"Never doubt thy love."

"I'm telling you, it's him." I say, trying to convince Hart.

"Yeah, well you said that last time and it wasn't. So, sorry if I don't believe you." He replies sharply, as he stands up, coming closer to me.

To which Golding approaches, staring him down. Hart looks up at him, only reaching his chest.

"Hart, please. We were there when he auctioned off Vincent's painting. Golding is the one who bought it. How would he have access to that artwork, especially so soon after Vincent's death?" I plead.

"If I were you, I'd listen to her. She's found out more useful information in two days than you and you're team have in the last month this case has been open." Golding sneers. "And come at her like that again... I don't care if you're the fucking priminister, I'll rearrange your jaw."

My eyes widen, mouth sealed shut. I feel the power and earnesty in his words vibrate through the room.

Hart looks at me.

"Don't look at her, look at me." Golding spits, fisting his shirt.

"Hey!" Shouts Sonders, rushing to them.

At that, Silas throws him down sending him into a fit of stumbles.

"I can have you arrested for assault, you hear me!" She says, helping Hart regain his stance.

"How about you arrest the murderer first." Silas retorts.

"Put him on a leash." Sonders spits, looking at me.

"He's not the one barking like a dog, refusing to look into a suspect." I quip, looking at Hart.

"Enough!" He says. "Clearly, we're all a bit tense. I'll look into Karvish Dalal but he couldn't have killed Vincent because he was in town the night Vincent died. Having said that, back in 86' he got into a nasty fight with Osbourne and according to members of their class, he had a lot of animosity towards him."

"So, you're saying you think there's two killers?" I ask.

"I'm saying I want to exhaust every explanation we can because whoever is doing this is calculated and unexpected." He explains.

"How do you propose we do that?" Golding asks to no one in particular.

I think for a moment. All the people that have been killed so far make up the class of 88', if we can figure out a way to get that whole year group together in one room it shouldn't be that difficult to sniff out the suspects, especially if we invite Karvish and see how he interacts with his classmates all the while getting him to confess or slip up.

"We should throw a ball." I blurt.

They all look at me confused, almost on the verge of laughter. With a quizzical brow, Noelle asks, "How would a ball help us find the killer? You're putting everyone who would attend at risk if the murderer does show up."

"We plant police into the guest list. They dress up and come as guests, if anything suspicious happens they'll be there." I amend.

"But we already have a suspect."

"Exactly, a suspect. You want more evidence? Then we invite Kavish and see how he reacts when we aggravate him with reminders of Osbourne. And if Kavish isn't the murderer, we have a pool of suspects as they're all from the same class. The murderer is one of them, I guarantee it." I expound. "Do you really have any other choice? You have a serial on your hands and he's moving quick. Do you really want another life lost before you decide to do something?"

Noelle and Griffin look at each other.

"Okay. We'll alert our staff to prepare to go undercover as guests. We'll hold the ball in the Victorian ballroom in Oxfordshire." Noelle agrees.

"It's settled then." Griffin continues. "I'll also need that painting to be put into police custody as evidence."

Silas nods slowly.

~~~

"To be or not to be."

"What does he mean by that?" Professor asks, standing toward us, holding the support handle of the bus.

Having studied Hamlet, he wanted us to visit the Globe theatre in London to see the play first-hand.

"To live or not to live." I reply.

"In his soliloquy, Hamlet vocalises his thoughts of the pain and miserable nature of human life aloud. He ponders the thought of killing himself but ultimately refrains due to the fear he feels of the unknown, of death." Golding speaks eloquently.

"Do we believe Hamlet killed Claudius for justice or for revenge?" Osbourne questions.

"Justice."

"Revenge."

Two different answers from two different people at the same, exact time.

"Ofcourse." Golding scoffs. "Go on."

"Hamlet seeks justice for his father, thus killing Claudius who subjected his father to such an end. In turn, the same fate follows Hamlet at the hand of Laertes who had the same motivation, to bring justice for his father." I elaborate, quirking my brow at Silas.

"Perhaps in the beginning, yes. But, if he did kill Claudius for justice then that is somewhat honourable, wouldn't you agree?" He asks, clearly more of an explanation approaching.

"Yes..."

"Then he wouldn't have died. What makes a tragic hero is their vices overcoming them and their fall from greatness and that was Hamlet. He justified Claudius' death with justice but slowly his real motivation of vengeance revealed itself because it was inevitable. If he really did it for justice, he wouldn't have died because then he wouldn't be a tragic hero. He died because he succumbed to his vices, to vengeance. And that, illustrates human inclination to greed, self-involvement and vengeance." He details, brown eyes fixed on mine, swirling with knowledge and passion.

I cannot refute that.

As much as I hated it, he was right. It was as though he painted a whole new interpretation for me, another window into understanding literature.

He was so beautifully well-spoken, the words he chose, the way he constructed his sentences- it left me in awe.

Would I ever let him know that?  No.

Perhaps he calculated this, hypnotising me with his melodious eloquence and perceptive eyes, so much so I add, "It examines the idea of human capacity for corruption, plunging audiences into contemplation of their own fallibility and morality."  A slow smile tugs on his mouth as if to say "I'm impressed, Burroughs."

"Well, well, well, sometimes you two make me question why I'm even here teaching you." Osbourne's voice tears us back into reality as he claps slowly before falling silent.

The rest of the bus ride to London felt like a poem. From the sublime weather outside, puffs of clouds blending with the vast blue sky as the sun's light conquered. To the surrounding trees whose indecisive leaves of varying colours danced in the wind as though preparing to be the muse of an artist.

The Globe theatre stood tall, welcoming it's admirers into it's walls, relishing in their adoration. It's old-timey construction and brown embellishments brings about an air of history and intrigue. It was a shame modernisation took away such beautiful things from the past, like architecture- I would much prefer a horse drawn carriage than a car.

Entering the theatre, professor acquired us special seats at the highest gallery. Chatter from the hundreds of people filling the seats began and ended quickly when the performance began. Actors dressed in elaborate costumes and head pieces mimicking the era of time, enhancing the production. Humour sparking laughter to echo on the walls, conflicts drawing silence.

There was something so uniting, so human about experiencing things together.

Hamlet's famous soliloquy began.

"Still believe that it was for justice?" Silas leaned in, whispering.

"You had an... insightful perspective. Don't let it go to your head. Pride is a fatal flaw, wouldn't want to be a tragic hero now would you?" I reply, filling the space between us.

"And if I were the tragic hero, who might you be?"

I move closer and whisper in his ear, "Wouldn't you like to know." I felt his cheeks rise slightly in a smirk.

"Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar but never doubt thy love." Hamlet proclaims to Ophelia.

Silas steals a look at me. To which I return, gazing back at his thieving eyes. We stay like that for a moment, not moving, not wanting to.