36. Thirty Four
Thirty Four
Eden
The truck idles outside a single story, brick cottage.
Cecil’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel, his eyes flicking back and forth.
Veda sits to my right, tapping an incessant rhythm against her knee with the pads of her fingers.
Between the two of them, the tension presses down and makes me feel claustrophobic.
The trip here wasn’t too long, but it was long enough for me to imagine all the things that could go wrong.
My company’s pointed silence towards one another did little to stave off any anxiety.
Veda said we’re visiting a house that one of her friends used to live in. It’s odd, but I didn’t bother asking questions. Everyone has so many secrets, I seldom get the whole truth—if I get the truth at all.
And Cecil, well, he won’t say a thing.
After the night at the pond, the two of them had a meeting. The subject, I can only assume, was me. It had been a couple weeks since we’d been to the Refuge, and I wasn’t sure if we would ever go back after what I did to Jasper.
There was no talk about it afterward. Cecil had taken us home, and I was too ashamed to ask if or when we would return. I can only imagine what those people must think of me. Even Cecil’s been on edge around me. I understand why, but each averted gaze causes a pang in my chest.
That being said, my near drowning had been reason enough for Cecil to make the trek back over there.
Creed and I had stayed at the house, which was fine by me.
Once Cecil returned, he told me that the two of us would be leaving the next morning.
And now we’re here, stewing in silence. It’s moments like these that prove how much I rely on Creed.
I wish he were here.
Minutes pass, punctuated by the small ticks of the watch that adorns Veda’s wrist. It’s nearing eleven already. We won’t be home for lunch, that I’m sure of. My stomach gnaws at the thought, but even if I tried to eat anything right now, it wouldn’t make it past my esophagus.
Suddenly, Cecil’s rough voice fills the cab.
“The moment I get an uneasy feeling—”
“I know.”
“Veda, I’m serious.”
“I know.”
Veda shoots daggers past me so they land on Cecil, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
All of this is my fault. Cecil never should have come after me. What will come of this? Any of this?
You know the end. My father’s voice cascades in my mind. I suppress a shiver.
Cecil’s attention abandons the woods around us and focuses on me. His warm palm presses against my cheek. Reluctantly, I yield to the slight pressure and turn my head until our eyes meet.
“We don’t have to go in there,” he murmurs.
Beside me, Veda groans loudly. “It’s a house, Cecil. You’re only scaring her more,” she snaps, throwing the passenger door open.
I want to tell him that he’s not scaring me, everything is. I am scaring me. But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I stay still and focus on the way his skin feels against my cheek. There are callouses on his palm–rough, but not unpleasant.
“When you’re ready to leave, we’ll leave. No questions asked.” He says it as a promise. I want to trust him, so I have to try.
Stepping onto the grass, my legs perform like cooked noodles, wobbling beneath me. Veda gives my shoulder a squeeze as she passes, leading the way to the front door.
Nestled in the trees, the house is well hidden.
There are no sidewalks, no driveways, no paths from foot traffic.
It looks like it’s been empty for quite some time; the greenery grows sporadically, shielding it from prying eyes.
The meager front porch is nearly caving in, wood beams bowing and wilted beyond what could be considered safe to walk on.
There’s a chimney, too, though no smoke comes from it.
Ivy climbs up one side of the brick, giving it a touch of whimsy.
Wind chimes hang from branches, too, the softest of rings carrying on the breeze.
Once upon a time, it was probably nice.
It’s not until I feel a nudge at the small of my back that I realize I’ve stopped in my tracks. Snapping back to the present, I force a thick swallow and take another step.
Veda is already at the door, giving the handle a wiggle. It’s unlocked, but she has to throw her shoulder into it to get it to budge.
Time slows as we step onto the porch, tiptoeing along what wooden boards are still intact.
My heart is in my throat and my hands tremble, itching to grab something for support.
Cecil wouldn’t want me to reach for his hand, so I clasp them behind my back.
The old wooden door groans as she pushes it in further, and Cecil is quick to step in front of me.
Grateful for the sense of security, I relish in the shield he creates, watching the way his shirt stretches over his back.
Veda makes her way in, each footstep sounding further than the last.
“Looks empty,” she calls out.
Cecil peers back at me, a wordless question in his eyes. I bob my head up and down, fronting a sureness that I don’t feel. It’s not that the house feels creepy or unwelcoming. In truth, it feels… fine.
The unknown, though, is difficult for me to digest.
Cecil hesitates, looking out into the tree line once more. I can practically hear his warring thoughts. Stay or flee. His hands hang at his sides, flexing and curling into tight fists. The veins that run down his forearms bulge, and they remind me of the stream by the refuge camp. Long and winding.
Mustering up my courage, I step around him to take the lead. I don’t get far before he falls into step with me. Close enough to touch, but choosing not to.
“Come on, you two,” Veda pipes up, her voice carrying from inside one of the rooms.
We enter the living room first. Cecil’s eyes are everywhere–searching for danger, I presume. There’s not much to be found. A lot of old furniture, a lot of half-burnt candles, a lot of… stuff. Knick knacks, books, photos—all covering the walls and tables. They’re memories, and they’re everywhere.
The sound of rummaging comes from the adjacent room and we follow it, wandering into a kitchen. A round table with four chairs, a stovetop with two burners, three cabinets. There’s one window, lace curtains that have yellowed with age doing little to filter out the light.
Veda opens each drawer and cabinet, her face pinched in concentration.
“You gonna tell us who lived here?” Cecil asks, continuing his own inspection as he circles the table.
“I already told you. A friend of mine.” Veda spares me a quick glance. “Go ahead and sit down, sweetheart. I’ve got to find something and then we can chat, alright?”
