Chapter 13 #2
Until the symbol from earlier today catches my eye, it's much larger across his desk—carved into the wood with precision. It’s the same from the notebook; one large circle, two smaller ones overlapping it, and the three slashes through the middle one.
I notice something red dripping out of the deep carving, it glistens and a dark feeling invades me.
I step forward, slowly, unsure, and reach out with trembling fingers to touch it, but the liquid starts to overflow.
It comes out thick and the red darkens as it puddles on the floor.
It’s slow at first but turns into violent waves.
The floors become drenched and the puddles form into an ocean, covering my boots and soaking my pants.
I step back until my feet hit the wall. I’m trapped.
Is it blood? My eyes widen as I look around the room.
Everything starts to shake, paintings by my mother begin to fall from the walls, but one stays intact, it dangles on the screw behind it.
It's the last portrait she did of my father.
His features start to change and the wicked smile staring back at me isn't his any more.
I gasp and run towards the door, I yank on the handle but it does little to nothing against the lock. My worry becomes evident as my breathing picks up and I scream as I hit the door.
“Stop.” A soft voice whispers, one that I don't recognize.
The voice and the feeling of someone breathing on me makes me stop, my panic intensifying more than it already is. My hands shake as I slowly turn around, but nothing's there. Not even his studio.
A mass forest replaces the bloodied room and I let out a sigh.
What is going on?
I pinch myself but nothing happens. A slight breeze brushes my hair and the smell of pine wood drifts through the air.
“Don’t look, Sylvia.” Before I can even register her words I turn around.
Her hollow eyes pierce into me and my bottom lip begins to wobble as tears form in my eyes. My beautiful mama.
Her dress is torn and her skin is ghostly pale. I look at the long wild strands on her head and the blood that soaks her white gown. She looks the same as the night I found her, beautiful but soulless.
Her hand lifts and her finger points toward the line of trees in front of me. “They will never let your father go. That symbol marks what's already chosen.”
I try to walk closer to her, to touch her one last time but she begins to fade.
“Mama, wait!” My scream tears out of me, somewhere deep from inside but she disappears.
The symbol appears where she was standing and bright white light pours out of it. I flinch and the sound of the trees cracking is the only thing I can hear as the symbol consumes everything.
“Meow.” A purr from Amos has me bolting awake.
Tears coat my cheeks and the hearth seems to be putting off more heat than it normally does. My fingers are curled around the sheets tightly and my heart hammers in my chest as if it is trying to escape my body.
Amos shifts from the bottom of the bed and curls up in my lap. His paws knead into my stomach and a low mew leaves him. I wipe the tears off my face and stroke his head with trembling fingers.
“It’s ok, Amos. I’m ok.” But as the words leave my mouth I know I’m lying.
Nothing about this situation is ok. Grief rests on my shoulders and her death haunts my dreams, not to mention Kian. No matter how many times I see her in my dreams it’s no comparison to him. When I blink those dead eyes of his stare back at me. Not once have I ever thought of a guy so much.
What is wrong with me?
I look over at the book on my nightstand and sigh.
It seems to throb like the symbol from my dream, as if it’s aware that I can’t stop thinking about it.
I bury it underneath my pillows and it feels as if the weight of a million moths lift off me.
Sad to say, I'm scared of what's in that journal and today I’m not going to force myself to face it. Maybe tomorrow.
I pull my unwilling body out of bed and open the velvet curtains of my terrace. Snow coats the town in white and I can feel the wind pushing through the glass doors. The sun peeks through the heavy clouds but not enough to melt the snow anytime soon.
I put on a long black dress with bell sleeves and layer a corset over top.
I pull thick wool stockings up my legs and tie my black combat boots around my ankles.
I look in the mirror satisfied with the outfit and grab a deep plum zip up from my closet as well as black knitted gloves.
I pin my hair up with a metal clip and tie a plum colored scarf around my neck.
Amos rubs against my leg, his tail flicking anxiously as he watches my reflection in the mirror.
“I’ll be ok, I promise. I’m just going to grab breakfast since my father's out of town. You stay here, it's too cold outside.” He meows in disagreement but I pet his back and walk down stairs.
The silence that stretches through this big home feels colder than usual and I miss the presence of him already. You realize what loneliness feels like fast and I hate the sensation.
“I won’t be long,” I whisper to Amos as I bend down to kiss his forehead. He purrs and runs over to his filled bowl of food.
I step outside and am immediately engulfed with a chill. The wind is harsh yet the world looks pure in a manner that almost feels deceitful, like the shadowed man is covering his tracks in Windale.
