Verum (3 page)

“You’ve suffered a loss, but life goes on. You will learn to go on, as well.”

She looks away from us, directing her attention to a paper on her desk. “Sabine!” she calls, without looking up.

Apparently, we’ve been dismissed.

Sabine re-enters and Dare and I quickly follow her, jumping at the chance to leave this distasteful woman.

“Well, she’s pleasant,” I mutter.

Dare’s lip tilts.

“She’s not my favorite.”

Understatement.

We share a moment, a warm moment, but I shove it away.

I can’t.

I can’t.

Sabine stops in front of double wooden doors.

“This was your mother’s suite,” Sabine tells me. “It’s yours now. Dare’s room is across the house.” After she says that, she waits, as if she’s expecting a reaction from me. When she doesn’t get one, she continues. “Dinner will be at seven in the dining room. Be prompt. You should rest now.”

She turns and walks away, shuffling down the hall on tiny feet.

Dare stares at me, tall and slender. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No.” My answer is immediate and harsh.

He’s startled and he pulls away a bit, staring down at me.

“I just… I need to be alone,” I add.

I’m not strong enough to resist you yet.

Disappointment gleams in his eyes, but to his credit, he doesn’t press me. He swallows his hurt and nods.

“Ok. I’m wiped out, so I’m going to take a nap before dinner. I suggest you do the same. You must be tired.”

I nod because he’s right, I’m utterly exhausted. He’s gone, and I’m left alone in the long quiet hallway.

I take a step toward my bedroom, then another, but for the life of me, I can’t seem to turn the doorknob. Something settles around me, dread, I think, and I just can’t do it.

The look on Eleanor’s face emerges in my head, the way she was examining me, and I can’t breathe. Something crushes me, that dark thing that I felt in the driveway. It feels like it’s here, pushing on me, lapping at me.

I know it doesn’t make any sense.

Something pulls me.

It pulls me right into my mother’s old rooms.

And there, I sit, surrounded by her memories.

M
y mother’s
rooms are as lavish as the rest of the house. There are no childhood posters taped to the walls here, no teenage heart-throbs, no pink phones or plush pillows.

The suite is carefully decorated, with heavy off-white furniture and sage green walls. The bed is massive, covered in thick blankets, all sage green, all soothing.

But it’s not the room of a child, or a teenager, or even a young woman.

It lacks youthful energy.

But I still feel her here.

Somehow.

Sinking onto the bed, I find that I’m surrounded by windows.

All along one wall, they stretch from floor to ceiling. They let in the dying evening light, and I feel exposed. Getting to my feet, I pull the drapes closed.

I feel a little safer now, but not much.

My suitcases are stacked inside the door, and so I set about unpacking. I put my sweaters away, my toiletries in the fancy bathroom, and while I’m standing on the marble tiles, I envision my mother here.

She loved a good bath, and this bathtub is fit for a queen.

I imagine her soaking here, reading a good book, and my eyes well up.

She’s gone.

I know that.

I pull open the closet doors, and for a moment, a very brief moment, I swear I catch a whiff of her perfume.

She’s worn the same scent for as long as I’ve known her.

There are shelves in this walk-in closet, and on one, I see a bottle of Chanel.

Her scent.

I clutch it to me, and inhale it, and it brings a firestorm of memories down on my head. Of my mother laughing, of her baking cookies, of her grinning at me over the top of her book.

With burning eyes, I put the bottle back.

This isn’t helping anything.

I hang my shirts and my sweaters.

There’s a knock on the door, and Sabine comes in with a tray. A teapot and a cup.

“I brought you some tea,” she tells me quietly, setting it on a table. “It’ll perk you up. Traveling is hard on a person.”

Losing their entire life is hard on a person.

But of course I don’t say that.

I just smile and say thank you.

She pours me a cup and hands it to me.

“This will help you rest. It’s calming.”

I sip at it, and Sabine turns around, surveying my empty bags.

“I see you’ve already unpacked. These rooms haven’t been changed since your mother left.”

I hold my cup in my lap, warming my fingers because the chill from the English evening has left them cold.

“Why
did
my mother leave?” I ask, because she’s never said. She’s never said
anything
about her childhood home.

Sabine pauses, and when she looks at me, she’s looking into my soul again, rooting around with wrinkled fingers.

“She left because she had to,” Sabine says simply. “Whitley couldn’t hold her.”

It’s an answer that’s not an answer.

I should’ve expected no less.

Sabine sits next to me, patting my leg.

“I’ll fatten you up a bit here,” she tells me. “You’re too skinny, like your mama. You’ll rest and you’ll… see things for what they are.”

“And how is that?” I ask tiredly, and suddenly I’m so very exhausted.

Sabine looks at my face and clucks.

“Child, you need to rest. You’re fading away in front of my eyes. Come now. Lie down.”

