Chapter 9
Nine
AURELIA
Night has fallen, and they have left. Victor refused to speak to me after I asked him about the calls, and Margaret avoided me with the excuse that she was too busy dusting shelves inside the house. So, I refused to go into town, and they brought me food and left earlier today.
Why shouldn’t I have answered that call?
At least now, I see more clearly that the diary I’m reading in my bedroom belongs to Lilibeth Rosewood, and I’m following her life as if she is still here.
Another night. Another walk through the house, turning off the lights as if I’m guarding its secrets. Another night, moving like a ghost through the empty rooms, searching for answers in someone else’s life because there is nothing left of mine.
As I turn off the last light, I notice a white rose resting on the cabinet near the door. I don’t even pick it up this time. I avoid it like it’s poison, passing it without a second glance as I head straight for the staircase to the room upstairs.
The clock strikes midnight somewhere in the background, and the phone begins to ring. I shouldn’t answer it, but I turn anyway. I walk toward it, and by the time I reach the receiver, it rings a second time.
I lift it into my hand. My fingers tighten around the phone as I say, “Rosewood Residence, how may I help you?”
Just like every other time, there is breathing on the other end. But just as I’m about to put the phone down, a man speaks.
“Are you scared...” His voice is deep and raspy. He pauses, “kitten?”
My heart starts beating so fast it feels like my chest can barely contain it. My breathing turns shallow, and every breath burns, sharp enough to make my ears ring.
“There is a saying,” he says with a laugh. His voice drops lower, rougher. “Curiosity killed the cat.”
My hand moves faster than my thoughts, and I slam the receiver back into place, taking two quick steps away from the phone.
This is the kind of man mothers warn you about.
A predator no one sees until it’s too late.
The kind who might murder me and sleep just fine after.
A man so obsessed he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.
And I’m not sure what that is. The more I dig into the past of this house, the more I fear he really is a ghost. Something that can’t be killed, but can kill me.
My back hits something firm, and I’m too afraid to reach behind me. My heart races harder, tangling with every frantic thought, and near my ear there is slow breathing, so close I can almost feel lips against my skin.
He’s behind me.
I close my eyes, intrusive thoughts of him killing me flooding my mind while every nerve in my body reacts to his breath. I swallow hard and part my lips, dragging in air but not letting it back out, like if I stay still enough, I might already be dead.
“Are you lost, kitten?” He whispers against my ear in that same deep voice I just heard on the phone. I freeze. My legs refuse to move.
His hand brushes the outside of my arm, sliding lightly until his fingers reach the tips of mine.
Then he pulls back without warning, only for his hand to clamp over my mouth.
He drags me closer, turns me around, and pins me against the wall.
My hands curl into fists as I try to hit him, but he only laughs.
He is nothing but amused by how weak I am compared to him.
His face buries into my neck before I even get a chance to see him, and he sniffs my skin. His hand slips from my mouth, one finger brushing over my lips as he hushes me.
“Shhh.”
A chuckle tears out of him.
“Kitten, if you want to scream, scream.” He laughs again. “We’re so far out, no one will hear your little screams. They’d be nothing but music to my ears.”
I stay silent. So silent that even if someone were outside, ready to help me, they still wouldn’t hear anything.
He pins my hands above my head, and for the first time, I manage to see his face.
His eyes. They are the lightest shade of blue I have ever seen, a complete contrast to his hair, which is the deepest shade of brown.
His jaw is tight, perfectly shaped, clenched hard beneath a shadow of a beard, rough enough to show, but not heavy enough to hide him.
His thick dark brows mesh, making his stare even more dangerous.
His lips are full, the top one sharply shaped, pressing against the bottom.
And I stare at them, my pupils dilating as I look at him, my whole body trembling above him.
What is happening to me? Why do I feel this way?
Something inside me wakes up. Every nerve answers him, and my heart races for him. For this dangerous man who has been tormenting me for night after night.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he says, one brow lifting as a smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t tell me the kitten has gotten smitten?”
He laughs, then slams me against the wall so hard a whimper tears from my throat.
“I will ruin you,” he growls, the corner of his lip twitching.
“Why?” I whisper, a shallow breath slipping past my lips as my back arches.
He grabs my face, his fingers crushing my cheeks together as he yanks me closer.
I swallow the lump in my throat, my eyes locked on his.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he says, another breath brushing my mouth, “and you shouldn’t have answered.”
He shoves me back against the wall, then takes two slow steps away, then runs away.
My hands fly to my neck, then my lips, then over my face, as if I need to make sure I’m still here, still breathing, that I really survived this. I sink onto the bottom step, one hand clutching my chest, trying to steady the wild pounding of my heart.
Sleep finally comes to me, and after so many days in this house, I feel like I can finally sleep. I feel like I’m floating in the sea, and the thought of it should scare me, but somehow, I feel at peace. Then the water turns dark, and it pulls me under. I’m drowning.
I fight, gasping for air, but nothing helps. I twist and turn, reaching for something, for anyone, but no one comes. Then through the water, there is a soft melody.
When I close my eyes, I’m sitting on the middle of the floor in a light blue bedroom. The blonde British girl sits beside me. She brushes the dark-haired doll’s hair and sings “Lavender’s Blue.”
“Lily,” I say, “what are we doing here?”
“It’s our room, silly,” she says, still brushing her doll’s hair.
“But I don’t know you, Lily.” I try to touch her hand, but it’s so cold.
“Of course you know me, silly.” She chuckles. “We used to play together.” She places the doll inside the dollhouse. “Don’t you remember?”
I shake my head.
She reaches for my hand and turns her palm up, holding it out to me. “Give me your hand.”
I lift mine and hold it over hers. With the tip of her finger, she begins to trace slow circles into my palm.
I close my eyes, and suddenly I see two little girls running through the backyard, playing beneath the chestnut tree. Their laughter is coming closer towards us.
“I’ll catch you,” one of them shouts.
“Never,” the other calls back.
They run in circles, chasing each other, their shoes tearing through the grass. A boy stands nearby, watching them. Then he calls out to one of the girls.
“Let’s go. It’s getting late.”
But she refuses, and he leaves without her.
At some point, while they are playing hide-and-seek, the other girl falls. The blonde girl can’t find her, so she leaves her there. Something about it feels familiar, like I should know what happened, but I can’t remember.
I see the boy coming back.
He kneels, slips his arms around the girl, and lifts her against his chest.
“I got you,” he says.
And when I see her more clearly, I realize the girl is redheaded.
I close my eyes again, and I’m back with the blonde girl, who is still playing with the dollhouse.
“Lily, is this a memory? Who is he?” I ask.
But she only presses her little finger to her lips as the call rings out. “We shouldn’t answer this.”
Something yanks me awake, and my eyes fly open. I turn to the side and see a white rose resting on the nightstand.
He was here again. Watching me sleep.
It should bother me. So why doesn’t it?