Elvira Lillianne Dempsey-Farlow, District One

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Name: Elvira Lillianna Dempsey-Farlow
Age: 17
Gender: Female
District/Area: District One
Appearance:

PRETTY. DEAD EYES. ICE COLD. BROTHER'S FEATURES.

Personality:

STONE-HEARTED. MERCILESS. RUTHLESS. STALKER. TWISTED. COLD. EMOTIONLESS. VENGEFUL.

History:

RESULT OF AFAIR. DRUNKEN FATHER. OVER-PROTECTIVE MOTHER. MURDERER HALF-BROTHER. RAN AWAY FROM D1 FOR SUSPECTED MURDER.

Codeword: Odair
Comments/Other:

Credit to Lalia for the template structure. Credit to South for the amazing plottage.

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She lives in a fairy tale
Somewhere too far for us to find
Forgotten the taste and smell
Of the world that she’s left behind

( B E H I N D A N A M E ) Elvira Lillianne Dempsey-Farlow
( S U G A R A N D S P I C E ) Female
( J U S T A N U M B E R ) Sixteen
( L O N G W A Y H O M E ) District One Wanderer

Thinking
Emphasis
Talking
Normal

( L O O K I N T O M Y E Y E S )

Life is a fickle thing. So easily thrown away, so carelessly disposable. It reminds Kendra of a wave - so quickly soaring to it's height and then crashing down on itself before you even have a chance to admire it's grandeur. Kendra Dempsey, of course, has never seen a wave. That doesn't stop her from imagining the reflective water, so like a mirror,cascading down in a tumble of truth and lies. It doesn't really matter where it came from. Nobody cares where it goes once the tide has gone out to sea and the people on the beach go home. Life, like the waves, is something can can easily be forgotten and discarded - lost in a never ending flow of tears. Tears. Tears so heavy and filled with sadness that they drop from the woman's long eyelashes without a second thought. Tears which then proceed to run down her face in a way which she can no more hide than deny. A giveaway of the sadness that lurks inside. So deep, so endless. Betrayal. Pain. Without a trace of forgiveness, Kendra blinks her long lashes and looks without seeing at the girl who stands before her. Inside, the woman is dying already, her life gone within the blink of an eye. The way Kendra sees it, everything she has ever done is lost, every love ever loved a waste of time. Every dream ever dreamed gone and wasted and forgotten like a wave crashing down in the swell.

Tears streaked with dark eyeliner come forth, dripping from the bridge of her pointed nose and landing delicately on the floor. The floor which she just cleaned. The floor which she has spent hours of her worthless life protecting from footprints and debris. She doesn't care anymore. Words spill from her lips, yet she doesn't know what she is saying. Her mind is whirring faster than ever before. Kendra's eyes see for the first time since the news came to her from the girls scarlet lips. They see and they hate and they remember. Stricken with despair, Kendra sinks back into a chair and closes her eyes. It's all a dream, she is sure. It has to be. What she has just been told cannot possibly be a reality. Yet it is. The reality and enormity stands before her, it's brown hair and piercing eyes staring up at her with such understanding and knowledge Kendra cannot help but be afraid. She doesn't have enough meaning left in her mind to demand that the filthy, terrible child leaves her house this instant but the little girl is already turning on her heels and shooting the startled and terrified Kendra one last, sweet smile. Then she is gone, the door swinging shut in her wake.

Kendra's mind tumbles back to minutes before, reliving the life-altering for the first of a million times. She opens her eyes and she is in the kitchen once more, and in a bizarre moment of pure relief she thinks that she imagined every terrible detail of the last few moments. The rain is thundering down on the window-pane, as if it will never stop. Kendra's eyes manage to focus on a droplet of water running the outside surface and she suddenly has the urge to lift her hands to her face to check for the tell-tale tears. She can't lift her hands. It is as though they are made of lead - as though she is trapped in her own body with no control over it. A roll of thunder echoes around the skies and she winces involuntarily. Just like she did before. Lightning flashes in the sky, lighting up the world like the sun for a split second. A split second, thinks Kendra. A split second is all it takes for the wave to come crashing down. For a life to end. A split second is all it takes, and then it can be over. No more pain. No more lies. No more tears.

