“He and his best friend discovered Grimhill Manor. Asher arrived first the day of the fine-visit, and then Draven came after the master was killed. It was by sheer luck that he found me.”
I sit silently as I absorb her words, her voice quivering with rawness that’s impossible to miss.
“He brought me here. It took time to adjust, but I-I like it here. I like him.”
“Oh, wow,” I finally manage.
“It was actually Draven who encouraged me to write my self-biography.” She continues. “He pushed me to do what I was too afraid of. Trauma has a way of rooting deep, and I was terrified Frederick would find out and punish me for telling the world the truth, even if he was dead. But then the news came—Grimhill Manor burned down, and it was all the police could do to uncover the truth of the human trafficking ring. With Frederick’s death, it was my sign to push forward and do the right thing.”
I stare out the window, watching rain fall on the outside. They dance like a delicate ballet conducted by the gentle wind, carrying the droplets as they clash against the window, leaving trails falling down. The fire’s glow reflects in the window, adding to the somber atmosphere.
Taking a sip of the sweet tea, the flavor is instantly unfamiliar yet comforting, a blend of herbs that lingers on my tongue. With each sip, the tea fills me with a gentle warmth seeping into my bones, the heat from the fireplace wrapping around me in the same way the blanket does, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I finally stop being so cold.
She looks at me, hesitantly and expectantly, her eyes searching mine for the story I know she wants me to tell, just as she told me hers.
“It’s a long story. It’s the story of us,” I tell her, the fire burning steadily in the background, casting a cozy, almost inviting atmosphere, perfect for story-telling, but I know it’s far from it.
Because the story of us is full of heartbreak, pain, and suffering—an immersive tale that draws you in, making you feel like it’s just a fictitious story, but it’s not.
And so I tell her everything, leaving no detail untold as the words spill out like a broken dam.
––––––––
“I’VE SEEN YOU TWOon the news,” Draven says as a way of greeting, his voice settling into the heavy-filled atmosphere. “I know what you’ve done.”
My palms grow damp and cold as an icy chill settles deep in my core, despite the warmth of the room. It feels as though the walls are closing in on me, the comforting heat becoming suffocating, as if the fire itself creeps closer, wanting to burn me to death. Everlee’s hand covers her mouth in shock and horror after just listening to the ending of my horrifying story when Draven barged right in.
His shoulders are squared, posture rigid, with a determined look on his face, as if the realization just dawned on him.
“If you knew the true story, you wouldn’t say something like that,” I boldly state, meeting his eyes like dark shadows beneath the tousled strands of his hair.
Tears brim in the corner of Everlee’s eyes, and her lower lip trembles. Draven’s expression hardens when he sees her upset, his gaze darting between us, silently accusing me of being the cause of her emotional distress. He motions with his head for me to follow, and I reluctantly stand up. His T-shirt clings to his muscles, the fabric taut against his frame, and the snake tattoo looks almost alive in the dim light. Its eyes appear to watch me, trying to figure out whether I’m spinning a lie.
“I’ll show them to their room.” He locks eyes with Everlee, who wipes her tears away and nods.
We walk toward the hallway, taking the stairs up one floor. The hall here is decorated with the same dark wooden panels, paintings and photographs hanging here and there, as it opens up into a larger space—another type of living room holding atelevision and a just as plush carpet as the one downstairs.
He opens a door to one of the rooms, and the first thing I see is Grey, turning around as if he’s been waiting for us. His smile is immediate, infectious. Beside his feet, a basket brims with our clothes, ready to be cleaned.
The room is just as beautifully decorated as the rest of the house—an elegant blend of modernity and rustic charm, giving a feeling of both age and authority. The king-sized bed is neatly made, adorned with a plush blanket, its dark wooden frame elevating it slightly off the floor. A large window stretches from floor to ceiling, triangular in its shape, formed after the unique architecture of the building.
On one side of the room, another stone hearth is already crackling with a cozy fire, and candles are scattered along the window frame.
“I don’t even want you here.” Draven breaks the silence as he steps into the room, letting me enter after him.
I make my way to the window, staring out into the world beyond. Something ethereal catches my sight; a vast, dark lake right before the house. The surface is smooth with the forest reflecting off the lake, water as dark as ink, giving that sense of mystery that’s both ominous yet beautiful all the same.
Grey comes up to me, arm wrapping protectively around my waist. I breathe in his scent; forest-like, even more amplified by the cottage around us.
Draven crosses his arms over his chest, staring us down. “I know what you mean to Everlee, even how much that now irks me. If you’re going to stay for a while until you’re on your feet again, we have to set some ground rules. They may be harsh, but I don’t care. My house, my rules.”
The warmth of the room seems to dissipate as I await what he has to say. Every bone in my body screams at me to protest, but I know it’s of no use—it’s his house and we have to accept it.
“I frankly don’t care about the truth. What I know is that you two are fugitives, hiding away from the police after burning down a manor. With the contacts in my line of work, I also know you killed the warden of the psychiatric facility you stayed at. And because of that, it puts me and Everlee at risk—accomplices in your crimes.”
His gaze pierces through me like a sharp knife, and I fight to focus on my breathing, even when it feels as if his eyes make me feel confined to a box with no way to break free.
He continues as both Grey and I stay silent, absorbing his words.“I know you both have gone through shit, which is why I need you to meet a psychiatrist four times a week, to begin with. I will not have you affecting Everlee’s health now that she is finally progressing.”