I take it slow, not in a huge rush to get back home to that notebook. I memorize each road and categorize what’s beautiful in its own way.
When I reach town, I go to the bakery shop that Alistair and I visited.
A blue sign is hanging from the door, the words open in cursive pink writing.
My cheeks and finger tips burn from the cold and I rush inside after I dump the snow from my jacket.
The bell above the door chimes but I can barely hear it because of the roaring snow storm outside.
A fire is going in the hearth and a few other customers are seated either drinking coffee or waiting for their orders.
I wait in line and place my order to go, chamomile tea and a biscoff creme pie.
“Sylvia?” I turn around at the familiar voice. My cheeks flushed and my hands nervously toying with the fur outlining my coat.
“Hi.” I don’t know why my voice cracks or why the redness on my cheeks deepens when my gaze meets his icy blue one but I do understand the butterflies that stir in my abdomen.
“Hey, what are you doing out in this storm? I saw you pass by the shop and figured I’d say hi but you were moving so fast.” Alistair’s chuckle is low as he pushes the hat of his trench coat from his blonde mass of hair.
“My father’s out of town and I’ve got to eat somehow.” I giggle and push a strand of fallen hair into my hood. “Why are you working in this kind of weather?”
“My uncle.” He looks down at the silver watch on his wrist. “It’s quite early, you ok?”
I hadn’t realized it was still really early but I guess the early bird catches the worm.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I mumble. “Night terrors.”
They call my order out and I grab it as fast as she puts it down. The warmth of the hot tea thaws my hands and I hold it up to my mouth.
Alistair nods, not prying but worry coats his expression. It’s silent between us as we awkwardly stand by the front door and my lips part but my thoughts get the best of me.
I know Alistair originally said he wanted to visit Mr. Angel's home but will he think I’m coming on to him if I ask now? Out of the blue.
I exhale and my fingers curl around the mug even tighter as I decide an answer. “Would you want to visit Mr. Angel’s home?”
His expression shifts, not with surprise—but with something much sweeter like he was anticipating my question.
“There’s something I want you to look at, I feel you’ll be of help,” I say and carefully place my boxed pie into my oversized jacket.
“Of course. Lead the way.” He holds his pale thin fingers out to me and I place my mitten covered hand in his—my heart thumping at an uncontrollable speed.
Get a grip. I haven’t asked him out or planned to do something with him. He’s just helping, that’s all.
The bell chimes above as we leave and the cobblestone sidewalk has vanished, thick white snow covers the path. Our boots crunch, not leaving room for any silence to settle between us.
“No academy today,” he says as he tucks his scarf under his chin.
I nod, remembering the soaked paper on my porch. I figured someone from the board dropped them off late last night or early this morning which helped me. I didn’t plan on going to school today.
“No,” I say. “They said the hill was too dangerous to climb but I believe the staff didn’t want to come in.”
He chuckles and his red cheeks crease with a smile. “Probably for the best. That place looks like a mausoleum half the time, snow just completes the look.”
“You dislike it?” I look over at him through my lashes.
He shrugs. “I enjoy certain aspects of it, especially the historic lecture halls but not the people who make cruelty their personality.”
Is he talking about Kian?
“I agree,” I mumble.
“I hate that he doesn’t even have to try to hide it. He just does what he wants when he wants.” His jaw clenches.
“He’s worse when no one’s looking. He speaks as if he owns the place and the people in it.” A snow flake falls in my eye, blurring my vision, and I blink it away.
“Has he started bothering you?” He stops walking and a dark look settles in his eyes.
I turn to him, stopping as well. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. He’s just been watching me, he has this thing for studying broken things and choosing whether to keep it or not.”
I semi lie and let out a fake chuckle to keep the atmosphere between Alistair and I fun, some things are too fragile to say out in the open cold.
“That’s still not normal. Whether he’s doing it for fun or not, it’s sick.” His tone is flat and it's the first time I’ve ever seen him so upset.
“It’s ok, he’s cruel but he can’t get under my skin.” I nudge him with my shoulder and start walking again. “I appreciate it, but it's better that he continues to not know anything about me.”
He catches up and even though he’s still upset he dismisses the topic.
Alistair is someone from a book or fairytale.
He’s safe and understanding.
“I only know that your…mother passed and I’d never tell a soul. I’m sorry if that was clumsy to say but I just want to express that you can rely on me. I’d never be him.”
“Thanks.” The sting of the cold on my cheeks gives me something else to focus on rather than the discussion of my mother. “Most people don’t know that, so believe it when I say I trust you.”
When I had told Alistair about her I expected him to ask how, why, who did it? But he didn’t. He understood and I will always be grateful for him.