Chapter 8 – Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
The sun casts its warm rays through the dense foliage as we approach the abandoned cottage deep in the woods.
Rowan and I exchange glances, feeling the eerie stillness that hangs heavy like a weight upon our shoulders.
The overgrown vegetation swallows what was once likely a picturesque home but is now a forgotten relic of time.
“How on earth did teenagers even find this place?”
I shake my head. “No clue. But I’m grateful they did.”
We step out of the car, looking around. Javier moves protectively by my side, his hand on his gun in its holster though we’re the only ones here.
The police as well as our national crime agency set up a perimeter and haven’t removed anything else from the cottage other than the blanket, the blood-soaked onesie, and the diamond.
They fingerprinted but with the number of kids who have been in and out of this place for who knows how long, I doubt that will lead to anything.
“Jesus, this place is creepy as hell,” Rowan mutters, scanning our surroundings with caution.
“Yeah,” I reply, my voice barely audible as I continue to stare at the cracked and broken front of the cottage. “I feel it. It’s like something out of a horror film.”
With careful steps, we examine the exterior of the cottage, looking for who knows what. We have no idea how long whoever took Desta used this place. It could have been just that night. It could have been months. Hell, it could have been years, though that doesn’t seem as likely to me.
“Ready to go in?” I ask.
“Honestly, not so much.”
I snicker. “I’m going to need a big fat drink after this.
” And Bellamy. I hate being away from her and the children.
Depending on how this goes, we’re going to try to get back tonight, but the drive down here was nearly four hours since it’s practically on the opposite side of the country.
Flying would have been too conspicuous, and though the police are involved, and the blanket made the news, so far, they’ve managed to keep the rest quiet.
There’s been nothing in the papers about anything else that was found, and I’d like to keep it that way.
My press secretary made a blanket statement about how we’re always hopeful Desta will come home to us and that the person who took her will be found and prosecuted.
We also said that we’re looking into the blanket and hoping it leads to more and left it at that.
A place I’d like it to stay, especially until we know the extent of my mother’s role in things.
The door to the cottage is closed but unlocked, and the moment we step over the threshold, the three of us freeze.
The musty scent of decay fills my nostrils as we scan the open room, taking in the utter chaos and disarray.
Sunlight trickles through a broken window, casting a golden glow on the dust motes floating in the air.
“How on earth did they even find what they found?”
I shake my head, at a loss, same as Rowan.
“Watch where you step,” Javier warns. “I don’t have the highest faith in the stability of this structure and who knows what’s hidden beneath all this…mess.”
“Christ. What a fucking disaster.” I shake my head.
“Let’s begin our search, because the sooner we do, the sooner we can go.
” We split up to cover more ground. The cottage is small with a completely open floor plan.
It consists of a kitchen, a small dining area, and a living room.
That’s pretty much it. My heart races as I methodically inspect every corner, each creaky step, and cobweb-laden space.
There are carryout containers, rotting food, alcohol bottles, pizza boxes, and toppled-over furniture. It’s a minefield of clutter and trash.
“Sebastian, look at this!” Rowan calls from the other side of the room, his voice tinged with excitement.
Javier and I rush toward him where he’s standing in front of a dusty bookshelf. He’s uncovered a compartment at the base of the bookshelf and inside are newspaper clippings, all about Desta’s kidnapping. My breath catches in my throat.
“Whoever they were, they were clearly keeping up on what the news had to say about it,” I declare bitterly. “Put them in one of the bags we brought, but we need to keep searching.”
Javier has gloves on and takes the newspapers from Rowan, placing them all in a large sealable plastic bag. “Fingerprints,” he explains, and I mentally want to smack my forehead. How did I not think of that?
“Right, let’s continue,” Rowan agrees, our determination renewed. If those have been hidden all this time, there is a chance they do have fingerprints on them.
There’s nothing else on the ground floor.
At least nothing else we can find, and we’re about as thorough as we can be given the state of the place.
With what feels like lead in our feet, we climb the old stairs that curve around to reach the second floor.
It’s small up here, with only two tiny bedrooms, one with the crib occupying the majority of the back bedroom.
