It was clear that Robert hadrelievedhimself in that attic numerous times. But what wasn’t clear was at what point he’d taken his life. Was it days, weeks or months after being locked in that attic? Had Teddy’s painting been there, haunting him, keeping him company amongst the dark?
Once again, the journal called to William, but he ignored it, settling his focus on Edward instead. As both men locked eyes, the tension was so powerful and sudden that William almost forgot where he was and why.
“Let me take over,” William said, seeing how heavy this was becoming for Edward. This may have been William’s house now, his problems inherited when the contracts for the property were signed, but this was Edward’s family who was tied up in his harrowing story.
“Thank you,” Edward exhaled, retreating into silence as William continued to speak.
“We know that Robert was buried in the manor’s gardens, likely because of the way he took his life, and the historic mistreatment between religious rules and suicide. We also know that there’s no mention of Teddy anywhere but in that journal. It’s like one moment he was here, and the next he was gone.”
“But people don’t just disappear,” Edward added, the whites of his eyes stained red. “Do they.”
“Some do,” William reminded. “Remember what I told you about those young men who were last reported visiting Hanbury, and then the next thing we know is they too died in service. You said that there was no mention of anyone from Stonewell dying during World War Two. Maybe their fate is tied into this somehow?”
Edward rubbed two fingers into his temple. “But why Hanbury? What gives Hanbury the power to make people just… go away. No one can just disappear like that.”
That was a lie. People disappeared all the time. And it was on the tip of William’s tongue to prove Edward wrong because Archie met the same fate in a way. One moment he was there, standing at the door to their apartment, begging William to change his mind. The next, he was outside in the rain, cycling off a path into the line of a car…
“Maybe not,” William opted, saving himself the pain of reliving that afternoon. “But Teddy Jonesdiddisappear, as did those other young men. But there is also something else that has disappeared.”
Edward looked up, knuckles paled around the wine bottle, eyes now rimmed with tears. “What?”
“Teddy’s journal, the one you said that Robert mentioned in his entries. If we can find it, we may get an insight into Teddy’s thought patterns. And if it’s dated, we can determine where he went and why.”
William waited for Edward to tell him it was a wasted effort, but the opposite came out of his mouth. “We could check the gatehouse he stayed in?”
“I would’ve thought you already had?”
Edward shook his head. “No, I didn’t exactly get much of a chance. It’s in pretty bad shape, the roof has caved in, it’s more like a crumbling wreck then a liveable place now. There’s no saying that even if the journal is still somewhere, it’s not completely ruined by mould and decay, but it’s worth a check.”
“Then we’ll do that first thing tomorrow morning before we leave for Stonewell. Deal?”
Edward’s jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth. William was confident he heard the creak of teeth against teeth. He then nodded, twice and sharp. “Deal.”
It occurred to William that he still held onto Edward’s hand. He uncurled his fingers and drew back when his bicep began to ache from the awkward position. He caught it out of the corner of his eye as Edward drummed each finger on the table as if flexing his hand or wanting to rid the feeling of William’s touch from his skin.
“It’s late,” William said, so matter-of-factly, that emotion didn’t even have the time to inject into his words. “We should try and retire. Put today behind us.”
Emphasis ontrybecause William didn’t feel tired at all. And still, in the back of his mind, was the simmering concern about sleepwalking. That was another mystery – was it tied to the manor or conjured, because his broken mind hyper-focused on the impossibility of a haunting and tried to make it real?
It was something he knew he should talk to his therapist about, but in the same breath, he worried that it was a sign he was declining again. If that were proven, it would be back to the Crisis house.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Edward replied.
He took a final drink from the bottle, veins in his neck bulging like blue rivers beneath porcelain skin. A dribble of red wine slipped out of the corner of his mouth, carving out a path along his jaw, down his neck and into the collar of his T-shirt. William followed that droplet, even imagining its continuing journey long after he lost sight of it.
The squeak of a chair snapped him out of his thoughts. William looked up to find Edward standing from the table, eyes glazed as he moved towards the doorway. William quickly followed, sweeping the journal from the table without a second thought.
And he was glad he did. Because as they climbed into bed a few minutes later, the moment his head hit the pillow he knew that sleep wouldn’t come easily for him. He wondered if Edward would wrap his body around his like he had earlier that day, but his answer came swiftly, and so did the disappointment. Once Edward was finished barricading the bedroom door, undressed to his boxers and climbed beneath the duvet, he didn’t even offer a goodnight. The only sound he made was a subtle groan interrupted by a hiccup.
He was drunk. William could finish a bottle and hardly feel tipsy these days, but Edward’s stamina was clearly not at the same level.
He was glad, in a way, that at least one of them could relax tonight. William knew how knotted his thoughts were, but one look into Edward’s eyes and he sensed that he too suffered a similar fate.
“Goodnight, Edward,” William braved after a while. “Sleep well.”
Edward’s steady, rasped breath responded. He was asleep so quickly that William thought Edward was pretending. He rolled over and saw how relaxed Edward’s face was – soft, mouth puckered, chest rising and falling gently.
William smiled to himself, fighting the urge to brush a finger over the loose strand of hair that hung over Edward’s eyes. Before he did, he quickly rolled back over, lifted the heavy duvet over his head and dragged his phone and Robert’s journal beneath the manmade cave. He flickered on his mobile’s torch and dimmed it to the lowest setting. Opening the journal, he found his dog-eared page, scanned his eyes over the handwriting and began to read.