Kendra takes a mouthful of bread and takes a moment to hear the sounds the surround her. The constant roar of rain beating down all across Panem. The rolling of thunder, ripping across the cloudy sky. Closer, directly above her, is the sound of her husband roaring with rage at something that is not there. For a moment she contemplates facing him and asking him, but then she remembers that she can't. She must simply go with the flow. Let the tide carry her where it shall. She has already made her choice. That is when the knock sounds on the backdoor. Kendra attempts, in her dreamlike state, to change the course of what has happened. But it has already happened and happen it will. Over and over in her mind forever. She resists, but still she finds herself slowly making her way to the back door, a look of puzzlement on her face. She does not notice the tiny boy darting into the shadows to conceal himself from her. Even if she had, there would be nothing she could do. The door swings open beneath her hand and Kendra's eyes grow wide and filled with pain. Staring back at her, are the eyes of her son, Kae. The eyes blink and then it hits her again. Below waist height stands a tiny body, five years old at most. Her eyes are shining brightly. But they are not her eyes. They are Kendra's husband's eyes. They do not belong on the tiny girl blinking up at Kendra, her brown hair hanging limply around her face, the exact color of Kae's.

There was more, though. So much more about the girl that struck Kendra. She looked like her son, her husband, and in a way, she looked like her. Not her features, no. Her pointed chin and high cheekbones belonged to Mr. Dempsey himself. Her small, slanted eyes where the very same as Kae's. Her long neck and slender body could have belonged to anyone, but it was the color of her skin that did it. She was white as the snow that covered much of Panem before the storm came. This was something dear Kendra has only ever seen belonging to her husband and suddenly she knew everything, before the girl could open her mouth even for the first time. Kendra knows exactly what the girl is about to say. She has heard it all before."Miss Dempsey?" the girl says with a sweet smile, edging from foot to foot in a way so charming it can only be achieved by a four-year-old in wellington boots. Kendra starts, before feeling herself open the door, a blank expression on her face.
"Who are you?" she hears herself demand, although she never authorises herself to say it. Her tone is urgent, as though all she wants is the girl to set aside her fears with a quick smile, explaining that she is the daughter of Mr. Dempsey's long lost brother. Of course, not Kendra knows that this is not to be. She knew already, though. The first time she laid eyes on the child. Before the tiny girl can open her mouth to answer, the woman can feel her words in the air.


"My name is Elvira Farlow," she smiles, her tone so faint and dreamlike Kendra wonders if she could still be sleeping after all. The child's eyes are so filled with understanding that Kendra is quite taken aback, even looking into them for the second time that day. They are the eyes of someone much older, much wiser. They are the eyes of someone who has seen far too much for a child so young. "May I come in?" Kendra notices for the first time that the child is dripping wet, her wellington boots filled with rainwater and her pretty dress soaked through. Kendra does not speak. She doesn't greet the child warmly as she might otherwise. She simply steps back, away from the door, to allow the little girl inside. Shuddering as the cool evening air of the storm rushes through the house, Kendra bites her lip. This is the only way she can find to stop herself spiralling so deep into her own mind that she will not hear what happens next. The pain is numbed by the deeper pain inside of her heart. She cannot bring herself to ask the girl why she has come. So she waits.

"Do you know why I'm here?" asks Elvira, lifting a tiny hand to push a sopping strand of hair away from her eye. Kendra knows. She knows everything, all at once. She can see before her what her husband has done. How be betrayed her, how he broke her heart. Her world breaks like a wave just starting to crash down on itself and that is when she knows how she will end her suffering. She waits as the girl opens her mouth, smiling knowingly. "I'm here to tell you something." Elvira's voice is sweet, but danger lurks somewhere behind the words. "I came to tell you who I am." The child takes a deep breath, as though preparing herself for something fearful. Kendra stops her. Without telling her body to speak, the woman can hear the words echoing from between her parted lips. "I know who you are." Kendra Dempsey knows who the child is. The child is the sea, and Kendra is simply a raindrop in the ocean. The child is everything. In a simple knock at the door, the child has changed Kendra's world. Sinking back into a chair, the lady waits for the girl to leave, and leave she does. Then Kendra opens her eyes and realises that the replay of the evenings events is over and she is free to move once more. She rises unsteadily, feeling dizzy and upset. Great sobs shake her body, ringing out through the silent house. The rain has stopped. Kendra throws herself at the door, leaning out and peering into the darkness. "Come back!" Kendra cries, wiping the tears from her cheeks and letting out a bitter cry of pain and suffering. This will end. The mother crosses the room, and the boy who was hiding in the kitchen rises at the sound of his mamas screams. He didn't hear the girl enter the house, nor did he know of the ghostly conversation between the broken woman and the cruel little girl. All he knows is that his mama is crying, letting out great sobs which set her body shaking violently. He is but six years old.


