Chapter 13
13
JONATHAN
I throw myself into my work with new vigor. Partly, to make good on Zane’s faith in me, partly to assuage my guilt and prove this whole exercise was worthwhile, and mostly… mostly because I’m now imagining Adam watching everything I do.
So what if my employer wants to observe me? That’s well within his rights. It’s just… well, I keep thinking of things I hope he didn’t see. Like when Mal nearly succeeded in making me cry or that time that Alisha asked a question and I didn’t know the answer. I guess this is the price I pay for being an imposter. It wouldn’t be so embarrassing if I knew what I was doing.
I solve the problem of getting the children to focus for long periods by supplementing their academic work with practical exercises. When Adam doesn’t show up outside my door demanding an explanation, I assume he approves.Or at least, that he doesn’t disapprove.
To bring the children up to standard with mathematics, we bake. I have Enrique count ingredients like eggs and decorations. As he grows more comfortable with my presence, he listens when I speak to him and even smiles shyly when I praise him. For the others, I use pies and cakes to help them understand fractions and how to measure circumference and volume. I have them adjust recipes to make larger or smaller quantities. We mix in a little science too — why does the cake rise, how does yeast work? When weather permits, I take them outside and play games that tie into their lessons and allow them the chance to let off excess energy.
Adam continues to stay out of my way. Which is good. Fine. The last thing I want is another confrontation. It’s good that he’s not involved.
Except… except when Mal comments one day that The Beast doesn’t even like them. Except, when Ben wakes up screaming after a nightmare about The Beast attacking him. Except, when Adam comes into the kitchen one afternoon while we’re making meringues and Enrique drops an egg on the floor and dashes into Alisha’s arms in fright. Maybe we are due another conversation after all.
I wait until the weekend to seek Adam out. I leave the children happily playing a game called CraftWar (that somehow involves mining, building, and battling demons) and check the control room first, but it’s empty. No one answers when I knock on the door to the west wing. When I seek him in the foundation office, I find Meredith sorting through some paperwork. She tells me to check the gym.
I follow a passage off the office. A thwacking noise leads me to a side room. It’s a large, dim, space—warm and scented with wood-shavings. Light slants down from skylights, catching dust motes, before falling into pale squares on the unfinished floor.
As my eyes adjust to the dimness, I can make out a row of exercise equipment along the one wall—treadmills, bench presses, a rack of weighs and some sort of pulley system that looks like an instrument of torture. A boxing ring dominates the rest of the space. Geoff is beating the living hell out of a punching bag off to the side of it.
“Hi, sorry,” I wave to get Geoff’s attention.
He slams his fist into the bag and I take a startled step back, but when he turns to me, he’s all smiles. He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “What’s up?”
“Uh, I was just looking for Adam. Any idea where I might find him?”
“You probably won’t. He’s not a man who likes to be found.”
“Oh.”
Not wishing to be rude, I take a stab at small talk. “So… this is the gym?”
“What passes for it, yeah.” He laughs. “Not that you’d know.”
Apparently the desire for politeness is one-sided. “I’ll leave you to it.” I turn and make for the door.
Geoff calls after me. “Wait! Teach!” He’s still all smiles. “I wasn’t insulting your bod. I meant— you’re not exactly sporty.”
I have no desire to continue this conversation. Yet, for some reason known only to generations of British ancestors, I still feel the need to be polite. I turn back to him to find him in the process of undressing me with his eyes.
I fold my arms across my chest. Geoff smiles impishly. “Not bad, but you’re not my type.”
“Thank god.”
He barks a surprised laugh and holds up his hands. “First off, ouch. Second, I was about to offer you lessons. We’re going to be locked up in this godforsaken place for months and, given how shit the weather is most of the time, this is the best way to keep active.”
“Boxing?”
He nods.
Maybe I was too quick to judge him. I am scrawny, there’s no denying that.
“I’ll think about it.”
Geoff shrugs. “Well, you know where to find me . Because I’m not a tortured recluse.”
With that, he returns to his punching bag.
I check the kitchen, the laundry, and all the rooms we checked when looking for Mal. I pause in the little study with the Tiffany lamp. The shelves are packed with reference books and a large vinyl collection.
Intrigued, I sift through the records. Lots of Beethoven, some Brahms. And…a record with a blue cover, featuring a white baby grand piano. The album name scrawled across the top reads: Lloyd Du Villeneuve in Concert. I didn’t even know they still pressed records of concerts. He must have had this made as a special edition. For Patreon or something.
“Was this your place?” I ask the empty air. “They probably haven’t touched it since you… well, since you left.”
I feel immediately silly and also a bit like a snoop. I close the door to that study behind me and continue back along the passage to the foyer.
Opposite the entrance is another set of double doors. These are intricately carved in flowing floral scrollwork with big brass handles. To my surprise, the doors open with a light nudge.
I know immediately that I won’t find Adam here, but I step in regardless. This is a ballroom. Like something out of a movie. Parquet floors stretch out the entire length of the room. On the far end, huge floor-to-ceiling arched windows, bordered by heavy velvet drapes, let in the weak light. They’re in need of a clean, but there’s something ethereal about the watery light pouring into this abandoned space. High overhead, a glass chandelier dangles from a pressed ceiling and around the room, painted panels display pastoral scenery.
