CHAPTER 10

After Alfred had calmed down, he'd told Alice what he'd learnt from Yao.

He'd said that Olivia was indeed working the day she'd been killed, so once again, it was another night attack. He said that Olivia was in a relationship off and on with Vash Zwingli (Alfred mispronounced the man's last name three times before he gave up). He'd also said that there was a blonde and green eyed girl that dressed well and came there often, up until the point of Isabelle's death. Alfred said that it was likely her, but Alice wouldn't know for sure until Kiku gave her the camera-spider footage.

Whenever that was.

And so, Alice sat in her room, glaring down at the case files. Both the girls had green eyes, so maybe the killer had some sort of fetish or bad memories. And both of them were seen at the Fox and Goblin, though Isabelle couldn't be confirmed yet.

Vash was so far the strongest suspect.

He seemed to have no emotional attachment with the Mafia, so it could've been a way to attack Lovino or Feliciano. He also was the only of the three suspects that apparently knew the two girls. Alice would go to visit Elizabeta first, that Saturday, and then she'd go see Vash on Sunday. She sighed, her body aching and creaking from tiredness. When was the last time she'd gotten to sleep a full night? God, she couldn't even remember.

"Alice?"

She looked up, weary eyes blinking. "Yeah?" Dylan sat in the doorway of her room, his wheelchair gleaming slightly in the lamplight.

Her second oldest brother had a mop of messy auburn hair, smooth jade green eyes, freckles and a weird obsession with sheep. He stayed home most of the time, occupying himself with gardening and cooking and writing. Dylan had been stuck in a rut of depression for a long time after he'd lost his legs. He became violent, and with dramatic mood swings and isolation from the rest of the family. Dylan eventually got better, once he'd begun gardening. He was the one Alice got along with best. They were both quiet, loved to read, garden and most sensible in the family.

He also treated her a bit kindlier than her other siblings did. He didn't know why Alice had left, or even why she returned, but he knew it was bad. And he also understood that she'd tell them in her own time, even if she'd been in England for a couple years now. "Why are you still up?" Dylan rolled into the room.

Subconsciously, Alice pushed the folders away from him. "Just working some overtime." She didn't need them to see the papers. She wouldn't let them see those horrors.

"When are you going to turn in?" Dylan raised an eyebrow at her.

"Soon."

"Gelwyddog." Dylan said, "C'mon. You need to get some sleep before you lose your job because you were too tired to do it right."

"I can't." Alice frowned. "I need to keep working."

"An' why the bludy heel no'?" Alistair appeared, looking even more roughed up than usual. His blood red hair was untamed and his dark, forest green eyes looked ready to kill. "Ye keepin' the res' of us awa'e." Dylan glared at Alistair. He may have been the oldest by age, but in maturity level, he might as well have been the rebellious teenager.

"I just need to, okay?" Alice hadn't forgotten why Yao had kicked her out of the pub. Bloody useless brothers.

"Leave 'er be, lads." Wilma snorted. Her orange/red hair had been cut short-to chin level-but it still curled in wild directions, making it look shorter than it was. Her clover green eyes also gleamed with a death warrant. "She's a bleedin mule. She ain't goin' ter stop workin'. Never does."

"Aye." Patrick agreed with droopy clover eyes and a mass of curly orange/red hair. "If she wants ta keel 'erself workin', why don' we let 'er?"

"That's enough," Dylan scolded the three of them. His eye twitching going unnoticed by anyone except for Alice. "You three go back to bed. I'll deal with Alice."

"Ye'r nae th' oldest!" Alistair hissed, even more pissed off.

He never did stop being a bloody teenager, did he? He could just drink alcohol legally now. "That don't mean you get to bully everyone aroun' as ye please." Dylan argued, "Rydych chi'n oedolyn. Gweithredu fel un."

Alice snorted.

Just what exactly did any of them know about being an adult? Dylan was the housekeeper. Alistair barely made any money as a bagpipe player and part-time waiter (and most of what he had was tossed towards his liver-destroying project). Wilma worked as a barmaid and they were lucky to get enough pocket change from that. Patrick was working under a blacksmith, and that cost more than anything.

They didn't realize it, but Alice was basically feeding a family of five. And they expected her to get some shut eye? Not bloody likely. "Are ye even listenin'?" Alice shot away from Wilma's hand that was waving in front of her eyes. "Hell, yer ain'. Listen whaen we're talkin' ter yer!"

"Sorry." Alice said, "But I need to work on this."

