Chapter Twenty #2
He whispers a thanks before entering his parent’s number.
Amos weaves through my ankles and flicks his tail, scolding me for feeding him late.
I giggle and reach into the cabinet for his food.
I fill his bowl and he eats as if he’s starved for a century, the sound somehow helping with the sadness I feel and grounding me.
I know I have Amos to count on.
I let him be and walk into the parlor where I make myself comfortable.
I pull out the leather notebook and the paper Walker gave me, setting it in front of me along with the newspaper clippings.
The black smudged ink across the page looks darker than they should and a shiver wracks through my spine.
To know something so evil existed in this world and probably much worse makes me hate living sometimes.
How do people manage to live with the fact that they're a murderer?
I pull the parcels from the stack of newspapers and gaze at them. I wonder if I should go ahead and open them?
They’re wrapped in aged brown paper and twine. Each one has a broken seal and I can imagine her long finger nails digging into the wax as she pops it open. Her name is scribbled across the front but there’s no known postmark or return address, just the same symbol stamped into the corner.
I settle them into a pile and wait for Alistair to finish his conversation.
I put two of the couch cushions on the floor and Amos comes and curls in my lap. He tucks his head into my foot and falls asleep as fast as he sits down. I pull the notebook in front of me and align one of the papers with the meanings beside it.
“I’m back.” Alistair announces himself and plops down on a cushion beside me. “They said it was fine.”
I nod and point at the three different pieces of parcels. “I think it’s time we open these. I have a feeling the words inside connect to this journal.”
He leans in from his position on the cushion and observes them. “They’re definitely old.”
“I agree,” I whisper and slowly slide out the first thin piece of paper from an envelope.
My pulse spikes as I softly set it down beside the journal.
My hands shake and I fear I may rip the paper, but settle it without a scratch.
Alistair tilts his head in curiosity at the unknown symbol and I study it, remembering each detail.
Pressed into the thin paper are three plants, unknown to me, wrapped in some type of material.
“I think I remember seeing this,” Alistair mumbles. He grabs the book and flips through multiple pages before it lands on a page filled with pressed herbs.
“Here.” He points at one closest to the top and I shake my head.
“No, I think it's that one.” I point to one at the bottom. “It matches the parcel better. The way the leaves bend is exactly the same.”
“Oh, yeah.” He agrees and I grab the decoding page that matches it.
Amos shifts on my lap, his ears flattening as if he’s taking in everything we’re saying. I run a hand over him as I decipher the smudged words on the page.
My chest tightens and I look up at Alistair.
“I’m confused. It reads they aren’t true plants, it means to stabilize someone until they're within the threshold” I say as I re-read the broken text.
“Let me see.” Alistair reaches for the paper and I hand it to him. I rub my hands across my face in distress and look at the paper as he reads it. No matter how many times I blink, the words still confuse me and I’m certain it’s because I’m scared.
“It represents a controlled descent. Mentally you're stripped down until your body crosses over. It means to bring someone close enough to the threshold they’re able to observe it.” He states.
My stomach twists and I nod.
We open the second parcel and pressed into the paper is a metal disc etched with concentric rings. I lightly touch the paper and can feel the rings press into my fingers, soft but cruel.
Alistair already begins to dig through the pages until he finds the ideal paper. He studies it for a moment and nods with a solidified idea.
“This one means—” He pauses and collects himself. “It binds your soul with the threshold, basically the second step of joining the cult. It means protection from the world but not from them, cruel if you ask me.”
“So are you telling me my mom could have potentially joined this group?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“That’s what it sounds like, but I think she did it to find out where their hideout is or to get more information off of them. I think that's why she was killed. She got too close,” he admits and traces the rings.
My heart tightens painfully and I bite the jewel in my mouth.
“Why teach her how to approach something then force her back?” I put my chin on my hand and look down at Amos, trying to keep my emotions at bay so I can solve her case.
“They were manipulating her, it seems. I think they already knew what she was after before she even joined.” He frowns and shakes his head. “Someone wanted her to learn.”
He looks at the third unopened parcel as if he was afraid to open it and I feel the same. These people are straight evil, things you don’t believe exist till it's right in front of your face.
“That makes sense,” I whisper.
He lifts the last one and opens it, inside is a paper with multiple symbols. Some are broken circles or triangles with lines through them, while others are simple and one straight line or dot.
Alistair lines it up with a page that looks exactly the same. “It’s a route, the place these people meet.”
My heart comes to a pause and I shakily grip the cushion underneath me. Amos makes a small sound, not a growl, but something similar to it.
“Where?” I barely get the words out as I stare at him.
He traces each line until it makes sense to him. “A mill?”
Immediately I feel my stomach roll, nausea twisting at my gut and threatening to come up any minute.
“But—” I swallow. “The mill burned down a few years ago, how is that possible?”
He shakes his head. “Theres got to be something underneath it or left of it that they met in. This definitely says mill.”
Amos’ tail smacks against my thigh and I feel as if he’s agreeing with Alistair. I stare at the symbols, grief sinking in farther than it ever had this entire time.
“They were guiding her to her death.” My voice is a croak as I place my palms over my eyes.
Alistair doesn’t interrupt or console me and silence stretches between us. The only thing you can hear is the soft hiccups that leave my throat. How could they take her away from me like this? I scream into my palms; the agony, betrayal, and sadness evident.
“My father?” I cry. “What if he helped?”
My voice is hollow and I can’t help but cry harder. I can hear him swallow like he doesn’t know how to help or what to do. The sound only makes me cry harder and I feel the presence of Amos stirring below me, trying his hardest to calm me down.
Is this what death feels like? Heavy, wrong, and misleading. To know my mother, a teacher and someone who helped kids, was misled until she was killed—breaks my heart. She did her best, she was kind, why?
I let out a broken laugh. “Who knew my family was so broken.”
Alistair pulls me into him. The clean smell of him soothes my racing heart and I inhale.
“I don’t think your father helped but I do think he was once a part of all of this and he’ll definitely be someone with answers.” He rubs soothing circles into my back, grounding me. “Whoever did this will suffer, Sylvia.”
His words are a promise and the grief turns sharp and angry. “They turned her into a doorway, someone they used and disposed of.”
He nods. “I know love but it’s ok. We’re going to find these men and make them pay.”
I hiccup and bury my face into his chest. Amos lies between us, purring in contentment while also keeping me at bay as I decipher my feelings.
“I think we should go to sleep. This is a lot to take in.” Alistair whispers against my neck, goosebumps litter my skin and I nod.