As disconcertingly sparing as her schooling had become, in the wake of Thistle Houseâs fraudulent haunting, Cheryl had heard whispers amongst the chaos âââ- slivers of her classmatesâ day to day lives, rumours and harmless, tiresome chitchat, so disparate from the horrors still thriving at home under Nana Roseâs nose, regardless of Julianâs inability to corral mischief and cause harm on his own. Murmurs, exchanged between La Bonne Nuitâs resident MC and Nancy Drew-esque Betty Cooper in the solitude of the student lounge, unaware of her ghost-like presence there.
â I overheard a little birdie named Kevin Keller squawking about my dearest cousinâs half-brother, â Cheryl supplied, and toyed with the end of her paper straw; Pursed her matte red lips with quiet, dwindling besetment, in acknowledgment of Aliceâs brazenness. â And as Bettyâs flesh and blood ââ- nay, a fellow survivor of Edgar Everneverâs innards foundry, I deserved to know the score. â Â
The sad part was that she did feel for the woman before her even if Alice might never admit that out loud. Likewise she never imagined sheâd hear anything but snark or sass in return. It was lucky that was the only language she grew up fluent in. âOf course.â It really didnât surprise her that the former sheriffâs son would be the voice behind the information from The Farm.Â
âCharles is doing just fine. Not that his well being is something you care about, Cheryl.â Alice spoke, chin tilted up as she crossed her arms over her chest. âFor the record, the score is still Edgar-0 and Alice-1.â His death made sure of that but Evelyn on the other hand... sheâs not so easily put in her place even behind bars. âI see The Farm hasnât brightened your spirits at all since you left?â
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