Chapter 9
C h a p t e r N i n e
S y l v i a S w a n
The sound of chairs scraping the floor makes me look up from the pop quiz my color theory professor gave me. Pupils scatter out of the classroom with determination.
I put the last of my materials in my bag and walk out with them, wishing the professor bye as I go. He looks up at me with grave irritation but I ignore it and smile.
I step into the hallway and let Amos out of his carrier, attaching his leash to him. He doesn’t mind all the bodies around us and squeezes through their legs easily.
I haven’t seen Kian throughout the rest of the day, only having the studio in common with him.
Don’t get me wrong, his presence is irritating and I’m glad I hadn’t seen him but it makes me wonder what he’s up to?
I don’t understand his fascination with me nor why he made me his target.
If anything I feel like we have a lot in common and could’ve been good friends if we started on the right foot, but who am I to determine that?
It’s my first complete day but the scent of the academy feels familiar.
Pencil shavings, chalk and the smell of the rich wafts through each corridor.
All the boys walk down the hall in letterman jackets, proudly showing off the sports they play.
Even though the center of the academy is art they still offer multiple other subjects to keep us busy, which I like.
“Sylvia, wait up!” I turn to the voice. Alistair waves at me across the sea of people, a broad smile on his face.
“Hey,” he says as he comes up beside me. He instinctively grabs my satchel from me, helping lift the heavy weight of it off my shoulder.
I tighten my grip on Amos’ leash, but not too tight to restrain him, just so I know he’s ok on his own. “Hey.”
He smiles and we walk in step outside. The feel of autumn wind seeps into my clothes and the anxiety I was feeling vanishes.
The smell of a few students' exhausts fills the air and I scrunch my nose up. Why can’t they walk?
This town is less than a square mile, nothing worth driving through unless leaving town.
“How was it?” I almost forget about Alistair and turn to him.
“It was…ok. Nothing I couldn’t handle.” I say as we walk down the cobblestone road back through downtown Grimmwood.
“Good. After a few days you’ll love it. There are some nice people within those walls.” His blue eyes glisten in the golden sun as he talks and I notice a few freckles dotting his cheeks.
He walks close enough that our shoulders brush but I don’t mind.
It’s nice having a friend. I had a few back home but they never stuck around.
Warmth spreads through my cheeks as he catches my stare and I turn to look at the matching row of narrowed shops.
I feel his eyes on me until he finally turns back to the shops in front of us.
The smell of cakes and pies hits my nose and my stomach growls at the delicious scent.
“Hungry? They’ve got some of the best creme pies, ” he asks and stops in front of the bakery. Its gold letters read ‘Jullia’s Creme Delights’ and all the pies in the window scream at me to eat them.
I hesitate, not wanting him to think because I’m new he has to treat me a certain way, but when I glance at the genuine smile on his face, I smile back.
“Sure,” I say.
He grabs the glass door and holds it open for me to walk in like the gentlemen he is.
The bell chimes and a bright older lady, I’m assuming is named Jullia, smiles at us from behind the counter.
The scent of baked goods, sugar, and butter gets stronger the deeper we walk into the store.
The warmth seeps into my coat and settles in the pit of my stomach.
We order our pies and he gets coffee while I settle for rosemary tea. When Jullia comes back to the front with our tray I try to grab it but Alistair moves faster.
“I could’ve carried it.” I fake pout and a light chuckle leaves his throat.
“My mothers would shame me if I let you carry it.” He says as we walk over to a leather booth in the corner.
The sunlight from outside barely catches this side but it doesn’t bother me.
I’d rather sit in complete darkness around Alistair, something about him makes me nervous.
It’s easy to talk to him and the way he always fills the silence makes me feel confident but what if it’s all a scheme of some sort?
There's not a lot of guys like him, especially not these days.
“Your mother sounds like a good one.” I wink at him as I situate myself in the booth.
Amos curls into my lap, seeking warmth and I lay my hand on him.
I use my free hand to stir my tea, adding sugar until I’m satisfied with the taste.
