Chapter 23 #2
I looked away, trying not to let on that the double life I was leading in this town was more unstable than a five-tier wedding cake in a delivery van.
Davian put down the bags while Lara dried her dog and nudged him on the nose.
I suppressed the urge to help Davian out of his coat and instead found myself staring as he took it off himself while watching Lara and her dog with a smile, as if lost in a carefree daydream.
“Dad, you didn't have to embarrass Quill in front of the others,” Lara said, looking at him intently, and I bit my tongue because Davian was now looking at me, overwhelmed. “She has her suicide mission completely under control.”
I Wanted to Leave
SYML
What had been fun for Lara left us both visibly frozen.
“After all, you're going to withdraw from university in two weeks, aren't you?”
I forced myself to look at Lara and nodded slowly, which seemed to satisfy her, because she left it at that, released the dog from the towel and it immediately jumped around Davian's feet while Lara walked through the kitchen and reached into her bag.
Not knowing what to do with myself, I started putting the groceries away in the refrigerator, which only made Davian stare at me again.
“By the way, I borrowed some cool movies from Thomas, and I think this is the perfect weather to watch one.”
A clap of thunder tore through the atmosphere as if on cue, and the dog disappeared into the living room, whimpering. The rain now lashed harder against the windows and the wind began to shake the facade of the house.
“Lara, the moot court briefs...”
“...can be corrected later. And you’ll be glad you did.” She pulled a VHS tape from behind her back and waved it in the air. “He finally gave me his VHS tape of Sense and Sensibility.”
Davian narrowed his eyes. “Convinced. But just this once.”
Lara disappeared into the living room giggling, and I stared after her, trying to remember the last time I had interacted so uninhibitedly with someone in my family.
Lost in thought, I put the remaining cans away in the cupboard.
“You don't have to help.”
I flinched.
Davian was standing next to me, opening the refrigerator to put away groceries.
“It's the least I can do.”
“You're our guest.”
He looked at me intently.
“The guest who's wondering if his host is a Jane Austen fan,” I said to change the subject. “Sense and Sensibility?”
He looked down at the floor with a resigned smile.
“It was just a phase, and I suppose I’ll never completely move past it.”
We put the groceries away together.
“Do you still read romance novels?”
“Occasionally. Do you?”
“Occasionally.”
I smiled, but turned away from him in time so he couldn't see it, just as Lara came back into the kitchen and the two of them started talking about her studies while I made popcorn for the movie.
At some point, the three of us sat on the couch, Lara in the middle, and watched the Jane Austen film adaptation, in which two contrasting sisters experienced love and heartbreak, as well as family tragedies.
It was a film that showed how important a healthy combination of rational judgment and emotional depth was to achieving personal happiness and fulfillment.
It was a challenge not to look at Davian, who countered his daughter's critical comments with equally critical comments of his own.
“You talk as if I have something to learn from this movie, yet you’re the one who takes life far too seriously, like Elinor. When was the last time you wrote?”
I leaned back, amused, watching for his reaction.
“Lara, not here...”
She ignored his request and turned to me.
“Did you know that Dad used to write?”
I raised both eyebrows and Davian pressed his lips together.
“Lara.”
She looked back, challenging, but held back what she was about to say next, and I wondered if they talked about it often and why it was suddenly so important to Davian to avoid the subject.
I had successfully suppressed it since our second-to-last conversation in his office and my subsequent bathroom floor episode, but now all the questions came flooding back. Loudest of all were those triggered by the three sharp bullets in my pants pocket.
The gun hadn't been in his office. I had opened all the drawers, but had found only legal documents, textbooks, and file folders.
It had to be here... in this house.
“Anyway. Quill reminds me of Marianne.” Now she looked at me challengingly. “You live as if there were no consequences in life, no tomorrow.”
I didn't know how to respond. My thoughts were too dark right now, the bullets pressed too hard against my thigh.
“Instead of making two enemies at one movie night, you’d better make some more popcorn,” joked Davian, who seemed completely relaxed and carefree for the first time since I’d known him.
Lara rolled her eyes and reached for the bowl, but I snatched it out of her hand a little too hastily.
“I’ll take care of it.”
And before either of them could say anything, I had disappeared into the kitchen and put a new bag of popcorn in the microwave with trembling hands.
Lara and Davian were already having a heated discussion again.
I had six minutes. Six minutes until the popcorn would be ready.
You can do this, Quill.
Then I pressed the button.
Now there was no turning back.
Sneaky
original_soundtrack
I tiptoed down the hallway to the stairs, grateful that Lara was holding the sleeping dog in her arms and that the three of them were distracted.
Still, I was consumed with nervousness when I reached the second floor and looked back and forth between the five white doors.
The one at the very end was the bathroom. The one to my right was Lara's room.
I carefully opened the door opposite, but ended up in a guest room.
The next door was locked.
Shit.
Far too nervous, I fumbled for one of the bobby pins I always carried with me, but dropped it and the soft clink sent me into shock.
“Shit. Shit. Shit...”
I bit my lower lip, tried to ignore my pounding heart, and picked up the hairpin.
As quietly as possible, I picked the lock and slipped into the room.
A study darkened by curtains, with an ornately decorated fireplace, cream-white wooden bookshelves, and an antique desk in front of the windows.
Davian's study.
The first thing that caught my eye was the black typewriter on his desk.
I was fascinated.
Davian wrote on a typewriter. Something I had tried, but I lacked focus and speed while typing, which was why I still preferred to write my stories by hand. It was the same for me with the computer.
My gaze wandered over the chaos of this room. Chaos. Loose sheets of paper lay around, partially covering the desk, and kissing the floor, though it wasn't nearly as chaotic as my room and now the attic of the Richter estate.
I spotted a white paper crane on the mantelpiece, then two more, also up there, and they reminded me of the old one I had found in his office.
Intruder
Paul Leonard-Morgan
I wanted to smile, but the time pressure and my concern made it impossible for me to continue focusing on the details of this room, even though at that moment I longed to lose myself in here.
Instinctively, I rushed forward and pulled open the desk drawers. Drawers that were literally overflowing with notebooks, loose sheets of paper, and even more clutter.
You don't have time.
I wanted to read it all, needed more time, but I had to use the time I had available at that moment to do the right thing.
There was no firearm in the desk. Nothing.
I immediately got up and walked over to the only closet in the room, which was barely noticeable between the bookshelves but was the same size as one of them.
I pulled on the handles, but the doors were locked.
Shit.
What could Davian be keeping in such a huge closet? An entire arsenal of weapons? Hundreds more bullets?
I felt sick.
A hand clamped over my mouth. Firm and deliberate.
My eyes shot open and I let out a startled sound, but the hand muffled it.
I was pulled backward, falling against a hard, warm body.
“Shhh,” a low voice whispered in my ear. “Relax.” Davian. That was Davian’s rough, quiet voice. “It’s me.”
Immediately, a moth bomb exploded in my stomach.
“I just didn’t want you to get startled too loudly.”
He carefully removed his hand from my mouth.
The next moment, I spun around and unintentionally inhaled the scent of salty popcorn, cedar wood, pine, and... Davian.
Caught and paralyzed, I stared at Davian, who was looking from me to the closet behind me.
“Davian, I...”
“You got lost?”
He raised both eyebrows. Not playfully. No... There was something uncharacteristically dark in his gaze.
“You shouldn't be in this room.”
I swallowed. And, as so often, his eyes drifted to my neck.