Verum (6 page)

R
opes bind me
, holding me down, restraining me, biting into me.

I twist and turn, but there’s no getting away from them.

My mind spirals, splinters, fractures, bursting into a million confused pieces.

Light gets in, illuminating, but there’s no truth here. There is only nonsense and puzzles.

I can’t understand,

And

I’m

Not

Sure

I

Want

To.

“Help!” I call out. But my voice echoes down hallways and corridors and rooms. No one is here but me, and I’m alone, and that’s my worst fear.

“Someone!” my voice cracks and my fingers dig into the frayed rope. No one is there, but the rope breaks suddenly, throwing me against the wall with the force of my own movement.

I jump up to run, but then realize…

There’s nowhere to go.

I
sit
in front of Eleanor’s massive desk, uncomfortably waiting for her to speak. It’s been a full twenty-four hours since I imagined the scene in the crypts. I’ve had time to wrap my mind around the hallucinations, and accept them for what they were: a product of sleeplessness. I’m ignoring the very real fact that my fingers had a distinct scent of roses on them that I couldn’t have imagined.

Now I’m just waiting to hear Eleanor’s expectations from me.

Regardless of what they consider to be my ‘fragile state’, there’s apparently still a small matter of my inheritance to consider.

She stares at me for several moments before she begins, her voice stern and rigid.

“I trust you’ve settled in.”

It’s not a pleasantry, it’s a directive.

I nod in response, as expected.

“Good. We have matters to discuss now, and I require your full attention.”

I feel my spine, ram-rod straight, and I picture the vertebrae, lining up, afraid to slump in Eleanor’s presence. I have to believe that the sun is afraid to shine with her around. She’s that intimidating.

“I realize you aren’t feeling well, and that is to be expected,” Eleanor’s British accent is thick, and I find myself distracted by that, and the fact that my mother lost her own over the years.

“But you have a significant inheritance from your grandfather,” she continues, staring a hole into me. “And you must comply with certain stipulations in order to receive it. Since you are eighteen now, time is getting away from us.”

“What are the stipulations?” I ask politely, and I itch to get out of this room.

Eleanor looks down her nose.

“First, you will attend Cambridge University. Every Savage has attended Cambridge, always. You will live here at Whitley during your University years.”

Pause.

“You will submit to having me on your bank account, in addition to yourself.”

Pause.

“You will work with my PR person to ensure you don’t tarnish the Savage name.”

Pause.

She looks me in the eye. “You will hyphenate your name. From here forward, you will be known as Price-Savage.”

This last one gives me pause, because I know my father won’t like it.

“Does Dare have to hyphenate his name, too?” I ask without thinking. Eleanor looks like she swallowed a lemon, her mouth pinching into a knot.

“Of course not. Adair is not a Savage, and never has been. His inheritance is a pittance compared to yours.”

That doesn’t seem quite fair.

I swallow hard.

“Lastly, and most importantly, you have until you turn nineteen to claim it. You must be of sound mind, Calla.”

You must pull yourself together.
That’s what she’s really saying.
You must not be crazy.

I stare blankly at her.

“Are these terms agreeable to you?”

Eleanor waits, expecting me to agree, expecting me to make excuses for my frail mind. I don’t. I finally answer with soft words.

“I’ll try.”

Eleanor is unflinching.

“Very well. You may go.”

She looks down at her desk, her attention already on something else.

I let myself out, and when I’m in the hall, I allow Finn to join me.

“She can’t be serious,” he rolls his eyes.

I slump against the wall. “I’m afraid she is. I don’t think she knows how to joke.”

“I’m not changing my name,” Finn tells me stoutly. “I’m a Price.”

“She’s not asking
you
to change it,” I reply diplomatically. “You’re dead. She’s asking me. But not to change it, only to hyphenate it.”

“Dad will have kittens,” Finn points out, and I know he’s right.

“Probably.”

He chews his lip.

“But maybe. We’ll think on it.”

Like always, he speaks of us as a unit. Because we are, even now, even though he’s dead.

“I need some things,” I tell him. “Toiletry items,” I add before he can ask. “Girl stuff. I think I’ll go into town and pick them up. Do you want to come?”

He shakes his head. “For girl stuff? Uh, no. I think I’ll just stay here and take an imaginary walk through the gardens.”

“Good idea. I should practice being alone.”

“You should,” he nods, and I once again ponder my ridiculousness. Am I so pathetic that I have to imagine a reality?

Apparently, I am.

I find Jones downstairs, and hesitantly, I approach the imposing man.

“Is there any way you could take me into town? I need to go to the store.”

“Of course, Miss Price,” he nods, immediately interrupting what he’s doing to tend to me. “I’ll bring the car around.”