“Wow,” I whisper, moving closer to examine them. There are rooms in this manor that are beautiful beyond anything I thought I’d see with my own eyes, but this is by far the mystery decorator’s best work. Every panel was chosen with care, gilded in places and varnished for preservation. I’m leaning close to appreciate some fine brushwork on one of the murals when I hear a noise behind me.
I turn guiltily, but there’s no one there.
No one living, at any rate.
Ghosts do not exist.
But oh, if there was ever a room more likely to be haunted.
I turn to admire the artwork again, heart drumming in my ears. I move slowly and deliberately from piece to piece. And if I sense a presence behind me, it is purely my imagination.
“You’re the designer, aren’t you?” I whisper, to absolutely nothing. “You loved this manor. Maybe that’s why they think a part of you still lingers here. This home was a dream, and this room was at its center. But you never got to enjoy it, did you?” The thought makes my chest tight.
A breeze rustles the drapes and my own soul just about leaves my body. Thank god no one’s around because I’m pretty sure I squeak in a completely undignified manner. Where did that breeze even come from? The door I just opened? On the opposite side of the room?
Pulse racing, I leave the ballroom and shut the door securely behind me.
The only place left to check is the grounds. The rain is no more than a damp mist as I head out. I poke around the front garden and check in the potting shed around the back, but find only Angus taking advantage of the break in the bad weather to transplant some seedlings into a bed along the wall.
“Sorry to bother. Have you seen Adam?”
“Aye, heading intae th' wids.”
Finally. I head into the forest, following the path up towards the lake. What possible business could Adam have out here? Unless… My stomach muscles tighten. What if he’s gone to the lake to mourn? I don’t want to intrude. I turn around and hear… whistling?
I pause. Definitely not bird song. A human. It could be Angus, except he seemed quite settled at his task. I step into the woods, following the sound.
My nostrils fill with the scent of damp earth as I carefully move between mossy trunks and over thick roots until I catch a glimpse of a building—it’s a dazzling domed conservatory of wrought iron and glass, almost entirely hidden away. A thick curtain of scarlet climbing roses covers the one side, but through the branches, I can make out a bulky figure moving around within. Whistling.
Is that… it can’t be?
It’s Adam. The greenhouse is filled with lush leafy things. Ferns and lilies and philodendron and numerous other plants I can’t name spill from every surface. He’s trimming some dead leaves off a delicate, spindly seedling. The tiny scissors look almost comical in his giant hands.
Who is this man?
He checks another plant and stops whistling to whisper something to it.I recall how gentle he was with Mal when we found him under the desk.
Maybe this is Adam. Adam when he doesn’t feel like he has to be The Beast.
This is too intimate to witness. I should leave. I take a step back, but I knock one of the rose branches and it rustles. He looks up. Surprise and irritation flash across his features.
I hold up a hand in greeting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb.”
“What are you doing here?” he asks. It feels like what he’s really asking is how did you find me?
“I was looking for you actually. Can we talk?”
He presses his lips together. Then sighs and turns away to fetch another ailing plant off a shelf. “Are the children all right?”
“Quite fine.”
He places the plant on the counter and gently works the stick into the soil. Then he reaches for some cable ties. A stake to help the plant grow.
“We… uh, haven’t seen you around. The children I mean. They haven’t seen much of you.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I can see that.”
His stormy gaze lands on me.
“I thought… I thought maybe we could organize something? A day out? A chance for them to get to know you better.”
“You’re worried I’m neglecting them.”
The words I used when we argued about the piano. I feel a stab of guilt at that. Maybe I was too harsh.
“I just think it would be nice for them.”
“No, you don’t.”
“What do you mean?”
Adam sighs and turns to put the plant back on its shelf. “I’m not in the best mood, Belle. Which is why I’m in the middle of the forest. Alone. Word to the wise. You should probably stay clear.”
“What’s wrong?”
Again, the glare.
“Right. Not up for sharing.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “But before I leave, what did you mean just now? About me not thinking it would be nice for them to spend time with you? I hope I haven’t given you the impression?—”
Adam growls and runs his hands through his thick hair. “Do I have to spell it out, Belle? I’m The Beast. I’m not the Cuddly Teddy Bear. If I spend more time with the children, chances are I’ll scare them further.”
“You’re keeping your distance because of what happened with Mal?”
He waves an arm in the direction of the house, narrowly missing hitting one of his pots. “Not just that. You know it’s not just that.”
The cameras. He’s probably seen more than even I have. I wonder if the resolution on his monitors is good enough for him to see how often they fight his video game character.
“I think you could change how they feel about you, if you wanted to.”
“What if I don’t want to? What if I’m fine with how things are. They have you and they have Lily-Iris. They neither want nor need me, Belle.”
I shake my head. “If that’s how you truly feel, of course it’s your right. But I think it’s a waste. You have an opportunity to make an impression on these children while they’re with you, to give them a taste of feeling wanted and appreciated by a parental figure. Instead, you’re hiding from them, giving all of your pent up affection to… vegetation.”
“I’m The Beast,” he says again, through grit teeth.
“Well, maybe you don’t have to be anymore.”
With that, I turn and leave. It probably didn’t do anything to improve his mood, but at least I said my piece.