AN: Hi! Thanks for continuing to read! Long chapter ahead. Had to do some research on the Winchester bombings and thought to couch it into some relevant cultural events in the late 1980s-90s. There is not much information that I could find, but there is some fantastic fanfiction out there on it. Hope my rendition does not appear too off canon. Please note, that the references to places and some people/cases in this chapter are real. This chapter also offers more around the temperaments of the boys and previous tenants. Some of this was glossed over in previous chapters via Syn's perspective, but Syn is a different observer with different motivations and understanding. From Jessica's perspective, these behaviors are more difficult to accept at face value.

Anyway, please leave a review! Would love to hear what you think! Happy reading!

Chapter 11

There was an explosion, and whole of England was in hysterics. The great Winchester Cathedral, central to the small town of Winchester, was in a state of ruin. And the British Broadcasting Corporation was all over the small town center, among other new stations, interviewing everyone and postulating the reasons behind the alleged terrorist attack.

Whammy House was effectively locked down until further notice, and the entire faculty seemed somewhat relieved by that decision. The children, on the other hand, were beside themselves, and parents were calling from all over the British Isles, requesting their children be released for home.

One would think that an elite private school would be the safest place for several hundred children. After all, these were the best and the brightest and, most importantly, the most privileged children in the country. Every snowflake was to be accounted for, and that meant no one was to be discharged.

Jessica could not help but watch the news in fascination. It was just the start of November, and some sources were saying that the attack was reminiscent of Guy Fawkes, the seventeenth century failed gunpowder plot against the House of Lords. This seemed ridiculous to the girl, as the religious establishment was not connected to the parliament and was certainly not in London. This was also not the first attack on a church, marking the sixth in the United Kingdom this year. But, the bombing on Winchester Cathedral was the first so far south and near a metropolitan area, which put everyone on edge. One news agency suggested the Irish Republic Army was involved, but this seemed just as unlikely considering the majority of the attacks were on Roman Catholic sites – Winchester was the first Anglican church attacked, despite its Catholic origins – and had the Southern Irish not already fought for their independence in the nineteen twenties? Perhaps it was Islamic extremists, but then they were quite fond of attacking airports and train stations as of late.

Strange that there were no suspects. No one willing to claim responsibility. All of the explosions were set in a similar way, according to the news. Typically, choir was ignited first, followed by a second bomb above the crossing, just behind the alter. All of the incidents occurred just after morning mass. The authorities were convinced the ignition was remote, but then everything was circumspect and hearsay. And the death toll was approaching one hundred people with many more injured.

One thing was for sure, attendance at Sunday mass was at all time low. Even the Church of England made headlines by restricting access to Westminster and Canterbury. The Pope was to make a statement next week, urging the people to keep their faith. That God would have mercy on the deceased souls.

Coursework continued as per normal, but no one was participating too seriously. It was then that Jessica noticed that Lawliet was absent from class. In fact, he was missing ever since the explosion.

The last time she saw the boy was on his birthday. A selection of children had been invited over to the main house for cake, although the experience was rather subdued. L did not appear all that happy about the attention, made to wear a little hat and sit uncomfortably in his chair, greeting and thanking everyone as one does. His eyes lit up when the confectionary was placed in front of him, though. A vanilla sponge with strawberry fill, complete with eleven candles lining the top. He briefly scanned the room before blowing them out.

It must be a good thing that his birthday was on Halloween, the girl considered, as the candy was endless. There were games and chatter, but the three Whammy boys all huddled to one side by the window, silently observing the others around them. They looked like a trio of lemurs, giant eyes set wide with curiosity and lithe bodies curled into themselves; yet they were unwilling, or unsure, how to interact with the guests. Most of the children just ignored the social awkwardness, content to play board games and be away from studies for the day. Jessica was not so placated.

She knew it was only polite to bring a small gift, so she approached the birthday boy and handed over a small package. Lawliet hesitantly took the brown wrapping, BB clinging on to him with interest, Andrew grinning at her.

