The noise of comings and goings, coupled with telephones ringing and voices cackling, was drowned by the sound of Beyoncé's Lemonade. As she clicked on the keys, writing that silly piece that Jonas asked her to do, Raina counted the words until she reached that promised fifteen hundred mark.

Humming and only paying half-attention to what she was writing, Raina shook her head along with the music. She excelled at the ability to drown the outside, locking herself in her own little world, where nothing happened unless she deemed it necessary. The story she wrote proved unsatisfactory, so she put herself in auto-pilot, letting her fingers do all the work while her head tended to more important matters.

It had been a week since she left the quiet town of Rye and she already missed it. Not the town per se, of course, but rather the vibe, the feeling that invaded her as she chased after the story she knew in her heart lurked in those stony, picturesque streets. It was a sensation she hadn't felt in a long time. Years, actually.

The last time it visited was when she wrote that piece on junior executives trading sex for job opportunities at that prestigious law firm in Manchester. Now, that familiar rush came back and hit her in the most unexpected of ways, like a blizzard in July.

As her feet tapped on the floor, not to the beat of 6 Inch, but to the rhythm of her own jitters, she felt a pat on her shoulder that almost made her heart skip a beat. The only downside to her ability to lock herself in herself was that, when the outside came knocking in, it usually took her by surprise.

"Oh, for Pete's sake," she said, her hand instinctively travelling to her chest, feeling her racing heart. "Tommy, you scared the Bejesus out of me!"

The young man raised his hands and shook them, his round face drawing an apologetic smile. "Sorry Rai, I didn't mean to startle you. Chief wants to see you. He says there's something you should see in his office."

Raina nodded and thanked Tommy with a smile of her own. Putting down her red headphones, she Ctrl+Alt+Shift her laptop and walked over to Jonas's office, her feet dragging. The powerful smell of espresso welcomed her, triggering her morning sickness at one in the afternoon. The room was small and minimal. Only a desk, a couple of chairs, a sofa and a bookcase. Wall decoration was scarce, save for Jonas's Durham University diploma and a photo of him and his wife, Greta. A lonely plant sat at the corner, neglected.

"What's up, chief?" She asked, sitting across from him.

The pudgy, white-haired man spoke, after finishing the contents of his small, shiny espresso cup. "Look for yourself."

He pointed towards the television, where a blonde, overly dressed woman spoke directly to the camera. He turned up the volume and her hoarse voice echoed in the space.

"The woman, identified as Marjorie Colton, was fifty-seven years old and was a retired teacher who lived a quiet life in a small, two-bedroom apartment in Lion Street. Her only son, Asher, died a month ago when the Costcutter where he worked in was mugged, leaving a total of three victims behind, including the nineteen year-old boy. Mrs. Colton's suicide comes as a shock to this peaceful and quiet community, who prays this string of blood and carnage is nearing its end. This has been Ella Atkins, reporting for Channel 4 news."

Jonas muted the television before turning to face her. "Marjorie Colton, that's the woman you questioned a couple of weeks back?"

"How did she do it?" Raina asked, her eyes lost somewhere between Jonas' ficus and the stained window beside it.

"She jumped out of the top floor of her building. Landed straight in the glass table at the lobby." Jonas drew a downward trajectory with his finger, whistling as he did it. "Splat!"

Raina met his eyes, her head shaking with all the certainty she could convey. "No. Something's not right here. She wasn't suicidal. She wasn't. She barely seemed affected."

"Well Franklin, people mourn in their own way. Perhaps she was dying on the inside."

Raina bit her lip, considering her editor's words. "Perhaps. But I don't think so. I'm a pretty good judge of character, ya see, and I'm certain she wasn't suicidal."

Jonas leaned back in his chair, his arms spreading then coming back down. "You reckon there's something going on in there? Are you certain?" Raina nodded at once. Jonas frowned, his eyes going to the ceiling. "When are you going back to Rye?"

"Tomorrow," Raina answered, not a trace of doubt in her voice.

The man looked at his clock, then back at her. "Today. If you leave now, you're there by four. Take the time you need but bring me something good."

"You won't regret it, chief," she said as she stood up, her hand on her belly.

"I know I won't." He pointed towards her stomach with his chin. "How's that going?"

"Oh fine, fine. Hardly any trouble so far. He kicks a lot, though. Darryl thinks he'll be a soccer player."

Jonas groaned, slapping the desk with his open palm. "You're in England, luv. Don't give me any of that soccer shit. And drive safely. I don't want no funny businesses."

Raina nodded and gave the man one last smile, then left the office, her body reinvigorated with the thrill of the chase. Gone was her fatigue from before, replaced by a misplaced sense of righteousness. Grabbing her purse and keys, she left her coat behind in her rush, but she didn't need it. She had lots of coats at home.

********

The town of Rye shuddered in anticipation, its rainy, gloomy self waiting for her like a condemned man expects the needle. The rivers that surrounded the town flowed heavier than usual, as if they grew thicker with the blood spilled over the last few days.

Parking her car in front of the cemetery, she saw that the funeral had already begun and she cursed the highway accident that delayed her arrival. Grabbing her purse, she moistened her lips with some balm, then stepped out of the car and into the cold embrace of September's afternoon.

