12. Ten
Ten
Eden
Sleep evades me. The gray glow of a far away moon grants me just enough vision to watch the clock, its ticking a constant taunt.
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for approximately four hours.
It’s minutes past midnight, and the house has long been silent.
No creaking or movement, only the whistle of wind outside.
Creed was right about the incoming storm.
I lay in his bed, previously used as one of the many guest rooms in our house—not that we ever had guests.
Every room is decorated differently—this one a deep blue with golden accents and mahogany wood.
It’s aged and fuzzy with dust, as is everything else under this roof.
The only life this house holds was carried in with the brothers’ arrival.
Sweat tickles at the back of my neck even with the frigid temperatures. I’ve been imagining scenario after scenario of how this will play out, none of which end well for me. I wish I’d never seen the mark, and I could carry on in blissful ignorance.
If he does intend on killing me, staying is no longer an option.
As much as it would pain me to leave Creed, I can’t wait around with the hope that he’ll spare me.
Though my father never discussed his line of work, I know it was deeply rooted in his values—values that robbed me of my voice and locked me away all this time.
It’s too much of a coincidence that Cecil would lead them all the way out here.
The house is desolate, hidden from all sides but one.
The chances of someone stumbling upon the place is slim to none.
For all I know, my father sent him here.
How else would Creed have found me so easily?
Nausea churns my gut and my eyes well with tears.
I trusted him. Has he been deceiving me all this time?
There is no peace for people like me.
My chest feels like it might cave in from heartbreak. Desperation conquers, and I throw the covers aside. I have to know, or I’ll implode. And no matter how terrible I feel, I can’t allow myself to hurt someone.
I reach the door silently, opening it as inchmeal as I can. It creaks despite my efforts, but I’m certain it’s not loud enough to be heard from downstairs.
Cecil’s room is down the hall, and I make my way towards it. Here, the dark is absolute. The only sound is that of my breath, and the slight glide of my fingertips along the wall.
Before entering his room, I halt my lungs and listen intently.
Silence. Wind. The slightest clink of metal from the doorknob as I twist it in my palm.
Pushing the door open just wide enough to slip through, I step in and opt not to close it behind me.
The space is a vortex of black. There are candles in each room, so with a tight grip on hope, I fumble blindly until I find one.
A box of matches is on its side to the right, and I thank the heavens when I open it to find a lone stick.
The tiniest of flames bursts into existence when I strike the match, and the heat licks down, dancing towards my fingers.
A mere centimeter from my knuckle, the candle ignites.
I extinguish it with the flick of my wrist. Sulfur tickles my nose, and the golden aura surrounds me as I sneak through the room.
While Creed’s room is scattered with clothing and books, Cecil’s is desolate. Everything is tucked away in drawers, nothing personal enough to indicate someone lives here. It presents exactly as he is: private.
Minutes tick by and my anxiety climbs higher. There must be something. I rummage through every drawer, every pocket on every pair of pants. Nothing.
Disappointment conjures a grunt in my throat and I lower myself into a wingback chair in the corner of the room.
With an exhale, I sink into the cushion.
The faintest crinkle sounds beneath me. My pulse jumps, and I dig my fingers into the crease.
Something stiff and plastic-like is hidden within the seat.
Whipping around, I lift the cushion and am met with a matte black folder. There’s a withering fragment of me that wants to ignore my findings and race back to the safety of Creed’s bed. But not knowing is unbearable. I set the candle on the dresser and peel it open.
The elation of unearthing a secret is instantly snuffed out once I’m able to make out the contents before me.
Dozens of pages of people’s names and information, written out in neat handwriting; their address, their age, what they do for a living.
Everything you could possibly know about someone, meticulously catalogued.
Some have a photo of the person attached.
And at the very bottom of each page, in bold letters, an affliction is noted.
NON HEARING
HYSTERIA
NON SEEING
PARANOIA
PROMISCUITY
MARK OF DARKNESS
Darkness. My hand pauses, eyes catching on a photo. A little boy, no more than five, smiles at a camera. He looks perfectly ordinary. But according to this file, he is damned.
Like me.
Are these Cecil’s victims? No wonder he doesn’t tell his brother what he does every day. One of the pages said non hearing. Does that mean Creed is in danger, as well?