Alistair is constantly picking apart his napkin into perfect small squares.
He lines each one up around his pie before taking a bite of the creme filled pie.
I take note of the unique habit but don’t judge or say anything to him.
Everything he does is patient, sometimes calculated or precise but it makes him unique in his own way.
“They won’t accept anything less of a gentleman.” He says as he takes a sip of his coffee.
“You are one of the kindest gentlemen I’ve come upon.” My tone is mocking and a steady smile stays on my lips.
He chuckles and adds in more sugar to his coffee. I use my fork to take a small bite of my pie and the custard instantly melts in my mouth, easing my raging stomach.
“What about your mother? Is she good to you?” He’s just curious but I flinch involuntarily.
He notices and guilt swims in his eyes, I force my smile back in place.
“She….she died two weeks ago.” A silence stretches between us and I look down at my pie to keep my mind busy. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin—”
“No, no it's ok. I’m sorry for asking.” I hate that I’ve made him feel guilty. It’s not his fault she’s gone, it’s no one but the killer's fault..
“It’s ok. She was a really good mother. She had her own issues but she never failed to be there for me. If anything she was the best of the best.” I lighten the mood even though my heart pangs in my chest.
Nothing is bringing her back.
“I can tell.” He winks and the mood shifts to something brighter again.
Even after the conversation carries to silence, there doesn’t feel like an awkward barrier between us. The hum of the radio plays quietly as we finish our food and our plates become less full. Outside the sky has turned to cigarette ash, clouds beginning to form as rain settles over us.
“We should get going before it starts raining,” he says and I nod in agreement. Amos is not the biggest fan of water.
We clean our table and give Jullia our plates. I pull my hoodie over my head and my mittens over my fingers.
“Walk home safely,” she yells as we step outside.
“Thank you,” I yell back as we walk down the cobblestone sidewalk.
“So, are you and your father here permanently?” Alistair asks as we occasionally bump shoulders as we walk.
“I’m pretty sure, plus I'd rather never go back to my old town,” I mumble and zip my coat up to my neck.
Luckily there’s no breeze tonight. Just dead silence and the threat of rain on the darkening streets.
“Why?” he asks and glances over at me with curiosity. “You don’t think you’ll miss it?
“No, too many…secrets,” I say slowly and count each cobblestone ahead of me.
“Secrets?” He echoes in question, his eyebrows dipping in confusion.
I nod. “Yeah, I know every town has them I suppose, but in Windale they settle under your skin if you stay too long. Their secrets and lies kill people.”
His eyebrows lift. “You make it sound haunted.”
“Oh no, these are real people. After the mill burned down during the war, death paraded in our small town. I believe the mill was planted but that could just be a theory I won’t let go of until I figure out who killed her.” I start to say too much and my lips seal shut as fast as they open.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t doubt your theory.” I look up at him in surprise as the words leave his mouth.
“Really?” Alistair will never cease to amaze me. He’s too good to be true.
“Yeah, and this place may be haunted too. With its glorious coffee and rich kids.” His gentle tact of lifting the heaviness of the conversation makes a soft laugh crawl up my throat.
“You’ve got that right,” I agree and we laugh together.
Amos meows and looks back at us. I nod at him and he turns back toward the dark night. He always knows when I’m in a good or bad headspace, me nodding settles his worry.
A few more steps and we’re at the top of my long driveway. The rain begins but it's only in soft pebbles. Alistair pulls the hat of his coat up and over his blonde hair.
“Well I guess we’re here. The famous Mr. Angel home,” he says and I worry there’s sadness to his voice but dismiss it.
“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you for walking me, I had a great time.” I smile and turn to him.
His blue eyes are bright in the dark and I get lost in the ocean of his stare.
“Thank you for opening up today. I can wait however long to know the real you.” There's a promise to his words and my heart melts against my ribcage trapping a feeling of being wanted inside.
“Thank you.” My response is genuine. I don’t feel warranted to hand over my feelings to him. He’s made the friendship between us gentle and I wouldn’t want to ruin that with my life.
