Spring half-term was here, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being away from William, so I nursed the idea in the others’ heads to invite our dear friends to stay with us. It was decided that we would invite everyone to London with us. The girls would stay in the Korsning wing, and the boys would stay in the Croise wing.
Actually, Hogan tried to mix it up by having Scarlett stay in his wing, but churchgoer Scarlett politely declined the invitation, so she came with Pam, Delphine and me. Pollard, Walker and Morgan tried to get themselves invited, and so did Abadi and Brown, but I refused and forbade Hogan to even entertain the idea of inviting them.
When we arrived at Draycott Place, the guys were very impressed. They had never been into a Yan’s house, and they were very shocked and amazed by the amount of antiques in the rooms, especially the weapon room, where there was a display of progression from the first Yan weapons to the ones in use today.
Yanar was extremely advanced, and although we were not allowed to use our technology outside our territories, in our communities we did use it, especially in the house. Everything was electronic, computerised, and we even had an AM – an automated maid.
After running into some family members and having to say hello to everyone, we immediately dived into our investigation. No matter how bad seeing our insignia on a poster was, the school was the real treat. Something was going on, and it had a link to the school, so we decided that an investigation into the school’s history would be very informative.
We agreed that we had to find out everything about the school since it had been donated to Surrey County Council, and its first headmaster. We had come to the conclusion that nothing could happen in a school without the headmaster being a part of it. If he had had any objection or disagreed with anything, he would have done something by now, so he must have been part of the problem.
We had been in Draycott Place for a few days and were having the time of our lives. Even Hassan and Tristan had been staying with us, and William and I were getting closer and closer. We were like two lovebirds cut off from the world and would go up to the roof every day and watch the sunset. I couldn’t have wished for better.
One day, while watching a movie in the movie room, we were told by the AB – automated butler – that a few people wanted to see me. When William and I got to the door, we realised that it was Abadi, Brown, Pollard, Morgan and Walker. Apparently, after realising that they would not be invited to join us in London, they had accepted Abadi’s invitation.
Abadi, from what he told us, lived in south-east London with his parents and five siblings. His father was a wealthy businessman, and his mother a doctor. They had a nice large property in Greenwich. Apparently, after cruising the internet, they had easily found out where Draycott Place was and decided to drop in for a visit.
As soon as they arrived, the girls made it clear that they would rather stay with us than with Abadi’s family, citing that Abadi’s parents were very strict, so they had not been enjoying themselves there. So there they were at our door, all smiles. I unashamedly asked Abadi how he knew about Draycott Place, and he told me that he had gotten the information from Hogan.
It did not take long for him to admit that Hogan had invited them to pop in for a visit any time. After leaving them in the hall, where everybody had gathered since their unwanted arrival, I grabbed Hogan’s hand and dragged him away from the group. I said to Hogan in Yan, “A swayti guinadje na? Dume a do wada ha do bey mabbe?” which meant “Have you lost your mind? What are you doing here with them?”
He turned around, smiled at them, then turned to me and said, “Bey handinimen pat. halah timmi. Jotacam atchube be nasta,” which meant “They already know about us. The game is up. Just let them in.”
I was adamant that none of them could stay with us, so Hogan and William had to convince them to go back to Abadi’s house.
Alex had complained many times that one of the wall panels in his dormitory at J.C. was loose, so after being ignored by everyone, including us, when it came to his accommodation problems, he had decided to fix it himself before he left for half-term.
After pulling the panel out, he noticed that there was something hidden inside the wall. When he pulled it out, he realised that it was a diary. There was no name, but due to the fact that it was in a room that was in the boys’ wing, we guessed that the author was a boy of similar age to us. He read it as soon as they arrived in London. The author had written about a friend of his and someone called Luke, who had passed away in suspicious circumstances mid-term in the school year. The friend’s name was Lillian Paterson.
After reading the name, we Googled it and found out that her father was a very famous journalist who had covered the country’s biggest stories and risked his life many times covering war-torn countries. He was also known for denouncing abuse from big companies and denouncing injustice in the work-place. He had become the go-to journalist for whistle-blowers all over Europe. We also found out that he was a radio host on a show that was extremely popular and had millions of followers.
Lillian’s mother was a painter. She was known for her depictions of the human soul in colour. The attempt from some mainstream religions to close one of her events had put her on the map. She was one of the most recognised figures in the art world. Her philosophy that each person was inhabited by darkness and they should accept and embrace it was said to be regarded as very controversial. She also had a legion of fans who saw her as a visionary, and her book about her art and the force behind it was said to have been flying off the shelves.
According to the diary, every free hour she had during the week, Lillian would go to the canteen and order the same thing: custard doughnuts with hot chocolate. One day, right before Easter, they had gone to the canteen together. This time, however, her custard cakes and her hot chocolate were all laid out for her on a platter. The kitchen lady smiled at her and told her that she had anticipated her coming, so she was ready with her order.
Lillian took the platter and left, walking towards her usual seat. The diary author was right behind her. When it was his turn to give his order, he observed the kitchen lady speaking to a skinny, grey-haired man in black. They were both watching Lillian. Noticing his presence, the kitchen lady walked towards him and gave him his banana cakes and hot chocolate.
He went straight to his usual seat, which was opposite Lillian’s, and told her that if he was her, he wouldn’t eat or drink what she had been given. She asked why, and he pointed at the pale man in black and the kitchen lady, and told her that he had heard the gentleman ask the lady if she had given the girl the food, and the kitchen lady had replied that she had and that she was about to eat it.
He added that while he was in the middle of his narrative, they both looked towards the kitchen and realised that the kitchen lady was still staring at Lillian. Even after witnessing that, Lillian still brushed it off as if she hadn’t seen anything strange. He wrote that she had told him that it was probably nothing. After the break was over, they went to class and, later on, back to their rooms.
The next day, the news broke that the very same night, Lillian had been stricken with an illness and died. He wanted to say something but then realised that it would have been pointless; although he was uncomfortable with what had transpired the day before, what had he actually witnessed? Two adults being warm and considerate to a student and watching her while she had her tea? It would have gone nowhere and only angered his parents, who would have seen it as a need for attention when all focus should be on his recently departed friend and her family.
As shocking the discovery of the diary and its very troubling content was, it wasn’t as bad as what we were about to uncover. I had believed every word in the diary, and we had decided to do our own investigation on the school academic staff. As difficult as it was to find information about people, I was home, and therefore, I could use my tracker. I knew that anything out of the ordinary in their lives would have at least gotten a few sentences in the local paper, and I was right.
It turned out that one of the school teachers had lost all her children, and she had four, one after the other. They were not students at the school, but they did live next to the school. That their mother was one of the school academic staff made that discovery as sad and tragic as it was rather strange.
An image was starting to form in my head, an image where the people involved could have had something in common. I think, in a way, we all were starting to notice a pattern in the tragedies that had plagued the school. A very chilly and disturbing pattern where parents were directly involved in their offspring’s deaths.