CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

DEBRIEFING

( — a short interview that takes place between researchers and research participants immediately following their participation in a psychology experiment. )

— ♡ —

          ISLA'S FACIAL EXPRESSION INSTANTLY CHANGES WITH THE REVEAL. Rhiannon watches it change from concern to pure incredulity, as she had always been one of the first people to point fingers at Stephanie, reminding Rhiannon that was the person who should have stood by her side through it all—and chose to do the exact opposite.

          That's the whole point of Isla's argument. Stephanie always had a choice, and she used it to ditch her sister and let her get burned, but Rhiannon also has to remind Isla she brought it upon herself. Even though she's still awfully bitter over it all, as she wishes she had had her sister by her side during the worst period of her life, she knew she had to be held accountable and pay for her mistakes.

          And, boy, did she pay for them.

          It might also be the right time to let go—after all, things between Rhiannon and her family can't possibly get any worse than they already are and, technically, Stephanie had nothing to do with it.

          Losing a house owned by his family in a fire is no punishment for Connor. The Duncans own several other houses, houses much bigger and valuable than that one, and this is simply a pebble stuck in his shoe; once he gets it out, he'll be free to live his life as if nothing had happened. Rhiannon, unfortunately, doesn't have the opportunity to treat herself to such luxuries.

          "Rhea," Isla timidly begins, dropping her hands, "are you serious? You called her?"

          "Yeah," Rhiannon confirms, and she swears she can see smoke beginning to leave Isla's temples and her nostrils flaring. "Isla, she's my sister; I can't stay mad at her forever."

          "You can't stay mad at your siblings when they ruin your favorite pair of jeans"—Rhiannon shudders when Isla raises her voice, but she doubts she noticed it—"but you certainly can when they ditched you when you needed them the most, especially when your parents might as well be Mr. and Mrs. Satan!"

          Isla briefly pauses, most likely to give her a chance to say something, but Rhiannon simply falls back to her chair. Her body aches with exhaustion, as she might be willowy, but certainly not athletic, and all the running and walking around she has been doing tonight, added to the horrifying sight that was Frances' body sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs, hasn't done any wonders to her mental state.

          For a hospital, the hallways are awfully quiet—eerily so, even during such a chaotic night. Moments earlier, the staff was running back and forth and the floor almost seemed to throb beneath Rhiannon's feet as she dodged them, not wanting to be the one making them get to a room one second too late for having bumped into her. Now, everything is almost silent.

          There's the faint buzzing of the heating system, keys on keyboards being pressed as nurses type, phones ringing and some chatter, but this place barely seems like a hospital. The strong, irritating smell of disinfectant is a constant presence, one that serves to remind Rhiannon where she is, and she's surrounded by colorful scrubs and white coats.

          "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled," Isla mutters, fidgeting, and Rhiannon shakes her head, leaning forward to support it on her hand, her elbow pressing against her knee. Her free arm remains wrapped around her own torso, as if it was the only thing keeping her rib-cage from exploding; truthfully, that's what it feels like at the moment. "I'm sorry, Rhea."

          "We didn't do it," she murmurs back. "Jude, Matteo and I. We didn't kill McCall."

          Isla's eyes widen. "Wait. Wait, wait, go back; the guy's dead?" Rhiannon doesn't answer. "I thought . . . I thought it was just the fire. Oh my God, Rhea, are you hurt?"

          "No." She sniffles. "There's evidence that proves my alibi and Jude's, but we know Matteo. We know he'd never . . . even though everyone in that house had a motive."

          Isla occupies the chair next to her, taking her hands in his (but not before pulling her phone out of her pocket to send Rowan a quick text, asking him to please be a darling and escort Stephanie). When she speaks, she does it incredibly quietly, even though there's no one around. "Rhiannon. What happened to you? What did he do to you?"

          Rhiannon thinks she sobs. Maybe not. The only thing she's certain of is that she tells Isla the full truth, the same she told Jude and couldn't bear to tell Hailey or Beatrice or anyone else. Her arm aches right where Frances grabbed her, almost a month ago, and she swears she can still feel his fingers pressing against her skin, his thumb touching his index finger and bruising.

          Isla says nothing, keeping an arm wrapped around her shoulders and burying her forehead on the crook of her neck, and just lets her cry and confess every bad thing she has gotten involved into ever since Project Oxygen began.