The siblings exchanged looks. "Alice, what is-"

"Whit's sae damn fuckin' important tha' ye hae ta skip sleepin'?"

"It's nothing. Nothing important." Alice muttered, but her gut was simmering in fury. "It's none of your business."

Wrong choice of words. "Cad atá i gceist agat nach bhfuil sé ar ár ngnó fuilteacha?!" Wilma slammed her hand on Alice's bed post. "Ar ndóigh, tá sé ár ngnó diabhal!"

Alice's voice slowly rose. "It's not something you should be fucking worried about!" Things got explosive quick in this house.

"Then what?!" Patrick hissed back.

"How about the bloody bills?" Alice bit back sarcastically. "How about the fact that we're living off of fucking pocket change tossed at us out of pity! Oh! I know, how about the part where you're all off drinking your livers away, instead of facing your problems like you're bloody supposed to?!"

"Why you little-!" Alice swat away Alistair's hand.

"Don't say that to me." Alice's voice sizzled. "You think you contribute so much? Do you want to look at the actual truth? Or should I let you continue to live in your little fantasy?"

"Alice, that's enough!" Dylan's voice shook the room into silence. The silent was thick and full of silent battles with glares and facial expressions.

"What the bloody-!" Patrick yelped from behind Alice. "Oh, shit! Oh, God!"

Alice snatched the folder away from her brother.

"What the hell is it?" Wilma's hand reached over. "Damn it. Give it ta me, ye stubborn ass!"

"No." Alice's glare pierced Wilma's soul. "No."

"Yes!" Wilma growled. She gave a swift rough tug and the papers scattered. The pictures and documents floated to the ground like feathers. The room was filled with buzzing silence. Alice dove to the ground, quickly trying to scavenge the papers. But it was too late. They'd already seen everything.

Well, shit.

"What is this?" Alistair's voice was steady and monotone. That was never a good sign.

"Work." Alice said. "I've told you, I'm a detective."

"But like pa?" Patrick's voice held nothing but bitter betrayal. "Ye're a fuckin' homicide detective!"

Alice flinched, but didn't say anything.

"Why dinae ye tell us?" Alistair's voice was still monotone.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. She was so fucking dead. "I never really got the chance to." Alice shrugged. Wouldn't it be ironic, a homicide detective murdered? "You know I work the late shift."

"An' the bloody weekends." Wilma remarked snidely.

"Saving lives matters more than weekends, Wilma." Alice shot back.

"And there aren't any other bloody detectives?!" Dylan spoke finally, his voice filled with venom. "Ye're avoiding us, damn it! Ye always have been, ever since ye got back."

"That's not true-"

"Like hell it ain't." Her Scottish brother cut off her sentence. "Ye wen' an' offskied, righ' after the old man died. Ye wouldnae done it if he hadnae said somethin' to ya."

A sudden realization washed over her dense siblings. They were just figuring this out now? Actually, shit. What the bloody hell was she supposed to tell them?

"What did he tell you, Alice?" Dylan seemed to have calmed down.

"Nothing." Alice said too quickly. "He didn't say anything."

"Bullshit." Wilma said, but there was no venom in it. She adored their father, they all did, but she was daddy's little girl. Even if she did some pretty terrifying things when she was a teenager. "What did pa say ta ye?"

Alice looked around. Hard, steady and solid forest emerald: Alistair. Soothing jade: Dylan. Bright clovers, the lucky twins: Wilma and Patrick. Where was she in all of this? "I can't." She ignored how her voice broke. "Please, just...Wait until I've finished the case."

"Alice, this can't wait-"

"It has too." her voice left no room for doubt. "Because, when I tell you...what he told me," She sighed, her shoulders sunk. "Believe me, it'll be bad. Bloody hell, you might just kick me out after I tell you." She gave a humorless laugh.

"We wouldnae-"

"Alistair." Alice stopped him.

"Fine." Dylan said before his temperamental, idiotic Scottish brother could. "We'll wait. We've waited for five years; we can wait five more." With that, he rolled out of the room, but Alice didn't miss the fleeting glare he gave her. Or the looks of betrayal and anger as the rest of the siblings left her room.

She'd tell them. She'd stop running, finally. If she made it out of this case alive.

Translations:

Gelwyddog = Liar.

Rydych chi'n oedolyn. Gweithredu fel un. = You're an adult. Act like one.

Cad atá i gceist agat nach bhfuil sé ar ár ngnó fuilteacha?! = What do you mean it's not our bloody business?!

Ar ndóigh, tá sé ár ngnó diabhal! = Of course, it's our damn business!