Before I could react, he slid a small note over the desk. I lifted it carefully, unsure how much more I could take, then turned it around.
My heart ricocheted within its cage. I looked up again, our gazes meeting. My breaths were shallow. My father. The word was heavy even in my head. The concept was unfamiliar to me; it was as if I was seeing a ghost I never believed to exist. I studied him, unable to do anything else than search for similarities. I came up with none. He twisted the silver ring on his pinkie, like he was just as nervous as I was.
“How?” I muttered, my heart racing. “How is this possible?”
The words were almost silent. Hudson’s piercing blue eyes remained calm, even now, while my thoughts stormed. It wasas if he knew something else, like he knew everything and was scared of nothing.
What did my mum mean by Lilian being different? What could she have seen that scared her so much she left? Could it have been another dead sheep? Or someone else down there?
“Why?” I asked, this time louder, my voice steadier than before. “Why did she really leave?”
Hudson opened his mouth, and I leaned forward.
“Pet?” Lilian’s voice sliced through the stillness, and I stiffened. We both did.
She was standing between the tall rows, only a few metres away. Her shadow stretched over the dark grey rug, lean and thin. I shoved the letter and note into the pocket of my cardigan.
“Hudson.” She glanced down at her silver watch. “I was waiting for you in my study.”
Hudson cleared his throat, standing. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. I just had a lovely chat with Elodie about a beloved book of mine.” He slid a book over to me with a faded blue cover.
The Picture of Dorian Gray
I knew this story. I read it a few years ago after finding it in the library. The concept of Dorian’s hidden self was intriguing enough to read it in one sitting.
But Hudson never mentioned it until now. Was this another cryptic message I should have somehow understood?
Hudson and Lilian walked out of the library, leaving me alone with the weight of my thoughts. I rested my forehead on my hand, defeated.
Hudson Lamont was my father. My mum had left Thornhill in fear. I lifted my head enough to see the mocking silver title.
And now all I was left with was Dorian Gray and his own monsters.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
ELODIE
The odour of the Drunken Lion Pub clung to my skin like rot as I scrubbed the floor with an overused cloth. The heat swelled, thick as smoke, as it wrapped around my limbs. I was burning.
At the counter, Tony lounged with a cigarette wedged between his lips, Nat whispering furiously into his ear like she was feeding fire.My knee slipped into something warm and sticky, and a wave of nausea rolled through me.
“Elodie.” Tony’s voice sliced through the haze. “How’s your mum?”
My throat closed around the answer.
“Tony,” Nat chided, chewing on her bubblegum. “She died a week ago. Remember?”
Tony frowned. “Shame.” He stood and walked toward me. My body stiffened. A warning crawled across my skin.
I wasn’t supposed to be here.
“That woman,” he muttered, dramatic pity in his voice. “I would have taken good care of her. But she didn’t want it. And now look…”
I clenched my fist, my knuckles whitening.
“What a waste, eh, Dougie?”
I didn’t see Dougie’s reaction. Red bled into my vision. Then black. The room warped. My breath thinned. The pressure behind my eyes pulsed. My fingers numbed. I could feel the thin ice wall built within my body; it was luring me to break it down with whatever I had. Black veins filled my vision, spreading like escaped ink.
