Chapter 36
Lucan
Awoman’s frantic screams echo through my uncle’s manor.
“Right this way, sir,” says the butler, leading me down a cavernous hallway.
Uncle Gareth prefers older architecture, all dark wood and grim oil paintings. Places that feel haunted. After the losses he’s experienced, maybe the vibe feels oddly comforting to him.
The woman’s screams grow louder, accompanied by dramatic music.
“Your uncle and his wife are out with Miss Adelle,” says the butler in his prim voice. “Mr. Damon is home.”
“So I can hear,” I say.
The butler brings me to a sitting room, bowing deeply before leaving.
Damon sprawls on a lounge, watching a gigantic television mounted between matching bronze shields. On the screen, a man with a knife chases a screaming woman through a deserted shopping mall.
“Damon,” I say.
“Lucan, hey.” He beckons for me to join him. “What’s up?”
I lean with my hands on the back of the lounge. “I’m taking Gareth up on his offer to look in Parker’s room for anything I might want to keep.”
Damon keeps his gaze on the screen, transfixed by the cinematic butchering. “Cool.”
“Good movie?”
“Yeah, it’s alright. Something to get me in the mood.”
Concern stabs deep in my chest. “The mood for what?”
He looks at me, lifting his brows. “Halloween’s tomorrow?”
“Oh yeah,” I say, rolling my shoulders.
To say I’m on edge is an understatement.
“Are you going to the party in the mountains?” asks Damon.
Tomorrow, I have to go to New York with Dad for a meeting. Who knows what time I’ll return?
“Doubt it.” I pause. “Why? Are you going?”
He shrugs. “I might.”
“To a Darkbloom party? I thought Royce had its own?”
“Sure. But I enjoy mixing with my lessers once in a while. Are you done with exams?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah.” He pauses. “And Sadie?”
“What about her?”
“Are you done with her too?” Damon’s dark eyes are unreadable. “Because everyone’s saying you’ve been flying solo this past week.”
I grunt. “Pay attention to gossip, do you?”
“I was just curious.”
“Any man who goes near her will be castrated. You can spread that around if you like.” I slam my palm down on his shoulder. “Enjoy your movie.”
He shrugs me off. “Need me to show you Parker’s room?”
“I know the way.”
“Shout out if you need anything.”
I’ll never get used to seeing him and Adelle in this house instead of my cousins. It feels wrong, like I’ve slipped into an upside-down, alternate reality. And maybe I have, because in this reality, Sadie wants space while I only want closeness.
Climbing the creaky stairs, I’m alone once more with the dread swirling around me.
She’s unprotected. She’s walking around out there, all perfect and soft and sweet, with nobody to watch her every move.
Though she’s strong and has spark, she’s still vulnerable. The killer’s been lying low since the gala, but I don’t believe for a second that asshole is gone.
A potent combination of stress and longing has been eating away at me. This afternoon, I had to get out of my apartment. Wherever I look, I see her. Feel her. Smell her. It’s fucking torture.
I still compulsively check my phone for updates on her, though there’s nothing much to see anymore. When she wore the pendant, I could confirm the blessed thump of her heart whenever I liked, as proof she’s alive.
Sadie posts nothing on her social media. During exams, a handful of photos of her appear on gossip accounts, walking between the library and her dorm, but her downcast face reveals little.
My feelings for her are beyond anyone’s control. When I think about her or when I was with her, a radiance coming from my chest almost shatters my surroundings with sheer force.
How can I function without her now that I know what it means to be with her?
She was right about something. I did want her to see what those computer monitors contained. I wanted her to see me.
A tiny, ugly voice deep inside of me kept insisting she would reject who I really am. I wanted to test the theory. I needed to.
As it turns out, sometimes tiny, ugly voices are absolutely fucking correct.
Dragging myself into Parker’s bedroom, I look around, feeling like I’m intruding.
The room is frozen in time. His nerdy movie posters line the walls and an empty soda bottle sits on his desk. The chair of his gaming station is pushed out, like he’s just stepped out of the room and will be right back.
If only that were true. I’d have my cousin back. I could do everything differently, starting with helping him fight his demons. If I had, maybe the killer never would’ve gotten to him.
In a gloomy daze, I move through the room, almost touching things but not quite.
What was I thinking by coming here? The idea of taking an item feels so wrong.
I see now why Gareth leaves the room untouched. Hannah’s too. Disturbing their personal spaces would feel like losing another piece of them.
With my back against the wall, I sit on the floor near Parker’s closet.
My heart feels sick, like it’s beating against good reason.
Then guilt jackknifes through me, because my cousins had their heartbeats stolen from them. And here I am, feeling sorry for myself over circumstances I created.
Why didn’t I control my obsessive tendencies toward Sadie better?
I tried revealing myself to her in layers, hoping to soften the blow. First the protective measures. Then my past. Then showing her the extent of my surveillance.
But giving her the truth in layers failed to soften any blow. The layers just built up, piling onto her until she couldn’t fucking breathe.
How else can I prove to her that we’re meant to be? By leaving her alone like she asked?
Fuck, that goes against every fiber of my being, but I’ll do anything for Sadie, even give her space.
My thumb hovers over my phone screen while I consider mending a bridge broken years ago. Do I dare to call? Will she speak to me?
