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“And that’s why you won’t go into the woods alone again.”
“I don’t ever want to go back there.”
“Why? What happened? Apart from your fall.”
Her forehead creases as she studies the fire. “It’s just creepy. There was a doll, God, it was the scariest thing when I saw it.”
“You got scared of a doll?”
She looks up at me. “It was old. Maybe an antique or something. When I’d bent to pick up the broken tea things, there it was, staring up at me from a tangle of weeds.”
“Hmm.”
“It was creepy, Damian. That whole place is creepy. I just…I felt like someone was watching me.”
“No one was out there. We have soldiers, so no one would have gotten through.”
But the way she looks at me, I know what she’s thinking. Not a person. At least not a living one.
“You were going the wrong way, by the way,” I say, moving off the topic of ghosts.
“How did you find me?”
I take the phone out of her coat pocket. “Location.”
“Oh.”
I’m about to set it aside when I feel something else inside the pocket. I take that out, too, momentarily confused when I see the switchblade.
When I turn to her, she looks from the knife up to me like she’d forgotten it was there. And she looks guilty as sin. Like she did the other night.
I recognize it, of course. The intricately carved hilt. Pushing the button, I open it.
She jumps when I do.
I touch the blade—sharp as ever—and when I turn it to read the initials on the handle, I shake my head.
That’s what my sister was up to that night.
I set both phone and knife on the mantel and turn to her.
She meets my gaze, shivering as rain taps on the tin roof.
“You’ll explain that later. We need to get you warm and get that glass out first.”
“It hurts.”
“I can’t clean them until you stop shivering so we need to warm you up.”
She doesn’t fight me as I take off her wet clothes. Only when she’s in her underwear and bra does she seem to notice and try to wrap her arms around herself.
“Here. Sit down.” I take off my coat and put it over her shoulders. I make her sit down on the chair closest to the fireplace before taking off her wet boots and socks. Her feet are freezing. She must have been outside for some time. If my brother saw her and left her to wander out there, I’m going to fucking kill him.
Grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the nearby bench, I bring it to her.
“Here.”
“No, no more of that.”
“Just a sip. It’ll warm you up.”
Bringing the bottle to her lips, I tilt it back so she can swallow a sip. I, on the other hand, take a big swig before setting it on the mantel.
After adjusting logs on the growing fire, I get the first-aid kit. She’s lucky I’ve always kept a well-stocked one out here. Mom’s rules when she was alive. I’ve just kept it up for some reason although I’ve never needed to use it.
“What is this place?” she asks. She’s taking in the large space as I return to her. I wonder what she makes of the covered furniture along all the walls, only the few pieces I’m working on uncovered in this old, dusty shed.
“Work shed.”
I drag a stool over, set the first-aid kit on the low table by the chair, and pull her hands into my lap.
“It’s a little bigger than a shed,” she says.
I shrug a shoulder and open the kit.
“Is this where you come when you go into the woods?”
I nod, finding the tweezers to pull out the glass.
“Ouch.” She tries to tug her hand away when I remove the first shard, but I don’t let her.
“It’s going to hurt, but we have to get the glass out. Maybe this will teach you not to go snooping since you clearly didn’t learn your lesson the night you wandered into my brother’s rooms.”
“I wasn’t snooping,” she says as I get back to work. “I was just curious what your brother was carrying into the woods and where he was going.”
The definition of snooping. But I don’t comment. I’m curious too. “What was he carrying?”
“I don’t know. He had something in each hand, like barrels or something. They were heavy I could see that much.”
“You don’t know where he went with them?”
“I didn’t see. By the time I got out here, and after I backtracked to find the path twice, he was returning to the house. I think he was, at least. And he didn’t have the things with him anymore. That’s when I came across the solarium. How old is it, anyway?”
“Old. My father had it refurbished for my mother a long time ago, but it’s been on the grounds since at least my great-grandfather was alive.”
