14. FOURTEEN
FOURTEEN
TILLY’S MUMS POV
M y beautiful daughter had to be out there somewhere. Catherine thought as she glanced at the charming cuckoo clock on the hall wall, marking yet another hour without Tilly. Her heart sank further. Her eyes, puffy from crying, she could barely focus on the time.
A deep fear roiled in her gut. Tilly never stayed out overnight without calling, and, on occasions when she stayed out late, she always called.
From her wheelchair, Catherine manoeuvred through the familiar rooms of their home. Each corner filled with memories of laughter and love, now echoed with silence and absence. The weight of the quiet house pressed down on her, as heavy as the damp Scottish mist that clung to the windows outside.
Her daughter’s disappearance served as a grim reminder of the reasons they insisted on raising Tilly far from the city’s dangers and corruption. But the ugly reality behind the headlines, which had always seemed so far removed from peaceful Galashiels, had now shattered her life.
Police and locals continued to frantically search the forest and surrounding countryside after finding Tilly’s portfolio scattered among some bushes along the route she usually took.
A postman on his delivery route had noticed some of the drawings.
Suspicious, he paused to retrieve them and contacted the police after noticing Tilly’s signature.
Catherine’s hands trembled as she moved in the kitchen. The tile counter was packed with a chaos of baking ingredients, utensils, forms, and bowls.
On either side of the window, shelves displayed an array of ribbons and design awards.
The kitchen was normally fragrant with the aroma of baking and cooking, but she hadn’t been able to focus on anything since she heard the news of her daughter.
She reached for her pills, struggling with the childproof cap, her fingers unsteady.
“ Breathe…I must stop and breathe,” she whispered to herself, her voice as shaky as her hands.
She gazed out the window at the idyllic scenery.
Catherine often felt grateful for their wonderful home.
Far from the chaos and violence of the cities, life was more peaceful in Galashiels.
Because Dennis’ consultancy business allowed him to work mostly from home, they had decided to find a more rural environment to raise Tilly.
It was ironic that on one of the few occasions he was required to travel abroad on business, it had to be now.
She thought of Dennis, and the frantic sound of his voice on the phone still echoed in her mind.
He’d left for New York on business the morning Tilly disappeared and was making the laborious journey home, but he wouldn’t be back until tonight.
The police insisted she wait at home in case Tilly returned, but Catherine was becoming frantic with worry.
Staying home and doing nothing made her feel hopeless.
Rumours were already circulating in the village that the police had found several bodies in the woods, but they wouldn’t provide Catherine with any further information.
She suddenly felt like she’d collapse. The room swam and, for a moment, she felt faint.
She sagged against her wheelchair. If the rumours were true about the men, then who had killed them? And where, then, was Tilly?
These events couldn’t have been coincidental. Her imagination swirled with terrifying thoughts. She wanted to believe that Tilly got away and was hiding somewhere, but what if she was hurt? What if she were trapped somewhere? If she had her phone, she would have certainly called.
The more she thought about the terrifying scenarios that could have befallen Tilly, the more disturbing images popped into her head.
Catherine wheeled into the hall, her gaze sweeping over the framed photos gracing the walls. The images of Tilly's growth from an infant to a toddler, an inquisitive child, and a quirky teenager, blossoming into a lovely young woman with a promising future as an artist.
And yet, in the weeks before she vanished, Catherine had noticed a quiet shift in Tilly, an absent look in her eyes, a hesitation in her laughter. She’d brushed it off as stress or hormones. Now, those moments haunted her.
Her eyes were fixed on the phone, which had remained silent for too long. Catherine dialled Donte’s number. It rang three times before he finally answered.
"Donte?" she said, struggling to keep the quaver from her voice.
"No, there’s been no news."
Donte’s agitated voice came through the phone, prompting Catherine to grip it as though it were a life preserver.
"I was hoping she’d reached out to you. It’s been two days." Tears blurred her vision. "The police have been trying to contact you. I know you’ve been searching, but it’s best you speak with them directly."
She hesitated.
"Donte...did you have a disagreement?" His sharp reply made her flinch.
