You’re not safe.
I wrap my mind around these things, or try to. But it’s too much, too much, too much to focus on.
“There’s something else, Father,” I continue, speaking softly because Jesus is watching me from his bloody perch on the wall.
The priest waits.
“I see someone,” I say hesitantly, because I know how insane it sounds. “When I’m out walking, the last time I was here, on the grounds of Whitley. A man in a gray hooded sweatshirt. He watches me, and he wants something from me.”
The father is interested by this. “Does he speak to you?” he asks, my hand still cradled in his.
“No. He seems to want me to find something, but I don’t know what it is.”
The father peruses me, his expression gentle.
“You’ve been through a great deal, Calla,” he says, his words so understanding. “Perhaps you’re still trying to figure it all out.”
I want to slip into the floor because he’s basically saying I’m crazy.
“I’m not crazy, am I?” I ask and he shakes his head.
“Of course not,” he says firmly.
“Does it have to do with Dare’s secret?” I ponder and the priest shrugs.
“I don’t know.”
He doesn’t treat me like I’m crazy or like the things I’m saying are so preposterous. He just listens and smiles and holds my hand.
He’s a true comfort and I tell him so.
Today, when I leave, the boy in the sweatshirt is nowhere in sight.
Thank God.
At dinner, Eleanor turns to me.
“Don’t forget, the event is tomorrow night. Your dress has been delivered, along with your jewels and shoes. You are up for it, I presume?”
Like always, her question isn’t a question.
I nod. “Of course.”
She nods back and we continue eating, and Dare is late again.
This time, Eleanor looks up. “Don’t bother sitting down,” she snaps. “I’ve warned you before. If you’re late, don’t bother coming.”
Without a word, he turns and walks out.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, and I follow.
I hear Eleanor calling me, but I don’t turn around.
Dare’s strides are long, but I run to catch him.
“Wait,” I say breathlessly, and I pull at his arm.
He’s patient as he stares down at me.
“Let’s go eat in town,” I suggest. “Together.”
He smiles at this and glances at the dining room.
“You know she’ll be upset if we do.”
“I don’t care,” I answer honestly.
We ride to town in Dare’s car.
“Will you be all right tomorrow night?” he asks. “You won’t know anyone.”
“I’ll know you,” I tell him. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“If you want me to be.”
“I do.”
“Consider it done, then,” he says quietly, and he motions for a waiter. “She’ll have dessert,” he tells the skinny man.
I’ve done a terrible thing, he said.
“What did you do?” I ask bluntly, as I take a bite of cake. “What is your secret?’
Dare startles, then almost laughs.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he answers. “Because you’re here and the past is gone.”
I almost believe that it’s that easy.
We finish our dinner, and drive back to Whitley and when we’re in the car, Dare hums.
I close my eyes and listen, and soak in the sound. I think it’s the song he played on the piano, and when we get home, I ask him to play.
So he does.
The salon is quiet and dark, and his notes drift on the air like snow.
I sit next to him, content to soak in the sound, his scent, his air.
If he’s the air, I’ll happily breathe it.
I almost float away on his song, and when he’s done, the silence is loud.
He walks me to my room.
“Some things are best left alone,” he reminds me at my door.
“But what it…”
He shakes his head, interrupting me.
“Trust me.”
I wish I could.
But he did a terrible thing.
And I have to know.
Chapter 22
When I stare into the mirror, a woman looks back. A woman draped in red silk, a woman with thick lashes and full lips.
“You look beautiful,” Finn tells me as he straightens the clasp of my necklace.
“Thank you, but anyone would look good in this dress.”
He can’t argue because he’s not real.
“What do you think will happen tonight? A dance? A sacrifice? Will you have to drink goat’s blood or bathe with a thousand virgins?”
I roll my eyes.
“Doubtful. But if you were here, you’d have to do the Macarena.”
He grabs his chest and falls onto the bed. “I would refuse.”
“Then it’s a good thing you aren’t here.”
“You’ve got this,” he announces. “Even without me.”
I’m not so sure.
But I have no choice other than to just go.
I find the great room and discover that it’s been transformed into a ballroom.
It’s draped with white tulle and sparkling lights, with candles and pungent flowers.
I find Eleanor, dressed in a conservative black dress and pearls, chatting with a small group of men in suits. Her lip is as stiff as her back, and I decide she must never relax. I scan the room for the most important face, and it doesn’t take long to find him.
Dare is in the back, sitting at a table in the shadows.
He’s here just like he promised.
He’s watching me, his dark gaze impenetrable. In his black tux, he’s impossibly handsome and I find I can’t look away.
He’s got a glass tumbler in his hand and he sips at the amber liquid, and it looks to be something strong, like scotch.
