This time he wore a top hat.
“You’re Edmund Greywood,” I whispered.
“What a clever girl! " he said, his blinding white teeth shining as bright as the sun. I closed my eyes against the bright light.
I tried to remain conscious, but nothing in my body worked.
No.
Chapter 4
Clara
The listing had vanished. No trace of Greywood Manor on any site—just a blank space where photos of its gilded halls once graced. Rachel’s calls to the caretaker rang into a void; there was no voicemail or a disconnected tone—just…silence.
Three weeks of his voice slithering into my dreams, or feel his phantom touch trace my neck where he left his fingerprints. The marks were all gone, but I felt strangely hollow inside.
I drowned myself in work. Typed reports until my fingers cramped. Smiled through meetings while my mind replayed the sounds—the creak of the bed, the wet slap of flesh that wasn’t quite flesh, the way the shadows had breathed in time with his thrusts.
Confusion became my shadow. Listlessness, my new ritual.
Did I imagine it all?
???
I pushed the house keys into my handbag. My parents' cars weren't in the driveway, so I had the house to myself. After vomiting at work, they sent me home, probably because they didn't want me to spread my germs. I placed my shoes on the shelf and went upstairs to my bedroom, eager to strip off my work suit. I unzipped my black skirt and paused when my stomach fluttered.
No, it couldn't be.
The memory of the cots and cradles all piled on top of one another, and his words crashed through me. I pressed down on the spot where I’d felt the flutter, and something pushed back. The back of my legs hit my bed, and I stumbled back until I sat on the bed. I stared at my stomach. The thing growing inside of me shouldn't be possible.
Three negative pregnancy tests later, I was in my local A&E, lying about being pregnant and bleeding.
???
The ultrasound gel was colder than expected, like melted frost against my skin. The nurse dragged the wand in slow circles, her frown deepening with each pass. The screen flickered before grainy shadows swirled like ink in water.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She didn’t answer. Just peeled off her gloves with a snap. “I’ll fetch the doctor.”
The wait was painful as I lay in the clinical room staring at the black screen.
When the doctor arrived, his smile was like a stretched rubber band, ready to snap. It seemed that everybody was stressed. He took the wand, pressing harder, his eyes locked on the screen, where something twisted and blurred.
“At first glance, it resembles a foetus,” he said, too carefully. “But the structure is…irregular. Likely a tumour. We’ll need tests done to determine if it’s benign.”
My lie slithered between us. I’d felt it move. It wasn't cancer.
I opted to walk home rather than catch a bus. The walk cleared my head, and the fresh air kept me focused. I arrived home all too soon, and I still didn't know what to do or who to speak to. No one would believe me.
Fuck.I couldn't believe any of it, and it was happening to me.
How could I accept this thing inside of me?
???
The air smelled of beeswax and old roses.
