Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Bard’s sapphire blue eyes turn intense. “Rain always regretted the fact that she told your mother the truth too early. Storm was just a child, and the knowledge tormented her growing up. Your grandmother wanted to give you as much time as possible to enjoy a normal life, especially after you lost your parents, which is why she made me vow not to disclose the truth. She wanted you to find out when the time was right. But then she passed and—”
“And you were stuck.” I bob my head. “You wanted to keep your promise to her.”
“Yes.”
“And the library book?” I almost forgot about it. The book was saved because I had it in my hands when my little house caught on fire.
“I promised not to disclose the truth, but I never said I wouldn’t point you in the right direction. I admit, I wanted to speed things along. The book was written by your great-grandfather. It has the original blueprints of the home along with key landmarks.”
“So why was it in the public library?”
“I was supposed to tell you about it after you read the journals and learned about the Wall Men. Rain wanted it kept in a safe place, somewhere off the property where you could get to easily—in case you ever needed to rebuild the house.”
I stare, not quite getting the point. “You mean if it happened to be destroyed?”
“It’s an old house, and the estate’s history is filled with baffling events,” he says. “Maybe the Norfolks haven’t done a very good job of keeping out all the monsters.”
“You think there are some living here? Now?” I pray he says no.
He shrugs and looks away. “All I can tell you is that strange things happen on the estate.”
Maybe it’s his tone or the way he keeps avoiding eye contact when he’s answering some of my questions, but I know Bard’s lying. “Stranger than what’s in the bedroom?”
“Nothing is stranger than that.”
I pull the plug on our conversation and call it a night after begging Bard to reconsider having a doctor check him out. He’s not having it, and I don’t know why. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave me alone. Maybe it’s them he doesn’t trust.
Either way, by the time I lie down on his couch, I can’t keep my eyes open. I dream of faceless monsters with sharp bloody teeth, crawling out from the shadows, chasing me through the forest. I scream for help, but it only summons more of them. As I’m running, my foot hits a pothole, and I sink into the earth. Something starts biting me—legs, toes, ankles. When I look down, tiny creatures the size of ants are crawling all over. They tear at my skin until there’s a hole big enough for them to enter my vein. “Help! Oh God! Help!” I scream, but I’m all alone, being eaten alive.
“Shit!” I jackknife upright, instantly soothed by the immaculate surroundings of Bard’s living room. I’m dripping with sweat, and my eyes are wet. I’ve been crying.
“Goddamn.” I swing my feet to the hardwood floor, covering my face. Bard was nice enough to loan me one of his red flannel shirts to sleep in, and it’s acted like a bath towel, soaking up my night terrors. I’ve never had this happen before—such a physical reaction to a dream. It’s crazy.
I get up and lightly knock on Bard’s bedroom door. “Bard? Hey, sorry to bug you, but I need to take a shower and borrow some more clothes. Got any sweats and a sweater?”
He doesn’t answer. Weird. He also hasn’t gotten up to make coffee. For as long as I’ve known the man, he’s up at the crack.
“Bard?”
There’s no reply, and now I’m worried. I slowly turn the handle and open the door. Bard is lying shirtless on his bed. There’s a dark purple mark just beside his brow. He doesn’t look right—less like a person who’s sleeping and more like a person who’s passed out. His mouth is open, and his jaw is slack. His eyes aren’t open, but there’s a slit.
Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. I rush over and press my fingers to his neck, finding the slow steady beat of his pulse. “Thank you, God.” He’s alive, but my relief turns on me. He won’t wake up, and I know he has a head injury.
I get out my phone and call 911 for the fourth time in twenty-four hours.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“He has swelling,” says the ER doctor, “but that’s about all I can tell you.”
“I know I’m not family by blood, but I’m family in every other sense of the word. The man and I fight like we’re married. We practically live together.” I leave out the fact that there’s no romance in our relationship. Our feelings could never be described as that. We walk a twisted line between friendship, need, and hate. Not so dissimilar to two castaways stuck on the same island. Our island simply happens to be River Wall Manor. “Please, just tell me if Bard’s going to be okay.”