My breath is shallow and I can’t quite catch it. I take a step in his direction, then another, then I pause. Because his expression is so unreadable.
Without breaking our gaze, he thunks the glass down on the nearest side-table, and then turns his back, walking to the open veranda doors. He steps into the night, and I desperately want to follow him.
Not just because I want to be with him, but because it’s away from here, away from Eleanor, away from the prying stares of the people who are wondering who I am.
But I’m stopped by well-meaning snobby people who want to chat.
Where are you from?
Will you be attending Cambridge?
Will you be at the polo match this weekend?
Will you come to tea?
Eleanor, I see, manages to skirt the crowd and sit alone in the corner with a cup of what looks to be tea. I wonder if it is spiked. Then I wonder what the purpose of this party is at all… other than to force me into interacting with people.
Why would she do this? She has to know I’m not ready.
Dare’s words come back to haunt me.
The hawk is coming, and you’re going to get eaten.
Who is the hawk? Him?
I twist to find him, and he’s still on the veranda, joined by a blonde girl. She knows him, that much is apparent. She’s holding onto his arm and my belly tightens, bile rising in my throat. She’s possessive and he doesn’t push her away.
I turn my back.
Eleanor is watching Dare, too, a look of mild distaste on her face, but it’s the same look she always has with him. She hates him for some reason, that much is apparent. But why?
I’m being watched, and I scan the sea of faces to find Sabine shuffling along the back, dressed in black.
Her eyes have found me in the madness and we’re all a bit mad, aren’t we?
I swallow hard, and turn away. There’s no one here I can trust.
No o
ne.
No one.
No one.
I make a run for the bathroom.
Because I need to hide.
Once inside the quiet powder room, I sink to a seat on a velvet bench, my breath shaky.
I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong here.
“You don’t belong here, do you?”
It’s like the calm voice reads my mind.
The voice belongs to the voluptuous blonde who was hanging on Dare’s every word.
Startled, I look up at her.
She stares back at me coolly, but not unkindly.
“You’re wearing my dress.”
My heart hammers. This dress was made for Miss Aimes, but we can make her another.
“Uh,” I stammer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
She shrugs and adjusts her lipstick in the mirror. She’s wearing a black dress instead, something that hugs her curves. She didn’t need this red dress. She’s perfect in anything she wears. I can see that much.
“I’m Ashley,” she tells me, and she smiles in the mirror. “And I hate these things too. I can help you, you know.”
“You can?”
She nods.
“Let’s get out of here. I’ll show you where I hide during these horrid things.”
Her smile is one of camaraderie, and any port in a storm.
I follow her right out of the ballroom, and I feel Dare’s eyes on us as we go.
When we’re in the driveway, she turns to me.
“Maybe you should’ve brought a wrap. You might get cold.”
But she puts the top down on her car anyway, and the breeze is cold as we speed through the night, away from Whitley.
“Where are we going?” I finally ask her, relieved to be so far away.
She glances at me.
“Someplace you should see. If you think you want to be with Dare, you should know all about him.”
There’s something in her voice now, something rigid, and I startle, because maybe I shouldn’t have chosen this port.
She turns down a dark road, a quiet lane, and then we pull to a stop in front of an old, crumbling building.
“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder, traipsing up the steps in her black high heels. I feel clumsy as I follow, and she doesn’t slow down. The sign by the door says Oakdale Sanitarium and I freeze.
“What is this place?” I whisper as she opens the door.
“You’ll have to see it to believe it,” she murmurs.
In front of us, a long hallway yawns farther than I can see, the walls crumbling with age, the lights dim when she flips a switch.
There’s no one here, but I can hear moans, screams, whimpers.
“I don’t understand,” I feel like whimpering myself. Ashley rolls her eyes.
“Do you really think someone like Dare is without baggage? Grow up, little girl.”
She pushes open the doors as we pass, and they’re all empty, every single one.
But I feel presences here,
Ugliness.
When we’re almost at the end of the hall, Ashley turns to me, her gaze ugly now and I should’ve known.
“His mother was here for years,” she tells me, like she’s confiding a secret. “After what Dare did, it’s no wonder.”
Her eyes are so knowing and I close my eyes,
Because the screams are deadening.
I my head, I see Dare and he’s so small.
He stands above a bed, hovering above two sleeping people.
Something is shiny in his hand, something flashes in the night,
And I try to tell him no, to warn him not to move,
But of course he can’t hear.
Then there’s screaming and blood.
My uncle is bloody in the bed, and a dark-haired woman is screaming.
I see the alcove in the crypts and his name is carved in the stone.
Richard William Savage II.
Dare’s eyes are wide and dark,
Haunted,
Haunted,
Haunted.
I gasp and open my eyes and my reality isn’t any better.