"Mama?" he asks, fear in his eyes. Kendra looks down at him and scoops him up with ease into her arms. She cannot bare to look him in his eyes. Those eyes that have caused her so much sadness in just one night, but she holds him tightly to her chest anyway, stroking his hair. "Everything's going to be alright," she lies. No, everything isn't going to be alright. The world has ended. Her world has ended. His world has ended. Everything has changed in the time it took for the little girl to look into the woman's eyes. But the child doesn't know that yet. "Come now, Kae. Time for bed. I'll see you in the morning." Kendra navigates the stairs in the darkness and smiles at her only child before placing him down in his bed and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. She lied. The second she closed the door behind her she let the sobs fill her again, and she began to run, stumbling on the stairs and staggering across the landing toward her own room.


Her husband was there, but he was sleeping at last. Tangled up in his whisky-filled dreams he slept, and she watched for a moment before letting out another scream of hatred and fury. Slapping him across the face, she watched as he stirred and then sunk back down into the place he always was. Bitterly, the lady entered the bathroom and unscrewed the jar with shaking hands. This would teach him. This would teach her, whoever she was. See how they liked ruining her life like this. With that she tipped her head back and let the pills fall onto her tongue and down her throat. Every last one. Within minutes she is dead.

"Mama?" the boy asked, rubbing his eyes. "I can't sleep. Can you sing me a lullaby?" Kae is in his parents room, a teddy bear handing from his hand and dragging along the ground behind him. The door to the bathroom swings open and the tiny child begins to weep.

( W H O A R E M Y Y O U )

Time has passed since Kendra died. The funeral has taken place and darling Elvira is standing in her lounge room, looking out into the street. She is older now, much older, almost a young woman. Her childish features have somewhat gone, leaving her with the more mature look of an eleven year old verging on puberty. Outside the window, children play. It is Autumn, bleak and shady. That time of year when the wind is constantly rustling the trees to rid them of their last few leaves, only to discover that they have already fallen. Winter will begin soon, and with it will come the ice and snow that Elvira hates almost more than the rains of early spring. Elvira watches the children play through the pane of glass which separates her from the others. This is the last fall she will live through with no worries of the coming reaping - yet all she cares about is watching the ones in the street intently. Elvira has always loved watching. First, she watched the sparrows and the butterflies through the window when her momma would forbid her to leave the house. Then, after that fateful day in her fourth winter, she began to watch her brother. She watched him for his emotion, for his feeling, for his intent. She learned from him from a young age. How families work. How to react and how to feel and how to listen. She watched him grow as she too grew. Then she began to watch other people. Her mother. She watched as her mother worked around the house, cursing her father beneath her breath. She watched the lines grow deeper in her face as she grew less and less beautiful and Elvira grew more so. When she arrived at school, she watched her peers and her teachers, and every little detail of the world around her. And she never forgot. Not a second, not a word, not a feeling did the girl ever forget. Since the funeral, she had known. And she has learned from everything around her. To the young Elvira, her dysfunctional family sparkled. But not everything that sparkles is gold.


Now her mother watches her at the window, unaware that even now she is learning. Learning how to watch unseen. Learning how to live alone, without the influence of the children now throwing leaves at one another in showers of crimson and amber and brown. Learning to survive when her brother would strike. Her mother sees her as everybody but Kae sees her; innocent, strange, a little odd yet mostly normal. The world thinks of the stubborn, ice-cold little girl is somebody who is different, but not dangerous. That's the way Elle likes it. It's better that nobody knows exactly what she is capable of. The girl turns away from the window and looks forward to the evening. Every night she practises. It has become something of an obsession; not just watching. Following. Making it her mission not to be seen. Stone-hearted. Cold blooded. Fearless. Bitter. She was strange and she was dangerous and only her brother knew it.


