Devastation

My entire idea for this book stemmed from the scene in this chapter.

This is where we have always been headed.

It certainly feels surreal to have finally made it.

Hope you enjoy.

☾     ☾     ☾

She held her breath as she gently slipped from his hold.

Dante frowned in his sleep, subconsciously reaching for her.

Quickly, Enid placed a pillow where she had been previously.

He clutched it closer, holding it close like he did to her.

Slowly, she began to crawl down the bed.

Placing her feet on the cold floorboards, she winces as it gives a soft creak.

Her heartbeat is deafening in her ears.

Taking a small glance at the three men asleep in the canopy bed, she crosses her fingers.

Alexander shifts onto his side, mumbling something indistinguishable.

Their sleep is undisturbed, so she pads quietly over to the door.

Cracking it open gently, she slips out and finally exhales.

When she had returned to the estate earlier that evening, she had painted her best fake smile across her face.

She had debated Chaucer with Dante, sat in Alexander's lap.

Felt her heart stutter as Theodore pressed kisses along her neck.

All while her mind was on the office above their heads.

Now in the dark landing, she felt along the wall to guide her toward the staircase.

Moonlight fell from the large windows, dripping across the wood steps.

Her silhouette like a ghost under the milky light.

The eerie silence of the estate was haunting as she made it to the second floor.

Goosebumps ran the length of her bare arms, her small sleeping gown allowing the chill to seep into her bones.

Shadows seemed to shift as she slipped down the carpeted hallway.

The space around her twisting and contorting as though to stop her.

Like the estate was trying to slow her, to warn her.

The grand statues and art seeming to stare down at her in disapproval.

Somewhere outside, an animal howled sorrowfully.

She pauses outside the door, her heart in her throat.

A memory of the first time she entered the room fills her with nostalgia.

Has anyone ever caressed your delicate pale skin?

Come sit on my lap.

Are you going to fire me?

No, darling. We're going to keep you.

The way they'd touched her for the first time.

How she'd melted in their arms, completely under their spell.

The power they held over her was limitless.

And terrifying.

How three men owned her heart, her soul.

And she'd given it up willingly, happily.

But then, hadn't she gotten theirs in return?

She can't find it within herself to regret it, no matter what she finds behind this door.

Gathering her bravery, she twists the handle.

Flicking on the lights, the vast office comes to life.

The air seems to buzz around her, a warning and a threat.

Enid swallows down her fear.

The silver filing cabinet seems to burn against her fingers as she runs them over the metal handle.

There is a number pad on the top right corner.

With quivering hands, she enters the date of her birthday.

A soft whirring fills the room and then a click as it unlocks.

Armad hadn't been lying about the code.

Pulling open the top drawer, she raises onto her toes to flick through the files.

Each is labeled in Theodore's neat script.

Accounts.

Banking.

Deeds.

Household expenses.

Not finding anything of interest, she moves to the middle drawer.

Ledgers.

Licenses.

A gasp is ripped from her lungs.

McCarthy, Enid.

Her name is written in dark red.

And there, just a few files behind it:

P. Thomas.

Tugging both of them out of the cabinet, she sinks into the sumptuous desk chair.

Enid opens the file with her name on it first, the papers shaking in her grip.

Like leaves amid a windstorm.

The first page was a copy of her application to Pennington.

The essay she had written stapled to it.

Her class schedule is next.

All three of their names smiling up at her from the page.

Then there are a few news articles about her father.

William McCarthy's Art Exhibit to Come to the Louvre.

McCarthy's Philanthropy Brightens Small Town Wales.

She stares down at the snapshot of her father below the title.

He's grinning, holding a huge pair of scissors in front of a ribbon on a door.

His bright blue eyes alight with joy.

It was from the grand opening of the community center he had funded.

And there she is.

Eight years old, standing beside him.

A confused smile stretching her chubby cheeks.

Many of the few times she left her home were to attend events like that with him.

A tear falls on the page, blurring his face.

Enid pushes the article away, finding a legal document beneath.

A sob falls from her mouth as she realizes what it is.

A copy of her adoption certificate.

Her father's distinct signature swirling on the line.

She'd never seen the actual certificate before.

Medical forms come after, notes from visits throughout her adolescence.

When she went to the hospital after falling out of tree.

Her general checkup appointments.

And right behind it, the article she had burnt to embers two years before.