I’m not in an abandoned clinic any longer, and I probably never was.
I’m in a small but well-appointed room,
A room in a facility.
A room frozen in time.
The room is lined with pictures of Dare.
Ranging from toddlerhood, to primary school, to secondary school, to University, Dare smiles at me from the walls. When he was small, he smiled, but over time,
More and more,
He became haunted and sad.
The change in his eyes is startling.
And then,
Suddenly,
A woman is in front of me, dark-haired. She has Dare’s eyes, and I know who she is.
Olivia Savage.
I hesitate, and she smiles.
“Are you here to bring me my son?” she asks politely. “The boy from the pictures? He did something bad, but he’s sorry.”
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I stare at her face, at her smile, and at the unlocked door.
She reaches out her hand to me,
And I reach to take it,
Then I open my eyes.
I didn’t even know they were closed.
I’m in the powder room again,
And Ashley Aimes is in front of me,
Annoyance on her pretty face,
And we never left this room.
We. Never. Left.
“What is wrong with you? My lord, you need help.”
She stalks away and I struggle to breathe, trying like hell to grasp reality.
What is happening to me?
I do need help.
I need Dare.
Because he was so hurt, and I’m hurting him now, more and more each day as I keep pushing him away.
He didn’t deserve that.
He doesn’t deserve this.
I’m reeling,
I’m reeling.
The room presses down on me, swirling and bending and stifling. I lunge for the door, and barge through the people and to Dare on the veranda.
Ashley is with him now, telling him of my break-down and he turns to me, his beautiful face frozen and afraid.
“Dare… I…”
Tears streak my cheeks and he grabs me, turning his back on Ashley.
“You’re not a monster,” I whisper. “You’re not.”
Without looking back, he leads me away,
Out of the ballroom,
Away from all of the watchful eyes.
“I saw what happened,” I whisper, and I turn into his tuxedo jacket, hiding my face. “Am I crazy? I saw what you did. I know your mom isn’t dead.”
“You’re not crazy,” his words are gentle, and it’s a soft tone I haven’t heard from him in awhile. My walls come crumbling down, and I cry.
The next few minutes are a blur.
I reach for him,
he pulls me close.
His breath is sweet,
his shirt is starchy and smells of rain,
musk,
and man.
His hands are everywhere,
Firm,
Strong,
And perfect.
His lips are full,
Yet
Soft.
His tongue finds mine,
Moist,
Minty.
His heart beats hard,
The sound harsh in the dark,
And I cling to his chest,
Whispering his name.
“Dare, I…”
“Let’s leave this room,” he suggests. “Let’s leave it all behind.”
So we do.
Chapter 23
He takes my hand and I follow him,
Because I’d follow him to the ends of the earth.
I know that now, and I tell him.
He turns to me, his eyes so stormy and dar
k.
He scoops me up in my red silk dress, and he’s striding through the hallways of Whitley.
His room is dark and masculine, the bed looming against the wall. We tumble into it, and his hand is behind my head as I fall into the pillow.
Our clothing is stripped away and our skin is hot and flushed and alive.
I’m alive.
Dare lives free.
We breathe that freedom in, and he strokes his fingers against me, into me, deep inside and I gasp and sigh and quiver.
“I… yes.” I murmur into his ear.
Consequences can be damned.
I don’t care who he is.
I don’t care what he’s done.
He’s here.
He makes me feel.
I want him.
He wants me.
So he takes me.
There is no pain.
He’s inside and fills me, and his hands…
work magic.
His lips…
breathe life into me,
Filling me,
Creating me.
I call his name.
He calls mine.
I’m intoxicated by the sound, by the cadence, by the beat.
His heart matches, in firm rhythm.
We’re so very alive,
And together.
Our arms and legs tangle.
Our eyes meet and hold.
His stare into mine as he slides inside,
Then out.
I clutch his shoulders,
To hold him close.
He shudders,
The moonlight spills from the window,
Onto my skin,
And his.
His eyes, framed by thick black lashes, close.
He sleeps.
But he wakes in the night and we’re together again, and again and again.
Each time it’s new,
Each time is reverent and raw and amazing.
In the morning, as he is bathed in sunlight, Dare finally looks away. Shame in his eyes, guilt in his heart.
“She’s dead now,” Dare tells me when I ask again about his mom. “But she didn’t die with Richard.”
I don’t ask about Richard,
I don’t ask Dare to confirm what I know.
He killed his step-father,
And it made his mother crazy.
“Do you see now why I don’t deserve you?” he asks, and his voice is almost fragile.
You’re better than I deserve.
He’s said it before, over and over, and I never knew what he meant.
I know it now, but it’s still not true. I’m not better than he deserves, not by a long shot, not ever.