The Monster…
“What terrified me will terrify others; and I need only describe the spectre which had haunted my midnight pillow.”-Mary Shelley
Chapter One
Isla
The large officemy mother and I sit in has the muted lack-of-warmth colors and vibe I've always associated with William Goode, my father's best friend, and trustee.
Everything in here is gray—the furniture, the walls, and even the view of the New York skyline with its overcast sky and swollen rain clouds pressing against the windows like angry bruises.
The mood feels more fitting than usual. Another reminder of my father's death.
I still can't believe he's gone. Killed in a head-on collision with a drunk driver three months ago. We buried him the same week as my twenty-fifth birthday.
Instead of celebrating—not that there was much to celebrate—we were saying goodbye.
I've hardly wanted to face the world since then, so saying I don't want to be here is an understatement.
Being summoned for this impromptu meeting today caught me off guard. Neither Mom nor I have any idea what it's about.The last meeting we're supposed to attend is the will reading in two weeks, once the lawyers finish untangling assets from debts.
When William called this morning, he told us to be here by ten and explained he couldn't discuss the matter over the phone. At least he said to try not to worry.
Sorry, William, but if you really didn't want us to worry, you should have chosen better words.
And I was worried from the moment he said hello.
I'm aware we still have legal matters to handle. It's been one endless cycle since the accident. I hadn't even changed out of my funeral dress before the lawyers started calling and Dad's debts began clawing their way to the surface. All ugly reminders that grief doesn't pause the world.
It doesn't help that I've always associated William with bad news.
He was the one who called me at summer camp when I was twelve, telling me our house had burned down. He was the one who called days before my high school graduation to tell me Mom had suffered a heart attack. He was the one who called when Dad died.
Each time, my parents needed someone to shoulder the burden of being the bearer of bad news. William was that person. To them, he was the good friend. The guy who was always there, and even stood by us when Dad lost everything years ago. To me, he wasn't much different from the Grim Reaper.
Who knows what fresh hell today will bring?
Mom pulls in a shaky breath and stares through the window, desolation sagging her shoulders. Her bloodshot eyes brim with unshed tears, and her pale skin looks almost translucent against her white-blonde hair.
We've always looked alike—same colorless hair, same hazel eyes and porcelain skin, same petite frame. Now, grief has madeus mirror images in our mourning. Both of us hollow. Both of us haunted.
I've done my best to take care of her, even going part-time at the theatre so I can help out at, Monroes, our family restaurant. But other than being around her, I know it's not enough. Nothing can ever be enough when you lose someone you love.
Her hands tremble in her lap, her fingers twisted so tightly her knuckles have turned bone white. My stomach clenches. That tremor isn't just grief. I know the difference. This is her body failing her again.
Her heart condition makes her fragile on the best of days. I shudder to think what three months of stress and grief have done to her. The sleepless nights, the funeral arrangements, the endless parade of people offering condolences she didn’t have the strength to face. But nothing compares to losing Dad, her soul mate.
It's all been far too much.
"Mom?" I reach over and cover her hands with mine. Her skin feels paper thin and cold. "Are you okay?"
She tries to smile, but it's brittle around the edges. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Just nervous about this meeting."
I squeeze her hands gently. "William said not to worry. Maybe it's nothing too serious." The words taste bitter even as I say them, making me sound delusional. We both know William wouldn't have asked us to come unless it was important. And important in our world usually means catastrophic.
Mom's gaze drifts back to the window, unfocused. "I wish he could have given us a hint. Something.Anything."
"I know."