William McCarthy, World Renowned Artist, Dies.

Her world is spiraling, spinning endlessly on an axis.

There is burning in her heart, in her lungs and veins and every fiber of her being.

They had researched her.

Knew about her life before she even told them.

"Enid."

His voice was everywhere, echoing off the walls and ceiling.

Filling the cavernous spaces in her chest.

Enid can barely make him out through the tears falling from her eyes.

Theodore's eyes are wide, frantic.

There is no hint of the mask that frequents his face.

No hiding of his emotions, his thoughts.

For once, he is complete authentic.

Entirely raw.

"W-what is this?" She chokes on her words.

"Enid, darling-" He steps toward her.

"No! No, don't come closer." Sobs punctuate her desperate command.

"Listen, we can explain." He holds his arms up in a sign of compliance.

She sniffs, gathering the papers back into a stack.

"Why don't you tell me what this is instead?" Her voice wavers.

Enid holds up the other file.

The one with a dead boy's name written on it.

Something flashes in his eyes.

Fear.

For the first time in his life, he was truly afraid.

And suddenly she knew.

Knew without a fathom of a doubt.

She opens the file and there is his class schedule, a photo of his fraternity.

Some of his school documents, a form with his address and car information.

Written transcripts from the interview she had had with Chief Samuels.

A log from a junk yard detailing the destruction of an Audi.

A receipt from a cargo ship, one large shipping container reserved under an anonymous organization.

She wants to scream, wants to fold in on herself.

Over and over until she is so small that she ceases to exist.

She's fallen in love with murders.

Wolves dressed like men.

Men who had killed a boy.

Killed him for her.

A boy was dead because of her.

Waterfalls from her eyes, earthquakes in her lungs.

She stands from the chair shakily, tripping as she reaches the trashcan beside his desk.

Folding in on herself as she vomits into the bin.

Her world is shattering.

The pieces of it piercing into her skin and drawing blood.

A hand is holding back her hair, the other rubbing her back soothingly.

She wrenches away from him just as two sets of footsteps reach her ears.

"Why the hell didn't you tell us you found her?" Dante's voice is angry.

Her form is half-hidden behind the desk, only her legs stretched out into their view.

Theodore glances down at her, devastation vivid on his sculpted face.

"She knows." Is all he says, pressing his hands into his eyes.

His glasses aren't on, probably still on her bedside table.

She can hear Alexander's sharp inhale; can practically feel the way they tense.

Wobbling, she pulls herself up.

They stare at her in utter shock.

Alexander's curls are standing at end, Dante's pajamas askew.

A hysterical giggle leaves her mouth.

Their surprise melts, gives way to concern.

Horror.

"Little bird-" Dante starts, his face grief-stricken.

And she is crying again, soul-heaving sobs that wrack her entire body.

"You k-killed him. A-and you have this... this... research on me." She shoves the files, the pages flying off the desk and swirling to their feet.

Dante presses his hands against his face.

His shoulders quivering as he begins to hyperventilate.

Theodore tries to near her again and she retreats, bumping harshly into the filing cabinet.

The metal freezing, burning against her skin.

She leans against it for support.

"Baby girl, you need to calm down." Alexander is closer now, too.

Just behind the desk.

There are tears in his eyes.

Her eyes dart between them in fear, her entire body trembling.

"I need to leave." She says frantically, looking toward the door.

Dante has gathered himself and steps in front of it with a firm expression on his face.

"Oh, angel. I'm so sorry." Alexander's voice breaks.

A tear falls, trails down his golden cheek.

Suddenly, anger sears through her chest.

"You killed someone! Apologies aren't going to bring him back!" She spits with ire.

Theodore's cold chuckle draws her eyes from Alexander's crestfallen face.

He steps forward again and sweeps his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the tears.

She feels the tremors in his fingertips.

A small, bitter smile on his face.

"Oh, darling. We aren't sorry for killing him." Theodore whispers.

She is frozen in place, staring up at him in shock.

Dante and Alexander appear before her, each taking up a side.

Boxing her in.

Dante presses a kiss to her shoulder.

Drags his nose along the vulnerable column of her neck.

"We're sorry you think we'd ever let you leave."

☾     ☾    ☾

This might have been the most difficult chapter I've written yet.

Comments fill my heart with joy.

All my love, Sappho ☾