The urge to check his head for the wound again was almost too strong of a siren call to ignore. If it wasn’t for Edward holding him steady, he just might’ve done it.
“If what you’re saying really happened, I would’ve known about it,” Edward said, as if it was that simple. And from the look he gave William, all raised brows and straight mouthed, it was clear his mind was made up.
“I tried to wake you up. But you were out cold.” William knew there was only one way to know. “Just indulge me, and let’s check Robert’s portrait downstairs. Either I’m right, or I’m…”
Crazy.
“Wrong,” Edward finished for him.
Edward’s hands shifted down William’s arm, until one of them came to rest in his palm. Warmth flooded across his sweating hand at the connection, fingers threading fingers until they were connected. Two men anchored together.
“Deep breath in and out, first. Better?” Edward sighed, eyes flicking between their hands, back to William’s face. “You’re acting strange.”
“I know. Just please, come with me.” William took a deep breath in, held and then released it. “I want to show you I’m not going mad.”
I want to prove to myself more like.
“We both already know the answer to that, but if it makes you feel better then lead the way,” Edward whispered.
Both men worked their way downstairs. At every moment, William expected to see the shadow wearing Archie’s coat. He was prepared to find the portrait of Robert Thomas laid on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, the bent-necked figure still clawing its way free of its gilded prison. But as they took those final steps to the ground floor, nothing was out of order. Even the door to the drawing room was still closed.
With his free hand, William pushed it open. The hinges screamed as the door swung open. There was almost no difference to the sound the hinges made to the noise that’d erupted from Robert Thomas’s dead mouth.
The room, as he was beginning to expect, was left as it was. Nothing was out of place, even the portrait in question was hung back on the wall, dust-covered and sun-bleached.
“You see, nothing is wrong. It was a bad dream.” Edward still didn’t drop William’s hand; he squeezed it tighter. “I think the combination of stress, alcohol and the days of interrupted sleep isn’t helping.”
William replied with a unconvinced grunt, his eyes fixed on the portrait of Robert that was hung on the wall.
“That doesn’t sound as believable as you think it does.”
Edward was right, though. Ithadjust been some terrible nightmare, and yet William would’ve preferred to believe in ghosts. The last time his dreams were occupied with such terrifying scenes, he had been admitted to a place he’d refused to ever go back to.
Choosing to avert the conversation from William to the issue at hand, he finally broke their contact and moved for Robert’s portrait. All the way across the room his hand tingled with the echo of Edward’s touch.
Maybe it had just been a dream, but he remembered that Robert had written about his and Teddy’s secret hiding place.
That would be the first place he checked.
“What are you doing?” Edward asked as William hoisted the frame from the wall.
“Testing your theory,” William answered, struggling against the weight of it.
The déjà vu was strong as he lowered the frame, propped it against the wall and began undoing the rusted clasps at the back. His body moved, actions robotic and rehearsed. As it finally came away, William reached inside. His fingers, as he knew they would, brushed against something out of place. A book – no, it was a journal.
A sickness clung to his gut as he withdrew it. He didn’t even need to look at the cover to know who it once belonged to.
“Is that…” Edward asked, his skin so pale it was as if he saw a ghost – funny that. “I can’t believe it.”
I told you so, played on William’s lips, but he kept it back. Character growth, knowing when to let the rude comments out, or keep them in. “Teddy’s journal.”
There was a sudden weight lifted from William’s shoulder. This was the final proof that what he’d been through had just been a dream. He latched onto what Edward said about dreams and refused to let go.
“Here,” William said, handing it over. “You should be the one to read it.”
More so because William didn’t want to hold it for very long.
There was a hesitation from Edward, as if he feared what was in the pages too. William didn’t blame him because there was nothing more frightening than the truth. But this was what Edward had come here for – answers.
