Page 3 of Twisted Elites

Anything was possible with Ashley. She was close to drug-dealing scumbags like DJ Bones, but she had never opened up to me about anything else he might have supplied her.

“I’m…” I coughed to relieve my dry throat. “I’m not sure. Will she be alright?”

“I’ve scheduled scans for Ashley in the morning,” replied the doctor. “Once those results have come through, we should be able to get a better picture.” The dismissal in his tone told me the conversation was over.

I retreated to the other end of the room and wedged myself in the corner. A healthcare assistant took pity on me and brought in a plastic chair. I lowered myself into the seat, and after the doctor and his entourage left, I sent Leopold a text.

Me: What’s happening?

Leopold: Benazir went in with Kash.

Me: Why?

Leopold: He’s under 18 and needs a guardian.

Right. It wasn’t like the boys could call his parents in India. The headmistress was probably the most suitable proxy in the country.

Leopold: Is Ashley conscious yet?

Me: No. Have you heard from Seb?

Leopold: He hasn’t replied to my texts.

Nausea rippled through my insides. If Sebastian lay unconscious somewhere in the academy, they would have found him by now. I gulped. What if whoever had attacked Ashley had thrown him into a cave, like the one by the split oak?

Images of a dark figure with long, flowing hair, and a monstrously pale face flashed to the forefront of my mind. I was running through the slippery, stony ground, trying to escape. I shook off what was clearly the remnants of a nightmare and focussed on Ashley.

Her breaths rasped through a split lip, and I shook my head. The number of times I wanted to punch her in her smug face, and something like this happened.

Not even heavyweight boxers looked this bad after their fights. Dad used to watch cage fights on youtube, but even the losers of those matches didn’t look as bad as Ashley. It was almost as though a crowd of thugs attacked her with no mercy.

The door opened, and Uncle Trevor burst through. His rumpled clothes hung off his body as though he’d shoved them on in a hurry. “Willow, what’s going on?”

I stood. “We found Ashley like this in a boy’s bedroom.”

His hazel eyes bulged. “Whose?”

“He didn’t do it.”

“How could you know that?” Uncle ran up to the foot of Ashley’s bed and clutched the metal rails so hard, his knuckles went as white as his face.

“Someone framed him. Ashley had a lot of enemies, and—”

“Who is this boy?” He whirled on me. “A friend of yours?”

I nodded. “His name is Prakash. And he’s the one who went looking for me that night I was left drunk and assaulted on the mountain.”

Uncle Trevor ran a hand over his mouth. “What makes you think he didn’t do it?”

“Whoever hurt Ashley was a monster.” I gestured at her swollen face. “They would have hit her over and over to make her look like that. It’s not the work of someone so kind-hearted.”

“Help!” whispered a small voice.

Uncle Trevor rushed to the head of her bed. “A-Ashley, what happened to you?”

I bolted out of the room, where the doctor stood in the hallway, chatting with a pair of nurses. “Excuse me!” All three of them turned around. “My sister’s awake.”

The doctor followed me to the room and pulled a penlight from his pocket. “Excuse me.”