Chapter 28
C h a p t e r T w e n t y - E i g h t
S y l v i a S w a n
The next morning came thin and gray, like it hasn’t decided if it’s morning yet.
Alistair and I dress quickly. My father fast asleep in his room upstairs. I don’t want him to know where we’re going because he’ll only stop me. My bedroom door creaks as I open it and I wait a beat before I venture inside.
I pull on a black lace dress and a corset, my boots wrapped around my ankles and a red scarf around my neck. Amos’ leash is attached but I bring his carrier just in case.
I slip an iron guard knife in my stockings, its weight familiar yet cold against my thigh. It feels wrong to leave without it, I don’t know what to expect from Clandic.
Alistair waits by the door, his eyes wide and alert. We don’t speak, just walk down the sidewalk in controlled silence. Words feel too dangerous, I may break open.
The damp earth swallows our footsteps as we make our way to his home to grab his vehicle.
As we arrive, the Christmas lights attached to their home are off and I suspect his mothers are fast asleep. He unlocks the vehicle and opens the door to my side. I situate myself before he closes the door and throws our bags into the back seat.
My chest knots and a sense of dread seeps into my skin. I hold Amos tighter with fear and something distantly angry. I don’t know what to expect but I hope it doesn’t harm either of us, especially Alistair.
The vehicle turns over with a cold start and I lay back. He doesn’t turn on the radio or bother to ask if I'm ok. The silence speaks for itself.
With every mile my chest grows heavier with something denser than dread. As if the truth has its own gravity and it's slowly pulling me towards it.
“Almost there,” he whispers as he looks down at the map. The mill's location is circled in red more than once.
I can tell when we reach Windale, the smell of rot and smoke clings to the air burning my nose. Even after all these years the mill still rots this place inside out. My hand hovers above the knife and it brings me comfort.
My hands shake and Amos notices, he purrs against my ribs subduing the fear in my heart.
I’ve waited for this moment for so long. I envisioned how I would react and this wasn’t how I imagined it. I have to be strong, more than what they depict women to be. More than their derogatory discrimination.
“We’re here,” he murmurs, I can see the shake of his hands and how tight he holds the steering wheel. His knuckles whiten from his grip and a nervous vein juts out of his neck.
“Are you ok?” I ask.
I don’t want to involve Alistair in anything he doesn’t want to partake in. I know fear when I see it and he reeks of it but that doesn’t change our friendship. If anything it makes me trust him more. He’s willing to do something as fearful as this for me.
“Yeah, I just need a minute to think,” he utters.
I nod and place Amos in his carrier to buy time.
“Stay here, ok, I’m not sure what's inside.” He meows in protest but I shut and lock the carrier anyway.
I can’t risk losing Amos, especially not to the same people that killed my mother.
As soon as I open the door of Alistair's vehicle the smell of smoke gets stronger.
The mill is no longer a building. Its charred beams jut out of the ground at odd angles and the bricks have collapsed inward.
Partial structures are still standing, their surface brittle and scarred black.
The earth below is still full of ash, as if it burned down only days before.
The river behind it sways with the wind, slow and dark, reflecting the destruction above it. Parts of the twisted metal from the mill rests by the bank, half buried in water.
I step out of the car, the wind whipping my hair behind me. I place my hand over the pendant as if it'll call him with one touch and it does give me a newfound feeling of bravery. My boots crunch in the gravel and a sense of hollowness swallows me. I can feel the spirits here weeping in tragedy.
My stomach stirs with discomfort and curiosity, whatever this cult has done didn’t end with the mill.
Alistair eventually joins me, standing beside me with our bags over his shoulder. He nods indicating he’s prepared and I nod back.
“Lets find the entrance,” he states and begins lifting away burnt bricks.
We picked away at the rubble for hours, our boots sinking into ash and wet soil.
It felt as though we were uncovering a grave, for a second I was scared we’d come across a burnt body but luckily the constables removed all the bone evidence.
I lift a beam, part of it breaking off as it hits the ground.
“There has to be something,” I mumble to myself rather than to Alistair.
The cave had to have existed long before the mill, the fire couldn’t erase stone.
We eventually cleared most of the rubble, beneath it all the ground dipped unnaturally and I’m not sure if it was caused by the fire or the cave beneath. We begin stomping across the ground, listening for spots that sound too weak.