I’m waiting out front when Dare comes out the door, breathtakingly sexy in a black outfit, black slacks and snug black shirt. He blows out of the house like a breeze, and stops next to me.

“Can I catch a ride with you?” he asks, eyeing me up and down, checking for weakness.

“Of course. But don’t you drive?” I ask dumbly, because he’s been driving himself somewhere every night. He cocks his head.

“Sometimes, I just wanna be lazy.”

“Understandable,” I nod. “You can by all means share my ride.”

He leans against the house.

“Is your room comfortable?” he asks knowingly, because he has to know that it is. The politeness between us hurts me, it cuts like a knife and I want to yank it away.

But I can’t.

The more distance between us, the safer I am.

I don’t know how I know it, I just do.

I nod, and Dare smiles as the car glides to a stop in front of us. He opens the door for me, because even though he’s not as nice as me, he has manners.

“Good.”

He slides in next to me, and his fingers wrap around mine. I pull them away.

“Dare… I…” I stare at him, steeling myself, resolving myself. “I need you to not be nice to me.”

His eyes widen, then narrow.

“Why?”

“Because it’ll be easier that way.”

He shakes his head, annoyance in his eyes. “Easier for who? If you want to push me away, I’m not going to make it easy on you, Calla.”

“Is
this
easy on me?”

By
this
I mean my life and he knows it. My mother died. My brother died. I’m away from my father, here at Whitley, and I feel in my heart that I can’t trust Dare. He’s hiding something from me.

Dare shakes his head. “No. But there’s no reason to make it harder, Calla. Don’t push me away. Just… don’t. You’re not the only one who is struggling.”

His eyes are so pained, so haunted, so sad.

My eyes feel hot and I blink wetness away, my heart heavy.

“Can you tell me what it is that I don’t know?”

Dare freezes, his hand on his leg.

“No.”

“Then I can’t trust you. You have a secret. And
I hate secrets
, Dare. You should understand why.”

He clenches his jaw and looks out the window, and I turn the opposite way.

I ignore him, stare out the window at the English countryside as we drive into town.

“How far are we from London?” I call up to Jones.

“About an hour, miss.”

Jones answers, and Dare doesn’t look up from his phone.

“Too far away,” he says without looking at me.

“Why do you say that?” I ask him. He doesn’t bother answering, just stares even more intently at his phone.

“Rude,” I mutter under my breath.

I think I see his lip twitch, but I can’t be certain.

You wanted him to not be so nice.

He’s taking me at my word.

It doesn’t take long to get to the little town, and it takes even less time for Dare to get out of the car and start down the sidewalk, away from the car.

“We’ll be back here in an hour,” he calls over his shoulder to Jones.

How presumptuous.

“Will an hour be sufficient?” Jones asks me in his stiff voice. “I’ll wait longer for you if necessary.”

“I’m sure an hour will be fine,” I assure him. He nods and I head toward the stores, but as I notice Dare duck from the main sidewalk onto an alley, my curiosity is piqued. I change course and follow him.

It’s against my better judgment, but I can’t help myself.

He moves fast, but I keep up.

We wind between buildings on the narrow alleyways, and I almost lose him twice, but manage to keep him in my sights. I watch his wide shoulders sway ahead of me, before he cuts down another side street.

I follow.

The alley grows narrow and dark, the cobblestones rough and uneven. I lose sight of Dare among the shadows, then I trip. As I fumble to steady myself, I suddenly find myself yanked against the wall.

Before I can breathe or scream, Dare’s face materializes in front of me, as thunderous and dark as it is handsome.

“Hunting for something?” he asks bluntly, his voice sharp and low. His hands are on my shoulders, and I realize that I’m firmly pinned to the wall in front of him. He’s not hurting me, he’s just not letting me go.

I’m restrained beneath his palms.

I can feel his hips, I can feel his heat.

I can feel the part of him that makes him a man.

My own cheeks flush from it.

“No,” I begin, then when he raises his eyebrows, I sigh. “Yes.”

“What?” He doesn’t release me.

“The truth,” I tell him honestly.

“Have you ever heard the phrase
what you don’t know might hurt you
?” Dare asks, his eyes laser sharp as he stares into mine.

I nod.

“Well, what you
do
know might hurt you too. Don’t snoop. You probably won’t like what you find. You have to let it come to you.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t snooping,” I manage to offer. “I don’t know what I was doing.”

Dare steps back, releasing me.

He’s tall and slender and strong, and he makes me a bit breathless.

“That’s probably your first issue,” he tells me. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, you’ll never get anywhere. Get out of this dark alley, Calla. It’s not safe here.”