Her mother, Leila Farlow, is standing behind her. The young girl can feel her eyes on her back, however she doesn't move. She hopes her mother will anticipate her watching as a yearning to play. It works. "Elle, go outside dear. I'll call you back when dinner's ready. Go on, go and play with your friends." Elle smiles up at her mother, thanking her. Leila doesn't know that her daughter indeed has no friends, that her heartless demeanour and biting, ironic wit scares away anybody who comes too close. But that, of course, is something that Elle wishes to hide form her mother at all costs. As the door swings shut behind her, Elle tracks her brothers path through the leaves, making sure to stay in the shadows. Tonight, she will witness her brother's first murder from behind a corner, breathing deeply. Understanding even more clearly how easily a life can be taken and pain can be inflicted on everyone around. Back at home, her diary is locked and bolted, hidden beneath her mattress. Nobody will find it here. A bookmark marks the a last page she has scrawled on. If you where to cut the bolt and look inside, you would see a snippet of the twisted girls thoughts, reflecting on a moment many years go.

Look inside...

My footsteps are the only sound I hear. Steady, rhythmic, comforting. The only thing that is always the same in my life. They are the one thing I can always rely on being there – consistent, paced, in my control. That a lesson I learnt very early on in life – the only one you can truly rely on is you. This especially applies when the only family member you have left has hated you almost as much as you hate him since before you where born. I am walking down the hall, but my mind is not noting the screams and cries of my peers, not seeing the freak-show before me. I am far away, feeling the rain on my cheeks and breathing in the damp smell of soil and tears. They are, of course, not my tears. I don’t cry, although I have every reason to. My face is stony and emotionless as it was all those years ago, on the day I am remembering so clearly. So clearly it is almost as if I where still there, shuddering in the freezing wind and wondering if the black dress I am wearing will ever be quite the same again. It wasn’t, by the way. The water that soaked it’s heavy netting right through ruined it forever, but after that day I never really cared in quite the same way about such things. I was only tiny then – my exact age I don’t know – but I still remember every detail, every smoky taste and vividly horrifying site as if I where still standing in the rain. In a way, I am. Every day I live it over and over again, bitterly wondering if I could have done something different. Even then my footsteps where steady below me, carrying my tiny, white-faced body over to the funeral ensemble to wait. The smell of tears in the air lingered until long after everybody else had gone. At the time, I thought it my business to be there with my father, but now I realize that I should have left long before nightfall.

As a child, you notice the strangest of things. They stick with you forever. Things you will never forget, despite the fact that they no longer bare even a shred of relevance to your life. Meaningless things, like the footsteps, that hold you together. Memories you cling to. Flashes of hope. The images I hold from that day are strange ones for a child attending a funeral. I see bright colors, maybe flowers, maybe the sunset, and I see my own pale and wide-eyed face staring back at me from the depths of a mirror. I also cling to another face, a face so much like mine. The eyes are the same, so filled with merciless ice that it is hard to believe we do not see the world in the same way. In a way, we do. Cold hearts, pale faces. Stony and vividly emotionless murderers, each in our own right. He kills cold-bloodedly, without reason. It’s impressive, but I am the one who has killed grown women by simply existing. It’s not such a bad thing, being hated so deeply and vengefully that you sometimes feel that there is not escape. In a twisted kind of way, it snaps everything into perspective. Never yet has my dear brother attempted to kill me, but I am sure this is simply for the reason that he wishes to take his time, frighten me, torture me with the unknown. I don’t mind, really. Having somebody hate me so strongly gives me a reasonless excuse to hate him blindly back with all of my heart. And we both know it’s easier to hate than to love.

