“Before sunrise and after sunset. Six days a week with the occasional holiday off.” His words cut off on a yawn, “Any other questions?”
“Not about the railroad.” Jutting my chin towards the bed in the corner, I feel something hopeful break through my chest, “Is that Dorian’s bed?”
Soren follows my gaze and lets out a laugh.
“The one near the window?”
At my nod, his grin grows louder, “Could you imagine?Doriangetting the nicest bed in the house?!”
Chortles explode from his mouth, sending critters scurrying out from beneath the rickety bedframes and leaving a bad fucking taste in my mouth.
“Absolutely not. That was Sylvie’s bed. She got the bigger one because she was blessed with our mother’s height.”
I stare at him, waiting for the punchline.
“Dorian is also tall.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t help around the house like she would. Kept everything spic and span, you know?”
He lets out a wishful sigh, “Everything was better with Sylvie. She was good at keeping us boys in line.”
Discomfort pricks at the back of my neck as I take in his smitten look of admiration.
One that’s a little too intense for that of a brother.
“Which one is Dorian’s then?”
“Huh?” Soren blinks, his glassy eyes taking a moment to refocus, “Oh, Dorian’s bed is down the hall. First door on the right. We didn’t have enough space for him once Sylvie’s section was set up.”
I stare at him, “You didn’t make space for him after Sylvie died?”
“Why would we do that?”
So he doesn’t feel left out, you dumbass.
Any sense of hope dissolves with the last few seconds of Soren’s consciousness. Sleepy eyes start to close as another yawn takes over his face.
“Well, if you’ve got everything you need…” He sways over to the bed marked with the number five and slowly sinks down on it, “Don’t be afraid to let yourself out.”
“Right.”
Blowing out a pinched breath, I can almost taste the residue of abuse clinging to the air.
Snores ring out, clogged breaths that sound undisturbed by the dust mites and filth idling nearby. I shake my head and pull the door closed.
Then wander down the hall and take the first door on the right.
Whatever illusion of space I thought Dorian might have shrivels up at the sight of a cot jammed into a coat closet. Slouched and pressed awkwardly between two walls, not even the shortest Hoffmann brother could sleep comfortably on that thing.
Never mind the tallest.
He deserves better.
Traitorous words that have no space in my head right now. Biting my tongue and swallowing the bitter taste filling my mouth, I take in the somewhat clean state of Dorian’s bedroom. Cobwebs have been cleared away and the sheets on the bed are straightened, albeit haphazardly, as if someone tried their best to make the most of what they have.
I bend down and pull on the drawer tucked between the rotten carpet and the folded bedsheets. It takes a couple of tries to jerk the thing open.
Voices echo up the stairs, Gerald’s biting tone immediately followed by Doc’s soothing one. Ignoring the risk of being caught, I focus on the drawer in front of me.