"I believe you. I just needed to ask, if the police press further."
After hanging up, Catherine wiped away the tears welling in her eyes. Tilly was her only child. "Please, God, let my beautiful, precious daughter be safe," she whispered into the quiet room.
A heavy thud from upstairs broke her reverie. She glanced around in alarm at the sound of another thud, followed by the unmistakable creaking of the floorboards.
Heart hammering, she wheeled to the base of the stairs and looked up. “Who’s there?” her voice echoed, slightly trembling with fear and uncertainty.
A sharp knock at the door startled her. She spun around, momentarily distracted from the sounds above. Rushing to the door, she braced herself for news of Tilly.
She paused when she opened it and saw a burly, giant man with unusual features standing before her.
Dressed entirely in black beneath a billowing cape, her eyes were drawn to a scattering of cryptic tattoos which covered his oversized head, bull-like neck, and huge hands. As motionless as a statue, the man watched her with dark, sinister eyes.
“Can... can I help you?” She stammered.
“Does the girl with the rose barrette live here?” he said in a baritone voice.
A prick of fear surged through her as she took in his odd appearance. This stranger was unlike anyone she had ever encountered, and his intimidating demeanour set her nerves on edge.
“That’s my daughter,” She replied cautiously, “but she’s not here. Who are you and why are you looking for her? ”
“My name is Horous. That’s all you need to know.” His dismissive tone only heightened her anxiety.
Another creek from upstairs made her glance toward the ceiling.
Without waiting for permission, Horous brushed past her, sniffing the air like a predator tracking prey.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Catherine cried out. “You have no right to barge into my house like this!”
Horous stopped and faced Catherine with the cold eyes of a predator, he merely replied.
“You'd be so quick to dismiss news of your daughter?”
Catherine discerned his distinctive accent but couldn’t place it.
“What do you know about my daughter? Tell me, is she safe?”
“Your daughter has been taken. “Horous stated bluntly.
Fear rose in her chest. The fear that Tilly’s father had finally tracked them down. He’d vanished once before without a trace; what if he’d returned for Tilly and done it again? Insanity ran in that side of the family, and they’d spent years trying to shield her from it.
The room spun around, and Catherine gripped the arms of her wheelchair for support, feeling faint. “My God! Taken by who? Is it her father who has taken her!”
She fumbled to dial 999. Even as her fingers touched the keypad, the battery drained completely. The phone became useless in her hands.
“The police can’t help you,” Horous insisted. “No one from this village has the power to find her. I’m your only hope.”
Catherine’s confusion deepened. “What are you talking about? Stop talking in riddles!”
Horous’s expression darkened. “She’s been taken by men who won’t release her. She’s become their property. If you want to see her again, you’ll tell me what I need to know.”
Desperation clawed at her .
“Why should I believe you?” she demanded, struggling to maintain composure. She desperately wished Dennis were home and felt vulnerable in the presence of this strange and frightening man.
“I lost seven men trying to stop her abduction,” Horous said, his glowering eyes never once blinking.
“Your daughter is in grave danger. She has been hunted down by The Elysium Order.
They may appear handsome, but do not be deceived.
They are masters in manipulation, trained in the dark arts of seduction and deceit.
He stood tall, he continued.
“Their charm is but a facade, a means to ensure those endowed with unique souls, like your daughter. These brothers will weave a seductive tapestry of lies and half-truths, creating a temptation that few can resist”
Leaning closer, Horous’s voice dropped, ensuring the severity of his message was not lost. “But their goal is far more sinister than mere control. They will feed on her essence, drawing from her vital energies that give them the power to rejuvenate themselves, to extend their cursed existences.”
Horous paused, his expression sombre as he gauged Catherine's reaction.
Each moment they spend with her, they are draining her, slowly weaving their essence into her being. If left unchecked, your daughter will not merely lose her way, she will lose herself entirely, becoming nothing more than a shell, a conduit for their continued mortality.”
Horous’ head swivelled as another loud thud resonated from above.He rushed toward the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“I need something that belongs to your daughter,” he said, mounting the steps two at a time.
Panicked yet determined. Catherine maneuvered .