Tether

31. VERENA GRAVENHURST

THIRTY-ONE

VERENA GRAVENHURST

“Shit,” I mutter to myself as the grandfather clock chimes seven times, echoing through the hallway and into the office.

“You’ve got to be in here somewhere,” I plead, running my sweaty palms down the length of my robe.

Flipping frantically through the filing cabinet for the third time, I stand up straight and let out a huff.

Reed might actually lose his shit tonight if I show up empty-handed again.

My pulse thumps in my ears. Spinning on my heel, I swipe my mask from where I placed it on the desk, and freeze.

Loxen stands in the doorway with his arms crossed and a cold expression shadowing his face.

Something dangerous pulses in the air around us.

“Going somewhere?” His eyes drink in my attire, and I feel trapped, caught like a spider in a web of lies.

I feign innocence, mustering the best smile I can manage. “Oh.” I look down at my robe, and tuck the mask behind my back. “Mauve invited me to some stupid—”

His eyes darken, “I know about the society, Verena. It’s quite fitting that they would give you the mask of a crow, isn’t it?” My heart drops, but I steady my expression.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lox,” I say, inching to move past him, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

“Move please, I have somewhere to be.” I lift my chin a little higher.

“You’re exactly where you should be, Verena.” He pierces me with a disapproving stare, and I can feel the weight of his distaste slithering across my skin.

“Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re putting yourself in by associating with these people?

And to become one of them?” He shakes his head.

“It’s a death sentence in itself. Kissing Reed is one thing, one of which is beyond my understanding, but doing his bidding, Verena, is another thing entirely. ”

“This doesn’t concern you, Loxen. What I do with my time and who I choose to spend it with is none of your business.”

Lox’s eyes flare, then soften, a sadness looming over his features at my words of dismissal.

“You are my business, little crow!” His voice becomes louder in the tight space between us.

“Open your eyes! You’re so blinded by the simple gestures of a fractured man that you can’t see what he is and what you will become by association.

He will take and take and take until you’re nothing but a broken version of yourself, and I can’t stand by and watch that happen. I won’t.”

I nod my head, his words making sense to me now. “So this is about Reed. You have a shattered perception of a man you don’t even know, yet you insist on robbing me of my happiness, and for what? Because you’re jealous?”

“Jealous?” He lets out a dry laugh, dragging his hands down his face.

“Yes, little crow. I’m fucking jealous. Is that what you want to hear?

” He takes a step towards me. “Watching you parade about with that sorry excuse of a man torments every fibre of my being. It’s absolutely maddening!

” He raises his voice, then takes a pause, gathering his thoughts, as if choosing his next words carefully.

“I only yearn for one thing, Verena. Every waking day, my heart aches to see you happy, even if that reality exists far beyond the reach of me.”

“Lox—don’t.”

He takes a step towards me, closing the gap between us a little more, and I mirror his actions by taking a step back.

“Tell me you feel nothing for me.”

“Lox—” I say, suddenly breathless as he begins to unravel before me.

“Tell me your heart doesn’t feel as if it’s going to explode the second we’re in the same room.” His eyes frantically search mine, like he’s not above begging, like he needs to hear my thoughts more than he needs his next lungful of air. My mouth opens, but words fail me.

“I look for you around every corner, waiting to hear your laughter as I walk down each corridor. You are the brightest parts of my days and the deepest, darkest parts of my nights, Verena. You’re everything I’ve ever dreamt of, and I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you would be the ruin of me one way or another.

I tried to spare myself, at first, because falling for you meant there was a chance of losing you, and with one glance, I knew that would be a loss I couldn’t bear, but fuck, you’re irresistible, little crow.

So no, it’s not envy or pettiness that I feel towards the man you choose to spend your time with.

It’s anger, because I know he’s not the one who deserves to have your heart.

I do. You just haven’t figured that out yet. ”

Loxen stares at me for a long moment, and I stare back, speechless. “Verena, I—”

“Please, don’t,” I interrupt, begging him not to say the words, my eyes swelling with tears.

Once he says them, he can’t take them back.

I’ve lost everyone that I’ve ever loved, and I refuse to lose him, too.

After a long moment of silence, sadness flickers over his features.

He takes a step to the side, clearing the path for me to exit the doorway.

My feet tell me to run, but my heart reaches for him, screaming for me to stay.

God, I’m so fucking tired of running. It’s my default whenever things get difficult. But this? I can’t do this right now.

Loxen goes quiet, the room begins to spin, and I find myself looking around for anything to grab onto in case I collapse. I glance at Lox standing before me, holding his heart in his hands, and I run for the door, needing to get away from this moment, from the manor, from myself.

“I’m so sorry,” I mutter, avoiding his stare and slipping past him. Glancing back at him, his arms drop to his sides. The sight shatters my heart into a million tiny pieces, but I do what I’ve always been good at, and run.

I run, and run, and run, hurling myself out of the manor towards the forest’s edge, praying that my feet don’t fail me.

Branches whip against my arms as I push through the trees beyond the estate, towards the only place I can think of going to get away from it all and to give myself some space to think.

I wipe the tears that continue to streak down my face. Sadness, confusion, and frustration all twist inside of me so violently that the trees dance around me.

Loxen speaks as if Reed would hurt me. As if he’s a dangerous man.

As if he’s not to be trusted. I’ve seen different sides of Reed over the past couple of months.

Moments of unkindness to his peers, and moments of distrust with him keeping his secrets from me.

But I’ve never had a reason to doubt Loxen.

He may be the most frustrating man I have ever met, the most mysterious and complicated person in existence. But he’s never given me a reason to doubt him, and that’s what scares me the most.