Fuck, at this point, what do I have to lose?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I press a name on my contacts list and put the phone to my ear, heart thudding.
She answers so damn quick, like she’s been waiting all this time.
“Hello?” she asks. “Lucan? Are you okay?”
I wipe my face, a sharp rock in my throat. “Hey, Mom.”
Her voice sounds the same. Refined, with a lilt from living all over the world as a fashion model before marrying my father.
“Are you in trouble?” she asks.
“No.”
“It’s early here.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“I didn’t mean—” She pauses. “You can call whenever you like, you know that.”
I don’t actually. We usually only speak on holidays and birthdays, sticking to polite, safe topics.
This isn’t one of those times. Today, I want to talk to her. Really talk.
Where do I start? What do I ask to break down the wall between us?
I battle to keep my voice even. “Mom, why did you leave?”
Right to the point and awkward as fuck, but I need to know. Maybe if I can hear the vile, unvarnished truth about myself from my mother, I might be able to change.
A long pause follows. I hear shuffling, like she’s moving to another room.
“Lucan, have you spoken to your father about this?” she asks, her voice clearer.
“Not really,” I say. “We spoke about how to deal with the police after—”
I beat a man to death in his home.
“But that’s it,” I finish.
Mom clears her throat. “I see.”
“Did you leave because of me?”
Her response is instant and emphatic.
“Honey, no. Of course not. You had grown into a man fully capable of taking care of yourself. You proved that, although I admit I was shocked at the time by how far you went. That’s my Lucan though. Always going above and beyond.”
“Too much,” I say dully. “I’m too much to bear.”
“I don’t know about that.” She clicks her tongue. “These days I find myself wondering if perhaps the rest of us are not enough. You exist so wholly, Lucan. Passion is infused in every cell in your body.”
“Then why did you go?”
“Your father and I wanted to separate.” She clears her throat delicately. “Divorce would look bad to our shareholders.”
“So you moved across the ocean? You could’ve told me.”
I feel dense for missing the depth of the rift between my parents. They hardly saw each other, but they were busy with work and philanthropy. I thought things were normal. Business as usual.
“Your father said he would talk to you,” she replies, “once the situation with your little escapade had settled.”
“He didn’t.”
“Oh, dear. He’s held out hope that we’ll reunite. Perhaps he wished to go on believing it.”
My eyes find the family photos on Parker’s wall. “Can you visit more often? Christmas is coming up.”
“There’s nothing I’d like more.”
“Good.”
“I’ll book flights.” I hear the smile in her voice. “I’d like to meet that beautiful girlfriend of yours.”
“How do you know about her?”
“You’re my only child, Lucan. I keep up with your activities, even from afar. Please tell me about her.”
My chest burns. “She’s perfect, Mom.”
“For her to catch your eye? I’m certain she is.”
“She’s the one who suggested I talk to you. Really talk.”
“I like her already. But why do you sound so down?”
I hesitate. “I did too much. Scared her.”
“Give her time.”
“That’s what she asked for,” I say with a sigh.
“Well, there you go. Heed her request. Meanwhile, I recommend patience. Self-reflection. If she’s the right woman for you, no force on earth will keep you apart.”
“Okay. I hear you. Doing nothing feels wrong though.”
“I know. You’re so like your father.”
“My father, whom you miss.”
She laughs. “We’ll see, Lucan.”
We chat for a while longer before finally saying goodbye.
Sitting in silence after hanging up, I stare into space and think about our conversation. I can’t believe it was that easy to reconnect with her. Maybe I need to start doing more things I assumed I couldn’t.
Is my mother right? Do I just need patience and a good, hard look at myself?
I’m a fucking control freak, I know that. Sadie’s more important than having control though, and I’ve never been able to say that about anyone or anything.
Constantly checking up on her is a drug I have to quit. She was right when she said my actions are about more than keeping her safe. I was also using surveillance to feed the beast in me that hungers for her.
No more watching her get ready for bed. No more listening to her heartbeat as I sleep.
The daily unfolding of her life is out of my hands now. I know it in my head but not my heart. The urge to monitor—to make sure—is overpowering.
I will keep trying though. The tracking app on her phone is still active, yet I haven’t opened it since she told me to back off.
I’ve sworn to myself that the app’s only for emergencies now. True emergencies, not my insatiable obsession with her.
It’s my own little test. One I’m in constant danger of failing.
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I scan Parker’s room for a distraction.
My eyes fall to a barely visible outline in the wall next to me, just above the floor. No one would ever notice it from a standing position.
Placing my hand on the spot jogs my memory. Parker used to stash things in here as a kid.
I smile as I remember sneaking sips of gin from a bottle with him when we were middle schoolers. We couldn’t stop laughing. Back then, everything was funny.
When I open the secret compartment, only one item lies inside now.
It’s a notebook filled with handwritten text.
Thumbing through the pages, I try to decide the ethics of reading my dead cousin’s hidden journal.
Slowing down to examine the words, I realize he’s written the whole thing in an unfamiliar code—except for the dates, which are as recent as the week before he was killed.
A flicker of excitement lights in me.
What if I could unlock the code? There might be something useful in here, like a clue about the killer’s identity or what happened to Hannah.
I look at the empty room. “Parker, if you don’t want me to take your journal, send me a sign.”
When nothing happens, I tuck the notebook under my arm and go home.