She settles me onto the bed, pulling a blanket up to my chin.

“Dinner is at seven,” she reminds me before she leaves. “Sleep until then.”

I try.

I really do.

I close my eyes.

I relax my arms and my legs and my muscles.

But sleep won’t come.

Eventually, I give up, and I open the drapes and look outside.

The evening is quiet, the sky is dark.
It gets dark so early here.

The trees rustle in the breeze, and the wind is wet. It’s cold. It’s chilling. I can feel it even through the windows and I rub at my arms.

That’s when I get goose-bumps.

They lift the hair on my neck,

And the stars seem to mock me.

Turning my back on them, I cross the room and pull a book from a shelf.

Jane Eyre.

Fitting, given Whitley and the moors and the rain.

I open the cover and find a penned inscription.

To Laura. May you always have the spirit of Charlotte Bronte and the courage to follow your dreams. Your father.

The ink is fading, and I run my fingertips across it.

The message lacks tenderness, but it’s still telling.

My grandfather supported my mother wanting to be independent. Somehow, I doubt Eleanor shared that same sentiment.

I slip into a seat with it, pulling open the pages, my eyes trying to devour the words my mother once read.

But I’ve only gotten to the part where Jane proclaims that she hates long walks on cold afternoons when I hear something.

I feel something.

I feel a growl in my bones.

It’s low and threatening, and it vibrates my ribs.

I startle upright, looking around, but of course, I’m still alone.

But the growl happens again, low and long.

My breath hitches and the book hits the floor, the pages fluttering on the rug.

A sudden panic overtakes me, rapid and hot.

I have to get out.

I don’t know why.

It’s a feeling I have in my heart, something that drives me from my mother’s rooms out into the hall, because something is chasing me.

I feel it on my heels.

I feel it breathing down my neck.

Without looking back, I rush back down the corridor, through the house and out the front doors.

I’ve got to breathe.

I’ve got to breathe.

I’ve got to breathe.

Sucking in air, I walk aimlessly around the house, over the cobblestone and down a pathway. I draw in long even breaths, trying to still my shaking hands, trying to gather myself together, trying to assure myself that I’m being silly.

There’s no reason to be afraid.

I’m being ridiculous.

This house might be strange and foreign, but it’s still a home. It just isn’t
my
home. It’s fine. I’ll get used to it.

I look behind me, and there’s nothing there.

There is no growl, there is no vibration in my ribs, there is nothing but for the dim twilight and the stars aching to burst from behind the clouds.

The house looms over me and I circle back, only to find myself in front of a large garage with gabled edges.

There are at least seven garage doors, all closed but one.

To my surprise, someone walks out of that door.

A boy.

A man.

His pants are dark gray and he’s wearing a hoodie, and he moves with grace. He slides among the shadows with ease, as though he belongs here, as though Whitley is his home too, even though I don’t know him.

“Hello,” I call out to him.

He stops moving, freezing in his tracks, but he doesn’t turn his head.

Something about that puts me on edge and I tense, because what if he’s not supposed to be here?

“Hello?” I repeat uneasily, and chills run up my spine, goose-bumps forming on my arms once again.

I back away, first one step, then another.

I blink,

And he’s gone.

I stare at the empty space, and shake my head, blinking hard.

He’s still gone.

He must’ve slipped between the buildings, but why?

I hurry back to my room, too nervous to find out.

I’m still unsettled as I wash my face, so when I’m finished, I poke my head out into the hall. There’s nothing there.

With a sigh, I lock my bedroom door and I’m chilled from the wet English air. Glancing at the clock, I find it’s only six thirty. I can rest for a few minutes more, and I’m thankful for that.

Because clearly, jet lag has made me its bitch.

I close my eyes.

It all whirls around.

I stand in the clouds and spread my arms and spinandspinandspin.

No one can touch me here.

It’s not real here, but it is there.

Down there, it’s cold and wet.

It’s uncomfortable there, silent and awkward and rigid.

The eyes are the worst, each of them turned toward me… watching me, waiting for something. For what?

My skin crawls and I scratch it til it bleeds because I’d rather not have it than let it crawl away.

They can’t get to me.

I won’t let them.

I don’t know them.

And I don’t want to.

D
inner at Whitley is a formal
, uncomfortable affair.

I feel horribly underdressed as Eleanor sits at the head of the table in a tailored skirt suit and the same strand of pearls. I’m fidgety, a tell-tale sign that I feel out of place. If anyone knew me here, they’d know.

“Tell me of your schooling,” Eleanor directs from far down the table. The gleaming table is so long, I feel the need to shout whenever I speak.

I’m in the middle of explaining public school to her when the doors open at nine minutes past the hour. Eleanor watches in stern disapproval as Dare enters the quiet room.

Thank you, God,
I exhale. It’s like I hold my breath when Dare isn’t with me, and it’s a habit I need to change.

