip, unsure if she should have said that, "I don't think she has eaten more than some tea and maybe a biscuit since it happened."

That was four days ago now.

He swore under his breath realising the seriousness of the situation. He had just assumed that her lack of presence at the station and at his crime scenes was due to something silly like a new shoe maker or a new fashion boutique, but now he wasn't so sure. He finished his tea, trying to think of the best way to approach her before standing up and making his way up the stairs to her bedroom.

She had indeed gone to the funeral that morning. She and Mac had both known Isla since they were at finishing school together. She had not told anyone where she was going, she wasn't in the mood to speak, she wasn't in the mood for anything really. She met Mac at the church and together they had faced the day. There was a closed casket, something which made Phryne's heart scream. They took their places and when he had walked out she all but got up and left. He was there, at her funeral. How dare he be there. Mac had placed a very solid hand on Phrynes thigh in the hope that she settle. She closed her eyes and remembered why she was there, for Isla, not that pig of a man who had killed her. They got through the service, it wasn't until Isla's sister Olivia had sobbed as the casket was carried out that she was transported back to her own sister's funeral and the tears had flowed. But now she was in her dark bedroom, she had no idea how she had gotten there, buried under a million layers of softness, but the bed still felt cold and lonely.

She knew, as did a proportion of the guests that Isla was more than likely beaten to death. He was a horrible man who hit her so often; it was almost expected of him. Everyone had tried to help, but she loved the stupid man so much and he made constant promises to stop. Phryne had not expected her to die, not like that, never like that, she could barley believe it. A fresh wave of sorrow passed over her at the thought and she buried herself deeper in the blankets hiding away from the dark cruel world which had finally caught up with her.

A gentle tap woke her from a restless sleep which she was trapped in. She chose to ignore it as she had for the past few days. She knew she was being unfair to her household, but she didn't care right now. She felt as though her world was collapsing around her, she felt sick as though her insides were tearing in two. She could pinpoint exactly the last time she had felt like this and had hoped to never feel like that again. Yet here she was. There was a deep ache in her chest and quite frankly she didn't care at all, everything seemed so wrong and she noticed the lump in her throat which held the promise of tears.

Again there was a tap, louder more persistent this time. Just when she thought the knocker had left, a soft voice floated beneath the covers "Phryne" it sounded unsure, as though asking if it was okay he was there. She opened her eyes and the smallest of smiles drifted onto her lips. Somehow she managed to drag herself out from her fortress of covers and un- lock the bedroom door. He took that as his cue to enter and silently followed her into the darkness of her bedroom.

The curtains were closed and the room was dark. He walked just inside the room shutting the door behind him and heard her walk across the room and switch on a lamp. A small amount of light was cast out and she sat on the edge of her bed, drawing her legs up to her chest like a small frightened girl. As much as it pained him to think it, she looked terrible. Her skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent, not its milky self and although she was still wearing what he assumed she had worn to the funeral, her whole appearance was somehow wrong. She closed her eyes and crossed her hands across her knees and he walked across the room to sit beside her on the bed. Their legs touched as he sat, he felt like he needed to be very close to her, as though she might evaporate otherwise. She was like a small child and he hated to think why this had affected her so much.

He placed a gentle hand on her knee and spoke in a low voice, "Phryne" that was all she needed, she dropped her arms from around her knees and her feet slid down off the bed as she turned to face him, her face a picture of grief, "Jack" she couldn't finish her sentence before tears began to pour from her eyes. He was shocked, but not deterred and pulled her closer to him wrapping his arms around her as she wept into his shoulder. His shirt was soaked in a matter of minutes and her body shuddered with emotion, which until now he had forgotten she had the ability to feel. Eventually she stopped, but did not let go of him. In fact, she held on tighter. She moved her head up off his shoulder and finally spoke. "He beat her Jack. Every day" she swallowed hard, "He is a horrible man, and now Isla is…" she didn't finish, but lay her head on his shoulder once more seemingly out of tears. Jack closed his eyes momentarily trying to absorb what she had just told him. He didn't want to probe her, not when she was obviously so emotionally distraught, so instead he did something very much unlike him and pulled her away from his body slightly and kicked off his shoes. He looked at her face in the pale lamp light and gently wiped the remaining tears off her face before letting go of her completely and laying them both down on her bed. He had wanted to comfort her for so long. The day she had cried at her sister's grave he felt his heart shatter and to see her going through such pain again was equally, if not more concerning. They lay a top the mountain of blankets, she pulled herself very close to him and they lay there in silence for several minutes before she found the words to speak.

"When we were there, Olivia walked out after the coffin and it just…" she seemed unable to talk, he could hear her uneven breathing, "it was like Janey" she whispered. He felt his heart explode in pain for her. He kissed her hair softly, "Phryne" he really didn't know what to say. He had a sister and could not imagine the anguish a person went through losing their sibling. She was very still after that, somehow Jack was the comfort that she needed to get through this and she felt herself slip into the first restful sleep she had had in a long time.