"It's a bookmark," Jessica offered. She kept of a small stash of items in her personal desk drawer for such occasions, as was expected of her. It was important to be ready for impromptu presents when the social context required it, as her mother always said.

L did not bother unwrapping the gift, placing it carefully on the windowsill instead.

"Thank you."

BB let go of the older boy to snatch at the paper. Little hands ripped it open and he held up the flat chrome hook, a charm dangling off one end. A small laugh escaped as he brought the hook up to L's neck, tugging lightly to one side as if to choke him.

"When is your birthday?" A chirped, eager to separate himself from other two. He was especially well put together today, fitted into a little black vest, tie, and slacks.

Jessica returned his smile and played with the seem of her dress, "May tenth. I'll be fourteen next year."

"I'll be ten in March, and BB will be nine by then," A motioned to the youngest still poking at Lawliet with the bookmark. The eldest idly stared off into the room as though none of them were there at all. It was hard to imagine the three were as old as they were, rail thin and so utterly quiet. L had deep marks under his eyes from lack of sleep, and Jessica wondered why that was the case. Surely he was able to get through his studies quick enough with how little effort he put into the lectures. But, they all appear tired, even BB with his expressive face, all awe and suspicion.

She wanted to ask if he suffered from nightmares, but she decided to let it go.

JJJJJ

The weekend was approaching, and Lawliet remained absent. Jessica decided then to go to the main house and find out for herself why the boy disappeared. Perhaps invite him for a match. Since the first tennis game, the pair met in the gym for afternoon practice three days a week. The activity allowed Jessica some time to herself, as L never spoke to her, and she discovered that she enjoyed coaching him to some degree. He paid attention and caught on very quickly to the little things he was doing wrong. She guessed by spring he would start winning matches regularly.

"If you are caught, you will get into trouble."

The girl sighed through her nose upon feeling the gravely tone. The sound never failed to send shivers up her spine. She turned the door handle to the kitchen, side glancing at Syn's lanky form from under the eves, "Shut up and stay out of my way."

The specter offered little advice as to where the child was. For a brief moment, a pang of panic encased her then, wondering if L was ill. But no one said anything in class, and the pair was due to start their first group assignment next week. That was right – Jessica needed to know where L was to start on their project. With effort, she pulled open the heavy door.

The hallways were eerily quiet and calm. Far off, she could hear the other school children playing in the gardens through the thin plate windows. The girl crept passed the dining room toward a hidden staircase up to the third floor. All three boys had rooms on the third floor of the east wing, and although Jessica never ventured up there, she knew that they would probably be studying in the afternoon.

A clock chimed and suddenly the hallway seemed dim. Jessica reached for the first door and knocked.

"No one is there," Syn muttered lowly.

Jessica opened the door anyway, greeted with a musty odor. The room was made, but unused for some time, dust covering the mirror above a dresser. A stuffed animal remained on the bed neatly made, all pastels and lace.

"This was Krista's room," Jessica guessed, noting the small wool rug outlined with brightly colored tribal patterns across from the wardrobe. She could envision the tall, thin girl with the magnetic smile stretching for dance practice there. Walking up to the window, she peered out onto the gardens, catching the children below chase each other around the maze in their jackets and hoods. The clock chimed again.

"I wonder if B ever comes in here?" She casually pondered as she peeked into the on suite bathroom connected to another room Jessica guessed must have been Catelin's. Pulling at the copper handle, the empty space was dark from the drawn shades. The girl felt compelled to pull them open, and she gasped at the sight as the light flooded in.

One entire wall was covered from the floor to the ceiling in drawings. Intricate detail outlined in pen and pencil of people, animals, mountains, and trees. There was no space left unmarked. Soft colors shaded in the shadows, fur, leaves, and faces. The eyes were particularly dark and poignant, as though they were looking back from their world only to discover an observer they were not expecting. Some of the artwork even spread onto an adjacent wall bordering a twin bed. All of the furniture was aligned to one side in front of the fireplace, leaving an open area before the creation like a stage of sorts.

