Chapter 19 Vivianne The Bees #2
For a moment—just a moment—I can almost believe I'm free.
The gardens sprawl before me. Geometric precision. Every hedge trimmed to mathematical perfection. Every flower bed a calculated arrangement of color and height. French Renaissance style, Father always says with pride.
More like a maze designed to trap rather than delight.
I walk slowly. Heels clicking on stone paths. The sound echoes, then gets swallowed by the vast emptiness. Birds settle into trees, their evening songs fading. The breeze rustles through leaves.
Behind me, Donovan's heavier footfalls. Steady. Relentless. The shadow I can't shake.
The gardens may be beautiful, but they're still part of my prison. The perfectly trimmed hedges are just walls made of leaves. The fountains and statues—just decoration on my cage.
I glance back. Donovan trails at a respectful distance. His face impassive. Professional. But his eyes track every movement.
The flicker of movement catches my attention again. Deeper in the gardens. Near the far hedge line.
Something tugs at me. Draws me forward.
"Everything okay, Ms. Faulks?" Donovan's voice carries across the space between us.
"Fine." Too sharp. I force myself to soften it. "Just enjoying the fresh air."
But the pull intensifies. Like a current I can't resist.
I keep walking. Deeper into the gardens. Away from the house.
That's when I notice them.
Bees.
One buzzes past my ear. Fat. Fuzzy. The sound of its wings unnaturally loud in the quiet evening.
I swat at it absently. Early for bees. Especially bumblebees.
Another drifts by. Then another.
My brow furrows. This is strange. Wrong.
More appear. Their movements lazy at first. Aimless. But as I walk, they seem to multiply. Little black bodies suspended in the cooling air. Their collective hum grows louder. More insistent.
The sound fills my ears. Drowns out everything else.
I stop. Stare at the growing swarm.
This isn't normal. There are too many. Far too many for this time of evening. This time of year.
They circle. Hover. Their pattern seems deliberate.
A cluster lands on a nearby bush. I blink, certain my eyes are playing tricks. But no—they're arranging themselves. Forming a shape.
An arrow.
Pointing ahead.
I freeze. Pulse hammering against my ribs.
"I'm losing my mind."
The stress has finally broken me. I'm hallucinating. Has to be.
The bees lift off. Swirl in the air. Reform.
Another arrow. Hovering. Impossibly precise.
Blood pounds in my ears. Adrenaline spiking.
"Ms. Faulks?" Donovan's voice sounds distant despite his proximity. "Is something wrong?"
"No." The word comes out strangled. "Just... stretching my legs."
I can't look away from the bees. From the impossible thing happening right in front of me.
They move again. Leading me deeper into the gardens. Away from the house. Away from Donovan's sight line.
I follow. Can't help it. Drawn forward like a sleepwalker.
The gravel crunches under my feet. Each step feels both terrifying and inevitable. The hedges grow taller. The path narrows. Shadows deepen as we move into more secluded areas.
Donovan follows, but he's falling behind. The winding paths and tall hedges break his sight line.
The bees lead me to a hidden alcove. Tucked away. Private. The air here feels different—charged, electric. Like right before lightning strikes.
Donovan stops at the entrance. Far enough to give me space. Close enough to intervene if needed. He pulls out his phone. Checks something. Distracted for precious seconds.
The bees hover near wildflowers. Their wings blur with movement.
Then—impossibly—they arrange themselves into letters.
U C us?
My breath catches. Stops entirely. The world narrows to those three letters formed by living insects.
"Yes." The whisper barely makes it past my lips.
I blink hard. Expecting the hallucination to dissolve. But the letters hold. Steady. Real.
The sweet scent of nectar. The earthy smell of soil. The cool air on my skin. All real. All grounding me in this impossible moment.
The bees scatter. Regroup. Form new words.
Paul.
Comes.
Soon.
My pulse stops. Then restarts, double-time. Hope—that dangerous, fragile thing—sparks to life in my chest.
The bees shift again. Their tiny bodies realigning with impossible precision.
R U held...
A pause. More bees join the formation.
...against UR will?
The question floats in the air. Undeniable. Inescapable.
My throat tightens. The answer is so simple. So obvious. But saying it out loud—even to a swarm of bees—feels like crossing a line I can't uncross.
I glance back. Donovan's still focused on his phone. The shadows stretch longer. Darker.
"Yes." The word scrapes out. Raw. Honest.
The bees swirl. Dance. Reform.
Escape?
"How?" My voice breaks. "I can't. They won't let me leave. I've tried. They watch everything. Every door. Every window. Every—"
The bees shift before I finish.
Rescue.
The word hits like electricity. Every nerve fires at once. Desperation I've been burying for months surges to the surface.
"Please." Stronger now. More certain. "I need help. I—"
The bees scatter briefly. Then reform one last time.
Help will come.
Then they disperse. Melting into the dusk like they were never there.
The garden goes still. Silent except for my ragged breathing. But the buzzing continues inside my chest. Inside my head. A promise humming through my veins.
Paul is coming.
He hasn't forgotten me.
"Ms. Faulks?" Donovan's voice cuts through my reverie. "We should head back inside."
I turn. Force my expression neutral. My pulse races. My hands shake. I clasp them together to hide it.
"Of course."
As I follow him back toward the house, I cast one last glance over my shoulder. The flower bed looks perfectly ordinary in the fading light.
But I know better.
The mansion looms ahead. Every window blazing with light. A gilded cage I've been trapped in for too long.
But now there's hope. A countdown that means something other than doom.
Paul is coming.
I step back into the oppressive atmosphere of the house. The cold air. The watching eyes. The suffocating control.
But this time, I carry a secret.
I'm not alone.