He points at the entrance, and when he does, I see them.

The flowers he dropped on the ground.

Roses, stargazers and carnations.

My heart thuds and I do what I’m told. When I hit the sidewalk and emerge into the daylight, I turn, but he’s already gone. So are the flowers.

I find the nearest shop, find my toiletry items and am back to the car well within the hour. I wait inside for Dare to return, and with each minute that passes, I wonder what I’ll say to him.

But I don’t have to decide.

Because finally Jones pokes his head into the back.

“Apparently, Mr. DuBray isn’t coming right now. I’ll come back for him later.”

I nod silently and allow Jones to drive me back to Whitley.

Without even realizing it, I watch for the limo to go back out and return with Dare, but it never does. I don’t know how Dare manages to get back home.

I know he does, though. Because in the middle of the night, I’m woken from a troubled sleep by a noise I can’t define. I lay for a minute, trying to wake up enough to clear my mind, and I finally realize that it’s piano music drifting through Whitley’s halls.

I grab my robe and follow the haunting notes, finding myself in the salon.

I linger quietly in the massive doorway, watching Dare play the piano with the grace of a master. His long fingers drift across the keys and he stares out the window while he plays, his eyes absently watching the moors outside through the windows. The notes of the piano are haunting and low, delicate and high, and everywhere in between.

He doesn’t know I’m here, and I want to keep it that way, because right now, while he thinks no one is watching, Dare DuBray looks absolutely and heart-wrenchingly vulnerable.

He looks open and casual, thoughtful and real.

It’s the first real emotion I’ve seen on him.

It intrigues me, particularly since there isn’t a trace of his trademark arrogance.

For a moment, I forget his rudeness from earlier. All I can think of is how very different he seems right now.

This is the person I love, the person I don’t truly want to live without.

I’m so lost in my thoughts about him that I don’t even realize that he’s stopped playing. He’s staring at me by the time I realize it, and the guard is back up in his eyes.

“Do you need something, or are you just taking a walk at 3 am?” he asks, his voice low and calm.

I shake my head. “No, I was just on my way to the kitchens.”

“You must be turned around. They’re on the opposite side of the house,” he tells me evenly.
I’m busted.

“Dare, what’s your secret?”

Because I have to know.

He stares at the keys, at his hands that are playing them.

“I can’t tell you.”

I nod, because I was expecting that.

I turn around, but then I pause.

“You play beautifully.”

He doesn’t answer, and I walk away.

M
oonlight sweeps across the hallway
, illuminating the heavy furniture and expensive rugs. I’m unfazed by it as I leave Dare at his piano and continue down the hall.

I need to know what is being hidden from me.

I feel like everyone knows it but me.

Dare.

Sabine.

My father.

Even Eleanor.

If I were hiding something here, where would I put it?

The answer is immediate.

Eleanor’s office.

Surprisingly, it’s unlocked and I quietly slip inside, treading across the thick rugs until I’m sitting in her large chair. From here, I feel like I’m at the helm of a ship, and I open the drawer next to my left leg. File folders line up, waiting for me to explore them, and I run my hands along their tops, hunting.

My fingers pause on D.

Dare DuBray.

I almost hesitate as I pull it out and open it, but then I feel no remorse. He knows everything about me. I might as well know something about him.

Adair Phillip DuBray.

6’2. Brown hair, brown eyes.

Mother, Olivia, deceased.

Father, Phillip, deceased.

Step-father, Richard II, deceased.

He’s all alone. It hits me hard, because I know how that feels. His file is fairly short, and a few paragraphs have been redacted, two thick paragraphs with fat black lines drawn through them, preventing me from reading the words.

What is so bad that it can’t be exposed in his file?

I’m confused and agitated, but then my eyes narrow as I come to the part that discusses his part of the Savage estate.

When Richard I died, he’d left the bulk of the estate to Calla Price (me!) and Finn Price, but there is a small trust to take care of Dare for the rest of his life. He would inherit more only if Finn or I are deemed incompetent, or die.

Apparently, Eleanor didn’t inherit.

This shocks me to my core as I sit in her seat and imagine the way she looks so militant and in charge. She got nothing?

But I got… everything. Me and Finn.

Upon Finn’s death, his share went to me, not to Dare.

Why?

I don’t know how much it is worth, but judging by Whitley and the limousine, and the family business, Savage Inc, I know it must be worth a large fortune.

I’m
worth a large fortune.

But only if I’m of sound mind.

Astounded, I slip the file back in, and I think I’m going to get up and leave when I see my name.

I yank the file out, wasting no time in examining it.

Calla Elizabeth Price.

