Chapter Nine
Lenora
“All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.”
I reread the line, a favorite of Eliah’s and think how often he would lay his head in my lap and ask me to read it for him. This specific poem by Poe. The book falls open to it without assistance from me and sits in my lap.
Beneath my cheek, the wood doesn’t move. No scratching. No rustling. The silence within that breaks me a little more with every passing hour.
There have been many.
More than I kept count. My limbs ache. My back throbs. The stiff chair is as unforgiving as the chill of the wood numbing my cheek.
But I stay between my boys.
Where I have always belonged.
Ames on my left.
Eliah on my right.
Where they should be.
“I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! Yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!”
A tear escapes and runs down Eliah’s new bed.
Marcus wouldn’t give me the key that unlocks the boxes.
I believe it’s for the best, but I ache with the need to see them.
Just once more. Just for a second. I wouldn’t touch, but I would like a lock of their hair.
I never thought I would need such a keepsake, but I miss the satin slide of each strand through my fingers.
Would they still smell the way they did? Ames of sweat and soap. Eliah of paint and sunshine.
I’m not crazy.
I know they are dead.
I know what lies inside will not be my boys.
But maybe.
What if there is a chance…?
“Linny.”
It’s only that they have never called me Linny that keeps my heart from lunging up my throat.
In the chapel doorway, Marcus waits. A solid figure embraced by shadows. Almost ethereal in his paleness.
“Bedtime.”
My fingers tighten around the book.
“A little longer,” I plead.
His head shakes. “It’s after midnight. They will be here tomorrow.”
Here.
In this cold, dark place so far from me. Alone in their tombs.
“We can’t leave them here,” I tell him.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t come closer. He stays where he stood when he revealed the surprise. Like he can’t bring himself to.
“Why won’t you come in? You haven’t even seen them.”
A crease forms between his brows. “They are dead, mon amour. They are not in there.”
He’s right, of course, but the remark cuts. I feel the impact. It lands straight between my breasts.
“But they’re here,” I try to explain.
“They are not.”
The anger is sudden, a surge of hatred that boils up from my toes. It scorches through my veins to vomit off my tongue.
“Then why did you bring them?” I’m on my feet. The book slaps down on my empty seat. “Why do this if you’re going to be so cruel?”
“For you,” he retorts with no mercy. “Because you asked.”
Fire blooms in my chest with a ferocity that casts a thick veil of tears between us. The outline of him smudges to a blur that only clears with a blink and the rupture of the dams, sending the hot treks down my cheeks. My head is buzzing too loud for proper thought when I charge past him.
“Lenora!”
I don’t stop, barely pause when I throw back over my shoulder, “Va te faire foutre, connard!”
Never.
Never in my life have I sworn at another person. I wouldn’t dream of it. I certainly would never to someone I care about.
But he started it.
He gave me such a kind gift only to hurt me with it. He was cruel. Callous. A mean child tormenting the wounded.
He could have simply said no. He could have said later. There were a dozen other responses he could have given and … yes! I know they’re not in there. Hadn’t I spent hours listening for a hint of anything from inside? I know they’re gone.
I’m not crazy!
But to be treated like I am, like I need to be pacified.
I wipe the tears as I run deeper through the catacombs. The uncharted corridors, frail from years of disuse and age. Every board dips beneath my feet, becoming a game to see which might finally give.
“Lenora!”
Marcus is right behind me, voice thin in the distance, but everywhere with his echo. It weaves through the damp stillness, smacking me between the shoulder blades. Propelling me to pump faster. Heart hammering.
I round a bend and dive forward. Bare feet slap on stone, and I don’t stop to consider where the soggy carpets went.
Over my shoulder, he pounds faster. Moving much too fast for a man his size. He’s a predator. A beast on the hunt. The thundering assault of his every powerful stride reverberates through my bones.
But I won’t let him win.
The narrow passage yawns open to an archway and a sprawling staircase that unfurls down into a vast and terrifying chamber. A place no one should ever see. There is a stillness beyond that ripples in the heat. The cold. It’s cutting and oppressive.
Below, at the foot of marble slabs, the room pulses. Beckons. It whispers secrets I have never told anyone, but they tell me. They carve each one into the cavity of my skull so I will never forget. They urge me closer. Promising me my heart’s greatest desire if I just come a little closer.
More.
Another step.
The tomb opens like the maw of a great beast. A monster waiting to devour me. Air brushes my skin.
Cold.
Sharp.
Razor blades kissing fine, sweet lines at my throat. My arms. Smokey tendrils weave at my ankles. Toys with the hem of my skirt.
They guide me to the bottom, into its clutches. My heart skitters in my chest, a collision of fear and something … something ancient and complex. Something no human is supposed to understand.
Around me, the cavernous ceiling hovers in shadows, a darkness that weeps down pillars of stone leading my path.
Each is broken by marble archways the same black, run through with veins of crimson, as the floor.
Seven feet high with alcoves guarded by angels.
Creatures as beautiful as they are demonic. Wrong. A mockery of what should be.
Or maybe it’s only my fears tricking my mind because they are flawless. As if they’d simply closed their eyes and turned to stone.
Still, I tremble as I continue moving amongst them against my will.
At last, I reach the end. The black velvet drapes I mistook for shadows. The heavy cloak leaches the slivers of light from … somewhere.
Everywhere.
Like a window is open, but the glass is smudged with grime. Mute. Filthy. But unmistakable.
“Lenora?”
Marcus’s voice at the top of the stairs sends a spur of panic and excitement curling down my spine. It kicks the primal part of my brain, and I shove through the curtains with his voice ringing after me.