Jessica did not want to stay long, backing out slowly and closing the door as quietly as she could. The eyes of the people were lifelike and creepy, staring on like she was invading their space, like she did not belong. The thoughts were quite reminiscent, and the girl suppressed a chill before leaving the older girls' rooms entirely for the hall.

She tiptoed down the narrow space until she reached another door. This one was labeled with an ornate metal letter. Jessica nodded while murmuring, "Andrew."

She might have stopped were she not on a mission. Perhaps she should come back. Pushing on, she noted a doorway open farther down the hall, but halted when she saw the letter before her.

"L."

Suddenly baffled and unsure of herself, Jessica looked around for Syn, but the ghostly figure was nowhere in sight. The thing was useless to her except when inconvenient, it seemed. Pulling a delicate wrist up, the girl was about to knock, when the door pulled inward, revealing a gaunt child with a mass of unruly black hair.

"Jessica."

"Lawliet."

She guessed their expressions must have matched, as his eyes showed as much confusion as she felt. The space beyond him was dark, save for a soft blue hue she guessed must be coming from a computer screen or television.

"You look terrible," she observed, more for herself than the boy before her, "Aren't you feeling well?"

He ignored her to state the obvious, "You are not supposed to be here."

Jessica shuffled a bit, coyly twirling her hair and peering over his shoulder into his room, "I came to see if you were alright. You've been missing all week, and Miss Cavendish has given out loads of coursework for Monday."

"It is already finished," Lawliet responded, his tone flat. He blinked wide dark eyes, bringing a thump to the base of his lips. Jessica noticed he did this whenever he was thinking. He appeared exhausted.

The girl pursed her lips, asking, "May I come in?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"You are not allowed to be here."

Jessica snorted, feeling bolder than she should have been, "I spent an entire summer here already, and I don't recall ever seeing your room before."

"You are not one of us." He said it as a matter of course, and the words made Jessica inwardly bristle.

"So?" She bluffed, posturing so she was taller than the boy, leaning over him to peer into his room, "Why should that stop me?"

Lawliet remained silent, not moving, but not obstructing her either, so Jessica gingerly pushed past the boy and entered. The room was dark due to blackout curtains and she immediately made the motion to open them. Light whooshed past her, bringing with it the herald of childish squeals from the gardens below.

The girl turned and looked around. One wall was covered in bookcases, lined with small black-bound journals. Another wall was neatly covered with three maps, slightly overlapping, of London, Winchester, and the United Kingdom. Tacks covered the sheets connected by red string web from which notes and pictures were attached. The bed was made with a wardrobe to one side, and the floor was clear of any personal items except for one notebook splayed open against the frame of a bulky laptop. The computer was his birthday gift from Mr. Whammy and was received with a quiet thank you and immediate tapping of long, defined fingers on the keyboard.

Lawliet remained in the doorway, scratching his feet like a nervous twitch, stating as the girl leaned over the book on the floor, "I am translating everything electronically."

The text was garbled in a manner that she could not understand, and Jessica looked up, "We have our first group assignment for psychology due in a week. I thought to stop by an-"

"The assignment is already finished," he interrupted around his thumbnail. His black eyes looked doleful then, seemingly unconformable with her in his space.

Jessica observed this, but chose to ignore it for the more pressing issue, "Finished? What do you mean finished?"

"The assignment on the language of perception, discerning the difference between physical and perceptive variables," he said with a blink, "I completely it yesterday."

Her brows knit together in growing frustration, "Lawliet, we were supposed to do this together, as in a pair. You can't be finished with it if I have yet to look at the material."

"You were too slow."

"Too slow – I haven't seen you since your birthday!" Jessica accused, walking directly up to him to stare into his light-strained eyes. She wanted to ask him where he had been, if he was well. He looked like he had not showered or eaten in days. Like a little vampire kept hidden in the darkness of his room. But to her chagrin, all she could sputter was about the context of their coursework, "I just found out about the assignment on Thursday! How am I too slow?"

The boy quirked a thin brow and propped his head to one side, "I thought you might be happy to know you have one less task to do."