When I was born, my life was already set out for me. I lived obliviously and cheerfully until that fateful funeral, which changed my life forever. I can still feel the rain on my cheeks. It gave me a good way of hiding the fact that I wasn’t crying. Most people, at least once in their lives, do their best to conceal the fact that they are weeping. I am forced to do the opposite, if only so people do not realize the extent of my emotionlessness and cold-heartedness. It’s deep, bone deep. Running through my blood. I’m bitter and sarcastic and ice-cold and there is nothing I can do to change that. I stopped trying long ago, when my brother’s hazel eyes met mine and I knew that it was only a matter of time. A matter of time before we came face to face in a battle which can only produce one victor. I remember everything so clearly, every moment and every second since his mother died. I’m clever, yes, but sometimes I wonder if I’m clever enough. I think he’s afraid of me, to be honest. Still working out exactly how dangerous I am. I have only one answer.

Too dangerous

I began to remember more details of the funeral; our father’s drunken cries, Lilianne’s still yet weeping face. My own hair forming a shield over my face, concealing the slightest of smiles. Not a smile at the poor woman’s death. She had chosen to die, and I didn’t understand death at the time. No, I was smiling in bitter, glass-clear understanding of the world around me. Of my brother. Of my father. Of the whole of District One. Of Panem. And of how to make them hurt. That day I saw the grief in everyone’s eyes. I was old enough to put the pieces together. Death meant sadness, deep, dark sadness. The kind of sadness I felt all of the time, haunting me like a blanket of pain over my mind. If I could kill, I could share with the world how I felt, and maybe that would fix me. I didn’t have to be alone in my sadness. The world could pay for the hand fate had dealt me.

Here, the entry ends with a scribble that might be a signature and might simply be the pen running out. Elvira returns from her stalkings with information she locks away in her mind to use when it will most scare her elder brother. Smiling, she falls into bed yet doesn't sleep. Her mother lurks by the door, a mixture of feelings swirling around her mind.

( T H E P A S T I S F O R E V E R )

"We've been had. Kaelen Dempsey and Annise Lawrence went missing two weeks ago."

Two weeks later

Two men sit together in a room, talking in low voices. Each of them wears the unmistakable uniform worn only by Peace-keepers. "How did we let this happen?" cries Detective Taverson, setting his cup of coffee down so hard the table shakes beneath his fists. He doesn't wait for his colleague to answer before hurtling to his feet and beginning to pace the small room. "First we somehow let somebody get away with killing twenty people - twenty! - all within the space of a few years," he pauses for effect, slamming his hand down on a pile of paperwork his fellow Peacekeeper has been leafing through. "And now they go and disappear on us. After we've bothered working out who they are and how they did it - we cant even catch them. What will happen to us if the Capitol hears of this, huh?"


The second man, Wilson, rolls his eyes and avoids the question. "What can we do? They've disappeared. We tried to catch him and now he's gone, along with his accomplice of a girlfriend," the man slouches further down into his chair and shrugs, displaying his lack of concern for the matter. Taverson sits heavily back down and sighs, his voice thick with anger. "Don't be ridiculous, Wilson. People don't just go missing. Not in my district, not anywhere. For heavens sake, you couldn't get a job in Twelve if you tried. Pull yourself together and tell me, can people disappear?" Wilson lets his head rest in his hands, wishing that he could go and work in Twelve. There, everyone was far too concerned with being poor to worry about killing people and then legging it. "No, Detective, Wilson replied dutifully, trying to do as his partner has said and 'pull himself together'. Begrudgingly, he looked up. "Right," began Taverson, "So, what are the options? Where could he be?


Wilson bites his lip, looking up at the taller man with a look of intense non-commitment in his dim eyes. "They could be hiding. Taverson looks at him. "Peacekeepers have been scouting the district ever since the disappearance was reported. The whole place is monitored. People can't hide in a place like this. Wilson frowns, trying to think. He wonders what his colleague is getting at, before it hits him like a brick wall. "He could be dead. Or he could have run away," the man concludes. He hopes to see approval in his partners eyes, if only for his own sake. "That's right. He's either dead or he's run away. Now, the second one has to be ruled out. Taverson pauses, and Wilson takes the chance to shoot him a look which plainly means 'Why? People have run away before!' Taverson dismisses it quickly. "We have guards scouting the boundaries. Nobody comes in or out of this place without me knowing about it. And nobody has come in our out in weeks." Wilson thinks for a moment, before realising what Taverson is getting at. "Surely not! he cries. "You don't think he's gone and got himself killed, do you?"


