What he meant was to stayalive, but William dared say that. He couldn’t admit the potential for death was waiting just moments away.
“Oh, motivation.” Edward smiled, his eyes flicking open. “You’ve almost convinced me.”
“Good,” William said. “Then fight.”
“I saidalmost.”
His heart sank further into his stomach. “All right, then tell me. Tell me what I can do to make you hold on. If you can’t do it for yourself, then you do it for me.”
Edward sighed, the sound hoarse and strained. His face was so white compared to his bruises and swelling, his once perfectly swept hair now knotted from blood. William wanted nothing more than to tend to every wound, but that wouldn’t help deal with the greater issue at hand.
“There is something.”
“Go on, tell me.”
One deep breath in, Edward managed to keep his eyes open for a longer time. “I need to hear you forgive me,” Edward said.
William knew what Edward desired forgiveness for, and he wasn’t prepared to give it. Not now, but mostly because he didn’t need to. Guilt was something they both harboured until it festered and twisted into a poison inside of them. In their story there wasn’t a single person who was solely to blame.
William leaned in, bringing his mouth so close to Edward’s that their skin almost touched. “I’ll tell you what. When we leave, and you are checked over at a hospital, then I will say whatever it is you want me to say. I will forgive you for something that isn’t your fault if that makes you feel better. Butonlywhen we get out. Do you understand?”
“Bossy, too,” Edward’s face flickered with a fading grin. “Something else I like about you.”
“Stay alive,” William said in the most demanding tone he could muster. “Consider that a bossy command.”
Edward straightened as much as he could, brows raising as he tried to keep those rich eyes open. The swelling around them made it harder, but at least he tried.
“There has to be something in here,” William said, getting to work. He stormed around the hidden room, opening draws to find papers piled neatly, each empty of words. “If the Thomas family took their time to hide this room away, and yet keep it intact, it would be for a reason, right? Answers, maybe. Plus, there are two of us and one of Mike. Well, one and a half of us. But the chances are still in our favour.”
William moved to the desk, pushing a vase onto the floor until it smashed. He searched for a big enough piece to use against Mike, but then his eyes fell on the metal carving of a snake. Another Ouroboros. The same carved into the doorframes, the same worked onto the metal lid covering the well outside in the grounds.
William knew it had to mean something, he just had to work out what that was.
It was heavy to pick up, some sort of paperweight. It would do considerable damage if smashed into a person’s head. He knew it was an offence to attack a policeman like Mike Dean, but all things considered, Mike had attempted to kill Edward. This would just be self-defence.
Besides the paperweight, and the vase now smashed upon the floor, there was a typewriter positioned perfectly centred on the desk. The raised keys were coated in dust, as was everything else. Yet another heavy option.
He could imagine it, the headlines.Bestselling and beloved children’s author, William Thorn, murders policeman in a passionate yet haunting night of hell in his rotting manor house.
Beyond the rush of his thoughts, he realised the room had gone silence again.
“Hey, Edward. Keep talking to me,” William snapped at Edward, who’d fallen still.
“I’m alive.” A croaking and not-so-convincing voice, replied. “Tell me what you’ve found. Give me something to reply to.”
If it meant keeping his brain engaged, William would talk. “There’s a typewriter and a paperweight. Both could do some damage. A few yellowed envelopes with nothing in them.”
William began opening the drawers, each one had become sticky with age. Inside, much like the other drawers, were piles of papers. Except these had some writing on them, typed in neat lines beneath a familiar looking symbol.
“Now you’re the one whose gone quiet,” Edward grumbled. “What else?”
He’d gone silent for good reason. William withdrew the papers, lifting them into the light. “I’ve found… letters.”
“Spooky–” Edward fell into a coughing fit, wet and hacking, the sound of lungs failing. Once he composed himself enough, he was able to finish his quip. “The dying art form of correspondence.”
“Are you okay?” William asked once Edward calmed down.
“Oh yes, I’m perfectly dandy.” Edward brushed a trickle of blood and saliva from the corner of his mouth. “Keep… looking. Keep talking to me.”
