Hi guys! Thank you so much for all of the reviews, again, I really appreciate them – I want to make this story work, so please let me know if I've made any mistakes in the plot of the show that took place before Part 1. This Part/Chapter/whatever was difficult to write. The first bit was okay but the second bit got me really stressed as I wanted it to be right and realistic. After I'd written it I felt like it could have been better: it's not perfect and I might revisit it if you guys want me to. So please tell me what you think about this chapter and the direction that I'm taking you in! Enjoy!
The Case of the Missing Girl – Part 3
And so he told her everything. Everything about Kathryn, about the guilt that he felt over Ted Pryce's murder (after all, he'd killed the father of a girl he still wasn't certain that he was over) and about how Robert hadn't come back to the palace at the earliest opportunity. He knew that he'd already told her some of it, yet the words just seemed to fall out of his mouth, each one lifting a huge weight off of his chest. At last, having only paused when Rosie had entered the room to check on the Princess, he ran out of words.
"I'm still not sure if I believe you, Liam. He is our brother, at the end of the day and I don't want to jump to any conclusions." Said Eleanor, not sounding terribly convinced at her own words. She shook her head and lay back on her bed, inhaling the new smell of the sheets. A part of her wondered if they'd changed the detergent, it was more bitter smelling now, just adding to the sense of unfamiliarity that the palace gave her – even her own bed felt different.
"You've been away for four months," argued Liam softly, not appearing to want to fight with her. Wow, Eleanor thought, everything really has changed. "We've had plenty of time to find proof and analyse it. You think I want it to be true?"
I don't know, Liam, do you? She wanted to ask. You seem to want the throne pretty badly.
Instead, she scowled. "And 'we' being who exactly? You and James?" she asked hopefully, whilst knowing who 'we' was even before she'd thought of asking.
Liam raised his eyebrows. "No, James didn't want to hear anything about it, least of all get involved with-" he shut his mouth abruptly, took a shaky breath and went on. "He said that he was close enough to losing his job as it was, whatever he meant by that." Another fun conversation for later, thought Eleanor.
Her brother continued. "Jasper and I have been working on a few things to help with the-" He trailed off.
Eleanor sat up slowly, glaring into her brother's eyes, almost like she was trying to extract the secrets that he held in his heart through them.
"There's more, isn't there?" she pushed, not bothering to let her brother tell her in his own time – the time for tiptoeing around their problems was long gone. "What aren't you telling me?"
She watched her brother swallow many different attempts at answering her questions before he finally decided on the right one and spoke again.
"There was a plot." He ran his hand through his hair. "Somebody planned to kill Robert."
Eleanor opened her mouth to swear, to demand the reason, to say anything but Liam cut her off, anxiety racing across his face. She became aware that it was still raining, although it was a distant awareness, like she was trapped in a bubble.
"Not now, Len. If I stop now, I'll never be able to get it all out." Liam's eyes darted around the room as if he was trying desperately not to look Eleanor in the eye, reminding Eleanor of the time that they'd been running around the palace and he'd run into an 18th century vase, breaking it into hundreds of pieces and had then had to explain to their mother what had happened. "People think that..." He stopped, and then carried on, unable to stop himself. "People think that Cyrus and I were planning to kill Robert. It was so well thought out, every detail, like the person knew Robert well. It was so well thought out that everything pointed to us as the... the..." Murderers, Eleanor finished in her head, well, attempted murderers.
"What?" Eleanor demanded, her voice going up in pitch by at least an octave. "Liam! Tell me that you had nothing to do with this! To Hell with Cyrus – Liam! Tell me that you wouldn't! ... You wouldn't, right? ... Would you?"
"I hate him, Len, I really do."
Eleanor gasped, the blood running from her head, making her feel frozen from the waist upwards.
"But he's still my brother. And I couldn't do that – I couldn't kill him, no matter how much I hate him." Liam's voice was calm and steady, as it would be if he were talking to a child.
"You wouldn't plan to kill him. Even if you knew that you couldn't go through with it?" She looked up to the ceiling, wishing herself back under the Mediterranean sun – ignorant of all of the secrets and lies that the palace contained.
Her brother turned to her. "No." His eyes bored into her own, begging her to declare her utmost faith in him, to tell him that she believed him and that she would trust him to the edge of the world and back again.
Instead, Eleanor suddenly felt very tired.
"Is that everything?" she asked, keeping every last bit of emotion out of her voice. It make her sound more exhausted that she felt, which would have impressed her had she not been on the verge of an emotional breakdown.
Liam at last looked her in the eye, confusion and concern showing on his face.
"Yeah," he said, "that's everything."
He appeared to want to say something else, however Eleanor, overwhelmed with fatigue, loneliness and a very strong urge to get high off her arse, held up a hand.
"Get out of my room, Liam."