Female twin to Finn. Red hair, blue eyes, 5’7”. Dress size, six. Shoe size, eight. Attended public high school at Astoria High. Grade point average, 3.9. Allergies, nuts.

My eyes continue to skim over my own statistics, down to the more nitty-gritty. Mental health.

Her brother Finn was found to be schizoaffective when they were five, diagnosed by American doctors and treated with Lithium and Haldol, with the occasional Xanax for panic attacks. Symptoms of his disease are hallucinations, delusions, mood swings, mania/depressions.

Calla on the other hand…

“What are you doing in here?”

I recognize Sabine’s voice immediately from her stance in the doorway, and I fluidly close the file and slide it back in the drawer in one motion.

“Uh…” my heart pounds. “I’m hunting for something.”

Sabine doesn’t move, but her dark eyes gleam in the night.

“What are you searching for, child?”

I watch her face, waiting for her to flip on the light, for her to pick up her phone and call Eleanor, waiting for her to do something. But she doesn’t. She lingers in the doorway, waiting for me to answer.

“Explanations,” I offer unapologetically, not moving from where I stand.

Sabine enters the room soundlessly, her tiny body moving across the room.

“Answers that are not freely given aren’t really answers at all,” she tells me, each word a mystery.

I take a step, then another, then pause.

“Do you know the answers, Sabine?”

Sabine cocks her head, her white hair glowing in the night. “I know more than many, but my answers aren’t ones you would like,” she finally says.

“I was afraid of that,” I sigh. “Do you know what time Dare got home tonight?”

Sabine looks at me curiously. “I wasn’t paying close attention. He went into town to buy flowers for his mother. I’m sure he spent time in the crypts tonight. He usually does, child. You aren’t the only one who suffered a loss, you know.”

I know.

“Is there something I should know about his mother?” I whisper, staring at the old lady, imploring her. “I feel like there is.”

Sabine stops moving, her wrinkled hand on the door. “Use the sense God gave you. You have instincts for a reason, we all do. Listen to them. And don’t get caught in Eleanor’s study again.”

With that, the old woman is gone and I’m left alone in the chilling room. The very air in here feels like Eleanor, heavy, stern, smelling like orchids. It’s cloying and unpleasant, much like Eleanor herself.

I rush to leave. When I’m all the way down the hall, I have the overwhelming need to turn around, and when I do, I almost expect Eleanor to be standing there, to be watching me.

But of course no one is there.

Whitley is getting to me.

I hurry toward my room, but once I reach it, I hear voices coming from within.

Finn’s voice.

My imagination has unleashed itself, and I dash inside my room to find my brother thrashing about, muttering words I can’t understand.

He looks up at me, his eyes wild and blue, and I sink down next to him.

“Finn. Take a breath. You can breathe, you’re fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. It’s all going to be ok.”

“No,” he mutters. “No, no, no.”

“Come here,” I attempt to persuade him. “You’re fine. Finn, you’re fine.”

Finn sits up, and his eyes are glazed, a crazy look in them. He’s not in reality right now, that much is apparent.

“One for one for one,” he mutters, turning to stare out the window. “Do you hear that, Cal? That’s them. One for one. I’m one, you’re one, he’s one.”

“Who’s
he,
Finn?” I ask, humoring him.

“Him,” Finn says impatiently. “The one with the black eyes, Cal. You know who. One for one for one. The die has been cast. It’s cast, it’s cast.”

“You’re fine, Finn,” I tell him softly. “You’re fine. I’m here.”

You’re dead, and I’m imagining you.

I can control my thoughts.

But I can’t.

Because I will Finn away, and

He’s still here thrashing on the floor.

He mutters for a while longer and then curls up, his head in my lap. I stroke his back and his shoulders, attempting to calm him. It’s odd how easily I can remember what his arms feel like, how easily I can envision him even now.

“His eyes are black, Cal. His eyes are black.”

Finn lets his face roll to the side, and his hands clench in front, so tight that his knuckles turn white.

“He’s dangerous, Cal. His eyes are black. Black, black, black.”

He’s staring and I follow his gaze, and I’m startled to find Dare standing at our door, watching us.

Watching
me,
because Finn isn’t actually here.

He’s dangerous, Cal.

Dare’s eyes are so dark that in the right light, they do look black.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, backing away. “Is everything all right? Do you need anything?”

I shake my head and he goes away and I’m left reeling.

His eyes are black, Cal. He’s dangerous.

I suppose he is.

That’s why I’ve felt so uneasy, like he’s hiding something.

He’s dangerous.

But why?

All I know is, when he leaned against my doorway, one thing popped into my head.

He’s a weapon, armed for obliteration.

And if I’m not careful, the obliteration will be my own.