It was a poorly attended funeral, in all honesty. Raina counted only ten people, one of which was the priest. Still, she thought as she approached the small group, better than nothing. She stood a few steps away from the congregation, hoping she could avoid uncomfortable looks from funeral attendees who'd surely fail to recognize her.

Her eyes found the large picture of Marjorie placed over the gravestone and a shiver went down her back. The woman looked happier, more hopeful in the picture. Her eyes still sparkled and her smile had not yet tainted with bitterness. It was most likely an old photograph, five or six years old, from a simpler time, maybe. Still, it was nice that Marjorie's loved ones chose to remember her that way: happy and smiling, instead of the harsh and sour woman Raina met a couple of weeks ago.

Suddenly uncomfortable at the woman's enlarged face, her eyes wandered around the group that gathered to say goodbye to Marjorie. Five women, all in their fifties, none of them crying or particularly sad; neighbours, maybe, Raina thought, her head tilted to the side, her teeth biting her lower lip. The other four were men, older, late fifties or even early sixties. Former colleagues? They did have that public-school-teacher sort of look. Her eyes found entertainment in assessing the meager group, that is until the found something far more interesting.

She stood out like a sore thumb. Her raven black hair, flowing graciously under a black headband; her slight frame, complimented by a black Burberry coat; her long, flattering neck, decorated by a string of shiny pearls. And her shoes, Gosh darn it, her shoes were marvellous. Dior, Raina guessed, and she hardly ever missed.

Her pale, delicate hands, adorned by two large rings, held a bouquet of carnations and as she approached the crowd gathered around the grave, she attracted more than a pair of curious eyes. Raina knew all those elderlies wondered the same thing as she: who on Earth was this girl, and most importantly, how did she know Marjorie?

That girl, because she was still very much a girl, looked as out of place in that cemetery, as a Catholic in a synagogue. She didn't look small-town. No, this girl had big city written all over her high cheekbones. Her clothes were designer, her flowers, tasteful, her demeanour, composed. Most strikingly, she, unlike everyone else in that group, actually seemed sad by Marjorie's loss, if the tears streaming down her face were any indication.

For the rest of the funeral, Raina's attention stayed solely on that mysterious girl, waiting for her chance to approach her. When the priest finally spoke his last words, and the last of goodbyes were muttered, Raina wasted no more time. Crossing the space between them in four large strides, she reached the girl and put on her grieving face.

"Were you close to her?" She asked, offering the girl a handkerchief.

"Thank you." The girl offered a sincere smile after accepting her offering. "No, not really. I barely even knew her. I knew her son, though."

Raina felt her tongue trying to rush the words out of her mouth, but she managed to stop it. Delicacy was necessary. Judging by the look on the girl's face, a lot of it, actually.

"Oh really? Childhood friends?" Raina asked, disguising the urge in her voice.

The girl shook her head, drying her tears with the handkerchief. "Boarding school. He was always so kind to me. He was there on a scholarship. Such a brilliant boy. Suffered a lot in there. People can be so cruel sometimes. I think he had a crush on me and you know what? I might've had one on him too. I never did anything. I guess I lost my chance."

A bitter smirk graced the girl's features, a mourning orchid in the middle of the mud. Raina tried sympathizing but, much to her chagrin, her curiosity proved more powerful. Waiting an appropriate time to return to the conversation, she stood beside the girl, her arms hanging on her sides, her hands opening and closing, desperate for something to do.

"So you two met three, four years ago?" The girl nodded, oblivious to Rain's true intentions. "Did you stay in touch after graduating?"

"No," the girl simply replied. "I went straight into college and I lost track of him. Until a few weeks ago, when I heard about his death in the telly. It was just so shocking. You never expect a nineteen year-old to die. It shouldn't happen. It feels so wrong."

"It really does." Raina placed her hand on the girl's back, offering some warmth to that slim, shaky frame. "And now this awful thing. Tragedy seems to lurk on these streets."

"It doesn't surprise me," the girl said from behind the handkerchief. "That his mother chose to follow him. They were very close."

Bingo, Raina thought. "Were they? I only met Marjorie a couple of months ago and I have to say she didn't seem that close to him. It surprised me, really, but I figured she had her reasons. One never knows, you know?"

The girl frowned, questioning herself in the privacy of her own mind, before shaking her head. "No way. Asher spoke about her with such love. It was one of the reasons the other guys made fun of him. Called him a mama's boy. But he didn't care. He thought the world of his mother. Said she was the reason he could even attend that school. And always went on about how he would grow up and earn a lot of money and give his mum a better life. No matter the cost, that's what he said. He was a boy on a mission." Her voice broke and her upper lip quivered. Her gaze went to the ground and she spoke between sobs. "All those plans. Those dreams. Gone. At least they're together now."

As the girl buried her face in her own hands, Raina remained by her side, rubbing her back, clumsily trying to comfort her. The action was automatic, though, for Raina's mind went into overdrive, pondering all the new possibilities that the girl's revelations introduced to this already complicated narrative.

Raina knew there was only one question left to be asked. "Where did you say you two studied?"

The girl lifted her eyes and pulled some stray hairs out of her mouth. "Royalwood School. A place I pray I never see again."