Hurt flashed in Liam's eyes, hope draining out of them. Eleanor threw herself back down, not wanting to watch him leave. Watching him leave would only add to how alone she felt; how useless she felt. After all, she'd been back for over three hours and had done nothing to help James to look for Sarah-Alice, had fallen out with her brother, avoided her other brother, all without even unzipping a bag. Not even her make-up bag.
A text came through on her phone, the alert tone teasing her with its bright sound.
Sorry I wasn't there to meet you. Get some rest; you deserve it after all of your hard work abroad. See you at breakfast. Mum x
Eleanor chucked her phone onto the left pillow, resting her head on the right one.
"I shouldn't have come back." She whispered into the pillow, at long last allowing tears to flow. Within seconds, her body shook with sobs: sobs that spoke of regret, fear, loss, anger and self-hatred.
Longingly, she thought of her drugs. She'd been away from them for too long, so long that her heart quickened its pace just from the thought of them. I promised James that I'd try, she reminded herself gently – too gently. Eleanor at once became engulfed in the hunger of the addiction. She needed it, the reprieve it would give her from everything, even if it would only last for a few hours, until she fell asleep if she was lucky.
She sprung off her bed, energised by the thought of getting high, by the thought of finally being able to forget everything. Ripping the drawer out of her vanity, her heart pulsing in her chest, she paused: it was empty. Hadn't she left something in there, just in case? Angrily, she cursed James and his tidying – he must have moved them. Or maybe he'd thrown them out. Dizzy with adrenalin, she began to cry again, tearing her room apart for anything that could possibly give her the high that she so desperately needed.
Then, the door to her bedroom opened.
"Hey." A voice said.
It was a voice that she heard in her head every day, every hour, every minute. A voice that told her, commanded her to keep going, even when she felt that she could go on no more. She loved that voice – but she also hated it. She hated it so much that the hate consumed every part of her body, making her shake with anger, her previous hunger for her drugs completely forgotten.
"I really don't feel like talking to you right now." She spat, her back to the voice.
"That's okay."The voice replied, his voice betraying no emotion. Eleanor could easily imagine his face – a perfect mask of carefully constructed reactions and expressions; a mask that she wasn't sure ever had really been taken off.
"In fact," continued the Princess, as if he hadn't spoken, "I don't think that I'll ever feel like talking to you again."
Still, she didn't turn around, not trusting herself to look at his face, too look into his eyes. She didn't trust that her eyes would show the hatred that she was putting into her words – perhaps they would have hatred in them, but not enough.
The voice took a step closer. "Eleanor, I'm-"
Eleanor whirled around.
"Don't say it." She snapped, "We both know that it isn't enough; that it will never be enough."
Neither of them moved. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, suffocating, even.
"Why are you here, Jasper? To film me and blackmail me with it? To ask me where my mother is so that you can sleep with her? To steal some of my jewellery? To-"
"James." Jasper said, his voice only just audible.
"What?" Eleanor exclaimed, "Are you dating him now? Or maybe-"
"James wants to see you at ten o'clock tomorrow morning." He paused. "That is, if you still want to help find Sarah-Alice?"
Eleanor's eyes widened, Jasper's words bringing back her doubts about herself, about how everybody saw her. He was baiting her; he wanted her to get angry and lose control.
"Of course I want to help." She said, surprising even herself at the calmness of her tone.
Jasper's eyes found hers. His gaze then fell back to her feet; almost as if he was afraid of what he'd seen.
"I understand that I can't tell Robert anything about this." Eleanor said. "I don't understand why. But I know that James will have his reasons."
The bodyguard's head flew up, startling Eleanor when she noticed just how tired he looked: dark circles framing his eyes, stubble left neglected on his chin and lines on his forehead that she was sure hadn't been there before she'd left.
"He does." Jasper said quietly.
Eleanor nodded. "Okay." She managed, not wanting to say anything at all, "Okay."
"Is there anything you need, Your Highness?" His American accent is less noticeable, she thought, her mind wandering. Another, less kind voice spoke in her mind: or maybe he just doesn't trust you enough to truly be himself around you anymore. Eleanor closed her eyes, roughly bringing herself back to reality.
"No." Eleanor lied. "Everything's fine."
Jasper inclined his head. When he looked up, his eyes were shining. Of course he didn't believe her. He, out of everyone, knew her the best.
"There are so many things we-" he broke off at a spark of anger in Eleanor's eyes. Her face was pale, her eyes surrounded by mascara, eyeliner and tears.
"Don't." She said through gritted teeth. "Not now."
Jasper's face fell. For a fraction of a second his mask slipped. Eleanor could see everything that he was feeling, thinking, hoping. All of the things that she could feel, she could see on his face, in his heart. Then, the mask returned, nailed on even more securely than before, with no instructions or guidance on how to take it off again.
"Goodnight, Princess."
Eleanor turned away. She didn't want to look him in the eye again. Not with the fear that she might never see behind the mask ever again. Not with the fear that she might never have seen behind the mask, even when they'd been together. If we've ever really been together in the first place, Eleanor thought bitterly.
Her head hurt. Her heart hurt even more.
