Page 4 of Speak No Claim

The sadness in my tone was evident when I replied, “Everything that matters to me is staying behind. Besides, home isn’t really something you can pack in a suitcase.”

“You’d be surprised what you can fit in a bag.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“More like wisdom.” He reached for my luggage, and I tried to intervene.

“I can do that.”

“No need,” he insisted. “It’s why I’m here.”

After he grabbed my suitcase, he started walking, and I followed beside him. He seemed honest, and I was a good judge of character and of my environment. My intuition had yet to let me down in all aspects of life. One of the biggest advantages of being raised among wildlife and constantly meeting new people was that it made me hyperaware of my surroundings and of the people in them.

Playfully, I sassed, “Does that make you my new keeper?”

“I’ll be at your service whenever you need me, Miss Belladonna.”

I shook my head, smiling at him. “This isn’t going to work if you keep calling me that, Alfred.”

He arched an eyebrow, confused for a second.

“Never seen Batman?”

He grinned that time. “You’re a smart-ass like your uncle.”

“Yeah, I guess it comes with being Peruvian. If we’re not busting your balls”—I squeezed his shoulder—“then we don’t really like you.”

He chuckled. “So I’ve been told.”

It was nice to know my tío hadn’t lost his roots, and that his personality might have been similar to my family’s despite being completely out of his element in this prestigious world I was about to encounter. What little I did know of him was that he was the black sheep of the family. He had thirty years on me, and by the time I’d heard of his ultimate betrayal, he’d been long gone.

He lived close enough to the university that I could walk to campus every day, and I didn’t have to live in the dorms. I also didn’t have to ask for a car or anything beyond a roof over my head. I could fend for myself, knowing how to cook, clean, and do laundry, which meant I could contribute around the house rather than feel like a freeloader.

Besides, I was a damn good cook. We ate mostly Peruvian cuisine along with the typical food from Iquitos, which was always made with fresh ingredients from the rivers and rainforest. My ceviche was the talk of the Amazon. My grandmother taught me all her recipes, and there wasn’t much I couldn’t figure out on my own when it came to cooking. It wasn’t like I had actual recipe cards or measuring utensils. Everything came from memory, instinct, and taste. Exactly the way she passed it down to me.

I swear it was our way of preserving our family’s recipes. The only way to learn them was by being taught, building lasting memories to cherish along the years.

The drive to Litchfield, where my uncle lived, was an hour from the airport, and I spent most of the ride staring out the window, getting acquainted with my new environment and taking it all in. The city disappeared quickly, replaced by winding roads and rolling hills that stretched for miles.

The farther we drove, the older the scenery became. I couldn’t help but feel all the history pouring out of the seams of every corner and weathered building we drove by. It was what captivated me the most. All the untold stories and legends beneath the trees, just waiting for me to uncover.

At least I knew I could keep myself busy. The views alone were beautifully haunting, holding secrets that had been wrapped in silence for centuries silence, it felt sacred in the air. The deeper we drove into Litchfield County, the older my surroundings grew.

Particularly the colonial-style homes that stood proudly behind the battered stone walls, sharing their own stories to anyone who’d listen. It was the ancient and mysterious energy that crept deep into my bones that made me smile wide for the first time since I arrived.

I hadn’t considered the history of this place until now. I was too wrapped up with having to be there in the first place.

“See something you like?” Alfred asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Maybe.” I grinned.

However, that feeling was cut short. As soon as we pulled into the wrought-iron gates of what I assumed was my tío’s estate, a strong shift in the air caused my stomach to immediately lock up. There was this strange heaviness settling over me that had nothing to do with the shadows lurking behind all the landscaping around the property.

The silence wrapped around me like a coffin, except it quickly started whispering to me…

“Run.”

These grounds had a pulse, breathing life into the space around me, making the hair on my arms stand straight at attention. I couldn’t shake the invasive feeling of suddenly being watched, and it wasn’t from the endless cameras surrounding the property, aimed right at us.