Not needing another warning, Edward hobbled to the uncovered door and pressed his weight on it. William’s hand shook violently as he fumbled with the keys. He began fitting them into the lock of the hidden door, trying but failing to find the right one. Footsteps barrelled up the stairs, a deep baritone voice shouted, calling out as if the intruder was playing some sort of game.
And William fuckinghatedgames.
“I know this manor better then you do,” the man cried. “I’ll find you, boy.”
By the time William found the right key, he almost cried with relief. There wasn’t room for thought, not as he forced the old hinges open with the force of his shoulder. He was greeted by stale air – so thick it clogged his throat. The room beyond was dark, filled with countless shapes illuminated by a single, dirtied window on the far side.
Extending his hand, he reached for Edward. He flung himself from his barricade at the door, closing the gap between them just as the study burst open. Edward dove into the secret room, crashing against the floor, seconds before the intruder gave chase.
With everything left in him, William slung the door closed right in the face of Mike Dean – the unwelcoming man from the pub on his first day. He seemed to look right through William, more focused on the shock of what he saw before him – but it wasn’t surprise on his face.
“Lock it,” Edward groaned, clutching his side as he curled on the floor. William didn’t need to be told twice. He stabbed the key into the lock’s other side, turned it and fumbled backwards.
Dust rained down from the ceiling above as Mike Dean hammered his heavy body over and over into the door. William held his breath, expecting that it would give way at any moment and he’d break through.
He backed away until something firm pressed into his behind. His hands fumbled behind him, fingers digging into the hard kiss of wood.
It took a while, but Mike eventually gave up. His furious shouts and the cacophony of curses ceased. Then they heard it, the stomp of feet moving away. William tracked the noise to his left, imagining Mike leaving across the landing and returning down the stairs.
“I think he’s leaving,” Edward gasped, almost laughing at the realisation.
William didn’t believe it. “No. He’ll be back.”
The question was, why? Why did Mike Dean hurt Edward? Why would he say to someone on the phone that he wanted to kill William? None of it made sense, that was until William had enough focus to turn his attention back to the hidden room.
What he’d walked back into was a table – the type you’d expect in a dining room. A place where a large family could share a mealorfor a group of people could sit to meet.
Sothiswas where Robert Thomas’s father held those secretive meetings.
William’s gaze fell on the chair at the head of the table. It was reminiscent of a throne with the back carved in a strange shape. A shape that William was all too familiar with. The snake, chasing its tail. Similar but smaller chairs took up either side of the table, neatly tucked beneath it, waiting for someone to come and sit upon it.
Edward got off the floor, groaning as he used a sideboard to hold his weight. His focus wasn’t on the table but something hanging from the wall. Pictures – countless black-and-white photographs hung in gilded frames. Moving to see what captured Edward’s attention, William noticed how faded they were, as if the years of sunlight from the single window had bleached them, leeching the details. But what the sun couldn’t touch was the brass plaque nailed into the frame. On it, labelled perfectly beneath each of the ten figures, were names.
“What are we looking at, Edward?” William said, sensing the answer was so close, but he didn’t want to take it.
Edward traced his finger over the etching of that strange symbol. It was worn into the plaque, but that wasn’t it because everyone in that photo wore it upon them, a large white symbol stitched onto the hearts of the hooded cloaks they wore.
“I think we’re looking at a…” Edward stopped himself, digging teeth into his lower lip.
“A cult?” William finished.
“I hope not.”
And there, just where Edward’s finger settled, was the name of Robert’s father. And beside him, towering and equally ominous with hollow dark eyes, was a man by the name of Andrew Dean.
PART 7
Saturday
They sat and watched as day turned to night beyond the narrow window, drawing the light from the room, all but a sliver of the moon’s glow that seemed to bathe the study in silver. It would be beautiful if they weren’t hiding out in a room from a crazed man who was doing God-knows-what downstairs.
Edward fell in and out of sleep, no matter what William did to try and keep him awake. He gave up in the end. Sleeping with a head wound was a risk, but nothing was keeping him alert. At least the silence gave William time to figure out what they would do to get out alive.
Together.
It was the only option. A focus. Something William needed.
Unlike the rest of Hanbury Manor, it was like time itself had stopped within this hidden room, even if the world beyond had moved on. Dust coated every surface, making each inhale suffocating. There was an odd smell – like old books riddled with mould or the promise of rodent’s desecration.
