Page 6 of White Rabbit

“That’s… that’s a very disturbing image,” I call after him as I rinse out the shampoo. It was likely true, though. My father approved of Chad, and in fact, he’d even given my father some financial advice from time to time while they played golf.

“How was work?” My father asks, hissing the word ‘work’ as he hands over a plate of roast potatoes. His bushy mustache seems to dance on his upper lip, and I can tell he’s curling his lip up at the question.

Thursday night dinners at my parents' house were a tradition, even after my mother had passed. My brother and I always made the time to come, no matter how busy life got. It was just one of those things that held us together after the funeral and then we just never stopped, even though my father could be difficult. My mother was the glue in our family, filling it with her light and laughter and without her…

Andrew comes back into the room with a bottle of wine. He looks pale and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His dark hair is the same shade of brown as mine just like our mother’s, but his eyes are gray, like our fathers. I’ve inherited my mother’s hazel eyes, pale skin and her predisposition to freckle in the sun.

Andrew was pretty busy these days working for some family-run businesses in Newtown, so these dinners were really the only time we were all together in the same room. My mother had left him a building similar to mine as part of his inheritance, but he’d sold it, choosing to take the money instead. That should have been more than enough to invest and still live comfortably but he said he liked his job. He did also like the finer things in life. The Maserati parked next to my car was proof of that.

Every time I saw him, I recognized my older brother less and less, instead he was becoming this stranger who looked like the ghost of someone I grew up with.

For a while, I’d suspected he was using drugs, the way his hands would tremble ever so slightly, and the glassy look he’d get sometimes, but my father reassured me he was keeping a close eye on Andrew and that it was just stress.

I swallow and glance around, amused because my mother died almost eight years ago and yet everything was exactly the way she left it. The duck egg blue walls. The gold gilding. Neoclassical furniture. The artworks adorning the walls. It was all her.

Andrew avoids my gaze as he pulls out the cork and lets the wine breathe in a decanter. A bead of sweat rolls slowly down the side of his face before he wipes at it with a handkerchief. He shares a pained look with our father before taking his seat opposite me.

I work in a prison. I knew a drug problem when I saw one.

I wasn’t a fool, no matter what they thought. If they wanted to have secrets, then that was up to them. My father was clearly aware and thought he had the situation in hand, let them imagine I’m an ignorant fool. That’s how I was raised, after all.

“Work has been good, but the inmates were a little riled up yesterday.” I say as I pour gravy over my food. My father’s housekeeper made the best gravy, thick and full of the meat juices from cooking. This was another reason I came home weekly, Elsie’s home cooked food. It was probably also the reason my father had been looking particularly round these days.

My job wasn’t the best for a social or a home life. I worked shifts and I could never be bothered to cook properly for just one. If I stayed at Chads, we often ordered in since his hours could be equally grueling. Microwave meals and takeout were my saviors. Cheese and crackers came in at a close third.

“It was just because of a recent addition,” I continued, as I cut the pork and swirled it in the gravy to smother the meat. “Nothing to worry about.”

My portion size is much smaller than Andrew’s, but that’s pretty standard for meals here. I eat quickly, trying not to make a mess, and savor the taste.

My father’s frown lines get deeper, so much so I almost feel guilty.

“Anyone we know?” Andrew asks as he finally pours me a glass of red wine.

After the inmate had been settled into his cell and my class had finished, I had headed to the staffroom to see if I could get a little information and thanks to Cassie, another officer at Ogmore Grange, I’d been able to get a name.

“Hmm. Doubt it...Elijah Creed,” I reply with a small smile.

I don't remember seeing him mentioned anywhere in the news lately, which was odd given the charges against him. It was almost like his incarceration was being kept under wraps, which wasn’t strange, but it had my interest piqued. What had he done? Who was he?

Andrew pales and his hand slips, the bottle knocking my glass over and pouring wine into my lap. I gasp, getting to my feet as the crimson liquid soaks into my clothes. The heavy full bodied scent clings to my skin, permeating everything.

“Shit. Sorry Ava,” he apologizes as he hands me a napkin. “Sorry. It was an accident. I just—And then… Sorry. I’m sorry.”

I narrow my eyes at him as he and my father share another secret boys' club look and once again, I’m on the outside of their little secrets. Carefully dabbing the wine stains, I soak up what I can.

“Is everything okay?” I ask tentatively with a tilt of my head as I put the sodden napkin by the side of my plate.

Andrew sits silently, looking like he's seen a ghost. Not a sound passes his lips as he stares ahead like all the life has been sucked out of him with those two tiny words: Elijah Creed. I’ve never seen him react like this before. Just what kind of trouble was he in?

“You need to stay away from Creed,” my father warns, his gray eyes shining coldly as he watches me intently over the rim of his glasses. His mouth pulled into a tight line.

I frown, “What's going on?”

“Creed is…” my brother whispers with a whimper, hiding the next words. I think he says left hand, but that makes little sense. Cryptic and confusingly vague answers. Helpful.

“The man is dangerous,” my father growls as he cuts into his food with a strange focus and dedication. “That is all you need to know.”

I blink.

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