“Isn’t it quite peculiar how time passes so differently for each of us?”
Carmichael is looking right at me when I glance his way, eyes burning into my soul.
He’s always creeped me out. He feels like an extension of Sorrowsong Castle, rather than an employee of it. If I look hard enough, I find him at every event, every rugby game, every exam, watching me with that lifeless stare.
“Time would pass faster for me if you hadn’t let my parents’ murder slip through your net.”
His smile is cold, eyes colorless. The flowers that peek out of the breast pocket of his merlot-colored waistcoat are dead and dried up. “I would be careful not to wish for your life to pass too quickly, Miss Winters.”
I wish he’d justleave. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to convince Alex to come back to Sorrowsong.”
That takes me by surprise. “Why?”
He runs his thumb and forefinger over his mustache, deep in thought as he watches a couple waltz across the polished tile. “For a friend.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to piece a jigsaw together with a feeling that I don’t have all the pieces. “His mom? Elise?”
“I told her I’d watch over him.”
“Why?” I ask, following his gaze back to the couple that twirl under the candlelight. “Oh my god. You’re in love with Elise.”
“I was, once. But she was young, and I was old. She is all the good in the world, and I am the bad. Cain Green covered her wingsin oil, caught her in a trap. When her health started to spiral and Cain’s intentions for Alex’s future became clear, she asked me to keep an eye on him.”
I chew on my lip, unsure why this man sets me so on edge. “You cannot convince me you’re a good man, that you’re doing this because you care about what happens to us.”
He chuckles, fiddling with his pocket watch. “I’m not a good man at all, Ophelia. But Iama man of my word.”
“Is that what you think? That you’re protecting Alex?”
“I told the police that Clint Bancroft had suggested to me multiple times last year that he intended to kill himself. They lost all interest in his death after that.”
My breath catches in my throat, lungs stalling under his lifeless stare.
He knows we killed Bancroft.
My phone burns a hole in my hand. Carmichael could’ve taken the photo and sent it to me. Carmichael could’ve posted the article to remove Cain from Alex’s life.
I make a note to suggest it to Mack when we speak next.
The cocktail slips down my throat so easily, stoking the dwindling fire in my soul. “Alex and I aren’t together. Convince him yourself.”
“He only listens to you and the psychiatrist.”
I drop my empty tumbler onto the silver tray of a passing waiter, meeting Carmichael’s eyes with my shoulders back and my head high. “Alex’s decisions are his own to make, and I owe you nothing.”
I shove through the crowd of students toward the double doors that lead to the hallway, desperate for some air.
The atmosphere shifts as I near the staircases, the loud buzz of chatter quieting to a hum. The sea of people seems to part, a few murmured sentences filtering through the crowd. I turn around and strain my neck, trying to see what the fuss is about. People glance at me, then back at whoever it is who’s just entered the hall.
And I justknow.
I know it’s him before he comes into view. I know it’s him from the way people look at him. I know it’s him from the way the oxygen in the air seems to fizzle up and burn.
But I’m still not prepared when he stops in the middle of the dance floor, looking at me like I’m his only hope at a happy ending.
Alex in a suit is a sight for sore eyes. Droplets of rain glisten on the black fabric of the jacket, drip from the lock of hair that curls over his forehead, trickle over the curve of his bottom lip, glue his white shirt to his skin.