'That is not the point," she argued, "We are supposed to work together."

"I don't work with others."

"I can see that. But you must work with me."

"Why?"

Jessica groaned exasperatedly, "Because! That is how this works! Group assignments are to be worked together, written together, presented together! Honestly, it's not that hard. Has no one ever worked with you before now?"

He thought for a moment, then, "No."

Jessica rested her lips between her teeth and decided, "Well, you best get the books back out because were are going to go work on it this afternoon in the library, and you can tell me all about what it is I've missed. Come along."

She was heading back through the door when she saw BB wrapped around the opening down the hall. His toothy smile sent her on edge. Lawliet stayed back in the whiteness of his room and shook his head, "I have work to do."

"Like what?" She turned back. BB started creeping toward her, extravagantly hunched against the wall like some old world monster.

He stared at the map on the wall, slouching into a gait that made him nearly vanish into his clothing. Jessica frowned, "No, you are coming with me. At the very least, you need to eat."

She reached for Lawliet's arm just as BB latched onto her, cuddling into the crook of her elbow. The younger boy peered up through uneven bangs just recently cut and grinned, "I caught you. Come play with me."

"You should leave her alone B," L admonished, tone still flat but caged with something more sinister inside the words. BB simply made a noise and snaked his arms around her waste. Jessica lifted both arms to accommodate the unexpected nuzzling of her middle.

"Come play with me," he whined this time, mussing up her shirt with his sharp nose.

"B!" Lawliet snapped, still staring at the map, thumb still lodged at his lip.

"It's quite alright, Lawliet," Jessica appeased, feeling the youngster's body tense like a plucked string. Cautiously, she carded one of her hands into his hair, noticing how soft it really was. The boy turned up to her again, reddened eyes glinting, "You both look like to you need to eat. Where are Miss Jenny and Miss Roberts?"

Lawliet finally removed his thumb, narrowing his eyes at the floor sullenly, "At the shops."

"Alright then," Jessica acquiesced. She briefly thought to get Andrew, but then chose against it when BB awkwardly moved with her stride. She might have to half-carry him if he chose not to detach at the staircase. Looking pointedly at the boy still in his room, "We will revisit this paper after a snack. Perhaps I could scrounge some cake, if you are willing to compromise?"

The boy perked up at the sound of a promised treat, finally meeting her eyes again as though they just began a game, "Jessica."

"Lawliet."

JJJJJ

Several hours later saw the trio in the library, full on cake and chess. Once the boys were fed, their temperament seemed to warm to her considerably. L was no longer so agitated and ready to flee. BB spent his time going back and forth between the window and Jessica, whispering innocuous observations about the children below to her. Andrew finally appeared at some point in the afternoon, exhausted from whatever work he managed to finish in their absence, and the group soon settled into a quiet moment.

"Lawliet," Jessica began, the question lulling around in her mind since she successfully extracted the boy from his room. BB had fallen asleep long ago in her lap. Her fingers idly strummed the contours of his scalp, the child responding with a whimper and snuggling closer to her middle. The action made her smile. BB was not so bad when he was calm.

"Jessica," was the bland reply. L was again at his laptop, typing away with fervor.

"Why have you been missing since last week?"

She looked over at the boy crouched in front of the screen like a tiny gargoyle, his large, round eyes peering over the top momentarily before he continued translating the black book he carried down with him earlier.

He seemed hesitant, but answered anyway, "I am trying to catch the person responsible for the bombings."

The girl knit her brows, "The Winchester bombing? From last week?"

"Yes," he affirmed with a nod, "I am very close."

"Do you know who did it?" She sat up and considered him more carefully. Was this the reason for the maps on his wall? "How many people are involved?"

"Only one, and yes, I do believe I know who has been behind all of the domestic terrorist acts since last spring."

The question was obvious, to her at least, "Well, who is it?"

