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He gives me an expectant stare, and I drop my hands. “I’m assuming you’re referring to Hell.”
“We’ve already bypassed the gates of Hell.”
I huff a breath of irritation. “There’s no way we’re in Hell, if that’s what you’re inclining toward. That would mean we’re dead.”
“You’re not hearing me.” Sheriff Valen rebuts.
Open your eyes, Marisa.
A cruel smile mars his face as he reaches for me, and I allow him. My mind sways with the idea. Could this be Hell?
“Marisa, look around you carefully. Use all your wits. What is the purpose of their journey?”
My gaze narrows on him. Sheriff Valen doesn’t seem to be the type to play jokes. But he reminds me of Daisy, the way she gives me crumbs of information but fails to execute on the real truths.
“Redemption?” I offer.
He releases me with an exasperated sigh. “Freedom, Marisa. It’s freedom. It’s what we all search for. It’s what you might be here for.”
Realization strikes me. They were all being intentionally vague with their words. Was there something preventing them from telling me the truth?
“Then what does freedom have to do with me helping you?”
“You are my key to freedom. And if I’m not free, then you’ll never be free.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
September 27, 2010
After the conversation with the Sheriff yesterday, I opted for solitude in my room for the remainder of the day. There had been an underlying current of deceit beneath his careful words, an almost imperceptible tremor, like a string plucked beneath his heedful facade. But truly, what did I have to lose by indulging the curiosity of a man who had deliberately sought me out?
I spent yesterday rationalizing myself into knots. Reminding myself that information never comes freely, that knowledge always extracts its price. Power always has its price. And because of this obsessive overthinking, I had stayed awake through the entire night and into the pale hours of morning, scouring every inch of the shelves, rifling through books, skimming from top to bottom in search of any trace that might have belonged to Sara. Some books were scribbled through, words drawn over with paint, and others were simply empty books.
Sheriff Valen had also mentioned something important: I looked like a girl he was involved with. Who was this girl? What happened between them? An inkling of suspicion told me that this girl was the very reason he’d been following me around. The entire time he wanted to ask me to investigate Kieran.
Did this girl eventually marry Kieran, and this was a revenge setup?
My first course of action was to determine who Sara Wren is. Unfortunately, there was nothing. No other writings, nor letters, or a single trace she’d ever existed outside of the book I was reading. What if my suspicions were wrong, and she never existed? Or were two different women? There is a possibility.
And now it’s early evening again, and I had not slept since the night before. Not even a warm bath had soothed the growing ache behind my eyes and the tension in my muscles.
“Misty, what am I going to do?” I exhale sharply, blowing a stubborn strand of hair from my face. Misty lies curled on the bed, blissfully asleep, content with her day of not hunting danger. My sweet girl, unbothered by the monsters I apparently attract.
A knock on the door startles us both. Misty’s head snaps up, ears pricked. I recoil, pulse skipping. Who has the nerve to interrupt my spiral at this hour?
I yank the door open, ready to scowl at whoever dared to intrude on my solitude. Instead, I am met with steely eyes and a formidable silhouette framed in warm light. Kieran stands there holding a single candle, its flame shivering, casting restless shapes across his face. The shifting light reveals him in fragments that I have come to admire; cheekbone, jaw, and the grim line of his mouth.
“Kieran…” His name drags the breath right from my lungs. “What are you doing here?”
“Dinner,” he says. “Remember?”
Haziness drifts over my vision again, an overlay that has been haunting me since I arrived. It is as though someone slipped old, ill-fitting contact lenses into my eyes. The world around me dulls at the edges, dimming into a dreamscape I cannot escape. I blink several times, hoping for clarity, hoping for color. Maybe my synapses aren’t firing correctly. Maybe my eyes and my mind are no longer allies. “Oh—” I begin, pivoting back toward my chaotic room then back to him, remembering its state. “I’ll be right there.”
I can’t believe I forgot about the dinner I agreed to. Speaking of food, I had not eaten all day, and neither had Misty. I glance down at her, already perched at the doorway, resting her head against Kieran’s leg with a focused stare. She does not blink.
“Misty, are you okay, girl?” I direct my dog back to me. She circles through my legs and stands between them, staring up at Kieran. I give him a wary glance. “We’ll be right back.”
I do not allow him the moment to respond as I shut the door in his face and rush to pull on a warm dress and boots. I would much rather slink around in thick socks but considering the house’s penchant for birthing strange creatures from shadow, I’d prefer footwear that would not betray me mid-flight.