          Like Connor said, she has always been an easy target; her height and long legs can't do much to help her when she's about as athletic as a sloth and has barely any upper body strength. Her entire body, for that matter, is only useful when it comes to the aesthetic part of it, as it, along with her face, is what warrants the most compliments—never her accomplishments or her talents.

          She used to be a model, yes, but she had also learned how to play the piano. She won her first competition at the young age of five. She was also the youngest intern at her parents' company and helped them develop several medications.

          You have a great figure. You must work like hell to maintain it; tell me, what's your meal plan? How do you stay so slim?

          You have such a pretty face. I bet you're breaking hearts left and right.

          Were you a model? You look the part.

          Nothing is ever good enough when she's so weak, so cowardly she can't even defend herself or anyone else. The one time she snapped at her mother, on Stephanie's wedding, she had the surprise factor going on for her, but it's not reliable. It will never be.

          The strangest ensemble of people turns into her getaway. Stephanie Ford is livid when she meets up with them, wearing her pajamas and a pair of Ugg boots under her trench coat, chestnut hair pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head. Everything inside Rhiannon threatens to break into a million pieces when she looks at her sister, vision clouded by all the tears escaping from her tear-ducts, but the ice quickly shatters.

          "Jesus," Stephanie whispers, her wedding ring glowing golden under the fluorescent white lights, and gently pulls her up from her seat. Rowan, standing next to her, steps towards Isla's chair, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Jesus, Rhiannon. I heard the news on the radio; are you okay? Are you hurt?"

           "I'm fine," Rhiannon lies, when Stephanie backs away from their hug, watching Rowan from the corner of her eye, as his movements captured her attention. He shrugs off his jacket, handing it to her, and seems hesitant about touching her. "I'm okay. I just . . . I just need a bed."

          "A bed," Stephanie echoes. "That can be arranged. Are you here alone?"

          "No," she replies, at the same time Isla clears her throat, but Stephanie ignores her. "I was . . . I drove Jude here. We left before the fire because"—she inhales—"someone killed our professor and knocked Jude out when he was checking for a pulse." Stephanie holds her breath, and Rhiannon remembers just how like the two of them look, even if Stephanie's features are much softer, including the strong jaw. "Jude didn't do it. I didn't do it. I . . . we have no idea who did it or what's going to happen, but, Steph, I need to get out of here. Please."

          Stephanie sighs. "You know you're welcome to stay with Aaron and me." Isla dramatically rolls her eyes, standing up from the plastic chair, and slips her arm through Rowan's, who shivers with the cold air in the hallway. As if her guilt wasn't weighing enough already, Rhiannon feels even worse by having his jacket swung over her shoulder. "Have you talked to anyone? The police?" Rhiannon silently denies it. "They'll want to speak to you, obviously, but it'll have to wait until you rest. I just hope it won't get you in trouble."

          Rhiannon doesn't have the heart to tell her she's in enough trouble as it is, buried neck deep in problems, and lets her lead the way out of the hospital, with Isla giving her hand a gentle squeeze. She almost thinks she'll have a chance to breathe of relief outside, but, as expected, things don't go her way.

          This time, it's because there are police officers waiting outside. They show their IDs, and Rhiannon doesn't bother asking how they know who she is, as they must have already talked to Beatrice and asked her to provide basic information about all the participants.

          They say they only want to ask a few questions, but Stephanie intervenes, with stiff shoulders and all, and hands them a paper tissue with her address scribbled on it, arguing Rhiannon is seconds away from collapsing and her health comes before any questions. Rhiannon doubts that's how it works, with the officers exchanging a nervous glance, but they let them through to the parking lot.

          Aaron, unsurprisingly, is awake when they get to the apartment. What shocks Rhiannon, however, is how he has treated her a lot better than her own family, and he proves it once more by immediately pulling her into a bone-breaking hug as soon as she steps into the living room.

          "You can take the guest room," Stephanie informs, keeping a hand between her shoulder blades, and Rhiannon's stomach nearly gets emptied when she risks a glance towards the spiral staircase. It's not nearly as tall as the one in the experiment house, but it would still be a pretty nasty fall. "I'll let you know if the police arrive before you wake up."

          "Thank you," she replies, and her voice is barely louder than a breath. Stephanie purses her lips together before letting her walk on her own, as if she was afraid of what the monsters upstairs could do to her, but there are some journeys you have to take on your own.