Our breaths collectively catch, and for a moment, all Rowan and I can do is stare at it.
Brea was whisked away when she was a newborn, locked in hospitals on and off—or so we were told—and afterward kept far away from us.
She’s still somewhere down south, keeping her distance as our mother was never willing to risk her health by having her near others.
Desta’s situation was entirely different.
I remember when she was brought home from the hospital. I remember playing with her and teaching her to walk. She was not even two when she was taken, but my memory of her is as clear as if she were here yesterday.
The room has been mostly cleared out, the police and crime units doing their jobs well up here. Javier sets straight to work, removing the mattress of the crib and searching the wood slats since this is where the blanket and bloody onesie were discovered.
Rowan heads for the closet and I go for the fireplace. There’s nothing in here, and it’s much the same in the larger bedroom except for two missing floorboards. “Maybe something was hidden in there?”
“Whoever took Desta left this place in a hurry. Why else would they have left the newspaper clippings, diamond, blanket, or onesie behind?” Javier declares, his arms folded and his eyes scrutinizing. “It’s careless. What else was taken the night Desta was?”
Rowan and I shake our heads. “Her tiara, we’re assuming because of the diamond that was found.
Her stuffed lion.” Rowan looks at me. “That was it, right? I can’t remember much of anything else.
They never found the knife used to kill our father.
The person knew how to get in and out of the palace without being seen.
They were familiar enough or skilled enough to know how to break in.
Only I heard a terribly loud bang in the hall and then Desta crying.
It’s why I ran in to wake Father. I was scared.
I didn’t know what the bang was.” Rowan swallows hard, guilt lining his features.
“He raced out of bed and ran for Desta’s room.
I heard him yell. He said something I couldn’t understand and then there was another bang, but he told me to alert the guards, and I did. I didn’t go in to help him.” He sighs.
“Father told you to alert the guards before he went in there,” I remark. “But it was storming. The bang could have been thunder. It had woken me up too.”
Rowan tilts his head, eyeing me curiously, not getting my meaning. “Yes.”
“But you went in to wake him. Why?”
He shrugs. “I just told you. l was scared. The bang was loud. I remember it feeling like the palace was shaking.”
I nod, pointing at him. “Yes. Exactly. I remember that too. It was storming out, but Father told you to alert the guards, not go back to bed, and ran into Desta’s room. Why?”
Rowan blinks at me. “I…I don’t know.”
“The person who stole Desta must have waited for a storm, using the thunder and loud rain to muffle their entrance into the palace. But Father must have known something was going on otherwise he would have told you to go back to bed and not to worry about the storm. And mother never reported the tiara missing. Hell, she slept through half of it all and didn’t get out of bed until I screamed for her. ”
All the color drains from Rowan’s face. “You think he knew someone was coming for Desta? Or at least knew someone was a threat to us?”
“I think that’s looking like a very distinct possibility.”
“I don’t see why this is bad news,” I tell Rowan as we sit on the back patio, the outline of the Alps just barely visible in the darkness. “This is the news we were hoping for.”
After leaving the cottage, we were all out of sorts and decided to head back to the palace.
The palace Desta was taken from was only fifty kilometers from the cottage, but much like the palace where Nora’s helicopter went down, it’s been razed, the land donated to the city it dwelled in, and they turned it into a park and a memorial.
On the drive home, we received a call from the head investigator on the case. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
“Yes,” Rowan agrees softly, his voice drifting into the cold air along with the smoke from his cigar.
It’s nearing midnight, but neither of us wanted to go to bed, and we definitely both needed a drink to unwind a bit.
“The blood on the pajamas was Father’s and not Desta’s.
” He leaves it at that as he takes a sip of his brandy.
“Why do you still sound like a whiny dog then?”
He grunts. “Because, Brother,” he sneers, “we’re not any closer to finding her than we were before all of this was discovered.
It feels like a wild goose chase, and for what?
Where will it lead us? We have to have a very uncomfortable conversation with Mother at some point soon, and I’ll be honest, I’m not sure much will come of it. ”