Before he took it, Edward locked eyes with William. “Are you sure?”
“I am.” William took Edward’s hand, laid the journal upon his palm and then curled his fingers around the cover. “I’ll go and get some coffee on, and rustle something up to eat. Meanwhile, why don’t you make a start on it?”
Edward mumbled something, but William couldn’t make it out. He did notice that Edward’s hands shook as he held the journal. He seized it as if it was some delicate flower, or perhaps his reluctance came from thinking that the journal had the potential to be dangerous. Either way, William withdrew his hands, feeling as though he’d just handed over a burden to be shared, then ushered them both out of the drawing room.
They parted at the apex of the kitchen and the living room. Edward was so transfixed on the journal that he almost walked into the doorframe. Even when William gave him an audible warning, he didn’t notice.
William didn’t have an appetite, not even for the coffee, but he made it anyway. As he filled the old stove kettle, he caught movement out into the back garden. Peering out he found Edward was out there, sitting on a tired old metal chair, looking over the overgrown grass glittering with morning dew.
He was just glad it wasn’t some unknown figure. Maybe everything would go back to normal now the journal was found.
There was a sadness that came with Edward’s posture. He seemed to hunch over the journal that rested on his lap, his messy hair falling over his eyes to conceal his emotion from the world. It pained William to see him like that, although he almost couldn’t look away. When he did, he focused back on the task at hand.
He noticed something out of the corner of his eye – a detail out of place.
The door to the basement was ajar. For a second, he was frozen to the spot. The dream so real in his mind that he could almost hear the sound of scratching at the door, the banging and ungodly noises that had followed.
Slowly, he moved towards it, expecting to find marks in the wood. But there was none besides the odd figure of eight carving into the inner frame. Peering down into the basement, it was so dark, so much so that William expected it to reach out and claim him through the small crack. Before it had the chance, he booted the door closed, made sure it stuck and turned away from it.
He had no desire to go down – in waking or dreaming – ever again.
William did everything in his power to not seem impatient. But as he waited for Edward to lift his eyes from the journal he read, it was becoming harder not to demand information.
The silence was deafening. There was only the ruffled song of turned pages, Edward’s light breathing and the occasionalhumphnoise he made almost drove William to the edge of insanity. To distract himself, he clutched his now cold mug of coffee. He’d yet to take a sip and the thought of it only made him feel sick. So, he leaned back in the old chair, and turned his face to the sun’s gaze, and waited. For autumn, there were days when the world seemed to forget the time of year and surprise its tenants with warmth such as this. It was almost sweltering today, making William’s skin sticky beneath his oversized hoodie.
William needed a distractionfromhis distraction.
He withdrew his phone from his pocket, catching the time as almost eleven a.m. There weren’t any notifications – no emails or missed calls. It could’ve been a curse from the spotty signal at the manor, or maybe the world beyond it really had forgotten about him.
Wasn’t that what he wanted anyway? To be forgotten, to be left in a place where no one would stop him making decisions he so desperately wanted?
William wasn’t so sure anymore. How many days had it been since he called his solicitor? He almost felt embarrassed to think that he’d been so angry. If only he had the answers he did now. Of course, it crossed his mind numerous times to call the police. That’s what normal people did when it came to things like this, right? But then again, he knew the drama that would follow. The disbelief, the questions. It was best to flesh out Robert and Teddy’s story before they went involving anyone.
But that wasn’t the only reason he wanted to keep the happenings to himself.
William could imagine what the police would think if he rang and told them about ghosts. One look at his record and he’d be hand-delivered back to theFacilityin a pretty box with a red ribbon.
It was best he kept it to himself, or that was what he’d convinced himself, at least.
After what felt like a year of silence from Edward, he finally cleared his throat. Then the journal thumped on the table between them. The sound made William jump, so much so that he spilled some of his coffee over his lap.
“Jesus wept,” William cursed, eyes snapping towards a disgruntled Edward. “Are you trying to give me a heart-attack?”
“No, andHeisn’t going to help you either,” Edward replied, monotone, his brilliantly brown eyes locked on an oak tree set in the garden’s southern end. “Actually, I don’t think anything is going to help at this point!”
“So, from your glowing optimism, I guess the journal hasn’t revealed any useful information?” William set his untouched mug of frigid coffee down. He brushed a small splash from his leg, conscious he hadn’t had a single sip in all the time they’d been outside. “Or maybe it has, and they’re not the answers you wanted to find?”
Edward screwed up his nose, an endearing expression that reminded William of a mouse. A handsome mouse if such a thing were possible. “Neither, and both? It makes me feel all weird reading Teddy’s journal. Like I’m prying into something I shouldn’t be.”
Yet another example of how different William and Edward were. William couldn’t wait to get answers, to dive into another person’s story and drink up their drama to outweigh his own. In fact, all the time Edward was reading, William wanted to snatch the book from him and see what was so enthralling.
“I know what you mean,” William lied. “But this is what you came for. Did you find anything important?”
William found himself holding his breath, waiting for a reply.
Edward shook his head, lowered his chin to his chest and exhaled a long, tempered breath. “Nothing we don’t already know. It’s a lot of the same, and not much at that. It doesn’t seem like Edward had the journal for long before… well, before whatever happened to him.”
William reached out, unable to stop himself, and brushed his fingers over the book. Drawing it close, he was aware just how warm the cover was, courtesy of Edward’s hands. A shiver raced over him, as did the jealousy – which was a surprising feeling. It took William a moment to realise what he was jealous of.