"Actually, I do," Taverson concludes. Wilson shakes his head, wondering why he ever agreed to any of this in the first place. He reaches across the table for another sticky pink donut and bites into it thoughtfully. Jam fills his mouth. "I thought you said he was clever?" Wilson argues, thinking that this criminal mastermind that they have been failing to catch for weeks cannot possibly end up dead. He had been looking forward to sending him to have his tongue chopped off. "He is clever. But you can't kill twenty people without ruffling a few feathers and when you ruffle as many feathers as that, people want you dead."Wilson takes a moment to digest both his donut and what the man is saying. "So, you think he was killed by somebody who hated him? Maybe a family member of a victim? How on earth are we going to deal with this one?"
"Better than we did the last one, hopefully," crows Taverson, pulling up a chair and reaching for his own pile of paperwork with a podgy hand.


"Have you looked into it already?" Wilson asks, wondering why his partner always seems to do the work without him. Maybe it was best, anyway. "I have. I wanted to make quite sure I was on the right track before I brought it to your attention. So, we worked out who the killer was, right?" Taverson asks, not really expecting a helpful answer but wishing to keep the smaller man on the same page as himself. "Right. Kaelen Dempsey, eighteen years of age. Serial poisoner. Intelligent. Manipulative. Only has his father left, after his momma killed herself." Wilson smiles, feeling quite proud of himself. "Yes. Well, no. You see, I've been working on the case all week, trying to find out more. It just didn't add up, you know? Young boy kills people and then gets killed, yet is so perfectly deceptive that nobody but us knew. His dads completely out of it permanently, and like you say, his mamma killed herself thirteen years back. So who knew his secrets? Who killed him?"


Wilson looks up at Taverson, dumbfounded. "I don't know?" he asks, uncertainty in his voice. He takes yet another donut from the bowl and begins to chew it slowly. "The person who knows him best. Look, I've done a little more digging about his family and it turns out there are some things about that lot that even the neighbours don't know." Wilson blinked, afraid to ask. Taverson went on anyway, not needing a prompt to show off what he had dug up that week. "There is someone else in the family. Hidden, completely. Goes to school right on the other side of the District and never ever seen by her neighbours. Never. Just sits inside all alone. Apparently she and her brother-" Wilson screws up his face in confusion. "Her brother? I thought that there was nobody else in the family?"
"I didn't know there was, I admit. Apparently she's completely untraceable, nobody but Kaelen and her mother and father know she exists. She's his half sister and apparently she hasn't been seen in public since the funeral."


"Kendra's funeral?" asked Wilson, suddenly not understanding a single detail of the case. "How old is she now? Taverson braces himself for the downpour of dismissals his partner is about to rain down on him. "Sixteen, Wilson."
"Sixteen?" Wilson roars. "This is getting stupid. First we have a eighteen year old murderer on our hands, a genius at that. Now we have his sixteen year old half-sister. Right."
Taverson nods, acknowledging the peculiarity of the situation. He takes another sip of his coffee, and then sets it back down, more gently this time. "Here me out. She's far too suspicious to let slide. Firstly, she has the means, motive and opportunity."


"How, Taverson? How does a sixteen year old have the means, motive and opportunity to kill her brother?" his voice deepens, maybe in emotion. He himself has a little sister, and the thought that she could kill him in such a cold blooded way - even if he had done bad - was heartbreaking. "According to reports," Taverson said, rifling through a pile of photographs and pieces of scrap-paper, "The two have hated each other ever since Kendra died. Apparently the events that lead up to her death involved her learning of her husbands affair and the child that was the result of it. Kaelen, our serial-killer, seemed to hate his sister and blame her for his mothers death." The man slid a photograph across the table and frowned around the room. Wilson examines it carefully. It appears to be a photograph of a funeral situated outside. The lens is splattered with rain and the photographer appears to be taking it from behind a bush, but it is clear that the boy, Kaelen, is sitting at the front, crying. Next to him sits his father, drunk as usual. Behind them sits a woman and young child, the child's eyes covered by a sheet of hair and her mother blankly staring forward.


