Chapter 10
Ten
AURELIA
Istand still in the middle of the bedroom, staring at the door in front of me.
The same door I tried two minutes ago, the one that wouldn’t open, while I stood there trying to understand how I ended up in a situation like this.
The longer I look at it, the more I notice.
Scratches beneath the paint. Marks around the keyhole where the rust has been scraped away, exposing raw metal underneath.
I take another step and reach for the handle again. The moment I pull it, the door opens. It’s colder today, and the chirping of birds sounds louder than it did yesterday morning, yet the day feels the same.
Instead of going downstairs and making a cup of coffee, I turn around and head back to bed. As I sit, I pick up L.R.’s diary and begin to read.
How is it possible that the girl from my dream showed me the same story L.R. wrote in the diary?
I lean against the nightstand, but my hand shoves it out of place, throwing me forward. My head slams into the edge of the bed.
I hiss, my brows drawing together as I press a hand to my forehead. My fingertips come away warm, and when I pull them back in front of my eyes, I see a few drops of blood.
“Fuck.”
My fingers hover near the cut at my hairline as I push myself to my feet and step toward the mirror. It isn’t deep, but it’s deep enough to leave a scar.
I turn back to the bed and reach for the nightstand, pulling open the drawer. My hand finds a bandage. When I crouch, something catches my eye.
Two tiny dolls made of chestnuts.
They sit tucked in the corner, no bigger than my thumb, with scraps of cloth for dresses and chestnuts for heads. I lift one into my hand and notice the hair taped to its head. One is red, and the other is blonde.
I pull one strand of my own hair forward and hold it next to the doll’s. It matches.
“Is this…” My voice barely holds. “My hair?”
I place the dolls back. My hands move too fast, like I need distance from them. I rush toward the door, my pulse climbing into my throat.
Just as I reach for the handle, something moves in the hallway.
“Lily,” I shout, “this isn’t funny!”
I slam the door and hurry downstairs. As I go, I notice it’s dark, as if it’s the middle of the night. When I look at the clock, it reads 3:18 a.m.
No.
That’s not possible.
It was morning. I know it was.
I turn around and hear a girl whisper, “Hide and seek.”
I ignore her. I take another step forward and notice a woman standing at the front door. She wears a white dress, the same nightgown I wore two nights ago. Her hair is blonde, almost white, clinging to her face and trailing down her sides in wet strands.
I freeze, my back pressing into the wall.
She tilts her head, and she just… moves. Gliding through the house like she already knows the way. She reaches the counter, taking the white rose The Caller left for me, then disappears down the hallway.
I rise onto my tiptoes and force myself to move. One step, after another until I’m running.
The front door is wide open, and I run right through it. It’s cold outside. I should go back. But I can’t. The church is the only place that is close enough to hide.
Mud swallows my bare feet as I run, leaving traces behind. My lungs burn, but I push harder, faster.
I can hear the door creak behind me.
I glance back.
She’s stepping out of the house, following the same path. Following me.
A sound breaks from my throat.
I lunge for the church door, pull it open, and stumble inside. Relief barely has time to find me.
A strong male hand clamps around me from behind. And yanks me back into the corner near the confession booth.
“Quiet,” he whispers, his hand clamping over my mouth as he forces me inside.
The church turns colder. Everything is so quiet, until a low whistle slips through the silence.
I try to turn my head, but his grip is strong.
“It’s dangerous to be outside of the house at night.” His breath brushes my ear.
I know that voice.
“Victor?”
He turns to face me and pulls me out of the booth, his fingers wrapping around my hand. His nails dig into my skin, sending a sting up my arm as I try to wrench myself free.
“Let me go,” I say, twisting against him.
He shakes his head, then suddenly releases me, like he’s just realized how hard he’s been holding on. His eyes lock on mine. His lips part, but nothing comes out.
I take a step back. Then another. The altar looms behind me as I keep moving, needing distance, needing space.
He doesn’t follow.
He just stands there for a moment, still as stone. Then, without a word, he turns and lowers himself onto one of the benches.
“What are you not telling me?” My voice trembles. My hands slide behind my back, searching for anything I can use to hit him if I have to.
“You really don’t remember?” His gaze lifts to meet mine.
I shake my head. “Remember what?”
“You were here six years ago. You showed up at the doorstep covered in blood.”
He clears his throat, eyes drifting toward the window.
“Lilibeth took Helena to England to visit her mother. Margaret went with them, and Mr. Rosewood and I were the only ones in the house.”