          There's a bunch of unread text message on Rhiannon's phone when she closes the door of the guest room behind her and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know who they belong to. Most of them are from Isla and Stephanie, but there's one from the blocked number.

          She leaves it for last, only opening it when she's lying under the flannel sheets, shivering under her thin clothing.

          BLOCKED NUMBER, 01:05 AM: See what happens when you don't listen to me?

          Rhiannon presses her face against the pillow, trying hard not to scream.

— ♡ —

          THE NEXT MORNING, RHIANNON WAKES UP DRENCHED IN SWEAT. Her teeth are chattering when she pushes away the covers and sits up, leaving behind a puddle on the sheets beneath her; for a second, she almost manages to forget why she spend the night at her sister's apartment and why she's sweating like a pig in such a cold morning.

          Almost.

          The memories come flooding in like watering flowing from a ruptured dam, nearly knocking her back to the mattress, and she tugs at her hair, as if it was a way of making it all go away. She wasn't even in the house when the fire started, but she saw the candles and all the newspapers and magazines surrounding them.

          It's like she can feel the smoke in her eyes and how it turns into gasoline as it oozes down her air-ways, clogging her lungs and seeping into her bloodstream. She's gasping for air when she rolls out of bed, stumbling across the room towards the sports bag containing all her clothes and belongings from the experiment house.

          Luckily, she remembered to pick up her bag after she drove Jude's car to his parents' house last night, with Stephanie following her. Unluckily, she didn't have time to buy another pack of cigarettes, meaning she's down to three cigarettes, which definitely won't last during the rest of the day.

          Someone knocks on the door just when her shaky hands finish zipping the bag open and she jumps back, squeezing the crumpled pack of cigarettes between the fingers of her free hand.

          "No smoking in the house," Stephanie says, hands on her hips.

          "I'll smoke outside, then," Rhiannon argues. "It helps me relax."

          "And ruins your lungs. No smoking."

          "Steph."

          "No. Why don't you go take a quick shower before breakfast to decompress?" Rhiannon quirks an eyebrow, finally noticing the white, fluffy towels her sister is carrying. "There's someone waiting for you downstairs."

          "The police?"

          "Ezra."

          Rhiannon nearly drops what she's holding. "Oh. What does he want?"

          "To check on you. I'll leave these in the bathroom."

          Stephanie has never been one to talk a lot and their relationship is still strained, so Rhiannon doesn't find it odd that their conversation was cut short. She stuffs the pack back into the bag, under all her belongings so she'll have an easier time trying to ignore it, and pulls out some fresh clothes.

          Her phone is too active at this time in the morning. Even though she knows she'll regret checking it, as nothing good ever came from it since the anonymous texts first started filling her inbox, she does it anyway.

          ISLA, 02:33 AM: Just let me know you're okay when you wake up. Love you

          MATTEO, 09:45 AM: I'm okay. We're okay. How are you? How's Jude and Roman?

          MATTEO, 09:45 AM: The police know the CoD wasn't smoke inhalation. You have to tell them the same story we did.

          MATTEO, 09:46 AM: Tell them you don't know what happened. Tell them you woke up and saw him lying there and don't know why. Tell them you got out before the fire (which is true in your case. We didn't include this part in our statement).

          MATTEO, 09:47 AM: Let me know how it goes.

          BLOCKED NUMBER, 09:59 AM: Rise and shine, sleepy head! You know what they say about liars—they'll get caught eventually. Think twice before you speak.

          Huffing, Rhiannon replies to them all, thankful for the existence of auto-correct, as she's typing so quickly she makes tons of spelling errors. She reassures Isla and Matteo, letting them know everyone is physically okay (and Jude should be out of the hospital in no time), but decided to be everything but nice to the blocked number.

          RHIANNON, 10:35 AM: Screw you.

          It's not much, but it will do.

          For now.

          Ezra is downstairs, like Stephanie said, and is also here to let Rhiannon know Jude is, in fact, getting out of the hospital later today and will be staying at their parents' house, as expected, and has already given his statement to the police. Unfortunately, there's not much time for chit-chat, as he, Aaron and Stephanie aren't the only people joining her in the living room.

          Therefore, Rhiannon has to eat her breakfast in the kitchen and give out a statement to the deputy sitting in front of her. She chews as slowly as possible, taking her time with every spoonful of cereal she brings to her mouth, and focuses on the words Ezra whispered in her ear when he pulled her into a hug.

