Chapter 26
SOPHIA
I replaced the boards in the hallway as best as I could, using some leftover plasterboard I found in the garage, then hung a large picture frame over it to disguise the join.
I stood back and admired my handywork. My dad would notice straight away if he came here, but hopefully the visitors wouldn’t.
I made a mental note to come back once they’d left and fix it properly.
Perhaps I could create a door, so I could use it whenever I needed because I wasn’t finished with the room behind the wall.
Not yet. John Hammel had more secrets to reveal, more things he needed me to know, but I couldn’t risk bringing the papers and journals outside.
I didn’t want them to be found by anyone.
I still wasn’t sure if my dad knew anything about it, but either way, I didn’t want him to know that I’d found it. A little secret between me and John.
I slid my arms into John’s overcoat and put his sketch into one of the pockets. It was a little big on me and it smelled musty, but it felt familiar and warm.
On my way out, I stopped by the power console and checked it over. The main switch had been tripped, so all I had to do was flip it back on. It must have been a massive surge that tripped it, but I was glad I’d been able to sort it, ready for the visitors to arrive tomorrow.
When I arrived back home, my dad was asleep in his chair by the fire with a bottle of beer balanced on the armrest, still clenched in his hand.
I draped a blanket over him and removed the bottle from his grip in case it fell while he was asleep and smashed.
That would only make him angry, and he’d find some way of blaming me.
As I placed the bottle on the side, I noticed a note lying next to an array of empty bottles.
It looked like he’d been on a bit of a bender this evening since I’d left.
He liked a drink most nights, but it wasn’t often that he drank himself into a stupor.
I picked the note up and read the words slowly, carefully.
They were written in swirly, fancy handwriting.
The time has arrived. Hand her over. You got lucky once, but it won’t happen again.
I glanced at my dad and then at the six empty bottles next to him. Who had delivered this note?
The note made it sound like whoever had given it to him had been waiting for a specific time or day, that it was significant somehow. The anniversary of John Hammel’s death was coming up, so perhaps that was connected or relevant somehow.
It was also nearing the anniversary of my mother leaving us and the death of my little brother, but I doubt anyone else would care about that as much as my dad and I did. It had scarred us as a family and we were barely hanging on even now, but the rest of the world had moved on.
Dad was one of the founding members of the village committee, but I couldn’t work out what that would have to do with anything either.
John Hammel’s journals mentioned a lot about the village committee and them hiding things, but from the tone of this letter, it seemed my dad was possibly keeping something from them. Something they wanted.
Hand her over.
Were they talking about me?
I turned the note over, frowning, and saw another short sentence scrawled on the back. This one made a lot less sense, but did answer the reason why my dad may have drunk himself into a stupor.
Oh, Dad, what have you got yourself involved in?