“Any time.” He turns to my home, his eyes breaking the intensity burning between us.
“Hurry home. I hate that you got caught in the rain.” My eyebrows furrow as I take the steps.
“Are you trying to run me away?” He mocks and turns to head home.
“Never, come back anytime. I’m still curious about the secrets of this place,” I say and my father pulls open the door before I can reach for it.
Alistair waves over his shoulder not looking back as he covers his head from the rain.
“Who’s that?” His eyebrows lift with a wiggle and I laugh.
“Don’t tease. He’s just a friend I met in town a few days ago,” I say with a giggle and push past him into the warmth of our home.
He’s gotten a lot done these past few days. The wood above the mantle no longer sits crooked. The plastic that was covering the furniture is gone and every surface has been wiped down, no dust in sight.
I can see why he chose this home. The beauty is raw and antique, exquisite.
“If you say so,” he chuckles and walks toward the kitchen. I follow behind him once I unlatch Amos’ leash and hang my coat on the rack. He runs behind him, his tail wagging.
“Dinner is almost done. Go ahead and sit down,” he instructs and leans down to scratch behind Amos' ears.
The rain is increasingly getting worse and I can only hope Alistair made it home safe. Thunder has started to strike through the heavy curtains of my windows and the distinct smell of dirty water drifts through the terrace doors.
During dinner father mostly talked about going out of town next week for a job a few towns over. That information gave me the idea to start digging deeper into her murder. I would easily be able to sneak out to Windale.
I pull the newspaper clippings out of my bag and plop down on the floor in front of my bed. I can feel the heat from the fire and it warms the frost in my toes. I start compiling the newspapers into sections, starting with the most recent papers to figure out where to start.
Now that I think about it, I never got the newspaper with her death in it.
I’m too scared to think about looking it over.
The lies that would litter that paper would only turn my stomach inside out but to solve her case I’ll have to eventually get over it and get a copy.
Jewelry that had cost him a fortune was still stashed away in her dresser.
It wasn’t a robbery, it was a plot to end her.
As I look over the papers with a clearer mind than before I remember some of the names and faces of people. Our old town isn’t big, it was easy to remember a face you’ve seen all your life.
All deaths within the last year were people who you'd always see together, friends if you must call it. Every death was a full circle, people who were connected in some sort of way. I make sure to remember that as I flip back to the most recent death, the male killed right before my mother.
Mark Hancher stares back at me. His wife’s words were highlighted in yellow and at the very last page of the newspaper is an address, a home only two yards down from our old home.
‘Lilith Hancher, 63 Windale Road, ask her about Mark.’
My eyes rake over the address multiple times as I memorize it. She wrote this with the intention of speaking with Lilith and possibly visited. If she wrote her name down it meant she could trust her, but along the way she must've met someone she couldn’t trust.
I need to be cautious if I don’t want to become like her.
A loud crack of thunder makes me jump and my lamp flickers, threatening to go out any minute. The sound of father’s footsteps echoes downstairs. He’s probably watching the storm as usual, anxiety riddling his mind.
I nervously chew on my lip as I stare down at the clippings. The tremor in my father’s voice when I called him haunts my mind. He sounded scared and looked even worse when he arrived at the scene. The blood that caked our kitchen floor is all he stared at whilst the cops investigated the home.
When I brought up the fact that the jewels were still there, he yelled at me. It was the first time I’d heard him yell. His voice had broken, giving away the tears in his eyes but he didn’t want to hear anything, he kept saying that I was imagining things but I wasn’t.
The smell of fresh blood mixed in with the sweet scent of lavender told me a different story. Maybe he’s too scared to admit that her death was no accident or maybe he had something to do with it. And the last part I hope isn’t true. For my sake it's not true until I can prove it.
The rain outside beats harder on my windows and the thunder increases—each strike harder than the last. My heart hammers at an incredible speed and I know sleep won’t come to me easily.
The dream of my mother’s hollow eyes will haunt me.