I try to remember, but nothing comes. I lift my foot, glancing down, wanting to take a step, but my whole body stays locked in place, refusing to move.
“I don’t remember,” I whisper as I lower myself onto the cold steps near the altar, my hands beginning to shake.
He comes toward me slowly. When he stops in front of me, he hesitates. Then, with a sigh, he lowers himself and sits beside me.
“You...” He clicks his tongue. “You two knew each other from before.”
“I don’t remember,” I shout this time.
“You don’t, or you don’t want to?” he asks, rising to his feet. “Miss Vale, the truth is, none of us know how we ended up here, yet we do.”
“Part of you wanted to be here. That’s why you answered that ad. Even if you hate to admit it, you recognized the number.”
“I answered the ad because it was the only choice I had.”
“Was it? Or did you convince yourself it was?” he asks, turning his back to me. “We all see things, Miss Vale. We all hear what goes on inside this house. You just see and hear it more clearly.”
I lower my gaze to my bare, muddy feet and wrap my arms around my knees as his footsteps fade away.
He stops.
“They found two bodies,” he says. “I came back to tell you. They haven’t been identified yet.”
My head lifts. Cold sweat prickles across my forehead. Something tightens deep in my stomach.
“Do you want me to take you to San Francisco?” He asks.
“No,” I say. “I’ll wait here.”
I blink twice towards him. Giving him no extra explanation. He just pulls his lips together, puts his hand in his pocket, and walks away.
Leaving me here with nothing but the noise in my head and the creeping sense that something is wrong with me. The only answer I can hold on to is that I’m losing it.
In some twisted way, all these people wandering through the house feel like pieces of something I used to know. Memories, maybe. Out of reach. They circle me, telling me names that should mean something, names that might have once mattered. Now they are just empty words.
I push myself to my feet, fingers curling tight into fists until my nails press into my palms.
“None of it is real,” I say, again and again. “Nothing is real.”
My voice drops lower. “This is not real.”
I take a step forward.
The church swallows my footsteps as I move toward the door. I keep walking and walking back through the garden then back toward the house, leaving a trail of mud behind me like proof that I’m still alive.
I try to piece it all together as I walk.
Who is he? My stalker.
Is he someone I know? Someone I should remember?
Or someone from before the accident?
I sit on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath me, and I catch something moving in the corner of my eye.
There is a little blonde girl sitting in a chair with a carousel music box in her hands. I know the melody. It’s Lavender’s Blue Lullaby.
“Lily,” I whisper, turning toward her. “Do we know him?”
She nods.
My throat tightens.
“Can you help me remember?”
A tear slips down my cheek as she rises and walks toward me. She comes closer and lifts her hand, holding it in the air for a second, then presses her index finger softly against my forehead.
We close our eyes together.
Something pulls me under, somewhere between a dream and a memory, blurred at the edges with black smoke.
I see him.
I see Dasha too.
It was my first lesson with her.
I remember how the classroom had an odd smell of strawberries and polished wood. I scraped my shoes against the floor to hide the worn and thin soles. A few girls whispered, one of them looked straight at me and said I don’t belong here.
I didn’t say anything back, I just stood in the corner for the entire class, thinking if I don’t move, they might forget I exist.
But they didn’t.
When the same girl came back, smiling, something inside me snapped. I grabbed her hair and pulled hard enough that her head hit the edge of the table.
The whole room went silent, and Dasha sent me to detention.
Except it wasn’t really detention. She created a place for the ones who got pushed aside, the ones who were told they weren’t enough. She just called it detention, so no one asked questions.
There were only three of us. A blonde girl, my age, and a boy, older than both of us, sitting in the corner with his arms crossed.
“Don’t mind him,” Dasha said. “He’s here for real detention.”
He never spoke. He just stayed there watching me play piano, watching the blonde girl as she danced on every note I played.
Dasha called him a devil. But to us, he felt like an angel.
Because he stood up for us when no one else did. No one ever laughed at us again—no one even dared to touch us. He made sure of it.
I heard later that his father died, leaving the house in his and his brother’s care. I never asked about his mother. We didn’t talk at all.
But I always had a secret crush on him. Maybe because I felt safe. Maybe because I had always been so alone.
And just like that, the image of him slips away again.
The memory thins. It feels like someone is pulling it from me, thread by thread, the moment Lily lifts her finger from my forehead.
She stares at me. Her eyes turn white as her palm comes to rest against my cheek, and she hums softly.
“Lavender’s blue…”
Deep down, something changed.
There is something my mind is hiding from me.