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Before I know it, we are ‘home’ again. It feels like only yesterday that Jonah and I came tumbling out of this very vehicle full of excitement at our new freedom and curiosity at what was going to come next. Now I feel nothing but anguish.
As we round the great driveway and make toward the big old building, I notice there are a great many lights on. I am not used to seeing more than one or two burning in the windows. Direview is coming to life, even as I am absolutely drowning in death. I could never call a place like this cozy. Crichton called it a place of respite, once. I don’t think that's what it is at all. I think this is another kind of prison for another kind of evil. I think my mom was here because she was hiding from what she knew was coming for her — the end. No matter what she did, she couldn’t escape that end. I don’t think I can escape mine either.
I am escorted from the vehicle, a blanket around my shoulders like the invalid I am. It is apparent from the moment we step inside that the house that once felt so empty is brimming with the Brotherhood. There are men absolutely everywhere. I know none of them, and I do not care to know them. They look at me the way sharks look at chum in the water. I mean something to them. Must be the angel thing. The thing I could not care less about.
“Why is everyone here?”
“You're special, Nina. They’ve come to protect you,” Bryn says.
“From you?”
“Probably. Yes.”
“I forgot I’m not talking to you, murderer.”
I see his features stiffen in my peripheral vision. He wants to punish me for my insolence, but I have not said anything that is not true. He is a murderer, and I will never let him forget it.
Introductions are made, because they are all too callous to realize I want absolutely nothing to do with any of them. There are too many men for me to pay attention to or focus on. I have never felt less sociable. I am grieving, and I am drugged, and I am forced to return to the place my brother died, with the man who killed him. If there is a greater misery in this word, I do not want to know it.
“I’d like to go to bed, please.”
“You know where your room is,” Bryn says. I shake my head.
“Not in the turret. I want the room where my mother hangs.”
“It’s not ready.”
“I want that room.”
“I will prepare the chamber for the young lady,” Crichton says after a flicker of a nod from Bryn.
“Your chamber,” Crichton says. “Let me know if there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable.”
“Yes, please, Crichton. If you could just drive a spike through your master’s brain, that would make me much more comfortable.”
Crichton’s lips quirk ever so slightly. Is he amused or offended? Might it not be the same thing? “I’m afraid I cannot comply with that request, but if there are any material comforts…”
“I want Jonah’s clothes. I want all his things brought to me. I don’t want anybody else touching them.”
“Oh! That reminds me. Your suitcases were released and the contents have been put away in the wardrobes and cupboards.”
“I want Jonah’s things. Please.”
“Of course. If you will give me a moment.”
He leaves me to my own devices. I look around the room I requested. The room in which Bryn once thrashed me for daring to be in. I hope I am intruding here. I hope this makes him very uncomfortable. I swear on anybody's life worth living that it is now my sole mission in life to ruin his.
A fire has been made, the room has been dusted, fresh linens adorn the bed, and the windows have been propped slightly open to allow fresh air. I feel my mother here. This may have been the room she stayed in when she was here. Or maybe it is just that her picture looks down at me from above the mantel. She is younger than I am now. The closer I look at the picture the more it is clear to see that she already lost hope.
“You tried to get us away from here, Mom,” I whisper. “But I don't think there is a far enough away from here.”
A soft clearing of the throat alerts me to Crichton’s presence.
“I took the liberty of packing his cases. Where would you like them?”
“Just on the floor is fine.”
“As you wish.”
He brings them closer to the fire, so I can go through them without having to become chilled. If there is anybody more thoughtful and intuitive than Crichton in this building, or country, I’d be shocked.
Crichton leaves and I pull out one of Jonah’s old sweaters and put it on. I swim in it, but it feels like I have some little bit of home with me. Sitting in front of the fire, underneath my mother, with my brother wrapped around me, I let myself dissolve into tears.