L glanced back up at her before worrying a thumb between his lips. He started speaking with a calm, low monotone voice that made Jessica straighten herself unconsciously, "I think, with eighty-nine percent certainty, that the man behind the bombings is a twenty-eight year old North Irish immigrant by the name of Brian Michael Collins. He is Caucasian with Arian qualities; that is he has short blond hair, blue-grey eyes, stands approximately one hundred seventy-five centimeters and weighs fifty-five kilograms. He lives in Washwood Heath, a ward of Birmingham, where he works as a mechanic. On his off time, Mr. Collins works at a charity shop and volunteers at the homeless shelter in Aston. He writes excessively, but otherwise has no other observed hobbies. Although he never received his junior certificate in Secondary, he is self-taught mechanic and spent his childhood playing with pyrotechnics. He exhibits antisocial behavior due to an abusive home life, particularly a disciplinarian father, and severe bullying in school. He lacks close friends and associates with few acquaintances. It is likely that Mr. Collins is unable to form attachments to others, but he is obsessive about others' perceived materialism. Therefore, he eschews personal possessions and holds a strong resentment toward the post World War culture of the United Kingdom. He believes that mediocrity is the ill that will destroy this country, which follows some ideals of Nietzsche and Armond. He lives alone with no children and no pets. He is a devote Catholic."

Jessica soaked in the thesis, eyes widening with each passing sentence. How was it that this boy could hold onto so much information at once? For the most part, she could at least follow what L was saying, but was unable to get past two immediate issues. First, "If he is a devote Catholic, than why attack the Church?"

"Because," L pulled the thump from his mouth, "The Church is the source of the perceived mediocrity he despises. I also have a theory that a priest may have abused him when he was a child. There was a rather scandalous report on a cover up in the Church last year against the Archdiocese of Down and Conner. Mr. Collins was housed at several boys homes near Belfast from nineteen seventy-three through nineteen seventy-nine for disciplinary reasons, which included the now famous Kincora Boy's Home in Belfast and then Rubane House near Kircubbin. At both locations, he accused that the caregivers abused him. Apparently, the Church knew of some kind of ongoing abuse at Rubane, and despite a formal complaint by Mr. Collins, the accused priest was sent to another parish without ever reporting the incident to law enforcement. In response, the Archdioceses offered monetary compensation to his parents, who took the offer, and it is probable the priest will never see a day in court."

BB squirmed a little in her lap, and the girl absently stroked his face to calm him. She blinked, her face slack from surprise, "That's horrific."

"Indeed."

Then the second point hit her and she narrowed her eyes, "How do you know this, exactly?"

A small smile crept to his face and L hunched over his laptop again. He spoke softly from behind the monitor, "I have been tracking him for more than four months, with the aid of Quillish, of course."

"Tracking him."

"Yes."

There was a long pause as the girl stared on in disbelief, the tapping sound of the keyboard filling her ears.

"Alright, you're having a go at me, I get it," Jessica slumped back in her chair with a roll of her eyes. Of course this must be a joke, "Tell me the truth, Lawliet. Why have you been missing? Are you ill or something? You look ill."

"I just told you," the reply was dull.

Andrew, nearly forgotten in his corner, looked over from his book with a sigh, "I'm afraid he's not joking, Jess. He has information from the constable's office."

Jessica, jerked over to the young blond, expression darkening, "What kind of information?"

"At each crime scene, there was a note," Andrew replied.

"A note?"

"A nursery rhyme actually," Lawliet corrected. He pulled up something on his screen and recited:

St Swithun's day if thou dost rain

For forty days it will remain

St Swithun's day if thou be fair

For forty days 'twill rain nae mare

"That's the patron Saint of Winchester," Jessica huffed.

"You are correct, Jessica." L paused to set aside the laptop and repositioned himself so that we faced her, "There was a different rhyme for each church carefully tucked, in a sealed plastic baggie, near the narthex of the Cathedral. The explosions never reach as far as the entrance, so they were protected from the resulting fire. Each rhyme is associated with the patron saint for th respective site. For example, the first three sites in Wales and the Midlands were Wrexham, Salford, and Nottingham Cathedrals. Whilst all three of the earliest bombing locations were built in nineteen century, the notes left were segments of poems venerating known saints in the region, namely: Saint David of Wales, Saint George of Manchester, and Saint Steven of Nottingham. The Church of England recognizes these saints, but patronage predates known Anglican worship as part of early English history. The latter three attacks occurred on much older Catholic sites, with the exception of Winchester Cathedral, which belongs to the Church of England. Each note found at the scene suggest a similar methodology, and it is my hypothesis that the terrorist acts were committed by the same person."

