Words failed him. Stories and possibilities flooded his mind, one after the other.
If the painting was inside the attic, it meant Robert’s family must’ve found it. Which confirmed that Teddy either never got it, and certainly didn’t get to take it with him… wherever he ended up at the end of his story. Or it was taken from him.
There was an obvious attention to detail in the portrait, and affection that was put into this painting. No doubt if Robert’s parents had found it, they would’ve put two and two together.
There was love in every brush stroke, in every choice of vibrant colour. Robert Thomas had known every possible detail of Teddy’s face, from the direction each long lash hair stood, to the constellation of freckles kissed upon his right cheekbone.
Unable to look at the face a moment longer, William lifted his gaze towards the shadowed ceiling. Peace didn’t come in any form, not as he noticed something else. Tied around one of the beams was a piece of rope. The knot wrapped around the thick beam, ending in a frayed end that swung in the breezeless room. He snapped his gaze back to the chair the painting had been propped up against, and another truth smashed into him.
“We need to get out of here,” William said, forcing the words out breathlessly. “Right. Now.”
Edward carefully moved the painting, rested it against the attic wall and then moved towards William. He took him in his arms. In his hold, William noticed just how violently he shook, like a leaf caught in a vicious torrent of wind. And there was not a single part of him that wanted the connection to end. “Have you just found a doll?”
Something far worse.
“Robert… took his life in this room,” William said, not a question but a statement. He watched the very moment Edward remembered as if he’d been so focused on getting secrets he’d forgotten the dark past that clung to Hanbury Manor. “It’s not right to intrude in a place which feels so heavy with sadness.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think. If you really want to leave, you can wait for me outside on the landing.”
But still, William couldn’t move. His feet were rooted to the floor, disgust twisting his stomach into knots, threatening the soup that had hardly digested to come rupturing out of his throat.
Memories assaulted William in quick succession. They were painful, dark parts of his story that he’d wished to leave behind in London. It was all too much being here, facing the chair and the cut rope. How close both William’s and Robert’s tragedy tied them together.
It took his fragile sanity and threatened to shatter it like glass over stone.
Edward moved his hands up to either side of William’s face. He cupped his cheeks, hands warm and soft, fingers straying up into his scalp. “Are you with me, Will? Say something.”
William blinked, trying to focus on the man before him and not the painful memory of the one who took his life here. “What are we even hoping to find in here?”
Of course, William knew what Edward would say before the word left his mouth.
“Answers. And if not those, at least a path in which I can take to get them.”
The walls groaned, the roof creaking in tandem like a storm had blown in. But, of course, no explanation would settle the fear in William’s gut.
“Then let’s get looking before I change my mind,” William replied, knowing the sooner they searched the attic, the sooner they’d leave it. And he wasn’t prepared to go and wait outside for Edward. Something inside him screamed to stay beside him, for fear of being alone or leaving him alone, William wasn’t sure which.
Something his therapist had said to him came into his mind at that moment. It was a coping mechanism that was offered to him when he found his mind frantic and panicked.
He needed a focus. Something to do, an action to see through, to distract his mind.
William pinched his eyes closed, finding the dark more pleasant than the attic’s light. “In one of the diary entries I read, Robert mentioned giving Teddy a journal. He… wrote about wanting Teddy to put his thoughts in it during their time apart. That way they could swap and read what each other were feeling. Maybe Teddy’s journal is somewhere in here.”
“William Thorn.” It was always jarring when Edward used his full name. It was shocking enough that he opened his eyes to find that smirk back on Edward’s lips. That, on its own, was a distraction enough. “You’re the most brilliant man I’ve ever met, do you know that?”
“I try,” William replied, faking a smile to match the one before him.
Both men got to searching for a journal. It was like finding a needle in a haystack amongst everything in the attic, but they did their best. They didn’t stray far from one another, constantly looking across the busy room to keep tabs on where they were in proximity. They found boxes of clothes and albums filled with black-and-white photos. It was a charity shop’s wet dream, William thought. Or nightmare. Pots and pans, trinkets, and even cases of jewellery which must’ve belonged to Robert’s mother. Typewriters, books – most of which were sodden and crumbling to the touch. William made sure to tap a box with his foot to disturb any spiders, or larger creatures, hiding within the belongings of the forgotten family. Mice he could cope with, spiders not so much. And he knew there was something because he found chewed corners of boxes and piles of droppings that had practically mummified into dried pellets.
It gave him comfort to think that small creatures dwelled within the attic. He convinced himself that the mice made the noises he’d heard. The banging could’ve been boxes falling over, knocked over by a greedy rat searching for food. He looked to the rafters, hoping to find nests from birds that had found their way into the attic and made a home.
It turned out that the distraction worked. He was finding evidence to prove that the happenings hadn’t been anything sinister. That was until Edward called him.
“Come look at this,” he said, voice muffled by something.
“Did you find it?”
Edward was squatted before a box in the corner of the room. His hand was over his mouth and nose, focusing on something beneath him. “No, not exactly.”