Tall and elegant, he slides into a place next to me, dressed in slacks and a suit jacket, a cobalt shirt open at the collar. He looks just as at home in the suit as he does in jeans, and a bit of his dark hair drifts down over his eye. He tosses it back as he sits.

Every tiny piece of my being is relieved that he’s here, and I try to ignore the feeling.

He’s not my security blanket, not anymore.

He can’t be.

“How nice of you to join us,” Eleanor says stiffly, before returning her attention back to me. It’s as though she doesn’t want to be bothered by him, as though he’s an intrusion. But he clearly belongs here all the same.

I can’t help but steal another glance at him and when I do, I find him staring at me.

He doesn’t look away, and his eyes are a smoldering midnight sky.

I swallow hard, and Eleanor notices.

She clears her throat.

“Adair, that isn’t your chair. You know your place is across the table.”

Astonished, I stare at her. There must be twenty places at this table and only three of them are taken. Surely it doesn’t matter where he sits.

“I’ll be sitting here tonight,” his answer is cool. My relief is immeasurable.

Eleanor doesn’t push it.

“Regardless of where you sit, dinner is at seven.
Promptly
at seven. You know that. If you’re late, don’t bother attending.”

Dare doesn’t seem concerned. He stares back at her.

“Noted.”

His voice is deep and husky and cold.

For the rest of dinner, the only noise in the room is silver scraping against china.

It’s uncomfortable, and it’s silent.

If only Finn were here.

He’d be kicking me beneath the table, rolling his eyes, making me laugh.

But he’s not.

I’m alone.

And I’ve never felt so uneasy.

Except for when I encountered the strange man earlier.

“Is there someone else living here?” I ask suddenly, and Eleanor looks up from her fruit.

“Pardon me?” she raises her eyebrow.

“Earlier,” I explain. “I was restless so I went for a walk outside. There was a guy out there in a hoodie. He seemed out of place.”

Dare and Eleanor exchange a glance.

“What did he look like?” Dare asks me quietly, his eyes frozen on mine.

I shrug. “I couldn’t see his face, he had his hood up. He was young, though. Sort of skinny.”

Silence.

Finally, Dare clears his throat. “There’s no one else here, Calla. Aside from Jones and Sabine, we have a groomsman for the stable, but he’s an elderly man. There is a gardening team, but they come here early in the morning before anyone is out of bed.”

“Then who was it?” I ask, confused, and a bit afraid.

Dare stares at me. “Maybe you just
thought
you saw someone.”

I flush, because of my recent history, it’s no wonder they don’t believe me. The heat spreads to my chest, and I fight the urge to fan myself.

“I… maybe,” I finally agree.

I’m jet-lagged. I’m tired. I’m overwhelmed. It’s quite possible that I hadn’t seen him at all. Because I’d also thought my room was growling.

“I hate this place,” I mutter to myself when we’re finally released. Dare overhears me and increases his long strides so he catches up to me.

“It’s not that bad,” he tells me. “It’s what you make of it, as long as you never let your guard down.”

I glance at him, and
God, I miss him.

We pass in front of a window and the moonlight bathes his face, and I want to touch his lips with my fingers.

He walks me to my room.

“Tell me more about the guy you saw outside,” he says softly, and his fingers find mine. They wrap around my hand, warm and familiar, and I want to close my eyes.

“No,” I finally answer. “You’re right. My eyes were probably playing tricks on me. I was really tired.”

Dare’s gaze is doubtful. Concerned.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” he asks, and his tone is hopeful.

Everything in me screams to say yes, to let him hold me until I sleep, to soak up his familiarity and warmth, but I shake my head because my heart is still afraid.

And there must be a reason why.

“That’s ok. You don’t need to babysit me. I’m ok, Dare. I promise.”

It’s a lie.

I’m not.

But he can’t make it better.

He cocks his head.

“Dare, I… I need some space.”

“Some space?”

I nod. “Yeah. I need to come to grips with things, to wrap my head around… Finn, and you, and I … I need space.”

There’s silence, and the air is charged and I ache to fold into him, to let him hold all of my fears at bay, but I can’t. I can’t be weak. Something big, bigger than me, depends on it. I just don’t know what yet.

He finally nods. “Ok. I’ll give you some space. If you need me, text me and I’ll be here in two minutes.”

I nod and he bends, pressing his lips to my forehead. I don’t shirk away.

After he leaves me, I enter my lonely bedroom and sit on my lonely bed and inhale the lonely air.

“I miss you, Finn,” I breathe aloud. Because he always ‘got me’, no matter what. I never had to explain, I never had to elaborate. Things could go unspoken.

It was a twin thing.

But now he’s gone and I’m alone.

It’s not a comfortable place, to be a half without a whole.

I glance around my room. It’s large and expansive and the chair in front of the windows beckons me, and I slouch into it, pulling my knees to my chest, picking back up
Jane Eyre.