The girl connected the dots before he finished, "Do you think the attacks are along a pilgrimage then?"

Both Andrew and Lawliet glanced at one another.

"If that's the case, then the next target could be Westminster or even Canterbury."

Lawliet nodded and played with the hem of his slacks, "That is certainly a possibility."

There were so many questions she wanted to ask at that moment. Why would the man leave notes at each site unless he wanted to be caught? Had anyone seen Mr. Collins at the churches on the days in question? How had this boy managed to tie Mr. Collins to such horrific crimes beyond establishing a morose profile? But Jessica was beyond all that. It was clear the boys were serious, at any rate. She leaned forward, casting a serious tone into the room, "If you believe all of this, then you should go straight to the constable."

"Do you think law enforcement will believe an eleven-year-old boy from an orphanage in Winchester about a theory regarding a high-profile terrorist attack?" L cocked a brow.

"But if they've given you extra information-"

"They technically gave the information to Quillish," he amended.

"Well, then tell Mr. Whammy so he can tell the constable!" Jessica exclaimed. In an instant, BB's eyes snapped open and he raked around the room. The girl grimaced at L, "Nearly one hundred people have died already. This isn't a game!"

Andrew flipped back and forth between the pair before closing his book and turning toward the girl, "It's not entirely that simple. L doesn't have proof, only circumstantial evidence. Mr. Collins was only seen prior to the first bombings, and near the location of two others. Unless he can be caught placing notes at the entrance or in possession of explosives near the Church, they won't be able to arrest him."

"The UK does not want to believe one of their own could cause such destruction," L countered, "The news agencies would rather believe the NRA or foreign terrorist organizations over a seemingly harmless mechanic from Birmingham."

"Rubbish," Jessica spat, "You should tell Mr. Whammy and have this man searched and followed before the next disaster strikes. Catch him in the act, if they must. But people cannot continue to die, Lawliet."

The room fell silent as the three stared at each other. Jessica's heart was beating a mile minute, frightened by the sudden epiphany that a genius child had been following a suspected murder for long after the third, fourth and fifth attack had happened. Perhaps he could have stopped this if he already knew the culprit. Perhaps, perhaps… The girl's mind was racing, and it was at this moment that BB chose to lean in and tell her in a hushed whisper, "The monster will light the fire again on November 30th at noon."

Jessica turned to the little Lawliet doppelganger, all limbs, big eyes and white skin, focused entirely on her with a sense of assurance, friendliness even, radiating from him. The recent haircut made him appear more cherubic than was probably intended, which culminated in an all the more disturbing sight.

She did not know what to say. November 30th would be Saint Andrew's Day, or the first Sunday of Advent. Suddenly, the girl tried to scour any thought about where Saint Andrew was venerated, but her mind drew blank after blank. She was not as studious with her religious studies as she perhaps aught to be. But this was all wrong. All of the boys were waiting patiently, observing what she would do, and the girl could only gape back in utter loss. Was this some kind of sick prank?

Just then, there was a knock at the door, Mr. Ruvie poking his head around the corner with surprise, "Oh, Miss Lambert, I was unaware you were here. Boys, you should get ready for supper now. Perhaps Miss Lambert would care to join us?"

Jessica blinked and stared blankly at the floor. This all had to be a grand joke. Must be. The boys were playing a game with her, surely. Patting BB's shoulder, the girl rose from her chair and walked out of the room, past Mr. Ruvie without a word, and headed for the foyer back to the western house. To her room and to her bed. And through grit teeth, she vowed never to invite herself to the main house again.

AN: Review?