I press my back against a large oak tree, feeling my tired body slide down the bark until I’m one with the earth.

Crickets chirping, the sound of a river nearby, and swaying branches from the breeze clash with my spiralling thoughts, sending me teetering off the edge of sanity.

Pressing my palms firmly against my ears, the world around me goes quieter.

Not completely, but enough to allow me to focus on the simple act of breathing.

I tuck my head between my knees and suck in a breath of fresh air.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Minutes pass, though it feels like hours as I sit in the dirt, desperately trying to collect myself.

It takes a lot longer for my panic attack to subside this time, but it eventually does.

Once I no longer feel like I’m on the verge of hyperventilating, I set down my crow mask by my feet, rest against a large rock and pull my grandfather’s journal out from the inner pocket of my robe.

I settle in and read the final passage, hoping my grandfather’s words of wisdom can bring some clarity to my overcrowded mind.

Flipping to the last page, I’m disappointed to find only one line scribbled upon it.

The truth often lies behind the things that poison us.

I’m almost positive I’ve read this exact phrase before, in one of Ambrose’s letters. Heart sinking to my stomach, I lunge to my feet, taking off in a sprint towards the manor. Sprinting my way up the stairs, I head directly to my chest of drawers, in a search of desperation.

I empty three drawers full of clothing before I find the purple envelope buried at the bottom of one. My hands shake as I open it, and sure enough, there, at the bottom of the page, are those familiar words.

Remember, Verena, that the truth often lies behind the things that poison us.

Once I could ignore it, but twice? Twice meant he wanted it to be heard. But why?

I repeat the phrase over and over in my head and come up short for any sort of explanation.

Slamming my hands against the dresser in frustration, tears prickle the backs of my eyes.

“The things that poison us, the things that poison us, the things that poison—”

That’s when I see it, the photograph of me as a child in my grandfather's arms. I run my thumb over the image, and a tear that I didn’t know I had left in me slips free.

“I don’t know what to do, Ambrose,” I whisper.

His office hasn’t changed a bit since this photo was taken.

Dark oak desk with endless paperwork scattered over it, deep purple walls that give the space a sophisticated feel.

Even the painting behind him is the same.

The things that poison us. It’s as if an electric current jolts through my body. It’s been right there, in front of me all along. My feet are moving before the rest of my body has time to catch up. How could I have been so blind?

Throwing the door open to Ambrose’s office, I stare up at the painting looming overhead.

It’s always been right there, in plain sight.

The serpent’s venom, dripping into the chalice, poisoning the wilting iris, my grandmother’s signature scrawled at the bottom.

Pushing the large leather chair to the back wall, I use it as a stepping stool, carefully trying to find my balance on the cushion.

The painting is bulky and difficult to remove on my own, but after finding just the right grip on the frame, it pulls loose, and I gently set it on the floor, leaning it against his desk.

There, hidden by my grandfather’s clever design, is a safe built within the wall.

I stare at the dial, wondering how I’ll ever figure out the combination.

From what I’ve read in his journals, Ambrose loved my mother more than anyone, so I spin the dial, trying my luck on her birthdate.

My fingers linger over the handle for a moment, then I pull.

Nothing happens. Shit. My gaze whips around the office, looking for any numbers around the room that might jump out at me. There are none. I bite my lip nervously, mulling over the fact that he so clearly wanted me to get into the safe, so why couldn’t he leave me a damn code?

I freeze, realization hitting me like a brick.

My grandfather entrusted me with this secret—this monumental clue in his belief that I would keep it safe, so I try my date of birth, holding my breath as I rotate the dial to the last number. The lock clicks.

A triumphant smile stretches across my face at my success.

Jewels, documents and stacks of cash are piled high within the solid box.

But it’s the folder on the top shelf that immediately catches my attention.

It’s such a deep shade of purple, sealed with the Hollow Iris Crest, and I am confident that this is what I’ve been searching for all along.

I collect it and lock the safe, hanging the painting back up exactly as I found it, and adjusting it so it’s straight. If this was my grandfather’s secret space, then it will continue to be mine as well.

Sitting back in the leather chair, I place the folder upon the desk and stare at it for a moment, letting myself feel the emotions, as I’ve finally secured it and completed my task.

My fingers pad over the stencilled detail.

It’s beautiful, and not at all what I was expecting to find.

My curiosity gets the best of me, and I lift the front cover, peeking at the contents inside. Just one look couldn’t hurt.

The first page isn’t at all what I had expected.

Devastation slams into me, and an audible gasp leaves my mouth as I lay eyes on a photo of my mother’s lifeless body and the wreckage of the vehicle that claimed it.

It’s loaded with news article clippings, police reports and handwritten documents by my grandfather himself, trying to piece together the investigation.

I can’t read the words on the pages fast enough.

Eager to consume all the information at once, I spread them out across the desk, one by one.

My eyes grow even wider when I come to a photo of a face that is all too familiar.

A face that brings me discomfort just being in his proximity.

Charles “Chip” Sullivan. My blood begins to boil, and I see red as I continue flipping through the pages and uncover clipping after clipping of unsolved crimes, all of which my grandfather believed in some way led back to the Sullivan family.

None of this makes any sense. Disappearances of students and gruesome murders that have been brushed under the rug.

When I see an image of the society crest, sickness churns in my stomach.

I flip through to the back of the folder, and my breath stalls. The most intense eyes I have ever seen stare back at me. I’m having trouble breathing. The room spins violently around me. I take a moment to steady my breathing before looking down and reading the headline of the news article again.

Hollowcrest Local, Loxen Gray, found deceased by murder at the Gravenhurst Manor.