"That," says Taverson, jabbing his fat finger that the small girl in question. She cannot be much older than four years old, but it is unmistakable the resemblance she has to the murder suspect. Her half-brother. "Is Elvira Lillianne Dempsey-Farlow. Half brother of Kaelen, daughter of Mr. Dempsey and his current wife, Ms. Leila Farlow. And she is a murderer."
Wilson studies his partners face carefully, taking into account his eagerness to jump to conclusions. "Your proof? This photo shows nothing at all. Only that the child attended the funeral." Without speaking, Detective Taverson slid a second photo across the desk. In this photo, the girl's hair had moved to reveal her face. Wilson gasped and drew back in his chair. The girls eyes where filled with an expression Wilson had never seen on somebody so young. Murderous. Terrifying. Knowing. Blind hatred and ice cold anger. "As freaky as that is, we need more proof than that to accuse the kid of anything. You say you've been digging?"


"I have. Basically I worked out that they've both been at each others throats for years. She's pretty much an expert in hunting and hiding herself from the eyes of the world. I managed to gather information from her teachers at her school. She's quiet, resourceful. Apparently she keeps to herself, but if you anger her she's unstoppable. We have reports of broken limbs, concussions, issues with family members after disputes. The kids dangerous, but she manages to make everything she does almost untraceable. I looked into her past, too. Scary stuff. Kept locked up for the first four years of her life, until Kendra found out about her. Even then she was hidden away, yet somehow managed to train. Watching her crazy brother, I guess. Anyway, Kaelen's father married her mother after Kendra's death. They've lived together ever since. So, she has opportunity."


"Motive?" asks Wilson doubtfully. Lots of siblings fight, after all. "According to her diary," Taverson waves a small black notebook in the air, a gleeful expression on his face, "and her mother, who I managed to talk to before she had to leave 'urgently', it was only a matter of time for them. In her diary, Elvira mentions believing that he would kill her one day soon, and with his record I don't blame her for thinking that. So, in a kind of premiture act of self defence, say she cuts his neck and hides the body? What then? It's hidden somewhere. Right. So where? I already have an answer. She hides it beside his mothers grave, underground. Where would nobody look for a dead body? A cemetery. And here," the man is filled with glee as he throws a tape across the room, "Here is a video of a girl with dark hair and a slight stature in the cemetery the night after he went missing. By his mothers grave. She's twisted. Sick, even. And I reckon she did it. We don't have enough evidence to convict, but if we could bring her in. But that's not the worst of it. The main motive I an find is the very recent death by poisoning of Kaelen's father. Two years back. He's an alcoholic, which is usually what centers the murderers attacks. I could pretty much tell you that he killed him. Making him the murderer of Elvira's father. She's victims family and she has all the motive in the world to rid us of her brother."

There is a sharp rapping at the door, and the girl who has been watching from the window takes the distraction to slip away. Everything is planned out.

"I have news on the Prichit case," says the Peacekeeper in a bored monotone, picking up a donut from the table and setting his walkie-talkie back in his belt. "It's been a long day." The two already in the room take a moment to share their findings with the third, slurping at tea and making plans of the girls arrest early the next morning. Just a questioning. An investigation. They could find the body later.

The new agents radio buzzes to static. "Walter? It's Harrow. I have a missing person report to file. Elvira Lillianna Dempsey-Farlow was spotted following a trail of clothing earlier this morning, out into the forests. It is unknown where she has gone, but it is likely she is journeying with others. Peacekeepers have already been dispatched, but they can't seem to trace her. Over." The three men looked at each other in awe. Taverson coughed and looked up "Call in the men. You won't find her."


( B E F R E E L I L B I R D )

Credit to Lalia for the template, Chaos and South for the ideas. South for the Peacekeeper character and plottage. Face-claim is Chelsea Coyle.

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OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG.

THIS IS FANTASTIC.

But there are a few things in the history that need fixing, which is proabably my fault for not mentioning them before.

Kaelen's father is dead. He killed him right after he turned seventeen. Don't know how that would affect the marriage, but I'm guessing Elle and her mother would have either left or Kae would have gotten his own place. Other than that, it's completely glorious. Just fix that and I'll accept it on the spot.

[clover ❁]

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG.

THANK YOU.

Okay, so I fixed it all up and it should be right to go. Thanks South!

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Meh, there's still a bit of tense confusion, and I don't think they would have lived together after KAelen's father was dead, but whaterver, whatever, we do what we want.

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