“Here!” Alistair yells, I can see his hand sticking up through the rubble as I rush over.
“What?” I ask. He pushes ash away with his glove and reveals a stone door, unburned and wrong.
My heart leaps and I crouch beside him.
“This—” A voice behind us stops me.
“Still following your mother’s ghost.” His voice is cold, unhurried in a way that pisses me off.
My head snaps to him and my eyes widen. I stand slowly, turning to him fully and shielding Alisatir away from his harsh gaze. Did the pendant beckon him for real?
“This doesn’t involve you, Kian,” I say only to receive a dark chuckle.
“You have an awful habit of picking and choosing where I go.” He walks up to us.
His white turtle neck is in pristine condition compared to the debris that floats around and his hands are tucked into his pockets as if he finds amusement in our search.
Bring out the popcorn.
He steps closer; his eyes moving over the rubble, the opened stone door and settling on me with unsettling focus. I grip the knife as I watch him. He stops so close I feel his breath fanning my forehead.
“What are you doing here?” It’s Alistair's turn to ask. He stands to his full height but Kian still towers his frame.
He doesn’t acknowledge him, his gaze focused on me. For a moment, I find myself trapped in his gaze, in the allure of his presence so much so that I forget Alistair’s behind me.
Heat flares in my chest and I tilt my chin up at him. “If you’re not here to help, leave. I don’t want to hear your insults right now.”
His head tilts slightly, his gaze cutting ruthlessly to Alistair.
“I’m not letting you go down there alone with Pimble.” The nickname comes off his tongue harshly, as if it disgusts him to even talk about Alistair.
My eye twitches, I want to reach up so badly and smack that curl on his lips straight.
“If you call him that again in my presence, you won’t be coming along,” I snap.
He doesn’t react nor acknowledge that condition. He simply turns back to me, his gaze dark and unwavering.
“Let’s go,” I mutter, breaking eye contact with him.
Alistair scoffs but doesn’t protest and we all climb down the steel ladder, each one rolling beneath our feet with a screech. My heart pounds and the familiar smell from my dream engulfs me.
Blood. Heavy and thick in the air.
Daylight pales the deeper we get and I feel a hand wrap around my waist. Kian mutters something to me but I can barely hear him over my pounding heart.
Our footsteps echo wrong as if another pair joined us and I glance behind us but see nothing or no one. I pull the knife from my stocking and hold it tight against my side, if anything happens I’m ready or at least trying to be ready.
Each step feels harder the deeper we get and we’re almost engulfed in pure darkness. The path slopes and levels out leading us deeper until the space opens wider.
“Oh my God.” A small gasp leaves my throat and Alistair turns and looks at me.
“What is it?” He asks. I can see the fear in his eyes as he looks around, expecting something.
“It’s exactly like my dream,” I whisper.
A single table sits off to the side, its surface darkened with dried stains. My stomach twists and I remember the sound of hacking, a dull wet rhythm as it met the meat. The same single light bulb hangs from the ceiling only this time it flickers and sways.
I stop walking and I fear I can still hear her voice, a shrill scream echoing in my head. I turn back to the table, expecting to see the man but I don’t. The space is empty.
“Your dream?” Alistair asks, his brows furrowed.
“Yes, I’ve been having weird dreams that correlate to her death.”
His brows deepen but he doesn't say anything else.
“Took you long enough.” Our heads snap to the voice behind us and the man with the top hat stops a few feet away from us, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Sylvia.”
My name from his lips is foreign and my blood runs cold. How does he know my name? He winks and a shiver runs down my spine.
“Seems like you brought some friends, how fun,” he quips and twirls the large knife he holds around his finger.
The blade catches the light, flashing a dull silver before he holds it out towards me.
“Clandic?” I ask and tilt my chin higher, showing him I’m not afraid of him.
“Indeed, pretty girl.” He lifts his hat with a bow and the faint yellow light catches the wrinkles on his cheeks, his pale blue eyes glinting with something sinister. A slither of brown hair peeks from his hat before it disappears.
“I have all the evidence to put you away,” I mutter, knowing this won’t end with him in penitentiary, maybe something much worse.
Alistair begins ruffling in his bag before throwing the leather bound book and newspaper clippings at the man's feet. He looks down briefly before disregarding it.
“Your mother,” he pauses. “She was something. Pretty, smart, and kind but people like her never stop asking questions.”
My throat tightens. “You killed her.”