I grow more frantic, turning page after page. So many people, so many children. I didn’t want to bring Creed into this, but I have no choice. His brother is a monster, he—
Searing heat spreads over my scalp. I’m lurched backwards, and in the span of one breath, my back hits the wall. Unyielding fingers burrow into the skin of my throat. I bat at my attacker blindly.
Cinnamon fills my nostrils and dread fills my gut. I can’t make out his face with the candle at his back, but his presence screams lethality. He’s going to kill me.
“You stupid girl,” Cecil seethes, tightening his hold until stars are bursting in my vision. The rush of blood nearly deafens me, his words sounding further and further away.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into!” I’m not sure if it’s the panic seizing my lungs, or the hand at my throat. My fingernails dig crescents into his arms, but my grip is weakening by the second.
I’ve never been afraid to die—being alive has always been much more agonizing. But it had become decent. No, more than that, it was good. Creed is good, and I’m going to die, and I’ll never get to tell him.
Cecil is still speaking, though I can no longer make it out. It’s muffled, like I’m underwater.
I fell in the pond once as a child. The grass was too tall, and I walked right over the edge.
I kicked and screamed, but no one came to save me.
It had to have been close to ten minutes that I was sure I would die.
But I didn’t. Just as I let myself slip under, the shallow end brushed the soles of my feet.
Much of my life has been that way. No one has ever saved me, but me. Until I met,
“Creed,” I choke out on a wail, using what little air I have left in my lungs to call for someone I know won’t hear me. My voice is hoarse—unrecognizable. If it weren’t for the pain in my throat, I’d think the delirium had me imagining it. It’s as if someone set fire to my vocal chords.
I should know, that’s exactly the cure Papa chose for me.
The pressure on my throat is suddenly gone and I suck in a breath, grasping at my chest. Warmth trails down my cheeks.
Even in the dark, I can make out the whites of Cecil’s eyes.
My knees buckle and I begin to collapse, but an arm shoots out and wraps around my midsection.
He groans, and for a fleeting moment, I worry he’s ripped his stitches.
We crumple to the ground together, and I can’t tell where my body ends and his begins.
To be honest, I can’t feel much of anything.
The flicker of candlelight dances across Cecil’s features as I fight to keep my eyes open.
His face hovers over mine, his mouth moving.
If he’s going to kill me, I wish he would do it already.
I can’t take this game of cat and mouse any longer. I’m so tired.
I’ve been tired all my life.
“For fuck’s sake, please—” Cecil’s rough words finally break through the fog. Sensation bites into me like an ice bath, and I become increasingly aware that I’m not on the floor, but a lap. Not only that, but my face is cradled in a large palm.
I blink up at him.
It’s warm—no. Scalding. He is scalding.
“Your eyes.” He sounds afraid. “They’re… you’re bleeding.”
Movements slow, I bring my hand to my face and wipe at the wetness coating my cheeks. Sure enough, my fingertips come back stained scarlet. Now I’ll have both of our blood under my nails.
Forming a thought feels like treading water, so all I manage is a noncommittal whimper.
Heat flits across my face and brushes my hair back from my forehead. “I didn’t mean to— I mean—” He’s stuttering now, shaking his head and cursing under his breath.
“There are things no one can know. It would cost me my life. It would cost all of us,” He rasps out, still stroking my hair. It’s almost soothing. Like something his brother might do. The change in his demeanor is startling, but I’m too exhausted to fight.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you tell Creed…” He trails off, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “My brother is the only thing I care about. And I won’t let anyone jeopardize that.”
Though I don’t trust the man holding me, I can understand what he’s telling me. So, I raise and lower my chin.
He searches my face in silence, breathing heavily through his nose. Can he read me as well as his brother? Their eyes are the same, so why do they see me so differently?
“I never believed in any of that shit, but when you spoke and your… the blood. I’ve never seen anything like that.” I can see the wheels turning in his head, and I almost wish he would stop talking. This is what Papa spent all these years protecting me from. All the unspoken things.
“There are a lot of people that would love to find you. Hunt you. Terrible, fucked up people. Keep my brother out of it, and I’ll keep you out of it. Deal?”
There’s no reason for me to trust him after what he’s done, but I’m out of options.
So, I sign back, “Promise.”