Chapter Eleven Hollis #2
“Pretty much,” he finally said, doing a three-sixty as if to admire the place himself.
“This room is one of six. We have vaults like this all over the world, protecting knowledge and secrets. Dangerous truths.” He went over to a framed oil painting and angled his head toward it.
“That was vault seven. It was located on the back of the property where our pops lived. You called him Pappy.”
Pappy, huh? I read the inscription beneath it out loud. “Destroyed in a fire in 1992.” There were two side-by-side canvases in one frame: before and after the destruction.
The first showed the exterior rising from a mountainside like part of the stone itself.
Narrow arched windows that caught the light, glinting like shards of ice against a darker facade.
The terraced steps led up to heavy doors bound in black iron.
It looked like a fortress cloaked in snow and silence.
On the right side, a scar carved into that same mountain. A collapsed roof in jagged sheets, leaving exposed blackened beams jutting skyward like broken teeth. No longer windows reflecting light, just hollow sockets rimmed in soot. Empty and broken.
“Arson?”
“Doubtful. No foul play was detected, so it was assumed to be an accident.”
“Well, it’s too bad it’s gone. It looked beautiful.”
He nodded. “We used to call it the library. It held all of our family’s mission archives on Mum’s side, along with other important documents and books.
Well, outside of the codex kept here. Whenever you visited Pops, he used to share stories with you all the time, including .
. .” His eyes abruptly flew to the floor, and he staggered back, bumping into me while cursing.
“What is it?”
The war of indecision in his expression didn’t bode well. “Let me talk to Gideon first. And Mum and Dad. I don’t want to say something I shouldn’t and—”
“No secrets. Please. I’m drowning in questions. Just talk to me. Do you think that’s why I was in Rome? Something to do with that burned-down vault, and that’s why I lost my memories?”
He dragged both hands through his hair, messing it up. He began muttering in another language, and of course, he chose one I didn’t know.
“What is it?”
His jaw and neck muscles strained as he lowered his hands to his hips.
“Not sure how I could forget this, but you brought up the library to me a little over two months ago.” He blinked a few times, and every second he kept me in the dark had me losing it.
“I didn’t think much of it then, but you told me all the books and archives may not have been destroyed in the fire, and there was one you were looking for. ”
“I was looking for a book?”
He backed up against a statue, nearly knocking it over before spinning and catching it just in time.
“Pops’s father was a brilliant scientist. He created weapons for those who fought on the front lines instead of going out himself.
He was always doing experiments. He was even involved in different nuclear programs during the Cold War. ”
He really needed to spend more time with people instead of computers, because his slow roll of information in suspenseful fashion would have me unhinged and snapping in 2.5 seconds if he didn’t hurry.
“One of the books destroyed in the fire belonged to Pops’s father, and it held a collection of formulas that’d prove dangerous in the wrong hands.
Well, so we were told, at least. But you shared with me Pops hinted at the fact that it may not have been in the library during the fire, because he liked to go over his father’s work from time to time.
You said he’d been cryptic like always, but you wanted the book because there was .
. .” He swallowed. “A formula to erase our memories.”
Chills crept across my skin like a thousand little blisters pricking me all at once. “I’m sorry, but what?”
He closed his eyes like he was mentally retrieving a folder of information to share.
“The compound requires our blood to activate it. It was allegedly invented by our great-grandfather in case of an emergency. It was supposed to be a way to safeguard secrets without having to kill yourself. It was meant to wipe only your personal memories while leaving your imagination and skills intact.” He slowly opened his eyes.
“In case someone captured and questioned you, you couldn’t reveal anything, because you didn’t know anything.
But you could still fight your way free, if possible. ”
Shock propelled me back, and it was my turn to bump into something. Julian was faster, and he saved the heirloom from crashing as I tried to process what he was saying. “How in the world could you forget we had that conversation?”
“I know, I know. Shit.” He held up his hand, patting the air. “I never believed it was legit, even if you did, which is probably why Pops didn’t waste much time talking to me or Gideon about it.” He palmed his jaw, eyes lost to the ceiling as if in deep thought.
I took a calming breath, trying to dial down my pulse. “I’m literally a testament to the fact it is real and it did work. It’s not weird science, but real science. That book has to exist, and I must have found out.”
“I’m sorry, I just don’t believe it.”
How could he not when I was standing in front of him like this?
“For argument’s sake, let’s say it is,” I rushed out as worry battled its way forward, triumphing over any lingering state of calm. “Why would I want a drug to take away someone’s memories in the first place?”
“If it’s legit, then it wouldn’t work on anyone else. It was designed only for our family. Gotta have our DNA to activate it and for it to work on ya. It was never meant to be weaponized against people. Well, so Pops said.”
“Then what if I was planning to use it on myself?”
“No damn way. You’d never.” He set both hands on my shoulders, waiting for my eyes to meet his. “And I know that because I know why you were after the book.”
What else was he holding back from me, and what was with all the slow reveals? Was he making all this shit up for some reason? I had no idea what to believe at this point.
“You hoped if the book was still out there and the drug was real, you could reverse engineer the formula to give someone back their memories, someone you knew who’d lost them.”
This is all just . . .
“I’ve been so wrapped up in my own thing lately, and then you were taken and someone used my source code . . . and I’m sorry I didn’t think of this sooner.”
“Does Gideon know I was looking for it?”
“No, you asked me not to tell him. You said he’d brush it off as a waste of time. A mythical unicorn thing or whatnot. Like me, he thought it was BS. And Mum and Dad? They won’t even talk about the library. It’s an off-limits conversation when it comes to them. Before you ask why, I don’t know.”
I let my hands fall like lifeless limbs to my sides. Liquid burned my eyes, but no tears came. “This seriously can’t be a coincidence that I was looking for that drug and lost my memories.”
“What’s going on?” Gideon’s deep voice jarred our attention to the entranceway. He was casually leaning in the doorway. When neither of us answered, he straightened, his expression changing from calm to grim. “What is it?”
Julian walked around and blocked me like a shield as he quickly shared what we’d been discussing.
I remained quiet as I searched for the backbone I’d temporarily had against our mother upstairs.
Gideon’s already strong broodiness developed a severe case of broodier with every word Julian said.
“It all adds up now,” I said once Julian was done talking.
“The tracker. The source code. The knowledge of the book and that drug. You were right about something, that only someone close to our family could have pulled this off, and possibly”—I swallowed—“this is somehow my fault if I was chasing that book and left you all in the dark for some reason. Our mother is right about me.”
Julian abruptly turned and faced me, but he couldn’t deny that last part, could he?
“I don’t think I can stay here, I’m sorry. I—I feel partially responsible but also afraid, because someone close to us had to be involved.”
I didn’t know who to trust when it came to my family, including my brothers, but I did know where my gut said I belonged. With Audrey, and most of all, with the man I couldn’t stop thinking about, even if he didn’t like me.
I stared at the painting of our family crest. “In tempore veritas.” A tear escaped as I translated in a hoarse voice, my mind made up about what to do. “In time . . . there is truth.”