Below me, outside, the English moors roll on for miles, yawning across the perimeter of Whitley. Whitley is so similar to Thornfield Hall that Charlotte Bronte could’ve written her book from my windows.

As I watch, fog rises up from the ground, shrouding everything in mist.

It’s just when I’m glancing away to read my book that I see the movement.

I fixate again on the moors.

Focusing harder, I wait for it, almost expecting to see the mysterious man from earlier.

But it’s Dare.

He walks along the path from the gardens, gliding along in the night, his stride wide and familiar.

Then he stops.

He must feel me staring at him because he looks up.

He turns his dark head and his gaze finds me.

It’s as though he can see me watching, all the way from the stable.

His eyes are blacker than night, and he has found me.

His gaze is hot and I close my eyes, my breathing shallow.

When I open them, he’s gone.

But the strange feeling, the odd thought, lingers with me.

He’s dangerous.

I’m unsafe.

And he has found me.

What a strange thought.

But then again, I’m a strange girl.

B
reakfast and lunch
are just as formal and uncomfortable at Whitley as dinner is.

After a morning of sitting uncomfortably alone, I manage to slip away without Sabine noticing. She’s been watching me, and I fear that she’s waiting for her chance to pin me down, to talk to me more about my mother.

I can’t do that.

Not yet.

As I burst into the fresh air of the outdoors, I tilt my face to the sun and draw in a deep breath.

God, it feels good to be free.

Startled, I realize that even though I’m nervous of this place, it’s still a welcome break from my reality back home.

The suffocating daily life of a girl who lives in a funeral home.

Back home, everyone knows what I am. A sad girl who lost most of her family and went crazy. I’ll never shake those things off, I’ll never just be normal.

But I’m free of it here.

For now.

Until I’m here long enough and they figure it all out.

Sighing, I head down the cobbled path toward the stables, intent on exploring the property, on seeing everything there is to see.

My feet crunch on the stone, my lungs expanding as I breathe.

I’m startled when a shadow steps out from the building.

My gasp is louder than I intend, and Dare looks up.

He’s dressed in dark jeans and a black shirt. The pieces fit him so well, they look tailored specifically for him. It seems that no matter what he wears, he’s perfectly at home in the clothing.

He arcs an eyebrow as he pauses on the path.

“Are you lost?”

His tone is careful, almost abrupt. He’s giving me space, trying not to crowd me, just like I requested. He’s hesitant to open himself to me now, because I’ve already rejected him.

It feels odd, like he’s a stranger, and I don’t like it but I don’t stop it.

Because it has to be.

It has to be
for now.

I shuffle my feet nervously.

“No. I’m just looking around.”

“Would you like company?” he asks, and he’s poised to join me.

It would be so easy, to just say yes.

But…something is in his eyes.

Something that I’ve seen before, but I can’t remember.

The fear swells back up in my stomach and I shake my head.

“No, thank you,” I answer finally, and Dare’s dark eyes close. He’s guarded now so I can’t hurt him. “I think I’ll just explore on my own. I don’t want to waste your time.”

“You’ve never been a waste of my time,” he tells me, and his tone is oddly formal.

He walks on, past me, and for a minute, I’m panicky.

Don’t leave me alone.

“Wait,” I call out, without even meaning to.

He stops, but doesn’t turn around.

“Yes?”

“Will you be at dinner tonight?”

My question is breathless and I internally kick myself.
Stop acting so eager.
You’re sending mixed signals.
But my heart is mixed and I can’t help it.

Dare starts walking again.

“Of course.”

I watch him walk away, the way his broad shoulders and slim hips move.

He’s everything to me, everything I’ve ever wanted and
ever will want.

It makes me want to scream in frustration, because is there really something so bad about him that I should be pushing him away?

My heart thumps and I think there is… I just can’t put my finger on it.

Yet.

Dare disappears over the hill towards the house, and it’s a few seconds before I realize that I’m being watched.

The tiny hairs stand up on my neck, and goose-bumps form on my arms. I look around, scanning my surroundings, but no one is here.

I’m alone.

Or am I?

It seems… it seems… it seems like there is someone standing at the edge of the house. There is a movement, and was that a flash of gray? But then it’s not there and I’m imagining it.

For a moment, as I’m dwarfed by the shadows, and as the silence envelops me, I feel more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.

It’s not a good feeling.

It’s actually terrifying.

St. Michael save me.

Save me.

Save me.

My fingers find Finn’s necklace, buried under my shirt. I grasp it in my fingers, as I pray to the archangel.

St. Michael, protect me.

Protect me from the snares of the devil, because somehow I know the devil is here.

He’s here and I’m in danger.

I just don’t know what the danger is.

But you do.

Protect me til I know.

Protect me.

Protect me.

Protect me.