Looking to Cecil, I don’t sit down until he juts his chin in the direction of the seat.
The chair creaks when I lower myself, so I try my best to sit still on the chance the legs decide to give out. There are scratches and water stains on the wooden table, proof that it was well loved. I almost feel bad to think of all the furniture in this house that sits unused. It’s so lonely.
Veda curses under her breath as she meanders around the house, searching high and low. Cecil stays behind, always watching me out of the corner of his eye, as if someone might burst through the window and whisk me away. Honestly, stranger things have happened.
A muffled “Ah-ha!” comes from the opposite end of the house, followed by Veda rushing in with armfuls of books. They tumble to the table and form a pile in front of me. A cloud of dust puffs into my face and I let out a cough.
Cecil picks up one of the more deteriorated books by the cover, giving Veda a speculative look.
“What is this? First edition of the Old Testament?” He snarks, earning an eye roll.
“Funny.” She snatches the book from him and takes a seat across from me.
There are five books, one of which looks like a personal journal. It’s also not as old as the others. The leather binding has some loose threads and the page edges are warped from moisture, but it’s in decent condition.
“Did these belong to your friend?” I ask, running my finger over the spine. I fight an intense desire to flip through the pages, curiosity tugging at me. It wouldn’t be polite without an invitation, so I don’t, but I can’t take my eyes off of it.
“They did. She was a lot like you; going through a self discovery. The books were used for research, and she wrote her own experiences in that journal.” She gestures to the leather before me.
“I was hoping that if you read through them, they would give you some answers. Or at least a starting point.” She sounds hopeful, but there’s an apprehension in her rigid posture and tight lips.
Cecil comes to stand at my back, peering down at the journal. I feel his warmth, and it’s a welcome reminder that I’m not alone.
“Was she a Reaper, too? Your friend,” Cecil asks.
Veda’s eyes crinkle with amusement as she shakes her head.
“No. She was something else. It took us a long time to figure it out, actually. That’s where the books came in handy.”
My curiosity grows.
“What was she?” I sign.
There’s a gleam in Veda’s eye now, one that looks very much like pride.
She leans further across the table, as if she’s telling me a secret.
“She was a Seer. A damn good one.” She flips through the pages of a brick-colored book.
If the state of the binding didn’t give away its bygone origin, the swooping cursive inside certainly would.
Having found the passage she was searching for, she passes the book over to me.
In the upper righthand corner is the sketch of a woman’s face. Her features are harsh, and her eyes are entirely black. The text is difficult to make out, so I lift the book and bring it closer to my face. Cecil bends down behind me, reading over my shoulder.
SHE WHO SEES
Sight will deceive you
Heart will betray you
Mind will defy you
Voices will sway you
All that is written
Is held in the Soul
Allow Fate to guide you
Relinquish control
Placing the book on the table, I meet Veda’s expectant gaze. Cecil lets out a humorless snort, gripping the back of my chair.
“This is a little Woo-Woo, don’t you think?”
Veda raises a challenging eyebrow, cocking her head to the side.
“More Woo-Woo than Eden’s brain scrambling screams?” The words are true, but harsh. I can’t help but flinch when I hear them.
It effectively shuts Cecil up, though.
An arm brushes my shoulder as he begins to flip through the pages.
A flash of a man with elongated teeth has me reaching forward, gripping his wrist. He stops on the page, and my eyes grow wide.
This drawing is even more eerie. His canines narrow into a blade, and the only color on the page is the red of his eyes. The title reads: HE WHO FEEDS
“What is that?” Goosebumps rise on my arms.
“The Nocturnus.” She scowls as she says it. “My least favorite of all the Gifted.”
“Like a Vampire?” Cecil sounds as bewildered as I feel. The book before us isn’t huge, but it certainly isn't small. How many different types of “Gifted” are there?
“Vampires are based off of the Nocturnus, yes. They have their differences, though.” She lets out a laugh, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. “If you cross paths with one, garlic will do you no good.”
“Noted.”
Cecil is so close, I can feel the rumble of his voice in my chest. It distracts me more than I’d care to admit.
“There,” he mutters, bringing the book closer to our faces. This page is in the worst condition. There are pencil marks that have since been erased in the margins, and the corner has a diagonal line where it had been folded over. Whoever owned the book frequented this page.
The drawing depicts a girl with her mouth wide, eyes squeezed shut. Screaming.
“She who Keens,” Cecil reads aloud. I can feel his eyes on the side of my face. “Why are some of them ‘she’ and others ‘he?’”
Veda reaches forward, tracing her nail over what was once a paragraph on the edge of the page. All that remains are smudges. “The book was written on the original of each Gifted. Some were men, some were women.”
Cecil’s exhale is audible, and I can tell he’s getting agitated. Peeking over my shoulder, I watch him rub at his temples. I understand the sentiment exactly, I’m just too nervous to show it.
“You realize how crazy this sounds, right? If this is all real, why wouldn’t you have told me?” There’s a hint of betrayal weakening the firmness of Cecil’s voice.
Veda reaches for another book, black with faded white lettering. The title simply reads Fatum. With a deep breath, she straightens her spine. Her gaze is unwavering as she peers at us.
“The only way this is going to work is if you two have an open mind. You, especially.” She glares at Cecil. “I will tell you everything I know, but only if you’re ready to hear it. No interruptions, no doubts, no arguments.”
There’s a swirling in my gut. I want to know, but I’m terrified of what I’ll find out. All my life, I was confined to that house and the beliefs that my father fed me. Now, each day, every truth I knew is shattered. I’m not sure how much more I can take.
But what choice do I have?
There’s a tremble in my fingers, a quiver in my jaw, but the determination wins over.
“I’m ready.”
“I’m ready.”