          Only reply with yes, no, I don't remember or I don't know. Only lie about things you know you'll be able to get away with.

          "How did you know Frances McCall?" the deputy questions.

          "He was a researcher," Rhiannon replies, staring into her bowl of cereal, "in the experiment I was a part of."

          "Did you have any contact with him outside of the experiment?"

          "No."

          "Wasn't he your professor?"

          "No."

          "What can you tell me about last night? Do you know what happened to him?"

          "No. I woke up, got out of my room and found him at the bottom of the stairs." She swallows another spoonful of cereal and the deputy stares her right in the eyes. His are so dark she can barely distinguish the pupil from the iris. "I don't know what happened. I didn't see anything."

          "What about the fire?"

          "I don't know what happened," she echoes. "I left before it started. My boyfriend got knocked out after he tried looking for a pulse, so I thought it'd be best to go to the hospital right away."

          "Whose pulse?"

          "Professor McCall's."

          "Do you know anyone who would want to hurt him?"

          "No."

          "If you know anything that may help with this investigation, you know where to find us."

          Rhiannon doesn't reply. She most certainly doesn't tell them she knows she spent an absurd amount of time with the person who killed Frances and doesn't open her mouth about the texts.

          The group has to stay together. Any threats to their cohesiveness must be eliminated.

— ♡ —

          HAILEY IS IN THE HOSPITAL.

          Rhiannon only finds out about it out of pure luck, as she assumed Hailey had gone home last night after having calmed down, especially now that she knows Gabriella is okay, wherever she is. It turns out she's still here, sitting on a hospital bed by herself, with her right forearm covered by white bandages.

          "Scraped it against a broken window," she explains, as Rhiannon sits on an armchair, after having caught her staring at it. "A nurse didn't think it was an accident, even though it was because I was more focused on not suffocating in that house, so they're keeping me here for 'precaution'. How are you?"

          "I'm fine," Rhiannon replies. "How's Gabriella?"

          Hailey sighs, flipping through the TV channels and ignoring anything that mentions last night's events. "She'll be fine. She inhaled quite a bit of smoke and we split up with the panic, hence my . . . pathetic exhibit from last night, but she'll be okay. Hopefully."

          They stay quiet for a while and Rhiannon desperately wants one of them to say something, as she has had enough of awkward silence to last her for a lifetime, and, when there's nothing going, it's too easy to remember things she definitely doesn't want to think about.

          The winter breeze, entering through a half-open window, dances with the curtains covering the windows in the room, with the latter swaying softly. The TV show Hailey is watching serves merely as white noise, as no one is paying proper attention to it—after all, how could they?

          "Did you do it?" Hailey quietly asks, as Rhiannon shifts her position on the armchair, with a knee close to her chest and her other leg beneath her. "Frances. Did you . . . did you push him?"

          "No." Rhiannon wraps a hand around her calf. "I hated the guy, but no. Did you?"

          "Nope." Hailey takes a deep breath. "I don't know if you believe me or not, especially after how awful I was to him, but I . . . I'd never do that. I get nauseous just by thinking about what happened." She stares down at her crossed legs. "It's really hard to believe, isn't it? The dude's dead. Someone in that house pushed him off the stairs."

          Two phones vibrate in unison, startling them both, and Rhiannon's heart skips a beat.

          BLOCKED NUMBER, 12:16 PM: Watch who you trust. One misstep and you're out.

          Rhiannon immediately jumps on her seat, turning around towards the entrance, as if there was some hooded figure suspiciously wandering around the hallway, but there's no one to be found other than doctors and nurses. Hailey, on the other hand, knits her brows together when she stares down at her own phone.

          "Did you . . ." she hesitantly begins.

          "Yes," Rhiannon confirms, in a shaky voice. "I got the text too."

— ♡ —

soooo anyway stephanie is played by torrey devitto (yes i know about wren and melissa in pll leave me ALONE). if you remember, ezra was in the cast chapter but he ended up not being as relevant as i thought he'd be; regardless, he's still played by max irons. aaron is played by my bb blair redford

i also added a paragraph to the last chapter since i conveniently forgot to add it when i wrote it; it simply states that the cameras in the hallway upstairs were off until shortly before jude left rhiannon's room and the missing footage matches the one from the cameras downstairs. don't ask how i forgot about it please thanks