𖤐 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑻𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑻𝒀-𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻:
╰┈➤ goodbye, goodbye ༉‧₊˚.

MEREDITH RECEIVED A CALL THE MORNING AFTER LEAVING SALTBURN. To Meredith's surprise, it was from Elspeth.

"Venetia's gone. She's--she's taken her own life." Her half-shaken voice said on the other end.

"What?" Meredith choked back, her entire world seemingly freezing around her as her heart sunk deep within her.

The words hang in the air, weighing the young girl down and nearly knocking her on her hands and knees. 

A sniffle. Elspeth sniffles once before speaking through the phone again. "Do you think you could make it to the memorial service?" 

Meredith didn't respond--she couldn't. 

Frankly, she didn't quite make out what the woman said to her due to her state of shock, but once she was able to process it, she remained silent. 

"Meredith, darling?" 

For the first time maybe ever, it seemed as though Elspeth Catton was pleading. 

Meredith had known her for short of a decade and never once heard her use the word please and although she isn't now, it's pretty damn clear in her voice that she's willing. 

Before she could realize, two warm tears slipped down her paled face and into the crevices of her neck. She tugged her lush bottom lip between her teeth and stared back at the train seat in front of her. 

And surprising both women, she nodded to herself and confirmed. "I'll be there." 

THE MEMORIAL WAS NOTHING IF NOT EXCRUCIATINGLY DIFFICULT. The last thing on earth Meredith wanted to do was to stand beside Oliver (regardless of circumstances) but she owed it to Venetia and her character to at least power through a thirty-minute service.

That, however, didn't stop Oliver from attempting to speak to her.

"I'm sorry about Venetia," he says, his thumb brushing against the back of her elbow ever-so-slightly.

Meredith quickly pulls it away from him and close to her chest, not sparing him a single word.

"I know you probably hate me," his voice is low, quiet. Secured and innocent. He wants to guilt trip the poor girl into his ways because he knows her. Or, used to.

The old Meredith might have just taken his hand back and apologized but she physically couldn't.

The last piece of Meredith's dignity chipped away the night Felix died and now she was just as empty and miserable as the rest of them.

Oliver Quick made Meredith's blood run cold.

"But I truly am sorry about Venetia." he continues, cerulean eyes softened.

Meredith clenched her jaw, refusing to meet Oliver's gaze. She could feel his eyes searching for a sliver of forgiveness in hers, but she kept her expression cold and distant.

She continued into the building in which she might have called home a couple of days ago and bit her tongue.

The air inside the building was cool and musty, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the day outside. Meredith's footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as she made her way towards the room she'd spent many summers in, the one she'd spend her final night in—tonight.

Oliver followed behind her (unwilling to Meredith's knowledge), the weight of his presence heavy on her shoulders.

As she entered the room, memories flooded back to Meredith like a tidal wave crashing onto the shore. As if she wasn't here just two days prior.

Without a word, Meredith moved to stand in front of Felix's favorite painting that hung on the wall. Its vibrant colors and intricate details had always fascinated him, and now it served as a bittersweet reminder of his absence.

Meredith allowed a tear to form in the crescent of her eyelid. She just stared back at the two lovers in the painting and wished how Felix could be the one with his arms wrapped around her frame, describing each and every part of which he loved.

She thought she was finally done crying; finally caught a break. God, she was so tired of crying. So tired of feeling this way.

And Oliver was still there, lingering, watching.

And in the way his boot switched off the doorway and onto the floor, Meredith could hear it. She could feel him there.

"Why did you do it?"

But she didn't acknowledge him, necessarily. She didn't turn her head in the slightest to face him, she just kept her jaw clenched as she remained her gaze on the painting.

"Do what?"

She hesitates.

"Why did you kill Felix?"

The energy around the two teens shifts entirely; as if now the world is sheered in red and it's just the two of them. A standoff.

Oliver doesn't say anything, and Meredith doesn't move a muscle.

"And how did you pull off Venetia?"

Meredith almost laughs now, because the signs were there all along but nobody noticed a damn thing.

A footstep.

Oliver takes a step toward her and the sound almost makes Meredith jump.

"And Farleigh—" A laugh cuts her off, her own laugh. She's laughing but there's nothing humorous about it. The only thing funny is how clueless Meredith has been this entire time.

Another step.

"It was all so planned. I just—" she stares deeper into the painting. "I don't know how I missed it."

Oliver's breath is on her neck now. She can feel him behind her, he's wearing Felix's cologne and she can smell it on him and God it makes her want to hurl.

"How long have you been watching us?" Meredith holds onto her elbows with whitened knuckles and sweaty palms as he stands behind her.

He can do anything to her. After all, right now would be the perfect opportunity. With two crying parents and an occupied butler.

"You must have spiked his drink or something, right?"

Oliver remained quiet, just taking in each word she said. Probably manipulating some lie in that mind of his.

Meredith faces him, she turns so he can see her wet cheeks and red-rimmed eyes but she doesn't look at him.

"Oliver, I keep replaying that night in my head. Every minute of every day I'm reimagining what happened and what I could have done to prevent it but... every probable cause... has your name written all over it."

She can see in the corner of her eye that his jaw is square, perfectly taut and clenched.

"So, what, was it fentanyl? Coke?"

Nothing. Just silence.

"I bet you were pretty fucking happy when I left, hmm?" she teased further, urging a confession out of him. "You killed Felix, framed it on Farleigh— knew that would kill Venetia and drive me away, but you didn't kill me because you know that I'm the prized possession around here after Felix. Thats why you killed him first. And I'm not even supposed to be here."

A beat.

"You knew that I would go running to tell Elspeth and James as soon as I had figured you out." She finally looked him in the eye and smiled. "Now I can."

She took two steps forward, about to go out into the hallway when Oliver grabbed her arm and shoved her down onto Felix's bed.

He pinned her down and within a matter of seconds, a god-awful scent was blurring Meredith's mindspace as a gray washcloth covered her nose and mouth.

She struggled to get his hand away from her—to get him away. But he was ultimately too strong with his entire body weight pinning her into the bed.

His eyes were cold—nothing at all like the boy she met at Oxford in the crowded hall. He was sadistic.

A smile.

"Now you can always be with Felix, right?"